[He can practically feel how uncomfortable Mettaton is - it's like a string in the air, vibrating, impossible to ignore. Keats is glad to be on solid ground, but this whole thing has made him feel like he's being put on the spot.]
[He hates it.]
Ghosts don't exist, where I come from. Even when I went to the Netherworld, which is practically the afterlife, I just saw for myself that there's no life after death. Either you got memories of the dead that are just shades of themselves that have no thoughts or will, or you have the Folks, who can be barely called human. They're just so far gone that it's hard to even imagine that once upon a time, they were a living human being. What kind of a fate is that? You die, and you just become a mindless thing that exists only to hurt and destroy while your memories are being eaten by creatures that just replay them over and over again like they're old VHS tapes.
[It's the terrible truth of the Netherworld. Nobody lives after death. There's just death. It ends with that. He stares straight at Mettaton, his face set in a serious frown.]
There are the Half-Lives, too, but those are...complicated. They're sentient, and intelligent, and honestly good company, but they are far far away from being human, because they never were human in the first place.
[He adjusts his glasses as he glances away.]
I almost wish all of that were just from some story. For a long time I did believe that. But, sad to say, that's the cruel truth of the matter.
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[He can practically feel how uncomfortable Mettaton is - it's like a string in the air, vibrating, impossible to ignore. Keats is glad to be on solid ground, but this whole thing has made him feel like he's being put on the spot.]
[He hates it.]
Ghosts don't exist, where I come from. Even when I went to the Netherworld, which is practically the afterlife, I just saw for myself that there's no life after death. Either you got memories of the dead that are just shades of themselves that have no thoughts or will, or you have the Folks, who can be barely called human. They're just so far gone that it's hard to even imagine that once upon a time, they were a living human being. What kind of a fate is that? You die, and you just become a mindless thing that exists only to hurt and destroy while your memories are being eaten by creatures that just replay them over and over again like they're old VHS tapes.
[It's the terrible truth of the Netherworld. Nobody lives after death. There's just death. It ends with that. He stares straight at Mettaton, his face set in a serious frown.]
There are the Half-Lives, too, but those are...complicated. They're sentient, and intelligent, and honestly good company, but they are far far away from being human, because they never were human in the first place.
[He adjusts his glasses as he glances away.]
I almost wish all of that were just from some story. For a long time I did believe that. But, sad to say, that's the cruel truth of the matter.