"Oh shit. Dusters."
Frisk raised her eyebrow in confusion. "Dusters?" she laughed, strapping on her fingerless gloves and cracking her spine in her striped hoodie. "That's a weird name for cops."
Sans smirked at her. "Your parents never told you the story?"
"Well, my parents told me this story." He flipped up his hood over his snowy-white hair, which somehow never made him look old. "Years ago, before we were even flickers in the void, monsters lived around here - and when they died, they turned to dust. Humans would slaughter them."
Frisk looked down at the crest on the front of her hood. It was a large, red heart - her assigned colour was Red - with the word 'MONSTER' stitched over it in white. She found herself running her fingers over it. "Is that why?"
"Yeah. Sort of a stupid story, though." Sans glanced down at his own sea-blue heart, which stood out a few shades darker than his cornflower-blue hoodie. "I mean, if I died, I'd turn into glitter. 'Cos I'm fabulous."
Frisk didn't even try to hide her laugh, instead elbowing the man in his ribs. "You've been talking to Mettaton."
He raised his hands and grinned. "What can I say? He's a fucking sexy Rectangle."
The Rectangles were their eyes in the sky - well, they were actually guys who sat back at base and watched their go-pro footage live, but they were pretty cool nonetheless. Mettaton and his older sister Alphys had joined a year back, and they still had great reputations - greater than Frisk could ever dream to get.
"Be careful, yeah, kid?" Sans asked, his smile soft. "You remember what happened..."
...To Chara and Asriel. Frisk nodded, trying not to frown.
Chara and Asriel were two of the best Runners they had - they'd gone through hundreds of missions together, as brother and sister, until one day they were shot down. Chara wasn't feeling herself and had slipped and took a bullet to the chest - Asriel kept running with her body in his arms, and died back at the base from four bullets to his spine. It was a sad tale, and Sans, along with Toriel (their mother), had no problem relaying the story over and over again.
"Good." he said softly. "I care for ya, kid."
"Stop that!" she laughed, her smile returning. "I'm only three years younger than you!"
"Still kid enough for me." he shrugged.
"5, 4, 3, 2, 1..."
The door finally lifted and Sans gave Frisk no time to think, tugging on her sleeve and running as fast as he could. She had no time to think before he tugged again and she staggered to the right, turning and running alongside him.
"This way, kid!" he yelled over the gunfire, quickly turning to the left and gripping the top of a metal barrier, grunting slightly as he lifted himself up. He was swift, but not strong - Sans was probably the weakest bag of bones this side of the city. Frisk rolled her eyes and completed the same action in half the time - earning her a roll of Sans' dark eyes.
"Show-off!" he shouted, his voice surprisingly cheerful for a four-foot-tall man who was currently being shot at. Frisk stifled a laugh and instead ruffled his snow-coloured hair, earning a pout before being tugged away from a bullet.
"No problem, though I didn't know you were so Frisk-y~"
Frisk groaned after realizing that she was pulled to his chest, and shoved him back. "Let's just go!"
"Good idea. I don't feel like being turned into Swiss cheese."
Duck. Roll. Jump. Pull. Run. Kick. Grab. Dodge. Duck. Slide. Slam.
Sans was panting by that point, but there was no use in stopping. He half wanted Mettaton's orgasmic voice screaming in his ear, or Muffet's screeching tone, but his earpiece had long since cracked mid-combat with a Duster.
"Come on, lazybones!" Frisk yelled from the other side of the room. "That door won't hold 'em forever. Papyrus is waiting for us."
Papyrus was Sans' younger brother - he was about six feet tall, despite being about Frisk's age, and impressively strong, though he was as soft as a marshmallow on the inside. He had an accent, much like Sans', but much stronger and mixed with another. He was extremely loud and tough, but melted like butter when confronted with anything cute - Sans had babysat for a friend a few months back and discovered that Papyrus' weakness was tiny hands with equally tiny fingers. Who would've guessed?
The taller one of the white-haired brothers was quite high in the runner business for his age - he was training under Undyne, the Runner Mistress, and was in charge of rooftop deliveries. He'd get to the pickup point alone, wait for the Transporters - Sans and Frisk - and then deliver it to whoever had ordered their services. If he was struck down or unable to finish his mission, the Transporters would take the delivery from him.
Frisk gripped at the rope around a large carrier case and tucked her feet over the thick plastic band, lifting herself up and offering a hand to Sans, who quickly covered it with his own pale one and scrambled up beside her. She clambered onto a large vent shaft and crept along it, peering out of the gridded window with chocolate-brown eyes.
"He's there." she said simply. "Looks bored."
"Of course he's... bored!" Sans sighed, after finally struggling onto the vent. "He's not one for patience. Can you get this thing open?"
"I think so."
She flipped onto her back and aimed her purple-and-blue doc martens to the window, kicking at it until it collapsed. One... two... three...
She sighed in relief as Papyrus strode over to her, his dark orange-brown eyes focused on her and Sans.
"YOU'D BETTER HAVE THE PACKAGE. I'M NOT WAITING FOR ANOTHER HOUR."
"Relax, bro." Sans smirked. "We've got it, yeah?" he held up the neatly-wrapped package, squeaking rather uncharacteristically as the taller brother snatched it from his hand.
"IT'S ABOUT TIME!" He smiled, before turning to Frisk. "AH, HELLO, FRISK! MAY I ASK HOW YOUR FIRST MISSION WENT?"
"I nearly became a cheese-wheel," she smiled, "but it was fun. Stupid Dusters barely left a scratch."
"I SHOULD HOPE NOT. TORIEL WOULD GO BALLISTIC." He laughed. "I SUPPOSE I'LL SEE YOU AROUND!"
"See ya later, bro!"
Papyrus waved and smiled a toothy smile, before leaping expertly off the rooftop and landing on a ledge below, not a scratch in sight.