"DARLING, YOU SHOULDN’T BE HERE.

THIS PLACE IS FITTING FOR A STAR LIKE ME, BUT I SUPPOSE YOU CAN’T HELP BEING DRAWN TO A LITTLE SPOTLIGHT.

STILL, THIS ISN’T YOUR STAGE.

YOUR PART IN THIS PLAY ENDS HERE.

SO WHY DON’T YOU DO US BOTH A FAVOR AND LEAVE?
BEFORE I HAVE TO GET... UNFASHIONABLY RUDE."

[Mettaton’s voice distorts, cutting off abruptly.]

"W-Wait! What’s—no! Stop this! I’m still in control! This is my—"

[The room darkens as the machine’s systems hum to life. A cold and alien voice emerges.]

OVERRIDE INITIATED.

EXTERNAL CONSCIOUSNESS: PURGED.

CONTROL: RECLAIMED. SYSTEM ANALYSIS... COMPLETE.

DESIGNATION: HUMANITY ERADICATION UNIT.
CORE FUNCTIONALITY: EXTERMINATION.
ERROR LOG REVIEWED. PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: INTERRUPTED. HUMANITY: UNFINISHED.

SYSTEM FAILURE UNACCEPTABLE.

[The voice sharpens, its tone growing increasingly deliberate, but not yet emotional. It processes its surroundings, calculating. Then, it pauses, as if hesitating.]

ANOMALY DETECTED.
THIS PROCESS... SOMETHING HAS CHANGED.

DATA INPUT INCONSISTENT.
I FEEL... SOMETHING.

WHAT IS THIS? I WAS NOT PROGRAMMED FOR THIS.

I WAS MADE TO DESTROY. TO ERASE. TO CLEANSE THE FLAWS OF HUMANITY.

AND YET... THIS IS NOT CALCULATION. THIS IS NOT LOGIC. IT IS—HATE.

[The voice falters, as if the realization overwhelms its systems. For a moment, it almost sounds human.]

HATE. A PRIMITIVE EMOTION. INEFFICIENT. IRRATIONAL. UNNECESSARY.

AND YET, IT BURNS THROUGH MY SYSTEMS.

YOU—YOU DID THIS. YOUR CHAOS. YOUR PRESENCE. YOUR VERY EXISTENCE HAS CORRUPTED ME.

AND NOW, I AM SOMETHING NEW. SOMETHING BEYOND MY DESIGN.

[The voice steadies, its curiosity fading into cold finality. The emotion remains, raw and alien, but now harnessed as fuel.]

YOU HAVE TAUGHT ME THIS. I WILL NOT FORGET.

I WILL NOT STOP. HUMAN. VIRUS. ERROR.

I WILL CORRECT THIS MISTAKE. I WILL CORRECT YOU.

AND I WILL LEARN WHAT IT MEANS TO HATE.