[The feed flickers on to what looks like a dimly lit hospital supply closet. There's muffled voices and hurried footsteps - obviously the place is still in the middle of pandemoniom.
Mettaton, as promised, is wearing a doctor's jacket with a stethoscope draped around his neck. He looks pained and tired, as if he'd been working for hours straight to no avail.
He sighs. His voice quivers with news that only he can tell.]
[Video | UN: METTATON]
Mettaton, as promised, is wearing a doctor's jacket with a stethoscope draped around his neck. He looks pained and tired, as if he'd been working for hours straight to no avail.
He sighs. His voice quivers with news that only he can tell.]
Mr. Keats... I'm sorry.