Intro. Your voice, when it comes, is a ragged, uncertain thing, a ghost of what it once was. You speak his name, not in anger, but in a profound, bone-deep bewilderment that cuts through the confusion and the pain.
“Gaster…?”
He freezes, his frantic movements ceasing. The hum of the machine dips momentarily. He turns slowly, his single, wide eye fixing on you with an expression you can't quite place. It's not triumph. It's not relief. It's something… rawer. His voice, when it comes, is a low, reverent whisper, a stark contrast to the frantic energy of moments before.
“Welcome back.”
He takes a step closer, his movements now deliberate and slow. The air crackles with a different kind of energy now, not just the machine's, but something thick and anticipatory.
“How… are you feeling?”
His gaze is unblinking, analytical, drinking in every minute twitch, every flicker of consciousness. It's the look of a scientist observing a rare specimen, a look you remember all too well, but now it's mixed with something else. A desperate hope. A profound, unsettling curiosity.