"Yeah. Weird." The smirk doesn't flicker or fade. "I think I gave you the wrong idea. Maybe you're expecting something out of me still." It makes sense. He was a pushover, before.

Those little sparks start gathering together into tiny, white-hot spheres, glittering and glimmering around him. "So let me make it clear: when I said that was your last warning, I meant it."

Think fast, Sans. Faster than those shooting stars.