The lights seem particularly potent without glass obscuring them anymore; it seems no one bothered to replace the panes after Sans's last visit, though the table has been tipped back up properly, and the glass shards are nowhere to be seen.

Mr. Mankato's eyes rotate around, briefly looking at Sans before continuing their REM-like movement.

"You sssseem different," the interlaced voices say, still stacked up like three people are talking all at once. Still hissing and eerie.