With a sharp hiss, the cable car began to slow.

Through the front glass, Playcare came into view.

A massive, dimly lit chamber stretched out before her. Once, it must have been a place meant for children—she could still see remnants of murals on the far walls, faded depictions of cheerful toys holding hands. But the years had not been kind. The paint was cracked and peeling, the floor coated in grime and dust.

And the silence… it was suffocating.

The cable car stopped. The doors slid open.

Nothing moved.

Yazmina exhaled and pushed herself up. Every step felt heavier than the last, her body protesting, the infection twisting through her veins. But she forced herself forward, stepping onto the platform.

Her fingers brushed against the scorpion in her pocket. It had stopped moving.

A bad sign.

The air here felt wrong.

She adjusted her grip on the scissors and moved forward.

Yazmina stepped forward, her heels echoing against the filthy tile. The air was stale—thick with dust, old metal, and something else. Something rotten.

Then she saw them.

The bodies.

Scattered across the floor, slumped against walls, sprawled over desks—Playtime Co. staff, frozen in their final moments. Some had been torn apart, deep gashes raking through their torsos. Others had burn marks, their flesh blackened as if something had seared straight through them.

One corpse sat against a bloodstained reception desk, a clipboard still clutched in stiff fingers. Its head lolled to the side, glassy eyes staring at nothing.

Yazmina swallowed hard. This wasn’t a battle. This was a massacre.

But… something was missing.

Her gaze darted around the room. Among all the bodies, not a single one belonged to a child.

Her stomach twisted. They were supposed to be here. If they had died, she would see them.

Unless—

Yazmina turned sharply, forcing herself toward the hallway ahead. A faded sign dangled from a bent frame. "Home Sweet Home."

She pushed the door open.

Inside, rows of small beds lined the walls—each one neatly made, tiny blankets and pillows still in place. Some beds had stuffed toys resting against them, undisturbed. Children’s drawings decorated the walls, faded and curling at the edges.

It was untouched. Preserved.

The children had been here. But now, they were gone.

Her breath came fast. Something took them.

And then—

BOOM.

The walls shuddered. The floor trembled beneath her feet.

An explosion. Somewhere close.

Yazmina spun toward the sound, eyes narrowing. Smoke was already starting to creep in from the far hallway.

She was too late.

She started to take a step—

A low, deep purring filled the air.

Yazmina froze.

From the shadows, a figure emerged.

Catnap.

The massive feline loomed in the dim light, his sleek purple body moving unnaturally silent against the debris-strewn floor. His eyes gleamed, slitted pupils dilating as they locked onto her. His tail flicked, slow and deliberate.

Yazmina took an instinctive step back.

The world swirled.

Her vision twisted, dark edges creeping in. A sharp, searing pain shot through her wounds. The scorpion in her pocket stirred, agitated.

She clenched her teeth. Not now.

Her grip on the scissors tightened, but her body was failing her. The infection was spreading too fast. Her limbs felt heavy, her heartbeat erratic. She knew—she wouldn’t win this fight.

But her will?

Unyielding.

She forced herself to stand her ground. Even if she had to crawl, bite, rip her way through, she would not die here.

But then—

Catnap didn’t attack.

He simply stood there, watching. His tail flicked again, ears twitching at the distant explosion.

His claws—stained with the blood of Playcare’s staff—remained sheathed.

Yazmina’s breath came fast, ragged. He had slaughtered them. Without hesitation, without mercy.

And yet, now, he made no move toward her.

Why?

Her vision wavered again, her body swaying. She tried to step forward, but her knees buckled.

She caught herself against the bedpost.

Catnap watched. Unblinking.

Then—

He took a single step forward.

Not aggressive. Not threatening.

Just… observing.

Yazmina swallowed hard.

What was he waiting for?

Yazmina's vision blurred. Her pulse pounded in her ears, her limbs like lead.

She tried to take another step—but her body gave out.

The world tilted. She was falling.

But before she hit the ground—

A blur of black and red moved.

In an instant, Catnap was there.

Rather than letting her crash onto the hard floor, he twisted his body, pressing himself beneath her, taking the full impact.

Yazmina collapsed against his soft yet powerful frame. His fur smelled faintly of dust and old fabric, but there was warmth beneath it—an unnatural warmth.

A deep, rumbling purr vibrated through his chest.

He had cushioned her fall. Protected her?

Her dazed mind barely processed it, but she knew one thing for certain—

Catnap could have let her hit the ground.

Could have let her break.

But he didn’t.

Her breath hitched. Darkness crept in at the edges of her vision.

The last thing she felt before the world went black—

Was Catnap holding her close.

--- The air grew colder.

From the darkness above, something moved.

A mechanical hand—thin, elongated, its fingers as sharp as needles—descended in eerie silence.

It moved with unsettling precision, like a predator drawn to blood.

The moment it neared, Catnap’s fur bristled. His ears flattened, his tail flicking once in agitation. A low, uncertain growl rumbled from his throat.

But he did not attack.

He couldn’t.

Instead, he bowed his head slightly, his muscles tense but unmoving. He was opposed to this. He didn’t want it to take her.

But—he didn’t stop it.

He couldn’t.

His reverence for the one controlling the hand outweighed his hesitation.

The mechanical fingers hovered over Yazmina’s unconscious form, feeling the warmth of her blood.

Then, slowly, they curled around her.

The grip was firm—yet unsettlingly gentle.

The hand lifted her effortlessly, her limp body hanging in its grasp. It was massive—each finger nearly half the size of her torso.

Catnap watched as she was carried away.

Higher.

Deeper.

Through the tangled wreckage of Playcare, above the bloodied ruins, past the remnants of forgotten horrors.

To the factory’s unseen heights.

Catnap’s gaze followed her ascent, ears flicking at the distant creaks of machinery.

He did not move to stop it.

Did not resist.

And through it all—

Yazmina remained unconscious but still clutching her scissors tightly.