BACK TO PRESENT....

Harley Sawyer stood in the silence of the chamber, his single glowing eye locked onto Yazmina's still form. The slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her breath was the only thing that confirmed she was still alive.

Seven years, and she hadn't aged a day.

She was here-right in front of him. But she wasn't his anymore.

His fingers twitched. His mechanical joints creaked slightly as he clenched his fist. He had spent so long clawing his way back to her, only to find her in the Prototype's grasp.

Not his. Never his.

And yet... had she ever been?

His own thoughts disgusted him. He wasn't a fool-he knew he had no right to claim her, no right to keep her.

And yet, the moment he first saw her, he knew.

Something about Yazmina was different.

He hadn't understood it then.

He barely understood it now.

Harley Sawyer was not a man who loved. He was never taught how. Affection, attachment, compassion-those were foreign concepts to him. Emotions were tools. Feelings were weaknesses. Love? Love was nothing more than chemical reactions in the brain, a trick of biology.

At least, that's what he always thought.

Then why had he gone to such lengths to keep her? Why had he risked everything-his own survival, his own freedom-just to get her away from Pierre?

The truth was simple.

He didn't want to lose her.

Not to Pierre.

Not to the rebellion.

Not to the Prototype.

Not to anyone.

The toys had rebelled. Everything was spiraling into chaos, and yet, his only concern had been Yazmina. He had considered locking her away in a room, somewhere she could never leave.

He had thought of preserving her body, ensuring she would never change, never age, never slip from his grasp. He had been willing to do anything-anything-to make sure she stayed in this factory.

Because if she left...

He didn't know what he would do.

Harley exhaled sharply, his metal fingers pressing clenching tightly. Pathetic. How could he, of all people, become so obsessed? So irrational?

And yet, even knowing that, even recognizing the sickness in his own mind, he couldn't stop it.

He had gone to Playcare that day with one goal: to take Yazmina back. To claim what was his.

But when he got there-

She was gone.

Gone.

Harley had spent his life being in control. He had always been the one calling the shots, the one pulling the strings.

But that day, he had felt something he had not experienced in a long, long time.

Disbelief.

For a moment, he had simply stood there, staring at the empty space where she should have been. The shattered remnants of Playcare stretched out around him, smoke and dust lingering in the air.

She was here. She had to be here.

But she wasn't.

Someone had taken her.

Then Catnap had spoken.

"You already know who."

The Prototype.

Harley's stomach had twisted, something sharp and venomous curling in his gut. It was impossible-unthinkable-that the Prototype, a being of pure, merciless hunger, had chosen to take her.

What did it want with her?

What was its purpose?

He had spent years studying it from a distance, monitoring its influence, its strange methods of survival. The Prototype had always been watching, learning, waiting. But never once had it shown interest in a single person.

Not like this.

And that realization had enraged him.

Because she was supposed to be his.

Harley's screen flickered with static. He exhaled slowly, pressing his fingers against his temples. That thought-that disgusting thought-was still there, crawling beneath his circuits like a virus.

He didn't understand what he felt for Yazmina.

It wasn't something he could explain.

It wasn't something he had ever needed to name.

All he knew was that it was his.

And it had been taken from him.

He had spent so long looking for her. He had made a deal with the Prototype, had seen what true power looked like.

And in the end, he still couldn't have her.

Harley's breathing slowed. His single glowing eye fixated on Yazmina's still form once more.

Even now, she lay there, unchanging.

Sleeping, waiting, untouched by time.

He had tried to control his emotions before.

He had tried to rationalize it, tried to force himself to believe it was something else.

But deep down, he knew the truth.

It wasn't just obsession.

It wasn't just control.

It was something far, far worse.

And for the first time in his life, Harley Sawyer felt afraid of what it might mean.

---- Seven years.

Seven years of silence.

Seven years of unanswered questions.

The blackened veins still traced along her skin, stark against her porcelain complexion-a constant reminder that something had changed inside her. Something unnatural. Something irreversible. Her blood, once a deep crimson, had turned violet.

That was part of the deal.

Harley exhaled, static briefly distorting the screen of his TV head. He had agreed to study her-to uncover exactly what had happened to her.

But the Prototype had never explained.

It never told him why her body remained untouched by time. It never told him how she continued to breathe despite the unnatural state of her blood.

He had demanded answers.

The Prototype had only laughed.

"Talk or don't. Fight or give in."

His own words, thrown back at him like a mockery. A threat again and again.

It knew.

It knew what was inside her.

And it had never told him.

That was what unsettled him the most.

He had his suspicions.

Leith Pierre had fired something at her that day-a vial, shattering on impact. A mysterious concoction that Yazmina created. But it had done something to her. It had altered her body, changed her blood, left her in this state between life and death.

And now, whatever was inside her was still there.

Buried. Waiting.

The Prototype had ensured her preservation, keeping her locked away, wrapped in its cables like chains. It had never let Harley remove her from the facility, never allowed her to leave its sight.

Why?

He had demanded to know.

The Prototype had only watched.

Waiting.

The deal had been simple: He would study her. He would find the truth.

And in return, he would be allowed to live.

Because Harley knew-if he had refused, the Prototype would have torn him apart.

He was only alive because he was useful.

But now, as he stared at Yazmina's still form, the weight of the Prototype's unseen presence pressing down on him...

He wondered if he had truly gained anything at all.

Harley turned sharply, his coat sweeping behind him as his metal feet clanked against the cold floor.

He didn't notice.

Didn't see.

As the door slid shut behind him, the room was silent.

For a moment.

Then-

A twitch.

The faintest movement.

One of Yazmina's fingers curled slightly, barely perceptible against the sheets.

And then-her breath hitched.

Her eyes snapped open.

Glowing Red.

Deep, burning red.

Like rubies.

Like blood.