"Damn it! Why did Miss Delight have to destroy the generator?" while facepalming himself.

"I thought I was off the hook—no more power to restore, no more monster toys to deal with! But NO, now I have to go find another power source, which means even more nightmare waiting for me in the dark.

This just keeps getting better and better..."

But The Hour of Joy? he wondered. He had no idea what it meant, but something about it felt...

Important.

"So...., Miss Delight went crazy, ate the other teachers, and then found out Catnap had locked them all inside the school. They made some kind of deal eventually… but who the hell was HIM?" he muttered under his breath.

The more he uncovered, the less he liked what he was hearing.

As he moved forward, his eyes landed on a familiar cutout standing in the dimly lit hallway—Hoppy Hopscotch.

Beside it, propped up against the wall, was something that caught his attention: another GrabPack hand.

This one was bright orange.



Curious, he picked it up and examined it.

As soon as he attached it, the mechanism hummed to life, the new hand feeling lighter yet more powerful.



He aimed at the wall and a small, controlled burst of fire shot forward.

Whoa.

The Flare Hand, sometimes referred to as the Orange Hand, was unlike any he had used before. It functioned like a built-in flare gun, capable of shooting controlled bursts of fire.

He could already tell it would be useful.

However, it had its limits. The hand could only hold a maximum of five flares at a time, reloading automatically on a short timer.

He flexed his fingers, testing the grip.

"Okay," he said, exhaling. "This might actually come in handy."

He stepped onto a creaking bridge that led to a heavy door crowned with an “RESTRICTED ACCESS” sign.



Expecting freedom, he pushed the door open—only to find himself inside what looked more like a natural cave than an exit.



Stalactites and stalagmites jutted from the ceiling and floor, and the darkness was broken only by the flicker of torches strategically placed in shadowed corners.

Despite the ancient rock formations, industrial walkways and metal structures hinted that this cave was under construction or repurposed, a strange blend of nature and machinery.

What the hell is this place? he thought, his mind racing as he stepped into the dimly lit space.

The air was cool and musty, and every step echoed off the stone and metal.



Determined to find a way out, he began to fix the electric poles along the corridor, connecting them carefully.

Sparks danced briefly as he restored power, and he scanned the area for an exit.

At last, he saw a door ahead—a solid barrier that promised passage. He moved onto an industrial catwalk that stretched over the cavern floor.

As he walked, his eyes wandered to the left and down to a secluded corner, where something unusual caught his attention.

There, partially hidden by shadows, was a small shrine. It looked out of place amid the cold, functional environment—a relic of worship or remembrance in this forgotten underworld.

A shrine? Here? he wondered. Before he could examine it further, he noticed movement.

Out of the gloom, Catnap emerged, striding deliberately toward the shrine.

Its massive, purple form halted before it, and it slowly raised its two front legs—limbs that now resembled arms—almost as if in reverence.



The creature’s posture, the slow, deliberate spread of its limbs, sent a shiver down his spine.

Is it... worshiping? he thought, astonished by the surreal scene.

Curiosity gnawed at him, and without much thought, he jumped down from the catwalk for a closer look.



But in an instant, Catnap vanished into the darkness, leaving nothing but an echo of its presence.



He stared at the shrine closely and was shocked, Is that Pj? So he's dead?? Oh my!

Shaking off the unsettling encounter, he continued along the catwalk until he reached a large red door marked

“PLAYHOUSE RESTRICTED ACCESS.”



He paused for a moment, his heart hammering as he tried to steady his racing thoughts. Every step in this labyrinth felt like a test of his sanity.

"I’ve seen too many nightmares come true here." he mused quietly.

"Now I have to open this door and find out what lies beyond. But can I really trust my own eyes in this place?"

With a deep breath, he reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he pressed against the cold metal of the door.

The door groaned open, and he stepped forward, ready to confront whatever awaited him on the other side.



It was so dark, he could barely see a foot in front of him. The air was thick with the scent of dust and aged plastic, like an old, abandoned daycare.

He knew he had to keep moving—he still needed to restore power for the Gas Production Zone.

As he stepped forward, faintly colored shapes began to take form in the dimness. The interior of the Playhouse resembled a twisted playground, with walls built from oversized, colorful bricks and tunnels winding like a maze.

It should’ve been inviting—playful, even—but instead, the silence made it eerie. He could feel something watching.

His footsteps were unnervingly loud against the rubberized flooring as he ventured deeper. His eyes darted around, scanning the area.

On both sides of the path were multiple holes—each just big enough for something small to crawl through.

A skittering sound scraped through the air.

His body tensed. From one of the holes, something emerged.

A small, round, fuzzy creature with an enormous, plastered-on grin stared up at him with dead, beady eyes.



A Smiling Critter.

At first glance, it was almost...cute. But the way it's moving and how its mouth stayed open—revealing not a single tooth, just a mouth that's hollow but—he knew better.

"Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me." He took a slow step back, but the thing suddenly lunged forward, scampering toward him with unsettling, jittery movements.

"Whoa—nope, nope, NOPE!" He yelped, barely jumping out of its reach. He could hear its wide opened mouth snapping shut right where his ankle had been.

He spun on his heel and sprinted toward another tunnel, hoping to lose it. But as soon as he turned the corner, another noise pricked his ears.

A second set of scuttling footsteps.

Then a third.

Then a fourth.

A sinking realization hit him.

Oh, it’s not alone.

Without thinking, he raised his newly acquired Flare Hand and fired blindly into one of the dark holes. The flare burst to life, momentarily illuminating the tunnel.

His breath caught in his throat.

Behind him—dozens of Smiling Critters or now called the Ruined Critters were pouring out of the holes like roaches, their wide grins never fading.



“Shooks—NOPE, ABSOLUTELY NOT!” He shot flares wildly, hitting several of them, making them screech and scurry back into the darkness.

But more kept coming.

One lunged at him from the left, nearly took a bite into his arm. He barely twisted out of the way in time. “OH, HELL NO—!” He fired again, sending it scrambling back into the nearest hole.

One thing that made them even creepier was their giggles.

There was a hint of children's voices in them, but they were distorted—shifting unpredictably from high-pitched laughter to something deeper, more inhuman.

His heart pounded.

He needed to get out.

Fast.

Slamming the button in the center, he watched as the wires connected with a spark.

The warped giggles of those ruined critters trailed behind him, echoing through the darkened halls.

With one final flare shot, he blasted open a path and bolted toward the exit, hoping to outrun whatever else lurked in the shadows.

But as he stumbled forward, he found himself standing at the edge of a swimming pool—filled with rubber duckies.



Confused, he turned a corner and shoved open another door—only to freeze in place.



Really? Rows of jail cells? Inside the Playhouse?

That was more unsettling.

Very disturbing.