He came across a block of four offices, each one eerily silent, their doors slightly ajar as if waiting for someone—or something—to enter.

Above one of the locked doors, a metal emblem was mounted, its intricate design unmistakably Playtime Co. But something was missing. At the center of the emblem, there was a slot—empty.

"I need to find whatever fits in there."

Carefully, he moved toward the back right-hand office. The air inside was stale, thick with dust and the faint scent of rusted metal. Papers were scattered across the floor, and the dim glow of a desk lamp flickered weakly.

Then, amidst the clutter, something gleamed.

A circular metal coin, etched with the Playtime Co. logo.

"This has to be it."

Clutching the coin, he retraced his steps and pressed it into the empty slot.

A sharp chime rang through the air.

With a slow, mechanical creak, the door swung open.

The air inside was thick, stale.



This was the Prison Warden’s Office—the last place someone in charge might have sat before everything collapsed. Papers were scattered across the desk, and dust coated everything in a fine layer, undisturbed for years.



His eyes landed on a Yellow VHS tape sitting on the desk.

"Looks important."

Grabbing it, he slid it into the VHS player on the right-hand side of the room.

The screen flickered to life, revealing a grainy, distorted feed.

Then— chaos.

[VHS RECORDING]

(Running footsteps. Huggy Wuggy’s screeches. Yarnaby’s guttural snarls. Several alarms blare in the background.)

Warden (Panicked): "Oh god, no no no no no—" (A door slams shut)

Doctor (Calmly): "Warden?"

Warden (Breathing heavily): "Doctor! Doctor, what's going on?! What's happening, it's—"

Doctor: "Yes. Yes, I can hear it. They've staged quite the rebellion. (Chuckles) Remarkable, 1006."

Warden: "How could this happen?! There were failsafes! Security measures! It's... impossible!"

Doctor: "Personal agendas have long been the downfall of this company. Is it unreasonable to believe there were conspirators? Playtime is filled with vipers and backstabbers."

Warden: "But... without executive access—Leith. Stella. Eddie. Only the four of us have that kind of clearance."

Doctor: "Does any of that matter now? It’s your life you have to protect. You have executive access."

Warden (Desperate): "For all the good that does me! One door at a time won't get me to the exit—not with those THINGS everywhere. You didn't see what I saw! You didn't see the trail of limbs down the hall—didn't hear the things eating. The... the wet crunches of bones—God, I—"

Doctor (Unfazed): "There is something you can do, Warden. I can help you."

Warden (Faltering): "How? You’re stuck in there. You can’t—"

Doctor (Voice dripping with amusement): "My body is here, sure. But my mind…"

Warden: "...What?"

Doctor: "The Omni-Hand. If you give it to me, I can get you anywhere. I’ll have control over everything. I can shut some doors, open others. I can make you a pathway right to the exit."

Warden (Uncertain): "I don’t... I don’t know..."

Doctor (More forceful): "If you want to wait and get torn to pieces, that’s your prerogative. But look at your options, Warden. What choice gets you out of here alive?"

Warden (Whispering): "...I'm giving you the tool. Just get me out of here. Please."

Doctor (Smoothly): "Of course. You’ve made a smart decision, Warden. I promise I’ll get you out of here... safe and sound."

(The tape cuts out with a sharp static hiss.)

---

He exhaled.

That tape wasn’t good.

That's the voice who was speaking to him on the speaker this whole time.

If what the Warden said was true—if he had granted this someone or something full control over the prison's security systems—then he was walking into something far worse than just Nightmare Critters.

Shoving those thoughts aside, he stepped back into the reception area.

Something was different.

One of the gated doorways had opened.

Cautiously, he entered.

The dimly-lit corridor stretched before him, cold and eerily silent.

But as he moved forward, a metallic scent seeped into his lungs.

Something was wrong.

A few more steps in, he saw it—



Blood. Everywhere.

It stained the walls in erratic streaks, dried into dark, jagged smears, as if desperate hands had clawed against them in their final moments. The floor was no better—a gruesome tapestry of death, littered with the skeletal remains of those who once walked these halls

Skeletons.

Dozens of them.

He staggered back, his breath catching in his throat. His gut churned.

The Playtime Co. uniforms still clung to some of the corpses, tattered and stiff with age.

Some were twisted at unnatural angles, others half-devoured, their bones gnawed clean. Trails of blood, now faded to a rusted brown, led deeper into the corridor—a path of the damned.

His knees nearly buckled.

Their mouths frozen in silent screams. Others were scattered in pieces, as if they had been ripped apart.

A slaughter.

A massacre so absolute that time itself had preserved the horror.

"The Hour of Joy… This is where they were taken."

The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

He took a step forward. Bones crunched under his boot.

His hands curled into fists.

How many people had worked here?

How many had trusted Playtime Co. to keep them safe?

To pay their bills. Feed their families. Give them a future.

The innocents?

How many had died screaming, abandoned in the dark?

The realization struck like a hammer to his chest. These people hadn’t just died here. They had been dragged. Hunted. Torn apart.



A graveyard of the forgotten.

His fingers shook as he wiped at his face, but the horror remained. It was carved into the walls, soaked into the floors, woven into the very air he breathed.

He swallowed hard, forcing his feet forward. He had to keep moving.

He forced himself to look ahead.



Something glinted in the bony grip of a corpse slumped against the wall.

A key card.

"I’m sorry."

His voice was barely a whisper, but it felt necessary. The only thing he could offer to those who had suffered before him.

With trembling fingers, he took the key card and backed away.

He needed to get out.

He turned toward the exit, but just before stepping through the door, he stole one last glance at the carnage behind him.

A deep breath. A whispered prayer.

Then he left, sealing the horror behind him.

But as he walked back to the reception desk, the heavy weight in his chest remained.

He slid the key card into the machine.



A loud click echoed. One of the gated doors in front of him creaked open. Without a second thought, he stepped inside. He didn't notice the glitching eye on one of the TV screens mounted just above the reception desk.

He made his way to the far end of the corridor, only to find himself back on the upper level of the Prison Cells.



Suddenly, alarms blared throughout the facility.

Glancing down, he saw the pipes that were meant to divert the Red Smoke now spilling its toxic contents.

“Shit!” he muttered. One of the pipe's wheels was missing. Instinctively, he scrambled to search for it. He found the wheel quickly, but the ever-encroaching Red Smoke already made his head spin.



“No! I don’t want to faint and relive those nightmares!” he thought, panic flaring.

Even as his vision blurred, he forced himself to plug and secure the missing wheel back into place.



The Red Smoke was highly flammable, and this fix was critical. Fortunately, he managed to stop the spill.

Relief was short-lived. Ahead, another path beckoned. He followed it to an office with a large glass window.



Through the window, he saw the Red Smoke already filling the entire room. The pressure from the trapped gases was taking its toll—the glass was beginning to crack.

“Damn it!” he cursed as the window on the side shattered.

There was no choice now—he had to pass through. Fortunately, while the Red Smoke was dangerous, it was less dense on the other side. Summoning every ounce of courage, he ran and emerged into an observation room lined with cells.

Inside, broken monitors flickered amidst splashes of dried blood. Shards of glass crunched underfoot as he stepped carefully.

In one cell, chains lay scattered on the floor.



Near them, a note beckoned from the debris.

He paused, heart pounding, and reached down to pick it up—every creak of the facility echoing his rising dread.