"Holy shit…" he muttered, chest still heaving.

"That thing’s about to turn into a roasted sock."

And for one terrifying second—

He thought it was over.

Then.

The shadows moved.

A long, sleek appendage slithered from the darkness.

Not Yarnaby’s.

Something else.

A scorpion tail.

That monster tail who dragged Catnap away.

It lashed forward and untangled Yarnaby in a single, effortless motion. Then brought it back to the catwalks.

Yarnaby tensed.

His entire body trembled.

Because he could feel it.

This thing—whatever it belonged to—

Was stronger.

Yarnaby froze, instinct screaming at him to run.

But before the ex-employee could even comprehend what was happening—

A voice echoed from the abyss.

The voice wasn’t the usual cold, mechanical tone of Harley Sawyer.

It was… a woman.

And she sounded amused.

“You know, if you hung there for just a minute longer, you’d be a perfectly roasted lion, Yarnaby.”

The words slid through the air like silk, carrying a strange, almost teasing edge.

And then—

She stepped into view.

Yarnaby froze.

The monstrous predator that had hunted him tirelessly moments ago—was now standing there, like practically wagging his tail even though it doesn't have a tail.

Like a loyal dog.

And the reason?

The woman standing in the shadows.

She was tall, human in shape, but something about her felt off.



Her face was obscured by the shadows of her hood, but in the dim glow of the furnaces, something gleamed from underneath.

A red glint.

Her eyes.

And the way Yarnaby was looking at her—not with hunger, not with rage—

But with recognition.

Like he knew her.

Like he feared her.

Like he respected her.

The ex-employee squinted, trying to get a better look at her features.

She might have looked human—

But she wasn’t.

Yarnaby let out a low, guttural sound.

A noise that was neither aggressive nor submissive.

More like… a report.

The woman tilted her head.

“…Oh?”

Her voice was light, almost playful.

Like she’d just been told something interesting.

The ex-employee felt his blood run cold.

Because whatever this was?

It wasn’t just some random encounter.

She had been watching.

She had been waiting.

And now?

She was here.

He swallowed dryly.

"...Okay. I definitely should’ve taken my chances with the roasted sock."

His muscles tensed, every instinct screaming at him to run or fight—but neither seemed like a good option.

If that thing—whoever, whatever she was—wanted him dead, she wouldn’t need to wait.

She could have done it already.

Still, he braced himself, ready for an attack at any second.

But the woman?

She just stood there. Watching.

Then, in a voice as smooth as silk, she spoke.

"You're quite good at surviving. Keep it up…since I don't want you dead, not yet" She said amusedly.

And just like that—she vanished into the shadows.

Yarnaby turned to follow her, but before leaving, he let out a low, menacing growl, his glowing eyes locked onto the ex-employee.

A warning.

A silent message:

"Stay away."

Then, without another sound, it disappeared after her.

Leaving the ex-employee alone in the dim glow of the furnace.

His heart hammered in his chest.

"...Okay. Not ominous at all."

He moved deeper into the cave, boots crunching against the frost-covered floor, breath visible in the air. The dim glow of emergency lights flickered along the rocky walls, barely cutting through the darkness. Then, finally—

Doey.

The living dough-boy perked up at the sight of him, his wide, beady eyes lighting up with relief.



"Oh! It's you! Is the Doctor...?" A brief, hopeful pause—then his shoulders sagged. "No, don't suppose he is then... I've been here gathering parts for the generator. LOTS of—"



A sudden CRACK echoed through the cavern. A pipe above burst open, spewing liquid nitrogen.

"DOEY, MOVE!"



Too late.

The supercooled vapor engulfed him instantly, turning his soft, pliable form into a rigid, frosty statue. His arms were frozen mid-gesture, his face locked in an expression of shock and pain.



"Shit, shit, shit!" He scanned the area frantically, spotting a valve overhead. Without hesitation, he grabbed onto a loose pipe, swung himself up, and yanked it hard. The nitrogen flow redirected, hissing violently as it dispersed into another channel.

Doey gasped, his doughy body rapidly thawing, collapsing onto the ground in agony.



"Hurts... hurts hurts hurts hurts...!" He shivered, gripping his arms. "He's made it impossible for me to get around here. Traps like this are everywhere! It's the cold that hurts. The big mean Doctor knows that. It's okay. You're okay. It's all okay..."

He let out a slow breath. "Yeah. Totally okay. Just another normal day dodging insta-freeze death traps." But the way he assures himself is like talking to someone else.

Still, he wasn't about to sit around waiting for the next pipe to burst again.

He followed the main pipeline, tracing the source of the nitrogen leak. The deeper he went, the worse it got. Cold fog rolled across the floor, patches of frozen flesh and shattered toy parts littered the ground—past victims caught in the Doctor’s elaborate maze.

Then—

A speaker crackled to life above.

A slow, deliberate breath.

"Ah, and here you are. Just as I expected. It appears you are every bit what the Prototype fears. And to think Playtime had someone of such rare quality, and never noticed. Funny."

The ex-employee scowled, continuing to move.

"Yeah, well, I was a little too busy mopping up blood and trying not to die for employee of the month."

The Doctor’s voice hummed, intrigued.

"I can't say I remember seeing your face before. But I’m curious—why come back? It can't be that a vague letter was your only reason. Was there someone you loved here? Someone you lost? Was it the pain of not knowing for sure that brought you back?"

He stopped at a junction, staring at the glistening ice-covered wires ahead. He'd have to reroute power through them to open the next security door.

"Oh, yeah, totally. I just thought, ‘Hey, what’s the one place more likely to kill me than my rent payments?’ and here we are.”

The wires flickered as he worked, rerouting power.

"The experiments killed everyone, including whoever you came back for. You know that by now, yes? Poppy's sold you her story, of course. Innocence is bliss. And she is OH so innocent."

He grit his teeth, not dignifying that with a response.

"Did she tell you her part in the Hour of Joy? That she knew it was coming? Or did she leave out that crucial detail?"

His hands froze for a second.

Poppy... knew?

The Doctor chuckled at the silence.

"Yes, that wouldn't surprise me. Has she not strung you along, betrayed you, and told you only what you needed to know to do exactly what she asked? You've seen what they do to each other. All they want is violence. Look around, evidence of it is everywhere. Once they had choice, once they were ‘free,’ THIS was their creation."

He clenched his fists.

"That’s rich, coming from the psychopath who turned them into this in the first place."

The door clicked open.

He stepped inside.

The lab was colder than anywhere else. Frost clung to the glass tubes lining the walls, each one containing something that made his stomach turn.



Lungs. Preserved, beating, functioning.

The second he stepped closer—realization hit like a brick wall.

"Oh. Ohhh, this is your freakin' LIFE SUPPORT, isn't it?"

A slow smirk crept onto his face.

"You know, I was wondering how a guy like you who was hated by everyone for all these years was still breathing.....

But now I get it—you’re running on spare parts.”

A sharp hiss echoed through the speakers.

He didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the liquid nitrogen valve, aimed at the lungs, and turned it on.

The tubes cracked. Frost crawled over the surface. And just as the organ started to shut down—

The Doctor COUGHED.

A sharp, ragged sound over the speaker.

"You realize the futility of this, don't you? Meat rots. Loses function. It's replaceable as anything else. You’re accomplishing nothing."

"Sure, sure. You just keep telling yourself that while you sound like a chain-smoker on life support."

He moved forward, grabbing a gas mask before heading into the next chamber.