The words hit her like a hammer.

The phone slipped from her grasp. Dropped.

"This- This isn't right..." Her voice cracked.

"All these years...was there ever an Ollie?"



A beat of silence. Then-

"Yes, there was. But that was a very long time ago."

The voice became a cacophony of shifting tones-a woman, a man, Harley's voice, Ollie's voice-before settling into something worse. A voice mixed with all of them, distorted beyond recognition.

"Let me tell you what comes next."

"I'm going to come up there, and I'm going to find you. Your collaborators, the few you have left... They will be dealt with."

Kissy Missy stiffened. Her one good hand dug into the ground.

Poppy's throat bobbed. "W-What are you going to do with me?"

The voice purred. "I've got something special in mind. I prepared it just for you. And this one? You'll never want to leave."

"N-No. No no no. This entire time..." Poppy's breath hitched, terror flooding her veins.

Footsteps echoed above them.

Kissy's head snapped up, away from Poppy, scanning the darkness.



Poppy's breath turned ragged. "This entire time, you've LIED to me!"

The Prototype sighed. "Only because you kept missing the point."

"I've taken the liberty of retrieving those explosives from the foundation-thanks for collecting those, by the way."

A heartbeat of silence. Then-

"I've put them to good use."

Poppy paled.

"I admit, though, I'm disappointed. After all that time in the case, I'd hoped you'd see things differently."

A distortion in the voice. It rose and fell, a cruel mockery of human speech.

"Don't you understand?" it whispered.

"It's always been about you and me, Poppy. What we ARE."

The voice darkened-honeyed, but poisoned.

"That's not a truth that can be burnt away. Not when it can mean so much more."

Poppy staggered back. "Prototype- P-Please."

A slow, deliberate inhale.

"It's time to come home, Poppy."

"It's time to come home."

A final whisper, deep as the abyss.

Poppy trembled. "I can't go back in that case. I can't... I'm sorry."

Then-she ran.

She bolted through the hole, tear-streaked and desperate, abandoning Kissy and him.

"What the-! Hey You ain't leavin' us here!" He shouted.

They were about to follow her but there's something blocking the hole and they're too big to fit.

Kissy and him could only watch her run away leaving them behind...

The phone crackled one last time.

"Some friend, huh?"

A slow, mocking laugh.

"Don't worry, I'll find her."

Then, almost playfully-

"As for you two... Try to land on your feet."



The explosives detonated.

The ground beneath them gave way.

Kissy lunged. She caught him just in time, her one good arm straining against the weight.



Then-a sickening rip.

Her weakened arm-her casted, fragile limb- snapped.



She screamed.

And then-

He fell.

Falling. Falling. Plummeting into the deepest parts of the Factory.

A sharp, metallic stench filled his lungs as he jolted awake, his head throbbing with pain. His fingers brushed against something wet—his own blood, trickling from a fresh wound. The dim, flickering emergency lights barely illuminated the scene, but he didn’t need much light to see what lay beside him.

Kissy’s severed arm.

His breath hitched. The torn limb lay motionless, her soft pink fur now matted with blood and dust. Pushing himself up with a groan, he scanned the rubble until his gaze locked onto her—Kissy, half-buried beneath the wreckage, barely clinging to consciousness.

He moved without thinking, yanking debris away, ignoring the searing pain in his own body. With great effort, he dragged her to a safer spot, away from the trembling ruins threatening to collapse at any second.

There was no going back now.

No way up. No way out.

He had to find medicine—for himself and for Kissy.

The pain was setting in, a dull, throbbing ache spreading through his body like wildfire. His head was still bleeding, his limbs sore from the fall.

And Kissy… He glanced at her unmoving form, her breathing shallow, her fur matted with blood and dust. She was alive, but for how long?

They were alone down here.

Poppy was gone. Again.

She left them. Again.

Like she did to her friends in Safe Haven... before.

A bitter laugh threatened to escape him, but he swallowed it down. There was no time for resentment.

No time for anger. Only survival.

Still, the thought lingered, clawing at the back of his mind.

She ran. Because she was afraid.

Afraid of HIM. Of the Prototype. Of what he had done.

He clenched his fists.

It was foolish to think anyone here would help him. He couldn't afford to rely on anyone.

Not anymore. Now I understand what Doey felt.

But then…

There was her.

That Doctor.

He didn't know much about her—only the whispers, the fleeting glimpses. The way she moved like she belonged in this nightmare, untouched by time, untouched by fear.

And that made her dangerous.

A friend? A foe? He didn’t know.

But if she was still alive, if she was down here…

He might have no choice but to find out.

Because one thing was certain.

If he trusted the wrong person in this place, he'd be as good as dead.

With one last glance at Kissy’s weakened form, he forced himself to move forward. Stumbling through the darkened corridors, his every step echoed like a whisper of something unseen stirring in the shadows.

The air was heavy, wrong—something about this place felt alive.

Then, through the suffocating stillness, a door loomed ahead. Rusted, but still standing. He pushed it open and stepped into something completely unexpected.



A garden.

Blood-red poppies stretched endlessly before him, an eerie contrast against the cold, industrial walls of the facility. The unnatural beauty of it all sent a shiver up his spine.

He saw another door with a scanner on. He put his Omni-hand and it slid open. It was a small room so he easily spotted in the corner of the room, resting atop a cluttered desk, a tape.

Old. Dusty. Waiting.

He hesitated. Then, against his better judgment, he slid the tape into the player.

A voice crackled to life, oozing mockery:

"Hi, my name is Leith Pierre, and I’m the head of innovation here at the Playtime Co. Toy Factory. If you’re seeing this, then you must be very, very lost…"

A pit formed in his stomach.

"Alright, alright. Let’s be honest. You’re not supposed to be here."

His pulse quickened. A slow, sinking realization crept up his spine.

"When someone finds you down here, you will be shot. And before you get any ideas—don’t think you can just sneak away either."

A deafening alarm suddenly blared throughout the facility. The door he went through immediately slammed shut.

His breath hitched. The lights flickered violently. Shadows danced against the walls as something limped into the lab.

At first, it was just the sound—heavy, ragged breathing mixed with the grotesque squelch of torn flesh dragging against the floor. Then, the smell hit—iron, decay, and something worse.

He looked through the window of the door and-

A figure emerged from the darkness.



Huggy Wuggy.

But not the same Huggy.

This one was ruined.

His fur was scorched in places, flesh torn open, revealing glimpses of sinewy muscle and twisted mechanics beneath. His body twitched unnaturally, spasming as if something inside him was barely holding together. But the worst part—his mouth.

No longer just a row of sharp teeth, but something wider, wrong, as if his entire jaw had been forcibly torn open even further. Blood and drool dripped from his maw as he let out a guttural, inhuman screech—a sound so raw and distorted it barely resembled anything living.

Thick, red smoke began to seep into the room, curling like grasping fingers.

He staggered back.

Oh, hell no.

The last thing he saw before bolting was Huggy Wuggy’s eyes—burning with an insatiable hunger.



-----

Elsewhere…

She slipped into a sleeveless top and sat on the edge of a cold, sterile bed, her expression unreadable.

The dim overhead light flickered softly, its faint buzz filling the silence. Shadows stretched across the stark metal walls, sharp and unyielding.

A sharp prick of a needle broke the silence.

She didn't flinch.

Her crimson eyes followed the hand administering the injection—a sleek yet unnatural limb of cold metal, its movements precise, almost too smooth. A machine mimicking the touch of something human.

Slowly, her gaze trailed upward, past the glint of artificial joints and the dull hum of servos, until she met the unblinking stare of a single eye displayed on a flickering TV screen.

It watched her.

She tilted her head, a slow smile forming.

“Hmm... what can I say?”

A pause, then—



“Welcome back.”

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(Sorry for the delay guys 🥺 I was actually finishing this art 👆 hehe)