Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Drip...

Drip...

The sound of droplets hitting the floor rumbled loudly on his sensitive ears, a wheezing cough escaped past his lips. 

DogDay looked upwards from his curled position on the cold tiles of the filthy cell, eyes narrowed as he adjusted to the dim light bathing the room. With a groan, he thrust himself into a sitting position, regretting it seconds later when a wave of nausea flooded his senses. 

Had he eaten, he was sure he'd found himself in a delicate situation.

After what felt like hours of unbearable torment, DogDay breathed in a mouthful of air, staring numbly up ahead at what had become his 'new' norm. The same ravaged walls; snuffed out of any sort of colorful shade. The slowly fainting lights. The putrid smell of blood plastered everywhere. The sharp, thick bars that he'd tried to screw times ago, albeit, that had only worked to stir up attention on himself. 

Attention from those vile monsters.

They monitored his every movement, and despite them not being in sight, DogDay could feel their joyful giggles of madness through the pipes. Had it not been for that thing halting any attack on him... He'd be nothing more than a piece of meat and bones crumpled — served on the floor for all to enjoy. 

Just the thought of feeling what used to be tiny versions of himself and his friends ate away at his skin terrified him. 

The same way most of his friend's cadavers vanished little by little, leaving behind only their signature pendants. 

DogDay heaved a sigh and shook his head. There was no use in reminiscing on the past. He was the last of the Smiling Critters. 

And all because of him.

All for his God.

"The Prototype will save us."

CatNap's hushed, rasp of a voice still lingered in the depths of DogDay's mind like a mantra. The cat had never been much of the talkative part like he was, preferring to remain aside from the rest of the Critters. Perhaps it was the fact that CatNap spent most of his time locked in a cell that made him skittish about befriending others. Though, most of the time when DogDay had tried to somewhat welcome the feline into a warm environment — the latter would have rather lay afar watching. His severe gaze had always unnerved his friends, they'd often spoken in hurried, soft mumbling about CatNap's intimidating form, questioning why the cat was two heads taller than them. 

Despite CatNap rarely communicating, solely to share his proclaimed phrase of a 'God', DogDay was fairly sure the feline understood whenever they spoke about him. If the tilt of his head, ears perking up, and tail swinging nervously behind him was any sort of affirmation. 

DogDay had liked to think at that time that CatNap just required a bit more time to trust and feel loose in their presence. That maybe all he needed was a friend to help him cope. He hadn't thought twice to be the one to help him build friendships, especially since the cat remained locked more than he could count on. Occasionally, he would drag one of his friends to come to visit CatNap — this being CraftyCorn, who had taken a fondness for drawing CatNap whenever he was in his sleeping position. 

He'd be lying if he said that CatNap didn't appreciate the attention given. 

It made DogDay proud as their leader, he wished nothing more than for his friends to be getting along with their new addition, even if said 'addition' was a bit more on the shy side of forming relations. But that was DogDay's job as their leader. He was meant to help all of his friends in any way he could. 

Oh, how wrong he was. 

Of course, CatNap wasn't meant to be trusted. But leave it to DogDay to have faith in others so blindly. Perhaps the signs were obvious enough that the cat hid more than what could fit, his friends wouldn't be so quick to judge the feline otherwise, perhaps if DogDay had never gone off to search for the cat at the hour of the onslaught... none of his friends would have spiraled into hysteria. 

"They all died. I tried to save them."

That's what CatNap had told him, alas, the expression and tone the cat conveyed was that of calmness, not a single hint of sorrow spilled from his lips. DogDay did not believe him for a second. He had thrown him in a cell, devoid of any information. Why would he believe someone who had betrayed him — his friends all because a 'God' set him free and saved him from experimentation. 

If it wasn't enough, the cat had the gall to come spew nonsense at his cell, claiming there was no place for heretics, and that he'd remain apprehended until he was in favor of whatever maniacal doctrine The Prototype uttered. Their dragged bickering would eventually result in CatNap telling him how ungrateful and oh-so offensive he was to 'their' savior, which in turn enraged DogDay at how ignorant and blind he was to the fact it was his fault their friends died, his fault for murdering in cold-blood innocent children. 

If CatNap and The Prototype had never started a revolution they'd continue their lives normally, like it was supposed to be. 

You would still be toyed with. 

The bitter truth left a pang in his very core. Because as much as he resented CatNap for destroying his life, and their friend's lives, for turning his back on them when they needed him the most, for choosing to follow a monster... yet their situation might've never changed and they would all be stuck as guinea pigs for him to enjoy in their suffering.

That didn't mean he was going to act like his best frien— No, CatNap had any rightfulness in what he'd done. 

He was the cause of their dismay. 

And, yet... it hurt to see what kind of evil he had turned into. DogDay wanted to believe those rare, affectionate moments where CatNap had once shown vulnerability were true. That his friend was lost somewhere in the ghastly fog The Prototype wrapped like a chain around the cat.

If only he could make the cat understand—

The loud thumping of steps snapped him out of his reverie. The walls vibrated with every move, closer closer. This area was off-limits, and out of every living toy, one of them was only allowed to be down in hell with him. 

God, DogDay could already feel his fading headache come back anew. 

The door creaked as it was opened, the low glint of the lamps cast a dull shadow of what resembled a cat. The sharp end of CatNap's claws scraped the ground, DogDay grimaced at the sound they made. 

This was his way of saying: "I've arrived." 

DogDay rolled his eyes. 

The purple fur of CatNap's leg came into view, and the next thing he knew, a pair of white orbs bore into his frame. DogDay braced himself for whatever he had to say, trying not to let his fear cross his features. 

CatNap had always fed on the fear he inflicted.

A couple of minutes pass in which they just stared at each other, DogDay never once glanced away. If CatNap wanted to act all intimidating then two could play the same game. For a second, he was convinced CatNap was waiting for him to break the silence before his deep, husk of a voice let out: 

"Have you changed your mind about our God?" 

It took every fiber in DogDay's body to not offend said 'God'. "No." He replied simply, a declare he wasn't about to back off from now or in the near future. "I have no interest in following your beliefs." 

CatNap's tail swayed irritatingly, a growl roared in his throat. "Why do you insist on being stuck down here?" 

DogDay bristled, angered. "Why do you insist on making me side with a monster?"

DogDay's cell rattled as CatNap struck the bars with his claws. "Do not insult my God." He spoke, venom coating his words. "He was graceful enough to let you live. Heretics like you have no place in our domain." 

DogDay's hands were shaped into fists. "Is that what you told our friends when they died?" 

Silence reigned for agonizingly, long minutes. 

CatNap was the first to break the silence. "Have you heard about it?" 

DogDay shrugged, on edge. "Not much I can hear when I'm trapped in here." 

"An old worker has entered our territory." 

Now that caught DogDay's attention, he raised a lone orange brow, tail slapping against the concrete nervously. "A worker? I thought all of them were gone. You made sure of that."

"I heard he came back to seek the mysterious disappearance of everyone," CatNap said, carefully. "Judging by your confusion I suppose you haven't seen him, have you?" 

"No... you're the only one that ever visits," DogDay muttered, eyes darting to meet the startling white glow similar to his. "What are you planning to do to him when you find him?"

CatNap didn't answer and the silence was deafening enough to understand what would occur if the human and CatNap ever crossed paths. The realization made him shiver.

Seeing the cat wasn't about to utter any more words, DogDay took it upon himself to start another one. "He must be strong." CatNap's ears perked up to the sound of his voice, slightly. "I'm surprised no one has been able to kill him yet." 

From the corner of his vision, DogDay witnessed the shell of what used to be his best friend stir to sit on the grim floor, the moon pendant on his neck shimmered vaguely. 

Despite being sat, their height difference was clear. While DogDay was built to be a comforting presence for kids, CatNap was the opposite. His appearance was even worse than the last time he'd seen him, all bones sticking to skin. 

DogDay knew better than to let the cat's condition trick him into assuming that he was weak.

"He killed some of them." Was all that CatNap let out.

A feeble sigh drifted into the air. "Who?" 

"Huggy Wuggy and Mommy Long Legs." 

Ah. He did all that by himself? What a brave guy.

"If you're not careful enough he might come for you." DogDay declared, a tinge of threat scratched his tone. 

"Impossible," Catnap assured, unfaltering. "I will carry out my God's will. He won't let me have a senseless death."

Right... back again at speaking about the 'good' nature of his God.

"I will make sure to destroy whoever opposes—"

"Do you regret it?" 

Seeing the bewildered expression on the feline's features, he whispered sternly:

"Do you regret killing our friends?" 

"I did not kill—"

"You're right." Dogday snarled, breathing roughly through the lump in his throat. "You sacrificed them to your God. Left them mercilessly against someone so cruel. Did you have fun not getting your hands dirty?" 

"What could a damn heretic like you understand," CatNap bellowed, jerking upwards into his enormous form. "You think you know everything? You're not entitled to tell me what's wrong or right when you would have rather chosen to heed every rule established like the obedient dog you are." 

"Yeah?" DogDay cried out, rising himself to his feet. "At least following the rules would have allowed my friends to still be alive!" 

"Wrong." CatNap professed firmly. "It was a matter of time before they'd be cast out. Like I was. Do you have any idea what's it like to be cut short from freedom? To be used as nothing more than a source of wicked entertainment?" 

"Like you're doing to me now?" 

"You're interfering in The Prototype's way. You should consider yourself lucky to be even breathing the same air as ours." CatNap hissed.

Dogday punched the door's cell. "Do you even hear yourself talk?! Who do you think you're telling these things to! I'm your friend!" The aftermath of the punch left his hand in a stinging sensation. His blood ran far too hot to even care. "The Prototype wasn't there when you were alone, it was me! I looked after you all day long in hopes they would set you free. I was there whenever you got hurt! I was there the second you called! And you know why? Because out of all our friends, you were the one I most loved!" 

A trail of dampness smudged his fur, mingling with toppled dirt and blood. DogDay rubbed hectically at the newfound tears clouding his peripheral. He didn't wait for his friend to reply as he pointed crossedly at the door. "Leave." 

"DogDay—" 

"I said leave! I don't want to see you ever!" 

"I did what I had to—"

"I couldn't care less, just leave. Now."

"I set their souls free, Day." 

There are a few seconds where DogDay's eyesight turns red, ears clamped shut to whatever sound was made. He was sure CatNap was saying something, probably another of his cursed predictable praisings to his God. He didn't care. 

Set their souls free...

Set their souls—

How dare he! 

DogDay doesn't think when his fist collided against CatNap's cheek, the cat made a disgruntled sound, taken by surprise. Ears pushed back against his head, claws unfolding from their burrow. 

He also doesn't think twice when he shouted all his anger stated in one sentence: 

"If that's so, you and your oh-so-precious God can go to hell for all I care!" 

Wrong thing to say. But he was past the point of caring about what happened to him. This way, maybe he would join his friends if heaven did exist.

"How dare you!" CatNap sizzled, claws attempting to scratch at the dog who rolled to the other side just in time.

"Right back at you!" DogDay screeched. "You won't talk about my friends' lives as if they were nothing!"

For a while, CatNap stood outside eyeing his every movement. Occasionally, he'd withdraw and reveal his outrageously sharp weapons. 

Just when he thought the cat would leave it at that and loosen up, the door to his cell unlocked. DogDay crawled across the next wall when he saw CatNap enter. A sense of danger — dread crammed against his rapidly beating heart. 

DogDay yelped in alarm when his leg was grasped harshly, being tugged close to where the feline was, and pushed underneath the cat's body. His breath hitched as he happened upon to be face-to-face with CatNap. A strong, pressure on his neck deprived him of oxygen. He clutched desperately at his friend's hand, trying to shove away the offending hand. The pressure on his neck got all the more fiercer. 

Is this it? Will he finally get rid of me?

"It seems like you need punishment for offending our God." CatNap's voice sounded distant as dark spots danced in DogDay's vision. 

CatNap's mouth outstretched further, a cloud of red gas wafted into DogDay's face, shrouding whatever breathable area existed. He strained to fight the sleep, though it was rendered useless from the lack of oxygen. He swallowed a lungful of red gas — he could already feel the giddy, crazed laugh bursting from his chest. Unstoppable. 

The pressure on his neck leaves him. 

A sentiment of freeness soaked over him.

Amidst the red gas obscuring his surroundings, he managed to get a last look at what used to be his best friend. 

Blank white peered back at him. 

It might've been his imagination, a figment of what used to be before. However, he swore he heard the words "I'll keep you safe." thunder reassuringly into his ear. 

He doesn't get to think much about it when he's already in a deep sleep. 

Late that night, DogDay woke up with a petrified scream. 

If CatNap observed from the shadows to make sure the dog was alright from the nightmare he displayed in his dreams, that was his problem to fix. 

He solely had to make his friend understand all was for his own good. 

Chapter Text

The first thought that awakened DogDay's jumbled, fatigued mind was the bottomless hunger carved into his stomach. Tearing bit by bit at the slight movement, begging, pleading painfully for a small portion of nutrients.

Why the doctors decided to provide the toys with endless hunger was unknown to him. 

The surging headache at the back of his neck did not help his situation at all. DogDay sucked in a breath as he propelled himself on both his feet— paws? He hadn't given much reason for it, his main focus had never been to analyze every detail of his anatomy. Not like he was allowed to question the source of his creation or whatever demented undoing was inside himself. 

Even if he did try to ask, the blank, devoid of emotion faces of the employees and doctors would greet him back. 

"Nothing you have to worry about. You only have a reason in life."

DogDay was built to spread happiness, to be a shining abode of comfort for those who needed it. A guiding light for his friends. 

Are you now? You let them all die—

He wasn't meant to wonder what lay underneath the false fur adorning his body. 

But now... having the time of the world to entertain himself, these presumptions had stirred to resurface anew. Anything to quell the growing, ravaging affliction of his organs. 

He wondered briefly if this was CatNap's way to torture and punish him on the Prototype's behalf. Two days had gone since he last heard or saw the purple shadow of what used to be his friend. The mini versions of the Smiling Critters were not much help, despite their loud whispering of how ungrateful he was screeching through the pipes. 

DogDay would have retorted an insult if he knew whatever he spoke didn't directly travel to CatNap's prying ears. Despite being kilometers apart, the cat had his method of knowing whatever transpired in his cell. When he was mad, a spray of crimson gas would tingle his nose until he was in a deep slumber. Whenever he cried himself to sleep, the cat would be by his side immediately, acting as a beacon of support and compassion (when really, the cause of DogDay's dismay was centered around the feline). The cat would be present in the form of a tail curling on his hand (crawling from the rusty pipes), squeezing ever-so-gently until DogDay's breathing returned to its soft pace after an anxious attack. 

And throughout the whole ordeal, DogDay would seek for him. It was what drove him to the point of revulsion, and loathing. He hated how the weak part of his heart still searched for a fragment of his friend. The one who would never leave DogDay's side — who would have never betrayed them for the phantom image of a savior or at least that's what he would like to believe. Hated the need to be close to someone who would discard him without a second thought for his God who spewed untruths like a false prophet. Despised the eager need to have CatNap by his side again.

He'd be lying if he didn't admit that terrified him. Albeit, everything done to him... the excruciating nights of plunging, lasting pain. It was still hard for the dog to separate his best friend from the devil CatNap had morphed into. 

And he'd be damned if he ever let these feelings out.

DogDay would rather see his frien— CatNap mourn from his negligence than admit he cared for the deranged cat. 

Thump.

A shriek echoed throughout the pipes, and DogDay recoiled at the presence of a Picky Piggy mini-critter slowly peeking its head toward him, a gleeful giggle upon seeing him. 

DogDay endeavored his best to not panic. 

They wouldn't hurt him, wouldn't dare. CatNap would surely destroy anyone who tried to kill him... he was under his protection, he was safe—!

But truth to be told, the cat had been gone for two days, not even a single glance or notion to keep DogDay from fleeing his cell. The cat hadn't been there for him as a supporting solace when he cried himself to sleep or when he'd curse out the Prototype. He had been left without supervision. 

Could he leave? 

Would he even manage to step from his cell without being targeted as food?

Was CatNap dead?

A stinging ache flooded his head, vision unfocused. Breath hitched. A scream tore out from DogDay's lips before he could stop himself. Snapping his gaze down his leg, the mini version of Picky Piggy had its sharp, pointy teeth buried in his skin,  attempting to shred into his meat. "Shit!" He cursed out loud, leg raised as he impelled the plush toy off his injured leg. 

A large chunk of fur, plastic, and meat lay before his eyes. He felt bile rise into his tongue when the mini version of Picky Piggy began to joyfully chew and gnaw at the raw skin. 

And that had seemed to do the trick, for a cluster of mini critters crawled through the pipes, snarling in hunger, fighting for the piece of meat. 

DogDay snuffed out any sound possible, trying to make himself imperceptible from where he was cradled on the corner. Teary beads gathered on his pitchless eyes, pain shooting every nerve on his leg. 

Is this where I die? DogDay thought to himself, his body a wrecking disarray of trembles, a treacherous thought popped into his mind, stinging sorely. 

But you wanted this, didn't you? 

He did, didn't he? For a very long time, a buried feeling that used to consume him every day. What meaning held life if his friends wouldn't be able to enjoy it with him? Those the afterlife exist? Would he be able to see his friends again? Would living stop hurting? Would he ever feel free?

Loud thumping scattered around the tube connecting his cell, and a burning smell collided against his snout. He gradually reared his head toward the forming smoke in his cell. What—? The toy version of the Smiling Critters where nowhere in sight, a single one remained on the floor, screeching in pain as it scorched to death. DogDay sucked in a breath, white orbs snapping behind the bars of his cell. 

A yellow suit.

An oxygen mask.

Was that a grab pack? The ones the employees used to wear...

Suddenly, CatNap's words rang in his head. A cold sensation settled on his chest. 

"An old worker has entered our territory."

"You—"DogDay's throat constricted tightly. Terror, fear, and curiosity mend together into a puddle at the pit of his stomach. An apprehensive tint on his words. "How have you made it this far?" 

"Are you...fine?" The human spoke, a worried hint coloring his voice. A masculine tone. It's now that DogDay caught a glimpse of an orange hand pointing at him. Was that how he caused the fire? A fathom memory crept into his mind of the employees in Playcare. His thoughts are promptly interrupted as the human stepped closer to his cell. "Those guys looked like they could've done a number on you...trust me, I know." The human grumbled in resentment, shaking his head gingerly. Alas, DogDay was too concentrated on the person before him to fully pay any mind to his words. 

At DogDay's silence, the human carefully tapped the cell, afraid another trap might set in, humming lowly at the back of his throat. "Is there any reason you're in a cell?" He questioned lightly, head bobbing from side to side to ensure his surroundings. "Doesn't look the safest place to me." 

"I—" DogDay commenced, ceasing suddenly as his leg flared in pain. Blood oozed from the wound produced by the mini version of Picky Piggy. He groaned faintly. "Y-you shouldn't be here." He choked out. "You need to leave." 

The human peeked a view to where he was, hands grasping at the bars of the cell. "Did those things hurt you?" DogDay heard a soft click, eyes blown wide as the door to his cell opened. The human sneaked inside, rushing almost to his side, still mindful to give enough space. A whispered 'yikes' was thrown into thin air. The human took off the grab pack, lowering it onto the tarnished floor. A hand dawled upwards, hesitant. "I...uh, I think you need some stitches." 

DogDay's tail swung anxiously behind his back. "Stitches?" He echoed meekly, white orbs landing on the oxygen mask before dragging to the bleeding damage on his leg. He could see his flesh, well, was it even his own? "Don't worry about me... You must leave." DogDay shook his head, a desperate plea. 

If CatNap were to find him, oh God, cruelty would be bestowed upon him. 

You'll watch someone die and wind up hopeless again.

You can't save him.

DogDay's hands balled into fists. 

The human tutted. "Not a chance, buddy. I got some friends that can help you out." A single hand inspected delicately the open wound, sighing quietly. "Can you walk? I think I'm strong enough to carry you if you need me to." 

DogDay cautiously pried the hand examining his leg afar. "Thank you, truly." He murmured, a pressure enveloping his throat, causing it hard to speak. He was trembling. "But please, I beg of you. Leave. Before it's too late...before he—"

"Wow, hey, it's okay, calm down." The human uttered, hand grasping his furry one. DogDay had since long craved warmth. "No need to worry about those guys anymore. I've gotten rid of most of them. They won't be a trouble to travel back to a safe place." 

Please, don't leave me.

"Not them, they're not to fear." DogDay croaked, breath hitched. Every minute that ticked by was a second less than the human had to run. CatNap had to notice by now the unfamiliar voice rumbling through the walls. 

Closer.

Closer.

Time was running out. 

I don't want to be stuck in here anymore. 

"Oh," Alarm bells crept into the human's posture, recognition sinking into his core. "Do you by chance mean a big, purple cat?" 

DogDay creased his face. "Have you met him?" No good. Not at all. If CatNap had taken insight of the human then that could only mean one thing.

He's prey.

Your only beacon of hope is about to perish.

CatNap had always had a strange fascination with stalking his prey, waiting, and waiting, and waiting, for the perfect chance to strike down. When you least expect it, defenseless. Regardless if it took years, months, or hours. Usually concluded in minutes...

Why is he not dead by now?

The human nodded, hands moving toward the oxygen mask on his face, daintily withdrawing it. DogDay could now see his face. Brown unkempt hair, soft hazel eyes. A kind smile. Livid. Not a toy, he thought to himself. He had a faint mistrust whether it was a toy talking to him or a human. Because otherwise, how could anyone ever explain how he stood close to his cell without getting slaughtered on the spot? Had thought CatNap spoke vile fibs. "Sorta. That fellow troublemaker keeps spying on me from dark corners. Kind of a hassle—" He gestured to the mask resting on his hands. "—keeps making me use this." 

DogDay huffed breezily. Too careless, why are you still waiting up on me? I'm I selfish for wanting you to stay? "Yes, his name is CatNap, if you haven't heard before. The red gas you see is his weapon. Can make you sleep in seconds...not safe to be around." 

"So I've heard..." A pregnant pause. The human pursed his chapped lips, eyes surveying his prison. "Is he the one that keeps you here? Trapped and alone?" 

DogDay felt himself grow tense, guarded. "Never mind that you must leave before he comes." 

The human furrowed his brows, an incredulous look adorned his face. "And leave you here to your demise?" He motioned toward his leg. DogDay recoiled inwardly at the sight of it. Red. DogDay was sick of seeing red. "You're hurt. And I can help. You'll end up being food for all the other toys and if I can save someone who is mostly sane from this hell. I'm doing so." 

"You shouldn't," DogDay whispered, depleted. "I'm not worth it. I'm a lost cause. You deserve to live and run away from this inferno. I've already erred the chance a long time ago." 

I can be worth it.

The human sighed longly. A silent pensive thought reflected in his eyes. The hand that once held DogDay's searched for his again, not harsh and intense, just a comforting weight. A much-needed one. "You're punishing yourself." DogDay took a hint of the statement. Not a question. 

He deserved it. He let them all die. 

DogDay did not answer such a proclamation. Stood quiet and still. Scared.

Are you afraid he will find the truth? That you left your friends to die—

The seconds flowed dangerously slow for DogDay. Absentminded, he did not register the hand clamped on his shoulder until it squeezed a bit forcefully. He threw a glance at the human, hazel eyes contemplative, lips scowled. "I can't tell what you're thinking, or possibly presume what you're so stubborn to keep hauling against you... But I will say, and I hope you come to reason...that it's never too late for second chances. You're not unworthy, buddy. We all deserve an opportunity to prove ourselves right." 

Not me.

Monsters don't deserve second chances. 

"You," DogDay mumbled, body shuddering, his head a hazardous pain. "Why do you still believe in me? Can't you see, I'm part of this hell as well. Someone like you. An angel. Shouldn't be tainted by someone like me." 

The human snorted, hazel eyes meeting his own white plunging ones. "I'm far from an angel. Might as well be already tainted from all the crazy stuff I've been through in this place." 

DogDag shook his head. "Not yet, you're not." He faintly pushed the human back. A silent 'leave' left unspoken from the slight action. "Your heart hasn't been corrupted with hideous thoughts. It's too kind." 

The human frowned but didn’t move away. Instead, he crouched lower, his grip tightening on DogDay’s shoulder. “You say that like you’ve already given up,” he said softly. “Like you want to rot in this place.”

DogDay exhaled sharply through his snout. “Maybe I do.”

A silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant hum of the facility’s machinery and the occasional drip of water leaking from the pipes. The human, despite everything, didn’t recoil from him like the others had. He didn’t look at DogDay with fear, or disgust, or the cold, calculating indifference of the doctors. He looked at him like he was someone. Like he was worth saving.

It made DogDay’s stomach churn with something unidentifiable.

The human sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I don’t know what happened to you, or why you think you don’t deserve to get out of here. But I do know this—you can’t stay. You shouldn’t stay.” He gestured toward the cell, the bloodied floor, the dying flicker of embers where the last toy had burned. “This place—it’s killing you. Slowly, painfully. And I don’t know about you, but I’d rather die fighting for something than waste away in a cage.”

DogDay’s ears twitched, and for a split second, he heard the doctor's voice in his head.

"Nothing you have to worry about. You only have a reason in life."

A purpose. A reason.

Was this it? Was his reason just to sit here and suffer? To drown in guilt until his body gave out?

Or did he have a choice?

His hesitation must have been obvious, because the human’s expression softened. “I know you don’t trust me,” He said. “I don’t blame you. But I promise you this — I won’t leave you behind.”

Something in DogDay’s chest clenched painfully. He didn’t deserve those words. He wasn’t worth them.

But God, did he want to believe them.

The choice was ripped from him when a sound echoed through the pipes — a deep, distant hum. A purr.

DogDay’s breath caught in his throat. The human’s expression darkened, panic setting in, his muscles tensing. “That's...”

DogDay nodded slowly. His mouth was dry, heart hammering. A frantic beat. “He knows you’re here.”

The human exhaled through his nose sharply, standing up fully. “Then we better move. Now.”

He reached out a hand.

A choice.

DogDay stared at it. His heart pounded against his ribs, but his body refused to move.

He wanted to believe in the human’s words. Wanted to believe in second chances. But deep down, he knew —he knew— that if he left this cell, if he took this stranger’s hand and walked out of here, it would only end in disaster.

He wasn’t meant to be saved.

So he pulled away.

The human’s expression faltered. “DogDay—”

“Go.” His voice came out hoarse, weaker than he wanted. “You need to leave. Now.”

The humming in the pipes was growing louder. A rhythmic, slow vibration. A warning.

The human frowned, shaking his head. “I’m not leaving you here.”

“You have to.” DogDay gritted his teeth. He could already feel the weight of him pressing in, the unseen eyes watching. “If you stay, he’ll kill you. And I can’t—” His throat closed up, the words refusing to come out.

The human stayed where he was, stubborn. “I can get you out of here.”

DogDay’s fists clenched. “You don’t understand,” he rasped. “I can’t leave. He'll find me. Like he always does.”

A breath of silence.

Then, the human seemed to catch something in DogDay’s expression — something unspoken, something broken — and for the first time, his determined stance wavered.

“…You’re afraid of him.” It wasn’t a question.

DogDay swallowed, looking away. “It doesn’t matter.”

The human cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “Dammit,” he muttered, glancing back at the hallway. “Look, I—”

Clang.

Both of them froze.

The sound of metal scraping against metal echoed from the far end of the corridor. Heavy. Slow. Deliberate.

DogDay’s fur bristled.

He’s here.

The human stiffened, hazel eyes darting toward the darkness beyond the cell. “Shit,” he whispered. He looked back at DogDay, urgency in his voice. “I can come back for you. Just tell me where you are, how I can find you again."

DogDay hesitated for only a moment before shaking his head. “Don’t.”

The human’s jaw tightened. “I will.”

DogDay didn’t have time to argue.

The purring was closer now. The red gas would come next. Then the eyes. Then the claws. The blood—

“Go.”

The human hesitated. Only for a second.

Then he was gone, slipping back into the shadows, leaving DogDay alone in the cell.

Alone with him.

DogDay let out a shuddering breath.

It was better this way.

You'll rot in here. Like you deserve.

DogDay sat there, staring at the empty space where the human had been just moments ago. His hand still felt warm where the stranger’s hand had briefly touched his own. A hand that had offered kindness—offered hope.

But hope was dangerous.

Hope made you believe in things that weren’t real. It made you think you could escape, that you could change, that maybe, just maybe, you deserved to.

DogDay had learned the hard way that hope was a lie.

He sucked in a sharp breath, his chest tight with something unnameable. The human was gone. Safe, hopefully. But that didn’t erase the reality of his presence.

Because DogDay could feel him.

The shift in the air. The prickle at the back of his neck. The invisible weight pressing down on his shoulders, curling around his ribs like a vice.

He was here.

DogDay barely had the strength to lift his head. But when he did—

There he was.

Standing just beyond the bars, his silhouette framed by the dim glow of the emergency lights.

CatNap.

His tail flicked lazily behind him, his white eyes glowing in the dark. The purring was deep, slow, vibrating through the floor like a warning.

DogDay swallowed. His voice felt small. “You’re late.”

A soft, drawn-out hum. Then—

"I see you’ve had a visitor."

DogDay’s stomach dropped.

CatNap took a slow step forward, his paw tracing over the bars of the cell, claws lightly scraping against the metal. "Now… why would a human come all this way just for you?" He tilted his head, mock curiosity in his voice. "Did you say something to make him think you were worth saving?"

DogDay clenched his fists. “I told him to leave.”

"Did you?" A smirk, a slight narrowing of his glowing eyes. "Because I don’t think he believes that. He thinks you can be fixed. Rescued."

He growled softly, shaking his head. "Poor fool."

DogDay exhaled shakily, his fur bristling. “He’s not a fool. And if you—” His voice faltered, but he forced himself to keep going. “If you kill him—”

CatNap’s tail wrapped around one of the bars, curling like a lazy snake. "Oh, DogDay," he murmured, his voice low, almost affectionate. "You think I’d be so careless?"

His smile widened, showing just the barest hint of sharp teeth.

"I don’t need to kill him."

DogDay’s blood ran cold.

Because CatNap was a hunter. And hunters didn’t always kill right away.

Sometimes, they had fun with their food first.

DogDay forced himself to stand, ignoring the way his leg screamed in pain. “Leave him alone.”

CatNap’s ears twitched. Then, almost mockingly, he leaned against the bars and whispered. "Come now, DogDay. Why would I ever do that?"

DogDay’s breath hitched, his grip tightening into fists at his sides. His injured leg trembled under his weight, but he refused to sit back down, refused to look as weak as he felt.

"You don’t have to do this," DogDay said, voice hoarse. "He’s not part of this. Just let him go."

CatNap’s ear twitched, as if considering the plea. Then he let out a soft chuckle. "You’re still so naive."

DogDay flinched as CatNap slipped between the bars like a shadow, stepping into the cell with him. Despite himself, he took a step back, only to hit the cold wall behind him. His tail curled around his leg instinctively.

CatNap was close now, close enough that DogDay could smell the faint, lingering scent of iron clinging to his fur.

"You’re worried about him," CatNap mused, his voice velvety smooth, his glowing eyes locking onto DogDay’s. "I wonder… is it because he reminds you of them?"

DogDay’s heart clenched. Don’t say it. Don’t say their names.

"Your old friends."

His stomach twisted.

"Do you think," CatNap continued, tilting his head, "if you save him, it will make up for the ones you let die?"

DogDay snapped.

"Shut up!" He snarled, pushing himself off the wall, ignoring the way his wound screamed in protest. "You don’t get to talk about them!"

CatNap only smiled. He didn’t even flinch.

"Of course," He purred, stepping even closer. DogDay tried to stand his ground, but his legs threatened to buckle. "You’re so predictable. So desperate to hold onto the idea that you can still be the hero in someone’s story."

DogDay’s breathing was ragged. His claws dug into his own palms.

"Tell me," CatNap murmured, leaning in just enough that DogDay could feel his breath against his fur. "What do you think he’ll do when he realizes what you really are?"

DogDay’s throat tightened.

"A failure?" CatNap’s voice was soft, but it struck like a dagger. "A monster?"

His breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling with too much effort. The air felt thick, suffocating, pressing in on him like a vice.

He knew better than to respond.

CatNap didn’t need answers — he already knew them. He always knew.

The feline took another slow step forward, his gaze never leaving DogDay. "You didn't try to run, did you?" His voice was gentle, almost soothing, but DogDay knew that tone well. It was the same voice he used before sinking his claws into something warm.

DogDay lifted his head slightly, meeting those glowing eyes. "If I had," He murmured, "We wouldn’t be talking right now."

A low chuckle. "No. We wouldn’t. You'd be dead."

CatNap was fully in the cell now, moving without a sound, his long tail curling around DogDay's wrist. A quiet, deliberate squeeze. Not painful. Just… present.

DogDay didn't move. Didn't flinch. He refused to give CatNap the satisfaction of a reaction, even as his pulse hammered in his throat.

"I’m not mad, you know," CatNap said, voice a purr against the silence. His claws tapped against the cold floor, rhythmic, patient. "I understand, truly. He must have been very... convincing."

DogDay’s mouth was dry.

"He tried to take you, didn’t he?"

DogDay didn’t answer.

"Did you want to go?"

Still, silence.

The grip around his wrist tightened.

"I asked you a question, DogDay."

A spark of irritation flared in DogDay’s chest. He forced himself to hold CatNap’s gaze, his own expression carefully blank. "Does it matter?"

CatNap's eyes narrowed slightly. "Of course it matters. You belong here." His head tilted just so, and DogDay hated how familiar it was. How once, that simple gesture had been comforting. “You know that, don’t you?”

DogDay sucked in a breath.

This was the part where he was supposed to nod. Agree. Let himself drown further into the role that had been carved out for him. A prisoner of his own failure, his own guilt.

But then he thought about that human. The warmth in his touch. The sincerity in his words.

"I won’t leave you behind."

Something cracked inside him.

CatNap’s tail curled tighter, his claws now just barely pressing into DogDay’s fur. "You hesitated."

DogDay swallowed. He needed to be careful.

“You let him touch you,” CatNap mused, his voice quiet, but sharp like a blade. "Did you like it?"

DogDay didn't answer, but his silence was answer enough.

The cat inhaled deeply, as if savoring something unseen. “You smell like him,” He murmured, disgusted. “Like the outside.” His claws trailed up DogDay’s arm now, slow, deliberate. “I could fix that.”

DogDay’s breath hitched.

A choice.

He had been given a choice.

And he had stayed.

But why did it feel like, no matter what he did… he had already lost?

CatNap's claws scratched lightly across DogDay’s fur, drawing a sharp breath from the dog. The tension in the cell thickened with every movement the cat made, as though the very air was waiting for something to break.

"You should've known better," CatNap's voice was a low purr, his words dripping with disdain as he moved closer. "You let him touch you, let him into your space. Why? Because you think you can still be saved?"

DogDay's silence was deafening, but CatNap wasn’t fooled. He could feel the hesitation in the air, the uncertainty that DogDay tried so hard to bury. The soft scrape of claws along his arm sent a shiver of dread through him. His mind screamed at him to fight back, to resist, but his body… his body had long since betrayed him.

"You're pathetic," CatNap hissed, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "You think you're still worthy of anything. But you can't have it, DogDay. There's no place for heretics in our world."

The words stung, but they weren’t pristine. DogDay had heard them before. In his darkest moments, they echoed through his mind like a mantra. He had been left with nothing but remorse and the haunting remembrance of those he had failed.

But there was something different now. A flicker of doubt had seized root in his heart, sowed there by the stranger. The one who had called him worth saving. DogDay had wanted to believe it. Desperately. But now, with CatNap’s presence suffocating him, that hope seemed distant, fragile — like a dream fading with the morning light.

CatNap's claws traced the line of DogDay’s jaw, forcing him to look up into the feline’s predatory gaze. "You should’ve just let it go," CatNap murmured, his breath warm against DogDay’s skin. "Let me fix you. Let me erase all of it. All the weakness, all the doubt. Obey the Prototype."

DogDay swallowed hard, his throat dry, his heartbeat quickening. He wanted to pull away, to fight, to reject the offer, but the exhaustion from the days in the cage, the torture, and the heavy weight of his own guilt prodded down on him. It felt too severe. Too much.

A sudden wave of dizziness washed over him as the red gas began to pour in. It clung to the air like thick smoke, its acrid scent making his head spin. The gas— he had learned to fear it in his time here. It fogged his mind, numbed his senses, and drowned out the pain. It was suffocating, but it also offered a twisted kind of relief. A way out.

"Can you feel it?" CatNap whispered. "The surrender." His voice was intoxicating, deep and as smooth as the gas that curled through the air. "I could give you peace, DogDay. It’s all in your hands. Just let go."

DogDay's body trembled, and the world began to blur at the edges. His limbs felt heavy, his vision clouded by the red mist. The walls spun, the voices in his head growing louder, but still, something inside him clung to the last shred of clarity.

But the clarity was slipping away, quickly, relentlessly, maddeningly.

"You’ll never be free," CatNap's voice echoed against his jumbled thoughts, his voice a low, seductive lullaby. "Not from me. Not from this. It's just a matter of time."

DogDay closed his eyes, the gas filling his lungs, the red haze curling around him like a lover’s embrace. His heartbeat slowed, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt a strange, cold-blooded comfort. The fog wrapped around his thoughts, distorting them, dulling the sensitive edges of his memories, his regrets.

And in that moment, he almost welcomed it.

Because what else was left?

The warmth of the gas filled his chest, and he surrendered. To the numbness. To the sleep that beckoned him. To the end of everything.

His last thought, the only thing that lingered in his mind, was a fleeting memory of the human. The one who had believed in him. The one who had dared to touch him, to care.

But even that faded, swallowed whole by the suffocating red mist.

And he slept.

Chapter Text

In the depth of slumber, where the lines between memory and nightmare blurred, DogDay found himself adrift on the darkened currents of his thoughts. The dream came unbidden, as dreams often do — an involuntary cascade of images, sounds, and sensations, drawn from the furthest corners of his shattered mind. But in this dream, the faces were clear, their smiles bright, even in their absence.

The Smiling Critters — his companions, his family. Even though they had all been created for the very same purpose, the children, they were still so close to each other. DogDay could not say what having a family normally would feel like, but it must have been something comparable to what he had felt for all of them. He recalled the way their laughter would reverberate around Playcare, their playful voices a lost embrace against the gnawing silence that sometimes haunted him. They had been a symphony of joy in the otherwise discordant world, their presence a steady pulse beneath his feet, grounding him when his thoughts threatened to slip away.

And they always tend to slip away too fast now.

Their faces — warm, like the soft glow of sunrise — had once been filled with kindness, with the unspoken promise that no matter the storm, they would endure it together. They had been his refuge, their simple gestures of affection more valuable than any treasure. How could he have known then that such fleeting junctures of joy would become the very thing that plagued him like a disease?

But now, in the quiet abyss of his dream, they were gone. Their laughter had been snuffed out like a candle in a draft, and their warmth, once a safe sanctuary, had turned to vacant black. The weight of their absence pressed down on him, suffocating, even in his sleep. Their faces, once so alive, now danced like shadows — distorted, stretched out of recognition — as if mocking him with their barren smiles.

He remembered their final days vividly, the camaraderie that had bound them like an invisible thread, so strong that it seemed impervious to anything. They had ventured into the unknown together, an alliance unbroken, hearts united against whatever evil the world threw their way. And yet, in the end, betrayal had found them. Not from an outside force, but from within.

CatNap. The name was a bitter taste on his tongue, even in his dreams. It was the cruelest irony that the very one he had trusted, the one who had shared their laughter and lived among them, had been the one to sever their bond. DogDay’s chest tightened, a pressure building deep within him, as memories of his wicked backstabbing flooded back.

How swiftly the dagger had come. How swiftly CatNap had shifted, those once familiar eyes now cold, empty, calculating — a predator in disguise. In a single, savage stroke, his friends had fallen, their joy extinguished as if it had never been. The dream twisted in his mind, replaying the cruel final moments in fragments, like a broken mirror. The smiles — they had never been real.

He saw them, one by one, as the mist of death enveloped them. DogDay’s heart ached with each passing image, each fleeting memory of the Critters he had adored, the ones who had truly cared for him. He had failed them. They had placed their trust in him, and yet he had not seen the shadow that crept so silently, so insidiously, into their lives.

Blood. So much blood. 

It's all your fault.

But even in the depth of his sorrow, the dream continued. The faces of the Critters faded before him, one by one, until only a void remained. He reached out, his paws trembling, but no matter how desperately he searched, he could not grasp what had been lost. Only the sound of their laughter remained, now a hollow message in the distance, taunting him with its remoteness.

And in the bottomless dark, CatNap stood, a figure too distant to touch, yet ever-present in the suffocating silence. DogDay’s eyes narrowed in the dream, filled with a mix of sorrow and rage. The betrayal was not forgotten, but at this moment, in the quiet of his mind, it was too late for revenge. It was too late for anything.

He could only mourn.

And yet,

Bang!

The world lurched.

DogDay's eyes snapped open, his body jolting from the sheer force of the noise. His chest rose and fell in ragged breaths as he struggled to pull himself from the dream’s suffocating grasp. The laughter of his lost friends still rang in his ears, a cruel phantom of memory. But the room around him was silent now. Too silent, save for the slow, deliberate footsteps approaching.

He forced himself to focus, his white vale eyes adjusting to the dim glow of his surroundings. The air was thick with the scent of rust and something faintly familiar, like old antiseptic. A sharp, dull pain throbbed in his hind leg, a grim reminder of the wound left by the feral Mini Critter’s bite. He could still remember its tiny, jagged teeth sinking into his flesh, the panic, the struggle—

A shadow moved.

DogDay stilled. He knew who it was before they even spoke.

"You're awake."

The voice was smooth, almost amused, yet distant. Frigid, in that way that only CatNap could be.

DogDay didn’t respond. He merely watched as the feline stepped into the dim light, those sharp, narrow eyes gleaming in the darkness. There was no warmth in them. There never had been. Not truly. Or at least, that was what his mind wanted to believe. 

CatNap held something in his paw—a small, metal tray with supplies. Gauze. Bandages. A needle and thread.

DogDay tensed as CatNap knelt beside him, setting the tray down with a soft clatter.

"That wound will fester if we don’t clean it," CatNap murmured, reaching for DogDay’s injured leg. "The smell of rotten meat attracts unwanted guests."

DogDay bared his teeth in a silent snarl, his ears flattening. He wanted to recoil, to pull away from the murderer before him, but his body betrayed him. His leg ached. He needed the treatment, no matter how much he loathed the hands that would deliver it. Still, he pried himself away from CatNap's figure.

CatNap didn’t flinch at DogDay’s hostility. If anything, he almost seemed amused. "Oh, don’t give me that look," he chided. "You act like I’m the worst thing that’s happened to you. But I wonder…" He pressed a cloth, damp with some stinging solution, against the wound. DogDay hissed but refused to make a sound of pain. How had CatNap learned to treat a wound?

"…was it really me?" CatNap persisted, voice smooth as silk. "Or was it your own failure?"

DogDay's body locked up.

CatNap knew exactly what he was doing. He always did.

But DogDay said nothing. Nothing he said would ever help his situation. And he really did not need another headache added to his list. He merely clenched his jaw as the feline worked, stitching and bandaging with an almost gentle precision. As if he cared. As if he had ever cared.

CatNap’s paw was steady as he reached for the needle. The glint of metal caught in the dim light, a cruel, delicate thing—thin, precise, like the one who held it. DogDay’s stomach twisted, but he did not break eye contact.

"This will sting," CatNap mused, his tone almost playful as he threaded the needle through the first layer of torn flesh.

A sharp, searing pain lanced through DogDay’s leg. His muscles seized, regardless he swallowed back any reaction. The thread pulled tight, drawing the wound together with an almost unnatural neatness.

CatNap tilted his head slightly, watching for any flicker of weakness. "You’re handling this better than I expected," he murmured, voice low, smooth. "I wonder—do you even feel pain the way you used to?"

DogDay buried his claws against his paw, refusing to answer. He sucked in a breath. 

Another puncture. Another slow pull of the thread. CatNap’s movements were methodical, almost tender in their cruelty. He was close now—so close that DogDay could hear the faintest hum in his throat, as if the feline was enjoying this moment of control.

"You used to be softer, you know," CatNap continued, lazily piercing the needle through again. "So eager to trust. So eager to believe in everyone." His voice dipped into something quieter, something almost mocking. "But look where that got you."

The thread tugged tight once more. DogDay’s claws pressed against the ground, his breathing slow, controlled.

DogDay’s ears flicked back, but he still did not speak. That silence was the only defiance he had left.

CatNap gave a soft exhale through his nose, almost a chuckle, and tied off the final stitch with a practiced ease. DogDay saw white dots at the end of his vision.

"There. All fixed up." He leaned back, admiring his work with something that might’ve been mistaken for pride. "You should be grateful."

DogDay eventually moved, his leg twitching as the fresh stitches pulled. His voice was low, raw, tired. "You think I should thank you?"

CatNap’s grin was slow, sharp. "I think you should be careful."

The room was serene. The scent of antiseptic hung in the air, bitter and sterile.

DogDay watched as CatNap rose, stretching like this was nothing more than a chore he had achieved. He picked up the tray, turning toward the door.

DogDay laid still, the sting of his stitched leg a throbbing, constant hassle. The sound of CatNap’s departing footsteps slowed, then halted, and DogDay’s harsh gaze flicked to the door. He was not alone. Not yet.

His gaze swept over DogDay with that same coolness, like a predator savoring the knowledge that its prey could do nothing but endure.

"You know," CatNap commenced, his voice carrying a precarious calm as he walked toward DogDay’s side, "this whole ‘loyalty to the fallen’ act you’re putting on is getting old."

DogDay’s eyes narrowed, yet he said nothing. His leg pulsed with fresh pain, but the bitterness in his heart was sharper.

CatNap sat down casually on the matted floor, leaning in close enough that his breath felt like a chilling whisper against DogDay’s ear. "You don’t have to suffer like this," He preached, his words dripping with false sympathy. "There’s still time for you to come around. You can join us. You can join The Prototype."

DogDay stiffened at the mention of the name. The Prototype — the very thing that had corrupted everything he once acknowledged, everything he had fought for. It was nothing more than a machine, a tool for those who believed that strength and order came at the cost of everything else.

"You’re insane," DogDay managed to growl out despite the lump settling on his throat, his voice hoarse with both rage and disbelief.

CatNap only smiled, an unsettling, knowing smile. "Oh, I’m far from insane," He retorted, his voice maddened with an edge of callous menace. "But you? You’re becoming so predictable, DogDay. You're still clinging to that pathetic notion of ‘family,’ when you could have power. You could have everything you’ve ever wanted. Have liberty. You just need to make the right choice."

He leaned nearer, his breath stank of blood and death. DogDay felt light-headed. "Join me. Join The Prototype. Or I will end this..."

DogDay's chest tightened, his breath abrupt as his teeth grounded together. He had not missed the implication in CatNap's words. The venom, the threat hidden just beneath the surface. "Come fucking kill me then, you bastard!" 

"Not you," CatNap replied with a chilling smile. "I’m offering you a chance to live, DogDay. But if you refuse, I’ll take someone else. Someone who was foolish enough to trust you. Someone who thought they could escape their past."

DogDay’s eyes flickered to the door, his heart tightening with dread. He already knew what CatNap meant. The ex-employee — the one who had once worked in this cursed factory, who had tried to possibly abandon the atrocities engaged against children. The one CatNap had been hunting since the moment they had parted ways.

CatNap’s smile grew wider, more distorted. "I don’t think you need much more of a reason to choose," he grunted. "I’ll kill them, and their blood will be on your hands."

DogDay’s throat tightened, a wave of disgust crashing through him. He wanted to lash out, to tear into the smug feline who thought he had all the power, all the control. But instead, he clenched his fists, feeling the pressure of CatNap’s words sinking deep into his chest.

"I’ll never join you." DogDay finally muttered, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with a quiet defiance.

CatNap’s smile didn’t waver. "Then it’s settled."

The words hung in the air like an unspoken promise, a threat that neither of them could take back. DogDay could feel the weight of it pressing against him, threatening to crush him beneath its inevitability.

With that, he turned and left, the door closing behind him with a soft click that echoed through the still room.

DogDay felt despair creep into his soul. The silence that followed CatNap’s departure was almost suffocating, a quiet so dense that it pressed against DogDay’s chest like a physical weight. His injured leg throbbed in rhythm with his beating heart, but it was the echo of CatNap’s words that truly hurt. 

The image of the ex-employee — someone who had tried to walk away from it all, someone who had trusted him — hovered in his mind, taunting him like a ghost. DogDay had been the one to bring them to this point. He had been the one to refuse, to reject CatNap’s offer. Now, that same refusal threatened to cost someone their life. And it was all his fault.

Again.

Guilt churned inside him, a knot tightening deep within his stomach. He knew that if he had said yes — if he had chosen the Prototype, aligned himself with CatNap — there would have been no harm to the ex-employee. They would have been safe, protected, and the sinister threat would have dissolved into nothing. It should have been so simple. But nothing was simple anymore.

A part of him wanted to reach for the door, to run after CatNap, to change his decision. To protect that one person who had stood by him, who had trusted him despite everything. But the other part —the part he refused to let go of— held him still.

DogDay squeezed his eyes shut, his body rigid with frustration. No. I won’t be like him.

He could still hear CatNap’s voice, that smooth, venomous calm. You don’t have to suffer like this. You could have power. You could have everything you’ve ever wanted.

It would have been easy, so easy to fall into that trap. The Prototype offered everything—strength, stability, control. All the chaos would stop. No more running. No more feeling helpless. But at what cost? What would he be giving up to have that? His soul? His humanity?

The question gnawed at him, even as his mind clung to the conviction that he had made the right choice. No. He refused to become like CatNap—someone who had willingly thrown away everything for the sake of a cruel, deduced ideology. Someone who had lost himself in the idea of power, who had abandoned everything in the name of control. DogDay couldn’t   —wouldn’t— follow that path.

But the guilt still lingered.

The ex-employee had trusted him, believed in him. And now, by choosing to defy CatNap, DogDay had put him at risk. He could almost hear his kind voice reaching out for his aid. Not corrupted. Not yet.

But he couldn’t. He could never turn back now. The path he had chosen had already been set in motion, and there was no undoing it.

For a long time, DogDay lay in the quiet, the weight of his decision sinking deeper into him. He imagined the ex-employee in danger, imagined the look of fear on their face as CatNap’s wrath descended upon them. It was enough to make him feel sick, his stomach churning with the knowledge that he had brought them to this.

But still, in the depths of that guilt, he could not regret it. Because to regret it would mean giving in. To abandon his principles would mean becoming just another cog in the Prototype’s machine, another blind follower of a vision that had nothing to do with what was right.

CatNap was wrong. He always had been.

And yet, DogDay couldn’t help but wonder—was it worth it?

The question lingered in the air like smoke, dissipating only as the silence returned. His leg burned. His heart ached. But still, DogDay knew, deep down, that his choice had been made. Even if it meant he would lose everything—he would not become like CatNap.

The ex-employee would have to understand. They would have to.

DogDay could only hope that the price of his decision would not be too high.

Jack’s hands trembled as he tightened the fraying straps of his backpack, the leather creaking beneath his fingers. The stale air of the abandoned factory seeped into his lungs, thick and acrid, but he had grown used to it. It was better than the smoke and rot that hung over the deeper sectors, where The Prototype’s influence festered like an untreated wound.

He leaned against the cold, rusted wall, his pulse racing from more than just the hurried trek through the corridors. The night had been unforgiving—noises echoing through the metal husk of the factory, shadows shifting with a menace that felt all too real. He swore he’d heard CatNap’s voice somewhere along the way, that smooth, calculating purr threading itself through the darkness like a knife. But it was always just beyond reach, a whisper tangled with his own paranoia.

The old Playcare building was a labyrinth, but Jack knew its twists and turns better than most. It was both his curse and his advantage, knowledge wrung from years of working in the bowels of this place. Back when it was supposed to be a sanctuary for children, a paradise of innocent dreams built on machinery and profit. Before the horror. Before the betrayal.

Jack sank to the floor, pressing his back to the wall. His legs ached from the relentless movement, his feet blistered and raw. He’d been running for too long, always one step ahead of the monsters hunting him—both the physical and the ones clawing through his mind. DogDay had warned him to stay hidden, to avoid the places where CatNap’s minions scouted and prowled. But Jack couldn’t keep hiding forever.

His eyes drifted to the darkness beyond the hallway. DogDay was out there somewhere. The last time they’d spoken had been strained, their words clipped and sharp-edged. DogDay had been distant, his mind tangled in his own scars. But Jack knew he was trying—trying to protect him, trying to do the right thing even when the world twisted every good intention into something broken.

Jack’s chest tightened with a familiar, gnawing guilt. DogDay had already risked everything for him, had made himself an even more prominent enemy of The Prototype’s forces by choosing to not tell on him. And yet, Jack couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t enough. That he was just dead weight dragging the canine down.

CatNap’s words had reached him once, months ago. The offer, the temptation, the thinly veiled threat. The Prototype always welcomed those willing to surrender. All Jack had to do was abandon everything he’d once believed in, everything DogDay stood for. Give in. Conform. Be safe.

But Jack had made his choice, even when his body shook from hunger and his nights were haunted by dreams of claws and metal. He wouldn’t betray DogDay. He wouldn’t betray himself.

He glanced at the journal he kept clenched in his hands, the one with the worn pages filled with notes, sketches, plans—anything that might help them unravel The Prototype’s influence. It was his one form of control, his only method of pushing back against the looming darkness.

But doubt crept in, insidious and cruel. CatNap’s threats were never empty, and if DogDay’s resistance had truly pushed the feline to desperation, then Jack knew his time was running out.

Jack swallowed, his throat dry. He couldn’t stay here. DogDay was out there still, probably hurt, probably fighting to stay alive while he cowered in the shadows. The image twisted his gut with shame.

With a ragged breath, Jack pushed himself to his feet, shouldering the weight of his backpack. His knees threatened to buckle, but he steadied himself, teeth clenched against the pain.

If DogDay needed him, then he couldn’t afford to be weak. Not now. Not ever.

Jack moved forward, his steps uneven but determined. Whatever it took, whatever The Prototype or CatNap threw at him, he would find a way to fight back. Even if the whole world had turned against him.

He’d made a promise to himself. And he wasn’t about to break it.

Jack’s footsteps were softer now, quieter, as he wound his way through the decrepit hallways of Playcare. The shadows stretched long and thin, like creatures in the corners of his vision, and the cold air carried with it a heavy sense of dread. He knew he was taking a risk. DogDay had made it clear before: stay away. The further Jack stayed from Playcare, the safer they both would be. But that was before the things had escalated, before he realized just how deep the claws of The Prototype had sunk into the very heart of the place he had once known. He couldn't stay away anymore. Not now.

The silence in the factory weighed down on him, pressing in on every side, broken only by the distant hum of the machines still running deep beneath the floors. They were too quiet, these halls. Too still.

Jack swallowed thickly as he rounded the final corner of the empty pool, the door ahead coming into view. The room was dim, a faint, flickering light illuminating the concrete floor and the twisted remnants of what had once been a place of innocence. Now, it was little more than a graveyard of memories, where the orphan kids used to play and laugh. Blood and decaying bodies were all that was left in sight. Perhaps even some of the dead toys were kids who once had soaked in the pool. 

His heart hammered in his chest as he approached the cells where he last saw DogDay. Jack paused, his fingers curling around the doorframe. The cell's door creaked as he pushed it open, revealing the shadowed, dirty figure lying still on the cold concrete. 

DogDay’s chest rose and fell in slow, labored breaths, but his eyes were closed, lost in a slumber that didn’t seem restful at all. The bandages around his leg were a stark contrast to the grim, blood-soaked memories Jack had of the bite—a gnawing pain that had been too much to bear for the dog at one point.

But something was different.

The wound that had been so raw, so fragile, so close to infected before—had been stitched. Treated. Heavily bandaged with care. It looked almost… healed.

Did these toys have super regeneration or some sort?

Jack blinked, his breath catching in his throat as his gaze darted to DogDay’s leg. The stitching underneath the now slipping bandage was precise, too precise for any clumsy work. He could have sworn the canine had been at the mercy of the world just hours before. The tiny toy Critter that had bitten him, now just a phantom memory, should have left a wound that would never heal on its own.

He stepped into the room, cautiously approaching the sleeping dog. His heart pounded, a mixture of relief and confusion flooding through him. How? He had expected DogDay to be worse off—broken, maybe even dire from the infection and the starving state he found him in. But here DogDay lay, somehow more put together than Jack had expected.

DogDay stirred then, as if sensing his crashing thoughts, and a groan slipped past his lips as he slowly opened his eyes, those white-veiled eyes flickering in the dim light as they locked onto Jack's face. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of the past hung between them like a fog.

DogDay's gaze flicked to Jack’s hand, still gripping the cell, his posture tense as though trying to assess whether Jack was real or some sort of imagination. Jack swallowed, his nerves taut. He had to say something, anything.

"I—uh..." Jack hesitated, then forced himself to speak. "I’m Jack," he introduced, his voice strained but steady. "I... I never really told you my name last time, did I?"

DogDay’s furred complexion furrowed in confusion, his expression unreadable. Jack could see the recognition flicker briefly in those white eyes, though the wariness never left. It was clear that DogDay was struggling to place him—he hadn’t known who Jack was the last time they’d spoken, when CatNap had nearly caught them. That was why they’d kept the distance. Why DogDay had kept his distance, too.

But now, in this silence, Jack felt the old tension still lingering, even with the introduction. "I didn’t think you’d make it back," DogDay finally muttered, his voice rough and hoarse, though it lacked any venom at all. "You shouldn’t have come here."

Jack stiffened, his throat tight. "I had to see you again," he said, his words thick with conviction. "I had to make sure you were alright."

DogDay gave him a hard look, and Jack couldn’t tell if it was pity or caution. Then the canine slowly shifted on the cold concrete, one paw dragging to adjust his position.

Jack’s gaze again shifted to the leg that had been savaged by the Mini Critter’s bite. His fingers itched to touch the bandages, to understand how DogDay had gotten it treated so efficiently.

"I didn’t think you’d be in this condition," Jack murmured, his confusion deepening as he approached the injured leg, crouching down to inspect the stitches. "The bite—it was bad. I thought—"

DogDay exhaled sharply, interrupting him. "I got it treated," he muttered, casting his gaze away. Jack could discern a flicker of shame stain his voice. "Someone did. It’s fine. Nothing to worry about."

Jack’s heart skipped at the implication, his mind working through the puzzle pieces. Who could have treated DogDay? It couldn’t have been him—Jack had barely made it out of the skirmish himself, wounded and exhausted. Someone else. But who? Maybe CatNap-

No, impossible, the thought was laughable, he was the one responsible for DogDay's constant doom. 

Before he could voice his suspicions, DogDay’s gaze shifted back to him, meeting Jack’s with an intensity that made the human feel exposed. "Why are you here, Jack?" DogDay asked, his voice cautious, yet tinged with an undercurrent of something deeper—something painful, maybe even regretful. "I told you to stay away."

Jack took a breath, his fingers twitching at his side. He stood straighter. "I couldn’t. Not after everything... You needed to know you’re not alone." He hesitated, his throat tight with emotion. "I’m sorry, DogDay. For not coming here sooner. I should have."

DogDay didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he blinked slowly, studying Jack in the silence. The weight of the years of his repeatedly struggles lingered in that moment. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer now, more airy than it had been before.

"It’s not your fault," he murmured. "We’re all trying to survive, Jack. You included. No matter what CatNap says, no matter what The Prototype wants... we’re still fighting. And we still have a chance to make it through this, together."

The air in the room grew heavier as DogDay's words hung between them. Jack recalled the offer he had once made to DogDay, a offer he would not get tired of reiterating over and over until he could make the toy see reason. 

"I can get you out of here," Jack said, his voice a mixture of hope and determination. Please, accept this time."You don’t have to stay here. We can escape. You don’t have to put up with CatNap or The Prototype anymore. We could—"

DogDay’s ears flicked back, his head tilting in a way that was too human for comfort, but too wary at the same time. A child. These toys were literal children. He shook his head slowly, his white-veiled eyes casting a long, somber gaze over Jack.

"You don’t get it," DogDay replied, his voice low, almost mournful. "I can’t leave." There was a hard edge to his tone, a severance in the way he spoke that stung more than Jack had anticipated. "If I leave now, it’ll just make things worse for you... for both of us. CatNap will hunt us down. You don’t want that. And The Prototype? It’ll never stop chasing us." He paused, his gaze distant, somewhere beyond Jack’s shoulder, as if the ghosts of his past had crept back into his thoughts. "It’s better I stay here. Better you stay away."

Jack’s throat tightened at the finality in DogDay’s voice. His hand clenched into a fist at his side, frustration bubbling to the surface. How could DogDay just accept this? How could he give up so easily? But as he opened his mouth to argue, to push harder, something made him stop. It was the look in DogDay’s eyes—a silent plea that was almost impossible to ignore despite the automated look the toy possessed.

Jack took a slow breath, trying to calm himself, but the words felt like stones in his mouth.

"I know you think it’s hopeless," Jack said quietly, the words slipping from him like sand through fingers. "But you’re wrong. It’s not hopeless." He met DogDay’s eyes, holding the gaze with everything he had. "I won’t give up on you. I can’t."

DogDay didn’t respond. He simply looked away, his eyes clouded with something Jack couldn’t understand.

And to their dismay, the calmness did not last long.

That was when they both heard it.

A faint scratching noise, like claws dragging across the concrete floor. At first, it was just a whisper, distant and faint, barely a sound above the hum of the machines. But then it grew louder. A quick, rhythmic scratching that made Jack’s spine straighten, a cold wave of dread rushing over him.

DogDay tensed instantly, his muscles going taut. His ears flattened against his skull as his eyes darted to the corner of the cell. He motioned for Jack to be quiet, his body rigid with alertness. The scratching continued, followed by a slow dragging noise that made Jack’s blood run cold.

He was here. Again.

"He's coming," DogDay whispered, voice strained. "You have to go. Now. Get out!"

Before Jack could protest, DogDay stood, his large body shifting with grace despite the wound, and positioned himself in front of Jack, grasping his arm and pushing him towards the door. Jack didn’t know what DogDay had sensed—what he was discerning that Jack wasn’t—but the urgency in his voice was enough to push him into action.

The scratching became louder. Closer. The sound of something—or someone—moving through the dark halls, dragging across the floor, closer and closer. Jack's heart hammered in his chest. He could see the shadows shifting outside the room, moving in a way that was too deliberate, too controlled.

"Go!" DogDay hissed again, his voice like a command. "Go now, Jack!"

Jack didn’t hesitate. With a sharp nod, he turned and bolted off the door, not daring to look back. The room felt suddenly too small, too suffocating. He could hear DogDay’s footsteps hurrying inside his cell, door slammed closed, but there was no time to talk. No time to argue.

As Jack reached the door, the scratching noise intensified, the sounds of sharp claws scraping against concrete now a deafening roar in his ears. Jack threw open another door and dashed into the hallway, but just as he crossed the threshold, a strange, acrid scent filled the air—a sharp, metallic tang that made his throat burn.

And then, the red smoke poured in.

It wasn’t like any smoke Jack had seen before. It was thick and suffocating, swirling like some kind of living thing, twisting and coiling in on itself as it flooded the room behind him. He heard a faint growl in warning, a deep rumble that echoed even through the thickening haze, but Jack didn’t look back. The room was already being overtaken by the smoke, the light dimming as it clouded out everything.

His breath caught in his chest, stinging as the smoke burned his lungs. Jack ran, his feet pounding against the floor, heart racing. He didn't dare to slow down, not with the smoke behind him and the faint echo of claws growing nearer in the distance.

With the smoke choking the hallways and the shadows now alive, Jack pushed himself faster, farther. He had no plan, no escape route—just the need to survive. His only longing was to outrun whatever was hunting him now.

Nonetheless, it was a difficult task at hand when his body felt like boiled-at-maximum spaghetti, when the corner of his eyes danced with black dots and his body swayed frequently with each step he took. Jack suppressed a groan as he collided face to the ground, body inmovile despite his brain sending signals to move, to run, to escape. He could only hope he had ran as far away from CatNap.

He sucked in a last breath as his vision clouded with darkness.