Chapter Text
The world is cruel. It has always been a cruel and cold place. Serafima should know. She grew up in this world. She has seen first hand how bad things could get. She witnessed them face first. The kind of things that stick to the back of your mind and refuse to leave, like stains that never quite wash out. She should know. I mean she should get a reward for the amount of bullshit she had to endure in her whole life span. The universe certainly never gave her one. Well her lifespan was short too-she died at fifteen.
Fifteen years was hardly enough time to understand life, much less lose it.
Life sucks. It loves to shit on you and leave you there to rot. Now in a body that isn't hers, in “skin” that wasn't hers, she's forced to exist in a life she wished would have ended. The porcelain body she wore moved perfectly, joints silent and smooth, but it still felt wrong in a way she couldn't properly describe. Too light. Too hollow. Too still. It was her fault afterall, she could have ignored what was happening to him, could have become a doctor, and have kids but no-she can't now can she? A normal life had been right there once, sitting within reach like a door she could have walked through. Deep down she knows, from the darkest depth of her rotten soul, that she doesn't regret her decisions.
Staring at the letter in her porcelain hand, she could tell this was a sign. A bad sign but a sign nonetheless. The paper felt fragile between her fingers, the edges slightly yellowed like it had been waiting for her for a long time. Flower-pupiled eyes track the vhs tape sat on the wooden table. The table itself was worn with age, small scratches and dents marking the surface like quiet reminders of time passing. Letting out a long suffering sigh, the doll moved to the old vhs player sitting in the corner of her lifeless living room. The room itself was barely decorated—just enough to look inhabited, but not enough to feel alive. The old thing had layers of dust that sprung up when she put in the tape. If she were human then she would have coughed her ass off.
As the old thing boots up, Serafima couldn't help but wonder what happened down there. The television crackled faintly as the machine struggled to wake up, the screen flickering between static and darkness. She knows that the Bigger Bodies Initiative took over after Ludwig's death, and she knows that the mascots-weren't actually mascots but rather children. Children forced into bodies that were never meant to hold them. What she didn't know was what happened down there, where did all the employees go? The question had lingered for years, unanswered and uncomfortable. She didn't trust the letter- no human would survive in that hell for 10 whole years.
She watched the commercial-for a Poppy Doll. The cheerful music coming from the television clashed horribly with the empty quiet of the room. She felt bad for Poppy, the girl didn't deserve what happened to her. She should have died, but men can be so selfish sometimes. Mind you- Ludwig dragged down three kids in his journey to save his daughter, and two of them were his own children. As she watched she noticed one thing- one very specific thing. The door with a poppy mural. That Poppy mural was not there before, she remembers very vividly, that there were no murals like that. She followed Ludwig around most of the time, when the big factory was being constructed. She knew those hallways like the back of her hand. He didn't have any plans for that wall.
She had questions but no answers, only more questions.
And questions were rarely good things in places like Playtime Co.
With a sigh, the albino took out the tape with nimble fingers. Her movements were delicate, careful, almost mechanical in their precision. She needed a new voicebox that Ludwig must have kept and she needed to find a way to replace the crack on her arm. The fracture in the porcelain was small but noticeable, a thin line that spidered along the surface of her forearm. The whole thing was getting on her nerves. Well-there was only one way for her, and it pointed downward. Into the depth of man-made hell, where she was created.
But first, she has to be ready.
<>
It was weird. Getting ready to go back to the factory. The thought alone felt strange, like revisiting a grave that had never truly been buried. She hasn't been there for years. Time had passed, but memories of that place had never really faded. She wonders if he would be there.
Dismissing the thought from her head, she looked back at the bag that was full of things that she would need. The lace of the white dress she wore swished softly around her knees, the layered ruffles brushing together as she moved back to her bed. The bodice was decorated with delicate embroidery and small bows, and the puffy sleeves “felt” like silk against her “skin.” The skirt flared outward slightly from the petticoats beneath it, giving the dress its stiff, doll-like shape. The dress looked pristine, almost unnaturally clean compared to the quiet gloom of the room. She was stalling—she knows—but can you really blame her?
Checking the bag, counting the snacks, a change of clothes in case anything happens. The zipper rasped softly each time she opened and closed it. She had her Surgical Repair Kit, prepared and ready, flashlights with extra batteries, her syringes and serums, and finally her notebook and pen, in case she had to communicate with someone. Hopefully she could find a damn voicebox, the voicebox inside her broke and if she tried to talk it would come out distorted, full of static. Her fur hooded jacket had some needles and small things that she would need. Small tools, thread, replacement parts—anything that might help keep her functioning if something went wrong. She was ready but dread made its place known.
Her eyes glowed dimly, and Serafima felt like she was carrying the whole world on her shoulders.
With one last look at the bag, she zipped it out and determination grew. The sound of the zipper closing felt strangely final. She wouldn't be cowed from this, she literally asked to be experimented on, she doesn't know why she fears this more.
<>
The night was dark as her heels clicked and clacked against the pavement at the front of the abandoned factory. The building loomed over her like a giant skeleton of rusted steel and fading paint. The security guard was asleep facing away from the cameras. His head drooped forward lazily, unaware of the silent figure approaching the building behind him. She looked away at the big sign and the faded paint as she finally opened the rusted door and closed it behind her.
Click
Clack
She focused on the sound of the heels hitting the ground, grounding her. The noise echoed faintly through the empty hallways like a metronome in a dead building. She avoided the leaf litter and opened the lights revealing the reception. Dust floated lazily through the air as the lights flickered on, illuminating the abandoned lobby. It had a long desk with an unusable computer. The monitor was cracked, its screen permanently dark. Seraphima looked around trying to find something until she saw a green vhs tape.
Whose bright idea was it to decorate these things?
Spotting a vhs player in the corner was convenient, though it literally screamed playtime. Placing it in with minimal resistance it took a moment to boot up but it started playing the stupid jingle.
"Hi, my name is Leith Pierre and I'm the head of innovation here at the Playtime Co. toy factory."
Leith Pierre, huh? It's been awhile since the doll has heard of that name.
"If you're seeing this, then you're trespassing. Yeah, we play this little tape on loop whenever we close the factory for the day. So trespasser, just to make you aware. While we pride ourselves primarily on our high quality toys and excellent childcare, we also pride ourselves on our security."
Childcare was such a hoax.
"For example, this facility is full of hidden motion triggers which, once set off, will turn on the factory's emergency alarms and directly contact the authorities! And that's one of the more tame aspects of our security system. No spoilers..."
She had doubts at that part, she knows that this place has been shut down for 10 years, there was no way that most of that even worked, and a lot of things had changed since 1995. The system is way too outdated by now.
"So, you've got my warning. It's not too late to turn around. I just hope you're certain whatever you're doing is worth it."
That was a little weird but she refused to be afraid, after all she was a living,immortal doll.
Walking around she noticed that the train was color coded with a specific color and the door to the security was locked with a color coded pad.
…
Seriously, who was the bright person that thought this would be a good way to keep people out of their secrets? A dedicated cat would be able to do this!
With a slight shake of her head, Serafima opened the door to the security room and saw another VHS tape and player. Not really in the mood to watch another one of those recorded videos, she just used a chair to break the case and grab the GrabPack. The plastic casing shattered easily beneath the impact. Taking off her duffel bag, she put on the Grabpack first and then she put on her own duffel bag.
Fixing the jacket and hood, she smoothed the fur-lined collar and tugged the hood forward so it shaded her face. The heavy fabric draped over the pale lace of her dress, hiding the porcelain sheen of her arms and the unnatural stillness of her joints. She was lucky that it covered most of her. With the thick jacket, long sleeves, and hood casting a shadow over her features, she wouldn't be easily outed as a toy, thankfully.
<>
Serafima knows Huggy Wuggy is alive, in a similar way she is.
It wasn't hard to figure out, seeing as he did have the key and is now gone from his place. She followed him to the door where his hands were going through, leading her to where he wants her to be.
With a tilt of her head, she continued following the puzzles and playing along with the design of the factory. It was annoying. The GrabPack felt too bulky, and she could feel eyes on her.
Like, at least try to be more subtle about it.
Instead of leaving it alone and ignoring it, she tracked it. Wherever she could feel eyes, she would stare in the direction they were coming from. Sometimes she could feel eyes watching her from the cameras and would start staring directly at them, almost challenging the person watching her.
She couldn't care less about what they thought. She moved with unnervingly graceful movements, trying to paint a picture of herself that would scare whoever they were. With a soft tilt of her head, she stared directly at the security camera she swore was following her around the room. She didn't stop until the camera finally moved away from her form.
Someone was watching her from the cameras, and another watched through the shadows of the room.
What a drag…