Chapter Text
11:45am. August 8, 1995
DogDay did not need to see the outdoors to know how truly bad The Hour of Joy was. The sounds alone were enough to convince him to stay where he was. Screams abruptly cutting off, bones snapping, toys screeching, laughing, or both, and the many ignored pleas for mercy. He knew the day was coming — they all did — but this was not what he expected. He had settled on not joining, but when CatNap came to unlock his cage, already covered in blood, he knew he had to, at least, protect the orphans from the others. Thankfully, he did not come alone. His good friends, CraftyCorn and Bubba Bubbaphant, followed him, running through the carnage and ushering the screaming children into Home Sweet Home.
Now in the central hub area, DogDay, Crafty, and Bubba guarded the children and the Playcare attendants. During the first 10 minutes, DogDay had to scare off many invading toys before he and Bubba could barricade the doors. Even if it risked his life, he wasn’t allowing any of them to pass. The ten adults among them tried their best to comfort the crying and screaming orphans, despite being terrified themselves.
“What’s happening?” One little girl cried.
“I’m not sure,” replied the closest adult, “but the SmilingCritters are here. They’re helping us.”
DogDay looked over his shoulder and said, “It should be over soon. It’s alright. We’re not letting—”
Something heavy rammed against the doors. He tensed. Another bang. The bookcase he hastily dragged in front of them fell over with a crash. The children screamed louder. Another. This one splintered the wood. DogDay, Bubba, and Crafty raced to the doors, only for one final push to knock them back and swing the doors open.
CatNap stood at the entrance, back arched and paws covered in blood. DogDay’s alarm gave way to relief — CatNap would never hurt the children — but his relief did not last long, for CatNap was not alone.
Looming behind him, creaking and clicking with every twitch and movement, was a mechanical monstrosity the likes of which DogDay had never seen before. A lanky, smiling jester gazed down at him with a single glowing yellow-orange eye from atop six spidery metal legs. His long, needle-like fingers clawed the top of the doorframe as he ducked down to enter Home Sweet Home. The SmilingCritters scurried back.
DogDay had only heard of this toy from the others. CatNap called him ‘The First,’ as he was the first experiment and the blueprint for them all, but his true name was The Prototype. DogDay was told he was just a simple Jack-in-a-Box. There was nothing simple about the creature before him.
The children and adults screamed and begged for The SmilingCritters to “kill that thing!” The Prototype’s piercing glare slowly turned from them to DogDay. He stiffly cocked his head, as if daring DogDay to try. DogDay kept his distance.
The Prototype faced the children and made a strange, garbled whirring sound. “CatNap,” his voice was a mix of voices. “Do it.”
CatNap stepped up to the petrified group and exhaled Red Smoke. One-by-one, they slumped to the floor, asleep. He then walked through them, grabbed each unconscious adult, and dragged them to The Prototype. He quickly dispatched them with a ruthless stab through the heart with his blade-like fingers and then tossed their bodies aside in a bloody pile.
DogDay exclaimed, “Wait! These are teachers—”
“All must die,” said The Prototype without looking at him. Claws dripping blood and gore, he addressed the distraught SmilingCritters. “Take them to their beds. CatNap will stay and watch over them.”
CatNap did what he was told, but the others hesitated. The Prototype creakily faced them. “Do I need to repeat myself?”
Bubba and Crafty gently gathered the orphans in their arms and took them to the dorms. DogDay, however, did not move.
“What are you going to do to them?” He asked.
The Prototype whirred and creaked as he said, “No harm will come to them. Now, take them to their beds.”
A sliver of stubborn bravery crept into DogDay’s heart. He huffed, “Who made you the boss?”
The Prototype stomped toward him, sending tremors through the wood and up DogDay’s limbs, and bent to look him in the eyes. His smiling, mask-like face was inches away from DogDay’s.
“I did. Now go.”
Disturbed and confused, DogDay rose to two feet and gathered a child in his arms. He felt The Prototype’s stare singe every hair on his body as he walked toward the dorms.