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It's cold. It was all cold.
Player couldn’t feel his hands. He could barely feel his face. How did he end up here? Was this what dying felt like? Was he dead? Was Giblet saving him just a dream?
Player took a deep breath in. His ribs felt like paper—fragile.
The grabpack sagged between Player’s fingers. He forgot which colors were what. He had gone through so many hands that colors were irrelevant. He only remembered pressing the buttons. The sounds didn’t startle him anymore. The crunch of bones and squelch of blood as he walked through the factory didn’t bother Player. It felt normal. It felt like seeing a painting on a wall that had always been there. You stopped counting the colors. You stopped running your fingers over the wooden frame. The texture didn’t stand out to you anymore. It was just a regular old painting under a name no one would care to remember in a few decades. It passed over you like wind.
Why did he come back? Why didn’t he just stay home? It had been ten years, so why couldn’t he have just let it go?
He had a choice. He could’ve thrown away that letter. He could’ve never even opened that sketchy package. Maybe he would have finally been able to accept what happened if he did.
"Hey, pal…"
Player looked up, and he was greeted by the sight of Giblet standing over him. Player hadn't realized how hunched over he had been. The toy above him, however short he was, was practically towering over the ex-employee like a skyscraper.
Player felt too weak to utter a reply. Giblet took the hint. The toy sighed with a mixture of defeat and understanding. Defeat from what exactly? That the Prototype got away with Poppy? That he couldn't save the orphans? Or that Player wasn't the angel Giblet had hoped for…?
"L-Look, I--" Giblet started, his voice straining while he spoke as if he had the weight of the entire world and more on his shoulders. He cut himself off. Whatever the toy wanted to say was lost in his throat. Giblet gulped, swallowing his silent thoughts.
"…I managed to find some dinner…it's not exactly gourmet but, uh…" he trailed off again. "I'll leave a plate out…come when you're hungry."
Giblet finished with a safe invitation. Then, the toy offered a comforting smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
Player watched as Giblet sauntered back into his little tent that he called home. Oh, how Player desperately wanted to get up and eat something, even if it was only scraps. But he felt so weak that he just couldn't stand. Instead, the ex-employee looked up at the vast ceiling above him.
It was covered in cracks. Player saw that the ceiling above Giblet’s tent was much lower than what he was seeing now. Years of neglect and bloodshed must’ve caused the floors above to collapse. In a way, Player was grateful. At least he wouldn’t have just solid grey to stare at.
The cracks in the stone were almost beautiful…in a way. They painted pictures. Tales of romance and tragedy were etched into the cement, and Player could see it all before him, right above his head. The tears spoke sonnets, and the light that shown through, however dim it was, drew out stories in Player’s mind. The ceiling was a beautiful mistake, all spread out for him to see.
Or Player was just going insane. The ex-employee wouldn’t blame himself. Anyone could go insane in a place as twisted as PlaytimeCo. Between all of the blood and guts, Player didn’t know how his heart was still beating. He could’ve sworn it had stopped almost a thousand times by now.
Maybe it had. Maybe this was all just some hazy dream. Maybe he was dead. Everything felt so numb that Player couldn’t muster the strength to move. Was this what Heaven was supposed to be?
Or was he burning in hell, surrounded by the flickering flames of this nightmare?
Nothing made sense, and yet everything did at the same time and it was terrifying.
Suddenly, a pebble that had split from the ceiling above him fell into Player’s lap. He felt a sharp sting on his leg.
No. This wasn’t Heaven or Hell. Player’s heart hadn’t stopped after inhaling the red smoke. It had still beaten after he had killed all of those toys. And it hadn’t given out when he saw Harley Sawyer on that computer screen after Giblet saved him from that vat of poppy gel. This was happening. It had all been very much real. Unlike the computer Harley Sawyer had used, Player’s heart hadn’t flickered out and shut down quite yet.
But he had a feeling that he was close to death. It sat on the tip of his tongue, tasting like painful relief. Like the last kiss of a lover fading away from his sight. Blissful, but filled with crushing sorrow.
Player looked up once more. He started counting the spots of light between each crack, as if he were counting the stars. The ex-employee pretended that instead of four caving walls and a leaky roof, he was on a hill, somewhere far away from all of the madness, with the only thing in sight being the stretching night sky across miles. Player tried to piece together constellations he somewhat knew in the expanse of cement he saw before him. Trying to force his mind to see shapes in the chaos of the ruins almost made Player forget about his overwhelming hunger. Almost.
He opened his mouth, his throat sore as he cleared it. Player's tongue ached like he hadn't used it in years. After some agressively painful coughing and a few more pushes of effort, he was able to muster a sentence.
"Gib…let…?" The ex-employee's voice was weak and raspy. The toy heard his call and stuck his head out of the flaps of the tent. "Tired…moving…hurts…bring food…? Please…?" Player managed to get his request out before his voice deflated like a popped balloon.
Giblet's eyes widened slightly. Player didn’t know if it was out of shock, because the toy had barely ever heard the ex-employee speak before, or if it was out of concern.
And then, Giblet’s face melted into a smile. It wasn’t the sad one from before, but a gentle, warm expression. The toy nodded.
”Sure.”
...~.~...
Player still sat slumped against the wall just outside of Giblet's tent, but he didn't feel as bad as before. In fact, the ex-employee felt much better than he had in hours. Even in it took all of Player's courage to swallow the disgusting heap of slop Giblet had served him, at least he had a full stomach now. He had been starving for hours, and all of the monsters he had encountered only drained his energy further.
The stress and guilt didn't help either. It weighed on Player's mind constantly, like shackles strapped to his legs, pulling him down, down, down…
Killing him slowly.
Player sighed. Dinner with Giblet had at least distracted him long enough to momentarily forget everything he had done.
It was just self defense. That was the truth. The logical explanation and reasoning for Player's choices. Some of those deaths hadn't even been his fault.
But it still felt like a lie to him. It still felt like his fault. His doing. Sometimes, Player thought he could still hear their screams.
Huggy's mindless shrieks.
Mommy's pleading.
CatNap's choked gasp.
Doey's apology.
Lilly's wide-eyed scream.
It was a never-ending, torturous cacophony that lingered in Player's mind like a disease. Every taunting shriek seemed to say:
"Look. Look at what you did."
"See this? This mess you've made?"
"It's your fault."
"It's your fault."
"It's all. Your. Fault."
Player looked up with a broken sigh. Maybe he was going insane. But whether they were from insanity, lingering effects of the red poppy gas, or just sheer fatigue, the voices he heard were far from wrong.
All of those toys were dead because of Player's actions. Hell, he even felt guilty for the ones who had been hunting him.
Bunzo, Ms. Delight, Yarnaby…
They were evil and bloodthirsty, yes. But they were also broken broken. The ex-employee could see it in their eyes.
Player had killed broken toys that only wanted food. A place to sleep. A place to hide. A sliver of a fighting chance at survival. Freedom.
Maybe this is why all of those toys hated humans so much. Becaus like the rest of them, Player couldn't help but hurt everytime he set foot in a new floor of the factory.
He looked down at his grabpack. Player's breath hitched. He hadn't really noticed how much blood stained the mechanical fingers. He had only used his pressure hand grabpack for a few hours, but it looked like it had been used in a massacre. Sticky crimsom patches covered the rusted metal of his pressure hand.
It was disgusting.
Suddenly, Player heard chittering in the shadows of the room. A smiling critter plush jumped out, fangs bared. On instinct, the ex-employee pressed the button on the right hand of his grabpack, smacking the creature away. It hissed as it tumbled back into a pile of boxes, and the contents of each container spilled out onto the cement floor. One of the objects in the tumbling boxes rolled all the way to Player's leg, stopping right next to it. The critter was long gone by now, growling with hunger and frustration.
"Hey!" Gibet yelped in distress, hobbling out of his tent. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? Is He--!?"
Player sat up slightly, shaking his head.
"Just…a critter. Looking for food." Player could barely croak out the words. Even though he had gotten something to eat and drink, the lack of sleep still stole his voice.
Giblet's tensed stance relaxed, though the toy's hands were still trembling. Player knew that feeling. In this hell, there was barely a chance to rest. If you let your guard down even for a moment too long, you would end up critter food.
Giblet panted lightly before sighing in relief. His shoulders sagged.
"…how about you come inside…? It'll be safer in there than out here in the open." The toy gestured to his little tent. Giblet's warm smile returned, looking a tad bit more tired now.
Player nodded in agreement.
"I'll come in a minute…" the ex-employee answered. Giblet walked back to the flaps that shielded his makeshift home, leaving Player alone against the wall once more.
Player looked back down at his grabpack. His eyes were starting to grow tired. As he was about to stand up to walk to the tent, Player felt something brush against his calf.
Oh.
Right.
After he scared of the critter, all of those boxes had fallen over, sending things flying everywhere. Player reached down to grab the thing that had hit his leg.
It was an old DogDay plush. It's orange fur was stained and scuffed from years of neglect, and its left ear was close to falling off. The tag was still on.
Player flipped it over. In big, bold bubble letters, said: "I talk when you squeeze me!"
The ex-employee remembered packaging a few of these special edition speaking critters from the Smiling Critters toy line. This edition had been created after the recalling of all of the CatNap plushes to compensate and to salvage PlaytimeCo's reputation. Each plush said five different sentences, depending on what character the plush was. Player remembered a few of Hoppy and Picky's lines, but not much after that.
The ex-employee wondered if this plush's voicebox still worked. Probably not, but Player decided to give it a try anyways. He squeezed the DogDay's shoulder. There was some crackling at first, but then, the stuffie finally spoke audible words while in the middle of one of the five voicelines. Player squeezed again.
"I love you!"
The tips of the little toy's dog ears glowed a warm orange as it spoke.
Player's eyes softened. His mind flashed with the memory of seeing DogDay chained to that wall, his insides close to spilling out. The pain in his voice. The faded hope that had drained from his eyes.
The ex-employee hugged the toy close to his chest, squeezing it once more. Another "I love you!" sounded from the DogDay plush, paired with its ears glowing.
Tears welled up in Player's eyes. If only he had helped DogDay when he had the chance instead of standing and gaping like an idiot. If only he had stayed home. If only he had never worked here.
Player slowly stood up, burying his face into the plush, trying to hide and dry his tears. The ex-employee walked over to the flaps of Giblet's tent, nudging one aside so he could pash through the entrance, carrying the DogDay toy with him.
After a brief conversatio between him and Giblet, Player made himself comfortable on a small blanket in the corner of Giblet's tent. It was thin and raggedy, and Player could feel the cement under it, but it was still a place to sleep. With the plush in his hands, the ex-employee closed his eyes. He gave the DogDay toy one last squeeze.
"I love you!"
I'm sorry, Player thought, his finger playing with the glowing dog ears as he curled up on the thin blanket.
And then, sleep finally consumed him, letting him fall out of this terrifying reality he was trapped in. Even if only for a moment.