Poppy Playtime: Heir of the Factory
Alster walked along the factory corridors, clutching a small bag. Inside were pieces of fresh meat and toys intended for Yarnaby. He was in a hurry to visit his friend, but his path was blocked by Harley Swear, who had stepped out of his laboratory.
Harley: "Aren’t you afraid? He’s been bored lately. Could snap at you."
Alster: "He’s my friend. He won’t hurt me."
Harley made a sound like a snort but stepped aside.
Harley: "Fine. Just not too long. He has a schedule."
Alster continued on his way. Harley turned and headed back toward the laboratory, muttering something about “disobedient experiments.”
The door to Yarnaby’s room was slightly ajar.
Alster peeked inside — and smiled out of habit. The room was small but cozy. He had replaced the gray iron walls with beige wallpaper, thrown a thick fluffy rug on the floor, placed an old but clean couch in the corner, piled it with colorful pillows. On the table — a stack of picture books. Yarnaby couldn’t read, but he loved looking at the pictures. And most importantly — no cameras. Only warm, dim light and silence.
The lion flew out from behind the sofa, dashed across the room and jumped on Alster with such force that they both tumbled onto the soft rug.
Alster: "I… in the bag… meat…"
The lion immediately pulled back, staring at the bag. His eyes blazed.
Yarnaby took the bag, pulled out a chunk and sank his teeth into it. He purred so loudly that the walls vibrated.
Meanwhile, Alster stood up, brushed himself off and went behind the lion. While the lion ate, he began running his fingers through his rainbow mane.
Alster: "You’ve neglected it…"
Yarnaby: "Had no time for the mane."
Alster patiently untangled the knots, stroked the lion behind the ears, down to his neck, then his back. Yarnaby purred louder and louder.
Alster reached his belly — soft, warm, and lightly tickled it with his fingertips.
The lion twitched, nearly choking.
Yarnaby: "Ticklish! Are you doing that on purpose?"
Alster: "No. It’s just that your belly is vulnerable."
Yarnaby: "Everything about me is vulnerable when you’re around."
He put the meat aside, moved closer to Alster, and rested his head on his lap.
Yarnaby: "Talk. What happened during this month? Everything, in order."
And Alster told him. About fainting in the hallway. About how Catnap found him. About his father coming, hugging him, and forcing him to rest. About the chase, about Lily and Kenny, about how Lily nearly spilled the beans about his past, and how Prototype stuffed a cupcake in her mouth.
Alster: "She knows something… Father knows. Catnap knows. Everyone knows, but I don’t."
Yarnaby listened without interrupting. He only purred softly when Alster spoke of sad things, and a little louder when it was about good things.
Yarnaby: "You want to know the truth."
Alster: "I do. But no one talks."
Yarnaby: "Because they’re scared. Your father knows how to frighten."
Alster fell silent. Looked away. His fingers stopped in the lion’s mane.
Yarnaby: "Hey… What’s wrong?"
The lion paused. Then his rainbow mane flared up, and he started tickling Alster’s sides.
Yarnaby: "Now we’re even! You tickled my belly, I tickle your sides."
Alster: "Not fair! You’re stronger!"
Yarnaby: "And you’re smarter. Strength doesn’t always win."
The lion tickled until Alster was soaked with laughter and gave up.
Alster: "Okay, okay! You win!"
Yarnaby stopped, purred contentedly and hugged Alster — tightly, the lion way.
Yarnaby: "Don’t be sad. You’ll find out the truth. I’ll help. If necessary, I’ll tear apart anyone who gets in your way."
Alster: "Even my father?"
Yarnaby: "Well… I probably won’t tear your father apart. But I’ll scratch him."
Alster laughed — genuinely, for the first time that day.
Alster: "Alright, enough sadness. Let’s play."
He took the ball out of the bag.
Yarnaby looked at the ball. Then at Alster. Then at the ball again.
Yarnaby: "I’m not a dog."
Alster: "Then what are you?"
Yarnaby: "A lion. But… for you, I can try."
Alster threw the ball against the wall. Yarnaby shot forward — fast, powerful. Caught it on the rebound, brought it back, dropped it at his feet.
Alster threw again, and the lion ran. After ten throws, Yarnaby tired, sprawled on the rug and pulled Alster down with him.
Yarnaby: "That’s it, I’m old."
Alster: "You’re three years old."
Yarnaby: "In lion years, that’s forty."
Alster smirked. He knew that lions in captivity live up to twenty, but he didn’t argue — Yarnaby was clearly dramatizing. They lay side by side. Yarnaby snuggled closer, buried his nose in the angel’s shoulder.
Yarnaby: "Scratch me some more."
Alster scratched behind his ears, under the mane, on his belly. The lion purred like a big tractor.
Yarnaby: "Thank you. For the meat, for the toys, for… existing."
Alster: "You’re welcome."
At that moment, the door opened. Harley stood in the doorway.
Harley: "Time’s up. He needs his procedures. Feeding, measurements."
Alster: "I’m almost done."
Harley: "You’re done, so you’re done. Yarnaby, coming?"
The lion sighed heavily and got up.
Yarnaby: "Coming. Will you come again?"
Yarnaby: "Bring more meat. And the mouse. I liked it."
Yarnaby licked Alster’s cheek and followed Harley out. The scientist shot a brief glance at the heir — seemingly grumpy, but something warm flickered in his single eye.
Alster stayed alone in the lion’s room. He looked at the empty rug, the scattered pillows, the half‑eaten meat.
Alster: "I will find out the truth, no matter the cost."
Alster left Yarnaby’s room. The corridor was quiet and empty — Harley had taken the lion for his procedures, other scientists had gone about their business.
The heir headed toward the administrative wing. His thoughts were still filled with the lion, his mane, and his contented purr.
He was just turning toward the elevator when he heard voices. From Prototype’s office — the door was open a crack.
Scientist: "...experiment 1160, Boxy Boo. We can’t control him. He ate five employees this past month."
Prototype: "Five? Why wasn’t I informed sooner?"
Scientist: "We were afraid. He… he begged us not to tell you. Said he would change. But today he bit an orderly. The man lost his arm."
Prototype: "What do you propose?"
Scientist: "Termination. It’s the only way."
Prototype: "All right. Prepare —"
Alster pushed the door — it slammed against the wall with a bang. The scientist flinched and stepped back. Prototype slowly raised his head.
Prototype: "Son. This is not your concern."
Alster: "This is my factory. I am the heir. And I have a say."
Prototype: "This isn’t about the factory, but about a dangerous creature."
Alster: "He’s not dangerous, he’s sick. You made him that way. You yourselves! Where is he now?"
Scientist: "In a cell. Isolated."
Alster: "I want to see him."
Prototype stood up. His three‑meter frame loomed over the office.
Prototype: "He eats people. I will not let you go to him."
Alster: "Then come with me. You’ll cover me."
Alster: "Dad, please. Give me a chance. If I see that he’s hopeless — I’ll say ‘yes’ myself. But don’t kill him without even looking."
Prototype stared at his son for a long time. Then he turned his gaze to the scientist.
The scientist rushed out faster than Alster could blink.
Prototype: "Are you sure?"
Prototype: "Then let’s go."
Boxy Boo’s cell was on the lower level. It smelled of dampness, mold, and despair.
Alster went down first. Prototype followed like a shadow. The guard unlocked the door and immediately stepped back, pressing against the wall.
In the corner, chained to the floor, sat Boxy Boo.
His red fur was matted, his square head hung low. His clothes were dirty rags that did not hide his emaciated body. Yellow, unwashed claws stuck out from under the torn fabric. He didn’t even raise his head when the door opened.
Alster stepped into the cell. Prototype stayed at the entrance.
Boxy Boo twitched. Raised his head. His black eyes widened — first in fear, then in confusion.
Boxy Boo: "Who… are you?"
Alster: "Alster. Prototype’s son."
Boxy Boo: "And… is that… the god himself?"
Prototype: "You could say that, but for now I’m just his father."
Boxy Boo pressed himself against the wall.
Boxy Boo: "Have you come to kill me? I know… I deserve it."
Alster: "No." — Alster crouched down in front of him. — "I’ve come to save you."
Boxy Boo: "Save? Me? I’m a monster. I ate people."
Alster: "You were surviving. As best you could. That’s different."
Alster paused, letting Boxy Boo absorb it.
Alster: "Do you want to get out of here?"
Alster: "To freedom. Where there’s food, warm water, normal clothes. Where no one will beat you or starve you."
Boxy Boo: "What do I have to do for that?"
Alster: "Nothing. Just say yes."
Boxy Boo looked at Alster. Then at Prototype. Then at Alster again.
Boxy Boo: "You’re not lying."
Alster: "Because I know what it’s like to be in a cage. Even though my cage was beautiful and called ‘the heir’s room’."
Prototype, behind his son, tensed almost imperceptibly.
Boxy Boo: "I don’t want to eat people anymore."
Alster: "No one will make you. I promise."
Alster reached out his hand. Boxy Boo, slowly, trembling, reached out and placed his hand in the angel’s palm. Prototype nodded to the guard. The chains fell.
Alster: "Come. A home awaits you."
Boxy Boo: "I’ve never had a home."
And they walked out of the cell. Prototype was silent, but his silence was heavier than any scream.
The dungeon was left behind. Boxy Boo walked down the corridor, dragging his feet, looking around. The chains no longer clinked, but he still held his arms against his body, as if afraid they would be bound again.
Alster: "Don’t be afraid. We’re going to my place. Just you and me."
They went up to the residential level. Alster led Boxy Boo into his bathroom. He stood in the doorway, shifting from paw to paw.
Alster: "Come in," he said, running warm water into the large bathtub.
Boxy Boo: "I’ll mess it up…"
Alster: "The water will wash it away."
Alster helped him remove his dirty rags — turned away, not looking. Boxy Boo quickly slipped into the water, tucking his spring‑limbs under him.
For the first time in years — warm water, not an icy stream from a hose.
Alster took a soft sponge and squeezed gel onto it.
Alster: "You can’t reach your back. Turn around."
Boxy Boo turned. Alster, sitting on the edge of the tub, gently ran the sponge over his back — over the matted fur, over the dull springs. The water first turned almost black, then lighter.
Boxy Boo: "No. Strange. No one ever washed me. They only beat me."
Alster: "From now on, they will wash you. Warm and with bubbles."
Boxy Boo sat still, afraid to splash. Then Alster handed him the sponge.
Alster: "Now yourself. Here’s the gel. Can you manage?"
Boxy Boo clumsily lathered his chest, belly, and springs. In some places it was ticklish — he giggled, and the springs trembled.
Alster: "Do you like it?"
When he got out of the bath, Alster handed him a large towel. Boxy Boo dried himself, fluffing up his fur. Then Alster gave him clothes: a blue short‑sleeved shirt, jeans, and soft socks.
Alster: "Here, put these on so your paws stay warm."
Boxy Boo took the socks and tried to pull one onto his paw. His clawed toes curled up, and it felt uncomfortable.
Boxy Boo: "I don’t want to. I don’t like my toes being squeezed."
Alster: "All right then. Go barefoot. The main thing is to be clean."
Boxy Boo dressed, adjusted his shirt. Looked at himself in the mirror. The red fur gleamed, the springs sparkled.
Boxy Boo: "Am I… beautiful?"
Alster: "You always were. It’s just that no one noticed before."
Alster took a plate of meat from the refrigerator — fresh, cut into pieces. Put it on the table.
Alster: "Eat. You’re hungry."
Boxy Boo sat at the table and took the meat with his paws. He ate slowly, with relish. For the first time, he was eating not in a cage, not in a hurry, not afraid that it would be taken away.
Boxy Boo: "Very good. Thank you."
Alster: "Let’s go. I’ll show you your new life."
And they left Alster’s room.
Alster led him to the middle level, to the sector called “Project: Playtime.”
Boxy Boo: "Why here, of all places?"
The corridors here were wider, the walls covered with graffiti, instead of boring lamps — colorful garlands.
Alster: "Because this is where those who grew up in Playcare live. They were brought here as little children. They went through the games, the fears, the experiments. Now they are between 13 and 18. They’re too old for the children’s playground, but not yet ready for the big factory. And most importantly — they have seen a lot. They are not afraid of monsters the way ordinary people are. And you are not a monster."
Boxy Boo: "Then what am I?"
Alster: "You are a chance to show them that even someone who made mistakes can become good."
They entered a large room. Spacious, with high ceilings. Everywhere — soft sofas, game consoles, old arcade machines, table football, ping‑pong, beanbag chairs. On the walls — posters of toys. The lighting was dim but warm.
About fifteen teenagers sat here and there. Mostly ordinary kids, though some had scars or mechanical prostheses. But all looked well‑fed, cleanly dressed, and, judging by the laughter, content.
When Alster and Boxy Boo entered, the noise died down. All eyes turned to the newcomer.
Someone: "It’s the heir! Hi!"
Alster: "Hello, guys. I’ve brought a new friend."
He stepped aside, revealing Boxy Boo. He stood there, not knowing what to do with his hands. His square head lowered slightly, his black eyes darting.
Alster: "This is Boxy Boo. He was in prison. But now he’s free. He won’t hurt anyone. I want him to stay here and help you."
Then one of the teenagers — a tall, red‑haired boy — stood up and came closer.
Matthew: "I remember him. My name is Matthew. I was brought here when I was 13. I saw Boxy Boo once — he was…"
Boxy Boo: "Eating scientists. I know. It’s true."
Matthew narrowed his eyes.
Matthew: "So what’s changed?"
Alster put his hand on Boxy Boo’s shoulder.
Alster: "No one ever washed him, never fed him properly, never talked to him. He was surviving. Now he has a chance to become good. Will you help him?"
Matthew looked at Boxy Boo for a long time. Then he held out his ordinary hand.
Matthew: "Fine. We’ve had all sorts here too."
Boxy Boo carefully shook his hand.
Boxy Boo: "I won’t eat people anymore. I promise."
Matthew: "Well, see that you don’t. We have our own rules here: we decide ourselves who to punish."
Boxy Boo: "But… aren’t you afraid of me?"
Cassie: "What’s to be afraid of? We’ve seen worse in this hell. Besides, you’re kind of cute."
She stroked his shoulder.
Cassie: "Soft, like a cat."
Boxy Boo: "I’m not a cat."
Cassie: "Then what are you?"
Boxy Boo: "I don’t know. From now on, I’m just Boxy."
Soon he was surrounded by everyone. Some touched his springs, some asked if it had hurt in prison, some offered to play ping‑pong.
Matthew: "Do you know how?"
Boxy Boo: "I don’t know. I’ve never tried."
And they dragged him to the table.
Half an hour later, Boxy Boo was already mixing up the bat and the ball, laughing, and even won two points. The room filled with noise, laughter, shouts of “Go, Boxy!”
Alster watched from the sidelines. The same girl came up to him.
Cassie: "Heir, will he stay with us?"
Alster: "If he wants to. I’m offering him to become your supervisor. Like Mommy for the little ones, like Lily on Sweet Street. And also — a train driver. He’ll take you between locations."
Cassie: "Cool! Can he play with us every day?"
Alster: "You’ll have to ask him that."
In the evening, when most had gone to their rooms, Alster and Boxy Boo sat on the sofa. The monster looked happy — tired, but calm.
Alster: "Well, how is it?"
Boxy Boo: "They’re not afraid of me. They’re like me."
Alster: "They’re just like you. Survivors."
Alster turned to face him.
Alster: "Now you won’t just be living at this station. I’m appointing you as the head of the ‘Project: Playtime’ zone. That’s a big responsibility. You’ll be in charge of order, the kids’ mood, safety. And also — you’ll become a train driver. You’ll take children and toys between locations."
Boxy Boo blinked, confused.
Boxy Boo: "I don’t know how to drive a train."
Alster: "I’ll teach you. But here…"
Alster pulled a blue peaked cap with red stitching and a gold factory badge from his bag. Carefully he placed it on Boxy Boo’s square head.
Alster: "Now you are an official employee of the factory. And this is your badge."
He pinned a shiny badge to the shirt — the symbol of the heir’s assistant. The same as Catnap’s, Huggy’s, Lily’s, Mommy’s, and Yarnaby’s.
Alster: "Now you’re on the team. One of us."
Boxy Boo ran his fingers over the cap, then over the badge. His eyes glistened.
Boxy Boo: "I won’t let you down."
Alster led Boxy Boo to the residential block. The team he had summoned was already there.
First came Catnap. The purple cat looked the monster up and down, sniffed him, then nodded.
Catnap: "Smells of fear and hope. That’s a good mix. We’ll be friends."
From the next door, Huggy Wuggy stuck his head out. Seeing his new neighbor, he grinned widely and extended a blue paw.
Huggy: "I heard you’re a train driver. And I guard the perimeter. If anything — I’m right behind the wall."
Huggy: "And give me five."
Just then Lily rushed up, carrying a tray of pastries. Kendy peeked out from her hair and squeaked.
Kendy: "New! New! Can I play with him?!"
Lily: "Quiet! Boxy Boo, I’m Lily. Welcome. If you want tea or just to talk — my door is open."
Boxy Boo: "I like sweets."
Lily: "Then we’ll get along."
Mommy Long Legs came last. Her long arms wrapped around the new friend in a light hug.
Mommy: "I heard you’re with the teenagers now. If you need any games — let me know. I have hundreds."
Mommy pulled back and winked.
Mommy: "Alright, men, get some rest. Lots of work tomorrow."
They dispersed. Alster led Boxy Boo into his new room. On the wall already hung a train schedule, on the bed lay a driver’s uniform. And on the pillow — a note from Huggy: “Welcome, neighbor! Don’t snore.”
Boxy Boo: "Thank you. For everything."
Alster: "Sleep. First driving lesson tomorrow."
He left and closed the door.
And Boxy Boo sat on the bed for a long time, stroking his cap, looking at the badge, and feeling that life had finally begun.
Prototype was sitting in his office when the door opened without a knock. He raised his head — Alster stood in the doorway. Tired, but content.
Prototype: "Well? How’s your new ‘pet’?"
Alster: "His name is Boxy Boo. And he’s not a pet. He’s an employee."
Prototype raised an eyebrow.
Prototype: "An employee?"
Alster: "I’ve appointed him head of ‘Project: Playtime’. And also a train driver. Starting tomorrow, he’ll be taking children and toys between locations."
Prototype: "You gave him access to transport?"
Alster: "I’ll teach him to drive myself."
Prototype was silent. His yellow eyes glowed evenly, without anger.
Prototype: "Did you give him a uniform? A badge?"
Alster: "The same as Catnap, Huggy, Lily, Mommy, and Yarnaby. He’s on the team now."
Prototype: "You didn’t even ask me. I’m still your father and the owner of this factory."
Alster: "I respect you, but this is my decision. You gave me a chance. I used it. Boxy Boo is not dangerous. He’s just broken. Like all of us."
Prototype leaned back in his chair.
Prototype: "He ate five employees."
Alster: "He was surviving. He was forced to. You know yourself that they don’t feed you properly in the experimental prison."
Prototype: "I know. Because I invented it."
Alster: "Then you can understand that it was a mistake."
Prototype stared at his son for a long time. Then he gave a barely perceptible nod.
Prototype: "You remind me of myself, Alster. When I was young, I also wanted to save everyone I shouldn’t have. Sometimes it led to trouble."
Alster: "And sometimes to something good. Look at Catnap. At Huggy. At Lily. They were all ‘mistakes’ until someone gave them a chance."
Prototype chuckled — short and dry.
Prototype: "Fine. If you vouch for him…"
Prototype: "Then watch him yourself. But if he so much as…"
Alster: "He won’t hurt anyone. I promise."
Prototype: "Don’t promise. Just do."
Alster: "Thank you, Dad."
Prototype: "Go on. Sleep."
Alster left. Prototype stayed alone. He stared thoughtfully at the closed door and said quietly:
Prototype: "Just like me. Stubborn, kind… and just as naive."
He picked up his papers, but no longer felt like working. He put them aside and sank into thought.
Later, Prototype did not go to sleep. Instead, he went down one level and entered Preston’s office without knocking.
The psychologist was not surprised. He sat at his table, drinking herbal tea and reading a book.
Preston: "Lord Prototype. A late visit."
Prototype: "Can’t sleep."
Prototype: "He saved another monster today."
Preston: "Boxy Boo. I heard."
Prototype: "You already know?"
Preston: "I have good sources."
Prototype tiredly ran a hand over his face.
Prototype: "I agreed. Gave him a chance. But I’m not sure this is right. That thing… he ate people."
Preston: "He was forced to. Alster is no fool. He sees the essence, not the shell. He learned that from you."
Prototype smiled bitterly.
Prototype: "From me? I create monsters."
Preston: "You built a factory. The monsters were created by circumstances, not you."
Prototype: "That changes nothing."
Preston poured Prototype some tea. He took the cup without thanks.
Preston: "You’re afraid for him. For Alster."
Prototype: "I’m always afraid."
Preston: "Don’t be. He’s stronger than he looks. And he has you. He has Catnap, Lily, Huggy, Mommy, Yarnaby, and now Boxy Boo. A team."
Prototype: "What if Boxy Boo snaps?"
Preston: "Then Alster will stop him. He knows how."
Prototype finished his tea. Put down the cup.
Prototype: "You always see everything so simply, Preston."
Preston: "Because I’m a psychologist, not a ruler. I don’t have to make decisions for everyone."
Preston: "Good night, Lord Prototype. And believe me: Alster is proud of you. Today especially."
Prototype said nothing. He left.
In the corridor, he stood for a few seconds, looking at the closed door.
Prototype: "Proud… Good."
And he went to his own room.
Boxy Boo sat on his new bed, stroking his cap, still unable to believe that the room was his. There was a knock at the door.
The door opened, and Huggy Wuggy appeared in the doorway. In one hand he held two mugs of steaming tea, in the other — a deck of cards.
Huggy: "Can’t sleep? I thought: a neighbor’s first day — we should get to know each other better. Mint tea. Sweet."
Huggy plopped down on the floor, pushed one mug toward Boxy Boo.
Huggy: "So, how are you? Settling in?"
Boxy Boo: "I can’t believe that now I’m… free. And I have a job. And a room."
Huggy: "It’s all real. I didn’t believe it either when they brought me here."
Boxy Boo: "Were you… saved too?"
Huggy put down his mug. Looked off somewhere.
Huggy: "They found me in an old laboratory. Locked in a cage. I was the first living experiment. The scientists were afraid of me, fed me once a week, ran tests. I thought I’d die there. And then… a little kid came."
Boxy Boo: "A little kid?"
Huggy: "Alster. He was four years old. He went down to the basement without permission, saw me, and wasn’t scared. He walked up to the cage, stuck his hand through the bars, and patted my head. ‘You’re good,’ he said. ‘You will guard me.’"
Boxy Boo: "And you agreed?"
Huggy: "I cried. For the first time in many years. Then Prototype — his father — heard the noise, came down, and wanted to kill me. But Alster stepped between us. ‘No, Dad. He’s my friend. He stays.’ And Prototype… backed off. Can you imagine? The god of the factory backed off in front of a four‑year‑old child."
Boxy Boo listened, breathless.
Huggy: "Since then I’ve lived here. And I guard the factory. And him. So I know what you’re feeling. He saved you, too. That means you’re good."
Boxy Boo: "I’m not good. I eat people."
Huggy: "You were surviving. That’s different. And if Alster gave you a chance — then you deserve it."
Huggy: "Okay. Enough sadness. Want to play cards? Do you know how to play Fool?"
He moved closer, dealt the cards, and began explaining the rules. Boxy Boo got confused at first, played the wrong suit, missed his turn. Huggy laughed, corrected him, encouraged him.
Huggy: "You’re a natural!"
He said when Boxy Boo won his first round.
Boxy Boo: "Did you lose on purpose?"
Huggy: "Never. I lost fair and square. You won."
Boxy Boo smiled — widely, like a child.
Boxy Boo: "Thank you, Huggy."
Boxy Boo: "For the story. For the tea. For the cards. For… coming."
Huggy: "Who else would come? We’re neighbors. Neighbors support each other. And now — sleep. Early day tomorrow. The train won’t drive itself."
Boxy Boo: "I don’t have a train yet."
Huggy: "You will. Alster said so."
Huggy headed for the door but paused.
Huggy: "If you ever feel scared or lonely — knock on the wall. I’ll hear."
Boxy Boo: "What if it’s night?"
Huggy: "Especially at night."
He left. Boxy Boo remained alone. Finishing the cold tea, he thought about the four‑year‑old boy who hadn’t been afraid of a monster. And that now that boy was his angel.
He took off his cap and pulled the blanket over himself.
Boxy Boo: "Thank you, Alster. Thank you, Huggy."
Boxy Boo fell asleep smiling.
Alster returned to his room. Catnap was already waiting — sitting on the bed, tail tucked.
Catnap: "Yarnaby came by. Asked how you were."
Alster: "And what did you say?"
Catnap: "That you were fine. He calmed down."
Alster lay down, pulled up the blanket. Catnap settled beside him and started purring.
Alster: "Today was a good day."
Catnap: "I know. I was watching."
Alster: "I hope tomorrow will be even better."
Catnap: "It will be — if you sleep."
Alster closed his eyes. The cat’s purr, the scent of poppies, the warmth of the blanket.
He fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.
And beyond the walls, the factory lived its nocturnal life. And in that life, there was now a little more light.
