Nobody’s Toy-Chapter 2
The chain-link fence surrounding Playtime had surrendered to rust years ago. Harley squeezed through a gap where the metal had peeled back like a opened tin can, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
The courtyard was a graveyard of forgotten joy. Decaying, oversized plastic statues of Huggy Wuggy and Kissy Missy loomed out of the thick fog, their painted smiles cracked and peeling. One statue had lost its head, which now rested on the cracked asphalt, staring blankly up at the gray sky.
"Great. Not creepy at all," Harley muttered to himself, pulling his coat tighter against the damp chill. "Just your average, everyday cheerful toy factory."
He reached the heavy iron doors of the main facility. The bio-lock panel he had helped design was dead, its screen shattered. But Harley knew the manual bypass. He pried open a rusted maintenance flap beneath the keypad, found the emergency release lever, and threw his weight against it. With a deafening, metallic screech that probably alerted every crow within a five-mile radius, the door groaned open.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of ozone, mold, and decaying plastic. It was pitch black, save for the beam of Harley’s flashlight. He walked through the reception area, his footsteps echoing too loudly on the yellowed linoleum.
He eventually made his way into the administrative offices. On the main desk sat a bulky, retro television set with a built-in VHS player—a bizarre tech relic left behind in the rush to evacuate. Shoved into the VCR slot was a tape with a strip of masking tape labeled: FOR THE DOCTOR .
Harley frowned. "The Doctor “ was what the other executives used to call him.
He pressed the power button on the monitor. To his surprise, a high-pitched whine filled the room as the old cathode-ray tube screen flickered to life. The VCR whirred, automatically drawing the tape in. The screen flashed with static before settling on a grainy, dimly lit video.
Sitting in a leather high-back chair was Leith Pierre.
Leith, the Head of Innovation at Playtime. Leith, the man who had looked at Harley's advanced neural programming procures and thought, How can we use this to cut manufacturing costs? Leith, Harley's ultimate corporate nightmare. He looked exactly as he had ten years ago—immaculately tailored suit, slicked-back hair, and a smile that didn't reach his cold blue eyes.
"Hello, Harley," Leith’s voice echoed from the TV's speakers. The audio hissed with tape degradation. "If you’re watching this, it means you actually came back. I must admit, I lost twenty bucks to the marketing department betting you’d have fled to a beach in Mexico by now. I may or may have not spent the money you gave to me in a gambling match, if you wanted to know.”
Harley took a step closer, glaring at the screen. " Why you arrogant piece of—"
"Now, I know what you’re thinking," Leith continued on screen, casually steepening his fingers as if anticipating the interruption. "You think you’re here on an ‘epic rescue mission,’ right? You got that letter, didn't you? So damn predictable. But let's be entirely clear: you are trespassing on private, condemned corporate property, Dr. Sawyer ."
Leith leaned forward, his expression turning sharply intense, the grainy shadows making his face look skeletal. Harley stepped back a little.
"Turn around, Harley. Leave. Right now. Before the security protocols recognize you and realize you’ve come back to finish what you started. If you go past the main floor, there is no turning back. You won't like what we became after you locked the doors. Consider this your only warning."
The screen abruptly cut to loud, buzzing snow.
Harley stood in the dark office, the static from the television casting dancing white patterns across his face. His hands were shaking again, but not from the alcohol withdrawal this time. It was pure adrenaline.
"Always loved the dramatic flair, didn't you, Leith?" Harley whispered into the empty room.
He looked toward the heavy double doors at the back of the office—the entrance leading down to the assembly floor and the subterranean labs. If Leith had gone to the trouble of leaving a warning tape, it meant there was something to hide. It meant the letter wasn't just a cruel joke.
Harley reached into his pocket, gripped the black titanium gear for a brief second of reassurance, and then clicked his flashlight back on. He didn't turn around. Instead, he walked straight toward the heavy doors and pushed them open, stepping deeper into the dark.
