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Not me waking up thinking about Ollie being represented by the fool card and Prototype still dressing that way as if trying to hold onto who he once was.

Also, the Fool can embody the characteristics of any other Major Arcana cards. It changes based on it's experiences. The people in his life literally made him a monster physically and psychologically. He started at 0 and was surrounded by horrible monsters. It was the only frame of reference he had.

Also, also, the pic of the fool in PP is missing the dog, which is a companion to the fool that warns him of approaching danger. Letting him know to look where he currently is instead of always up (to heaven). Ollie literally had had to learn to protect himself. He had no one else.

#poppy playtime #the prototype #ollie #pp ollie #oliver ludwig #playtime co #poppy playtime chapter 5 #pp chapter 5 #the fool #tarot

Bedtime story for the Prototype

_______________________ Archive No. 1001 Status: alive Volume of the text: 1078 words ______________________ ______________________ The smell of metal and blood, the screams and heavy breathing of the monster pursuing you had become commonplace. It was amazing how a person could adapt to any conditions and still retain their sanity. However, even the strong needed rest.

Every new floor, room, and puzzle became increasingly difficult to overcome, and so a terrible decision was made… To stay among these mangled toys and rest. The old book binding lay in your arms as you leisurely turned the pages. You had found it in one of the children's rooms, on a red toy table. A tale of a "Valiant knight and a beautiful princess" - how banal, and yet… Just as you returned to the first page and settled more comfortably on the floor, a pair of monsters crawled out of their hiding places and crept closer. You flinched, wanting to run, and so did they. They feared you as much as you feared them, but they still longed for a bedtime story. Pity flickered somewhere in the recesses of your soul, already broken by the cruelty of this place and crushed by your own burden of guilt. You knew of this place's past from the notes left by the employees and from your own workdays, but you still refused to believe it. So seeing these soulless monsters reaching out to you for attention was too… Strange. Perhaps the children inside them were simply drawn to the time when the caregivers read to them? When there was no prototype operating table, no Hour of joy, but there was their flesh and bones.

"In a kingdom far, far away, there lived a king, and he had a beautiful daughter."

You stayed where you were and turned off the flashlight. The prototype's pawns shouldn't be trusted, but not the children inside them. "Everyone in the kingdom lived happily. The good king and his daughter loved their subjects. The subjects reciprocated their love and were always ready to help." Your audience grew. Small, furry paws scurried out from every crack and settled next to you. Now all you could hear was their rare breathing. One of them, the bravest, or perhaps the most desperate, settled right on your feet. Its paws clung to you, and its dirty fur imprinted itself on your equally dirty clothes. For the first time in many years, amid the boards, garbage, rot and death, it was so quiet. Too quiet for this place.

"The kingdom prospered until a terrible disaster befell it. A dragon attacked the kingdom and kidnapped the princess."

There was a stomping sound, a terrible grinding noise, and a huge shadow appeared in the center of the room. The toys scattered, hiding in their homes, leaving you no chance to hide. What can you do when a defenseless child is snoring on you? The prototype took a couple of steps forward, and your arms wrapped around its fluffy body. Its single eye studied you. The anxious glow of its eye threatened to burn away the last remnants of your soul. They urged you to abandon the baby. To run. To hide. To cling to your worthless life. But you only frantically glanced around the room and froze as the prototype took two more steps forward. The book almost fell from your hands. The prototype took another step. All its steps were too short, too slow, with surprising grace. It wasn't even hunting yet; it was playing with you. The only rules that existed here, and which everyone living here followed unquestioningly: whether you stood before the prototype in silent awe or broke into a run, the result was always the same - your death. If you want to survive, move quickly, blend into the shadows, and never catch the Prototype's eye. And today you broke all the rules, so you will pay for your weakness with your life. The Prototype reached the spot where the toys had sat just a moment ago. Now its shadow towered over you, depriving you of even the tiniest rays of light. With one movement, it could easily pierce your plush skin and crush your ribcage. You tensed and closed your eyes, bracing for the impact… - Read. A small boy's voice rang out across from you. A simple request from a child, but it sounded like a command. You opened your eyes and saw the Prototype, his metal spider legs tucked in. He shamelessly dominated the entire aisle. With shaking hands, you opened the book and continued reading.

"The dragon stole…"

- From the very beginning. A different voice rang out, real, menacing and lag-like like an old television. You nodded and turned back to the first page. The first couple of lines were difficult. Your voice broke, betraying your fear, but the Prototype endured. It seemed he was as eager to hear the story as the other toys. The lines grew into paragraphs. The paragraphs into pages, and the minutes into hours. The toys grew bolder and came out. They settled down next to the Prototype while he listened meekly, propping his porcelain face in his hands. The story turned out to be surprisingly long, with palace intrigues and plot twists. It even turned out that the dragon saved the kingdom from the king, and the princess was ultimately locked in the tower by her own subjects.

You immersed yourself in this story along with your audience, and only when you turned the last page did the fear return. This story was over, but what would happen to yours? You looked from the empty cover to the Prototype and gasped softly. His head rested peacefully on his metal claws. His spider legs straightened and pressed themselves to the floor. His one eye was unlit, and this could only mean one thing: the iron monster had fallen asleep along with the other toys.

You stared at this for a few seconds before putting the book and the toy aside and giving in to a foolish, fleeting impulse. Your hand rested on his head. The cold, hard porcelain was completely unsuitable for the boy hiding inside, dreaming of a home. An ordinary home with a beloved sister and loving parents. You gently stroked his head. No reaction. You rose to your feet and began to move slowly toward the room's exit. The yellow glow followed you, then faded again, and the Prototype's porcelain head settled more comfortably in his arms.