Building. Scrapping. They were very familiar to him. He was made of scraps and various adjustments to himself overtime, and now, he could create other things. The Prototype watched everything carefully. Every memory, locked away in a cabinet he would look back to as reference for his own experiments. Turning those toys inside-out was a hassle. They never wanted to stay still, so poppy gas had to be diverted and used as a sedative. Did it work? Surprisingly. But he wanted more. With the threat of the employee looming overhead, he retreated to the safety of his lair. The air was damp with oil and stagnat water, the moisture in the air felt like it could drown an unsuspecting toy.

The Prototype settled down at his improtu workbench and began to build. Grinding gears and growling saws echoed through the mostly empty space. Every now and then, he tossed something he deemed 'useless' over his shoulder. It was mostly stuffing; what use was a hunter with stuffing? He couldn't afford anymore big hits. With Catnap out of the way, there was a weakness where he could see it. That was unacceptable in every circumstance. Playcare, the entrance to this mess, now left to collect dust and mold with no guardian. One hand reluctantly ran over Catnap's pelt, each hair rustling or stiffening from the growth of decay. For a moment, he was completely engrossed in his work and speaking to Preston at odd intervals. The Catbee toy, bloodied and stuff in a mortified expression, could only stare at him and blink. Then The Prototype remembered you. Where the hell had you gone? His fingers scraped along the metal table with a loud screech that sounded very similar to a car with no brakes. "Where.." He rasped.