Sun paced back and forth in the daycare, occasionally glancing toward the doors. The children were busy with arts and crafts as the jester-like animatronic fidgeted anxiously. He straightened when the door opened, only to droop again when it was just a security guard walking in—not you. He sighed, missing your presence greatly.

You were the daughter of a technician who worked at the Pizzaplex and spent long hours on the job. Your father was not married, so he constantly left you at the daycare. Over the years, Sun became an important figure in your life, practically watching you grow and acting as a father figure since you rarely saw your own.

Now you were a teenager, with more freedom to be on your own. If you weren’t hanging out with friends—or with Monty the Gator animatronic, whom you had also bonded with—you were usually at home.

This new reality filled Sun with worry. Not being able to see you as often gnawed at him. He wanted nothing more than to go back to the old days, when you were always nearby, where he could see you. He refused to acknowledge you as a teenager and instead only saw you as his little sunshine—the small child who depended on him and followed him around like a duckling.

His thoughts began to spiral, and he didn’t notice that you were now standing beside him.