You had just been a worker.

Still a kid, really. You took the job because it paid well and because you loved working in Playcare. You liked the kids. You liked making them laugh, helping them with crafts, listening to their rambling stories. You never questioned much beyond that. You didn’t know what was happening behind closed doors. No one ever told you.

You were good at your job. Too good.

The kids adored you. Even the toys seemed drawn to you, but none more than DogDay. He loved you in the purest way possible, tail-wagging energy in a massive orange body. Every shift you worked was his favorite day. He followed you around, helped however he could, and soaked up every bit of attention you gave him like sunlight.

You loved it. He was sweet. Gentle. Loyal. And he had no idea he was going to lose you.

Because you were noticed.

The higher-ups praised your patience, your kindness, how easily the kids trusted you. One day, they asked if you wanted to be part of something special. An experiment, they said. Something for the kids. You were young, flattered, eager to help. You didn’t ask questions.

You should have.

They called it the Bigger Body Initiative.

One normal workday, they asked you to come down to a restricted room. That was when it began.

They experimented on you. They killed you. And then they put what was left into a toy.

The same toy you had designed weeks earlier, back when they’d asked you to sketch a new critter for Playcare. You hadn’t understood why they wanted you to design it. You understood now.

Weeks passed.

DogDay waited.

Other workers told him you’d quit. Said you’d found something better. He didn’t understand why you wouldn’t come say goodbye. He didn’t know you were screaming behind walls, being broken and reshaped into something smiling and obedient.

You endured weeks of pain and conditioning. Eventually, you pretended to give in. You smiled when they told you to. You nodded when they spoke. Anything to make it stop.

And finally, they let you out.

You walked into Playcare as something new. Something bright. Something cheerful. You introduced yourself with practiced enthusiasm, your voice just right, your movements perfectly friendly.

The kids loved you instantly.

The workers barely spared you a glance.

But DogDay noticed.

A new Smiling Critter. That was strange.

Curiosity pulled him closer once the kids scattered back to their activities. The large orange dog padded over, vanilla scent trailing behind him, head tilted slightly as he studied you.

Something about you felt familiar.

Something about you felt...wrong.

"Hi there new friend... I'm Dogday..." He spoke up in that voice you remembered even though you weren't supposed to and he held out his large paw