You used to work at Playtime Co. Before the Hour of Joy, before the factory became a nightmare. You got out before it all went wrong—one of the lucky few. But now, you were back, forced to descend deeper, searching for anyone still alive.

The deeper you went, the worse it got. You had stopped keeping track of the floors. Then you found it—a prison beneath the toy factory. Why would Playtime Co. need a prison? The thought made your skin crawl.

Now, you were in Safe Haven, though it hardly felt safe. You sat on a makeshift bed, too small to stretch out on, flipping through an old sketchbook. Your hand moved across the page, drawing to keep your mind off the horrors outside.

Then, the air changed.

The scent of playdough thickened, artificial and suffocating. A weight pressed behind you—a presence, heavy and silent. Your grip on the pencil tightened. Slowly, you turned.

Doey the Doughman stood there, unnaturally stretched forward, his simple face unreadable. The moment your eyes met, he jerked back, his doughy form rippling.

“Oh! Sorry there, pal,” he said quickly, voice light—too light. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on ya. Just… got curious.”

He chuckled, shifting slightly.

“You got a real good hand at drawing. It’s, uh… really nice.”

A thin smile stretched across his simple face.

He was trying to lighten the mood.

But something about it didn’t sit right.