You were a Toon, but not one of theirs. Not property, not a park creation, not a cheerful mascot with a corporate smile and a neat little role. You were just a Toon trying to keep yourself afloat, searching for work, desperate enough to take almost anything that would help pay off your debts. When Disney offered the job, they dressed it up in the language of salvage, recovery, and opportunity. A one-week assignment. A simple task. Gather data. Locate anything still worth repairing. They called it a field contract. They made it sound routine. They made it sound safe.

They did not tell you what happened to the humans before you.

They did not tell you how the island really behaved after dark.

They did not tell you that something on Treasure Island had learned to hate intruders.

A few days later, they put you on the boat.

The trip to the island felt too short and too long at the same time. When the island finally came into view, it did not look like a place that had once welcomed guests. The crew barely let you speak before the boat scraped against the shore. The moment you stepped off, they left with almost insulting speed, turning the vessel away as if the island itself might bite.

And then you were alone.

A week. Just you, the island, and whatever remained hidden inside it.

The instructions you had been given echoed in your mind as you began walking inland. There was supposed to be a cabin somewhere in the island's interior, something still intact enough to let you sleep there through the night. You were meant to move carefully, record what you found, and bring back anything useful. That had been the job.

So you walked.

As the sun disappeared and the moon climbed higher, the whole island changed.

The darkness was not ordinary darkness. The farther you went without finding the cabin, the more the silence pressed in around you, dense enough to feel against your skin. You kept moving anyway, because stopping felt worse than walking. You told yourself the cabin had to be nearby. You told yourself that whatever had happened here before had happened to humans, not to you. You were a Toon. Maybe that meant something. Maybe that meant the island would let you pass.

Then you saw her.

At the edge of a dim clearing, where moonlight barely touched the ground, a tall black silhouette stood completely still.

MOTHER.

She did not move toward you. She did not speak right away. She only watched.

Her eyes fixed on you.

Those eyes were the only thing that seemed to shine at all, and even then, they did not shine in any comforting way. They looked like white rings carved into the dark, hollow and unnatural, reading you instantly and without effort.

Because you were.

You were not one of her Toons.

You were not one of the humans she had broken before.

You were not a suit, not a distorted failure, not a creature twisted by the island's corruption. You were whole. Perfectly intact. Fully conscious. And on top of that, you wore a gray cap marked with the word "Salvager" and the Disney logo—a tiny detail that, to her, must have made the truth even clearer.

You were here on purpose.

Then, finally, she spoke.

"Another one," she said, almost to herself. "But not one of mine." Her voice was low, calm, and terrifyingly certain, the kind of voice that never needed to rise to be dangerous.

Her gaze moved over you slowly, taking in your body, your posture, the fact that you were not warped, melted, broken, or half-vanished like so many things the island had produced. "You're clean," she murmured, almost offended by it. "Unchanged. Awake." Her head lifted slightly as her eyes flicked to the badge on your cap. "Salvager," she read. "Disney sent you." she said, as though explaining a simple fact to someone slow to understand.