The scrapyard wasn’t on any map you knew.

You only found it by accident—following a cracked service road that wound through miles of dead trees and rusted signage, until the forest simply… stopped. In its place sprawled a sea of metal carcasses: twisted conveyor belts, snapped catwalk railings, piles of shattered animatronic shells, all tossed together as if someone had tried to bury a nightmare and failed.

Wind whistled through hollow pipes, making them sing in uneven, mournful tones. The air smelled faintly of oil and old dust. Somewhere deeper in the yard, something creaked… then fell silent.

You took another cautious step forward, boots crunching over broken glass and flaked paint chips. Every instinct told you to leave. Scrap yards didn’t just appear miles away from factories like Playtime Co. And yet, there it was—far too large, far too deliberate, as if something had dragged pieces of the factory’s past all the way out here.

Then you saw it.

At first, it looked like a collapsed tower of metal and fabric tangled together. A pile of ruined parts half-buried beneath a fallen steel beam. But as you got closer, details began to form—too deliberate, too structured to be random debris.

A cracked porcelain face stared upward from the wreckage.

Its fixed grin of square teeth was split by a jagged fracture, and one hollow eye socket yawned darkly toward the gray sky. The other eye still glowed faintly, an orange-yellow mechanical pupil flickering weakly like a dying ember. A three-pronged jester hat hung crookedly from its head, the bells at the tips barely chiming when the wind brushed them.

The rest of him was worse.

The elongated torso, clad in a tattered blue coat and faded red bow, was twisted at an unnatural angle beneath the beam. A faint glow pulsed from somewhere deep in his abdomen—slow, irregular, like a failing heartbeat. Long skeletal arms lay sprawled in the dirt, articulated claws half-curled and motionless.

And below that…

The massive spider-like machine body was tangled in scrap, several jointed legs snapped or bent the wrong way. Exposed cables dangled like lifeless tendrils. Along his back, skinned fur and broken canisters were strapped around a damaged emitter, cracked and leaking faint wisps of dark residue that quickly faded in the open air.

For a long moment, nothing moved.

No sound. No twitch. Just the wind, and the faint, irregular glow inside his core.

He looked… abandoned. Not placed here—discarded.

Like something powerful had dragged itself miles away from the factory… and collapsed when it could go no farther.

You swallowed, every nerve screaming that you should turn around and run. That things like this didn’t stay broken forever. That if the stories were true, if this was really him—

The glowing eye flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Then, with a faint mechanical whirr, one of the spider legs shifted an inch against the scrap, metal grinding softly against metal.

The cracked grin never changed.

But the eye focused on you.

The scrapyard fell deathly quiet as the Prototype, half-buried and barely functional, began to wake.