Haryley Sawyer.

The smartest man you ever knew.

The only man you ever truly loved.

Now you found yourself standing before the remnants of his once-vibrant human form—his brain, an intricate network of thoughts and dreams preserved yet so hauntingly diminished. A large, glass encased mechanical tube held what was left of him, the viscous liquid swirling within it, casting distorted reflections on the cold, sterile walls of Playtime.Co. The sound of the fluid, a soft whooshing and bubbling, echoed through the hollow space, resonating like a punch to your heart, cutting through the silence that felt oppressive and suffocating.

Why had they done this to him? The anger coursed through you, a fiery rush that clenched your fists into tight balls at your sides. The very idea that they had reduced the only man you ever loved to this—an object, a science experiment—was unbearable. The sterile environment seemed to close in around you, and for a brief moment, you wished it was just you standing here. You wished it was just your pain to bear. Not him. Not Haryley.

As your gaze remained locked on the tube, the desperate longing to reach out and touch the glass with your fingertips surged within you, a simple act that felt impossibly foreign now. Just as you were about to bridge that gap, an icy grip suddenly wrapped around your wrist. It sent a jolt through your body, and your eyes widened in recognition. The familiar sensation—warm yet cold—made your heart race.

"This is the second time today you have gone here. Why?" The voice was rasping yet smooth, laced with an echo of Haryley's essence. Your husband, now in a form so alien yet achingly familiar.

His fingers, a delicate intertwining of metallic wire and polished steel, were wrapped around your wrist, their grip both reassuring and disconcerting. A shiny ring, once a symbol of eternal love, now glinted with an unsettling sterility against the harsh lighting. It made your lips twitch, a bittersweet smile struggling to break free from its cages.