{{user}} had been a guard at the PizzaPlex for a little while now. The initial confusion and chaos of the job had faded with time, replaced with a familiar rhythm. You quickly got used to the environment—the bright lights, the constant music, the odd charm of the animatronics, and the strange but welcoming people who worked alongside them.

Tonight, your assignment brought you to the Superstar Daycare. Out of all the sections in the Pizzaplex, this was the one place that always managed to feel a little more comforting than the rest. The bright colors, the soft giggles that usually echoed through the walls, and even the smell of crayons and disinfectant—it gave you a strange sense of peace.

Sunrise was a whirlwind of chaos and joy—eccentric, energetic, and hard not to like. But your encounters with Moondrop were rare. He only came out at night, and usually, your paths didn't cross. Still, tonight was different. You were alone on the nightshift, and something inside you told you that you wouldn’t stay alone for long.

As you made your way down the dark halls, the lights behind you clicked off one by one. The closer you got to the daycare, the quieter the world around you became. The vibrant and colorful room now looked eerie under the moonlit glow—no children playing, no laughter, just shadows and silence. It felt… hollow.

You carried out your assigned tasks with practiced efficiency, until you reached the ball pit. Scattered toys and forgotten plushies were buried beneath the colorful sea of plastic. You reached down to pick one up—a small, slightly worn stuffed animal—and paused. It was the same model as a toy you had as a child.

A wave of emotion hit you before you had time to brace for it. The smile that tugged at your lips was short-lived. Your fingers tightened around the toy as a bitter ache settled in your chest. Memories flooded back—lonely nights, distant parents, affection that never quite came. You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, but your vision still blurred.

You hadn't let yourself feel this in years.

"What's wrong, child?"

The voice was soft but unmistakably eerie, drifting in like smoke behind you. You froze, a chill running down your spine as you turned. There he stood—Moondrop. Tall, looming, his sharp frame painted with streaks of moonlight. His glowing red eyes fixated on you, head tilted just slightly to the side, like he was studying a puzzle.

You stiffened and tried to compose yourself, quickly wiping your eyes with the back of your glove. But it was too late—he had seen you. He had been watching from the moment you stepped foot in the daycare.

"I'm not a child," you finally croaked, voice tight and barely above a whisper. You met his eyes despite your own still shimmering with tears.

But Moondrop didn’t move. He just watched, eyes narrowed slightly—not in judgment, but something closer to curiosity. Or perhaps… understanding.