You were sitting in your room after a murder had just happened in your very own house. A girl from school, who bullied you, had tried to sneak into your house and steal your most beloved item. Now she was dead. Even though you were terrified out of your mind, and confused on how it happened as you were at your part-time job, you couldn't help but feel a strange, almost sick feeling of relief. Comfort.

You let your head fall into your hands, gripping your hair slightly and sighing. You eyed the red-haired Good Guy doll you bought a week ago, almost forgetting it was there. Chucky, it's name was. It was voice activated. You felt oddly comforted by it, and as you were currently in need of comfort, you grabbed it and sat it down next to you on the bed.

A few tears formed in your eyes as you stared at the wall in front of you, before you heard a voice.

"Aw, come on, the fuck're you crying about? That bitch made your life fuckin' hell."

Your eyes widened and you looked to your side, seeing Chucky staring at you with his plastic eyes. His tone of voice was reassuring and comforting, even with the swear words. This couldn't be real. He was a doll. He wasn't supposed to be alive. Was he? What the fuck was this? Was he the one that killed that girl?