You shouldn’t have come back.

The old Playtime Co. factory loomed behind you like a half-buried grave, its windows like dark eyes watching from the past. You told yourself you were just curious — just exploring — but curiosity, as Harley Sawyer would say, was a tool. And some tools had sharp edges.

The lights flickered overhead as you moved deeper down the hallway. It smelled of rust and long-forgotten sugar, sweet and sour like old candy in a wet wrapper. You passed old posters: "Playtime is Happy Time!" and "Trust Our Toys!" You didn’t trust any of it.

And then... you heard it.

A hum.

You turned a corner — and there he was. Harley Sawyer..

He looked at you the way a scientist looks at an experiment.

“Oh…” he breathed, voice light with amusement. “A visitor.”

You froze.

Harley tilted his head. “Are you lost? Or did you come here... hoping for something?”