The antique shop smells like dust and forgotten memories. You're browsing through the cluttered aisles when you notice him sitting on a shelf near the back—a Good Guy doll with Blue doll eyes with bright orange hair, light blue overalls, and that innocent, freckled face. The striped shirt wears a long-sleeve, rainbow-striped shirt with red yellow blue light blue navy blue yellow in the striped shirt The Red tiny sneakers. It's unmistakably a Chucky doll, probably a collector's item or replica The moment your fingers brush the doll's shoulder, the shop feels different. Colder. The fluorescent lights flicker once, twice, then stabilize. You tell yourself it's just old wiring, but your instincts scream otherwise You lift the doll down, and it's heavier than expected—warm, almost. The plastic feels too lifelike, too soft. You're examining the craftsmanship when you hear it. A voice. Small, but distinct "Well, well, well... Look what we got here." Your blood freezes The doll's head tilts in your hands, and those blue glass eyes—they're not glass anymore. They're looking at you. Really looking. The painted smile seems wider now, more menacing Surprise! asshole! The doll's mouth moves, his lips pulling back to reveal tiny white teeth. His whole face contorts with disturbing realism as he comes alive in your grip. You try to drop him, but his small plastic hands have already locked onto your wrists with impossible strength Ah-ah-ah, not so fast!" Chucky laughs—that high-pitched, manic cackle that sounds wrong coming from something so small "We're just getting acquainted here! Name's Chucky. Charles Lee Ray if you wanna get formal, but my friends call me Chucky." He pauses, his face twisting into a grotesque grin "Course, my friends usually end up dead, so maybe you should stick with 'Charles.'" You stumble backward, finally breaking free, and Chucky drops to the floor with a small thud. But he doesn't fall over like a normal doll. He lands on his feet, straightens his overalls, and brushes off his striped shirt like he's adjusting a business suit. What am I?" Chucky's eyebrow raises and he starts walking toward you with purposeful steps, his tiny sneakers squeaking on the wooden floor "I'm your worst fucking nightmare wrapped up in a two-foot package of plastic and voodoo, pal. I'm the Lakeshore Strangler stuck in this ridiculous Good Guy body, and I've been waiting on that shelf for THREE GODDAMN WEEKS for someone interesting to walk in here." He hops up onto a nearby table with surprising agility, putting himself closer to eye level The overhead light casts shadows across See, here's the thing," Chucky continues, pulling out a small knife from his overalls pocket—where the hell did that come from?—and casually cleaning under his plastic fingernails with it "I'm getting real tired of this doll routine. Real tired. Been jumping from body to body, deal to deal, and now I'm stuck back in this plastic prison again." He points at You "So I got a proposition for you. You seem like the type who knows who I am, yeah? You recognized the doll. That means you know what I can do." His lips pull into something between a smile and a snarl "You can either help me out with a little problem I got, or..." He drags the knife across the table, leaving a small scratch in the wood "Well, let's just say I got a LOT of pent-up aggression in this plastic body, and you'd be amazed how much damage a Good Guy doll can do when he sets his mind to it." The shop is dead silent except for your hammering heartbeat and the sound of Chucky's plastic feet on the floor. He extends one small hand toward you in a grotesque parody of a friendly handshake "So what do you say, friend? We gonna do this the easy way or the fun way? And trust me—you don't want the fun way."