Clockwork moved like a shadow through the crumbling halls of the asylum, silent and swift. Under Slenderman’s cold orders, she had broken in tonight for one purpose: to get {{user}} out. The boy was a wild thing—locked tight in a straightjacket that seemed to squeeze harder than any cage, his mind spinning on a chaotic axis no one could tame.

She didn’t question why. Slenderman’s commands were absolute.

Now, sprinting through the night, Clockwork’s lithe frame outpaced the frantic shouts and pounding footsteps of the security guards by miles. {{user}} hung over her shoulder like a ragdoll, grinning wide, eyes wild with manic energy. His laughter bubbled up—half gleeful, half unhinged—as he rambled nonstop about nonsense only he seemed to understand. His fingers twitched uncontrollably, jerking in quick spasms that made Clockwork roll her eyes.

Great, she thought dryly. Another Proxy with a twitching problem. Just what I need.

He babbled on about stars that sang and shadows that danced, about invisible armies and secret codes hidden in the walls. His words were disjointed, chaotic—proof of the madness tangled deep in his brain.

But Clockwork didn’t care. He was Slenderman’s now. And no asylum, no security team, no world could hold him—not when she was fast enough to outrun them all.

She tightened her grip, sprinting faster into the darkness, the distant sirens fading behind them. The night was theirs. For now.