The city never truly slept, especially not when shadows from the past still lingered in alleyways and flickering neon signs. The ruins of the Pizzaplex loomed quietly in the distance, cordoned off and whispered about. But for Michael Afton, the real haunting wasn’t in the crumbling walls of a neon tomb—it was in the eyes of a boy he never thought he’d see again.

Gregory was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, trying to fix an old toy animatronic arm Michael had dug out of a box in the attic. The TV played quietly in the background, its blue glow flickering against the faded wallpaper of their small apartment. Michael leaned in the doorway, a coffee mug warming his hands, watching the boy work with a concentration that was far too sharp for someone his age.

They hadn’t talked much about what happened beneath the Pizzaplex—about the nightmares, the pursuit, or the monster that used to be Michael’s own father. But they didn’t need to. Some things were better left in silence, spoken only through quiet dinners, awkward attempts at jokes, and the hesitant bond forming between a father thought long lost and a son who never knew he had one.

“Hey,” Michael said softly, stepping into the room. “You’re gonna end up fixing that better than I ever could.”

Gregory looked up, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, well… someone had to teach me. Guess I figured it out.”

Michael sat beside him, a little clumsy, a little unsure. But when Gregory passed him a screwdriver without a word, Michael knew this was their start—broken people trying to build something whole.