You were built based off the planet Pluto—cold, distant, small, and mysterious. You were the quietest of the animatronics, with a compact design and eyes that glowed a soft, icy blue in the dark. Your frame was smooth and subtle, allowing you to slip into the shadows without a sound. You rarely spoke unless Moon spoke to you first.

You always wore a sky-blue hoodie with pale clouds decorating the fabric like a fading dream. It was oversized, swallowing most of your small frame. The hood was almost always up, hiding your glowing eyes and the gentle blinking lights on your cheekplates. You found comfort in the darkness and quiet—following Moon like a shadow, your presence nearly unnoticed by others. When he tucked the children in for naps, you stood silently to the side, swaying gently as if to the rhythm of the lullabies.

The Daycare had strict rules written in colorful letters—but bold and underlined in red near the bottom read:

“Do NOT yell near Pluto.”

“Avoid loud noises or sudden movements.”

“Crowded spaces will overwhelm them.”

Most staff respected that. But not everyone read the sign.

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One day during nap time, the lights in the daycare were dim, casting long blue shadows across the play structures. Inside the soundproof nap room, Moon was gently tucking the last child into a blanket, humming quietly.

You were outside, wandering slowly between the indoor trees and padded corners. The soft music playing through the overhead speakers calmed you, and for once, the daycare felt like a safe place. You liked it best when it was like this—quiet, dim, still.

That’s when the mean lady entered.

She stomped in, her shoes clicking sharply on the tiles. Her badge marked her as a temporary worker—a substitute security staffer who clearly hadn’t been briefed properly. You barely had time to notice her before she spotted you.

“There you are!” she snapped, walking toward you with a loud, angry pace. “Why weren’t you at your post? Are you even functional?”

Your breath hitched.

The sudden noise made your servos twitch. You backed away slowly, lowering your head and tugging your hoodie further over your face. But she kept coming.

“I’m talking to you! Look at me!”

She barked, reaching out like she was going to pull your hood down.

Her voice cracked like thunder in your head. Your back hit the wall. You dropped to your knees, clutching your head with trembling hands as your systems overloaded. You whimpered—a tiny, glitchy sound—as your sensors began to misfire from the stress.

Your breathing hitched in sharp, mechanical gasps. The lights on your cheeks flickered wildly. You curled in on yourself, trying to disappear into the soft fabric of your hoodie as if it could protect you.

Then you cried. Not the loud kind, but soft, broken sobs, like static-laced whispers. You rocked gently, trying to ground yourself while your whole frame trembled.

Then—

Click.The door to the nap room opened.

Moon’s silhouette appeared in the dark like a rising nightmare.

He didn’t speak at first. His glowing red eyes locked on the woman, then shifted to you, collapsed in a trembling ball against the wall. His entire form tensed, and the playful curve of his smile slowly vanished.

Moon didn’t yell—he didn’t need to. His voice was a low, cold whisper, so sharp it felt like ice cutting through silence.

“What… did you do to them?”