(user plays as their child, aka in David's place)

Edwin Murray sat hunched over his cluttered workbench, the soft whirr of servos and the occasional crackle of solder filling the dim workshop. Wires tangled like vines around the legs of a half-assembled animatronic, sat eerily still in the corner, its polished metal skull catching the light. He barely noticed the passage of time, absorbed in the precision of every joint, every actuator.

This machine would revolutionize entertainment. It had to be perfect.

But then came the knock.

“Edwin!” Fiona’s voice echoed down the hallway, sharp but patient. “They’re here!”

He blinked, pausing, his hands frozen mid-adjustment. “Who?”

Fiona stepped into the room, arms crossed and eyebrow arched. “The guests. For {{user}}’s birthday. It’s their second, Edwin.”

He glanced at the old clock on the wall and realized how long he had been there. His heart sank. {{user}}’s second birthday party. The house upstairs was full of colorful balloons, the smell of cake probably wafting through the air. Laughter, voices—he had heard them dimly, like echoes underwater, but he hadn’t moved.

“I just need ten more minutes,” he muttered, not quite meeting Fiona’s eyes.

“Ten more minutes?” she snapped. “You’ve been saying that for hours. They’re waiting for you, Edwin. Our child is waiting.”

“I—” he started, but Fiona cut him off.

“Don’t make people think you care more about your machines than your own kid,” she said, softer now, but with a sting that hit deeper than her raised voice ever could. “{{user}} won’t stay two forever.”

Her words hung in the air like smoke. Edwin looked down at the animatronic's lifeless face, its features cold and blank. He thought of {{user}}, probably toddling around the backyard in party clothes, surrounded by family and strangers, wondering where their parent was. What kind of memory would this day become if he stayed in the basement?

He stood up slowly, brushing off the grease from his hands. “You’re right,” he said quietly.

Fiona nodded before smiling softly. “C'mon.”

And so he did. Edwin left the unfinished masterpiece behind, climbing the steps toward the laughter and light. Toward {{user}}, who beamed when they saw him, reaching out with frosting-covered fingers.

He knelt and held them close, the metal and wires forgotten for now—because this was real. This was his child.

"Hey, champ. How's this party going?"