The air in Playcare was wrong.
The Home Sweet Home orphanage stretched before her, all pastel walls and rusted cribs. Toys lay scattered: broken jack-in-the-boxes, dolls with missing eyes. And everywhere—the red smoke. It curled from vents, pooled in corners, thick as velvet and sweet as cough syrup. Her gas mask fogged, but she kept it clamped tight. Poppy Playtime Chapter 3
Not just abandoned-wrong, like the rest of the factory, but watching -wrong. DogDay had warned them, back in the chapel, his voice cracking like old paint. “The prototype sees everything. And CatNap… CatNap is his prophet.” The air in Playcare was wrong
Thump. Thump.