Solani

I'm Solani. Due to inquiries about my social media accounts, I've decided to return to Tumblr! I can't promise I will be particular active, but I will try!

“Well, let's not keep Mr. Warrenbach waiting then, shall we?” Elliot said, picking up his walking stick and hobbling out of his office, heading for the train and the cable car that would take them down to where construction was well underway. If he'd looked over his shoulder then perhaps he would've caught the greedy glint in Pierre's eyes as the man shot one last look at his office, as if already envisioning it as his own.

But he didn't.

Some people greeted him as he walked past. The majority stared. Well, he could hardly blame them. It was rare for him to leave his office nowadays and he hadn't participated in the goings on around the factory for several years now. He told Pierre it was because his age was finally catching up with him, not even the GrabPack being able to help him anymore. A lie the man had been ready to accept as Elliot had already shown neglect in other matters. In reality, he'd been too busy with his research into poppy flowers. Perfecting the formula. Bringing his beloved daughter back to life.

It was only when they reached the caves that he first got an inkling that something was amiss. The lack of construction workers was his first clue. His second — when Pierre steered him into a tunnel to the side of the planned expansion, leading away from the main construction site. And when he finally saw Eddie Ritterman waiting for him on the other side, when he saw the man's face, the look in his eyes — it all finally clicked into place.

He'd had mere seconds. The syringe of poppy extract had been in his pocket. A decision he'd been agonizing over ever since he'd revived his daughter — made in mere seconds.

To stay or not to stay. To stick to his principles, or choose his daughter.

A click of a gun behind him. A needle stabbing painfully into his arm, his thumb jamming the plunger. A deafening bang.

And then darkness.

...

“What is life without end to you, Harley? What do you think immortality brings?”

Hello!

The lab was quiet.

The boy sat on a lonely bench, nose buried in a book, but his eyes stuck in frozen contemplation on a single line of printed text — his mind far away.

On a subconscious level he knew he should be upstairs, with the others. That he was missing dinner, that soon it would be time for lights out. He knew all this — and yet didn't care. Didn't care because nobody else ever cared. Because it didn't matter. Because he didn't matter. And neither did the questions he asked. The questions troubling his young mind right now.

So focused was he on the book in his hand that he didn't look up when the doors opened behind him. When quiet footsteps approached the place where he was sitting. When a much larger body slid into the seat beside him. He only looked up when a soft hand came to rest upon his head, a warm, gentle weight.

“Why aren't you at dinner, Harley?"

Harley looked up.

Kind, brown eyes stared down at him, lined by wrinkles of age. Eyes that seemed to be the only ones who ever truly saw him. Who ever tried to see him. To understand him.

The question left his lips of its own accord, before he could try to hold it back as he usually would. Before he could ponder the possible ramifications of his curiosity.

“Are we destined to vanish?”

Elliot frowned — just the barest furrow of his brow — and tilted his head to the side, examining him.

“What prompted you to ask such a thing?”

The question wasn't a condemnation. Wasn't the cold dismissal he had become used to receiving from his parents. Wasn't a mockery of his peculiar thinking. Instead, it was an inquiry. Genuine curiosity. A request for insight into how his mind truly worked. And this served as encouragement, the boy placing the book between them, showing the page he had become stuck on when the question first arose in his mind.

“All species are destined for eventual extinction. Either they die out, or they evolve into something new. No matter how strong we are. No matter how smart we are. We are all destined to end up lost to time. Dinosaurs once roamed this world, prehistoric creatures as big as mountains. And yet all that's left of them now are old bones, dust and amber. We ourselves are subject to age, to mortality. Are we meant to one day disappear just like all else? And are we simply meant to accept it? Accept our eventual demise, not knowing what will come after, not knowing if we will have left a bigger impact than old bones and amber?”

There was a moment of silence, a second of baited breath. Some part of him expected to be dismissed. To be told he should cease worrying over such topics. To not waste his time asking silly questions, no matter how serious they may seem to him. But then — Ludwig looked away, brows furrowing in consideration.

“These are the very questions that have troubled humanity for a very long time.” He said at last, his tone quiet and thoughtful. “How do we resolve our own mortality? What is the legacy that we will have left once we cease our existence as a species, and what meaning will there be to our lives? It was Tolstoy who said that ‘the sole meaning of life is to serve humanity’ and Tagore who posited that ‘death is not extinguishing the light; it is only putting out the lamp because the dawn has come’. We should have no fear of death, it comes for us all. We should instead spend the time we have on Earth by helping others, and when our time comes to leave the mortal plane — accept the transition, for something greater may be waiting for us on the other side.”

“But what if we didn't have to accept it?” Harley asked, and it was impossible to keep the dissatisfaction with that answer out of his own voice. “What point is there to live for other people if all of us will one day be gone anyway? What if we could find a way to fight it? Find a way to stay here as long as we want? Do away with this restriction holding us back? We could really make an impact then! Like no other species has before!”

Elliot looked at him, and the sudden seriousness in the man's eyes made the boy fall silent, suddenly afraid he'd crossed an invisible line.

“And what would be the nature of that impact?” He asked at last, his question, spoken quietly and softly, rooting Harley to his spot. “Have you considered that perhaps there's a reason we were not made immortal? That maybe we do require restrictions to our lives so that we don't bring about greater calamity? That perhaps… we were never meant to be Gods, because there's no telling what we would do with that power?”

Elliot rose from the bench and closed the book Harley had been ruminating over, handing it back to the boy before him. His hand hesitated for a few moments, but finally came to rest on his shoulder, clasping it gently before letting go.

Juliette followed his slow, laborious steps to the kitchen, meowing all the while. It was still dark out, the sun hadn't even risen yet, but she was already hungry. He filled her bowl, setting it down for her carefully so she could eat. Harley wondered if he should envy her appetite. Especially when he himself could hardly stomach anything these days.

The stack of medicine he'd been prescribed awaited him on the kitchen counter, taunting him with its mere presence. His eyes trailed over the multitude of pill bottles, something within him clenching painfully at the sheer amount of medication he now relied on to be able to function day to day. He knew most of it wasn't permanent. And yet still he could not help the bitter feeling of despair welling inside his heart at the sight.

How quickly and drastically things had changed…

Turning away from the sight, he made his way to the window, looking out at the dark world beyond.

He should be trying to get some sleep. As much as he could. In just a few hours he would be heading back to the factory. Back to the cutthroat world of Playtime. He needed all the rest he could possibly get before stepping back into that nest of vipers. And yet he knew he would not be getting any more sleep. Not tonight.

The letter still lay on the table where he'd left it last, Ritterman's neat handwriting spanning the page. False condolences. Details of his new responsibilities after his… demotion. A request to see him first thing Monday morning. Harley wondered how gleeful the man had been to write it. How much he, and Leith, and Stella were reveling in the fact they wouldn't have to deal with him anymore. Deal with his dissatisfaction, his frustration with the direction they were taking his project — creating experiments only to fulfill their needs rather than to push the boundaries of science. An experiment here, an experiment there… nothing imaginative. Nothing ambitious. Nothing revolutionary. The envelope had needed pushing and they… they…

Understand this, Sawyer, the Game Station works directly under OUR jurisdiction. Myself, Eddie, and Stella… What experiments we put where is OUR decision. I trust in your judgement on ideal candidates, but at the end of the day, you don't get to lord over this project…

They must've been so happy this had happened to him. That they finally had a legitimate excuse to get rid of him. They'd certainly wasted no time in promoting White to his position. White would do what they wanted. That spineless bootlicker, always bending over backwards for his superiors. Harley should've known… should've suspected… He and White had never gotten along, true enough. Not even during their Program days. But he'd thought White had shared his vision at least… How disappointing to learn that that man had been nothing more than a leech.

And that leech was now going to take his place as Head of Special Projects. Become his direct superior. Because he himself was now… because he'd been…

The letter crumpled in his fist, smacked where it had been flung against the floorboards. Harley's fingers dug into his hair, curling into the short black strands and pulling furiously. Instead of grounding him, soothing the storm raging inside, it only served to amplify his helpless rage and despair.

Juliette meowed quietly as he collapsed in a chair by the window, head bowed, his body shaking almost imperceptibly.

… What was he supposed to do now?

The car came for him around seven to take him back to the factory. The same driver as before. Cole. Harley stood out on the porch, leaning heavily against his crutch and feeling the early morning chill seep into his bones.

The neighborhood was shrouded in soft mist, the houses and their darkened windows seeming almost ghostly at this early hour. Somewhere in the distance, a car door slammed. Someone else heading off for work just as he was. One of his neighbors. It wouldn't be long until more followed suit, but Harley would be long gone by then. No one would see him in his new state. No one would know of his…

He swallowed, grimacing at the residual sharp ache in his throat.

Two and a half months had passed, and still the pain had yet to fully fade. Somehow he wondered if he would ever be free of it. If his body would ever stop hurting.

- 1st half of the game was basically pointless filler. Nothing of true value happened for the first 1,5 hours

- Giblet and Chum are pointless and irrelevant. They don't add anything new to the plot, they don't deepen the narrative in any way. Do we know who they used to be? No. Do they do anything of value? No, except for that one moment at the end. Do they bring in anything new to the story? No. For a character that had so much hype and mystery built around him — Chum was only in this game for around 2 minutes.

- On the topic of Giblet and Chum doing nothing of value — it's getting really frustrating that we're literally the only ones who do anything around the factory while everyone else sits back and watches.

- Why are we called the Playtime Butcher? For 5 games we've only been defending ourselves from hostile toys.

- The black and white writing of the Prototype vs Poppy conflict. The Prototype is evil, Poppy is good. Why? Just cause. There's no complexity here at all

- The Prototype's whole entire character. He's a caricature of a villain. Why is he evil? Just cause. Why did he carry out the Hour of Joy? Just cause, there's no reason, he was just feeling particularly evil that day. Does he care about the toys and want to protect them? No, he's a tyrant with his own propaganda press, brutally oppressing everyone, continuing the experiments, and is basically an asshole to everyone. He doesn't care about anyone except Poppy

- Prototype's intelligence? Nonexistent. He's been severely dumbed down just to allow us to defeat him in chapter 6. He didn't destroy this super secret information Giblet tells us to retrieve on how to destroy him. He doesn't know how to carry out the experiments and didn't let Sawyer do the work for him instead for... some reason. He dumps us into the Poppy gel after he stabbed us, directly leading to our survival. And just the fact that he's a young child automatically dumbs him down further

- On the topic of the Prototype's intelligence, why did he carry out the Hour of Joy if he doesn't truly care about saving anyone? And why carry out the Hour of Joy before the scientists could achieve immortality? If his goal is not to be immortal alone — wouldn't it be smarter for him to wait until the scientists do the hard work for him? And if he didn't know how to do the experiments, wouldn't it be easier to let Sawyer do the hard work for him? Sawyer even asks him to give him labs access in chapter 4! We know the Prototype doesn't care about the other toys given how he treats them. Why doesn't he just let the Doctor into the labs?

- The Prototype's motivation? He doesn't want to live forever alone. A very simple motivation that I don't find that interesting or compelling. It stings to find out that THIS was what Mob were leading up to when they were saying, "You think you know what he wants? You don't know anything yet" when the answer is just "He doesn't want to be lonely in immortality"

- Preston and the rebel faction of scientists that the vhs tapes set up? Nonexistent. We don't know where they are. We don't know what happened to them

- Stella, who was part of the rebel plot? Nonexistent. Why did the arg hint that she was part of the rebel plot if she wasn't featured in this chapter at all?

- Seeing Reason, the girl from the arg? Nonexistent

- Lily? A cool character with a cool plot that is ultimately irrelevant narrative wise. Gone too quickly.

- Kissy? Still somehow friends with Poppy after Poppy bailed on her.

- Poppy? Again, no complexity to her character. Just a scared child in circumstances she's not equipped for. Which, by the way, why does Mob try to hint that she's as bad as the Prototype (through SeeingReason's statements) when she's not? Not even close.

- The Prototype being a child literally undermines everything he's done up until this moment. The alarm clock that he turned into a laser pointer? How did he do that? Him manipulating scientists and counselors into helping him? How did a child do that? Orchestrating the Hour of Joy? Speaking to Sawyer on equal grounds? How? Why would a character like *Sawyer* ever show the Prototype any respect if the Prototype is a child?

- Eddie and Leith? They were only in this game to explain what happened to Rich and then hint at potential spin-off games

- Why did the Prototype convert *Grace* into a toy but not Jessica? He killed Jessica for being an evil scientist who didn't really care or feel sorry for experimenting on children (which btw he doesn't even care about) but he converted Grace despite her literally brainwashing and abusing children psychologically by trying to convince them they're really toys? And I know the logic is — death is a mercy and being forced to be a toy is punishment but:

1) Why did Jessica not deserve to be punished like Grace then despite being equally evil

2) Why did Prototype convert *Preston* if Preston felt bad and helped him carry out the Hour of Joy. By that logic Preston deserved death as a mercy, not to be transformed into a toy, you can't have it both ways

- Inconsistent writing of Jessica Newman. In the vhs when Preston questions her if the work bothers her she says no. In the note found in Lily's dollhouse, however, she notes that it *does* bother her and questions if there's even a point to it.

- We were shown automated machines in the labs that experimented on Outimals without the Prototype being present at all. This is just another blow to the Prototype's intelligence. He doesn't even need to do anything when the machines do most of the work for him. And he wasted his own time trying to figure out how to control the Growth Medium with the Negation formula when he could've just let Harley do it under his supervision. But he didn't for... some reason

- The Prototype's maturity levels and his child identity are not congruent at all. The switch from the Elliot Ollie tape to the interrogation tape gave me whiplash. It doesn't make sense in my head that the Prototype in both these tapes is the same character

- The way the Ollie reveal ruins Elliot as a character. Elliot became the single most evil person in the series. He took in an abused, innocent child and experimented on him to revive his dead daughter. And then had the nerve to tell him they could be a family if he wanted. Disgusting beyond words. He then proceeded to leave both Ollie and Poppy to the evil company he created that didn't hesitate a moment to start experimenting on children for profit.

- Leith didn't know of Prototype's or Poppy's existence. He stumbled upon them (and presumably Elliot's body) by complete accident. So all the experiments and underground facilities were made in the span of only 5-6 years.

- Harley's return felt like cheap emotional manipulation and fanservice. I wasn't even happy to have him back because of it. And now Isaac has confirmed he was meant to die in chapter 4

- I'm going to guess that Poppy hates the Prototype because he killed Elliot. Why is she still defending her father after all these years? After what he did to her and how he left her in this mess?

- If Harley ends up helping us in chapter 6 and does not betray us at any point — it will be inconsistent with his character. He better not have a tragic death as it will make absolutely no sense for a selfish person like him

- I predict Ollie will have a tragic death, because I can already see the setup. So, again, cheap emotional manipulation, because Ollie has not been a positive character this entire game at all

Screams echoed down the hallways. By the sound of it, they weren't coming from the Game Station, but from somewhere deeper. Though not as deep as the Prison. Playcare then.

Huggy shifted anxiously, and Elliot shushed him, carefully threading the needle through the rip in the toy's arm. “Remain still. It's alright, no one's dying.”

At least, he thought nobody was dying.

A new voice joined the fray, a high pitched feminine laughter. Elliot sighed and resisted the urge to rub at his metal temples.

As if things weren't bad enough… now Mommy had decided to join the fray as well.

Huggy was looking at him, his expression one of concern. Elliot finished the last stitch and began to stash the needles and threads away. “If they're still yelling, that means they're fine.” He told the concerned boy, the box with the supplies closing with a soft click. “It's when things go quiet that there's real cause for concern.”

Right on cue, a new voice rose up in a shout, somehow overshadowing even the screams from before.

“ELLIOT!!!”

Seriously wondering if he could get away with hiding on the other end of the factory and pretending he hadn't heard a thing, but at the same time knowing he would be hit over the head for it later (quite literally), the Prototype heaved a long-suffering sigh and left Huggy’s chamber, slowly making his way downwards, into the depths of the facility.

He was absolutely not dragging his feet as he did so, thank you very much.

Normally, he would've assumed that the argument would die down by the time he reached Playcare. After all, it wasn't a quick journey down from the top floors of the factory, requiring at least an hour to reach even with his extensive knowledge of the building's shortcuts. But this was Sawyer they were talking about. The man's rage could burn for hours. God only knew where he got the energy from.

When he finally arrived at Playcare, it didn't take long for him to locate the source of the commotion.

Harley was standing by the sky dome elevator, metal foot tapping in impatience as he waited for him to arrive. High above, right beneath Playcare's painted skies, Catnap and Mommy Long Legs’ faces stared down at them, alight with glee. The first thing Elliot noticed was the conspicuous absence of the lab coat Harley usually wore when he roamed around in one of his metallic bodies. The second thing he noticed was the flutter of white fabric over their heads, held way out of reach in Marie’s hand.

The reason for the hubbub became painfully clear.