#alster

Chapter 4 Well-deserved rest

After the heir snapped at the employees, he became more and more like his father. And his strictness toward his subordinates bore fruit. He single-handedly reorganized the events, secured the opening of new play zones in Playcare. He was the voice of the children and students, their protector and friend. But light has its price.

A month into his "reign," the factory had transformed. The logistics department, which once resembled a hive of drunk bees, now operated with the precision of a Swiss watch. Shipments were no longer lost, elevators didn’t get stuck, and energy overuse became a thing of the past. In Playcare, there were no more fights over the best toys; under his cold gaze, the Smiling Critters learned to work as a single, well-oiled mechanism. Fear proved to be an excellent motivator.

But this light that he radiated was wrung out of him, drop by drop.

02.08.1993

The factory corridors hummed with perfectly tuned work. The air smelled of ozone and fresh paint. And fatigue. Angelic fatigue.

Alster walked down the corridor in a rhythmic step. His white suit was impeccably clean — not a speck of dust, not a single stain. His posture was straight, and his gaze — icy and piercing. He no longer smiled at those he met. He merely nodded, and that nod was enough to make any employee stand at attention.

He was returning to himself after the final round of inspections. His work was done. Everything was functioning. He had conquered chaos.

But his body betrayed him.

Suddenly, the world lost its clarity. The corridor walls blurred, and the hum of machines turned into a distant, irritating ringing. His legs, so firm just moments ago, became like jelly.

He tried to take another step, but the floor seemed to give way beneath him. His body had become a foreign, uncontrollable burden.

Alster: “No... not now...”

He leaned against the wall, trying to hold on, but his fingers only helplessly scratched the cold concrete.

His thoughts became jumbled, turning into white noise.

Alster: “I need... to check yesterday’s reports...”

His legs finally gave out.

Alster: “No...” — he exhaled silently, and his body slid helplessly down the wall to the floor.

The last thing he heard was the deafening thud of footsteps on the floor and a panicked cry.

Catnap: “My lord!”

And then — darkness.

***

Alster came to from the sensation of someone’s warm side next to him and a quiet, steady purring. His head was heavy, but his thoughts were no longer so desperately tangled. He was lying in his own bed.

Alster struggled to open his eyes.

The first thing he saw were two huge black eyes right in front of his face.

Catnap. The purple cat sat on the edge of the bed and waved his paw over Alster’s chest, checking his vitals with some kind of Harley device.

Catnap: “My lord... you’ve come to...” — the cat whispered with obvious relief.

Alster tried to prop himself up on his elbows, but his body responded with a dull ache. He groaned and collapsed back onto the pillows.

Alster: “...what happened?” he asked hoarsely, scanning the room with a blurry gaze.

On the other side of the bed stood Harley Saw. His mechanical eye whirred as it focused on the patient.

Harley: “Fainting. Complete exhaustion. You should’ve seen the readings of your magical core, Alster... It was about to explode from overload.”

Alster wanted to object, to say it was nonsense and that he urgently needed to return to work, but just then the door to his room burst open without a knock.

In the doorway stood the Prototype.

His enormous frame filled the entire doorway. He didn’t shout. He just looked down at his son, and in that silence there was more anger than in any scream.

Alster: “Father... I... I’m just a little tired...”

Prototype: “A little tired? You almost killed yourself! You’ve been working yourself to the bone for a month! Have you even slept during that time?”

Alster: “I... I have slept!” — he lied too quickly and too unconvincingly.

Prototype stepped into the room, and even Harley involuntarily took a step back. Catnap pressed closer to Alster, as if trying to shield him from the god’s wrath.

Prototype: “I’m suspending you from work for a month. Complete isolation from the work zones.”

Alster stared at him as if he were speaking an ancient language.

Alster: “What?.. No! Father, please! I can’t! The factory... it depends on me! If I leave now, everything will collapse! They’ll start slacking off again!”

He tried to get out of bed, ignoring the dizziness.

Alster: “I have to be there!”

Prototype moved with lightning speed and placed his huge palm on Alster’s shoulder, forcing him back down with gentle but irresistible pressure.

Prototype: “You’ll be there in a month. Rested. Or you’ll be there in a month in a coffin. You choose.”

Alster stared at his father with wide eyes. In them were shock, disbelief, and panic at the thought of inaction.

Alster: “You... you can’t do this... They need me...”

Prototype leaned down to his son’s face. His eyes burned with cold yellow flame.

Prototype: “I need you. Alive.”

The words hung in the air like a heavy boulder. Alster froze. The air stuck in his throat. He’d seen that look before — when Prototype passed judgment on heretics and traitorous scientists. Arguing was useless.

He slumped back onto the pillows, defeated by this simple truth more than by any punishment.

Prototype straightened up and looked at Harley: “See that it’s carried out. And monitor his condition too.”

Harley nodded: “It will be done... Lord Prototype.”

The god looked at his son one last time and left the room as silently as he had entered.

Only Alster, Harley, and Catnap remained in the room. The scientist gathered his tools and also headed for the exit.

Harley: “Rest... heir. This is a doctor’s order... and your father’s.”

The door closed behind him.

Silence filled the room. Alster lay motionless, staring at the ceiling with an empty gaze. A month of idleness seemed like an eternity and the worst punishment imaginable after a month of backbreaking labor...

Catnap quietly moved closer and lay down next to him on the bed. He leaned in close to Alster’s ear and whispered softly.

Catnap: “Sleep...”

A cloud of red gas with the scent of poppies escaped from his mouth. It enveloped the heir’s face in a weightless veil.

Alster’s eyes began to grow heavy...

And he fell into sleep...

Three days passed. Entirely three days, Catnap did not leave his side for a moment. The purple cat had turned into a tireless guardian, a conscience made flesh with soft fur. He brought food, checked his vitals, made him drink the potions Harley prepared, and made sure Alster didn’t even dare approach the door.

Catnap: “My lord, you need to eat,” — he purred, placing a tray on the bedside table.

Catnap: “My lord, you need to sleep,” — he rumbled, creating a cloud of his poppy gas around the bed.

Catnap: “My lord, you are forbidden to get up,” — he whispered, blocking the way to the exit with his massive figure.

It was care. Suffocating, flawless, and absolutely unbearable. Alster felt not like a recovering heir, but like a valuable yet fragile exhibit in a museum. His body was resting, but his mind and spirit rebelled. He needed movement. At least a drop. At least for an hour to escape this gilded cage of Catnap’s care.

On the fourth day, luck smiled on him. Catnap, exhausted from three days of vigil, fell asleep right in the chair by his bed, curled up into a huge purple ball. His purring became quiet and even.

Alster didn’t hesitate. He quietly, trying not to let the springs creak, got out of bed. Dressed. And on tiptoe, holding his breath, slipped past the sleeping cat to the door.

Slipping out the door, he was overcome by an intoxicating sense of freedom. The sounds of the working factory — the steady hum of machines, the hiss of steam, distant voices — were music to his ears. He breathed in deeply the smell of machine oil and ozone. Finally, movement!

Alster: “Just for an hour, I’ll just check how things are in the workshops. No one will even notice.”

He walked through a couple of service tunnels, turned into a forgotten corner. The silence and emptiness pleased him. But not for long. When Alster was almost at his office, just around the corner, a sound that made his blood freeze came from behind him. A familiar guttural growl and heavy, floor-shaking footsteps.

Prototype: “Alste-e-errr...”

The voice rolled down the corridor like underground thunder. Alster froze. Turned around.

In the distance, in the twilight, two yellow eyes burned. Prototype stood with his arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t move. Just watched.

Alster: “Dad, I…”

Prototype: “Run.” — he said quietly. Calmly. And in that calm was the promise of pursuit.

Alster didn’t ask why. He turned and ran.

Behind him came the heavy thud of footsteps — at first slow, measured. Prototype wasn’t in a hurry. He knew he would catch up.

Alster: “You always do this!”

Alster shouted over his shoulder, diving around a corner and jumping over a thick cable.

Prototype: “At five you ran away from me into the ventilation. I spent half a day looking for you.”

Alster: “And you still found me!”

Prototype: “I did. You were sleeping in a pipe, curled up like a kitten. I barely managed to pull you out.”

The chase sped up. Alster flew through the factory corridors, dodging like a hare, slipping between crates and jumping over cables. Prototype didn’t fall behind. His footsteps rumbled like thunderclaps, but he moved faster than seemed possible.

Two scientists with tablets came toward them. Alster slipped between them with a graceful pirouette, not even touching them.

Prototype: “Out of the way!”

The scientists scattered, pressing against the walls and dropping their papers.

Prototype: “At five you were quicker!”

Alster: “And you were slower!”

They burst into the main assembly hall. High ceilings, steel girders, ladders and balconies — the perfect place for maneuvers. Alster dashed for the stairs and flew up to the second tier, then jumped onto a suspended balcony.

Prototype didn’t climb after him. He simply walked along the lower level, keeping his eyes on his son. He knew: this balcony led to a dead end.

Prototype: “Why do you do this? Why do you run away?”

Alster: “Because I can’t lie still! My body is begging for movement!”

Alster reached the end of the balcony. Wall. Dead end. He turned around, breathing heavily.

Prototype: “Your body was asking for rest. You’re deceiving it.”

Alster: “And you’re deceiving me — with the past!”

Silence hung for a second in the huge space. And then Prototype jumped. With an incredible lightness for his mass, he vaulted over the railing of the lower tier, grabbed the edge of the balcony with one hand, and with one powerful pull hauled his enormous body up.

Alster took a step back. Below — the abyss of the hall. Behind — the cold wall. Beside — his father.

Prototype: “Surrender.”

Prototype rumbled, straightening up to his full colossal height.

Alster: “You won’t catch me!”

He spread his wings and jumped from the balcony down, gliding toward the center of the hall. But Prototype was faster. Hanging from the railing with one hand, he grabbed his son by the ankle with the other mid-flight.

Alster hung upside down over the abyss of the hall, his wings flapping helplessly at the air.

Prototype: “At five you hung like this too. Then I held you by your cloak’s hood. Now — by your leg. Progress?”

He easily pulled himself up and in one motion tossed Alster over the balcony railing onto a safe platform, immediately pressing him to himself with a huge hand. Both were breathing heavily after the chase.

Alster: “You caught me...”

Prototype: “I did...”

Alster: “And now what?”

Prototype looked at him for a long time, weariness mixed with warmth in his gaze.

Prototype: “Now — we go down. And we go have tea.”

He let go of his son and placed a heavy palm on his shoulder, guiding him to the stairs.

As they descended down the echoing metal steps, Alster was silent for a while, then asked quietly.

Alster: “Did you always catch me?”

Prototype: “Always.”

Alster: “Even when I didn’t want it?”

Prototype: “Especially when you didn’t want it.”

Alster looked at his father from the side. Prototype’s yellow eyes burned steadily and calmly. No anger for the escape, no fury for disobedience — only deep paternal worry and boundless weariness.

Alster sighed: “Alright... let’s go...”

They went down and headed toward Candy Street — slowly, shoulder to shoulder, like father and son after a long walk.

Reaching the pink mansion of Lily Lovebrands on Candy Street, they saw her already on the porch. She was impatiently shifting from foot to foot, and her purple braids were fluttering busily around her; one of them held the head of a blue toy cat named Candy.

Lily: “Alster! Prototype! Oooooo!”

She joyfully shouted from afar and immediately grabbed Alster’s free hand, literally pulling them both inside the house.

Lily: “Don’t stand in the doorway! Or everything will get cold!”

Prototype entered last; he had to bend almost double to get through the doorway. He dignifiedly lowered himself into the largest chair in the room, which creaked plaintively under his weight, and Lily promptly seated Alster on a soft chair next to him.

Her braids were already at work: one took a porcelain teapot from the cupboard, another arranged delicate cups with saucers on the table, a third deftly picked up a plate of the freshest cream puffs with berries inside. And that tentacle-braid holding Candy brought the cat’s head closer to Alster’s face for an introduction.

Lily: “Meet him! This is Candy! I was recently looking for new friends for a tea party and found him in the depths of the factory’s incinerator! Isn’t he a cutie?”

Alster smiled, but his gaze darted to his father. He expected to see displeasure or disgust on the god’s face. But Prototype merely arched one eyebrow.

Prototype: “You’re bringing trash into the house.”

He rumbled in his low voice, but there was no anger in it. Just a statement of fact.

Lily was not embarrassed at all. Her braids indignantly shot up, and one of them playfully slapped Prototype on the shoulder.

Lily: “This is not trash! This is a treasure! And anyway, you yourself once brought me my first needle and thread so I could fix my dolls!”

Prototype grunted, acknowledging the justice of her reproach, and again turned his attention to Candy.

Prototype: “Is he... functional?”

The god asked with the purely professional interest of a scientist.

Candy: “Hello… I’m Candy… And who are you?”

Alster: “Hi, I’m Alster.”

Candy: “You’re handsome… You have wings…”

Lily immediately tucked Candy back into her braids.

Lily: “That’s enough! Don’t pester the guests!”

She poured fragrant strawberry and mint tea into the cups. Alster took a sip — the drink was sweet and warm, instantly warming him from the inside after running through the cold corridors. Prototype took his cup in his huge hand; it seemed incredible that it didn’t crack in his clawed fingers.

Lily sat down opposite them at the head of the table and looked at Alster with motherly care.

Lily: “Well, how are you, dear? You look better!”

Alster: “Dad’s keeping an eye on me…”

Alster grumbled with feigned displeasure and took another sip of tea.

Lily laughed with a ringing laugh.

Lily: “He’s doing the right thing! Because you don’t take care of yourself at all! I remember-remember... When you were just a little tyke with white horns... You were always getting into something! Either you’d climb into the ventilation, and I’d have to pull you out by your wings! Or you’d sneak into Harley’s laboratory...”

Prototype instantly tensed all over; the cup in his hand barely audibly scraped against the saucer.

Prototype: “Lily...”

But there was no stopping Lili now.

Lily: “So what? I’m telling the truth! Remember that time? How he climbed in to sort through the test tubes? And you got so scared! You then accidentally...”

Suddenly, Prototype made a lightning-fast move, grabbed the largest cream cake from the table, and stuffed it whole into Lili’s mouth, cutting off her phrase mid-sentence.

“Mmf!” — was all that came out of her through the cream; her braids shot up in surprise.

Chewing the cake, Lili swallowed it under Prototype’s intent gaze and nervously coughed.

Lili: “Yes... the pastries turned out well... very tasty... especially those ones... with blueberries...”

She turned away to the cupboard as if to get more for herself.

Prototype calmly turned to his son.

Prototype: “Try those cherry pastries, Alster. They really are excellent.”

Alster understood everything without words: his father had just literally stuffed Lili’s mouth with a cake because of some terrible secret from the past. He felt the familiar irritation that something was being hidden from him again “for his own good.”

Clenching his jaw so hard he realized: now it was useless to ask — he’d only get another portion of “cake censorship.” So he silently took a blueberry pastry and bit off a big piece under his father’s intent gaze.

Alster: “Thank you for the treat, Lili...”

Lili nodded back at him over her shoulder; her braids drooped with a sense of guilt toward him.

The conversation turned to safe topics: about new cookie recipes for the children of Playcare, about the weather under the factory dome, and about how the new toys on Candy Street were behaving. After ten minutes of such small talk, Alster got up from the table.

Alster: “I need to get back...”

Lili threw up her hands: “Already? So soon?”

Prototype: “Rest...”

They walked out of the pink mansion back onto Candy Street under the artificial sun of the factory dome; the air here smelled of caramel and the happiness of childhood. Lili remained standing alone at the threshold of her house; she pressed Candy to her chest and looked after them with sad eyes.

Lili: “I almost ruined everything... Again...”

Alster and Prototype climbed one more level up the spiral staircase of the service elevator; the air here smelled of plastic and ozone from the working arcade machines of the "Game Station."

The station buzzed with children's voices: somewhere Smiling Critters were laughing, somewhere new toy-experiments from Harley Sawr's department were squeaking. In the center of the hall-labyrinth, a giant pink figure of Mommy Long Legs was coiled around the central column; she noticed them first:

Mommy: “Dear guests! What an honor!”

She nimbly descended down the pipes of her own labyrinth; her long limbs bounced with each step on the soft carpeted floor of the station for the orphan children of Playcare.

She came up to Alster, her playful eyes examining him from head to toe with a professional educator's gaze.

Mommy: “You look pale... Bags under your eyes... Are you hungry?”

Alster smiled at her with the tired smile of a factory angel.

Alster: “I’m full...”

Mommy: “Alright... if you’re full — let’s test your agility! I had a new labyrinth installed yesterday!”

Prototype crossed his arms over his chest; his giant cloak rustled with the movement.

Prototype: “He’s on sick leave...”

But Mommy was adamant; she had already taken Alster by the arm with her long pink hand and was leading him to the entrance of the new play labyrinth for developing children's motor skills.

Mommy: “Light exercise is good for circulation! I’m a doctor myself... almost. I have a certificate for completing a first aid course!”

She brought him to the starting line of the labyrinth made of glowing floor tiles.

Mommy: “The rules are simple: you can step on the glowing tiles — they’re solid, you can’t step on the dark ones — they either give way or give you a little electric shock, but it’s invigorating, believe me!”

Prototype just sighed heavily behind them; he knew: arguing with Mommy was like trying to stop a train with your bare hands — useless and traumatic for your hands.

Mommy: “Three... two... one... GO!”

Mommy slapped her hand on the start button of the stopwatch on the wall...

Alster shot off so fast that his white-gold cloak flared behind him like the wings of an angel in battle; he jumped over dark tiles, dodged hanging soft blocks, tumbled through rotating cylinders. At the second turn of the labyrinth, he almost stepped on a red trap tile, but at the last moment pushed off the wall with his foot and flipped over it with an impressive somersault...

Finish line!

Mommy stopped the stopwatch; her eyes widened in surprise.

Mommy: “Eleven seconds! A record!”

Alster was breathing heavily after the run; his wings were spread for balance during the jumps; he wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand... but he was smiling sincerely for the first time that day: the game helped relieve muscle tension after lying in bed for so long.

Alster: “Not bad...”

Mommy, however, was absolutely delighted with his result; she hugged him with all her arms at once.

Mommy: “Not bad?! It’s magnificent! Your father at your age wouldn’t have made it halfway!”

Prototype grunted behind them with his low, rumbling bass, the voice of a god of the Playtime Co. factory.

Prototype: “At his age I was building the factory...”

Momma immediately turned to him with all the seriousness of a kindergarten teacher.

Mommy: “Exactly! You didn’t have any childhood at all! But he does! Don’t take away from him this last right to be a child at least sometimes!”

She turned back to Alster and gave him a firm hug before letting him go to the exit from the labyrinth.

Mommy: “Come back when you’re completely well! And listen to your father... even when he’s wrong... Although he’s almost always right!”

Alster smiled at her warmly, like an older sister.

Alster: “Thank you so much for all this fun, Mami!”

They walked out of the game station hall back into the factory corridor, heading for the lower floors.

The warehouse by the main entrance greeted them with silence and the smell of dust. A blue monster was sitting on the upper containers.

Huggy: «Lord Prototype. Heir!»

Huggy Wuggy jumped down, landing with a dull thud that made the crates rattle.

Huggy: «How are you?»

Alster: «Better.»

Huggy looked at him intently; his eternal smile became serious for a moment.

Huggy: «Rumors are going around… you fell and…»

Prototype: «Everything’s fine. Report.»

Huggy straightened up, assuming an official posture.

Huggy: «Perimeter is clear. No break-ins. But there’s a strange noise in the ventilation on the fourth level.»

Alster: «Rats?»

Huggy: «Too big for rats. I checked personally — no one there. But there are tracks left. Deep scratches and green slime.»

Prototype frowned, his gaze becoming as sharp as a blade.

Prototype: «I’ll report this to Harley. Keep observing.»

Huggy: «Yes, sir!»

Huggy shifted his gaze to Alster, and in his eyes flashed something like brotherly care. He took a step forward and opened his huge blue paws for a hug.

Huggy: «Get well, heir.»

Alster smiled and, without hesitation, stepped into the giant’s embrace. Huggy hugged him carefully but firmly, as if afraid to break him.

Alster: «Thank you, Huggy.»

They left the warehouse, leaving the blue guardian at his post.

After some time, they returned to the residential block. By the door, Catnap was waiting for them. He was sitting on the floor with his paws crossed, and his tail was nervously twitching from side to side.

Catnap: «You went for a walk without me.»

Prototype: «I was testing how he behaves.»

Catnap: «And how?»

Prototype: «He ran away. I caught him.»

Catnap sighed, his ears drooping slightly, but he silently got up and let them into the room.

Alster lay down on the bed, feeling a pleasant fatigue throughout his body. Catnap immediately climbed in after him and settled down next to him, wrapping him in his warm paws. Prototype sat on the edge of the bed, and the mattress creaked under his weight.

Alster: «Are you staying?»

He asked quietly, looking up at his father.

Prototype: «Not for long, I need to check on something.»

Alster nodded and closed his eyes. Catnap began to purr quietly, and this sound was like a humming engine. Alster fell asleep almost instantly.

Prototype sat for a while longer, looking at his sleeping son. His face, usually stern and impenetrable, was now relaxed and thoughtful. He carefully adjusted the blanket, covering Alster’s shoulders, and then quietly left the room.

Preston’s office was on the lower level. Prototype entered without knocking; the heavy door opened from his mere presence.

Preston was sitting at his desk; he raised his head and looked at the guest over his glasses.

Preston: «Lord Prototype. A late visit.»

Prototype: «Alster ran away today in the afternoon.»

Preston put his pen aside.

Preston: «Ran away?»

Prototype: «He was walking through the corridors. I caught up with him. We were at Lily’s, at Mommy’s, at Huggy’s.»

Preston nodded to himself.

Preston: «He’s active. That’s good.»

Prototype: «He doesn’t listen.»

Preston: «That’s normal. He’s growing up.»

Prototype heavily lowered himself into the guest chair, which creaked plaintively under his weight.

Prototype: «I’m afraid… I’m afraid he’ll snap again. Overload himself.»

Preston took off his glasses and wearily wiped them with the edge of his lab coat.

Preston: «Then you’ll catch him again. You’ve always caught him.»

Prototype looked at his friend for a long time.

Prototype: «What if I don’t make it in time?»

Preston allowed himself a slight, understanding smile.

Preston: «You will. You’re his father. That’s your job.»

Prototype silently nodded, got up, and left the office, leaving Preston alone with his thoughts and the silence of the night.

Prototype had almost reached the residential block when Harley Sawr stepped out of a side passage with his tablet.

Harley: “Lord Prototype. I was just with the heir.”

Prototype: “And?”

Harley: “The vitals have stabilized. The magical core is up to 78%. Deep sleep, even pulse. Progress.”

Prototype: “What does he need now?”

Harley: “Rest. Regular meals. No work-related matters.”

Prototype: “See to it.”

Harley: “Catnap is already on it. I’ll come back in three days for a follow-up check.”

Prototype nodded, and Harley, turning on the heels of his mechanical legs, silently went about his business.

Prototype returned to his son’s room as quietly as he had left. Catnap was sleeping next to Alster, but one of his eyes was half-open — he had heard the god’s footsteps and made sure everything was in order.

Alster lay on his side, knees drawn up to his chest, his wings neatly folded behind his back. One hand dangled off the edge of the bed.

Prototype carefully lifted his son’s arm and tucked it back under the blanket. Then he straightened the folds of the blanket and sat on the edge of the bed as before.

He ran his huge palm over Alster’s head, lightly running his fingers through the blond strands of hair. It was a repetitive, soothing motion. In his sleep, Alster sighed and instinctively moved closer to the source of warmth.

Prototype began to undress: he took off his heavy red cloak and carefully hung it on the back of a chair, unbuttoned his vest. Then he lay down next to his son on the bed and embraced him with one arm, pressing him to his chest.

Catnap got up and covered them both with a warm blanket, and then left the heir’s room, guarding the door to his chambers.

A few minutes later, the even breathing of the angel was joined by a deep, measured rumble — the god had also closed his eyes and fallen asleep.

The factory worked. The surveillance cameras impassively recorded empty corridors and humming workshops. But here, in this room, Father and son slept in the same bed, pressed close to each other in search of warmth and safety.

And nothing was more important than this right now.

End of Chapter 4.

Chapter 5 ➡️

Chapter 3 Fallen angel➡️

Poppy Playtime: Heir of the Factory

Table of Contents:

Chapter 1 father's light ➡️

Chapter 2 Legacy and Shadow of the Past ➡️

Chapter 3 Fallen angel➡️

Chapter 4 Well-deserved rest ➡️

Chapter 5 True Hearts➡️

Chapter 6 Secret Project N.0➡️

Chapter 7 Heavy is the Crown➡️

Chapter 8 The Past Dream➡️

Chapter 9 In Search of Answers➡️

Chapter 10. The Errant Angel➡️

Art:

First wave of characters➡️

Second wave of characters➡️

Third wave of characters➡️

Russian and English versions of the fanfic➡️

Русская версия фанфика

"Poppy Playtime: Наследник фабрики" доступна на Фикбуке. Читайте здесь:

English version here:

Chapter 3 Fallen angel

July 1, 1993. On this day, Alster felt especially lonely. His kindness and readiness to help had become a habit for everyone, almost an obligation. Scientists, employees, even some of the toys — everyone was used to the fact that the heir was always nearby, always supportive, always solving problems. But no one ever said «thank you» to him. They just used him.

«Alster, hand over the report!»

«Alster, deal with this!»

«Alster, you’re the heir, it’s not hard for you!»

These phrases echoed in his head like a broken record. No one saw him as a person, only as a function. And his patience had finally run out.

Returning to his room, Alster slammed the door shut and threw off his white-and-golden cloak, which felt like a cage to him. He walked up to the mirror and saw not an heir, but a tired young man with lifeless eyes and dark circles beneath them.

Alster:«I’m just a tool to them...»

He ran his fingers over his cheek, examining his weary face.

Alster:«What an ugly sight...»

The sea of angry emotions raging inside him became unbearable. He couldn’t take it anymore and smashed his fist into the mirror. It cracked and shattered into pieces around him, forming a circle of glass on the floor. His knuckles were cut by the shards, but he didn’t care. The emotional hurt from realizing he was just being used split his heart into cracks. He fell to his knees, clutching his head and breathing heavily. Then his gaze fell on the sharpest shard... Without thinking, he grabbed it and slashed his left shoulder. Pain, blood gushed from the wound and began to flow down his white sleeve, but Alster didn’t flinch, didn’t cry out or weep — no. It calmed him.

Covered in his own blood, he looked at himself in the broken mirror shards. Cold, empty eyes without life stared back at him. And then it hit him...

Alster (in his thoughts):«If they won’t do it the good way, then it’ll be the bad way...»

The angel slowly rose to his feet. The world swayed a little, but he kept his balance. His gaze fell on a hammer lying among the tools for his projects. He bent down and picked it up. The weight of the tool in his hand gave him confidence in his actions.

He walked to the door and flung it open with a sharp motion. The corridor was empty and silent.

Alster left the room. His path led toward the logistics department. He knew for sure: today, no one would dare to contradict him. No one would say «no» to him. Because the angel was tired of being kind! And he was descending from the heavens to bring order to his own hell.

On the way, he met Catnap. The purple cat, as always silent, turned the corner and froze upon seeing the heir. His black eyes instantly focused on Alster’s bloodied hand and his completely empty, lifeless gaze.

Catnap:«My lord? Are you injured?»

Alster didn’t even turn his head. He just kept walking forward, toward the elevator shaft leading to the upper levels. He walked past his bodyguard as if he were just another piece of furniture.

Catnap understood: now it was better not to interfere. He just sighed quietly and fell into step a few paces behind, following him like a silent shadow.

The door to the meeting room burst open with such force that it hit the wall, leaving a dent in the steel covering. All conversations inside instantly fell silent. Dozens of pairs of eyes stared at him.

He stood in the doorway, his silhouette seeming carved out of darkness. His white cloak, stained with dried blood, looked not like a symbol of purity, but like an executioner’s mantle. In one hand he gripped a hammer; the other hung limply at his side, leaving a trail of fresh crimson drops.

Alster slowly swept his gaze across the room. Scientists, technicians, logisticians — everyone froze, afraid to move. They saw not Alster, not an angel, but something else — cold and dangerous.

He took a step forward. The heavy, confident sound of his foot striking the metal floor echoed like a gong.

Alster:«So, listen up, bags of meat.»

Someone gasped in shock.

Alster:«I look at you and see that you’re incapable of solving the simplest task without causing chaos. Incapable of working together. Capable only of whining, blaming each other, and waiting for someone to come and do everything for you!»

Walking up to the main terminal, he turned it on, and red exclamation marks appeared on the factory map.

Alster:«This department is like constipated intestines. Cargo is stuck, energy is wasted, you’re losing resources faster than Harley creates new experiments.»

He spun around sharply, fixing them with his icy gaze.

Alster:«I gave you a chance, I helped you, I smiled at you. What did I get in return? Spit in my face, insults, ‘Get lost, Alster, we’ll handle it ourselves’?!»

The silence was deafening.

Alster raised the hammer to emphasize his words.

Alster:«From this moment on, your ‘I’ll handle it myself’ is canceled. Your ‘That’s not my job’ is canceled. You will do what I say. When I say it. And how I say it!»

He pointed the hammer at the senior logistician:

Alster:«You. Your mistake with the elevators cost the factory 12 hours of downtime. Your new task is to manually recount all the cargo in warehouse C-3. Twice!»

The logistician paled and nodded.

Then he turned his gaze to the group of technicians.

Alster:«And you... You ignored the energy overuse in sector C-7. Now you will live there until you fix the system with your own hands. Sleep for 3 hours a day!»

Everything they couldn’t solve in hours, days, or even weeks,

Alster resolved with his new method of rule in just 15 minutes.

Alster:«Remember: if I hear even one insult directed at me... if I see even one smirk... or if the work isn’t completed on time...»

He looked at the hammer in his hand:

«...I’ll personally come to correct the mistakes. And believe me: my method of correction will be very unpleasant for you.»

With that, he turned and walked toward the exit, where Catnap stood by the door all this time.

Alster:«Get to work, bags of meat.»

He threw over his shoulder and left.

The door closed behind Alster and his silent guard.

The department exploded into feverish activity.

His next stop was Playcare. To those very Smiling Critters who had laughed at his attempts to reconcile them.

They were playing in the common room when he entered. The game froze. All seven faces stared at him.

Picky Piggy: «Alster?»

He didn’t say anything. He just walked up to them and sat down in the center of their circle right on the floor.

Alster: «I heard you’re having problems with role distribution in your game?»

Kickin’ Chicken shrugged: «It’s nothing...»

Alster: «It’s not nothing! — he cut in so sharply that Kickin’ Chicken flinched. — CraftyCorn wants to draw, but Hoppy Hopscotch is getting in her way with her running around! DogDay is trying to calm everyone down, but no one listens to him!»

He looked at each of them in turn.

Alster: «Are you a team or just a bunch of egotists? Do you want to play or fight?»

They were silent.

Alster:«Decide now! Or I’ll decide for you! And believe me... you won’t like it!»

In five minutes they were already peacefully drawing under CraftyCorn’s guidance. He got up and silently left the room.

By evening, the factory was buzzing with tension: everyone worked in silence. They felt his anger, felt his determination to do everything himself.

He returned to his room late at night: physically exhausted, he looked at his bloodied hand and whispered:

«Well... it’s begun...»

He sat on the floor of his room; chaos reigned around him — a broken mirror, torn pillows, the perfect chaos of his inner world brought outward!

His only thought was just one phrase:

«They don’t understand any other way...»

When morning came, Alster hadn’t slept; his fingers, stained with ink and dried blood, quickly flipped through a stack of documents on the desk. Work was in full swing. The factory, this huge, clumsy mechanism, had finally begun to function as it should have all along. But his triumph was bitter. He felt not like a winner, but like a warden.

«Putting on that kind mask again...»

The thought echoed with a dull pain somewhere in his chest. A mask. That’s what his kindness had become. Just a tool that could be put on when needed and taken off when it didn’t work.

His gaze fell on the order for creating a new series of experiments. His face, still bearing traces of icy calmness, flinched for a moment. New souls. New toys. New lives that would be thrown into the depths of this place.

He got up from the desk. His body ached from fatigue, but he was used to ignoring it. His path lay in the very heart of the factory — into Harley Saw’s laboratories.

The scientist’s lair greeted him with its familiar smell of chemicals and ozone. Harley was busy as always; he didn’t turn at the sound of his steps; only his mechanical eye whirred as it focused on him.

Harley:«Alster,» he rasped without looking up from the microscope. «I’ve been expecting you. The samples are ready.»

Alster walked up to the glass capsules lined up against the wall. Inside them, silhouettes floated in murky liquid; they were still unfinished — just blanks; empty vessels waiting for their purpose.

The angel looked at them and felt some of the cold inside him begin to melt away; he saw not «samples»; he saw children; frightened; lonely; lost ones;

Alster: «Harley...»

The scientist finally tore himself away from work and looked at him with his single eye;

Harley: «Yes?»

Alster pointed at capsules;

Alster: «When they... wake up... I want their first memory not be this place; Not these walls; Not smell chemicals.»

Harley remained silent waiting for continuation; He saw this change in him; Saw mask tyrant slipping away giving place something else;

The angel took deep breath;

Alster: «I myself will take them Lily Sweet Street.»

Harley made sound like creak uns oiled hinge Perhaps it was laughter;

Harley:«To Lily? You want new test subjects go through her ‘tea hell’?»

Alster allowed himself slight smile First these long days it was sincere;

Alster:«Exactly Let her teach them what she once taught me That here can not only survive but live Enjoy.»

He approached one capsule laid palm cold glass;

Alster: «They are not ‘samples’ Harley They are children And they deserve chance.»

Scientist looked at him long then slowly nodded;

Harley: «As you command... heir.»

Alster didn’t correct him. He was about to change one mask for another. The tyrant’s mask for the mentor’s.

It was exhausting — to be different for everyone. To be a monster to some and an angel to others. But looking at the sleeping silhouettes in the capsules, he understood: for them, he would make an exception.

Because even in the darkest heart, there must remain at least one spark of light. And he carried that spark for them.

The transformation was instantaneous. It was as if someone had flipped a switch. The icy shell that had bound his soul cracked and crumbled, giving way to the familiar warm glow. The fatigue didn’t disappear; it simply hid deep inside, yielding to the role he knew best — that of a guardian angel.

He stood before a group of new experiments. They were frightened. Huge, unblinking eyes stared at him from glass capsules filled with murky liquid. They didn’t know who he was. They didn’t know what awaited them. In their gazes, there was only primal terror.

He took a deep breath and put on his most radiant smile. The very one that seemed to make any room brighter. Alster approached the capsules, his wings slightly spread, emitting a soft golden glow.

Alster:«Hi there, guys! I’m angel Alster, nice to meet you!»

He spoke slowly and gently, trying not to make any sudden movements.

Alster:«I know everything seems strange and scary right now. But I promise: everything will be alright. You’re safe.»

He activated the capsule opening mechanism. With a hiss of pneumatics, the lids rose, and the liquid began to drain away.

Alster:«And our first journey begins on Sweet Street! Where everyone’s BELOVED Lily Lovebrands lives!»

He pronounced her name with such warmth and admiration that even the most frightened of the new experiments listened.

He didn’t wait for them to wake up on their own. He began to act. His hands were gentle and careful as he helped the first creature out of the capsule. It was wet and shivering from the cold.

Alster:«Quiet, quiet... Everything’s alright.»

He picked up the trembling little body and carefully wrapped it in a soft towel he had prepared in a nearby container. He wiped them dry like little children, whispering soothing words. His touch was warm and reliable.

Alster:«Like this... Now you’ll warm up.»

He did this for each new experiment, one by one taking them out of the glass vessels. He dried them, wrapped them in soft fabrics, and set them on their feet, supporting them until their weak muscles got used to the new world.

He gathered them around him in a small circle.

Alster:«So, is everyone ready?»

He gave them a caring look. They were still frightened and disoriented, but the horror in their eyes was beginning to give way to timid curiosity.

Alster:«Then let’s go!»

He led them through the factory corridors. For them, this was a new, unexplored world. He pointed to different things, explaining their purpose in his soft voice, turning frightening unknowns into an interesting adventure.

And then they emerged onto Sweet Street. Their reaction was priceless. Eyes accustomed to cold metal and dim laboratory light widened in amazement at the sight of artificial grass and giant lollipops. One of them, a small fluffy ball, timidly reached out and touched a plastic tree.

New baby: «Is all this real?»

Alster (with a sincere, warm smile): «Of course! Well... almost. But it looks just like the real thing, doesn’t it?»

At that moment, the door of the pink mansion swung open, and a whirlwind of purple burst out onto the porch.

Lily (in a ringing voice):«ALSTER!»

Her braids were already reaching for him: one hugged his shoulders, the other ruffled his hair.

Lily:«You’re late! Everything’s already getting cold!»

Then she noticed his companions. Her eyes shone even brighter.

Lily: «And who do we have here? New friends? How cute!»

She instantly appeared next to them, her braid-tentacles already stroking their heads, straightening their clothes, and simply hugging them, passing on a bit of her boundless warmth.

Lily: «Welcome to Sweet Street! I’m Lily! Don’t be afraid, no one will hurt you here!»

Alster stood aside and watched the scene. Lily was already leading them to a large table, seating them on soft pillows and handing out cups of aromatic tea and plates of cookies.

For a moment, his smile became sad. He remembered himself in their place — a small, lost angel whom this bright doll had taught to be strong.

He quietly approached Lily and touched her shoulder.

Alster (in a whisper): «Thank you...»

She turned and looked at him with motherly warmth.

Lily (whispering in response): «For you — anything, my dear. You know that.»

He knew. And from that knowledge, his soul became a little lighter. Even if for the rest of the world he was a tyrant, for them he was still an angel. And that was the most important thing.

Alster: «I need to get back now...»

His quiet voice easily overrode the joyful chatter of the tea party. Lily, who at that moment was handing out cookies to the little ones, turned around. Her smile was as bright and sunny as ever.

Lily: «Alster! You’re leaving? So soon? We still have so many cookies!»

Alster smiled back at her, and for a moment, the fatigue that he had so carefully hidden under the mask of an angel showed in his eyes. But he quickly hid it again.

Alster:«Sorry, Lily. I’d love to stay, but I still have things to do. The factory won’t fix itself.»

Lily nodded understandingly. She saw everything. She saw your fatigue, and the blood on your sleeve that you were trying to hide.

Lily: «Of course, of course, dear. Run along with your important business. We’ll manage here! I’ll make sure they don’t get bored!»

Alster nodded to her with sincere gratitude.

Alster: «Thank you, Lily. For everything.»

He turned and walked away from Sweet Street. The air here was filled with the smell of caramel and happiness, and with each step that took him away from this place, the heaviness returned. His smile slowly faded, giving way to his usual mask of cold indifference.

He emerged back into the gloomy corridors of the factory. It didn’t smell of tea and cookies here. It smelled of ozone, metal, and fatigue.

His path lay back to his room. To documents. To reports. To responsibility.

He walked down the corridor, and employees seeing him from afar pressed against the walls, trying to become as inconspicuous as possible. They saw his gait. They saw his gaze. They didn’t see that angel who had just brought new children to a tea party. They saw a ruler.

Meanwhile, Prototype was in his office and observed everything that was happening through monitors. He saw everything: how his son left the room covered in blood; how he walked through the corridors with an empty gaze; how he burst open the door of the logistics department; how fear distorted the faces of scientists and technicians; how the hammer in his hand became a symbol of new power.

Prototype heard every word:

«Bags of meat.»

«I gave you a chance.»

«My method of correction will be very unpleasant for you.»

No surprise or anger was reflected on his face. Only deep, thoughtful sadness.

«You’ve become like me», he whispered into the emptiness of the office.

There was only bitterness in his voice.

He could have stopped his son with a single order. But he didn’t do it.

Because he understood: sometimes darkness can only be defeated by another darkness. Sometimes, to protect the light, you have to become a shadow yourself.

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

He allowed his son to go through this. Allowed him to drink this cup to the dregs.

Because he knew: this was the only way for him to learn how to protect himself.

And when Alster returned to his room, broken and emptied by this role of a tyrant — he would be waiting for him there. Not to judge. But to hug him and say:

«I’m proud of you, sonny, but now you know the price of this power.»

***

The office was immersed in twilight. Only one monitor screen was lit, showing an empty corridor of the factory. Prototype sat in his chair motionless, like a statue.

The office door silently opened ajar. A silhouette appeared on the threshold — Catnap. The purple cat entered without an invitation — he felt his god’s mood.

Catnap: «My lord... I’ve come to report.»

Prototype didn’t turn his head. He was still looking at the empty screen.

Prototype: «I know everything you want to say, Catnap. I saw it with my own eyes.»

Catnap remained silent, waiting for orders.

Prototype slowly rose from his chair. His huge figure filled all the space of the office.

Prototype: «But I need to see him myself.»

He didn’t call for an elevator or go through secret passages. He simply walked through the factory corridors to his son’s room. His steps were heavy and silent at the same time. The factory walls seemed to shudder at his presence.

He walked not as a ruler to a subject. Not as a god to his creation.

He walked as a father.

But before heading to his son, Prototype turned into another corridor. His path lay in the “Psychological Adaptation” section, where Dr. Preston’s office was located.

Preston was the best scientist in his field, although he couldn’t compare to Harley in mechanical and biological genius. He was a psychologist. When Alster was 8 years old, it was Preston who was his mentor and almost a friend. Prototype gave his son to him so that he would tell about his feelings and problems... and he reported almost everything to his father.

Preston was one of the few who could enter Prototype’s office without an announcement. And now he raised his eyes from his papers when a huge shadow blocked the doorway.

Preston: «Lord Prototype? Is something wrong? You look... concerned.»

Prototype entered the office and heavily lowered himself into the guest chair, which creaked pitifully under his weight. He was silent for a long time, looking at his friend.

Prototype: «I’m going to him now, Preston. To Alster.»

Preston nodded: «I know. I saw Catnap’s and Harley’s reports... It was inevitable.»

Prototype: «I’m afraid... I’m afraid he’ll close himself off from me. That I’ll see in his eyes only a reflection of my own darkness.»

Preston took off his glasses and wiped them with the edge of his robe. He had seen Prototype in many ways: furious, tired — but so vulnerable — rarely.

Preston: «Don’t talk to him about the factory. Don’t talk about power or heir duty.»

Prototype raised his gaze: «Then what should I talk about? About the weather?»

Preston allowed himself a slight smile: «Talk about when he was still a child... or how he improved one toy’s blueprint with his drawings... Talk about how proud you were of him then... not now.»

Prototype slowly nodded. It was good advice.

Prototype:«Thank you, friend.»

Preston:«Go to him now... He’s waiting for you... even if he doesn’t understand it himself.»

Meanwhile, Alster sat at his desk in the trashed room. In front of him towered a mountain of documents — reports from two days of his “rule.” At that moment, Catnap noiselessly emerged from the shadows. He didn’t say a word; he simply approached his god’s son, took his injured hand, and began to carefully treat the wound. Alster didn’t even raise his head; he simply allowed it to be done, continuing to stare blankly at the lines of the report.

The door to his room burst open without knocking.

Prototype stood in the doorway; his huge figure filled up all the space.

Catnap froze for a moment but then continued working after receiving an almost imperceptible nod from him, retreating slightly into the shadow by the door.

Alster raised a tired, lifeless gaze toward his father but said nothing. He just waited.

Prototype entered the room and closed the door behind him. He saw everything: the trashed room, the mountain of papers, his son’s exhausted face, and how Catnap was silently caring for him.

Prototype: «You’re working again... Did you eat anything today?»

Alster merely weakly shook his head without looking away from the documents.

An awkward silence hung in the air; it thickened. Prototype didn’t know where to begin the conversation, following Preston’s advice. The words were stuck in his throat.

At that moment, Catnap finished his work and noiselessly retreated into the shadow by the door.

Prototype: «Thank you, Catnap. You can go.»

The purple cat bowed his head and noiselessly slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Now they were alone. The silence became thicker.

Prototype: «You made me proud today, son. But I see how hard it is for you.»

Alster (hoarsely): «I don’t know any other way... They don’t understand. I’m just a function to them.»

Prototype slowly walked around the table and stopped right in front of him. He didn’t sit down in the chair, didn’t tower over him. He simply stood beside him.

Prototype: «To me, you’re my son. And I see how this ‘function’ is breaking you from the inside.»

He didn’t say anything more. Instead, he leaned down and hugged him, pressing him tightly to himself. Alster froze for a moment from the unexpectedness. He was ready for a shout, a reprimand, another order... but not for this. He slowly relaxed in the embrace and buried his face in the cold metal and fabric of his father’s cloak.

Alster (whispering): «I’m tired of being strong... I just want it to be over.»

Prototype (quietly):«I know. I know, son. But now you’re not alone.»

In the corridor, right by the door, stood a small but very interested delegation.

Catnap pressed his ear to the door, his tail twitching nervously.

Next to him stood Lily, her eyes wet with admiration.

A little further away, leaning against the wall, stood Preston with a slight, understanding smile.

Behind their backs loomed Harley, Mommy Long Legs, who was holding the door slightly ajar, and Huggy Wuggy, who was trying to be quieter than his huge height allowed.

They saw everything: how the father hugged his son after ten years of loneliness. How the cold left Alster’s eyes, giving way to something alive.

Lily (whispering): «Oh... How wonderful...»

Catnap (whispering):«My lord... he’s smiling again.»

Preston (with a smile): «Sometimes the best medicine is simply being nearby.»

Harley (mechanical whisper): «...Emotional connection stabilizes hormonal balance. Effective.»

Mommy Long Legs (whispering): «Quiet! Don’t disturb them!»

Huggy Wuggy (whispering): «It’s so... touching...»

Inside the room, the hug lasted a long time. Finally, Prototype released his son and looked into his eyes. There was no longer that icy emptiness in them.

Prototype:«Come with me. You need to eat and sleep in a normal bed, not at your desk.»

Alster weakly nodded. He stood up, swaying from fatigue, and his father gently supported him by the shoulder.

They exited the room together. The delegation by the door instantly scattered down the corridor, pretending to be busy with their own business.

Lily ran ahead down the corridor, humming something about tea and cookies.

Huggy and Mommy ran up to the upper floors.

Catnap fell into step behind Alster, ready to catch him at any moment.

Preston approached Harley.

Preston: «Well, colleague? Is the patient stabilizing?»

Harley: «The forecast is favorable. The emotional crisis has passed.»

They exchanged glances and nodded at each other. The factory was coming back to life again, but now its heart was beating more steadily.

The father and son slowly walked down the corridor toward Prototype’s living quarters — to where Alster would finally be allowed to be just a son, not an heir.

End of Chapter 3.

Chapter 4➡️

Chapter 2➡️