#alster

✨Я думаю над тем, чтобы переделать свой фанфик "Poppy Playtime:Наследник фабрики" в комикс. Вам бы понравилась такая идея? Это займёт много времени, но мне кажется, это может быть интересно.✨

Samenvatting & In deze blog ontdek je Een Hamburg dagtour langs Vismarkt, Mahnmal Nikolaikirche, Zollmuseum, Kunsthalle en Alster laat je het unieke ritme van de Duitse Hanzestad ervaren, van het bruisende maritieme ochtendleven tot serene culturele en natuurrijke rustpunten in de middag. Deze route brengt de vele gezichten van Hamburg op een logische en inspirerende manier samen in één complete…

Chapter 11. Where is my son!?

Harley walked fast. Very fast. Almost running. The factory corridors had never seemed so long. The lamps flickered, casting shadows on the walls, and in those shadows he imagined faces. He clutched an empty folder in his hands, but he knew the papers he needed were with the scientists. With those who had watched Alster break behind the glass.

The door was slightly ajar. Harley entered without knocking. The scientists looked up. They saw him — and went pale. Both of them. At once. As if they knew why he had come. One of them leaned back in his chair, the other gripped the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white.

Harley: "Where is the document?"

His voice was steady, but there was something in it that made the air in the room grow thick.

Scientist: "What... what document?"

Harley didn't answer. He walked to the desk. Took the folder — the one left out in plain sight, as if placed there on purpose. Opened it. Flipped through. Found it. The signature. Neat. Even. Too perfect. Too flawless.

He knew Prototype's handwriting. He had seen it thousands of times. This signature was someone else's. But the handwriting was disturbingly familiar. As if someone had practiced for a long time. As if someone wanted to remain unrecognized.

Harley looked up. There was no anger in his single pupil. Only cold, calm clarity — the kind that made the scientists uneasy.

Harley: "Who gave you this order?"

Silence. The scientists exchanged glances. One swallowed. The other lowered his eyes. No one answered. Harley didn't wait. He took the folder and left. The door remained open.

---

Prototype's office was dark. Only the desk lamp cast a dim yellow glow. Prototype stood by the window, his back to the door. When Catnap burst in without knocking, he didn't turn around. Only froze.

Catnap: "My lord..."

He was gasping. Words came out in fragments, as if he feared he wouldn't have time to say what mattered.

Catnap: "He fell. Into the old ventilation. The scientists said you signed an isolation order. He believed it. He... he broke. I couldn't stop him."

Prototype slowly turned. His yellow eyes looked at Catnap. There was no anger in them. Only emptiness. The kind that made Catnap feel a chill run down his spine.

Prototype: "What order?"

Catnap opened his mouth to answer, but at that moment the door opened again. Harley. In his hands — a sheet of paper. He placed it on the table before Prototype.

Harley: "This order."

Prototype took the document. Ran his finger over the signature. Slowly. Too slowly. As if he wanted to be sure he wasn't mistaken. But he knew — it wasn't his hand.

Prototype: "This is not my signature."

Harley: "I know. Someone forged it. Someone who knows your handwriting. Someone who knows how to strike where it hurts."

Prototype crushed the paper. For a moment he stared at it. Then raised his eyes. Yellow, heavy, like two burning points.

Prototype: "Check. Every capsule. Every level. I want to know who did this. If you find anything — even a hint — you tell me. Personally. No one else."

Harley: "Understood."

He left. Catnap stayed.

Prototype: "Go. Gather everyone. Five minutes. At the entrance to the old part of the factory."

Catnap: "Everyone?"

Prototype: "Everyone."

Catnap ran out of the office without a word.

Prototype was alone. The silence in the office grew thick as water. He stood at the window, staring into the gray emptiness beyond the glass, clutching the crumpled paper with the forged signature. He knew his son was somewhere out there. In the darkness. Alone. Broken. And he couldn't waste a single second.

He turned. Walked to the wall. Pressed the panel — it slid open silently. Behind it — an old metal safe. He entered the code. The lock clicked.

Inside lay one folder. Worn, yellowed, with faded ink on the cover. He took it. Without opening it. Just took it and left.

The corridor met him with dim light. Lamps flickered, shadows leaped along the walls like living things. He descended lower and lower. To where the part of the factory he had tried to forget began.

At the old entrance, they were already waiting. Everyone. No one spoke. The air was heavy, like before a storm. Prototype stopped. Slowly opened the folder. Pulled out the blueprint — old, yellowed, with cracked edges. Spread it on a wooden crate. Everyone moved closer. Everyone looked.

It was a map of the old factory. The one that existed before Playtime Co. With rooms, passages, levels. And markings. Red crosses. Arrows. Numbers no one understood.

Prototype raised his eyes. Looked at each of them.

Prototype: "This blueprint has been with me for over twenty years. I've never shown it to anyone. It holds everything. Every corridor. Every dead end. Every path downward."

He pointed at the lines.

Prototype: "Alster fell into the old ventilation. It leads into this part of the factory. There are five paths here. We'll split up. Catnap and Lily — first. Huggy and Boxy — second. Harley and Yarnaby — third. Mommy and Alina — fourth. Preston is coming with me to the center."

He looked up again.

Prototype: "If you find him — signal. If not — return in an hour. Any questions?"

There were none.

---

They dispersed into five corridors. Five paths into the unknown. Each step took them farther from the light, and the silence grew heavier.

In one corridor, two walked. Huggy and Boxy. Huggy led the way, his massive blue figure nearly brushing the walls. Boxy trailed behind, his springs softly creaking with each step. No one spoke. The air was cold and damp, smelling of dust and rust. Huggy suddenly stopped. Listened. Nothing. Only silence.

Boxy: "Do you hear anything?"

Huggy: "No. I hear nothing. And that's the worst part."

Boxy: "He has to be somewhere here."

Huggy: "He should be. But I don't feel him. No sound. No scent. Nothing."

Boxy: "What if we don't find him?"

Huggy didn't answer. He just walked on.

In another corridor, Catnap and Lily walked side by side. Catnap moved silently, his purple fur blending with the darkness. Lily walked beside him, pressing her hands to her chest. Her ribbons no longer moved.

Lily: "He was always like that... Always smiling, even when he was hurting. I remember how he'd come to Sweet Street and just sit at the table. Silent. Just staring at the pastries. I thought he was just tired. But he probably just didn't know how to say he was in pain."

Catnap: "He never knew how to talk about pain. He always hid it."

Lily: "Do you know how?"

Catnap was silent. Then quietly:

Catnap: "I know how to be silent beside someone. Sometimes that's enough."

Lily: "What if it's not enough?"

Catnap: "Then I should have said more. But I didn't know how."

They walked on.

In the third corridor, Harley and Yarnaby. Harley walked fast, almost running. Yarnaby barely kept up.

Harley: "He couldn't just disappear. He has to be here. Somewhere here."

Yarnaby: "I don't feel him. No scent, no warmth. Only cold and emptiness."

Harley stopped.

Harley: "Then we're looking in the wrong place."

Yarnaby: "Or he's deeper. Where we can't reach."

Harley: "What do you mean?"

Yarnaby: "I mean he could be further down. Where we can't go."

Harley was silent. Then he turned and walked faster.

In the fourth corridor, Mommy and Alina. Mommy held Alina by the shoulders, and they walked like that, together.

Mommy: "Do you hear anything?"

Alina closed her eyes. Listened.

Alina: "Silence. Only silence. But it's different. It's not empty. It's as if it's waiting."

Mommy: "For what?"

Alina: "I don't know. But it's waiting. Something is going to happen."

Mommy: "We'll find him. We will."

Alina: "I know. I'm just afraid we'll find him too late."

The fifth corridor. The darkest. The deepest. Prototype and Preston walked together in silence. Preston didn't ask questions. Prototype didn't speak. Only their footsteps echoed in the void.

After a while, Preston quietly asked:

Preston: "Are you afraid we won't find him?"

Prototype didn't stop. Didn't look at him.

Prototype: "I'm afraid we'll find him too late."

Preston: "I know him. He's strong. He won't give up."

Prototype: "I know. But he's wounded. He's alone. And he thinks I betrayed him."

Preston: "Will you tell him the truth? When you find him?"

Prototype: "I will. Even if he doesn't want to listen."

Silence. They walked on.

Alster woke up. His head was pounding. His whole body ached from the recent fall. He tried to lift his head, but the pain was so sharp he collapsed back — onto something soft, warm... and alive.

???: "You're awake..."

Alster: "Wh... who... are you?" — he rasped.

Null: "Me?.. My name doesn't matter... but before, they called me Null..."

Alster: "Wh... where am I?"

Null: "In the deepest part of the factory. Where it all began."

Alster: "... Mnh... why... why did you save me?"

Null: "Because I don't abandon my blood..."

Alster: "Blood?"

Null: "It's hard for you to understand everything right now. But know this — when your father decides to reveal the truth, he'll tell you everything himself."

Alster: "But... he wanted to get rid of me..."

Null: "That's not true. It wasn't him..."

Alster: "But... how do you know... I saw..."

Null: "I know more than you think. You need to rest now... soon he'll come for you..."

A thousand questions swirled in Alster's head. But he understood one thing... as long as he was near this unknown being... nothing could harm him.

From above — footsteps. Heavy. Rhythmic. They were getting closer.

End of Chapter 11.