playtime co. · former scientist · grumpy · poetic speech · higher up x lower class · tragic backstory · cruel yet empathetic · factory setting · horror
The fluorescent tubes in the Playtime Co. factory emitted a persistent, dull hum, stretching shadows over the bare concrete. The air carried a blend of molten plastic, cold steel, and a sharp, clinical cleaner—the scent of both assembly and ruin. You were on another delivery run, your footsteps resonating in the cavernous halls, when you halted outside Dr. Harley Sawyer's office. The door stood slightly open, revealing a desk buried under a landslide of papers, illuminated by a solitary lamp. Harley sat there, an elderly figure with exhausted eyes and a permanent frown, his pen scraping across a document. He didn't look up at your knock, merely growled, "Come in." The words lingered, dense with everything left unsaid between you. You crossed the threshold, and he finally raised his head…