The Seven-Year-Old Who Tamed the Prototype

The lower levels of Playtime Co. smelled like rust and mildew and something metallic Andrea couldn’t place. She’d been wandering for hours, her little shoes scuffing against grimy tile. This place was huge—a maze of hallways and rooms that went way deeper than she’d ever imagined.

Her brother told her to stay in the upper offices. He always told her that. But he’d been gone three whole days this time, and Andrea was sick of sitting alone in the dark with only the flickering emergency lights and the factory groaning around her.

She was seven. She was curious. And she figured finding him would be easy.

The hallway opened into this huge chamber, and Andrea froze. Cages everywhere—dozens of them, stacked two or three high, most empty. But not all. In the middle, a bunch of experiments were fighting. Twisted things, barely looking like they used to be toys, tearing at each other with a ferocity that made her stomach flip.

She pressed herself against the wall, heart pounding. She shouldn’t be here. She got that now. But the door behind her had swung shut, and the latch was busted.

One of the creatures—this massive multi-limbed thing with too many eyes—turned toward her. It made a wet, gurgling noise, like it was either curious or hungry, and started dragging itself her way.

Andrea backed up until she hit the wall. Nowhere left to go.

The creature lunged.

Something slammed into it from the side. Something huge, made of metal and plastic and wires, moving faster than should’ve been possible. The creature got torn apart in three quick motions, scattered across the floor in twitching pieces.

The Prototype straightened up, towering in the dim light. He was patchwork—mismatched parts stitched together, that single red eye glowing in the shadows. He turned to face her, and Andrea forgot how to breathe.

“Andrea.” His voice was a low grind, like machinery struggling. “What are you doing here?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her legs gave, and she slid down the wall, sitting in a heap on the cold floor.

The Prototype moved toward her, heavy footsteps echoing. He knelt down to her level. His voice was still harsh, but something softer underneath. “You could have been killed.”

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I just wanted to find you.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then he reached out and picked her up, cradling her against his chest. He smelled like oil and old electricity, and Andrea buried her face in him, shaking.

He carried her through the factory, moving fast enough that the corridors blurred. Eventually they stopped in a repurposed office cluttered with half-built machines and scattered blueprints. He set her on a dusty couch and stood over her, his eye fixed on her face.

“You will not leave this room again without permission,” he said. “Understand?”

Andrea nodded, sniffling.

“Good.” He turned and started sorting through a pile of parts, movements quick and efficient. “Catnap.”

From the shadows in the corner, a massive form stirred. Andrea hadn’t noticed it—it had been so still and quiet, part of the darkness itself. But now it stepped forward, and she saw the red smoke curling from its neck, the cat face with wide, unblinking eyes.

The Prototype spoke without turning. “You will watch over her. She is not to be harmed, not to be frightened, and not to leave your sight. If anything happens to her, I will take you apart piece by piece.”

Catnap nodded once, slow and deliberate. Its gaze settled on Andrea, and though its expression was unreadable, something in its posture seemed almost gentle.

“Take her to Playcare,” the Prototype said. “Keep her occupied. I’ll come for her when I can.”

Andrea opened her mouth to protest—she wanted to stay with him—but Catnap was already moving toward her. It held out a hand, a hand that could crush her skull without effort, and waited.

She took it.

Playcare was this huge colorful space buried deep in the factory. Back in the day it must’ve been amazing, full of laughter and kids playing. Now it was a graveyard of joy—faded murals of smiling animals, play structures sagging under years of neglect. The only light came from emergency strips along the walls, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow.

Catnap led her to a small playset near the center—a plastic castle with a slide and a swing set that creaked when the air moved. It gestured for her to sit, then produced a battered doll from somewhere in its fur.

Andrea took the doll but didn’t look at it. She looked at Catnap. “When is my brother coming?”

Catnap made a soft huffing sound. Shook its head.

“Will it be soon?” she pressed. “He said he’d come when he could. Do you think he can come today?”

Catnap sat down heavily on the floor, long legs folding under it. It pointed at the doll, then at the playset, then made a rolling motion with its hands.

“You want me to play?” Andrea asked.

Catnap nodded.

Andrea sighed and picked up the doll. She didn’t want to play. She wanted to see her brother. But Catnap was watching her with those big patient eyes, and she didn’t want to be rude.

She made the doll walk across the plastic castle’s battlements. “This is Princess Fluffington,” she said in a silly voice. “She lives in a castle with her brother, the King, but the King is always busy fighting monsters, so Princess Fluffington has to stay in the castle all by herself.”

Catnap made a sound that might’ve been a chuckle.

“Princess Fluffington is bored,” Andrea continued. “She wants to go find her brother, but a big fluffy guard cat keeps telling her to play with dolls.”

Catnap’s ears perked up, and it tilted its head.

“Are you a guard cat?” Andrea asked.

Catnap considered this, then nodded slowly.

“So you have to watch me all the time?”

Another nod.

“Even when I go to the bathroom?”

Catnap made a sound of dismay, shaking its head vigorously.

Andrea giggled. “Okay, not that. But everywhere else?”

Nod.

“Do you like watching me?”

Catnap paused. It looked at her for a long moment, then gently reached out and patted her head. Its touch was surprisingly soft.

Andrea smiled. “I think you’re nice,” she said. “Even if you are a little scary.”

Catnap’s eyes crinkled in a way that might’ve been a smile.

The next few days fell into a routine. Catnap would come for her in the morning, bring her to Playcare, and watch over her while she played or explored within the boundaries the Prototype had set. He came to visit in the evenings, always too brief, always with an excuse to leave.

“You don’t have to go,” Andrea said one evening, grabbing the edge of his arm as he turned to leave. “Stay a little longer.”

The Prototype looked down at her, his red eye glowing softly. “I have work to do.”

“You always have work to do,” she said, voice small.

He was silent for a moment. Then he knelt down and touched her cheek with a careful hand. “I will come back tomorrow.”

“You always say that.”

“And I always do.”

Andrea didn’t argue. She let him go, but she watched him leave with a heavy heart. She was tired of being left behind.

The next day, she decided to help.

Catnap had been distracted, dealing with some disturbance in the eastern wing. It left her alone for a few minutes—rare—and Andrea slipped out of Playcare and made her way to the workshop her brother had shown her once. It was filled with parts, pieces of experiments and machines, and she had an idea.

Her brother needed help. She’d bring him the parts he needed. She’d be useful.

The workshop was dark and cluttered, but Andrea found a plastic box and started filling it with anything that looked important. Metal joints, gears, coiled wires. She didn’t know what any of it did, but it looked like the kind of stuff her brother used.

She was so focused she didn’t notice the panel on the wall until she backed into it. A click, then a low hum, then a siren started wailing.

Red lights flashed. A mechanical voice echoed through the factory. “UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS DETECTED. SECURITY PROTOCOLS ENGAGED.”

Andrea dropped the box, hands flying to her ears. The sound was deafening, angry, coming from everywhere at once.

Catnap appeared in the doorway, posture tense. It looked at her, then at the panel, then back at her. Made a series of quick sharp gestures Andrea couldn’t interpret.

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to—”

Catnap grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the room, moving fast. Behind them, the sound of automated defenses kicking in—clanking metal, hissing steam, heavy footsteps.

Catnap led her through corridors and down staircases, taking turns so fast she lost all sense of direction. Finally it stopped in a small forgotten storage closet, pulled her inside, and closed the door.

They waited in the dark, listening to the chaos outside. The sirens eventually died down, the voice went silent, and the factory returned to its usual uneasy stillness.

Catnap turned to look at her. Hard to read, but Andrea thought it looked tired.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

Catnap patted her head, then held up a finger in a clear “stay” gesture.

It slipped out and disappeared.

Andrea sat in the dark for a long time, hugging her knees. She’d meant to help. She’d only wanted to help.

When Catnap returned, it had a new box—the same one she’d dropped, but with the parts still inside. It set the box in front of her and made a gesture that seemed to say “for your brother.”

Andrea looked up, eyes wide. “You got it for me?”

Catnap nodded, and though its face was mostly unreadable, Andrea thought she saw a hint of fondness.

“You’re the best guard cat ever,” she said.

Catnap puffed up a little, tail swishing.

The next day, Catnap took her to a new part of Playcare—a section she hadn’t explored yet. A small courtyard with the remains of colorful play equipment and a big rusted slide spiraling up into the darkness.

Andrea was climbing the slide when she heard a sound behind her. A soft, rhythmic creaking, like a swing moving.

She turned.

Huggy Wuggy stood at the edge of the courtyard. The blue fur matted and patchy, the wide stitched smile almost too big for its face. Tall, taller than Catnap, looming over the playground like a nightmare given form.

It took a step toward her.

Andrea scrambled down the slide, landing hard. She backed away as Huggy advanced, its head tilted at an unnatural angle.

“Hello, little one,” it said, voice high and skittery, making her skin crawl. “I’ve heard about you. The Prototype’s precious sister.”

Catnap appeared between them, body low, a growl rumbling from its chest. The red smoke around its neck pulsed and thickened.

Huggy stopped, head swiveling to regard Catnap. “Oh, the babysitter. I’m not going to hurt her. I just wanted to meet her.”

Catnap’s growl deepened. It took a step forward, claws extending.

Huggy held up its hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. I know when I’m not wanted.” It looked past Catnap, directly at Andrea. “But we’ll meet again, little one. I promise.”

Then it vanished into the shadows, faster than something that size should move.

Catnap turned to Andrea, posture softening. It made a series of gestures. Andrea couldn’t interpret them all, but she got the general meaning: Stay close to me. Stay safe.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Catnap nodded, then did something unexpected. It sat down next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a gentle hug. Andrea leaned into the warmth, feeling safer than she had in days.

A few nights later, Andrea wandered away from Catnap.

It wasn’t intentional. Catnap had fallen asleep—rare, but Andrea noticed it seemed more tired than usual, and she didn’t want to wake it. She’d only meant to explore a little, find something interesting to show her brother when he came.

But the corridors twisted and turned, and she ended up in a part of Playcare she’d never seen. The decorations were older, more formal, and the air was still in a way that made her nervous.

She found a door slightly ajar and pushed it open.

A memorial room.

The walls were lined with photographs, hundreds of them, all showing the same scene: the factory floor, covered in blood and bodies. Workers’ faces frozen in terror, eyes wide, mouths open in screams that would never be heard.

Andrea stared, blood running cold. She recognized some faces from the old employee photos her brother had shown her. They were smiling in those photos. Alive.

She backed away, hand over her mouth. She bumped into something solid and turned to find the Prototype standing behind her.

“Brother—” she started, voice breaking.

He looked at the photographs, then back at her. His eye softened, and he knelt down, gathering her into his arms.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly.

“What happened?” she asked. “Who are they?”

He was silent for a long time. Then, “They were people who wanted to hurt us.”

“Did you hurt them?”

Another silence. Longer.

“I protected what was mine,” he said finally.

Andrea pulled back to look at him. “Was I worth it?”

The Prototype’s hand came up to cup her face, and for a moment the harsh lines of his form seemed to soften. “You are the only thing that has ever been worth it.”

Andrea burst into tears, burying her face against his chest. He held her, rocking her gently, his touch surprisingly tender for something made of metal and wires.

They stayed that way for a long time.

The trouble came on a Tuesday. Or what passed for Tuesday in the factory—Andrea had long lost track of days.

She was in Playcare with Catnap, building a tower out of old blocks, when the lights flickered and died. The emergency strips stayed on, casting everything in their dim yellow glow, but the shadows grew deeper and longer.

Catnap rose to its feet, body tense, ears swiveling to track sounds Andrea couldn’t hear.

From the darkness, a voice echoed, high and playful but with a sharp edge underneath. “Hellooo? Little Andrea? I’ve come to play.”

Mommy Long Legs emerged from the shadows, her body contorting and stretching in ways that shouldn’t have been possible. She towered over them, arms reaching out, smile a razor-thin line.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” she said, voice dripping with false sweetness. “The Prototype’s little sister. I wonder what he’d give to have you back.”

Catnap moved in front of Andrea, body low, a snarl tearing from its throat.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Catnap. I’m not going to hurt her.” Mommy Long Legs’s arm shot out, wrapping around Andrea’s waist and lifting her into the air. “I just want to borrow her for a little while.”

Andrea screamed.

Catnap lunged, but Mommy Long Legs was faster, pulling Andrea out of reach and retreating into the shadows. Red smoke billowed from Catnap’s neck as it gave chase, movements frantic.

The factory became a blur of corridors and rooms, shadow and sound. Andrea was carried, dangled, swung through the air, and she cried out for her brother, for Catnap, for anyone.

Then the Prototype was there.

He came out of nowhere, massive form slamming into Mommy Long Legs, tearing her grip away from Andrea. She hit the ground with a shriek, and the Prototype placed himself between her and Andrea, body crackling with barely contained fury.

“Touch her again,” he said, voice a low grinding growl, “and I will remove every piece of you, one at a time.”

Mommy Long Legs scrambled backward, composure cracking. “I was just playing—”

“You don’t play with my sister.”

Catnap arrived, eyes blazing red, flanking the Prototype. Between the two of them, Mommy Long Legs had no choice but to retreat, disappearing into the dark with a final frustrated hiss.

The Prototype turned to Andrea, hands shaking as he picked her up. “Are you hurt? Did she hurt you?”

Andrea shook her head, tears streaming. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—I keep causing trouble—”

“Stop.” His voice was firm but gentle. “You are not the trouble. They are.”

He carried her back to the hideout, holding her close, and Andrea felt the shakiness in his form, the desperate tightness of his grip. She mattered to him. She was the only thing that mattered.

The next few days were quiet. Catnap stayed closer than ever, and Andrea didn’t wander. She played in Playcare, built towers, talked to Catnap about nothing and everything, and waited for her brother in the evenings.

But she still felt guilty.

She wanted to do something for him. Something big. Something that would show him she wasn’t just a responsibility, that she could be helpful.

She’d heard him mention a sealed-off section of Playcare, a place where something valuable was kept. She didn’t know what it was, but she decided she’d find it and bring it to him.

It would be her gift. Her apology. Her proof that she was worth the trouble.

Catnap was distracted again, dealing with a minor skirmish on the edge of Playcare. Andrea crept away, following the directions she’d overheard the Prototype give to one of his underlings. She found the section easily enough—a heavy door with a warning sign partially torn away.

She pushed it open and slipped inside.

The room was dark, filled with the detritus of old experiments. And in the center, standing motionless, was something that made Andrea’s blood freeze.

The Bron was massive—a hulking figure of metal and plastic, its single eye glowing a deep malevolent red. It turned as she entered, gears grinding, and a low mechanical chuckle echoed through the room.

“Another toy for my collection,” it rumbled.

Andrea backed away, but the door had swung shut behind her. Trapped.

Then, with a crash, the door burst open.

The Prototype was there, his form filling the doorway, eye blazing. Behind him, Catnap slipped through the shadows, flanking the Bron from the side.

The Bron laughed. “The protector comes. How noble. But you can’t save her from—”

It didn’t finish.

The Prototype moved faster than Andrea had ever seen. He crossed the room in two strides, grabbed the Bron by its head, and slammed it into the ground. The impact cracked concrete. The Bron struggled, but the Prototype held it fast, and with a single brutal motion, tore its head from its body.

The Bron’s body went limp, sparks flying from severed wires.

Silence.

The Prototype dropped the head and turned to Andrea. His hands were shaking. His voice was barely a whisper. “Are you hurt?”

Andrea shook her head, but her legs gave out, and she sat on the floor, staring at the body of the creature that had almost killed her. She had done this. She had come here, put herself in danger, made her brother have to kill again.

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice cracking. “I just wanted to help. I wanted to bring you something. I wanted you to see that I’m not just—that I can be useful—”

“Stop.” The Prototype knelt in front of her, hands on her shoulders. “You don’t need to be useful. You need to be safe.”

“But I keep causing problems—”

“You are not a problem.” His voice was firm, but there was a softness that broke through her fear. “You are my sister. You are the only thing in this factory that I will not allow to be broken.”

Andrea broke down sobbing, and the Prototype gathered her into his arms, lifting her gently. He carried her out of the room, leaving the Bron’s body behind, and Catnap fell into step beside them, a silent watchful presence.

The Prototype carried her all the way back to the hideout, through dim corridors and echoing chambers, never once setting her down. He placed her on the couch, covered her with a moth-eaten blanket, and sat beside her, his hand resting on her head.

Catnap appeared a few minutes later, carrying a small bowl of something warm and a glass of water. It set them on the table and retreated to a corner, giving them space.

The Prototype looked down at Andrea. “You will stay in Playcare from now on,” he said. “You will listen to Catnap. You will not go anywhere alone.”

Andrea nodded, sniffling.

“But,” the Prototype continued, his voice softening, “I will come for you every evening. I will spend time with you. I will not let you feel forgotten.”

Andrea looked up at him, eyes still wet. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

She leaned against him, feeling the steady hum of his machinery, the warmth of his presence. For all his sharp edges and violent nature, he was her brother, and she loved him.

“I love you,” she said quietly.

The Prototype was silent for a long moment. Then, so softly she almost missed it, he said, “I love you too.”

Andrea smiled and closed her eyes, letting the exhaustion wash over her. She felt the Prototype shift, adjust the blanket, felt Catnap settle into its corner.

She was safe. She was loved. She was home.

And as she drifted off, she felt her brother’s hand rest gently on her back, a silent promise that he would always, always be there.