Chapter Text
The same recurring dream came to him every night.
“Release me!”
There was a steel grip on his arms, fingers clenched tightly around him like a vice. He was being led down a brightly lit corridor, but it was deserted, the majority of the staff having long since retired for the night. Harley had thought he was the only one remaining. As per usual. It wasn't uncommon for him to work late into the night, sometimes even spending the entirety of it here, at Playtime.
He'd thought everyone else had left.
He was wrong. And that mistake… it cost him everything.
Try as he might, he could not remember his captors’ faces. Only their lab coats. He remembered searching for name tags, but finding none. As if they had taken them off, knowing ahead of time that he would attempt to identify them.
Not that he could've done anything even if he did.
Things always became blurry after that point. He was pushed into a chamber, the door locked shut behind him. When crimson gas had begun spilling into the room, he'd tried to avoid breathing it in, but it had been no use. Struggling to find a way out only accelerated the smoke's effects. Blackness edged his vision as he slammed his fists against the door, willing it to open. His nails left deep scratches in the shiny surface.
When next he woke he was lying on an operating table. There was a mask fixed over his face. He couldn't see, his vision was too blurry for that. Neither could he pull the mask off. His arms were too heavy and refused to follow his mind's commands.
A figure moved in the blurry semi darkness above him. His skin… Harley could see it bubbling. Opening up like the flower petals of the poppy flowers grown in the labs downstairs. The figure moved closer. Reaching out. Reaching for him.
He shut his eyes. He knew it was a hallucination. It had to be. He knew it wasn't real. This had to be a nightmare. One he would wake from shortly.
But he never did.
When he woke up it was always to a different nightmare altogether.
“Dr. Sawyer!” White called, as he had every morning since Harley had come to as 1354. Harley looked up reluctantly, neck cables creaking slightly with the movement. The last thing he wanted was to see White's smug face this morning — any morning, really. But ignoring the man had never ended well for him either. “How are you this lovely morning?”
Harley stared back at him, absolutely exhausted.
The question was a redundant one. White could always check the computers if he really wished to know how he was doing. Could always force his way into Harley's mind, his input commands blending so seamlessly with Harley's thoughts that he could no longer tell if they were his own or not. White would shortly know he'd spent the night trapped in the same nightmare he'd been having since the day he lost everything anyway. So there was no point in even asking except to taunt.
Instead, he found himself focusing on the cup clenched in White’s hand, the translucent steam rising in gentle spirals into the icy air of the underground Secondary lab.
Coffee.
Though he was ashamed to admit it, Harley knew that if he were still human, he would've been salivating at the sight.
Ever since becoming… well… this… Harley was struck by how little he'd used to value the little things. Just how much he'd taken for granted. Coffee. Cigarettes. Snacks. All such human vices, and all now forever unavailable to him.
It was startling how much he missed them.
White’s voice grew dim. A toneless droning in the background. Harley couldn't bring himself to focus on it. All he could focus on was the cup. He could almost imagine what it must smell like, that sweet scent of caffeine permeating the air around them. The other scientists didn't bother concealing it. Never had. Once, it had driven Harley crazy. All the regulations being blatantly disregarded, all the safety hazards so flippantly shrugged off. They had sneered at him when he'd pointed out coffee cups on surfaces that should've been kept sterile. When he'd told his men off for smoking in areas with easily accessible Red Smoke that could ignite. He warned them all that it wouldn't take much. Just one bad day. But they’d all treated it as a joke.
Now though… now it drove him crazy for a completely different reason. And White knew it all too well.
He was so focused on the cup that he didn't notice White walking towards the console. Didn't see him reaching for the button before it was too late. Electricity set his nerve endings on fire, and he found himself doubled over, metal fingers clawing at the platform beneath.
It took him a few minutes to realize that the deafening sounds surrounding them were those of his own screaming.
White lifted his finger off the button and the pain ceased, leaving Harley crumpled on the floor, shuddering in the aftermath.
“Is there something wrong with your audio receiving system, 1354?” White asked, sneering, his footsteps echoing in the vast chamber as he approached. “I asked you a question.”
Harley felt his lungs struggle, hooked up as they were to life support systems. The world swam before his single eye, static bursting across his vision. Even so, he forced himself to focus, forced himself to look up and meet White's gaze. Still angry. Still defiant. No matter how hard they tried to break him.
“Piss. Off.”
White's expression hardened, visibly displeased. Harley allowed himself a moment to feel satisfaction at that. Right up until electricity surged through his lungs again.
Life settled into a new, horrifying routine. He would wake in the early hours of the morning, groggy and shaken in the aftermath of another nightmare. He would watch as the scientists slowly filtered in, yawning and clutching their coffee cups and take out bags. Thanks to the multitude of screens Leith had so thoughtfully placed out in the hallway, Harley had a good view of all of them coming in. 9 o'clock sharp, every single day.
Just like he had a good view of the Shelf.
In between the questions, the tests and the constant, unceremonious invasions into his mind, Harley would get a chance to jump between the cameras lining the Prison. Escape. Even for just a few minutes. Even though it was no real escape at all.
There were limitations on where he could transfer his consciousness. He only got to see what they wanted him to see. He could only go where they allowed him to go. He could only escape when they permitted him to escape.
There were areas he was forever locked out of, of course. Such as Yarnaby's cell. The Primary labs downstairs. But other places… it was almost like they wanted him to see. To bear witness.
The Shelf surveillance rooms. The cell blocks. The yard.
Harley avoided the latter for a long time. He'd been there when Stella had come up with her brilliant idea of letting the toys socialize among themselves. Remembered thinking that she was fooling herself, trying to silence that pathetic little voice of conscience niggling insistently at the back of her mind. The one that reminded her that the toys weren't just ‘creatures’. That they were human. Once. An inconvenient, ugly truth. One that Stella would be all too happy to forget. To ignore.
After all, she loved closing her eyes to unpalatable truths.
Back to the matter of the prison yard though, Harley knew why Leith and White and the rest would wish him to see it. They weren't exactly being subtle about it. It was common knowledge that the experiments had begun relying on each other for emotional support. Harley himself had witnessed it, on the rare occasion he came up to visit the Shelf while still human. Toys gathering in small cliques, talking in low tones, or, for those mute experiments like 1172 — simply enjoying the presence of others like them.
Misery loves company, Harley thought to himself, forcefully suppressing the bitter twinge where his heart had used to be. And not only are they denying me even that, they’re dangling it in front of me. Like a bone in front of a desperate puppy.
Not that he would've approached the other experiments even if he'd been allowed to. He knew they would know who he was, and what he did to them. He knew that at best they would completely ignore him, and at worst… well, he didn’t want to think about that.
Still, he couldn’t deny that it was… a rather lonely experience. Surrounded as he was by people, Harley had never felt quite so isolated. Although… no, that wasn't quite true. But he couldn’t think of that now. Wouldn't think of that. It was a long time ago. He'd long since overcome it. There was no point in lingering on what was long past.
At Playtime he'd had his job. His experiments. His discovery. He'd even had Yarnaby. Now, trapped as a bodiless consciousness in Playtime's systems, Harley found himself desperately wishing he just had someone to talk to. Someone who wasn't Leith. Eddie. White, or any of the other scientists. Someone who wouldn't sneer. Someone… someone who'd understand.
The answer came to him so suddenly he was surprised he hadn't thought of it earlier.
There was only one creature in this entire factory Sawyer felt like he could still approach. Who could still talk to him on his level.
But the question was… would the Prototype give him the time of day?
He was desperate enough to put his faith in even the slimmest possibility.
Contact could only be made during the night, when there would be no White to interfere with Harley's plans. Hacking into 1006's cell camera and audio system shouldn't be too difficult, not with the modifications the Prototype himself had made whenever Playtime’s security was otherwise engaged. Harley knew of the experiments’ nighttime chats with 1188 up in Playcare, of course. Remembered he'd been amused by them, while still human. Even wondered just what the two experiments could get up to if given the opportunity.
At the time he'd been thinking only of the science. Now he was simply glad he'd never reported the security breach to Leith.
He was careful to keep his anticipation out of his thoughts that day. It wasn't difficult. White’s taunts, the questions, the occasional shock — all of it did a marvelous job of keeping his mind distracted from the plan he'd concocted in the dark of night.
When White finally retired for the night, it was the first time Harley felt excited as opposed to exhausted and dispirited.
He hacked into the camera feed first, simply observing. Gathering up his courage (though he wouldn't admit it). The Prototype was in his cell. This time anyway. Harley wasn't ignorant to his occasional nightly escapades either. And it amused him greatly that Leith was.
1006 was lying in the center of the room, but he was awake. Through the camera's night vision Harley could see the eerie glow of the experiment's eyes as they stared unblinkingly at a spot on the opposite wall, the Prototype remaining utterly motionless in the silence of the dark. Thinking, most likely. Maybe scheming. It never ended with Elliot. That foolish hope. That undying belief that things could still be changed. Even after so many years, he still believed he could put an end to the experiments. Could put an end to Leith and his empire.
It had amused Harley. The defiance. That stubborn refusal to admit defeat. Once. Before he'd been made into one of them. Now it only served to irritate him.
There was no escaping them. Harley had learned that within his first week as experiment 1354. So, why was Elliot still trying?
“1006.”
The Prototype startled, looking around wildly. Almost as if he expected Harley to be there in the cell with him, his gaze finally settling on the camera and speaker in the corner.
Harley would've smiled if he could.
“Not plotting yet another escape, are you?”
1006 tilted his head, staring unblinkingly at the camera lens.
“Doctor.” He said at last, his jumble of voices low and grating in the darkness. “It has been a while. I had assumed you were dead. That they…”
“Killed me?” Harley finished for him, a note of bitterness permeating his voice despite his best attempts to suppress it. “It would've been better if they had.”
The light from the Prototype's eyes dimmed. As if he were mulling over what Harley had said.
“They turned you.” He said at last, looking up at the camera once more. “They made you into one of us.”
“Worse.” Harley replied, his voice quiet. Choked. “Much worse.”
The other experiments at least had mobility still left to them. At least had bodies of their own. Their minds weren't invaded on a daily basis, perused at the scientists’ leisure. Their organs weren't scattered in jars all over the Secondary labs, wired into the facility infrastructure.
The Prototype dipped his head in grim acknowledgement; such a human gesture from a creature that hardly resembled anything human.
“So why come to me?” 1006 asked suddenly, taking Harley by surprise. “What do you want?”
“I…” Harley hesitated, and he knew that if he were still human his mouth would've gone dry. “I just wanted to talk.” I just wanted to talk to someone who would still treat me as human.
The Prototype made a sound of derision. Or as close as he could get to it considering his distinct lack of human vocal cords.
“Looking for someone to hold your hand, Harley?” Elliot asked, his real voice finally emerging from the mishmash of others as he spoke. “Looking for sympathy?”
“No— I—” Harley stammered, searching desperately for words that wouldn't come. You should have expected this, a voice spoke up in the back of his mind, cold, sneering. His own voice. What did you expect him to say? Did you seriously believe he would feel sorry for you? That he'd still care about you? After the letter? And after what you've done?
Back in his lonely chamber upstairs Harley flinched, metal arms wrapping around himself. A feeble comfort.
I thought… I thought I could just talk…
But it didn't matter what he'd thought. Because reality gave him a rude wake-up call regardless.
“Good, because I have none to offer you.” Elliot said, Harley recoiling at the sheer harshness of his words. “I have nothing to say to you. I'd hoped you'd take another path, Harley. I'd hoped that some hardship would give you a different perspective. Would do you good. But you made the decisions you made, and you ended up where you ended up.”
Elliot shook his head, standing and retreating to the back of the cell, his metal appendages scraping unpleasantly against the floor. Turning his back on the camera. Turning his back on Harley.
“Just leave, Harley. Just… go.”
The chamber was dark and silent when Harley returned his consciousness to it. Utterly empty. In a few hours, it would be bustling with activity. Filled with scientists laughing among themselves, talking, working. But even surrounded by people — Harley would remain alone.
And that was it. There was nobody else to try. No back up plan. He’d had a list that began and ended with Elliot, and now Elliot's name had been crossed off it.
His last connection. His last attempt to reach out — had fallen through.
“Hey, this is weird.”
Carmine's voice came from Bruno's left and he looked up, catching his colleague frowning at the screen of his computer.
“What is it?” He asked, making his way over. 1354's database, or as they had come to call it, the Red Maze (because Sawyer didn't seem able to keep his mind straight), lay open before them.
Carmine shook his head, looking puzzled.
“It seems like the Doctor transferred himself down into the Primary labs last night.” He said slowly, frowning at the screen. As if he himself disbelieved his own words. “But that can't be possible. He doesn't have security clearance. He should've been locked out of all the cameras and audio systems down there.”
“What?!” White snapped, shoving Carmine out of the way to get a better look at the screen. Carmine huffed, but gave over his seat to his superior without much fuss. Bruno could hear the footsteps coming up behind him, his curious colleagues making their way over to see what all the commotion was about. Yet he paid no mind to it, fingers already feverishly typing away.
Yes… The logs did show unauthorised access to the Primary labs during the early hours of the morning. But why hadn't the system flagged it? Why hadn't the alarms gone off?
And what was Sawyer even doing down in the labs?
White’s brows shot up, eyes staring in confusion at the information displayed before him. Carmine frowned beside him, the rest of Bruno’s team sharing confused looks among themselves as the silence dragged on.
“1006's cell?” Camille asked at last, sounding surprised and perplexed. “He was talking to the Prototype?”
“We should report this.” Anthony spoke up behind them, his deep voice reverberating throughout the small room. “Leith would want to know.”
Leith would have my ass for this, White thought to himself grimly, staring at the screen before him. I’m already on thin ice with him with this recent string of failures as it were. If he were to learn that the Doctor also made contact with the Prototype…
Only a blind person would not notice the decline in quality of the experiments after Sawyer's… demotion. It was a bitter pill to swallow, yes, but it was true. Sawyer was… he was better. His experiments had improved over time. They spoke. They moved without pain. They were more human. There'd been the occasional failure, sure enough. 1186 immediately came to mind. But overall there had been measurable improvement.
And there was no improvement with Bruno’s experiments. In fact, they only seemed to be getting worse.
If Leith learns that the Doctor had spoken, and possibly plotted with the Prototype… I am finished. I will be replaced. But not like Sawyer had been. No. I'm more likely to end up like Stoll.
There was only one thing for him to do then. Conceal the matter from Leith and the rest of the executives and find better ways of controlling the Doctor.
Always a thorn in my side. Bruno thought to himself bitterly. Always in my way. Even when I thought I had removed you for good.
“Bruno?” Sanji called, sounding worried. “Bruno, we have to tell Leith. Eddie, too.”
“No.” White said, staring angrily at the computer as if it were the one at fault. “No. We do that, and the entire department's in trouble. We handle this quietly. There should be a recording of what the Doctor and 1006 discussed. The higher ups don't need to know this ever happened.” He turned to glance at his colleagues, eyes roaming over their concerned expressions. “Go back to work. I'll handle it.”
With dubious looks to their superior, the others dispersed, returning to their duties. White, meanwhile, sat down to watch.
It was a short conversation. On the surface all it was was a pathetic plea for sympathy. But that one line… ‘I'd hoped that some hardship would give you a different perspective’... it caught Bruno’s interest. Now what had 1006, what had Elliot, meant by that?
His curiosity piqued, White returned to the Red Maze, opening up the tab. He was careful to word it in a way that would not arouse the Doctor's suspicion. Sawyer was starting to catch onto their methods. Was starting to realize that some thoughts going through his mind… were not entirely his own anymore. It only made extracting useful information from him all the more difficult.
Whatever knowledge you still require, you are to extract it from what remains of Dr. Sawyer. He will fight you, but it will do him no good. Everything he knows and thinks is only ever a matter of button presses away.
Well, Eddie hadn't been completely wrong about that.
White turned back to the screen.
‘Hardship, he said.’
The response was almost immediate.
‘I know what he meant. No use thinking about it.’
Bruno let out a frustrated breath, staring at the crimson text on the screen. Always so vague, even in the refuge of his thoughts. Getting any clear answers was like pulling teeth. Still, it was worth following up on.
‘It.’
‘Don't think about it. Hide that memory from yourself.’
Oh come on.
‘Memory.’
And that was when he got it. The file. It was gone from Harley's thoughts within a blink, but not before White had successfully downloaded it, opening the file up for his perusal.
He knew immediately that he'd stumbled upon a jackpot.
He hadn't known Sawyer had been removed, and hadn't just left. He hadn't known Elliot had written Sawyer a personal letter while removing him from the Young Geniuses Program. He hadn't known the two had ever been that close. Well, ok, that wasn't true. He'd suspected, of course. All that time in the lab… The inexplicable preference. Bruno had known even back then that Sawyer was special. Better than him, better than Carmine, better than anyone else in the program. Smarter. More brilliant. The kind of scientist Elliot was looking for. He'd worried that when the time came it would be Sawyer who would be offered a position at Playtime upon finishing his education, not him. And he couldn’t let that happen. Couldn’t allow such an opportunity slip through his fingers so easily.
So, he'd taken matters into his own hands. A few whispered words here, a rumor there. A complaint about rude behavior, or two for good measure. It hadn't taken much. People had been all too eager to believe that everything he'd said was true. Even back then the Doctor had already not been popular. He'd been sullen, distant, and reluctant to participate in group activities. He had possessed strange ideas. He'd been unlikable, and it boggled Bruno’s mind to this day why Elliot had ever taken such a liking to him.
No matter. He'd gotten him out of the way eventually. He had won.
And now he had another card up his sleeve. One that would prove even more devastating than anything White had used against Sawyer so far. Sawyer would regret ever trying to stay in Bruno’s way.
Deep down, Harley should've known it might come to this. Would later wonder how he'd allowed himself to be blindsided this way. Had he really believed White wouldn't stoop so low? Perhaps he had… what a fool he'd been, thinking Bruno would be above such dirty tactics. What a damned fool. Hadn't White already shown him the full extent of his treachery? How could Sawyer have possibly believed that this would be something even Bruno wouldn't do?
He did this to you. He turned you into a bunch of organs in jars scattered across the Secondary Labs. Made you into little more than a database at their disposal. You were a fool to have believed he'd ever changed in the first place…
When he'd first come to Playtime, Harley had believed that the old, childhood spats during their days in Elliot's program could be put to rest. What point was there in lingering on old grievances, on childish fights when scientific breakthroughs could be made, after all? He had thought White had shared his vision, and at the time, White had seemed to partake in the same sentiment, had indeed been the one to approach Harley with the idea of burying the hatchet in the first place. And Harley, like the naive fool he now realized himself to be, had agreed to it.
Had Bruno always planned on conspiring against him? Had he just been waiting for the perfect opportunity to dispose of Harley and take his place? Like the pathetic leech and backstabber he was. Or was it Harley himself who had set Bruno, set them all, against him? Harley knew they'd been annoyed by his strict rules, by his standards. Could see it in their faces whenever he told them off for making mistakes. But at the end of the day he'd thought they would put their ire and wounded pride aside because they would realize just like him how important their work at Playtime really was. That they'd understand how fragile it all was. That all it would take would be just one bad day for all of it to unravel.
But they hadn’t.
He should've known something was amiss when White had strode into the chamber with a smug expression plastered all over his face, waving a document in his hand with flourish. When the rest of Harley's former colleagues had filtered in after him, smiling and sharing looks among themselves. As if they were in on some joke he wasn't aware of.
Harley squared his metal shoulders, facing Bruno as he approached. Trying his best not to show the fear and doubt starting to trickle into his mind, pure instinct warning him that something was amiss, that this couldn't possibly end well for him.
What had Bruno thought of now? What new form of torture had his spiteful little mind come up with?
White stopped in the middle of the room, grinning at Harley’s tethered form.
“Interesting conversation you had with 1006 the other night, 1354.” White said and Harley all but felt his heart drop. “Care to fill us in?”
Harley glared, his single eye flashing red.
“It’s none of your business what we talked about, White.” He said, and if he still could he would've grit his teeth together in anger. “It doesn't concern you.”
White raised an eyebrow, and turned to glance at his colleagues, still grinning ear to ear. Harley was vividly reminded of a bully with his gang, cornering an outcast child on the playground.
“Don't want to tell us? That's fine, we figured it out by ourselves. Didn't we fellas?”
The scientists surrounding them shared unpleasant smiles, McKabe in particular looking nigh as smug as Bruno himself was, crossing his arms over his chest.
Harley’s eye narrowed.
“And pray tell what have you learned?” He asked dryly, concealing his mounting discomfort. “How to keep your nose out of other people's business, perhaps?”
White’s grin grew sharp. Displeased.
“In a joking mood today, are we, 1354?” He asked through gritted teeth. “You never did know when to keep your mouth shut, did you?”
Harley rolled his single eye, feigning indifference.
“Whatever you have to say – just say it, White.” He growled, not in the mood for any more of the other man’s endless games. “Don't beat around the bush.”
White cocked his head to the side, silently observing him.
“I found something interesting floating about your brain when I went looking, 1354.” He said softly, and Harley froze, his single eye betraying his shock and growing fear. “Something about that ‘hardship’ I believe 1006 mentioned. He was always such a haughty bastard, wasn’t he?”
No. He couldn't mean—
White looked down at the document in his hands and began to read.
Harley,
No.
Let me begin this with a bit of bluntness, as I know you appreciate not dancing around what needs to be said. Despite how much it pains me, I've decided to remove you from the Young Geniuses Program.
No.
I didn't want it to turn out this way, Harley. I didn't want to hurt or discourage you. Yours is truly a brilliant mind, probably the most brilliant of anyone I've ever known. Every day I've seen your drive, your determination, and your incessant need for progress. Working with you, it's been one of the most rewarding experiences of my entire life. But even so, I have to be honest with myself, and with you. Because despite all that I see in you, despite all that you can be, there's one glaring flaw in you I can no longer make myself ignore.
NO.
Harley jumped to his feet with a mechanized screech and lunged at White, only to be held back by the cables keeping him chained to the ceiling. The surrounding scientists roared with laughter at the sight, and White himself was smiling as he continued, raising his voice so as to be heard over the noise.
Your lack of humility.
Scientific progress should ALWAYS be to the benefit of humanity. Progress made simply for the sake of progress often winds up hurting us more than it helps. I've tried to temper that in you as I once had to temper it in myself, but it became clear to me that such intrusions on my part only incited your anger. You finally lashed out at me one evening and stormed out of the lab. "Don't be soft, Elliot." you said. "Progress doesn't care for how anyone feels about it." I knew immediately that you were wrong, but I wasn't sure what to do–what could shift your thinking.
In agonizing over it, I was reminded of what ultimately changed me. Of what gave me the perspective I needed. It was seeing the world and people again, bouncing back from rejection and hardship through connection.
Harley bore his gaze into the laughing faces around him, in one last desperate attempt at defiance. He’d seen all these faces long before he started working here.
They had all gone to the Young Geniuses Program together, and that was how Leith had found and selected them to be hired for the experimentation.
His colleagues knew exactly what the Young Geniuses Program was. They remembered him from it. Might’ve even remembered him leaving early. But they hadn’t known why, before they got the letter.
Now they knew why he hadn’t finished it, while they all had.
And that made it so much worse.
In thinking about those days, I'm reminded that rejection can sometimes be the best thing for us. It can remind us why our actions matter, and who they're for. Ultimately, I believe it made me a better person, and I have to believe that doing this now will make you better too. So I challenge you to head for home, Harley, and to look at the people around you. To try for a new perspective. To better know why progress matters.
One day, I hope you'll understand. Maybe you'll even thank me. But even still, I'm sorry.
Your friend,
Elliot Ludwig
There was a steady ringing filling Harley’s ears. The world shrunk around him, growing small, dark and cold. He wanted to run, to hide, anything but to keep seeing White and the smug look on his face, the letter he was now brandishing before Sawyer's eye.
“Your friend.” White mocked, gleeful. The surrounding scientists roared with laughter again. “And this after he had kicked you out. How touching.”
“After all this time you’ve lectured us and ordered us around like you were better than us, and you couldn’t complete the program like we did?” Sanji called.
Harley lunged forward again, trying to rip the paper from Bruno's hands, but White took a step back — just out of his reach.
“Ah, ah, ah.” He sang, staring smugly at the seething scientist turned experiment before him. “Not so fast. I'm not finished yet.”
He turned back to the letter in his hands, eyes skimming over the lines again.
“Imagine getting kicked out of a children's program.” Bruno laughed, looking at the surrounding scientists. “How do you even manage that?”
“That’s not even the saddest part, Bruno.” Carmine spoke up, and when Harley spun around to face him he could see the man smiling. “Imagine lingering on that rejection even thirty years later. A grown man, crying over that one time he got kicked out of a kids program.”
“It really is pathetic.” Camille smiled. “Like jeez, get over it already.”
“You had no right—” Harley snapped, fingers curling into trembling fists. “This is private—”
“Haven't you realized it yet, 1354?” White asked, voice as cold as ice. “There's nothing private. Everything you know, everything you remember — it all belongs to Playtime now. We own you, Doctor. You'd do well to remember that.” Looking down at the document in his hands, he smirked. “Although it looks like you've always had a problem with learning valuable lessons. Even 1006 found you insufferable, while he'd still been alive.”
That's not true. He said he enjoyed working with me. He said it was one of the most rewarding experiences of his life.
“Oh he worded it nice enough.” White said, still not looking at Harley. Almost as if he'd read his mind. “But it's clear he just didn’t want to hurt a little boy's feelings. So soft, especially in life. So afraid of hurting anyone's feelings, even those he genuinely couldn't stand. But it's clear enough what he wanted: to get rid of you. And you know it too, which is why you think about this letter even decades later.”
An image flashed before Harley’s eyes. Of a lab, not so dissimilar to the chemistry labs you'd find at a school. A little boy leaning over the table, listening intently as the older man before him carefully mixed two substances, explaining the chemical reaction that was taking place. There was no annoyance on the man's face. Instead he was smiling, listening to the boy's questions.
He hadn't been trying to get rid of him. He hadn't. White was wrong. He knew nothing—
But then the scene changed.
Rain fell in a thick curtain to the ground below. Harley stood out shivering in the middle of the factory driveway, his single bag containing his meager but precious belongings clenched in one hand. He didn't dare look back at the factory, at the man standing on the porch, seeing him off. He was too proud for that.
He'd thought he understood. He'd thought he cared—
A car emerged from the darkness of the woods and downpour surrounding them, the bright yellow glare of headlights blinding Harley for a few moments. His father climbed out from the driver's side and wordlessly took the bag Harley handed him, not meeting his son's eyes. Harley wondered if he was upset he was coming home. If he and mom hadn't just been happy to no longer have Harley staying with them in the house and were now disappointed he was coming back.
Harley climbed into the backseat, glad to be out of the cold and the rain. When he finally chanced a look at the factory — Elliot was already gone, the entrance to Playtime dark and empty.
He didn’t even wait for him to leave…
White continued.
“Honestly, I can't blame him for being glad to be rid of you, but to turn you away even when you're like this…” Bruno whistled, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “Have to say, that's cold. Just goes to show how much he hates you, doesn't it? How much he's always hated you.”
Harley flinched, his single eye widening in shock and pain.
“He probably even enjoyed hearing you'd been turned into one of them.” McKabe said, striding over to the consoles and typing something in there. “I wonder what he'd say about the footage.”
Footage? Footage of what?
The screens around them flickered, bursting in static. Harley turned to peer at them, his single eye narrowed in confusion. As the image cleared, an operating theater came into view. A group of surgeons filtering into the room, coming to surround the table in the center and the limp body placed upon it. The image was grainy, it was difficult to tell who the person lying on the operating table actually was. A cold sense of foreboding took hold of Harley.
White turned to face him, grinning broadly.
“Recognize anyone, Harley?”
Harley’s mind shut down in horror.
He fled to the Prison. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than staying in the main chamber all day, better than listening to White’s snide remarks, hearing the sniggering of those he'd not so long ago considered his colleagues. Better than being faced with that wretched letter, something so private, so personal, something that White had no right to—
No. He shouldn't think about it. Not when he knew White would be looking through his mind later, gleeful at getting a reaction out of him. He couldn't linger on it. Not until night came. Only then would he gain a temporary reprieve.
He also wouldn’t linger on the fact that they let him flee. They could pull him back any time they wanted, but they didn’t. Every second away was another second they knew he was hiding from them. The only thing stopping him from going back to save face, was that he wasn’t sure if he could hold himself together right now in their presence. Especially if they chose to bring out the footage again. He would rather die than fall apart in front of White, McKabe, and the others. Would rather run away in shame than let his composed demeanor crack.
Keeping the guards company wasn't as bad as being surrounded by scientists, true enough, but it wasn't exactly fun either. Harley hadn’t been bothered by the racket the experiments created before. He’d hardly ever been to the Shelf to be much annoyed by it, after all. But listening to the distant bangs and wails of experiments now… Experiments like himself…
It wasn't a pleasant experience. Far from it.
There was only one guard he’d learned to tolerate. A former resource extraction specialist by the name of Cole. After an incident resulting in most of his colleagues being eaten by the same experiments they were meant to extract, Cole had been brought down here, to guard the same creatures that had taken the lives of his friends. Tragic. But, he was by far the least insufferable. Probably because most of the time he was too hungover to be as cruel as the rest.
At least he didn't make the experiments fight each other in the pit for scraps of food.
“Bad night?”
Cole looked up at the surrounding screens, his drunken face contorting in what was clearly supposed to be a grimace of confusion.
“How'd you know?” He slurred, collapsing heavily into his chair, burying his face in his hands. Harley watched him without much sympathy.
What he wouldn’t give to be human again…
“Let’s see… it's past nine, you show up for work only now. Can barely walk a straight line. That's without mentioning the stains on your shoes. Throw up on the way, did you?”
Cole groaned, waving him off. Harley observed him, silent for a moment.
“Dreaming of that day again?”
He wasn't quite sure why he was even speaking to Cole. What was there to be gained from doing so? It wasn't like he cared about Cole, or his dead coworkers. And the incident in question was the one he had been scapegoated for. A brilliant plot on Stella's behalf. The only flaw in her plan was her expecting Leith would let any of the witnesses live. But, he supposed, he'd take anything over going back to White.
“Yeah.” Cole sighed, reaching out and taking a sip from the cup of coffee he had somehow managed to procure on his way here.
Harley observed him in silence. But Cole didn't need prompting to continue, seemingly desperate to get his emotions off his chest.
“I close my eyes and I see them.” Cole murmured heavily, setting down the coffee cup on the desk before him. “I see their faces. See them reaching out for me. I hear their final screams as they're torn apart by those… those things. And I know… I can't save them. But I try to anyway. And every time I wake before I can. I sit in my bed, alone, waiting for the sun to rise, realizing that while I'm here — they're not, and their families don't even know why.”
“And then I come here.” Cole glanced bitterly at the multitude of screens surrounding him, eyes travelling over the footage showing every inch of the Prison. Hatred shone plainly in his eyes. “To watch the same creatures that took my friends, knowing they'd take me too if they had the chance.”
He sighed.
“But maybe I'm exactly where I need to be. I can make sure they stay down here in the deepest, darkest hole imaginable. Right where they belong.”
Like me, Harley thought to himself. He’s saying this is where I belong, too.
Sometimes as he worked, Harley would hear a voice from his own mind. A thought. A faint, small voice. Telling him that he knew what he was doing wasn’t right. It was so small and weak that he barely even had to try to ignore it. He knew it wasn’t normal. That others like Stella didn’t just hear that voice — they felt it. He didn’t feel things the way other people did. He told himself it was just another thought in his head. But after becoming 1354, he’d become afraid that when the little voice showed up again, it might agree with Cole. As for Cole himself, he couldn’t really say he felt attached to the man, but he was still a pitiful, wretched sight to behold, feeling pain for something that wasn’t even his fault. If anyone needed to learn how to ignore the voice, it was him.
“Feeling sorry that you survived and they didn't won't bring them back, you know.” He said, his single eye peering downwards at the despondent, drunken wreck before him. “Your guilt is illogical, and serves no purpose.”
Cole glanced up at him with dislike, the corner of his lips pulled back in a sneer.
“Oh what would you know.” He spat at last, glaring. “You're just a computer program meant to make our jobs easier. You've never been human.”
A lengthy, tense silence fell between them. And then, Harley left.
He didn't visit Cole again, but his words wouldn't leave his mind.
When he was four or so, he’d once seen a girl at preschool skin her knee. It didn’t make him feel good, it served no benefit to him, but it didn’t make him feel bad either. And he didn’t understand why it should.
He didn’t push her.
Even at that age he knew she wouldn’t die of a skinned knee, even though she cried as if she thought she might.
But that was just how skinned knees were, and in little Harley’s mind, since that wasn’t his fault either, there was no point in being upset over it. So he stood and watched as she fell and cried. He didn’t feel like there should be any problem with that.
He didn’t understand why the other children swarmed around her to help, why they all glared at him like he’d done something wrong, even when he insisted he hadn’t pushed her over or made her trip or anything.
That was the first moment he’d begun to realize he was different.
He’d tried to imitate their concern next time a little incident occurred. He didn’t like being the one everyone was mad at. It was too late, though. The first incident had left a powerful impression, and now some thought this was a trick on his part. It wasn’t a trick, he remembered insisting, but they hadn’t believed him. It couldn’t count as a trick, not when he just didn’t want to make them mad again.
The voice in his head, the thought whispering he was wrong… it seemed everyone had that little voice in them. And most people didn’t just hear it. They felt it when they heard it, and it made them listen. He’d listened to it too, if only because he didn’t want a repeat of the skinned knee incident. But despite that, they always figured him out. Teachers. Classmates. They knew he was missing something.
Soulless, he’d heard his fourth grade teacher say about him, when she thought he wasn’t listening. And he understood what she meant. Humans had souls. Whatever he was, didn’t.
He wanted to stay on their good side. He never wanted to start problems. But when problems happened, he never reacted quite right, and they could tell.
No matter how hard he tried to stay aloof. Keep to himself. Not make a scene or step on people’s toes. They always sniffed it out. He couldn’t feel things like they could. And that, according to the kids and adults in his life, made him something cold, something to be handled with caution. Something that didn’t have a soul.
Still, he knew that it was better to keep trying to be like them. The ones who realized what set him apart always seemed to treat him as something evil and inferior. Someone they could get away with mistreating. It wasn’t pleasant, but it taught him well how people worked. They stuck with people who were like them. And people who weren’t, they weren’t people. It was the way the world worked. There was nothing Harley could do, except try to get on the good side of the people who were people.
He thought he’d finally done it. He thought he was now on the top of the food chain, and he wasn’t on the side that weren’t people… until he was, again. Of the higher ups who worked on the BBI, they zeroed in on him. Only him. There was only one other Playtime worker they’d made into an experiment, and that was because 1199 had been mad enough to request it. He remembered how upset the scientists had been when 1199 had gotten attacked in the enclosure. How they’d quickly intervened, gotten him to safety. They’d called 1199’s human name as they spent twelve hours trying to save him, a subject whose cognition tests had been cut in half. There was no smugness, no frequent shocks. No taunts. No humiliation. Just concern and regret as they put him in solitary for his own safety.
He thought they were the same. The voice inside of them, they ignored it, because they knew that there were more important things to listen to. But maybe they weren’t.
Is that why they had betrayed him? Leith, Stella, Eddie, White and the others?... Is that how they viewed him? How they have always seen him? As something unfeeling, emotionless… something inhuman? Is that why Stella had set up that gas leak in the Theater, why she had pleaded with Leith to do something about him? Why White was so eager to bring out the letter, so happy at the chance to hurt him?
… is that why Elliot had sent him away?
For the second time since being confronted with that wretched letter did Harley feel like crying.