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In retrospect, it was kind of obvious.
Preston’s eyes closed briefly when 1006 brushed his fingers over his cheek and pressed his lipless mouth into his hair. The bells on his jester hood jingled.
“ᴵ ʷᶦˡˡ be back soon, my Preston.” 1006 promised. “Theodore 𝓌ᵢₗₗ 𝒸ₒₘₑ 𝓌ᵢₜₕ your ᶠᵒᵒᵈ.”
“Alright. Be safe.” He knew it was a bit silly, telling the top predator of the factory to be safe, but it made him feel better.
It kind of reminded him of how his wife would wish him a good day at work before he left the house. Don't think about that.
“Always.”
The door clicked shut behind him. Preston sat down on his cot and ran his gaze over the little carvings in the wooden cupboard next to him.
There were a huge amount of surgical tools in the labs, many more than Prototype really needed, given that he was capable of sharpening his tools on his own. So he’d given a few to Preston to occupy himself with on the condition that he didn't use them to harm himself. He’d taken to carving little symbols and pictures into the wood. They weren't very good but that didn't matter.
When he wasn't doing that, he was writing in the blank files that had been reserved for experiment notation and record keeping. Preston usually kept track of the days, though he might be off by a few days, and wrote down anything important that he thought of or heard about.
When he wasn't doing that, he was staring into space. And thinking. A lot of thinking.
Thinking was hardest in the early months after the Hour of Joy. The wounds were fresh, so to speak, and everything had an overwhelming scent of metal and guilt. Nowadays, living with the Prototype and being able to see other toys on occasion had semi-soothed the rawness.
Preston still had his days, but he could now think about his past actions and the results of them without becoming catatonic from panic and guilt.
And now that he thought about it, it was obvious why things happened the way they did.
For a guy whose primary job was to oversee the experiments based in Playcare, Preston interacted with the deepest level scientists quite frequently. Preston’s job was to perform maintenance for the Smiling Critters and various other Bigger Bodies. His area of expertise was the larger side of things.
Strangely, Jessica’s expertise had been on the smaller scale. She tended to the more important smaller toys and a handful of medium scale toys. That said, she also worked on the psychological side of the experiments. Those fine motor abilities and cognitive assessments were sometimes very useful when smoothing out tuning issues in the Bigger Bodies.
There had been whispers of letting her take a look at Poppy, but those hadn't lasted long. Poppy was reserved for the highest profile scientists, lest they run the risk of accidentally messing her up.
She had, however, been allowed to have a crack at the Prototype like a handful of other skilled researchers. For all that Harley Sawyer could learn from him, they were no closer to figuring out what made him the way he was. So, very reluctantly, Sawyer had allowed them to be graced by his presence and observed what they could extract from Experiment 1006.
Preston and Jessica had been on relatively good terms from their occasional collaboration with the Bigger Bodies. When she had been drafted into the Proto-team (her words, not official), she had mentioned him to Leith Pierre specifically. Preston had nearly strangled her for it, but maintained a polite disposition when she happily took credit for the sudden promotion.
He’d never wanted to do these kinds of things. Morbid curiosity was only curiosity when chained to the realm of theory. The practical work was worse than morbid and he was forced to defy his moral compass on the regular. Preston had been happy to skate by under the radar of the higher ups, a background character that had no major duties. Overseeing orphans, assisting official researchers during procedures, check-ups with the experiments, hiding the breadth of his knowledge. He was fine with that. Major duties in this building meant more blood on his hands.
Leith Pierre had requested (read: demanded) that he give his best attempt at finding something out about the Prototype. And, like a good follower, Preston obeyed.
Preston read the file on the experiment. 1006 had been around for a long time by that point. Kept isolated until the bigger projects really took off and more staff could be located, positions locked down and funded. Elliot Ludwig had found the child after his daughter, Poppy Ludwig, died and the experiments really started. Preston didn't have Poppy’s details, but he knew her birth predated the 1950 release of her doll.
While 1006’s name was undocumented, his birthday wasn't. Born in the same year Preston was, apparently – making them both 30, almost 31, in 1991. He had been adopted by Elliot Ludwig at the age of 8, about five or so years after Poppy died, the man turning him into 1006 only a couple years later.
Their first meeting was… strange, if nothing else.
The standard protocol when introducing new scientists to 1006 was that they be left alone on the other side of the glass to introduce themselves and ask some questions. A bad reaction to the scientist had them dismissed, depending on severity and interest. A neutral reaction meant that the outlook was promising.
Preston later learned that, before he came along, there had never been such a thing as a positive reaction from 1006.
The experiment never spoke, though everyone knew he was capable of it. He sometimes repeated words to himself in the safety of his own room with no one around, the cameras being the only in situ witness. It was a point of noted interest that 1006 could only echo words that were spoken around him, in the voice of whoever spoke them, but could manipulate pitch and speed to give the illusion of his own intonation. A veritable mimic.
While he couldn't speak his own words with a voice of his own, that did not mean that he couldn't come up with his own sentences. He had a quick grasp on concepts of all kinds, and had proven himself to be quite intelligent in their countless tests. He just refused to speak.
His coworkers never told him, but Preston had been the first scientist to coax a reply out of 1006. Prototype seemed strangely proud when he admitted it to Preston.
“Hello, my name is Dr. Preston Willard.” Preston had introduced himself cordially, if a bit awkwardly. “I’ve been asked to come in here to talk to you, like some of my other coworkers. I’ve, uh, been told that you prefer not to speak.”
He was no stranger to talking to mute experiments, selectively or not. CatNap was on the silent side and Preston had patiently walked him through check-ups without needing even a word. The Prototype was simply much larger than he anticipated and the one yellow eye speared him in place. His toothy smile was also a bit off-putting.
“I just want to let you know that you don't need to say anything to me.” Preston had assured him. “That’s not my priority. In all honesty, I’ve been brought here against my will so I’m not fussed about not gaining anything from this meeting.”
1006 tilted his head to the side and shuffled in place.
“CatNap is silent in most of our meetings because his throat hurts and he prefers watching and listening over interaction. It’s never been a problem for me, so whatever is most comfortable for you, then I'm happy to oblige; especially if there aren’t any alternative ways of communicating. Now–”
“Catᴺᵃᵖ?” 1006 repeated in a perfect mirror of Preston’s voice, only the pitch jolted up on the second syllable. He was attempting to ask a question.
Preston had jumped but quickly moved past the surprise and nodded. “Yes, I look after him before and after tests, and make sure that he’s doing okay. I, uh, also help out with the surgeries since I'm usually the one who spots what needs to be treated.”
“Theodore is ᵒᵏᵃʸ?” The Prototype asked. His voice was the echo of a child’s voice: Theodore’s.
‘That’s right, they have history.’ Preston had realised. “Yeah, Theodore is okay. He’s recently come out of… a program,” he winced, “to make sure he’s not attacking anyone again. I check on him as often as I can, just to get a quick feel for where he’s at mentally, and he seems to be on the mend. Physically, he’s as well as he can be, but I'm trying to see what I can do about the sore throat.”
Experiment 1006 sat unmoving in his holding room, gold eye locked onto the person in front of him.
“Is there anything in particular you want to know about him?” Preston prompted. When the Prototype remained silent, he continued. “What name would you prefer for me to use for you? Some call you the Prototype but others refer to you by your experiment number. Do you have a preference? Is there a different name you'd like me to use?”
Preston could almost hear his coworkers scolding him for breaking name protocol but it seemed like the right thing to do. One of the rules that Playtime enforced strictly was to never remind an experiment of their sense of identity (if only Pierre would follow his own rules). But they'd freely admitted that the Prototype was different. Perhaps a different approach was necessary.
The Prototype didn't speak but he held up two fingers and wiggled them back and forth.
“Either of the two?”
1006 lowered his hand.
“Okay, that works.”
The interview didn't last much longer. Preston had asked him about what his favourite things were or if there were any other subjects he wanted to talk about. The Prototype lifted a finger and poked the glass in front of him. Preston hadn't gotten an answer before Pierre lugged him out of the interview room by the collar and told him to come back at the same time the following month.
His coworkers had started speculating about what could be special about Preston. Something so special that 1006 seemed to favour him above all other scientists. They wondered if there was something to the way he worded his questions, the personality he ‘wore’ while interacting, how the mention of CatNap instantly sparked interest. But any attempts of replicating these theories failed. 1006 did not speak even once, not even whilst alone, until Preston returned four weeks later.
“ᴾʳᵉˢᵗᵒⁿ? You are back.”
“I am. How have you been since I last saw you?”
Pierre then upped his visiting hours to once a week.
Jessica had eyed him strangely for a little while after that. Perhaps she was piecing together his near admission of guilt during CatNap’s brainwashing rehabilitation and the gentle way he preferred to handle the experiments.
(Don't think about Theo’s screams. Don't think about how he leaned into Preston’s hands afterwards, desperate for comfort. Don't think about the crooning voice of Gracie Green following him wherever he went).
Nobody else seemed to piece it together.
Four months in, there was only one other instance of the Prototype speaking in the presence of a scientist: when he decided to ask Harley Sawyer a question. After that, stubborn as he was, he only spoke exclusively in Preston’s presence.
In retrospect, it was very much obvious.
The hinges of the door creaked and Theodore’s head poked in. Preston couldn't help but smile. He remembered what the boy was like while he was human and living in Playcare. Even back then, he still had some cat-like qualities.
When Preston had introduced him and his group to the underground orphanage, Theo hung around at the back, watching and listening. He would turn to face any noise that happened around him and would grumble, almost hissing whenever someone touched him without warning. He would lean into the touch of the people he was closest to.
Hearing that he had been involved in an escape attempt and gotten electrocuted within an inch of his life had saddened Preston. He wasn't part of the experiment that turned Theo into CatNap, nobody close to specific orphans were allowed to partake in the initial work, but the guilt had him keeping a closer eye on him afterwards. As he’d told Jessica, he almost didn't recognise him in his feral state.
“Hey, buddy.” He murmured.
Theo rumbled, a sound that closely mimicked a cat’s purr with the limitations of the human throat muscles. He slinked through the crack in the door and shut it with his tail. One of his paws was clenched into a fist as he walked. He opened it and held out a chunk of flesh meat for Preston to take. Roughly the size of a human forearm.
Once he took it, Theo sat with a heavy thump next to Preston’s cot. Preston himself got up and put the meat next to the Bunsen burner. He collected the spare GrabPack that Prototype kept in the back and used the conductive hand to light the gas flame. Some thin metal grating, Preston still wasn't sure where 1006 had gotten it but it was convenient for cooking, went over the flame and the meat on top of that.
While the food was cooking, Preston followed muscle memory and stuck a nearby syringe needle into a beaker of Poppy Gel. The red, magenta and orange fluid slowly seeped into the barrel, thick and glowing, as he pulled the plunger up. Something in the back of his mind wondered what would happen to him if the gel was spiked with Growth Medium, but he shook his head. 1006 wouldn't do that to him. He wouldn't want to deal with Preston turning into a flesh parasite.
He set the syringe on the bench and watched the meat cook, very slowly. When the bottom side was cooked enough, he flipped it over with a pair of forceps. Once it was completely done, it came off the heat and he closed the gas valve. The needle of Poppy Gel pierced the meat’s brown outside. Preston pushed his thumb down and the gel flowed inside it, catching the empty veins in the flesh and filling them.
“Why do you do that?” Theo asked, making Preston jump.
The human (was he still human? It was hard to tell when the veins under his skin glowed pink and orange) sighed. “It’s been routine for a while now. 1006 keeps a very meticulous track of his resources, so he’ll know if I haven't.”
Using one of the fresh blades, he cut up his food into bite sized pieces. Embarrassingly, it felt a little strange to be eating by himself. He’d kind of gotten used to 1006 taking on that job for him. It was dumb, considering he was, what, 35 now? 36? It only took a handful of months to render him feeling helpless.
Preston leaned against the counter and stared at Theo while he ate. The cat studied him back. Neither said anything more until Preston finished up his meal, wiped his hands and face, and sat back down on the mattress.
“Why is he doing this to you?” Theodore settled for asking, after minutes of comfortable silence.
“Because it’s his way of making sure I can stay with him. Making sure that I’ll be okay.” Preston recited. “Eternity is lonely, so he wants to make me immortal like him.”
Theo fell silent once more. He shifted to curl around Preston’s back, tail swishing across the linoleum floor to fully encircle him. A small smile bloomed across Preston’s face and he rested on Theodore, purple fur brushing against his cheek.
“He has set us free.” Theo whispered.
“He has, hasn't he?”
Darkness encroached on his vision, eyes fluttering shut. CatNap purred beneath him, rumbles echoing through his thin chest, a bony arm and soft paw tucked over him. When Preston opened his once again, the operation theatre lights were dimmed and the Prototype’s beady, yellow eye stared down at them.
“Hey.” Preston mumbled drowsily, quiet enough to not disturb his dozing boy.
With a grace that never ceased to amaze him, 1006 silently stepped forward and leaned down to press his face against Preston’s. The human blinked in surprise but 1006 retreated before he could do anything. There seemed to be no thought in the action, a relic of a human nature long forgotten.
Prototype gently patted Theo between the ears. The cat continued to breathe peacefully, with the occasional soft snuffle, white pupils vanished into the dark realm of sleep. 1006 moved around them with only quiet squeaks of joints and clicks of steps heralding him.
He too curled himself around the backs of the pair on the cot, legs tucked in close so that he could bend down and rest atop them.
Preston exhaled, eyelids drooping once again, as a spiny finger came to brush the curve of his cheek. “Softy…”
1006 rumbled, Theodore faintly echoing him in his sleep, and Preston drifted off with a hum. They were all meant to be together, that much was obvious.