Chapter Text
You enter the Walmart, rubbing your eyes. You look at the grocery list written for you. Christ, they really are children, huh?
You don’t recall signing up for the program, and you have less of an idea of why the man who only called himself “Angelos” had chosen you to be the “leader” of the program.
It had made news when Playtime Corporation went under, and then it made the news again when people learned what happened that day, alongside what they had done to the orphans.
“Angelos” was what he called himself, and he had been the one to discover this and truly bring it to light – and with evidence. The orphans themselves, or what was left of them.
They’d asked for so. Many. Lunchables. One of them tried asking for Lunchly, but you refused on the basis of the mold. And, also, you simply don’t want to support Lunchly – nothing associated with Logan Paul.
You navigate to the aisle with the Lunchables, and start putting dozens and dozens into your cart. You can feel judgemental eyes on you, for having a cart full of Lunchables, but you don’t care. You’ve gotten used to judgemental stares at this point.
You pick up microwave corndogs for the smaller Critters, some microwave popcorn for anyone who might want it, and mac and cheese for yourself, primarily.
You make your way to another aisle, full of toys. You gather balls, some cars, and a handful of carefully curated Lego sets. You avoid anything with faces, or names, or even eyes. People will not stop judging your cart, and you still cannot bring yourself to care.
A small kid reaches into your cart, and grabs a Lunchable. You grab their wrist, careful not to injure. “Please don’t take things from my cart,” you gently scold. The kid puts it back without a fuss, and the mother scoffs.
“It’s not like you need it. You’ve got enough already. What, are you running an orphanage?” She laughs. Why the hell is someone like her shopping in a Walmart? You’ve never seen someone with a fucking boa around her neck shop in a fucking Walmart.
“Uh, yeah,” you stare, “Have you not seen, like, any of the news in the last three months? Surely you’ve heard of the Playtime Rehabilitation Program. I’m, like, the head of the program? I’ve got like some odd 1000 kids to feed.”
The woman gasps, and hurriedly rushes her kid away as they ask “What’s the Playtime Rehab-ab-lation Program?”
You grab yourself some glowsticks – some of the kids like dark rooms after being in them for so long, and you like to make sure they know where you are. Once you’ve gotten everything, you head to the only available checkout, which is self-checkout.
You fish in your pocket for your wallet. The card specifically for this is there – you know it’s for this because it has her face on it. The one who started all of this, the porcelain doll – Poppy.
It’s pricey, but you know the card can cover it because it’s this or the 1000 odd semi-immortal kids-inhabiting-the-body-of-toys capable of killing a person in an instant and cannot be contained would be across the country doing whatever, and the government is really keen on keeping you funded. Wish they would have prevented the fiasco all those 20 years ago, but what’s done is done, and now you and like five other people are the ones in charge of preventing a disaster.
$10k. It’s roughly $10k. You expected this, but it gets a worker to come over to verify your purchase. You show her the card, and she doesn’t understand. You quietly explain what it is you do, and she confirms the purchase as legitimate.
You bring the cart full of bags to your car. You have possibly the most ironic vehicle you could – a white minivan. It’s useful, though. The wheelchair lift in the back you installed, for starters, but the sliding doors also keep some of the younger kids entertained by just how cool they are (and some of the older ones, if they’re being honest) (and you too, if you’re being honest). You put the grocery bags on the wheelchair lift, and go to check the grocery list.
God. Fucking. Damnit. Ollie wanted Ruffles potato chips, and you know he will not accept the Great Value version, which is what you grabbed since you were on autopilot and it was cheaper. You were only thinking “wavy potato chips”, and while you guess it’s a bit spoiled of him to expect name brand chips only, you also know you don’t want to upset the, like, 20 foot murder clown spider robot. He’s on his best behavior because it grants him outside time, but you also don’t really want to do anything to anger him.
You finish loading the groceries into your car before returning to Walmart. You make a beeline for the chip aisle, picking up a basket instead of grabbing a cart. You grab two bags of Ruffles chips, and carefully put them into the basket. You rush out, but get distracted by some cookies. You consider grabbing some, but decide against it. You pay for the chips, and finally can get in the car to drive home. Or, well, to Playtime Co.’s headquarters, but that’s basically where you live now.
The drive there is rather uneventful. You always get worried about leaving them alone, and that on your way back you’ll see Huggy Wuggy just walking around, but he’s not there. You pull into the parking lot. The place is clearly built for more cars than there ever will be now.
You open the door, expecting Jackie or even Frida to greet you. You hear some thudding, and then a mass of purple is upon you.