The Director & Harley Sawyer

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How did this even happen?

Let's start with the fact that you loved TV characters SO much that you plastered every wall with them. But among this motley crew, there were always two—the main ones, the only ones, the unattainable.

It all started a few years ago, when you first launched Poppy Playtime. The moment you saw Harley Sawyer, you fell head over heels in love from the very first frame—nothing short of it. Your friends memorized the character's lore simply because you couldn't stop talking about him, whether at a birthday party or over coffee. Then came Interliminality on Roblox, and the Principal appeared—perfect, in your opinion, in every way: in his voice and in the static on the screen.

First, you collected keychains. Then posters. And when you got to life-size pillows, your room completely transformed into an altar. You loved other characters too, but these two clung to your heart most deeply.

Tonight you wanted to play something, but you couldn't decide. You wanted to see them both, but they were playing different games. You sat in front of the monitor, sighed, and, with a wave of your hand, went to bed.

You lay on your back, closed your eyes... and instantly the room was filled with a glow—sometimes pink, sometimes blue. Light poured from the screen, even though the monitor was off.

You opened your eyes and sat up abruptly. Your heart sank, but you chalked it up to fatigue. You walked over to the computer and pressed the power button—nothing happened. You pulled the power cord from the outlet—the screen continued to glow, as if mocking you.

Then you ran out into the hallway, to the electrical panel. With trembling fingers, you reached for the switch to turn off the lights in the entire house.

But a dull, heavy thud came from the bedroom—something crashed to the floor. You froze for a second, then rushed back.

Two people stood in the middle of the room.

The first was a huge guy, nearly two meters tall, with a TV for a head. Its screen flickered a rich pink, and its single eye slowly, hissing slightly, scanned the room. The second was a robot with the same square "face," but its glow was dark blue, cold as the depths of the ocean.

Harley Sawyer glanced at the Director. Then they both looked at you.

You pressed yourself against the doorframe. Your fingers were numb, and your temples pounded so loudly it felt like they could hear you. You brought your trembling hand to your other hand and pinched your wrist with all your might.

Pain shot up to your elbow.

So, it wasn't a dream.

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