The night moved with quiet precision. Harry slipped through the alleys, plushcoat collar high, eyes sharp and calculating. Plushtrap perched on his shoulder, scanning the shadows.
The two targets had been carefully chosen: men who walked the streets for prey, unnoticed, unmissed.
The first was a petty criminal, careless and alone. Harry and Plushtrap followed him silently, cataloging his habits, waiting for the perfect moment. When he entered a narrow back alley, Harry acted with surgical efficiency. Plushtrap's claws shimmered as they guided the collection of the first vial of Remnant, pure and alive, from the man's chest. It pulsed with a strange energy that made Plushtrap twitch in excitement.
The second was similar—another predator who prowled at night. The process repeated: silent, precise, clinical. Neither target made it beyond the alley, and the world wouldn't mourn them. Two vials of hot, living Remnant rested in Harry's hands, each one a concentrated essence of will and life.
By dawn, they had returned to Fredbear's Family Diner, their sanctuary. The air smelled faintly of dust and rust, but tonight, it carried a heavier weight—the potential for transformation. Harry carefully placed the vials into the temperature-controlled safe, his mind already running through the procedure.
"All set," he said, voice calm. "Two and a half months of integration. No interruptions."
Plushtrap's eyes flickered. "Two and a half months of you asleep? That's… long. I'll watch the systems. You'll be fine."
Harry lay down on the reinforced cot. The injector hummed to life, guided by his precise settings. The first drops of Remnant entered his veins, warm and alive, threading through his blood like fire. It wasn't pain. It was awakening.
Days became weeks.
Plushtrap tended the machinery, adjusted flows, monitored temperatures, and kept the diner silent. Then, about a week in, he noticed something unusual—figures in flowing robes at the Dursleys' house, silent observers of the mundane suburban life. One figure had a long white beard.
Plushtrap didn't understand who they were or what they wanted, only that they were watching. They came and went, always careful, always distant. Plushtrap stayed hidden, recording everything.
Two and a half months passed in silence. Fredbear's hummed quietly with the energy of the injector, each pulse a heartbeat syncing Harry's body to the Remnant within.
Plushtrap had become a ghost in the diner, attending to the machinery, adjusting valves, and monitoring temperatures. Outside, the world continued, unaware of the boy sleeping inside, and of the changes already taking shape.
Finally, the injector signaled the end of the cycle. Plushtrap's small hands worked quickly to deactivate the system and gently rouse Harry.
The first breath Harry drew was sharp, electric, as if the air itself had changed around him. His eyes fluttered open slowly. At first, the dim light made everything hazy, but clarity came quickly. He raised a hand and watched it, pale and flawless, fingers twitching with a subtle hum of energy.
Then he saw his reflection in a cracked mirror leaning against the wall. His hair had grown long and pure white, cascading over his shoulders and catching the dim light like silver threads. His eyes burned violet, vibrant and luminous, glowing faintly even in the shadows. His features had softened, delicately balanced between masculine and feminine, precise and ethereal. The change was subtle, yet unmistakable: he looked… otherworldly.
He stood carefully, testing his balance, feeling strength in muscles he didn't remember training, a fluidity in movement that was both foreign and exhilarating. Even his breathing felt different — deeper, more controlled, synchronized with the quiet pulse of energy running beneath his skin.
For a long moment, Harry simply moved through the diner, each step measured, precise, almost like an experiment. The world seemed sharper, each shadow and corner holding more information than before. Sounds that were once dull were now layered; light played across surfaces in subtle gradients he had never noticed.
Plushtrap watched silently, his LED eyes flickering in approval. "You… look incredible," he said softly. "Different. Powerful. And… alive."
Harry turned toward him, violet eyes reflecting the faint hum of the machinery. "Alive," he whispered. Not just physically. The Remnant has fused with me. My body… my mind… even my soul. Everything is… altered.
He raised a hand again, flexing it slowly, feeling the faint thrum of energy coursing through every vein, every sinew. A soft, almost imperceptible glow shimmered along the surface of his skin. The process had done more than reshape him—it had awakened something fundamental, something that made him more than human, more than he had been before.
Plushtrap hopped closer, his expression serious. "There's something else you should know," he said. "While you slept, I kept watch like I promised. I saw… unusual people near the Dursleys'. Robes, long and flowing. They didn't approach Fredbear's, but they were always watching the Dursleys' house. One had a long white beard."
Harry tilted his head, listening closely.
"They didn't make a sound, didn't interfere with anything. Just… appeared and disappeared. They seemed to be observing, like they were searching for something—or someone. I couldn't figure out exactly what, but they're not normal. And I don't think they're here by accident."
Harry absorbed the information silently, violet eyes narrowing slightly. "Interesting," he murmured.
Plushtrap tilted his head, blinking slowly. "We keep doing what we do. You rest, I watch, we stay safe."
Harry allowed himself a small, sharp smile, one that carried both satisfaction and promise. "Efficiency first," he said softly.
Fredbear's hummed around them, the lights flickering over machinery that had reshaped a boy into something else entirely. Outside, the watchers remained near the Dursleys' home, unaware that the one they silently observed had changed in ways they could not yet comprehend.
Harry lifted a hand to touch the back of his hair, feeling its weight, the faint warmth of Remnant pulsing under his skin. He exhaled slowly. His life, his body, and his path had shifted forever. And he had already begun calculating the next steps.