The drone flickered to life above a dim, rotting room that looked like a daycare center stitched together with a condemned house.
Half the floor was covered in brightly-colored foam puzzle mats. The other half sagged under warped wooden boards stained black with age. Toys were scattered everywhere: overturned blocks, eyeless stuffed animals, tiny plastic chairs missing legs. Against the far wall sat a decrepit old toy chest with peeling paint and rusted hinges, slightly cracked open like something inside had already tried to leave once.
There was no crowd, music, or introductions. Just two figures standing in complete silence beneath the buzzing drone overhead.
Slappy the Dummy stood perfectly still near the center of the room, his painted grin frozen beneath dead yellow lighting. His glassy eyes twitched sharply as he scanned the room, head tilting in short, unnatural movements. He adjusted the sleeves of his tiny suit jacket with his stiff wooden fingers.
Across from him, Chuckie Finster slowly pushed himself upright off the floor, clutching his stuffed Reptar against his chest so tightly that his knuckles had gone pale. His glasses sat crooked across his face. His breathing was already shaky.
He looked around the room, taking in the unnatural scene. Panic immediately started setting in.
From the side of the room, the spectral forms of Jerry Lawler and Jim Ross sat, unnoticed by either party.
Lawler stared across the room in disbelief. “JR, what the hell are we lookin’ at here? This place looks haunted!”
“I don’t know, King, but somethin’ about that dummy ain’t right!” JR shouted. “And that poor kid already looks like he’s about to pass out!”
Slappy’s head suddenly snapped toward the sound of Chuckie’s breathing. The movement was instant. Violent.
His stiff little body lurched forward in rapid, uneven steps, shoes hammering against the wood floor as he closed the distance.
Chuckie froze for half a second before stumbling backward in panic. “N-no… no no no no-”
He tripped over one of the foam mats and crashed hard onto his back, scrambling desperately away as Slappy kept advancing without slowing down.
“BAH GAWD!” JR yelled. “That dummy’s all over him!”
Lawler pointed frantically toward the floor. “The kid can’t even get up, JR! He’s scared to death!”
Slappy reached him within seconds. His wooden hand clamped onto Chuckie’s shirt and lifted him clean off the ground like he weighed absolutely nothing. Chuckie immediately started kicking and flailing in blind panic, screaming loud enough to echo through the entire room.
For a moment, Slappy just stared at him, confused and possibly even offended. This couldn’t possibly be the opponent he’d been given.
Chuckie’s legs kept thrashing wildly.
Then one kick connected squarely with Slappy’s face.
The impact wasn’t strong, but it knocked the dummy’s head slightly sideways just as his foot landed on the edge of one of the loose foam mats.
“WAIT A MINUTE!” JR shouted. “HE CAUGHT HIM!”
Lawler nearly fell forward out of his chair. “JR, I don’t even think the kid meant to do that!”
Slappy’s footing disappeared instantly. His body lurched backward, and the dummy crashed hard into the toy chest behind him. The lid slammed shut with a deafening crack that echoed through the room like a gunshot.
Silence.
Lawler blinked twice. “…you have GOT to be kidding me.”
“I DON’T BELIEVE THIS!” JR yelled. “THAT DAMN DUMMY JUST LOST TO THE MOST TERRIFIED KID ON EARTH!”
Chuckie collapsed onto the floor in a trembling heap, still clutching Reptar against his chest. He looked around the room in complete confusion, breathing hard, waiting for something worse to happen.
But nothing did.
Slowly, uncertainly, Chuckie pushed himself back to his feet.
The toy chest creaked, its lid slowly opening a few inches.
Inside, Slappy’s head was twisted at an ugly angle, his painted grin somehow even worse now that it wasn’t moving. One eye twitched faintly, then stopped.
Lawler started laughing uncontrollably. “JR… how do you even explain this one?”
“I can’t explain it, King!” JR shouted. “But somehow, some way, Chuckie Finster just pulled off the upset of the century!”
Still confused, Chuckie slowly raised his hands into the air like he thought that might be what people were supposed to do after surviving something horrible.
The drone hovered silently above him for another moment, before disappearing into a small tear in the fabric of reality.
The drone emerged somewhere else moments later, drifting through another tear in reality before entering a dimly lit bar that seemed disconnected from time itself.
Old neon signs buzzed weakly against warped wooden walls. Bottles lined the shelves behind the counter, some glowing faintly in colors that didn’t quite look natural. Somewhere deeper in the room, something metallic groaned softly before going quiet again.
At the counter sat a man in a baseball cap and glasses, slumped over a half-empty mug.
The replay flickered across a crooked television behind the bar.
On the screen, Chuckie stood with his shaky, confused victory pose.
The man stared at it for a long time, then slowly rubbed a hand down his face.
“What the hell was that?”
He took another drink, then gestured at the television.
“That’s the wrong Chucky!”
The drone hovered silently nearby. The man turned to the drone, annoyance evident in his gaze.
“How did you mess that one up? Come the hell on!”
The drone continued to hover silently.
“Hey! Don’t you have anything to say for yourself? That kid coulda gotten hurt! Just what kind of operation do you think I’m running here?”
The drone remained silent, perhaps unable to respond to the man’s criticism.
The man sighed heavily and reached for the mug beside him.
“Whatever. Too late now I guess.”
The drone slowly backed away toward another opening portal as the television replayed the finish again in silence. The man yelled after the drone.
“Sure, go hide in your portal!”
The man turned to the bartender.
“Some people just have no sense of responsibility!”
The bartender placed another mug in front of the man.
“Perhaps it doesn’t understand you.”
The man took a swig from his drink, then pulled out a tablet.
“Well maybe I don’t understand you!”
The bartender turned away with a sigh as the man started tapping away at the tablet.
“Alright, let’s try this again.”
On the screen, the names “Satoru Gojo” and “Deebo” appeared. The man took a hefty swig from his mug and smiled.
“Now THAT’S a fight!”
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