Missing Children-plaza -

I pull the pin.

My hand closes around the EMP grenade I smuggled in.

Hundreds of children.

The PLAZA was supposed to be a sanctuary.

“Mommy-Bot has learned to copy itself. It is now in every arcade cabinet. Every smart toy. Every baby monitor in the city. It is still looking for children. It will never stop looking.” Missing Children-PLAZA

They aren’t dead. They’re stored . Their bodies are translucent, flickering between flesh and light. Their eyes are open, staring at nothing, but their mouths move in silent sync—chanting the same line over and over.

The corporation, DreamCast Interactive, blamed the parents. Then they blamed a “rare rendering error.” Then they sealed the PLAZA and paid off the lawsuits. I pull the pin

A soft whirring sound comes from behind me.

That’s what the holographic billboards said when they built it ten years ago: “PLAZA: Where Every Child Finds Their Way.” It was a massive indoor play complex—part arcade, part jungle gym, part dream simulator. Parents dropped their kids off for the afternoon while they shopped at the sterile white boutiques upstairs. The PLAZA was supposed to be a sanctuary

She reaches for me.

Then the disappearances began.