Charlotte was enjoying her afterlife quite a lot. It was fun to watch the world progress, and Charlotte had made a game of traveling to different areas every few decades to see what was going on. Right now, she was in America, and the country was being swept by a game called Five Nights at Freddy's.

Sadly, Charlotte had previously died when she was eight and couldn't actually play the game, but she found herself following people around and watching FNAF videos over their shoulders.

It was fun to watch people make wild guesses as to how the spirit world worked. How did the animatronics get possessed? Who is the purple guy? Most of the reasons as to how possession and spirits worked were utterly incorrect, but Charlotte found the unrealistic story amusing. It also helped that one of her favorite characters, The Puppet, happened to have the same name as her.

Charlotte was currently relaxing against the side of a pine tree, listening as a group of middle school boys chatted happily about the game, when suddenly, an older man approached her.

She stared ahead placidly and continued to eavesdrop on the children when abruptly, the man spoke.

"So, Charlotte, how long have you been deceased now? 20 years? Or maybe it was 30?"

Charlotte supposed that if she still had a body, she would've jumped. Looking over, the young boys hadn't noticed anything, obviously unable to see neither her or the stranger. She turned back with a glare.

"You don't feel like a ghost. Why can't they see you? Why do you know who I am?"

The old man sat down, leaning heavily on the tree. Now that she had a better look, Charlotte realized that the old man looked like a thinner version of Santa Claus. He was so unassuming that she probably would have completely overlooked him unless he spoke to her.

The man seemed unbothered by Charlotte's blatant staring, "Who I am isn't important. I'm just an old man looking for some help." He paused and pointed at her, "And you can help me."

Charlotte growled, "I don't care. I'm not helping you. I don't like grown-ups."

The man stopped smiling, "I know, and I know why and I'm sorry." He paused for a long moment, "But I don't need you to help me. There is a child who needs a guardian. And I want that guardian to be you."

Charlotte frowned, "I'm just a spirit. Without a body, I am no good to you...or anyone for that matter."

"I can give you a body. As long as you help this child, I will give you a wonderful body with extraordinary powers."

Charlotte remained silent, and the old man turned to her. He looked like one of those old hound dogs with droopy pleading eyes, "Please, Charlotte."

"Fine."

She had a horrible feeling about this.

She was right. The moment she agreed to his request, the old man had beamed, and Charlotte felt a sharp tug in the back of her mind.

When she woke up, she was in a dark warehouse, lying on the concrete. She could feel the cold, hard stone for the first time in years.

At first, she was elated until she realized something. She couldn't move.

Charlotte sat there for hours trying to shift any part of her body, but nothing ever happened. She could feel her arms and legs, but she couldn't move them at all. It was like she was filled with lead!

After hours of trial, she heard footsteps and yelling. People were coming towards her warehouse, where she was completely vulnerable, trapped in a powerless body.

If Charlotte ever saw that old geezer again, she would give him a good kick in the crotch.

Damian lept along the roofs, following quickly behind Joker. The clown had tried to gas the city AGAIN, and now he was playing chase. His father was a few meters ahead and quickly gaining ground on the mad clown. Joker suddenly lept down into an alleyway, disappearing into an abandoned warehouse. Batman growled in anger before chasing after him, Damian close behind.

The warehouse was dark, but his mask had built-in night vision, and he found his way easily over the cluttered boxes. His father had raced ahead and was now within feet of the Joker. The clown was standing in the middle of the warehouse, still grinning madly.

"Batsy! Didja really come all this way just for little ole me? I'm flattered!"

"That's enough, Joker." Batman stalked closer, "You have done enough damage."

Joker smiled and struck a 'thinking' pose, "Hmm... Have I? No! I think there's still time for some more fun!"

With that, Joker threw a large object into the middle of the room. The Joker Bomb exploded, launching debris and confetti at Batman. While not very dangerous, the bomb did buy Joker enough time to flee from the building.

Damian heard his father curse quietly before racing after Joker. Damian slid out from behind the large crate he had jumped behind when the bomb appeared and made to follow them both when something caught the corner of his eye.

There was a small black doll lying in the corner of the warehouse. It was all black and seemed to be lying face down; its limbs were knocked askew by the explosion. Before he realized what he was doing, Damian picked up the doll and turned it to face him. It was one of those old-fashioned marionettes, but it was unlike any puppet he had ever seen before. Its body was black and smooth, and its feet ended in points. It had three white dots akin to buttons on its torso, which was so emaciated that Damian could actually see sharp ribs carved into the body. It continued into sharp collar bones, which went down into long spindly arms decorated with three white stripes and ending with three long thin fingers.

The face of the doll is what really caught Damian's attention. It was a white mask, almost like porcelain or something equally smooth and delicate. Its eyes were gaping black craters with long purple tear tracks running down its face. There were bright red spots on the puppet's cheeks, a twisted attempt at a happy blush. Most striking was the grin; the puppet's mouth was pulled into a large black gaping grin.

The entire thing was uncanny, disturbing, and just so abnormal that Damian couldn't put it down. He continued to turn it around in his hands, examining its body, disturbed but fascinated.

Damian's head snapped up, hearing combat outside the warehouse. His father had finally caught up to Joker. Damian cursed; he should not have gotten distracted and shoved the puppet into one of the many pockets on his belt before racing out of the warehouse. Creepy dolls could wait; right now, he had bigger problems.