Chapter 3
"Don't fuck with the Chuck!" The doll continued laughing. That laughter couldn't come from a Good Guy. No Good Guy was programmed to do any of this unless.
"Oh my God"
The truth finally hit Sullivan, it's true, it's all true! The doll's alive! What have I done!? Chucky was real and now I've brought him back! Sullivan scrambled to his knees and began crawling away. A human crab trying to evade its death. Almost there I just have to reach the phone and call the police. And tell then what huh? Help I've brought Chucky back to life and now I need saving! A needled dart penetrated his back and touched his spine.
"Bullseye" he heard Chucky say. Sullivan fell forward, his chin smacking onto the floor. His hand flower that is back searching for the needle. Chucky waddled closer towards the big boss of Play Pals. Hey I'm moving pretty well, Chucky thought. Only a little stiff just gotta break in the plastic joints. Chucky held the Good Guy yo-yo and watched the string get tangled on his small fingers.
"Gotta have these retool pal. They're not up to co." Chucky laughed, the psychotic cackle he had ever since his days as the Lakeshore strangler. From a distance Sullivan had just gotten back to his desk and reached the phone. I can still make this right. I just have to get help, Sullivan thought. Chucky's still plastic eyes helped him aim and he threw another dart, this one punched Sullivan's hand.
"Gaaahh!" Sullivan screamed in pain and Chucky leaped above him yelling. With his tiny doll hands Chucky gripped the Good Guy yo-yo and he wrapped it around Sullivan's neck. Pulling, yanking, Chucky continued to yell as he pulled so hard on the man's neck that he thought his arms may pop out of their sockets. Sullivan's face was purple and he felt the string beginning to break the skin on his neck. As hard as he tried to fight it Sullivan knew this was the end. All the money he made, all the hard work he had done to bring this company back on its feet, and ultimately what killed him. The yo-yo string broke and Sullivan's bright pink head smacked down onto the glass table. Chucky studied his first victim in six years and reminisced.
"Just like the good old days, nothing like a strangulation to get the circulation going." He climbed onto the desk and waddled his feet over Sullivan's corpse. He turned to the computer and saw his reflection. Charles Lee Ray didn't like what he saw, well ain't I fuckin cute. He pulled at the corduroy overalls that covered his plastic plush of a body. The construction hats, the cowboy boots, the baseball caps and bats, even the Good Guys label on the front pocket. This was a new chance, Chucky thought. A new chance to get rid of this plastic piece-a-shit body, and I know who I need for that.
Chucky typed the name of the one who had caused him so much trouble ever since he first became a doll, the one who we needed if you were ever going to be real again. The location came up,
"Connecticut!? How the fuck am I supposed to get there?"
Chucky backed into Sullivan's head, still bleeding crimson red blood onto the table. Gonna need to do something about you, he thought, then Chucky looked towards the window.
Allen Petzold would never admit this anyone but he truly hated his job, and his boss. The dark alleyway under Sullivan's apartment most people would associate with the ghetto, but Petzold felt protected there; with his cigarette lit and his mind at ease Petzold took a hit and thought more about his job. People would've asked why he felt the way he did and then be astonished by how Sullivan treats his employees, and even customers. Petzold remembered one time last year when a play pals toy guitar string snapped and broke a young girl's jaw. Why the factory workers thought it was a good idea to use a real guitar string on the toy one was as good as good a guess as yours. But Sullivan insisted that it was the parents fault not the company. When the family sued the company and lost, it was just another one of Sullivan's money playgrounds. Petzold always pictured Sullivan going home everyday and swimming in it like Scrooge Mcduck. Another con, another scandal that was Sullivan's game. Petzold wanted to quit, to escape this twisted company. Luckily he wouldn't have to wait much longer.
The crash, the explosive landing of a very heavy object onto Petzold's truck was enough to break an eardrum or two. The shattering shards of glass from the weight of the landing corpse behind Petzold nearly gave the smoker a heart attack and he turned to see what had crushed his precious vehicle and only way of getting home. Behind him lay the remains of the now dead Mr. Sullivan, his body splattered and mutilated from the impact. Petzold gasped at the sight and looked up as high as he could to see where it had come from. Although hard to make out, he was able to see the window of the 57th floor, Sullivan's office window was left wide open.
Well ain't that a surprise for old Petzold, Chucky looked out to the wreckage of the pickup truck now surrounded with cop cars and an ambulance to take what was left of Sullivan's corpse away. Chucky could see Petzold still being questioned by the cops and knew he would be blamed. From executive to executor, the newspaper would probably say. From inside his box mixed in with every brand new Good Guy doll, Being loaded into the semi truck. Chucky let his guard down and smirked. Every one of the doll's was being shipped to various different stores, but not him. He knew exactly where he was going. A large tag hooked onto the back of his Good Guy box and it didn't say anything about going to a store no. From the lines of information, the factory's address, read one line that sealed many victims' fate to come.
Ship to Andy Barclay.