Chapter 3!!!
They had expected light on the other side. Or maybe darkness. But not this. It was… still Tubbyland. But wrong. The grass was too green. The hills pulsed like breathing lungs. The air was thick, like static in water. The sky was bloodless white, and there was no sun at all. No Sun Baby. Just silence. Tinky Winky stepped forward first. The world rippled beneath his feet. His shadow bent at unnatural angles, twitching behind him like it was alive. "This isn’t out," Laa-Laa whispered. "No," Dipsy said. "This is deeper." They followed a winding path that hadn’t been there before. The landscape was warped—melting Teletubby houses, giant crumbling periscopes like gravestones, Noo-Noo husks lying dismantled, wires spilling out like organs. Then, they heard it: Children laughing. Not joyfully. Not innocently. Over and over again, looping, distorted like tape worn too thin. The laughter came from the sky. Po turned her screen toward the sound, and it glitched—flashing an image: a child’s bedroom, dimly lit, toys scattered, a CRT television on in the corner. On the screen: themselves, dancing in sync, repeating a segment they didn’t remember filming. Then— A face appeared on her screen. Not the Sun Baby. Not a parent. A child’s face—eyes blank, mouth open, but not speaking. Just watching. They weren’t in a purgatory anymore. They were in memory loops. Layers of simulation, each feeding into the next. Tubbyland was just one of many nesting worlds—a system built to contain children who had died but were too traumatized to pass on. This was a place where memories played on repeat. Where trauma was smoothed over with cheerful songs and bright colors. Where pain was suppressed by routine. A digital afterlife for lost children. They kept walking until they found a mirror—tall, cracked, standing in the middle of a clearing. In it, they saw not themselves—but their human forms. Tinky Winky was a teenage boy with tear tracks and bruises. Dipsy, a quiet child with hollow eyes. Laa-Laa, a girl with a dance ribbon and a scar across her temple. Po… was barely a toddler. A charred stuffed animal clung to her hand. They stared. The mirror spoke. "Do you want to leave?" The question wasn't simple. To leave meant remembering. Feeling. Suffering. Grieving. To stay meant forgetting again. The world would reset. The Sun Baby would return. They would smile. They would eat. They would play. Forever. One by one, they placed their hands on the mirror. Tinky Winky whispered, “I want to go home.” The glass shattered—not with sound, but with light. The world collapsed. They awoke, not in grass, but in beds. In separate hospital rooms. Machines beeped. Monitors blinked. They were children again—hooked to IVs, breathing tubes, bandages, heart monitors. In the corner of each room, an old television played static. And for just a moment—only a moment—Po saw the Sun Baby watching from the screen. Still smiling. Still waiting.
