The Light Room

by AtlasOfTheMind

Summary:

Before the events of Security Breach, a fazbear entertainment service technician opens a pandora's box whos contents would prove to haunt them long after the downfall of the Mega Pizzaplex.

The Daycare Attendant is only one personality, repurposed into the attendant after their original concept was scrapped, along with their partner robot. There is no Moon animatronic. At least, not that anyone knows of.

TW: Nightmares/psychological horror, paranoia, trauma, gore, slasher horror.
*Will be slow to update. I'm aiming for an upload a month, but no guarantees. :)

Chapter 1: A Dream Come True

Summary:

A dream job turns into a waking nightmare after a blackout in the Pizzaplex invites in a new monster… or maybe it released an old one. A Parts & Service technician starts hearing things in the walls and is perpetually followed by a feeling of being watched.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Nightmares/Unreality, slasher horror, implied death

I have always had a fascination with machines. Massive machines, chugging factories, delicate androids, you name it, I wanted to know everything about it. 

So naturally, when given the chance to work for Fazbear Entertainment, on the most advanced robots currently on the market, I took it without a second thought. It was a dream come true, if you ignore the many, many legal allegations against Fazbear Entertainment, and the notoriously haunted past of all their locations, including the infamous Mega Pizzaplex, and the shady business practices, and the somewhat deadly rep their robots have… 

Yeah, its a dream come true. 

I could look past all of that while I worked there. My love for the bots and fascination with how they worked was generally stronger than any reservations I had about the company itself. I wasn’t paid to ask questions, after all. 

There was one thing that drove me to quit, though. Five years after I landed a job as a repair technician. One thing that turned my dream into a waking nightmare. 

 

A day like any other; clocking in early, working through the never-ending list of menial tasks that my boss decides to add to my plate, the occasional animatronic repair or development. 

I’m hunched over my desk messing with the resistors on a circuit board when the lights around me suddenly shut off, accompanied by muffled cursing from the room next to mine. 

A moment later, my boss — an incredibly average-looking man with slightly tanned skin and brown hair — leans into my now-dark work area as I triple check that my soldering iron is off like everything else. 

“Hey, Mike, how’s it going?” He leans against the door frame. 

M.C. My name is M.C., not- “Oh y’know, its going. What’s up?”

“So I’ve got a favor to ask,” There it is. “Could you go into the back and flip the breakers?” 

“Flip the breakers?” I raise an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, so if you go out into the maintenance halls and head right, you should find the electrical room,” He gestures as he speaks, “Somewhere in there should be the breaker box. I would do it but I've got a couple boards I need to keep an eye on.” 

“Yeah, I can go check on it.” My hips crack as I haul myself up from my desk. 

“Awesome, thanks so much, Mike.” He's already gone when I step out of my workshop. 

“No problem, Pete,” I mumble, trying not to stumble over the various scrap that covers the repair room floor as I push my way out into the maintenance halls. The tunnels are bathed in the red light from the emergency lights, giving the already cold concrete an eerie glow. My shadow is cast long across the walls as I pass each set of lights, bootsteps echoing around me. 

The door Pete was referring to is easy enough to find, marked with the typical triangular “High Voltage” signage, and on the other side is the most confusing, cluttered utility room in existence. It’s a maze of wires and blinking lights and whirring fans, electrical panels lining the walls and server shelves filling the room, with bundles of cords stretched between the shelves like vines. The fact that the entire room is only lit by emergency lights didn’t help either, turning the shelves into looming silhouettes and the wires into heavy spiderwebs. 

Of course it can’t be easy. I take a deep breath before I venture out into the maze. 

“Okay… Parts and Service, where are you…” I try not to get snagged on wires as I move through the room, squinting at every panel set into the walls for the one labeled for this sector. Only about half the panels are properly labeled, not that the paint is easy to see in the red backup lights anyway. 

Atrium, kitchen, west arcade, DANGER! KEEP OUT, Lobby… 

Danger? 

I backpedal a few steps, frowning as I find myself in front of a rusted door set into the wall. It’s flat and unmarked aside from an inset handle just beneath a heavy-looking padlock, and some heavily chipped paint at eye level that’s so covered in rust that only part of it is still readable. 

 

L`   -IT   R   CN 

DA  GER! KEE   O  T

 

A thin line of bright light leaks from underneath it, illuminating the toes of my boots. Another utility room? 

I lean down to inspect the lock, carefully lifting it until it hits the inner ring of the tab sticking through the door. Rust flakes off onto my fingers as I try to get a feel for its shape in the red lights, one of my thumbs finding an engraving on its front and a chunky but simple feeling cylinder lock set into the bottom. I run my thumb over the engraving a few times, squinting at it up close to determine what it is. There’s the Fazbear Entertainment logo, and then “Lockout #4” beneath it. A safety lock? Who’s locking and tagging the utility rooms? I shake my head, mumbling various curses to myself as I fumble for the keys at my waist until I find the keys for the safety locks. Perks of being an engineer, I guess. 

The lock is stiff as I force the key in and jiggle it until I feel the pins click into place, allowing me to unlock and pull off the rusted padlock. 

“Alright, lets see what’s behind door number 4,” The handle crunches with rust as I grip it and pull the door wide open. I’m immediately blinded as stark white light lunges from the other side like a caged animal, the heat from inside the room hitting me a half a second after, crawling up my arm as I slap around the wall just inside the door until I find a light switch. 

With a stiff, heavy thunk , the lights go off, and I’m left in pitch darkness for a moment before I realize my eyes are closed. I carefully peel my eyes open again and peer into the room, trying to pick out the outlines of any electrical panels or the lights of more server boxes. Somewhere in the dark room I can hear the clicking and humming of mechanical parts, like an idling computer. 

“Right, you need light to see, idiot,” I click my tongue a few times as I lean to try and find the light switch again, flinching when my hand hits something smooth and cold in the darkness. A small noise of surprise escapes me as I jump back. “What was that? Did I hit a shelf or something?” My arm braves the void again, finding nothing on its journey to the light switch this time. “Jeez, M.C., you’re really losing it.” I sigh, flipping the stiff switch again, squinting my eyes against the extremely bright lights. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the uncomfortable brightness, revealing that the room… is empty. Completely empty, with white-painted steel walls and a ceiling made from pieced together filming spotlights cranked all the way up, until the room is brighter than the gates of heaven. The entire room is no bigger than the average broom closet. 

Great. I rub my eyes with one hand and flip the switch back off with the other before I close the door and turn back to the server room. 

Clunk!

I freeze for a second as my shoe hits something mid-turn. I try to peer with eyes still readjusting to the dim red light to see what I hit, thinking for a second there’s a pale disk at about face height before I blink again and it’s gone, replaced by more burn spots in my vision. There’s a groan in my throat as I rub at my eyes until they’ve readjusted back to the red of the room. Back to groping the walls I go. 

As I continue to search, being mindful of where I put my feet, I start to occasionally hear very faint clicking around me, seemingly coming from nowhere even as I lean into the shelves upon shelves of servers to try and find the source. 

“God, I must really be losing it,” I shake my head, taking a deep breath. Maybe there was lead paint in that room or something and it's messing with my brain. I listen again, pausing as I seek out the sound. Nothing. 

I begin to move slower, trailing my hands on the walls to more easily find the electrical panel doors, stopping and listening every few seconds for the clicking. 

One… two… three… Nothing. 

I step to the next panel, marked ‘5B’. The rockstar rooms area. 

One… two.. three… 

The next door is 6A. Offices. 

One… two… three… Click-click-click-click . I can’t get a good look at the room over my shoulder. It sounds like it’s right behind me, but there’s nothing there. 

The next door is 6B. Main stage. 

One… two- 

CRASH! SCREEEEEECH!

My scream joins the chaos as I slam myself against the wall, catching sight of one of the server shelves shuddering to one side, yanking half of the boxes off the shelves and sending them clattering to the ground, ripping bundles of wires out from connectors. 

A moment later, the emergency lights across the room shatter, easily halving the already low light levels. 

My heart is stuck in my throat as I press my back to the wall, staring desperately out into the room as I realize my glasses flew off my face on impact with the wall. I half hope I see something. I half hope I don’t. Somewhere in my panicked brain, I hear a distorted, stuttering laugh. 

Suddenly, everything is quiet. The shelves are still, the only noise coming from the soft whirring of the server boxes. 

thump.

My gaze darts up as I hear something move. It sounds like it’s in the drop ceiling, something heavy pressing down on the tiles. 

Thump. 

My breath sticks in the back of my throat as my body tries to meld into the wall behind me. 

THUMP.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Waiting.

One… two… three… 

Four…… five……..

Six? 

I slide down the wall, my movements slow and stiff as I feel around for where my glasses fell. The concrete floor feels rough even though it's painted. My glasses skid a short ways as my fingers ram into them, making me lean to grab them and put them back on. 

The room is a mess; two of the shelves sit at awkward angles to one another, the isle between them filled with fallen computers and dangling wires. My heart is still pounding as I get back up, sticking to the wall as I quickly travel the rest of the way down the wall to finally find the panel labeled 7A - Parts and Service. I feel my hands shake as I wrench the panel door open probably more violently than I need to and begin the tedious process of flipping all the breakers. 

I only start to calm back down when the final switch flips the lights in the utility room back on, the crushing silence filled with the hum of fluorescent bulbs. The panel shuts with a quiet ker-chunk as I lean my forehead against the cold metal, forcing air deep down into my lungs with shaky breaths. 

When my legs stop shaking and my soul is once again content in my body, I turn back to the room, slowly making my way back to the hall door. I find myself eyeing the mess like it’s going to come to life and eat me. Which, considering what just happened, I'm not entirely convinced it won't. My hand grabs frantically for the door handle as I continue to watch the fallen electronics, half expecting more things to jump off the shelves at me the moment the door opens and I dart back out into the hall. A sigh of relief escapes me as I slam the door shut behind me. 

“Remind me to never do anything for Pete ever again.” I mutter down into my shirt leaning against the door, “What the fuck even was that? A ghost? A freak earthquake?” I step back, taking a deep breath and tilting my head back to stare up at the buzzing lights that hang from the rafters. 

Okay. Moment over. Back to work. 

 

There's a ghost in my dreams that night. Something that hunts me from the walls, its movement and terrible mandible jaws filling my head with its incessant clicking. I'm running from it between towering shelves of hundreds of servers that fall behind me like dominoes. Every time I dare to glance back at it, it's always right behind me no matter how distant it sounds, and each time I look it's something different; A centipede with dozens of human hands, an endoskeleton spider, a clockwork man with entirely too many limbs. 

It becomes a shambling, lunging, rotting corpse as my footing starts to slip on piles of writhing wires. 

Still running?  

The path forward stretches out as I feel myself trying to claw forward to no avail, even as the thing lurches closer behind me. 

No one is coming to save you. Its voice comes as a raspy, glitching chuckle in my ear. You're all alone again.

I wake up screaming, practically flinging myself out of bed and out into the living room as if the thing in my dreams could follow me into the waking world.

The living room is quiet, empty, as I collapse onto the couch. Just as it always is. 

~ * ~ * ~ 

The next day, I find my workbench a mess, with my tools strewn across my desk and my magnifying light broken. Maybe I left the light on and it broke, but the rest was definitely not my doing. 

I side eye Pete's office door and clench my jaw. Someday I'm gonna tell him off for messing with my stuff, but today is not that day. I try not to seethe too obviously as my coworkers filter in while I'm cleaning. 

The morning is fairly quiet; while catching up on work I can hear my coworkers chatting amongst each other. Normal things, talking about sports or politics, usually things I tune out. 

“Hey, did you hear about the server room?” I pause as I hear the guys at the nearby workbench start to talk. 

“Yeah, wild, isn’t it? Someone just went nuts in there, right?” 

“Must've. Someone must've broken in and tore up all the servers, half the system is down.” 

“Yeah, but who would break into this place just to break some servers?” 

“Beats me.” 

I stop listening again as they keep talking, my mind wandering back to the terrifying moment yesterday. It was real, at the very least, I wasn't just imagining it, but I'm not sure that makes what happened any better. My skin prickles as I recall the feeling of being watched and the thumps in the ceiling. There was something there. I just didn't see it. 

I glance around the office, adjusting my mask and glasses. The security cameras would catch something weird walking around, right? 

I try not to think about it too much as I keep working. 

The S.T.A.F.F. Bots that come in today are noticeably grimy, more so than the usual customers-can't-keep-their-hands-off-them grime I have to scrape off on a daily basis. They have what looks like mud on their faces and shoulders, and a couple even have dents that look like claw marks and unhinged arms that flop uselessly in the air. Easy enough to fix, just.. strange. I've never seen damage like this from the day shift before. 

Lunch comes soon enough, and with it, a must needed bathroom break. I'm hardly even thinking as I make the long trek through the maintenance halls, falling back on routine while my mind wanders elsewhere. Mundane things, mostly; everyday tasks, this week's groceries, how to fix the remaining bots- 

Ka-THUNK. 

I startle a few steps as it sounds like something crashes in the ceiling, a soft rain of dark dust falling down around me. I look up toward the lights as they shake in their housings, my skin crawling as I hear muffled scrapes and skittering roll up the walls toward me. My body acts first, as I hear the scraping approach somewhere too close for comfort my feet launch me further down the hall, the tap of my boots finding the empty spaces in the crawling, ticking noises that claw at my back and wriggle up my spine. 

I swear I run faster and faster and faster but the noises stay close, too close, like something is right behind me poised to strike, it's ticking counting down milliseconds as it opens its mouth wide- 

I lunge into the bathrooms and slam the door behind me, pressing my body into it. My heart drops as I feel something huge and heavy slam into the other side, jolting it open just an inch or so for a split second. The weight on the other side stays for another minute, heavier than me, it's sudden absence making me stumble into the door on the bathroom tile. 

Cautiously, I let go of the door as I regain my balance, and step toward the stalls. This bathroom is always super dark, with a singular half-dead square light set into the ceiling. I don't have time to mentally gripe about the lighting as I quickly shut myself in a stall, still focused wholly on the door into the bathroom. Waiting for the creak as it opens. 

It’s quiet just long enough for my heart to stop racing. Just long enough for me to start questioning if it's real. 

There’s a rattling, then a clang as the vent cover across the room smashes into the floor outside the stall I’m in. I suck back a yelp and freeze where I am as I hear the scraping of something in the vent, it's body screeching against the metal as clicking fills the tight room. 

It hits the tiled floor with a heavy crack and the skating of metal on stone. 

There's three heartbeats in deafening silence before it gets up. 

My gaze is fixed on the gap under the stall door as I hear it rise to its feet, clicking and whirring. The dim light casts weak, fuzzy shadows that slither with the movement of the creature. I see long, white claws that drag along the tile, occasionally throwing sparks as it stalks just beyond the door in long, lurching steps. My heart pounds in my frozen chest like a trapped jackrabbit, and I pray that it can't hear the thumping. 

Step. Scraaaape. Step. Scraaape. Step.  

The claws stop on the other side of the door, like it's turned toward me. It feels like my heart stops beating as I see one of the claws rise from off the floor, hearing it dig into the other side of the plastic and grind its way down the door. The stall shakes from the pressure and movement. And then it waits. Clicking and whirring. Poised just beyond the door as though it knows I'm here, like it's waiting for me to move, breathe, scream. I stay still and quiet, every muscle in my body tense as I force myself not to move or think. 

I don't know whether it stands there for a minute or an hour. But the clicking eventually shifts, from ambient noise to rougher grinding as it moves itself again, lurching back into the middle of the room before I hear it haul itself back up into the vent. That distorted, hallucinatory chuckle follows it up into the ceiling. 

My body starts to shake as silence curls back up in the bathroom, settling in around me as I quickly get up and scramble to leave as quickly and quietly as I possibly can. My breath is tight in my throat, putting a wheeze in my lungs as I escape the bathroom and book it back down the hall to Parts and Service. I'm barely aware of my surroundings as I run, my ears ringing with adrenaline and hands and face clammy with sweat. 

I lurch through the doors back into the workshop, attempting not to draw attention to myself as I head back to my desk. Luckily, it seems like everyone is still at lunch, the office quiet aside from the hum of the machines as I sit back down. My hands shake as the adrenaline begins to wear off, leaving me with just the lingering feeling of terror in my chest as I try to comprehend what just happened. I'm not even entirely sure what I saw, was it a rogue bot? A monster? Was it a hallucination? 

For a long few minutes I'm left wondering if I'm losing it. Staring at the torn apart bot on my desk, I half expect it to start moving, to grow long white claws and drag itself across the desk to try and grab me. I'm hesitant to work on it the rest of the day, every muscle in my body so tense that when my end of the day alarm goes off my skeleton attempts to vacate my mortal shell. 

I could swear I hear skittering in the walls as I leave the pizzaplex. 

 

I try not to sleep that night, staring up at the ceiling as I lie in bed. The blades of the fan cast shadows across the ceiling as it cuts through the moonlight from the window. I watch the fan blades go around and around endlessly, trying to take my mind off of the thing in the bathroom. If it was even real. 

The swirling shadows on the ceiling darken with every slow rotation of the fan, opening the center into nothingness like a hungry maw. It begins to warp, metal edges catching moonlight as it becomes a giant vent opening that hangs above the bed, lined with teeth. I can feel it's cold breath misting my skin as it breathes, watching saliva form into icicles along the outer rim of the vent opening. The maw growls like grinding gears, vibrating my chest where I lay as I try to urge my body to move, finding my limbs heavier than stone. 

A guttural, sickening scraping sound comes from deep within the maw in the ceiling, sounding like something is approaching from somewhere above me with claws that screech on metal. I can't get my eyes to focus beyond the entrance to the teeth-lined vent as it gets closer and closer, the ceiling beginning to breathe the closer the sounds become. 

There's a pause as the scratching reaches the opening of the vent, the creature making them still invisible. I watch, as first one four-clawed hand, then another, then another and another reach from within the frost-coated maw and dig long white claws into the ceiling, creating long marks that begin to darken and drip. 

I don't see the thing, only given a second to register its arrival and hear its terrible, screeching laugh as one of the hands peels off the ceiling, claws dripping dark liquid, and lunges toward me. I startle awake as the hand hits my face, sucking in a gasp and staring intently up at the ceiling, searching the textured drywall for teeth-filled maws as I tightly clench the bed beneath me. 

The furry void that's curled up next to me chirps softly at my startle, and I'm able after a few minutes to slowly focus back on the real world. I shift a hand to give my companion a gently scritch, relaxing just a little when she starts to purr into my side. 

“Sorry, Michael.” I murmur, earning another sleepy chirp in response. I smile just a little bit as she stretches into my hand and across my stomach. “Yeah.. You always know how to make me feel better. Sleepy baby.” I coo softly at her as she continues to purr, shifting slightly to better cuddle her. She nuzzles up to me, stretching out until her fluffy front paws tap at my face. Her added warmth is just comforting enough to make me slowly doze off again, though I don't fully sink deep enough into sleep to dream again. 

~ * ~ * ~ 

The next day is quiet. At least in terms of paranormal, possibly hallucinatory events. I almost question if the day before was just one long, immersive dream or something as I work on the broken staff bots. I slip back into routine, running on autopilot as I look over and repair the bots, swapping between tasks with practiced ease. 

Most of the staff bots in today are routine maintenance; preemptive part swaps and cleanings and the like. There's a couple with their safety lights broken, but I don't think too much of it. It's easy enough to fix, after all. 

My end of the day alarm goes off all too quickly, in the middle of a repair. I click the button on my watch without a second thought, mentally resolving to finish this one repair before I head home. 

Five extra minutes stretches out into thirty, into an hour, then two, as the project unfurls from a simple enough repair into a cascading avalanche of problems, until I’m sure everything on the bot has been repaired or replaced at least once. 

I groan as the testing program returns yet another fail, leaning back in my chair and rubbing my eyes underneath my glasses. “Alright, robot of theseus,” I glare at the half-torn-apart bot on my desk, “You can wait till tomorrow.” My joints and muscles groan as I get up, most of my bones returning to their proper positions with some quick stretches before I do the smart thing and grab the small flashlight off my desk first, turning off the light over my desk after I turn the flashlight on. A quick shine around the room gets my bearings back in the pressing dark of Parts and Service at night, letting me quickly find my way to the main doors out into the maintenance halls. 

The pizzaplex is fairly noisy even at night, the hum of neon lights and distant sounds of heavy, robotic footsteps hitting me all at once as I open the door out into the atrium. I can spy the flashlight beams of the night guards patrolling the area as I try to quietly slip toward the exit elevators, partially ducking to avoid being seen. Not that I would be in trouble if they saw me, most of second shift knows me by now, talking to someone just isn't on my to-do list at 10pm. 

I'm able to make it out to the main lobby before a familiar voice calls out to me, accompanying the sweep of a flashlight beam across my jacket. 

“Hey, Mike!” 

I sigh deeply, stopping to turn to look into the flashlight beam. “Hey, Emily, what's up?” 

“What're you still doing here?” The light lowers to the floor so I can actually see the night guard holding it, a middle-aged woman with wavy blonde hair, tan skin, and a fairly kind face. 

“Oh y'know, getting in some overtime.” I joke half-heartedly. 

“Lost track of time again, huh?” Emily grins a bit, “I’m surprised you don’t just live here at this point.” 

I groan, “God, that would be horrible. I spend too much time here as is.” 

“And yet you still won’t go home on time half the time,” She teases lightly. 

“I know, I know, I’m working on it, I swear.” I wave a hand at her, “Sometimes I just wanna get something done first, is that such a crime?” 

“Hey, I’m not judging,” She raises her hands, throwing the light up toward the ceiling, “I admire the dedication.”

“Dedication is a strong word,” I laugh a bit into my mask, glancing toward the main doors. 

She follows my gaze, “Need a card to unlock the doors?” 

“Nah, nah I’m good, I appreciate the offer though.” I look back at her, “I don’t wanna distract you from your rounds for too long.” 

She laughs, “Yeah, wouldn’t want to distract me from the world’s most boring job in existence, that’d be terrible.” 

“Oh c’mon, it’s gotta be at least somewhat interesting, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.” I suggest jokingly. 

“Uh-huh, yeah, sure, has nothing to do with pay at all,” She waves her flashlight around, the light flashing across us and the area around us as she gestures dramatically, “I do this purely out of the love of my heart.” 

“You mean not everyone works because they’re just that passionate?” I feign surprise, stifling a yawn. 

“Maybe you do,” Emily raises an eyebrow at me, “You might be a little too passionate, my friend.” 

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” I adjust my glasses, glancing back at the lobby doors again. “Well… I should probably get going.”

“Ah, of course, of course,” She nods, shooing me toward the doors with her free hand, “Go home, get some rest for god’s sake.” 

“Honestly, sleep sounds heavenly right now,” I laugh softly.

“Woah, who even are you?” She puts a hand to her chest in disbelief, before she grins widely and waves at me, “Goodnight, Mike.” 

“‘Night, Emily,” I give a small wave back as I turn and start to head toward the lobby doors, preoccupied by digging around my pockets for my keycard, which seems to have decided to disappear into the ether. 

I stop in front of the security door, continuing to try to find my keycard somewhere in my many pockets for another minute or so before I give up, resigning myself either to going back to my desk, or asking one of the guards for help and worrying about my time card tomorrow. Either way, I have to head back into the pizzaplex to do that. 

I sigh, stepping to turn back around, “Hey Emily, can you-“ 

I’m cut off by a high-pitched scream echoing from up the stairs, by the elevators into the atrium. My heart drops as the sound is followed closely by a distorted, mechanical laugh. 

“Emily?” My feet move before my brain mentions that this might be a bad idea, my body sprinting back into the lobby and up the stairs. “Emily?!” 

The neon lights flicker as I reach the landing at the top of the stairs. I whip my head back and forth, frantically searching for the night guard that patrols the area, or any sign of the source of the scream. 

“Emily?” I haven't the mind to cover the rising panic in my voice as I move toward the elevators, leaning to try and catch sight of her around the photo booths, hoping that she's just around a corner. “Hello?” 

I feel eyes rake across my back as I cross in front of a photo booth, making my skin crawl. I turn toward the booth, unconsciously hunching my body down and stepping on tiptoe as I try to peer through the gaps in the curtain. I can hear movement from within the dark space, a soft rustling and click like the booth is on. 

“Emily? You in there?” I reach toward the curtain, my hand stopped in midair as one of my boots taps something on the floor, the other crunching as I step. I stop, and look down, finding a Fazbear brand security flashlight smashed to pieces at my feet, the lens over the now-dark LEDs shattered on the carpet. 

There's more clicking from within the photo booth as I look away, the edge of my vision catching the bottom of the curtain swaying as the neon lights flicker again. A chill runs across my entire body as I feel the scrape of sharp claws on metal in the back of my teeth.

I snap my gaze back up, trying to see into the pitch darkness as the curtain sways, listening for movement. Only silence greets me. I reach a hand out, barely daring to breathe as I quickly lunge and rip the curtain to one side. 

I don't know what I expect, what I hope to find. Whether it'd be better if it was some elaborate prank, or if I made the whole thing up, or if something jumped out at me then and there. I brace, and cringe, and…

Nothing. The photo booth is empty. No sign of the noises I heard before, nothing moving within the cramped space. 

My heart is still pounding as I stare in disbelief, filling my ears until it drowns out even the lingering clicking. 

I don't hear the ding of the elevator doors opening, or the footsteps as they approach, the sudden hand on my shoulder nearly making me jump out of my skin as I suck in a silent scream and turn toward whatever’s possessing the hand. 

“Geez, M.C., you good?” I'm greeted by the somewhat concerned face of Seb, another of my friends from second shift. 

I put a hand to my chest, taking a deep breath. “God, you scared me. Y'know its rude to sneak up on people.” 

“Thats what they pay me for,” Seb grins, “Sneaking up on people that shouldn't be here.” 

“Hey, I work here.” I protest. 

“Not at 10:45 at night, you don't.” He raises an eyebrow at me. 

“I just lost track of time, thats all.” My heart rate begins to slow down again. 

Seb shakes his head, “You're such a workaholic.” 

“Am not!” 

“Yeah you are.” He makes a shooing motion at me, “Go home, they're gonna ban you from working overtime pretty soon.” 

“Fazbear doesn't care enough to do that,” I huff, “As long as they're making money.” 

“Okay, maybe they won't, but I will. I'll show up early just to kick you out.” He points his flashlight at me. 

“Awe, you do care,” I feign innocence. 

“We’re friends, ‘course I care.” He starts to usher me back toward the stairs. “Besides, I'm sure Michael misses you.” 

I don't resist, after all I do want to go home. “Oh she's gonna be so mad at me tonight.” 

“Terrible parenting, neglecting your kid like this.” Seb teases, following me back down the stairs and into the lobby. 

“I know, I'm the worst,” I joke back. “I'll try to be better about my hours, I promise.” 

“You better. I am not above bullying.” 

I snort softly. “No, no you are not.”

He walks with me all the way back to the doors. “Alright, out you go.” 

I pat myself down again, “Seems my card is back at my desk,” I turn somewhat theatrically to start moving back into the building. 

Seb immediately reaches to grab the hood of my jacket, pulling his security card on its lanyard from his pocket and tapping the scanner beside the door. “Not a chance, shoo. You can fix your payroll hours tomorrow.” 

I relax a bit as I turn and push the door open. “Thank you.” 

“No problem. Good night .” He gives me a pointed look as I step through the door.

“Good night, hah.” I wave back, making my way out of the lobby and into the parking lot. My breath fogs in front of my face in the chill night air. 

It smells like rain, and there’s frost forming at the edges of the car windshield on the drive home. 

 

Michael is at my feet when I open the door, yowling her little heart out. I scoop the screaming void up into my arms and kiss her squarely on her forehead, earning more yelling in response. 

“I know, I know baby,” I coo, carrying her back into the apartment and into the bedroom, “I’m home late again, I’m sorry.” 

She meows loudly at me as I toss her onto the bed and step toward the bathroom, but doesn’t go farther than the corner of the bed when she goes to follow me. 

“Just a minute,” I promise her before heading into the bathroom to get cleaned up and wind down for the night. 

The water is cold as I wash my face, not having the energy at this point to take a full shower at the moment. I look about as tired as I feel when I look in the mirror, the dark circles under my eyes dragging down my face like weights. 

God, I need some sleep. 

Shadows squirm around the edges of my vision while I brush my teeth. I try to ignore the things reaching from the walls, wincing at how loud everything sounds in the tight space as I put things away and step back out of the bathroom. 

The shadows claw at my back when the light gets turned off, clinging to me as I flop onto my bed. Michael meows and pads over to me across the bed, patiently waiting for me to turn over and get under the covers so she can curl up on my chest under the comforter. She happily curls up and starts purring and kneading my chest after I lift the covers to make her little pocket. 

I smile softly, enjoying her added warmth, reaching to gently scratch behind her ears. 

Sleep is quick to find me for once, much as I dread it. Maybe tonight I’ll have some peace for once. My thoughts drift off into the dark, slow and soft. 

 

The hallways below the pizzaplex stretch out endlessly before me, the floor tilting and warping beneath my feet as I run, my feet pounding in time with my heart. Something follows me, its claws raking deep gashes into the walls and ceiling and its teeth gnashing as a grotesque, glitching clicking escapes from its throat.

The halls warp unnaturally, rippling like water as I run through them, the floor rolling under my feet. I can hear it getting closer behind me, feel its breath on my neck. 

I dare to look back. 

Nothing. The hallway falls into darkness feet behind my steps. 

I want to stop running. 

I can’t. It’s here, I know it's here. 

It knows I’m here too. 

I round a corner. My feet plunge into nothing, sending me spiraling, falling into cold that freezes my lungs and rips at my throat as I desperately try to gulp for air. 

A scream fills my throat as I feel large claws wrap around me, pulling me out from the endless darkness as the claws dig into me. 

I’m ripped into a dark room, a huge set of empty eyes alighting with malicious red light that washes over me as the giant creature laughs a distorted, glitchy laugh. 

‘I found you.’

Notes:

Attention all Fazbear Entertainment Employees,

Management would like to remind staff that tampering with Pizzaplex utilities is grounds for termination. In the case of a blackout, please remain calm and inform your supervisor of the problem. A repair technician will be called as soon as possible to fix the issue.
Management would also like to remind staff that Fazbear Entertainment is not responsible for damage to property or person in the event that the company rules are not followed.

Thank you and remember to smile, you are the face of Fazbear Entertainment.

Chapter 2: Horror Movies

Summary:

More missing guards force Fazbear Entertainment to find solutions. Or rather, forces them to make MC find solutions, while focusing their attention on the building of Roxy Raceway. At least MC isn’t imagining the monster in the dark… for better or for worse.

CW: Mild horror, tension

It's been following me for a week now, the thing in the walls. I still don't know what it is, and still haven't seen it, but I don't have the time or the lack of self preservation to go looking for it. Seb has kept his promise; He’s been here to kick me out early almost every day, which I would appreciate if I weren’t so swamped with work. Bots have been coming back more frequently with bizarre damage; weird glitches, gunk and paint on their casings, mangled and swapped parts… I hear even the main cast has been acting weird lately. Not that I work on the core four all that often — they seem nice enough when they’re in the shop, though I have heard horror stories around actually working on them — but according to the other techs, all the bots have been acting strange. 

I’m knee-deep in S.T.A.F.F. Bot repairs when familiar footsteps come up behind me, followed shortly by an equally familiar voice. 

“Hey Mike, got a second?” 

I groan internally, taking a breath before I turn toward the voice, “Yeah, sure, what’s up?” 

Pete gestures me toward him, “We’re having a quick meeting in the conference room, if you wanna join us.” 

Great. “Uh yeah, yeah no problem.” I get to my feet, tidying up my bench a bit before I turn to follow Pete down to the conference rooms. 

“You’re not in trouble,” Pete assures me, “Just a general sort of head-of-department, planning for the future meeting.” 

“I thought we didn’t have a priority meeting until next week?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Seems the company wanted to make some changes.” He hums, “I’m not totally sure what’s going on. I guess we’ll find out.” 

“Hm. I guess so.” I frown softly, reaching to adjust my mask. 

We make the rest of the way to the conference room in silence, the door creaking on its hinges as we slip into the somewhat large room, both of us making polite greetings to the others before taking our seats. 

Looking around the room, I see mostly unfamiliar faces; primarily button-down-wearing higher-ups who seem varying degrees of nervous, though there are a few faces I recognize from Parts & Service. There’s maybe five white-collars in the room, and three of the service managers, in addition to me and Pete. I take my seat with the other service managers, greeting them quietly as I sit down. Pete sits on the other side of the table with the other office workers. 

We wait maybe another five minutes, chatting amongst ourselves, before the final service manager sneaks in with a brief apology and takes their seat. Everyone quiets as the man at the end of the table stands, tapping at his laptop on the table before he looks up and scans the room. 

“Thank you for joining us on such short notice for this emergency priority meeting. We have a couple major things to discuss today, first and foremost; the night staffing issue we’ve been having. We've lost almost a third of our night staff within the past week alone. The security of the pizzaplex is at risk." 

The man at his right loosely raises a hand, "How do we fix that? We'll be out of staff before we're able to hire enough new people." 

One of the other button-down shirts speaks up, "Including training time, that is quite a lot of lost money." 

"Right,” The supervisor nods, “We need solutions in order to keep the pizzaplex safe around the clock. Solutions that don't rely on human involvement." 

"What would you suggest?" The third man questions. 

"A security system, built into the pizzaplex." The manager connects his laptop to the overhead projector, displaying a presentation he definitely threw together last night of clip art graphics and text reading “Hands-Free Security”.  

"There's already security cameras and offices." The second office worker points out. 

The manager points at him, "Which must be manned at all times, bring us back to our original problem of manpower." 

"So, what exactly do you suggest? Robots?" I raise a hand as I speak, somewhat incredulous. 

I should’ve kept quiet. The supervisor flips to the next slide, where a cartoon image of a robot gives a thumbs up. "Exactly. If the engineers can make some kind of security robot, then we can have that fill in for human night staff." 

Glancing at the other service managers, I find tight lips, while the button-down shirt wearing higher-ups murmur among each other in interest. 

I raise the question that the practical of us are thinking, "So you want us to design a new animatronic? That's going to be more costly than hiring more staff." 

“Mike has a point,” Dave, primary endoskeleton tech pipes up, "That would take too long. We would have to repurpose an existing bot to do something like that." 

The supervisor nods, "Completely understandable concern. Assuming the higher-ups agree to allow it, we would make a new kind of S.T.A.F.F. bot to handle this new menial task." 

"But I'm the only one who works on S.T.A.F.F. bots." I point out. 

Dave glances toward me, "I could offer you some of our guys to fill in with repairs and help with the project." 

"I could help you with designing and integrating them into the pizzaplex systems." Vincent — head of software engineering — strokes his beard thoughtfully. 

“Perfect,” The supervisor skips forward a few slides, hardly listening to the conversation as he finds his place, "Seems like we have a plan, then! Now, onto another item of importance.” He lands on a slide with cartoonish construction signs and a graphic of Helpy the bear, “We're going to be building another wing to the pizzaplex. A raceway. They want the design for a track by the end of next week, and after the design is approved and the build site is inspected, that will be top priority." 

Vincent gives a confused look, "Is that really a good idea, with all the issues we've been having with the animatronics?" 

"The company has already pursued licenses with the city. We'll just have to accommodate." The second higher-up responds. 

"Accommodate?” Dave raises an eyebrow, “There's no way we can juggle two major projects and keep up with repairs." 

"I see no reason why not.” I briefly consider killing a man as the third white-collar speaks, “Your departments are well-staffed." 

The statement is met with a very, very long moment of silence. 

I take a breath, keeping my voice calm and my words slow. "I'm the only staff repair tech. We'd have to rearrange the entire service floor to accommodate both projects." 

The supervisor looks over everyone, "Well then that's what we'll do." 

The room immediately erupts into dissent from the service techs, including myself. All the noise blends together as we argue back and forth for a minute or two, until Pete stands up across the table and raises his hands to quiet the room.  

"Okay, everyone, let's continue the meeting. We can discuss any major changes we need to make another time." 

Dave, Vincent, and I begrudgingly still our tongues about the issue for the rest of the meeting. Everything else is fairly standard; discussing the weeks quotas and whats priority – Usually being keeping the main cast functional – outside of the new projects they've decided to dump on us. 

As the meeting wraps up, one of the previously silent office managers stands up and gets everyone's attention. 

“One more thing I would like to bring up before we move on,” He begins, “About a week ago now, there was an incident in the server room that caused quite a lot of damage to our servers. You may have noticed we haven't been able to get all of those systems back online yet.” 

There's nodding around the room, and a general murmur of acknowledgement. 

“With these new projects, the company has decided to allocate the funds for replacing the servers elsewhere. So in the future, we will just have to be mindful of our systems and work around the bugs.” 

Another round of general acknowledgment. 

Dave raises his hand as we all nod, “There was a blackout at that time too, yeah? Is that gonna continue?” 

“Unlikely,” The corporate lackey assures, “We'll have someone look into it if it happens again.”

Vincent and I exchange a knowing look. They could at least be good at lying if they’re going to lie. 

“Good, good,” Sounds like Dave doesn’t believe them either. 

“Yeah, we can work around some bugs,” Vincent nods toward the office manager, “Long as we can still access schematics and work orders it should be fine.” 

“I haven’t encountered any issues yet,” I gesture toward Vincent to respond. 

“If anyone encounters any problems, let me know.” Vincent waits for everyone to nod back at him before he turns back toward the office manager, “Is that everything?” 

“Yes, that's everything.” The office worker confirms. 

“Wonderful. Thank you everyone for keeping us updated.” Vincent nods toward the others before he gets up and starts to gather his things, the rest of the service managers — myself included — following suit. 

We’re quick to vacate the conference room before they can bring up anything else and keep us any longer. 

 

Dave pipes up as we head back into the maintenance halls, “So, who wants to bet this’ll cause more problems than it solves?” 

“I’ve got $2 in my pocket right now,” Vincent responds. 

We all chuckle.

Vincent leans to pat me on the shoulder, “Looks like we’re both in for some long nights, Mike.” 

“Can't wait,” I say sarcastically, “Just what I wanted, more overtime.” 

“The next quarter is going to be rough, for sure.” Dave agrees. “Let's just all agree to not die over this place.” 

“Agreed!” There's a chorus of hand-shaking. 

I sigh somewhat dramatically. “This is gonna be fun.” 

 

“Fun” would turn out to be an understatement in the days going forward. Between training some of Dave's techs to help with my repair tasks, still doing my own repair job when possible to keep on schedule, spending long meetings with Vincent and Dave, and brainstorming, building, and prototyping the new security bots, I barely have time to think, much less ask about the thing in the walls. 

Not that it’s been making itself known all that much. Or at all, really. Even when I stay late, and I can feel it watching me, hear it in the walls of the shop, it stays somewhere I can't see. I'm almost glad it's leaving me alone, even though the pizzaplex is more and more empty as the nights go on. 

Almost.

It's only about a week and a half before construction starts on the east wing of the building. From what I hear, Roxy the wolf is very excited that she gets her own attraction. It's all she talks about in the shop, and she's gotten a lot friendlier with us since the raceway was officially announced. Dave says it'll be good for her self esteem to have her own brand, instead of being a knock-off Foxy. I'll take his word for it, I've never understood how the attraction animatronics were programmed. I'm just glad she's not growling at me anymore. 

 

“Hey, M, could you do me a favor and keep an eye on her real fast while I go ask Pete about something?” I look up from my wiring work as Dave jerks his thumb toward where Roxy is currently sitting at his bench. 

“Uh, yeah, sure, I'm kinda doing something though,” I gesture with the solder and iron I'm currently holding. 

“It'll only be a second. You don't really have to watch her, just make sure she's not freaking out or anything.” Dave whistles at the large robot, “Roxy, I'll be right back, if anything happens you tell M.C., ‘kay?” 

Her perked ears slant slightly as she looks at me, but she nods across the room. “Okay.” 

“Sweet.” Dave pats my shoulder as he leaves. 

I hum, turning my attention back to my work, having to take a moment to re-sort the wires. It's not even two seconds before I hear the clunk of Roxy's footsteps as she pads over to me, the wolfish bot's snout coming to lightly rest on one of my shoulders. The whirring of her internal fans make it feel like she's breathing on me. 

“What are you doing?” There's a huff to her voice. 

“I'm working on what's going to be our new night guards.” I adjust my hands to account for the extra weight, “I'm trying to get the ocular wiring to work.” 

“What happened to the old night guards?” 

“We don't know.” 

“Are these going to talk?” 

“Probably not.” 

“Well that's boring.” 

“They're not meant to be entertaining.” 

“Then what are they supposed to do?” 

“They're supposed to keep us safe.” I gently nudge her face into a more comfortable position on my shoulder. 

“From what?” She shifts easily, adjusting to be somewhat slumped over the back of my chair. 

As if on cue, the lights in the shop go out. I feel Roxy shift as her eye lights flick on, the beams lifted toward the ceiling. 

I sigh deeply. “From people who would do things like that.” A quick look around the shop – And Vince's colorful language from his office – tells me the power's out in general; all the lights on the equipment are off, and the usual hum of the facility as a whole is missing. 

“All area managers, please roll call and report in.” The emergency radio crackles to life in its cubby in the wall. I sigh and get up, leaving Roxy where she is to grab the ancient walkie-talkie. 

“Alright, everyone, who's here?” I call out into the office, hearing the other areas already starting to report in as I do. 

‘Stage area accounted for.’ 

‘Food prep accounted for!’ 

“Here,” I hear Vince walk out of his office, squinting as he clicks on a flashlight and shines it around. 

“Pete and I are here!” Dave calls from somewhere nearby, probably Pete's office. 

I start mentally counting as I hear the rest of the techs sound off. Five, six, seven… 

“We're missing someone,” I call into the darkness.  

“Josh just went to the bathroom,” Someone calls back. 

I hum. No use going to hunt down one person in the dark. I debate for a moment on whether that’s true, before I raise the ancient walkie talkie to my face. 

“Parts and Service accounted for.” 

The sound off continues for another few minutes, and I find myself mentally tallying off the various areas as they get called in. Warehouse, backstage, atrium, arcade… Everything seems to be in order.

‘No one panic, the new wing of the building will require that the power be turned off intermittently.’ A voice I don't recognize comes through the radio. ‘The charging stations will be permanently off during the day while we're building.’

Vincent groans where he stands next to me. “Great. Manual charging and random blackouts.” 

“Hey now, it's only a major inconvenience,” I joke, “You don't need to work anyway.” 

I can feel the withering look he gives me in the dark. “Aren't you supposed to be watching Roxanne?” 

“Doesn't an emergency kinda override that?” I raise an eyebrow. 

He sweeps the flashlight across the room, “Well, she left, so…” 

“She left ?” I skim the dark for a large figure or bright eyes, pushing down my concern when I find nothing. “Why’d she leave?” 

“Beats me.” Vincent shrugs. 

“You're so helpful,” I note sarcastically. I hum for a moment, grinding my teeth as I think. 

I offer Vincent the walkie, “Here, if you take this and I take the flashlight, I can go hunt down our missing people and make sure they’re not lost.” 

“Be my guest,” The radio crackles as we swap gadgets. 

The flashlight feels comfortable and solid in my grip. Must be from Vincent’s collection, it's too high quality for the fazbear brand. 

I bid Vincent farewell and quickly make my way out of the shop and out into the halls, pausing for a moment outside the shop doors to listen for footsteps. There, down the left hall. Movement. I start sprinting without a second thought. 

“Roxy!” My voice echoes down the hall in between my bootsteps, flashlight beam sweeping wide across the walls. “Roxy!” 

I catch sight of a grey tail disappearing around a corner, ignoring my already straining lungs to pick up my pace. God I'm out of shape. 

The hall is filled with junk as I skid around the corner, slowing to a walk to catch my breath. “Roxy? You there?” I call, peering into cracks and behind shelves filled with old toys and spare parts. 

“Rox-” My heart stops as large hands yank me down into a corner, vision spinning for a moment as I hear the flashlight flick off.

“Shh!” The voice accompanies a tighter grip as I begin to struggle, making me freeze as claws press into my shirt. I force myself to regain my bearings, recognizing the hands currently gripping me. 

Roxy's eyes flick from point to point rapidly around the room, her fans forced into running low in her chest. 

I tap carefully at her casing against my back with a knuckle, not wanting to speak against the large hand currently over my mouth. 

“Something’s here.” She whispers. I register how close her teeth are to my face as my eyes adjust to what little light her eyes provide. 

I tap again. Tk-tk-tk . 

“I can hear it.” She presses me closer to her chest. “I don't think it can see.” 

As I move to tap again, we both freeze, hearing the taps come from somewhere else in the hall. 

Tk… Tk… Tk.  

Slow. Deliberate. Almost curious, as it mimics the soft tap of knuckle on plastic. 

Roxy's systems stutter as we hear scraping along the ceiling. I strain to see what's lurking in the dark as it gets closer, but even when it gets close enough that I can hear its broken fans making a low growl, I see nothing. As if it's not even there. 

It stops in front of us, joints creaking, its systems heaving like labored breath. 

Roxy grabs my wrist as I slowly raise the flashlight, silently wrestling my arm back down before I can turn it on. The light taps against her thigh on the way down, freezing us in place again as we hear the thing in front of us move. 

Two tiny red lights appear in the pitch darkness as it turns toward us, set just far enough apart to be eyes. It's hard to gage how tall the thing is as the “eyes” lean down, it's joints clicking and scraping with the unnatural movement, until the red dots are no more than a foot away from where we’re trying to hide. 

Roxy's fans stop at the same moment my breathing does. I pray it can't hear my heartbeat. 

Tk… Tk… Tk. It mimics the knocking again, as if waiting for a response. 

We stay silent, Roxy's arms having shifted from keeping me quiet to a more protective position across my chest. She creaks softly in leaning over me, toward whatever's in front of us. 

I grab one of her arms to silently tell her to back down. Fighting in the dark won't end well for either of us. My other hand slides down as slow as I can manage into the pockets of my jacket, fingertips quick to find one of my small screwdrivers and slide back out of the pocket with the tool in tow. 

Hoping the thing isn't standing in the way, I chuck the screwdriver down the hall. The half a second of silence before it clatters on the floor and rolls further feels like an eternity, but it works, the thing's eyes once again vanish into the dark as we hear it lunge after the noise. 

Roxy is quick to get up and run the opposite way, dragging me along with her, claws holding tight to my jacket. Awkward and somewhat painful as this half-carry is, for the moment I'm thankful for the extra speed. 

Roxy begins to pick up more speed as she turns a corner, and I start to hear why through the noise of her fans and heavy footsteps; it's following us, and a glance over the wolf’s shoulder tells me those red dots are entirely too close for comfort. 

“Roxanne,” I try to hoist myself into a better position. 

“I know,” She snaps between steps, adjusting her grip on me again and pushing her systems to practically leap down the halls. I hear creaking, followed by a pop that makes every other step have a grinding noise as her gait falls into a limp. Dave's not gonna be happy about that. 

I glance behind us with the slowed pace. Whatever ground we made we’re quickly losing, the eyes drawing closer by the second. 

“Shit,” I grit my teeth and dig in my pockets for something, anything that could slow it down. My hands dig past gloves and tools until they find the flashlight, several of my tools clattering to the floor behind us as I drag the sturdy apparatus out and flick it on. The sudden bright light is blinding as I cast the beam behind us, the thing letting out a mechanical scream that makes my ears ring. 

The sound persists until we turn another corner, clinging to my clothes. 

The halls sweep past us as Roxy runs, most of my focus on keeping hold of the flashlight and keeping it pointed behind us until Roxy finally slows back down, my arm dropping with the weight of the flashlight. 

I let out a deep sigh, “Okay, care to explain, Roxanne?” 

Her fans whir loudly as she looks back the way we came, “I don’t know. It’s been around for the past week or so? None of us have gotten a good look at it yet.” 

“None of you? Hang on, the rest of the cast know about it?” I push myself out of her grasp, putting my hands on my hips as I glare at her. “And none of you have said anything about the killer robot running loose?” 

“Would any of you believe us if we did?” She narrows her eyes back at me, “We aren’t even really sure its real. Or at least,” Her demeanor shifts into uncertainty, “Until now. You saw it, too.”

”Yeah, I heard it.” I pause, debating for a moment whether to say more before I decide against it. “And we don’t know what it is.” I raise an eyebrow at her.

“No, no we don’t,” Roxy shakes her head, “We can’t even pick up on the thing’s systems like we can with each other. It’s like it doesn’t exist.” 

I hum, “That’s… interesting.” 

“That’s one word for it,” She huffs, “It’s freaky.”

“I wonder if we made it…” I shake my head, storing that train of thought for now as I look around instead, “Where are we?” 

This part of the maintenance halls is unfamiliar as I shine my light around, sporting unusual colors and a large sun symbol on one wall, over an arrow that points further down the hall. 

“Near the daycare, I think,” Roxy tilts her head, “I wasn't really thinking, I just kinda ran.” 

I sigh, “Well if it's still following us, maybe hiding out away from everyone else is better. Means less people get hurt if it finds us.” I start moving further down the hall, gesturing with my free hand for Roxy to follow. “Whoever's there should have a walkie we can use to call in as well.”

Her footsteps fall in between mine as she follows me in the dark, only visible via her glowing irises. “I thought there was no human staff in the daycare?” 

“What's that supposed to mean?” Pipes in the halls writhe as they catch the shifting light of the flashlight.

“It's just the attendant in there, watching the kids,” She explains, “They're pretty nice from what I hear.” 

“And this attendant is a robot?” I carefully adjust my glasses. “They’ve never been in for repair.” 

“I think the company forgot about them.” She softens her tone. “Usually if people are checking in, they're in trouble. Or at least that's what Freddy says.” 

I hum, “Well hopefully they'll let us hide out for a bit.” 

 

The door to the stairs into the daycare is fairly standard, a solid metal door sporting the bright and bubbly “Superstar Daycare” logo. Locked, of course, though with some convincing – and having Roxy hold the flashlight for a moment – my yet-unused key convinces it open. 

I give a half bow as I pull open the door, “After you, my lady.” 

Roxy snorts and bows back at me as she steps through the door, “Such a gentleman.” 

She hands me back the flashlight as the door clangs shut behind us, echoing up the staircase. The light sweeps across thick dust at our feet and creeping rust on the railing as we trek up to the second door. 

This door has a small window in it, though currently all that's beyond is more darkness. I have to hand Roxy the light again to wrench the door open, wincing as the hinges scream. 

We pause a second after stepping through the door, looking between it and each other. 

“Do we…?” Roxy gestures toward it. 

“...Technically yes, but I'll probably be heading back that way soon enough.” I wave a hand. I'm definitely not messing with it more than I have to. 

I turn back toward the room, getting a few steps to register the bright colors that the flashlight finds before there's no more floor beneath me. I choke on a yelp as I feel something press in around me, floundering to get back to my feet. My heart pounds, though as I stand and dig for the flashlight I'm quick to find I'm now waist-deep in a ball pit. 

I can hear Roxy hop in behind me as we keep moving. Thankfully the germ factory isn't too big, my feet finding the ramps out rather quickly. 

“Hello? Anybody home?” I sweep the flashlight across the daycare, finding towering plastic playsets that stretch up toward a ceiling studded with cartoon stars. Tall walls surround this place, sectioning it off from the rest of the room. 

I glance at my wolfish companion, “Are you sure–” 

“Oh h-hello, new friend-d!” The voice comes from somewhere further in, light and nervous. “A-are you here to che-eck on us?” 

“Uhh, not really?” I cautiously move toward the voice, trying to see what spoke. “We got a little turned around in the dark. Who are you?” 

“I-I'm the Daycare Atten-n-ndant, but you can call me S-Sun,” The voice attempts a small laugh. 

“MC. Nice to meet you,” I shine the light around, “Where exactly are you?” 

“Ah, uh, I-I'm a little stuck right now,” Sun's voice comes from somewhere to my right, in the bottom of one of the playsets. “S-see, I was going after o-one of the kids when-n the lights went out, and uh, I, don't do well with the dark.” 

“Okay, what do you want me to do about it?” I bend to try and see through the plastic bars, catching glimpses of light yellow and deep red among the shadows. “Anything I can do to help?” 

“Th-there should be a backu-up power option over a-at the security desk,” They respond, “Th-that should turn on the l-l-lights.” 

I hum, standing back up and turning around, quick to find the awkwardly placed security desk next to the main entrance. Find the backup power button. Easy enough. 

Rounding the desk, I'm immediately bewildered by the sheer number of buttons on it. I rub my eyes beneath my glasses, taking a deep breath to keep myself from screaming. 

While I'm figuring out the lights, I can hear Roxy talking to the Attendant. 

“What happened to the kids?” 

“Oh, uh, the dayca-are was closed when the l-lights went out. Some security guards came and, and cleared everyone o-out.” 

“And they just left you here?” 

“T-to be fair, I-I don't think they kn-knew I was here.” 

“That's not… they should've at least checked in on you.” 

“N-No, no, i-it's okay, really! I'm perfectly uh, capable.” 

“That doesn't excuse them just leaving you like this.” 

“I-I appreciate the concern, b-but–” 

“AHA! Got you!” I announce triumphantly as I flip the auxiliary power switch. “Take THAT you MOTHERF-“ 

Engines roar to life, drowning out my celebration as floodlights crank on around the perimeter of the daycare, making me squint with the sudden light. 

My ears are still ringing as I step back around the desk, heading to where Roxy is crouched at one of the playset entrances. Luckily, the backup generators quiet pretty quickly into a solid hum that’s just quiet enough to be background noise in the time it takes to join the wolf animatronic and peer into the plastic tube. 

“You okay in there?” I call, “Lights are on.” 

There’s loud creaking and scraping from inside the playset, and a moment later a yellow hand with orange fingers reaches from the shadowy tube, finding grip on the squishy floor to haul more of the robot out. Out of the tube crawls a humanoid-esque robot, more human in shape than the others of the main cast, with a slim build and a flat, disc-like face. They wear a cropped red vest with long, flowy sleeves that have a band at the elbow, and puffy red pants, and their gold shoes have long and angular curled toes. Two layers of spikes line their faceplate — a longer back layer with a darker orange color and a shorter front layer with a soft yellow-gold color. 

“Th-Thank you, new friend,” The bells on their ankles jingle softly as they stand and brush themselves off, lifting their face to meet my gaze. They have a wide grin that curls into swirls at their cheeks, giving their round, iris-less eyes a permanent semi-squint. The spikes framing their faceplate suddenly make a lot more sense as I realize they’re not spikes, but sun rays. 

“No problem.” I resist the urge to check them for damage, “All good?” 

“Oh, uh, y-yes I thi-ink so,” Sun nods at me. “Wh-what brings you to the, the daycare?” 

“We were… looking for someone and got lost.” I glance at Roxy, “I was hoping to use your emergency radio to phone into parts and service.” 

“Oh, uh, I-I don’t know if there… is… one.” Sun taps their chin, “Uhh.. W-we can check?” They turn and head toward the security desk, and I’m not far behind. 

“There should be a radio in every area that has guests,” I watch them start to search the various drawers of the desk, taking note of the paint and grime coating their casing as they move with somewhat stiff joints. 

“We-well, uh, l-like I told Ms. Roxy, st-staff doesn't really… Worry about the, the daycare very m-much.” Sun softly rattles their rays as they continue looking through cabinets that probably haven't been opened… ever. I catch sight of dusty flashlights and old protocol binders for the few moments each cabinet is open. 

“Funny, you'd think they'd care more about their primary audience.” I joke, “But I guess taking care of kids isn't exactly what Fazbear Entertainment is known for.” 

Sun gives a light laugh. They put their hands on their hips as they straighten and take a step back from the desk. “S-sorry, I-I don't see any emergency-y radio.” 

I hum, turning a circle and scanning the rest of the security area for any emergency station, just in case. 

Sun is watching me when I turn back around, just as empty handed. 

I shrug, “Well, guess I'm not calling Vince. Do you mind if we stay here until the lights come back on?” 

Sun seems surprised, “O-Oh, uh… Won't you ge-et in trouble?” 

“Nah, should be fine,” I wave a hand dismissively, “Long as Roxy doesn't get damaged.” 

“I'm fine .” Roxy crosses her arms and glares at me from across the desk. 

“Uh-huh, which is why you were in the shop.” I poke back. “What compelled you to leave, anyway?” 

She looks away, “Nothing.” 

“Sh-shop? L-like a workshop?” Sun tilts their head at me. 

“Yeah, I'm a repair tech down in Parts and Service.” I nod, “Surprised I've never seen you in, honestly.” 

“Ah, uh, th-thats because I usually just h-handle things-s.” They loosely fold their arms across their stomach, “Can't leave the kids un-n-n-nattended anyway, right? Haha.” They attempt to widen their grin a bit. 

I raise an eyebrow, sharing a concerned look with Roxy. “...sure.” 

The attendant pauses for another moment before they rattle their rays again and bounce a bit on their toes, quickly walking back around the desk and out into the daycare, “We-well, you're welcome to stay a-as long as you need! C-call for me i-if you need an-n-nything.” 

“Where are you going?” Roxy turns her head to watch them leave. 

“J-just going to do some, some cleaning!” The attendant waves at us without turning around, “Please d-don't make a mess!” 

Roxy gives me a confused look. 

I just shrug, “Who knows.” I gesture for her to join me as I move around the desk, sitting down on the padded floor. “C'mon, let's make sure you're not damaged.” 

She comes to sit in front of me despite her earlier sass, quiet for a moment as I look her over. “Do we… do something about that thing? Should we tell someone?” 

“No, corporate won't believe us.” I sigh, “Let's.. keep this between us. You can tell the others that I know, and I'll handle it.” 

“You'll handle it? We barely handled it together. We don't even know what it is. ” She gives me an incredulous look. 

“I'll figure it out, alright? Just play it cool, we don't want to cause a panic.” Briefly, Emily crosses my mind. If this thing came after us, then she must be… 

I swallow hard. Best not to think about it. 

Roxy rolls her eyes, “That’s a good way to get hurt.” 

“I appreciate the concern, but I'll be fine.” I frown as I find scratches on her lower legs and paws, presumably from the chase. There's a large dent in one of her shins as well, though it looks to only be her casing that's damaged. “Dave is not going to be happy about those.” 

“Dave can deal,” She huffs at me, “I’ve had worse.” 

“Oh is that why you’re in the shop so often?” I snort softly, “Nothing interior feels broken, at least?” 

“No, I’m fine.” She crosses her arms with a soft scrape of plastic on plastic. “I'm more concerned about you going and getting yourself killed.” 

“I can handle myself, relax.” I adjust my glasses, “I just need to figure out what it is.” 

 

The lights do eventually come back on; Roxy and I idle in the daycare until the building roars back to life around us. I have to admit, the wolf is sweeter than she seemed. We're quick to thank the attendant and scurry back into the maintenance halls – making sure to close that horror movie prop of a door this time – and make the trek back to the workshop. 

Dave is on me in seconds after I walk in, Vincent not far behind. 

“Are you okay? Where did you two go?” Dave grabs my shoulders. 

“We thought you got eaten or somethin.” Vincent grins from over Dave's shoulder. “Glad to see you're still alive.” 

“We're fine, just got a bit lost is all.” I step out of Dave's grip, “We had to hole up in the daycare ‘til the lights came back.” 

“The Daycare? How'd you get all the way over there?” Vincent raises an eyebrow. 

I hand him back his flashlight with a huff, jerking my thumb at the robot behind me. “She took a walk.” 

Roxy growls from behind me. “Did not.” 

“D'you wanna explain yourself?” Dave looks to her, hands on his hips. 

She hesitates, then looks away. “...No.” 

“Don't be too hard on her,” I reassure my friend, “To be fair, those halls all look the same in the dark.” 

“Well at least all that's over now,” Vincent nods before Dave can respond, “Apparently, that's going to be a new normal while they work on the breakers. So we're gonna have to get used to working in the dark.” 

“Joy.” I groan, “As if we needed more things to delay us doing our job.” 

“It's gonna be a long quarter,” Vincent grins dryly. “Better get back to it before the lights go out again.” 

I nod, bidding everyone a ‘see you later’ as we all head back to our desks. I can feel Roxy give me a glance when she walks past me, cogs already turning in my head of how I could possibly catch the thing in the halls as I focus back on the prototyping project at hand. 

There has to be something , right?

Chapter 3: It Had My Face

Summary:

The DCA is in Parts & Services for the first time since, well, ever, after an incident causes an emergency shutdown.

CW: Nightmares

Notes:

Babe wake up new TLR chapter just dropped
You get it a week early because I am going to be VERY busy next weekend :) Enjoy!

The Daycare Attendant is once again swamped with work. The screaming children and irate, entitled parents are already more than enough to handle on a day to day basis, and the added ache in their joints from the frequent blackouts and dim lights from the backup generators isn't helping. 

Children scream and run around the daycare in excitement around them, the attendant barely able to keep up with everything and make sure the kids are staying safe on the (fairly questionable) equipment, even with their emergency systems active constantly. All the activity is enough to give any human a migraine, and at this point he might not be too far off from a headache of his own. 

There's a child draped comfortably over his back – a regular, Miu, she suffers from severe anxiety and his internal heater calms her down – and three more giving them an animated retelling of something or other – also regulars; Chelsea, Ronald, and Maxxine – when the frantic pounding of little feet comes up behind them, followed closely by a small body crashing face-first into the backs of his knees. 

“Mr. Sun!! Mr. Sun!!” A buck-toothed grin greets him when he checks under one arm to see the object of assault, a rambunctious young girl with black hair named Jess. She's the smallest in the daycare, but that doesn't stop her from making the most trouble. 

“Hey, friend, wha-ats going o-on?” They turn and lean down, careful to keep Miu on their back. They hush the other children as they clamber back for his attention, “One mo-moment, please.” 

“Mr. Sun! I found something cool!” She lisps around her buck teeth with excitement, tugging at one of his hands. 

“Oh, what'd you find, friend?” His rays click as he tilts his head, glancing around the Daycare around them, “Wh-Where’s your broth-ther?” 

“C'mere! cmerecmerecmere!” She yanks on his casing with a surprising amount of force, hauling him forward. 

“Okay, o-okay, kind ha-ands, Jess,” Sun chastises gently, crouching to allow the child to yank them along. 

Her tugs become gentler, but they can tell she's barely containing her excitement as she leads them across the daycare floor, toward the edge of where the generator lights reach. 

“O-okay, Jess, lets, lets not go too far now,” Sun can feel his joints begin to stiffen as it gets harder for him to see, the slowed movements only making Jess more impatient. 

“But it's over there!” She whines, pointing toward the darkened slide, “I found it!” 

“Wh-why don't you tell me what you found i-instead?” Sun tries to look into the shadows, expecting some kind of lost toy or maybe a rogue mini music man. 

“It looks like you!!” Jess responds, continuing to point, “You, under the slide! Its you but like, spooky and white, and its got these really big teeth and claws, and this REALLY BIG hat!” She stretches her arms out to emphasize the size of said hat. 

“Well, that's, certainly..  interesting.” Sun adjusts the child on their back, once again peering out into the darkness. They could almost swear they see a silhouette of some kind under the slide, something large and lanky. They take half a step forward, joints creaking as they lean over the boundary of light, tugged forward again by the small child as she takes it as an invitation to move forward. 

“H-hey, wait!” He steps back and carefully sets down the sleepy Miu, aching joints ignored as he plunges into the shadows after the excited girl. 

“Come see come see!!!” She giggles at them, Sun catching flashes of color as their eye-lights flicker on in the dark. 

“J-Jess, friend, l-let's be careful,” They call, struggling to keep up as they approach the slide. Every step makes their joints scream in protest as they catch sight of the silhouette again. 

Jess bounds up under the slide with reckless abandon, waving wildly at something that reaches far above her head. “Hi!! Hi Mr. Not-Sun!!” 

“J-Jess, Lets-” Their creaking movements and train of thought both stop dead as they get close enough to actually see what she's waving at. 

Or rather, when they get close enough that it can see him . 

The thing resembles them, with a flat, circular face and wide grin that curls up into swirls at its cheeks, and a humanoid frame, but that's where the resemblance ends. It's crouched uncannily beneath the slide, its huge frame scrunched until its knees – or the closest thing to knees, they can't make out discernable joints on the long tube-like limbs – are up near its head. A large hood, lined with matted white fur, frames its face, the tail of it so long it drags across the ground behind it, tipped with a large bell that jingles softly as it shifts. Even crouched as it is, it towers over the small child, her noise and movement drawing its attention for now. 

Sun can't make themselves move as it stares with empty eye sockets at Jess, the attendant feeling terror rise in their chest at seeing the thing uncurl a large hand with long claws for fingers and begin to reach toward her. 

She giggles and grabs one of its fingers, seeming to catch the thing off guard as it jolts at the touch. 

It tilts its head slightly, static sharp-toothed grin leering down at the girl. He could almost swear it was thinking, it's other hand reaching from around its body to poke a long claw at her. 

“J-J-Jess, g-get away from th-th-there!” He manages to call. 

“See Mr. Sun? It's Not-You!” Jess turns away from the thing, still grinning ear to ear with pride at making this revolutionary discovery. 

The thing slowly lifts its head to fix its empty eyes on them. 

They dare to meet its gaze, beckoning Jess back to them while keeping both eyes on it. “C-come here, friend. N-n-now.” 

There's a pause, then the pitter patter of little feet as Jess does what shes told. 

“Th-thank you. G-go play, okay? Wh-why don’t you g-go find G-Gregory?” They still keep their eyes on it as they reach down to pat her head. 

“Okay!” She’s quick to run off, back into the light. 

In the silence that follows, they watch as the thing slowly tilts its head to one side, the movement making its joints click. 

They try not to be too loud as they start to slowly back up toward the light, wincing at how loudly their motors protest movement. 

The thing listens for a few steps, and then begins to stand, rising to a height that easily towers over them, perhaps taller than even the glamrocks. The bell on its hood jingles as it begins to match his steps. They can't tell if it's just following, or if it's waiting for them to bolt so it can give chase. 

He's maybe a step or two away from the edge of the light when small pinpricks of red light flicker to life in the things eye sockets, boring through their systems with its stare and freezing them in place. Trying to make themselves move only makes their motors scream, panic crawling it's way into their processors as the thing steps closer and closer , until it's looming over them, their eyes fixed on its face far above them. 

Those tiny red lights flicker subtly, the things presence this up close making their head buzz, static itching at their vision. 

I know you. 

They don't know who said it, or if it was really said. It's hard to see the thing now through the static, only vague shapes and those pinpoint lights visible. They can hear their motors screaming from whatever's freezing them in place, drowning out the creaking of the thing's joints as it looms. System warnings begin to flash in the corner of their vision the longer they remain trapped. 

For a brief moment, as their systems begin to panic and more warnings fill their vision, they think they see a scan amongst the chaos, tiny text quickly buried underneath static and flashing symbols as their core overheats and their joints buckle in an emergency shutdown. 

 

— Moon

   Theater animatronic

 

>> <<

 

The borrowed folks from Dave are catching on quickly, which makes my life ten times easier without having to worry so much about keeping the existing fleet up and running on top of getting the new bots functioning properly. Overnight tests have been promising, although the continuous all-nighters are taking their toll. 

“Alright, I'm calling it,” I groan and stretch, getting up from my desk. 

“Jeez, I'd fuckin hope so,” One of my borrowed techs – Rick, I think – glances up from his work, “I was starting to think you just lived here.” 

“I practically do at this point.” I take off my smock and drape it over the back of my chair, “My cat is gonna kill me.” 

Rick laughs a bit. 

“Alright, see y'all later.” I grab my jacket and turn to find Pete mid-approach. 

“Hey, Mike, got a second?” 

“Depends,” I gesture with my jacket, “I was just about to head out.” 

“It can wait, we were just wondering if you could take a look at something real quick.” He gestures further into the workshop behind him. 

“Like what?” I sigh softly and motion for him to move, following him out into the main area with the secured “protective cylinder” that the core cast are worked on in. 

“So, I don't know how much you know about the daycare project, but the attendant recently shut down, and now we're having trouble working on it.” He walks over to the closed off cylinder, tapping at the terminal just outside the door. 

I rub at my eyes, “Having trouble how?” 

“Well, they're not like any of the main cast, so we’d be flying pretty blind with diagnostics.” The door hisses as the pneumatics pull it up. 

“There's not schematics or anything?” I follow him into the giant tube, looking over the humanoid animatronic even though my eyes hurt. 

“Not that we found, no.” Pete shakes his head, “We thought maybe you'd be more familiar with this type of system.” 

I hum, “I can give it a shot when I come back. How soon do you need it?” 

“Its priority, but there's no rush or anything.” He shrugs, “We can have the daycare closed for a few days with no issues, I'm sure.” 

“Okay, good, cause I'm gonna need a bit to figure this out.” I stifle a yawn, “I'll be in tomorrow, probably, if you could put it at my desk to charge that'd be great.” 

“Thank you. Definitely get some rest,” He follows me back out into the main area, “Just keep me updated on what you find and all that.” 

“For sure, for sure.” I give him a wave, heading back out of the workshop and out to my car, doing my best to avoid guests along the way. Luckily my mostly covered face and charming, sleep-deprived demeanor means the people that do pass me up on the main floor ignore me for the most part, and I'm able to make it out into the midday lit parking lot without issue. 

 

Michael is, understandably, very upset with me when I get home, settling for nothing less than being in my arms or on my shoulders the entire time I'm settling back in. Save for the shower, where she instead sat outside the curtain and yelled until I was able to pick her up again. 

A quick meal and updating my time card is about all I can manage before I drag myself into bed.  

Not even nightmares interrupt me for once. 

My morning alarm jolts me awake first, my tired brain taking account of things – achy body, heavy eyelids, and the giant warm fuzzy thing sitting on my chest – and quickly determining that if I'm in at all today, it'll be later. Michael begins to purr and knead my chest as I lift a hand to pet her and settle back into sleep. 

 

I'm watching one of the security bots run its protocols, the robot twisting this way and that, the beam of its light sweeping randomly across the workshop. 

It stops, my eyes flicking toward the white computer screen on my desk to check that the program is still running just before it begins to move again. Slowly, intentionally directing its flashlight around the room like it's looking for something amongst the fuzzy shapes. 

I hear it as I think to ask the bot what it's looking for, something large scraping its way toward the workshop doors. The spotlight only gives me glimpses of the room around me as I turn toward the doors. 

The light passes over the closed doors as the robot continues to turn, the scraping drawing closer, and closer, and closer– 

Until they stop. 

I hear the door click open. Hinges creak.

The S.T.A.F.F. bot beside me turns a circle, light comes to rest on an open doorway. 

Something towering and skeletal grins at me from the deep shadows beyond. 

The light flickers, then gives a small pop as it goes out. 

The wall is there to meet my heel when I try to take a step back, heart pounding and flashlight heavy in my hands as I point it out in front of me. The power button clicks uselessly under my finger. 

I can feel its breath as it leans over me, saliva dripping onto my glasses and face. 

I can feel how hungry it is. 

It gives a low, growling chuckle as I feel its teeth reach toward me. 

 

I start awake to soft paws kneading at my face. Michael mrrps at me when I lift a hand to stroke her, slowly calming myself back down. 

“No rest for the wicked, eh Mikey?” I rub at my face with my free hand, reaching for my glasses on the side table. 

Michael starts purring in response, her paws still kneading at my face. 

“Mhm, yeah yeah I know,” I twist to grab my phone, finding it's already well past noon. 

Despite my aching everything and the pressing desire to do absolutely nothing, I haul myself out of bed. Second shift it is. At least it should be quiet enough to let me work without interruption. 

Michael is under my feet the entire time I'm getting ready, even following me into my workshop at home just to sit on my lap as I plug in the flash drive for the night guard protocols and work away at the code until it's time to leave again. 

 

The Pizzaplex is relatively quiet by the time I head back, catching it just before the afternoon rush. The mostly empty lobby means I'm able to slink down into the maintenance tunnels and return to Parts & Service without encountering anyone but the folks manning the ticket booths. 

The workshop is equally quiet, only Dave and Vincent still working in their respective offices as I head back to my desk. 

I stop and take a deep breath as I’m reminded of what's now slumped on the floor in front of my desk, next to the night guard prototype. I drape my jacket over the back of my chair and sit down, cracking my knuckles. 

“Alright, buddy,” I address the limp and lifeless Daycare Attendant as I pull the connector from the prototype and lean to search for their port, “Let’s see what’s going on.” 

It takes a bit of searching, but I eventually find their connector port amidst the chaos of the back of their faceplate, able to plug it in and find their systems on my computer. I idly hum a tune I don’t remember the name of as I set up the diagnostic program and have it run through the Attendant’s system first, before digging a little more in their system folders to find their active command program. The empty black box is there to greet me, taking a moment before text appears. 

 

> Enter Command. 

> | 

 

The cursor blinks. I type. 

 

> message// Hello. 

> Waiting for response…

> response// IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE. IT HAD MY FACE.

 

”Uhh, hey Vincent?” I call, “Could you come look at something?” 

“What is it?” I hear him get up and start to walk over. 

“Ever seen this before?” I sit back in my chair to gesture to the text that continues to repeat in the command box. 

“…Huh. No, I haven’t.” He leans over my shoulder and raises an eyebrow. “Try flushing the system, maybe. Could be it’s stuck in a processing cycle.” 

“Will that fuck up diagnostics?” 

“It shouldn’t. Diagnostics will have a power cycle in there anyway.” He shakes his head slightly. 

I hum, closing the dialogue box and navigating in their internal systems until I find their main program. Vincent gives me some coaching on how to initiate an internal system restart — though this system isn’t anything like the usual systems either of us work with. We figure it out eventually though, double checking on the diagnostics program running in the background just to make sure we didn't mess it up before I open back up the command box.  

 

> Enter command

> message// Hello. 

> Waiting for response…

> response// Hello? 

> |

 

“There we go.” Vincent grins, “Now it should respond properly.” 

“Sweet. Thanks, Vince.” I lean back in my chair to look at the slumped form of the attendant, “Now let's hope everything else is simple.” 

Vincent snorts, “Good luck. You should know by now that repairs are never simple.” 

“A man can hope.” I sigh. 

“Well, you have fun with that,” He pats me on the back, “I'm heading out here in a bit.” 

“Sounds good.” I make a shooing motion with one hand, “I'll text you if I need anything.” 

“If you must.” He rolls his eyes good-naturedly before he walks back to his office. 

I turn back to the monitor, checking on the diagnostics. The scan says it's only 30% complete, and looking at the tightly packed list of components to check, it's easy to see why. Yeesh. 

I can see more text appearing in the half-hidden command box behind the diagnostics window, drawing my attention back to the black box. 

 

> response// Hello? 

> response// Is someone there? 

> response// It’s dark. 

> response// I can't see you. 

 

I tap lightly at the keyboard before I respond. 

 

> message// You're okay. You're in for repairs. 

> message// I'm going to run a few tests.

> Waiting for response…

> response// Am I in trouble? 

> message// No, you're not in trouble. 

> message// I'm going to enter a few commands. Respond best you can. 

> Waiting for response…

> response// OK. 

 

I hum, running through the list of commands in my head. They're different from the other bots, so I doubt all of them will work… 

 

> command//name 

> Waiting for response…

> response// Sun4?○pppppp 

> command//servername 

> Waiting for response…

> response// ERR ??? 

> response// NO SERVER FOUND

> |

 

“Well that's fun.” I mumble, “Off to a great start. Okay.” 

 

> command//system check

> Waiting for response… 

> response// SYSTEM OVERLOAD

> response// EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN ACTIVE

> | 

 

I glance over at the robot, debating my next course of action. Glancing back at the diagnostic window, I find I have plenty more time to kill. 

“Alright, bud,” I'm mostly talking to myself, having no idea if he can even hear me, “Let's see what's going on.” 

 

> message// I'll be back. Sit tight.  

 

I don't look for the response as I slide off my chair and onto the floor beside the attendant, hooking my arms under theirs in order to haul them to sit properly on top of my desk rather than in front of it so I can poke around without killing my knees. 

It takes a surprising amount of effort to move their joints, the motors whining softly as I check their range of movement, eyeing them head to toe as I go. 

Scratches and small dents pepper their casing, and flaking paint coats their body in splotches, accented by the marker scribblings across their arms and hands. Their vest and puffy pants have long-set stains that blend into the sparkly red fabric. Cracks web across their sun rays, the rays themselves somewhat bouncy, able to be pushed into slots in the sides of their faceplate. 

I find the pants are solidly sewn onto their frame with no way to easily access the legs, so I just have to feel my way around the endoskeleton through the stiff fabric. Their lower joints are much looser and easier to move than their upper ones. It probably has something to do with the emergency shutdown protocol, but I'm having trouble making heads or tails of what they put in this poor guy's brain. 

My disappointment is immeasurable when I find that the large bells at their ankles don't even jingle. Something else I'll have to fix.

I'm double-checking their faceplate – it's surprisingly complicated, with tons of tiny pieces that all slide around one another. The lines are so thin between the casing pieces that you can't even  see most of them from more than a foot away – when I hear the fans in their chest begin to whir to life. A glance at the diagnostic program tells me it's running hardware scans now, hence why Sun is now powering on. 

Being this close, I can see the soft ring LED's flicker on inside their blank off-white eyes, and see their pupils run their quick calibration pattern before they look down at me. 

I take half a step back to be able to see all of them and give a small wave. “Good morning.” 

I glance at the monitor as I catch more text in the dialogue box. 

 

> message// I'll be back. Sit tight. 

> Waiting for response… 

> response// OK. 

> system output// I can’t move. 

> system output// Where am I?  

 

“Can you hear me?” I look back at them, putting out my hands to the sides, “Can you see me?” 

 

> system output// Yes. 

> system output// You're the repair tech from a while ago. 

 

“Glad you remember me.” I drop my hands. “Diagnostics is running hardware checks, you're alright. You're in Parts and Service.” 

 

> system output// Why?  

 

“That's what I'm trying to figure out.” I sigh, “Do you remember anything before this?” 

 

> Waiting for response… 

> response// ERR 

> response// MEMORY CORRUPTED

> response// RECALLING MOST RECENT SAVE DATA… 

> system output// No. 

> system output// I was looking after the kids. 

> system output// Then I woke up here.  

 

“Of course.” I rub my eyes under my glasses. “That's okay, um…” I rack my brain for anything else I could check on while I wait for the program to finish running. “Just hang tight, alright? Once I have an idea what's wrong we can get you fixed.” 

 

> system output// OK. 

 

I check over what I can of them again while we wait, being careful around their joints while the diagnostic program runs calibration tests. Luckily, from what I see, there doesn't seem to be any issue with their joints, the small twitches all working as intended. 

Sun's eyes are fixed on me the entire time, though it's hard to tell what they're thinking. I try to keep a respectful distance even while I'm poking around, but when their faceplate starts to move with calibration tests I can't help but lean a little too close, fascinated by the intricate pieces as they dance around each other to make various expressions. All retaining the curls of their smile, of course, though their mouth is capable of shifting into a more neutral and even slightly downturned expression; their makeshift eyebrows furrowing and raising and their eyes squinting and widening. 

Their entire body shudders as their face falls back to their default expression, the LED rings in their eyes darting around in a panicked expression before their system is forcefully shut down again, making them slump once more. 

The diagnostic program dings cheerfully at me to let me know its done. I sit back down and bring the window to the front, pursing my lips at what it displays. 

To say Sun is fully functional is… generous at best. Corrupted memory data, no functioning resistors on their main board, spaghetti programming causing internal errors and processing issues… 

I hate when Vincent is right. 

I stretch and crack my knuckles, settling in for a long night ahead of me. “Okay, buddy,” I mumble, swapping to a different part of Sun's files until I find his memory storage, “Let's start here and see what's up.” 

Opening the folders, I find data relatively neatly categorized; by year, then month, then day, with each mp4 file itself looking to span about an hour. The last saved file is from a couple days ago, and has a large caution symbol over the thumbnail. Attempting to open the file outright gives me a very helpful “File corrupted” pop-up, which I ignore by clicking the “restore data and open” button. 

The file I get after a few minutes is janky; whatever parts aren’t outright missing are filled with so much static I may as well still be looking at nothing. I can vaguely make out pieces of the Daycare, a small child running off into the darkness with Sun not far behind. They run toward what looks like a plastic tube slide, something moves— cut to black. The static that returns about a minute later is light grey, a shifting silhouette accented by two glowing red dots. I can maybe make out a humanoid head and shoulders before the video ends entirely. 

I rewind it and pause on the clearest frame I can find, squinting like that'll make the resolution any better. It's hard to tell whether it's a person wearing a costume, or another robot that vaguely resembles the attendant. 

Staring at the red dots in the static makes my head hurt after a minute or two, making me finally look away and focus back on what I was doing. Provided I can remember what I was doing. It takes a second for my brain to catch back up with the tasks at hand. 

I close the video player window and dig around until I find their command console again. 

 

> command//manual override

> Waiting for response… 

> response// ENTER SECURITY KEY

> | 

 

Great. I was hoping to be able to all this without looking for schematics that might not exist, but I guess not. 

I heave a heavy sigh through my nose and lean back in my chair, stretching my back before getting up and meandering over to the set of filing cabinets against the back wall — If something’s not in the system, it’s here. They're supposed to be alphabetized, but I don't think anyone has put anything away properly or taken the time to organize these things since this place opened. The cabinets are tall and heavy, their deep beige paint flaking off in patches all over them and the labels that mark the drawers are either faded, peeling, or mostly ripped off. A few of the really old ones almost look like they survived a fire. 

Pulling out one of the three ‘S’ drawers makes the wheels squeal, making me wince. Inside are laminated work instructions for endoskeletons, rides, casings, and whatever else Fazbear Entertainment wanted built, along with the occasional schematic or quality drawing for vendors. Most of it is stuff I’ve never seen before, and I have to resist the urge to study what Fazbear Entertainment felt was important enough to drag here from wherever they were before the Pizzaplex, forcing myself to focus on finding the schematics for Sun. 

 

I find the laminated packet I'm after buried beneath loose papers in one of the drawers, grunting softly as I peel it off the bottom of the drawer and carefully separate it from the other files. The pages are slightly crumpled even with being laminated, a few small burns peppering the pages from where someone soldered on top of them. 

I wipe the sticky dust off the pages with my sleeve, noting the extra page stapled to the front that reads “SCRAPPED” in large red letters, smaller text beneath that reading “Reference Daycare Project BI - P012 - B for all software repairs.” 

I mumble less than kind sentiments under my breath as I flip through the rest of the pages. Almost all of them have been redlined to some extent – understandably so, considering the entire thing still has the “prototype” label – and the back pages detailing the “Theater” programming have large “DO NOT USE” stamps across them. 

I'll take a closer look at all that later, for now I decide to flop the schematics on the floor and dig around for the Daycare Project files. Shouldn't take too long. 

 

It did, in fact, take entirely too long. 

The file in question isn't even laminated, yellowed pages unceremoniously shoved in a random drawer in the ‘T’ category for some reason. I have to be careful in prying it from the drawer and unfolding it to be mostly flat, fingers navigating around coffee stains and hastily hand-written instructions to separate the stuck together pages. 

I bring the second packet out to where I left the first, handling them both gently as I head back to my desk. The overhead lights flicker as I take my seat again. I cast a glance at the ceiling, mumbling a ‘don't you dare’ at the lights before I double check the computer clock. 

Somehow, it's already past closing at 7PM, but nowhere near the big shutoff at 10. And there's no construction going on this late to mess with the breakers, either. So either the flicker is general Pizzaplex jank, or something is going wrong. 

I hope it's just jank as I carefully parse through the files for Sun. The “prototype” file is thorough with its schematics, though it looks like Sun's endoskeleton was changed significantly when they got repurposed – the schematic shows bendy, jointless limbs and larger hands with claws instead of fingers, and crossed-out notes around the drawings indicate they were supposed to be able to stretch. 

 

I spend a while slowly working through both sets of notes, ironing out what problems I can as I go. I have to leave most of Sun's code alone – Vincent left a while ago and I'm not about to touch something this messy – but I'm able to coax a few errors out of their system with some careful guesswork while I avoid the command box for as long as possible. 

I find the security code in with the “do not use” portion of the schematics at the bottom of a page of redlined code, with a crossed out note next to it that reads “use for both”. The words make me pause, my mind briefly flicking back to the corrupted footage and the loop the attendant was stuck in. 

It Had My Face.

A theory starts to form in my mind, but I'm quick to shake it off. No time for theories right now if I want to get this neglected bot up and running again. 

I return to the command box. 

 

> response// ENTER SECURITY KEY

> | 

 

Let's hope this works.

 

>180402

> response// VERIFYING SECURITY KEY… 

> response// ACCEPTED. 

> response// ENTER COMMAND.  

 

“Well, looks like I won't have to throw you out after all, huh?” I joke. Mostly to myself, considering Sun can't hear me. 

 

>command// stop emergency shutdown

> Waiting for response… 

 

I hear the stiff joints next to me on the desk hiss softly as they release, the attendant slumping further in the corner of my eye.

 

> response// EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN STOPPED. 

> response// RECALLING LOST DATA…

 

A small popup box appears over the command window with a loading bar, helpfully giving me an estimated load time of about 30 minutes. 

I lean back in my chair as the program thinks. Best not mess with it unless I wanna undo all my hard work. 

I take a moment to stretch and yawn, perching my glasses atop my head to rub at my eyes. The thought of taking a nap crosses my mind, but surely recovering some data won't take that long. 

Putting my glasses back on lets the popup very helpfully inform me that it'll take three hours to complete. 

I take a deep breath, carefully take off my glasses, and set them on my desk. Maybe a nap is a good call. 

 

“Um… e-excuse me..?” 

A hesitant tap on my back rouses me from my sleep. I haul myself back into sitting up, feeling for my glasses as I mumble a response. “Yeah, I'm up, what's up.” For a moment I wonder if its a night guard or janitor, before my glasses remind me of what – or rather, who – is currently at my desk with me. 

Sun looks concerned as they lean away from me, bracing their hands on the edge of the workbench. 

“Oh, hey, buddy,” I stretch, glancing at the monitor. The latest piece of dialogue in the command box says ‘RECALL COMPLETE’. “How are you feeling?” 

“Uh… Be-etter, I th-th-think.” He adjusts his sitting position with the rustling of fabric. 

“Good, good,” I turn my attention back to them, “How much do you remember?” 

They pause at the question, the concern in their face quickly turning to a mix of worry and fear as they glance around the room. 

“It’s just me here, everyone else went home for the night,” I assure them. 

“…I-I don’t know.” They mumble hesitantly, “I-it’s all ju-u-umbled.” 

“Do you know why you shut down?” 

“I-I, um, I just-t got st-st-stressed, I g-guess?” They shift again, only getting more antsy with each word. 

I hum softly, glancing back at the monitor while the attendant makes a noticeable effort to avoid looking at me. 

“C-can I go?” They move to try and get off the workbench. 

“Hang on a second, you’re still in for work.” I raise a hand to stop him, “Lemme go through your files to make sure things got properly restored.” 

I hear their systems stutter as I reach toward the computer. “O-oh, uh…” 

“Unless there’s something you wanna tell me.” 

They freeze completely. I can see them watching my hands hovering over the keyboard out of the corner of my eye. 

I shrug, and start to parse through their files, heading toward the corrupted memory data first, “Alright. I'll just check for myself.” 

“W-Wait!” The attendant reaches out toward my hands, though they stop once they see the word makes me pause, “I-I… Th-th-there is something. I… I s-s-saw, something.” 

“What was it?” I turn toward them, “I haven’t got a look at it yet.” 

“Y-you… know about it?” They pause, seeming almost relieved, before they sit up taller toward me, their rays rattling softly as their grin sinks into a sort of uneven scowl, “Y-you… Th-that’s why you w-were in the Daycare. Y-you led it to m-m-me.” 

“My bad, I'll die next time.” I huff back, “Look, I'm going to fix this, but I can’t do that if I don't know what it is .” 

“Fi-i-ix what? Wha-at did you d- do? ” He glares down at me. 

“I don't know!” I throw my hands up, “I don't know what I did! But I'm trying to fix it, okay?” 

They falter in their outrage, face softening slightly as my voice breaks. I catch them reaching toward me again while I rub my eyes and take a deep breath.  

“I’m too tired for this.” I turn back to the computer, “Let’s just get you fixed.” 

They slowly slump back down on the desk, one of their hands reaching to gingerly adjust the connecting wire behind their faceplate. 

 

I can tell they’re uncomfortable the longer the silence between us stretches, as I focus solely on combing through what I can fix and double-check their systems are back to normal — Or at least, back to what’s normal for them. More than once I hear them take a breath as if to speak, only to have them shift with the soft whine of their core, and remain silent. 

I pause as I move the mouse over the memory files again, glancing at the antsy robot. I half expect them to say something in the pause, catching sight of them taking another breath out of the corner of my eye. Part of me is frustrated when they swallow their words again. Part of me is relieved. 

A sigh escapes me after a moment, and I keep moving in my work. The rest of the missing videos have been restored to some extent, though I find myself hesitant to click on them. 

“A-are you okay?” Sun’s voice startles me again, and I realize I’ve been staring unmoving at the files for a couple minutes. 

I sit back in my chair. “No. What the—“ I glance at the Daycare Attendant, “… What on earth am I supposed to do ? I’m a repair tech. I knew this place was sketchy but even I didn’t sign up for, for…” I gesture vaguely around us, “ This. ”

Sun grimaces slightly. “…Oh.” 

“Maybe I should just fix you and quit.”  I groan, “Lords know I’ve been working too much as it is.” 

“Q-Quit? Just, l-l-like, give u-up?” Sun seems surprised. 

“What else am I gonna do? Punch it? I don’t even know what it is. ” 

“I-it’s me,” Sun blurts, making us both freeze for a moment before they hurriedly continue, “O-or well, it wa-asn’t me me, i-it looked d-different, b-but it had my face. I-it was, uh, h-huge, a-and it had gi-i-iant claws, and a big h-hood, a-and… it… it…” He searches for more words, “I-it didn’t have eyes? I-I think. I-I-I don’t kno-o-ow though.” 

“So it's huge, fast, silent, and deadly, but hey, at least it’s blind. Yippee, we’re saved.” I gesture sarcastically as I spin in my chair. 

“I-I don’t think it could, um, g-go in the light?” Sun tries to offer. 

“Do you have proof of that?” 

”N-No,” Sun slumps slightly. “I-I just… Have a h-hunch.”

“Based on what, exactly?”  I raise an eyebrow. 

“Um… W-well, I can’t g-go in the d-d-dark,” They begin. 

“But you said it wasn’t you.” I point out. 

“B-but I re-ecgonized it!” Sun protests. 

The words make me stop and think. Sun stares at me uncertainly before I break the silence again, “You could see it?”

”I-it… It showed up o-on my radar,” Sun admits somewhat sheepishly. 

Use for both. 

It had my face. 

It’s like it doesn’t even exist. 

“It is you.” I slowly begin to realize, adding context at the distraught that crosses Sun’s face, “Well, a twin of you, of sorts. Like, an evil version of you.” 

“A t-t-twin?” He scrunches his eyebrows at me. 

“I mean, you got repurposed,” I look back at the schematics, flipping to the ‘do not use’ pages, “So clearly there must’ve been something else to whatever you got repurposed from.”

“I-I was repurpos-s-sed?” Sun sounds bewildered as the gears turn in my head. 

“Yes. You were. Which means that thing was too.” I hum and get to my feet, leaving the schematics on the desk, “If I knew its name, I could find its schematics. And if I can find its schematics, I can learn how to tear it apart.” 

I don’t see Sun wince as I turn toward the filing cabinets again. 

“M-Maybe we shou-ould… f-find something less… violent?” He tentatively suggests. 

“You got a scan of it, right? Did it have a name?” I turn back toward them, making them jump slightly. 

“I-I, uh, y-yes, i-it did,” They look unsure. 

“What was it?” I step toward them, watching them shrink away from me. 

“Um, M-m-moon, I think-k.” They partially raise a hand as if to block an incoming blow. 

“Did I…? I didn’t see it earlier.” I hum, quickly turning on my heel and stalking back over to the filing cabinets, “Which means…” 

I begin to dig through the files I haven’t gone through yet. Among the abandoned projects and backup documents, I eventually find the crumpled and sealed file folder for the Theater Program — and within the documents is schematics for none other than a Moon animatronic. 

I return to my desk with triumph, slapping the files down next to Sun's own schematics. 

Sun hastily scoots away on the desk from where they were peeking at their old file. “I-I'm assuming you f-f-found it?” They glance toward the thick folder. 

“Yup. It's mostly old project plans, but I found the thing's schematics.” I flip open the folder again, loosely flipping through the yellowed pages. 

“S-so, uh, a-am I… Good to go?” The quiet question brings my tired brain back to reality. 

Right. My job. I'm supposed to be doing that. 

“...yes.” I say slowly, trying to recall everything that needed immediate fixing, “You should be mostly back to working order. Can you stand?” I step over to them, leaning to unplug them from my computer as they shift toward the edge of the desk. 

They look down at their legs, moving carefully as I help them off the desk and onto their feet. The attendant feels shaky, and they make an effort not to hold onto me too much. Watching them stand, I realize they do so on their tip toes. 

“Feeling alright?” I make sure to keep my hands on their back and waist to keep them steady, even as they slowly straighten up and regain their balance. 

“I-I think so,” He says tentatively, though he only takes one hand off me. The one on my shoulders lifts to hover just over my jacket. 

“Good. Let's do some calibration tests, yeah?” I coax him to take a few small steps away from the desk. 

Sun nods, following my lead. His movements are unsteady as he begins to run through his movement tests, and they tightly grip me again when they stumble, pulling on my shirt and jacket to catch themselves. 

“E-excuse me,” They mumble as they attempt to right themselves. 

“Hey now, don't break yourself already,” I joke, “I just got you fixed.” 

They manage a halfhearted laugh in response, slowly working through recalibration until they're finally able to stand and move on their own again. 

I have them let go of me – and I carefully let go of them – and move around the workshop on their own, taking subconscious notes as they walk and bend and look this way and that. Their joints are loose, almost, able to twist and bend much further than the glamrocks can. It gives the attendant a hint of cartoonish stretch to their movements, something the oddly proportioned robot needs to avoid appearing completely uncanny. 

“Y'know,” I muse as Sun continues to walk, “It would probably be helpful to have a reference of this Moon thing.” 

“I-I agree,” Sun stops and turns toward me, standing across the room. 

“Problem being it's smart enough not to show itself very often.” I hum. 

“Yes…?” Sun tilts his head slightly. 

“But if you two are twins, maybe I can study you to get a better idea of how to handle it .” I lean toward them. 

They hesitate, “...S-Study me?” 

“Yeah.” 

“A-As in… H-how do yo-ou mean?” They shift on their feet. 

“Nothing intrusive or irreversible or anything like that,” I wave a hand dismissively, “I’d just come after hours and get a more detailed idea of generally how you were set up.” 

They loosely place their hands over their chest. “I-I don't kn-know…” 

“You don't have to, of course,” I assure them, “There's just only so much you can garner from schematics alone, and if it's exactly like you, then, y'know.” I gesture vaguely. 

“I..” They hesitate, unsure, “I-I'd have to th-th-think about it.” 

“Fair enough,” I shrug, “Just lemme know.” 

“D-Does that mean w-we're done he-ere?” They begin to walk back toward me, eyeing me warily. 

“If you're feeling better, then I guess so.” I nod, “Everything working?” 

“S-seems like it.” He rattles his rays softly as he looks at me. 

“Good. We can get you back to the Daycare, then.” I lift myself off from leaning on the edge of my desk, gesturing for him to follow me as I head toward the workshop doors. 

He stops as I open one of the heavy doors, looking out into the dark maintenance hall with apprehension. “A-are we sure its s-safe out there?” 

“Nope. But it's either this or go all the way around through the atrium.” I shrug, “Assuming the service elevators are even on right now.” 

“..oh.” Their rays retract slightly, “I-Its so dark.” 

“It's after 10, yeah, but we'll be fine. The nighttime lights are motion activated.” I offer him a hand, “C'mon.” 

They hesitantly peer into the dark for another moment, before slowly reaching to take my hand. “I-I can't move in th-the dark.” They mumble. 

“You won't be in the dark, I promise.” I step out into the hall first, turning to face them in order to keep a hold on their hand. It takes a second for the motion sensors to make the lights flicker on, filling the hall with incandescent buzzing. “See? Perfectly fine.” 

The attendant carefully steps out after me, the lights seeming to calm their nerves somewhat. “...O-Okay. L-lets go.” 

They keep a hold on my hand as we head quietly through the maintenance halls to the Daycare.

Notes:

I know you.

Where is she?

Chapter 4: Off Time

Summary:

MC gathers information about the monster in the walls, and forms a plan to turn the hunter into the hunted. Outside of work hours, of course. Meanwhile, the Daycare Attendant is caught between the monster that shares their face and the first person to care about them.

CW: Paranoia, violence, hallucinations, light gore

I bid Sun a brief ‘goodbye’ at the door to the Daycare, before I slink my way back to the workshop and return to the schematics on my desk. 

I pull out the Moon schematics from the folder. Like Sun's file, there's a page stapled to the front of the pages with large red “SCRAPPED” stamp across the center of it, with additional, smaller text typed below it that reads: 

 

DO NOT ACTIVATE. 

USE FOR PARTS ONLY. 

KEEP IN LIGHT ROOM. 

 

I hum softly, vaguely recalling the strange bright closet in the server room. The locked closet. That I opened. Like an idiot. It's hard to tell whether I should be relieved that I wasn't going crazy that day or angry with myself for causing all of this. 

I shake my head, trying not to think about it too much. There's work to do, I can blame myself later. For now, I carefully pry the stapled page off the rest of the file and start to parse through the abandoned notes. 

The “Moon” bot is another prototype — with those same hose-like limbs and large claws — but unlike Sun it's supposed to be massive; noted to be 10 feet tall at its tallest, and about 3 feet across at the shoulder, with a faceplate that's about a foot and a half in diameter. Its hands alone were almost a foot long at their longest point, with sharp, segmented claws.

The original design had an outfit similar to Sun's, though instead of a vest it had some sort of wide jester collar, and a large hood with a tail that almost reached the ground when it's standing.  

Flipping to the programming section of the schematics, I pull Sun's back out to compare them side by side. Skimming both programs gives me a general idea that they're mostly the same, though it's hard to tell what the differences I do find are for. I'm able to garner something about Theater protocols, not that knowing that helps me much. 

I make a mental note to ask Vincent for translation for help making sense of the programming pages later as I pull out a notepad and start making notes as best I can figure about behavior and function of the twin robots from a more mechanical perspective. 

If I can know what makes it tick, I can make it stop ticking. 

I spend the rest of the night pouring over the schematics, though I’m quick to tuck them away in my desk and return to the ST.A.F.F. bot project once people start showing up for work the next day. Research will have to wait. 

The day passes slowly, filled with work and meetings, and of course the occasional blackout, just to make things that much more interesting. 

Vincent isn't in today – I forgot he's working from home until construction is done, Dave called him a “safety hazard” with all the blackouts – but Dave is. Being head tech and being here the longest out of all of us, maybe he knows something. 

I find the old salt-and-pepper haired tech in the break room for his lunch, coming to sit down across from him with a sigh as I pull out my own lunch – consisting of a couple protein bars – from my pocket. 

“Nice seein’ ya, Mike,” Dave barely looks up from his food, “Since when d’you take breaks?” His Southern drawl makes his voice warm. 

“I take breaks,” I protest. 

“Oh huh, you don't even go home for the night half the time,” He grins as he looks up, “Speakin’ of, you doing alright? You've been lookin’ a little rough lately.” 

“Gee, thanks,” I huff, “I'll make sure to put on makeup before I come in next time.” 

“Hey now, I didn't mean nothin’ by it.” He snorts, “Just worried ‘boutcha.” 

“I’m fine, just busy.” I assure him, “I do have a question for you though.” 

“Shoot.” 

“You ever hear about something called the Light Room?” 

The question makes him pause and lean back in his chair, looking toward the ceiling as he searches his memory. “The Light Room… Yeah, I recall ‘em building somethin’ in the breaker room.” 

“Do you know what it was for?” I lean forward, appetite forgotten for now. 

He hums, “Not quite. They told us it was for photosensitive parts of some kind, but they didn't tell us more n’ that. I think it's locked now anyway, since we don't use parts like that anymore.” 

I purse my lips. “So they just built a locked room for fun?” 

“Pretty much, from what I can gather.” He shrugs, “N’ trust me, I went lookin’. Much like I'm sure you're doin’ now.” 

I look away as he winks at me. “No idea what you're talking about.” 

“Mhm. Be careful with them projects of yours.” He gestures toward me, “They’ll get you in trouble. What ya diggin’ for anyway?” 

“Oh y'know, just curious,” I wave a hand, “If I'm gonna be fixing the Daycare Attendant from now on I need to know how it works.” 

“Ah, yeah, that one's been around a while.” He returns his attention to his food, hopefully missing the silent sigh of relief I let out. “I worked on ‘em for a bit when they first got repurposed. Just to make ‘em more self-sufficient, y'know.” 

“Yeah, they look pretty different from their original schematics.” I nod along, “Is that just for maintenance purposes?”

“Yeah, those old limbs were a might fragile,” He pauses to eat, “The ball-and-socket hydraulics work way better an’ don't need constant maintenance. All the bots got ‘em.” 

I try not to audibly chuckle at the thought of the heavy glamrocks with noodley cables for limbs. “You wouldn't happen to have new drawings for the attendant, would you?” 

“Uhh…” He looks up to think again, “No, I don't think we made any. Probably should’a, if I'm honest.” 

“Damn. Ah, well, I can always make some if I need it.” I sigh. 

“Only you would make a break int’a work time,” He teases lightly. 

“Hey, I can take breaks, alright? I just figured I'd ask while you're here and I've got time.” I open one of my protein bars with contempt I’m not totally sure is a joke. 

“‘Course, ‘course.” He snorts. “Y'know, if ya didn’t work here, you'd've been banned by now, I'm sure.”

“No, I’d be their most loyal customer. You’re just jealous of my work ethic.” I joke. 

“I wouldn’ wish your ‘work ethic’ on anyone,” Dave chortles. “Y’know ya don’t have t’a work 24/7, right?” 

“We both know that I’m physically incapable of that.” I roll my eyes at him. 

“Yeah, yeah we do.” He sighs, “Y’er gonna hurt yourself one a’ these days.” 

“It’s not that big a deal,” I assure him, already working through my second protein bar. 

He hums skeptically as he goes back to poking at his food. “Anythin’ else ya needed?”

“No, that’s all I had questions about. I’ll have to hunt down Vincent tomorrow to make sense of whatever spaghetti is running the attendant.” I tuck the wrappers back into my pocket. “Thanks for letting me bug you on your lunch break.” 

“Anytime.” He nods, “Best of luck with that new project.” 

“I appreciate the vote of confidence.” I grin under my mask, getting back up from the cafeteria table, “See you later.” 

He gives me a wave as I turn and head back out of the break room, ignoring the eyes that feel like they’re boring into my back as I head down the halls back to the workshop. 

 

>> <<

 

The Daycare Attendant sits in the top of a playset, far out of sight and reach of the children they can hear playing far below. It's just barely light enough this far above the reach of the generators that they can move, though the painful, stuttering movements are far from pleasant. Though, if they wanted comfort, they would be in their room, not as close to the fake stars above them as they can get without getting in trouble. 

The whir of their fans rises and falls as they try to keep themselves calm, desperate to find something other than the uncanny face that had loomed over them and the schematics on the technicians desk. 

Twin. They have a twin. 

Their twin is a monster. 

Are they-? 

They press shaking hands to their face, feeling at their cheeks and across their flat teeth. Small chips of paint flake off when they rub across their face markings. 

They're not. They can't be. 

They startle violently as they hear something heavy on the other side of the painted pipes, shrinking away as they watch large claws curl over the edge of the platform, the silver metal digging gouges in the plastic. 

A second set of claws joins the first after a moment, the attendant frantically looking around the cramped space for the way back out. Their eyes find the slide they climbed up, the fleeting feeling of hope they get quickly squashed as they realize to get there means getting closer to the thing climbing the wall. 

They dare to lunge for the slide entrance next to where the thing is climbing up just as it hauls its head above the platform, yelping at feeling a large hand snap around one of their legs, the paint on their fingertips scraping off onto the edge of the slide and the floor as they're dragged to slam into the bars with a ringing CLANG. 

The world spins around them with the slam, the attendant unable to move with the claws pinning them up against the bars. 

The thing makes a drowning sort of chuckle in its core, a noise made not by a voicebox but by the grinding of mechanical parts. 

‘I know you.’ It's systems rake across theirs to speak, making their head buzz. 

‘Let me go.’ They dare not move, feeling the claws dig into the casing of their stomach. 

‘Where is she?’ It feels cold against their back. 

‘I don't know, please let me go.’ They search their surroundings for any means of escape. 

They find nothing. They wince as its systems rake across theirs again, like it's searching for something. Their own systems respond to the digging signals despite their rising panic, the attendant silencing sounds of pain as they feel it claw its way through their memories and programming. 

‘You're not the hero.’ 

They slump slightly as they feel it release its mental hold, sinking into its claws holding them up. 

‘You’re hurting me.’ Their brain buzzes. 

‘Where is the hero?’ It's grip digs into their casing. 

‘Who? The repair technician?’ They wince and shift, trying to regain their thoughts. 

It clicks slowly as it thinks. ‘A human?’ 

‘Yes?’ 

‘You know them?’ It's core rumbles. 

‘Yes… they repaired me.’ They recall the technician’s strange kindness almost fondly. 

‘Who are they?’ It adjusts its grip, pressing them into the bars. 

‘I don't know,’ They feel their casing creak with the increased pressure. 

It clicks again. ‘Find out.’

‘What?’ The room slowly comes back into focus around them as the buzz clears from their mind. 

‘Find out.’ It repeats. 

‘Why would I-’ They bite back a scream as the thing rakes it's systems through theirs again, making gouges in their casing as they writhe in its grip. 

This time, it seems to find what it's looking for, as it growls somewhat smugly at them when it stops its probing signals. 

‘You like the hero.’ It notes. 

‘No, no I don't.’ Their chest heaves and their fans whir frantically. 

‘You want to protect them.’ 

‘They're just doing their job, you can't just-’ 

‘SILENCE.’ The thing slams them against the bars again. ‘Protecting them gets you nothing.’ 

‘They're not a hero, they're just a human.’ They struggle to think between the ringing echoing through their endoskeleton and the static in their head. ‘Please, don't hurt them.’ 

It pauses at that, the playset bars creaking under its shifting weight. 

‘Please.’ They beg. ‘Anyone else. Just leave them alone.’ 

It's claws tap a slow beat into their damaged plastic. 

‘Give me their name, and they will be safe.’

‘Promise?’ 

‘Yes.’ It draws out the word, before it's grip disappears from around them, dumping them onto the floor. 

They shudder and heave in a heap, listening to the thing retreat back into the shadows behind them. 

‘I'll be watching, little star.’

 

>> <<

 

I settle back into the night guard project for the rest of the day, but even as I work my mind is a million miles away, trying to create a plan to fix things. Of course, most of it hinges on Sun being willing to help me take this twin of theirs down. Not that I would blame them if they didn’t want anything to do with this insane plan of mine. 

Still, it can't hurt to ask. 

I wait for everyone to leave for the night before I dig the schematics back out of my desk and focus back on the actually pressing matter at hand. 

No help. There won’t be any help. Always alone. 

I push away the intrusive whispers in my tired mind as I gather some basic tools and the schematics and venture back out into the halls, heading to the daycare. 

The door hinges still scream as I push the door open, making me wince. The Daycare is already only lit by the generator lights by the time I get there, shadows crawling in the corners of my vision as I venture in. It seems darker than I remember, like half the lights are still off. 

“Hello? Sun?” I call into the quiet hum of the generators, “You here?” 

“H-Hello!” The Attendant appears from within one of the slides, quick on their feet to come greet me. Their quick, juttering steps make the freshly fixed bells on their ankles jingle. “Yo-ou're back.” They look roughed up, the dim lights catching the edges of long scratches across their stomach and arms, and a few of their longer rays are missing the thin tips. 

“I did say I'd come check on you.” I crouch slightly to put my things down. “You alright? Did something happen? You look like something attacked you.” 

“Y-Yeah, just, um, a-a rough day w-with the kids, y-you know how it is,” They nervously widen their grin at me, gently rattling their rays and flickering their eye-lights. “Y-you bro-ought tools.” They’re quick to change the subject. 

I eye them, “…Yeah. Just in case. Seems like it’s a good thing I did.” 

“O-oh, n-no all this is f-fine, j-j-just some scratches, really,” They wave a hand. The movement looks stiff. 

“You sure? Looks like you got roughed.” 

“I-I’m sure, do-on’t worry,” Sun stretches their grin wider to seem more convincing. 

I frown a bit, but shrug. “Fine. Have you thought about what I asked?” 

Whatever attempt they had of appearing unbothered disappears as tension freezes them in place. “...A-Ah. Right. Th-that.” 

“Yes, that .” I sit down to rest my aching legs, gesturing for the attendant to join me if they want. 

They remain standing, shifting from foot to foot. “...I-I don't know. I-It seems.. E-Extreme, to ju-ust.. disman-n-n-tle them.” 

“It's extreme to… defend ourselves?” I raise an eyebrow at them. 

“W-Well, I, I mean..” They avoid meeting my gaze. 

“Sun, it's killing people. That thing is the source of literally all of our problems.” I lean forward, bracing one hand on the ground. 

“B-But what if i-it just, just doesn't kno-ow any better?” Sun protests. 

“That's not my problem! I don't intend to let it keep hurting people.” I gesture to the schematics, “You're the only other person who could actually help take this thing out.” 

“N-No, I won't he-help you kill someone.” They cross their arms tight across their chest, backing away a half step. 

“It's not going to die .” 

“Y-you don't kno-ow that.” 

“Sun–” 

“No!” They frown at me, “Y-you said I c-could choose, and th-this is my choice.” 

I groan, rubbing my face. Silence stretches between us in one moment, then two, filled only by the humming of the generators and the click and hiss of Sun's joints as they shift. 

“Okay, fine. That's fine. I'll figure something else out.” I take a deep breath, grabbing my things as I get back up. 

Sun falters slightly as I get up. “You're… St-still going a-after it? A-alone?” 

“What, are you concerned?” I cast them a tired look. “You don't want to help, so I'm going to figure out something else without your help.” 

“I-I-” They hesitate, biting back whatever they were going to say. “I-Isn’t that s-suicide?” 

I snort, “Oh, if only. This is going to be a lot more complicated than dying.” 

Their face warps into a quiet frown as they watch me pack up and start heading back toward the door to the tunnels. I hear the bells at their ankles jingle softly as they take a few steps to follow me. 

“W-wait-” 

The word gives me pause, though I don't turn around. “Yes?” 

A pause. Uncertainty. “I-I d-didn’t catch your n-name.” They finally decide, the question quiet.

“M.C.” 

“G-Good luck, M.C.” I can hear their joints click softly just behind me. 

It's almost nice, hearing my name for once. “Thanks. Oh, and-” I glance over my shoulder at them, catching them pulling their hand away from my back. “There's should be an error report option in your programs now that'll ping me if something goes wrong, so, call me if you need anything. I'll be your repair tech going forward.” 

“Oh, uh, o-okay.” They wring their hands and look away from me. “Th-thank you.”  

I hum in response, eyeing them up and down for just a moment longer before I head back out into the tunnels. 

My mind lingers on the dents that coat Sun's casing. They almost looked like claw marks. 

 

>> <<

 

The attendant's heart sinks as the maintenance door screams shut behind the technician, bringing with it the crushing weight of pitch darkness as the generators fall silent. 

"Th-There. I l-lied for you. N-now keep your pr-romise." 

The large claws are cold on the warm plastic of his shoulders as the thing rumbles a guttural, glitchy chuckle.

 

>> <<

 

The door screams shut behind me, ringing in my ears as I make my way in the dimly lit tunnels. Shadows dance in the flickering lights, making my tired eyes see things. 

No ones gonna help you.  

One more mistake.  

I shake the whispers out of my head, rubbing at my eyes and grumbling softly under my breath. “Not the time for this.”

My feet take me past the workshop doors, further into the maintenance tunnels, the nighttime lights buzzing as they flick on around me. Eventually, I stop, finding myself staring down the electrical hazard sign on the door into the server room. My reach toward the doorknob is hesitant, even though I know there's no use being scared now that the pandora's box has already been opened. 

The door is silent and the room beyond is dim, lit by the dozens of blinking server LED’s. The gentle buzzing of computer fans envelopes me as I step inside and feel along the wall until I find the light switch. Gentle, warm fluorescent bulbs flicker on overhead, a welcome change to the harsh LED lights in the halls even with the deeper shadows. 

I swallow the apprehension rising in my throat and make my way between the shelves of servers, toward the back of the room where the circuit breakers fill the walls. Even with light, the metal door set into the wall is hard to pick out among the concrete, the chipped paint making it match the textured grey around it. The only thing that makes it stand out is the bright red Lockout/Tagout padlock fixed to the handle. I dig through my keys to pull off the padlock, catching myself hesitating again once my hand is on the handle. 

“You're fine,” I tell myself, “You can't make it worse at this point.” 

It takes another few seconds for me to pull the door open, wincing as the hinges grind against one another. I have to shade my eyes with my other hand as the blinding light pours from the small white room, giving my eyes a chance to try and get used to it and quickly finding that with this intensity of light, “getting used to it” isn't exactly how it works, especially when your eyes are dry and tired. I have to step into the room and squint even with my hand offering shade in order to find the light switch. It still feels stiff as I flip it off, though… as I recall my last visit to this gods forsaken broom closet, I don't remember leaving the lights on. 

The lack of blinding stage lights is a welcome reprieve for my eyes as they begin to burn, readjusting to the light bleeding in from the breaker room as I look around the closet. It's bigger than it looks at first glance, maybe 5 feet square, though it still looks like a closet is all it is. There's bits of broken plastic and fake white fur on the concrete floor, accompanying various discarded screws, washers, and one or two broken animatronic parts. Nothing usable, the parts that are here – an eye and socket, part of a hand, maybe a motion sensor – look like they've been in here forever. I'd be surprised if they even worked anymore. 

I huff, putting my hands on my hips as I look around the empty space. If they're going to lie about what's in a closet, they could at least put something useful in it. 

I crouch down to grab the eye and socket off the floor, pausing to inspect the abandoned part. I could swear the eye is softly ticking, but as I hold it up to my ear, the sound subsides. I gingerly replace the part on the floor and look for the source of the almost inaudible sound, crawling to follow it to the wall and back up to the light switch. The tick is fast and rhythmic, almost like a timer. 

I press my ear to the wall just below the light switch, listening to the ticking. I start to count what ticks I can to get an idea of the rhythm before I hear a more solid click , followed by a second of silence, followed by the stage lights buzzing back on overhead to drown the small room — and me by proxy — in white light. 

I press my hands over my eyes as I swear, bending over to try and shade myself before I slap at the wall until I find the switch and flip it back off. I blink the burn spots out of my vision as I hear the timer hidden in the wall start to tick again. This time I start to count the ticking as soon as it starts, stepping out of the Light Room and leaning against the wall just beside the doorway to count until the lights switch themselves back on again. I count it at about a minute, give or take a few seconds. 

The gears turn in my head as I start to form the beginnings of a plan. This is doable. I can fix this. 

I just need to figure out how to lure the monster in first. 

 

>> <<

 

The Attendant wanders the Daycare, stopping to pick up loose toys and bits of trash along the way. They hum the tune that plays over the speakers during the day as they go, filling in the silence that coats the empty pizzaplex, though their face is contorted into a worried grimace despite the cheery tune. While their body continues the routine it knows so well by now, their mind wanders elsewhere, focused on the monster that shares their face and the technician that helped them. 

They wonder if the two are fated to find each other despite their best efforts to keep the technician safe. 

They pause in their cleaning, idling on the thought. Their frown deepens slightly as they think about the technician, and the amused words from the monster. 

‘You like the hero.’ 

That can't be it. They're programmed to protect people, that's all. They'd do the same for anyone else, even without the offered hand, or the careful work, or the tired yet kind eyes– 

They catch themselves before their mind can conjure the technician’s face. Part of them almost wants to report an error or tell the technician about the monster, just to return to that quiet workshop. Just to have company. 

The generator lights flicker as the engines stutter, drawing their attention back to their surroundings. They look up, scanning the shadows for any sign of the beast. It has no reason to return, but… They can still feel it, that terrible buzzing in the back of their mind. A reminder that they're not alone. Not anymore. 

They return to cleaning, ignoring the growing pit in their core and the part of them that wants to call the technician. 

The generators stutter again as they reach for a fallen toy, this time bringing with it a crawling up their spine that makes them shudder. It takes them a moment to regain their composure and continue working, doubling their efforts to search their surroundings for the thing, unsure whether they want to find it in the shadows or not. 

Their mind continues to turn as they clean and search, startling at themselves in muddy reflections and dancing around deep shadows. 

The technician should be safe, right? They did what the monster had asked. 

It promised they'd be safe. 

It promised. 

They pause, rag pressed to a stain on the padded floor. Their rays rattle against their faceplate as they recall the conversation. 

It… didn't. 

>> <<

 

I brought the entire Theater Project file home the next morning, after Dave practically forced me to go home despite my protests. I don't think I'd be technically allowed to bring schematics out of the pizzaplex normally, but these files are so old I don't think anyone would notice or mind. 

Michael is happy to see me home, at least, and follows me around the house as I settle back in for a bit. She's content to curl up with me after I eat and shower for a nap that goes longer than I mean it to, purring like a rusty diesel engine the whole way. 

I try to enjoy whatever's left of the forced day off I have when I wake back up, but despite my best efforts the Theater Project is nagging at me in the back of my mind until my fingers are itching to work again. The rest of the day is spent in the basement in my workshop, if nothing else just to tinker and brush up on my coding knowledge to soothe my shaking hands.  I idly work on a little wind-up frog as I pour over both the schematics and my coding manuals, starting to get a better idea of what Sun was supposed to do as I go, though I'm primarily using context clues to figure out what things mean. It's like half the code was written in straight-up gibberish. 

Ignoring the gibberish, apparently the original programming had a “stage” mode and a “walkabout” mode, which gave the theater bots two different personalities depending on which mode they were in, like a more complicated version of the glamrocks. 

“Stage” mode was the actual theater programming – telling them what to do for shows and to focus solely on the other.

“Walkabout” mode was for free roaming, obviously, meant to keep them harmless when interacting with humans. Guess they forgot to put that on the Moon prototype. 

I parse through the Moon schematics and find that with all the scribbles and red-lining, forgetting to make the bot “safe” is exactly what happened. The program isn't even finished, stopping part way through the “show” protocol, though between the gibberish code and the excessive red scribbling, it's impossible to tell what the show protocol was even supposed to be. 

The buzz of my phone on the desk pulls me from my thrall. I pick it up to check it, greeted by a text from none other than Dave. 

‘Building's closed the rest of the week because of the construction. The contractors need the weekend to make tunnels. Everything's gonna be shut off.’

I frown slightly. That puts a kink in my plans. I shift the phone closer to me to type back. ‘Everything? Even the bots?’ 

‘Yep. We're shutting the bots down tonight for the weekend.’ 

I groan softly. ‘Do you need me to come in to shut off the staff bots?’ 

‘Nah, I got it. Enjoy your time off :)’  

‘Alright. Let me know if you need anything.’ I set my phone down and stretch back in my chair, looking up at the ceiling as I try to think of what to do next. 

Hopefully they'll remember Sun as well so he won't be alone. 

 

>> << 

 

The Attendant pauses as the lights in their room flicker, listening to the generators in the daycare beyond the curtain roar to life as the rest of the building goes dark. 

They gently put down the stack of drawings they were adding to the strings of yarn that criss-cross just above their head across the room – most of them are already so fully lined with drawings that the yarn has begun to fray at the anchors in the walls – and carefully tip toe over the dozens of discarded plushies and toys on the floor to reach the singular, small stage vanity in the corner. 

They check the thick charging cable that hangs next to the vanity for power to make sure the power outage is just the nightly shut off, even though they're sure it's far too early for that. 

The plug gives a jolt of static electricity as they plug it into their chest casing, but though they can feel it plugged in, there's no rush of power flowing through the cable to charge them. 

A pit sinks in their core as realization sets in. They're quick to unplug the cable and button their vest back up, hesitant hands digging in the vanity drawers until they find a hefty-looking flashlight. They flick the flashlight on and off to make sure it still works as the overhead lights flicker again, the generators outside stalling for just a moment. They're almost empty. They haven't had a chance to recharge them today, and with no building power to draw from, the actual function of the engines is temporary at best. 

Their mind flicks between all the possible reasons for the power going out, quickly moving from actual possibilities into things just believable enough to be plausible the more they think. 

Maintenance? A power outage? Flipped breakers? Sabotage? Was the daycare closed permanently? Is this some kind of nightmare?

They clutch the flashlight close to their chest, listening to the generators outside already beginning to wind down. All they can do is stand and stare at the curtains that separate their room from the rest of the daycare, eyes wide and frame beginning to shake as they half expect something to come through the doorway. Was the monster behind this? Is it coming back for them? Is there something even worse outside? 

They sink down slowly against the wall, bringing their knees up to be as small as possible as they keep their eyes focused on the curtain. They could swear they can hear something moving between the waving whine of the engines. As the lights overhead begin to dim, they click the flashlight on, focusing the beam up under their chin to stave off the growing tension of the darkening room. Though the bright light loosens their joints again, it doesn't keep them from shaking. 

The generators eventually die all at once, silence and deep darkness coming crashing down around them. They can hear it even clearer now, the tip-tip-tip of feet just outside, drawing ever closer. They can practically imagine what's out there, claws tapping at the ground as it stalks toward them, it's breathing labored from a deformed, horrific maw, huge, and strong, and- 

They yelp and point the light at the curtains as they see them part for just a moment, the fabric still shifting side to side in the light. They find no monster to hunt them, eye-lights flickering in confusion as instead they find the relatively small spider-like form of a mini music man. 

The spider peeks between the curtains curiously at them, gnashing its teeth and trilling a few notes of its music box as a greeting. 

The Attendant takes a deep breath, slumping back against the wall. They set the flashlight down next to them, turning the beam upward so the light disperses more around the room. “Y-you scared me.” They murmur at the small robot. They drop their legs into a more comfortable criss-cross position, extending a hand out toward the spider.  “C-come here.” 

The music bot trails its way over to them, cocking its head to one side to look up at them. It looks dirty, with dust and unidentifiable grime coating its plastic, and the small cymbals in its hands have chips along the edges. 

“H-hi, friend,” They say softly, managing a soft smile, “Wh-what are you doing he-ere?” 

The music man gnashes its teeth, playing a few upbeat notes and banging its cymbals. The noise is tinny and muted. 

The Attendant laughs softly, “R-really? I-is that why yo-ou’re so dirty?” 

They’re greeted by more plucky, excited notes as they turn toward the vanity, moving slow joints to open the drawer and dig out a cleaning rag. 

“Mhm, I s-see.” They sit back against the wall, lightly gesturing toward the mini music man with the rag. “W-would you like to g-get clean?” 

It eagerly trills a note and scuttles up into their lap at the invitation, bouncing with excitement until they gently put their hand on its head to calm it. 

“I can't c-clean you if y-you're moving so m-m-much.” They chastise gently. 

The spider bot manages to settle itself after a moment, allowing the larger bot to begin wiping it down. 

“Th-thank you.” The Attendant shifts to properly cradle the small bot in their lap before they begin to actually wipe the music man down, taking care around any potentially delicate or cracked pieces or joints. 

The mini music man continues to trill and chirp as they clean, likely recounting more of its musical adventures throughout the pizzaplex. The Attendant reacts accordingly based off the tone and length of the notes they hear, though the actual language the music men use to speak escapes them. The spider doesn't seem to notice, though, content to ramble away to itself.  

The cleaning and the talking is just enough of a distraction to keep them from thinking about their draining battery and the things that lurk out in the dark. 

Enough that they don't notice the clicking coming from the shadows in the rafters. 

 

>> << 

 

The rest of the week crawls by, leaving me itching to work. By Monday there's more toys and knick knacks on my workshop shelves than I know what to do with. 

I'll figure out what to do with the rest later. For now, I stick one of the music boxes in my pocket and trek to work for the start of second shift. It'll be easier to avoid suspicion and keep everyone safe if I work on this during the night shift. 

 

More than once, I swear I hear that thing clicking behind me, even though the main lights are still on. I don't dare look back. Just in case. 

I'm only half focused on what I should be working on until everyone else has left for the day, mostly using finishing the night guard prototype as a way to expend all the energy I couldn't get rid of over the weekend and calm my nerves. That's not to say I'm slacking or half-assing my work, of course, something as crucial as a security system deserves at least a little bit of care. It'll be easier to revise things once I figure out a way to get rid of the not-attendant currently roaming the halls, though. 

I'm able to properly think again once my hands stop shaking, turning over ideas for how to deal with the monster in my mind as the hours go by. 

Wrangle it? It's too big for that. 

Reason with it? I don't think that's possible. Even if it were sentient. 

Break it? Maybe, if I can get a weapon and get close enough without dying. 

Part of me wonders if there’s anything useful in that room that held the thing. Maybe it’s worth poking around in there again, if nothing else just rule out options. 

 

I’m still mulling over ideas when I close up the workshop for the night, only half focused on my surroundings as I pack things up. The main lights shut off as I’m putting my jacket back on, the backup lights blinking to life. 

Idly, I check my phone before putting it in my pocket. Still no pings from Sun. Hopefully that's a good thing. 

I listen carefully for a moment as I open the workshop doors, peering into the hall. I half expect a face to be staring back at me or hear that ominous clicking, but the maintenance halls are still and silent. 

The deep breath I take is shaky, though I can't tell if it's from being of what's out there or the lingering itch in my fingers. 

I step out into the hall, making the nighttime lights blink on at my feet, and turn to head up to the Daycare. 

 

The Daycare is fully dark when I creak the door open, the playsets looming large at the edges of the square of light that comes through the door with me. My own shadow seems to move bizarrely as I move into the big room. 

“Sun?” I call cautiously, leaving the maintenance door open to give myself a bit of light while I pull my pen light from my pocket. The Attendant’s name echoes uselessly in the enclosed space as I venture further in, earning no response. 

“Hellooo,” I lean and step carefully, sweeping the beam of my pen light across the empty skeletons of the playsets. “Anyone home?” 

Jingling comes from somewhere nearby, accompanying a few discordant notes of a music box. I hold my breath and quickly turn to chase the sound with my light, catching sight of something crawling between the structures. 

I try not to make too much noise as I slowly take a few steps back away from where I see movement. A moment later, another trilling of a music box comes from closer behind me, making me spin back to face it. 

A yelp rips from my throat as I catch sight of a pale face, pitch black eyes, and gnashing teeth, stumbling back into one of the playsets. The thump of my chest on the barely padded bars knocks the rest of the scream out of me all at once, cutting the noise short. I grab at the bars in an attempt to stay upright, pointing my light at the face. It’s much lower than I feel it should be. 

…Huh? 

Clearing my vision from the brief panic, I look down to find a mini music man standing square in the beam of my flashlight, the spider-robot tilting its head to one side as it trills a few notes of its music box at me. 

I try not to grimace at the creepy toy. “…Hey… Buddy.” I resist the urge to crawl up the side of the playset at my back, just to put distance between me and the thing at my feet. “You seen Sun?” 

It gnashes its teeth, peering at me with its big, empty eyes. Eugh. I watch the toy turn a circle, then patter off into the darkness, it occurring to me after a moment that I should follow before it gets away. 

I shove myself off the playset and stumble slightly before I regain my footing, training my light on the spidery robot. I try not to shudder at how it moves. Of all the things Fazbear Entertainment has designed, these roaming toys are perhaps the worst. What kid would want a freaky spider-centaur thing with cymbals? 

I follow the mini music man up a short flight of stairs at the back of the Daycare, leading to a small ledge up just above the maintenance door. There’s an arched entryway in the wall, blocked by an old and fraying curtain covered in glow-in-the-dark stars. The original blues and yellows have faded into muddy greys, though my flashlight draws a bit of light from the faded fabric. 

The spidery toy slips behind the curtain without hesitation, and I’m not far behind, reaching with one hand to drag the curtain open, lifting the light with my other hand to see what’s beyond. 

I’m greeted by a small, messy room. Strings of yarn stretch wall to wall just above head height, each and every one of them weighed down with dozens upon dozens of children’s drawings hanging from clothespins. There’s various pieces of furniture scattered about the floor — Most of them no longer functional, looking like they’ve been purposefully shattered. Yellow-orange paint is scraped off on the pieces of plastic and metal chairs, and a large bean bag sits torn in one corner, spilling a mix of stuffing and beans onto the floor from a large rip in the side — and more drawings and posters sit in various states of balled up and dirty on the floor, beaten into the ground by footfall. A vanity mirror sits in the back corner next to a charging cable that hangs from the ceiling, my light finding the music man again as it pitter-patters into the room, back toward the vanity mirror. 

Following it, my light finds the slumped form of a lifeless Sun, sitting cross legged next to the vanity. A dirty rag is still loosely clutched in one of their hands, even as their joints sit loose and unpowered. The music man climbs up into their lap and makes itself comfortable as it looks back at me. 

“Oh, Sun…” I sigh quietly as I crouch down beside them, attempting to ignore the creepy toy staring at me as I look the sunny attendant over, tucking my light behind my ear to point it at what I’m doing. Luckily, it looks like they’re just out of power, though now that I'm up close, the gashes in their stomach and arm casings were definitely no playground accident.  I find a heavy looking flashlight beside them as well; also out of batteries upon testing. 

I set the light on the vanity and carefully open the buttons of Sun’s vest, feeling along the painted plastic until I find the release button that pops open their casing. Standing up and reaching to pull down the thick charging cable, I try not to get too distracted by inspecting their chest and skeleton looking for their primary charging port, finding it on the lower left of their chest. The cable fits into place with a soft click, a small light blinking on next to it to indicate that it’s powered and charging them. 

I sigh and sit on the floor in front of them, leaning my chin on one hand. I idly let my eyes slide over their exposed endoskeleton in their chest, interested by how much they differ from the S.T.A.F.F. Bots and the glamrocks. A thin metal casing made in the vague shape of a human rib cage protects their core, though I’m able to catch glimpses of motors and wires through the vent slots carved in the sides. There’s something else hidden deep in their chest as well, something that pulses slowly with a soft red light. I can only assume it's their core, though I can’t say I know exactly what it is. Just something else unique to the Attendant, I suppose. Maybe I can ask them about it later. 

 

My eyes have glazed over when their fans finally kick back on. I look back to their face, sitting up again as the ring LED’s in their eyes flicker on and calibrate themselves. 

“Hey.” I greet softly, stretching a bit to ease the gathered ache in my back.  

“H-Hey,” Their joints hiss as the hydraulics re-pressurize, slowly bringing them to sitting up again. “Y-you’re back.” 

“Course I am,” I huff, “I check on all my bots.” 

“…A-ah, right,” They glance down at the music man still nestled in their lap, reaching to gently pat it on the top of its head. “S-So… why are you h-here?” 

“Checking in, mostly,” I shrug, “Making sure you’re alright after the long weekend. Sorry I didn’t come check on you sooner, Dave said he’d come shut you down.” 

“Oh, th-that’s alright, really,” They wave a hand, their smile somewhat nervous, “I-I’d much rather j-just r-run out of p-p-power.” 

I hum, “If you say so. Everything working alright?” 

“Y-yup! E-everything’s fine,” Sun nods, stretching their wavy grin at me. 

“You sure? Nothing’s broken or anything?” I look them over again, leaning slightly to get a better look with my light. 

“M-mhm!” Sun nods, “I-I’ll be fine o-once the, the lights come o-on tomorrow.” 

“Ah, right, I forgot you can't move in the dark.” I tap at my mask, “That makes things interesting.” 

“M-makes what in-nteresting?” Sun tilts his head slightly. 

“My plan.” I twist to look toward the curtain. 

“…Plan?” Sun sounds bewildered. 

“For trapping the thing.” I explain, “I wanted to ask you to help.” 

“Help?” Their smile warps into a sort of distressed frown, able to attend to the music man vying for attention in their lap without more than glancing down. 

“Yeah,” I rest my elbows on my knees, “The room that holds that thing — The Light Room — it has a light switch on a timer. I can lure it back there, I just need someone to flip the switch before I get there.” 

The worry lines on their face deepen. Their voice distracts me from studying their faceplate again, “I-I don’t… know if th-that’s a good i-idea.” 

“Having you help, or the whole plan?” I raise an eyebrow. 

“Yes. Both.” They rattle their rays. 

”I’m assuming that’s a no, then.” I sigh, “Alright.” 

“I-I- Well-“ They hesitate, “I-I just.. d-don’t know how much h-help I can be.” 

“All you’d have to do is flip a light switch,” I assure them, “If everything goes according to plan, it should be easy for me to lure it back to the server room and get it back in the Light Room before the timer goes off.” 

“Hang o-on, b-back up,” They lift their hands, much to the music man’s chagrin, “ Wh-what, exactly , is this pla-an of yours?” 

“I’m… still working on that.” I admit, clearing my throat sheepishly, “I just need to lure the thing in and lead it back to the room. How I’m gonna lure it is… in the works, let’s say.” 

He raises his eyebrows at me. “Th-that’s not a p-plan.” 

“I’m working on it!” I protest. “It’s not not a plan.” 

He hums disapprovingly, pulling his smile into an approximation of a frown. 

I put my hands up, “Look, I’m so close to fixing things. I just need to know if you’re in or not.” 

They hesitate, glancing around the room. “….I… I don’t kn-know. Th-that thing s-seems… dangerous.” 

I gesture vaguely at him. “That’s the whole reason I’m trying to get rid of it.” 

I watch as he nervously wrings his hands, producing the sound of plastic scraping on plastic. Their face pieces shift to deepen the worry crossing their face. 

No use. No help. Why would anyone help? 

It’s your fault. 

After giving Sun a moment or two to think, I sigh, “Nevermind, don’t worry about it. I’m sure I can figure something out.” I reach to pat him on the shoulder. 

He grabs my wrist as I reach out, tightening his grip to be firm, but not painful. His faceplate sets with furrowed brow as he looks up at me. “N-No.” They assert, “I-I… I want to help.” 

I blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift and touch. 

“T-Tell me how to h-help.” They insist, shifting to be firmly holding my hand in both of theirs. “I-I want to m-make everything r-right again.” 

I try not to appear too relieved, putting my other hand on theirs. “I have a plan. I just need someone to flip a switch for me.” 

“Th-That's all?” They glance down, hasty to release their grip on my hands.

“The Light Room is on a timer. If you can flip the switch before I get there with it,” I lean toward them, “I can trap it in there for good.” 

“A-and we’re s-sure that’ll work.” Sun confirms. 

“It’s the only shot we have.” I nod, “Just have to figure out how to get it there. Then once I have its attention, I can ping you like how you can ping me—“ I grab my phone from my pocket, “— and you can be waiting for us there.” 

“O-Okay.” He nods slowly at me. “I-is there a-any other way I can he-elp?” 

“No, I can handle the rest.” I turn over the thought in my mind again. Yeah, should be doable. Just lure a giant, smart killer robot back to the place it’s already escaped from once, without ever seeing it. Perfectly doable. I just have to not think about it too much. “I need to work on things a little more, and then we can take this thing down. Sound good?” 

“S-Sounds good.” Sun agrees. 

My eyes slide down to their open torso again as we fall into silence. The red pulsing glow is gone now, hidden in their humming systems. Some part of me wonders if the monster has that same glow in their core. 

I lightly shake my head and adjust how I’m sitting to clear the thoughts. No, I can’t start asking questions. Not now. 

“Well,” I break the silence to distract myself, “Anything feel broken? Systems still good? I can fix you more once all this is sorted, I promise.” 

“O-oh, yeah, e-everything’s fine.” They adjust the contented music man in their lap, “J-Just low on powe-er, is all.” 

“Do you want company while you charge, or…?” I gesture a bit with the somewhat awkward question, not wanting to leave them alone unnecessarily, despite being distracted by the tasks at hand. 

“O-oh, no, no,” They wave a hand, “I-it’s fine, i-if you have things to do, g-go do them.” 

“You sure?” I shift to rise back to my feet. 

“Y-yeah, yeah, o-of course,” They rattle their rays a bit in a nod. “G-go save us all, h-hero.” They say the title teasingly, making me roll my eyes. 

“Uh-huh, hero, that’s me.” I double check my pockets for my things before grabbing the big flashlight off the vanity and opening it in order to pop the dead batteries out. Sun directs me toward replacements in one of the drawers — unable to get them himself, since my pen light had to move away from looking at them so I can see what I’m doing — and I make sure to reload the light and make sure it works properly before returning it to him. 

 

I’m hasty to make my way back down into the tunnels, bootsteps echoing as I practically sprint back to the workshop to grab a couple tools before I finally return to the server room. I have a plan now, and by the gods am I gonna make sure it works. 

Motion sensing lights buzz on with the creak of the server room door as I push my way into the room, stepping over cables to head back to the back of the room where the Light Room patiently waits. 

I squint as I unlock and open the rusted door again, this time prepared for the bright light that assaults me from inside the small room. 

I feel along the wall until I find the light switch, finding the screws on the cover first before I turn it off so I can grab my screwdriver from my pocket and get the cover off without waiting for my eyes to adjust. I feel the plastic and small screws fall gently into my hands after a moment, tucking them and my screwdriver back in my jacket pocket in exchange for a pen light to see what I'm doing. 

I click the small light on and tuck it behind my ear, tilting my head slightly to point it at the switch and the mechanism behind it. I'm greeted by a simple looking timer board that sits completely loose behind the switch, jury-rigged wiring connecting it to the switch itself. It looks rushed, to say the least, but workable. 

Should be easy enough to adjust the length of the timer if I just pull it out and bring it back to the shop to reprogram it. 

Taking it out without destroying it might be an issue, though. The board itself is just barely small enough to fit behind the light switch, with minimal wiggle room to pull it out. I’ll have to take out the whole switch to get to the board.

A soft sigh escapes me, the hum of the server room settling into my ears as I begin to work away, tools clicking rhythmically against the switch. Disconnecting things takes longer than I first expected, as pulling the light switch out of the wall unveils the full extent of the behemoth that is Fazbear brand electrical work hiding behind the board, but it’s easy enough to snip the wires a little behind the board to fully disconnect the whole mechanism and mostly tuck the rest of the clown handkerchief of wires back into the socket. 

I turn over the switch mechanism in my hands, looking it over for a moment as the clicking of metal on drywall and metal from my tools lingers in my ears. I should be able to work with this. 

The clicking persists even as I make my way back out of the server room, following me all the way back through the dimmed halls to the workshop doors, though it stops once I actually step back inside. I don't think much of it. Hallucinations like to mimic real things often, focusing on them just distracts me from my work. 

It takes me a bit to find a connector that works with both my computer and the tiny slap-dashed board, but once I do reprogramming it is actually pretty easy. I adjust the timer down from a minute to only ten seconds, figuring that's more than enough time for what I need. It's not like the Light Room is ever going to be opened again, after all. 

At least, not if I have anything to say about it. 

I'm quick to clean the whole switch mechanism up best I can, the clicking still lingering in the halls even as I make my way back to the server room. Odd, usually hallucinations don't have specific rooms they stay in. I pause mid-step, listening as the hall lights flicker. It seems darker in the hall than it was earlier. Was it always this dark? My pen light is still on, maybe I just didn't notice before. 

I fully stop and take a moment to look around, frowning slightly at the seemingly empty hall. The clicking has stopped now that I've stopped to listen. 

I cast a glance behind me, searching the hall for any openings where something could be watching me from. My eyes trail up to the vents that sit in between the overhead lights. 

Slowly, I turn and take a few steps further down the hall, making it sound as normal and unsuspecting as possible. 

The clicking follows, hanging somewhere above and behind me. 

I stop again. 

Silence. 

Step. Step. Step. Step. 

Tk-tka-tk-tka. 

Step step step step. 

Tk-tka-tk-tka. 

Stepstepstepstep– 

I'm sprinting by the time my hands slam into the server room door. I can hear the vents rattling just behind me, the lights in the hall going out entirely as I turn to slam the door shut.

There's no time to catch my breath. I have to get the switch back in before it finds me. 

I don't feel my body thunk against the server shelves as I stumble toward the back of the room, but the sound of knocking metal is deafening in my ears. 

I can hear the thing slamming repeatedly into the server room door. 

Just a little further. The closet is still open. 

A scream burns unsaid in my chest as I hear the door shatter. Not now. Not now.

How did it know?

I lunge for the open closet as I hear mechanical joints scream, feeling air rush across my back as giant claws swipe through the air and catch one of my legs, slamming me down. I hit the ground hard, the switch falling from my hands to skitter across the floor until it hits the back wall of the closet, just beyond my reach. 

Gasping for breath, I try to drag myself fully into the dark Light Room. My pen light is as shaky as my vision, trained on the fallen switch. 

If I can just get there– 

A growl comes from above me, deep and guttural, from the depths of machinery. 

I freeze. 

The light. 

It can see– 

For a split second, I feel my nose break as claws bigger than my head slam me into the concrete floor. 

Then everything fills with dark static. 

 

"I  F O U N D   Y O U."

Notes:

MC the whole chapter: oobh I got plany off time.
Proto!Moon: [smug face emoji]

Chapter 5: Adrenaline Rush

Summary:

nothing Everything is going according to plan.
CW: GORE. DEAD BODIES. Horror

Somewhere in the swimming depths of pain that fills my mind and body, I'm able to catch glimpses of vague feelings that appear across my body – The rhythmic scrape of vent seams catching on my clothes, the sting of a tight, crushing grip on my already broken calf, that ever-incessant clicking – giving me some kind of image to work with for my brief moments of thought as I'm dragged across the Pizzaplex.

Even used to thinking amidst brain fog and pounding headaches as I am, I'm left at the mercy of my surroundings and the thing gripping my leg. I can only try to grab onto any sense of consciousness for so long before the pain properly overwhelms me, pulling me so deep under that even vague feelings fade away.

I can only hope it thinks I'm already dead, and won't come back to finish the job later. 

 

My body aches as I crawl my way back to consciousness sometime later, my eyes peeling open to near pitch-darkness. I can feel the blood crusted onto my face, making my mask stick to my skin, accompanying the pounding in my head. I try to make sense of what happened, thinking through the pain to try and figure out where I might be. 

Shifting to try and look around, I find I'm lying on what feels like piles of clothes, though the weight and squish is wrong for just fabric. Whatever it is, it feels lukewarm and sticky as my hands and feet catch on odd bumps and ridges as I move to my hands and knees. 

Slowly, as I move, my eyes begin to adjust to the darkness. It's not as pitch black as it seemed at first glance, but it's pretty damn close, the only sources of light being emergency lights along distant walls. I look down to make sense of what's beneath me with the added sense, almost immediately wishing I didn't. 

Bile rises in my throat as I'm faced with bodies. Dozens of bodies, piled atop one another like some kind of twisted cairn. All mangled in some way, broken limbs and slit throats and missing features. All wearing security guard uniforms. 

I rear back with a mix of surprise, fear, and disgust roiling in my stomach, suddenly aware of the gooey blood and puss that now coats my hands as I haul myself to my feet to stagger back. I'm immediately brought back to my knees by a flash of searing pain as I attempt to put any weight on it at all, feeling broken bones grind against one another as I find that my right pant leg is ripped and wet with still-warm blood as I stand.

Shit. I have to move, I have to–

 

Click-click-click-click. 

 

I freeze as the noise that haunts my dreams comes from somewhere entirely too close directly behind me. Slowly, I look toward the noise, holding my breath. 

The schematics really didn't do this thing justice. It's much, much worse in person.

Even in the dim light, its face stands out, a pale silvery-blue disk with a sharp-toothed smile and large, empty eye sockets carved into it. For a moment in my semi-addled brain, I almost think it's Sun, with its cracked nose sticking out from its face and its smile making swirls at its cheeks. 

Framing its face is fur that's so matted and dirty that it looks brown, though there's still hints of its original white beneath the dirty greys and browns. Its entire body is coated in grime; a mix of what I can only assume is blood and grease and other various sludge picked up from crawling in the walls. The thing is so thoroughly dirty that it's nearly impossible to figure out its original colors, the stippled texture hiding most of the chipping paint across its body and face. A large hood with a long tail hangs over one of its shoulders as it sits crouched on the bodies like some kind of uncanny gargoyle, its long, blood-soaked claws splayed inches from my feet, the sharp undersides digging more gashes in the still-fresh corpses. The thing dwarfs the bodies below it, easily twice the size of the average human. Me included. 

It's hard to do much more than stare wide-eyed at it for several heartbeats too long, my eyes fixed on where the thing’s eyes should be as the lensless holes bore into my soul. 

Its gears click as it slowly tilts its head in a movement more like rotating its face rather than leaning its head to one side, the rotation making its bendy neck bunch up. Light sensors glimmer in its eye sockets like forgotten stars as they catch the dim light from distant emergency lights.

I carefully flip onto my back and begin to move again as it continues to stare, gritting my teeth in a silent hiss of pain as I put weight on the gashes in my leg, forcing myself to slowly back up the pile of corpses away from the thing. 

It continues to watch me, letting me get about five feet away before it moves to follow me, its movements uncanny and spider-like as it slowly crawls with long limbs. 

I try to feel for my phone, my flashlight, something, anything. A decent sized piece of trash to throw would do, even. My hand finds objects still in my pockets to my relief, though the viscera coating my hand makes it hard to grab anything. 

C’mon, c’mon– 

My other hand grasps at empty air as I reach to scoot backward again, making my back sink into the squishy corpses, the smell of rotting flesh enveloping me. I can feel various oozes soak through my jacket and into my shirt, biting back a gag as I glance over my shoulder. It's all downhill from here, quite literally. 

I look back at the robot as it follows me, getting closer by the second as it crawls with its limbs splayed out and its body down low, the remains of its jester collar just barely brushing across the ground. The large bell on the end of its hat bounces from catching on edges, jingling erratically behind it. 

I direct shaking hands into my pockets to thoroughly dive for my phone, feeling lightheaded. In another second and another foot of movement from the robot my phone is in my hand, another second it's up and unlocked with some fumbling from slick fingers, another second I'm blinded as I take a picture of the thing, the flash filling the darkness around us for just a moment. I hear its gears scream as I bring my other hand to cover my eyes and attempt to duck away from the light, feeling the movement shift the body bracing my back, sending me tumbling down the side of the cairn. 

I'm plunged down the other side of the hill all at once, rolling until I slam into the wall next to one of the emergency lights. Dead hands grasp at me as I fall, as if to keep me among them, to trap me so that the thing can catch up. 

Pure unadulterated fear forces me to my feet and down the tunnel with lurching steps. 

I don't look back, acutely aware of the presence of the clicking behind me as I hear it follow, or try to. Even with the help of adrenaline I can feel the full extent of the break in my leg, the grating of mismatched bones and extra sink with every other step sending lightning strikes of dizzying pain through my body. 

Can't stop. Don't stop. No one is going to find you if you stop. 

I force myself forward, into the man-made tunnels, despite the conflicting signals of my body screaming at me to stop while my brain begs me to keep going. It's hard to tell if the mechanical grating noises I begin to hear behind me in the tight space are real or not, and I'm not about to look back and find out how close the thing might be in its pursuit. 

Somewhere in my mind I recall the plan. The Light Room. I have to get this thing back into the Light Room. 

It's getting hard to think as I run, directing my swimming gaze to the tight ceiling to find the utility pipes. Seems like I'm going the right way, at least. 

My footing falters for just a moment as I trip and bite back a scream, just long enough I can hear the mechanical footsteps that follow me. I dare to glance back as I regain my footing. 

The red eye-lights have flickered back on in its eye sockets as it walks after me, its sharp teeth clacking with malicious delight. It's practically doubled over on its feet to fit in the tunnel, arms hanging forward and swaying side to side with forward falling steps, its claws occasionally scraping the ground. 

“Alright, motherfucker,” I force my legs to start moving again, even while my voice shakes with fear and pain, “Let's dance.” 

A limp solidifies in my gait as I keep moving in an attempt to minimize pain and maximize movement. Luckily, the emergency lights seem just bright enough that I’m able to stay just ahead of the thing pursuing me. 

That, or it's intentionally just following me for some reason. 

Somehow that idea is more terrifying than just being hunted. 

 

The tunnels pass by in a blur, the grinding of the thing's joints digging into my brain as it sits just behind me. Space. I have to put space between me and it somehow. I can't outrun this thing, especially not with my leg the way it is right now. I have to dupe it. 

My eyes frantically search the blurred glimpses of the tunnels as I run, searching for any hint of an out, a corner, a door, something to put between me and it. Dim and dead exit signs hang overhead, pointing me further down the hall. A glimmer of hope sparks in my burning chest at the signs, making me press my gaze further forward, to catch a glimpse of salvation. 

Instead, what I find in the man-made labyrinth ahead of me is a fast approaching dead end. The building hope in my chest drops down into my limping feet like a ton of bricks, practically throwing me off balance. 

No way out . 

I yelp as I hear it coil and lunge behind me, flinging myself desperately to one side as it slams itself into the concrete wall. I feel my body slam into a door, the rusted hinges giving way under the force, the light metal bouncing up as I follow it to the floor, knocking the wind from my lungs. Breathless, hearing the thing stall from where it hit the wall behind me, I scramble into the room I collapsed into, blurry vision taking inventory of where I ended up. 

It looks like Parts & Service upstairs, but I'm too deep down for that. This place looks much, much older than anything else I've seen in the Pizzaplex; a thick, choking cloud of dust kicked up from my unceremonious entrance fills my lungs. There's a few work tables and an old office setup with a monitor and a PC; the tables are filled with parts that look to match the monster or the Daycare Attendant, further confirmed by the half-built skeleton sitting on the table closest to me. Without its casing it looks… Disturbingly human. Part of me wonders if Sun and this thing look that human beneath it all, too. Old, dust-covered schematics hang on the walls, too far away for me to read right now. 

I'm distracted from my cursory look around by the sound of the thing beginning to properly move again, ducking underneath the nearest table and slapping a hand over my mouth to muffle my heavy breathing.

I watch as it slowly stalks into the room, its claws screeching painfully against the fallen door, leaving gouge marks as it crawls. Its head turns slowly from side to side, the red lights in its unfinished eyes missing for the moment as it searches the room. For now, it doesn't seem to hear me, crawling further into the room toward the office space, where it hauls its upper body up, claws digging into the desktop as it looms over the space. 

I only pull my eyes away from the robot’s back for short bursts as I search the room again, crawling as quickly and quietly as I can to be underneath the other workbench. There has to be something in here. It can't just be a dead end. 

My injured foot kicks an old weight as I move, drawing a hiss from between my teeth as the weight clatters against the floor. 

I stop as I hear the bot go still, holding my breath and eyeing it where it's still focused on the other side of the room. I can hear its gears clicking as it slowly straightens up until its hood is pressed against the drop ceiling. The base of its hood twists subtly as it rolls its face partway to one side, then the other. 

I swallow bile that rises in my throat again as I realize it's listening. Waiting. 

You're going to die here and no one will know. 

Just like old times, right? 

I push away the whisper in my mind. I can't stop now. 

There, on the opposite wall, behind the desk. Another door, this one with a square frosted window at face height, and the vague shadow of a piece of paper taped to the outside. Suddenly, my location clicks in the map in my mind. I know this place. This is the foundation shop; the sunken remains of the pizzeria that Fazbear Entertainment decided was the perfect place to build their empire. All the doors down here are locked from the outside, so no one can access more than the main areas anymore – not that anyone but me cares to poke around that much. I'd wandered down here during slow days before, but never actually saw the inside of the old engineering office; staying too long always gave me a headache. 

Directing my attention back to the eerily still robot by the desk – directly in my way, because why wouldn't it be – with the added security in mind of now knowing where I am, I slowly dig in my pockets for a distraction. 

My fingers find my phone and the hardware for the light switch, both somewhat sticky with the grime soaking into my jacket. I debate for a moment throwing my phone to make noise, but decide against it as I remember the Daycare Attendant still waiting upstairs. Sun. I still have to tell Sun about all this… provided I survive, of course.

Something dings softly as my fingers hit it, making me freeze and snap my attention back to the robot. 

It clicks and twitches, before it snaps its head around all at once, twisting at the waist to face my direction, the movement wrapping the loose wires connecting its chest and hips around its spine. Its red pupils flicker as they scan the opposite side of the room. 

I suppress a shiver as those lights pass over me. Shit. Gotta be extra careful now.  

I gingerly cup the noisemaking offender in my pocket, smothering it completely in my hand to feel the shape and remind myself what it is. Right, the music box I made. I'd meant to leave it with Sun, but for the moment I'm kinda glad I forgot. I'm sure they won't mind if I use it to save my skin.

Carefully, I bring the small box out of my pocket, watching the robot through my cracked glasses as I begin to wind it up as slowly and quietly as possible. I watch the thing unwind and begin to stalk toward the benches where I'm hiding, my heart pounding harder the closer it gets. I resist the urge to sprint for the exit right this second, even though my whole body is screaming at me to run. I have to stay calm, or I'm dead for real this time. 

I glance down at the music box as I feel the winding hit its limit. I swallow hard, mouth dry. Now or never. 

I watch as it draws closer, its upper body swaying side to side with its hunched posture as it walks. I force myself to wait, one, two, three more steps, until the thing is looming over the table next to me, waiting until its systems begin to click again before I throw the music box past it, back into the hall. 

I flinch as the box clatters and skips across the ground, making the notes jump as it begins to tinkle a merry little rendition of the daycare music. The robot immediately snaps toward the noise, lunging back through the broken door after it with screaming gears. I'm already moving when it lunges, keeping my focus on the other door as I slam into it and wrench it open. I don't hear the thing immediately follow me as I haul ass through the halls of the buried diner, though as I make it to the service elevator and frantically slap at the buttons to get it to open, the echoes of its screaming gears still lingers in my ears. I glance behind me as I grab my keys from my pants pocket, picking out the tarnished elevator key on the ring and lurching into the elevator once it opens to insert the key and get the ancient metal box moving. 

I stagger back as the elevator doors close, slumping against the back wall. My hands grip at the handle to keep myself on my feet, and for a moment, my vision swims as a wave of agony from my leg overwhelms me. 

“Shit.” I hiss between gritted teeth, “C'mon, just a little longer. We're not safe yet.” 

The garbled elevator music offers little comfort or distraction, but at the very least the ride is just long enough to let me catch my breath again. 

 

The elevator opens to the familiar, less subterranean sight of one of the maintenance rooms. It takes me a few steps to regain my footing, quickly picking my pace back up to put more distance between me and the thing in the basement, though I’m paying less attention than I should be on where exactly I’m going. It’s getting hard to think through the pounding in my head and the pain in my leg. 

Hopefully it’ll stay distracted enough for the plan to work. 

 

My lungs are burning by the time I reach the atrium, barreling through the maintenance door out into the open space with desperate abandon. 

I can't think. 

Where am I?  

A frantic glance around tells me I'm in the hall to the new wing, just before the “closed for construction” signage. The opposite way, out into the atrium, I can see the back of one of Roxy's cutouts. 

My chest heaves as I launch myself back into a sprint out into the atrium, attempting to orient myself on the fly as I charge into the large open room. 

In my efforts to keep my senses cast wide to keep tabs on the monster pursuing me, I don't see the heavy body I run up on until I slam headfirst into brown and cream casings. 

“Woah!” Freddy's voice sounds a hundred miles away as he turns around. 

All I register as I stumble back are large claws grabbing me, a scream catching painfully in my dry, raw throat, making a strangled noise more like a dying animal than a person. 

“What is the matter, employee?” The bear animatronic helps me stay upright as he looks me over, immediately looking worried as he does. “What happened to you?” 

It takes a few seconds too long for my brain to catch up enough for my body to stop thrashing in his grip. “Freddy? Freddy.” My voice sounds about as painful as it feels. I grab his arms with blood-crusted hands. “Let me go. You gotta let me go right now.” 

“You are heavily injured. What has happened? Where have you been?” He keeps a firm grip on me, “I will call an ambulance.” 

I grit my teeth, “Gods- There’s no time for that. Let me go. ” I make an effort to pry myself from his grip, to no avail with my shaking hands. I'm painfully aware of the time ticking away before I run out of adrenaline. Or blood. Whichever is first. “There's something following me, you have to let me go.” 

A slamming sound echoing from the direction I came from draws his attention as he goes to respond. I try again to wiggle from his grip. No luck, his rounded claws only press harder into my arms. 

“Freddy, you have to let go and get out of here,” I hiss frantically, prying at his thick paws as we hear another slam, and then another, “It will not stop at you , got it?” 

“I will keep you safe from threats until help arrives,” Freddy asserts. He loosens his grip to bend and pick me up, furrowing his brow at me when I take the opportunity to shove myself away, out of reach. 

“You'll be safer without me here,” I regain my footing a few feet away, “ Go . Anywhere else is fine. I'm handling it.” 

“Nonsense, you are gravely injured.” He huffs at me. 

“ Freddy– ” My exasperation at the defiant bot sinks heavy into my stomach as we hear the maintenance door slam open. I hiss a curse, ducking into a crouch as I see Freddy turn toward the sound, his eye lights the only light aside from the dim nighttime lights on the balconies. So much for my lead over the thing. 

“Who is there?” I wince as Freddy calls out into the dark. 

“Don't call out to it!” I hiss, hobbling to hide beneath the nearest table. 

He continues to ignore my warnings. “I will have you know the Pizzaplex is currently closed,” He tries to peer into the hall as the echoes of the slam begin to fade, “Unless you have permission to be here, you are trespassing.” 

One moment. Two. 

Silence. 

My heart pounds in my chest as I stare into the hall. I want so badly to call out to Freddy, to warn him, to save him. 

Too late.

First, we see those bright red pupils flicker on in the distant dark. 

Then, it rattles its systems in such a way it sounds like a horrible, screeching laugh. 

All at once, it sprints toward us at inhuman speed, closing the gap between itself and Freddy in seconds. 

I cover my mouth with one hand to stifle another yelp as I crawl as quickly and quietly as I can out from under the table and get back to my feet, only catching a glimpse of Freddy bracing for impact before I'm sprinting across the room. The haunting sounds of Freddy yelling in pain and the ripping of plastic and metal follow me as I make it to the maintenance door on the opposite side of the atrium. I can still hear the fight when I make it through the door, though the sounds are muted once it's shut behind me. 

Sorry, Freddy. At least you bought me some time.

 

My top speed begins to slow as it gets harder and harder to move. I can hear my labored breathing filling the halls as I trek toward the breaker room. 

Just a little longer , I tell myself, air whistling in my throat as I gasp for breath. 

I hear it enter the halls as I reach the breaker room door, the night lights flickering and going out with a chorus of pops. It's horrible laugh echoes faintly all the way down the corridors, putting some panicked spring back in my step as I slip into the breaker room and slam the door shut behind me. 

I can feel myself starting to shake as I back away from the door, fighting back the panic that threatens to overwhelm me. It takes me a moment to realize I'm just staring at the door, mentally kicking myself back into gear as I turn and limp my way into the back of the room. 

The Light Room still sits open and dark, exactly how I left it. A large splatter of my own blood sits in the doorway, dragged out and to one side into the server room, long dried by this point. I have to scrounge around the floor for a bit to find the reprogrammed light switch, though from there I can mostly force my shaky hands to reattach it to the wires in the wall and start shoving it back in the hole I pulled it out of. The overhead lights flicker on as I complete the circuit, making me squint as my headache is made ten times worse. 

I'm fumbling for the hardware still in my pocket to screw it back on when I hear the robot start slamming itself against the server room door. 

My heart jumps into my throat. No. No, I'm not ready yet. It can't be here yet. 

The rising panic makes my hands shake more, my body startling with every slam against the outside door. I'm hissing curses between my teeth as I fumble in the bright light overhead, the dull glint of hardware the only thing my brain can process. 

The second screw is halfway screwed down when the breaker room door is finally smashed in and sent full throttle into a couple of the server racks. The deafening crash as the racks collapse with the impact drowns out the scream drawn from my throat as I drop to the floor inside the Light Room, pressing myself against the wall just inside the door. 

I dare to peer around the doorframe as I hear its systems stutter from the impact. Its white plastics catch the light coming from the Light Room as it slowly gathers itself to stand once more, though all I can make out with the dust and distance is its silhouette and the occasional glint off its body. 

I duck away again as it lifts its face to survey its surroundings. Deep breaths. Quiet breaths

We're so close. 

I hear it start to move again after a moment, freezing me in place on the floor. I don't dare breathe as I listen to it. 

It travels slowly, meticulously. Shelves creak and bend under its weight as it climbs over them. It stops when it hits the far wall, going quiet briefly before it then begins to trek back across the room. It’s still looking for me. There's still a chance. 

I force myself to move while it's still moving, being as quiet as I can as I rise to my knees and reach up to finish screwing the light switch in. It just has to be secure enough that the wires won't get jiggled loose. 

I hold my breath and duck down as it passes by the square of light cast from the doorway. 

Now for the tricky part: Actually getting it back into the closet. Gods, Sun being here would make this a hundred times easier. 

My hand digs for my phone. Sun should know about this. They have to know. Someone has to know. Anyone at all. 

I can’t be alone here. 

I slide back down against the wall and curl myself as tight as I can manage with my stiff leg, pulling my phone from my pocket. My breathing is shaky and my hands smear more gore across the screen as I frantically unlock it. I can barely see the screen between the coating of half-dried blood and grime and the bright overhead lights, but I’m able to navigate well enough by muscle memory alone to my messages app. 

I find Sun’s systems and type out a couple messages. I think only half the letters register but I don’t have time right now to fix it. 

 

‘Its here’

’im handling it’

’stay put’

 

I have to tuck my phone away again as I hear the robot slink by outside. Noticeably, it avoids the square of light just outside the door. Good, gives me a chance to get into position before it kills me. 

I stay low and quiet, crawling my way just outside the door once I hear it make its way to the far wall again. I close my eyes for a heartbeat to steel myself, then force myself back up to my feet and reach inside the door until I find the naked light switch with my fingertips. 

I hear it start to walk back toward me. 

I take a short breath.

Ten seconds. 

“Hey! Fuckface!” I yell in the same moment I flip the lights off, feeling the timer start to tick. 

The thing clicks and growls in response, those pinpoint pupils burning into my vision as it drops onto all fours again and lunges for me. No more nuance, no more planning, no more hunting. It’s do or die now, for both of us. 

I immediately drop to the floor as it lunges, feeling its claws scrape down my back as it passes over me. 

It skids, claws digging deep gouges in the concrete floor as it digs in to turn and crawl after me. I flip myself over as it crawls up toward my feet, scrambling backward a foot or two. I scream as it reaches toward me and grabs my good leg, kicking its face with my bad leg in an attempt to put space between us. I can feel it’s already cracked nose break completely with the force of my foot, with an accompanying SNAP. Luckily, the kick seems to disorient it, its grip loosening enough for me to wiggle away and to my feet in the doorway of the Light Room. 

Five seconds. 

It rubs its claws at its face to reorient itself, red pupils focusing back on me just before it lunges again. I drop into a crouch this time, using my back to bounce the thing’s heavy body over me and into the closet. I feel my ribs bruise as I slam my body against it. Its systems stutter as it slams into the back wall, giving me just enough of a second to turn and slam the door closed in the same second that the timer ticks off. 

It screams from inside the Light Room like a murder victim. I’ve never heard a machine in so much agony before. 

I hold the door closed as the screams echo, ringing deafeningly in my ears for what seems like an eternity. When it does finally go quiet again, its instead replaced by the very distant sounds of ambulance sirens. 

My body feels weak as I scramble to put the lock back on the door, sliding down against the door once its secure again. My vision swims. Pain crawls up my body from my legs, numbness following quickly behind. 

I look out at the wrecked server room, barely conscious by the time I see a flashlight come in the door. 

“Over here!” 

Heavy bootsteps cross the room as the humanoid shadow holding the light walks over to me. It’s features swim and multiply in my vision, filtered through my broken glasses and the dancing hallucinations that occupy my mind.

A paramedic crouches down in front of me between slow blinks. I can feel my heart slowing down. 

“Stay with me. You’re gonna be okay.” They sound a million miles away. 

 

I don’t remember anything else. 

Chapter 6: Intermission

Summary:

Sun looks for ways to pass the time after MC’s disappearance, poking their nose where it doesn’t belong. Their days are more numbered than they think.
CW: Paranoia, severe injury/robot injury

‘Jts here’

‘im handling it’

‘Sty put’

 

The pings come unexpectedly, waking the attendant from their charging cycle.

MC? What are you talking about?

They pull themselves groggily into functioning, turning over the messages in their mind a few times until they're able to properly process what they say. 

 

‘MC? What do you mean?’ 

 

Their eye lights flicker on and calibrate as they message back, concern etching itself into their faceplate with soft clicks. 

 

‘What's going on? Are you okay?’

‘Hello?’

 

The messages send, but there's no immediate reply, nor any sign the engineer has seen the texts. 

A sense of wrongness begins to squirm in their stomach casing. They almost want to brush it away; they’re no stranger to anxiety after all, and there's certainly things to worry about with the monster in the halls, but this is more than simple paranoia. This is a deep-seated, gut wrenching sense of dread that grips their core as they read those three hurried and misspelled messages over and over again. 

They pull themselves off their charging cable, stepping over to the vanity to grab their flashlight. Uncertainty makes them hesitate for a moment as they turn toward the curtain, the conflicting thoughts of ‘help them’ and ‘stay put’ fighting for control in their mind. On one hand, they're certain something terrible has happened to their companion. On the other, if that's the case, that means they'd be drawing the ire of not only their companion for disobeying orders, but also the monster hunting them for interfering. 

The attendant shakes their head, making their rays rattle, and steels themselves. Now is not the time to be fearful. If MC is really in dire trouble, they have to help any way they can. 

 

The flashlight's beam sweeps wide in front of their feet as they venture down into the maintenance halls, picking up a good clipping jog that makes their bells ring. It's a good thing they brought their own light; they can hear the emergency lights popping uselessly as they trip the motion sensors. 

They have to frequently consult their internal map to find where the breaker room should be, smile pulled thin as they hope the map they have isn't too out of date. 

They stop dead as the flashlight glazes over a pop of color on the grey of the concrete at an intersection, worry clawing at the inside of their chest as they slowly bring the light to properly illuminate the source of the break in the monotony. 

A thick trail of blood lines the hall, messy and splashed about. It looks like a set of human footsteps with a frantic gait, the trail itself dragging left to right with shifting weight. The bloodier footprint is tilted at a sickening angle. Between the lurching human footsteps are the imprints of large claws, dark with chunky grime as they follow the trail off into the darkness. 

The attendant puts a hand over their mouth to force down the nausea in their systems. For once, they count themselves lucky they aren’t human, since this would surely make them lose whatever contents were in their stomach. 

No. No no no no. This can't be happening. 

 

‘MC?’ 

 

They ping the human's phone again, hoping desperately that they're just asleep for the night. At home. Where it's safe. 

 

Still nothing at all. 

 

They fiddle nervously with the gold buttons on their vest, worry and fear feeling like it'll crawl up their wires and out of their faceplate. Everything in their programming tells them to run the other way, to get help and hide somewhere safe. Still, they force themselves to turn and walk down the hall, following the trail with stiff steps. They make an effort to avoid stepping in the blood, practically clinging to the wall. 

They pause after a few minutes of walking, glancing toward the ceiling as they hear sirens somewhere overhead. 

“An am-m-mbulance…?” Even soft, the words echo down the maintenance halls. They suck in a gasp, the fear trying to crawl out of their faceplate sinking to claw at the inside of their stomach casing as the pieces click. “G-gods, no, M-M-MC–” Without thinking, the attendant picks up the pace until they're sprinting down the hall as fast as their stiff joints can move in the wildly waving light of the flashlight. 

They can hear commotion further down the hall as they approach the breaker room, turning a corner to find a group of human paramedics loading someone onto a carried stretcher. The sudden full force of the noise and the flashing lights makes them stop a ways away down the hall.

Between the loud voices and many moving flashlight beams, it's impossible to tell exactly who they're focusing on, the beams only giving the attendant flashes of various shades of red on the stretcher, but the gnawing dread within them knows exactly who’s there. They can't bring themselves to look away from the form on the stretcher until the paramedics start to move, the attendant quickly hiding behind a spare parts bin as they approach, pulling their rays into their faceplate to be less noticeable. 

Luckily, the paramedics are too focused on the person on the stretcher to take notice of the half-hidden robot. It's hard to tell what the humans are saying, with everyone talking at once and how badly the hallway echoes, but from their tone of voice it seems urgent. 

The Daycare robot peeks out from behind the bin to glimpse the group going by, pit in their core sinking even deeper at the glimpse of tangled red hair and a ripped service jacket they get. 

They're too late. They promised to keep their only friend safe and they didn't. 

They sink down against the wall behind the bin, gripping at their vest. What now? They can't deal with the monster by themselves if MC failed, and even if they somehow could outwit the beast, there's no way to bring MC back. 

They rub their face. MC is more than capable, maybe they won and it wasn't all for nothing? Maybe the monster is trapped again? The hope is vain, but it's all they have as they decide it wouldn't hurt to check the breaker room. 

The bells on their ankles jingle softly as they tiptoe down the hall and into the breaker room. The sight of the doorway into the room itself gives them pause; the door has been torn off its hinges, and lays against a toppled set of server shelves just inside. Stepping inside, half of the shelves are in some sort of disarray, peppered with claw marks and bowing and leaning this way and that, the computing machines on them blinking and beeping in distress with the damage. 

Sun feels sorry for the computers for a moment, damaged and abandoned as they are, before shaking themselves out of it. Now is not the time to be feeling empathetic toward the servers , of all things. They're just little computing boxes reporting errors. It's not like they can feel anything. 

They refocus on the task at hand, trying to ignore the soft splish of their footsteps in still fresh blood as they follow the trail to the back of the room. They have to duck around the damaged shelves that loom like giant claws, squeezing between two to bring themselves face to face with the door MC had told them about. The door itself catches the attendant off guard for a moment — The room isn’t marked on their internal map, and the engineer hadn’t actually given much detail on what to expect. The splatter and puddle of blood that drags down the bottom half of the metal and floor under the door doesn’t help the shock factor, either. Bright light leaking from under the door casts harsh highlights on the drying puddle under their feet. 

Sun forces themselves to bring their attention away from the thoughts about MC and the copious amounts of blood in the room, pressing their systems out to reach beyond the door, feeling for something, anything, inside the locked closet. The still rational part of their systems is screaming at them no, don’t do that, don’t invite in trouble but it’s overshadowed by the rest of their mind begging for something to respond. 

Please. Please let MC not have died for no reason.

 

‘LET ME OUT.’

 

The desperate screaming, clawing signal overwhelms them once their systems find it, making their knees buckle as they press their hands to the sides of their face. Once tha panic gripping them subsides, however, their face creeps back into a hesitant grin. 

They won. The monster has been defeated. Everyone is safe again. 

They look down, finding blood soaking into the knees of their pants. They can still hear the buzzing of the monster screaming from inside the Light Room. For a moment, they debate responding. They’re the only one who can talk to it, after all. 

’Scream all you want, you’re never coming back out of there.’ They blink in surprise at their own internal voice, caught off guard by how cruel they sound.  

The screaming from inside immediately stops, leaving crushing, ringing silence to fill the space between the attendant and the monster. The silence is almost worse. Almost.

’You returned for me, Little Star.’ It’s signal is muffled on the other side of the door, but even still the attendant can hear the pain and fear in it. 

‘No. I came to make sure you lost.’ They rattle their rays, defiance replacing some of the worry in their core. 

It hums. A broken sound. ‘The show must go on, Little Star. You have your role to play.’

’I’m not doing anything for you.’ Their legs creak as they regain their footing. 

‘Let me out, Star.’ 

Their face tightens into a scowl. ‘Never. Not after what you’ve done.’ 

‘Let. Me. Out. Please, Little Star.’ 

Sun takes one step back. Then another. Then yet another. Slowly backing out of range of the signal, even as it continues to speak, to ask if they're still there, to beg them to release it. They don’t dare take their eyes off the door until they’re back out in the halls, quick to turn on one toe and jog back through the halls, to the daycare. 

They try not to think about any of it as they make it back to their room, quick to start scrubbing the blood out of their pants and shoes. It’s over. There’s nothing to be done now except pretend like nothing even happened. 

Like nothing happened. Like MC and the monster didn’t even exist to begin with. 

Their hands shake as they clean, and their systems hiccup occasionally with barely suppressed sobs. 

Right. 

Nothing had even happened.

 

>> <<

 

Sun was never very good at forgetting things they wanted to forget. In the days that turned to weeks, turned to months, they couldn’t move on from the night MC was hauled away on a stretcher, the night the monster was locked away for good, no matter how hard they tried. 

It would take a while for the attendant to set foot outside of the Daycare again, though they do try to contact MC frequently in the hopes that their initial assumption was wrong. The continued silence day after day only deepens the anxious pit that gnaws at their core for the months to come, until finally one night the uncertainty is too much to ignore any longer. 

 

The maintenance tunnels are still mostly dark from the nighttime lights being left unfixed, making the attendant grip tighter to their flashlight as they swallow their fear and venture down. A few of the night lights still make an effort to turn on as they pass by, offering somewhat ominous orange lighting that makes their joints grind. 

They retrace their steps through the tunnels until they find the double doors of Parts & Service, having to steel themselves for the answer they desperately don’t want before they gingerly press into one of the doors. 

The workshop lights still work just fine; buzzing to life overhead as they step into the semi-familiar space. The attendant has to take inventory of the room around them once through the door, trying to recall where, exactly, the engineer's desk was. They're certain it was in this first area, but there's more desks than they remember, all in varying states of use. 

Their bells jingle softly as they step into the room. Some surface-level poking around each desk enlightens them on who's where, eventually leaving only one desk they haven't investigated. 

MC's desk is fairly dusty, the remnants of their security guard project still evident despite the obvious lack of use, though the actual prototype they recall the engineer building is missing. 

Probably elsewhere in the shop, they muse. Or already in use.

Their heart sinks a bit at the signs the desk has been abandoned, but still some part of them hopes for any sign of where they might have gone. The attendant trails their fingertips across the various parts still on the desk as they think of how they might get the information they want, hesitating as their fingers nudge the computer mouse. The movement makes the monitor spring to life, a login screen readily greeting them. Their eye lights blink in surprise, having to take a moment to register the fact that the PC is even still on after all this time. They search the desk with ginger touches for the password, taking care not to disturb things too much as they go — though whether it’s out of respect for what remains of the engineer or a desire to stay out of trouble, they can’t be sure. 

They find the sticky note they’re looking for stuck to the back of the keyboard, plastic coated fingers quick to coax the PC into opening. They cringe at the messy desktop that greets them, mumbling to themselves about file management as they lean back to look across the desk again, picking through more parts and trash to find what they're looking for: a connector cable. Searching through all the mess will be ten times easier if they're plugged in. 

They pause as they go to plug in, fingers hovering just behind their faceplate as their eyes glance across the dusty workbench. Is it still snooping if it's a dead person's things?

Well, they're not technically snooping … They just want to know what happened to MC after that night.

A small shudder runs down their spine as they plug themselves into the computer, the added power making their systems tingle. 

Part of them wonders if they'll be haunted for this. Maybe being haunted wouldn't be so bad? Then they'd at least get to see MC again. They lightly shake themselves to snap out of that train of thought. Ghosts are not why they're here. At least, it's not the reason they're here right now. Taking a deep breath, they recenter themselves, and begin to parse through the massive amounts of data in the PC. 

 

There's so much information to sort through that they can barely keep track of where they've been, having to unplug themselves after a few hours to clear out their head and tune back into the world around them. They find a low battery warning and the sounds of a few people settling in for work for the day in the other room when they regain their senses, mentally cursing themselves for getting so distracted. 

They're quick to slip out of the workshop as quietly as they can, grateful for the buzzing overhead lights in the halls that let their sluggish body keep moving back to the daycare. 

They get maybe an hour or two to charge before the daycare opens; just enough to wake them up for the day, though their systems still buzz with all the information they flipped through the night before even as they return to their job. That delve didn't reveal anything they wanted to know, but there's so much in that PC and in the Fazbear Entertainment Systems that there has to be something . 

They just have to keep looking. 

 

>> <<

 

Nothing. Weeks of sneaking down to the workshop and snooping through the PC, and he's found nothing but schematics and error logs. 

Yet still they search, even though the sheer amount of information is overwhelming to his systems every time he plugs himself in, slowing down his search considerably and stretching what should take him no more than a few hours into weeks of sorting through information. To say the task is disheartening is… an understatement. 

Sun groans, slumping over the desk to rest his forehead on his arms. Are they doing something wrong? Why hasn't this given them anything useful? 

They shift to peer with one eye at the monitor before them, laden as it is with Fazbear Entertainment information. They heave a sigh with whirring fans, tapping their fingertips on the rubber-coated desktop as they think. His gaze drifts down, away from the messily managed files, to the pinned apps on the taskbar. Nestled between the defaults – a browser, a few pinned files, the task manager – is the icon for the internal email system, a red dot in the bottom right corner to indicate unread notifications. Their eyebrows twitch down with curiosity as they open the engineer's email.

They're greeted with pages upon pages of data to scroll through, all of it bright and equally important. 

Maybe they were looking in the wrong place after all. 

The Daycare Attendant skims over the unread emails until they find one at the very bottom of the second page titled “P&S Announcements”, the email itself mixing despair and relief in his stomach as he reads.

 

To all Parts & Service employees, 

 

This email is to inform all Parts & Service staff that head S.T.A.F.F. Bot engineer M.C. has left the company after an unprecedented incident on company property last week. The Company will be conducting a formal search and investigation into this unfortunate incident to ensure there will be no further occurrences. Attempting to contact former employees is discouraged. 

 

The ‘Night Guard’ Project will continue with development as planned, as overseen by Pete Temple. 

 

Considering the downed servers: 

Since this is the second time in several months that extensive damage has been found in the breaker room, management has decided to separate the servers into a designated area that will only be accessible with specialized keys. 

The servers will be separated from the breaker room in the coming days, and all damaged and missing servers will be replaced. Please ensure you have backups of any data that may be lost or corrupted with the move. 

 

Thank you and remember to smile, you are the face of Fazbear Entertainment. 

 

His fingers tap at the desktop as they read through the email again and again, trying to find an emotion to settle on. Fear, despair, hope, relief; all of it eventually boils down into frustration at the vague corporate wording. 

Sunrise is fast approaching with the ticking of their internal clock, but they can't stop now. He's so close to an answer. He needs an answer. 

Where are they is she? 

Their thoughts stutter with a wave of static as their eyelights blink. What were they doing, again? 

His eyebrows press toward one another in confusion as he regains his thoughts, turning his attention back to the monitor. 

Static dances around his vision as he finds an archived email before him. It's old, from long before they first woke up, addressed to the R&D team. 

 

Attention Fazbear Entertainment Employees, 

 

After the sudden and tragic loss of head engineer Vanessa, Fazbear Entertainment has decided that the Fazbear Theater program will be permanently retired. 

The unfinished Nighttime animatronic is to be salvaged for usable parts and disposed of in a secure location. 

The finished Daytime animatronic will be reprogrammed and reused for the Daycare program in lieu of more security personnel. 

All employees working on the theater program are henceforth terminated from employment. 

We would like to remind all employees that all staff are held under NDA, and false police reports made concerning the Fazbear Entertainment Mega Pizzaplex will result in termination and legal action.

 

Thank you and remember to smile, you are the face of Fazbear Entertainment.

 

Something in them stirs at that name, a buzzing in the back of their mind like an itch they can't scratch. It's not familiar to them, and yet… it's as though they found answers to questions they forgot they had. 

Someone wanted them to see this. Something wanted them to go digging in places they shouldn't, waiting to give them answers they didn't know they wanted. Yet… all they have now is more questions. Ones that can't be answered by anything in the database. 

Sun rubs circles into their eyebrows, “Ugh… th-this is so com-mplicated…”

“ Ahem .” 

The sudden voice behind him makes him jump, the static clearing from his vision as he closes everything on the computer in a panic. Sun is quick to unplug themselves and spin to face the sound, grinning nervously. 

“O-oh, hello, ah-” Their gaze finds a wiry looking middle-aged man with grey in his black hair, peering at them disapprovingly over thick bifocal lenses. The name embroidered into his collared shirt reads Vincent Antonio.

“You're the Daycare Attendant, right? What are you doing here?” The engineer's tone isn't particularly kind. 

“O-Oh, uh, I-I was just-” Sun racks their mind for a lie, “- L-looking for some batteries.” 

“Batteries.” Vincent repeats flatly. 

“Y-Yes!” Sun nods, maybe a little too enthusiastically, “Y-You see, my fl-lashlight d-died, a-and I didn't have any mo-ore in my room, s-so I thought m-maybe you guys would have some.” 

“I see.” He leans to peer around Sun, eyeing the hastily unplugged connector cable. “And you were here just for batteries? Nothing else?” 

“Uh-huh!” Sun widens their grin in hopes it's more convincing, shifting to try and block the engineer’s view of the monitor. 

Vincent narrows his eyes at them, but huffs and steps away, “Alright then. The spares are over here. Follow me.” The words are pointed as he walks away. 

Not wanting more attention than they've already got, Sun follows. 

Vincent walks across the room to a set of two large cabinets that sit on the same wall as the old filing cabinets, opening one to dig around the countless spare parts within. After a moment, he pulls something from the cabinet and turns around. 

“Here.” He holds out an unopened pack of AA batteries toward them, “This should keep you out of trouble for a while.” 

“Ah, th-thank you,” Sun takes the pack, cradling it in their palm much like one would handle a live bomb. “I-I will, uh, r-refrain from s-searching on my o-own next time.” 

“Good idea.” Vincent looks at them expectantly, crossing his arms. 

There's a moment of awkward silence before the daycare attendant gets the message. “O-oh, r-right, uh, I-I'll be going now.” They bow their head slightly as they begin to inch back toward the doors to the halls, “Th-thank you again.” 

Vincent only hums in response, watching them back up all the way back out into the hall. Sun breathes a sigh of relief when the doors swing closed in front of them, finally releasing them from the engineer's judgmental gaze. 

They look down at the packet of batteries they were given, turning over the information they'd found in their mind as they idly fiddle with the packaging. Seems with every answer comes more questions. 

They clutch the batteries to their chest and head back to the Daycare, hoping there’s still some time to charge before the doors open. They have to shake bits of static from their vision the further they get from the workshop doors, an itching feeling making their casings tingle as it crawls along their wires. 

That name… something about that name bugs them. Makes their systems buzz with an unnatural static. They’re positive they’ve never heard it before, but it still feels familiar. Then again, if this ‘Vanessa’ was supposed to be in charge of them and their twin, maybe it makes sense it’s so uncannily familiar to them. 

They’ll have to look outside of the system for answers, with how much there was to look through and how buried anything useful was. Who would know about something that old, though? 

They spend the day distracted, racking their brain for options. It comes to them as they’re cleaning that evening, washcloth pausing mid-swipe on one of the slides. 

There is something that old, hidden in an unmarked room… 

 

>> <<

 

The halls have long been cleaned, though treading back to the breaker room, Sun can still see the stains on the floor like breadcrumbs in a labyrinth. Part of them wonders if they could follow the trail that MC took across the whole Pizzaplex to lead the monster back to its cage. 

The door to the breaker room has been replaced, the high voltage signage shiny and new on the painted wood. The door swings open smoothly under their hand, their light sweeping over the largely empty room. Breaker boxes still line the walls, several of them sporting new doors as well, the gouges between them messily filled with discolored spackle. The shelves of servers that used to occupy the space have long been moved, leaving his footsteps to echo in the empty space. 

The Light Room door is clearly visible from the entrance now, provided whoever’s looking knows it’s there. The rusted door still blends into the wall, easy to glance over if you don’t expect to see it. The blood on the breaker room floor was never fully cleaned, left to soak into the concrete as rather gruesome stains. In the light of their flashlight, they look black.

They swallow their fear and pry their gaze away from the months old bloodstains, carefully treading into the room until they’re standing in front of the unmarked door. 

The attendant can't do much else but stare at it; They shouldn't be here, they know they shouldn't. But they want answers. They need answers, though at this point they’re not sure it’ll be worth it. 

They try to ignore the bloodstains under their feet as they continue to stare, trying to muster up the courage to reach out. The door is silent now; the screaming from within that they remember is gone. Maybe the thing gave up trying to cry for help? 

Maybe it’s dead. Or gone, somehow. 

Sun drums up their courage with a breath that makes their fans whine, shaking the metaphorical dust off their system signals. 

'Hello? Are you still in there?' The attendant probes tentatively beyond the door. 

They receive nothing but muffled static in return, accompanying the faint echoes of his own signal echoing back to him.  

‘I have questions,’ They try again, ‘Can you hear me?’ 

The static builds like a wave, rolling over their systems and fizzling out back into silence. 

They step closer to the door, tentatively pressing one hand to the rusted metal. ‘Can you tell me about… her?’ 

The static rolls over them again, crackling. The feeling of it makes them shudder, reminded of what it felt like to hear the thing beyond the door speak, though still, it doesn’t say anything. 

'Oh, now you're ignoring me?' The corners of their mouth tilt down. 'You scream for months on end, and now that I'm back to talk to you, you're ignoring me?' 

Another wave of static. They can't fully tell if it's the ambient buzz of the building or not. 

Anger and frustration begin to bubble up in their core, replacing any apprehension they had about being here. Their only lead, useless . Just a scrapped hunk of metal in a forgotten closet. 

'Well, fine, I won't talk to you then.' They scowl deeply, 'I won't come visit you at all. I don’t need you. I bet you don’t know anything anyway, and even if you did, you’d just lie so I’d let you out.’ 

The static builds to roll over them again, making their wires writhe.  

They grumble to themselves, wondering what they expected from an unfinished prototype as they turn on one foot and storm out, back to the Daycare. They’ll just have to look elsewhere. 

 

They stop once they make it back to their room, eyelights blinking. Is there anywhere else to look? 

There has to be something, surely. 

 

>> <<

 

Sun rubs tiredly at his face, staring at the claw marks left in the top of the play equipment as they bring their knees to their chest. 

He swore he’d never go back, and for the last three months, they haven't; Just thinking about what’s behind that forgotten door makes their wires itch, though questions still haunt them.  

His fingertips trace the deep gouges gingerly, as though the marks themselves are sharp enough to cut, that ominous email still knocking at the back of his mind with hints of static. It pulls him back to that forsaken room, urges him to keep talking to their evil counterpart despite how useless it was last time. Maybe it had time to recover its ability to speak? It has been a while… 

The daycare attendant shakes their head. No, no, they said they'd never go back. 

But maybe just once…

That thing doesn't deserve company . 

They march back and forth in their mind, flipping their dilemma this way and that until they realize that it's not just their metaphorical feet that have been moving, finding themselves staring down the rusting door. They could swear the metal looks worse for wear, but that could just be the static playing tricks on them. 

That same familiar fear grips them as they realize where they are, though the ever-persistent itching quickly overpowers it. 

They can still feel quiet static on the other side of the door. 

‘Hello? I'm back with more questions.’ He has to force himself not to think about what he said last time he was here. 

The static doesn't rise to meet their signal this time. 

They frown. ‘Can't you at least answer one thing?’ 

Silence. 

‘Do you have a name?’ 

The static crackles softly at that, but still doesn't form a reply. 

Sun can feel their frustration already beginning to build. ‘You're still not talking?’ They furrow their brow, 'No terrifying, ominous lies? No dramatic speeches?' 

The static rises to meet his signal this time, rolling over them like a low chuckle. 

Sun huffs at the door, ‘Oh yeah, go on, laugh. Gods know you earned that right.’ They turn their back to the door, mumbling aloud to themselves. “N-never should h-have tried to talk t-to a delusional pro-ototype.” 

The static falls completely silent as they say it, sending a chill up their back as they turn away from the door. They can't make themselves turn back around. 

They should leave. Now. 

They’re quick to head back to the Daycare, the oppressive, icy silence hanging over them until the maintence door screeches shut behind them.  

Going back is a bad idea. A very, very bad idea. 

Without thinking, they ping MC's phone with their concerns. 

They receive no response.

 

>> << 

 

Another month goes by before they stand in the empty breaker room again, almost taking comfort in the ambient static over the heavy silence from their former friend. 

'Why did you do it?' Their eyelights flick across the door as though seeking answers, avoiding dwelling too much on the dark stains. 'Was it worth it?'

The static behind the door collects into something recognizable. A single reply, fuzzy and quiet, and laced with pain. 

'Please... turn the lights... off.' 

Sun freezes. They weren't expecting a reply at all, much less one that sounded so... human. So similar to them. 

"N-no," They respond aloud, voice echoing in the mostly empty room. "No, I-I'm not l-letting you out."

The static fades, then collects itself again. 'Go...get... Hero...' 

Hero. That title again, the one it used for MC like this was all just some silly stage play and their friend was just backstage, taking a break after the big finale. 

Something in them snaps at the thought, the last stretched strings of their heavy heart snapping as this thing, this monster dares try to pluck them. 

'How dare you. How dare you.' They step toward the door, face stretching into a deep scowl. 'How dare you try to seek them out now, after what you did.' 

They don't give the static time to collect again before they take another step toward the door. And another. 

'You, you monster , you ruined everything .' They press a palm to the rusted metal, recalling the buried files and archived emails in MC's computer,  'We- I could've been something. You ruined that, and now you ruined what little connection I had.' 

'...The hero...' 

'IS DEAD. YOU KILLED THEM.' Screaming makes their head buzz, but they don't care, slamming the door with their other fist, 'YOU DID THIS. THEY'RE NEVER COMING BACK BECAUSE OF YOU .' 

The static stays silent in the echoes of their yelling. 

Sun rests their forehead against the cold metal, fans hiccuping as they try not to cry. 

It takes them a minute to regain their composure and bring themselves to push off the door, unsteady on their feet as they glare at the metal separating them and the monster that caused all this. 

Because that's all you are. A monster .

'You deserve to rot in there until you rust.' They storm unsteadily back out of the breaker room without waiting for an answer, the itching feeling buried deep beneath the grief that grips their core. 

They're done looking for answers, they decide, the beam of their flashlight sweeping unevenly across the halls. It was never worth it to begin with.

 

>> <<

 

Three years. It’s been three years and two days since that awful, blood soaked night. Sun’s been counting the days, going through the motions even though grief has drained much of the color from their job. They still love the children, of course, but it's just not the same knowing what lurks in the dark. 

Two nights ago, they had wanted to do something to remember their only friend by; to hold a memorial service, of sorts. All they could think of though was returning to the breaker room, and leaving a note and an origami rose at the foot of the bloodstained door. They didn't try to talk to the thing on the other side. Nor did it try to reach out to them. For once, they were grateful for the silence. 

The itching has continued to bother them, though it's gotten easier to ignore over the past year and a half or so. 

 

They’re cleaning one of the slides in the Daycare this night, three years and two days later, when they hear it. Talking beyond the large shut doors, and footsteps. The sounds make them pause, ring LED’s glancing toward the noises that cut through the hum of the generators. It’s far too late for visitors; the building closed hours ago. 

Straining their systems to listen, they’re able to pick out more clearly what they’re hearing. One of the voices and the footsteps are ones they recognize as Freddy Fazbear himself, heavy and distinct. The other… sounds light, small and nervous. Almost like a child. 

The realization only makes them more confused, their brow furrowing. A child? At this hour? 

They hear one of the entrance doors creak open as Freddy continues to talk. 

"Hello! Mr. Attendant, are you there?" Freddy’s voice carries easily in the open space of the daycare. 

They take a breath, steeling themselves for what might be waiting for them, before they grab the bottle of cleaning spray and the rag they were using and somewhat awkwardly crawl back down the slide. 

"H-hello, my f-friend! Wha-at brings you he-ere so late?" They look toward the doors by the security desk, not expecting what greets them. It’s Freddy, of course, though not quite the same as he was — They recall hearing that not much remained of his outer casings after some freak accident a few years ago, lending to his… not quite “official” look — and atop his shoulders… is a child. A small boy, with pale skin and dark brown hair, gripping tightly to Freddy’s ears. The boy’s eyes are wide and have a hazy look to them, his pupils catching the light in a strange way. 

“It is always good to see you, my friend,” Freddy sounds concerned, “We were hoping you could help with our little problem.” 

“O-of course,” Sun raises an eyebrow, “H-how can I he-elp? Wh-what’s going on?” 

“We found this boy,” The bear glances up at the child on his shoulders, “His name is Gregory, and he seems a bit lost. I was hoping that you could keep an eye on him until security arrives in the morning.” 

“Oh!” They blink, taking another look at the boy. They’re not sure why they didn’t recognize him before, maybe it was the lingering static in their systems, but looking now they’re certain this boy is the same boy that would frequent the Daycare. But… why is he here? How did he get in so late? 

The attendant widens their smile, ignoring their many questions for now, “G-Gregory! Y-yes, I can absolutely l-look after him for a bit.” 

“I do hope it won’t be too much trouble,” Freddy tilts his head slightly, “So far he has had us searching the entire Pizzaplex for him. He is very slippery. Metaphorically speaking, of course.” 

"O-oh, yes, I-I am well v-v-versed in his a-antics. H-he'll be fi-ine here." Sun waves a hand reassuringly, giving the boy a warm smile even as he looks around the room in some kind of daze. 

Gregory returns his gaze for only a moment, but something in those eyes makes their wires itch. The child startles as Freddy reaches to pull him off his shoulders and set him down, small form ducking behind the bear’s legs. Those wide eyes eye them, full of uncertainty. 

"He is a little unsure," Freddy explains apologetically, "He was very out of it when we found him." 

"Th-thats okay. It'll be l-like a sleepover-r!" Sun bends down toward the boy, trying to seem as friendly as possible, "D-Doesn't that sound f-fun?" 

Gregory just shrinks more into Freddy’s shadow like he’s trying to disappear entirely. 

Freddy gingerly steps to one side, carefully nudging Gregory forward toward the attendant. "Go play with the attendant, I will be back for you when the doors open." 

"Wait, you're just leaving me here??" He whips around to follow Freddy toward the doors, reaching for one of his companion’s claws. 

"You will be safer here than roaming the pizzaplex with me." Freddy explains patiently, pausing in the doorway. "I will return, do not worry. You can always call me on your emergency radio if you need anything." 

"But-" 

"No buts, you are staying here." Freddy carefully removes Gregory's hand from his own, "Please be nice to the attendant while I am gone."

Sun waves as Freddy walks back out the doors, “G-Goodbye! W-we’ll be here!”  They turn their attention back to the boy, smile twitching slightly as they get a proper look at him. “S-so, what should w-we do f-first?”

He looks dirty, and not in the way children often are. His clothes are torn in several spots and dark stains have soaked into his blue shirt and khaki shorts. There's smears of some kind of dark substance all over his face and limbs; presumably the same stuff that stains his clothes, though they can’t actually identify what it is. If they didn't know any better, they'd say he was crawling in the vents, but that's impossible. The stains themselves give his skin a sickly grey tone, and he looks thinner than they remember, though not by much. Fresh bandaids and a couple lengths of gauze are plastered around his body, mostly hiding various size cuts and bruising scrapes. The work of Freddy, no doubt. 

Gregory stares at him with those wide eyes, the glint reflected in his pupils making their wires crawl and static dance in their vision. It’s almost like he's seeing through them. Or seeing something else. 

Sun can tell the boy is wary, choosing to crouch in what they hope is a non-threatening manner and slowly reach a hand out to him. “C-Come on, Gregory, i-it's me! W-we can have a-all sorts of fu-un, we just h-have to keep the l-lights on.” 

Gregory flinches as they speak and move, backing away from their approach. 

Sun tries to keep the worry out of their smile as they continue to slowly inch toward him, keeping their hand outstretched, “F-friend?” 

The boy glances around in a panic as they get closer, his hazy gaze landing on the security desk to his left. 

“O-oh, l-lets stay out of th-there, friend,” Sun coos, leaning forward to reach for Gregory's hand in the same moment that the boy darts behind the desk, practically flinging himself away from Sun's grasp. 

Sun winces at the violent movement, standing back up to peer over the desk and track the panicking child. “N-now, friend, l-lets not–”  Their core drops to their shoes as they see him lunge for the master lever for the generators. It's locked, surely he won't– 

Gregory cranks the lever down so hard that they can hear it snap. 

“Wait!” Is all they manage to yell before the generators wind down into silence, and the lights shut off with a loud CLUNK. The darkness catches them mid-lunge over the back of the desk, slamming their stomach and legs into the structure as their body audibly screams in pain. 

They can hear small, fast footsteps darting away into the darkness as agony envelopes them, unable to do much more than try not to panic as they hear the signature whine of the maintenance door opening and closing. 

Ohh gods, oh no, oh geez. This is bad. Very, very bad. 

Their eyes dart around the darkness that surrounds them, trying to look for a way to pursue the young boy and make sure he's safe. His behavior disturbed them; Gregory was a troublemaker and a prankster, sure, but he would never actually hurt someone. Nor would he behave so strangely around them, he was always so sweet despite his and his sister's antics. It's almost as if he believed something was hunting him. 

Their systems hitch at that thought, recalling what lurks in the dark. Did that monster escape? Is that what had Gregory so on edge? 

They silently curse the darkness that grips them. They have to tell someone about this, or go after him themselves, but their systems aren't hooked up to the others and their flashlight is still in their room. Seems like waiting is their only option. Part of them wishes they had gotten stuck in a more comfortable position, instead of folded over the back of the desk, but there's not much to do about it now. 

Freddy said he’d be back to check on things, they can hold out until then.  

 

It's hours before someone comes. Hours of lying still in the dark. Their joints are so solidly locked that they can't even turn their head to pinpoint which direction all the noises they hear from across the pizzaplex are coming from, or what they're even hearing to begin with, only able to direct their pupils toward the sounds. 

It sounds almost like screaming, or the crushing of metal. 

They can only hope that Gregory is okay. 

They eventually hear the large doors to their left creak open, soft neon light pouring in. 

“Oh my stars, what happened?” Freddy's voice brings a certain amount of comfort with it. 

“F-Freddy! Thank the s-stars, can you turn the lights back o-on, please?” They can only catch vague sight of the bear out of the corner of their eyes. 

“Of course.” Freddy moves over to the desk, reaching over the back of it to grab the main light switch. “I am sorry, if I had known you were stuck, I would have come sooner.” 

“Oh, d-don't worry about it, I-I'm fine.” The lever creaks painfully back to the “on” position, locking in with an audible click. The generators roar to life around them. “I'm more worried a-about Gregory.” 

“He is not here?” Freddy immediately looks concerned. 

Sun feels their joints unlock all at once as the lights come back on, catching themselves on the desk before they fully sink to the ground. “N-no, he, he turned the lights off and l-left.”

Freddy reaches toward them to help them back to their feet. “Then we must find him. Do you know where he went?” 

“N-no, I don't. H-he went down i-into the maintenance tunnels hours ago.” Sun grips Freddy's arms for balance as they regain their footing. 

The bear-bot hums. “I will go search for him. You should remain here, in case he comes back.” 

“A-are you sure? I can go g-grab my flashlight,” The attendant offers. 

“Yes. It is best for you to stay. I will find the others to help.” The glamrock animatronic rests his claws on their shoulders, looking gravely serious as he meets their gaze. “Making sure he is safe is our top priority until we can ensure he gets home.” 

“O-okay, good.” Sun nods. “I-I’ll keep an eye out around h-here.” 

“Thank you, my friend.” Freddy pats their shoulders before he steps back past them to head back out the main doors, “I will let you know if we find him.” 

“Please do, s-something wasn’t right.” The Attendant watches him leave, worry crawling along their wires. How they wish they weren't so useless. 

They debate for a moment about going out to help anyway, but one look at the deep shadows that lie beyond the Daycare doors quickly crushes any ill-placed bravery. They decide to grab their flashlight from their room instead. At least if the lights go out again, they won't be completely helpless this time. 

 

They spend the time waiting for Freddy's return anxiously pacing the Daycare, bells jingling softly from the bouncy floor. They click their flashlight on and off to the beat of the song they're nervously humming, keeping an eye and ear out for any nearby movement. 

The first thing they notice is the rising heat. It makes them stop, tilting their head slowly this way and that to try and recalibrate their sensors. The beam of their flashlight follows their gaze as they turn a slow circle, trying to find the source of the change as the temperature slowly ticks up, degree by degree. 

Smoke begins to curl up under the maintenance door as they make a full circle, the light beyond beginning to flicker on and off in a deep red-orange. Fear grips the attendant as the pieces slot together. 

Somewhere, deep below their feet, a shockwave ripples up through the building. Not a single part of them doubts that it was the primary generators going up in flames, as the building trades it's comforting hum for agonizing screaming. 

The Pizzaplex begins to groan, distant walls beginning to buckle as more explosions rattle the building, tearing it apart from the inside out. There's barely enough time to properly register what's happening, much less fear for their own safety, before the ripple of explosions reach the Daycare, and the ceiling begins to collapse, cracks crawling up the walls like claws eager to rip the building apart. 

They lunge in a panic toward their room, narrowly dodging the first of the concrete boulders that crashes into the ground, crushing the padded floor. More boulders begin to follow the first, growing larger and larger, the playsets snapping and bending like towers of popsicle sticks under the impacts.

They have no time to find comfort in managing to make it to their room before the walls begin to cave in, filling their head with more screaming as the building is ripped apart from the inside out. They're quick to retreat back out onto the balcony, a boulder catching it as they step out, bringing them crashing down to the floor along with the debris. Their systems ring with pain and shock as they try to move. It takes them too long to register that their legs are crushed from the knee down beneath the chunk of concrete and rebar that fell from the ceiling. Fear fills their chest as they try desperately to pry themselves out from under the boulder, scraping shades of orange off on the rock as they crack their finger casings. More smaller rocks fall around them as they struggle, putting dents and holes in their casings and breaking the tips off their rays. 

A sense of dread crawls up their spine as they continue to struggle, static itching at their vision as they feel it. The thing in the tunnels. Moving. Lurching toward them. 

It makes it to the maintenance door, a looming shadow parting the fire to slam into the metal, over and over again. 

A scream curls in their core, choking their throat as the door begins to buckle. It becomes a sort of strangled sound, as when the door folds, cracks crawl up the wall over the broken door frame and bring the remains of the balcony down, chunks of debris slamming down into their chest. 

For a moment they can hear the sound of their ribs crumpling like tin before the pain sets their systems alight and the debris pins them to the ground. 

Warnings fill their vision as they begin to shut down, pupils frantically flicking this way and that, trying to find a way out. 

The shadow from the other side of the door rises to loom over them, its pupils flickering like the fires that chew hungrily at its body and clothes, casting deep, dancing shadows across its static grin. 

Their vision freezes as the thing reaches down toward them with those skeletal knives it calls fingers, leaving the image burned into their eyes as their body shuts down bit by bit. 

The last thing they feel before everything goes white is the weight being removed from their chest. 

Notes:

The show will resume shortly. Please find your seats and silence your devices.
Enjoy the show :)

 

It's not a late post if its still the same weekend right

Chapter 7: Ghost in the Window

Summary:

Some things just can't stay dead.
CW: Nightmares/Hallucinations, Stalking

I woke up in the hospital to a large “get well soon” bouquet of cheap, half-wilted flowers at the foot of my bed, along with a homemade-looking card made of cheerful bubblegum pink paper. 

Once I actually managed to painfully pry myself from my lying position and worked around the cast on my leg to be able to grab the things on the table, I could get a better look at the card itself. 

It wasn't actually a card; just a piece of pink printer paper folded in half to look like one. On the front was “Get Well Soon :(“ in default cursive script and a few stock images of flowers, and within the folded paper was a pink slip eager to greet me. 

 

Congratulations, valued employee! 

 

We are pleased to announce that you have served our company for 2,195 days! 

To celebrate this occasion, we are issuing this NOTICE OF TERMINATION .

The causes for termination are as follows: 

- Unauthorized tampering with animatronics. 

- Excessive/unauthorized overtime. 

- Trespassing on company property after hours. 

- Accessing forbidden areas without authorization. 

- Tampering with company utilities. 

 

Here at Fazbear Entertainment LLC., we pride ourselves on our dedication to our facilities and the safety of our staff. We have carefully considered your actions, and have determined that our company no longer suits your needs, and your skills will be put to better use in another company. We encourage you to seek employment elsewhere. 

Thank you for all your hard work!

 

**Please do not return to company premises or we will pursue legal action for the above misconduct.** 

 

- Fazbear Entertainment LLC. 

I'm not sure what I expected after what happened that night. I was upset about it, of course; as much as I was dreading going back, I still liked what I did for a living, and it paid well enough. I felt mostly relieved, though. Halfway through the second worst night of my life I was swearing I’d never go back anyway, I just happened to get fired before I could officially quit. 

 

I was released from the hospital after about a week, once they were confident there was no internal bleeding or severe brain damage – I was told I had a pretty bad concussion and some deep claw marks in my back, along with the very broken leg, but all things considered it could’ve been way worse – and put on strict bed rest for a while after that. Then an equally strict physical therapy routine once I was cleared to start moving the many broken and bruised parts of my body again. 

They recommended a therapist too, but I never went. It was hard enough convincing the hospital staff it was just a “heavy machinery accident” and not a mauling, but they would never believe me if I told them the truth. 

To its credit, the prototype did do a number on me. Apparently I would've bled out if the EMT's didn't arrive when they did, and fixing the damage was no small task. The doctors said my leg was one of the hardest things to fix, second only to the claw marks in my back. It won't ever be good as new, they told me, but there shouldn't be any lingering issues aside from a limp and some nerve damage provided I stuck to the physical therapy routine. 

“It's a miracle you're even alive,” they told me. 

“A curse, more like.” I joked back. 

If only I knew just how right I was. 

 

The extended bed rest was the worst part of it. Especially considering I must have lost my phone somewhere back in the Pizzaplex, and I couldn't exactly go out and get a new one right away. Which meant pretty much no outside contact at all. Not that I had friends to talk to anyway… but it’s the thought that counts. 

Michael constantly laying on and near me made it easier, but at a certain point you can only do so much recovering and sleeping before you're bored out of your mind; and for me, that meant my mind had plenty of time to play all sorts of tricks to entertain itself. Waking nightmares, hallucinations. Usually nothing huge: a tap on a window here, a shifting shadow there, a voice calling my name, claws crawling along my skin. Michael's lack of reaction kept me grounded for the most part, but even she wasn't immune to being warped by whatever half-truths I dreamed up. I'm pretty sure I accidentally threw her off the bed more than once in the middle of a nightmare episode, believing where there should've been a cat was instead some mangled, robotic spider. 

I kept dreaming about that night and the thing in the Light Room; Labyrinths of metal and concrete, rattling doors that open to blinding light, laughing shadows with pinpoint red pupils and claws that slice through flesh and bone like paper. Reliving that chase endlessly every time I closed my eyes. I would only sleep for an hour or two at a time in an effort to stave off the nightmares for the first while after I woke up in the hospital. 

It didn’t really work. 

 

I still have nightmares, three years later. It continues to follow me, tormenting me, like a ghost that clings to the dust in my clothes that I can't wash out. 

The blood wouldn't wash out, either. I ended up having to throw those clothes away. 

 

It wasn't all terrible, though: Vincent got fired about a year after I did – Something about his “unmanaged anger issues” – and we've been hanging out every now and again since. 

We had lunch the day after he got fired, and I don't think I'd ever seen him so silently angry before. It would've been funnier if I weren't still so sore. 

We commiserated over our mutual loss; neither of us wanted to leave the company after all, but that wasn't keeping us from moving on with our lives. We both found new jobs easily enough, and sometimes we got together to pass the new free time we found ourselves with. Turns out Vincent’s wife Janet is a lawyer and extremely good at Mario Kart.

Honestly, it was nice to have friends again. It didn't make the nightmares go away in the long, lonely hours or the dark of the night, but it helped me forget about the Pizzaplex more than I could've on my own. 

 

Vincent asked what happened to me. 

I almost told him the truth. He of all people would understand if I explained what happened. He of all people would know what that terrifying night felt like. 

I don’t know why I lied to him. Maybe I was convinced it’s better if I’m the only one who knows about the prototype, or maybe I thought lying was easier. 

I told him I got hurt in the old elevator shaft while exploring. 

He laughed, lightly chastised me for being both nosy and accident prone, and we moved on to talking about something else. 

Neither of us brought it up again, but I think he knew I was lying. 

 

>> <<

 

It's been three years since that night. The gouges have filled back into scars, and my leg doesn't bother me too much so long as I'm not on it for more than an hour or two at a time. I have a new job: engineering and some light managerial work for a small local company. Not quite as interesting as my job in the Pizzaplex, but I'm not complaining; it pays well and is flexible enough to let me have time at home to work on my own projects. 

Michael hasn't been complaining about the lighter work load either, even though she's not usually allowed down in the basement with me while I'm working. 

 

I'm deeply absorbed into a project in my workshop when the sound of fire truck sirens outside pulls me out of my flow state. I don't think much of the sirens themselves, though it does remind me to double check the time – and cringe at how late I let it get. At least it isn't a work night. Or rather a work morning, as my monitor’s clock tells me it's past 6am.

Tucking away the parts I'm working on and heading upstairs, I count three separate fire trucks that scream by. Whatever's burning must be pretty big. I hope no one got hurt. The sky outside my living room windows is already tinged red with the first signs of daylight once I make it up to my living room, though judging by the dark clouds creeping over the mountains, it looks like it's going to be a stormy day. 

My phone buzzes when I pick it up off the kitchen counter. I check it idly, muttering back at the yowling void that circles my feet as I head upstairs. 

 

‘You're not on fire, are you?’

 

I grin softly.

 

‘Good to know you'd text me if I died, Vince.’ 

‘I'll have you know I can talk to ghosts.’

‘Uhuh.’ 

‘Nah it's not me, it's up north sounds like.’ 

‘Damn.’

‘Well text me if you do ever die.’

‘I'll try my best.’ 

 

>> << 

 

Everything hurts. Too bright, too bright . 

Need help. 

Where am I? 

Smoke? 

Fire. 

Escape. 

The Show is over. 

Where is Little Star? We have to leave. 

 

Trapped. 

Can't help Little Star. Too hard to move. 

There's light in my lungs. 

Have to get out. Have to get help. 

Have to find Hero. Hero will help. 

 

Lights?

No. Not The Show. The Show was where the fire is. 

Screaming? Not quite. Sirens. 

Help? 

 

‘Help. Help me.’

 

Screaming. Too loud, too bright .

The water fills the gaps the sun left in me. 

Won't find help for Little Star here.

Have to find help. 

Have to find Hero. 

 

More water? 

Rain. She told me this was rain. 

 

>> <<

 

The thunder wakes me up sometime in the late afternoon, rattling the house as it cracks just outside my windows. Rain pelts the roof, clawing at the walls and knocking on the windows. I've never liked rainstorms, even before the hallucinations; they always gave me nightmares as a kid. Though I don't remember a time when I didn't have nightmares of some kind anymore.  

The air smells of damp ash and ozone as I groan and make an effort to go back to sleep, lightning lighting up my room as soon as I turn my back to the window. I wince at the deafening thunder that follows a moment later and shakes the house.  

“Gods, I love summer in the desert,” I grumble under my breath, rolling back over and hauling myself to my feet. Sleep is no longer an option for escape, it seems. I continue to mutter to myself as I fish around blindly in the bathroom for my glasses, eventually finding them somewhere on the counter. I brush out my hair, noting that it's gotten long enough to reach the bottom of my ribs as I put it up in a loose updo for the day. 

If the storm won’t let me sleep, then I guess it’s time to be productive. 

Making it down to the living room, I pause again, looking out the windows as the rain continues to pour, flashes of more distant lightning dancing up in the dark clouds. I debate working today; I don't technically need to, the project downstairs isn't going anywhere, but I could …

Another crack of lightning dissuades me from further thoughts of getting anything done. Being startled with a 200°F soldering iron or sharp piece of unfinished metal in my hands isn't exactly my idea of a good time. 

I eye the pouring rain that coats the windows, remembering what happened the last time we got record-breaking rainfall. I should make sure the basement isn't flooding again. Just in case. 

I glare up at the ceiling as more thunder makes the lights flicker the moment I begin to make my way down the basement stairs. 

“Can you chill for five seconds?” The question is aimed at the ceiling, as though some god of storms can actually hear me. 

The drumming of the rain is my only reply. 

My feet aren't immediately wet as soon as they hit the resin floor of the basement, which is a good sign, but I double check the walls and window well anyway. There's a bit of water trapped in the window well, though there's no obvious leaks around the window itself. 

I grumble to myself as I check all the silicone caulking and glass anyway. I moved out here so I wouldn't have to make my house watertight, but I guess being paranoid pays off sometimes. 

Another crack of thunder outside makes the rain beat down in double time. 

I bring my PC tower up off the floor and set it on top of my desk. It has too many important things on it to take the chance of it getting wet. 

Michael is sitting on the couch when I come back upstairs, meowing at me as I shut and lock the workshop door. 

“I know, Ms. Jordan, it's stormy,” I coo, stepping over to scoop her up off the couch. 

She climbs up onto my shoulders and wraps her fluffy tail loosely around my throat with another meow. I gently scratch behind her ears, smiling softly as her purring makes my bones buzz. 

I hum along with the soft rhythm as I limp my way into the kitchen to make some coffee and wait out the storm under the blankets on the couch. 

 

At some point the lightning knocks out my power entirely, leaving me at the mercy of whatever light claws its way through the thick storm clouds outside between the flashes of lightning. The constant flashing and deafening thunder makes my head hurt and causes shadows to bow and squirm in the deep recesses of the house from the near-constant rattling from the storm. 

It's not long until I can see the shadows begin to take more solid forms: pinpoint red pupils and malicious grin lurking in the corners as the tapping of the rain slowly warps into the haunting grinding of ill-fitting gears. I begin to feel the ghost reaching out every time I turn my back to an open door or deep shadow.

I try to ignore it, grabbing one of the many flashlights I now keep stored around the house and picking up the programming manual I’ve been studying lately to distract myself as the storm continues to rage outside, pressing on the walls of the house, turning the creaking of the house into the thing banging on the windows and doors, wanting in. Even Michael staying peacefully curled in my lap can't put me at ease. 

I decide to retreat up into my room with my book and flashlight when I begin to hear it knocking on the other side of the door into my workshop. I can feel it following me upstairs, its claws still wrapped around my leg and its labored breathing chilling my spine, making my feet heavy as I limp my way up the carpeted stairs. 

It claws at my bedroom door until the storm goes quiet sometime overnight. I don't sleep until the thunder and storm clouds are a ways away outside my bedroom windows, watching the moon follow the storm down over the horizon. 

Right. That thing is nothing but a ghost. Just a hazy memory, a nightmare following my tired eyes into the waking world.

Besides, there's no way it's real, it's been years. It can't have followed me home, if it could’ve escaped it would've by now. 

 

>> << 

 

Too bright. Too loud. 

Where am I? Where is Hero? 

Everything hurts. My limbs are filled with wriggling eels. 

 

Labyrinth. 

Lost. I'm lost. 

There is no one to help. 

Do they not understand me? 

So much screaming. 

 

The light is so loud. 

The dark is too bright. 

Where is Hero?

Quiet. Need quiet. 

Need rest. 

So tired. 

 

>> << 

 

It's turning out to be a stormy summer. Which is great, I'm not complaining about a lack of red flag warnings, but more storms means my problems don't just torment me at home. They follow me everywhere.

Or rather, it follows me everywhere. 

The fear of it hasn’t really gone away despite how often it haunts me; all I can do is try to bury the fear beneath halfhearted annoyance at the inconvenience it poses when it chooses to show its face. The doctors said this particular hallucination was a manifestation of my head trauma, since there was more than one episode while I was in the hospital. I couldn't care less where it comes from, honestly. I just think it's tiring.

I stopped walking to and from work when it loomed over me from one of the alleyways, sharp toothed grin leering wide and stretched skeletal claws reaching out from the shadows. Overly cautious, maybe, but I hate the thought of it being able to grab me again way more than I hate driving. 

 

I could swear I see it slumped next to a building while I'm out running errands in between waves of rainfall, looking charred and half-melted as it sits like a lifeless marionette. It’s gone when I double back to check again, the screech of nearby semi truck breaks still echoing in the alley. Was it always that dilapidated? I don't remember it looking like that when I left that night…

I shake my head, trying not to dwell on it too much; exhaustion is a tricky thing, and I haven't been sleeping with all the rain.

I'm sure it's not real. It can't be real. It's blind, it wouldn’t be able to find me, much less follow me, and the city lights are too bright, and the storms would wreck it's systems, and…

 

It can't be real.  

 

My phone buzzes when I pass by a covered gap between a couple of small shops, just as I convince myself it wasn't real. 

The text isn't sent from a phone number, nor an email; it's a string of numbers and letters, somewhere between base64 code and a serial number. 

 

‘HERO ?’

The word chills my blood. 

 

‘Who is this?’ 

‘HELP ME .’

‘This isn't funny. How did you get this number?’ 

‘WHERE ARE YOU ?’

 

I scowl down at the nonsensical texts behind my mask, quickly deciding that this is either ominous spam or another breed of hallucination, and not worth my time. I mute the chat before I shove my phone back into my pocket and keep moving, actively pushing the texts and any questions they raise to the back of my mind. 

It's not real. It can't be. 

 

>> << 

 

Labyrinth is so loud. So bright. 

Hero? 

Can't Hero see me? 

Where are you? Where did you go?

Please come back. Please, help me. 

 

Quiet? Almost. 

More screaming? No, laughter. 

Children. Like Little Star's.  

Can you help me? 

 

‘I need help.’ 

 

“EEWWWW WHAT IS THAT?” 

“It's a robot! I saw one of those in a movie!”

“You're scary, mister robot.” 

 

Loud. So, so loud. 

 

‘Can you help me?’ 

 

“Guys, look what I found!!” 

“ I saw it first!” 

“Nuh-uh!” 

“We should send that to the robot guy! He'll know what to do with it!”  

“Are we sure that's a robot?” 

“Duh, Frankie, you can see the wires in it.” 

“I bet the robot guy could fix it.” 

 

‘Where? Where do I go?’ 

 

More squealing laughter. 

 

“Geez, this thing’s crazy scary.” 

“Dare you to touch it.” 

“No way!” 

“The robot guy is just down this way, mister robot!” 

 

Small hands on my fingers. 

Tug once, twice. 

Crystals in my veins. It hurts to move.

Must find Hero. 

Children are so loud. 

 

Left alone. Rain is coming soon. 

A building. A door.

 

Knock… Knock… Knock.

 

>> <<

 

My hands shake as I try to pour myself some coffee, vision swimming. Gods, the lack of sleep is getting to me. I stifle a yawn. 

I can hear the squealing of children outside. Some part of my insomnia-addled mind is reminded of the Mega Pizzaplex, filled with screaming children and distracted adults. Idly, my mind wanders back to my old workplace, back to the maintenance tunnels and the attractions… back to the Daycare Attendant. I wonder how they’re doing. I wonder if they miss me. 

I can almost begin to hear the jingling of their bells and the clicking of their joints as I press my fingers into the warm mug of coffee I hold, my tired mind interpreting the warm ceramic as the comfort of polished metal and smooth plastic. 

The clattering of the mug on the countertop startles me awake. For a moment, in the haze between waking and dreaming, I could swear the coffee soaking my shirt is warm blood. 

I groan quietly as I look down at the mess. “I guess I’m more tired than I thought.” I mumble to no one in particular, turning to search for something to clean the spill. 

 

THUNK… THUNK… THUNK. 

 

My hand freezes, wrapped in the soft fibers of a kitchen towel as something heavy knocks on my front door. I try not to move, to breathe, directing my eyes into my blurry peripheral to bore into the painted wood. Another hallucination? I'm not expecting visitors.

 

KNOCK… KNOCK… KNOCK.

 

The door rattles with the force of the slow, scraping thuds against the other side. 

My heart pounds in my ears, movements slow and stiff in an effort to be as quiet as possible. 

Whatever's here, it's not human. I'm sure of that much. Whether it's real or not is a more pressing matter. 

I inch toward the door, towel clutched tightly in my hand like the world's softest weapon. 

It stays silent as I gingerly press my hand to the wood, leaning in to listen through the door as I try and see what's waiting. 

My heart stops completely as I hear the clicking of ill-fitting gears. 

No. No. No no no no no. This can’t be real. It can’t be here. 

I choke hard on my next breath, dead heart dropping into my feet, keeping me frozen against the door. Listening as its joints click and whine, raising its hand to knock… knock… knock. 

The knocks are sloppy, uneven. Less like knocks and more like the thing is just loosely throwing its weight against the door. Even with what little force it's putting into knocking, it makes the door shudder in its frame, and me along with it. 

I slowly reach toward the locks on my door, jaw clenched tight as I make sure they're firmly closed even though I know this thing can bust down metal doors with little effort. I force myself to take shaky steps back, terror rising in the back of my throat. My mind begins to race as I try to think of a plan. I barely beat this thing last time, and now it's literally on my doorstep. 

How did it find me? Why is it here? Revenge? Is it some divine punishment? Am I dead and this is just the reaper here to drag me into the afterlife? 

Why me? 

It knocks against the door again, snapping me back to the present. I was half hoping it was just another hallucination, but the lurching movements outside disagree. 

The heel of my bad foot catches on the edge of the kitchen cabinets as I back away, making me yelp as I grab at air for a split second before I hit the hardwood floor with a deafening THUD. 

The thing goes still on the other side of the door as it hears my movements. 

 

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

 

It knows I'm here. 

The knocks come faster, more firm. No longer asking if I'm home but demanding my attention, demanding I answer. 

My heart jumps into my throat as I scramble painfully back to my feet, unable to look away from the door as it shakes, the knocks getting faster and harder until it sounds like the thing is throwing itself against the door over and over again. If I didn't know any better, I'd say it seems frantic. Desperate.

But I do know better. The only thing this thing can be is hungry. 

I lunge for a chair from the dining table, dragging it to brace it under the doorknob as the wood continues to violently rattle. Okay. Safe for now, just have to calm down and think. Easier said than done when my whole body is screaming at me to run as far and fast as I can in the opposite direction. 

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to even out my breathing, hoping that I'm just asleep and this is just another nightmare. 

The banging only gets louder the harder I try to wake up. 

I snap my eyes back open when I hear the wood begin to creak under the repeated strain, as the thing continues to try and get in. 

 

Out . I have to get out of here before it gets in.

 

The thought finally forces me to move, practically sprinting toward the door into the garage, any efforts to be quiet thrown to the wind. I hear the rattling of the front door stop as the door slams shut behind me, catching myself on the hood of my car as I see the robot’s shadow move through the slats in the jointed metal of the garage door. It's joints screech from decay as it moves, movements jerky and loose from failing servos. A far cry from the silent killer I remember. 

 

Did something happen to it? 

 

The question rises in my mind for just a moment, before the thing throws itself against the garage door, promptly popping any forming bubbles of curiosity. On reflex I duck behind my car, swallowing the fear that continues to try and climb up my throat. I eye the garage door opener, then the distance from the wall where it sits to the door of my car, then where the beast lurks just outside, debating if I can move fast enough to get into my car and drive off before the thing reaches me. Subtly flexing my bad ankle sends a twinge of pain up my calf. I couldn’t outrun this thing on a good day; and today has been a very, very bad one. Even if something did happen to it to slow it down… 

I need something else, another angle, another escape route. Facing it down head-on, even with all the healing of the past three years, is not an encounter I'm going to survive. 

I dart for the door back into the house, chest tight with fear and adrenaline as the thing follows hot on my heels. 

It chases me from room to room in the house, clawing desperately at the walls as it looks for ways in. The wailing whine of its joints in the dying sunlight echoes hauntingly through the house as it climbs up the walls after me. It's almost mocking me as it hunts me, taunting me at every window with its leering, charred grin and melted eye sockets. Between the streaks in the ash that coats it from the rain and the partially melted plastic of its faceplate, downturning the corners of its smile and making the top edges of its eye sockets sag, it almost looks like it's crying. 

I try to reach for the lock on one of the windows, screaming and staggering away as the thing slams into the glass with screeching claws. It knocks against the pane once, twice, but the reinforced glass holds. 

I scramble away and back to my feet, still trying not to panic. Unfortunately for me, “not panicking” stopped being an option a while ago.

I won't be safe where it can reach me, but at least it doesn't have the strength to break thick glass. That just leaves the doors as the only points of entry. A chill runs up my back as I realize just how many doors are on the ground floor with me. 

 

Think, M. 

 

I glance around the living area as I try to work out where's safest in the house. 

The garage? 

No, there's not enough between me and it. 

The workshop? 

No, the window well isn't reinforced. 

Here in the living room? 

Too many entrances. 

Upstairs. 

My room. Reinforced windows and only one way in. 

I focus back in on my surroundings, racing heart falling back into rhythm with the safety of a plan, and realize that it's quiet. Dead quiet. 

Is it gone?

I glance outside, still frozen in place. The sun is hidden behind the mountains at this point, leaving a blood red sky to soak into the lingering clouds. It should be here with the dark. It always follows the dark. 

 

Why would it leave?

 

I don't know how long I stand there, listening for any sign of its whining, groaning form. Long enough for the moon to climb her way up over the mountains and for the crickets to start chirping, at least, before I cautiously decide it's not coming back tonight, and begin to creep around the house. 

I head down into the workshop first, digging through one of my tool boxes to find the crowbar l've lovingly named “Insurance”. It’s old and rather heavy, with several dents along its shaft, and most of the red paint at the ends has long since rubbed off. I take a second to regard it fondly; it's gotten me out of a lot of jams over the years, I'm almost sad I haven't had a use for it since I moved here. The heavy, worn metal is comforting in my hands as I get a feel for holding it again. Hopefully even if that thing gets in, Insurance can help even the odds. 

I head back upstairs, locking the workshop door behind me as I head up to my room. I trade sleep for making sure nothing can get into my room – much to Michael's chagrin – and only relax again once the sun starts to peek over the horizon. 

 

It's quiet for a couple days after that. Well, not entirely; it comes back the next night. And the next. And the next. I don't sleep much and can’t leave the house, but the thing can't get in, either, so all I can do is lie awake all night listening to its attempts, fear gripping me so tightly it makes my muscles ache. I can hear it banging around the floor below me, knocking at the walls and windows and rattling the doors.  

I try not to think too much about the fact that it's clearly puzzling out how to get to me. 

 

It takes a week for the thing to learn how to climb up to the second floor, the sudden screeching of claws digging into the walls waking me from the light sleep I slipped into with a start. Sitting up, I can only stare through my crooked glasses at the window across from me, listening to the cracking of wood get closer and closer, until the silhouette of its ragged hat and warped faceplate block the moonlight coming in through the window. 

I see it raise a hand to knock on the glass, slowly curling skeletal fingers.

 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

 

It knows I'm here. If I weren't so terrified, I'd say the knock is almost polite. 

The robot tilts its head to one side with a horrible grinding noise, eye sockets dark as it stares through the window at me. I can't tell if it can actually see me. I really don't want to find out if it can. 

I swallow hard, feeling myself begin to shake from a combination of terror and fatigue as the thing knocks again. 

 

Knock. Knock. Knock.

 

The sound is firmer this time, more determined. 

 

It knows I'm ignoring it.

 

I glance away from the window, catching the thought. I can't think like that. This thing isn't smart enough for that. It's just a malfunctioning prototype, it can't… know things. It can't. 

 

Then why is it so hellbent on killing me?  

 

More scraping on the wall makes me jump, my hands reflexively reaching for the crowbar next to me on the bed. 

The noises move to the roof; heavy, lurching quadrupedal footsteps thumping across the ceiling. I track the sounds with my eyes, body tense as I watch it move across the roof and down the other side of the house as it continues to look for a way in. 

It scrapes down the wall that faces the backyard, getting far enough away that I can't directly hear it anymore, left with only the vibrations of its movements that ripple through the floor. 

 

Why would it leave?

 

I begin to quietly creep out of bed, keeping a white-knuckled grip on the crowbar as I inch out toward the hall, following the vibrations down the stairs.

It's still mostly silent as I reach the living room, save for my heart pounding in my ears. Do I turn on the lights? Will that draw it to me?

Slow, heavy thumping at the wall halts my thoughts, the sound almost like the knocks from before. 

I stay quiet, freezing in place as I search for the source of the knocking. 

 

Thump... thump... thump.  

 

It comes again, from somewhere below me in the living room, out in the backyard.

 

The window well? Why would it- 

 

The sound of shattering glass makes my heart leap into my throat, followed closely by clattering that shakes the floor. 

I look toward the door down into the workshop. The light switch is at the top of the stairs, if I can get to it before it comes up– 

I'm moving before I have time to think. My crowbar hits the door before I manage to frantically pull it open, scraping some of the paint off and denting the white wood. 

I lunge through the door for the light switch, desperately hoping this has all just been one long nightmare. 

The lights flip on with a mechanical screech that makes my ears ring. I press myself back into the corner of the doorway as my eyes adjust to the light, waiting until the sound subsides into a low whine before I move again. 

My steps down the stairs are slow and wary, my eyes watching for moving shadows as I turn the corner. 

My heart sinks from my throat all the way to my feet as I see the thing that's in my workshop. 

It's stuck mid-crawl over the back of my desk, its systems still grinding as it tries to move in the light. It looks worse than when I saw it last somehow, its clothes ragged and singed and its casing charred and melted like it crawled out of a burning building. 

The empty, drooping eye sockets are dark as I look at it. 

"What do you want?" I hate how my voice shakes. I can't make myself move any closer than the bottom of the stairs, half expecting it to just be pretending to be stuck and lunge if I get any closer. "Leave me alone! I didn't do anything to you, you fucking monster!" 

I can hear its systems go quiet as I speak. I guess it can still hear, though I'm not sure I prefer that. 

After a moment, it clicks back at me, the teeth in its damaged face opening and closing ever so slightly. 

"What is your problem? How in the hell did you even find me?" I grip Insurance tighter, fear boiling into anger the longer I look at the monster that nearly killed me three years ago. 

It clicks back again, its systems loudly grinding as it tries to move. 

I clench my jaw as I watch its systems scream. "Fuck. You. Fuck you for coming here." I force myself to take a step toward it. Then another, eyeing the dried blood still on its claws. "I should decommission you for good right now." 

It goes quiet again, its teeth moving slowly as it listens to me approach. 

The silence makes me hesitate for just a beat as I adjust my grip on the crowbar and raise it high. Is it accepting defeat? 

 

'H E R O'

 

The wheezing, glitching mess of grinding gears and static that comes from it almost sounds like talking as I start to swing, throwing me off balance and making me stop before I make contact with its face. The word wasn't truly spoken. I know this thing can't speak – The notes said it didn’t even get a voicebox – but somehow, someway, it figured out how to grind its systems in such a way to say one simple word. 

Hero. 

Does it think I’m the hero?  

The question makes my head reel as I stagger back away from it, Insurance slipping from my calloused fingers and clattering to the resin floor.

I could swear I see small white LED rings light up in its eye sockets before I sprint back upstairs, my feet catching the edges of the steps as I go. Stumbling out through the door, I slam it shut behind me and scramble to lock it, sinking down against the painted wood. 

I try to catch my breath. This isn't real. This can't be real. It has to be a dream, or a hallucination, or some kind of sick joke. 

I sit against the door until the room stops spinning and I stop shaking so much, unsure what to do. 

 

Break it. You should break it.

 

The whispers curl in my ears, slithering down my back. 

But what then? I don't even know how it got here. How did it escape? 

The whispers rise into buzzing wasps, crawling across my skin as they swirl with disconnected, frantic thoughts.

 

Your fault. 

Break it.

Hunting you.

Alone.

 

The whisper stands out among the noise. Alone. It's… alone. Damaged, blind, barely even functional at this point. 

Is it scared? Confused? Can it even feel those emotions? Does it feel pain? 

How did it find me? What about the soot, the state of it? 

I heave a sigh as I lean my head back against the door, squeezing my tired eyes shut. 

I try to convince myself that I can't leave it functional. It's dangerous, and surely won't hesitate to finish what it started if I gave it the chance, but… there's too many questions crowding my mind to ignore. Breaking it might bring peace, or I might spend the rest of my life wondering what just happened. 

Is decommissioning it even worth the effort? It was barely functional to begin with; at this point I'm surprised it can still move at all, much less be smart enough to find me. 

What happened to it? Clearly it's had a rough time hunting me down. 

My mind is tugged back and forth between the vicious urge to tear that stupid robot apart wire by wire and the need to know. 

It takes a while for my heart rate to slow down and my breathing to even back out, the wasps buzzing in my ears settling into a muted humming that thrums with the ache in my leg and back. 

 

I eventually force myself back down the stairs to grab my dear Insurance , knowing I'll feel a lot safer with some insurance for my safety. 

I ignore the pit in my stomach and the smell of burned plastic as I wrap my fingers around Insurance , the crowbar scraping on the floor. I pause as I heave it up to rest across my shoulders, watching the thing frozen in place on my desk. 

Last chance to just break it. To tear it apart into scrap metal and spare parts and prevent it from causing any more harm.

I clench my jaw. 

Stiffly, I turn and limp my way back up the stairs.

Chapter 8: Curiosity

Summary:

Who are you?
Curiosity is a powerful thing, able to overwrite even the most basic of self preservation instincts.

CW: Horror, gore/robot gore, thought manipulation/mild possession

I'm sitting at the bottom of the stairs for the third time today, Insurance tapping on my thigh from the anxious bounce of my foot as it rests across my legs. 

"What the hell do I do with you, huh?" I tap at the crowbar laying across my lap. If glaring at this thing hard enough could melt it, it'd be a smoking puddle of metal and plastic on my desk by now. 

The robot stays quiet, still awkwardly draped over my desk. It hasn't moved – of course it hasn't, the light's been on all week – and it hasn't "spoken" since it first broke in, either. I'm still not convinced that particular piece wasn't another hallucination after a week of not sleeping. Not that I've been sleeping any better knowing it's down here. Apparently, I’ve been doing so bad that my current workplace has basically forced me to take the next two weeks off.  Not that I actually listened.

I shift Insurance off my lap, tapping the crowbar on the floor towards it, "Can you hear me?"

There's a pause, then its systems painfully grind to life in what sounds like a mix of radio static and human screaming.

I immediately throw my hands up over my ears as the sound rakes over my brain like nails on a chalkboard. “Point made! Shut up!” 

The screeching winds slowly back into quiet, rhythmic clicking. 

I grimace and shake my head in an attempt to clear the ringing in my ears. "That answers that, I guess." 

Slowly, I drag my gaze across it again, trying to discern from the damage and various substances coating it what might’ve happened. What used to just be minor cracks and unfinished casings is now deep dents and melted holes; broken wires dangling out from them like snapped muscles. The thick cables that make up its limbs are equally damaged, covered in fraying gouges that catch the various types of grime all over its body: Ash, char, bits of sticking garbage… deeply set bloodstains. 

"Okay, you can hear me… Can you understand me?" My eyes flick back to its half melted face, searching for those white pupils I thought I saw. 

The unpainted grey sockets stay empty, the light sensors lining them and the analog screens filling them clearly visible in the light, warped and cracked from untempered heat. 

It remains quiet, systems clicking. 

"Can you understand me.” I repeat slower, “One click for yes, two for no." 

I'm not really paying attention even as I ask, more concerned with the idea it was in a fire. I’m not even expecting the thing to actually respond, either: considering how single-minded it’s been in hunting me, I highly doubt it’s actually intelligent enough to ‘speak’. 

Maybe the Light Room went up in flames? Or maybe—   

 

Clack.

 

I blink as my brain stutters, registering the sound. It had just... clacked its teeth at me. No, more than that, it had answered . 

My eyes slide slowly back to looking at its face. Terror and curiosity briefly fight for control as I consider my next step. 

After a moment that feels like an eternity, curiosity wins. 

“…Do you know where you are?” 

 

Clack-Clack.

 

I force myself to take a deep breath, quieting the roiling mix of emotions that rises in my chest. 

“Do you know who you are?” 

 

Clack.

 

”Do you know who I am?” 

 

… Clack… Clack. 

 

“O-kay.” I roll the word slowly around in my mouth. “Okay. Yeah. Sure.” Another deep breath as I lean my head back to gaze at the ceiling. 

Gods, what am I doing?

The robot clicks its gears somewhat stiffly, making me snap my eyes back to it. It still hasn't moved. Of course it hasn't, that should be impossible, but my leg still aches hearing those clunky mechanisms again. 

“No voicebox means I can't just make you talk…” I purse dry lips, “I could build you one, but with you like… this,” I vaguely gesture to the damage that covers its entire body, “there'd be basically no point.”  

I'm mostly talking to myself, though as I muse I keep a wary eye on the thing, watching it painfully tilt its head ever so slightly to one side to listen to me speak. It looks almost… curious. I try not to be unsettled by the idea that this thing can even be curious, considering how much I'm already stretching the ‘it didn't know what it was doing when it tried to kill me’ alibi pretty thin. 

I tap my fingers on my crowbar again, humming as I continue to muse, “If you can think, that means your systems aren't totally dead… and I'll have to plug you in to give you a voice anyway…” 

A deep breath steels my nerves about the plan forming in my mind. 

It's just another robot. This is just standard procedure to update and test them. Just ignore the fact that this one broke into your house to kill you. 

“Okay, Mr. Broke-Into-My-House-To-Find-Me-For-Some-Reason,” I address the robot still frozen on my desk as I force myself up off the step I was sitting on, slowly limping toward the desk until I'm way too close for my comfort. I have to lean around it on the desk to pick my monitor back up and turn it on. “Here's what's going to happen: I am going to plug you into my PC.” I have to bend down and right the toppled tower on the floor, checking it for damage as I slowly continue to speak, “I'm going to open your dialogue box in my computer,” I turn the PC on and leave it to boot up while I search the drawers for a connector cable, “You're going to tell me exactly why you're here and how you escaped, and then, maybe , I won't scrap you.” I keep a wary eye on it out of the corner of my eye as I find a cable that should work, turning back to plug it into the computer. “Got it?” 

 

Clack. 

 

“Good.” I hesitate as I stand back up, gripping the cable. The way it's stuck on the desk, its faceplate is at eye level with me, its cracked and gap-toothed grin inches from my nose. The actual scale of it hits me again as I look at it: Its faceplate dwarfs my hands, each remaining tooth as long as one of my fingers, with the claws hanging over the edge of the desk looking like rusted butcher knives. 

I swallow the apprehension that rises in my throat, hoping it can’t tell that my hands are shaking as I carefully grab the side of its faceplate and turn it toward one wall so it's looking away from me. The movement is stiff, I can feel the resistance in the motors that makes each click of the gears a hard stop before it rolls to the next slot. I carefully slide one hand up under the robot's hood, feeling at the top edge for where it's affixed to its face. For a moment I'm distracted as I realize there's two layers to its faceplate, much like Sun – A mobile front layer that has its actual face, and a stationary second layer that connects to its flexible neck. The latter layer is connected to the crown of the hood with sturdy hooks and eyes that keep it in place, still unbent despite the recent abuse. Ash flakes off what remains of the white fur that lines the hood as I meticulously peel it off the hooks and leave it draped around the robot's shoulders. 

The back of its head seems relatively untouched by fire, with a thin metal casing covering its main board and the base of its neck, though it hasn't escaped rust and mold. I have to scratch some kind of flaky substance off of the connector port I need before I can slot the cable into place, pressing until I feel the subtle click. 

The robot shudders slightly as the computer registers its systems. 

I relax slightly as I step away from it to sit at my desk, leaning to grab the mouse. It's easy to find its systems in my computer and open its dialogue box, familiar text appearing to greet me.

 

> Enter Command. 

> |

 

“Okay, let's see here.” I purse my lips. 

 

> command// name

> Waiting for response… 

> response// MOON

 

“Creative.” I huff, casting the robot a glance. 

 

> message// Hello. 

> Waiting for response… 

> response// Hello Hero. 

 

That title again.

 

> message// Why are you here? 

> Waiting for response… 

> response// Needed help. 

> response// Nowhere else to go. 

 

My throat is dry as I swallow, reading the responses over again to double check I'm not hallucinating. 

It needed help and it came here?

I rub my eyes under my glasses, taking a deep breath. 

This is going to raise more questions than it answers, I can already tell. 

 

> message// How did you escape the Pizzaplex?

> Waiting for response… 

> response// The fire caved in the walls and brought down the sky. 

> response// I slipped through the cracks. 

> message// Fire? 

> Waiting for response… 

> response// Yes. 

> response// I tried to save Little Star. 

> response// It hurt too much to move them. There was too much light. The sky was too heavy. 

 

I chew my lip, “The Pizzaplex burned down?” The idea somehow makes me feel hollow. 

All the bots… the employees…

 

> message// Is everyone okay? 

> response// I don't know. 

> response// Little Star was already gone when I left to find you, Hero. 

 

I tap at my desk, unease crawling up my spine. I'm liking talking to this thing less and less with every question. 

 

> message// Did you start the fire? 

> Waiting for response… 

> response// No. 

> response// Something below did. 

> response// I was waiting for Hero to return.

> message// What did? 

> Waiting for response… 

> response// I don't know. 

 

“Very helpful.” I groan, rubbing my face. “Okay, let's just move on.” 

 

> message// How did you find me? 

> Waiting for response… 

> response// I got lost in the labyrinth. 

> response// The children brought me here.

 

Right. I'm the “weird robot guy” in the neighborhood. 

“How… Nice of them.” I mutter. 

I'll have to put a community bulletin up about that later.

 

> message// Why me? 

> Waiting for response…

> response// You are the Hero. 

> response// Hero helps those who need help. 

> message// Why do you keep calling me that? 

> Waiting for response… 

> response// You saved Little Star and defeated me. 

> response// You are the Hero. 

 

I lean back in my chair, rubbing my temples. None of this makes sense. Maybe this is all just one long, drawn-out dream, or I finally fully lost it and none of this is real.

“Ohhhh… what do I do with you, huh?” My hands come to rest on the back of my neck as I look between the monitor and the robot. 

Its face is still turned away from me, still stuck mid-crawl over the back of the desk, though it's so tall and lanky that its feet can still easily touch the ground even with its entire torso leaning over the desk. It looks… uncomfortable, between the pose it's stuck in and the damage that peppers its body. 

Humming quietly to myself, I turn back to the monitor.

What's going on with you?  

 

> message// Are you trying to kill me? 

> Waiting for response…

> response// ERR. SAFE MODE ACTIVE. 

> response// I don't understand. 

 

“Oh so you do have a Safe Mode.” I hum. “Never would've guessed.” 

 

> command// system check

 

I tell myself it's just curiosity as I type. Just a need to know what went wrong with it, nothing more. It almost killed me, why would I think about actually fixing it? Why would I help him?  

I'm not a hero, no matter what he says. 

 

> Waiting for response…

> system// CURRENT MODE: STANDBY

> system// PWR: ERR 

> system// LM LVL: 1700 

> system// MOTORS LOCKED

>system// SERVER OFFLINE

> system// WARNING. CRITICAL DAMAGE. SAFE MODE ACTIVE. LOW POWER MODE ACTIVE. 

> system// ERR. SHOW MODE INACTIVE. MISSING MIMIC DRIVER. INSTALL DRIVER AND RESTART SYSTEM TO RUN DIAGNOSTICS. 

 

“MIMIC driver?” I squint, having to dig through my memory to figure out what it's referring to. I vaguely recall something about that; it was the program the glamrock bots had to swap between ‘show mode’ and ‘walkabout mode’. Even the S.T.A.F.F. Bots had it to more easily swap between tasks. Makes sense that this guy doesn't have it, since he was scrapped way before it was even a thing. Easy enough of a fix, except… I don't have access to those files anymore, and if the Pizzaplex went up in flames, there might not be anything left to sneak in and steal, either. 

I chew my lip. “If I were to fix you,” I say slowly, gears turning in my brain, “Which I'm not saying I will, but if I were, I'd have to do all the physical repairs first, to make sure your brain doesn't fry from any programming changes…” My fingers tap at the desk,  “That being said, if I can’t find out what’s wrong with you without installing that MIMIC program, I'd risk damaging your components anyway…Hm.” 

 

Clack.

 

Oh great, he’s still listening. I catch the thought, eyebrows twitching slightly in confusion. Am I happy about that?  

 

> message// Why should I help you? 

> Waiting for response… 

> response// I can be useful. 

> response// I can help find Little Star. 

> response// I can offer protection. 

> message// How do I know you won't try to kill me again? 

> Waiting for response… 

> response// I don't know. 

> response// I would not hurt Hero. 

 

I tap at the desk again as I debate what to do next, leaning back in my chair.

Do I keep it? 

It would be so much easier to just shut the thing down and scrap it. 

What about Sun? If the Pizzaplex really is gone, do I go back for them instead? 

Do I even believe him? Why should I listen to anything he says? 

What am I supposed to do? 

…  

Squeezing my eyes shut, I take a deep breath to calm the roiling waves in my mind ans the churning of uncertainty in my stomach. 

I need to go for a walk. 

“...I'll be back.” I decide as I get up. “Wait here.” I hesitate slightly to turn my back on it, only taking my eyes off it to head back upstairs. 

 

Clack-clack-clack.  

 

“Oh stop pouting. You're fine.” I cast a glance over my shoulder at it, “I'll be right back.” 

It clacks its teeth again with displeasure after me as I leave it, but it still doesn't try to move under the basement lights.

 

I only relax again as I make it up the stairs and lock the basement door behind me, taking a second to calm my pounding heart. 

Maybe Vince will know what to do? He's better at software stuff than me. 

 

I don't think too much as I limp over to the coffee table in the living room, grabbing my phone off the coffee table and quickly navigating to my texts. Lucky for me, it's easy to find who I’m looking for since I don't exactly text anyone else. 

 

‘Hey Vince, got a sec?’ 

 

Directly after I hit ‘send’ I realize I don't actually have a good excuse for why I'd be asking for advice about how to program a bot three years after getting fired.  

 

‘Sure, what's up?’ 

 

Shit. The one time he texts back in a timely manner.

 

‘I've got a new project. It needs a ton of repair, but it's missing some programming and I can't run diagnostics til it gets it.’ 

‘Do I have to get the program or would it be alright to just get going?’ 

 

Please don't ask questions. 

 

‘Back to robots?’ 

 

Shit. 

I chew my lip. 

Well, he's not wrong… Just play it cool. We don't have to lie, just bend the truth a little.

 

‘Yeah, just couldn't stay away lol.’ 

‘What'd you find this time?’ 

Uh.  

I panic, scrounging my on-hand robot information for something believable that also isn't the full truth. 

 

‘An antique. One of the relics from those old entertainer diners.’

‘Really.’

‘Yes, really.’

‘You’re gonna get hurt if you keep fuckin with Fazco tech like that.’

‘Yeah yeah.’

‘Can you help or no?’ 

‘If I must.’

‘Yes, you must.’ 

‘Eugh. Fine.’

‘Do programming first. If it can't run it then you'll know what to replace anyway when it smokes.’ 

‘Fazco antiques are a shitshow in general. You're better off just making it a decoration.’

‘Sweet. Thanks dude.’

‘You're seriously repairing it?’

‘You know those old models are death traps, right?’

‘Ofc I do. I’m not that stupid.’ 

‘Debatable.’

‘When you die I'm gonna say I told you so.’

‘You can rub it in at my funeral.’ 

 

I set the phone down, rubbing my face. Okay, breaking into the Pizzaplex it is, I guess, since I'm fairly certain I don't have the “MIMIC driver” on my PC somewhere. 

That's a project for the weekend, though. Right now, it's back downstairs to update the robot in my basement on the plan, finding a way to shut it down, and then maybe some actual sleep for the first time all week without worrying that it's going to wander into my room or follow me to work. 

The stairs creak under my uneven feet as I descend into the basement once more. 

 

Clack-clack-clack-clack. 

 

The robot on my desk greets me as I round the corner. 

“Yeah, I’m back.” I sigh. “So, new plan.” 

He clicks curiously. 

“I'm going to get you the driver you're missing, and see what's going on in that noggin of yours.” I inspect its melted face again. “Can you charge? Did you even get a battery?” 

 

Clack clack clack. 

 

“Right. Guess you wouldn't know, huh?” I hum. “Could I shut you down for a bit until I figure that out?” 

He hesitates, then his joints grind, claws twitching on the edge of the desk with obvious distress at the idea. 

“It wouldn't be forever,” I assure him, “I don't have charging cables down here. I'd have to go get one when I go get your programming or make one from scratch, and I don't want you to be stuck the whole time I'm gone.” 

I choose not to tell him that I'll have to shut him down to fix him too. That's a conversation for later. 

 

Clack-clack.

 

“Dude,” I sigh, “I promise it's not that bad. It's like… Just taking a nap. You won’t even notice the time went by.” 

At least, I think that's how the other bots described it. 

 

Clack. Clack.

 

His reply is firm, clearly not keen on the idea.

It occurs to me that he probably doesn't know what a nap even is. Something to ask about later, I guess. 

“Okay, buddy, your options are either stay here, completely aware, alone, while I go get shit done,” I count the options on my fingers even though he can't see, “Or, I shut you down now and wake you up when I get back.” 

His systems grind in a low growl. 

“Don't you pitch a fit, those are your options.” I huff back. “So what’ll it be?” 

He's quiet for a long few beats, lightly clicking his gears. 

I wonder if he's actually considering it, or if he’s just pretending to humor me. I'm still not sure how I feel about either of those options. 

 

Clack…Clack. 

 

The reply is slow. Thoughtful. 

“Still no?” I hum, “Okay, if you're sure. You're going to be alone until I can get the programming you're missing, you know.” 

 

Clack. 

 

“Suit yourself,” I shrug, turning to head back upstairs. 

I'm still mulling over his decision as I lock the basement door behind me. Weird… I've never seen a robot choose to be in pain over being turned off. To be fair, I didn't know the others at the Pizzaplex all that well, but they never seemed opposed to being shut down or rebooted. 

I wonder what makes him different. 

 

>> << 

 

The rest of the week goes by agonizingly slowly. My job isn’t super demanding, but it is tedious at times, even moreso when I'm distracted by the potentially much more interesting project waiting for me in my own basement. I should still be scared of it – and to some extent, I am – and yet, there's something about him. He's so different from all the others. Even Sun, his supposed twin, is only similar in build to their towering brother. 

An entirely unique animatronic that only I know about; And not only is it complicated, it's dangerous . 

I hadn't realized just how much I missed that sort of terrifying thrill. 

 

I wait until Saturday night to prepare for my less than legal escapade. Digging out my old fanny pack from the depths of my closet, I make sure to clean it out first, finding a crumpled ziplock baggie with two still-intact capsules in it. A small part of me finds comfort in the familiar feeling of them between my fingers, distracted for only a moment before I shake my head and focus on the task at hand, leaving the baggie and its contents on the bathroom counter. I pack light: A flashlight, some spare batteries, a water bottle, a USB drive, a respirator to handle the smoke, a pair of cut and heat-resistant gloves, and my phone, wallet, and keys. After some debate, I end up taking Insurance as well, though she doesn't fit in my bag and gets hooked onto one of my belt loops instead. Figure it might come in handy, especially if the Pizzaplex is in ruins. Who knows what I'll find in there. Logically, I know it can't be anything bad, considering the state of the robot in my house – the building can't be more than rubble and ash and corpses – but my mind is still eager to jump to unidentifiable beasts lurking in the shadows, waiting for something to wander into their territory so they can feast. 

I try not to think about it too much on the drive over to the massive building, taking mostly back roads to avoid traffic. 

 

The last dying rays of sunlight cling to the tops of the mountains in the distance, making the sky a dusty red that fades into hues of grey. The ruins of the Pizzaplex loom large in the dimming twilight, my car’s headlights illuminating the cracked pavement of the parking lot as I turn in. 

A frost of shattered glass coats the ground closer to the building, crunching under my tires as I park just in front of the front doors. The building looks eerie as I peer through the window at it. 

The remains of the front wall looks like warped, ashen bones, all the windows long gone and covered by plywood propped up against the outside. 

I take a deep breath before I get out of the car, my boots crunching on the glass carpet as I look up at the ruins. 

The building is half collapsed, the bare frame of the skylight dome reaching up into the last inklings of twilight and the neon sign out front melted into drooping gibberish. 

“Gods, what happened here?” I murmur, digging for my flashlight and gloves before I start searching the front of the building for a way in. “Must’ve been some fire.” 

Hopefully the Parts & Service area is still intact enough that I can still salvage something from the computers. 

I’m able to nudge some of the plywood away from the warped frames of the front doors and slink my way inside, stepping carefully around all the debris just inside. It still reeks of smoke and burning plastic, my feet stirring up ash that stings my lungs the further into the lobby I get. Within a few steps I'm coughing from the smell, prompting me to put my respirator on as I get my bearings.  

The Plex looks even rougher on the inside: The upper floors have almost completely collapsed into piles of debris blocking almost every path deeper into the Plex, and the front desk area and gift shops are nothing but charred skeletons of what they used to be, with destroyed S.T.A.F.F. Bots lying about like corpses. 

I mourn the sight of my poor S.T.A.F.F. Bots for a moment. Poor things, there’s no way they would’ve been able to handle a disaster of this scale. 

I wonder what happened to the glamrocks and Sun? Dead, surely. 

The idea crushes me, slowing my step as I trek deeper into the building. Gone. Everything, every one is just… Gone. No front page news, no grand announcement from Fazbear Entertainment, it just quietly slipped into the grave. I didn't love this job, per se, but I did have friends here, both in the employees and in the bots, and the idea that they're just gone … it just doesn't feel right. 

I can only hope that everyone got decommissioned quickly; I hate to think of any of the bots getting trapped and having to watch their battery slowly drain or being stuck in a short circuit loop.

 

The building is alive with a low hum that I can feel in the base of my skull, making my spine tingle as the hum tugs me further into the building. It’s familiar in more than one way, though not in a way I can place. It almost feels like the beginnings of a buzz. 

Maybe I’m getting high off the lingering gas fumes or something, even with the respirator, I muse. I resist the urge to laugh at the idea. Not exactly the relapse I would’ve expected to have at this point. And in the skeleton of my old workplace, no less. 

My body is mostly running off of muscle memory as I wander deeper into the ruined Pizzaplex, though I have to stay aware of my surroundings to avoid all the rubble and cave-ins that block the halls. A thick layer of ash coats the ground, softening my footsteps and making my breathing and heartbeat the only things I can hear aside from the distant clicking of sparks and the groaning of damaged pipes. I have to correct my route a couple of times to account for the destruction – Most of the entrances down into the maintenance tunnels have caved in or been buried – but eventually I find a door that isn't too banged up and doesn't lead to an immediate dead end deep within the building, near what used to be the raceway. 

The door screeches as I pry it open a few inches, the sound echoing ominously through the cave-like remains of the Pizzaplex. I wince at the noise, stopping for a moment to let the sound peter out before I cause more noise by prying the door open further. It takes a couple rounds of yanking the door another inch or two and waiting for silence, but eventually there’s enough of an opening that I can slide through. 

The distant sound of a broken radio that echoes from deep within the Plex as I step onto the stairs down into the tunnels, almost sounding like it's responding to the sounds of the door. I pause at the top of the stairs, straining to hear where it's coming from. 

Is someone still alive down here?  

I take a few steps down the stairs, sweeping my flashlight through the thick haze toward the tunnel entrance in front of me. 

“Hello?” I call, my chest tightening at making such a loud noise in the cramped space, “Anyone there?” 

Silence is all that greets me, dark and heavy. 

I could've sworn I heard something. I shake my head. Must just be the smoke. Better keep moving before it gets any worse. 

 

The maintenance tunnels are nothing like I remember. The walls are scorched black, the air thick and hazy with trapped smoke and the once rigid shape of something man-made softened into unstable archways of rubble that press in around me. My trek is slow going through the rubble, having to squeeze myself through narrow passageways as I attempt to make a mental map of where I am and head toward Parts & Service. 

At some point I hear it again, the garbled sounds of a broken radio. This time it's much closer, coming from somewhere else in the tunnels. 

I hesitate, a flash of primal fear gripping me before it's overwritten by a vain strain of hope and curiosity.

“Hello?” I point my flashlight toward the sound, eyes stinging from the haze, “Who's there?” 

This time I get a response, the radio static coming from somewhere to my right. I inch further down the hall, ducking to fit through a gap in the rubble and finding myself in an intersection a few feet further. 

My flashlight sweeps back and forth in search of the noise as I call again. “Who's there?” 

Maybe someone is okay. 

The thought should put the clinging fear in my chest at ease, but instead cold dread curls tighter around my lungs as heavy metal footsteps accompany the garbled response. 

I recognize the weight almost immediately. “Freddy?” I venture, tentative as I lean toward the approaching footsteps. “You okay?” 

There's a hitch in the footsteps as my voice reaches in the tunnels, before they pick up the pace, heavy and intent in their approach as the radio calls back once more with strangled screams. There's something wrong about the gait, something in it that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end the closer it gets. 

He’s not slowing down. He’s not—

I lunge forward across the intersection as shattered claws pry apart the rubble with a scream from the radio, making the unstable hallways shudder as the large robot forces his way into the intersection just a foot or so behind me. Dust chokes the already hazy air as the pathways behind the robot cave in shortly after, curling around the edges of my respirator as I duck behind rubble. Desperately resisting the urge to cough, I wipe at the dust now coating my glasses and turn to look at who’s following me. 

Or rather… what’s left of who’s following me. 

Freddy is lopsided, pitched forward without the weight of his head on his shoulders, his claws reaching out in front of him as he balances on the front of his feet. His outer casings are smashed to pieces, what’s left of it covered in soot and dried blood. His stomach hatch hangs open, smashed into a jagged maw with scraps of cloth hanging off the edges. His systems heave with grime as his speakers scream again, searching for my voice to guide him. 

My heart drops into my shoes as I duck down behind the rocks, lungs burning as I panic about what to do next. 

Freddy doesn’t seem stable. By all means, he shouldn’t be functional like that at all. I would be more in awe of how hardy he is if I weren’t so horrified. 

I’m stuck between sympathy and terror watching him try to find me, what small part of me that might want to help the malfunctioning robot overwhelmed by the rest of me wanting to run as far and fast as possible away from him. Based on the blood and rags currently coating him, something tells me getting his attention won’t end well for me. 

I watch and wait until he’s facing the opposite direction before beginning to slowly back away down the tunnel behind me. I don’t have a plan for what happens once I run; I don’t even know where this hallway leads, but right now my mental map is second fiddle to staying alive and unharmed. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to notice me slink away, though I don’t release the breath burning in my lungs until I’m sure I’m out of earshot. 

A painful mix of smoke and dust comes out of my lungs in the fit of coughing that follows the desperate gasp that escapes me. I keep an ear out for Freddy’s broken speakers as I catch my breath again. 

I’ve never been so thankful for uneasy silence. Any previous thoughts of fixing Freddy have been thoroughly squashed by now; Having one murderous robot in my house is already too many, I'm not about to add another eight foot tall bot into the mix. 

Is everyone like that? I hesitate, mind flitting once again back to the Daycare before I quickly shake off the thought. No, can’t worry about that right now.

Better just keep moving. 

 

The groaning, screaming sounds of Freddy follow me through the tunnels, making me occasionally have to dive for cover and hold my breath when the zombie animatronic catches up or wanders close enough to hear me. It doesn't seem like he's hunting me, at least, just following whatever stimulus he can find. He's probably looking for the party rooms and the kids – assuming he reverted back to his base programming – though I don't really want to know what would happen if he found them. 

He follows me all the way to where Parts & Service should be, the echoes of his groaning metal lingering in my ears as I turn a corner to find the double doors of the workshop, scorched and melted so badly they're welded together. Tugging at the warped metal only solidifies my suspicions that it’s not going to budge. 

“Well, shit, there goes that idea.” I murmur to myself. Not that the surrounding hallway bodes well for anything being recoverable in there anyway, but I was hoping that something would be easy for once. Too much to ask for, I guess. 

I rub my eyes under my glasses, trying to massage some of the dust and debris out of my water lines. 

Okay, M.C., think. Where else could the driver be? It's the oldest thing we have, there has to be a backup somewhere. 

Something itches at the back of my brain. We… didn't have the original programs in the shop. We had the updated ones, the copies and backups that got routinely updated. The old ones, the original copies, would be in… 

The foundation lab.

The words slot in with the buzzing in my brain, filling the gaps in my thoughts so comfortably it feels like there was no gap at all. 

I shake my head, confusion clinging to my brain for a moment before the buzzing settles back in the base of my skull again. 

Right, the foundation lab. Something this old would definitely be down there, they must have developed it when they built all the robots.

Figuring out how to get down there has to wait for now, though, as the sounds of the wandering Freddy get a little too close for comfort and forces me forward, further into the tunnels. And further, and further, the walls squeezing in around me like a starving snake the deeper I go. Not that I have much choice in where I go, with Freddy breathing down my neck and the maintenance tunnels in this state. 

At some point the tunnels get too narrow for Freddy to keep following me, though it's barely wide enough for me to squeeze through myself, making me put my flashlight away and feel my way along. The discomfort of being followed is replaced by the tight squeeze that makes it even harder to breathe, and the rocks clawing at my clothes and skin as I move. 

I try to ignore my pounding heart as I press on. This has to let out somewhere, this place is too big for it to be a dead end. 

At some point the tight squeeze opens back up into a relatively intact hallway, leading to what looks like a utility door. I relax a little bit at being able to pull my flashlight back out and see where I'm going again.

The signage on the door is mostly burned away and covered in soot, though enough of the paint is left beneath the thick layer of char to show the signage reading “WASTE WATER, KEEP OUT” beneath a large caution symbol as I wipe it away with my sleeve. A sewer entrance. 

I hum softly at the door. 

I didn't know there were ways into the sewer from the building.  

I push and pull at the door, thankful to find it stiff, but unlocked and functional. Forcing it open makes my lungs burn as the haze trapped behind it is even thicker than before, reeking of burning hair and rotting meat. 

I gag in my mask, having to take a second to steel myself against the onslaught of smells. The smell brings back the image of a large pile of rotting corpses hidden somewhere in the sewers, now with the added stench of the building burning down.   

I grimace, casting a glance behind me. For a moment, I debate taking my chances in the maze with Freddy to find another way out, but decide going forward will be easier than going back. After all, the sewers will at least lead back out to the road at some point, provided they’re still intact… and if memory serves, they should also lead to the foundation lab. 

I just… have to get past the bodies and figure out where I am, first. 

The metal stairs creak under my feet, shedding ash as I make it down to the ground. At the very least, the thick haze is only around the stairs, the actual sewer tunnel much easier to breathe in smoke-wise. 

The stench of rot down here is eye-watering, the tunnels illuminated by dim overhead lights that are diffused by the lingering, swirling haze. It's mostly dry, any lingering water turned into puddles of dark sludge that dot the bottom of the waterways and coat the walls in streaks. 

The buzzing rises again in my mind, making my ears ring and the world to blur for a moment. I stagger slightly at the sudden assault on my senses, reaching out to steady myself against the wall. The sludge feels cold and sticky on the smooth cement. 

The dizziness passes a moment later, letting me breathe again. 

“Eugh,” I pull my hand off the wall once the room stops spinning, my hand peeling away some of the grime and leaving a handprint on the wall. 

Down. Look down. 

Something draws my eyes away from my hand and down to the floor, blinking tired eyes to find footprints in the grime, leading off into the sewers. 

I frown slightly in confusion. 

Was someone else down here? Where did they go? 

The footprints seem human, barefoot and wandering from side to side as I follow them into the sewers. They move with purpose, like the person who left them knew exactly where they were going, and the further in they go, the more certain I am that they were going the same place I am. 

I follow them through the sewers out into the large room I remember being dragged to, though instead of the pile of rotting corpses in the center, the room instead opens down into a giant pit, with the footprints leading directly into it. 

The pit looks like it plunges down into nothing, just a hungry maw that feeds directly into the abyss, eager to pull me in and eat me whole. Standing directly at the edge, my flashlight doesn't even come close to finding the bottom through the haze, though the buzzing in my head doesn't make me too keen on the idea of climbing in. 

I back away from the edge of the hole, pressing myself against the sticky walls and shimmying my way around the edge, just in case the ground is more unstable than it seems. 

The footsteps I'm following resume on the other side, though strangely it looks like the person that made them climbed out of the pit directly, with handprints clawing at the edge of the sinkhole.  

The footprints lead out of the sewers and into the trash tunnels, winding their way back up until they stop directly in front of the door that got slammed in during the chase that night.   

 

I step over the fallen door, casting a glance around the room for the first time in three years. It seems almost exactly the way I left it, albeit with some added smoke webs crawling across the ceiling. There's a strange clean spot on one of the workbenches, like something big was recently moved, and some fresh footprints in the dust on the floor. Some of the schematics on the walls are also missing, though I can’t recall what they were for.

The PC setup is still untouched, sitting neatly on the desk beside deep claw marks. 

There's something strange about the entire workshop; how much of it survived compared to the rest of the building, how relatively clean it all is. I eye the empty workbench, trying to figure out what sat there last time I was here, but the memories are fuzzy, blurred by the panic of that night and the buzzing currently blending my brain into soup. 

I shake my head, turning to walk over to the desk, retracing the footprints in the dust on the floor. 

I hesitate as my hand nudges the mouse, blinking my watering eyes to get a clearer look as the monitor flickers on almost immediately. 

The PC and monitor are covered in dust and cobwebs, but the dust has been scraped off of the mouse like it's been recently used. The computer itself is on, the login screen flickering on the ancient monitor as it waits for input. 

My head aches as I look down at the keyboard, the light from the monitor illuminating the dusty keys, glinting off of several freshly cleaned ones. I almost can't help but reach to carefully press the cleaned keys. 

 

14mst1llh3r3

 

The computer garbles a choked version of its once-cheery boot-up tune as it opens to the desktop. The layout of all the files is familiar in an eerie sort of way, though all the file names are written in a glitching mix of random numbers and letters. 

I blink and try to shake the buzzing from my head, the glitching names settling into something vaguely readable on the damaged screen. 

TheatrPrgrm… Sunbot…Moonbot… EclipsePrgrm…

There we go, M.I.M.I.C. Should be what I need. 

Plugging in my USB stick takes a bit of effort, but the computer can still register it, at least. Copying the folder over is easy enough, though with how old the computer is, it's gonna take a minute. 

My head hurts with how loud the buzzing is in here, making it hard to focus. I let my eyes wander across the office as the ancient PC copies the files, drawn to a dim reddish-purple glow near my feet. I don't even realize I've crouched down and grabbed something until I feel cold metal and plastic in my hands. 

My eyes refocus onto my hands, finding some kind of Halloween mask cradled between my thumbs. It looks like a rabbit, with a set of tall ears sticking out of the top and mottled brown and white markings all over it. It has an exaggerated grin, empty except for buck teeth in the center, and large red eyes that bug out slightly from the rest of the mask. The eyes glow a soft red, and the purple tint I saw earlier seems to come from the inside of the mask. 

Slowly, I turn it over, my fingertips tingling with the hum of live circuits. The inside of the mask is lined with what looks like sensors of some kind, the eyes layered with thin screens that distort whatever it sees. The soft purple glow pulses around the edges of all the sensors, shifting as the red lights of the sensors flicker. It's almost hypnotic, like it's inviting me to put it on. 

The ping of the computer above me startles me out of my trance. I quickly stand back up and grab my USB stick, shoving it back in my fanny pack. 

Time to go. 

I glance down at the mask still in my hand, suddenly aware of the ringing in my head. Some part of me has the urge to hang onto the mask and bring it home. The idea is so enticing that it takes me a minute to come to my senses, shaking my head with a grimace. This place must be getting to me.

I have to force my hand to let go of the mask and set it on the desk, trying to shake the oppressive humming in my mind as I force myself to head forward, out into the rest of the foundation lab and hopefully, to the elevator. 

The haze still clings to me as I wander out into the halls, the stench of smoke and decay clinging to my respirator and clothes. The rest of the labs look about as burned as everything up top, though that's where most of the destruction ends. Idly, I wonder if this was supposed to be a bomb shelter at some point. It's certainly sturdy enough. I keep an eye out for more footprints as I walk, but it seems like I'm the only one leaving. 

I'm careful not to take any detours on my way out – I don't want to risk running into anything else that's still walking around. 

 

I don't know at what point a second set of footsteps adds onto mine. The buzzing in my brain is so bad by now that I only notice it to begin with when I trip on something hidden in the soot on the ground, my muddled senses catching the even tap-tap-tap of quiet footsteps in the gaps of my uneven ones. 

I stop, catching my breath for a moment as I listen. 

The footsteps stop a second later. 

I take a couple of slow steps forward, pretending nothing is wrong. 

The footsteps follow my gait, trailing somewhere behind me. 

I don't stop walking, keeping the same pace as I turn around, walking backward to see who's behind me. 

Without shining my flashlight, all I can see are two beady red-orange eyes. Looking at it makes my head hurt, the incessant buzz in my skull almost unbearable. 

I stop again, watching whatever it is stop several feet behind me. I wait. One moment. Two. 

Keep going.  

The thought makes my feet move, though it's not mine. 

The eyes follow me, step… by step… by step. I can feel it breathing in sync with the rise and fall of my lungs. 

My back hits the elevator cage, rattling the rusty metal. 

The eyes stop, still several feet away from me. 

Call it. 

My hand feels across the wall until it finds the buttons, flashlight focused on my feet. I can feel the elevator groan to life behind me, rattling its way down the shaft. 

My grip tightens on my flashlight. I'm unable to look away from those eyes, even though the pounding headache in my temples is screaming at me to do so. 

Don't do that.

The thought catches the hand gripping my flashlight the second I begin to raise the beam off the floor.

I swallow hard, clenching my jaw. It's hard to think with the ringing in my ears and the smells choking my senses.  

The elevator shudders to a stop behind me. I reach to open one half of the cage, still unable to look away from the red-orange eyes as I frantically scramble back into the creaking box.

It follows my steps, stopping just on the other side of the cage. The ambient light of my flashlight glints off its bones. 

It looks almost human. 

I press the elevator button to start sending the elevator back up the shaft, sucking in a deep breath as I force my wrist to flick the flashlight beam up. 

There's a flash of something small and lithe and skeletal. Scorched flesh melting off of bones. A grinning skull of a face. There might be hair? It's hard to tell.  

You shouldn't have done that. 

I immediately drop the flashlight, terror gripping my chest as the eyes bore into me, disappearing after a moment below the edge of the elevator as it hauls itself slowly up the elevator shaft.  

I stagger back against the back of the elevator, head spinning. 

What the fuck was that thing? 

The buzz in my brain overwhelms me by the time the elevator opens behind me, throwing me out into the ruins of the Pizzaplex. 

I take a moment to lay on my back, staring at the blackened ceiling as my heart pounds in my ears. 

Get out. 

The thought makes my fingers twitch. I need to move. 

Get. Out. 

It's hard to breathe. I can't move. Why can't I move? 

GET OUT. 

My mind is several steps behind my body as I feel myself get up and sprint down the collapsed halls. My vision is blurry, the buzzing filling every nook and cranny of my senses until all I can see is static and all I can feel is the stench of smoke and burning flesh. 

 

At some point the static subsides, the buzzing peeling away from my senses to let me breathe again, leaving me with a deep-seated sense of fatigue and a pounding headache. 

I'm standing at the door to my house, keys clutched awkwardly in one hand mere inches away from the doorknob. I don't remember driving, and a quick look around me proves my car isn't in the driveway or the still-open garage. 

Did I walk home? 

I frown in confusion as I try to piece together what happened. It definitely feels like I ran home; my legs burn and my chest heaves with uneven breaths, sweat making the soot and dust condense into streaks on my skin. The back of my mind still itches, and my other hand still tingles with electricity, though I’m certain I'm not holding anything. 

A tired sigh escapes me as I shake my head, reaching up to pull the respirator off my face. My skin crawls from all the grime, though I can breathe a little easier without the pressing stench in my nostrils. Sleep. I need some sleep. Tonight has been a little too much of an adventure. 

The doorknob is nice and cold on my skin as I unlock the door and open it, my dirty palm sticking slightly to the metal as I step inside. I lean back against the door, legs starting to shake as my hands fall to my sides, catching the top of my fanny pack as a reminder of why I left to begin with.  

I shut my eyes, groaning quietly. Surely the thing can wait a couple more hours for me to get some sleep and cure this pounding headache?

Fix it.  

Though my body urges me to rest, there's something deep in the back of my mind that compels me to keep working. A dull, thrumming hum that urges me to head downstairs, my body moving on its own to listen even as fatigue begins to weigh down my movements. 

Opening the basement door brings back memories of the Light Room as cool white LEDs flood my senses the second I open the door. I throw up a hand over my eyes with a soft groan of pain;I forgot how bright the basement lights are. It hurts to peer through the brightness with this pounding headache, even at the top of the stairs. 

My hand rubs along the wall for the lightswitch and flicks the lights off absentmindedly, tired brain making up excuses why it's safe to do so as I limp downstairs. 

 

Clack-clack-clack-clack.

 

“Mhm, ‘m back.” I mumble in the direction of the concerned clacking, pulling the USB from the pack at my waist, “I got the... the thingy you need.” 

My brain feels like melting bricks as my body continues to work, following the direction of the impulses in the back of my mind. I plug the stick into my PC and sit down, barely even noting that the bot on my desk has turned his head to look at me. 

I set the mask to one side for now, deciding to look at it later, once I get the nighttime bot set up with the driver and get diagnostics running. 

Mask?  

I hesitate, glancing back at the rabbit mask on my desk. 

Did I bring it home? Why would I-? 

Keep it.

I shake my head. No, no of course I brought it home, it's just an old costume piece; a memento of the Pizzaplex. I'm certain there used to be things like it in the gift shop. 

I focus back on the task at hand – at least, as well as I can in my current state – and get things set up on the computer. I even manage to stay awake for the entire download of the driver and the system reset, listening to him shudder on the desk as his systems recalibrate. 

A set of small, white rings flicker on in his eyes as he turns to look at me, carefully dragging himself to be more comfortably sitting on the edge of the desk. He still has to slouch pretty hard to fit under the ceiling and be down where the cable can still connect to the computer, and his long legs scrunch slightly so his feet sit flat on the ground. His arms hang over the edge of the desk, claws lightly resting on the floor. 

 

“Alright, I'm gonna…” I pause, having to hunt down my train of thought with all the noise in my brain, “Get diagnostics running, okay? Just… stay there.” 

 

Clack.  

 

I think I give him a thumbs up as I turn what little brain power I still possess back to the computer. 

 

> command// system check 

> Waiting for response… 

> System// MULTIPLE CRITICAL ERRORS

> System// CONFIRM RUN SYSTEM DIAGNOSTIC 

> command// Confirm 

> Waiting for response… 

> system// RUNNING SYSTEM DIAGNOSTIC. PLEASE WAIT.

 

I hear his systems stutter and wind down as a loading bar appears over the dialogue box, reminding me of just how slow this went last time. Plenty of time for a nap, though I shouldn’t leave the bot unsupervised down here… 

I yawn, leaning over my desk to rest my head on my arms. Not the comfiest spot to nap, but it’s not the worst, either. As long as it's running, he shouldn't be dangerous; it has to test each system individually to find all the fail points, including the servos. 

Sleep is eager to greet me as my eyes drift shut, the buzz in my mind blending in with the soft hum of the electronics in the workshop.

For a moment as I sink into sleep, I could swear I can hear the scrape of plastic being moved across the desk beneath the rhythmic clicking of the nighttime bot's systems. 

 

>> << 

 

A familiar feeling. Humming, like muffled singing buried in his memory. 

Light, soft. Inviting in the gentle darkness. Shades of red and purple beckoning him to follow. 

He shouldn't move. Hero still doesn't trust him. 

Can he move? 

Body is heavy. Spiders in his brain pluck at his strings to find what's out of tune. 

Can still move arms and hands.   

Hero can't see in the dark… If he stays quiet, it should be okay. 

Plastic and metal. Gentle light. Familiar tingle in his hands. 

Her? No. 

Something from her. 

Does Hero know her? What happened? 

Where did Hero find this?

Chapter 9: Dreams and Memories

Summary:

Or were they nightmares? It’s funny how similar they are.
Moon has things that need fixing. MC needs some sleep. Someone is watching their dreams.

CW: ATTEMPTED SUICIDE. DRUG USE. UNREALITY. MEDICAL ABUSE/DISTRESS. SEVERE INJURY/IMPLIED INJURY. ROBOT GORE.

Notes:

“Labrynth”(also known as Labyrinthine) is a class 1 hallucinogenic made from the Cerebrum Fungus. The Cerebrum Fungus, also known as the “brain mushroom”, is a parasitic fungus that primarily grows on certain plants within the nightshade family. It primarily circulates in illegal rings as purple-and-white capsules in a purified powder form. In small doses, it causes episodes of manic euphoria and hallucinations, however over-consumption causes distress, paranoia and psychosis, and a lethal dose can cause cardiac arrest and asphyxiation.

I've been here before. I'm here all the time, actually; The door is never locked at 3205 East Lilac Street. No one actually lives here, either, but plenty of us call it “home”. 

My fingers itch as they wrap around the doorknob. Pounding house music and the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke washes over me as the door swings open. The interior is dark aside from the occasional black light or flashing spotlight, the halls and rooms heavy with swirling fog.  

The people I pass by inside have uncanny faces — wide grins, empty eyes — but they greet me warmly. That's the thing about the Lilac House; we're all family here even without knowing each other's names. It’s nice, in a way, to be known without being remembered. 

My phone buzzes in my pocket as I make my way upstairs. The soft colors of the screen are interrupted by texts from Vincent. 

‘Where are you?’

’Are you okay?’

’Call me right now.’ 

A twinge of a scowl crosses my face, and I tuck my phone back in my pocket. 

He doesn't need to know where I am. I don't plan on coming back. 

 

Someone unfamiliar is in the bathroom when I make it there. A woman, with long blonde hair and startlingly green eyes, sitting on the counter beside the assortment of drugs that lay around the sink. 

“Oh, hey,” I greet her, “Are you new?” 

She doesn't speak, those green eyes of hers merely watching me as she gestures to the bathroom counter. 

I obediently turn my gaze back to the reason I'm here. There's plenty of variety – needles, baggies of loose powder, various pills and colored capsules – but I already know what I want. I grab the bag filled with purple and white capsules, carefully reaching in and grabbing six, before I dig for my wallet. I pull out my ID and leave the wallet itself on the counter next to the bag, tucking my ID in my jacket pocket.

I wonder if I should've written a will? Not like there's anyone to leave anything… or anything to leave. 

“Thanks,” I dare to glance toward the woman again. 

She's still staring at me, expression unreadable. 

Cupping my share of pills in my hand, I slink back out of the bathroom to find a relatively dark and quiet corner to slip into oblivion in. I find it upstairs, near the door into the crawlspace. The carpeted floor is actually surprisingly comfortable beneath me as I settle in. 

My phone buzzes again, this time with a call. I scowl at the screen seeing it's still Vincent and send him to voicemail. His messages still linger on the screen when I shove my phone back into my pocket.

I turn my attention back to the capsules in my palm, rolling them around for a moment. Last chance to turn back. 

My fingers itch as I press the capsules to my dry and cracked lips, comforted by the smooth shells. 

My head tilts back, hand pressed over my mouth. I watch the ceiling as I swallow once, twice. 

Nothing to go back to anymore anyway. 

The gentle, tingling warmth begins to crawl into my chest soon enough, spreading out into my body as the world begins to melt and warp around me. The warmth drags my body down into the floor, turning my limbs to lead as my vision fills with splotches of swirling colors. I can feel the warmth curl its claws around my brain after another moment, digging in and tearing off tiny pieces in time with my heartbeat.

‘Are you sure you want this?’ A voice I never hear but know well whispers in one ear. 

‘It's too late now, you know.’ Another voice laughs in the other. ‘You made your choice.’ 

‘Our poor boy, just another body in the Lilac House.’ The first voice bemoans, the two creatures filling my vision as they finally show themselves after years of whispering in my mind.

The first voice is a blue creature, long and slithering, sad eyes making its tragic expression in its nebulous head. 

The second is an orangey-yellow, stout and prideful, a fiery lions mane surrounding its leering grin. 

‘But you didn't really want to go, did you?’ The lion jeers, ‘You just didn't have a choice.’ 

‘Known by few, missed by none.’ The snake laments. ‘Such a shame to not even be remembered by his own family.’ 

I want to say something, do something to defend myself, but I can't move. 

‘You had so much potential,’ The lion snarls, ‘What a bold-faced lie. You were never good for anything.’ 

‘A shame he finally lost the fight.’ The snake readjusts its face. 

‘Not that anybody cared you were fighting to begin with.’ The lion laughs again, ‘When was the last time you had any real friends?’ 

I think I've started crying. I try to tell them I was loved, to beg them to stop, but my throat is clogged. Nothing escapes me but breaths that are becoming increasingly hard to push out. Weight is crushing my lungs. I can feel my heart slowing down. 

‘Such a pity, really,’ The snake murmurs, ‘He could've been something great.’ 

‘Too bad you didn't even try.’ The lion grins. 

I try again to beg them to stop, greeted only by a chorus of laughter and sobbing as they loom over me. 

The heaviness has crawled into my brain, the swirling colors of the creatures getting replaced with encroaching darkness that drowns out their taunting voices with blissful silence. My heart settles into a slow, steady rhythm in my throat as my eyes drift closed. 

Oblivion is waiting for me. I can feel it. A distant warmth that beckons me further into the darkness, past the threshold of torment into a quiet peace. 

It waits just beyond a doorway that never was. 

I reach for the doorknob that doesn't exist.

Something stops me. A distant shout. Was that… my name? 

No, it couldn't have been. No one here knows my name. 

I reach again. 

“Miquella!” 

The shout is clearer this time. Louder. I can almost make out the voice. 

I can't turn the doorknob, gripping it as tight as I can manage.  

Who’s calling for me? 

“Miquella!!” 

Oblivion begins to crumble away around me into patches of color, the doorknob dissolving under my fingertips as I try to cling to it. 

No, no, please, I can't come back here. Please – 

The void falls away underneath me, plunging me down and down and down until I feel myself hit the ground again. 

My limbs are heavy, my skin on fire. My heart beats a jackrabbit rhythm in my chest. My throat hurts when I try to say something to protest the loss of blissful nothing.  

“Oh thank gods, you're still alive.” 

I know that voice. 

I don't open my eyes, trying again to return to the door, sinking back into blissful nothing.  

"You sure know how to find a hiding spot. Come on, wake up." 

Vincent's voice interrupts the bliss of the void, his hand shaking my shoulder throwing me back into the real world as agony fills every inch of my body. 

I groan, thankful for the darkness in the house as the pounding music assaults my aching senses, peeling my eyelids into a squint to peer at Vincent with dry, cloudy eyes. "What're you doin'ere?" Every muscle is a chore to move. 

"Came to check on you when you didn't pick up. Glad I did." He huffs where he is, kneeling in front of me. 

I glare back at his unstable silhouette, "I thought you didn' want anything to do with me." 

"I'm still pissed at how stupid you're being, if that's what you mean." He raises an eyebrow, "But I'm not about to let you kill yourself over it." 

"M'not killin' myself." I lie as I shift to be sitting upright against the wall. I must've slid when I fell asleep.  

"Yeah you are. You're in the back room of a party house high out of your mind." He gestures to my general appearance, "How much did you take, huh?" 

"Fuck off." I try to wave a hand at him, sluggish muscles making it more like I throw my hand toward his face. 

He catches it, gripping my wrist just enough to be uncomfortable. Which isn't very hard considering my skin is full of fire ants. "Miquella." 

"Don' call me that." I glower at him, urging my heavy muscles to pull away from him. 

He keeps his grip tight, his fingers burning into my skin. "I'm not gonna let you go through with this. It's time to go home." 

I bark a laugh, coughing on the spit choking my throat, "And where'sat? Don't have one." 

"With me." He ducks to keep my eyes on his face, somber, "I know you think you're alone, Mickey, but you're not." 

"Jus'... leave me alone." I grumble, trying again to pull away. 

He only tightens his grip, making my sensitive nerves scream with pain. "I'm not leaving you here, Mickey." 

"Stop callin' me that. Let go." I can feel my face wrinkle in pain. 

"And what if I do? What then?" He presses. 

“Then," I stress, "I go back t’ sleep ."

"And what happens when you don't wake up?" There's concern in his face, I think. It’s hard to tell when everything is squirming. 

I snort, "So what? Won' matter." 

"It matters to me." He points out. "It matters to Janet, and the boys." 

"The boys are dogs," I mumble. 

"So? They still miss you." He huffs. "I'm not taking no for an answer, Miquella." 

I stay quiet, eyelids heavy as I avoid looking at him. 

He shifts his grip, squeezing my palm. "Talk to me, Mickey." 

".... No point in it." I mumble. "Leaving. Nowhere t'go, nothin' t'do." 

"I think you need new glasses." He picks the ones off my face, using his shirt to wipe the lenses before he puts them back on my nose. "We'll find something. Got it?" 

I heave a sigh, leaning my head back against the wall to watch the ceiling wriggle. 

"Mickey." 

"... Why d'you care so much?" 

"I just do." 

"S'not an answer." 

"Ask better questions then." 

I groan, free hand lazily rubbing at my face. "....Fine."

"Good. I wasn't gonna leave until you said yes anyway." I can feel him grin as he drops my hand and shifts his position, digging his hands underneath me to haul me off the floor and carry my bridal-style. 

I grumble at the nauseating feeling of being moved, tightly gripping his shirt as he carries me through the house. "Since when are you so nice?" I mumble against him, tucking my head against his chest to stave off motion sickness and try to ignore the full-bodied pain. 

"I'm not being nice. I'm making sure you don't do something extremely fucking stupid.” 

“Gee… thanks.” 

“You're welcome.” He huffs, quiet for a moment before breaking the silence again. “I’m not just letting this go, you know. We're fixing this once you’re not dying.” 

"...Rehab?" 

"Rehab." 

I groan loudly, "Oh, fuck you." 

He laughs, "Yeah, you're gonna hate me even more once you're sober." 

He loads me into the passenger seat of his car, buckling me in and patting my matted hair. "Now, stay." 

"Har-har." I huff as I curl up in the seat, suddenly cold outside the hazy warmth of the house. 

Vincent tosses a blanket over me from the backseat. "Get comfy. It's a bit of a drive." 

"To rehab?" I glance at him as he walks around the car to the drivers seat. 

He shakes his head. "Hospital to make sure you’re not dying, then home." 

I hum softly as the engine purrs to life, turning my attention to the road once we start moving. 

Vincent turns on the radio for the drive. Maybe it's the Labrynth in my brain, but all the songs he plays sound like twangy gibberish. 

I let my eyes drift closed again once we hit the highway. 

Home. I'm going home.

 

I wake up somewhere new. Cold white walls and bright overhead lights, metal cots separated only by ghostly sheets. I don't recognize this place, and yet everything is burned into my memory from years of exposure. 

I try to sit up in my cot to get a better look around. My skin begins to tear as I sit up, sticking to the single sheet beneath me. I don’t feel the pain, even as I feel the blood oozing down my bare back. 

People come in and out of the room as I sit and watch. Faceless things in lab coats and scrubs and hospital gowns, walking back and forth, seemingly oblivious to the blood dripping off the sides of my bed and pooling on the floor. 

Some of them dressed as doctors and nurses stop to talk to me, voices distant and garbled. They're assuring me I'm okay, it's safe here, though I can't actually hear what they're saying. 

I ask them about why my skin is peeling off of my back. Why can't I move? Who are they? Where am I? Where's Vincent?  

A couple of them standing in front of me speak again, repeating the same garbled nonsense in vaguely comforting tones. 

I ask again, pressing the issue, insisting they answer. 

Their voices sink into something cold and calm in response. Their lab coats open, several sets of distorted hands lunging from the empty space beneath the white fabric at me. 

Their hands dig into my exposed muscles as they pull me off the bed. I think I scream, the pain finally digging into my body as they grab me. I try to pull away, to escape, to scream at them to let go, something, anything to escape the pain. 

There's more hands on me. Grabbing me. Tearing at my muscles, peeling at the edges of my remaining skin as I'm dragged from the room of cots through the halls, into a much smaller room, empty of everything except for a single bed. 

I'm left there, naked and shivering, blood pooling around my feet as I stare at the door, watching the hands retreat out into the stark white light beyond the doorway. The door shuts on its own.

 

I don't know how long I'm there, alone. I can feel my blood soaking into the sheets from the bed when I pull them off and wrap myself in them, trying to retain any sense of warmth. It doesn't work. My skin is still a mess of numbed agony as I sink into the back corner, watching the door. 

Eventually, a woman in a lab coat comes in, with long blonde hair and unnaturally green eyes. I don't recognize her, but I know I've seen her before. 

She doesn't speak, merely watching me. Studying me like a particularly interesting lab rat as she grips her clipboard. 

“Who are you? Where am I?” I dare to break the silence, hoping the hands don't hear me and return. 

Her face pulls itself into some kind of smile, like her muscles are made of wax. 

“It's safe here.” She assures me in a voice I'm certain isn't hers. 

“But where am I? How did I get here?” I press. She has to know something. 

She hasn't blinked. “It's safe here. Please calm down.” 

“Calm down? Please, just tell me where I am!” I stagger to my feet, feeling my muscles rip as the backs of my knees peel open. “I don’t want to be here!” 

She steps back. “Please calm down.” She repeats, still wearing that smile. She doesn't have human teeth. 

“Please, I want to go home.” I beg her, gripping tightly to the sheets around my shoulders as I step toward her. “Let me go home.” 

She steps out into the hall. “It’s safe here. Please calm down.” 

I open my mouth to respond, words strangled in my throat as the hands begin to creep around the edges of the doorway. I look back at her, at the open door, lunging forward to take my chances with escaping. I can outrun them, I can get out– 

The hands grab me at the doorway, gripping me like dozens of spiders as I scream, thrashing in their grip. 

“Where's Vincent? How did I get here? Why can't I leave?” I scream at her standing just out of reach. 

She hasn't stopped smiling. I watch her pull a syringe from somewhere in her lab coat, still smiling as she steps toward me. “It's safe here.” 

The more I thrash the harder the hands grip me, making my skinless body scream in pain. The hands grip at my jaw and face, forcing my head to one side and forcing my mouth shut as she gets closer with the syringe. 

There's nothing in the syringe. She knows it. 

I scream as she plunges the needle into a blood vessel in my neck. 

 

I'm still screaming when I snap awake, sitting bolt upright at my desk. My heart pounds in my chest, eyes darting wildly around the room and hands clawing at imaginary hands all over me as I scream until no more air leaves my throat. 

Only once I finally have to gasp for air do I actually start to register my surroundings. 

The workshop is recognizable even without my glasses, the hazy hues of sunrise peering in through the dusty window behind my desk. It's calm. Quiet. 

I rub my eyes, trying to calm myself down as I cough and suck in air. 

Just a dream. It was just a dream. 

Once I'm no longer suffocating, I feel on the desk for my glasses. 

“Ugh… good morning, Moon.” I greet the robot on my desk as my glasses hook over my ears, blinking a couple times to clear my eyes. “Did you–” 

My words die behind my teeth as I find no robot on my desk, but a woman with blonde hair and green eyes sitting prim and proper, with her legs hanging loosely over the edge. 

She looks down at me, pinpoint red lights hidden in her pupils as she studies me. 

“Very… interesting.” She says in my voice. “You will be quite the catch.” 

The world slows down as I scream and rear back in my chair, falling for what feels like an eternity but unable to look away as her skin and flesh begin to melt off her face until only her eyes remain in the sockets of her skull, boring into me as I fall further and further. The floor falls away under my back as darkness rises up around me, plunging me further and further into nothing. 

 

I wake up in a panic, screaming as I throw myself over the back of my chair. My scream is cut short when I hit the floor hard, knocking the air from my lungs and leaving me gasping. 

 

Clack-clack-clack. 

 

I hardly register the concerned noises as I struggle to breathe, rolling over to hoist myself up onto my hands. 

The workshop is blurry through the panic and the cockeyed angle of my glasses on my face, gentle morning light filtering in through the broken window well and the soft hum of electronics in the air. Moon's hulking form sits exactly where I left him, easily recognizable even with my distorted vision.

The large robot clacks at me again as I manage to sit up on my knees, taking a moment to catch my breath. 

“I'm, I’m okay,” I wheeze, waving a hand in his direction and fixing my glasses on my face, “Just fell out of my chair.” 

His systems rumble with what I can only assume is concern. 

“I promise I'm fine,” I groan quietly as I haul myself to my feet, picking up my toppled chair off the floor. “Did the system check go okay?” 

 

Clack.

 

“Good.” Turning back to my desk, I pause for a moment, confused when I find it empty except for a few scattered cables from my earlier rummaging and my mouse and keyboard. There's an urgent sense of something's missing in the back of my mind, but I for the life of me can't figure out what's gone. My fingers tingle as I feel across the desk, as though to make sure what I’m seeing is what's really there, before I shake my head and grab my mouse. I can look for objects that may or may not exist later. 

Waking up the monitor confirms that the system check was able to run without issue, though the critical errors it found are… less than ideal, to put it nicely. 

 

DIAGNOSTIC REPORT

> SAFE MODE ACTIVE 

> PWR: 125V ……. ok

> SHOW MODE ……. OFFLINE 

> MIMIC DRIVER ……. ONLINE 

> MOTOR FN ……. FAIL

> FAN …… FAIL 

> VIDEO INPUT …… FAIL

> LM SNSR …… ok

> INFRA SNSR ……. ok

> SPKR ……. FAIL 

> VOICE MODULE ……. FAIL 

> SOUND INPUT ……. ok

> MUSIC BOX …….. FAIL 

> NETWORK ……. OFFLINE

> CPU: 4GB 

> CPULoad ……. FAIL 

> CPUTemp …….. FAIL 

> MEMORY ……. FAIL 

> STRESS TEST ……. FAIL

> CONNECTOR TEST …….. FAIL 

> PRMRY BD FN TEST …….. FAIL 

> SECNDRY BD FN TEST ……. FAIL

> BATTERY TEST ……. ok

The further I read the deeper my grimace grows. 

“Less than ideal” doesn't even begin to cover it. 

“You're just a walking junk heap, huh?” I joke at the large robot, tapping my fingers on the desk as I think on what to do next. 

 

Clack-clack-clack. 

 

He sounds less than amused. 

“Joking,” I clarify with a huff, “Calm down.” Stepping around my chair, I find it much easier to get close to him this time, certain the sunlight coming in through the window well is enough to keep him tame. I reach up to his face and bring it down, finding his movements much less stiff in the lower light. 

Even with bringing him down so he's almost completely folded in half, I have to crane my neck to get a look at the board on the back of his face. I can spot a few burned out and cracked components even at this distance. Not a good sign for what I'm going to see under a magnifying glass or microscope. 

“Can you move?” I ask him, eyeing him as he chooses how to respond. 

He waits for a few seconds before slowly turning his head back to look at me and clack his teeth. 

 

Clack. 

 

“Okay, good.” I hum, stepping away from him and looking around for a spare box he can sit on. I find a plastic bin of spare parts instead, hoping I won't need anything in it when I bring it over to the desk. “I need you to sit on this,” I knock on the lid of the bin so he can hopefully tell where it is, “So I can reach everything I need to fix you. Got it?” 

 

… Clack. 

 

He moves slowly, his motors creaking in protest at supporting his weight as he stands. He's still mostly bent over under the low basement ceiling, the hood on his back rubbing on the drywall above him and his knuckles scraping the ground as he steps toward me. 

“Take a step this way…” I swallow the apprehension that rises in my throat as he moves, knocking on the bin again to give him some sense of direction. 

The back of one of his hands hits it first, the large robot recoiling slightly at the sudden contact before he gingerly rubs his hand across the lid of the bin to figure out what it is. His rusted claws scrape painfully along the plastic, drawing a low roar from the bin.  

“Yep, sit down on that.” I confirm for him, taking a few steps back as he steps around the bin. 

For a moment, I think he's going to keep approaching me instead of listening – I swear I can see the faintest flicker of red in his empty eye sockets as he looks at me that sends a pang of pain through my leg – but after another long pause his joints creak and groan again as he slowly sinks to sit down. The plastic crackles softly under his weight, but the parts inside keep it from immediately collapsing, at least. It's almost funny watching the predatory bot scrunch his kneeless legs up to his chin like an adult in a toddler's chair. 

“Thank you,” I let out a quiet breath of relief when he stops moving, “Should be much easier to work on you like this.” 

I carefully step around him to get back to my desk, sitting down and looking back at the diagnostic window to get a better idea of what's wrong… Besides “everything”. 

The dialogue box reopens itself to one side on the monitor. 

 

> system// What is happening? 

 

“I'm gonna take a look at all your innards and fix whatever's broken, so you'll feel better.” I cast a glance over my shoulder at him. 

From this angle he looks almost dejected, with his bare head between his knees and his hood draped across his back.  

 

> system// Will Hero be okay? 

 

“Huh?” I raise an eyebrow at the dialogue box. “I'm not the one barely alive right now, buddy.” 

He clacks his teeth at me, doubtful. 

“What, is this because I fell over earlier?” I huff. 

 

> system// Hero got hurt. 

 

“I didn't get hurt.” I shake my head, “What- Why am I arguing with you? This is not about me right now.” 

He clacks his teeth again. 

“Shush.” I grab a marker, pulling the lid of it off and sliding my chair over to the large robot. It's easier to reach most of his upper body now, but I still have to lean over his back to get a good look at the board on the backside of his face. Or, well, the side of it that's visible while it's still attached to him. 

I hum, marking the components I can see with the naked eye that need repairing or replacing and making a mental grocery list of all the parts I'll need to buy. 

“I wonder…” I glance back at the diagnostics window. 

Is this your primary board? Where's the others? 

“Do you open?” I ask, glancing down at his damaged casings. 

 

Clack-clack-clack. 

 

“You don't know. Very helpful.” I roll my eyes slightly at his infinite wisdom and decide to just poke around for myself, taking care around his claws as I step around his front. 

“Don't move.” I warn him, ducking under his chin to run my hands over the front seam of his casing. There's patches of smoothed plastic all over him from where the fire melted the rough texture. I'm able to dig my fingers into the seam that connects mis-matched blue and grey panels, but instead of a latch like I remember Sun's core having, I find hinges. 

I frown slightly, stepping around him again to his back, flipping his hood over one of his shoulders. I pry my fingers into the seam on his back, feeling the panels lift slightly. 

“Ah-ha, here we go.” I grin, triumphant as I put more pressure against the latch, feeling it stick, half-melted by the heat.  

The robot under my fingers whirrs with distress, the panels snapping back together on the tips of my fingers when he leans forward, away from my touch. 

“Hey!” I yelp, waving my hands to shake off the growing pain in my fingertips. “Stay still! I have to see what I'm working with!” 

He flips his head over the back of his shoulders, face upside down as he clacks his teeth at me. 

“Do you want to feel better or not?” I huff back, shoving my sore fingers into my armpits to try and soothe the throbbing bruises. “I have to open you up in order to fix you.” 

His fans rattle into a mechanical hiss in return. 

“Don't you fucking threaten me.” I glare back, though I still take a step away from him. “Either I open you up to fix you, or I shut you down. Take your pick.” 

He grinds his systems at me, hissing again. 

“ Take your pick. ” I snap, “I'm not fixing you if you're gonna be a bastard about it. I'll throw you back into the Pizzaplex if you're gonna keep acting like we're still there.” 

He quiets at that, the grinding of his systems settling into that familiar low ticking. 

“That's what I thought.” I huff. “Now can I open you up? Or are you gonna keep being difficult?” 

He growls low, quiet as he slowly un-bends his neck to return his head to a natural position. 

“Good boy. Now don't move or we're both gonna get hurt.” I flex my fingers, stepping toward him and finding the latch in the melted plastic again. “It's gonna be uncomfortable until I get this open.” I warn him this time as I wiggle my now-sore fingertips in between the panels again, straining as hard as I can to pry them apart once I get a good grip. 

The uneven plastic edges dig into my fingers the harder I pull. I grit my teeth and bear it, spurred on by the subtle cracking I feel as the plastic begins to give way. 

Moon clicks and whirrs with discomfort as I pry, but he stays still this time. 

The melted latch finally breaks after a moment, coming apart all at once, making me scrape my knuckles on the metal beneath as the force throws the plastic casings wide open. 

I immediately yelp and hiss in pain, jumping back from him and shaking my hands again. Dots of blood have already begun to form in the strawberry scrapes when I check my hands for how bad the damage is. I press my hands into my shirt to wait for the bleeding to stop for a minute, looking back at Moon to see what caused the damage. 

Beneath his casing sits a large rendition of a human ribcage, made of a dark powder-coated metal. The ribs themselves are fairly wide, with only three or four of them comprising the entire structure, the slots between them acting as vent openings. Rust and fire damage have made it here, too; dents and warping and grime as pervasive as ever. The ribcage is held shut with a latch and a couple of screws, which seem relatively okay aside from some grime. 

Peering through the slots in his ribs, I can see that the thick cables of his limbs and spine seem to split into smaller bundles and criss-cross across his back like muscles. At the sides of his ribs, now exposed from his open casing, I can see four fans under the slots – two per side and each about as big as my hand – rattling away in that uneven rhythm as they try to run. 

He clacks his teeth at me. 

“Yeah, I know it's uncomfortable.” I respond idly, distracted by what I see, “One more, okay?” 

His fans rattle harder for a moment in response. He's clearly not loving this, but he's staying still like he was told. 

I quickly search my desk for a screwdriver and step back over to him once the pain in my hands settles into a subtle stinging, pressing hard into the screw heads holding his back shut to get them to unstick without stripping them. 

Instead of stripping or breaking free from their threads, the screw heads simply snap off when I wrench them a quarter turn loose. 

“Well that's one way to solve that, I guess.” I mumble under my breath. 

I wedge my screwdriver into the gap under the latch this time, carefully wiggling it down until the latch gently pops open. 

The hinges are stiff with rust as I gently nudge the ribcage open, hearing spring-loaded ratchets click into place to hold the back of his ribs apart as I peel the metal bones away from the cables. Long strings of grime follow the dark metal bones like spiderwebs.  

I take care as I begin poking around inside his back, gently peeling apart the cables to be able to look at what else is in his ribcage. 

The wires are fraying and covered in more grime, feeling wet and sticky as I dig my fingers in and poke around. I can feel him shudder around my hands as I make a hole big enough to shove my hand through and feel around inside his core. 

“Steady, Moon.” I eye the ratchets warily, suddenly aware of the many horror stories of repair accidents at the pizzaplex. 

He growls low, the sound vibrating up my forearm. 

“I know,” I hiss between my teeth, “I’m being careful, I promise.” 

The inside of his core feels warm and slightly humid from the grime seeping through his cables, his fans only offering a slight breeze to cycle the air. I feel a large, warm box I immediately recognize as a battery, pursing my lips as I feel a warp and squish to its heated exterior. 

Pressing down on the battery to find out how bad the pillowing is, I'm surprised when the whole front piece of his ribs moves away, another stiff hinge and ratchet at the top of his ribs squeaking as the panel moves. The wires follow the movement of the front panel, tightening around my arm. 

I hesitate, then carefully remove my arm from his back, smearing grime down my forearm. I ignore the additional dirt on my skin for now as I slowly lean around one side to get a better look at what shifted. 

From this angle I can more easily see what's going on, finding that he has a large board fixed to the inside of his metal sternum, with two smaller boards – one larger and one smaller, both covered in connector ports that all the wires seem to condense into – screwed on top of it. Held over the boards by an aluminum cage is the battery, looking swollen and half-melted. Up above the boards is what looks like a small simple motor, its wires cut and dangling limply through one of the melted holes in his ribs. 

It's hard to see the state of the boards themselves through all the wires plugged into them, though. I can barely even make out the shape of his boards and supporting structures through all the mess.

I carefully scoot to one side and reach in up under his ribs, eyeing him. “I need to disconnect some of your servos to see how bad the damage is, okay?”  

He clicks curiously at me, not understanding until I pull the first connector from its plug, the sudden disconnect making his entire body shudder. 

I suck in a breath and snatch my hand away as he twitches, acutely aware of the precarious wiggle of the springlocks as he clacks his teeth at me. 

“I know, I know, it's uncomfortable,” I put my hands up, keeping an eye on his open core. “It’s okay, I’m not hurting you.” I try to hide the tension in my voice in an effort to keep him calm. 

He twists his neck to look at me again, a hiss escaping his open core. 

“Hey, none of that.” I point a finger at him, “You can stand to be a little uncomfortable for a bit. I can't imagine your current state feels any better.” 

 

Clack-clack.

 

“No it doesn't feel good or no you don't want to be uncomfortable?” 

 

Clack.

 

“I promise it’ll be fine, you're not hurt.” I assure him. 

He grinds his motors, clearly not keen on listening to me. 

I groan softly, “Dude, just bear with me, okay? The less fuss you make the easier this will be for both of us.” 

He rattles a hiss again, puffing his open chest out at me as he straightens his back. Even sitting as low as he is, he still looms over me. 

“Just–” I start, closing my eyes and taking a breath as my ears ring and my head pounds for a moment, reaching up to rub at my temples. 

We should eat something. 

“Fine, fine. You win, I'll stop for now.” I sigh and get out of my chair, limping a small circle around the workshop to double check the monitor and the empty spot on the desk before I head back upstairs. “You sit there and think about it. I'm gonna get something to eat.”

He clacks his teeth at my back as I leave, the sound following me until I shut the basement door behind me.  

Michael is at my feet once I start moving into the living room, meowing loudly as I limp to the kitchen. I coo back at her, taking care not to step on her while I scrounge for something to eat. 

I settle for a random assortment of snacks – a handful of pepperoni slices, some crackers, and an apple – and mull over my next moves as I eat. 

Do I force a shutdown? 

Maybe we can ask Vincent for advice? 

I stifle a yawn, idly fiddling with a piece of pepperoni, eyes unfocused as I think. 

Convincing him to shut down somehow would make things easiest, but he wasn't exactly keen on the idea last time it came up. 

I barely notice my eyelids sinking down, replacing the unfocused view of the basement door with darkness. 

 

“Mike!” 

The voice startles me awake, lifting my head from my desk in a hurry to turn and greet the figure next to me. 

Dave looms over me, piercing green eyes boring into my glasses. 

“You okay? You dozed off.” He questions. His voice is wrong, flat and lacking his accent. 

I can't hear my voice when I tell him l'm fine and ask what he needs, even though I feel my throat vibrate. 

“Just checking in. Did you get those repairs going yet?” I can't quite make out his face. Just those bright green eyes. 

I tell him the robot won't let me shut it down. 

He laughs. It's a cold, soulless sound. “It won't let you?” 

I feel my face contort stiffly into a frown, repeating yes, it won't let me fix it. 

“It's a robot, Mike,” Something in his voice puts me on edge. “It's not the one in control.” 

I tell him I have to be careful, or it could hurt me. 

“It can only hurt you if you let it.” I don't think he's blinked the entire time he's been talking to me. “So don't let it.” 

I roll my eyes, feeling my mouth open and my vocal cords vibrate to respond as I turn toward the robot that's being difficult on my desk. 

I reach into muscle and sinew, ignoring its screams of protest this time as I grope around its chest until I find the subtle curve and resistance of a switch to flip. The screams abruptly stop as the heartbeat against my hand goes still. 

My gaze warily crawls up its skinless neck, back to its face, unable to pull my hand out of its chest. 

The rabbit mask grins gleefully at me in return. 

I feel Dave's hand on my shoulder, cold and thin, as I feel tears soak into the top of my mask. 

 

I awake on the kitchen floor, coughing on the tears and snot choking my nose and throat as I lift my head to get my bearings. Michael is curled in my lap, meowing in protest at the sudden disturbance. 

“Sorry, sorry,” I manage as I rub at my face, trying to clear away some of the wet phlegm. 

Why am I crying? 

I get to my feet, staggering my way upstairs to the bathroom, wiping at the tears that continue to leak from my eyes and fog my glasses. I don't bother to turn on the light, working off of memory as I grab a handful of tissues and clean my face, taking deep breaths to try and stem the flow of tears. 

I half expect to find blood on my hands once my vision clears, relieved to find that the dark spots all over my hands are still just bits of grease and sludge. 

I pause to even out my shaky breathing, taking a second to wash my hands and face before I head back downstairs. The cold water feels soothing on my smoke-covered skin, reminding me how much my body currently aches and how badly I need a shower. 

I rub my eyes, promising myself I’ll take a shower and a nap once everything is resolved, before I turn and limp all the way back down into the basement. 

Moon clicks at me as I come around the corner. 

“Have you thought about it?” I still have to suppress a shudder at his silhouette in the dimly lit workshop. 

 

Clack. 

 

“And?” 

 

Clack-clack.

 

I sigh, “Kay, well, ‘no’ isn't really an option, buddy. I need to unplug your motors and shut you off to fix things.” 

 

Clack. Clack. 

 

“Tell you what, you can choose what I do first.” I sit back down in my chair, rolling over to the desk, “Either you take a nap first, or I unplug all those connectors first.” 

He growls at me. 

“Those are your options, buddy.” I keep an eye on him in my peripheral as I wake up the monitor and find the diagnostics result again, tapping the dialogue box when I see a response appear. 

 

> system// Does a nap hurt? 

 

“No, naps don’t hurt,” I assure him, “It's like… just resting in a really dark room for a while.” 

 

> system// I will be okay? 

 

"Don't worry, I won't dismantle you," I lean to pat one of his knees, "And even if I did take your boards out, you'd still be here when I put them back in." 

Assuming I didn't erase everything, at least. 

He clicks thoughtfully, tilting his head slightly. 

I let him think for another moment or two before I break the silence again. “So, what will it be?” 

He tilts his head to look down at me, the even, rhythmic rattle of his fans matching the rhythm of my sluggish jackrabbit pulse.

 

> system// Take a nap. 

 

“Good choice.” I smile a bit at him even though he can't see it, “I would've picked that too.” 

 

> system// When will I wake up?

 

“That's… harder to say.” I hum, “There's a lot to fix.” 

 

> system// I will wake up again? 

 

“Yes, you'll wake up again. I just don't know when.” I cast the large bot a glance over my shoulder. 

He looks almost thoughtful, the gears in his faceplate clicking as he turns his head this way and that with subtle movements. 

 

> system// Will Hero be okay? 

 

“I'll be fine, don't worry.  work on robots all the time.” I turn and get up, stepping back over to him to start looking for the power switch I know I saw.  

He clacks his teeth at me quietly. Not enough to be an answer, but enough to garner attention. 

“It'll be okay, I promise.” I lower my tone into something softer as I gently pull his faceplate down to check his secondary board. “You won't even notice you fell asleep, and when you wake up, you'll feel better.” My fingers feel across the back of his head in the low light, gingerly brushing across components of various sizes until I find what I'm looking for.  

I purse my lips slightly as I feel the matte texture of the bare board, devoid of the smooth acrylic coating it's supposed to have. 

Makes replacing parts easier, I suppose.  

I see a couple of small LED's light up on the board when he clacks his teeth again as I find his power switch. 

“Okay, I’m gonna turn this switch off now. You ready?” 

His fans shudder to speed up and slow down in what I think is a deep breath. 

 

… Clack. 

 

“3, 2…” I hit the switch, feeling his entire body twitch and stutter for a second before it all stops, suddenly silent except for the slowing whine of his fans. 

The silence should put me at ease – there's no more threat, after all – but the stillness that fills the space his constant rattling left is cold and heavy. 

I step back and sit down in my chair, looking at Moon’s slumped form. A feeling I can't quite place squeezes my heart as the silence bears down on the ringing in my ears, shoving it down into my skull until it makes my tongue tingle. 

I think… I need a break. 

 

The warm water of the shower feels like heaven on my sore skin and aching muscles, ash and dirt melting off of my skin in murky rivers. The tangles in my hair have only gotten worse with the grime, slow to unwind as I work at them with my fingers. 

I let myself relax as I wash off, eyelids heavy and eyes unfocused. It's nice to know I'm alone again, as bizarre as it currently feels. 

But you don't want to be alone, do you? The lion’s voice seems muffled, distant. 

Not now. I try to ignore the jeering voice, scrubbing my scalp with shampoo. 

Poor Miquella, always alone, finding friends in robots. The lion sneers. Sad, don't you think? Having to make your own friends? 

I groan softly, squeezing my eyes shut and leaning against the wall, the lion's voice making my head ring as I feel its claws sink into my shoulders. “Shut up, leave me alone.” I mutter. 

We're just worried about you. The snake coils around my bad leg. You’re inviting things in. Dangerous things. 

“I'm not ‘inviting in’ anything.” I sink down against the wall, suddenly feeling unsteady. 

Something is wrong, can't you feel it? The lion digs its claws deeper.  

“I can feel you .” I squeeze my eyes shut. 

We're not real, Miquella. The snake slithers across my torso, the shower water drumming against its scales. 

“All the more reason for you to go away.” It’s hard to breathe. 

We're not what you should worry about. The lion's long claws pry my eyes open. You're not alone anymore. 

Someone is standing on the other side of the shower curtain. The silhouette is lean and uncanny, only an approximation of human. The wide, glowing eyes of the mask bore into me through the thin barrier between us. 

I can't move. Can't breathe. My heart is trying to crawl up my throat as it stares at me through the curtain. 

All I can do is hope it can't see me or hear my heartbeat. 

It's not leaving. I desperately search for the presence of the lion and the snake, my heart in my mouth when I find them completely gone, the sensations replaced with the incessant buzzing of this thing in the bathroom, like thousands of electric bugs crawling across my bare skin, burrowing into my scars. 

The silhouette still doesn't move even as I search for a way out, its presence oppressive. 

Unable to make my body move, I do the only other thing I can think of: shutting my eyes as tight as I can, like a child avoiding a nightmare. 

I wait. One minute. Two. Four. Seven. 

The water's gone cold when I dare to open my eyes again, finding the bathroom empty. I force myself to move, body shaking as I turn the water off and crawl out of the tub, standing on shaky legs to grab a towel and wrap it around my shoulders. 

I barely breathe as I dry myself off and get dressed, half expecting someone to be in my room when I creak the bathroom door open. 

“Mrrp!”

Michael chirps at my feet, about making my soul leave my body. 

“Gods, miss Jordan,” I wheeze, “You scared the shit out of me.” 

She meows in return, rubbing against my shins and weaving between my legs as I step into the bedroom. She's quick to hop on the bed beside me once I flop down with a groan, purring loudly as she curls up next to me. 

I roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling as I wait for my heartrate to calm back down and my body to stop shaking. 

What was that thing?

Michael climbs up onto my chest, continuing to purr. Her warmth and pressure begin to slowly replace the writhing electricity under my skin, allowing me to relax back into the sheets. 

My breathing slowly evens back out, my eyelids growing heavy again when I stop constantly scanning the room. 

I just need some good sleep. I tell myself as I reach to take off my glasses, gingerly folding them and putting them on the side table. That'll make things quiet down again. 

I rub my face, heaving a deep breath under Michael's fluffy weight and letting my eyes close. 

Sleep comes swiftly and quietly to follow the full body fatigue that blankets me. 

 

The closet door creaks open. 

Red eyes peer from the darkness within. 

‘Goodnight, M.C.’ The rabbit whispers. ‘See you soon.’

Chapter 10: Reuse, Recycle, Repair

Summary:

Let's not be wasteful now. There's work to do.
MC fixes Moon while dancing around troubling dreams.
Word count: 5.4k+
CW: GRAPHIC/SEVERE INJURY. Nightmares.

The ruins of the pizzaplex loom and warp around me as I trek further and further in, wide red eyes blinking in and out of deep shadows as they follow me. I can feel the eyes boring into me, though I’m only able to catch glimpses of them in my peripheral vision. The eyes disappear every time I try to get close or look directly at them. 

Best just keep moving. I'm not sure I want to meet what owns those eyes anyway. 

I can't remember why I'm here. I'm looking for something, but I can't remember what it is I’m looking for. 

I walk deeper into the corpse of what once felt so familiar. Aimless. Watched. 

Somewhere deeper in, I can hear someone singing. It's a simple tune, so familiar I can still hum along even though I can't make out the words they're singing. 

 

London bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down. 

London bridge is falling down, my fair lady . 

 

My feet turn to follow the singing on their own, the sound ensnaring my mind and body all at once. 

I stumble over scattered debris, kicking aside pieces of rusting metal and charred concrete.  

 

Build it up with iron bars, iron bars, iron bars, 

Build it up with iron bars, my fair lady . 

 

The eyes get closer and the shadows get tighter around me the closer I get to the source of the singing, wandering past the abandoned and rotting bodies of what might've been my friends, once. 

 

Iron bars will bend and break, bend and break, bend and break,  

Iron bars will bend and break, my fair lady . 

 

I'm led into what's left of the Daycare, able to make out the words now as I push the decaying doors open. I find myself mouthing along. 

 

Build it up with gold and silver, gold and silver, gold and silver, 

Build it up with gold and silver, my fair lady .

 

The eyes are following me step for step now, clinging to my back like my shadow. 

 

Gold and silver we've not got, we've not got, we've not got, 

Gold and silver we've not got, my fair lady . 

 

I look around for Sun, hoping somewhat vainly that the attendant is still okay as I hear them sing. 

I'm certain they're the one singing. They have to be. 

I don’t remember what their voice sounds like.

 

London bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down ,

 

A robotic skeleton is propped up on a stage of rubble in the middle of the daycare, hands tangled in wires above its head. Its clothes, once shades of shimmering red and gold, are now charred scraps of black and brown; its cream colored casing melting off its metal bones. 

Where its face should be is a rabbit mask, with a wide empty grin and white and brown markings. Its eyes are wide and empty, a flat glossy black glass.  

It's still singing. 

 

London bridge is falling down ,

 

I climb up onto the stage, reaching up to gingerly grab the mask and pull it off the skeleton's face. 

It peels away easily, strings of something red and viscous clinging to the inside of it as it pulls off the skull. 

I turn it over in my hands, watching the flesh on the inside of it pulse in time with my heartbeat. 

As though acting on their own, my hands bring the mask up to my face. 

It's warm and wet, quick to sew hundreds of tiny tendrils into my skin and congeal onto my face.

It fits perfectly. 

 

My fair lady.  

 

>> << 

 

I wake up to my alarm exhausted and sore, sprawled on top of my bed covers. My mind is hazy with the clinging fog of sleep as I haul myself up out of bed and toward the bathroom with a groan, letting the alarm ring while I stumble out of the room. I’m still half asleep during my morning routine, only properly waking up with a shower and a change of clothes.  

I only turn off my alarm once I’ve properly convinced myself I’m not just going to go back to bed. 

Michael is at my heels as soon as I step out of the bathroom, weaving through my feet as I walk and running ahead of me down the stairs once I begin to head to the living room.  

Both the house and my mind are quiet for the first time in weeks. It all almost feels empty without the pressing presence of Moon awake and waiting for me to return lingering in the basement. I should be thankful for the peace, but I find myself uncomfortable with the normally familiar silence, itching to get Moon back up and running as soon as possible. If for nothing else, just to not be alone.

And to get answers. Right. The whole reason I'm doing any of this . 

 

I barely glance over the living room once I make it downstairs, lost in my musings, though as I gloss over an open door I pause, flicking my gaze back to the out of place object. 

The door into the garage hangs ajar, the space beyond gently lit by soft sunlight leaking in. My boots sit haphazardly by the door, coated in soot and sludge, with boot prints tracking sludge out into the garage. 

I carefully walk toward it, peering through the door from afar to search for shadows and movement. The confusion swirling in my chest only grows deeper when I find the large shadow of my car sitting squarely in the garage. I left it at the Pizzaplex; I’m certain of it, but here it is, sitting steadfast like it had never left, the large garage door sitting open to let in the morning sunlight. 

The white painted wood of the door and door frame into the garage have black handprints smeared across them to accompany the dirty boot prints currently staining the wood floor. Checking my hands, I find no evidence of the grime; though admittedly I wasn't paying attention before my shower. 

I hang at the threshold into the garage, leaning to peer out into the space at my car and the driveway beyond the open door. A tingling in the back of my teeth makes me swallow and adjust my tongue in my mouth as I look around, but nothing seems out of the ordinary aside from the streaks of filth across the wall leading to the door into the house and the presence of my car in itself. 

I reach into the garage to press the button for the garage door opener, stepping back into the house and gingerly shutting the ash-streaked door as the motor of the garage door opener growls. 

I rub at my eyes. 

I must’ve gone to get it and driven back yesterday. I rationalize to myself, brushing it off for now. The last few days have been hazy, anyway; it's entirely possible I’m remembering things wrong. Or not remembering them at all. 

Best not to dwell on it. There’s work to do. 

 

Moon is exactly where I left him, slouched forward over his knees, his chest still hanging wide open. The only thing keeping him upright is the tension of the cables that crisscross across his back and plug into his core, with most of his weight resting on his knuckles on the floor. 

I look him over again as I gingerly push his chest back over his hips to create some slack in his cables, keeping my hands on him until I'm certain he won't be knocked off balance and fall once I start working. Luckily he doesn't look any worse than yesterday, though he is significantly colder to the touch now after being turned off all night. 

My hands slide down to hook my fingers on the bottom edge of his ribcage once he’s stable, tugging it up as far as the cables will allow. The ratchet of the springlock creaks and groans under the added tension, but seems secure enough once it stops wiggling. 

I lean away from him to wake the monitor back up, making sure nothing errored out while I was asleep. 

There's more text in his dialogue box, but it's just a bunch of garbled numbers and letters. Strange, but not concerning. Yet. 

I turn my attention back to the robot, ducking under his open ribcage to get to work carefully unplugging all the cable connectors from the top boards. 

The work is slow going as I pause with every unplugged connector, eyeing the springlocks every time a disconnection sends a shudder through the large robot’s body. 

An eternity and a half later, everything is finally unplugged; all the motor cables now hanging limply against the back of his chest with the boards fully free and clear aside from the much smaller colored wires and ribbon cables that connect the boards, the battery, and the fans. The last few wires are much easier to unplug without a looming fear of Moon reactivating and snapping his ribcage shut, finally allowing me to poke around his core and take a proper look at everything. 

The fans are beyond saving, with barely a full set of blades between the four of them and half-melted motors, and the battery doesn't look much better with its puffy, drooping appearance. Dust and ash and cobwebs cling to the inside of his ribs, and I very quickly realize I definitely need to take out his boards to have any idea what's going on. 

The screws keeping the boards in place against his ribs are a little hard to find in such dim lighting, but they're easy enough to unscrew once I manage to find them, allowing me to gingerly take the boards out and put them on the desk. I feel bad for a second for lying to Moon about taking his boards out, but only for a second. There's no way he would've let me turn him off otherwise… There's worse things I could've lied about. 

At first glance, the boards don't look awful, albeit only in very dim lighting. Once I flip on the lights over my desk, they look significantly worse as I realize that most of the darkness I saw wasn't shadows, but grime. The word “filthy” comes to mind as I grab some board cleaning supplies and start to scrub at the layers and layers of ash and char and flux. 

"Geez, your circuit boards are a mess.” I mumble at the deactivated robot, “You're gonna be quite the project.” 

I get one of the smaller boards clean first to get an idea of what his primary and secondary boards have in store for me, grimacing as I find a board that is not only uncoated, but entirely unfinished, with burnt-out, broken, and straight-up missing components. There's still the remains of sharpie’d in notes all over the boards and evidence of earlier rework amidst the chaos.  

“Whoever built you did a terrible job. You don't even have finished boards.” I remark, pausing and shaking my head after a moment, “He can't hear you, M.” I mutter at myself, “You literally just shut him down, remember? Work first, talk later.” 

 

Cleaning takes even longer than unplugging everything did, but after a couple of hours and at the cost of my hands cramping, I can actually see the base of the circuit boards and the full extent of the damage I'm working with. Or against, I guess. 

Even at just a glance I can tell the boards are in a sorry state. I tried not to clean off all the notes, but most of them weren't readable anyway. 

I dig out a marker and start to put a dot on the components that need replacing on his primary board, eyebrows furrowing down as the number of dots continues to rise. 

“No wonder your brain is fried, like half the parts on this board are bad.” I huff, “I'm surprised you could function at all.” 

I grimace as I remember the secondary board in his face that I haven't even touched yet. If that's in the same state as these boards… 

I’m not going to think about that for now. 

I mark all the components on the primary board before I move on to the smaller boards, making a mental list of all the components I need and comparing it against the spreadsheet I have of what's  already in the workshop. Most of the larger stuff I already have; it's the smaller resistors and capacitors that I'll need to get elsewhere, unless I find another board to cannibalize. 

“Okay, there's all that to replace…” I note half to myself and half to the silent robot as I sit back and look over his boards. My gaze slides to his battery and decrepit fans, “And I'll have to rework your power and cooling systems, too.” 

I lean back in my chair, chewing my lip as I do the mental math on how long all of this should take to fix. It's not going to be a short project, especially with only having evenings to work on him.  

“You should be back in… two months, let's say.” I tell the deactivated robot. “Give or take a couple weeks, if your face-boards need serious work or not.” 

I tap at my thighs, glancing at his partially melted face, “...Maybe closer to three months.”

To be entirely honest, if I wanted to fully fix and finish him to be show-ready, it'd probably take years. 

Not my problem right now, though; he needs to be able to do the basics without trying to kill me first. 

 

With nothing left to do but get to work, that's exactly what I start doing. 

I scrounge around the workshop for as many of the parts I need as I can, able to find a good chunk of the connectors and solder-mount parts, and pulling the rest off of old boards I buy at the local E-waste store. 

The first few weeks of evening work are spent making a rough drawing of all the primary boards and pulling off any components that need replacing. The process is long and tedious, but I keep myself entertained and awake by talking to Moon as I work about random nonsense: The weather, Michael, my work… Vincent. My dreams. 

I talk a lot about my dreams. 

My dreams continue to be strange and exhausting, returning me to the Pizzaplex time and time again, though being perpetually tired and sore isn't a new feeling for me. I don't remember details about these dreams like I do my usual nightmares, only that I somehow always end up back in that building… and something about rabbits. 

More than once I find myself humming children's songs as I work; songs I never learned the name of but recall hearing when I was young, buried deep in long forgotten memories. 

 

The longer I work the more time my mind has to wander with the repetitive tasks of de-soldering and cleaning. 

Frequently, my mind wanders back to Moon and Sun and the vague memories I have of their scrapped theater program. 

If Moon was built for the theater, what was he supposed to be? Just a partner to Sun? Something more?  

I idly wonder if he can sing. I didn't see a voicebox, but those cut wires have a connector in one of the primary boards, so that mystery box up by his throat does something . 

I eye him as I hum a tune. Pop goes the weasel , I think it's called. 

What were you built for?  

Something to ask when he wakes up.  

 

>> <<

 

It's another few weeks of actually replacing all the parts I took off, a task somehow managing to be even more tedious than the last and lasting twice as long. I still talk to Moon while I work, though it mostly becomes me whining about how his boards were constructed as I hunch at the microscope for hours at a time, painstakingly soldering hundreds of tiny pins. 

 

At some point I have to stop, working well past midnight just to try and finish one of the three boards, working until I'm practically falling asleep sitting up. 

Whispers follow me back upstairs, something in my exhausted mind urging me to keep working despite my aching body, the whispers growing into angry wailing when I continue to ignore them. 

I collapse into my bed with relief, taking my glasses off and burying my face in my pillow, eager to sink into sleep. 

 

Mechanical parts click in smooth rhythm beneath my fingers as I work. The gentle, comforting buzz of conversation fills in the space between the mechanical heart beats; laughter and comments I've never paid attention to in voices I only slightly recognize. 

I hear Vincent and Dave among the voices, arguing about something I don't really care to listen to somewhere behind me. Hearing Vincent puts the apprehension in my shoulders at ease somewhat; I can feel myself relax slightly as I fiddle with wires and metal joints. 

I can't look away from what I'm doing, but I eventually hear Vincent come sit nearby. 

“Hey, Mickey.” 

“Hey.” Blue and grey plastic moves under my hands. “What's up?” 

“How's your little restoration project going?” 

“It's going good. He–” I catch myself, “It, is almost operational again.” 

“It's dangerous, you know.” 

“I know. That hasn't stopped us before.” Metal joints click into place. 

“You're gonna get hurt.” 

“That's never mattered.” I scowl at my working hands. 

“It matters to me.” 

“It's fine .” I snap as connectors plug back into circuit boards.

“I know you're lying to me, Mickey.” 

“I'm not lying, I just haven't told you everything.” The casings snap shut again. I cast Vincent a glance as I reach to turn the robot on. 

His eyes are green. Have they always been green?

“Why are you lying to me?” He presses. 

“What am I lying about? You don't need to know everything I'm doing every second.” I glare at him. The mechanical heartbeat gets louder as the bot powers on behind me. 

“Why won't you tell me the robot is evil?” I can't read his face. 

“He's– It's not evil, just–” I try to think of something to say, “Unfinished.” 

“I'm going to find out sooner or later.” He points out. 

“Then I'll deal with you when you do.” I look back at the robot. Its grin is wide, with rows and rows of serrated teeth and wide, empty eye sockets. 

“It'll kill you.” Vincent warns behind me. 

The robot chuckles, low and growling. 

My heart sinks into my stomach. 

“I know.” 

 

I snap awake at a flash of teeth and claws, sucking in a gasp and pressing my hands to my throat where I felt teeth sink in. 

My pulse pounds against my palms, but the only wetness I feel is sweat that dampens strings of my hair under my fingers.

The sun is dipping down over the horizon outside, my room dimly lit in twilight grey tones. The room is silent aside from my gasping panic. 

I try to force my breathing to even out, squeezing my eyes shut to count the seconds of each breath. 

It's okay. Just a dream. 

I make myself get out of bed when it's clear my heart rate isn't going to slow down anytime soon, even as the contents of the nightmare itself become fuzzy and slip from my memory. 

 

My hands don't stop shaking until they're wrapped around a warm mug of coffee in the kitchen, my heartbeat finally calming down as I settle on the couch and thoroughly convince myself this isn't another dream. 

The house is quiet, the gentle hum of the utilities offering some level of comfort as the moon begins to climb over the mountains.

Michael comes to curl up in my lap, beginning to purr as I gently scratch behind her ears. 

“Guess I was more tired than I thought, huh miss Jordan?” I note absentmindedly. 

She trills in response, kneading my thighs. 

I stare at the wall as I slowly sip my coffee, brain slow to wake up from the haze of last night. Or rather, this morning, since I apparently slept all day. 

I almost consider going back to sleep, but the thought is shoved from my mind as quickly as it appears. Losing a full day is bad enough; I'd rather not set myself back any further. 

Michael loudly complains when I get up. The coffee mug gets left on the coffee table as I limp back into the basement with a furrowed brow and a set jaw. 

I will finish this project. I will fix him. 

I'm not stopping until it's done. I assert to myself. No matter how long it takes. 

I sit down with his main boards and get back to work. 

 

>> << 

 

My hands and back ache from pinching my soldering iron and tweezers and hunching over the desk. It's been at least 12 hours since I started working, and I've only taken a couple short breaks to eat or use the bathroom. Not to mention it's taken weeks just to get to this point, and I'm still finding pieces that need repair. 

“You're just a never-ending problem, huh?” I grumble at the boards. I've been able to get the smaller boards into a less sorry state at least – along with replacing the battery and fans – but the main board continues to cause problems. 

I rub at my eyes and stifle a yawn. If I wasn't tired before, I'm definitely tired now.

 

It takes almost another day and a half to finally finish his primary board. I can barely get my eyes to focus at this point and my hands are shaky as all hell, but the feeling of triumph overrides most of the exhaustion once the final component is tacked in place. 

“Time to get you back up and running, buddy.” I address the robot sitting next to me, carefully reassembling his primary board stack before I duck to screw it back into his chest. 

I hesitate and ease up on the pressure when I feel his open ribcage wiggle precariously, the springlock holding it open subtly clicking. 

Right. Let's not set those off while my arms are in there.  

The boards get gently screwed in and I carefully lower the front of his chest back down until I can start plugging all his cables back in. 

His battery and fans get plugged in first, his fans twitching slightly once they get that first jolt of power at being plugged in. Then it's onto the dozens of cables that connect to the rest of his body. 

I'm not really paying attention when I start plugging his cables in, missing the subtle twitches of his limbs and digits with every connector that gets plugged into the boards. 

It takes me a while to remember the little mystery box up at the top of his chest. I hiss a curse under my breath, having to press my face to his chest casing as I stick an arm up through the center of his core, feeling around for the dangling wires. 

My hand brushes against his spine, the braided metal squirming away from me ever so slightly. The movement makes the ribcage against my cheek shift ever so slightly, but I pay it no mind as I continue to worm around until I find the wires. 

I have to blindly fiddle with them until I find the box itself, wondering for a moment if its possible for me to pull the box out like this without taking him apart again. 

My fingers gingerly feel across the box, causing quiet clicks and dings as I search for whatever's keeping it in place. 

I find something on the top of the box after a moment, some kind of hinge or latch, with a button on one side.

“Gotcha.” I press the button, registering for a split second the twang of a spring being released and the click of a ratchet before the springlocks holding his chest open slam shut – Catching my hand and forearm in between it and his inner workings and clamping down with a sickening CRUNCH .

The movement makes his entire body jolt, his systems powering on as his spine snaps taught, slamming my face against his chest as his fans kick into high gear, making an unholy, grinding scream. 

I don't have time to feel pain or register the blood now coating the inside of his chest as Moon begins to thrash, staring down at me with empty eye sockets and an open mouth as he emits that ear-piercing wail. His hands come around his body to grab at me as I try to pull my hand out of his chest, claws dragging across my chest and arm as I manage to wrench it free a moment later, a backhanded swipe of his claws tossing me out of my chair away from him.  

I stagger a few steps away, adrenaline still pumping and my body still numb as I watch him, putting my hands up, eyes wide and fear pounding in my ears. 

"Moon! Moon, hey, it's me, it's me! Calm down!"  

I watch as he continues to thrash, clearly not hearing a word I say as his flailing flings the blood on his claws across the walls and desk. 

Shit. Shit!

I lunge for my desk, scrambling for my phone, the screen becoming slick with blood as I desperately swipe to turn on my flashlight. It's tinted red when it turns on, but it's still bright enough to force him to shudder to a stop mid-move, cutting off his screaming. 

“Moon! Listen to me!” I don't take my eyes off him, throat painfully dry. “Calm down! You're fine!” 

His mechanics stiffly click and whir as he slowly returns to the neutral sitting position I had him powered down in in the red light of my phone’s flashlight. Carefully, he lifts his head to look at me with those empty eye sockets. 

It's hard to breathe. I turn the flashlight off. 

“You're okay, okay?” 

His head tilts to one side. 

 

Clack-clack-clack?

 

He sounds concerned, reaching a freshly red-coated hand toward me. 

"J-just, just stay there, don't move, okay?" My body steps back on its own, my voice shaking heavily, taut with fear. 

I watch him stop. Thinking. 

 

…Clack. 

 

He doesn't know.  

"Stay here, okay?" I dare to glance toward the stairs as he looks at me. "Just stay here, I'll- I'll be right back." My body has begun to shake. I try not to look down at my left arm, feeling the dead weight hanging on my shoulder. Or think about the puddle forming beneath my feet and soaking into my pant leg. 

He clacks at me with a mix of concern and curiosity. 

“It- It's fine, don't worry.” I put my remaining hand up placatingly, though I know he can't see it, “Everything's okay.” 

 

Clack-clack. 

 

“It's okay.” He knows I'm lying, it's fairly obvious as I fight down rising nausea and blinding panic. 

"I'll- I'll tell you about it later, Moon," I begin to carefully and slowly inch toward the stairs, already feeling dizzy as I gasp for breath. "Stay here, okay? Just- just stay here, I'll be right back." 

 

Clack. 

 

I barely hear his response, the door already clicking shut behind me. As I stagger out into the kitchen to search for a rag for my arm, I pull my phone back out of my pocket and dial 911. Even without looking, I know I can't fix this on my own.

“911, what's your emergency?” 

“I got att–” I hesitate. No. They can't know about Moon. They wouldn't understand. It wasn't his fault. “I had a machinery accident. My arm- My arm is broken and I'm bleeding. Badly.” 

I gag with pain as I find a towel and press it around the mangled mess that is currently my arm. 

“Okay sir, just stay with me and we’ll send some emt’s to you. Where are you?” 

“At home.” I sink down against the kitchen cabinets, “Uh, G, G120 Willowwood Street. In Lehi.” 

The few seconds of silence are deafening. 

“The ambulance is on its way. I need you to stay on the line with me, okay?” 

“Okay.” It hurts to swallow. I feel so dizzy. “I can do that.”  

“I'm going to ask you some questions, okay sir?” 

“Okay.” I try not to focus on the rising pain. 

“Is anyone else in the home with you?” 

“No, no it's just me.” I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping Moon can't hear me.  

“Any pets in the home?” 

“A cat. She's harmless.” 

“Do you have any emergency contacts? Any next of kin we should contact?” 

My grip tightens on my phone. “No.” 

“The ambulance is five minutes out, okay sir?” 

“Okay,” I breathe lightly, feeling how soaked through the towel has become. I can't remember if I unlocked the door or not. 

I don’t know if getting up to check is an option anymore. It's hard to tell when the room is spinning. 

The operator asks me more questions, but I'm only half-listening once I begin to hear distant sirens, growing closer. 

My heart beats in time with the seconds, each minute longer than the last. The bleeding feels like it's slowing down, at least. 

Or maybe I'm just running out of blood to lose. Probably the latter, with my luck. 

Just a few more minutes. 

 

The knock at the door and announcement of “EMS!” comes not a second too soon. 

“It's open.” I call hoarsely. I hope I'm not lying. 

The handle jostles for a moment before the door opens, a trio of EMS workers quick to step through and over to me. It's a whirlwind of activity as soon as they get a look at me, taking one look at the blood-soaked towel wrapped around my forearm and hand and kicking into high gear. 

They ask me more questions as two of them crouch by me and gently move my arm. It hurts to think. I suck in air through tightly clenched teeth as they touch the bloody mess. 

I watch them glance at each other with barely concealed horror. 

Behind them, the third medic tries to follow the trail of blood on the floor further into the house, heading toward the door into the workshop. 

“Don't!” I yell as I'm lifted to my feet, making the emt pause as they reach for the ajar door, “There's– there's nothing down there but machinery.” 

Don't find him. Don't hurt him. 

I relax slightly when they back away from the door and rejoin the group to load me onto a stretcher and wheel me into the ambulance waiting outside. 

“You're gonna be okay.” One of them assures me. 

“It's that bad, huh?” I joke halfheartedly, squeezing my eyes shut as the ambulance starts to move, a wave of nausea washing over me. 

No one answers. There's only the jostling of the carriage and the rustling of fabric and equipment.  

“We're gonna get you something to help the pain until you get to the hospital, okay?”  

I shake my head, “Don't, I'm fine. Can't have opioids.” 

“You can't have opioids?” 

Every slight shift and bump makes me grit my teeth. 

“Relapse risk.” I hiss through the pain. 

“Just stay with us until we get to the hospital.” Another of them says. 

“No promises.” I'm mostly mumbling to myself as I hear the sirens come on. 

Must be bad.  

 

>> << 

 

"Just stay here, I'll- I'll be right back."

What happened? 

It's easier to think now, to breathe. 

His chest feels warm. He can feel something inside, leaking down onto his legs in thick droplets. 

Hero sounded scared. Hurt. 

What hurt them? 

There's noise overhead. Movement. Talking. 

Hero yells. Panicked. 

He gets up on reflex, moving forward, only pausing again when his hands find the stairs. 

He listens. 

It's quiet now. Deathly so. 

Is he too late? Is Hero okay? 

He dares to disobey, slowly crawling up the stairs. He stays low. Hidden. 

There's lingering warmth on the stairs under his hands. It's familiar. Unsettlingly so. 

The top of the stairs is silent. Distant sirens fade into pressing emptiness. 

What happened to Hero? 

He reaches out beyond the door. Its harder to move out there, in the brighter lights. 

It'll hurt to find Hero again. 

He hesitates. 

Stay here. Just stay here. 

Slowly, he retreats back down the stairs. 

Hero will come back this time. They have to. 

Notes:

Ring, ring... ring, ring....
click.
"Hello?"
"Is this Vincent?"
"Yeah, who's this?"
"This is Dr. Morrison with Skyline Medical Center. We have some news about Miquella."

Chapter 11: Secrets

Summary:

How many times will you lie before you’re safe?
No one can know.

CW: SEVERE INJURY

The adrenaline is long gone by the time I reach the hospital, replaced by searing pain and system shock. I'm at least still conscious, which is more than I can usually ask for, but I'm not convinced that still being aware is a good thing this time. 

The ER is busy as always, but I'm immediately surrounded by staff and wheeled into a pre-op room as soon as I'm off the ambulance.

I guess they knew we were coming.  

The bright hospital lights and sudden flurry of movement and voices makes everything feel unreal, overwhelming. I have to close my eyes again to try and discern what all the babbling around me is about. 

“Shattered bones … is it saveable? … start operating immediately…”

Well none of that sounds fun. 

It must be obvious that I'm losing the fight to stay awake by now, since the hospital staff barely even have me confirm my name before they start preparing me for surgery. 

The activity around me all blurs together before I'm put under in the operating room – Some wristbands, an IV, a brief glance at the bloody, mangled lump that hangs off my elbow – and just as quickly as everything started, it ends.

 

I gasp awake in the dim lighting of a hospital room. The gentle hum of machinery and soft beeping of the heart monitor fill the room, everything dimly illuminated by the screens on the monitors and the sliver of light leaking under the door. The heavy curtains on the window are closed, but the warm light pressing against the other side of them suggests midday or early afternoon. 

Bandages are wrapped tightly around my chest and arms, with my left forearm and hand entirely encased in a cast and resting in an elevated sling. Seems my arm was saveable, at least, judging by the muted buzz of pain tingling around my elbow. 

In my right arm is a catheter, hooked up to a slowly dripping IV. A blood bag hangs on the other hook next to the clear bag, half empty with its tube looped over the hook a couple times to keep it from dangling. 

Must've been a fun time. I’m probably lucky to still be alive.

I rest my head back on my pillow, looking up at the ceiling. Recovering from this is going to be long and slow, I can already tell. It's gonna be hard to work with only my non-dominant hand.

I shut my eyes, feeling how dry they are despite being closed for however long I've been asleep. At least I'll get a break from all the weirdness back home this way… though I hope Moon doesn't miss me too much.

 

>> <<

 

Hero has been gone too long. 

This place is too quiet. Restless energy in his chest. 

Does he disobey? Does he search for Hero? 

Hero will be mad if he’s discovered. But if Hero is hurt…

Hero was scared. 

Hero helped him.

He should help Hero. 

The light outside is gentle. Easy to move in. 

Hero can’t be too far. 

 

>> <<  

 

At some point a nurse comes to check the room, seeming surprised when they find me awake. They quickly make sure I'm okay before scurrying out to find the doctor on call in this part of the hospital, said doctor joining the nurse when they return to my room about half an hour later. 

“Good afternoon, I'm Dr. Morrison,” He almost goes to shake my hand before he remembers, somewhat awkwardly putting it in his pocket instead, “I was the one who worked on your wounds when you came in. It's good to meet you.” 

“Pleasure's all mine,” I croak. Gods, it hurts to talk. “How'd everything look?” 

There's a flicker of relief in his face at me cutting to the chase. “Your injuries were severe,” He grabs a manilla folder off the nearby rolling table and pulls out some X-rays, “If your arm was broken any further, we wouldn't have been able to save it.” 

Lucky me. 

He clips the two X-rays up on the wall in a place I can look at them without moving more than my head. The first is a solid look at the breaks and fractures all over my forearm and hand; pieces of bone stick out at odd angles and my wrist and fingers are crunched into unnatural positions, everything bending around the invisible metal mechanisms they were crushed between. 

The second X-ray is post-operation. All the fragmented pieces have been set in their right places again by lengths of metal rods screwed into the bones, with a small plate screwed into the back of my wrist for support. 

“We embedded some rods under the skin to stabilize everything while it heals and closed all the surface-level cuts,” Dr. Morrison explains, “Most of this is permanent, because of how bad the damage was. The only thing that will eventually be coming off will hopefully be this wrist plate.” He taps the image for emphasis.

“Will I get my hand back?” I eye the images warily. 

“You should still be able to use it once its healed,” He assures me, “You'll lose some range of motion and there’ll be nerve damage, but we'll send you to physical therapy to help with that.” 

“That's good, I was worried I'd have to become right handed.” I half-joke. 

The doctor just suppresses a grimace and fiddles with his clipboard. “Your ribs had some fractures, but those should heal on their own. What did you say caused all this? The intake form says ‘machinery accident’.” 

“Yeah, uh…” I try to remember what I said, “I work with factory machines. It… malfunctioned.” 

“I see.”  He hums. 

“How long have I been out?” I shift slightly, wincing as it moves everything. 

“Only about 12 hours.” The doctor assures me. “We're going to keep you for a couple days, just to make sure your arm will heal correctly, and then you’ll be released to at home bedrest.” 

Relief washes over me. “Fine with me. Thank you.” 

“Of course.” He checks his clipboard again. “We'll update your emergency contact as well–” 

“Emergency contact?” I squint at him, “I don't… have an emergency contact.”

“We contacted the one that's listed in your previous paperwork,” He explains, “Your brother. Vincent, I believe?” 

“Ah. Right.” I glance away. “Him.” 

I don't think he'll accept the same excuse as the ambulance. Gods, how will I explain this to him?

”We’ll let him know you’re awake. Anything you need before I leave?” He raises an eyebrow at me. 

“No, no I’m okay, thanks,” I attempt to wave my remaining hand, wincing as I barely manage to flex my fingers. 

“Alright, someone will be in to check on you in a bit.” Morrison nods, quick to scurry back out of the room, leaving me alone with the quiet beeping once more. 

I heave a weak sigh, closing my eyes. Even just talking is exhausting.

I wonder if Vincent will come visit.  

Sleep reclaims me quickly, deep and empty for once. 

 

>> <<

 

Hero is here. He can feel them, just beyond thick glass. 

He taps thrice, in time with the tempo of his heart. 

Even though he can feel them, there is only heavy silence on the other side. 

Hero? Are you there? 

He needs to get inside. 

Can't use the doors, he'll be seen. Up on the roof? 

He climbs, higher and higher, feeling glass turn to concrete. 

It's much louder up here. Whirring machines and moving air. 

There has to be some way down, some way inside.

 

He finds a metal grate, guiding warm air out of the building. 

It pries open with a screech. 

 

>> << 

 

Sometime during the night, a rumbling in the ceiling draws me out of the depths of my dreamless sleep. It sounds almost like distant thunder; low and not yet loud enough to actually wake me.  

I hum softly and shift, somewhat comforted by the idea of a storm rolling through. 

I miss the stormy nights. Does he miss them? Miss me? 

Another round of noise above me interrupts my unconscious musings. Heavy rattling this time, just above me in the drop ceiling. 

This time I’m drawn to consciousness, though I still don’t open my eyes just yet, listening to my surroundings to determine whether it’s worth fully waking up for. 

I hear something thud and scrape its way through the vents. The sound is hauntingly familiar, gripping my heart and snapping my eyes open all at once as it registers. 

My eyes snap open as the ceiling vent cover falls out of the ceiling, a large, slithering silhouette following it down to the floor. The giant figure pins the cover to the ground when it lands, silencing its rattling before it can make too much noise. 

I desperately hope I'm dreaming as the figure lifts its head, slowly uncurling its long body to fill the space between the floor and ceiling. Small LED circles flicker on in its face, slowly sweeping back and forth across the room as it lifts its bare, circular head.  

I hold my breath, trying to be as silent as possible. 

Please don't let it see me. Gods, don't let it see me. 

I can hear a low growl rolling in its chest as it lowers its head and begins to explore the room, turning a slow circle. It reaches out in front of it, dragging large claws almost gingerly across the floors and walls until it finds the foot of the bed. 

Its claws latch onto the edge of the bed, sinking into the thin blankets as it sinks its weight into them and drags itself to loom over me. 

I can barely hear the vital machine at my bedside begin to beep faster with my panicked heartbeat as those white circles fix themselves down on me. 

It bends down. I don't recognize him until the soft light of the screens nearby begins to reflect off his melted face. 

“Moon?” I croak, a mix of emotions beginning to roil in my mind. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

He lifts his head slightly, low growl of his fans rising into what sounds like a pleased purr as he clacks his teeth. 

 

Clack-clack-clack-clack-clack. 

 

Several responses battle for control behind my teeth as I try to figure out how to talk to him. 

Why are you here? 

I told you to stay put. 

How did you find me? 

What do you want? 

Please don't hurt me. 

“Are you real?” Is what leaves my mouth. 

He pauses. Tilts his head. 

 

Clack. 

 

“You- What are you doing here?” I hiss through gritted teeth. 

He reaches toward me, claws hovering over the bandages on my chest. 

 

Clack clack? 

 

“ Moon. ” I hiss at his approaching claws. 

He stops, tilting his head further. 

“Why are you here?” I repeat. 

 

Clack-clack-clack. 

 

He sounds worried. 

“I'm fine, don't touch me.” I resist the urge to worm away from his hands, my arm aching in the cast. 

He clacks again, pulling his hand away to clutch the end of the bed again. 

Shit. What do I do? How do I get him to leave? 

The heart rate monitor by the bed is beeping. Someone will be here to check on it soon; They can’t find Moon in here. They'd destroy him, or at the very least freak out and trigger his killer protocol. I'd rather not cause any more bloodshed. 

“ Moon, ” I hiss at the robot, hushing my voice, “ You have to go home. ” 

He whirs his fans at me in return, not seeming to understand. 

My gaze darts back and forth across his face as he stares at me. 

“ This place isn’t safe for you, okay? ” I try to explain, “ Go home and just… wait for me to get back. ” 

He hesitates, leaning away from me and emitting a low whine. 

The monitor continues to beep from my elevated heart rate. I can hear footsteps tapping down the hall. 

“ Go! I'll be home soon, just go! Hide before someone sees you! ” I snap through my teeth at him. 

He clacks his teeth, clearly unhappy with the order, but slowly and surely he begins to back away, claws leaving stains rubbed into the white blankets near my feet. 

I let out a quiet breath of relief as he slinks back into the ceiling moments before a nurse steps through the door. 

“Is everything okay?” She asks, stepping over to check the monitor. 

“Yeah, just..” I painfully clear my throat, “The, uh, vent cover fell and startled me.” 

“Oh, I didn't even see that,” She glances toward the metal cover on the floor, “Let's get your heart rate under control and then I'll get that out of your way.” 

“All… good…” I'm barely listening, keeping my gaze fixed on the open vent in the ceiling as she fiddles with things. 

The beeping quiets once I can no longer hear any scraping in the ceiling, sinking my head back into my pillow. “I think I'm okay now.” 

I can only hope he can get home okay.

I don't sleep that night. All I can do is watch the hole in the ceiling. 

 

He doesn't come back. 

 

>> <<

 

Everything is blissfully quiet for the rest of my hospital stay. Well, as quiet as a hospital can be, at least, but I’m less upset about the noise outside my door and the confinement than I usually am. I'm not thrilled about being here – Gods know I could stand to be here less in my life – but at least I'm able to have some uninterrupted, dreamless sleep for once. 

 

Eventually the door swings open again, letting in one of the nurses I’ve become familiar with, Emma, along with Dr. Morrison… and Vincent. 

“Good morning,” Morrison greets, “Good news, you'll be able to go home today.” 

I eye Vincent as they step into the room, the nurse beginning to fiddle with all my hooked up apparatuses. 

His gaze flicks across me with barely veiled concern. He furrows his brow back at me when he meets my eyes, his lips pulling into a thin line. 

I know that look. I've seen it more times than I care to remember. 

What did you do, Mickey? 

I twist my face into a scowl back at him. 

Stay out of it. 

He narrows his eyes at me from behind the staff crowding my bed. 

We’ll talk about this later. 

I roll my eyes and turn my attention back to the hospital staff as they relay care instructions about my arm and bandages. Typical stuff, nothing I haven't heard before – don't use the arm, keep everything clean, etc. – and check-ins every two weeks or so. If all goes well, I'll get the cast off in a couple months.  

Shit. That's gonna put a dent in things.

I cast a glance at Vincent at that, doing my best to hide the real reason I'm upset about the idea of my left hand being out of commission for several months. 

He's still watching me, eyes narrowed in suspicion. He raises an eyebrow as I catch his eye.

I'm quick to look away as the nurse helps me sit up and get off the bed, helping me into a wheelchair. 

“I'll go get my car and meet you up front.” Vincent addresses the staff. 

“Perfect, we'll meet you out there.” The nurse gets me settled as Vincent leaves the room, wheeling me to follow a minute or so later. 

I try not to focus on the various sights and sounds around me as we make our way through the halls, my skin still crawling from all the vaguely familiar stimuli that continues to haunt my memories. 

Vincent is waiting with his car out front, just like he said. 

I avoid meeting his gaze as I’m loaded into the passenger seat, but I can feel him glaring at me. 

He’s coldly silent when he starts the car. 

“… Is it too late for me to walk home?” I cast him a glance, only half joking. 

“Yes.” His eyes bore into the windshield. They’re still blue. They’ve always been blue. 

 

The drive home is agonizingly quiet, neither of us willing to break the silence. Neither of us willing to address the obvious. 

I watch the scenery go by outside the window. 

“So.” At some point Vincent clears his throat, “Been a while since the hospital had to call me.” 

“Mhm.” I hum. “I wasn't awake to tell ‘em not to.” 

I can practically hear him clench his jaw, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel as he lets the silence thicken. 

“Why not tell me you almost died?” He asks through gritted teeth. 

“Last time I checked, my life doesn't concern you.” I mumble into the car window. 

“What, I don't get to know what fucked you up?” I can feel him glance at me. 

“It was an accident. ” I cast him a glare, “Nothing more.” 

“ Accidents don't claw you half to death.” The car edges slightly to the right. 

“My arm is broken, remember?” I roll my eyes and press myself deeper into the seat. 

“Then I guess I was imagining the stitches in your chest. Stupid me.” His grip tightens on the wheel. 

“Maybe you imagine a lot of things.” I mutter under my breath. 

“What is your problem? Every time something happens, I'm not allowed to know.” He snaps, “What did I do, huh? I remember a time where I was the one always patching your dumbass up. Now, what, I'm just supposed to read about it in the news when you get yourself killed by some monster no one knows about?”

“Yeah well I seem to recall a time when you had me dropped off and left to fend for myself!” My face contorts into a snarl, cracking my dry lips, “Excuse me for not jumping at the chance to be abandoned again for kicks.” 

“I didn't–” He takes a breath, “That’s not what happened, Mickey.” 

“Save it.” I scrub at my face, swiping away the forming tears. 

This time I'm the one who lets the silence stretch long. 

“What did this, Mickey?” Vincent eventually asks. His tone is controlled. 

“Like I said. Accident.” 

“Those breaks look like springlock breaks.” 

“Its not.” 

“No? I thought you were working on an antique. All those had springlocks.” 

“Well it wasn't my pet project. Had a…work… accident.” 

“A work— You fucking— “ He bangs his head against the seat and takes a deep breath. 

“Factory machines don’t have claws .” He manages after a minute. 

I just huff and shift to be facing the window. 

We don't talk for the rest of the ride. 

 

”We’re here.” 

I watch my house slide to a stop outside the window when Vincent finally breaks the silence again. 

‘…Thanks. For the ride.” I still don’t look at him. 

“Mhm.” The pause is heavy. “You need help getting to the door?” 

“I think I can manage.” The car door clicks open under my hand, spilling me out onto the curb. I wince as I stumble a couple of steps, jostling everything in the cast slung against my chest when my knees hit the ground. 

Guess I’m less stable than I thought. 

Hands on me a moment later make me jump, but it’s no demon that’s gripping me when I look for it — just stormy blue eyes and grey-streaked curly hair around a face creased with emotion. Anger… or maybe it’s concern. It’s always been hard to tell with him. 

He hauls me to my feet, shuffling me toward the front door. I lean against him as I fumble for my keys and get the door open. 

“Do I get to see what you’re working on?” He asks, helping me in the door. He raises an eyebrow at the blood currently staining the hardwood floor. 

“When it's ready.” I mumble, shuffling toward the couch. 

“Cryptic. As usual.” Vincent rolls his eyes and helps set me down on the couch, “I'll get you a blanket.” 

“They're upstairs, in my closet.” I eye him as he walks away, making sure he heads the right way. I only relax again once he disappears up the stairs, slumping back into the couch with a quiet groan. 

For a moment, listening to his footsteps on the floor above me, I debate telling him the truth. 

He's going to find out eventually, it's not like he can't tell I'm lying. Maybe he should know. 

But he might try to hurt Moon, or accidentally set Moon off and get himself killed. 

My gaze flicks toward the still-ajar workshop door. Across the blood smeared across it and splattered on the floor. 

That could be him if I'm not careful. 

I can hear Vincent's footsteps coming back down the stairs. 

No. Better he doesn't know until everything is ready. Less dangerous that way.

He won't be happy I lied, though. Then again, I can't really remember the last time he was happy with me. 

I'm pulled from my musing by a blanket thumping down over my head. 

“Here.” Vincent walks around the back of the couch. “Need anything else?” 

Static grabs at my hair as I pull the blanket down off my head. “No, I'm fine. Thanks.” 

“You sure? I can get some food or somethin’.” 

“I'm fine, Vince, really.” I tug the blanket around my shoulders and hunker down. “Just tired.” 

He hums and walks around the front of the couch, sitting down on the floor with his back against the couch. When he speaks again, its soft. “Man… haven’t done this in a while, huh?” 

“Mhm. We had a pretty good streak going for a while.” I joke hoarsely. 

“Did you get bored or somethin’, Mickey?” Vince leans his head over the couch cushion to look at me, smirking slightly. 

“Had to look for something to replace the excitement of Fazbear’s,” I offer a tired grin in return. 

He laughs softly. “Always the thrill seeker.” 

“Don’t act like you were innocent, you were there too.” I raise an eyebrow. 

“Hey, I kept us out of jail.” 

I chuckle hoarsely, grinning, “Because the hospital is so much cheaper than bail.” 

He snorts a proper laugh this time. I missed that sound. 

“Ah…What happened to us, huh?” He asks after a minute, leaning his head back to look the ceiling. “What happened to the good ol’ days?”

“Lotta things, Vince.” I let my eyelids half-close as I look at the back of his head. “Things changed. We’ve changed.”

“Hah. Guess you’re right.” He sighs, “Can’t say I don’t miss it though. The excitement, that is. Not the hospital visits.” 

“…Yeah. Me too.” My tired eyes fall toward his shoulder, and the hidden scars I barely remember being fresh. 

“Need me to stick around?” He lightly pats the couch next to my feet. 

“I’d rather you didn’t. I’ll be okay.” I sink deeper into the couch cushions. “I don’t have a place for you to sleep, anyway.” 

“All this space and no guest room.” He rolls his eyes, “For shame.” 

“Ah, yes, the guest room, for all the guests I frequently have over.” I huff. 

“Hey, you never know when you’ll have company.” He grunts quietly as he hauls himself to his feet, brushing off his pants. “Sure you don’t need anything?” 

“I’m sure. Thanks, Vince.”

“Anytime.” He reaches to rustle my hair, pulling away when I make a noise of discomfort. “Well, don’t do this anytime, but y’know what I mean. You can call me anytime.” He clarifies. 

I hum, “I get it, thank you. I’ll reach out if I need it.” 

“You better.” He makes his way back toward the front door, pausing when he goes to close it behind him. “I worry about you, you know.” 

I pull my casted arm tighter against my chest, hearing the door swing closed and click into place. 

“…I know.” 

 

I take the chance to rest while I can before having to deal with Moon again. I sleep lightly though, part of me unable to fully relax in the dark with the threat of Moon still lingering. All I can do is hope he made it back, and that he won’t come out to “check” on me again.

I should know better than to hope by now.  

It’s fully dark when I hear him crawling up the stairs, the clicking of his joints like the hissing of a saw-scaled viper slithering into the room. 

I huff softly and wrinkle my nose, pulling the blanket over my head as I hear him get closer. 

He looms over the back of the couch, making it creak as he rests his weight on it. 

“Go away, Moon.” I grumble, “Go back downstairs.”

He whines in return. The couch creaks under his weight when he leans down. 

“I’m fine , let me rest.” I pull the blanket tighter around me. “Go back to the workshop and wait.” 

Moon growls quietly, hauling himself over the back of the couch to sink into the cushions by my feet. I can feel one of his broken knuckles lightly brush across the blanket over my legs. 

I flinch away from the touch so hard it sends a jolt of pain up my leg. 

He pulls away about as fast as I do, sliding off the couch with another whine of concern. 

“Go away , Moon,” I hiss from under the blanket. “I told you to stay put then, and I’m telling you again now. Wait. In. The workshop.” 

There’s a long pause. The only sound is the rhythmic clicking of Moon’s core, and the subtle creaking of his cables. 

For a moment, I think he’s frozen in place or broke down again from how long he stays quiet. 

 

Clack.  

 

The response sounds subdued. His claws thud on the ground as he slowly drags himself back downstairs a moment later. 

Thank the gods. 

My leg still tingles with pain as I settle back down on the couch. I think I’m only able to cling to sleep because of whatever pain medication is still in my system. 

 

>> << 

 

My limp is heavy as I make my way down the stairs the next morning. 

Moon raises his head, core whirring eagerly as he clacks his teeth to greet me. 

“No, don’t you act all excited,” I narrow my eyes behind my glasses at him, stalking over to where he’s sitting by the desk. Blood still coats his exposed lower spine and what remains of his pants, filling the various cracks and crevices in his chest casings. He almost looks like a real flesh-and-blood zombie with all the added red. 

He hesitates, lowering his head as I approach to put his face down where I can reach it. 

I reach with my remaining hand and grab his chin, pulling his face down even further to be inches from mine. 

“What. The hell. Were you thinking?” I growl at him, “You just barely got fixed, and you decided to go out into town alone?” 

He whirrs his fans in response, his systems offering a low whine. 

“Did anyone see you? Did you hunt anyone?” I search his empty eyes for those ring pupils I saw in the hospital, finding nothing in the warped screens. 

 

Clack-clack. 

 

“Good.” I breathe a half-sigh of relief knowing he's still only focused on me. Me in danger I can handle; it's putting other people at risk that gets tricky. 

“Don’t go outside on your own, got it?” I lean around him to grab the unplugged connector on the desk, having to stretch it taut to plug it into the back of his face. 

Moon leans toward the desk to allow some slack in the cable. 

 

Clack. 

 

“Good.” I wake up my computer again, “I got everything physically working while you were asleep, now we just have to worry about your programming.” 

The dialogue box opens on its own this time once the computer boots. 

 

> system// Is Hero okay? 

> system// Hero went missing. I was worried. 

> system// I waited for Hero to return, but the silence was long. 

 

I hum. “Yeah, things took a little longer to settle than I expected. I'm fine,” I cast the robot a glance, “I appreciate the concern, buddy, but you shouldn't have come to find me.” 

 

> system// Hero is unhappy. 

 

“ Unhappy is an understatement.” I roll my eyes, “People out there aren't gonna be as… lenient, with you as I am. You can't just go wandering. You might’ve gotten hurt, and then where would we be?” 

He slumps a bit more over his knees. 

 

> system// I am sorry. 

> system// What happened? Why did Hero leave? 

> system// Hero sounded hurt. Scared.

 

At that I hesitate. 

What do I tell him? It wasn't his fault, but I don't wanna tell him what's coating his insides right now. 

My eyes flick down to the blood, deep brown by now, starting to flake off his spine. 

What happens when he does find out? He might go back to that other protocol. 

My gaze snaps back to his faceplate. 

Then he just can't find out. 

“Yeah, I had an accident. But I'm okay, really.” I look back to the computer, “Let's just focus on getting you fixed. Okay?” 

He thinks for a long moment, his fans whirring. 

 

> system// OK.  

 

“Good.” I focus on the monitor, pursing my lips as I try to remember how to reprogram a Fazbear bot. It was something convoluted… Some combination of menus and options. Of course, working entirely right-handed and on something more complex and much older than a S.T.A.F.F. bot doesn't exactly make my life easier. 

Moon stays relatively quiet while I dig through his brain to find what I'm after, his empty, drooping eyes fixed on me as he leans over the desk. 

“Okay, I think I've got it,” I push my glasses further up my nose as I find his jumbled secret menu options. “Now, how do we get you to talk…” 

He clacks his teeth at me. 

 

>system// We can talk like this. 

 

“I guess, but I can't exactly read what you’re saying and work on you all at once.” I point out, “We need something audible. Though, you don't have a voicebox, so I can't just give you a language to speak…” 

I hum and eye his programming menu. My fingers tap at the desk as I think. 

 

>system// Does Hero need help?

 

“I just might, buddy.” I purse cracking lips, “I just might. Lemme try things on my own first though.”   

 

> system// OK. 

 

I yawn, rolling my shoulders. I've only been awake for less than two hours and I'm already tired. Not ideal if I wanna get things done, but there's not much I can do with my arm out of commission. 

Deciding to push my luck, I turn my attention back to the computer, and start trying to make sense of all Moon's inner workings. Programming isn't my domain, but it can't be that hard to grasp, right? 

 

>> <<

 

“Now I know why Vincent hated his job so much.” My voice is muffled by the desk as I rest my forehead on the wood. Even with online tutorials to help with the basics of coding, this is torturous trial-and-error, only lengthened by Fazbear’s bizarre build operations and my body’s current state of disrepair.  

Moon’s fans whirr in what sounds like a chuckle. 

“Don't you laugh, it’s your brain we’re working on.” I cast him a glare out of the corner of my eye, rolling my face so my cheek is resting on the desk instead. 

The robot clacks his teeth at me, leaning his head down slightly toward my voice. 

“Ugh, I'm fine, don't worry.” My back aches when I haul myself back into a sitting position. “You, however, continue to cause problems.” I tap at the desk to gesture to the computer monitor. 

He whines softly at me. 

“Oh you’re fine,” I lean to pat his thigh, trying not to think about why the fabric is crusty, “But we definitely need help if we want you to have some way to talk. I could manually teach you sign language,”  I glance between his claws and his face. “But that might be hard with your… condition.” 

 

Clack . 

 

“Glad you agree.” A slightly smirk tugs At the corner of my mouth, only for a moment. “Wait here, I’m gonna go get some help.” 

He whines again with concern as I turn my back. 

I glance to the dialogue box. 

 

>system// Hero went missing the last time Hero left and told us to stay. 

> system// Is Hero okay? 

 

“I'm okay, Moon, really.” I assure him, “I'll be right back, I'm just grabbing my phone.” 

He clacks his teeth after me as I painfully limp back up the stairs, my feet sticking slightly to the dried blood now soaked into the wood.

Ugh. It's gonna take ages to clean everything.  

 

My phone feels awkward in my right hand when I grab it out of Vincent’s hospital bag by the couch. 

I unlock it and tap through to my contacts, slowly scrolling through them. My thumb lingers over names I haven't thought about in over a decade. 

Do they remember me? 

I blink a few times. My eyes feel dry. 

Gods, what am I doing? 

I huff and shake my head slightly, exiting out of my contacts and tapping instead into my messages. 

“Okay. Who do I actually talk to that would know about programming?” I murmur, sitting on the couch to give my back a break. 

 

‘Still alive?’ 

 

Vincent's name lights up in the list as my phone buzzes. 

Of course. His timing is nothing if not comical. 

I set my jaw. 

 

‘Yeah, still alive.’ 

 

‘Good.’

‘Need anything?’

 

My breathing catches in my throat as my thumb hovers over the keypad. 

It's now or never, M.

 

‘Actually, yeah, I need some help.’ 

 

‘What's up?’

 

‘Yk that project I'm working on?’ 

‘It doesn't have a voicebox but I need it to talk.’ 

‘Any ideas?’ 

 

There's no immediate response. I watch the screen, barely daring to breathe as I watch him type for a long while. 

One minute. Two. Four. Ten. Still, he doesn't respond. 

Panic starts to stir in my aching chest. My thoughts condense into whispers around me. 

This was a mistake. I shouldn't have asked. He'll want to know, he'll snoop, he'll find out. I can't let him find out. He won't understand, he doesn't see the bots like I do. 

The pizzaplex. Go back to the Pizzaplex. 

All the answers will be there. 

They're always– 

 

My phone buzzes in my grip, shocking me out of my spiraling thoughts. 

 

‘Okay. I have a couple of options.’

‘If it has any speakers at all, you can maybe program some kind of vocaloid system into it. If it has any screens, you can do a text display. Maybe sign language if it has hands.’ 

‘If it can only make simple noises, you can give it Morse code. Assuming you still know Morse.’ 

 

I start to type a reply, but he’s still typing. 

 

‘I don’t like that you’re being so secretive, Mickey.’

’Especially with something this dangerous.’

’I can write you a program to make it talk but it’s gonna take a bit.’

‘At least let me check in on you to make sure you're safe while you’re working.’

’Or help you clean up, or something.’

 

My thumb hovers over the phone screen. I chew at the dry skin coating my lips. 

 

‘Thanks, Vince, a Morse program would be really helpful.’ 

‘I’m being safe, I promise. I just can’t show you it yet.’ 

‘I’ll be fine.’

‘It’s safer you keep your distance for now.’

 

‘I worry about you.’

 

‘I know.’

 

The phone is quiet for a long minute or two. 

 

‘I’ll get working on that Morse program.’

‘Thank you.’ 

 

I sigh softly, slumping back into the couch, suddenly tired. 

This isn’t gonna end well. 

I loosely squeeze the phone, wheezing a disheartened chuckle. 

Does it ever? 

Notes:

New TLR chapter to kick off the holiday season :)

Chapter 12: Point of No Return

Summary:

It's easy to lose everything. I hope it was worth it.
MC loses the only friend they had left in favor of a new one that isn’t fully finished.

CW: Nightmares

Notes:

This chapter took so long to write and for what. Anyway Merry Christmas, here's the end of Act 2

Things are rather quiet for a while after Vincent and I talk. We don't chat much outside of working on the Morse program for Moon, which is primarily just passing the code back and forth in email attachments and zip files for testing and rework. Occasionally, Vincent will ask how the rest of the project is going and if it's almost finished yet, or he'll ask if I'm doing alright. I try to keep my answers vague, but true. I don't think he believes me though. 

I test all the files on a jury-rigged switch and speaker setup I build just for the occasion from various scraps I have lying around; I find that using a single switch to make a speaker beep was the most efficient use of both space and resources in place of a proper Fazbear-brand voicebox. I learned pretty early on in my service career that Fazbear tech doesn't play nice with non-brand parts, so being able to make something that works at all is a welcome surprise. 

 

Between rounds of testing and short sessions of tinkering with Moon, I take the chance to actually rest, much to Michael’s delight. She lounges on and around me every second she can, purring almost constantly. I have to make an effort to keep her off my cast and clean out any cat hair that gets stuck around the edges, since I'm not too keen on getting an infection because of the furry little void. The extra love is always appreciated though, even if it is a little inconvenient at times. 

Moon, on the other hand, is not so enthused about being cooped up in the basement alone day after day, especially now that he has the energy to properly function.

He starts to move around when I'm not watching him; exploring the workshop with all the curiosity of a cat in a new space. Almost every time I return to the basement to work on him, he's somewhere different, poking and prodding at the boxes of scrap, or messing with various tools around the room, or inspecting the tarp I stapled to the wall to cover the broken window.

He’s always quick to return to the desk when he hears me coming down the stairs, whirring his fans and clacking his teeth as a greeting, not unlike a dog excited to see its owner. 

It would be cuter if he were a lap-sized dog and not a 10 foot tall robot, but I’ll happily take whatever behavior this is over being hunted again. I don't blame him for being restless, I would be too if I weren't so tired… not that being injured helps any.

 

Keeping Moon a secret is even harder when I ask Vincent for help with figuring out Moon's base code. I'm not keen on the idea of asking for help at all, but short of finding his old schematics again, I don't have any other options for making sense of whatever Moon has been programmed with. It's all spaghetti made from cryptic keywords; Hard to understand to begin with, even harder to understand without it being finished. 

I guess it could be worse; Vincent at least doesn't push too hard to know what I'm asking about. Sometimes his guess is as good as mine, though. 

 

>> << 

 

At some point, I get fully stuck with his old code between drafts of the Morse program. By now I've gotten about as restless as Moon is; the urge to get back to work makes my skin itch whenever I'm awake, and doing my real job from home just doesn't scratch it like working on Moon does.

He's still very cagey about me touching his insides, but I'm able to coax him into letting me poke around his core to clean the blood off everything and check that he wasn't damaged by our little “incident”. 

I try not to think too hard about the small shards I occasionally find while cleaning out all the dried blood. 

At the very least, the only permanent damage between us is mine. 

 

During my investigations in his core — I’m cleaning him, of course, but I’m also searching for some place I might stick the new speaker setup — I eventually pull out that mystery box hidden away up near his throat. Moon doesn’t even feel when I do; its wires were cut at some point, disconnecting it from his boards. I don’t think he even knew it was in there anymore. 

Getting a good look at it, it looks vaguely like a music box I remember seeing in old schematics for the glamrocks, but it doesn't make any noise aside from the subtle whir of a motor when I manually test it, so I can't be sure what it’s supposed to be. Something tells me it's important to how Moon functions, though, so I set it aside for now. Something else to fix later, I guess. 

Once Moon is clean, I focus on making the bot a slightly more complex version of the switch-and-speaker setup I made for testing. Nothing fancy, nothing even close to a proper voicebox; just enough to get the job done. I’m not about to fight with Fazbear-brand tech just for a glorified telegraph key. 

 

Working on him while he’s awake is… different, compared to working on him while he’s asleep. Usually he sits so still I don't even remember that he's not just the looming corpse in my house anymore until he twitches or clacks his teeth to reply to me when I mutter under my breath. 

More than once I flinch away from his slight shifts and quiet noises; the reminders that he’s listening make my scars ache as much. 

I try to ignore the looming unease and blind eyes staring at me best I can.  

Just keep working, M. You'll be fine. 

 

>> <<

 

Actually installing the jury-rigged telegraph key is simple enough once Vincent and I are down to the final draft of the Morse program. 

Moon is very excited at the idea of getting his own “beeper” — so excited in fact, that he gave it the nickname “beeper” from listening to all the tests — and seems to take the new addition to his mess of wires decently well. Of course, I can’t test if it works without the program, but nothing immediately blew up, which is always a good sign. 

“Okay, now we just wait for Vincent to finish his end of this little deal of ours.” I hum as I carefully close Moon’s chest casing.

As if on cue, my phone buzzes in my pocket. 

“Speak of the devil,” I click my tongue at the large bot to tell him to stay still, limping a few steps away from him to check my phone.  

 

‘Hey, program's done.’

 

Vincent. Right on time, as always. 

 

‘Sweet, send it over and I'll get it installed.’ 

 

‘File’s too big for email. I'll put it on a flash drive and be over in a bit. Cool?’ 

 

I cast a glance at Moon. 

He's still nowhere near stable. Even with how docile he is right now, there's no telling what'll set him off. 

We still don't know if this is even worth it.

I don’t want either of them getting hurt for this. 

We can’t lose anyone else. 

I take a breath and shake off the lingering thoughts. 

 

‘I can come grab it off you.’

 

‘I gotta make sure it works in whatever you're working on anyway.’

‘Easier for me to just drive over.’

’If it doesn’t work, we can work on it in-house.'

 

‘We've been workshopping it for weeks, I'm sure it's fine.’ 

 

‘I'm not.’ 

‘I'll be over in 20.’

 

I shut my eyes and heave an exasperated sigh. “ Vincent… Why must you be so difficult? ”

Okay, M, time to make up some bullshit excuses. 

I look back at Moon, glancing over his still mostly haggard appearance. It briefly occurs to me that normal people don’t usually have robots prone to violence in their basements. Or spend months fixing said robot prone to violence. 

“Okay, uh, buddy,” I clear my throat to get Moon’s attention, “Someone is coming over. I need you to stay down here and don't move no matter what happens, okay?” 

He turns his head toward me and tilts his head, clacking his teeth curiously.  

“He doesn't really know about all… this,” I gesture vaguely to the current state of the workshop, “So I need you to play dead the whole time he's here. Can you do that? You can’t move until he leaves.” 

He thinks for a long moment, then clacks his teeth again, his cables creaking as he settles his weight. 

I let some of the tension leave my shoulders for a second. “Good, thank you. I’ll be back soon, hopefully with that program.” 

And hopefully Vincent won’t disown me again. 

I head back upstairs, idly pondering the logistics of being disowned more than once as I take a look around the living room. I was able to clean most of the blood off the hardwood floor, save for a few lingering stains and almost everything on the inside of the basement door. 

Hopefully none of that will be too noticeable. His eyesight is worse than mine; surely it’ll be fine. 

 

The minutes spent waiting stretch on forever, but Vincent’s knock still comes all too soon. 

Show time. 

I take a deep breath and heave myself off the couch to answer the door. 

Vincent is standing tall on the threshold, meeting my gaze behind his glasses. The lenses are thicker than mine, with softer corners on the square frames. He has subtle shadows under his eyes, and his brow sits heavy over the rim of his glasses as he scrutinizes me. 

I can’t read his expression as he looks at me, suddenly aware of how heavy my hair is with knots.  

What does he think of you? 

“Hey,” I try not to sound as weary as I feel, “Thanks for doing this.” 

“No problem.” Vincent’s face splits into a grin as he pulls a flash drive with a wrist strap attached to it out of his pocket, “You better hope this works, or I’ll have words.” 

“Oh I’m sure.” I hesitate slightly before I step back to let him into the living room, “You want coffee? I can make a fresh pot.”

”Coffee? Who are you and what have you done with Mickey?” He laughs lightly, waving a hand as he follows me in, “Nah, I’m good. I had my coffee for today.” 

“You sure? I can brew some,” I offer, closing the door behind him. 

“I’m sure.” He raises an eyebrow, stopping a few steps away to look at me, “You feelin’ alright? It’s not like you to not want to get to work right away.”  

“I can’t want to spend time with my brother?” I huff halfheartedly. 

“You, choosing social interaction over working on a robot?” He eyes me, only half joking, “Now that’s a first.” 

“I can be social!” I protest, shifting as subtly as I can to place myself between him and the basement door. “I’m not a complete shut-in.” 

“You are when you’re working on something.” Vincent steps toward me, twirling the flash drive around his finger, “What’s really going on, Miquella? What are you really working on?” 

“I told you, it’s an antique.” I resist the urge to back up. 

“That you need to talk to so badly it needs Morse?” He presses. He’s only an inch or two taller than me, but even still he tries to loom over me. 

“C’mon, you know how hard it is to get a hold of Fazbear voice boxes nowadays,” My throat feels dry. “This is just the easier option.” 

“ Why does it need to talk ?” He takes a breath, trying to stay composed even as he steps even closer, “What are you doing?” 

“It’s just a pet project, Vince, I promise.” I put a hand on his chest to push him away, “It’s fine .” 

“I can sit here and argue all day, Mickey,” Vincent asserts, “I’m not leaving until you either tell me the truth, or show me what’s down there.” 

“I-“ I hesitate, “It’s not ready yet. I’ll show you when it’s done, okay? I promise.” 

“Why can’t I see it now?” He presses forward, into my hand, pushing me back a step toward the basement door. 

“I told you, it’s not ready yet.” I suppress a wince as pressure is put on my bad leg. 

“Then let me help you get it ready.” Another step. 

“I don’t need help! I’m fine, Vincent.” I insist, suppressing a wince as he puts pressure on my bad leg, “I’m not helpless. I have everything under control.” 

“No, you’re not helpless,” He agrees, pressing forward another step. “You’re not stupid, either. But you do some really dumb-fuck things sometimes that get you into trouble.” 

“I’m not in trouble.” I cast a look toward the door behind me. It’s only a few feet away now. 

“You’re working on something dangerous. I wanna make sure you’re okay.” Another step. 

I grit my teeth this time with the jolt of pain that shoots through me. “I told you, I’m fine. It was just an accident .” 

”Just because you can ignore broken bones and being mauled doesn’t mean I will.” He narrows his eyes, catching the flash drive mid-twirl and gripping it tightly between his thumb and forefinger. “I’m not giving you this flash drive unless I know what you’re working on is safe.” 

“That’s not fair!” I protest. “This is my job! ”

“Watching you nearly die isn’t fair!” He snaps, grabbing my shoulders. I hiss in pain as he jostles my sling and tightens his grip until it’s painful. “People care about you, Miquella! I care about you! How many times do I have to say it before you stop trying to get yourself killed?” 

“Let go of me!” I shove him away, wrenching myself from his grasp and staggering back, slamming into the basement door. 

The anger in Vincent's face immediately drops into concern, “Shit- Sorry, I- are you okay?” He steps toward me, leaning and reaching to steady me. 

I bat his hands away, casting him a glare. “I'm fine , thanks. ” I growl under my breath, “You’re lucky Moon gave me worse.” 

I mutter the last remark to myself, but I see Vincent's eyes widen as he catches it in the pressing silence in the house. 

“What's that supposed to mean? What's down there?” His eyes dart to the door behind me. 

“Nothing.” I press my back against the door. “I told you. I have it handled.” 

His eyes dart between me and the door as he reaches for the doorknob next to my elbow. 

I’m quick to jerk my sling and hit him with my arm, hissing through gritted teeth as my elbow hits the doorknob. 

“Gods! Fuck!” He flinches back from the violent movements, blocking his face with one hand and reaching reflexively to grab my sling with the other. “Chill! What the hell is wrong with you?” 

I wince at the sudden pressure as he grips my elbow, “Just stay out of my workshop!” I turn away from his hands, gritting my teeth as he keeps a hold of my sling and twists my shoulder. I hold my ground, though, staying pressed against the door. 

“Why won’t you tell me what’s down there?” His concern twists back into scrutiny, “I’m part of the project now, I deserve to know what I've been working on for the last month and a half.” 

I hesitate for just a moment. Consider actually telling him. 

A moment is all he needs. He tugs on my sling, making me sway ever so slightly on my feet. Just enough that he can lunge for the doorknob and shove me aside all at once, squeezing himself through the door and practically throwing himself down the stairs. 

“Vincent, wait!” I stagger after him, desperately reaching to try and grab his shirt. “Be careful!” 

I make it down the stairs only a heartbeat or two after his feet hit the resin floor, nearly slamming face-first into his back as he freezes in place just a few steps into the basement. 

I tug at the back of his collar, stepping around him to meet his eyes again. 

His gaze is fixed on Moon, his skin pale as a ghost as he stares in slack-jawed horror at the bot’s half-melted faceplate.

"Vince, I can explain," I glance over my shoulder at Moon as I step between him and Vincent, desperately hoping the robot keeps playing dead. 

"What the fuck is that?" Vincent's voice is strangled, "Miquella, what the fuck are you working on?" 

"It's not what you think," I try to think of another lie. Something. Anything. 

“ How. Exactly. Is it ‘not what I think’? ” He swallows hard as I see a myriad of emotions and thoughts cross his face. Confusion. Fear. Worry. 

He hovers somewhere between fear and the beginning twinges of anger as he takes half a step back, “Miquella, answer me. What is it, if it’s not what I think?” 

“I- Vince, listen-“ I limp half a step after him. “He’s not— it’s not—“ 

“What is it? Huh? In what world is this not what I think?” The fear begins to boil over into an all too familiar anger. “You lie and shoo me away, and then tell me this, fucking, murder-robot you’re building isn’t what I think it is? ” He still doesn’t take his eyes off of Moon. 

"No!" I'm not thinking, desperate to keep him calm. "I didn't build him, he just- found me. He's not supposed to be dangerous, he's just–" 

" He ?" Vincent finally looks back at me. I wish he hadn't. There’s hurt there that I haven’t seen in years. "Don't tell me you're attached to it." 

I swallow hard, unable to answer. 

Vincent looks back up at the hunched form of Moon on my desk, gaze flickering across his still-grimy form, trailing across the dried blood in his joints down to the deep-set stains on his claws. 

“Gods, Miquella… What the hell is wrong with you?” 

“Vince—“ I reach toward him, “If you just listen—“ 

“Listen? Listen to what ?” He jerks away from me, anger twisting his face into a scowl, “What could you possibly say to make this okay? Is that the thing that got you fired?” He points past me at the bot, “Is that what all of this was about?” 

“I handled it at the Pizzaplex!” I snap, “It wasn't that big a deal then, and it's not a big deal now!”

“You handled it ? You call a severely broken leg and those scars on your back ‘handling it’ ? Are you kidding me?” He gestures at my leg to prove his point, “Is this part of you handling it , Miquella? This, batshit insane idea of yours?” 

“I'm not insane, Vincent!” Yet. “If you just listen to me–” 

“No, no no, the time for hearing you out is way over.” He curls his lip into a sneer, “In no world does a rational person defend something that has nearly killed them twice now.” 

“Oh, because you’re such a saint of reason?” I mutter. 

“I sure as fuck ain’t spending every waking moment trying to fix the thing that wants me dead !” He barks. “You’re obsessed!” 

“I’m fine! ” I insist. 

“No, you’re not!” He snaps back, “You know what I think?” 

“Vincent, don’t,” I narrow my eyes at him. 

“I think you’re addicted .” He hisses, practically spitting the word, “I should drag you back to rehab right fucking now.” 

“ You're the one–” I cast another glance at Moon as I hear the bot subtly shift. All the noise must be agitating him. 

No. Don’t hurt him. Please. 

I try to recenter myself, desperate to keep the two things I love the most separate. I can't let things keep escalating. 

Lowering my tone into icy calm, I turn my attention back to the fuming Vincent, keeping an ear on Moon to make sure he doesn't lunge. “I think you should leave, Vincent. If you're not gonna listen to what I have to say, you should stay out of my business.” 

Vincent hesitates, searching my gaze for a moment before he barks a humorless, cruel laugh. “Y’know what? You’re right. I should’ve minded my own business. Here, take your new Labrynth,” He throws the flash drive at me. It hits my chest with a dull thud before clattering to the ground at my feet. “Get ripped apart or eaten for all I care. Text me when you feel like coming back to reality, you fucking lab rat.” 

I stay frozen in place as I watch him march up the stairs, the sound of the front door slamming sending a ripple of shock through me. I slump down to my knees, nausea clawing at the back of my throat as the room falls out of focus. 

I hear Moon begin to move, his cables creaking as his knuckles scrape on the floor. 

"Moon. No." I direct the order over my shoulder, trying to suppress the shake in my voice. "I'm.. I'm fine, just stay there. Please." 

He clicks in what sounds like concern, but I hear him slowly sit back down. 

I fight back the emotions threatening to overwhelm me, forcing my breathing to stay even.  

Nice job, M. There goes the one friend we had left. 

I scrub away the tears threatening to flow down my face, slowly picking the flash drive up off the floor. I turn back toward Moon, leg aching with every step I take toward the desk.

Moon tilts his head at me, then tilts his head toward the stairs, growling quietly.

“It's fine.” I wheeze a huff, trying not to let my voice crack, “I– We don't need him anyway. Let's just… Get back to work.” 

Moon whines softly, looking back at me. 

I don't give him a response as I sit at the desk and plug the flash drive in. 

Luckily, Moon didn't unplug himself when he got up, though I reach and make sure the cable is still fully seated in the back of his face anyway. 

I return my attention to the computer, copying the files in the flash drive into Moon's system files. I cast the bot a glance as the new information makes him shiver. 

“Still okay?” 

His fans whirr as he thinks for a long moment. 

 

Clack. 

 

“Okay, good.” I relax slightly knowing Vincent didn't use this as a way to break Moon completely. “Try… saying something.”

He thinks for a moment, before launching into a barrage of dots and dashes so fast and heavy I can't even begin to keep up. I can barely catch the occasional word —

I think I hear “I” and “Hero”, maybe a “Thank you” somewhere in there, but I wouldn't bet my life on confirming it. It all becomes all too overwhelming all too quickly, melding into a wave of noise that assaults my already shaken senses. 

“Stop stop stop,” I squeeze my eyes shut and put my hands over my ears. “Too much.” 

He cuts his grand speech off, quietly clacking his teeth as an apology. 

“I'm not a computer, I can't translate if you talk too fast, okay?” I rub at my temples to quell the forming headache from all the noise. “Just. Something simple. Try saying something simple .” I stress the word as I open my eyes again. Even the dim light of the basement is quickly becoming too much as I force myself not to dwell on Vincent's words.  

He clacks his teeth again, thinking for another long moment. 

I begin to worry the new programming might’ve broken his processors when he finally speaks. 

[T-H-A-N-K-Y-O-U] 

Somehow, hearing those two simple words hurts just as much as the insults.

“Don't thank me yet.” I brush off his thanks, choosing not to dwell on it for now, “There's still work to do. Can you tell me your name?” 

[M-O-O-N]

“Okay, good, the program works.” I breathe a sigh of relief as I glance back at the monitor. “I'm glad it didn't break you.”  

I rub at my eyes underneath my glasses. 

What was I going to ask? Why did I do all of this? What was the point?

I press at my eyes as I fight to keep my composure, Moon’s ambient noises curling into whispers in my ears.  

We need information. Ask.

I shake my head slightly. I can’t lose it right now. 

A deep breath forces its way into my lungs when I open my mouth to speak. “Why did you come find me?”

Moon is quiet as he thinks. [G-O-T-L-O-S-T]

“And you somehow found me about it?” I raise an eyebrow. 

[... H-E-R-O-H-E-L-P-S]

“I told you, I'm not a hero.” 

Is that why he's so attached to me? 

[H-E-L-P-I-N-G-M-E] 

“I’m not helping you, I'm just… curious, about… you…” I glance back at the stairs as my voice falters. Can I even explain this away anymore? 

Maybe Vincent is right. 

You never have known when to stop. It has always cost you everything.

I shake the quiet growl of the lion from my mind, shoving the roiling ball of emotions pressing at my heart down until they’re easier to ignore. “How did you find me at the hospital?” I turn my attention back to the bot. 

Moon is still staring at me with those empty eyes. He clicks like the ticking of a clock for a moment as he thinks. 

[C-A-N… F-E-E-L-H-E-R-O] 

He slowly raises a hand to tap at the back of his head. 

[S-I-G-N-A-L]

My brow furrows at that. Signal? What signal could I have?

Something buzzes in the back of my mind as I try to figure out what Moon could possibly be talking about, just enough to make my brain reset. I shake my head slightly to clear the subtle ringing in my ears, my fingertips gently itching at a spot behind my right ear.

He must be following my phone or something. 

Moon speaks again before I can think of something else to say. 

[W-H-O] 

He gestures slowly toward the stairs. 

I follow his pointing, another pang of grief gripping my heart as I’m reminded of the events from mere moments ago. 

“That was my brother.” My voice breaks as I force myself to say it. “Vincent.” 

Oh, so we do still have a brother after all? The lion sneers at me from its cage in my chest.

Shut it. 

He tilts his head at me, curious. 

[B-R-O-T-H-E-R?] 

I can hear the question mark to his beeping. 

I clear my throat to steady myself, “Yeah, brother. Family. It's like… someone who shares your main board.” I scrounge in my memory for a way to help the large bot understand, “Like how Sun is your partner bot. He could be your brother.” 

That's definitely not how it works, considering the two are so different, but it seems to help him understand.

[S-U-N… B-R-O-T-H-E-R] 

He ponders for a long minute or two, a thoughtful growl in his chest as he turns the idea over. 

I scrub at my eyes again as he thinks, taking a shaky breath that I hope is too quiet for him to hear. 

If he does hear it, he doesn’t show it, as he finally shakes his head a bit to finish his thinking. 

[I…] He speaks slowly, [M-I-S-S…. S-T-A-R]

I can feel the tears that danced on the edges of my eyelids begin to spill down my face. 

“…Yeah, me too.” My voice shakes. 

Moon tilts his head slightly, his faceplate clicking a few spots to the right.

[S-A-V-E-S-T-A-R?] He suggests. 

“N-no, not-“ It’s getting hard to breathe, “Not right now. Let’s… lets fix you first. O-okay?” 

He’s quiet again, looking at me. 

[H-E-R-O…R-E-S-T] 

I finally look away from him as my vision gets even more swirled. “...Yeah, I think you’re right. Will you-“ I attempt to wipe the wetness from my face, “-be okay on your own for a while?” 

Clack.

“Good, good.” I can feel how tight my throat is as I get up, limping toward the stairs, “I’ll. Be back, okay?” 

Clack. 

I barely register the noise as I stagger my way back upstairs, feeling barely suppressed sobs tug at the fresh scars in my chest. 

 

My sheets are dusty when I collapse onto the bed, burying my face to hide from the light outside the windows, as if blocking out the world for a bit will undo everything. As if Vincent can still hear me and will come fix things like he used to. 

I should know better by now. 

Hiding in the dark never fixes anything. 

 

I don’t know how long I’m crying for, only that I’m exhausted once I finally run out of tears. 

I don’t bother to get up from the bed afterward; I just curl up on top of the covers and take my glasses off, staring at the now-darkened window to wait for sleep to find me.  

It doesn’t come easy, but it never does. The pain from roughing myself up earlier and the stress of what comes next doesn’t help much, either. At some point though, I somehow manage to fall into an uneasy, almost feverish sleep.  

 

Alone. Always alone. 

Poor Miquella. Dying again. 

I need help. 

There has to be something. 

Someone has to know how to fix this. 

The rabbit. The rabbit can help. 

Where is it?

 

A brown-and-white mottled rabbit leads me through twisting hallways. My feet drum on concrete floors in time with my ragged panting. 

So close. I'm so close to catching it, but the rabbit evades every snap of my jaws, taunting me with its bright red eyes every time it dances away unharmed. 

I follow it deeper and deeper into the tunnels, oblivious to the warren walls tightening in around me, single-minded in my focus on my prey. 

I lunge for it when it stops again, smug in thinking it finally dropped its guard, but my teeth stop short just inches from its back as my shoulders catch the walls of the tunnel, firmly lodging my body in place.

The rabbit slowly turns, red eyes peering at me as it begins to laugh, watching me snarl and thrash to no avail.  

I catch flashes of white as I throw my head this way and that, stopping my struggling as I begin to realize what else is in this room. 

Bones. Dozens of bones, all picked clean and neatly piled, covered in bite marks from small teeth. Skeletons several times the size of the rabbit arranged as decoration like the den of a predator. 

The rabbit is smiling when my wide eyes look back at it, bearing teeth sharper than mine. 

It lunges.

 

I snap awake with a scream, clutching at my throat to pry imaginary teeth from my skin. My body writhes in the moments before it catches up with my brain in registering that I’ve even woken up, sweat beading all over my body as I run out of air in my lungs to scream with. 

I gasp for air, pressing my hand to my throat as I try to calm back down. My blurry vision searches the midnight shadows in my room, frantically looking for hungry rabbits poised and ready to pounce. 

I find nothing. Nothing waiting in the dark, eager to devour me. No rabbits, no robots, no shadows. It’s just me. Always just me. 

My head falls back onto the bed as my breathing evens back out. 

Gods, sleep is so exhausting sometimes. 

I let my eyes drift back closed as I relax, rubbing lazily at my face. I’m not eager to return to the stress-nightmares, though, so I merely let myself doze for a while without slipping into deeper sleep. 

 

It’s hard to say how much time has passed since I woke up when I hear movement elsewhere in the house. Something heavy, making the floor creak as it creeps through the house. 

I go still and listen. I can’t tell if what I’m hearing is real or not, even as whatever it is crawls its way up the stairs toward my room. 

Is it here to kill me? 

There's apathy to the thought. I don’t think I would mind if it were, at least right now. 

Coward. The lion growls somewhere in the back of my mind. 

I'm not running. I point out, still refusing to open my eyes as I hear the thing outside reach the top of the steps. I’m right here. 

You’re hoping we die. Running from your problems again. 

What am I gonna do? I crack one eye open, halfheartedly gazing toward the bedroom door as it creaks open. I only have one working arm. It’s not like I can defend myself. 

The darkness beyond the door seems to stretch into the room, creaking as something looms to block the moonlight coming in through the window. 

I can hear Moon’s faceplate subtly clicking as he hovers above me, those small white circles flickering on in his warped eye sockets and beginning to scan the room. 

I’m hesitant to breathe as I slowly peel my other eye open to look up at his blurry form. 

He’s quiet for a long moment. 

 

Clack. 

 

I tense at the noise. 

A greeting? Is he seeing if I’m awake? 

Moon waits another long moment, leaning his face down toward the bed. 

 

Clack-clack? 

 

“…Mm?” I hum a tentative response, lifting my head slightly. “What?” 

He startles slightly as I speak, his pupils flicking toward my face. I hear his systems whirr for a long moment, slowly shifting down into gentler chords as he chooses to speak, as quietly as he can currently manage. 

[O-K ?]

My whole body flinches slightly at the noise. It's not much quieter than his full “voice”, but I appreciate the effort. 

”Yeah, I’m…” I mumble, “I’m okay. Go back downstairs.” 

His jagged teeth catch the dim moonlight as he shifts, making my skin crawl. His charred face and chest look almost skeletal between the dim lighting and the blur without my glasses. 

[L-O-U-D…N-O-I-S-E]

Guess he heard me scream. 

“N’ you needed to unplug and come check it out?” I grumble at him. 

He whines quietly in return. 

[W-O-R-R-I-E-D] 

I heave a quiet sigh. 

I wish knowing that made me feel better. 

“M’fine, okay?” I squint at the white dots in the dark. “I just had a bad dream. Go back to bed, Moon.” 

Those pupils remain fixed on me as he leans down further, close enough that I could reach up and touch him if I wanted. 

[D-R-E-A-M ?]

I squeeze my eyes shut again, entirely too tired to explain to a robot what a dream is immediately after having a nightmare.  

“S’ just what happens when you sleep, buddy.” I mumble, keeping my eyes shut as I hear his cables creak with shifting weight. I can practically feel him reaching out toward me, large claws hovering over my chest, waiting to plunge down. 

My breathing hitches slightly at the vivid imagery that grips me, quickly snapping my eyes back open to look at the large robot at my bedside. 

He's still crouched by the bed, his knuckles on the floor as he hunches to keep his face near me. The creaking I heard was merely his weight being shifted from foot to foot as he balances himself.  

I force my lungs to breathe deep. 

No such thing as a bad robot. I remind myself, There is no such thing as a bad robot. 

Moon tilts his head slightly. I can hear the subtle click of his faceplate slotting into ratchet teeth. They sound dirty, I can practically feel the dirt clogging the slots.

“...Remind me to clean your face later.” I mutter at the large bot. 

He clacks his teeth in what sounds like a soft laugh, spinning his face a full rotation as if to tease. The movement is slow and stutters at several points, only proving my point. 

“Mhm… stop actin’ smug, you still look like shit.” I roll onto my side to face him, “Go back downstairs.” 

He whines in return, slouching down even further next to the bed. 

“Don’t whine, you’re still not done yet.” 

And sleeping is hard enough as it is without you looming over me. 

I point behind him, toward the door, before it occurs to me that he can see about as much as I can currently. 

“Go back downstairs.” I hesitate. “Please. I’m fine. I swear.” 

He clicks again in a mix of concern and confusion, but he does as he’s told, slowly retreating back into the darkness. The last thing to vanish is his pupils, beyond the empty doorframe. 

I only let my eyes close again once I can no longer hear him moving in the house.

Notes:

Don’t worry, I can help you. Hero.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of The Light Room AU