Chapter Text
Ronny Rabbit, the Magician. Designed as a tribute to the legendary Glamrock Bonnie but. His fur was a soft polished white with streaks of pastel blue that shimmered under stage lights. A mop of fluffy dark blue hair, long expressive ears and his eyes were bright, glowing red lenses that were full of life and curiosity. Ronny’s attire completed his stage persona, an off-red magician’s jacket, a black vest embroidered with faint silver thread and fitted black trousers marked with purple stylized bolts. On his lower legs he wore dark blue legwarmers, a quirky accessory that became part of his signature look during performances. He always carried a deck of holographic cards that shimmered when he flicked his wrist, performing endless sleight-of-hand tricks for delighted children. He was an odd fella, cheerful, a little scatter-brained but endlessly eager to please. His AI had only been online for a couple short months in a test facility and he's officially been in the Pizzaplex for a week.
He'd been told that Bonnie Bowl had apparently undergone a full re-theme long before his arrival. There had even been another bunny mascot here once, though no one ever gave him more than a vague explanation. Glamrock Bonnie had been the original animatronic assigned to the bowling alley but he had vanished under circumstances the staff preferred not to discuss. The more tight-lipped employees simply shrugged and said they didn’t know. The more loose-lipped ones suggested he had wandered too far into the lower levels of the Pizzaplex and gotten himself locked in or maybe he had run out of charge in some obscure corner and was still standing there, waiting to be found.
“Everything turns up eventually!” one technician said cheerfully while tightening a spiked bracelet on Ronny’s wrist. “So don’t worry about it.”
Ronny had taken that advice literally. If he was told not to worry, then he simply wouldn’t. It was easier that way. His job was to be respectful, friendly, and helpful, roles he excelled at and anything beyond that was unnecessary processing. Once properly assigned and given freedom to explore his new workplace, Ronny took to Bonnie Bowl with instinctive enthusiasm. He wandered between the neon-lit lanes, watching how the pin-setters clattered rhythmically behind the scenes, how the S.T.A.F.F. Bots glided around delivering ice-cream and collecting stray bowling balls, how children darted toward him the moment he appeared. Some wanted to see a card trick, others needed an extra token for the arcade machines at the far side of the attraction.
His small storage compartment couldn’t hold much, certainly not the props stage magicians were known for but it served well enough for a backup deck of cards and a small sack of tokens. The tokens rattled softly when he walked, shifting around with every flourish of his hands as he performed. For birthday boys and girls he had an even bigger surprise. Behind the stage sat a special box loaded with special Glamrock plushies, remnants from earlier promotional cycles. During his show, he would reach dramatically into an oversized hat and pull out one of the plush toys as if conjured from thin air. The children screamed with delight every time. It was a guaranteed showstopper and besides, who didn’t love free merch?
Ronny had been kept in semi-isolation for days, long enough for his base programming to settle, but not long enough for him to shake the sense that he was supposed to be doing something else, something important, something he didn’t have the vocabulary for yet. His small, neon-drenched stage in Bonnie Bowl had become both a home and a cage. Every time he powered down, he did so standing in the same spot, his servos locking as though afraid to take a single step beyond the boundary he’d been given but today at last, the technicians had released the barrier protocols.
He could walk, explore and look around! and look he did because the Pizzaplex beyond Bonnie Bowl was a spectacular sensory overload. Neon stripes, glowing murals, animated signs, glimmering star-shaped lights overhead... every time he tried to move, he stopped again, head tilting, ears bouncing with soft mechanical clicks as he absorbed every detail. He was meant to explore, but instead he got stuck every few feet, fascinated until his internal clock pinged him for idling too long. That was how Chica found him standing in the middle of a hallway, staring at a rainbow-patterned wall like it held the secrets of the universe.
When Ronny turned and spotted Chica across the atrium, something inside him lurched, an odd, tangled sensation that he couldn’t pin down. A strange yearning welled up first, a familiar ache for connection, for someone who might understand him in this neon-drenched labyrinth of noise and spectacle. But layered beneath that warmth was a deep-rooted fear that pulled at the edges of his mind like a fraying thread. It was as if two halves of himself were fighting, one reaching outward and one recoiling as if she were an open flame. He told himself it was ridiculous to feel that way about an animatronic, especially one engineered to look approachable but fear didn’t follow logic and his electronic pulse didn’t seem interested in listening to reason.
Chica certainly didn’t look intimidating at first glance. In fact she looked delighted to see him. She bounced from one foot to the other with a kind of theatrical enthusiasm, her bright legwarmers shimmering with every hop. Her oversized earrings swung in wide, glittering arcs, catching reflections from the mall-style lights overhead. Even her pink leotard looked freshly polished, the neon accents gleaming like she’d just stepped off a stage. There was something almost endearing about her energy, something infectious and childlike. But the moment her heavy metal footsteps began thundering toward him, that fragile sense of comfort snapped like a cheap wire.
Panic hit him hard.
Instinct took over before thought had the chance to form.
He bolted like any other nervous bunny.
Only then did he realize he was standing on the top floor of the massive atrium. The escalators of course were deactivated for maintenance, a detail he had previously walked past without a second thought. Now, with Chica’s footsteps hammering closer, that inactive escalator became his only escape route. Ronny leapt down the steps in frantic bounds, his small feet managing two at a time without tripping too catastrophically. The rattling of his hurried descent echoed up through the spacious mall, mingling with the distant music loops and the mechanical whir of attractions running somewhere out of sight.
He wished more than anything that he wasn’t such a coward. Meeting anyone from the main band had always sounded exciting in theory. He’d been programmed with basic information up, about Chica’s bubbly charm, Freddy’s warm leadership, Roxanne’s fierce confidence and Monty’s... well, Monty-ness. But imagining it was one thing, being ambushed by the real deal was something else entirely! His programming was too vulnerable, too fresh, too unprepared for such high-powered personalities. Maybe it would be better to find Vanessa first and beg her for a structured tour, something calm and controlled before he ended up being metaphorically or literally, thrown to the wolves. That thought dissolved the moment he reached the bottom floor and spotted her. Not Vanessa.
The wolf.
Roxanne strode across the main floor like she owned every square inch of it. Her tail flicked with casual authority, catching the coloured lights as she passed. Her expression that was carefully designed to be both frightening and glamourous was set in a determined, confident gaze that swept the atrium as if searching for someone she hasn't tracked yet. Ronny froze for half a second as realization washed over him. He’d been out of his assigned attraction for only a few minutes and already he was sprinting from not one but two members of the main cast. On top it off he was still hopelessly, completely, profoundly lost. Neon signs blurred overhead, music pulsed from every direction and he was just trying to find a quiet corner to collect himself.
“Oh carrots,” he muttered to himself, ducking behind the nearest display. “I’ve been out here for five minutes and I’m already running from celebrities." He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Was she friendly? Was she going to sniff him out and confront him? Why is he getting so anxious over what should be a co-worker? But he didn't get much time to think as all of a sudden, there's a haunting shadow blocking out the light behind him.
Two months ago
Glamrock Bonnie had been missing for months, long enough that the glow of hope began to dull into something quieter, heavier and harder to cope with. The Pizzaplex staff started murmuring about “replacements” far too earl, and when the decision was finally made, it felt like a betrayal carved into metal. None of the Glamrocks wanted a new bandmate. None of them wanted to accept the empty space Bonnie left behind.
Except Monty.
He didn’t show much emotion towards the tragedy. He strutted through rehearsals and practice sets with a confidence, the kind that made Roxanne narrow her eyes because she knew it meant he was hiding something. He acted like the idea of taking Bonnie’s place was some long-awaited opportunity he deserved. But under the neon glare he avoided every mention of the blue rabbit with uncanny precision. He pretended he missed Bonnie, gave an obligatory sigh, a stiff nod but he never lingered on the topic. Grief he decided, was a waste of time. They’d have to move on eventually wouldn’t they?
Roxanne was... sceptical. She’d been the newcomer once too, the Foxy replacement still getting her bearings, still learning the rhythms of a trio who had been inseparable long before she arrived. Bonnie had welcomed her more warmly than she ever expected. Now his absence felt like a personal failure she had no right to voice. While Chica sobbed openly and Freddy shut himself away, Roxanne took the quieter road. She mourned in her dressing room with the lights dimmed, sitting on the floor with her head resting on her knees as memories surfaced, Bonnie teaching her scale patterns, laughing at her sarcastic quips, reassuring her when she doubted she fit in. She didn’t cry loudly. She didn’t collapse. But her silence had a sharpness to it, a kind of brittle edge that made even the technicians tread lightly around her.
Chica was the opposite. She wailed. She flapped her wings helplessly, knocking over props and sound equipment in her attempts to express the unfairness of it all. “He can’t be gone!” she’d cry, each time sounding just as devastated as the first. “He’s always been the bassist, always! It’s not right, it’s not fair, it’s not-” And then she would crumble again, shoulders shaking, voice glitching with static and sorrow. She tried to be strong for the others, but grief made her heavy, unbalanced, prone to fits of anger she’d never displayed before. Sometimes she chased after staff as if her loud, screeching voice could get them to look a little harder for the bunny.
Freddy... Freddy broke in a way none of them were prepared for. The moment Bonnie vanished something inside him shut down. He began avoiding everyone, slipping through maintenance halls, ducking behind cleaning bots and locking himself in unused rooms for hours at a time. The staff assumed he was glitching but the animatronics knew better. Every now and then someone would hear a sound from behind a locked door, a choked sob, a static-rattled whimper, the sound of metal fists pressing against his own casing as if he was trying to hold himself together. Whenever anyone approached, Chica, or Roxanne, or even a timid staff bot but Freddy always ran like the grief was hunting him and he clung almost desperately to every last piece of Bonnie merch he could find. Keychains, posters, old event flyers, even a stitched up Bonnie plush that a child had left behind. He kept them all tucked close, hidden away like sacred relics. The sight of them made his voice tremble, the thought of losing them made him panic.
For weeks, months, the Pizzaplex felt wrong. The music sets were incomplete. Their choreography felt off-balance. Their banter had gaps in it, hiccups of silence where Bonnie’s voice used to slot so perfectly. Roxanne sharpened her claws to keep from crying. Chica stuffed food into her mouth when the grief came in waves. Freddy disappeared more often than he showed up. Monty pretended their feelings mattered.
Routine maintenance nights had become the worst part of the week for the Glamrocks. The halls always felt emptier, echoes lasted a little too long and every time a technician wheeled a cart around a corner, someone’s heart dropped. Ever since Bonnie disappeared the entire Pizzaplex moved like it was holding its breath. That night was no different until a stray conversation drifted out of the break room. Freddy hadn’t even meant to listen. He and Chica were only passing through on their way to the charging bays when a pair of mechanics started talking, low voices at first then a slip of words spoken just loud enough to freeze the group in place.
“...the new bunny animatronic’s frame arrived today...”
Freddy felt Chica’s grip tighten on his arm and Roxanne stopped so abruptly her claws clicked against the tiles. A new bunny It felt like his chest plate tightened. He didn’t want to hear this... not again, not some rumour that would stir up the ache they had all been trying so hard to bury. He turned to leave, shoulders lifting in that defeated, polite way he always wore when overwhelmed. Unable to resist curiosity or maybe hope, Chica tiptoed back toward the break room door. She leaned just close enough to hear more clearly, her bright white feathers practically glowing with anticipation.
“Not a replacement,” one tech muttered, “Marketing just wants a bunny back in rotation. Fans are still mad we pulled all the Bonnie merch. New design, fresh personality, nothing like the old one.”
“Yeah, they said no point trying to ‘revive’ any old model,” another replied. “This one’s completely new. Different silhouette, different vibe. Just... bunny-shaped.”
Chica’s eyes widened. She spun around so fast she startled Freddy. “A new bunny!” she whispered loudly. “Not Bonnie but something new!”
Freddy’s processors sputtered between dread, disbelief, and somewhere way in the back, a very fragile spark of curiosity. But the dread still won. He shook his head and turned away again. “I... I do not want to get involved,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “If this is happening, it will happen whether we like it or not. I just want to go back to my room.”
He started walking, but Roxanne had caught up with the pair, she reached out and firmly grabbed his wrist, turning him back to face her. Her expression was soft, earnest and almost pleading. “Freddy, wait. This could be good for us.” Her voice almost cracked on that last word. “We all miss Bonnie. But maybe meeting someone new, someone who isn’t trying to be him... it could help us move on.”
Freddy stared. Roxanne never talked about Bonnie. She’d snarled the first time anyone brought him up after the disappearance and she had spent weeks pretending she didn’t glance toward the empty stage whenever the lights dimmed. Hearing her speak so openly now made something twist inside him.
Chica bounced forward, nodding vigorously. “Yeah! Imagine it, another friend! New games, new rehearsals, new backstage chaos!” She giggled, though her eyes shimmered. “It won’t be him... but maybe this could be a next step.”
Monty had been leaning against the wall near the repair cylinder, he said nothing, though for once the confident smirk he wore wasn’t there. He approached the group and gave Freddy a faint, gruff nod, one that said maybe they’re right. Freddy looked at each of them, their hope, their fear, their barely-mended cracks. They were all trying so hard to heal without admitting how much they still hurt.
“Well...” Freddy finally exhaled, shoulders dropping, “if it will happen anyway...” He hesitated, “Do I have to be part of it?”
Chica shook her head immediately. “No. Not right away. You don’t have to feel okay about it. But Freddy... it’s been months. And we’re all a little stuck.”
Roxanne released his wrist and placed a hand over his. “We’re not asking you to forget him. Just don’t close the door before you even see who walks through it.”
Freddy glanced back toward the break room, the muffled laughter of the technicians, the hum of machinery, the quiet promise that the Pizzaplex would soon welcome a new pair of long ears and friendly eyes. A new bunny. Not Bonnie. Not a replacement. Just someone new who might help fill the silence.
“Alright,” he murmured. “I will try.”
Present day
Roxanne prowled the atrium floor with a stiff, restless stride, her claws clicking in short, impatient taps against the polished tile. She’d been circling the place for almost an hour now, following the faintest hints of motion, sound, or scent, anything that might lead her to the so-called mystery rabbit her handler had mentioned earlier. Apparently Bonnie Bowl had been taken off lockdown and reopened under a new name. Bunny Bowl. She was not thrilled. Rebranding her missing friend’s domain felt cheap enough, but trying to wipe him out completely? That stung even worse. Still... if having a new bunny around would distract her from the gaping Bonnie-shaped absence in her circuits, she’d take whatever she could get. But she wasn’t letting any new friend vanish on her watch. Not again.
Rumours from the staff however weren’t helping. Half-whispered concerns about unpredictable behaviour, nervous laughter about management’s “creative direction,” and the repeating question: Who thought giving a rabbit magic tricks was a good idea? As if sleight-of-hand was exactly what they needed in a building already filled with secrets. Roxanne could already imagine it—this new rabbit pulling the original Bonnie out of a hat. Yeah, that’d be a trick, she snorted bitterly to herself.
So far her search had turned up nothing, which only worsened her irritation. According to her handler, the rabbit had been officially activated hours ago, so where was he? Chica, naturally, had bolted out of her Green Room early, eager to meet the newcomer like he was the hottest new cupcake flavour. Roxanne loved her but sometimes the chicken’s enthusiasm was exhausting. Chica could treat a malfunctioning Roomba like a long-lost friend if someone slapped googly eyes on it. Roxanne meanwhile preferred knowing exactly who and what she was dealing with. She checked every counter she passed, leaned down to look beneath tables, scanned behind kiosks, even stuck her head into every photo booth despite the awkward angle. A brand-new animatronic should’ve been impossible to hide, bright and colourful, practically neon in some cases. Big, heavy and distinctly non-subtle. The exact opposite of something that could slip unnoticed around an atrium.
So why was she hearing light, quick footsteps skittering down the escalators like a frightened toddler? That sound did not belong to an A-grade animatronic built with steel plating and internal hydraulics. Roxanne paused mid-stride, ears pricking. She inhaled deeply, letting her sensors filter the scents of pizza grease, anti-bacterial spray and floor polish until something new wafted through her nose...Then she looked up. There, halfway down the escalator, clinging to the handrail like he expected it to throw him, stood a rabbit. A small, trembling rabbit with snowy white fur fading into soft pastel blue. He wore a dull red jacket over black vest and black pants, but what made Roxanne’s tail freeze mid-swish was the unmistakable pattern etched into his plating, a bold purple lightning design streaking down his jacket and pants, it might not be Bonnie but the designers were pretty damn lazy.
“Hey!” Roxanne shouted, sprinting the last few steps as her tail whipped like a metronome set to panic-speed. Her boots screeched on the tile when she cut off the rabbit’s path, forcing him to skid back with a startled squeak. He looked like he was contemplating making a desperate leap over the railing.
He didn’t get the chance. Roxanne dropped low, claws scraping the tiled floor, servos humming as she primed her legs. Then she launched. A full pounce, predator-fast and zero hesitation. Her shadow washed over him before he could blink. Her hands snatched the collar of his jacket mid-scramble, perfectly manicured green claws digging in just enough to halt him but not tear fabric. His feet lifted off the floor for a second before she set him back down, cornered cleanly against the escalator’s side wall.
“H-h-hello,” the bunny squeaked out. His ears flattened so far they were practically glued to his head. Those big red eyes darted everywhere, fear, confusion and a little spark of curiosity glinting beneath the terror like he wasn’t sure if this was greeting or ambush.
Roxanne loosened her grip and let him go, brushing imaginary dust from her fingers. “Hey, bunny boy.” She gave him a once-over, slow and assessing. “So you’re the new guy, huh? Cute. I like the get-up. What’s your name, kid?”
Up close, he was even smaller than she first thought. She stood nearly seven feet tall; he reached her chest at best, and mostly because his ears added a ridiculous boost. Not exactly built for a main stage performance. Maybe a roaming entertainer? Low-power crowd pleaser? Management loved those.
“I- my name is Ranny Robbit- I-I MEAN RONNY!” he blurted, stumbling over his own name like the syllables had tripped him.
Roxanne barked a laugh. “HAH! Look at you, all shy. Don’t worry, I know my presence is pretty impressive.” She flipped her hair with an utterly effortless flourish, letting the white strands shimmer under the neon lights. “You must be star-struck. It’s okay, kid, I’ll let you hang around while you figure things out.” She said it casually, but deep inside her chest cavity something thrummed, protectiveness, maybe. Or suspicion. Or both. His outfit was too familiar. Too intentional. No way was she leaving him wandering alone until she figured out why someone decided to decorate him in Bonnie’s iconic colours. He looked barely assembled, like a new-born tossed into a mall full of strangers. Someone had to guide him and obviously, she was the best option the Pizzaplex had.
“I’m sorry,” Ronny said with a shaky tone. He rubbed his arm, avoiding her eyes. “I guess I’m still figuring out this whole... not being alone thing.”
Roxanne softened a smidge. “Well, you’re in luck. I’m going to make sure you fit in. The name’s Roxanne Wolf and I-”
“AND ME!” a voice chimed at ear-shattering volume. A bright white blur practically exploded between them. Glamrock Chica materialized from behind a pillar... or the ceiling, Roxanne couldn’t tell. Feathers gleamed under the neon lights, glitter dust trailing behind her like she’d sprinted through a craft store.
“Glamrock Chica!” she finished with a flourish, striking a pose far too dramatic for someone who had definitely been eavesdropping.
Ronny startled so hard his ears shot straight up like antennae catching an emergency broadcast.
“You’re gonna love the Pizzaplex, Ronny!” Chica chirped, bouncing in place with enough enthusiasm to shake her plating. “We’re all gonna be the best of friends by the end of the week!”
Roxanne crossed her arms with an aggrieved sigh. “Yeah. Best of friends. Everyone.”
Chica didn’t notice the eye roll, she was too busy scooping the poor rabbit into an excited half-hug he seemed utterly unprepared for. Ronny squeaked again, as stiff as one of the many cut outs littered in the pizzaplex. Roxanne watched them, tail twitching. Great. Perfect. The chicken had locked onto him like a glittery missile of friendship. Now she’d have to extract the kid before Chica smothered him with cupcakes and good intentions.
The real challenge, Roxanne realized as she watched Ronny tremble under Chica’s well-meaning enthusiasm, was going to be introducing him to the others. Back when she’d been mentally preparing for the idea of a “replacement”, a term she still hated, she’d imagined something sleek, something fresh, something that could help her move on without kicking old wounds open. But instead she’d gotten... this. A small, skittish, clumsy little magic bunny wrapped in a lightning-pattern jacket that looked suspiciously like someone had skimmed Bonnie’s old design file and said, “Eh, good enough.”
Lazy and thoughtless... almost cruel.
Her processor whirred with simmering irritation. Freddy was going to short a servo when he saw the kid. Sensitive animatronics already struggled with familiarity, seeing a little rabbit wearing the visual equivalent of a half-hearted memorial could send the poor bear into a spiral and she really can't deal with him right now. But Roxanne wasn’t about to let management’s sloppy design work wreck the kid’s introduction to the group or cause another emotional meltdown in her family. Absolutely not. She could fix this. She had to fix this. Her fingers drifted to Ronny’s sleeve, rubbing the fabric between her claws.
“They really didn’t give you much, huh?” she muttered under her breath.
Not enough glitter, not enough glow, not enough Glamrock. Magicians were supposed to be dazzling, wonderous and flashy. Instead, he looked like an understudy for a novelty act at a birthday party. A spark of determination lit in her chest cavity. Alright. Fine. If management wasn’t going to make him fit, she would by taking him down to the salon. A few tweaks, a better colour balance, maybe some LEDs in his jacket or redo the patterns so they didn’t scream “Bonnie light version.” She could glam him up, give him the pizzazz he deserved, make him shine like a real member of the animatronic family and if management threw a fit? Well, they could choke on her top-tier artistic vision. She’d argue it was a “necessary brand alignment update.” They loved that sort of buzzword garbage.
This newbie wasn't Glamrock enough and she could fix that oversight in an afternoon.
She'll make him a star!