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It stared blankly at nothing.
…It didn’t know what to do. It never did, but…
…it was doing something wrong, wasn’t it?
It curled in on itself. It felt horrible. It wasn’t sure why.
Well, besides the usual reason.
This was a different kind of horrible. It was less of an aching, cold emptiness, and more…
Hot. It was burning at it. It half-wanted to rip open its chest, start clawing through the stuffing for it. Maybe it could stop the gnawing then.
It listened to the others stomping around outside. Were they feeling this, too?
It went limp, letting its plastic excuse of a face dink into the bottom of its box. That wasn’t Him, was it? That man had been innocent, just like the rest had been.
It had gotten to the point where it wasn’t so sure this was right. That one had seemed so… nice.
It remembered watching him interacting with the children. He was so polite with the kids, even after dealing with all of them for nearly a week.
It was angry at him for defying them for that long, then.
Now, it wasn’t so sure. One of them had attacked him; they got restless and impatient, and–during the day–had bit his head in.
At first, it wasn’t very concerned, but then it noticed that all the children were running away from it and the others. They looked so scared. That wasn’t right.
It looked at its hand, if one could even call it that, wiggling its ‘fingers’. It didn’t feel like it was doing the right thing. It felt like… it was just hurting.
It was hurting, and it was letting that hurt others. It hated that.
Suddenly, there was a click.
It looked up. The music had stopped.
…Why was there music, anyway? It only played because a guard was winding the box. Weren’t they closed? The bite had shut the place down. There shouldn’t be a guard.
Curious, it pushed itself upwards, exiting the prize box. It looked around, noting that it could see some of the others roaming around as well.
As it started moving towards the office, the others moved out of the way.
It paused, tilting its head. Now that it was paying attention, it could hear breathing. Shuffling. Clicking.
There was someone in the building.
It moved to investigate.
Fritz Smith yanked off the Freddy mask as the new Bonnie finally left the room. It took so much longer than the others for some reason. His heart was racing, he was shaking ever so slightly, and he could feel himself going a little lightheaded.
But still, he was smiling. God, he was smiling.
He knew it wasn’t exactly a healthy thing to be doing, but the adrenaline he was feeling was, frankly, almost intoxicating. He was almost having fun, even while fighting for his life.
Then he noticed that none of the bots were showing up. Weird. He glanced at the time. It was only 5:48–didn’t they stop at six? He quickly searched the vents and hall, finding nothing, before he tapped the camera–it automatically turned off when he ignored it–and moved to wind the music box.
He blinked. The box was open.
“Shit.” He breathed, then winced as the music started. He shone his flashlight into the hall. It was still empty, but he could hear the tinkling tune growing ever closer, the echoing getting louder. The quiet, excited melody felt like it was pounding into his skull.
He felt his heart sink. He might’ve bitten off more than he could chew. Way more.
He thought back to the phone tapes he’d listened to (definitely with permission). The guy had said the mask wouldn’t work on it. Would the flashlight?
He wasn’t feeling like risking it.
He racked his brains for an idea; he just had to hold out for, like, ten minutes. He knew that the best way (at least in his opinion) to deal with a possibly-injuring-or-death-inducing situation was to find something you can take advantage of. After a second or so of thinking, he realized that the other freaks weren’t around. They must not want to deal with this guy; he must be the head honcho.
Well, he had traded a dozen fairly easy to deal with threats for one that was definitely not easy to deal with. But one threat meant only one pair of eyes (hopefully).
He could hide.
Hurriedly, and as quietly as he could manage, he scrambled under the desk, stifling a sneeze as he scooted through the dust caking the floor around where his feet had been. He hooked his foot into the bottom of the chair and pulled it in, hopefully hiding him a little better. This was one of those desks that had something covering the front, so as long as it didn’t look through the single entrance, where his legs went, he was fine. He had to bend his head down to fit, though.
He tried to get a little comfortable, but stopped as the music suddenly got notably louder. It was in the hallway. It was moving closer.
He didn’t hold his breath just yet, instead focusing on stopping himself from shaking. When he deemed it close enough, he sucked in a breath and held it.
It waltzed into the office, silently grateful that the others wanted to leave the guard to it this time. Sometimes they weren’t all that patient. They felt bothered and frustrated with trying, it seemed.
As it entered the office, it tilted its head in confusion. Huh. The office was… empty? It forced its interior music box to stop the song. It wanted to be quiet.
It scanned the room to make sure, before it noticed something unusual on the desk: a second monitor. It moved over to study it. It was even more box-y than the other one, and it had a bunch of wires twisting around into another box, this one with a little antenna on it. What was this for?
It moved around to study it from the guard's side of the desk and tilted its head. There were little icons on the screen, each with a number. There were ten. It leaned in, studying.
They were all labeled with the names of the others, and the icons vaguely resembled them. It read the number. It was all twenty. It noticed a bar beneath the numbers, which was full. It suddenly realized what these were. The value that affects the others… restlessness maxed out at twenty.
…Had this guard set each of the others to be as active as possible? What?
Why would someone do that? Was he stupid???
Fritz winced as the music got louder than ever. He looked at the bit of light from the room peeking through the bottom of the desk. There was a shadow there. It must be right next to him.
He glanced at his watch. 5:54. Just 6 more minutes.
He blinked as it suddenly got really quiet. The music stopped. Huh.
He looked at where the shadow was. It was gone. Had it left?
He sighed, sucking in a needed breath, before it caught in his throat as he turned to the front. Shit.
It was standing, sorta, in front of the desk. He could see one of its legs, the little nub where the foot would be almost hovering above the floor. The fabric of the black and white striped limb looked a little more worn than the posters had shown. He’d never actually seen the thing in person, and if the leg was any indication, it was even more freaky looking than he thought.
It seemed like it was looking at what was on his desk. Maybe it wanted to play nightguard, or something. He accidentally put a little too much weight on his arm and it slid ever so slightly.
The sound was almost silent, but it might as well have been a gunshot.
He froze, staring wide eyed at the thing's legs. He blinked as a bead of sweat ran down next to his eye. Shit.
He prayed that the sound of the fan covered the slight shuffle. He lifted his hand, calming his breathing slightly. It wasn’t doing anything, just standing there. He glanced at his watch again. 5:56.
Come on. He turned back to look at the thing, and froze.
It was crouching now, its ‘face’ staring at him. It heard him. Shit.
Its limbs pooled on the floor slightly, long and spindly, making it look almost like rope attached to a floating torso. Its mask was white, with rosy cheeks and lipstick, and a big, almost sinister smile on its face. There were purple stripes coming from its eyes; it almost looked like it was crying. He could barely see the face in the shadows of the desk, but the silhouette was there.
It kept staring at him. It tilted its head, like a predator studying its prey. Or maybe it was just curious.
He mentally started screaming at himself. He was stupid for trying this. Sure, the adrenaline was great, but he’d gotten in over his head. He was going to die. With, like, three minutes left.
He let out a shaky breath. Fuck.
Slowly, the thing started to move, and Fritz braced for it to strangle him, or something, before realizing that it wasn’t moving towards him. It was moving away.
It slowly stood up, the sound of its fabric sliding on the tile making him cringe, its mask moving out of view.
And then it just… left.
He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, feeling his heart slowly return to a normal pace. What? Why did it just let him go?
It wasn’t like it was the most violent of the bunch, from what he’d heard, but as far as he knew, it never let someone go like that. Maybe it had a change of heart or something. Maybe it thought he wasn’t worth his time.
Maybe it was sadistic, and just thought two minutes wasn’t nearly enough time. Whatever the case, it decided to let him go.
Huh.
He sat in silence for a minute, dumbfounded, before jumping and banging his head on the underside of the desk as a loud beeping blared in the office. He swore, then blinked and scrambled out of the space, stumbling to his feet. He stared at the little clock on the desk. 6 AM.
He did it.
It stared at itself in the dingy bathroom mirror. It came here every once in a while, to look at itself, usually to check if its face paint was chipped or not.
Now, it was just trying to think.
That wasn’t him. None of them had been. That man might’ve been a tad idiotic–maybe just suicidal–but he likely wasn’t going to kill anybody.
But it was.
It gripped the sink, staring at its lifeless, smiling face. No wonder some kids were scared of it. It was a monster.
It shook its head–it couldn’t be that bad. It couldn’t be- It wasn’t like Him.
It sighed, or tried to. It just came out as an angry little tinkle of notes from its music box. It reached one of its long, spindly arms up, and tapped the spot where its mouth was. The head under the mask was barely half an inch from the opening. It sagged its shoulders.
Sometimes it really wished it had a voicebox, like most of the others. It could probably figure out how to speak. The others couldn’t, really, but it had always been more… aware.
It had considered trying to put in a spare one in itself, but its inner workings barely had an excuse of a skeleton. It was mostly a box in its chest for its music box and batteries, then a “brain” in its head, that was where its AI was. It usually thought for itself though.
It wondered who it was, sometimes.
The others used to be children. They–and it–knew that.
It wasn’t sure for itself, though. It couldn’t remember anything about being a child. The others said they remembered some things, but it didn’t. Was it even-
It paused.
It looked at the entrance to the bathroom. The guard was standing there.
The first thing Fritz did when he had composed himself was head to the bathroom. He hadn’t noticed that he had to go until now, but it had been over six hours. It wasn’t like he had any time during his shift.
Regardless, he had a big, dumb smile on his face. He did it. The grin immediately fell when he stepped into the room.
The puppet was standing at the mirror, staring at its reflection. It somehow didn’t notice him coming in.
He grit his teeth. Weren’t those things supposed to be off right now? Why is it even-
As if hearing his thoughts, the puppet turned to look at him. Despite its big, wide smile, it almost looked annoyed. Neither of them moved for a while.
Fritz gave a little wave. “Uh, hey.” He greeted awkwardly. It stared at him.
He jabbed a thumb at the stalls. “Bathroom…?” It tilted its head for a moment. He winced a little. It’s a robot, it didn’t have to–did it even know what that meant?
After a moment it waved him off and turned back to the mirror. Thank god. He sighed, and stepped towards the stalls, keeping his eyes on it. Realistically, he should be way more nervous around this thing; he was, like, 80-something percent sure it’d killed at least one person. He was 100% sure that people had been killed by some of them–and this thing seemed like it was in charge, or something.
But he wasn’t really all that scared. It was less ‘Oh god, this is a murderous robot that’s in the room with me,’ and more ‘weird co-worker.’ He wasn’t sure if he was super brave, stupid, or suicidal. He might be high. He’s probably high, actually, now that he thought about it.
He shut the stall, locked it, prayed a little, and used the bathroom as fast as he could. He hurriedly regained his composure, and quietly unlocked the stall and pushed it open. The thing was still there. Fuck.
He stared dimly at the sinks, one of which was being held by the thing, the other less than a foot to the right of it. He grimaced; usually he washed his hands, he had some standards, but he really didn’t want to get that close to it. He’ll just use the hand sanitizer in the lobby.
He started walking towards the door, when the thing noticed him in the mirror, seemed not to care, then realized something and whirled to stare at him with a little noise that sounded like a puff of static.
He froze, eyes widening. “What?”
He pointed at the sink to its right. He relaxed a little, but still swore under his breath. It was telling him to wash its hands. The humor of this was not lost to him, but he suppressed showing even a smile as he walked over.
It made no move as he reached the sink, but it was watching him now. He had the distinct impression he was being judged, and couldn’t help but defend himself. “I almost always wash my hands, by the way.” It made a little tinkle of notes from its music box that sounded skeptical. “I do. I wasn’t gonna this time because someone was over here and I was, uhm, a little scared.”
It made another little staticky huff and looked back at the mirror. It didn’t have pupils, but he guessed it was rolling its eyes. He had to stop himself from snickering, reaching for the faucet.
His smile fell as turning the knob did nothing. He tried the cold one. No water came out. Right, this place was kind of a dump.
He turned to look at the thing. It met his eyes, then glanced at the sink.
Before he could say anything, it backed away from the sink it was at and gestured at it. Fritz rolled his eyes and moved to that one, the puppet moving to take his place at the left sink. Thankfully, this faucet worked.
He washed his hands, shockingly, in no rush. It wasn’t like it wanted to kill him, anyway. It was staring at itself in the mirror, still, and he couldn’t tell what exactly it was thinking about.
Suddenly, he laughed. The absurdity of the interaction, this weird, probably murderous robot making him wash his hands, was getting to him. It was like talking to the janitor at the place you work at, which was always a little awkward, for some reason, at least for him.
At his little snickers, the puppet glanced at him, tilting its head. Somehow, it suddenly seemed more weirded out by him.
After a minute, he caught his breath, turning off the faucet and drying his hands. “H-hey, uh, can I ask you something?” His voice sounded way more shaky than he expected it to.
It tilted its head in the other direction, relaxing ever so slightly, as if grateful he wasn’t laughing anymore.
He swallowed. “...Why, uh, why did you let me go?”
It stared at him for a while. After a couple seconds, its head turned ever so slightly towards the mirror, like it was considering the question. Then, it turned to him again, reached up, and tapped its mouth. It couldn’t talk. So it couldn’t answer. Right.
He snorted, and rolled his eyes. “Ok, man. Excuses, excuses.” He snarked as he dried off his hands.
It almost looked like it was offended.
They stared at each other for a minute again, before they both looked to the doorway as they heard footsteps approaching. He opened his mouth to say something before jumping as the lights flickered violently. He blinked profusely, and when the lights stopped freaking out, he was alone in the bathroom. It vanished. Huh.
Cool.
He could hear the person stop and notice the lights on in the bathroom, before barging in. It was the manager. Ah.
He opened his mouth but was cut short but the manager, a shortish grey-haired, slightly round man he never actually got the name of, interrupted. “Fritz Smith.” He growled.
Fritz waved. “Yup.” He was a tad confused at the man's demeanor. What was he in trouble for?
As if reading his mind, the manager jabbed a finger behind him. “The bots sent in reports.”
“...Ok?”
A sigh, then a ruffle of paper as the manager pulled out a contract; his contract. “Read this.” He pointed at a line.
He had only really skimmed it and read the line aloud.
“I acknowledge responsibility for the well-being of all Fazbear Property, as well as any tampering.” He blinked. “Ok?”
The manager sighed. “Mr. Smith, when you alter the animatronics AI, I receive a report from the security system.” He articulated, saying it slowly as if Fritz was stupid. Fritz got the sudden urge to punch him as hard he could in the nose, but pretended he was totally composed.
“What are you… Ah.” Fritz groaned. “I… did do that, didn’t I?” The manager was already scribbling something down onto a pink slip of paper. Damnit.
The pink slip was thrust into his hands, and he scanned it. He blinked.
“Ok, I get ‘tampering with animatronics,’ but ‘Odor’ is just rude.”
The manager rolled his eyes. “You could use a shower, Smith.”
Fritz grit his teeth. “First off, it’s Fritz. And second, I don’t work for you anymore, so I can say whatever I want.”
The manager squinted. “So?”
“Fuck you, man.”
The manager snorted. “Get out of my restaurant, Fritz.”
Fritz shoved the pink slip in his pocket. “You sure you can undo all the totally horrible tampering I did?”
“It wasn’t that bad, and it’s not like we'll be using half of ‘em again anyway.” He waved him off.
Fritz blinked. “What do you mean?”
The manager stared at him, before shrugging. “Those newfangled ones don’t work–what kinda security takes a chunk out of one of our best guard’s heads?--so we’re shipping ‘em off to a warehouse tomorrow morning, maybe strip them for parts.”
Fritz felt more than one pair of eyes on him. “What about the oldfangled ones?” Fritz did a little imitation of the manager’s accent, making the man glare.
“We’ll probably fix ‘em up. Use ‘em again. I don’t know.”
Fritz opened his mouth again, but wasn’t sure why he cared. The man stormed off, muttering “First day on the job, really?”
Fritz sighed, listening as the front door slammed shut.
There was a small click to his right, and he whirled to look at the stalls as one of them slowly swung open. He winced. Apparently, the puppet had never left–it had just hid. There were little white dots in its eyes, and it was ever-so-slightly shaky.
Shit, it actually looked scared.
It moved out of the stall, staring at the floor. He could hear ticking and clicking in its torso as it looked around at nothing. Fritz realized what was happening. If this one was the head honcho of the bots, it might care about them. Maybe it was like an older sibling, or even a parent to the others. The other bots are probably some of the only people this thing really cares about, and it just found out that half of them are getting torn apart and used for parts.
He grimaced. “Uh-“ He opened his mouth to say something, and its head snapped to him, clicking dangerously.
It loomed over him, twitching ever so slightly. He got the distinct feeling that it didn’t really want to hurt him, but it was so angry that it would change its mind if he pissed it off.
He instinctively held his hands up in defense. “H-hey! I- uh- kinda get why you’re- like- sad?” He shrugged.
It straightened up slightly, tilting its head, it almost looked like it was squinting at him. It still seemed mad, but more confused at the approach than anything.
“You’re worried about them.” He said flatly.
Its eyes fizzled out, returning to blank holes. After a minute, it nodded, its shoulders slumping.
Fritz frowned. “Uhm.” He sighed. “Ok. Here’s the deal, man.”
It perked up.
“I care about you guys too, kinda. Went here as a kid.” He explained. “A-and I kinda owe you, for, uh, not killing me and stuff…”
It moved ever so slightly closer, though not because it was trying to intimidate him. It was interested.
“Ok. So. They’ll probably take you with the new ones, right?”
It nodded.
“So, you can make sure they, Y’know, don’t get stripped for parts.”
It nodded, tilting its head.
“And. I’ll make sure nothing happens to the oldies.” He finished.
It stared at him, blankly. After a moment, it held out a hand.
He looked down at it, blinking, before shaking it in a handshake, refusing to shiver as its weird noodle fingers wrapped around his hand. “It’s a deal.” He smiled. What the fuck was he doing.
It suddenly gripped his hand tighter, looming again. He blinked. The message was fairly clear, and he could almost hear it saying it: ‘If you fuck this up, I’ll know, and I’ll find you.’
He nodded, and it released his hand.
There was an uneasy silence in the room before the lights suddenly started freaking out again, making him jump and look around.
When they calmed down, and he looked back at the puppet, it was gone.
…what did he just get himself into?