Lofty Ambitions (also not lewd)

	Chica pushed past the swinging double doors to the restaurant’s kitchen and sighed; scanning the room for a good place to sit. It was after hours now; the staff had cleaned up and cleared out a good half hour ago; leaving her alone, surrounded by nothing but cold sleeping machines. She knew the names and purpose of each and every object that surrounded her; if pressed, she could even dig up the model number and basic information from her long neglected memory banks.
	“It's so stupid,” she thought to herself; kicking an empty crate from its spot in the corner and taking a seat atop it before looking down to the torn envelope clutched in her hands. She'd scanned over the letter inside roughly a dozen times now; as if each new read through would produce a different, more favorable result.
	Outside, she could hear movement, probably Foxy or Freddy judging from the sound of the footsteps. Silently, she held her breath; hoping who ever it was would pass her by. She wanted to be alone; even from Bonnie, her usual confidant when things got sour. Today though, today it was different; and as much as she hated the bitter feeling, even Bonnie had become a source of displeasure lately.
	It had started a few days ago, around the end of their shift; with Bonnie and Freddy finishing their set on stage as the crowed of patrons slowly thinned. She was eager to get the day over with, not particularly in the mood to deal with the public in her current grumpy state; but right the performance was supposed to end, Bonnie decided to go off scrip; transitioning the outro of her final song into some kind of over the top psychedelic funk-rock guitar solo. Children and adult alike were held captive; transfixed by her performance as her guitar wailed into the late evening hours.
	It was amazing; she had been practicing that for weeks now, and even Chica had to bitterly admit to herself the effort had payed off. But therein laid the source of her frustration. Not just that Bonnie had drawn out her already long day, but the performance itself; her expertly timed strums and delicate purposeful movements up and down the neck of her guitar; the look of contentedness and satisfaction in her eyes as she made her instrument sing like few others could; the feeling of happiness and wonderment she brought out in those around her. Looking down at the letter again, Chica leaned back and let loose another heavy sigh. It was jealousy that had taken hold of her at that moment; jealousy and contempt for one of her closest friends in the world. The thought made her feel sick to her core.
	“It's so stupid,” she said again; talking aloud to no one in particular as she glanced around the empty room. Distracting herself, Chica went to work identifying each and every peace of equipment she laid her eyes on; taking the time to consider the functionality and purpose behind them all. Each one was precise in its intent; every one having a job that it carried out to the peak of its capacity. Like the objects in this room, each of the four members of Fazbear's Family restaurant came with their own innate specialty as well; one that they would preform each day to their own personal satisfaction. Bonnie had a predisposition for her guitar, and could easily pick up and learn new tunes and melodies faster than any human. Freddy, much befitting his status as head mascot, was an amazing host and manager. There wasn’t a single person, child or adult, who would walk through the front doors and not be shown a wonderful time as long as he was out on the floor. Even Foxy had his whole pirate shtick, and somehow always managed to connect with and cheer up children better than anyone else she knew. But her; the restaurants designated food enthusiast; what was it that set her apart? What defined her and made her unique? Made her valid? A cook is only as good as the dishes they prepare, but no restaurant is going to keep a million dollar fully autonomous robot cooped up in its kitchen all day. Her roll here had been reduced to a glorified waitress since day one; and what with power and maintenance costs constantly eating into the franchise’s budget, they sure weren't going to let her use any of this stuff after hours. So here she sat; an expertly crafted, purpose built machine among a dozen others, that never once got the opportunity to fulfill its primary function.
	That was what the letter had been about, not the one in currently held in her winged hand, but the one she had sent out a few weeks prior. All Fazbear robots retain the right to make requests from management for the sake of their personal entertainment and well-being. It was a desperate move when she sent it off; desperate and silly. A halfhearted cry for change from someone who had no idea what it was they truly wanted.
	Still, she had been surprised a few days later when she was asked to step away from the floor for an interview about her request; hopeful at first, but quickly realizing it was nothing more than a impromptu psychological screening brought on by her uncouth actions. A man in an ill fitting suit had come to speak with her; they had given the two use of the manager’s office while employees and residents alike gossiped and speculated as to the nature of their encounter. It had been about two weeks since then, but Chica could still recall the conversation clear as day.
	“Miss CF11287?”
	“Uh, yeah. You can call me Chica.”
	“Yes, I get a lot of those.”
	“Hehe... yeah.”
	“So, do you know why I'm here today?”
	“This is about by request with management, right?”
	“That's correct. One online order, rf1171130227, from TranscontinentalAuto.com.”
	“Yes.”
	“Do you mind telling me what that is?”
	“It's a kit-car.”
	He didn't respond at first, eying his companion across the table questioningly before glancing down at his notes. And what exactly is a 'kit-car', if you please?”
	“It's a uh, car. Like, that you build yourself. They ship you all the pieces and you get to put it together.”
	“And why exactly do you want a,” he paused, emphasizing each word as he looked down at his pile of notes. “'twenty' 'thousand' 'dollar', unassailable automobile, Miss Chica?”
	She chuckled, and glanced nervously to her side. “I uh, I didn't actually think I would get this far.”
	He leaned in, focusing intently on her as he clasped his hands together over the stack of forms and paperwork sitting in front of him. “That wasn't an answer to the question. Please do not misunderstand what this meeting is about. We get requests all the time. Entertainment products, cooking supplies or furnishings; fluff; things to fill the time in between shifts. One of the many functions of my office's branch is to sort through and approve these requests. But never once, has a single worker asked for something so... exotic. So, Miss Chica, what exactly is it that has spurred you to ask for an unassembled working replica of a 1973 Lancia Stratos?”
	Her eyes shifter around the office as she tried to form a popper answer to his inquiry; both for his sake and hers. Truthfully, she had no idea why she wanted an unassembled car. The thought was irrational; it stemmed from something she couldn't quite grasp; some obscure emotion she could hardly comprehend, let alone explain. Still, looking up at the man across the desk, his eyes burned away at her; clearly intent on solving the mystery. Centering herself, she searched her thoughts for something that could make sense of all this.
	“A few days ago...” she began; pausing, unsure if it was the right thing to say, but unable to stop now that the floodgates had opened. “A few days ago a deer had somehow set off the alarm outside the building. It was after dark, so nobody was around besides Mike and us. Uh, Mike is the security guy, by the way. Anyway, the noise scared it off and he went outside to check if it was still around. Honestly, I think he was just happy to get to do something; it's not like we get many real security issues at 3am.
	“Miss Chica, are you trying to tell me you want to build a sports car because a deer set off your perimeter alarm?”
	“Hey, come on, I'm not done yet. So anyway, when Mike ran out after it, I followed him. I know I wasn't supposed to, but I didn't even think about that until I was already outside. I'd never been out there before, it was so strange. I guess you get to do it every day, but, for us... Anyway, it was dark and Mike and had gone over to his car to get a flashlight and see if he could still spot the thing. I'd never been near a car before, so it was really wired to be right up next to one like that. After giving up on the deer, he let me sit inside and look around. There's a lot more to it than those arcade machines, you know? But he sat there with me and pointed out what all the little knobs and switches were for like it was nothing. I screamed when he turned on the engine; not like, full on terror scream, I was just surprised. The whole thing was vibrating and alive; I'd never felt anything like it. And then her took it out of park and drove me around for a little bit.”
	“Let me stop you right there, Miss Chica,” The man's voice was dry with a clear hint of annoyance. “While I can appreciate a fellow employee taking the time to participate in a... team building exercise such as that, it is highly inappropriate for a security guard to leave their post for the sole purpose taking company property out for a... joy ride. This 'Mike' had better be an otherwise model employee, as I can assure you he won't last very long should any more behavior like this be noted in company rerecords.” He paused, letting out a sharp exhale as he straightened his already orderly tie. “Still, you seem to have made your position clear. You had a fun time in a car, now you want your own sporty little thing to zip around in as well. I'm sure you'll get excellent gas mileage driving from the break-room to the stage in that thing, yes?”
	Now it was her turn to be annoyed. The man clearly wasn't taking her very seriously, and she didn't particularly appreciate him threatening Mike like that; even if her had broken the rules. Plus, he had gotten the wrong impression from her story so far, and she was damn sure going to set the record straight. “It's not about the car or the ride or any of that. You think I don't know I'll never actually be able to use it? You think anyone would actually give me a license let alone let me out of this building without shutting me off first? I know my limitations; much as I hate to come to terms with them. But its... I don't want to be the food girl!”
	The look of condensation on his face diminished, and a raised eyebrow at the sound of her last statement let her know that at least he was listening.
	“I like food as much as anyone else, but it doesn’t define me. And the thing is, I don't think I want it to either. Heck, I don't even need the stuff. It actually takes more energy to convert organic matter into power than if I were to just not eat. What I really like though, is being able to understand food. Figuring out all the different ingredients and how all these individual parts can come together to make something new; something complex and completely different than before. When I went outside, it was like... like suddenly the world seemed so much bigger than I thought it was. And all around me were these things. Big things. Things that people took the time out to make themselves. Buildings and bridges and statues... Why should a settle with pizza? Why shouldn't I try to build a car, or a house, or even a another robot? Maybe I won't be good at it, but how am I supposed to know unless I try?”
	The meeting between them ended shortly after that; the man from management assuring her he'd consider the request, but stressing its extreme unlikeliness. Still, at least she was able to finally express her dissatisfaction.
	She'd gotten the response a few days ago; a letter addressed to her via the building's O.P. box; the first piece of mail she'd ever received. It had been a denial, of course; there had never really been any hope otherwise. Still, things felt so bleak now that she knew for sure; and only looked worse when the others had found out. Freddy and Foxy could barely contain their laughter at the absurdity of the prospect; and much as Bonnie tried to be supportive, Chica could tell she didn't really understand. Of those she considered friends, it was only Mike who seemed to grasp the situation as she did. After all, people weren't like robots, they weren't built of anything. Each and every one of them was simply thrust into existence with no real plan or purpose, and force to try out anything and everything in the hopes of finding their reason. Maybe it was a stupid idea, but the way she saw it, the whole world revolved around stupid ideas that somehow panned out. It was pretty dumb to spend so much on a bunch of robots just to entertain children at twelve dollars a head, just as it was stupid to make one of those robots an expert cook and then never let it cook anything.
	Chica chuckled to herself as she crumbled the letter in her hand an threw it into the trash. “Just another step in the cycle of idiocy.”
	As she went to leave, the doors to the kitchen swung inward, catching her off guard as Mike stepped through the entrance holding something behind his back.
	“Oh, there you are. I've been looking all over for you. And by that I mean I checked the stage and then here.”
	Trying to get a better look at what he was holding, Mike continually shifted his posture, not allowing Chica to get a solid look as whatever it was behind his back. Unsuccessful after a few attempts, she decided to simply drop the matter and wait for him show her himself.
	“You're in early. It's not even eleven yet.”
	“Working some over time this week,” he grinned; unceremoniously pulling the box from behind him and tossed it over to her. “Gotta go talk to Freddy, but I'll catch up with you in a bit.”
	He was gone before she could respond; leaving her standing there all alone with a gift wrapped box. Placing it on one of the prep tables, she tore through the wrapping to find a model car kit and a small note; hand written with far more care than his usual chicken-scratch.
	“Here's to your future in automotive engineering. Those assembly line robots won't know what hit 'em.”
	She blushed; unable to stifle a smile as she carefully folded the note back up and departed the kitchen with her new project. Maybe all of this was pretty dumb, maybe she would come to find she had no interest in cars or models or anything of that nature; but her future suddenly seemed a little brighter with the knowledge there was at least one other idiot out there willing to indulge her silly ambitions.