Fazworld Chapter 2

You are Mike Schmidt, and you already feel like you're back in Freddy's all those years ago.

 

The greeting hall was empty. Light was leaking in from both the entrance behind you and the exit leading into the park grounds right ahead, otherwise leaving the large room coated in a demoralizingly dark shroud that was already starting to mess with your eyes.

 

Just like old times at the pizzeria.

 

The metal dividers for the queue lines had been shoved aside and up against the wall near the ticket booths, a narrow emergency gate opened for convenience for tonight's guests in order to bypass the locked turnstiles. Your shadow was being cast wide across the room, merging in with the foamy darkness that stood between you and the park itself.

 

There had to be nothing to worry about, of course - it was the middle of the afternoon. The sky was a dull, weak yellow that reminded you of stagant water, in a way. If there was one thing you learnt about working at Freddy's, is was that they had patterns. Predictable patterns. Freddy might throw you for a loop, but you had eventually got into the swing of things as the night watchman. You would not have to worry about murderous robots before midnight.

 

But it may not be the case here. Whatever it'll be, you'd best take baby steps.

 

Passing through the hall and the blanket of shadows was not quite as painful as you had expected. Of course, there had to be that lifesized likeness of Freddy nestled in a dark corner you only just noticed at the last second, but besides the nerve-wracking tingle dripping down your spine you didn't panic any further. On closer inspection, the bear was nothing more but a hollow prop holding a donation box for some charity for young victims of brain damage.

 

You'd throw a quarter in, but you never had spare change on you. You march out with a tad more confidence than you had entered with, passing through the gate and right into Fazworld itself.

 

The attractions seemed to stretch out of miles, a jumble of rides, carnival games and other family-friendly attractions that had already been set up just in time for opening day, balloons, banners and all. Just ahead of you was a fountain that was dead center within a brick crossroad that branched out and down the various streets and avenues that comprised the slumbering fair. Up above was another archway with the words 'ENTERING FAZTOWN !", a kiosky hosting a map and directions to all major parts of the theme park just to your left.

 

The whole place was covered in varying shades and hues of red and purple, what you had long suspected to be the official colors of Freddy's. All you could see in those colors were blackish-blue bruises interspaced with random splatterings of bright red bloodstains. Not fun.

 

A tarp strapped to a half-finished billboard featuring Bonnie's mugshot was fluttering in the light breeze above you, fastened to a rather official looking building that was simply marked with the sign out front reading "RECEPTION - HELP AND INFORMATION."

 

Some people were mingling around outside. Other people invited to the open night. Some had bought their families, confusing the notice they had recieved for an invitation to the actual grand opening. They wouldn't get far - gates and shutters cordoned off the rest of the park, denying access to all. You could see a single janitor hurriedly sweeping off behind the bars of the blockade, blanking the commotion coming from the visitors.

 

You proceed unconciously towards the reception building, the blinding, artificial brightness of the lights stretching out across the park floor that quivered and pulsated as the dozen or so figures nestled inside the lobby lurch around. The air cools around you as you step past the sliding doors. Atleast this place had air conditioning.

 

You stomp across the deep sea-blue carpeting, half expecting to leave footprints. A minute for beeline to the nearest empty seat  later and you've already settled in, finally giving you the first moment since arriving to properly take in your sights.

 

The rather spacious lobby was filled with people who were more well-dressed and seemingly more composed than you. Not that you weren't expecting that, you had already been threatened with termination at Freddy's numerous times for odour problems. Why you hadn't actually taken that opporitunity to get out of the pizzeria before, you weren't sure.

 

Maybe it just seemed too anticlimatic? Your brain was trying to rationalize your strange behaviour.

 

"THIS ISN'T HOW IT ENDS, MIKE." You can already remember Freddy's cries of desperation with photo-quality clarity.

 

Fuck  those dreams.

 

Past the indifferent, uninterested crowds was a host of Freddy memorabilia fastened to the walls. Photos, paintings, posters - along with a series of milestones for the previously budding restauraunt; Freddy and co on stage, circa 1999. Foxy unveiled at the new pirate's cove, circa 1997.

 

No mention of anything before 87, though.

 

Besides that, you could catch sight of a painting that covered the whole length of an sizable alcove in the wall - head-on portraits of all the characters, lined up in rows. There was Freddy - naturally - followed by Bonnie, Chica and Foxy. But then things started getting unrecognizable; characters you had never seen before. A bluish, more effeminate looking rabbit. A white-pink canine smeared in makeup. The list went on.

 

That wasn't a good sign. It was already a chore dealing with four animatronics hellbent on making you a stew of viscera pooling inside of a freddy suit. And now there were 10 - no, maybe even 20? - of the bastards. There could be even more just hiding around, for all he knew.

 

And you did know. The Golden Freddy was not something you were fond of remembering. Just one of the many bad memories you wanted to leave behind with the pizzeria.

 

This park was opening up some old wounds and you hadn't even gotten the job yet.

 

After a few minutes of waiting, it seems like you're aren't making any progress on getting to the bottom of all this. Then again, you did just immeadiately assume the reception building was the right place to head to. You unhesitantly rise back out of your seat and shuffle through the strenghtening horde of wary faces, anchoring yourself down against the reception desk in order to address the receptionist - a 40 something woman with withering brown hair tied into a bun, glasses balancing precariously on the bridge of her nose. A tiny pin in the shape of freddy's head was nested right above a nametag that read 'SHARON'

 

"Uh, hi. Hey." You hadn't spoken in days, it dawns on you. It was hard to really get the words out, so you fish out the letter you had recieved just earlier today, flashing it like some sort of business card. "So, about this..."

 

Sharon peers down at the letter with increasing realization. "Oh, I recognize your name." A southern drawl was accentuating her words as she signals to your right. "You're just in time, Mr. Schmidt. Just head straight down the hall on the right, it's the open room."

 

You quietly thank her and quickly excuse yourself, picking up the pace as your power-walk nearly explodes into a full on sprint as you almost lose your nerve again. You stop yourself just before you can barge in and crash into some of the folding chairs that had been laid out, steadying your figure and creeping over to the side of the doorway. The room was set up like a small seminar, rows of chairs decked out in front of the shimmering image of the projector screen ('WELCOME BACK!' It proclaimed in a gaudy font with a grinning Freddy head underneath.) The lights were already dimmed, the figures already seated either keeping to themselves or glancing up with you with unfocused eyes.

 

Another more distinct figure was stood up near the projector, leaning over into the light as he notices your presence. "Ah, hello!" He was balding, a moustache tucked between a bulging nose and tight, cracked lips. While he looked small and unmenacing, you could definitely feel a sense of authority emanating from him. "Please, take a seat."

 

You plod yourself down on the nearest empty chair, tensing up as you become aware of the others sat around you. The girl beside you lets out an inattentive cough, fidgeting restlessly.

"All right, then. We just need a few more minutes and then we'll get started." The man up front clasped his hands together with out-of-place enthusiasm. After two more people had rolled in and silently took their places in the audience, he spoke up once again.

 

"So, hello! My name is Chad Gardner and I represent Fazbear Entertainment here at the Freddy Fazworld amusement park." His tone was rather welcoming, but it was blatantly obvious he had been rehearsing for this moment. He pauses in order to move over into the light some more, bathing his body in the dizzying projector light. His shadow was wobbling haphazardly behind him as he made reassuring motions with his hands.

 

"Now, I'm sure most of you are wondering why you received one of these invitations in the mail." He reaches aside to swipe a piece of paper from a strategically placed table, waving around a copy of the letter you had - barring name, of course. "Well, if I'm right, most of you have been employed in the past under Fazbear Enterainment as security detail of some form."

 

Well THAT was interesting. You look around the room, noticing other people were swiveling their heads around to address their colleagues with equal amounts of confusion.

 

"Now, the grand opening of this park is a major milestone for the Freddy Fazbear franchise." He signals to an assistant you had failed to notice earlier, covered in the inky blackness of the dark room in the corner. With a flick of a switch, the projector screen shifts over to a new still. An assortment of pictures and media related to the Freddy name - the animatronics themselves were the centerpiece, followed with shots of toys, branded clothes, even a couple frames from some of the licensed cartoon shows that had aired in the past; you sometimes forget that Freddy's was more than just a shitty pizza place.

 

Chad grins warmly. "I'm sure all of you are familiar with our brand, one way or another. Most of you probably have some Freddy merchandise in your possession!" Well, you did still have that Bonnie plush you had pilfered on your last day. And the Freddy Fazbear baseball cap. And the LET'S EAT bib. And the cupcake. Especially the cupcake. They're probably all still stuck in a box somewhere in the no man's land of your closet, dead to the world.

 

"We here at Fazworld only wish to pick the very best when it comes to employing our staff." A pause for emphasis. "And we feel like there's nobody better qualified than those who we've been able to call part of the family. Think of this as a big Fazbear family reunion!"

 

Nobody laughed. Chad shrugs it off just as quickly as the bruise it had given his ego.

 

"Now, before we can discuss employment further, I just want to make sure all of you are accounted for." Chad's tone was beginning to sound a lot more corporate. He reaches for another slip of paper, unfolding it out in his grip. "Just a little registry we made for everyone beforehand; names aren't in any particular order. Just let me know when I call out your name."

 

You were already beginning to make out the shapes of the people sat around you as your eyes adjusted to the dark. Just a motley assortment of nobodies and outcasts such as yourself. There was one rather round, bulbous figure a row down to your right who looked like he was taking up two seats.

 

"Quentin Drake?"

A hand snakes out of the darkness up front, raising up in confirmation before retreating back to its owner.

 

"Jesse Castillo?"

"Here." A voice answers back from behind you. So all the people in these room were also security guards at some point?

"Lowell Roden?"

"Hey." How many of these guys were night watchmen?

 

"Erica Ketner?"

"Here." Did they have the misfortune of experiencing the things you have?

 

"Aaron Carpenter?"

No response. The empty chair beside you only reinforces his absence.

 

"Moira Leatherwood?"

"Yeh." Did the other establishments have the same nighttime 'quirks' as yours did?

 

"Mercedes Charleston."

"Mhm." A voice strained through tensed lips right next to you.

Who names their kid Mercedes?

 

"Joel Lewis." Anyways, back on track.

"Here."

 

Sometimes you forget there were other Freddy's.

 

"Fritz Smith?"

"Here!" A voice booms out from the man with the ballooning waistline in front of you. Atleast you had a name to go with the guy now.

 

Just looking at him kind of puts you on edge. His ill-fitting cardigan was awash with unkempt lint and dust bunnies that had dug their way into the fabric. His fair was filthy, going down to his shoulders and tied up into a ponytail that looked more like a greasy mop. This was juxtaposed atrociously by his five o clock shadow. Was he even aware he had that?

 

"Michael Scmidt." Chad's now stern, nearly monotone voice was finally affixed onto you. It almost made you jump out of your skin after you had forgotten you were a part of this meeting.

 

"Here!" With a voice that was too loud and too jittery, you reply back to him. You almost stood up in the process. That wouldn't have helped matters.

 

Chad moves on.

 

"Regina Hanford?"

"Yeah."

 

"And lastly, Alex Mattingly?"

Again, no response. Maybe they just chose not to show up. Smart choice.

 

"All right. No worries." Chad twists his wrist nervously, hiding his concern for those absent with an uncomfortably wide grin. "We still have a few more open nights planned for those who couldn't make it today."

 

You get the faintest impression that there won't be anybody else coming after tonight.

 

Mercedes lets out another hacking cough during the silence.

 

"Now, as for everybody else, we will be assigning you - IF you wish to be part of the family here at Freddy Fazworld - to the various security details scattered across the park grounds." Chad pauses for a surprisingly long, frail breath. "We've got positions for everyone - Day shift, party supervision, night watch... of course, we will occasionally ask of you to perform other tasks related to maintaining the wellbeing of the park and its entertainers."

 

You did not like the sound of those entertainers.

 

"Nothing out of your comfort zone, of course. We want to ensure that your employment here remains a comfortable and fulfilling experience. We could even guarantee that your job here at Freddy Fazworld could be a job for life!" Chad's enthusiasm was about as convincing as a naked shop mannequin posing as a human.

 

You did not like the sound of working at this place for life, either.

 

"Now, some of you might be concerned about pay, aswell..." Damn right you were. "Some of you may have had... unfortunate experiences with mininum wage pay back at your positions at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza." Chad flashes another flimsy smile. "That shouldn't be a problem any longer. Salaries vary for our different positions, but we give a base week's pay of $300 for all employees."

 

Your eyes lit up like matchsticks. You took a second to really parse those words. Holy shit, this guy was serious. You were actually gonna be paid proper money for proper work.

 

Fuck Freddy, fuck Foxy - fuck their whole little gang of kid friendly terminators in disguise - but you were getting a proper pay for it at the end of the week. It might actually be worth it.

 

But nothing else was going to matter. You just didn't care enough. Just hold out until Friday and get your pay. That's your plan, and you hope to god you'll be able to stick with it.

 

Mercedes inhales with mild disinterest.

 

"Now, we'll just have a five minute break. I'll come get each of you one by one so we may assign you to your positions, if you accept our offer." Chad clasps his hands together. "I'd like to thank each and every one of you for coming today! We would never be able to accomplish the things we want here at Freddy Fazworld without your participation!" His words were still as hollow as ever.

 

There barely any time to take it all in as you were scooped up by the crowd rising up from the seats, herding you off towards the door and into the glaring lights of the hallway beyond it. You look back at Chad, staring his assistant down with a cluelessly hopeful expression grafted onto his face.

 

 

The moment you had departed from the little makeshift seminar room, you had tried to network with some of your future colleagues. But the discussion of the details of your job and your expectations had been instantly derailed to a tangent about the difficulties of Jesse Castillo's homemade soap business.

 

"You know, people keep telling me it must be a dream to work at home, with my wife, making soap." He sounded annoyed. "How it must smell so nice and all that shit. But having to work with all that animal fat is fucking disgusting."

 

You were left staring at him dumbfounded in the small circle you and a few others had scrambled together out of some of the lobby seats. Quentin Drake - a small, bespectacled young man hiding a long mop of brown hair under a black beanie - and Regina Hanford - a 30 something New Yorker with a ponytail and a noticeable, uncontrollable twitch in her left eye - were sandwiched against you on the spare folding seats. They nodded along to Castillo's words, having no idea what his actual point was.

 

"Nobody ever buys our stuff, either. Selling online just isn't doing us any good." Jesse leans forward against his seat. "Jeanne - bless her and all - wants me to buy some commercial space in town and set up shop, but I keep her telling her "Sweetie, we don't have that kind of money!" Well she tells me to sell some more fucking soap!"

 

You were done. You excuse yourself and slip out from your seat in a fast, fluid motion. Your stomach grumbles lazily; you hadn't eaten all day. You could still hear Jesse go on about how sick he was getting from lemon scented hygiene products as you round the corner and approach a vending machine that had been nestled into the wall.

 

Of course, there was also the three huddled nearby - you couldn't miss the expansive, morbidly obese build of Fritz, followed by the two women on each side of him that were almost pinlike in their body size compared to him. Teetering on the edge of a stray chair was Mercedes. In the light, she looks too young to be working here of all places. Her figure was comically dainty, hands nestled on a closed lap with brown, shoulder length hair obscuring her poker face. The other figure, you didn't recognize - she looked a tad older than you, her leather jacket and khakis making her much more masculine than she actually was. The bun her blonde hair had been tied in and the complete lack of makeup didn't help matters.

 

Fritz was the first one to notice you, suddenly waving you over while silently mouthing some kind of phrase that you weren't paying attention to. Nonplussed, you cross over the carpet to the three. Smith was looking rather strained, a few strands of sweat pouring down his naturally greasy forehead. Merceds and the older lady, not so much.

"Hey, you're that, uh, Mac guy, right?" Jesus christ, this guy was bostonian as fuck.

 

"Yeah, yeah." You respond dismissively. "I'm Mike."

 

"Shit, Mike. You any idea what those guys are up to?" Fritz looks over your shoulder, scanning the hall for anyone passing by. "I mean, you must have at your old place, right?"

 

"Fritz, you've just met the man." The older woman speaks up - you instantly recognize the voice belonging to one Moira Leatherwood. It had a smokey, no nonsense tone. "Look, I don't know what you're going on about. And I doubt our new friend here will either."

 

"Wait." You say. "What's going on."

 

Smith's face continues to crinkle out of despair. "Mike, Mike. Listen to me - what was your old job like? At Freddy's?" He was trying to keep his voice hushed, but his accent was betraying him.

 

You were almost tempted to spill the beans right there about your traumatic experience at the pizzeria - surely everybody here already knew, right? You had to all be in the same boat. But you were guarded. You wanted to see what they had to say first.

 

It didn't take long for Moira to whisk attention back onto her. "Let me give you the gist of it. Fritz here has been babbling on about all sorts of bullshit and seems to think we've all seen the same stuff as him." She folds her arms. "He worked the night shift. I told him I was day shift back at the Freddy's in Milwaukee."

 

You look at Mercedes - it didn't really seem like she was even part of the conversation. She was just staring into the wall on the other side side of the hall. Moira was picking this all up. "Charleston there did some part time stuff keeping an eye on the kids about a month before the other restauraunts went belly up."

 

Moira quickly snaps her head back up at Fritz, to his dismay. "Fritz here. Hoo boy. Tells me was night watchman at one of Freddy's big grand reopenings back in '87." She was staring at him with dagger eyes. "And, if I'm to believe what he says, got fired on his first. Fucking. Night."

 

"H-hey!" Fritz snaps back defensively. "You should have seen the shit I've seen, Leatherwood!" He turns back to you. "What about you, Mike? What did you do?"

 

"I was the night watchman. Simple as that."

 

The bostonian's eyes suddenly develop a glimmer of understanding. Something had clicked in his head, the corners of his mouth wrinkling into a deformed grin. His breath was atrocious. "Oh shit, Mike! That means you saw, right? You saw them move about!"

 

"They ALL moved about at night, Fritz." Moira interrupts. "We all learnt that on our first day."

 

"Yeah." You reaffirm. "That's kind of to be expected. Free roaming and all."

 

"I know." Moira lets loose a sigh of contempt. "I had to fill in for the night watch once. All they did was just shuffle about on the stage and bump into eachother. Foxy wandered into my office at one point, but I managed to gently guide him back to the cove." Her eyes kept going back to Fritz. "Clam Chowder here says the bots tried to fucking kill him."

 

"I'm telling the truth, Moira! I swear!" That was a little too loud a shout, but you doubt he cares much about being discrete at this point.

 

"Wait, so you didn't get hurt?" You ask Moira politely.

 

"What? No. Why would they? They're just speakers on legs, anyhow. No brains in there." Her eyes narrow. "You're not saying they tried to hurt you, did they?"

 

"See?! SEE?!" Fritz was bellowing. "I told you there'd be somebody else who knew!"

 

"Hey, hey." You go into damage control mode. "I'm not saying they actually tried to kill me. They're just unpredictable at night. A few bumps too many for me. Some of them my fault, yeah, but still."

 

Moira rolls her eyes. "This is stupid. Well, not as stupid as the other crap Fritz said. Idiot said he was there at the Bite of '87!"

 

The Bite of '87. Some horrible, franchise-ruining disaster that had occured at a Freddy Fazbear's that left someone scarred for life. You had only heard it from your former colleague on the answering machine, and all this time you had just assumed the bite had happened at the place you had worked at. It might be crazy, but you might actually believe what Fritz is saying.

 

"It's true! The animatronics went crazy! I was just about to do my first night, too." Fritz shudders slightly. "Y-you know, just getting a tour to settle me in. There was a birthday party going on. The fox just..." He tenses up, opting to use his hands where words failed him to portray a biting motion with clenched digits.

 

Moira wasn't having any of it. "God, you're so fucking dramatic. So what, you were so horrified you got yourself fired?"

 

"I tried to stop the bots first chance I got." Fritz stammers. "I-I thought I had it... y'know, just... tried to make them stop. So nobody else would get hurt."

 

"And then you got fired. How convenient." Moira looks back at you, and then back Mercedes. "Do you believe this guy?"

 

"Well..." You shrug uneasily. "He was on the list." Mercedes said nothing.

 

"Well... whatever. I'm not listening to this buffoon." And with that, Moira storms off and out of sight as she turns the corner. In the moment of silence, you could still hear Jesse yammering on about showerheads. Mercedes quietly gets up from her seat in turn, slinking past you. You almost fail to realize she had even left.

 

"Mike, please, listen to me." You look back at Fritz - His face was destitute, heavy bags hanging off his eyelids. This was the face of a man who has gone through hell. "You believe me, right? And I know it's happened to you, too. I just know it."

 

You shift uncomfortably, building up the willpower to respond truthfully. "...maybe. Maybe." Close enough.

 

"I'm not taking the job, Mike. But I've got a plan." He eyes the room around him warily. "I'm coming back. I'm gonna see what's going on. Have you seen what this place looks like? It's too good, too expensive. You don't just bounce back like that after five dead kids and a missing frontal lobe."

 

Ooh, yeah.  The kids. You had previously found a bunch of old newspapers nestled in the desk in your office that had gone into detail about a series of disappearances at a Freddy's. They never did find the bodies, though.

 

"I want to find out what's really happening. If anything's happening. I just have a hunch there is. You trust me, right?"

 

You shrug. A genuine one this time. You just couldn't gauge what Fritz was thinking.

 

"Look, I don't want to put this burden on you, but I just wanna know there's somebody here on the same page as me." His lips quiver. "Don't trust anyone, Mike. And don't trust Freddy."

 

Normally, that would sound corny as fuck. But something about that sentence really managed to hit you.

 

He was right; nobody here could be trusted. You can't let your guard down; for all you knew, management would be more than happy to let you get stuffed into a suit like it was nothing.

 

You're just in this for the money. You've got to keep reminding yourself of that. No other options.

 

"Oh, Michael Schmidt?" Chad's voice was calling out, his head poking out from against the corner. "Could you come with me for a second, please?"

 

You turn back to Fritz as you walk away. His eyes were affixed to his feet, mouth trembling into a terrified scowl. You just hope he wasn't going to do anything dangerous.

 

Chad's face was as plastic as ever. "So, Schmidt, we were looking through your records, your history with us, your behavior in the workplace, all that stuff. We spent a long time trying to figure out where to put you. Now, this wasn't my decision - not in the slightest - but management has seen fit to put you back on the Night Watch. Welcome back!"

 

Fuuuuck.

 

 

You stumble out of the reception building, the pain in your chest beginning to make itself known once more. That kind of gnawing itch that always emerged when you were at your worst. This had to be one of those times, without a doubt.

 

Night Watch? What were they thinking?

 

Out of the frying pan and into the fire, your brain rationalizes. But you didn't need fancy sayings to explain away your fear.

 

The familiar animatronics right in front of you were the real reason for it.

 

"WHAT D'YA SAY, BONNIE?!" The chick's voice was shrill, infantile. Underneath her excitement and exasperation was a tinny, reverbrating garble. Like somebody talking through a speaker. "WANNA GIVE 'OUR NEW FRIENDS 'A SHOW?!"

 

"AND BEFORE OUR BIG DEBUT, TOO!" The rabbit lets out a saccharine giggle, paws streaming across the guitar hanging off his body. "OH, BUT THAT'S FINE! THAT'S WHAT WE'RE HERE FOR!" His voice was definitely male, but it was sickly sweet; a tad effeminate and soft-spoken, despite its robotic nature.

 

Standing before you was Bonnie and Chica, surrounded by a gaggle of young kids who were clawing and bounding up at the two massive, furry figures. It was like nothing had changed for all these years: the animatronics, the children, the screams of delight and cheer over the permanently chipper tones of their idols. The skeptical parents watching from the side, ready to whisk their young away at the first signs of something going awry.

 

They certainly didn't look all that different, either. Bonnie was as much of a purple rabbit as he was before, complete with his trademark red bowtie and guitar. Chica remained an oversized baby chick with her yellow suit and the instantly recognizable bib proclaiming 'LET'S EAT!' as boldly as words could manage.

 

And yet something felt safer about them. You couldn't see any seams in their suits exposing their true endoskeletal natures. The joints were placed in way that seemed to make it impossible for kids to get their limbs crushed by. And their faces seemed so much more emotive. Eyes whirring about, blinking away. Eyebrows waggling in all sorts of motions. Bonnie's ears flopping around like plants being blown about in the wind.

 

For a second, you had almost forgotten that these things used to try and murder you. Did they still feel that urge at night?

 

"Oh wow, looks like they got Bonnie and Chica out early." Moira had come out of nowhere, standing by your side. She had a look of pleasant surprise on her face. She did not look right with a look of pleasant surprise on her face. "Must have been all the kids."

 

No sigh of Freddy though, you just realize. That can't be good.

 

"OH BONNIE, YER' TOO KIND!" Chica waggles up and down in a giddy fashion. "'OH, B-BUT WHAT CAN WE DO?! THE PARK'S NOT READY YET!"

 

"RELAX, CHICA, YOU SILLY GOOSE!" Bonnie lets out another sing-songy snicker.

 

Chica lets out a mechanical sputter of surprise, looking almost offended. "Whuh-WHUAHAHA?! I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT I'M A CHICK, NOT A GOOSE!" A torrent of laughter echoes out from the crowd of kids. And then you notice Moira was chuckling alongside them. You felt like you were having a fever dream at this rate, your head clouding over from the sheer confusion of what was going on. You look back at the parents, hoping to share looks of befuddlement, but it was clear they were already beginning to warm up to the two aswell.

 

"I was reading up on this place." Moira remarks cheerfully. "Apparently, the bots roam during the day now. That's pretty neat."

 

"U-uh... aheheh..." You laugh nervously, trying to pass it off as agreement. "Y-eah, it is."

 

"Mike, are you okay? You look pale. Christ, you look like you've seen a ghost."

 

In all likelihood, you probably have. If the dead kids thing was to be believed. Or the golden Freddy.

 

Fuck, you wish had the answers for all this. Here you were, the only person who realizes the danger behind these animatronics. Their mirth was nothing more but a facade, you was sure of it.

 

And then Moira did the unthinkable.

 

"Hey! Hey Bonnie!" She was waving the rabbit over, hoping to grab its attention.

 

"Moira, please don't-"

 

And unfortunately, she did. Bonnie's head swivelled towards her, the rest of his body following as he makes his way forward, stomping at a slow and deliberate pace. You remember how huge the rabbit really was, towering over you by just a couple feet. Up this close, you could already notice the subtle differences in his suit. The two red buttons under his bowtie. The porcelain white buckteeth was sporting alongisde the large, threatening molars built into his jaw. The fibre whiskers stemming out from his muzzle, twitching at will. Same for the new eyebrows that had been grafted just above the sockets.

 

"HI, MOIRA!" Bonnie slides over to face you. "HI, MIKE!"

 

"W-woah-" You slip up as you try to get the words out. "Y-ooou-y-y-"

 

"-You know our names?" Moira finishes for you.

 

"OF COURSE I DO, SILLY! YOU TWO ARE GONNA BE WORKING WITH US, AREN'T YOU! YOU'RE GONNA HELP KEEP THINGS NICE AND SAFE!" He gives you a little, muffled clap with the massive mitts that consistuted his hands. "YOU'RE GONNA BE A PART OF THE FAMILY! YAAY!"

 

"Oh, I am having way too much fun here!" Moira strides past Bonnie, grin still plastered on her face.

 

She just left you alone. With Bonnie.

 

"Moira, wait-"

 

A noise makes you freeze up on the spot. You couldn't quite understand its meaning - but the first thing that came to mind was a death rattle. You look back at Bonnie.

 

He was just staring right at you. Through you, even. His eyelids were peeled back from the lazy expression he just had, fully exposing his pristine white eyeballs with their shrunken, seemingly startled, purple pupils. Not a single inch of his body was moving.

 

You deliberate on saying something, but you didn't want to make that risk. You just stood your ground. You were horribly anxious. Bonnie's face was unreadable. You catch sight of his paws gripping onto his guitar as hard as he could muster; it looked like he was almost about to snap the prop into two.

 

You kept noticing more nuances. His eyes were shuddering, every so slightly. It felt like he was holding his emotions back - if he even HAD emotions. Was he angry? Furious? Why? As you begin to blot out the world around you, you hear something else. Something wheezing out of the rabbit's speaker, nestled in the back of his 'throat'.

 

A stifled, creaking groan. It just kept going on. And on. It wouldn't stop.

You've heard it somewhere before.

 

It didn't matter if this Bonnie was friendly. Or safe. Or guaranteed not to take a bite out of some kid's head for kicks. Atleast during the day.

 

But you just knew - you just did - that this Bonnie was no different from the lapine monstrosity that had helped made your life hell two years ago.

 

You were just about ready for the robot to tear into your throat when something shrieks out from behind, nearly causing you to jump out your skin in the process. "HEY, HEY BONNIE!"

 

Chica was parked behind him, host to Moira and another handful of kids hovering about her. "MY' BUDDY MOIRA 'ERE WANTS TO KNO', 'WAT'S 'YER FAVORITE KIND O' PIZZA?!"

 

Bonnie's expression snaps back to normal, the content, spacey look on his face fading in as his eyes shift over to his sister in arms. "OH, CHICA, DON'T YOU ALREADY KNOW WHAT MY FAVOURITE KIND OF PIZZA IS?"

 

"WhuHWH- YEA' 'I DO', IT'S-" She pauses, tapping a finger on her beak nervously. "A-ACTUALLY, I-I DON'T..."

 

Another giggle from the bunny. "WELL, CHICA, WHEN IT COMES TO TOPPINGS, I LOVE THEM ALL!"

 

"Wh-WHAT?! YOU'RE JOKING!"

 

"OH, I DON'T LIE! I NEVER DO! HERE, LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT IT..." He pauses for dramatic effect, hand sliding across the guitar. "...WITH A SONG!"

 

And with that, a jaunty guitar tune begins to spill out from Bonnie's speaker, his hands miming the motions of playing the fake guitar. His body sways from side to side while Chica bobs her head up and down, The rest of her body firmly in place. It was enough to make the kids go wild, jumping up and down as they got ready for the time of their lives.

 

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH -- I LOVE FOUR CHEESE, PEPPERONI, MUSHROOM, ANCHOVIES, GREEN PEPPER, YELLOW PEPPER, RED PEPPER, I JUST LOVE 'EM AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALL!"

 

His voice had taken an explicable southern twang to go with the song. Just as he finishes the first verse, it was clear he was ready to go on. And it wasn't clear when he was gonna stop. Now was a good time to make yourself scarce.

 

You break off from the group as the kids begin to dance and sing alongside Bonnie, who was now listing off an enitrely new list of pizza toppings that he enjoys. "-HAWAIIAN, SEAFOOD, ONIONS, PESTO, PHILLY CHEESE, GREEN PEPPER, YELLOW PEPPER, RED PEPPER, I JUST LOVE 'EM AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALL!"

 

You had enough of this. You continue to distance yourself from the crowds as you make a dash for the exit. As you make the course, you foolishly decide to look back at the scene one last time.

 

Freddy was there the entire time.

 

He was quite a bit away from everyone else, but he was there. The massive, top hat wearing brown bear, complete the angular snout and head you had long since known him for. He was by himself, barring the sole, tiny kid - with no parents watching over him - who was hugging him. And he was hugging the bear way longer than he should have.

 

Freddy was looking right at you.

 

You never knew eyes as dead as his could have shown so much hatred.