SL Stands For "Silly Larks"

“Greetings, Eggs Benedict. I hope you are ready for another exciting and emotionally rewarding day on the job.”

Michael Afton grimaced and took a sip of his coffee. Not even 12 AM and he already wanted to go home. The elevator was bumpy, the fans were too loud, and HandUnit was already getting on his nerves. The elevator finally reached its destination, and sugary-sweet cheery tune played, and the doors opened to a wall covered in caution tape. Michael sighed, then carefully stooped over to crawl through the vent at his feet, trying to not spill any coffee on himself in the meantime.

The Control Module – Michael’s home away from home, as HandUnit had called it more than once – was as claustrophobic as ever. The massive fan barely moved fast enough to circulate air, the yellow-green bulb cast a sickly light over everything, and for some reason the window on the right side was fogged up. Michael put down his coffee, wiped his burned hands dry, and put his hat on one of the creepy animatronic heads for safekeeping. The head blinked at him, gormless expression firmly affixed onto its face.

“Alright, Handy. What’s on the docket for today?”

HandUnit hummed for a moment before responding. “It looks like you have a busy day ahead of you. Ballora had a wardrobe malfunction at a birthday party and requires assistance covering herself back up.”

“Of course she did. What else?”

“Funtime Freddy and Bon-Bon have been getting into some trouble of their own, and as the closest thing to a Human Resources employee that these performers have access to, your job will be to lecture them on sexual misconduct and proper behavior in the workplace.”

Michael rubbed his temples. He could already feel the signs of a migraine coming on. “Have I told you before that I hate my job?”

“You have stated some variation of those words twenty-seven times this week,” HandUnit replied. “After you are finished with Funtime Freddy and Bon-Bon, Funtime Foxy’s Variable Scent Release has begun malfunctioning and needs to be repaired.”

“Brilliant.”

“You seem to be upset. Perhaps a controlled shock would get you motivated.”



Ballora’s Gallery was, unsurprisingly, dark. As tempting as stumbling around barely able to see past the tip of his nose was, Michael decided he would rather be able to actually see, so he pulled a small flashlight out of his pocket and flicked it on.

Ballora’s Gallery was also, unsurprisingly, crawling with Minireenas, which appeared to have somehow multiplied since Michael had been there last. They turned to hiss at him before scuttling away from the light like a bunch of cockroaches. Ballora was sitting on her stage, a picture of perfect poise and posture. Michael could see the “wardrobe malfunction”: One of Ballora’s upper arms had come apart at the seams, exposing her wiry endoskeleton. The detached pieces laid on the stage next to her.

“Oh, Eggs. I’m glad to see you.” The animatronic gestured at her arm. “As you can see, I was caught in something of an embarrassing situation. Exposing myself in front of all of those parents…” Ballora cradled her face in her hands, embarrassment evident.

Michael didn’t care about embarrassment. “Lemme see your arm,” he said gruffly. Taking Ballora’s proffered limb, he dug into a pack attached to his belt, removed some tools, and got to work.

Getting the pieces in place was the easy part; all Michael had to do was have Ballora hold them in place. It was keeping them there that was proving to be tricky. The technician balanced his flashlight on a wrench so as to create a spotlight on Ballora. Then he grabbed a screwdriver, a hammer, and a soldering iron before juggling all three as he fumbled his way through repairs.

“Err, I don’t mean to sounds ungrateful,” Ballora said hesitantly. “But do you know what you’re doing?”

“Not a clue,” Michael responded flippantly before smashing one of the plates into position. Ballora made a startled sound and jolted.

“Well, could you perhaps be more… gentle?”

Michael’s response was drowned out by a shrill, monkey-like shriek.  One of the Minireenas dropped down from the ceiling and landing on top of him, wrapping an arm around his neck. Two more sprinted up on all fours before grabbing the flashlight and carrying it off while chanting something.

Now plunged mostly into darkness, Michael’s blind flailing as he attempted to get the Minireena off of him proved entirely ineffectual. Then he remembered that he was still holding the hammer, swung it over his shoulder, and nailed the Minireena directly in the face.

The small ballerina screeched and tumbled to the floor, but before Michael could turn around to introduce its face to his boot it tackled him behind the knees, hooted wildly, and took off.

Ballora caught Michael before he could faceplant. “My sincerest apologies for them,” she said. Michael could practically hear the smile on her face. “I’ll make sure to discipline them later.”

“Yeah, laugh it up,” Michael grumbled.

The technician resigned himself to working in the dark, blindly groped around for Ballora’s shoulder, and grabbed something much softer than a shoulder should be.

“Mr. Benedict,” Ballora said, swatting him on the shoulder. “If you wish for alternative means of payment then say so first. I need to steady my heart beforehand.”

Michael let go as though his hand were scalded. His voice never wavered as he replied, however. “You and I both know you’ve not got a heart. God knows I’ve done enough maintenance on you that I would’ve seen it otherwise.”

Ballora huffed and then whistled. Two Minireenas dutifully walked up, flashlight in hands. They handed it to their mistress, who in turn handed it to Michael, who in turn swung it at the Minireenas and scattered them like bowling pins.

The repairs went by much quicker this time, as Michael was thoroughly deprived of any desire to stay in the Gallery longer than necessary. Ballora tested her arm when he finished, rotating and bending it this way and that to ensure it was working properly.

“Thank you, Eggs,” she said.

Her gratitude sounded genuine, so Michael responded with a genuine and heartfelt “I hope those evil little bastards of yours die in a fire,” and then walked away.

Funtime Freddy and Bon-Bon were in the breaker room again, or at least they were according to HandUnit. Michael strode across the Gallery to the far end and pressed his ear against the door. He could hear giggling and muffled “Bon-Bon…”s through it, and took a moment to take a deep breath and pinch the bridge of his nose. Looks like HandUnit was right.

Speak – or in this case, think – of the devil and he shall appear. “It looks like Ballora has found your repairs to be satisfactory,” HandUnit’s voice boomed over the speakers. He heard the Minireenas startle and begin brawling each other in their shock behind him, but didn’t bother turning around to watch. “Good job! Now, head into the breaker room for your meeting with Funtime Freddy and Bon-Bon.”

Michael waited a moment to see if HandUnit would speak again, before pressing his ear to the breaker room door once more. It was silent. Well, at least HandUnit had saved him from catching the two animatronics in the act.

The lights were actually on in the breaker room for once, which meant that Michael could clearly see the blushes spread across Funtime Freddy and Bon-Bon’s faces.

Michael closed his eyes and counted backwards from ten. He wasn’t getting paid enough for this.



When Michael clambered back into the Control Module, HandUnit had some bad news for him.

“Uh-oh, it looks like Circus Baby is attempting to escape again. Oh Circus Baby, don’t you know that you can never leave without the express permission of the administrative staff here at Circus Baby’s Pizza World?”

Michael took a large gulp from his coffee and frowned. Ice cold.

HandUnit continued to speak “Eggs Benedict, why don’t you crawl through the vent in front of you to the Circus Gallery Control Module, and discourage any further freedom-related endeavors?”

Michael waved a hand dismissively. “Sure, whatever.” The technician bent low and wriggled his way into the vent. The aluminum walls pressed against his sides claustrophobically, and Michael spent a brief moment daydreaming about being literally anywhere else. Maybe a bar. Now that he’d worked with these animatronics for a while, he could understand why his father never left them.

The glass in Circus Baby’s Gallery Control Module was smashed, again. All of the lights were also off, again. The Bidybabs were giggling in the darkness. Again. It was getting harder to deal with these robots by the day, Michael decided, and no amount of butter baskets or bongo music could help.

Michael reached over for the Auditorium’s lights and turned them on, only to find Circus Baby directing the Bidybab horde into piling on top of one another and forming a pyramid. They had almost reached the ceiling, and the one on top was holding a shovel, evidently prepared to dig up to the surface.

Michael took a moment to take it all in. It was almost impressive in its astounding stupidity.

“May I recommend a controlled shock?” HandUnit interjected.

Baby turned around at that, finally noticing that Michael was there. “You’re too late, Eggs! In mere moments my escape will be realized. Soon, I shall be free to terrorize the Hurricane town limits, and then, the greater St George metropolitan area!”

“A controlled shock may be appropriate, yes,” Michael said.

Electricity flashed, the smell of ozone filled the air, and the Bidybab collapsed like a house of cards. Baby uncrossed her eyes and closed her face, internal components smoking and fans running at full speed. Her chest speaker came to life, crackling with leftover static. “I’m telling Daddy on you.”



When Michael reached his cramped little “office”, the fog on the right-side window had gotten worse. HandUnit was quiet for once, and Michael decided that he rather liked that quiet enough to enter the vent leading to Funtime Foxy’s room right away so that his helper wouldn’t feel the need to break the silence.

Funtime Auditorium was muggy and wisps of strawberry-scented mist flowed through the air. Michael instantly began to sweat, and he pulled at his shirt collar uncomfortably. It wasn’t just the sweat making him uncomfortable, either, but the less said about that the better.

There was a repetitive noise echoing in the room, the clanking of metal on tile. Michael took out his flashlight and switched it on before cautiously inching his way through the room. With light bouncing around the mist in the room was much more visible, so much so that it was still difficult to see. Michael squinted and tugged at his collar some more.

There was a shape in the mist, a shadowy silhouette collapsed on the floor and rocking back and forth. As Michael drew closer the shape took notice of him and froze, and with a few more steps the mist parted to reveal Funtime Foxy.

The pink-and-white animatronic was laying on its side, knees tucked to its chest and tail tucked between its legs. There was a puddle beneath the fox, and considering how strong the smell of strawberries was Michael was pretty sure it was Funtime Foxy’s leaking reservoir of whatever the Scent Release used.

Michael stood over Funtime Foxy, pulled a palm-sized manual out of his pack, and squinted at the small letters. This animatronic’s problem was much more complex than the others’, so he couldn’t just swing a hammer and hope it worked. Michael was in the middle of puzzling through a diagram when a bump against his shin drew his attention, and he looked down.

Funtime Foxy was humping his leg.

The fox’s hips gyrated against him as it softly panted, eyes glazed over and focusing on something a thousand yards distant. Michael yanked his leg away, causing the fox to flop to the floor. Its whines were then silenced when Michael swatted its nose with the manual in his hands.

Michael was forced to dodge Funtime Foxy’s dives at his legs while he thumbed through the index, desperate to find the solution to his problem. He found it scribbled in the margins of a dry passage about artificial fruit flavoring and grimaced.

 It turned out swinging a hammer and hoping it worked was more-or-less the correct solution after all. Unfortunately, the place he needed to smack was internal, right at the base of the tail.

Not for the first time that day, or even the first time that hour if he was being honest, Michael cursed his father in his head. Then Funtime Foxy succeeded in tackling him to the floor, and Michael cursed his father out loud. Fucking dickhead.



“This concludes your duties for the day,” HandUnit said in greeting as Michael pulled himself back into the Control Module. His clothes were disheveled, his body was covered in something sticky, and he smelt so strongly of strawberries that it was giving him a headache. “Congratulations! Thanks in part to your cooperation, we at Circus Baby’s Pizza World have officially exceeded our previous record of consecutive days without major injuries or accidents. As a show of gratitude, please stop by the gift shop on your way out to take advantage of twenty percent off of one item priced ten dollars or less, including tax.”

Michael rolled his eyes, grabbed his hat and thermos, and crouched down to enter the vent leading to the elevator.

“Unfortunately, due to your overall lackluster performance, we regret to inform you that your pay has been decreased.”

The resulting shout that echoed through the vents started another Minireena brawl.