Replacing a Defect

Replacing a Defect

Mangle X Reader (Femdom, Transformation)

---

 Chuck E Cheese this is not. It's halfway through the Bad Eighties, and your Summer job was already set to be crappy. It just managed to one up itself is all. Chuck E Cheese shut down in April, replacing it has to be the biggest dump you've ever seen. Oh sure, it's big, and elaborate, and has a damn big room plan, but there's something very... unnerving working nights here.

  The cameras in every room, monitoring... The massive gaping maw of a hallway, the way the confetti would somehow, like magic, manage to twirl from the party room and dance along the 'breeze' until it twirls about your 'office'. If you could even call it that, you're boxed in behind a desk at the end of a massive hallway.

  It's been two weeks and this job sucks. They call you a night guard, but you can't patrol. The first night you got a welt the size of a softball after that damn bear waltzed in right before your shift ended and in some weird freakout mode clocked you hard across the head. Locked up as soon as it hit dawn.

 Since then, the robots stopped being a problem. Going on horror stories apparently they have a history of killing people, whatever urban legend bullshit goes on. Well, apparently they are violent but...

  If they did kill anyone, those people were idiots. They have skeletons of aluminum and no center of balance. So after the first night of getting jumped by one, you've started coming in at 11:50 at night and tipping them over before each shift. All they do is walk into the floor in a confused daze for six hours.

 Why didn't anyone else do this? There was also that Mime doll in the box, who is currently enjoying said box with a twenty pound weight on the lid. Turns out stuffing isn't ideal for heavy lifting.

 You lean back in your office chair, resting your sneakers atop the desk, you have the stuffed toy of Freddy tucked under one arm, and a cigarette in the other, watching the hall. Sometimes, when it gets real late, you swear you see little golden faces and black shadows dance across the hallway. Probably just fatigue setting in.

  You take another puff, begging for the nicotine kick to wake you up a bit, it's four in the damn morning and there is absolute fuckall to do. The Toys are all on top of each other on their stage, those gross beaten up junk-heaps are on their backs in the storage room, that pale thing is pinned down in a box, the Balloon kid you just let roam around, he hasn't done anything to cause you trouble and he's kinda funny when he wobbles. Fourth day in he waddled to your desk and you feared there was going to be a real problem.

  Then he turned around, and returned with a bright blue balloon for you. You still have it tied around the handle of your Chevy.

  There's a girl one like the Balloon kid too, but she seems shy. Sometimes she pokes out from the broken vent to the right of your office but so much as a polite wave makes her scamper off. Poor thing must have a story.

  Overall, it's a shitty job, but you feel pretty proud at having effectively taken control over it.

  Tssssh-

  A massive set of fingers, segmented with pink, glossy tips, dripping, crush the cherry of your smoke.

  "Hey, I was-- Oh shit I missed one."

   The words leave your mouth with uncomfortable acceptance, pride cometh before the etc, etc. Dangling from the ceiling for who knows how long, three leg fixtures embedded into the ceiling so deeply it cracks through the drywall, is a fox.

  A big fox.

  A massive head tilts in a full 180 degree circle, rotating to face you eye to eye. One golden, the other a blackened, swollen 'replacement', white chipped paint with pink trim... Enough teeth to fill a chainsaw, sharp enough too. The creature's cheeks glow a faint red, matching the dusty bow-tie hanging so loosely around the rebar around its 'neck' it resembles a noose more than anything.

  "Well, well, well-- that's hardly fair language for a family establishment, isn't it?" Smarmy, yet almost jokey, feminine for certain but garbled. The next voice seemed to be from the same creature, but the tone was... tilted.

  "Do you want cancer, kid? Don't play with these." Blunt, deadpan, it takes a moment to realize that voice didn't come from the fox above you, but rather a skinned head before her, with an equally bright golden eye and a rattling jaw. Multiple jagged cuts are perforated from the skull. The hand tugs the cigarette from you and tosses it down the hallway.

  "You're the uh... first one to talk to me. Sorry about that smoke, won't happen again."

  "I doubt it. You got the look of a liar about you."

  "Please hush, you're always so... rude." The robot chastises itself as you slip the box of Camels back into your pocket.

  "Honest, I'll put 'em away, sorry- I just get sleepy mid-shift and--" And I'm talking to the robot that's going to try and kill me like we're coworkers.

  Well, the latter is pending, but given the track record, attempted murder is likely to be on the menu soon.

  "Tired, silly little thing. There's a coffee brewer in the break room, didn't they tell you?"

  The fox tilts her head, and before you can react, she grabs your cheeks, drawing close. Electric warmth and a faint bitter smell, like old diesel, fills your nostrils as her nose nearly touches yours. She finishes analyzing you and pulls away, releasing her remarkably strong grip.

  "Do you see it?"

  "I do. rings around the eyes. Not taking care of himself."

  "Silly little thing, don't you know when you work night shifts you have to work extra to take care of your health? You're pale as a sheet."

  "Well-- that's probably more because you scared me--"

  A finger presses against your lips, with enough force you nearly fall off your chair.

  "No excuses! You have to take care of yourself, and so long as you're under my care, you're going to start doing just that."

  "Three meals a day. Vegetables. Vitamins. At least fifteen minutes of sunlight." The endo lists off, bored.

  "Exactly! Just that, that'll put some pep in your step and then you'll be almost as vibrant as I am!"

 The creature puffs what you think is her (it is a her, right?) chest, or whatever block of hydraulic piping makes her 'chest' and gestures to her figure proudly. A small tail with a white puff at the end wags proudly.

 "Right but uh-- not to offend you Ma'am...?"

  "Mangle is fine. It's a bit derivative but at this point I'm quite used to it."

 "Right... Mangle." You cough to clear your throat, perspiring but not as scared as you probably should be at the nine foot creature above you. "Not to offend you, but my job description said I'm supposed to be taking care of you, and uh, the rest of the robots here. Which I do! Just... once I make sure they aren't primed to well, kill me."

  "They do have a nasty habit of killing people. Naughty things."

  "I blame the recession. Reagan has to go." The endo mutters.

  "Oh lord not this again, lookie here, Mister, if you're my 'guardian', then I better make sure you're fit to take care of me, shouldn't I?"

  "Well.."

  The creature's jaw unhinged and you flinch, until you realize what it is, the closest Mangle can create to a smile.

  "-And I'm completely right. If you can't leave your desk, I'm going to go ahead and fix you up some coffee, it's just two hours left. I don't mind you taking breaks, but I can't have you sleeping on shift!"

  "That's really not-- Oh. Oh wow."

  Stunned is what comes to mind. Having her in your face above you is one thing, but seeing so many hundreds of tiny parts lock, flex, grind, and twist to allow motion to this Mangle is both unsettling and incredible. She scales the ceiling like it's a minor inconvenience for her, creating little divots in the ceiling but never losing her grip. As she races down the hall, you collapse into a sweaty heap against your chair. You exhale slowly--

  "What the actual Hell."

 You hear the sound of clinking glass and shelves moving down the hall, there's no camera in the break-room. At least none you have access to. A part of you dreads that the robot is smashing all the dishes and cabinets and you're going to take the blame for it. The smarter part of you realizes that's better than being murdered by a giant fox robot. Despite this, as strange as she is, she didn't quite strike you as openly malicious... Very strange all the same though, clearly she'd been through some sort of ringer. There was a sort of pathetic look to her despite the clear reality that she could easily tear your throat out.

  For some reason, having her prepare you something is a bit embarrassing. Like it should be the other way around-- but with like, oil or something.

 "You really don't have to do that- I'm wide awake, really!"

  "Shush. It's our first proper meeting, and it's only fit to bond over something warm." There was a tense... edge to her voice- she seemed very cross at having her idea objected to. A nervous palpitation rattles your heart as you have to remind yourself that even if this one seems 'civil', you need to navigate communication with her like a goddamn minefield.