Reward (Request)

Chica was the newest addition in a long line of “newest additions” to the Freddy Fazbear brand. From Little Joe to Gypsy Jennie, the management had attempted to spice up the on stage dynamic. But these newcomers were often short lived, or they were moved onto something else. Such is the case with Ballora, who was incorporated into the then-unrealized Circus Baby Pizza World. Or Funtime Foxy, who was swiftly destroyed shortly after her attempted integration.

One might think it was the corporate side of Freddy’s that dictated these changes. A boardroom of suits, catering things to the whims of the lowest common denominator. And they might be correct. But there’s also another side to this problem.

At 4 am, Freddy, Bonnie, and Foxy had caught the newest night guard. She struggled, and kicked and begged and cried like an unruly child. But it was no use. There was no way out of it. The trio needed somebody, and she just happened to be the one on-site after hours.

At 4:05 am, the new guard was effectively restrained. And at 4:10 am, Chica stood before the bound night guard. Freddy held the right arm and right leg in place, while Foxy’s hook was wrapped around her shoulder and the left leg was subdued with the other hand. Bonnie was sliding pieces of a Chica suit onto her body from the feet up, to demonstrate. Sometimes, the new ones don’t understand what’s going on, or they do see it and attempt to stop it. Chica’s calm stare was indicative of an understanding, and her passivity demonstrated a certain appreciation.

Bonnie stepped back from the bucking, pleading mess, and looked at Chica. Chica stepped forward, and picked up two thigh shells. And then she got to work. After a while, the guard stopped fighting so much and went limp. There were a few twitches occasionally, but the animatronics never needed to hold her steady again. Before Chica put the helmet on the guard, she put the “Let’s Eat!” bib on the suit’s chest. The whiteness and crisp, yellow letters were distinct and perfect. They were clean and pleasing to the eye.

Chica swung up the front half of the helmet, and placed the back half against the guard’s back half. The guard’s face had a relaxed, peaceful look to it. Chica didn’t contemplate what kind of person she was before coming here. Chica didn’t really think about the guard. All she could think about as she swung down the front half of the helmet like a waffle maker and coated the bib in blood was how distorted the bib would be. How the whiteness had given way to red, and the yellow letters were now fuzzy.

Chica didn’t need a handshake or pat on the back when she left the room; the trio’s passivity and the fact she could leave the room at all told her all she needed to know.