Interlude (ICM 3)

The rest of William Afton’s Sunday  was uneventful. Even on the weekend, mothers and fathers did not let their children out of their sight, even to fetch something as innocuous as ice cream. Their constant vigilance came as an annoyance to William H. Afton, though were they not watching he still wouldn’t have acted. He was merely driving from neighborhood to neighborhood, serving ice cream and gauging the area.

It’s people, it’s inhabitants, were separate enough. Big, wealthy homes with nice, big divisions on the property. Long grass lawns broke them apart.  As he drove home, he let himself smile a little. He would come back later in the week. And he would succeed. As he pulled into his home, sequestered inside an abandoned warehouse, he thought of all the things he would do later in the week. It got him excited.

The warehouse wasn’t too big. Were you to drive past it, you probably wouldn’t notice it. It had a garage door that opened to accommodate the van, and was on the outskirts, in a particularly neglected part of town. Few people lived near, and that was just how William liked it. Peace and quiet. Perfect for maintaining his machines, too.

Usually, they murmur the first few days. At least to William. He hears things. Aggressive voices, whenever he uses or even walks by one of them. Jeremy was furious the first few weeks. Whenever William used him, he would feel an ice-cold sensation, or a burning hot touch on his fingers. Eventually, he came around though, and now all the scooper does is make a faint flash of cold.

The larger and more complicated the technology is, William inferred, the more control it had, and thus, the more likely it was to rebel. The Chocomaker for instance, still talked a little. Yelping on rare occasions, but hissing as well. Shouting out, and cursing William, with chocolate dripping from it’s pink, segmented lips. Lamenting what William had reduced her to. The Chocomaker never learned, unlike Jeremy or the Red Queen. And that would be her downfall, if she persisted in her outbursts.

The Red Queen cannot speak. She did not have a mouth, unlike the Chocomaker. But she could still listen. Which is why her mistake troubled William. He had trained her better. She was like a daughter to him, following her maker in unwavering loyalty, fulfilling his every request. Was it malicious neglect, or merely human error? That’s what William wanted to know.

William lifted the Red Queen off the shelf in the back room, and opened the back of the van. He disembarked, and looked around at his home. Walls of machinery lined the back end of the home, about 30 feet from where William stood.  They were mostly all ice cream tools, of various complexity, age, and stages of disrepair, gifted with unique individuality. Dangling light bulbs hung from the ceiling, and illuminated the building in dim yellow.

He brought the Red Queen over to a pit, dug into the floor. A mishmash of wires, circuitry, and gore resided in it, some parts of it seeming like they’re quivering. He held it above the pit with both hands.

“My fingers could slip, and I could leave you in there for a very long  time,” William said as he looked straight at the Queen.  “I don’t need you. You’re here for convenience, remember that.”

He breathed in deep, and brought her over to a chair. He placed the ice cream maker on the concrete ground, and set on a chair in front of it. “I am going to ask you questions,” William said. “Pecan for yes. Sprinkles for no.”

“Do you understand why we are here, having this discussion?”
Pecan dropped from one of the nozzles, after a one second pause.
“Did you mess up on purpose?”
Sprinkles rained from the same nozzle.
“Are you lying?”
Sprinkles rained, again.

“Do you think you have a fair amount of control over your body?
Sprinkles shot out, more violently than the last time.

William stood up out of the chair, and walked over to his bed.
“One last question. Do you hate me?”
He heard a loud clattering noise, as nuts bounced on the concrete.
“I appreciate the honesty. Good night.” he said.

William’s  “bed” was a mattress in the corner of the room, with a mass of blankets at one end, and two pillows at the other. He took off everything but his underwear, as he went to sleep, listening to the voices lull him. Today was productive enough. Tomorrow he would work at home, and buy groceries. Then on Tuesday, he would hunt.