Trinity

"Fazbear's friends are here to help!", said a feminine robotic voice;  the source immersed in darkness. The triumphant declaration bounced off of the hallway's walls and towards the office, mingled with the spinning of over-taxed fans and the stomping of metal feet on the tile flooring.

The sobbing persisted. Bonnie stopped, standing by the merry go-round. Somebody’s been crying. If there was a boo-boo, there was a problem. No matter if it was a child, or an adult like the situation that occurred in the daytime a while ago. She could remember very little during and before the situation, only that it was very unpleasant.  As she walked towards the party tables,  Bonnie didn’t think too hard about why. She just had a bad feeling about “a while ago”. Looking back on it, she’s had a lot of bad feelings about things a while ago, like Foxy’s departure.

Bonnie didn’t want to dig deeper, though. She was Bonnie, and was the guitarist of the Fazbear Three who were the “Best in the West” as Chica liked to say.  The Boy gave out balloons and did little else, Pinny the Puppet handed out prizes, and Foxy mostly dwelled in her corner until she left a day ago. That was all that really mattered, except for helping this kid feel better.

 Bonnie paused, and listened, now that she was closer to the origin. The cries were coming from the security room, where Mr. Fitzgerald and Mr. Smith used to work. Now that there weren’t any security guards inside, the room was usually pitch black which makes no sense for someone to be there, much less for a kid.

“Hello!” shouted Bonnie. She received no reply, but heard footsteps clapping down the halls across the pizzeria, followed by a door slam.  Bonnie wondered if it was Foxy, running down the halls as she so often loved to do before the accident, until she remembered the morning after the Bad Thing happened.

Foxy wasn’t herself, was being carried off by adults to somewhere in a cart. And as Bonnie was getting back on stage for a show, she watched them carry her out the door.

Foxy hasn’t returned yet.

Bonnie forced the bad thoughts out of her mind again. The child mattered more.

Hellloooo!” Bonnie shouted again. Saying this hurt her a bit, somehow. The extra pressure on the body, perhaps? Bonnie wasn’t used to having to stress her vocalizing chip this way.

The blue robot walked towards the security room, and entered the hallway. Her cries bounced off the walls; she was getting closer to the child. Bonnie activated her night-vision senses, as her pupils dilated substantially. The child was slumped against the metal desk in a grainy, slightly green tinted feed.

 Bonnie walked forward.

"Hey kiddo, what's wrong? I can put a band-aid on it!” Bonnie said, trying to sound chipper. The boy’s lack of response unnerved her a little; usually most children reacted to them when they heard them.

He was sobbing. Next to him in the darkness was a shifting shadow. Pinny the Puppet had arrived before her.  He touched the child’s arm with one hand and moved a bit closer to get a better look. When Bonnie stepped into the office’s doorway, he turned his mask towards her, and climbed to the ceiling, where his strings were. Backing off, it seemed. Was the child a biter? The rowdier kids had a tendency for that sometimes, Bonnie thought as she continued to walk towards the troubled tyke.

“What’s wrong?”

The child made no acknowledgement of Bonnie or Pinny. He kept weeping.

Bonnie crouched down next to the child to get a better look. She reached out a hand, and he turned towards her in response to the touch.

His neck.

There was a sizable chunk scooped out of it. Bonnie could see the inside strings yield and bend in response to his cries.

But the children and adults- they were not robots, they did not have pumps and machinery and gears that kept them ticking despite the trauma.

 It was pizza sauce. Oil. Strawberry ice cream.  It had to be SOMETHING other than a child’s....

This couldn’t be happening, not after Jeremy.

Still, the child was here. He was sobbing, yes, but still alive? No. His skin had a pallid color to it, washed out of any  normal and healthy skin tone children may possess.

Pinny was on the floor again, the flexible body crackling with each graceful moevemnt. Only, he wasn’t himself. He was different. His back faced Bonnie, as his mask swiveled down to look at the child.

It swiveled around to face Bonnie.

The being extended a long, dark arm towards Bonnie, and it slithered between the cracks of her costume until Bonnie felt something tear inside her. She suddenly could not move. She could not speak or even blink, and stood rooted to the spot like a tree, watching the events unfold.
The Puppet withdrew its arm, with a dark red staining it’s hand, and something small and shiny. It swam out of the pool within the hand, and dropped onto the floor below. It, and a few other blood-drenched pieces of skull rolled into one of the cracks between floor tiles.


For that brief instance, Bonnie knew it wasn’t pizza sauce or strawberry ice cream.

Pinny put his fingers into the child’s wound and dug around the muscles while staring into it’s pitch black eyes. The child ceased with his relentless weeping and rolled over onto his side.The Puppet turned his face away towards the child, and dug it’s hand inside of Bonnie again. Bonnie thought about only two things in that instant- that she could move again, and that Pinny killed a child.

Bonnie  lunged for the Puppet, and  was thrown back against the wall upon contact with the form, which was now a writhing mass of black and white. An indentation was made in the wall against a poster of Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica.

The Puppet advanced in return, and threw itself aggressively upon her. The tearing sensation was felt once more, but throughout every little detail of her shell. She felt components being removed, but could not fight back or resist. Like bleach, it cleansed the suit. Bonnie’s night vision feed was reduced to static and eventually nothing as she shut down; her animatronic “brain” having been crushed inside of it’s endoskeletal shell. She backed up against the wall, and eventually slumped against it.

The Puppet lifted the child’s corpse, and took it into the kitchen. Lying against a table was Freddy; the rosey cheeks and red band on his hat the color of the blood dripping off of the table above him. The Puppet lowered the child onto the table, and began to work.

In the morning, Bonnie remembered nothing, and suspected nothing, besides Toy Freddy being very quiet at night and during the day. Besides that, nothing was amiss, until Jeremy Fitzgerald returned.