Pretty Fazpone's

      You are a unicorn technician for the Pretty Fazpone Entertainment organization, the country’s largest owner of kid friendly restaurants. Sadly the local Fazpone Pizzeria was condemned and you were commissioned with the task of deactivating the animatronics for later scraping. It’s a shame too, you used to go to this particular establishment when you were a child. You were the only unicorn technician in the area, and this can give your apprentice, Sparkplug, some hands on experience. The company needs unicorns for the maintenance of the automatons’ memory cores. The magically enhanced gems stored important bits of memory, such as songs to sing, walk cycles, and faces of customers. The gems didn’t come without a few… glitches. When the gems become too full of memories they must be drained of their magic and replaced with new magic. If this isn’t done then problems arise. Sometimes something as minor as the animatronic won’t function properly, to as major as the automaton’s head would explode, or it would funnel the excess magic through its optic lenses, shooting it out in a beam. The rest of the maintenance can be done by anypony, but the gem has to be taken care of by a well-trained unicorn. You went through several years of schooling and apprenticeship to get to your current position, and you hope to pass that knowledge onto Sparkplug.

    Sparkplug is a stallion barely out of colthood. He isn’t the brightest, but he sure is determined to get this job. He grew up in a small town just south of Canterlot, one without any sort of Fazpone establishment. Your heart goes out to the kid, so eager to get to work. He was practically bouncing next to you as you both walked through the humble streets of Hooferville.

   “Can you tell me about Pretty Fazpone’s Pizzeria?” He asked excitedly. You can tell he was still a child at heart by the way he asked.

   “Well,” You begin, “The place was always packed with kids, running, screaming, so-on. The food wasn’t that good to be honest, but that was never the reason anyone went. The main attraction was the animatronic stage shows. The characters would dance and sing, sometimes coming off stage and interacting with the kids afterwards.”

   “What were they like?” Sparkplug asked. He had calmed down, now intently listening to the retelling of your childhood experiences with Fazpone’s.

  “They were colorful and kid-friendly. They all had very static personalities and were very playful when interacting with the kids. But there was always something eerie about them. The glow of the memory gems behind their lifeless glass eyes. Each year going back the animatronics became more and more disheveled. Their fur became discolored, the endoskeletons began to show. I’m surprised the place didn’t get shut down sooner.”

   Sparkplug fell silent, somewhat meeked by the story. It didn’t help that the sun was sitting low on the horizon and would soon descend. It’s gave the whole ordeal a somewhat spooky undertone. You yourself even felt a slight bit on edge considering you were the one who picked this as the closing activity of the day.

   The ex-manager of the establishment was waiting for you outside of the pizzeria. A middle-aged stallion with heavy bags under his eyes and a poorly worn smile. Seeing you approaching he quickly trotted towards you,

   “Finally you’re here,” He reached into the front pocket on his leisure suit, pulling out a set of keys, “All the robots need to disabled. The scrappers are coming tomorrow to pick them up.”

    He handed you the keys and sped off, not even giving you a chance to open your mouth. You turn to Sparkplug, who just shrugged and walked up to the front door. Above it was the signature Pretty Fazpone’s logo. The words were stylized cursive and a brightly colored mare was peeking through the O in Fazpone’s. She bore an inviting smile and adorable rosy cheeks. The corners of your mouth turned up slightly at her sight. The paint on the sign was cracked and chipping away, but she still sat there, beaming brighter than the sun.

   Shaking yourself out of your daydream you resume the task of opening the doors. Using your levitation you place the key in its corresponding hole and turn it. With a click and a push the doors swing open. What little light shown in through the windows illuminated the dining area, full of empty tables and chairs. The walls were covered with crayon drawings of the animatronics by the kids. On the far side of the large room was the stage. A dingy red curtain is draped over the performance area, cutting off view to the back stage.

   “The maintenance room are most likely backstage.” You gesture with your hoof, “Let’s go.”

    You begin to trot through the maze of dusty tables, but you notice only your hoofsteps. Turning back you see Sparkplug still in the doorway, knees wobbling, looking around nervously. You clear you throat loudly in hopes of getting his attention. Nothing. You try again, even louder this time. Again, nothing. Final you loudly slam your forehoof to the floor. His eyes widen and snap to you. Without saying a word you give him an authoritative look. He understands and sheepishly follows in your hoofsteps, still glancing around in paranoia.

   You reach the show stage and climb up the side stairs. You stop center stage and peer out over the empty establishment. You begin to imagine what it would have been like to be one of those robots during the glory days of this place. The happy faces of the foal weaving between the tables, eating cake and pizza as their parents watching with smiles on their face. But now… now it’s just a crumbling heap waiting to get demolished, your old, dare you say, “friends” waiting to be melted down to make horseshoes and screws. Their memories discarded like old newspapers, and you’re the one responsible for taking that away. It weights heavy on your heart.

   Trying to remove the thought from your head you turn to the red curtain. Using your magic you grip on the side and pull it open slightly. As you do so dirt and rust drift down from the slider the curtain runs along, making a horrid squeak and several sounds of clattering metal. As you step into the dark shadow of backstage your nose is assaulted by the intense smell of mold and mildew. Using your magic you bring your shirt collar over your nose to mask it and proceed further inside. Sparkplug practically had his head up your flank, being so close to you. He kept peeking around your side, jumping at any noise that this old place produced. As you get further and further backstage it, becomes harder to see. Using some basic magic you produce and orb of light to help guide your way.

   You make your way passed the kitchen. As you do so you see several mice run along a pipe just above the door. It was leaking ambiguous green sludge, most likely the old soda pipes for the “bar” out front. You hear the little plinking of the mice’s toes on the hollow pipe as the move out of the reach of your light.

   You and your cowardly companion finally reach the maintenance room. As per Pretty Fazpone Protocol: All animatronic arranged for decommission are to be placed in the maintenance room and put into permanent sleep mode. You levitate the keys out in front of you and place them in the keyhole. Upon doing so, with the slight pressure you applied, the door squeaks open. Sparkplug starts having a mini freakout, but you just shrug and push the door open. You place the keys on the hooks just to the side of the door. Inside sit the forgotten corpses of the old animatronics, each pealed down to their endoskeletons and left to rust. A faint glow comes from each and every one of their empty eye sockets and slightly exposed “brain” cases. You step up to the one nearest the door and flick the leaver the opens the metal skull, revealing the memory crystal inside. Lowering your head you aim your horn at the crystal. Slowly the magic seeps from the stone and surrounds your horn. The process take several long minutes until the crystal is little more than a pretty rock. You do this with each of the automatons until you reach one about halfway through the bunch. It has another strewn across its lap. As you approach it, it springs up, the one over its lap deafeningly clatters to the floor, the sound echoing through the facility.
   “He-he-he-hello, ffffffffriend! Wha-what’s your n-name?” It stammers out in a cheerful, yet horrifying static tone.
   “Initiate Protocol: Nightmare Alicorn Pegasus!” You say in a clear, almost authoritative tone. The robot freezes up and begins to tip over, but you catch it with your magic, preventing it from making any unnecessary noise.
   That was the first time you have ever needed to use the Nap Protocol, and you’re rather proud of yourself for remembering it. You turn back to you apprentice with a smug smile only to find him nowhere in sight. You step back out into the backstage hallway and look both ways, but still don’t find him. Silencing yourself, you listen and pick up on the faint sound of his hoofsteps. They sound like they’re coming from the main dining area. The sound of the rusty door squealing open then slamming shut confirms it. You chuckle to yourself as you turn back to finish your work. You probably find him at Fazpone HQ, resigning from his apprenticeship. You take one step back into the door, then it hits you. Without looking you run you hand under the key hooks. Nothing. The keys were gone.