Chapter Text
***Two Weeks Before Grand Opening***
Much of the restaurant was still in disarray. Plastic sheeting draped over the machines, lined the floors and hung from the half-tiled ceilings. Paint cans clustered around the walls, shadowing half finished murals of monsters and warriors clashing in (hopefully) fantastic battle. Boxes littered the ground, all in various stages of open, half-empty, and empty. Toolkits spread out over every single table like doctor’s instruments on an operating deck. It certainly didn’t look like the next big arcade and animatronic themed pizza restaurant. Hell, it didn’t look like much of anything.
"I know, I know, it doesn’t look like much now, but trust me, Achievelandia Fantasy Fun World is going to be the place to go for kids of all ages! We've really outdone ourselves this time. Pulled out all the stops!"
J.J. looked around, entirely unconvinced. "Uh huh."
His manager (who didn't seem to have a name or had at least forgotten to tell him) tutted and folded his arms. "C'mon, where's your sense of adventure, Castillo?"
He shrugged. "I'm just daytime security, y'know? All the PR shi...stuff doesn't really matter to me."
"No, no, no! You're not just security! You're the guardian of this noble palace! The custodian of all our wonderful characters!"
'Yeah, you're not drinking the fucking Kool-Aid or anything.'
Outwardly, he said, "More like custodian of the dumping grounds."
"Like I said, this will look much, much better in the coming weeks. We have a few last touches here and there, have to get in all the computers and whatnot, and Mr. Sorola wants to oversee the activation of the bots himself. All very doable! We’re on track for our grand opening, and that’s really all that matters!”
The manager walked up to the main stage. It was styled to look like aged flagstones, and the faux wooden sign beneath it had "The High Court" scribed upon it in gold lacquer. Four figures stood motionless on stage, flanked by red velvet curtains and covered in opaque whitish tarpaulins. J.J. could only just glimpse their individual colors through the murk. A hint of forest green here, a dash of muddy brown there. This was their main attraction, their crown jewel, their pride and joy, and boy were they showing it off.
Upon reaching the stage, the manager ripped the sheets away one by one. J.J. hadn't actually seen any of the animatronics before, and he hardly wanted to now. The less he had to deal with the bots, the better. Man, first impressions weren't going too great, either. All of them appeared to be made completely out of plastic, a way to appear more toy-like and less threatening, he heard, but the effect, he felt, was more...freaky than anything else. Like they'd been dipped in an entire tub of Vaseline. The effect worked for the armor piece several of them were wearing, but for the cloth and fur...ugh. It was just gross.
"Now, the final stage roster isn't permanent just yet. Plus these animatronics are state of the art! Programmed to wander around and interact with all the customers, young and old alike! So lifelike you could mistake them for the real thing! Ha ha!" The manager leaned up against the lead robot and tapped his yellowy-golden faceguard. "Cost a pretty penny, I can tell you. Nothing else like them on the market, the next level of animatronic entertainment!"
Sure.
To J.J., they just looked like plastic robots. Freaky, but otherwise unremarkable.
***One Week Before Grand Opening***
Though there was still disarray, much of the chaos had resolved into a functional animatronic restaurant and arcade. Fully realized fantastic scenery glistened on every wall, the plastic sheeting had been removed and thrown away, the carousel with the cutsey barn animals spun and played tinkly music to perfection, and posters lined what few white walls remained.
Not that every tick on the checklist had been marked off. The registers had to be installed, all the cabinets needed to be wired up, the computers were still shipping out to them, and Mr. Sorola hadn’t managed to find time to come activate the robots, so they remained motionless beneath their tarps. Then there was all the schedule making for the employees and the event calendars and all the parties already booked into the system…it was going to be a long week, for sure.
On Monday, the normally humdrum and uneventful work ground to a halt with the low groaning sound of a heavy goods vehicle. All five workers put down their tools and moved into the entryway to investigate. A large black eighteen-wheeler had pulled up in the parking lot, and several men in dark suits opened its door and pushed dollies into its depths. The store manager stood outside and talked with one of the men. Sadly, they were much, much too far away to make out what they were saying.
Then came the crates.
There were five of them all together. Each on its own towered over the man pushing it, and little beads of sweat beaded on their brows. A horrid stench leaked out from underneath the faint timber smell of the crates, and each bore a bright red FRAGILE – DO NOT TIP OVER stamp on all sides. One by one they entered the restaurant and made their way towards the back, where Parts and Service lay.
The manager entered in behind them. His arms were folded over his chest, and a light frown furrowed his brow. “I’ll be sure to thank RT for this…very generous gift. And don’t you worry, we’ll put them to good use. It’s always nice to have some spare parts around, at any rate.”
None of the men responded. The first in line set his burden down beside the door and held it open for the other four. Once they were inside, he wheeled the last box inside and shut the door behind him. Several minutes later, thumps and clangs rang out in rhythmic, almost perfect patterns.
Though everyone was deathly curious, not a single person dared to peek inside while the men were still there. There was something terribly…off…about the whole affair. Maybe it was the uniform way they moved and dressed, or the pungent smell clinging to the crates, or the way they had come unannounced and unceremonious, or how the manager had barely reacted to the whole affair. In any case, it unsettled them, and they stayed away.
Thirty minutes later, all five men exited the room. Five empty boxes stacked on top of the dollies. Torn paper leaked out of the tops of the boxes and fluttered gently to the ground. Though the awful smell still lingered, it had been greatly reduced in strength. Without a word, the men traipsed back to the truck, loaded the boxes back up, and departed.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Get back to work!” the manager barked, and the workers quickly set about clearing away the paper and reclaiming their tools. As soon as they were sufficiently busy, the manager moved into the back and pasted a new sign on the door to Parts and Service.
CAUTION! DANGER OF ELECTROCUTION AND SERIOUS INJURY. AUTHORIZED EMPLOYEES ONLY.
***One Day until Grand Opening***
At last, through hours and hours of work, everything had fallen into place. Rows upon rows of tables sparkled in the light, ready to bear the weight of the hundreds of eager kids already excited for this new and improved arcade experience. The computers were hooked up and ready to go, all the important papers had been filed away, and every remaining scrap of construction material now sat in the dumpsters. A red ribbon stretched between a few white pylons out front, ready to be cut and welcome the hoards into Achievelandia Fantasy Fun World.
All that was left was to activate the robots.
“Where is he? Mr. Sorola should have been here ten minutes ago.”
J.J. glanced over at his manager. Privately, he wondered just what in the fuck he was doing here on a Thursday evening. Or anyone else, for that matter. For fuck’s sake, they were just turning a couple of stupid robots on! Why was all the fucking…fanfare necessary?! Hell, the fucking CTO of RTE himself was coming down to oversee their activation! It was insane!
He glanced over at the bots themselves and shifted back a pace. The final roster had shifted somewhat, and now only three robots stood on stage. The fourth had been moved to the Throne Room for the time being. J.J. only knew that the event organizers wanted to arrange a "grand battle" between one of the warriors and the Mad King. Whatever the hell that meant. The three left on stage were still under their tarpaulins, obscured from the view of the public eye, colors muddied like paintings left out in the rain. Occasionally, the bottoms of the tarps would catch the AC and lift up ever so slightly. Gold, green and black boots glimmered momentarily in the light before being obscured again.
Finally, the long-awaited sound of a car locking greeted the bored entourage. Moments later, three men entered through the front doors and crossed the restaurant. The lead man (J.J. assumed this was Mr. Sorola) wore a battered looking, slightly oversized black suit, a yellowing dress shirt, and a threadbare red tie. He looked like he hadn't slept in several months and had several days' worth of stubble peppering his cheeks and neck. Both of the men behind him were wearing stained jean overalls, long black rubber gloves, and t-shirts. One carried a sleek black toolbox, while the other had what looked suspiciously like a cattle prod.
"If I may ask," said the manager, "what took you so long, Mr. Sorola?"
"We're not that late," said Mr. Sorola. "Or, at least, we wouldn't be if two certain somebodies..." He turned and glared at the two men behind him. Both of them winced and looked away. "…hadn't realized they'd forgotten their tools fucking halfway here!"
"Uh...well..." The manager clapped his hands together and shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. "If you need a mome-"
"We're fine." Mr. Sorola waved his hand. "Alright, assholes, get up there and get those robots working! We don't have all fucking day."
Both of them snapped to attention and jumped on stage. One of them knelt beside the lead animatronic and flipped the tarp over its head. A loud click echoed through the empty restaurant, and J.J. saw two forest green panels flip out from its back. His companion nervously slapped the cattle prod into his palm and shifted onto his back foot.
"Can you fucks hurry it up?" Sorola made a show of checking his watch. "We don't exactly have a lot of time here, you know."
"We're going, we're going!"
The kneeling man opened his toolbox and took out a screwdriver and a pair of pliers. He poked around inside the animatronic and mumbled under his breath. Occasionally the animatronic’s limbs would jerk and spasm with a poke of the screwdriver, and the tarp shifted away from its arms and legs. The man with the cattle prod moved forward and brandished his weapon.
“Back off, Farmahini,” said Sorola. “It’s not on yet. Pussy.”
Farmahini coughed awkwardly and stepped back again.
Nothing happened for several long, awkward seconds. J.J. coughed into his fist and glanced back at the exit. His apartment beckoned him, ready with a warm bed and an ice-cold beer. Just had to get through this fucking…fucking…farce, and then he could go home and not think about work for a good long while.
Then the kneeling man let out a little ‘oh!’ and fell back.
“What? What is it?” Sorola’s eyes widened, and he stepped toward the stage. A good deal of the color had drained out of his face. “Chris? What’s going on?!”
Chris winced and pulled off his glove. “It…it shocked me. Think there’s a hole in my glove.” He examined his hand and stuck the hurt finger in his mouth.
As suddenly as it had come to him, all the animation leeched back out of Mr. Sorola. His face resumed its normal hound dog expression, and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “You fucking idiot. First you forget your tools, and now this?” He folded his arms and scowled. “I’m really, really unimpressed with you right now, Demarais.”
Chris swallowed and quickly got back to work. “Almost done.”
“You’d better be.”
A loud snap echoed through the room, and the animatronic jerked and juddered madly. The tarp fully fell away to reveal the seizing animatronic. Farmahini moved forward again, but was again waved back by Sorola.
“Just watch for now, okay? Jesus.”
J.J. watched the bot with morbid fascination. Its helmeted head bobbled back and forth, its gauntlet-covered arms thrashed and spasmed, its greaved knees buckled and threatened to give, and its fingers writhed like dying spiders. The overhead lights danced wildly off its forest green plating, and behind the golden visor, a brilliant light sparked and seemed to burn.
All of a sudden, it stopped and stood stock still. Unlike before, there was a measure to the stillness. Like a soldier standing to attention. Chris gingerly shut its back panels and stepped toward Farmahini. The robot’s head turned slightly with his retreat, but a cough from Mr. Sorola redirected its attention.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I present, the new and improved Sir Geoffrey.” Mr. Sorola waved a hand in the bot’s direction. “Activation was a little…tricky, but nothing unusual. First activation is always exciting.”
J.J. eyed it suspiciously. “Exciting?!”
Mr. Sorola glanced back at him. J.J. swallowed nervously. “It could have been much, much worse than that. You can’t even imagine.”
J.J. decided it would probably be in his best interest if he didn’t say anything else after that.
“Okay, let’s do some basic tests and move on to the others.” Sorola straightened ever so slightly and stared at the glowing visor. “Personnel ID 104003-4. Animatronic, respond.”
Nothing happened.
“These fucking…personnel ID 104003-4. Geoff, respond.”
“Acknowledged. AI overridden. Awaiting maintenance command.”
The voice ground out from behind the faceplate, tinny and muffled. J.J. couldn’t help but shudder. It sounded so fucking lifeless.
“Test basic motor functions.”
“Beginning basic motor test.” ‘Geoff’ turned its head to the left. It turned its head to the right. It lifted its left leg. It lifted its right leg. It lifted both arms over its head. Its fists opened and closed several times. It crouched into a ball and straightened upright. “Test complete.”
“Normal enough.” Sorola clapped his hands. “I’ll test everything else up later, once these morons are done setting up the others and get my equipment all ready. Okay, start on Mogar, and pick up the pace, for fuck’s sake!”
“What about Sir Geoff here?” asked the manager.
Upon hearing its name, the animatronic looked over at him.
“He’ll be fine. As long as I’m here, he’s safe as milk.”
A low mechanical sound rumbled out from Geoff’s visor. The light pulsed in a heartbeat-like rhythm. One-two, one-two, one-two.
“Sure,” J.J. mumbled under his breath. “Perfectly safe.”
***Grand Opening***
A veritable tsunami of children descended upon the arcade the moment the clock struck nine a.m. Within moments quarters pumped into the machines and the siren song of video games filled the glistering restaurant. Pizza flowed out of the kitchen like water, and the stench of greasy garlic clung to the very walls and ceiling of the establishment.
J.J. wandered around the main room and sighed. Really, he didn’t understand why he was here. It was just another animatronic themed restaurant, there was no need for a fucking security guard. Unless they were worried about teens pinching fucking arcade cabinets in their fucking baggy pants or something.
Mostly he was just bored.
Maybe that was why he headed over to Parts and Service and stared at the warning written on the door. Sadly he had not been privy to the one interesting thing that had happened at this fucking place, but it had been all any of the employees could talk about for the past week. Five mysterious boxes hauled in, five mysterious boxes hauled out, and a warning message plastered all over the door afterwards. Nobody knew what was in there, but the rumor mill ground away with theories ranging from ‘probably nothing’ to ‘those are absolutely dead bodies, how can those not be dead bodies’ level of reasonable.
Either way, it was the only thing that J.J. could reasonably be invested in.
His fingers brushed over the knob.
Just a peek, and then back to work. Just a peek. Just so he could know what was in there.
The door opened a smidgeon. Fetid, rancid smelling air wafted over his face.
A hand slammed down on the door and shut it with a click! J.J. jumped back with a tiny squeak and backed right into someone.
He heard a loud tutting. “That area is off limits, you know.”
J.J. blinked at the hand. It was covered in a plasticky black-and-white glove, and a wide seam separated the elbow from the forearm. He looked up and locked eyes with an opaque gray visor set in a teal, bucket-shaped helmet. He recognized it as one of the front stage animatronics, Major Pants or something. And he had backed right into his green-and-white doublet.
“Uh…”
“You heard me.” His other hand wrapped around J.J.’s upper arm and steered him back toward the main arcade floor. “Your job is to watch the arcade and make sure nothing happens. Not to go sneaking around.”
J.J. tried to think of something to say, but couldn’t find anything resembling words. All he could think about was the sensation of warm plastic fingers encircling his arm. A deep humming reverberated from within his chest, and when he moved his arm away from the door J.J. could hear various gears and servos whirring in his arm.
“Hey! Majordomo! The show’s about to start!”
J.J.’s manager rounded the corner, and for once, J.J. was happy to see him. The animatronic moved to look at him.
“I know,” he said.
“C’mon, we can’t have a show without Majordomo Pattillo now, can we? It’d fall apart in an instant!”
“What about Castillo here?”
J.J. twitched and stared up at the bot.
“I’ll deal with him. You go on, now.”
The animatronic huffed and moved forward. J.J. rubbed at the place where the fingers dug into his arm. He could already feel the bruises forming beneath his skin, red-hot and throbbing. Majordomo Pattillo moved back toward the stage, parting through the seas of children oh so easily. Most of them didn’t even come up to his waist.
“Castillo, why the hell were you trying to get into Parts and Service? There is nothing in there for you. There is nothing in there for anyone.” This was the most serious J.J.’s manager had ever been, and wow it was really unsettling. “You’d better get back to work, or so help me, I’ll put you on the night and day shift for the next year.”
“I thought you said you already had a guy for the night shift!”
“Sure I do. But I can switch him. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind the day shift.”
At that moment, another employee ran up to the manager. Her face had gone milky white, and she shook like a leaf. “Um, sir? I…I need you to come with me.”
“Not now.”
“But…but sir! It’s the Mad King! It’s, it’s, it’s urgent!”
“The Mad King? What’s wrong with the Mad King?” The manager turned away, and J.J. took the opportunity to start slinking back onto the arcade floor. “It’s the first day, what could have gone wrong?!”
“Just…you need to see. It’s…it’s awful.”
“Shit.” He whipped around and pointed at J.J. “I’m still going to talk to you later, Castillo! This isn’t over!” Then he bustled down the hall marked with a hanging wooden sign. The golden text there read ‘the Throne Room’ in a fancy golden font. Meanwhile, the main stage show was in full swing, and the bots shouting mixed with the kids’ and the music blared over everything else and holy shit that was just too much sound.
God, whoever the dumbfuck was, J.J. totally envied the nightguard. Sure the hours would suck, and it had to be the most boring job on the face of the planet, but at least there would be peace and quiet.
It had to be better than this shit.
Right?