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At seventeen, you don’t know how fate landed you at Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizzaplex. You hadn’t been here in years- not since your last elementary school birthday party where parents invited everyone to avoid exclusion. Those memories were fond to you, even if the nature of those invitations weren’t sincere. Yet, entering the threshold, you couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling rising in your gut. Your friend didn’t obligatorily give this invitation to you; your friend wanted you there. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have asked you.
The noise of unruly children backed by a synth-pop song you probably recognized mixed with the rushing AC (a precaution to disguise any lingering traces of sick generated by hyperactive children full of junk and sugar) ushered on another wave of nausea. But, at least your friends spotted you and waved you over, so you didn’t look entirely out of place.
Why did your ex-best friend-turned-close-acquaintance decide to throw her birthday party at the Pizzaplex? You thought she’d grown too old for these kinds of things. But maybe the campiness of the place fit the suitable variety of nostalgia for it to be considered cool. You were happy nonetheless; oddly enough, this place felt like home.
That was before your friends left you behind in the Fazcade. You weren’t tense about being alone in a Fazbear institution, as you’d aged out of the dangerous age range and held no fear of disappearing. Haha. Instead, you felt frustration and a twinge of sadness. After all, today wasn’t the first instance of your friend group leaving you out or forgetting your existence. But today was supposed to be different. You were invited, out of all of the people in your group, your class, your school. They all wanted you here, right?
You gave up waiting for your group for an embarrassingly long time, situated by the entrance to the arcade. Finally, you formulated a new plan, and you had to execute it all the time in your head. It was almost 2 pm- naptime at the daycare. You cursed yourself mentally, as you’d prefer to hang out with the Sun instead of the Moon. Why couldn’t your crummy friends abandon you half an hour earlier?
You made your way through the arcade, tweaking your plan to hide out at the daycare until you could go home. But, because of the naptime protocols, it was too risky to sneak in now. So you decided to play a few more games at the arcade, get a prize, and then walk over.
When you were a little kid, you loved the daycare. The Sun taught you how to shade with colored pencils and make lanyards. You’d never really intended on retaining those skills, but they came in handy in oddly-specific circumstances. A part of you hoped the Sun would remember you. Your parents were busy people with two separate work schedules; they didn’t always have the time to watch you. So you spent a lot of time at the daycare back then.
Five games, two hundred tickets, and one cheap plush keychain later, you strolled over to the daycare. It was 2:30 on the dot, right after naptime. The lights would be back on by now, and you could see the Sun. A steady flow of parents and kids coming to and from the daycare made you anxious to walk near it. Maybe if you…
You took the slide into the ball pit. Ah, memories.
“New friend, new friend! Welcome, welcome, WELCOME!” came Sun’s cheery greeting as they hopped over to scoop you out of the ball pit. They looked you up and down, and though nothing physically changed on their faceplate, you seemed to get the impression they were a bit puzzled.
The Sun let you down gently. “My, my, my, friend. You aren’t new at all!” They bounced around, gears whirring and rays spinning. “I thought you looked familiar. But but but, you used to be muuuuuch smaller.” They leaned down, exaggerating their words by gesturing to the floor, then flying back up to their full height. “How fun! New friend, old friend!”
“It’s nice to see you again, Sunny,” you smiled sheepishly, looking around. You didn’t notice how empty the daycare was. Most kiddos left after naptime, you remembered. But the Sun was accustomed to your presence after the typical hours.
“Now, now, tell me why you’ve come to visit! You aren’t here to drink Fizzy Faz, are you? Oh, I LOVE Fizzy Faz! But tell, TELL! New friend, old friend, new friend. Let’s turn your frown around.” There it was. The Sun was unusually perceptive, especially with kids they know well enough. The regulars always received the extra-sweet treatment, at least when you were younger. They must have guessed from your hesitancy to respond that it was nothing good. Instead, they took it upon themself to make you as comfortable as possible.
Sundrop grabbed you again, after asking permission, and took you to a less overwhelming area in the daycare. They seemed to recall that the bright colors often overwhelmed you on bad days. Who the hell wrote this absurdly intelligent AI?
“Would you like to tell, tell, tell me now? Or we can do something different, too!” Sun offered.
“Can I-” you hesitated again, afraid of asking. But this is a goddamn robot, and you could care less about embarrassment right now. “Can I have a hug? Please?”
The Sun’s rays spun as they nodded enthusiastically, opening their arms wide. For a metal robot, they sure were warm and comforting. You sank into their embrace, hiding your head against their chest plate.
“My friends forgot about me,” You murmured, “We were supposed to spend time together, but they forgot about me.”
“Oh, dear star, how sad! Don’t worry, dON’t worry! You can stay here as loooong as you want before the daycare closes, of course. No breaking the rules, dear star!”
The vibration of Sun’s voicebox against their exterior was both comforting and a bit awkward. It reminded you of how you’d rest your head against the window on a bus ride. Not entirely stable, but better than nothing. Sun was warmer than the bus, though.
“Thanks, Sunny.”
“Of COURSE, old friend. Old friend, new friend. Dearest star.”