Chapter Text
The Fazbear Pizza Plex, once teeming with activity and bursting with color, is now a burnt out shell. The blackened windows and entry ways of the expansive building looks ready to swallow you hole like the maw of a terrible creature. The fire has destroyed everything, and even now cards and pictures from children mourning the animatronics that were trapped inside lay scattered across the parking lot. What’s keeping the building standing is a mystery, and you often wonder why, after an entire year, the Fazbear Corporation hasn’t taken the thing down.
Either way, you are grateful. The burnt building was now a hotbed for exploration and paranormal activity videos on metube, and trying to start a channel yourself, it would be the perfect first video. You know from a tip online that one of the back doors is still accessible, the lame wooden boards the fire department had nailed over the entryways loose and pulled back. Most explorer videos you saw so far only go so far in, the roof having collapsed and decimated the stairs in the main atrium, blocking anyone from going further. Armed with a map printed out from a scanned image online, your goal is to go further than anyone else has gone before.
You make sure to park your car far from the parking lot of the plex, just in case any police come around to patrol. Considering the popularity and conspiracy theories surrounding the place, and Fazbear in general, there are plenty of groups that have been arrested or kicked off the property since the fire. Not wanting to add to the statistics, you walk the few blocks to Freddy Fazbear’s final resting place, taking in the enormity of the damage as you get closer.
The pointed arch that once proudly displayed the name of the plex in neon was gone, pieces of twisted metal laying in heaps on the concrete. There is glass everywhere, a few of the neon letters laying proudly skyward, survivors of the fall. The main entryway is completely boarded up, having been made from colored glass that shattered from the heat. Scuff marks cover the plywood, and you wonder if anyone attempted to get in through this way.
Going around the side, you run your hand across the bumpy, textured outside wall of the plex, pieces of paint easily sliding off. You lean your head back to look up, and your eye catches a busted out window, something solid and metal hanging out of it. You back up and put a hand to your forehead to shield the setting sun from your eyes, and you realize with a sinking feeling that the silver metal looks like an arm, fingers dangling over the edge.
Oh my god, you think. They tried to get out.
In the first few days after the fire, Fazbear put out multiple assurances that all of the animatronics left inside had felt nothing, and were unaware of their fate. People argued that they had seemed “so real” and could carry on conversation, so how could they not be aware of a fire, especially if fire safety was in their protocols? Naturally, these arguments were shut down, and eventually talk ended all together, the pizza plex left to rot in obscurity. Now, looking up at the last ditch efforts of an escape, you’re hit with the enormity of what this means. Today, you aren’t just exploring an abandoned building. You are exploring a graveyard.
You eventually find the back door everyone was talking about, the piece of wood pulling up easily, and revealing a dark and musty hallway, speckled tile licked by flames turned black. You reach into your backpack for your flashlight and shine it down the hall, empty and haunting. You head inside, an acrid smell instantly hitting your nose. At this point, you can’t tell if the smell is just the burning remains of a building, or the smell of dead animatronics.
The hallway leads into what was likely employee spaces, a whole line of lockers bent and melted against a wall you pass. The same tile spreads from ceiling to floor, very plain compared to the pizzaz of the former plex. While you expected to see them, you still aren’t prepared for a service bot half melted into the floor, hand still clenching a piece of splintered and burnt wood that you assume might have been a broom or a mop.
None of the metubers had shown this side of the plex in their videos due to threat of demonetization, or maybe even threat from Fazbear, so the jarring image takes you aback, your heart racing for several seconds before you feel well enough to continue on. You eventually find your way to the main atrium, the golden statue of Freddy Fazbear still standing amongst the wreckage. The roof is gone, they were right, pieces lying all around Freddy’s paws. The staircases leading up to the second floor are either too covered or collapsed to even attempt.
Turning on your camera, you begin a short intro, just showing the place and talking about your walk up to the building. You decide to make a beeline toward one of the gift shops, sweeping your flashlight around, almost unnecessary due to the light filtering in from the collapsed roof. Charred and gooey toys still lined the shelves, any still pristine taken by explorers. You hope to maybe find a souvenir yourself, but what is left looks too damaged.
You talk into the camera some more, the lens toward your face. You back up a bit, just a little, but it’s enough to knock over a shelf that is already in a precarious position. It clatters to the floor, echoing over the empty building, but to your immense surprise reveals a doorway that leads to stairs leading up. Up to the second floor.
“Holy shit,” you say, staring through the doorway. You pan the camera to yourself, to the stairs, and back again as if you’re sharing a look with a friend. This is striking gold, and you nearly race up the stairs, entering a similar looking gift shop. The conditions are a lot better up here, as if the fire was mostly contained to the bottom floor, and happy Freddys and Chicas gaze up at you from shelves still intact.
You make a mental note to come back, your main concern being what the second floor had to offer you and your viewers. The balcony overlooking the atrium is missing railings, a plunge into hell waiting for anyone foolish enough to lean too close. There’s an odd lump in the central area near the busted out staircases that you think vaguely looks like a photo booth. There are so many options for you to explore, and you take a moment to just talk to your audience, spinning in a slow circle to take everything in.
“This place had a daycare?” You question, looking toward the Superstar Daycare Pickup area, the door gone and featuring a long faux brick lined corridor. Curious, you begin the trek down, shining your flashlight on various images of a jester-themed animatronic in yellow and blue advertising a candy that reminds you more of a pill than a sweet. You enter an area that overlooks the room you assumed used to be the daycare.
It’s a complete mess, to say the least. The last dregs of sunlight filter in from a hole in the ceiling. You wouldn’t have been able to really tell what it was if not for the signage on the second floor. You imagine that the daycare used to be colorful, and there still is a hint of the bright, exciting blues, greens, and reds, but the fire has ravaged this place, leaving melted pieces of plastic plastered to the floor, metal lying in tarnished heaps where you imagine mighty play structures used to stand.
Surprisingly, the slide which provides a second floor entrance to the daycare is still intact, and you peer into the inky blackness, debating with yourself and your audience.
“I’m not going to find anything down there,” you sigh. “But…it’s all part of exploring right?”
You dive feet first into the slide, quickly going down and landing harshly on a hard, bumpy floor. You’re in a hole of some sort? It’s not too low from the ground, and you can climb out easily, but it seems a little random to you. You look up, noting a balcony with no visible way to reach it, and then look down, slowly coming to the realization that this was likely a ball pit, and the bumpy floor was melted plastic balls.
“Jesus,” you groan, quickly climbing out. An eerie feeling was setting into your bones, quite unlike the initial excitement you felt when you first entered. You are really alone in this entire building with nothing but ghosts.
The light is beginning to fade more, and you stand awkwardly in this melted hell, sweeping your flashlight over ruin. There’s a desk near a large door that must be closer to the entrance on the first floor, and a shattered, blistered screen still hangs above it. You imagine if you tried to touch it, it would fall to the floor. You walk further into the destruction, your foot stepping on something that pitifully squeaks.
You lift your foot and look down at a little doll that matches the depiction of the yellow animatronic on the posters. It gazes up at you with a charred, cheery grin, and you pick it up, smiling sadly. It flops in your hand, another little squeak emitting from it.
“What happened to you?” You ask, running a thumb over the material.
You hear a noise, almost like a scraping and glance up. A shape is several feet away in front of you, propped up against a piece of red metal. The light from the ceiling is barely glancing off the thing, but what you can make out makes your blood run cold. You slowly tilt your flashlight up to illuminate the remains of an animatronic, broken, pointy bits of metal matching the cheerful yellow sun rays of the doll in your hand.
You drop the doll, simply staring. The animatronic sits, long legs stretched out, leaning back as if it had come so far only to collapse. The outer casing of its legs are burnt down to the wire, metal and robotics you don’t understand peeking up at you. The cheery yellow and cream that once likely covered its entire body is filthy from smoke, but mostly intact along its chest and…arm. It only has one arm, the other gone, bits of wire sticking out of the socket. Its remaining limb is tucked against its chest, the hand missing.
You kneel in place, your eyes burning as you take in its face. It’s missing an eye, and you shoo away a rat that had been nibbling at the exposed wire. Its other eye, milky white, stares back at you blankly. Its mouth is downturned, frozen in sorrow. You take a better look at its sun rays, at least two broken off at the tip. It would have made a very beautiful sun.
“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, shutting off your camera. This wasn’t right.
You stand up, resigned to leave. You don’t want to see this place ever again.
“N-”
You stop.
“New-ne-ne..”
Slowly turning, you stare with wide, frightened eyes at the animatronic. A voice, rising and falling in cadence, scrapes angrily out of its voice box.
“New-new-new-new f̷͚̟̣̙̦̎̚r̶̫̦͆̃į̶͒̾́͘͠e̴̛̱̠͒̓̂n̴͍͔̔̊͜͝d̸̫̦͐̉͛̑?” It asks, voice dropping in bass.
“Hello?” You say, stupidly, voice coming out high and frightened.
“So-so-so ha-happy. Ä̵̢͍̫́l̶̩̠̼̪͒̈̓͂ŏ̴̧̞̝̐ṉ̵̠̈̈͠e̸̻͛. New friend,” It continues, sentences broken.
The animatronic remains unmoving, but you’re suddenly aware that his one eye isn’t looking as blankly as you think. A sort of light emits from it, ever so slightly, trained on you, following you as you step a little closer. Its arm twitches, sliding away from its chest to hang at its side.
“Oh my god,” you whisper. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
This word is so clear you’re surprised. Its voice is high, whimsical.
“Can I help you? How can I help you? Can I call someone?” You’re pacing, moving back and forth, shocked, confused, scared. You aren’t sure what to do for him
“S̸͇̚ẗ̴̜́ä̷̙y̸̟̌,” it says, voice bottoming out again.
You stop dead in your tracks, and you feel your eyes burn again. You can’t let yourself cry, but the situation is too terrible. Unsure of what to do, you move closer, and sit crossed legged by its legs. The animatronic makes a pathetic, whirring noise, indicating its pleasure at your closeness.
“What’s your name?” You ask, voice breaking. “I mean, do you have one?”
“Sun,” it answers, as if that should have been obvious.
You sit for a few minutes in silence, caught in your thoughts, and unsure of what to say to…him, you suppose. Not it. The last few dregs of light leaves and you reach for your flashlight, stopping when he begins to make a sound like he’s in pain as the darkness closes over you both. There’s a terrible clicking noise coming from his body as if it was working up to do something, but failing. Eventually his gurgled cries of pain stop, and he’s silent.
“Sun..?” You ask, keeping the flashlight close to light the area around you.
“Are you wor-wor-worried about me?” He asks.
Confused, you say, “Yes?”
So h̴̐ͅá̶̦p̸͔̈p̸̾ͅỵ̷̌..” He says again.
You spend the next 2 hours sitting by his side, unable to leave. You just talk. About everything. About nothing. He tries to respond, sometimes, and every so often reiterates that he’s happy. It breaks your heart to hear it. The fire was a year ago. Sun sat here every day, aware, for a year. Alone. In pain. But it’s getting late, and you know you can’t sit here forever.
“Pretty,” he suddenly says, breaking you out of your thoughts. “Pretty s̷̢͆ű̶̮ṉ̴̎f̴͈́l̸͍̀o̵̼̅ẅ̵͔e̴͕͒ṛ̶͘ don’t cry.”
You bring your hand up to wipe the traitorous tear running down your cheek.
“I want to help you,” you say, unable to stop the tears in your words.
“You ha-ha-have.”
“I’ll come back,” you say, beginning to stand.
The Sun says nothing.
“I will,” you urge.
It was only as you bent to grab your flashlight, face growing close to his, that you realized the light in his eye had gone out.