Chapter Text
The irony of being someone easily overwhelmed by screaming children taking a job at Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizzaplex was not lost on you. Your prospective wages, though, were not lost on you either…and at this stage of your life, you needed every penny you could get. Living alone had its pros and cons, chief among those being rent. The cost of living in the area wasn't the greatest, and on top of all your other necessities…well. You were strapped, and that was putting it lightly. If nothing else, the pseudo-synthwave aesthetic of the building and moody neon lights you adored helped you stand the noise a little bit longer than you could have otherwise. The atmosphere was immaculate, you'd give 'em that.
Shuffling through a back entrance into the ground floor pizza kitchen you worked in, you gave your coworkers, mostly dead-eyed teenagers, polite nods as you hung up your coat and moved to clock in. There still weren't just a whole hell of a lot of flesh-and-blood employees in the 'plex, but after enough complaints about how staffbots were scaring children and making adults feel as though the lack of human warmth (read: the Customer Service Reflex) was a hindrance to the experience as a whole, FazCo had had their arms twisted into expanding the workforce. It looked good on paper and advertisements, even if the vast majority of them were relegated to the on-site restaurants and gift shops. It did feel warmer, somehow, so you supposed it was at least a partial success. You could cut up with other humans far better than you could with nonverbal, expressionless robots anyhow.
Actually…you say 'expressionless', but that wasn't entirely right. The more time you took to really watch them, the more they looked and acted as if alive. Freddy and his gang, even the aforementioned staffbots, had tics and responses unique to them, motions so impossibly fluid and natural that it was becoming increasingly hard to consider them robots by the day. Logically you knew they were metal and fiberglass or silicone over heavier metal frames running on highly sophisticated code, but every now and then one of them would act in a way that seemed a little too realistic to have been purely up to AI. You nearly mowed over a cleaning bot, having been too caught up in your own thoughts, and before you can think too hard about it, apologies are tumbling out of your mouth and a hand is shooting out to keep it steady. It doesn't make any sort of noise, or even blink, but after you finish your spiel it pauses and nods its head curtly at you before rolling away, as if having had read your mind and to punctuate your point. You watched it meander off, feeling just a bit silly, before scooting the rest of the way to the food court.
Seeing your approach, your floor manager puffed out a sigh of relief and trotted up to the counter, beckoning you over to talk enthusiastically.
"I am so glad they scheduled you today. How much do you remember from your time at the hut-that-shall-not-be-named?"
You smirked, glad that you actually had a practical use for your experience at a rival pizza chain.
"A lot. Maybe. Depends…" You lean across the counter playfully, feigning an unwillingness to work. Thankfully, your manager had grown accustomed to it quickly, and even played along. She didn't seem to catch on that it was a completely fake sense of bravado--a mask of confidence you wore to spare your nerves and power through your shifts. "What do you got for me?"
"A birthday party. Big one. I know they're your favorite." Your supervisor, Alice, gave you a fake-wry look. "They rented out an entire attraction for it, apparently. The party's so big the chaperones needed a little extra help watching all the tots, so they booked the Daycare. Wouldn't have been my first choice, but whatever. Think you can help the others keep from getting overwhelmed?"
"Oh, I suppose…" You sigh dramatically, pretending to be bothered despite having been through worse. They had tried to warn you about weekend rush during training, but you still had to experience it first-hand to really appreciate the horror of it. "But only because you're my favorite manager." Alice gave you a look that said you were full of shit, but grinned nonetheless.
One thing people came to understand about you fairly quickly was that you were a chronic worrier. On your first day here, anxiety had tried its hardest to convince you that nobody here would like you, or your sense of humor, or how you looked and carried yourself, or how you wore your uniform, or literally any other miniscule thing about yourself that it could possibly come up with that could’ve been considered ‘weird’. You were mostly able to tune it out, used to it from the years upon years of going untreated, slogging through an ocean of self-doubt and hate until you finally did something about it. The water was still there, with surprise rip currents and all, but at least it had receded a little bit. Luckily, she had taken to you quickly, and it was no small comfort to you that you already had some semblance of a ‘work friend’ within the first few weeks of employment. It was still a struggle, at times, to break out of the cyclic worrying that kept you up at night wondering if you’d ever be able to survive outside of your own bubble, but times like these did wonders for your self-esteem. For now you would take the small scrap of confidence and use it to fuel you until your ever-racing mind found a way to rip it to shreds later…
…and it would, like it always did. Things were better now than they had been in a long time, but you still didn't like yourself. You didn't like the person you used to be--and still could be, you fear. Some days it was still hard to get up and get ready for the day without absolutely loathing yourself, both inside and out, but you somehow kept hanging on, and only the powers that be truly knew how. Something about this job gave you hope, and you clung onto it despite not knowing exactly why just yet. But still…whether your self-image or the ever-looming situation that was living below the poverty line would be what kept you up into the wee hours of the morning tonight was yet to be seen.
But that could wait until later. For now, you have work to do.
-
With an undignified grunt, the final pizzas for the party were dumped onto the stainless steel, barely fitting onto what little surface area remained. You sighed in satisfaction and threw your flour and sauce-covered apron into the nearby employee laundry cart.
"Alright, guys!" you called out to your coworkers, leaning your head around the corner. "I'm gonna go look for one of those catering carts! Do y'all mind boxing these up real quick…?"
"I got you." Kara, a stereotypically petty teenage stereotype that you initially didn't get along with, gave you a confident nod. She turned out to be more personable than you initially thought, and you quickly felt an older sibling type of affection for her. She worked hard and was great with the customers, so you were more than willing to trust that she, indeed, got you covered.
"Thank you~!" you sing-songed to her, trotting off through the employee door to the maze of tunnels beyond. The carts weren't kept inside any of the restaurants, because of course they weren't, but Alice had assured you that they were stored closeby. 'You won't have to go far, promise!' she said. It'll be easy, she said, your mind sarcastically tacked on. You stared blankly, realizing you had become too engrossed in tossing dough earlier to remember the directions she had given you, your frustration with yourself growing the more you glanced around and saw nothing even remotely cart-like. Whatever, you were (debatably) smart enough to navigate your way to your quarry and back. How hard could it be?
Really fucking hard, apparently.
The tunnels reminded you more of an industrial park than something connected to an indoor theme park–and, in a way, they were. Dozens of different things caught your eye as you walked: multiple loading docks, scattered forklifts, tall steel shelves full of crates full of products and parts, carts (not the kind you needed, naturally) waiting to be taken through the laundry system, storage areas for the prize counters, and even more than one server room, one for each of the building’s attractions--you assumed anyway, you were avoiding taking any stairs lest you get more lost than you already were. It pained you to admit, but you had, in fact, gotten well and truly lost while trying to do a task that should’ve taken like…five minutes, tops. There were no other humans around, only the occasional S.T.A.F.F. bot or cluster of wet floor signs, neither of which could talk or offer any assistance. You liked to hope that they were at least giving you sympathetic looks as you passed.
“ Fuck me…” You sighed heavily, rubbing your temple while trying to make sense of a bare-bones directional sign high on the wall. One arrow pointed back the way you came and was labeled for an area that you were certain you never passed, while the other pointed up the hall towards an upwards ramp and stated simply: ‘security’.
“Time to look like a clown, then. Fuck. Me. ” Security was your best bet at this point. You began trudging that way, mood soured. If anyone could get you out of this mess, it would be one of those guys. All you could hope was that they wouldn’t file a ‘ha ha look at this absolute dumbass, can’t even get a CART or READ SIGNS, they ruined a kid’s birthday party with this nonsense’ report on you that would net you a nice, pretty pink slip before having even survived a month’s worth of shifts here.
Mercifully, the main security office wasn’t too much further from the top of the ramp, and you very sheepishly knocked on the sterile-looking heavy duty door, the sound muffled and ineffective. There was no answer, because of course there wasn’t, and you, with no small amount of shame, tried to scan your badge to see if you could walk in. The reader buzzed at you angrily. Nope. God. Fucking. Da–
Your thoughts are cut off by a heavy sound, like a 2-ton deadbolt coming undone, before the heavy door slid upwards into the wall with a hydraulic groan. You blink in surprise, greeted by a young-ish blonde woman in full security garb. Her hair was neatly pulled back into a high ponytail that poked through the hole in her ball cap-style hat, and she wore a full black jacket somewhere between a windbreaker and a varsity style that obscured the majority of her nametag. All you could make out was ‘Va’.
“Oh! Hey! Hello! Um…I’m sorry, really, I just…whoa. Whoa, whoa. Are you okay?”
She looks as if she’d just been crying, eyes red with puffy, heavy bags beneath them, and stained with what must’ve been her mascara running that she’d since wiped away. Immediately, you’re concerned for her. She wore a sour, bone-tired expression that at first you’re worried is directed towards you, but if the way she stared through you was anything to go by, it was at life. There was a small wet spot on her shirt by the collar, barely visible on the white fabric, that you suspected was a tear stain. You wanted to be polite, but she looked rough. She had to be around your age, give or take, but evidently she was already having A Time Of It. She stared for a few seconds more before shaking her head lightly, evidently clearing the fog within it.
“Ye–ahem.” She cleared the hoarseness from her throat. “I’m fine. Why are you trying to get in my office? You’re not cleared.” She was straight to the point and expertly side-stepping your question.
“I…I’m lost.” You hang your head. “I work in the food court. I was trying to find a catering cart, but I forgot my manager’s instructions, and…yeah.” Your fingers began to lightly fret at your sides, absently picking at the quicks of your nails. “This is so embarrassing. I’m so sorry.”
“...it’s fine,” she finally responds after a pause, stepping out of the office doorway and past you. When you don’t follow, she quirks a tired brow at you and beckons you to follow her, which you jump to do sheepishly.
“I’m assuming you’re new. I don’t recognize your face.” She sighs through her nose. “It’s really easy to get lost here at first, directions or not. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.” Despite her cool tone she makes a dismissive gesture, easing your worry a bit. “You’re not the first new hire I’ve had to show around, and probably won’t be the last.”
The walk back towards the back areas of the food court are quiet from there, allowing your cloying anxiety to start clawing its way back up the back of your neck. You’ve taken way too long. What if some of your coworkers went looking for you, pulling more employees from the busy kitchen? What if they resented how stupid you were to fail such a simple task? What if it was already past time to have delivered the food, and the parents of the birthday kid were filing a complaint right this second? The picking at your fingers worsened. God, you were so fired. How were you going to pay bills now? This job was the only one that had called you back after the dozens of applications you sent in. Fuck. What were you going to do? What–
You nearly bowled over the security guard when she stopped short, too absorbed in your fretting to pay attention. She made a face at you, but it disappeared as fast as it came on when you glanced at her, mumbling a rushed apology about trying to remember your surroundings for next time. She really didn't seem to believe you, but accepted the explanation anyway.
"See the section of walk-in freezers, there?" She gestured with her flashlight and you craned to see the rows of stainless steel doors tucked around a corner and easily missed. You must've made a face, because she snickered beside you. "Yeah, I know. There's one for each restaurant, and usually they keep some of the carts you're looking for in and around this area. Tell your manager to be a bit more descriptive next time."
"No kidding." Your shoulders sag with a sigh. "Thank you…uh…?"
"Vanessa." She finally holds her jacket open so you can see the entirety of her nametag while she reads yours in turn. "And don't worry about it. Really. I'm the head security officer, it's my job." You swallow. Head security? Of course she was head security! This situation was hardly embarrassing enough as it was, after all.
You simply, sheepishly, thank her again before approaching the walk-ins for your pizza stand. Why they'd stick these metal carts meant to transport hot food in the cold storage was beyond you, but at least you'd finally completed what you set out to do. Just in the nick of time, too, as you catch Kara's head poking out down the hall, looking ready to come marching after you. Her eyes landed on you, then on Vanessa, before she retreated back into the kitchen.
"That's my cue, then." You give Vanessa another apologetic look, unable to help yourself. "Thanks again, V? …Van–?"
"Just Vanessa is fine." Her index finger taps uneasily on the handle of her light. "I'm not, uh…exactly a fan of nicknames."
"Oh. Alright." You smile and begin to walk off, stopping and turning again. Vanessa raises a brow at you. "Hey, uh…for real, though. I know we just met and all, but you're still a coworker, so…y'know. If you need somebody to talk to, you can find me. I know people say that a lot, but…yeah. I mean it." You hope you sound sincere enough. She had very clearly been upset before, still looked to be, and you couldn't help but want to extend a hand of friendship towards her. She didn't answer you right away, though, and her thousand-yard stare made you think maybe you'd said something wrong before she snaps out of it, looking pensive.
"That's…I appreciate it, but I doubt we’ll run into each other again. You should get going."
You agree, and finally part ways.
Your kitchen doesn't seem any worse for wear, save for the mountain of boxed-up pizzas and a slightly frazzled-looking Kara. You barely get an apology out before she's rushing you along, saying the floor manager had already been there to say that the party had arrived and to make sure everything was ready. Another alert goes off as the two of you are loading the cart, giving you hardly enough time to pack up the extras (paper plates and cups, disposable plastic silverware, extra party hats, the works) before you have to turn around and make a mad dash for the daycare. The Superstar Daycare , rather, as the promotional ads and directory called it.
To your surprise, it bore no images of any of the main characters of the Pizzaplex, instead featuring sky motifs throughout with clouds and cartoony suns and moons and stars. The daycare had its own personalities, referred to as ‘Sundrop’ and ‘Moondrop’ on the posters lining the lobby walls. Looking closely, you realize you recognize the designs from the walls of plushies lining the shelves in the gift shops, albeit in smaller numbers than those of Freddy and the gang. They were pretty cute, easily fitting right in to the style you’d expect to appeal to small children. You briefly wondered if they had cartoons of these characters that played in the built-in theater you’d been told about while being given directions on how to access the party rooms. Why else would it be there?
The entryway comes into view, and for a moment you worry you’ve gone too far and gotten lost again, when a sign painted directly onto the wall with the daycare’s logo and an arrow labeled ‘drop-off’ caught your attention. You don't remember being told about a drop-off entrance, but a way in was a way in, and you really didn't feel like calling security to your rescue a second time. Besides, surely the staff inside would help you, right? You hope so, anyway, as you knock on the door and announce yourself. The noise of happily screaming kids and goofy music bled through, but there was otherwise no answer, even after two more tries. Assuming you weren't heard, you bite the bullet and poke your head inside.
You're greeted first thing by a large metallic statue of the two mascots you'd seen on the way, the Sundrop character standing tall with their arms spread and smile bright, while Moondrop was hunched over, mid-tiptoe step and fingers poised to potentially tickle an unsuspecting victim. Their statue grinned just as wide, but it was far more mischievous than the other's. They were the centerpiece of the room, roped off (likely so kids didn't try to climb them, you figure) and surrounded by rows of shelves and cubbies and tiny coat hooks, all of them stuffed with little backpacks or spare changes of clothes and the like. One wall on the farthest side was just a large glass pane overlooking the rest of the attraction, with a swinging door on one end that led out to a walkway lined with doors the entire length of the room beyond--the party rooms. Beyond the railing and down the narrow flight of stairs was the majority of the daycare proper, a large open area sunken into the lower floor lined with what looked like picnic tables and other doors leading to other places you couldn't quite make out. The main attraction, though, was the walled-off center with a massive play area--quite possibly the biggest you'd ever seen. A screech catches your attention, and you can barely make out the shape of a child streaking around the far end of the room before they trip over their own feet and faceplant directly into the floor. You gasp, but they hop right back up, completely unbothered and laughing their little heart out thanks to the padded styrofoam lining the ground. You smile and maneuver the cart towards the glass door, passing an obnoxious tube slide with the words 'SLIDE INTO FUN!' above it that makes you snicker out loud. You'd be so tempted to go down it, if no one was around and you had the time…
You're barely out of the door long enough to adjust to the sudden loudness of the kids and the jaunty daycare music before you lock eyes with a few children staring up at you like starving predators. You'd been spotted…and a cold spike of primal fear grips you when one of the loudest ones roars to his fellow partygoers.
"PIZZA!!"