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“Tell me, do you ever feel regret?”
He lifts his head in a confused manner, from the familiar feminine voice. The light in front of him is blinding his vision. There’s a stinging sensation up on his noggin, not exactly pain but still quite unbearable.
“...What?”
“I said… Do you ever feel regret?”
“I….. I’m afraid I do not know what you mean.”
“That’s a lie.”
He shakes his head to get rid of the buzzing. It’s clouding his thoughts, enough to hinder the process of the message.
“Who… are you...? You sound familiar.”
“That’s because I am familiar.”
The figure leans down up close and he could see the faint outline of an orange beak stained with a pink lipstick.
He vaguely remembers seeing her once upon a time. Having a connection, even.
He shakes his head one final time, and his vision finally adjusts. The figure sits back down on the chair on the side, tending to her nails. Artificial ones, he knows, but with modern technology it can feel as real as you believe it to be.
He is finally able to see her clearly.
Chica.
The white and pink chicken looks across him with half-lidded eyes, as if to emphasize she’s uninterested in his company, and whatever things he offers to say next.
He notices that he was lying down on a rusted work table, black and red clamps connected to his ears. The light that blinded his vision at first came from the holes of the current shelter they are in.
‘Long abandoned to dilapidate by the hands of Mother Nature’, he thinks.
He can’t help but feel an odd sensation of dread pitting in his stomach by those words.
“You’re right to feel that way, Fazbear.”
She remarks, and he cocks his head at her general direction.
“How…” He trails off.
“Back to the question, please.”
“... Are you real?”
“I’m as real as you believe me to be. But you still haven’t answered my question.”
“I…. Chica…” He ponders.
“No.” was her only reply.
He blinks, and she’s gone. Instead, there’s a brown haired boy in her place.
“Who are you talking to?” The boy asks.
He remembers.
Gregory. The boy who took him in as a select father figure.
They were traveling by a spare van, and he remembers shutting down.
He has no idea how long he’s been out, perhaps it’s been days judging by his condition.
He’s rustier and more covered in oil than he was when they made their escape from the crumbling mall.
He examines his hands.
It’s still reminiscent of a certain reptilian friend of his. But the colors are fading. To this day, he still wonders what Gregory meant by him not wanting to know where these hands came from.
“Maybe the spare battery is doing something to your head… But it’s all we had.”
He reaches out to pat his head as gently as he can (he doesn’t want to unintentionally cause harm with the upgrades, flesh is softer than metal after all) and chuckles.
“It is okay, Superstar. I am happy to see that you are well.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Freddy has been accessing his reserves as power source, and he’s now chopping down on wood he needs to warm his charge. The temperature has begun its drop and they’ve been staying at the tumbledown cabin since they’ve come across it. His sensors give out an indication that he’s being watched.
“A few more smacks to the bark should let the tree fall”, the familiar voice observes.
And so he chips away at the tree.
As it falls, he turns around and she’s there once more. Comically sipping hot cocoa with marshmallows from a mug as if silently mocking him.
He hasn’t seen her since he first woke up on the table.
“And you still haven’t answered my question.” She tells him once more from the stomp she perches on.
If he were any other person, he would have regarded that as more or less a rude conversation starter.
Freddy however, was built to be caring and polite by the mall he used to perform at.
A main mascot after all, has to be understanding and patient for more sales boost and ensured kid retention, both things a company such as Fazbear Entertainment needs to be a rocketing success.
He prepares to chop the wood to pieces, for easier transportation.
“I’m still not sure what you mean.” He strikes it repeatedly.
In truth, he did.
He just didn’t want to worsen the guilt that’s been eating at him since.
He’s sure she knows, though. But he also knows if he indulges her in her remarks, it’s not gonna give him any sense of peace.
She ended their connection towards each other when she pulled away.
The axe comes down harder than intended to. Perhaps this is not the right time to be thinking about that, so he lets his mind wander off into the thought of Fazbear Entertainment’s current condition.
Would they have enough to get themselves back on their footing again? OR did it all come tumbling back down?
Nonetheless, Chica was patient and sat in silence as he continued to think.
All he can offer her is a sigh. An invitation, for another question.
“Tell me then, can you feel?”
“...No…. I cannot. This body does not allow such a thing to happen.”
He chops the first of three parts. The weight of the wood barely matters, anyways.
It’s how well it would fit with the rest of the forest’s cramped spacing.
(He remembers how she used to carry him tenderly like he would a log of wood now. She was stronger than she looked.)
“What would you do if you could?”
He strikes down the quite rusted axe and pauses.
He notices that he’s clenching the grip a little too hard.
The wood was ready to be transported, however.
He loosens and straightens his posture to approach her.
She doesn’t bother to move from her spot, nor to make any effort to stand up to his height.
So he kneels in front of her, and slowly caresses the side of her face.
“I am aware that you know the answer to that.” He remarks.
She clutches his hand and leans to his touch. He swears he could see the slightest faint smile on her beak.
And as soon as he blinks, she’s gone once more.
He wishes her warmth could’ve stayed a little while longer.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Freddy was disappointed.
He had found out that the “spares” Gregory had been finding were stolen from a nearby town.
Not wanting the situation to have irrational outcomes, he reasons that he “needs to take a walk” and leaves immediately.
Through the trees, He spots her once more.
“He was simply helping.”
“That does not excuse stealing.”
“No it doesn’t.”
He furrowed his eyebrows in slight frustration. He knows she has something more to say, and she does.
“Yet, you encouraged him to do so during your time at the plex.”
“... What are you talking about?”
“You know whose hands reside in your arms now. Whose eyes. Whose voice.” She crosses hers in an unimpressed manner.
He looks down at them, confusion etched at every corner of his face.
Could it really be…..?
He will admit…. He did in fact have doubts about the hands he’s currently sporting. He knew that at the back of his head, there was something telling him that these hands belonged to the reptilian bass player of his former band.
But did he really ignore that to the point of believing it was not to save him from guilt at the time of their escape? Or was he willingly just that stupid?
He feels selfish.
He plops down to his knees.
She offers a hand on his shoulder.
“I…. was only doing what was necessary for Gregory’s safety.” He reasons with her.
“Yet now, you’ve left him all alone in your makeshift home. He’s only a child.”
He looks down in shame at his actions.
“And a child can still be taught discipline.” She advises.
“Don't be too harsh.”
One last final statement before the ursine is left to himself once more.
He rises from the ground and starts his trek back “home” to make things right.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There’s a longing lodged somewhere in his very being.
He misses her, that much he knows.
Not the mental image that has been talking to him, but the real her.
He wonders if she feels the same as he does.
Or if she’s still (rightfully) furious at him so.
The thought makes his heart ache as he closes his eyes.
Gregory had been long put to sleep by his surrogate ursine father, and with nothing to do as the child answers Sandman’s lull, he finds himself outside bathing underneath the moon’s light.
“Do you think you can still accept me?” He asks, opening his eyes but not bothering to look, knowing she’s lying down on the side of his.
“... I’m not the right person to ask that.” She replies.
A sigh. “I know.” A pause.
“...But… Do you think she would?” He prompts and side-eyes her.
She pauses, trying to find the right words.
“In time, perhaps. Right now, however….” She trails off and he already knows the next.
“.... What about the others?”
“They may not be as forgiving as she is.”
A slight exhale escapes his mouth. And his eyes go back to the skies.
He remembers the pre-programmed “backstories” the company instilled in him and his friends.
In his programming, he was an alien bear.
An AWOL supersoldier, who escaped his home planet to get a better, kinder chance at life.
The irony of such a story is amusing in thought.
He thinks about the “narratives” his friends have as well.
A runaway mermaid princess who doesn’t wanna get told what to do.
A racer who was chased out of her town being accused a freak.
A mutated reptilian who’s only dreams are of a chance for friendship.
And…. a humble family business-owned Bowling place manager with a love for funk.
How he wishes these stories to be true instead of what they got.
Her hand clutches his, and he wishes to squeeze back.
He knows it’s not even possible.
Still, he tries. And her image fades into the night like leaves on a cold breeze.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They’re already running low on supplies.
Freddy has no need to eat, nor sleep like a living being, though he still needs an active power source to charge through and his reserves are at critical levels.
Gregory is running low on food and water, they were lucky enough that the van had some spares but that’s all it is.
So now the ragtag duo find themselves at a stalemate.
Either they sneak through the town and forcibly take….
Or they scavenge from the rubbles of the plex in hopes of finding treasure that can last them long.
Freddy is less enthusiastic about the idea of going back.
The thought of seeing his friends again, or even her…. Still leaves him uncertain how they were going to react.
“Remember, this is not about you. It’s about your charge.” A reminder from an all-too familiar voice.
A silent groan, heeding her words to be true.
He sits across the table as he contemplates the decision.
Soundlessly tapping her finger on the rusted metal as she awaits his final verdict.
“How will I be able to handle what comes next?”
“....You don’t.”
“You say that as if it was that simple.”
“Yes, but no.
“If you are so certain about things, then by all means do humor me.”
“Have you forgotten I am something your mind only conjured up?”
“No, but you always sound like you know everything.”
“I don’t. I’m what your artificial mind materialized in order to cope with the recent events.”
An acknowledgement from the bear departs him and his judgement defies his feeling.
Necessities are to be made for one’s survival, but the cost always comes high.
In this case, the consequence of the fire may bring himself in a situation that will be difficult to run away from.
Perhaps a gift of sentience… is a little overbearing.
Either way, he rises up from his seat.
He’s made up his mind.
She doesn’t follow him. Instead, she reiterates a question.
“Tell me, do you ever feel regret?”
He pauses on his way out. He looks back to where she was just then.
“Yes. I do.”