Chapter Text
It’s during breakfast that you see it; a headline that shook the town the first time and makes you put down your eggs. It had been months since the last incident, enough time for the unease to wear off, for the general public to forget and convince themselves that it wouldn’t happen to their child, despite the fact no one had been caught, and the previous victims were never found. A little boy is gone, underneath everyone’s noses, and once again the company doesn’t have answers. The so-called ‘safest place on earth’ is ridiculed in the article, a sudden buzz word in the streets, and something that once again piques your interest.
You’re too old to enjoy Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria, but it doesn’t stop you from slowing down on your bike every time you pass the building, cooking up theories, wondering if it’s some insider scheme, or something more gruesome still. There are less cars today, you note, and you’re halfway convinced that the number will continue to dwindle until the place goes under. A more rational part of you insists that a multi-million dollar corporation like that has enough money to continue sweeping incidents under the rug and promise the utmost safety by hiring additional security and keeping careful notes on everyone who enters and leaves the building. It’s enough to put some concerned parents at ease, you’re sure, but it’s still at least a little bit suspicious that, despite all the security measures money could buy, it keeps happening anyway.
But, you let the notion simmer, and another week passes without further incident. There’s no outrageous headlines, but there’s also no leads. The most the company does is offer a reward, but it's the city that comes together to actually search. It slips into conversation with your friends, but they don’t offer much more than condolences for the victim’s family. You might be on your own for this one, you come to realize. But, despite their insistence that stuff like this could and should be left to the authorities, something just won’t let you move on with your life.
On a bright Saturday morning, you arrive at the Pizzeria. It’s noticeably quiet, especially for a beautiful weekend, but you chalk it up to it still being early. You’ve never been inside the building, and it takes you by surprise immediately - the sheer size, the constant bombardment of advertisements and noise - if you were twelve years old this would have been paradise. Now, it’s almost too much.
There’s a robot working the ticket booth. You stand in line behind a mother who gives you an uncomfortably long stare, no doubt for coming in early and childless. You do your best to shoot her a sincere smile, and she stares at the floor, shifting her weight to her other foot, and pays for her tickets in a hurry. Feeling considerably less confident and doing your best to brush it off, you approach the robot, who gives a generic greeting and asks questions regarding your visit.
Damn, this place is expensive! You’ll try not to make a habit of coming here without reason, you think, as you push through the small gate into the main entrance, noting what must be a gift shop to your right and customer service to your left. A large and impressive statue of Freddy Fazbear himself takes up most of the ground floor, and you can’t help but stare at it for a moment. Behind that are several sets of stairs leading up to a cafe and a daycare, apparently.
This place is a maze. The first half hour you spend there is wasted trying to get through the elevator to take you to the rest of the Pizza Plex, but it won’t let you in without another pass. Understandably, you’re frustrated. Twenty-five dollars to stare at a statue and look like a fool going up the same staircase three times! You have half a mind to kick the damn statue, but a security bot gives you a look, so you stalk off instead.
Well, you’ve already gotten this far. Might as well explore as much as you can. You sure as hell aren’t about to leave yet, you’ll milk this visit for all it’s worth.
The coffee shop has an impressive menu with even more impressive names, but they’re all pretty expensive. The barista-bot stares at you as you stare into the pastry case, realizing how hungry you really are. The scones look dry, but it’s something, so you fork over more money and sit down with your food and a small house coffee, looking out over the area.
The Daycare must not be very popular, you note. Hardly anyone has come in or out of it, but to be fair you haven’t really been keeping track. From what you can see, there’s a sign outside, but you can’t read it from where you’re sitting. It’s a start, you think, maybe you can ask the employee some questions about the place while you’re there.
It doesn’t strike you that the employee could potentially also be a robot until you’re through the double doors. The hallway before you is grand, with high ceilings and polished floors. The walls are decorated with posters, some character named Sundrop, holding a piece of candy in his hands that supposedly gives you a boost of energy. In contrast, there’s another character, Moondrop, who is sleeping, apparently because of his own candy. A little weird, and definitely something worth noting, as you continue down the hallway towards another set of doors.
There’s another sign tacked outside these doors, reading “Moondrop is currently on vacation, and overnight services are canceled until further notice. We apologize for any inconvenience, please visit the customer service counter for transferable options.” Your eyes find the Moon character again, an eyebrow raised. How backwards would it be if the robots were the ones kidnapping the children? Maybe it really is some inside job. You follow some parents through the doors, who don’t seem bothered by the notice, and are immediately taken back again by the statue in this room.
It's the sun and moon characters in all their glory, one with his hands held high to the ceiling and the other crouched like he’s picking something up off the floor. There’s something oddly unsettling about them, you mentally note, taking a slow walk around the statue, before your eyes fall onto the colorful play area on the floor below you. There are children screaming for joy, running from a lanky yellow robot who scoops them up and spins them around a few times when he catches them. Once they’re back on the ground again, they take off in another direction, and you wonder briefly how the robot could possibly catch all of them when he’s outnumbered ten to one. It’s not a problem, however, with the significant height advantage and long stride, he can catch them and gather two or three of them in his arms at once. It’s mesmerizing to watch, and it isn’t until the robot turns and stares back that you finally look away. It’s hard to tell from that distance, but you’re almost certain it’s eyes narrowed at the sight of you? But, as you look back, the robot is tossing a kid up in the air and catching them, smile wide as the child giggles wildly. Maybe you didn't get as much sleep last night as you thought, stuffing idle hands into your pockets.
Well, you don’t really have a reason to go down there. There’s a colorful slide to your right, but you’re certain you’ll hit your head or get stuck, and you don’t have kids of your own so loitering might get you on some watch list if you aren’t careful. Turning away from the play area, you look, instead, for some human employee, but the only other people are parents saying goodbye to their little ones. There’s a very official desk on the far side of the wall so you wander over there to poke around. It’s empty, of course, the only signs of life are a half empty energy drink and some sticky notes. You make a point of not lingering for long, not that any of the people there really seem to care, all of the parents are already gone after sending their kids down the slide. There has to be an easier way of getting around this place without blowing all your money, you think, shrugging off the odd, uneasy feeling in your stomach and turning around to go back the way you came.
It’s an unsuccessful first day, but you weren’t really expecting any grand reveal. You’ve hardly even scratched the surface of what this place had to offer, but before you come back you need to come up with a concrete plan on the how and the why. With your hands in your pockets, you’re back in the main entrance again, glancing at the elevators in hopes that someone will be kind enough to let you hitch a ride, but the floor is practically empty, save for some kids enjoying the kiddie rides.
You linger a little bit longer in the gift shop. By comparison, the stuffed animals of the animatronics are significantly cuter, but not enough to drop another twenty bucks. You put the toy back on the shelf and walk out without buying anything (it feels wrong, but the bot at the cash register doesn’t say anything besides “have a good day!”).
You’re out the door before eleven o’clock, and don’t really know what to do with the rest of your day. Somehow, you thought that would take longer, but you’ve started something as a concerned citizen, and there isn’t any turning back now.