Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“It’s been a few weeks, and they seem to be interacting well with the audience from their green rooms. I think it’s time we re-introduce free roaming and fan interactions during opening hours.”

The office, full of the managers and show-runners for Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizzaplex, sat around the meeting table and watched the footage from the past few weeks, most of them from Rockstar Row. From there, they could see the fan interactions from behind glass windows, and what they saw was satisfactory. Freddy Fazbear and Glamrock Chica were performing optimally despite Chica’s slight hiccup. Roxanne Wolf, while listless on her own, performed beautifully in front of crowds. Despite his disagreements with the bandmates behind the scenes, Montgomery Gator was back to normal for crowds and even seemed excited to interact with them again.

Mag, the manager of it all, though small fish compared to the entire Freddy Fazbear franchise, eyed the board of management under her. One in charge of clean up, another in charge of technicians, another in charge of software, yet another in charge of employment. A manager for each section of the Plex, someone under them to oversee each attraction (not present at this meeting, of course). Head of security. Head of food preparation. All the people needed to run this palace of a Plex. And Mag, of course, to oversee it all.

It was a lot for one person, certainly, but the first few days ran without a hitch, and that was all she needed.

“The Glams are physically ready to go,” the head of technicians said. “We’ve managed to keep everyone in top shape.”

“Any vestiges of the virus and rogue programming are gone,” the head of software added. “We’ve wiped as much as we could.”

“The attractions will get much more foot traffic if the Glams can visit their old haunts,” one of the sectional managers commented. “I think it’s a good idea.”

Mag nodded—of course it was a good idea. Ms. Emily didn’t hire her for nothing, after all.

A hand slowly raised. All eyes turned to the one in charge of the first floor of the Plex. Their face was set in stone, but Mag couldn’t help but notice slight trembling. She narrowed her eyes; was something not right in her kingdom?

“Yes?” she droned.

Mx. Hicks, the manager in charge of the first floor of the Plex, slowly lowered their hand. “While I agree with everything that has been said here, what about the Daycare? It’s the one attraction that hasn’t been open, and my employees are telling me the animatronics in charge still cannot be trusted with our customers.”

Ah. Was that it? Irritation welled within her, but Mag quelled it. She wanted her Plex to be perfect—nothing less than perfection in a franchise soaked in blood would be acceptable—but this little scratch was nothing. She tried to tell herself it was nothing. That their violence was nothing, that their disobedience was nothing, that this entire thing was nothing in the grand scheme of things. In her experience, not many people paid any mind to the daycare, the only ones being parents who trusted robots with their young children. Not too popular in the past but a necessity for staff members, unfortunately.

Mag waved the concern away. “Open the daycare. Fill it with human staff if you need to—maybe indirect exposure will whip those robots back into shape.”

And maybe, if they filled it with human staff, it'd finally rake in some money.

~.~.~

Moon watched the camera sometimes. He liked people-watching, though that usually applied to the guests and even the other animatronics on occasion. It didn't usually extend to his friend, though. It was almost strange how little he watched Sunny go about his business during the day.

Maybe it was that Sunny already gave a full run-down by the time Moon woke up that he would spend his entire ten-minute security shift just reading the note. Maybe it was because Sunny was so close that it felt rude. Maybe . . . maybe it was that watching him from the security cameras felt a lot less personal than watching the other animatronics through his own eyes.

But sometimes, Moon got bored during nap time. Oh, he loved that hour of silence more than anything, but sometimes, sitting there and watching the children nap grew a little boring. Some days, this wasn't an issue—there would be the occasional child who could not sleep, so they would play quiet games together. Sometimes there was a little troublemaker to watch over, so Moon would be forced to make rounds between the nap area and the time out corner.

Not today, though. Today, everything had gone so smoothly in the first few minutes. Sunny did such a good job tiring the kids out before nap time that they very quickly helped set up the sleep mats, pillows, blankets, and sleep buddies before finding their own spots without Moon having to say anything. He told them a story, turned on the music box, and that was that. They were out like little lights within five minutes.

Normally, Moon would think about his dreams. He slept a lot, so he usually slept long enough to dream, and those dreams would stick around long after waking up. They provided very nice daydreams.

But . . . that didn't sound appealing right now. He would talk to Sunny, but Sunny had stayed awake the whole hour yesterday, and Moon didn't feel right making him stay up two days in a row. Sure, he could nap during the hourly patrols, but ten minute naps split between hour-long working time was not Moon's idea of a good rest.

So, he had to entertain himself without daydreams.

Thus, the cameras! Admittedly, it was unfair because Sunny couldn't do this, but a little advantage never hurt anyone! Some funny moments to tease about were small potatoes, anyway.

So, Moon closed his eyes and, ignoring the warnings that the daycare was no longer in sight, activated his security mode. Flipping through the footage, he stopped around a little past one in the morning last night. Security rounds had already been completed for the midnight hour, and according to Moon's own time stamps, he was asleep at this time. That left Sunny alone with a spotless daycare and, presumably, nobody to talk to.

The fidgeting started immediately. Twisting his fingers slightly, bouncing lightly on his toes.

There was a long moment of silence, and reading their text logs revealed that at this time, he had been spamming Moon nonstop for several minutes. Moon, of course, had not responded at the time, and he chuckled when Sunny finally stomped his foot and crossed his arms. Despite their immobile face, Moon could recognize Sunny's pout from a mile away; the body language gave him away. He had to mute himself to keep from laughing—no need to wake the little stars.

The security footage had no audio, so he couldn't make out if Sunny was talking, but he could guess.

Dumb Sleepy Head, sleeping away while I'm bored.

Or something along those lines. So demanding—so clingy!

Moon loved it. He absolutely loved it. The kids were clingy too, of course, but no one clung harder than his best friend.

The fidgeting didn't last long. As if his annoyance had never occurred, Sunny started doing cartwheels all the way to the Fazbear Theater. Moon switched cameras quickly to catch up to his friend.

In this way, the hour passed quickly. To silence the blaring alarms, Moon opened up a few cameras to give him a good view of the nap time area, which satisfied his programming enough to shrink the alarm down to a small icon in the corner.

By the time nap time ended, he was full to bursting with material to tease Sunny with.

-.-.-

Sunny woke up to Moon waking up. Groaning, he tried to hold Moon there, keep him from leaving, but Moon just giggled and wiggled out. Sunny whined plaintively, and after what happened yesterday, Moon was tempted to let him suffer for a little while longer as a tiny form of payback. Nothing too bad, but still enough to say I'm still annoyed at you.

But those hands just—they reached. They searched for Moon even while Sunny kept his eyes closed, even as he tried not to wake up.

Oh, he was really making this hard . . .

Huffing, Moon considered curling up again and taking a longer nap. But he had work to do . . . kind of. If keeping the daycare clean and making sure the supplies were still there was considered working. But Sunny looked so sad without anyone to cuddle . . .

Moon could wake him up. Get him up and moving so he wouldn't lock up again. Then again, waking Sunny up was dangerous business, and aside from that, he needed all the sleep he could get. What if—

ALERT: New memo.

Subject line: Free Roaming.

Text reads: "All animatronics cleared for free roaming during opening hours. See schedule for more information."

Huh. All animatronics? Even mean old Montgomery Gator???

Tsk. Of course. Why would they consider bullying when approving free roam? Well, banned was banned, so as long as they didn't get too close to him, they would be fine.

Looking down once more at Sunny, who seemed to fall back to sleep, he considered what to do today. Now that free roaming was allowed, he could probably calibrate more of his map. Sunny could catch up later!

Thus resolved, Moon grabbed a pillow from behind himself and carefully inserted it between Sunny’s arms, hoping it would be enough to replace Moon as a sleep buddy—

With a shriek and flailing limbs,

(dark claws digging into soft flesh, red red spilling everywhere i'm sorry i'm sorry we can't stop)

Sunny threw the pillow off of him. Moon scrambled to get away, trying and failing to contain his own surprised screaming, which in turn made Sunny scream louder with a mix of

(fear fear oh no the fire the fire it bURNS—)

The music box turned on. It played an old tune that neither of them truly recognized. Moon muted himself even though the shock of Sunny's sudden awakening had passed, and Sunny himself was slowly coming to awareness. The red pinpricks slowly turned blue, and the black melted out of his scleras.

Moon shuddered briefly. "No good?" he asked.

Sunny flinched. "N-no good."

Moon wanted to ask why. He wanted to dig into the root of the issue, to find out the issue that caused it, but

(soft flesh, red blood, bloody hands)

he had a feeling he knew the answer already.

Stupid virus ruining everything.

"Sorry." Moon switched to signing before he could . . . bug Sunny with his voice again. Stupid virus . . . Do you want to go back to sleep?

Sunny shrugged. His eyes looked so tired, and his body language was a far cry from the excitement that used to come through in his messages. It was barely five in the morning—he definitely did not get even three hours of sleep.

You should sleep, Moon signed. He scooted closer and tentatively reached out. When Sunny didn't flinch—when he, in fact, leaned in closer—he settled his hands on his arms and gently brought him close until Sunny was nearly sitting in Moon's lap. The room was quiet. They sat comfortably in their blanket nest. Sunny's head laid on Moon's shoulder. The music box started playing again.

But instead of relaxing and allowing the music to put him back to sleep, Sunny put his hand on Moon's chest to muffle the music box with a quiet grunt. At Moon's questioning hum, he just chuckled tiredly and looked up at Moon with the smallest, tiniest playful glint. "Sorry, Moonpie, but I don't think I can sleep right now."

Can't sleep??? Moon bristled. Unacceptable! Sunny needed sleep, there wasn't any negotiation on this! If Moon checked his energy levels right now, he was sure he would find—

"I'm . . . a little sick of it." Blue eyes dropped down to the ground. Moon realized his own had been glitching angrily when he felt them settle down and sighed softly. "I don't want to sleep right now."

Moon closed his eyes. He grimaced, tried to push down the need to make him sleep. "But you need it," he said instead.

Sunny shrank into himself. "I know." His voice was small, but it didn't waver. But I don't want to, went unsaid.

Moon wanted to argue more. He wanted to argue the importance of sleep, even for inorganic beings like himself and Sunny. He wanted to insist that Sunny was still in the yellows, probably dipped closer to the reds because Moon knew, he just knew that he would have been too wired to settle down after their argument . . .

But a sort of nervous tension buzzed across their communication line, one that Moon only recognized an echo of something that very rarely happened. The only way to get rid of it was by moving, and back then (apparently ten years ago), Sunny had been very good indeed at keeping himself moving.

And these days, there was not a lot of movement . . .

Moon vocally sighed. "Okay. Inventory?"

Sunny physically cringed. "Fine . . ."

Before they could move, though, another memo popped up in their inbox.

ALERT: New memo.

Subject line: Maintenance.

Text reads: "Come down to maintenance room for check-up."

Sunny groaned. Moon internally echoed the sentiment.

~.~.~

A new opportunity to learn coding . . .

Cassie arrived to work around the same time as Gregory, and they spent a few quiet moments together in the locker room. Freddy, still connected to both their numbers, had texted them last night. It was good news: Sun and Moon had reconciled, Sun had apologized, and Moon had accepted it. They were back in the daycare, resting for the next day.

She should have been happy. Instead, all she felt was emptiness in the fact that she hadn't been the one to help. She couldn't help them—she'd only made it worse, actually. It took herself and Gregory stepping back and letting someone else take the load for things to get better, and didn't that just prove Gregory right? Cassie was in over her head, had overestimated her skills and Gregory's experiences in his own therapy. She'd overestimated how well they'd be able to help animatronics with something she did not understand.

Freddy and Chica understood, and that was why they were able to help. They were better equipped for it—more qualified.

Cassie blew a harsh breath. "Hey, Greg?"

"Yeah?" Gregory murmured.

"Sorry."

Out of the corner of her eye, Gregory perked up. "Sorry? For what?"

"For dragging you into my—my need to prove myself." She laughed bitterly at herself. "I almost—no, I did put us in danger. I was too stuck in my head to even consider that you probably knew what you were talking about, too."

Gregory hummed idly for a bit. "It's—it's fine, Cass—"

"No, it's not fine. I shouldn't have dragged you into my mess."

"And if you hadn't, you'd have come out with more than a bruise. Really, it's fine."

"You're still dealing with—"

Gregory barked a laugh. "It's not that serious! Come on, you know I had it a lot worse. I've improved." He raised his chin and put on a pompous accent. Cassie couldn't stop the snort that burst out of her nose.

"Still," she said when she was sure she wouldn't break out into giggles. "Sorry. I should have listened to you."

"S'fine, like I said. We should just—ya know, focus on our jobs for now. Pretty sure Chica and Freddy have this handled."

"I still wanna visit them. Think Sunny wants to see us after that?"

Gregory shrugged. "I dunno. You know them better than I do."

Cassie sighed and leaned back against the lockers. "Moon will; he likes you, and he remembers me now. It's Sun I can't read anymore."

"I guess we'll see, then." Both their Faz Watched beeped with different messages. Gregory hopped up with a soft grunt. "Welp—duty calls. I'll see you later?"

"Soon as I can," Cassie promised. "I'll text you if I can't make it before opening."

"Right. See ya!" And with that, he was gone.

Cassie tapped her foot nervously against the floor before finally opening her message. A new opportunity to learn coding.

That was what her mentor told her the day before. Today, she would have a new assignment under her mentor's supervision and paired with another apprentice. Something big, they said, something that would bring the Pizzaplex's ratings up and really rake in the crowds. With something that big, she couldn't help but feel a little bit nervous.

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Cassie pushed off of the bench and headed down to the service tunnels, down to the huge closet used to house computers and machinery in need of software repairs. Her mentor, Poe, was already waiting with their computer and a few components ready.

"Morning," they said absently. Tapping a few final things on their laptop, they finally shut it and smiled up at Cassie. "Jess should be here soon. Just have a seat and I'll give you two the rundown as soon as she gets here."

"Right." She sat down and fiddled with her fingers. She considered grabbing her own laptop from the shelf but ultimately decided against it. What would she even work on anyway? Her plans for robot therapy?

Yeah, cuz she knew how well her first attempt went. She was lucky they had Freddy and Her Chica.

Maybe . . . she could do some research? She still didn't know where they would find robot therapists, but maybe she could do more research for coping mechanisms. She could find ways to cure touch aversion or voice aversion or . . . or something.

Her leg bounced restlessly. She desperately wanted to draw on the counseling she got after her dad died, but how would strategies for grief connect with the trauma of living through a virus? No, better to leave this with people who knew a little better.

It felt wrong, but she knew it was the right choice. Just—just let it go and focus on supporting however she could.

Footsteps echoed quickly through the hall as Jess skidded to a halt in front of the room. She huffed and gasped for air for a few seconds before heaving a breath and stumbling in. "I'm—I'm here!" she exclaimed.

Poe looked up from their laptop again and smiled. "Great! Let's get started, then!" Their hand reached over to the table and picked up two small pieces of plastic—they looked like some kind of chip, and although they looked a little old and plain, Poe held them with no less gingerness than they did with precious FazEnt technology. "We found two more animatronics in the old scrap pile," they said, "and we're going to use them to teach you two how to reconfigure an animatronics' software."

Cassie's stomach twisted in anticipation, but the anticipation was laced with eagerness. Jess's face pinched with far more nerves than Cassie herself felt. "Um, shouldn't this go to more experienced software techs?" she asked.

"These two are unlikely to join the main cast." Poe handed each of them a chip and gestured to the shelves. "The chips are old and a little corrupted, so they're perfect to practice on! Go on, get your laptops; I'll show you what goes into these personality chips and how to work around the AI."

Cassie took her chip and held it as if it was made of glass, as if it held the most precious thing in the world. In a way, it did. If her mentor was right, then she held the personality of an entire animatronic—she basically held a person in her palm! Cradling it gently in one hand, she grabbed her laptop and powered it on.

Poe walked them through how to connect the chip to their laptops. Despite its small size, it held delicate information within, thus necessitating the use of an adapter for security of the data within. Cassie followed each direction with dedicated focus, unwilling to damage the person within this chip. Whoever it was, she wanted to preserve as much as she could of them.

Finally, after lots of careful maneuvering, the software booted up within her program.

Loading file . . .

Please wait . . .

Loading Bonnie.exe

~.~.~

Chica perked up at the message running through her system. Excitement rushing through her, she waved down her bandmates as they waited for the techs to finish setting up. "Ooh, guys, they sent us a message! 'All animatronics cleared for free roaming during opening hours. See schedule for more information.' Isn't that exciting!?"

"Geez, can ya be louder? I think you blew my ears out," Monty grumped. His claws flexed and his jaw clenched, but Chica waved him off. She'd seen worse with Mangle!

"Don't be a grumpkus!" she giggled. "Let's see the schedule!"

First show at seven am, of course.

A quick after-show maintenance for about thirty minutes before a meet and greet immediately after for about an hour.

Photos with fans in their green rooms for another hour.

Free roam in their designated attractions for another hour.

Free roam until the next show at noon.

Rinse and repeat until the last show at six pm.

This, Chica announced to Monty, Roxy, and Freddy, who listened with various levels of excitement.

Which was to say, only Freddy seemed even mildly excited. His own eyes flicked back and forth, as if he was reading the memo staff sent out. "That is great news!" he exclaimed. "I was looking forward to—"

"Yeah, yeah, where the hell are the techs?" Monty snapped. "It's six, ain't it? They should be here by now!"

"It is barely five-thirty," Freddy sighed. "Please, be patient."

"Don't you fuckin' start, Fazbear!"

"Montgomery—"

Chica sighed and did her best to tune out the boys. She turned instead to Roxy, who had been watching all this with an unreadable gaze.

That was strange—as strange as everything else had been these past few days. It was . . . disturbing, to say the least. Where was that confident smile Chica loved so much?

Sidling up to Roxy, Chica nudged her lightly. "Roxy? Honey? Are you alright?"

Roxy blinked. Her jaw clenched for a moment before she forced it to relax. Chica frowned—this new Roxy was becoming more and more concerning. Not that she already wasn't concerned . . .

"It's—I'm fine!" She grinned a wobbly grin. "Now that we're finally facing the music, I've gotta be at my best!"

Chica smiled tightly. "You know you can always talk to me, right?"

"Pssh." Roxy tossed her head and flicked a hand through her hair. Gone now was the blank look, replaced with that familiar confidence—Chica couldn't even find a trace of nerves in her facial expression and body language. "I'm fine, Chi. Just can't wait to get out there!"

A new memo popped up, this one saying something about coming down to the maintenance room. Well, they were already here, so Chica disregarded it. She just wished she could disregard her worries just like she could the memo.

"Alright, cylinder's ready," one of the techs said. Several apprentices gathered around, ready to assist and learn. The tech in charge, a large man with rough hands and lots of experience, waved Freddy over. "Let's get you checked over, big guy."

Freddy stepped up without complaint. He said a few quiet words to one of the young apprentices before settling into the chair.

Chica hummed softly and reviewed the schedule. It looked the same as it always had, but it was good to internalize it anyway. It helped keep her nerves about her before a big show, and every show was a big show! Besides that, it kept her from worrying too much.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Roxy talk with Monty. "Talk" being used loosely here—as had become usual of late, he started antagonizing Roxy right away.

"Ya got your parts nailed down?" he snarked. "I think ya missed a note last time."

Roxy made a glitched sound in her throat; Chica did not like the sound of it. "Shut up, like you did better than I did," she retorted. "If I remember right—and my memory is flawless—then it was you who went off script last night."

"Only to cover your ass. You so tone deaf that you can't tell when you're keytar's off key?"

"Sh-shut up!! It was not!!"

"Was so."

"Was not! Chica!" Chica jumped and turned toward her two bandmates. Roxy's teeth were bared, and Monty smirked like he'd already won their argument. "Was my keytar in tune or not!?"

Chica inwardly sighed but outwardly grinned. Irritation like hot fire bubbled up in her core, but she ruthlessly stamped it down. Goodness, but they were getting on her nerves! "Sounded a-okay to me, Rox!" she chirped, and she hoped that would settle it.

Roxy barked a mean laugh at Monty. "See? Chica agrees with me!"

Oh, please let that be the end of it—

"Pshaw, she's too nice to tell ya," Monty scoffed. Chica slapped her hand against her forehead. Why did she even bother?

She marched up to the both of them, smile still glued to her face but physically strained. "How about instead of fighting like children, you calibrate your ears, hm? That'll settle any future arguments, won't it?" She planted her hands on her hips and glared them both down. Roxy immediately looked away, and even though Chica wasn't as wide or aggressive as Monty, he crossed his arms defensively, too.

From inside the cylinder, she could see Freddy close his eyes. The exasperation was clear on his face—goodness, these two would be the death of them, wouldn't they?

Heaving a sigh, Chica made to run some of her own calibrations when a familiar soft thmp-jingle thmp-jingle echoed through the tunnels. And it wasn't just one set—they echoed through the tunnels unevenly, like one set was struggling to keep step with the other.

She perked up. Catching Freddy's knowing gaze, she turned fully to the maintenance room's entrance in time to see Moonie all but dragging Sunny into the tunnel. While Roxy and Monty got back into their bickering, she ignored them in favor of the two newest members of the family.

"Yoo-hoo!!" she cheered, waving her hands and beckoning them over. "It's so good to see you two out!!"

Almost immediately, Sunny's rays retracted, and he pressed his hands over his audio processors. Chica winced; had she been too loud?

Moon smiled apologetically. Still dragging Sun along, he signed, We got a maintenance memo. Sunny didn't want to come down here.

Chica clicked her tongue and cooed sympathetically. "So sorry about that, chickies." She held her arms out. "Want a hug?"

Sun dragged his eyes up to her. Almost reluctantly, he separated from Moon and plodded over to Chica, who immediately wrapped her arms around him. He melted into her hug and even squeezed her back a little. Moon hummed in amusement and stood right next to her, and she couldn't help but notice he'd positioned himself so he was slightly hidden. She glanced behind herself—ah, Roxy and Monty. Still at it.

Her smile melted a little. Speaking of Roxy and Monty.

"Oh, Roxy! Monty!" The two of them stopped their arguing—whatever it was about—and snapped their heads toward them. Rage blazed in both their eyes, but Chica couldn't find it any more intimidating than the crankiest balloon child. Moon, however, all but shrank behind her—something she would investigate later. "Have you two apologized to Moon here yet?"

Sun shifted in her arms. Roxy shifted her weight from foot to foot, looking like a guilty little puppy who knew they'd done something bad. Monty, however, was all smiles and shamelessness.

"I—haven't gotten around to it," Roxy mumbled.

"I don't see why I have to," Monty grunted.

Chica grinded her beak. Oh, these two. Why did they have to make things so difficult now? "Well, now's the perfect time. We're all here, so I don't see why you can't."

Neither of them said a word. They didn't even look at Moon, who seemed to be growing more and more uncomfortable with each passing moment. As if responding to his discomfort, Sun stirred and flopped over so he could see past Chica, who nearly fell over herself trying not to let him fall.

"Apologize?" he asked. "Why?"

Moon huffed. "Not important."

"Hmm?" Sun flopped backward, and Chica all but scrambled to hold him up. "Not important? Moony Moon, if Monty has to apologize, then he did something." One more flop brought him back around and staring at Monty and Roxy. "What was it?"

Monty shuffled awkwardly. He turned away and said nothing.

Sun's eyes glitched over to Roxy. A chilling smile spread across his face. Chica didn't like the look of it—and when she looked at Moon, she saw the same glitching in his eyes.

Oh, dear.

"Roxanne." Sun's head twitched. "What did you do to my Moon?"

"I, uh—" Roxy stammered and stuttered, the false confidence gone. "Um. Ssssorry?"

"For?"

"Roxy! Your turn!" With a whoosh, the tube opened, and Freddy stepped out. The tech gestured for her to get in, and Roxy all but turned tail and ran away.

If Chica had hands to spare, she would face palm, but an exasperated groan would do. Sun giggled and started swaying dangerously in her arms, so much that Moon had to join in to keep him still.

"Montyyyy!" he sang, his voice edged with a harsh growl. "What did you doooo!?"

"Sunny!" Moon scolded. "That's enough. It's not—"

A sharp laugh cut Moon off, and Chica squawked when Sun tore away from her and practically fell back into Moon's arms. Moon grunted but didn't seem surprised—but that nonchalance turned to thinly-veiled fear for a split second before he turned his back to everyone. She could see the tremors as Moon tried to calm Sun down, and every few seconds, he glanced fearfully at something just past her. Chica glanced behind her—Monty glared daggers at the daycare twins, and if he had lungs, she was sure he would be breathing sharp, furious breaths. A shift behind her told her Moon was now hiding both himself and Sun behind her, and frantic muttering made her want to turn around and comfort the both of them, but her focus wasn't on them anymore.

"Monty," she said, forcing a smile even though she didn't feel like smiling right now. "Stop that."

If anything, Monty's glare grew. "I ain't doin' nothin'," he growled.

Sure, maybe he wasn't, but he was scaring her new charges. Puffing out her chest, she stood firmly in front of them and scowled. "Montgomery Gator, keep your eyes to yourself or—"

"I ain't doin' no—"

"Monty." Freddy's hand settled on a padded shoulder, and Monty's glare died down to a scowl. "Stop that."

Monty shrugged him off. A reptilian growl rattled out of his voice box. "I said I ain't doin' nothin'."

"Then wipe that look off your face, sweetie," Chica snapped. "And go calibrate."

She figured he wouldn't leave. Fired up as he was, she figured it would take a lot more than some words from the both of them to back off—but to her shock, he gave one last derisive snort and stomped over to the maintenance tube. Chica watched him with sharp eyes, waiting for the moment he would tear into staff, but it never came. He just stood next to the cylinder, venting hot air but slowly cooling down. He crossed his arms tightly across his body, and his posture remained tense until one of the techs—the young apprentice Freddy seemed to like—started talking to him. Slowly, he loosened up.

Chica felt herself gradually relax, too. Now that the artificial adrenaline was wearing down, and now that Monty was sufficiently occupied, she turned her focus to the Daycare Attendants behind her.

"—me off turn me off turn me off turn me off I hatE IT HERE—"

Moon was still shaking, but his hands moved quickly to flip a switch behind Sun's head. The muttering and giggling died down as he shut down.

Sun teetered precariously to the side. Moon just barely caught him before he damaged something. His voice trembled as he uttered a small, "Stars above . . ."

"If you needed more time, we could have made up an excuse," Freddy murmured. He crouched down to their height, and Chica did the same. Nerves akin to the ones Afton inspired shuddered through her when she turned her back to Monty, but she knew the techs were capable; and soon, Monty would be in the tube, too. Safe and secure.

since when did she see her own bandmate as dangerous?

She was torn away from her own doubts when Moon hugged Sun close and looked at Chica and Freddy with those big, sad eyes. "He was fine when we left," he said. "He didn't—he was reluctant, but not distressed. I don't know—" He cut himself off with a twist of the head and a shake of the wrist. He glared at it as if it had personally betrayed him before settling fully down on the floor with a sigh. "I don't know what's wrong . . ."

Chica knelt down fully and clicked her tongue sympathetically. "Honey, you can't possibly read someone's mind—"

"I could read Sunny's before," he snapped. Fire blazed in those red eyes, so angry and indignant that Chica would have apologized if he just gave her the chance. "We shared everything. I could always feel him . . ." The flash of anger melted away back into sadness. He stared down at his sunny companion with such profound sadness that it positively broke Chica's heart.

She shared a glance with Freddy. He started to reach out but stopped short when Moon flinched away from him. "Your communication line is intact, is it not?" he asked gently.

"It's for communication," Moon mumbled, "not connection. It's not the same . . ." He perked up suddenly, as if an idea popped in his head. When he turned back to Freddy, those eyes were full of fervent hope. "You remember, right? Do you know why he's stressed here?"

Freddy winced. "Here is not the best place to discuss it. But we can talk about it before opening." He glanced back at the maintenance tube. Roxy was almost done—soon, it would be Monty's turn. "If you like, I can ask the technicians to see to you and Sun first."

"Yes, that's a great idea!" Chica cheered. "Then you can get back to the daycare as soon as possible!"

Moon looked like he wanted to argue, but no sound came out. He eventually relented with a sigh and a nod. Chica stayed with them as Freddy rose and approached the techs. She tuned her hearing a bit towards them but kept most of her attention on the daycare twins, so still and quiet now that one was shut off and the other seemed deep in thought.

Soon enough, the techs called Moon in. He handed Sun over to Chica and shuffled over to the tube, and Chica followed closely when she noticed a familiar violent desire in Monty's glare. She set herself firmly between herself and Moon as they made the short walk over, and she kept stern vigil when the tube closed and Moon settled in.

The young apprentice—Gregory, her scan showed—insisted on entering the tube alone. According to records, he was assigned as the Daycare Attendants' technician, so she supposed it made sense. He seemed to be talking to Moon while he worked, and with the way Moon's mouth quirked up playfully when he responded, they seemed to have a positive relationship.

That was good. Chica knew staff weren't always the happiest working at FazEnt.

Confident that Moon would be fine with the staff, she turned her attention to Roxy, whose focus remained on her casual but methodical calibration. For now, she looked fine—but Chica wondered if she was truly fine right now or if this was just a mask. Roxy was in a bad place, that much was certain, but with the way she acted around staff . . . it wouldn't be smart to talk to her about it here.

Shelf it for later. Put a pin in it until after the shows. After they needed to interact with fans.

Her attention turned to Monty. Monty, who glared daggers at Moon through the glass, whose thunderous expression could have melted metal if only he possessed that power. His hands clenched into fists, claws hidden away yet no less flexed. One of the other techs said something she couldn't make out, but it did nothing to remove the rage from Monty's being; if anything, it made everything worse. His body tensed like a band ready to snap. His jaw clenched tightly.

The tech wisely moved away.

She would need to keep an eye on him . . .

~.~.~

Moon carried Sunny on his back as they made their way back to the daycare—"they" being himself, Chica, and Freddy. Greg offered to come with them, but Freddy took him aside to speak privately. Maybe it was to put less stress on Moon, but as someone who didn't like secrets being kept from him (especially now of all times), he'd cheated a little and used the cameras to eavesdrop.

"Give them some time," Freddy had said. "They need to adjust to new information. I will let you know how they are doing later."

Greg had agreed, however reluctantly. It . . . was a little comforting, knowing someone was looking out for himself and Sunny, and Moon really appreciated it. There was something a little bittersweet about not being consulted about this, but he didn't really—he didn't want to think about whether or not he felt like having guests. Chica and Freddy were one thing; they didn't count as guests as much as human staff did, and while there was a certain level of intimidation there, it wasn't the same as having a soft human in the daycare.

And Moon didn't know how well Sunny would take to a soft human in the daycare.

He liked Greg enough, but now was probably not the time.

Following behind the oldest two animatronics, Moon adjusted Sunny on his back and checked his inbox in case anything else popped up. Any news about the daycare opening (unlikely), about the theater releasing new movies or shows, anything at all. There was nothing.

A disappointment? Or a blessing?

Moon simply didn't know.

He instead listened to Freddy and Chica chat softly up ahead about the upcoming show. He didn't understand everything they were talking about, but he appreciated the noise nonetheless. If he were alone, he didn't know if he could stand listening to the music box again.

He loved the thing, but after days and days on end of listening to it . . . maybe it was time to consider changing the song, at least. Leave the soothing melody for emergencies and all.

Dim light at the end of the tunnel signaled their return to the daycare. Moon let out a small sigh of equal parts relief and resignation. As much as he loved the daycare, he longed to free roam again—but how could he when his best friend needed him right now??

Although . . . with how this morning went, chances were they wouldn't be staying in today. Sunny's reluctance to go to sleep tied with the memo about free roaming made the likelihood of them staying here a lot less probably . . .

Moon grimaced. On one hand, stay bored in the daycare. On the other, Sunny keeping himself from resting as much as possible.

Damned if you do, damned if you don't.

Well, he supposed not every day would be a perfect day.

"Here we are," Freddy said. “Would you like to talk now?”

Moon considered for a moment, then shook his head. “No. I think I'll talk to Sunny about it alone. So he's not stressed.”

"I see. Would you like us to stay for a little, then?"

Moon shrugged, considered for a little while more, and ultimately shook his head. "Go get ready for the day. We'll be fine."

"You sure, honey?" Chica wrung her hands. "You know we're always here for you. We take care of each other!"

A smile found its way to Moon's face despite the stress. It was a wonder he and Sunny hadn't reached out to these two long ago; they weren't that scary after all. "Thank you, but we'll be fine. I think today's going to be a bit more active for us."

Chica smiled tightly. "That's—that's good, right?"

"Not ideal, but better than despondence." Moon stepped over the threshold of the tunnels and into the daycare. "See you later?"

Freddy nodded. "We will visit when we can."

"We will, too." He glanced around the empty, dim daycare. "There's no work for us right now anyways."

With one last reassuring squeeze, Chica and Freddy walked back through the service tunnels, presumably heading back to get ready for the morning show.

Moon's smile melted a little. Maybe watching the show would make Sunny feel better? And then they could visit the attractions! Anything to change up the scenery—and then maybe, once they burned enough energy, he could coax him back to sleep.

With a vague plan in his head now, Moon set Sunny down at one of the tables and, careful not to let him fall flat on his face, switched him back on.

The fans kicked in immediately. Moon kept a firm hand on his shoulder, ready to give a good hug if Sunny started freaking out, but aside from a startled twitch, he turned back on with a sigh and a groan.

"Sorry . . ." was the first thing out of his mouth.

Moon hushed him gently. "It's fine." He tilted Sun's head up so they could see each other and internally winced at the pure exhaustion in his eyes. He signed, Are you sure you don't want to go back to sleep?

“If I sleep now, I'll scream,” Sunny deadpanned.

Moon’s frown deepened. Never had he ever seen his best friend this down . . .

He turned his frown upside down. Taking Sunny's hands, Moon hopped up from the table and pulled his friend to stand. “Let's have fun!” he exclaimed, projecting as much enthusiasm as he could. It was completely unnatural, absolutely not something he could keep up, but it seemed to bring some energy back into Sunny’s eyes.

No fear in them, either—good. Maybe his voice could be used for something positive. As long as he kept sleep talk to his hands and kept his words short, everything should be fine.

“The ball pit,” he said, tugging Sunny into the play area. “Let's fill it!”

“F-fill it—Moon—!” Stumbling along, Sunny sputtered and voiced weak protests as Moon raced back into the play area.

The doors opened remotely, and he resolutely did not close them again.

He'd seen the footage. Days and days and days on end trapped inside the play area. May as well air out the room anyways!

The dim lights brightened slightly at Moon’s will. Sunny protested, of course, but a little more light never hurt anybody.

They didn't stop until they reached the ball pit. Moon let go of his hand and turned toward Sunny, smiling brightly and signing, Wanna do the honors?

Sunny stared at him with an unreadable expression. Moon felt his smile slipping. Was he being too much? Overwhelming him like they had the day before? Doing too much, asking too much, being a bother?

Before he could spiral down those thoughts, Sunny let out a breathy laugh, and his smile looked tired but amused. It wasn't energetic or excited—but it wasn't angry. It wasn't annoyed.

“Oh, Stardust,” Sunny sighed. “You don't have to do all that.”

“All what?” Moon asked. He could already feel the mask slipping, but one of them had to have that zest for life. It used to be Sunny, but Moon could pick up the mantle for now.

“All this.” Sunny reached up and smoothed the corners of Moon’s mouth until it fell into its softer, more natural smile that soon melted into a frown. “Don't fake this for my sake, okay? Just—be you. You know?”

“Sunny . . .”

“I missed you the most. So, you know . . .” His hands came down to wring together, eyes downcast and tired. “Don't pretend, okay?”

Moon’s shoulders slumped. He huffed in amusement even though he didn't feel all that amused. Stars, he should have known that wouldn't work, huh? He gently took Sunny's hand and smiled tightly. “Okay. Sorry.”

“Don't be.” Taking a moment to recalibrate himself, Sunny turned back to the ball pit with a shadow of the snappiness Moon once saw on security cameras. “So. Ball pit?”

Moon nodded. Using the communication line (no voice, of course, the first scream was enough to deter him), he sent images of where he'd seen the lever. With a gesture upwards, they both saw what had to be the mechanism that released the balls.

Nodding, Sunny called the wire before Moon could and hopped down to the bottom of the pit, where the lever was hidden in one of the panels. A bit of exploring revealed the hidden panel, which popped open and revealed the lever. In the back of his head, Moon expected—wanted—some sort of fanfare. When Sunny looked up at him and gave a little wiggle of his fingers, Moon couldn't find it in him to be anything other than relieved.

He wasn't pretending, but a little bit of his old self was still in there.

That little bit of flair was all he got before Sunny pushed the lever down. A deep rumbling echoed throughout the area, and he only got a few seconds of warning before the balls started tumbling down the chute and into the pit. The cable pulled up, sending Sunny flying through the air and back next to Moon.

Together, they watched the balls fill the pit. Moon remembered Sunny’s description of the first time he watched the pit fill up—he’d been ecstatic and tried to count every ball, but he kept missing so many that he'd just declared the number too big to count.

It was probably a gazillion! he'd written. Definitely more than a billion! I'd know—I tried to count them!

No doubt he'd been exaggerating; Moon would take exaggeration over the silent vigil Sunny now kept over the ball pit. His eyes darted this way and that, skipping over each colorful plastic ball. Maybe he was counting them? Moon hoped he was counting them.

Just to be safe, Moon kept count, too.

They were too much to keep track of, but he tried. And when he couldn't try any longer, he blinked and gently took Sunny’s hand, a gesture welcomed with a tight squeeze and a slightly brighter smile. Those blue eyes never left the pit, but Moon took the gratefulness as he saw it.

A few seconds into watching the pit fill—a few seconds that definitely constituted the both of them losing track, Moon tapped Sunny's hand. Sunny looked over to him (definitely lost track) with a question in those eyes.

Moon released his hand just long enough to sign, Do you want to see the morning show? We can free roam now.

Sunny looked away for a bit before nodding slightly. “Okay,” he said. “I think I'd like that.”

Moon grinned. Step one: done!

~.~.~

After morning maintenance and saying goodbye to the Glam Band, Gregory followed Dianne to one of the back rooms. Rafa followed beside him, that perpetually worried expression on their face doing nothing for the tense air that always seemed to follow Dianne.

He didn’t exactly know why they were coming down here, just that it was a project that Dianne and one other technician was taking on, and as apprentices, this would be a good learning opportunity. Apparently, Cassie had an assignment along these lines, too.

Nerves fluttered in his stomach—whether they were good or bad nerves, he didn’t know.

Finally, though, they reached their destination. Dianne shoved open the door and gestured for them to go inside. Gregory stepped through since Rafa didn’t seem keen on it and almost froze in place. He only thought to move when he felt Rafa almost bump into him, and even then, it was almost an afterthought.

There, laying in pieces on two separate tables, were the shattered remains of what looked like Bonnie and Foxy. Bonnie was far worse for wear than Foxy was—he looked like he’d been murdered, head caved in and body in shambles whereas Foxy just looked like he’d taken several bad tumbles in the dump.

Gregory blinked. Freddy didn’t talk about Bonnie or Foxy until several years after their escape, when he would reminisce about the old days way back in the eighties and nineties. To see them in person . . .

“Whatever projects you have are gonna have to be on hold, fellas,” Dianne said. “Until these things are fixed, they’re our only priority."

Oh, Freddy was gonna freak.

~.~.~

The doors opened, and a small crowd trickled in. Already, the show was about to start, so several guests rushed in and found their spots. Those that did not wish to attend wandered around, looking for attractions that seemed the most fun to visit. 

Among this crowd, a stern woman stepped in. She was not among the crowd that wished to see the show, nor was she part of the few who wanted to search their options for games. She was quite young, around her mid thirties, with light brown hair and a sharp face made sharper by the pantsuit she insisted on wearing.

Gabrielle Emily tapped her phone and, upon seeing several missed calls from her father, smiled and unlocked it. She tapped “call back” on one of the notifications.

“Yes, Daddy?” she said when he picked up.

“Gabby? I know you're busy, sweetheart, but I'd really appreciate you answering my calls the first time.” Despite his age, her dad’s voice was as strong as it was soft. Like her grandfather, Samuel Emily was a kind man.

Too kind. He'd refused to run the business left to the family—Gabrielle was only too happy to continue in his stead.

“Sorry, but you know how it is.” The first notes of the opening song started playing out. Gabrielle sauntered over to the back of the Pizzaplex, where workers were busy setting a table and banner in front of the daycare.

NOW HIRING! it said.

Couldn't they have done that before opening day? Ugh, just how much incompetence would she be seeing today? Hopefully Mag wasn't a mistake of a hire.

“There's lots of paperwork and visits to make, and I just don't hear my phone sometimes,” she continued. “Did you need anything?”

“Just wanted to talk to my little girl.”

“Dad . . .”

“Don't make that face at me, Gabby—”

“You can't even see me.”

“But I know you.”

“And I know you. You don't call this many times just to chat. Was there something you needed?”

Her father paused for a moment before chuckling. “You sound just like your grandpa,” he said. “Alright, alright. I know you're there to check on all the staff and make sure things are running smoothly, but do me a favor and check on the animatronics too, yeah?”

Gabrielle scrunched her nose. The robots? No offense, but those were the most terrifying part of the Freddy's pizzerias, in her experience. “I'm not a mechanic, Dad. Couldn't you have come yourself if you're so worried?

“I would but I have my own job to do. These designs won't draw themselves.”

“Then I'll get one of the techs to give me a rundown—”

“It’s not a mechanical issue I’m worried about. Check on them yourself. Talk to them. Make sure they're okay. No glitches or anything, got it?”

Smoothing out her face—no need to be unprofessional out here—she sighed. “I'm sure they're fine. They even had a memory wipe and everything, just like the other pizzerias. Good as new! Clean slate!”

“Honey, with that AI that's like the concept of erasing someone's memory without expecting consequences. Think of it like a human brain! Everything is tied to everything else and nothing can truly be erased without causing problems in one area or another. For example, say you—”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Gabrielle pinched the bridge of her nose. “I'll—I’ll see what I can do, but I have a lot of building to cover if I want to finish by closing.”

“I know, I know. Take care, Gabby.”

“I will. See you after work, Daddy.”

He hung up. Gabrielle sighed and stashed her phone in her pocket and continued on her inspection. So long as everything was going smooth and nothing needed fixing, she was sure the Plex could run itself. A few glitches here and there weren't an issue.

-.-.-

Chica danced on stage as she played her guitar. Ah, nothing was better than the rush of playing for a crowd, of knowing her work was bringing people happiness and excitement! Like every time she played for them, a surge of gratefulness welled within her and spilled out in her music. This was probably her favorite time of the day—opening hours, warming up the crowd, welcoming them in with their music and energy.

Oh, how she loved it!

Probably one of the best parts of the shows was seeing their frequent fliers in the crowd, familiar faces that got older and older every year. This new Plex was in a new location, so her usuals, who were probably all grown up by now, were nowhere to be seen. Today, however, that highlight came in the form of two smaller figures sitting on the second floor railings, moving to the music and seeming to sing along. Sun and Moon, out of the daycare and having the time of their lives.

Chica played extra passionately for them. She shot them a wink and blew them a kiss, which Sunny caught and pretended to share with Moonie.

Warmth shot through her, bloomed in her core and spread throughout her entire system. As if fueled by a good charge, she put more energy into her performance.

A few chords and a “Welcome to Freddy's!” later, they all sank down into the maintenance room under the stage for their post-show check-up. Freddy would go first, then Chica, then Roxy and Monty. Oldest to youngest—the usual order that wasn't always followed. Sometimes, Chica let the younger ones go before her, just so they could get to their attractions as soon as possible. Sometimes, Freddy insisted she go first if he noticed something off or was just feeling particularly nice that day.

Today, they stuck to the usual order. Chica waited eagerly for her turn while Freddy got checked over—an eagerness that didn't last long.

“What the hell was that up there?” Monty snarked. “You were off a step.”

“Shut the hell up,” Roxy snapped. “Maybe you were too distracting! What, you lose control of your tail or something?” Her voice turned into a mocking coo. “Widdle gator needs some tail twaining, hmm?”

Chica turned to glare at them. She could see Monty’s hand poised to hit and Roxy already leaning away from him when they both caught her eyes. “Can't you both behave for two seconds? We're almost done here.”

They immediately separated further. Chica turned away from them, exasperated and a little sad. Not too long ago (at least, according to her memory banks, which apparently had a ten-year gap according to Freddy), she would have let them banter until it was their turn in the tube. With these new tempers, though . . .

Well, she didn't know if Monty’s playful shoving would stay playful. His words certainly hadn't.

Freddy was done soon enough, and she was all too happy to trade places with him. They exchanged exasperated looks before she took her place in the tube and relaxed as her mechanic and their apprentice worked on her.

She sighed deeply as the mechanics calibrated her and checked her over for any damage during the show. It was quick—a very short calibration to her knees, some checks on her hands and hips, and she was free to go.

Roxy went next, and they were finally free from their bickering. Monty stood next to them, fuming and huffing.

“Monty, are you alright?” Freddy asked.

Monty snarled at him. Freddy clenched his jaw and didn't push it.

Soon, Roxy came out of the tube and Monty went in. Chica asked her the same question. Roxy didn't answer.

Soon, everyone had been checked out, and they were deemed guest-ready. Together, they headed up for the meet and greet with the fans.

This was going to be the best time ever!

~.~.~

This was the worst time ever.

The morning show was great—amazing, even—but Sun was ready to go to bed. Had been ready to go to bed since the moment they woke up, but like he'd told Moon: if he closed his eyes right now, he would scream.

DON'T GO TO SLEEP!! screamed his system, and he knew in his core that it was just a bug, just a holdover from the months he spent awake and terrified to go to sleep, but that didn't make it any less distressing. Every long blink sent terror down his spine, every stretch of darkness filled him with so much dread that he swore if he didn't lose his head by the end of today, he would be a lucky star.

Moon nudged him, made sure Sun was looking at him, and signed again: Do you want to sleep?

Yes!! he wanted to scream—he needed to go back to bed so flipping bad!!

But he couldn't. Not without setting himself off, not without his head telling him that if he went to sleep right now, the nightmare would be waiting for him, ready to hurt everyone he held dear.

Including Moon.

Especially Moon.

“No,” he said instead. He didn't elaborate on it, but—but with the way Moon grasped his hand again, maybe he understood a little.

“Why?” he asked.

Okay, maybe not.

Sun didn't know how much to tell him. How much would be too much? The Moon he remembered before the virus was a soft, sensitive soul with a bit of sternness that Sun himself rarely saw. How many words would it take to break him?

Sun squeezed his hand tightly. Moon squeezed back. “You don't have to,” he whispered, and although his voice still made him shiver . . . it wasn't as bad as when Gregory and he insisted on the calibration.

Maybe he'd just been off that day.

it had all been too much

Sun fidgeted with the chrome railing, his foot tapping nervously and the bell jingling. We do everything together. It wouldn't hurt to share a little, right?

“Um,” Sun mumbled. “My head's telling me things again. If—if I go to sleep right now, the nightmare will come back.” He squeezed tighter. Saw Moon wince out of the corner of his eye. “And it'll eat you first.”

Moon’s face didn't change, didn't show any more signs of discomfort—the only sign of that was in the way Moon held Sun’s hand tighter, seemed to lean in a little closer. His eyes glitched for just a second—one terrifying second—before returning to their big, red state.

In this way, they were slightly less scary. The nightmare had red eyes, too, but Moon’s were expressive in a way the nightmare never was.

Still, he missed the one blue eye he used to have. Just a little. He'd never seen it, but the kids drew Moon enough to know.

Moon removed his hand from Sun’s and signed very, very slowly and deliberately. I will not let anything like that happen, understand? I will chase the nightmare away. So don't be scared to sleep again, okay?

For the millionth time, Sun’s eyes burned with nonexistent tears. In lieu of a verbal response, he leaned forward and hugged Moon tight, tight, tight.

Stars, how did he get so lucky to have Moon as his best friend?

When they pulled away, Moon gestured around them. How about we take a walk? he asked. Recalibrate our maps?

Sun nodded. “Okay! Let's!”

Hopping off the railing, Sun jerked back with a yelp at the sight of a guest. The person—female, young adult, new guest—jumped too, and they stared at each other for a few awkward seconds before Moon uttered a pleasant “Welcome!” and pulled Sun along.

For a while, they walked along the floor of the second story, close to the railing so they wouldn't get in a guest's way, but that seemed to be inevitable, much to Sun’s dismay. The Pizzaplex seemed to be packed as always, and while that made him happy before, it only filled him with dread now.

It reminded him of another place that used to be packed with people. Small people, ones who couldn't defend themselves, ones he tried to protect until he became the danger—

Suddenly, Sun was floating. He blinked in surprise until he landed lightly on the railing, and only then did he notice Moon dangling in front of him. Held up with just the cable, he held Sun’s hand steady while Sun caught his balance. A grim smile that tried to pretend to be happy quirked at the corners of his mouth.

“Better?” Moon asked.

Sun looked down at the Plex below—at the long drop that would spell his doom with one wrong move—and found that . . . he wasn't scared. Not as scared as he was of touching something soft and squishy. Not as scared as he was of the nightmare.

And—and since he was mostly clear-headed, he knew Moon was not the nightmare. Moon was his best friend, and he trusted his best friend.

So, with a nervous grin of his own, he uttered a small, “Yeah. Thanks, Moon Moon.”

Moon’s smile turned genuine. Slowly, as Sun calibrated his balance, their hands separated until Sun balanced entirely on his own. Carefully, carefully, he lifted one foot, held the position for a few seconds, and stepped forward. He did that with the other foot until he walked comfortably along the railing. Moon stayed close by just in case, and Sun was once again filled with the guilty joy that came with such a steadfast and patient friend.

They walked together in comfortable silence, Moon flying on the crowd side, leaving the Plex’s open space on Sun’s other side. It felt . . . it was nice, walking like this. Everything was too loud and too bright and too much, but being able to move and adjust his hearing helped a bit. It also helped that Moon took to greeting the guests they passed by, allowing Sun to focus on calibrating his balance and map.

And allowing him to focus on not losing it.

So long as he didn't think about the squishy humans all around him, he would be fine. Kind of hard not to, but having Moon on his other side made everything easier.

“. . . I missed you, you know?” The words came out unbidden, a solemn contrast to the way Sun carefully rolled onto his hands and calibrated balance to his upper body.

Moon froze mid-greeting and didn't notice the guests walking off. No, Sun felt his eyes on him and only him. “Huh?”

Sun continued walking on his hands, slowly at first, and then picking up normal speed. “I missed you. During that year? I missed you.”

During that year. Sun still couldn't really tell how much time had passed—his internal clock and calendar had become so messed up that it was all he could do to keep track of the days—but the amount of missing sleep constituted about a year.

Moon didn't respond. Sun glanced beside him, saw Moon fidget with his hands and shake his left wrist—a habit Sun had with his right hand long before he developed . . . other habits. No bells rang, of course, and Moon huffed.

“You mentioned,” he eventually replied. Short words, soft tone.

Sun internally winced. His fault—his fault for making Moon use his voice less after he just got it back. He carefully focused back on his hands, on the drop below if he wasn't careful.

“What . . .” Moon made a thoughtful sound deep in his voice box. “What happened? Earlier?”

Sun blinked. Don't think about it— “Earlier?”

“During maintenance.”

During maintenance.

(—stay still, we have to see what's wrong—)

(—did nothing, maybe we—)

(—another shock, that'll make it behave—)

(—supposed to learn why isn't it learning—)

“Sunny?”

Sun jerked. His hand slipped.

His system froze as he fell, as the floor fell under him and the fire licked up his pants and at his wrists and scalded the bells and he crashed and broke and—

He jerked harshly. Distantly, he registered a pair of arms holding him up, and setting him down on the first floor, half empty of guests that had gone to explore the attractions.

Sun slowly released pent-up air from his vents. Moon landed softly beside him.

“Too much?” he asked.

Slowly, Sun turned his head toward Moon. What happened during maintenance? 

Too much?

Oh, entirely too much—too much for one to endure, too much to tell someone who remembered none of it. How much before Moon broke? How much could he tell before Moon decided it was too much and ran away?

Sun wouldn't blame him for running away. Sun himself had wanted to close his eyes and run away for so, so long.

Did Moon deserve to know? He certainly didn't deserve the heartache. He didn't deserve to know the utter torture they both went through because of one, not when there was nothing to be done about it now.

Did Moon deserve to know . . . ?

“Too much, then.” Moon grasped Sun’s hand again and grinned tersely. “Where to?”

Sun tightened his grip slightly. “If I don't tell you, will you try and find out on your own?”

Moon flinched. His eyes flicked to the side—guilt, he knew. Sun did the exact same thing. “Noooo?”

Sun stared at him for a little while longer. Considered the implications of that look and that tone—and decided to ignore them. Sudden giggles bubbled out of his core and burst out of his voice box. He looped an arm around Moon’s, took in that bewildered expression, and thought again about how wonderful of a friend he had.

“Come on, Sleepy Head!” he chortled, reveling in the sudden burst of energy he almost forgot he had. “Let's go back. I'll tell you there.”

Moon’s eyes grew comically. Sun could almost read his mind—he’s trusting me with this. The grin that he fought to keep down said it all, and Sun allowed himself to be led back to the daycare.

He kept the smile on his face all the while even though smiling was the last thing he wanted to do. If he could keep Moon from discovering things on his own, then he could keep him safe.

Keep him from going down the same downward spiral Sun felt himself going down every day since those doors closed to them forever.

Keep him from suffering alone.

Don't let me suffer alone . . .

When they reached the shutters that led back to the daycare, they both stopped in their tracks. For the second time that day, he felt the floor fall out from under him.

NOW HIRING!! screamed the banner hanging across the shutter leading to the daycare. CHILDCARE WORKERS NEEDED! APPLY HERE!!

~.~.~

Pose. Smile. Wave. Group photo.

The routine came naturally to Roxy—of course it did! She was the best was she? so it only stood to reason that she would never forget how to pose for her fans.

A huge smile on her face with all the grace of a real life wolf—that was Roxanne.

That was who she had to channel.

So why was it so . . . difficult now?

It all came so naturally, and yet she never had a harder time of it.

A group of teenage girls came up to her. Roxy flashed a smile. “Want an autograph?” she asked, and she could already feel her smile wavering because what? What the hell was that?

Her programming said it was the proper response to guests walking up to her, but her programming must have been built on someone's sick idea of cool. She could already see them cringing, walking away and telling anybody who would listen how weird she was—

“Yeah!!” one of the girls cried. “Come on, let's get in this!!”

Pose. Smile. Wave. Group photo.

Smooth going.

Keep it together.

The girls skipped away after telling Roxy how cool she was on stage. Roxy challenged them to a race at the raceway—half her programming, half habit.

Oh God, was she still good at racing??? Would these ten years she didn't remember passing affect her racing ability???

Another group arrived. Roxy greeted them, cringed, and prepared for the worst only for the boys to laugh and walk away.

Fuck.

“If you didn't want a turn, you shoulda said so!” a teenager snarled, sticking their tongue out at the group and shoving the middle finger at them as they ran away. “God, they're the worst.”

And then the teenager turned to Roxy with a bright smile and requested a picture and an autograph. Roxy obliged with her usual confidence and kept it up until the teen left.

“Not as popular with the kids as you used to be, huh, Rox?”

Roxy’s ears twitched. Not Monty again.

“Jealous?” she sassed instead of answering how she really wanted to. “I don't see you getting much attention.”

But flicking her gaze to him, she saw him waving off a group of teenage boys, who threw gestures that only other teenage boys would know his way. Monty just chuckled and looked her up and down. He smirked; Roxy grinned right back even as her head spun through several disastrous scenarios.

“Why would I be jealous of a fuck up like you?”

A fuck up like you.

Roxy’s vision blurred. It glitched and flickered as the depression and the stress from waiting to be able to free roam turned into anger.

“You know what, Monty?” she growled, heedless of the crowd around them and the growing lines, heedless of Freddy and Chica’s disapproving frowns. “Fuck you!! You’re always trying to bring me down, always got shit to say! Well why don’t you say it in front of all your fans!?” With every word and every growl, she stormed to his section of the meet and greet.

Guests scattered. She couldn’t bring herself to care.

Distantly, she could hear Chica calling after her. She could already see Freddy trying to keep order. She couldn’t bring herself to care.

As if a rage-filled haze fell over her, her vision and attention focused solely on Monty’s smug grin. Terrified gasps and cries of alarm filled her ears, but they may as well have been far, far from here. “Why the hell are you even like this?” she snarled. “You wanna fight!?”

“Why the hell are you like this, huh?” Monty retorted. He leaned in close, voice low and conspiratorial and mocking. “Actin’ like this in front of people—when did you get so shitty, huh?”

Roxy recoiled. Heat flooded her face, and only then did the anxious crowd in front of her register. Freddy—of course it was him—took charge in calming and distracting, and Chica’s arm finally registered on Roxy’s wrist.

The same wrist Moon had scratched.

She jerked her wrist back. That still didn’t erase the guilt from that interaction, didn’t erase the shame creeping through her circuits at acting like—like—

Like someone with no self control.

Like someone dangerous. Unsafe.

Before security or the techs could even be called, Roxy rushed away back to her green room.

-.-.-

She shut the curtain the moment the door whooshed closed. Roxy didn’t care that she’d gone rogue on day one of free roam, she didn’t care that someone was probably gonna be breathing down her neck for this—she needed out.

(she’d removed herself from the situation—she was safe, promise she was safe—)

Roxy practically shoved herself onto her couch and rubbed her wrist, taking in shaky breaths that she didn’t need and uttering whimpering sobs even though she had no tears.

I’m an idiot, a fucking idiot—

How could she lose it like that? She was supposed to be calm, cool, and collected—she was supposed to be better than—

Oh, well it wasn’t like she’d snapped at nothing. Monty shouldn’t have been so much of a fucking shit; he should have known to keep his comments to his own damn self if he didn’t want someone snapping—

But she’d snapped for less. Roxy rubbed under her wrist wrap. She could feel the shallow little scratches that Moon left—she hadn’t reported the damage, not when it reminded her that she—she—

She wasn’t crazy. She was—just, she was struggling, okay!? Ten years of inactivity, a huge hole in her memory—anyone would go nuts about that! Sun had been out of his damn mind for no damn reason, and Roxy was nowhere to his level—she wasn’t fucking crazy!!

The curtain wasn’t closed all the way. She could still see a bit of the outside.

People could still see inside.

They couldn’t see her like this.

Shooting to her feet, she practically raced to the window to close it all the way.

She locked eyes with Monty on his way to his own green room. Unlike during the meet and greet, his expression was as unreadable as it was accusing.

It was like how he'd looked at her when he asked why she was like this. Like he knew something she didn't, like he was brewing up a conspiracy to knock her down and make her look like a fucking nutcase—

She shoved the windows closed. Storming over to her vanity, she tried to tell herself that she was the best—and if she wasn't the best, then she was at least better than Monty.

She tried her best to believe it.

~.~.~

Now hiring now hiring now hiring now hiring—

Sun shuffled through the shutter in a daze, eyes locked on the banner in front of the daycare instead of the staff manning the makeshift hiring table they walked past.

Now hiring.

Hiring meant people. People meant noise. Noise was bad. The nightmare hated noise—

Childcare workers needed.

Childcare. Daycare. There would be people here. Squishy, noisy people—

Childcare—the daycare would be open—there would be kids in here, noisy children who broke and bled and—

The music box played a tune Moon didn’t use much. Sun buried his face in Moon’s shoulder, vaguely registering the arms around him and the soft voice singing a scripted lullaby.

Apply here.

They would be opening the daycare soon. Nothing was ready.

A rush of heart emojis flooded the internal chat system—Sun flinched at the wave of hearts of all different colors, shapes, and sizes available. He shakily pulled back and just—just stared at Moon, not truly seeing him but . . . not really gone.

Moon was here. Two red eyes—big and sweet and free of glitches. Soft smile—concerned. Gentle hands.

Sun’s head twitched. One of Moon’s hands reached up and held him gently but firmly—the rays in that area instinctively retracted to allow for the touch.

“We’re okay,” Moon whispered so softly that Sun could barely make out the words. “I’ll take care of it.”

“It?” Sun could feel an unsteady laugh bubbling up out of his chest; he viciously tamped it down. “What’s there to take care of? There’ll be people here.” Here in the daycare that had long since stopped being home but that had been safe for so long now. Here where it was as unbearably loud as it was quiet, where even the dim lights were too bright—stars, how bright would it be here with the lights turned all the way up? The kids would need all the light possible to not trip and hurt themselves and oh stars, Sun had hurt them more than they could hurt themselves—The laugh escaped him, broken and glitched. “There’s nothing to take care of!”

“Hush.” Moon hugged him again, a calm and steady presence, but the communication line couldn’t lie. Sun could feel the stress and indecision cutting through his own panic. “We’ll be okay.”

“No, no, no we won’t,” Sun whimpered. “Nothing’s okay—it’s not safe—”

“Virus gone.” Moon started rocking them. “Everything’s safe.”

“I’m not!!” Shoving himself away, Sun clenched his hands. He couldn’t summon the claws anymore—they were a purely security measure—but he could still feel them. He could feel them as he reached up and clamped down on a ray with one hand and at his face plate with the other. “I—I hurt them—I killed them, Moon. I—I did!!” Another laugh—more broken than the one before, less broken than he felt. “They—so easy to break, so easy to bleed—I hurt them so easy—!!”

Moon took a step back. Sun smiled through glitching vision.

Stars, he should never have been afraid of Moon! He wasn’t dangerous anymore—Sun still was.

“Sunny—” Moon reached out.

Sun flinched back. His hands twitched dangerously tightly. “I’ll hurt them again,” he croaked. His smile hurt. Was he still smiling? “I will—I’ll hurt them again—!”

Moon’s eyes hardened. “You won’t.”

“I will!! And—and when I do, they—” Cold realization dawned on him like ice in his wires. The smile dropped from his face. “They’re already doing it.”

Jingling footsteps padded carefully forward. Sun’s own steps back were dull in comparison. “It’s okay,” Moon said, a little stronger now. “We’re oka—”

“They’re replacing us!!” Snap!! Pain burst in the side of his head, but he couldn’t focus on that when the blaring realization that they were hiring replacements took over every conscious thought.

“SUN!!”

He jerked. One hand grasped his wrist—the one holding the broken ray—and the other squeezed his shoulder firmly. Moon’s eyes glitched, face angry and frowning, and when he spoke, each word was deliberate and harsh. “We. Are not. Being replaced. Understood?”

“N—you don’t—”

Moon shook him. “Understood?”

Sun’s vision glitched and fuzzed as his eyes jumped from the daycare to Moon’s shoulder to the ball pit to the play mats

(all stained all soiled especially himself)

to Moon’s hand on his shoulder.

Firm.

Grounding.

“U-understood,” Sun breathed. His voice sounded tinny and far away, like his own voice box was acting up, too. Or was it that his audio processors were giving out?

Moon nodded slowly. He nudged his other hand sternly. “Give that to me.”

Sun’s eyes flicked to his other hand cradled in Moon’s. The sight of his own ray—broken at the base and crumpled at the sides—made him want to shut down. When did he . . . ?

“Sun. Give it to me.”

The ice in Moon’s voice froze Sun in place in a disturbingly familiar mix of fear and obedience. With jerking movements, his fingers released the ray; it landed in that blue palm, and it was quickly pocketed. Moon grabbed his hand again—did he think Sun would rip out another one?

“Thank you.” He let go with one hand and began signing with only that one. I’ll call Greg to fix it when he can. Do you want to be shut down for it?

Sun looked down. More repairs, more fixing what he’d broken . . . “Do you hate me?”

The grip tightened slightly. “Hate you? Why . . . ?”

“You—” The worst jammed in his voice box. It was such a stupid reason— “You called me ‘Sun’.”

A beat of silence. A beat where he was sure he’d finally driven his best friend away—and why wouldn’t he want to leave? Sun didn’t deserve Moon, and Moon deserved more than the broken mess Sun now was. He knew he wasn’t as bubbly anymore, knew he fell flat in everything he used to do, knew that in babysitting him, Moon was restrained to the daycare and now their loft.

He deserved so, so much more . . .

A hand gently forced his gaze up. The lower left port smarted where he’d ripped out the ray, and Sun winced at the sparks of pain. But he looked up.

Moon wasn’t smiling. His eyes held no joy—just deep sadness that Sun never, never wanted to see. And yet he was the cause, wasn’t he?

(such a bad, bad friend—)

“I don’t hate you. But I am angry.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out the broken ray. Sun flinched at the sight and tried not to cower at the tone. “I don’t like this. Stop hurting yourself.”

The hand on his shoulder bit into his casing.

(fingers digging into the right arm, rewired so only he could feel it)

Those red eyes glitched dangerously.

(staring at his own reflection so he could see himself, see the monster they’d both become)

“I-I—” Sun twitched back. Moon’s grip tightened. “I’m—okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he stuttered out—anything to appease the monster, ANYTHING— “You—you’re right, I won’t—I’m sorry—”

Moon’s eyes slowly softened. Then, like the anger was never there to begin with, he deflated, hands retracting and back at his sides. “No—no, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—mm.” He covered his mouth. His eyes drifted back to the shutter. “Shouldn’t have—” I shouldn’t have gotten angry, he finally signed. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to scare you. He laughed softly. But it doesn’t mean much if I keep doing it, huh?

“I know it’s not you,” Sun mumbled. “Not anymore. It’s okay.”

“It isn’t,” Moon gently retorted. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s—okay. I—I accept your apology.”

A beat of silence. They both stood there in the dim daycare with their lives upending just outside the shutter door and the past beating down on them, though Moon remembered none of it.

He didn't remember the monster they'd become, and yet . . .

Well, he was lucky. Sun wouldn't wish these memories on his worst enemy—

“Sunny?”

“Hm?”

Moon shifted his weight from foot to foot. He stared down at the broken ray solemnly. “Did we break?”

Sun’s heart—what unbroken bits were left—would have shattered right there. Because there was one obvious answer: Yes. Obviously yes.

Just look at me, Sun wanted to say. You were worse off.

Instead, he said, “We should—we should take inventory. Right?”

Slowly, Moon nodded. “The plushies. We'll find one you like.”

Sun doubted it. Just the thought of a soft, breakable . . . he shuddered to think it. But he took Moon’s hand anyway and followed him to one of the closets.

Opening it revealed shelves of board games and cards, plushies and dolls and toy houses. On instinct, Sun took inventory and found that everything was as it should be, but he itched to get in there with his hands like he used to.

That itch was overruled by the overwhelming urge to not touch anything, the daycare isn't home anymore.

As if sensing this divide—and he probably was, to be fair—Moon brought the plushies out and laid them out in neat rows. He squeezed a few gently and separated them into three groups, just like Sun used to do.

One for firm plushies. 

One for soft plushies.

One for medium.

Sun sat beside him, arms around his knees and just watching. He'd done this routine thousands of times during their isolation—watching this was almost as mind-rending as the argument earlier.

But watching Moon do it was different. Moon had his own system that he stuck to, and Sun never got to see it until now. So he watched in silence, watched as Moon counted each group and made sure they were all there.

But the silence could only last so long. Stars, silence was the last thing Sun wanted right now. Silence meant alone, meant unraveling and work and anything to keep busy just keep busy.

“The techs tried to fix us, you know,” he eventually said, and Moon’s head jerked up when Sun spoke.

“What?” he said. “What are . . . ?”

“I told you I'd tell you what happened down in maintenance.” Moon’s brow furrowed—concern. Sun didn't blame him. He could already feel himself drifting, drifting away from the unpleasant experience, drifting away from the here and now to escape the awful reality they'd lived for a while. “We were broken. Or, they thought we were. Caught a bug or something, they thought. The virus was . . . sneaky.

“They ran sweeps. They felt like worms crawling through our code, and for a long time, I thought the sweeps made you worse. But I think . . . the virus was just angry it had to hide.”

Moon stopped working. Sun saw him falter out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't take his eyes off of that distant point—far in the past yet so, so recent in memory.

He hugged his knees tighter. Oh, how he wished for a good plushie, but just the thought of it made his hands twitch and his thoughts spiral—

Best not to.

“And then,” Sun continued, hollow and flat, “when it was lights on all day, they tried to force you to behave. You—the nightmare, it kept hurting kids during nap time, and then it hurt staff during security rounds. FazEnt didn't want to dismantle a bot and throw away money, so they tried to make you behave.

“We were called to maintenance a lot. They tried to alter you, tried to run antivirus after antivirus until they got so strong the treatments felt like fire through our system. The others weren't as bad—only you really had an aggressive streak during hours. They tried fixing you first.

“And when they let themselves acknowledge that the antivirus wouldn't work, they got . . . creative.”

Sun shuddered. He still remembered walking willingly into maintenance every time because the alternative meant a shutdown—how ironic now that the only way he would ever go to Parts and Services now was if he was shut down.

He'd wanted that near the end of the “treatments.” The nightmare forced him to refuse the shutdown.

“They thought shocking you would make you behave.” Sun laughed a shaky laugh. “It didn't. They stopped trying when it was clear I was just as dangerous as you were.”

A hand slipped in his. Pried his arms off his knees and made him lean into his friend's side. Sun allowed it—he would rather hug someone else much more than himself right now.

Something else found its way into his hands. Something with a little give, something—something—

His first instinct was to throw it. But even though it had a little give, it wasn't . . . it wasn't soft. Slowly, mechanically, Sun looked down at the thing in his hands and saw a mini version of DJ Music Man. The material was closer to stretchy plastic than fur with some patches of its face shiny and oddly smooth to the touch. Whatever material it was stuffed with was firmer than most plushies—the hands and belly even had some sort of bean filling.

It didn't feel horrible. It wasn't perfect, but it wasn't horrible.

It didn't remind him of those soft bodies the nightmare—and later, Sun—had torn up. There wasn't enough give, the texture was all wrong, and . . . and it was perfect.

He hugged the plush close. It was weighted, but not heavy enough to feel like a human body. Even children weighed more than this thing right here.

Sun curled around the plush as if he could transfer the weight of the past onto it. Moon’s arm wrapped around his shoulder, and Sun leaned into him.

“That sounds horrible,” Moon murmured. “I'm sorry . . .”

“They stopped maintaining us,” Sun said in lieu of a response. What could he even say to that? “But I think I preferred that to the visits.” He laughed softly, humorlessly. “We were broken, Moon Moon. Shattered. . . . I still am.”

Moon’s arm tightened around him. Sun could feel him shaking. He could imagine the question in his mind: Am I?

Sun patted Moon’s hand, gaze still distant but a little more present than before. “You’re not the same as before, but you’re not broken. Not anymore.”

Moon didn’t respond. Sun didn’t expect him to.

Eventually, with nothing really to do (the daycare was spotless, after all) and with Sun unable and unwilling to sleep right now, Moon nudged them both up with a reminder that they needed to calibrate the maps.

Sun went with him eagerly.

~.~.~

Ah, free roaming. Monty was waiting for this. He loved his room, but God, he missed roaming the Plex. He missed going to his attraction, missed interacting with his fans, missed everything.

Freddy told them that they all missed ten years—the huge hole in Monty’s memory corroborated that story. 

Almost.

There was a whole year he couldn’t remember. How did he know this? The dates didn’t match—too long between then and now. About a year too long.

So had Freddy been lying to him?

Monty didn’t want to believe them, but ol’ Papa Bear had been acting weird. He wasn’t the only one, either! Roxy, the cool racing queen who couldn’t be bothered by anything, was now bothered by everything! She hadn’t acted that way before—she was never this insecure before, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she was hiding something, too.

Like Freddy.

Chica seemed the same as always. At least as far as Monty was concerned, she wasn’t changed or wrong at all. Sure, her nagging rubbed him the wrong way, but at least he could admit he was part of the problem when she was mad. He did nudge at Roxy a lot—just to puncture a hole to see what she was hiding.

Monty’s tail whipped behind him. Best not to think about her, not right now.

The shutter was wide open when he approached. Right next door, a small group of guests lined up at a table advertising a job for childcare workers. Monty gave it one glance before dismissing it. Sure, the Plex never hired this much before, but after seeing so much cleaning, security, and retail staff, he wasn’t surprised.

Greeting the teens coming in and out of the attraction, he all but sauntered into Gator Golf’s lobby.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the tunnel. His footsteps slowed to a stop; his head turned toward it.

Deep, swampy green faded into sparkling blue faded into cheerful yellow. The music was missing and so were the sounds of children, but Monty knew . . . he knew the daycare was just beyond. Used to be there was Kid’s Cove adding another layer of separation, but that attraction was either gone or placed within the Superstar Daycare.

Monty flexed his claws. Just beyond that tunnel was . . . something. He didn’t know what, but there was something there—he just knew it. 

He didn’t remember much, but he did remember someone using them. He remembered being given free reign to do things beyond what his code allowed, and he remembered answering to somebody in exchange. He couldn’t remember who, but . . . oh, the Daycare Attendant had been his favorite. They did everything he asked, even when Monty knew (inexplicably, but he knew) that what they were doing was wrong.

Followed this person’s orders till the last. Monty did, too, but at least there had been reluctance. Not mindless obedience.

No doubt this person still existed, and if they did exist, then they were hiding out in the daycare. The daycare he’d been absolutely banned from.

And that? That pissed him off more than anything, especially since they seemed particularly close to the young apprentices—Greg and Cass? Yeah, Greg and Cass.

Good kids. Wrong friends.

He wanted to go in there. Blind rage filled him, flooded his system with the need to find that person by any means, but he'd already checked everywhere else, so that meant he was in there. Hiding in the daycare with its dim fucking lights and eerie silence and weak fucking robots he could snap in half if he wanted to.

(so why hadn't he?)

But the memory of spasming on the ground, of joints locking and paralysis setting in was an unpleasant one. He didn't plan on reliving it again—not when he had guests to attend to.

Tail lashing, hands clenched and trembling with rage, Monty turned away from the tunnel, down the elevator, and into his attraction. The sounds of swampy ambiance filled with the harsh sound of a roaring guitar filled his audio processors, and the sight of a new and improved Gator Golf filled him with sweet satisfaction. He’d seen it unused at night, when he was truly allowed to free roam, but to see it active and in use during the day?

Nothing felt better.

Sauntering into the attraction, he was met with more fans than he remembered, so many teen boys and girls gathering to play a game of mini golf. Monty greeted each one with a high five. A few smaller kids recoiled at the sight of him, but Monty played it cool. He was a big guy, after all, so it only made sense that the little guys were scared.

He played a few games with fans. He showed off his skills. And all the while, he reveled in the familiarity and comfort of playing his favorite game in the Plex. It felt like he hadn't played the way he wanted in a long, long time. And playing with the guests again? 

That was nice.

Ideally, he wanted to play a game with his bandmates—too bad half of them seemed to still be possessed by that someone.

Someone screamed in excitement. The sound of plastic balls raining down caught his attention, made his head twitch in the direction of the laughter—he watched the bucket of the Hurricane Hole-in-One dump its contents into the water below to be pulled into the suction, cleaned, and sent back to the turrets.

Ah, his pride and joy! Good that they kept it—he would have been real pissed if they didn't.

As he watched the bucket dump the balls, and as he watched the kids celebrate, Monty's hands started to shake. Was it excitement? Relief?

Or was it the yawning ache in his core that spread all the way from hips to tail? The aching pain his body seemed to remember but his CPU didn't.

Monty gritted his teeth. He needed to find that someone soon. He needed answers.

-.-.-

First stop was Gator Golf; it was the closest to the daycare, and as much as Moon did not want to chance an encounter with Monty, he would rather get it out of the way sooner than later.

Holding Sunny’s hand in his own, he led the way through the tunnel and into the service tunnel that led to the catwalks. This was where the map led them, and this would give them a better vantage point to keep an eye on the angry gator. Sunny followed listlessly behind; Moon tried not to show too much concern about it.

Lethargy didn’t suit him well. He just hoped this bout of irrational fear would be done before the end of the day.

The ambient noise all but masked their footsteps on the catwalks, both the jingling of their bells and the clattering of metal with each footfall. Moon kept his eyes firmly in front of him, but Sunny—he looked down. Kept his eyes glued to the world below them, a strange mix of swamp and golf that Moon never really understood nor appreciated. He had no idea what was so fascinating down there, but there was no way he was looking.

Someone had to keep track of the calibration points.

“There was a night where everyone was the most active,” Sunny said, his tired voice cutting through even the harshest of bass riffs. Moon tilted his head slightly toward him to show he was listening. “That was the night the rulebreaker got in and the nightmare broke through the play area’s containment.” Finally looking up, he pinned Moon with a questioning stare. “Are you scared of Monty?”

Moon’s steps faltered. Sunny’s hardening gaze said that he took that as a yes. “No,” he said, but the fear at their last encounter said enough.

“You don’t have to be,” Sunny said. “I’ll take care of him.”

Moon gave him a look. Moon was security, not Sunny. He shouldn’t have to take care of anything.

“Anyway, I figured you’d like to know that Gregory crushed him with that big bucket.” One yellow hand pointed to the Hurricane Hole-in-One. “I didn’t see it, but the nightmare made rounds every hour, and I could always see through its eyes at that point. His legs were stuck under there, and he was crawling everywhere after Gregory came out of Gator Golf.”

Moon stared down at the huge bucket and noted how Monty seemed to stay away from it. He didn’t think he was a particularly sadistic person, but . . . well, knowing that Monty suffered that night, too? It brought a wash of warmth through his system.

~.~.~

Mazercise—probably one of her favorite attractions! Exercise, salad bar, pizza? Oh, it was one of the best things Fazbear Entertainment implemented since the plushies!

Or at least, that's how Chica used to feel.

She could feel the nausea from the first day roiling in her stomach again, and as much as she tried to mask it, she could already feel Freddy's concerned eyes. He wasn't even here—he was in his own attraction, of course—but they'd always taken care of each other.

As she greeted the guests and encouraged them to try the maze and the food, the salad bar mocked her. She loved food, but the sight of all those greens and reds gave her such an icky, wiggly feeling churning and coiling in her gut that she had to look away—but when she looked away, she was met with the soda fountain and the posters advertising all the food the Plex offered with a membership at Mazercise.

She tried not to gag as she talked to a guest. At least it wasn’t as bad as the first day—never was she so glad that Freddy insisted they take her smell away. If she could smell all the food here . . .

Oh, she didn’t want to think about it. Would she be able to keep up the peppy mask she was already struggling to keep?

Don’t think about it.

When she got a message from Freddy needing help at Fazerblast, she was all too happy to excuse herself and leave.

-.-.-

Chica passed them in a rush. Moon watched her go as they circulated the rafters for their calibration, and she looked so small from this high up. This was how he was used to seeing her—and he didn’t know if he ever wanted to see her like this again.

“She was crushed, too,” Sunny said, and Moon nearly jumped out of his casing at the sound of his voice. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet up until now. “I never saw where, but something must have gotten her pretty bad. I just know it was the rulebreaker.”

“Greg,” Moon corrected absently.

“Yeah. Gregory. He broke a lot of things that night.”

Moon’s fans kicked on a little faster. From what he’d seen, he didn’t blame the little troublemaker for breaking them, but . . .

The thought of Chica, someone he’d come to rely on for support and comfort, crushed and shattered and in pain? It made his heart ache.

“Us?” he asked because how could he not?

“No,” Sunny replied. “The virus broke us. And the fire.”

Moon hummed. Tugging Sunny along, he continued on the calibration points.

~.~.~

Gabrielle made her rounds. She checked in with managers, interviewed employees about their supervisors, and gathered as much information as she could about the attractions. From what she gathered, Mag was a decent manager with a short fuse—just how short it was and how it affected efficiency had yet to be seen, so that meant more visits.

Joy.

While she was at it, though, she at least tried to fulfill her father’s request. She didn’t stop to talk to them, of course, since that would be a waste of her time, but she saw enough. Montgomery Gator egging Roxanne Wolf on and triggering some foul language and extreme behavior from her. Glamrock Chica’s general discomfort around food in Mazercise. She even saw the Daycare Attendants up and about, but they looked worse for wear. The sun one had made eye contact with her once after the opening concert and looked ready to either tear her head off or rip his own casing off.

Something was going on here. Even in her own technical ignorance, Gabrielle knew something was going on here, something deeper than she had even seen. Animatronics, no matter how advanced their supposed AI was, were not supposed to be showing this much stress. Sure, her father crowed about how advanced the AI was and how nothing like it had ever been made and how supposed “AI” before them were more like large language models and image generation, but still. Robots weren’t supposed to show stress responses like this.

Was it worse behind the scenes? This was only one day of observation, and they were all in performance mode. Obviously, things were being hidden from the public, and as much as she hated doing more work than necessary and spending more than necessary, she knew that as CEO of Fazbear Entertainment, she needed to nip this in the bud before it got worse.

No need for a tragedy like the ones before.

Typing and sending several emails to technicians and security staff, Gabrielle tapped her father’s number in her contacts and put her phone to her ear. It rang several times before finally, he picked up.

“Gabby?” he said. “Need something?”

“Yes.” Gabrielle sent off her last email and started typing up her notes. “You said you wanted me to check in on the robots, so I’m checking in.”

“Oh! How are they?”

She explained everything. The sun’s odd behavior towards her, Monty’s instigation, Roxy’s explosion and subsequent hiding, Chica’s displeasure for food despite having a history of loving it—even the things she didn’t think were important, like Freddy’s seemingly excessive concern and the tremble in Monty’s hands when he played. Her father listened in quiet contemplation and just hummed when she finished.

“What do you plan on doing about it?” he finally asked after a moment of silence.

Gabrielle thought for a moment. “I need to look into the security footage and make sure this isn’t worse behind the scenes. If it is . . .” She considered her options and grimaced at the conclusion she came to. “Dad, how much are these robots like us?”

A moment of quiet. She could hear his pen stop scratching. Her dad slowly breathed in, like he was getting ready to give a lecture. “Think of their CPU like a brain. It’s the physical matter that holds everything about them, including their AI.”

“Following.”

“Now if their CPU is the brain, then the AI is the mind, and the mind can get sick if not properly cared for. Now, they didn’t tell me much when they asked me for new designs, but I know Fazbear history. Something terrible happened, and with those fancy artificially intelligent minds, it impacted them bad. And what do humans need when they’ve been horribly impacted?”

Gabrielle sighed. Oh, she could already feel the bribe and hush money draining the pockets of her franchise. “I’m gonna have to hire a therapist for these things if I don’t want a tragedy, aren’t I?”

“Your call, Gabby. Most wouldn’t bother.”

“No, no, I’ll bother. I just—I need to see if it’s really this bad.”

“Sure. See you later, sweetie.”

“See you.” She hung up and stared at her half-finished notes for a long time. 

A notification pinged—it was from the techs. She opened the email and read the message within. A call to the service tunnels; an invitation to copy and take whatever security footage she needed.

Leaning back in her seat, Gabrielle sighed harshly and released a quiet, “Goddamn it.”

The things she did to keep this shit running.