Chapter Text
"Watch it, runt," Monty snarls at them lowly, shoving them aside not too hard but with their size difference it still sends Sunny crashing with a thunk into one of the festive, messy tables that line Party Room #12.
The children have since filed out, ushered away by their parents now that the party had concluded, though some still try to peek through the glass at the flashy Glamrock animatronic.
Sunny understands their amazement – a member of the band gracing the Superstar Daycare with their presence is rare and they can count how many times it's happened since the reopen on just one hand.
Per a guest's request (and a hefty booking fee), the Glamrocks can be 'rented out' for birthdays and meet-n'-greets and such, which is the only time Sunny can get so much as a glimpse of their idols. Most often the kids will choose Freddy, though seeing Roxanne or Chica up close on the rare occasion is a delight as well.
However, this is the first party they've ever co-hosted with Monty.
They grasp the edge of the table with both hands to balance themself, ignoring the sticky glob of frosting that smears across their palm. Monty barely looks in their direction as he pushes past, but the sheer distaste in his eyes behind the star-shaped shades forces an involuntary shiver up Sunny's endoskeleton.
They say nothing, only able to watch the gator's back as he exits the room, leaving them alone. It's only when the cleaning bots roll in a moment later that they snap out of it, wiping the frosting on their pants and hurriedly following the children back to the daycare proper.
They don't stop thinking about the encounter for the rest of the day.
—
At 12 AM, the Pizzaplex goes dark, and Moon emerges from the confines of the daycare to begin their first patrol of the night.
They follow the usual route; first the lobby just outside the pickup area, Fazpad and Glamrock Gifts, and the main entrance and Customer Service; then through the atrium to the food court and dining area, behind the stage, Parts and Service, and finally, Rockstar Row. It's a lot of ground to cover in ten minutes, but Moon is fast.
They eye each of the Glamrocks' green rooms as they pass. The curtains are still open, glass walls smudged and scratched from hundreds of small, grubby hands.
Moon pities the Glamrocks, they really do. The repurposed broom closet they and Sunny call their room is dirty and cramped but at least it's private. There are no cameras inside and no way to enter without using their cable or the secret entrance inside the theater. These rooms only exist to give guests something to gawk at on their way out, no different from the showy props and gleaming statues that line the center aisle.
The band members themselves aren't present inside, likely in the back recharging. Moon is about to circle back to the atrium and finish their patrol when they hear a noise behind them, the hydraulic hiss of a door sliding open, and immediately their head swivels 180 degrees to locate the source.
It's Montgomery. He's left his green room and is heading in the direction Moon came from, toward the west utility entrance. He's turned away from Moon but they duck behind a prop display anyway, watching closely. Not that they're afraid of the brute, no, not Moon, but they are…curious. The Glamrock animatronics need a few hours a night minimum to complete the recharge cycle, and as such are usually restricted to their rooms after closing except in the event of a security breach.
And there's definitely not been a security breach. Moon would be one of the first to know if there was. Which means…
Montgomery is breaking the rules.
The ever-present smile on their faceplate stretches into a full Cheshire grin, a malicious thrill traveling through their circuits like a child that's just caught their sibling stealing from the cookie jar and has thus been handed the opportunity to tattle.
And Moon is a professional tattletale. They'd been programmed that way, after all.
Despite this, they don't ping the security office right away; Montgomery is clutching something tightly in his claws, something smooth and purple and round – a bowling ball. Moon's excitement and curiosity spike further.
Well, well, well. Breaking curfew to knock down a few pins, are we? That just won't do. Moon has to suppress the giddy chuckle that threatens to escape from their chest, waiting for the delinquent Glamrock to turn the corner and exit before moving to follow, gaze sweeping over the rest of the band's empty rooms with suspicion. If they're lucky, they'll be able to catch four troublemakers in the act instead of just the one.
Tickled by the prospect of crashing a Glamrock party, Moon takes an alternate route to the atrium to avoid detection, the cramped and quiet utility tunnels lending poorly to stealth. They know where it is he's heading, anyways.
They take a shortcut through the security station that overlooks Rockstar Row and re-emerge once more behind the main stage, where they peek through the drawn curtain just in time to see Montgomery climb his way to the top floor, where Bonnie Bowl is located. His movements are quick, secretive, difficult to make out from such a distance in the low light but Moon's night vision is second to none, at least inside this establishment.
Their head clicks to the side and they grip the curtain harder, ignoring the dull rrriiippp as the cheap velvet tears beneath their claws they'd unwittingly extended in their anticipation.
Moon bolts from behind the stage on all fours with the speed of a demon as soon as they're sure Montgomery is too high up to notice them. They call for their cable, clip it to the hook on their back and leap up, up, up into the air, landing silently on the third floor railing right in front of Bonnie Bowl just as the doors click shut behind Montgomery.
Moon briefly wonders what happened to the party bot that typically stands guard here but it becomes obvious when they notice its sprawled corpse lying a small ways away, with a rather nasty dent in the side of its head, roughly the size of a bowling ball. The wound looks fresh inflicted.
Well, that answers that. Moon whispers a short apology to the party bot as they pass, a hushed promise that its killer would be brought to justice soon, and the bot can only twitch and beep in dying agony.
They're a scarce blur of blue and black as they slip through the double doors and dive behind the nearest couch for cover.
Sunny rouses briefly within their shared headspace, as groggy as a disembodied AI can be and clearly confused about where they are, as the insides of the attractions themselves aren't typically included as part of their route. Moon croons back, soothing, loving, willing them back into standby with the promise that they'll explain later. Sunny, still exhausted from a long day, doesn't argue.
Once the other's presence fades from their mind Moon steers their focus back to their task. Their ten minutes is very nearly up, and if they don't catch the rulebreakers now, they won't get another chance.
Gratuitously, the shutter that leads to the arcade has been left open, and Moon ducks under it quickly. Rows and rows of arcade cabinets obstruct their view of the bowling alley but also help to keep them hidden, and they weave silently between them, listening carefully for the sound of voices or footsteps.
If their cable rail extended through here they'd just climb on the ceiling and dodge the risk of being seen altogether, maybe even wait to drop down on the troublemakers from above and scare the daylights out of them for a laugh, but alas.
Nevertheless the layout of the place means they'll most likely be turned away from the arcade and thus susceptible to an ambush.
Grim satisfaction plucks at Moon's circuits. The Glamrocks like to think that they're above the rules because they're popular, that being the biggest moneymakers in the Pizzaplex makes them more important, more privileged than the other characters and they can do whatever they want. Moon is more than happy to prove them wrong.
They can't help the low, rasping giggles that scrape from their voice box, crouched and ready to leap. They hope one of them screams.
…But, they don't hear anything.
They tilt their head, still crouched in their hiding place, listening closely. No footsteps, no voices, not even the subterranean whirr of inner mechanicals (besides their own). If the Glamrocks are here, they're being both very quiet and very still.
Carefully, they peek through the gap between two cabinets. The lanes visible to them from their hiding place appear to be empty. Caution gradually giving way to confusion, they poke their head out to get a proper look–
There's no one here. Save for a few patrolling S.T.A.F.F. and a single wet floor bot in the far corner of the alley, Moon is entirely, mysteriously alone.
What?
Stealth is tossed out the window as they vault themselves on top of the nearest cabinet to scan the entirety of the floor. Their head clickclickclicks to the side in irritation and bafflement when no seven-foot-tall chickens, wolves, bears and especially no alligators pop into view.
Fine. The others had just been wishful thinking, but they're certain they had Monty cornered in here at least…
Moon has to sit and buffer for a moment, processors churning, attempting to apply logic where it simply doesn't fit, where did he go? Where, where, where?
Their attention is turned to the ice cream parlor on the far left of the alley, considering…could he have slipped behind the bar, or behind Bonnie's old stage? But then, no, of course not; Montgomery had also entered on the arcade side and with Moon right on his tail (pun not intended) there's absolutely no way he could've gotten that far without them noticing. The Glamrocks aren't exactly subtle, bright, oversaturated, clunky things that they are.
They want to stay and investigate, tear through every crevice and cranny until he's found and the anomaly resolved, but their internal clock butts in rudely to remind them they now have roughly thirty seconds before the lights come back on.
Moon snarls loudly enough to make a nearby S.T.A.F.F. bot flinch and raise its flashlight at them, and had they the time they would have happily tackled the stupid thing and torn it to shreds. Instead they just hiss, dodging the offending beam of light and scurrying back to the Daycare in defeat.
They don't report the incident.