Chapter Text
A yawn emerged, one of many left to come, as Arnold cycled through the cameras. His baggy eyes struggled to adhere to the screen in front of him. Part of him had to pause and consider how long he had been working. Was it two days or three? Did he forget to account for the drive there? At the end of the day, it didn’t matter. Arnold was there - trapped in the warehouse, with no signs of relief.
He found himself constantly reminding himself of how he ended up in this situation. It all started with Fazbear Entertainment - maybe he was at the wrong place at the wrong time, or maybe his bad luck was an endless pit. Either way, from the moment Arnold was hired, he found himself worked to death. He had lost track of how long his shifts would last at a time. Sometimes, when he was lucky, they would last only ten hours. However, most shifts managed to last multiple days at a time - without any breaks for rest. Fazbear Entertainment would dispatch Arnold from one location to the next. The drive from each location to the other may have been worse than the shifts themselves. Fazbear Entertainment was severely understaffed and with the poor work conditions, Arnold could see why.
Typically a technician, for the current location, Arnold sat in as a makeshift security guard. He hadn’t been fully briefed on the situation until after his arrival at the MCM facility. The first body Arnold had encountered was unforgettable - already decaying with a rotten stench, foul enough to make anyone vomit. He couldn’t bring himself to get close. In fact, the minute he spotted the body, he rushed out of the room. Still, the image lingered in his head - of a man forced into a springlock suit, bloody arms sticking out while already decomposing.
..and why was Arnold stuck in a dusty old warehouse with a killer endoskeleton? Of course - it was to protect Fazbear Entertainment’s property. Or in Dispatch’s eyes, Arnold was playing placeholder guard in exchange for a $25 gift card, for a company he absolutely dreaded.
“Arnold, you still there?” Dispatch’s emotionless voice came in to check up on Arnold. It was an odd question to ask, since previous statements from Dispatch implied Fazbear Entertainment could see the camera footage within the security rooms. Likely, Dispatch was testing Arnold. Sometimes it felt like Dispatch relished in the idea of Arnold working long, inhumane hours.
“Yes, Arnold said, reaching his hand to press the microphone on the desk. “I’m still here.” His voice answered as he struggled to keep his eyes open.
“Great to hear,” Dispatch replied before his voice vanished again without another word.
Arnold removed his hand from the microphone. “God, I hate you.” He hissed quietly, knowing that Dispatch couldn’t hear a word he said.
Another yawn emerged before Arnold’s stomach began to growl. It felt as if his insides were in a blender - Arnold couldn’t remember when his last meal was. His eyes reverted back to the cameras as he watched carefully, searching for any sign of the endoskeleton or any lurking costumes. He was lucky, it was no longer hounding the door to the security office he was in.
Now the issue would be locating edible food. Arnold desperately cycled through the cameras. He had to find something inside the warehouse - if he left the facility, he would likely be fired and Fazbear Entertainment would repossess his van, leaving him with nothing. However, finding anything to eat within the MCM facility would prove to be difficult.
…difficult but not impossible.
Arnold knew he had seen a few vending machines throughout the building. Sure, it wouldn’t be healthy or even filling, but it could be something to hold him over at the very least. Arnold could only hope someone else was on their way to relieve him from the site. It was unlikely but again, there was still a chance.
Grabbing the data driver off the desk, Arnold removed himself from the security office. Slowly, he held the device, inserting the prongs into the door’s locking system. Arnold wished the device was silent as it chirped and beeped while checking his security clearance. Arnold peeked his head through the door as it opened. There was no sign of the violent robot.
Walking through the dilapidated warehouse, Arnold found it hard to ignore the musky odor that haunted the building. He powered through the discomfort, walking further into the warehouse. Every few seconds, Arnold would anxiously turn around to glance over his shoulder. He never knew if or when the endoskeleton would find a costume and start chasing him. He tried to remain conscious of where he was in the building at all times. It was rather difficult, given the lack of sleep he had to endure.
Maybe leaving the security office was a bad idea to begin with. It was hard to say. Arnold’s head ponded, feeling the long distance in time since he last rested. Sleep - the idea refused to leave him. He was so tired that even the dusty concrete floors beneath his boots appeared to be a cozy bed that he was able to imagine himself taking a long nap on.
No.
Arnold knew he had to resist the temptation. Rest was not an option. Although, if he didn’t get a small power nap in soon, his body would force him to rest. The tiredness was just a distraction from his hunger. Together, they both had left him feeling exhausted. His eyes carefully searched the room for any signs of food, any vending machines, or even candy left about.
A loud clanking sound came from above. Arnold froze in place, glancing up at the vents above him. Perhaps he was tired enough to hear things or maybe there was a killer animatronic ready to burst out of the vents and dismember Arnold limb by limb.
His breath was shaken as he slowly inched back. Arnold wasn’t willing to take the gamble. Quietly, step by step, he lurched into the next hallway, trying to find the nearest security office. It was too late to reenter the one he came from - it’d be far too much backtracking. The risk wasn’t worth it, or so it seemed at the time.
Arnold’s pace quickened as he tried not to make a sound. He may have been paranoid as no further sounds seemed to suggest he was being followed. Or maybe his plan had worked and he had already gotten far enough from the endoskeleton for it to lose interest in potentially ripping him apart.
His walk became more brisk as he spotted a vending machine in the corner of his eye. As he approached, it soon became apparent that the machine was no longer in working condition. A long, still, brown puddle laid beneath the machine as there were no signs of refrigeration or light from it. The smell implied something inside was long expired. Either way, it was clear that food was not a viable option from the vending machine in front of him.
Arnold sighed, walking past the machine. His stomach felt like it was turning with anticipation for his next meal. Surely, he could wait a few more hours. Hell, maybe he could ask Dispatch if one of the closest Fazbear Pizzerias were willing to do a long distance delivery for one very starving technician - designated security guard. The idea was far fetched, sure, but there’s no way his employers would want him to starve to death.
…right?
The longer Arnold worked for Fazbear Entertainment, the less he felt he knew. It was more than clear that Dispatch had little care for Arnold’s well being but would he want him to starve to death?
As Arnold wandered down the dark hallways, he couldn’t help but wonder where Dispatch was or who he truly was. Despite working with him for so long, Arnold didn’t even know Dispatch’s name, where he lived, or what state he even worked in. Perhaps Fazbear Entertainment had a large call center with multiple dispatchers, all sitting in a cool, airconditioned, cubicle setting. Or maybe Dispatch was the dispatcher for all of the technicians at Fazbear Entertainment. Perhaps his indifference for Arnold or his well-being stemmed from an overwhelming workload of employees to call and ship out. Or maybe, just maybe, Dispatch was a selfish prick with no considerations for any of the techs he sent out.
Deep down, Arnold hated the sound of Dispatch’s voice but it was the only human voice he had heard in days, aside from pre-recorded junk from Edwin Murray.
“Arnold?” Dispatch’s voice wasn’t far away. A security office must’ve been nearby. “Arnold, are you still there? Follow the soothing sound of my voice.”
Obeying, Arnold followed the sound of Dispatch’s uncaring tone and was able to find the security office to his left. He let out a sigh of relief as he dropped to his knees. Likely, he was safe - the endoskeleton showed no signs of being able to enter security rooms before. Although it was hard to be sure if safety was truly guaranteed.
“Pick up, Arnold,” the voice continued to insist and harass the sleep deprived technician.
After a long-winded sigh, Arnold did as he was told. “I’m here,” he answered in a low, tired tone.
“Great,” Dispatch replied, unbothered by Arnold’s mellowness. “I was beginning to worry that you abandoned your post.”
Arnold debated on asking Dispatch for the possibility of a pizza delivery as his hand lingered over the microphone’s button. “I…I’m rather hungry,” he weakly murmured as he surveyed the new office he found himself in. Even while complaining to Dispatch, his eyes desperately danced around the room looking for anything edible.
It was as if Dispatch wasn’t listening to a word he said. “That’s nice and all but Arnold, buddy, I really need you to focus on the task at hand. Protecting Fazbear Entertainment’s property is your top priority - above anything else.”
“When is my relief showing up?” Arnold pleaded as he realized Dispatch would never show him any sympathy.
“We’re still working on it.” Dispatch told the technician with little concern. “For now, just ensure that nobody tries to break in or steal any of Fazbear Entertainment’s assets.”
“...right,” Arnold mumbled.
“Stick this out and you’ll be rewarded well with that $25 gift card you’ve always wanted," Dispatch purred as if it could possibly cheer up Arnold. Again, his voice vanished without saying anything more.
Arnold was alone again. His eyes urgently trying to keep alert as the black and white camera footage only made the concept of rest look more inviting. Cycling the footage, Arnold found himself frozen in place as one of the costumes started to move on its own. It seemed the endoskeleton found a new costume to hunt from within, dawning a deteriorated bumble bee as its new persona. Casually it strolled through the hallway, not too far from the security office Arnold had found himself in.
He tried to move to the next camera. There was no sign of the wandering animatronic. Arnold’s heart began to race. What the hell was he even protecting? Sure, Fazbear Entertainment had a decent amount to repossess but why have a guard until a team arrived? If his employers were so concerned about property damage - why didn’t they send the salvage team immediately? Arnold’s breathing almost stopped all together when the idea of no relief showing up arose. What if Dispatch genuinely didn’t care enough to send another technician or guard to take Arnold’s place? Was he waiting for him to crack under pressure and breach their contract, so that they could repo his van?
Frantically, Arnold scoured through the camera footage, searching for the bumble bee, or any other animatronics moving about. His baggy eyes were glued to the screen, digging deep into every dark corner of the footage, just in case there were any signs of the killer endoskeleton. Again, his stomach grumbled but he ignored it. He was far too focused on finding that animatronic he knew he saw move.
Did he truly know or was this his own mind playing a trick on him? Arnold’s eyes were sore and began to water as his eyelids began to sink down. He quickly shook his head, trying to snap himself out of it. How long has it been since he last rested? Arnold tried to move his thoughts away from it again but the idea kept persisting. His mind was in a vicious cycle of fear, hunger, and begging for rest. He knew he couldn’t give in. Grabbing his own face, Arnold attempted to pry his own eyelids wide open. His gloves were a less than satisfying sensation against his face but it probably worked better to keep him alert.
What if Arnold snuck back to his van and took a quick power nap? Would Dispatch ever know? No, that was a terrible idea. He would likely wake up to the announcement of his termination as they threw him out of the van before towing it away.
His thoughts were quickly interrupted by some loud footsteps from outside of the security room. Arnold placed his hands over his mouth, trying to ensure that he didn’t make a sound as he knelt down. He was unable to hide under the security desk - there was far too much junk in the room. All he could do was hide behind the door and pray the endoskeleton didn’t know how to rip doors off their frames. As the inhuman stomps became louder, closer, and more impactful, Arnold found himself frozen in his current pose. Even his eyes were stuck facing forward, barely keeping themselves open with each step he heard.
Suddenly - silence .
…but it wasn’t reassuring.
Arnold was still immobile, anchored in place against the door, covering his mouth as his heart was ready to bounce out of his chest. His eyes blinked before spiraling into a circle of looking for any form of escape from the room. It had to be right behind the door. Arnold slowly shifted forward, starting off crawling before inching up to the desk to review the cameras in front of him. He was back in his reoccurring cycle of searching for anything out of place, particularly in the hallway around the security office. He was able to reveal that the hallway was empty, with a limp dog costume laying on the floor nearby the security office.