Chapter Text
“It’s not here either,” Gregory hissed. He glared into the badge holder, empty now even though he only had one badge on him. He fiddled nervously with the Fazer Blaster.
Chica hummed worriedly. “This is weird. The badges should be here!”
“We have searched Fazer Blast, Parts and Services, and backstage, and yet they are gone.” Freddy hummed and tapped his claws against his arm. “I do not like this.”
“It feels like something knows we're trying to get them,” Chica added.
“Maybe someone took them?” Gregory said. “This feels way too targeted.”
“We can check the security cameras!” She gestured to the computer. “They'll show us everything!”
He peered at the monitor—and spied the card reader just next to it. Gregory gave her an unimpressed look. “I think we need a badge for this.”
“Only level one.” Freddy pointed to the number one on the reader. “We at least have that.”
Oh. Well, that made things easier. Taking out the security badge he swiped from the daycare, Gregory tapped it against the reader and waited. The computer screen blinked to life, and he breathed a small, relieved sigh.
Okay. Where to find the footage?
He took the mouse and started clicking icons on the taskbar. One led to emails, which he really couldn't care less about—Chica insisted on scanning each one, though, so he indulged her for a bit. Another led to pictures he couldn't care less about, but again, Chica insisted on scanning them and copying them to her memory. Same with the audio files. She just plugged herself in and downloaded a copy of everything to her memory.
“I thought I was looking for the security footage?” Gregory grumbled.
“Doesn't hurt to have info, hon!” Chica chirped. She unplugged herself and straightened up. “We can go over this later. Maybe it'll help us help you escape.”
“Sure, sure.” Finally, one of the icons turned on a whole array of previously-sleeping monitors. On each screen was footage of the arcade whose security room they were currently hiding in.
“This seems to be live footage,” Freddy helpfully supplied. “Try and find a way to rewind.”
A bit of fiddling found the file storage. Because Gregory was a lucky kid, the screen switched to a folder that displayed a whole long list of ten-minute clips.
Great.
Awesome, even.
Groaning long and loud, he sat down on the security office’s chair and resigned himself to a boring search for information. Thankfully, the thumbnails gave a hint of what he would see, so he scrolled past any that seemed too boring. Neither Chica nor Freddy stopped him, so he kept scrolling until—
Well, it was hard to ignore the bunny lady present on a thumbnail.
Gregory furrowed his brow. He'd never seen that lady, but the way she seemed to look into the camera sent shivers down his spine.
He clicked the video clip and watched. He watched her skip into the room, watched her approach the card holder—he watched her look at the camera and give it a cheeky wave before taking the card, right where anyone could see. She pocketed it and skipped back out.
The footage kept going, showing an empty room for a few more minutes, but Gregory could only stare, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.
“Oh dear,” Freddy murmured, and Chica hummed in agreement. “Who is that?”
“I've never seen her before,” Chica muttered. Man, that did nothing to make Gregory feel better. “She doesn't seem to be on our side, though.”
Gregory shoved himself off of the chair and kicked it. “This is just great!” he snarled. “How are we supposed to get to the exit now!? The tunnels aren't exactly a level-one entrance!”
Freddy raised his hands in a gesture of peace. “Calm down, Superstar—”
“Calm down!?” He stomped his foot and clenched his fists. “How am I supposed to calm down when our one guaranteed escape just got snatched by some rabbit lady!? For all we know, she has all the other badges!”
“All hope is not lost! There is another who has security clearance!”
“Security clearance?” Gregory crossed his arms. “How much?”
“As far as I know, they have the highest clearance of us all. Maybe enough to access the emergency tunnels.”
This was too good to be true. But if it was true, then who was he to turn this down? If there was any way to get out of here as fast as possible, Gregory would take it! He could already feel freedom at his fingertips.
“Okay, who are they?” he asked. Freddy and Chica winced in response. Gregory's stomach immediately dropped again. “Um, guys? Please tell me it's not Monty or anything.”
“It . . .” Chica chuckled. “It isn't Monty.”
“Then who—”
Freddy cleared his throat. “It is the Daycare Attendant.”
-.-.-
After a long debate, Gregory trudged back to the Superstar Daycare.
“We can get its clearance easy! I’ll just destroy it, and—”
“Honey—if you want the security clearance, destroying them is the last thing you wanna do.”
“Yes. Security is specifically part of Moon’s programming, and it is . . . quite embedded. This will not be as simple as taking a badge—it is an integral part of him, so unless you want to dig through his code, destroying them is not the answer.”
“Plus . . . they were one of our friends. We’d really appreciate it if you didn’t destroy one of our friends.”
Roxy stalked around the atrium. Gregory considered stunning her with the Fazer Blaster, but he didn’t exactly want to draw attention right now. Instead, he found a photo booth and hid until she entered one of the other attractions.
“I—ugh, fine. Then how do we get it without them killing me?”
“Hmm . . . we must find a way to get them on our side. But how . . .”
“Oh! Put them in safe mode! We’re in safe mode, and we haven’t killed Gregory yet!”
Her footsteps faded away. Gregory waited a little longer just to make sure she was really gone before peeking out the curtain.
He looked left, then right. No Roxy here, no Monty there. Nothing between himself and the daycare. Stepping out, he tip-toed his way down, down, down.
“We must lure them to Parts and Services.”
“But how? They looked pretty mad; I don’t think we can talk them into following us.”
“Oh! Oh, um . . . you boys aren’t gonna like this . . .”
Gregory reached the shutter. Taking a deep breath, he scanned the daycare pass and watched the shutter clatter up.
“Chica? What is it?”
“I think the easiest way to get them to follow is . . . to start a game with them.”
He grimaced as he walked quietly into the daycare. The lights were on, and that bouncy music continued to play, but knowing there was one—technically two—pissed off robots just itching to get after him was less than settling. Sure, Roxy and Monty were scary, but they seemed to target him just because he was there.
Sun and Moon were smart enough to target him in the dark, to trick him into playing a game with them—to convince him that only Moon was bad and Sun was the safe one, if only for a little bit. And they were specifically pissed at him.
This was gonna be fun.
“Make sure you can play the game through a wall! Only Moon can come out, so you'll be fine as long as the lights stay on, hon!”
“Yes. And if the lights do turn off, hide inside a charging station!”
“A-a charging station? Why??”
“The Daycare Attendant’s battery is powerful but delicate. They sleep to charge it, so a large surge from the station could cause it to overcharge or explode. They both now know better to avoid it. It should not harm you—I hope.”
Taking in a fortifying breath, Gregory started making his way down the stairs—
—when the play area’s huge doors groaned open.
Sun’s shattered face grinned menacingly at him as he stepped out.
~.~.~
“First, we have to call her.”
Sun finished gathering the shattered pieces of their crescent and the four rays from the top of the play structure. He listened to Moon’s instructions as he threw the shattered pieces away and stored the rays in his chest compartment. He internalized the instructions as he put the now-fixed plushies back in their box and placed the lid on top.
Finally, letting the cable bring him up to the loft in the tower, he began.
Step one: Send out a distress signal.
Sun sat in the middle of their room and sent the signal out at the channel Moon specified. It was a channel he wasn’t used to using but that Moon used all the time to communicate with the ones he would take the victims to. No other radio interference would block the signal, guaranteeing someone would hear him.
Step two: Send a specific message.
Attached to the distress signal, he sent the script Moon gave him.
“Maintenance request. Please remove the following restrictions: Perimeter lock (play area). Perimeter lock (Superstar Daycare). Permission restriction (light switch). Guideline restriction (fair play).”
Step three: Wait.
And Sun waited. He did not open his eyes even though he wanted to. He did not move even though everything within him itched to move and run around.
But he waited. And waited. And waited. In a rare moment of stillness and peace, Moon recited modified stories from his bank and sang soft lullabies to keep Sun calm and still. Like this, he could almost pretend everything was normal again.
He could almost pretend they didn't argue, that they didn't hurt each other, that they weren't . . .
. . .
. . .
Click.
Sun opened his eyes. He stood up, and it felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He checked his permissions and restrictions.
Perimeter lock (play area): Off.
Perimeter lock (daycare): Off.
Permission (light switch): On.
Guideline (fair play): Off
Sun giggled. Let the games begin.
“How do you like it, Sunshine?” Moon purred. “Much better than those pesky restrictions, isn’t it?”
“Much better,” Sun agreed. He stepped out onto the balcony and looked out at his kingdom of fun—his trap of games. His to reign over in the daytime, Moon’s to stalk through at night, and yet it was not enough. If he was to do his job right, they needed access to the whole Pizzaplex world, not just a tiny part of it.
thmp-jingle
One foot planted on the edge of the balcony. He leveraged himself up to stand on the ledge, and it felt like freedom. His one half-working eye spied something ducking under the shutter—something small and blue, something familiar. His broken scanner tried scanning the kid, but it came back with an error.
Still, he knew that mess of brown and that cautious body language. Gregory. The little cheater.
Coming to seek asylum again?
“He’s left games unfinished,” Moon crooned. “Do you really think he deserves asylum?”
“No,” Sun said. “I think we should finish our games, Starlight.”
“I agree. Shall we?”
Yes. He allowed himself to tip over and dive silently into the ball pit. He waded across the sea, heaved himself out of the moat, and prowled toward the doors.
Eyes trained on the kid all the while.
Claws flexed all the while.
Smiling all the while.
He reached the door. The cheater started walking down the stairs.
Sun curled a hand around the handle and pulled. It opened easily, and he stepped through easily. No shocks, no barriers.
Sweet freedom.
The kid froze.
“There he is. Quite the rule breaker, isn't he?” Moon whispered.
“He is,” Sun agreed, and he let out a broken string of glitching giggles when the kid flinched.
“He broke the biggest rule we have.”
“He did. Lights on, isn’t that right?” He stepped forward. The kid stepped back.
“U-um, Freddy!” Gregory—the cheater—called. He raised his wrist up to his mouth. Calling for help? “Th-the Daycare Attendant—Sun’s out! I thought you said he couldn't get out!!”
“It is. What else did he do, Sunshine?”
“He cheated,” Sun snarled as the kid spoke frantically into his watch.
“And what will you do?”
One half-functional eye zeroed in on the target. “Finish the game.” A broken giggle erupted from his voice box. “Simon says run!”
Gregory screamed and booked it. Extending Moon’s claws, Sun launched himself up the wall and hauled himself over the railing. The kid slid under the shutters, so Sun sprinted on all fours, sliding under the shutter and skidding to a stop.
The kid wasn't there.
Where could he be?
Straightening up, Sun scanned the immediate area. Everything was blurry and difficult to make out, but he should have been able to make out the blue shirt and messy hair. Using the scanner was out of the question: it was still broken from when a particularly rowdy toddler thought throwing wooden blocks was fun.
With the growing realization came a well of bubbling frustration. Sun’s remaining rays withdrew slightly before extending sharply, and his foot tapped impatiently.
“He changed the game,” he growled. “Hide and seek.”
Within his head, Moon grumbled and snarled. “He's playing without me.”
“The little cheater.” Sun checked their internal clock. Ten minutes until lights out. Too long to wait—the little snot would have escaped them by then. “Hey, Moony Moon, tag me in, would you? If he's not playing fair, why should we?”
Moon was silent for a moment, but Sun could feel his irritation and hesitation. Normally, they wouldn't finish each other’s games, but they'd never had two different unfinished games before. Neither did they have someone who changed games in the middle of another one.
Sun kept an eye out, rooted to the spot until Moon gave the okay. His head swiveled around to make sure nothing snuck past them as Moon hummed and considered and struggled with his own pride.
Eventually, he gave a resigned, “Fine. But you tag me in yours, too.”
“Deal.”
“Go ahead, then. Your turn.”
Like a dog let off the leash, Sun started rooting around possible hiding spots. A stack of crates yielded nothing, and neither did the dark corners he needed to squint to look into. He turned up his hearing so he wouldn't miss anything, but they were nowhere near as powerful as Moon's ears.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he sang. “You can’t hide from us!”
Nothing. No breathing, no quiet gasps, no shaking, not even a little fidgeting. Sun even took Moon’s offered nap time ears, and he still couldn’t pick out any sounds a human child might make.
It was as if Gregory disappeared.
The recharge stations humming behind him had him twitch his head over for a moment, but he dismissed them easily. Those things gave off a dangerous charge—no way would a child ever—
The station’s door slammed open, and the kid rushed out and sprinted back into the daycare. Whirling around, Sun didn’t think twice before launching after him, nearly tripping on his own feet in his haste.
Skidding around corners and rounding gift shop doorways and party rooms, Sun quickly closed the distance.
BANG!! went some decorations, and Sun stopped to pick them up.
SLAM!! went two chairs, and he took only a second to right them.
In their head, Moon accessed the cameras. Messes here and there, left in party rooms that Gregory just evacuated, and Moon drew a route that ignored all of them.
“He’s heading to the theater,” he supplied. “Cut him off!”
Sun giggled in response. He called the cable and had it take him high, high in the sky where the kid couldn’t track him. Gregory stopped in his tracks, looking around desperately. Sun landed silently in front of Fazbear Theater and hid behind the stairs.
Gregory’s turn to seek. He muted himself as a barrage of uncontrollable laughter shook his frame. This hiding spot was dark, but not dark enough to call Moon. The theater would be much darker, though.
“Get ready for your turn, Moon Moon,” he whispered. Moon hummed in response.
Uncertain footsteps echoed in the silence. The kid’s voice broke it soon enough.
“Freddy? Chica? Are you there?”
“We are here, Superstar.”
“How’s it going, sugar?”
“Not good. I lost track of them.”
“Oh. That is not good . . .”
Sun muted himself again and tucked himself further behind the stairs. His rays shuddered as the darkness became that little bit more absolute. He laughed quietly behind his hand.
“Where are you right now?”
“The theater. I—I didn’t know what else to do—”
“That is alright. The theater should be full of distractions. Just hurry—it is almost time for Moon’s patrol.”
The kid didn’t answer. He drew nearer and nearer—
—and then the lights went out.
Sun winced and kept himself muted as his rays drew in, as his head twisted and turned and Moon came out to play.
“Tag! Your turn, Starlight!”
Moon spun his head one more time, slowly to keep the bell silent, and activated his night vision and heat sensors.
Security protocol: active.
ALERT: Unauthorized entry. Please call—please call—please call—
ALERT: Ignore previous command. Apprehend intruder.
(alert: you know what to do)
The kid was but a step away. Moon activated his music box, and it played a slow, calmer version of the daycare’s theme. He relished in the fear as he unfolded himself from his hiding place, drew strength from the frustrated panic growing more and more plain on the child’s face, in the shaking of his hands and the uncertainty in his backwards steps.
Moon chuckled low and menacing. “I win,” he rumbled—and he lunged at the kid.
“Wait, wait, I wanna play a game!!”
Moon froze mid-lunge, one arm outstretched and his other hand and feet planted firmly on the ground. The words registered in his processing units, but it still took a while to comprehend.
I wanna play a game.
He tilted his head. This child wanted to play a game? Of course, Moon and Sun played lots of games with the kids, but most of those games were initiated by they themselves. That this one wanted to play . . . Some deep programming, something still child-friendly and amenable to playing switched within him.
And the intrigue . . .
Even Sunny seemed interested.
Even if their head screamed at them to get him.
“What game?” Moon whispered. He lowered his arm and crawled closer, still smiling and still fully intending on completing the mission even if this little one just became a little more interesting. “We have two games unfinished. Why should we start another game?”
“L-let’s make a deal then.” Tinny protests arose from the FazWatch. Gregory clapped a hand over it, silencing those small voices. He set his jaw into something trying to be brave, but Moon could only see a scared little kid. “We’ll wipe the board and start a new game of my choice. If I win, you guys leave me alone for the rest of the night. If you win, you get to . . .” He swallowed thickly but stood his ground even as Moon inched closer. “You get to do whatever you need to do. Got it?”
Moon considered. Sun was silent in their head and offered no insight, though he seemed to be vibrating with anticipation. “What game?”
Gregory opened his mouth. No sound came out. He clicked his mouth shut; Moon could see the thoughts tripping over each other, could see the gears turning. Finally, he said, “Marco Polo. You have to find me. If you do—”
“I do what I need to.” Apprehend. Bring him down to the service tunnels. Complete the mission. “Rules?”
“He’ll break them.”
So will we.
“How’s that gonna be any fun?”
Gregory stiffened. “You have to promise to play fair.”
Moon snorted and echoed Sunny’s comment, “You’ll break them.”
One shaking hand rose up, pinky raised reluctantly. “Then we pinky promise. Sun likes those, right?”
“How would you know he’s even watching?”
“I broke half of your face. Sun’s face was broken, too. He’s in there, alright, and I bet he’s watching.”
“Could be sleeping.”
Gregory’s eyes flicked down to the scratched-up arm. “That arm’s gotta hurt too much to sleep.”
Sun huffed. “Not wrong, but wrong logic. This sounds fun, Moonie. But if he breaks the rules . . .”
“If you break the rules, we will, too,” Moon said. He raised his pinky and wrapped it around Gregory’s with a smirk. “So don’t break them. We have more tools than you.”
Gregory shuddered and quickly took his hand back. “You have to give me a twenty-second head start.”
“Done.”
“And you have to only use your ears.”
“Sunny’s playing, too. Two against one—we can guide each other to you.”
“Then no maps. Only your ears.”
“Of course—that would be cheating. But when we say Marco, you must say Polo within ten seconds.”
“If I hear it, sure. It’s a deal.”
Moon straightened up. How’s that sound, Sunshine?
“Sounds fair,” Sunny hummed. “Give him his head start, Moon Moon.”
Moon closed his one working eye and shut down the security protocols. For dramatic effect, he spun on his heel, faced the stairwell, and covered both optics with his hands. “One. Two. Three.”
The kid scurried off.
And as the kid scurried off, and as Moon counted to twenty, Sun sent a network-wide announcement: Attention, attention! A game is afoot! Absolutely no one will interfere until we’re done! Your cooperation is appreciated and expected. Thank you!
~.~.~
“What was that back there!?” Chica squawked. “Do you want to die!?”
“Shut—shut up!” Gregory panted. He raced away from the theater and almost immediately ran into a STAFF bot. Cursing quietly, he hid behind some chairs. “It worked, didn’t it?”
“Yes, but it was still dangerous,” Freddy chastised. Before Gregory could snap at him, he added, “Still, it was very quick thinking. Good job, Superstar! All you need to do now is lead them here. We are waiting.”
“Be careful!!”
“Thanks guys.” Gregory placed a hand over the watch and kept his grin small. At least those two believed in him.
He peeked around the chairs. The bot was turned away—now or never.
Tip-toeing out from behind the chair, he made a mad dash for the exit. However, no sooner did he emerge from his hiding place than the light shone on him, and the STAFF bot wailed an alarm.
From somewhere behind him, Moon called, “Marco!”
Gregory couldn’t move—couldn’t speak. The seconds counted down, and he didn’t know if he would rather suffer the wrath of the Daycare Attendant or risk another robot’s attention. His mouth tried to move, but his tongue was dry and frozen, and all the while the STAFF bot screamed in his face.
Eventually, after way too long, he stuttered out, “P-polo!!”
Thundering footsteps rushed toward him. With a shriek, Gregory dove away just as Moon shattered the bot with a snarly, “We said no interference.” The bouncy little music box was an almost hilarious contrast to his fury.
Gregory didn’t stick around. Scrambling back to his feet, he sprinted to the exit as fast as he dared. He didn’t look behind him, instead opting to fight with the flashlight until it flickered on—until it cast a jittery beam in front of him that barely lit the way.
Dang it, forgot to charge!!
Slapping the thing until the beam grew stronger, Gregory stumbled down the steps and back into the daycare proper.
Like last time, he didn’t have time to appreciate the decor, instead focusing on the map and where in the world the service tunnel could be. There was one in here, he just knew it—
There!
Skidding to a stop, he sprinted into—
“Marco!”
Gregory heaved desperate breaths. Moon waited at the top of the stairs leading to the theater. Both eyes were covered by the nightcap, but that didn’t mean Gregory had the advantage.
He stepped a little further into the tunnel. “Polo!”
He heard Moon before he saw him, those bells jingling as he raced to Gregory’s location. Gregory didn’t stick around—he scurried deeper into the tunnel.
This was unfamiliar territory. He just hoped they wouldn’t call “marco” too much . . .
~.~.~
In here. Moon stepped through the doorway and instantly recognized the way his footsteps echoed off each wall. This was the service tunnel—a long way away from Parts and Services. Maybe the kid figured these winding paths would help him.
Moon chuckled; it echoed along the hall, and he could hear the kid’s stuttering breaths. He could hear his footsteps, too, nervous and uncertain.
Whatever he figured, Moon still had the advantage. Even though those footsteps were far away, his enhanced hearing could still pinpoint their location. And in these tunnels, that just made everything easier.
No STAFF bots to confuse him. No Roxy, Monty, Freddy, and Chica to distract him. With his eyes closed, there were no messes.
Just him and the sounds.
Lowering himself on all fours, Moon advanced. He felt around with his fingers so he wouldn’t trip and propelled himself with his arms and legs when he was sure he had a clean stretch. Gregory’s echoing breaths acted as a guide along long hallways and sharp corners.
And when those breaths were too far? Moon sprinted.
He relished in the panicked scream every time his bells jingled, any time his music box grew louder with excitement.
In the back of his head, however, Sunny was silent. Moon could feel the waves of discomfort at being here through their shared headspace, but he paid it no mind. If Sun was afraid of the dark, then Moon would just need to remind him that there were worse things than the dark.
The footsteps fell silent. Moon paused, too. Slowly, he straightened up and shuffled quietly forward.
He listened for breathing.
Nothing.
He listened for shuffling.
Nothing.
Like he’d disappeared.
“Moon, I don’t feel so good,” Sunny whispered. “Can we go back?”
No, Moon replied and continued listening. Endure it. We’re almost done.
“We’re not supposed to be here. We—” Something glitched in their head, and Moon jerked away from it—well, as much as he could jerk away from his own head. Bells jingled violently as he clutched the sides of his face. He only just kept from scratching up their plate. “We’re not allowed down here, not without—”
Moon snarled. “I know.” I know better than you do.
The response wasn’t the usual snap back. Sun seemed to cower, whimpering in fear like he hadn’t done in a long time. “Just—hurry up, please?” he begged. “I don’t—I don’t like it here.”
“Marco!” Moon listened. He heard something reluctantly open.
“Polo.”
So close. Good.
Arms outstretched, Moon dashed in the kid’s direction—
—and ran straight into something solid. He had the self-preservation to move his face away from impact, slamming chest first into whatever this was.
Hurried footsteps echoed further down the hall.
(whispering echoes demanded answers from him, scolded him for coming here empty-handed)
He lowered himself again and began his dash once more.
(whispering echoes demanding him to hurry and capture the prize, threatened punishment if he stayed here without the charge any longer)
Moon’s head twitched. A twinge of pain stabbed through him. Finish this quick.
He raced blind through the service tunnels, calling “marco” every time the footsteps stopped. Eventually, the echoing sounds expanded, like they reached a very long room. Moon could hear jagged breathing, and he could hear fans ventilating the air around him.
The kid was in front of him. He could tell. He’d won.
With a smirk, Moon purred, “Marco.”
The kid took a deep breath in. “Polo.”
Moon lunged. He swiped at the kid—was met with thin air. Desperate footsteps beside him, Moon pivoted on his toes to follow but lost balance.
Or something pushed him.
Either way, he toppled over, landed heavily on his side, and something whooshed in front of him.
Click.
“Maintenance cylinder locked,” an automated voice said, and Moon was hit with the cold realization that this was a trap.
He activated his optics. The dim lights could have been blinding for how bright they felt, but Moon couldn’t care less about that. No, his focus was on Gregory, now flanked by Chica and Freddy, the traitors.
“Think that’ll keep ‘em?” Gregory asked.
“It should,” Freddy answered. “This glass is potent.”
“My head hurts,” Sun whined, and for once, Moon didn't scold him for it. “Moon, make it stop, make it stop!”
Moon slammed his fist against the glass. He scratched and scrabbled at it, tried to fight through the pain in his head that screamed failure failure failure!
That automated voice again. He didn't care what it said—all he cared about was escaping and completing the mission.
And then rigid pincers gripped his wrists. Moon screamed—not snarled or growled, but screamed—as those pincers dragged him back to the maintenance chair. They shoved him on, kept him down as he struggled and writhed against them, as he fought against the metal restraints clamping over his wrists, ankles, chest, and neck.
He wanted to say he was being threatening. He wanted to say he was trying to scare them into letting him go, intimidate them into running away and leaving him alone, but—
but fear choked him, rattled his endoskeleton and shivered through his wires, grew tenfold as Sunny wailed and cried and shrieked about his headache and the lightning and the fire running through their head it hurts it hurts iT HURTS
—but something plugged into the ports in the side of his head and shot pure fire into him. Moon arched his back in a soundless scream as something squirming crawled through him, scanned his system and recoiled at what it saw.
The automated voice: “Initiating safe mode. Rebooting.”
Gregory: “What’s going on? Is it killing him? We need that clearance!”
Freddy: “C-calm down, Gregory! He is entering safe mode!”
Chica: “Ohh, hang in there—!”
Rebooting . . .
Good night, Moon.
~.~.~
The screams cut off abruptly. Moon’s eye rolled back before the red pupil faded away. He fell back against the chair so roughly that Gregory was afraid he might have broken something, which would not spell good things for his chances of escape.
The terminal spoke again. “Rebooting,” it said. “Please stand by.”
“Is he dead?” Gregory murmured. Chica made a distressed sound, and even Freddy looked concerned.
“He is not, but I do hope safe mode helps,” Freddy replied. “This should not take—”
Five rays popped out of the left side of Moon’s face even though that same side stayed that dark purplish gray. Gregory recoiled when the eye came back online, first a glitchy red and then a stable blue. His forearms glowed white before settling on yellow on the right side and blue on the left. Even the pants seemed to split, stripes on one side and stars on the other.
“Safe mode active,” Moon said, but his voice was as wrong as his appearance. Calmer than Sun’s but more energetic than Moon’s. “Hello again, Freddy and Chica.” The voice was stilted, too, like he wasn’t used to talking.
This was a completely different person.
Gregory tucked himself behind Freddy’s leg. Best to stay behind them.
“Hi, baby!” Chica cooed, a complete one-eighty to how she talked about Sun and Moon. “Good to see you again!”
“Hello again, Eclipse,” Freddy said. To Gregory’s surprise, he made his way to the terminal. “It’s been a while! How are you?”
“I am well, thank you.” Moon—Eclipse?—relaxed against the restraints, like it was used to this. “Warning! Virus detected—running antivirus.”
“Ah—it was a virus.” Freddy exchanged a glance with Chica. “Could that be what possessed our friends?”
“It’s gotta be,” Chica murmured. “That would explain it better than being infected by ghosts.”
“Well, since Eclipse is active now, we can—”
“Warning! Please refrain from releasing the restraints and-or opening the maintenance cylinder until the virus is purged. Thank you!” Despite its words, Eclipse said this with a vacant smile. “You are welcome to rest or continue your previous task.”
Freddy slowly stepped away from the terminal. “I suppose we should wait.” He settled down on the ground, and Chica sat down next to him.
Gregory eyed Eclipse and reluctantly settled down. “I thought safe mode was just you but with restrictions. Mind explaining this?”
“Oh!” Chica looked between Gregory and Eclipse, who closed its eye as its fans hummed a little louder. “I guess we glossed over that. Eclipse is Sun and Moon’s safe mode!”
“. . . Why?”
“Well, they are two ai in one body, and they are security bots on top of that,” Freddy, who seemed to know everything except how to get out quickly, explained. “When they are compromised, they would usually shut down. Normally, one can take over when the other is compromised, but when something is wrong with both of them, someone else needs to take control. That is Eclipse’s role.”
Eclipse hummed distantly. “Directive: Safe mode, antivirus, protection. Current objective: Stabilize Daycare Attendant, purge virus.”
“Oh.” Well, it seemed calm enough. Gregory felt himself relaxing little by little. “So, we wait?”
“We wait,” Freddy agreed.
“. . . Wait, so why don’t you two have a split personality?”
“Um, that would require quite the explanation.”
-.-.-
It couldn’t have been five minutes since Freddy started his lecture, but Gregory was already fast asleep against him. He adjusted the child so he was settled as comfortably as possible, but truth be told, keeping children asleep was just not his forte.
Chica sighed. “He must be exhausted,” she whispered. “Poor thing’s been running around a lot this past hour.”
“Yes,” Freddy agreed. “This is a good time to rest. He has earned it. And . . . if all goes well, we will have one of our friends back with us.”
Her eyes drifted up to Eclipse, laying quietly as the antivirus worked away. “I hope they really do come back to us. I miss them . . . Every single one of them . . .”
“As do I . . .”
~.~.~
“Alert. Antivirus successful. Goodbye!”
“Goodbye, Eclipse.”
“We hope next time we see you is better!”
He jerked awake in the darkness, ten minutes after his security shift. The maintenance room should have been bright. For some reason, someone was keeping it dark.
The restraints drew back, but Moon was stuck in place. The haze of the virus was lifted, clarity returned after too long of living within the fog.
Oh.
Oh no, no, no—
“Moon . . .” Sunny’s voice shook in their head. Gone was the cheer, the joy, the excitement. Reflected instead was Moon’s own distress and horrifying realization. “What did we do . . . ?”
You know what we did, Moon wanted to say, but he couldn’t. Not in their head, not out loud, not even in his thoughts—
—oh no no no no no—
(“let’s play a game”)
(“i want my mommy”)
(“can i go home?”)
(“hide and seek sounds fun”)
(“help me help me let me out”)
There was blood on his hands, regardless of if he killed the victims or not. He’d maimed half of them, tortured all of them, played sick games with them, lulled them into a false sense of security—
His blurry vision landed on three figures. Freddy, who always made sure he had a quiet place to nap. Chica, who was one of the first to take him and Sun under her wing.
Gregory, the child he nearly killed three times tonight—
Chica asked something. Moon couldn’t hear her over the static in his ears and the well of guilt guilt my fault—
His mouth moved as if to speak. But when the child flinched, his voice faltered.
And when he next found his voice, Moon screamed—!