Chapter Text
You stayed on the roof all night, the cool air raising the hairs on your arm and making them catch on the uniform fibers. You still hadn’t changed. You wouldn’t have time to take it to the cleaners before your shift started today.
Your shift.
Day-shift.
You enjoyed those more. You didn’t have to worry so much about animatronics chasing you. You still did, you supposed, but… less. If people were around, the robot suits weren’t going to chase you. It was simple. Fazbear Entertainment valued their customers too much.
Your foot slipped a bit on the shingles, but you regained your balance quickly. You should get off the roof. It was a wonder your neighbours hadn’t noticed you. Or maybe they had. They were always more nosy than they should be.
(Sometimes you wondered what sorts of gossip encircled the neighbourhood about you. Surely they had to comment on the circles under your eyes, or the way you kept to yourself, or even the long hospital visit. Your night-shifts.)
That, or they didn’t bother to gossip about you. You never participated in any neighbourly events, like barbeques, not that you were actually invited.
When your mother was, they invited you.
That was because everyone liked her, though. She was kind. Friendly. Enjoyable to be around. Approachable.
And well, you weren’t.
(You were barely approachable at work, too. Any other job, and you’d be fired.)
You started to stand, hand grasping the side of a window to keep yourself stabilized.
(Could you imagine, going through all that you have, and dying because you fell off a roof?)
A smile twitched at your lips.
Whoa.
You had smiled. This gesture felt foreign, almost, different then the quick lip-press you gave to customers as they ran into you.
Your mouth settled back into its usual position. You couldn’t smile. You didn’t have much to smile about, after all.
(What little humour you even found comedic was barely enough to make you smile anymore.)
You hauled yourself over the window pane. With light streaming in the window, the room wasn’t as terrifying anymore. No longer did you expect the creatures to jump out and attack you. No longer did you fear Bonnie and Freddy and Foxy would leap and ensnare you with claws and paws and a tinkling music box.
You were safe.
You exhaled, an odd moment of sad peace falling over you.
Sometimes you wondered what your younger self would have thought of you. They’d be terrified, no doubt. Disappointed, that you were so afraid of everything around you, that you had lived your life and your chosen career was a caretaker of an animatronic restaurant.
(Pizza Plex now, though. Like that was an upgrade.)
You opened your closet, rummaging to find the spare batteries you’d laid out nicely on the shelf. They sat there, as usual, nothing different at all. Just how you liked it. You slipped them into your flashlight, setting the old ones in a separate pile. You didn’t throw them out. They were backups, in case the news ones ran out while you were doing your job.
You pulled out your day-shift uniform, the nearly identical white shirt with another white button-up. Only difference was that tiny, embroidered sun on the outer sleeve. Your name tag was pinned on the front breast pocket, although the name on it was too scratched to read. It had gone in the wash once, and somehow, the managers overseeing your work let it slide. You were just another employee. No one really needed to know your name. Plus, you stayed in the shadows well. No customer would approach you unless you wanted them to.
(It was weird, you weren’t allowed to wear your night-shift name tag. Why did you even need a night-shift name tag? No one was going to read it. No one was there at night, aside from the animatronics. And they all knew your name. It was submitted into all their programs.)
You slid on your boots, lacing them up and triple knotting them. Nimble yet callused fingers tightened the laces to a degree of which no one but you would be able to get them off, which is precisely why you tightened them so. You had followed this routine to a tee enough times to know how long and to what calibre of strength you should pull them.
They were uncomfortable, though. Somehow, that was slightly better. Maybe if they were too comfy, you’d get too secure. You’d feel too safe. These uncomfortable, worn boots made you just cramped enough to not feel secure.
What a life.
What a life indeed.
You were out the door by 7:00 am, slamming your car door and locking it shut. Then it was off to your car, clipping the house keys to your belt on a separate ring then the Pizza Plex keys. That was to stop yourself from ever confusing the two. Your personal keys went on a key ring hung around a belt loop the back of your hip. The Pizza Plex keys, with that stupid Freddy keychain went on your front belt loop.
(Although, the Pizza Plex was using key cards now.)
Your hand went around your neck, where the lanyard had been the night before last. You’d gotten used to it strangely fast, the small little jingle the metal of the key chain made when it clanked lightly against the buttons of your shirt.
You climbed into your car. It was a Thursday, today. That meant the Pizza Plex closed at 8:00. You would stay longer, of course. They always made you stay longer. Clean up all the messes the icky kids would leave behind for you.
The roads were quiet as you drove. Most jobs around here started at 9:00, leaving people to start driving at around 8:00. You’d planned out this drive weeks in advance, trying to encounter the least amount of people as possible.
The only thing more unpredictable than an animatronic was a person.
You pulled into the Pizza Plex parking lot, taking your usual employee parking lot spot. You locked the door as you left, sticking your flashlight back into its usual holder.
(What else was in your belt?)
Honestly, you didn’t use it a lot. The standard key card they gave all basic level employees was held on a retractable line that strapped into your belt loops. There was a rag tucked into one pocket. There were spare batteries in another.
That was about it. The rest were empty pockets, really. Your wallet slid into the pocket of the work pants, thin and cardless. You mostly used cash. For some reason, it felt safer. You always used cash. Maybe it felt like you were untraceable, even though you knew you weren’t.
The Pizza Plex doors opened as you walked near, and your heart steadied in your chest.
(Sometimes you wondered why you weren’t allowed your taser as a day shift worker. Maybe it would scare the kids? It would keep you safe, though. Or a baton, even. Sucks it was only a night-shift perk.)
That wasn’t enough to make you want to be a night-shift worker again, though.
Although, they’d put you back on it.
You knew they would. The night before last was a trial run. They wanted to see if you still had it in you. That manager hadn’t confessed about where the other guard had gone to, but he wouldn’t be coming back.
It was your job.
“Hey! You’re back!”
A voice greeted you as you stepped through the doorways, and your head jerked up instinctively, muscles tensing warily.
But it was only one of your fellow coworkers.
“We missed you yesterday,” they said, smiling.
What was their name? Alex? Theo?
You tried to smile back, but it only came out as a grimace. “Recovering from the night-shift,” you replied.
Your voice was hoarse. Cracking. Why did it always do that?
(Alex? Theo?) nodded, smiling wide. “They always suck, don’t they?”
What do they know? They never were subjected to it.
Why were you angry about that?
(It was obvious, wasn’t it? They only joined for the popularity of it. Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Plex was up and coming. It was famous. People came far and wide for it. Alex? Theo? only joined because it was easy. Quick pay. In and out. They never needed to know much about the animatronics. They never needed to know that Chica’s beak was easily dislodged, or that Monty’s guitar was temperamental, or that-)
You inhaled, focusing on the rhetorical question. “They sure do.”
(Alex? Theo?) looked down at a slip of paper in their hands. “Boss wants you to do these by the end of the day. Oh, he wants to see you in the security office, too. By the-”
You sighed. “I know where the security office is.”
You did. You knew where everything was.
The entrance was as huge as ever as you entered, bright lights screaming for attention as your boots made dull thuds against the linoleum floors. STAFF bots still cleaned already spotless floors, mindless behaviour repeated to a torturous degree.
(What a curse. It was like Sisyphus, continuously rolling his ball up the hill. The STAFF bots would never stop cleaning.)
But you weren’t feeling bad for them, were you? They were robots. They couldn’t feel. They were even less sentient than the performers in Rockstar Row and attendants in the Daycare. And if you didn’t feel bad for those, you shouldn’t feel bad for the cleaning bots.
But they did look sort of sad, almost as if the shoulders of the robot were being dragged down, and the head was angled down in a way that almost gave it a sorrowful look.
You kept walking. The security office was tucked behind a row of push-to-enter gates, something you climbed over. No point in using your key-card, you’d just have to lock it again after you.
(You had pulled something when you tried this maneuver the first time. Almost as a reminder, you felt a twinge in the muscle.)
But then you landed on the floor again, and everything was fine.
Just like (Alex? Theo?) had told you, your manager was sitting in the security office, staring at the camera feed displaying the Pizza Plex around. The only motion on them were the STAFF bots, as the Plex hadn’t opened yet, so it was a little weird she was staring at the cameras with such fervor.
You closed the door after you, old habits making the sound nearly inaudible.
“You wanted to see me?”
They turned.
“Ah. You’re here.” For a second it looked like they were having trouble remembering your name, with a dipped brow and focused, narrowed eyes. Then they continued.
Your manager wasn’t a… well, you would say they wouldn’t find it easy to hide under a desk as you had. A box of donuts sat on the table, the crumbs on their lap giving them the air of relaxation and disorganization, especially coupled with the stack of files nearly falling off the desk.
“How was your night-shift?”
You winced as the spray of donut crumbs came from their mouth, before cleaning your throat. “I survived,” you said, not intending it to be a joke. Your manager laughed nonetheless.
“That’s good. You’re my hardest worker! You should get a raise!” Again, she laughed; slapping her knee as if getting a raise was way out of the question.
You stood still. You were good at standing still. “Is there something you needed me for, ma’am?”
She cleared her throat, pulling a file from the stack of files. “Yeah, we had someone go over all the animatronics yesterday, and apparently you cleaned Sun? The-uh, the daycare attendant?”
You frowned. Were you not supposed to? The note said you had to. That children had left handprints on them. “Was I not supposed to?”
Your manager snorted to herself. “Did you bribe him?”
The dip of your brows spoke for itself.
“See, usually the- Attendants, they don’t get cleaned regularly. As they should. Something with their programming, I don’t know, they- they get antsy.”
Maybe because they’re programmed to be safe around kids, not adults.
But no, that was stupid. Adults built the attendants. They should be safe around them. If not, then that was just bad programming.
Then again, you know, these were animatronics that murdered. Bad programming was practically the basis here.
“I’m sure you see where I’m going here.”
Oh, fuck.
“Our security guard, for the night shift, the regular? He hasn’t gotten back to us, yet, and we really do need someone to fill in pretty urgently, and well, you did an excellent job last time-”
“No.”
It was hard. Flat. Cold, even. Definite. It left no room for argument, but yet you seemed to have forgotten that this was your manager. You didn’t have a say in this.
It was as you suspected.
“Yeah, see, we’re not really asking.” Your manager looked up at you. You swore you could almost see a smirk on her lips.
“Just because I cleaned Sun? I refuse.” You shook your head vehemently. Even if this wasn’t something you could choose, you were going to fight this until the end. “I’ll quit.”
Your manager huffed a laugh.
Now that was funny. You both knew you wouldn’t quit. This job had too much of a grip on you. Fazbear Entertainment wouldn’t let anybody else hire you, either. This was your life.
“Your shift is tonight. Be here at, uhhh, 10? Yeah. That would work. Catch a nap on your break, huh?” Your manager gave you another smile, as if to say you didn’t have a choice.
Because you really didn’t.
So how would this work? Would you leave right now? Or would you work all day, and then all night, as well?
“So I just don’t go home?” You asked, not disguising the coldness in your tone. “That’s illegal, isn’t it?”
Ha. Like they cared what was considered illegal. What was illegal was how the animatronics acted. Like they were people.
She shrugged. “Consider it overtime.”
(What was the first law of robotics? A robot may not injure a human being?)
“Overtime.” You echoed.
She smiled. “Don’t you care about this company? It’ll just be until we find out where our usual night shifter went. Don’t worry.”
You really didn’t have a choice.
You turned to walk away, the itchy fabric of your uniform irritating you more than usual. You hated this. You hated everything about this. How could you not? Forcing you to work overtime, knowing they’d never let you go.
It wasn’t fair.
Oddly enough, tears started to well up in your eyes. It wasn’t fair.
(It never was.)
But it was nothing to cry about. You angrily brushed away at your eyes, exhaling roughly. You’d go to work, and that would be that.
That was your whole life. Work. It was a wonder you hadn’t killed yourself yet. You had no work-life balance.
Well actually, you didn’t have a life after work. You just worked, and then worried about work, and then dreamt about work.
You passed by a STAFF bot, ignoring how it watched you go.
A lot of people here had lives. Some of the Daycare workers, they had kids. Some of them brought their kids to work. That was laughable. This place wasn’t safe for adults, let alone kids. It was a miracle that they passed any safety inspections.
Knowing this company, though, they probably bought their way through an inspection.
The crinkling sound of paper as you clenched your fist snapped you to attention. You had work to do.
You unfolded the paper, scanning it. Today wouldn’t be too bad, you thought. They didn’t assign you much. Perhaps this was their way of giving you a break before tonight.
- Work the lost-and-found desk until Tracy gets back.
- Watch security cameras on Level 2.
- Inspect washrooms.
- Inspect Roxy Raceway.
- Inspect Freddy’s room while on show.
- Inspect Roxy’s room.
- Inspect Daycare.
- Keep an eye on Daycare attendants.
Tracy? Was that the girl who worked the lost-and-found desk? Weird, you’d never heard her name before. Did she have a name-tag?
You glanced down at your own. Golden and shiny and scratched to hell. Even if people could read it, would they call you by your name?
It was honestly a wonder you hadn't begun to forget it. If you weren't made to sign hospital forms, NDRs, and papers legally barring you from suing, it might've been lost to the ether.
(Maybe you should’ve sued.)
You made your way to the lost-and-found desk. Luckily it was on the ground floor, so you didn’t have to go far. Not that you would’ve complained if it were farther. It would’ve allowed you to make sure things were in their proper place, and not awry.
Of course, if things were awry, you might’ve preferred not to see it. You were always the one to deal with them. It would be nice to have someone else deal with them.
Although, you wouldn’t know if they dealt with it right. Some things were particular. Like if Tracy, for example, were on the night shift, she wouldn’t know the sound of Roxy walking versus Freddy. She wouldn’t know how to listen to each and every creak of the joints, watching their eyes, and barely breathing to stay as quiet as possible.
But that was a good thing. She didn’t know how bad working here could get. Ignorance was a bliss you couldn’t afford to have.
The lost-and-found desk was empty when you opened the door to enter. You weren’t surprised, as only one person ever manned the room at a time. It was boring.
Which is why it was a little strange they put you in charge of it. They gave you the worst tasks. Granted, some of them you liked because it led you to be isolated, where the chatter of people talking wouldn’t distract you from your set task of listening for that awful sound of thudding footsteps.
Maybe someone helped you out.
You squinted at the paper. It didn’t look like someone erased anything. And if someone were trying to help you out, why would they give you the tasks regarding the animatronic? Everyone knew you hated those things.
Well, whatever. All you had to do was man the lost and found room until Tracy got back.
That was easy.
Too easy, whispered the voice in the back of your mind.
You took a seat in the chair, swivelling a little bit. It was a cheap office chair, one that squeaked and had peeling faux leather on the armrests and cushion. Just like the company.
But there was no animatronics here, and that was relieving.
Maybe.
Well, as the story goes, if there were no threats, your mind would conjure up some. Maybe it was better to stay busy.
You let out a little sigh, closing your eyes briefly. You were tired. You were always tired, but the sleepless night you had yesterday was getting to you.
Your fingers picked at the little sun embroidered on your uniform, nails finding the edge and almost pulling it off. It was almost weird how well it was embroidered on.
Eyes opening, you let out another sigh, yawning and scanning the desk in the room. There wasn’t much there, really, just a little flashlight charger on the wall, and a little badge holder. No badge in sight, though, which meant that whoever had it, most likely Tracy, kept it. There were no rules against badge-holding, but usually support or service desks encouraged you to return your badge to the station you were occupying at the end of the day, so staff could fire you without notice and never see you again.
You had seen it happen before, one employee you had kept an eye on because of their level of comfort with the animatronics. It had intrigued you, how not scared they were of it.
It seemed almost inhuman, actually. It wasn’t right. How could you not be even a little intimidated by those hulking beasts, wrapped in synthetic pelts and sporting a gaping maw that could, would, and wanted to swallow you whole.
You spun around in the chair idly. You wondered if they would fire Tracy. it wasn’t hard to find new employees. With only good news in the papers, only good reviews online, people were submitting resumes on the daily.
You had heard rumours of the hiring unit of the company. They were supposed to manage the employment services. They scanned resumes, they analyzed the employee’s career stats. Apparently, and this was a rumour that you fully believed, but apparently, they monitored employees outside of the Pizza Plex. They watched you, with little hidden spy cams, watching and listening what you told your friends, your family, what you wrote about online, what you listened to and what you talked about. What you bought, ate, how much you slept, how little friends you have, your suicide attempts, and every time you bled.
It made perfect sense. They sunk their claws in, and they didn’t let go. They knew your life. That’s how they kept you in. They isolated you. And then by the time you had found out and something was going on, it was too late. This job was all you had. It was all you could have to stay afloat. They gave you just enough to pay your rent, buy food, and maybe buy new clothes. No extra money to save away in an account so one day you could move away and get out of the hellhole that was your job. They adjusted your pay so that you would stay reliant. They upped or downed your hours if you were looking for other jobs to fill the gaps in your savings account that you wanted. If you were looking at that babysitting job, they raised your hours. If you were going to quit because you were overworked, they downed your hours, watching your homelife to see when you would be okay to resume your schedule.
Footsteps outside the lost-and-found office snatched you out of your thoughts. Not heavy, but heavy enough just to be a regular person. You relaxed slightly. It was probably Tracy.
“Hey! You’re not supposed to be in here!”
It was Tracy. Or at least, they looked like a Tracy. Mousy-brown hair, a sour expression, a furrow in the brow that did nothing but make them seem like someone you would not like to hang out with.
(Not that you could hang out with anyone, but it was a general statement.)
“Oh. It’s just you. You taking my job or something?” Tracy stood in the doorway, popping out her hip and snapping her gum. You wanted to tell her to spit it out or she could choke on it while running away from an animatronic, but it wasn’t the right time nor moment for that.
“Just covering,” you replied. No point in explaining the whole situation to her. She didn’t need to know. The less people knew your schedule the better. If people talked about it, then they would try to hang out with you more. You couldn’t have that.
“Hm. You’re kind of boring. Whatever. Where’s my key-card?” Tracy snapped her gum again, glaring at you like you had something to do with that.
You frowned. Missing key-card. “You don’t have it?”
Tracy rolled her eyes. “Would I be asking you if I had it?”
God, you were really starting to hate Tracy.
“Maybe you left it at home. Or in the locker rooms.”
It was a good suggestion. Too many times to count, key-cards had gone missing, just to be found in someone’s pockets, stashed away with their civilian clothes.
(Which was why you showed up in your work uniform. If you brought everything that you needed and never put anything away in your locker, there would be no chance of you not having it when you needed it. And you could need it at any possible moment.)
Tracy rolled her eyes again. “No. I left it here. I couldn’t get in here without the key card. Aren’t you supposed to be the longest working employee here? Why don’t you know that?”
You stood up, forcing yourself to stay neutral. Maybe they hired Tracy just to piss you off. That would be apt. “I don’t know, Tracy. Maybe you left it wherever you came from, when you weren’t doing your job.”
Her gum snapped again as she glared at you. It didn’t do much to threaten you. You knew what true fear was. “I was discussing my promotion with the managers, actually.”
Promotion.
Honestly, you felt kind of sorry for her. She shouldn’t want a promotion. A promotion meant more time in this godforsaken place.
“I hope you find your keycard,” you ended up saying, giving her a nod. You had work to do, and this was one thing off your checklist. You held down the lost-and-found office until Tracy got back. And Tracy got back. You weren’t obligated to find her key-card.
Unless it was stolen.
But that wasn’t for sure. And nothing could have stolen it. No kids had been here, no animatronics were marked as absent for shows or missing from where they were supposed to be. The key-card was simply misplaced.
Ignoring Tracy’s last departing comments, you shut the door and went your way.
Now to watch the security cameras.