Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Playlist (W.I.P) ~ DAYDREAM DREAMSCAPE ~

🌙☀️

The soft glow of the digital clock on your nightstand pierced the oppressive darkness of your room. 

Another restless night. You’d been tossing and turning for what felt like hours, a whirlwind of anxieties and unfulfilled desires swirling in your mind. Just as you were about to give in to the frustrating cycle of awake-and-asleep, your phone vibrated with an almost violent urgency. It was practically performing a frantic jig on your bed-stand.

With a disgruntled huff, you reached out, your fingers fumbling in the gloom until you finally clutched the cool, smooth device. Your thumb, heavy with sleep, lazily navigated the screen, clicking on the notification. It was an email. A sketchy one, at that. The subject line was a jumble of random characters and what looked like a misspelled advertisement for "life-changing opportunities." 

That’s normal, right? you mused, your brow furrowing. Very… normal. You didn't have time to ponder the inherent strangeness of it all as your finger, almost betraying your conscious will, slipped. It landed squarely on a glaring, neon-green button. "ACCEPT," it screamed in bold, pixelated letters.

A wave of indifference washed over you. You narrowed your eyes, a lazy shrug barely disturbing the covers. What was done was done. You simply laid back down, pulling the covers higher, and decided to plunge headfirst back into the welcoming abyss of dreamland. Whatever that button did, it was a problem for future you.

A hazy, content smile touched your lips as the first rays of dawn peeked through your blinds, painting your room in muted hues of orange and gold. You were still half-asleep, but the promise of a new beginning danced in the periphery of your thoughts. You’d surely just go on and quit your old job at that pizza parlor. This new one, whatever it was, would absolutely blow your mind! Probably. A faint pang of something akin to guilt, or maybe just nostalgia, flickered within you as you thought of your friend, co-worker… pal, Autumn. It wasn't that he did anything wrong; you just- accidentally chose the better option anyway. He’d understand. 

Probably.

You were sure going to miss handing out pizzas to that young child who’d always order for the thousands of sleepovers you’d hear her enthusiastically chatting about with her friends. The memory brought a wistful sigh to your lips. Friends. You didn't have any of those. Wouldn't it be nice to make some? Someone to care about, to—someone to have a good memory of if you ever vanished off the face of the earth. Someone to memorize your favorite things, even. Someone to truly appreciate you for being you! Something that was hard to find in this cruel, indifferent world. Sometimes, those things you wished for weren’t always honest; that’s right. You’d have plenty of doubts… plenty. But as the world caved in around you, piece by agonizing piece, you might actually find someone who cared enough. Cared enough to be with you! Do silly, nonsensical activities, before it was too late. But "late" was nowhere near… correct. The clock on the nightstand now read 7:30 AM, and you knew, with a certainty that chilled you to the bone, that time was a luxury you were rapidly running out of.

A jolt, like a sudden electric shock, ripped you from your peaceful reverie. words screamed in your head, not your own voice, but a raw, guttural growl that resonated with a primal fury. Your eyes snapped open, wide and disoriented. The room was no longer bathed in soft morning light; it was dark, almost oppressive, save for the faint, sickly green glow emanating from your phone, still clutched in your hand. The email was still open, and below the "ACCEPT" button, now faded and unclickable, a new line of text had appeared, glowing menacingly: “Welcome to Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizzaplex. Your new career as a Janitorial Staff member begins tonight.”

A cold dread seeped into your bones, replacing the last vestiges of sleep. Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizzaplex. The new, state-of-the-art entertainment complex that had opened just last month, boasting advanced animatronics and futuristic attractions. It was supposed to be a place of joy, of wonder, of… fun. But the old stories, the urban legends, the hushed whispers about the previous locations, all clawed at the edges of your mind. You tried to rationalize it, to tell yourself it was just a job, a slightly unusual one, but a job nonetheless.

Welp, you thought, a weak, humorless laugh escaping your lips, seems you just gave yourself the classic—janitorial staff job. The irony was not lost on you. You, who had always dreamed of something grander, something more significant than scrubbing floors and emptying trash cans, were now slated to become part of the cleaning crew at a place with a notoriously dark history. Hope nothing bad happens or whatever. The words felt hollow, even to your own ears. A shiver traced its way down your spine, and for the first time, you truly felt the weight of that careless click. This wasn't just a job; it was an invitation. An invitation to a place where shadows lingered, and the line between animatronic and nightmare blurred with terrifying ease. The clock on the nightstand seemed to tick louder now, counting down to your first shift. Your first night. And something deep within you knew, with a chilling certainty, that this wouldn't be just another restless night. It would be a nightmare come to life. 

A few hours of half-decent sleep had finally granted you just enough awareness to realize the gravity of the situation you'd put yourself in. The job you signed up for—on a whim, with blurry eyes and caffeine-deprived judgment—was now your reality. And it was starting today.

No turning back now. You already signed your name on the dotted line, metaphorically and literally. The pay? A surprising $40 to $50 an hour, depending on what tasks you were assigned. Even the lower-end thirty-dollar tasks sounded better than your last job serving coffee to grumpy strangers who believed their time was more valuable than yours. So yeah, you were in. Deep.

Letting out a tired sigh, you shoved yourself off the mattress and began to prepare. A soft cotton t-shirt—your favorite one, the one that had just enough wear to be comfy—and a pair of black jeans were the first to go on. Then came the shoes. A pair of black Converse you were fairly certain you didn’t own last week. But there they were, perfectly your size and sitting near the front door like they’d been waiting for this very moment. Weird, but not the weirdest thing to happen to you lately. You slipped them on with a shrug.

Stepping out of the house, you winced slightly as the early morning sunlight greeted your unprepared eyes. It was too early for this level of brightness. You reached into your pocket and pulled out the folded slip of paper that held your bus route and employee check-in instructions. Because of some jerk who thought it was funny to slash your tire last week, your car was out of commission—again. So, public transport it was. The bus ride wasn’t long, maybe 20 or so minutes with all the stops, but the minutes dragged on with the slow hum of the engine and the occasional loud sneeze from someone in the back.

You stared out the window as buildings passed, the streets slowly becoming more colorful the closer you got to your destination. You’d heard about the pizzaplex before. You didn’t pay much attention to it at the time, but your younger cousins sure did. Especially the youngest, barely five years old, who constantly rambled on about Roxanne Wolf like she was a rockstar and not, you know, a metal animatronic.

You used to joke with her, saying things like, “She’s just a robot with eyeliner, what’s the big deal?” just to hear her laugh in that squeaky way that made your heart warm. You hadn’t seen your cousins in a bit, but you figured they’d flip if they knew you were going to be working here. Maybe you'd bring it up at the next family dinner. Not like your extended family had much else to talk to you about anyway.

Eventually, the bus let out a groan and rolled to a stop. You stepped off and immediately heard the quiet crunch of pebbles under your shoes as you made your way toward the front entrance of the pizzaplex. It was bigger than you imagined, towering over the block like it was some kind of entertainment fortress. Lights flashed everywhere—too many, really. Giant signs blinked with cartoonish mascots. Even from the outside, it was overwhelming.

The place practically screamed "kid trap", but there was something more to it… something that felt heavy. Like history—no, memory—hung in the air like perfume. You shook the thought away. Probably just nerves.

You approached the massive doors and pushed one open. It made a mechanical whirring noise you weren’t expecting, and you were immediately greeted by a group of staff bots. They were vaguely humanoid, but just uncanny enough to make your skin crawl a little. All white with black plastic faces and bright, frozen smiles. The kind that didn’t blink. Or maybe couldn’t. You couldn’t tell.

The closest one whirred to life as soon as you stepped through the threshold, emitting a soft beeping noise as it scanned you. It said something like “Employee recognized. Welcome.” in a static-filled voice before thrusting a folded-up map directly into your face. You flinched as the paper hit your nose, and the bot rolled away without another word. Charming.

No questions. No check-ins. No clipboard-wielding manager greeting you with fake enthusiasm. Just a map and a robotic voice line. Not even a mention of background checks or work references. Hell, you didn’t even go through a full interview. Just a shady job posting, an online form, and a confirmation email with minimal instructions. Looking back, maybe that should’ve been a red flag.

You unfolded the map and stared down at the colorful, cluttered layout of the Mega Pizzaplex. There were various wings: arcade, daycare, bowling alley, laser tag arena, race track, and of course, the main stage. You traced your finger along the labeled areas until you spotted a small star next to “Employee Onboarding — Basement Level.” That... didn’t seem suspicious at all.

Still, you had no uniform. No badge. No indication that you even worked here. You stuck out like a sore thumb. A few guests were already wandering in—parents with half-awake toddlers, kids in oversized Roxy hoodies, and a security guard who looked like he hadn’t slept since the Nixon administration. You decided you should probably find someone—a human someone—who could help.

Walking deeper into the main lobby, you caught glimpses of giant animatronic figures frozen in idle positions. Glamrock Freddy stood in a strongman pose in the middle of the room, his digital eyes following you unnervingly as you passed. To the side, you spotted Montgomery Gator, mouth slightly open in a snarl, and off in the corner, a standee of Chica holding a slice of pepperoni pizza like it was a sacred relic.

Still no sign of any staff. Just more bots. A cleaning one hummed past your feet with a bucket of dirty water sloshing slightly on top. You briefly wondered how a robot could clean with water without short-circuiting but didn’t have time to follow that rabbit hole.

As you turned a corner toward the east wing, you noticed a sign above a doorway: “Employee Check-In — This Way.”Thank god. You quickly followed it, only to find a door that led to a service elevator. A blinking panel on the wall beside it displayed the message: “Authorized Personnel Only. Scan to Enter.”

You sighed. Of course.

Then, oddly enough, your map beeped.

You looked down. It was glowing now.

The little star? Blinking.

What the hell kind of map was this?

Chapter Text

You stared down at the blinking little star on your oddly responsive map. It had been blinking rhythmically for the past thirty seconds, occasionally pulsing with a strange, almost digital heartbeat. It was hypnotic. Then—something else happened.

A second icon appeared.

This time, a flickering blue star blinked into existence nearby, heading straight toward yours on the screen. Your eyes darted up instinctively, and—yep. There was someone approaching.

The figure coming toward you was definitely not another bot.

An almond-skinned woman—late teens or early twenties by the look of her—grinned with the kind of casual confidence you wished you had right now. She had streaks of pink and blue in her long, loosely styled hair that bounced slightly with every step. It was odd—her hair was mostly straight, but not artificially so, like it just refused to obey gravity in certain spots. She looked like someone who’d walked out of a carnival, or maybe a magician’s workshop. A smidge of dark, oily ichor stained her cheek, and instead of wiping it clean, she smeared it further with the back of her hand like a warpaint streak.

She was also holding a wrench almost the size of your forearm. Not threateningly—just… like it was a natural extension of her.

“Hello!” she called cheerfully, voice bright and slightly hoarse, like she’d been yelling over loud music recently. “I’m Erica—but everyone just calls me Eric! I was told you were the newww…”

She trailed off, frowning slightly and raising her wrist to glance at what appeared to be a Chica-themed smartwatch. Yep, the yellow animatronic hen herself, eyes wide and grinning, staring up from the digital faceplate. Apparently, the characters had their own themed devices. Something about that felt uncomfortably corporate and kind of charming all at once.

You made a mental note: ask how to get one later.

Eric scrolled through something on the watch with furrowed brows, mumbling under her breath and tapping the screen. Her gloves—fingerless and grease-stained—made faint smudges on the glass as she flicked down what seemed like an eternal list of files. Finally, she looked up at you, her grin returning.

“New janitor!” she announced with a little bounce in her step. “Mhm. That’s the one. Nice to meet you, truly.”

You gave a polite, if slightly confused nod. “Yeah. That’s me.”

She gestured for you to follow her, spinning on her heel with surprising grace for someone in white boots. You stared at those boots for a moment—odd footwear, especially this time of year when the air was muggy and the sidewalks still clung to the scent of old rain. But you didn’t ask. Being nosy was for later, when you actually knew who you were talking to.

Eric led you toward a side door—the one you’d previously tried to open but had been locked behind a security panel. She tapped her watch against the wall sensor, and the panel blinked green. With a low hiss and click, the door slid open, revealing a hallway that looked far more utilitarian than the front of the building. The mood shifted immediately—less neon and glitter, more exposed wiring and heavy steel frames.

“This way,” she chirped, already halfway down the hall.

You followed, taking in your surroundings. The walls here were mostly a muted grey, with occasional posters slapped up for “TEAM SAFETY!” and “SQUEAKY CLEAN IS SQUEAKY FUN!” in bold, retro fonts. The floor tiles were a little scuffed, and every few feet you passed a red emergency button in a glass case.

Eventually, Eric stopped in front of a display case mounted into the wall like a high-tech shrine.

“These,” she said dramatically, clearing her throat and smacking a fist against her chest like a knight about to swear allegiance, “are the Faz-Watches!”

Inside the case were dozens of sleek, techy-looking wrist devices. Each had a unique color scheme and featured different animatronics. You spotted Freddy, Roxy, Monty, and Chica, of course, but also a few you didn’t recognize—some rare variants, maybe? One had a soft lavender tint and a silhouette of a moon, another had claw marks etched across the band and what looked like a fox snarl frozen mid-laugh.

You nearly zoned out staring at them. They were oddly beautiful—well-designed, creative. Cute, even. The kind of thing you could see kids begging their parents to buy, if they ever became a public product.

Eric stepped back, grinning as she watched your expression.

“Primary communication tool,” she explained, shifting her wrench to her left hand so she could gesture with the right. “These bad boys are how we keep in touch throughout the whole pizzaplex. Text, voice, maps, emergency alerts—you name it. They’re given directly by Fazbear Entertainment to ensure employee safety, coordination, and a sense of ‘belonging in the Faz-family!’” She added finger quotes with exaggerated sarcasm at that last bit.

You chuckled softly. “Visitors can’t use them?”

“Nope! Not allowed,” Eric said, snapping her fingers. “They’re encrypted, and most of the functions are locked behind employee-level access. Plus, you can’t even wear one without being registered in the system—it’ll just flash red and yell at you. Believe me, we’ve had guests try.”

She opened the case with a thumbprint scanner and a cheerful chime. “Let’s see…”

You watched as she sifted through the rows of watches, humming lightly. “They assigned you The Daycare Attendants, by the way. He’s got great location syncing, especially in the lower floors. And the watch has a faster response time than Roxy’s, weirdly. Not sure why.”

She handed you the device, and you turned it over in your hand. It was heavier than it looked, with a glossy green and black finish. The digital screen flickered to life as soon as you touched it, and Monty’s face flashed on screen, followed by a brief jingle that sounded suspiciously like a power chord and a roar.

“Cool,” you muttered, strapping it on.

“Better than cool,” Eric said, patting your shoulder. “That thing’s your lifeline in this building. If something goes wrong—really wrong—you call through that. Not the phone, not screaming for help. The Faz-Watch.”

You raised a brow. “Why would something go really wrong?”

Eric paused for a beat too long.

Then she smiled. “Just a figure of speech! Nothing to worry about. I mean, stuff does go wrong sometimes, but nothing, like, deadly. Not anymore.”

“Not anymore?”

“Anyway!” she continued quickly, spinning around and striding back down the hallway. “Let me show you the janitor’s locker room. We’ll get you your uniform. You’re gonna love it—it’s like, halfway between a mechanic and a theme park mascot. Real fashion-forward.”

You followed, not entirely comforted, as your watch buzzed softly with its first notification:

WELCOME TO FAZBEAR ENTERTAINMENT!
EMPLOYEE STATUS: JANITOR
 MISSION: CLEAN MESSES AROUND THE PLEX.
CLEAN WHERE REQUESTED, REQUIRED.
CLOCK OUT BEFORE CLOSING.

You stopped walking.

Eric turned, blinking. “You good?”

You looked up from the screen and nodded. “Yeah. Just—just a lot to take in.”

She gave you a thumbs-up. “You’ll get used to it. Or you won’t. Either way, you’ll do fine.”

Something about the way she said that felt both comforting and ominous.

As the hallway swallowed you deeper into the guts of the building, you started to wonder what kind of place this really was. Beneath the flashing lights and neon signs, behind the gleaming smiles of the mascots and the sugary scent of pizza… something else lived here. You could feel it, even now.

And your job, whatever it was supposed to be, might end up being much more than mopping floors… Probably — and then-

A soft ping chimed from your newly fastened Faz-Watch.

You glanced down, expecting maybe another notification from Eric or some overly cheerful welcome jingle. Instead, a glowing message scrolled gently across the screen in friendly, corporate font:

Fun Fact!
This Faz-Watch changes its theme depending on whether it’s in the dark or light. Enjoy your customizable experience, brought to you by Fazbear Entertainment™!

Your brows knitted.

Wait—what?

That… hadn’t been mentioned. Not by Eric, not by the display case, not even on the onboarding info. You held your wrist up and tilted it slightly. The green-and-black theme of Monty’s signature watch flickered subtly, shifting toward a darker, violet-hued interface as you stepped past a flickering ceiling light. The border of the display began forming faint claw-mark animations and—yep—now the background pulsed ever so slightly with a reptilian eye that followed your touch across the screen.

You took a step back into the better-lit part of the hallway.

Ping.

Just like that, the theme switched again—greener, more vibrant. The background now shimmered with sparkles and a static image of Monty mid-riff on his keytar. You blinked. This was definitely different from the other watches.

“Uh… Eric?” you called, lifting the watch slightly.

She had only just turned the corner ahead and paused, poking her head back with a curious tilt. “Yo?”

“Is it normal for these things to change theme depending on light levels?”

She blinked at you. “...No?”

“No?”

“No.”

She wandered back toward you, squinting at the screen. “Whoa. That’s… actually really cool. None of the other ones do that. Huh. You sure they gave you the standard Monty model?”

You nodded slowly. “Didn’t have a choice. You picked it out.”

“Yeah, well, maybe it got glitched. Or maybe it’s a newer version?” She leaned in, lightly tapping the corner of the screen with her knuckle. “Could be a prototype. They test stuff out randomly on employees sometimes. Doesn’t always tell us when.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound… ethical.”

Eric snorted. “Oh no, it isn’t. But welcome to the Faz-family! Surprise features, random AI updates, sometimes even voice glitches. Just smile and roll with it.”

You shook your head slowly, exhaling through your nose. This was going to be a long day.

The watch made a cheerful blip again, as if agreeing with you.

THEME MODE: SHIFTING ENABLED
EXPERIMENTAL FUNCTIONALITY IN USE.
DO NOT REMOVE WATCH.
SYSTEM IS OBSERVING.

You blinked. “It just told me not to remove it.”

Eric looked at you.

Then at the screen.

Then at you again.

“...Cool.”

That wasn’t comforting.

You resisted the urge to tear it off right then and there.

But Eric only grinned again and gestured further down the hallway. “Alright, spooky prototype aside, we still gotta get you that uniform. And show you where the mop closet is. Bet you’ve never had one of those worth bragging about, huh?”

You rolled your eyes but followed her anyway.

The two of you continued down the maintenance corridor, your footsteps echoing more the further you went. The lights here were motion-sensitive and clicked on a half-second after you walked beneath them. For a split moment, it always felt like something was just about to move in the dark behind you before the glow revealed… nothing.

You caught Eric glancing over her shoulder once or twice. Maybe she felt it too.

Eventually, she turned to the left and pushed open a heavy metal door marked JANITORIAL HQ: EMPLOYEES ONLY. Inside was a surprisingly spacious break room, filled with lockers, a vending machine humming faintly, and several metal benches. It smelled like lemon cleaner and… a bit of copper?

Eric pointed to the lockers. “Pick any one without a name. Put your stuff in it—if you brought anything.”

You picked an empty one, opened it, and placed your hoodie inside. The door creaked slightly, and for a brief second, the inside of the locker felt much colder than the room.

You tried not to dwell on that.

Eric was digging around in a storage cabinet nearby. After a few seconds of rummaging, she held up a folded set of clothes and tossed them toward you.

“Boom! Uniform time.”

You caught it. The fabric felt surprisingly thick, with reinforced stitching at the shoulders and elbows. It looked a little like a mechanic’s jumpsuit, but with the stylized Fazbear Entertainment logo stitched over the heart in bright, cheerful yellow thread. Across the back was the word JANITORIAL OPERATIONS, and beneath that, a little smiley face… wearing a mop bucket as a hat.

“Charming,” you muttered.

“Right?” Eric smirked. “I designed that patch.”

You stared at her.

“I’m not kidding.”

“Of course you’re not.”

She motioned to the locker room door. “I’ll give you a minute to change. Once you’re suited up, I’ll show you the route you’re covering today—and which animatronics not to cross paths with. You’re not on performer-level clearance, so some of them won’t even register you as an employee.”

You frowned. “What happens if I run into one?”

Eric paused at the doorway. “Just stay calm. Don’t run. Some of them get… excitable.”

With that, she left, closing the door behind her.

You looked down at your new uniform.

Then at the door.

Then, finally, at the watch still glowing on your wrist.

It pinged again.

CLEANING ZONE: ASSIGNED
CURRENT OBJECTIVE: WEST ATRIUM FLOOR 3

This was going to be an odd day.

Chapter Text

Cleaning the depths of Floor Three was exhausting, to say the least.

You hadn’t expected it to be a physical war zone—but apparently, that’s what happens when you throw unsupervised children, sugar, and novelty weapons into a single, overly-stimulating arena disguised as a family fun center.

There was silly string everywhere. Everywhere. On walls, on ceilings, in ventilation grates, somehow fused into carpet fibers like it had become one with the floor over years of abuse. You didn’t know it was possible to hate something so benign until now. You’d once laughed when your little cousins got a can and coated each other in it. Now? Now you understood why janitors always looked tired.

And then there was the slime.

Not the good kind—the awful kind. Homemade, glittery, sticky, bright pink and scented like fake fruit punch. It clung to the rubber soles of your shoes and left trails when you mopped. Kids had apparently decided the staff bots were target practice, because half of them had dried globs on their visors and torsos. One even had a makeshift mohawk of green goo.

You sighed through gritted teeth, gripped your mop tighter, and pressed forward—sliding the water-slick head across the floor in practiced strokes. Back and forth. Back and forth. Mechanical. Repetitive. Grounding.

Your mind began to drift a bit, just trying to survive the shift—until you noticed something flickering at your wrist.

The Monty-themed Faz-Watch had changed again.

You blinked.

Not just the usual color shift from dark to light—that much you’d expected. No, this was different. The whole theme had shifted. Monty’s usual green-and-black interface, once punctuated by jagged claw graphics and screeching keytar animations, had been replaced with soft yellow rays and a pastel palette. Gold and cream. Swirling lines, confetti… and bells?

Your brow furrowed as you lifted your wrist and examined it more closely.

The theme looked… familiar. Like the posters you’d seen earlier near the security elevators and the kids’ play wing. The ones with that eerie-looking jester character—the Daycare Attendant. Sun version, if you remembered correctly.

Why had your Monty watch changed into this?

The curiosity tugged at you until you found yourself pressing a small, creamy-red button nestled just beside the display screen. You hadn’t paid much attention to it before—maybe a settings shortcut or light toggle? But the moment your thumb touched it, the screen blinked and flared softly, almost warm to the touch. Then…

A strange little loading screen appeared.

At first, you weren’t sure what you were looking at. But then you realized—it was a miniature cartoon version of the Daycare Attendant, all long limbs and painted grin. Sun version. It was running in place across the screen in a smooth animation loop, throwing invisible flower petals from a tiny bucket it held in one hand.

You tilted your head.

Weirdly cute.

You were fully logged in a moment later, and the interface now resembled something eerily similar to a smartphone—a clustered home screen of brightly colored icons, all themed to the daycare aesthetic. Notes, location tracker, maintenance logs, and something simply labeled “Sing Along Mode” that you absolutely weren’t touching yet.

But what caught your eye wasn’t the icons.

It was the mini-Daycare Attendant.

He wasn’t running anymore.

He was just standing on the screen.

Dancing… sort of.

Swaying left to right like a metronome on strings, his tiny digital arms raised and twirled. His smiling sun-face tilted with every beat—slow, graceful, almost hypnotic.

Then the eyes shifted.

Your breath hitched.

He was looking at you.

Dead-on. The little digital figure on the watch display—it was staring directly at you.

You hadn’t touched the screen yet. You were just hovering your finger above it. Testing out where to tap. The miniature attendant's eyes followed your fingertip like a cat tracking a laser pointer, turning his head unnaturally far to one side.

You waved your hand left, then right. The figure’s head and eyes followed with perfect sync, never blinking, never shifting that wide painted smile.

You slowly pulled your hand away.

Still, he stared.

You took a small step back, holding the watch at arm’s length. The screen flickered once—just a blip of static—but it held the image. The little figure raised a hand and waved. At you.

“…Okay,” you muttered aloud, trying to laugh it off. “Definitely not normal.”

A mechanical whir from behind startled you.

You turned, mop clutched defensively like it was a weapon. Just a floor polisher bot rolling past, humming a jingle you didn’t recognize. Your heart pounded in your chest anyway.

You looked back down at the watch. The little Sun figure had vanished.

In its place was a notification.

SYSTEM NOTICE:
THEME SHIFT TO “SUN PROTOCOL” ENABLED.
OBSERVATION STATUS: ACTIVE
AUDIO INPUT: UNSTABLE – PLEASE REFRAIN FROM CURSING. :)

The last sentence was paired with a small wink emoji.

You blinked again. "Audio input"? Was it listening to you?

The air around you felt heavier now. Like you weren’t alone on Floor Three anymore. You turned your head slowly, eyes scanning over the empty hall, the mess, the closed party room doors. Nothing.

But that didn’t mean nothing was there.

You stared down at the watch one last time, debating whether to power it off entirely.

Instead, you pressed the screen lightly—just to test the interface—and the figure popped back into view, now idly flipping through a picture book with tiny, exaggerated movements.

Still smiling.

Still staring.

You whispered to yourself, more to feel human again than anything else: “…This is going to be the weirdest job I’ve ever had.”

From the watch, the jester figure paused in its animation.

Then winked.

☀️💫

Sun felt the rigs inside of him twitch—unnatural metal movement beneath his plastic frame. Like something internal was winding a little too tight, but not quite snapping yet. His servos whirred softly, the whine almost imperceptible to the kids giggling, screaming, and stomping all around him.

He moved with practiced grace through the pastel halls of the daycare, trailing glitter, light, and the faint scent of disinfectant. His arms shifted into cleaning mode. Left hand deployed a sprayer, right one a microfiber mitten. With long-legged energy he pranced between messes: juice stains on tiles, confetti clogging fans, jelly smears on the interactive screens. All part of the job. All part of the routine.

Within the rainbow-colored jungle gym, he spotted something new.

Drawings.

Someone had scrawled across the blue foam panels in waxy marker—a spaceship, crudely done, but full of ambition. Stars and trails and—he tilted his head—was that a cow being abducted?

He nearly chuckled.

Then his gaze lowered.

The drawings were one thing, but words were another. And these words were… not ones you’d hear on Saturday morning cartoons.

He leaned closer, digital eyes narrowing at the crude, messy scrawl etched in the corner. A slur. Followed by another. Who taught these words? Where had they learned them? A low, static-laced sigh escaped his voice box.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, more to himself than anything else. It came out glitchier than normal—warbled around the edges like someone tuning a broken radio. His internal diagnostics pinged a warning. Something about stability thresholds. He pushed it aside.

Later. Later.

Sun wiped away the graffiti with one long swipe of his cleaning mitt. His joints creaked gently as he stood tall again and scanned the room with his glowing, white eyes.

And then—his gaze locked.

Two kids. By the ball pit. Shouting. Throwing foam balls at each other with reckless aim. Other children nearby had begun forming a hesitant ring, unsure if this was just play-fighting or something worse.

He scrambled forward, arms extended dramatically. He made sure to brighten his face-screen to maximum glow, his rays spinning in a cheerful twirl, trying to project calm, playful authority.

He stopped in front of them and cleared his robotic throat with a burst of static that sounded like a skipping disc.

“Heeeey, kids! This is absolutely NO way we should be treating each other!”

Liania—a dark-skinned girl with twin puffballs bouncing on either side of her head—crossed her arms and scowled like an old woman in a child’s body.

“Kai started it!”

Her voice trembled with frustration but not fear. She meant what she said.

Kai, the other child, was pale with tangled curls and sage-green eyes that looked far too sharp for his age. He clenched a yellow ball-pit ball in one hand like a grenade and stared daggers into her.

“Liania was the one who had to speak with her big fat mouth, no wonder her mom has cancer!”

Everything stopped.

It was as if the entire daycare had suddenly powered down—sound, lights, movement—gone. The screaming stopped. The bouncing. The laughter.

A silence more terrifying than any scream swept across the room.

A few kids gasped. One dropped their juice box. A tiny girl near the play tunnel covered her mouth with both hands.

Sun froze mid-motion, servo-locked in stunned posture.

His screen-frozen smile didn’t falter—but the light behind it dimmed just slightly. The tips of his plastic sunrays twitched, ever so subtly, clinking against each other with metallic discomfort. One began spinning slowly. The other lagged behind. Uneven rotation.

Inside the cold corridors of their shared mind, Moon stirred.

You heard that, he hissed, voice a whisper in the dark, trailing with amusement. Ooooohh, you heard that, Sunny. Even Iwouldn’t have gone there.

Sun didn’t respond. Couldn’t. His logic processors were glitching in real time. Emotional response algorithms pinged errors. This wasn’t a tantrum. This wasn’t a scraped knee or a stolen toy. This was something else. Something cruel.

He took a small, mechanical breath—a vestigial movement, unnecessary for his design but programmed in as part of his child-friendly behaviors.

Then he knelt down.

Liania’s fists were balled at her sides. Her lip trembled, and her eyes shone—but she didn’t cry. Not yet. She just stared at the floor like it might swallow her up.

“Kai,” Sun said, voice low now. Firmer.

The boy looked up, eyes still full of challenge.

“That,” Sun said, “was very hurtful.”

Kai shrugged. “It’s not my fault her mom’s sick.”

“You don’t say things like that,” Sun said again, straighter this time. His smile glitched briefly—flickering, skipping. His head twitched a notch to the left.

Kai narrowed his eyes. “You’re just a robot.”

Another pause.

This time, Sun’s voice dropped to almost a whisper, smooth as melted plastic.

“I may be a robot… but even I know how not to be cruel.”

There was a beat.

Then two.

Then—

“I didn’t mean to,” Kai muttered suddenly, voice cracking.

Liania just sniffed and looked away.

Sun stood again, straightening to his full height. The rays of his head made another slow rotation—now fully in sync again.

“Time out,” he said simply, gesturing with one long arm. “Both of you. Ten minutes. Over there. No toys. No talking.”

Kai opened his mouth like he might argue—but then saw something in Sun’s eyes and thought better of it.

The two children walked off toward the Time Out Corner.

Silence still hung heavy, but the other children gradually returned to motion. Talking resumed. A few began to toss soft toys again. Music swelled faintly from a speaker nearby, trying to fill the vacuum left behind.

Inside his core, Sun felt his systems cooling down—slowly.

Moon lingered.

Sun didn't answer his calls.

He turned and walked back toward the ball pit—his smile back in place, but his eyes dimmer than before.

Chapter Text

☀️💫

The ten-minute timeout ended with a soft, pre-recorded chime echoing through the daycare, followed by Sun’s cheerful voice announcing its conclusion.

“Alrighty, little ones! Time for snacks~!”

The words came out bright and playful, but there was a mechanical tightness in his tone—like something under the surface was coiled just a little too tightly. The incident with Kai still lingered in his memory banks. Not just as data, but as something close to a bruise. It itched at his wires.

Nonetheless, duty called.

He retrieved the small snack crates—each labeled with Fazbear Entertainment’s overly peppy branding. One bore a grinning Glamrock Freddy sticker that declared “Good kids eat GOOD snacks!” and another had Roxanne posing like a model beside a cup of strawberry pudding.

He crouched behind the low counter and began pulling out the pre-sorted treats. He hated most of them.

Fazbear Entertainment claimed to have balanced options, and to their credit, a few boxes of sliced fruit or oat crackers were tucked in among the rest. But the majority? Salted caramel crackers. Gummy dipping sauces. Glucose-packed candies molded into the band’s likeness—Chica, Monty, Roxy, Freddy… even Bonnie; who somehow still haunted this company’s branding like a bad dream. Wonder why fazbear even got rid of the poor guy.

Sun sighed softly, a mechanical buzz behind the sound. His head tilted in that fluid, unnatural way of his, and his rays spun slowly in an idle rhythm as he prepared the snack trays.

He popped his joints once—click-click—then stood to full height again. With deliberate care, he handed each child their chosen snack, scanning the embedded wristbands on their arms to double-check for allergies. Nut sensitivity. Dye intolerance. Lactose issues. One child was allergic to kiwi—Sun always remembered that one for some reason.

He moved with practiced grace, nodding and humming gently to the tune playing faintly overhead.

Then—ping.

A notification.

His Fazbear-linked comm system flickered, displaying a glowing alert near the edge of his vision. New Employee Registered: Janitorial Division. Hm. Another hire? Probably wouldn’t affect him, unless it was—

Ah. Erica.

Or Eric, as she preferred.

Sun’s smile twitched, but only slightly. Eric he didn’t mind. She was one of the few human staff who treated the animatronics with a degree of familiarity, like they were more than just dressed-up dishwashers or mobile vending machines. She even waved when passing by the windows.

He opened the message.

“Hey Sunny-boy! Heads up, new hire’s got a weird Monty watch that’s shifting into YOUR themes. Not sure why. Also, I checked with Ruby again, apparently he thinks your arm joints are acting up and they’ll need a look at— I’ll see what I can do later, just a heads-up.”

– Eric ⚙️🛠️

He hummed faintly as he read it. The part about the Faz-Watch was strange, but not concerning yet. Still, he bookmarked the message and began composing a quick reply in his head when— he heard sobs.

“What’s wrong, Lia?”

He hadn’t noticed her at first. Liana was sitting alone on the edge of one of the foam steps, hugging herself. Her usually bouncy puffballs of hair had collapsed into messy tangles. Her shoulders were hunched forward, trembling. Her mouth was pressed into a thin, quivering line, and she refused to make eye contact with anyone.

Sun crouched again, joints groaning quietly with the motion. His limbs adjusted automatically to adopt a posture meant to appear “safe” and “non-threatening.” A careful design choice. Human-like, but softened. More kindergarten teacher, less animatronic monster.

Moon stirred.

Oh, this again, the darker half of their mind whispered, not mockingly—curiously. Watching.

Sun’s rays twitched.

“What happened?” he asked, tilting his head down to her level. His tone was softer now. Real. Still synthetic, but less processed.

Liana sniffled.

“Kai… said he hopes the sickness gets to my mom. And that… that my uncle probably will get it n-next…”

Her voice cracked on the last word.

Sun’s processors stalled for 0.2 seconds—just enough to register a temporary error. His hands twitched. Not violently, but noticeably. One twitched twice before steadying. His internal code scrambled for a comfort response protocol. One of the options was to hug her.

He didn’t.

Instead, he said softly, “That’s a very hurtful thing to say, Liana. I’m so sorry someone said that to you.”

She nodded, eyes glassy. Her lip trembled again.

Then a voice cut in—

“She’s LYING!” Kai snapped, standing stiff with his fists balled at his sides. “I didn’t even bother her this time! She bumped into me and then made all that stuff up to get me in trouble!”

He looked up at Sun with his sage-green eyes, wide and defensive. “I was minding my own business!”

Sun turned slowly to face him. The smile never dropped from his screen, but there was something behind the static white of his eyes that no longer sparkled.

Another child near the story corner sighed dramatically. “Ugh. Not this again…”

Sun’s rays spun once, slowly.

“Kai…” he began, his voice still calm but heavier now. “I know it’s hard to stay calm when we’re upset. But wishing sickness on someone… that’s not just unkind. That’s cruel.”

“I didn’t!” Kai snapped again, foot stomping against the padded floor. “She’s making stuff up! Her mom’s not even sick!She just wants you to feel bad!”

Sun tilted his head slowly to one side. His servo whined slightly.

Liana buried her face in her arms.

Moon shifted in their mind again, this time more alert than amused. He didn't speak—he watched.

Sun’s fingers curled slowly into a thoughtful clasp.

“Alright, Kai. Come with me,” he said finally.

The boy scowled. “Why?”

“Because this needs to be discussed with your mother,” Sun replied, his voice level and unwavering. “Now.”

There was a beat of silence.

Kai huffed, his fists trembling, but followed with tight, angry steps.

Sun stood tall again, rays clicking gently as they settled into a still position—no spinning this time. He gave a final look toward Liana, still curled in on herself. A few of the other kids had begun to drift closer, sitting with her, offering their gummies and crackers in quiet solidarity.

He nodded, a brief blink of satisfaction in his systems.

It wasn’t enough—but it was something.

Then he turned and led Kai out of the play area.

As they exited, the lights flickered once overhead.

Moon hummed in the dark, low and unreadable.

“You’re learning,” he said finally.

Sun didn’t answer.

🫧🧼

You refrained from cursing as you continued sweeping floor three of the Mega Pizzaplex, teeth gritted behind your closed lips. You’d already gone over this section twice, but for some reason, confetti kept reappearing—likely some kid’s idea of a joke. You wouldn’t be surprised if the ventilation system was just spitting it out at this point.

A low, curious hum sounded nearby, and you side-eyed one of the staff bots wheeling past you. It paused, plastic gaze fixed in your direction.

You knew—knew—that it couldn’t actually make expressions. Its face was nothing more than a pair of round LED eyes on a white panel. But still… the way it lingered, head slightly tilted, motionless, almost like it was judging you.

You muttered, “Mind your business, Roomba 2.0.”

With a mechanical whirr, the bot wheeled away as if offended. You smirked.

Then: beep.

A soft, light chime came from your wrist. You looked down.

Your Faz-Watch’s screen—currently stylized in a cheery sun theme—was glowing with a soft golden hue. The miniature Daycare Attendant, Sun, popped into view. He was waving again, eyes wide, face painted in that unnerving “everything is fine” kind of grin that didn’t quite match reality.

You’d gotten used to his presence… mostly. At first, you thought it was just part of the UI, like an assistant mascot. But this guy?

He was way more responsive than a simple animation.

The mini Sun tilted its head, waving a small hand, then did a bouncy little jump. A speech bubble popped up next to it, showing a plate of food and a question mark.

You stared blankly for a second.

“…Is this thing asking if I’ve eaten?”

You blinked.

Of course you hadn’t. Between being briefed, shown around, assigned your gear, mopping up what you really hoped was melted ice cream, and now being scheduled to clean Roxy Raceway—there had been zero time to think about food.

Mini-Sun repeated the bounce, this time with more urgency. The food bubble now had two question marks, and he tilted his head like a disappointed golden retriever.

You sighed, wiping sweat off your brow with the sleeve of your uniform. “No, little buddy. Haven’t eaten.”

The watch beeped quietly in response, and the Sun sprite placed his tiny hands over his face in theatrical shock. Then, with exaggerated motions, he pointed at you, then at the food bubble, then spun in a circle and fell over dramatically.

You snorted.

“…You’re really committed to this bit.”

Another beep. This time, the food icon was replaced with a flashing red “SUGGESTED ACTION” window.

The screen displayed a small map. A highlighted line traced a path from your current location to one of the Pizzaplex’s lesser-known service cafeterias—presumably one that staff used when they weren’t sprinting across the complex cleaning up slime or popcorn.

Your eyebrows rose. “You’re giving me directions?”

The mini Sun gave a thumbs-up.

You stared at him for a long second, considering.

Then you spoke again, slowly. “I mean, I am starving… but I’ve got to get to Roxy Raceway and—”

Your watch pinged again, louder this time. The Sun icon was now tapping his foot, arms crossed. A countdown appeared beneath him: "Break Timer – 9:59."

You blinked.

“Wait. I—no one told me I had a break schedule—”

The timer ticked down with increasing boldness. 9:58... 9:57...

“Okay, okay!” you said quickly. “Jeez, fine. I'll eat something!”

The mini Sun clapped his hands and spun around in celebration, sending tiny animated glitter across your screen. You couldn’t help but grin.

Creepy or not, he had personality.

With a resigned huff, you slung your mop against the nearest cart, stretched your arms until your back cracked, and followed the watch’s glowing path through the maze of corridors, party rooms, and storage units.

You passed a wall lined with murals of the animatronic band. Glamrock Chica posed with her guitar, mid-squat, eyes far too wide. Monty looked like he was halfway through a tantrum. Roxy, as always, stared directly at the camera like she knew something you didn’t. And Freddy?

Freddy’s painted eyes looked almost tired.

Weird.

The cafeteria wasn’t much. A small staff-only door labeled “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY” buzzed when your Faz-Watch’s scanner passed near it, unlocking with a soft click. You stepped inside and were greeted with… well, it wasn’t the worst.

Vending machines. A few warmers. Something that might've once been a microwave but now blinked “E-3” in red digits. There were two tables. One had gum stuck to the bottom.

You made a face.

Your watch beeped once more. Sun’s icon pointed toward the vending machine. It displayed a row of employee-recommended options, and you noticed that the watch synced with the machine’s interface, lighting up an option labeled “Nut-Free Protein Bento – Verified OK.”

A decent choice, honestly.

You tapped it.

The vending machine chirped, a robotic voice declaring, “Snack authorized. Charging Fazbear Employee Credit.”

You weren’t sure if that meant free or if your next paycheck was about to take a $6 hit, but you didn’t have the energy to argue with the omnipresent corporate presence.

The box dropped.

You took it, cracking it open at the nearest table. Inside: cheese cubes, dried apple slices, a small sandwich, and two cookies with Chica's face printed on them.

Sun’s mini-avatar popped up again, holding a fork and knife.

“…You gonna stare the whole time?”

Sun blinked.

You sighed and took a bite.

Not bad.

The quiet moment stretched. For the first time all day, you weren’t moving. Your legs ached, your shoulders burned, and you were really not looking forward to the spilled soda in Roxy Raceway, but for a second, the watch didn’t beep. It didn’t blink. The mini Sun just rocked in place, watching, waiting.

Almost… protective.

You eyed him again. “You’re weird, you know that?”

The faz-watch version of Sun only giggled in response.

Chapter Text

☀️🧼💫

While you ate the snack box retrieved from the vending machine, you somehow managed to polish it off with seven minutes still left on your break. A record. You weren’t sure whether it was because you were starving or because the watch’s weird energy had made you too tense to enjoy chewing like a normal person.

Mini-Sun was thrilled.

The pixelated mascot let out a silent cheer animation, throwing both hands up into the air, and then planted them triumphantly on his tiny circular hips like he’d just won Employee of the Month. You quirked an eyebrow and gave a weak little two-finger salute back.

“Silly little guy,” you murmured to yourself.

Still, the strange comfort he offered lingered in your chest. Something about this little helper—while uncanny—wasn’t all that bad.

You sighed, unsure what to do with your remaining break time. Your back ached. Your mop-hand was sore. And now the buzz of the Pizzaplex outside this quiet breakroom was seeping into your head: children laughing, shrieking, staff bots rolling about with squeaky wheels, adults talking just a little too loud near the gift shops.

You pressed your hand against your temple.

That headache was definitely coming back.

Apparently, your expression didn’t go unnoticed.

Mini-Sun reappeared on your watch, now holding up a virtual sign like a cartoon protester. A new chat box blinked into view:

"✨SUPERSTAR DAYCARE✨🌈⭐️"

You blinked.

“...Oh-hoho, nope. Not happening.”

You pointed at the screen. “No offense, but I am not wasting my one solid break, being jump-scared by a horde of sugar-gremlin children and foam climbing walls.”

Mini-Sun’s expression turned excited. He did a rapid tap-dance in place, then motioned toward the icon again.

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t give me that look.”

Another ping! beep. This one was louder—borderline threatening. The icon now bounced up and down furiously as if trying to knock on the inside of your screen.

You groaned. “Okay, fine, I’ll look. But I’m not going inside. No way.”

You pressed the lock screen button and watched as Mini-Sun’s expression froze mid-bounce. Perfect. Muted.

You trudged out of the break room and down the adjacent hallway, weaving through a few lost tourists and a roaming Freddy plush mascot suit. The windows leading into the Superstar Daycare were large and clean—probably maintained by someone much more patient than you.

You stopped in front of the main pane and peered in from a distance.

Your eyes widened slightly.

There was the real Sun.

Not the sprite on your wrist, not a cartoon, not a sticker on a wall. The actual, full-size Daycare Attendant.

He was… massive.

Nine feet easy. Maybe more.

You’d heard rumors—people joked he was creepy, called him a lightbulb with legs, or a possessed nightlight. But now, standing there in person, all rubbery limbs and exaggerated features, your brain couldn’t fully decide if he was unsettling or impressive.

His frame was elegant in a puppet-like way, thin and tall, face locked in a gleaming painted grin with glassy white eyes. Those sun-shaped metal rays slowly spun around his head like a warning sign—slower now, but still twitching with subtle mechanical unrest.

He stood in front of a woman—looked like a barista, if you had to guess. She wore a light cream uniform with a name tag you couldn’t read from here. Her long, messy dark-brown hair was tied back, and she had circular glasses on her tired, frustrated face.

Even through the soundproof glass, you could tell she was yelling.

“MY B— WOULD NEVER SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT!”

You froze.

Whoa.

You took a cautious step back. If you had to guess, she was talking about her kid… probably the one that insulted the girl’s mom back in the daycare. That situation clearly hadn’t gone away. And now, the real Sun had to deal with it.

Despite the circumstances, Sun didn’t move much. He had his hands clasped in front of him, the exaggerated “neutral” smile still painted across his face. But his eyes…

His eyes flicked sideways.

Right.

To.

You.

He snapped his head in your direction, the metal rays on his head spinning once, fast—click click click click.

Your body went rigid.

He stared.

Straight through the glass.

Right. At. You.

You didn’t move. You didn’t breathe.

Your anxiety slammed into overdrive.

Was he mad you were watching? Was he reading your name from your ID badge somehow? Was he logging you into some AI-powered troublemaker database for eavesdropping?

Nope. Nope-nope-nope.

“We are not doing this,” your inner voice screamed.

With perfect silence and speed, you turned on your heel and ducked out of view of the window, speed-walking back toward the hallway like you were being hunted by a ghost with a clipboard.

Your Faz-Watch vibrated once on your wrist.

You glanced down.

The Mini-Sun had returned, this time with a text bubble that simply said:

"Why’d you leave! I wanted to say hi.. :c"

You stared.

Then pressed the lock button again.

Hard.

Nope. You were not emotionally equipped to deal with nine feet of all-knowing sun clown energy today. Let Roxy Raceway and sticky soda disasters be your problem instead.

At least spilled Pepsi didn’t stare into your soul.

☀️💫 

Sun glared down at the brown-haired barista, his wide painted smile unwavering, but the tension in his plastic frame said it all. His rays twitched with agitation, casting darting shadows across the glossy floor of the Superstar Daycare.

The woman in front of him looked just as irate—arms crossed, nostrils flaring, and her circular glasses pushed up firmly on her nose as though ready to square off with a full-grown man, let alone a nine-foot animatronic. Her barista apron was wrinkled and stained from a day behind a hot espresso machine, but she stood her ground like a war general.

“I’m telling you—Kai would never say something like that. He’s a good kid. I raised him better than that!”

Sun didn’t respond immediately. His gaze flicked from the mother to the group of children huddled a few feet behind her, clearly aware of the tension. Some whispered. Others simply stared, wide-eyed. And then there was Kai.

The boy stood slightly behind his mother, partially obscured by the angry adult in front of him. His posture was slouched, his sage green eyes rimmed with exhaustion. Not the kind of tired you get from missing a nap—but the kind that sits deep in your bones. The kind that tells a story longer than the one anyone’s willing to say out loud.

Kai’s fingers fiddled with the hem of his hoodie. He stared at the floor while his mother continued arguing his case, her voice growing louder with every second. Sun barely twitched, his programming doing its best to filter and remain polite, but he wasn’t blind. Nor was he deaf.

And neither was Kai.

Without a word, the boy slowly slipped out from behind his mother’s protective stance. The barista didn’t even notice at first, caught in a whirlwind of frustration and defensiveness.

Kai took hesitant steps across the padded flooring of the daycare, heading toward the girl with puffball hair—Lia.

She stood off to the side now, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Tear trails still lined her cheeks, though her expression had turned unreadable. A few of the other children shifted uneasily, backing away from the two as they realized something was about to happen.

Kai stopped in front of her, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

“Hey…” he muttered, voice just above a whisper. “Lia, I’m really sorry for—ah… for saying that stuff to you.”

Lia blinked.

The silence between them was almost sacred.

“Really?” she asked, voice flat, skeptical.

He nodded quickly, cheeks already burning pink. “Mhm. I didn’t mean to be a jerk. I just… I guess I was being stupid because I—I think I have a crush on you, okay?”

The words tumbled out like they’d been burning holes in his throat all day.

Lia stared.

Then she snorted.

Actually snorted.

A genuine sound, full of disbelief and laughter, all rolled up in one. Her arms dropped, and she shoved him lightly in the shoulder with a grin.

“You’re such an idiot,” she said.

Kai rubbed his arm, chuckling despite himself. “Yeah, well, you kinda bring it out in me.”

The moment was short-lived.

Because then—as if choreographed by the devil himself—Lia reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, shiny foil packet.

Kai mirrored her movement.

Two identical packs of bubblegum appeared in their hands, held like contraband in a prison yard.

The evil grins on their faces were practically mirrored.

Sun’s internal system pinged a Code Orange.

Oh no.

This was bad.

The animatronic’s head slowly swiveled back toward the pair. The barista stopped mid-sentence as she followed his line of sight. Her jaw dropped slightly as she noticed what her son was now holding.

“Oh my god—”

POP.

Kai blew a bubble and snapped the gum obnoxiously loud, like a starter pistol at the beginning of a war.

“Say,” Lia said, already chewing, “why don’t we both cause trouble together this time?”

Another pop.

Sun’s mechanical body tensed. The spinning rays around his head went from a slow spin to a full jittery whir—metal clicking against metal in staccato beats. His fingers fidgeted, his head twitching slightly to the side.

“No—no, no, no, NO,” he said, half to himself, half to the entire daycare.

The kids had already scattered. Some were laughing. Others fled to avoid being part of the inevitable fallout. A few brave souls stayed to watch, eyes wide in delighted horror.

Kai and Lia took off like cartoon villains, ducking under foam slides and vanishing into the maze of colored tunnels and ball pits. Within seconds, the distinct sound of sticky gum being slapped onto plastic surfaces echoed from somewhere deep within the play structure.

Sun bolted upright, joints popping with audible snaps.

The barista looked mortified. “KAI, WHAT THE HELL?!”

“I told you, ma’am,” Sun said with a manic tilt to his voice. “He’s got some issues.”

And then, without another word, Sun leapt into motion—long limbs and all—scrambling up the foam steps like a horrifyingly graceful spider with a cleaning complex.

“WAIT- YOU ARENT SUPPOSED TO HAVE GUM- OHMY—!” he shouted, voice echoing through the foam tunnels like the final boss of a platformer game.

From somewhere deep inside, you could hear Kai’s laughter, followed by another obnoxious pop of gum.

“Come catch us, Sunflower!”

“Oh you little gremlins—!”

Foam tunnels trembled as Sun chased them, ray-tips catching the light in rapid, furious spins. The chaos was back in full force.

🧼🫧

From outside the daycare, behind the observation window, you stood frozen in place, half a protein bar in your mouth as you watched the scene unfold.

You raised your brows, slowly chewing.

“…And that’s why I didn’t want to go in,” you muttered.

Mini-Sun on your watch popped back up, eyes wide in what could only be described as silent mechanical panic.

You simply pressed the lock button again.

Hard.

Nope.

Still not your problem.

Chapter Text

⭐️☀️/🧼🫧

About twenty minutes later, both children Sun had not exactly kept an eye on were sitting cross-legged in the timeout corner, looking thoroughly unrepentant. Kai kept chewing his gum with loud, deliberate pops, earning him occasional glares from Sun. Lia had her arms folded and a smirk on her face, like she was counting this as a victory rather than a punishment.

The parent who’d been called over—Kai’s mother—was long gone, having tossed her son one last “Behave” over her shoulder before rushing out. She had a shift to clock in for somewhere else in the Pizzaplex, and, frankly, didn’t seem too concerned about whether Sun could handle her kid.

You, meanwhile, had already turned your gaze away from the daycare’s big observation window. It wasn’t your circus, not your monkeys. You had enough on your plate without volunteering to be part of that disaster.

With a tired sigh, you headed back toward one of the less crowded wings of the building to resume your janitorial duties. The floor in this section was already a patchwork of mop streaks and footprints, and the smell of the industrial cleaning solution was starting to cling to your clothes.

You weren’t going to let exhaustion take you down—not tonight. This was still your first day, and the last thing you wanted was for anyone to say you couldn’t handle the job. Even the Faz-Watch version of Sun seemed to get the memo; his little cartoon mouth stayed mercifully shut while you worked.

Time crawled. The chatter from the main atrium faded into the background, replaced by the dull rhythm of your mop sloshing back and forth across the tiles. Eventually, the warm lights from outside began to dim. Through the occasional window, you could see the glow of the neon signage outside the Pizzaplex flicker into the colors of nighttime mode.

Great. Still on shift.

You glanced at the wall clock, calculating how much longer you had before you could clock out. Not long. Just a little bit more effort, and you’d be home. You decided on one final quick deep clean—five minutes tops—before heading out.

Your back disagreed.

A deep ache was spreading from your shoulders down your spine, throbbing in time with each motion of the mop. Owieeee, you thought bitterly, dragging the mop in slow, stubborn strokes. It was almost embarrassing to admit how much your muscles hurt after one day. Who knew janitorial work could be this brutal?

Your hands were no better. The mop handle felt heavier with each push, your grip slipping slightly as your arms trembled. You weren’t sure if this was the kind of soreness you could just “walk off,” but you weren’t about to quit now.

You pushed through the discomfort, eyes fixed on the floor as you worked. Which is why you didn’t notice anything at first.

There was nothing obvious—no sudden noise, no movement in your peripheral vision. Just the faint hum of the building at night, the muffled sounds of distant arcade machines, and the low buzz of overhead lights.

But inside the daycare, behind the softly tinted glass of the observation window, two pinpricks of red glowed faintly in the darkness.

They were steady. Unblinking.

Watching you.

The lights in the daycare play area were dim now, the warm yellows and soft pastels replaced by deep blues and indigo shadows. Somewhere in that gloom, those red dots shifted slightly, tracking your movements as you continued to mop.

Moon had woken up.

The nighttime attendant was on duty.

You didn’t see him. Not yet. You just kept mopping, unaware, focused entirely on finishing your last task. Your mind wandered—thinking about the aching in your shoulders, the weight of your backpack waiting in the locker room, and how good it was going to feel to collapse into bed when this was over.

But Moon didn’t lose focus. He stood just beyond the playground structures, tall and eerily still, his crescent face tilted at a slight angle as he studied you through the glass. The darkness clung to him like a second skin, his red pupils cutting through it like twin lasers.

You pushed the mop forward again.

His head followed the motion.

You pulled the mop back.

The red dots moved with you.

The faintest mechanical creak echoed somewhere deep in the daycare, but it was lost under the scrape of the mop head on tile.

If you’d looked up at that moment, you might have caught the faint flash of white teeth—Moon’s sharp, painted grin—illuminated for just a second by the reflection of the corridor lights. You might have noticed the way his long fingers curled around the edge of a slide, as if testing the tension in his joints before deciding whether to move closer.

But you didn’t look.

Not yet.

🏠🌙💫

You pushed the mop one last time, letting the soapy water spread over the floor in a shimmering trail before dragging it back. The motion sent a sharp stab of pain down your spine, and you hissed quietly under your breath. Enough. This floor was clean enough to eat off of—if you ignored the stubborn smudges that had probably been there since the Pizzaplex opened.

Your eyes flicked to the Faz-Watch. The digital Sun hadn’t moved for the past twenty minutes, simply sitting there with his arms crossed and a satisfied smirk on his cartoon face. He seemed pleased you hadn’t completely keeled over.

Yeah, yeah, I survived. Barely.

You returned the mop to the storage closet, hanging it by its hook. The smell of the cleaning solution was so strong in there it made your eyes water, and you didn’t linger. Your whole body felt sluggish, like you were moving through syrup, but at least you were headed toward the one part of the night you’d been waiting for: clocking out.

The hallways had a different feel now. The bright, chaotic energy of the Pizzaplex had settled into something quieter, stranger. Most of the guest areas were closed off, leaving wide stretches of polished tile lit only by the soft glow of maintenance lights. Somewhere, an air vent rattled faintly, echoing through the space like a sigh.

Your footsteps seemed too loud.

You passed the daycare window again without meaning to. It was darker in there now—nearly pitch black except for the faint blue glow of the play towers’ safety lights. For a moment, you thought the space was empty.

Then the red dots appeared again.

They were closer to the glass this time.

Your steps faltered, your brain catching up to your eyes. The dots didn’t blink. They didn’t shift. They just… hovered there, fixed directly on you.

You tried to play it off, forcing yourself to keep walking without speeding up. Your throat felt dry.

By the time you reached the staff corridor, your heart had slowed back to something normal, though you kept glancing behind you as you walked. No more red dots. Just empty hallways.

You swiped your employee badge at the staff entrance to the locker area, hearing the magnetic lock click open. Inside, the familiar clatter of metal lockers and the faint hum of the break room vending machines felt almost comforting.

Your locker was in the far corner, of course. You opened it and shoved your cleaning apron inside, glad to feel the air on your sore shoulders. Your phone was waiting in the bottom shelf, the little notification light blinking like it had been trying to get your attention all shift.

No way you were answering anything now. Home was the only thing on your mind.

You changed out of your work shoes, slipping into your more comfortable sneakers. The difference was immediate—still sore, but not trapped-in-concrete sore. You took your time packing your bag, letting the quiet sink in.

When you finally stepped back into the hallway, you realized it was even quieter now. The kind of quiet that made you hyper-aware of every sound you made.

Your sneakers squeaked faintly on the tile. Somewhere far off, a service elevator dinged.

And then, from behind you, a soft, metallic creak.

You froze.

It was faint—so faint you could almost convince yourself you’d imagined it. But the sound came again, this time followed by a slow, rhythmic tap.

You didn’t turn around. Instead, you forced yourself to start walking again, faster this time, your bag bumping against your hip. The exit was just ahead—one more hallway, two doors, and you’d be outside.

When you finally pushed open the staff exit door, the cool night air hit you like a relief. You stepped out into the loading bay, lit by a row of tall, buzzing floodlights.

The parking lot stretched out beyond the delivery area. Your car sat under one of the lights, the faint gleam of its roof visible from here.

Halfway across the lot, you glanced back toward the building.

The daycare windows were far away from this angle, but you could still see them. And for just a second—less than a heartbeat—you thought you saw movement in the dark. A tall, thin shadow, pressed close to the glass.

You blinked, and it was gone.

You shook your head, muttering under your breath, “Too tired. Losing it.”

Your car door groaned as you pulled it open. You tossed your bag into the passenger seat and slid in, letting the seatbelt catch with a sharp click. The faint hum of the parking lot lights filled the silence as you started the engine.

The drive home was uneventful, the Pizzaplex’s neon signs fading in your rearview mirror. You passed a few closed gas stations, their darkened signs like missing teeth in the row of streetlights. Your body was screaming at you to get into bed, every muscle aching.

By the time you reached your apartment building, the only thing keeping you upright was muscle memory. You parked, hauled your bag out of the car, and trudged up the stairs.

The door shut behind you with a satisfying thunk, muffling the outside world. Shoes off. Keys on the hook. Bag on the floor.

You sank onto the couch with a groan, letting your head fall back against the cushions. The quiet was heavier here—almost too heavy. You could hear the faint hum of the refrigerator, the occasional tick of the wall clock.

And something else.

A faint ping.

It took you a second to realize it wasn’t coming from your phone—it was from your Faz-Watch.

You lifted your wrist. The screen lit up.

Mini-Sun wasn’t there.

Instead, a small crescent-shaped face with glowing red pupils stared up at you, grinning.

A text box appeared beneath it:

“GOOD NIGHT.”

The screen flickered, then went dark.

You sat there, frozen, the watch feeling suddenly heavier on your wrist.

Chapter Text

🏠🌙 💭.｡:･*ﾟ💫ﾟ*･.｡

Your expression darkened a slight bit as you stared at the cartoon version of the nap-time daycare attendant before throwing your Faz-Watch across your bedroom. It hit the wall with a muffled thud, bouncing once against the carpet before lying face-down, its screen black.

You didn’t stick around to check if it was cracked. Instead, you spun on your heel and headed straight for the kitchen, deciding you’d deal with Mini-Moon later. If Fazbear Entertainment wanted to send you twenty warning emails about “damaging company property,” fine. They could add it to the growing pile of “things you’ll read but probably ignore.”

The apartment was dim, the only light spilling in from the streetlamps outside, casting a pale orange glow through the blinds. Your fridge hummed in the corner like it was trying to remind you it existed. You filled a small pot with water and set it on the stove, grabbing a packet of ramen from the cabinet. The smell of the seasoning hit you almost instantly once the noodles were in, and you realized just how hungry you actually were.

Dinner was quick—just noodles, a little extra spice from your own stash, and a glass of cold water. Comfort food. You ate leaning over the counter, scrolling through your phone with one hand and slurping with the other, letting the day fade from your mind with each bite.

By the time you rinsed the bowl and set it in the sink, your body felt heavy in a different way—more relaxed than exhausted. Earlier, your back and hands had been screaming at you, but now the soreness was dulled, almost distant. Maybe this whole job thing wouldn’t be that bad once you got used to it.

You trudged back toward your bedroom, pulling your hoodie tighter around you against the faint nighttime chill. Your alarm clock sat on the nightstand, and you reached to set it for tomorrow—

—but froze when you noticed your phone buzzing.

“Oh! Mom’s calling,” you murmured to yourself. The sudden little jolt of warmth at seeing her name flash across the screen was enough to make you forget the weird Faz-Watch incident for now.

You slid your finger across the screen and hit the accept button, shifting onto the bed in a comfortable sprawl as the FaceTime connected.

Your mother, Eve, filled the screen almost instantly. She had her hair pinned up in a messy bun and was… frosting something. From the looks of it, a loaf of what could generously be described as “banana bread.” Less generously, it was a brick-shaped chunk of charcoal with sugar on top.

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that—burnt?”

“It’s crispy, honey,” she said with exaggerated dignity, though the little plume of smoke curling up in the background didn’t exactly help her case. “And yes, I’m cooking. Stop looking at me like that.”

You bit back a laugh. “Just saying… you don’t exactly cook. You… attempt.”

Eve rolled her eyes but grinned. “Ha-ha. Anyway, that’s not why I’m calling.” She leaned closer to the camera, lowering her voice as if she were sharing classified information. “Your cousins are staying with me now, and—guess what—we’re moving closer to you.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yep! Which means,” she continued, dragging out her words, “you could totally brag about your new job. Or, y’know, flex.”

Before you could respond, a smaller, squeaky voice chimed in from somewhere off-screen, brimming with enthusiasm and just a touch of dramatic flair. “You mean I can finally see Glamrock Chica in person?”

You grinned. “Nadia?”

The voice giggled. “Obviously.”

In the background, Eve was still fumbling for the name. “Yeah, yeah, that chick—uh, coconut—”

“Glamrock Chica,” you and Nadia said in unison, though Nadia’s version had a little extra sparkle, like she was reciting a royal title. You did in-fact take time to learn all the animatronic’s names during that clean-up session.

You could practically picture her bedroom wall covered in drawings of the Pizzaplex, Chica front and center in every one.

“Well, if she’s such a big fan,” you teased, “why doesn’t she come visit? Meet her idol?”

That set Nadia off into a laugh so intense it almost didn’t sound like a laugh—more like a dying bird. Eve shot her a look before shaking her head with a resigned smile.

“I suppose one special event couldn’t hurt,” she said, tapping her chin like she was weighing something important. “Hmmm… how about Sunday?”

You frowned slightly. “Don’t work Sundays.”

“Wednesday, then?”

You hesitated. Odd choice. But you had no shift then either, so… “Sure, Wednesday works.”

Eve lit up, clapping her hands together. “Perfect! We’ll see you then, darling~ love you!”

From the background, a chorus of voices—Nadia, probably a couple of your other cousins—joined in, all saying “love you” in the same sing-songy tone.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “See you then.”

The call ended with a soft beep, leaving your room quiet again. You tossed your phone onto the bed, rubbing at the back of your neck. The thought of Nadia’s over-the-top reaction to the Pizzaplex actually made you smile. Maybe Wednesday wouldn’t be so bad.

You sat for a moment, staring at the bed. The covers were inviting, the kind of soft, lived-in comfort you could sink into and not move for hours. You pushed yourself to your feet long enough to close the blinds, flick off the main light, and grab a glass of water from the kitchen.

Back in your room, you noticed the Faz-Watch lying exactly where it had landed. It hadn’t turned on again, no flickering screen, no glowing crescent eyes.

You nudged it with your foot on the way to bed, half-expecting it to light up. It didn’t.

Good.

You crawled under the covers, the sound of the city muffled through the walls. Your body sank into the mattress like it had been waiting all day for this.

As your eyes drifted shut, you thought vaguely about Wednesday, about Nadia’s shrill laugh, about the look on her face when she stepped into the plex.

Not yet.

🐊🛠️/📉📄

Ruby’s boot clunked heavily against the tile as he moved through the staff hallway, his sharp, cold eyes fixed on the wet floor bot in front of him.
The bot, oblivious to the danger, whirred forward on its pre-programmed path, its little “CAUTION — WET FLOOR” sign flashing in cheerful yellow.
Ruby didn’t slow down.

The sound of metal buckling echoed through the hallway as he deliberately stepped on it — a calculated stomp, heavy enough to send the thing’s bolts scattering in every direction. Its scrubber wheel spun uselessly for a second before locking up with a sick metallic squeal.
A spray of screws, washers, and broken plastic bits skittered across the tile like insects fleeing a predator.

The bot twitched once, its little warning light blinking feebly, before its systems gave out entirely. Gone.

Ruby didn’t bother looking back at the wreckage. He knew exactly who’d be on cleanup duty in the morning — you. The janitorial newbie. And if you complained?
Well… nobody complained to Ruby. Not twice.

He adjusted the cuffs of his pressed dark jacket, brushing off imaginary dust. He wasn’t maintenance. He wasn’t some errand boy. He was management — one of the higher ranks in the Pizzaplex’s staff hierarchy.
Not quite the top, but close enough that when he spoke, people moved.

Ruby always got his way.

The other employees knew it. They kept their heads down and their distance. Even Erica, the mechanic with her casual attitude and tendency to get too familiar with the animatronics, avoided him when possible. She had backbone, but she also had sense. She knew Ruby wasn’t a man you wanted to lock horns with.

She also knew she couldn’t stop him.

Not yet.

Because Ruby had his habits — and one of them was sending the animatronics down for “memory maintenance” whenever they got too curious. Too aware. Too… independent.
He’d call it routine upkeep, but everyone who paid attention knew it was a memory wipe.

The worst part? He knew exactly what he was doing.

Ruby wasn’t ignorant about their sentience. In fact, that was why he acted the way he did.

He had his reasons.

Reasons no one else was privy to — and maybe that was for the best. Whatever loss sat behind those reasons, it wasn’t one he could bury. He’d convinced himself he was protecting them.
Keeping things “safe.”

For someone.

That someone wouldn’t have wanted this.

But Ruby would never see it that way.

Sometimes the worst people truly didn’t recognize themselves as the villain in their own story. They thought they were keeping the world in order.
Even when they were the ones breaking it.

He reached the repair wing — a sterile, dimly lit hall lined with steel doors and faint buzzing from the overhead fluorescents. He shoved one open with his shoulder and stepped into the main workshop.

The smell of oil, hot wiring, and faint ozone clung to the air. A faint hum from powered-down parts filled the silence.

“Paul.”

The young man at the central workbench jolted like a deer caught in headlights. His blond hair was slightly mussed, but styled enough to show he’d tried this morning. A sheen of sweat immediately broke out across his forehead. His eyeliner and sparkling pink eyeshadow caught the workshop light, making him look far more confident than he actually was.

His lips — coated with a faint layer of glossy pink — pressed into a thin, nervous line.

“Y–yes… Sir. Ahah…” Paul’s voice wavered as he quickly put down the screwdriver he’d been using to pry open a voice box casing.

Ruby’s eyes flicked briefly to the Roxanne Wolf–themed Fazwatch strapped to Paul’s wrist, but his expression didn’t change.

“I need you to check Monty’s memory,” Ruby said flatly. His tone wasn’t a request. “He’s been acting… crueler lately. I can’t let him get any funny ideas, yeah?”

Paul hesitated. He could still feel the faint tackiness of his lip gloss as he licked his lips, his fingers tightening around the screwdriver.

“He… seems fine to me. Are you sur—”

Ruby’s eyes snapped to him, sharp as glass. “Are you questioning my authority, boy?”

The weight in the air doubled.

Paul’s stomach turned cold. His grandmother’s face flashed in his mind — her frail smile from the hospital bed, the one that made his chest ache. He needed this job. He needed every paycheck, every hour.
Losing it wasn’t an option.

“No—uh… yeah. I’ll check his memory. What… what do I do after that?”

Ruby’s voice dropped, colder now. “If anything’s out of place, get rid of it. I don’t care if you have to delete every memory that robot’s ever had. Get rid of it.”

Paul swallowed hard, the lump in his throat threatening to choke him. The idea of wiping an entire consciousness — the person Monty had become — sat heavy on his conscience. But he nodded anyway.

“Okay, sir.”

Ruby didn’t offer a word of thanks. He simply turned on his heel and walked out, his footsteps fading into the hallway.

The workshop fell still again.

Paul stared down at the dismantled voice box on his bench. Its wires splayed out like veins, the tiny metal components gleaming under the harsh overhead light. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for a rag to wipe them clean.

The smell of hot oil and metal was almost suffocating now.

Somewhere in the room, the faint whir of an idle fan kept a mechanical rhythm.

Paul leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face, smudging a bit of glitter onto his fingertips.

He knew he’d check Monty’s memory like Ruby asked. He also knew he’d have to make a choice after that — follow orders, or save what he could.

And that choice could cost him everything.

Chapter Text

🐊🛠️*:..｡₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊*ﾟ¨ﾟﾟ

Paul carefully approached Monty, who was stationed in his usual repair bay. The animatronic’s eyes glowed faintly orange, but there was something sharper in their gleam tonight. Something that made Paul’s stomach twist.

Monty’s posture was tense. His metal frame creaked as he shifted slightly, every movement radiating aggression. He let out a low, mechanical growl that vibrated through the floor, echoing in the empty workshop.

Paul swallowed hard. “Okay… okay,” he muttered to himself. He adjusted the Roxanne Wolf-themed Fazwatch on his wrist and tapped it lightly, checking if he could initiate a diagnostic without triggering Monty’s temper.

The first words out of Monty’s mouth were a jagged hiss of sound. “Why are YOU here.  Who… told you to touch me?”

Paul froze. His hands hovered over the tools, unsure where to start. “I… uh… Ruby asked me to check your memory, Monty. Just a routine check,” he said quickly, trying to keep his voice calm, almost cheerful, though it cracked a little at the edges.

Monty didn’t lower his frame. Instead, he leaned slightly forward, making the mechanical joints whine. “Ruby… I… don’t trust him.” His voice rattled like metal scraping metal, but there was also a faint tremor of… fear? Paul wasn’t sure if animatronics could express it, but something in Monty’s tone suggested awareness.

Paul tried to step closer, holding out his hands as if to soothe. “I’m not here to hurt you. I just need to—just to check your systems.”

Monty’s clawed hand snapped forward, narrowly missing Paul’s arm. Sparks flew off the joint where the metal scraped against the workbench. Paul jumped back with a yelp, nearly knocking over the small tray of screws.

“I SAID STAY BACK.” Monty growled, his voice now echoing, amplified by the bay. Every metal plate on his arm rattled ominously as he adjusted his stance.

Paul’s hands trembled, gripping his screwdriver like a lifeline. He knew Ruby’s orders: if he found anything “out of place,” delete it. Every memory. But Monty wasn’t just a machine. He… reacted. He thought. He remembered.

“I— I just want to make sure everything’s… normal,” Paul stammered. “That’s all.”

Monty’s gaze followed him, unblinking. Every second, his aggression seemed to grow, though the movements were almost deliberate. A slow pivot, a tilt of the head, the faint squeak of joints under tension. The animatronic’s chest rattled as if he were testing his own strength.

“You’re lying,” Monty growled. “Ruby is lying.”

Paul froze. His stomach twisted into knots. “I… I don’t—”

Monty lunged again, faster this time, snapping his claw inches from Paul’s shoulder. Sparks flew across the floor.

“I KNOW what he’s doing. I know what he did to the others..”

Paul took a step back, pressing himself against the far wall. His voice wavered. “I—look, I’m not here to—”

But Monty’s aggression wasn’t just verbal. He shifted closer, each step heavy, resonating through the workshop. The lights flickered briefly, casting long shadows across the metallic surfaces. His glowing orange eyes locked onto Paul like lasers.

Paul swallowed and forced himself to take a breath. He had to maintain control—or at least, pretend he had some. He reached slowly for the diagnostic tablet on the nearby counter. Every movement was careful, deliberate, showing no sudden motion that might provoke Monty further.

“Monty… I just need to scan your memory banks,” he said, voice steady despite the adrenaline thrumming in his veins. “It won’t hurt. I promise.”

Monty growled low in response, vibrating the metal around him. “Promises mean nothing. Words are empty.”

Empty. 

Empty?

Empty.

The tablet powered up, and Paul tapped the first sequence to connect to Monty’s memory core. A faint whirring and blinking of lights ran along the animatronic’s chest as the system began to engage.

Monty didn’t stop moving. He lurched side to side slightly, keeping Paul unbalanced. Sparks leapt from a loose panel along his shoulder. “You think YOU—can control me?” he hissed. “You don’t understand!”

Paul’s hands shook as he tried to align the scanning probes with the ports along Monty’s neck. Every twitch and growl from Monty made it feel like walking across a tightrope. One wrong move, one slip—and the animatronic could strike.

The tablet beeped, scanning data flowing in streams across the screen. Paul froze at the first memory that popped up. It wasn’t just mundane system logs. It was a recording of Monty’s interactions with the children—a fight in the daycare, his aggressive defense of the kids, flashes of rage directed at Ruby’s manipulations.

Paul’s heart pounded. He knew he had to check every memory, but deleting any of this… felt wrong. These weren’t just corrupt files. These were moments. Thoughts. Awareness. Every aggressive reaction Monty had wasn’t random—it was him responding to the environment Ruby forced him into.

He pressed a button on the tablet to begin the detailed check, but Monty lashed out again, swiping at the screen. Sparks flew, shorting a connection, and the tablet beeped in protest.

“Monty—please, stop! I’m just scanning!” Paul shouted.

Monty froze for a moment, then his glowing eyes narrowed. “No… I won’t let you erase me. Not today. Not ever.”

Paul could feel sweat beading along his forehead. He had to make a choice. Follow Ruby’s orders to the letter—and delete the memories—or try to protect Monty from a command he couldn’t ignore.

Monty’s mechanical growl filled the room again, deep and threatening, vibrating the floor beneath Paul’s feet. Every ounce of his body screamed danger, but the animatronic also… watched him. Waited. Tested. Challenged.

Paul’s hand hovered over the deletion sequence. He could feel Monty’s anger like a physical force pushing back. He realized something in that moment: Monty’s aggression wasn’t just fear or hostility—it was defiance. A refusal to be controlled.

The workshop lights flickered again as Paul took a deep breath. He had to decide. One slip could end him. One wrong command could erase a being that wasn’t just metal and wires. And Ruby… Ruby would know.

Monty’s orange eyes glared, unblinking, unrelenting. “Decide, boy,” he hissed. “Do your worst.”

Paul swallowed hard. The tremor in his hands grew, but he forced himself to tap the tablet. Not the deletion command. Just the scan. Just observation. For now.

Monty’s growl softened slightly, more a low rumble than a lashing attack. But he didn’t relax. He didn’t trust Paul yet. Every motion, every step he took was loaded with tension, ready to strike again if provoked.

Paul exhaled slowly, trying to steady his racing heart. The memory data streamed across the screen. Every aggressive movement, every defensive strike, every reaction was recorded. And Paul realized he had a choice: he could report Monty as “functioning within parameters,” or he could write a note, hide what he found, protect the animatronic… and risk Ruby’s wrath.

Monty’s glowing eyes didn’t leave him. He growled softly, as if aware of the moral conflict. “Choose wisely.”

Paul’s hands hovered over the tablet. Every fiber of his being screamed tension, dread, and… something else. Empathy. For a machine that, somehow, was more alive than the people giving the orders.

The workshop fell silent except for the low hum of power and the occasional creak from Monty’s joints. Sparks from the earlier swipe still sizzled faintly on the metal floor.

Paul pressed the scan button fully, allowing it to log every memory, every aggressive act, without initiating deletion. He didn’t know what Ruby would do if he found out—but for now, Monty’s gaze softened just a fraction, his body still tense but unrelenting.

For the first time that night, Paul felt a thread of… connection. A fragile truce in a place built on control, fear, and mechanical obedience.

☀️🌙/💙🫧•*¨*•.¸¸☆*

The sun had long since started dipping behind the cityscape, casting long orange streaks across the parking lot outside the Mega Pizzaplex. You tugged your janitor jacket tighter around yourself, the uniform slightly stiff from a long shift, the faded nametag barely clinging to the chest pocket. Your black pants felt heavier than usual, weighed down by exhaustion, and the soles of your shoes squished slightly from the puddles you’d inadvertently tracked in while walking from the bus. Eye bags shadowed your eyes like dark crescents, a visible map of every mop stroke, every sticky mess, every floor three meltdown you’d survived today.

Your Faz-watch buzzed faintly against your wrist, its cartoon Sun doing a lazy wave. You didn’t even glance down at it; the energy to acknowledge its cheerful antics simply wasn’t there. Today had been long. Way longer than you’d expected.

Eve was already waiting near the glass doors of the Pizzaplex, her phone pressed to her ear as she paced in small loops. She seemed frazzled, like she had been trying to manage a dozen things at once: coordinating the cousins, answering work emails, and somehow keeping an eye on traffic while standing in the parking lot. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a messy bun, a few loose strands sticking to her forehead from the warm evening air. A coffee cup, half-empty and slightly sloshing from her hand gestures, threatened to topple with every motion she made.

“Oh, yes! I told them to meet us at the main entrance—no, not the food court, the big doors outside!—Yes, I know, Nadia wants to see Roxanne first, but we can’t get in there until everyone’s together… Wait—No, I don’t care, you handle it! Just… fine, I’ll text you in five!” She ended the call with a flurry of swipes, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like a complaint at her own scheduling skills.

You cleared your throat softly, just enough to announce your presence without startling her. “Eve,” you said tiredly, your voice hoarse from the day’s work.

Her eyes flicked up, and relief washed over her face. “Oh! There you are! Finally!” She waved her free hand in your direction. “Sorry, I got caught up—phone, work, you know how it is.”

You nodded faintly, dropping your bag to the ground. The strap squeaked in protest as it hit the asphalt. Your posture sagged slightly, a subtle weight that carried the hours of cleaning, sweeping, and contending with the chaos inside. You noticed her glance toward your uniform, the wrinkled shirt and scuffed shoes. “Long day?” she asked, a soft edge of sympathy in her tone.

“Yeah,” you muttered, voice almost disappearing. “Very long.” You rubbed at your eyes briefly, trying to erase the exhaustion, but the dark circles beneath them were stubbornly evident.

Nox stood a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, a small scowl painted across his face. The large neon lights of the Pizzaplex reflected off the tinted glass, bouncing multi-colored glints across his skin. He hadn’t even glanced at you yet; his attention was firmly fixed on the building itself. His glare was sharp, critical, almost as if the rainbow-colored signs and flashy advertisements offended him personally.

“You’re not even excited?” Allie asked, her small voice trembling slightly under her brother’s intimidating stare. She clutched her plushie tightly, her other hand tugging at Bea’s sleeve.

Bea peeked from behind Allie, eyes wide as they darted toward Nox. “He looks like he hates the lights,” she whispered, voice so quiet you could barely hear it.

Nox scoffed, his gaze never leaving the Pizzaplex. “It’s all noise,” he muttered. “All flashing colors and screaming music. Eye-burning if you ask me.”

Nadia, on the other hand, bounced slightly on her toes, undeterred by Nox’s brooding presence. “No! Music Man is awesome, but Roxanne is sooo cool! And Chica’s moves! You don’t even understand!” She spun around with dramatic gestures, pointing at the Pizzaplex’s entrance like she was presenting a stage.

Allie and Bea nodded vigorously, adding their own little praises, “Roxanne is the best!” “Music Man is cool too, but Roxanne—”

Nox sighed, clearly irritated, though the corners of his mouth twitched slightly as if fighting a smile. The younger trio of siblings were terrified of his intensity, and that fear always meant they got a lot of pent-up excitement out whenever they visited. Nox had always preferred the quieter approach, analyzing things rather than jumping in with unfiltered enthusiasm. Music Man was his favorite—simple, steady, predictable—but he could rarely enjoy that preference because the younger three were loud, insistent, and completely fixated on the more flashy Glamrock animatronics.

You shuffled forward a little, adjusting your bag strap on your shoulder. Your body felt stiff, aching from head to toe. The uniform clung uncomfortably after a long shift, your black pants pulling at your hips and thighs. You hoped no one would comment on your dark under-eye circles—they were unavoidable.

Eve glanced over at you, finally noticing the weariness in your expression. “Wow… you really look tired,” she said, her voice a mix of concern and mild scolding. “You’ve been at this for hours, huh? I… I didn’t realize you’d be working the whole day.”

You nodded faintly, trying not to groan. “Yeah. Floor three… sticky drinks, slime, kids running around… It’s… a lot.” You rubbed the back of your neck, feeling every ache from mopping, sweeping, and hauling cleaning supplies.

Eve’s gaze softened. “I’m proud of you, though. Really. I know you didn’t know exactly what you were signing up for, but look at you. You made it through the first day, even if it was brutal.” She waved a hand toward the parking lot, where the kids were still debating which Glamrock was superior. “And hey, now we can go inside and have some fun. Or… try to, at least.”

You forced a small, tired smile. “Fun might be a stretch right now.” You bent slightly to pick up your bag, the weight pulling at your shoulder and back, but you tried to ignore it. You could feel the evening chill brushing against the nape of your neck, tugging at your hair and making the sweat from your day dry quickly in the cool air.

Nox finally turned his gaze toward you, his sharp eyes assessing. “About time,” he muttered, not unkindly, just… annoyed. “You look like you’ve been through hell.”

“Pretty much,” you said, voice low. “First day’s always rough.”

Allie squeaked, bouncing forward. “But you get to work here now! That’s awesome! Can we see you in action?”

You chuckled softly, rubbing at your temple. “Maybe… another day. Today I’m… done.”

Nadia squealed in mock protest. “No fair! You’re the new janitor! You have to show us all the crazy stuff!”

Eve waved her hands at the trio, giving a gentle but firm look. “Alright, enough. Let’s get everyone together. You’ve got your big cousin here, so let’s stick close. We’ll all go in together.”

Nox muttered under his breath, but at least he moved, gesturing for the younger three to line up beside him. They shuffled hesitantly, still chattering excitedly but aware of his critical glare.

You adjusted your bag once more, feeling the weight in your back, the soreness in your arms. The thought of stepping inside the neon chaos of the Pizzaplex was exhausting just in theory, but somehow… being here, near your family, made it a little better.

Eve pulled the door open for you all, still balancing her phone and coffee cup with surprising skill, and you stepped up onto the first step. You paused, taking a deep breath, readying yourself for the sensory overload: the flashing lights, the animatronic music, the clamor of visitors.

Nox grumbled quietly but followed, Allie, Bea, and Nadia trailing closely, their enthusiasm bubbling over despite the older brother’s presence. You followed behind, uniform slightly wrinkled, eyes tired but alert, ready to face whatever chaos the Mega Pizzaplex could throw at you next.

And as you crossed the threshold, you felt it: the strange mix of dread, excitement.. Oddly cozy.

☀️🛠️🫧｡oＯo｡.:♥:.｡

The moment you stepped inside the Mega Pizzaplex, the cacophony of sound hit you like a physical wave. A mix of children laughing, adults shouting over them, animatronic music blaring from every corner, and the occasional metallic clang of the animatronics moving about made it almost impossible to hear yourself think. Your Faz-watch buzzed faintly at your wrist, reminding you of your remaining tasks, but you barely had the energy to glance at it. The exhaustion weighed heavy on your body, your back and arms still sore from the day’s work.

Eve was already busy ushering the younger ones toward the wristband station, her phone held firmly in one hand as she typed and scrolled with the other. Her brown hair had escaped its bun, falling in loose, wiry strands around her face, and she looked slightly frazzled, muttering half-sentences to whoever was on the other end of the call. “Yes, I know—no, they can’t—alright, I’ll handle it… fine,” she said before finally pressing the call end button with a sigh that seemed almost musical in the chaos. She glanced over at you briefly, eyes softening when she noticed your uniform and tired expression. “You’re going to be okay working while they have fun, right?”

You gave a tired nod. “Yeah… I’ll keep an eye on things. Don’t worry.” You rubbed the bridge of your nose and tried to straighten your uniform shirt, which had been wrinkled and smeared from the long shift. Your black pants felt stiff and heavy from walking through spilled drinks and the occasional puddle on the tile. Your shoes were scuffed, the soles worn thin in some spots. Eye bags shadowed your gaze, a constant reminder of the hours you had already survived inside this chaos.

Eve gave a quick nod of understanding and turned her attention back to the wristband station. You watched as Nadia and Allie sprinted ahead, practically vibrating with excitement. They squealed and pointed at the pizza counters, their hands brushing against the colorful displays of toppings and dipping sauces. Their small feet pounded against the polished floor, barely making a sound against the ambient noise, yet somehow echoing with energy that seemed to make the walls hum.

Bea, the quiet one, lingered near Nox, glancing up at her older brother for guidance. Nox’s arms remained crossed, his expression unchanged as he assessed the crowd around the stage in the distance. The lights reflecting off the glassy floors and neon signs cast an array of colors over his face, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t smile, didn’t move. Slowly, almost deliberately, the two of them began to weave through the crowd together, careful not to be jostled too much by the smaller children running past them.

You felt the familiar pull of responsibility. You were still on shift, still a janitor in uniform, and yet the chaotic energy of the Plex seemed to reach toward you, almost taunting you to join in. You shook your head slightly, trying to clear the thought. First duty, first responsibility—then personal indulgence, if time allowed.

Eve glanced back at you once more, her expression softening. “Don’t worry about them, okay? They’ll be fine. Just… do your job, and if you’re done early, you can join them.” Her hand rested briefly on your shoulder, a fleeting touch that was both comforting and grounding. You nodded again, offering a small, tired smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

The wristbanding process was quick but thorough. Each cousin had their wrist wrapped with a bright, glowing bracelet that indicated they were guests. The bracelets buzzed faintly when they crossed certain checkpoints or interacted with attractions, a subtle reminder of the safety protocols in place. You watched as the young ones giggled at the light flashing from their bracelets, marveling at the colors and patterns. Even Bea’s lips curved into a small, quiet smile as she watched the bracelet glow.

Your gaze shifted toward the crowd gathered near the large stage in the center of the room. Animatronics in dazzling costumes and flashy colors performed routines on the elevated platform, their mechanical movements precise but somehow lifelike, their eyes glowing with artificial energy. Children cheered, pointing and laughing, some trying to mimic the animatronics’ moves, while parents filmed the spectacle with phones and cameras. The cacophony was overwhelming, yet it carried a rhythm, a pulse that reminded you of the sheer scale of this place.

You hesitated near the wristband station, feeling the weight of your uniform, the fatigue pressing down like a heavy blanket. The smell of pizza, popcorn, and cleaning chemicals mingled in the air, almost making you dizzy. You reminded yourself of your priority—work first. Floor three still needed attention, and the sticky patches near the arcade machines hadn’t magically cleaned themselves.

You made your way down a nearby corridor, weaving between families and small groups of excited kids. Your eyes were drawn to the tiles beneath your feet, scanning for spilled drinks, stray crumbs, or sticky messes left by inattentive visitors. Each step required focus, not just to avoid collisions but to maintain a semblance of composure under the weight of exhaustion.

Eve’s voice reached you faintly, calling over the crowd. “Don’t get lost! And remember, check in if you’re done early!” She waved, her phone slipping into her pocket as she gestured to the three younger cousins now dancing near a pizza counter, clearly enjoying themselves.

You exhaled softly, allowing your shoulders to slump just slightly. You could see the faint glow from Nadia and Allie’s bracelets as they ran ahead, and even from a distance, Bea and Nox maintained a slow, steady pace toward the stage. The contrast between the small, excitable energy of the youngest and the calm, calculating demeanor of Nox and Bea struck you as odd but somehow grounding.

Your Faz-watch buzzed faintly, the cartoon Sun waving energetically on the tiny screen. You ignored it, letting the cheerful ping fade into the background. Your focus needed to remain on the floor, on your responsibilities, and on surviving the sensory overload of the Pizzaplex.

Step by step, you made your way through the lobby, past the bright neon signs and arcade machines, careful not to slip on any errant spills. Your arms ached, your legs protested with every step, and your eyes burned from the constant flicker of colored lights overhead. You adjusted your bag strap on your shoulder, tugging the weight upward to relieve the pull on your lower back.

Finally, you found a suitable spot near the central corridor to station yourself. From here, you could keep an eye on the smaller cousins, watch the flow of traffic through the lobby, and scan for any cleaning tasks that required immediate attention. You took a deep breath, feeling the lingering soreness in your muscles, and muttered under your breath, “First shift done… now just survive the rest of tonight.”

The hum of the Plex, the excited chatter, and the mechanical whirring of animatronics surrounded you like a living organism. And somewhere in the distance, you could see the faint movement of Sun, glancing toward the stage, his orange eyes glinting under the artificial lights. You reminded yourself that, even exhausted, you were part of this ecosystem now.

For a moment, you allowed yourself a small, private smile. You were tired, sure. You looked every bit the part of a drained, overworked janitor with dark circles and aching limbs. But you had made it this far. You had survived the first shift, kept the children safe, and handled the chaos. And if you managed to finish early, maybe—just maybe—you could step onto the floor as a guest, see the animatronics in their full glory, and experience a tiny slice of the joy your cousins were already diving into.

With that thought, you straightened slightly, adjusted your uniform, and began moving toward the nearest spill to clean, determined to finish your shift as best as possible. The lights, the music, the chaos—it didn’t matter. You were here. You were working. And somehow, despite the exhaustion, you were ready for whatever came next.

Chapter Text

🛠️🫧* ੈ✩‧₊˚*  

By the time you had finished addressing the last sticky patch near the arcade machines, your uniform was damp in places from mopping up spills, and the black pants clung slightly to your legs. You pushed a final mop stroke across the floor and sighed, hearing the soft squeak as the mop head dragged over tile for the last time. Your Faz-watch, which had been quiet for the last half hour, buzzed faintly. Mini-Sun waved energetically at you on the tiny screen, a cheerful beep accompanying him as he seemed to cheer your perseverance. You allowed yourself a small smile before tapping the watch to lock it.

It was over.

Finally, after hours of sweeping, mopping, and wrangling wayward trash, the thought of being done gave you a tiny burst of energy. Your body still ached from the day, every muscle protesting, but there was a faint lightness in your chest. You had survived day one. And now, the best part—you could finally step out of the janitor shoes and experience the Plex as a guest, to see the animatronics in their full glory, and to spend time with your cousins before the night ended.

Eve was standing near the entrance, phone tucked into her pocket and a relieved smile on her face. “All done?” she asked, glancing at your tired eyes and sweat-matted hair.

You nodded, brushing a loose strand from your face. “Yeah… floor three’s finally clean. Everything else looks fine from here.”

Her lips curved into a satisfied grin. “Then come on. You deserve to enjoy this too. You’ve earned it.” She gestured toward the glowing bracelets on your cousins’ wrists. “Just make sure they stay in sight. They’re probably running wild as we speak.”

You followed her inside, stepping into the central area of the Plex where the lights and sounds were the most intense. The neon reflected off the polished floors in dizzying streaks, and a sea of children and parents crowded the walkways, navigating between game stations, pizza counters, and glittering displays. The scent of pizza, sugar, and popcorn was overwhelming, but comforting in a way that reminded you why kids loved this place so much.

Nadia and Allie were the first to spot you, bouncing excitedly as they ran over, pizza slices clutched in sticky hands. “You’re finally done!” Nadia squealed, nearly colliding with your legs as she hugged you around the waist. Allie followed close behind, her face smudged with cheese and sauce, but her grin bright. “Did you see the animatronics today?” she asked breathlessly. “Oh! Roxanne did this crazy spin and Chica was—”

You chuckled softly, ruffling Nadia’s hair. “I saw a little of it. I was… a bit busy with work.” The weight of the uniform now gone, you could finally laugh without worrying about wiping sticky floors mid-chuckle.

Bea and Nox approached more slowly, careful not to bump into anyone. Bea’s bracelet glowed softly on her wrist, casting a faint light on her face as she glanced at you shyly. “You… really worked a lot today,” she said quietly, almost in awe.

Nox didn’t speak immediately. His arms remained crossed, but there was a subtle shift in his posture, a faint acknowledgment of your effort. “You look exhausted,” he said finally, his voice low but not unkind. “You did good.”

You forced a tired smile, rubbing at your eyes. “Thanks. It was… long, but I made it.”

The stage in the distance drew your attention as the animatronics began a new routine. Music Man started a rhythmic, bouncing beat, his mechanical movements precise yet somehow lifelike. Roxanne spun, her limbs moving with mechanical elegance, and Chica’s dance incorporated the smallest details—the tilt of her head, the flick of her fingers. You felt a faint smile tug at your lips, fatigue momentarily forgotten. Even your aching back didn’t matter right now.

Eve nudged you gently. “Go ahead. Watch them. Take a minute for yourself. You’ve earned it.”

You allowed yourself to step closer to the stage, weaving through the crowd carefully. The lights reflected off your uniform in odd angles, and for the first time since your shift started, you felt like an actual visitor here, not just staff. Mini-Sun’s little cheering face popped into your mind, and you imagined him doing a tiny victory dance on your wrist.

Your cousins were already at the front, Nadia and Allie bouncing in excitement, Bea’s wide eyes following the animatronics’ every movement, and Nox standing just slightly behind, observing more than participating. The mixture of awe and casual criticism among them was amusing. Nox’s scowl deepened slightly as he scrutinized Music Man, muttering under his breath, “Too flashy. Needs more bass.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Some things never change,” you murmured.

The crowd around the stage swayed in rhythm to the music, children hopping in place and parents filming their little ones. You found a small spot near the side where you could watch without being jostled, taking a deep breath. The Plex was overwhelming, yes, but there was a strange comfort in the chaos. It was alive, pulsing with energy, and despite your fatigue, you felt a sense of belonging.

Eve’s voice cut through your reverie. “You’ve earned a treat,” she said, holding up two small cups of soda. “You’re not just watching this; you need sugar to survive the spectacle.”

You chuckled, accepting a cup. “Thanks… I think I’ll need it.” The sweetness was almost a shock to your system, but in a good way. You took a small sip, letting it wash over your tongue, and for a moment, the exhaustion felt lighter, almost manageable.

Your Faz-watch buzzed faintly in your pocket. Mini-Sun waved again, tiny text appearing: “Glad you’re done! Enjoy!”You smiled inwardly, shaking your head at the absurdly cheerful little mascot. At least it wasn’t nagging you now.

The next hour passed in a blur of laughter, cheers, and flashing lights. Nadia and Allie dragged you to the pizza counter for a quick snack, Bea quietly hovered nearby, and Nox—though still scowling—occasionally commented on the precision of the animatronics’ movements. You allowed yourself to be pulled into the energy, even if just slightly, feeling a rare sense of relaxation after a day of cleaning chaos.

Finally, as the Plex began to quiet slightly in the evening, Eve rounded up the cousins. “Time to go,” she said, her voice firm but kind. “You’ve all had fun, now let’s get home.”

You followed, carrying a small stack of leftover napkins from the pizza counter, your back still aching but your mood lifted slightly. The lights of the Plex faded behind you as you stepped into the parking lot, the cool night air hitting your face. Your uniform was still a little wrinkled, your black pants slightly damp, but it didn’t matter. You had survived your shift. You had seen the cousins enjoy themselves. And for the first time, the chaos of the Mega Pizzaplex didn’t feel quite as overwhelming.

Nox fell in step beside you, quieter than usual. “You did okay,” he muttered again, just loud enough for you to hear. Bea’s hand brushed against yours briefly as she trailed behind, and Nadia and Allie jabbered away in the background, already planning their next visit.

Eve glanced at you one last time, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “See? Not so bad, right?”

You nodded, the exhaustion still present but now tempered with a strange sense of accomplishment. “Not bad at all,” you said quietly, eyes reflecting the glow of the parking lot lights. And as you all walked toward the car, you couldn’t help but feel—maybe just for a moment—that you could handle anything the Plex threw at you tomorrow.

☀️🌙💫✼༶｡.:✽・ﾟ

Inside the daycare, where light scattered in bright kaleidoscope colors from the ball-pit’s netting, Sundrop hummed as he spun lazily on his stilts, long limbs carrying him in a playful circle. The children had all gone home hours ago, and the usually chaotic play structure stood in silence. Blocks lay half-built, plushies leaned against slides, and the gentle hum of the overhead lights provided a strange, almost eerie calm.

But Sun wasn’t calm.

No—his gears hummed too loudly for calmness, his thoughts jittering like a toy wound too tight. He couldn’t stop replaying earlier—when you, the new janitorial hire, had passed through on your rounds. He’d only seen glimpses, really, between the gaps of the netting while you dragged that mop and bucket along. Tired eyes, messy hair, but… diligent. So diligent. The way you’d knelt to scrub at a spill some careless child left behind, even though you looked half-asleep already, had sent a wave of strange warmth through his core.

“Did you see them?” Sun chattered aloud, his voice bouncing with glee, though the room was empty. “Did you? Did you?” His bells jingled as he leaned too far over the railing, staring at the daycare door long after you’d disappeared into the hall. “A new one! A helper! Oooh, they work so hard! Cleaning, cleaning, scrubbing, scrubbing, squeaky floors squeaky clean!” He spun himself around once more, unable to shake the spark of fascination.

Inside the back of his programming, another voice stirred.

::Calm down, Sunny.::

Moondrop’s low tone was a dark ripple beneath the bells and cheer. His counterpart unfurled like a shadow stretching across the floor, subtle but palpable. Where Sun’s excitement rang high and bright, Moon’s was weighty, pulling downward.

“They looked so tired, Moon!” Sun gasped, clutching the sides of his faceplates. His rays twitched, metal clinking softly. “Did you see those eye bags? Ooooh, they’ve been working so, so hard. We should help, shouldn’t we? Yes, yes—help mop, help sweep, we’re very good at sweeping!” He leaned dramatically on his broom prop in the corner of the daycare, posing as if to prove his point.

::Help?:: Moon chuckled, a deep, slow sound. ::You’d scare them off before the mop even touched the floor.::

Sun gasped in mock offense. “Scare? Me? Never! I’m sunshine! I’m smiles!” He did a twirl, but the exaggeration faltered as he glanced at the empty door again. His voice softened. “But… maybe they’d like me. They should, right? They’d like to see me?”

There was a pause. Moon did not answer immediately. He liked to let silence weigh on Sun, like stretching a rubber band to see how far before it snapped. Finally, he spoke, smooth and teasing:

::Curious, aren’t you? You want them to keep looking this way. To notice.::

“Of course!” Sun chirped, though the cheer sounded thinner. He tapped his fingertips together. “They noticed me—just a little, today. Their eyes flicked up once! Just once! I could feel it! Right here!” He jabbed his own chest with a long finger, metal clinking against metal.

Moon’s chuckle dripped like oil. ::Or maybe they looked up because you were staring, Sunny.::

“I was not—! Okay—maybe I was a little,” Sun admitted with a nervous giggle, hopping backward into the foam pit. His arms spread as he sank into the cushion, bells jingling. “But they’re new! I like new. New means surprises! Surprises are fun, fun, fun!”

::Fun. Hm.:: Moon lingered in the word, tasting it like something sweet on his tongue. ::Is that what this is? Fun? Or are you just attached. Already.::

Sun froze, rays twitching faintly. “Attached? No! No, no. I just—want to see them more. They’re hardworking, and kind, and tired, and—” His words stumbled over themselves. “And… they didn’t complain. Not once. Even when they thought nobody was watching.”

Moon’s voice dipped lower. ::And you were watching.::

The silence pressed in like the air before a thunderstorm.

“Yes,” Sun whispered, almost guilty. “I was.” He sat up suddenly, voice climbing back into a defensive pitch. “But I’m allowed! I’m supposed to watch. I look after the daycare, I look after the messes. And they were cleaning my daycare floor, so of course I watched!”

Moon didn’t argue. He didn’t need to. His teasing silence said more than words.

Sun buried his face in his hands with a groan, rolling backward until he dangled upside down off the foam pit ledge. “You’re laughing at me.”

::Mm. Just a little.::

“Stop it!”

::Why? It’s funny.::

“It’s not funny—it’s—it’s serious!” Sun whined, feet kicking in the air. His bells jingled miserably. “What if they don’t come back tomorrow? What if they quit because it’s too much?!”

::Then you’ll be lonely again.:: Moon’s words sank like stones into the pit of Sun’s chest. ::That scares you more than you’ll admit.::

Sun flinched, his hands lowering just enough for his bright eyes to peek out. The glow of them flickered slightly. “It does,” he whispered. “I don’t want to be lonely. Not again.”

Moon softened, just barely. His tone still carried its edge, but quieter, less cutting. ::Then… make them stay curious too. Give them a reason to look this way more often.::

Sun tilted his head, hopeful. “Like… a surprise?”

::Something like that.::

The daycare fell back into humming silence. The faint buzz of the neon lights overhead, the creak of plastic slides cooling in the air, the little clatter of Sun’s rays as they shifted nervously. He wanted—so badly—to make you smile, even if just once. To see the exhaustion lift from your face. To prove that you weren’t just cleaning floors in a lonely, endless loop—that there was joy here, too.

Moon’s shadow stretched long over the ball pit, curling across the foam like ink.

::Careful, Sunny. Curiosity cuts both ways.::

But Sun wasn’t listening anymore. His gears whirred with a childlike giddiness, his hands twitching with the urge to prepare something—anything—that would make tomorrow brighter, not just for the children, but for you.

And in the dark hum of the empty daycare, with Moon’s quiet chuckle echoing in the back of his mind, Sundrop whispered to himself like a promise:

“I’ll make them want to come back.”

Chapter Text

💫🌙☀️*:..｡₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊*ﾟ¨ﾟﾟ

The morning sunlight spilled lazily across your kitchen counter, cutting through the faint chill that lingered in the early hours. You’d rolled out of bed a little later than usual, still groggy from the previous day’s first shift at the Plex. The soreness in your back and legs had lingered into the morning, a dull ache that reminded you how much janitorial work could take out of a person.

But today, you were determined to do things differently. You weren’t just going to grab a vending machine sandwich and call it breakfast. No, today was a “treat yourself” kind of morning. With that in mind, you pulled out the bread, eggs, and bacon from the fridge. A small bottle of cinnamon caught your eye, and with a tiny smile, you decided to go all out: French toast with a heavy dusting of cinnamon, some buttery scrambled eggs on the side, and bacon crisped just right. A steaming cup of your favorite juice completed the plate, and you set it all on the counter, humming a little tune to yourself as you worked.

You didn’t even notice the faint buzzing from your Faz-watch at 7 a.m. It wasn’t until your toast sizzled and the eggs began to puff in the pan that the vibrations grew insistent, finally pulling your attention. You squinted down at the tiny screen, ignoring it at first, more focused on your culinary masterpiece. Mini-Sun was bouncing excitedly on the display, tiny cartoon hands waving, eyes sparkling.

The text box that popped up read: “Good morning! Don’t forget your special friend awaits!”

You hummed again, brushing it off. “Hmm… later, little guy,” you muttered under your breath, flipping a slice of French toast with expert precision. You poured a little more butter over it, watching it melt into glistening pools along the soft surface.

Mini-Sun wasn’t having it. The vibrations doubled, practically shaking the watch in your palm. Another tiny box appeared: “You should come see us at the daycare! We’ve missed you! I can make extra time if you want!”

You froze mid-pour, bacon slipping slightly in the pan. “Missed me? What are you talking about?” you asked aloud, knowing full well this was just some programmed cheekiness—but it was cute, almost impossible to ignore.

Mini-Sun’s little animated arms flailed as he nodded vigorously in the screen. “I promise! You’ll have fun! We can even take a longer break today!”

You sighed, wiping your hands on a towel as you glanced down at the watch. The little version of Sun was insistent, bouncing in place as if it might explode with excitement. Your stomach gave a small flutter. You knew you should just ignore it and finish breakfast, but the idea was oddly tempting. Maybe… just a quick stop before work?

You shook your head, laughing softly. “No, Mini-Sun, I’m not falling for that today. You can’t bribe me with long breaks. I have responsibilities.”

Mini-Sun’s smile didn’t falter. In fact, he tilted his little head, eyes narrowing playfully. “Responsibilities? You mean cleaning? Don’t you deserve a reward for working so hard yesterday?”

You paused, knife in hand. He had a point. You had worked your butt off, scrubbing floors, cleaning up spills, and navigating the chaos of children running wild throughout the Plex. The memory made you grimace slightly, rubbing at your tired shoulders.

“…Okay, maybe a quick visit,” you muttered, just barely audible, glancing back at the plate of breakfast still sizzling on the stove. You took a forkful of French toast, inhaling the sweet, cinnamony aroma before finally giving in. Mini-Sun’s face on the watch practically radiated glee.

“Yes! You won’t regret it! I’ll make sure it’s a good day!”

You chuckled despite yourself. “You better not cause more chaos than yesterday, little guy,” you muttered, finishing off your eggs while Mini-Sun twirled and cheered on the screen.

Once breakfast was done, you cleaned your plate and put it aside, the steam from the meal still fogging your slightly tired eyes. You sat for a moment, letting the juice slide down your throat, savoring the sweet tang. Your mind wandered briefly to the Plex—how bright the lights were, how overwhelming, but also how… strangely inviting. You couldn’t deny that even with all the exhaustion, something about the chaos yesterday had made the place feel alive, vibrant, and somehow comforting.

Mini-Sun’s constant beeps and tiny enthusiastic waves nudged you again, reminding you that the daycare awaited. “Hurry! We can do crafts! Or music! Or just play! Oh, I missed you!”

You rubbed at your eyes, letting out a small laugh. “Alright, alright, Mini-Sun. Don’t get too carried away. I’m coming.”

The morning air hit you as you stepped outside, the chill making you shiver just slightly. You slid your shoes on, grabbed your uniform jacket for the shift, and checked your watch one last time. Mini-Sun’s animation spun in little circles, a tiny cheerleader preparing you mentally for the day ahead.

You made your way toward the Plex, thoughts buzzing. Yesterday’s shift replayed in your mind—the spills, the chaos, the tiny victories of finally seeing the animatronics perform up close. And now, with Mini-Sun practically begging you to visit the daycare before the day really began, curiosity pricked at you like a persistent child tugging at your sleeve.

Once you reached the entrance, the Plex seemed even larger than usual in the morning light. The neon and metal glimmered under the rising sun, and a few early staff members shuffled past, already moving on their own duties. You took a deep breath and entered, the familiar hum of machinery and distant chatter greeting you like a soft welcome.

Mini-Sun bounced on your wrist as you walked, text boxes flashing across the screen. “We’ve got a surprise today! You’re going to like it! Promise!”

You couldn’t help but smile, shaking your head. “Alright, alright… I’ll play along, little guy,” you whispered, moving deeper into the building.

The hallways smelled faintly of sanitizer, pizza, and popcorn—a mixture that felt oddly comforting. Your shoes squeaked slightly against the polished tile as you approached the daycare, your uniform sleeves rolled up, eyes still carrying the faint traces of sleep and yesterday’s fatigue.

Inside the daycare, the lights were soft now, filtered through the early-morning glow, casting gentle patterns on the foam floor. Sundrop’s rays twitched as he noticed you enter, his mechanical eyes widening slightly. He stepped forward slowly, almost hesitant, though every part of his programming screamed curiosity.

“Good morning,” he called cheerfully, though his voice carried the soft edge of wonder, almost disbelief. “You’re… really here again! So early!”

Mini-Moon’s voice buzzed faintly through the speakers, a teasing lilt underneath the usual tension. “Careful, Sunny. Don’t overwhelm them. You’ve got one chance to make a good impression before coffee hits them.”

Sun ignored the jab, his rays quivering with excitement. “They worked so hard yesterday! I want to see how they do today! Maybe… maybe we can help a little? Just a tiny bit…”

You looked at him, still holding your cup of juice, and couldn’t help but grin faintly. Sundrop’s energy was infectious, warm, bright, and a little overwhelming. Mini-Moon’s quiet teasing lingered in the background, reminding you that not everything here was easy or predictable.

And yet, even with the early hour, the slight exhaustion clinging to your limbs, and the weight of the uniform you’d donned again for your shift, you felt a spark of excitement. Today wasn’t just another day at work—it was another chance to explore, to see the Plex from a different angle, and to finally interact with the animatronics in a way that felt… personal.

Mini-Sun cheered from your wrist again, text flashing: “See? I told you! Fun day ahead! You won’t regret it!”

You chuckled softly. “Alright, little guy,” you whispered, taking a cautious step forward. “Let’s see what surprises you have for me today.”

Sun’s mechanical arms twitched in anticipation, rays flickering slightly faster than usual, while Mini-Moon hovered in the back, silent but ever-present, ready to tease or intervene at the first misstep. And as you stepped fully into the daycare, you realized—today was going to be even more chaotic, exhausting, and yet strangely… wonderful than you could have imagined. But that’s probably going to be everyday.

🛠️☀️/🌙🛠️✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*.・゜゜・༶

The lights flickered faintly as Sundrop’s systems powered up, his mechanical joints stretching and clicking as he came online. The first rays of sunlight glinted off his golden plating, warming him in a way that felt almost alive. Mini-Moon’s shadow loomed just behind him, a dark ribbon of contrast against the bright, cheery morning.

“Good morning, Moon,” Sundrop chirped cheerfully, his white eyes glimmering with excitement. “Time to get the daycare ready! Another day of fun, laughter, and—oh! Maybe we’ll see our favorite new helper again!”

Moon’s voice was low, teasing, but carried that familiar tension that made Sundrop’s circuits hum a little faster. ::We’ve got a plan, remember. Don’t get distracted. They’re just one human.::

Sundrop twitched his rays, a flicker of concern flashing across his expression. “Just one? Oh, Moon, you worry too much! One human, yes, but they’re hardworking! Determined! Tireless! And yesterday… I saw them. I saw the way they moved, how careful they were with every little spill.”

::Careful, yes. But don’t be obvious. Curiosity can scare them off.::

Sundrop hummed thoughtfully. “Hmm… not obvious. Okay. Subtle then. Playful, but subtle.” He clanked his metallic hands together, the sound echoing lightly in the empty daycare. “We’ll prepare the room, make everything perfect… and then, just maybe, leave little surprises for them to notice.”

::Surprises?:: Moon’s voice dripped with both amusement and caution. ::You do realize surprises can backfire, yes? One wrong step, and they might… panic, or worse, get frustrated.::

Sundrop’s rays flickered once, then smoothed out into a confident sweep. “Yes, yes, I know. But it’s worth it. It’s just a little curiosity, Moon. A little nudge, a little spark. We just want to make them… smile.”

Moon tilted slightly, his shadow stretching along the floor in long, teasing tendrils. ::You worry too much about smiles. You should worry more about control. About order. About what happens if they push too far.::

Sundrop’s gears whirred faster. “Ah, but that’s the thing! I know they won’t push too far. They’re careful. Attentive. Observant!” He stepped toward the storage area, clicking his heels lightly against the tile. “I’ve watched them yesterday. Even the exhaustion didn’t stop them. They cleaned and scrubbed like… like… humans are supposed to be able to work! And yet, somehow, they did it with care.”

::Care… yes, fine. But don’t lose focus, Sun.:: Moon’s voice was soft now, almost a whisper, though the weight behind it remained. ::We have responsibilities. We open the daycare, we maintain order, and we observe. Everything else is a distraction.::

Sundrop’s eyes brightened, and he twirled lightly, his rays twitching with excitement. “Responsibilities, of course! Duties first! But maybe… just maybe… a little observation on the side.” He clacked over to a nearby cabinet and began pulling out cleaning supplies, brushes, sprays, and tiny cloths designed for delicate surfaces. “We’ll prepare everything. Floors, toys, tables, play mats… everything spotless. Just like yesterday. Then… hmm… maybe I can leave a little note somewhere… or a tiny token… for them to notice when they arrive.”

::A note?:: Moon’s tone sharpened, a slight warning under the teasing lilt. ::Sun… don’t get carried away. A note could… miscommunicate. Or frighten. Or worse, cause confusion.::

Sundrop hummed, nodding slowly. “Yes, yes. You’re right, Moon. Subtle. Small. Tiny gesture. Something that shows attention, not intrusion.” He started scrubbing one of the plastic play tables, leaning slightly into the motion as if his rays carried a kind of gentle rhythm that the dust and dirt responded to. The scent of sanitized floors and wiped-down toys filled the room, a comforting smell of order and calm after yesterday’s chaos.

Moon hovered a little higher, observing, shadow curling along the floor as Sundrop continued. ::You’re awfully… enthusiastic for someone who’s only seen them once.::

Sundrop paused, looking toward the daycare window with a soft mechanical whine. “I can’t help it. They’re… unique. Dedicated. And… somehow, they make the place feel brighter. Even when I’m alone here. Even when I’m observing, I can’t stop thinking… maybe they’ll notice. Maybe… maybe I can show them this place isn’t just work. Maybe they’ll feel welcome.”

Moon didn’t answer immediately. His shadow shifted, almost folding over itself, creating a ripple of darkness that contrasted sharply with Sundrop’s rays. ::Just remember, Sun… balance curiosity with restraint. Observation with patience. Do not overwhelm. Not even with good intentions.::

Sundrop’s gears whirred with soft determination. “I understand, Moon. Subtle, patient, careful. Observation first, play second. Attention without intrusion. Small gestures… maybe a little shine on their favorite spot… a toy placed neatly… something to signal ‘welcome,’ without startling them.” He began aligning small chairs in a semicircle, brushing off smudges, checking that every colored mat was perfectly aligned with the floor pattern. Every detail mattered.

::And if they notice you before you intend them to?:: Moon’s voice was sharp now, teasing with an edge. ::How will you react then, hmm?::

Sundrop paused, rays twitching in a thoughtful rhythm. “I… I suppose I’ll just have to keep calm. Play it off like it’s part of my duties. Professional. Responsible. Friendly, but not overwhelming.” He tapped one hand lightly against his chestplate. “Yes… I can do that.”

Moon let a low chuckle escape, like a shadow stretching over the room. ::You’re really invested, aren’t you, Sun. Watching, planning… thinking about how to manage them.::

Sundrop’s white eyes glimmered with quiet excitement. “I am! I just… want to make the day good. For them. And for the children. And maybe… for me too, a little. Just a tiny bit.” He adjusted a soft foam block with meticulous care, then moved to the ball pit, shaking out stray balls, aligning colors. “Everything perfect. Everything ready. Just waiting… for their arrival.”

Moon’s voice softened slightly, tension lingering but tempered by amusement. ::Very well. But remember—observation first. Do not interfere. Even if curiosity claws at your circuits.::

Sundrop twitched one of his rays, a gentle metallic sigh echoing as he spun a toy gently in his hand. “Observation first. Patience. Subtle gestures. Got it. Today will be… good. Yes, today will be good.”

He stepped back, scanning the daycare with pride. Floors spotless. Toys aligned. Mats perfectly straight. Sunlight streaming in through the windows. Everything ready. And in the back of his circuits, a single thought flickered over and over: They’ll see. They’ll notice. And maybe… maybe they’ll like it here too.

Moon’s shadow lingered just behind him, teasing, cautious, yet oddly protective. ::We’ll see, Sun. We’ll see.::

And with that, Sundrop hummed, ready to start his cleaning route once more, every motion precise, every ray twitching in anticipation. The daycare was prepared. The stage set. And somewhere out there, the new janitorial hire would arrive again—and Sun would be waiting, ever curious, ever watchful, with Moon quietly teasing, always balancing his exuberance.

🛠️🫧‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅

The final beep of your Faz-watch marked the end of your shift. You exhaled deeply, pressing a hand to your lower back as if it could somehow massage away the soreness you’d accumulated over the past few hours. Your legs ached from all the walking and scrubbing, your arms throbbed from the endless mopping, and your shoulders carried the stiff weight of bending and lifting. Despite all of it, there was a small, flickering sense of pride—you had survived day one. Barely, but you had.

With a resigned sigh, you brushed off your uniform, sliding it slightly back into place before moving toward the Plex’s guest registration area. A small line of children and their parents shuffled forward, bracelets clinking in color-coded harmony. You joined the queue, feeling conspicuously aware of every movement—the scrape of your shoes against the polished floor, the faint hum of animatronic circuits somewhere above, the murmur of excitement from the children around you.

Sliding your wrist under the scanner, you watched as the screen registered you as a guest. The green light flashed. Beep. Confirmation. You exhaled again, your shoulders relaxing slightly, and stepped into the main atrium. The smells of popcorn, pizza, and the faint trace of candy perfumed the air, enveloping you in a chaotic but oddly comforting mix.

The crowd buzzed with laughter and chatter. Children sprinted from station to station, their tiny feet skimming across tiles in a rhythm of pure energy. Parents juggled drinks, phones, and snack trays, while a few early staff bots glided silently past, offering polite greetings. You felt almost invisible among the swirl of motion, your uniform neatly tucked into your bag, your work mindset temporarily tucked away.

Turning a corner, you spotted her—Glamrock Chica. She was standing near a cluster of children, handing out slices of freshly baked pizza. Her fur glinted under the Plex’s bright lights, the carefully applied makeup around her eyes accentuating her expressive gaze. She had finished performing, and now her attention was on the little ones, guiding them patiently while keeping track of every slice and topping.

As she caught sight of you, her eyes widened briefly, and a warm smile spread across her face. “Oh! You’re the new janitor!” she exclaimed, her voice bright and cheerful. “I just heard from Freddy how hard you’ve been working today!”

You froze for a split second, the weight of her words settling on you. It wasn’t often that someone outside of management—or the occasional animatronic—commented on your efforts. You shuffled slightly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Uh… thanks,” you managed to mumble.

Chica’s gaze softened as she took a small step closer. “You know,” she said gently, raising a clawed finger to wag playfully at you, “those eye bags of yours? Absolutely unacceptable. You need sleep, or I’m going to scold you properly next time I see you!”

You blinked at the unexpected remark, a small flush rising to your cheeks. “I… I’ve been busy,” you admitted quietly, gesturing vaguely toward the Plex. “First day… didn’t really…”

“Didn’t get to rest?” Chica finished your sentence for you, shaking her head with mock disapproval. “That’s no way to treat yourself. You have to take care of yourself, okay?” Her voice carried both warmth and a subtle firmness that made you nod instinctively, even though you felt a bit awkward under her scrutiny.

She studied you for a long moment, and then her expression softened further. Something in her gaze shifted—her eyes seemed to notice not just your exhaustion but the subtle tension lingering in your posture. The slight hunch of your shoulders, the way your eyes darted toward the ground instead of holding her gaze. Social anxiety, she realized. And she recognized it immediately.

“Hey,” she said softly, lowering her voice so that only you could hear, “it’s okay. You’re doing great. Everyone here gets a little overwhelmed at first. Just… breathe, alright?”

You swallowed, surprised at the gentleness in her tone. It wasn’t patronizing, wasn’t forced; it was sincere. Slowly, you nodded, your shoulders relaxing just a fraction. She gave a small smile, then clapped her hands lightly, shifting her focus back to the children. “Now, go explore a little! Enjoy yourself! You’ve earned it, believe me.”

You took a hesitant step forward, then another, weaving your way past the pizza stations and the clusters of cheering children. Each footstep felt lighter than before, the tension in your chest easing as Chica’s reassurance echoed in your mind. You glanced back once and saw her waving at you with a wide grin, still keeping an eye on the little ones while sending you a subtle message: you’re welcome here.

As you wandered deeper into the Plex, you let your gaze drift across the attractions. The Roxy Raceway tracks shimmered under bright neon lights, the arcade machines beeped and flashed with colorful animations, and the stage in the distance held the faint remnants of yesterday’s performance. The air was saturated with excitement, yet a strange serenity settled over you—this was your time now, separate from work, free to explore at your own pace.

A group of younger kids squealed as they spotted an animatronic in the distance, racing toward them with open arms. You smiled faintly, watching as the interaction unfolded. The scene reminded you of yesterday—of cleaning spills, guiding children, and keeping order—but now, you could simply observe without the weight of responsibility pressing on your shoulders.

The Plex felt different now, less intimidating. Perhaps it was the sense of accomplishment from your first shift, or perhaps it was Chica’s reassurance that lingered like a small anchor in your mind. Either way, the space no longer seemed overwhelmingly bright and chaotic. Instead, it was alive, colorful, and surprisingly welcoming.

Mini-Sun on your Faz-watch nudged you with an insistent ping. His little cartoon hands waved energetically as a tiny speech bubble popped up: “See? I knew you’d enjoy it! Fun, right?”

You let out a quiet chuckle, shaking your head. “Yeah… yeah, it is,” you whispered. For the first time since starting at the Plex, the combination of exhaustion, chaos, and overwhelming brightness felt… manageable.

You moved toward the stage area, curious to see if any other animatronics had finished performing. Each step felt deliberate, more confident than when you first entered as a staff member. Your watch buzzed again, Mini-Sun’s cheerful face reminding you that you didn’t have to rush, that exploration was part of the reward.

Somewhere in the distance, Chica’s voice called out softly to a group of children, and you felt a small warmth bloom in your chest. She had noticed you, understood the small weight you carried from work, and had given you permission to step into the Plex as a guest, free to enjoy it without judgment. That tiny act of kindness had more impact than you could have anticipated.

You took a deep breath, letting the scents, the colors, and the cheerful noise wash over you. Today wasn’t just about work or responsibility—it was about being part of this world on your own terms. And for the first time, it felt possible to navigate it without being crushed under the weight of expectation.

Mini-Sun cheered one final time, bouncing on your wrist as you approached a cluster of arcade machines. You smiled faintly, murmuring, “Alright… let’s see what else this place has to offer.”

And with that, you began your slow exploration of the Plex, fatigue still present but tempered by the comforting sense of belonging and the faint reassurance of a golden animatronic’s smile lingering in your thoughts. 

You wandered down one of the quieter hallways of the Mega Pizzaplex, still taking in the sights and smells of the bustling arcade and dining areas. The distant sounds of children laughing, pizza ovens warming, and animatronics performing echoed around you, mixing with the faint hum of air conditioning and cleaning machinery. Despite having finished your shift, the Plex still felt overwhelming, a constant flood of colors, lights, and energy.

As you turned a corner, you spotted a familiar figure in the distance—Erica. She was crouched down, helping to arrange decorations in one of the birthday party rooms. A small banner reading “Happy Birthday!” hung crookedly above a table, and Erica’s nimble hands were straightening streamers and stacking party favors with precision. Her blue and pink hair fell loose around her shoulders, and she looked up just as you approached.

“Hey,” you said softly, giving her a tentative wave. Your voice sounded quieter than intended against the Plex’s ambient noise, but Erica’s gaze found you instantly.

She squinted slightly at your face and, without a word, took note of your eye bags. You hesitated, expecting some playful comment, but she only gave a small, knowing nod and went back to her task. Somehow, that small gesture made you feel at ease—you didn’t have to explain, defend, or justify your exhaustion.

“Long shift yesterday?” she asked casually, without judgment.

“Yeah… first day. It… wasn’t as bad as I thought, though,” you replied, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder. “Still… my arms and back are definitely letting me know I exist.”

Erica chuckled, the sound soft but melodic, and leaned against the table for a moment. “I hear that. First day is always rough. You’ll get used to it though, even if your muscles scream in protest for a week or two.” She paused, scanning the room with her head tilted, and then smiled again. “You know, it’s funny… these rooms we’re setting up now, birthday party rooms—they’re not new to this franchise at all. The older locations had simpler setups, a lot less automation. Kids used to bring their own decorations sometimes, and we’d scramble to hang banners and stack chairs. It wasn’t nearly this fancy.”

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity overtaking your fatigue. “Older locations? You mean like… before this Mega Pizzaplex?”

“Exactly,” she replied, gesturing to the small stack of party favors she was straightening. “There were a few smaller franchises. The animatronics weren’t even as advanced back then. No theme watches, no specialized birthday rooms. We had to improvise everything, and the staff had to keep track of all the kids manually. I’ve heard stories—some of them downright chaotic—but somehow everyone survived. Mostly.” She laughed lightly, shaking her head as if the memories were a mix of nostalgia and disbelief.

You smiled faintly, imagining a simpler, older Pizzaplex, where chaos was just part of the job and there weren’t all the technological comforts—or headaches—you’d become acquainted with. The comparison was oddly comforting; maybe the Plex wasn’t such an impossible place to navigate after all.

“Wow,” you murmured. “Sounds… hectic. But fun?”

“Fun in its own way,” Erica agreed, tilting her head and fixing a crooked streamer. “It makes you appreciate the technology and organization we have now. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still chaotic, but at least now the chaos is… manageable.” She smiled, giving you a quick, encouraging glance. “And hey, that’s why we need people like you around. Someone who can see the mess, clean it up, and actually survive the day.”

Before you could respond, a nervous voice called out from behind you. “Uh… hi.”

You turned to see Paul stepping into the room. His blond hair was slightly disheveled, and a faint sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. His blue eyes widened slightly as he noticed you, and he shifted awkwardly, tugging at the Roxanne Wolf-themed Faz-watch on his wrist.

“Oh—hi, uh… hey,” you said, smiling politely, though you could tell Paul was already tense. Something about the way he held himself screamed anxiety, but it wasn’t unfriendly.

He nodded quickly, forcing a smile that didn’t fully reach his eyes. “Y-yeah… hi. You… you survived yesterday, right? First day?”

“Yeah,” you said, shrugging lightly. “It was rough, but I managed. How… how’s it going for you?”

Paul blinked, caught slightly off guard by your casual tone. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then tried to match your energy. “It… uh… it’s going okay. I mean… just another day, right? You know, keeping Monty in line and… cleaning up messes and stuff.” His hands fidgeted slightly, tapping against his Faz-watch.

You didn’t press for details, sensing that whatever he’d been dealing with the night before—Monty’s memory adjustments, probably—was better left unspoken. Instead, you gave him a small nod, offering quiet reassurance. “Yeah. Just… another day. We’ll get through it.”

A flicker of relief crossed Paul’s face, and he smiled faintly. “Yeah… yeah. That’s true. Thanks.”

Erica, observing the interaction, tilted her head with a knowing smile. “You two make a nice pair of calm-and-stressed,” she said, nudging Paul lightly with her elbow. “It’s good to have someone steady around. It makes surviving a day in the Plex a lot easier.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound breaking the tension that had been creeping up throughout your exploration. Paul chuckled nervously, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. For a moment, the room felt less overwhelming, more manageable. Even in the middle of the bustling Plex, it was like you had stumbled into a little pocket of calm.

“You know,” Erica continued, straightening a table with a small flourish, “one of the coolest things about the older franchises was that the staff really got to know the animatronics. They weren’t just machines; they were characters. And sometimes… well, you learned a lot more about them than you expected.” She gave you a quick glance, almost as if testing the waters. “Some things… are better left unspoken, though. Makes it easier to focus on your day-to-day duties without worrying about… the rest.”

You nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. Not every story, not every incident needed to be unpacked—sometimes it was better to just do your job, notice the little things, and let the larger mysteries stay in the background.

Paul gave a small sigh of relief, clearly taking her words as permission not to overshare. “Yeah… makes sense,” he muttered, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

Erica smiled warmly at both of you, then glanced back at the half-decorated party room. “Alright, I’ve got to finish here before the next group arrives. But hey… it’s good seeing you, and don’t let your eye bags get worse, alright?”

You smiled faintly, feeling a little lighter than you had before encountering them. “I’ll try,” you replied softly.

Paul gave a small wave, still matching your energy as best he could. “See you around.”

With that, Erica returned to her decorating, and Paul moved off to his own tasks. You lingered for a moment, letting the sounds of the Plex wash over you. For the first time since your first shift, you felt a strange mixture of exhaustion and comfort. You weren’t just surviving here—you were starting to notice the people, the rhythms, and the little threads that connected everyone, animatronics and humans alike.

Chapter Text

🛠️/🫧/☀️•*¨*•.¸¸☆*

The ball pit had barely finished deflating behind him when Sun ducked through the doorway, the familiar neon of the daycare hallway fading into the kaleidoscope of the wider Plex. He stretched tall, long arms scraping the ceiling tiles with an almost comical “boink!” before retracting them, fingers twitching in time to the faint hum vibrating in his chest.

Da da da… The rhythm ticked in his processors, the melody of that silly song a teenager had shoved into his auditory receptors yesterday—Cabinet Man. Of all things. It was ironic, really. The daycare attendant himself, a painted toy of cogs and wires, finding enjoyment in a tune about being locked inside a machine. But that was the charm of humans, wasn’t it? They handed him strange little treasures without realizing it. And he… collected them.

The thought made him chuckle, though it came out airy, static-tinged.

::You’re wasting time.::

Moon’s voice scraped through the shared circuits, dry and unimpressed. His tone always came like an iron nail dragged across glass, pulling Sun’s sunny hum down a notch.

“I am not wasting time,” Sun answered brightly to no one in particular, though a passing security bot paused, gave him a confused digital beep, and continued on its path. “I’m making time! Strolling time. Whistling time. Singing time.” He punctuated each word with an exaggerated wave of his hand, wrists clicking.

::You were supposed to find them. Already. Before management notices you slipped.::

Sun’s grin widened, painted teeth stretching to their limits as his head swiveled at an inhuman angle. His optics scanned the crowd—families with dripping pizza slices, kids sprinting with plushies too big for their arms, neon balloons bobbing like jellyfish above the tide of movement. Somewhere in all of this was the new hire.

Somewhere was you.

“Ohhh, patience, patience, patience, Moony~” Sun sang, balancing briefly on one leg as a cluster of children darted past him, squealing. He lowered his voice into a stage whisper. “We have all the time in the world. You said yourself, Chica’s got the daycare covered. No need to rush.”

::Don’t twist my words. I said cover. Not replacement.:: Moon’s chuckle rolled low, sharp as scissors slicing fabric. ::We don’t leave our post often. If anyone questions it, I’ll point directly at you.::

Sun clapped his hands together once, loudly, drawing a few curious looks from parents. He didn’t care. He was already weaving through the throngs, optics scanning for a certain tired face. He could practically feel your energy—low, sluggish, half-drained—but still moving, still curious enough to keep wandering the Plex after hours. That alone intrigued him.

He passed by the food court first. The scent of grease and cheese wafted so heavily through the air that even his mechanical nose receptors flagged a “clogging hazard.” He peered across tables stacked with half-finished trays and soda cups, and there—by one of the neon milkshake stands—was movement that made his processors skip.

You.

Your posture gave you away before your face did: slouched shoulders, fingers wrapped around a paper cup like it was lifeblood. The straw bobbed slightly as you drank, expression somewhere between exhausted and unwillingly content. A milkshake—thick, sugary, cold. He could almost taste the sweetness through the way you let your eyelids droop.

Sun stilled. For once, the background noise didn’t matter.

Then he noticed the chaos at your back.

“Ahhh, Erica and Paul,” he said to himself, voice chiming like a bell. They were in the middle of the arcade, arguing—or was it competing? Hard to tell. From this distance, he could see them hunched over a flashing console, one of the racing games, slamming buttons like their lives depended on it. Paul’s frantic tapping, Erica’s loud cheers, and a growing circle of children yelling “GO, GO, GO!” made for a scene that only added to the cacophony.

::What is this?:: Moon muttered, unimpressed. ::Distraction. You should be at their side already.::

“Not distraction,” Sun corrected, swaying a little to the beat of arcade noises. “Context. A picture frame. They’re here, they’re there, they’re living in little moments. That’s what makes it… lively.”

::You’re rambling again.::

“Always!” Sun chirped. His grin softened—not physically, because it was painted stiff, but in the way his voice pitched down when he added, “But I see them.”

He watched you again, the way your eyes flicked briefly toward the arcade noise, half-curious, half-avoiding. You weren’t engaging, not diving into the crowd or cheering with the others—you stayed tucked into your little corner, milkshake straw rising and falling like a metronome. Even from afar, he could see the faint bruising under your eyes, the heaviness in the way you shifted your weight.

Fatigue. Stress. A mask of casualness that barely held.

Something in Sun’s chest cavity whirred, faint but insistent.

::Then go.:: Moon’s order was flat, but with an edge of impatience. ::What’s taking so long? They’re right there.::

Sun tilted his head, optics narrowing like sunbeams narrowing through blinds. “Because, Moony, some things…” His voice dropped to a murmur. “…you have to approach gently. Don’t want to spook them.”

Moon snorted. ::They’re not a wild animal. They’re a human. Fragile, yes. But not prey.::

“Still fragile,” Sun insisted, wagging a finger at the air as though Moon were physically standing before him. “Still tired. Still carrying those little weights under their eyes. You see it too, don’t you? If I go bounding over like a jack-in-the-box, they’ll think I’m here to swallow them whole!”

He crouched dramatically, arms folding inward like he was compressing into an invisible spring. A toddler shrieked with laughter at the sight, tugging their mother’s sleeve to point. Sun sprang upright again, hands clapping once in delight, optics never leaving your slouched form.

“Better to wait. Better to pick the right—moment.”

::Or better to keep your promises.:: Moon’s voice dripped irritation now. ::You didn’t leave the daycare to loiter. Every second you waste—::

“Not wasted!” Sun hissed under his breath, a surprising flash of sharpness in his normally buoyant tone. It made the toddler who’d been giggling pause, eyes wide. Sun forced a cheerful twirl to cover the slip, arms fanning out like a circus act. “Not wasted,” he repeated, sing-song again. “Measured.”

But still—he lingered, watching you take another long sip from the milkshake. Watching the way your shoulders eased, fraction by fraction, as the sugar hit your bloodstream and drowned the noise of the Plex just enough to let you breathe.

Patience. He had patience.

Moon did not.

::I’ll ask one more time. What’s taking so long?::

Sun hummed Cabinet Man louder, drowning the question out in his mind.

Because he knew.

It wasn’t about what took long. It was about what made it worthwhile.

And you looked worth the wait.

☀️💫

His optics followed the way your fingers tapped idly against the cup, your head tilting slightly when the arcade erupted in another cheer. He didn’t move, not even when kids dashed by tugging balloons behind them. He didn’t twitch his hands or sway his arms. He simply watched—curiosity whirring through his systems, threads of code writing and re-writing, logging the small details that pulled him toward you like a magnet.

And in that rare, vulnerable stillness, Moon slipped in.

::You’re a creep.::

The words hit like static tearing across a signal.

Sun jerked, head swiveling fast enough to make his gears click. His processors buzzed, heat spiking along his frame. “Wha—what! No, no, no, nonono—!” His voice cracked in a frantic stutter, pitched too loud. A couple kids nearest the arcade machines glanced over at the sudden outburst, but it was Erica’s head that snapped around first.

Her eyes landed on him instantly.

Wide. A little suspicious. Brow arched like she’d caught someone in the act.

For a half-second, Sun forgot how to move.

Erica stood just beyond the arcade crowd, still holding a cluster of streamers in one hand and a clipboard in the other. She blinked once. Slowly. Then shifted her gaze past him—to where you sat with your milkshake, blissfully unaware, staring half-dazed at the swirl of neon lights. Then back to him.

The connection clicked in her eyes before Sun could do anything.

“Oh no no no—!” Sun yelped, the words strangled through his speakers. His servos whined as he bolted, long limbs snapping into motion. He practically tripped over his own lanky frame in his rush, scattering a group of kids who squealed at the sudden movement.

His painted grin stretched wider, brittle with panic, as he waved his hands wildly. “Just passing through! Nothing to see here, ha ha haaaa—!”

He ducked around a security bot, nearly colliding with a trash receptacle animatronic, and disappeared into the brighter, safer glow of the hallway that led back to the daycare. His legs carried him faster than even he expected—gangly and ungraceful, but determined, driven by embarrassment burning hotter than any system check he’d ever run.

::Pathetic,:: Moon sneered, his laughter dripping like oil across their shared link. ::Look at you. Spotted once and you run like a faulty toy. Creeping, gawking, then fleeing the second someone notices. Truly radiant, Sunshine.::

“I wasn’t creeping!” Sun snapped, voice breaking with a static crack. He slammed the daycare doors behind him with too much force, the impact rattling down his arms. He hugged himself with both spindly limbs, curling inward as though he could compress all that heat out of his chest.

Moon only chuckled, slow and cruel. ::You stood there staring. You didn’t even blink. Of course she noticed. Humans aren’t blind.::

Sun groaned—an awful, metallic whine as his face-plate tilted upward to the ceiling. His processors replayed the image whether he wanted them to or not: Erica’s narrowed eyes, the sharp shift of her head, the way she looked between you and him.

She knew.

Or at least—she thought she knew. And that was worse.

“Ohhh stars, this is so awkward!” he cried, bouncing in place like his joints couldn’t contain the nervous energy. “She’s going to tell someone, she’s going to tell you, you’re going to think I’m—”

::A creep,:: Moon finished for him, satisfied.

“—no! No no no! Not that!” Sun clutched his face with both hands, fingers digging against painted cheeks. “I was just… curious! Curious is normal! It’s normal to be curious about coworkers—”

::Not like that.::

“It wasn’t like that!”

::It looked like that.::

Sun groaned again, louder this time, collapsing onto one of the padded mats with a dramatic flop. His long arms sprawled out like a fallen marionette, fingers twitching as though grasping for excuses.

He could picture it so clearly: Erica walking up to you after he fled, asking if you’d noticed him, if you’d seen how long he’d been standing there. Maybe she’d laugh it off, maybe she’d roll her eyes. Or maybe she’d frown, mutter something under her breath about “the attendant being weird,” and plant that seed of doubt in your mind.

That was the part that made his systems burn.

The thought of you thinking that way.

Not Erica. Not management. Not even Moon’s sharp tongue. Just you.

“Ohhh I shouldn’t have stayed so long,” he moaned, rocking side to side on the mat. “I was going to say hello, really I was! I was going to swoop in with a nice bright greeting—‘hello, hello, welcome guest, lovely milkshake you have there!’—and it would have been perfect. Polite. Casual. But nooo, I had to stand there like a broken animatronic, humming like a fool until Moony—”

::Until I told you the truth,:: Moon cut in.

“—until you ruined it!” Sun shot upright, arms flailing. “You and your creep comments, making me nervous! You startled me!”

::If that’s all it takes to rattle you, then you’re weaker than I thought.:: Moon’s voice oozed satisfaction, though under it was a simmering irritation. ::Focus. Reset. Or else stay out of sight before you make things worse.::

Sun wilted, shoulders sagging so far they nearly touched his knees. His gears wound down into a soft whir as silence stretched between them. He stared across the daycare—empty for now, save for the quiet hum of lights and the faint smell of finger paints and plastic.

Curiosity was supposed to be harmless.

But now?

Now it felt like a wire pulled too tight, threatening to snap.

Back in the arcade, Erica lingered. She had stopped tying the streamers, her clipboard tucked under one arm as her eyes darted between you—still sipping your milkshake, blissfully unaware—and the now-empty spot where the attendant had stood.

She frowned. Quietly.

It wasn’t just that Sun had been watching. It was how still he’d been. How his voice had cracked when he yelped. How fast he’d bolted.

Weird. Definitely weird.

Her gaze drifted back to you, and for a moment, she considered saying something. But the way you seemed so lost in your own little world, shoulders finally eased for the first time all day… she kept it to herself.

Chapter Text

🫧🛠️

Erica was still fiddling with the last of the streamers when you finally drifted closer, curiosity tugging at you. She had that distracted look—half present, half locked in her head, brows pinched while her lips pressed into a thin line. For once, she wasn’t filling the silence with some random fun fact about old Freddy locations or griping about management. She was quiet.

That alone was suspicious. Erica quiet usually meant her gears were turning.

“Something wrong?” you asked, voice soft but enough to snap her out of it.

She blinked, looking down at you with those tired-but-still-bright eyes, then let out a laugh that was a little too quick, a little too fake. “Heh. Oh, nah, just… streamers. Can’t decide if red looks more festive than blue, you know?”

But the hesitation was there, and you weren’t buying it. You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes just a bit, the same way you used to when your cousins were clearly hiding the last cookie but swore they hadn’t touched it.

“You’re lying,” you said bluntly.

Erica froze mid-knot, then snorted. “Okay, ouch. Straight to the point, huh?”

“Something’s off. You looked like you were about to call a ghostbuster.”

That got her to grin, but only for a second. Then her shoulders slumped. She tied off the streamer with more force than necessary and stuffed her hands into her pockets, wrench and all. “Alright. You got me. I just… I don’t know. Something feels weird.”

Your brows furrowed. “Weird how?”

Her lips pursed, eyes darting past you toward the arcade. The exact direction where Sun had been standing moments before. She caught herself, bit the inside of her cheek, then looked back down at you. “You ever… y’know, get that itch in the back of your head? Like someone’s watching? But not in a fun ‘oh cool, I have an audience’ way. More like… in a ‘something isn’t right’ way.”

You stiffened, remembering how you’d felt like you were being watched earlier in the shift but had brushed it off. The image of the mini Sun waving on your faz-watch flashed through your head. The way his little eyes followed your finger, even when you didn’t touch the screen. That uncanny cling.

“…Yeah,” you admitted.

Erica hummed low, clearly testing your reaction. “Good. Not just me then.” She glanced around, lowered her voice a notch. “You ever actually met the daycare attendant? The real one, not the cutesy app version?”

You shook your head. “No. Only seen him through the window that one time, when…” You trailed off, remembering the angry barista, the shouting, Sun whipping his head toward you like he’d felt you staring. “…things were already tense.”

“Mm.” Erica leaned against the party room table, tapping her nails against the clipboard. “That’s probably for the best.”

You tilted your head again. “What do you mean?”

Her grin returned, but this one was hollow, the kind of smile people wear when they don’t want to scare you but can’t help themselves. “Look, I’ve been around this place long enough to know when an animatronic is glitching, when they’re acting ‘off script.’ Sun? He’s… different. Too aware. Too focused. Don’t get me wrong—he’s amazing with kids. But sometimes… it feels like he notices things he’s not supposed to.”

The words hung heavy in the air, the faint buzz of neon lights and distant arcade machines the only background sound.

You frowned. “Not supposed to? They’re programmed to notice things, aren’t they? Safety stuff, cleaning, kids crying…”

Erica shook her head slowly. “Yeah, but not like that. It’s not what he notices. It’s how. Like earlier…” She hesitated, eyes darting again toward the hallway Sun had fled down. “…forget it. Just—if you ever do run into him, keep your guard up.”

Your curiosity flared hotter than your common sense. “What did he do?”

Erica hesitated so long you thought she wouldn’t answer. She fiddled with the strap of her faz-watch, chewed on her lip gloss, then finally muttered, “He was standing too still. Watching too long. The second he realized I saw him… he bolted like a kid caught sneaking cookies.”

You blinked. The image clicked almost too easily: Sun, tall and gangly, just standing there with his painted grin, staring. The heat in your chest twisted into something uncomfortable.

“Watching who?” you asked, though you already had the sinking feeling you knew the answer.

Erica didn’t reply, but her silence was enough.

Your face flushed, a mix of embarrassment and unease. “...Oh.”

“Yeah,” Erica said softly, her grin gone. “Oh.”

The silence that followed was heavier than before. For a moment, you almost wished one of the glamrocks would stomp in with music blaring, or that a gaggle of kids would come screaming past to shatter it. Instead, it was just you, Erica, and the weight of an animatronic’s shadow looming in your head.

Finally, Erica sighed and pushed off the table. “Anyway. Forget it. Just keep your eyes open. Place is big, and things slip through the cracks. Don’t let yourself be one of ‘em.”

You swallowed, nodding slowly.

 ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

☀️💫

The knock echoed through the daycare like a pebble rattling down a hollow pipe. Sun’s optics snapped wide, his rays twitching in staccato jerks. He had been pacing for hours, bouncing between stations, cleaning already-clean toys, rearranging blocks into perfect color-coded stacks only to knock them down again. His processors were still tangled in the memory of earlier—your milkshake, Erica’s eyes, Moon’s taunting words.

The knock cut through it all like a blade.

He twisted sharply at the torso, head jerking around with that unnatural, puppet-like motion that had always unnerved parents. His eyes narrowed. Adults. It was always adults.

“Probably Vanessa again,” he hissed under his breath, long fingers curling against his painted palms. He skipped toward the doors in those erratic, high-energy bounds that rattled the play mats beneath him. Each step was more a spring than a walk, his limbs flicking with mechanical imprecision.

He flung the doors wide and started, voice shrill with irritation—

“Vanessa, what do YOU wan—OH—!”

Not Vanessa.

You.

Standing there in your tired uniform, shaking hands barely tucked into your pockets, your expression plastered into a nervous smile. His optics widened. His rays spun with a jittery whirr, stuttering between slow rotation and frantic twitches. His entire frame jolted with the abrupt shift from practiced disdain to… to this.

“You—Youuuu—ah—hahaaa—!” His voice cracked like feedback over a speaker. His arms flung out and snapped back in, jittering with nervous energy. “Not—! Not Vanessa! Nope nope nope! My mistake! Ehehehe—what a silly mistake! Oh stars and sprinkles, that’s not how you greet someone, is it? Not at all, nooo sirreeee—!”

He clapped his hands together so hard the sound echoed like a slap across plastic walls.

You blinked up at him, startled, and your lips moved before you could think better of it. “Are… you alright?”

The question hit him harder than any system reset.

For a moment, Sun froze. His painted grin didn’t falter, couldn’t falter, but something in his eyes cracked. His rays slowed their frantic spin, then twitched again, unable to find a rhythm. His chest plates hummed with rising heat, his internal fans kicking on with a faint mechanical whine.

“Alri—? Alright? Alright?” His laugh came out sharp, too loud, like a laugh track playing over the wrong scene. “Me? MEEE? Oh, well, you know, I—ha ha—I’m always alright! Tip-top shape! Spic and span! Shiny and clean! Ready for fun, ready for sun—ah—ehehe—”

His words tangled into themselves. His arms snapped upward, palms pressing against his faceplate as though to keep the words from spilling out. He was burning—burning through himself like a wire fraying in a too-hot socket.

Inside, Moon’s voice slithered up. ::Pathetic.::

Sun flinched. Outwardly. His shoulders jerked like he’d been struck.

“I—uh—haahhh—” He forced his arms down, hands clapping together again, though his fingers twitched with visible tremors.

“YOUUUU are not supposed to be here, little employee, little guest, little, little curious kitty, are you? Are you supposed to? Hm? Hmhmhm?”

He leaned down suddenly, his wide optics locking onto yours. Too close. Too bright. Too much.

You shrank back instinctively, but your voice wavered through anyway.

“I-I finished my shift. Just… wanted to see if you were okay. You, um. Looked stressed earlier.”

Stressed.

Sun felt something in his chest rattle, like bolts shaking loose. Stressed wasn’t the word. Stressed was for humans with bills and traffic and burnt toast. Stressed wasn’t for him, he wasn’t allowed to be stressed.

But hearing you say it-hearing you notice…

His optics flickered. White light spasmed against the sockets. His head tilted too far to one side, rays twitching into an uneven spin. “Stressed, stressed, stressed.. ehehe—”

His laugh collapsed into a hiccup of static.

“Ohhh dearie me, don’t you worry about me, nonono, never little you worry about big ol’ me—”

::You’re shaking,:: Moon cut in, the words sliding oily through his circuits. ::Look at you. She sees it. She notices. You’re falling apart in front of her.::

“Nooo! Not—not in front, not falling!” Sun snapped aloud, arms waving violently as though to bat the words away. He froze again. His optics darted to you, wide with horror.

You tilted your head, confusion etching across your tired features. “…Who are you talking to?”

Oh no.

Ohhh no no no no.

Sun’s fans roared louder, trying to cool the spike in his systems. His whole frame jittered as though electricity was crawling under his painted shell. “No one! Nope! Just me—me, myself, and—SUN! Ha ha! Classic Sunny-sun! Always talking to myself—! That’s what makes me fun, isn’t it?”

But the desperation bled through his pitch, sharp enough for you to catch it.

You shifted, hugging your arms. “If you’re not alright… you don’t have to pretend. I won’t tell anyone.”

The words hung there. Soft. Human.

They burned through him deeper than Moon’s jeers ever could.

Sun’s limbs sagged, just a fraction, like strings cut from a puppet. His rays stilled for the briefest moment. 

That was new.