"Good Morning America, This is Fox News 2023. David Cipralda here with Dr. Stenfriel, creator of the new generation animatronic. Dr. Stenfriel, is it true you and your colleagues in Bavaria, Germany have discovered how to create animatronics with their own conscience?" the reporter asked as he held the microphone next to a short, middle aged man in a white lab coat. The man, supposedly Stenfriel, placed himself next to the reporter. He wore a simple pair of black-rimmed glasses that rested on the bridge of his nose, and behind the pair of spectacles a pair of brown, aging eyes.

"It is true that ve have created a 'living animatronic,'" Stenfriel said with a heavy German accent. "Vis ze combination of fine tuned hardvare unt precisely programmed softvare, ve can almost create life itself. Of course, ze animatronic vill still need a veekly recharge and check up, but zey have now become so advanced zat it takes a keen eye to tell ze difference between zem and a human."

"Amazing! How did you figure it out?" the reporter asked.

"Humanity had already learned ze anatomy unt physiology of ze human body. Ve had ze key to life, ve just needed to put it together. Ze body functions because of organs zat create systems in ze body, such as ze circulatory and nervous system. Ve simply used ze blueprints of zose organ systems unt created our own artificial organ systems to use in ze animatronic. Some systems, however, set us back due to zeir immense complexity. Vone of zose systems vas ze nervous system. Ze brain and netvork of neurons zat make up ze system are so complex zat…"

The five year old TV recording continued to play in the apartment of Martin Beckham, who lay asleep on the couch. Still wearing a black t-shirt and ripped jeans, an arm draped over the side of the couch, it was obvious that Martin had been through a long night. The light of the TV illuminated the small two room apartment. Because of a few unpaid network fees, old recordings were all the TV played.

It was a few seconds from 11:00, and the outside world was wide awake. Martin, however, was still dead asleep. The alarm clock sitting on his bedside table struck 11:00, setting off a blaring wake up call. Martin stirred in his sleep.


_oOo_

Change of POV

The system alarms blared through my ears.

"The reactor's collapsing!" Trace shouted. "Come on, we need to get out of here!"

Par shook his head. "But we're five floors bel-"

"Doesn't matter!" Trace barked. "I'm not dying today!" I sprinted with the rest of SScARO 5 through the command center. Mack led the sprint with a M1028 tactical shotgun in hand, Snar close behind. Snar was our Assault Escort, and Mack our CQB Escort.

"Juggy, keep up!" Mack shouted.

"You try toting a 35 pound turret!" I snapped, sprinting through the metal hallways. Beside me, our final member, the Specialist, slapped me on the back.

"Come on, Juggy," he said. "Shut up and conserve your energy!"

Crash!

"AAH-" Crrack!

"MACK!"

"Shit! Move right! Move right!" Par barked. I heard an unsettling rumble from the building, groaning to fall in.

"The ceiling's not gonna hold!" I yelled. "We need to-"

Boom!

The ceiling collapsed on top of us, crushing Trace and Snar. Par ran through another doorway, only to get sliced in half by a collapsing security checkpoint. I watched in horror as both of his bloody halves fell to the floor.

"Juggy!" the Specialist screamed. "Through here-"

Crrunch

"DAD!"

I woke up screaming. Sweat dripped down my forehead as my throat closed in on itself. I coughed harshly and nearly fell onto the floor. It was the same damn dream. Still caught in fright, the alarm clock screamed at me, so I slammed my hand on top of it. The room went silent once again, all except for the sound of my hyperventilation.

"B-brea… breathe… breathe…"

I fell off the bed and knelt on the floor, grasping my knees in my hands. The sensation of my hand on my right knee was different. It almost felt like my hand was artificial. I looked down at it. White 3D printed components bent and pivoted where my right hand should have been. A prosthetic arm. I sighed.

It's been a year since the attack at Seattle. In 2022, I was sent with Team 5 of the Special Scout and Reconnaissance Operatives to defend a nuclear plant just east of the city. ISIS forces fought their way into the complex then triggered a meltdown, and SScARO 5 just happened to be in the middle of it all. We made our way down to the control room five floors below ground, only for the reactor to go critical.

It all collapsed on top of us and everyone died. All except for me. Debris fell on top of us, crushing each one of my teammates. Everyone I had worked with for six years… including Mex, my Specialist and my father. My dad Andrew Beckham, AKA Mex, was a hardcore marine for more than sixteen years, serving more than ten before I was even born. To think it would have ended so abruptly, it's still an absolute shock.

In the meltdown, falling debris caught me by the arm and ripped it from the rest of my body. I was buried under there for hours on end.

I'm surprised I didn't bleed out. Hell, my entire arm had been severed, but even then, I wasn't dead. I was fuckin' close to it, though. Reports from the attack say that when rescue teams found me, my stump had been covered with a thick scab. More than five people said that it looked like reptile scales, but they were just exaggerating.

I picked myself off of the floor and popped my knuckles. It was really getting to me lately. I guess it's just finally settling in, the horrid event was becoming history in my mind. I opened the closet, pulled out a dark green duffel bag, and unzipped it. Inside the bag was a few rolls of athletic tape and gauze, two changes of board shorts, three tank tops, a clean change of casual clothes, a thermos, a small first-aid kit… and a picture of my father. He had short gray hair, like any old veteran, and his eyes were wrinkled at the corners. He looked like anyone would imagine a military veteran. Come to think of it, I'm not sure if there's one thing about him that really stood out to me, not physically at least.

I pulled out a pair of board shorts and a tank top, then zipped the bag shut, slipping out of the shirt I had on before and changing into the clothes from the bag.

A small ring came from my apartment door. I quickly jumped into the board shorts and walked to the door. A neighbor from the floor below me must have heard the racket I was making. It's not exactly unusual, considering my being here for a year. I pressed the "view" button, showing me a live feedback of the person behind my door. Standing on my doormat was a young woman, barely into her 20's. She was around 5'7" with a slim figure and rich chocolate irises coloring worried eyes.

"Martin, are you in there?" she called through the door. I exhaled. Next to the view button was a green button; the open button. I pressed it, sliding the door to reveal her. She was wearing a simple, powder blue sleep dress that fit comfortably around her form. It had detached sleeves and leggings of the same color. The dress was probably a recent release of the thermal wear in the market. My eyes moved up to her black hair sprawling over her shoulders in a mass of curls. She swept the bangs out of her eyes.

I sighed once again. "Hey Liz."

She shifted her weight onto her left foot and rested her hands on her hips. "'Hey?' What was that crash? What did you do?" She leaned forward and glared at me.

"It was nothing," I lied. Liz raised an eyebrow.

"Nothing?… A few days ago, a burglar jumped out your second-floor window, delirious and screaming bloody murder!"

"He probably hit his head on something."

"His right knee was bent backwards!"

"He probably hit his knee on something."

Liz huffed in irritation, blowing a lock of long black hair out of her face. "Martin, do you need help with something?" she asked irritated.

I shook my head. "No."

"Well, you refused my help when you were moving in, and you avoided me when your car wouldn't start!" Liz hopped onto her tiptoes, looking me in the eyes with skepticality. "Is there something wrong with you?"

"Liz, really, I'm fine," I insisted. "Look, I just fell off my bed okay?"

"Okay," Liz grumbled. "Then what was with the screaming?"

I took a calming breath, and pointed at my right arm, the prosthetic one. "PTSD..." Liz looked at it, then her eyes went wide.

"Oh my god… I'm so sorry," she whimpered. "I forgot that you-."

I held my hand up and stopped her, chuckling with remorse. "Don't worry about it. Happens all the time." The quiet sound of footsteps on metal stairs came from below, climbing up. A tall man turned the corner and walked on the flight of stairs towards us. His head was shaved clean, revealing a small tattoo on the right side of his head. He was around 6'3", my height. With a heavy build, scarred skin, and military fatigues, it was easy to tell that he was a marine. More specifically, he was my team coordinator, Karter McAllen.

"Morning Juggy," he greeted, also turning to Liz and nodding his head. "Miss Whenney."

"Morning Karter. Did you find anything?" I asked.

Karter shook his head. "No, nothing yet." He folded his arms in frustration. "Who knew it would be so hard to find a job opening?"

"Huh, bummer-"

"Wait," Liz interrupted. "You're looking for a job?"

"No, Martin is."

Liz turned to me with a look of surprise on her face. "What? I thought you already had a job as a janitor at the high school."

"Well…" I said, scratching the back of my head. "Let's just say that I'm lucky I didn't get charged for assault against a minor. I try to help one person…" I grumbled.

"So what now?" Karter asked.

Unsure, I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know, go to Toro's for a little. Now that I don't have a job, I'm scotch free... Give me a second, I'll be right back." I walked back into my apartment and grabbed the duffel bag, as well as slipped on a pair of flip-flops. "Hey Karter, can you give me a ride?"

"Sure thing," he said with a thumbs up. "I'll meet you downstairs." The bulky tank of a marine walked back down the stairs, leaving me with Liz. I turned back to her, expecting her to go off on a rant about how I should learn how to become part of society again and try to forget what life was like in the military.

Instead, she just looked up at me with a guilty expression. "Martin? I'm… I'm really sorry. I totally forgot that you were there when… When Seattle was attacked… " She held her hands together in front of her and avoided eye contact.

This was giving me a bad taste in my mouth. I didn't want people to feel sorry for me, it made me feel weak. It made me feel like I wasn't a real soldier… I am a real soldier. I've served my time, and it's taken its toll on me. That's just something that I have to live with… That's something I'm proud to live with.

I shouldered the bag and walked past Liz. "Don't patronize me."

_oOo_

Karter drove down the road with me in the passenger seat and my bag in the bed of the truck. "So what happened back there? Miss Whenney seemed a little…"

"Guilty?" I finished. He nodded his head in response, taking a right turn at an intersection. "This morning, I woke up screaming. Liz came up and asked what happened, but she had forgotten that I was part of that attack a year ago. She started ranting to me about all the ruckus I was making, so I reminded her of my condition."

Karter nodded in understanding. "I see… By the way, how are you holdin' up? Are the flashbacks getting any better?"

"Yeah," I lied. The truck's tires screeched as Karter slammed on the brakes, an arrogant prick in a sports car cutting us off..

Karter slammed his hands on the wheel, rolling down the window and leaning out. "What the fuck was that, asshole!?"

The convertible roof on the sports car retracted back to reveal a teenager barely of legal age. His brown hair was slicked back, the sides of his head shaved. Thin stubble lined his chin and he wore a tight button up shirt with the top two buttons undone. In short, he was your classic douche bag.

The kid simply looked back and grinned. "Who lit the fuse on your tampon, old man?" I could see the vein in Karter's neck pop out; things were going to get dangerous.

I sighed, rolling down my own window. "Who took a shit on your face, kid?" I instantly saw his smug little grin disappear. "What happened? Did mommy forget to schedule your plastic surgery appointment?" The expression on his face went sour, and he extended the roof back up.

"Come on, Karter," I groaned. "Just ignore it." The sports car burned out its tires, taking off with a roar. "He's got nothing better to do."

Karter reluctantly leaned back into the truck and rolled up his window. "I know, it just pisses me off…" He started driving again, but I looked to the right and saw something of interest.

"Hold on, Karter." He stopped the truck. After grabbing his attention, I pointed over to a building with a large overhead sign lit up by neon. "You see that place over there?"

Karter squinted and looked over at the building, but he didn't see anything special about it. "Yeah, I see it, but why's it so important?"

"That sign," I claimed, looking next to the front door. "They're hiring."

Karter looked for a second, still squinting, then his eyes went wide. He threw his hands in the air. "Aaay! Well there ya go!" he exclaimed excitingly. "Do you still have a change of clothes in your bag?"

I nodded. "I do, but don't we have time? We don't need to go in right now."

Karter shook his head, driving the truck into the parking lot. "Just go check it out. I'll be waiting outside."

"But-"

"Just do it." He insisted. "There's a restaurant right next to it, probably has a restroom. Go change in there and check the place out."

Karter parked the car in a spot next to both places, motioning me to get out of the truck. I got out, grabbed my bag, and went into the restaurant to change. I took off the tank top and replaced it with a plain black t-shirt, then I took off my shorts and put on a pair of comfortable auto-size pants. A minute later, I came back out and walked through the other building's main doors. Simultaneously, loud, irritating music and the sound of screaming children invaded my ears. Down the hall, I could see bright lights and a sea of little kids jumping up and down.

"Oh no," I mumbled, walking through the doorway.

Rows and rows of tables were filled with children, pizzas laying on the surfaces of both the tables and the floor. All of the kids were facing a stage, where three girls were singing kids songs. All three were dressed fancily, wearing dress vests and matching bows. One was on vocals, holding a microphone and wearing a top hat. Another was on the drums, a bib around her chest that said "Let's Eat!" The third one was playing the guitar, sporting a pair of bunny ears on top of her head.

I paused, confused. "Wait, what?" I looked again, observing all three, then I realized something. They weren't humans, they were animatronics. One was modeled after a bear, the singer, another was a chick, the drummer, and the last one, the guitarist, was a purple rabbit.

Suddenly, a man in a goofy version of a dress suit walked up to me. His hair was smoothly styled, and his face was shaven clean. The suit was a friendly purple color, with starry polka dots all over it. His smile was infectious, radiating a sense of happiness.

"Welcome to Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. I am Freddy Fazbear. How may I help you?"


AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is one of many updates to come, so bear with me for a little bit. I'll have this story up and running in no time.