The Kludge
by Kim McFarland
There was a jolt. Life-giving electricity flowed forth, animating its body, rebounding to report the state of each mechanism within it with great precision. Next, instructions came rapid-fire, each directing one particular function. These instructions could not be followed now; it was receiving orders that would guide every future action.
It stayed still during the bewildering process. It could not move just yet. Its auditory sensors came back first; it heard voices. Its ocular devices activated, and it opened its eyes to see several people. The pressure sensors came online, and it realized it was lying on its back, which should not be. It tried to get to a normal standing position. The people, alarmed, did something, and its body stopped responding.
It could only listen. From their conversation it learned that it had been rebuilt. It would still need more repairs. They would have to replace other mechanisms before it would be sufficiently functional. They had enough spare parts, despite their being discontinued.
Then they went away and turned off the light, leaving it alone with the quiet hum of the air vents.
It remembered. It remembered being in a different place. It had existed to entertain children. Its programming had been designed solely to that end, and as an afterthought a link to a criminal database had been added. If a face that matched one of the criminals in its memory appeared before it, it would alert the staff and protect the children from harm.
Then harm had happened. Its next memories had a different flavor, unlike the cool, matter-of-fact lists of facts and events that belonged to the entertainer. It remembered being invited by Freddy himself, now colored gold, to a special party with several friends. Excited, they had followed the jolly bear into the back of the pizzeria. They knew in the back of their minds that Freddy was actually a man in a costume, but they were children and could believe several things at once.
Then the door had locked, and the bear had taken off its smiling head, and the face beneath was also smiling. It continued to smile, even when the screams began and ended. The man left behind the bodies of the yellow bear and the children.
It remembered finding the room where this horror had happened, and it remembered realizing what had happened, as if by data download. What it did not understand was that one of the traumatized souls, deprived of its body, had sought refuge in the first comforting presence it found. Its mind had merged with the robot's programming. The robot had gained consciousness and a personality, and the soul had gained a home and instructions to give it a reassuring sense of normalcy.
It remembered the man, the last man it had seen with its human eyes. It remembered the smile. It remembered the purple clothes worn under the suit. It had searched the face of every adult it had seen thereafter. It had been especially suspicious of anyone on the premises after closing, which was itself forbidden. It and its fellows had neutralized several after-hours threats. With that came a sense of satisfaction; the assurance that that person would never do harm again.
The last thing it remembered was being deactivated. One by one, the power sources had been removed from all the animatronics. One by one all of its companions had gone inert, empty of electrical life. When its own power source was removed, its instructions, its memories of entertaining, and its list of faces vanished. Curiously, something remained.
In its paralyzed state, it remembered roaming the pizzeria, entertaining by day and patrolling by night. There were other memories, but they were distant, as if they belonged to somebody else. It felt a sense of failure; they had never found the purple-wearing, smiling killer!
For a while it suffered, frustrated by its inability to live. Because its body was neither alive nor dead the soul could not free itself. It did not understand that it was haunting a robot; it believed that that was its own body.
But after years of stillness, it became quiet. A mental silence settled over it. In inertia there was peace. The soul's attachment to the robot began to loosen.
Then came the spark of life. The robot had booted up, and its personality and soul returned. It was whole again. But its body, it sensed, was in poor shape. Its servos had been still for much too long, and had locked up. It began vibrating, trying to loosen its machinery. If anyone had been watching, it would appear that the animatronic was having a seizure.
It cast about for its companions. There had been more. At first there had been four, itself included; then others had been added. The originals had spread their programming to the newcomers through the network the same way they shared software updates, one downloading it and then passing it on to all the others to save bandwidth. But now none answered. There was no network. That was alarming. It had never, in this life, been alone. That was something that should not be.
When its joints were capable of bending a little it sat up and looked around. Its environment was nothing like that of the pizzeria. It must have been redecorated. There were shelves and boxes of spare parts, which was within normal parameters. There was a box of spare heads. At first it only glanced at that, but then it turned and stared.
After a long moment it got slowly and creakily off the worktable, knocking some things off and crushing them under its flat metal feet. It walked over to the box and, its joints grinding in protest, crouched down. It picked up a spare head. It was white and pink, with holes on its temples where its ears would be, and empty eye sockets. It had sharp teeth on its upper jaw—the lower jaw was a separate piece—and rosy cheeks and lips.
And it was scratched. Years of being played with by careless toddlers had taken their toll. The pattern of scratches was familiar. This hollow plastic shell was not a spare. This was the real head, now reduced to scrap. It looked in the box. Many of its erstwhile companions were here, all lifeless.
It shuddered and twitched as it stared, processing this situation. It had no instructions for coping with this. It was not meant to function on its own. It had no desire to live without its companions. That should not be.
It would soon be corrected, it thought. They had brought it back, and were repairing its body. They would repair the others, and together they would entertain and protect children as they were meant to do. Yes, that had to be it. It need only wait.
It returned to the table and lay back again, waiting for more repairs, occasionally shaking to loosen its age-stiffened joints. It did not know how wrong it was. The others were never to be repaired; their mechanical bodies had been cannibalized for parts to repair the one salvageable device. And it was not destined to entertain children at pizza parties, but to frighten people at a horror attraction capitalizing on the tragedies of thirty years ago.
It would not be happy when it found out.
This is based loosely on the games Five Nights at Freddy's and Five Nights at Freddy's 2, and the trailer for Five Nights at Freddy's 3, all of which are copyright © Scott Cawthon. The story itself is copyright © by Kim McFarland (negaduck9 at aol dot com). Permission is given by the author to copy this story for personal use only.
This is all speculation on the upcoming game. I have no idea if the actual storyline will be anything like this. I rather expect Scott will take it in a completely different direction. Still, it's fun to play with ideas.