Author's Note: Hey, sorry for not updating. Am still trying to figure out how to make these next couple of stories work. This one is not complete (as you can tell) and will likely be scrapped, because I wanna have each story work into a fairly consistent narrative. And to do that, I'm gunna have to go over the theories and revise the timeline 'till am happy with it. As you can guess, that means some stories will have to be tweaked. This one in particular, as I'm finding it a lil challenging implementing the toy animatronics into the story. Which makes writing Mangle's POV a lil difficult. But, we'll get there. Also, the list of shorts to come are as follows: Mangle's Madness, Yellow Fever, Chica's Quest, The Bear & The Honeypot, and Fredbear's Party. I may add some short extras and crossovers with SPN, an' such. As I said, for now, am focusing on making sure that the narrative fits. I may also go back and edit the others - just beef them up abit, and help flesh out the characters some more. I felt like I rushed them, especially Hooked.
P.S I'm open to feedback. Any ideas you have on the characters would also be appreciated, given that this story is character focused.
Mangle's Madness:
It was like floating. If not for the fact that her wires clung to the metal piping that ran overhead, as she hauled her body across the ceiling. Like Spiderman, came a high-pitched voice, crackling over the radio. Her head twitched, as the second head began scanning the room. Fear bubbled up inside her, broiling, spilling over like a mass of maggots from a decrepit corpse. Is that a... a finger? Came another, more muffled voice.
Her body shuddered involuntarily, clinging tightly to the ceiling. The floor was vile; the floor was toxic. The happy sunshine 'n rainbow crayon doodles were tainted with blood splatter, that much she could tell. At least, according to her Lil Buddy - it was never wrong. Don't touch it! Cried Lil Buddy. Don't do anything silly!
But what if someone trips over it? Asked a girl's voice.
It's lost... Came a second, sulkier voice.
We need to find its' owner! Shrieked a third voice.
No! Yelled Lil Buddy. Hide! Before he sees us.
Who? Replied the other three.
A shadow darted across the doorway. Mangle flinched, rattling one of her loose eyeballs around its' socket. She could feel it teetering on the edge of her mask. She clammed up, hoping the shadow hadn't noticed. None of them liked the dark. She could feel their voices, rumbling inside her.
What d'you think it was?
Maybe it was a dog.
Stupid! Why would there be a dog inside a pizza place?
Don't call me stupid!
What if it was t-the Boogeyman?
This sent the voices tumbling, down-down-down, snowballing into a cacophony of squeals of terror, and panicked whispers. Mangle's grip loosened, as the voices consumed her mind, a rabble of unintelligible words, laced with radio feedback. They gnawed at her head-space, like a pack of rabid dogs. Her jaw unhinged, trying to shake them off. Lil Buddy tried to shush them.
Buzz-buzz-buzz. They were a hive of infant souls. All running from the monster that was roaming these halls. As the footsteps faded, Lil Buddy finally spoke; follow him.
Why? Asked the confused bees.
The show room. Hurry! Lil Buddy urged.
Mangle's head shook violently, bursts of static, and angry howls voicing their protests. Yet her body began to move, crawling across the ceiling, like a sloth. Lil Buddy snapped its' jaws, eagerly as the Mangle slithered along the ceiling like a caterpillar. Once she was in the main show room, her radio muted, the silence a welcome reprieve.
Meanwhile, it was Lil Buddy who'd cut her off, siphoning her meager power into his camera, activating his night vision. His eyes acted like binoculars, allowing him to zoom in on some disturbing anomalies. A haphazard attempt to wipe a smear of blood beside the Balloon Boy. A pair of silvery eyes that stood out against the inky blackness.A toothy grin that awakened an all-consuming revulsion. Seeped into every fibre of her being, right down to her core was a need so potent it erased all other sense – end the bad man.
It pulsed inside her, like blood, the message beating at her ribcage, growing louder and louder. Save them! Save who? Lil Buddy relinquished his control of her battery, urging her to move, to act. Get him! Before he gets away! But the voices churning inside her were paralysed with fear, as she began to loosen her grip on the light fixture.
The bright eyes and unnerving grin were gone, followed by the click of the main door. He'd escaped. Damnit! Lil Buddy cursed. The voices returned full-force, babbling away, as if Lil Buddy was incapable of hearing them. He seemed to have gone quiet now, content to mull over the brief loss, alone. It felt like he'd been snipped from her body.
As Mangle slithered down the corridor, she spotted a purple tinged figure. The voices became shrill and incoherent, especially when they saw its' black empty face. Like a giant toothless grin. Mangle shrunk away, shuddering uncontrollably like a boiling kettle. She imagined steam erupting from her back, as her mouth unhinged. She tried to press the plastic together, trying to whistle, like a steam engine. One of the voices, a girl spoke;
my dad used whistle whenever our dog ran off... He tried to teach me.
Mangle's head was filled with the sounds of sputtering, and maniacal cackling. Her head began to swing on her gangly neck, like a bizarre giraffe mating dance.
My dad took me to the zoo once. Replied a boy's voice. We saw giraffe's smacking their necks against each other. It looked funny! He added, giggling.
Her jerky movements did not go unnoticed. Peering out of the Parts and Services Room was a pair of yellow eyes, just like hers. Her head quirked, eyeing the torn-up face questioningly. Another fox? Asked one of the voices.
It's Scary Fox! Lisped one of the girls.
Look, he has an eyepatch!
Is he a pirate fox?
Cool!
Scary Fox. Was she Scary? She eyed her twisted digits, the coils of metal and wiring, writhing like a sea of upset beetles. Ew, not bugs! Shrieked one of the voices. She'd counted five voices in total, but like an army of insects, it sometimes became difficult to identify each and every one. Whenever they began nattering away like this, long into the night, she often found their voices quickly became indecipherable, amidst the spouts of radio.
It was possible there were others. Like Lil Buddy. He wasn't like them; they listened to him, it seemed. She wasn't even certain if he could hear them, yet whenever he did speak, it was oddly reassuring. The voices seemed to agree on one thing: he was their guardian angel. He looked after them. He cared for them...
Passing the open door to the girls' bathroom, Mangle caught a horrifying glimpse of itself. A hulking mass of glinting metal, that looked as if it had been chewed up and spat out. Her wires were knotted, like a mauled bundle of yarn. Already, she could see flecks of fingerprints on her plastic coating, even the odd drop of smudged finger paint. She hoped it wouldn't cause her to rust up, over time. Honestly, what moron thought it'd be smart to give children in a fast food place ready access to paint; of all things!
Her radio began to spark to life, as the hulking mass of the purple figure began to approach. On closer inspection, she saw a pair of tiny red lights gaze at her, like lasers. The wretched machine passed by her, its' body clearly off balance. She presumed that was due to its' missing arm, and lack of a face. Is that Bonnie? Asked one of the voices. It was followed by shrills screams about how he had no face!
The part that scared them the most was the eyes. So unnatural, staring, judging. It made them especially uncomfortable when paired with the purple coloration. The voices began to rumble to themselves, pierced with mewling sobs. Memories flashed amongst them, like a gory slide-show.
A faulty electric wire, that stung like a jellyfish. A screwdriver buried in a skull, like a unicorn's horn. A bloody that stained the floors of Kid's Cove, and glistened like rubies in the dim lighting. Among the tiny corpses stood a single man, twitching. He held up his trusty tool, the tarnished metal of his crank bent out of shape from years of use. The man licked his lips, holding the bloody weapon up to his lips. He planted a kiss upon the tip.
Their bodies lay together, curled up in the pool of blood. It was still warm. One of them was still clinging to life. He couldn't move; he was paralysed with fear, too scared to even breath. His mouth open, frozen in a silent scream. He had one eye open, as his choking subsided, his oxygen-starved brain caused his vision to blur. In his final moments, he couldn't help but imagine him and the others were like clams in a pot of boiling water, dying slow, their bodies split open, and spilling out onto the floor. His last thought – a steaming bowl of his mother's clam chowder. Momma...
The only remnants of the murders were locked away. Lil Buddy knew where. He could sense it. Mangle didn't now how, but he seemed so much wiser than the rest of them. The voices grumbled to themselves, grinding like rush hour traffic. Her mind became a haze as she continued to slither across the ceiling. A piercing light flashed, momentarily disorienting her. It would seem we have a newcomer, said Lil Buddy.
…
Victor stood on the opposite side of the street, illuminated under the glow of a crooked lampost. He stared at the brand new logo, the fresh paint work, and double-glazed windows. His stomach was unsettled, tying itself up in knots. Why had they opened so soon... Just because the sister location was ready, it didn't mean this place was – Fazbears was larger and currently facing more scrutiny from the public. It was unnerving, having so many people to satisfy. They could try to cover it up as much as they liked, but the fact was unavoidable: Fazbear's was dying.
Maybe this place once had been a kid-friendly wonderland, bursting with joy and child-like want. The community were content to cling to the ideal, the memory of Fredbears. It was as if they were just as eager to believe in the fantasy as the children were.
That was what he'd been led to believe. The phone call he'd received during Fitzgerald's interview had been... interesting to say the least. A woman had boldly claimed she knew about his visits to the local strip joint, Technically Legal. It had unnerved him, but not quite as much as her reference to the murders. She'd rattled off a list of names, each one haunting him. Amanda Fredricks. Oliver Williams. Mark Plier. Tom Jackson. Shivers ran across his skin at the names. He'd seen them as words before, printed on local news articles, but to hear them, spoken by this stranger made them seem all the more real.
He had never known these children, although he, like the rest of the town could speculate on their fate. There had never been a formal investigation, it seemed – the police believed that if they had been killed, then their murderer's trail had long gone cold. It had only been a few months since their disappearance. This was a small town, and as such, many of the neighbors were familiar with one another. Even so, finding any links between the victims had been tenuous – aside from sharing the same school, the only thing they shared is their love of pizza and, more specifically, Fazbears.
It was an unpleasant connection one that had caused the restaurant to close, under investigation. Once they'd found nothing in either location, the company eagerly re-opened. And to save face, they'd been urged to include special high-tech security systems in their new animatronics. Victor grimaced. He remembered having to rehearse for the day-time commercials that aired shortly after the announcement. His wife had diligently taped it for his viewing pleasure. Fazbear Entertainment proudly welcomes you to the Grand Re-Opening! We've got pizza! We've got arcades! Ball pits, balloons, finger-painting, and much much more! Come join us at the brand new, Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, where fantasy and fun come to life!
Oh yes. He remembered having that line drummed into him. He'd been forced to write that drivel. Management had hand-picked the most photogenic of staff members to star in that commercial, but nothing could compare to the fully-functional animatronics. Those were the main draw, after all. The kids had always loved the old mascots, but these ones ought to bring in some nostalgia for the older kids. After all, they were built to resemble the old toys from the kid's show. Paying for the rights to use their image must've cost more than the robots themselves.
He did like their design, his favourite being toy Chica with her signature cupcake and sleek curves. He remembered watching the CEO stand beside the animatronics, as if he were introducing you to an old friend. Victor couldn't help but note his forced smile, the gleam of deception in his eye. He'd played poker with the guy a few times. He knew that look well – it was all for show.
That had not been what concerned him, though. It had been the way that Toy Bonnie had stared back at him. He assumed it was just something off in the robot's programming. Yet he couldn't shake the uncanny valley feeling, as if these things were thinking, feeling, and hiding. It seemed to know that the CEO's words were even more hollow than his exoskeleton, as it replied in its' goofy voice, "Howdy, kids! You wanna play?"
The memory left a chill in its' wake, as he stood, waiting to meet with the woman. They'd agreed to meet by 3am. Fizgerald would be in the middle of his shift; he'd be perfectly distracted. Victor began to rock back and forth on the balls of his feet, scratching at the sweaty red rash developing beneath his watch. His fingers were numb from the cold. He tried to take his mind off of it by focusing on the silky smoothness of the stripper's bare body, trying to imagine the warmth of her skin
"Good evening, sir." Cooed a soft surly voice from the shadows.
Victor flinched. "Huh? What're you doing he-" Before he knew what was happening, a twisted metal crank smacked into the side of his head. He staggered, crumpling to his knees. His skull rang in protest, the world around him blurred dizzily. He clutched his temple, trying to steady himself against the nearest brick wall. He tasted blood in his mouth. He tried to speak, but could manage nothing more than a mumbled groan.
He tried to look up, but the light from the lampost was blinding. Despite this, he was able to note the weathered face, bright eyes and toothy grin of one of his employees. He knew the face, just as well as he knew any of the robots. But trying to remember the name was much trickier. His uniform suggested that he was a technician, but without a name badge, he had no cheat-sheet to help trigger his memory. The face that stared down at him was twisted – no longer did he appear wimpy and soft-spoken. The eyes were alert, his lips pulled into a large, sickening grin.
The man let out an impish laugh, his calloused fingers curling around his weapon of choice.
"Don't worry, sir." He began. "I'll fix them all." Then, with the swiftness of a fox, he struck Victor again, harder this time, knocking him out cold.
