Author's note: Welp, this is late. Sorry for more than a month's wait. I've been sorta depressed and have had no motivation. I don't write well when I'm not motivated, and I've been physically unable to string a few good sounding sentences together. Again, sorry, and next chapter will be back to normal length (with some nice action and plot).
They already heard the sound of the others booting up and making their way over towards the center of the dining area. Puppet blinked themselves awake, nestling back into the thin sliver of space inside the wall in an attempt to comfort themselves.
Bonnie made his way over to the back room almost immediately, purple feet visible from the small hole in the wall covered partially by golden fur. Cassidy rested against the wall, as she always did, although Puppet had not heard a word out of her all day and night.
Christmas was always hard for her. The moment she saw the flashes of red and green lights and the sound of 'Jingle Bells' playing on the radio, she would... react. Most of the time she would just get more angry, more aggressive, more restless, but don't think puppet doesn't hear her quiet sobs in the middle of the day.
Puppet was pulled out of their thoughts by the quiet thumping sound of a crayon hitting the floor. Bonnie turned and left, red eyes flickering with bits of black as Patrick shifted restlessly.
Out of view of the cameras, a black hand reached out from the hole in the wall, grabbing the crayon and bringing it slowly up. A white crayon. They rolled the pointed wax cylinder around in their hand, tapping the perfectly sharpened tip.
They touched the crayon to the wall, adding a single mark to a beam of Christmas. Another year.
They added the white crayon to their corner. A plastic fork, a small bouncy ball, two particularly shiny nails, and three crayons; each in varying states of being used up.
###
Mike frowned, reaching over and slamming the right door button. Chica squawked indignantly, voice box stuttering as she pulled her beak back just in time to avoid it getting shut in the door.
Mike was, begrudgingly, starting to see why Scott had insisted all of them work on Christmas Eve… Christmas? From the time the clock struck 12, Bonnie was up and off stage, fiddling with something on a table, while Chica had joined not minutes later. Freddy had taken a moment to stare at the table, before slipping away into the shadows, roaming the building without any pattern.
The mystery object looked like a pack of crayons and a coloring book, and it was odd seeing those cold, emotionless hunks of metal grasping crayons, rubbing the colored cylinders between their faux fur covered fingers.
Why give gifts to robots? Especially ones that are actively trying to kill you.
Mike was pulled from his thoughts by a sharp squeak. He looked over to where Fritz was sitting on a chair in the corner, gripping the chunky tablet tightly.
"Fritz?"
"I... I thought I saw something... a person... shadow?" The redhead's voice wavered, green eyes squinting as his face twisted into a deeper frown.
"Fritz! Do the doors need to be shut or not?"
"N-no. Sorr- Foxy!"
Mike slammed the left door shut as a blur of stained red fur and exposed metal dashed by. Foxy was headed for the far office, not the one they were in, but no way was Mike opening the door yet.
He heard the identical metal clang of the far security door slamming closed. Foxy pounded on the closed door, filling the darkened pizzeria with the shriek of metal against metal.
###
He frowned, hands twitching by his side. The metal demons were angry, angry and running and clawing and trying to find their way in to the security offices. One by one by one off the stage and free to roam.
He tightened his grip on the axe, stepping out from the bathroom doorway.