A/N: When you're the best, you're the best. So sit back, relax, and enjoy:

I'm The Best Aren't I?

"Oh! There you are—there's my number one little fan! You didn't think you could escape me, did you? I'm the best at finding squirts like you!"

Cringing, I glanced over my shoulder and there she was. Again. Like a bad case of genital warts, she was hard to get rid of and kept popping up out of nowhere.

I heaved a tired sigh straight my soul. Out of all the other murderous robots skulking around this building, this faux haven of entertainment dressed up in its glowing lights and winding fun-tubes and in-house eateries, it had to be her.

Always her.

"And just where did you think you were heading off to, lil' rockstar?" Those lifeless metal orbs of glowing yellow with the pitch black pupil bore down into me. She placed her paws on her hips with a hard thump. Her elongated jaw riddled with razor sharp teeth—far too sharp to belong near kids in any capacity—quirked up into a smug grin. "Looking for a tour guide around here? Well, you're in luck!"

I thought I knew annoying when I first ran into Glamrock Freddy a couple hours ago. Bumbling bear couldn't take more than five steps without needing a charging station, seven steps when I was piloting him. He gave me several warnings and I thought I was trying to avoid his other bandmates, like Chicka, that green gator, and this annoying fox right behind me, but after being found by her no less than twelve times, I quickly discovered she was destined to be my shadow.

Darn fox was surprisingly good at hide-and-seek.

"I'm... I'm not lost, I just—" The words die on my tongue and I just shake my head.

There was no use trying to explain anything to this robotic wolf. She wasn't programmed to accept my reasoning, to listen to my logic, not when she was hardcoded with her own set of principles to follow. What I wanted didn't matter. What I tried to say fell on deaf fox ears.

Roxanne Wolf only had one directive. To be the best, regardless of if it was something she was programmed to do or not.

"Sure." I perk up with a sudden idea, turning on my heel to face that towering masterclass of robotics. "I need your help, Roxy."

I read somewhere in a brochure weeks before coming here that each robot had a special nickname that boosted their helpfulness when used.

It turned out to be true because Roxanne's eyes sparked, her tail gave an energetic swish behind her, and her entire figure shuddered. She bent toward me, humanoid paws to her knees. There was something alluringly exuberant about the way those hollow yellow eyes transfixed themselves onto me.

"Whatever you need, lil' Rockstar."

I didn't think twice about it. About the way she seemed to be angling herself toward me. About the way her voice dipped into something more husky than normal. It was just a hardwired response to hearing her secret nickname.

"I'm tired and don't think I can walk very far but I really, really want a juice from the station on level 2." I didn't even know if there was a juice station on level 2, I just wanted to get this wolf as far away from me as possible.

Something like disappointment shivered across Roxanne's porcelain face but I couldn't be sure I had seen right because she stood a moment later. She gave a two-fingered salute, striking a nubile pose that her metallic limbs really shouldn't have been capable of doing. "Okay, lil' Rockstar! Just wait here and I'll go get it for you! You can even time me if you want, I'm the best at speed races!"

It took all that was in me not to cringe again. I only nodded, forcing a smile that started out as an annoyed grimace. "Ooookay, I'll time you."

It was an outright lie. I had no intention of doing anything like that, but it was enough to fool her. Roxanne dropped her top half to the ground, paws flush against the soft mesh tiles, and hiked her rear in the air. Her tail waved about, eager. Her ears flickered, focused.

"Gimme a pat for good luck, my lil' Rockstar!"

A pat? A pat where? I quirked an eyebrow, glancing over the prone fox. Where in the heck was I supposed to...?

Tiling even further into her stance, Roxanne gave her hindquarters a little shake, stretching the red spandex that kept her modest.

I simply stared. I stared from her swishing rear to the back of her head and back again, silent. Then I pointed. "You want me to, uhh... on your...?"

Roxanne gave a fierce nod, her snout twitching. "It's for good luck, like sportsmanship!"

Oh. Oh, okay, that made sense. Sportsmanship, yeah.

I didn't think anything of it except for how badly I was about to injure myself when my hand cracked off Roxanne's steel-encased rear. But the pain never came. In place of cold, unfeeling metal, I was met with a plush softness. My fingers actually sank past the firm elasticity of her hot-pants and into the malleable nature of her rear. The shock that overcame my face was in direct correlation to the warmth that graced my palm. It was a motion that only lasted a second and by the time Roxanne took off, her mechanical bearings pushing her forward in a blur, I was still staring at my hand like I had never seen it before.

Then I squeezed my own butt. It didn't feel as nice as Roxanne's but that wasn't why I was fondling myself. The sensation was the same. The sensation of gripping flesh and not metal.

"You know what, whatever." I sighed out all my curiosity and walked off in the opposite direction. The goal right now was to put as much distance between me and that annoyingly clingy fox as possible. "Now, where'd Freddy get to? Anemic bear probably passed out in one those charging stations..."

"He probably did," came a voice from the right of me and I jumped. Leaning against a ticket booth for one of the younger kid attractions, Roxanne had her arms crossed over her bust, the juice I asked for held loosely between two fingers. Those eerily wide eyes of hers were once again upon me, seeing nothing else but me. "Can't really blame him, though. Not everyone can be the best like me. Here ya go, lil Rockstar."

I took the juice box robotically, almost as if I were one of them. It was Glamrock Peach flavored. Disgusting, really. But I couldn't even dwell on that knowing that this fox had just raced all the way up to the second floor, procured a juice I was sure didn't even exist, and come back before I had even taken thirty steps. A part of me was beyond bewildered how she had done all that, even overtaken me, without me hearing so much as a single joint squeak... while the other half was inwardly joyful that she wasn't as dangerous as Freddy had painted her out to be.

Because if she was, I'd be dead already.

"How's it taste, lil' Rockstar?" she asked.

I took a large gulp and felt my tastebuds curdle. "Tastes great."

"I'm the best at getting what my number one fan wants," she said with a proud flourish, and she moved into a series of dance moves, playing air guitar while swaying her hips side to side. "Oh yeah! Don't I got the best moves?"

My tongue was screaming for mercy but I kept sipping that abysmal juice as I watched Roxanne move to and fro, her huge animatronic feet thudding over the matted floor and sending shivers up my legs. Her jaw opened and snapped shut several times, her eyes were closed, her tail wagged, she was really vibing to whatever tune was programmed into her head.

Until I took off.

Without a single plan in mind, I bolted toward the kitchen as fast as my prepubescent legs would take me, dropping that horrid juice box as I barreled through the double doors.

"H-hey! Lil' Rockstar—wait!"

Her startled voice only spurred me on faster and I tore around corners and ducked through shelves, knocking over tubs of food in my haste. I could feel my heart beating between my ears, blaring out, telling me to escape. There was something odd about Roxanne and it didn't mean anything good for me. I could barely see through the swarmy darkness, only the luminescent red glow of the 'EXIT' sign above the doors guided me.

"AGH!"

Something unyieldingly cold had clamped over my elbow. I was snatched to a halt—my arm nearly dislocated itself—and thrown up against a grated wall, behind which sat a number of canned goods. I grit my teeth to the pain exploding like fireworks in my captured arm. Whatever had me possessed claws that were digging through the flimsy fabric of my shirt and slowly cutting into my flesh.

"Wh-what the—"

A series of mechanical clicks steadied my vision and I looked up into the eerily wide eyes of Glamrock Chica. Her pale outer hull glistened and shimmered through the gloom with what I guessed was grease. I don't know who signed off on putting lipstick on the beak of an animatronic bird but it was smeared beyond repair. A horribly fetid smell like something dead had climbed inside her grinding maw punched me in the nose and I retched. She increased the hold over my arm until I could feel trickles of blood seeping into my shirt. I wanted to cry out from the stench, I wanted to scream from the pain—but then she lowered herself down to her knees before me.

"Tag, Gregory..." Her voice was raspy, like she hadn't used it in years, and her head tilted about jerkily on its neck axle. "You know... what happens next..." She leaned closer at a rigid stance, her beak threatening to poke out my eye. "You become... my next pizza..."

Either I'd be Chica's next meal or she would bisect my arm from the pressure alone and I'd die from blood loss. Whichever way it went, one of them needed to happen quick fast because the pain was peaking and causing my stomach to lurch with nausea.

Chica was close enough now to peck off bits of my face in some grisly rendition of a bird stabbing the ground for a worm. It would likely hurt ten times worse considering her beak was metal to ensure maximum clamping as she tore the flesh from my bones in lengthy rinds. I tensed up with the sound of the gears in her beak churning and grinding, waiting for the agony to take me.

My heart stuttered when a loud cry burst into the darkened pantry—"There you are!"—and the hold over my arm was relinquished when a shrouded figure slammed into Chica, knocking her sideways across the grimy floor. What followed was an unholy symphony of metallic screeching, of steel clashing against steel as Roxanne and Chica wrestled in the cramped space. I couldn't see much, just two large shadows tumbling into the walls, over the tables, knocking over semi-completed pans of pizza. The sounds made my ears want to bleed, every time Roxanne's jaw clamped down over any part of Chica's figure it could, only to snatch out a large chunk. Sparks burst into the air with every rumbling collision, illuminating the area but for a second, a flash that imprinted a picture perfect scene of carnage in my mind.

It was a fight lost from the get-go. Chica's bird-like claws were no match for the power Roxanne wielded in her paws. And her beak only succeeded in pecking out pitiful dents in the wolf's metal chassis, which gave Roxanna ample time to counter with a savage bite that crunched through whatever it latched onto. Some dark fluid that might have been oil was spurting through the air in arching trails, drenching both dueling fembots and pooling over the ground.

"Roxanne... what... are you doing?" Chica stumbled back into a wall with rumbling force, dripping her own fluids while struggling to remain upright. She was trembling, gushing oil from several jagged holes torn from her frame. Her eyes blinked in rapid succession, she was missing half her beak and the other half still connected to her scarred face shot off sparks every few seconds.

Roxanne stood just before me and my would-be killer, having viciously torn off one of Chica's arms in the earlier scuffle and was now tossing it up and down at her leisure. "Gregory is my number one fan, Chica," she said matter-of-factly.

Chica slid a few inches down the wall with a godawful screech. "He is... food... like the others..."

I blinked, forgetting the metal grate biting into my back. Like the… like the others? What others?

Frowning somewhat, if that slouching in her iron jaw could be called such, Roxanne only reached back a paw for me. A paw dripping black. I don't know what compelled me but I staggered forward, figuring it was safer next to her than afar.

"Maybe you're right," Roxanne responded thoughtfully, and before that thread of panic could pierce my insides, she brought me in closer, close enough to mash the side of my face against the firm softness of her hip, "but right now? Right now he's my everything. Maybe if you had a number one fan you'd understand. But you don't, so you can't. Now here, go get cleaned up." She tossed the severed arm across the room where it bounced almost mockingly over the floor with a ringing clang. "And remember, Gregory is mine."

It still hadn't registered with me that what had happened had actually happened. I sat in a daze on a bench just outside the medical bay, watching Roxanne apply gauze to my arm without taking it in. The overhead light was piercing, washing over Roxanne and setting her fur ablaze with the oil she was splattered with, that matted her fur, but it seemed not to bother her. She was talking about something, yammering on like she always did, but her words weren't reaching me. Nothing but the dull, throbbing pain in my arm was breaching my confusion.

"—pretty silly to run off like that, lil' Rockstar. I mean, if you wanted to play tag all you had to do was ask! I'm the best at that, you know. I know all the best spots, the best hidey-holes, everything. Normally I wouldn't even bring it up but since you're my biggest fan, I'll show you the ropes! It'd be my pleasure, at least until you gotta go, but even still, I know you'll come back to see me because—"

It was just an endless stream of pre-recorded lines that fit the situation. There was no trace of genuine emotion there. There couldn't be, not from an animatronic. I stared at the top of her furry head, watching her ears flicker. She was surprisingly gentle while tending to my arm, displaying an almost unnerving level of gracefulness with her movements despite being a robot.

"—a lot of fans here and there but usually Chica or Montgomery eat them before I can see how big of a fan they really are! Which is a bummer... so I told myself that with the next one I'd protect them just to see, right? Just to find out if they were truly my biggest fan, and I'm glad I did! Out of all the dozens that were eaten before, you, Gregory, you're the best one ever! And what's a pop-star like me without their number one fan, their number one lil' Rockstar?"

My stomach lurched. The room seemed to spin with Roxanne's carefree words. I was just one in a long line of other kids...? That had gotten eaten? Is that why Chica's beak smelled so awful? Was it because... were the remnants of rotted flesh still in there?

Roxanne lifted her head and I was all she saw, all she revered and wanted. "We gotta stick together, right, lil' Rockstar?"

Even if all I wanted to do was put as much distance as humanly possible between us, I already knew it was advantageous to my health having this killer robot at my side.

So I lifted my wounded arm to pat her on the head, right between her realistically furry ears, and met her glowing stare with a sunken smile.

"Roxy?"

Her tail wagged. "Yes?"

"I think I'm gonna throw up... pass me that trash bin real quick..."

The End

A/N: Thoughts?