Fazbear Frights: The Fan Files Chapter 1: 1: On the Bright Side, a five nights at freddy´s fanfic

4:30.

Bayleigh stared at the clock like it had insulted her. She had to squint to peer into the back room from her place behind the front counter, and the food court's horrible lighting did her no favors. The neon of the kid-friendly 80's nightclub theming had long since burned through her eyelids and into her nightmares.

Reluctantly, the minute hand granted her another centimeter.

4:31.

Only four hours and twenty-nine minutes left.

For the second time that shift, Bayleigh weighed the pros and cons of submerging her head in the deep fryer. Her coworkers had sworn since her first day that it would get easier– she wouldn't even notice the smell of grease after the first month!

No no, she couldn't smell anything but grease after her first month– two and a half months in, the countless hours on her feet brought rude attention to muscles she didn't even know existed.

She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and shot bolt upright, lest she give some eager customer a cheap shot at her for providing "lackluster service."

The obnoxious, "mauled by a vengeful orange highlighter" shirt made her relax, and she slumped at the sight of her fellow coworker, Grayson.

"Where did you go?" Bayleigh asked him as he joined her behind the counter.

"Terrance."

No further explanation was needed; Bayleigh offered a sympathetic sound.

"Hey, you survived it."

"Barely." He busied himself at the register, "He told me to send you in next."

She rolled her eyes, "Oh, shut up."

Grayson stopped to look at her, "No. I mean it."

It took her a few seconds to realize that he was not, in fact, screwing with her, and Bayleigh's mood took a nosedive into cold terror.

"... frick. Did he say why?!"

He shrugged, "He just said to send you in. I dunno. It's probably just routine stuff."

"No way, Terrance has it out for me– it's never just 'nothing.'"

"Terrance has it out for everyone," Grayson reasoned, "Look, you're only gonna piss him off more if you make him wait. So just… like, I dunno, rip off the bandaid and get it over with."

It made sense, but it didn't help. Bayleigh stifled another line of panicked speculation and stepped back from the counter.

"Well." She exhaled slowly, "Nice knowing you."

"Fix your hair," was all Grayson offered, "You look… frantic."

With that loving send-off, Bayleigh ducked inside the first restroom she could, cringing at what she saw in the mirror.

The "attack of angry orange highlighter" shirt brought out the flush in her pale cheeks, and produced an ugly effect against her red hair. Not "idyllic, romantic ginger sunset" red hair, either. It was more of a "sickly autumn leaves being drowned in a curbside puddle" red. That same hair was splayed out in every direction, escaping her uniform's black hat and half-hearted bun.

Oh, and her nametag– misspelled– was crooked.

Bayleigh removed her hat, haphazardly smoothed back the wayward strands, then smothered it all beneath the hat once more. Then, after offering her reflection one final, disappointed look, she began the long, stomach-knotting walk to the office of her supervisor, Terrance.

In truth, "office" was perhaps too gracious a term for the broom closet with a table and two plastic chairs. The maddening neon glow of the pizzaplex was replaced by the relentless hum of fluorescent lights, scuffed white walls… though the pizza-grease smell still haunted the space like a vengeful ghost.

But persistent pizza-grease specters weren't what scared Bayleigh at the moment. She stared at the office door, debated whether or not there was still time to make a dash back to the deep fryer, and pushed it open.

Terrance was already waiting for her, hands clasped comfortably on the table in front of him. He smiled, but his eyes didn't match.

"Bayleigh! Have a seat!"

She did as she was told, hiding her hands in her lap beneath the table, and forced herself to maintain eye contact with her supervisor.

In typical "Fazbear higher-up" fashion, the plastic smile never dropped, nor did the grating tone, akin to scraping a metal fork against a plate.

"So, Bayleigh! Working hard?"

… okay, so she wasn't being fired on the spot. That was a plus.

"Yes sir."

"That's what we like to hear!" he replied, "And that's why I think you'll be excited about this new opportunity we've got in store for you!"

Red lights flashed in the back of her mind, and Bayleigh focused on maintaining her mental footing.

"New opportunity?"

"That's right!" Terrance nearly spoke over her, "As you know, spring break is coming up fast, and we're all doing our part to make sure the pizzaplex is going to be ready for all those eager kids and parents!"

This wasn't going anywhere good.

"And so, when I heard a situation had come up that needed a little extra attention, I knew I could count on you to handle it!"

Beneath the table, Bayleigh nervously picked at the skin around her nails.

Terrance didn't bother leaving room for her in the conversation and just kept chugging along, "I'm sure you've heard of the pizzaplex's super-fun Super Star Daycare Center, but you may not know about our state of the art daycare attendant!"

Bayleigh stared at him blankly, trying to figure out if the forty-something year old before her had really used the term "super-fun."

"Well, even state of the art technology can experience a few bugs every so often!" The sound he made was the furthest thing from a natural, good-natured laugh, "We've had a few tiny reports of it "frightening kids" and "inducing nightmares" and "occasionally causing harm." Of course, that's what the waivers are for, but you know how people are about spreading troublesome little rumors…"

He finally stopped speaking long enough for Bayleigh to venture an interjection.

"So… you want me to–"

"We want you to take the next week and weekend to run diagnostics on the daycare attendant, and see if you can't figure out what's causing all the fuss!"

"Wait," Bayleigh spoke up, "I'm not scheduled to work next week. I've got plans."

Finally, a minuscule crack appeared in Terrance's demeanor: a twitch in the frozen smile, a subtle raising of his eyebrows.

"I understand, Bayleigh," he said, voice unfazed by the subtle change, "It's a new job from what you're used to, and it's a little scary, isn't it? But you don't have to worry! One of the great things about our animatronics is the streamlined maintenance process! All you have to do in parts and services is read off a screen and push the right buttons! Anyone can do it!"

He seamlessly slipped back into his previous, perfect mask of a demeanor, "Besides. As someone without much seniority, it's only fair for you to take one for the team, don't you agree? Unless… you don't think you're up for being the sort of team player that we want working for us here?"

Bayleigh felt her cheeks burn, adding to the garish haze of her attire. She swallowed down indignation at the blatant, slimy manipulation being used against her, and let the sensation settle in her chest, where it prickled with a sort of childish shame at the veiled reprimand. She was angry at the tactic, but even angrier that it worked.

Squeezing her hidden hands into fists, Bayleigh nodded.

Terrance beamed, "Great! I knew I had a good feeling about you, Bayleigh! I'm sure you'll make us proud!" Then he added, with an air of casualness, "It's worth reminding you that since you already have two infractions against you, failure to complete this task to our satisfaction will result in your immediate termination. But, if you do a good job, we'll see if we can't… expunge those little mistakes from your permanent record and let bygones be bygones!" He gave her what was probably supposed to be a conspiratorial wink, "How does that sound?"

The prickle in her chest dug in deeper. She nodded.

"What's that, Bayleigh?"

Her hands tightened.

"Yes sir."

"Great!" Terrance slid a little plastic card across the table towards her, "This should grant you access to the Super Star Daycare! It lets out for the day at 8:30, so you should swing by around then to meet the daycare attendant– I'm sure the two of you will get along great!"

Bayleigh took the card as her ticket to freedom, sliding it into her hand and rising from her chair, making a beeline for the office door.

"Oh, and good luck, Bayleigh! I'm sure you'll make us proud!"

She could feel the fake smile boring into the back of her head– never, ever had she hated her name more than the numerous times he'd thrown it at her in the past few minutes. The feeling, like all the others, was shoved down.

"Yes sir."

The brightly-colored "Super Star Daycare" signs led her where she needed to go come 8:30, and Bayleigh trudged past sugar-fueled kids and dead-eyed parents towards the elevators that overlooked the atrium. One quiet ride later, and after a longing look at the front doors of the pizzaplex, she headed for the daycare.

For some bizarre reason, the theming took an odd shift on the way to the pick-up spot: red brick walls, subtle neon, a reflective floor, a fountain… It was the first and only place she'd found in the pizzaplex that didn't scream for attention.

Yeah, it wouldn't last.

Things returned to form inside the actual daycare with a bright blue floor, pristine white tables, and a child-proof, glass-paneled viewing area that overlooked the play place. Even from her vantage point at the back of the room, Bayleigh could see the reflective glow of rainbow plastic from within.

An employee stood at the checkout counter, eyes glazed from the glow of her computer screen. She straightened up at Bayleigh's entrance, recognized the uniform, and returned to her tired stance.

"Yeah, what?" she asked in Bayleigh's general direction, not bothering to disguise the impatient tone.

"Hi," Bayleigh replied, shortly, "I'm supposed to deal with the daycare attendant or something. I guess it's in there?"

The employee grunted, "Yeah."

"... okay. So, how do I get down there?"

It earned her an annoyed look, and the employee pointed to the walkway behind her, "See that?"

In truth, she hadn't; Bayleigh's attitude was pacified by embarrassment.

"Oh. Yeah."

"Go down the stairs. There's big doors that go into the daycare. You need a pass to get in." The employee gave her a smirk, "Or, just go down the slide. Little kids love the slide."

Bayleigh frowned, picking up on the slight.

"No thanks."

Passing by empty party rooms and merch-filled gift shops, Bayleigh descended the candy wrapper-strewn staircase and approached whatever awaited her inside the daycare. Her walk ended at the tall, heavy red doors of the entrance. After a quick keycard swipe, the doors surrendered with a clunk, and she took her first steps inside.

She was surprised to be met with the unmistakable sound of childrens' laughter, echoing off the glass off the enclosed play place– wasn't it supposed to be closed by now?

Before she had time to wonder about the source of the sound, it swarmed into view. Along with a mob of preschoolers, Bayleigh got her first look at her unwanted assignment: the daycare attendant.

It was taller than the kids around it, but only by a head or so. It was decked with yellow, orange and red, and looked to be designed like some sort of jester: puffy pants, pointed shoes, and the prominent jingle of bells with every movement. Its head sported orange spikes, and Bayleigh quickly realized that it was supposed to resemble a sun.

Her observation was cut short by the squeal of a child, as they were swept up by the thing's slender arms and tossed effortlessly into the nearby ball pit. Seeing this, the remaining children clambered to be thrown as well.

Bayleigh sucked in a breath, "Oh god–"

"Relax. It's fine."

Her attention was brought to the lone employee at the check out desk, who sat back in her chair with a tired resignation. This one, Bayleigh recognized: Dana. Been there six months. Didn't rat people out for being on their phones. One of the good ones.

"He knows what he's doing," Dana continued, paying no mind to the kids, "You only haveta step in if someone starts crying."

Bayleigh looked back at the scene, where the animatronic had tossed two more children. A laughing little girl made a sudden grab for one of its arms, which it effortlessly avoided, and unleashed a laugh of its own– it was metallic, jittery, and loud.

"Whatcha need, Bay?"

"Isn't this place supposed to close at 8:30?"

Dana snorted, "Yeah."

Bayleigh gestured around the room, "Well?"

It elicited a shrug, "Parents can't be bothered to show up on time. What are you gonna do? Toss 'em out?" She rubbed one of her eyes, "Not like I'm doing much, anyway."

More metallic, artificial laughter and tiny jingling bells– she didn't know how she was going to deal with a whole week of this. Bayleigh let her eyes wander across the rest of the play place, eyes assaulted by a sea of rainbow plastic balls, mats, child-safe furniture and toys, all surrounding a multi-leveled playground of tunnels and netting.

Inside, she caught sight of movement– a little boy ducked back out of view, apart from the others. She waited, but he didn't emerge.

"What's up with them?"

"Oh, the hiding kids? I dunno. They do that sometimes."

Bayleigh raised an eyebrow, "You're not going to… ask them about it?"

Dana's expression told her the sentiment was far out of her pay grade. Moved by curiosity more than compassion, Bayleigh traversed the toys and piles of arts and crafts supplies, making it to one of the entrances of the playground.

She knelt down, peering into the structure, and was instantly met by the wide, frightened eyes of three kids.

"Uh, hi," Bayleigh greeted, caught off guard, "What are you guys doing in here?"

No one answered her, glances passing between the group before being nervously shifted back to her.

Withholding a sigh, Bayleigh shifted into a sitting position, ignoring the protests of her sore muscles.

"You're not in trouble," she assured, "I just want to talk to you. Why aren't you out there playing with everyone else?"

For a moment, it looked like she'd receive nothing but silence, until the boy at the front of the group spoke up in something just above a whisper.

"I don't like it."

"You don't like what?"

The boy hazarded a glance through the tunnel's plastic window, and raised a tiny shaking hand.

"Him. He's scary."

She didn't really need to see what he was pointing at to know, but Bayleigh did anyway.

The daycare attendant's voice was loud enough to be heard from outside the playground, but the exact words were muffled by the plastic tunnel.

"Yeah? Why does it scare you?" Bayleigh asked.

The boy shook his head, refusing to answer.

"My friend said he's evil," the little girl behind him stepped in, talking quickly and breathlessly, "She said that– she said when it's dark, he gets scary."

"Oh?"

"Uh-huh. She said that when the lights go out and– she said she saw when it got dark, that he changed into something different, and he acted really mean and scary." The girl's face displayed a kind of seriousness that made her look much older, "And his hands are bad."

That one caught Bayleigh off guard, "What do you mean?"

The little girl shrugged, "I dunno. She just said they're bad."

Bayleigh wasn't sure how to reply, attention shifting between the petrified kids and the seemingly innocent animatronic.

"You know what?" the quiet little boy spoke up again.

"No, what?"

His eyes locked onto hers, "I heard he makes people disappear."

Bayleigh gave him a patient yet skeptical look, "Now who told you that?"

The boy shook his head, avoiding the question.

"He prob'ly does," the girl agreed somberly.

"Alright," Bayleigh tried to dispel the foreboding mood that had taken hold of the group, "Calm down, you guys. I think your friends might've just been trying to scare you. Yeah, the robot is weird and creepy, but it's not going to hurt you." She smiled at the kids, "It's spooky, but safe. Okay?"

The daycare attendant's voice echoed through the tunnels once again, eliciting a visible flinch from the kids, and they drew closer together.

Bayleigh sighed, her reassurances obviously going unheard. She didn't want to admit it, but the unshaken certainty in the kids' accusations had planted a seed of apprehension in her mind…

But, come on. They were little kids– kids who believed in ghosts and could be scared by their own shadows. This was just another boogeyman they'd grow out of with time– and one she'd long since stopped being afraid of.

Now, she had an underpaid job to do.

It wasn't until 9:00 that the last kid was picked up, by parents who didn't offer so much as an apology for their lateness. The second they were out the door, Dana set off right behind them.

"Don't worry about cleaning up anything," she told Bayleigh over her shoulder, "He does it himself."

The doors shut with a heavy clunk, and once their echo faded, Bayleigh realized just how small she was in the massive, empty play place.

Faintly, she heard the jingle of bells– rather, the almost empty play place.

Bayleigh took in a breath, doing her best to shake the nerves that had begun to sneak up on her. It was just a glitchy robot, not a monster.

It didn't take her long to find the daycare attendant, arms a blur as it stooped to sweep up toys, then bouncing across the cushioned floor to return them to their proper place. With every movement, bells jingled and covered the low whir of mechanics.

And soon, she was spotted. The animatronic halted in its tracks.

Oh dear.

"Hello, new friend!" the animatronic shouted, immediately dropping the toys it had been gathering. Before Bayleigh could think to react, it had bounded forward and directly into her personal space, "Wow, you're reeeeeally tall, aren't you?"

The animatronic crouched low before leaping up into the air, and in the split second they were eye to eye, it subjected her to a blinding facial scan– Bayleigh blinked rapidly, seeing stars.

"Oh! You're not a kid at all! You're an employee!" The animatronic uttered a jittery little laugh, "But we can still be friends! Hello, Staff Member Bayleigh!"

Half blind, Bayleigh tried to focus on the hyperactive little thing before her. It came up to her waist, and absolutely refused to stand still. And she could see its face clearly, too: one of those half-sun, half-moon designs with white, unblinking eyes, round cheeks, and…

… small, intricate teeth.

"Uh." She ignored the shiver that threatened to rise up her spine, "Hi." After a prolonged pause, Bayleigh added, "They… didn't actually tell me what you were called. Other than 'the daycare attendant.'"

It earned her another laugh, "Don't worry! You're supposed to learn a new friend's name when you meet them!" The animatronic reached out and grabbed one of her idle hands, "So! Hello, Staff Member Bayleigh! My name is Sunnydrop!"

His hand was cold, metal, and the long, multi-jointed fingers wrapped all the way around her own hand. Bayleigh's shiver won out, and she slipped her hand free from his grasp.

"Okay." She obscured her hands from further contact, "Hi… Sunnydrop."

"Don't you know the daycare is closed by now?" Sunnydrop piped up, "You should be going home for the night!"

"Yeah, I should be, shouldn't I?" She corrected herself, "But, I can't. I'm supposed to see what's wrong with you."

Sunnydrop tilted his head to the side in an exaggerated imitation of confusion, "Something wrong with me?" He suddenly laughed, "Oh-ho-ho! You're telling a joke, Staff Member Bayleigh!"

"No, really. They said you were scaring kids. I talked to some kids a couple minutes ago, and they said you… like, change in the dark?"

Sunnydrop cackled abruptly, "Oh, that's silly! But I'm glad they have such fun imaginations!"

Bayleigh narrowed her eyes, "Okay. What about you hurting kids, then?"

He gasped, displaying unmistakable shock.

"Absolutely not!" Sunnydrop leapt atop a short foam wall, putting them eye to eye again, "I could never do anything bad like that! It's against the rules! Hurting people is wrong, wrong, wrong!" He stamped a bell-adorned foot with each repeat of the word, "Besides, it's not nice to scare or hurt! That's why it's against the rules! In here, we're only allowed to have fun!"

Bayleigh felt like she was talking to a neurotic preschool teacher on the verge of snapping, and her expression betrayed as much.

"Right." She rubbed her eyes, "Well, if you don't know what they're talking about, then I guess… that's something I have to figure out, myself. Uh… I should probably start by making sure you're not broken anywhere or–"

Sunnydrop hopped back down to the floor, sticking the landing without a sway in his balance.

"Okey-dokey, Staff Member Bayleigh!"

She stared at the little thing that had robbed her of her spring break, doing nothing to hide the annoyance that began to seep in.

"... right."

Bayleigh wasn't sure what it was she was looking for, exactly: cracks? Wires? Everything seemed to be in working order. Of course, that was something she would've been able to determine far sooner, if the animatronic could stay still for more than three seconds at a time.

And it didn't take her long to pinpoint what, precisely, had gotten to her so quickly.

"Hey," she repeated, impatience edging into her voice, "Could you stop? I'm almost done."

Sunnydrop ceased his fidgeting, "Oops! Sorry, Staff Member Bayleigh!"

She didn't like the repeated use of her name– people didn't do that, not unless they were trying to win you over with something. It was a feigned, over-sweetened familiarity. An act. She assumed it was by design, to fool kids into thinking they'd found a real friend, and to bring them (and their parents' money) right back to the pizzaplex time and time again.

So, naturally, she put her foot down and resisted the gimmick. It was a smart toy, but a toy nonetheless.

Bayleigh sat back with a sigh, the examination turning up nothing out of the ordinary. She knew what that meant: the long, tedious trek down to parts and services. With an already rambunctious animatronic in tow.

She exhaled again, long and drawn out, "Okay… we're going to have to check your code, to see if the problem's somewhere in there."

Sunnydrop hopped in excitement, "Ooh, that means going outside the daycare, doesn't it? Oh boy! How exciting!" Halfway through the thought, he'd made it to the doors, "Let's go, let's go! I haven't left the daycare in a long time!"

Bayleigh let them both out of the play place, unleashing the hyperactive animatronic upon the world outside the daycare. She paid little attention to him as she walked, but the constant jingle of bells let her know he was never far behind.

After surviving the stairs, she passed through the pickup area in a haze, then the red-bricked area. Her mind was working at half capacity, currently calculating how much longer past her official clock-out time she was going to have to spend here.

Stepping out of the daycare wing, Bayleigh squinted in the sudden light, but powered through the discomfort and continued on to the elevators—

Her hand was grabbed, and she yelped at the sudden touch, whipping it away. She realized a second later that the culprit was Sunnydrop; he completely ignored her reaction, taking her by the hand once more.

"So we don't get separated!" was his peppy explanation, "I wouldn't want you to get lost, new friend!"

Bayleigh didn't respond. She just hit the elevator button and waited.

They stepped out into the atrium's balcony, still hand in hand (she was too tired to fight him at this point), and Bayleigh led them towards the main stage. She passed several coworkers along the way, and every one of them, without fail, stopped to eye the pair. And they laughed.

Cool. Wonderful. Just what she needed, tonight.

"Aw, cute," an employee cooed, "You made a little buddy! You know where you're going? I'm pretty sure the day care is back the other way."

It wasn't even especially pointed, but it got to her, anyway. Bayleigh shot the employee an acid look.

"Do your job for once, Chelsea, instead of mine."

The remark earned her a sneer, but it made her feel a whole lot better.

Bayleigh scanned the empty stage for what she was looking for, and after a bit of frustration, found it— a tiny, hidden panel in the shiny stage floor. She flipped it open, and out popped the button stand, shooting up from the floor a few feet until it was within easy reach. The tiny, Freddy head-shaped button (this place's theming knew no end) glowed, and Bayleigh pressed it.

After a jolt, the entire stage began to sink into the floor. The pizzaplex's atrium was obscured by the walls of the massive elevator shaft, neon lights replaced with eerie orange as it sank further and further into the earth.

The descent finally ended with another jolt, and Bayleigh's eyes adjusted to the dark hallway that laid ahead of her. She'd only been brought down to parts and services once before, during her orientation, and had secretly hoped she wouldn't have to come back.

She realized that her hand was now being held by both of Sunnydrop's. Bayleigh sent him a look.

"What?"

"It's dark in there, isn't it?" His voice was as expressive as usual, but noticeably different.

"There's lights."

"I don't like the dark."

Bayleigh stared at him.

"... it's fine. It's not really even that dark." Then she remembered what exactly she was talking to and the patience dropped further, "Just come on, okay? It's late. I want to get this over with as much as you do."

She took a step forward, and when she wasn't immediately followed, she gave him a tug. He walked, but without his usual bounce.

They didn't encounter a single employee on their way to parts and services, and though she wouldn't admit it out loud, Bayleigh was glad she wasn't making the trip alone.

Well, she was. Kind of. Technically. But.

… nevermind.

At long last, they made it to parts and services. Bayleigh had no clue who they'd let design this place, but in this room, their cyberpunk was showing.

The key feature of the room was a large, metal cylinder embedded in its center. Large black pipes ran from its rounded roof and snaked up into the ceiling, from which an eerie blue light offered no more than a hazy glow. Large windows provided a clear view into the cylinder itself, placed on either side of the large doorway. Above it, a gear was emblazoned on the surface.

Bayleigh approached the strange cylinder, her eyes drawn to an old, boxy computer beside the door– that must've been what controlled the metal behemoth.

"Alright," she said, nudging Sunnydrop in the direction of the cylinder, "Go ahead and go in."

He took a step back.

On instinct, Bayleigh frowned, "Dude."

Sunnydrop shook his head.

Who the heck programs a robot to NOT do what you say?! What is the point?!

"It's fine," she huffed, "It's just a chair. It'll like, scan you or whatever."

"Can you go in with me, please?"

Bayleigh nodded towards the computer, "I have to work it from outside. The quicker you do it, the quicker it'll be over."

When he realized she truly wouldn't budge, Sunnydrop let go of her hand and shuffled into the cylinder, accompanied only by the sad little jingle of bells. Bayleigh, relieved by the cooperation, took her place at the computer.

The screen came to life at her prodding, and she was surprised to find that it glowed green. She didn't know old computers like this were still actually used.

Thankfully, Terrance had been telling the truth– the machine was essentially idiot-proofed, giving her limited options: "Scan," "Repair," "Reset," "Info," and "Disassemble."

She selected "scan," and the machine whirred into motion, shutting the cylinder's door with a rush of air. The chair in the center of the cylinder, which held Sunnydrop, rose a foot or two off the floor. Metal arms descended from the cylinder's ceiling, performing various tasks: they held him in place, while others began to poke and prod at the animatronic, searching for whatever flaws might've been hidden from view.

Code began to fill the screen, flashing letters and numbers that meant nothing to Bayleigh. It flowed, line after line, and only seemed to speed up as it continued on. She could make out the persistent whir of machinery, and wondered if the brick of a computer could even handle such a task.

Despite her worries, the process eventually ground to a halt. The computer emitted a cheery little ding, then displayed a bright block of green text:

Scan completed successfully.

Battery level: 31%.

Errors detected: 0.

Bayleigh stared at the report, dumbfounded.

That was it? Nothing? Obviously there was something wrong, if problems were happening– now what?

She ended the parts and services session, and the instant the door opened, Sunnydrop fled the cylinder– and latched onto her hand once again.

"See?" Bayleigh muttered, "Nothing bad happened, did it?"

Sunnydrop cackled, "And nothing was wrong, was it?"

Oh, so now the robot was going to sass her too? Surprise was the only thing that earned him a smirk.

"Nothing other than your battery being low." She resigned herself to the hand-holding, and tugged him towards the exit, "So, let's go back to the daycare before it dies. I don't want to have to carry you."

He hopped up and down, bounding towards the door and pulling her along with him, "You could do it! You're definitely strong enough! Ooh, OR! Or, or, or! I could carry you there!"

"Yeah, I doubt that."

Bayleigh was not about to endure the whole walk back to those red daycare doors. So, she compromised, and took them as far as the daycare pickup room– he could find his way from there. Or, fail that, use the slide.

Once they entered the pickup area, however, something caught Bayleigh's dwindling attention. Smack dab in the middle of the room stood a towering, golden statue displaying the daycare attendant, nimbly balanced and arms raised above his head.

But something stood behind him. Curiously, Bayleigh walked around the statue to better see the object… and she was hit with a wave of confusion.

It was a statue of another animatronic, nearly identical to Sunnydrop, but with a few small changes: the head didn't have its sun-like spikes, but rather a nightcap. It was crouched, arms raised like it was prepared to pounce. The moon-half of the face was more prominent.

"Hey," she called over, "Where's your buddy?"

He tilted his head in confusion, perched in front of the slide's entrance.

"What do you mean? Is this another joke? You sure have a lot of those, don't you, Staff Member Bayleigh?"

She pointed to the statue, "This one. It looks like you. Is it another animatronic here?"

Sunnydrop followed her gesture… and stared. In silence.

"... oh." He looked back to the slide. "No."

"Then why is there a statue of it here?"

Sunnydrop said nothing. Then he dove into the slide, vanishing from view.

Bayleigh was baffled by the interaction, watching through the windows as the animatronic emerged inside the play place, then immediately resumed his frenzied cleaning of the area.

He was… a funny little thing, she'd give him that.

Idly, her attention shifted to her watch, which read 9:37.

Something weird was going on here. But her shift was long since over– it could wait until tomorrow. Feeling the full ache of the workday, Bayleigh vacated the daycare, and did her best to ignore the fact that she'd be seeing it again very, very soon.

It took her a few days to finally give into the fact that the problem wouldn't solve itself.

"Job from Terrance," she told Grayson, not at all upset to escape the food counter, "But I can stick around, if you think you'll miss me too much."

Grayson raised a hand in a lazy wave, not so much as looking up from the register.

Before enduring the long walk to the daycare, Bayleigh made another visit to parts and services. It took some fiddling, as well as some swearing at the lackluster functionality offered by the ancient artifact of a computer, but she was able to navigate herself to the previous scan log of Sunnydrop.

Scrolling through the code didn't provide her with much, so Bayleigh tried something else, hopping over to the "info" tab.

She was presented with a full-screen image of what she quickly identified to be blueprints of the animatronic– a version of him, anyway. The face looked a little different, and he was missing the puffy pants.

The menu allowed her to click through a collection of these, and Bayleigh browsed through different blueprints, watching the slow progression towards the daycare attendant she recognized. Beside the drawings, notes and numbers were displayed to record measurements, values, and other things she couldn't even begin to guess.

And then, out of nowhere, something new appeared. Sunnydrop was replaced with his counterpart from the daycare's statue. The nightcap-wearing animatronic.

The bottom right corner of the blueprint displayed what had to be his name: "Moondrop."

"... huh." Bayleigh stood back from the computer, trying to make sense of the new information. So there clearly was a second animatronic running around here, somewhere. Or maybe it had at some point, before going… somewhere.

She was sure Sunnydrop knew something about it, too. But, if he wasn't going to come out and tell her, she'd need to get it out of someone else.

Her chance came sooner than she'd expected, an employee clearing his throat from behind her.

"Hey, are you done with that?" The man, a little older than her, looked dead behind the eyes, "Gotta do maintenance on Monty. Again. Takes an hour. Wanna get it done with."

"Oh, yeah. No problem." She went to exit out of the blueprint, but stopped, "But real quick: do you know where this animatronic is?"

The man stepped forward to study the screen, his brow furrowing at the blueprint.

"What, the daycare attendant? Pretty sure it's in the daycare."

"I know," she replied, "Sunnydrop's in there. But I couldn't find this other one, and when I asked about it–"

She was cut off when the man sent her a look.

"It's the same thing."

"What?"

"It's the same robot. It switches between the sun and moon characters, in the daycare– that's the whole gimmick of the place." The expression and tone he displayed made it abundantly clear that the first impression she'd presented was, essentially, "idiot."

Bayleigh's cheeks burned, "Oh. I didn't know that."

"Yeah. I gathered that." He rubbed the space under his nose, "So you done with the machine or what?"

She jerked her head down in a nod, exiting out of the blueprints and quickly vacating the parts and services room, afraid of what other stupid misconceptions she'd be called out on, if she kept talking.

Now, she made her way to the daycare, passing the empty pickup counter and letting herself into the play place. Dana wasn't at her desk, and the room was devoid of children.

It didn't take long for Sunnydrop to be alerted by the noise– he popped up from within the playground, and upon seeing her, unleashed his typical metallic laugh.

"Ho-ho! Staff Member Bayleigh!" Unfazed by the height, Sunnydrop jumped from his place near the top level of the playground, touched down in a somersault before rolling to his feet again. Immediately, he bounded over to where Bayleigh was waiting, and perched comfortably atop the wall of a ball pit.

"Well, aren't you the acrobat," she remarked, forced to admit she was impressed by the feat.

He continued to bounce and jitter from his spot, already seeming more keyed up than their last encounter "You're back again! And late again, too! But that's alright! I missed you anyway!"

Whatever she'd initially planned to say escaped her mind entirely, and she stared at the little machine, caught off guard.

"... okay." After a pause, she was able to recapture her train of thought, "Well, anyway. You've got some questions to answer." Bayleigh pointed at the windows of the pickup room, where the statue could be clearly seen, "First of all, why didn't you tell me about Moondrop?"

The bouncing stopped cold.

"... oh." His demeanor shifted into something just as lively, but it was a nervous energy, "He's not any fun to talk about."

"Why not?"

Sunnydrop didn't jitter so much as he did twitch, "I don't like it when I have to change into him."

Bayleigh was fully engrossed, "But why not?"

After an especially strong twitch, Sunnydrop dropped from his spot on the wall and started collecting the toys that were strewn across the ground.

"Hey," Bayleigh called out, "Sunnydrop, answer me."

"Have to clean," he chirped, mostly to himself, "Supposed to clean. My job to clean. It's my job– be good. Clean up, clean up…"

She followed, trying to face him again, "Sunnydrop. Hey. I asked you a question. Why does Moondrop freak you out?"

He cleaned around her, continuing to mutter to himself, "Have to clean, have to clean…"

"Sunnydrop, just–" Bayleigh cut herself off, knowing she was wasting her time this way. She caught up with him, grabbed him by the shoulders, and turned him around to face her.

"Dude. Do not make this an ordeal, please? I have neither the time nor the patience." She didn't release him, ensuring he remained firmly in place, "Moondrop: what's the issue?"

Sunnydrop studied the toy he held– a little plastic block– and fiddled with the object, turning it over and over in his hands.

"I don't remember." He shook his head, as if to dispel the unpleasant thought, "When the lights go out, and I change, I don't remember it. It all goes away– poof! Like that!" The bells on his wrists jingled with the constant fidgeting, "And then I wake up again, and things are changed! And I don't remember changing them at all!"

Bayleigh was having a hard time focusing on his words over the incessant bells, so she took hold of the block, placing it on the floor behind her.

"Like what? What changes?"

His fingers danced, having nothing to occupy themselves with, and his focus fractured as a result.

"Oh! When I wake up– I don't remember! And things are moved– and they're different– and things aren't where they're supposed to be– and– it's weird! It's weird because everyone acts afraid! And– but why are they afraid? I only remember being nice– it's good to be nice, it's right, it's the rules– so if they're afraid, that must mean– yes– the other one, the moon one– he must be the one being mean to them! That's what it is! But why would they be afraid of me? It isn't me, being mean, it's– it isn't me! So why– it isn't fair for them to be afraid of me! I follow the rules, I– it's not fair! It's not–"

Despite Bayleigh's best efforts, Sunnydrop escaped her grasp. He scooped up the little plastic block, fumbling it between his jittery hands and searching the area for more.

"I'm good," he told himself, "I follow the rules. I'm not mean, I don't hurt, I play fair, I'm good… and they shouldn't be scared of me, they should– I'm a friend! I'm good! They… it's him, not me… but I don't know what to do, I don't know… I don't know…"

Bayleigh watched the animatronic, unable to ignore the painful feeling that welled up in her chest. She reminded herself, sternly, that this was all an imitation: it was advanced programming, meant to give the illusion of feelings, and personality. Clearly something was amiss in the code itself, a glitch or bug, causing all this to spin out of control.

Sunnydrop had collected a few blocks, but the nervous shaking of his hands made him fumble the pile, and they spilled across the floor again. He emitted a shrill, frustrated sound, and scrambled to pick them up once again.

… just coding. It was all just coding.

Giving him space, Bayleigh returned to the check out desk. Besides the papers and notes that Dana had left for herself, there wasn't much to be seen. She jiggled the computer mouse, making the screen come to life, and wasn't presented with anything of note.

"You know," Bayleigh called out, in Sunnydrop's general direction, "If you really can't remember anything that happens when the lights go out, we could just… I don't know, turn them off now? To see what Moondrop ends up doing? That was, at least–"

He practically vaulted himself over the counter, "NO! No no no no no! LIGHTS STAY ON!"

She whipped her hands out of the vicinity of the keyboard, "I just thought–"

"Lights stay on! Keep them on! Keep them on!" he repeated shrilly, his mechanical voice almost fizzing at the ends, "Don't make me change! Please please please, don't– leave them on!"

Bayleigh nodded, mainly to get him out of her face, "Okay– okay, I'm leaving them on. I'm– see? I'm not touching it." She raised her empty hands, "I'm leaving them on. Okay? Calm down."

Sunnydrop balanced, but barely, on the edge of the counter, "Promise!"

"I promise I'm leaving them on," she replied. And, despite knowing exactly how childish it was, Bayleigh had a feeling it would work anyway; she held out a hand, "Pinkie promise, okay?"

He stared at her for a moment, processing the gesture, before reaching out and linking his pinkie finger with her own.

"Pinkie promise."

Without another word, he hopped off the counter to resume his cleaning frenzy. Bayleigh didn't interfere with his work again– just watching was enough to make her tired. She kept hearing him mutter to himself, but couldn't make out the exact words.

Bayleigh sighed, fighting off a headache. Of course, things couldn't just be easy.

Apparently, taking away her spring break was not nearly enough to satiate the ravenous appetite of the Fazbear higher ups, because Bayleigh found herself scheduled to start her shift at six.

As in, six in the morning.

After. A. Night. Shift.

On her drive to work, Bayleigh planned at least three different ways to reduce the pizzaplex and its cheap merchandise to smoldering ashes. No pizzaplex, no morning shifts. Seemed like a win-win to her.

There were few cars in the parking lot, and she parked her faded blue beetle amongst them. She drew in a breath, pressing her forehead into the steering wheel for a few seconds– it would be her last crumbs of freedom for the next couple hours. Already, she felt the familiar ache of a day on her feet.

The front doors whooshed open at her approach, revealing the empty lobby in all its glory: checkered floors, giant fountain, gift shops galore, a small taste of the neon hellscape that awaited guests in the pizzaplex itself.

Halfway up the escalator, Bayleigh realized she was being watched. Slowly, she turned in the direction of the feeling…

Apparently Freddy had wandered out of his room. And he'd found a friend. Sunnydrop.

Bayleigh blinked, then ran back down the still rising escalator.

"Hey!" she called over, "Sunnydrop! Dude, what are you doing?"

The animatronic perked up at the use of his name, but the bounce was noticeably absent. In fact, it seemed the only thing holding him up was Freddy, who had a steady grip on his hand.

Bayleigh had only really interacted with Freddy once before, after being roped into a birthday party turned sinking ship, but she had apparently forgotten just how tall he was. Why kids weren't utterly terrified by the giant metal bear, she had no idea.

"Staff Member Bayleigh!" Freddy greeted, "Good morning! I was looking for an employee to help us." He peered down at Sunnydrop, "I think the daycare attendant has gotten lost…"

"Yeah, looks like it." She held out a hand to Sunnydrop, "Why are you out so early?"

"I… don't remember," he replied, voice droning the smallest bit, "I don't know…"

Bayleigh frowned, but gestured with her hand once again.

"Well. Come on. I'll take you back."

Sunnydrop accepted it, but upon releasing the hand of the other animatronic, he immediately teetered– Freddy was quick to catch him.

"Be careful," he warned, then confided in Bayleigh, "I think his battery may be very low. I do not think the recharge stations around the pizzaplex will work for someone of his size… he must have one of his own, in the daycare. I am not sure where it is located."

"I know where it is!" Sunnydrop piped up, "It's in… in the cubbyhole!"

"We'll find it," Bayleigh assured, partially to herself and partially to Freddy, who still eyed them with very convincing concern, "Go ahead and go back to your room. Not sure if you're supposed to be out this early."

"I am not," he admitted, almost guiltily.

She smirked, "Well, it'll be our little secret, then. Now head back."

"Yes, Staff Member Bayleigh." He waved, "Try not to get lost again, daycare attendant."

Sunnydrop waved back– it looked like he was regaining some of that lost pep.

Or maybe not, as halfway through the red bricked room, he dropped.

"Whoakay," Bayleigh blurted, latching onto his arm to keep him off the floor, "Guess you're done walking then. Okay. Uh…"

She crouched down beside him, throwing the animatronic's arms over her shoulders before standing once again; he was much lighter than she'd expected.

"So, you said something about a cubbyhole," she asked over her shoulder, "Where is it?"

"Above the play place! The perch! In the cloooooouds!"

Bayleigh withheld a sigh, "Can you get all the way up there, like this?"

He laughed, though the sound was quick to fizzle out, "Noooo. Just use the secret door, silly!"

She peered back at him, unamused.

"Secret door."

"In the theater!"

"The theater?"

"Yep! The theater!"

This time, she didn't bother repressing the impatient sigh, "No, I mean… I need you to tell me where that is, exactly. Through the daycare?"

"Ding ding ding! That's exactly right!" His head lolled to one side, flashing Bayleigh a glimpse of his unmoving smile, "The ticket stands have rainbows over them!"

Bayleigh accepted that it was all the direction she was going to receive from the loopy animatronic. She made sure he wasn't about to slide out of her grip, and headed for the pickup area.

Before she hit the stairs, Bayleigh spotted them: ticket counters. Painted rainbows.

"Oh," she muttered, "Those?"

She heard the whir of joints, but no verbal answer– she assumed it was a nod. Bayleigh followed the walkway past the ticket counters, past concession stands, and into the balcony of what she quickly realized was a movie theater. Curiously, she peered over the edge, spotting pillows and giant cushions on the plush floor below.

"Oh, so it's like… a theater for kids to lay around watch cartoons," Bayleigh observed, mostly to herself, "That's kind of cute. Do they let you in here too, sunshine?"

When he didn't respond, Bayleigh jostled him gently, "Hey, still with me? I need you to tell me where that secret door is, because I'm not going to be able to find it alone."

Sunnydrop's hand twitched, and he used it to point towards the farthest wall of the theater. Bayleigh followed the gesture, and sure enough, spotted a tall, framed poster displayed in the center of an otherwise blank wall.

She hurried over to the spot, scanning the poster– it was some Pirate Foxy show, but that isn't what held her attention. The frame was, sure enough, the size of a small door. Bayleigh released one of Sunnydrop's arms in order to feel around the frame, looking for a latch or lever to operate the thing. She could swear she felt a seam there, but ultimately her exploration wrought nothing of use.

"Uh." Bayleigh peered back at her companion, "Anything else you want to tell me?"

Sunnydrop freed one of his hands, and abruptly, used it to cover Bayleigh's eyes.

"Hey–"

She caught the end of a flash of light, much like what she'd been subjected to from his facial scan, but was spared the unpleasant blinding this time. Sunnydrop removed his hand, and to Bayleigh's confusion, she caught a faint glow emitting from different spots on the poster.

So, with nothing else to do, Bayleigh pulled on the frame once more– then stepped back as it swung from the wall, revealing the previously hidden doorway.

"What… even is the layout of this place?" she breathed, "I'm working in a freaking funhouse."

The hallway behind the secret door was orange, with a speckled blue carpet. Other than a trash can, the space was bare, and it led her to a gray metal door. Bayleigh tested the handle, found it unlocked, and pushed it open to reveal…

… yet another oddity.

It was a fairly small room, with old wood floors and dark red walls. String lights and cobwebs circled the room in equal amounts. She spotted what must've been the balcony entrance to the daycare play place, accessible by a railed, wooden platform, and a short metal ladder that she had no plans to trust with her safety.

Inside the room were a few tables, some old and stained foam structures (a tiny house, a cube, general soft tumble-toys), half-crumpled party hats, bits and bobs of broken staff bots…

Along the back wall, Bayleigh spotted a block of outlets, decorated with various routers and blinking devices. One of them sported a long orange extension cord, which snaked down across the floor and into a shadowed corner. Bayleigh followed it, and found a hunk of machinery decorated with a bright, blatant lighting bolt.

"Charging port?"

Sunnydrop flashed her a thumbs up, so she let him down from her back, keeping hold of his hand until he'd made it to the charging port himself. He sat in the center of the device, and instantly his eyes flashed– he stilled.

Bayleigh assumed it meant he was recharging, but that didn't make the sight any less unsettling. She peered around the rest of the strange room, chalking it up to being some sort of neglected storage room.

One of the walls was obscured by a black curtain… but not entirely. Blue plastic was embedded in the dirty red wall, but only a sliver was visible. Bayleigh crept over to the area and pulled the curtain to the side.

It was a blue plastic tunnel, like the ones in the daycare playground: heavily stained with grime and dirt, bedecked with scrapes. When she crouched down, she could just barely see a room on the other side.

She hazarded a glance back at Sunnydrop, who was still unresponsive. So, Bayleigh dropped to her hands and knees and crawled through the tunnel, her shoulders dragging along the roof as she did.

When Bayleigh emerged on the other side, she glanced up, and froze without exiting the tunnel.

Wooden floors, unpainted walls, and… pillows. Cardboard boxes, stacked in deliberately neat piles. She caught sight of little things you might dig out of the bottom of a lost and found bin: cheap plastic toys, dirty slap bracelets, playing cards. A Roxy doll, missing its arm, slumped sadly behind the torso of a broken staff bot.

Slowly, she ventured inside, seeing more of the same thing. Something snapped beneath her foot, and Bayleigh retracted it quickly, finding the remnants of a cheap purple crayon.

Then she found the drawings. Tacked up along the wall, scribbled by the most passionate little hands in crayons and washable markers, were clear depictions of the animatronic band, or of kids alongside their favorite characters.

Above a pile of pillows, she found a carefully curated swath of drawings. Each one of them contained Sunnydrop himself, sometimes joined by the young artist, while in others he was juggling, performing acrobatics, or waving to the viewer.

Taking it all in, she couldn't help but feel… sad. It was like a child's room, but not quite– someone's best imitation of one, maybe. Like the spatial representation of someone forcing a smile.

As she'd done many times before, Bayleigh habitually reminded herself that no matter how strange this all was… it was just a quirk. A bug. Sure, someone had done an amazing job with the programming, but that's all it was. It was numbers in the code. Ones and zeroes that determined every action.

And she told herself this, repeatedly, with what she was well aware was dwindling certainty.

Just before leaving, Bayleigh noticed perhaps the strangest object in the room: an arcade machine. It was blue, bedecked with clouds and red lettering that read "Balloon World." Bayleigh was never much for video games, but the existence of the machine, here of all places, struck her as incredibly strange.

As if nothing else she'd seen in the past two minutes could fit under that description.

She crawled back through the blue tunnel, and almost immediately tripped over a boxy metal device she'd missed near the entrance. It was colored a cheap, paint-chipped gold, with a large black screen, a few switches, and an empty bulb socket on its top. It didn't seem to be plugged in anywhere, and judging by the amount of duct tape decorating its surface, she doubted it would turn on even if she'd found a way to power it.

"We have to learn when to cut our losses and just toss stuff," she groaned. After another quick check of Sunnydrop, Bayleigh left the animatronic to charge for the day ahead, and headed towards her own life-draining shift.

But, midway through the walk, she had an idea. It made her question herself almost immediately– had she really become this desperate?

… yeah. No doubt.

So, Bayleigh changed course, and made her way to Rockstar Row.

Thank god, at least Freddy knew how to follow instructions, because she found him exactly where she'd told him to go: in his room.

"Hello Staff Member Bayleigh!" He greeted her even before she'd stepped through the door, idling near a vanity in the nearby corner of the room.

"Hey Freddy," she replied, "And… you don't have to do the whole "staff member" part. Just "Bayleigh" is fine. It'll save us time. Okay?"

"If that is what you would prefer, Bayleigh."

… the sudden lapse in formality made her feel weird. But, she'd asked for it.

"Thanks." She let her eyes wander the brightly colored room, filled with Fazbear merchandise, decorations, another arcade machine. To be fair, it seemed like an ideal hang-out nook for a kid's birthday party; she'd be lying if she said the pizzaplex didn't know what it was doing, once in a while.

"So I've got a couple questions for you," Bayleigh began, "If you're not busy."

Freddy's facial structure didn't allow much in the way of emotion, with the exception of his large, expressive eyes— they opened wide, and his voice matched what she interpreted as a friendly eagerness.

"I am not! I will answer your questions the best I can, Bayleigh."

She nodded, "Cool. Mainly, it's about Sunnydrop— or, the daycare attendant, I guess. Where did you find him this morning?"

"He passed by my room," Freddy replied, "I was confused, as I do not normally see him outside the daycare. Occasionally he will be brought to parts and services for routine maintenance, but he is always attended by a staff member or security officer." He paused, considering something, "Although, I suppose that has changed, recently."

"Why is that?"

"I believe that as a new security measure, he may be allowed to roam the facility while the pizzaplex is closed for the night. But he is not "Sunnydrop" while he does this. He—"

"He looks different?" Bayleigh ventured a guess, "Gets the nightcap? Moondrop?"

"Yes," Freddy agreed, "That is what he is called. He looks very different from what you saw this morning."

"I figured. I'm dealing with the whole… "Moondrop" issue right now," she told him, "It's in the works."

"Something is wrong?" Freddy asked her, a note of concern in his voice, but Bayleigh waved it away.

"No, it's fine— I'm figuring it out. I just mean… I guess he acts different, when he's Moondrop?"

"Yes, from what I have seen, I would agree with that."

Bayleigh made a low sound of thought, "Does he seem, like… malicious at all?"

Freddy replied instantly, "Of course not! He may be a little "spooky" to some, but never malicious or dangerous— we are programmed to never harm a guest!"

"Yeah, so I've heard." She rubbed her eyes, having essentially arrived back at square one, "Alright. Thanks for talking to me."

"Are you sure there is nothing that is wrong?" Freddy asked again, stooping ever so slightly to better maintain eye contact. Something about the combination of the gesture and his impossibly genuine tone made Bayleigh break into a smile.

"Don't worry about it, big guy," she answered, "He's fine. Probably just a glitch in the system. It happens to the best of us." Bayleigh checked her phone, and sucked in a breath at the time, "I gotta run, before they come up with another good reason to fire me."

"Do not worry, Bayleigh," Freddy assured, "If you are in trouble, I will tell them that I kept you, and that is why you are late. It will be our secret."

Her grin widened, recognizing her own words offered back to her; she flashed a quick thumbs up.

"Sounds like a plan, man."

Friday made itself known like a bat to the back of the head: unexpected, unyielding, and needless to say, unwelcomed.

A customer had apparently decided that Grayson was the sole orchestrator of her misery, and let him– as well as everyone within a thirty foot radius– know what she thought about it.

"I'm fixing it," Bayleigh told him in a whisper, quickly scanning the receipt that had been launched across the counter at them and punching items into the register, "I've got it, don't worry. I'm almost done."

He said nothing, taking the verbal abuse in silence.

They fixed the "abhorrent" mistake, and after a few more pointed comments, the customer left in a huff. Surrounding customers offered brief, pitying looks, but not much else. The line kept moving.

"I heard her order," Bayleigh told Grayson, "She was the one who got it wrong, not you. It wasn't your fault."

He turned his attention to the next customer in line, ignoring her reassurance.

Bayleigh felt the telltale prickle of embarrassment on the back of her neck, along with its unwelcomed companion, the beginnings of tears. Forcefully, she swallowed the feeling and returned to her own register.

The moment an opening presented itself, Bayleigh slipped off to parts and services. As she'd hoped, it was barren, giving her the opportunity to breathe for once. So that no one could accuse her of slacking, she returned to the ancient computer, navigating back to the daycare attendant's blueprints.

After some clicking, she came across images she hadn't seen the last time: the initial draft of the combined "Sunnydrop and Moondrop" animatronic, a few that were more streamlined, as well as close-ups of the mechanics involved in the process. Slowly, Bayleigh paid more attention to the blueprints, becoming legitimately interested in what she was seeing.

Whoever designed the animatronic had spent a considerable amount of time on the multiple variations– Bayleigh counted no less than five different iterations of a device that seemed to control the "character switch." The hands seemed to be giving them trouble; scrawled in large, sloppy letters across the corner of a drawing was the line "God has forsaken me– he doesn't wanna be a part of this mess, neither."

It got a laugh out of her, which Bayleigh had sorely needed.

After a bit more reading, she found something she'd expected: the blueprints referenced a rerouting mechanism, activated during a "character switch." Essentially, the endoskeleton held two entirely separate "brains," one for each of the characters. Sunnydrop couldn't remember any of his actions as Moondrop because, in reality, it wasn't him doing it. It was an entirely different person.

Seemed a little extra to her, but what did she know?

The blueprints came to an end, and for the first time, Bayleigh noticed a scrawl in the bottom right corner of the image. It was small, but legible: "T. E. Sullivan, Smiles and Servos Inc. In collaboration with Fazbear Entertainment, Copyright 2016."

She now had a name for the illusive designer of her recent troubles. Bayleigh scanned the parts and services room before taking out her phone, and she did a search for the company name.

She found the Smiles and Servos Inc. website within seconds, as well as the name of its founder, one "Ted E. Sullivan." Bingo.

There was an email attached to the page as well, along with the bolded, underline request that it be used for business inquiries, only.

This… somewhat counted as business, didn't it? She was working for a business– or, she would be so long as this headache got dealt with. And what better way to fix a problem than to go to the person who had created it in the first place?

… maybe she wouldn't put that part in the email.

After several read-throughs, Bayleigh was satisfied enough with her veiled plea for help, and sent forth the following message:

From: Bayleigh Reed (bumblebay222)

To: Ted E. Sullivan (tsullivan)

Subject: A Pizzaplex Employee's SOS?

Hi Mr. Sullivan. My name is Bayleigh Reed; I'm an employee at the Fazbear Pizzaplex. Sorry to bother you like this– I'm not sure it counts as a "business inquiry," but you're kind of my last chance.

I was put in charge of fixing an issue with the daycare attendant (Sunnydrop/Moondrop), and found your name in its blueprints. Something weird is going on with it– he's scaring kids when he turns into the Moondrop character? They won't say what the problem is exactly, except that he's "mean." Sunnydrop also talks like he's afraid of it? He can't remember what happens when he's the other character, and really doesn't want to change into Moondrop. Props on the insanely good programming, by the way– I keep forgetting it's just a robot. It acts so real.

Anyway, I did a scan in parts and services, but it said nothing's wrong. I don't know what to do anymore. I'm supposed to "fix" the problem before spring break, but I feel like I've done all I can. Has it acted like this before? Am I missing something big and obvious? (Probably).

You're probably busy, so I'll stop. If you have the time, I would really appreciate any advice you can offer me. Like, a lot.

Thank you for your time,

Bayleigh Reed

Now, all there was left to do was wait… with the rapidly dwindling time she had left.

Upon arriving home, Bayleigh was confronted with a living room that looked like it had been struck by a bomb of clothes and sunscreen bottles. Suitcases were speckled across the couch and rug, soon to be stuffed past their limits.

"Boys!" Mrs. Reed yelled down the hallway, where the twins were hitting one another with pool noodles, "I told you three times now to put those in the kitchen! If I have to tell you one more time, they're staying here!" She turned towards the front door, spotting Bayleigh, and she frowned, "I thought you were done at six?"

Bayleigh shut the door behind her, "No, eight."

"You said six."

"No. I didn't. I said eight."

"Well, I remember you saying six."

Heat started to swirl in Bayleigh's cheeks, and she spoke tersely, "You remembered wrong, then."

Mrs. Reed pursed her lips, and continued to fold clothes. The twins were still sparring in the hallway, but she seemed to be willfully ignoring them.

"There are leftovers in the fridge from dinner," she continued, talking to Bayleigh without looking at her, "It should be enough for the weekend, at least. You'll need to figure something out for next week, since you've decided not to join us."

Bayleigh bit her tongue and said nothing, but the anger was already simmering in her chest.

She's doing it on purpose. Don't give her the satisfaction.

"Okay."

"We'll be leaving early tomorrow morning, to beat the rest of the spring break crowd. You know how fast the beach fills up."

"Okay."

The twins only seemed to get louder, shouting at one another over the pool noodle blows. Bayleigh could hear Blaine blasting music from his room, trying to drown them all out, but only adding to the aggravating cacophony.

"You know," Mrs. Reed said, her voice clipped, adding another pair of swim trunks to the suitcase in front of her, "If you didn't want to join us this year, you could've said something. Just taking another shift at work without telling me first— it's better for us to communicate, instead of you making these split second decisions by yourself."

Bayleigh's patience evaporated, "I didn't pick up the shift. They scheduled me without asking me."

"You could have told them no."

"No, not really! Not if I want to continue working there!"

Mrs. Reed held up a hand, "Nevermind. I don't want to have this discussion with you right now, Bayleigh. You're an adult now— if you want to prioritize your job over spending time with your family, that's your decision."

Bayleigh did not start this fight, but she'd be damned if she wasn't going to be the one to finish it.

"Look," she snapped, louder than she'd intended but refusing to back down now, "The only reason I took this stupid job in the first place was to save up for college— since you and dad don't want to help me with it! Obviously, you're too busy spending money on the bi-monthly family vacation! Yeah, way more important than your child's education, right? Who needs a future when I can just work some minimum wage job my whole life?"

"This again?" Mrs. Reed huffed, "Bayleigh, can we please go a week without fighting about this? Your father and I have told you: college is not the right path for you! You hardly made it through high school— we're not going to waste money on college just so you can party and fail your classes! It's best for everyone if you just stay here— help take care of your brothers. Then, when you meet someone you want to settle down with—"

Bayleigh uttered a harsh laugh, "Excuse me, did I agree to any of that? You know why I "hardly made it through high school," mom? Because, just like now, I had to do your job and "take care of my brothers!" What are you busy with, exactly? Because it's not a job, I know that much!"

The pool noodle brawl had stopped long ago, and the twins stared at Bayleigh and their mother with wide eyes. Blaine had turned up his music even louder.

"You don't even care what I want!" Bayleigh continued, not letting her mother in, "You just got to decide that for me, for some reason! I thought I was an adult who got to make my own decisions? What happened to that?"

Mrs. Reed threw the shirt she was folding onto the couch, "Stop being so selfish! We let you live here! We feed you! We've raised you your entire life, and even now, we have to keep you from making stupid mistakes with your future! You owe us some respect for all we've done for you!" She stopped only to gather her breath, and spoke in a strained voice, "You might try acting like it, for once."

Bayleigh didn't yell, but her chilled, blunt tone held the full weight of the rage she fueled it with.

"Acting like what? Like you? You want me to give up and just be you?" Bayleigh scowled, "God, I would rather be dead."

She stormed off while she still held the last word, retreating to her bedroom, and punctuating her victory with a door slam that radiated through the house. There, in the dark, as the weight of silence began to set in, Bayleigh felt the tears arise.

No— she hadn't done anything wrong. This was long in coming. She rubbed at her eyes, refusing to let them win out. Bayleigh breathed deeply, working on shoving everything back down again, putting it snugly back in place.

She had done nothing wrong. Her mom had started it, anyway. If she didn't want to fight, then she shouldn't have started it.

One of her breaths resulted in a hitch, and Bayleigh bit her tongue, swallowing down the feeling. She would not cry. She would not let them win. She was in the right. She was fine.

Bayleigh tasted blood, and bit down harder.

She was right. There was nothing to cry about. She was right.

Saturday, Bayleigh trudged into work with her head down, eyes trailing the dirty, patterned carpet. There was little use fighting it: today would be a bad day.

She took her place behind the food counter; Grayson said nothing, so neither did she. The shift dragged on without a word between the two. And then, because apparently things weren't difficult enough, they were graced with a surprise visit from their favorite supervisor, Terrance.

"Hey there, Bayleigh!" he greeted with the usual, plastic smile, "How about you come talk with me for a quick second? I think we can trust Grayson to handle the crowd on his own!"

Bayleigh braced herself for the oncoming lecture, following Terrance at a distance. He only took them around the corner of the food court before stopping, turning, and fixing her with the patronizing smile.

"Spring break is almost here, isn't it?" he said, "Just the weekend left!"

Bayleigh nodded.

"I'm sure you've almost got the daycare attendant fixed up, don't you? You might want to take it on another trip down to parts and services, after the daycare closes– it sounds like we had another little incident pop up, last night!"

She looked up quickly, "Incident? What happened?"

"Oh, nothing all that terrible!" he answered passively, "A few scratches on a kid, something like that! The animatronic must've had a little hiccup in its system; we powered it down for the night, so it should be in working order by now!" Terrance's smile now looked like it concealed something else, "We would hate for that to happen again, but I don't think it will be a problem going forward! Do you, Bayleigh?"

"No sir."

"I didn't think so!" He clapped her on the back, "Well, I'm sure you're eager to get back to work! We'll talk again on Monday morning, to go over the progress you've made! Remember, keep smiling– you're the face of the company, after all!"

Bayleigh's face had gone bright red long ago, and she did nothing to hide it on her way back to the food counter.

If that robot gets me fired, I'm throwing it in the garbage compactor on the way out.

By the time she passed through the red bricked room on her way to the daycare, Bayleigh's patience was little more than a hairline crack. There wasn't an employee in sight, and other than the echo of her footsteps through the empty space, all that met her was palpable silence.

After scanning her keycard, Bayleigh shouldered open one of the red doors. Toys, plastic balls, and crayons littered the play place floor en masse, like landmines awaiting her approach.

Bayleigh didn't bother, calling out from the doorway, "Hey. Sunnydrop. We're going to parts and services again. Come on."

She heard a muffled jingle from somewhere inside the play place, but he didn't appear.

"I'm not doing this today," she continued, gaining a clipped tone, "Get over here, please."

Sunnydrop eventually complied, popping up from within the ball pit. He hopped over the wall of the pit, fumbled the landing, but quickly sprung to his feet again. Accompanied by the ever present jingle of bells, he hurried to Bayleigh's side– she immediately caught the twitching. It was constant, and it was bad.

"You're back again, Staff Member Bayleigh!" he announced, speaking loudly and quickly, as if in a rush to get the words out, "You're here all the time now, aren't you? Maybe you should just stay here! Wouldn't that be fun? You would never have to leave! It would be like a forever playtime!"

Bayleigh shut the door behind him, "Come on. Let's go."

Listening to the little bells felt like pulling teeth. Sunnydrop followed close behind, diligently invading her personal space, from the moment they left the play place, all the way up the stairs, and through the red bricked room.

He galloped into view, nearly tripping her, and quipped, "You're awfully quiet today, Staff Member Bayleigh! You didn't forget how to talk, did you?"

"You obviously haven't." Bayleigh sidestepped around him, "Come on, please."

Her tone went over his head, and Sunnydrop leapt forward once again: bright, colorful, and way too close.

"Aw, there's no need to frown, friend! It's a great day to smile!" He latched onto one of her hands, tugging her forward.

Bayleigh whipped her hand away, "Would you just stop already?!" She took a step back, reclaiming her breathing room, "The whole reason we have to do this is because you went and hurt a kid again! I don't want to play– I just want to do my job and be done with this mess, okay? Can we do that, please?"

Sunnydrop stood like a scolded child, hands drawn into himself. After a silent few seconds, he surrendered a tiny, timid nod.

Finally, the walk was a quiet one. They left the daycare pickup area, and Bayleigh hit the elevator button to take them to the atrium balcony. It took her a few seconds to realize that unlike every other time, he hadn't latched onto her the second they entered the pizzaplex.

Fine. That's what she'd wanted, anyway. Personal space, at last.

They entered the elevator, starting the long ride up. Bayleigh reclined against one of the walls, watching the door. Sunnydrop occupied one of the elevator car's corners, standing silent and still. His hands were clasped, fidgeting within each other, but it made no sound.

… slowly, Bayleigh began to run through some of the things she'd said. They didn't make her feel great, in the slightest. And… it didn't seem like they made him feel all that great, either.

It's just an act.

The rationalization came only once, and dissolved shortly after surfacing. She didn't believe it, any more. This was all insane, but somehow, for some reason, she knew this was no act. And even if it was, that didn't give her an excuse to behave this way.

The elevator doors slid open with a cheerful ding. Bayleigh stared at the atrium beyond it.

… and hit the button that would return them to the ground floor.

As the doors slid shut, Bayleigh knelt down, facing Sunnydrop.

"Sunnydrop," she began, quietly, "I'm sorry I yelled at you. You didn't do anything wrong. I've just… had a bad couple days. But that doesn't make it okay, to take it out on you like that." She held out a hand, "We're going to make a quick stop before we go to parts and services, okay? I want you to stay close to me, though. So we don't get lost. Is that alright?"

There was a clear pause of fearful hesitation, and Sunnydrop remained in his corner, staring at her. By the time the elevator doors opened, he seemed to make up his mind, slowly creeping to her side and taking her hand.

Bayleigh took them to one of the pizzaplex's security offices, fishing around through the drawers until she found a flashlight. After a little more exploration, she found a lost and found bin, and took it off the shelf so Sunnydrop could fish through its contents.

"Just pick one thing," she told him, "Something you can hold, while we're in parts and services."

"Any one thing?" he asked, excitement evident in his voice.

"Any small one thing."

Sunnydrop picked up a dusty Chica plush, "Is this small?"

"I think that'll work. Is that what you want to take?"

He hugged the plush to his chest.

Bayleigh surrendered a smile, "I'll take that as a yes."

She knew the employees they passed were snickering, but Bayleigh willed herself to ignore them, this time. They made it to the main stage, which took them down to parts and services. At the bottom, Bayleigh clicked on the flashlight, which illuminated the first couple feet of the gloomy passageway ahead of them.

Sunnydrop made a grab for the flashlight, so Bayleigh held it out to him.

"You want to hold it? Or–"

He took hold of the light, casting the beam across the ceiling, then the walls, the floor, and back again.

"Okay, well you need a free hand, so– here, let's trade–" Bayleigh took the Chica toy, holding it under an arm, so she could take up his hand again, "There. Ready to go now?"

Sunnydrop swirled the flashlight beam through the darkness ahead, giggling at the effect. He led the way, and Bayleigh allowed herself to be pulled along behind him.

They arrived in parts and services, where Bayleigh fired up the cylindrical machine. She returned the plush to Sunnydrop, who entered the machine without complaint, and she was able to initiate the scan without incident.

The machine did its work, poking and prodding, filling the computer screen with code. It seemed to take a little longer than last time, but before Bayleigh could really explore its contents, there was a cheery little ding. The scan had completed and presented its findings:

Scan completed successfully.

Battery level: 67%.

Errors detected: 0.

Deep down, she already knew it was what she'd see, but being right didn't make her feel any better.

Bayleigh released a frustrated sigh, burying her face in her hands, "No, come on…"

There was a quiet knocking, and Bayleigh peered up– Sunnydrop's head was tilted as he tried to get her attention, watching her through one of the machine's windows.

"Sorry," she said, "I'll let you out. Give me a second."

"What's wrong, Staff Member Bayleigh?" he asked, "Is something broken?"

"No, it's fine. It didn't find anything wrong." Bayleigh exited the scan, "I don't understand. Obviously something's up, but… I don't know." She sighed, "... I don't know what else to do."

Her cheeks burned, and Bayleigh rubbed her eyes again, "If I can't figure this out soon, I'm going to lose my job. But I don't know what else I can even do."

She exited the maintenance session, and the cylinder's door slid open with a whoosh of air. Sunnydrop poked his head around the corner, not exiting immediately.

"... Staff Member Bayleigh?"

"You don't have to call me that," she told him patiently, "The 'staff member' part. You can just call me 'Bayleigh' if you want."

Sunnydrop thought about it for a moment, "... I'm sorry I'm causing so much trouble for you, Bayleigh. I don't mean to be." He paused before quietly adding, "I'm really trying to be good."

Bayleigh smiled tiredly, and held out her hand.

"I know you are. It's not your fault, bud." Once he'd rejoined her, Bayleigh started them towards the doors, "Let's head back. We'll figure something else out."

The tiny Fazbear logo bounced back and forth across the idling computer screen, and Bayleigh followed after it with bored eyes.

In the playplace, Sunnydrop continued his frantic cleaning— Bayleigh had offered to help him with the task, but was repeatedly assured that he could handle it alone. She got the sense that it was helping him dispel some of that nervous energy, and so she let him be.

Strangely, the— well, it was easiest just to call it "anxiety," by now— was still prevalent, worse even. He kept dropping toys, recollecting them, and putting them away with overtly meticulous detail, though he never seemed satisfied with the result.

It was around 9:30 when Bayleigh's phone buzzed. After a second's panic, she remembered there were no witnesses. So, relieved, she slipped it out of her pocket, smug in the knowledge that Terrance would never know of the infraction, and checked her notifications.

There was a new email: Ted, from the blueprints.

Bayleigh hurried to unlock her phone, flubbing the code twice in her haste, and opened the email:

From: Ted E. Sullivan (tsullivan)

To: Bayleigh Reed (bumblebay222)

Subject: Re: A Pizzaplex Employee's SOS?

I'm not surprised there's an issue, but I am surprised they're makin you deal with it, instead of calling me. Guess they're just as cheap as ever.

Guessing you saw the blueprints saying he used to be two different animatronics. Was supposed to give him a wider sphere of influence, let one of em charge while the other worked. Could've been more specialized too. But they ended up makin me make them one. Cheap, again.

I'm guessing the issue you're having with him is stress. Mechanically, and in terms of "mind." If they're running him nonstop and not giving him time to idle and run diagnostics (he does it automatically, part of the code), it's gonna jumble him up and make him start bugging out. If it was a glitch or error, the scan wouldda picked it up. So I'm thinking instead, it's code clutter.

This might not be makin much sense to you. The code he's got is something I wound up developing back when I started building bots– it self-learns and repairs. Rewrites itself as needed, based on how it's used. Yeah it's got some pros and cons, but I figure there's more pros, so I wind up still using it. But back to Sunnydrop, cause that's what you're here for. If he can't run diagnostics, code's just gonna keep writing and building up, and he's gonna glitch out on you. My best bet is, that's your problem.

Not sure if any of this will help you out at all. Don't be worried if you're not sure how to code– cause of how it works, there's more than one way to fix it.

Good luck, kid.

Miss Ted E. Sullivan

(You're allowed to call him a him. No sense in fighting it like I always used to– you ain't gonna win).

Bayleigh read, then reread the email, bombarded with several thoughts at once.

Such as, how was she supposed to know Ted was now a girl's name?

But more important than that: self-repairing code? Code clutter? What?

After a few more rereads, she could kind of track with the explanation— if the code was "rewriting" or adding to itself, it made sense that the scan wouldn't pick up errors. It was just an excess of code. And sure, she could understand why that would cause problems; you're bound to crash eventually, if you're running 24/7 like that.

But hadn't Terrance said they'd reset him recently? And he'd powered off, when Bayleigh took him to the recharge port— wouldn't that be enough time to run diagnostics? Why was the problem still there?

There was the last line, too: "Don't worry if you're not sure how to code— cause of how it works, there's more than one way to fix it." She couldn't figure out what Ted meant by that.

Before she could subject the message to another read-through, her phone let her know that it was on its last legs; the battery would give out in a matter of minutes. Determined, Bayleigh searched through the drawers of the checkout counter, and as she'd expected, Dana came through for her: a phone charger, coiled up and stuffed in the dark corners of a drawer, made itself known.

Beneath the desk, she located an empty power outlet, though it was decorated with a sticky note that read, in all capital letters, "PLEASE! DO NOT USE! :)"

"Nice try, Terrance," she scoffed, fitting the charger inside the socket, "But it's gonna take a little more than that to—"

There was a loud pop, accompanied by a sudden burst of white sparks.

Every single light in the daycare was then extinguished, plunged into absolute darkness.

Bayleigh blinked. Realization set in.

"... oh dear."

Outside the play place, Bayleigh caught the faint red glow of emergency lights, but nothing illuminated the play place, itself. She blindly felt around the checkout counter, and thankfully, it wasn't long before she found the flashlight she'd brought from parts and services. She clicked it on, and swept it over the eerie playground.

"Sunnydrop?" she called out, "You okay?"

There was no answer. Bayleigh ventured out from behind the checkout counter, approaching the center of the play place.

"Hey, Sunnydrop?" she repeated, "You there? Can you see me?"

He still didn't answer her. Starting to worry, Bayleigh shined the light through the netting of the playground, across the ball pit, but found nothing.

Suddenly, there was movement– bells, up ahead, around a short foam wall. Bayleigh hurried forward, flashlight level with the wall.

"Sunnydrop? Dude? That you?" She rounded the corner quickly, "What–"

"No!" Sunnydrop dug into the gaps of his face, "No no no! No, I don't want to hurt anyone– I don't want to hurt my friends– I warned you I warned you I warned you–"

Bayleigh skidded to a halt at the sight. The animatronic was struggling, fighting himself tooth and nail, in the throws of panic. She automatically took a step back, but tried to correct the movement, edging forward a bit.

"How do I stop it?" she asked, trying to stay calm, "Can I help? Can– what do I do?"

Sunnydrop wrenched back his head, producing a sharp, angry whir of the joints connecting it to his body. Bayleigh thought she heard something crack.

"RUN!" he shrieked, "Hide! Get away! Get away quick! Please!" Sunnydrop continued to struggle, stumbling backwards and into the foam wall, "Run far away! Hide! Hide! HIDE! PLEASE!"

Part of his face began to shift, and Sunnydrop sank his fingertips even deeper into the shrinking gaps– gears whined in protest, and he cried out, either from fear or something akin to pain.

Bayleigh retreated, hesitantly at first, before it morphed into a full-on run. The flashlight beam was little more than an unhelpful blur, but it led her as far as the playground– in her panic, hiding became the only option.

Dropping to her hands and knees, Bayleigh crawled into the entrance tunnel, and continued blindly forward. The flashlight clunked loudly against the hard plastic of the tunnels, light revealing only flashes of the brightly colored surroundings. She crawled, shoulders pressed painfully into the roof, knees already protesting against the mistreatment.

She was deposited onto a netted area of the playground, and in her haste to regain cover, Bayleigh smacked her head into the hard plastic of another tunnel entrance. It drew out a yelp, and she slipped into the tunnel, sinking to her stomach and cradling the injured spot with her free hand.

Oh god– oh god, what do I do? Bayleigh's eyes swam with tears, and she realized that she was breathing audibly. This– this wasn't going to work. Hiding wasn't going to help her for long. Running– getting out of here, is what was needed.

The doors. The exit doors– she needed to get to the exit–

Bayleigh suddenly held her breath, listening.

… she couldn't hear Sunnydrop anymore.

She pulled the flashlight into her chest, muffling the click as she switched it off. On her stomach in the inky blackness, Bayleigh was acutely aware of the quiet yet audible shiver that radiated through her body, causing her keys to shake within her pocket. She shifted her weight onto them, hoping to muffle the sound. Continuing to hold her breath, Bayleigh squeezed her eyes shut, and strained to listen.

… gently, slowly… there were faint, deliberate footsteps on the padded floors below. The echo of the tunnels made it impossible to pinpoint an exact location, but they were there.

Her head started to swim, so Bayleigh released the breath she'd been holding. She drew in another, biting down on her tongue in an attempt to hold it longer.

The footsteps were accompanied by a quick, sharp sound. A click, of sorts. There were more intermittent clicks, without pattern. But they were getting louder.

Something caused the playground to shift, ever so slightly. Bayleigh caught the strain of netting, as something sunk its weight into them. It happened again, then again… she identified the distinct sound of bells…

"Naughty, naughty girl…" The voice was metallic, underlined by a low, crackling drone. It hissed more than it spoke, permeating the tunnels like some slithering tendril. Bayleigh thought her heart would either explode or fail completely.

The netting continued to shift and strain, disrupted by tinkling little bells that were only getting closer…

"You shouldn't be here so late…" The words seemed to unfurl from their speaker, slathering the darkness with the threat of something far worse to come, "Come out, come out, wherever you are…"

It clicked; they were climbing the playground.

Bayleigh remained frozen, thoughts colliding in her mind like a car crash. She had to run– for the exit– but forward or back? Was there more than one entrance? These playgrounds normally had slides, didn't they? That was an exit– but it would give away her position– and once she started down one, if it was waiting for her there–

She knew for sure of the way she'd come in. It would be safer to leave that way– it was certain– it let out in the direction of the doors– yes, yes that's right!– she needed to go back–

Her shoes scuffed against the tunnel as she backed up, returning to the netted area. Bayleigh took a moment to right herself, scrambling the flashlight into a reliable hold. Pressing the end of the flashlight into her shirt to stifle it, Bayleigh clicked it on: she covered it with a hand, light spilling out from between her fingers and into the bleak darkness. Her surroundings were revealed in fleeting little flashes, and she was able to place the tunnels, the floor of the platform she now sat on, the netting, the–

Something vanished over the top of the netting. All Bayleigh was able to make out was blue– she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the gasp that escaped.

Everything stopped. No more jingling, clicking, anything. If they were there, Bayleigh couldn't make them out over the sound of her hammering heart.

Then, skittering. And a moment later, muffled thuds. Bumps against hard, thick plastic, able to be distantly felt as they reverberated through…

… the tunnels. Something was in the tunnels.

Bayleigh abandoned stealth; she rolled forward and dove back into the tunnel she'd left, sweating palms fighting the slick plastic surface for a reliable grip. She navigated by the inconsistent flashlight alone, from tunnel to netted platform and back again.

Slowly, it began to rise farther from the ground– no no no, this couldn't be right– it couldn't be leading her to an exit if it was going up–!

"I can hear you…" The voice sounded capable of latching onto her, "You can run, but you can't hide…"

Turning back was no longer an option. Whatever was going to happen, it was ahead.

Another tunnel came into view– no, not a tunnel– the entrance to a slide! Bayleigh redoubled her pace, and once she was within range, vaulted herself down the tube slide head-first.

One stilted, static-inducing ride later, Bayleigh was deposited onto the floor of the play place. She shoved herself to her feet, practically running before she rose, and used the flashlight to guide her towards the blatant red exit doors.

After seconds that seemed to stretch over miles, Bayleigh was within reach– she shouldered the bar on the door–

Which didn't budge.

She shoved again, with the same result. The door– both doors– remained shut.

"No–" This couldn't be happening. Why were they locked?! Why were they locked?!

Bayleigh wasn't thinking straight, proceeding to hammer on the doors with both fists. Moments later, it dawned on her that she had irrevocably given away her location– horrified, Bayleigh backed away from the doors like they'd scalded her.

The flashlight flicked across the checkout counter– Bayleigh ran for it, dropping down on all fours at the last second, tucking herself below the desk as far as she could go.

She didn't know when the tears had started, but they were the least of her concern, now– they were cold against her scorching cheeks. A sudden brush against her face made her flinch, but Bayleigh was quick to discover it was just a strand of hair– she swept it back, removing her hat to do so. The motion gave her a single breath of mundanity, halting the stream of panic long enough for her to get in a conscious thought.

The doors were out. Likely from the power. Somehow. What other exits were there? She wouldn't be able to reach the cubbyhole, no matter how much adrenaline was running through her system. But other than that…

… the rainbow slide. Into the pickup room.

It was a bad plan, but the only one that remained. Bayleigh held her breath, listening once again.

There was movement, but she couldn't place it– they couldn't have missed the scene she caused at the exit doors. Why weren't they there by now?

She caught a scuffle: a brief, sharp sound of fabric on something harder. Bells jingled, allowing her to place them–

–above her.

Bayleigh clicked off the flashlight.

In front of her, many feet away, was the glass-plated wall of the daycare center. The only reason she could see it in the pitch blackness was by the light of a faint red glow. Emergency lights? Bayleigh squinted, pinpointing the source as two small…

… red, glowing eyes.

Those eyes shone from within the sockets of the thing that was now crouched atop the checkout counter, silhouette barely visible in the reflection of the glass wall.

At long last, Bayleigh stared into the frozen, grinning face of Moondrop.

"I see you."

Bayleigh clicked on the flashlight, dove from beneath the counter, and shone it directly into the animatronic's eyes. Moondrop shrieked, stumbling off the checkout counter— Bayleigh quickly flung the flashlight in the direction of the playground, listening to it clatter against the structure. She dropped back to the ground, refusing to move until she caught the sound of retreating footsteps.

Her phone provided very little light, but it was all she had left, and Bayleigh blindly navigated the foam structures around her until she caught a glimpse of the vast sea of plastic balls. Ignoring the child-sized bridge into the ball pit, Bayleigh vaulted herself over the surrounding wall— she was half submerged in the contents, and struggled to wade through them at a reliable pace.

But the slide— she could just make out the slide, its exit a yawning mouth that taunted her with the promise of safety, of escape. She knew she would need free hands to climb, so Bayleigh stuck her phone in her pocket, light aimed ahead of her. The rainbow slide came in and out of view, but closer with every labored step.

Behind her, the plastic balls were abruptly disturbed— they continued to clatter against one another as they were cast aside, making way for the thing that was parting them like a knife through butter.

Bayleigh latched onto the rim of the slide, pulling herself inside and starting to climb. Her shoes surprisingly provided a reliable grip on the slick plastic, and Bayleigh braced her arms against the constricting sides of the slide, ascending inch by inch.

There was a brief clatter of metal on plastic– and something pierced the skin of Bayleigh's leg. It was cold, but quickly overshadowed by the intense rush of pain that followed.

She screamed, falling a few feet before she was able to brace herself once more inside the slide– a weight was linked to her leg, the pain worsened.

"STOP!" she shrieked instinctively, voice strangled by tears, "STOP PLEASE!"

… and it did. The grip vanished mere seconds after she spoke, only to be replaced with a faint, repetitive beep.

But Bayleigh had no interest in discovering the source– she threw herself back into climbing, slowed only by the worsened grip of one of her shoes, now beginning to slick and squeak as it became drenched with the blood that ran from her injury.

Faint red emergency lights welcomed her into the checkout room, and Bayleigh clawed herself over the rim of the slide onto onto the carpet, taking only a moment to breathe before she pushed herself to her feet again. Her run was quickly reduced to a stagger, punctuated by pained cries, as she made a lopsided beeline to one of the plain white tables– casting chairs aside, Bayleigh dragged a table back to the slide entrance, flipped it on one side, and shoved the tabletop against the opening. She braced herself against it, digging both feet into blue, slowly darkening carpet, and prepared to continue the confrontation.

She waited… the pain in her leg was reduced to a sting, but a persistent one. She felt the wet patch on her pant leg begin to grow cold as it hit the air.

Nothing came for her, roaring up the slide or beating against the barrier. There was nothing.

Bayleigh dragged herself to one of the viewing windows, peering into the play place. She could just make out the red eyes of Moondrop as he paced, aimlessly, through the space. The longer she watched, the less Bayleigh understood. He didn't seem to be hunting for her, but rather he wandered, like someone unsure what it was they were looking for. She was sure she could still hear that high-pitched beeping, but it may have just been the terror doing that.

As adrenaline died, the pain in her leg became more persistent– there was no ignoring it, anymore. By the light of her dying phone, Bayleigh peeled back her pant leg to examine the wound: four gouges, varying in depth, were adorned along the skin above her ankle. The worst of them still bled, turning her faded black sock into something much richer.

Reason began to seep back into power, and Bayleigh realized she needed to stop the bleeding with something, and preferably soon.

She forced herself back on her feet, casting one more glance towards the play place.

Screw it. Being fired was no longer the worst possible outcome– she'd take a pink slip over a death certificate.

I'm sorry Sunnydrop, but you're on your own.

Someone else could help him– someone who actually worked with the animatronics, maybe. She was out of her range, and it was going to get her killed.

For a place that harbored children, there was a shocking lack of first aid kits in the area. Bayleigh had made it all the way to the theater ticket counters by the time she found, obscured by shadows and inelegantly tacked to one of the walls. Inside, she found three band aids (the cheap kind, that would stay in place for a whole twenty minutes) and a container of hand sanitizer.

As she was applying the last bandaid and hoping for the best, Bayleigh's phone buzzed– she assumed it had finally given out on her, but the light stayed on. She took it out and checked the screen, which let her know she'd received another email, which she promptly read:

From: Ted E. Sullivan (tsullivan)

To: Bayleigh Reed (bumblebay222)

Subject: Re: A Pizzaplex Employee's SOS?

Wait, they've been clearing his emergency relay cues, right?

Bayleigh's response was far less eloquent:

From: Bayleigh Reed (bumblebay222)

To: Ted E. Sullivan (tsullivan)

Subject: Re: A Pizzaplex Employee's SOS?

? ? ? His what?

A few moments later, she was sent an email with no text– attached was a screenshot of a page of blueprints. It depicted some sort of box, with what looked like a screen on its surface, some switches, and a small bulb on top–

Wait. Wait, she'd seen that before.

… the trash she'd tripped over in the cubbyhole!

Bayleigh dragged herself through the dark daycare, managing a limp-heavy walk once within the theater. The silence seemed to intensify once she made it inside, but given everything else she'd been put through this evening, she welcomed it.

Upon approaching the poster, Bayleigh realized there was a problem: Sunnydrop had unlocked it last time, with the facial scan light. Now what?

Deep down, she knew it was a long shot, but Bayleigh was tired and desperate: she flashed her phone's light at the poster, and tugged at the frame.

Which opened obediently.

Grateful, yet frustrated nothing else that day had given her the same leeway, Bayleigh supported herself against the hallway wall as she trudged to the metal door. Inside the cubbyhole room, it didn't take long for Bayleigh to locate the beat-up piece of machinery– she set it upright, took a picture, and emailed it to Ted.

Less than a minute later, she received a reply– three solid, unbroken lines of passionate, infuriated swearing. Bayleigh thought she knew swearing, but apparently, Ted had mastered it.

Then, she received another message:

From: Ted E. Sullivan (tsullivan)

To: Bayleigh Reed (bumblebay222)

Subject: Re: A Pizzaplex Employee's SOS?

Sorry. Yes, that.

Hang tight. Gonna walk you through it.

True to her word, Ted delivered– she emailed a step by step guide on how to fix what she referred to as the "emergency relay station." Thankfully, it didn't need to be plugged in, but Bayleigh was required to go on a hunt for a handful of AA batteries that drove her to the brink of madness. A spare bulb was stored in the back compartment of the device, which Bayleigh screwed into place. After removing the stubborn layers of tape and replacing each and every corroded battery, Bayleigh switched on the relay station…

Which immediately assaulted her with a blast of alerts, each one causing the light to flash and emitting a high-pitched beeping. After getting over the momentary heart attack, Bayleigh scrolled through the alerts on the large screen, struggling to make sense of it all.

The alerts contained dates, times, and short descriptions; the earliest took place nearly two months ago:

"Blakely, Sam. 4. Sunnydrop. Tripped, skinned knee. No blood. Crying."

Bayleigh looked through each alert, counting twenty-three in total, running the gamut of "shy" to "violent." In fact, there was one from only minutes ago:

"Guest profile unknown. Moondrop. Leg. Profuse blood. Crying, evasive."

She was fairly certain she knew who that referred to.

Each alert, when selected, prompted the request to resolve, but when Bayleigh tried to do so, it failed, simply telling her "Please consult with attendant to confirm alert resolution."

Slowly, Bayleigh began to understand. This thing must've logged emergencies and issues that the daycare attendant encountered. A kid would get hurt, and they'd start beeping to get someone's attention.

But instead of taking the time to clear the alert, someone had decided it was much easier for everyone to turn off the relay station entirely. So the alerts built up, unresolved, and no one was the wiser.

No one but Sunnydrop. No matter how many times they reset him, powered him off then on again, without a resolution the code kept building, kept reminding him of the issues. Ted had called it "stress," and she'd been exactly right.

The machine continued to beep– between them, Bayleigh heard what she at first believed to be an echo, but soon realized the source came from within the play place. Moondrop was still under the effects of the alert, searching for her, for a way to resolve it.

… Bayleigh knew what she'd need to do next. And she was not excited about it.

Hunting down the employee who'd wrecked the relay machine was, temporarily, bumped down to the second spot on her list. Objective number one?

It was time to make a new friend, or die trying.

She wasn't sure how long her phone would continue to defy the odds for her, but it was all Bayleigh had to lead her back to the slide. The table was right where she'd left it, so Bayleigh pulled it away from the slide's opening, and stared down into the darkness beyond.

… this was a terrible idea. An awful idea.

Bayleigh sat on the lip of the slide, phone held tight to her chest. She drew in a breath, and slid down the tunnel slide.

It deposited her into the ball pit, and Bayleigh granted herself a few more seconds of contemplation before rising. She cleared her throat and called out.

"Hello? Moondrop? You out there?"

It wasn't long before the bells began– they were fast. And they were close.

If she was quick enough, she might make it back up the slide–

Moondrop sprung atop the wall of the ball pit, crouched low. His red, glowing eyes bore into her relentlessly, casting an eerie glow across his pale, grinning face.

Bayleigh swallowed a little shriek of fear, rooting herself to the spot.

"... hi. We… technically haven't met." She swallowed again, "I mean, I know Sunnydrop, but you're not… the two of you are… different, I've heard. So I guess… you don't know me. Um…"

She hazarded a step forward, feeling bits of her confidence beginning to eke away.

"He… did some sort of facial scan, when we met, and I guess that… let him know who I was. I don't know if… that's something you–"

Bayleigh was suddenly blinded by a familiar white flash, leaving her blinking quickly, trying to dispel the blur that now occupied her vision.

"You are not a guest," Moondrop hissed, "You are an employee." He mulled over the information, "... you are too tall to be a guest."

"So I've heard." Bayleigh rubbed her eyes, "Look, obviously you and I got off on the wrong foot–"

Moondrop dropped off the wall and into the ball pit, making it over to Bayleigh in record time; he latched onto her arm, keeping it out of his way, and used the other hand to pull up her pant leg, revealing the dried blood and bandages.

"Don't–" She bit her tongue, "It's fine. See? I took care of it. It doesn't hurt anymore."

Moondrop scrutinized the injury, saying nothing in response to her reassurances. Bayleigh felt a pinch on the arm he was holding, and she tried to gently loosen his grip– she froze at the sight of blood.

There was something wrong with his fingers. Sunnydrop's fingertips were rounded and yellow– but the ones she saw now were surprisingly sharp, crafted from shiny metal and wire. Blood, some old and some fresh, stained the surface.

"Whoa," she breathed, "Dude, what happened to your hand?"

Moondrop ignored her, still laser focused on her leg. Gently, Bayleigh took his damaged hand, jostling it to get his attention.

"Moondrop. Is this how your hand is supposed to look?"

He peered up, briefly, before looking away once again; he shook his head, making the bell on the end of the nightcap jingle.

"Well, why didn't you tell someone, so they could fix it?"

Her words just weren't getting through.

Bayleigh sighed, but maintained her patience, "Okay, how about this: Moondrop, can you help me get to the checkout counter, please? That way, I can sit down. That will help. Can you do that?"

Moondrop nodded– he took Bayleigh by the hand, not needing a light to navigate the dark space. She allowed herself to be led forward, through the ball pit and across the child-sized bridge, until she was being instructed to sit behind the checkout counter.

"Thank you," she breathed, "Can you do something else for me? There should be a flashlight somewhere by the–"

He'd bounded off before she could finish the request, and Bayleigh assumed she'd lost him again.

Until the flashlight was clicked on, Moondrop using it to illuminate his face.

"You threw it."

"... yeah."

He held it out to her, "Do not throw, again."

"Trust me, I won't."

Moondrop seemed content to perch on the desk and watch her, saying nothing. She'd be lying if she said it didn't creep her out, but at the same time, he wasn't trying to maul her, this time. That was a marked improvement.

Speaking of which–

"Hey, so why were you chasing me like that?" Bayleigh asked him.

Moondrop's head tilted slightly, "Lights off. Time to sleep, not run around and play. It is against the rules."

"Okay, then why did you try to try to pull me down the slide?"

"Slides are not for climbing. Against the rules."

She was sensing a pattern here, "Isn't hurting people against the rules, too?"

For a moment, he said nothing. But then, slowly, he seemed to droop.

"Didn't mean to," he muttered, "Wasn't trying to. Broke the rules. Didn't mean to."

Bayleigh hesitated before reaching out, offering her hand.

"It's alright," she reassured, "It was an accident, right? Don't worry about it. You didn't mean to. You're not bad."

Moondrop perked up, eyeing her hand with interest. Then, slowly, he reached out– he stopped, withdrawing his damaged hand, and offered the unblemished one, instead. Bayleigh accepted the gesture, shaking it.

"I'll let someone know about the hand, so they can get that fixed for you." Muffling a groan, Bayleigh stood, "There's something I need to show you and Sunnydrop. But it looks like it's going to have to wait until the power comes back, since I don't think I can make another trip up the slide–"

Moondrop shook his head, "Easy peasy– can fix. With the generators."

"Generators?"

He pointed at the playground, "Hidden."

"Generators… in the playground?" Bayleigh repeated, "Is that safe?"

Moondrop pointed out a long, black cable that was wound covertly across the floor, "Follow the lines."

It didn't answer her question in the slightest, but… well, what else was new?

"Okay then… generators. Right." She looked down at the animatronic, offering as much of a smile as she could muster in her given state, "You want to help me? I bet I can turn on more generators than you."

Moondrop eyed her and spoke seriously, "No games in the dark. Dangerous."

"No games," she agreed, "I'm an employee, remember? It's work."

"Work…" Moondrop mused, "... yes, work. I can work in the dark."

"That's what I like to hear." Bayleigh pat him briefly on the nightcapped head, "Thanks, bud."

Her confidence had been a bluff, and she was rapidly put back into place– in the time it took Bayleigh to re-enter the playground and follow the first black cable she found, Moondrop was dangling from the netting, snickering to himself.

"Found two," he teased, "Slowpoke."

Bayleigh's grin was genuine this time, "I thought we weren't allowed to play games?"

"Not games. Work." He cocked his head to the side, "But if it was a game. I would be the winner."

She snickered, "No false modesty for you, then."

The child-sized playground slowed her down considerably, along with the fact that she was no longer fleeing in a blind panic– by the time she had crawled her way to a generator, Moondrop was waiting for her.

"One more after this one?" she asked.

He shook his head, "Got it, too. Got three."

"Well, this one is mine," she joked, "It's only fair."

Moondrop cackled– it was still unsettling, but it fit him too well. He wasn't Sunnydrop, that's for sure. But that was fine. He didn't need to be.

"Okay," Bayleigh breathed, "Guess when the power comes back on… that means you'll have to go?"

He nodded, "Yes."

"Hm." She paused, "Well. Don't worry. It won't be forever."

Moondrop nodded again.

Bayleigh didn't fill the silence immediately, feeling like there was more he wanted to add.

"Everything okay?"

Moondrop was studying his hand, examining the exposed endoskeleton fingers. She couldn't get a read on what might've been running through his mind.

"... I didn't mean to."

She shook her head, "It's okay. I know you didn't. It wasn't your fault."

"I broke the rules. Shouldn't break the rules. Supposed to be good." Bayleigh recognized the familiar, fumbling tick that had arisen in his hands, "Supposed to be good."

"Hey," she interrupted, "It's alright. Mistakes happen. And you learn from them– that's what's supposed to happen. No one's mad at you."

It wasn't getting through again, so Bayleigh edged closer, lowering herself into his scope of vision, "Moondrop. No one's mad at you, okay? I'm not. Look– it's hard to stay mad at people, right? I think it would be much easier if we were friends, instead. Can we do that?"

That got his attention– Moondrop perked up, the hand fidgeting coming to an abrupt halt.

"Friends?"

Bayleigh smiled, "Yeah, dude. That sound like a plan?"

She was caught off guard when he held out a hand, pinkie extended. The message was received– Bayleigh did the same, interlinking it with his.

Shortly after, Moondrop scurried out of the tunnels, vanishing from sight without another word. Bayleigh waited for him to return, but when he didn't, she went ahead and flipped on the final generator.

The daycare was flooded with light, though Bayleigh was spared the brunt of it inside the playground. For the first time, the sight of every piece of garish rainbow plastic filled her with a sense of relief.

Bayleigh climbed out the way she entered, more or less able to ignore her leg by now; she stood with a groan, knowing her knees would be having a stern word with her, the next morning.

"BAYLEIGH!"

Sunnydrop launched himself at her, and Bayleigh had just enough time to drop the flashlight and catch him, wrapping the animatronic up in a hug.

"Hey sunshine!" she greeted, laughter spilling over into her voice, "There you are!"

"Did you hide?! Did you run away in time?! Did he hurt you?! Are you okay?!" Sunnydrop was all but incoherent, the words becoming a seamless blur of mechanical feedback, "I told you to run because I couldn't stop him and I knew he was scary and I didn't want you to be scared or hurt or be mad at me even though I didn't do it and I–"

Bayleigh was already walking them to the exit doors, "Calm down, okay? It's fine– Moondrop and I had a talk. Things are fine now."

Sunnydrop perked up, emitting a sound akin to shock, "You talked to him?! That was a very dangerous thing to do–"

"Trust me, I know." Bayleigh shouldered open the door, with no intention of putting the animatronic down anytime soon, "I'll tell you all about it. But first, there's something we've got to do first."

She felt him shrink into himself, "Am I in trouble? I didn't do anything wrong, it was–"

"You're not in trouble," she assured patiently, "In fact, I think this is gonna make you feel a lot better."

Bayleigh felt like she was going to wear down the carpet, treading the same path from play place to theater and back again– she was able to hide the limp to a degree, knowing it would only elicit a disastrous reaction from Sunnydrop. They returned to the cubbyhole, and Bayleigh sat beside the relay station, patting the ground beside her to encourage him to join her.

"Have you used this before?"

Sunnydrop crouched before the device, eventually nodding.

"It beeps!" he observed, "It beeps loudly!"

"Yes it does." Bayleigh used the switches to scroll to the bottom of the list of alerts, "You know how when someone gets hurt, you make that same sound? This is the machine that receives that data– it records the name of the person who got hurt, and what happened. An employee is supposed to go through and resolve the alerts, so that you know it's okay, now." She gave him a flat look, "But, it looks like they haven't been doing that. So, we're going to fix it, now."

Sunnydrop nodded eagerly, taking a seat beside her with his legs crossed, "Okie-dokie!"

One by one, Bayleigh opened each alert of Sunnydrop's ("I'll come back later and let Moondrop take care of his," she told him, "So you don't have to worry about those"), going over the incident and letting him speak his mind.

"I remember Sam!" he blurted, "He had a shirt with a race car on it! He liked puppets! He was lots of fun!"

"This says he skinned his knee?" Bayleigh read, "Do you remember that?"

Sunnydrop nodded profusely, "He cried a lot."

"Ah." Bayleigh shrugged, "Well, a skinned knee heals really fast. And this happened a while ago, so he's definitely okay now. Is it alright if we clear this one?"

Sunnydrop fumbled his hands for a moment.

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Super duper sure?"

"I'm super duper sure."

The animatronic's fingers continued to tap against one another furiously… until he nodded.

"Sam is okay." He repeated it to himself a few times, "He is okay."

Bayleigh hit "resolve" on the alert, and it was removed from the list. Only a dozen left.

She didn't even bother checking her phone once they'd cleared all his alerts– it didn't bother her, anymore. Bayleigh rubbed her eyes, burned from the screen, and offered Sunnydrop a tired smile.

"There. That help?"

Sunnydrop nodded, oblivious to her exhaustion, "Yes! Yes, that's much better!" He jumped to his feet, continuing to bounce, "It was making me so worried! I thought everything was going to be bad forever! But it's not, is it? You fixed it!"

Bayleigh hesitated, "Well… I mean, things might still happen. You know that, don't you? But when they do, you'll just need to do what we did here. And don't worry– I don't know who thought it was a good idea to turn off the relay station, but I'm going to make sure it doesn't happen again, even if I have to sneak in here every night to make sure of it."

Sunnydrop giggled, "Oh Bayleigh, you're being silly again. You do a lot of that, you know! Maybe you should work in the daycare– kids love having a silly friend to play with!"

Bayleigh's laugh was fake: a polite way of repressing the phrase "Absolutely not."

"We'll see," she lied.

The animatronic paused, becoming serious again, "You should still hide from him, though. So he can't scare you, or hurt you."

Bayleigh sighed, "About that… you know, you don't have to be scared of Moondrop. I know he's… "spooky," to say the least, but he's not so bad. He's a lot like you, if you can believe that. He doesn't want to break the rules, either." She rubbed the back of her neck sorely, "I think he was worried, too. Like you. But he didn't have anyone to ask for help. And he got scared. And…I don't know. Maybe he just needed a friend."

Sunnydrop considered it… before turning up his head in an unmistakably haughty manner.

"Well, I don't need a rule-breaker for a friend!" He paused, then added with an air of surrender, "But you can do it. If you want to. I guess."

Bayleigh burst into laughter at his tone, tickled by such a passive aggressive attitude from the otherwise childish animatronic.

Feeling exhaustion beginning to win its tug of war on her mind, Bayleigh tried to bid him a good night, but the goodbye was refused– instead, Sunnydrop ducked inside the room through the blue tunnel, emerging with fistfuls of old crayons and paper.

"Wait! Before you leave!" Sunnydrop spread the items across the floor, giving them space, "We can color!"

What could she do, refuse him?

"Only for a little while," she told him, "And I'm not much of an artist."

Sunnydrop shook his head, the bells on his wrists tinkling, "Everyone can draw! It doesn't matter how good you think you are– all that matters is that you have fun!"

"If you say so."

Bayleigh prayed for the crayons to work with her, but wasn't sure if they'd relent. Across from her, Sunnydrop was scribbling away without a care in the world. For the first time that week, she was truly able to relax.

As an afterthought, she took out her phone, on its last few sparks of power. Trying not to draw the animatronic's attention, she took a covert selfie of the two: she figured Ted would want an update on the situation, after all.

Assuming I'm not rudely abandoned by inspiration, there should be more to come- why work on the 6+ other WIPs I have when I can work on new stories? But seriously, thank you for reading! I would REALLY appreciate any feedback you have to offer, from what you enjoyed to what you think could be improved, or even what you'd like to see going forward. Thank you once again for reading- I know this opening chapter wasn't short, in the slightest! Have a great day/night!