CHAPTER 2

To be weak. Shame.

Wandering on the shores of abyssal madness, the hapless traveler is faced with unspeakable horrors from obscure depths of sanity, although these horrors, despite their evident repugnance, breed temptation, once they act as an anesthetic for the psychological pain. Such pain shall only be interpreted by sanity itself, which makes insanity a way free of mental fears.

Insanity, once an abominable concept, was now seen as a convenient savior by Gregory. From the tip of the scalpel to his toes, nerves quivered in delirious, frightening fear. His eyes fought rivers of salty waters to the back of the retina, for tears were a synonym for weakness, and in that context, weakness was a synonym for death.

"Stay AWAY from me! You monsters! Monsters!" - He pleaded. Squeezing himself further into the corner, for a moment, Gregory had the chilling thought that he might be making himself look small, and consequently, an easier prey.

"Gregory..." - Chica began. - "Please, put that down, you might hurt yourself! I promise no one will do anything to you. I promise." - Her voice sounded astonishingly different, the previous dragged and lifeless tone from the beginning of the night was now replaced with a soft, almost motherly tone of voice.

But it didn't matter. For Gregory, her promises were as valuable as vibrant, saturated color plants that hide poison in their most delicate petals. Seductive, persuasive, although dangerous and dismissive.

The wolf and the gator both stood frozen in their places, on their minds was a desire to act, to speak, however, the fear of making things even worse convinced them of letting Chica, the arguably least threatening of them all, try to calm the panicking child.

And so she spoke. - "Chickpea, Freddy is on the way, we will not get near you if you don't want to. Please, take a deep breath and put that down, we will sort things out when he is here, okay?" - Chica took a step closer to Gregory, which caused him to flinch, and so she stopped.

- "Yeah kid, Chica's right. You're safe, whatever happened before is... It is gone." - Roxy added.

Gregory sighed with a shudder, for the voice of reason had told him terrible truths. He was weak, the pathetic rusty metal of his little scalpel was nothing against the robust iron that composed the Glamrocks shells. Although the boy would rather jump off the highest cliffs to an honorable death than admit weakness in front of his enemies, his life was at the mercy of the three animatronics that surrounded him.

After his psyche had crumbled, it was time for the body. Gregory dropped the scalpel and gently hugged the sides of his body whilst he slowly slid to the floor, and between fugitive sobs, he pleaded once again;

- "P-please... Please don't k-kill me. I j-just want Freddy... Freddy..." - The most primitive constant of life, to preserve one's vitality at all costs.

The words were daggers. Chica, Roxy, and Monty's expressions transmuted into faces of horror and indignation. They shared looks, and a simultaneous feeling united them all. How cowardly and vile it was, to those judged as guardians and catalysts of happiness, to cause such horrors to an innocent and young soul.

Roxy picked up the scalpel, careful as to not get too close. Chica sighed in relief, seeing that the boy had no more means of causing harm to himself.

"Let's give him space." - Chica advised. The group nodded and did as so.

Before retreating, Monty crouched down in front of Gregory, being mindful of the distance. And with the softest voice he could make despite his natural deep tone, he decided to give the boy some comforting words.

- "Hey little guy, hold on tight. Freddy is almost here, we're gonna sort this out and ye gonna be home in the blink of an eye. Now be strong, you sure proved yourself as tough, kid." - Monty finished his words with a wink and a click of his tongue, expecting a joyful reaction.

But Gregory was frozen, silent. Not a word, not a movement. His dignity, confidence, strength, and health had been stripped away by past and current traumas, which all culminated in an apathetic catharsis of anxious emotions. Why was he still alive in the presence of those ignoble monsters? He didn't know, he didn't care, not anymore. Now all that's left to do is wait, for his guardian, for the only one who showed him kindness, for Freddy.

The ticking of the mechanical clock added to the dense thickness of the air in the room. Gregory lay still and crammed into the corner of the room - Sometimes sobbing, sometimes silent as a centenary corpse.

The other three Glamrocks were on the opposite corner, sitting on some overstuffed stools they found near the station. At times, they exchanged glances with each other, at other times they took a quick look at the boy, watching for any sudden changes in mood and behavior, seeing if his distress signals had risen.

All were feeling the situation in different ways and had different interpretations and regrets, but one constant was transmitted through all three Glamrocks. Shame, distress, and disbelief. They all vividly remember what they did, said, and thought whilst under the control of the virus, it was horrible, malefic, and sickening.

Truth be told, their artificial minds trembled with fear and confusion, the feeling of being ripped from their conscience, their bodies abused for vile ends such as the murder of a child, it was new and inconceivable, torturous, and a betrayal of all their primordial values.

Values of protection above all, always ensuring the happiness and innocence of their crowd and customers. Of being guardians, idealized figures, and anchors of comfort for the young minds that adored them so much. To paint the neon walls of the Pizzaplex with gifts from those thou swear to protect, not with thy blood.

Their pure values were twisted, reprogrammed to act on a depraved bias, conceived only by the mind of the most perverse and evil of men, whose legacy of death lives on even after their funereal sleep.

The consequence was there, on the other side of the room, whimpering and sobbing, bruised and wounded, heart sunken in the depths of fear. It was their fault, the virus didn't matter. For when Gregory closes his eyes, it'll be the faces of Monty, Chica, and Roxy he shall see in his dreadful nightmares, abdicated of innocence, damned to be tormented by them for the rest of his decrepit childhood. It was infuriating, it was shameful, and it was their fault.

"We need to do something. We can't let him like this. It is not fair." - Whispered Chica, breaking a long chain of silence.

Roxy sighed. - "It's over, Chica. We are over. There's no salvation for this kid, we broke him, and we broke ourselves. After all this shit, we are as good as scrap. There's no justification for what happened to us or that kid, this place is going down, and we'll go down with it. Huh... What a wonderful legacy to leave behind, from world-famous Rockstars to attempted child murderers. How wonderful... How wonderful..." - Her voice had a depressing nihilism with tones of sarcasm.

"But it can't be! It can't end like this! Oh god... That poor kid, what have we done? Why is this happening? Why!?"

"Cool down Chi-Chi." - Monty intervened. - "Let the future to the future, ya hear me? We have more important matters right now. We need to get Gregory home safely, that crazy ass stabbing-bunny is still around, and also we don't know if Moon is still a psycho or not. - I mean, he has always been a creep, but ya know what I'm saying."

Chica took a few deep breaths and counted to twenty, and slowly her inner systems cooled down.

"You are right, Monty. You are right..."

And from the heavens above descends O merciful angel, with thou warm orange metal plates to warm the helpless in need, thy child who waits in sobs between metal funded on pain, claims for your presence. Metal steps approach from outside the room, and Gregory couldn't contain a gasp of relief as Freddy walked in, obliterating the air that weighed down with anguish with his aura.

"Freddy!"