In which our heroine talks to machines and rats, and no one thinks things through.

At first, Charlie was nocturnal.

It made the most sense. She was useless during the day, after all – they all were. Resisting programming was hard enough when you were supposed to be deactivated, nigh impossible when you were supposed to be performing. With Puppet on her side, she might have been able to do something, but breaking character would have been a sure-fire way to get herself scrapped, or worse. She wasn't sure what Afton would be capable of if he found her, and she wasn't willing to find out.

So she slept during opening hours, and woke up when the lights went out, and did what she could in that time. Then, when she was decommissioned and locked up, she slept a lot more, losing track of time in the storage room, only sneaking out to try and tell the others her plans, which never worked anyway.

After the building was abandoned, and she was free to wander, she discovered that she didn't actually need to sleep. Puppet got tired if their battery ran down, but she could keep going for as long as she wanted. At first, she kept her habit of sleeping during the day, because sometimes sleeping made her feel better, but she didn't sleep as much.

Eventually, she stopped sleeping altogether.

You need to rest, Charlie.

Puppet couldn't have had a real voice. The other animatronics could speak, with a large bank of pre-recorded lines, but Puppet was too advanced. They could never have enough lines for every situation. In the beginning, they used gestures to convey simple concepts, and Charlie gave them a notebook for more complex stuff.

Now, though, there was no need for that. Charlie didn't "hear" the words so much as "imagine" them. The voice she imagined was pleasant, yet uncanny. Calm and gentle, but with an oddly inhuman intonation.

"I don't need sleep, Puppet." She didn't really speak either. There was no speaker for her to commandeer. Her ethereally echoing voice simply inserted itself into the mind of whoever was nearby.

Everyone needs sleep. Even machines have to rest sometimes.

"But not ghosts." She was practically reading from a script at this point.

Perhaps not physically, but sleep isn't just physical rest. You need to rest your mind. Sleep lets us process the day. They both were.

"I get enough rest here." Charlie raised an arm to indicate the music box she was sprawled in, and the charging cables plugged into a series of carefully concealed ports on her back. "And it's not like I'm processing much. And anyway, something could happen."

What could happen that hasn't already happened, Charlie?

She paused. "Anything," she replied, to end the discussion, well aware that it was a good point.

If Puppet was about to say something, it was interrupted by the soft, tinny little tune that meant charging was done. Charlie pulled herself up, yanking the cables out and placing them back on the floor of the box.

As she climbed out, the light streaming through the window caught her eye. It was a lot darker than she thought it would be. By her estimate, charging should have taken her until sunrise.

She would have frowned, if she had the ability. Reaching deep within herself, she pulled mentally at the circuit boards of her mechanical vessel. A battery readout lit up somewhere in the back of her eyes.

60%

"Puppet? That's not right, is it?"

There was silence in her subconscious.

"Puppet?"

One moment.

The readout flickered.

100%

There. It just needed to be restarted.

"That's new. Did we break something?"

Maybe. But it's only a minor glitch. I don't think it's anything to be concerned about.

Her estimate must have been a bit off. Charlie walked away, putting it out of her mind.

It must have been her imagination, but Puppet's voice seemed to get a little quieter there.

Charlie didn't know exactly how long she'd been keeping watch. The tally chart carved into the walls of the music box had ended on the night Afton died – it seemed like a good place to stop – at approximately twelve and a half years' worth of marks.

(Incidentally, that was just barely twice as long as she'd been alive.)

It had been a few months, she knew that. She didn't know the exact date. The days tended to blur together.

Last time she checked, she had been nineteen. Now... she didn't think her birthday had come around yet. Nearly twenty? She wished she had a calendar.

Her lifestyle (deathstyle?) wasn't very good for telling days apart. It was very, very simple.

Charlie started the day – a Charlie day being the amount of time between charges, as opposed to the usual twenty-four hours – by checking in on everyone else.

She wandered over to the darkest corner of the kitchen, and pulled the ajar cupboard a little further open. Gleaming eyes stared up at her from the black.

"Good... morning?" She glanced up at the window. Faint yellow light filtered in through the grime. "Yeah, good morning." She briefly patted each rat with an affectionate talon. "Cupcake, Sparky – you're getting big, aren't you? – Silly Billy – no biting, little guy! – Theodore, Slinky, aaand... Pizza! There you are. Leg healing up okay?"

Pizza squeaked indignantly as she picked him up to examine the injury. "Looks fine, good. I guess you'll listen to my warnings about that room in the future?" He squirmed out of her grasp, which she took as a yes.

That was the fun part over.

Charlie straightened up, and headed for the Parts and Service room. Even now, she still had to steel herself to open the door.

The piles of parts were lifeless, but that didn't make them much more bearable to look at.

"Morning, everyone."

There was no response, of course.

She didn't know if her friends were gone or not. On the one hand, she didn't feel anything when she looked at the shattered machines. Before, there had been an inescapable sense of presence, an instinct telling her that "these are people, these were alive, these were human once." Now, they were just empty husks.

On the other hand, it wasn't like she was a scientist. They could still be there. Sleeping, or worse, awake.

So she made them comfortable, or at least did things she thought would be comforting, and slotted as many twisted pieces back into place as she could, and checked in on them, and tried to ignore her rational mind telling her they were gone.

She didn't stay for long. Just long enough to confirm that nothing had changed since last time.

That was the calm parts over.

As she approached the boarded-up door in the bathroom corridor, the air seemed to thicken around her. Though she lacked a sense of smell, she got the overwhelming impression of a scent of decay, of rotting meat and rancid blood. She didn't know if it was supernatural, or just psychological.

She stopped outside the door, and listened carefully. It was as quiet as a tomb.

Really bad metaphor, or really good metaphor?

Charlie leaned back, did her mental equivalent of taking a deep breath, and screamed.

She could scream very well now. It was a deafening, distorted shriek, that sounded like a broken machine imitating the battle-cry of a wild animal.

There was a crash, as the man in the room startled. His yell was muffled by the door, but she could still make out his echoing, mechanically twisted voice.

"CHRIST!"

The voice might have struck fear into someone else's heart, but Charlie had stopped being afraid of him a long time ago. She re-centered herself, and spoke.

"Are you dead yet?"

The voice, as usual, was indignant. "Clearly not, Charlotte. I thought you'd have stopped this childish game by now."

"Had to check."

"You understand this is the definition of insanity, don't you?" Suppressing her disgust, she leaned against the door in what she assumed was a casual sort of way.

"You gave the 'definition of insanity' speech last week, Afton. Is that what irony is? I wasn't in school long enough to find out."

It is, said Puppet, somewhat amusedly.

"Puppet says it is."

"I don't care what your imaginary friend thinks, Charlotte."

"My 'imaginary friend' doesn't care about you either." With that, she swept away down the corridor, not slowing down until she was back in the main room, away from the smell.

The security guard's office was small and cramped, but Charlie had long since gotten over any claustrophobia. Though the cameras had long since stopped working, it was still centralized enough to let her hear anything big that happened in the building, while also having the most comfortable chair.

She span idly in place, wishing she had a book.

The library isn't too far from here, you know. If we ran, we could be in and out within an hour.

"You think they'd give us a library card?"

I think it's a building full of books, and that we could work out the details when we got there.

"We're not stealing library books, Puppet."

We'd return them after. It wouldn't be any different to a normal borrowing.

"I don't think breaking into a library would give us the moral high ground."

I don't think anyone would blame you for it, considering the situation.

"Point's moot anyway. I'm not about to abandon this."

For an hour, Charlie?

She stopped. "What is this really, Puppet?"

What do you mean?

"You've been saying things like that a lot lately. That I should try to sleep, or leave the building. You know how important this is, right?"

There was a long silence. When Puppet spoke again, they were much quieter.

Of course it's important. But Charlie, I'm worried about you. I don't know if you realize it, but what you just said... it's not normal.

"I know." Charlie pulled her legs up onto the chair, curling in on herself. "I know, but... I can't have normal anymore."

Pain is how the human mind interprets alarms. Charlie perceived the low-battery alarm as a sharp headache, mild but annoying.

10%

"Isn't it kind of early for that?"

Yes, but I turned up the internal heater. It's really cold today – I don't want anything getting damaged.

Charlie clambered into the music box, and connected the cables. It was a perfectly reasonable explanation.

She didn't think twice about the pause she heard before it.

55%

"Puppet? That glitch from the other day is back."

"Puppet? Are you there?"

100%

Sorry. Thinking.

"Trying to figure out what might be causing this?"

Yes.

45%

Charlie and Puppet had been best friends for nearly fifteen years. In her case, since she was a toddler. In theirs, since they were created.

Before everything, the two had been inseparable. She may have been older, but to little Charlie, "Puppy" was like the older sibling she never had.

Mom and Dad and Charlie and Sammy and Puppy. It was a strange family, but Charlie loved all of them. She still did.

If she had one real regret at the time of her death, it was counting Uncle William among them.

35%

When Charlie woke up in the music box, in the darkness, unable to move, her first thought was "They thought I was dead, and they buried me alive."

When she forced herself to struggle out, only to collapse on the floor as her limbs bent in ways nothing natural should be able to, she knew it was worse than that.

If not for Puppet's voice in her head, comforting her as best they could, she might have given up right there.

Then again, maybe that option would have worked out better.

25%

In the end, Charlie kept going. Through all the despair, she kept going. Even when she doubted herself, when she blamed herself for everything her friends went through, when she wondered if she was even Charlie anymore, when she called herself a monster, she kept going.

Would she have been able to keep going alone? Would she have given up, if Puppet hadn't been there to tell her it's okay, you're doing all you can?

15%

She still didn't know.

5%

She would never have doubted Puppet.

Please go to sleep, Charlie.

"I don't -"

I know you don't need to. But Charlie, don't you think you deserve at least a bit of normality?

That was new. Charlie stopped her automatic response, and considered the tone.

Puppet sounded strange. Uncharacteristically urgent. Almost desperate.

"This is really important to you, isn't it?"

… Yes. It is.

Pause.

Charlie?

"Promise me you'll wake me up the second something happens?"

I promise. The voice lightened with relief.

"Then... I will take a nap. A small nap."

Thank you, Charlie.

"Just to prove my point."

I know.

She curled up in the box. Puppet started up a gentle hum in her mind – not the music box tune, but something more relaxing.

"Wake me up in an hour."

Goodnight, Charlie, said Puppet, softly.

As she drifted off, the hum tapered off too. For a moment, the space the two shared became quiet.

I'm sorry.

Charlie dreamed about home, and woke up reluctantly.

She did feel better now, like a weight had been lifted. Puppet might have been right – a short, careful nap every now and then might be -

The sun was up. It had been setting when she fell asleep.

"You said you'd wake me up in an hour, Puppet!" She scrambled out of the box, pulling out the cables. "That could have been -"

She stopped dead. Something was wrong. She didn't know what, but something was -

0%

"Puppet?"

She felt numb. A sensation was missing. A faint prickling through her body. She hadn't been aware of it until right now, because now it was gone.

Electricity. Of course. The cables must not have been plugged in right. Puppet must have run out of power.

She picked up a cable, and stuck it back into the port. The prickling didn't come back. She didn't feel anything, except her stomach sinking into her feet.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

"Puppet, what is -"

She froze, as a not-quite-human instinct muttered something in her ear. A dreadful knowledge overtook her, something she hadn't felt since she was trapped in a music box, knowing in the deepest part of her that her friends were being killed right now, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

"No," she whispered. "The readouts. They..."

She couldn't say it.

She had to say it.

"... they weren't wrong, were they?"

Silence.

0%

"No." She staggered closer to the box, twisting the cable further into the charging port, far enough to hurt. "No, no, no, Puppet, PUPPY, WAKE UP!"

0%

"WAKE UP! PUPPY!"

0%

"PLEASE! PLEASE, I'M SORRY, PLEASE WAKE UP!"

0%

0%

0%

The cable was thrown against the wall. Charlie upturned the music box, and collapsed to her knees as it smashed against the floor, the sound of delicate mechanisms shattering echoing through her empty head.

She screamed, but it didn't fill the space.

Dutifully, she dragged herself through the miasma of decay, towards the sound.

It was a new sound. It was like a struggling computer's grinding, but consistent, stopping and starting, almost rhythmic.

It was laughter.

It stopped when she did, outside the door. There was another sound, a static crackling. Then, something familiar.

"PUPPY, WAKE UP! WAKE UP, PUPPY! WAKE UP!"

Her own voice, stilted, distorted, crackling like a radio.

The boards splintered under the force of her punch. The splintered playback stopped, replaced by more of the grinding laughter.

"Thank you for that, Charlotte. Really. Hearing you cry for your imaginary friend – it almost made all of this worth it."

"Shut up," she muttered.

"Shut up? How uncreative of you. I thought you were a better conversationalist than that."

"Shut -" she dragged her talons down the board, "- up."

"If you insist." The mirth made her feel sick. "What's so dreadfully important?"

"You -" She halted, her rage paralyzing her voice. Fireworks seemed to be going off in her head.

"Yes, me. There's no one else around, you know."

"You want to mock me, Afton?" Something snapped behind Charlie's eyes. "You think you can laugh about this?"

"Oh, Charlotte. I believe I just did."

"Then laugh." She stepped back from the door. "Laugh as much as you want. I'm not going to stop you."

"... Excuse me?"

"I'm not going to stop you. I'm not going to stop you from doing anything anymore." Another step back. "There's no point."

"Charlotte, what are you -"

"All this time, I thought I was burying you. But it's my grave too, isn't it?" One more step. "I'm not staying. I'm going to leave you here to rot."

"Charlotte, wait -"

She ran.

The front door was seized shut, but she easily rammed it open. It was a cold winter's day, and the streets were empty.

Charlie felt like her brain was on fire, but she pulled herself together just enough to stagger into an alleyway. It was strange – she could hear the sounds and see the sights, but she couldn't feel the cold, or smell the air.

She had no plan, no idea where to start. All she knew was that Puppet was right. She deserved normality. Maybe she couldn't have it, but she was damn well going to try and take it.

She was going to go home.

A/N In case anyone was wondering:

Cupcake:

- it was the first thing I saw when I googled "rat names"

- big chonker

- does no harm but takes no shit

Sparky:

- yes, as in that Sparky

- in universe, named after Susie's dog

- because he is a dog in the body of a rat

Silly Billy:

- pisses everywhere

- keeps trying to bite Charlie

- naturally, she named him after William

Theodore:

- she misses her toy rabbit, what can I say

- smol bean

- likes scritches

Slinky:

- Aura how does it feel to have come up with the most perfect rat name

- child

- clinically insane

Pizza:

- the cool one

- hurt his leg trying to eat William's liver

- still managed to take a good chunk out