Hello everyone! Unfortunately, the story has hit a bump, The Pyromanical Misanthrope has a similar storyline, that unfortunately he had written first, but I had published my own before him, I would like to firmly tell you all not to flame because it's familiar. I will personally talk to anyone who does. Thank you all for paying attention, now since we need three lines of story, I'll just do something.
I was only a 8 year old when it happened, or so I was told. I don't remember much, just screaming and the sound of squelching as something was forced into a small area. Some people call me strange, distant even sometimes corrupted, but I dunno, I call it being quiet. My mother had to pull me out of school after that, the principal telling her I was scaring the other children from my lack of blinking.
Even now, as I stand in the freezing cold, looking up at the place where it all supposedly happened, I don't feel a thing, no fear, no nothing, per normal. A bell rings loudly as I push open the door, looking around the empty store.
A man emerged from the back room, humming to himself. I clear my throat loudly, staring, yet again at him, unblinking as I sit on a chair. The man jumps, eyes widening when he sees the man in the chair,"Jason...Oh good boy, I haven't see you since the uh," The man rubbed the back of his neck, picking his words carefully,"Night." Jason stared at him, his dark chocolate brown eyes unwavering,"Hello Brock."
Brock laughed nervously,"If you don't mind me asking, what are you doing around here? I thought you and your family moved to England?" Jason blinked, the only real sign of emotion,"Mum died, dad remarried and my Sister went to University." Brock blinked in surprise, narrowing his eyes,"Uh, Sorry, I guess?"
Jason yawned, walking over to the drawn curtains and underwing them, studying Foxy before walking over to the animatronics,"Strange isn't it, you wouldn't think there would be space inside." Brock rubbed the back of his neck again, this time glaring at Jason,"If your looking for something, your not going to find anything here." Jason nodded, though he ran his hand over Bonnie's paw, searching for holes.
He swiftly turned, marching back over to Foxy,"Tell me, why's this one so...damaged?" Brock frowned walking over, and stuttering slightly,"Ah, Foxy. He's just gotten old I guess." Jason frowned, his dark grey hair falling over his face as he looked over Foxy's bare legs,"He could be easily repaired." Brock bit his lip slowly as he pulled the curtains shut again with a cold glare,"Suppose I could, though Foxy doesn't bring a crowd, so he doesn't earn his repairs."
Jason blinked rapidly,"How does a machine earn? It has no feelings, no desires, no nothing. It has nothing to earn. The only reason we have them is for our own desires, as they cannot have them." Brock shrugged, motioning to the door, running his nails through the front of his blue shirt,"We're not open yet Jason, come back later."
He shrugged, walking towards the door, noting to himself Brock's odd movement at the end of their conversation. Something was stirring in Jason's mind, something that had been forced back into his subconscious for a long time and it wanted it's freedom.