Rochelle stumbled through the halls. Then she realized something.
"Hey! You little. . ." she growled, instantly assuming it was Gregory who stabbed her.
She tromped into Monty Golf, and found Gregory, Ferdinand and the others engaged in conversation.
"Look at this! Look what your adopted parasite did to me!" she screamed.
She turned sideways and awkwardly gestured to the stab wound just below and beside her right shoulder blade.
Everyone was quiet.
"Gregory. . ." Ferdinand said, seeming appalled.
"What kind of argument did you get in with her? Got heated over fashion or something? All I can say is, I wouldn't be making any jabs on that if I were you, kid." said Monsanto.
"Of course the child is a serial killer, why wouldn't he be?" muttered Bernard, in a theatre whisper.
"Are you all stupid or something? Where would I get a knife?" Gregory asked.
"From the kitchen, I would imagine. . ." said Ferdinand, uncertainly.
"And did you see me get any?" Gregory asked.
"No, I didn't— Rochelle, when and where did he stab you?" asked Ferdinand.
Rochelle thought for a moment. "Aaagh, I can't remember it actually happening, I guess the pain made my memory go all fuzzy."
"That's not how pain works. Generally the moment is more likely to get imprinted in your head." said Gregory.
"Well of course you'd say that! You're trying to capitalize off being the only one who's used to having nerves!" said Rochelle.
"Capitalize? I'm just a kid, I don't have anything to do with business or money. But if I did, I would call this slander, and you a bad actor." said Gregory.
"Please, Gregory, I want to believe you, and I do, but could you try not to be so cutting in the way you speak? We are all supposed to live in this same place, and-" Ferdinand said.
"Of course you side with him. What a joke, you actually think we're supposed to coexist when stuff like this" she gestured to her side, "happens, and you don't do anything about it?"
"I think we should all just go into the kitchen, and look at the knives." said Bernard.
They went into the kitchen. Even Cheyenne came along, giving Gregory a dirty look as Rochelle practically sobbed about how Gregory hated her.
They looked in the kitchen, and no place where knives were expected lacked knives.
"I think you really have no reason to claim Gregory did it, and furthermore I fear that whoever did do it may still be around." said Ferdinand.
"I'm fairly certain it wasn't Opera Penguin." said Bernard.
"Why is that?" Ferdinand asked.
"He has a gun, so if he wanted to kill you, he'd use that. Or his magical powers. And if he wanted to cause you immense pain, he could also use his magical powers for that." said Bernard.
"Unless he wanted to scapegoat me." said Gregory.
"And why would he want to do that? I already hate you." said Rochelle.
"I think it's less about you, and more about me. He seems to be sort of. . . interested in me, somehow." said Gregory.
"I would say 'call the FBI' to that, but given that they can't help us, I think I'm just going to ask for clarification on that one." said Bernard.
"I mean he popped into the kitchen just to harass Ferdinand and give me a sandwich, and then to try and use that to guilt trip me. Why would he do that?" said Gregory.
"He seems to derive some sort of addition power from you being upset, or from your emotional state pleasing other people." said Ferdinand.
"My emotions pleasing other people? What?" Gregory said, confused.
"It was something he said to me—suffice it to say, I think he wants you to be unhappy, so I suppose attempting to isolate you by accusing you of something horrible would befit him, as I understand him." said Ferdinand.
Then a knife was flung into the wall. It was three inches in. They all looked at it. It was bloody.
"Were you looking for this?" asked a raspy voice.
They all turned, to see an abomination gliding on tiptoes towards them.
On a very basic level, it was similar to Bernard, in that it was a humanoid with rabbit features. However, here the semblance ended.
She—her figure was extremely, even uncomfortably feminine in her curvature, even though she was awfully thin—had grey fur, but it seemed largely stained with dirt and old blood, such that it was really more of a putrid reddish-brown. She was naked, though thankfully her fur and filth seemed to cover up any private features, and she had two aggressively protruding buck teeth.
However, most striking were her eyes, which were milky like a corpse's, but glowed a violently-bright red.
A spear manifested in her hands. The next few moments were very fast and very disorienting. The apparition lunged in the general direction of Rochelle, but Ferdinand grabbed at the shaft of the spear.
The bunny creature flailed her spear and threw Ferdinand, but Monsanto, who had grabbed the knife while Ferdinand grabbed at the bunny lady's spear, stabbed her in the shoulder.
The bunny lady screeched, and scratched Monsanto's arm, her claws leaving a black residue.
Monsanto shrunk back, gasping in pain. Meanwhile, Gregory, Rochelle, Bernard and Cheyenne made a break for it.
As they ran, it seemed like the building's layout had shifted drastically. Cheyenne saw her room, darted into it, and motioned for Rochelle to come in, only to realize that Rochelle was bearing down on Gregory.
"If it weren't for you making me come out there to talk to you. . ." said Rochelle, angrily, as she chased after Gregory.
"Leave me alone! Just leave me alone, I don't want to be chased down or attacked or yelled at I just want to stay with Freddy—I meant Ferdinand! I want to be happy!" said Gregory.
"Of course you do! But what have you ever done to earn it?" asked Rochelle.
"What do you know about my life? Do you even know anything?" asked Gregory.
"I know you just by your voice. You're probably a sheltered kid who belongs to an affluent—HEY!" Rochelle screamed as she was interrupted by Gregory running into a slide that led to the ball pit.
As Gregory tumbled down, he heard Rochelle calling after him. "Come on! I wasn't actually going to hurt you, I just wanted to get some things straight with you ever since I caught you outside the bathroom and you keep avoiding me!"
"I'm gonna call bullshit on that one." said Gregory.
An empty latex glove whipped Gregory across the face, and a voice like that of Tiny Tim said. "Hey there! No talking like that in the daycare!"
Gregory turned to see what must have been Apollo. He was a tall, radiant figure in a jester outfit. 'Radiant' might be an understatement, in fact, as his semi-human head, made up of translucent flesh and bone, seemed to contain a bright, star-like light just below where the brain would be. It had a comedy mask-like face, slightly more opaque than the rest of the head, the eyes of which were windows straight to the central light. In addition, strands of golden light shone around the head in the shape of hair, giving him the appearance of having beautiful blonde hair.
"What?" said Gregory.
"None of that colorful language here!" said Apollo.
"Oh shit, I forgot it was a daycare, sorry." said Gregory.
Apollo slumped. "Why do I even bother? You know what? If Roxanne—I mean, not Roxanne—can run amok like this, I might as well not be bothered to make the same pretenses my automated self makes for the sake of parental approval. I don't really care, but, really?"
"I'm off the street." said Gregory.
"You seemed almost saintly when I looked over some camera footage of you earlier." said Apollo.
"You. . . what?" asked Gregory.
"It was to get to know you!" said Apollo, throwing up his hands. "I legitimately wanted to know you better, and no one is keeping me out of the security office."
"I just. . . didn't want to disappoint Fred-I mean Ferdinand." said Gregory.
Apollo suddenly sprung up. "That is adorable! You still care about your big hero, even though you're a street mongrel!"
Gregory stared.
"Sorry. I just have a sort of, well, turn of phrase that I'm inclined towards." said Apollo.
Gregory raised an eyebrow.
"Anyway, let's find something fun to do, since Rochelle seems busy sobbing up there." said Apollo.
Gregory just realized that Rochelle was sobbing as Apollo said it.
"Uhhh. . ." said Gregory.
"Let's not worry about that! If she really wants, she can chance the slide!" said Apollo, gleefully.
"I'm not sure if I like ball pits that much, to be honest." said Gregory, trying his hardest to ignore the crying.
"Don't be an idiot! Everyone loves ball pits!" Apollo cried out, and then dunked Gregory's head under the surface of the balls like some kind of ball priest giving Gregory a 'ballptism'.
"You're really not helping!" Gregory said, as he surfaced.
"Fine, let me show you something really great. Get on solid ground first, though." said Apollo.
Gregory did.
Apollo waved his arms, spreading them outwards, and some solar radiance poured out from his core. The sublime golden fire suffused the balls, becoming invisible, and the ball pit's entire contents levitated into a cloud, which then arranged itself into an image of the Sun animatronic's face.
"Woah!" Gregory said. "You're, like, a wizard or something!"
"I don't know about that. . ." said Apollo. "I can make things fly and I can bring people up, but I don't think I could transform something or control the weather."
"What would you want to control the weather for in here?" asked Gregory.
"Make it snow whenever someone new comes in so they can't leave!" said Sun.
"I think that's called illegal detention." said Gregory.
"Don't be silly! This isn't a school!" said Apollo.
"Yeah, I think that's why it's illegal." said Gregory.
. . .
"Explain to me what I'm seeing." said William Afton.
"I'm making a new spirit world." said Opera Penguin.
"You'll have to accommodate my lack of knowledge." said William. "I thought 'the spirit world' just referred to the figurative 'world', that is to say the unseen level of reality, that pertains to the spiritual?"
"Not quite. It's more something that many world are equipped with, which facilitates a greater range of interactions in said level of reality. A place where the inward can be expressed into the outward without the need for the powers that are usually required." said Opera Penguin.
"And you're making one? From scratch?" asked William.
"With materials at hand, yes." said Opera Penguin.
"Sounds like a great undertaking." said William.
"And you're in for the ride." said Opera Penguin. "Obviously, my first step in this was this 'dream' we are in right now. Even though it is a 'dream', and exists on that level, that dream is being projected into solidity in a pocket dimension, our dreaming forms commanding magical energies I dedicated to serving as their substance."
"And you're building outwards from there?" asked William.
"No, not really. I skipped to the outermost parts, and now I'm building inwards."
"These parts being?" William asked.
"The spatial dimensions I have made to serve as the interior of this place during the night. When it changes, I need this place to serve my purposes. And I need to provide them with amenities." said Opera Penguin.
"I don't understand why you're trying to make them happy. Weren't you planning on making them struggle for it?" asked William.
"Believe me, living in luxury isn't the sole requirement for happiness." said Opera Penguin. "Anyway, the more I give them, the more they'll feel like I own them."
"I see. And what other parts of this 'spirit world' do you have planned?" asked William.
"Something else that I'm already doing. I'm bringing all the others back. I'm also working on expanding their 'dream' into something a bit realer." said Opera Penguin.
"You're going to let them all run loose?" asked William Afton.
"I've already let a few out. Although the ones who never had a 'body' took the form of monsters amalgamated out of this franchise's characters." said Opera Penguin. "There may be. . . unexpected variables. . . in regards to each spirit's standing with this place as a whole."
"You've mentioned, but why are you doing this?" said William.
"Aside from my aforementioned plans regarding Vanessa? To reintegrate them into having influence in the real world, however limited. Eventually, I plan on organizing a mass possession of the environment here, creating an animistic powerhouse from which to derive remnant." said Opera Penguin.
"What does that mean?" asked William.
"Imagine a room where all the furniture is built into the floor and walls, and eternally bedridden people lie there." said Opera Penguin.
"That analogy is extremely bizarre. Could you just give it to me straight?" asked William.
"I am going to create a place where each spirit presides over something, and has what it controls as its body." said Opera Penguin.
"Ahh." said William. "Even the floors?" he asked.
"Especially the floors! I'd love to have someone who's just there to walk all over." Opera Penguin said, laughing. "No, but seriously, I'm thinking more like the security system, the sprinkler system, the furnace and ventilation, the kitchen, maybe even the speaker voice."
"I see." said William. "Wait, what's that bright white light?" he then said, gesturing to an incandescence in the black wall of the 'dream'.
"That? That's a crude display I've made to represent our gains in light and dark remnant." said Opera Penguin.
"What's that coming from?" asked William.
"Let me see. . ." said Opera Penguin.
. . .
Meanwhile, Ferdinand tackled Annie as she lunged towards Monsanto, only to be thrown out of Annie's way by her brute strength.
Ferdinand looked up from his agonizing position on the floor, only to see Monsanto, edified by Ferdinand's selfless bravery, throwing an overhand punch straight at her head, which connected, causing her to stagger, and step back a bit. Monsanto then followed up with a left hook, which started a series of more and more punches, which got quicker and harder as he continued.
Annie stepped back, and got ahold of her spear.
"Run!" Ferdinand shouted.
"No way!" yelled Monsanto.
"Clearly this isn't something we can win, we need to run!" said Ferdinand. And Monsanto trusted that statement.
"Alright, but first, I better-" Monsanto was cut off as Annie thrusted at him. He stepped sideways, only for his midsection to be grazed by the almost sword-like blade of the polearm.
Monsanto kicked Annie in the ribs, grabbed a mixing bowl, turned it upside down and slammed it over her head. There was a ringing sound that surely wasn't good for bunny ears. And Ferdinand was in awe of him.
"Now let's make a break for it!" yelled Monsanto.
They did.
. . .
Rochelle tried to contain her shaking sobs. She knew they were stupid, and now that she had free will, they weren't just a 'glitch' that she had no control over. But still, at the same time, she couldn't assuage the feeling of intense grief that overcame her whenever Gregory's adoration for Ferdinand was apparent.
"Why?!" she said in the hallways, to no one on particular. "Why am I not good enough to be better than him? Why don't people love me better? I was given that requirement because it was what I needed anyway. All of these 'requirements' always were, weren't they?"
"You know, talking out loud to yourself makes you seem crazy." said Opera Penguin.
"You! I'm not in the mood right now!" said Rochelle.
"Since when have I cared about what you feel? But yes, it's very astute of you to realize the truth of what I require of you. And indeed, the others are way ahead of you. Right now, Ferdinand and Monsanto are teaming up against Annie, and seeing in each other the traits which are needed. They're flourishing. You? You're wilting. But you notice that they're actually doing something? Maybe you should try that, too. But you can't. You won't. Your identity is predicated on the belief that you're above people as you are, and that working to be worthy is admitting, and thus realizing unworthiness." said Opera Penguin.
"Oh. Ferdinand." said Rochelle, feeling a mixture of guilt, inferiority, envy and ire.
"Yes, he and Monsanto are valiantly fighting so you four could get away." said Opera Penguin.
"Four?" asked Rochelle.
Opera Penguin laugh. "Ahh, Bernard. Always being forgotten. Maybe there is someone doing worse than you, Rochelle."
Rochelle beat at her own head. "Agh! Of course. Why do I keep forgetting about him? Wait—doing worse than me? Is he the one who needs to be remembered?" she asked.
"Yes." said Opera Penguin.
Rochelle almost began to cry again. "Am I a total failure or something?" she asked. "Yes." said Opera Penguin, before she could snap that it wasn't actually a question she was asking him.
"Why do you hate me so much?" she bawled at Opera Penguin.
"Friend, hatred implies caring. I don't. I don't care about you, at all, except as a cheap form of entertainment. If ever I honestly give you the impression that I hate you, intentionally or not, it's really just to get more entertainment out of you. That's what you were for in the first place, isn't it? Remember?" he asked.
"You're—you're wrong." she said. "I remember something else, from before,"
Then Opera Penguin manifested a vision of William Afton in the flesh, standing just behind him and to the side, and said, "Whatever it is, it was probably just a dream."
Rochelle stared at Afton. Her mouth was agape. She screamed, and ran away, not even understanding the exact reason for her own primal fear.
"And theeeere she goes. Right back the way she came. I think I'm going to put a little charm on her to aggravate that emotional breakdown of hers." said Opera Penguin.
"How, exactly, am I here?" asked William Afton.
"Remember how I said that you're dreaming, but your dreams matched up to a real space, in which there is a body of energy I formed for you?" asked Opera Penguin.
"Yes, but it didn't make sense." said William.
"Well, the dream isn't bound to that dimension anymore. I re-bound your dream's ability to perceive with the body I have made for you. That is to say, you dream of wherever your dreaming form exists; it is a projection of your sleeping self." said Opera Penguin.
"Why not just give my actual body the ability to do that?" asked William.
"Because, firstly, if this body gets destroyed, you won't die." said Opera Penguin.
"And?" asked William.
"And secondly, well, you know." said Opera Penguin.
"Oh, alright, Mussolini." said William, moodily.
"I am doing this for a very important purpose, something I can't risk failing at just because of. . . a brash mistake, let us say, on your part." said Opera Penguin.
"I understand, you don't trust me and think I'm like an animal." said William.
"Well, I wouldn't put it in so many words-" said Opera Penguin.
"You think I'm some kind of, of lowlife degenerate who can't use his intellect in any other pursuit than killing kids! That you need to run circles around me or keep me on a tether like livestock, for the sake of your sick experiment!" said William.
"Actually, the fact that you have any intellect, and any free will is why I need to keep a tether on you." said Opera Penguin.
William gawped at Opera Penguin.
"Remember, this was a contract you signed. I told you I'd make you a god. That was part of my end of the bargain. But your end regards something you need to do as a god. I need you to kill someone, and it won't be possible until you're strong enough to rip this planet into pieces. In the meanwhile, I can't have you doing anything, or making any dangerous decisions on your own. Because I need you. Your potential power. I can't replace this phenomenon. I can just make a bunch of magical heroes who can't improve their own powers, or maybe trying causing a mass extinction, or maybe a bunch of child sacrifices, but at that point the input will exceed the output in terms of effort required to amass this power." said Opera Penguin.
William's jaw dropped even more. "You'd have to. . . do all those things. . . in order to try and match what I built?"
"Yes. Your establishment is a genius masterpiece in guilt and death. The stench of death lingers over this place from decades past. So many have died and been forgotten. Why do you think Vanny has gotten away with everything, so far? This place eats the people who die in it. They become part of it. Sure, their spirits exist in a distinct form, but they're anchored, rooted to this cursed place. Fire doesn't work. This place, itself, has a spirit. It comes back, just like you, and it comes back whenever its name is called. Hell, it doesn't even need the same name! The whole 'animatronic family diner' thing has become an incredible craze, in spite of the tainted history you gave it! In a sense, because of it! Freddy Fazbear's Pizza is a lifeless, mindless, non-creature predator. It roves, and it devours, and it makes the dead part of its commune. You are important, because you are its king. You are its rightful owner! Even if others can usurp control over it from you, you are the one who is most tightly bound to it. Your deserved, and agonizing death, attended to it by every child you killed? And before that, your being the reason they died? Their ghosthood is built on you! And before even that, you were the one who founded this place, along with Henry Emily!" Opera Penguin ranted.
William winced at hearing Henry's name.
"You are basically indispensible for exactly who you are!" said Opera Penguin.
"A despicable, hateful child murderer who let one of his sons murder his youngest, and who accidentally let his daughter die?" asked William.
"Exactly!" yelled Opera Penguin, throwing up his arms. "Because that is what makes you the emperor of this place!"
"No! I'm like the President, who can't drive himself, and who can be overruled by Congress, only my congress is a bunch of children, and I haven't made a single damn choice about any of this! I've just sat by, watching, waiting, and listening to your schizophrenic babble about the universe and the nature of the metaphysical forces underlying personal existence! I'm the president of a madhouse!" William yelled.
"Well yes, but just wait until my plan even begins to unfold! I will show you amazing things you can do! I will slowly give you more and more free rein until you do, indeed, have control over yourself! but one cannot allow an unborn fetus to waltz out of its mother's womb, even if it is kicking and bouncing within." said Opera Penguin.
"So I'm not an animal, I'm a fetus." said William.
"Yyyyyyyyes?" said Opera Penguin, uncertainly.
"That doesn't make me feel better." said William.
"Oh. Well." said Opera Penguin, shrugging playfully and smiling. "It's good that taking care of your feelings isn't my job."
"Then why did you just bother trying to explain my merit in your eyes to me?" said William Afton.
"Because I don't want you to get disheartened. I don't care if you get angry, or upset, or outright hostile, so long as it's in a way that allows you to know that you are inherently a being who has potential to ascend to being a god of the grave, a deity among the dead." said Opera Penguin.
"Oh joy, now I'm Pluto." said William.
"No, as I recall, he wasn't ever actually dead, he just ruled over them." said Opera Penguin.
"Agh!" yelled William.
"You know, you're having your very petty back-and-forth very loudly in the middle of the hall where everyone else can hear you, right?" asked Bernard, who had walked up to them.
"Who's 'everyone', in this circumstance?" asked Opera Penguin.
"Well, I'm here, and. . ." Bernard trailed off.
"Exactly. These halls haven't grown much yet, but I can manage the space enough that I can maintain as much privacy as I want." said Opera Penguin. "My connection to Afton connects me to this place, in a capacity of control and power. I have the power to tell who's where, should I pay attention, and shift the layour."
"So, you just let me come up to you?" asked Bernard.
"Yes, of course. Our conversation is too frivolous to feel the need to conceal." said Opera Penguin. "Now, is there something you wanted?" he asked.
"Yes, as a matter of fact." said Bernard.
"If it's about getting people to remember you, that's your own business." said Opera Penguin."
"No, as a matter of fact." said Bernard. "It's about my own ability to remember. Why can't I remember who I was?"
"I'm afraid that's just the way it turned out. You shouldn't be looking back, in any case, but forward." said Opera Penguin.
"I don't understand. Why did it turn out that way? I thought this place took hold of everything dead and preserved it. That should include my memories." said Bernard.
"I'm afraid that things in preservation exist differently from things as they were in life. You may still exist, but as who you were in life, you have ceased to be. The last semblance of that self died when I revived you. You're the same consciousness, at the core. But apart from that, not a whole lot of your original self is left. Maybe some impressions, but apart from that, I'm afraid it's much like the Ship of Theseus." said Opera Penguin.
"You think I know what that is?" asked Bernard.
"Oh, right. You aren't very educated." said Opera Penguin. "That reminds me, try to get everyone back in Rockstar Row in about six hours. I'm planning on opening up the personal rooms."
"How will I even find my way around? You're controlling this whole place, remember?" Bernard snapped.
"Oh well, pretend to. Please. It will give you the appearance of cordiality, and create an amicable atmosphere between you and the others." said Opera Penguin. "Now run along, I have a meeting with Vanessa."
. . .
Vanessa walked through the hallways, disoriented. She was sure she should be at Rockstar Row right now. She just wanted to do her job and forget about the weird events of the days prior. The lights were dim, and she held her flashlight out ahead of her unsteadily.
Then the weirdo popped out of nowhere in front of her.
"Hello!" he proclaimed.
Vanessa screamed slightly, jumped back and instantly shifted into her 'magical girl' form. Her outfit was instantly improved, seemingly based on her defensive emotion, as it became some kind of padded yellow leather vest, not dissimilar to a bullet proof vest, with shoulder pads, to boot. Underneath the leather, her normal shirt seemed to be unchanged. Her pants, now brown instead of black, were augmented with yellow leather knee-pads, and were also tucked inside tall military boots that would be intimidating were they not the same bright, cheerful yellow. Most strange of all, though, was the fact that her flashlight had turned into a glowing blade, made of some sort of luminescent gas, which, oddly enough, wasn't that much worse at illuminating, and shone in all directions.
"Oh, not you again." said Vanessa.
"Hey, come on now, I hoped we would be friends after I helped you the other day." said the man.
"For all I know, you hit me with a joy buzzer and I suddenly awakened these extremely vague magical powers by sheer coincidence." retorted Vanessa.
"No! No! Not by coincidence! It was like a joy buzzer, but it was an intentional awakening of your powers." said the man.
"What are you called, anyway?" asked Vanessa.
"Opera Penguin, at your service!" said Opera Penguin in a chirpy voice, taking off his top hat and taking a bow.
"Am I really going to have to call you that?" asked Vanessa.
"Yes." said Opera Penguin, in a suddenly deadpan voice.
"Look, what do you want?" asked Vanessa.
"I just thought I'd tell you, well," Opera said, "I may have brought the animatronics to life as living beings, but they're only alive at night. Kind of like, well, y'know, have you ever seen Night at the Museum?"
Vanessa sighed, trying not to have a panic attack. "I'm not ready for this."
"Don't worry! They'll be your friends. You'll never be alone." said Penguin.
"They're just machines! How can you bring something to life that doesn't have a real consciousness to begin with?" said Vanessa.
"They do have consciousness, though! Born of the. . . hearts. . . of the children who've come here throughout the years. I just awakened that, and gathered it to make them into really living, functional entities." said Opera Penguin. "I just thought I'd clue you in."
Vanessa sighed. "What does this mean for me, exactly?" she asked.
"Well, like I said, you'll never be alone. They'll be your friends, that is, if you're friendly with them." said Opera Penguin. "If it's not too much to ask, could you try and keep them happy? I would really appreciate it. Some of them seem kind of. . . down. Almost like someone's been hurting their feelings!" said Opera Penguin.
"I'll see what I can do." said Vanessa. It did sort of feel like something that would be her job, if the management knew about this whole strange business.
"I know you'll get along like napalm and a molotov cocktail!" said Opera Penguin.
". . .is that supposed to be a good pair?" asked Vanessa.
"Don't think too hard about it! Ha ha ha ha!" said Opera Penguin again, before vanishing.
Vanessa walked on, sighing. She noticed that the same stupid bow was on the base of her neck.
She eventually walked through the kitchen, and reached Monty Golf, where Freddy and Monty seemed to be getting menaced by a Donnie Darko cosplayer.
"Hey!" yelled Vanessa.
The creature turned around towards her. She noticed it had some sort of terrifying spear in its hands.
She was about to reach for her phone when she tried to stick the sword that her flashlight had become in her pocket.
She reached into her pocket with her other hand, and found that her phone had fried.
"Damn it." she hissed, as the creature leapt at her, brandishing its spear.
Then she realized. Sword. She had a sword. A deadly weapon. Seemingly made out of some kind of plasma.
She darted to the side, noting how uncannily she moved, seeming to push off of the air instead of the ground.
She stopped just to the side of the creature, and swung wildly. A bright flash almost blinded her where the sword collided with the creature's arm, but when it subsided, only a shallow cut appeared where she had cut.
Nonetheless, the bunny demon thing shrieked, and stabbed at Vanessa. She took the full brunt of the blow herself, and felt the full force of the spear, yet, when it struck, in a similar bright flash, it only stabbed into her vest about two inches. Even though she felt the full weight of the creature's body behind the blow, she nonetheless not only withstood the blow, but block it from moving more than an inch and a half into her flesh.
She leapt backwards, the creature advancing, then jumped back into a wall, planted her feet onto it, and sprung off, kicking the forthcoming spear sideways and then swinging her sword underhand over one of the creature's eyes.
The creature screamed, and ran off. Vanessa noticed its spear shrinking as it did so. Shrinking into a mere chef's knife.
She relaxed, and reverted into her normal form. And she watched, as her sword shrunk in the exact same way, into her flashlight.
"Something's up with that." she said.
Freddy and Monty got up from behind the counters.
"Freddy! Monty! Are you two holding up alright?" asked Vanessa.
They seemed to wince.
"Vanessa, did the gentleman spoke to you of us not tell you about our new names?" asked Freddy.
"What are you talking about? You're Freddy!" said Vanessa.
Freddy outright yelped this time.
"Ah, right, I forgot." said Opera Penguin, who had zipped into the room, in a comical half run, half teleportation. "Take this." he said, and then gave Vanessa a list.
Then he zipped out again.
"Freddy is Ferdinand—You can trust him.
Chica is Cheyenne—Give her something to show you care.
Monty is Monsanto—Look at him go!
Roxanne is Rochelle—Take care of her. She needs some love.
Sun is Apollo—Have a good time with him!
Moon is Nyx—He'll appreciate your keeping order and justice around here.
Mr. Music Man is Orpheus—Stay awhile and listen!
And don't forget Bonnie, who is Bernard!"
read the card, in calligraphic text that was written in a light blue ink.
"This is stupid." said Vanessa. "Fine, Freddy—I mean, 'Ferdinand', where are the others?"
"I do not know. When that strange being appeared, the others ran. We tried to hold her off—" Ferdinand began.
"That's stupid, I'm the guard around here, you should be making sure you're safe, not playing hero." said Vanessa.
Freddy looked downcast. Monty looked slightly angry, but there seemed to be something else in his eyes. Almost as if he felt challenged? As well as a strange sort of look fixed on Vanessa that she couldn't place, possibly one that she didn't want to.
She sighed, and walked up to Freddy, putting a hand on his shoulder. He was warm, surprisingly. He really was alive. His shoulder pads had changed material.
"You did a good thing, Fred-I mean, Ferdinand." said Vanessa. "I just don't want to see you get hurt."
"You are very kind, Vanessa." said Ferdinand.
"Am I? Come to think of it, remind me to talk to Roxanne, I mean" Vanessa said, as she looked at her paper, "Rochelle later. I think there are some things that need to be said about things I said before. Things that maybe I shouldn't have said."
"Very well, Vanessa." said Ferdinand, in a pleasant tone.
"And brush your teeth." added Vanessa, smelling the animal-like scent of Ferdinand's breath.
"I will look into learning to do that." said Ferdinand.
"Good grief." said Vanessa.
. . .
"Hey, this was fun and all, but, can I leave?" asked Gregory. He had been lounging on the balls for a while after Apollo had replaced them in the pit.
"I suppose so, but make sure you don't run across Rochelle. I think she's currently a bit unsta-" Apollo began.
"A bit what?!" screamed Rochelle, who was suddenly tearing her way down the slide. She had tears and mucus running down her face.
"A bit, I mean, a bit," Apollo stammered, trying to finish, as he helped Gregory out of the ball pit.
"A bit? A bit what? Or are you just too scared to call me a bitch?" screamed Rochelle.
"Rochelle, please." said Apollo, his previously jovial demeanor annihilated, replaced only with concern.
"I just want to talk to Gregory about how he's such a big fan of Fred-boy." said Rochelle.
"Rochelle, you know he's not called that here." said Apollo.
"Who cares?! It's him who gets shocked if I say it! Freddy! Freddy! Freddy! Freddy Freddy FREDDY! THAT NAME'S ALL ANYONE EVER CARED TO TALK ABOUT HERE ANYWAY!" said Rochelle. Now Rochelle really was pulling at her hair, almost ripping swaths of it out, but suddenly the image of it didn't seem funny to Gregory, as he bored witness to Rochelle's full set of teeth as she bellowed out her deranged vendetta, and fresh tears washed away the stains of old ones.
"You know what, Gregory, I think Rochelle's in a funny mood right now, and you should probably run!" said Apollo.
Gregory didn't need telling twice, or once, for that matter.
"Talk! Talk! I just want to talk!" yelled Rochelle, running after Gregory, who ran out a seemingly-new exit to the daycare.
He looked back as he left, and noticed Rochelle seemed a lot thinner, before slamming the door to slow her down. He ran down the corridor, and just as he heard Rochelle slam through the door, he ducked into a bathroom.
Come to think of it, he needed to take a dump anyway. He knew it was risky, but he was a sitting duck as it was, and hopefully the sacred territory of the men's restroom, or at least the bathroom stall, would protect him.
He sat down, and realized too late that there was no toilet paper. He considered his options. He could rip off some of his shirt, and just really try to make it count, he could walk out of the stall, pants still down, and grab some of the towels, or maybe he could call out to Opera Penguin, but then he might get caught by Rochelle, or-
"Do you want red paper? Or blue paper?" asked a strange voice, from just outside the stall. Gregory, having accessed the Internet from a public library every now and then, had read this Japanese urban legend. He was ready. He always knew what the right answer was to this.
"Pink paper." he said. It was perfect. When was the human body, at least a caucasian one like his, pink? When it was flush and healthy.
There was a silence.
Then something horrendous crept over the top of the stall, lifted up Gregory's chin with its singular, white hand, and kissed him on the lips.
He felt some sort of greasy residue that smelled like rust on its solid, pink 'lipstick', mixed in with a hint of some worse smells.
"Good answer." said the thing that looked kind of like Roxanne, but was white, with a bit of pink, and was missing most of its body in favor of a mess of wires and contorted limbs.
"Who are you?" Gregory asked.
"The only thing I can remember in regards to a name isn't really even a name. It's an action. 'Mangle'." said the thing.
"P-please, don't." said Gregory, trying not to start crying. He was glad he was already on the toilet, because the situation had loosened his bowels.
"No, don't worry. I would never hurt you, unless you gave me permission." said the thing. "It's my name. It's just that it's not really much of a name, if you ask me." said Mangle.
"Y-yeah." said Gregory.
"You can calm down, I'm not going to hurt you. I love you." said Mangle, which creeped Gregory out, thought it was reassuring to hear an assurance of safety.
"Now, I think I can actually find some toilet paper. Hold on, would you?" said Mangle.
Gregory sat in the darkness for a while, until Mangle delivered on her promise.
She dropped the toilet paper into his waiting hands. "Thanks." he said.
After he was done, he opened the stall door, and found that Mangle was actually clinging to the side of his stall.
"Can I have a hug?" she asked.
"Can I wash my hands first?" asked Gregory.
"I mean, sure, though I'm not certain if you could actually get me that much dirtier by not washing your hands." said Mangle.
Gregory washed his hands.
"So can I have a hug now?" she asked.
"I mean, sure, but how-" he said, before Mangle practically coiled herself around him, in an unnerving, but undeniably affectionate manner.
"What do you want from me?" asked Gregory.
"I'm lonely. I woke up and I felt like there was something missing from me. Like there was something I had to run after. Like it was in my nature not to be alone." said Mangle. "You. . . would you like to be with me? Close to me? I need some kind of warmth. Without it, I feel so cold." said Mangle.
"I, I'm not sure about this, I mean what are you talking about?" asked Gregory.
"I can't remember much from before a few hours ago, when I just woke up. But I remember love. I remember having a lover. In fact, I remember a seemingly endless cycle of time, of a similar existence, looped over and over again, with different variations on the same people, and different variations of me, slightly different personas I took, but almost always, there was love, or at least a yearning for it. Sometimes I was whole, sometimes I was," Mangle looked down at herself, "tattered. The one I most commonly chose to be together with was someone who looked like me, but red."
"I think that's Foxy! Look, I wouldn't wanna, like, take away his girlfriend or whatever—" said Gregory, leaping on this opportune excuse. He didn't want to hurt her feelings, but he was scared of her, and slightly revolted, partially because of her appearance, but mainly because of her smell.
"Well, you see, we weren't just people behind variations of the same mask." said Mangle. "There were multiple people who bore the same mask, too. And I think we interacted based on our masks. Generally, each of us at our core would stick to one mask, every time, only putting on slight variations of the same one. But the masks were who we recognized as people. The mask you wear is the person you think you are. And the mask you see is the person you think is there. That's how it was, in that place. But I know I was the first Mangle. Or rather, the Mangle. As in, Mangle wasn't always really a name, but like a title, I guess. But I prefer when people call me Mangle. Anyway, I can't be sure that any time, any instance of my lover, was any different from any other instance of him. That's why I think I need to find a fresh soul to bond with permanently. I have a feeling I'm out of the cycle. So now I need someone to commit to. And I don't want to pick one Foxy, or one Bonnie, or one Freddy, just to find that the Foxy or Freddy or Bonnie that I picked wasn't the one I had shared my most tender moments with. So, I need someone new. Someone I know, and can identify."
"So, you mean like, an alive person?" asked Gregory. He had, of course, also read the urban legends about Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. It was what had fascinated him about the place so much in the first place.
"Well, not exactly. Someone I met while they were still alive. I'm just a little too attached to the mask not to share my love with it. But I'll see you as you go under the mask. And as you go under, and you pass the threshold, I'll feel your spirit. And whenever I see you after, in spite of the mask, I'll know it's you." said Mangle.
"Woah, woah, wait, you want me to die?" asked Gregory.
"Obviously not die in the sense of dying and going away to nowhere land where no-one knows where you are. But dying in the sense that people do here, where you do die, but you stay, and live as the dead. It's not really dying. It's just losing the arrogance of life. See, you age in one direction when you're alive, and in another when you die. And they're perpendicular to each other. And the aging that happens after you die isn't tied to time, but to what you've experienced, and what you've felt. You aren't that much older than I was when I died. So you still have time, to die in time to be in touch with me. The longer you wait, the more distant we'll be. But don't feel too pressured, I'll always accept you when you're ready." said Mangle.
Gregory stepped back, but tripped over Mangle's body.
He hit the back of his head on the tiled floor.
"Hey, be careful! Don't get brain damaged. If you stay alive for too long after getting brain damage, it'll carry over into death, and I want you all there when you decide you're ready." said Mangle.
When you're ready. Gregory thought. She really wanted to kill him. Lovingly. He needed to get out of there. At this point, he was ready to go back and face Rochelle.
He scrambled to get out.
"Hey! Wait." said Mangle, and a wire coiled around Gregory's arm.
"I won't ever hurt you. All I'll do is kill you, and only when you're ready. When you ask me. I won't even scratch you until then." said Mangle. "And until then, well, can we at least be friends?"
"I mean, sure, I guess." said Gregory.
"And also, can I have your permission to kill you if you're about to die anyway, to keep you from suffering? Or if you're in a coma, or something of that severity." asked Mangle.
"Sure!" said Gregory, trying not to sound uncomfortable about the idea.
"You want to see a magic trick? asked Mangle.
"A magic trick?" asked Gregory.
"Yeah! I only just seemed to realize I had the ability, or maybe I just gained it, but I can feel something, and I feel like I'm connected to it. I think it's like actual magic, look!" Mangle said, holding up her single hand.
It was surrounded with a white light, that seemed warm and calming, and made Gregory feel sleepy, but at the same time feel a sense of excitement about life in general.
"What can it do?" asked Gregory.
"I'm not sure about its exact powers at the moment, except it seems to do what I want it to in some ways by default. I actually managed to change my body, for just a moment, though. Let me try to do it again." Mangle said. She waved her hand, and the energy flashed in a bright light, and in that blink of an eye, she became. . . pretty?
"This is something like what I meant when I said that sometimes, I was whole." said Mangle.
Her body was restored into humanoid form, although it was an atypical figure.
It was very thin, but strangely, despite being just a bit thinner than Rochelle had been when Gregory had seen her in the hallway, it didn't seem half as sickly. It was more as if her frame, perhaps her bones, if she had any—Gregory noted that she seemed as much like a human-sized plush toy as a humanoid being—were naturally narrower in figure.
She definitely didn't seem like an animatronic. Gregory only just noticed now that one of her eyes had been missing, as it seemed more out of place on this 'whole' body, but furthermore he noticed that this form was fuzzy, and alive, and far too articulated to resemble any animatronic he could imagine. It didn't seem like something you'd see in a kids' diner. The figure was defined in such explicitly feminine outline that it definitely seemed almost like a depiction of Mangle, or whatever character Mangle originally was, for an older audience, but no particular area of the anatomy was exaggerated enough for Gregory to feel especially uncomfortable.
In fact, he felt comforted. Her bright eyes, and her face that was shaped much more naturally than the blocky monstrosities of 1987, made him slip into a relaxed state where he forgot all about the gruesome promises she had made, or her twisted understanding of affection.
Gregory hugged her again, for real this time, and, feeling the warmth of her soft, cottony body, in which he could feel blood pulsing, and at least some kind of solidity, almost fell asleep on his two feet, before, suddenly, Mangle shifted back into her real form.
"Aah!" Gregory yelled.
"I'm sorry, Gregory." said Mangle, and she sounded so down and miserable that he almost instantly got over his irritation at having been interrupted in that blissful moment. "I know my real form is horrible, but it's the way that I am. I hope it doesn't make me unapproachable."
"Hey, it's okay." he said, consoling her with the closest equivalent of an arm wrapped around her shoulder, actively feeling guilty about how he would never give such a close embrace to this 'version' of Mangle. "I'm getting used to it."
"But you still wouldn't take me up on my offer." said Mangle.
"Well, people who are alive naturally have this tendency to want to stay alive." said Gregory.
"It's not because of how I look?" asked Mangle.
"Well, not mainly." said Gregory, not willing to completely compromise his honesty.
"So I do revolt you somewhat, but you're being nice anyway?" asked Mangle.
"I mean, you seem like a nice person, even though I think you're a little crazy." said Gregory.
"So, if you were to find a reason to die, being together wouldn't be completely off the table?" asked Mangle.
"I promise you, if I die, I'm all yours." said Gregory, bringing himself to kiss Mangle on the cheek, regretting it instantly, and trying not to gag.
In truth, he had absolutely no plans of dying, and in fact it sounded pretty horrible, so the promise couldn't actually make it that much worse. Who knows? he thought, maybe having someone who's this affectionate'll make it all a little bit better.
"I guess you probably want to get out of this bathroom." said Mangle.
"Yeah, now that you mention it." said Gregory.
"I'll be keeping an eye out for you. Cutie." said Mangle.
Gregory shuddered slightly.
He walked out of the bathroom.
Cheyenne was outside.
"Gregory?" she said, seeming confused. "Did you say something to Rochelle earlier?"
"Ummm, lemme see. . ." said Gregory. "Probably something like 'stop chasing me' or 'if you just want to talk, why are you running at me like a medieval Norse guy in a bear hat?'."
"Gregory, please." said Cheyenne. "Did you say something hurtful to her?"
"Oh, holy sh-" Gregory said, then composed himself. "If anything I said was hurtful to her, then it was a hurtfulness that she brought herself and applied to what I said."
"Is that a no?" asked Cheyenne.
"I mean I don't know. If you're asking if I actually insulted her intentionally, no, although that was mainly because I was trying to think up some good ones in my head." said Gregory.
"I just wish you two could make up whatever's got you acting like worst enemies. I mean you seem nice, but it seems like she breaks down whenever she sees you. Like there's always some reason she has to be upset at you. She's my best friend, and I'm worried for her." said Cheyenne.
"You mean she always finds a reason?" said Gregory.
"I don't care! Look, this isn't me coming up to you to give you some kind of reprimand, I just want to figure out why you two seem to, to hate each other! I want you to be friends. I know you probably won't be riding around in her hair any time soon, but please, try to be nice to her? And I don't just mean normal nice, I mean, could you try capitulating with what she wants?" asked Cheyenne.
Gregory thought about Rochelle 'just wanting to talk'. And then he thought about why he didn't trust her. And he thought about Mangle's offer. And his promise. And how he didn't want to come into the condition where either the offer, or promise, would be fulfilled.
"Can it be while you're around?" asked Gregory.
"Why? Are you worried she's going to make stuff up and lie to me so it seems like you're bullying her? Are you saying that's the kind of thing she does? Huh?" Cheyenne seemed to be getting aggressively defensive.
Gregory settled for honesty, as he usually did unless the truth was really inconvenient and involved robot mutilation. "I just want to make sure she doesn't kill me, scalp me, or otherwise make me bleed. Because honestly, she seems to be out for my blood for no reason."
Cheyenne stared. "Are you serious?" she asked.
"She literally told me she'd rip me to pieces if I tried to 'replace her'." said Gregory.
"I'm gonna need to context for that one." said Cheyenne.
"It was after I brought you a pizza before she did. It was going to be her first "offering" to you, and apparently Ferdinand and I spoiled it." said Gregory.
"She thinks you were trying to replace me because you did something nice for me before she did? She thinks I won't care about her anymore if someone does more for me?" asked Cheyenne. "We really need to talk to her. Don't worry, I won't let her hurt you."
They walked back towards the daycare.
"Roche?" called Cheyenne.
"Oh, so you're calling me a roach now." said Rochelle.
"Oh, come on, you're just being silly at this point." said Cheyenne.
"I think we passed 'silly' a long time ago. . ." muttered Gregory.
"Shh!" Cheyenne said, with a quick backhand swat to the side of Gregory's head.
"Oh, I see, it's like a pet name. Hey, why is he back in here? Hasn't he. . . done enough. . . ?" asked Rochelle, who was still a mess in the face, although the sudden sickly thinness had passed as suddenly as it came.
"You actually think that I've done something to you?" asked Gregory.
"Are you seriously talking like you didn't?" asked Rochelle.
"Hey! Come on now, guys. Let's just talk about our feelings in a calm and constructive manner, and-" Cheyenne started.
"Fine! I'll spell it out for you, since you seem like you need to be explained it." said Rochelle. "You come in here acting like Freddy's—Ferdinand's pet, his, biggest fan, you get him to turn against all of us, and even then after, he's moping like he doesn't want to be a part of us. Because of you. He's your big daaaaaaaddy now, and he's shying away from the horrible monsters who would hurt him." said Rochelle.
"That's not true—" said Cheyenne, but again she was interrupted.
"Of course it seems not to be to you! Because Ferdinand isn't actually separating himself from us. But I see it, you know. I see it in his eyes, he's looking down on every one of us. Everyone but you, that is." said Rochelle.
"Did you just say I was one of 'you'?" asked Gregory.
"That's the problem! You are, now. And you're going from being just Ferdinand's pet to everyone's such-a-good-boy buddy pal, everyone loves you, and for what? A little glib smack talk here? A witty observation there? A cute little brown haired, brown eyed. . ." Rochelle said.
"Street mongrel?" asked Gregory.
"Yes!" yelled Rochelle.
"Yeah, no, I've barely been here at all. I've made basic acquaintances. I don't see why it bothers you." said Gregory. "Unless. . ." he continued, a horrible smirk coming onto his face, "You're really bothered about the thought that maybe people don't like you? And you think I'm the last straw, that now that they like someone instead of you,"
"Gregory!" Cheyenne cried out, shocked at his sudden acerbic tangent.
"I'm not saying that's the case, I'm saying that's how she sees it." said Gregory.
"Oh, Rochelle!" Cheyenne said, and hugged Rochelle. "We're best friends, forever! I would never use a little kid like him just to hurt you!"
Rochelle glowered over Cheyenne's shoulder at Gregory, and he took that moment to scamper off.
. . .
Monsanto sat at the edge of Monty Golf's ball pit, staring off into space.
"Monsanto, is there something wrong?" asked Ferdinand. It wasn't like the big lizard just to sit down, appearing to think rather than find something for his idle claws to do.
"You know, that Vanessa." said Monsanto.
"Yes, I do. She is our security guard." said Ferdinand.
"No, I mean, like," said Monsanto, "I really like this new 'her'."
"What do you mean?" asked Ferdinand.
"Aww, nevermind, man." said Monsanto.
"Is there some interest you suddenly have in her?" asked Ferdinand.
Monsanto nodded slow and hard. "Yeah. . ."
"And what is that?" asked Ferdinand.
"Oh, just fuggedaboudit." said Monsanto, suddenly taking on a Brooklyn accent.
. . .