"So, that Bernard guy." said William Afton.
"Mmmhmm, yes?" asked Opera Penguin, clearly amused simply by remembering the suffering bunny rabbit.
"Is it just me, or is there something weird about him?" asked William.
"I think his spirit died the longest ago out of any of the reanimatronics." said Opera Penguin.
"The what?" said William.
"Oh, I just thought I might as well make up a cute little shorthand for our esteemed residents here." said Opera Penguin.
William Afton sighed. "So anyway, you think he died the earliest?" he asked.
"Yes, indeed. And I think he might even be among the first group of children you murdered." said Opera Penguin.
"Really?" asked William. "In all honesty, I'm just surprised there aren't more of them among our little. . . party."
"The ones who died first were pushed more deeply into the spirit of this place as more died. They became more connected, more important to the essence of this place, second only to you, in fact, but they also were buried more deeply inside. Not only were the given a greater connection, but that connection drew them magnetically back into the essence of FFP." said Opera Penguin. "They were the architects of the tear-stained nightmare in which you once lived, along with the 'second generation' of the dead." said Opera Penguin.
William chuckled. "I thought it was such an absurd idea when I first thought of killing another group of children just to commemorate the first time I killed kids. But oh, it was so good a feeling. I miss those times."
"You mean like, having a body, and being alive?" asked Opera Penguin.
"Well, I do have a body, no?" asked William.
"Yes, but it. . . needs some work done, wouldn't you agree?" asked Opera Penguin.
"You're the one who made it that way." reasoned William.
"It was a quick fix from your old one." said Opera Penguin.
"Anyway, about the whole 'being alive' thing, how does that work? Am I not alive at this point?" asked William.
"I haven't really returned life to your spirit yet, like I have the others. I'm not sure as of yet how it will affect your rulership over this place. But I have given you a living body." said Opera Penguin.
"But I'm functional, right? How is this state not 'alive'? I feel embodied, and can move and act as if I am alive." William said.
"Well, if you really want to go by so loose a definition, then yes, you are alive. But you aren't really. 'Life' is a very specific thing. It is an energy, and also an object. There is a natural energy of 'life', that is true life, and then there is its polar opposite, necrotic energy, which replaces life force in true undead. And then there is ghost life, a pale imitation of life that is far less natural and lacks a certain 'legitimacy' that true life has. It is not strictly 'above' or 'below' natural life, as it is superior in one sense and inferior in another—It does sustain existence, and it doesn't naturally fade or burn out or decay like natural life. But the way it doesn't decay is in the same way McDonald's food doesn't decay. It lacks the true vitality of life force; without natural life or something truly equivalent, no one is ever truly alive." said Opera Penguin.
"So I'm dead, but an alive kind of dead. What sense is there in that?" asked William.
"Sense is in the context of experience. You've lived your whole life seeing only the material and social realms, maybe artistic things, too. But you've never been exposed to an understanding or ability to perceive the supernatural. So naturally the supernatural seems absurd. It's alien to your experience, and thus it seems nonexistent, and thus silly. But it is part of reality. And there are some things that only make sense in its context. Think of it as like chemicals for someone who's never understood chemistry. Imagine you've made a substance that can replace blood. And you replace this uneducated person's blood, and you're trying to explain to them that they don't have any blood. Well, that wouldn't make sense to them, because it's pumping through their veins and it bleeds out when you cut them and it's keeping them alive. So of course it's blood, at least in their eyes." Opera Penguin said.
"What the hell? I'm asking why I'm not considered alive and now you're rambling about removing all of someone's blood? Gee, I thought I was a psychopath." said William.
"I'm just trying to explain that I know what I'm talking about, and you don't." said Opera Penguin.
"Finally, you seem to realize that. I assumed you would notice earlier." snapped William.
"Well, whatever. Let's go back to the dream room. I have something to show you." said Opera Penguin.
They were suddenly there, before William could respond.
"What now?" asked William.
"I may have mentioned at some point that these deceased are simply dead children's spirits in 'shells'." said Opera Penguin.
"Probably. I probably wasn't listening. I can only take so much of this drivel." said Afton.
"Well, I have come to the understanding of how to interact with the 'shells' on a more effective level. I understand you're tiring of my lectures. You've expressed that exhaustion thoroughly. But, might you like to see a practical application?" asked Opera Penguin.
"You mean like, some sort of magical business in action?" asked Afton. "I suppose."
"You'll love this." said Opera Penguin.
Something resembling a dollhouse, but in the likeness of the pizzeria that shut down in 1987, manifested in the air.
"I have a bad feeling about this." said Afton.
"Just watch." said Penguin.
A tiny figurine-like figure was levitated out of the house. It was pink, orange and white.
Suddenly it sprung up, and around, shifting in size as an all-too-familiar (as they all were) beaked face cried out, "Tonight is all about me, me,"
William was just about to throw his hands to the sides of his head and scream, but then-
Bang. Opera Penguin had pulled out a long, sleek six-shooter gun, made of some pearlescent material. And Funtime Chica had shattered like a vase.
Kneeling on the ground was the grey silhouette of a little girl, with black tears streaming down her face.
Then the shards picked themselves up again, and formed around the child, who was levitated into the air so to be embodied once again by and as Funtime Chica.
"Why do you have to put it back together?" asked William.
"They're all potentially useful." said Opera Penguin. "I just need a little sample, and I think I can learn to form as much recreation of each 'shell' I've analyzed as I need. And also, I need to show you this room I've made."
A door appeared and opened. William and Opera Penguin walked into a nursery-like room with three rows of beds.
Funtime Chica, whose shards had not yet re-adhered, was laid down onto a bed, and her shards were tenuously rejoined, but she was still cracked. The child within's form became visible, albeit translucently so, through the body. The cracks began to mend slowlly.
"In this room, they all heal when they are broken. They can continue to be useful to us this way." said Opera Penguin. "And here I can also shift them into their 'part-time' jobs as monsters by moving them into the shells I've made for them."
"So the shell is like an empty husk, but it's still made of the same stuff as spirits?" asked William Afton.
"Yes, because the shells formed from the children's spirit, but was formed within the animatronics." said Opera Penguin. "It's an embodiment of their identity as whichever character they thought they either always were, or that they became."
"You mean the child I stuffed in the Foxy animatronic thought he was Foxy after he died, and it became true?" asked William.
"Superficially true. It became true as a layer over his original self. But over time, the shell begins to eat away at the original self. And time itself will degrade their original selves when they begin to live as these characters." said Opera Penguin.
"But the shells are still shatterable and removable?" asked William.
"Yes. But depending on the individual, the spirit inside isn't much of a person in and of itself. Just a consciousness, and a core for the character they believed themselves to be. In the end, it does sort of become true. They become nothing more than a personal existence, which they lend the characters at the cost of their own." said Opera Penguin.
"And they'll lend their existence to whatever you want to make?" asked William Afton.
"I think so." said Opera Penguin. He then walked over to Funtime Chica, and re-broke a portion of her side, taking just a chip but repairing the rest.
"Is she going to be missing that permanently now?" asked William, curiously.
"No, I think I'll be able to make a perfect reproduction of this." said Opera Penguin.
"Well do you think you'll know enough about her composition to. . . turn off her voice?" asked William.
"Maybe if you ask reeeeaaally nicely." said Opera Penguin.
. . .
Gregory strolled through the halls. Then the bunny thing appeared again, this time looking a bit worse for wear, and only armed with a knife, but still there and still dangerous.
"I'm not having fun." it said.
"Well, that's good." said Gregory. "Since you seem to find fun in trying to kill people."
"Not when I get humiliated." said the bunny thing.
"Well, I'm having a hard time feeling any sympathy for you." said Gregory, backing up.
The bunny thing charged.
Gregory turned around to run, but she was already upon him.
He felt resigned to his death in that split second, when the wall next to the creature that seemed like Vanny burst open in a flash of bright light.
The Vanny creature covered her face with an arm, and in the time it took for her to put it down, Mangle grabbed Gregory with her one hand and pulled him into the other hallway, carrying him on the ceiling, moving like some sort of weird spider-jellyfish.
After a while, she put him down.
"Th-thank you." said Gregory, panting. "Why did you do that?"
"Because I don't want you to get hurt." said Mangle.
"But you seem like you'd stand to gain from, well. . ." said Gregory.
"I don't want you to die painfully, I want to be the one to lay you to rest if you do die, and, by the way, it hurts my feelings that you think I would let you die for my own selfish desires." said Mangle.
Gregory looked to the side and scratched his head. "Sorry. . ."
"By the way, I've actually been watching you and the others for a while—sorry, please don't be mad—and I think you should actually try talking it out with Rochelle. I don't think she's as, um, volatile anymore." said Mangle.
"How do I get back, though?" asked Gregory. "It seems like the way back had that bunny in the way, that's still chasing us, by the way." he added, gesturing towards the approaching figure of the Vanny creature.
"I can fix this." said Mangle.
Suddenly, she wrapped her wires around Gregory, coiled into cocoon around him, leaving only his eyes exposed, and then she leapt into the wall, and traveled through the inside of the walls, towards the edge of the daycare.
"I'm shy. I don't want them to see me. I only want you knowing about me for now, okay? I'm sorry that I can't be with you but I'm not ready to expose myself." said Mangle.
"Okay, I don't mind." said Gregory.
She 'dropped him off' at the edge of the daycare.
Rochelle was standing there, uncomfortably.
"There you are! Why did you run off?" asked Cheyenne. "I think we can just calm down, and be honest in a less harsh way this time."
"I thought. . . I really thought that you were trying to replace me." said Rochelle. "I still feel like you're edging in on my territory, but I guess I don't have any reason to believe you did it intentionally. That, and your friendship with Ferdinand nearly made us not get this life. Really, it was mainly that."
"Was chasing me down like you wanted to kill me really necessary, though?" asked Gregory.
"Gregory! She knows it wasn't reasonable, just let it go!" Cheyenne snapped.
Gregory glowered at her. "Is the literal fear of death something I'm just supposed to take in my stride?"
"I'm sorry. Okay?" asked Rochelle, in an aggressively defensive way.
"Fine. Whatever." said Gregory.
"I'm just going to take that as you accepting her apology and being willing to move on, right?" asked Cheyenne.
Gregory threw up his hands and yelled "Fine!".
"Just one thing. I'm not going to break down again, but, why do you like Ferdinand more?" asked Rochelle.
"Well, partly because he's the main guy, I mean his name is on the building." said Gregory. "But I also liked how he was big and friendly, like a buddy-buddy type."
"So you think I'm aloof and vain." whined Rochelle.
"I mean yeah kinda—only a bit, though." Gregory said, appending that last part in apprehension of Cheyenne's opening beak-mouth. Her voice was quickly getting really annoying. He actually preferred the sound of Rochelle's voice at this point. It lacked the robotic filter of Roxanne, and had calmed down. But Cheyenne's whine was an apparently-incurable carryover from Glamrock Chica. "I also thought Roxanne was a girls' character. You know, for girls." he added, hastily.
"Oh, hohohohohoho," said Rochelle. "I promise you, I know I was made for little boys to like. And apparently some more grown-up ones, too. They've all got my picture on their desk. And some things slipped through the filters on our connection to the internet. Cartoony enough art styles, you know, make it harder for a machine—a lesser machine, that is—to tell what to censor."
"Eyugh." said Gregory. It was reflexive, but he realized, all too late, that he had potentially knocked over the initial domino in a chain reaction that would lead to another episode. There was a silence.
"I mean, I just think it's gross that people are all, y'know, like. . . that way." said Gregory.
"Oh, of course." said Rochelle. "It is a little upsetting, but only because I can never be sure if they're doing it out of affection or just to get their rocks off. I mean, when they draw me really beautifully, I do feel pleased, even if there's obviously what you'd call 'extra parts'. But the ones that draw more seemingly just to express the idea of, well, me with big tits for some reason? Those feel less genuine. I don't think they really love me, at least not enough to draw something good. I just wish they could draw something more. A different kind of interaction for me. That stuff can't be the only thing they care about, right?"
"Well, I mean, sometimes." said Gregory. "I guess you don't really know what having hormones is like, but some people really get carried away."
"Actually, I've been feeling all sorts of new things since I got this life." said Rochelle.
"Like what?" asked Gregory.
"Well, I immediately felt, well, myself. My own body, and it was so warm and tingly and I couldn't take it at first. Also my emotions became more intense for a little while, only they seemed to spike again out of nowhere while I was. . . trying to get to you." said Rochelle.
"So you just legitimately thought I was coming into your world and sucking out all the the love you need out of the atmosphere and making you into a second-class friend? Like I was claiming your place just by talking to people?" asked Gregory.
"Okay, I get it, it was dumb! But that, that Opera Penguin guy has been tormenting me. I don't know what's up with him but it's like he's obsessed with me. Constantly ripping me apart verbally, inside my own head. Am I that annoying? Do I provoke that?" asked Rochelle, in a voice that made Gregory feel sad for her, in spite of himself.
"Maybe there's something you do that he chooses to react to by doing that, but you don't deserve it." said Gregory. "You don't deserve to feel like no one loves you."
"Really?" asked Rochelle.
"Really. I may not be the fondest of you, but I would never take away your friendship with the others, especially Cheyenne." said Gregory.
"You really mean it?" Rochelle asked.
"Yeah." said Gregory, softly.
Rochelle ran up to him and hugged him. It felt nice, but it still paled in comparison to the plush, warm Mangle.
"I still kind of want to compete with Ferdinand for your fanhood." said Rochelle.
"Not a chance." said Gregory.
"Come oooonnnn." she said.
"Nah." said Gregory.
She squatted down, and made big, exaggerated and literal puppy-dog eyes, while her ears lowered down and she let out a saccharine whimper/whine.
Gregory stared, unconvinced by the act, before raising his hand to her forehead and giving her scritches.
Rochelle pulled back.
"Did you just. . . pet me?" asked Rochelle, incredulously.
Gregory chuckled. "Well you were acting like a dog, plus, you know, you look like one."
"You little shit." Rochelle said, but soon a smile broke out over her face. "I wonder if we can find my raceway."
"I think I'm too short to use the go-karts." said Gregory.
"Oh. That sucks." said Rochelle.
"I mean apparently there's staff bots for assisting with the go-karts, but I don't want to sit on some creepy mannequin's lap." said Gregory.
"Well, I'm not playing golf, and Mazercise is usually a little boring, so, laser tag?" asked Rochelle.
"I'm actually a little tired." said Gregory.
"When is the last time you've slept in a bed?" said a new voice, a low, somewhat dry voice.
They all turned to the newcomer. It was a jester with a tragedy mask, a nearly-black blue jester outfit, and white pinprick lights in his eyeholes and on his clothing. It was like Apollo, but not. It was. . .
"I can't really remember, uhh, Nyx?" asked Gregory.
"That is unacceptable. Have you truly been sleeping in an empty blackness since arriving here?" asked Nyx.
"Yeah, during the day, when I'm in there, I don't really have much to do. Plus, it's odd, there's, like, no gravity in there." said Gregory. "So it's like I'm constantly lying down when I'm in there."
"Vile. I do not care if Opera Penguin has set up this way of life for us, this cannot stand." said Nyx.
Gregory began, "It's okay, I can—"
"No! Do not accept this. Accepting such a wrong done to you makes you complicit. I will talk to him." said Nyx.
"Okay?" said Gregory.
"Hey, offering help is all nice, but don't try to guilt Gregory into accepting it." said Cheyenne.
Nyx stared her down. She wasn't even remotely intimidated, in spite of Nyx' appearance. She folded her arms.
"I do not see the point in arguing with you about this." said Nyx, simply, and he turned around and sat down.
"What, are you sulking?" asked Rochelle.
"No. I simply do not know where Opera Penguin is." said Nyx.
Gregory sat down, too. "Do you know something we could do in here? I'm honestly kind of bored but I just ran back here because that rabbit thing came back." he said.
"What?!" asked Rochelle and Cheyenne almost at the same time, but not quite harmonized.
"Yeahhh, I thought I'd be safer here, even though all three of us ran away from her last time." said Gregory. "Anyway, I'm kind of on an adrenaline crash."
"I can put you to sleep for a short while." said Nyx.
"I mean, sure." said Gregory.
Nyx turned towards Gregory, laid him down on his back, and grew dozens of thin, black tendrils from his wrists, which coiled around Gregory in a sort of woven cage-like bundle, and he began to feel the urge to sleep as if he had pulled an all-nighter. This, however, did not prevent him from sitting bolt upright and screaming while pointing when he saw the Vanny creature coming through the door.
Almost instantly, the 'spell' wore off, and Nyx jerked his head towards the newcomer.
"Vile creature. Wicked creature. Are you the one who chased them here?" asked Nyx.
"I was just. . . having fun. . ." said the creature.
It struck Gregory that this was probably actually Vanny, but somehow forced through the same transformation as the others despite still being alive and in a fursuit instead of an animatronic.
Her voice no longer sounded like it was running through a vocoder, but it did have a painful rasp that wasn't there before.
The knife shifted into a spear again.
"I am going to administer retribution." said Nyx. "Miscreants must face justice."
He stood up, and the tendrils thickened and enlarged into featureless tentacles.
They charged at each other.
One of Nyx' tentacles lashed out at Vanny, but she severed part of it with her spear. Another grabbed her ankle and threw her against a wall.
"Get away from him, you freak!" yelled Rochelle, as she ran at Vanny and leapt. Vanny was still recovering from her fall to the floor, and as such couldn't react in time to prevent Rochelle's teeth from sinking into her neck.
There was a bite mark impression in Vanny's neck, but no blood was drawn.
"What?" asked Rochelle, confused, before several tentacles retrieved her just in time to avoid Vanny's oncoming attack.
Another tentacle wrapped around the spear, just behind the head, right after Vanny swung. It tugged, and Vanny was disarmed.
Another, larger one grabbed Vanny and swung her around, against the floor, the walls, the ceiling, everywhere. Then it dropped her.
She got up, with great effort, and panted, before running away, saying "Spoilsport. . ."
"Damn." said Nyx. "That felt. . . insufficient."
"I need sleep, too." said Rochelle. "I totally get what this kid says, that was intense."
"We can all sleep together in a big hug pile!" said Cheyenne, with saccharine enthusiasm.
Both Gregory and Rochelle stared at Cheyenne with a look that slaughtered, filleted and fried her.
"It was just an idea. . ." she said, pulling back and looking away.
They kept staring.
"I think we'll. Um. Not do that." said Rochelle.
"Yeah." said Gregory. "Definitely a no."
They laid down and accepted Nyx's soporific touch, although the floor wasn't that comfortable.
. . .
"Agh!" yelled Vanessa. "Where am I?"
"There's no need to shout, I-I mean, a lot of people have always said, y'know, it's not always about the destination, right? Sometimes, it's about the journey." said an elderly, semi-paternal voice.
"Who said that?" asked Vanessa, whirling around, suddenly paranoid.
"I-It's me." said a figure walking out of a corner that she hadn't noticed in the dark. It was purple and bulky, but didn't have the ears of classic Bonnie, or any rabbit, for that matter.
"Who are you?" asked Vanessa.
"I'm, well they call me, Mr. Hippo." said the figure. "I don't really have a first name—they didn't give me one. I mean, I used to be called Hodgins Peterson, but the kids tell me I can't use that name anymore."
"You're Hodgins Peterson? That one missing janitor?" asked Vanessa.
"Well, I don't think I'm missing, exactly, I mean I'm right here." said Mr. Hippo.
"Yeah, really funny." said Vanessa.
"Hey, come on, lighten up! There's no reason to scowl like that." said Mr. Hippo.
"Well, if my assumption is correct, and the thing underlying all of this is the deaths that took place here, then I've just heard the confirmation that you're dead." said Vanessa.
"Well, it's real touching that you care about this old man, but it's not all bad! The kids are a bit, uhhm, excitable, though. It's weird how they still sort of went through puberty in a, kind of, you know, like a fake way. You know, more purely emotional, like they're all lovey-dovey with each other and like killing each other at the same time again, all in that make-believe world of theirs." said Mr. Hippo.
"So what happened?" asked Vanessa.
"In their little nocturnal sob-story factory? A lot of things, really, I-" said Mr. Hippo, before being cut off by Vanessa.
"No, I mean how did you die?" asked Vanessa.
"Well, you see I was doing some cleaning one night, and I knocked on the door to parts and services, and I heard Mr. Afton grunting like he was panicking, so I thought he might have had some kind of undiagnosed heart disease, you know, because he was really getting on in years, I mean I wasn't exactly too young myself but I lived my life doing blue-collar work so I was more active and probably healthier than he was given his sedentary business man/engineer lifestyle, so who knows, I thought I might become Mr. Afton's favorite employee, like his right-hand man, like I could get in cushy with a lot of pay and be able to have dinner over out his house, y'know, but when I forced my way through the door, I saw him over a dead little child, putting his all his weight on the little kid's neck! Imagine how surprised I was! Anyway, I was in shock, I mean now I felt like it was me who was gonna have a heart attack, physical fitness be damned. Anyway, before I knew it, he had grabbed a crowbar and, crack! Right in my brain, between my eyes. A couple more bashes and, well, I was history. Anyway, everyone seemed to hate Mr. Hippo, so Mr. Afton used him to hide my body. Now I am him!" said Mr. Hippo.
"And you're happy?" asked Vanessa.
"I always kind of liked Mr. Hippo anyway. Now I get to be everything he ever was, plus myself!"
"You keep saying you 'are' him. Don't you just mean you're playing dress-up in his face?" said Vanessa.
"Well, that's the funny thing. After I became him, I started remembering things that the animatronic saw, and feeling the way it was supposed to behave. Mr. Afton and Mr. Emily really programmed their characters into them. You think these 'glam rocks' are groundbreaking? Hah! They're standing on the shoulders of Atlas!"
"You mean the original animatronics were the biggest jump forward, and all the changes have been aesthetic?" asked Vanessa.
"Ahh, well, there have been some behavior alterations, to varying degrees of success. But not only are they basically just rehashes with a new coat of paint, that new coat of paint ain't that original—I think it might be takin' some inspiration from this band my nephew liked—Twisted Sister. His dad sure hated that band, haha. There was actually a huge debacle about 'paranormal activity' taking place at that household, like my brother swore up and down that the band members physically manifested in their household, throwing him out of windows and smashing glasses and putting their elbows on the table—just complete madness. Eventually he got so belligerent defending his 'testimony' and 'proof that the band was purely demonic' that he had a heart attack and died. Tragic, really. If only he coulda died here, just a few miles away. Then we could still have a stiff drink together, every now and then, in that dreamworld. But maybe it's for the best. You know, he'd probably try to tear himself apart." said Mr. Hippo. "Then again, maybe he could have been brainwashed into accepting it but then again, I think it may have been for the best."
"Wait." said Vanessa, holding up her hands. "Brainwashed? What do you mean?"
"Well, like I said, you really 'integrate' with these characters when you die in them. You really become the 'real' them, you become them as much as yourself, more so in fact, I mean I'm not complaining, I wasn't the most handsome man in life. Some'a the kids, though, it's a little sad how they just ain't themselves anymore." said Mr. Hippo.
"So if I died like that, I wouldn't be myself, either?" asked Vanessa. "I would just, just embrace my new identity as one of them?"
"Well, I don't know, maybe you could resist it, but as for me, I feel fine about it. I guess you never know until it happens!" said Mr. Hippo.
"Quit talking like it's inevitable going to happen." said Vanessa.
"Well, I mean like I said it's not all bad, the others are really friendly even though they might get all weird and personal with you, I mean they all think they're hopeless romantics and simultaneously brashly violent like they're literally in line to be the next Romeo & Juliet, complete with the murder of Tybalt, ya know?" said Mr. Hippo.
"I don't like plays." said Vanessa.
"Ah, well. You've got that television stuff everywhere nowadays, it's no wonder. I think there was a certain humility to the theatre, but hey, what do I know, I'm just a dead janitor who thought his boss wasn't a child strangler." said Mr. Hippo. "I also thought my co-worker Harvey was sane. Always going on about how he wished magic were real. I told him, I said "It still exists in stories, and those exist in your head, right?" But he just shook his head, and said it wasn't enough. Then one day, he helped build an animatronic—really, he did most'a the work—called Orville. He kept going on about how he 'put a lot of himself' into it. I noticed him begging Afton not to let any of the kids ever touch it. 'Before, or after you've dealt with them'. I didn't question it at the time but I guess he knew about the whole thing but was too scared or maybe Afton was threatening him to keep working and keep his mouth shut or else he was dead. And he was. I think he's got some kinda magic now though, but it's really shaky, y'know, not really reliable."
"Is that where Opera Penguin's magic comes from? He's just some guy that unlocked the power of this place, and now he can use its power like this? Is my power from here?" asked Vanessa.
"Nah, I think the reason he's been making such shockwaves here is that his power is entirely from himself, it's like he's this endless supply of magic. He can create magical stuff out of nothing, although I've never seen him make anything normal, or really anything material." said Mr. Hippo.
"So he's really a magician." said Vanessa.
"Yeah. And he's got a gun, so watch yourself. Ha ha ha!" said Mr. Hippo.
"He must have created my powers." said Vanessa.
"Yeah, I saw you through the walls, you're pretty scary." said Mr. Hippo.
"You were watching me? Through the walls?" asked Vanessa.
"Yeah, it was before I woke up, I had this odd awareness of everything in the building." said Mr. Hippo.
"Anything else you noticed?" asked Vanessa.
"Well I did see the funniest thing. . ." said Mr. Hippo.
"Yes?" asked Vanessa, impatiently.
"A kid, who was still alive!" said Mr. Hippo.
Vanessa shook her head, staring at the ground. "The fact that you just described a still-living kid as 'the funniest thing'. . . man, this place is fucked up."
"Oh, certainly." said Mr. Hippo. "I'm not saying this whole thing isn't a travesty. But, you have to admit, it is beautiful in a way."
Vanessa looked up, glaring at Mr. Hippo.
"No. I don't." said Vanessa.
"Ah, well. That's the way it is, I suppose." said Mr. Hippo.
Vanessa walked on.
Eventually, she came found the atrium.
"Man, this place seems emptier than it usually is." said Vanessa, out loud, to no one in particular. "Also, I'm hungry."
Suddenly, the chef bot was next to her.
"Hey, just for the record, I said nothing about giving my soul for a pizza, got it?" she snapped at the chef bot.
"Acceptable currencies include American dollars, British pounds, Indian rupees, Rh'lyeghian-" The chef bot began, before out rung a louder voice.
"PIZZA? PIZZA?! WHERE'S THE PIZZA?" it was like Glamrock Chica's voice, but even whinier.
"PIZZA! PIZZA! I WANT SOME!" it continued.
"There isn't any here! Go away!" Vanessa yelled, then silently cursed herself for forgetting that they were people now.
"Sorry, sorry, I'm just not having a good d-" she said, before witnessing the monstrosity that had blossomed out of thin air. It had a giant pink-and-white Chica-like head, but it was shaped in a more ugly fashion. Rather than having one body of proportional size, it had dozens, if not hundreds of conjoined, proportionally smaller bodies, making a form under 'her' head, making her look like a comic, or some Gnostic snake god.
"WHERE IS THE PIZZA? DID YOU LIE ABOUT PIZZA?" it screamed.
"There isn't any! I never said there was!" yelled Vanessa back.
"I REALLY WANT PIZZA! I'D KILL FOR A PIZZA!" said the thing, darting through the air at Vanessa.
Vanessa was so dumbstruck by the dilemma of what she should do, whether this was 'Cheyenne', and if every hostile situation merited direct combat that she didn't react to the opening maw darting towards and over her.
Then something green hit her from the side, very fast.
"What kind of pretender are you? You're not Cheyenne, not even Chica! You're a modern art masterpiece!" yelled Monsanto.
"PIZZA?" asked the apparition.
"Only wedge-shaped thing that's going in your face is this!" yelled Monsanto, raising a fireaxe he was carrying, jumping up and swinging it over his head at the apex of his jump, and cutting a gash into the Chica apparition's face.
"HEY! THAT ISN'T VERY NICE! THAT ISN'T PIZZA!" it screamed unintelligibly.
"What the hell did I tell you earlier?" yelled Vanessa, transforming her flashlight again. "I'll handle these things!"
"After getting chewed up and spit out?" replied Monsanto.
"That was just a moment of confusion, it wouldn't happen a-"
"One's all it takes, seems to me! Heads up, she's comin' back!" yelled Monsanto.
Vanessa jumped to the left, while Monsanto jumped to the right. The Chica abomination turned towards Vanessa, and lunged again, but Monsanto distracted it by severing the neck of one of its bodies, which transitioned into the thigh of another.
It turned around, but couldn't get to Monsanto, because he had now grabbed onto another thigh.
"These thighs are not the ones I want to be grabbing!" yelled Monsanto, winking at Vanessa when the monster swung around such that he could have eye contact with her, to which she responded with a deadpan stare.
Vanessa quickly took advantage of the distraction by severing several connected limbs right behind the apparition's head.
It let out what sounded like a mixture of whining and the digitally-altered sound of a chainsaw, before snapping back towards Vanessa, unintentionally sending her flying with a sideways headbutt.
"Vanessa!" Vanessa heard Ferdinand's voice call out.
"What." she said, not wanting to get up at this exact moment.
"I noticed how your flashlight changes into a sword, so I entered into Fazerblast and won an extremely quick round to get you this!" said Ferdinand, holding out a golden Fazerblaster.
"Are you delusional? That's a laser tag—wait, what was that first thing you said?" asked Vanessa.
"Your flashlight, you seem to be able to turn it into a sword, and that frightening monster turned a knife into a glaive, so I imagined that perhaps you could use this somehow." said Freddy.
"Ehh, it's worth a shot." said Vanessa, and grasped the 'blaster' firmly.
The 'blaster' became a blaster. Or, at least, some kind of sleek, almost featureless rifle made out of some kind of silver material.
Vanessa didn't question it, stood up, and aimed. As she put her finger on the trigger, she felt a stranger sort of sick feeling, not exactly like nausea but more like a lurching in her stomach, like sea sickness mixed with the crash that comes from drinking coffee after having had no sleep. In spite of this, she pulled herself together, aimed straight and true, and pulled the trigger.
A white beam shot from the cannon, white, in spite of seeming to be a laser, had some serious recoil.
Despite even the recoil, though, the beam shot straight through the Chica abomination's head, shattering it, and causing it to drop.
The thing had vanished by the time she caught sight of where it landed.
"That was—whew!" said Monsanto.
"That was annoying." said Vanessa.
"You're not wrong!" chuckled Monsanto.
"Look, let's just get out of here and to where the others are before any more stupid BS happens." said Vanessa.
"I do wonder how Gregory and the others are getting along." said Ferdinand.
"Is that the kid." said Vanessa, tiredly.
"Yes! He is absolutely delightful!" said Ferdinand.
"Look," said Vanessa, as they strode in a random direction, "he has to go. His parents are probably-"
"Absent? Dead? Decided to kick him out because they wanted to buy more vegan snacks?" said Opera Penguin.
"Are you just like some kind of omnipresent force in here?" asked Vanessa.
"Nah, but I can hear and see everything and I can pop over real quick." said Opera Penguin.
"So you're omniscient." said Vanessa.
"Nah, I can't figure out how to get Rochelle to quit being a pathetic trainwreck. Thankfully, Gregory and Cheyenne have cooled her off a little."
"That is good!" said Ferdinand.
"Look, you aren't some kind of big, happy family! This will never work!" said Vanessa.
"Why not?" asked Ferdinand, hurt.
"Well—he needs to be returned to—an orphanage or something!" she snapped.
"Why would an orphanage be better for him than here?" asked Ferdinand.
"I mean, sunlight, other, living kids," said Opera Penguin, "standardized curriculum, healthy food, a fresh vacuum of any love and support that'll harden him into a big, strong man, an empty, alienating place where he's supposed to live and get used to everything before that all gets dumped out the window and he now has to live in the real world, a nice, healthy opportunity to be taken in by foster parents who violently abuse, traumatize or otherwise leave a permanent mark on him, the awareness that he isn't special because he's in the place that society puts kids when it doesn't have any other place for them—"
"Okay, we get it! Orphanages are always one hundred percent evil without any variation, taking him from his big bear daddy would be even eviller, and he should stay here as your pet monkey for eternity until you force him into one of the animatronics that isn't possessed yet so that his identity will be neatly filled in with a cartoon character's to fill in the void that is the lack of real-world experience." said Vanessa.
"Opera Penguin? Is that your intention?" asked Ferdinand, in a concerned tone.
"No, of course it isn't! I'll use him until I'm done with him, and then I'll let you do whatever you want with him!" shot back Opera Penguin.
"You know, out of context, hearing that sentence said about a little boy—" began Vanessa.
"Oh, can it, would you?" said Opera Penguin.
. . .
Gregory woke up.
"Hi! Rise and shine!" said Cheyenne.
"That's my line." said Apollo.
"It isn't even morning yet." said Gregory.
"I found you something." said Cheyenne.
She handed Gregory a baseball bat.
"Where did you find this?" asked Gregory.
"Oh, some old closet somewhere." said Cheyenne.
"I'm pretty sure this is part of a game, it's not like you use it on its own for entertainment." said Gregory.
"I actually used one of Monty Golf's golf clubs for direct entertainment once." said Rochelle.
Gregory stared.
"They forced me to apologize to Monty for shattering every one of his likenesses in Monty Golf and then assaulting him after I failed too hard at his course." said Rochelle. "And they wouldn't let me back in until they had fixed everything. I don't really care, though. I kinda hate golf." said Rochelle.
"Well, I like it." said Gregory.
"Good for you." Rochelle said, in an uncaring tone.
"Well, there's plenty of balls in the ball pit I could throw, if you want to practice batting." said Apollo.
"Eh, sure, why not?" said Gregory.
They did that for a while.
"Attention everyone, this is your supreme ruler and benevolent god speaking," rang out Opera Penguin's voice, sounding like a PA speaker, "haha, I jest of course—I am hardly benevolent. I had decided to show off a room to you all an arbitrary amount of time in the future, but given that I am bored, I want to do it now."
"Oh, boy." said Rochelle, darkly.
"This better be good. Nyx'll kill me if he learns I talked to Opera Penguin civilly and didn't go into conniptions about the bedding situation." said Apollo.
"For your convenience, all halls will now lead to Rockstar Row. You have literally no excuse not to be there. That is all." continued and concluded Opera Penguin's voice.
. . .
"Did you forget that you asked me to be the one to gather up everybody here?" asked Bernard.
"No, Bernard, I did not forget you, I just changed my schedule and thus changed my MO to something more memorable." Opera Penguin jeered, snickering.
Everyone arrived.
Opera Penguin gestured the door that previously led into what looked like an elemental plane of chaos, and Ferdinand stepped forward and opened it.
"This is a more special, secret version of Rockstar Row." said Opera Penguin.
He motioned for all of them to follow.
"Each room is its own minor plane, so I can make a floor layout that would, in one three-dimensional plane, require me to fuse many rooms, as they would overlap." said Opera Penguin.
"And that means?" asked Gregory.
"I means I can slap a door anywhere and we can have another room, without concern for things like architecture and planning." said Opera Penguin.
"I see." said Gregory.
"Now, first of all, I will show you all—the computer room!" said Opera Penguin, and he opened the door directly opposite the entrance to the first new room, to reveal what looked like a computer lab.
"No blocked Internet addresses, and faster Internet." said Opera Penguin.
"For what?" asked Ferdinand.
"See for yourself! You have the whole internet at your fingertips!" said Opera Penguin.
"These are all desktops." said Gregory.
"I'm willing to give personal devices as well, but you have to submit a three-thousand word count minimum essay on why you want it, its exact appearance, what type of gore and/or porn websites you want to use it to view without risk of anybody looking over your shoulder, and why I should give a damn about your wanting a machine." said Opera Penguin. "Or, you could each just claim different desktops as your own, and come to an understanding about it."
"Are you just setting up some potential feud where we don't respect each others' boundaries and go snooping on other peoples' computers?" asked Gregory.
"Mmmmmmaybe?" said Opera Penguin. "Also, due to popular complaint, you will no longer be sleeping inside Freddy. Instead, you will be sleeping on this cat bed I stole. In here." He gestured to the corner to the right and on to side of the computer room's entrance.
Gregory glowered.
"Hey, don't get catty with me!" Opera Penguin said, chortling. "Furthermore, the rest of you have a decision to make."
"Yes?" asked Ferdinand.
"Do you want your living bodies to wake up in here when nighttime hits?" asked Opera Penguin.
"Where? In this computer room?" asked Rochelle. "I have a life, you know."
"Oh!" Opera Penguin hit his head. "I forgot! The other rooms!"
He led them back into the first room past the new door.
"I think it's best if you each go into your own respective rooms." said Opera Penguin.
"Which is which?" asked Rochelle.
Letters appeared on all of the doors.
They all went in to their rooms.
Gregory and Vanessa followed Ferdinand into his.
In Ferdinand's room was a canopy bunk bed of his color scheme, and a mirror over which a stained-glass window had been placed, containing an image of each and every inhabitant of the Pizzaplex.
Opera Penguin popped in. "That mirror doesn't have stained glass on top of it. It's magical. The depictions of each of them changes in size with how much care you've shown, expressed and felt as of late."
"Oh, but where is Bernard?" asked Ferdinand, just as a depiction of Bernard popped into existence on the mirror.
"Ope! Couldn't get that one past you! Well, if nothing else, you're a good friend." said Opera Penguin. "You'll also notice you have a bunk bed. Bernard will be sleeping in here with you, since he doesn't seem like the kinda guy to take up too much space. That's the reason for the bunk bed."
"Oh. I see. Well, at least I'll be able to see him regularly! He seems to shy away when other people are around." said Ferdinand.
"Oh, and look what's next to your pillow." said Opera Penguin.
Freddy moved aside the canopy, and squealed as he saw a Gregory plushie. He grabbed it and hugged it.
"I love it!" said Ferdinand.
"It's to make up for the fact that I'm not going to let Gregory sleep in here." said Opera Penguin.
"Oh. . ." said Ferdinand, his ears going down slightly.
"Anyway, your body will be here, sleeping, whenever you're in your other body. It will teleport here whenever not in use." said Opera Penguin. "The choice I gave you earlier is whether you want to to teleport to where your robotic body is, in Rockstar Row, when night falls, or you just want to wake up back here?" asked Opera Penguin.
"Here." said Ferdinand.
"I thought so." said Opera Penguin.
"Do I get a room?" asked Vanessa.
"Do you want one?" asked Opera Penguin.
"Not really." said Vanessa.
"Then why did you ask?" asked Opera Penguin.
"Because I wanted to know." said Vanessa.
"Oh." said Opera Penguin. "Well, anyway, time to attend to Cheyenne."
Opera Penguin warped into Cheyenne's room.
"There's a fridge! In my room!" said Cheyenne, happily.
"And an electric guitar that can record itself." said Opera Penguin.
"Where did you get all this stuff?" asked Cheyenne.
"I went to a landfill and alchemically transformed a bunch of trash either into this stuff, or into large chunks of precious metals that I leave behind when I steal these things, sometimes also altering them after the fact." said Opera Penguin.
"You stole this?" asked Cheyenne, concerned.
"I left compensation." said Opera Penguin.
"Okay. . ." said Cheyenne.
"In any case, these are all customized, so in a sense they're all partially the product of my work." said Opera Penguin. "Also I actually put a computer in here to help for recording tracks, in case you want to upload them to the Internet." said Opera Penguin.
"I can do that?" asked Cheyenne.
"I'm sure you can figure it out." said Opera Penguin.
He walked into Monsanto's room.
"Hey, what's with all these weights?" asked Monsanto.
"For lifting. Get strong and all that." said Opera Penguin.
"That's cool. But why are there pictures of Rochelle and Cheyenne everywhere?" asked
Monsanto.
"What do you think of them?" asked Opera Penguin.
"They're just coworkers. They aren't like family, they aren't even that close of friends." said Monsanto.
"But you still care about them." said Opera Penguin.
"Yeah, but," said Monsanto. "you got any pictures of Vanessa?" he asked.
"I do, as a matter of fact." said Opera Penguin. He manifested several photos in his hand. He handed them over to Monsanto.
"Woah, how did you get these? How did you catch her in that pose?" asked Monsanto.
"I didn't. I just made perfect depictions of Vanessa, except that they can look and pose however I choose for them to pose." said Opera Penguin.
"You made these? Just for me?" asked Monsanto.
"Yeah." said Opera Penguin.
"Why are you going out of your way to get me excited like that? How does that benefit you? Are you, like," Monsanto side-eyed Opera Penguin, "into me or someth-" Like lightning, Opera Penguin punched him in the gut.
Monsanto doubled over.
He wheezed out a very poor defense. "Hey, hey it wasn't personal, it's just, you know, a man jumps to conclusions when another guy seems to be trying to get him off, especially since you're kind of a twink-"
The next punch was a right hook across the face.
"Hey, come on, man." said Monsanto. "I didn't mean anything by it."
"Shut up, or the next punch will be in the balls." said Opera Penguin.
"Okay, okay!" said Monsanto. "Why've you gotta hit so hard, though?"
"This? This was light. If I punched you at full force, your skull wouldn't be in one piece." said Opera Penguin. "I'm going easy on you. Because I like you."
"Wait, wh-" said Monsanto, before a knee hit his nose with the force of a meteor.
Monsanto fell back onto his bed, gasping. "Dude! I didn't even say anything!"
"No, but you were still perceiving my words in the context of gay shit." said Opera Penguin.
"Look, I'm sorry, it was just still fresh in my mind!" said Monsanto.
"What should also have been fresh in your mind was me hitting you. Which should have given you the context to take my statement platonically." said Opera Penguin.
"Don't see why you've gotta get so touchy about it." said Monsanto, preemptively raising his arms in self-defense.
"You wanna know why?" asked Opera Penguin.
"Ain't that what I just said?" asked Monsanto, in a surly tone.
"Well, I guess I can spill my guts to you. Figuratively. Don't tell anyone this, or I'll spill your guts. Literally." said Opera Penguin, sitting down next to Monsanto.
"Okay, jeez." said Monsanto.
"I used to have a girlfriend, but I think she's dead now." said Opera Penguin.
"Oh. I'm sorry about that." said Monsanto. "Wait, you think?"
"She. . . disappeared. Sometimes I like to imagine that she's still alive, along with all of my other friends who, well, who disappeared in the same way, on the same occasion." said Opera Penguin.
"What was that?" asked Monsanto.
"We got into a fight with. . . You could call it a mob. Real devils, they were." said Opera Penguin.
"And it turned sour, huh?" said Monsanto.
"I did, at least, win." said Opera Penguin. "I killed the guy we were sent there to kill, but, well. . ."
He looked off into the distance.
"You could say the place where the fight went down was misty, and dangerous to stick around in. Don't doubt that I looked for them, I tried for the life of me to find them, but, alas. . . I couldn't even find bodies to confirm who was dead." said Opera Penguin.
"Sounds like they could totally be alive!" said Monsanto.
"No. I'm afraid not. It's only in moments of excessively optimistic thinking that just ends up hurting me when my perspective returns to reality that I think they could have survived. The last I saw them, they were getting overwhelmed, and the ones who were overwhelming them were among the ones I personally had to kill." said Opera Penguin.
"Oh. That sucks, man." said Monsanto. "But wait, did you say you were sent?" he asked.
"Yes. And that's the thing. I am almost one hundred percent sure that the one who sent us knew he was screwing us over." said Opera Penguin. "And that's why I'm here."
"Wha-?" Monsanto reeled.
"You see. . . have you ever heard of William Afton?" asked Opera Penguin.
"Yeah, I've heard the urban legends. Sounds like some total boogeyman." said Monsanto. "I wouldn't pay any mind to those stories. What do you need him for?"
Opera Penguin laughed a hearty, deep laugh. "Oh, he is very real. In fact, if not for him, there would never have been any Freddy Fazbear's pizza, which would have never evolved into this place."
Monsanto's eyes widened. "Really? He's like the founder of this place? But. . . are the other things real, too?" he asked.
"Yes. He did kill those kids. And he killed more. And he came back, and he killed you." said Opera Penguin.
"What?!" exploded Monsanto.
"Yes, you were never just an animatronic. Machines don't have souls, dingus. Your consciousness was always that of a child whose name is now forgotten." said Opera Penguin.
"Why is it forgotten?" asked Monsanto.
"It was forgotten in your own heart when I brought you to life as Monsanto. You see, I fused your innermost self with the shell of identity that was your considering yourself to be Monty Gator—I made that belief true, and at the same time I revived you as a living being. But that came at the cost of your human identity. You had to be severed from your past. That's a past life now. I have rebirthed you, and the others." said Opera Penguin.
"Wait, you mean, so, the others—" Monsanto said
"Yes, but don't tell them." said Opera Penguin. "Not only because I'll kill you, but imagine how Rochelle would feel if she learned she failed at even living long enough to grow up. The shame! She would consider herself as a loser for eternity!"
"Oh, man. I can't believe I'm actually a dead kid-" began Monsanto.
"You were a dead kid. Remember? I revived you, resurrected you. That was then. This is now. Anyway. . . we were all kids once." said Opera Penguin, his thoughts slowly turning towards the first time he had fired a gun. That memory would be burnt into his mind forever.
"Well, anyway, why does that link up with why you're here?" asked Monsanto.
"Because I'm turning William Afton into a god to avenge my partners." said Opera Penguin.
"You—wha—you—I can't take this—why?" asked Monsanto.
"Hey, I paid off his dues, at least in regards to you." said Opera Penguin.
"But you're—how?" asked Monsanto.
"Truth be told, you four are actually generating power for me just by living." said Opera Penguin. "This kind of power helps me manipulate the world. But when Gregory feels bad, or when his feelings make someone else feel good, it makes a different kind of power. One that empowers William Afton. It builds on him, making him permanently stronger."
"But, why him?" asked Monsanto.
"You see, his horrible crimes perfectly attuned his beings to absorbing spiritual negativity, and getting stronger from it." said Opera Penguin. "And this place is perfect for getting that negativity."
"I see. I'm just surprised it's not all coming from Rochelle, ha ha!" said Monsanto. "Wait, didn't this conversation start over me asking why you get so tetchy over being called gay?"
"Yes." said Opera Penguin.
"You never did answer that, though. Nor for real." said Monsanto.
Opera Penguin sighed sharply. "Every night, I see the love of my life in my dreams, and even in my dreams, I know she's dead. I reach for her in my dreams, I long for her when I am awake, a dual strife I pursuit indefinitely in spite of its futility, weighing down on me. And, I don't know, it's just such a brazen denial of all of that passion and suffering when someone says what I really want is to get a glorified prostate massage from another guy's dick, with the specific implication that that desire occupies the place in my heart where, in reality, there's just a yawning abyss, and. . . her. . . forever falling into it."
"I guess I get it." said Monsanto, as Opera Penguin got up. "But if you were gay,"
Opera Penguin whirled around and drew his pistol in Monsanto's face. "You're on thin fucking ice."
There was a deathly pause, and a glacial silence, before Opera Penguin's face broke out into a smile, and he laughed, lowering his gun. "No, but really, the threat towards your testes still stands."
"Oh wait, I got a cool idea," said Monsanto. "If you could just generate pictures of Vanessa, why not show me what what your girlfriend looked like?"
"Sure!" said Opera Penguin, in an unusually friendly tone. He made the picture. He showed Monsanto.
Monsanto screamed.
. . .