Finally, Opera Penguin entered Rochelle's room.
"So, here's walk-in a closet that basically manifests whatever you want to wear in it, provided you put something in it the last time you closed it. Or, it just changes and launders your outfit to your liking if you get in and close the door." said Opera Penguin. "And a dresser with a star-shaped mirror with the lightbulb frame, you know, a classic."
"Okay." said Rochelle.
"And here's a door to a bathroom. Tell me when you run out of shampoo or body was or whatever." said Opera Penguin. Rochelle stared.
"And in there is plenty of cosmetics, you know. Makeup stuff. I just found the fancy stuff, I have no idea if it's any good or if you can even use it on fur, to be honest." said Opera Penguin.
"Why are you doing this?" asked Rochelle.
"What do you mean?" asked Opera Penguin.
"Why are you giving me all of this stuff. I didn't ask for it. I didn't particularly want it until I saw it. Why do that? What's all this stuff for?" asked Rochelle. "Is it, are you, trying to make something up to me?"
"I don't know what you mean." Opera Penguin lied. He knew exactly the preposterous suggestion she was posing, but he wanted her to say it so it would really drive him into a frenzy.
"Maybe you were just dealing with something earlier, a certain reaction to me, you didn't know what to do so you felt maybe I would be easier to approach if I weren't so high up, if I felt I were worthless, maybe you wanted to bring me down to your level to get a little bit closer. . ." said Rochelle. "But now you feel bad and you just really want me to know that I'm actually precious to you, that you l-"
It wasn't just a slap. It was a magical slap. It was a frosty slap. It broke the laws of thermodynamics by eliminating a certain amount of heat from existence. It also made Opera Penguin's hand glitter with sparkly blue-white snowflakes.
"You're really fucking stupid, you know that, right?" he said, as she fell down onto the floor. "You think that if you recite out your silly little fantasy, that you'll suddenly be living in it? That it'll suddenly have been true all along? And do you think, even just a little, that if I did feel like you imagine I felt, if I really were interested and you and I got together and, whatever it was that you were thinking of happened, did you really think that would 'conquer' all the things I said before? That it would make them go away, that I would recant them and you would never have to worry about them again? No! Because all of those things I said are true! That's why I'm giving you all this stuff. Because you really are nothing. Actually, that would be charitable. You're a burden, most of the time anyway. Even before I came here, you were powerless and impotent unless you felt that you were loved. Now, you get that love by making a display, at the grace of a child who managed to get over his mortal fear of you mauling him, just so he could feed you the same white lies that everyone else does. It was just more effective coming from him because you saw him as a threat and as an enemy. And now you're trying to suck up to me, hoping I'll suddenly break and let forth another wave of tears and hugs and lovey-dovey bullshit? Hell no!"
He punched her in the rib, and it shattered. She screamed, but he had already sealed off the room's sound. He then jumped at her, beating and beating and beating until his knuckles were broken and she was quite apparently dead.
He breathed in, and then let it out as a sigh.
Then he took her body, cradling it, and resurrected her. Her broken body was fixed, her life force was restored, and she opened her eyes.
She yelped upon seeing him, jumping out of his arms, and scooting back into a corner.
"Hey, hey, hey I think maybe some of my sleeping potion in my pocket cracked open earlier, the fumes can be just as effective as the draught itself, you know." said Opera Penguin. "I put you in your bed, but you were really thrashing around in your sleep, I was sure you were having a nightmare, and moved to wake you when you rolled off of your bed, so I had to catch you."
"But we were far away from the bed." said Rochelle. "And the canopy cover isn't moved. How'd that happen?"
"It just fell back into place. Anyway, when I caught you, well, you know, I'm not really the strongest, so I ended up stumbling back a little. How do you feel?" asked Opera Penguin.
"Well, apart from being completely horrified at that dream I was having, I feel fantastic." said Rochelle. "But that's a big 'apart'. I'm still scared, to be honest."
"You can tell me about it." said Opera Penguin, sitting down against the wall, next to Rochelle.
"Well, you were showing me all this stuff, and I asked you, well, I asked you if this was you trying to say you actually care, and all that stuff you said before was just your own insecurity." said Rochelle.
"Well, that's a yes and no. I did like poking fun at you, but now I realize I may have gone a bit too far and had a negative effect on your mental and emotional well-being." said Opera Penguin. "I really do care about you all, but this wasn't so much an attempt to display that as simply a consequence of that. I want you all to live as richly as your characters are portrayed."
"Aww, thanks." said Rochelle. She leaned into him. He really wished he had enough mana for another resurrection.
"But anyway, you, I mean the you in the dreams, he started ripping me apart, telling me how I was expressing my own desires and hoping that would make them true, and if we became closer, it'd make all the things you said before not matter." said Rochelle.
"Would it?" asked Opera Penguin.
"I think you're a bit closer than I thought." said Rochelle. "Anyway, then he reaffirmed that he hated me and he was only giving me all this stuff to cover for my inadequacy."
"That's. . . horrible. I really did go overboard, if that's how your mental image of me was, as expressed by your dreams." said Opera Penguin.
"It's strange, if your dreams are all made up by your head, how can something so surprising like that happen? Because it was, it was scary and it was worse even than I was expecting from you, but, I don't know now, you seem like you just had a mean sense of humor. I mean you still do, but I don't really care about Gregory and his cat bed." said Rochelle.
Opera Penguin laughed.
"You know," she continued, putting her head on his lap. "I'm really tired. Can you stay here with me in case I have another nightmare?"
Opera Penguin stopped breathing for a moment. She once asked him to do that. He questioned what a physically-comatose girl with psionic powers possessing a freakish mannequin that contained the pocket dimension which itself contained her temporally-frozen body would be afraid of, or have nightmare about. But she had just shaken her head and told him they weren't for him to know. They were far too terrible.
Whereas Rochelle's can't be any badder than me. he thought.
"Sure. I don't think my crotch makes a good pillow, though." said Opera Penguin.
Rochelle side-eyed him and smiled.
"Oh, you." he said. "Anyway, do you want me just to make a chair, and sit next to the bed?"
"Well, I thought it, since it's a wide bed with plenty of space, I mean, you look tired too, after all," said Rochelle, "I mean you literally made these beds. Now you should lie in one."
Opera Penguin genuinely laughed at the wordplay, and then questioned himself for feeling genuine endearment towards Rochelle.
"Well, you do have work in the morning. I better make sure you sleep just fine." said Opera Penguin.
While Rochelle got dressed into her pajamas, Opera Penguin got onto the bed, in not only his full clothing but also his shoes, mask and hat, and reclined, his back to the headboard.
"You've still got. That. You've got all that on." said Rochelle when she came to bed, dumbstruck.
"Don't worry. My shoes are enchanted; they automatically shed any uncleanliness when I step indoors." said Opera Penguin.
"It would be nice if I could see your face." said Rochelle.
"There's only one person I'd show my face to, and-" he stopped. He was sad again.
"What's so special about it anyway?" Rochelle said, reaching towards his opera mask. He grabbed her wrist forcefully.
"It's a personal boundary. It's a form of exposure I've chosen to treat as intimate. An intimacy you have not been granted." said Opera Penguin, sharply. Then he switched to a softer voice, and moved his hand from her wrist to the side of her face, stroking it. "No hard feelings, okay? Just sleep well."
Rochelle moved back over to her side of the bed, and fell asleep.
. . .
Gregory stepped back into the 'vestibule' of the new place, and Vanessa followed with him.
"Well, I guess I better get into my 'bed'." said Gregory.
"You're just going to take this lying down?" asked Vanessa.
Gregory stared at her with a pointedly unamused face.
"Sorry, that wasn't meant to be a pun." said Vanessa.
"Well, at least I can fall asleep because I choose to, and not because the only other option is flailing around in the dark void." said Gregory.
"Figuratively?" asked Vanessa.
"No, literally." said Gregory.
. . .
Elisa Ham, current CEO of Fazbear Entertainment, sat at her desk, after a long day of arranging patterns of legal loopholes, workarounds and outright lies to keep her company financially stable. Nothing really seemed impossible on paper. It only fell apart when things began to touch reality. That's why she had bureaucrats to deal with that for her.
She had climbed this ladder with sweat, blood, tears, and (when her younger age had allowed it) other bodily fluids, and she would be damned if she didn't have anything to show for it, past a little extra money. She would be pleased if this room could be shut off from all other people for the rest of her life, or at least her time at Fazbear Entertainment (which, presumably, would be her life, as her mother had passed the company down after having been left it by a man with a girl's first name as his surname, and as such it was part of the family that surely met its dead end at Elisa because she had no plans whatsoever of having children).
But then there was someone in the room with her. Some sort of actor by the look of him. And he seemed to have a gun very stealthily holstered at his side. A stage magician, by the look of him, but wearing an opera mask, and a very strange color in his skin, a whiteness that eschewed any but the lightest shades of pink, whose existence it conceded only for the sake of not appearing to be a corpse. He was quite thin, a bit feminine in his frame, and seemed fairly tall, although his top hat was to be credited for much of that impression.
"They call you the Corporate Arch-Demoness." said the man. "And yet you seem incurably mundane."
"Well, we can't all act fully and accordingly to the theatre of our reputation." said Elisa.
"I don't see why not. All you need is a little. . . outsourcing." said the man.
"Mmmm. Get to the point." Elisa said, sure that this man was not another businessman to whom she would have to pay any kind of respect.
"But I am." said Opera Penguin. "I am indeed."
"What?" Elisa asked.
"A business man. I come to bring you an offer." said the man.
"Stop beating about the bush, then." said Elisa, deciding to ignore that he had apparently read her mind. "Tell me."
"You will give me a certain level of input in your franchise. And I will give you power of a kind you can't otherwise buy." said Opera Penguin.
"I see. And how much are you going to ask of me?" asked Elisa.
"Likely, only a few things. But maybe more. I should add that neither do I know what you will ask of us, nor how much. It will be mutually ambiguous." said the man.
"Give me a sample of this, what did you say, 'power'?" said Elisa.
"Then I'll ask just one concession be made." said the man.
Elisa sighed. "What is it?" she asked.
"Begin expansion on the Mazercise activity at your main location. Allow the entertainers to participate with guests in a friendly manner in there. Allow the lights to be dimmed to almost blackness while people are trying to navigate the maze." said the man.
"That is an absurd request." said Elisa.
"I am offering you an absurd endowment." said the man.
"Give it up front, then." said Elisa.
The man raised his hand, and opalescent light suddenly flared around it. "Do not be alarmed," he said, "as this is the essence of what I am giving you. It will not harm you."
He touched two fingers against her forehead with the incandescent hand, and suddenly the light surged into her.
Suddenly, so many things hit her. The knowledge that the man's name was Martin Cold, pseudonym 'Opera Penguin', from the 126th dimension in the Interdimensional Cosmic Federation of Kauthannium, that he was born to a rich performing 'magician' father whose power was actually rooted in a diabolical pact that required increasing degrees of sacrifice, a father whom he eventually killed using the man's own gun when he tried to slaughter Martin with a ritual as the final and fulfilling sacrifice, whereafter Martin went on to practice true magic, amongst other things, in an effort to become truly all that his father had seemed to be, becoming an interdimensional bounty hunter under the aegis of. . . It all became blurry, such that incoming new knowledge seemed to smudge out what came before it, even that which it was built upon, and all that she was left with in the end was several facts, including how to win a court case that was coming upon her. She felt like she was having a seizure.
In spite of all this, she composed herself. "So I know a few things. What difference does that make?"
"Here." said Martin, handing her a river rock that she was sure wasn't in his hand a moment ago.
"What is this? Some kind of rune to throw up into the air?" asked Elisa.
"No. Crush it." said Martin.
"With what?" asked Elisa.
"Crush it. In your hand." said Martin.
"Well, of course I can't do that!" said Elisa.
"Not with that attitude!" said Martin, glibly.
"Fine, look, I can't-" Elisa said as she squeezed with all her might, and the rock began to crack, before it broke apart into two major shards, with some gravel in between.
"Wha-" said Elisa. "I can't believe it."
"In addition, the impression you will give will change according to how you conduct yourself, but it will regardlessly be supernaturally empowered. You will basically be able to control other people via coercion." said Martin.
"I accept this offer in its wholeness." said Elisa.
"Ah, well, in that case. . ." said Martin, and he stuck his fingers on Elisa's forehead again.
After the wild colors and visions and dancing lights of revelation subsided, Elisa slumped her shoulders.
"I wish you'd ask before doing that." she said, in a resigned tone.
"You will come into more powers shortly." said Opera Penguin. "In addition, you are now connected to us, which is how your additional powers will operate. The ones I have already given you would have been subject to deterioration over time were you not connected to us, in any case, so this was a good deal. For you and for me." said Martin.
" 'Us'. . . Really? William Afton?" asked Elisa. "I didn't know he cared for me beyond the grave."
"He didn't. I made this choice solely based on your position." said Martin.
"Wait, how did I know it was William Afton?" asked Elisa.
"A new power. You'll access knowledge I've made available, as soon as you need it." said Martin.
"And significant future events?" asked Elisa.
"Yes, mind the bullet." said Martin.
Elisa jumped out of her chair. The gunshot was deafening.
The window and office reverted to an undamaged state.
"Try not to overuse them." said Martin. "It's our energy you're utilizing."
. . .
In the daytime, an eight year old child went berserk and dented Monty's head with a golf club before being subdued.
. . .
Night 8
After dark, Monsanto woke up in his bed. His nose still hurt, but his head didn't.
He got up. He opened his door.
Outside his room, he saw Cheyenne, who had just stepped out of her room.
"Hi." said Cheyenne.
"Hey." said Monsanto.
"So," said Cheyenne, "Do you want to show me something?"
"Like what?" asked Monsanto.
"I don't know. It's just that you're supposed to do stuff, you know, for your health." said Cheyenne.
"Yeah, I guess I do." said Monsanto. "Not in here, though. Obviously, it's a bit close."
"Yeah, I guess." said Cheyenne. There was an odd tone in her voice.
. . .
"How old are they?" asked William.
"Ageless, I guess." said Opera Penguin. "They were perpetually the age at which you killed them, but that's been mixed in with and buried under the new identity I've given them.
"But, mentally, they don't seem like kids." said Afton.
"Well, I did give them some sort of 'adult-ish' essence, and I suppose that since it was really prime adulthood that it most resembled, and since they were kids when I came here, they're sort of teenagers and sort of young adults, and, well, sort of still the kids you murdered." said Opera Penguin.
"This whole 'smugly reminding me that I murdered kids' thing is kind of getting old. Not least because I'd do it all again, the exact same way." said William.
"Why is that?" asked Opera Penguin.
"Because they broke my image of what childhood was. You see, I used to be a lawyer. Saw the most horrible things. I saw the closest thing a civilian could see to war. Murder. Personal violation, if you catch my drift. Theft of items that meant everything to the victim and nothing to the thief. Sometimes, those items were formerly a part of the victim's body, but, by the time they were retrieved, were already decomposing into maggot food and waste. I saw the pettiness of wife beaters and the animalistic carnage of druggies, and I hated it all. And I stayed in it, for the money. Because I had to, why would I spend my life studying criminal law, and specializing in these cases, if not for the money? And to throw it all away? Because it made me feel bad? It seemed simply irresponsible." said William Afton.
Opera Penguin nodded.
"But then, one night, I was a little drunk, and strangely enough, it allowed me to see my situation a bit more clearly. But at the same time, it gave me an inconveniently straightforward solution. 'I need it all to end', I thought, 'so I have to end it all'. It was my friend, Henry, who saved me. I wonder if he ever regretted that. Strangely, I doubt it, which is why I think I'll never understand him." William continued.
"Not much to understand. A goody two-shoes is a goody two-shoes." quipped Opera Penguin, which William decided to ignore.
"Henry saw that I felt locked into my life choices because of the paths I had taken, so he offered me to share his path. He would teach me all about robotics, and, in exchange, I would serve as his lawyer when it came to business. Sure, it wasn't my specialty, but going back to law school for a few years, it wasn't hard, apart from the bills. Thankfully, my suicide-inducing career had earned me more than enough money. After that, I had an idea. Escape. Escape via that which was taught to me by the one who had allowed me escape from my own demise at my own hands. You see, I thought—rather foolishly, as you will soon understand—that if I escaped into the world of children, more specifically, the world of my childhood, my boyhood dreams and fantasies, that that would be a bastion, a safe haven from the impurity of the adult world that I had come to know and hate." said William.
"How hilarious." said Opera Penguin.
"But the children. Even my own. They were not what I remembered. Even my own son, albeit 'unintentionally'—and even then, I have my doubts about that—killed his younger brother in one of my own machines. It was partially my fault, of course. I shouldn't have paid so little attention. I should have beaten Michael. I should have helped Evan get some real friends, and not just those toys I gave him. But the fiscal difficulties of managing real robots back then were immense. So, I thought I was doing the right thing by maintaining the family diner. How was I to know what would happen? But happen it did, and after that, I began doing what I failed to do in time, and actually began paying attention to the children. I remembered childhood as a time of innocence. But, seeing it in the flesh, my hazy illusions of my own past began to dissolve, and I began to remember how I really was, how they really are, and how Michael was, and I realized that humanity is just a race of royal screwups. They just get bigger as we grow older and capable of more. So I thought, I had obsessive thoughts, that is, of snuffing out that little evil before it became a bigger one. I identified who I thought were the really evil ones, and, well, it was easier than I expected. Abusing the Fourth Amendment, and the fact that the nastiest kids were generally those whose parents cared little about them, I killed them, hid their bodies and disposed of them in landfills, where I gave them a bit of an acid wash to render them harder to identify, and presumably nigh impossible to detect my DNA on." said William.
"All because they shattered your dreams of being 'as innocent as a child again'." said Opera Penguin.
"Of course you wouldn't understand. You're probably from fairyland or whatever." said William Afton, bitterly.
"No, I assure you, I am one hundred percent human." said Opera Penguin.
. . .
Vanessa breathed in slowly, and breathed out. She hadn't actually apologized to someone in quite a long time.
She entered into the vestibule of the set of personal rooms, and turn to Roxanne's—no, Rochelle's. She would have to remember that.
She knocked.
The door opened, and the moment Rochelle saw Vanessa, she glowered.
"May I come in?" asked Rochelle.
"Sure. Fine." said Rochelle, sitting down and staring absently into her mirror.
Vanessa came in.
"Can I sit?" asked Vanessa.
"Sure." said Rochelle. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Or whatever tightass phrase Penguin would use."
"I have learned some things as of late, and-" said Vanessa, before Rochelle cut her off with "I didn't hurt the kid, alright?"
"That's not what I was about to say." said Vanessa.
Rochelle grunted.
"I've learned some things lately." said Vanessa. "And there are some things I've said, and done, which were said and done operating on beliefs contrary to what I have learned. I have said things to you, that is, to your previous self, that I said with the assumption that you were really a machine without a consciousness. You know. Like, not a person."
"Yeah?" asked Rochelle.
"I wanted to apologize." said Vanessa.
"Really?" asked Rochelle.
Rochelle turned towards her.
"So, I'm not a vain, useless icon of narcissism that they show to kids while they're young to indoctrinate them into the vanity of the larger culture?" asked Rochelle.
"That's. . . right. I was venting. And I thought your emotions were just simulated emotions. And I thought it was funny." said Vanessa.
"Yeah, that really makes me feel better." said Rochelle. "You really liked seeing a simulation of someone with my exact personality in pain, and you liked simulating hurting her and making her cry, and you really liked calling her a shallow, insubstantial, useful piece of shit and experiencing the exact replication of my exact sorrow, you clearly liked seeing me in pain for your verbal abuse, but you didn't really mean it because you thought it was just a simulation, and now you have the confirmation of my having been conscious, and that's the arbitrary point where your moral compass decides to start spinning?"
"I mean, I guess." said Vanessa.
"So really, you want to hurt me, but your boundaries of social acceptability are now moved so that you can't and still feel like you're a good little princess. But at your core, you still want to." said Rochelle.
"No, it's like," Vanessa paused. "Some people have some tendencies that we want to respond to in certain ways. And if an object displays those same tendencies, then generally we have no trouble responding in those ways, as long as it's not physically dangerous for us to do so. But when we recognize that there's another person there who's actually feeling things, and experiencing things, then out of empathy, we control our reactions, because we care about them."
Rochelle stared at Vanessa for a moment. "You care about me?" she asked.
"Well, of course!" Vanessa said. "How could I not, now that I know that you're a real girl with real feelings that I can hurt and I have hurt and I've never said I'm sorry or given any consideration?"
"But I'm still the kind of person who does those kinds of things that you wanted to respond to in those ways. Right?" asked Rochelle.
"Well, I'm sure a lot of how you looked to me was the stuff programmed into you." said Vanessa.
"Yeah." said Rochelle.
"So it's not really you. You're your own woman now, and you can choose who to be." said Vanessa.
"But, the thing is, I really do have the personality from my old self. The programming became my base personality. So you'll probably just hate me." said Rochelle.
"No! You still are a person and I know there's more to you than that one-track character of yours that I saw." said Vanessa.
"Why are you bothering to care so much?" asked Rochelle.
"Because you deserve it. Just like anyone else here. If I was paid to care for animatronics, and they became people, then my paycheck now should be for caring about those people." said Vanessa.
"So is it your personal feelings or is it your job?" asked Rochelle.
"It's both. It's my personal feelings about what my job is. You people don't seem to see eye-to-eye all the time. But I'll try my best to see eye-to-eye with you." said Vanessa, standing up.
Vanessa stood up, and Rochelle stood up with her, and hugged her.
. . .
"Inanimatronics?" Opera Penguin asked.
"Doesn't make sense." said William. "They're more animate, if anything."
"Deanimatronics?"
"No, for the same reason."
"Animaltronics?"
"They have the same character design elements, but in the flesh."
"Anathematronics?"
"Too much of a mouthful."
"Animapneumatics?"
"No, for the same reason, compounded with the fact that I don't need Gnosticism thrown into the already vast pile of spiritual nonsense you bombard me with every day."
"Yiff-babies?"
"What. That's somehow. . . worse than all the others."
"Yiffbabies it is, then!"
. . .
Cheyenne cheered as she saw Monsanto get his sixth hole in one, but it was a hollow cheer.
"You're great at this, but don't you think you should, maybe, try something else?" asked Cheyenne.
"What, do you think this isn't good enough?" asked Monsanto, defensively.
"No, no, I just mean, once you've mastered something, some people might think it's time to move on to other things." said Cheyenne.
"So you're saying it's not good enough for me." said Monsanto.
"Yeah, sort of?" said Cheyenne, uncertainly.
"But I love golf. . ." said Monsanto.
"Well, maybe you could find a way to make it 'bigger'?" asked Cheyenne.
"Well how would I do that?" asked Monsanto.
"I don't know, maybe you could set up a challenge?" asked Cheyenne.
"I don't know how to do that." said Monsanto.
"Better yet, maybe you could try someone else's attraction." said Cheyenne.
"Like what?" said Monsanto, and then quickly added, "I don't like mazes."
Cheyenne tried not to feel more than a little hurt, and said "But what about Roxy Raceway?"
"With her?" asked Monsanto. "She's kinda been," he began, and quickly added, "I mean I know she's your friend and all, but that doesn't change the fact that she, like, might not be in a mood to participate."
"She's better now." said Cheyenne.
"Oh, okay." said Monsanto. "Fine then."
They went to Roxy Raceway.
Rochelle was actually sitting there, hunched over, with her chin on her hands
"Hey, what's up, Roche?" asked Monsanto.
"I really wish you people would stop calling me that." said Rochelle.
"Whatevs, bro." said Monsanto. "You wanna race?"
Rochelle perked up. "Sure! I haven't gotten to race outside of the enslaved hours."
"Heh, reminds me of this meme I found." said Monsanto. "Good screen, bad screen."
"What's a 'meme'?" asked Cheyenne.
"Stupid shit that people post to the Internet that's all a copy of other stupid shit." said Monsanto.
"Sounds dumb." said Rochelle.
"Yeah but, that's, like the point, bro." said Monsanto.
"Why do you keep calling me 'bro' when I am neither male nor related to you?" asked Rochelle.
"'s a figure of speech, bro." said Monsanto.
"Well, stop it. I don't want to feel like I'm descended from the same family as you." said Rochelle.
"Well, I mean, we all were made as animatronics by-" said Cheyenne.
"Not the same thing." said Rochelle, with a searing tone. "Plus, it would especially be bad to think of it that way if you got a crush on someone."
"Y-yeah, if." said Cheyenne, looking towards Rochelle, but more pointedly away from Monsanto. Rochelle narrowed her eyes at Cheyenne.
"So do you wanna race or not?" asked Rochelle.
"Oh, yeah! Of course!" said Monsanto.
They raced.
Monsanto at one point jumped up, having bound down the gas with his shoulder-pads somehow, and started 'surfing' on the go-kart, using his feet to steer.
Just as the last finish line came up, Monsanto hunched down, and rammed into the back of Rochelle's kart, and, as he did so, leapt forward, somehow managed to land, completely unharmed, one one knee, one foot and one hand, past the finish line, just before Rochelle passed it.
"That doesn't count!" Rochelle angrily yelled, once she had gotten out. But Monsanto was smiling anyway.
The go-kart, meanwhile, had crashed, and Monsanto retrieved his shoulder-pads from it.
Cheyenne charged towards Monsanto and clapped her hands down on his shoulders and dug in. "DON'T EVER DO THAT AGAIN!" she more or less screamed into his face.
"Jeez, calm down." said Monsanto, pulling back. However, her talons were too locked onto his shoulders.
"I don't want you to hurt yourself for thrills." said Cheyenne. "Please, think of others. We all only have so many others here. Only a few know us, and at least one of us doesn't care about anyone else. We can't afford to lose anyone."
Monsanto successfully pulled away. "What is this, a soap opera? What's the point in not dying if I can't live a little? Anyway, I feel fine. Look!" he said, and picked up Cheyenne under her armpits.
"Wo-oah!" Cheyenne yelled.
Rochelle rushed up, still angry over being 'beaten' and having her go-kart vandalized, and swiped at Monsanto's face.
Monsanto flinched, but still took care to let Cheyenne down gently, rather than dropping her.
"Rochelle, it was fine-" said Cheyenne.
"Not fine with me." said Rochelle.
"What are you, her nanny or something?" asked Monsanto.
"Friends don't let friends get surprise-manhandled." said Rochelle.
"I dunno, maybe she liked it." Monsanto joked.
Cheyenne looked away, embarrassed.
"Hey, hey I was joking, I wasn't being serious." said Monsanto.
"You're bleeding." said Cheyenne.
"So what?" said Monsanto.
Cheyenne grabbed the front of his shirt.
"Come with me and get some bandages." said Cheyenne.
She noticed Rochelle staring at her in a long, forlorn way.
"Friendship isn't a zero-sum equation." said Cheyenne.
"Wha-?" asked Monsanto.
"Fine." said Rochelle, who backed away a little bit, then turned around and ran away.
"There she goes. . ." said Cheyenne, quietly.
"What's wrong with her?" asked Monsanto.
"Nothing's wrong with her. She's just emotional." said Cheyenne.
"Oh." said Monsanto, not understanding, and not caring to comment.
Cheyenne took him by the hand, and found a first aid kit for him.
"Stay around me for a while." said Cheyenne.
"Why?" asked Monsanto.
"Because I don't want to see you do any more stupid shit!" said Cheyenne, waving her arms comically.
"Well I mean you won't see it if-"
Cheyenne slapped him, but spared him the claws.
"Well anyway, what do you want to do?" asked Monsanto.
"Anything you'd like, that I wouldn't not like." said Cheyenne.
"So. . . what's that?" said Monsanto.
"Tell me something you'd like to do." said Cheyenne.
Monsanto picked her up again, this time around the waist. "Do you actually like that?" he asked.
"I mean, kind of. . ." asked Cheyenne.
"That's kinda weird!" said Monsanto, cheerfully, as he put her down.
Cheyenne stared.
"No offense, of course." said Monsanto.
"What else do you want to do?" asked Cheyenne.
"If I'm gonna be honest? I wanna find out where that Vanessa is. Whew. Hot piece o'-" Monsanto saw Cheyenne's face. "Sorry." he said, sheepishly.
"You, uhm." said Cheyenne. "You're into her?"
"Yeah." said Monsanto.
"You do remember the stuff she used to to say to us?" asked Cheyenne.
"Hell nah. She used to say those things to Monty, and Chica, and Roxanne, she didn't say any of those things to us." said Monsanto. "I totally have a chance with her."
"Oh." said Cheyenne.
"What, you want her to be some kind of old maid as revenge 'cause you're so sour over that stuff?" said Monsanto.
"No, I just, you know. I was upset earlier when you did something that could have hurt you physically. But she could hurt you emotionally if you get too invested in her." said Cheyenne.
"Hey, come on. You saw I was tough enough to withstand that. I'll withstand her." said Monsanto.
"But why?" asked Cheyenne. "Why not find someone who would just. . . like you? Be nice to you?"
"Dunno who that'd be." said Monsanto. "Anyway, if getting to know her hurts a little, that's just how I earn this."
Cheyenne stared.
. . .
Rochelle barged into Vanessa's office.
Vanessa sighed. "What do you want?"
"I want to stay in here." said Rochelle. "Can I?"
"Yeah, sure." said Vanessa.
Rochelle pulled up a chair, and sat uncomfortably close to Vanessa.
"Is there some reason you're in here?" asked Vanessa.
"Why is everyone I know moving away from me?" asked Rochelle.
"What do you mean?" asked Vanessa.
"It just seems like everyone always has something else that they're doing, or someone else they want to talk to." said Rochelle.
Vanessa shrugged. "Maybe you could figure out how to be more. . . I don't know, I don't want to say 'bearable', but"
"But that's what you mean?" asked Rochelle.
Vanessa let out a slow, seething breath.
"This is one example of a habit that is not conducive to keeping friends around you. This emotional melodrama, this vindictive accusation of others that they hate you, and most of all, this emotional over-dependence—I'm not trying to hurt you, I'm trying to help you, but the fact is that the truth makes me sound like a jerk to say." said Vanessa.
"I just need to make sure people really do love me. I wouldn't mind doing anything as long as I knew people would see me in a frame of glamour for it." said Rochelle. "And I also want my friends to love me for real."
"You don't need to be in the same place as someone to love them." said Vanessa. "You just have to love them."
"But how do I know?" Rochelle asked. "How do I know that you care about me?"
Vanessa suddenly whirled towards her and stuck a finger right in front of her nose. "How would you know if I hated you?" she said.
"I. . . I. . ." Rochelle began to tear up.
"You would see it in how I act when I am around you, and how you learn of me acting when you're not around." said Vanessa. "That second one is almost more important, sometimes. Not that you should go spying on people."
"I just. . . miss. . ." said Rochelle.
"Yeah?" asked Vanessa.
"Their love." said Rochelle. "The fans."
"Oh, I see what this is about. You're only really you in the same period of time where your fans aren't around." said Vanessa.
"The love of my fanbase is the closest thing I've ever had to a boyfriend." said Rochelle.
"That's honestly kind of sad." said Vanessa, and it was sincere, but Rochelle still took it as an insult and let out a little sob.
"Like, man, I thought my boyfriend was plain and uninteresting, but at least he actually knows me personally." said Vanessa.
"But back when I was just a stage performer, and nothing else, there wasn't very much of me to know except what was out there. I existed, and I was loved. That and it was fulfilling. It made me feel complete. A relationship of mutual affection, even if I acted like I didn't care." said Rochelle. "Because acting that way was part of my performance that they loved me for." said Rochelle.
"Well, until you can find a way to see them again, just assume your little fans have the exact same opinion of you." said Vanessa. "They probably do."
"They're not little!" snapped Rochelle.
"Rochelle. . . dear. . ." said Vanessa, taking on a pitying tone. "they literally are."
"Come with me. I want to show you something." said Rochelle.
. . .
"Well, case closed. Your fans still. . . 'love' you." said Vanessa.
"But it's still not the same." said Rochelle.
"I should hope not! You're a kids' character!" said Vanessa. "Wait, you said the fanbase was the closest thing you had to a boyfriend. . . this can't be what you think healthy sexual affection looks like."
"I don't know what that is." said Rochelle. "But look."
She scrolled over to some neckbeard giving a statement of love towards Roxanne Wolf that was the length of a legal document written by Disney.
"I shouldn't have to tell you this, but this isn't healthy." said Vanessa.
"It's a form of fandom." said Rochelle.
"Yes, but it's. . ." Vanessa tried to put her feelings into words, "degrading."
"Maybe you're just jealous." said Rochelle.
"Believe me, I am not." said Vanessa. "If people on the Internet drew me like that, I wouldn't bother suing them, I'd find out where they lived, get a gun from an unofficial retailer, and. . ."
"Okay, maybe those pictures kinda sucked, but look at this one." said Rochelle.
"It still makes you look like a foam mannequin with floaty tits." said Vanessa.
"How about this one?" asked Rochelle.
"Okay, fine, it's pretty cute, but you're still being measured on the scale of artistically designed pussy." said Vanessa. "It isn't healthy. At best, it's an ego boost. If you really use this as a substitute for love, you're gonna lack happiness in your life. Better yet would be learning to love yourself. For real. Not just like talking that stupid motivational shit into the mirror. Actually believing it without saying it."
"But, at my core, seeking others' affection is who I am." said Rochelle, sadly.
"No." said Vanessa. "It's who you were. You're not an animatronic anymore, at least not at night. You're not just their toy anymore. I'm sorry that that makes you sad. But there are people here and now that care about you. So just accept that they care, accept what time you have with them, because everyone has their own schedule and people having other things to do isn't to spite you. But most of all, love yourself. If you do that, then you'll be able to receive others' love. And toughen up. Because you're alive, and life will always entail some degree of pain."
"I don't understand how to do all that." said Rochelle.
"Well, I so have one thing that might get you started on the right track, but don't expect me to hold your hand all the way." said Vanessa.
"Thank you." said Rochelle.
"You ready?" asked Vanessa.
"Yes?" asked Rochelle.
Vanessa swung, and punched Rochelle so hard she practically flew across the room. Then she closed the porn window. Vanessa got up, and began to head out.
"Why do you hate me?" asked Rochelle.
Vanessa whirled around, charged back towards Rochelle, who was just getting up, and punched her in the gut.
"I don't." said Vanessa. "I actually really like you. But I wouldn't be a good friend if I let you continue in a weakness that will end up in you getting hurt again."
"It's not weakness, it's the care I was made to have." said Rochelle, weakly.
"But you don't actually care about the thing you had the appearance of being true. You want to be fake. You're a soft puppy dog at your core. And you will be, as long as you keep caring. You can choose to be beautiful without it being the sum of your existence." said Vanessa. "Now, before this conversation goes in any more circles, I have to go make sure no one's breaking in."
"Can I come?" asked Rochelle.
"Fine." said Vanessa. "But only if you help."
. . .
Gregory was looking for some food in the kitchen, but he couldn't actually find where to make anything other than pizza, and the staff bots would be able to stop him if he tried making it alone.
He grabbed a plate in anticipation of finding food, when suddenly an unholy amount of eggs benedict manifested on his plate, the majority of which spilled over and it the floor.
The staff bots rolled towards him, to clean the floor, and so Gregory darted out, taking as much as stayed on his plate.
He grabbed a fork, and escaped.
The meal was delicious.
. . .
Monsanto ran into Vanessa coming out of the personal rooms area.
"Hey, uhh, Vanessa," Monsanto said.
"What." said Vanessa.
"You ever wanna, like," said Monsanto, "uhh food?"
"I have a boyfriend." Vanessa said, and walked past Monsanto as he fell to his knees, dramatically.
"Don't start competing with Rochelle for the most pathetic person here." said Vanessa.
"I heard that." said Rochelle.
"That's the idea." said Vanessa.
"Screw you." said Rochelle.
"That's the spirit!" said Vanessa.
. . .
"So how old are you?" asked William.
"Hmm, that's a toughy." said Opera Penguin.
"Why? Are you saying you don't know?" asked William.
"Yep. I've been through multiple dimensions, and planet revolutions aren't synced up or even all the same in all the places I've traveled through. I'd hazard I'm from 22 to 24, 21 at the youngest." said Opera Penguin.
"Woww." said William Afton.
. . .
Ferdinand woke up, greeted Bernard, and then realized he wasn't there.
Ferdinand walked out of his room, and then out into Rockstar Row, seeing that Monsanto was upset about something.
"What's wrong?" asked Ferdinand.
"Oh, nothing." said Monsanto. "What's up?"
"I'm looking for Bernard." said Ferdinand.
"Ah. I got nothing." said Monsanto.
"Well, I'll go looking for him." said Ferdinand.
. . .
Cheyenne walked into Rockstar Row, just as Ferdinand departed.
"What's wrong?" asked Cheyenne.
"She's already got a boyfriend. Lucky bastard." said Monsanto.
"Well, that just means you can look for somebody else." said Cheyenne, trying to comfort him.
"No, I'm not looking for someone just to look for someone, I had my eyes on her." said Monsanto. "Now I think I'll just go golf."
"Oh." said Cheyenne.
. . .
Ferdinand ended up wandering the halls for quite a while, but he couldn't find Bernard.
Just as he was willing to give up, he heard Bernard say "Hey. Come here, Ferdinand."
"Bernard!" said Ferdinand.
"I need help with this guy." said Bernard.
"Who?" asked Ferdinand.
Bernard opened up an elevator door. "Come on in."
They stood in silence, then they stepped out into what was unmistakably Mr. Music Man's room.
On the stage was. . . someone.
Bernard led Ferdinand up to him. He looked almost human, except he had powdery white skin, purple in places, and had an extra set of arms. The man's teeth were bared and clenched, and he had kind of a double chin. In spite of this, he was fairly muscular.
"Pick him up, under one of his arms. He's too big for me." said Bernard.
Ferdinand complied.
"Who is this? Is this another intruder?" asked Ferdinand.
"No, you imbeci—I meant, no." said Bernard. "Don't you recognize him? He's Orpheus!"
Ferdinand gasped. "How could we have forgotten?!"
"It happens. Anyway, we need to get him into Rockstar Row." said Bernard.
. . .
Vanessa surveyed the camera system, which really didn't work that well at night, now that the Pizzaplex was more like a Pizzanscrutible.
She did notice Ferdinand and Bernard dragging what appeared to be some kind of clown down the halls. And behind them. . .
"Oh no you don't." said Vanessa.
A dash to the location on camera and another somewhat uneventful anime battle later, Vanessa stood, staring at Ferdinand and Bernard.
"Who is this?" she asked, sternly.
"Don't you remember Mr. Music Man?" asked Bernard.
"Ugh." said Vanessa. "I had just managed to forget him.
"Just help us with him, okay?" asked Bernard.
Vanessa resumed her magical girl form, and lifted Orpheus over her head, before running down the halls until she reached Rockstar Row.
"Now what?" asked Vanessa.
"Now people will come and go, and will thereby be in his presence." said Bernard. "He's deaf at the moment."
"Mr. Music Man? Deaf?" asked Vanessa.
"That's the thing. The attributes that we need the most fail us when we fail to be nourished with our necessities." said Bernard.
"You mean Ferdinand is going to start becoming a scheming crook if no one trusts him?" asked Vanessa.
"I don't think it would work like that." said Bernard. "But that's the general idea."
"So we just stick around and he gets better?" asked Vanessa.
"Yeah, I guess." said Bernard.
Cheyenne came in.
"Where's Monsanto?" asked Vanessa.
"He's golfing." said Cheyenne.
Vanessa sighed.
She darted over to Monty Golf.
"Come back to Rockstar Row." she said to Monsanto.
He glowered at her.
She rolled her eyes. "You were planning on trying to date me?"
"I mean. Yeah." said Monsanto.
"Look, I'm not going to go into how unlikely it would be for me to fall for a crocodile man, or for you in particular, but seriously? Golfing as a coping mechanism after rejection?" asked Vanessa.
"Yeah." said Monsanto.
"You really are all pathetic."
"Mmm." said Monsanto.
"Anyway, get your ass back over to Rockstar Row. There's someone you need to meet.
. . .
"Gee, thanks, guys." said Orpheus.
"We legitimately forgot about you." said Gregory.
"That doesn't make it better!" Orpheus moaned.
"Orpheus, you have always been so self-sufficient. . ." began Ferdinand.
"Yeah, and you heard that now I'm not. But you 'forgot'. Jeez." said Orpheus.
"Alright, quit bitching or I'll nail you to the wall as a glorified decoration." said Vanessa.
. . .
Annie was on her hands and knees.
Opera Penguin appeared.
"You're not doing well." he said.
"How am I supposed to do it? When she's around?" asked Annie.
"You're supposed to cause fear. You act like you need to be killing them." said Opera Penguin.
"I want to kill them!" said Annie.
"Well, for the time being, just terrorize them." said Opera Penguin.
. . .
The following day, the builders began work on an expanded Mazercise, cursing how much of an inconvenient project this would be and how long it would take, only to find, after a little bit of work, that it was done.
They felt pretty good about themselves.
. . .
Vanessa heard a knock on her apartment door, and opened it to Casey.
"Hey." he said.
"Oh, hi." she said.
They sat down.
"I've seriously been worrying about you." said Casey.
"Yeah? Why?" asked Vanessa.
"Are you kidding? This lack of sleep is killing you! You're gonna go crazy." said Casey.
"Not gonna lie, I think I already am going crazy. I keep remembering these things like, the animatronics becoming real creatures, and this magician guy and this thing where-" Vanessa began, before she suddenly shifted into her magical girl outfit.
"Oh." said Vanessa. "I guess I can't just claim it's a dream."
"Woah. . ." said Casey. "What is this?"
"Maybe you shouldn't touch me when I'm like this, I'm a bit. . . intense." said Vanessa.
"What do you mean?" asked Casey.
She poked him.
"Ow! That was like a military-grade poke, girl!" said Casey.
"Yeah. That's what I mean." said Vanessa.
"Well anyway, I got hired as a security guard. They don't know we're dating. This way you'll have less time you have to work. I'll bear the other part of it." said Casey.
"Casey. . . no." said Vanessa.
"Sorry, hon." said Casey. "I'm already there."
Vanessa sighed. "Just be careful. And watch out for Rochelle."
"Who?" asked Casey.
Vanessa told him everything.
"Hey, I can deal with it." said Casey.
"I hope you can." said Vanessa.
. . .
Night 9
"Okay, everyone." said Vanessa, who had managed to catch everyone while they were paying Orpheus a token amount of attention. "My boyfriend basically stole half my job. If you mess with him I'll kill you. Understand?"
There was general assent.
Rochelle walked up to Vanessa. Cheyenne joined them
"Is there anything we should know about him first?" asked Cheyenne.
"He's just a normal guy." said Vanessa.
"So he doesn't have powers or anything?" asked Rochelle. "How will he protect us?"
"Protect yourself, you pathetic dog." said Vanessa.
"Then give me a gun." said Rochelle.
"Do you seriously think I'd trust you with a gun?" asked Vanessa. "Anyway, I don't have one."
"Does everything that turns magical in your hands always turn back when you let go of it?" asked Cheyenne.
"I think so, yeah." said Vanessa.
"Try putting some stuff in it before you let it go." said Opera Penguin.
"Helpful." said Vanessa.
"Just do it." said Opera Penguin.
Sighing, Vanessa grabbed a lighter out of her pocket, lit it, and then turned it into a dagger. Then she tried storing her energy in it.
She gave it to Rochelle.
"Woah." said Rochelle. It had stayed a knife.
"Don't burn yourself." said Vanessa.
. . .
Casey walked in. This place was definitely bigger in the dark. And it seemed like the layout was different. And there was definitely a creepy atmosphere.
"Greetings." said some kind of emo jester that seemingly appeared out of nowhere.
"Wha-" Casey jumped. "Who are you?"
"I am Nyx. Do not be alarmed. I am not here to harm you." said Nyx.
"This is way past closing hours, get outta here before I tase you!" said Casey.
"Taking property out of the building after hours sounds like poor conduct." said Nyx.
"You got stolen stuff in your pockets? Turn 'em out!" said Casey.
"No, I don't have pockets." said Nyx. "I am the property."
"You're, who? The Daycare Attendant?" asked Casey.
"Admirably perceptive. Let us meet your new 'friends'." said Nyx.
"Oh, wow." said Casey.
Nyx led him to Rockstar Row.
He walked up to the first one.
"Hey, I'm Rochelle." said Rochelle.
"Rochelle Wolf?" asked Casey.
"No. Just Rochelle." said Rochelle.
"Oh. Something wrong?" asked Casey.
"Nah. How's Vanessa?" she asked.
"Well, you've seen her more recently." said Casey.
"I mean, day to day. Is she doing well?" asked Rochelle.
"Nope! She's sleep deprived. I guess she's just really dedicated to you guys." said Casey.
Ferdinand ran up.
"Well, hello!" said Ferdinand. "You must be Casey."
"Yep indeed." said Casey.
In the distance, Bernard winced at the utterance of 'yep indeed'.
"Great! You should find this place wonderful to look after! Don't mind the winding hallways. We may or may not be under the rule of an extremely powerful magician who claims to be from another dimension." said Ferdinand.
"Hahahaha, you've got a great sense of humor." said Casey.
"But. . ." said Ferdinand.
Cheyenne also greeted Casey.
"Where's the other one?" asked Casey.
"He's playing golf. Morosely." said Cheyenne.
"Can I go see him?" asked Casey.
"Of course." said Ferdinand. "You are the new night guard."
. . .
Casey approached Monsanto.
"Hey." said Casey.
"Who are you?" asked Monsanto.
"New night guard. I'm taking over for part of Vanessa's shift. They don't know it, but she's actually my girlfriend." said Casey.
"Good for you." grunted Monsanto.
"Something wrong?" asked Casey.
"Yeah, but it ain't your fault." said Monsanto.
. . .
Gregory ran again. He was sick of being chased by this weird Vanny thing.
"Are you getting chased by Ms. Bunny again?" asked Mangle, who had phased into the hallway with him.
"I think her name is Vanny." said Gregory.
Suddenly, Vanny seemed to shake.
"No! No! No! NO!" yelled the bunny.
"IT'S! ANNIE NOW!" she concluded.
"Vanny! Vanny Vanny Vanny! Vanny! Vanny! Vanny!" yelled Gregory.
Annie shook her head wildly and charged.
Mangle grabbed Gregory and pulled him through the wall.
"You're a real help." said Gregory.
"Thank you. It's what I want to be." said Mangle.
"You know, I might enjoy spending time with you more than with the others." said Gregory.
"That makes me happy to hear." said Mangle. "I actually remembered something funny."
"Yeah?" asked Gregory.
"I was actually older than you are now when I died. So it's actually pretty good that you're waiting. If you die right when I did. . ." said Mangle.
"Still not planning on dying." said Gregory.
"Hmmm." said Mangle.
"Have you seen the computer room?" asked Gregory.
"No, and I can't get there by moving through the walls, as it's literally another plane that that door is a portal to. I'd have to show myself. . ." said Mangle.
"You'll have to do it eventually." said Gregory.
"Fine, but I have one condition.
"What's that?" asked Gregory.
. . .
"Gregory!" Ferdinand cried out. "What is that?"
"Hey, that's my friend." said Gregory. "This is Mangle, and she's very nice."
"But, why is, is she wrapped around you?" asked Ferdinand.
"Moral support. She's really shy." said Gregory.
Gregory walked through the dimensional door, through the vestibule and into the computer room.
"So this is where I sleep." said Gregory, nodding towards the cat bed.
"I want to hang on the ceiling while you sleep there." said Mangle.
"Why?" asked Gregory.
"Just being in the same place while you sleep sounds nice." said Mangle.
"Okay, I guess." said Gregory.
"But for now, I want to use the Internet." said Mangle.
Opera Penguin popped in, and touched Mangle's face, then vanished.
"What?" asked Gregory.
"I don't know why I know stuff because that guy touches my face, but it's really helpful." said Mangle.
She made an account on some forum regarding the conspiracy theories surrounding the company that owned the very place in which they lived, and started posting.
. . .
"Hey, buddy." said Casey.
"Oh, hello." said Orpheus. "You want to hear some music?"
"If you'd like." said Casey.
Orpheus began a low vocalization, like Mongolian throat singing, and suddenly the tone elevated into a full-on trance EDM song, issued entirely from Orpheus' vocal chords.
"Wow." said Casey, after the song had finished. "You're, like, magical."
"Yeah, I guess I am." said Orpheus.
. . .
Nights 10-14 (mostly uneventful)
Over the next few days, Mangle began building a friendship with a man whose screen name was 'PsychoMickey'. He was a big fan of, who could guess, Mangle herself, as recalled by various security guards. Of course, he didn't believe it was really her, but rather someone roleplaying as her, but he was happy to 'play along'.
Rochelle would continue chatting with Casey, and he often played the role of the 'therapist' that Vanessa refused to be, despite his complete lack of any qualifications. Nonetheless, he still found her mental state concerning.
"Maybe if you had just one fan who knew you well become closer, that would help you move past this dependence on your fans' love as a whole." said Casey, one time. "They'd stand in for the fans as a whole, you know?"
"But how?" asked Rochelle. "I need a fan to be here in order to know him."
"Him? Are you preoccupied over your lack of romantic interaction?" asked Casey.
"It's the place in my heart that the fans occupy. Sure, I have friends, but the fans, the fans and their joy, that's like. . . love love." said Rochelle.
"So that's why all the yiff is gratifying to you." mused Casey.
"What does 'yiff' mean?" asked Rochelle.
"That stuff. You know." said Casey, nodding towards the computer.
"Maybe." said Rochelle, yawning and rubbing the back of Casey's neck.
"Heh, am I being pet by a dog?" asked Casey.
Rochelle glared, and then slapped him.
"Sorry, haha." he said, laughing nervously, before Rochelle resumed her clingy behavior. Then she fell asleep on him.
Meanwhile, Gregory and Ferdinand made various attempts at simulating 'real' sports, and Cheyenne often joined in.
Occasionally, they were interrupted by Vanessa, who seemed almost constantly to be fighting some monster or other.
Monsanto was actually pretty friendly to Casey, even though he still bore some resentment towards Casey.
Apollo and Nyx generally hung around, though they only interacted with others when such interactions were initiated.
Night 15
One night, though, Rochelle let something slip. She was watching funny videos with Casey, whereupon they happened across the 'Scary maze game' video in which the man punched through his monitor.
Rochelle grew quiet.
"It was a fake monitor, you know." said Casey.
"Yeah, but, the way he punched it," Rochelle said, "was kinda like the way Vanessa punched me in this room a while ago."
"What?!" Casey asked.
Rochelle explained it all to him.