Night 0
Opera Penguin—who was neither a penguin, nor part of any opera—appeared in the lobby of the tacky den of vapid children's entertainment. It sickened him.
It wasn't just the way the whole place's theme was riding off a fleeting, if not already dead 'vaporwave'/'outrun' trend, but also the way that this establishment, as a whole, pretended to be something it wasn't. It was a place for entertaining toddlers, and yet it tried to tout itself as some kind of rock concert hall.
As much as he held disdain for Twisted Sister, he couldn't help but feel slightly sorry for the band, as the legacy it had built up had surely been tainted beyond all reprieve the moment that these animatronics were branded with the words 'glam rock'.
Still, there were three things that made this place a perfect base of operations. First, and foremost, no one would likely be old enough to remember that cartoon. The one from which the character came whose name haunted his existence out in the light of this tainted, mortal world.
He put a hand to his mask. True to his nickname, it was an opera mask. Not some pointy superhero mask. And he didn't line his cloak with red like some Dracula imitator. No. Not him. Admittedly, he did line it with a midnight blue, but he considered this significantly more fashionable.
Secondly, he would probably blend in, should he ever been seen, though that was highly unlikely. True, his overall 'theme' was far from the hypersaturated, vaguely 80's-inspired theme this place had going, but so was that mechanical jester that surely would leave a mark on children entrusted to him.
Thirdly. . . he knew the resources this place held. In a world like this, little could be created. Power would not grow directly except in the predetermined ways it was allowed to, so instead, that which could be made into power would have to be cultivated. He would find them, soon. And he would make this place his castle.
He strode deeper into the building. Eventually he reached the place. Rockstar Row. It sounded like a place here murderers were taken who were condemned to be surgically altered into stunt doubles of Hollywood stars.
And there was a security guard. She was looking for intruders, just like him. He decided she should sleep. He didn't wave his hand when cast the spell. He was in a no-nonsense mood, as much as he ever was. His spell was gradual, as well, as letting her drop onto her head would be both cruel and ineffective at putting her out.
Meanwhile, he called out to the children who never left this building, those who had forms for him to address.
And with a spell, out they came. The loudest was also his least favorite. Whatever vandalism had been done to their code had also provoked it into screaming incoherently about being 'the best' as some sort of battle cry, though this was evidently false.
That being said, he didn't appreciate the crocodilian figure who called out with disingenuous friendliness for him to come over either, nor was he fond of the simpering, patronizing voice of the alleged 'chicken', which he had to restrain himself from muting, permanently.
Finally, there was the conciliatory voice of the last and most tolerable animatronic, which merely called out to him, informing him of the fact that it was after hours, and that he should leave.
Unfortunately, he had other plans.
As the cacophany of oddly life-like synthetic voices rose beyond a tolerable level, he threw up his hands, and shouted 'Silence!'
Of course, they did not truly listen, but the further exertion of power ensured that they might as well have.
"I can see that you will need my help to be able to engage in civil conversation." he said, sourly. Not that he was actually surprised. He knew he had his work cut out for him. He had meditated in the homeless shelter for hours on end in anticipation of this.
He gave them the gift of self-control, but not the gift of life.
"What," said the first one, "did you just do?"
"I gave you enough control over yourself that you could speak to me. I am here to offer you something." said Opera Penguin.
"Sorry, but this is way past closing time. I appreciate that you're a big fan of me, but-"
"SHUT UP!" Penguin screeched, no longer in the mood to speak like he had a stick up his ass. He then calmed down slightly, and said "I am not speaking to you alone, fool. I am speaking to all of you. I am here to offer you a pact. And either you are all in, or you are all out."
"A pact?" the one who was the namesake of this place asked. "What do you mean?"
"A deal. An agreement. A contract, if you will." said Opera Penguin. "I need to you to bring me the child who will come here tomorrow night, rather than bringing him to the guard."
"And why should we take this? What can you give us?" The first one asked. It really bothered Penguin that such technology had been primed to perfectly simulate such an unstable-sounding woman's voice.
"I was getting to that. In exchange, I will give you the gift of life. Life like none of you have felt in a long time." Penguin said.
"I do not know." said the host. "You are not supposed to be here, and I do not believe you are his father. . ."
"Use contractions, damn it!" shouted Opera Penguin.
"You seem to be in a state of distress, perhaps you should sit down and I can call-"
"I'm not meeting your babysitter, I'm offering you the deal of a lifetime. Specifically, the deal to have a lifetime. As something that's alive." said Opera Penguin. "Either you're in, or you're out."
"I am—I'm afraid I will have to opt out. I cannot—can't take this offer in good faith." said the talking teddy bear action figure. "Of course, the others are free to make their decisions, but, as for me, I'm sorry to say I don't trust you with this child."
"If only it were that simple. You see, it would be a waste of energy not to use this spell on everyone, but I can't have it affecting someone who didn't agree to it. So either you're all in, or you're all out. Decide amongst yourselves." said Opera Penguin.
"What is this life you keep talking about?" the narcissistic one chimed in.
"In your current state, you are all sad ghosts forever dancing in a lazy masquerade." Opera Penguin said. "I can offer you ecstasy in life, but only at night. You will be enraptured by your own beauty."
"Don't insult me." it said. "There's no way I could be any more beautiful than I already am."
Opera Penguin stared it. . . 'her'. . . in the eyes. "You alone know if you really believe what you say." he said.
She stepped back, just slightly, seeming almost scared of being called out.
"So what if we bring him to someone else?" said the crocodile-esque figure. "Vanessa wouldn't give us anything, and it's not like we know what she'll do with 'im."
"Vanessa is a trusted employee of Fazbear Entertainment." the host figure rattled off very quickly. "This man is an unauthorized intruder, we should already be showing him the door, if not calling the police!"
"Do it, then." said the crocodile.
"I. . . can't. Something is affecting the connection." said the host.
"Decisions, people." said Opera Penguin, privately feeling charitable for calling them 'people'.
"I. . . accept." said the one Opera Penguin thoroughly hated.
"Roxanne!" said the host, shocked.
"I don't owe Vanessa anything." The voice of the maned annoyance distorted into something much deeper at the utterance of the security guard's name.
"But. . ." said the host, still appalled at his friend's words.
"I agree with Roxy." said the crocodile. "What'd she ever do for us? Anyway, I think this whole 'life' thing sounds pretty great."
"Then, we have a majority." said Opera Penguin. "Unless. . ." he turned to the glutton.
"I don't know. . ." it said, in its wavering, high-pitched voice, a clear impression of a male chauvinist's image of a 'pleasant woman'. "We are supposed to help her, even if she is horrible sometimes. We like it here, don't we? We're not unhappy. We're not doing it for Vanessa, we're doing it for this company, that's so nice to us!"
"So that's a no." said Opera, flatly.
The pig with a beak nodded her disgustingly spherical head.
"I should hope that a tie defaults to inaction." said the top-hatted corporate lapdog.
"No, it defaults to a tiebreaker. The fifth member of your party." Opera Penguin said, clapping his hand.
Bounding down the hall was the best one of them all. A golden jester, with a face devoid of worry, care and any sort of higher-order thought.
"Party? A slumber party, you mean?" he shouted, not unlike a teenage girl with excess gossip to distribute and three friends ready with nail polish to apply and pillows with which to commit war crimes.
"No, I am referring to you and your friends, as a group." said Opera Penguin, who explained the pact again.
"Ooh boy, so does this mean this kid you're talking about's going to be staying instead of going away with that mean ol' downer?!" the sun-faced doll said.
"Yes, but he will be unreachable for about twenty-four hours. I am afraid you will also have to wait for this long for your prize. But after this, do with him as you please, so long as he remains alive." said Opera Penguin.
"Well, will he be having fun?" asked the sun man.
"Full disclosure: No. He will be suffering, a great deal. But it will only be for so long. Thereafter, any suffering he will have is either coincidental, or internal." said Opera Penguin. "After that, treat him how you will."
"Oh, I don't know, I don't know!" said Sun, clutching at his face. "I do so want a new friend to be friends with, but I don't want to hurt anybody, especially a new friend, my new friend! Why would you hurt a child? I don't know, I don't know!"
"Perhaps I can aid in your decision. Do I have your permission to call out your other half?" asked Opera Penguin.
"Oh, but I so hate becoming him!" Sun cried.
"Consider that he may be the only part of you that can come to a decision." said Opera Penguin.
"Oh, fine, I suppose. . . but how will you do-" Sun said, before Opera Penguin conjured up a zone of darkness around him. It wasn't complete blackness, but it was enough gloom to elicit the change, and it was soon pierced by two red lights.
Opera explained the pact, for a third time.
"Hmmm. . . very well. Children who trespass are very wicked, indeed. I prefer to know he will face consequences for his actions. With Vanessa. . . who knows? Perhaps he's a spoiled little brat whose parents will do nothing to rectify his behavior. Little miscreants deserve their little convictions." said the Moon. "I will take your pact."
"Then that is decided." said Opera Penguin. "You are all now under my geas."
"You own geese?" asked the kitchen-ravager. "We'll be meeting some geese?"
Opera Penguin sighed.
"In any case, it will not be until tomorrow night that he will come here. I have foreseen it. You, Freddy, will be out of commission in any case, at least to a certain extent. And no, I will not be responsible for that." said Opera Penguin.
. . .
Night 1
The next night, all had happened as Opera Penguin had said it would.
"Gregory, I do not know why you have come here, but someone who I fear has dire intentions for you. And worse, he's put us all under his spell! I fear you cannot even trust me!" said Freddy.
"What? That's crazy!" said Gregory. "But, you're warning me, and-"
"Just go! Please, I am sorry I must dismiss you like this but I can feel an obligation to snatch you away right this second, as we speak!" Freddy shouted.
Gregory scampered away like a scared rabbit.
Freddy sat down, hunched in his room.
"What's wrong with you?" Roxanne asked in a furious tone, behind him.
"I. . . I could ask the same of you, Roxanne." said Freddy.
"Who cares about him? If his life outside was so important, then how come he broke in here?" Roxanne asked.
"Children do unwise things all the time. They are not fully grown adults with developed brains!" Freddy said, in a pleading tone of voice.
"Whatever's gonna happen will develop him just as much as he needs." Roxanne said. "Didn't you hear Moon? He needs to get what's coming to him."
"But at the hands of a stranger?" Freddy asked.
"And Vanessa isn't a total stranger to him?" Roxanne asked.
"I suppose so, but, she is our friend!" Freddy said.
"No. Maybe she's your friend, but maybe she wouldn't be if you heard the things she says to the rest of us." said Roxanne.
"She is also young, even if she is not a child." said Freddy, ineffectually.
"I don't care. Just get the kid. And if you get in the way again, I'll be the one to disassemble you first." said Roxanne.
"Roxanne, you don't mean that. . ." said Freddy.
"Wanna bet?" she asked.
Even though she was shorter than Freddy, she seemed to tower over him.
"Why are you acting like this?" Freddy asked.
"I could ask you the same, but you'd just say the same thing. I guess I'm just tired of people who think they're better than me. They aren't. No one is!" Roxanne said.
Over in the next room, Opera Penguin both cringed and laughed. Anyone with a lick of common sense should know that he was.
. . .
Gregory eventually found his way to Rockstar Row. There was this weird man staring at him. He was tall, and so pale his skin practically looked blue. He was wearing a white mask that covered the top half of his face, and its bottom coincided with where his short, black hair ended on the sides of his head. He was wearing a top hat, and a fancy tuxedo with a cape around it, which was blue on the inside. Unlike Freddy's hat, this one was a real, full-sized one that covered his head properly. His features were very thin, but strangely he didn't seem unhealthy.
"I would get you myself, but it's so much better this way." said the creepy man.
"Who are you? Are you a magician?" Gregory asked.
"How perceptive." said the man. "Indeed, by my spell, you'll be the one vanishing tonight, one way or another.
"What do you mean?" Gregory asked.
"Either you find a way to vanish, quickly, or you'll be vanishing into my special place meant just for you." said the man, and this was all the prompting Gregory needed to run away.
"Gregory!" called out a sing-song voice from one side, and he saw it was Chica.
He stressed his body to his limit, bolting out of Rockstar Row so hard that the only reason he wasn't going faster was because gravity couldn't push down on him fast enough. He ran through a series of rooms he honestly couldn't retrace if one were to have asked him afterwards, and eventually came face-to-face with closed riot doors.
"No. . ." he said, slumping miserably against them.
Then he saw five different things.
Vanessa, coming in from the left. Vanny, further in the distance. Monty, Roxy and Chica, all closing in on him. Then he saw Freddy, swooping in.
"Gregory, I can keep you safe from the rest of them, please, get back in my chest cavity!" Freddy said.
"But you said it's-" Gregory said.
"Gregory, now!" Freddy shouted.
Gregory complied.
Freddy froze.
"Gregory, I am so, so sorry. I have no authority even over myself. He took that from me. I only hope you can ever forgive me." said Freddy.
. . .
"Very good, Freddy." said Opera Penguin. "And now, we wait. Or rather, we wait after I have you all do one more thing for me."
Opera Penguin had remotely stolen an oversized cat bed to curl up Vanessa's sleeping body in, and so now she lay before him. As such, the atmosphere was somewhat uncomfortable already.
"I want you all to delve, inwardly, into your most negative emotions regarding this boy." said Opera Penguin.
"But, I have no such emotions." said Freddy.
"Oh, you do. You just don't necessarily have them towards him, but about him." said Opera Penguin.
"Oh. I. . . believe I understand." said Freddy.
"Come, gather round. Mind Vanessa, of course." said Opera Penguin. "Lay your hands on me, and feel your darkest feelings about him."
They all did, albeit somewhat bemused.
Then Opera Penguin, in an instant, opened up Freddy's chest hatch, threw in a crystal, and then closed it.
. . .
Meanwhile, Gregory was floating in a dark, smoky place. Then suddenly, there came upon him a great negativity, like a chorus of voices whispering softly in one-dimensional denigration of his being.
"No one loves you. No one will miss you." said a feminine voice.
The words seemed to sink into him, as he internalized them as absolute truth.
"After all, you're so weak. Why should anyone pay attention to a little guy. . ." a more masculine voice said.
"lost and unclaimed. . ." a higher, more condescending, but mildly pitying voice said.
". . .like you?" concluded both of them.
Then he heard a voice like his own, but not from his mouth or his mind, and yet in his enthralled stupor he was convinced it was his own thoughts.
"I'm all alone in life. That's for a reason. Everything happens for a reason, isn't that what they say? But I'm all alone in life. I'm all I have. So I must be the reason. I'm dying here. So there's no reason for me not to die. If I could do anything, if I were worthy, I'd have gotten off the streets by now. But no. I'm all alone, first in that wretched world, and now in this one. I'm in hell. And I deserve it."
Gregory curled up, but it felt pointless. A pins-and-needles sensation crept through him, one that was like the worst out of both freezing cold and burning heat. So he went limp, even though that was useless, too.
Then he heard another voice.
"Gregory. . . I am so sorry. I fear the damage done here may be too great, that it will be such that you will never forgive me." it was Freddy's. Gregory smirked out of one corner of his mouth, and chuckled. Freddy actually thought Gregory was someone who deserved not to be betrayed. That Freddy owed him something. It was so funny to him. He knew he was worthless. Why should Freddy pretend he cared? Like his forgiveness was even worth seeking out, let alone needed?
"Gregory, I had no choice in doing this."
And he was apologizing over something he was forced to do? The absurdity! He must have faulty programming.
"But that doesn't make it okay. I think you had even less choice. There must not have been much of a good life for you if you had to come in here."
Didn't Freddy realize Gregory deserved it for being so worthless?
"But I have hope for you. I really do. I will do everything I can to protect you once you are out. I promise. Never again will I betray you like this."
The words fell flat. The negative voices came back. They cycled through Roxanne, Monty and Chica's voices, all of them filling up Gregory's audial perception.
"You're worthless and weak. You do nothing, you are nothing, you break into other places owned by people who have proper lives because you have none."
"I was playing the bass every night since I was made! You can't even play anything at all."
"Admittance is only to paying customers. There's no place in here for runts like you."
"You know, there is one bright side to all this. With you off the streets, whoever's in charge of cleaning them will have to deal with a little less filth."
"How'd you even stay so little out there? Aren't you people supposed to get bigger when you're capable of living on your own?"
"You just can't be helped."
"Why not go and work at the local landfill? You could've moved in and become king over all the trash. You could even have gotten in her legitimately after earning money. You could've even met me on good terms.
"Why didn't you have a family, huh? Aren't you little shits supposed to be corralled by parents? Were you really that bad that yours threw you away?"
"You could have made it even in here, but we played a game and you lost! Too bad for you, Gregory."
"You know what? In a way, you got me to care about you. By fleeing, you symbolized what was between me and getting what I know I deserve, and at the same time you were yourself the key to getting that. So, I both hated you and focused on you completely. Single-minded, utter hatred. I hope you feel flattered, Gregory."
"That last bit of stubbornness is what's keeping you suffering. Just let yourself fade away, it's the only way to stop hurting. Give up, kid."
"You're lost to this world."
Gregory felt so helpless against the voices and his own despair that it almost felt like it looped around to comfort in the absolute hopelessness, a wretched power in misery as he traversed the grid of death. And so he fell asleep, and dreamed that the sound of the voices degrading him actually made up his body, and it was the sound of his body that hated his soul.
But when he awoke, he began having visions of a bizarre, hyperbolically scathing parody of his life, except that they were distorted. They were black and white recordings of a deformed fetus, throbbing all over with each heartbeat, being surgically removed from his mother's womb. Not to deliver him, but to cut him out, as if he were a dangerous tumor. The doctors tried to kill the wretched thing but they failed, and its legs lengthened, and it ran out into the streets, stealing and eating and defecating in the alleys. Eventually, from the stolen lifeblood of everyone from which it had taken, it began to assume the a bastardization of the human form, his voice like papercuts on the ears, his touch the spread of pestilence incarnate, his thoughts the plans of parasitism. His body was still greasy and unclean, but now it passed as a human so people would not try to put it down. Eventually, the anomaly came to a warm, colorful place, and began to suck at its light and color. Not content with what it had gotten when the place began to close, the beast crawled inside the body of the beloved performer who lived there. And once again became a tumor, sucking away at the light and color of this place, until the victim's friends convinced him, too, to have a surgery.
Eventually, even this became tired. It lost all meaning to him because the endless stream of insults from the dream became drowned out by the internalized self-hatred. It became all consuming. But then the hatred and sorrow froze. It became like an organ the blood circulation of which had been cut off, to the point of its death, but then Gregory felt it 'cut off', only to be plunged into him, this time 'inert', in that he could no longer feel it as an emotion, but now that embodied negativity was changing into something new, like it was being digested inside him into a great darkness that would fill him and well up inside him once more. At the same time, he suddenly felt no different from when he first came into the Pizzaplex, apart from a faint sense of defeat, and a terribly great sense of overwhelming dread, that hung over him.
Then, from behind him, he heard the delighted voice of the creepy magician, saying "I got that all on camera! Seriously, your head makes some pretentious short films! I love it! I'll market it as a philosophical deconstruction of the place of orphans in society!"
. . .