Five Weeks at Frenni's Nightclub

by noone-05

Frenni Fazclaire's Nightclub is well-known for its adult entertainment featuring the latest animatronic technologies. What isn't known, however, is the dark secrets hiding in its history and occupants, as its newest employee is about to discover. Along the way, he may find more... pleasant secrets to help heal his own wounds. Will he and his chastity survive five weeks?

8. Week 3

Hello everyone, and welcome to another week exploring the mystery in Fazclaire's Nightclub! This written week took a bit longer than expected; partly because I had to do a bit of research in order to make the storyline/plotline/timeline work, but also because I was preparing for an art festival (as a participating artist) that took place not long ago. While the latter event has helped boost myself since my losses over the past few months, it meant taking time off from finishing this entry. On the plus side, I ended up making this entry longer than the previous one, so perhaps that will make up for the little extra wait.

As a sidenote, there will be certain details from this chapter onward: (1) when you see a series of X's on a phone number and/or date, they are merely for the reader's imagination; (2) when you see a series of quotations surrounding a single exclamation, it means more than one person is having the same reaction.

Otherwise, look out for more Easter eggs and references, and leave any comments if you wish. And once again, I don't own the FNaF franchise, as all rights belong to its respective owner(s).

---

Day 1

Michael opened his heavy eyelids as he slowly rose from his bed.

A blurred buzzing sound had originally woken him a bit ago, and took him a moment to wake up. Looking beside him, he saw his phone's alarm clock had already gone off a few minutes ago. That was the source of the weird buzz he heard, but didn't fully recognize it due to his heavy sleeping. No matter—it was just a few minutes delay, and there was several hours left until his night-guarding shift began. Nothing consequential at the moment.

As he stretched his arms out, a strong sense of ease washed over him, and he breathed deeply. For the first time in several days, he managed to sleep properly. All the work, stress, and unease that accumulated from the previous week had concluded in a very deep, dreamless slumber, something which eluded him at the time. Not only that, this was the first time in a while he did so without the use of his melatonin sleeping pills. This was a big improvement for Michael; after spending most of his year having to rely on the medication to rest, to finally be able to sleep fully without them was a step forward in recovering from his trauma. For this alone, he started to feel grateful. Yet, this wasn't the only reason why he felt so content now.

It was also because of what happened with Frenni Fazclaire, i.e. Ariel Mahi.

On the night before last, he unintentionally caused the animatronic club singer Frenni to go into a stasis-mode, upon which she reawakened as a different person. It wasn't until shortly after that he learned that the new persona was in fact a real person, mentally stuffed into the silicone animatronic body. Worse yet, she had been missing for several years while trapped in her new shell, with no control over her actions. If that revelation was not bad enough, the cherry on top came the next day, with the realization that the other animatronic females in the club were the same way. With those devastating news combined with his and her stress levels at the time, both exploded at each other with their pent-up emotions. Words and accounts that were bottled up were unleashed at once, leaving both persons in sorry states. As a result, he and the singer-girl kept each other company in contemplative, somber peace.

Despite the harsh argument, some good did come from the experience. Because of the heated exchange of their situations, both of them now understood each other's predicament, and thus had a shoulder to lean on. This had a profound healing effect on both parties; Ariel found someone who she could trust with her newfound freedom, while Michael at last discovered someone he could relate to his troubles. From that moment, he felt like the burden in his mind and soul became much lighter, and he knew it was even better for her. All because of the inspiration that they were no longer alone in their dark worlds.

And this made the young man truly happy for the first time in what felt to be a long time.

He became so focused on reveling this thrilling feeling that he almost didn't hear his phone ringing again. Snapping out of his trance, he picked up the device to find it was for an incoming call instead of another alarm. Identifying the number, he answered the call with a drowsy smile. "Hello?"

"Hey there, darling!" The thin, yet cheerful voice that answered was none other than his beloved grandmother. Michael couldn't help but smile at what she called him; it was something she always affectionately called him. Hearing it was enough to help him remove the sleep from his eyes.

"Hey there. I wasn't expecting you to call," he said. "Is everything okay?"

"Of course everything's alright here! But I could ask about you—how are you doing?"

"…" He wasn't sure how to respond at first, as he couldn't tell her about what was really going on. Providentially, his current emotional state was much easier to talk about, and he shared this with her. "…Honestly, I feel better," he said relievedly.

"Oh? Is all well at your new job?"

Again, his uncertainty to answer emerged, and for good reason. Just mentioning his new duty being in a nightclub would be bad enough for her to hear, which was why he kept silent about it. So, he kept that in the dark once more while being honest about its conditions. "…You could say that. It's having its ups and downs, like any place would… but it's a work in progress."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it," his grandmother said, satisfied with his reply. "Just let me know if there's anything you need to talk about or someone to see, and I'll be there."

"You don't have to do that, grandma. It's hard enough for you to go up and down your own building at your age, whereas I can do it easily. I am your caretaker now, after all. And besides—" He stopped himself before continuing his train of thought. His grandmother tended to be stubborn like that, despite her age, and this quality reminded him of Ariel. Not wanting to mention her by name, he decided to guide his thought train onto a sideline. "I, uh, found someone to confide in recently."

His grandmother's concern turned to delight. "You did? Well, who's the lucky girl?"

"Who said it was a girl?" he asked, feigning suspicion.

"Don't be silly," she retorted playfully. "When it's a young man with extreme good looks like you, it has to be a young lady. After everything we've been through, you deserve a little happiness of your own. So, who is she?"

Her words made him roll his eyes in amusement. The former comment about him was part of an old running joke in his family, and it irked him a little every time it was brought up. In spite of that, he couldn't bring himself to retort due to the latter comment. In a way, she wasn't wrong; if his grandmother believed in something and said so, then it was likely true. This was not because of age or anything, but from experience and perception. She had always been intuitive like that for as long as Michael could remember, and was rarely proven wrong. In the end, he had no choice but to fess up a bit. Recalling what he was about to say, he thought back on his brief encounters with Ariel, as well as the redeeming qualities about her. With his personal thoughts in the mix, he continued his train of thought back on its original course.

"She… She's got a strong spirit," he reminisced simply, with a smile. "And a wonderful voice."

"Ooh, goodie!" His phone line cooed in glee. "I would like the chance to meet the gal sometime!"

"Grandma!" Michael quickly corrected his sudden panic, and continued. "It-It's nothing like that—we only just met. I'm certainly not pursuing her in that way, especially not while she's dealing with her own issues. All I'm doing at the moment is giving her a shoulder to lean on." His reaction sounded enough for his elder relative to drop the matter.

"Well, good for you! I always knew you'd grow up to become a good fella, and I'll always be thankful for that. Mark my words, though: any girl your age will also be lucky to have you, too."

"Thanks for that—I'll keep that in mind. Anyways, are you sure you're all good at your place?"

"Of course, darling—I just wanted to check on you. Glad you're doing better."

After a few more exchange of words, the call between relations was ended. Throwing off the covers, he headed into the bathroom to begin freshening himself. All the while, he couldn't stop thinking about what his grandmother said regarding Ariel. That course of direction in their conversation was unexpected, and yet not; this wasn't the first time it happened. Thinking back, she occasionally took interest in any female he came in contact with, like she expected something to happen between him and said female. At first, it was just funny, but then it became more frequent after his parents died. He didn't dare say so, but it was beginning to become an annoying habit. Her intuition may take her far, he thought, but she can take it a little too far sometimes.

As he stripped off his clothes to start showering, he saw himself in the mirror. Studying his reflection, he considered something else that was said. His grandmother adored him for his inner attributes of selflessness, honesty, and tenacity, in addition to his physical appearance. Like she put it, any girl would be lucky to have a guy like him. If appearances alone were to be judged, then his better-than-average musculature and overall youthful appearance would make him the type of guy any high-school girl would fawn over. That was the presumption he heard, at least. However, he was not the kind of person to appreciate looks alone, and Ariel was no high-schooler either. Furthermore, it was not as if he developed personal feelings for her in the two days they met. That kind of thing only occurred in fantasy stories.

But, if it's her intuition speaking again, a voice whispered in his head, could something actually happen?

…

Gah—no, stop it! Thrashing his head back and forth, he cast out that notion. With a handcloth and soap in hand, he entered the shower to clear his mind in preparation for a different kind of conversation he would have tonight.

000

After rubbing his eyes, his sight readjusted to the main stage and its occupants.

It had been about half-an-hour after Michael arrived at the nightclub, and there was still fifteen minutes left before closing time. This meant many of the club patrons were still there, drinking and enjoying themselves silly around the bar and the stage. In addition, the animatronic girls onstage were in the middle of their last bit for the night. Normally this was way earlier than he was assigned to appear, but he had good reason—and he planned for it beforehand. Instead of taking his usual entrance through the backway, he had decided to take the main entry at the front. Receiving admission from the bouncer, Michael kept his focus on the path ahead rather than the resentful daggerlike stares behind him. Once he passed the main doorway, he casually made his way along the right outside perimeter of the clubroom, and into the security room. Since then, he had been observing the performance from the monitors—hence his eye-rubbing, due to the bright screens in the darkened room.

The reason for his intense concentration was one female performer in particular. The brown-skinned, bear-eared android woman in cosplay was his main focus, for good reason. After their comfort-moment last night, he had explained that since she stayed in the pod all day, she would have to go back onstage the next day. Needless to say, she was reluctant to do so—specifically if it meant encountering the man responsible for her current state—but Michael assured her of the rules in the club and her roles and responsibilities as the club's lead singer. Both aspects would keep her out of harm's way, which left her stage name as the only hurdle. As a helping aid, he reminded her to just treat the audience like her past shows, and the concern in Ariel's face seemed to alleviate then. Still, she felt uneasy about using her given stage name, but doing otherwise meant the chance of the cameras catching the act and Mr. Afton watching the recordings, leading to exposing their secret. Thus, she promised to persevere with the guarantee of exercising her real name when the two of them were in the security room during nightshifts.

That was why he arrived in the way and time he did: to see how she was getting along without her seeing him and potentially breaking her act. And so far, nothing seemed any different from when he first came to the nightclub. But he would have to wait a while longer to find out for sure.

While waiting for closing time, he reviewed a makeshift list he wrote down just before his drive over here. As part of his plans for tonight, he had jotted down a few subjects he wanted to ask Frenni. Thinking back, she did have some memory issues and could not recall a lot of her life, and he could not leave her in such a state. The subjects on the list were to hopefully help restore what she lost, with a few snippets of her life to serve as seeds for her to piece her old life together. Eventually, he would have to ask about the circumstances that led her to Mr. Afton, and that was the most serious. Despite the delicacy of the matter, he knew that conversation would have to happen at some point.

As he witnessed the last show reaching its crescendo, he hoped Frenni—a.k.a. Ariel Mahi—would be well enough for that point when it was reached.

Eventually, the club was emptied of its visiting occupants, and Michael loomed his eyes over the club while making his way back to the security room. With its people gone, but their leftovers left behind and strewn about, the place held an old, congealed smell to add to the silent darkness. Yet, the stylized architecture and decorations contrasted with the sensations that assaulted his nose and ears. It all reminded him of an abandoned mall left to ruin. Or an old, glorified coffin. Snorting to himself for the comparison, he situated himself in the security room and waited for a certain someone.

After ten minutes, Michael saw her come out of the pod, look around, and head out the door. She made sure, albeit hesitantly, the coast was clear in the main clubroom before traversing through toward him. Once he heard her clicking heels from the eastern hallway, he got up from his chair to greet her. His greeting didn't leave his lips, though; the moment their eyes met through the hallway window, the bear-eared singer surged forward into the security room and wrapped her arms around him, pinning his upper arms onto himself. The gesture was unexpected, and it took him a little time to find his voice.

"Hey there," he said at last. She made no reply, and continued to hold onto him. Fortunately, her steady breathing told him she was more content than frightened or disturbed. After letting her have the moment, he touched her shoulder lightly with a finger to gain her attention, and spoke up again. "I know it's a standard question, but… how are you feeling?"

Lifting her head, she faced him while loosening her hug, but still kept her hold on his arms. Compared to her previous expressions, she looked more gratified and relaxed. "Better, now that you're here," she said at last.

"Did anything happen since I left?"

"Not really. The only difficulty I had was responding whenever someone called out my stage name. …I managed to adjust, I guess. Otherwise, I just did my part in singing onstage and touring around the clubroom, as you explained before."

Michael nodded approvingly. Based on what she said, he confirmed the ruse had worked. He was very glad she managed to stay in-character the whole time, but there was one concern he had. "I kinda imagined the touring would've been hard to do, too," he commented. "Walking around in front of all those strangers while they were leering at you must've been discomforting."

"I'm actually more used to it than you think." His confused face made her let go of him, and she elaborated herself. "When I was… human… I got a lot of positive feedback from my audiences whenever I acted onstage. Along with those for my vocal talents, I got compliments for my appearance—a few more lecherous than the rest. I guess it's what happens when a foreigner gains that kind of public popularity." She then rubbed the side of her head, her fingers lacing in her rich, tidied hair. "Moreover, I sorta found that I can let my other half take over for the performance bits. Even though I'm in full control again, I learned that my other half's purposes are still there, so I tried allowing that side of me to act when needed. It must be working, because no one's the wiser so far."

Hearing the explanation got Michael more excited. It was a two-fold positive sign of Ariel's mental recovery: even if her body's programming was still active, she was learning how to willingly activate and shut it off; and because her real self was gaining control, she started regaining her memories. This newfound ability was unexpected, but not unwelcome. In fact, it was more than he could have hoped for so far. "I'm glad to hear this," he said, voicing those thoughts. "Even better, it sounds like your memory's coming together again."

"You mean my original memories? Yeah, the ones of my other half are fully intact—it's just my real ones that are hazy. But my thoughts are becoming much clearer since—" She hesitated before proceeding with care in her tone. "—our little spat yesterday."

Wearing a face of compassion, Michael took her free hand into his. "I understand. Both of us were hit with absolute bombshells, and we reacted as such. It would have been a problem if either of us didn't react so naturally. Plus, I think letting them come out the way they did was best in getting our thoughts and feelings together again. Don't you feel like a huge burden's been lifted off your chest?"

Staring between him and her taken hand, her eyes twinkled a bit as she acknowledged his words. "…Yes, I do, now that you mention it… and it's helping that I have someone to trust here."

"You and me both." Michael let out a short chuff in agreement.

The two of them shared the moment in calm silence before coming to their senses. Letting go of her hand, Michael sat back down in his desk chair while Frenni took her own in the spare chair. "Um, speaking of 'huge' and 'chests'," she began after adjusting her shirt, and realizing its strained state against her bosom, "what about the other girls? How can we help them?"

The change in topic allowed Michael to adjust his own thoughts. "Actually, I was thinking earlier about that matter, and I was going to start looking into other missing persons reports. You know, so I can compare and determine who's who. The only problem, is that I don't have any information on them to compare. However, since you're here, I considered the direct approach by asking you instead." He paused to show her the paper list, giving her time to understand his request. "That being said, I wanted to take into account your state-of-mind first. Do you think your memory has recovered enough to start? Or rather, do you think you're ready?"

Her body wiggled as she shifted in her chair. "As much as I wish otherwise, I need to do this. The sooner I get this resolved, the better for everyone."

"Alright then," Michael nodded. "Let's start with the other girls: do you remember anything about them—names, appearances, age, things like that?"

"…"

Frenni closed her eyes. As Michael waited patiently, he saw her furrow her brows a little. Either she was still dealing with separating her real memories from those of her animatronic self, or trying to sweep away the mist that clouded the real memories. He couldn't imagine how hard it was to not only solve that kind of internal battle, but also having to coexist with another being that wasn't an actual person. A while passed before she returned her gaze at him.

"I can remember the moments we shared, including the last ones while with Afton," she said, "but all those images are still blurry—not enough for what they looked like. The same goes for their voices—they keep echoing, like they're inside a tunnel. But we did exchange names, in case someone found us by chance."

"Good move. What were their names?"

"…"

This time, upon closing her eyes again to search her mind, her face creased sharply. Not only her eyebrows, but her mouth also turned stiff. She was thinking really hard to recover this bit of information. Another minute passed, then another and another. Finally, her eyes shot wide open as she gasped, and her frown curled into a smirk of victory.

"Jesse, Sophia, and Cassie! I remember them now! Jesse was a dancer from another part of the city, a-and Sophia and Cassie were university students like me! They went to a different school from mine, but—but they'd been studying law and literature when Afton found them!" She laughed as she clutched her head, obviously delighted in reclaiming a part of her old life.

Michael smiled broadly, sharing in her delight. "And you? What were you studying exactly?"

Her answer was immediate. "Music and performing arts, of course. I was working to become a singer, remember?"

"You did say that," he said, feeling ridiculous for asking. "Okay, what about their details: surnames, descriptions, distinguishing markings, etcetera?"

Reeling with joy, she returned to her meditative state. After a while, though, her smile went back to its strained frown until she grunted in irritation. With that, she opened her eyes and let out a breath of defeat. "Sorry, nothing yet. My past memories are really fuzzy on details—it may be a little longer before they clear up. For now, I can only recall the most palpable things."

"Makes sense." Michael sighed as he gained a better perspective of her situation. It was clear that the prospect of a full metal recovery would be pretty slow-going. To her credit, she did face every question thus far and exercised herself to answer them, but the results were rather minimal. Even though she showed some progress by switching personas during business hours, he considered that to be more a chance occurrence. The additional point of this being their first of potentially many recovery tests supported this, and he hoped those future trials would provide a continuous stream of progression for Ariel Mahi. "Well, we only just started," he concluded, "so I'm sure more will come in time. Judging from how strained you were looking just now, why don't we call it quits for the moment?"

Frenni nodded in agreement. "Thanks—this is a lot harder than it looks. I'm already getting a headache from this. In the meantime, can we talk about anything else? I think some casual talk will help me ease off the pain."

Michael acquiesced to her request, and their next chat was as optimistic as they could make it. They even managed to get a chuckle out from each other. Afterward, they agreed that she continue her mental exercises whenever she had the chance. That way, Michael would examine her progress and be able to glean more information about her past circumstances. If they kept at it, the chances of a steady recovery—along with a means to provide freedom for the other girls—would increase. Of course, that was in the realm of unknowns otherwise called the future.

Despite those unknowns, both man and machine in the present felt a spark of hope.

---

Day 2

A frustrated groan reverberated in his throat as he sat in front of his laptop.

Michael's source of annoyance laid right before him; it wasn't the laptop itself, per se, but what he was searching on the device. On its screen was a menagerie of windows, pop-up screens, and tabs regarding local universities and schools, and many of them were predominantly of their student councils, clubs, and other popular academic groups. Needless to say, there was a lot of online activity he was doing. The goal, however, was not to search for other places to work, as he had done a few weeks ago. Rather, his personal search engine was not for something, but for someone. Three, to be exact.

This was thanks due to what Ariel managed to remember from their first session last night. The purpose of their discussion was to not only allow Ariel's mind to heal and recover her lost memories, but also to identify her friends in each of her club compatriots. At the moment, they had no idea who was who, but the bear-eared diva was determined to keep trying. Although their first session hardly bore any fruit, they did recover just enough information to act as a starting point where Michael could look around on his end. As minimal as the info went, it was far better than having to find Ariel's companions straight from scratch. Once he returned home, Michael began using her bits of information to look for any females from the local universities whom fit the descriptions.

Unfortunately, an hour barely passed before Michael had to quit the arduous task. In the time he spent sifting and combing through the sites and pages in his laptop, he begun to grasp the fruitlessness of what he sought to accomplish. His initial search pool already included hundreds of girls in all the colleges and universities in the city; multiplied by the number of school years his four were deemed missing—as well as any that likely moved, transferred, or dropped out—that search pool expanded well into the thousands. Adding to the difficulty was that some of these colleges were private, and didn't take kindly to airing anything that would ruin their reputation to anyone, including police. What were the odds, then, that they would share such secrets with a commoner like Michael? Even if they did, the search area would only add on to the public areas, and thus increase the range.

With his head pounding from scrutinizing the screen and its numerous pages, the task was already proving too much for him to manage alone. 'Needle in a haystack' doesn't even cover what I'm sifting for, he sighed dejectedly. Even if I had more details, it wouldn't change much here. Ugh, this would be far easier if I could avoid all the roundabouts, but I don't have access to the few places that can—and it's not like I have the time anyway. If what Ariel said before is true, and Mr. Afton is responsible for her condition, along with the other three girls, then I need a way to get them out of that place as soon as possible before he does something else to them. He half-mindedly gazed toward the sliding glass door to the small balcony of his apartment. From his floor, he could see a few buildings as well as some telephone poles. His eyes became drawn to the poles' wires as they curved over vast distances between posts or said buildings. They say the shortest distance between two points is a straight line… what I would give to have that now. If only there was a shortcut to finding what I'm looking for, like something tangible that's directly related to the gir—

Suddenly a specific memory from his first week in the club barged into his mind:

"Listen... I-I-I may not be around to send you a message… do me a favor… m-maybe sometime… you could check inside the couches in the VIP rooms… upstairs?... I'm gonna try to leave a little something… in case something happens. It'll certainly help the girls get better."

Michael stirred from the memory, and slapped his forehead. Of course, idiot! The recordings! That guy said he left something for me—I can save so much time just by looking for whatever he left behind!

No longer feeling the need to keep looking at the tabs he made, he slammed the laptop closed. Venting his absurdity with a huff, he instead spent the time he initially planned for online to rethink his approach. In the end, only one path made the most sense—the straightforward one. Rather than going around randomly and blindly in search for data, the most surefire way to find the data he needed was, like the telephone wires, the direct way: straight at the "source" hidden in the nightclub…

000

Something was different by the time he returned to the club that night.

After parking in his usual spot, he walked around to the front as he did yesterday. At first glance, anyone would not think there was any difference; the neon lights flashed brightly in the dark night, and the long line made its usual impatient commotions. But Michael was not just anyone. Even if his time at the club to this point was short by employment standards, he had experienced enough in the building to watch out for the smallest suspicions. Sure enough, he found what it was as he passed by the line towards the main entrance.

The club's bouncer was in an unusual mood tonight. Instead of his firm, intimidating stances like previous nights, he looked sullen and withdrawn. Letting his curiosity compel him, Michael made his presence known by approaching the man. "Hey there. Is something up?"

The bouncer looked up to see who was speaking to him. His expression softened upon noticing Michael's matching violet uniform shirt. "You're that new security kid, right? You're a little early again, aren't ya?"

"It pays to be prompt and prepared when you're the new guy," Michael excused himself plainly.

"Lucky you—at least you'll still be paid to work." Noticing Michael's inquiring face, the bouncer grunted. "I guess you haven't heard from the boss yet."

"Heard about what?" Michael questioned.

"Afton's on his layoff habit again," he replied, "and I heard I may be next."

The young guard was taken aback a bit. "I'm sorry to hear that. How long have you worked here?"

"Since the place opened around three years ago—same time the babes appeared. Damn shame, too—I thought I'd get a chance at a moment with one of 'em." The big guy shrugged his shoulders in disappointment, letting it seep into his voice. "Y'know, this ain't the first time I been a bouncer. This is my second gig—first time got me onto the street after a good chunk of time. But I asked for it then, so it was on me, but this time? I made damn sure everything here was peachy, and for what? To be kicked back on the street, and without reason? It ain't right." Realizing his rising voice was intimidating Michael and the adjacent waiting line, the bouncer coughed. "Well, neither is me yapping my mouth while on the job. I hope a youngblood like you don't get the boot like I am—otherwise this place'll crumble to bits."

"I know how you feel, sir," Michael replied sympathetically. Noting what the chucker-out said, a thought struck his mind. "It kinda sounds like you're implying there's so few employees as things are now."

Like he caught on to a big secret, the big man motioned to the young man with a finger. Edging closer, Michael heard him grunt close to his ear. "Between you and me," the bouncer said, "you and I are the only ones left, if you don't count the boss too."

The young guard's mouth gaped wide for a split second before promptly shutting it. "Seriously? I was told the place was short-staffed, but I never thought it was that bad."

The bouncer humphed sarcastically. "Yeah, and every landlord never intents to clean house of his tenants for a heftier selling price. But you didn't hear that from me, gotcha?"

Michael nodded with lips pursed shut, and continued his way past him to the doors. For a moment, his mind was distracted by this unexpected information. Somehow, it didn't gel with what he was told. During his first week, Mr. Afton mentioned at least once that his club was short on working staff, which ended up with Michael performing multiple roles at once. He never mentioned the exact reasons for this, let alone any underlying reasons. Furthermore, Michael's current position only added more fuel to the fire of confusion.

If Mr. Afton really is clearing out his workers, he asked himself, why did he hire me at all?

000

Once the closing hour had long past, Michael proceeded as he planned. Like last night, he and Frenni met again and continued with her memory recover session; and like before, they made only a little progress. After that, they started a softer conversing session involving sharing each other's interests, in the hopes that something along the line would help trigger some nostalgia. They had marginal success in the endeavor as well, but it did relax the young singer, at least. There was a little tension that almost undid the calm mood, when Mr. Afton made his check-in call on the phone. While Michael expected it—as it was a few minutes past 3am—Frenni did not, and hearing the elder man's voice made her rigid as an icicle. Seeing her reaction, Michael felt sorry for her and decided to limit their talks up till before such a call rang. Frenni agreed to the slight adjustment, and was able to depart with a shaky smile.

From there, Michael began to prepare for his club security patrols.

Part of his patrols, however, would be spent searching the VIP rooms on the second floor. Since he already had a good idea where his predecessor's secret stash was hidden, the rummaging would be far quicker. Despite the head start, he felt the need to hurry the searches; knowing those rooms possessed cameras as well, he didn't want any one room to be scrutinized too long, in case Mr. Afton became suspicious of the extra patrolling. Therefore, Michael would spend a short amount of time in each room before moving on to the next, on the premise of performing random sweeps for the sake of keeping the place orderly and sanitary. As an added precaution, the order in which he examined the rooms would not be in order, so no distinctive pattern could be traced.

That was the hope, of course.

Michael double-checked his bare essentials for his impending inspections. He was just about to leave the security room when he heard clacking from the western hallway. Recognizing the sound as high heels, he figured one of the girls was approaching him. Turning his attention to the source, he saw the familiar yellowed form of Chica stepping out of the dark hallway.

"Oh, hey there," he greeted warmly. "What brings you over here?"

"I heard you bustling about in here after Frenni left," she answered shyly, "so I wanted to see if everything was alright."

"O-Of course, everything is alright," Michael said. "Did something make you believe otherwise?"

Chica shifted her feet. "Well, I noticed Frenni looked a bit stressed as she passed by me. I thought perhaps something happened between you two while together."

She must've been waiting for Ariel to leave in order to see me, Michael thought quickly, but it sounds like she didn't hear what we were discussing. "No, nothing happened—she was feeling overexerted, like before, so I provided some company to help calm her down."

"That is good to hear you are helping her," Chica replied, believing in his half-truth.

…

For a minute, neither did not know what else to say to continue or diffuse the conversation. Unconsciously, Michael found himself examining her attire for tonight, like he had done last week with Frenni's. Even though she had no animal-like attachments on her head like her companions, there were other attributes besides her yellow skin which made her stand out as animal-based. Compared to those possessed by Frenni or Bonni, the high-heels Chica wore had toe caps with a silvery shine, almost like broadened talons on a bird; and their matching orange thigh-high stockings reminded him of the featherless legs of some domesticated birds. Chica still wore her signature bib and apron attire—the former reading 'Let's rave!' in stylized cursive—yet they did little to hide the voluptuous curves of her thighs, hips, and chest, which Michael noted were slightly more than Frenni or Bonni. Even her headgear was a bit avian in appearance: the orange empty-top visor cap was shaped like a blunt beak; and while her gold-yellow hair was unbound, it fluffed out voluminously like wings, with three long hair antennae sprouting from her head ahoge-style like a rooster's tail feathers. Although she looked a bit more human than her counterparts, she still owned minor characteristics that reflected her namesake as a beautiful chicken-like cosplayer.

His sights landed on Chica's eyes, which had been likewise silently observing him. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Michael cleared his throat to break the silence. "Um, is there something else you wanted to know?"

Chica pointed a bright yellow finger towards his torso. "I'm noticing your body and facial signs indicating a low level of energy. Perhaps you would like something to eat?"

Michael faltered a bit from the random query. "Well, I'm not exactly that—"

" "!" "

A brief yet loud rumble broke the silence. Startled, both figures stared toward the source of the noise—Michael's abdomen. Said person held the area with a hand, his face carved with embarrassment at being caught in an unfinished lie. "Whoops," he said meekly.

Chica blushed and smiled at his reaction. "Since that answers my question, would you like something from the kitchen? If you wish, you can even come and see how its system works."

Her offer took him aback, but it certainly caught his interest and his stomach. Although he had collected and returned dishes and utensils there, he hadn't really explored the room in its entirety. Nor had he given himself the chance to observe the layout or appliances due to those chores. Because of this unfamiliarity, his past job experience further fueled his curiosity. He knew this would delay his rounds upstairs, but only barely; the kitchen was along the way from the security room to the stairs. Therefore, he decided, taking this small detour wouldn't interfere with his secret agenda.

"Why not?" he replied. Chica then turned to leave the security room, and Michael followed. Immediately after leaving the room, his eyes found themselves drawn toward her rear, so he quickened his pace to meet her side. As they walked side-by-side out of the hallway and to the left, a query popped in his mind. "Say, is there someone managing or monitoring the kitchen?" he asked. "Like, another staff member? If I recall, the only person I've seen going in and out of there is you."

"At first, there were several staff members serving as chefs during normal hours," Chica replied. "Over time, however, Mr. Afton had to reduce the number of people working here; it was only him for a short time until you arrived."

Completing their curved trajectory around the corner, they stepped up to the kitchen doors. Michael pushed both aside, allowing Chica to pass through, and shoved one of the rubber doorstops in to keep them open. Flipping the light switches, the kitchen lit up, showing off the menagerie of metallic ovens, automated prep stations, and dough-making mixers, all stringed together along the kitchen perimeter by a two-level conveyor belt system. Near the start of the belt was a tall fridge and freezer tucked away in a corner. On one side of the kitchen was a kind of ordering window, its long open length likely for instant delivery once the meals were made. In the center was the large island for the custom orders, complete with a stove and several cutting and seasoning utensils. Everything looked fairly new, though he could see a couple of dings in the metal surfaces, as well as some rust spots on a few corners. All in all, it was an impressive setup in Michael's eyes.

"So, this is where the palatable magic happens," he mused playfully.

"That's right," Chica smiled, stepping next to him.

Maintaining his observances, Michael explored the kitchen layout. His handyman skills taking over, he noted the different appliances that line the conveyors, as well as their access points. He also noted several spots high on the walls where air vents are located. Turning to his companion, he asks, "I take it this isn't entirely automated yet?"

"What makes you say that?" Chica asks curiously.

"I'm noticing the layout in the kitchen is a little strange," he explained, "like it's designed to assist in at least some manual labor?"

Hearing the change of topic cheered her up a bit. "It's a little bit of both. There are the usual utilities, but they are custom-designed for conveyor use. The surrounding counters have different conveyor belts and stations for either dishwashing, or cooking. The large island is mainly for manual jobs… like special dishes for special people." She wriggled shyly after saying the last part.

"Like that pizza you served me the first time?"

"…Yes. The automatons on the conveyor line did the dough-mixing and baking, but I did the rest on the island."

Moved by her thoughtfulness, Michael gave his thanks, which earned him a cheerful smile. Turning back to his surroundings, he considered what he learned here. "So, its design is definitely meant for less people to manage, but some people are still needed to maintain the number of appliances here. The fact that those vents are still there is proof enough—how else are people to breathe, or what if there's smoke or fire, and so on." He turned to his yellow-skinned friend. "At least Mr. Afton is following safety guidelines. And yet, I heard he's laid off a lot of his staff… If I didn't know better, I'd say he's trying to automate this entire place with himself as the only human occupant."

Chica's eyes respond by cycling between blue and red. "It's possible… but I wouldn't know." Just then, another loud gurgle made Michael's hunger known, causing Chica to reply with a giggle. "But I do know you are the only current occupant in this building who is capable of that sound. So, would you still like me to make you something while you're here?"

"Yeah, sure," Michael surrendered, knowing he already accepted her offer of coming here. As he watched her move back and forth between appliances, gathering some ingredients and culinary tools, his thoughts drifted back to the bouncer's news. If that guy did leave, then the only living person that would essentially be there at the club was himself—one mere security guard. There would be no other human to share in his experiences or work load. While trailing his eyes on the animatronic girl as she assembled the food stuffs, he discovered she would likewise be alone in the kitchen. Then again, it's been like this for a while, he corrected, and for the rest of the girls, too. I wonder how they feel about it?

"If you don't mind, Chica," he posed, unable to hold it in, "I do have an important question for you."

She turned and stood to attention with both arms behind her, one of which was held by the other. "What is it?"

"I understand that you girls have unique abilities that are utilized in this club. Frenni can sing, Bonni can shred music, and I heard Foxxy used to story-tell. If memory serves, your specialty is the cooking here." Seeing her nod in affirmation, he continued. "But, if there's been a decrease of real people working here, it may not be long before it's just you in here. There won't be anyone left to share and appreciate your role. Does it bother you that you've essentially been alone in here?"

Chica stared blankly in surprise, almost in revelation. Then as she opened her mouth to say something, her eyes flashed rapidly between blue and red until the latter shade won out. "I… understand what you mean," she said with a strained voice, "but… I'm afraid I cannot say."

Michael sighed, expecting as much. "Right—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it that personal."

The uncomfortable tension was broken when the baking oven dinged, indicating it had warmed to the appropriate temperature. With her attention diverted, Chica ensured the ingredients were in their conveyor stations before starting the food fabrication process. From there, the two of them watched as one appliance hydrated the dough and rolled the white blob flat onto a wooden plate resting on the conveyor belt. Then it was a matter of following the item to each station as tomato sauce was spread, cheese grated, and various meat toppings sprinkled. Finally, the raw product moved slowly through the oven until it came out cooked and golden. Michael eyed the entire process with admiration; it was certainly innovative and efficient, despite the lack of human interaction. While this kind of food production did not exactly possess the touch of human hands, the mass production made up for it—the sort of quality/quantity ratio one would expect in a popular pleasure attraction like the club.

After sliding it into a plate, Chica sliced the pizza with a wheel cutter, and handed the dish to Michael. He gratefully took the dish from her hands, and lifted a slice to his nose. Instantly recognizing it as the meat-lover pizza she made for him long ago, he savored the aroma before letting his taste buds have a turn with a bite. The perfect balance of flavors, crisp, and cream returned from that time, and he worked his jaw several times until swallowing.

"Thanks, Chica," he breathed at last. "My compliments to the chef. I'll need to leave another tip for this." He made the last comment in a slight teasing tone, which earned him the biggest smile he saw her wear.

"In that case, I will make sure to have this prepared for you every night," she said jovially with her hands clasped together in front of her.

"I might take you up on that offer," Michael chuckled.

Chica's eyes flashed brightly again, but for a different reason this time.

000

After eating alongside Chica for company, he gave his thanks once more and left the kitchen, heading up the stairs. With his detour completed, he could now set his sights on his original mission. The moment he entered the first VIP room, he checked the location of its camera before making his rounds around the room. During this, he directed his attention to the furniture-of-interest, and moved the piece to check its openings. Ignoring the sharp teeth of the back zippers, he shifted his hand through the foam stuffing in the couch, exploring wherever he could. When he confirmed nothing of value, he sealed and returned the furniture to its original form and position. He also did this for any standalone chairs, just to be thorough. Once all pieces in the room were accounted for, he moved on to complete his visual examination. Having found nothing, he exited the VIP room for the next one.

He intended to have at least two of the rooms done that night, but time was not on his side for now. Having spent time with Chica ate up a chunk of time that Michael had to yield for the shift, leaving the second room half-searched. It didn't help either that each of these exclusive rooms had enough nooks and crannies to examine, never minding the main furniture.

As he stepped down the stairs into the main clubroom, he figured his quest may take longer than he planned.

---

Day 3

"Hello, again," said an old friend.

"Hey there, Vanny," Michael replied reservedly.

In the passing daylight hours, Michael found himself at an impasse between independence and assistance.

He did not think of it much at first, but the problem quickly became apparent. When he swore to Frenni that he would help her and the other girls regain their freedom, his determination was solid. Although he meant to keep his promise, he never actually considered the journey nor the steps that were needed to accomplish it. It wasn't until this morning that he realized his original task may be a bigger bite than he could chew. On top of his usual nightshift and any random chores during that time, he also had his arranged sessions with Frenni and his search for the hidden stash in the nightclub—both of which were slow-going as they were. If that was not strenuous enough, what he heard from the bouncer hinted that Michael's own employment in the club may be limited as well. Overall, there was a lot to do, find, and learn, but with time he couldn't afford to spare. With this comprehension, he tried coming up with an alternative means to help him in the endeavor.

Thankfully, such a solution came to him the next day—but not without being its own headache.

Michael had deliberated whether or not to tell Vanny about his experiences, and everything he discovered therein. To say he was nervous was no exaggeration. Bringing in any legal authority was a serious step he could not make half-heartedly. After almost two hours of serious reflecting, he came to several conclusions. Firstly, it was thanks to her knowledge which allowed him to confirm Ariel's status, so he owed her in a sense. Simply the fact that it was her case first meant she had a right to know. He also knew how important that case was for her, so he could not just let the knowledge sit. It would certainly make himself look bad in front of her if he did. But at the same time, he couldn't tell her about everything that happened. Nearly half of it sounded too far-fetched to be believable, anyway, and he had no physical proof if she did believe him. Plus, he didn't have many answers to begin with, making a tell-all confession too early to consider. In the end, he had to let Vanny know that he himself had begun doing some investigating on his end.

Which brought him to where he was now: reentering the office of his lawful acquaintance.

"I must say, these frequent visits are becoming a habit," she jested as he took a seat once more. "Not that I mind. That being said, the reason for them must be either something happened with you recently, or this time is a more serious matter. And, judging from the grim look on your face, I'm guessing it's the latter."

"You're actually not far off," he said frankly, "on both counts."

"Well then, let's hear it," Vanny called, her interest piqued by his answer. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. It will not leave this room."

His palms turned sweaty as he sat in his chair. "… What if I told you that I may have found something concerning Ariel Mahi's whereabouts?"

The question caught Vanny off-guard, and she looked sharply at him. Unlike her breathing, her green-eyed gaze did not waver in the slightest. "That better not be a joke," she said sternly.

"I would never," he said immediately, raising both hands to his side and over his heart, pledging his honesty. "And especially not after what you told me before. Since then, I couldn't help but note a few things in the nightclub that seemed… odd, to say the least. After some inspecting, I learned a few things concerning Ms. Mahi that I couldn't ignore nor keep from you."

Vanny stayed where she was, her gaze still focused on Michael. Although her stance appeared fixed, he saw her hands clenching and unclenching a bit. Knowing this was a reflex habit of hers out of stress or excitement, he felt like she was fighting an internal battle within herself. Perhaps she was conflicted on hearing him out over what she felt was a personal issue, or struggling to restrain her hopes in case nothing came from his information. Either way, she was clearly taking the matter seriously, reminding Michael how much of an impact that case had on the officer. After a while, her face lost its sternness in favor of hopefulness and wariness.

"… What did you find?" she asked at last.

"Just bits and pieces for now—nothing definite," he summarized. "But I did learn that one of her last contacts was with my boss, Mr. Afton… and she wasn't the only one who disappeared after that."

BAM!

Vanny thrusted an open hand palm down onto the desk, startling Michael. "I knew he lied to me!" she blurted, and began muttering something inaudibly, making her reaction a bit more graceless.

"So… you were looking into him?" he asked awkwardly, remembering their last meeting.

…

Vanny stared and blinked, her self-awareness having returned. Then realizing what she said, she slapped her forehead and cursed herself for letting her thoughts run from her a second time. "Aw, dammit—bad habit of mine. …Alright, tell me this much if you can: do you know who else was with Ms. Mahi when she disappeared?"

"…I can't say, not yet," he replied honestly. The images of the three other animatronic females had appeared in his head when Vanny asked who else, but he couldn't voice that to his officer friend. After all, 'who' referred more to actual names than physical states. However, there was one kind of state that he hoped would help gain her confidence in him. "But I did hear there were three of them, and they were all girls."

That must have been a bone she wanted thrown at her, as she sighed in a verifying tone. Leaning back in her chair, she pinched the bridge of her nose. "That sounds about right," she muttered.

Despite his success, something bothered him. Although her first case focused on the whereabouts of the Indian girl, it didn't make sense for the detective to suddenly ask about similar cases besides the main victim. "I thought your missing person in that case was Ariel Mahi," Michael noted, voicing his concern.

"She is," Vanny corrected. "Well, unofficially they all are, because they share one thing in common: having met with your boss just prior to being reported missing."

Recalling what she said in their previous meeting, regarding the last known whereabouts of Ms. Mahi, Michael knew exactly who she was referring to. It certainly was no coincidence that Ariel had met with him before vanishing into thin air, let alone three other girls. "If that's the case," Michael said, following along, "does that mean Mr. Afton was a suspect in Ms. Mahi's departure?"

Vanny pursed her lips before she answered that. Whether that part of the case was strictly off-limits or she learned to silence her habit, the officer showed she was not going to tell all that easily. "How come you're looking into it? Maybe the better question is, why are you so interested in this?" she asked closely.

"Like I said, I found things surrounding the club that felt off. I didn't exactly say to you before, but some of them kept me from sleeping for a while last week—they were that bad. Combined with everything I heard about the club since being hired there, I really don't think this is something to be ignored." Knowing his words weren't going anywhere fast, he took a minute to collect himself, and started anew. "Based on everything I discovered—facts and theories alike—I feel something really horrible happened in that building, and Mr. Afton is in the center of it. If it's true, then I don't want to keep working with such a person as my superior."

"Even if it costs you the only job keeping your life afloat right now?"

"…Yes. I believe it's that bad."

"And you're telling me this because of what was talked about last week, or is it more personal?"

"…Maybe a bit of both. I don't know. But I'd like to think that this is something of a personal mission that feels right." Feeling like he was being tested, he added in an empathy card. "I mean, I have the bad stroke of luck of losing my parents without explanation—but that pales in comparison to the cases I read about in the file you gave me. Like Ms. Mahi's case, they chilled for much longer than mine, so I can't imagine how agonizing it must be for those families to wait for any development. That said, it doesn't feel right to keep her family in the dark any longer than necessary if I have something that can help. If it leads to Ms. Mahi's receiving some closure, then great; and if not… no one's worse off."

Vanny's narrowed face softened. "Sounds just like your mother," she sighed, before regaining some of her professional composure. "It also sounds like you want to play whistleblower."

Michael shrugged. "If I have a means to take action, then it's my responsibility to take action. So, yeah, I guess."

"Mmh." Vanny hummed in deep thought for several minutes. When she spoke at last, her voice was one of acceptance. "Alright, I'm convinced," she said, "and since you threw me a bone, I'll return the gesture. Yes, Mr. Afton was indeed a suspect in Ms. Mahi's disappearance—the primary suspect, actually. Based on her friends' testimonies and matching text messaging, Ms. Mahi's last stop was the nightclub run by Mr. William Afton. I was already familiar with his name; he came up on a list known for suspected embezzlement and laundering, but she was my subject-of-interest. When I interrogated him, he said Ms. Mahi sought him out because of an open singing audition at his club, in order to expand her resumé; but she couldn't quite make the cut, so she left afterward." She breathed a sigh in order to continue. "Call it a gut feeling, but I felt at the time like he knew more than he let on. After a bit more digging, I learned that Ms. Mahi had been approached by Afton, not the other way around. It was a contradiction I couldn't ignore, so I conducted a search warrant of his place as well as his club. We looked all over those man-caves, but found no clues of Ms. Mahi—not one single clue. Being empty-handed, I had no choice but to search elsewhere, reluctantly. Still, he insisted the whole time that he never saw my girl after her audition." Vanny crossed her arms as her face slightly scrunched. "But I did get him the second time: during the search warrant, he let slip that my girl wasn't the only person to have auditioned for his club. It was afterwards that I found at least two other acquaintances of Ms. Mahi that had been reported missing. Perhaps I should've pressed a bit more then, and I would've found another reason to keep him on my radar; but then again, he could've just as likely mentioned it to throw me off-track into more dead-ends. My main focus was Ms. Mahi, after all. In the end, despite those honeyed words he let loose, I always felt she was just the tip of the iceberg."

"Apparently she was," Michael surmised. "Doesn't that put him back on your suspect list?"

Vanny huffed. "That it does—not that I can do anything. As an officer of the law, I need a solid reason to interview any suspect in a case, cold or otherwise. And I already did that, twice. I cannot approach him again just based on, if you'll pardon my frankness, the say-so of a snitch."

"Pardon given. Well, what about any of his employees—didn't you interview them at least?"

"As much as I wanted to," she elucidated, shaking her head, "there was a snag. You see, Afton had claimed during our business search that his employees signed a non-disclosure agreement, so they were bound from speaking even after being let go. He even produced said agreements to prove it. This alone was enough to deny us that option. In addition, we found that Afton has been relieving more and more of his staff since the search. Until recently, there's been barely anyone else working there besides him; frankly, I was surprised he actually hired someone at all, let alone you. But I digress: for every staff member that got the boot, the person would vanish entirely, and searching for them just to talk proved to be more hassle than it was worth. Nor would it have mattered if we found them first, as Afton also claimed that the agreement was binding even after the boot had swung." She paused as a thought struck her. "There was one guy, though, who tried anyway. Like you, he was also a night guard."

A sneaking suspicion wormed into Michael's mind. Testing his theory, he asked about the person in question. "Was he the guy whom Mr. Afton fired and sued for tampering with his property?"

Vanny raised an eyebrow. "Indeed, he was. How do you know that?"

"Another bit of info I found," he said quickly. "Anyway, what about him?"

"He was also bound by his confidentiality agreement at the time. Despite that, he claimed that what he had circumvented that, and could be used against his boss. Even so, it was a legal can of worms I wasn't keen on opening—not without cause."

"Can't I just ask him, then? There wouldn't be any confidentiality being broken between a former and current worker of the same establishment and its manager." As a direct means of getting answers to help Ariel and the others, the ray of hope shone in Michael's thoughts—only to be dimmed by the officer's dismal expression.

"You could," Vanessa said, "but I doubt he'll talk back—at all. A week after his termination, his neighbors found him dead in his apartment. We ruled his death as an accidental shooting, as there had been a scuffle between gangs in the area that same day, and his windows showed breakage consistent with bullet impacts. With that in consideration, he could have been an unintended victim."

"You mean he was shot?"

The detective nodded in confirmation. As he sat in his chair, his mind pieced together a big chuck of mystery that surrounded the nightclub—and the results made him feel uneasy. It was bad enough that Mr. Afton was involved with four missing young women; it was no coincidence, either, that the only potential witness was fired and sued by him, and then died shortly after—all just before discovering a means of freeing the same girls. No one is that unlucky. …Well, I guess I'm a close second. Then a thought struck him. "Vanny, you say this guy 'could have' been a victim. Does that mean there's doubt about what happened, or do you believe there was another motive?"

Her green eyes blinked. "Personally, I think he was onto something—that is, he was looking for something big. He even met with me once to make an appointment regarding such information, and that was between his job and life retirement. Only, he didn't say what it was exactly, nor did he get the chance to tell all."

"As in, he died before he could tell all," Michael commented. "That sounds suspicious to me."

Vanessa nodded. "That makes two of us. The problem was, no other evidence was found at the scene to prove foul play."

The moment he heard the word "evidence", he thought back on what his predecessor claimed to have left behind in the club. This tracked with everything he learned now. While employed, his predecessor had found something regarding the girls, but was legally prohibited from telling anyone outside; hence, he left messages for anyone who would come in his place. However, he was eventually found out, and fired; and he was further entrapped from talking by a lawsuit filed by his own employer. Whether or not there was any authenticity to the claim, Michael's preceding watchman wouldn't back down and cast another lifeline towards Vanny, who had also looked into the club. Sadly, that line was cut—along with his actual life—via a bullet. Despite the barrages, the guy did manage to leave physical evidence within the club; only Vanny didn't find it since she had no idea what the evidence actually was.

Maybe Vanny and the other cops weren't looking in the right place, he pondered. Otherwise, it would've been too easy for them, or even Afton, if the guy used an obvious hiding spot. Hopefully, I'll have better luck when I get back tonight and continue my search.

"You know," Michael said slowly, "if it helps at all, I might know where he hid his evidence."

His comment got Vanny's attention immediately. "You do? Where do you think?"

"Somewhere Mr. Afton would overlook," Michael said slowly as a realization dawned on him, "and, based on guesswork and your testament, I think I know why you couldn't find whatever it was. The real reason."

The detective looked at him with a curious eye. "Why?"

Resigning his seat to leave, he responded with a hopeful tone. "Because he meant for his successor to find it."

000

Michael checked the clock hanging in the security room.

It had been at least nine hours since his discussion with Vanny when he returned to the nightclub. He already had another meeting with Frenni, and was currently preparing for his patrol runs again. Compared to last time, he was feeling optimistic about tonight; both he and Frenni made considerably more progress when they conversed, and they shared the excitement. This time, she managed to recall a large part of her memory regarding her friends, namely how they met at an anime convention just before attending her first year in the university. The added bonus was now he could inquire more about her personal self and interests, which meant an equal trade between them. Secretly, he wanted to ask more about herself, but had to refrain himself due to needing enough time to continue his search upstairs. In addition, there was the likelihood of Chica holding her promise of making another pizza for him. When he mentioned this to Frenni, she thought for a moment before a knowing smirk showed on her flawless face. Even upon leaving Michael to his devices, her expression remained in a positive light.

With that, Michael checked everything in the room. There was another note on his desk, written by his boss's hand. This time, its list had only one chore, which given its content could be done at any time. That could wait till after he was done with his mission. Another double-checking on the time ensured he had more than enough time to do his rounds upstairs for three of the VIP rooms.

His preparation was interrupted by a single, dull crash, followed by a feminine cry.

Abandoning his post in haste, Michael exited one of the security room's hallways, and scanned the scene before him. Nothing appeared out of place, save for one of the neon-light signs on a far wall flickering. Scanning around, he heard a slight commotion coming from the kitchen. As he headed in that direction, his ears confirmed the source of the sounds. Although the doors were nearly closed, the small gap between them was enough to spot a brief blur of yellow. The moment he got close enough to the doors, he could hear more scampering around from the other side. To his ears, whatever the yellow-skinned girl was doing in there was frantic. Not wanting to add to the frenzy, he lightly tapped a finger knuckle to the doors.

"Chica? Is everything alright?" Michael called.

"I'm fine," her voice calls back quickly. "Do not worry about me!"

Her anxious reply was enough to send an alarm to Michael's brain. It was not just because it was out of the ordinary for Chica to act like this; he considered it human nature to worry when someone says not to, especially when the situation is kept unknown from the other party. "Do you need help?" he asked, slightly testing her honesty.

"N—" She paused, unable to finish her answer. Whether out of genuine shame or digitally unable to lie, Michael was unsure. He was, however, sure of her whispering a "yes" after a minute.

With a gentle push, he opened the doors. At first glance, everything seemed the same as he first observed when Chica gave him the tour. Then his nose was tickled by the essence of tomato sauce, and trailed the smell to the island area. Sure enough, there was a considerable mess on the island's metal surface and surrounding floor; judging from the glass shards and a misplaced lid, a jar of tomato sauce had fallen and spattered its reddish contents everywhere. There were some smears along the floor as if someone was slipping on the pulp. Looking up, he saw the kitchen's other occupant shifting uncomfortably, her skin likewise spattered with red. The white tank top Chica was wearing, strained as it was against her bust, was also dotted with the sauce. Her hands occupied a now-soiled rag and some paper towels, but it appeared her attempt at cleaning the mess was resulting in extending it onto herself.

"I'm sorry. I… I can be really clumsy..." she says dejectedly.

"What happened?" he asked with concern.

"I thought I would make another pizza for you again, since you enjoyed it last night," she admitted, "but then… I can't explain it. I felt like my actions became too energized, and glitched." She looked at her hands, their red coating contrasting with her yellow skin, and looked about to cry. "The jar of tomato sauce… it just slipped from my hands…why did it happen? ..."

Pity welled up in Michael as he beheld the sweet girl in front of him. Normally, his response would have been to lighten the mood with a joke, but he cast that aside in this instance; knowing how she was, he couldn't bring himself to wave it off with a chuckle. To do so would make her think the situation was funny, which would hurt her more. All he could do, then, was to comfort her by refuting her claim.

"You're not clumsy," he said, taking one of her paper towels and wiping the droplets that reached her face. "You just got overexcited and made a mistake. It happens to everyone—there's no shame in it."

She sighed, and stared up at him proper. "I know, but I'm an animatronic. I'm not meant to make simple mistakes like this. It hasn't happened before, not since…" Her eyes instantly flash red, and she is forced to drop the train of thought. With her humiliation hanging like that without explanation, Michael tried to bring it down a notch while cleaning her face.

"Mistakes happen to anyone," he repeated, "even to those that seem perfect. It's okay to feel embarrassed about them. But what helps lessen the embarrassment—" He sets the used paper towel aside and tears off a new one from the roll to show her. "—is to move on, learn from the experience, and begin anew. That way, you won't need to worry about make the same mistake twice. Now what do you say we get you cleaned up? I can handle the rest in here."

Chica smiled thankfully and gave a cute nod. Her eyes drifted downward as she placed a hand over his that rested on the counter. "May I tell you something?" she asked timidly.

"Of course," he replied.

For a minute, her sclera slowly shift color, but they don't fully transition to red. From his perspective, she appeared to be fighting off something, or was being prevented from speaking her true thoughts. But then, with blue sclera again, she did.

"I am… grateful that you're not like other men who come here. Many of them think of us as objects of pleasure; they refer to us with stereotype names like 'dommy-mommy', 'tomboy' or 'slut-bunny'. They describe me as the 'ditzy blonde bimbo'. Maybe I do fit the image… but you don't judge me like that… it makes me glad you're here to see us, and accept us as ourselves."

Satisfied by her words, Michael wasted no time moving his hand to pat her on the head. "To be honest, Chica," he said, "there is one image you do fit perfectly." He paused to allow her curiosity take hold before satisfying it. "You're a sweet little bird."

She blinked upon hearing the nickname, her teardrop face colored with a shy blush.

A slight squeak echoed in the room, ending the moment. Michael and Chica turned in surprise in the sound's direction, only to find someone about to sneak in. The bandaged form of Foxxy noticed their awareness, and partially released her creeping stance. Her annoyance turned into suspicion as she realized the mess surrounding her compatriot, and her eye creased sharply.

"What did you do to her?" she asked dangerously toward Michael.

"Nothing!" Michael blurted, frightened by Foxxy's irate tone, and raising his hands in innocence. "This already happened when I got here—I was about to help her clean up!" His relief came when Chica backed him up by nodding in affirmation, and the fox-eared woman fully relaxed after considering the two figures. The reprieve did not last long as the night guard then became aware of the ponytailed woman's presence. "Wait a minute—what are you doing in here?" he asked.

"I heard something breaking in 'ere," she said bluntly. "Came to explore."

"That doesn't explain your sneaking in here," he countered. "…Unless you thought of ambushing me again."

Foxxy said nothing, though her eye did twitch a bit at the accusation. At that point, she no longer felt the need to be there. Sighing, she turned back to the kitchen doors to leave. Upon opening a door with a hand, the red woman stopped and turned her head slightly to the room's original occupants. "You best be careful next time," she grunted.

Chica regained her composure and held her hands down. "I will, Foxxy," she acknowledged.

Foxxy snorted. "That warning was not for you, little bird," she corrected in a softer tone. With her long ponytail whipping behind as she turned, she left the doorway as quickly as she arrived.

Now alone again, Michael and Chica commenced the clean-up duty. Together, they carefully collected the shards of glass of the tomato sauce's former container. Once they were gathered and thrown out, Michael escorted Chica to the animatronics room, and helped wipe off any remaining sauce on her skin. This took longer than expected, as it meant he had to get really close to her, but his focus on her well-being helped him finish the job. Thankfully, he was not the only one affected by the proximity; Chica's cheeks were flushed bright red whenever the cloths in his hands glided over her skin. By the time she was sanitized, both had red faces, and Michael prepared to let her change out of her soiled clothes while he washed the kitchen mess. As he left the room, though, his head turned for a split second. His eyes caught a glimpse of her removing her signature bib over her head, exposing her slim bare back and obvious side-boobs.

Michael quickened his pace to avoid seeing any more.

Retrieving a mop and empty bucket from the supply room, Michael returned to the kitchen. Using its sinks and soap dispensers in conjunction, he proceeded to clean the majority of the mess. With most of the red splotches gone, he set about with the paper towels to soak the water residue from the floor, as well as any remaining spots on the surrounding appliances. Soon enough, everything appeared spotless again, and he finalized the extra chore by tossing the pile of used paper towels from the sink into the trash. The trash was full by then, and he tied and lifted the bag out of the bin to carry to the disposal chute.

Ironically, that was the sole job he was asked to do anyway.

000

He entered the fourth VIP room upstairs, on cue with the time he made for himself.

Despite the setback in the kitchen, he was still able to finish the second room from last night, and then complete a third tonight. So far, there were no other mishaps, and Michael was able to keep his focus on the task. An added advantage was that these rooms were almost identical in terms of layout and furniture. That level of planning seemed cheap in his mind, but at least the furniture's accessibility was rather uniform.

As he rummaged around the room's couch's inside, he thought back on something Chica had said. She had mentioned the guys used stereotypical fashions to describe them. They rarely even referred to the girls by name. For the sort of adoration all the regulars and patrons gave them, it made sense they would treat them differently if the girls were actually human. No, scratch that—even then, they would be seen in only one light, and the revealed personae would still be fake. It gave him another reminder of how the male populace treated them as mere sex objects. Instead, they described them as such, and thus referred to derogatory words and titles. Even though the club prohibited close contact and/or abuse from happening, there were no such limitations for verbal abuse. The situation sickened him in a deep level. Even if they're not technically living, the girls deserve better—a pet dog gets better treatment than them, for crying out loud.

POKE!

A sudden hardness pressed against one of his fingers. The feel of it was plastic—apart from the foam, wood, and metal he felt before. Grasping the object, he carefully removed it from the sofa frame. It was an enlarged flash drive with a white case, but there were smeared words written on it, reading 'get better soon'. His confusion was replaced by revelation as he recalled the words of his predecessor on one of the recorded messages, that what he left behind would "certainly help the girls get better". Elation rushed into him as he beheld what he was looking for, yet refrained from celebrating. This was not the time or place to do so—that was better done elsewhere, so he could study the device's contents in peace and confidence.

Pocketing the flash drive, Michael went on with his examination like nothing happened.

After a while, his shift came close to ending. As usual, he signed out of his post in the security room's monitors, and started to walk out. However, he decided to check out of due diligence to ensure the girls were safe and secure. Sure enough, he found the three of them in the recharge pods within the animatronics room. A knowing smile grew on his face as he beheld them in that moment, for two reasons: Chica was dozing in her pod wearing a fresh outfit and a deep smile; and Frenni, upon blinking an eye open, noticed his presence and made a gentle wave within hers. Returning the motion, Michael left the doorway and headed to the back entryway.

Reaching his truck, he flung his pack onto the passenger seat with a heave. Before leaving, he pulled out the flash drive from his pocket and observed it carefully. It didn't appear damaged, but it certainly looked a bit old. Fortunately, its USB port would make it compatible with any technical device that also had one. With that thought, he placed it in the seat with his pack as carefully as a broken China dish awaiting restoration.

With his mission accomplished, he set off for home… with the new task of fitting all the new jigsaw pieces together.

---

Day 4

The long tunnel twisted and turned as he crawled through its extent. One hand after the next, panting hard, and moving fast—just like before. His instinct for survival kept him going away from whatever was chasing him within the cramped shaft. He had no intention of getting caught—not when he was so close to escape. A dim light soon revealed itself at the end, and his bleary eyes recognized it. Unlike before, there were no bars blocking the way—only empty space. Hissing through clenched teeth, a wave of optimism surged him forward into the space. Keep going, keep going, nearly there. When he reached the end, he felt his lungs gasp in relief. Pulling himself out, he felt a strange touch on his leg, and impulsively kicked back. Immediately the sensation left, and he felt his body lifting itself out of the tunnel. Resting his hands on his knees, he dared to look up at his new surroundings. That newfound optimism he had rushed out of him—a wide silvery box was his new occupancy. Just like the tunnel he was in, but bigger.

And hotter. He could feel an odd heat permeating his body, and steadily growing. Lifting a hand to wipe a sweat, he saw his hand stained red once more. Only, it was not the only body part affected—his leg was likewise stained, and devoid of clothing. The sight of his state, along with the sudden sensation of being cooked alive, left him immobilized. Though he could not bring himself to move, his eyes detected movement to his right…

… and found a figure hidden in the darkness, with the same pair of sickly purple eyes. No sooner than he recognized the figure, it careened towards him with both clawed arms outstretched to grab him once more—

That was the dream he had after returning from the nightclub.

When he stepped into his apartment, Michael felt worn out. After everything that happened during his shift last night, his physical and mental states demanded some reprieve. With the freedom to grant their wishes, he set his belongings in his bedroom and cleaned himself up within the bathroom, before returning to crash on his bed. It didn't take long for his eyes to drop shut—nor as long for them to open wide in alarm. After a moment of easing himself from the cerebral dread, he showered himself to hopefully wash it away. As he dried himself off, Michael grasped something about the dream he had.

Although it was quite different from his previous one, there were definitely similarities between them. The beginning was practically the same, except for those bars being missing; and the dark figure with those creep eyes was there in the end, too. Even his hand covered in blood made its appearance in both instances. These balances between visions were no coincidence in any way—normal dreams didn't work that way. They had to be connected, assuming they weren't normal dreams. If that was the case, then his brain was sending another of those subconscious messages. Only this time, he found connections. It was enough for him to reach an odd conclusion: that the second dream was not its own reverie, but a continuation of the first. The bars which kept him from moving forward in the first was a boundary to the second, only something happened in the time between the hallucinations which made the boundary vanish. So, what changed?

Michael had an idea to answer his inquiry—and he hoped that he was right.

After dressing himself in relaxing clothes, he made himself a simple breakfast of cereal, a banana, and hot cocoa. Once his belly was satisfied with sustenance, he retrieved his pack from his bedroom and placed a certain object next to his laptop. As he observed before, the USB port for the white hard drive would be compatible with his newer laptop, provided the connection could be made. To his credit, he owned such a spare cord from when he first purchased his laptop, which was placed between the devices. With the basic elements assembled before him, he found himself staring in anticipation. Fathoming the fact that staring wasn't going to get him anywhere, he let out a snort in scolding.

Clearing his throat with a clear mind and rested body, he set to work.

Plugging the cord between the laptop and the flash drive, Michael waited as the former device recognized to open the latter. As a second minute passed, the prospect of the flash drive's contents being corrupted or damaged created an uneasy feeling in him. Luckily, the thought was swept away as the laptop window featured several clean files from the device. According to the storage use, these files were huge—probably more than just written reports or pictures. One such file was labeled as "Project Enard", and it was way larger than the rest combined. Michael found it quite perplexing. He didn't recognize the word, but whatever it was must have been important enough to take up so much space in the flash drive. It was labeled as a project, after all. On the other hand, his predecessor was willing to leave it for a total stranger like him.

What is this project? Michael wondered. And what does it have to do with the club?

Ignoring the project file for the moment, his eyes trailed to the others. A quartet of file folders were saved next to a video recording. Each of them had a different title, with what seemed like abbreviations: S.O., J.G., C.O., and A.M. Curiosity overtaking him, he selected the first one and enlarged it. The file turned out to be a digital copy of a Missing Persons report, with numerous photos ranging from neighborhood walkways to public get-together places. Yet the most prominent picture was the person which the report was based—much to Michael's astonishment.

It was Chica—or someone who resembled her.

The girl wore a college uniform, but with a similar hairstyle and face as the yellow-skinned waitress he knew. However, her hair color in the picture was more brunette to complement her sun-kissed skin. She wasn't nearly as curvaceous as Chica, either, but the posture was close enough. The report read as followed:

MISSING

Name: Sophia Olvera

DOB: XX/XX/XXXX

Race: Mexican-American

Occupation: Cheerleader, Student at State University (major at Business Law)

Disappearance: XX/XX/XXXX, near home residence

Interests: Partying with friends, cooking, and volunteer work

If you have any information regarding her whereabouts, please call (XXX) XXX-XXXX

There were other additional notes typed in with the report. One of those notes spoke of her medical records, saying she suffered from sporadic/idiopathic ataxia, a condition of early-set Friedreich's ataxia. Sadly, it also listed this rare disease to be incurable, regardless of what age it developed. It sounded familiar to Michael, as he remembered the motor-function episodes Ariel mentioned having. Staring back at the main photograph, his eyes scrutinized the young woman, and then her given name. Recognizing the file being named by the missing girl's abbreviations, his gaze turned to the last file titled as A.M. A hunch grew in his mind and, following it, opened the last file. Its contents confirmed his intuition:

MISSING

Name: Ariel Mahi

DOB: XX/XX/XXXX

Race: Indian-Filipino

Occupation: Student at State University (major at Music, Acting and Performing Arts)

Disappearance: XX/XX/XXXX, near dormitories

Interests: Singing, dancing, online media, and traveling with friends

If you have any information regarding her whereabouts, please call (XXX) XXX-XXXX

These reports must be of the girls which are now the animatronics at the nightclub, he realized, and these report titles are their name abbreviations. Which just leaves…

He eyed the video closely before clicking on it. A large window popped up to reveal an elder man well into his late sixties or early seventies. The only light source in the screen was on the man, but Michael could see that the background was of a decrepit apartment full of written posters and pinned diagrams and indecipherable equations. It reminded Michael of an old science lab. After adjusting his glasses, the recorded man introduced himself in a thick French accent.

"To anyone whom has discovered this video message, greetings. My name is Dr. Henri Emile, and I am an overseas colleague of one Dr. William Afton." He paused to quickly glance at something behind him before returning to the screen. "Forgive me, but I must make this quick, for I don't know how much time I've left. Know this: Dr. William Afton is not a man he claims to be. He came to me with a proposal involving artificial intelligence. As a man of the field, my interest turned to enthrallment after hearing his ideas, and together we created Project Enard: a venture to revolutionize AI as the world knew it. I have downloaded everything we researched and accomplished, along with my journal entries and recorded conversations with my associate. I even recovered what he used to complete his side of the project. You will find what you need to impeach him… and I say that, because… of what it all cost."

A sense of dread overcame Michael at what he was about to hear, even though it would be what he expected. The elder doctor continued:

"Before I go any further, I must stress this: I had no idea what Afton planned to do to make this project work. He told me of a way he found to replicate brain waves to make Project Enard a success. But he… I never thought—no, I never imagined that he would do such horrendous things… and for the reasons he had…" At that point, the doctor's eyes were becoming wet with unshed tears, but his pupils shook slightly as if having witnessed a horrific scene. "It's possible that by the time you see this, I am long gone. Whether by Afton's hand or a hired hand, I am unsure, but I await that moment nonetheless. I deserve it; had I pressed further, I would've confirmed what I suspected long ago, and shut it all down myself. And yet, I let my eyes be clouded by the thrill of discovery, of revolution. I should've stopped him when this went too far… but it was too late. …Lord have mercy on those souls…"

The man finally let his tears loose, and he wept without restraint. After a few minutes, he regained his composure. Although his glasses had become spotty from his tears, his eyes now bore a fierce determination.

"Again, you will find what you need to liberate his victims… and imprison their destroyer. Use it wisely, and beware—that man is more cunning than you can imagine. He will stop at nothing to complete his work. …Farewell, and good luck."

Then, by reaching something under the screen, the old man ended the video clip.

"…"

Michael was left speechless. It was not so much the content in the hard drive which caused his state, but his own naiveté. Up until now, his focus had been only city-wide in terms of finding a couple of missing people. Hearing about the ultimate fate of the previous nightguard from Detective Vanny was a shock in itself. But the video he watched proved just how narrow his sights had been. Not only did Mr. Afton have a partner from overseas, but that person was also connected to the girls. And if what that person spoke of in the video was true, then it was likely he was dead by now, too. His death alone technically turned a missing persons case into an international incident. Including the casualties of the girls and the nightguard, Michael began smelling a conspiracy of such proportions—with Afton in the center of it all.

Vanny was right, he thought. Ariel was just the tip of the iceberg. But how far exactly does it go? And will I be able to gauge its scope and live to talk about it, without drowning first?

Clicking the video screen out, he observed the other files stored in the hard drive. Knowing he got this far, the young man was not about to chicken out now. Steeling himself, he dove into the digital files to learn all he could.

000

Michael sat unnaturally still in the security room that night, deep in thought.

Not long ago, he and Frenni underwent their regular memory recovery attempts—or tried to, at least. It was more on Michael's part; his thoughts kept getting distracted by everything he learned earlier. Frenni noticed this, too, and she had to occasionally snap him out of it. After several apologies, Michael thought it better to delay their session for the night, due to some revelations relating to her condition. While initially startled by his reason, Frenni wanted to urge that line of discussion, yet all he could say was he was "working on it". In the end, the browned diva had no choice but to trust him. Thus, they called off their meeting early so Michael could get his thoughts together again. The process was slow-going, as he had to keep reviewing a general summary of the hard drive's video content.

In the past, both Mr. Afton and a Dr. Emile were working on something technologically big, and Ariel and her company ended up being unwittingly connected. Only, the foreign doctor was also kept in the dark to a degree, as his responses in regards to his partner's handiwork were very genuine. Perhaps he had recently found out his partner's ulterior motives, and was utterly horrified to the point of trying to stop him himself. That would explain why Dr. Emile compiled the hard drive, because the damage had already been done by that point. And however it happened, the hard drive found itself in possession of the previous nightguard, who tried to fulfill the French doctor's wishes… and failed.

So, it was left behind in a way only the succeeding operative in the club would discover and explore.

Based on this summarized review, there were several details which surprised the current nightguard. It was the first time Michael heard of Mr. Afton having any kind of partner. He doubted Vanny knew of it; otherwise, her case would have been taken from her to a higher level. Stranger still, he found it odd that his boss was referred to as a doctor—there was no sign he saw that indicated Mr. Afton had a medical degree, or some knowledge in the field. Whether or not it was true, it certainly allowed him to earn the first level of trust from the girls when he approached them. That being said, Michael was certain about one thing: even if their conditions were bad, the four young ladies would not have agreed to their current selves had Mr. Afton told them about what he intended. Why would he do it, then? What did he think to accomplish?

It was not until someone tapped his shoulder that his trance was broken.

Shocked by the sudden sensation, his body jumped harshly before swiveling around. His eyes darted in quick succession until they focused on the direction of the touch. It was only Chica, who had retracted her arm in surprise to his reaction. Fighting off the urge to punch the empty air, Michael unclenched his hands and relaxed his breathing. "Oh, it's just you," he said while taking in a breath. "Sorry about that."

"My own apologies," Chica said. "I didn't mean to startle you. Did I distract you from something?"

"N-No, not really," he half-lied. "Just finding myself a little bored, that's all."

"If that is so, then may I accompany you here?" she asked welcomingly.

Letting out a long soft sigh, he gestured to the empty club chair Frenni left behind. "Sure." With that, the buxom babe sat down with him. With her presence, Michael found the effort to clear his mind and refocus on the camera monitors, par his official duty. Not much was said between the two, but they simply enjoyed each other's company in contented silence. The harmony lasted for an hour, while Michael was observing Bonni twirling lazily on one of the main stage's performance poles, before it was broken.

A small rumble caused Michael to look down at his abdomen. While rubbing the area, he caught a glimpse of his company. Unlike before, Chica said nothing nor made a move elsewhere; but given her face had a tinge of humiliation, he figured she heard his stomach as well. Given yesterday's incident, he did not dare ask her for something, lest he put her through more embarrassment. His eyes lit up for a moment, and he rummaged for something under the desk for a second. Pulling out the small thermal lunch bag, Michael unloaded its contents. Within a minute, there was a diagonally-cut sandwich of sliced ham, lettuce, avocado slices, and mayonnaise, along with a snack bag of baby carrots complemented with a pack of ranch dressing laid before him. Combined with his iced water bottle, it was a filling snack while on the job. Now I can save us both the discomfort, he thought to himself.

He was about to take a bite of one of the sandwich halves when he felt Chica's eyes on him. Staring up while holding his sandwich, he saw Chica had a curious look towards his food item. She then pointed to it with a slender finger.

"Um, Mikey, what is that?" she asked.

Michael stared at her for a second, then at his hand. "It's called a sandwich," he said, unsure how to interpret her query.

"And the greens in it?" she pursued.

"Lettuce, and avocado," he replied. His attention focused on her awe towards his snack for a moment. "Uh, Chica, have you never seen this kind of food?"

The gold-haired girl shook her head. "I am familiar with cooking certain dishes, but they are all related to the usual menu options served in the nightclub. None of them have the kind of ingredients you're holding."

Thinking back, Michael did notice what Chica was talking about. Every time he was tasked with after-hour cleanup, or whenever he ordered a dish here, the most common food item he found was pizza, or some sort of fast food. Even the plate remnants in the VIP rooms were only slightly different from the norm. It would make sense that this animatronic android would not immediately recognize more healthy food choices. Things like a homemade sandwich and uncooked baby carrots were pretty much alien to her. Pity welled up in him as he grasped how little this girl knew of the outside world and its offerings. Then again, this could be the animatronic girl speaking, not the real girl within.

"It would be nice to make something different for a change," Chica sighed, strangely a bit out of character.

While hearing this, he remembered the digital Missing Persons report about the girl Sophia Olvera, and her resemblance to the one beside him. As he recalled reading, one of Sophia's interests was cooking—something in common with Chica. The more he thought about it, the more he imagined the images of Chica and Sophia overlapping each other as one being, along with their interests. This likeness comparison seemed to trigger something in his brain, as an elaborate idea slowly but surely developed in his head, the impending reward of which would be enormous. Taking a big gamble, he proceeded to experiment with it.

"Well then, what sorts of ingredients are stored here?" he asked, pretending naivete.

Chica's eyes shone brightly. "I can show you—they're kept in the fridge and freezer in the kitchen," she said.

Standing up, she took his hand to escort him out of the security room. Foregoing his meal onto his napkin, he let her lead him to the kitchen. Once they arrived, she allowed him to open and see the fridge and freezer's contents. As he thought, most of the contents were fast food and/or pasta-related; various discs of pizza crusts and boxes of dehydrated dough, sausage shafts, cheese blocks and powdered cheese, bacon slabs, and bags of French fries were just a few items preserved. There were a few vegetable toppings, like onions, peppers, and mushrooms, but these were already processed, bagged, and frozen—nothing fresh. Even asking about room-temperature food ingredients, he learned that the common ones consisted of jarred tomato sauce and olives, ketchup and mustard, and vegetable oil. Aside from the number of seasonings he found on one shelf, there wasn't much variety. There certainly wasn't anything greener or organic; but then, he didn't really expect that. The customers' attention would be elsewhere, so there would be no point in putting much effort in fancy meals.

As Michael extended his observations along the cupboards, he discovered several cookie and cupcake sheets. He judged from the thin film of dust that they hadn't been used in a while. "When you mentioned wanting to make something different," he asked while staring at the cooking sheets, "did you mean there were other foods that are no longer served?"

"We used to make special treats for very special occasions," Chica answered. "However, to have so many serving dishes at once was deemed too expensive, so Mr. Afton cut them from the menu. …They were fun to make."

Discerning her tone just then, Michael turned to see Chica looking rather down. "What kinds of treats did you make?"

"They were baking dishes, mostly. Cookies, brownies, and cupcakes—the last one was my specialty. It was interesting to watch the dough rise into such fluffy shapes while in the oven."

For some reason, imagining her with a plate full of cupcakes just fitted her in Michael's mind. Both were sweet, soft, and adorable which you couldn't refuse. Watching her reminisce like this was too much to refuse her as well. "Tell you what: I've been meaning to make a grocery run for my apartment this week," he explained, "so I can bring a few for you to use, if you want."

His offer made Chica's eyes really shine. "Really?"

Michael scratched his cheek sheepishly. "Sure. I'll even include fresh produce so I can teach you how they're prepared."

The golden-haired girl did a little bouncing jig with her heels in joy. "That would be wonderful! …Oh, I forgot—I took you away from your own fresh produce meal. I'll let you get back to replenishing yourself!" Without asking, she took his hand again and escorted him back to his post, almost skipping with every step she took.

Michael was glad to see her like this. His promise just now made her more excited than he ever saw her be, and this was a good thing for what he had in mind. If his experiment played out, then what he was doing now would play a critical role for helping the other girls, too. But that was for the future; for now, he relished in enjoying the present moment.

If only Chica's happy skipping didn't make her responding breasts such a distraction, though.

---

Day 5

The sweet smell of fresh air, sugar, and moisture filled his nose as he walked along the stands.

Michael was in luck this week. Recently, he had been needing to make a grocery run for his apartment. Usually, this errand did not take long; for just himself, the shopping took less than two hours for enough food to last at least a week. Combined with a steady budget of a hundred dollars for every run, it was a system which always served him well, especially with his apartment stay as of late. Today, he was making such a trip, but with a difference. Remembering his promise to a certain yellow-skinned animatronic, he decided to splurge a bit of his money to fulfill his oath of providing some new food items for her. The only catch was he preferred a place where he could find items that were fresh and cut instead of packaged or frozen.

Which brought him to one of his personally favorite outside events of the year.

This week was the start of what he called Market Month. Every month, an entire street in the uptown part of the city was reserved for this event. During this time, numerous people from nearby neighborhoods and outside the city limits would come here with various fruits, vegetables, breads, and other fresh treats. Many tents and stands were assembled along the perimeter of the street so those people could show off their harvests, sell them, or even cook them for interested customers. The best part was none of these foods were store-bought; they were homegrown or homemade straight from the peoples' personal gardens or ovens. As such, everything displayed and sold was naturally-grown and organic—as healthy as can be. Along with the event taking place outside, the feel of the warm sun and the sounds of rustling trees and laughing children did wonders for his soul.

As he made his way along the stands, he observed what each stand served, and then checked a list in his hand. He already got his own groceries, so the list he had was for Chica. His eyes checked every item written down:

Vegetables: Green lettuce leaves (heads), Baby carrots (whole/shredded), Tomatoes (on the vine), Avocados, Peppers (Bell/Chili/Jalapeño)

Fruit: Melons, Strawberries, Bananas, Juice

Bread: Loaves (wheat/sourdough)

Meat: Chicken thighs/breasts, Eggs

Sugar: Cupcake baking cups (fluted), Baking dough mix, Cake icing/sprinkles

Extra: Ground garlic, Ranch dressing (bottled)

Michael then looked down at a plastic basket he was holding in his other hand. Half the list was now purchased and stored in the basket, and it was already full. He knew he would have to make a second trip. While walking to one end of the makeshift market where parked vehicles were allowed to stay for the event, he noticed a certain stand showcasing cookware and relative objects. One of these items caught his eye, and he smirked to himself. That would be perfect for her. Making a last-minute detour, he went to make an additional purchase at that stand.

000

It was close to midnight by the time Michael returned to the nightclub. Because of his untimely arrival, he had only a few minutes to arrange himself for his post before the post-closing club-clearing started. Initially he had planned on coming back much earlier as he did this past week, mainly to see how Frenni was coping with her act. This time was an exception, though; having to sort the groceries and maintain the refrigerated items until their final destination took more time than anticipated. Even now as he signed himself into the camera feeds, the food stuffs were bagged and covered in the bed of his truck. As much as he wanted to hurry, he refrained from doing so and acted normally; he didn't want to attract unwanted attention. It was a good thing he limited himself, too…

… as such unwanted attention was also leaving from his office on the second floor, staring at the nightguard's actions while subtly skipping down the stairs.

Ignoring his boss's scrutiny, the young man continued his present task. The club-clearing took longer than expected, as two patrons had to be carried out due to intoxication; and the fact that one of them was rather hefty in the belly was no help at all. To his credit, Michael endured without complaint and rejoined the boozy buffoons with their associates outside. Once he ensured those companies had safe means of travel, he reentered the main clubroom to find his boss nowhere to be seen. Wanting to believe the sight matched the reality, Michael stopped by the security room once more for reassurance. Sure enough, there was yet another post-it note with a written list of chores, indicating Mr. Afton had left it there while leaving. Guaranteed that he could now act more freely, Michael made a beeline back to the rear entryway for the market bags.

It took two journeys from the truck to the kitchen in order to get the brown paper bags delivered. While on his second trip, he recognized Frenni walking out of the back hallway towards the hallways leading to the security room. When their eyes met, hers switched to the bags in his hands. To answer her confused countenance, he gave a finger indicating to give him a moment. Understanding the message, she nodded and vanished into the dark of the hallway. Returning to his destination, he saw a familiar yellow form already staring at the bags left on the kitchen counters in anticipation. Grinning, Michael joined with her and proceeded to remove the goods from the bags. As he did so, he explained how each product was stored, cleaned, and cooked, all the while casting occasional glances at her. While she paid close attention to his advice with great interest, and even made certain queries, her expression poorly concealed her excitement. She almost looked like one of those anime girls when their eyes lit up with stars upon seeing something adorable or fascinating. He dared to believe this was not just the animatronic responding, but the real person within was awakening.

Once he was done with the instructions, Michael took his leave. Letting her scrutinize and play with the new food items, Michael returned to his post, where he found someone waiting for him. Frenni was sitting in one of the clubroom chairs she usually brought with her, and her relaxed cross-legged pose was a sign she had been waiting for a period of time. Sheepishly, Michael apologized for having her wait and explained what he had done for Chica, and even brought up the kitchen mishap which led to it. Hearing Chica's reactions past and present made Frenni smile broadly.

"That does sound like Sophia," she said with a chuckle. "The one I remember."

"That also sounds like the perfect way to restart where we left off," Michael began. "What can you tell me about her?"

Frenni took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Sophia had a lot of energy in her. As you know, she was one of the cheerleaders in our university, but she used to do a bit of volunteer work around the campus. She could hardly keep still, like she needed to do something all the time. The only thing which made her sit still was reading or researching, but even that was mostly academic. Remember, she was studying to become a lawyer after graduating. This made her much smarter than she appeared. Heh, there were times when a stranger would try to hit on her due to her exotic ethnicity, and her response would be just above his IQ to leave him too speechless to say another word—those moments were priceless."

"So, she was athletic, cute, and intelligent," Michael deduced as he removed an apple from his bag. "The perfect matchup any guy would want."

Frenni chuckled in amusement. "Even without me or Cassie around, she became pretty popular because of those things. Of course, they gained the attention of a lot of the jocks." She winced slightly as something came to her. "And likewise, she enjoyed that attention from such heftiness. Maybe she's becoming attached to you because of yours." She said this playfully while poking at his toned biceps, causing Michael to blush and cough. Getting the unspoken message, Frenni continued meditating until another reflection emerged.

"But what made her stand out when socializing," she continued, "was her compassion—she always put the thoughts and feelings of others before herself. Whenever she helped someone, it was done like servitude; even when she's the one needing helping, she tried to wave it off so no one would be bothered. That's one of the reasons I always stuck around her: to watch over her and remind her that it's okay to be a little selfish at times. But there was no breaking that selfless habit of hers—which is why I nicknamed her my 'sweet little bird'."

The last detail perked his eyes open in incredulity. "Seriously? I actually called her that not long ago—I didn't know it was a real nickname. No wonder she got happy about it." He ruminated on the connection before getting back on track. "Anyway, did she have any hobbies?"

Frenni nodded. "There was something she liked to do more than have her nose in a book—well, I guess she still did that if it were a cook book. She really enjoyed cooking new dishes… despite a little issue she had."

"What do you mean?"

"Sophia also had an illness, like me. I can't quite recall what she called it… fried—spores, rich—intoxi—" She grunted in annoyance. "Ugh, sorry. I do remember it had something to do with fried nerves, or something like that."

Michael raised an eyebrow. "Sporatic Friedreich's ataxia?"

Frenni's own eyes lit up in recognition. "Yes! That's the one! —How did you know?"

"Her Missing Person's Report described it," he explained, "as a hereditary neuro-deteriorative disorder that messes with one's nerves connecting the brain to the muscles. Sadly, there's no cure for it." His face turned pensive as he realized an odd symmetry. "I'm guessing her case was bad enough to seek any kind of help, which Afton must've exploited. Does that sound about right?"

Frenni responded after a bit of concentrating. "I remember now—in the later times we hung out, she had trouble with controlling some of her actions, especially when she became very excited. I thought Sophia was just clumsy at first, until she told me her secret. She did try to manage her emotions which were the trigger for her episodes, but no such luck. Honestly, it wasn't until we met again while meeting Afton that I discovered how bad her illness really was."

Michael mulled at this revelation, remembering the mess Chica unintentionally caused in the kitchen, and how even she couldn't explain how it happened. The only conclusion he could draw was that although her illness was nonexistent, her excitement-triggering clumsiness remained as part of her personality; and its sudden reemergence was due to Michael's sole appreciation for her efforts. This meant whatever Mr. Afton did to "cure" Sophia had worked, despite the cost on the cheerleader's behalf. Even if it's a small comfort, he rationalized, at least it's one good Mr. Afton did accomplish.

"At least she won't have to worry about it with her new body. That being said, I've been a little curious about how your new bodies work and what they're capable of." Michael suddenly braked his train-of-thought. "Wait a second—you won't be able to tell me any of that, will you? What with your restrictive programming and all that."

Frenni raised an eyebrow at him. "You mean my other half couldn't talk about it. Well, since my mind and actions are my own again, things like programming or restrictions mean nothing to me now. I can talk about anything I wish."

"Really? That'll make things much easier," he exclaimed, "especially understanding your new body-mind symbiosis."

"What do you mean by that?"

He chowed down on his apple before replying. "I've been wondering how Afton managed to do it—transfer your minds, I mean. At first, I thought he created some weird mad-scientist invention or the like, but that feels more cartoonish or magical than it is."

"I agree, yet here I am," Frenni pointed out.

Michael cleared his throat. "Yeah. Jokes aside, though, I really can't imagine how he made it work. It goes against everything we know about robotics, AI, and what-have-you. And yet, for him to make it not only work, but also on the scale you're on… it's mind-boggling." His statement was true enough; while he did have the files from Dr. Emile, Michael hadn't gotten to the parts concerning the construction or specifications, so it remained a mystery to him for now. Besides, reading about them did not quite compare to hearing about the experiences themselves.

Frenni nodded and looked at her hands in wonderment. "I know what you mean. This new body of mine doesn't feel that different from my old one—it can move, speak, and hear just fine, if not a little better. I know it's not real—and the body proportions are off compared to mine before—but it still feels like my old body. Even inside, I can feel it making body heat, and heartbeats and pulses too. Even looking closely, I still have fingerprints. It's freaky that he went to such detail." Her face developed a degree of disgust. "And I still can't believe he went as far as giving it real sexual functions and stimuli."

Michael's mind jolted at hearing this detail. "Hold on, does your current body even let you feel those things? Can you still, uhm… do THAT?"

Frenni shrugged embarrassingly. "Apparently, yes. Based on what my other half says, my body's fully able to have sex. Not only that, but most of it has greater-than-human sensory levels. While I do have to recharge every now and then, the rest of me inside is pretty identical to other people." She stood up and made a weird look as she held her toned, flat belly. "Except that I no longer feel hunger—it's weird to not have a stomach anymore."

Michael rose a brow at the thought. "I guess so. Um, stimuli aside, Ariel, what do you mean by 'functions'?"

"Meaning, Afton made this body with sexual tools for enhanced sexual experiences," Frenni explained half-unbelieving. She pointed to her bear-ear attachments, which wiggled. "For instance, these ears are able to spray a fine perfume that boosts a man's oxytocin and dopamine levels. The perfume's main function is to stimulate and increase their desires—a kind of aphrodisiac, if you will. According to the records in my other half, it's meant to make men seek us out more and thus come here more often. One of the side effects of this fragrance is for men to become more honest with themselves, which guarantees another potential regular customer."

"Sounds like pimping to me," Michael scoffed. Suddenly, he realized her last comment sounded familiar, and he recalled his first close encounters with the girls. Every time they got close to them, he could smell a wonderful aroma from them; and every time he did, he couldn't hide his thoughts at all. So that's what it was, he mused in amazement.

"I agree," Frenni said, "but that's not the only thing it's used for." She pointed to her lips and then her panties before continuing. "This perfume also comes in an edible liquid form, meant for more… direct meetings. Our mouths can secrete fine traces of it in a sort of saliva—same goes for our vaginas, albeit more liberally. And don't get me started on the type of vibrator he came up with to substitute my—"

"Okay, okay! I get the point," Michael interrupted, holding up a hand in embarrassment.

"What's the matter? I thought you wanted to hear more about what you're dealing with," she teased with a hand on her tilted hips.

"Sorry, I got sidetracked," he corrected himself. "Also… I'm not used to girls being so forward with me… especially in the intimate areas."

"You mean you're inexperienced?" Seeing his face at her choice of words, she amended herself. "I mean… you haven't been asked out? On a date?"

"Not really," Michael admitted. "I have met a few girls in earlier years that caught my eye, but nothing really went beyond that. …Why the interest?"

Frenni tapped the area of her temples near her eyes. "I asked because… my other half can also detect stress and adrenaline levels, along with states of arousal. I'm guessing it's the same for the other girls. You said we're supposed to make you feel welcome, right? From what my other self recalls, the girls became more attracted to you the longer you hung around here; and the longer you held back on responding to their advances, the more persistent they got. After some blackout occurred, their lustful magnetism towards you was lessened due to your request about being friends, but it's still there."

"You mean, it wasn't just because you all wanted companionship," Michael asked bewildered, "but I've been egging you all on the whole time?"

"Maybe not intentionally, but yeah." Her affirmed shrug at Michael's summary left him at a loss for further words. Frenni noticed his bafflement, and tried to consolidate him. "If it helps at all, I'm a virgin too. Neither as a human nor as 'this' have I felt sexual intercourse. That much I do remember now."

Michael stared up at her blankly, his bewilderment not fading at all. "I honestly don't know how to respond to that."

His perplexed reaction must have triggered something in Frenni; regardless of any funny bone in her new body, she began to burst out laughing. Each tilt was full of genuine mirth, and Michael couldn't help but slowly match her mood in silence. It was the first time he heard her laugh, and it sounded as wonderful as her singing. In fact, as he considered afterwards, it was likely the first time she was able to feel that way in years—and he was the one to make her feel it.

Even though the amount of new info he learned tonight was huge, hearing her mirth was his best accomplishment yet.

000

After their uplifting moment, Michael and Frenni finished their session on a good note, with the latter leaving in high spirits. Before she left, however, she gave him a long-lasting hug to show her appreciation. He was grateful for the gesture, and gladly returned it; only, he didn't expect her to begin rubbing herself on him a bit near the end. Whether it was intentional or unconscious, she gave no sign that indicated either, so he couldn't say for sure. But, as Michael watched her go as she sashayed her hips cheerfully, he involuntarily wished the hug lasted a little longer.

Reeling himself back from such thoughts, he went on his way to start on the list of chores his manager left behind. It was longer than usual, containing tasks that were usual and irregular, and most of them were of sanitation and organization. The only job that stood out involved the restrooms again—Michael shuddered at the memory of his first-time handling that. Thankfully, it was a matter of mere mopping and spraying, meaning no obscene messes this time. With his mindset still on a positive note, he set to work on his extra errands.

By the time he finished all the assignments, it was well-past 3am. Feeling soiled from his activities, Michael ended his run by sanitizing himself in the shower stalls of the locker room. Since his unfortunate first encounter in the restrooms, he decided it best to leave a few bathing supplies—and a spare work shirt—in his locker in case the assignment was given again. It was not so bad in this case, so all he needed to do to clean up was wipe his clothes with a damp cloth, and run said cloth with soap for his arms and face. By the time he felt refreshed, he returned to his post in the security room.

Only fifteen minutes had past before he heard a familiar grumble. Michael grumbled himself, half-expecting this to happen; carrying two large, unconscious guys, bags of groceries, and doing the extra chores in one night would take a lot of energy. It would make sense for his stomach to finally issue a complaint. Unexpectedly for him, a savior came at the right time, her presence betrayed by the aroma of freshly-baked bread. Looking away from the monitors, he spotted Chica coming in with a tray in her hands. Taking note of the absence of the usual pizza box, Michael sat up more attentively to observe his visitor.

"Hey there," he greeted. "Whatcha got there?"

"This is a new pizza dish I made," she said shyly, "as thanks for what you brought for me earlier."

His interest raised by her statement, Michael observed the new food dish. The pizza was different to the past ones he had here, as this one had mushrooms and peppers, and was topped off with a fine layer of cheese. However, since these new ingredients looked different from the ones already stored here, he guessed they were from him. She must have already implemented what he told her and prepared a new food dish from scratch. To confirm his guess he asked, "Judging from these toppings, am I right to guess you used some of what I brought?"

"I did. It was also something that used to be on our menus, so I haven't cooked it in a long time. I wanted you to be the first to try it."

Humbled by her thoughtfulness, Michael gave his thanks and lifted the first slice to his mouth. Unsurprisingly, the taste was different from the previous pizzas, but in a good way. Unlike the previous ones, this slice had a special tang to it, like it was much fresher. This was, in his opinion, largely thanks to the organic ingredients that were used. Working his jaw, he savored the taste until he swallowed. Setting down the slice, he focused on the after-taste. "Earthy, with a bit of spiciness," he summarized, "yet the cheese helps negate the spice. In the end, it's a taste that leaves an addicting tingle in your mouth—the kind that makes you wanting more." He turned to the yellow girl. "I think you're a fast learner—this is a great start."

The worry that was on Chica's face while he ate vanished completely at his words. "Oh, thank you!" she exclaimed. "This is wonderful—with this, I can go back to making my favorite wares which the customers enjoyed!"

"I've no doubt they'll enjoy them again," Michael complimented. "I know I will." Picking up the same piece, he was about to take another bite when he noticed her still standing there. She looked down as she shifted her feet, her face tinted in embarrassment.

…

"Is there something else?" he asked, curious.

"… I'm not sure if you will allow it, but… may I stay and sit with you?"

Although he kept the surprise from his face, Michael couldn't hide his uncertainty about her request. It sounded like an innocent-enough request, and she had agreed to not seduce him like before. The problem was the presence of only one chair, and he was occupying it. While Frenni had been sitting in another, she had returned it with all the others from the clubroom. "You can try, but this chair's a one-seater," he explained awkwardly, pointing to the seat he was in. Yet her next course of action proved the real reason for her embarrassment.

Turning around as she approached him, she sat in his lap and wrapped her arm around his shoulder. Michael could feel the soft sensation of her thighs and buttocks transmitting to his lap, and the curve of her back melded enticingly to his front. The texture of her skin felt smooth and wonderful when in contact with his own skin. Frozen in his spot, he looked up to see Chica returning his gaze and blushing madly. Even though the curve of her H-cup breast was now close to his face, he began to not mind it at all, as he found her present expression to be too adorable to interrupt.

"…Is this uncomfortable?" she asked, noticing his silence.

"…No, it's okay," he replied calmly. "This is… nice."

Chica hummed at his approval, and lightly rested her head above his in contentment. Seeing her so calm and loving made Michael enjoy the multitude of sensations she was giving him, to the point that he unconsciously leaned a bit into her form. She didn't react even when he reached over to savor his new meal.

The two of them continued to stay like that for a while after the tray had been emptied.

---

Day 6

(Afton POV)

Mr. Afton sat with keen eyes on his computer monitor.

He was currently alone in his office, and sitting in his large oak desk. On both sides of him, there were numerous files and papers strewn on the desktop, with only just enough open space for his arms when he was typing something on the keyboard. It was in stark contrast to the rest of the room, where everything appeared tidy and neat; but then, there was not many belongings anyway. Only the desk and chair, the leather couch on the side, and a filing cabinet next to him were the main furniture, and even they were recently bought. He intended it this way—he had plenty of other matters to deal with than to spoil himself. One of these matters would, hopefully, be a life-changer for him.

Last week, he received a message from some loyal stockholders who became interested in visiting his club, and talk about future plans involving expansion. For any businessperson, a place that has existed for only a couple of years to gain enough popularity to be considered for an expansion plan was huge; and with what Mr. Afton planned for the future, he leapt at the chance. The only downside was that the meeting would take place sometime next week, and his place needed to be spotless and organized. Luckily for him, a lot of the errands and preparations were being done by the youngblood, who was being true to his word about getting the jobs done. Although the young man was a help, the boss was left with the mental half of the preparations—that is, organizing his business records. Hence, he tirelessly shuffled and stored any records he would need or considered important for the meeting.

This was not the only mental chore on his list, though. He was also in the works of updating the entry listing system for the main entrance, which would negate the need of the bouncer. In fact, the device that would replace him—along with some other, rudimentary equipment—was already being sent, and due to arrive this afternoon. Of course, he didn't want to tell the poor bastard that he was being replaced by another machine about to reside at his club—that would have caused a real situation.

Besides, he enjoyed seeing the fluster in the guy's face when he received the boot.

After managing and arranging his files throughout today, he had decided to abandon his work for a moment by focusing on the camera feed on his single monitor. During breaks like this, he spent the time observing the club activities through the cameras, much like his latest employee in his night shifts. What he didn't mention to the young man was that the cameras were also fed into his personal computer, which allowed him to overlook the security of the club during the daylight hours. Since his layoffs, it was only the office that did the job, but the recent acquisition of the nightguard allowed him to divide the workload so the security room downstairs did the task at night. He smirked as he thought about how much pressure was being put on the kid's shoulders despite being on the job for a few weeks, but he seemed to be holding his own. For now.

Reaching behind his head to stretch, his eyes wandered to the framed certificates under his name. His smirk broadened as his sight picked each frame, recounting his lifetime of personal accomplishments. Some were regular diplomas, but several others were involved in technology branches, and one commended a personally-written report years ago, when he was partnered with a doctor from overseas.

Those memories were very forthcoming in their own way, and he was thankful for those moments. If not for that fateful encounter, he would not have reached where he is now in his custom road for success, let alone his ultimate goal. His only regret was that he never got the chance to thank the good doctor. Such a pity… well, almost. Losing interest with that thought, he reverted his weary eyes on the camera feed.

There was something different about the crowds today. Lately, he noticed a change in the atmosphere of the club: a positive vibe that was not noticeable to those detect unless someone was looking for it. In his older years, he sensed it from the crowd that was now downstairs; while the overall noise was the same as ever, the volume was slightly subdued. It was not just the bear-animatronic woman onstage; although her lyrics and carols had a lighter trill than before, the people's attention seemed to be drawn elsewhere from his performing property, if only for a moment. Not that it was a bad thing—the new tune was certainly welcoming, even to Afton's ears.

The vibe feels… familiar. It almost reminds me of…

Unintentionally, his eyes turned to a framed photograph resting on his desk. In that frame was a family photo—the only personal belonging he had in the office. The picture itself was rather old, as its edges had begun yellowing even while confined behind the glass. There were four figures facing forward: Mr. Afton himself, two younger boys, and a girl. While the two boys were a legal adult and preteen, respectively, the girl was of middling age as a late teenager. Strangely, only the single parent was smiling; the children looked either shy, conceited, or simply sad. Mr. Afton observed his younger self and one other figure in the picture. For a split moment, a tinge of sadness welled in his heart, as he remembered the times he shared with that individual, before it vanished upon recalling the present circumstances.

Someday, I'll make things right, he thought resolutely, and those times will return. Very soon.

A soft knocking snapped him out of his thoughts. Hearing the noise coming from the door, he let out a gruff reply. "Enter." A voluptuous figure came though the opening door, with a tray balanced professionally in one hand. The elder man recognized her as the yellow-chickened girl, and watched as she walked up to his desk.

"It is your scheduled lunchtime, sir," she said sunnily, "and I prepared your favored dishes."

Staring at the clockface that read 12:31pm, he gave his approval for her promptness. With that, she set down the tray on the open space of his desk. There was a beer bottle, refrigerated and opened, next to the dish. The aroma of freshly baked pepper-and-mushroom pizza filled Afton's nostrils. It was just as he liked: spicy, yet earthy and… sugary? His nose detected a trace of fresh sweetness, which was unusual for his order. Taking a proper look, he found two other dishes beside the mini-pizza: a kind of salad with chicken pieces, and a pink glazed cupcake. His eyes remained glued to the tray servings before tearing them away, and he stared up at the yellow waitress.

"Um, what's this?" he asked, properly and yet curiously.

"When you came this morning, my visual sensors indicated your body was low on vitamins and fiber, so I made something to compliment your order. You may recognize it as a chicken salad, complete with ranch dressing." She pointed to the pink pastry. "That is simply a dessert. I hope you enjoy yourself." With that, she turned and cheerfully left the office to her manager and his meal.

Left alone, Afton stared back at his lunch. As described, the salad was indeed topped with chicken slices, along with shredded cheese and carrots, tomato and avocado bits, and ranch dressing. In fact, he remembered it exactly as a side dish his club used to serve, called 'Chica's Chicken Collage'. Similarly, the dessert was also one of the yellow girl's special servings—practically part of her original image when the club first opened. He was surprised to see them again after so long; he didn't know they had the ingredients to make them anymore. Eyeing the greens first, he handled the fork and took his first bite of a leaflet.

Nostalgia flowed through his mind—and his taste buds—as he ate everything with a small smile. It tasted just as he remembered, when the framed photo was taken.

000 (Normal POV)

There were several things Michael noticed as he arrived at the club tonight.

At first glance, the outside of the nightclub appeared normal with the usual neon lights and impatient line awaiting entry. However, as he made his way past the line to reach the main entrance, he recognized the men near the entrance shared the same look of confusion. It didn't take long for him to see the reason. Instead of the bouncer, there was an unusual yellow tablet on a heavy stand resting on the same spot. The tablet had two cameras focused on the front line, almost like creepy eyes, and the screen was monitoring the people's faces like a facial recognition. When the person in-line approached the device, it split its display to reveal a handprint scan while continuing its facial monitoring. As the person placed his hand on the extra screen, it scanned his prints and placed an ink stamp with a green light, indicating he was free to pass.

When Michael approached the strange device, it scanned his face and automatically gave him the green light to go. This gave him the line's usual glares he was familiar with, and proceeded without a hitch. While walking through the hallway to the main clubroom, he thought about the new entry system. From what he was told a few nights ago, it seemed the bouncer was right and had indeed been fired. To add insult to injury, the new means of passage was a machine—perhaps one of the new experimental technologies this city was trying out. Even if the outcome was expected, he had not predicted it to occur like this. With mixed feelings, the young man finished his trek into the club itself…

…and was met with the sweet smells of better dining than fast-food. The past predominant aroma of baked bread, French fries, and grease was saturated with the sugars of dressed salads, fruits, and desserts. While walking inconspicuously by the tables, Michael saw the beverages were also different; rather than beers or whiskey, the guys were sipping on finer drinks such as margaritas and martinis with fruit juices. These newer assortments clearly had a positive effect on the mood of the crowd; their cheers were more joyous, and he noticed their attention was a bit more focused on the food than Frenni and Bonni on the stage. An added bonus was the lack of leftovers; not a single scrap was being wasted or tossed. As for Chica, he could see her getting praise anywhere she went as she delivered their orders. Compared to the crowd's grins, her smile outshone them all. Everyone was appreciating the new change, and reveling in it. To Michael, this was a welcome sight, in more ways than one. With this development, he decided it was the opportune time to proceed with his own experimental idea.

Without a second thought, he continued his way until he disappeared into the darkness of the western hallway leading to his post.

Once the club was cleared, his mindset for business was set on overdrive.

The list of errands left for him tonight was longer than usual, so he sought to ensure everything was done in order to implement the next step of his test with Chica. To do this, he performed the chores methodically and efficiently: the gathering of dishes came first; then the cleaning of tabletops and chairs; next was sweeping and vacuuming the floor, followed by mopping the restrooms; and finalized by restocking the bar and its storage room. He figured doing the jobs in this order, combined with the layout of the club itself, allowed the minimalization of mess residue as well as travel time on his own two legs. As a result, Michael would be left with ample enough time to spend as he desired. With thoughts of his impending meeting with the club's chef tonight as a driving force, he continued his work.

Sure enough, his job list was completed within three hours. While he was left soiled and tired, he hardly felt the strain of exhaustion. Wiping the sweat on his head with his shirt sleeve, Michael headed back to the security room, knowing it was about time for his boss to check on him. Like clockwork, Afton did indeed call the moment he entered the room, and Michael provided the status of everything he accomplished. The elder man sounded genuinely pleased and gave his congratulations, yet he still reminded him of the ever-nearing stockholders' meeting and warned that the nights would become busier until then. Despite the call ended on that note, Michael was unphased. Now that the main hurdles of his job were done, he had three hours to do as he planned.

Jotting down back to the clubroom, he scanned the layout for a certain figure. Unsurprisingly, he didn't see her. With all the activity she had to do, it would have been a safe assumption for Chica to use the recharge pods to rest, or bake something else for him as thanks. While debating on which room to check first, he didn't hear the sound of someone approaching until too late.

Two arms suddenly wrapped around him from behind, smothering his back with a soft but firm sensation. Hissing in shock, he jumped while encased in the embrace, but the arms kept their hold on him. Looking down, his eyes recognized the color of the limbs' skin despite the dimness of the club, and he looked back up at their owner. Pink-irises met his hazy blue ones as she rubbed her plum-colored cheeks against his daringly.

"Hey there, handsome," the play-bunny flirted.

"Bonni! What the hell?" Michael gasped. "Don't you remember what I said about not scaring me like that?"

"I do," the violet animatronic smirked with half-lidded eyes, "and I remember saying we agreed to keep it at a minimum—nothing about stopping it altogether. You never made an objection last time, so that counts as permission for me. And besides—" She rubbed herself on his back while letting out a deep breath on his neck. "—you look so hot when you're dirty."

"Down, girl," said another voice. Both human and bunny turned to the source, and found a bear-eared female waltzing up to them. Sizing up the situation that developed, Frenni stood in front of Michael and took Bonni's hands. While she gently lifted them up and off Michael's shoulders, she spoke in a soft tone. "While there is no harm in having some fun with coworkers, there are still limits. Michael needs to perform his role professionally, and he cannot do that while looking over his shoulders." Upon letting go of her companion's hands, Frenni laid her own on his shoulders. "We are supposed to accompany him, not accost him. Do you remember that as well?"

Bonni remained where she stood, her playful expression not leaving her. Eyeing her friend's current position, she dared to ask, "I remember seeing you and him being pretty close lately. What's your excuse, honey?"

"It's my role to keep an eye on everyone in the club," Frenni replied without a hitch, tapping a finger on her sub-manager tag. "I am the sub-manager, after all."

Frenni's confidence did the trick, and Bonni backed down. "Alright, I'll keep the business from the pleasure… even if the pleasure is my business." Her dismissal led to her attention back to Michael. "Anyways, I wanted to ask about the ruckus in the club today—did you have something to do with it?"

Michael lifted an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I understand. What kind of ruckus?"

"A lot of the people in the club were in high spirits, especially whenever Chica came around," Bonni explained. "Specifically, they were complimenting her and even giving her extra tips. At some point, I noticed the plates and dishes she served, and they weren't the usual ones on the menu. Since you are the only one in here who can go outside, I figured you had a hand in the change."

"What sorts of dishes did you not recognize?" Michael asked.

Bonni put a finger to her chin as she thought. "Actually, I did recognize them, except we haven't served them in a long time."

Hearing this made Michael recall the new pizza dish Chica introduced to him. He let out a knowing huff as his mind put two and two together. "Sounds like Chica decided to reinvigorate the patrons' interest by reintroducing some of the old dishes," he said eloquently.

"Well, it's definitely working—the girl's more popular than ever now." Stretching her arms over her head, Bonni worked her joints as if she had a cramp. "I would talk more, but my charge is running low, so I should head to our room for a cycle. See you in a flash, Mikey." She drawled her farewell with a wink as she walked off to the back room, leaving him and Frenni by themselves. When she was out of sight, Michael switched his attention to Frenni, who continued staring. With two blinks of her eyes, she stirred and noticed him checking on her.

"For an animatronic bunny-woman with a player personality, she's remarkably observant," Frenni commented in her Indian accent, revealing her true self as Ariel. "Even with my other half leading, she didn't seem that phased. For a second, I was a bit worried she was catching on to us."

"Me too," Michael agreed. "But I've noticed her perception only works on something she's interested in, and that's me obviously. I'm glad I was able to switch her attention from me to Chica this time." Looking around, he saw many plates and utensils scattered on the tables once more, but with a difference. Most of the plates were now devoid of leftovers. "As an added plus, Chica is becoming better appreciated for her skillset."

Frenni noticed his observation as well, and turned to him. Her raised eyebrow indicated she held some kind of suspicion. "Something tells me you're up to more than boosting the club's public image."

Checking to see that the two of them were alone in the room, Michael put his hands up in surrender. "You got me," he grinned. "The dining change is actually part of a small experiment I'm working on, to help Chica. If it works, it'll go a long way for the others too."

"Won't Afton get suspicious about the sudden change?" the diva asked.

Michael smirked in response. "In case he does ask, I can argue seeing new foods stored there while taking inventory, and their sudden introduction on the menu was a means to improve the business reputation. He won't be able to refute the fact that it's succeeding—and it's not like I'm tampering with anything in Chica, not when she already has extensive cooking protocols. Besides, it was honestly her decision to show off her work, not mine."

Hearing this convinced Frenni, as she made her own approving smirk. "Clever. So, what is this little experiment of yours?"

"You'll see—in fact, I'll need your help for it. Do you know where Chica is?"

Frenni gestured to follow her toward the kitchen, which Michael obeyed. The moment the two of them passed its doors, a fresh waft of sweetness hit them. Michael finally saw his target of interest, who was putting on the finishing touches on a trio of chocolate cupcakes topped with pink icing and strawberry slices. When she saw who had entered, the yellow-skinned girl squealed and leapt into Michael's arms. Her feverish embrace was so sudden, Michael almost lost his balance.

"You look in higher spirits than usual tonight," he grunted.

"I am! And so was everyone else in the club," Chica celebrated. "Since you liked what I made with what you brought, I thought the customers would enjoy the old menu choices, too. And they loved them—just look at this!" She reached into her apron which covered her bosom, and pulled out a decent wad of bills. From what Michael could tell, there were a lot of tens and even twenty-dollar bills. "I haven't received such praise like this in a long time," Chica continued euphorically, and gave him another surprise hug, "and it's all thanks to you Mikey!"

"I-I'm glad to hear that," Michael stammered against her embrace. For a girl with a soft body, the club's chef had a deceptively strong grip. Then again, she was an animatronic like the others, so she would naturally be stronger than the average human. Tapping on her arm as a signal, Chica loosened her grip and turned her attention to his face. "Actually," he began, "it's one of the reasons I wanted to see you. In light of your success, there is something else I'd like to teach you which will benefit you more. But I want to ask you something serious first: do you trust me?"

Chica's response was immediate. "Yes, I do. Fully and completely."

Michael stared at her for a moment, then at Frenni next to him. Taking a long, deep breath, he psyched himself for what he was about to do. Even though he thought of this experiment on the fly a few days ago, he was sure it would work here. Everything he learned in that time was on his side; the hard drive contents alone backed up his idea. Still, he was nervous about the outcome; being a bit more sensitive, there was a chance Chica's realization of her current state would be more tragic than Frenni's experience. There were worse outcomes in that nothing would change, or Chica would never wake up again once she fell unconscious. But he had to try—he made a promise to all of them, after all.

After asking Frenni to stand behind her, he turned to the yellow chef. "Alright, here it goes. …Ready, Chica?" The yellow girl exchanged curious glances between him and Frenni, and nodded. With her approval, Michael tested his idea with one name.

"Sophia Olvera."

"…"

Her confused expression changed into a blank stare a short moment later, eyes twitching to a green hue. Had Frenni not positioned herself behind her to catch her, the chicken-themed girl would've fallen unconsciously onto the floor. Michael stood where he was and made a soft humph in confirmation. Meanwhile, Frenni stared in amazement at the girl's motionless form and glowing green eyes while holding her.

"Somehow, I'm feeling some kind of déjà vu right now," she commented before turning her attention to Michael. "Is this what happened to me before?"

"It is," he answered. Noticing her questioning expression, he continued. "But before you ask me anything more, let's get her into the main room in the back. I'll explain what I can after that."

With both of them lifting her up by her arms and shoulders, Michael and Frenni carried Chica out of the security room and across the club to the animatronics' room. Once inside, they laid their yellow comrade onto the bare island. As he gazed at her still form with her verdant eyes glowing, Michael had a sense of déjà vu himself as the image of Frenni's body overlapped that which laid on the table. His reverie was interrupted by Frenni, who stood next to the costume racks impatiently.

"So, what's going on?" she interrogated, gesturing to Chica. "Why did she react like that?"

"I'll start from the beginning," he explained, collecting his thoughts. "Remember when I was doing my patrols upstairs? Well, the truth is I was looking for something. The night guard who came before me left something there, whether it was for his successor or anyone else working here besides Afton. I learned about it from one of the messages he made in the security room. That something contained the general process of how Afton switched your minds into the animatronic androids he created, as well as a means to revert the procedure. Only, the latter procedure was untested—possibly due to Afton wanting to keep you all under control—until now." He waved at Chica's direction. "What I did just now, was implement what I believed was the reversion process itself."

Frenni intently followed every word he spoke. "So, did it work?"

Michael shrugged. "Not sure. We'll have to see after she wakes up."

As if on cue, Chica sat up abruptly, uttering a single long scream. Like Frenni before, it resounded like a child in extreme pain, with a tone that pierced a person's mind and heart. Even though he heard it before, Michael still jumped from the high-pitched scare. His only comfort was that he was not alone; Frenni also jumped at hearing it as much as he did. By the time they recovered from the shock, Chica began to regain her senses, and awareness. Michael quickly waved Frenni back behind the costume rack so that it was just him and his newest patient for now.

"Ah, Dios mio," she groaned, clutching her head as she observed the room. With every turn of her head in viewing her surroundings, her body became more rigid. By the time she saw Michael, her confusion was spoken in a frightened manner. "Who-who are you? Where am I?"

"It's okay, Sophia," he said soothingly, holding up his hands to calm her. "I'm not going to hurt you. My name is Michael, and I'm a friend."

"H-How do you know my name?" she asked warily.

"Because you've been away for some time, and the people you knew were worried." Michael placed a hand on his chest. "Myself included. So, I've been searching for you until now."

"S-Searching, you say?" she asked. "How long have I been away?"

Michael cringed upon being asked that. It was not exactly the means he intended to break the news to her, but there was no turning back. "Let's say enough time has passed where you've… changed a bit."

Chica's eyes widened at his generalized answer. "Does this mean… Dr. Afton succeeded? I am cured?"

Her reply forced Michael to blink hard. He expected her to demand what kinds of changes occurred; not only that, she seemed to already recollect a piece of her memory. It was a bit different from when Frenni first awakened, as it took a while for her to recall the same memory. Perhaps this was because their human minds worked differently, or that this girl was academically more intelligent. Either way, her question left no more room to drive around the hard truth. Unable to take a preferred smooth approach, Michael told her directly.

"I'm afraid he did more than cure you," he said sadly.

In response to his words and depressing tone, Chica checked herself over to see what he meant—and realized it immediately. Her mouth opened in shock as she beheld her curvaceous figure, along with her attire. She tried to feel her face with her hands, but was unable to once she saw her own appendages and how much they trembled. Tears spilled like rivers from her eyes as she withered on the spot, unable and unwilling to see her new visage. Compared to her previous energetic self, she simply lost the spirit to move at all. "W-W-What have I become?" she sobbed.

"Nothing that cannot heal," Michael perked up. "I know this is so much for you to take in, but you're among friends now. I can help you get through it."

She then uttered something in Spanish quickly and heatedly. "How can you know that?! How can you fix this?"

Wincing from her cry, Michael maintained his calm demeanor. "Because you're not alone. Do you recall one of your friends just before your procedure—someone named Ariel?"

The yellow girl stared in confusion. All of a sudden, the information came upon her memory and her eyes widened in amazement. "Sí, sí! She went to mi universidad—everyone liked her, and she had such a pretty voice…" Her eyes quickly returned to Michael. "You know her as well?"

Michael nodded, and turned to the costume rack. Frenni stepped aside slowly, so as to not make any sudden movements, until she was in full view. Chica remained in her spot despite her fear of the new figure that seemed to come from nowhere. Her fear didn't last long, fortunately, the moment Frenni opened her mouth.

"As I know you, my sweet little bird," she said in affection.

Her lavender eyes lit up in shock as Chica recognized the nickname, along with the voice that came from the newcomer. "Ariel? Is it really you?" she asked hesitantly.

Frenni gave a small nod, and pointed to her head. "I'm here, if only by mind. But it is me."

"…"

For a long moment, the golden-haired young woman stared at Frenni, frozen in shock. Then, slowly and uncertainly, she raised her arms for the bear-eared brunette. Without a word, the latter obliged and crept over to be embraced. The moment their hands touched, the former girl held onto her friend's waist for dear life, afraid of losing her again. From that point on, the two friends stayed together in consolation, happy to be reunited and yet sad for their shared predicaments. The only sounds made between them was Chica's sniffling from her weeping and Frenni's soft murmurs of comfort. Feeling his presence was no longer necessary, Michael asked them in a soft tone.

"… Shall I give you both a moment?"

A soft nod from Frenni was all the answer he needed. As he moved to the door to give them time, he took a quick peek at her companion. Chica—or rather, Sophia—made no move to object, but stayed focused on holding onto her friend. His heart broke a little as he saw her like that, but as he quietly closed the door, he found comfort in the fact that she had someone she knew to be her solace. This left him relatively alone for the remainder of his shift, yet one additional fact left him feeling optimistic.

His experimental idea had worked.

---

Day 7

A soft slash of lettuce leaf and ham cut through the air along with his sandwich.

On the kitchen counter of his apartment, Michael was busy making yet another refreshment pack for the night. It had been more than seven hours since the events of his previous shift, and he was already in the middle of preparing for the next one. While laying out and packaging his snacks, Michael found himself in a familiar rhythm. It was the same feeling back when he had his old job, regularly taking the same thermal bag he was using now. Regardless of his location, be it out on a call or in his business location, he always planned ahead about bringing some kind of sustenance. As the old saying went, he couldn't work on an empty stomach—especially when said work involved heavy-duty labor for extended time periods. Since being laid off from that life, Michael was glad to be working again and being able to return to this level of stability.

Return, eh? Having used that word, along with the view of the sandwich he just bagged, veered his mind to last night.

After successfully freeing Chica's true self from her unconventional prison, he had left her and Frenni together in order to give both women some alone time. Since they had a history in the past, Chica had someone to listen to and trust right after being revived; at the same time, Frenni was finally reunited with someone she was familiar with. It was only natural that both individuals would seek each other's company, and Michael felt his presence unnecessary for the time being. Leaving them alone, he proceeded with his duty for the remainder of his shift, while occasionally glancing through the camera feed overlooking the animatronics' room to check on the two females.

Near the end, however, Frenni emerged from the room and rejoined him in the security room, informing that her friend was now recovering in the recharge pods. Frenni explained that she handled the situation much like he had done for her a week prior, and Chica responded expectantly. The news heartened him, but being reminded of last week's events—including his encounter with Afton—made him pause in how to excuse their newly-freed friend's upcoming absence. Chica was the lead cook in the club, after all. This left his remaining minutes spent with Frenni on smoothing out those details. It was a stark contrast to before, when Michael had to do it himself on the fly, and he was grateful for the preparedness this time.

Speaking of preparedness, Michael glanced over at the dining table. Sitting on its surface was his laptop, along with two white objects. One of them was Dr. Emile's external hard drive he found in the club's sofas. The other was a smaller, newer flash drive he had in his apartment, which he kept in case of emergencies. Here, it was currently being uploaded with the hard drive's invaluable data, to serve as a backup in case something happened to the original. That doctor and the nightguard before me were lucky to have stashed the same device for so long without any copies, Michael thought. Or maybe they did make copies, and they were destroyed. But at least I have some time to plan ahead and ultimately use the information when needed.

Just then, his cellphone rang while sitting in its phone stand on the counter. The screen displayed the caller being Gregory, his past work-buddy. Michael sighed dejectedly; it had been a long while since he and Michael spoke. This week had been filled with errands and ulterior missions, and there were a few times when he had to drop Greg's attempts to talk. Even if he had been busy with more important matters, Michael felt bad for leaving him in the dark like that for this long. Not wanting to continue the phone silence, he quickly answered the call and turned on its speaker.

"Hey buddy! What's going on?" Greg asked immediately. "I haven't heard from you since our get-together at the diner."

"Yeah, everything's fine, I guess," Michael reacted apologetically. "I'm sorry I haven't kept in touch lately—a lot's been happening since we last spoke, that's all."

"Really? What kind of happenings?"

"Just the regular errands—this week was the Market Month, and you know how I take full advantage of that. Plus, I was meeting with an old family friend… to see how I've been doing. Mostly, it's been about the job and the goings-on there?"

"What sorts of goings-on there?" Greg pressed.

Catching the hint in the voice, Michael didn't have to think quick about how to answer that. "The kind that can't be spoken freely. Policy and all that jazz."

"Ha! I knew he was getting frisky with them!"

The unexpected voice was silenced by a dull thud and a brief groan of pain. After a few seconds, Greg spoke again. "Sorry about that—I didn't expect to be eavesdropped in the staff lounge."

Recognizing the interrupting voice as one of Greg's friends he met last week, Michael identified something from his friend's comment. "Does that mean you're at work right now?"

"Yeah, but I'm on break, so no worries." He cleared his throat to continue speaking. "Speaking of work and 'breaks', what's been happening on your end—seriously? Is it bad, or…?"

"I, uh, wouldn't call it bad, per se. It's more revealing than anything else."

"'Revealing', you say? You mean like your first week working there—that kind of revealing?"

Michael juggled and fumbled for words in order to realistically reply. "I-In a way. It's nowhere near as nerve-wracking and intimidating… but I am learning a lot of new things I didn't expect to. The amount's been getting more daunting with each passing week. But I am adapting to the adjustment, just like you said I would."

"That's great—I told you, didn't I? All you had to do was give it a chance." His compliment led to a brief exchange of other non-relevant matters until Greg returned to their previous topic. "So, I meant to ask: since you're getting used to the club, does that mean you're getting comfortable being around its, ehm, 'hosts'?"

Michael lifted an eyebrow. "I guess so," he said with slight suspicion.

A moment of muffled silence passed. "Comfortable to introduce the guys, perhaps?"

The call recipient stared knowingly at his phone. "That depends: are your friends still listening in and making that request?"

Greg's reply came abruptly. "Sorry—policy keeps me from speaking freely on the job. You know how it is."

Michael couldn't help but snort in amusement. "Figures. Just tell them if they want to visit the club, they'll have to do it like everyone else—no shortcuts."

"Yeah, I'll let them know," Greg replied after another muffled silence. This time, though, Michael was certain he heard a short series of groans in the background. While thinking of the scenario that likely played out on the other end, he cracked a chuckle and a smile.

000

His shift for tonight did not quite start as he liked.

Just as he arrived to see the main club entrance unleash its occupants for closing hours, Michael was silently greeted by the new yellow ID tablet standing outside the doors. Despite its LED light bars shining green to let him pass, the tablet did not speak any words, of welcome or otherwise. Its dual camera displays were more unnerving, as they looked like unblinking eyes that stared lifelessly at the upcoming line. It was a total contrast to the animatronic girls that ran within the club, and Michael thought this new device was better suited for the 'machine' description by miles. Conflicted by the greenlit welcome and the uninviting glare, Michael much preferred the presence of the bouncer that intimidated the crowd from any wrongdoing.

After that, the situation in the club was hardly any different. A while after the people left, Michael had yet to be properly greeted by anyone, living or otherwise. Almost forty-seven minutes had passed before Frenni arrived to meet him. Apparently, Chica had stayed in her recharge pod throughout the day—as Frenni had instructed her the night before—but had yet to come out of the pod itself, even with her friend assuring her of the present safety. This worried him, as it was different to his experience with the bear-eared woman last week, but said girl convinced him that her friend residing in the yellow animatronic was more susceptible to shellshock than she was, and likely needed time to accept her outlook. The singer even volunteered to say by her side until she felt confident enough to come out, which Michael agreed was best. So, while she remained next to her compatriot in the back room, he would monitor them both, along with the rest of the club perimeter, from the security room.

And the next three hours became a waiting game to see if Chica—a.k.a. Sophia Olvera—had improved.

As if caught by serendipity, the security room phone rang at the same moment Michael saw movement in the animatronics' room. Not wanting to tear his eyes at what would develop there, he forced himself to divert his attention to the call. Given the time it was, he knew exactly who it was.

"Heya, kiddo. How are things at the club?"

"Evening, Mr. Afton. Everything's the usual, so to speak."

"You sure about that? Because I wanted to ask you about one of my girls. Chica stayed in her pod all day today, and I was forced to look after taking orders from the customers. Frenni told me what happened last night, but I wanted an explanation from you too."

Having expected the elder man to ask this, and thanks to his and Frenni's end-of-shift discussion last night, Michael knew precisely how to answer. "Chica ran out of power in the kitchen not long after I arrived there," he said confidently. "Considering how hard she was working yesterday, I wasn't as surprised as last week when Frenni had her issue. Speaking of, I had asked her along in case Chica did faint so we could take her to the recharge pods." He took a quick look at one monitor and recognized the girl-in-question having finally emerged and facing her colleague. "If it's any consolation, she's just come out of the pod and appears fine now."

"Hmm, just what she said before. So, how do you explain some of the foods in the kitchen? I don't recall seeing them before."

"Really? I think I saw them while taking inventory in the storage room once or twice," he rehearsed while feigning honesty. "It never crossed my mind that they were shipped here by mistake. With all the compliments the customers were making, I just figured they were brought as part of a menu revival stunt. …Is that okay?"

"Normally, it would not be," Afton said sharply, causing Michael's heartrate to jump, "but this may work for the better. I also got a lot of positive feedback from the customers about the food quality. With my stockholders coming in to talk business next week, having the old dishes available will convince them easier. Not a lemon we can't make lemonade from, I guess."

The night guard stirred at his words in confusion. "Um, 'next week', sir?"

"That's right. The meeting time we agreed on is the end of next week, so you better act like the Boy Scout you are and 'be prepared' for the workload that's to come, eh?"

Recalling the announcement from the man last week, Michael nodded in confirmation. "Always, sir."

"Attaboy. Anyway, make sure and check my main cook is working in peak performance—question her on our recipes and kitchen rules and regulations, etcetera. I don't want her tripping over herself while the investors are here."

"Yes, sir." Once the phone call emitted a dial tone, Michael set the piece on the receiver, and sighed. He was relieved that the check-in went as well as he hoped, but one thing did irk him. Afton showed no real emotion during the conversation, neither for Chica's withdrawal from her pod nor even for the upcoming business meeting. At least for the former affirmation, the young man honestly expected his boss to show some kind of reaction. Then again, knowing how the guy treated the girls more like unfeeling pieces of property, Michael should not have had such hopes. Certainly not a fool's hope. Huffing at that dullish thought, he returned his sights to the monitor overseeing the back room… to find it devoid of active occupants.

A light knock emanated from his far right, and he flinched at the sound. Turning in his chair, he saw Frenni standing within the doorframe with Chica behind her. Catching his breath, Michael hurriedly composed himself and let them in the room. As they entered, it was the club's cook that approached him while the singer stood on the side. Judging from her countenance, she looked as if she wanted to say something, but was unsure of what to say and thus kept silent. It was almost like when they first met, but it was now Sophia acting this way instead of her animatronic counterpart. Knowing the prolonged silence was inadequate in starting their first real greeting, Michael broke it first.

"I know it's pointless for me to ask," Michael said softly, "but… how are you feeling?"

It took Chica a moment to answer. "Confused," she said slowly, "but aware, I think. Ariel told me everything last night."

"Like what?"

Chica put a hand to her temple while taking a few breaths. "Toda ella," she replied softly, "including what's happening here and what's become of us. She even told me about what you did for her and me, in order to reach out to us."

Michael looked at her curiously. "Do you not remember yours?"

"I do," she replied uncertainly, "but it is really strange. 'I' could see what was happening and what you were doing, but 'my other half'—as Ariel calls it—did not fully understand like I did. Not just that, but I was forced to say and do things I would never have before, and it felt like a shock ran through this body if I resisted. So, all I could do was let it happen, and endure the humiliation and degradation."

Michael stared at her, and then at Frenni. Her nodding was enough to tell him it was the same for her too. "I'm so sorry," was all he could say.

The chef-girl looked back at him. "I think it'll be okay," she continued, "as long as I can move and speak on my own again—even if I don't look like myself anymore. Before meeting you, I had to watch myself through this new body. I felt like I was living a false life, or someone else's life, and I could not look away." She put down her hand from her head, and stared at its yellowed textures while wriggling her fingers. "Even now, I keep asking myself if this is really me. But now I can decide to look past this and forward to the future, thanks to you. Having even one friend in this horrible place would've been enough for me. Yet Ariel is here too, and that's also because of you. With both of you here, I feel like I can keep going. Keep living, I mean."

Sheepish at the praise, the young nightguard shuffled his foot. "Well, to be fair, I did make a promise to help all of you girls," he said. "I mean, you girls really went through hell. Compared to what you lost, I have it easy. Still, I don't want any of you to have to go through such pain again, and I'll keep making sure of that."

Chica quickly grasped his hands. "Por favor, do not go that far. You're already risking enough."

"That may be, but at least I still have my life. You all lost yours. To me, it's all the more reason to help you. Friends help and trust each other, you know… and I consider you both two of mine, too."

Hearing that was all the remaining assurance she wanted, as Chica embraced him very briskly and happily, with her face nuzzling his neck. "Gracias, Mikey," she whispered tearily. His face was enveloped by her mane of hair, its texture he found soothing. Likewise, her big chest enveloped his toned one, but her arms had wrapped across his body to keep him close to her. Without a choice, Michael compelled himself to endure the tender encirclement of her hourglass body. He heard a stifled chuckle, and saw Frenni wearing a pleasing smile. She was clearly pleased at the outcome of last night, and seeing her old friend already recovering.

After a while of embracing him, Chica took a deep breath, and continued her thoughts. "You know, you really are different from los vagos that come here. When I was trapped in this body, I kept feeling like wincing and even gagging when they tried to get close or touch me. And I could do nothing but endure while this body acted on its own. But you—you have something none of them don't."

"What's that?" he asked curiously. Her response was to breathe deeply again while still nuzzling him.

"… You smell nice. Much better than any of them." Noticing his uncertain reaction to her words, Chica lifted her head to face him, and continued. "Don't get me wrong—you're so much sweeter too. I always enjoyed a man with manners; when we first met, I was drawn by your politeness and kindness, which is why I tried to be close to you. Also—" Her hands drifted up his back to his neck, and back down all the way to his waist— "you have a much nicer body than them. I felt like groping you whenever I saw you or let you touch me. …I still feel that way."

The way she eyed and spoke to him when she said this, combined with her feeling him up, stirred a reaction in Michael. It was beginning to become a familiar occurrence with these girls, but he knew this was far from the time to respond to such urges. Nudging his arms a bit to inform his desire to move, Chica raised hers to encircle his neck. The intimate position compelled her to lean her head forward, but Michael gently cupped her facial cheeks with his freed hands.

"I can imagine the euphoria you must be feeling," he said softly, "but I don't think this is the time or the place yet to celebrate. As long as you're here, you're still a captive of Afton; and until the other two girls are released, you cannot reveal your true self. Ariel and I will help you with that, but as long as I'm not here, you will have to continue acting as you were. …Can you do that for us, Sophia?"

His reminder of their situation, along with hearing her real name, eased Chica back to her senses. "Sí, I think I can… but how long will it be until we can leave esta pocilga?"

"I'm not sure," he responded, thinking back, "but based on yours and Ariel's recovery, I'd say in the next two weeks—maybe a bit longer if any setbacks occur. Is that okay?"

Chica—Sophia—bit her lip anxiously as she chewed over his guess. "It is longer than I would want," she whispered, "but I believe I can endure… as long as you and Ariel are with me."

Michael gave his approval with a modest nod, yet neither he nor Chica stayed where they stood. The moment was brief, as a sudden cough from Frenni shook them back to reality. With their attention properly returned, the diva got to the real topic of conversation.

"Okay, so… care to explain what the hell Afton did to us exactly?" she asked. "Or better yet, that reverse process you mentioned?"

Taking a deep breath, Michael arranged his mindset for what he was about to explain. "I'll start from the beginning. Essentially, Afton and a partner of his years ago designed and built animatronic bodies to emulate the human body in almost every way. However, those bodies had no brain or means of controlled movement, because said bodies became too advanced to be run by a CPU or AI program or what-have-you."

"And by 'bodies', you mean these?" Frenni asked, pointing to herself and Chica.

"Right. You said it yourself Ariel, about the level of detail that was accomplished to make everything as real as organic bodies. That was one of their main goals. But the body construction was the easy part; the real challenge was looking for an alternative means of programming to power their creations—and Afton found one."

The diva's eyes widened slightly in understanding. "Us."

"More like, human minds and souls in general," Michael corrected. "After all, not even the most advanced technologies today can emulate things like emotions or personalities. My guess is, Afton thought it was the perfect element for what he was trying to accomplish. Only, going down that path would include a lot of painful collateral damage… that is, using actual people to copy their brain functions into a digitized form." Michael rubbed his head. "The details of that procedure still escape me, but one thing that stuck out was that it hurts."

"I… think I remember that," Chica said with a wince, "but it was a brief flash of pain. Then, nothing—obscuridad silenciosa. When I woke up, I was in this body with no control."

The bear-eared girl listened carefully. "I… think that tracks. But if that's the case, how was he able to control us against our will?"

Michael took out a white object from his pocket. It was the little white flash drive he had at his apartment, now crammed with the same data as the old hard drive. "This contains the answer. Whatever means Afton used to make the mind transfer was an all-or-nothing deal—his artificial bodies wouldn't work if half a mind inhabited them. However, it'd be different if he discovered a way to isolate your free will from your talents, and implemented the latter. Your singing, Sophia's cooking—the kind of things you'd see in an entertainment district that don't require a lot of thinking. What's more, Afton had to know most of you would reject his offer if he mentioned you all'd end up in a nightclub." He tapped the flash drive with a finger. "Somehow, he developed an algorithm that sealed away your self-control in a way that allowed your talents to shine through without being impeded by your real selves. A kind of firewall, if you will. Of course, human minds are far stronger than people give them credit for, so his sealing technique wasn't perfect—you said yourself that you tried fighting back while in your new body? Experienced lapses in attention, or even spasms in your actions?"

"Dios mio," Chica gasped. "That's what he meant by the 'glitches'—he meant our souls."

"And the means I used to set you free," Michael concluded, "was the reverse process which undoes that firewall."

"I remember you mentioning a reverse process," Frenni followed along. "And you believe revealing our true identities to us is the key to undoing whatever Afton did?"

"Maybe even just saying your real names is what unlocks your consciences," Michael shrugged. "It worked on you and Sophia, after all."

"Somehow, it can't be that easy if that's all it takes to set us free," Frenni said doubtfully.

Michael sighed. "It isn't, honestly. First, I have to recognize which of you girls is inhabiting which body Afton prepared. Then, it's a matter of trust—I need your approval first before I move forward. What happened to you was purely chance, and Sophia's case was based on suspicions."

"Which leaves those 'Bonni' and 'Foxxy' characters. Any way to tell who is really who?"

Michael shook his head while gazing at the flash drive. "Not at the moment, but thanks to this little gizmo, I have a few clues to help me figure out who is possessing who. For now, it's a matter of talking to them." Securing the device back in his pocket, he continued his considerations. "Now that I know what I'm dealing with, it'll be easier to find out how to get Bonni and Foxxy to trust me in order to release the souls trapped in them. Then the five of us will be able to resolve the remaining issues together, whether it's to confront Mr. Afton directly or find you all a way to escape."

Frenni reflected on his words. "It's more likely this will end with the former option happening first. Remember I—my other half—said that he's planning a newer batch of us. Whether we leave or not, there will be other disappearances. Unless we stop him directly, nothing will change, except for the worse."

A dejected sigh escaped Michael, recalling that information from his first week. "Yeah, I know. It doesn't help that Afton's big meeting is late next week, either; and if it pans out in his favor, then his plan will become reality. I'll need to think carefully on where and how to proceed from here onward." His turned his eyes to the two girls in front of him. "Can I count on you two to support me? I know it's so much to ask right now when you're still recovering, but it's clear to me this is something I cannot tackle alone. Excluding outside help in order to keep Afton in the dark, it only leaves both of you at the moment. So, will you help me?"

Chica embraced one of his arms devotedly, resting her head on his shoulder once more. "Yes," she responded immediately, "fully and completely."

"As will I," Frenni said, copying her companion's actions with his other arm, and hummed contentedly in his neck crook. "For everything you've done, I'll never leave your side. That's my promise to you."

"Thanks, Ariel and Sophia," Michael said, touched by the sincerity in their words. Desiring the happy moment to last, he playfully nuzzled his cheek against their foreheads. This earned him some happy giggles and tighter hugs from both women. For a long while after, he let himself enjoy the warm embrace of the two animatronic girls by his sides, knowing he was certainly not alone in his new endeavor. Since learning the true scale of his promise, he felt fortunate to have someone to share the burden. With his path clearer, he felt certain of his success in saving the girls from their fate.

But for now, the three of them enjoyed each other's presence in elevated peace and comfort.

---

And that's the third week, everyone! In addition to another of the girls saved, a huge part of the club's mystery is solved. Now it's up to our MC to help its remaining victims, and unravel the rest of its clandestineness without getting caught—and not just by those still under its spell. Hope you all enjoyed this week so far!

To clarify, I decided long ago that the animatronic girls would have various ethnic backgrounds that not only fit their new identities, but also provided some cultural diversity. At the same time, I wished to continue honoring the lore of the franchise, so even coming up with unique names for the girls was difficult; but I believe the ones I came up with are quite fitting.

For instance, my Frenni Fazclaire's true self as Ariel Mahi is derived from the name 'Gabriel' from a gravestone in a certain FNaF picture art. Not only is that name paired alongside 'Michael' as two of the Four Great Seraphs of Heaven, but the deviated name is also a reference to Disney's The Little Mermaid whose female MC is known for her voice. Meanwhile, in connection with her talent, Ariel's surname comes from several popular singers originating from India. Our newer girl Sophia Olvera, a.k.a. Chica, is no different: likewise, her name is deviated from 'Susie' on the same picture art, while the surname is a reference to my first public cultural experience at Olvera Street in downtown Los Angeles. As such, I thought making Chica (whose name already has such ties) having Spanish/Mexican origins was appropriate; not to mention having her true aspiring profession as a lawyer would make her stand out as equally as Ariel Mahi. I've already noted in the story that I included two other names for the other girls—they'll be revealed in future weeks. Hope you like their true name concepts!

What do you think about this week at Frenni's Nightclub? Were there surprises and/or revelations that took you off-guard? Where do you think things will go from here? Be sure to let me know your thoughts in reviews—and stay patient with me in the meantime. Hope some of you like a bit of filler, because the next chapter will be an adventure, me buckos!