Once again, greetings to you all! This marks the tenth chapter of Five Weeks at Frenni's Nightclub, and this one has the most events yet! I honestly had a tough time writing this section out because of what I wanted to include, not to mention other events and errands in my life making such writer's blocks more burdensome. Hopefully, what I've finalized here will be worth the extended wait time.

In addition, I heard from a few readers about the lengths of my recent chapter segments, and how they have a hard time keeping track of where they are reading. I'd like to clarify the reason being that it's the best way for me to be consistent with the plot events and details; otherwise, the jumping back and forth between individual documents would make it too much of a hassle. Fortunately, I have thought of a solution to placate everyone: once my fanfiction reaches completion, I plan to reupload the story as a second fanfiction, where every single day-night section is its own chapter. In other words, this chapter consisting of seven days/nights will be an arc of seven separate chapters in the second version. This will not only allow for better organizing, but also make every episode consistently equal in length. And don't worry—I have a few more chapters left in store, so the end is not that far off.

But for now, please enjoy this chapter as we explore the arc of our final animatronic victim. Leave any comments if you have any, keeping in mind I own nothing of the FNaF franchise and declare all rights go to their respective owner(s).

On with the story, then!


Day 1

Two versions of Michael leaned forward, each scrutinizing the other in a bright room.

As one raised a hand to his face, the other mimicked his action perfectly. Caressing his jawline, one of the young men passed a razor over a spot on his chin, shaving a remaining patch of stubble. The other copied his action to the millisecond. After an umpteenth time checking over his appearance, the former Michael took a damp rag to wipe his freshly-shaven face; while his copy did the same. It wasn't until the washcloth passed over his nose that the two men's impersonation was sullied in some form.

An unintended sneeze from the first Michael sprayed onto the second—or rather, his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Clearing his nose with a snuff, the first Michael—the real Michael—soured a bit at the dirtied glass, and briefly used the rag to gain back its clear visage. Normally he would not take particular attention to his appearance, especially not before his work shift. There was no point anyway; as a security guard working during afterhours at night, no humans would see him in that time. In fact, the only beings that would see him at such late hours were the animatronic girls working in the nightclub, and they did not mind how he looked at all. As long as he was there to wipe away their loneliness, that was enough. Then again, he strangely felt like he needed to look decent for them anyway—they were not normal animatronic girls, after all. However, tonight was going to be different, and this was largely due to a call from Mr. Afton.

Almost two hours ago, his boss informed him that the big moment had arrived. The stockholders would be visiting the club tonight, along with every night for the whole week. Weirdly enough, the excitement in his boss's voice seeped into Michael's mind, igniting a level of elation in himself. This was not due to sharing his superior's interests, but rather Michael's past experiences from his old job; big business meetings like this meant the possibility of huge profits and promotions, as long as everything went favorably. In addition, Afton decided that the nightguard would need to arrive two hours earlier for the club's special visitors. In his words, the club would be better evaluated if it was seen with all available staff. Not wanting to look so casual for the first meeting, Michael wanted to look his best for the special occasion, and immediately went to grooming himself.

While examining himself, Michael noticed a difference about himself that he had not realized. Before being hired as the club's guard, his eyes had dark rings that were barely noticeable—a sign of not sleeping well due to his familial trauma. Now, those rings were gone. Seeing their absence made him look slightly younger than he really was, as if he finally regained the visage of his former self. And he knew why this was the case, along with when it started happening.

It had been about a month since he began working at Frenni Fazclaire's Nightclub by now, and so many things had happened in such a short time frame. When he started his first week, his sleeping routine was worsened by the buxom animatronic girls' aggressively provocative advances; but that changed when a storm forced them to come together and understand each other's feelings, and become friends. Unexpectedly, though, the following week forced him to face a different kind of "bombshell"; as a strange twist of events made him uncover a dark secret about the animatronic girls, that they were once human and forcibly turned into android sex-slaves by the club's boss. From that point on, his job had been two-fold: his official duty as a nightclub watchman and guard; and the unofficial duty as a kind of counselor and social company for the girls, all the while searching for a way to help them become free of Afton's control and avenge them. There were plenty of trial and tribulations along the way, but his efforts were not wasted.

Until now, three of the four animatronics were revived. The main girl—an exotic bear-themed singer named Frenni Fazclaire—was the first to be set free, albeit by chance; the loosely chicken-themed blonde Chica was the second, thanks to her culinary hobby; and the latest was the charmingly-fiery Foxxy the Pirate Queen, having been restored in both body and soul in their own senses. This left only Bonni, the playful rabbit-eared musician of the group. Even so, the sense of accomplishment and dedication Michael had for the girls he consoled and liberated gave him hope. Upon losing his parents in a tragic accident a year ago, he felt his life spiraling down into a deep dark hole; but meeting and bonding with the club's feminine humanoid occupants rekindled some purpose and meaning in his life—as well as lost love. Such newfound confidence allowed Michael to regain his sleeping habit until he no longer required the medicinal means he had prior.

For the first time in over a year, Michael felt like his old self again, if not better.

Just then, he heard something from outside the bathroom, in his bedroom. Following the source of the sound, he picked up his ringing cellphone and read the incoming call-person. With a swift press of his thumb, he answered the call. "Hey there, Greg," he began.

"Hey, Mikey! I've got great news—there's a cosmic bowling event being held downtown, and one of my buddies got a party pass as a business bonus. It's a one-time deal, and we have room for one more person. You wanna come?"

Michael's ears perked up at the mentioned event. Bowling was one of his favorite pastime sports, especially cosmic bowling, since he was a kid. Although he had not gone for several years, he still longed for an opportunity to satisfy that itch, if only for old times' sake. However, as he rubbed the back of his damp head in consideration, he reminded himself of his present condition and sighed. "Sorry, but I can't go," he said reluctantly. "I'm needed at the nightclub earlier than my usual hours. Business before pleasure, you know?"

Gregory sounded surprised through the phone by the news. "Really? How come you're going there earlier? Not that it's a bad thing, I guess, if it means more pay in the long run, but that's a pretty sudden change for someone working there for only a couple of weeks."

"Well, there's a number of reasons," Michael explained, "namely that Mr. Afton is having some investors coming in this week, and I'll need to be present during open-hours."

"That sounds promising. What will you be needed for, exactly?"

"Don't know, but that's why I need to be there early. The last thing I want to do is to make a bad impression in front of him during a possible expansion talk." Michael said no more after that, not wanting to spill any more information in case it was meant to be confidential. Thankfully, his friend was satisfied with what he heard and did not press the matter.

"Alright, well, sorry to hear you're busy. All the same, we'll be wishing you the best of luck this week." Greg paused for a moment. "By the way, you sound different compared to before—almost like your old self. Did something happen?"

Michael let a soft snort of amusement escape his nostrils. "You… could say that," he mused.

This time, Greg pressed on. "And? What was it that happened—perhaps something in the club?"

There he goes again. However, an idea grew in his head, as did a mischievous smile on his face. Holding his phone further from his ear in preparation, he countered his friend's jest. "Actually," Michael said slyly, "you may be pleased to know that a certain pirate queen is back onstage, compliments of yours truly." As he predicted, his phone exploded in his hand—via multiple voices.

"What?"

"Does he mean that Foxxy girl?"

"She's really back?!"

"Will you all shut up?!"

Michael heard Greg try shushing someone on the other end before returning to Michael's attention. Though, it was clear that he knew Michael overheard, as Greg made an awkward cough. "Does that mean… you helped in putting her back together?" he asked slowly. "That sure is a huge accomplishment, given how advanced they're said to be. Only… if you saw her, then that would mean…?"

"I 'saw' her," Michael grinned like a Cheshire cat, "and let's just say, she really lives up to her name."

The cellphone erupted again, the burst of yells even louder and more anguished in its collective tone. Imagining their noses bursting to match their voices, Michael could no longer contain his laughter. Yep, he definitely felt like his old self had returned.

000

That night, Michael pulled up at the nightclub parking lot a few minutes early of his newly-appointed time. Once he accessed the back entry doorway and entered the club's back hallway, he saw himself as being right on time—a good start for his own social debut. Walking along the hallway, he could hear the sensuous yet rowdy music from the main room, and the audience was just as vociferous. It was no mystery why the guys were more thunderous, and the sight before him as he entered the main clubroom proved his intuition.

The club's animatronic girls were on display throughout the floor, but with a difference from the past. As of recently, their missing constituent Foxxy had been restored and brought back onstage—thanks to Michael's contribution and efforts last week—and now the whole crew was back in business. He could see Chica being busy with food orders throughout the floor, with her signature bright smile; meanwhile the bear-eared singer and star attraction Frenni Fazclaire was calling forth the mythical siren within her at the center stage; and both Foxxy and the violet bunny-eared Bonni were doing a respective pole-dancing/guitar-shredding duo stint. Those two were especially active compared to their other figurative 'sisters', as their performance as in full swing in more ways than one. Michael felt like his eyes were spinning from witnessing the finger-play of Bonni's guitar and Foxxy's erotic pole-twirling.

But something else caught his eye for a moment. It seemed that, despite the whole group participating, most of the audience's attention was focused on the stage. While that was normally no surprise, the men's eyes were directed more toward Frenni and Foxxy, as were the bits of comments and calls he heard over the noise. He understood Frenni's case all too well, as no one could withstand her sweet voice whether her tone was innocent or tempting; and Foxxy was just as obvious, notably with her current attire of arm-and-leg-length fishnet gloves and stockings to compliment her leather jacket look. However, Bonni was being rather overlooked, if the bare lack of compliments from the crowd was anything to judge by. This gave Michael cause for concern, as this didn't happen when he first started working in the nightclub. I wonder what changed…

Before he could think of anything else, his eyes spotted Afton near the center of the club floor, standing among some suited men sitting at a table. Glancing up, Afton's elder eyes caught onto Michael's presence. Having spotted him, he ushered a hand for the young man to come over. Once he reached the group—after hustling through teeming tables and roaming Roombas—Afton gestured to the men-in-suits.

"Kid, these are my investors I mentioned before. Gentlemen, this is… well, you know already."

Michael took a brief moment to observe his boss's investors for the first time—and his optimism nose-dived a bit. Compared to his past experiences which involved professionally-looking men, the group assembled before him now looked a bit sleazier. Four of the five figures were semi-podgy and glossy-haired; one was an exception for the latter, as he was almost bald. Only one of them was fit enough and polished enough to look like a professional. Even less promising was that they eyed anything that did not interest them with hidden contempt… and that included Michael himself. Hiding his own displeasure, Michael straightened himself and greeted the men. "Evening, gentlemen. How is your visit so far?"

One of the investors raised his glass. "Spectacular, young man! I've never seen such a high-tech social establishment." He stopped briefly to take a swig of his high-end liquor, and exhaled in satisfaction. "And high-class too!"

"And so are the girls here," said another. "Hoo, aren't they a thing of beauty? I don't think I've ever heard such vocals from the club star. It's like a siren's calling to me." As he stared dreamily at Frenni, a figure approached the group with an outstretched arm. Chica, who had been in the kitchen, greeted herself before the investors with a big smile, entrancing them further. Furthermore, her apron that was sewn with the phrase "Kiss the Cook" acted like an added come-on. Michael instantly recognized the apron as the one he got for her last week. When her eyes floated to meet his, her smile grew wider. Without missing a beat, though, she went back to her façade and handed her tray's contents to the visitors.

"I do hope you enjoy yourselves," she teased cheerfully. "There are plenty more sweet goodies to be had tonight… just for you gentlemen." With a wink and her tongue stuck out playfully, she left the group in a daze. Michael looked between her shrinking form and the men at the table, remembering his own first experience. Their faces were not much different from his when Chica provided for him.

"The chicken girl's sweet too," said another suit, handling his olive-and-mushroom pizza.

"So are the treats she makes!" exclaimed a fourth, having finished the cupcake dessert and already taken a bite of his chicken-and-avocado salad. In between several more bites, he added, "I can't stop eating—it's all so good!"

"That it is," Afton mused to himself. "…So, how about the entertainment? I take it they please you?"

"They do indeed," replied the second stockholder. "I'll admit, I was skeptical when I heard one of your figures had been restored to working order, but you did not disappoint." He waved a free hand to Foxxy, who was strutting her stuff front-and-center of the stage now. "Kudos to you."

"Don't count the bunny-girl out. She's tearing up that guitar like no one's business," interjected the first suited man. "Hard to believe she's actually a machine inside."

"Yeah—makes you wonder what else she can do with those hands," the third man replied after swallowing another mouthful.

The comment made his compatriots roar in laughter. Only Afton and Michael were the exceptions; yet while the former showed a slight smile, the latter appeared more repulsed. Still, their jests towards Bonni made Michael reflect back on the lead guitarist, and the sense of intrigue and concern retuned to him. Looking up at the stage, he could see her doing splendidly; and yet, despite wearing such a confident and adrenaline-rushed face, the gleam in her eyes felt more fretful.

000

After the midnight hour came upon everyone, Michael continued with his usual duties. He was secretly grateful, almost eager, for the change of shifts; after witnessing several moments of those businessmen indulging themselves in culinary and verbal leisure, he needed some proper company. Speaking of, he was sure the girls felt the same way, given how much of the visitors' speech was at their expense. Granted, Michael had heard similar words from everyone in the club—including Afton—but the way that quartet of people spoke was outright slanderous. What made it worse was the fact that he couldn't say anything, whereas Afton chose to say nothing to dissuade such talk. Even machines deserved better respect than that.

Shaking away his sullied thoughts, Michael resumed with monitoring the club from the security room. In short time, he noticed movement in the main stage monitor. While the screen was a bit grainy this time, the gathering of red, brown, and yellow was enough to show who was there. Deciding to greet them, he exited the security room and walked through the clubroom. As Michael approached, the three girls' backs were turned to him as they conversed, unaware of his incoming presence.

"… while I said many men here were los cerdos, those four were cerdos salvajes," Chica complained, shivering in disgust. "Every time I stuck my tongue out, I was not being flirty."

"I wanted to stick my middle fingers out myself," Foxxy replied. "Did you hear how many pirate-puns they made at me? Never mind the 'booty' jokes—they were just as pathetic."

"Luckily, we won't have to deal with all that at these hours," Frenni soothed. "Mikey would never say such things to us."

"That's a lot coming from you, Ariel," Foxxy observed, using her friend's real name. "If it were you before, you would've wanted him to say such things during private times. Hmm, I know I would've let him."

"That is because he is such a gentleman," Frenni shot back amusingly. "What's your excuse? It's not like you getting all boy-crazy. Didn't you call yourself a heart-stringing tomboy before?"

Foxxy smirked back knowingly. "Look who's talking—don't you still have that secret pervert side of you underneath your proper-lady shell?"

"Cassie!" Frenni hissed through clenched teeth.

Michael made a short cough to get their attention. The girls jumped, and turned to see him. Chica, a.k.a. Sophia, came forward and hugged one of his arms with glee, while Foxxy—that is, Cassie—hooked an arm around his neck as she rubbed against his other side. Frenni, whom he identified as Ariel, stayed where she was instead; given her reddened face and side-tracked eyes, she was clearly embarrassed at possibly being overheard. Wanting to avoid continuing their line of conversation as well, Michael started first.

"Hey girls. Say, where's Je—I mean, Bonni?" His sudden correction perked their attention. In case the cameras were recording their words, or if Afton decided to check their memories, they had agreed to keep using their stage names until all four female performers were revived. This took getting used to for the girls; namely, it wasn't easy to answer accordingly when being referred to by a name other than their birthname—certainly not overnight. This was especially true for Chica and Foxxy since they were recently revived, yet they managed to pull it off with help from Frenni.

"Bonni is in one of the recharge pods now," Frenni piped up, having overcome her embarrassment. "She really exerted herself while onstage tonight."

"I noticed that," Michael replied. Then, tuning his voice down to a whisper, he said, "and it's a good thing, too—I wanted to talk to you three about her while she's not here."

Understanding his intention, the female trio got closer to begin a secret powwow. Facing the stage, away from the overhanging cameras, they discussed Michael's latest challenge on how to bring back the girl called Jesse from her Bonni-persona. Figuring the means to do it wasn't the issue, i.e. earning their complete trust first, as Michael used this method successfully for the present three. Rather, it was what Chica pointed out.

"But this 'Bonni' already trusts Michael," she observed. "If he tries to have her confide in him, how will he tell if it's Jesse talking and not 'Bonni'?"

"Exactly. She's been more forward with me right from the get-go," Michael explained. "And her report doesn't help either, as her personality description is almost identical to her current self. I don't know where to start with her."

"That is something to consider," Frenni replies in thought. "In that case, wouldn't it be easier to just forego that step and bring Jesse out forthright?"

Michael shook his head. "Can't risk it, for her sanity's sake. If I revert her too quickly, the shock may become too much to handle, and she'll have no reason to trust me at all. In order to make the changeover as smooth as possible, I need to give her inner-self some assurance, no matter what her outer self says or does." He exchanged a look between the women at his sides. "That's how it worked for all of you."

"So, like the chicken-girl said," Foxxy mulled, "we need to tell the difference between our girl and the kinky bunny first."

"That may be a tall order," Frenni noted. "From what I can recall right now, she was always like that—a kinky bunny, that is. Are there any other clues in her report that could help, Mikey?"

The nightguard scratched his head while leaning on the stage. "Possibly. I'll have to double-check. Maybe I can find something from her herself when she's recharged tonight. In the meantime, please let me know if any of you recall any details about her, okay?"

The three girls nodded, and their secret meeting ended there. Michael returned to the security room for his duty, while the girls roamed about and explored the club, and occasionally visited him. Sadly, for all of them, Bonni remained in her recharge pod for the rest of the shift that night. As a result, none of them were able to speak to her, let alone make any leeway in finding a way to help her. Michael was particularly concerned, since he had promised to help all the girls and this week was meant for the bunny woman. The only plus he could think of was her getting a full night's rest after her hard performance.

It's only been one night, he thought as he gathered his belongings at the shift's end. There's still tomorrow.


Day 2

A series of clicks brought Michael back to a familiar sight on his laptop.

On the screen was a window full of files originating from a plugged-in white external hard drive. A few weeks ago, Michael had found the storage device hidden in the club, thanks to some recorded messages left for him during his first week. Upon viewing the contents, he learned the device belonged to a past associate of Afton, named Dr. Henri Emile; and the files were all connected to a secret AI experiment the two men cooked up called "Project Enard". Simply, it was the same project which turned real girls into the animatronic girls that now served the nightclub. Since its rediscovery, Michael had been using some of the files to research the specific females Afton chose to turn into his silicone slaves, as well as revert the programming that restrains their human minds.

So far, he succeeded in freeing three of them. Only one was left now.

Another click later, and he was reading through the file full of Missing Persons reports describing the girls as they were before their fateful encounter with Afton. Within a minute, Michael reached the last report:

MISSING

Name: Jesse Glau

DOB: XX/XX/XXXX

Race: American

Occupation: Exotic dancer, Student at City Academy

Disappearance: XX/XX/XXXX, near place of work

Interests: Theatrical arts, composing music/music videos, partying with friends

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

The photograph in the report showed a young woman sitting at a desk in a kind of college dorm room. Her blue-eyed appearance was a year or two older than the other girls, sported wavy waist-length dirty-blonde hair, and a simple T-shirt that could pass as a pajama top that showed her midriff. Although she had a slightly chubby belly, the image revealed she still had an attractive figure. Her face was likewise appealing to the eye—enough to pass as pornstar-level—and the expression she was making while on a laptop and wearing wireless earphones showed it. In the background, a drum set and keytar could be seen next to an unkempt bunkbed. Judging by looks alone, this "Jesse Glau" was a stark contrast to the pink-eyed violet woman with bunny ears, chin-length hair and stylish clothing designed with stage-dancing in mind. On the other hand, the issue that faced Michael was not nearly as black-and-white.

Unlike the last times, when he had to guess which woman possessed which servant, there was no mistaking who was possessing the long-eared guitarist. Unfortunately, that was the only certainty, and a small one at that. As the other three vixens had described her, the report's list of Jesse's interests was near-identical to Bonni's persona, so telling both persons apart would be extremely difficult. The others were not as hard to reach out to, because they still had an interest or connection to their real selves that differed from their current personalities. Michael figured he was going to have his work cut out for him.

On top of that, he thought dismally, Afton and his group will be watching her performance. If they see her attention is elsewhere while onstage, they'll want to know what's up. Even if I asked her to keep our interactions a secret, she won't be able to once Afton checks her memories—and it'll be game over for all of us.

Leaning back in his chair, he held his face for a minute before wiping his hands down the sides of his face. The way he figured the situation, was he would have to talk to Bonni extensively in order to find something to tell her apart from 'Jesse', but not leave a huge impact in their conversations that they interfere with her club performance. It was the only way Michael could think of, even though it was a tall order.

And whether or not the talks about expanding the club worked out, he could not afford any leisure of time.

000

That night, Michael's time in the club was a very chatty one.

Strangely, Michael arrived in the club to find the stockholders waiting impatiently, and alone. Upon asking the matter, he learned that Afton had yet to meet them. With his boss running late and left with no choice, the young man took the initiative by speaking with them in his boss's place as best he could. While he did not know the finer points of the club business, Michael was able to discuss the broader functions, such as how its security system worked and its emergency protocols.

"In case a blackout happened on this block," he explained, remembering his own experience, "the servers for the building would not be affected due to being a separate system. That way, no data is lost even if the network connection goes offline. As a plus, the girls here are run on the same servers, so there is some means to fix a problem if needs be."

Luckily, he managed to keep their attention until Afton arrived about ten minutes later. Panting heavily, the older man had apologized for his untimely arrival, claiming he had last-minute business taking inventory at an off-site storage facility. With a shared nod, the men waved off his lateness, and their discussions continued from last night. At one point, Afton gave Michael the task of providing the investors a tour of the ground floor, including the security room, while he had to double-check something on his computer upstairs. Obliging the request, Michael spend the majority of the time showing the five men around the club, describing each room as his boss had done weeks before. They spent a little more time when visiting the Animatronics room, Repairs, and the security room, as there was more to explain. While the men did take his words into account, most of them seem to only feign interest; only the more slimmed man took the tour seriously, along with Michael's knowledge and authority. In fact, one query he asked near the end of the tour felt rather odd.

"With all the technology, appliances, and devices that are utilized here," he began, "they must sap electricity like there's no tomorrow. How do you manage the electric bills?"

Michael couldn't help but stop in his tracks in confusion. "I, uh, I-I wouldn't know that," he mustered. "I just manage the security here. You'd have to ask Mr. Afton about finances."

After that, the tour resumed and ended without a hitch, just in time for closing hours. Once he escorted everyone outside—including the suited gentlemen politely into their cars and limousines—he returned to the security room to sign in. As usual, there was a list waiting for him, though hastily written:

1. Restock vodka at the bar

2. Gather the dishes and set them in the kitchen

3. Set up the ingredients for dough for auto-chef

4. Clean and wipe the tabletops/barstools

5. No sex in the nightclub

Sighing, Michael input himself in the security system, and set off to perform the given errands. The first two were easy enough, as they were essentially lifting and setting down sets. For the third job, it was a matter of setting out the frozen pizza crusts and dough-in-the-cans—Afton's version—whereas he set out the proper ingredients in the kitchen. Combined with Chica's help, the two of them ensured there was enough to serve for the next day. After that, it was the regular sanitation duty, and Michael gathered the necessities from the storage closet. Checking a new clock that was set up above the bar, it was a few minutes past 2am, which left him more than enough time for the last task.

As he started wiping the table surfaces, his mind wandered about his routine chores. Because he kept doing the jobs at a regular basis, he had begun to pick up speed at completing them. This was no surprise, as that happens when someone works at one place for an extended time, and Michael was glad to have another means of exercising to maintaining his shape. It was also a bonus that this provided increased time to spend with the girls—a must when it came to his undercover task.

"Hey you!"

The elated call snapped him out of his line-of-attention, as did the sudden sensation of being hugged from behind. His shoulder blades and thighs were assaulted by the firm, pressing feeling of breasts and thighs, respectively. Despite jumping in reaction of being ambushed, the person held her grip on him with purple arms. No surprise who it was.

"Hey, Bonni," Michael grunted, not bothering to complain about being jumpscared again.

"Aw, why the long face? This is my week to see you—you should be happy to see me!" Bonni chirped, setting her head on his shoulder. Her long, floppy ears grazed softly on his head as she nuzzled his neck.

Unable to help the smile on his face, Michael turned his head to her. "I am glad to see you. In fact, I was kinda hoping to see you since I never got the chance yesterday. Only—" He shifted his shoulders a bit, yet Bonni showed no indication of letting go. "—you don't need to be this clingy. It's not like we're the only two people in the building."

Getting the message, she reluctantly released her hold on him. "We might as well be. The other girls are unavailable or busy elsewhere, so you're the only person I can talk to right now. Not to mention, the other girls have been acting really strange…"

Uh-oh—it sounds like she's catching on to the others' behavior, Michael panicked. He needed to find a way to change the subject and distract the woman in front of him. A quick idea flew into mind. "W-Well, if you want to talk, why don't we have a questionnaire between the two of us? We can take turns asking about each other or ourselves."

Bonni smiled a bit at the thought. "Not a bad idea. Foxxy used to do that with the customers before her—" Her eyes briefly flashed red before going back. "Um, before the incident."

Michael nodded, knowing she was referring to the Break of 87th Street. "I understand. Alright, ladies first." As he wetted and ringed the washcloth to resume his errand, she began the game.

"Which of us do you like the most?"

Her blunt enquiry made him freeze, his hand with the rag hovering over the tabletop, until he turned to face her. She was already sitting in a chair turned backwards, her arms resting on the top of its back. "That's hardly fair for a first question," he protested. "I can't choose between people like that, especially not you girls."

"Why not?" Bonni perked, tilting her head in curiosity.

"Because I'm fully aware of all your feelings toward me, and choosing one of you from the rest would mean breaking everyone else's hearts, and I couldn't do that. I'd rather live the rest of my life alone if it meant keeping myself from hurting anyone." Michael paused for a moment, as another thought crossed his mind. "But then again, I haven't been fought over by a group of girls before."

"Well, you're in luck, because this girl-groupie's got the hots for you!" The guitarist set her chin in her hands as she leaned forward with her elbows on the chair's back. "So, if you can't choose, then what about each of us do you enjoy?"

Knowing she was not giving up easily, Michael thought hard. "Even that's tough to decide. I mean, outside of being absolute beauties, there's something about all of you that makes you worth hanging around. Frenni has her motherly personality with the voice to match, so she naturally makes the world sound wonderfully brighter; Chica is almost as sweet, and loyal, though she can have a cheeky side too—kind of the 'good girl' of the group. Then again, Foxxy has that boyish charm and great imagination." He turned towards Bonni. "What quality about yourself do you think is your biggest strength?"

Bonni put a finger to her cheek, pondering his question. "I would say… my energy. I can rock anyone's day for days if I wanted."

"That much is true," Michael said. "You do have more energy than the others."

"That makes two of us," Bonni said with a knowing smile while observing his work. "Most men wouldn't be able to keep up with the workload you have here, yet you manage great. The way you're so quick and thoroughly is impressive. …Makes me wonder what other ways those hands of yours can be used."

Her words caused Michael to pause his scrubbing. "You really need to lessen the use of sexual innuendos, Bonni," he said frankly.

The perky bunny woman shrugged. "I could, but the alternative talk bores the VIPs, and this way makes a conversation more stimulating. It is part of my subroutine, anyway." She then raised a hand to count her fingers. "So, you enjoy the dommy-mommy, the ditzy good girl, and the tomboy stereotypes? That's quite the fetishes you got there."

"I never said that," Michael objected. "But on the same page, are you okay with being called the 'horny play-bunny'? I've heard that name as well."

Another flash of red appeared in her eyes for just a second, and then faded to blue. "…I suppose it is hard to argue with what you are. So why bother denying it?"

Michael noted the uncertainty in her voice, like she was conflicted with the answer she gave. Feeling uncomfortable with the direction of their conversation as well, he decided it best to change the subject. "Back to 'rocking', I guess you're really passionate about music, right?"

She instantly brightened up. "Oh yeah. For me, as long as I have my strings and my dance moves, I am content."

Her sudden honesty took Michael aback for a second. "Then you like performing here?"

Bonni nodded. "Dancing on a stage provides a means to stay in peak performance, and show off what I can do. It is so much fun being in the spotlight. And…" Her eyes blinked in thought, as if she were reminiscing. "… when people enjoy seeing you and what you do, they become more honest with themselves and reveal a side they don't often show to the world. That level of trust is a privilege to me."

Michael stared in wonder. "That's... pretty poetic," he confessed.

"… I think of it more as kinky," Bonni elaborated with a flirty wink. "In here, that trust is best earned when you're horny."

And there she goes again. Giving a soft snort in amusement, he finished his current tabletop and proceeded onto one of its neighbors. Feeling his throat getting parched from all the talking he had been doing tonight, he took a few swigs from the water bottle he brought with him. From the corner of his eye, Bonni watched his action with a perplexed look.

"How does it feel for you to drink water?" she asked.

Michael gulped one last time, and stared at Bonni. He hadn't expected a question like that from her. His eyes switched from her to his water bottle. "In a word, refreshing. I feel like my whole body is cooled down and re-energized at the same time, while my mind is cleared for a moment. Probably how you're supposed to feel when you're rehydrated." Remembering the animatronic girls could drink water as well, he turned back to the female guitarist curiously. "Is it not the same for you?"

"It is, but for a different purpose," she answered, and pointed to her floppy ears. "Water is the key component in our special spray to lure additional customers, so we need to replenish ourselves when the saturation balance gets low. That is as far as I can go to describe it without violating my restrictions."

"And may I ask what happens if you drink too much water?"

Bonni's eyes glittered between red and blue shades. "…Don't know. I never drink too much."

Michael thought about her answer. That could have been her real persona speaking, but at the same time, it may not have. If Jesse was passionate about her work, then she would be responsible enough to not allow certain temptations to hinder her efforts. Then again, he did not recall anything about hydration storage in Foxxy's blueprints; and he knew all the girls had near-identical designs. Still, if the latter was true, he hoped there was none such storage. After all, moisture and electronics did not mix well, and such a kind of extended containment in the girls' bodies would lead to a number of problems in the near future. "Well, for your safety, I hope your systems tell you the limits," Michael cautioned, "or else you may become a walking health code violation."

"Now that sounds kinky," she giggled.

After a moment, Michael couldn't help but snort with her. What he said did sound that way. At the same time, it brought to mind something he wanted to know for precautionary reasons. "I've wondered something about your coding. Since all of you have been around for a couple of years, it would stand to reason you would need to be maintained, not just to keep with the times but also the tech-improvement factor. Have you undergone any updates since you got here?"

"A fair amount," the musician said, her eyes flashing red and blue again, "but I cannot go into details. Security restrictions and all that jazz."

"Okay, back to talking about music, then," he said, dropping the previous topic. "What sorts of music do you like?"

Her eyes stare as blankly as her answer. "… I'm not sure. I only know the ones recorded in the club and in my programming. The same goes for singing and dancing."

"You mean you perform the same songs and acts every day?" Seeing her nod in confirmation, he was about to ask if she found that boring after so long, but stopped himself. Her lack of knowledge in this field was not exactly out of choice. Thinking back on his first week in the nightclub, he remembered the girls describing their situation in the club, namely how the only things they knew were the protocols and programs they were given. As a consequence, they did not know how to approach people outside of seduction; Michael knew this since he experienced it himself. By extension, they were closed off from the outside world, so they knew nothing except what gossip they overheard when meeting customers. This little revelation was a reminder of that, and he felt sympathetic for her. "Well, do you think you'd be interested in learning another creative skill?"

"… Maybe. But I don't know if I would want to. Singing and dancing are already so much fun… unless learning the 'horizontal tango' was an option. I could be a virtuoso in that." Not noticing Michael rolling his eyes in amusement to her comment, Bonni got up to kneel on the chair, bringing herself to lean forward towards him. "But enough about me! How about you—what music do you like to hear?"

Accepting the turnabout in fair play, Michael thought as he continued cleaning the club furniture. "I enjoy a good share of rock, too," he said, "but I also like some techno. There's a bit of classical and folk music that gets me in a calming mood as well. Since you may be unfamiliar with those styles, I can find some recordings for you to hear if you want."

The mix of curiosity and confusion in Bonni's face after hearing the types of music changed to zest upon hearing his offer. "Sounds like fun," she said. "How about any favorite dance moves?"

"That, I'm not sure myself," Michael replied simply, "if only because I don't know how."

Her eyes went very wide in incredulity, likely having never heard of someone unable to dance. A second later, her pink irises got a peculiar gleam. "In that case, how about a tradeoff? You find me some music styles, and I can teach you some of my moves. We could start with the basics in salsa dancing, or go right to Rumba or Bachata. Maybe try out the Lambada, ooh…" She began rambling on in heavy breaths while counting on her fingers until Michael stopped her with a finger to her lips.

"Remember lessening your innuendos? You're overdoing it again," Michael smiled gently. Her expression changed in response with a cute wink and smile as if saying "oops". Removing his hand, he resumed his sanitation duty on the current table until it shone. Now that it was his turn to ask her something, he thought deeply on what to ask. "Here's a good one. If you had the choice to change one thing about yourself, what would it be?"

Bonni tried long and hard to think. A few times her eyes glowed red and then reset, but she remained silent the whole time. At last, she blinked and looked down at herself. "My… chest size?"

Michael did a mental face-palm. "Really? That's what you came up with—another innuendo?"

"I mean it," Bonni pouted with sincerity in her voice. "A lot of the guys that come here have a fetish for their lust, and one of them is breast size. Frenni and I are an F-cup size, but Chica is two sizes bigger—an H-cup! With her role as a cook, the number of innuendos that can go with her rack is through the roof. It is no mystery why she is so popular with the men, sometimes even more than Frenni or I."

"So, you're jealous because of that?" he summarized. "Bigger chests don't always mean greater attention, you know. Foxxy is almost as famous as Chica, despite having a D-cup."

Bonni blinked at his words. "Now how would you know that?" she asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

"I read her blueprints, remember? That was one of the details for her mold," Michael replied, unmoved by her hidden meaning. Despite the truth of his claim, the violet musician looked unconvinced, keeping her suggestive grin. Somewhat fed up with the allusion antics, he shook his head. "Why are we even talking about your body shapes right now? How did we even get there?"

Bonni's reply was as simple as it was straightforward. "Because you asked."

"No, actually, y—" Michael tried to protest with a pointed finger, but drooped it when he realized something. His face likewise fell as he used the same hand to facepalm himself. "You're right—I did ask. I walked right into it, didn't I?" The only answer she gave him for that question was covering her mouth with her hand to stifle her laughter.

A while passed after that, with the two of them continuing to play the exchange game while he carried on with his errand. Finally, she needed to return to the recharge pods for the night. Hopping off her chair, the bunny-eared musician strutted off to the back hallway. As he watched her go, Michael saw a small sway in her step and hips. Whether it was because she was in a happy mood for having him to herself for the night, or she was luring him further by putting more emphasis on her hips while walking, he wasn't sure. Regardless, he was glad to have started learning more about her, and easily earned her consignment for more such opportunities. As he finished the last table for the night, he saw Frenni emerge from the animatronics' room and walk up to him with a big smile.

"I saw a certain violet-skinned group member enter the back room with a smile as bright as the sun," Frenni greeted to him. "From what I overheard while I was in there, you chatted up a real storm."

"And then some," Michael breathed, massaging his throat.

Frenni made a face mixed with concern and hope. "Then, does this mean you learned something important?"

He was about to reply when a short cough escaped him, and went for the water bottle in his pocket. However, as he stared at the few droplets that remained at its bottom, he revised his answer. "Yeah, I did," he said dully. "I learned to bring two bottles the next time I'm asked to talk a lot."


Day 3

Solemn feelings welled in Michael's mind as he drove up to the hospital parking lot.

The emotions he felt for hospitals were not from the visuals of ill and hurting people laying helpless on beds, as he used to think. At his age, he knew very well these places were meant to help and heal, and even make its patients stronger than before. Yet, certain recent events only brought despondent memories for him. It was in another hospital that he, his grandmother, and Vanny heard of his parents' cause of death; and where he received their cremated remains for their memorial service. Even more depressing was the fact that his other close relations were just as affected: his grandmother had stayed in her bed for nearly a week after hearing the devastating news; and Vanny made several more visits to the same place while investigating his parents' case, despite the emotional pain that surfaced every time. Clinics like the one Michael was approaching remained a touchy subject all around, at least for the time being.

But there was a reason he was driving to such a place today.

This morning was particularly important, as he had to run a special errand at one of the city's main clinical branches. However, the appointment was not exclusively for himself; rather, it was for his passenger sitting next to him. As he parked in a spot as close to the hospital's main entrance as he could find, the passenger shifted comfortably in her seat.

"Thank you, darling, for bringing me here," she said in her elderly voice. "The traffic around here can be such a bother for an old woman like me."

Michael turned to the older woman, who was giving him her signature smile. She was no stranger to him; in fact, this was his grandmother on his mother's side. Despite being well into her late eighties, she looked quite well for her age. Sitting in the passenger seat, she was about as tall as he was, though that changed as she had to hunch over a bit whenever she walked alongside him. While her cheekbones and nose had become more prominent as she got older, as did the wrinkles on her skin, they were softened by enough flesh to give her face a sweet expression. But the most recognizable feature on his elder relative was her hair: a pure-white fluffy cloud resting atop her head like a serene crown fit for a queen. There were a number of people over the years that had complimented her coiffure, and it brought a smile to Michael's face upon hearing them. Yet, no such smile appeared upon seeing hers, as he recalled their reason for coming here.

For years, his grandmother wore a pacemaker because of a fluttering heartbeat. It was a matter of decaying health due to old age which led to the device's installment. Ever since then, she had to make a biannual appointment to have her apparatus checked, analyzed, and maintained. However, this year was especially hard for her to make those appointments on her own—for obvious reasons. As a result, Michael had volunteered to take her to her meetings, as well as anywhere else she needed to go. This makeshift arrangement put additional stress on him, on top of everything else he experienced in the past months, but at least no such stress was put on her. Another plus was their meetings cut down on her loneliness, so there was solace to be found.

Yet, one thought mired such consolation right now. "Yeah, sure. Glad I can help," he said sadly.

"What's wrong, dear? You look down in the dumps," she asked.

Michael looked up at her pathetically. "It's nothing really. I really am glad I can do this for you so you won't have to, but… this reminds me of something Vanny once said to me, about being grateful for the things I still have. It makes me concerned about how much time you have left since my parents…" He stopped for a moment, unable to bring up the incident in front of her. "Ever since that happened, we've been dependent on each other. But since I've been tending to my own affairs during a lot of that time, I'm worried about doing enough so the remaining moments we have are good ones." His voice trailed off, not finding any more words to describe his feelings. Luckily, his grandmother understood what he was trying to say, and reached across to lay his head on her shoulders in a makeshift embrace.

"Aw, honey," she said with clear compassion as she held him, "let me tell you something: you don't need to feel like you have to take up every burden for my sake. I've had my share of losses long before you were an itch in your daddy's pants, and I soldiered on from each one. And you've done wonderfully in your own way. You don't owe me anything." Her words—especially her last statement—had an impactful effect on him, and he gave his silent thanks while resting on her shoulder in relief. After a moment, they parted and she spoke in a more upbeat voice. "Now, let's change the subject to something more pleasant, alright? How is it going with your girl-friend?"

Michael paused for a second, wondering why she would ask something like that so suddenly. Until, he remembered one of their recent conversations including him vaguely mentioning Frenni, a.k.a. Ariel. "She's, uh, pulling through her issues," he said carefully, remembering what he said before. "But it's kind of an odd situation."

"What about it makes it odd?"

He thought fast about how to answer, yet his mind unintentionally assaulted him with images of the other animatronic girls, with clear attraction on their faces. "She and I are getting along well now, but our being together is… complicated in that my boss prohibits that kind of friendship outside my job. It doesn't help, either, that some of her friends are also interested in me. I'm not sure how to deal with a situation like that."

"Ooh, so there's more than one now?" Her enthusiasm was then tinged with assurance. "Well, I'm sure you'll find a way to work it out."

"What makes you think that?" he asked curiously. His grandmother chuckled as she gave a meaningful smile. One of her wrinkled hands took one of his hands into a firm yet comforting grip.

"Because I know my grandson, and one of his biggest enjoyments is also his greatest desire: love, and to be loved. That's the kind of man you are. If you see someone hurting or heartbroken, you won't hesitate to help them back on their feet by sharing that desire to make them feel loved too. Those girls—why, any gal— will be happy to have you in their lives for that, and they'll be more than willing to support you the same way."

"Thanks, grandma," Michael said, trusting in her intuition. Checking the time in the truck dashboard, he saw several minutes had passed. Their conversation had eaten up the spare time from their early arrival, and it was about time for his relative's meeting. "Well, we should get inside now," he sighed, and opened his door to get out. "We don't want to be here early only to end up late."

"Alrighty then, doll," she said in cheery understanding.

Though she opened her door herself, he made sure to whirl around to help her outside. While holding her hand, he secured the vehicle and escorted her to the sliding glass doors that made the main building entrance. As they walked together, Michael felt himself leaning more towards his grandmother despite the pressure of his arm supporting her. At that moment, he confirmed what he used to think of these locations, as places for healing and rejuvenating. It's not just the patients that are treated, he thought with renewed confidence.

000

That night, Michael returned to the nightclub to witness a change in scenery. The sight and sounds of the awaiting clienteles outside were the same, as was the yellowish tablet stand keeping guard with its scanning screen and creepy unblinking eyes. The inside of the club sounded the same, too, but the arrangement of its main entertainment was where the big change laid.

This time, there was no one on the main stage. This puzzled him, as this had never happened during open hours; and even though Chica was readily doing her food orders around the club floor, most of the crowd's attention was focused in a different direction. Looking around, he found two other animatronic ladies at the left side of the club floor, near the Pirates Cove mini-stage. Foxxy was on her custom stage, doing her signature tall-tale skits, which was the source of the men's enthrallment. Frenni was also near there, standing next to Afton and his posse, and appearing a bit uncomfortable at the moment. Joining them, he stood over by Frenni's other side. She managed to shoot him a fleeting warm look without her close-up audience noticing. Afton, meanwhile, showed no acknowledgement of his presence as he continued speaking. From what Michael could tell, his boss was describing the different functions and characteristics of his animatronic creations, and using Frenni as an example for his demonstration.

"… and the nano-electrolytes are electrically connected like a woven web, creating an artificial nervous system that allows them the most realistic response to touch." Unexpectedly, Afton patted Frenni's toned behind with his hand. Frenni flinched sharply and quickly turned to find him smirking proudly. "And as you can see," he continued while gesturing to her form, "a greater number of those ionic conductors are gathered in certain areas of their bodies, creating the perfect emulation for pleasure—their erogenous zones, if you will. Even better, said zones are customizable, along with their appearances. All these features combined would allow anyone to create the perfect individual social partner."

The investors paid very close attention to his words, nodding very intently at the idea of customizing their own potential animatronic partners. It was obvious they were being won over by the pleasurable aspects of the girls. "Impressive," said one with white streaks atop his head. "They would make our current high-end escorts look like street-side hookers."

"To think we can have one that has the chicken girl's rack and the pirate fox's ass."

"That's a 'booty-ful' bounty worth every penny in my book."

Michael rolled his eyes at the pickup line, recalling what Foxxy had said the other night. Frenni, meanwhile, tried her best to not looked miffed at being touched inappropriately. As the other members in the group discussed Afton's claims, only the slim man remained in thought. Once he did speak, it was not to any of his cohorts, or even Afton.

"What about your thoughts, kid? You've been among these figures for a while—you think they can be the perfect partners?"

Blinking at the question, Michael gazed at the company to find their attention, including Afton's, was now on him. The suddenness of the interest-switch left him disconcerted for a moment, and his eyes briefly swapped around. They rested back on the brown-skinned diva, whose face held a hidden sense of offense from his boss's inappropriate handling. By sheer coincidence, her background beheld Foxxy on one side and Chica further back on the other. By some undriven force, his mind evaluated the men's intentions as well as the girls' personal wishes. He never appreciated how they were treated in this place, and sought every means to make their situation better. Now, he realized, was another chance to improve their outlook and insight—and it was permitted by actual authorities. "W-Well, y-yes, but…" The group figuratively raised their eyebrows. "… but if you're asking my personal opinion, I think they can be useful in other public fields, too. Apart from physical traits, the girls have the smarts and the ability to learn new things. That trait alone makes them capable of educational a-and medicinal applications that would certainly benefit society."

"That's… an unusual proposal," said the slim-suit.

"Is it, though? Their adaptation is not that different from our own," Michael supported. "If we as humans are allowed the prospect to expand ourselves in all ways of society, why shouldn't these girls be given the same treatment?"

The group stayed silent for several seconds. "Hmm, an interesting viewpoint," the slim man considered before turning to his cohorts, "don't you all agree?"

"It is… attentive, for a laborer."

"Agreed."

"Yes, very original and imaginative."

Michael frowned, offended. Though bewildered by his answer, the other men in the group were quick to respond to their comrade's inquiry. However, their own answers were not as considerate; and their faces made it obvious they were uninterested. If that was not bad enough, they had the audacity to speak lowly of Michael's position. Despite his stirring at their words, Michael resisted any sort of retort. He knew this was not the time to voice any complaints. Frenni seemed to feel the same way; while she fidgeted cordially at his supportive words, she almost grimaced after hearing the men's responses.

"Anyways," Afton interjected, his voice holding a similar level of disinterest, "I do hope you'll consider the ramifications of my creations." With his declaration, the investors nodded and their meeting began to reach its conclusion.

As their matters were being wrapped up, Michael noticed that one of them—the stout man with the bald head—had been more focused on the ponytailed pirate-punk queen in her own performance. It appeared he was just as engrossed in her presence as the rest of the crowd; and all the better that he practically had a front-row seat. She was certainly dressed as eye-candy, her open black leather jacket and matching triangle hat combined with her brown leather short-shorts and fishnet gloves and stockings. And given what she was saying during her erotic story-telling, Michael could not blame him.

"… and like a snake of temptation, his silver blade slithered down the length of me skin, like a lover's touch. Until me belt felt its edge, and the whole lower fabric fell like a sheet, leaving me holy temple exposed and at his mercy. His eyes glittered like gold upon seeing my purest treasure, he reached his mist-kissed hand to caress me." Her purrs in the microphone she held, along with how her fingers matched the action of her tale, left everyone sweating and fidgeting, with a few guys even clutching their pants in pain. Then, just as she was about to reveal the peak of her narration, she cast her eyes in a certain direction. She and Frenni watched each other for a second before the former revealed a salacious smirk…

… and went for a complete cocktease.

"And that'll be all for tonight, yon flounders." Almost immediately, there was an uproar of innocuous complaints, including from the bald investor. Letting their voices be heard for a minute, Foxxy went and teased them further. "So, none here wishes to be cast-aways? Very well, here be a test: whoever can answer correctly, I shall reveal the tale's ending. That is, if any of ye's man enough to challenge me."

A good number of the clients fell silent, either intimidated by her invitation or wary of her offer. With some silent goading from his partners, the balding investor took the bait. "Fire away, captain," he declared confidently. His challenging leer matched hers as she turned to him, amused. The stare-down was drawn out for a full minute before she finally broke the silence.

"Why do pirates wear eyepatches?"

The man scoffed haughtily. "Hardly a challenge—it's to hide an eye wound." To his delight, the auburn woman's smirk grew… until she answered back.

"Ooh, an answer as direct as it is naïve. I say ya 'fired a blank', eh?" The entire floor roared with laughter; even a few of the investors had to restrain theirs at their unfortunate partner. Once the noise died down a bit, Foxxy turned to the rest of the crowd. "Then perhaps any of ye can impress me with yon knowledge, hm?"

"To intimidate their victims."

"It was a medical patch."

"A fashion trend."

A few more guys tried their hand like this—even giving a supportive explanatory sentence or two—but they all met the same fate as the bald stockholder. At some point, the floor fell silent altogether. Foxxy clicked her tongue in disappointment.

"A sorry shoal in 'ere. Does anyone know the purpose of our eyepatches?" Her eyes scanned the entire crowd before setting where Michael was standing. "Anyone at all?"

Michael noticed this, and felt a nudge on his side. He saw Frenni give him the same knowing look that the pirate fox was casting, and he understood their hidden meaning. Sighing in amused defeat, he raised his own hand. "I do," he called out.

A second spotlight suddenly lit over him, isolating him in its light. The sudden attention he got from the whole club floor was as dramatic as it was unnerving. Perhaps the most intense stares came from the stockholders and Afton himself. Thankfully, Foxxy gave an encouraging, albeit cheeky, smile from the stage. "And what be your answer, skipper?" she asked in her microphone.

Michael shifted in his feet. Even though the rest of the club populace was staring him down, he dared not back down. After working here for several weeks, nearly every man recognized him as the club security, so he had to show he was no weakling. Also, with their comments surfacing in his mind, a personal part of him wanted to show a certain group he was much more than a simple laborer. With Frenni offering her own microphone in-hand, he cleared his throat and gave his answer… with two raised fingers.

"Two words: night vision." Everyone began murmuring in confusion at his counter. Thus, he went on to explain, his voice tinny in the mike. "As scurvy as they were, pirates were much smarter than we give them credit for. Being wanted criminals was no part-time job—they knew they had to stay vigilant all the time, even while they slept, in case they were ambushed 'with their trousers down'. So, they used eyepatches, with one eye exposed in the daytime while the other was enshrouded by the patch. Thus, when night fell, a simple switch would expose the eye already used to darkness, and allow them to navigate the decks unhindered even in pitch blackness." The club absorbed his words for a moment until Foxxy spoke her thoughts.

"Well said, sailor," she said spellbound, "…and correct."

" " "WHAAA?" " "

Whatever man that didn't voice their shock simply stared slack-jawed between the animatronic and Michael. Ignoring all of them, the pirate woman stepped down from her stage and sauntered up to the nightguard while speaking. "It be a rare man to understand one of a pirate's greatest secrets to our success. And to compliment them for it—well, blow me down as flattered. Ya certainly know how to impress a lady." Her anonymous spotlight followed her as she stepped before Michael, their pillars of light merging, and she reached a hand to tug his collar. "Maybe ye are worthy of hearing my… 'climax'."

The redness on Michael's face was as bright as those on the men nearest them. Tugging at his collar to let off some heat, Michael declined her offer. "There's no need—in fact, just seeing your smile is a great treasure on its own. And besides—" He looked around him and added on jokingly. "—some tales are best left 'hanging'—or 'dangling', so to speak."

Foxxy, along with Frenni beside him, barely held their laughter in from his word choice. "Such a gentleman," the foxy woman said at last, "and a real smooth-talker too. Maybe there be more to you than some give credit for." She turned her attention to various directions, including one in particular. Michael followed her lines-of-sight, and recognized two things. The obvious one was the entire floor of men grumbling and sneering to themselves; and the investors murmuring while returning furtive glances at him. Michael was sure they got the point the fem-pirate animatronic just made…

…but he was uncertain of the brooding look Afton was casting at him.

000

During the first hours of the nightshift, there was a great commotion in the security room.

When it was finally time to close the club, Michael had to do his best to ignore the irate faces of those he ushered out. It was abundantly clear that Foxxy's questionnaire had earned him the envy of all the men; yet to his credit, he maintained his air of professionalism like it never happened. As for the stockholders, they were somewhat slower to help into their limos, if only because one of their number developed lead feet from humiliation. Nonetheless, Michael managed his duty without incident, and ensured the building was emptied and locked up for the night. It was only a few minutes after he sat in his post within the security room that he was approached by Frenni, Foxxy, and Chica.

And everyone burst into laughter.

While some chuckling was shared among three of the occupants in the room, it was Foxxy who showed the most mirth. From the way she explained, she could barely hold back her glee after the stunt she pulled, even when Michael was still shooing everyone out. After the shared hysterics, the four of them shared their thoughts on the incident as they made themselves comfortable: the redheaded-and-skinned fox-woman rested against the west doorway; the tuxedoed lead singer was leaning on the desk beside Michael, whom sat in his usual chair; and the cheerfully aproned blonde cooker relaxed against his back with her arms wrapped around his front. At one point during their exchange, Michael thought of something.

"You planned that 'test' just for me, didn't you?" he asked Foxxy.

"I did. His group had sat themselves close enough for me to hear everything," the foxy woman explained, "and they kept portraying Ariel like some sex object. It sickened me so much—I was glad when you showed up. I figured you would try to set things right with them." She playfully fingered the single beaded braid of hair hanging by the right side of her face. "It helped that she and I thought up the idea beforehand, in case that failed. So you're welcome, dork."

He turned his chair to face Frenni, despite his head being gently sandwiched between Chica's breasts. "Is that true?" he asked her.

"Yes. Every time you were mentioned in their meetings, they waved you off or disrespected you," Frenni replied softly, "and it hurt us to hear it all. I mentioned some way to put them in their place, while Sophia mentioned using a test of intelligence—and Cassie did the rest."

Chica hummed in satisfaction of her part, but Michael was still perplexed. "But, how did you know I'd be able to answer whatever question she had?"

Frenni smiled, and leaned forward to cup his cheek. "Because I know you. Even if we met only a month ago, we've spent enough time to get to know each other quite well. Not to mention I've witnessed your true qualities for myself, including your intelligence and desire to protect those you care about, so I can't help but feel the same way for you." Realizing what she just said, she quickly clammed up as her face reddened. Though her present friends giggled a bit at her reaction, the bear-eared singer cleared her throat. "Anyways, I personally enjoyed watching their faces when you mentioned those other social applications for us. You sure caught them off-guard. What I really didn't appreciate was the words they used to describe your opinion. They were very undeserved."

"What words did they use?" Chica asked.

"They said," Michael replied, looking up at her, "that my thoughts were 'original' and 'imaginative'."

"Oh dios," Chica gasped. "Eso es horrible."

Foxxy stared between their faces in confusion. "I don't follow. Isn't that a good thing?"

Michael cast a knowing look to the fox-eared woman. "They're well and good in creative writing," he explained, "but not in business proposals. Simply put, the words 'original' and 'imaginative' in the same sentence makes the most damning phrase any businessman or politician can use. They may as well be saying 'we don't like your ideas, or you, so you can shove them where the sun doesn't shine.'"

"Es verdad," Chica supported. "Those words are also used in derogatory manners in law school—but not as much in el campo de negocios. In their ears, the words are slanderous enough to end jobs."

Hearing his and Chica's clarification triggered Foxxy's disgust to match the rest of the group's feelings. "Oh, damn," she scowled. "Now I'm really glad I humiliated that fat loser."

"Well, thanks to you, I think they'll be relying more on the blood flow to their brains than their other end," Michael assured. The three girls snickered, satisfied with his proclamation.

From then on, the girls continued chatting and laughing about this and that. As the topic trailed to their antics during their university days, Michael cast a glance at Frenni and remembered what she said about him. Her words reminded him of what his grandmother stated earlier that day:

"… If you see someone hurting or heartbroken, you won't hesitate to help them back on their feet by sharing that desire to make them feel loved too. Those girls… will be happy to have you in their lives for that, and they'll be more than willing to support you the same way."

His eyes extended over to Foxxy as she confidently sustained her heart-to-heart with Frenni; while Chica kept her hold on him, and eventually rested her head over his lovingly. Each had done their own part in defending and helping him, just like he had done for each of them. Feeling the mutual connection, he allowed himself to enjoy the blonde animatronics' soft embrace.

She was right, he thought. My grandma's intuition strikes again.


Day 4

The familiar smell of paper returned in his mind as Michael walked through the tall aisles.

The place he was exploring was not strange or foreign to him—in fact, he had come here a week prior. This location was the same library located not far from the nightclub. As he walked along the second floor, he glanced at the very spots where he sat and read the latest of his favorite light novels. It was barely nostalgic, but strange all the same. In all honesty, he did not expect to be back here so soon. Then again, he was not her to satisfy his own interests this time. His purpose for coming back originated from an extensive discussion from last night.

For most of the time during his shift, Michael and the three girls had chatted about various subjects. The matters ranged initially from the girls' prank in the club, and then drifted to some of their other antics from their university lives. From there, they went from one focus to another for a good long while. Once more, the satisfaction Michael felt while seeing them acting like themselves enveloped him; the only thing that dampened his enjoyment was that Bonni could not join them yet. This was not solely because she could not be there as 'Jesse Glau'; rather, she had spent the majority of the time recuperating in one of the recharge pods again. When he heard of it upon asking about her, it increased his concern for the bonny bunny as he realized her recovery spans were becoming more frequent. His train-of-thought would have continued on its track, had Foxxy not introduced a certain issue that switched its direction.

That issue was what they were going to do after Michael succeeded in freeing Jesse from her 'Bonni-shell'. Being struck with that question compelled Michael to slap his forehead in stupidity; after all this time focusing on the girls' recovery, he neglected any plans on getting them out of the club and subduing Afton. He honestly felt as if he should have considered and planned for that scheme long before now. To quell his sense of inanity, he decided it best to make a start then and there, which the girls agreed. For the remainder of his shift, the four of them spoke of numerous ways to confront Afton that would be safe and swift. Unfortunately for the girls, that proved easier said than done; it became clear that if he possessed the intelligence to create their new bodies and forcibly cram their minds into them, then the girls needed a method even their tormentor could not avoid or refute.

Luckily, there was hope in one of Chica's ideas. According to her, every business was required to be put under a survey after a specific length of time, conducted by an official of the city. This survey included certain parameters and requirements such as building codes, financial reports, and so on. If they were to ascertain the exact details of the survey and find violations on Afton's end, then they had a chance to use that knowledge against him. For that, they would need a public source to uncover the information—and Michael knew just the place to find it.

And that place was the multi-floored library he was exploring right now.

An aisle caught his eye, and headed in its direction. Although a lot of the reading material here was of comics and manga, there were still some areas like this which provided serious and/or educational material. Sifting through a long row of thin layers of color, Michael pulled out a slice to study. It was a dark blue book for law school students. Checking its back summary, he confirmed that one of its topics regarded business law. Having looked up its reviews in the library's online search directory beforehand, he knew this volume was a positively popular choice for those studying in the same field. It would serve as an ideal source for Chica to research, not to mention return to her roots as a law student.

Satisfied with his find, he took the azure volume to a table where a few other manga novels were gathered. These were the first editions of his secret favorite light novel series he had been reading; and he believed they were the perfect genre for Foxxy to enjoy simply for enjoyment's sake. Maybe she'll be inspired enough to make her own stories in the club or in future, he surmised. Taking the pile of reading material in one arm, he fished out his library card from his pocket with the other arm, and headed downstairs to rent them out.

While he scanned his card in front of another computer screen, the flatscreen reminded him of another detail stemming from last night's discussion. Chica's idea came in two parts, and getting the legal info was the easy part. To his dismay, this approach would only work if there was raw data to compare the legal information, and that meant one thing.

They needed Afton's records—meaning Michael had to be at Afton's personal desk during open hours, when the office was not locked up.

How the holy hell am I going to get in there without him knowing? he asked himself.

000

Michael was extra vigilant as he stared at the monitor screens while the club bounced.

At least twenty minutes had passed since he arrived and situated himself in the security room. Both the wall clock and his cell phone read 10:04pm, so the building was still jumping with activity. Because there was so much more movement on the club floor compared to his original night shifts, there was more to pay attention to from the cameras. The only areas he did not have to focus on were the restricted rooms, namely the ones along the back hallway; and it did not matter, anyway, as the animatronics and repair rooms' cameras were too grainy to discern anything. Nonetheless, all the required intense concentration made Michael's eyes burn a bit, but forced himself to endure it. It was part of the price for being a security guard for places like this.

As he methodically moved his eyes from one screen to another, he observed a few particulars. Foxxy had the main stage this time, and was doing a sultry dance in the center spot; meanwhile, Chica was doing food services on the club floor, attracting just as much attention as her pirate-clothed colleague. Frenni made her presence known as she visited various groups every now and then. Bonni was the only exception in the quartet, yet again, and he could not see her anywhere. She was not the only person missing, either; neither his boss nor his business band were in sight, as they had already gone upstairs to continue their meeting in the office. Despite the absence of the building manager, nearly all of the patrons gave the impression of behaving themselves, to Michael's surprise. The only time that nearly changed was when someone sitting at the bar tried reaching over the counter for free samples despite the warning message being in clear view; but a friend of his smacked his outstretched hand to change his mind. Otherwise, there was not much happening to warrant concern.

But that almost changed in the worst possible way.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Frenni in one screen conversing with a motley group of men. This was not an unusual sight to behold, as she occasionally did this to give a few people the chance to meet the club's main attraction. Even Michael was one of those lucky guys, back during his first week working here. This time looked different from his experience, though, as the general gaits of the men began to look more imposing. One of them even dared to come uncomfortably close to her. Frenni caught on to this and seemed to say something in order to move on, but any words she spoke fell on deaf ears when the group began to surround her in response. She began to panic at that point, and her face showed it. Her expression clinched it for Michael: he knew such an emotion was not to be found on Frenni Fazclaire, which meant this was Ariel Mahi reacting. That put the current situation on the brink of the worst-case scenario for her and Michael's secret.

And he had no intention of allowing the situation to progress any further.

Bolting from his seat, he hurried down one of the hallways and dove into the barrier of blokes. After some shuffling and shoving through the crowd, he made it in time for him to see the group try to escort her somewhere else. Fueled by the worried look on the singer's face, Michael asserted his presence to the male group. "Excuse me," he asked authoritatively, "is there a problem here?"

The mob of males turned to observe Michael carefully, but only one of them approached him. He was a little above his height, and heftier—the kind of guy that used to be in the military, but only long enough to gain some muscle before being dishonorably discharged. Judging from his flushed face and breath stench, it was clear he was being fueled by more than testosterone at the moment. "Nah, just some friendly chit-chat with Ms. Momma-Bear-Hot-Stuff," the man slurred slightly. "She was even gonna show us why she's called that with some private time."

"I highly doubt that," Michael responded firmly. "The club has a strict rule enforced between its workers and visitors, and it's that no direct sexual encounters are allowed. That includes provocative touching, and words." His reminder of the club's biggest rule only agitated the man, as he became red-faced for a different reason.

"Huh? What kind of shit is that?" he demanded crossly.

"I don't make the rules—you'll have to ask my boss," Michael declared, and tapped his ID tag. "However, as the club's security, I do enforce them to protect the girls working here, and deal with any disorderlies that don't respect them."

Seeing the tag was enough for some of the gang to step aside, but the hefty man was not as convinced. "That's bullshit!" the drunkard growled, and pointed a finger at Frenni. "What do they need protecting from? Everyone knows those girls aren't real—they're a bunch of nymphomaniac robots, made only for pleasure, yet you talk like they're living people? Stupid ass-wipe!"

A few of his cohorts grunted in amusement, but Michael was unmoved. He turned to the man's focus-of-discussion, who was now standing alone and free, and returned his attention to him a second later. "Bots they may be," the young man said calmly, "but you still have to treat them right like any lady. And if you won't, then I'll have to ask that you leave." He walked over and was about to lead her off, much to her relief, so she would no longer be involved.

"Oh yeah? That's not what yo mama said when I came to her place!" the man sneered in retort.

Michael froze abruptly. The words rang in his ears as his hands balled in fury. Feeling one eye twitch, he turned faintly so his good eye stared daggers at the insolent bastard.

"…If you're half as smart as you look," he said in a low tone through clenched teeth, "then you'll leave with your face intact."

His warning only amused the bruiser of a man, and he opened his mouth to spout another remark. Whatever insult that was in his mind was silenced when someone else interjected, standing beside the security guard. Both men blinked in surprise when they realized it was Frenni Fazclaire, having reverted to her confident and cool sub-manager self.

"I think they got the message, Mr. Nightguard," she reassured soothingly, placing a calming hand on his shoulder, "and can see themselves out."

Recognizing her tone and touch, Michael felt his anger gradually dissipate. His mind re-registered the situation and the need to disperse it, starting with separating the club's singer from this pack. With his previous stance returned, Michael calmly turned away and resumed his walk with the animatronic android woman.

"Oi! We're not goin' anywhere, an' neither is she!" The drunk bruiser's tantrum flared again, not happy about being ignored. Reaching out, the man grabbed Michael at the shoulder.

Big mistake.

What happened next lasted only a few seconds. Upon feeling his shoulder grabbed, Michael snatched the drunkard's hand in a tight grip and spun around to face him, twisting his whole arm in a wristlock position. The man cried out in painful distress, flailing his free arm helplessly in an attempt to reach him, but Michael caught the arm to force him to face away from him. As a final precaution, the nightguard used his foot to slam into one of the man's exposed undersides of his knees, sending the inebriated would-be attacker to kneel before his gang. Just like that, he was immobilized.

"When I said there's no provocative touching here," Michael snarled near the man's ear, "that applies for the girls and the staff." Letting his words sink in for a second longer, Michael released his grip, allowing the man to fall limp to the floor. The group stared in shock at what just transpired, switching gazes between Michael and their groaning comrade. One finally had the courage to speak his outrage.

"Dude, not cool!" he cried. "Where's the respect?!"

"If you don't give it first, don't expect any back," Michael educated sharply, silencing him, before turning to the rest of the men. "Now, will you see yourselves out, or shall I help you out further?"

Evidently their intoxication was not as severe as their fallen comrade, as their bug-eyed expressions hinted his message was well-received. Without another word, they picked up their associate and made their way through the entryway to the lobby. Once he was sure they had indeed gone, Michael turned to find a number of other people had been watching him. Even Chica and Foxxy had stopped what they were doing in shock. His aggravation overriding any embarrassment, he unclipped and help up his ID tag in clear view. "Back to your entertainment, everyone," he called out. "Just keeping the peace here." With that, the club got back to its previous routines.

As he reclipped his tag, he tilted his eyes to Frenni, who returned his gaze with relief and gratitude. "Thanks, Mikey," Frenni whispered softly.

"Anytime," he replied with a wink, "and thanks yourself."

Both figures then went their separate ways to their respective roles, and the clubroom scene resumed its leisurely activities like nothing happened. Unbeknownst to the guard and singer, however, they still had a lingering audience. Through the partially-opened door to the animatronics' room, Bonni had been watching the entire debacle with great interest.

000

About five hours had passed since the confrontation, placing the club at 3:14am. The building was once more enshrouded in silence; but a crisp crunch cut through the air every once in a while. Within the security room, Michael sat in his chair observing the camera feeds. From the open-zipped bag beside him on the desk, he transferred an apple slice from its depths to his mouth, producing the crunch as he bit down. As distracting as the noise was, it was not to satiate his stomach. The truth was, he was not that hungry to begin with.

His post-midnight snack was more to satiate his mind from a confusing assessment.

No matter how many times Michael tried, his thoughts kept returning to the incident from earlier. Even receiving Afton's approval after vaguely reporting it during his regular 3am checkup call did nothing to settle his mind. Nor did its conclusion not disquiet him, since he succeeded in maintaining the building's safekeeping in a nonviolent way. On the other hand, what that man said certainly triggered him into considering the violent way. Granted, the comment was offensive and derogatory to his mother's name, but it was not like him to be provoked by such an amateur insult.

My old self never twitched from a 'yo mama' joke, he ruminated to himself, but that was before my parents left. It never crossed my mind, either, that such insults could be construed personally.

As the final apple slice was popped into his mouth, he scanned a few of the screens in search of the girls. In the one overlooking the inside of the Pirates Cove, he spotted a red and a yellow blur; yet despite the grittiness of the feed, he knew exactly who they were and what they were likely doing. Not long after he closed up the building, he gave his rented library books to the girls to check out. To say they were elated by the gifts was an understatement: Chica held the law book against her chest like a cherished heirloom; while Foxxy bounced on her heels in anticipation upon reading the premises of the light novel manga. After all, they fit right into their hobbies. Moving on, Michael scanned the rest of the club for either a brown or violet figure. While he found no sign of Frenni, he figured that Bonni would be finished with her recharge cycle, and be out and about. Just as he started drinking from his water bottle to wash down the fruit-sugar aftertaste, he heard a light tap from the west hallway window.

"Hey there, big guy." Speak of the devil. Nearly done with his bottle, he swiveled his chair around to greet Bonni as he took one last swig…

… only to spat his sip back into the container out of astonishment.

Bonni was in the doorway with her arms stretched to cling the frames, and her legs crossed over each other. Her hips wriggled in sultry anticipation as she bit her lower lip under the same emotion. However, her posture was not what surprised him, but the rest of her appearance. A huge wave of violet swirled in his eyes as she stood in a V-shaped bikini, its deep red color striking against her skin. The thin strips of clothing that made up the bikini left the barest to the imagination, like it was actually a size too small for the wearer. As a consequence, every curve of her fantastically hourglass body was revealed—as was the growing bulge in his pants.

"And hey there, little guy," she said again, more amused upon noticing his reaction.

Clearing his throat, Michael averted his eyes to her face, though he found it hard to do so. The abundant expanse of violet skin made it so tempting to flow over and explore her fit form. "Bonni, why are you wearing that?" he asked at last.

"Oh, I happened to witness what was going on with Frenni and that gang of fellas tonight, and how you showed them who's boss. It was so hot. And since I never got the chance to see you yesterday, I thought of this as a special reward to make up for lost time, and for what you did tonight. Do you like it?" She did a small twirl on her high heels to display her outfit's coverage—or near-lack thereof. The moment her fit butt cheeks came into view, Michael finally found the will to divert his eyes sideways.

"It-It looks good on you," he stammered, "but there isn't a need. I-I mean, I was just doing my job—I wasn't trying to be a badass or anything." His attempt to pacify her proved futile as she began to saunter over to him, her body movements rounded with desire.

"That is what made it so hot," she murmured. "A girl loves a man that's also a badass. Maybe I can show you how much of a badass I can be?"

Before he could reply, Bonni squealed and leapt onto his lap, facing him with her legs and arms on both his sides. With her limbs wrapped around him and the chair, their bodies became flushed together, her bikini and his work outfit the only barriers preventing skin-to-skin contact. Caught off-guard by her sudden move, Michael unintentionally grabbed her thighs for stability; but his action only increased the range of sensations assaulting him, and he could not stop a moan from escaping his mouth. Likewise, Bonni moaned in approval, and she nuzzled her face against his. Her breasts and hips made a very desirable impression as she rubbed her body against his; it was a miracle they stayed confined in their fabric restraints, as thin as they were. Bonni hummed in delight as she felt him up, savoring the moment, and brought her arms to wrap around his neck.

"Foxxy and Chica weren't kidding," she breathed lusciously. "You really are fit as a fiddle—and then some. Just my taste. Shall we see if your 'fiddle' is more like an octobass?" She bit her lower lip as a hand flowed down his chest, her fingers trailing along the smoothed edges of his muscles, until they dared to reach below his navel…

WHAP.

A swift, yet gentle, karate-chop behind her head halted her dexterous advance.

"Down, girl," admonished an annoyed Frenni Fazclaire, who had entered the security room behind Bonni. Her eye twitched slightly while the scantily-clad violet woman rubbed her head.

"Aw, the moment is ruined," Bonni moaned, and turned to her compatriot while staying on Michael's lap. "How come all of you get to be flirty-and-frisky with Mikey, and yet I can't do the same even when promised some one-on-one time with him?"

The singer showed a small smile as she leaned forward a bit towards her associate. From Michael's perspective as he remained in his seat, the ceiling light created a shadow from underneath her thick bangs, covering her eyes and making her visage more daunting. "There's no problem with you being friendly with him," she said sweetly, yet intimidatingly, "but there is a limit to how far you can go before Michael's occupation becomes an issue. You don't want to get him fired for breaking the club's main rule, do you?"

Bonni widened her eyes at her words. "No, I don't. …But that rule says nothing about us breaking it, does it?" Her meek attempt of an argument did nothing to change her friend's mood.

"Granted, but I highly doubt our beloved security guard does not wish to learn if his superior is willing to split such hairs, now does he?"

Taking in her opinion and expression, Bonni looked back at Michael before dolefully lifting herself off of him. However, she sat herself on the desk edge as a sign that she intended to stay regardless. Frenni said nothing further on the matter, and turned to said nightguard.

"Now then, how is he feeling?" she asked in her synthetic tone.

"Okay, I guess," Michael said, unsure. "Did something make you think otherwise?"

"When that man made the remark concerning your mother," Frenni answered, her voice reserved, "your reaction was immediate and irate. And knowing your past history, I can fathom that it hit a sore spot." Alongside her, Bonni winced as she recalled hearing about his personal history, and realization dawned on its connection to tonight's occurrence.

Looking down in reflection from her words, Michael rubbed his neck. "Yeah, it did. A lot of things have happened lately—some good, some not-so-good. But the good ones have been a bigger influence for me: my connections outside, working here, …talking with all of you. Actually, it's largely my time with you girls that I've been feeling my old self was coming back to me. One of my friends even said as much recently, and I believed it." He let out a dissatisfied snort. "Evidently, there's a small unhealed part of me I didn't know still lingering."

"You can still talk to us if you want," Bonni piped up.

"Yeah," the young man accepted, "I think it's time to get it resolved and off my chest. …Where do I start?"

Frenni smiled, but with a hint of her true self. "Wherever makes you feel comfortable."

Catching on, Michael conceded and began to describe his parents, as well as some moments they and he shared together. As he let those memories flow, both feminine figures listened to everything he said, and sometimes asked a question or two in response. They conversed like this for the rest of the shift, and a feeling of calmness grew in him like a long-lasting weight was finally being lifted. Strangely, it also felt like the calmness he experienced during his confrontation in the club, when Frenni walked up to support him. Discovering the symmetry, Michael came to realize something as his heart-to-AI-heart came to its end.

Whether it's a matter of personal problems—or even the matter of searching Afton's office—I can really rely on these girls to pick me up when I'm down. His revelation drove his sights on the bear-eared singer, her face still holding a hint of her human self. I know I can count on at least one of them.


Day 5

"What is this I hear about you getting in a fight?!"

Michael's ears rang as he answered his phone after waking up in his apartment bedroom. In fact, this was the second wake-up call he got, in the span of a minute. The first one was due to jolting up from the bed, because of another of those freaky dreams. Like the others, this one continued on from where he left off:

Hobbling along the dark hallway, he looked up and recognized the scene in front of him. A flight of stairs was on one side, and the hall continuing onward on the other side. Groaning at his choices, he leaned on the base of the handrail and looked at himself. His injuries were still there, both legs marred and bare. But another sight tingled his memory: a dripping trail of dark red that ran along where he came from, and ending at his feet. He didn't realize or remember bleeding the whole time, and not in such… copious amounts. As he stared up again to observe his choices of direction, he recognized something else.

It was the same purple figure, persistent as ever. When it crouched slightly in preparation to pounce, he felt his memory itch at what he was going to do last time. This time, though, he threw himself toward the harder path and ran up the stairs. While climbing the steps on all fours, he glanced back to find the figure reaching out to him with wide-handed claws…

only to continue past the stairs' base as it slipped on the slick blood trail he left behind.

Not wanting to watch it slip away into the inky darkness, he continued to climb the stairway, despite what remaining strength he had being drained with each step. Reaching up with his left arm, he noticed the pain was no longer limited to his legs—now his upper arm had a fresh red graze. It looked like the creature scored a hit, after all. Ignoring the sting of his new injury, he pushed himself even harder up the incline.

After an extensive span of agony, he dragged himself to the top. Using his good arm, he grasped the handrail and pulled himself onto his feet. Blinking hard to adjust his blurring vision, he saw a faint glow coming from up ahead; tilting his head, he gazed at a grand pair of doors engraved with a circlet of strange symbols. The possible prospect of escaping this hellhole ignited a sense of hope, and he searched frantically for a way to open them. There was no keyhole or doorknobs; but the symbols appeared to be carved into hand-sized buttons. Identifying a required pattern to unlock the doors, he was about to randomly start pushing them when his ears picked up a sickening sound. He turned—

to find the purplish monster in the air, almost face-to-face with him—

His phone ringing beside him became his unexpected salvation.

Shaking his pajama shirt to aerate his body of the cold sweat that glued them together, Michael checked the time and saw it was 11:32am. Getting out of bed, he placed the cellphone near his ear again. "Could you repeat that, Greg?" he asked. "What are you taking about?"

"An employee at my place took yesterday off by spending last night at your nightclub," his friend explained, "and he said there was a brawl between a security guard and another guy. Since you're the only guard working there, I knew it had to be you. So, what gives?!"

Michael groaned as he stepped into the bathroom to shower. "Oh, that. It wasn't that big a deal—the guy was drunk off his ass, and tried to break the club rules by getting too handsy with one of the girls. I stopped it, and he decided to pick a fight with me—which I stopped, too. It was self-defense, simple as that." He removed his soiled shirt single-handedly while his friend considered his testimony.

"Really? The way the guy here told it, you looked pretty pissed off."

"Only because the drunkard got personal, if you know what I mean. But I managed to stay more level-headed than him." A strange thought struck him and he voiced his curiosity. "Who exactly implied that I started it? Is it someone I know?"

"Not really. It was his first time visiting the club, along with a friend he brought that also wanted the experience. Both of them were sitting at the bar, so he was able to see you."

Michael put on a skeptical look, pausing his stripping. "The bar? You sure he wasn't tipsy himself?"

"Pretty sure—he claimed sobriety since they drove there in his own car," Greg justified. "He had to be sober in order to keep his buddy from taking anymore beer bottles from the bar shelf. Besides, he managed to record the whole thing on his phone."

That sounds familiar, Michael thought as his mind flashed in recognition. He did indeed recall a scene like that happening before witnessing Frenni in trouble. "Well, in case you find your guy again, let him know that you heard from another witness that it was the customer that started it, okay? You didn't hear it from me."

"Of course, bud—you have my word. Just so you know, it's not that I totally believed him. I know you're not the kind of person to start senseless fights." Greg paused to make a 'wheesh' of fake anxiety. "Though, you sure know how to finish them. Damn, you whooped him like a rented mule."

"Not really—the guy was hardly a challenge." The off-duty guard's remark left his friend in stitches, his laughter tinny over the phone connection. With that, the two chatted for another minute before they called it quits, and hung up. Placing his phone on the sink, Michael finished undressing. Once in his birthday suit, he stepped into the shower; but he was still drowsy from being rudely awakened twice in a short time, and he carelessly rotated the shower handle.

"YAAHH!"

The ice-cold water that doused him became the third rude awakening that morning.

000

Michael shivered as he carefully navigated his truck along 87th Street.

Almost twelve hours had passed since he woke up, and he still felt the shock of his cold morning shower. Normally, he took warmer showers to cleanse himself; but the unexpected ice-cold sensation left him stiff and somewhat sore. That did not mean he hated cold showers, though. While not as dramatic as dousing hot glass, the shock was enough to shatter through his drowsiness in an instant. But that was a small comfort as it still frazzled his nerves for the rest of the day. In his mind, cold washes were nearly as bad as jumpscares.

At least I won't be encountering either in the club, Michael thought warmly as he identified said building in the distance. Turning into the parking lot, he saw the extra-long line of men snaking along the sidewalk. Taking extra care of any nearby bystanders, he pulled into a spot close to the back entryway. Rather than going that way, he voted for the main entrance to access the building. The queue won't be a hindrance for me who works here, he reasoned, and it'll make me look more professional to Afton's business cronies.

Walking alongside the line of waiting people, he noted the extra number of individuals. This was not so unusual anymore; with the animatronic assembly at full-strength, many more people had begun flocking to see their favorite gal. The return of Foxxy the Pirate Queen was a big contributor to that, and Michael surmised that most of the extra guys were her fans. Of course, most of the men in the whole line were there to meet the girls. With these numbers, the club was practically raking in the money—and coming here was not cheap, either. It baffled the young security guard that so many of them—a good number being regulars—would spend such a pretty penny at this place just to meet the same four figures. And even meeting them was a fifty-fifty chance; either they came near, or not at all. It's like the guys are gambling while using the hosts as the prizes, he inferred. There are better ways to meet a girl. …But considering my position, I'm not really one to talk, am I?

His thoughts flew back to one figure, along with her recent actions this week. His encounters with Bonni have been as much a fifty-fifty chance as the patrons' luck here; either she threw herself at him boisterously, or she spent the entire shift in a recharging pod. The other girls were just as concerned, as they previously voiced how she had been pushing herself these past few days. It was as if, despite her yearning for him, her attention was also elsewhere. But where, and why?

Turning his own attention from the line, Michael spotted the main entrance, and stopped. There was a good number of people loitering around there as well. He was about to call out to them when he noticed where they were coming from. To his surprise, they were passing out of the main entrance. As he watched them filter onto the sidewalk, he caught some glimpses of their faces; while a few were confused, a majority of the men were pretty disappointed. There was even a complaint or two he heard, but could not decipher. Immediately, Michael sensed something happened in the nightclub, and not in a good way.

Not waiting for the stream to thin out, he jogged back to use the back entry.

000

A while had passed when Michael sat himself in the Animatronics room. At the moment, he was quite discomforted: when he entered the building from the back, he found Afton ensuring the people's departure; and when asked what was going on, he replied brusquely that they were "closing up early due to an unforeseen complication". After that, the younger man was ordered to resume with his usual duties, starting with a short list his boss left in the security room. By the time he got there and read the list, Afton had already gone. But instead of going right to his duties, Michael signed himself into the security system and went straight to the back room where the girls were residing in the recharge pods.

He wanted to hear for himself what had happened that made Afton close shop so early and tersely.

Almost ten minutes passed before three of the pods hissed open, catching Michael's awareness. Almost immediately, he was ambushed by blurs of yellow, brown and red.

"Mikey!"

"Michael! Thank goodness you're here!"

"About time, dork! We've been worried sick."

Their combined disquiet almost overwhelmed him, and he had to hold them back. "Whoa-whoa! Calm down—I just got here," he exclaimed. "What's going on?"

Foxxy was the first to speak after calming down, and pointed to the fourth pod. A violet form still slumbered inside the cylinder. "It already happened—that Bonni girl collapsed during a show."

"!"

Her words put Michael on high alert, and he demanded to know what transpired. From what the girls said, everything had been running like clockwork. Both Afton and his gang were situated with front-row seats by the main stage, talking business and pleasure as usual, while occasionally stealing glances of the girls. Frenni, Bonni, and Chica were on the main stage doing a song-and-dance routine, like they always did before. Foxxy was on her mini-stage doing her own stint, but also watching over her companions from afar. All was going well until the late hours, when the main-stage trio was given a request by one of the stockholders to 'really put their hips into it'. The rest of the crowd cheered them on, and so the girls chose a fast-track music act which required some of their more advanced dancing techniques. That was when disaster struck.

"Right as we reached the ending crescendo," Frenni explained, "Bonni just stopped strumming and fell on her back, unconscious. We had to cut the show short due to 'a minor malfunction', but Afton and the others were not happy at all."

"And that's not la peor parte," Chica said, her hair ruffled in fright. "Not five seconds after she dropped her guitar and collapsed, her instrument broke un cuerda. It sounded like a penny drop in silence." She even flexed one of her fingers in a 'twang-ing' motion.

"It was a little comical," Foxxy said, thinking back, "but the rest of the crowd didn't think so."

"Is she okay at least?" Michael asked, worried.

"Si, ella esta bien," Chica replied. "Afton had her checked over in the repair room, and said she was severely low on energy and did an emergency shut-down to save what little she had."

Afton… checked her over. That phrase sent a chill up his spine. "So, he didn't check over her memories, or anything that would expose all of us?"

"No, not that we know of." Chica put a finger to her cheek, pondering for a second. "But he did have una pequeña rabieta in the repair room after she was placed in one of the pods—it's a preferred spot for him to do that, it seems."

A tantrum in the repair room? His hand reached into his pocket and took out Afton's crumpled note. The list had only one errand—to replace a broken camera—and it was hastily scribbled down, either in a hurry or in anger. While staring at the paper, a sense of déjà vu touched his memory as he recalled another camera being inexplicably broken in the same room. Both cameras must have been casualties of his outbursts, he concluded, but what caused Bonni to break?

Thinking very hard, Michael analyzed her actions and behaviors in the past. She enjoyed catching him unawares, as well as physically snuggling up to him, but she was never pushy. Her stature always held an air of confidence, yet never let it go too far. But this week was different, as he perceived earlier; her interactions with him became much more revealing, in the verbal and physical sense. If he had to choose a word to describe her current state-of-mind, it was desperate—a word that fit her facial expression while onstage from the start of this week. He himself knew the feeling during the first few weeks of his trauma. Desperation, loneliness, abandonment… Suddenly, a thought struck his brain like lightning, and the far-reached pieces coasted right into place. Sadly, for him, his revelation revealed a shameful truth. "I think I know what caused this," Michael sighed, "… and it may be my fault."

The three girls stared up sharply in alarm, but it was Frenni who spoke first. "You? Why is it your fault?" she asked.

"Let me ask you this," the young man tested, "do you recall anything about Jesse as a person? Perhaps something about her personality or motivations?" His question forced the singer to think back really hard on what memories remained locked away. Both the chef and the storyteller did the same, in order to remember any sliver themselves. Soon, Frenni answered him.

"Well, Jesse was the oldest of us four, but only by a year. She loved music, and had a really good ear for it, which is one of the reasons she became such a party girl. And…" She paused as something occurred to her. "… yet she always took her relationships with friends and fans seriously. She enjoyed doing what she loved, along with speaking to anyone with a similar interest. That's why she and I got along so well when I told her about my singing goal—it coincided with her dream of being a professional composer." Upon saying this, she raised an eyebrow as something else occurred to her. "I'm not sure if it's relevant, but… …she didn't get much support from her family because of her interest."

Foxxy hummed at her friend's words. "Now that you mention it, I remember her saying her siblings were doing fitness training to become instructors, but a case of early-onset arthritis prevented her from that kind of action."

"Arthritis? Wasn't that a problem if she was becoming an exotic dancer?" Michael asked, confused. "I know that was her aim from her report."

"It wasn't so bad that it crippled her," she amended. "Give her a painkiller or two, and she could dance up a storm; otherwise, she could only do the most basic of moves. Still, it was a hindrance that sometimes made her feel left out… especially during the physical education classes." Foxxy tenderly rubbed her upper arms, as if comparing her own past fitness.

"I remember now too," Chica said in melancholy. "She once complained how she couldn't be as physically active as her family, and how their difference in energía y intereses pushed them apart. Las compilaciones de videos she made were so lovely and fun to listen to—it was hard to imagine her getting little praise for it."

Having listened to their newest revelations, Michael grunted in understanding. "That clicks with my opinion," he said, beginning his explanation. "From what I understand now, the ailment that Jesse suffered from was not physical like yours, but psychological. Starting from her family, she didn't get their recognition due to a deviating talent, and proceeded to feel left out of the big picture. But that changed when she took herself elsewhere and met you all; by accepting and sharing her interests, she found the acceptance she always wanted. I can imagine it was a confidence boost huge enough to consider you all as a secondary family." Letting his words sink in, he continued his thought process. "Then after meeting Afton and becoming one of his playthings, she was placed in a position where she got her ultimate wish: a literal spotlight where she would be seen, heard, and recognized by everyone. In her mind, she couldn't ask for more—maybe she began to enjoy her new role at some point.

"… But things changed when I came along. As someone who recognized you in a different light from everyone else, I became an extended part of her makeshift family, and she began to seek for my notice, too. What is more, I'm a guy that also caught her fancy, so my awareness of her was even more important." He paused as the train-of-thought traveled into the shameful part. "Except, I haven't given her as much attention like the rest of you; and any opportunity she had to spend with me was either interrupted or shut down in some fashion. Maybe a part of her felt the same neglect she felt from her real family, and she began to doubt herself. I certainly didn't do her a favor by bringing Cassie back onstage, as the drop of praise from the audience increased her desperation for approval."

"And because she is not herself like we are," replied a thoughtful Chica, "she is stuck doing only what she can do in order to gain any attention she can… which worsened the problem."

Michael nodded soberly. "Exactly. I think that's why she exerted herself so much lately which led to her breakdown: it was stress from trying so hard to be acknowledged by the people she adores."

"That does explain a lot," Foxxy considered before turning to him, "but you shouldn't be to blame. You couldn't have known she would push herself so far when you helped me out—it sure wasn't like you were trying to replace her with me."

"Even if it's unintentionally by a dear friend," Frenni said sensibly, "no one enjoys being robbed of the spotlight."

"Mikey wasn't trying to hurt her," Foxxy scolded at her. "No one was! Besides, that asshole kept piling so much crap into his hands, so of course he'd have no time to spend with her."

"That may be, but I still made time to spend with all of you," Michael pointed out, "as I had promised from the beginning during that blackout. Having failed to do the same with her, it's on me either way." The fox-eared woman fell silent, unable to refute him further.

"What will we do, then?" Chica asked, ignoring her companion's frowning. "We need to fix this before the next two days, or those investors will not be satisfied."

Michael nodded, picking up on her meaning, and reflected on his path choices. "I'll handle it. You all go ahead and reconnoiter; and I'll stay here and have a word with her the moment she wakes up. Hopefully I can get through to her in a way that'll wipe tonight's little blunder. If I need help, you'll be nearby, alright?"

The trio dipped their heads in understanding, and silently left the room. Michael pulled out one of the fold-up chairs, and sat near the pod Bonni was resting in. Although the transparent pane was somewhat fogged due to her simulated breathing, he could see her relaxed face. It was a stark contrast to the few times he observed her in recent times. Her countenance was also a reminder of how alike she was to the other girls, in relation to their pasts as humans. Even though they are smiling on the outside, he reflected, they've been hiding their pains inside the whole time. That may be another reason they found solace in each other—so none of them would have to suffer alone.

Michael waited by the recharge pod for a long time. In fact, an hour-and-a-half later passed before she finally stepped out of her containment. He stood up on aching knees as Bonni slowly hobbled out of the cylinder, giving her his hand and leading her to his now-empty seat.

"How do you feel?" he asked. "I heard from your friends about what happened."

"My systems are… returning to normal," she said evenly. "I miscalculated the measure of reserve energy I had during the performance, and my stress levels too. Both triggered an automatic system shutdown to preserve what little power I actually had." Bonni sat in his chair, and remained silent for a time.

"… I disappointed a lot of people, didn't I?" she asked sadly.

Michael chose his words carefully. "I would say they were more shocked than anything. Someone as energetic as you to suddenly faint would make anyone concerned. …Do you feel bad about it?"

"If by that, you mean whether I believe my abilities have become inadequate… then yes."

"You're not inadequate, Bonni—you made a mistake. It's no big deal."

"But this will hurt our image with Mr. Afton and his party, right? If they criticize what happened to me, then—" Bonni began to lose control of herself again, but froze when Michael thrust his hands onto her shoulders to hold her down.

"Don't go there," he reprimanded. "It hasn't reached that point, so there's no reason to worry needlessly. Moreover, there's still time to make it right—and I have an idea that may help. …Remember when we talked about our favorite music styles? Instead of enacting the same song and act, why don't you try changing it up a little bit?"

Bonni's newfound hopefulness became tinged with confusion. "But I don't know how. All I have known in order to perform onstage has been in the club. If there was something else, why change something that always worked?"

Taking a deep breath, Michael let go of her and dug deep into his brain, sifting through memories in search of a sufficient analogy. "Let me put it this way: when I was much younger, I used to participate in camping trips for a scouting organization. One of our main entertainments was doing evening campfire skits—and I was a virtuoso in comedy. I made sure to include certain actions and words that would make the whole play even funnier, and it worked. Over the years, however, people began to expect the same jokes, so the skits became less funny; so, I needed to involve different put-ons in order to keep the audience's attention, and even improvise if necessary. Even if I screwed up a bit, everyone still laughed in the end."

"I don't understand," the guitarist said. "What does laughing have to do with right now?"

Michael sighed. "My point is, you can't tell the same joke over and over and over, and expect it to be funny every time. Repetition in comedy does not make a long career. The same applies for your position. If you keep doing only what you can do, you'll never become more than what you are now. At some point, the people will become bored with you if you just keep the same acts; but if you learn something different and use it to complement your act, then the people will want to see more."

Bonni stared at him as she processed his advice. "… Then, what do you recommend?"

"I-I don't know, that's something you have to find yourself," Michael stammered. "Maybe use something you're familiar with, and start from there."

Taking this as an order, Bonni observed the room around them. The first thing her eyes noticed was the costume rack. Quickly she asked, "I could change what I wear on the stage."

"True, but you've had those same outfits for how long?"

Bonni considered the young man's challenge. "Good point." She proceeded to check everything else in the room. This time, she did so more carefully, and thus took more time. Finally, her pinkish eyes landed on a certain object: her V-shaped red electric guitar, undergoing string repair.

"What about music?"

"What about it?"

"There is always music playing when I perform, and I know which songs go with each style. Every note goes with a certain move. Normally, I perform separately from when I use my guitar, but…" Her eyes began alternating between red and blue, indicating her soul was fighting against her programming. "…perhaps I can learn how to merge both acts into a single show."

"That's a start, but you say you know all the songs and notes that go with your routine?" Michael pressed a bit further. "Wouldn't they still be the same songs?"

"Yes, they would be. But… if you say everyone will be bored from hearing the same…" Red and blue flashed even faster before resting more on the blue side. "…What if I played a different song—something they haven't heard before?"

Bingo. "I'd say that's a great way to expand your potential." Reaching into his pants pocket, Michael pulled out his cell phone and displayed its screen for Bonni to see. Pressing his finger and shuffling through its icons, he showed a list of specific songs saved in its memory file. "Tell you what: spend the rest of today recuperating, just to make sure nothing's out of place in you. If you're asked to perform again before I return, just do your dance routine. When I do come back, I'll let you borrow this for the shift so you can listen to some of my favorite tunes. Or, if nothing quite jives for you, scroll around and listen to other styles. Surely, you'll find something that'll suit your tastes to use for the next show."

"Surely?" She shuffled in her seat with delight, until her curiosity returned. "But my name is Bonni—and I can't eat or taste."

It took him a second to realize what she meant, and he could not help but laugh. "I mean, whatever music is pleasing to your ears. I'm sure you'll find something with these ears." He playfully touched one of her large floppy head appendages, subtly hinting her sense of hearing. Enjoying the sensation, the musician's smile grew until her usual bouncy behavior returned.

"Alright, I will try it," Bonni accepted. "You did make this offer anyways."

"I did, and I'm glad it's making you feel better," he replied softly, "and I'm sorry I haven't spent more time with you." To his surprise, she gazed at him before looking down timidly with a reddening face. This was the first time he saw her so bashful and shy. Then she responded in a very gratifying voice.

"Thank you, Mikey," she said, "for caring."

Michael returned a hand to her shoulder, and caressed it soothingly. "I always do."


Day 6

Today the fit nightguard was in better spirits as he conversed with an old friend.

It happened when Michael had just returned to his apartment from an errand. He had been on another grocery run at his favorite events, the Market Month farmers' market; but this time, he stayed a bit longer than intended, thanks to a special country-music concert that was held there. Only a few minutes had passed after he got back to his residence and unloaded his purchases, that his phone began to chime. Setting down a box of organic cupcake mix, he retrieved the device from his pocket, and read the calling address. Seeing Vanny's name heightened his spirits further, as he realized they had not spoken for a while. Thus, Michael seized the opportunity and pressed the green button to answer.

As he continued putting away and organizing his groceries, Michael and Vanny reconnected over their cellphones. Even though it had been a week since their last communication, the events that occurred in that time made Michael feel like it was far longer. This sensation of dwindled interaction drove him to speak to her at length, and she did likewise. He mentioned his confrontation in the club, which she replied with compliments in handling the situation swiftly and non-violently. In turn, she described how she and a fellow partner—along with a gathered crowd—observed a friendly sidewalk prankster disguised as a large, potted bush as he jumpscared unexpecting passers-by. For a time, other matters were approached and occasional laughs were exchanged. It was pure, casual chatting, and Michael relished it.

Eventually, the friendly chatter turned to a certain area Michael figured was one of the reasons she called him. Vanny wished to pass on an update in her search for the person responsible for his parents' car crash and untimely deaths. As the incident nearly turned the victims' son into a complete orphan, she believed herself obligated to find the perpetrator that remained at large. The mere fact that one of the victims was a dear friend of hers, made her ambition more tenacious. Fortunately, her efforts over the year did not go unrewarded, and she wanted to share the latest development with her friend's son.

Last time they spoke, Vanny managed to trace the suspect's rental car through its GPS system, and found several of its journeys originated from the same location in the city's warehouse district. Back then, she managed to meet with the manager working the warehouse district; and although he was gruff and frank, she did make leeway with him. The good news was not only had the man confirmed seeing the suspect vehicle on several occasions, but it was also owned by someone currently using one of his units. As a result, discussions of searching his books for the vehicle's owner had started. To Detective Vanny's dismay, unfortunately, that was where the bad news began as well.

"So, the warehouse manager is putting up a fight with you for those records?" Michael summarized.

"I'm afraid so, and it doesn't help that he has legal standing in keeping the privacy of those renting his units," Vanny said in displeasure. "Can't say I blame him, especially since some of his rentals belong to long-time clients. Until I can get a court order to compel him to grant access to his records, I'm stuck talking to his hand—which is currently displaying a certain finger." There was a tinge of sharp irritation in the last comment.

"At least you're that much closer," he said calmly. A thought emerged in his mind, and he voiced it to his family friend. "Did you at least mention one of his clienteles is a possible hit-and-runner? That may compel him in opening his books for you without the legal jargon."

"You would think that, but that would actually make him even more resistant. That's why I haven't mentioned the crime to the guy yet; and that's assuming the search itself bears fruit."

"Gotcha." Feeling like the topic was concluding, Michael decided to veer into another, similar topic. Rather, it was something which he planned on telling her. "Well, if it helps lighten your mood, I made some progress on my end, too."

"I can tell. You sound much better than the last time we spoke," she declared.

"I do, but I was talking about a different matter," he clarified with a smile. Once he had her attention, Michael gave her a bite of his own investigation. He summarized how the Break of 87th Street was actually a drunken sabotage attempt, caused by the watchman at the time. He figured that since he swore no agreement to Afton about the event while talking to him, he was free to disclose its true delineation—albeit, to the right person, and in secret. Once Michael finished, he heard the officer exhale in amazement.

"I am surprised to hear this," she replied, "yet at the same time, I'm not surprised. To think the guard caused his own demise, due to a history of drunken behavior—your story version clashes with Afton's previous account of doing deep background checks on those he hired. Of course, he never gave me the chance to learn otherwise by silencing his other employees." There was a silent pause in the connection. "… How did you find this out?"

"I spoke to Afton about the incident," he said simply, but hesitated on what he was about to reveal next. "… along with a witness to the incident, and a few collaborators."

"How can that be? There was no one else in the club that night."

Michael hesitated again. "… Are you alone right now?" After a moment, he overheard a door being closed, indicating she isolated herself in her office. Once the detective confirmed her lone status, he gave her a vague clue. "… Let's just say 'the little mermaids have sung their sirens'. I think you'll understand that."

"'The mermaids have sung—'" Vanny's gasping halted her open cogitating. "Don't tell me… my girls are actually alive?!"

"I didn't say that—only that I found confirmation about the incident," he said hastily, not wanting the moment to explode in a direction he was not prepared to traverse.

"You're right, I'm sorry," Vanny said, breathing to recompose herself. "I should know by now to not get my hopes up, but hell, I'd be over the moon if I could deliver such news to the families. Still, finding out their living status would be a mixed blessing."

The young man caught the disappointment in her tone. "What do you mean?"

"My case in finding the girls includes Afton's involvement in their disappearances. If it turns out they're alive, then it can be argued that he had nothing to do with it. Ergo, his previous claims would have merit; ergo, I'd have no suspects; ergo, I'd have no case; ergo, I'd be back at square one."

"And all that investigating time goes down the drain," he ended.

"Worse yet, that smug prick would have grounds for bringing me to the disciplinary committee, and sue me for harassment. …Unless…" She fell silent for another moment as her brain went into detective-mode. "… he made them disappear for a different reason, such as finding something they weren't meant to. Then my case would not only remain intact, but this entire outcome would also end more favorably."

Hearing her alternative theory perked up Michael's memory, as he recalled Chica's plan about retrieving Afton's records from his office. "I might have an idea about that," Michael claimed supportively. "I'm just looking for an opportune time to act on it."

"You're just full of teasers, aren't you?" Vanny scoffed in amusement. "Alright, keep it up, but remember this: whatever you find has to be rock-solid so neither Afton nor the courts can refute it. And above all else—" Her next words were colored more with concern than warning. "—be careful, whether you find anything or not. I've dealt with a lot of crooked minds with honeyed tongues, but he tops them all. If he really does have that many skeletons in his closet, then you must assume he will do anything to keep it closed—and I mean anything."

Michael shivered at her advice. "Thanks for the warning," he replied, half-wondering its necessity if said opportunity did present itself at all.

000

That opportunity came much sooner than Michael expected.

The proceeding nine hours led to nighttime, when Frenni Fazclaire's Nightclub was in its crescendo. While everyone was enjoying the show onstage, Michael was doing inventory in the storage room by the bar. Holding a clipboard, he listed the number of crates containing various bottles of liquor, vodka, wine, and even boxes of beer; as well as the number of said bottles in each crate. He took great care to not kick or press against the wooden boxes as he traversed by them—some of the brands Afton possessed were worth more than his own apartment. How his boss was able to afford such beverages was beyond him, but decided not to question it. It was beyond his pay grade to know such things, anyway.

Once he made sure every container was accounted for, he exited the room and moved into the main clubroom. From this angle, he saw some of the girls' performance: as Chica and Foxxy did their pole-dancing, Frenni took the center stage with a stylish dance routine while singing a foreign solo. The song sounded Japanese, and Frenni's actions reflected what one would see in a music video of the same nationality. Amazed by the range of languages the singer could perform, the nightguard could not help but admire her show. While the tone of her song was light and energetic, her dancing was more intense in ways that accentuated her lithe, vigorous body. One such pose had her bending down while standing with her legs apart, to the point she stared through her leg space to wink at the audience. Meanwhile, her companions were pulling off similar stunts: Chica managed to lift herself onto the pole and use only her legs to hold on while reaching to the crowd with open arms and an innocent party-girl face; and Foxxy had herself in a comparable position, only her body was stretched along her pole's length with her limbs wrapped behind her, leaving her firm backside sandwiching the metal for all to see—along with her wide, bright smile. Altogether, the trio was an enthralling display of sweet, yet forbidden eroticism.

As he stared at the spectacle, his cheeks flushed hot as a pleasurable surge bigger than any before rushed through his mind and body. Until recently, certain circumstances forced him to not think of them in such ways. Before discovering their secret, their semblance of humanity—combined with his longing for honest companionship—compelled him to treat them with respect. Then after exposing their dark secret, his bonding with the girls developed mutual understanding between them, along with genuine feelings of kinship. Those feelings, he began to notice, started turning into something much closer as he helped them overcome their conflicts. Like wind on a sailboat, though, the feelings went both ways; as Michael felt himself reciprocating their aching for closeness. Following his learning everything about them, it was like a switch had been flipped in him a while ago, as his longing for their closeness grew to match the kind everyone else in the club craved.

For the first time since he started working here, Michael began to truly desire the girls.

Just then, the girls' song ending abruptly switched off his entrancement. With the haze in his mind clearing, he focused back on his task. Finding a certain group, he made his way to the table where his boss sat with the stockholders. Reaching Afton's side, his ears caught some words regarding business plans and potential future endeavors, hinting their setting up an agreement plan of investments. This was essentially the final step in both licensing a legitimate business and supporting a business merger. Despite the deal's conclusion nearing, Michael was not that worried since such affairs were not done in a single day; even if the parties kept on their toes about it, the investment plan would not be finished for at least another week. Most of the time was usually spent on compromises, conditions, or just ironing out any hiccups. In any case, he felt himself close to completing Bonni's recovery, so time was siding with him.

Suddenly, he heard Afton briefly curse under his breath. Turning to him, he saw the man sifting through his business bag. "Ah, dammit—I knew I forgot to print out those pages," he muttered. Finally noticing his nightguard, he raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you waiting for something?"

"Sorry for interrupting, but I just finished taking stock of your beverage stores," Michael said, holding up his clipboard. "You did tell me to inform you the moment I did so."

"Ah yes, you can leave it up in my office. I'll look at it later." Afton paused, and looked back in his direction. "Say kid, would you retrieve my tablet while you're up there? It should be sitting on my desk."

"Yes, sir. I'll be back in a moment." Taking his leave, Michael left his boss to his meeting. When he reached the base of the club stairs, he heard the animatronic girls starting up another song-and-dance routine, and chanced one more glance. But as his eyes adjusted on them—

"!"

His eyes shot wide open in revelation. He remembered his discussion with the girls about accessing Afton's office; and checking back towards the man, he would be preoccupied for some time. This was as perfect an opportunity as it appeared. Pouring energy into his legs, the young watchman jogged up the stairs to his destination with renewed ambition.

Walking around the balcony to the opposite side, Michael had a sense of nostalgia as he reached the office door. The only other time he was in that room besides for his own employment meeting, was when he talked to Afton about Foxxy's old condition, and even that felt like ages ago. The feeling intensified after opening the door and walking inside: the room remained occupied with the barest essentials for an office, and unblemished. Taking an extra look around, he took note of the certificates hanging on the wall; although they were from different institutes, they all recognized Afton's contribution to their IT departments. Next to them was a tall rectangular filing cabinet, with an assortment of club memorabilia on top; one of which was a large decorative jar full of gold glitter, labelled as 'First Club Party'. But there was something else alongside the cabinet that escaped his view long ago: a nightstand-sized plastic box covered in small cords. Its small white labels stood out against its dark gray shell, and an antennaed router crowned its top. Eyeing the contraption for a brief moment, Michael proceeded on his way to the large oak desk.

Sitting in its comfy chair, he looked around for the tablet until he found it propped next to the computer. While staring at its black screen while holding the device, an idea formed in his brain. Finding its charging cord, he plugged it in and began probing around—but not before paranoia prodded his nerves to place the tablet with its screen and camera lens covered. He did not fancy the idea of being recorded at this moment.

His first examination was the computer monitor, and a click of the mouse revealed it was still signed in and online. This was far better than he hoped, but he had to be cautious; although he knew how to erase any online trails, he didn't want to chance that against an experienced IT specialist. Fortunately, there were a few windows that remained open—one of which was oddly familiar. Clicking it, he found it to be a page from a storage facility website, with a plain-looking warehouse registered under Afton's name as its main image. If memory serves, I've seen this place on his computer before, Michael thought as he recounted seeing the same image on the computer a week ago. It may be important if he's frequenting the same online site. …Maybe it's where he stores all of his supplies for the girls… or even where he took them to turn into his animatronic playthings? Criminals tend to enjoy revisiting the scene of a crime, after all.

Taking a gamble, he took out his keys from his pocket, and removed a small thumb drive from the ring. Since speaking to the girls about this plan, they agreed it would be wise for him to have it on hand in case he found the chance. Plugging it into the computer, he downloaded the open page and its account; and after minimizing the page, proceeded to copy the entire desktop and its files.

While letting the thumb drive collect the data, he let his eyes drift back to the strange metal box. Moving in for a closer look, he exposed a gold plate partially covered in its cords. Its etched markings were of the make and model of a server. Michael checked the space between it and the desk computer, and found not a single electric cord connected the two devices. Finding its purpose odd, he took several pictures of the server with his phone, making sure to record its appearance, characteristics, and plate information.

With that done, he checked to see if the cabinet had anything usable, but quit when he found the drawers had keyholes. Going back to the desk, he opened its drawers and eye-scanned their contents, and photographed whatever he could find. When he finished with the right-bottom drawer, he pushed it closed by the handle—only for the handle to sink in after the drawer was fully in the desk. A small click sounded, and an additional shelf slid from the side of the desk. Surprised, he leaned over to check it out… and froze.

Sitting within the secret drawer was a handgun, with an open box of ammunition.

The weapon was gray in color, like unpolished steel, with wooden panels bolted to form the handle. Michael was no expert in such weapons, but it looked to him like a pistol meant for personal use. Despite the shakiness in his hands, he managed to get a steady picture of the firearm; and as an added precaution, used a pencil from one of the drawers to carefully pick out a bullet from the box. Once he pocketed the shell in his shirt pocket and closed the compartment, fate decided his time was up as the thumb drive indicated its task was done. After removing the apparatus—and taking a few last pictures of the computer screen showing its file windows—Michael returned the screen and desk to the way they were before he arrived. With that, he took the tablet off its cord and left the office.

Hurrying along the balcony and down the stairs, he completed his journey back to Afton and his group. Containing his heavy breathing as best he could, he handed the device to his boss, who looked up at him suspiciously. As if reading his thoughts, Michael apologized for his tardiness.

"S-Sorry about that," he stammered. "The battery life was low, so I had to plug it in and wait for it to charge enough."

"…"

Staring silently at him and then his appliance, he tapped the screen once to open its screen. As he read the tablet's current percentage, he huffed in confirmation and returned his gaze at his sole employee.

"… Alright. That'll do."

Concealing a tidal wave of relief, Michael exhaled slowly as he nodded to him, and gradually made his way to the relative safety of the security room. Once inside, he remained there for the rest of the open hours, all the while using the camera feeds to keep an extremely close eye on his boss's behavior.

000

Some time later, Michael was feeling much more relaxed and comfortable, for several reasons.

Once he convinced his paranoia three times that Afton had left the building after closing time, he double-checked the photographs in his phone before visiting the girls. Certain they were clear and crisp, he uploaded them into his e-mail as well as filing them into an anonymous folder within the phone. Having secured his pictorial evidence, he ventured to the animatronics' room where a certain figure had stayed. Compared to yesterday, Bonni appeared to be in better spirits, having spent the day recovering from her malfunction. Her enthusiasm heightened even further when he arrived with his phone on hand, and spent almost two hours letting her listen to some of his favorite songs. She spent almost the whole time in silent awe as she heard sounds and rhythms unfamiliar to her software; and whenever she did a small jig in her seat upon hearing a tempo she liked, he could not help but join along. Near the end, both found themselves nestled beside each other, with her head resting lovingly next to his. Needless to say, she was one happy bunny.

Upon leaving Bonni to explore the auditory media in his phone, he inspected the whereabouts of the other animated women. Like before, he found Foxxy and Chica huddled in the Pirates Cove with the rented library books; and when asked about them, the pair exclaimed their approvals. In their words, reading and studying his given volumes made them feel like their human selves again. Satisfied, Michael voiced his gladness for the entertainment, and informed them of Bonni's present state-of-mind. He then asked about Frenni's location so he could inform her too, and the red and yellow consorts verified her waiting for him in the security room. It did not take long to meet and tell her the news, as well as his success in Afton's office. The latter report immediately decomposed her self-control, as she literally leapt onto him in glee like Bonni had done. Giving no indication of letting go, Michael allowed her to stay as he completed his usual monitoring duty.

Thus, he found himself sitting at his desk watching over the monitors, with Frenni having made herself comfortable sitting in his lap with an arm draped around his neck. Together, they could see the other girls were occupied in some way. In one screen, Chica was laying on one of the tables while reading the blue law book Michael got for her; judging from her casual head-propping and leg-swinging pose, she was thoroughly enjoying herself being immersed in its pages. The same went for Foxxy as she remained in the cove with his light novel manga; her face often changed from excitement to close scrutiny to bursts of laughter. As for Bonni, she was still holed up in the animatronics' room paying close attention to his phone. From her expressions on the grainy screen, she was electrified by what she heard. Occasionally, she used her fingers to search through other options found online, and Michael could see her literally dancing to the beats.

"They all look so happy, don't they?" Frenni said at last.

"They really do," he agreed, "even though they're still confined to this place."

"Maybe, but I was referring to their being themselves, before all this happened," she replied, turning her head to see him. "They're gaining back what they cherish most, and it's all thanks to you. It's no wonder why they've become so attached to you."

Michael chuckled. "Aren't you forgetting the one who's using me as a seat cushion?"

Frenni hummed deeply. "Very true, but you're also so comfy." She then shifted in his lap, rubbing her thighs and rear on him for a moment before relaxing against him again, humming in pleasure.

Whether or not she noticed, her movement was having a great effect on her partner. Her position in his lap allowed him to hold her midriff, as well as lay his face near her clothed F-cup breasts. Reflecting on his absorption on her show, he fixated himself on the agreeable thrill of her toned back rubbing against his front. Even better was the sensation of her thighs: soft, yet firm and smooth to the touch, and unblemished. Since she was wearing her traditional high-heels and thong, their toned exterior left little to the imagination. If that was not enough, her bubbly cheeks sandwiching his nether-regions, along with her soft body pressing on his face, were incredible. Hot blood rushed through his face while his body enjoyed a situation many of the customers would kill to experience.

Letting himself go a little, he hugged her closer, sighing deeply into her soft yet tight form. Giggling faintly, Frenni quickly enclosed his arms around her waist with hers. "That tickles," she said serenely.

"Sorry—I'm just glad you're with me," Michael replied calmly, earning him an adoring beam from the exotic singer. For a while, he smiled as he silently observed her enchanting beauty. Then, his mind educed something he had wondered before, but was unsure how to ask. "Ariel, may I ask you something a bit personal?"

"Of course. What is it?"

"Well, it's something that crossed my mind, and…" Michael paused to recollect his thoughts. "Since I've started conversing with Bonni, I've noticed a little pattern with you girls. You see, even though your true selves are different from the personalities Afton intended for you, all of you still seem to show traits of your old selves once you warm up to me. Now, I don't want it to sound offensive, but it made me wonder—"

"—If our current thoughts and feelings are the real deal, and not influenced by our alter-ego selves?"

The nightguard went silent, stupefied by her directness, and also afraid to affirm it. Frenni turned to face him again, putting on a serious yet tender expression.

"That would be offensive in any other situation," she began, "…but this isn't any other situation, so I get it. The programming is still there in some way, but I'm in control of it now. Remember that's how I revert to my other persona during the dayshift. The same goes for the other two." She waved a free hand toward the monitors showcasing Chica and Foxxy. "And while our gestures of affection seem as unusual as they are overboard, they're not because of our fake characters anymore—all their programming does now is just augment what we already feel." She placed her free hand with the one wrapped around his shoulder, and hugged him warmly. "And what we think and feel, Mikey, are very real."

"I'm glad to hear that, thanks." Michael returned the hug around her belly once more. "And I'm glad you agree on the point about your gestures of affection."

"It's hard to deny at this point, since you've already experienced some of them," Frenni said reservedly, "but that's just because we have differing opinions on what we consider to be intimate gestures. Sophia enjoys holding another person's arm like a pole. On the other hand, Cassie only wraps her arm around the neck of someone she absolutely trusts. And even though she's not herself yet, Jesse also liked to pounce on her favorite people as a greeting."

"You're right—they have done that." Michael watched the girls on-screen for a little while, and turned his head to the one in his arms. "What's yours, may I ask?" he asked curiously.

Frenni's cheeks turned a shade of bright red. "It's… embarrassing to say."

"You can tell me. I won't judge, and it's just the two of us here."

Frenni considered him for a while, and then looked away. She didn't say anything at first, until he heard her whisper something. "…nose."

"What?"

"My nose," she repeated, and gestured to the area with a hand. "It-It was always a sensitive area for me when I was human, so my family made it a habit to touch my nose to show their love. Since then, …I considered that place to be an intimate area." She briefly grazed the area with her fingers, and her face contorted with discomfiture. "It's embarrassing to talk about it since I think it's a weird place to show affection—nor did it help that Cassie called it 'booping the snoot' when I told her."

Michael let out a short snort, which earned him a glaring pout from her. "Sorry, but that does sound adorable," he justified. His amusement won her over as her pout faded, and the two resumed watching the monitors.

Not wishing to end their time together in silence, Michael sought for something else to talk about. A flash of movement caught his eye, and observed Foxxy doubling over in laughter while grasping her book. Apparently, she read something that was humorous enough for her to burst into voluminous mirth. Her laughs were actually heard in the club; not only could he and Frenni faintly hear her from the security room, but the camera feeds also showed Chica and Bonni briefly turning toward the sound's direction. Just then, he knew what to ask his present companion. "You know, now that I've got Afton's private documents," he began, "it'll be a matter of time before we can bring him down and set you girls free from this place. When that happens… is there somewhere you want to go, or always wanted to go and do?"

"…"

Frenni stared at him with soft, yet serious consideration. Perhaps it was because she had not yet thought that far in the future; or the subject matter simply caught her off-guard. Either way, it took her a moment to think of an answer. "I can't speak for the others," she said thoughtfully, "but… I miss going to the beach. Before, I've always loved visiting the coastline; but now, I've almost forgotten what it feels like to feel the warmth of the sun, the sounds of the waves to my ears, or the wind on my face. So, I'd love to go back again."

Michael's eyes lifted as he brightened at the idea. "That sounds fun. I could use a vacation myself once this is all over." His response had a positive effect on her, as her knowing gaze turned playful.

"Is that so?" she asked flirtatiously. "Could it be because you wish to see me in a bikini?"

Understanding what she was intending, Michael teased her back. "That depends: is your wish because you want to see me in only swimming trunks?"

The retort caused her freckled cheeks to flush red. "I wasn't thinking of that, but now that you brought it up—" She pulled her arm around him closer to herself, softly pressing his face beside her neighboring breast…

…and gently booped his nose with her free hand. "—that would be a very nice bonus."

"!"

Michael's cheeks flushed to match those of the lissome woman. Pleased with his reaction, she let her own giggling go unrestrained. From that point on, to the end of the shift, every figure in the building attained either high spirits or blushing airs, or both.


Day 7

A mix of awe and shock was frozen on Michael's face as he read the contents of the thumb drive.

At his apartment, the security guard had his laptop in front of him once more, pouring over numerous, unfamiliar windows and pages on its screen. These were the contents copied from Afton's unprotected computer to the thumb drive now nestled in Michael's laptop's side. His visit in the office had paid off in a bigger way he had anticipated, as he already spent several hours exploring Afton's business history in-depth. Putting it lightly, he struck a goldmine of information that described much of the elder man's personal history. Michael's current interest, though, was his business history in the nightclub—but that did not stop him from gleaning a few interesting facts.

According to his research regarding the nightclub building, it was originally a family-owned pizzeria located in an earlier, more homely version of the entertainment district. The parlor did well in the course of many years, serving as a fellow family destination; but as time passed, the restaurant owners could not keep with the competing businesses as they got bigger and flashier, until they were threatened with bankruptcy almost ten years ago. Strangely, this was when Afton mysteriously appeared, with enticing prospects of refurbishing the shop to match the new-millennium neighborhood. The family agreed to his assistance, and allowed him to revamp the place for them. Unfortunately, it was afterwards that the club earned its mysterious atmosphere.

When the owners discovered their family business was overhauled into a men-only nightspot, they sent their complaints to Afton as well as the state. Sadly for them, Afton had already made the first move, claiming said family had actually sold the place to him in a binding agreement, but not received payment for it. What made it worse was he produced "proof" on paper to back it up, leading the government to err on his side. With the odds stacked against them, the losing family ended up emptying their already-scant pockets and moving away to escape debt-collectors, while Afton kept the building for his own purposes. His history in the club since then progressed from the casual services, with full human staffs, to gradually ending with the complete swap to automated services. This obviously included the rise of the animatronic girls—the quintessence of his and Dr. Henri Emile's work.

If suckering his own partner for their shared project wasn't bad enough, Michael judged, he also twisted it into a business lifestyle stemmed from suckering other people, including the girls. Talk about insult to injury.

Reading on, he had found what he was looking for—and it was equally revealing and disturbing. Because he was the owner of a nightclub and bar, he was qualified to gain tax benefits for energy, labor, products, and advertising, as well as furniture and tools. However, there were discrepancies between what he earned and spent. For example, the online bank statements revealed only better-than-average marks despite the club making an obvious killing in profits. This somewhat tracked with Michael's experience when he contributed to the means for Foxxy's renovation, only to later learn the man had a warehouse stocked with them. Not to mention his layoffs in exchange for automated labor would result in bigger benefits for him, he learned. Elsewhere, the warehouse items under his name were listed to be years old—some of which, Michael guessed, included equipment from working with Dr. Henri Emile—and their quantity was more than enough to maintain the club for equally as long. But on the other hand, his financial records showed him deducting those products as regular purchases for his business. In addition, Michael could not find any trail connecting to the warehouse—though he had an inkling as to why.

With his high-tech skills, it wouldn't be an impossible task to alter or erase any paper trails leading to him, he theorized. All in all, the falsified proceedings showed the man squirreling away a fortune well into the millions. As he leaned back in his chair to take a brief break, he could not help but scoff at the true extent of the man's penny-pinching. The layoffs, the office's bare essentials, the warehouse secret stash—no wonder he's so sketchy with expenses. Whatever he doesn't steal, he hoards for himself, and anyone's fair game—even the state government—and yet no one's been able to catch him! This guy's a walking career case of tax fraud and embezzlement.

Although he substantiated a clear crime of swindling the government, there was one question left unanswered in Michael's mind. Since he's cheating on his bills, then where is he keeping all that money? Afton doesn't strike me as being dumb enough to store any stolen money in another bank account… unless he has some way of laundering the money he keeps. …If that's the case, then he would want to have it close at hand, just in case. That leaves somewhere in the club, at his home, or…

Michael cast a glance at the page showcasing his boss's warehouse unit and its list of supplies. That would be a likely hiding place for his monetary horde, concealed among all the boxes, tools, gadgets, and manufactured goods. It would also support yet another odd pattern of activity: according to the warehouse unit records, Afton appeared to have been visiting the location on a regular basis, for extended periods each time. Unless he was so paranoid any single piece of his property would go missing within a day, Michael could find no reason for Afton to frequent his storehouse other than ensuring his money's safety.

He could be a bigger money-grubber than I think, and is living there instead. After a moment, the young man snorted at the absurdity of the thought. Now I'm being ridiculous—even a swindler wants a decent home like anyone else. Still, it's too bad there are no videos of his visits so I can find out.

Curiosity overtook him as a certain thought crossed his mind. Minimizing most of the windows on the screen, Michael opened the saved video storage file for the nightclub. Scanning the appropriate file's contents, he found the link to a specific piece of footage. Clicking on the play function, another pop-up screen appeared to show the video footage. Unluckily, the image was somewhat grainy and not as clear-cut as he preferred, but he could see well enough what was going on.

He wanted to see Afton's true nature when Bonni collapsed on the stage.

The repair room was dark and devoid of movement; but the small door windows allowed just enough light to illuminate certain areas that made the room more spine-chilling. Then suddenly, Afton burst in while holding a limp violet figure in his arms. Placing Bonni on an adjustable type of surgery table, he substituted one of her long ears for a series of tiny cords plugged into a scanning device. With it, he probed her systems for the cause of her failure onstage. Quickly, the results came in; and his shoulders lost some of their stiffness when he read them. He then headed to the doors for a moment, and two of the girls came into view. Afton gestured to Bonni's comatose form, and they obediently took her with them outside. As he watched, Michael figured their order was to take her to the animatronics' room for the much-needed recharge.

"…"

Afton, however, stuck around in the repair room, alone. He leaned in front of a table with both arms, and stayed like this for a long period. Because the feed was still grainy, Michael could not see his expression, or whether he was contemplating something. So, he moved his face closer to the video in hopes of finding more details—

-only to have Afton turn and throw the scanner at the camera feed in absolute fury.

"?!"

Michael jumped back into his chair as the video went completely static. Catching his breath, he growled exasperatedly and briefly flung his arms in a boxing match with the air. It was one thing to be jumpscared on the job, but he hated the scenario happening in the safety of his home. Then again, this occasion was caused by Afton himself, which made the young man even more unnerved. To anyone else, his boss's reaction was from a disastrous development occurring right in front of his future business partners. In Michael's viewpoint, it was like the man in the video was throwing the contraption at Michael's own face—a prelude of the discovery of betrayal.

Prone to tantrums, indeed, Michael concluded, gulping. And with his pocket-lining scheme, he has no reason to care about collateral damages. …Well, Vanny did warn me about this, so I probably should heed her advice better.

With frazzled nerves, he finished his research session on the concluding hope that his own skeleton would not become the latest addition in that man's closet any time soon.

000

His trepidation remained with him even as he approached the nightclub's main entrance.

Most of his focus now was on getting inside the club and maintaining order, like usual. But his concentration had a different motivation; and it was not just to inspect Bonni's progress since last night. Tonight was the last time the investors would be visiting, and Michael wanted to make sure it ended on a positive note. As a consequence of this, combined with his previous data-uncovering, he paid even less of a mind to any glowering from the waiting line as he passed by. However, in doing so, the club security guard did not notice that the waiting line was buzzing in a more positive attitude. In fact, it was not until he reached the main entrance, that he noticed the people passing out of the main doors were in a jovial mood.

And he found out why almost immediately.

With raised eyebrows, Michael let himself be seen by the creepy standing tablet, and entered the lobby. Upon stepping in, he heard the pulsation of music coming from the clubroom through the short hallway. Michael turned his head a bit as he briefly listened; its upbeat tone was different from what he normally heard here. What is more, there was much less response from anyone else—none of the usual shouting from the customers within the clubroom. Curiosity propelled him forward into the main quarters, where he found not much was visibly changed. At least, until he turned his attention to the main stage.

Once more, all four girls were on-stage, but the arrangement was altered. Instead of Frenni—who was wielding some kind of electric synthesizer board strapped around her shoulder—Bonni had the center stage with her now-repaired guitar. Meanwhile, Foxxy and Chica were pole-dancing on either side, with every swing and move matching the beat of the music playing. As for the music itself, it was a surprising change from her usual collection. While the style sounded like her usual rock, the rhythm and sounds Bonni was making were more stylish and livelier, which were supported and augmented by Frenni's chosen instrument. In Michael's ears, the instrumental song resounded like his family's favorite diner themed to the 50's, in a metallic sort of way. It also reminded him of a special kind of music called "glam-rock", which was popular in the 80's. It was full of energy. As he continued to watch and listen, Michael soon realized the song was becoming popular in other ways.

Observing the surrounding crowd, Michael found every man in the club was enjoying the show. A good number of them were actually doing subtle jigs in their seats to match the beat. While moving as such, their eyes were fixated on Bonni as she danced finely while continuing to play. The other girls' dance and faces were as boisterous as they were enthusiastic, indicating they were enjoying the music just as immensely. Even he found himself unconsciously tapping one of his feet to the beat while watching them—he honestly liked it. In one corner of the floor, he saw the businessmen smiling as they reveled in the new concert; the only man in the group that did not was Afton, who simply stared astounded. Ironically, the young nightguard could not help but smirk at his boss's reaction. Emboldened by the sight, he waited until Bonni could see him, and waved and gestured his hand in a "rock on!" encouragement. Her face flashed with recognition and delight for a split second, and she continued her act with amplified incentive.

Soon, Bonni reached the crescendo of her song, and she thrusted herself into a finishing position as the final notes resonated. Almost immediately, the crowd erupted from their seats and gave their applause and whistles, a few men even begging for an encore. Frenni and the other animatronic girls also applauded for their companion. The bunny-woman stared for a few seconds before her face lit with elation. Responding to her new fame, she leaned into a feminine bow to her audience.

Michael smiled broadly at the violet-skinned woman. This performance had definitely given her the boosted confidence she sought for, as well as the equal popularity that came with it; and even better, she learned a new style that suited her interests, and her effort paid off big-time. The cherry-on-top was Afton's businessmen joining everyone else in the standing ovation. If she was able to impress them, then her new music style must have been great, and the audience's reception left no room for denial.

Speaking of denial, Michael thought as he glanced back at Bonni and her company behind her, maybe it's time to no longer deny Jesse her freedom… or the other girls their remaining friend.

Just then, Bonni noticed her group's praise, and her brows tilted with her broad smile. She then bowed back to her friends to thank them as well, which also allowed a mischievous wiggle-display of her ass to the audience. While the skirt she was wearing did not expose her completely, it made one thing clear which earned even more praise from the men.

She was not wearing any underwear.

Michael subtly slapped his hand to his forehead. He hoped the real girl's personality was not as open as her violet lagomorph alter-ego showed.

With that, Bonni turned with her derriere still facing the crowd, and blew a cute kiss with an open hand. The stage lights suddenly deactivated, and like every time before, the girls had vanished when the lights returned a second later. Though a few groans of disappointment were voiced, they were still overshadowed by the sustained cheers from the concert.

000

It took a longer time for Michael to close up the club this time. The people were so thrilled with what they received tonight that some of them wanted hang around to give their personal compliments to Afton, and more importantly to Bonni. Because the former had already gone outside with his gang, Michael was left to handle crowd control. In response to the men's respects, Michael had to repeatedly comment that the animatronic in question and her band needed to rest and undergo routine maintenance, but he would surely extend their words to them. This quelled the enthusiastic masses to a degree, but he ended up spending and extra thirty minutes to empty the club. When the last mobs of entranced people were gathered outside, his eyes found Afton by chance as he led his motley cluster of suits to their limos. Despite being locked on them for a second or two before the crowds obscured the view, Michael saw one detail that gave tonight a great deal of promise.

The investors, and even Afton, were smiling broadly.

After that, Michael secured the inside premises, and the club officially entered its closed hours. As he ventured to the security room, he heard feminine voices coming from the open doorways. Peeking around the frame, he saw Bonni being showered by her friends' captivation.

"That was wonderful!"

"I did not know you could do the strings like that, Bonni!"

"Well-played for sure."

All the while, the musician glowed with joy. Michael let the moment linger for a bit longer, and then cleared his throat as he entered the room. The moment she saw him coming in, Bonni squealed and leapt onto his body, wrapping her arms and legs around his neck and hips respectively. Her greeting was so sudden, he had to step back and grasp her thighs to balance himself. For once, she ignored the intimate action, as her happiness was so overwhelming to think of such thoughts.

"Mikey! Did you enjoy the show? Did you?" the guitarist asked excitedly.

"Absolutely. Between your music and dance, it was hard to use my ears and eyes at the same time." Michael chuckled as he set her back on her feet, though her arms stayed where they rested. "And the audience felt the exact same way."

Bonni beamed. "Everyone loved it—even Afton's group! And they wanted more! I felt very obliged to accept, but the show time ran out. But you were there to hear me too, so that makes up for it. I feel like I am on cloud nine!" She did a little series of hops on her soles while holding onto him—an action he found pretty funny.

"You certainly were stimulating, Bonni. Great job." In addition to his compliment, he patted her head in appreciation, the action letting her chin-length hair bounce a little. Her smile shone brighter than ever, and she pressed herself completely onto him.

"Speaking of 'stimulating'," the violet woman said, her smile gaining lasciviousness but not losing her happy tone, "maybe we can celebrate the occasion with a different kind of performance. How does a special showing by yours truly sound—the kind where we both rock the whole night?"

"Tempting, but maybe another time," Michael dismissed, taking her arms to release himself and hold her hands instead. He paused for a few seconds as he prepared himself for his next course of action. "In fact, since you did so well tonight, there is a certain assessment I would like to perform. It's a simple means of seeing how your systems are adapting to what you learned. Is that alright?"

"Anything for you, Mikey," Bonni said with certainty. Behind her, the other three girls identified the meaning in his words, and a nervous sense of anticipation became etched on their faces. Luckily, the musician did not witness the change in her compatriots' expressions.

"Alright, if you're prepared." Releasing her hands, he cleared his throat for the big move. "Here it is, Bonni: …Jesse Glau."

"?"

As if about to question him, Bonni opened her mouth to speak, but stopped as her eyes lit up green. With that, she fainted into her friends' arms as her resurrection process began.

Like the other times before, Michael had her brought into the animatronics' room, and had the others wait outside while he remained in the room with the comatose patient. A while passed, and he gazed from his seat at the limp form resting atop the island. Seeing her still-glowing verdant eyes triggered an enormous sense of accomplishment to well up in himself. He had finally done it: the final animatronic girl was about to be restored to her original self. Once she wakes up, the whole quartet would be truly reunited, and would be able to challenge their tormentor at full force, in pursuit of their freedom. Michael breathed a long-awaited sigh of relief. Such forecasts, which felt so impossibly far, were now within reach; and best of all, he would not have to worry about any more animated jumpscaring from the girls.

Spoke too soon. The signature ear-splitting scream from the girl's mouth as she jerked upright signaled the completion of her revival. Michael gripped the edge of the island, along with his heart, as he reinforced the fact that he hated that sound. Just as his body started to calm, he heard the girl take a few breathers as she blinked, the green glow fading back to their usual pink irises. Almost as suddenly, she winced and clutched her head.

"Wow, what a hangover," she groaned, rubbing her head. She lingered where she sat on the island for a while, until she looked up and saw Michael immediately. Blinking in surprise, her eyes roamed over him as she quickly switched her attention. "And who're you, hot stuff?" she asked.

The young man eyed the bunny-eared being in front of him. Unlike the other girls, her new American accent was not as different as before. "That depends on who you are," he tested.

"Name's Jesse—Jesse Glau," she stated, letting off the island shakily to approach him. "And if you play right, it'll be a name you'll never forget."

"Easy there—I don't start relationships on hangovers," Michael counselled. "But seriously, how do you feel? Do you know anything else besides your name?"

"Maybe? Everything's all fuzzy…" The violet woman blinked hard, until recognition lifted her brows. "Hold on—I think I do. Yeah, it's all clearing up now! But… a lot of them feel like they belong to someone else…" She raised her hand to clutch her head again, only to perceive her skin color followed by the rest of her body. "… and I'm dressed up like for a weird anime show. What's up with that?"

From that point, Michael fessed up about her current situation, along with his own and his efforts to bring her back. She eyed him with attentiveness and suspicion; he was not sure if her staring was because she doubted him, or she was yet able to accept the reality. Given the situation, he could not blame her. "So, what you're saying," she said once he finished, "is Afton suckered me into becoming his guinea pig, and turned me into some type of sex-bot working for him now?"

Michael said nothing, but silently gestured to the beauty mirrors on the wall. Watching her walk to them, he observed her face twist into shock as she beheld her new appearance for the first conscious time. He winced as he prepared himself for her panic attack—only it never happened.

Instead—

"Aw, hell yeah!"

Blinking, he saw Bonni—rather, Jesse—checking herself out, clearly excited with her new body. Fondling her ear appendages first, her hands lowered to the rest of her body. Her face was plastered with a grin as she twirled around and touched her curves. She even tested her thighs and buttocks with her hand palms, spanking her cheeks a few times. Noticing his reaction through her reflection, she turned back to face him with her hips tilted to the side.

"Well? Say something!" she urged excitedly.

"You're… taking this better than I thought," he said dumbfounded.

"You bet I am! Sure, the whole mind-trapped-in-a-robot thing is a tad creepy, but the new look makes up for it—I'm hot as hell! Plus, the bunny ears make the gig even better!" Her arms stretched up and above her head, exotically emphasizing her long rabbit-ear accessories. "And the cherry-on-top is I don't have to worry about my arthritis anymore."

"What about everything you went through that got you here?" he asked. "Don't you remember that?"

Jesse's expression instantly softened. "I do now… and it hurt like a hellish nightmare," she replied somberly, her eyes now gazing at nothing in particular. Then they shifted back to him, her optimism returning. "But at least I'm now wide awake, and it's thanks to you for waking me up from that. I'm just glad to not be someone's puppet anymore. I feel like I can dance and twist the night away Sam Cooke-style, all while flipping off that bearded bastard." She started a little jig on the spot, like a happy child in a carnival. Her elation suddenly shifted to fear, however, as she remembered something.

"What about the other girls? There were four of us altogether. Are they—?"

Knowing exactly where her train of thought was going, Michael bypassed its course by interrupting her. "Fine, they are fine. They're all in the same condition as you, but their minds are their own now. You were the last one I revived, in fact."

"What do you mean? Are they like…?" Her uncertainty left her unable to finish, so she gestured to her ears to complete her thoughts.

"In a way," Michael replied in a roundabout manner. "Would you like to see them? If you're ready, that is."

The violet woman's response was immediate. "Yes, I need to see them."

Michael considered the situation. Even though he finally brought this girl's soul out, and she adapted to her condition quicker than expected, he was hesitant about her answer. He did not want to thrust another surprise on her in case any current build-up would be too much for her to handle; but on the other hand, he wanted to oblige her for the sake of her peace-of-mind. However, any denial now would do the opposite of what she needed, and so he decided to proceed in the end.

Extending a hand to her, he let his final patient take it, and escorted her out of the room. Crossing the hallway to the main clubroom, he recognized the other three huddled by one of the tables, baring looks of anxiety. Making his presence known, he allowed the four girls to face each other while he stood aside, letting the situation flow.

"… Jesse?" Frenni asked hesitantly. "Is it you?"

The violet girl's eyes widened, alternating between the three before her. "Holy crap! Are you all—which ones are you?"

Frenni pointed to herself, then to Foxxy, and to Chica. "It's me, Ariel. And they are Cassie and Sophia."

Upon hearing those names, Bonni cried out in joy and bounded to the others. "I can't believe it, you're all here!" The next thing they knew, violet arms had wrapped around them in a tight hug, causing the other three to laugh and cry with her. They stayed embracing each other for a very long time, enjoying the full reunion. Bonni seemed to realize something, as she stepped back for another look at her companions.

"And damn, girls! You're all hot as hell too!" She strolled around the girls, eyeing them up like a child in a candy store. Stopping in front of Chica, she read her apron and smiled saucily. "'Let's eat', huh? The way you look now, little chick, I might take up the offer and eat you up," she purred, lightly spanking the yellow girl's derriere.

"Eep!" The sudden contact caused Chica to jump back in surprise. This made Bonni's smile broaden, and Frenni chuckled in amusement.

"You haven't changed a bit, Jesse," she sighed. "Why am I not surprised?"

"What did you expect, momma bear?" Bonni replied happily. "I've always been a secret play-bunny at heart, just as Cassie was a total fox." She thumb-pointed over toward the figure in question.

"Well, fur-sonas aside," Foxxy interjected amusingly, "it's safe to say the gang's back together again… thanks to him, of course." She thumb-pointed to the fifth person present, who was observing the scene with a contented face.

"It-It was purely luck most of the time," Michael laughed lightly in embarrassment by the eyes staring at him. "You can't exactly thank or reward happenstance."

Frenni scoffed at his statement. "I wouldn't say that. It wasn't luck that you saw through our fake selves, and treated us differently. When you heard my songs, you interpreted them as my calling for help, and answered me when no one else did. My revival may have been happenstance, but the incidents leading to it were not. Nor were the events resulting from it—the fact you kept your promise to help everyone else is proof of that." She gestured to the other females standing by.

"Sí, creo que sí," Chica piped up. "You saw me for being smarter than my other character acted, and gave me the means to show I was more than a party girl."

"I thought I could never trust a man again after what happened to me," Foxxy said, "but you changed that by being gentle and faithful, no matter how many times my other persona lashed out at you."

"And you gave me the kind of attention I always wanted," Bonni continued, "by reintroducing my favorite pastime. Like Ariel here said, that's not luck—it was you being sympathetic. That's why I'm back with all my friends here."

Frenni nodded in agreement. "That's why we are all here, together again. You chose to respond to us, unlike anyone else we met in the past. Maybe it's because you suffered a similar loss as us, or you're the kind of person that naturally reaches out to others—either way, your actions were not chance or luck." Approaching the young man, she held his face in her slender hands, her pupils developing pink hearts as tears welled in them. "I believe we were fated to meet someone like you—not just as our savior, but a dearest friend. We owe you everything, Michael MacGowan… as part of our little family."

Michael felt his soul being touched by her final words. Instinctively, he reflected her face-holding and tenderly wiped her tears away with his thumbs. "That—I… needed to hear that part," he stifled. "Thank you, Ariel Mahi… and all of you too."

"Aw, this calls for a celebration," Bonni cooed happily. "Everyone: group hug!"

All the girls laughed excitedly as they rushed in around Michael. Within an instant his body was engulfed in toned softness, yet there was no lust in the embrace. Feeling the girls' contagious glee reach him, he let himself enjoy the happy moment. As their wonderful voices graced his ears, a growing sense of gratitude joined his own happiness. In spite of their unorthodox first meetings, he became aware of how grateful he was to have these girls in his life, just as how grateful they were to have him in theirs. And having been declared as part of their group, to be able to extend his scope of family… that was the best reward he wanted. Letting his laughter join the quartet's voices, he extended his arms to hug them back. For a time, the five of them held each other close in peaceful rapture.

…until the ladies began to let more of their joy fuel the strength in the hug.

"Um, hey—need to breathe," Michael grunted, patting one of their shoulders while squeezed by arms and ample bosoms. Frenni and Chica were the first to let go, startled.

"Oh, sorry Mikey!" Frenni exclaimed, chuckling. "Didn't know my own strength."

"Same here," Chica agreed. "Our new bodies are deceptively stronger than they look."

But the other two ladies stayed glued to him. Bonni planted a big wet kiss on his cheek. "You can let go of Mr. Studly-Do-Right if you want," she giggled, "But I'm not gonna."

"I second that—he's my stud too," Foxxy agreed from his back.

Hearing both comments made Chica suddenly pout and rush back into the embrace. "¡Eso no es justo! Mikey was mine before you two!"

"And I was his first," Frenni added, pursing her lips in jealousy, and she too rejoined the cuddle.

And for the rest of the night, the empty nightclub rang with a light-hearted, harmonious commotion for the first time in its history, its resident souls no longer feeling so entrapped by its confines.


Elsewhere…

In a certain facility, a single warehouse's dimly-lit windows made it stand out amongst its neighboring units. Within its confines, its walls were lined with organized heaps of tools, equipment, and eccentric devices that seemed straight out of science-fiction. But one hidden corner was arranged differently: on one section was a series of tall monitors and strange memory banks, interwoven together by cables and wires. A metal surgical table was also interwoven by the connections, via an appendaged helmet with eerily-thin wires with needle-like barbs on its rims, like an intimidating jellyfish. Leading away from this tortuous mechanism was a unified set of cords leading to the section's other side, lined by boxes full of unfinished animatronic parts and implements. The river of wire-covered rubber ended at a long desk lined with computer monitors, with the largest centered among them. A single desk lamp revealed the contents of this side. On one, a bed and bookshelf and mini-fridge made up a basic living space on one side of the desk… and a recharge pod similar to those at the nightclub guarded the other side.

And sitting at the desk was a musing Dr. William Afton.

Staring at the largest screen, he rapidly typed some lines from a keyboard, which appeared on the display. After a moment, the lines of code became entangled with numerous others on the monitor as they formed a strange mass of data. A scanning analysis bar appeared and examined this mass. After four attempts ending in redlit failures, the fifth try turned green in success. Afton froze solid as he was illuminated by its glow… and clapped and whooped in delight. Catching himself, he immediately quieted down, and pressed a few more keys. Covering the digital mass of data, a download bar started progressing. Leaning his chair back in, the man sighed in enormous mix of relief and accomplishment. While waiting for the download, he glared at a certain monitor screen, and snorted to himself. Its view was a single clear shot of inside the nightclub, overlooking the main floor and its stage—

—where he witnessed a live feed of his security guard and his animatronic androids happily speaking to each other like old friends.

He thanked his blessed intelligence for secretly placing a wireless camera years ago. Although the feed was without audio, it did not matter to Afton what they were saying. Their actions and expressions were enough to confirm what he suspected, that something was going on between his creations and sole employee. In truth, he already had suspicions back when the singer animatronic went offline for the whole dayshift; after all, it was no coincidence in his mind that the incident occurred shortly after hiring the boy. Since then, he had been paying closer attention to the boy's actions, as well as those from his property. This was largely why he maintained the regular check-up calls. To further his annoyance, he barely found anything incriminating. The security room was the biggest blind spot, as it had no camera feed for itself; and because the kid did a rather impressive job of keeping anything unacceptable within its confines, Afton could do nothing but speculate.

To his luck, though, the actions of his creations held more than speculation. Chica's sudden reintroduction of old dishes, supplemented with store-bought organic foods; the interrogation about the Break of 87th Street leading to the boy's committed offer to reinstate Foxxy; and as of tonight, Bonni's unexpected concert performance with an unprogrammed music style. Afton had deduced his security guard had some level of involvement, and seeing him interacting with them all in the live feed finally proved it. But what really cemented his cynicism was realizing the animatronics were not only responding to the boy's actions, but also supporting him. The questionnaire episode between him, Frenni, and Foxxy this week proved that much. That was why he secretly did a scan of the fallen Bonni's mind in the repair room, to find anything tampered with; but to his anger, he found nothing.

Now, because of the kid's slip-up of being in view alongside the feminine figures, Afton had reason to suspect him of a different kind of tampering with his inventions.

However, his expression softened as he ruminated further. "On the other hand," he said aloud, "the kid's been a bigger help than the previous SOBs ever were. For the streak of bad luck I've been having over the years, I doubt I'd ever gotten to this point without him—and the critiques from my patrons and investors have never been better. It'd be a shame to fire someone like him when all he's done is be a god-send. A guy like him deserves a little reward for his efforts."

The thoughtful moment broke upon him bursting out laughing.

"Nah, screw that! It'd be more fun to blue-ball his sorry ass by having him fired, and then sued for everything he's got! But what'd be the reason— it'll have to be a good one. 'Tampering with the anima—'? No, I've already done that one. 'General unprofessionalism'? …Maybe at his age, but his work speaks otherwise…" He scratched his stubbly chin for several minutes until he snaps his fingers.

"'Body odor'! Gahahahahaha—oh, that'll be fun to see his face!" Chuckling to himself, Afton leaned back in his chair, his face turning serious. "Perhaps I'll need to think of something else for him in case he knows too much. After all, I've gotten so close to finishing my mission… and nobody is going to undo my life's work."

Just then, the huge monitor pinged, showing the download was completed. His eyes keenly lit, Afton leaned over to the side of the head display, where a smaller monitor full of USB ports dotted one side. He pulled out its sole occupant—a golden thumb drive with a purple play-bunny logo—and eyed it carefully. "And this will not only complete mine, but undo all of his."


And there you have it: Bonni is now saved! With her addition, the whole gang is safe! …or is it? It's clear in the end that Afton is catching on, but what does he plan to do? Leave a comment if you have any theories!

There were a lot of events that took place in this chapter, largely due to the visiting business partnership; and I wanted to show their interactions with the cast in addition to the level of character development that has grown up to this point. The exchanges between the main character and the animatronics here exemplify their level of trust in each other, and were fun to create. I think the first meeting, the questionnaire event, and the club fight were most fun to write in this regard. Alternatively, the hardest parts were Bonni's issue being more emotional than physical, the differentiation between the girls' alter-ego personalities and real selves, and the research about tax fraud and embezzlement; since they were more serious matters, I spent more time researching relative topics than I thought for the sake of accuracy and application. I am a writer, not a lawyer or therapist.

Anyways, there are a few more days that will complete our main character's working at the nightclub for five full weeks—and I've already planned how they will turn out. …But beware: they will be a doozy! See you all until then!