Five Weeks at Frenni's Nightclub

by noone-05

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

9. Week 4

Hello again, readers, and welcome to another installation of Five Weeks at Frenni's Nightclub! I'll admit, this one took a bit longer than expected, for a couple of reasons. For one, my grandmother decided to move back from my neighborhood to Missouri due to the financial and personal pressures of living here, so I had to help her out while making her last days here full of good memories. Following a brief state of depression after she left—which further stymied my attempts to finish this part—I was unable to upload this story onto the site even after finishing it. So, I want to apologize for the extra wait, but I'm hoping the effort I put into this story's newest week of events will be worth it.

As a reminder, when you see a series of X's on a phone number and/or date, they are merely for the reader's imagination.

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

---

Day 1

The sounds and smell of pages being opened and turned permeated the space Michael was sitting in.

His current residence was a brightly-lit library, notably its second and highest floor. The building was actually more a comic store than a library, as it was located in the anime-themed district somewhere along 87th Street. Although it shared the same street as the nightclub, they were separated by a considerable walking distance that was easily commutable by a fit person. Furthermore, its reading content leaned on comics and manga in addition to books and novels, so the advertising and propaganda inside was flashier. This was especially true on the first floor, where interested customers could browse and purchase any reading material from the numerous wire shelving. For those who wanted to explore longer published works, the second floor came with its own casual shelving, along with more than a dozen long tables so people could sit and read in peace. From the tall windows that faced outside toward the street, the late afternoon had long since given way to evening, but the floor level Michael was in continued to bristle with activity. Still, the activity was calm and silent: a welcome change that Michael needed after his experiences in the club so far.

Over the past few weeks, Michael had been all but totally focused on the goings-on in the nightclub. Including his official duty as a nightguard, he found himself doing other odd-jobs, including janitorial and maintenance; and any spare time during the shifts was unofficially spent on helping the club's girls-now-turned-animatronic-sex-dolls being held prisoner by his own manager. This was the case even when in the safety of his own apartment. Naturally, Michael wished for a personal break from all that—even for just a little bit—and he found it in the library store down the street from the club. As for why he chose the library instead of the other forms of entertainment found in this area, it was more personal.

Michael considered reading as a favorite pastime and hobby. He always enjoyed books; in fact, Michael preferred reading than watching television when he was a kid. It may have made him stand out amongst his peers at the time, but he thought nothing of it. In his eyes, delving into a book held as much adventure as an animated program. The big difference was that, unlike a television show, a book doesn't always have fixed images of its storyline, and thus its visual content was more flexible to the imagination. To be able to imagine the scenes play out as he desired and potentially alter them as he grew older, was what he enjoyed the most. It was partially thanks to this attribute which allowed him to develop a creative mind, and eventually earned him his previous job. Even after losing that job, and his parents beforehand, he sought out his books as one of his coping mechanisms, including for times when he was unable to sleep; and whenever he got bored of reading the same stories, or simply needed to get out of the apartment, he ventured to book stores and libraries that held his interests. And this case provided an exciting interest that released recently.

For this visit, he was browsing an English-translated light novel of a favorite manga/anime series he came across a few years ago. The story followed a normal high schooler who discovers a world-changing power within him after encountering and befriending supernatural beings disguised as fellow school students, and proceeded in a series of adventures between his world and theirs. Until recently, there were twenty-eight of these novels—not counting the short stories and crossovers within the plotline—and Michael had followed every one of them. Due to the genre of this book series, there were countless references and descriptions of the various mythologies that were introduced, almost to the point of being educational, and he relished in learning about them and the spiritual symbolisms in the story. As fantastic as they were, though, there was one small catch that Michael was embarrassed to admit—and it concerned the novels' other genre.

They were of the harem genre—the ecchi-type, specifically.

While he certainly enjoyed the action, knowledge, and religions presented in the light novels, there were some intimate scenes and speech that went far enough to make him red in the face. Even so, it was a small price to pay; if anything, those moments in the books served as part of the comedy, making it more readable. Even Michael had let out a few laughs at those scenes, despite the risqué exposures, when he read a new book addition for the first time. As gentlemanly as he was, Michael saw this as a guilty pleasure he could accept and tolerate—as long as the novels never crossed the line into explicitly-restricted material.

The novel he was reading now was the newest addition, involving the upcoming final battle between the main character and his allies against the Grecian gods of Hell. However, the twist in the story was that said character was suddenly impeded by the influence of a mind-altering device that practically switched his personality completely. Unsurprisingly, this was a ploy by the enemy. After reading the impacts of this change in the hero, Michael found it oddly familiar. Upon thinking about it, the situation was no different from how Afton controlled the missing girls with false bodies and minds, thereby making them completely different beings. It wasn't until Michael entered the picture that his boss's victims were given a real chance at being freed from his control. Yet another odd line of symmetry, he thought. But I didn't expect to find one from my personal life. Turning to the next page, he gazed at an illustration of the series' hero facing the looming form of the evil gods' leader. I wonder… I found a way to free the girls of their suppression. Does the hero here find a way to free himself too? If so, how will he do it?

Sadly, the timing was not on his side. Just as he was about to start on the final climatic battle, there was an announcement ping from the ceiling speakers. The speakers rang with the voice of the receptionist:

"Attention, please. The library will be closing within the next ten minutes. Make sure to return all reading material to their proper places, and pick up any and all personal belongings before leaving. Thank you, and have a wonderful evening."

Michael groaned at the bad case of serendipity. He was itching to find out how the ultimate fight would progress, and now he was being denied the chance. To make it worse, the novel was not for sale, so he couldn't buy it and take it home with him. If there was anything he learned about being a bookworm, there was no worse feeling than being left hanging at an unfinished story. There's not much I can do about it now, he conceded reluctantly as he got up from his table. Besides, I have my own drama story elsewhere to deal with.

Placing the light novel back on its shelf, he made his way toward the stairs to exit the building. With the current hour, he had enough time as planned to get a quick bite somewhere before completing his journey to the nightclub. As he walked through the aisles of books on the first floor to the main exit, he wondered how his story at the club would play out this week.

Mystery? Check. …Drama? Check. …Action? Hopefully not. …Ecchi moments? Michael stopped with a blank face before moving on. Likely unavoidable.

000

It was a while after reaching the club from the library that Michael began his first rounds. The main clubroom was already devoid of people, as closing hours were in effect. As he took observations, his path led him towards the animatronics' room in the back hallway. Taking a peek, he found that all of the girls were still in their pods. The young man sighed at the sight; as it meant the two girls he managed to liberate—Frenni and Chica—would not be able to greet him anytime soon. On the other hand, he had some time to himself for anything Afton assigned him before the girls emerged. Sure enough, once he made it to the security room, there was another extensive list of tasks on the desk:

1. Clean up the blood stain in VIP Booth #6

2. Restock the soda wand boxes at the bar

3. Replace the broken camera in the repair area

4. No sex in the nightclub

Michael winced at the first task. He was expecting more of a culinary mess like usual; he hadn't expected there to be the hemorrhaging kind. On the other hand, it wasn't uncommon for some of the younger or new customers to develop nosebleeds from the performances, himself included. But this happened in one of the VIP rooms, which were never used unless for private shows for higher-ups. So why is there a blood stain to begin with? Anyone with the position to rent a VIP space would have some experience with the kind of entertainment advertised here… unless someone got hurt?

Checking the cameras for the VIP rooms, Michael rewound the tape feed for the sixth room to find out what happened. It didn't take long to discover the cause: Bonni and a pudgy, yet well-dressed man had entered the room earlier tonight, and not five minutes later the same guy burst out of the room holding a hand to his bloodied face. Bonni was seen emerging in the doorframe right after, shouting something; but her voice was mute since the tape only recorded visuals. Thanks to his lip-reading skill, Michael could tell she was saying something about 'the main rule' and 'no touching'.

Ouch… Well, the girls did say their self-preservation protocol would trigger if someone tried breaking the 'no sex' rule.

Resetting the camera feed, Michael proceeded to the supply room adjacent to the security room, and gathered the cleaning supplies. With them and gloves literally on-hand, he headed upstairs and entered the sixth VIP booth. Like the other rooms he searched last week, this one was a moderate space—maybe a 20' x 30' room at the max—enough for a mini-stage with its own dancing pole, and a sofa and set of chairs to compliment it. In one corner was a small nightstand for smaller accompaniments befitting an adult entertainment set; Michael knew this from last week when he inadvertently discovered a drawer full of condoms, lube tubes, and other self-pleasuring items. Veering his eyes from the furniture piece, he scanned the room for the mess. As expected, there was a small spatter of blood on one of the seat cushions on the sofa, as well as a trail leading from the stage floor to the door. Knowing Bonni was exceptional in pulling exotic dance moves during her performances, he guessed the poor guy let his desires cloud his common sense, and she unintentionally kicked him in the face while doing such a move.

Reverting his mind back to the present, Michael started on the stain on the sofa cushion. Luckily, the stage and booth floors were smooth and hard, like polished metal, so the spots on them could wait. Using the proper chemicals, he scrubbed on the fabric until the spot was gone, and used a spray to help sterilize the area of any remaining substances and germs. After double-checking the rest of the furniture for any random blood drops, he turned his attention to the floors. It was when he started absorbing the drops with a paper towel that he noticed something off the corner of his eye.

A bit of movement behind him off the reflective floor surface. And the source was reddish, a shade he recognized without looking back.

"Nice try, Foxxy—I know you're behind me," he droned knowingly.

Hearing a feminine huff of frustration, he turned to witness said animatronic woman release a creeping posture to lean on the door frame, while crossing her arms. The unpatched side of her face showed her dissatisfaction of being caught.

"How'd you know I was here?" she demanded.

Michael sent a raised eyebrow at her, and tapped on the polished floor surface without a word. Realizing her own reflection gave her away, Foxxy sighed in defeat and began to make her way out. Michael watched as she headed away; but just before she left, a thought struck him and he quickly stopped her. The fox-girl simply turned her head enough for him to see her yellow-iris eye.

"Since you're here, could you help me with this?" he asked. "It'll be faster with two people."

Foxxy stared uninterestedly at the paper towel roll in his hand. "I could help," she said, "but scrubbin' the deck isn't in my design."

"You won't have to do much anyway," Michael assured. "Even just holding the bag for the used rags would be enough, right?"

Foxxy stood her ground. Despite the bandages covering half her face, she looked unamused; and yet she was considering his offer, judging from the flashes of red and blue in her eye. In the end, she sighed as her visual appendage settled on the blue sclera, and she reluctantly extended her hand. Giving his thanks, Michael handed the plastic bag for bio-wastes to her. With this arrangement, he could complete his cleaning tasks without having to gather the soiled rags and wipe their resting spots a second time. So, while Foxxy held the bag open for each rag he used, he proceeded to wipe and sterilize the floor in good time.

As he started his way to the stage, Michael decided to break the ice between himself and his working partner. Behind him, he observed the fox-eared woman with her bored expression, staring off at nothing in particular. Maybe she wasn't enjoying the awkward silence, either. "You know, I'm actually glad you're here," he began.

This got her attention. "Why would you be?"

"I know we didn't exactly have a great first introduction," he explained, remembering their first encounter during his first week, "and I've been wanting to rectify that by talking with you. At the least, I would understand you better." Michael paused to scrub a tough spot that coagulated at the base of the pole. "Besides, I wanted to ask about the incident that occurred in here. You know, since the other girls aren't here at the moment."

For the first time he had heard, Foxxy scoffed a laugh of pure amusement. "Bonni tol' me about it. The pudgy dog kept coming at her despite her warnings, an' he paid the price for getting too close to her dance. Neither of us were there to see, but I heard Mr. Afton made the dog walk the plank."

He evaluated her blunt and simple explanation. "You mean, he threw him out of the club?"

Foxxy shrugged. "Same difference."

Michael made a scoff of amusement of his own. "From what I saw on the camera, I guessed as much had happened." Looking over the stage, he found one spot he missed in the far corner. Upon getting closer, he discovered a shiny lump protruding from the tiny puddle encompassing it. With a paper towel in his gloved hand, he gave a preliminary wipe to collect and identify the lump. Michael grimaced as he beheld the gold-capped tooth nestled in his red-dyed grip. "Ugh." Without a second glance, he promptly wrapped the soiled crown in another paper towel and dropped the compressed ball into Foxxy's bag. She seemed to notice his reaction, as Foxxy curiously stared between him and the bag in her hands.

"What did ya find?" she asked.

Michael made an unpleasant face. "Let's just say the price that guy paid for violating the main rule," he explained, "was a royal crown of sorts."

Understanding reached Foxxy after a second. "So he lost some gold as well as cash? Ha! Serves 'im right—but he got lucky if he only lost that much. Bilge rats like 'im that get too close to us should know to keep to themselves by now."

Her words took Michael off-guard, and he looked back to find her staring away from him while wearing an unpleasant face of her own. "What exactly does that mean?" he asked.

As if poked by a sharp needle, his question brought Foxxy out of her mysterious reverie. "Exactly what I said," she scowled at him, "and if yer half as smart as you look, then you will heed my words." Not wanting to clarify herself any further, she spoke no more and averted her eye away from his direction. With no desire to ask whether her comment was advice or a threat, Michael respected her silence and resumed his task. The previous awkwardness between the two returned and remained until he was finished, and the floor surfaces were sparkling again. Stretching his back after getting up from the floor, he barely gave his thanks to the red fox-eared woman before she hustled out of the room without a word.

Now standing alone in the room, with the filled bio-waste bag hanging in his hand, Michael was left confused about his first legitimate attempt at getting onto Foxxy's good side. In the few times they met, she always showed some hostility towards him, even in front of her own compatriots when they were around him. It was clear she herself did not enjoy his presence, nor his interactions with the other girls, but the reason for that was still murky as ever. Even this meeting barely yielded any good results; although she was able to laugh, her overall view of him remained in the negative, and she refused to provide an explanation. If Michael was being honest to himself, it was becoming annoying.

I really need to break this wall between us, he thought. Otherwise, it'll cause problems in the future.

000

Once the waste bag for the VIP room was disposed, Michael sanitized himself in the locker room before moving on to the next task. Opening the door to the repair room, he found himself facing the monochrome visage of bare metal surfaces enshrouded in darkness. A sense of déjà vu rose in him as the unnerving memory of his first visit in the room appeared in his mind. His only comfort for this time was that he knew where the spare cameras were stored, so his time would not be as extended. In barely any time, the camera replacement was completed and the broken device was set aside on the long counter.

Wait a minute, he reflected as he walked out of the repair room. This is the second time I've done this, and this room hasn't been used in the time I've been working here. Why did the camera need replacing again?

His contemplation was put on hold when Michael heard the light, but hard taps of high heels on the main stage. Looming around the corner, he saw Chica milling around on the stage, looking over the expanse of the clubroom in search of him. A quick dual-clicking of his tongue was enough to get her attention, and her face lit up with joy upon seeing him. Michael quickly put a finger to his mouth to keep her silent, and quietly gestured towards the security room. With that, he made his way there with Chica following shortly behind; when they entered the room, Michael sighed in relief, knowing their presence could no longer be seen or recorded. His reprieve from detection was interrupted when Chica hurried over and practically glomped him into a big hug, causing their bodies to be glued together. With their faces embedded in the crooks of each other's necks, he could now feel everything from her. Despite the luscious quality of Chica's body, her embrace was clearly innocent; her breathing and touch held no eroticism in any way, nor did she make a move in that direction as she held him. Michael was certainly happy to see her in such spirits—but that did not stop the stimulation of her body from igniting some stimulations of his own. Not wanting to ruin the moment for her, he did his best to mentally stomp those thoughts out of his mind. Chica must have somehow noticed, as she deliberately shifted her hips and chest against him. Bewildered by her new actions, he managed to draw his face away to find her staring back, biting her lower lip playfully.

"You're being pretty forward, Sophia," Michael breathed, "considering your situation."

"Is it so wrong that I'm happy to see my savior?" Chica responded without letting go.

"Even if your savior's a man?" Michael retorted lightly. "If memory serves, Ariel said you played hard-to-get with any guy that approached you."

"Tu eres mi excepción," Chica whispered impishly. "You are the only man who has made me feel this way. And, if memory serves—" She wiggled her hips friskily as her arms readjusted themselves around his neck. "I swore to help and stay by you. I did say that I trust you fully and completely."

"Easy there, girl," said another voice, and both turned to the same doorway Chica came from. With her arms crossed, but her face amused, Frenni strutted in to greet them. "You don't need to be that close to him to prove your loyalty. Besides, if my memory—both old and new—doesn't betray me, it was your other self that said the last part, not the real you."

Michael switched his attention between the two girls for a moment, and shrugged to the coffee-skinned diva. "Well, in Sophia's defense, you acted similarly shortly after your 'release' by holding onto me. Don't blame her for reacting like this."

Frenni blinked as she remembered that experience, and sighed. "Fair enough," she pouted. "I'm not trying to patronize anyone… but you can still give Mikey a little space."

Chica stared at her friend with curious eyes. "Ariel… are you jealous?" she asked incredulously. Her Indian-spirited friend suddenly flustered at the inference.

"No, I am not! I'm just protective—I promised to always be there for him, which means looking out for his well-being. That's what I did even before regaining control of myself."

"So there were times when you could not control yourself around este hombre?" Chica asked with a hint of naughty humor in her voice, all while tracing a hand over his violet-clothed chest. "Then you cannot talk about personal space, no?"

Frenni stammered in cheek-blushed silence, unable to find a retort.

A string of laughter burst from Michael's pursed lips, interrupting the girls' banter. As uplifting as it was to see them interact normally like their old selves, he couldn't hold back his mirth from witnessing their reactions. He personally thought Frenni's retorts and appearances were cute, especially when she got embarrassed. "Alright, you two," he chuckled, attracting their attention to himself. "While I appreciate your devotion after what we've been through, we should keep our focus on more important matters. For instance, I think it's best if we continued those memory exercises from last week. In fact, now that Sophia's here—" He gestured to Chica as she released him. "—it would be better to include her in our future meetings, to boost your progress and begin hers. What do you think?"

The two girls agreed to the arrangement, and they proceeded to exchange thoughts and recollections in the capacity they could. With himself providing helpful and important questions, Michael watched as their faces changed from squints of concentration to joyful smiles to distant reminiscences, and back. All the while, he thought back on his recent encounter with another girl in the club—one which he finally got a reaction other than aggressive indifference. As he saw Frenni and Chica laugh together, his mind lingered on a certain notion…

…of how Foxxy would look as she laughed and smiled like they did.

---

Day 2

Tonight started a little oddly for Michael, as he found himself driving up to the nightclub.

It was not so much the scene than the timing of it, as he was there almost three hours early. Mr. Afton had called him some time ago, and asked for a certain assist. Because his investors were planned to come sometime this week, he required that all premises of the nightclub be 'ship-shape'. He even used that word due to the favor itself; in order to show off his club, every room needed to be clean and organized, and that included Pirates Cove. Therefore, Michael was asked to reorganize and sterilize the cove for examination, which would require extra time apart from his usual duties. Simply put, it was an extra-large janitorial duty. Knowing how the room looked from his first visit, Michael accepted and came forthwith.

While driving, Michael thought about his new task. He didn't really mind it—as he was now familiar with what needed maintaining in the club at that point—but it was still a big job. Thinking back to when he first entered the cove during the blackout, he knew there was a lot to do, and only so much time before the big shots arrive. Of course, the possibility of running into Foxxy was essentially a given, which would make progress in the room slower; however, a certain doubt became apparent the more he thought about it. Since she was still active despite being in poor condition, she would need a recharge like the other girls; and there were no recharge pods in Pirates Cove, so she would need to stay in the main animatronics' room for it. Combined with the fact that Michael kept seeing her during the nighttime shifts, it stood to reason that Foxxy would spend time in one of the pods during the daytime shifts.

In case she does see me, he pondered, it'll be while I'm cleaning her accommodations. Maybe she'll appreciate that and warm up to me?

Michael kept to this hope all the way up to the club's parking lot. As he walked alongside the waiting line at the front, he heard a voice calling him out by his work shirt. Turning his attention to the source, there were two young guys in the line with reddish and black hair. They were clearly younger than many of the men surrounding them, and even some years younger than Michael himself. It was possible they had recently turned the legal age to come here; but before Michael could ask about their legal-age status, the red-haired boy perked up first.

"I think I've seen you here a couple of times," he commented. "Are you a regular too, or something?"

"I work here, actually," Michael said briefly, and he held the ID tag clipped to his violet work shirt. Seeing the tag, both young adults scoffed in jealousy and crossed their arms.

"Damn lucky guy," the black-haired one muttered under his breath to his friend. "Being around these hot chicks all the time—must be getting off like crazy." Without a second's pause, he asked about the girls. "Hey, I wanted to know something: I heard there are only three of the girls out and about? Weren't there supposed to be four?"

Letting go of the teenager's poorly-concealed comment, Michael briefly explained the situation. "That's because one of them—Foxxy the Pirate Queen—is indisposed at the moment. Awaiting maintenance, I believe."

"Aw, man," the second teen shrugged in disappointment. "I was hoping to see her soon—she's my personal favorite, you know."

"Same here," the first agreed, "but I'm a sucker for the bear-girl, too. Something about ponytails rocks my socks."

"Gross, dude!" the black-haired teen exclaimed. "Your socks are for your pedes, not your penis—no wonder you keep buying new ones!"

Ignoring that particular comment as well, their words did sound familiar in Michael's mind. This was not the first time he had this kind of conversation with a customer. Before meeting Foxxy, he remembered another patron voicing interest in her, even though she had been indisposed for a few years. Now, after hearing similar interest from these two people, it was clear the red fox-eared woman was still a popular figure and desired to be seen again. Of course, that was to be expected—any guy would fall head over heels for a tomboy woman that was also a real fox, in more ways than one. But something didn't add up.

Why would they want to see her when she's so hostile to anyone outside the club? Michael wondered.

000

Michael was still wondering about the conundrum that was Foxxy and her fans during his session with Frenni and Chica.

After his encounter with the young visitors outside, he had to worm his way through the crowd in order to reach the supply storage room. Since the club was far from closing this time, the activity inside was still in full swing, so he had to make sure to not intrude or gather attention to himself. Once he got what he needed, he used the back hallway to reach the Pirates Cove mini-stage; but before he did, he took a peek in the animatronics' room. As he predicted, he could see Foxxy slumbering silently in one of the pods. Confirming her static condition, he continued to the mini-stage and—using a well-timed dance move executed by Bonni as a distraction—slipped into the cove. For then on until closing, Michael spent his time mostly dusting and wiping everything in the room; and he occasionally had to move some pieces of furniture to ensure he got every spot and speck. He even made sure to whip and vacuum the bed sheets and cover sheets before neatly making the bed again. The exertions from this work left him sore, but he welcomed the feeling. With the cove looking better already and not-so-abandoned, it was a positive step to help loosen the tension between himself and the fox woman.

When it was time to usher everyone out for the night, the room was nigh-spotless and the only thing covered in a fine dust layer was Michael. He almost gave himself away with a loud sneeze as he left the cove stage while no one was looking, but many of them were too drunk to notice anyway. A while later and the club was empty again, leaving him a bit of time to clean himself up in the locker room. Upon reaching the security room and taking his seat, he saw the memorable form of the feminine fox pirate sulking out of the back hallway and slink into her cove. He couldn't see or hear anything after she disappeared, let alone a reaction, but he had hoped she was liking her accommodation's new condition.

As he sat in thought, he continued to watch Frenni and Chica converse with each other. So far, it seemed their memory recovery was developing further; even though he cast a question here and there, nearly the whole conversation was fueled on their own without his assistance. Both felt his gaze on them, and turned their attention towards their caretaker.

"What's wrong?" Frenni asked, concerned. "You haven't been speaking a lot lately."

Michael shook his head. "Nothing, really. I was just enjoying seeing you two talking together on your own. If you're able to hold whole conversations like this, then your mentalities must be improving quicker."

Frenni hummed in approval of his observation. "Yes, well, it helps to have a kindred spirit to talk to. Right, Sophie?"

"Sí, mi amiga," Chica agreed. "It feels like a heavy weight in my head keeps getting lighter the more we speak. To have someone who shares your experiences and thus understands you—it works wonders."

Seeing them share peaceful expressions made Michael smile. That sounds familiar, he thought. Then, an adequate question rose in his mind. "Seeing how you two are so close, I wanted to ask you something. How exactly did you meet each other?"

Frenni stared at Chica for a second, and concentrated on recovering that account. After a minute, her eyes opened as her healing mind organized her thoughts. "It wasn't until my first year at the university. I had just come to this country from the airport… a-and took a bus to the campus grounds. If I remember correctly, my feelings upon arriving were mixed; I was excited to finally be there, but my presence attracted a lot of desirable attention, which made me a little embarrassed. Luckily, I saw another huddle of people like mine, and headed for it… and found Sophia in the center." She looked toward the girl in question, who had likewise been thinking back on that moment of the past.

"Sí, because I had heavy baggage with me," Chica explained. "I came to the school from the train station, and then a taxi. My bags were muy grande, and took some time to move on my own before asking around for help. Instead, many of the boys that came forward decided to hit on me. It was a while until Ariel arrived to shoo them away, and gave me the extra hand I needed to my assigned dorm room… which was in another part of the university. If it wasn't for her, I would've been stuck outside all day."

"Another part?" Michael questioned. "I was under the impression both of you went to the same university."

"It was the same university, technically," Chica elaborated, "but there were different wings that had their own campuses. So, it was like we were at different schools, in a way. That distance was another reason I needed una mano when I arrived."

Frenni scoffed and poked at her friend's collarbone. "More like two hands—you were lucky your place had elevators. Otherwise, we would never have made it to our orientation classes."

"If I knew my room was on the third floor," Chica complained, "I would have brought roller luggage instead. And they weren't that heavy—most of it was regular clothing, bathroom stuffs, and reading books."

"Don't forget the hardcover pharmaceutical notebooks and collection of weights for your medical treatment," Frenni added with a knowing eye. Her response was a sheepish face from her friend, having nothing to say to retort. A thought struck the singer after a few seconds of silence. "That reminds me," she continued, in a more subdued tone, "I wanted to ask before when you were freed a few days ago. I… I didn't know your condition had gotten so bad over time until I saw you with Afton too. Why didn't you tell me about it beforehand? I could've done something."

Chica hung her head down. "I wanted to tell you, mi mejor amiga, but what could you have done? My condition was chronic, the same as yours. I couldn't add my troubles on top of your own—that would've been cruel for both of us. Even if I did say something, and you did something, any solution would have taken time… which I did not have much of anyway." She wiped a welling tear from her eye with the back of her hand. "…I was desperate, I guess."

Frenni hugged her around the shoulder gently. "I understand—I was the same way when Afton found me. It just caught me off-guard when we met him at the same time. I'm sorry I asked."

"Me too, mi amiga. I'm sorry I said nothing." Chica leaned into the embrace for a little moment, until her lips lifted into a smile. "Of course, I did say what was in my suitcases, so you knew what you were carrying."

"Knowing didn't change their weight," Frenni huffed playfully without moving.

"At least you knew. Cassie didn't tell me what was in her cases until after I helped her—and their weight was much worse."

"Do tell," Michael commented at last. He asked not just as an additional challenge for the session, but also to move on from such depressing memories. Plus, he was genuinely curious about hearing more of the girls' backstories.

As she was released from Frenni's arms, Chica thought inwardly. While doing so, she started massaging her temples in an effort to ease any rising headache. She soon revealed what she upturned. "After the orientation classes, I… returned to my dorm room for the day. While I was unpacking, I overheard someone struggling outside mi puerta. Down the hallway was another girl around my age with a pair of backpacks and duffel bags. I asked if she needed help, which she accepted. It immediately became obvious why she was having trouble—I could barely move the duffel bag alone. A whole thirty minutes passed before we got to her assigned room, and I asked her why her equipaje was like that. All she did was unzip her bags; half of everything in them was nothing but notebooks and composition books, and bags full of pencils and pens."

"She was a writer?" Michael asked.

"More like aspiring writer," Frenni added. "I remember now too. Cassie was really into writing and video games. She always enjoyed finding and playing a part in those fantasy worlds, whether they were of her making or someone else's. Whenever she wasn't hanging out with us, her nose was in one of her notebooks, jotting down outlines and plotlines, research ideas, conflicts and resolutions, and so on. Combined with her younger years spent travelling a lot, it was easy for her to find inspiration for her stories."

"Then again, she was also taking those rigorous fitness classes to keep in shape," Chica continued. "According to her, it wasn't healthy to spend your hobby by just sitting around all the time. That's what made her a sort of free spirit at the school. The boys adored her, but the girls admired her more."

"Sounds like the classic tomboy," Michael perceived.

Frenni chuckled. "Agreed. She was the one who taught us how to play hard-to-get with the boys—stringing their hearts along was one of her secret enjoyments, and a fun means for us in case their interest in us was solely due to our foreign looks. We hit it off ever since."

The three of them continued exchanging words and comments in this manner for the next fifteen minutes, and Michael had to end the session for the night. As the two girls took their leave, Michael noticed Chica looking a little depressed. Having seen her more cheerful just a moment ago, Michael was immediately concerned.

"What's wrong?" he asked her before she left.

Chica shook her head, her mane of hair bouncing with every shake. "It's nothing serious," she said. "It's just… all that talk about our school lives and our friend Cassie, has made me miss her."

Michael understood where she came from upon hearing this. Not wanting her to be left on a sad note, he tried to think of something to say to raise her spirits. Then he remembered something important. "Oh hey, I forgot to give you something last week," he said excitedly, "from when I went grocery-shopping at my favorite market event." He rummaged near his desk and pulled out a flat white box.

Curiously, Chica took the box when Michael handed it to her. As she lifted the lid, her eyes opened wide with surprise. Using both hands, she lifted what appeared to be a white fabric with random strings from the box. Michael watched as she felt the embroidered fabric until she turned it around to lay it on her front. The fabric was actually a long cooking apron with two pockets at the front. Near the top of the cloth was the phrase "Kiss the Cook" sewn in red, but with egg yolks substituting the o's. On each side of the phrase was an egg beater and a spatula, and a deep lipstick-red kiss pattern was sewn right over where a person's heart would be. It was a simple but heart-warming gift that fit her perfectly in his mind.

"It-It's not exactly fancy," Michael stammered, "and I wasn't sure of your, ehem, measurements, so—"

MUNYUUN!

She hugged onto him before he could finish. Once again, he felt the sensation of her breasts and hips against his body. The embrace this time did not last long, as she let go of him after a few seconds.

"Esto es realmente lindo," she said while staring back at the apron. "I'll be sure to wear this on a very special occasion. Thank you, Mikey." Saying this with a wink, she folded the fabric over her arm like a butler's napkin and walked out of the room with a skip in her step. Michael watched her leave, noting how her body moved with her skipping, and felt his face heat up. He was snapped out of his stunned state when he heard Chica call to him in a low tone. Looking out of the doorway, he saw her silhouette in the hallway, her form dark against the neon lights that remained on in the clubroom during the night. With her lavender eyes glowing in the gloom, she subtly pointed in a certain direction into the main room. "Just to let you know," she whispered, "I just saw someone peeking from inside the Pirates Cove stage. Whoever it is must be waiting for something."

The nightguard's face fell, knowing exactly who she was talking about. "Thanks for the tip," he whispered back, nodding. He continued to watch her go until she was out of sight, and he returned to his desk chair. His eyes kept to the monitors, not just to maintain his duty, but in preparation for his next encounter with the fox-eared woman. And this time, he vowed to get her to talk more.

000

His chance came almost an hour later. Out of sheer luck, his eyes were on the screen overlooking Pirates Cove just as its curtains were swept aside. Immediately, Foxxy left the stage and made a break for the hallways leading to him. This time, he was expecting her, thanks to Chica's warning. Without even breaking his line of sight, Michael reached for the button and pressed down. The result was the same as before: just as the door slid down to the floor, it resounded with a dull thump as Foxxy ran into it. Shaking his head in amusement, he got up and activated the light switch for the hallway, and looked out the window. Once he confirmed she was down for the count, he reopened the door, revealing the foiled intruder lying flat on her back with a sour look on her face. Michael leaned on the doorframe while facing her.

"You need to stop doing that," he stated simply in slight amusement, "or at least try slowing down your pace." His reply was a frustrated groan as the red-maned pirate woman shook her head.

"What I need," Foxxy grunted while sitting up, "is better legs to control my pace. Damn these wrappings! They're the reason I keep skiddin' on the floor—it wouldn't happen if I had me old feet back!" She stared resentfully at her bandaged legs.

"Why not take the wrappings off, then?" Michael asked curiously.

Foxxy looked up at him sharply. "Must I repeat myself, kid? I don't have my old feet—these things are the only things shielding my frame!" She grabbed a loose end of the tied fabric to show him for emphasis. "It be a far cry from my own flesh, but it's far better friction than bare metal on polished floor. And far better than to 'ave the captain complain 'bout scratches on said floor."

Michael's amused face changed, realizing what she meant. From appearances, her outline where cloth met skin showed no indication of divots or lumps; so, he assumed her limbs had superficial injuries. It never occurred to him that the bandages were there in place of what was missing. As a consequence of his ignorance, he upset her on a touchy subject.

"I-I'm sorry," he said, ashamed. "I didn't know your injuries ran that deep."

He released his posture on the doorframe, and lent a hand to help the fox-woman up. She noticed this, and immediately shrugged off his invitation as she used her hook accessory on the window frame to slowly get back on her feet. Taking notice of her blunt reaction towards his silent offer, he asked her candidly.

"Why don't you trust me?"

Back on her fabric-covered feet, Foxxy shot him a look. "Why should I?"

"Because you certainly trust Frenni and the others, and they trust me. By extension, it would make sense for you to share some level of faith." His frank reply then turned soft, along with his face. "…Unless there's a specific reason otherwise."

For an extremely brief moment, Foxxy's stare became as mixed as her countenance, but then vanished. "I don't want to talk about it," she blurted harshly before pacing away.

Michael remained where he stood, watching Foxxy slink away. It seemed nothing had changed from last night—she didn't even thank him for renewing her room. Despite her stringent response, though, he did succeed in learning more about her. Her reaction just now told him a great deal, in fact. Unlike the other girls, she displayed a large dislike towards him; when given the chance, she always tried to ambush him with the intention of making him afraid of her. Based on what his encounters with her last night and now, it felt more like a trust issue than blind hate; her refusing to take his hand was evidence of this. When he pressed about the reason for that, her eye didn't cycle between colors, which meant she could've answered him without defying her programming. On the same page, he recognized the look in her remaining eye, and the expression her face wore. It was the same as his own once upon a time—hurt, pain, and fear. At that moment, his previous question about her behavior was answered.

Clearly something happened to her which makes her afraid of me, he summarized, and that something was well before my arrival here. But what?

As he turned his attention back to the camera screen overlooking Pirates Cove, he saw the red-ponytailed woman rustle the curtains aside in frustration as she entered her hidey-hole. At that moment, he knew which animatronic girl to focus on reviving this week.

---

Day 3

His home laptop bore a familiar view on its screen as Michael searched its content.

The screen displayed the marked files from the old hard drive he found in the club last week. He was personally grateful to have that old device as a helping aid. Back when he released Frenni—Ariel Mahi in actuality—purely by accident, he was blindly grasping at straws. Nor did it help that his newly-freed companion had her memory scrambled during her captivity. Now, ever since he found the device, Michael was able to make huge leaps in helping her and the other animatronic girls. It was partially thanks to that hard drive, in fact, that he was able to learn what he needed to help Chica—Ariel's closest friend Sophia Olvera—gain control of herself. Hence, he was back at reviewing the drive's old files in the hopes of repeating his success. If he could use its information to help one girl, then he could certainly do it again for whoever was animating Foxxy.

As he stared down at the file containing the Missing Persons reports for the girls, he contemplated which report to open and study. Thanks to interacting with Frenni and Chica, he had much more information to follow and compare. Like the first two girls, the other two reports were labeled as C.O. and J.G. after the owners' name abbreviations. With the info he learned from his discussion with his girls last night, he did not need a process of elimination to decide which report to open. Clicking on the C.O. label, a new window dominated the laptop screen:

MISSING

Name: Cassie O'Malley

DOB: XX/XX/XXXX

Race: Irish-American

Occupation: Student at State University (major at Literature)

Disappearance: XX/XX/XXXX, near campus residence

Interests: Exercising, writing fanfiction, playing video games

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

The main picture was one that someone would post in an online dating chat site, with a girl wearing a light sleeveless biker jacket over a tanktop with cutoff short shorts. Her face showed a confident smirk as her arms were around the necks of her friends, though those people had been cropped for the girl's sake. Michael could tell from the girl's short reddish-brown ponytail and her gait that she resembled Foxxy. Yet, the visual personalities didn't exactly match; while Foxxy acted like a secluded, stoic girl with a grudge, the pictured Cassie seemed to be more socially outgoing.

It could be Bonni instead—she definitely fits that personality. But everything else screams for it to be Cassie. Hmmm… Then, a side note popped up in his mind. It's funny the girls were from the same relative location when they vanished—their own institute vicinity, no less. Anyone would think the security in the campus grounds or its neighborhood would be better than that.

Shelfing that note for the moment, Michael resumed looking into other notes regarding the girl called Cassie O'Malley. According to a written interview, she did indeed attend her institute for a literacy degree, as she had a passion for fanfiction. Her first practices were writing her own short stories based on existing movies, games, and/or other literature; and somewhere along the line, she combined them with her travelling experiences to create her own. Unfortunately, she couldn't publish them as public works due to their official origin, which was why she resorted to online fan sites where her works would be read, critiqued, and enjoyed. Hence, she decided to make it official by becoming a professional writer at her university.

Among other minor details in the report, one topic was oddly missing. Unlike Ariel or Sophia's report, there was no sign of Cassie having an illness or genetic disorder. Yet, she suffered the same fate as her friends, as an android slave in Afton's club. Michael found this conflict too much to ignore. If Cassie is possessing one of the girls here, then that means she must've met with Afton as well, which means by extension that must have had something wrong with her, too. What could it have been? Another thought permeated his brain after a moment. Maybe Ariel or Sophia can answer that. Since they found each other by chance while meeting with Afton, it's possible they saw Cassie too. They would have to know—they were best friends, after all.

Michael continued his personal study for a bit longer, but decided that any more answers would likely come from the club and its occupants.

000

At said club, he proceeded with clearing and restoring the unoccupied Pirates Cove. Being three hours early from his assigned shift, he knew the next step in his task required extra care and safety. Picking up where he left off, he checked over the electric components of the cove, namely the light fixtures and utilities. Unsurprisingly, many of the lightbulbs had burned out, so he had to go find replacements in the storage rooms. There were also several outlets with broken or unsafe covers that needed replacing, but not before making sure said outlets' wires had no shorts. The most arduous task was the extended string of lights lining the ceiling corners; hung on tiny hooks beyond his reach, it required him to use a chair to untangle the burned-out sections and plug in the new ones. He was even worried that he would not finish in time before Foxxy returned from her slumber. Luckily, he somehow managed and was able to complete the task as closing time ensued. From there, it was mostly the same thing—staying cooped up in the security room burning out his eyes in front of the monitors. But good balanced the bad, as he once again had friendly company to make it entertaining.

And said friendly company was smiling and laughing as he told her about one of his past experiences to counter her own. Chica was not present this time—as she had worked extra hard doing her waitress services, and thus needed time in the recharge pods—so it was just Michael and Frenni in the security room. Although their interaction was meant to be another memory session, Frenni had grown enough that she was able to interact normally, and Michael found himself sharing his own past experiences. It was a change that both of them enjoyed to the fullest, and were keen on taking advantage of the opportunity.

"As much fun as the vacation trip was," Michael carried on, "it did little for the cold that caught me during that time, ugh. Probably used an entire Kleenex box within the first week, it got so bad. But I did enjoy myself despite that."

"I should say so," Frenni commented with a laugh. "That Boston Tea Party reenactment at its anniversary must've been a treat, along with the sightseeing and the restaurants."

"Oh yes—forget saying "treats", because that doesn't cover their seafood," Michael declared. "In comparison, any seafood served inland just can't match to what you find straight from the point-of-origin. Their lobster rolls and fried shellfish are proof of that."

Frenni unleashed a sigh upon hearing this. "Sophia would've loved going there… but I don't think she would've handled the stimulus."

"Yeah—the cold temperature over there is no joke for any fist-time tourist," Michael agreed.

"I was referring to her past health condition," she amended. "Being in a historic city rooted with education and law, combined with such fine dining, would've been so much excitement for Sophia. She would likely have tripped over herself more times than she had a chance to take a picture, I think."

"Mmh." Michael hummed in thought at her opinion. Her concern was well-founded—at least, in the past. When she was human, Sophia suffered from a terminal bodily ailment she was born with; but because of her current self, she was rid of the debility. The only thing that remained from her illness was her habit of clumsiness through overexcitement, and even that would dissipate with enough time. "Say, Ariel, there's something I wanted to ask you," he probed, harking back to his earlier studies, "do you know if Cassie had some kind of illness like you and Sophia—something that couldn't be cured? I didn't find any notes from her report."

"Not that I can think of," Frenni said. "You think she had something wrong with her, too?"

Michael shrugged. "She had to. I don't think she sought out Afton solely to accompany you. If she did, then she would've caught on to his ulterior motives. From what I gathered, she was pretty sharp."

"She was," Frenni confirmed, and thought hard for a moment. "I… think it was a brain aneurism. It must have happened… during one of her travels. It wasn't permanent or genetic like mine or Sophia's condition, but… she said something like how her family couldn't afford the cost of surgery to cure it."

"So, she took the cheaper route by meeting with him," Michael followed along, "not much out of desperation but of necessity. Perhaps Afton just got lucky with her."

"If you mean another victim on his list," Frenni said humorlessly, "then yes, he did."

"Granted," the nightguard accepted, "But that wasn't entirely what I meant. You, she, and Sophia went to the same university at the same time. For three college girls to vanish in the vicinity of their university in a short time frame, I find it hard to believe that its security was so sloppy."

Frenni perked up at his comment, her bear-ears twitching cutely. "It's strange you mention that," she said shortly after. "While I was at the university, there were some concerns about the safety of the campus grounds. …I think there were even meetings and petitions demanding action, like increasing the number of patrolmen or a curfew."

"It must've been bad if it got that far," Michael noted.

"I agree, and so did the campus security, since they reported that they would do everything they could to keep the students safe." Frenni rubbed her upper arm solemnly. "…But it didn't happen soon enough, I guess."

Michael meditated on this new info, and his mind returned to Ariel's fanfic friend. The circumstances which turned her into what she was now worried him, especially if her health condition was actually curable. But if Cassie was as perceptive as Ariel says, then Afton must've been a real smooth-talker in order to fool her. A tendril of familiarity tickled his brain. Looking back on the moments Michael conversed with him, his boss almost always spoke in a calm, controlled manner. This was to be expected from a business manager or doctor… but the same could be said for a sociopathic serial killer. In fact, Michael felt like such a presence came from that man a few times; like his phone call right after the blackout, or his interrogating about Frenni a week after. It certainly put the young guard on edge every time, but it was not so obvious thanks to Afton's image and role as the club manager. Such a façade for his true personality must be a good one; it was enough to fool a close friend like Dr. Emile for years, as well as Detective Vanessa Xueli twice. Then, a chilling thought crept in. What if I've been falling for it too? For a man to easily deceive multiple people without a hint of his true motives, it was not unfeasible that Michael himself was being subjugated to such honeyed words. Every response Afton gave due to Michael's actions and words could also be part of the act. Michael dared to not think about that, lest the idea of being secretly found out from the get-go would suffocate his sanity. All the same, he needed to be much more careful around that man from this point onward.

"Well, to get back on topic," he said at last, "what else do you recall about Cassie?"

She eyed him in a teasing manner. "Why are you asking so much about her? Should I be jealous?"

"No, nothing like that," Michael chuckled, waving his hand. "I'm just taking note of the similarities between her and Foxxy."

Frenni stared seriously at him upon hearing the fox-woman's name. "You mean the red one here? From what I've seen and heard, she's pretty irate, and that doesn't sound like the Cassie I know."

"That was also my thought, but I have a feeling there's something definitely going on with her. I'm not sure what it is yet, but it does involve me somehow." Michael turned his attention to one of the monitor screens displaying the outside of Pirates Cove. "Whatever it is," he said keenly, "I think it's time I help her out."

Following his line-of-sight, Frenni asked him, "How are you going to get through to her?"

"I don't know. I'll need a little more info and time." Michael smiled out of his mulling. "But I can promise you have nothing to be jealous over."

"…You sure about that?" she asked timidly.

Michael stared at Frenni as she clarified her thoughts. "Don't misunderstand. It's just… I'm well aware of the kinks and fetishes men have in mind when they come here. To them, we're some of—no, we are—their biggest fantasies come to life. A lot of them would jump at the chance to lose their V-card to a sentient non-human being, especially if they have a fursona." She rubbed her head slowly, her fingers touching her animalistic ear attachments. "I mean, things like sexualized bunnies, birds, and foxes just scream "energized bitches", "naïve birdbrains", and "sassy players" in their minds. And two of them already like you, even though one of them is not herself." Her words fell silent, almost afraid of continuing.

Somewhat understanding, Michael took her hands in his. "You're not the only person I've heard that," he said, catching her attention, "so I'll tell you what I told Sophia. I'm not one who plays favorites, or judges by appearance alone. Whatever image you have doesn't matter, and if those other guys can't see through it, then that's their problem. So, you don't need to worry about me." He let a soft snort escape him as he saw her bear-ears twitch cutely again. "Besides, the other girls are cute in their special ways, but I didn't actually meet them. I met you first; I talked to you first; I even laughed and cried with you first. That's more important to me. Things like kinks are just an afterthought."

Frenni stared at her nightguard bashfully. "And what about your afterthoughts?" she asked softly. "What do you think of my appearance?"

…

Michael considered her visage for several minutes, and his face turned red as well. As much as he tried not to, he found himself undoubtedly attracted to her current appearance. In fact, he recalled how drawn he was to her human self, and the allure intensified. "Honestly," he said slowly, "I think you're stunning in every way possible, even back then."

Frenni's smile deepened, touched by his words. Drawing herself closer, her hands trailed up his arms to rest on his shoulders while her forehead touched his. Their faces now inches away, both of them definitely felt each other's bodies flush against themselves. "You're so sweet," she said demurely before leaning in, her eyes slowly closing. Michael knew what was coming.

And this time, he didn't back down.

Just like that, their lips found each other. The kiss was slow but sensuous as both sought to savor the moment. The feeling was so sweet and comforting, Michael's subconscious led his hands to draw her in by her waist. Likewise, Frenni's hands glided from his shoulders to his neck, drawing him closer. Her fingers flowed through his hair as her lips sucked and bit his. It was a moment before they parted, their eyes locked with each other while blushing deeply.

"My first kiss with a man," Frenni whispered, "and what a man he is."

"Really?" Michael asked between breaths. "How was I?"

She let out a small giggle, her arms still wrapped around his neck. "Well, since it's my first, I've no way of comparing, do I? …I liked it though."

"Me too," Michael smiled with a red face. His tongue registered a sweet relish from the kiss, akin to a chocolate bar or some other candy, and it heightened his delight. It was then he noticed something different about her. While her irises stayed in their usual blue, her pupils had altered their shape and color from black circles to hot-pink hearts. He was gob-smacked.

"Ariel," he breathed in astonishment. "Your eyes… they changed."

She blinked in confusion at his words. Without moving much from their position, Michael quickly picked up his phone and reversed its camera view to act as a mirror. Once she saw herself, Ariel stared at her new eye feature. After blinking a few times, the pink hearts faded away and left behind her normal pupils.

"Huh, this is new," Frenni commented with surprise. "That's never happened, even as my other self. It must be one of those eye-modes we were given—a new one, I mean."

Michael remembered this being mentioned by one of the girls back when he started working here. Before he found a way to free the girls, their bodies and minds were programmed with certain levels of authority and intelligence. In order to prevent them from overstepping their given boundaries, their eyes indicated their status via colors. For example, blue meant they were functioning within normal parameters, and could respond as such; meanwhile red was the opposite, and thus prevented them from acting; and green was primarily a maintenance and uploading mode. Since then, they were the only colors Michael had seen. Until now.

It's possible her newfound freedom is allowing her to experience it for the first time, he thought to himself, or that our proximity was a trigger for that mode, since no physical contact was allowed in the club… On that thought, his mind lulled as he registered her close presence. While his body remained in contact with the wonderful touch of her voluptuous body, his ears picked up the light breaths of her mouth that also housed that melodious voice which entranced him. Drawn to her face, his eyes began unconsciously admiring her wonderful features. All the while, she returned his gaze with the same entranced countenance, as if mesmerized by him. He felt her fingers continually caress through his hair like harp strings, searching for the right spot to elicit a melody from his own voice.

…Or maybe… she…

"Hey, you two! Getting hot and steamy without me?"

Both of them flinched violently at the intrudingly bold voice, and noticed a familiar figure at the eastern doorway. With her violet arms splayed out to grip the doorway sides, Bonni had a revealing red tank top and short-shorts ensemble that matched the saucy expression on her face. That changed when she noticed the flustered looks on the couple she interrupted. "Or… was this more of a 'private club' thing than a free-for-all?" she asked awkwardly.

Before Michael could voice his complaints, Frenni spoke up in his place, her tone having transitioned to her animatronic self. "Bonni, why are you here? I was in the middle of an important discussion with Michael," she said professionally, placing her hands on her hips.

"Looked like you were in the middle of something else from here," Bonni replied, biting her lower lip. Her pink-iris eyes met Michael's, and her face turned a bit shyer. "Anyway, I was looking for him. I heard the club is about to get some special people soon, and I've been practicing on my instruments for the big shows. And hearing his opinion would help improve on my performance."

Michael stared at Bonni for a moment. "Really? That would explain why we haven't been seeing much of you lately," he realized out-loud. "That, and all the extra energy spent would mean more time in the recharge pods."

Frenni observed the bunny-eared woman closely. "Is that the only reason?" she quizzed. "It sounds more like an excuse to have him all to yourself."

Bonni stood her ground against Frenni's scrutiny… for a few seconds.

"I'm lonely too!" she fussed cutely, waving her arms at her sides. "You girls have been hoggin' him all to yourselves over the past two weeks, even while he's been running around the club doing this and that—and I barely have a chance to spend time with him. Can't I impress and fawn over him too?"

Through his amusement at her antics, Michael understood her complaint, and interjected before Frenni could reply. "To be fair, she's not wrong," he said. "I haven't seen Bonni lately in comparison to the rest of you. While I have been pretty busy as of late, my duty to maintain everyone's well-being here is unchanged. I should've spared my time better to check on everyone."

After regarding him and Bonni, Frenni gave up on whatever she planned to say. However, she did argue that because of his present duties until the investors arrived, Michael would be relatively indisposed for Bonni's attention. As such, she herself volunteered to hear the bunny-woman's efforts, since she had a better grasp of her coworker's ability. Bonni was not entirely satisfied, until Michael added a promise to focus more on her next week. With a happy hop to her step, the club musician turned away to escort her fellow associate to begin the practice review. Frenni did follow, but stopped before disappearing in the dark hallway. After ensuring Bonni was out of sight, she gestured quickly at Michael. Having his attention, she pointed at a poster with Foxxy on the adjacent wall.

"Good luck," she said with a wink, and left to catch up to her violet compatriot.

Left alone at his post, Michael stared at where she had stood. Then his eyes drifted to the monitor screens, where he continued surveying the animatronic duo's trail to the animatronics' room in the back. Finding his sight lingering on the singer's sashaying hips and whipping ponytail as she walked, he breathed deeply with the memory of his kiss. A wave of warmth brushed over his heart, and he smiled unashamedly.

Talk about a good-luck charm, he thought.

---

Day 4

Michael's body shivered violently as he faced the bar from the back hallway opening.

His shift did not start for the next few hours, and so the club floor was bustling once more. While he had been coming here at such times lately—solely for reorganizing the Pirates Cove—this time was different. Michael had a personal means of spending the extra time… and he was dreading it. Before arriving, he had spent several hours deliberating on how to help a certain red-skinned animatronic trust him enough so that he may reach out to whoever was possessing her. The task already proved itself difficult due to his lack of knowledge regarding both Foxxy's past and her current behavior; and the fact that any information that existed was confidential made it even harder. After a few headaches, Michael came to one sure means for helping her. Unfortunately for him, it was also the most dangerous.

He would have to ask Afton himself.

Scowling inwardly, his lips pursed together as the bar loomed into view through the crowd. As its occupant became visible, Michael wrestled his fear into submission. It went without saying that he did not want to do this, fearing his ulterior motives would be discovered by a potential sociopathic serial killer, but it was the only way to find answers in Michael's mind. That being said, he did not come unprepared: having worked and spoken with the man for some time, Michael felt like he could use his interests and motivations against him in a way that veered most of the attention away from himself. Afton clearly cared about his business, and the profit thereafter, so perhaps they could be used if such issues came up.

That sounded a bit like blackmail just now, Michael thought disturbingly. If I'm successful in getting Afton to talk, does that make me a criminal for being able to think like one?

That sentiment was put on hold as he approached the bar, and its acting bartender caught sight of him. The man's wrinkled eyes showed a hint of surprise upon seeing his nightguard, and he set down the glass bottle he was holding. "My, you're here early, kid," Afton said, not trying to hide his amusement. "I would ask 'why the long face?', but that's too clichéd for my liking."

A sudden jolt ran through Michael. "You… noticed?"

"Not much escapes these eyes, kiddo," Afton said, tapping beside his ocular orbs, "…and yours speak of exhaustion. I take it the cove is needing extra time to finish?"

…

"…What?"

"Cleaning the Pirates Cove, boy—that's what I meant." The older man leaned forward a bit. "Are you here early because you need extra time, or is there something else on your mind?"

"A-Actually, the cove is almost done," Michael replied, shakily relieved, "but before I get back to that, I wanted to speak to you about something. Um, can we talk in your office, please?"

Mr. Afton showed his surprise, but agreed. Once he placed the standing notice reading 'Back in a moment—no helping yourselves!' on the counter, he headed up the stairway with Michael trailing behind. After a few minutes, they entered the main office room, and both men took their respective seats. The elder man quickly cleared some windows from his computer screen—one of which Michael saw was a large plain warehouse for a split second—and faced the young worker. He seemed to take note of something from the watchman, as Michael appeared to take his chair more reservedly. "So, what's going on with you?" Afton asked boldly. "If it's not work-related, then it's something else. You're not normally this fidgety."

Steeling his resolve, Michael began his questioning. "With respect, sir, I won't beat around the bush. I want to know what exactly happened with Foxxy."

His question took Afton aback. "Why do you want to know that?"

"The truth is, I've already had several encounters with her, and I've seen the state she's in. Based on what you told me before, it's clear that whatever put her in such a way was really serious." Having muddied the water in his answer, Michael added a bit of honesty. "Plus, I can tell she isn't used to my presence, unlike the other girls, and I would like to know how exactly to deal with it. But I feel I won't know how until I know the circumstances of her condition."

Both men remained facing each other—one waiting patiently for an answer, and the other not wishing to actually answer—for what felt like a while. Michael wondered if he actually overstepped his boundaries this time. He knew this was a rather touchy subject for his boss; and having recently realized the danger of talking extensively with him, Michael did not want to bring it up. But he had to know, whether Afton was hoping to not be asked, or regretting something else. Despite putting himself at risk, it was one he had to take.

…

Afton slowly leaned all the way back in his chair. Letting a soft groan escape his throat, he covered his face with his hands. "I had hoped you wouldn't ask me," he muttered at last, "but maybe it was inevitable for your position."

"Does that mean… you knew she was still active?" Michael asked timidly, to which his boss nodded affirmingly. "Then, why hasn't she been repaired?"

"For many reasons. …Tell me, you remember the Nightclub Break of 87th Street?"

"I've heard of it, and read about it from the news," Michael replied, "but that's it."

Afton slid his hands from his face, and stared him down with a depressed expression. "Foxxy was involved with what happened to the poor sap at that time."

The night guard froze at the news. Although he had a feeling the reason for Foxxy's behavior would be big, he hadn't expected it to be this big. "I-In what way?"

His boss said nothing, but began clicking through his computer in search of something. After a small moment, he turned its screen so Michael could see as well. Almost instantly, he recognized several things on the screen. The scene was of the main clubroom itself, albeit a bit flashier and brighter. Based on the date and time displayed in the lower right-hand corner of the screen, it was a video was taken a few weeks after the nightclub's grand opening. As such, the wall accessories and decorations shined with striking colors, and every metal surface seen was polished from recent installment. Despite the luminescence, the clubroom was still dimmed for the main focus: the girls on the main stage whom the crowd was waiting for. The male populace in the clip was practically monochromatic—only the backs of their heads could be seen, and thus impossible to tell apart in the dark—but their welcoming applause was very colorful. Speaking of, Michael recognized the figures on the stage based on their distinguishable skin tones of brown, yellow, violet… and red? Blinking hard to ensure he wasn't seeing things, the nightguard stared hard at the last figure. Sure enough, it was Foxxy… but barely recognizable from the one he knew.

The Foxxy in the video was whole, undamaged, and performing—just like her companions.

A sad sigh interrupted his awe, and Michael saw Mr. Afton staring at the screen with a depressed face. "Like I said when you first came," Afton began, "Foxxy ran a duet act with Bonni, providing the action with the music. Alongside Frenni, she was a fan favorite for many reasons. Being a literal and figurative fox, a tough-as-nails personality, and a saucy attitude—she had it all. Along with the chosen theme of being a pirate queen, she immediately caught the eye of any guy lusting for the ultimate tomboy." Afton chuckled to himself. "Of course, the 'no-sex-in-the-club' rule existed back then too, so she was off-limits like the others. What made her famous, though, was the extent she took that rule. Her fictional role as a pirate queen made her a kind of 'forbidden' or 'cursed' treasure that no man could touch, unless she found a 'sailor worthy of her bounty in her eyes'. Her own words, in fact."

"Sounds like she was one of your favorites, sir," Michael dared to say.

Afton let out a light chuckle. "Guilty as charged—boys will be boys, as the saying goes."

Michael couldn't help the small smile emerging on his face, and returned his attention to the pre-damaged Foxxy on the video. "What happened, then?"

The elder man clasped his hands together. "I hired this one chap for your position. He was qualified, decently-built, and well-liked by the patrons—a good man all around. He even developed good ties with the animatronics, especially Foxxy. Some time passed, and things were smooth like a baby's butt. There were a few incidents he was involved in, but all were friendly. …That is, until that night came.

"I got the notice from my cell. It had been stormin' like hell, and a blackout had happened at the club. Nothing that serious, I figured, since I was sure the guy had it under control—but I was in for a big surprise when I arrived. The first thing I found was the blood trail leading into the repair room. My guard… was a real mess. His body looked like one of those stuffed dolls being thrown into a corner; there was no questioning whether or not he was alive. Bonni and Chica were also there, having dragged him to one of the tables. They told me it happened during the blackout, and that he wasn't the only casualty. Being directed to the storage room where the blood trail connected, I found Frenni tending to Foxxy… who was under some tilted shelf units. Even with the tools and equipment covering most of her, I could tell she was in no better condition than the poor sap. I brought in the authorities right after, and it was a while until I could start repairing my pirate queen. I was given special permission from the police to do this, if only to find out from Foxxy herself on the events of that night.

"Once she came back online, I asked about the incident. To summarize, my guard had ordered the animatronics to search for a means of light during the blackout; and when he approached Foxxy in the storage room for some new fuses, her glitch occurred and she mistook him for an intruder. A scuffle later, and the shelves came tumbling down on them both. I introduced this in the lawsuit that followed, that the cause was ultimately a technical bug, and the whole matter was settled like that. Sadly, the ordeal wasn't without a price on my end, and I've been recuperating financially ever since. What makes it worse, is that I was left one girl short of the whole crew—and a serious profit-maker at that-and I've had to make less-than-popular choices to make up for lost cash… including a few layoffs."

Afton shifted in his seat to be more comfortable, and gestured to the young man in front of him. "It hadn't been easy being the only person running the place, which was why I'm lucky enough to spare expense to have found someone as capable as that guy was, and so soon. No offense, though, but it's a small comfort compared to the real loss." He picked up the tablet from his desk and opened a blue page, revealing a schematic of the fox-woman's design. "If I had the money and the time, I would get her up and running in a heartbeat. That would definitely make my shareholders happy; but then again, the shadow of what became the Break of 87th Street still hovers over the club, and the minds of its patrons." After that, he spoke no more and stared wishfully at the tablet's face.

Meanwhile, Michael digested everything his boss said. So that's what happened… that is, Afton's version of what happened. His explanation did seem plausible, and it also justified some current situations, and for a moment the young nightguard almost believed it. Almost, because there were a few holes in the story. For one, it made no sense for Afton to not call for help the very moment he saw blood; nor the fact that he did so only after checking on his animatronic property. Plus, how could Foxxy's damaged state be worse than the past guard despite suffering the same fate, considering her body was more durable than a flesh-and-bone body? It sounded like the guard's death was a little overly-victimized. On that note, Michael couldn't believe that his boss hadn't the finances to make those repairs on Foxxy all this time; especially since his club appeared to be doing well enough despite her absence. Granted, a few layoffs may have been a necessity, but not to the extent of the whole building staff. There was no way the situation here was that bad. Whatever the cases, the story in general felt a bit too generalized for Michael's liking, not to mention it shined a too-innocent light over Afton. I don't think I'm getting the whole story, he concluded, but more like half of it, just barely. The only person who can tell me for sure is Foxxy herself, but how can I convince her to talk to me? Just then, a crazy yet brilliant idea formulated itself in Michael's brain, and gradually turned into a plan. Although it involved yet another sacrifice on his part, like in Sophia's case, but the rewards would be worth it if it worked.

"What if I lent a hand in her restoration?" Michael requested. Hearing his offer made Afton look up sharply, his face etched with shock.

"Even if you ask that," he inquired, recollecting his thoughts, "what would be the point? Tell me that much. If I restored a piece of equipment that was involved in a fatality in my club, wouldn't I receive criticism for making that choice?"

Michael winced. He felt bad for how this man kept referring to the girls like property; if him referring to them as machines felt inappropriate, his describing them now was very offensive. Especially considering how he now knew the girls were once real people. But he held his tongue on the matter, and instead countered Afton's argument. "All due respect, sir, but what would be worse for you: several bad reviews from your customers, or one bad review from your upcoming investors?"

Afton said nothing, so Michael took the chance to explain. "I don't have much experience in business leadership, but I do know what keeps a business going, and satisfaction from consumers is a large part of it. Complaints from them are fleeting, and won't last if there are more than enough praises; and your establishment here obviously has plenty to praise. However, what really kills a business is complaints from an investor if you're deciding on promoting an expansion. That being said, one of the best ways to avoid that is to have your establishment seen working at full capacity—that is, with all it has to offer. When I first came here, you implied you wanted to see Foxxy restored. What kind of message would it send to this club, and to you, if you were seen by a VIP as being shorthanded?" He paused to let Afton absorb his words. "Besides, it's not just you who wants her back on stage; I encountered some people here who asked about Foxxy coming back. Even if it's costly, having the one missed animatronic girl reunited with the others on stage would make the financial sacrifice worth it. That would result in more positive evaluations than anything else."

Taking a few breathers, Michael fell silent and observed his boss. With his wrinkles creased sharply, he was clearly thinking hard, even as he looked over at his tablet displaying Foxxy's digital blueprints. He then shifted his hard gaze at Michael, who began to feel uneasy again until the young man noticed a glint of hope in his elder's stare.

"You… think you can do it?" he asked cautiously.

Michael shrugged. "I like to think so. Robotics are a little out of my league, but most of Foxxy's internal structure appears intact, which makes the damage just cosmetic. As long as that's the case, and I have the materials needed, I'm sure I can do it."

"If the endoskeletal components are undamaged," Afton considered, "then the only material you'll need is the molding material: the silicone itself. I have the equipment in the repair room to remold the animatronics, and replace any damaged rubber muscle strips if needed—but the issue is the silicone being the most expensive material. What I used is a custom, high-grade TPE rubber-silicone formula that, while being mixed, is infused with nano-electrolytes that web together and connect with receiver inlets within the rubber strips that serve as 'muscles' and encase the frame. That is the crucial bit that not only provides the realistic texture, but also enables my animatronics to respond to touch in the most humane manner—their equivalent of 'nerves', if you will. Sadly, because of the cost to produce it, I just can't afford it."

"Would it help if I chipped in to the cost?" Michael pressed. "I have an emergency sum I managed to accumulate from my previous job, plus a bit more from working here. I can use some of it to help purchase this silicone of yours."

"You're willing to go that far?" Afton probed.

"Yes," he replied without hesitation. "I may not fully understand robotics, but I do appreciate a work of art. It kills me to see such a masterpiece of yours go to waste without seeing it in action."

"I know what you mean." Mr. Afton chuckled lightly for a moment before clapping his hands together. "Alright then, I'm convinced. We'll split the involvement by 50/50; you supply your IT knowledge/handyman skills and the money donation, and I'll supply whatever spare parts you'll need, including the rest of the cost for the silicone."

Michael made a mental fist pump in delight; he was overjoyed his argument had worked. Still, he reminded himself that this was only half of the problem. Recomposing his train of thought, he pointed to the tablet. "There is one thing, though. I'll need to understand precisely what I'll be doing, and in order to do that—"

"—You'll need to study the blueprints. Mmh, fair enough." Fiddling with his tablet screen for a minute, both men could hear the monotone whirring of the copy machine behind the elder man. After another minute, the machine spat out the last paper, and Afton shuffled the pack into a manila envelope. "Make sure you burn this once the job's done," Afton warned as he handed the envelope to Michael. "This is a trade-secret of mine."

"You have my word, sir," Michael said confidently. "And thank you."

"I should be saying that to you," Mr. Afton replied, "but I'll save it when I see the results. …Make sure to not disappoint me."

That last ominous comment was left hanging in the air even after Michael left the office.

000

Later that night, Michael was waiting beside the Pirates Cove, ready to confront its occupant. The club had long been vacant, so there was no one to interrupt him. He had already spoken to Frenni about what he did and was about to do, and she gave him her blessings to proceed. Although she was hesitant about him facing the fox-woman right after speaking to Afton, but understood the necessities in doing so. It was a huge step, in her opinion, that he succeeded and earned Afton's trust via the envelope in Michael's hand. Once he got her approval, he made the additional request to let Chica and Bonni know that he was going to have a serious chat with Foxxy, and to not hinder their alone-time. Thus, he placed himself outside her cove and waited for her next ambush attempt.

After a long while, he heard slight scuffling from behind the drapes. Standing to attention, he waited a bit longer until he saw a metallic hook slowly pull aside the dark fabrics. Like a worn-down ninja, Foxxy stepped out onto the floor and made a beeline for the security room—all without noticing him. With soft breaths, Michael followed along the path she took while walking casually. The moment he reached the eastern hallway, he saw her discover the open doorway and make a growling leap of victory into the security room. Letting out a subtle breath of amusement, he completed his trek to the doorway, and found her looking around the room in confusion. All it took was a short throat-clearing cough to get her attention, and she whirled around in alarm. The fear creased on her face was replaced by agitation as she recognized who scared her.

"You!" She barked.

"Me," Michael said simply. "Not so fun on the receiving end of a jumpscare, is it?"

Foxxy was not amused by his joke. "To run a rig like that—you got lucky, ya landlubber."

"Lucky? I wasn't trying anything," he countered. "You let your guard down by not checking your surroundings—I was right behind you the whole time." His disputation left her unable to make one of her own, and she crossed her arms poutingly. Seizing the moment, Michael continued their talk. "You see, I was looking for you, and since we're both here, I wanted to talk to you about something."

"I'm not in the mood," Foxxy said quickly and angrily, and turned to leave. But Michael wouldn't have that—not this time.

"That's too bad," he said strictly before adding, "landlubber."

Foxxy froze mid-step at the last word. Clearly such language was taboo to be used against her, and it got her attention. Her head turned to show her yellow eye glowing in the dim room. "Excuse me?" she asked maliciously. But the nightguard was unmoved. Placing the folder on his desk, he felt his collective frustration over her behavior towards him rising, and he voiced his own frustration slowly.

"Foxxy," Michael said with stern authority, "this has gone on long enough. I've been patient with you over the past few weeks, and hoping your ill feelings toward me would fade, but that hasn't been the case; and with Afton's investors coming in the near future, it's my responsibility as the club's security guard to ensure there are no qualms inside nor outside the club. That being said, it's clear you have issues with me being here, and I want to know what they are. I won't intrude as far as pulling rank, because I want for you to tell me freely, but I will say—you're really pushing it to that point."

The yellow-eyed woman stared coldly at him—almost challengingly—but the young man stood his ground this time. "And what 'issues' do you think I have?" she asked impudently.

"Frankly, it involves the Break of 87th Street." His blunt response was met with a shiver of shock from the fox-eared woman, and he continued straightaway. "Now, Afton told me what happened that night… but I'd also like to hear it from you."

Foxxy frowned sharply. "Why would ya want to hear it again?"

"Not 'again', per se," Michael replied more calmly, "but from your point-of-view. It wouldn't be fair of me to accept only one side of the incident without hearing your side of things. If there's any judgment to be passed, I can't do it unless I have the whole story. I'm open-minded like that."

The red fox woman considered him closely for a moment, her eye narrowing. "Why do you care so much?" she asked suspiciously. "I've been houndin' you, by ambush and words, since the moment we met."

His seriousness became tinged with sympathy. "Because I was raised to care about others—that's the kind of person I am. Anyone with a heart would feel the same way. Is it so unbelievable that I want to help out a friend in need, solely out of goodness?"

Foxxy fell silent for a brief moment. "Yes… because that disbelief's due to the selfish bilge-rats that come here always expect something from us, and it ne'er ends well."

"You still think I'm one of those creeps?" Michael tested accusingly. "Let me ask you this: when have I asked for any reward from any of you, good or otherwise? Name me one time—just once—and I'll take it all back."

…

For a time, Foxxy didn't retort at all despite her desire to do so. When she finally realized her lack of argument, she looked down meekly as her body slumped slightly in defeat. Michael just stood there waiting for her to say something, no matter the topic. Eventually, she did.

"What did Mr. Afton say?" she asked quietly.

"Just that you were with the guy that night when he died," Michael put it blandly. "From what he said, Afton was worried that you unintentionally attacked him while he was on shift, which led to both your injuries."

…

"It was the other way around."

Michael's eyes met hers before she spoke again. "That's right—he attacked me. The ol' brute got the job merely for access to the bar grog, and to us, and Afton knew it. Even in front of friends whom he invited—whether he was three sheets to the wind or not—the landlubber bragged about being in our company an' being paid for it, an envy to all men. Only, he had no experience with how to treat a girl, an' we wouldn't oblige him. Me especially—I had always fancied his eye, but I spurned e'ery one of his advances. Until, like a croc awaiting a feast, his hunger couldn't be held off any longer.

"One night, a storm rolled in over us. The power suddenly went out, and the guard gave orders to keep us in line an' to get the power back. I was assigned to find spare fuses in the storage room, while the other girls were sent elsewhere… only to find I'd been cornered. He came in, revealing he sabotaged the power room and escorted the others to the farther reaches so he could have alone time with me. Seeing his brute frame made me confirm his full intention to live his fantasy; and I warned him about Afton's main rule in the club. You know what he said? 'Your boss ain't here now, wench. What he won't know won't hurt me—but it will pleasure us.' …Then his pants dropped, and..." She trailed off for a second.

"He didn't," Michael gulped, trying not to imagine the worst.

Foxxy, however, shook her head. "No, he didn't—I wouldn't let 'im. Twice he came at me, and twice I repelled him with a shove and a slap to the face. But the dog was persistent—third time he came with a wire coil from a shelf, thinking I was playing hard to get. After some wrestling to the ground, he almost had me hogtied… but I gave a good reminder to not touch this girl's booty: a swift kick in the cannonballs. I got him off with a punch square in the ribs—maybe broke one or two in doin' so—but that got 'im all pissed off." She paused, releasing her grip on herself to tenderly touch her gaping chest wound. "What he did next… I never expected him to be the narcissistic type. Since his chance was gone, he claimed no one would get it either, and then… he shoved the elevated shelf over, onto me. While I felt the heavy tools, silverware, and glasses land and tear into my body, the last thing I heard was his own scream followed after another crash."

At this point, the bandaged hand which feathered her wound fisted into a tight grip. "When I came back online, I found my systems and components in disarray. Afton, who was there to greet me, said that he repaired what he could at the time, and then asked what had happened. After I obliged his request, I asked what became of his watchdog, an' he said he passed from his injuries, likely from causing the shelves to fall on himself like dominoes. When I asked what would become of me, Afton said he'd do all he could to get me back on my feet." Lifting her bandaged hand to see, her teeth gritted as her eye shed a single stream. "But he never did. Days passed, and the other girls eventually gave me the news: I was branded as a literal man-killer and shelved into isolation, declared as 'out of service'. But, the worst of it was that Afton did it to save public face and save money by leaving me to rust. …To be betrayed not only by a fellow crewmate, but my captain that was also my creator—I ne'er felt such selfish treachery. Every time I saw myself, I'm reminded of what they did to me, of how I became this way. And when those days turned into years, how could I trust another man again?"

Foxxy said no more after that, and silently wept. Meanwhile, Michael sat there at a loss for words. With her direct testimony at last, the whole picture that was the 'Break of 87th Street' was revealed in his mind. The guard's demise was by his own hand instead of hers; and the other girls tried their best to save both of them in the best way they knew. Only, the environment was more suitable for treating an animatronic than a flesh-and-blood being. Consequently, the media sensationalism came about, as did the lawsuit. As a result of these unfortunate events, she was left feeling abandoned and doubtful of any man that came to work in the nightclub. Thus, she retaliated at anyone in order to keep them away from her, fearing that history would repeat itself if she let her own guard down.

She acted on self-defense, he concluded, and was left to rot for it. She's the real victim here. And every time she saw me… Steeling his nerves, he delicately scooted his seat a bit toward the weeping woman. Then, after saying her name softly, he lent a paper towel to her. Through her working eye, she switched her gaze between it and its owner, until she finally took the towel to dab her eye. Michael decided to speak once she was finished drying her face.

"Foxxy, I promise you that I'd never hurt you," he said. "I'm nothing like that bastard, or Afton. Is there anything I can do to convince you?"

Discarding the soiled paper towel, the red-skinned girl regarded his request, her exposed face returning somewhat to her usual skeptical attitude towards him. "Well, unless you can convince Mr. Afton to put me back on the main deck…" she responded cynically.

Her answer was a bull's eye for what he had planned to tell her. "Funny you should mention that: what if I told you I've just arranged for your return to the spotlight?"

Foxxy gasped in disbelief, before eyeing him suspiciously. Even so, there was a glint of hopefulness in her eye. "I would call it a cruel joke. You know I'm in no condition to perform again." She gestured to her raggedy form.

"I'm not joking, nor cruel," Michael assured. "He was persuaded after I offered some support to pay off the costs. He even gave me the responsibility to oversee your repairs."

Her eye widened at his revelation. "Yer willing to give— But how can you fix me without my blu—"

Without a word, Michael held up the envelope for her to see, and took out one of the sheets inside for her to confirm its authenticity. Since Afton claimed it to be a 'trade secret', Michael knew that his possession of it would not only prove to Foxxy that he was telling the truth, but also encourage her to start trusting him. Coincidentally, this was exactly what he needed if he was to release whichever girl was possessing Foxxy. And it was working, based on her body trembling from seeing the page in his hand. However, when she looked back up at him—her smile was the clincher.

"You really did it," she breathed in wonder.

"I did." The nightguard smiled while putting away the sheet with its compatriots. "Now, it'll take me a bit of time to memorize everything, and for Afton to make the delivery orders, but I swear I will do my best to help you heal. Of course, that's with your permission. Will you let me?"

Foxxy didn't respond immediately, but her gaze remained fixed on him. Then, faster than he could react, she grabbed his face with both hands and held him there. Her grip wasn't forceful at all; it was more tender and careful, like she was handling a priceless porcelain heirloom. Michael felt the frayed fabric around her fingers as she traced his cheeks. Her voice wavered as she spoke.

"My memory bank held doubt and distrust toward any man for a long time. I assumed they were all the same since that night. But now…" She paused for a moment, and gave him an expression of hope. "I'm trusting you to honor yer word. If you don't… well, use yer imagination." Although she meant it to be a threat, she couldn't hide the optimism in her voice.

"I'll do my best to not disappoint," he said, placing a hand over one of hers.

Satisfied, Foxxy slowly let him go, giving him a genuine smile. Michael couldn't help the one emerging on his face, having finally succeeded in breaking the ice between them. Not wanting to stop the momentum, he decided to test the boundaries. Resting the envelope on a nearby chair, he pulled out his phone and gestured to her open cavity and limbs.

"You know, while I do have Afton's permission and your design drafts, it'd also help to physically check your condition. I won't touch at all—I'll just look, to see if anything needs extra care. After that, maybe you can help me finish cleaning up your living quarters. Is that okay?" The fox-woman remained silent, but slowly nodded her permission. With that, Michael turned on the flashlight app to start the preliminary examination. However, she made a sound as if to say something.

"Um, about that," she said, trying very hard to not be embarrassed. "Cleaning my deck, that is. …Thank you for that."

Michael remained still for a while, and smiled broadly.

---

Day 5

Finishing another page, Michael leaned back in his chair, and groaned laboriously.

He was in his dining room, with the adjacent windows providing ample daylight. His focus over the past several hours was the contents of the folder Afton gave him, with the pages organized in a row in front of him. There were at least thirteen pages he printed; and although the number did not sound like much, the information they contained for a simple restoration job was massive. Diagrams, descriptions, cross-sections with normal and magnified images, and warnings regarding hazards were just some of the categories he recognized, and each had notes lasting two paragraphs at minimum. If he thought their outside appearances were convincing enough to be way advanced, then what he was learning about their internal design was far more than he imagined. Learning everything was arduous to the point of having a water bottle and an aspirin bottle beside him to fight off the headaches assaulting his brain. Despite the strenuous task, Michael managed to learn a lot about what Afton and his French partner Dr. Emile created.

Based on the blueprints and their diagrams, the basic animatronic "shell" was a hybrid design of two of the most advanced robotics types. The first was the entertainment-industry A-1000000/X animatronic, a higher and more intricate version of the A-1000s found in many theme parks that could perform, speak, and react like real people; whereas the second was the V9 humanoid-type AI, which boasted a learning capability and walking movement. This combination of technologies and their aptitudes was then taken a step further by having its design simplified for easy access, maintenance, and repair. Even more impressive was that the simplified titanium/carbon-fiber "shell" structure resembled the human skeleton in some areas, including the skull, ribs, spine, hands and feet. In addition, several of its inner components functioned like the heart, lungs, and blood vessels, providing a pulse effect as well as circulating body heat. All of this made the animatronic girls look more like cybernetic girls in Michael's eyes—a true marvel of silicate imitating carbon, in human form. As amazed as he was, there were other factors he discovered that were not as humanoid.

Due to the fact that the girls were designed with male pleasure in mind, the body design possessed functions to serve that purpose. The composition of their "bones" allowed them superhuman strength, and thus enable their athletic feats and dexterity. Recalling what Frenni Fazclaire had told him a while ago, he learned the girls did indeed have sexual tools for enhanced sexual encounters. For instance, the genitalia were essentially a specially-customized fleshlight with a vibrator setting and "womb" balloon, allowing for any partner regardless of their proportions and/or interests. The dopamine-enhancing "aphrodisiac" was contained in the head just above where the human ears would be, as well as special rubber bottles on either side of the vaginal area, for extra lube and enrichment. As for the chemical itself, it required a regular oral dose of water to maintain infusion as a perfume. While the effects of the mist magnified the arousal functions of the partner's body, it certainly wasn't harmful or addictive even in long term.

As Afton also described before, the dense silicone flesh not only emulated accurate body texture, but also was infused with nano-electrolytes which, upon being touched, react to receptors in the rubber muscle strips underneath, sending a message via hairline-wires in the frame to the AI brain—exactly like a nervous system. The difference from the real thing was that the silicone is highly-concentrated with the nano-electrolytes, so the animatronic girl's reactions to certain areas of their bodies were more sensitive and intense. It was just as Frenni had said: the number of details was remarkable, albeit freaky.

As his mind wandered around these notes, he wondered if they could feel physical pain as well, and how much Foxxy had been suffering from her injuries, but discarded the thought. It didn't matter anyway; whether she felt the pain or not, the visage was enough to have scarred her. And no one was there to help her heal from them, until now.

She has me now, he concluded, and I'll make sure she doesn't suffer any longer.

With that thought, Michael contemplated on how to go about Foxxy's restoration process. Thanks to his preliminary examination on her yesterday, he had a much better idea of the extent of her injuries, but wanted to play it safe by running a diagnostic on her first. It would only be after doing the preliminary diagnostic on her systems and confirming the areas needing restoring, that he would put the gloves on. From there, he would proceed in three steps. First would be removing the external damage and assembling the repair setup; then, the internal damage repairs would be analyzed and completed; and finally, the external restoration, refilling and detailing would be done. A final diagnostic run would serve as the clincher to ensure everything is ship-shape.

The moment he reviewed his process, he heard his phone notify an incoming message. Opening the message, he saw that it was from Afton—the silicone was being delivered, and would arrive at the club shortly. Michael blinked, not quite expecting this development. That was quick—I kinda thought it would take longer. Reading on, Afton continued saying that Foxxy would be waiting for him in the repair room, so he could do the job during daylight hours unhindered. Figures he'd want this done soon—I'm already going over there for longer than agreed anyway. Any more, and I may as well live in the club. …Heh, might as well, given how I'm barely hanging on to this apartment.

With a single sweep of a hand, Michael scooped up the papers from the table, and began to prepare. He was going to have a very long day ahead of him.

000

It was an odd feeling to be arriving at the nightclub during the daytime, as Michael passed through the back doorway. Due to his assignment, he thought it best to enter without disturbing the crowd; yet in doing so, he found himself observing the club's appearance in the daylight for a few seconds. It was actually the first time he saw the building at this time of day, and it revealed more than what the night allowed. If anything, its structural design made it look more like a pizzeria or a diner than a nightclub. As Michael closed the door behind him, he wondered if that was the case before Afton got his hands on it for his own ambitions.

Once he made it to the security room, he found a note written in Afton's hand resting on the desk. Essentially, it said that the silicone supply—along with the other necessary resources—had arrived and were in the repair room, along with Foxxy herself. Once again, Michael found it odd that such expensive materials were bought and delivered within a day. If I didn't know better, I'd say Afton already had everything stored elsewhere, and just needed the right opportunity to use it. Shaking his head of such notions, he removed his boss's folder from his pack and viewed it in his hands. Let's hope I studied long and hard enough.

Ignoring the seductive music erupting in the main clubroom, he slipped along the outer perimeter and reached the doorway labelled as Repairs. Pushing gently, he entered the partially-lit room to find Foxxy leaning on one of the counters with her arms crossed. Next to her were several boxes full of assorted items, some of which he didn't recognize. What he did recognize, however, was the plastic-sheeted enclosure he found back from his first week—meant for intricate cosmetic detailing—having been wheeled out with everything else. More importantly was a trio of large vats containing the most essential material in this endeavor: the silicone itself. The containers were joined to a strange machine which appeared to allow someone to replicate the hue of the silicone to match that of the animatronic girls, similar to that used for forensic analysis like chromatography or mass spectrometry. It seemed to intimidate the present animatronic, as she was eyeing it with slight trepidation, but that vanished when she saw him enter.

"Didn't expect ye so soon," Foxxy said, her voice tinged in dull surprise.

"I didn't expect to be here so soon either," Michael chuckled. "Anyway, how do you feel right now?"

"If ya mean whether I'm prepared for this," she said, "then the response would be 'not really'. This be where the rat met Davy Jones, and these devices do not send friendly shivers up my spine." Her one good eye met one of the wheeled operating tables and the tanks, respectively.

Michael gave her a sympathetic look. "I know exactly what you mean—I really do. And if it helps at all, I found this room to be really creepy, too, when I first explored it. Heh, my impression was that it looked like a tinny salon."

"A powder room, eh? The kind you'd expect a pretty face," Foxxy smirked. "But, just not beheaded."

Her joke, although dark, succeeded in making Michael laugh. Ironically, he did think of something along that line back then. As his mirth subsided, he noticed Foxxy was still watching him while wearing the same smile. A small yellowed gleam flashed briefly from one of her teeth, much to his surprise. Foxxy noticed his close observation.

"What's wrong?" she asked reservedly.

"Nothing's wrong," Michael assured. "I'm just noticing your gold tooth for the first time. …It looks good on you."

She let out a huff of amusement at his comment. "Thanks. …Alright, my stress level has lowered to acceptable parameters. I am now prepared." With that, she let herself off the counter edge and laid herself on the bare operating table. Once she was situated, Michael walked over and moved one of the monitors towards her. As per the instructions from the files, he unplugged her left fox ear—in which the attachment resembled a flash drive—and attached the monitor's cords in its place in her head. After programming the instructions and settings, Michael took one last look at his conscious patient.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Fire away," she said with half-confidence.

"Alright, here it goes," he said before pressing a button. Instantly, the luster in Foxxy's eyes faded until they were completely out. Confirming she was in stasis, Michael set to work at once.

He started with scissors to cut away the arm and leg bandages, and then her tattered shirt and eye patch. Once they were discarded, he finally saw the full extent of her damage: the lower halves of her limbs were mostly void of silicone, which was torn and ragged around her knees. As a result, her titanium-and-carbon skeletal phalanges were completely exposed, as were the rubber muscles which encased the arm "bones". Both arms were the same way, her fingers looking very thin and delicate. Her chest was likewise exposed; the nasty gap nestled between her well-rounded D-cup breasts stretched longer than he expected, and thus revealed more of her ribs and frame than before. Luckily, the best parts of her—for Afton and his customers, that is—were intact. Ignoring the growing feeling in his pants upon seeing her athletic body semi-naked, he checked the monitor for its first diagnostic analysis. Its screen basically repeating all he suspected, he started with the official labor.

Michael marked where the torn rubbers started on each limb, and then clamped the surgical gauntlets on them accordingly. Once they were secured and tight to her skin like a sabot, he programmed the gauntlets to clean-cut the damaged silicone from the endoskeleton according to the measurements. While they did their work, Michael set up the surgical laser patch over her chest valley to do the same, adjusting the patch so it was air-tight to her curves and then cut off the silicone around the indent.

Finished with that, Michael took a little time to wipe her sleeping face with a damp rag. Call me sentimental.

A quartet of small dings signaled the gauntlets' work was done. Prying off the pieces, he peeled off the cut sections until all four of her lower limbs were devoid of ragged tears. By then, the patch was finished too, and he removed the long ring of silicone it left. As an extra measure, he used an Exacto knife to remove any random old bits that still clung to her endoskeletal frame.

Step one, complete.

Now came the tricky part. After unplugging her other fox ear, he removed her eyepatch and examined her bared right side of her face. From what he could see, the blinking apparatuses were intact, as was the socket plug. Plus, her eyebrow above hadn't been spoiled either, so no intricate work was needed. The lacrimal nozzle needed replacing, but there were spare sets in the repair room. It was good news all around. Wheeling over the animatronic salon box, he thus set the materials for her face on one cart, and the repair tools for her limb components on another.

Slicing off a viable sliver of her red silicone flesh from one of her stripped-off bits, Michael put it into a vial for the replication tank and got it started mixing a new batch of silicone flesh of the same color hue. While the tank did its job, he began to extract the rubber strips that were the "muscles", and access the case rings that protected the hair-like wiring. Wherever the case rings were visible, there was some slight denting and cracks. Using a BBQ lighter and pliers, he manually reshaped the pieces whole. This proved extremely hard, as he had to avoid the wires and the endothermic tubular vessels that ran through the body parts. Over an hour of finicking was spent to get the right shapes, but Michael was pleased with the end results. After that, he examined the rubber strips to determine which ones were still usable or not. Once the old and new ones were refastened onto the endoskeleton, he held each appendage to make sure it moved fluidly without obstruction or constriction.

For her open chest cavity, he replaced the pumps and heating motor within her rib cage, and then reheated/rebound any marred rib-casing areas. Taking a second glance, he noticed that the patch had cut rather close to the old heating motor, and now the new cut edge had left the surrounding red a bit discolored. Hoping that would get resolved with what Foxxy was about to undergo, Michael continued with the open-chest transplants until all was in renewed order.

Step two, complete.

Confirming that Foxxy's arms and legs could function again, he reattached the surgical limb sabot-gauntlets to start the molding process. The replication tank had almost finished making its product, a thick reddish liquid now swirling in the small storage tanks. Using what few minutes he had, Michael fixed several drips between the tank caps and the limb gauntlets. Once done and verified the silicone tank was ready, he activated the refilling procedure. Small streams of red soon travelled down to the metal gauntlets as the spaces within were filled in. His body shivered as the sight reminded him of a blood transfusion.

Meanwhile, he checked the new eyeball to make sure it was still pristine before plugging it into its socket. Turning to the salon box, he filled the box's appropriate containers with its cart's finer materials, like the hair, eyelashes, and finger/toe nails, and programmed all to be applied for the 'Foxxy' mold design.

A while passed until another dinging quartet sounded, and the new silicone has been injected and cooled. Detaching the gauntlet sections revealed a welcoming sight: the new silicone "flesh" had melded with the clean cuts perfectly, rendering the arms and legs whole and unblemished. Even the fingers and toes were seamless, albeit some thin flaps from where the gauntlets were sealed. Michael let himself smile; she was already looking so much better. But there was a bit more work to do.

Michael wheeled her into the salon box, making sure she was situated in just the right place. Finally, after plugging the drips to the salon box from the tank, he double-checked his instructions for the salon box: to apply patches for her right eye and chest, and refill; add eyelashes for former; skin excess silicone from extremities and reattach missing finger-and-toenails; and other fine details. Approving the commands, he pressed the green button on the screen.

Step three, completed.

The manual labor was done.

Exhaling loudly, Michael slumped back onto a chair, wiping his head for the umpteenth time. The reality of Foxxy's repairs was much harder than what it all seemed in his mind and on paper. Even after making absolutely sure of what he was doing, the effort was physically and mentally taxing. The last thing he wanted was to unintentionally damage something; and for animatronics as detailed as Foxxy, this was true fifty-fold. Despite as a professional in electronics, every action he made was checked and triple-checked so he didn't nick something vital to Foxxy's inner miniscule workings. But he was glad such a consequence didn't happen, and everything was accomplished without a hiccup.

Leaning back on the chair's neck brace, he read the clock being 10:27pm. Wow, time sure flies fast when you're busy… operating on a semi-naked animatronic girl, that is. His eyes glanced at the thin arms working around Foxxy's still form within the salon box, and the outside screen displaying its progress. It was already at 4% completion, with a time frame of 3 hours and 33 minutes remaining. Michael thought for a moment: if all went as planned, then everything should be done by 2am tonight; and adding on the diagnostic checkup time afterward, Foxxy will be fully restored just in time before his actual shift ended. Just in time for the other girls to see. Perfect. Upon standing and stretching, Michael repacked his tools and left the repair room to the salon box's devices…

…but not before he bid its occupant the best of luck and a good night.

As he wearily headed for the security room, Michael sincerely hoped that all of this would heal a different kind of scar in the red fox-girl's mind.

000

Michael felt his cheeks get sore from slapping himself awake again.

When Michael had returned to the security room, he found a different note from his boss reminding him to finish the Pirates Cove's cleanup. Paying no mind to it for now, he took a moment to monitor the camera feeds throughout the club. Then, he noticed a scuffle in one of the screens: two of the bar occupants developed tempers and decided they wanted to duke it out right there. Luckily, Mr. Afton was there to break it up and escort them into the entrance hallway. From then till midnight, Michael rested in his seat, alternating his eyes between the various screens… including the one within the repair room.

After performing his usual duties of overlooking the crowd control upon closing hours, he returned to the task of completing the reorganization of the Pirates Cove. In what felt like a short time, he stood up and surveyed his handiwork for the last time. Every piece of furniture, both metal and wood, gleamed with a polished coat; every bulb now shone with radiance without a single flicker; the walls were barren of grime, dust, and water marks; and all the fabric surfaces, from the curtains, to robes to the bedsheets, were cleaned and stain-free. It was barely noticeable that the hole-in-the-wall room used to be such a dilapidated mess when he first saw it many days ago. Just like Foxxy now. Ensuring the cove was done was practically ready for VIPs, the fatigue of the past two days began to hit him, thus initiating his face-slap stunts. Using sheer will to fuel himself, Michael forced his drowsiness out. He knew this was not the time to let himself get sleepy… not while he was also waiting to finish tending to a certain someone.

He continued making his usual rounds around the club until 2am, and he made a beeline for the repair room immediately. Opening the doors, he checked on its sole occupant. The animatronic 'salon' box encompassing Foxxy had definitely done its job; after a three-and-a-half-hour-long makeover, she now looked completely whole. His eyes marveled at the intricate work the machine had done on her: every nail polished, every hair strand cut, even the right side of her face now matched her left seamlessly. Her chest cavity was also gone, albeit a discolored mark now marked where it had been: a lightning-shaped scar now ran along her chest. He frowned at that, but there was nothing he could do about it at this point. Other than that, everything checked out outside. Now for the inside checkup.

Moving Foxxy's inert form toward a laptop stand, Michael plugged one of her open head appendages for her fox ears to the laptop and initiated the secondary diagnostics scan. The screen occasionally made indications of the new repairs before moving on through her systems. An additional 30 minutes were needed to complete the test, so he decided to take a break inside the repair room by sitting back in the same chair he had occupied before. At some point while waiting, his fatigue snuck up on him and he felt his eyes close. The next thing he knew, he woke to some odd sounds. His eyes blinked at the source of the noises—and his heart stopped.

Foxxy was twitching and convulsing on the metal stretcher.

Thoughts in his head raced a mile a minute as he tried to find out what was going wrong. Examining the laptop stand, the screen read an 88% complete green bar which continued to rise despite her rhythmic twitching. Not understanding this, he noticed the fine print of the final progression test.

A joint and movement test, for her new limbs and eye apparatus.

A false alarm.

Shaken, Michael leaned his arms onto a nearby counter. Both his hands and feet were quivering from adrenaline, and so he started his therapeutic slow-breathing exercise. Eventually, the shivering slowed and stopped, and his brain got itself back to order. Dammit, dammit—it almost happened like… no, don't go there. This isn't like last time—I was here this time, for her. Clenching his fists and teeth, he cursed himself for getting distracted like that. Even if it was a false alarm, it was still a shock. He remained glued to that spot until the diagnostic test was done, revealing everything was in perfect working order. Asking whether to bring her back online, he confirmed it on the screen. A few minutes were needed for her systems to reboot; so, he picked her up and ambled to the Animatronics room.

The table island in the stars' room was big enough to lay her limp form, and he grabbed a towel from one of the racks to drape over her exposed chest. Sitting back in a foldup chair, his sight shifted from the rubicund body to the brunette, violet, and golden ones resting in the recharge pods. A grin grew on his face; the girls will be in for a surprise once they wake up. Only then did he finally allow himself to pass the time to drift into a snooze.

000

(Foxxy POV)

…

…

-RECHARGE CYCLE COMPLETE – FULLY CHARGED

-DIAGNOSTIC CHECKUP

CPU/MEMORY SCAN: 100% COMPLETE

ENDOSKELETAL FRAME SCAN: 100% COMPLETE

ENDOTHERMAL SYSTEM SCAN: 100% COMPLETE

LIMB SENSORS/ARTICULATION (LEFT ARM): 100% COMPLETE

LIMB SENSORS/ARTICULATION (RIGHT ARM): 100% COMPLETE

LIMB SENSORS/ARTICULATION (LEFT LEG): 100% COMPLETE

LIMB SENSORS/ARTICULATION (RIGHT LEG): 100% COMPLETE

-REPAIRS DETECTED—STATUS:

THERMAL MOTOR REPLACEMENT: COMPLETE/OPERATIONAL

CIRCULATORY PUMP REPLACEMENT: COMPLETE/OPERATIONAL

OPTICAL SENSORS: COMPLETE/OPERATIONAL

FLESH/SKIN REPLACEMENT: COMPLETE/OPERATIONAL

NEURAL LINK RESTORATION: COMPLETE/OPERATIONAL

-ALL SYSTEMS FUNCTIONAL

-UNIT "FOXXY" ONLINE

…

The shade of green in Foxxy's eyes dimmed to yellow. Blinking, the auburn fox-woman noted she was currently in the animatronics' room. She expected to still be in the repair room after the night guard put her into stasis. Sitting up, she silently observed her surroundings before sensing something fall from her chest. Looking down, she noticed the white towel that lay in her lap as well as her now-exposed chest. The memory of her assault flashed in her mind, which quickly translated into anger, but that evaporated instantly as she noticed something else.

Her open cavity was gone.

Her face frozen in shock, Foxxy tentatively reached to her valley and touched her new skin, tracing where the pale scar now ran. At that moment, her hands became her new objects of attention, as she marveled at her new appendages concealed in flesh rather than fabric. Her head tilted in wonder as she wriggled her phalanges, feeling their touch for the first time in a long time. A thought seemed to strike her, and she moved herself to the edge of the table, toward the wall mirrors. Doing this made her realize her feet's wholeness; she could see her exposed legs were no longer marred. Ten toes fidgeted in anticipation when she set her feet down onto the floor, taking in her long-lost sense of touch while stepping to the mirrors. The sight that greeted her there was enough for her to shed a pair of tears from her artificial lacrimal nozzles.

In front of her was a Foxxy with a perfect face and body, as they were before her trauma.

Smiling broadly, her new hands scrutinized where her missing eye had been, finding her depth perception had been fully restored. She twisted her body around, her approval of her appearance increasing; despite the filth that still clung to her, it was a small flaw compared to the results—and even that could be washed away. Fully satisfied, Foxxy turned to the slumbering night guard, who had yet to move from his chair. With grateful countenance, she walked over and knelt in front of him, watching his slow, steady breathing for a while. Without thinking, she cupped his face with her new hands and kissed his nose, which served as a wake-up call for the nightguard.

(Normal POV)

In his deep subconscious slumber, a soft sensation on his nose was transmitted to Michael's brain. As his conscience rose from the darkness of torpor, further sensations on his cheeks arose as well. Interest in what was causing these caresses fueled his mind into awakening, and his eyes slowly opened. His bleary sight cleared after a moment to find a red feminine face staring back, very close. He let out a yelp as he forced his chair to lean back in panic, his hands gripping the foldup chair. After a few blinks and breaths, his mind comprehended Foxxy's presence in front of him, and eased off from the sudden adrenaline shock. She, on the other hand, did not move from where she stood, though she was rather amused by his reaction. Another minute passed before she decided to speak up.

"Wakey-wakey," she teased.

"Speak for yourself," Michael calmed at last. "So… how do you feel now?"

"Much better, honestly," Foxxy said with a meaningful smile. "Better than I have felt in a long time. All of that damage is fast becoming an after-image in my memory banks." She held up her reformed right hand for further examination, with her yellow eyes trailing up her limb before landing on her bosom. Her kind facial visage grew a small smirk as she teased further, "Though ya could've given me a better fabric covering on top of me new flesh."

Michael looked at her inquisitively until it dawned on him what she was talking about. The towel which he had placed on her was missing, leaving her chest exposed once more. Not desiring to have her see him staring at her round orbs, he hastily grabbed another towel from a nearby rack to hand to her. "Sorry about that," he excused himself. "I was more focused on your well-being. Your old shirt was already in tatters, so it couldn't be helped anyway."

Foxxy's lips twitched in amusement. "How sweet. You must 'ave been devoted to not take advantage while I was exposed. All the same—" She traced the long scar between her breasts. "I am not surprised this turned like it did. Perhaps the endothermal motor battery being punctured from the incident made the surrounding skin bleach permanently."

"That would explain it," he said ashamedly, "and I'm sorry that's still visible. Even after all the effort, you still have a reminder of what happened before."

But Foxxy waved it off. "True, but it's not so bad, kiddo. This may be considered ugly, but it is much better for sure. With this, I now look more the part of a pirate, eh?"

Michael couldn't help but chuckle a little at the thought. "I guess so. Any fighter or dancer with a mark like that and no shame to hide it would be considered a real badass."

"All the better," she smiled approvingly.

Just then a trio of hisses interrupted them. They broke off their conversation to witness the other three girls emerging from their pods early. They stared confusedly when they notice his presence.

"Mikey? What are you doing in here?" Bonni asked.

"It's something serious, isn't it?" Chica pondered.

"Foxxy?! Is that you?" Frenni says astonished.

The former two girls realized what the latter just said, and they also stare shocked at their newly-restored comrade. Giving a nod of approval, Foxxy approached her friends and let them check her out.

"Yep, it is I, Foxxy the Pirate," she said with joyous grandeur, "back and better than ever! You all can thank him for it." She thumb-pointed back to Michael, which earned him a triple-stare.

He shrugged sheepishly under their staring. However, before he could say anything, the trio of current performers rushed into a feverish group hug. Coffee, canary, and grape-colored buxom bodies smothered him as they laughed in joy for having their missing compatriot restored. Michael could only enjoy their merriment and touch for a moment, as they began to leak a little too much strength in the shared hug. A few pats on their arms were enough to inform his discomfort, and the girls released him.

"Sorry—got carried away," Frenni said, her excitement leaking her true persona a little before she recomposed herself. "I cannot believe you actually brought her back."

"Me neither! She looks wonderful," Chica agreed, clearly fighting hard to not let her true self escape.

"Doncha mean 'foxy'?" Bonni jested happily while placing a hand around Foxxy's waist. "Now we can wear down the pole and make the boys drool again, just like old times."

"Aye, but with a difference," Foxxy replied, earning herself the girls' attention. "I can now see why all of ye trust Mikey like ye do—he really is different. That's why… I'm gonna start trusting him too."

"Of course you can see why now," Bonni retorted. "You had no depth perception before!"

Both Frenni and Chica stifled their laughter at the joke and its double-meaning. Michael gave a stern look at Bonni, who looked pleased with her punch line. However, as he turned to Foxxy, he found that even she cracked a smile at the joke. A real genuine smile—the kind he wanted to see on her face several days ago.

And it was pretty.

000

Michael had finished packing his belongings from the security room and the repair room, with ten minutes to spare on his shift. These past two days left him feeling totally beat. He hadn't felt this way since his second week working in the club, and was not fond of the sensation. The only upside was that his present exhaustion was merely physical and mental; it was not emotional like when he awakened Frenni's human self by accident. Therefore, his lethargy could be cured by a long sleep at home—and he felt like he could sleep the whole day away. For the moment, the only thing that kept him from doing that was the fact that he had to get home first.

Taking his bags, he trudged his way into the back hallway. As he neared the Animatronics room, he saw the door crack open to find Chica peeking out. Her facial expression told him she wanted to speak to him, and he stopped his trek. Giving her a nod, he watched her slide lithely out of the room, closing the door behind her, and approached him.

"Where are the others?" he asked.

"Ariel is speaking to the red and violet amigas," she said as Sophia, "but she wanted to say she's really impressed by what you did for the former."

"I'll be honest, it was anything but easy," Michael affirmed. "What about you?"

Chica shifted her body, and spoke in a lower tone. "Well, I was thinking of something else. …Do you really think the red one is Cassie? That was what Ariel said you were thinking."

"I believe so," Michael whispered, "but whether it's she or Jesse, I think what I've done with her was still needed. It's a step forward either way—a win for us." Staring at Chica, he discerned a slight discomfort in her stance as if she was dancing around something. "Is that what you were really thinking of?" he asked.

"Um, Mikey… I heard from Ariel that when you were speaking of a way to help the red girl… you two kissed."

Michael blushed as he remembered that moment, and looked away awkwardly. "Yeah, we did, but it was more like a good-luck kiss," he stammered. He then felt his cheeks being cupped in soft hands, and his head was gently coaxed to faced her. Her face blushed brightly as she stared at his face with half-lidded eyes, biting her lower lip in anticipation. At that moment, her pupils turned into pink hearts.

"Then, in that case," she whispered while leaning in, "for helping one of mis amigas… may I give you a thank-you one?"

Obliging, Michael leaned in at the last second and caught his lips with hers. The contact was simple, but long and sweet, befitting a girl of her personality. She clearly reveled in it, as her fingers began to massage his head and temples as she held his face. Her tenderness induced his hands to release their grip on his bags in order to hold her waist. Feeling her curves in his palms must have triggered something in Chica, as her hands trailed to explore his toned arms with desire. Sooner than expected, both parted their lips, breathing hard.

"Thank you for helping us," she whispered pleasantly, and she turned back to the room, letting her wavy mane brush fleetingly onto his face. As he watched her go, his eyes followed her form with every step she took until she rejoined her company out of sight, and smiled. This was his second kiss with one of the animatronic girls, and it was just as exhilarating as the last. Gone was the stress he felt a few minutes before, having been replaced by an overwhelming force of warmth. It was the same as he felt from his first experience with Frenni.

This was a sensation he was becoming fond of.

---

Day 6

What is going on with me and these dreams?

That was what Michael asked himself the moment he jolted up from his bed. He had been sleeping soundly, as his cellphone indicated, until another nightmare decided to interrupt his solace. However, it wasn't just any nightmare—it was one of those dreams he had a few times before. Wiping the sweat off his brow with a sheet corner, he recollected what happened this time:

He blinked his eyes as he took in his surroundings. The same wide silver box was still there, containing him, and an odd heatwave began to permeate his body. Beads of sweat appeared all over him as the temperature rose, including his face, and his sight became further affected. His hand lifted to wipe the droplets… only to find it covered in red droplets. Blood. Looking down, he found his leg was similarly affected, and bare. A sense of nostalgia hit him, like he had seen this before. No longer as disturbed by it, he shook his head to rid his sweaty affliction rather to further mar his eyesight. Searching around frantically in the growing red light, he saw a pathway on the far end—one whose door was sliding down to close. Ignoring the fact that it was not there before, and not wanting to be further roasted, he jumped forward to the new exit. Sensing his danger rise sharply, he heard something else give chase, and try to grasp his legs. Just as he ducked under, the door shut, separating him from the unbearable heat.

Suddenly, the same door banged at him, and he heard something else from the other side. Something that was not pleased about its prey leaving it in the oven. Not taking a moment to idle, he got back up—and wobbled. Staring down again, he found whatever he left behind left its mark again: now both his legs were bloodied, and was pant-less. Struggling against the throbbing of his injuries—and the fact that he was naked from the waist down—he hobbled down the dark hallway, leaving an unsettling trail behind him.

After what felt like forever, his path divided into two: one way leading further down the same hall, and another up a flight of stairs. He hissed under his wavering breath as he saw the steps, not feeling the strength to climb them, and even stumbled onto the handrail. Both legs were being sapped of energy, and he began to find it impossible to move again. Just as he considered going the easier route, he squinted hard at the dark in the hall…

… and saw the same purple-eyed figure staring back at him. It gave him no time to wonder how it escaped, as its fresh legs allowed it to barrel forward with arms and claws ready to finish the job—

—and Michael was forced awake before it finished.

While he sat there in his bed, he reviewed what he imagined. As he suspected the last time this happened, this dream was certainly a continuation of the same thing. However, the last one left him trapped, whereas this one allowed him to resume his escape. Also, like before, something else appeared which allowed his escape, and thus extend his path. This meant something else occurred which allowed the dream to slightly change once again, but what was it? Then, a thought he didn't consider struck him.

What if it's related to the girls? he debated. Now that I think of it, these visions always changed whenever I did something to help them. Does this vision mean I succeeded again? He didn't have the chance to reflect on the possibility, as his phone rang loudly. Finding the caller to be one of his close friends, he quickly answered it.

"Hello, Michael. Are you available to talk right now?"

"Hi, Vanny," Michael said groggily, and rechecked the time. "Uhm, it's not like you to call while on your shift. Is everything alright?"

"I know—I would have asked to see you in-person, but this is too important to wait on. Are you alone?"

The young man yawned to clear his thoughts. "Yeah… what is it?"

"I finally got another breakthrough in your parents' case, and this one's far bigger than last time." As Michael sat up straight in his bed at her statement, she continued. "As you know, the rental car was totaled along with your parents' car, and not much was salvageable as a result. I was lucky to have salvaged the VIN number to track the rental car's point of purchase, even if it led to another dead end. For a while, I figured there was nothing else for the vehicle to provide. Until something the rental manager noted caught my attention: his records have the car's use written for "business only". When I asked why he would loan an old jalopy for corporate use, he corrected that it was one of his few newer models. Damn guy neglected to write down the year of the car on his records; and given the number of old jalopies in his lot, I figured this one was the same. Anyway, that's when it hit me: if the car was a newer model meant for business purposes, then it would have the basic utilities for this day and age… including GPS."

"And you found that?"

"Sure did—I had a forensics team re-search the rental wreckage, and extracted what was left of the GPS system. It was thrashed, but the IT department managed to recover the vehicle's route history. The bad news is, there were no home addresses listed; but the good news is there was still one common location amongst the others—the warehouse district in the city. I'm in the middle of working with the manager there, but I should have definite answers soon, and hopefully an ID on the car's owner."

Michael beamed at the incredulity of the news. "That's great—it's more than what you had last time."

"Oh, it gets better. Turns out one of the warehouses in the district is owned by your boss, William Afton. I never had the chance to search this property—with any more luck, I'll get proper answers. Best-case scenario is a direct arrest, but whether it happens or not, the cold trails are finally melting away."

After several more minutes of speaking, Michael and Detective Vanessa decided to call off the chat and go about their businesses. While doing his stretches upon rolling out of bed, something she said poked at his brain. Her information regarding warehouses made him think he had seen something like that before—quite recently. Then the memory hit him.

Wait a second—I saw something like a warehouse on his computer when I talked to him about Foxxy. If that was the case… could that have been where all of his supplies came from? And if Afton owns it, does that mean he had everything he needed for Foxxy's restoration stored there?

For the rest of his time preparing for his work period, he tried not to think about the worst-case scenario of potentially being scammed by his boss's smooth talk.

000

Michael dry-heaved a bit as he observed his speckled work shirt in the security room.

Tonight produced an unsightly situation while he began his club stint. As he assisted some of the more drunken patrons during the closing hour, one of them couldn't quite make it to the main entrance in time. His digestive route went in reverse as he purged his guts, with Michael in the line of fire. Fortunately, the nightguard managed to avoid the full blast of alcohol-infused vomit, but he still received some of the spray on his shirt. Michael's first minutes in the club after that were spent mopping and cleaning the soiled area; and the result was him wearing a shirt that was likely subjected to Jackson Pollock's work. Looking at his reflection in the hallway window, he deemed it unfit to be worn on the job, and headed straight for the locker room. Thanks to planning ahead, he kept a spare set of clothing in there for such occasions; and because everyone had long gone now, he was able to have the time he needed to sterilize himself.

As he entered the locker room, he heard water running from one of the shower stalls. Confusion crossed his mind until he realized it could only be one of the girls, as there was no one else in the club but him. Knowing the sound would conceal his presence, he carefully took off his shirt and gave himself a quick wipedown with soap and water in front of one of the sinks. Once his skin was free of bile debris, he turned to the lockers on the other side… where the dividing space was open to the showers. Michael grumbled at such luck, notably when he realized he didn't know which of the girls was here. He decided to quickly glance at the corner of his eye as he passed by the access; he'll be able to tell by their unique skin colors. I've been around them for long enough—and I should be used to their presence by now.

How wrong he was.

His intended glance exploded into a full-on stare at Foxxy's naked backside.

She was currently rinsing herself off of the soap suds that amassed on her form. As the shower head sent them down along her body, his eyes never stopped following their trails. He thought seeing her whole again was wonderful to look at; but now free of grime and clothing, her new clean body was even more incredible. Although her ponytail was undone, it was draped over a shoulder, allowing an unfettered view of her back and ass. Every time her shoulder blades flexed as she washed each arm, she tilted her hips, and both cheeks moved with them. Her back curved enticingly as she stretched her arms into the air, the soap suds running down along every curve of her spine and legs. Like those of Frenni and the other girls, it was a body that would make a porn star envious. He heard her hum in utmost satisfaction, which snapped him out of his trance. Not wanting to be caught, he stealthily crossed the opening gap between the walls and made it to his locker. The tiled wall that divided the lockers from the showers kept him out of sight, and Michael breathed a mental sigh of relief.

And then his phone pinged.

"Who's in here?" he heard Foxxy call.

Cursing himself for such luck to happen like that, he called back demurely. "Sorry, Foxxy—It's just me, Michael. I only came in here for the lockers—I didn't expect anyone to be using the showers." He waved his employee tag over the wall as a precaution. For a moment, the only sound was the water running from the shower stall.

"If you were a stranger, and my charge wasn't so low, I'd run ya down 'till first light." Her annoyed tone turned much softer. "…But yer no stranger to me, Mikey, so I'll let it slide."

"Uh, thanks." Cautiously, he opened the locker door for the bag holding his spare clothing. "May I ask why you're in here? I thought water was a hazard for you."

"It is, for normal animatronics," he heard Foxxy say, "but as ya put it before, we're not normal ones. Our bodies are waterproof, you see, so there is no hazard—unless you find yerself as damaged as I was. Because of that, I was unable to bathe like this for years… and it sure feels good."

She said no more, and Michael sighed in relief. His throat unexpectedly felt parched, so he took out the water bottle from his pack. After a few swigs, he heard Foxxy call out to him.

"…You like what you saw?"

BFFFTFFT!

He spit out his water in shock, causing him to cough. How the hell did she know I was looking? Regaining his composure, he was about to answer while putting on his uniform shirt when he felt a touch on his shoulder. Turning, he jumped back in shock to find Foxxy standing right in front of him, naked and undried, with an amused smirk. Michael backed onto the lockers in reflex and put up his shirt to cover himself, but Foxxy gripped his wrists to ease them down.

"Not a chance," she demanded sultrily. "Yer eyes have feasted on my chest before—twice now. Mine deserve a taste of yers."

Michael bashfully let his arms down, knowing it would be fruitless otherwise. As Foxxy checked him out, he found his own eyes exploring her uncovered body. While he had seen her chest and stomach before, the sights were elevated to a new high as he now saw everything else—namely, her lower body. Like her arms, her mile-long legs were in excellent shape; the calves and thighs bulged just right to possess a smooth overall limb shape. Her auburn hips also bridged her thighs to her waist beautifully, the outlines sandwiching her hips fittingly. And just below that—he gulped. Her womanhood was in full view, the folds crowned by a field of unshaven pubic hair. What was worse, he saw this area was dripping moisture; whether or not it was from her shower, he couldn't tell. His gaze was jerked back upwards to her face when she reached an arm out to him.

"Ooh, yer a fine specimen, aren't you?" she cooed, trailing her fingers from the sparse hairs on his toned chest down to the curves of his abs. "Many of the scoundrels we meet and greet 'ave either too little meat on them, or too much. But you 'ave muscle, in all the right places."

"H-Having a hard-labor job does that," Michael stammered, "and a rough neighborhood, too. I had to learn how to protect myself at some point."

"A fighter too, eh? I like that—my interest just rose higher." Foxxy grinned and, without breaking her gaze on his body, she reached for one of the folded towels on top of the locker. This brought their faces and bodies only a hair's breadth from contact. Before walking off to dry herself, she lays a finger on his lower abs. "Next time we meet like this, I'll call it even by seeing what other muscle you have that'll raise my attraction—though the bulge in yer pants is a big clue."

Her hint flowed into his ear with a lyrical chuckle, and she made her way out of the locker room, her freed wet hair rippling as a solid wave. With the air free of arousing energy, Michael took a few deep breaths and clutched his heart… and his bulging manhood.

Used to their presence, my ass. If the others decide to follow suit like this, I may need more than a cold shower myself to stay on the job. As he began to put on his violet shirt, he felt an unpleasant sensation on his spine as his shirt suddenly stuck to him. Looking back, he saw that, in backing up, he had landed squarely on the door where he spat his water.

Great. Now he had two uncomfortable feelings he had to deal with tonight.

000

Several hours later, Michael sat fidgeting in his chair while staring at the monitors. He had gotten back from doing a single job a while ago, which was to clean up the repair room. He had figured this would be asked of him, due to Foxxy's restoration, and that much of the supplies were left in disarray. Although he was more concerned with her well-being at the time, it was his responsibility to clean up after himself. Now, he was left alone. He already had his secret talks with Frenni and Chica, so they were milling around the club floor together. From what he saw before, Bonni had been shredding a storm with a guitar and keytar in the animatronics' room, and was now recharging in one of the pods. And Foxxy… was nowhere to be seen. Normally, this situation would be discomforting, but his restlessness was for a different reason.

While his feet and knees twitched and shook, he reflected on his encounters with the girls. It was no surprise that they all vied for his attention, yet despite him complying on the premise of remaining as friends, that didn't stop them from showing their gratitude romantically. Bonni always showed interest in him in her own bold ways, but the two who were secretly freed—Frenni and Chica—showed signs of desire for him. Even before having his first kisses with them this week, they enjoyed being close to him, including taking turns sitting in his lap as they chatted. Now, even Foxxy was beginning to warm up to him—and quickly, if his latest encounter in the locker room was anything to judge by. But the biggest change was not within the girls, but himself.

Michael realized a while before, that the more time he spent with the girls, the more attracted to them he was becoming. As his awareness of their personalities increased, so did his awareness of their outside attributes and how well they complimented the former. What made it worse was that he couldn't blame that pheromone ability of theirs, as they weren't using it in their more-recent interactions. Since his kissing them, both Frenni and Chica became more lovey-dovey with him, but more realistically than their former animatronic selves… which he began to enjoy. Plus, the previous encounter with Foxxy left him actually wanting their next intimate meeting—wanting her. And it excited him.

As if answering his unconscious plea, he saw a quick movement off the corner of his eye, and noticed the Pirates Cove curtains being rustled. A sudden pitter-patter of feet reached his left ear. Knowing who it could be, he hit the left doorway button, which sealed it shut at once. He waited for the upcoming impact to confirm that her attempt was thwarted again.

…But nothing happened.

Perplexed, Michael looked out the window to see what was out there, but the hallway was too dark. The respective camera display was not much help either, as the area wasn't illuminated enough for a clear picture. Seeing he had no choice but to open the door, he grabbed the flashlight and crossed his arms in a defensive posture. His left hand extended to the button while his eyes were glued to what would likely pounce at him. Steeling himself, the button was pressed again and the door slid open.

Only to reveal an empty floor.

Where'd she go? Michael turned back to recheck the camera feeds—

-to find Foxxy jumping at him from the open right doorway.

THWUMP!

A startled cry escaped his mouth as a red blur barreled into him and onto the floor. The flashlight fell with a clatter and rolled out of reach. Shaken by the ambush, he fidgeted and gasped from adrenaline despite Foxxy being completely on top of him. Looking up, he saw the smirk on her face.

"I finally got you," she teased.

"Foxxy! W-What the hell? H-How did-?"

"—I not run into the door this time? You've only yerself to blame. Thanks to my new legs and feet that you gave me, I can stop on a dime and sneak around ya without a sound." She giggled excitedly as she quickly tapped her unbandaged feet on the floor repeatedly. As she said, her feet no longer made noise against the tile floor, as their new covering now protected her metal endoskeletal frame.

Michael mentally kicked himself. Dammit, her repairs! I should've taken that into account this time! Wincing, he noticed her bare arms and hands still had a good grip on his own.

"Ah, okay. Fine. You got me," he conceded defeatedly. "Now could you let me up?"

Foxxy's smirk turned into a devilish grin. "Ohhh no, kiddo. I've finally upheld my oath to have you in my grasp, and I am not wasting it. And besides, I've yet to thank you for what you did for me." With that, she leaned her head forward and caught his lips.

Unlike his previous experiences with Frenni and Chica, Foxxy's kiss was more forceful as she made no attempt to restrain her desire. Already she parted her lips to tongue-wrestle with him. Her hips eventually started grinding against him, eliciting a groan from his throat during the kiss. Amidst the fog in his head, he recalled the encounter in the locker room showers and how she looked while bathing. Unable to help it, Michael complied with her actions and the two of them ended up making out right there without a care. Spurred by the sensations, he let his hands caress her exposed sides. Her response was immediate; she uttered a soft growl of pleasure before breaking the kiss, a tendril still connecting their lips. She then let go of his shoulders to wrap her arms around his neck, her face now nuzzling his cheeks. Freed, Michael's hands further explored her body, first her back and then her thighs, and back up to her neck. This made her growl more, and her hip-grinding became rougher. Before long, Foxxy lifted herself from him, her knees still planted at his sides. Each time she panted hard, her breasts pushed against the fabric of her new shirt, leaving little to the imagination.

"That is my thanks for fixin' me up," she smiled breathlessly.

"Glad I could help," Michael finally said after a breather of his own. "But next time, give me a little warning, will you? You know I hate being jumpscared."

Foxxy gave a short giggle. "Now where'd be the fun in that?"

After a minute the red girl used her legs to lift herself off, and slowly sauntered over him to the left doorway. "I am sated for now, Mikey," she said, turning her head back. "But do be more vigilant. Next time I reach ya, I may want to keep you all night long." With a smile and a wink, she walked out with her long ponytail swaying behind her.

The nightguard stayed where he laid until she was gone, and he lifted himself up. Taking a quick look, he found her in the camera monitor overlooking her cove, strolling with confidence to the mini-stage and whisking aside the curtains before vanishing. Still dazed by what just happened, Michael touched his tingling lips. He tasted the sweet aroma of strawberries from her kiss, which was different from his experience with Frenni. Apparently the "aphrodisiac" stuff was concocted with different flavors—something that was not mentioned in the files. And for once, he didn't mind learning about it the thrilling way. As he stood there dumbfounded with his fingers trailing his lips, his phone began to ring. The loud noise instantly brought him out of his trance, and he answered the call. "Hello?"

"Hey there, kid! Sorry I'm calling later than usual," Afton said in a hurry. "Investors are calling me like hell. This is the first chance I got getting ahold of you."

Upon hearing his comment about the time, the nightguard did a double-check on the clock. The face read as 4:17am, at least an hour after he usually called. "Not a problem, sir," Michael reassured, "since not much has been going on aside from tidying the repair room. Foxxy did give me a scare, though."

"Glad you mentioned that," Afton quickly interjected. "I wanted to congratulate you on the restoration job."

"You mean repairing Foxxy?"

"Of course! I took the liberty of examining your work earlier today—a real gem! Good as new, if not better! In fact, a few shareholders were damn impressed when I told 'em the news. I can't thank you enough for what you did to bring one of my creations back to full glory."

Michael was taken aback by the compliments. Although his boss was still referring to Foxxy in the way he did the others, he wasn't expecting this level of enthusiasm. It was certainly a welcome change from his usual creepy aura. Or he could be faking it again. "Thank you, I'm glad I could help… though I confess it was mostly cosmetic."

"But that's one of the chief features that draws in the money, and you put in a great sacrifice for it. For that, I plan to reimburse you for what you spent, plus a bonus, once the expansion plan comes through."

After Michael declared his thanks, the elder man hung up. Setting his cellphone down onto the desk, the young man considered what the man said, and came to a blunt deduction. Assuming he means that, it'll practically bring me back to where I financially was before the operation—meaning all of that effort from the procedure will have been done for free. All of that, for nothing. Then his eyes trailed back to the mini-stage on the grainy monitor screen. With a growing smile, he revised his personal thought.

Well, not exactly nothing. I did earn the trust of at least one person.

---

Day 7

For the first time in what felt like a long while, Michael was in high spirits.

The past several hours had felt like a curtain had been lifted from his mind, and he was able to regain the confidence he had so long ago. Eight hours of sleep came and went today, and he felt rejuvenated by its effects; and without the need of sleeping pills or the presence of nightmares, he considered his psychological health vastly improved. Plus, the recent news from Vanny regarding his parents' case meant the chance of closure in the near future, which he was grateful for. This also meant he would regain control of his life, and its prospects gave him hope. And now, as he was walking along 87th Street from the library, Michael possessed another reason for his confidence to be elevated further.

Jus a while ago, he finally had the chance to finish his favorite manga series from several days ago. The satisfaction of completing his reading was immense; having been denied the chance to learn the outcome of the latest installation's final battle, he nearly whooped with joy while in the library as his anticipation was rewarded at last. Luckily for him, Michael caught himself from vocalizing his elation, and was able to complete his reading without any interruption. Even so, the near-slip left him feeling a bit embarrassed, as it was not like him to lose composure like that.

Maybe it's because I haven't felt this way since my parents left, he considered. If that's the case, then something must have happened recently that helped me recover from that loss.

His thoughts were interrupted as he reached the front of the nightclub, where a strange commotion was happening. While everything else looked normal, the waiting line was visibly and audibly rowdier than before. The line held much more people this time, extending down the length of the parking lot. In addition, the men's boisterous behavior was not disorderly—as they remained confined in the velvet-roped crowd control stanchions—but rather eager and thrilled. Curious by the change, Michael decided to check out the club and find the source of the excitement. It was just as well he did so, since it was only an hour-and-a-half before his shift started anyway.

Even before reaching the clubroom, he could hear the crowd's rejoicing. It was usually this way, but this time was different; like the line awaiting outside, the cheers were rather noisier. Once he passed through the hallway and by the main stage, he observed his surroundings.

Throughout the dining area, Frenni and Chica were taking and delivering orders. Occasionally, a few men would gaze or leer at them when they got close, but their attention would shift right back to the stage. Following their lines of sight, he saw Bonni doing a little jig on one of the poles, while in a magician's cosplay outfit. As provocative as the matchup was, it wasn't as much as the sight beside her—and Michael understood the customers' noise level.

Foxxy was on stage for the first time. And the guys were loving it.

Like Bonni, she was doing a dance routine in cosplay, and her outfit was fitting—in more ways than one. It was a pirate-theme ensemble that complimented her energy and attitude: knee-length high-heel boots and short skirt sandwiched her bare thighs; a matching leather jacket not only exposed her midriff, but also was worn loosely enough to show off her new chest scar without exposing anything else; and a new broad captain's hat topped off her classic hairstyle, allowing her ponytail to be loose while wearing it. Michael hadn't seen this costume before, so he assumed it was either a previous guise or a brand-new one to match her restoration. Whatever the case, he had to admit she looked good in it. It also helped that the clothing's black color made her exposed red skin stand out even more. The crowd approved as well, obviously. Then, at one point, he noticed Foxxy's full smile as she did her moves on her pole.

It looks like she's enjoying herself again, Michael concluded. At least, her robot self looks that way.

His eyes stayed on her for another minute, and he began to consider something. Her expressions appeared to mirror his own confidence—a one-eighty difference from her previous, surly attitude. It was as if she were a completely different person… not unlike how the main character from his novel series had been altered in the latest book. Thinking back on how it ended, and seeing how happy Foxxy was now, Michael came to a decision.

Tonight would be the best time to revive the fox pirate's true self.

000

The whole clubroom floor was empty and dimly lit while Michael waited in the security room. Closing hours had long passed, and he believed it was time to make his ultimate move. Having already filled in Frenni and Chica on what he was about to do, they agreed to help him with the task. While Frenni set off to retrieve Foxxy from her cove, Chica stayed behind with Michael. As the seconds passed, he noticed her fidgeting where she stood. He figured her uneasiness was either anxiety about her friend's reaction upon transitioning, or excitement about having another friend returned. Before he could ask, both Michael and Chica heard the rap of knuckles on glass, and turned to find Frenni beside the doorway. Gesturing to come in, he watched as the bear-eared diva strutted in with Foxxy right behind. Like how she appeared onstage, the pirate fox's smile and gait betrayed her charming composure as she noticed the room's occupants.

"Well, hello me dear hearty," Foxxy said affectionately at Chica, and turned to greet Michael with a teasing smile. "And hello to ye, me old salt."

"How was your return to the spotlight?" Michael asked, smiling. "I saw you on the stage, and you seemed to enjoy yourself."

"Aye, that I did," she replied confidently, stretching her arms. "It's been too long since I had a proper aerobic workout. We aren't meant to be kept in a small space, y'see."

Michael shared a knowing smile with her. "I know. And what about the people in the crowd? From what I saw tonight, you didn't look too bothered by them anymore." His words made her poise sour a bit, as her smile upturned into the more-familiar frown.

"That be part of the act. In truth, I still don't trust any of them." Then her smile returned as she kindly placed a hand under his jaw, holding him there. "But I found myself an exception in one worthy sailor… and that be enough for me to endure."

"That's good to hear," Michael said, pleased. He heard the 'worthy sailor' bit before, when Afton had described her before the Break of 87th Street. In his words, Foxxy played as one of the ultimate teases, luring and then releasing any strung heart like a fisherman's pole—yet never keeping a catch—until she found one worth keeping for herself. Clearly that part was true, as she declared to have found that man in Michael. Furthermore, if she trusted no other man but him… then she was fully ready for a different kind of 'release'.

"Anyway, what reason do you have bringing me here?" The curiosity in Foxxy's voice then turned mischievous as she continued. "Surely y'all are not planning a mutiny on the likes of me."

"Perish the thought," Michael retorted dramatically before exchanging a look with Frenni. "Actually, there is something I've neglected to update from your restoration. I can do that now if you'd like."

Foxxy considered his offer carefully. "Will we not need to be in the repair room for that?"

"No, it's more of a voice command revamp. It won't affect any of your present programs, either—Frenni and Chica have already undergone it, and they're just fine." Hearing this, and seeing said animatronics nod confirmedly, assured the fox-eared redhead.

"Alright, I believe you. You may proceed."

With the go-ahead, Frenni moved slightly to Foxxy's back while Chica stayed beside Michael in the fox woman's sights. Once they were in position, he reaffirmed the pirate fox's sureness. "Okay then, you ready?"

"Aye. I am."

"Alright." Taking a deep breath, he initiated the 'update'. "Here it goes. Foxxy, remember this name… Cassie O'Malley."

Almost immediately, the proclaimed 'pirate queen' turned into a jellyfish as she slumped into Frenni's arms, her eyes glowing green.

"Ah! ¿Se encuentra ella bien?" Chica panicked, her Spanish accent taking hold.

"Of course she's okay," Frenni soothed while holding the limp auburn form in her hands. "This is what happened to us when Mikey said our real names too."

"Except Ariel was an accident, so I didn't expect to catch her," Michael muttered awkwardly. "Anyway, let's get her to the back room."

It took a few minutes to move Foxxy from the security room to the animatronics' room, largely due to the three of them being careful not to step on the unconscious woman's long ponytail. When they got her onto the island table, it was decided that Michael remain with her—as he had done previously with Frenni and Chica—while the two girls waited outside. This was the girls' suggestion; having known their friend for so long, the two felt that having a single human person was better for her to meet first; otherwise, their being in the same room as well would be too much for her to handle at once. Given their differing personalities, and the likely differing responses to the truth thereafter, Michael quickly agreed. Thus, he was left in the room with Foxxy once again.

Fifteen minutes later, the silence in the room was shattered by a familiar metallic-toned child's scream. Michael began to really hate that sound as his body fought to recompose itself. At the moment he did, Foxxy stirred from her abrupt awakening. Her eyes winked to life, the green hue dimming to their usual yellow.

"What… happened? Where am I?" Her now Irish-tilted voice trailed off as she met his gaze. "And who're you?"

"My name's Michael," he introduced calmly. "What is your name?"

The fox-eared girl blinked at him. "Cassie… Cassie O'Malley."

Michael nodded, immediately confirming the name, and asked her directly. "How do you feel?"

"Fine, I guess." The girl suddenly groaned in response, clutching her head with a hand. "S-Scratch that… I got a huge headache. Feels like an elephant's standing on it—and jumping." She shook her head fruitlessly to rearrange her jumbled thoughts, her long ponytail thrashing about from the action. Moving slightly to keep from getting whipped by her hairdo, he pressed a little further.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Wincing, she stared up at nothing for a moment before returning to his face. "A-Actually, I do remember now… I was in the middle of a medical checkup, with Dr. Afton—he was checking on my physical condition for a procedure of his. One needle shot later, and… nothing. Did it work at all?" Her confusion was then written with a trace of hopefulness.

"Well, I don't know anything about medical procedures," Michael admitted, "but Afton was not a doctor—not in the medical sense, at least."

Her confused face immediately changed to shock, and then to suspicion. "What did he do?" she demanded sharply.

Michael demurely shifted over to gesture towards the beauty mirrors. "See for yourself," he said simply.

The lass walked over to the mirrors, and flinched in astonishment. Michael tensed up in preparation while she beheld her reflection. But the longer she explored herself, the less likely an outburst seemed likely. It was while she held her face and poked her cheeks that she spoke up.

"Geez, he sure did a number on me, didn't he?" The auburn girl observed at last.

"…You don't sound surprised," Michael noticed.

Foxxy—no, Cassie—drew her attention to him. "When Afton came to me with his offer, I was skeptical. For him to propose a cure for my aneurysm right out of the blue? I thought it was too good to be true. But, I humored him in the end… A stupid mistake on my part, but a small part of me wanted it to be true, I guess."

Michael hummed in understanding. "Don't blame yourself for it; it was an honest mistake. The others had similar situations, and were just as desperate."

"Others?" She perked up, realization dawning on her, and grabbed his arms. "My friends! Are they okay?"

"Yes, they are," he assured, gently grasping her arms in his hands. "They're still… functional… like yourself. Ariel and Sophia are freed, like you now. Only Bo—Jesse is left."

The revived fox-woman perked an eyebrow at his slip-up. "What were you about to call Jesse? And what exactly do you mean by 'freed'?"

Michael continued to elaborate. "Well, as you just noticed, you look different compared to your real self. In addition to new looks, Afton gave you all new names while under his control. I've been spending the past couple weeks undoing whatever he did to help you all regain control of yourselves."

His simple explanation stunned the pirate-dressed female, as she blinked several times in astonishment. "I… I remember," she said at last. "I remember seeing the other girls… they looked like someone's playthings—talking and doing things so obscenely—and myself doing the same… but not able to call out or reach out to them. I hated it… and then you came. I saw you when Afton gave you the work shirts when you first visited, and when you began hanging out with those girl-dolls. That's when some of them began acting differently, but I didn't know why. I had hoped what was going on was something good…" She trailed off, losing her voice as her eyes watered.

Michael combed his hair with a hand. "Well, you were right in terms of something good happening—guilty as charged. I'm really glad I was able to extend that to y—"

He didn't finish his sentence, due to the girl literally pouncing on him onto the table, and covered his lips in a fervent series of kisses. It wasn't a make-out attempt like before, but rather out of overwhelming joy. Even her ponytail seemed to wag in tandem with every smooch she planted. Initially shocked, Michael recognized her good mood and, not wanting to spoil it, let the fox woman have her moment. After experiencing two kinds of hells, he believed she deserved this much at least.

After a moment, the auburn girl stopped her fawning, and just rested herself over him. She smiled deeply as she repeatedly rubbed her cheeks against his chest, attentively tracing his body with a free hand. Thinking her extremely adorable this way, Michael couldn't help himself from petting her head and back with an open hand. Earning him a deep purr, she nuzzled even closer to his body.

"Oh Michael, you damn beautiful man," she murmured. "Something in me really wants you… and frankly, I can't help but agree. Even when I wasn't in control, I saw everything you did for me—I feel like I can trust you with everything." She tilted her head to face him, her chin poking his pecs. Her yellow eyes became mixed with pink as little hearts developed, and her voice turned sexy. "You want me to show you how much of a 'fox' I can be?"

Her partner chuckled. "I'd rather you didn't. There's a 'no sex' policy here in the nightclub. Afton's really strict about that."

Her smile turns into a lecherous smirk. "Screw that. If it means I can finally defy him, I'll happily take you here and now, and make it a night for us to remember." The tone in her voice then turned a bit hesitant. "…Do you not want that?"

"Honestly, you're making it really hard for me to not oblige—you girls are just that beautiful, inside and out." Michael sat up on the table, though the red-skinned woman remained fully flushed to him. "But I can't give Afton any reason to kick me out when there's still one of you left, and certainly not without a way for you to escape this place. For now, we all need to act like none's the wiser. Do you think you can do that, Cassie?"

Still holding him, the pink hearts in her yellow eyes hesitantly dimmed away. "I'll try, for you." Her reward was a tender petting on her head.

"Good girl," Michael replied, earning him a playful giggle from said girl.

"But I'll warn you," she said, "I was known to be the woman every girl wanted to be, and every man wanted to do. I felt it charming to be chased after like that, but I never had any real interest in anyone—until now." Foxxy raked her fingers against his chest softly, but tantalizingly. "So don't be surprised if I make you exercise your studly body to keep running from me—I enjoy the switcharound."

Michael noted her hint. "Does that mean you remember everything already?"

"Not everything, yet—it's all coming back to me bit by bit." She rubs her head. "It's really weird—my real memories are mingled with another sort… I guess they're from the new me? It'll be a while before it all clears up."

"I'm glad to hear that," he commented, satisfied. "And it will clear up in due time. For now, I'm glad you're back to yourself—relatively speaking."

Foxxy let out an amused giggle. "So am I. And thank you, for everything."

A few minutes passed before Michael felt it was time for Foxxy to rejoin the duo outside the room. After asking if she wanted to see them—which she approved in a heartbeat—he escorted her into the hallway, where Frenni and Chica were waiting anxiously. Giving her a nod, Michael let the fox-girl approach them tentatively. He watched as they murmured their confirmations of their identities… and then quickly hug each other in tears. Smiling as the young women became acquainted again, one thought emerged in his mind.

Three down, one to go.

And there we have it—the fourth week is done! As our main character concluded, there is still one girl left before his mission is completed. Only, his attraction to the girls is getting to him. Will he persevere, or shall the temptations distract him and make him fail? If you enjoyed this installment, be sure to sick around to find out!

In case no one figured it out from the "me buckos" comment from the last week, this chapter was devoted to helping Foxxy the Pirate Queen, and it was a tough one. Even though I already had the ideas for her backstory and human identity (I thought making her of Irish-descended redhead tomboy was perfect for her alter-ego), it proved a challenge to connect it all together fluidly while confining it all to seven days in the story. Also, thinking up the design for the animatronic girls' endoskeletons was especially hard, as I had to delve into a field I was not at all familiar with. My idea for that was to incorporate existing elements with those within the FNaF universe, while creating a unique model of my own. In the end, I think I did a decent job of both.

As for the story itself, what are your thoughts? Now that the Bite of 87th Street has been revealed, was it what you all were expecting? What elements took you off-guard? How is my interpretation of the animatronic girls' inner body layout and maintenance? Any friendly comments are welcome, and I'm hoping you all enjoyed reading this chapter. I'm planning to have the next week uploaded sooner than this time—and leave you hopping mad! ;)