Chapter Text
There's a loud crash as he vaults over the countertop, a variety of stacked plastic dishes clattering to the ground in a swift motion. He feels the air behind him shift as hands try and fail to grasp him, a grind of metal hitting plastic casing as the pursuer fumbles right into the barrier. He hears a growl, mechanical in nature, but so uncomfortably realistic. He dodges around the corner as the pound thud of metal feet planting behind him echoes, alerting him immediately that she's jumped over. The sound of those heavy footfalls alone was intimidating and terrifying, but the shake of the ground each step caused rocked him with pure terror, fueling his adrenaline.
Fearful eyes trailed back to catch a second-long glimpse of the robot. Pristine plastic had long since accumulated dirt, bringing the bluish grays to a brownish tint, in need of a decent cleaning. There’s panels etched into the casing on all exposed limbs, likely hiding technology beneath that he’s seen too many times in different parts of the facility. Strings of hair flowing behind her, her mane holds the texture of a wig (by looks, at least; he couldn't get close enough to tell). A large portion of the hair, dangling at the very front, was seemingly dyed green, flitting to the side as the motion of footstops shook her frame. Her outfit was primarily red, an upper piece, lower piece, and two shoulders with black accents and pointed-star patterns on all but the left shoulder pad; some sort of racing suit or something similar, judging by the design’s relation directly to the indoor raceway. On the end of each limb, just before leg turned to foot and arm turned to hand, purple and black zebra-patterned warmers stood in place of plastic skin. The purple matched the animatronic’s painted lips and eyelids, as well as the claws upon the feet, while the claws that protrude from the hands held that same green as the front of the mane. From behind her, a tail shifted in realistic, fluid motion, back and forth as it danced through the air, made of that same fabric and colored that same color as the hair.
There was a gleam in those yellow animatronic eyes, with the eyelids parted in a widened gaze. Not the look of a lifeless robotic entertainer, but not the look of a fully cohesive person either. An inbetween point, like madness, as if the body lived but the mind did not. Hunter, staring down the prey it chased across it’s domain, only moments from pouncing and stealing the life from its next meal. It was truly terrifying, and the next breath he felt escaping his mouth held with it a bit of vocal shock, like an exasperated cry.
He jumps to the left as he hears a sudden shift, skidding as he turns to face that direction. He felt the shift of air pass him, and the crash of plastic casing upon the tiled floor as claws scratched the ground, emitting a painful sound as the robot slowed. She had pounced, it was far too close, though the movement bought him some time. A growl, so ferocious in it’s sound, escaped her voice box, the sound barely reaching his ears as his focus reached the lower floor in the center of the Atrium. Too soon, he’s suddenly reached the dual-bar metal fencing that surrounds that lowered floor. It’s a quick motion, kicking his legs into the air while he slid over with his back, before dropping the two feet downwards into the lower area.
There was another frustrated growl, but he did not dare look back, because his eyes had just met the sight of a familiar brown at the escalators. He locked eyes with those yellow, glowing irises that stood upon the face of one Freddy Fazbear, who was quickly descending the escalators manually (because they turned off, everything else in this godforsaken place can run, but not the escalators). His legs were searing at this point, if not from sprinting, then from some laceration he hadn’t the time to check on, but he couldn’t stop yet. He had to reach the bear. He had to.
There’s a loud thump behind him as he scrambles forward, breathing unevenly and panicking. A snarl, far too realistic for an animatronic robot to be making, emanates from her as she recovers from her own jump, and he can only continue to lock desperate eyes with his friend, his protector, as their feet carry them towards one another. He thinks Freddy calls something to him, perhaps his name, but his focus doesn’t let it in. His footfalls muffle as he flies across the pink fabric of the dining section on this lowered part of the Atrium, dodging between the tables with absolute dread settled in his stomach. By the time he reaches the stairs up from the lower section, almost tripping on his ascent (to be killed by a misplaced step, what a way to go), Freddy appears to have reached the bottom of the escalators. It’s a sudden surge of energy that propels him at his highest speeds towards the bear, who’s chest cavity is already shifting open. He has approximately four seconds once he reaches the bear to enter before Roxy will reach him, and it’s the best chance he has.
The moment he steps into range, he leaps upwards, arms catching on the door and legs flailing for just a moment. He tugs himself up upon the door itself, using it as a platform to bring himself in, and then scampers inside, pressing himself tightly against the back of the space, his body trembling. With the quick sound of a servo echoing through the interior space, the door is brought to a close, the face of one Roxanne Wolf being blocked by the shroud of metallic plastic that encases him. He might’ve whimpered, but he didn’t hear much beyond the roaring blood in his ears and the spinning of some disc in Freddy’s actual chest up above, rotating far faster than normal, like a sense of apprehension or fear coming from the bear. He just breaths, so broken, but never shedding a tear (because he’s not a little kid). His heart hammers in his chest, adrenalin still in full swing, as he tries to process what exactly had just happened.
It takes a moment for him to realize that Freddy had not yet moved. It took another to note that the footfalls of a separate robot, heavy steps upon the tiled ground that had pursued him for what felt like eternity, had not trailed off either. Three moments, and he realized that the robot, who he could only presume stood just outside the closed door that protected him, hadn't attempted to breach the chest cavity she most definitely saw the boy climb right into, or say a word to Freddy. It was just silent. His heart rate slowed, ever so slightly, and he brought himself a little forward in the cramped space, peaking through the small slit above the hatch that offered the tiniest view.
He couldn’t see much of the wolf, but he could just barely see the bottom of her head. She almost seemed to be looking at Freddy, some unknown emotion on her face. Her limbs twitched, and he saw the head jerk for a moment, a very light, yellow flash indicating a spark had shot out of the joint, either from damage or from something else. It was deafening, the silence that had encompassed the area, now devoid of the chase that had been given so adamantly. There was no way she didn’t know he was inside Freddy. She’d watched the boy climb in, hadn’t she? She should be trying to tear Freddy apart, or demanding he open his chest cavity, something beyond silence. It was like her very processor couldn’t grapple with reality, and was trying to solve some unsolvable problem, buffering and buffering for an unseen amount of time.
Then a step. Two. The animatronic shifts out of view, body turning to match the direction she now goes. Three steps, Four. She’s no longer in view, the footfalls beginning to trail off as she stomps away, though it holds no anger in it’s ferocity. Each footstep sounds more automated, less like she’s furious she didn’t catch him, and more just like how she normally walks. It feels wrong. He hears the light movement of a servo above, Freddy’s head just slightly visible through the mess of endoskeleton parts, as the robot he resides within seems to turn his head, following the other as she wanders away. He just shuts his eyes for a moment, attempting to pace his breathing out enough to make his whole body stop pounding with each heartbeat. Adrenaline finally begins to fade, and with it, the pain starts to become noticeable, bringing an uncomfortable throb to his leg and a pressing headache.
“Hey kid, come on out,” a familiar female voice echoes from somewhere in the distance, having lost interest in the animatronic bear and his stowaway. “We’re only trying to help.” He still recalls her words, in the mirror earlier that night, speaking to herself. They sounded narcissistic, sure, but they had a certain realism to them, like the way Freddy's does. Now, though, her words feel wrong, like they’re muted, but also with a tone of mocking. A taunt, more than a true statement.
Freddy starts moving after a few more moments. The movements are slow, soft, rocking the boy inside lightly as the heavier footfalls the bear usually has only press against the sound audibly, leaving no shocking thud in their wake. It’s only a slight jostle, gentle in it’s care. “...Where’re we goin’?” the boy cautiously asks, still trusting of the robot he sits inside, but curious.
He hears the servos of the neck shift for just a moment, scanning some unseen direction as if to see how clear wherever they are now is. When he determines it’s alright to speak, he does. “I am detecting several injuries and a somewhat abnormal heart rate, so we are currently en route to the closest medical station.”
The boy huffs a sigh through his nose. “I’m f-fine, Freddy,” he says (and he is; he’s not a little kid, he can handle a bit of pain). A scratch to the leg’s never hurt anyone, after all, and he’s dealt with far worse before. “I just didn’t… e-expect her to find me so fast.”
It’s surprising to hear Freddy give his own robotic sigh, an imitation of sending air through a throat that he most definitely doesn’t have. His footsteps don’t stop, nor does he change direction, still heading to some unseen location he likely has pinpointed upon some map in his mind. The boy is almost about to say something else, perhaps another protest to the idea, before the bear cuts him off. “Gregory, I trust you, but please just… allow me to do this, alright?” The animatronic offers it more pleadingly than as a basic request, and that makes the boy pause. “It would make me feel much better, even if nothing is truly wrong.”
Isn’t that a funny concept? To make an animatronic bear, of all possible people, worry about him. After all, when has an adult ever truly worried about him (he does remember when faces that gazed upon him weren’t of pity)? Perhaps, earlier in the night, back when it was just two soft blue eyes scanning a child who had no record, he would’ve thought that worry stemmed from programming alone. They were robots, designed to keep children safe and built with directives that drove each of their mental processes. Computers that ran on advanced hardware, yet still just a robot underneath. Another skeleton of metal and wires with nothing beyond instructions and protocols that dictated each decision and move. Now, though, believing that has become harder, because Freddy is so much more… human (and how else can he describe it, really?). He’s seen Freddy look with what appeared to be emotion upon his face. He’s seen the bear mourn when they wandered into Bonny Bowl, leaving shortly after in silence. He’s watched the animatronic stare at him with a soft look, like it’s normal to care.
The boy has to try hard to act like it doesn’t make something flare in his chest, no matter how hard it hurts. Because what does getting attached net you, besides the pain when it gets pulled away? All he can do is act, just like he always has.
He gives a defeated groan, pressing himself against the back of the small space. “...Fine,” he says, swallowing down the pain he feels and the warm feeling in his chest that comes with being cared about (because that’s what Freddy is doing, even if he doesn’t understand why ). He just doesn’t want to argue, and honestly, maybe Freddy’s a little right. His leg’s starting to hurt more.
So he settled comfortably upon the bench once they reached the station and he was forced to climb out, giving a sheepish, pained smile as he glanced away when Freddy actually looked at the injury. Words were not needed to say how wrong it’s fine was, because a very clean gash running all the way down the calf was no simple cut. Freddy had made sure the doors were shut and blocked with some furniture, just to buy them time should the need arise, and set out to seal the wound as best he could. It was silent for a little bit of time, the only sounds being Gregory’s slightly labored breathing as the bear took to carefully wrapping marred skin in a white bandage (but the boy never cried, because he wasn’t weak). It stung, and it made him wince a few times, but still, he’d felt worse. Not that he’d tell Freddy that.
There’s a thought that occurs to him, a little suddenly, but brings about some reflection. It connects dots across his memory, bringing a cohesive, though strange, picture to his mind. He recalls when Sun had tossed him out of the daycare, and almost every animatronic had been present. He thought, perhaps, he’d thrown himself into the compartment the bear offered fast enough that they hadn’t even noticed he was there. Then, he recalls times where he’s jumped into hiding spots, so relieved as the animatronics walked past, not even stopping to check a sensible spot, but there was always something weird about that. He swears, there were times their eyes seemed to almost stare right at the spot he was in, but they never moved to look. He recalls moments of breathless fear, where animatronics were so close, so terribly close to grabbing ahold of him, and yet, he turns a corner and falls behind a counter, and they just seem to run off in some other direction. Losing them feels too easy, and this latest time, it brings a question forth.
“...Freddy?” The boy says, his voice a little warbled with light pain as the bear worked. The animatronic may have noticed, but he didn’t direct attention to it, simply giving a hum of curiosity. The boy shifts his head to the side a little, chewing his lip before he poses his mind’s curiosity. “What… happened back there? With Roxy?”
Freddy seems to pause for just a moment, and Gregory immediately begins regretting the question (because he thinks, in that moment, that Freddy’s going to be mad for even bringing up his friends, or that he’s going to be upset, and he doesn’t want the bear to be either). Yet, that collection of seconds pass, and the bear resumes, eyebrows upon his mechanical head shifting down slightly with the motion of a mechanical part. “I cannot say,” he admits, adding a small “sorry, Superstar,” when Gregory winces as he continues his wrapping. “It was one thing to know my friends were not… themselves, but the way Roxy acted in that event was far stranger to me than just that.” A mechanical sigh left his mouth. “You noticed it too, I presume?”
“...Yeah,” the boy answers reluctantly, shifting his weight from one half of the body to the other to make himself stop feeling so jittery. “She watched me. I know she saw me climb into your stomach, but she didn’t…” he trailed off, not really sure what to say.
Luckily, Freddy was as blunt as he was careful, and finished for him. “She didn’t attempt to breach my casing and obtain you. Nor did she, in a fashion I would normally expect from Roxy, attempt to bargain it off in order to ‘win’ this game she is playing.” The boy gives a nod, swallowing a whimper as a little bit of pain nips at his flesh. “When she stared at me following your entry, it was not of curiosity, confusion, or betrayal. It was an empty stare, as though she was running on autopilot, if that makes sense. Despite our earlier intrusion upon her room, where she seemed to exhibit traits of her normal self, something about her was different in this instance.” He tied off the bandage, using a claw to slice the end off cleanly, before bringing himself to a stand. “You will need to be careful with that limb. The laceration looks worse than it actually is, but it may heal wrong if not kept safe.”
The boy nods once more, slowly lowering himself from the bench to the ground. He doesn’t whimper, doesn’t wince (even if he feels enough to make him), and simply stands upon the leg. It hurts a fair deal, but again, he’s had far worse (including worse injuries to that leg in particular; he wasn’t too careful jumping down from a fence he’d climbed, and he was prone upon the ground faster than he’d realized he’d landeded). He smiled at Freddy, if only to ease the bear’s worries, before he began to lead them to a door, checking his watch’s cameras to see outside just before. “Why do you think she was acting like that? Do you think it’s that… virus thingy that they seem to all have?”
“Perhaps,” Freddy answered earnestly. “I have determined two theories for the actions, one more plausible, and one… less so, but one I would rather believe.”
Gregory moved the chair that held the door shut, opening it and taking a look at the interior of the empty store they’d entered for the medical station. “What’s the more likely one?”
As they enter the space, their voices echo slightly, but not by much. Freddy’s eyes cast the space in a light yellow light, flowing upon each surface with a shine and making the room look less dusty and empty. “I have determined that whatever bug or virus has taken hold of my friends seems to alter their behavior to place them into some sort of hunt mode, as though they were searching for an intruder. Previously, I thought it simply changed the directives my friends operated under, and possibly enhanced their personalities.” Freddy stops at the counter, his eyelights following the boy as he enters the back area without complaint, searching for anything that may be of use. “With more recent additions to that knowledge, I’ve recalculated my thoughts upon the matter, and discovered a sensible idea; perhaps, while this infection still does seem to amplify their personality traits, it also may override their bodies to a much further degree. If this is the case, then my most plausible suggestion is that the virus is not coded properly for my friend’s hardware, and conflicts in many ways.”
Gregory peaks up from behind a shelf, looking at the bear with curiosity. “Whaddya mean by that?” In his hands, he holds a duffle bag, in the process of unzipping it.
Freddy would normally comment about stealing, but his directives have been off all night, and he doesn’t find it important enough. Instead, he carries on, shifting his stance with the whirring of a couple gears. “My friends are complex, as am I, but they are also different in many ways. If my assumption is correct, then the scripting the virus provides is more attuned to generalized parameters.” At an incredulous, confused look from the boy, he rephrases. “The virus is intentionally simple, in order to maximize spread.” The boy nods, lowering once again to seemingly rifle through whatever lay within the bag. “Perhaps, thanks to this simplicity, it has an oversight in regards to certain events, such as their target entering another designated animatronic, or losing sight of their target entirely.”
Gregory gives a hum from his position, bringing Freddy’s eyelights to the left slightly, not noticing the boy had moved. “That makes sense,” he said, sorting through some cards on a table, hoping one might be a pass to Mazercize. He pauses for just a moment, before looking up at the bear. “...What was the other idea you had?”
Freddy doesn’t answer immediately, to the boy’s surprise. Rather, his gaze shifts away, moving to the side with an expression that’s surprisingly readable despite the mechanical nature of his face. It looks sad, but almost hopeful, if not afraid. “I… want to believe my friends are still in there, somewhere, and when this is all over, they will be alright. They are still my friends.” Gregory can understand that, even if he holds resentment for the animatronics (he has trouble reminding himself that it’s not their fault, because cuts and bruises have always come from people who aren’t nice). The bear hesitates again, just for a second. “Our minds may be complex, but in the end, we are only machines. A deep analysis of our make-up can show exactly how we function, even if we seemingly write our own code in real time - I believe that’s considered basic evolution, but I am unsure. Specifically, much of our ability to ‘remember’ is recorded to our ‘Random Access Memory,’ more commonly known as ‘RAM,’ or simply ‘Memory.’”
He pauses, looking at the boy, if only to see if he’s understanding. The boy gives a slight nod, perhaps not entirely soaking everything in properly, but getting the gist of what the animatronic is saying. So he continues. “In fractions of seconds, multiple addresses are written to memory, entailing different information depending on what instructions were given. This is an incredibly basic way of describing it, but it will work for now.” His eyelights trail the boy as he walks out from the back area, entering the main segment of the space behind the counter. The boy pushes through the door, before stopping and turning to Freddy, looking up at him with curiosity. “Much of the information that is written to memory, then later read back when required, contains information based upon our surroundings. Where things were, where they are, where they are moving, where they should logically be going. In a sense, it is our ability to have object permanence; to remember when we cannot see.”
Gregory nods again, understanding. “So you think that… isn’t working?” He asked curiously, tilting his head to the sight a slight bit. “‘Cause Roxy definitely saw me enter you, but then she just stopped remembering I was there. And I’ve had a bunch of other weird times where they stopped chasing me.”
Freddy looked off to the side, head angled to the closed metal shutter of the store they currently stood within. His eyelids lowered slightly, somehow making the robotic bear look a little tired. “Certainly, it is not out of the realm of possibility, and may also be just as likely as the first of my theories. However… I do find myself overriding logic in the face of something I can’t quite describe.” (Emotion, the boy couldn’t help but fill in within his head). “I find myself wishing to believe that, within the minds of my friends, as twisted or distorted as it has become, there is some ability to block certain writes to memory. It is not entirely impossible for them, even if their personalities have been overwritten for the time, to demonstrate an ability to defy any malicious intent, to a degree. Perhaps the Virus simply does not recognize that whatever we had been tracking was never written to memory, allowing the information to be safely discarded by some uncorrupted part of their software.”
It was a lot of information to process, and the boy could only give a confirming nod that he understood as the animatronic’s yellow eyes shifted back to him. He’s not entirely the most tech savvy (he’s never really been around tech, either way; the closest he had ever gotten to a piece of technology had been watching his foster siblings play game consoles that he wasn’t allowed to touch), but the way Freddy explained it kind of worked. He described it like a human mind, remembering something, and the robots somehow, deep within themselves, managing to block that ability to remember in the best case scenario, and in the worst, the virus being too simple to actually remember things. A part of his mind, the louder part, wanted to believe the more plausible idea - that the virus was just dumb, and clearly didn’t know how to work right, so it was making mistakes. Yet, there was a quieter part of his head, though not necessarily smaller, that wished, right along with Freddy, for it to be the opposite. In some sympathetic way, he recalls a time in one of his alleyways, where sickness had claimed him on a cold night. He wonders how fearful, how terrifying it would’ve been, to have his body stop moving of his own accord that night, making decisions for him against his will.
They exit the store, and it’s back to Gregory keeping a careful eye across the Atrium, an animatronic bear who he might be a little too attached to trailing after him, and for the first time tonight, he wonders what he can do to help.
Because prior, he went down a darker path of thought. It was after he reattached Freddy’s head down in Parts and Service that he said something under his breath. A condemnation of the animatronics actions in rebuttal to Freddy’s claims that they should not be harmed. At the time, he felt like that didn’t make sense. After all, they’d been chasing him the entire night, and trying to hurt him! If he had a way to make them stop, including basically shutting them down, he would take it.
And there was a way, laid outright in front of him. He read the messages about what gets thrown into the garbage compactor, and how Chica had some issues with what she would eat. If certain foods she liked were inside of the garbage compactor itself, she’d try to grab them, which was hazardous for the animatronic. He’d even read she’d been especially attracted to Monty Mystery Mix, some kind of ice cream that was so potent, it seemingly overrides her programming more than Pizza did. He even knew where a box was, stored somewhere in Bonnie Bowl. he’d seen it with his own eyes, sitting in the back freezer. All he had to do was grab the ice cream, bring it back to the trash compactor, and lure the animatronic inside, before bringing the compactor down upon her, and stealing whatever parts he could upgrade Freddy with. It was such a simple, well-laid plan, so seemingly flawless in mind. Even he could do something like that, with how easy it had seemed.
Yet he never grabbed that ice cream. He never brought it to the trash compactor, never lured an animatronic to her demise, and never took a part from her. Because he couldn’t.
He’s not weak (he goddamn isn’t, okay?). It’s not weak to be compassionate. But these animatronics, in the little time he’s known them, even with their screwed up programming and some kind of virus settled upon their system, had issues. Not really a bug within their code, though perhaps it could be traced down to that and corrected, but more like human problems. Problems like Roxy, staring into a mirror and speaking praise to herself like some narcissistic asshole, but crying when she isn’t sure of the very words she speaks. Fragile self image (he used to have that problem too, didn’t he?). Chica’s bug with eating things, instead of being fixed, has forced many rules into place to avoid bringing issues forth. Is that because it can’t be fixed with just a simple adjustment to some values inside of a script? Sometimes, when he doesn’t have much food, he eats garbage too, but surely Chica has plenty to eat, being in a pizza-themed mall, of all places. Is that an issue that people can have? He thinks so, though he hasn’t been around enough to know. Monty’s another one who gives him a certain feeling. As he crawled through those vents and listened to the crashes of furniture against the wall, and the shatter of breakable objects on the floor, he felt a flash in his mind of a person he’d rather not remember, which had him moving away rather quickly. He still recalls how mad the man got when he was told he had anger issues by another one of the foster children (those same shatters of fragile objects sounded familiar enough to make him wince).
They’re all human, just like Freddy (as odd as that term, being designated to robotic entertainers). They all have emotions, they have feelings hidden underneath plastic shells and metal bits, coursing through the code that travels across those wires. Processors that hold feelings, and memory banks that have much more than just information placed inside. They’re like him, like people he once knew. It’s real (far, far too real).
So he didn’t do anything. He didn’t trail after those parts he could’ve gotten for Freddy, nor did he trace a single plan to take out one of the animatronics, even if it would’ve made his life easier. Because, in some twisted way, it felt far too much like ending another life, and Gregory, for as much of an independent boy as he is, could never do such a thing. It makes him sick to his stomach even thinking about hurting another person, as much as they’ve hurt him, so he doesn’t.
So deep down, even despite his doubts and beliefs, he hopes that Freddy is right. That his friends are okay, and that they’ll be back to normal sometime in the future, maybe when Greogry’s gone back to his alleyway that sits a few blocks away. Who knows, maybe it’s just because he’s here that they’ve gone haywire and got infected. With the rabbit lady after him, he wouldn’t doubt it.
The first time the game had even been mentioned, he’d known there was some importance to it. “The BB World game has been acting up,” the message from some unnamed technician had read. “Customers have complained that it starts to glitch over time. I headed to the theater to fix it and now it's gone.” After all, games don’t just disappear without a trace, and judging by his inability to find where the message had said, he assumed it was still missing. “I never saw a move request so it should still be there somewhere. I guess I'll check again after the company meeting.” He recalled other mentions of that meeting, appearing to have already happened, and yet, no machine in sight.
Then, there was a note. Scribbled hastily atop old paper, left hidden away, right next to that very machine.
“They are working together. The arcades.” It had read deranged, like a message written by someone who had lost their mind. Hidden away in a room that took such strange measures to access, a door hidden by a facility-wide puzzle. Cardboard cutouts with chips attached to the insides and lights that responded to his camera flash, like some supernatural security. He hadn’t known how to process the message at first. The time it took to reach the room itself had certainly brought some understanding to the abnormal nature, and he distinctly recalled messages that detailed how both versions of the arcade cabinet, one of which was found just next to the message itself, had gone missing.
“The glitches. Glitch them all at the same time… then the princess will recognize me.” Yet, as uncomfortably lacking in sanity as those scrawled words upon paper had been, there was merit to what it said. A virus, plaguing the systems of the Pizzaplex itself, changing the animatronics into hunting machines and turning the boy into fresh meat, with all noses turned upon that smell. The boy knew it was far beyond anything he’d ever considered, bringing himself into a mystery that stretched beyond him, and yet, he was enticed. The thrill of a mystery? The lure of making Freddy smile with some accomplishment, finding more information and possibly even solving the mystery? Just some feeling in his heart that made it hard to disregard what was happening right in front of him? He cannot say, but it was compelling enough to push him to that arcade cabinet, to slot some coins he’d scrounged across the space in and to hit that play button.
“She’s testing me. I am not yet worthy.” Glitch, it did. It started out normal at first, like most games in the Pizzaplex. He’d played enough of them during the day to know that. It was fairly simple, only a single button to the game itself, where one has to simply press it to allow the character flight through the inflation of balloons, while restraint would allow those balloons to deflate, providing a fall. Dodging barriers, collecting party hats with wings and extra balloons (which acted like a life system). By all accounts, it was nothing special, beyond the uncomfortable sprites used for Sun and Moon that seemed too uncomfortably realistic, no cartoonish edge to them, disregarding Sun about half of the time (he seemed to have two sprites, and it was random as to which sprite would be used). Yet, there were spots. He memorized the placement of that strangely discolored tile, a flickering bit of geometry that didn’t settle right, shortly after the fifteen-thousand point mark. When the character fell into it? Well… the note had its point.
“The others are protecting it. Let me stay!” The screen would jolt randomly, shifting in meaningless ways that distorted the image upon the screen. He would almost call it intentional, if he didn’t hear the music break in ways that shouldn’t be possible for hardware like this, and if the arcade machine’s fans hadn’t started spinning like wild. The sun’s sprite took on a terrifying glow, smile and eyes shining orange with glowing rays in that same color, on a dimmed background that almost appeared black. The background of the game tinted a deep crimson, stained upon the treeline like blood (a thought that unsettled him just as much as the game did), accompanied by the color of purple tinting the highlights. The grass turned a strange shade of green, almost seeming dead instead of healthy.
“I am so close! Just one more night, please!” It took a few tries to really realize it, but there was a trail of broken tiles that formed in the distortion, leading in some unknown pattern, and the glitch would stop if he left it for too long or strayed too far from it (it felt strange how that path was just as purple as the shine upon the background mountains). It twisted and turned, up and down in wild motions like waves, with no obstacles to speak of. A broken trail that led deeper into the glitch, like diving head-first into broken code and malicious strings. The further his character went, the more intense those distortions became, shaking the screen so violently that it cost him the progression once or twice. Yet he came back, again and again, determined to find the source of this glitch. To see where this scrambled mess of spritework led.
He found that center to the shattered web. When the character passed a threshold where the ground itself cut off, and the path ended, leaving him floating above an endless void of background elements. Then, the character zipped right into the center of the screen, balloons slowly deflating with no more input being accepted as he tapped the button a few times to check. They emptied and emptied, but he did not fall, did not rise. His character simply sat in the center, like it was trapped. The music, by this point, had become such a distorted mess, that calling it music no longer seemed truthful. It was broken noise, static-filled and uncomfortable. The sun suddenly engulfed the screen, those same orange glows bringing such a terrifying contrast as the character floated in the center. Purple text (that color, yet again) appeared just above the player character, in full lowercase. Simply the phrase “good night,” sitting on screen as the distortion certainly tried it’s best to make it unreadable, lasting for what felt like an eternity, but what truly could have only been ten seconds.
Then the screen froze solid, distortion pausing in the exact same position, and if his heart hadn’t fallen already in dread and fear, it certainly did in that moment. One seconds, two seconds, nothing changes. It was like a crash on a game console (he presumes; he never got to play one, but the foster kids used to complain about game crashes back then). A deafening moment where the audio suddenly cuts to pure silence, the fans winding down in a snap motion to the point that the lack of sound becomes the most deafening. Three seconds, and four. Finally, the screen goes black, no scoreboard appearing, no restart to the main menu, just pure black. The fans stop entirely, and the rumble of the machine is completely gone. The arcade cabinet is dead.
“I can save the princess!”
That message had been onto something. There were many questions it brought about, but it had found a backdoor into the system. A broken mess of ones and zeroes that seemed to lead right into whatever plagued the systems of the Pizzaplex, like looking through the digital screen like a window, staring right into the depths of the infected systems. It seemed too truthful to push aside, too believable to refuse. He wonders who had written it, who they had been. Were they a staff member, trying to solve the mystery themselves, only to be stopped by something? What stopped them? Perhaps Sun and Moon, judging by the placement of the room itself? Or perhaps the other animatronics, attempting to stop him from breaking their corruption (but that begged the question, was this the first time the robots had been infected with this virus, or the next in a series)? Maybe even other workers who were in on this crazy mess had been attempting to get him ousted, stopping him from digging up their dirty secrets? How did this connect back to Vanny, who was so clearly important to all this distortion and corruption that sat deep within the system.
The princess. There’s the princess, a figure who seems of some importance. Not just the star of some arcade machine series, but a real person, who needs to be saved. A link across the digital to the real, and with the tauntings of glitched access points to what lay underneath, perhaps plausible in it’s existence. The princess is real, someone who the person that wrote the note knew. What had they said? “...The princess will recognize me,” they had written. What was that person attempting to achieve? What would glitching all the games bring about? The Balloon Boy game had been a window right into the digital world underneath the mall’s exterior, an access point that was closed when he got too far, breaking the arcade machine in return.
The Princess Quest games were important. They held the key to this all, in some nature. Were they windows in as well, or did they stand as more than just a viewing port? Were they truly gates, able to be traversed? He needed to know. If there was a way to stop this, as far-fetched as playing a couple games might seem, he would give it a try. He’s not sure to what end, still, if only for the thrill of helping, or the smile that he thinks Freddy will give when his friends are back to normal, but it’s still keeping him motivated. So he checks the messages he’s collected thus far, scrolling through the log that the staff version of the Faz-Watch stores, until the familiar designation comes into view. “PQ1 MAINT LOG,” in bold letters at the top.
The message was rather short, compared to most he read. “There's a Princess Quest 1 machine somewhere in the building. An actual standup arcade!” It read less like a maintenance log, and more like some technician commenting on the game’s actual interest. The first game seems to be fairly normal, if this log is anything to go by. “I guess the devs pulled it from that old mobile game. Why port to arcade?" The question is a good one, because porting a mobile game to an arcade seems backwards, does it not? Why move to an older form of entertainment, especially when the arcade machines themselves seem so sparse (to the point that each iteration of the game only has a single machine, if the logs are anything to go by).
Annoyingly, he doesn’t know where the first one is, but he knows where the second one is. He saw it himself, sitting at the end of the maintenance hall at the back of the arcade when he visited and was forced to restart the power. He was hoping the log pertaining to that game, the one titled "PQ2 MAINT LOG," would explain where the first one was, but the technician seemed just as lost. “Princess Quest 2 - Won't boot properly,” it explained, mirroring his own experience with the machine. It simply does not start when he approaches, even if he could see the flash of an empty high score screen at a distance. “No idea why! Shuts down when I try to play? Like it's personal.” It brings about the thoughts of supernatural elements to this whole issue, or technology with a little too much control. Perhaps the virus infected it, in some way? The assumption that he must play the first game seems to be the easiest one to make, and the final part of the message seems to allude to this too. “Doesn't matter anyway. I still haven't found PQ1"
There’s a third one, too. He remembers exactly where it is. “There is no record of a PQ3 arcade, yet there is a cabinet tucked away in Fazerblast,” the message explained. Strange, a third game, with not a record of it at all. Something about that feels almost ominous, only adding to the theory of its elusive mystery. “Won't work though. Sometimes I hear it in attract mode, but I have never seen a single image displayed. Too creepy.” Exactly like the second one, unplayable, but not even a high score table. A black screen, yet generic attraction audio still playing? Perhaps they have to be played in succession, like an ordered descent? “Leave it where it is. At least until I play part 1 and 2.” He cannot tell if it’s the same technician in all three of these messages, or if the staff are just as curious about the machines as he is. It makes him wonder what’s been happening before tonight. He does know it’s not wherever the technician had found it; he saw it through the window of the forgotten security office at the top of Fazerblast. It gives no indication of being active, not an image on screen, not a sound making it through the thick metal door that couldn’t be opened. The scrawl of Vanny, and the words of his animatronic friend, both gave him much to consider about his rabbit-clad huntress.
“Freddy?” The boy asked curiously, the two having reached the atrium once more. They had been traveling in relative silence for the majority of the last half-hour, both out of necessity and out of comfortable quiet. He had taken the time to run over everything in his head, and with another two hours still left on the clock until the doors opened wide, he realized he had plenty of time to explore. After attaching the bear’s head, it was all he could do, with nothing real in mind but survive. Now, though, he had a goal.
The bear gave a hum of curiosity, phantom air creating the sound. He turned to the boy, as Gregory had stopped in place at the initiation of conversation. He met the eyes of the bear animatronic, and gave a slight tilt of the head. “Do you know where the first Princess Quest game might be?”
The bear took a moment to soak in the question. He blinked, then blinked again, the request seemingly coming from nowhere, both spiking his curiosity and confusing him. The boy could practically see the buffering of internal software, performing some unknown number of scans and searches across a stored database (he almost could imagine the yellow lights of his eyes rotating like those loading circles he saw, back when he used to have the time to use the computers in the library). It was a couple moments before Freddy seemed to ease his posture a little, shifting his head to the side with a small swivel of a servo. “According to inventory data, it’s current position is in the Famous Glamrock Beauty Salon , located within Roxy Raceway .” Then, he seemed to narrow his eyes at the information. “What a strange place to install an arcade machine,” he murmured, more to himself than to the boy.
Roxy Raceway was one of the areas he hadn’t yet visited. It wasn’t that he couldn’t, of course; he very well could, and probably should’ve already. Yet, he hesitated each time he considered it, always finding some other place to go. Not to mention, the one time he’d actually wandered to the entrance, he realized it was blocked by metal gates, and he didn’t know if Freddy would be willing to break them down (though the bear animatronic hadn’t been present at the time, so he didn’t think to ask). It was located to the north-west of the atrium, an entrance just beside the Fazerblast area, though blocked off at the front. The only way in was through the upper construction, and he always felt a little terrified of how tight the space was. Not that he had a problem with tight spaces (he was alright with Freddy’s chest cavity, and many of his hiding spots across the Pizzaplex he’d established over the last couple days were notably in some tight areas), but he really didn’t like how narrow it was. It was a funnel, and with it being the main way into Roxy’s own domain, it felt dangerous.
But he made a choice. An outlandish, strange one, with evidence that equated to some unnatural glitches in an arcade machine and a note of a madman who got fired, but a choice all the same. One that he wanted to pursue, because even the littlest hope of fixing whatever mess his presence seems to have caused was enticing. Maybe that was it, actually. Maybe he was driven by the want to fix whatever mistake he’d caused, even if it hadn’t been of his own volition. Why was it so easy to take the blame for something like this, so outside of his control? (He already knew the answer to that, but he wasn’t going to say it).
So he gave a confident nod, and started trailing the second story they currently found themselves on, dodging around the staff bots. It took but a moment for the heavy footfalls, more familiar in their sound than the other robots, to follow suit, thrumming against the ground with enough force to shake the ground a slight bit. The feeling wasn’t even scary anymore; if anything, it was comfortably familiar. He didn’t get why Freddy cared for him, but the bear did, and it brought that warmth to his chest again. Yet again, he had to swallow it down, because he was going to have to leave, wasn’t he? It’s not safe here anymore, even if he’d already lasted multiple nights.
It still isn’t enough to stop the slight smile on his face that comes with the presence of the animatronic. Like it or not, he was getting attached, as much as he’d tried to stop himself.
The machine’s logo was a deep matte black background, with the title of “Princess Quest” emblazoned upon the top bar, no special font or complex design. It looked amateurish, simplistic, but somehow, kind of appealing. The bars that surrounded that segment of text were golden in color, as were a few trims that ran horizontally on the lower segment. On the slope from the protrusion that the name resided on, the pattern of black and gray tiles, arranged in a diamond pattern, began. Sitting at the center of that upper slope was a decently sized speaker, currently pushing out a title theme as the game traded off what displayed on screen. The edges held a red trip, trailing from the very top all the way down to the bottom. On the bottom slope, a joystick with that same golden color stood, with only a single red button just beside it. The only other thing of note was the coin slots, sitting at the forefront of the machine’s lower half. The side, however, held an illustration of what appeared to be the princess herself; a yellow and gold colored woman, with no features beyond two cartoonish white eyes. One hand held against the chest in a cautious motion, the other extended outwards with a lantern in hand, light casting the darkness at bay. She had a golden, almost brown dress with white frills, white hair cascading to around her neck before frilling outwards, and a tiny crown atop her head.
The screen flickered between two different pictures. One, of course, was the scoreboard, the only actual word on screen being that denoting it the page as “Rankings.” One was written under the name “VA,” while the other was attributed to “JF.” Both had earned the exact same amount of points, that being a singular one, with three zeros before it to simply fill in the required space that all arcade machines seemed to have when they used this default point tally.
The other screen was the title screen itself, which was simplistic, but refined. At the upper center of the screen, the title of “Princess Quest,” was emblazoned upon the screen, with the I stylized to appear as though it was a lantern. Underneath the title itself, another I, more stylized to lean into the design of Roman Numerals, stood as an indicator of the game’s position in the series. Below that, the spritework of a gilded sword was displayed, one that appeared to glow much like a lantern. Nearer to the bottom of the screen, the simple and generic text of “Insert Coin” moved in a pulsating motion.
There’s something abnormal about this machine, most definitely. If not by the connection it has to it’s sequels, both charted and uncharted, then by the way it seems to defy all the other machines of the building. Sure, most of the custom arcade machines that this building is absolutely filled to the brim with don’t tend to be the highest quality (he’s played a good couple of them, and yea, they don’t have all that much to offer), but this one’s been described as a stand up game. It’s out of the way, not even in a proper public area, and holding a ported game from a mobile app in its hardware. Even some of the staff has caught onto the strange significance of this game series. Like a deeper dive into something hidden away, something not even the very owners of the building seem to know.
He hears the shift of a couple servos, twisting mechanical limbs in a readjustment of a stance. The sound draws his eyes backwards, settling upon the familiar orange-ish bear, whose yellow eyes give a radiant glow in the dim lighting of the room. With attention enraptured, his eyes lift from the boy unto the machine, orbs of white and yellow scanning over it and soaking in each detail. Interestingly, his eyes narrow, creating somewhat of a cautious look upon the emotionless face. "This machine… feels improper," the animatronic comments, taking a few steps forward until he's right beside Gregory. "It seems to radiate something, though I am unable to receive any cohesive signal. Are you… sure you want to play it, Superstar?"
Isn't that the question, hmm? He hasn't explained the whole plan to Freddy yet (not out of mistrust; he just doesn't want to get the bear’s hopes up if it turns out being a dead end), and yet, the animatronic easily caught on that Gregory intends to play the game. Even without being a literal robot, the boy can easily feel that uncomfortable feeling the game radiates, like some small form of radiation. It shifts and wafts through the air, making his heartbeat just a little louder, and his breathing just a smidgen more noticeable. It's the same feeling he had, staring down the Balloon Boy arcade machine that so mysteriously vanished, a sense of overarching dread at the prospect of unnatural occurrences. It's almost like looking at something that's haunted, and feeling the ghost inside of it. Yet, he's confident that the game means something. It all means something, connecting a story together that twists and turns in an unruly manner, trying so hard to stay buried so desperately, but being dragged outwards by his own hands.
"...Yeah," he answered, forcing any tremor out of his voice. He might be afraid, but he doesn't need to show that (he's not some scared little kid, even if he does feel fear). He takes a step forwards, digging through the pocket of his dirtied cargo shorts for some of the loose quarters he'd been collecting. "It's really important, and I gotta know why." He really does want to tell the animatronic, but he can't. When he knows more, he'll explain, but until then, he'll hold it in.
If Freddy could frown, the boy is certain he would be. Instead, his mechanical eyebrows lower with a clicking sound, and he lets out a soft sigh, the noise distorted by his voice box, though failing to make the sound appear any less human. "If… if you are sure," he says, his tone conveying his uncomfort with the idea, yet willing to trust in the boy’s judgment (it's harder to swallow down the warmth from feeling trusted than it was before). It's with a moment's pause that the robot gives a hum of curiosity. "It would appear that my inability to properly receive a signal from the machine is due to the fact that I am still currently within Safe Mode, which disables most communication networks. I have no ability to enable it manually, though…" He gives a pause, making the boy turn in curiosity. "...Perhaps it is better that Safe Mode remains active. If estimated access points are correct, then the virus has likely infected the network, and that brings worry that connection to the network will corrupt me as well." Gregory gives a decisive understanding nod, finding himself agreeing with that notion. He's not all that experienced in technology, but he knows that viruses like to spread, similar to the real-life ones.
The boy steps forward, crouching for just a moment to slot the quarter into the machine, before bringing himself upwards and grasping the joystick. A confirmation sound rang out, indicating the quarter was accepted, and the pulsating of the title screen pauses, loading the game itself. Freddy takes a few steps of his own, having to lean down somewhat to be level with the screen. His hands fall upon his knees with the tap of plastic, and his limbs shift into position with the twists of gears and servos, a distinct clink echoing from his knee joints as they bend. They're in this together, both facing whatever strange demons haunt the code of this game, and it makes Gregory feel just a bit safer. Like he's not alone in this grapple to solve something far larger than him.
The game fades in with a pixelated effect, bringing the actual room of the Princess into focus. By artstyle alone, he can see it being quite the well-made game, with actual lighting effects and detailed artwork. Each sprite holds an almost unnatural amount of detail for an arcade machine, making the princess look more like the illustration on the side of the machine than an in-game character. Like the cabinet art, she holds a lantern, which illuminates the space around her, waving as he moves through the space. The first thing he does is wander to the top left of the room, and open a chest. He gains an extra heart, adding on to his current three hearts and providing him a total of four, with the text “Oh, how nice!” appearing at the bottom, like a monolog from the Princess herself. He doesn’t miss how the colors get displaced for a few frames, glitching ever so slightly. It reminds him that this game is, if the assumptions he’s made are correct, an unstable one.
Through the wooden doors he takes his character, and into a room with a red carpet and a few holes. On the closer side, two lit torches stand with flickering fire, providing light to that half of the room, while on the opposite side, there are two additional torches that remain unlit. Curious, he approaches, taking the princess to the lower one. He stands just against it for a moment, before trying to press the button. The torch suddenly ignites, casting the world around in that same orange glow that presses the darkness away. Gregory gives a small hum, and brings his character to the one just above that, igniting it as well. With a confirmation jingle exiting the speakers (one that sounds like a breach of copyright), the stone door at the end of the room slides open with a scraping sound.
A tiny, almost unnoticeable whirring sound spins up within the chest of the bear animatronic at his side, and the boy turns his head slightly to cast an eye. The bear has his head tilted to the side slightly, a show of expressive curiosity (far too human of a motion to be robotic, the boy thinks for the upteenth time). His jaw opens slightly, then clicks shut with the tap of his teeth, before opening again. “Curious,” he managed, seemingly trying to find the right words. “It is not that I have any ill-will towards other games within the Pizzaplex - that would be against my very programming - but I must say, this game appears far more refined.” He gives an automatic blink, yellow eyes settled on the screen.
Gregory gives a casual click of the tongue, no real reason behind the sound. “The maintenance log I read earlier said it was ported from some mobile game,” he offers as explanation, taking the princess through the doorway.
His eyes narrow as the next room loads, the sight proving to be interesting. Disregarding the unlit torches and holes that pepper the room itself, there’s something new present within the room. The first actual enemy of the game. It’s not that which makes him feel a spike of curiosity and dread in his chest, though. No, that feeling comes right from the design of the enemy itself; it’s a floating circle, pitch black in color. White addons give it teeth and two closed eyes, as well as show exactly what lies atop the circle; two slightly-bending ears, with smaller white ovals in the center that distinctly make them appear as bunny ears. When one gets near to him, the sprite snaps, the jaw unhinging wide with black dripping away, and both eyes merge into a singular, open, unsettling eye. It moves after him until he leaves range, before it starts wandering again, like normal. He takes the Princess to the torches as he thinks.
Uncomfortably, the first thing his mind jumps to is that crazy rabbit lady, who danced across the halls and chased him like some maniacal serial killer, an unnaturally cheery tone mixed with a distorted voice. “...What is it with all this creepy stuff and bunnies?” The question is posed without quite expecting an answer, but an acknowledging, mechanical hum emits from the bear. Freddy’s been a bit apprehensive about the entire thing regarding the bunny lady, but at the same time, after that first time he saw her dancing past the charging station, the bear didn’t seem to correct him on it. He doesn’t know if Freddy is just being nice and not trying to seem rude, or if the animatronic actually does believe him, but he knows the robot can’t seem to see her. Like his sensors simply do not process her. Maybe it’s something with her suit?
The key in a chest, the lights cutting out, and the walking enemies of equal distaste. Unhinged jaws that shifted with each step, matte black bodies with white eyes that dripped right down to the mouth itself, blending together. A mass trailed behind the vaguely humanoid shape, upon the back of the head, almost appearing like a ponytail, which felt strangely specific. Like before, a pair of bunny ears protrude from the top. They came as he walked back towards the doorway, forcing him to take another path. While their feet moved like they took steps, they almost seemed to glide, like they slid across the floor. Even more so, his thoughts landed upon that masked killer who pursues him, and he knows now, more than ever, she must be connected to this all.
These rabbit-like creatures followed his player character. They traced after him in the next room, steps gliding across the floor and bodies bouncing like anamorphic messes of black and white, as he brought the princess to each of the torches so they may ignite and light the path. They swiped at him if he got too close, limbs appearing as sharp as knives, cutting away a heart of his health. They trailed him through the darkness to the right of the purple-locked door (which, despite its tendrils of inky dark that slithered from the openings in the doorway, brought forward that color of purple once more; so important, it would seem). They danced across the darkened room, not a light in sight as he followed the red carpets across the decayed floor, cracking and peppered with holes. Evasion was key, and he only got swiped once, but gaining a heart healed him right back up (the text of “What is this feeling…?” that appeared once he collected it made him pause, but only for a second, as he was still under pursuit).
There’s a courtyard, a bitcrushed sound of rain as it falls against the ground, accompanied by gray, transparent pixels that scatter about the screen. A dirt path to a stone bridge, across a canal of shimmering water. There’s trees, scattered around the space, healthy and tall, a few pebbles textured into the ground. There was a gravestone, adorned by nothing upon its stone, with a lit torch beside it. As he wandered up to the top to open a chest ( “I feel… strange,” the princess had said, making him ever more curious), he noted the other five gravestones, accompanied by unlit torches just as well, some damaged to varying degrees with little yellow indicators sitting upon them.
“It appears to be a numeric puzzle,” Freddy said, voicing his own thoughts. Gregory gave a slight turn of the head, looking over at his protector (his friend), as the animatronic seemed to process verbally. “However, a deal of information appears to be missing. Perhaps to add a challenge.” The boy hummed in response, accepting, but also knowing Freddy wouldn’t tell him the answer, as it was likely considered cheating (in some funny way, he didn’t really want to hear the answer anyways; he wanted to solve it himself).
He could at least tell which ones were zero (the already lit one, with not a single yellow dot upon its surface), one, two, and four. One was broken in half, but the other half was visible. Two was the only one without a single bit of damage, and four was mostly intact, with the missing yellow dot still being outlined by the impression it left on the stone. That left three and five. At first, he tried to ignite the one that had three on it after he had lit both one and two, but the puzzle fizzled out, and he tilted his head. Then, he realized that the gravestone looked far too short to be the third option it seems to depict itself as, and he repeated the process. Instead of that one, though, he lit the completely destroyed gravestone, giving a smirk when it didn’t reset, and wandered down. Four and five were lit, and with a confirming jingle, the bridge across the moat to the right extended, allowing him space to walk.
“Well done, Gregory,” Freddy commended, as though it was as great of an achievement as winning a competition (and, while he still tried to push away that warmth out of fear, he either didn’t or couldn’t stop the tug that pulled his lips into a smile). The boy’s smile was the only indication he’d heard, but the bear’s disc whirled a little faster for just a moment in a silent display of emotion.
Down the stairs, the princess was taken to the stone intenterior once more. She stepped out into a room of little size, an unlit torch so wanting to be alight, and a moat between the platform and the right side of the screen, which seemingly led to another area from earlier in the game. The first thing done was to ignite that torch, a jingle echoing in triumph from the speaker above his head as the stone grinding of a bridge extending accompanied it. With the path now open, he brought the character around the holes that he could not traverse, to the other occupant of the room; a purple chest (that color once more), shadow-like in appearance, with segments of it looking both liquid and pixelated, drifting into the sky in blocky blobs. It emitted a similarly colored glow, pressing the darkness away in a less comforting manner. He tapped the button, allowing that chest to open and provide a key, but not without the screen giving another jolted glitch, a little more intense than normal, the colors displacing and the slightest tear across the center of the screen.
“A strange key,” the princess’ text spoke, sitting at the bottom of the screen beside the item in particular. “I wonder what this opens?” The key was similarly purple, the brightest shade upon the edges, with the darker middle making it look distinctly shadowed. Energy of some sort, those same colors, flowed around it in repeated motions, shifting across the air like flowing water. Closer to the back of the key, it had an unnatural bend, a shifted bit of the metal that seemed distorted. The back of the key itself was of equal unsettling nature, with two rabbit ears protruding from the top of the circle, and two purple eyes that seemed to glow in the center. He noticed a shift in the air, neither the animatronic or himself properly moving to address it, but it was there, like any joy was gone at the sight of this uncomfortable object. A tainted piece of the game, so apparent in its nature alone. Despite the fact it fit the artstyle and looked intentional, he couldn’t find it all that easy to believe this object was part of the game before.
He didn’t need to ask where the key went. He didn’t have to move far, either. The door opened silently, no sound coming from it as it put him in the next room.
The music seemed to become a little drowned out by another sound. Was that sound wind, or a droning of some sorts, or perhaps even a tension string? He could not really tell, but it certainly did not help his nerves. Something about this section of the game felt wrong, like it wasn’t the true way the game should be going. There was no way to go but upwards, forwards , because either side was blocked off. So he walked the character upwards, towards the end. For a moment, he thought the darkness was coming closer, but instead, he realized the screen had begun to zoom outwards slowly as he wandered towards whatever lay at the end.
A platform. It’s encompassed with darkness, and at the far end of it, is a single torch. He knows what comes next, in some strange way, so before he takes that step, he looks up. Up to the bear animatronic, who stands at his side. Whose yellow eyes drift down for a moment, meeting his own, and conveying something. A subtle shift of emotion, what should be impossible for such mechanical orbs, and yet, he can see that apprehension, that curiosity, and that understanding determination. That they’ve reached something, and he wants to know just as much as the boy.
So he wills the princess to step against the torch, and presses the button.
There’s a distorted, glitched sound that plays through the speaker above, a sudden jarring clash against the now-missing music and ever-droning high note. It brings a deeper drone, a slow sound that almost seems comprehensible, if it was sped up and possibly reversed. There’s a figure - or, perhaps that’s not the right word. There’s a mass , a shapeless form of darkness at the forefront, with a backside of deep purple that was the only thing allowing it to be seen against the pitch black Glowing sets of bright purple and white eyes and teeth scattered the creature, several of those shadows being surrounded by limbs and features that stood out against the pitch black. Tendrils of dark, heads in the shape of masks, and those ever present rabbit ears that droop down. The only other real indicator of the creature’s status was a small, purple bowtie, sitting just under the largest face, that stood in the center. Two searing white pupils, with slightly purple tracks leading down like tears to an unhinged jaw filled with uncanny teeth.
There was a text box, usually where the princess spoke. A backdrop of deep violet, with bright purple symbols atop it that looked unlike any code or symbol he’s seen before. Perhaps simply broken speech, some message that’s too encoded to properly relay, who knows. The text box glitches, segments detaching for frames at a time.
The screen began to shake, distortion taking hold as colors shifted like an old television with a bad connection cord. The path back was already blocked, but as the distortion becomes harder to see through, with the screen pixelating in pulsating motions, he watches with held breath as dark tendrils lead in from the side, surrounding the princess. The fans of the machine had begun to spin up, much like the Balloon Boy World arcade cabinet, accompanying the multitude of incomprehensible sounds that shot from the speakers. Inwards those tendrils traveled, before the whole platform went dark, that everlasting light of the princess’ lantern finally being snuffed as the creature took hold. All that’s left is the creature, all eyes staring at the screen, almost grinning at how unnatural it was, before the screen froze, with only the main face remaining. Then, it too was gone. All that was left was black. Frozen black, with not a sound.
Then the title screen theme began, and the title returned to view. As if nothing had ever happened. A breath left the boy, hands falling from the game controls.
The silence, filled only by that jingle of the title screen sitting on, was only breached a few moments later, when Freddy cleared his nonexistent throat in a silent sound. His central disc spun, just a little faster, as Gregory turned to him with a surprised look still on his face from the events that just transpired. Freddy’s knees stretched, a popping sound echoing from his servos and gears as he shifted into a standing position. “I believe we have just bore witness to our virus,” Freddy said with factuality, as though it wasn’t the most insane idea (it really wasn't, at this point). The boy nodded in confident agreement, his heart still racing a little from the disturbing sight. Freddy’s gaze returned to the machine, and his eyes slightly narrowed, yellow iris’ sparking with disdain towards the demon that lay within. “Upon… what transpired at the end, a connection with the network was forcefully attempted, with multiple commands to disable safe mode being transmitted. None reached me, however, because safe mode must be disabled manually, but the virus seemed to use the arcade machine like a transmitter, amplifying the signal to a worrying degree.”
Gregory’s heart skipped a beat for a moment, terrified not for himself, but his friend. “A-Are you… okay?” He asked, with the slightest quiver to his voice (because, as much as he may be able to handle himself, that was still a scary thought, to be staring down exactly what was trying to kill him).
If the animatronic could give a smile, the expression he held would’ve translated to beaming. His yellow eyes returned from the screen, glowing as they reached the boy’s. “Do not worry, Superstar,” he said reassuringly, giving a hand to the boy’s shoulder in such a gesture. “My systems appear to be perfectly isolated, and I remain alright. Perhaps a little surprised, if that is the proper descriptor, but not broken in any form.”
Gregory nodded, turning his head back to the screen that now showed a high score table. Uncomfortably, despite his lack of actually entering a score name (or even actually completing the game for that matter, if his idea that the portion he stepped into was not an intended part was to be believed), he saw a new first place. Simply, it was two letters, like the others, and attributed a single point as well. “GF,” it denoted them as. Either “Gregory & Freddy,” or “Glamrock Freddy,” neither of which he could be really sure, but he knew it was one of those two. He swallowed his unease, and though not getting rid of it entirely, managed to get his voice on straight. “Do you think we can… beat it? Or something?”
The animatronic’s eyes flashed a little brighter at the question, and if he hadn’t been giving a phantom smile already, his would now be greatly widened at the question, though with no mouth proper to do so, he settled upon a happy gleam within his eyes. His knees folded outwards, bringing him to a crouch, and much closer to Gregory’s level. “I am certain, Gregory,” the bear said with a tone of hope. His eyes once again reached that of the arcade machine, scanning over it as the yellow light reflected against the black and gray plastic. “This game, as it would seem, had an unnatural connection to the Pizzaplex’s systems. When the game forcefully restarted, following that prior attempt at establishing a connection, two things occurred. One, the connection to the network from the game was terminated. Two, the network seemed to stop responding to automated pings for about ten seconds, which, despite safe mode, do still transmit automatically from myself. The latter is the most important, as it seems to imply something occurred within the network, leading to a period of freezing. If I was to hazard a guess, I would calculate this is due to a major change within the network software, meaning the game would likely have been the cause of such a responseless period.”
The boy had gained that same hopeful look, meeting the yellow irises that glowed like a calming ocean scene. It gleamed in his eyes, excited at the prospect of fixing things. “So… what should we do?”
“I think the answer is quite simple, Superstar,” Freddy offered, a tilt of the head being accentuated by the movement of a servo. His eyes flickered after he blinked, shining just a little brighter. Honestly, he’s figured it out, Gregory won’t even need to fill the animatronic in on his idea. “We find the second arcade machine. We may have a chance to solve this mystery, if you would like to.”
Gregory gives not a single bit of hesitation to nod in reply. Was it his mess to fix? He does not know, but he will do it if he can. Maybe he could do something worthwhile with his life, in the end.
Across the facility, a woman grasped upon her head, placing either hand on their respective temples, and letting out a groan as a headache came to the forefront. Her eyelids closed as the pain spiked against her forehead, and nobody would see the flicker that happened in them, not even herself. The dance of color in her iris’, shifting from purple to green for just a second, before that hue returned. She gave a slight giggle, so soft, yet so strange, maniacal even, before she adjusted the cap upon her head, and continued walking. Like nothing had happened.
Across the facility, three robots gave shudders, one sending out sparks from the neck joint while another stumbled across the ground. The three stilled in their movements, joints locking. The purple glow to their eyes, too, flickered for just a moment, giving way to their original eye colors, before returning. A moment more, and they continued their movements, systems returning to their hunting modes. As though nothing had happened.
Yet, something had happened. The first steps in a direction thought unwalkable.