Chapter Text
The neon glare of the four animatronics illuminates your dismal surroundings in hues of green, orange, and purple.
You feel horridly out of place standing in front of a kid-friendly establishment while dressed in casual clothes that haven't seen the light of day in months, surrounded by adults with an actual reason for being here: their children. On your back is a plain backpack containing nothing but a wallet and a clear folder with relevant documents safe and secure in it. Relevant for what, you might ask? Why, the job offer that brought you to this building in the first place.
It’s a simple job on paper: assist the main daycare attendant in his duties. Hence, the “Daycare Assistant” title in the email you got last weekend. But you had a feeling there was more to it even before opening the email - the copious amounts of “You cannot sue us and we will systematically dismantle your livelihood if you try, bitch” written in lawyer talk doesn’t help - and your instincts were vindicated when your father had sat you down for a chat the week before.
This opportunity isn’t just for your benefit, he had been quick to assure you. He has a friend of an acquaintance who works for a company called Fazbear Corporation. You weren’t familiar with it then (you still aren’t), and he hadn't dived into it much; all you know is that the company is renowned for its advanced animatronics. He’d been sure to emphasize that they’re really, really advanced. Terrifyingly so.
Maybe he means that they know how to formulate sentences more complicated than “Hello”.
That’s not the important part, though. The whole reason your father went out of his way to speak to you: there’s a pizzaplex in the next town over, known as Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizzaplex. They have an onsite daycare ( why? ) that has a daycare attendant, but no daycare assistant. They need an assistant urgently, and your father has volunteered someone capable of taking on the position. You .
What?
“Why? Are you kicking me out?” you demand, jumping to your feet. It was lucky for you that you and your father were the only present ones in his office now, since you were too preoccupied by your surging indignation to care about your volume. “What did I do? Did I break something? I can pick up the pace, just tell me-“
“ Stop .”
It wasn’t quite a shout, but it made you jump nevertheless. Your father leveled a stern glare at you, and eventually, you got the message and lowered yourself back into the office chair with a huff. “ Thank you . Let’s get some things straight: I’m not ‘kicking you out’. This has nothing to do with anything you did,” he said matter-of-factly. “So calm down.”
“I am calm.”
Your defiant mutter went without comment. “This is just an opportunity. Or a chance for a… new change in your life, so to speak. You don’t have to accept it,” he added, a little too quickly for your liking. “But I highly suggest that you give it a listen first; you might find it interesting.”
You tried to hold on to your initial apprehension, but it eventually leaked out of your hands like melted butter. “Fine, I’ll listen,” you sighed.
Your father nodded in approval. “As I was saying, an acquaintance of mine has been looking for someone to fill in the assistant position at the…” He paused to squint at his monitor screen. “... Superstar Daycare. Yes, that. They have a Daycare Attendant stationed there, but they’ve been having some trouble securing an assistant for more than a month, at most.”
“And you volunteered me.”
“Not volunteer, suggested . There’s a difference.” You raised an eyebrow at him. “I told her I’d discuss it with you first before we proceed with any decision.”
You felt your shoulders relax a little. That was a little better, at least, but it also opened up a new can of worms. “So why me?”
His lips thinned into a reassuring but strained smile that immediately had you on edge. “That’s the thing: they have trouble keeping a daycare assistant around because the attendant had a number of complaints about every one of them. Things like them slacking off on their work, spending too much time on their phone, being impatient with the children, so on. You know, complaints typically aimed towards teenage part-time workers.”
“ All of them?” you asked, skepticism weighing heavily in your voice.
Your father sighed. “Apparently so. From what she’s told me, this…”
He waved his hand around for a bit to find the right words.
“… Solar? No, Sun, that’s it. It can be a bit nitpicky when it comes to how the daycare runs. Not that I hold it against it; any facilities involving children should be held to the highest standards possible.” He nodded to himself. “But that’s beside the point. Long story short, it deemed every single assistant as inadequate, and my acquaintance is getting worried because the attendant isn’t supposed to be operating without at least one assistant, according to company policies.”
“Why don’t they just fire the attendant?”
It seemed like an obvious solution in your eyes, but with the way your father gaped at you, glasses slipping down his nose, you might as well have suggested a sacrificial ritual with the daycare children. “What? I’m not saying they should , I’m just asking why the multi-million dollar company didn’t take the cheaper option and just hire someone easier to work with,” you said defensively.
“I…” Somehow, your father looked even more pained hearing you talk. “Honey. They can’t fire their own animatronic.”
Animatronic?
“Wait wait wait, are we still talking about the attendant here?” You were half-hoping that you had missed a turn in the conversation earlier, but your father nodded. “Wait, I’m sorry, they put a bloody robot in charge of children? Like, it actually picks them up and plays with them?”
“ Yes . We already went over this just now!”
“You only said that the animatronics sing songs and perform for the kids! How the hell was I supposed to pick up on the fact that people are stupid enough to leave their children with a robot?!”
“That’s their whole gimmick, how did you not know… Anyway, back to the topic-“
“No no no, don’t just move past it like it’s nothing!”
Looking back, that’s not exactly the best conversation you’ve had with your father.
But once you had come to terms with the fact that yes, this animatronic ( ‘Sun,’ your mind supplies) is more than capable of looking after human children so you should stop questioning it, the rest of the discussion had moved on relatively smoothly. You were brought up because this acquaintance, one Melinda Jones, had lamented about the state of this generation’s “work ethic”, asking if he could recommend any of his students to take a part-time position as a daycare assistant while she continued scouting for a more permanent candidate. He had raised her one better: he knew someone perfect for the position and could work full-time as well.
So here you are.
You had raised some doubts back in your father’s office, one of them being about your lack of experience in actual childcare - which your father had brushed off with “She’s not looking for people with experience, just someone willing to learn” - but the biggest problem of all remains nestled deep within in your chest, unwilling to show itself for fear of being mocked to hell and back:
How awful is this Daycare Attendant?
You feel silly for even thinking about it. You’ve already said yes to giving this the good ol’ college try, so what’s it matter? It’s just going to make you look like a coward .
But at the same time, you can’t help but wonder! You aren’t a stranger to hostile coworkers, and yet, you’ve managed to continue working in your father’s school until recently. So what could the Daycare Attendant have done to drive away not one, not two, but five assistants in a row? It had to have been something worse than your own lived experience, right? Imagined scenarios of what could have happened to your predecessors rise unbidden in your mind, each one more outlandish than the last, and you hurriedly suck in a deep breath.
You won’t know what will happen if you don’t step foot inside the building, will you?
Stealing your nerves, you step through the automatic doors. They slide open, releasing an icy blast of air-conditioning that immediately freezes your nerves with much-needed relief. You take a moment to bask in the chill before you properly drink in the scene before.
And by god, is it a scene . Your eyes, so used to polished mahogany desks and beige walls, are temporarily flashbanged by the popping colours of the interior. There’s so much to take in all at once: neon lights, the dense crowd milling in the entrance lobby, the little white robots weaving in and out of the human sea with mops in hand, the massive golden statue of a bipedal bear taking center stage of the lobby… You have to take a moment to close your eyes and take a breath before your brain melts from sheer overstimulation.
That’s not even taking the noise level into account. You can catch raucous laughter from the many children running about helter-skelter, and the mechanical drone of the little robots as they ask for unobstructed pathways from the patrons (which has a fifty percent success rate from what you can see), but everything else melds together into a cacophony that grates against your skull. Even when your ears adjust after the initial few seconds, you still find yourself resisting the urge to cover them.
‘Ugh. I just want this done with.’ Squinting against the bright lights, you scan the lobby floor. ‘ That lady said she’d be waiting by the ticket gate… Ah, there she is.’
A dark-skinned woman with black hair tied in an elaborate bun and a slender figure, dressed in office attire that looks drab next to the garish colours of the pizzaplex, is standing by a confectionery stand stocked with various animatronic-themed foods. Pinned to her jacket is an orange-and-blue name tag that reads “Hi, my name is Melinda!”. She spots you at the same time, greeting you with a polite smile and your name. “Good evening! I hope you had no trouble finding your way here.”
So this is your father’s friend. Acquaintance. Your future supervisor? There’s probably a difference between the terms buried somewhere in your memory, but it doesn’t matter much to you when both can be summed up to “She knows my father and will be judging me as his kid”.
You straighten your posture, forcing your hands by your sides and smoothing your features over into what you hope is a neutral expression. “Hi, ma’am. I didn’t have any trouble getting here. Ma’am.”
You want to slap yourself.
To your surprise though, the lady laughs with no trace of judgment in her voice. “There’s no need to be so formal with me, dear! Just call me Melinda or Miss Jones.”
“Sure, M-Melinda.” Her first name feels odd rolling off your tongue, but you manage it with minimal stammering. You quickly grab your right hand before it can reach up to fiddle with your hair. “So. What’s first on our agenda?”
“Straight to the point, I see! Good, I like that.” She taps a card against the reader, allowing the ticket gate to beep green and let you in. “Has Alex given you the basic rundown of the dilemma I’m facing?”
It takes you a moment to realise she’s referring to your father. “Uh, yeah. Something about him not working well with his assistants,” you say as you step through the gate. The silence hangs for a moment too long before you realise - again - she’s waiting for you to continue. “And that he can’t work without an assistant, and… he’s being a bit of a prick.”
The last bit slips out faster than your brain can catch up, and your expression drops in mortification. Forget slapping yourself, you’re expecting Melinda to smack you instead for insulting the company’s beloved animatronic. Yet, she surprises again by hiding an unladylike snort behind a sleeve. “Sorry, sorry,” she gasps as she fans her face, a light blush dusting her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to do that. It’s just that, you’re not wrong, but please try not to say that in front of the Daycare Attendant. I don’t want you to start off on the wrong foot with him before you start your first day.”
‘Him?’
You flash her a stiff thumbs-up, just glad to be moving away from your blunder.
“Come along then. We don’t have all day, and I want to introduce you to the attendant before he starts his usual clean-up routine.” Melinda tips you a look of well-worn exasperation. “Or else he’ll be filing complaints about his daycare operations being thrown into shambles for a whole week.”
You nod in agreement, although privately, you find yourself commiserating with this mysterious Sun. Being interrupted mid-work is about the most annoying thing you can think of happening.
Melinda gestures for you to follow, and you fall in step behind her as she leads you through the thinning crowd. A handful of patrons are already making their way out of the pizzaplex thanks to its closing hours drawing near, but the crowd is still thick enough that you have to hunch into yourself to avoid brushing shoulders with some irate parent. Sticking close to Melinda helps since her mere presence is enough to create a small bubble of personal space and carve a path through the throngs.
Straining your ears over the hubbub, you barely manage to catch her speaking.
“Starting tomorrow, you’ll be starting your trial week as the daycare assistant. You’ll still be paid for your time even if you quit halfway through, don’t worry about that. The purpose of this trial week is to just see if you’ll be a good fit with the Daycare Attendant. Given how quickly some people up and quit on us, Management decided it would be… simpler to ease potential candidates into the role this way.” The emphasis on “simpler” makes it sound like it’s meant to be “cheaper” without saying it out loud. “So you won’t be given many, if not any, tasks outside of the daycare itself during this week. All you need to worry about is to forge a working relationship with Sun.”
“Mhm.”
Both of you ascend an escalator to the second floor. Melinda leads you down a path to a less packed area, through a set of doors labeled “Superstar Daycare Pick-Up”. Upon your terse reply, she sends you a look of concern over her shoulder. “Is there an issue you have with what I said?”
The question doesn’t sound angry in the slightest, but you still find yourself wincing at yourself for the curt response.
“Um…” You mentally scrabble for a question to toss out. “… I was just wondering about the, um, responsibilities of being a daycare assistant. What I’m actually supposed to do and all that.”
‘Saved it.’
Her concerned expression relaxes at your question. “You don’t have to worry too much about that yet. I know you don’t have much experience in childcare, so please don’t hesitate to come to me - or your other coworkers - if you have any trouble.”
You’re led into another section of the pizzaplex with false palm trees lining the interior and striking murals painted on the walls from top to bottom. The two most interesting paintings, depicting what you can only assume to be the Daycare Attendant, catch your eye: on your left is a depiction of a sun-themed character from the bust up. A head ringed with sun rays smiles up at a candy wrapped in equally bright colours, the wrapper’s ends held up by its disproportionately slender fingers. The word “SUNDROP” is painted below.
The other mural depicts another animatronic whose design clearly parallels the sunny one, but is painted in more muted shades of blues and whites. Instead of a sun-shaped head, its faceplate is modeled to resemble a crescent moon, a tranquil smile carving a line from ear to ear. Its eyes are closed as though fast asleep, its hands cupping a candy near identical to its radiant counterpart, but dressed in more shades of blues with a crescent design on the wrapper. “MOONDROP” cradles the animatronic painting in a gentle curve.
Melinda catches you staring at the murals for a little too long. “Can you guess who that is?” she laughs.
“I think it’s safe to assume which one is Sun,” you say drily as you glance at the Sundrop mural. Is Sundrop his given name? Do animatronics even know the concept of “given names”? “He doesn’t look so bad.”
You nearly miss the nervous tic that spasmed in her right eye.
“That’s a good attitude to have!” Melinda says with forced cheer. “Come along, we don’t have much time to waste!”
That doesn’t help your festering doubts whatsoever.
You still trail after her like a lost puppy as she leads you to an attached room that visually clashes with the rest of the area. “This is the check-in room for parents to drop off their children,” Melinda explains, waving a hand at the room at large. “The children normally take the slide down to the playroom, although sometimes the shyer ones will be dropped off at the other entrance downstairs, so you’ll have to be on the lookout for that.”
Even if Melinda hadn’t told you, you would’ve been able to clock on to the fact that it’s an extension of the daycare yourself, essentially a balcony fashioned into a check-in room to make it easy to gaze at the fun awaiting below. It has that preschooler vibe to it: its walls are painted a pastel blue with plush couches and tiny chairs made to hold only kids scattered across the carpeted floor, littered with a stray wooden block or scribbled artwork here and there. There’s a check-in desk tucked away in the corner, and next to it is the mentioned slide leading down to the lower level. A widescreen TV hangs overhead, displaying an advertisement with the very same sunny animatronic with its odd yellow candy. And the mother of all decorations takes center stage in the middle of the room: a ten-foot-tall statue of both animatronics, one throwing his hands high in the air as if accepting applause and the other crouched at an impossible angle. The place is currently deserted, save for one lone guy manning the desk.
Peals of young laughter waft from below. The empty air around the tube slide is blocked off by netting that stretches from top to bottom, preventing any dumbass from toppling right off the edge like you . The blanket of weaved rope doesn’t seem like it would break under anything but the heaviest of weights, much less your own slight frame, the rational part of your brain points out.
The sight still makes your palm slick with sweat.
“This is James,” Melinda introduces the person behind the check-in desk; a man who looks like he’s in early forties with short brown hair and dull gray eyes that barely give you a glance down. His uniform is an eye-watering mishmash of reds, yellows, and blues. She introduces you to him as well. “James, this is our new daycare assistant. I hope you’ll help with making her feel comfortable here.”
His brows furrow. “You managed to rope in another sucker?”
“James!"
“ Sorry , I didn’t mean anything by that,” he says in the least apologetic tone possible, raising both hands in surrender. “It’s just that you’re not exactly what I was expecting. Y’know, with how neurotic that freaky robot can get and your… size, you gotta watch your back.”
“James! Watch what you’re saying!”
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” you grunt. It’s not exactly the first jab you’ve gotten about your height. “I already decided I’m doing this, so are we going to see this Sun anytime soon?”
Melinda shoots him a look before saying to you, “Of course! I’ll show you the way down.” Just then, the sound of laughter quiets down. “Oh! The last child must be leaving now. Come on, we can catch him if we hurry a bit.”
Melinda speeds towards the nearest escalator. You jog a bit to catch up to her, all too happy to get away from the dizzying height - but not before you catch a glimpse of James mouthing “good luck” to you.
How reassuring.
You’re led down to a lower level. It’s yet another expansive floor - just how big is this place? - decked out in another flavour of kid-friendly decorations, with beach-like wallpaper and fake palm tree wall decals surrounding what looks to be a waiting area for parents. A handful of tables and chairs cluster against large viewing windows looking into the playroom. In the middle of the area is what can only be the daycare with a set of double doors nearly twice your height. From where you stand, you’re able to see a father carrying a little boy in his arms talking to a figure.
What the father is talking to, however, is far more interesting.
The figure is partially blocked by the man, but with its insane height, it doesn’t really matter. You can still see its sun rays spinning around its ever-smiling face, eyelids pulled up to form what you think is an anxious expression. Its entire outfit brings an image of court jesters to mind, the kind you’d find in fairytales: especially the red ruffles around its neck and its striped poofy pants. Jingling bells chime incessantly as the figure makes wild gesticulations at the father (who’s discreetly leaning back from it), to which the little boy is giggling and reaching. Even standing among the bright paints of the area, its shades of yellows, oranges and reds make it stand out like a sore thumb.
“Sun!” Melinda calls out, confirming your suspicions. “Can I have a word with you?”
The animatronic’s head snaps up so swiftly that it makes your neck hurt seeing it. As you follow behind Melinda, the father barely throws the two of you a glance before rushing off awfully quick, ignoring the animatronic waving them off. The little boy notices though, and waves a tiny fist back over his father’s shoulder. Once the last patrons vacate the scene, it turns its attention towards you.
Your heart skips a beat.
It doesn’t stop there. Unease trickles down your back like cold water, chasing away any drowsiness that might’ve plagued you until now. Looking at the animatronic is like staring down an empty parking lot, or a vacated shopping mall; it feels uncanny.
Every bounce in its legs, the way it fiddles with the red ribbons wrapped around its wrists, how its grin wavers for a moment when its blank eyes land on Melinda… It’s just like seeing a breathing, living human. However, your brain refuses to compute that fact with the knowledge that it’s a robot. Machinery. It’s not supposed to behave that way.
You know you’d already been warned of this, but there’s a difference between word of mouth and an actual lived experience. ‘Dad really wasn’t kidding when he said their AI is advanced advanced…’
“ Miss Jones! ”
Even its - his - trill sounds more like genuine excitement than an artificial voice. His eyes twitch away from you (you breathe a sigh of relief) to beam down at the woman. “What brings you here? Oh, oh, do you want to have a sleepover? That’s such a lovely, faz- tastic idea, I’d love love love to have you!” Sun flaps his hands frantically as if he’s unable to suppress the sheer joy the idea inspires in him. “The little sunbeams used up a bunch of our craft supplies - will have to ask for restocking soon! - but I’m sure there’s some left-“
Melinda holds up a single hand, cutting his rambling off in a single movement.. His sun rays droop like wilting flower petals.
“Is that a no?” he asks, and although his faceplate doesn’t change much, you can hear the pout in his voice.
“Sun, you know that I’m very busy with my work. I don’t have time to play with you.” The exasperation in her words tells the tale of many previous instances of this exact scenario. “If you would give any of your assistants a chance to settle in, they might make for better playmates…”
He tilts his faceplate upwards as if he’s emulating the motion of sticking his nose in the air. “Hmph! I’d rather give up all of my glitter glue and googly eyes than spend another second with them.”
So, so many human movements. You now kind of understand why the father had scurried off so quickly earlier, although this also makes you wonder how he normally behaves around children. Surely he wouldn’t still be around if the kids, the main demographic of the daycare, were scared of him, right?
‘I guess it’ll be easier to treat him like any other coworker this way.’ Memories of your former colleagues rise unbidden, and you grimace. ‘Scratch that. Treat him like any other human.’
You keep to the sidelines of this conversation, happy to remain a spectator if it means staying out of his bubble of boisterous joy. Unfortunately, that’s quickly ruined when Melinda gestures towards you.
“I came down here because there’s someone I need you to meet.”
His head swivels to face you. You manage to not scramble back as Sun looms over you. Shit! Even when it’s bent nearly at a ninety-degree angle, the top of your head doesn’t clear the the top of his faceplate. The animatronic would tower over even the giant that is your father.
The light in his eyes flashes brighter for a moment.
“Hmm? I don’t recognise her, nope, not at all! Not a lick of her name or face in my database!” His head tilts left. “Are you a parent? You don’t look like one. Oh, maybe a sibling!” His head tilts right. “Or are you a new employee? Moonie’s mentioned they’re looking for a new security guard, are you them?”
Every word tumbling out of his unmoving mouth brings his face inching closer and closer to you, until you can make out individual nicks in the pale yellow paint without squinting. Backing away without saying anything would be rude, you’re socially aware of that much, but the warmth radiating off his mechanical body is making the cold sweat rolling down your temple much worse.
“Um.” You can hear the creak of his joints as he leans closer, anticipation buzzing off his frame. It distracts you enough to forget what you’re about to say. “Uh.”
Evidently deciding to take pity on you, Melinda answers, “She’s your new assistant, Sun. She’ll be starting her first day tomorrow, but I thought you might appreciate it if you got a heads-up on it.”
The temperature drops.
You can see the exact moment the joy freezes in Sun’s face. His eyes dim, and his grin drops into the flattest line physically possible while still maintaining an upward tick in the corners of his mouth. Sun zips back into an upright position so swiftly that you feel a breeze in your hair. “Assistant?” he echoes.
“I know you heard me the first time,” Melinda says, a warning edge already in her voice.
You decide that you should probably speak for yourself before you get buried under the mounting pressure. You raise your hand in greeting. “Hey, Sundrop.”
You vaguely see Melinda shoot you a worried glance, but that’s overshadowed by the sight of Sun narrowing his eyes down at you. He even holds himself a little straighter, putting your line of sight at around his elbow height.
“My name,” he says with enough acid in his voice to melt you down to the bone, “is Sun.”
“Oh. But-“
“Sundrop is the name of the candy,” Sun continues, enunciating his words slowly and loudly as if he’s explaining a basic concept to you.
“O-oh.” Face flushing, you scratch the back of your neck. “Sorry about that.”
The animatronic makes a considering hum at the back of his “throat”, then snaps his gaze to Melinda at lightning speed.
“I think you must be mistaken, Miss Jones! This can’t be the new daycare assistant.” A giggle bursts from his voice box, teetering on the edge of irritation. “One must be at least eighteen years or above to apply for any job positions in the Fazbear company!”
What.
Did he just make a short joke?
“I’m twenty-five. Not everyone can be blessed with noodle limbs like yours,” you say, too stunned to really express much more than mild surprise. He lets out an affronted gasp, which takes you by surprise. “What?”
“How dare you!” he screeches. “My body is perfectly proportional! You’re the one with short legs!”
Your eyes widen. “Huh? Whoa, whoa, whoa, I wasn’t trying to insult you. I just-“
“Ha! Not only are you rude, you’re a rude little liar . Someone like you has no place in my daycare or the little sunbeams!” You nearly jump out your skin when his hands clap down on your shoulders, his fingers long enough to meet each other between your shoulder blades, and he pushes you back with strength unbefitting of his lithe frame.
You stifle a gasp, your fist raising-
“Sun!”
You’re immediately released. Sun leaps back as though electrified, his eyes widening with a quiet horror. Melinda steps in between you two, shoulders squared and exuding an aura that reminds you, oh yeah, she’s in charge around here. It’s what makes you stuff your clenched fist into your pocket and Sun to back off, twisting his hands anxiously.
She doesn’t look at you, though. Her full attention is focused solely on the fidgeting animatronic through a single glare, hands planted on her hips.
“Sun. I don’t think I need to remind you of our previous discussions.”
“I didn’t hurt her!” he bursts out, then his sun rays shrink into his head. “I-I only touched her a little, really!”
“Er, yeah. What he said.” You wave both arms to demonstrate your continued good health. “See? All good.”
You don’t mention the phantom sensation where he had grabbed you or the erratic thumping in your heart. You’ll get over it.
Melinda spares you a brief glance and a small smile. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, yes! It’s not a big deal,” you say, waving off her concern with a slight tinge of red in your ears.
Sufficiently reassured, she turns back to Sun. “You’re very lucky she’s nice enough to let this slide. Do you think any of your previous assistants would have done the same?”
Said animatronic flinches and averts his gaze.
Undeterred, she continues, “Company policy clearly states that the Daycare Attendant requires at least one assistant present during opening hours in order to continue operating. Management already made a concession on my report by discarding the handler role, but they will not budge on this. You know this.”
Sun picks at a loose thread on his wrist ribbons. When he speaks, sulky resentment is dripping from every word. “But they’re unnecessary. We… I don’t need anyone to help me. They’re nothing but trouble, that’s all they are! Nothing but trouble and I get into trouble for it!”
“I have good news for you, then! This young lady,” You jump a little when you’re grabbed by the hand and dragged to the midst of this confrontation, “came to me with high recommendations, and she’s willing to put in the hard work to learn the ins and outs of the daycare! Give her a chance and I’m sure you’ll be blown away by what you see.”
High recommendations? Okay, now you know she’s lying through her teeth; no way would your father talk about anything you do to that degree. All you do is what’s expected of anyone else in your position.
(It still brings a healthy flush to your face.)
“Y-yeah, I’ll, uh, do my best,” you say as stiff as your hand feels in her grasp. ‘Please let go, please let go now, pleeeaaase.’
Despite the ringing endorsement, Sun doesn’t look the least bit convinced as his fidgety movements grow more agitated. “Words are very, very easy to say, you know! Why, I can say that I’m the main star of the pizzaplex and the other animatronics are but my sidekicks, and everyone loves me!” His eyelids pull down to aim a sardonic expression at the two of you. “Doesn’t make it true , does it?”
“We won’t know that until she actually starts working here, will we?” Melinda shoots back, thankfully letting go of you in the process.
Unintelligible grumbling is all you hear from his voice box.
“Sun, it’s been nearly two weeks since your last assistant.” Your eyebrows raise at this. Did Melinda admit to bending the rules for the sake of an animatronic? “I’ve already stalled Management for as long as I possibly can, but sooner or later, they will start prodding into the issue.”
She leans closer with a stern glint in her eyes. “If Management finds out you’ve been deliberately rejecting all of your assistants, they will close this daycare indefinitely and have you sent down to Parts & Services. Do you want that?”
Sun had already been shivering slightly as Melinda dealt out what was clearly a dirty little secret between them, but as soon as the words “Parts & Services” left her lips, the change in demeanor is drastic. His posture turns downright terrified, hunching into himself and tugging on his sun rays so strongly you’re a little worried they might be ripped clean off.
“ NO! No no no, there’s no need for that. No need for that awful, no-good place…” He shakes his head wildly. “We’re not going down there! We… I-I’m operating just fine and dandy! Better than I’ve ever been, in fact!”
“Oh dear, it’s not that bad,” she sighs, as if this is a common topic that comes up with Sun.
“… Alright! Alright, I’ll give her a chance. But only one!” he adds hastily, jabbing a finger right at your nose. “I’ll be keeping a veeeery close eye on you, human! If I see one little slip-up, the tiniest, itty-bittiest mis take , I’m giving you the boot!”
He very noticeably avoids the mention of that place, but it’s hardly any of your business. “… Noted.” Your lackluster response earns you a grimacing smile from Sun. You feel yourself falter a little under it. Maybe you should sell yourself a little more? “Um, I promise I’ll work as hard as I can? I’ve done similar work at my previous job, and…” You rack your brain for any examples. “…and I’m really good at keeping things squeaky clean! You like that in a daycare, right?”
His eyes narrow into slits.
“I’m not lying, I…” This is the longest you’ve talked to a stranger and you don’t like the sensation of self-consciousness squeezing your throat close that comes with it. “I-I might not know the ins-and-outs of this daycare yet, but I can pick up things quick! That’s what I did in my last job; I just kept shadowing the senior staff members until I could do what they’re doing. My da- boss even said I could replace the whole janitorial team, heh.”
(For budgeting reasons, but still.)
“So… I won’t get in your way, and I’ll do whatever you say.” There, nice and simple. You even manage to muster a winning smile.
The lights of his eyes flicker into pinpricks, the corners of his smile stretching wider. For a moment, it seems that he actually likes what he’s hearing, then…
“I’ll believe it when I see it!” he screeches with a renewed burst of frustration, startling both you and Melinda. He grabs the edges of the double doors, gripping so tightly that it makes the wood beneath his fingertips creak. “I need to go now! There’s so, so, so much to tidy up and I can’t have any more distractions! Goodbye!”
The door slams shut with a thunderous bam.
Your ears ring even as silence settles around you like a thick layer of dust. You blink at the closed doors in a bit of a daze, still reeling from the last-minute display of hostility. Not that you’re a stranger to it by any means, but normally there’s at least a grace period before people decide they don’t like you.
‘Was it something I said?’
Melinda is looking at you with a mix of embarrassment and pity. “I’m… I’m so sorry for his behaviour. He’s just… Well, the daycare is all he knows, so he can be a bit protective of his, well, not his territory, but…”
You quickly wave it off, the back of your neck growing warm with mortification. “It’s not a big deal. I was expecting worse if anything,” you grunt.
Melinda gapes at you.
“What? I’ve had to work with worse people, Sun doesn’t even rank anywhere close to the top five. ‘Sides, it’s not like he can hurt me.” The moment it leaves your mouth, the possibility hits you like a sack of bricks and you shoot Melinda a wide-eyed look before you can stop yourself. “Right?”
“Of course not!” The woman launches into a spiel about Sun’s programming and his inability to harm staff (without good reason, she had oddly noted), and you’re forced to give your own reassurances that no, you’re not truly worried about being harmed on the worksite, you’re not going to sue the company if that does happen, and you’re more than ready to take on the job. Your mouth has probably gained a few more ulcers by the time you’re done, but on the plus side, it seems to have satisfied Melinda.
“So you’re still willing to take the job?” she presses.
“‘Course. If I let myself get beaten down so easily by some stupid jokes, I would have left my last job years ago.” You’re just stating facts, yet Melinda is staring at you like you’ve just lifted the weight of the world off her shoulders and it’s making your face burn. “So! We still have things to look over, right?” you ask hastily.
“Hm? Ah! Yes, sorry, I got a bit lost in thought there. Come, I’ll show you the staff rooms.” You go along with her gesturing as she leads you to a nearby elevator. The rest of the tour crawls by at snail’s pace, but you only pay half-attention to it in favour of mulling over your future coworker. Sun.
Honestly? You have mixed feelings about the bouncy, irritable, anxious animatronic.
You’re all too aware of the differences between you and him. You can see how his lithe form is useful for wrangling squirrelly children in one fell swoop, and his incredibly bubbly personality for entertaining them for hours on end. You’re nothing like that. Quiet, mopey, easy to blend into the background; you know you belong nowhere near someplace as brilliant as this place.
But that’s the whole reason you took this job in the first place, isn’t it?
‘Give it a shake, get some new experiences. You can’t stay cooped up in my school forever.’
Your father’s words ring in your head clear as day. You’re not entirely happy about it, but deep inside, you know he’s right. Circumstances change and you have to change with it.
‘Besides, Sun can’t be that bad,’ you tell yourself. ‘Sure he’s got a few pounds and feet on me, but he’s still one guy.’
How bad can he be?