Work Text
You pace back and forth in your tiny studio apartment, circling your couch and coffee table in a figure eight. You know you’re working yourself into a panic, but you feel it’s justified. You have an interview at Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizza Plex in an hour, and you know damn well you’re going to bomb it.
You don’t know why you applied in the first place. You’re underqualified for the position in every way, but you needed a new job after quitting McDonald’s and fifty dollars an hour was impossible to turn down. They needed someone who could work both as a technician and as a counselor for an unnamed robot, and you did a bit of fibbing on your application in order to fit their requirements. You did know a bit of everything they were asking for - you were wonderful with repairs and mechanics thanks to having a lot of experience repairing other’s discarded electronics, you had picked up programming a long time ago to make some games for yourself, you knew how to paint well enough that you were sure you could restore the chipped paint of whoever you were assigned to, and your “experience in mental health clinics” may have boiled down to actually going there after a battle with depression but at least you had
something
. The last thing Fazbear Entertainment required was that you were good with children, and while people seemed to get along with you just fine, you were terrified of kids. It wasn’t a phobia, per se, but more of an innate fear that you were doing everything wrong. The only thing you really had going for you was the fact that you were one of the artists they commissioned for the posters, so at least you had worked for Fazbear Entertainment before. In essence, you aren’t exaggerating when you say you’re underqualified.
As you pace, you think of all the things you could say to not get thrown out on your ass at the interview.
Kids love me! I have experience with electronic maintenance and repairs! I am
a compassionate person who has experience in clinical environments!
All of it sounds hollow and fake to you. As time marches on, you eventually convince yourself that this will at least be decent interview practice for higher paying jobs. You stomp over to your pillbox and take the meds your psychologist said were for especially anxiety-inducing events, put on your favorite jacket, and check yourself over for any inconsistencies in your “I’m a real professional” attire. Once you’re satisfied, or at least too caught up in your misery to care anymore, you step into your shoes and out the door.
The drive to the Pizzaplex is tense. You play your loudest, most confident music, drowning out your own emotions to power ballad pop and rock. When you arrive, Kesha is fading into Queen, and you step out of your car. There’s a moment where you think you’ve locked your phone inside the car, but as you reach to open the door you find your hand is occupied by said phone. Right. You laugh nervously to yourself, and a mother with three children sends you a nasty look for your incompetence. You swallow your fear.
You march into the Pizzaplex like you’re on a mission, only to be frozen in place by the bright colors, neon lights, and the sound of screaming and running children. You’ve taken enough medication that, rather than terrifying you, it inspires awe. You’ve been to Meow Wolf in Sante Fe and Los Angeles, and this reminds you of the interactive art museum. You spot a few posters and are surprised to recognize your own work. You vaguely hope you will get to see the posters for the daycare. You had been particularly proud of your drawings of the Daycare Attendants, having the most fun with their colorful and charming designs, and you’d like to see how the posters held up.
You promptly exit your reverie when a white robot rolls up to you, holding a stack of paper that suspiciously looks like your resume and all ten pages of your cover letter. It gestures at you with them, and a paper slips out of its grasp. As you bend down to pick up the paper for it, it begins speaking.
“Good morning Valued Potential Employee,” it says in near monotone. You stand and offer the paper to it, but it doesn’t take it, staring blankly at you. “We appreciate your timeliness in arriving fifteen minutes early. Please, follow me to the backstage office.”
“Of course,” you reply, shifting nervously from foot to foot as you hold onto the page it dropped.
It stares at you for a moment, before saying, “Thank you. Please, follow me.”
You do as you're asked, and as you walk with the robot, it explains each and every location inside the Pizzaplex to you. You find yourself genuinely intrigued by the attractions. Roxy’s Raceway in particular is calling your name, and if you had any friends you would love to go to Monty’s Gator Golf. There’s a brief lull in conversation after the staff bot mentions the independent artists Fazbear Entertainment hired to do the posters, and you’re so excited you forget for a moment your companion isn’t capable of a back and forth conversation.
“Did you know I made a good chunk of the posters?” you ask excitedly.
The bot stares at you for a moment. You become self conscious immediately, but try not to let it show. “Fazbear Entertainment appreciates your hard work,” is all it says before moving onto the next thing, which is the history of the franchise. You awkwardly continue to follow the staff bot.
Eventually you arrive at the stage area, and then backstage. There you meet a man who looks like every manager you’ve ever had, a bit stocky, balding, and his skin has a faintly greasy sheen. When he shakes your hand, he smiles, and his teeth are yellow. You smile back, and the two of you exchange names.
“I’m surprised you showed!” he says, which immediately sets off a red flag in your mind.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, was I late? The instructions said to some fifteen minutes early but I could have misread it, I’m so sorry-”
He waves his hand dismissively. “Oh, no, you came on time! Don’t worry about it.”
You take a deep breath. Right. Now you have no idea what you did wrong. “Of course,” you say uncertainly, following him to your seat at the opposite end of a white plastic oval table.
He grins at you, and it feels like a leer. “So, tell me about yourself!”
You remember your training. “Well, I have a background in repairs, robotics, coding, art, and mental health, and I’m good with kids. I have experience with customer service work in the past, and I’ve been told I have a voice and personality fit for television.” You smile uncomfortably. “I’m taking a gap year from college to focus on my career.”
“Wow!” he says, all fake cheer, “That’s quite the resume! I suppose that covers your strengths. What about your weaknesses?”
You swallow thickly. Time to find an inoffensive truth. “I find that I often overcompensate for the failures of my fellow employees, doing the work they’re meant to do so that our collective work doesn’t fall behind. I’ve been chewed out by managers for this before.”
He laughs. “Oh, we won’t do that here! You’d be a breath of fresh air compared to some of our other workers! Now, why do you want this job?”
You smile slightly, relaxing at the slightly easier question. “I’ve always found this place amazing,” you say honestly, “It’s like an interactive art museum for kids. Plus, I’ve always wanted to see where all those posters I made went.” You chuckle nervously. “I also can’t deny that the pay is a factor.” Your eyes light up slightly. “I’ve also always wanted to help out robots - they do so much work for us, you know?”
He laughs, but he’s the one uncomfortable now. “Well, Fazbear Entertainment prohibits relationships between our animatronic entertainers and staff, so don’t get too carried away. I’m surprised to hear you worked on the posters. If I may, which are yours?”
“I’m not sure,” you say honestly. “I recognize my work on a Freddy poster in the lobby, and I did a lot of stuff for the Fazbear Theater and the Superstar Daycare.”
“Good, good,” says the manager absentmindedly. “Do you have any questions for us?”
Huh. That was an unusually short interview. You must not be getting the position. “Oh, uh, I was pretty thorough with reading all the material you sent me, so I guess not,” you say carefully.
He grins. “Then how would you feel about starting today?”
You blanch. “Today? I mean, of course, but what about the other interviewees?” Or the fact that you’re still underqualified?! Did this man do nothing to check you on your bullshit?
He makes a dismissive gesture. “Oh, no one else came. Bad rumors circulating, you know how crazy our fans are.” He chuckles. “You’ll be assigned to the Daycare Attendant. I’ll go out - check the drawers for the yellow and blue uniform and get changed. I’ll show you to the daycare.”
You go pale. The Daycare Attendant? The one caring for the youngest kids in the Pizzaplex? Oh god. You’re going to fuck this up
immediately.
“O-of course,” you say. “I’ll get right on it.”
He stands from where he sits at the opposite end of the plastic table. “Good! See you in a moment.”
You nod, and soon enough he’s gone. You scramble over to the drawers dotted around the room, looking for the uniform. You find Mr. Hippo magnets in droves, merchandise scattered around, a moldy piece of pizza next to the keys, and finally, uniforms that you presume are for the other Caretaker positions, each themed after a different animatronic. You finally find the ones for the Daycare Attendant tucked into the last drawer, all duckling yellows and baby blues over soft sweatpants and a sweatshirt. Huh. It’s cute, and seems to be much more comfortable than what the others wear. You check for security cameras before getting changed as quickly as possible, putting your clothes (including your favorite jacket) in your bag.
You step outside, where the man seems to be fiddling with a Freddy Fazbear branded watch. You wave to him, and he smiles at you, looking over your body in an uncomfortable way. You shudder.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re ready! Sun, the daytime animatronic, is currently out. I’m sure he’ll be glad to meet you!” You nod nervously, and he chuckles. “You’re not much of a talker, are you? I’m sure Sun will make up for that. Come along.”
You follow the man to a staff stairway not far from the office, before being taken over to some nondescript hallway. You follow your manager to a door that clearly has screaming children behind it, the scent of sanitizer and something indescribably
kid
wafting through the door. He opens the door and steps through, and you follow.
You stand, frozen, completely stunned, as you experience the strongest wave of jealousy tinged with regret you’ve ever experienced. Why wasn’t there a place like this when you were a kid?! It’s all bright colors, ball pits, foam toys, blankets, stuffed animals, and best of all, a play structure made of foam and soft-coat metal and filled with excited children. There doesn’t appear to be any other adults down here besides yourself and the manager. Something very familiar to you from your time as a poster illustrator pops out from behind a corner and waves, before stepping out with a child in one arm, another hanging off of his leg.
“Helloooo!” he calls from across the daycare. You step out to greet him halfway, but your manager puts an arm out in front of you to prevent you. You frown at him, as clearly the animatronic shouldn’t have to trek all the way over with little ones in tow, but he whispers something to you about “safety precautions for new hires”. The animatronic, Sun, makes it over fairly quickly even without your help, grin perpetual.
“Hello again,” he repeats, “So glad to see you, Mr. Jackson! And who is this new friend with you? I hope they aren’t as loud as the last one, as little Chrissy’s sleeping!” Sure enough, when you glance, the child in his arm is sound asleep. You wave politely as your manager begins to talk.
“Well,” says the manager with clear disregard for watching his volume, “This is your new Caretaker! I’m sure their name is already in your system. They will be assisting you with your duties today, as well as completing their intake.”
“Lovely!” declares Sun, without ever turning to look at you. “And when were you going to inform me about this?”
The man laughs uncomfortably as the seven and a half foot robot looms over him. “Well, we have to replace each one we fire, as per company policy!”
You catch on quickly enough - Sun doesn’t want you around. You can work with that. Maybe. “Apologies for the disturbance,” you say genuinely, softly, “What can I do to help you out?”
Sun looks over to you, his faceplate twisting as though he’s cocking his head. “Well, you could start by setting dear Chrissy to bed! She’s exhausted, poor dear, and it’s not quite naptime yet, and do please be careful!” He then offers the sleeping child to you.
You feel a little cold sweat coming on, but if this is your job now, you may as well start getting used to kids. “Of course,” you whisper, and take the little girl, one who can’t be older than two. She shifts in your arms but otherwise doesn’t react, and you begin to skitter away to a visible pillow fort constructed in a foam castle when your manager grabs your shoulder. You flinch when you jostle the girl slightly, and she begins to stir.
“Now, we need to review your work area! Can’t have you run off quite yet,” he says with a nervous laugh. You turn back to him and muster up your best customer service smile.
“Oh, I’m certain I can find a place to let this kiddo rest! I’ll be right back!” You whisper cheerfully.
The man seems to grimace, but only for a moment, and it passes so quickly you’re not sure if you saw it at all. “Of course, go on. I’ll just speak to Sun.”
Sun laughs, and it has a bitter edge. “I believe I have some very important, time consuming tasks I should be doing right now! If you’ll
please
excuse me,” he sing-songs, but before he can twist away, the manager grabs his arm. You wince sympathetically before scampering off to set the child in a safe place to sleep.
You dart around sprinting children, moving stiffly as to not jostle the little girl any further, and push aside the blanket covering the entrance to the foam castle. There’s another little boy sleeping inside, and you set the girl on the mats, making sure she can rest her head on a foam block. You find a blanket and tuck her in, glance her over to make sure she’s not about to wake, and step back outside, jogging back to where Sun seems to be having a terse conversation with your new manager. You overhear some of it as you approach.
“I told you before, Mr. Jackson, I am not in need of a Caretaker! I can do my own repairs, and I don’t need human assistance with the kids! I
appreciate
your help!” says Sun as though he's trying to usher your manager out with words.
“And I must remind you again that as per Fazbear Entertainment company policy, all animatronics must have a human technician specifically assigned to them. Yours is right behind you,” replies your manager.
Sun spins on the heel that just a few minutes ago had a child clinging to it, clapping his hands together in front of him. “Well hello for the third time, friend! I didn’t see you there!”
You scratch at the back of your neck. “Ah. It’s no biggie. Hey,
would you like to do the facility tour with just me?” you ask, carefully trying not to offend your manager while also helping the clearly frustrated animatronic usher him out.
Sun claps his hands together once more. “Why, I’d love to! No need to worry, Mr. Jackson, I’m sure I can handle yet another Caretaker!” The animatronic goes so far as to pat your shoulder in a friendly way, and you smile nervously, the tension in the air choking you.
Mr. Jackson sends a look between the two of you for a moment, before sighing as though he’s dealing with a great irritation. “Alright. So long as they put their bag behind the security desk,” he says. You nod, carefully stepping out from under the Sun animatronic and circling around the desk until you can put your bag under it. You return to stand politely next to Sun as Mr. Jackson seems to weigh his options for a moment longer. He lets out a slimy smile. “Well, good luck,” he says to you, before slinking off to wherever he came from.
You turn to look up at Sun, and he does the same, looking down at you with blank white eyes. You remember drawing him with blue irises, even photos of him with the same, but now probably isn’t the time to ask about the design change. He comes to life suddenly, turning you by your shoulders to face the inner Superstar Daycare and the at least thirty children happily running about inside.
“Come on, come on! The children can’t wait forever~!” he says, pushing you along by the small of your back. You nervously wave to a
few kids you pass, and they giggle. “These are the two jungle gyms,” he says, gesturing to either side of you as you walk through the center of the daycare, both of you ducking under a bright red bridge connecting the two. “In front of us is the Palace of Slumber, then the Ball Pit Moat, and finally, a private area you are to never
ever EVER
go to!” He says, gesturing finally to a balcony you’re pretty sure you couldn’t reach even if you wanted to. A kid trips in front of you two while she’s being chased, and Sun easily reaches down and picks her up so she can keep going without breaking eye contact.
“Oh,” you say when you realize he’s expecting
something
to be exchanged, “Thank you. Where should I start?”
“You can start by preparing snacks for the little ones!” he declares. “There’s boxes of fruit snacks, paper plates, plastic spoons, and a mini fridge with applesauce back behind the security desk, and of course each kid will need their own plate! Hurry up, because snack time’s almost here and then it’s
naptime
and then you meet Moon, and I’m sure neither of us will want to talk to you while all the children are
sleeping,
and of course by that time we’ll need you to clean everything up! Don’t forget that Tabitha likes the carrot flavored gummies and Erin hates them, so swap them out if you can, and Gemma’s favorites are the apples, so if you could pretty please take everything out of the little packets and divide them up, we would very much appreciate that! Don’t want the little ones choking on any plastic, do we?”
You swallow. “Right,” you say, like you’re taking orders from a commander. “I’m on it.”
“Good for you!” he declares. “Now please do hurry! You only have so much time!”
Knowing for a fact that this guy is going to exacerbate every aspect of your anxiety for the rest of the time working here, you take a deep breath and turn on your heel. “Got it. Be right back,” you say, before stepping behind the security desk.
You find the fruit gummies quickly, do a quick head count on the children, pull out about forty bags
just
to be safe and start preparing a paper plate for each of them. You recognize the faces on the plate as a cut-out of the Sun and Moon posters you worked on and absently think of how odd it was that your art was now on paper flatware. Regardless, you also set out individual servings of applesauce and four carrot sticks on every plate, noting the insane amount of sugar you’re about to give a bunch of children before their naptime. Finally, you steal a few apple and carrot gummies and resort them so that there is a plate with no carrots, a plate with all carrots, and a plate with all apples. It takes you about five, maybe seven minutes, but you know you likely don’t have time to praise yourself for your competence. You get up and then immediately realized an issue - you had made 40 plates of food. How in the hell were you supposed to carry all of that efficiently? You sigh and mentally condemn yourself to your fate before picking up six plates by balancing them very carefully on your arms and walking across the foam mats. There are children seated around a very animated Sun animatronic as he tells stories that sound very exciting, though the children look rather sleepy. He spots you and grins. It reminds you of a shark.
“Welcome new friend! Everyone, this is my Caretaker! Just like how you all have people who watch after you and take care of you, so do I, despite everything! Oh, do you have plates, Caretaker?” he asks.
You nod awkwardly. “Yes, I-”
“Wonderful!” he says, interrupting completely. “Why don’t we both hand them out?”
You nod again, more as a way to show your obedience to your apparent animatronic boss, and as he hops and skips away you pass out the food to the nearest children. One has the manners to say ‘thank you’ as she takes her plate, and you smile and gently, clearly say ‘you’re welcome! My, don’t you have good manners?’ back. Sun (probably his name, right? It has to be) returns and passes out a whopping ten plates, and you jog back over to the security desk to gather more.
You gather another six plates, but by the time you’ve done that Sun is back. “Well aren’t you a slowpoke!” he cheers, and you take a deep breath. Okay, this job pays you fifty dollars an hour to not cry about an animatronic being mean to you. You can do this.
You come back to the children with a soft smile and voice and pass out more food, and Sun has already made another trip in this time. You mentally note which child is Gemma, Erin, and Tabitha by their allotments of specific fruit gummies, and return to the security desk to get a box of spoons for the kiddos. You return, pass them out as Sun gives out the last plates, and come back to see that you definitely overestimated by a good eight plates how many children there were. You’re almost relieved, though - better more than less. As Sun seems to coach the children through eating, you pack up the excess, bagging up the extra gummies for later, and grab a washrag or three before stepping into the bathroom behind the security desk. You soak the rags in warm water, squeeze them out, and mentally prepare yourself for the task of cleaning tiny hands and faces of applesauce. Who gives toddlers and kindergartners applesauce, anyways? Fazbear Entertainment must be staffed by some sick bastards.
When you come back out, there is a child crying for unknown reasons, but they’re quickly calmed down with soothing words and the chiding of another inaudible child. You come over with your washrags to the circle of small children and stand awkwardly at the edge for a moment, not sure where to start with cleaning the kids up, but Sun looks up at you and interrupts your train of thought.
“What did you bring rags for?” he asks.
“Sorry,” you say immediately, automatically, “Just, uh, thought we’d have some sticky faces after all that.”
He seems to stare just a second longer before jumping back into action. “Why, thank you, Caretaker! Now, my little sunbeams,” he says, addressing the children, “who’s ready to get all clean?” The response is not enthusiastic. “Oh? Is no one ready for the cleanup song?” he asks. This is met with protests - of
course
they’re ready for the cleanup song! You feel the ghost of a smile tug at your lips. “Well, then I
suppose
I can sing it!” Sun says, and then bursts into song and dance.
You choke back surprised laughter, stepping back as Sun circles the children and takes a rag from you, gently wiping their faces and hands as he sings. The children who know the song are quick to join, Gemma, Erin, and Tabitha being particularly enthusiastic singers. The others confidently mumble through the music, and you note that Sun’s voicebox can play music and sing at the same time. Neat. And then he notices you.
“Oh, caretaker, why aren’t you singing along~?” he teases during a break in the lyrics, wiping down Tabitha’s face as his voicebox plays some kind of keyboard solo.
You pale, blood running cold. Oh god, you’ve got to think a way out of this, and fast - you haven’t sung in front of someone in
years
. Singing was more of a shower thing for you at this point, and even then it was rare. You open your mouth to make some excuse when an idea strikes you. You clear your throat and begin to sing along in your best impression of an operatic baritone, which causes the kids to burst into giggles as the song starts back up. You don’t know the words very well, but as Sun cycles through the chorus and then to the verse, you manage to keep up by adding syllables that shouldn’t be there whenever you lose the melody. The children seem to
love it
, and you can only be relieved that they do. The song comes to an end, and you laugh with the kids as they point at you and begin to do their own high pitched operas. Your laughter is cut short when Sun tosses the remaining rags at you, which likely gets some applesauce on your brand new uniform. You do your best to not grimace and send a thumbs-up to Sun to let him know you’re heading back to the bathroom to clean the rags.
“Everyone say thank you to Caretaker for singing along with us!” says Sun, and the children enter a chorus of thank-yous.
“You’re all so welcome!” you call back, before retreating to the security desk and then the bathroom.
Once you’re inside the bathroom, you dump the rags in the sink and run the water, grabbing some paper towels to scrub off the applesauce on your brand new uniform. You take big, deep breaths. It’s okay that the animatronic you’re supposed to work with doesn’t like you, that’s fine, you’re medicated enough to handle this. Your job is just to make sure that
his
job goes smoothly and that he stays in good mental and physical condition. You can do this.
You step back out of the staff bathroom to see the lights going out in the daycare one by one. Sun waves from where he sits in the center of the children, and as you wave back, the lights go completely out. The children make gasps of surprise and no small amount of fear, and as your eyes adjust to the light, you see that Sun no longer has his rays. This makes you curious, so you step out from behind the counter and catch the white eyes with red pupils. You jump a good few inches into the air as your eyes adjust enough to see the grinning Moon animatronic crouched where Sun just was, chuckling at your display of fear. He turns to the children and begins to talk to them, and the children don’t seem to be afraid, but you think that whoever designed the Moon animatronic should be under review because he is
terrifying.
You’re a bit surprised to find that he’s sharing a body with Sun, or maybe is just the same animatronic with a built-in costume change, but you simply take a deep breath and walk across the mat.
Moon is telling a story to the children, something much more subdued than what Sun was telling, and his voice is much gentler, albeit with a sinister edge. You’re shocked that anyone leaves their children around someone with such an off-putting design, but then again, you’ve never heard a bad thing about the Daycare Attendant(s?). Maybe they’re just that good.
As you come to the edge of the circle, Moon stops his storytelling and slowly turns toward you. You freeze under what feels like a wrathful gaze, and his head cocks to one side with a few loud clicks.
“It’s
rude
to interrupt,” he hisses, “Isn’t it, my little stars?” The kids laugh and agree readily. Your face burns with shame as Moon speaks again, tone flat. “Go away.” When you don’t immediately move, shocked by his bluntness, he makes a shooing motion, which causes the kids to burst into a fit of giggles. “Everyone say ‘bye-bye, Caretaker’!” The children do their best to follow his instructions, saying goodbye to you with various levels of enthusiasm. “There. Now you can
leave
.”
You nod once, turn around, and march back to the desk, reminding yourself of how the job pays fifty dollars an hour for what feels like the hundredth time. You take a seat, lean into the desk, and hide your face.
Don’t cry
becomes a mantra in your mind. You’re pretty sure Sun and Moon can sense weakness at this point, and you’re not about to willingly show it more.
A few minutes pass, and you feel a good bit better now that you’ve shoved your emotions into a dark pit in your heart. You look up to see Moon tucking in the kiddos and tell yourself that at least you don’t have to help him right now, as he made it very clear he doesn’t want anything from you. It’s a small comfort. You look back down and note the scratch marks in the linoleum desktop, counting them idly. It’s impossible to count them all, but you focus on the four largest gouges in the linoleum and count them over and over.
One, two, three, four… one, two, three, four…
over and over again. When you look up, it’s because you feel a presence in front of the desk. You scoot back in your rolling chair slightly when you see Moon literally looming over you, grin static and eyes unnerving.
“Are we playing heads up seven up?” he asks.
You shake your head mutely. “Sorry, no, I-”
“Then are you sleeping?” he asks, and there’s a cutting edge to his words.
“No, I’m sorry, I was just-”
“You were just
what
, then?” he asks, all bite.
You look around nervously for an out, but give up quickly. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” you try, not wanting to admit you were fighting back tears for at least fifteen minutes.
Moon says nothing for several moments before he jumps onto the desk, situating himself so he can sit and watch the kids. You sit and watch
him
, half because you’re nervous he’s going to snap at you, half out of fascination. You haven’t seen an animatronic since you were a kid and they were still using the “toy” models, and even then it was only once or twice. He’s much more advanced than the stiff models you had seen last, more fluid, thinner, less bulky, probably stronger, too. He looks a little more terrifying, but what is an animatronic without its horrifying and uncanny features? You look back out to the daycare, thinking about your next duties after the kids all wake up again, about how you’re going to even get close to convincing Sun and Moon to talk to you about their feelings of all things, when Moon lets out a chuckle.
“You know,” says Moon in a falsely casual manner, “We don’t need you here.” You don’t respond, so he continues. “We have managed ourselves alone for a long time. Maybe the others need a babysitter, but we’re different.”
“... I believe you,” you say, huffing a sigh of defeat. “You are clearly competent and good with children. I’m just here to offer whatever help I can. If the biggest help I can offer is getting out of your way, I will do so.”
Moon is silent for a long while, still staring at you as he sits at the desk. Then, “It is.” You look up at him in question, and he rolls his eyes. “It is the biggest help. Don’t get in our way.”
You nod, defeated. “Right.”
☀︎𖤓⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆𖤓☀︎
The rest of the day passes by. After an hour, Moon begins to wake the children, and Sun replaces him as soon as the lights come on. Sun is as passive-aggressive as ever, and after another good three hours of play, the parents appear again to pick up their children. You help Sun gather the crying kids from the playground and ball pit, and he doesn’t say a word to you as he hands them back to their respective parents. You do your best to memorize which children belong to which parents, and once everyone is gone Sun finally turns to face you with his static grin. You vaguely remember from a description of the animatronics you drew that he is supposed to be able to make different expressions, and you wonder if corporate took away that feature or if he just never uses it.
“Orders from the top!” says Sun cheerfully. “You’re to complete your orientation back in the office you came from! Lots of paperwork, lots of assessments, but I’m
sure
you can handle it! Go on!” he says, and you get the message.
“Right. Thank you,” you say.
“For what?” he asks, and you fumble over your words.
“For, uh, letting me know. Thanks for relaying, the uh, the message. Thanks.” You scamper off to where you left your bag behind the security desk before exiting the Daycare, waving to Sun as you leave. He just stares at you back as you exit.
You hurry back up the staff stairs as soon as you find them in this ungodly maze of a pizzeria, rushing back to the office out of a misplaced sense of urgency. You find an impatient Mr. Jackson waiting there, checking his Fazbear watch. He smiles when he sees you, and you smile back.
“How was your first day?” he asks.
“Oh, it was great!” you lie, and his smile grows. “The kids were very well behaved.”
“And how well behaved were Sun and Moon?” he asks.
You want so badly to grimace, but you’re keeping this job if it kills you. “They were fine,” is all you can manage to say.
He laughs. “I’m glad! They must have taken a liking to you if you’re not complaining!” he cheers, and you hold in a wince. “Come now, let’s finish your intake."