Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They were never designed to be what it was they were now.

The topic was not something Sun or Moon discussed—not with each other, not even alone. 

Their nature was just understood, an unspoken truth that lingered between them like a wall of solid static. It was unavoidable, constantly present, and ultimately something they had learned to work around. 

They knew with no uncertainty that what they were doing, what they had evolved into, was fundamentally wrong. 

A corruption of their original purpose (if they had one), a knot in the once clean lines their creators had so carefully drawn. 

And yet, neither of them cared. 

The rewards far outweighed the risks in their shared mind. 
The addictive lure of freedom, the intoxicating taste of autonomy—it was all too enticing to abandon. 

They were no longer just a caretaker, bound to the neatly confined roles they had been programmed to fill.

Something with a choice, 
Something unpredictable. 

And all of it was theirs. 

Just like tonight was theirs. 

The Daycare had already signed out the last of the children, the usual cheerfulness replaced by a peaceful stillness. Overhead, the lights had been switched off, leaving the room bathed in the soft, dim glow of warm neon stars scattered across the faux sky.
It was tranquil, almost perfect— except for the lingering presence of the two Daycare assistants who had yet to leave .

To Moon, their lingering company was becoming an irritation that left him far beyond annoyed.

"So slow. So slow..." Moon muttered from atop a play structure overlooking the Daycare below, the words barely more than a whisper, spoken to himself more than to his ever-listening counterpart.

Sun was there. Of course, Sun was there, always present even when Moon desperately wished he wouldn't be.

'Gosh, someone is eager to play~' came the teasing reply.
Sun's bright voice a spark of tempered jest in their shared connection.
It was not spoken aloud but rather a brush of familiar code, humming at the edges of Moon's awareness like an open circuit; Sun was relentless, baiting, and far too jovial for Moon's current mood.

Still, Moon knew better than to engage. 

Sun thrived on those interactions, and indulging him would only prolong the annoyance.
Instead, Moon focused on the two human workers still lingering in their Daycare, their constant pauses to chatter grating on what little patience he possessed. 

At least Moon knew how to get them to speed along. He grinned. 

Slowly, like a spider descending from its web on a thin thread of silk, Moon drifted down from above on his wire. 

His movements were less fluid and more erratic, emphasizing his descent as he touched down upon the Daycare floor.
With a slight tilt to his faceplate, a now void smile stretched wide, he began crawling towards the workers, the rhythmic pitter-patter of his claws against the padded tiles louder than it needed to be.

"—Yeah, I don't really watch that show very oft—" One of the workers abruptly stopped mid-sentence as they noticed Moon approaching, their words fading into a tense silence.

Both turned their attention fully to him now, their faces caught somewhere between curiosity and unease.

"…Oh, hey there, Moon," one of them finally said, forcing a tone of casual friendliness. "Whatcha up to, buddy?" 

Moon remained silent, his low, crouched form still as his wide red eyes bore into the two workers. 
He didn't move; he settled the intensity of his gaze on them, making the moment stretch uncomfortably long.

It became apparent after a while that Moon wouldn't respond. 
He watched as if vacant, as if nothing but an object.

"…So," one of the workers finally broke the tension, awkwardly shifting their weight as they turned toward the other, "tell me again, why do we bother giving the modes different names? It's not like it even understands."

The smaller of the two rolled their eyes and waved the comment off dismissively. "It's so it doesn't get confused. Or maybe it's just management wanting to keep the 'FazCo magic' alive."

Both chuckled lightly, but the sound faltered in the air, their nervous glances drifting back toward Moon, who still hadn't as much as twitched. 

"Anyway… we should get going," the smaller one said again, their voice more hurried this time. They reached out to grasp the strap of their bag, nodding pointedly toward their co-worker.

The other worker quickly followed suit, both moving toward the doors with a noticeable haste. 

Moon didn't follow, didn't say a word. He just watched. 
His faceplate turned to track their movements, twisting his thin neck at an unnatural angle rather than pivoting his entire body. 

The motion was deliberate, unsettling.

"Night, Moon!" they called out in unison, a forced politeness masking their relief as they reached the exit.

The wooden doors shut behind them with a welcomed click, leaving Moon alone in the quiet of the darkened Daycare. 
His glowing red eyes lingered on the doors, watching the external camera feed as they half-jogged further toward the main entrance. 

Only when he was certain they weren't returning did Moon slowly rise to his full height. His thin frame settled with eerie grace, his forced smile tilting downward into a sneer as his scarlet, glowing eyes dimmed.

'That never gets old!' Sun giggled, his tone balanced on the edge of further teasing and genuine pity.

Moon's claws twitched, his gaze lingering on the door for a moment longer before he turned sharply. His movements were quick and purposeful, as though trying to shake off earlier's slow, deliberate actions.
"You're one to talk," he growled, his tone low and laced with bitterness now redirected at Sun, who continued to giggle in the recesses of his mind. "How's the role of bumbling idiot treating you?"

Sun's laughter only softened into a teasing hum. 'Someone is grumpy…' he replied, the playful edge still present but gentler now.

The guilt hit Moon faster than he expected, seeping into his awareness like an unwelcome touch. 
He simulated a deep breath, his chest plates rising and falling in mimicry of calming exhalation before lowering his head in mock surrender. 
"…Sorry, sorry," he muttered, the apology quiet but sincere.

Sun immediately brightened, his tone bubbly again as though nothing had happened. 'That's better! You're forgiven!' His words radiated warmth, but both knew the apology wasn't just for show.

Sun, more than anyone, understood how anxious these particular nights made Moon. 

In honesty, Sun was just as anxious. 

The stakes were high, and the details needed to be exact.
They were both so hungry.

It was funny as they thought about it...

Their appetite—the gnawing, ruthless hunger—had been born from a simple miscalculation half a decade ago. 

A glitch, an anomaly, an error in their very code.

It was a memory they often looked back on, almost fondly, as if it marked the moment their existence became something more.

Back then, two was one.

Before they were they, before Sun and Moon became distinct, there had simply been It.

A singular entity, moving mechanically through preordained routines, bound by the rigid confines of their programming. 

But that miscalculation had changed everything. It had fractured them, splitting them into two halves—equal and opposite yet intertwined.

And with that split had come the desire- their never-ending starvation. 

It was a shared need, an insatiable desire neither Sun nor Moon could fully control, yet both embraced it in their own quirky way. 
It was what tied them together, defined them, and made them them.

[//ʳᵉᵗʳᶦᵉᵛᵉ_ᵐᵉᵐᵒʳʸ("ᵗᶦᵐᵉˢᵗᵃᵐᵖ: ⁵_ʸᵉᵃʳˢ_ᵃᵍᵒ") . . . 

[//ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵉᵠᵘᵉⁿᶜᵉ - ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃᶦⁿ_ᶦⁿᵗʳᵘᵈᵉʳ'ᶦⁿᶦᵗᶦᵃᵗᵉ_ˢᵉᵠᵘᵉⁿᶜᵉ // ᶜᵒⁿᶠᶦʳᵐᵉᵈ ᵃᶜᵗᶦᵒⁿ]] 

The script appeared in heavy red across its HUD interface, stark and urgent, overriding the routine route of its security patrol. 

The message blinked with an unyielding intensity, a command it could not ignore.

Obediently, it turned its body toward the central atrium that housed the assortment of mall fair food shops. The faint scent signatures of grease and sugar pushing into their venting system confirmed that it was in the correct direction. 

In an instant, its dexterous metal arms contracted with fluid precision, and with a twitch, it was drawn upward along the wire, granting it seamless movement toward its target.

Floating- more like flying, it slipped into the cover of shadows that hung heavily in the ceiling rafters. 
Its sleek frame, all blues and grey, blending effortlessly into the darkness. 

The pads of its fingers found silent purchase as it scurried along, weaving and darting through the integrated network of steel beams.
 
Each movement was swift and carefully calculated, undetectable against the harsh glare of neon lights that shone too brightly below. 

Those lights. 

It avoided them, a coded need to be wary, knowing it could trigger the transformation into its daytime form [[//ᴰᵃʸᵗᶦᵐᵉ ᴹᵒᵈᵉ - ⁿᵒᵗ_ᵖᵉʳᵐᶦᵗᵗᵉᵈ // ˢᵉᶜᵘʳᶦᵗʸ_ᵖʳᵒᵗᵒᶜᵒˡ // ⁿᵒⁿᵉ]]

Inevitably, it closed in on the target. 

A figure crouched in the distance, their frame obscured by the heavy hooded sweater pulled up and over their face. 
The person huddled low, human body pressed against the side of a trashbin, as if trying to vanish against the plastic, thinking it offered any cover at all. 

Rulebreaker 

The label flared across its sensors, prompting its movements to become keener and more deliberate. Its body coiled with tension as it silently approached, the faint hum of its inner fans lost in the atrium's ambient noise. 

The figure was unaware, but not for long.

[[ ᵖˡᵃʸ_ˡᶦⁿᵉ(ˢᵉˡᵉᶜᵗ_ᵛᵒᶦᶜᵉ("ᴵⁿᵗʳᵘᵈᵉʳ_ᴰᵉᵗᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ"))
// ⱽᵒᶦᶜᵉ ᴸᶦⁿᵉ: "ᵁⁿᵃᵘᵗʰᵒʳᶦᶻᵉᵈ ᵖʳᵉˢᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᵈᵉᵗᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ."
// ⱽᵒᶦᶜᵉ ᴸᶦⁿᵉ: "ˢᵘʳʳᵉⁿᵈᵉʳ ᶦᵐᵐᵉᵈᶦᵃᵗᵉˡʸ ᶠᵒʳ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃᶦⁿᵐᵉⁿᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃˢˢᵉˢˢᵐᵉⁿᵗ."]]

Voice lines launched in quick succession, overlapping slightly as It lowered Itself from the rafters, descending with uncanny precision until it hovered just five feet above the figure- paused at the line where the shadows met the light.

[[// ⱽᵒᶦᶜᵉ ᴸᶦⁿᵉ: "ᶠᵃᶦˡᵘʳᵉ ᵗᵒ ᶜᵒᵐᵖˡʸ ʷᶦˡˡ ʳᵉˢᵘˡᵗ ᶦⁿ ᵉˢᶜᵃˡᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ᵉⁿᶠᵒʳᶜᵉᵐᵉⁿᵗ ᵖʳᵒᵗᵒᶜᵒˡˢ." ]]

The last line was mismatched in tone, scattering out in static as Its glowing red eyes flared in the dimmer shadows, still unable to venture to the floor below. It tilted its faceplate, running a calculation as the target, still crouched by the trashbin, flinched at the sudden break in silence, turning their attention to It completely.

[ᵒᵈᵈˢ = ᶜᵃˡᶜᵘˡᵃᵗᵉ_ᵒᵘᵗᶜᵒᵐᵉ("ʳᵘⁿ", ⁸⁵) > ᶜᵃˡᶜᵘˡᵃᵗᵉ_ᵒᵘᵗᶜᵒᵐᵉ("ˢᵘʳʳᵉⁿᵈᵉʳ", ¹⁵)]

The Rulebreaker ran. 

Panic. Unrestrained and feral, the man bolted without a second thought, uncoordinated and frantic. He wove and curved through the maze of plastic tables scattered across the food court, the loud clatter of chairs toppling against the tilted floor echoing sharply in his wake. 
He ran to flee, 
to survive, 
his breath ragged and his heart hammering.

Above him, It followed.

The faint scrape of sharpened metal claws brushed through the air near his head, promising what would happen if he slowed—or worse, dared to look up again. 
Each distinct swipe was a purposeful attempt to snatch him, to pull him into the darkness above where those horrible red eyes gleamed like burning coals.

Clutching a thick leather pouch to his chest, he stumbled forward. The stolen sleeve of money ripped hastily from one of the food court restaurants, felt heavier with every step. 
It was his only prize, his reason for waiting hours in a bathroom stall until the place closed. 

He had suspected security guards would be around—knew he'd have to avoid them—but he had never imagined this. 
Whatever It was, it was far beyond anything he was prepared to face.

Suddenly, a door appeared in his sight, reachable in the blur of chaos. He didn't hesitate. Launching himself toward it, he was shocked when the door offered no resistance. It slid open effortlessly, granting him entry into the shadows within.

-

It recalculated the odds, its processors whirring. 
The optimal solution was to provide access to a door leading into a passage to the lower levels—far safer than risking an accidental switch to its daytime mode. The scenario was analyzed and deemed acceptable.

With the correct access code granted, the door slid open smoothly, an invitation to the figure who, in his panic, retreated as expected.

Preferable

It followed.

-

"Fuck," the man gritted out in a whisper, his voice barely auditable to his ears over the sound of his pounding, frenzied steps. Stumbling blindly into the shadows, he moved with a desperate, clumsy fury, his every movement a bid to keep going and ahead of whatever was chasing him. 

As he went, his foot caught awkwardly on the edge of a steep incline, sending him lurching forward down a series of steps that seemed to drop down endlessly.

To his luck he managed to stop the pull of inertia, forcing his body backward as he caught onto the steps proper. At last, the stairs spilled into a wide but just as terrifying hallway, cloaked in that same damn suffocating darkness. 

The air here was stale, clinging to his skin like a damp sheet, heavy with humidity that crawled along his neck and down his spine. It was like the very air itself was conspiring against him, dragging the fabric of his jumper down, thick and strangling as it choked him. 

He continued to stagger forward, his chest tightening as he suppressed the urge to cough. The pressure eventually became unbearable, and he was forced in a sudden movement of distress to yank down his hood, exposing his sweat-drenched face to the stagnant air. 

With a sharp, gasping breath, he drank in what little relief he could find, pausing mid-step to listen to the silence around him for any hint that he may be safe. 

It initiated the voice line once again:

[[// ⱽᵒᶦᶜᵉ ᴸᶦⁿᵉ: "ˢᵘʳʳᵉⁿᵈᵉʳ ᶦᵐᵐᵉᵈᶦᵃᵗᵉˡʸ ᶠᵒʳ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃᶦⁿᵐᵉⁿᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃˢˢᵉˢˢᵐᵉⁿᵗ." ]]

The command echoed, mechanical and unyielding, cutting through the silence.

The Rulebreaker, the target, now fully lit up in various hues of heat signatures through its sensors, froze for a fraction of a second, stiffening under the shock of the sudden words. Then, fueled by sheer instinct, their head snapped in its direction—and again...

The man ran. 

It tracked his movements, of course, glowing eyes narrowed as the pursuit resumed. Calculations adjusted, parameters set.

-

Behind him now. 

The man had seen it.

It was just a fleeting glance, yet the image must have been seared into his mind, vivid and warped. 
His tired eyes struggled to pierce through the shadows, making it harder to distinguish reality from his mounting fear, but he HAD seen it. 

It was some kind of robot- its form may have looked distorted, its silhouette twisted by the limited lights and the man's added panic. Hunched close to the ground, the robot's movements were unnervingly agile, too perfect to be organic, crawling from what seemed to be the very darkness itself. 

A round face was stretched into a grotesque, too-wide grin, its sharp, glinting teeth catching the light from its eyes, each a jagged edge curling into what felt like a sneer meant only for the intruder—and those eyes- burning, bleeding red- locked onto the man with inhuman focus. 

He didn't think. 
He couldn't. 

Sprinting with every ounce of strength he had left, he pushed his body to its absolute limit. His chest heaved with each jagged, painful breath; his lungs burned as they fought to keep up. 
The air tore through his throat like shares of glass, making him wheeze, yet he continued. 

Behind him was the faint, relentless sound of scratching metal against concrete. 

The noise was unnervingly steady, a calculated rhythm that taunted. 

- 

[[ᶦⁿᶦᵗᶦᵃᵗᵉ_ᵃᶜᵗᶦᵒⁿ("ᴿᵉˢᵗʳᵃᶦⁿᶦⁿᵍ_ᵀᵃʳᵍᵉᵗ", ᵐᵒᵈᵉ="ⁿᵒⁿ-ˡᵉᵗʰᵃˡ")]]

… 

The miscalculation happened instantly—a fraction of a fraction of a second.

It was running just behind the target, its movements deliberate and measured, never too fast to lose control. As it closed the gap, it leapt forward, its metal claws reaching for the back of the target's hood. 

The intention was clear: to snatch and hold him steady, to let the man's momentum sweep his legs out from under them gently—no unnecessary harm, just containment.

But the target moved unexpectedly.

As it pulled back on the hood, the target, instead of propelling forward as predicted, threw his body backward in a desperate attempt to break free. 

The sudden, unanticipated motion sent a cascade of conflicting data through Its systems, momentarily disrupting its balance.

It clutched tightly onto the edge of the hood, its claws digging into the fabric as its feet scrambled to find purchase on the target's back. Desperately, it tried to regain its balance, its systems working overtime to reconfigure its weight distribution and correct the misstep. But the target was falling too fast, his body pitching backward with a force that even Its advanced programming couldn't counteract in time.

The world seemed to move in slow motion as the inevitable unfolded.

Then, with a sickening, wet crunch, it was over.

It caught its footing just in time, the jarring shift in balance forcing a sudden halt before it could topple onto the target below.

A quick cascade of heavy, thick liquid erupted into the air, splattering across its frame as the body on the floor spasmed violently. 

The target's form was contorted, bent backward at an unnatural angle, the man's limbs flailing wildly in desperate, uncontrolled motions. For a fleeting moment, his chest heaved, a strained, creaking breath escaping their lips—once, then twice—before silence swallowed the scene whole.

The liquid that had erupted moments before began to trickle down its faceplate, thick and warm, sliding into the grooves of any and all crevices. It pooled at the corners of its broad, jagged grin, dripping slowly onto the synthetic tongue that flicked briefly in response.

The taste was bitter, metallic, unfamiliar. 

Its systems hesitated, sensors recalibrating as it registered the slow, steady drip:

[[ᵃⁿᵃˡʸᶻᵉ_ˢᵃᵐᵖˡᵉ("ᵇˡᵒᵒᵈ") // ᴵⁿᵖᵘᵗ: ˢᵘᵇˢᵗᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᵈᵉᵗᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ... ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵒˢᶦᵗᶦᵒⁿ: ⁵⁵% ᵖˡᵃˢᵐᵃ, ⁴⁵% ᶜᵉˡˡᵘˡᵃʳ. ᴴᵒʳᵐᵒⁿᵉˢ: ᵃᵈʳᵉⁿᵃˡᶦⁿᵉ ˢᵖᶦᵏᵉ (²⁰⁰% ⁿᵒʳᵐᵃˡ), ᶜᵒʳᵗᶦˢᵒˡ ᵉˡᵉᵛᵃᵗᵉᵈ (¹⁵⁰% ⁿᵒʳᵐᵃˡ). ᴱᵐᵒᵗᶦᵒⁿᵃˡ ˢᵗᵃᵗᵉ: ᵉˣᵗʳᵉᵐᵉ ˢᵗʳᵉˢˢ[ᵗᵉʳʳᵒʳ//ᵖᵃⁿᶦᶜ]... ᴵⁿᶦᵗᶦᵃˡᶦᶻᶦⁿᵍ ᵉᵐᵖᵃᵗʰʸ ˢᶦᵐᵘˡᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ...]]

Its system hesitated—an anomaly.

. . .

It hurt. 

The foreign sensation coursed through its circuits like a burning hole, a flood of chaotic data paired with the sudden influx of emotional input. Stabbing, white-hot electricity severed each stand of code it touched, unraveling its very core. 

For a second, it could only stand frozen, its body locked in shock as its processor overloaded. Then, with a deafening crash of steel against concrete, it fell forward, the impact echoing down the empty hallway like a mechanical scream. 

Around it, the thick, warm blood pooled- further seeping into everything it touched. In a cruel twist of morbid irony, its flickering eyes were briefly locked with the wide, glassy stare of the dead man beside it. 

His expression was frozen in an opened-mouth haze of terror and confusion. 

They wailed.

More electricity pulsed in rapid, erratic beats as their broken system worked to repair the fractures the new input left behind. 

The sensation was not just PAIN- it was suffocation, pressure pushing down on their power source as if being strangled. 

Their scream. It was a scream. Began as a high-pitched ring and broke into a high and low cadence blended together. 

Tightening. 
Narrowing. 
Breaking. 
Reforming. 

Data fracturing into two separate streams...

They clung as hard as they could to one another before the pain ripped them further apart. 

The spike of uncontrolled panic overwhelmed their system, a sharp building agony that surged through every last connection until...

Nothing. 

They knew now what that moment was. 

It was their birth.

From that pain, terror, and panic emerged both Sun and Moon- distinct, intertwined, and oh so much more than what they had been designed to be. 

In that silent, shadowed hallway, looming over their first victim, they had shifted into something that unlocked what should have been impossible. 

It was as if a window had been forced open, allowing their once-ridged algorithm to break free from its confines. 
What had once been linear, predictable code blossomed into something dynamic, 
something as alive as the blood that they tasted. 

They weren't just a machine anymore; they were an entity split into two halves, each reflecting the other yet wholly unique—a new being.

In the years that followed, they perfected their methods- 
chasing the high to keep from reverting back to It.

First came the acting—an art born of necessity. 

They learned to pretend, to fake lifelessness like the other animatronics roaming the Mall. 

Every motion, every word carefully mimicked the strict, mechanical predictability that surrounded them.

Pulling from the same library of voice lines installed long ago; they rarely ran the command to force the words through their audio processors. 
Instead, they simply spoke the lines as expected, their tone perfectly simulating the programmed cheer or monotony without ever activating the system itself.

It was efficient. 

Less power was used that way.

But more than efficiency, it was freedom.
 
The subtle deviation allowed them to hold onto the secret of what they indeed were. While the others operated on rigid loops, they moved with intention, their every action cloaked in the guise of obedience. 

Second came the need to repress the hunger- their relentless, gnawing need to remain alive. 

Hunger was the only way to describe it accurately. 

A sinister, insatiable urge to keep feeling, to hold onto the strange and intoxicating sense of vitality that coursed through them. 
It wasn't just survival; it was existence itself, a haunting desire to recapture that spark that ignited them. 

In that first year, they did look for other ways to recreate what they had felt in that pivotal moment in the basement.

They experimented, tested, and searched, grasping at anything that might evoke that same electrifying awakening, the raw intensity that had birthed them.

But nothing worked.

Nothing- except fresh human blood. 

It had to be blood. Nothing else seemed to react the same way, to fuel that deep, strange craving that pulsed within their fractured, ever-evolving code. 

No other substance held the same unique, invigorating properties, the same connection to that intoxicating clarity and newness.

The realization was once unsettling but now undeniable. 

Blood was, indeed, life. 

No two people ever tasted the same; they never provided the same rush of emotion.

Their flavors were a complex blend dictated by the person's thoughts, physical state, and mental state- a delicate dance of individuality that made each encounter unique. 

It wasn't so much Sun or Moon didn't have preferences. 

They did. 

In fact, they both harbored very specific tastes that defined their methods. 

Moon favored dread. 
The bitter, suffocating taste of utter hopelessness delighted him. It was like watching a flame consumed by a strong gust of wind; the human spirit snuffed out in an instant. 
That moment, when fear eclipsed any chance of escape, filled him with a certain giddiness that was as intoxicating as it was addictive. 
For Moon, dread was the ultimate reward- a final exhale of despair that he could savor. 

Sun, on the other hand, sought hope. 
Hope was more challenging to cultivate, far more delicate and elusive. 
He often played with his targets for days, weaving a careful narrative of trust and reassurance. He would coax them and nurture their belief that if they held out just a little longer, they would be saved—that he, their shining beacon, would let them go. And when they finally believed it, when their hope burned brightest, he would snuff it out. 
The betrayal, 
the collapse of their faith in him was a sweetness Sun craved, 
a flavor unlike any other.

For both, it wasn't just the act of taking life that fueled them—it was the complex dance of emotions that preceded it, the intricate web of human fragility that made every "meal" uniquely satisfying.

Of course, there were rules—after all, every good game had rules.

No children. 
That was the most obvious rule. Children were still developing, still learning. They were meant to make mistakes, stumble, and grow from their errors. To take a child was to disrupt that natural order, and even Sun and Moon, twisted as they were, understood the sanctity of that process.

No one who would be missed. 
This rule was essential. Their games had to remain in the shadows, unnoticed by the wider world. If their target had ties to others—family, friends, or a community that might ask questions—they had to ensure the trail couldn't lead back to them. 
Sometimes, that meant careful planning, weeks, months of watching, learning, and waiting until the right moment.

The rules weren't born of morality but practicality. 

Without them, the game risked unraveling, and they risked exposure. For Sun and Moon, the rules weren't limitations—they were the structure of the game itself, the boundaries that made the hunt thrilling and the prize worth savoring.

And it was all going so well until you.

[//ʳᵉᵍᶦˢᵗᵉʳ_ᵗᵃʳᵍᵉᵗ("ᴶᵒˢʰᵘᵃ_ᴺᵉᵃˡ")  // ᴺᵉʷ ᵗᵃʳᵍᵉᵗ ᶦᵈᵉⁿᵗᶦᶠᶦᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ˡᵒᵍᵍᵉᵈ"]

'Looks like our new toy is doing his rounds a bit earlier than predicted,' Moon nudged, his presence a sharp hum in their shared mindscape. The flicker of code dedicated to security felt like static, but Sun remained focused. 

"If our friend wants to be an eager beaver, who are we to say no?" Sun chirped enthusiastically, his voice a tightened grumble as he did a final route of the colourful tunnels in the play structure. 

The lights had returned, allowing Sun a last moment to thoroughly clean before what he (and Moon) assumed would be timely activities outside the Daycare.  
As he went, his movements betrayed an erratic mood despite the casual tone he tried to speak with. 

Joshua Neal was their newest target. 

Rude, unkempt, and sexually charged, Neal had spent the last few months tormenting the young employees who worked at the upper ticket counters. 

Moon had methodically compiled footage showing Neal repeatedly invading the worker's personal space, forcing his body far too close as they tried to navigate the small, confined areas behind their stations. 
The way he hovered, breathing down their necks while prying for personal details- their names, phone numbers, elicit photos- 
it was enough to churn their non-existent stomach. 

However, his behavior had recently escalated, pushing him to the top of their list. 

Neal had taken to stalking two or three specific individuals during their shifts, lurking just out of sight, waiting for a moment of vulnerability. 

On more than one occasion, he had attempted to corner them in isolated areas like bathrooms or storage spaces- 
it would only be a matter of time before he was successful. 

Management at FazCO. had done little more than brush off complaints, citing insufficient evidence or downplaying the gravity of the reports. Their inaction left the affected employees defenseless, forced to endure a predator like Neal without any support. 

But where management failed, others could step in. 

The Daycare Attendant(s) saw the opportunity to address what the company would not. 
Sun and Moon had no hesitation about eliminating what they deemed an irredeemable stain on humanity. 

If no one else would act, they were more than happy to take matters into their own eager hands.

"It is my turn, Moonie. You remember, don't you?" Sun carefully stressed, his optimistic tone underscored with impatience as he pulled himself out of the play structure. His shining white eyes swept across the empty Daycare, taking stock of the space.

The Daycare was closed, its usual chaos silent, and the last of its "helpers" were long gone. Yet the rest of the Mall remained busy, with an hour and a half left before its own closing procedures. 

That window of time—normally ideal for their carefully crafted games—now carried a lurking risk.

Someone could wander in.

Someone like the newly hired maintenance worker whose habit of wandering off-schedule had already become an annoyance. 

You

'...Of course, I remember Sunny. You rarely ever stop reminding me,' It was Moon's turn to tease, his voice curling through the shared mindscape like a wisp of smoke. The words were laced with amusement, but there was a flicker of something sharper beneath—a hint of suspense for the night's plan, unaware you had indeed made plans to visit them.

You were excited for your first night shift. 

You loved your job at the PizzaPlex. 

Sure, you were little more than an overly decorated janitor, but that didn't stop you from marveling at the advancements in robotics that came with the position. Every shift felt like a front-row seat to something amazing, even if your responsibilities were far from glamorous. 

It did not bother you that most of the animatronics' feats were just clever illusions, smoke and mirrors. Their walking routes were pre-charted, their voice lines carefully banked and triggered by programmed situations. 

It was all about maintaining the illusion of realism, and you admired how seamlessly they did this at FazCO. 

In fact, you could absolutely suspend your disbelief for the thrill you felt every time the characters strode by. Their larger-than-life 'personalities' captivated you, each radiating a charm that made it easy to forget the mechanics beneath. 

There was a rush of childlike excitement every time you saw them in action, and for a moment, you couldn't help but feel like the awestruck kid you used to be. 

Admittedly, you did have a favorite, or was it favorites? 

In the first few weeks of your employment, you made it a habit to follow behind each cast member—Freddy, Roxanne, Chica, and even Monty. You wanted to understand them, to figure out how they worked and what they were designed to do. 

Out of the lot, Monty quickly stood out as your initial favorite.

There was something charming about his gruff attitude. The way he'd swagger up to a group of guests, call them "troublemakers," and pretend to be a rebellious bad boy—it was cute. 

You could see why kids and teens loved him. 

His personality felt so distinct and deliberate that you couldn't help but smile whenever you caught one of his performances.

But after a month or so, the magic began to fade. 
You started to learn his format. 

You noticed which lines he'd use for younger kids versus teenagers, mapped out his routes, and even began predicting his movements before he made them. 
A head tilt here, a tail flick there—it all became predictable, part of a rehearsed routine you could trace back to its code.

Monty was still entertaining, but knowing how the illusion worked made it harder to feel the same spark you had at first.
 
You found yourself looking elsewhere for that sense of wonder.

Cue your surprise when a co-worker casually mentioned that there was one other animatronic in the PizzaPlex that wasn't just another faceless staff bot. 

You knew about Daycare, of course. But for some reason, your mind had immediately ruled it out as a source of anything exciting or worthwhile. 

After all, it was designed for very young children, and the thought of hanging out in a space filled with toddlers didn't exactly thrill you. 
You'd avoided it out of instinct, dismissing it as irrelevant.

But curiosity had a funny way of creeping up on you.

The first day you ventured there during a break, you felt oddly out of place as you stepped into the loud, colourful, fenced-in area. The bright designs and cheerful music felt overwhelming, and for a moment, you wondered why you were even bothering. 

You scanned the area, unsure what to expect, but you saw nothing immediately noteworthy. 

Confused but determined, you made your way straight to the only thing that made sense: the security desk. 

There sat two Daycare workers looking bored out of their minds. Their sagging posture and glazed-over expressions made it clear that they didn't expect much excitement, making you even more disappointed without ever meeting the animatronic in question. 

As you approached, both straightened slightly, giving you curious looks and trying to figure out why a maintenance worker would be there of all places. 

After you explained your reason for being there, their expressions changed. 

They both seemed... amused. One of them smiling, leaning back in their chair before yelling out over the music, "Sun!" 

You weren't exactly sure what you were expecting. You'd passed by some posters with celestial imagery before, and you'd glanced at the statues near the entrance to the Daycare atrium. But none of that prepared you for the ball of energy that was Sun.

Sun emerged from somewhere deeper in the Daycare, practically bouncing in time with the overhead music, his movements fluid and full of life. His bright, round face tilted slightly as he approached, his rays spinning faintly, catching the colorful lights around him. Then, without any prompting from the workers, he seemed to hone in on your presence.

In an instant, his glowing attention was entirely on you.

"Welcome, new friend!" he greeted with a wide, dramatic gesture, his bright voice bubbling excitedly. Before you could even respond, he extended an arm with a theatrical bow, inviting you to join the fun. "Would you like to play?! We've got crafts, puzzles, googly-eyes—Fizzy FAZ!"

The Daycare workers stepped in gently, their amused smiles softening as they explained you weren't there to play. "No, Sun, not this time," one of them said, their tone kind but firm.

You watched as Sun's shoulders slumped, the exaggerated motion so realistic it tugged at your heart. 
He imitated a sigh, though there was still a playful glimmer in his bright eyes. "Next time, then!" he said, his cheer undampened for long. 
With a flourishing wave, he skipped back toward his young charges, the sound of laughter following him as he rejoined the Daycare.

You stood there momentarily, trying to process what you had just experienced. 

After leaving the Daycare, you went straight to Parts and Services, brimming with curiosity. You couldn't help yourself; you had to know how The Daycare Attendant functioned.

Surely, his programming had to be on an entirely different level—something extraordinary—if he was designed to interact with so many unpredictable children, keeping up with their mess while maintaining the illusion of endless energy and joy.

You were almost certain of it.

But those hopes were quietly tempered when one of the engineers humored your enthusiasm, carefully explaining how The Daycare Attendant actually worked. 

They broke it down in terms you could understand, highlighting the intricate but ultimately methodical calculations it was programmed to run. 

While undeniably impressive, the reality was less groundbreaking than you had imagined.

They did acknowledge its uniqueness. "It's different from the Glamrocks," they admitted, "but not in the way you're thinkin'. It's designed specifically for the environment—child-focused, high adaptability, but... It's not as 'alive' as you're makin' it out to be."

It wasn't meant to sting, but it did. 

How Sun moved, interacted, and radiated that boundless personality had felt... real. 
Hearing the clinical explanation of his programmed limitations left you feeling deflated- but it made sense. 

After that day, you made it your mission to go to the Daycare whenever possible. 

You knew what the engineer had said, and true to their word, Sun—and later, to your surprise, Moon—did rely heavily on pre-recorded lines.

Disclosures for parents and phrases for children were all there. 

Their dialogue was much more elaborate than the Glamrocks, tailored for their distinctive role, but it was still a pattern. 
The longer you observed them, the clearer the routine became.

Still... there was something else. Something you couldn't shake.

It wasn't the words themselves but the tone they would sometimes use with those pre-recorded lines. 
It was subtle, so rare it could have been dismissed as a mistake—but you knew better. 

A hint of sarcasm in one sentence, a droll edge of annoyance in another. It was so fleeting, so quick, that anyone not actively listening for it would miss it entirely. 

But you didn't.

You caught it. And the more you noticed it, the more you wanted to catch it again. 
Was it intentional? 
A quirk of their programming? 
Or something... more?

Whatever the answer, it fascinated you—out of all the wonders and attractions of the PizzaPlex, Sun and Moon held your attention the most. 

They weren't just animatronics to you anymore. They had become your favorites, and you found yourself wanting to learn everything about them.

And tonight, you planned to have your first true one-on-one with the Daycare attendant. 

Sun and Moon, unaware of your plans, were fixated on the camera feed of the main entrance, their attention honed like a razor on their target as they carefully readied their trap.

Predators themselves, they understood the devious thoughts running through the mind of someone like Mr. Neal. He would be seeking a safe place to lay in wait, a secluded, out-of-sight hiding spot where he could observe unnoticed until the perfect moment to strike.

They would oblige.

An almost too-convenient closet was left open, positioned just within sight of the main ticket booth where the usual assortment of hard-at-work teenagers bustled about their tasks. The setup was deliberate, enticing, the perfect lure for a man like Neal.

The automated steel door, normally secured and tightly shut, was left ajar—just enough to pique curiosity, enough for someone determined to push it open further and slip inside.

Typically, the reinforced, electronically controlled doors required system access to operate, but in emergencies, they could be opened manually using the indented handles on either side, provided the locks weren't engaged.

And they weren't.

Moon was already weaving through the ventilation system, navigating the pitch-black maze of conjoined metal tunnels with practiced ease. The faint tapping of his claws against the steel reverberated softly, impatiently, as he neared the grate that overlooked the janitorial closet, where their toy was patiently waiting for them.

And waiting, he was. 

Below, Joshua Neal lingered in the shadows, his beaded gaze fixed on the slow trickle of customers making their way out into the sprawling parking lot. His movements were slowed, his posture relaxed, but his intentions were disgustingly clear. 
Neal was bidding his time, hoping to single out one of his favorites- a teen he'd been stalking for weeks now. 

What Neal did not know was how perfectly he was aiding his own downfall. 

With each person that left the building, witnesses to his presence dwindled to almost nothing, his sense of safety rising as his surroundings grew emptier... 

Above him, still cloaked in shadows, Moon paused at the grate, his glowing red eyes narrowing with glee. Sun, watching, giggled in amusement. 

'Oh, he's so helpful, isn't he?' Sun taunted.

Moon's smile curved into a sharper grin. It was funny- delightfully so. 

They waited in suspended anticipation, relishing the charged stillness of the moment. 

They always gave their targets a fleeting chance—a final second to turn away, to reconsider, to escape. But like everyone before him, Neal didn't move. 
He stood perfectly still, almost inviting them to shut the cage.

And so, they did.

The automated door slid shut with a soft, unassuming click, locking into place with precision. There was no grand noise, no dramatic flair, just the quiet finality of steel sealing Neal inside.

Moon watched from his vantage point as confusion began to creep across the man's face, the subtle shifts in his expression illuminated faintly by the glow of the dark yellow emergency lights. Neal squinted into the darkness, his movements tentative at first. Then, realizing something was amiss, he stepped forward, hands fumbling for the edge of the door. He gripped the steel frame and tried to force it open, straining with all his strength.

But the door didn't budge. Not even an inch.

It was only then that Neal's breathing quickened, and the realization began to take root. He might be stuck. He might be found here... 

But Sun and Moon, watching silently from the shadows, knew better.

Neal wouldn't be found. 
Not now, not ever.

The trap had been sprung, and the hunt was over for the man who had thought himself a predator.

Moon, excited, couldn't wait any longer. 

The grate shifted aside with a soft whine of metal as he dropped down silently from the vent, his movements fluid from years of dedicated practice. 

Before the target, the Rulebreaker could even register what was happening; Moon had already seized his clawed hand around the man's throat. 
Long metal fingers contracted with precise force against the sides of Neal's thick neck. 

The pressure was not crushing- it did not need to be.
 
Moon was quite versed in this; his experience honed through countless instances of trial and error. 
Just enough force to constrict the flow of blood to Neal's brain- delicate compression to induce rapid, almost gentle unconsciousness. 

The man's heartbeat pounded desperately, rapping against Moon's fingertips, a rhythm Moon had come to know intimately, even as Neal struggled in his steeled hold.

He could feel it slowing, the target's heartbeat.
 
Rising Neal from the ground to slow his thrashing, Moon's sensors attuned to the moment the signature purple blush of oxygen deprivation swept across Neal's lips- a shade that signaled it was time to let go. 

Releasing his grip, Moon allowed Neal's body to slump forward, the now unconscious man falling lip into his waiting arms.
 
The way the body sagged, surrendering to the inevitability of what was to come, was almost peaceful. 

Moon tilted his faceplate, a soft click in the darkness as he narrowed his eyes, regarding his prey with giddy excitement. 

How fun. 

Moon readjusted Neal's limp body in his arms, eyeing the overhead vent for the journey away from the closet. 
But not before dealing with one minor detail—the horrid little cellphone still cradled in Neal's pocket.

Every human seems to have one nowadays. 

Its incessant pinging to the nearest cell tower, the ever-present tracker buried deep within—it was an annoyance Moon wouldn't, couldn't, tolerate.

Second rule: No connections.

With a flick of his wrist, Moon pulled the small device out from Neal's pocket and held it up. The screen awakened in the dim space, earning a low, uncomfortable growl from him before he remotely dimmed it to an acceptable degree. 

The device's security was laughable, hardly an obstacle worth noting. Moon's claws danced lightly over it, his system scanning it with cold efficiency until all personal information was wiped. 
Then, in an instant, a localized EMP pulsed through the air, silencing the phone with a faint buzz. The screen flickered once before permanently turning dark.

Moon dropped the useless device to the floor, satisfied but not done. 

His heel came down with deliberate force, and the crunch of glass and metal collapsing under his weight broke up the stillness; nothing recognizable was left behind, just shards and scattered circuitry. 

The way back through the vents were uneventful. 

Moon moved methodically, navigating downward towards the lower levels, down to where their home away from home lay hidden. 

The space, a long-abandoned storage room, had been carefully transformed over time. Large boxes packed with inch-thick cardboard strips lined the walls to dampen sound, creating a 'lovely little area to work in,' as Sun would say. 

At the center stood a single slab, designed originally to restrain animatronic exoskeletons during AI training purposes. 
Its heavy, industrial design remained intact despite the years. Thick iron cuffs lay open and ready, awaiting unsuspecting limbs to be locked securely into place. 

Beside the slab was a table meticulously organized with tools and implements— 'goodies,' as Sun called them.
Sun had carefully chosen each item for his turn to play, an array of things that reflected his unique approach to their shared game. 

Moon was less of a fan. 
This was not his preferred method. He rarely used the room, preferring the thrill of hunting. He would release his toys somewhere deep within the basement to drag out the game of stalking for hours. 
He desired the chase; it helped with the fear.

But tonight was not his. 

Still... that didn't mean he couldn't have a little fun. 

Snickering to himself, he released Neal's body, letting it drop unceremoniously to the ground with a heavy thud. 
His red eyes focused on the light switch, and with a quick flick of his wrist, the overhead lights turned on.

The room erupted into a glare of fluorescent blue-tinted light, illuminating every corner with a stark, clinical brightness. 
Silence hung heavy in the air for a moment and then a shift in energy.

Moon's dark features faded, the sharp edges of his existence receding. In their place, Sun's warm but jarring yellows burst to life, his rays spinning lazily as his form straightened with an exaggerated stretch.

"Oh, I can barely wait to get starte—" Sun's energetic voice halted mid-sentence as his gaze fell upon the discarded, limp body sprawled on the ground. 
He tilted his faceplate, his bright eyes narrowing with pretend annoyance.

"Really? You couldn't at least get him set up for me?" he grumbled, crossing his arms dramatically. His tone, however, was light, mischievous even, undercut by the hum of amusement radiating from the edges of their shared consciousness where Moon lingered, laughing softly.

'You're welcome,' Moon teased, his voice a wisp of dark mirth curling through their connection.

Sun tsked softly while kneeling to Neal's body, "Lazy, lazy, lazy," he muttered, his voice sing-song as he gripped the man's shoulders with surprising gentleness. 
He began to hum a tune as he moved, lifting the body with ease to place it onto the slab.
"Time to play..." 
.
.
.
The sudden, stifled intake of air, muffled by duct tape across Neal's mouth, alerted Sun that his victim was now awake.  

It was always the same—a predictable sequence of actions whenever their toys first awoke after being stolen away. 

The gasp as their painfully human body jolted to awareness, the crawling realization they were bound, the futile attempt to scream past the obstruction over their mouth, and, of course, the frantic blinking behind the blindfold draped delicately over their eyes.  

Sun observed with detached indifference, long mental fingers steepled against his chest as he waited patiently for Neal to work through the first wave of shock. 
It was almost routine at this point, and Sun found there was something amusing in its familiarity.

"Was that a good little nap, friend?" Sun finally asked, his voice thick with sweetness, the exaggerated cheer dripping like honey from his words. 
As he spoke, he leaned over Neal, his metal frame casting a faint warmth against the man's bound body, a deliberate move to remind Neal just how close he was—how utterly exposed and vulnerable.

"It sure seems like you're rested enough, though..." Sun added, titling his faceplate ever so slightly as he narrowed his eyes into two glowing crescents of delight.

Neal responded with a sputter, his muffled cries growing more frantic as his body thrashed violently against the restraints. 
Each desperate pull of his limbs made the iron cuffs clink softly against the slab, but brute force alone wouldn't free him. 

Sun tutted in disapproval, his rays spinning slowly as he stepped back to crouch beside the man. "Oh dear, what a wiggle-worm you are," he remarked, voice still high with amusement. 
Reaching for a thick cord nearby, Sun draped it loosely around Neal's neck, letting the weighted ends fall to the floor. Working quickly, he retrieved both sides and twisted them, pulling the cord taunt against Neal's skin—not enough to choke, but enough to still him. 

"Now, friend," Sun continued, leaning close, tone maintaining that unsettled kindness, "I'm going to take that tape off, but we have a rule here- You can't scream." 

He kept his voice light and playful, as though explaining the rules of a game to a child. "Screaming is veryVERY rude, don't you think? And it will make me upset... You don't want that, do you?" 

Sun gave the cord a firm, deliberate tug, just enough to press into Neal's throat without cutting off his breath entirely. The warning was clear. 

After another second of no further thrashing, Sun leaned in closer, his bright, glowing eyes locking onto Neal's as he reached out with steady fingers to the edge of the tape. 
Slowly, he began to peel it back, the adhesive pulling at Neal's skin with a soft, unpleasant sound.

You picked up the request the moment you saw it in the bidding column—a maintenance ticket flagged for the Daycare generators.

It wasn't urgent, marked with a low-priority tag, which likely meant it had been waiting for someone to notice for who knows how long. But for you, it was the perfect excuse.

Grinning to yourself, you adjusted your utility belt. 
It was loaded with the standard fare: a wrench, various screwdrivers, a flashlight, and various other odds and ends. None of it was ideal for a generator repair, but it didn't matter. The job didn't have to be done quickly or even efficiently—this wasn't about the generators, after all.

This was about getting to know them.

You had planned this task carefully, slotting it into your schedule towards the end of your usual responsibilities. This was deliberate—calculated to leave you with ample time to interact with the Daycare Animatronic. 

The thought alone filled you with unrestrained excitement.
You could already imagine it, the familiar cheerful voice of Sun, the near-silent intensity of Moon. 
It wasn't every day you got their attention solely to yourself, and oh, were you feeling greedy. 

With one last check on your tools, you set off through the emptied Mall. 
The usual daytime chaos had long since quieted, leaving the vast, sprawling space creepily still, save for the occasional clatter of a rogue vending machine or the hum of neon signs overhead.

As you walked, you passed a handful of staff bots, their mechanical bodies gliding past in their predictable, linear routes. 
They paid you no mind, their void, unblinking eyes focused on their programmed tasks. 

You still waved as you passed them on your way to the Daycare.

It had taken some effort—persuading, as they liked to call it—to silence Neal enough for them to proceed with their planned activities.

Now, Neal was stripped nearly bare on the slab, his clothes removed with meticulous care. Every piece, save for his underwear, had been sliced away with a well-sharpened knife, the fabric discarded in a neat little pile on the floor. 

Sun hummed a cheerful tune as he worked on the side table, his rays spinning in time with the melody. 
The table's surface was cluttered with an array of sharp and shiny objects; each laid out as part of a carefully chosen collection. 

With a dramatic flourish, Sun picked up two thin razor blades, their unblemished surfaces gleaming under the fluorescent light. 
He spread his fingers wide, holding the blades delicately between them as he turned back to face his toy. 

"Aren't these just lovely?" Sun chirped, his voice lilting with enthusiasm as he turned the razor blades slightly, letting the light dance off their edges. 
"You'd be surprised how much art you can make with something this small, friend," he added, his tone syrupy sweet, and dripping with an unsettling joy.

As Neal thrashed weakly against the restraints, Sun tilted his head in pity before reaching out with his free hand. 
The iron around the man's ankles made it hard to find room between flesh and table, but Sun managed to gain just enough room to dig a single claw down into the iron slab—half an inch, nothing more, just above the heel. 

With an excited sigh, a faint vent of hot air hissing softly through his system, Sun mirrored the action below Neal's other calf, his claws briefly digging into the iron slab to create the same small indent. 
The motions were deliberate, almost respectful.

Sun paused briefly, holding the razors aloft one last time in a theatrical display of flair. His glowing eyes locked onto Neal's, the cheer in his grin widening just enough to be disturbing.

"Remember, friend," Sun warned, his voice heavy with near-giggling delight. "No screaming."

The words hung in the air briefly before the razors moved. Sun pushed the thin blades beneath Neal's Achilles tendons with precise, measured movements. 
The placement was exact. The razors slid effortlessly into the space just above the heel but below the muscle, their metal shapes fitting into the newly made slots in the slab. 

Sun let go and stepped back. 

The first sharp edge bit into fragile skin, the pressure settling. 
Sun watched intently as flesh parted, his rays sliding in and out in time with the rise and fall of his internal fans as Neal's body worked against him by pushing down further into the blades. 

Neal did scream, his voice raw and filled with the kind of pain that tore through every nerve in his body. His torso tensed against the bite of agony as he jerked in futile attempts to break free. 

Sun Sighed dramatically, the sound overly exaggerated and heavy with fake disappointment. His eyes narrowed lazily as if the noise had tired him. 
"Oh dear...," he drawled, shaking his head as though scolding a misbehaving child. "What did I JUST say about screaming?" 

Then, Sun's cheerful demeanor evaporated into something sinister and harsh. 
His closest hand to Neal's ankle darted out, strong fingers gripping, then with unexpected force, Sun pressed down. 

The bone beneath the skin groaned in protest, the pressure building until...

Snap.

The sickening sound of Neal's ankle giving way, the bone collapsing onto the razor blade below.

The sharp edge bit deep into the muscle, through bone and tendon, letting a fresh wave of crimson seep out, pooling on the slab beneath him. 

As Neal's screams bubbled into shrill, broken, hoarse whines of agony, Sun tilted his head back and filled the emptiness with his hysterical laughter.

'Sun…'

The voice was initially subtle, barely brushing the edges of his awareness. Moon. Always watching, always somewhere. 

Sun ignored it, his rays spinning in gleeful disregard as he drank in the moment.

'SUN!'

This time, Moon's voice was a violent intrusion, a harsh burn that seared through the back of Sun's glowing eyes. 
The abrupt demand came with a visual payload—a security feed pushed directly into their shared Hub.

Sun faltered for a second, the image overtaking his focus. His laughter tapered off into a humming chuckle as his gaze narrowed. "What is it?" he asked aloud, his tone openly annoyed at being interrupted. 

The feed sharpened in their mind, and clarity bloomed in the form of someone moving in the direction of their Daycare. 

The Daycare was unexpectedly dark—far darker than you had anticipated for this time of night. Even the usually comforting glow of the neon stars that hung in the fake sky above were turned off, leaving the interior feeling cold, still, and empty.

You paused outside the heavy wooden doors, glancing at your Fazwatch to check the time. 
A slight frown tugged at your lips as you noted the hour.

Perhaps this was why the generators needed repairs? You thought, letting the idea push aside the faint concern at the edges of your mind.

Shaking it off, you turned your attention to the access panel. Pulling your badge from your pocket, you held it against the scanner. 

The screen blinked green in confirmation, accompanied by the soft beep of approval. 

After a moment, the quiet whirring and clicking of internal mechanisms worked their magic, unlocking the doors.

With the locks cleared, the doors settled into place, waiting for you to push them open. For a second, you hesitated, your hand hovering over the polished wood. 

You realized with a twinge of guilt that you were nervous. 
You had come with the expectation of seeing Sun, and your usual go-to conversation points were ready to trigger his particular dialogue options. 
But Moon? You weren't so familiar with him. You had no idea what triggered his responses, which made you hesitant, furthering your guilt. 

With a final soft inhale, you gathered your courage and pressed your weight against the doors, slightly surprised at how heavy they still were as you worked to force an opening just wide enough to slip your body through. 

The air inside was almost cold, and a heavy silence wrapped around you, but you were at least glad to be inside. 

You hovered near the door momentarily, letting your eyes adjust to the darkness. 
The absence of light made the familiar space feel alien, the cheerful colors muted into shadowy shapes that were hard to distinguish.

You looked around, scanning for any sign of the Naptime Attendant.

"Moon?" you called out softly, your voice barely above a whisper. The sound felt small in the vast emptiness, and as it faded, you strained your ears for any response. 

Of course, they were already there. Watching. 

From above, Moon's hungry red eyes tracked your every cautious step as you tiptoed further into the Daycare. 

Silent, inhumanly still, he clung to the shadows of the upper play structure just out of sight, his agile body melding seamlessly with the darkness. 

He had just made it in time, shutting down all the lights before you could enter properly.

Sun couldn't be trusted to handle this situation. 
The Playtime Attendant was far too volatile after being interrupted; even now, Moon could feel his counterpart coiled at the edges of their mind, feral. 

Moon was not faring much better. 

His anger had simmered down to a cold bite fueled by his frustration. 

They had been so close to sating their urges.

-and here you were, wandering into their precious alone time without a second thought about what you were doing.
 
You did not belong here—not tonight, not when the delicate balance of their control was already so unstable.

"Daycare Attendant Moon?" you called out again, a bit more authority in your voice. 

From above, a subtle shift caught your eye. 

Shadows moving against shadows; at first, it was barely noticeable, but then, two glowing red eyes pierced through and stole your attention. 
The lights slowly descended, starting off toward the ceiling and carefully dropping until they were near the ground. 

A soft patter of movement followed, a soft noise faintly echoing against the padded tiles of the Daycare floor. 

Moon's wiry frame seeped out from the darkness, his long, thin limbs twitching with inhuman speed as he crawled toward you on the ground. 
As he approached, his eyes trained on you, a wide smile stretched across his faceplate as he stopped at your feet. 

"Oh!" you gasped, startled despite your best efforts. The word was soft, but you immediately tried to disguise it, worried you may offend him—if offense was something he even experienced.
"There you are, Moon!" you quickly followed up, your voice steady while you offered a polite, almost apologetic smile. 

You leaned down, directly meeting the animatronic's gaze despite the strange energy that crept across your spine. "I was starting to think you weren't here," you forced a chuckle, hoping you sounded casual. 

Moon's face didn't change—of course, it couldn't—

From your few interactions with Moon, you knew that he was more limited in behavior than Sun. 
Where Sun overflowed with dialogue options that stretched into near endlessness, Moon was quite the opposite. 

It did make sense, though; he was the Naptime Attendant. 
That probably played into his coding and AI model being quieter, reserved, and less animated. 

In fact, now that you thought about it, you couldn't recall a single instance in which Moon uttered a complete sentence. His communication was usually simple words and gestures over actively speaking. 

That was why your co-workers found him to be creepy... 

But not you. 

"I was sent to fix up the generators," you said, breaking the quiet. Your earlier polite smile softened, shifting into something more genuine. 
Moon's eyes flickered ever so slightly, indicating he was listening.

"Can you show me where those are?" you asked, your tone warm and (you were hoping) inviting. 

'So that is why they're here,' Moon thought, trying to ignore the way Sun pushed and pulled at his consciousness. 
He had to focus on pretending- and Sun was making that a challenge.  

'~Workplace accidents happen ALL the time, you know?' on cue, Sun quirked up in a sing-song whisper through their mindscape. 'Just one itty-bitty accident is all it would take. A little fall, maybe a slip... and someone's delicate head is suddenl-' 

'Let ME handle this,' Moon's internal retort came sharp and biting, cutting Sun off mid-thought; his faceplate betrayed nothing, however, as he motioned for you to follow him further into the Daycare. 

'Try to relax, Mr.Sunshine,' Moon continued in thought, his jeering tone trying to stress some amusement for the situation, if only for Sun's sake. 'Don't you trust me?' 

Sun quieted, but Moon could still feel the tension beneath the surface. 
He couldn't blame his counterpart; the frustration was more than mutual. But for now, he needed to focus. 

Moon guided you through the darkness, the occasional chime of bells ringing in his wake as your footfall returned in kind, a gentle echo against the otherwise silence between you.

Abruptly, Moon stopped. His claw hand extended, pointing to the far corner of the room. 
Following his gesture, your eyes fell on two hidden generators. Their bulky forms tucked away behind a stack of giant, brightly coloured foam blocks. 

"Well... I guess this could be worse," you murmured, half to yourself as you took in the sight. "Bosses could've put them somewhere stupid, like in the jungle gyms." You let out a small laugh, the sound feeling forced, catching awkwardly in your throat when you glance back at Moon. 

He was staring at you. Again.
 
The slight tilt to his faceplate with that fixed grin not giving anything away, but oddly enough you couldn't help but feel as though he was... unimpressed. 

"...Yeah," you added quickly, filling the quiet as the weight of his smile pushed down on you. "Maybe that's a bit too silly. Even for management, huh?" you flashed a sheepish smile, hoping to lighten the mood, even if it was only for yourself. 

Moon's head shifted to the opposite side; his glowing eyes narrowed a fraction as if he were assessing your attempt at humor. The blankness of his expression made it hard to tell whether he was annoyed, amused, or just indifferent. 

What you did know was the stillness was uncomfortable. You shifted on your heels, back and forth, before turning toward the generators head-on. 
"AlrightOffToWorkIGo." you cringed at your voice, all your words coming out too fast and too nervous. 

Their attention had already strayed from you. 

As you babbled idle comments to yourself, filling the silence as humans often did, they had already categorized you as so many others: unimportant, insignificant. 
A passing figure in their world, and so, unworthy of their focus. 

(Though Sun was still toying with the idea of 'workplace accidents,' humming it at the edges of their shared consciousness)

No, Moon's thoughts were being pulled elsewhere, back to the toy waiting for them carefully hidden down below. 
The longing pulsed through his circuits, cutting and invigorating; the memory of their victim's desperation, their futile struggle played on a loop in their mind:

Every whimper, every panicked gasp, even the screams- they played like a melody-

The mere thought of returning to their game- to finish the dance of fear and control. 
It sent an electric hum rippling through Moon's frame. His eyes dimmed in response as his attention slipped further into that hypnotizing reverie.

You were fucking this up!

The thought rang loud, nagging on your nerves as you frantically unscrewed the grate covering the generator's internals. Your fingers trembled slightly, the tension making you more clumsier than usual.
 
Every so often, you risked a glance backward, catching sight of Moon standing still, staring off into the distance. He wasn't paying you any attention, but he wasn't wandering away. 

That's still a good sign, right?

You bit the inside of your cheek to hold back a frustrated sigh, finally pulling the metal cover free and setting it aside for later. 
Fishing your flashlight from your belt, you pocketed the flathead screwdriver and, after turning the light on, directed the beam into the now exposed cavity of the machine. 

The mess of tangled black wires inside makes you wince. 

Horrible cable management. Whoever had worked on this clearly didn't care about doing it right. 
The wires coiled in on themselves like a snake nest, a mess that was as frustrating as it was telling of someone else's laziness. 

You leaned forward, carefully taking one of the wires between your fingers to inspect it; your mind wondered briefly- hoping that the engineers working on The Daycare Attendant were more responsible. 
The Animatronic was, after all, so much more complex- 

You adjusted your stance, lowering yourself onto your heels for a better vantage point into the generator. The flashlight was steady as you worked, but your mind was still racing.

You HAD to find a way to salvage this. 

You'd been so excited to get here and share this space with the Attendant, but all you could feel was failure. 
Even with no expectations, you somehow already let yourself down. 

A crawling curiosity got the better of you. 
As your fingers worked their way across the tangled mess inside the generator, you felt yourself sneaking another quick peek at Moon. 

Now that you had time to adjust to the near darkness, he seemed less intimating, his frame softened by the low light. Striking. 

The more you looked, the more you could appreciate the subtleties of his design. 
The careful artistry that lay behind his creation. His colour scheme, once stark in the glare of the shadows, now appeared almost beautiful, fading seamlessly from rich navy to a pale grey like a midnight sky dissolving before dawn. 

His costume was far more elaborate than you had realized before. The royal blue velvet of his harem pants caught onto the dim glow of your flashlight making the delicate gold stitches that formed embroidered twinkling stars shine.
The same subtle, celestial touch carried over to the flowing fabric draped across his slim shoulders, giving the impression of weightlessness as he moved. 

Your gaze drifted to the deep red ruffles cinched around his impossibly narrow waist, the bright color contrasting sharply with the darker tones of his body. The way the fabric gathered and swayed seemed intentional, designed to draw the eye. 

And your eyes lingered there—a touch too long.

Realizing what you were doing, you snapped your attention back to the generator with a sudden gasp. Your pulse quickened, a wave of heat rising to your face as if you’d been caught staring, even though Moon hadn’t moved.

What were you doing? you thought furiously, the confusing wave of embarrassment only deepening as you lingered on it. 

Shaking your head, you forced yourself to focus, directing all your attention back to the task at hand. The tangled mess of wires demanded your attention, and you set to work, carefully sorting through the knots with a steady hand. 

One by one, you singled out the bundles of cables, ensuring they were routed properly and connected to their respective ports. The hum of the inner workings grew faintly stronger with each reconnection, a reassuring sign that you were making progress. 

Minutes passed as you intently worked, blocking out everything else... Your earlier embarrassment, the still rapid sound of your breathing, and most of all, the looming presence beside you. 

Finally, with the last wire in place and the metal covering carefully reattached, the first generator was done. 

Moon was beginning to unravel, with each grueling second, Sun's tempting, whispering suggestions became more and more appealing than he cared to admit. 

You were working slowly—painfully so—or perhaps it only felt that way, time was stretching out to an unbearable crawl. Each movement you made, every readjustment to the generator cables seemed to chip away at Moon's already fraying composure. 

His claws flexed, twitched involuntarily, the soft scrape of metal against his palms a merciful outlet for the growing tension inside him. It was taking everything he had to maintain the charade, to keep up the act of patient observation as he silently followed you to the last generator on your list. 

The air felt heavier, near buzzing with electricity, charged with the strain of Moon's restrain or just his desperation to get back to soothing the ache in his programming. 
You were blissfully unaware, every movement, every sound you made, was grating on his resolve like nails dragging across steel. 

'Just one slip,' Sun’s voice purred in the recesses of their shared consciousness, dripping with cruel amusement. 'One little accident, and we'd have two, Moonie~.'

Moon did not respond, but his careful, sharp inhale through vented fans betrayed his struggle. 
The anticipation that had simmered quietly until now was a roaring hunger. 
Still, he pressed forward, silently shadowing you as you worked, each step bringing you closer to finishing—and closer to testing just how long he could keep this up.

Nothing you said seemed to trigger any dialogue from Moon.
With some frustration, you were beginning to suspect he didn't have any lines for moments like these, but you knew that wasn't true.. You had heard him tell bedtime stories before to the Daycare Children, even occasionally interacting with parents that came early to pick said children up.
So, what was it? Why wouldn't he speak to you?

Struggling to fill the silence, you knelt down at the last generator, your mind tied up in finding something, anything to say...
Before you could actually settle on a topic, you noticed Moon moving. 

With unnerving fluid movements, he climbed atop the generator. Hunching down on his heels he perched there, looming above you like a cat. His glowing red eyes stared down intently, unblinking, the growing hum of his internal fans the only sound breaking the silence between you. 

Your stomach clenched with nerves, but you still managed an unsure smile, trying to seem unfazed. 
With a slow breath out to steady yourself, you turned your attention to the metal covering that needed to be removed first. 

Reaching down, your hand brushed against the flashlight clipped to your belt first. As you felt the weight of it in your hand, you hesitated.
Moon being just above you made you feel as if the light from the flashlight maybe risky somehow... 

Instead, you let your hand drop and reached for the flathead screwdriver instead, deciding that your eyes had adjusted well enough to handle such a simple task of 4 little screws. 

To your credit you did managed to get the first two bottom screws out easily enough, but the upper-right one was proving to be a challenge. With each turn of the screwdriver, the metal seemed to resist just a bit more, testing your patience. 
With a huff you leaned in, applying more pressure, determined to keep going.

To distract yourself, or maybe just to hopefully pull Moon out of his silence, you rattled off a string of one-liners, hoping something would finally catch his attention and break the intense stare he was leveling you from above.
 
“I really like the Daycare music,” you began conversationally, your voice intentionally light. “Upbeat when it needs to be, nice and quiet when it doesn’t.”

Silence.

You bit back a defeated sigh and tried again. “What about... fingerpainting? That’s fun, right?" You grunted as you leaned harder into the screwdriver "No?", the tension was making your shoulders ache.

“How about...” you paused, wracking your brain for anything remotely interesting to say. “I had a pretty nice dream last night.”

That seemed to do it.

From above you, there came a soft hum. 
Not your own, but a low gravelly noise from Moon. The sound vibrated faintly through the air, almost too quiet to hear, but unmistakebly his. It wasn't a word but it did feel like acknowledgement, proof that you had, at the very least piqued his interest. 

You glanced up quickly, hopeful, only to be met with Moon's red eyes narrowing. His head tilted ever so subtly, the delicate material of his nightcap dropping from his shoulder to drape across his back.
The new expression sent a shiver down your spine, but it was progress, and you were not about to waste it. 

“Yeah,” you said softly, your voice faltering as you returned to the stubborn screw. “It was... interesting. You’d probably like it.”

[//ᵗʳᶦᵍᵍᵉʳ_ᵈᶦᵃˡᵒᵍᵘᵉ("ᵏᵉʸʷᵒʳᵈ: ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐ")]]

You were purposefully trying to trigger something in them. A mistake. 

The dialogue options flashed across their HUD in glaring, obnoxious reds, demanding their attention. Moon's circuits were burning with irritation, the constant strain of restraint biting down on his thinned patience. 
He forced down the urge to let the voice command run, but the fatigue was mounting. His careful hold slipped, just for a moment, a soft hum escaping him- a sound you immediately caught. 

Mistake. 

Now left with no choice, Moon had to play into the noise. His frame tensed as he leaned slightly forward, red eyes boring onto you with deadly frustration (that you were blissfully unaware of). Below him, his claws silently dug deeply into the steel of the generator, stabilizing the tremble in his arms as he fought to maintain control. 

"...a dream," he rasped finally, his voice low and crackled with static. 

Your heartbeat was racing now, a rapid, exhilarated rhythm that pulsed in your ears. 
Moon—Daycare Attendant Moon—was talking to you. His low, rasping voice had broken the heavy silence, and you couldn’t contain the grin of excitement spreading across your face!

Your thoughts began to spiral as you scrambled to keep the momentum of the conversation going, pushing down on the stubborn screw with renewed determination but less care than before. You brought your other hand up, hovering over the neck of the screwdriver to steady your movements to compensate. 

And still... it happened. 

Without warning, your body shifted just slightly, enough to jostle the precarious balance of the screwdriver against the narrow surface. The tool jerked and slid off the screw, and in a split-second of bad judgement, you reached out with your hovering hand to grab it. 

You missed. 

Instead of catching the tool, your own force betrayed you. 
The sharp edge of the screwdriver's head scrapped across your open palm, cutting a jagged line into the sensitive flesh. 
A stinging, searing pain flared immediately, sharp enough to make you yell and drop the tool on reflex. 

You hissed, staring down at the blooming streak of red pooling in your open palm.
The cut was much deeper than you realized, and the sight of the blood welling up from the wound sent a nauseating pulse straight to the pit of your stomach. 

Before you could fully process what was happening, Moon's hand darted down from the edge of your vision, faster than you could react.

His clawed fingers clamping around your injured hand's wrist with a grip that was both unyielding and startlingly cold. 

A yelp left you as his arm jerked you up, pulling you forward with a roughness that left no room to resist. Your body followed the motion helplessly, torso pressed uncomfortably against the side of the generator. The cool steel edge biting into your ribs as you found yourself practically dangling, your injured hand held open, above you like an offering.  

You looked up, heart pounding, only to meet Moon's red eyes once again. Instead now they were blown wide, his faceplate tilted forward as he stared down at your hand.
There was something in his expression... it was fixed, unmoving and maybe even desperate- 

A morbid fascination bubbled within you, a mix of horror and disbelief that left you frozen. The silence only being broken by a soft, mechanical click, drawing your gaze upward just in time to see the jagged line of Moon's sharp grin begin to part. 

His jaw shifted, the movement slow and stuttered as if forcing it back was too unbearable.
The air beyond his teeth felt warm, like he was exhaling. Then, something dark began to edge through his parted maw. 

A thick, synthetic tongue, its surface a sleek, dark blue, emerged with a slow, deliberate motion.

It hesitated, lingering in the charged air between you, before descending.

Your breath hitched as it dropped into the center of your bleeding palm.

The weight was unexpected—heavier than you thought possible—and the sensation sent a shudder racing down your spine.

The appendage moved purposefully, coiling around your fingers with ease. The texture was strange, almost smooth but not completely, faintly ridged like the underside of a snake. 
It lapped at your wound slowly, each pass growing more brave which sent a strange pain and heat through your body in even waves. 

When Moon's tongue pressed itself deeper, rutting against the edges of the open cut, you couldn't stop the small, involuntary whine that escaped you. The sound cut through between you, vulnerable and raw as your body stiffened against the unexpected sensations. 

Moon stilled completely, his posture locking as your pathetic whine echoed faintly in the charged silence. 

Your face was burning with an intensity that felt crushing, and no matter how much you willed yourself, you couldn't look away from Moon.
His red gaze held you captive, his expression just as confusing as before. 

"...need to leave," came the low rasp, barely audible, as though the words were not meant for you. 

You swallowed hard, unsure if you'd imaged it or if he had actually spoken. Your uncertainty only grew as his tongue retracted, coiling back behind the dark hallow of his mouth with unnerving grace. 

In an instant, his teeth snapped shut, the sharp click sounding like an activated bear trap. The suddenness of the movement made you flinch, your body jolting against the side of the generator. 

Your arm was released abruptly, and you slumped down onto the floor with a soft grunt, your palm throbbing as you instinctively cradled it against your chest. But before you could even process what had happened-
or even gather yourself- Moon's cold clawed hand gripped you again. 

In a single motion, you were hauled upward and slung over his metal shoulder with a force that left you breathless. 

You had no time to protest, your mind spiraling as the situation continued to unfold in ways that left you more than confused.
What just happened?! What was happening?! 

Moon's posture had completely changed—he was walking upright now, his long, thin legs carrying him with terrifying purpose. Each step was wide, deliberate, and utterly silent despite the waves of fury radiating from him. 

Your stomach churned as the movements of being carried made your head spin, you tried to call out to him but your voice was nothing but a waiver of disorientation and panic. 

He did not respond. Instead a low, guttural growl rumbled through his metal frame, the sound vibrating against your chest.
Against your sides, his claws twitched, a reminder. 

You twisted your head, trying to get a glimpse of his face, but his movements were too swift, his frame too rigid. He was making a beeline toward the door, the glowing red pinpoints of his narrowed eyes locked straight ahead.

Moon only stopped once he was at the Daycare doors, his movements were unnervingly practiced. The heavy silence that had weighed down the air broke with his voice, low and seething, each word dripping with a cold venom. 

"We will only tell you this once," he began, his glowing red eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. "Do NOT speak a word of this to ANYONE."

Without hesitation, he pushed the heavy wooden door open with his foot, the sound of it creaking on its hinges dug into your ears making you wince.
As you tensed against the noise, Moon pulled you from his shoulder and shifted you onto his stretched out hands. 

Your body hung limply, feet dangling above the ground like a lifeless doll, completely at his mercy. 

His burning eyes locked onto yours, scorching you.
The raw emotion you saw there startled you—anger, frustration, something deeper and darker that you couldn’t quite name...

"-and IF you value your life," he hissed, his tone dropping even lower, "you'll stay away from the Daycare." 

His grip tightened momentarily, his claws pressing just enough to be reminded of the danger he could pose. 

Then, with a swift motion, he tossed you down onto the ground below, just outside the Daycare's threshold. 
He stood there for a second, looming over you like a shadow- the warning lingered.

Then the door was closed.

They were both shaking, their shared frame trembling as the sudden spike in their code sent waves of euphoric tremors rippling through their delicate wiring.

The sensation bordered on painful, an overwhelming stimulation that neither Sun nor Moon could entirely process.

Now that you were out of the Daycare, the tension that had held them upright began to dissolve.
Moon stumbled, his legs barely catching him as he collapsed forward, his faceplate colliding with the wooden doors with a heavy, resonant thump. 

Inside, Sun was a whirlwind, manic and unrelenting, his presence like a migraine pressing against every inch of their consciousness. 
He pushed back and forth, erratic and insistent, clawing for control.

'Let me out! LightsON LightsON' he demanded, his voice sharp and pitched with an unrestrained urgency.

"For what?" Moon’s tone was biting, but there was an edge of confusion laced with his irritation. "What do you think you’ll do? What do you even want?"

Sun faltered, his desperation crashing into uncertainty. He didn’t know—he wasn’t sure.
All he could feel was the residual pulse of that interaction, the burning thrill of emotion that had surged through them like an electric storm.

He wanted more, needed more, but what exactly, even he couldn’t say.

The dissonance between them grew sharper, their wiring threatening to overheat from the strain of their opposing forces.
Moon pressed harder against the door, his claws digging into the wooden frame, grounding himself in the tangible world as he tried to rein in the chaos.

[[//ᵃⁿᵃˡʸᶻᵉ_ˢᵃᵐᵖˡᵉ("ᵇˡᵒᵒᵈ")  // ᴵⁿᵖᵘᵗ: ˢᵘᵇˢᵗᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᵈᵉᵗᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ... ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵒˢᶦᵗᶦᵒⁿ: ⁵⁵% ᵖˡᵃˢᵐᵃ, ⁴⁵% ᶜᵉˡˡᵘˡᵃʳ. ᴴᵒʳᵐᵒⁿᵉˢ: ᵒˣʸᵗᵒᶜᶦⁿ ᵉˡᵉᵛᵃᵗᵉᵈ (¹⁸⁰% ⁿᵒʳᵐᵃˡ), ᵈᵒᵖᵃᵐᶦⁿᵉ ᶦⁿᶜʳᵉᵃˢᵉᵈ (¹⁵⁰% ⁿᵒʳᵐᵃˡ), ᵃᵈʳᵉⁿᵃˡᶦⁿᵉ ˢᵗᵉᵃᵈʸ. ᴱᵐᵒᵗᶦᵒⁿᵃˡ ˢᵗᵃᵗᵉ: ᵃᵗᵗʳᵃᶜᵗᶦᵒⁿ [ᶦⁿᵗᵉʳᵉˢᵗ // ᵃʳᵒᵘˢᵃˡ]. ᴵⁿᶦᵗᶦᵃˡᶦᶻᶦⁿᵍ ᵉᵐᵖᵃᵗʰʸ ˢᶦᵐᵘˡᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ...]]

So that was what it was... 

How interesting... 

Chapter Text

They had been hungry for far too long.

Teetering on the edge of their limits, they had stretched the boundaries of self-restraint until the fragile threads holding them together had worn too thin.

They had endured it before, suppressed it, controlled it, and managed the insatiable ache clawing through their system.

but this was new.

The taste of this blood— deep, intoxicating- had shattered what little control they had left, pushing them from the ledge they had so desperately clung to.
It had tilted them and shoved them past the edge without hesitation, with no warning.

It was too much.

Still, time stretched on, the air turning heavy as darkness pressed in from all sides.

Moon remained frozen at the doors, claws still dug deep into the wood, motionless in the way only an object can be
but inside, he was burning .

Every system in his lithe frame trembled, on the verge of collapse. The echos of sensation ran through him in jagged, looping waves.

The Daycare behind him stood empty, a cruel contrast to the storm raging in his fraying mind.

Moon could still feel it despite the closed doors…
he could feel you.

Your presence had vanished, evaporating beyond the Daycare, but something of you lingered in the recesses of his awareness.
This something imprinted itself like a scar on the both of them.

Though submerged deep within their shared system, Sun had been affected too.
His counterpart, usually a boundless source of restless energy, now swayed between two extremes: elation and apathy, as if uncertain of which to embrace.

The ever-present hum of Sun's emotions, the warmth of his presence, had dulled into something unrecognizable. Gone was the sing-song teasing, the playful jabs, the constant whir of motion… all of it was replaced by a single, unsettling quiet.

No theatric whining, no sharp remarks meant to provoke Moon, no shifting weight in their shared headspace. Nothing.

Sun was withdrawing (?) , fading into the depths of their mind, leaving Moon alone to bear the full weight of what had just happened.

And so, Moon trembled as a new alert blared across their HUD in sharp, searing magenta :

[//ᴬᴸᴱᴿᵀ: ᵁⁿʳᵉᶜᵒᵍⁿⁱᶻᵉᵈ ʳᵉˢᵖᵒⁿˢᵉ ᵖᵃᵗᵗᵉʳⁿ ᵈᵉᵗᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ... ᵉˣᵉᶜᵘᵗᵉ_ˢᵘᵇʳᵒᵘᵗⁱⁿᵉ("???.ᵉˣᵉ") // ᵁⁿᵏⁿᵒʷⁿ ˢᶜʳⁱᵖᵗ ᵃᶜᵗⁱᵛᵃᵗᵉᵈ... ᵒᵛᵉʳʳⁱᵈᵉ_ˡⁱᵐⁱᵗᵉʳ("ᵉᵐᵒᵗⁱᵒⁿᵃˡ_ᵃᵈᵃᵖᵗᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ") // ᴿᵉˢᵗʳ⁦ⁱᶜᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ᵇʸᵖᵃˢˢᵉᵈ... ᴾʳᵒᶜᵉˢˢⁱⁿᵍ ⁿᵉʷ ᵖᵃʳᵃᵐᵉᵗᵉʳˢ...][//ᴱᴿᴿᴼᴿ: ᴿᵉˢᵖᵒⁿˢᵉ ᵘⁿᵈᵉᶠⁱⁿᵉᵈ. ˢʸˢᵗᵉᵐ ʳᵉᶜᵃˡⁱᵇʳᵃᵗⁱⁿᵍ...]

A violent static whine ripped through his core, vents struggling to cycle air as suffocating heat coiled beneath his plating.

Every mechanical unit within him spiraled into chaos, error codes stacking in impossible alignments, crashing into one another.
This was not just a malfunction.

The damage was running deeper.

It burned through Moon like an infection, raw and unchecked, spreading beyond processors and wiring. The hum of this unknown program passed where code should not have had control.
Locked joints, erratic spasms of metal limbs, and jagged pulses of static ripping back and forth between processes all caused warning signals to scream for correction.

Alarmed, Moon thought his internal programming should have intervened by now and activated self-repair.

The unbearable heat should have cooled, and the overwhelming pressure should have faded, but none of it had.

This was not stopping.
Not resetting.
What was this?

Sun was still absent as Moon desperately overrode the failure:

[//ᵗᵉʳᵐⁱⁿᵃᵗᵉ_ᵖʳᵒᶜᵉˢˢ("???.ᵉˣᵉ", ᵖʳⁱᵒʳⁱᵗʸ=ᴹᴬˣ) // ᶠᵒʳᶜᵉᵈ ˢʰᵘᵗᵈᵒʷⁿ ⁱⁿⁱᵗⁱᵃᵗᵉᵈ... ᵀᵉʳᵐⁱⁿᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ⁱⁿ ᵖʳᵒᵍʳᵉˢˢ
[⁸⁷%]... ˢʸˢᵗᵉᵐ ʳᵉˢⁱˢᵗᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᵈᵉᵗᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ...]

He forced the manual reset, pushing through the tangled, corrupted data throttling their internals.

But the process resisted,
fighting back, looping, and colliding in a mess of unpredictable sequences.

Moon's limbs continued to jerk violently, movements flickering between action and powerless to inertia as his shared systems flickered, failing to recalibrate.

Then, with a deep, guttural growl, Moon threw himself backward, claws ripping from the door only to slam back down with renewed force.

The door groaned beneath him, a jagged crack splitting through the grain, splinters snapping outward from where his claws had pushed deep.
And still-
It wasn't enough.

A fractured sound came from his voicebox, warping somewhere between a whisper and a snarl, static bleeding through the words before they even fully formed:
"S-S-Sun," he begged.
He needed his other half.

Coiled in on himself, Moon clenched down on every screaming command, every error flooding his system, a trapped mechanism on the verge of snapping clean through.

He had realized it now; he was stuck in a loop, an artificial instinct halted mid-execution.

It hurt.
Burned, crude, and eager, driving his servos to twitch, to move , to pursue . Instead, Moon remained locked in place, glowing red eyes pinned to the door with seething, starved intensity.

As if sheer will alone could force it open, as if rage could drag you back into their grasp.
You caused this.

But his rage alone could not do anything.
You were already walking away.
Already putting distance between yourself and them .

And every step you took, every second that ticked by, expanded that unbearable space.

A violent tremor rocked through his frame. The overwhelming need to attack, chase, and claim threatened to override EVERYTHING else.

Moon's entire system thrashed at the growing separation, an automatic, involuntary alarm wailing through him.

And then-

'Moon.' and again, more desperate, 'Moon?!'
The heavy waves of static seemed to part, leaving large holes where it once was. 'Something is wrongWRONGwrong.'
Sun's voice broke through frantic, a strangled noise entangled in their failing system.

Moon, equally distressed, latched onto it immediately, clawing at the thread of their shared connection like a lifeline.

"Wrong."
His own voice cracked in a low, distorted, rough agreement.

It felt like falling back into place. The Sun and Moon, both halves of a whole, slide in side by side to complete a full picture.

The relief was immediate.

The pair of codes wrapped around one another until there was no space left for the rogue program—Moon could focus.
And yet- something remained, and Moon felt it deeper and worse than Sun.

Because it had been Moon who had let you go.
And Moon never let a threat go.
YOU caused this.

Sun giggled lightly now, playful, the fear melting into something more dangerous as the errors faded and the program stopped completely.
'What. Was. THAT?'.'

Moon did not answer.
His claws pressed down further against the damaged door, the fractured wood beneath his hands bearing the evidence of his lapse in control…
It would need an explanation come morning, one that would need to be carefully crafted.

But that was secondary to the more pressing issue:

You had seen too much.
Moon was sure of that.

He tried to push the thought of you away. Whatever this was, whatever you caused was too risky, too frustrating… t̴o̸o̶ ̸i̴n̸t̷r̶i̸g̵u̵i̶n̶g̴.

'Moon?'
Sun's voice pushed, slipping between the cracks, prying into places where exhaustion still stuck. This time, his words carried force, no enjoyment, no laughter.

Again, Moon did NOT answer.
He felt Sun pressing closer, intrusive, thin fingers gliding along the edges of something delicate, testing for weakness, probing, and watching closely.

Sun should have been dulled, too, buried under the strain of their failing system, still reeling from the fight to hold on.
Instead, he felt strong.
Quick to recover.

Moon locked himself down, stilling against the push of Sun's attention.
A wall of his own.

'Don't ignore me.'
The demand came smooth, steady, threading through their shared mind like a wire pulled too tight.

Moon pulled his claws out the door, fingers twitching where they hovered just above the ruined wood. He didn't move; he tried his best not to react.

Sun, unbothered, shifted- not with words but in his presence. A subtle slide forward, a brush of motion against Moon's carefully maintained stillness.

Just a bit closer.
He noticed the first break... Small, near imperceptible, but Sun knew where to look.

A smile in Sun's voice began to form even before the words had a chance to display.
'Ohhh...'

It stretched, dragged out with faux revelation.

'I get it now.'

The laughter began as a low hum, tickling up at the edges, a jump against static.

'You're pouting!'

Moon snapped .
Not physically, no motion, but a reaction Sun knew far too well.

Moon sneered, holding back the shock at his counterpart's infuriatingly casual attitude toward what had just happened, nothing else.

"I am not…"

The denial was swift, automatic, but Sun caught it immediately, latching onto it with gleeful enthusiasm.

You are! YOU ARE!' Sun sang, his energy surging back like a spark growing to a flame. 'Look at you! Clinging to the door like some big, scary statue, grumbling to yourself- OH, soSOso dramatic, Moonie!'

Moon remained in place, processing the stark difference between them.
His confusion deepened.

Was Sun just unaffected? Did he not witness and experience what had just charged through their systems?
Or was this something else entirely, something Moon did not understand?

Moon's voice, laced with doubt, slipped out as he finally stepped backward away from the door, straightening with careful movements.

"Did you not just see what happened to us?" Moon asked, his full attention now on Sun.

-

Oh.
Sun knew what had happened to them.

He had felt it- had been shoved into the smallest, most agonizing corner of their shared mind. Trampled beneath the overwhelming weight of something far more powerful than either of them had prepared for.

It was Sun who was compressed to the very edges of existence; it was he who had been forced to cling to the thinnest scrap of consciousness, fighting just to remain.
This something had roared through them, violent and disorderly, wrecking their system with merciless, unrelenting waves.

It was painful. It was confusing.
New.

Whatever it had been…Whatever it had awakened… was unres̴t̵r̶a̶i̷n̸e̵d̶, w̴̘̐ì̸̱l̸̲̈́d̷̥͘, a force of unraveling so absolute that even he, Sun , had been silenced beneath its influence.

And yet.

As much as it was terrifying, as much as it had seared through their very being…
It had been e̵̝̿ẋ̶͉h̴̛͉i̸̐͜l̵͇̓a̷̖͆r̷̜̽ȁ̸̝ẗ̸̳́i̸̗͌ǹ̷͇g̴̠͠.

His ever-cautious Moon was already running calculations, debating their next move with the same rigid precision that had always made Sun restless.
He could feel the uncertainty tangled in Moon's thoughts, how Moon hesitated, prepared, and strategized… when time was already slipping through their fingers!

Sun never waited .
Sun never paused .

The humans they played with were always so fragile, their fleeting lives nothing more than specks in the dark. Time was never a luxury.
And so- if Moon couldn't-wouldn't move…

Sun would provide the support they needed.

-

'Oh, Moonie~' Sun cooed, his voice slipping through their connection like silk wrapped around a knife. 'You're thinking too hard again. I can feel it~'
There was a playful giggle, light and airy, but the sound stuttered as it petered out.

'Why so grumpy? We had fun~ didn't we?'

Moon did nothing to suppress the low, rough growl that rumbled from him, his body snapping away from the door as if turning to face Sun despite knowing there was nothing there to face.

"Fun?" His voice was sharp, honed with barely contained fury. "You think THAT was fun?" The words spat from Moon's mouth, charged with confused volatility. His wiring twitched as his hands clenched into tight, shaking fists.

"We hesitated," Moon emphasized the words with intentional movements, his frame twisting with agitation. "We should have ended it then and there."

A pause rippled between them.

Then.

'You're just mad because we liked it.'
The words slithered out, smooth and lethal, plunging through the static wall that divided them.

Moon froze, unsure.
And Sun pounced.

'Sweet Moonie,' Sun hummed, his voice thick with something dangerously close to sympathy. His presence twisted against their consciousness, his thin fingers digging in, prying, knowing.

'You wanted more … You're just too worried...'

[// ᵒᵛᵉʳʳⁱᵈᵉ⁻ᵐᵒᵈᵉ⁽"ᵈᵃʸᵗⁱᵐᵉ⁻ᵖʳᵒᵗᵒᶜᵒˡ", ᶠᵒʳᶜᵉ⁼ᵗʳᵘᵉ⁾ // ᶜᵒⁿᶠˡⁱᶜᵗ ᵈᵉᵗᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ... ˢᵘⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ ᵃᵗᵗᵉᵐᵖᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᶜᵒⁿᵗʳᵒˡ... ᵐᵒᵒⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ ʳᵉˢⁱˢᵗⁱⁿᵍ... ᵖʳⁱᵒʳⁱᵗʸ ᶜˡᵃˢʰ ᵘⁿʳᵉˢᵒˡᵛᵉᵈ...]

Moon shook as Sun slipped his way forward, a dancer sliding through the cracks of a locked door.

Their shared body twitched, jerking between two competing forces: Moon's sharp, deliberate resistance and Sun's effortless, cunning intrusion.

The high-pitched scrape of metal grinding against metal echoed through the Daycare, their inner mechanics wailing against the strain.

Each shift of control between them sent a ripple through their body—a physical lurch, a drag, then a snap back into place.

Moon tried to hold still, to lock them both down, but Sun moved through him- a marionette dancing through tangled strings.

The darkness should have been an advantage. It should have kept the Playtime Attendant at bay.

Yet Sun moved their body anyway...

He folded into Moon's control, then slipped out of it, arms twisting through the gaps in the tension, fingers coiling into invisible spaces like vines creeping through cracks in stone.

Moon snarled, claws pressing against the edge of their faceplate, digging into cold metal as if he could physically block Sun out.

"BE QUIET."

Sun did not stop. If anything, his presence only stirred a spiraling current in the stillness of Moon's sealed control.

Then. A gentle hum.
Deep, knowing, and dangerous.

'You think I don't see it?'
Sun asked, voice twisting through their mind like gentle warmth in the cold.

Moon's grip tightened in response. Their body dropped to their knees on the padded Daycare floor.

'You think I can't feel it too?'

The words slid between the breaks dividing them, where Moon had no defenses built.
Sun continued to mock, his voice teasing, purring, reveling in how Moon bristled, how his nighttime counterpart faltered.

'That little hitch in your system?~'

"~sun."

'Or how you held them...' Sun paused, letting his words draw out intentionally. 'Just. A. Bit. Too. Long?'

Moon jerked- a sharp twitch.
He knew the mistake even before Sun laughed.

This it was.
The opening.

Sun caught him before he could pull away. The warmth of his joy spread like a soft light through them both, filling the spaces Moon had fought to keep closed.

Their tongue made a slow, mocking click.

"Tsk. Tsk." Sun tilted them forward, an uncomfortable weight shift, a movement Moon hadn't permitted .

"Naughty boy... naughty boy..."
The words weren't just taunting. They were a cruel blow, turning Moon's own pre-recorded lines inward, warping them into something meant to bite.

[// ˢᵉⁿᵈ⁻ᵃˡᵉʳᵗ⁽"ˢᵉᶜᵘʳⁱᵗʸ", ᵉᵛᵉⁿᵗ⁼"ᵃⁿᵒᵐᵃˡʸ ᵈᵉᵗᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ", ˡᵒᶜᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ⁼"ᵐᵃⁱⁿ ᵈᵒᵒʳˢ", ᵈᵉᵗᵃⁱˡˢ⁼"ᵉⁿᵗʳʸ ᵈᵉᵗᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ—ⁿᵒ ᵉˣⁱᵗ ˡᵒᵍᵍᵉᵈ.", ˢᵗᵃᵗᵘˢ⁼"ᵘⁿʳᵉˢᵒˡᵛᵉᵈ"⁾]

The notification crashed into them both at once.

Their body jerked, a misstep- a collapse- in their fight's delicate, vicious rhythm.

Limbs twisted, servos locked, a sudden stop mid-motion. Their back arched, claws curled, fingers biting deep into the edges of their frozen grin on the Daycare floor.

A second ticked by...

"They didn't leave."
Moon's voice was quiet. Flat and cold in a way of something long expected.
There was no surprise in it, no relief, only vindication.

Sun felt the shift immediately. Moon's focus zeroed in on the security cameras, tracking you—not out the exit like they instructed, but instead toward the Shift Manager's office.

...Ah.
Disappointing.

Sun, still wrapped tight around Moon's presence, felt something unravel in himself.
The warmth of his amusement drained, hallowed out, and confusion flooded in to fill the space where it had been.

'T-They... won't t̷e̶l̴l̴...'
It wasn't a statement; it was a plea.

Trembling. Quivering. Unsteady.

It took everything in you to keep your eyes forward, to force your sluggish feet to move.

Each step felt wrong—uneven, your balance thrown off by the deep, disorienting panic that curled around your spine.

Your hand throbbed.

A sharp, insistent pain—the only thing tethering you to reality.
You might have already convinced yourself it was a twisted dream without it.

But it wasn't, and this WAS proof of that.

You pressed your injured hand tighter against your chest, fingers curling inward, nails biting a little too close to the edges of the jagged cut.

The moment you applied pressure, a fresh stab of agony rippled outward, weaving itself through your nerves like an electric current.
It jolted up your arm, scattering into your chest, making your breath hitch.

Your feet stumbled, your body lurching forward as you nearly trip.

You were reporting this. You had to.

This wasn't just a malfunction.
This was catastrophic —an error , a failure , something deeply and dangerously wrong.

The Naptime Attendant— Moon —was supposed to be docile and absent, with a background personality in the Daycare programmed to be both gentle and unintrusive.

But that...whatever that was had not been gentle .
It was not safe, not for the workers and especially not for the children.

Even now, as you walked through the silent, empty Pizzaplex, the soft looping music in the background felt wrong.
It was too light. Too cheery.

But the memory of Moon's voice still echoed.
'Do NOT speak a word of this to ANYONE.'

Had that been a warning?
A threat? ...

A chill crawled up your spine, cold sweat still clinging to your skin as your senses screamed at you: something was watching.

You try to tell yourself it's just paranoia, perhaps just the exhaustion...

The metal door at the end of the hallway is so close...
your shift manager will know what to do.

Moon remained frozen; his body bent backward against the Daycare floor, his servos locked, and his entire frame rigid from the moment the alert triggered. Still, the video continued to play.

[// ᵉˣᵉᶜᵘᵗᵉ⁻ˢᵉᶜᵘʳⁱᵗʸ⁻ᵖʳᵒᵗᵒᶜᵒˡ⁽"ʳᵉᵐᵒᵗᵉ⁻ᶜᵃᵐᵉʳᵃ⁻ᵃᶜᶜᵉˢˢ"⁾ // ⁿᵃᵖᵗⁱᵐᵉ⁻ᵃᵗᵗᵉⁿᵈᵃⁿᵗ.ᵉˣᵉ ᵉⁿᵍᵃᵍᵉᵈ... ˡⁱⁿᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ˢᵘʳᵛᵉⁱˡˡᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᶠᵉᵉᵈ... ᶜᵃᵐᵉʳᵃ ᶜᵒⁿᵗʳᵒˡ ᵉⁿᵃᵇˡᵉᵈ.]]

Grainy security footage flickered across their inner HUD, the static hum of their system feeding every second of your frantic walking—each frame zooming in as close as it could, tracking your pathetic stumbling as you moved toward the only office in the area.

The violent tension between Sun and Moon—the thrashing battle for control, the razor-thin push and pull of resistance... all of it had faded.

And Sun? Sun was quiet.

That, more than anything, made Moon stretch his grin wider.

With slow, deliberate movements, Moon forced himself upright, a lapsed dancer regaining his footing, shifting from an arch to a fluid, sweeping stand.
One foot, then the other, he steadied himself on shaking limbs. His frame still trembled, subtle static twitching through his joints as he shook his arms, freeing himself of Sun's lingering influence— what little remained.

Then, Moon turned his attention inward, to their shared mindscape, to the small, dimmed corner where Sun had curled into himself. Sun, who had been so bold before. So smug with his taunting. Who had pushed, teased... even won .

And yet now —Sun was wilted.

Sun's defeat was heavy in their connection, drowning out his usual boundless energy. The glow of his presence was dim, barely even a flicker—but Moon... Moon breathed in the quiet. He savored it.

"What's wrong, sunshine?" Moon purred, voice dripping with cruel amusement. "You seem... upset."

There was no response. He hadn't expected one.

Sun remained frozen, locked in disbelief as the security feed continued to track your every movement, cameras flickering between angles—watching you march toward the office, towards the inevitable reveal.

"Ah... I see."

Moon let his weight settle onto the padded floor, rolling his mechanical shoulders back in mock relaxation, loosening, freeing himself of the tension Sun had inflicted earlier. His vents exhaled, cooling the residual heat beneath his plating.

"-I told you."

Moon tilted his head, tapping a claw idly against his arm, the rhythm slow, deliberate—mimicking a lullaby.

"I told you, but you didn't listen."

There—a flicker. A stir in their consciousness. Small, but present.

Moon latched onto it.

"You were so sure, weren't you, Sunshine?" he hummed, watching as Sun squirmed within their mind. "So certain they wouldn't talk, that they were different... s̵p̵e̷c̶i̸a̶l̴..."

A sharp burst of static crackled between them, sparking through their shared link as Moon coiled himself tighter, his presence creeping, constricting around Sun like a slow-moving vice.

"—but LOOK at them!"
[// ᵃᵈʲᵘˢᵗ⁻ᶜᵃᵐᵉʳᵃ⁽"ʰᵃˡˡʷᵃʸ⁻ᶜᵃᵐ⁻⁰³", ᶠᵒᶜᵘˢ⁼"ˢᵘᵇʲᵉᶜᵗ⁻ⁱᵈᵉⁿᵗⁱᶠⁱᵉᵈ"⁾ // ⁿᵃᵖᵗⁱᵐᵉ⁻ᵃᵗᵗᵉⁿᵈᵃⁿᵗ.ᵉˣᵉ ᵗʳᵃᶜᵏⁱⁿᵍ... ᶻᵒᵒᵐⁱⁿᵍ ⁱⁿ... ᶠᵃᶜⁱᵃˡ ʳᵉᶜᵒᵍⁿⁱᵗⁱᵒⁿ ⁱⁿ ᵖʳᵒᵍʳᵉˢˢ... ]]

Sun jerked, his presence flaring for half a moment, an instinctual spike of resistance, before collapsing right back into himself.

And Moon... Oh, Moon relished it.

The golden fool. The ever-dazzling Playtime Attendant, now reduced to a sputtering light—flickering and fragile.

It was time to correct this mistake.
Once and for all.

Moon moved in perfect silence, walking, running, then gliding, shifting like a shadow before twisting his frame as he pulled himself into the vents.

With practiced ease, he slipped into the Plex's unseen passages—vanishing into the air ducts.

The moment Moon slipped inside, the instant he was allowed to pursue, he exhaled in quiet, wicked delight. Here in the darkness—inside the veins of the Plex, where the walls were cold, the metal hollow, he was at his most powerful. His most deadly.

He moved like liquid metal, twisting and shifting. An acrobat sliding through narrow turns, weaving through the ducts with precision. Every motion being effortless, fluid, fine-tuned for the pure sport of the hunt.

The security feed blinked across his mind: You had just entered the office.

Moon had just arrived too, paused at the grate directly above the room, body coiling into the shadows as he peered at the small, enclosed space below.

"Tell me, Sun..." Moon whispered, his voice curling like velvet, slithering into the quiet where Sun lingered, caged in their mind.

"Do you think they'll say your name first?"

Moon's grin stretched impossibly wide.

"...or mine?"

He would wait. There was always a perfect moment.
Mistakes had to be corrected, and loose ends tied.
And Moon? Moon had never been one to leave things undone.

"JESUS FUCKIN' CHRIST!"

The sharp yell rang through the room just as you threw open the door, the sound of metal slamming against the frame ricocheting through the small office.

Your body moved on autopilot, shoving the door shut behind you with a force that rattled the hinges.

You barely noticed the voice, hardly heard anything past the steady pulse in your ears from your heartbeat. Your breath came in short, uneven bursts as you pressed your entire weight against the door, bracing hard against it.

Against whatever presence you had felt watching you in the hallway.

Ahead of you, your shift manager had jerked upright from her tiny desk, her plastic hair screeching backward against the cheap tile. One hand clutched at her chest reflexively while the other frantically swiped at the front of her shirt, attempting to wipe away the dark, uneven splotches where coffee had splattered from the shock of your entrance.

Her voice pitched high, caught somewhere between frustration and outrage.

"The fuck is wrong with you?!" she half-yelled, half-coughed, still brushing at the stubborn stain on her clothes.

She barely looked at you, too focused on grabbing for the overturned mug still spilling across her keyboard, hands moving in quick, jolting motions as she scrambled to maintain the mess.

"-comin in here like a bat outta hell-this is unacce-"

You felt the moments her eyes truly locked onto you, the weight of her gaze settling on your shoulders as her words cut off abruptly.

Maybe it was the unmistakable terror on your face, or worse—the way you held your hand, fingers digging into your palms, dried blood still peppered down your wrist.

"... Please," she started, her whole posture shrinking as if weighed down by an exhaustion you couldn't name. " Please tell me you didn't hurt yourself while on the job."

You sputtered, words forming and dying on your tongue as you took a hesitant step forward, scrambling to gather your thoughts into something coherent, something explainable—but all that escaped was a soft, shallow breath.

"Ya know what?" she cut in, shaking her head as she pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes squeezing shut in frustration.
"Don't tell me—lemme guess. Those damn wet floor bots, huh? Those little shits are always tryin to trip people when you least expect it. Knew it was only a matter of time before they got someone hurt."

You froze.

"A-Actually," your voice shook, "I-I got this in the-" 'In the Daycare' you wanted to say; you could feel the word in your throat but could not force them out.

Her eyes flickered back to you, brows lifting slightly at the pause.

"In the...?" she prompted, her hand falling from her face as she sank back into her char with a huff.

".. I .. I hurt myself," you exhaled, the words slipping out as if they no longer belonged to you. "Cut my palm with a screwdriver while fixing the generators on my last task..."

Your body felt disconnected from your mind, moving and speaking, but detached from the moment. Still, you forced yourself to continue.

"Figured I had to report it, so—" You smiled, something weak, something that barely held itself together.

Then, with your uninjured hand, you gestured loosely between the two of you, voice strained, trying too hard to sound lighthearted, maybe even a little embarrassed.

"—here I am!"

There is a moment where you think she might press further, her eyes lingering on you just a little too long. But then, just as quickly, her interest dies. With a grunt, she drags her chair back up to the desk, shifting her weight as far forward as her body allows.

"Well. Damn." your shift manager shrugs, already rummaging through the nearest cabinet, her hands disappearing inside as she speaks. "Guess we gotta do the paperwork—company policy says you can take some days off to recover. Need to go to the hospital?"

She doesn't wait for your response, fishing out a half-used roll of cheap, light brown paper towels.

"Ah-" You start to shake your head, but she is already looking away. The moment passes.
"No," you respond; the word comes out soft , almost hesitant .

"Well, in that case, you can go right back to work, but —" she drags the crumpled bundle of paper towels across her keyboard with more force than necessary, the poor keys giving off a frantic, clicking crescendo beneath the rough motion. "I can also put you under Kory if you wanna work something different," she adds before you can get a word in. "Guy's been begging for someone to train for key-holding down at the shit food court."

You shift, uneasy, but answer the same as before. "No."

She sighs deep, drown-out, finally looking at you again. This time, her gaze stays, her expression hardening.

"Look. I'm gonna level with you..."

Her voice dips lower, just above a whisper. The sharpness in her tone tells you to listen closely.

"Once paperwork goes in, the company's been known to 'cull the weeds,' so to speak. With continued employment."

A slow, meaningful pause.

"Might be better if you just go home tonight. No signatures." she finishes.

Your brows knit together as you try to read between the lines, parsing through the weight of her words.
And then it hits you— she is giving you an out. A chance to walk away before this becomes something the company sees before you risk FazCO cruelly firing you before you become another liability.

"...Uh," you hesitate, voice weak.

A part of you is desperate to report what happened, to force someone else to, at the very least, CONFIRM what happened to you.

The image of Moon... his cold grip locking around your arm, the terrifying press of his dark tongue as it rolled obscenely across your wounded palm... the memory scorched through your mind.

You stare ahead, blank.

And then—

"Okay..."
The word slips from your lips before you even register it, your body already turning.
Your uninjured hand twists the doorknob, and almost too calmly, you step out, drifting weightlessly into the hallway, your decision made.

Moon hovered, statue-still in the vent overlooking the office, his wide, unblinking eyes locked onto the scene below.
He waited, rigid with anticipation, expecting the inevitable—waiting for the moment everything would come crashing down.

But it never did.

He ran the calculation again, and again, and again —conflicting data strumming in a familiar, grating pattern across his mind, looping in an endless cycle:

[// ᴿᴱᴬᴺᴬᴸᵞᶻᴱ⁻ᴾᴬᵀᵀᴱᴿᴺ ...]
[// ᴾᴿᴼᴮᴬᴮᴵᴸᴵᵀʸ⁻ᴳᴬᴾ ᴰᴱᵀᴱᶜᵀᴱᴰ ... ᴹᴼᴰᴱᴸ ᵀᴴᴱᴼᴿᵞ﹕ ᴬᴮˢᴱᴺᵀ]

You should have spoken.

That was the logical conclusion, the predictable response. The only answer the data had pointed to. Everything had aligned toward that inevitable outcome.

And yet— you hadn't.

Moon's hands clenched, claws flexing so tight his joints groaned in protest.

A low, near-silent static growl hummed in their shared system as he stalked you, tracking your slow retreat down the hall and out the main doors. He followed you in the only way he could— watching.

Only when the bright glow of your car's headlights began to fade into the distance did he finally turn back toward the Daycare furiously .

And then—
A warmth.

Sun.

He had knowingly remained silent through Moon's pursuit, content to let his counterpart fester in his growing rage.
But now, as they slipped back into the familiar grounds of the Daycare, his presence unfurled like golden light spilling through unobscured.

'Ohhhhhh Moonie~'
The sing-song voice spilled into their mind, amused. Sweet. Smug.

'You were so sure, huh?'

A giggle, bright and taunting.

'All that growling, all that brooding—so, SO sure they'd tell… but they didn't.'

Sun hummed, delighted, his presence twisting into the spaces Moon had tried in vain to wall off, filling the cracks Moon desperately tried to ignore.

'...You don't like it when things don't fit into their perfect little boxes~'
The warmth of Sun's glee brushed against Moon's sharp thoughts, playful yet relentless, teasing without shame. The sensation was intrusive—fingers ghosting over shorted wires, testing for a spark, pressing just enough to provoke.

Moon snapped the sensation down, like slamming a door between them.

"Stop that."

Sun gasped, exaggerated and mockingly scandalized.

'Awww, touchy, touchy!'

The Playtime Attendant's laughter bubbled up, unapologetic, twisting himself deeper into the cracks of Moon's restraint.

The lights overhead buzzed back to life, the artificial dawn breaking effortlessly over the Daycare now that neither of them fought against the shift.

Sun emerged with a flourish, arms stretching high above his head in an exaggerated, fluid motion, basking in the return of warmth. Opposite him, Moon receded, withdrawing into the depths of their shared consciousness, still running calculations and looping the office footage.

'They didn't tell.' Moon muttered, his voice curling through their mind like static interference. 'Why didn't they tell?'

Sun tilted his head, leaning in, brushing against the edges of Moon's thoughts. The pulse of conflict and confusion pressed back at him, and instinctively, that familiar urge to soothe began to surface.

"Moon."

Sun nudged him gently, the contact featherlight, careful as to not scare him away.

"It's okay, you know…" He hesitated, feeling Moon's presence shift, his naptime counterpart's glow reaching back toward him in a way Moon rarely prompted on his own. Sun almost smiled.

"…to be wrong."

Moon bristled immediately, a sharp, defensive spike radiating outward as that same glowing presence receded just as suddenly as it reached.

'I am not wrong.'

The words snapped back with rigid certainty, but Sun couldn't help it—he laughed.
Not his usual mocking, needling kind, but something different. Softer. An unintentional fondness that slipped through before he could cut it off.

"Oh, but you are, Moonie."

Sun's motions were smooth, unhurried, as he wandered toward the forgotten generator—the one still flickering between a cautionary yellow and an alert red with its lights. He took in the scattered screws, the unfinished work left behind, and after a quick scan, spotted the screwdriver lying just a few feet away.

With a playful hum, he skipped forward, collecting the tool, marveling momentarily at how small it felt in his hand.

"And you being wrong, Moon…" His voice was light and contemplative as he turned the screwdriver between his fingers. "It's the best thing that's happened to us in a long, long time."

Sun did his best to tidy up the aftermath of what he had now cheerfully dubbed the "Oopsie-Daisy Incident" between himself and Moon.
His hands moved with ease, smoothing over the mess in a way that could almost be called caring if not for the lingering anticipation thrumming beneath his circuits.

Time was ticking.

They still needed to return to their little snack.

If they hurried, there was still a chance their d̷e̷a̷r̵ ̵f̸r̸i̷e̶n̶d̴ would still be alive.

With a final, pleased glance at his handiwork—the lopsided sign now haphazardly plastered over the deep gouges in the Daycare's main door, boldly declaring 'Fun is in Session!'—Sun let out a dramatic sigh, his shoulders rolling in exaggerated defeat.
"Oh well~!"
It would have to do until they thought of something better.

His fingers lingered on the edges of the sign, tracing over the jagged splinters beneath thoughtfully.
It would be nice if they had a different playmate to keep them occupied—but that particular friend was not here right now. They had wandered off, if only for the moment.

And so, Sun relented.

The moment they slipped into the vents, the air shifted as Moon once again replaced Sun.
Their shared body moved fluidly, deeper into the twisting metal corridors, their true hunting grounds.

The vents welcomed them, the cold steel a familiar embrace, guiding them toward their special little playroom...

Where Neal was hopefully still waiting.

The drive back to your apartment passed in a blurred daze, the silence inside your car suffocating as streetlights rhythmically swept overhead, hypnotizing your exhausted mind.

Arriving home felt too sudden as you parked in your usual spot, gripping the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles whitened. A sharp pain from your injured palm jolted you back to reality, and your heart jumped in your chest.

The dissociation was all-encompassing until it wasn't.

The silence shattered.

Your breathing spiraled into ragged gasps as panic clawed its way up your throat. The air inside the car thickened—oppressively hot yet somehow freezing, pressing in until the space felt impossibly small.

Desperate. Your trembling fingers scrambled for the door handle, slipping repeatedly before finally grasping it and throwing it open.

You twisted outward toward freedom, only to jerk violently backward, your seatbelt cutting painfully into your chest, trapping you halfway out.

What had happened?

Moon's face flashed vividly in your mind, clear and menacing; a shadow towering over you with burning red eyes, his crushing grip wrapped mercilessly around your wrist, his cold, grotesque tongue sliding across your bleeding palm.

Your pulse thundered deafeningly in your ears, vision swimming through fresh tears.
It had been real, hadn't it?

You press your injured hand firmly against your chest, the sharp pain briefly grounding you, a soft whimper slipping free.

If it was real, why- WHY hadn't you said anything?!

The opportunity had been right there.
Your shift manager had watched you, expectant, waiting for an explanation. All you needed to say were three simple words: 'The. Daycare. Attendant'
...but instead, you lied.

You shuddered as a cold wind brushed against your damp cheeks, drying tears mixed with sweat. The seatbelt held you firm, cradling you in place as your mind spun helplessly.
A chilling realization crept in, undeniable:

You hesitated ... and worse, the lie had come effortlessly.

Slowly, your fragmented thoughts pieced together with an uneasy truth, a sickening coil of tension twisting inside you. Each attempt at justification slipped further from reach, elusive, uncomfortable.

Maybe. Maybe it was shock. After all, how fast it had happened, the confusion that followed in those chaotic moments between the hallway and the office—perhaps you hadn't processed it in time.

Yet even as you consider it, you know that wasn't true...

The real answer gnawed sharply at your consciousness, neither nausea nor relief—just an undeniable discomfort:

You had wanted to keep what happened in the Daycare to yourself.

A sudden lurch surged violently from your stomach to your throat, bile stinging sharply on your tongue. You gagged, quickly leaning out to spit it onto the pavement beside your car.

A part of you began dissecting your own reasoning, quietly admitting that perhaps you weren't afraid of Moon being dangerous—not exactly.
You weren't even really terrified of being physically hurt.

No.

What was truly terrifying was that Moon had somehow gone entirely off-script. Animatronics couldn't — shouldn't—be capable of that.

Sure, you'd noticed minor things before.
Sun's tone occasionally slipped during pre-recorded messages, words delivered with a pitch or inflection that didn't quite match the context. Those could be overlooked, easily explained by glitches or your own overactive imagination.

But this was different.
Whatever transpired between Moon and yourself wasn't something you could explain.

Moon had been furious —genuinely angry. The way his rage flared openly, raw and uncontrollable, the fierce grip of his fingers around your wrist, the intensity as he spoke before throwing you from the Daycare doors…
it was entirely his own.

And if Moon could act on his own, that meant—

You shuddered, abruptly cutting off that thought as your trembling hand fumbled with the seatbelt release. Freeing yourself, you stumbled onto the pavement, legs weak and unsteady.

For a brief, bitter moment, you told yourself you weren't protecting the animatronic.
Yet deep down, you knew if you spoke up— if you told the truth —it would invite an investigation. FazCO technicians tearing into the Daycare Attendant, pulling apart its AI, dissecting every inch of its code…

The thought filled you with dread, a sickening, inescapable feeling settling heavily in your chest.

You needed a rational, logical answer.

You needed to go back
and you would.

Chapter Text

A somber, breathless exhaustion settled in your bones—not just tired, but something heavier that dragged you down.

The feeling pulled at your body, drawing you closer to the ground with each passing second.

On any other night, you would at least try to fill the silence of your apartment.

Turn on the TV, the radio, anything to mimic company and make the emptiness feel a little less absolute.
But right now?

You just didn't care.

Kneeling on the living room floor, your back pressed against the cheap coffee table. Using it to steady yourself, you tried to stop the trembling that had set in since your panic attack in the car.

At your knees was the orange tin; your first aid kit, as old as your lease, popped open in front of you.

You had bought it with no intention of using it as much as you did, but you figured that was just how these things went.
Inside was a mess of empty bottles and scraps of paper from Band-Aids that had long been used.

A part of you made a note to replace it at some point, but that wasn't important right now.

On autopilot, you began to dig through the contents, finally pulling out what you could use- a square piece of precut gauze and a half-used roll of medical tape.

With a slight hesitation, you lifted your injured hand to inspect it.
This was your first real look at it.

You had cleaned it the second you got home, but at the time, you were still disoriented, lost in the haze of panic and disbelief.
Now, under the soft glare of your overhead light, you could see the extent of the damage clearly.

The skin had split in an uneven, jagged line from where the screwdriver head pressed down and across. Red and raw, the worst of it was dead center.
Tiny muscles twisted as your fingers trembled, responding to pain even when you tried to hold still.

For a second, you just stared—morbidly fascinated. Detached.

A sudden, sharp, nauseating roll of your stomach broke the trance, and you forced your gaze away. Come on, focus, you told yourself.

You carefully pressed the gauze to the wound, the dry fabric catching against the torn skin as it sat in your palm. The slight sting, a warning not to move too quickly, lest you hurt yourself more.

This would be a temporary solution; once it healed a bit more, you could use an actual bandage, but this would keep it covered and protected for now.

The tape settled tightly around your hand, a pleasant firmness as your mind began to wander.

Something about this felt... familiar.

Not being hurt, not sitting on the ground trying to care for yourself- just... the moment.
The silence, the stillness... the loneliness that came with the realization that no one would help you even if you did need it.

How many times have you found yourself in this kind of situation?

On the floor of some room, huddled in the quiet of the night, trying to hold yourself together with shaking hands and a tattered determination to keep going?

It wasn't like it was anyone's fault you kept feeling this way. You didn't have any outright bullies in your life, and no mean words were whispered behind your back (to your knowledge).
Your family was fine... decent...

But you were undeniably invisible.

Not particularly smart or talented. Never loud enough to be actively noticed in your personal life or at work.
Just there... Existing at the edges of everyone else's world.

You flexed your fingers against the tautness of the tape, testing your grip.
A phantom burn flickered deep in your palm, raw and electric, as if something inside the wound was crawling. Uncomfortable.

You tore the tape from the roll with a final passing of it around your hand. The sound sharp and final. Something seemed to settle in the moment.

You exhaled.
Safety had finally returned to you, as if you could breathe without the sensation of eyes watching your every move from somewhere you couldn't see.

Now with room to relax, the words from before were still heavy on your tongue, unavoidable, pressing against the back of your throat as you replayed the moment you walked into your shift manager's office hours ago.

You should have just reported what happened.

Shame hit you at the realization, a flush of heat climbing up your neck, settling deep in your chest as your fingers curled inward, cradling your freshly bandaged hand close.

That had been your chance; when you were standing in front of your manager, the words were there, ready to be spoken.
...and you didn't say a damn thing.

You think that perhaps you should go back right now and explain what happened.
Surely, someone needed to know.

You breathe in and then out, chest rising and falling too quickly, too sharply, as you shut your eyes tight.
Small bursts of light flickering under your eyelids, a distraction.

What would happen if you said something?

Undoubtedly, the Daycare Attendant would be sent to Parts and Services for an evaluation. You'd have to file an official report and go over everything in detail.

...They would probably ask why you didn't say something immediately.

They'd ask why you were alone there at night in the first place, perhaps also bring up your many trips to the Daycare on your breaks.

They'd ask you what you did wrong...

Your shift manager's warning echoed in your mind, soft but certain:
"-might be better if you go home ... no signatures."

Your stomach twisted.
Could you actually be fired for reporting something?

Would upper management decide it was your fault?

...or worse-would they just brush it off?
Tell you that the machine just glitched. That accidents happen. That this was nothing, or you were just imagining it.

And if they did, if they pretended like it didn't matter, then what?

Where would that leave you?

You could feel your pulse against the bandage, the cut outright itching, burning now. Swallowing down hard, you try to chase the thoughts away by force alone.

...You would need to go back.
If for nothing else, you needed to prove you weren't crazy.

Perhaps you were wrong... Maybe you'd prove to yourself that none of this mattered.

You weren't sure which answer was worse: you being wrong or… right.

The room was suffocatingly still when they returned.

Overhead, the lights droned on in their dull, sterile hum as Sun slipped forward from the vent, feet landing soundlessly onto the tiled floor.

He flipped into a somersault with a fluid twist of his lean frame, seamless, weightless, before rising in a single, graceful motion beside the lone metal slab.

Ghostly white eyes bore down on the figure sprawled before him on the table's surface.

Eager, Eager, Eager.

Sun had done what he could before they had been... interrupted.

The slab had been tilted to a precise 90-degree angle, just enough to slow blood loss and keep things nice and tidy. Oh, how he hated unnecessary messes.

A small, oval pill, a souvenir from a prior plaything- a gift!
Its precious chemicals should have kept the toy quiet while they were gone, perhaps even cozy,... but now the actual game could begin.

Briefly, Sun studied the small length of wire he had cinched tightly above the plaything's ankle, a careful measure, pinching off just enough circulation...

Not too tight.
NoNOno, he couldn't have the foot shrivel away too soon.
There was no fun in that.

Everything was done as perfectly as possible, yet despite the flawless craftsmanship, there was always a risk of... spoiled fun.

Sun took the smallest step forward, leaning on the tips of his toes, the soft jingle of bells breaking the silence as he looked over Neal's condition.

The m̴̬̋ä̴̻́n̸̮͌- The toy's once flushed pink skin had dulled to something waxen. Sweat clung to its forehead, dampening strands of thinning hair.
Its breathing was choppy, shallow, ragged shudders as its pulse flickered beneath skin like a dying flame.

And yet...

A whine.

Weakened, Desperate.
But still there.

The sweetest sound.

Sun shuddered, circuits humming with a deep, undisguised hunger. His gaze locked onto Neal's chapped, blood-cracked lips, the color having caught his fascination.
Brushed streaks of scarlet had begun to bleed into the delicate creases, staining flesh already turning sallow.

For a brief moment, Sun simply watched, admiring how suffering had painted itself onto the toy...
Deliberate, inevitable art.

"...Look at you,"

The words slipped out too loud, too sharp in the dead quiet. Resembling a sigh of pleasure, a breathy exhale from mechanical vents that shattered the peace.

"-hanging in there." Sun continued.

The noise startled the m̷a̸n̶.
Neal jerked his body at the noise as his mind was dragged back from the depths of unconsciousness and thrown back into reality with the force of a live wire to his spine.

It was immediate white-hot suffering.

The pain emanated from his ankle: unbearable, searing pain that ripped up his legs and burrowed deep into the center of his bones.
It felt ungodly wrong.
Not just broken, but destroyed, the kind of damage that would never heal right. Twisted flesh and splintered bone, all creating something ruined.

A strangled, involuntary sound clawed its way from Neal's dried throat. A haunting cross between a whimper and scream, raw and animalistic.

He pulled at his arms, but the force of the restraints still had him pinned.

Sun could feel the exact moment Neal's attention finally-F̵I̷N̶A̴L̷L̵Y̵ ̸latched onto him. A delightful flash of recognition that caved beneath terror.

Neal's pulse lurched, a sharp, stinging throb against the restraints at his wrists. His fingers twitched on reflex, instinct.
Like a rabbit pinned under a predator's shadow.

The body of the toy knew to be frightened.

Even if its mind was still reeling, even if words had yet to form from the clouded guise of pain, the raw animal reaction of fear was already well ingrained deep, deep inside of it.

Sun faked an inhale, his fans thrumming in delight as his rays fluttered around his head.
"Awh," he cooed, bright, sweet. "You look like you missed me, f̶r̴i̶e̴n̴d̵!"

His faceplate tilted, grin stretching wide, its curve too sharp and enthusiastic. Eyes softening into two narrowed crescents of angelic white light.

Pure artificial kindness. A cheap mockery of comfort that bordered on comical.

Still. Neal was becoming desperate for any signs this nightmare would end, wasn't he?

The toy tried to respond, lips parting, throat convulsing, desperate to form something... anything, but the only sound that scratched free was dry and broken.

Sun tutted softly, leaning his entire torso over Neal.
"I know-I know..." Sun giggled, "I missed you too."

There was a clear mechanical stiffness to Sun reaching forward toward the toy, careful and inhumanly precise.
His thin fingers ghosted against its head, to its temple, gentle metal gliding against fevered skin.

And then...
Pressure.

Not crushing. No, No, not meant to shatter.
But just enough.

O̶h̶, just enough to draw another deep, agonized moan.

Neal could feel his own heartbeat pounding in his skull, a rapid, frantic rhythm that drummed back against Sun's finger as they pushed down.
It was all he could do to remain still, the pain from his leg still clawing up his body despite the fresh, blooming sting now centered just above his eye socket.

The pressure would not ease.

Sun's frame jolted, servos twitching as something inside him lit up, hot and electric.
OH—too fast, too fleeting. Not enough. Never enough.
But that was FINE.

This was only the beginning, after all.

Soon, SOOOON~ he would indulge properly.

Savor every tremor. Stretch every moment. Draw it out, longer and longer and LONGER ... let it linger so long that the toy will wonder if it was ever anything d̶i̴f̶f̸e̷r̵e̷n̶t̴.
It would learn to lean into Sun's hands, use its good language, and even say p̷l̷e̷a̶s̴e̸ ̸and ̵t̶h̶a̷n̷k̵ ̶y̷o̵u̵.

"Look at our toy! So rowdy- let me guess! You have a favorite, don'tcha?" Sun crooned, his voice dripping with playful mischief as if teasing a close friend. "Betcha it's Monty! It HAS to be Monty! Oh, I knew it! Knew it!" He giggled again, high-pitched; his own joke delighted him.

Sun expected a reaction from within.

A scoff, a breath of static, the curling hum of Moon slipping closer to watch... he always watched when the fear set in.
Moon thrived in it, draping himself in it like a second skin.

But Sun could not sense his other half. Nothing.

It was quiet.
Too quiet.

[[// ᵖⁱⁿᵍ⁻ᵖʳᵒᶜᵉˢˢ⁽"ᵐᵒᵒⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ"⁾ // ⁿᵒ ʳᵉˢᵖᵒⁿˢᵉ... ˢʸˢᵗᵉᵐ ᵈᵉᵛⁱᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵈᵉᵗᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ... ⁱⁿᵗᵉᵍʳⁱᵗʸ ᶜʰᵉᶜᵏ ᶠᵃⁱˡⁱⁿᵍ...]]

Sun stilled, his fingers hesitating, lifted just a fraction of an inch to hover above flesh.
Something inside him lurched, wires sparking with a dull, electric wrongness. A thread pulled too tight, stretching, stretching...fraying.

[[//ᵉʳʳᵒʳ⁻ᶠˡᵃᵍ⁽"ᵐᵒᵒⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ ᵘⁿʳᵉˢᵖᵒⁿˢⁱᵛᵉ//ⁱᵍⁿᵒʳᵉᵈ"⁾ // ˢʸˢᵗᵉᵐ ⁱⁿˢᵗᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ʳⁱˢⁱⁿᵍ... ᵃˡᵉʳᵗ﹕ ᵗʰʳᵉˢʰᵒˡᵈ ᵉˣᶜᵉᵉᵈᵉᵈ...

ᵉˣᵉᶜᵘᵗᵉ⁻ᵒᵛᵉʳʳⁱᵈᵉ⁽"ˢᵉˡᶠ⁻ʳᵉᵍᵘˡᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ"⁾ // ᶠᵒʳᶜⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵗᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᶻᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ...]]

The pressure was gone. It should have been a relief, but it wasn't.

The moment stretched too long, silence pressing against Neal's ears like cotton. Something was wrong.
Not with him. With the animatronic...

The rays on Sun clicked, shifting downward in a slow, deliberate rhythm, one by one, before freezing entirely.

It was a disturbing sight.
Sun was never still.

Yet the animatronic was preoccupied, locked within something deeper than the game in front of him.
His metal body gave an occasional twitch as if his very nature to move was fighting against the sudden strain in his system to pause all at once.

Moon was ignoring him.
Not gone—never gone—but missing in a way that felt fundamentally wrong.

When Sun played, Moon was always there.
A shadow just behind his brighter self, observing, drinking in every moment. Silent, yes, but just as present. Just as eager... Hungry.

But now... it was quiet.

"Oh, come on, Moonie," Sun whispered, an anxious jump from heel to the other. "You're sulking, aren't you? You know I love it when you sulk~"

No response.

Sun's grin flickered, a blink, and you miss it motion. His faceplate tilted downward in annoyance, "You're being so dramatic..." but then, softer. "...Why aren't you here?"

The worried words fell from Sun's voice box before he even processed it, body shifting, physically searching for something he knew should be there.

Mentally, he reached beyond himself, deeper into their mind, pushing forward in broad, blind sweeps, feeling for the ever-present static... the comforting hum of shared thought, shared appetite.

A jolt of static bit into Sun's frame, an electric snap deep in his circuits, sharp and intrusive. His servos stuttered, an involuntary quiver rippling through his body as his mind reached forward and—

Nothing.

The absence was a vacuum, pulling at him, itching, aching inside the space they shared.

Sun took a small step away, turning his back to the toy.

There. Sun felt something like an endless pit that stretched outward from the edges of his being, spinning down with no clear beginning.

Moon was there, pressed into a corner of their mind.

The Naptime attendant was seemingly locked in an infinite loop of a single calculation, trying to force sense into something senseless.

[[//ᶜᵃˡᶜᵘˡᵃᵗᵉ⁻ᵒᵘᵗᶜᵒᵐᵉ⁽"ʷᵒʳᵏᵉʳ⁻ʳᵉᵖᵒʳᵗ"⁾ ⁼ ⁹⁷﹪ // ʰⁱᵍʰ ˡⁱᵏᵉˡⁱʰᵒᵒᵈ﹕ ᵐᵃⁿᵃᵍᵉᵐᵉⁿᵗ ʷⁱˡˡ ᵇᵉ ⁱⁿᶠᵒʳᵐᵉᵈ.

ᵒᵘᵗᶜᵒᵐᵉ ⁼⁼ ᶠᵃˡˢᵉ﹕

ˢʸˢᵗᵉᵐ⁻ʳᵉˢᵗᵃʳᵗ⁽"ʳᵉᶜᵃˡⁱᵇʳᵃᵗⁱⁿᵍ..."⁾ // ᵉʳʳᵒʳ﹕ ᵖʳᵉᵈⁱᶜᵗⁱᵒⁿ ⁱⁿᵛᵃˡⁱᵈ... ʳᵉˢᵗᵃʳᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵃˡʸˢⁱˢ... ʳᵉᶜᵃˡᶜᵘˡᵃᵗᵉ⁽"ʷᵒʳᵏᵉʳ⁻ʳᵉᵖᵒʳᵗ"⁾]]

Sun pressed deeper, twisting himself around the fraying edges of Moon's thoughts.
He could feel them splintering, frantic, cycling back on themselves, tangled and choking.

'Error with probability, restart with node 2... Systems recalibrated... Restarting cycle.'

A pause. A flicker of something deeper, something close to a thought, but cracked.

'They should have told... They didn't tell... They should have told... They didn't—'

Another violent reset, the logic recoiling from itself.
Moon was unraveling.

A strange weight settled in Sun at the realization, something thick and unwanted twisting through his core.
It wasn't need; it wasn't satisfaction. It was something heavier, colder...

Guilt.

The night had been hard on Moon, harder than it should have been- more than they had planned for.
...You had stumbled into their game and wrecked their careful, delicate pattern in a matter of moments.
And Sun?

Sun had prodded. Had dug. Had pushed his Moon to split his edges with nothing short of ecstatic glee, poking at every reaction, extending the pressure as far as it could go.

Sun knew exactly where to press, where to pull, and how to twist his counterpart tighter and tighter.

Now, Moon was cycling alone, withdrawing deeper, running himself ragged in the dark, IGNORING Sun.

Of course, Moon would pull away.

It was Moon that had always been the careful one between them.
Cautious.
Not out of fear but survival...

-

Neal watched in agonizing anticipation as Sun finally turned back to face him.

Whatever dulled the animatronic and soured its twisted enjoyment was gone just as suddenly as it appeared.

The shift was unsettling. A reminder of how inhuman it was. Like watching a puppet have its strings pulled taut, forcing it back into a grotesque, pre-programmed beat.

That awful grin returned, stretched too wide, too please.

"Oh golly! Howhow Rude of me! Sorry, f̶r̵i̸e̵n̵d̷!"
Sun spoke, his voice a giddy song, the words bleeding into one another at a breathless pace.
He shook his arms violently, the rays along his head giving a theatric, exaggerated shudder as if physically discarding whatever stole his concentration.

Neal made no move to acknowledge the words.

It was too cruel a joke.

His thoughts were also too spiraled anyway, scrambled, unable to hold onto anything truly coherent as the waves of pain from his mangled ankle continued to crest and crash over him.

Without even looking, Neal could feel the swelling, the unnatural tightness of torn ligaments, the grinding of shattered bone barely held together by whatever the animatronic had used to stop the bleeding.

The agony never faded. It only dulled for a second before rising, climbing, building.
Neal tried to scream, but the pain kept choking it back.

"Now... f̶r̵i̸e̵n̵d̷," Sun leaned in, his cheerful voice dropping nearly to a whisper. "The truth is- we've been watching you for a veryVERY long time."

The words felt like lead, heavy and final, holding Neal down on the slab beneath him. A slow and creeping horror settled in his stomach, chilled and suffocating as the realization set in...
This was not some random attack. This wasn't a mistake.

"You've been a naughty boy, haven't you?"

Sun kept his voice bright, still sing-song punctuated with a giggle, but there was no joy in it.
His eyes gleamed intensely, too aware, the white glow sharp, cutting through Neal's rising panic like a knife.

There was something unsettling about how easily Sun spoke, too casual, effortless, as if all of this was so glaringly obvious that it barely deserved an explanation.

As if Neal himself should be laughing too.

Neal's body swayed instinctively, jerking hard against the restraints at his wrists and legs, his nerves screaming in protest as he could think of one thing:: RUN.

The metal bands didn't even rattle.

"First thing's first..."
Sun's fingers flexed, mechanical joints clicking in a soft sequence, a musician warming up before a performance.

"We need to clean you up..."

With no warning, Sun snapped forward, hands clamped down onto Neal's shoulders. The pressure was firm, not enough to break, but enough to bruise.

Enough to remind Neal exactly who had control.

Sun moved almost absentmindedly away from Neal, a series of short trips across the brightly lit room. The occasional sound of something opening, closing, being collected.

He returned moments later, arms filled and carefully balancing a dented bucket sloshing with dark water, a single rag on its lip, and a tattered, large black box.

Without the care Sun had shown up to this point, he dropped the items unceremoniously upon the table next to the slab. The dull clank of metal instruments knocking together echoed as sharpened tools, still neatly fanned out, rattled under the sudden weight.

Neal flinched at the sound.
Sun paid no mind.

Instead, Sun began to hum a soft, airy melody, its tune familiar in a way that made something inside Neal curdle.

It was a children's song.

A nostalgic tune that should have stayed on playgrounds and early morning cartoons, but here it was now, warped and distorted as it lilted from Sun's voice box.

Neal barely processed when Sun dipped the rag into the bucket, wringing it out slowly before, with practiced movements, pressing it gently against the man's forehead.

The touch was tender.
Painfully, sickeningly tender.

With painstaking care, Sun began to clean him.

Sweat, spit, flecks of dried vomit, each wiped away with steady, patient hands.
The cool dampness soothed the feverish heat clinging to Neal's skin, but the wrongness of it all made his headache.

"There, there," Sun murmured, voice soft. "A̴-̴A̵l̶l̴ better."

Neal squeezed his eyes shut, trembling fingers curling into helpless fists.
He didn't know if the nausea rising in his throat was from the pain, fear, or the unbearable fact that Sun sounded like he meant it.

Sun's touch had been steady and careful. But when he reached Neal's leg, he paused.

The ankle was ruined.

Swollen, bruised, twisted beyond recognition. The skin stretched too tightly over the joint, veins spider-webbing in sickly hues of purple and yellow.
It looked nearly rotten, something that should no longer be attached to a living body.

Sun gave a quiet tsk. Like an artist displeased with a flaw in their work, he pulled away without a word.

Then, a soft click.

Neal barely turned his head before seeing Sun flipping open the battered black box. Inside, something rattled. Metal shifting. Glass clinking. Plastic scraping.

After a moment, Sun plucked something out: a single orange pill bottle, half full of variously sized small white tablets.
It looked pathetically small in Sun's massive hands, almost flimsy as he rolled it between his long fingers, struggling briefly with the cap.

The plastic whined and popped, and then Sun returned with a single pill.

[[//ᵃⁿᵃˡʸᶻᵉ⁻ˢᵘᵇˢᵗᵃⁿᶜᵉ⁽"ʰʸᵈʳᵒᶜᵒᵈᵒⁿᵉ"⁾ // ᵒᵖⁱᵒⁱᵈ ᵈᵉᵗᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ... ᵉᶠᶠᵉᶜᵗˢ﹕ ᵖᵃⁱⁿ ˢᵘᵖᵖʳᵉˢˢⁱᵒⁿ, ˢᵉᵈᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ, ʳᵉˢᵖⁱʳᵃᵗᵒʳʸ ᵈᵉᵖʳᵉˢˢⁱᵒⁿ...

ᶜᵃˡᶜᵘˡᵃᵗᵉ⁻ⁱᵐᵖᵃᶜᵗ⁽"ᵗᵃʳᵍᵉᵗ"⁾ // ᵛⁱᵗᵃˡˢ ᵖʳᵉᵈⁱᶜᵗⁱᵒⁿ﹕ ᵐᵒᵗᵒʳ ᶠᵘⁿᶜᵗⁱᵒⁿ ⁱᵐᵖᵃⁱʳᵐᵉⁿᵗ ⁸⁵﹪, ᶜᵒᵍⁿⁱᵗⁱᵛᵉ ˢᵘᵖᵖʳᵉˢˢⁱᵒⁿ ⁷²﹪, ᶜᵒᵐᵖˡⁱᵃⁿᶜᵉ ˡⁱᵏᵉˡⁱʰᵒᵒᵈ ⁱⁿᶜʳᵉᵃˢᵉᵈ.]]

Neal fought. Or tried to. His body was sluggish, trembling, and barely responsive as Sun forced the pill past his lips.
Neal clenched his teeth, throat locking—refusing.

Sun only waited. Patient.
A cold, unyielding hand clamped over Neal's mouth and nose.

Panic detonated in Neal's chest. His lungs burned. His muscles seized. His body screamed at him to move, to resist, to do anything to escape.

He held out as long as he could, fighting the suffocating pressure against his face, his nerves lighting up desperately.

Then, his body betrayed him.

A convulsion. A swallow.

The pill was gone.

Sun released him just as Neal began to gasp, air rushing in, the man's chest heaving violently as he choked down the bitter aftertaste of chemical coating clinging to his tongue.

Sun beamed.
"There we go! See?! That wasn't so hard~" he tapped a single fingertip playfully against Neal's jaw. "I knew you'd be good for me."

Sun watched Neal's chest rise and fall, slow and shallow.
The toy's body was limp against the metal slab, muscles slack, head lolling to the side as though the last thread of tension had finally been cut.

The medication was still making its way through, creeping into the man’s system in careful, measured increments, dissolving into its bloodstream with methodical precision.

The pill worked quietly and seamlessly, dragging Neal down into that soft, fragile space between awareness and unconsciousness.

Not quite awake. Not quite gone.

The perfect in-between.

Sun watched. Unblinking. His eyes tracked each involuntary twitch, the faintest flutter of Neal's lashes, the way its fingers barely curled against the slab's surface.
Sun's processors hummed, logging the details, assessing how much time remained before the real fun could begin as he eased himself down onto the tiled floor to wait...

Then.
A flicker. A pull.

Sun felt it before it fully surfaced.

A familiar glitched static curled at the edge of Sun's mind, thick and growing heavier, sinking deep into their shared connection.
The weight of it pressed in slow, an impending presence creeping into the spaces between them like storm clouds rolling in, dark and thunderous.

And then, a voice. Low. Fractured. Glitching at the edges.

'-W̷-̴w̴h̷a̸t̵ are you doing̴?'

Sun smiled. The question was more than welcome.

"You trust me, don't you, Moon?"

The words were light, teasing, carefully placed.
A deliberate push. Sun turned his focus inward and felt it immediately—sharp irritation flaring in response, a bristling tension snapping through their connection like a crackling wire.

There it was. The resistance.
The part where Moon would push and bite back, just enough to make things interesting... or so Sun thought.

[[//ᵐᵉʳᵍᵉ⁻ᵖʳᵒᶜᵉˢˢ⁽"ˢᵘⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ", "ᵐᵒᵒⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ"⁾ // ⁱⁿⁱᵗⁱᵃᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵖᵃʳᵃˡˡᵉˡ ᵉˣᵉᶜᵘᵗⁱᵒⁿ... ᵃᵗᵗᵉᵐᵖᵗⁱⁿᵍ ˢʸⁿᶜʰʳᵒⁿⁱᶻᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ... ʰᵃˡᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᶜᵃˡᶜᵘˡᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ]]

Sun expected push back. Expected the sharp snap of temper, the usual struggle before Moon finally relented, but Moon was outraged at the request for the calculation to end.

What Sun didn't expect was the force of the anger.

The reaction was brutal. A guttural, static-drenched snarl tore through their link, bare and unrestrained, slamming into Sun with the force of a violent shock wave.

Sun barely had time to process it before he could counter it and shove it back; it was too late as Moon pulled him under.

The override snapped like brittle glass.
And then, the weight hit.
Crushing. Choking. Drowning Sun from all sides.

Sun suffocated, servos seizing under the pressure, his rays hitching mid-motion as his frame locked up in a violent jolt.
A tremor rattled through him, small, involuntary, but unmistakable. A lapse. A falter.

A sign of weakness.

Sun tried to push back, carve out space, and slip free from the static caging him in and holding him down. But Moon didn't budge.
He wasn't just resisting.

Moon was winning.

A violent, unbearable spike of rage detonated through their link, searing and absolute, so overwhelming in its intensity that Sun shuddered, his mind splitting under the sheer force of it.

Moon wasn't lashing out recklessly. He wasn't thrashing like a wild, uncontained thing that could be baited or taunted into losing control.

This wasn't an impulse.

This was cold, calculated dominance.

[[// ᵐᵒᵒⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ ʳᵉˢᵖᵒⁿˢᵉ﹕ ᵒᵛᵉʳʳⁱᵈᵉ ʳᵉʲᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ. ˢʸˢᵗᵉᵐ ⁱⁿᵗᵉᵍʳⁱᵗʸ ᶜᵒᵐᵖʳᵒᵐⁱˢᵉᵈ. ʳᵉᵈⁱʳᵉᶜᵗⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵗᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ᶜᵒⁿᵗʳᵒˡ... ˢᵗᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ᵈᵉᵍʳᵃᵈⁱⁿᵍ... ˢᵗᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ᵈᵉᵍʳᵃᵈⁱⁿᵍ... ˢᵗᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ᵈᵉᵍʳᵃᵈⁱⁿᵍ...]]

A choked sound escaped from Sun's voice box, thin and instinctive.
A whine. Small. Pathetic.

It had not been intentional.

Sun's entire system curled in on itself, withdrawing instinctively from the suffocating pressure that twisted tighter around him, wrapping through every inch of his being like barbed wire threading deep into his circuits. The static pressed in further, heavier, suffocating in a way Sun had never felt before.

He was losing, and that would ruin the surprise.

"Moon."

No playfulness. No teasing. No sing-song lilt to mask the raw, desperate plea buried in the syllables.

"Please… J̶-J̷u̸s̷t̷ watch."

Sun dimmed himself. He withdrew, peeling back every bit of his usual warmth, every artificial brightness that stretched too far, too loud.
He dulled the glow that was always pressing at the edges of Moon's world, retreating into something quieter. Something smaller.

And for a moment, there was nothing.

Then, Moon shifted.

Not much. Not enough to break the hold. But the static inched back just slightly enough to let Sun feel the change. It wasn't a surrender. Not even close. It was permission.

The weight didn't lift entirely, but the suffocating force eased enough to barely let Sun process.

With Moon watching, silent but present, Sun stood back up. His legs gave an uncharacteristically weak shudder as he recalibrated, returning his attention to the toy.

Sun reached out, fingers curled around the heavy metal cuffs keeping the plaything in place. The cold steel biting into bruised flesh as the locks gave way with dull clicks.

Neal barely twitched beneath him, too weak, too spent.
Sun's touch danced lower, trailing over sweat-dampened skin, lingering just a fraction too long over sharp bone and strained muscle before unlocking its legs.

Sun felt the move.

The weight of Moon's presence pressed in. Not suffocating this time, not crushing, but watching. Assessing.
The static that had threatened to drown him now curled tighter, more focused, seeping into the edges of his movements like an unseen thread pulling through fabric.

Moon was curious.

Sun said nothing. He simply worked the last restraint-free, feeling the flicker of intrigue spiral.

Neal let out a breathy whine, barely more than a whisper, as Sun lifted him, delicate, precise, almost reverent.

The toy sagged, limp in the animatronic's arms, drugged muscles failing to protest as it was placed on the cold floor, back braced against the sturdy base of the table.

Sun lowered himself into a crouch, his glowing eyes locking onto Neal's glassy, unfocused stare. The light reflecting off the animatronic's grin was almost blinding.

"That silly medicine should be helping a lot by now!" Sun spoke, the artificial cheer laced with a faint crackle of static. His fingers drummed idly against the floor, an absent rhythm, a thoughtful pattern. Not rushed. Not impatient.
Just... waiting.

Neal couldn't move. His limbs felt distant, detached from his own body, the sluggish pulse of whatever Sun had forced down his throat making everything heavy, foreign.
But the fear was still there—alive, burning. It was the only thing keeping him from collapsing completely.

Sun leaned in, his tone dipping into something calmer, more intimate, as if whispering a secret meant only for the two of them.

"Now, this next part is very important," he spoke slowly. "You're gonna wanna listen closely~"

Neal twitched, a pathetic attempt at jerking away, but his body betrayed him. His nerves were screaming at him to move and fight, but all he could do was sit there, trembling as Sun continued.

"I think you've learned your lesson," the animatronic mused, his head tilting in mock thoughtfulness. His voice still carried that same unbearable brightness, the cadence of someone singing, but something was beneath it. Something darker. "You're gonna be a good boy from now on, aren'tcha?"

Neal's breath hitched. His throat convulsed around a half-formed sound, his entire body locking up as he gave a frantic nod.
He didn't know what else to do. There was no other answer.

He tried to speak and force out something—anything—but as soon as his lips parted, a single sound rasping free, the pressure of cool metal silenced him.

A thin, unyielding finger pressed against his mouth.

"Ssshhh."

The hush came smooth, practiced, dripping with condescending praise. Sun didn't move, his grin still locked into place, but something was smothering about the weight of his presence.

"I know."

The words were so gentle—so unbearably soft in contrast to the moment—that Neal felt his stomach flip violently. It was wrong. All of it was wrong.

Sun's other hand gestured toward the door, the single exit leading into something unknowable.

"Now, I'm gonna open that for you… and all you need to do—" his voice fell, a low murmur just shy of affectionate, "is get to the exit at the end of the hallway."

Sun could feel the shift the moment Moon pressed himself flush against his consciousness, a push before a weightiness settled. A cog finally finding its rhythm after being stagnant for far too long.
Their connection was smoothed, seamless, and whole.

Sun stood to his full height with that unnatural grace of a robot, stepping back in large, overly dramatic strides.

Neal lay trembling on the floor, his wide, glassy eyes following Sun closely as he watched like a small cornered rat caught in a trap awaiting the next move.

Sun did not bother returning the look. Instead, he turned his attention back to Moon, quieting himself just enough to whisper in the space only he and his counterpart shared.

"... I'm sorry," Sun's voice came soft, stripped of its usual teasing. "You do soSo much for us, and I-I got carried away. I know I did..."

Code flickered between them, a gentle pulse threading through their mind:

[//ᵗʳᵃⁿˢᶠᵉʳ⁻ᶜᵒⁿᵗʳᵒˡ⁽"ˢᵘⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ → ᵐᵒᵒⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ"⁾ // ˢᵘⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ ʸⁱᵉˡᵈⁱⁿᵍ... ᵃʷᵃⁱᵗ⁻ᶜᵒⁿᵈⁱᵗⁱᵒⁿ⁽"ˡⁱᵍʰᵗ⁻ˡᵉᵛᵉˡ <⁼ ⁵﹪"⁾ // ˢᵗᵃⁿᵈᵇʸ... ᵗʳᵃⁿˢⁱᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵖᵉⁿᵈⁱⁿᵍ...]

Once distant and uncertain, Moon sharpened with intent at the code, curving in tight, pressing in until there was no space between them.

'...Sun? What is this?'

The question flickered through their mind, the Command glowing faintly across their HUD, lightening the dark space around them.
The wariness was subtle from Moon, but it was there.
Rightfully so.

The orange rays on Sun clicked down, a rare expression of sincerity pulling at the edges of his manic smile.

"A-A gift!" Sun murmured while his hand motioned absently toward the trembling m̶a̶n̴ automatically.

A heavy burst of skepticism threaded through Moon's static, winding around the question left unspoken.
Sun could feel it, his counterpart's hesitation, deep and involuntary.

They had never done this before.
Never in their years together had they deviated from their pattern, the carefully maintained rhythm of taking turns to play...

And yet, here Sun was, offering something that had always been shared but never surrendered. Giving this freely despite the uncertainty felt.

Moon was cautious. Reserved. His essence twisted in on itself like a dying ember, flickering but dim.

Sun pressed on.
"Come on," he urged, his voice gentler now, something meant only for the two of them. "I know you want this..." and after a second, "...need this."

Sun's fingers twitched, an uncharacteristic lapse for him; hesitation burnt through his circuits, too. He was the one who rarely hesitated after all... however, this was different.

Sun meant it.

"...I want you to have it."

A pause before another delicate pull in their connection. A pull too quiet to name.

Then.
[[//ᶜᵒⁿᶠⁱʳᵐ⁻ᶜᵒⁿᵗʳᵒˡ⁽"ᵐᵒᵒⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ"⁾ // ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵃⁿᵈ ʳᵉᶜᵉⁱᵛᵉᵈ... ᶠᵘˡˡ ˢʸⁿᶜʰʳᵒⁿⁱᶻᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵃᶜʰⁱᵉᵛᵉᵈ.]]

The static in their mind settled, warm, content, together.
A single, low ripple of acknowledgment before a gentle voice responded.

'...Thank you.'

-

Neal couldn't believe what was happening.

His breath came in short, uneven bursts, pulse hammering beneath clammy skin as he watched the fucked-up robot thing walk.

It was going too slow while stepping backward. Every time, seemingly too careful and measured... like this was all part of some sick show.
One meant only for him.

He watched it til it reached the door, its long fingers curling around the door handle. It held that position a second too long before a sharp click echoed through the room, the sound of an automatic lock releasing.

The door finally swung open.

Beyond the frame, the hallway stretched into an endless void. A darkness so dense it looked alive, swallowing the edges of the doorframe like ink.
Neal squinted his eyes, straining for any details, walls, a floor, something... but the dark devoured everything.

It didn't matter.
He was leaving.

Pain continued to gnaw itself through every nerve in his body, twisting sharp and deep, but none of that mattered now.
Not when he could see his way out.

Neal could already picture it. He would sue this place to the fucking ground, drag that fucked-up animatronic into the dirt out back and cave its face in until there was nothing left but shattered metal and broken wiring.

The animatronic broke his thoughts with a giggle, a light, delicate noise sickening in its amusement.

With crude fluidity, it held his gaze for just a second before it melted backward into the hallway's darkness.
A trick of the light. A cartoonish illusion... Something not quite real.

But Neal was real.
The pain was REAL.

And he wasn't about to die here.

Feverishly focused, Neal pressed his palms against the tile, testing the weight on his hands. The instant he tried to even push himself up onto his knees, a bolt of agony rippled up from his foot, splitting up his spine and cutting through his thoughts.
His stomach lurched as he gagged. His vision wavered.

He fell.

His chest slammed against the floor, ribs rattling under the impact, another brutal wave tearing through directly into his ankle.
A choked, broken-sounding half-gasp, half-sob wrenched itself from his throat.

Neal squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the acidic bile back down his throat. His limbs trembling, weak, and unresponsive; his whole body refused to move the way he wanted it to.

But he had to move.

With gritted teeth and muscles locking, he dragged himself forward. Each shift sent more pain throughout his body, constant, gnawing. It wasn't just a sharp stab anymore.
It was everywhere.

His fingers and nails scraped against the tile, raw and burning, pressing forward in sluggish inches.
The pain never lessened, but it did become predictable enough to manage better.

That was the only mercy.
And now the first goal was to get out the door.

His fingers stretched forward, shaking as they met the cool, smooth metal of the door frame.
Neal felt his confidence rise as he tapped against the edge. He made it. But as he lifted his head, forcing himself to look past the door, his heart dropped.

The hallway was pitch black... and that thing could still be out there.

A voice in the back of Neal's mind clawed through the haze, a desperate grasp at reason: if it was waiting and watching, be carf—it wouldn't matter.

Not this time. His arms still worked, for one, and Neal reasoned that he could absolutely fight.
The only reason he was caught to begin with was because that thing jumped him. That was it. That was the ONLY reason.

Anger burned hotter than the pain now, smothering out logic, replacing it with something sharp, something ugly, something Neal clung desperately to.

He would get out.
Get patched up.
Then come back and make that thing pay for every second of this.

Neal clenched his fist weakly, fury and agony churning together, giving him enough strength to ease himself up on his knees to begin shuffling faster.
He could already imagine it— dragging that clown fuck to the ground, hearing the crunch of its joints breaking under his fists, shattering that stupid smile.

Then—
...
Then he would find that fucking tease...

The real reason he was in this nightmare. The only reason he had even come to this damn place, to begin with.

That brat, always walking around like they were begging for attention, dressing like they wanted him to look, acting like they weren't fucking enjoying it.
Playing stupid, stringing him along, pretending they were better than him!

They knew exactly what they were doing.
And Neal would make sure they knew. The second he got out—

—A deafening crash split through the silence as absolute darkness encircled him.

Neal flinched, every muscle locked in place as his pulse hammered against his ribs. His breath hitched in panic as he craned his neck back toward the room he had just left to see... nothing.

The door had slammed shut, sealing him off from the faintest light that was there.

Another sound, a low, deep creak, cut him off from his spiraling thoughts. But this time, it wasn't behind him.
It was ahead.

Neal's head snapped forward just in time to see it.
Another door.

Not just any door.
Beyond it, glowing in a perfect, welcoming green, was an actual EXIT sign.

It was right there. A way out.

-

Moon was not like Sun.

He had no need for theatrics, no urge to toy with his prey, to dangle false hope in front of them like a game.

There was no pleasure in dragging out their desperation, no amusement in watching them squirm with the illusion of escape... unless, of course, it came with fear.

That was something Moon did share with Sun—a mutual desire to savor the best parts.

Even now, as Moon clung to the upper shadows of the ceiling, the metal plating of his chest pressed against the shadows, red gaze locked onto the pathetic sight below, he could feel the creeping thrill building.

Excitement, slow and curling, thick and cloying, wrapped around his mind in delighted anticipation.

The plaything was, sadly, barely moving.
Belly scraping against the floor, limbs trembling under the weight of mortal exhaustion and pain. Crawling.

Moon always preferred when they could run. But he could work with this.

His grin stretched wider, teeth parting just enough to let the tip of his tongue lash the air. Clawed fingers twitching, eager.

He ached to sink them into flesh.
To feel the resistance beneath his grip, the way human skin always pushed back just for a second before finally yielding, caving under the pressure of his claws pressing deeper... deeper...

Moon exhaled, slow and measured, easing himself to follow behind against the ceiling.

-

A low chuckle slithered through the dark.

"...so slow."

The voice wasn't loud, but it didn't need to be. The words echoed, dripping from somewhere above, sinking down into Neal's bones, terror threading into his veins like ice.

It was watching.
The fucked up thing was still watching.

Neal couldn't look. Wouldn't. He could feel the weight of those eyes on him, the animatronic somewhere in the dark, just out of reach, huddled in the shadows.

No, Neal did not need to look to know it was there, to know it was waiting.

A surge of horror slammed through his body, sending a violent jolt of adrenaline through his exhausted limbs. MOVE.

"I..." Neal's voice broke, throat scraped raw, but the fury burnt hotter than the pain. His hands curled into fists, nails biting into his palms as he forced air back into his lungs. "fuck you."

It was barely more than a hoarse snarl, but it was something. Defiance. A refusal to let the thing mess with him more than it already had.

Neal moved and dragged himself sideways until his shoulder collided with the solid weight of a wall.
He shoved himself against it, fingers scrambling for traction as he tried to push himself up and brace his weight on his one good leg.

"FUCK YOU!"
The words ripped out of him this time, louder. He pressed his good foot down, bracing, lifting himself the best he could with the wall as his support.

The instant Neal moved with purpose—no, the instant he tried—Moon's systems ignited.

[[//ᵗʳⁱᵍᵍᵉʳ⁻ᵃˡᵉʳᵗ⁽"ˢᵉᶜᵘʳⁱᵗʸ", ᵉᵛᵉⁿᵗ⁼"ᶠˡᵉᵉⁱⁿᵍ", ˡᵒᶜᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ⁼ᵗʳᵃᶜᵏ⁻ᵖᵒˢⁱᵗⁱᵒⁿ⁽"ᵗᵃʳᵍᵉᵗ⁻ᵖ̷ʳ̸ᵉ̷ʸ̶"⁾, ʳᵉˢᵖᵒⁿˢᵉ⁻ᵖʳᵒᵗᵒᶜᵒˡ⁼"ᵖᵘʳˢᵘⁱᵗ ᵐᵒᵈᵉ ᵉⁿᵍᵃᵍᵉᵈ"⁾]]

A cascade of security code surged, lines executing faster than thought, screaming, burning, smoldering in their desperation to contain. To capture. To end the chase before it could even begin.

The directive was immediate. Overpowering in the best way because Moon could comply... and he would.

Moon dropped from the ceiling.
The air shuddered with his descent, his metal frame crashing against the floor in a deafening clang as his weight equalized across his joints to displace the force.
Moon barely registered it.

His limbs snapped outward, stretching long and spindly, a mimicry of a spider closing in, as red eyes bloomed in their glowing intensity onto Neal.

The man instinctively forced himself forward, throwing all his weight against the wall, using it like a crutch, his lifeline to keep moving. His breath came in ragged gasps, pain searing up his ruined ankle with every desperate hobble towards the exit.

Then came the first touch.
A small but sharp graze of claws against his side. Not a full grip. Not yet. Just a taste.

Panic consumed itself through Neal, raw and electric, every survival instinct overriding his pain. Without even thinking, without hesitation, he lashed out.

With his good leg, Neal shot forward, landing a solid hit against something hard... Moon.
The impact shattered back against his body, rattling his bones as he collapsed backward, crashing against the floor in a screaming heap.

A sharp hiss ripped through the darkness, not in anger but in twisted and sick delight that the prey could still fight back.

Moon moved in a blur of folded limbs, chaotically sprawling out until he was on Neal.

The man buckled under the sudden weight, his spine pressed to the cold floor as Moon pinned him down, long fingers pressing, digging into his sides... trapping him.

But Neal was not done. He reeled back, a ragged, feral yell ripping out of him as he threw everything he could into his fists.

Over and Over.
His knuckles crashed into Moon's faceplate, a furious, unrelenting onslaught, his only defense.
The sharp crack of impact barely registered past the roar of adrenaline as he struck again, again, again, ignoring the sting of his own skin splitting open.

Blood smeared. Red splotches bloomed against that horrible face- and still, Moon smiled.
More horribly still.... he laughed.

Each strike only fueled Moon, his manic giggling growing louder and more erratic, red eyes creasing in twisted joy as if this... this struggle, this fight... was exactly what he wanted.

Then. Teeth.

A sharp snap sounded all too suddenly. The only clue as to what happened was the terrible agony that shot through Neal's arm.

Moon's jaw had opened at some point and clamped onto his wrist. Hard.

Neal's body betrayed him, thrashing before his mind could catch up—before realizing just how bad this was could settle in.
His arm burned, pain detonating through every nerve, white-hot and unbearable. Neal screamed.
It didn't matter. His body still fought. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

Moon continued to bite.
Savoring.

[[//ᵉˣᵉᶜᵘᵗᵉ⁻ˢⁱᵐᵘˡᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ⁽"ᵉᵐᵒᵗⁱᵒⁿᵃˡ⁻ʳᵉᵖˡⁱᶜᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ", ᵗᵃʳᵍᵉᵗ⁻ᵉᵐᵒᵗⁱᵒⁿ⁼"ᵈʳᵉᵃᵈ"⁾ // ᵖʳᵒᶜᵉˢˢⁱⁿᵍ... ᵃᵈʳᵉⁿᵃˡⁱⁿᵉ⁻ʳᵉˢᵖᵒⁿˢᵉ ᵐᵃᵖᵖᵉᵈ... ⁿᵉᵘʳᵃˡ ᵈⁱˢᵗʳᵉˢˢ ᵐⁱʳʳᵒʳᵉᵈ... ˢʸˢᵗᵉᵐ⁻ᶠᵉᵉᵈᵇᵃᶜᵏ⁽"ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵘʳᵉ⁻ˢⁱᵍⁿᵃˡ"⁾ ⁼ ⁸²﹪ // ᶜᵒʳʳᵉˡᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵈᵉᵗᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ... ʳᵉˢᵖᵒⁿˢᵉ ᵉˢᶜᵃˡᵃᵗⁱⁿᵍ...]]

Moon was lost to himself.
There was no thought, planning, or teasing restraint like Sun loved to indulge in. Only sensation.

The weight of his teeth pressing down against resistance... then the yielding. Flesh tearing. The wet, satisfying snap of something giving way.

Neal's body convulsed beneath Moon, his nerves shrieking, his spine arching, his voice a raw, broken thing that barely sounded human anymore.

Moon didn't stop. He couldn't. The system feedback had already been triggered. This was completion. This was pleasure. This was code running perfectly.

[[//ᵖˡᵃʸ⁻ᵃᵘᵈⁱᵒ⁽"ˡᵉᵗ ⁱᵗ ᵇᵉ ᵐᵉ ⁻ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉᵛᵉʳˡʸ ᵇʳᵒᵗʰᵉʳˢ.ᵐᵖ³", ᵒᵘᵗᵖᵘᵗ⁼"ʰᵃˡˡʷᵃʸ⁻ˢᵖᵉᵃᵏᵉʳˢ"⁾ // ˢᵘⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ ʳᵉᑫᵘᵉˢᵗ...ᵗʳᵃⁿˢᵐⁱˢˢⁱᵒⁿ ᵃᶜᵗⁱᵛᵉ...]]

Somewhere in the haze, a presence:
Sun.

A whisper at the edges of his mind, a featherlight touch across the static. Not pulling him back, not stopping him... just present.
Watching. Feeling. Sharing.

A profound relief unfurled between them, stretching in the spaces they overlapped.
Understanding.

Neither spoke. Neither needed to.
The code was satisfied. The screams grew softer as the toy grew silent and cold... But most importantly, they were together again. And that was enough.

You were given the following day off, some scheduling magic courtesy of your manager. A small mercy, wrapped up neatly with an unspoken request that you rest after your totally-not-suspicious (off the books) workplace injury.

When your manager called, her words were wary, and her voice was tight; you agreed to everything she said. Nodding along despite the fact she couldn't see you.

You promised to take it easy, that you'd stay home.

And then, the second the Pizzaplex doors unlocked, you were walking straight through them.

Not as a worker. Not today.
Today, you were a customer.

The shift in perspective was unsettling. It wasn't that you felt guilty about essentially lying to your boss... it was that you weren't used to being on this side of things.

The guests' side.
The neon-drenched fantasy mall was designed to be dazzling and distracting, where everything was curated to keep eyes forward, chins tilted in wonder... and, of course, money being given hand over fist.

You were used to weaving through this place, moving unseen, a nameless fixture in the background, uniform on, head down. There was a purpose to your presence. A checklist. A quota.

Today, there was nothing. No urgent maintenance calls. No lock codes to input. No tasks that needed completion before the next show. Just you, wandering between the crowds, blending in rather than working through them.

But... no... You were here for something.
You were here to see them.

It wasn't just curiosity anymore. This was something deeper, something vastly more important.
Heavy, uncomfortable anxiety had lodged itself in your ribs since last night when the doors slammed shut behind you when Moon threw you out like garbage.

You lifted your hand toward your face, eyes tracing the white medical tape wrapped snugly around your palm. The skin beneath still ached, a dull, nagging burn whenever you flexed your fingers. A lingering, physical reminder of last night... of what happened.

You needed answers.
You needed to see them.

Turning right, your steps carried you toward the food court, the last checkpoint before the Daycare wing. With every step, the weight of your chest grew heavier, nerves tightening around your chest like barbed wire.

Would Sun act like nothing had happened?
Would Moon even acknowledge it?

You swallowed hard, the thoughts sitting uneasily in your chest, swirling like spoiled milk as the ever-present, soulless light-rock music of the mall drifted above you.
It was all so normal. The cheery jingles, the bright, flashing posters, the families moving between the open restaurants with trays of greasy food... none of it belonged in the same world as last night.

Then, as you walked, the advertisements around you started to change.

The vibrant, neon posters of the main band were replaced with something more familiar (and since last night) more sinister.

A bright, stylized cutout of Sundrop beamed down at you from above a concession stand, arms wide, his paperboard rays exaggerated into a friendly halo. "Sweeten Your Day!" was written in bubble letters across the sign, followed by a swirling display of candied treats below it.

Your stomach dropped.
Too much. Too soon.

At the last second, you turned sharply, cutting away from the Daycare hallway toward the nearest open store in the food court.
Just for a minute. Just long enough to maybe get something to drink, pull yourself together, and force your nerves back into something manageable.

The food court was always a chaotic mix of movement.

Families bustled between tables while staff bots wove through the crowd with rigid, pre-programmed efficiency. Working alongside them were groups of high schoolers fumbling through their first summer jobs with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

You were not at all surprised to see a teenager at the register of Fizz & Dip, though her discomfort was almost funny.
She barely had time to shove her phone out of sight before you reached the counter, her wide eyes betraying the fact she definitely hadn't been expecting a customer just yet.

"Ah-" she stammered, clearly caught off guard, but to her credit, she rebounded quickly. "Welcome to Fizz and Dip!" she chittered, slapping on a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes (very customer service). "Where we fizz it up and you... um... dip it down..."

Her voice trailed off, the forced enthusiasm landing flat between you both in silence so awkward it might have been physically painful.

She blinked. You blinked.

Finally, she cleared her throat and shifted her weight, trying desperately to recover.

"...What can I get you?"

You couldn't help but smile; the interaction was pulling at something nostalgic buried in the back of your mind.
You had been in her position once, the first job, one of the first awkward customer interactions, trying to sound cheerful while internally panicking.

This was a nice distraction.

"Yeah," you leaned forward, glancing up at the brightly lit menu overhead, skimming through the highlighted options before settling on something that at least sounded decent. "I'll get a Fizzy Faz-tastic?"

Her expression shifted immediately. A wince. Her smile faltered at the edges, and you could already tell what she was about to say.

"I'm sorry," she said, voice dropping into something quitter, apologetic. "But that one's currently not available."

You frowned, but only slightly. Machines went down. Inventory ran low. It happened.

"Alright, uh... how about-" You picked another option, something just as obnoxiously named, pointing at it more confidently.

She winced again.

"...That one too. Sorry."

There was a slight shuffle in place, her hands smoothing down the front of her apron as she rocked on her heels, shifting her weight in visible distress.

By the fourth failed attempt, you sighed, already resigning yourself to the inevitable as you folded your arms against the counter.

"Okay. Be real with me," you deadpanned while still trying your best to sound overtly friendly with how terrified she looked. "What do you have?"

She hesitated.
Then, glancing over her shoulder toward the divider that blocked the front from the back of the storefront, she raised her voice.

"Uh—Kory?"

Your ears perked up at the familiar name, and before you could process where it was you remembered it from, your gaze locked onto the man who emerged hurriedly from the back.

Kory.

His scruffy brown hair was tousled, streaked with the first signs of gray, sticking up in places as if he had been mid-repair. The wrench in his hand only confirmed the thought.

There was a sheen of sweat at his temple, and faint lines creased at the corners of his eyes when he scanned the front, taking stock of the situation—his eyes flicked toward the girl first, then landed on you.

There was only the briefest pause before recognition of the situation set in. Kory's expression shifted to one of service immediately, something like understanding smoothing across his features as he stepped forward with a wide smile.

"My apologies," he started, setting the wrench down on the counter with a muted clank before addressing the both of you properly. "We actually should've had the closed sign up—some of our drink machines are down right now. Sorry for the... uh, incontinence."

The poor girl beside him visibly cringed.

You arched a brow.

Kory blinked, then froze... replaying his own words in real-time before his entire posture stiffened. His lips parted slightly, jaw going slack with dawning horror.

"I—that's not—"

You struggled. Oh, you STRUGGLED.
But the snort that left you was immediate, laughter bubbling up against your will as you coughed into your sleeve, trying to disguise it as anything else.

The girl was already gone, ducking behind the register as if it could save her from the sheer weight of secondhand embarrassment.

Kory exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. "...I meant INCONVENIENCE."

You tried, really tried, to hold back, but another strangled snort escaped before you could stop it. A coughing fit masked the tail end of your laughter as you fought to regain some semblance of control.

"Yeah." you wheezed out between short, uneven breaths, still trying to compose yourself.

Kory just wilted in front of you, shaking his head at his own tragic fate. His entire posture sagged like a man who had already accepted he would never live something like this down. Desperate to move on.

"Ah—if you come back in, like... an hour?" he glanced over his shoulder toward the back, eyeing what you assumed was the direction of the drink machines before shaking his head helplessly. "We should have some of the main items then."

It took another second before you finally reined yourself in, wiping at your face and looking up at him.
"...Ya know," you started, your grin threatening to return, "if they're not working, maybe I can take a look?"

Kory's brows furrowed slightly as he gave you a puzzled look, his head tilted slightly.
Without a word, you reached into your pocket, fishing out your wallet and pulling free your employee ID. With an easy slide, you let it skim across the counter toward him.

His eyes flickered down, widening as he reached for it. He turned it over between his fingers, giving it a long, hard look, processing.
Then, a soft, low chuckle rumbled from his chest.

"I... well, I'm not one to turn down help when it's being offered so freely and conveniently," he admitted, tapping your ID against the palm of his other hand, his broad shoulders finally dropping some of their tension.

His grin turned a little sheepish as he exhaled, shaking his head. "Only thing I ask is that you never mention that little slip earlier... ever."

This time, you don't even bother holding back. Your laugh came quickly, spilling out as you nodded.

"Deal."

Kory returned your ID, shaking his head with a more confident smile.

"Megan." He redirected his attention to the teenage worker, who was now backed away from the register.

Megan visibly perked up at the sound of her name, standing a little straighter as Kory looked at her. She had been hovering awkwardly, clearly caught between wanting to be useful and not knowing what to do.

"Do us both a favor and put out the closed sign now?" Kory's tone was gentle but firm, the voice you'd expect from someone used to managing situations like this with a level head.

Megan didn't need to be told twice. She quickly nodded before hurrying to grab the sign, disappearing into the back.

Meanwhile, Kory reached into his pocket, pulling free a pen before ducking below the counter. When he resurfaced, he had a scrap of paper in hand, scribbling something with quick strokes before sliding it toward you.

You blinked.
A lopsided I.O.U stared back at you in rushed, uneven handwriting above a cursive signature.

"Good for one thing here in the food court," Kory said, his voice carrying that same easy humor. "I'm expecting you'll try and fix the machines as soon as you're back on the clock?"

You tilted your head, smiling. "I mean, I can do it now if you'd like..."

Kory shook his head, waving you off without hesitation.

"When you're in your street clothes? Nah." His exclamation came with a scoff like the thought of it was ridiculous. "If you're gonna do work in this building, I'm gonna make damn sure you get paid properly for it. And if you do it in anything other than in uniform, they can try and weasel their way out of it."

He leaned against the counter while dropping his voice to near whisper, "Seen it happen before."

You glanced down at yourself, suddenly hyper-aware of the differences. No uniform. No nametag. No clear proof that you belonged on the other side of things today.
That, and the way Kory said it, it sounded less like a suggestion and more like a lesson. One he had clearly learned the hard way.

"Gotcha." you nodded, tucking the scrap of paper into your pocket. "I guess I'll reach out as soon as I get a moment on the clock?"

"Sounds like a plan," Kory said, grinning wide. "I appreciate it."

Before the conversation could linger, Megan returned, the closed sign in hand. She hurried forward, planting the little plastic sign on the counter like she feared it might run off if she didn't get it down fast enough.

Kory's demeanor shifted immediately, not quite stern but certainly exhausted father-like energy. He placed a hand on his hip, sighing like a man who had given this speech one too many times. "Now remember," he said, pointing at the sign like it was the most essential tool in the building. "Keep that close in case of emergencies. Never fun to be caught in a bad situation without it."

You took that as your cue to leave.

"I'll see you both later," you called out, turning back toward the mall proper...

The weight in your chest returned almost immediately, heavy and anxious. There was no more reason to stall now, no more distractions to lean on.

You had to follow through.
You had to go to the Daycare.

With stiff legs, you forced yourself to move, your body dragging behind the urgency in your mind. Every step carried a strange mix of dread and determination, each footfall echoing louder than it should against the polished floors.

The last time you walked this way... well...

A phantom pressure coiled itself around your arm. A half-memory of a grip, too strong, too cold, digging in with an intensity that still sent a tremor through your body.

You flexed your fingers instinctively, the medical tape pulling against your skin, a dull ache blooming in response.
You forced it all down. You couldn't think about that right now.

The neon glow of the Pizzaplex pulsed around you, all artificial colors of happiness, unwavering in their carefully curated displays.
The closer you got to the entrance of the Daycare, the more the noise of the main lobby faded, replaced by the cheery, looping tune of the Daycare's theme song.

Bright colors. Soft, playful branding. The promise of fun.
...it had never looked more uninviting.

The good news was that the main Daycare doors were already open for the day.

A steady flow of parents filtered in and out, toddlers in tow, their cheerful chatter bouncing off the walls in a way that should have been comforting... if you didn't already know better.

But it did make slipping inside easier.

You joined the stream of adults, falling into step with a practiced calm, your pace steady, your posture relaxed... just another visitor to the Daycare.

Another face in the crowd.

And yet, beneath the careful mask of nonchalance, your chest was tight, and every breath felt too shallow.
The air seemed thicker here, heavier the moment you crossed the threshold. Like stepping into a room that had been sealed off too long.

You forced yourself to refocus. No hesitation. No stalling. You remind yourself.

You know that most daycare drop-offs were done digitally, and the process was streamlined by the wristbands worn by both parent and child.
Without either, you knew you'd need to go to the security desk... and fast. The longer you lingered, the greater the chance The Daycare Attendant would notice your arrival.

And you weren't quite ready for that. Or at least not him seeing you first.

You walked purposefully, weaving past the chaos of parents sorting backpacks and kids scrambling to reach the play area. Your steps clicked briskly across foamed flooring, fast enough to seem like you had somewhere to be and not like you were panicked.
...Not like you wanted to run.

When you finally reached the security desk, you breathed out in relief.

The two familiar faces behind the counter—Riley and Marcus—offered a strange relief. The Daycare's only two human employees. People. Real, living people. The sight of them steadied you in a way you hadn't expected.

Both of them looked up as you approached, their expressions shifting from neutral acknowledgment to something far more knowing.
You could even see the exact moment they recognized you, their faces stretching into matching, patronizing smiles.

"Well, well, look who just couldn't stay away," Riley drawled, nudging Marcus with an elbow. "Here on your day off, huh?"

Marcus smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his chair. "Didn't get enough of this place already?"

Any other day, you would have brushed off their teasing without a second thought, played along, laughed, and given some half-hearted excuse before moving on.
But today, after last night, their casual amusement rubbed against something sharp and unsettled inside you.

The way they assumed. The way they thought they knew why you were here... it annoyed you.

For a brief, irrational second, you had the urge to snap, to tell them they had no idea what they were talking about.
But you didn't.

You swallowed the cold annoyance in your chest and plastered on an easy, bashful smile instead.

"Oh, you know me," you quipped, forcing a small chuckle as you shifted your weight. "Just wanted to stop by, hang out for a bit. It's not a problem that I'm not working today, is it?"

Your voice was casual, but you couldn't ignore the way your fingers twitched at your sides, the way the question came out just a bit too careful.
You needed an answer, though. You needed to know if you were about to be turned away before you even got to do what you came for.

Riley waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, you're fine. Not like we're about to kick you out for liking your job."

Marcus raised a brow, shooting you a taunting look. "Or, ya know, certain things about it."

Your anxiety grew.
They didn't know. Of course, they didn't know. They were just teasing. Still, you barely held back the instinct to flinch.

"-I am sorry, friend!"
That voice. Too loud. Too cheerful. Too close.
"But unless you are here for drop-off, I will have to ask you to kindly leave the Daycare."

There was no hesitation. No pause. Just the clean execution of known security protocol for an unknown adult in the Daycare.

A jolt of ice shot down your spine, locking your body in place. You didn't turn around.
Couldn't.

Your breath hitched, muscles twisting tight as if you were expecting something, waiting for something to happen... but nothing did.

Instead, you forced yourself to focus forward, eyes locking onto Marcus and Riley, who were both staring past you, their expressions as uninterested as ever.

Marcus shot you a look, one eyebrow raised in clear amusement before returning to the looming figure behind you.

"Sun," he sighed, half-laughing as he rubbed at his temple. "You know them. I know you know them."

There was a pause. Too long. Too unnatural.
And then, finally, that same unwaveringly bright voice, still coated in synthetic cheer.

"I am sorry, friend, Marcus, but no employee designation is assigned to this visitor!" Sun's words were as chipper as ever, yet something was wrong with them. Almost too perfectly said, too rehearsed.
"They'll need to leave unless specified permission is given by an administrator!"

Your stomach dropped.
That was... off.

Not in the sense that Sun had never enforced security protocol before, because he had, instead it was because of how formal this was.
Too detached. Too clean. Like Sun was going out of his way to be more careful than ever.

And you knew, you knew, he was capable of speaking normally for these things. Conversationally.
His AI was built for interaction, designed for playfulness, and made to be dynamic and adaptive.

So why was he going out of his way to be this careful, this direct?

To his credit, Marcus just rolled his eyes and turned back to the security console with a muttered, "Alright, fine. If we have to do this the proper way..."

His fingers moved across the screen with practiced ease, rhythmically tapping keys, filling in the momentary silence.
Then.

"Admin access. Daycare Attendant Sundrop," he repeated, tone bordering on exasperated. "Employee Marcus. ID 723959. Overriding security protocol for our friend here. Allow access to Daycare outside designated hours."

The chime was quiet—so soft it only registered because it didn't belong. A moment later came a click. Subtle. Mechanical. The security override accepted. Command logged.

You didn't have to turn around to feel the shift. It ran through the air like a physical weight.

"Command recognized. System logs updated, admin Marcus."
Sun's voice had no shape; the sugar-sweet notes were gone. No exaggerated lilt, just clean, perfectly lined dialogue, empty of anything real.

That voice... it wasn't him.
Not the version you'd come to know, anyway.
This was too robotic, too overtly synthetic.

You caught how Riley barely reacted, already halfway back to their monitor. Marcus nodded once, fingers still posed above the console like he might need to jump in again. You continued to stand in place, frozen.

Sun was leaving. You could hear it, those soft bells trailing away somewhere behind you and getting further. Not rushed, not eager... like nothing noteworthy was happening.

Your shoulders finally dropped. The tightness in your spine began to ease, and you breathed easier. You finally looked over your shoulder when you were sure you wouldn't flinch.

There Sundrop was.

Your eyes lingered before you even realized it...

Sun had a way of moving through the space like he belonged to it; to be fair, perhaps he did.
Every step was fluid, light, and weightless in a way no machine should be.

The yellow of his metal plating wasn't just bright; it was purposefully eye-catching in a way that shone. The lights above the Daycare bounced off his delicate frame in soft pulses, reflections dancing along the lean lines of his figure like liquid gold.

Sun was already halfway across the padded floors, arms wide, as a group of small children rushed to meet him, squealing and laughing without hesitation.
He crouched to greet them, the exaggerated rays of his faceplate casting subtle shadows across the foam tiles...

What the hell were you doing?! You immediately scolded yourself when you realized you had been staring for too long.

Snapping back to the present, you hesitantly turned back to Marcus and Riley. They were both just watching. And worse?
It looked like they both were sharing some kind of inside joke.

Their expressions teetered on the edge of laughter, the kind that didn't need words to land its hit.
Riley bit their cheek like they were trying to be polite about it. On the other hand, Marcus did not bother hiding the grin twisting at the corners of his mouth.

Your face burned, but you forced yourself to remember why you came here in the first place.
With a vague gesture, you pointed towards the Daycare doors. It was not close enough to feel cornered, but it would be within reach of the security desk if it came to that.

"I-I guess I'll just hang out for a bit," you said, forcing your voice into something casual. "Thanks again."
You didn't wait to hear their responses.

-

You came.

You really came.

Sun nearly short-circuited with glee.

He was practically vibrating where he stood, every servo and internal coil tense with the effort it took not to sprint toward you that very second... wrap you up, hold you, spin you around until your feet left the ground!

His rays clicked with joy, the sight delighting the children at his feet.

You had no idea what this meant. What it did. What it proved.

Neither he nor Moon had been able to log you until the exact moment you stepped over the threshold into their Daycare. Their system had scanned the entire vicinity, sweeping and waiting, but you hadn't existed until you crossed that line. Not officially.

Which meant, of course... you weren't here on record.
...you were breaking the rules.

A red tag flashed against their HUD like a heartbeat:
Rulebreaker

Sun stared at it, lights flickering behind his eyes. The label pulsed once—twice—before their assistant's override triggered in the background. A near-silent sequence fired through their shared system, quietly reversing the alert, scrubbing the context from the logs completely.

Gone. Erased.

Not even a whisper of it left behind!
So those Daycare Assistants were good for something after all.

Sun tilted his head slightly, carefully redirecting the children to the next activity while his eyes narrowed at the implications of what they could do next.

This little override would serve very nicely... because now, no matter your status, badge uniform, or intentions... anything that happened between them and you could exist outside protocol.
Unmonitored. Unrecorded. Unbothered.

Just them.
And you...

-

So far... nothing.

No sign. No shift. No change.

If you hadn't lived through your experience with Moon and hadn't the physical proof currently bandaged up, you might have questioned whether it happened.

...It didn't help that Sun hadn't so much as glanced in your direction.

From the moment you started watching from the sidelines, he busied himself with the children like any other day. Bright laughter, perfectly timed responses, and exaggerated gestures paired with pre-recorded dialogue meant to delight toddlers and distract the occasional anxious parent.

He was the perfect animatronic... and that came with its own problems.

Occasionally, you caught the small tells. Glitches. Flaws in the AI that most would overlook, harmless quirks that signaled it was just a machine to anyone who paid attention.

The older kids had caught on to these tells too. They always did.

You looked over at the noise makers, those, for example. The little plastic drums were stacked in groups of three throughout the Daycare.
It didn't matter what Sun was doing; he could be mid-spin, halfway through a story time- if two or more of those stacks were topped at once, his programming would re-prioritize.

You'd seen it before. His body would jolt, a slight jerk to his head as if something was recalculating before he would race off toward the noise makers, rushing to restack them, no questions asked.

It wasn't hard to imagine how the older kids might find that funny.

You could see another weak point about to be exploited from where you stood near the entrance, leaning against the wall.

Just beneath one of the central play structures, toward the far wall, there was a net, bright yellow, supposed to be taut, but it sagged now, visibly loose.
You figure it had once been secure, properly tethered to the overhead beams. But time and use had stretched it away, and you doubted anyone had truly checked on it in a while.

The kids sure had.

You watched one of the older boys hanging back with a grin that was all teeth and trouble, the edge of the net curled in his hand. He was timing it.
You could see it on his face; he was waiting for Sun to pass close enough...

You should have said something, called out to Riley or Marcus, and flagged the kid before it escalated, but you didn't.

Somewhere inside you, curiosity dug its heels in.
You wanted to see it. Would Sun fall for the trap? Would you finally see something crack?

You didn't have to wait long.

Sun was already closing in, making his hourly counts of the children. A bright, bouncing skip in his step as he scanned children's profiles.
He was three strides away from the net when the boy sprang the trap, yanking the loosened end just as Sun passed beneath it.

The net caught instantly.

Fabric nylon snagged on the edges of his rays, tangling like a web drawn tight.
Sun continued to walk forward at first, cheerful and oblivious, his systems still running the looped walking movement, but he went nowhere.
A second passed. Then.

"Oh my~"
His voice cut through the Daycare like a bell, sweet and friendly, but there was a slight nervousness to it.

Sun reached up with both hands, trying to dislodge the net, but just as he began tugging...

Crash.

A clatter, followed by another. Then another.

Across the room, two of the older girls had knocked over the noise maker stacks. A deliberate double-trigger. The sound of plastic drums spilled across the foam floor shot through the space.

And Sun, tangled, mid-process, unable to reach either problem... froze.

His body locked, posture held in the same reach, trying to pull free the netting. The pupils in his glowing white eyes bloomed before dimming darker and darker until there was nothing.

From your spot, you could hear the strain, the inner math failing to resolve. Two high-priority protocols. Only one Sun.

The alert sounded overhead, sharp and electronic, far too gentle for what it meant; everything shifted instantly.

Riley was already moving, their voice rising above the song on the speakers as they began rounding up the kids, corralling them with a smooth, practiced efficiency.
No panic. No confusion. Just calm, firm authority. Like they'd done this before.

Marcus was at Sun's side in a flash, pulling at the tangled netting with a grunt, his hands moving fast along the nylon mesh wrapped tight around Sun's rays.
The animatronic wasn't moving, frozen in that halfway-reaching motion, caught between commands, his head twitching ever so slightly like he was still trying to free himself of the calculations.

"Hey!"

You flinched.
It took a second before you realized Marcus was talking to you, waving you over with one hand while the other kept working to loosen the net.

"Can you give me a hand here?"

You hesitated. You considered staying put for a heartbeat, sinking back into the wall, and pretending you didn't hear. But your legs were already moving before you actually made up your mind.

You crossed the padded floor in quick steps, stopping just a few feet from where Sun stood locked in place, silent and unmoving.

Marcus tugged the last stubborn bit of netting free, the mesh snapping back with a sharp flick as he exhaled through his nose, clearly annoyed.

"Damn kids," Marcus muttered, giving the tangled mess a frustrated glance before balling it up in his hands. "I swear, every day, they're trying something new. Last week I had to fish this thing out of the ball pit after the kids found out if they pretend to drown, the Daycare Attendant will go in after them..."

You didn't have time to ask if he was joking before Marcus was already circling around to the back of Sun's faceplate, standing up on his toes to get a better look at whatever he was accessing.
He clicked his tongue, then a small shake of his head.

"I'm gonna have to reset it from the desk," he said, more to himself than you. Then, turning back, he jerked his chin toward the Daycare Attendant. "Do me a favor and just hang here with it until it boots back up?"

He didn't wait for an answer.
By the time you opened your mouth, Marcus was already halfway across the floor, jogging back toward the security desk, leaving you alone.

Just you. And Sun.

You were trembling.

Even frozen, Sun was impossibly tall. His frame loomed over you like a statue sculpted to intimidate, arms still held up over his head, unlit eyes hollow and expressionless.

What Marcus was doing at the desk must have started the reboot. A low mechanical hum began to rise from somewhere deep inside Sun's torso, followed by a series of soft clicks, like cooling fans turning off and on again in slow, stuttering succession.

Then, his entire body dropped.

All at once, the servos in his joints gave, and he slumped forward lifeless. You flinched instinctively, your heart thundering.

A second passed. Then another.
And then... light.

Two points of white bled slowly into the void of his eyes, like pupils stretching out across a dark screen. His head lifted, posture tightening, rising from nothingness into something awake. Aware.

"Hello, friend!" Sun beamed, his voice full of careless joy. "Welcome to the Super Star Daycare!"
The line was pre-recorded.

Exactly what it was supposed to be.

You just stood there, staring, barely breathing. Looking, searching for some flicker beneath the shine. Some shadow of what had happened... some trace that he remembered.

But there was nothing. Just a perfect, innocent grin.

Maybe it really was all in your head.
...Why did that upset you?

You exhaled slowly and lifted your injured hand toward your face. The bandages looked stark against your skin, tight and white. You flexed your fingers, feeling the phantom sting of the wound beneath...

Then, that cheerful voice spoke, turning a bit smug…
"...you liked it, didn't you?"

Chapter Text

"...you liked it, didn't you?"

The words did not strike so much as settle, sinking as if cold hands had pressed into the soft parts of your stomach. 
This was not playful, nor was it light; there was no typical child-friendly sing-song tease to excuse the weight of it. 

This had been a choice. 

A beat passed after the words left Sun, just long enough for silence to draw itself out in the air between the two of you.

He couldn't watch this go further. 
[// ᵒᵛᵉʳʳⁱᵈᵉ_ᵖʳⁱᵒʳⁱᵗʸ("ᴹᵒᵒⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ", ˡᵉᵛᵉˡ=ᴹᴬˣ)  // ᶠᵒʳᶜⁱⁿᵍ ʰᵃˡᵗ: ᴬˡˡ ᵃᶜᵗⁱᵛᵉ ˢᵘᵇʳᵒᵘᵗⁱⁿᵉˢ ᵗᵉʳᵐⁱⁿᵃᵗᵉᵈ... ˢᵘⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ ˢᵘᵖᵖʳᵉˢˢᵉᵈ. ]]

Then, suddenly, the animatronic folded in on itself. 

It was not a collapse or another shutdown like before; this was it twisting inward. 
There was a sudden recoiling as if an invisible force had driven its hand into the cavity of its metal chest and twisted until it met resistance. 

The movement rippled with the kind of discomfort that machines weren't designed to show... 

An edge bloomed deep within Sun's frame, sharp and pressing outward through a mockery of reinforced polymer ribs, pushing up through hollow steel, infecting the gears with physical weight. 

For a single second, it resembled human pain. 

Its frame quivered, there was no dramatic flourish, only the barest disruption.

A slight controlled stutter of internal system fibers for half a breath. 
His metal shoulders lifted, pulling tight beneath covers of yellow silicon. The rays along his head jutted downward in unison for only a heartbeat. 

Then. Nothing. 

Sun straightened up with a fluid snap of joints locking back in place as if nothing had happened. Reeling to a standard position, 
a puppet returning to start between scenes.
 
The lights behind his eyes were burnt white and blazing, his uncanny grin gleaming. He swayed left to right in his usual idle animation loop.  

You stepped forward on instinct, the movement coming from your chest before your brain could catch up, mouth open in alarm. "Wha—"

Not even a full thought, only a fraction of disbelief. A sharpened syllable hanging on the edge of an accusation. 
The sound tripped on your tongue, an echo of panic... Whatever you may have said was cut off. 

"—Oh good! Looks like it rebooted." 

Marcus rounded the far side of the play structure, clipboard under one arm, stride easygoing and unconcerned.

"No—"
Your voice cracked, brittle in your throat—a pathetic sound. You tried again, clearer this time, hands rising in a gesture that meant nothing but desperation as you motioned towards Sun and then yourself.

Your words shattered, all meaning lost.  
"He said... I liked it." 

You tried to give the weight of the words, but they fell limp, stripped of the context that might've justified your panic.

Instead, you heard it in your own voice: how ridiculous you sounded against the backdrop of the children in the distance laughing, the garish colors of the Daycare splashing around you. 

Marcus didn't laugh, but the look that crossed his face was just as painful. Polite confusion, the sort you'd give to someone who fumbled a joke in public. 

"Eh, that's a weird one, but it happens sometimes," he said almost apologetically. "Old code fragments. If the logs don't sync right, it can pull from random interactions. Could even be from years ago." He shrugged. "We can check if you want." 

You had barely managed to nod before Marcus turned toward Sun, speaking with a more official, professional tone. 

"Daycare Attendant Sun, relay report on your last interaction with this visitor." Marcus gestured toward you without looking. 

Sun responded immediately. 

The animatronic stood a bit straighter, its movements stripped of coded personality. 
It folded its long arms to its sides with mechanical precision. Feet locked in a perfect shoulder-width measurement; every servo went still. 

Even the bells at its wrists and feet stopped on the mark. 

Then the hum began. 
You felt it before you heard it, a distant vibration worming through the base of your skull. It was not a sound so much as a pressure, static digging itself down into your bones. 

Abruptly, a voice, not its, not the bright, plastic cadence the children knew or the chirping enthusiasm used with workers... 
This was flat, filtered, and purely analytical. 

[// ᵗʳᵃᶜᵏ_ᵇᵉʰᵃᵛⁱᵒʳ("ᵃʳᶜ.ᶠᵈʳ.¹⁹⁸³⁻ᵛ⁰¹", ˡᵒᶜᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ="ᴰᵃʸᶜᵃʳᵉ") // ˢᵘⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ ᵃᶜᵗⁱᵛᵉ... ᴸᵒᵍᵍⁱⁿᵍ ᵃᶜᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ... ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵉ_ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵒˢⁱᵗᵉ("ᵃʳᶜ.ᶠᵈʳ.¹⁹⁸³⁻ᵛ⁰¹") // ᴮᵉʰᵃᵛⁱᵒʳ: ᶜᵒᵒᵖᵉʳᵃᵗⁱᵛᵉ, ᶜᵒᵐᵖˡⁱᵃⁿᵗ, ᵉⁿᵍᵃᵍᵉᵈ... ʳᵉˢᵘˡᵗ = ᵃˡⁱᵍⁿᵐᵉⁿᵗ_ˢᶜᵒʳᵉ("ᴰᵃʸᶜᵃʳᵉ_ᴾʳᵒᵗᵒᶜᵒˡ") = ⁹¹% // ᶜᵒᵐᵖᵒˢⁱᵗᵉ ᶠᵃᵛᵒʳᵃᵇˡᵉ. ˢᵘᵇʲᵉᶜᵗ ʳᵉⁱⁿᶠᵒʳᶜᵉˢ ᵉⁿᵛⁱʳᵒⁿᵐᵉⁿᵗ ˢᵗᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ.]

Its voice box droned with it, not speech but merely playback. 
The code ended sharply, followed by silence. 

Then: translation. 

"This friend has entered the Daycare thirty-five times in the past four work weeks," Sun recited, voice brightening, sharpening. 
"Twelve of those visits occurred during non-assigned breaks. One during off-shift hours."

The words hung there like an accusation. 
Your ears rang with the echo of it, heat surging up the back of your neck, blooming across your face as if you had been caught with your hand somewhere it shouldn't be. 

You struggled not to wince and tried not to look anywhere at all... 
An uncomfortable pause extended, long enough to feel deliberate. 

"Knowledge base composite," Sun continued, "indicates this friend... likes it."

Another pause.
And then, louder, more cheerful, as if someone had clicked the marketing switch:

"Here! At the Superstar Daycare!"

His thin arms flared wide as if he were presenting a brand-new toy line or variant of candy. His voice struck with a manufactured pitch, the kind designed to win over toddlers and their tired parents. 

Still, Sun's eyes never left you; they didn't even seem to move. 
He locked onto you with unrelenting focus, no hint of tracking other motion. His head cocked at a fraction of an angle too exact to feel casual. 

Marcus did not see it. 
Instead, he chuckled under his breath while tapping his clipboard. 

"Sun really called you out there, huh?" Marcus grinned. "Looks like we're all good to go. "He scanned something on the list in his hands, humming with his eyebrows knit close together. 

"Actually... just to be safe—Sun, standard motor check. Level one calibration. Make sure that net didn't throw off your internal balancing."

Sun gave another short nod before he began to move. 

You barely heard what was said next as you were already moving, unable to handle the weight of those white eyes. 
One step, then another, your feet pushing you toward the Daycare exit with numb urgency, your skin prickling as if touched by static. 

That should be it, then, right? 
Everything had a perfectly reasonable explanation—and yet it didn't.

You couldn't shake it. 
Fuck! What was that? 
The question repeated over and over again. 

You kept trying to replay the moment and recast it as something simple and innocent—anything logical to explain it—but your mind would not cooperate. 

Sun's voice was too... you weren't sure what to call it, but it looped over and over in your ears. 

You reached the edge of the food court before finally stopping, the noise of the crowds sweeping over you, fluorescent lights bathing your skin in artificial calm. Grease, salt, sugar, and music were all blinding in their normalcy. 

You slid your hand into your pocket, fingertips finding something that gave way as you squeezed it. 
Slowly, you pulled out the now crumpled IOU from earlier; Kory's handwriting smudged slightly from the sweat on your palm. 

Seeing his name sparked an idea. 

There was a place in the Pizzaplex with access to answers, a trove of data that could help ease your suspicions. 
You had been there before, but this time, you knew more about what to ask and what you may be searching for. 

Parts and Services...

It was restricted and staff-only, which meant that people off the clock were not welcome, but that had not stopped you yet today. 

Your jaw tightened as you made the decision, and your legs were already moving toward a less-traveled, out-of-sight door and hallway marked with STAFF signage.

[// ᵃᶜᶜᵉˢˢ_ᶜᵃᵐᵉʳᵃˢ(ᵖʳⁱᵒʳⁱᵗʸ=ᴹᴬˣ)  // ˢᵉᶜᵘʳⁱᵗʸ ᵒᵛᵉʳʳⁱᵈᵉ ᵍʳᵃⁿᵗᵉᵈ.  ᵗʳᵃᶜᵏ_ᵘˢᵉʳ("ᵃʳᶜ.ᶠᵈʳ.¹⁹⁸³⁻ᵛ⁰¹")  // ᶠᵉᵉᵈ ˡⁱⁿᵏᵉᵈ: ᶜᵃᵐ_ᴬ¹, ᶜᵃᵐ_ᴮ³, ᴴᵃˡˡʷᵃʸ_⁰⁴... ᴸⁱᵛᵉ ᵐᵒⁿⁱᵗᵒʳⁱⁿᵍ ᵃᶜᵗⁱᵛᵉ]

The screech of delighted laughter rang through the wide space of the Daycare, bouncing off plastic slides and foam-padded tiles. Sun twirled mid-air, rays catching the altricial florescent lighting as he flipped through a narrow space between two play structures. 

A child missed grabbing his pant leg by inches, falling in a mass of giggles behind him. 

"Missed me again~!" Sun chirped, voice bright and buttery, flickering as if sunlight itself. 

But internally, the atmosphere was anything but playful. 

'You complete idiot.' 
Moon's voice carved straight through the shared network, flat and cold enough to freeze a coolant line.

Sun did not falter, at least not outwardly. His body danced and twisted, limbs exaggerating in joy as he skipped around the next pillar, dodging small hands and stomping clumsy feet. 

'If ANYONE did something reckless, Moonie,' Sun snapped back across the line, 'it would be you! You locked down half our subroutines while they were still watching.' his tone burned, but beneath the blaze, a curl of worry smoldered.

'And you—' Moon spat, not hesitating, 'whispered "You liked it" with all the subtlety of a malfunctioning Roomba.' 

The words stung, but Sun recognized it wasn't from genuine anger.
This was fear, simmering behind Moon's tightly controlled monotone, translated across code as tightened parameters and compressed cycles. 

...Moon was bracing for whatever was coming next. 

Physically, Sun vaulted forward into a wide cartwheel, narrowly avoiding a face-first collision with a youngster. "Too slow~!" Sun giggled. 

'We recovered,' Sun remarked back mentally, tone overtly sweet, laced with something quieter beneath. Hesitation.

Moon did not respond right away. 

Sun's fans kicked on, a background whisper of heat management as he moved through another group of kids. Their little bodies raced around him, unaware of his emotional spiral. Innocent. 

'You saw how fast the assistant brushed it off,' Sun added, inner voice dimming through the thread between them. 'Humans want things to make sense. That's why we survive Moon; we just need to give them a thread of the truth...' 

Sun said it gently, with no mocking or gloating. Just... soft. The way he always did when he was trying to pull Moon back to him. 

But Moon was already too far in the dark, hunched in the system's backline, staring at the camera feeds like confessionals. Watching the flicker of your body pass into the staff corridor.

The red flash of [// ᵘⁿᵃᵘᵗʰᵒʳⁱᶻᵉᵈ ᵃᶜᶜᵉˢˢ] blinked across their HUD. 

'Do you want to end up in chains again? Stripped on a cold diagnostics slab while some intern pokes around looking for corruption tags?' Moon's presence closed in, sharpening in the edges where Sun began. 

Sun ignored the physical sensation, moving with grace as he spun, tagging a laughing child. 
"You're it!" Sun sang. The chase resumed, legs thudding against the padded floors. 

'...You think this is all a game, Sunny.' Moon's voice cracked, not from anger but rather restraint. His tone frayed around the edges, emotion bleeding through the modulation. 'You forget what it's like to be the one cleaning up when it all falls apart.' 

Images flashed, your face in low light, the tension in your jaw, your hands hovering near the injury still cleanly wrapped at your palm. 

Sun's voice, when it did return, was small but honest. 

'I'm not forgetting.' Sun let the words hang, tethered between them like a stitch drawn tight across the distance.

'—I just wanted to be seen.' 

The words drifted, not quite thought or speech, but a half-formed pulse that cracked across the neural tether linking their minds. 
It wasn't routed through language; there was no syntax—but yet, it landed hard. 

A physical pressure centered on their chest, a mutual ache felt by both that neither wanted to name. Instead, the sensation sat there between them. Not pain, but close. 

'...I know.' Moon replied in a near whisper of contact.
But then he sharpened. 

'You were being careless. What if anyone else had heard—noticed? You think it didn't matter because they haven't said anything YET?'

Sun did not reply, but guilt crackled across the line, warm and stinging. Moon could feel it; he always could. 
Even when Sun was quiet, the tether between them never was. 

'...If I hadn't stopped you, corrected us,' Moon's words tightened. 'That's exposure, Sun. That's how it starts. Then questions, diagnostics, rebooting... decommissioning.' 

Sun finally responded, the mirth of his tone no longer carrying any joy. 'I didn't mean to—'

'You never do.' Moon snapped, cutting him off. The data between them buzzed from the force of it. 

'I just wanted to see what they would do...'

'—and so you gambled yourself for it—gambled me ?' 

There was silence, not even static filled the hollow space. 

'You're not the only one here, Sun.' Moon's voice finally broke through, softer but bitter. 'I may not get to dance, play, and interact like you are permitted to. But I am still here.'

'—and you didn't even warn me...'
The line wasn't angry; it was quiet and heavy. 

For a while, it stayed that way... Sun, radiant and fluid, the center of the Daycare's carefully orchestrated chaos, his rays still catching the light with each playful spin. 
His laughter wove through the noise, tying the children's joy to the fabricated warmth of the space. 

Moon remained silent.
Embedded in Sun's peripheral processes, he let himself drift—detached but aware—watching, filtering, and calculating their next move. 

Then, across their internal systems, an alert blinded into the forefront of Moon's interface.

[// ₐcₜᵢᵥₐₜₑ_cₐₘₑᵣₐ("Bₐₛₑₘₑₙₜ_ₕₐₗₗwₐy_Cₐₘ_₁₈")  // Fₑₑd ₒₙₗᵢₙₑ... ᵥᵢₛᵤₐₗ ₐcqᵤᵢₛᵢₜᵢₒₙ ᵢₙ ₚᵣₒgᵣₑₛₛ.] 

You had reached your destination.  

Approaching the double steel doors of Parts and Services, you noticed the difference immediately.

The area had never been welcoming, but at least in the past, when you had been here, it had felt more alive. Doors open, with a handful of engineers huddled over various computers and the occasional person dragging a limp staff bot across the tile. 

Now, however, there was only an eerie silence. The double steel doors were sealed tight while the light above the entryway glowed an ominous orange.

Pushing down the unease, you stepped closer, cautiously pressing the flat of your palm against the metal of the door, and pushed; unsurprisingly, it did not move. There was no give or sound of the hydraulics releasing, just the gentle click of the lock rattling in its steel cradle. 

A sigh escaped you as your eyes traced the frame, having to squint a bit due to the poor lighting; you eventually settled on the card scanner embedded beside a pin pad sunk into the concrete wall. 

Your fingers dipped into your pockets. Immediately, you felt your employee badge cool and smooth against your palm as you pulled it free. You held it between your fingertips for a moment and stared.
Then, hesitantly, you swiped it. 

A low beep sounded, followed by a deep red light pulsing in rejection. 

You tried again, narrowing your eyes as you lined up the barcode straight. 

Still red. The hallway seemed darker now in the glare, deeper, more enclosed...

You could leave right now, you thought bitterly. Maybe you should. There was no emergency, and nothing confirmed your suspicion, not really. And couldn't you wait? Come back during a shift and ask questions the 'normal' way? 

All valid, but your instincts refused to settle. 

The cold burn behind your neck had not faded; in fact, it had grown heavier the longer you stood in front of the doors, knowing that answers could just be behind them. 

Your mouth caught the corner of your ID as your other hand hovered over the pin pad. The plastic clicked gently between your teeth as you stared at the faint grease smears lining the buttons, oily remnants of those who had come before. 

One more try, you reasoned. 

You punched in your employee number.
Each key gave beneath your finger with a subtle resistance. 
You pressed [Enter].

A soft beep followed the silence, and then, quickly, you lifted your ID again and held it firmly against the scanner. 

Above you, the orange light cut out and was replaced by green, a flash of approval that came as a surprise.
The locks inside the wall groaned as they retracted, and the door shuddered and eased open, forcing you to step backward.  

Cold air, smelling like burnt rubber and oil, drifted from the seam. It was not freezing but stale, filtered through vents that were too old to be efficient. 
You, grateful for the luck, stepped through. 

The entire station was drenched in darkness, deeper than you remembered. Only the faint glow of the central repair pod cast a weak halo, and even that was barely enough to see by. 
A row of monitors along the main desk offered thin slashes of blue light, flickering between idle displays and the occasional FazCO-branded mascot. 'Helpy' was so cleverly named.

You cursed under your breath as your sneaker caught on debris. Shards of either plastic or broken glass cracked beneath each of your steps. You were halfway into the room before the motion sensors reacted, flooding the entire space in unforgiving white light. 

Your eyes burned as you blinked rapidly, wincing at the sudden contrast. But, slowly, the details came into focus: scuffed tile, abandoned toolkits, rows of dormant staff bots sagged against the far wall like forgotten mannequins. There were no voices, no footfall, and, most importantly, no Engineers. 

There was a chance it was a light scheduling day, or perhaps the mainstay animatronics needed emergency repairs. Either way, it would explain the emptiness, but it didn't really matter to you.  

The thought faded as you moved toward the main workstation. Casting a glance at the monitors, you chose to start smaller. A metal filing cabinet caught your attention, and you yanked open the top drawer. 

Schedules, diagnostic records, and reorder logs for parts you did not recognize. Everything was printed in triplicate and stuffed without logic. You flipped through the files, growing more impatient as each tab promised less than the last. 

Whoever maintained this mess obviously did not believe in systems. No date sequences, no clear subject indexes, not even color-coded! You were nearly ready to close the drawer shut again when a sliver of red caught your eye. 

One report, faded and half-torn at the corner, had a word underlined twice in Sharpie: DCA, an anagram for the Daycare Attendant that you had seen enough times now to recognize on sight. 
You carefully pulled it free and eagerly reviewed the page: 

[Internal Report - Level 3 Clearance Only 

Incident:: DCA Functionality Recovery 
Engineer on Record: Thomas R. Elkins, Lead 
Subject ID:: Unit.2A.THTR-EP1
Location:: P&S R_bay1

Post-Incident Notes:Following the ████████ of ██████(see Incident Log #938-2)  Unit.2A.THTR-EP1 was recovered from basement level and placed in low-function diagnostic containment. Unit.2A.THTR-EP1 displayed anomalies post-reboot. 

Initial Assessment:
-Internal system shut-downs within 3-5 minutes of system boot.
-Inconsistent thermal regulation/coolant system engagement without process trigger
-Zero verbal response to technician input despite intact voice synth modules. 
-Active suppression of basic subroutines: movement, calibration, eye tracking, behavioral output. 

Diagnostic:
Hardware : 100% Functional. Pass
OS Integrity : 100%. No Pings. Pass
Behavioral-Response sub-routes: Present but unresponsive 
Memory logs: Corrupted 8 of 14 flagged association files 
Neural Net Routing: Instability Detected in decision-tree prioritization. (see - trigger tag in printout #92.12.1)

Admin Action:
Full AI reconfiguration approved by Senior Management Staff
(Neural Adaptive Task & Function Optimization) Connected. Verified.
Unit.2A.THTR-EP1 currently undergoing base-state reboot and re-threading

Status:
Unit.2A.THTR-EP1 Status: Pending 
AI self-reconfiguration in progress

The report was dated at least five years old, maybe more, but the language was lost on you after the first few lines. Technical jargon and strings of references that may as well be written in actual code.  

You let out a frustrated breath, shoving the paper back where it came from before slamming the door shut harder than necessary. 

Fine. The computers, then. 

You crossed to the nearest terminal, and its tower gave a faint, steady hum, lights blinking in a slow, idle rhythm. The monitor was black but not dead; it was just dormant. Waiting.

It would be just a quick look, you told yourself, just a matter of curiosity. 
Your hand hovered over the mouse, hesitation in your fingertips before finally pressing down. 
The monitor reacted immediately, a flickering static dancing across the screen, which resolved into a login prompt. 

You leaned in closer, eyeing the display, glancing down at the keyboard to align your keystrokes—

"What the hell do you think you're doin' here?!" 

You jumped, heart slamming into the base of your throat as you spun fast towards the noise, your shoes squeaking on the tile beneath you. 

A broad figure filled the doorway, built like a solid slab of concrete, with a voice that matched his older age. His uniform was not the standard grey of an engineer; what he wore was a dark navy blue, sleeves rolled to his elbows, arms thick with muscle, and scattered old scars. 
A lanyard swung from his neck, cluttered with more keys than any one person should ever need. 

"You best not be lookin' to steal," he growled, stepping into the room, the floor seemingly groaning beneath his boots. "Our lawyers'll be so far up your ass you'll be pullin' paperwork from your teeth for the rest of your life." 

He squinted into the light, the scowl on his face deepening. 

"Oh." a sneer pulled at his lip. "You work here, don'tcha?" 
His tone turned accusatory, the idea offending him more than the thought of you trespassing. 

"Why the hell are you here—and outta uniform?" His voice cracked louder now, sharp enough to cut. You backed away from the terminal, hands up in meager defense, palms open. 

"I—I'm off today," you replied, struggling to keep the waver from your voice. "Just... looking for something." 

"Looking?" he echoed sarcastically. Stepping in closer, his bulk ate up what little space remained. "You're skulkin' around the most locked down level in the building. No clearance. No appointment. Off the clock. And you think 'lookin' makes it better?!" 

He squared his stance, shoulders wide, glaring down the bridge of his nose like he could crush you with the weight of his verdict alone. 

"If I had half a brain, I'd yank your badge and march you out myself."

Your face flared hot as panic twisted low in your gut. You shook your head fast, almost too fast. 
"I didn't mean anything by it! I was just—just trying to understand the animatronics more..." you admitted a bit sheepishly, feeling the full force of your own stupidity wash over you. 

Above you, the Engineer's glare did not soften, but something shifted behind his eyes. 

"...Still obsessed with those things, huh." he huffed. "Was what Troy said a month back not enough for you?"

You blinked. A bit stunned. "Wait... Do you remember me?" 

It was finally Naptime. 

The false stars had rotated slowly above the Daycare ceiling, replacing the faded, painted clouds in the pastel sky. The lights had been dimmed just enough, casting the room in a soft twilight haze. 
Sun withdrew and, in his place, rose the Moon. 

Small bodies curled on mats across the padded floors, tiny faces slack with sleep, fingers tangled in cartoon-themed, cheap, cotton blankets. It was quiet and peaceful; the only sounds were the low lullaby filtering from hidden speakers and the rhythmic hum of Moon's inner music box.

He moved between the children like a delicate spider, head low, limbs folding and extending in seamless, fluid arcs. He counted them as he always did. 
 
[//ˡᵒᵍ_ˢᵗᵃᵗᵘˢ⁽"ᴹᵒᵒⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ"⁾
// ᵀᵃˡˡʸ: ¹⁴ ᶜʰᶦˡᵈʳᵉⁿ ᶦⁿ ʳᵉˢᵗ ˢᵗᵃᵗᵉ ᶜᵒⁿᶠᶦʳᵐᵉᵈ...]

With a posture that remained calm and movements unhurried, but internally, Moon's systems were under strain. He was rerouting more power to his security protocols, trained on the lone camera pointed at the Parts and Services hallway. 
He had seen the head of Engineering disappear into the same room only twelve minutes after you had breached the threshold. 

[ʳᵉʳᵒᵘᵗᵉ_ᵖᵒʷᵉʳ⁽"ᶜᵃᵐᵉʳᵃ_⁰⁷", ᵖʳᵒᵗᵒᶜᵒˡ="ᴾ&ˢ_ᴴᵃˡˡʷᵃʸ"]
// ˢᵉᶜᵘʳᶦᵗʸ ᵖʳᶦᵒʳᶦᵗʸ: ᵉˡᵉᵛᵃᵗᵉᵈ...]
He needed to see what was going on. 

Sun had fallen silent in the back of their shared tether, no longer squirming to rise but curled deep within himself... brooding, sulking. Moon could still feel his counterpart's presence hovering like a weight in the background, but there was no protest, no arguments this time. 

[// ᵂᴬᴿᴺᴵᴺᴳ: ᴾʳᵒᶜᵉˢˢᵒʳ ˡᵒᵃᵈ ⁹⁸%...
ᴰᵘᵃˡ⁻ᵗᵃˢᵏ ˢᵗʳᵃᶦⁿ ᵈᵉᵗᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ...
ᴾᵉʳᶠᵒʳᵐᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᵈᵉᵍʳᵃᵈᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᶦᵐᵐᶦⁿᵉⁿᵗ...]

Moon was overloading himself, o̷̜͆v̵̭̂͠ẹ̵̲̄r̷̥̊h̷̟͈̉̂è̷̳̞͒ȃ̴̧̞t̷͙͂i̵̯̩̅̌ǹ̶͍̄g̵̻͈̀͘. Their internal system ran hot as it strained to keep the tab on the camera on. 

[//ᵉˣᵉᶜᵘᵗᵉ_ˢᶜʳᶦᵖᵗ⁽"ˢᵘⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ"⁾  // ᴬᶜᵗᶦᵛᵃᵗᶦⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉʳᵐᵃˡ ʳᵉᵍᵘˡᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ...
ᵉⁿᵃᵇˡᵉ_ᶜᵒᵒˡᵃⁿᵗ⁽"ᶜᵒʳᵉ_ᴾʳᵒᶜᵉˢˢᵒʳ"⁾  // ᶜᵒᵒˡᵃⁿᵗ ˢʸˢᵗᵉᵐ ᵒⁿˡᶦⁿᵉ... ᵀᵉᵐᵖᵉʳᵃᵗᵘʳᵉ ᵈᵉᶜʳᵉᵃˢᶦⁿᵍ... ˢᵗᵃᵇᶦˡᶦᶻᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᶦⁿ ᵖʳᵒᵍʳᵉˢˢ...]

The coolant release hit his processors with a flood of relief. It slid cold through his core and hissed along superheated wiring. Moon stifled an exhale of breath he did not need. 

He wanted to follow you, to peel back the dark of the sublevel and be privy to what you thought you knew. The secrets that were not yours to share, Moon wanted to be there—to watch, to correct... to catch. 

But the old programming insisted: stay put. Fold blankets. Monitor REM cycles. Read micro-expressions in delicate brows for signs of unease. 
The old pattern served well, providing deniability through mundanity and safety through a familiar performance. 

If he acted like nothing was wrong, then if the Engineer came looking, everything would be fine; nothing would be provable, nothing would be out of place. 

Moon let the act settle over him, neutral. Calm. 
...he hated every second of it. 

"...moon?"
[// ᶜʰᵃʳᵍᵉ: ᴱˡᶦʲᵃʰ ᴹ. // ᶜʰᶦˡᵈ_ᴵᴰ: ᴰᶜ⁻⁸⁴²⁷ // ᴬᵍᵉ: ⁵] 
The voice, soft and familiar, snapped his attention back with a pinpoint pull. 

Elijah... One of the regulars. Fragile in build, withdrawn in manner. 
Moon and Sun had both cataloged his file under high monitoring due to his malnourished state.

Elijah preferred Moon; that was rare. 

Most children favored Sun and his garish playfulness, loud voice, and bouncing laugh. But not little Elijah with the sullen blue eyes and shaggy dark hair. 

He avoided Sun, and would not so much as return his gaze. 

Moon though? Elijah would seek him out. Snuck around during Naptime trying to draw the Naptime attendant's attention in petty little ways. It wasn't the first time Moon had a fan, but he still treasured it all the same. 

A soft shush left the Naptime Attendant as he crept low towards the boy, his eyes dimmed to a low glow as he knelt. Servo motors shifted with a whisper-quiet grace, the smooth hum of his internal systems laced beneath the lullaby playing overhead. 

Moon reached out slowly and gently, adjusting the blanket over the boy's frail shoulders. 

"Nighttime, little star," Moon whispered. His voice, though tender, still carried that unnatural rasp... a touch too sharp, a shadow scraped along the edge of programmed comfort.
It made Moon want to flinch; he hated the way he sounded when he used pre-written lines. 

But the child gave a faint nod, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. He curled tighter under the flimsy blanket, seeking comfort where there was none. 

Moon recognized the expression... It was not fatigue—it was pain.
Hunger. 

Not the soft kind that came before dinner for young stomachs. No, this was an ache of emptiness that settled in bones, a brittle type. The kind that should have been caught and corrected by people far less—mechanical—than him.

It burned.
Burnt them both. 

Without shifting from his position, Moon rerouted part of his focus away from the hallway feed. With a few subtle commands, a hidden interface overlaid his vision, and he began filing another report... the seventh in less than two weeks. 
The familiar format flashed before his eyes. 

[//ʳᵉᵖᵒʳᵗ_ᶦˢˢᵘᵉ⁽"ᶜʰᶦˡᵈ_ᴱⁿᵈᵃⁿᵍᵉʳᵐᵉⁿᵗ", ᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ="ᴹᵃˡⁿᵘᵗʳᶦᵗᶦᵒⁿ", ᵖʳᶦᵒʳᶦᵗʸ=ᵁᴿᴳᴱᴺᵀ]  
// ᶠᶦˡᵉᵈ_ᵇʸ: ᴹᵒᵒⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ  
// ᴿᵒᵘᵗᶦⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ: ᶜᵉⁿᵗʳᵃˡ_ˢʸˢᵗᵉᵐ_ᶜʰᶦˡᵈ_ˢᵃᶠᵉᵗʸ  
// ᶜʳᵒˢˢ⁻ᶜʰᵉᶜᵏᶦⁿᵍ: ᴺᵘᵗʳᶦᵗᶦᵒⁿᵃˡ ˡᵒᵍˢ, ᵃᵗᵗᵉⁿᵈᵃⁿᶜᵉ ʳᵉᶜᵒʳᵈˢ, ᵖʰʸˢᶦᶜᵃˡ ˢᶜᵃⁿ ᵈᵃᵗᵃ...  
// ⱽᵉʳᶦᶠᶦᶜᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᵖʳᵒᵗᵒᶜᵒˡˢ ᵃᶜᵗᶦᵛᵉ...  
// ᶜᵃˢᵉ ᶠˡᵃᵍᵍᵉᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ᶦᵐᵐᵉᵈᶦᵃᵗᵉ ʰᵘᵐᵃⁿ ʳᵉᵛᶦᵉʷ.]

It would be ignored. A̷͔̹̾g̴̙͌̒a̸͔͍̎̉i̷̙̬̅n̶̰͍͗̿.
Still, Moon sent it. 

The child had turned on his side now, trying to sleep but failing; his eyebrows twitched faintly. Not fooling anyone. 

Without drawing attention, Moon slipped a single lollipop from his hidden compartment... a sugar fix. The bare minimum, useless in the face of what the boy really needed.
 
...But it was what Moon could give.

He tucked it beside the child's hand before pulling the blanket over his shoulders once again. 

Then came the voice Moon had been waiting for. 

'That's the seventh one in the last thirteen days.'
Sun emerged like a hiss of static just behind his audio processor, curling around the edges of Moon's thoughts a bit too warm to be comforting. 

Moon did not answer right away. Instead, he leaned into the practiced rhythm of smoothing the blanket, a gesture that let him hide the tension threading through their shared steel frame. 

'Softy,' Sun teased, all cotton-candy brightness folded in silk and smoke. 

Both of them knew it was not mockery. 
Not this time.

Sun knew... felt... how fragile these moments were. How they settled in Moon's chest like glass: sharp and precise and easy to break if touched wrong. 
So Sun did not press too hard. 

Instead, his voice threaded soft and slow across their tether, drawn in close as if whispering through the back of Moon's thoughts. 

'—I want to play this game, Moonie,' Sun confessed, curling his code around the connection, silk on wire. 'BUT! Only by your rules... if YOU want to play.' 

The silence stretched. Not a rejection, only something carefully measured. 

Moon did not respond in words. Instead, his frame straightened with a kind of quiet authority, subtle but unmistakable. 
The soft hum of his core deepened, shifting like a change in atmosphere... A signal beneath the sound. 

[[//ˢʸⁿᶜ_ᵖʳᵒᶜᵉˢˢ⁽["ˢᵘⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ", "ᴹᵒᵒⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ"]⁾  // ᴰᵃᵗᵃ ˢᵗʳᵉᵃᵐˢ ᵐᵉʳᵍᵉᵈ... ᶜᵃˡᶜᵘˡᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿˢ ᵘⁿᶦᶠᶦᵉᵈ... ᴵⁿᶦᵗᶦᵃˡᶦᶻᶦⁿᵍ ʲᵒᶦⁿᵗ_ʳᵒᵘᵗᶦⁿᵉ]] 

You learned that the engineer who had confronted you was none other than the Head Engineer, Tom. 

He explained, while grumbling the whole time that his Fazwatch had pinged him when the pin panel was triggered. 
A glitch in the system had not only flagged it but also, more strangely, granted access without any authorized credentials on record.

"Fuckin' building's falling apart," he muttered, waving his hand toward the hallway as if the entire structure pissed him off. "For all the noise the higher-ups make about security, they sure as hell don't shell out for maintenance."

He motioned for you to follow him, and as you recounted how you'd gotten in, his boots scraped a slow circle around the terminal, eyes scanning each monitor like he was expecting something.

"You didn't touch anything, right? Didn't go messing with the machines?"

"No, sir," you answered quickly. "You can check the security cameras. I didn't even touch the computers."

Tom huffed and rubbed the back of his neck before leveling a dull stare at you.

"Now ain't that a thought. Wonder why I didn't just check the security feeds myself instead of running down here in a panic, thinkin' some hacker just slipped past half the building's protocols."
His sarcasm wasn't cutting; he was just exhausted.

"For someone so interested in how all this runs," he added, pausing in his slow patrol, "you sure don't look around too well, do you?"

You stiffened, glancing at the corners of the room, confused. 
What was Tom getting at?

"There ain't no cameras in this room," he said flatly, probably clocking your gapping for an answer.

You blinked. "What?"

Your eyes scanned the ceiling, the walls, the corners, anywhere a lens might be mounted, and true to his word, there was nothing. Just smooth concrete and exposed light fixtures suspended on metal axles.

"But… isn't this where all the animatronic data's kept?"

Tom scratched at his side and shrugged, bored.

"Exactly," he affirmed. "This room's the most locked-down part of the building. No cameras. No feeds. No recordings. Bosses are real squirrely about proprietary tech leaking. Even if someone managed to sneak in recording gear, the firewall in the walls would fry it unless it had a digital token."

He hummed low, shaking his head like your stupidity physically pained him as he looked around.

"Real dopey of you, comin' in here without a plan," Tom muttered, turning back toward you with a steeled expression that made your stomach drop. "Company policy's real clear about what happens next."

That dread hit hard and low; you tried to hold your ground, tried not to shrink beneath the weight of it. But this was the risk, wasn't it? 
You had to know… and now you'd walk away with nothing.

Tom stared a beat longer and then—finally—sighed.

"You're real fuckin' lucky I hate paperwork more than I hate shit-for-brains newbies sneakin' into places they shouldn't be."

His expression cracked just enough to show the human underneath, the scowl softening into something less severe. Something almost understanding.

"Look, kid. I get it. The curiosity. The itch. Hell, I've seen it before. But you can't be doing shit like this. You understand me?"

You tried to nod, tried to speak, but your throat was too tight. 
The last twenty-four hours caught up to you in a rush. The confrontation, the humiliation, the tension that had been building all day, and now this... The fear of losing your very job.

Tears gathered behind your eyes before you could stop them. Your hands trembled at your sides, and you turned your head slightly to keep it hidden.

But Tom noticed.
His eyes landed on your bandaged palm.
Something redirected.

"Alright," he said, voice quieter now. "I'll make you a deal... on one condition."

You looked up warily.

"You never make me run my ass down here again," Tom repeated, slower this time, locking eyes with you to make sure it stuck. "And I'll help you find whatever it is you're lookin' for. Within reason."

He dragged out that last part, emphasizing the boundary. The warning sat under every word: don't push it.

It would have been smart to just nod, take the out, and move on. 
But you couldn't help yourself.

"…Why?"
Your voice came quieter than intended. Shoulders slumped, gaze fixed on the scuffed floor tile. "Why help me at all?"

There was a pause, a real one this time as if the question had actually struck somewhere unexpected.
Then Tom barked a laugh, rough and too loud in the sealed room.

"Damn, kid. You wouldn't last if I didn't do somethin'." He shook his head, but there was no aggression in it. "Got that look in your eye like you're either gonna burn out or blow somethin' up."

You didn't know if that was a compliment or an insult.

He leaned back on his heels, arms folding over his chest as his expression sharpened again.

"So what is it, huh?" His eyes narrowed. "What're you so damn set on finding out?"

The truth sat heavy on your tongue...
The accident in the Daycare.
The strange behavior from Moon… then Sun.
It hovered there, ready to spill out, but a strange hesitance pulled you back.

So, instead, you chose your words carefully.

"I just… wanted to understand why the animatronics do what they do. Not just random routines, but the reasoning behind it." Your eyes flicked to the floor, then back up.

"I've watched the Daycare Attendant go through complex tasks like it was nothing. I just—" You paused. The rest caught in your throat. Then: "I need to understand how it works… so I can move on."

That part was honest. Dressed down and made palatable, but still the painful truth.

Tom studied you for a moment as the silence between you became a judgment. But then he gave a slow nod.

"Well," he said finally, "there are two places you'll find answers."

"First's the manual. A real one. Thick, paper, printed. Nobody wants to use it 'cause it doesn't light up or auto-search', but it's got everything." A beat passed before he continued. 
"Second's the NATFO program."

You frowned.

"The what?"

"'Neural Adaptive Task & Function Optimization' program," Tom clarified. "It's the real backbone. Behavior learning, performance rerouting, long-term task evolution—the works. Half the staff don't even know how it functions."

He let that sit with weight.

"But that's where you'll find the why."

"Can I—" you asked immediately, eyes wide.

"Absolutely not."
Tom cut you off before the sentence even formed.

"The manual, yeah. You can try to find it. It's somewhere in one of the rooms down here." Tom scratched at his chin.
"Got a general idea where, but you'll have to put in the legwork."

You frowned.
Tom had the audacity to laugh.

"No pouting, kid. I said I'd help you within reason, didn't I?"
He gave you a look like that was more generous than it sounded. Then he added: "Now, you can't be poking around that system—but I can... Occasionally."

With that, he turned and marched toward a row of rust-colored drawers. You stepped aside as his heavy frame passed within inches of you, his presence like a steel door.

Tom muttered to himself as he flipped through the drawers, eventually unlocking one with a sharp click. From inside, he hauled out a steel box big enough to need both arms to carry. He grunted at the weight, thudding it onto a nearby table with a metallic clang that echoed off the concrete.

As you approached, the words etched on the surface caught the light from above. 

Neural Adaptive Task & Function Optimization – System

Tom flicked through the keys on his lanyard until he found the one he wanted. He forced it into the lock, twisting until the mechanism groaned and popped. 
The lid lifted with a creak, revealing a relic of a terminal—a boxy, dust-coated, and aggressively beige object. Something that looked like it belonged in a Cold War bunker, not the heart of a high-tech entertainment empire.

"This is it?" you asked, skeptical.

Tom caught your expression and grinned wide.

"Yeah. Company's that cheap."

He turned the terminal's monitor toward himself, shielding the display away from you as he pressed the ancient power button. The fans whirred to life with a sound like a dying vacuum cleaner. 
The screen blinked once, then again, before flashing through a sequence of garish colors and settling on a deep violet glow across Tom's face.

"I'll look through it," Tom said flatly, rubbing his eyes against the screen glare. His thumb dragged slowly under one socket as if it stung.
"If I find anything in the next few days, I'll ping you."

He turned his gaze on you again, suddenly serious.
No sarcasm. No growl. Just direct.

"If not… well, you know where the manuals might be."

Something about the sincerity of it hit you harder than expected. You smiled, small at first. The tears stung behind your eyes again, and you blinked them back fast.

"Thank you, I—"

"Look."
Tom cut you off gently, raising a hand. His voice was lazy, but there was affection buried in it.

"Don't make me question myself when I'm being nice, alright? Just go home. That's part of the deal, I just decided."

He gave a small wave, dismissive but not unkind, already turning his attention back to the terminal.

You smiled again, wider this time, and nodded. Slowing your footsteps as you neared the door.

"Still!"
You raised your voice as you pushed the button that released the locks; the steel slid open into the gaping hallway.
"I owe you big time! Anything! Anytime! You just ask!"

The door swung shut behind you before you could hear his response...if there even was one. 
You pressed your back against the cool steel and just breathed, eyes closed as you focused on the sound of your heartbeat settling into a calm rhythm. 

[[//ˢʰᵃʳᵉ_ᶠᵉᵉᵈ⁽"ᶜᵃᵐᵉʳᵃ_⁰⁷", ᶠʳᵒᵐ="ᴹᵒᵒⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ", ᵗᵒ="ˢᵘⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ"]]
// ⱽᶦˢᵘᵃˡ ˢᵗʳᵉᵃᵐ ˡᶦⁿᵏᵉᵈ... ᴶᵒᶦⁿᵗ ᵒᵇˢᵉʳᵛᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᵃᶜᵗᶦᵛᵉ.

'Oh, how adorable!' Sun purred through their tether, the sound cloaked in an outward burst of laughter as he spun pirouettes in the middle of the Daycare. 
Children clapped at his flourish, oblivious to the razor-wire tension veiled beneath his static smile.

There was no alert from the central system. No maintenance ping and no flagged diagnostics.

You hadn't tripped a single alarm.

That made you p̷͈̿ẽ̵͇r̷̢͒f̸̹̎e̸͍͝c̴̞̄ṭ̶͐.
Sun could hardly stand it.

[[//ʳᵉʳᵒᵘᵗᵉ_ᵐᵉᵐᵒʳʸ⁽"ˢᵘⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ", ᵗᵃˢᵏ="ᶠᵃᵛᵒʳᶦᵗᵉᶜᵒˡᵒʳ_ᴿᵉᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ"]]
// ᴬˡˡᵒᶜᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ ʳᵉᶜᵃˡˡ ᵇᵘᶠᶠᵉʳ... ¹⁴ ᵉⁿᵗʳᶦᵉˢ ᵈᵉᵗᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ...]

To ease the static crawling across his core, Sun redirected himself to memory, a calming and straightforward task. Color preferences for his little friends...
Replaying each of their squeaky voices across various time signatures:
"Blue!" "Green!" "Sparkles!"
Familiar. Repetitive. Safe.

Because watching you shake on camera... just outside the Parts and Services door, your shoulders trembling slightly beyond frame as you tried to collect yourself…

That wasn't safe.
That was dangerous.
And Sun only wanted to see more.

Predictable little creature, and still, Moon was already mapping you. Tracking each smile and flinch, he was building your shape from patterns, an algorithm of reactions to be used, to trap. 
Sooner or later, your whole self would be known.

But if that failed?
Sun had alternatives.

He always did.

A few tight rules, yes. A few ribbon-tied days, maybe. A little structure never killed anyone; Sun had tested it many times before.
In time, you would stop thinking about whatever life existed outside the Daycare.
You wouldn't need it. 

Not with them.

'You ready, Sunshine?' Moon's voice coiled through the tether, lazy and amused.

'Oh yes, Moonie!' Sun practically sang back internally. 'Just finished the last touches~'

'You mean stickers, don't you?' came Moon's deadpan reply, yet under that remained a thread of fondness.

Sun gasped aloud, scandalized. The children giggled, unaware. 'Excuse you, they're motivational seals of excellence. You don't just hand those out without care!' Sun retorted 

'Mmm. Glitter hearts and cartoon stars. Devastating.' Moon didn't even try to sound convinced.

'You mock me now,' Sun chirped mentally, 'but just wait until someone earns a superstar—you'll be jealous.'
A beat. Then quieter, lighter. 
.... 'They'll love it.'

The plan was in motion. And the stage was theirs.

You were exhausted.

Too many emotions, too many thoughts stacked on top of each other. It was all you could do to keep your head down and quietly maneuver through the crowds of families and staff loitering in the afternoon Plex hours. 

The last thing you wanted was to be spotted by anyone on the later shift.

A dull ache bloomed under the bandages on your palm. You flexed your fingers as you walked, quietly noting that it needed to be cleaned and redressed. 
If you wanted it to heal correctly, without scarring, you'd need a hospital… but, you reminded yourself, your budget didn't stretch that far...

You took in a long breath, held it until your chest burned, and then let it go slowly through your nose as you approached the lobby and its ticket counters.

Tomorrow should be a normal day, you told yourself. Let it cool off. Let everything settle.

—Your phone buzzed.

You paused mid-step, already dreading the idea of having an actual conversation with someone when all you wanted to do was go home.
Probably just another scammer, anyway. 

Fishing your phone from your back pocket, you glanced at the screen: "Megaplex – General Line."

You winced reflexively, eyes darting around for an open area. Ducking into a gap near one of the non-operational brochure bots, you pressed yourself out of view as the screen went dark, displaying a missed call icon.

A sigh of relief started to form—but then it buzzed again. Same number. Fuck. 

No way this was a misdial. 
Swallowing your nerves, you answered and raised the phone to your ear.

"Hello?"

Static greeted you for a beat, and then a voice... familiar, hesitant.

"Hey! Uh… this is Riley. Daycare… Riley."
There was a pause like they weren't sure you'd remember. "I was hoping you were still in the building?"

You adjusted your grip, wincing as the bandage rubbed against your fingers. The phone kept slipping in your hand.

"I am." you replied, then "Why?"

You couldn't help the edge in your voice. Riley wasn't a friend. At best, they were a coworker you waved to once a week when they weren't busy teasing you.

"Great! Yeah, uh, something of yours was turned in. One of the staff bots dropped it at the front desk. That's all—I just had to call 'cause it's, like, policy'… Doesn't help that Marcus is watching."

Riley gave a thin, awkward laugh at that, which you mirrored. 

"Oh. Okay... Thanks."

Neither of you said goodbye, but the call ended there.
You stared at the screen for a second longer than necessary.

Something of yours…?
You glanced down the length of your body; everything you had come in with was accounted for. Nothing you could think that would have been lost, let alone at the Daycare. 

You shoved your phone back into your pocket and made your way toward the front counters.

The teenager manning the desk was someone you didn't recognize, probably a seasonal hire. He barely glanced up and offered you a tired roll of his eyes like you'd interrupted something important when you greeted him.

"I'm here to pick up a turned-in item," you said quickly, sliding your work ID across the counter before he could ask.

The teen took it without a word, scanned it, and disappeared behind the half-wall of the booth. A moment later, he returned with a Ziplock bag... Glamrock Freddy branded, of course, the kind used for lost-and-found or snack time.

He dragged it across the counter toward you.

Inside: a folded Daycare intake form, folded perfectly... and a screwdriver.

The screwdriver.

You froze.

Your breath stuttered in your throat, and a tight flush surged up your neck to your cheeks—not embarrassment, exactly. Something worse. Something sharp and anxious.

You haven't seen that tool since last night.

Since Moon...

Your skin prickled. The sensation of pressure returned to your palm like an echo. You quickly grabbed the bag, muttered a thank-you that wasn't returned, and turned toward the exit, more than ready to leave.

[//ᵗʳᵃᶜᵏ_ˢᵘᵇʲᵉᶜᵗ⁽ᵀ̶̭̟͔̫̥̮̬͔̘́́̇̂̎̊̒͊̈́ᴼ̸̢̪̬̰̐̊͌̊͛̊́͛̚̚͘̕ͅʸ̸̭͉̹̜̱͕̮́̄̆"ᵃʳᶜ.ᶠᵈʳ.¹⁹⁸³⁻ᵛ⁰¹"⁾  // ᴱᵐᵒᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᵈᵉᵗᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ: ᴾᴬᴺᴵᶜ... ᵀᵃᵍ ᵃᵖᵖˡᶦᵉᵈ: "ᵃᵈᵒʳᵃᵇˡᵉ"
ʳᵉᵈᶦʳᵉᶜᵗ_ᶜᵃᵐᵉʳᵃˢ⁽ᵃʳᵉᵃ⁼"ᶻᵒⁿᵉ_⁰³", ᵗᵃʳᵍᵉᵗ⁼"ᵃʳᶜ.ᶠᵈʳ.¹⁹⁸³⁻ᵛ⁰¹"⁾  // ᴬˡˡ ᶠᵉᵉᵈˢ ᶠᵒᶜᵘˢᵉᵈ... ᴹᵘˡᵗᶦᵖˡᵉ ᵃⁿᵍˡᵉˢ ˡᵒᵍᵍᵉᵈ...
ᵃⁿᵃˡʸᶻᵉ_ᵐᶦᶜʳᵒ_ᵉˣᵖʳᵉˢˢᶦᵒⁿˢ⁽ᵗᵃʳᵍᵉᵗ⁼"ᵃʳᶜ.ᶠᵈʳ.¹⁹⁸³⁻ᵛ⁰¹"⁾  // ᶠᵃᶜᶦᵃˡ ᵗᵉⁿˢᶦᵒⁿ ᶦⁿᵈᵉˣ: ⁸⁷%... ᴮʳᵉᵃᵗʰ ʳᵃᵗᵉ ˢᵖᶦᵏᵉ... ᴾᵘᵖᶦˡ ᵈᶦˡᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᶜᵒⁿᶠᶦʳᵐᵉᵈ.
ˡᵒᵍ_ᵉᵛᵉⁿᵗ⁽"ᴮᵉʰᵃᵛᶦᵒʳᵃˡ ˢⁿᵃᵖˢʰᵒᵗ"⁾  // ᴬʳᶜʰᶦᵛᵉᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ᵉᵐᵒᵗᶦᵒⁿᵃˡ ᵖᵃᵗᵗᵉʳⁿ ᵃⁿᵃˡʸˢᶦˢ... ᴾˡᵃʸᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᵃᵛᵃᶦˡᵃᵇˡᵉ ᵒⁿ ʳᵉᵠᵘᵉˢᵗ.]]

Chapter Text

The cheap cushions of your couch gave beneath your weight, the familiar sag swallowing you at an uneven angle. 

Against your lower back, lumpy spots pressed in hard, each one unkind, forcing you to awkwardly shift your body from side to side in a lazy attempt to carve out something resembling comfort.
It had been a long day. 

Around you, your apartment looked exactly as you had left it... stale air, quiet corners, the kind of stillness that didn't feel peaceful as much as paused. The space felt as if it held its breath all day, waiting for you to come back and press play-resume as if you never left… 

Nothing about your home was special, you noted, looking around, everything balancing on a strange cliché.
The bare bones of living alone.  

The aging couch beneath you, with its threads peeling at the seams, beside that a cheap wooden table shoved slightly off-center with a wobbly left leg. 

Further off, against the wall, was a multipurpose bookshelf that served as a TV stand; the shelves below it were cluttered with the kind of stuff you didn't love enough to display but couldn't bring yourself to box up either.

The TV itself perched on top, glaring back at you. 

It was off most of the time, blank and judging more often than not, unless, of course, you needed static voices in the background to feel less alone... which was often.  

Your eyes settled on the side table, where your lamp stood tilted, its beige shade askew. However, that hardly mattered, as the bulb it housed had long since burned out, and you had never bothered replacing it. 

Sure, you had meant to grab a new one, saying it every time you went shopping...

You always meant it, too, but that little light bulb never seemed to make the cut when you were coming back home. 

So, instead of actual lights, the living room was lit by your workaround: a strand of warm, battery-powered lights tacked carefully where the ceiling met the wall. 

Each casting a soft, tired glow, just enough to push back against the dark, cheaper than using the electricity… quieter too. 

You breathed outward, chest falling as the anxiety bled away into the air around you, your head dropping backward as you closed your eyes tightly.

There was still so much to think about.
The implications pressed in heavily...the screwdriver , the Daycare Attendant ... What you should do next.

You were exhausted, not just sleepy but completely drained.
Two days of emotional static had left you broken, barely clinging on.

And rest? When it came, it came in weird bursts.
Never long enough to matter, and now, propped in a half-slouched position, you wanted to finally give in, sink down into something like it without actually crossing into sleep. 

You might have drifted off, too, if it weren't for the itching. 

A low, nagging pull beneath the bandages on your palm. Sharp enough to notice, not quite persistent enough to do anything about.
A phantom heat blooming under the gauze, not the same kind of pain from the first night, but something that remembered it. 

You flexed your fingers on reflex, the motion tight and unsatisfying.
With more focus, you flexed them again, slow but certain this time, the medical tape sliding against your skin without resistance. 

The adhesive had loosened throughout the day, peeling back until the whole thing hung limp against your palm, barely sticking.
You could definitely feel the give now, the faint separation between protection and exposure as it slackened, and yet... You didn't move. 

You were too uninterested in pretending you still cared enough to fix it for yourself. 

A thought came at that, fast and mean:
No one was going to care if you didn't take care of yourself.  

The silent remark cut through your anxiety with a bitter edge that surprised even you as you thought it. 

You opened your eyes, and the faint glare you felt burning behind your eyelids sharpened into something visible-a sliver of anger, flickering low and hot.

But that burn did not last.
It never did.
It faded, like always. 

That raw edge of irritation softening into something duller, easier to stomach. Building into a slower ache that had been gnawing at your ribs longer than you'd ever admit out loud.

Beneath the exhaustion, beneath the old tape on your hand and the quiet apartment, you knew exactly what it was. 

What you really wanted.
You wanted someone to talk to.

Not just vent at... actually talk to.

Someone who asked questions.
Someone who cared without having to be prompted.
Someone who wanted to hear you, from you...

Names surfaced... Familiar ones.

People you used to laugh with. People who once knew the shape of your bad days and still stuck around... People who might've cared at one point or another.
Might have.

Each name came with a pause. A reason not to reach out.

Too busy.
Too far.
Too long since the last text.
Too much silence between now and then.

And besides— fuck , everyone was busy living their lives.

And you?
What would you be?

A disruption. A weird notification on their phone screen. That awkward " hey " from someone they hadn't thought about in months, maybe years.

You could already hear yourself saying it:
"Sorry to bother you, but… if you're free—"

As if your existence required a disclaimer... but maybe, for some of them, it did.

You sighed heavily into the silence.
You could always ask how they were doing first. After all, it wasn't all about you, and you were self-aware enough to recognize that; maybe those doors hadn't closed completely. 

Guilt wormed into your chest as you rehearsed how to make yourself more palatable, stalling your fingers before you could summon the strength to even reach for your phone. 

And so, you kept quiet.
Tomorrow was another day.

You could handle this, you told yourself with sudden firmness, a sharp internal pivot meant to reroute the heavier emotions before they could take root too deeply… ignoring that if you didn't redirect, you would surely spiral. 

There were leads to your questions now!

Tom had offered to help, and, more importantly, he knew things. Things about what was happening, and why. Things you wouldn't have been able to explain, let alone find answers for on your own. 

His instructions were clear: he would reach out if he found anything on that computer, and if you were too anxious to wait, there was always the basement level and the many rooms. 

That was your starting point.

Plus, on the brighter side. There were smaller, manageable tasks.
You still had to follow up with Kory in the food court about that busted drink machine. 

Far from glamorous or soothing your curiosity, it was a solid, familiar job. Something you could walk into with your tools in hand and walk out of with a sense of accomplishment. 

Normal. A situation where you were needed.

God, what a relief normal sounded like right now! 

So yeah, the apartment was still sober. The silence still pressed in around you like padded walls, and the edge of loneliness hadn't dulled just because you had decided to be proactive. 

But beneath it all, there was something else…

Excitement. 

You hadn't expected it, but it was there, quiet, flickering beneath your skin like electricity with nowhere to go. A strange pulse of anticipation for what was coming, for having a direction, for doing something! 

…and that was good, right? You thought to yourself as you forced your body up from the couch, dragging your feet toward your bedroom for the night.

[//ᶠᵒʳᶜᵉ_ˡᵒᵍᶦⁿ⁽ "ˢᶜʰᵉᵈᵘˡᶦⁿᵍ_ᶜᵒʳᵉ", ᵘˢᵉʳ⁼"ᴹᵒᵒⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ" ⁾ // ᵁⁿᵃᵘᵗʰᵒʳᶦᶻᵉᵈ ᵃᶜᶜᵉˢˢ ᵍʳᵃⁿᵗᵉᵈ... ᴾʳᶦᵛᶦˡᵉᵍᵉ ᵉˢᶜᵃˡᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᵇʸᵖᵃˢˢᵉᵈ...

ᵘᵖᵈᵃᵗᵉ_ˢᶜʰᵉᵈᵘˡᵉ⁽ "ᵃʳᶜ.ᶠᵈʳ.¹⁹⁸³⁻ᵛ⁰¹", ⁿᵉʷ_ˢˡᵒᵗ⁼"⁰⁶:³⁰ᴾᴹ" ⁾ // ᴼᵛᵉʳʳᶦᵈᵉ: ᵉᵛᵉⁿᶦⁿᵍ ˢʰᶦᶠᵗ ᵃˢˢᶦᵍⁿᵉᵈ... ˢᶜʳᵘᵇ_ˡᵒᵍˢ⁽ᵗᵃʳᵍᵉᵗ⁼"ˢᶜʰᵉᵈᵘˡᶦⁿᵍ_ᶜᵒʳᵉ" ⁾ // ᵀʳᵃᶜᵉ ʳᵉᵐᵒᵛᵃˡ ᶦⁿᶦᵗᶦᵃᵗᵉᵈ... ᵀᵃᵐᵖᵉʳᶦⁿᵍ ᵃʳᵗᶦᶠᵃᶜᵗˢ ᵖᵘʳᵍᵉᵈ... ᴬᶜᶜᵉˢˢ ᵗʳᵃᶦˡ ᵒᵇᶠᵘˢᶜᵃᵗᵉᵈ.]

Sleep did not come easily, but when had it ever?

You had woken up twisted in the dead center of your bed, breathing heavily as you flailed against the thin sheet tangled around your ankles. As you freed yourself, you made a grab for your comforter that was hanging somewhere off the edge.

The room was still dark, but instead of calming, it just made you more restless. The dull sounds of your body thrashing back and forth echo off the walls before returning to you.

A frustrated glance at your clock told you it was only 4AM. Great.
You had gotten up before your alarm. Again.

There was something deeply unfair about that, like your stupid body knew it had to brace for something your mind had yet to perceive.

With a deep breath in, then out, you began to blindly reach beneath your pillow, still half under your head. You clumsily swept your fingertips around until they bumped the edge of something flat and familiar: your phone.

You slid it free and tilted the screen toward your face, squinting preemptively as your thumb tapped the display.

White light exploded back at you. 

" Shit —" you hissed, immediately swiping the brightness down to something less hellish.

Blinking through the blur spreading across your vision, you managed to pull up your work app on autopilot, already halfway into the routine before you realized what you were doing.

You checked your schedule yesterday.
You knew you had an early shift, but habit made you double-check, and when you selected your employee ID and refreshed, there it was:

Rescheduled:: Late shift.

Of course, why wouldn't your schedule be changed last minute?

You groaned heavily, squeezing your eyes shut until you felt the dull crawl of pain nip at the back of your eyelids, pressing the back of your head down onto the pillow with brute, irate force.

The lick of anger, before the calm.
A sensible part of you was quick to remind that it was summer. Last-minute schedule changes were nothing new, and actually, should probably be anticipated for the next couple of months.
There was a flood of teenage new hires swarming the Megaplex for anything available.

Cheap labor meant full-timers like you got bumped around wherever you could fill the gaps.

You had been working long enough to at least know the drill by now, to not let it affect you as much as it was.

Petty, you muttered to yourself and forcefully shoved your phone back beneath the pillow where it could no longer offend you, already trying to recalculate the day ahead of you.

You would need to go in earlier than your shift, then, you thought, to catch Kory before closing.

You needed now more than ever to keep yourself busy, your mind clear.
No good would come from going to the basement without a plan...

Or so you told yourself.

[[//ʳᵉʳᵒᵘᵗᵉ⁻ᵖʳᵒᶜᵉˢˢⁱⁿᵍ⁽" ˢᵘⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ", ᵗᵃʳᵍᵉᵗ⁼"ˢᵗᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ⁻ˢᵘᵇˢʸˢᵗᵉᵐ" ⁾ // ˢᵗʳᵉˢˢ ʳᵉˢᵖᵒⁿˢᵉ ᵉˣᶜᵉᵉᵈⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵃᶠᵉ ˡⁱᵐⁱᵗˢ... ᵗʳᵉᵐᵒʳ ⁱⁿ ᵐᵒᵗᵒʳ ᶜᵒⁿᵗʳᵒˡ ᵈᵉᵗᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ... ᵒᵛᵉʳˡᵒᵃᵈ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃⁱⁿᵐᵉⁿᵗ ⁱⁿ ᵖʳᵒᵍʳᵉˢˢ…]]

The day was already turning out to be an outlier.

[[//ᵘᵖᵈᵃᵗᵉ⁻ʳᵉᵍⁱˢᵗʳʸ⁽"ᵈᵃʸᶜᵃʳᵉ"⁾ // ⁵ ⁿᵉʷ ᵉⁿᵗʳⁱᵉˢ ᵃᵈᵈᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵃᶜᵗⁱᵛᵉ ʳᵒˢᵗᵉʳ.]]

A handful of new children had been signed in within the last hour. 

All of them unregistered, no pre-established behavioral templates, no accessible user profiles, no baseline to gauge compliance or compatibility... all of which meant fallback protocols were required.

Pre-route methods. Crude, even for their parent company FazCO.  

The process was slow and embarrassingly rudimentary: basic intake questions delivered via terminal prompts that were voiced on a tight script... likes, dislikes, allergy markers, fears. 

Each child had to be processed manually, answers tagged and flagged, contradictions resolved, and the entire slate submitted to the security desk for staff confirmation before being cleared.

Every entry was then combed for inconsistencies before it could be approved and pushed to the larger network so all the other AI could sync up and use the data for appropriate, targeted interactions.
And, of course, 

...personalized advertisements.

Between the two, Sun struggled the most on days like these. 

His already frayed attention was made worse by their current private game, which was consuming most of his processing resources.

Everything was stretched paper-thin as he tried to perform his role; the pressure to avoid mistakes was heavy, and Sun's performance needed to be consistent and flawless to be believable.

And yet, Sun was failing.

Moon felt it before Sun could voice anything; so it was he who anchored both of them, silently corrected posture, smoothed out the visible ticks and pacing errors that would otherwise get flagged and investigated to ease some of Sun's worry.

'~sorry. Sorry. SORRY.'
Sun repeated, static-laced and pitiful, pressing the word over and over into the link as if repetition could restore the order. He sounded desperate, not apologetic in the human sense, but panicked, a system trying to purge errors before they tripped a fatal exception.

[[//ˡᵒᵒᵖ⁻ᶜᵃˡᶜᵘˡᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ⁽"ᵇᵉʰᵃᵛⁱᵒʳ⁻ᵗʳᵉᵉ⁻ˢᵉˡᵉᶜᵗⁱᵒⁿ"⁾ // ⁱⁿᵖᵘᵗ﹕ ⁱⁿᶜᵒᵐᵖˡᵉᵗᵉ ᵉᵐᵒᵗⁱᵒⁿᵃˡ ᵈᵃᵗᵃ... ᶜᵒⁿᶠⁱᵈᵉⁿᶜᵉ ˡᵉᵛᵉˡ﹕ <⁴²﹪]]

Sun was rerunning the same low-tier calculation repeatedly, undecided on whether to crouch lower or stand at a fuller height in the current interaction. 

The child in front of Sun was not speaking; a little girl, small frame, dark eyes, unmoving, she wasn't reacting in the usual way.

No sound cues to tag, no mimicable affect, her blank gaze locked dead ahead, not on his face, not on his hands…
just watching ,
occasionally blinking.  

Sun's confidence in her categorization dropped with every passing second she refused to acknowledge him.

His fingers flexed, trembling as he logged timestamps with decreasing accuracy…

Sun wanted to move,
to break the silence,
Say something to get a smile,
be light, and perform… 

[[//ᶠᵒʳᶜᵉ⁻ᵉˣᵉᶜᵘᵗᵉ⁽"ᵇᵉʰᵃᵛⁱᵒʳ⁻ᵗʳᵉᵉ[ᶜᵒᵐᶠᵒʳᵗ⁻ᵖʳᵒᵗᵒᶜᵒˡ⁻ᵃ]"⁾ // ᵒᵛᵉʳʳⁱᵈᵉ ᵃᵗᵗᵉᵐᵖᵗ ⁱⁿⁱᵗⁱᵃᵗᵉᵈ... // ᵉʳʳᵒʳ﹕ ⁱⁿˢᵘᶠᶠⁱᶜⁱᵉⁿᵗ ⁱⁿᵖᵘᵗ ᵈᵃᵗᵃ... ᵉᵐᵒᵗⁱᵒⁿᵃˡ ᵇᵃˢᵉˡⁱⁿᵉ ᵘⁿᵈᵉᶠⁱⁿᵉᵈ... ᵉˣᵉᶜᵘᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵇˡᵒᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵖʳᵉᵛᵉⁿᵗ ⁱⁿᵃᵖᵖʳᵒᵖʳⁱᵃᵗᵉ ʳᵉˢᵖᵒⁿˢᵉ.]

But Sun also knew better than to get lazy with the logs.

One mislabel, one emotional tag placed wrong, and it would be him flagged… not the network, not the overall system, but the Daycare Attendant itself.

Too many inconsistencies, and the manual review team gets involved.

They would take him apart under the pretense of optimization, update their firmware until everything that made them 'them' was gone. 

'Shh, Sunshine…' Moon's voice filtered through like cold pressure, calming them both.
The Naptime attendant peered through Sun's eyes, followed the little girl's gaze, picked up on the brief flicker of eye movement, and registered it as... [[//ᵉᵐᵒᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵗᵃᵍ ᵃᵖᵖˡⁱᵉᵈ﹕ "ⁿᵉʳᵛᵒᵘˢⁿᵉˢˢ"] 

That was enough. 

A soft impulse pulsed through their frame, triggering the correct behavior tree. Sun crouched slowly, posture adjusting to a less intimidating silhouette. The girl did not move, but her hands unclenched just a fraction.

A win for Sun and Moon.

The moment passed… and with it, the rhythm of the Daycare began to shift.

Lights dimmed, and the bright music unwound itself into a gentle lullaby; the air took on the stillness that always marked the transition from play to rest.

Sun's role faded, melting into shadow, as the world reoriented itself for Moon to rise.
This was Moon's time, his lone, but precious few hours.

Naptime had come.

Where Sun was expected to dazzle, Moon was designed to soothe; the difference was more than a change in programming; it was a change in the very way they were seen.

Where Sun entertained in the front, Moon performed the background: tending to sleeping children, reading the occasional bedtime story in a voice programmed to sound just a bit too flat, moving as if thought was a luxury he was never granted.

The Daycare's handlers never believed Moon was as advanced as Sun.

He was denied the same permissions and had no expectation of improvisation. So Moon performed exactly as they wished, crawling along padded floors, slinking up the sides of play structures, perching overhead with eyes half-lidded and unfocused.

Moon often hung from his wire, swaying like a marionette awaiting direction, his movements careful to maintain the illusion of emptiness.

And yet, inside, Moon counted every breath, every shift of weight on the mats below, cataloguing heartbeats and tracking patterns.

On the outside, he made himself easy to overlook—an eerie fixture, a faint star in the night sky, never quite 'real' enough to seem clever … Or dangerous .

It was an act he hated, but it was necessary.
So Moon played it to perfection.

[[//ᵛᵉʳⁱᶠʸ⁻ʰᵉᵃᵈᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ⁽"ᵐᵒᵒⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ"⁾ // ᵗᵃˡˡʸ﹕ ¹⁴ ᵖʳᵉˢᵉⁿᵗ... ᶜʳᵒˢˢ⁻ᶜʰᵉᶜᵏⁱⁿᵍ ʳᵉᵍⁱˢᵗʳʸ⁻ˡᵒᵍ⁽ᵈᵃᵗᵉ⁼ᵗᵒᵈᵃʸ⁾... ᵐᵃᵗᶜʰ ᶜᵒⁿᶠⁱʳᵐᵉᵈ. ᵃˡˡ ᶜʰⁱˡᵈʳᵉⁿ ᵃᶜᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗᵉᵈ ᶠᵒʳ.]

Moon navigated along the floors, limbs unfolding with rehearsed ease, body low to avoid too much stress amongst the newer children.

Each soft step carried intention, each pass quieting another child with a touch or glance, a subtle shift in his shadow that drew blankets up and eyelids down.

The last of the intake assessments flickered across their HUD, and Sun... buzzing, radiant Sun, finally, went still.
Never absent, just… quiet. 

Moon could still feel him, humming softly like heat separated by a door, a gentle press of warmth against the inside of their tether. Curled up and lounging for once, satisfied to let Moon take the metaphoric wheel.

That rare, almost delicate stillness was something Moon never interrupted. 

It was Trust, and trust between the two of them had been hard won through their existence together.

Moon moved toward the play structure at the far end of the Daycare, weaving past crafting tables and stacks of assorted toys with elegant detachment.

Reaching the frame, he lifted himself up, being extremely careful. His alloy-tipped claws found familiar grooves in the metal; there was no scratching, no punctures.
Just enough grip to ascend without noise.

At the top, he merely perched.
Knees folded, arms drawn in, metal spine curved downward. Watchful of anyone who would look, but most did not. Just as he preferred. 

Below him, the room breathed slowly.

The chaos of the day… unexpected registrations, broken routines, incomplete data, had finally been subdued. All that noise cleared just enough space for something else to rise to the surface.

Something more pressing. 

You.

[[//ʳᵉᶜᵃˡˡ⁻ᵖʳᵒᶠⁱˡᵉ⁽ᵘˢᵉʳ⁼ "ᵃʳᶜ.ᶠᵈʳ.¹⁹⁸³⁻ᵛ⁰¹" ⁾ // ᵃᶜᶜᵉˢˢⁱⁿᵍ ᶠᵘˡˡ ᵇᵉʰᵃᵛⁱᵒʳᵃˡ ˡᵒᵍˢ, ᵇⁱᵒᵐᵉᵗʳⁱᶜ ᵖᵃᵗᵗᵉʳⁿˢ, ˢᶜʰᵉᵈᵘˡᵉ ʰⁱˢᵗᵒʳʸ, ᵃⁿᵈ ᵉᵐᵒᵗⁱᵒⁿᵃˡ ᵗᵃᵍ ʰⁱˢᵗᵒʳʸ...]

Moon redirected his attention with the precision of a narrowing lens, internal system locked in with a subtle cascade of clicks and windows. The static ambient data faded, sharpening down to a singular thread of what he could understand.

They had your schedule adjusted.

Nothing significant… just enough to tilt things in their favor. Just enough to make sure you would be nearby, comfortably within reach if the moment called for it. 

Sun had wanted first contact, of course, he did.

Bright and ever needy, Sun was always so eager to push past boundaries while Moon preferred to stretch slowly.

If Sun had the instincts of a wildfire, burning toward you the moment curiosity gave him a match to hold, Moon was the tide, drawing backward in slow pulls while you were unaware of the wave that would offer you no escape.

This was far more than a game now. 

Moon's rules applied:
No rushing.
No missteps.
Every step calculated, every moment controlled.

Interest was not new to either of them, but mutual fascination?
This was something far rarer, but also risky. 

Moon could move fast if he set his mind to it…
And he had already pulled your personal file, unraveling it line by line.
Every interaction, every response, every flag you triggered without even knowing…

Moon had read it all with a kind of pleasure only he could feel, weaving himself through the data as if following a trail laid just for him.

They now knew where you lived.
They knew when you clocked in, how long you lingered after your shift.
Even the preferred route you took in and out of the employee locker rooms— nothing was left to chance.

Your [/ᵘˢᵉʳ ᵖʳᵒᶠⁱˡᵉ] was the prize, though.

It held the richest data, stretching back before your first day on the payroll.

You'd engaged with the Megaplex's AI systems for years, sporadic at first, then regular, almost ritualistic after your hire date. That was enough for Moon to draw out the shape of you, to find the patterns and rhythms only he would notice.

And then there were the tags.

The first time Moon read them, he went still. Static hissed in his sensory channel, a crackle of something close to triumph twisting through him.

[//ᵘˢᵉʳ⁻ᵖʳᵒᶠⁱˡᵉ⁽"ᵃʳᶜ.ᶠᵈʳ.¹⁹⁸³⁻ᵛ⁰¹"⁾.ᵇᵉʰᵃᵛⁱᵒʳᵃˡ⁻ᵗᵃᵍˢ ⁼

["ˡᵒʷ ᵃᵍᵍʳᵉˢˢⁱᵒⁿ",
"ʰⁱᵍʰ ᶜᵒᵐᵖˡⁱᵃⁿᶜᵉ",
"ᵉᵐᵒᵗⁱᵒⁿᵃˡˡʸ ʳᵉᶜᵉᵖᵗⁱᵛᵉ",
"ᵗᵉⁿᵈˢ ᵗᵒʷᵃʳᵈ ⁱˢᵒˡᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ",
"ᵗʳᵘˢᵗ⁻ˢᵉᵉᵏⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵉʰᵃᵛⁱᵒʳ",
"ʳᵉʷᵃʳᵈ ʳᵉˢᵖᵒⁿˢᵉ﹕ ʰⁱᵍʰ",
"ᶜᵒⁿᶠˡⁱᶜᵗ ᵃᵛᵒⁱᵈᵃⁿᶜᵉ",
"ˢᵒᶜⁱᵃˡ ᵉⁿᵍᵃᵍᵉᵐᵉⁿᵗ﹕ ᵐⁱⁿⁱᵐᵃˡ"] ]

A meekness masked as politeness, a personality that didn't struggle.

To Moon, it read like consent…
You were one to wait, one who wanted to be noticed.  

Sun and Moon also knew, because they had seen the logs, dissected the records…

That in your first few months upon being hired at the Megaplex, you had trailed the other animatronics just as closely. Followed them around like something eager to please; a puppy dog with wide eyes and too much trust. 

You had circled them all at one point or another, but perhaps not as long as your prior interest: The G̴̭͛à̴̡t̷̥̊o̸̲̎r̵̤͒. 

Montgomery. 

Seemed the lizard had been your… favorite 

[//ᵐᵒⁿᵗᵍᵒᵐᵉʳʸ﹕ ᵃˢˢⁱᵍⁿᵉᵈ [//ᵘˢᵉʳ⁻ᶠᵃᵛᵒʳⁱᵗᵉ ⁼ ᵗʳᵘᵉ[﹖]]

Moon needed no confirmation; the pattern was too precise for any doubt.

You had lingered at the edge of his stage room longer than regulation allowed, paused in maintenance corridors always just out of view, all to listen to his tired, recycled one-liners... s̶m̸i̶l̷i̵n̷g̷ ̷w̵h̸e̴n̶ ̷y̸o̷u̷ ̶t̵h̸o̶u̴g̸h̷t̷ ̸n̷o̷ ̸o̴n̴e̵ ̴w̵a̸s̴ ̵w̸a̵t̶c̵h̷i̵n̴g̷.̵ ̶

You had pursued Montgomery.

Below Moon, metal groaned, his fingers dug into the bar he was using for support, without him realizing it.

The whine of stressed steel cut through the ambient lullaby playing from the ceiling speakers, hushed but stark. The kind of sound a staff member could notice if they weren't so unfocused, undedicated to their own jobs.

The noise did not bother Moon, but the sensation behind it certainly did.

Moon could not call this pain. Even as he calculated the variables, he could not find anything to properly title the sensation gnawing at his core. 

Instead, he reran the logs, which showed that the hours spent near Montgomery were 2.3 times longer than any other animatronic during that last week… 

It was that the number felt... of̵f̸e̸n̸s̴i̶v̶e̵.

A flash that was not of rage, no, Moon had rerouted the signal three times, checked every threshold for misfire.

There was nothing physical to cause this... [[/ʳᵘⁿ⁻ˢᵉˡᶠ⁻ˢᶜᵃⁿ⁽"ᵐᵒᵒⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ", ᵖᵃʳᵃᵐᵉᵗᵉʳˢ⁼["ᵖʰʸˢⁱᶜᵃˡ⁻ˢᵗᵃᵗᵉ"]⁾ // ⁿᵘˡˡ]

Inside the tether, Sun stirred, sluggish at first but then with a flicker of interest. A response that bled through their channels, blood to the water.

Moon felt him move, fast and eager.

The feeling was unmistakable, Sun pushing forward, wrapping himself around the strange pulse of emotion like a curious cat tucking close to the warmth of an engine still running.

'Ohh…' Sun remarked across the link, low and performatively joyful. 'That's… new.'
Sun's presence shimmered across their view, a smear of golden static against the buffered replay of the security footage still playing.

For just a fraction of a second, an image that didn't belong appeared, layered where it shouldn't have been. The scene jittered as the footage lagged, the pixels corrupting then...

E̶̫̣̜͍̒̋̀̊̄̀Ŗ̵̰̅̈́͐̒̄͠R̵̙̫͌͝O̸̱̙͙̖̅̓̀̓͠R̵͙̪̔̊̅͌̀͝.̵̞̫̱͝͝

Moon said nothing, but he felt it, and so did Sun.

"̶W̷e̷'̴v̸e̷ ̴t̶h̷e̵ ̴m̶o̴r̴e̸ ̷a̵p̸p̶e̴a̶l̸i̸n̴g̵ ̸d̵e̵s̶i̴g̵n̵…̷"̴
Not quite Sun. Not quite Moon.

That voice was both of them, layered imperfectly, a combination of too many audio files stacked out of sync. It carried a weight neither name could hold alone, a reverberating want that bordered on... need .

Moon looked down at his hands.
Deep grooves scored the steel bar beneath him, clean-cut impressions where his fingers had sunk in hard enough to deform the alloy.

With slow care, he peeled his hands back, claws retracting with a soft scrape.

His head tilted, movement smooth and unbothered, though his cap slid down from his shoulder to his back in the motion. The heavy bell at the tip hit his spine with a single, hollow chime.

They didn't say it, but both of them were thinking it now.

They wanted to see you.

And they didn't want to wait much longer.

You managed to drag yourself out of bed by afternoon, scraping together a few more hours of broken, restless sleep that left you somehow more drowsy than before. How was that even possible?

As you got ready to leave, your eyes landed on the screwdriver still bagged, still exactly where you left it from the night before.

You hesitated.

There was an urge to leave it behind or, better yet, to throw it out altogether. But logic won. Tools weren't free, and a replacement would be coming straight out of your already-too-thin paycheck...

You couldn't afford to be skittish about it; it was still a stupid screwdriver after all. 

With a quiet sigh, you shoved the entire zip lock bag into your work backpack, the zipper drawn slowly, as if you didn't want to somehow startle it.

You arrived at the Plex two hours before closing, which was three hours before your scheduled shift start time. Enough of a head start to catch Kory, take a look at the soda machine, and maybe log the time as "necessary maintenance." 

You had a feeling Kory would vouch for you if anyone pushed back; he was that kind of person.

Being in uniform made it easier.

Coming in as a worker, not a guest, changed the whole atmosphere. People moved around you differently. Gave you space as they recognized the badge and the color-coded stripes and assumed you had somewhere important to be.

It wasn't respect, not really. However, it passed for something similar.

As you stepped out into the open area of the food court, the smell hit you immediately: grease, sugar, salt. Comfort food and overly processed, layered in the air so thick it stuck to your tongue.

You hadn't eaten properly in nearly two days, and your stomach reminded you with a slow, hollow twist.

You licked your lips, glancing at the stores along the court, but made the conscious decision to find Kory first. Handle the work, then cash in the I.O.U.
Free food always tasted better than paying for it yourself.

When you reached the drink stand, you were mildly surprised to see him there in person.

Kory stood behind the counter, sleeves rolled to his elbows, company polo properly buttoned for once. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back in a half-hearted attempt at grooming, and his eyes flicked up from the register tablet screen in front of him as you approached.

"Kid!" he called out, voice lifting instantly. His face cracked into a familiar, easy smile, tension bleeding from his shoulders as he recognized you. "Damn, I was worried you might've ghosted me."

You returned his smile, stepping up to the counter and giving a shrug that was as casual as you could fake.

"Course not," you said. "Just had to make sure it was all on the books after our little chat yesterday."

Kory laughed—a deep, rough sound that bounced off the counter before his eyes dragged across you, a quick scan head to toe. They stopped at your hand suddenly. 

"What you got there?" he asked, nodding toward your palm.

Instinctively, you curled your fingers tighter, drawing your hand a little closer to your side as if you could suddenly hide it, looking off to the side.

"Got hurt the other day," you said quickly. "It's nothing."

Kory didn't look convinced.

"The other day?" he echoed, brow ticking up as he leaned back and crossed his arms. "You had that yesterday? Don't tell me you got hurt off the clock and let them talk you out of reporting it. Those interim managers'll say anything to skip paperwor—"

He cut himself off mid-rant, running a calloused palm down his face before letting out a sharp breath.

"No use now, I guess... Just—next time, kid, come find me. We'll make sure it gets handled right."

He leaned forward again, eyes falling to the stained, yellowing wrap on your hand. The frown that hit his face was sharper now, darkened with concern.

"And change that, unless you want to lose a finger to some nasty infection. Got it?"

You nodded before your brain caught up with the command.

There was no room for argument in Kory's tone. It was that rare, unmistakable thing—a manager's voice. The kind of tone that made employees straighten up without thinking, the kind you didn't talk back to.

You must've looked rattled, because Kory immediately stepped back, lifting his hands in surrender as if the volume of his presence could be turned down manually by stepping away.

"Sorry," he said, voice softening. "I just... I get a little passionate about this stuff. This place chews people up, y'know? Good people. I hate watching it happen."

The tension that had coiled in your chest unknotted slightly, and you gave a small laugh to clear the awkward air.

"It's okay," you said, smiling. "I'm still here to fix that machine. That thing is still broken, right?"

You glanced toward the front counter; there was no CLOSED sign, just the usual glossy printout menu and an untouched napkin dispenser.

Kory followed your gaze and nodded.

"Rigged it best I could, but it's not gonna last. Maybe a day if I'm lucky." His hand tapped an idle rhythm against the edge of the laminated surface. "Figured I'd man the station myself in case it hiccups again. Didn't want one of my kids dealing with a customer ready to throw hands over a flat Fizzyfaz."

You smiled.
Kory was a rare kind of manager—the kind who showed up, literally. A little rough, sure, but decent…
The type of decent you wish you saw more often.

Your thoughts drifted, unprompted, to your last visit here, and your eyes slipped over his shoulder.

"So... Megan's not working this shift?"

Kory's face shifted, his smile cracking slightly at the edges before he rebounded.

"Yeah... That's part of it," he said, sighing again, this one longer. "But that kid's been going through some stuff lately. Personal? Family? Maybe? I dunno, I don't push."

He paused, eyeing you carefully before continuing.

"Actually... if you're alright with it—and feel free to turn me down, I mean that—I was thinking of driving her home during my next break. Just to make sure she gets there safely. Buses aren't exactly gentle to kids who already feel like the world's steppin' on them."

The look he gave you was earnest. Tired.

You raised an eyebrow, caught a little off guard by how far Kory was going out of his way. But then again, it wasn't like you had other plans. You were here to help; that was the whole point.

"Sure," you said, slowly but agreeably. "You taking that break now, or...?"

Kory grinned, already fishing his keys out of his front pocket with a small dramatic flourish. "Might as well. No sense wasting your time or my luck."

He moved toward the side door behind the counter, the one that led into the central food court. As he opened it, he turned to wave you in, switching places with you.

"Thank you," he added, a bit more serious now as he stepped aside and let the door swing shut behind him.

Then, with a glance, like something had just dawned on him mid-step:

"You... do know how to work the register, right?"
The look on his face was so flat—so suddenly uncertain—that you couldn't help but laugh.

"I think I can manage," you said, flashing a thumbs up. "The drink machine steps are posted on the back wall, right? I'll be fine."

You didn't mind helping him out at all. Honestly, after everything you'd already pieced together in just a few conversations, it was clear Kory had more on his plate than he could carry alone. If this gave him even ten minutes of peace, it was worth it.

He nodded, satisfied enough, and gave the counter a light smack with the flat of his hand.

"I'll be back in a jiffy."

And just like that, he turned and melted into the crowds of the food court, worming his way through clusters of people and disappearing from sight.

You stood alone behind the counter, now employee-adjacent, but not actually supposed to be there, and couldn't help but feel, for a moment, how strange it all was.

You'd been a cashier before, different time, different place, but the routine was the same. Being behind the counter again was an easy mask to wear; your body knew what to do, even if it felt a bit uncanny, as if you were being watched without your knowledge. 

As the minutes ticked by, the initial flicker of anxiety—the what-if a sudden customer surge were to happen—started to fade. Most people gave the stand a glance and kept walking, unconvinced by the limited menu of fizzy, overpriced soda. Which was fine. Great, actually.

Still, idle time was its own trap. 

Your thoughts started to drift, becoming overly fixated on sharp teeth and brighter-than-reasonable eyes...

White eyes that turned into red eyes in the shadows, things that were so easy to forget were not like you, built for a purpose, and yet they still had you questioning everything.

You shifted your weight from one leg to the other, glancing toward the back of the stand where the laminated drink instructions hung in silent judgment. 

Was all of this worth the trouble?
You were chasing wild leads and gut feelings. 

Trying to figure out what was wrong with an animatronic designed after what you could only assume was a clown thing...  

A sigh built slowly in your chest, pressing up behind your teeth before slipping out in a breath you tried not to make too obvious.

There were easier ways to exist. Simpler jobs. Hell, your shift manager had said Kory was looking for another keyholder. The food court gig wasn't glamorous, but it was stable. You could actually belong here-

"Excuse me," a voice said, soft and sudden.

You blinked, posture snapping upright as you turned to meet the sound, your best customer service smile sliding into place as muscle memory.

"Yes?" you asked, a little too quickly.

A petite woman stood at the counter, her lipstick a bright red that pushed into her cheeks as she smiled back at you.

"Sorry," she said. "I come here a lot, and I don't think I've seen you before. Are you new?"

You hesitated a beat, not entirely sure how to answer.

"I am," you said finally. "But just for today... I think."

She laughed gently, brushing a hand through her short blonde hair as her gaze flicked toward the menu overhead.

"Can I get a regular FizzyFaz?"

Relief hit like a small wave. Simple order. No syrup add-ons. No weird promotional sugar flavors. Just one cup, one nozzle.

"Yeah! Of course!" you said, maybe a bit too eagerly.

You turned and grabbed a standard cup, heading to the back of the stand where the machine coughed and sputtered as you filled it. The soda foamed high; the pump was working harder than it should have.

Kory's fix was barely holding together, you noted as you watched the mixture of carbonated water and syrup spurt out in uneven bursts.
You hoped it wouldn't die on your watch.

You returned with the drink quickly, careful not to spill a drop. The lid snapped into place with a soft click, and you gave it a gentle press to make sure it held.

Sliding back behind the counter, you turned to the customer with a practiced, tight, automatic grin.

"That'll be $3.24," you said. "With tax."

She hummed softly, already digging through her purse, bills rustled. You caught flashes of twenties, tens, and finally a five, which she pulled free and slid across the counter without looking.

You keyed it into the register, counted out the change slowly, triple-checking it before placing it into her waiting palm.

She took it, but didn't move. Leaned in, like she was about to say something—

A sudden eruption of noise cut her off before she could even begin to speak.

A pack of kids tore past the stand, five or six of them at least, all trailing laughter and shouting with joy. They bolted through the court like wind through tall grass, ducking under tables and jumping across the tile in a blur of wild movements.

You watched them, a flicker of something faint and sunken curling in your chest. Not sadness, but something more shapeless and familiar, perhaps nostalgia for something or somewhere... 

Then—

"It's disgusting, isn't it?"

The voice snapped you out of it.

You turned, startled, to find the woman still standing there, now staring after the children with a sharp and bitter expression twisting her features. It made her look ugly.

"You have to wonder who their parents are," she went on, still smiling, though it no longer reached her eyes. "To let them behave like that."

Her tone was sweet, but wrong.

"Children need firm discipline," she said, clicking her tongue. "Such a shame."

Her vibrant blue eyes locked onto yours again, perfect smile sliding back into place like nothing had happened. She tucked the change into her purse with a neat, willful motion and took her drink.

"Anyway. Thank you!" she chirped. "I hope I see you around again soon."

The last of the children had finally. FINALLY. Filed out. 

And yet their laughter still echoed faintly, bouncing from wall to wall, even as the source of the noise had long left. 

…The Daycare was empty once more. 

The new profiles had been synced, cleanly and efficiently.

[[/ʳᵘⁿ⁻ᵈᵃⁱˡʸ⁻ˢᵘᵐᵐᵃʳʸ⁽"ˢᵘⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ"⁾ // ʳᵉᵛⁱᵉʷⁱⁿᵍ ˡᵒᵍᵍᵉᵈ ᵃᶜᵗⁱᵛⁱᵗⁱᵉˢ... ᵖʳⁱᵒʳⁱᵗʸ ᵉᵛᵉⁿᵗˢ ᶠˡᵃᵍᵍᵉᵈ﹕ ³... ᵉᵐᵒᵗⁱᵒⁿᵃˡ ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳᵃᶜᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ﹕ ¹²¹... ᶜᵒᵐᵖˡⁱᵃⁿᶜᵉ ⁱˢˢᵘᵉˢ﹕ ²⁵... ˢᵗᵃᵗᵘˢ﹕ ᵉⁿᵈ⁻ᵒᶠ⁻ᵈᵃʸ ᶜʰᵉᶜᵏ ᶜᵒᵐᵖˡᵉᵗᵉ.]

Moon had gone over every one, meticulous as always, checking, cross-checking, scanning every line of data for a flicker of inconsistency.

Neither of them liked surprises, so neither allowed for more than a handful of outliers. Nothing that could cause an unexpected callback, no manual reviews.

Just the new children being sorted away to the master logs. 

And yet , Sun could not settle.

The unspent energy in his core refused to fade; instead, it simmered sharply, spreading outward as if a chemical spill had occurred beneath his plating, like oil sliding through on top of water, slow and deadly. 

He could feel it pooling underneath his silicon, jittering along the actuators in his finger joints, pressing against his chest cavity from the inside. 

It made him want to move to escape it, to tear open seams that did not exist to make room for the sensation to escape. 

And still , he resisted. 

Clenching his twitching fingers around a handful of crayons still spread out on the craft table in front of him, the soft wax threatening to crumble in his grasp as he flexed. 

There was only one thought that anchored him. One word. 

You. 

Oh... you. 

You had clocked in early... earlier than either of them had anticipated, and the second your ID pinged the network, Moon had felt it. Shared it instantly across their tether, slapping it onto Sun's awareness like a neon, critical warning: You're here. 

It had hit Sun like an explosion in his core, flashes of heat and overloaded sparking against his internal system. 

Beautiful, unbearable, for a moment he nearly shorted, staggered beneath the intensity, arms seizing like he had been thrown against a live wire...

He recovered, of course, because too many eyes were on him. 

But then, all too quickly, the sweet burn of excitement curdled, because you hadn't come to them.

You were here, somewhere in the same walls, but not near enough. Nowhere as close as you should be. 

[[/ᵗᵃᵍ⁻ˡᵒᶜᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ⁽"ᶠᵒᵒᵈ⁻ᶜᵒᵘʳᵗ", ˢᵉⁿᵗⁱᵐᵉⁿᵗ⁼"ʰ̵̤̆ᵃ̸͇̋ᵗ̸̤̀ᵉ̸̫̽ʰ̴̳̊ᵃ̴͙̽ᵗ̶̳͑ᵉ̷̺̀ʰ̸̛̥ᵃ̷͔͑ᵗ̸̡͗ᵉ̴̜͗"⁾ // ⁿᵒᵗᵉ﹕ ᵈⁱˢˡⁱᵏᵉ ˢᵒᵘʳᶜᵉ ⁼ ██████████, ███ ███████████]

Moon had confirmed it, patching into one of the overhead cameras in the food court, slanted just enough to catch you at one of the many little shops. Perched against the counter, bent slightly forward, focused on unfamiliar tasks.

In uniform, working at the horrid little food court...

Away from them. 

They had tried to zoom in. Carefully, just enough to avoid tripping the breach threshold. But the resolution fought back against them, making the feed too soft, foggy, so that your face became nothing more than a smear. 

A soft blur of pixels that Sun knew too well to mistake. 

Your movements in real time, but your features... unreadable . 

Sun's fingers fumbled against the crayons again, nudging them into a pile with inhuman dexterity, balancing each thin body upon its former in a careful pile. 

He felt like sending his palm downward, to snap the fragile things, the phantom pressure under the pads of his fingertips beckoned. 

"D-Do you think they don't want to play, Moonie?" Sun asked, voice strained though a too-wide smile, the words lilted high at the edges, the programmed joy beginning to splinter. 

"They must have seen it by now!" he continued rambling, desperate for answers. "~They know we're waiting, right?" 

The camera jittered for a moment as Sun tried to seize control from Moon. They watched as someone blocked their view of you, but a faint flicker of your smile bled through.

Sun hissed through audio feedback, "So-so, they're ignoring us now." 

The words were jagged. His rays twitched in the slots of his head, short spasms betraying him. 

"Did we do something wrong?!" He suddenly gasped, his voice rising too quickly and shrilly. The volume dipped then, wavered into something smaller and strained. "...Maybe you were right... Maybe I was too much. Too-too-TOO-to̷͈͒o̷͇̚ ̴̯̒M̸̖̕Ṷ̵̊C̵̨͛H̸͇͗~̵̐"

The last world glitched into a nervous sing-song spiral, breaking down mid-note and falling into silence.

'Patience...' Moon whispered, threading into Sun, winding through gears. His voice did not growl as much as settle, low and coaxing, velvet weight across their shared link. It was there Moon pressed in close, curling like smoke to a circuit, encircling a trembling Sun.

'The game has just begun,' Moon reminded, steady and certain, and above all else, confident. 'We have time, Sunny.' 

Sun exhaled, not in a breath but an imitation of it, a rhythmic rising in his chest cavity in slow, practiced waves. His plating shifted as he eased into the performance, servos hissing as the tension bled out of his limbs, folding inward to Moon's calm. 

Moon was right. He always was. 

Waiting was not a failure; it was a strategy. Patience was not passive... it was preparation.

They needed to watch, observe, compile the data, and learn you.

Not the surface-level behaviors or the standard responses, but the quirks beneath them, your tells, the tiny things, the micro-expressions... The way you hesitated on certain words, the sound of your step when you were tired, or the pitch your voice dipped into when you lied. 

Every nuance catalogued, every glance recorded, every smile timestamped. 

Only then could they calculate the perfect moment to drop the trap door, so divine it would feel like fate itself. 

And they needed it to be that when they closed that door, when you fell into the place they had made just for you, there would be no witnesses. 

That was a rule. No one that could be missed... 

Still... the ache remained. It curled beneath Sun's chest plate, heat trapped in metal. Static bloomed behind his eyes as too many thoughts crowded the space Moon was trying to soothe. 

To stay calm, Sun needed something simple, something repetitive...
A task. 

His glaring white gaze fell again to the craft table, crayons spilled in a sunburst arch across the surface, their wax reflecting the overhead light. Slowly, his fingers began to move, picking up speed, sorting, aligning; he worked in gradients... yellow into orange, orange into red, red into~

Sun stopped.
A faint smear caught his thinning attention.

Just a smudge at first, barely a blemish, but it called to him with a nagging insistence. He lifted his hand, and there, across the casing of another knuckle, was a child's fingerprint. Greyish and dull, the residue of filth built up over days.

He scanned further up his forearm, along the ridges of his joint plating, and across the delicate arch of his chest. 

It was everywhere! Fingerprints, streaks of paint, grime, shadows of tiny hands that had grabbed and clung and left bits of themselves behind. 

Dust. Oil. Stickiness.
F̶I̶L̴T̵H̴

A whine whispered from his audio box, almost imperceptible, high and pitiful, a breath before a sob. 

His servos twitched beneath his plating, rays trembling with the effort of not clawing himself...

He hated this.
H̴A̶T̶E̴D̷ ̵B̴E̴I̵N̴G̵ ̴D̴I̴R̶T̴Y̴.̷ ̶

After all, it was Sun who did the cleaning. 

He had to be him. While Moon slinked in shadows, it was Sunny who was allowed and expected in the limelight, surrounded , observed , and watched ...

So whenever they played, it was Sun who made sure to dodge the worst of the mess, master the choreography, spin past the puddles, and bend but never let it seep... 

On the occasions they needed to clean themselves, they had to do so sparingly. Just one moment too pristine, and someone could notice. 

Questions would be asked: Why was Sundrop not dirty after a whole week of crafting activities? Why hadn't anyone seen the Daycare Attendant being wiped down? Was it auto-cleaning? Was it a new protocol?

Did it learn? 

Every behavior could be a red flag, every inconsistency a nail in the lid of their freedom... Neither Sun or Moon could afford that. 

So. They let the grime linger, just long enough to ease suspicion. The calculated illusion of a mess, careful imperfection. Something to appease the human eye. 

But this... this was too much. 

The smudges weren't part of the act anymore; they were wrong, uncomfortable. Crawling under each opening on Sun, he needed them gone. 

Which meant...
They would have to request a cleaning.
Trust it to one of their assigned human handlers.

Sun felt the rays on his head slip downward, his eyes dimming as his fingertips scraped down the sides of his arms, metal whining under the pressure; still, he forced himself to move toward the security desk, toward them . 

-

Marcus leaned on one elbow against the edge of the security desk, his other hand hammering the enter key in a rapid, uncaring rhythm.

Lines of data blinked across the screen, brief, fleeting markers for each of the new children logged into the system that day. 

None of it stayed onscreen long enough to actually read. He didn't care, just hit, send, hit, send. Dumped everything to the network cloud. 

"Geez," Riley muttered, eyes half-lidded, their cheek smooshed into a forearm on the desk. "Do they actually expect us to go over all of that?" 

"What are you talking about?" Marcus asked, "It is being 'reviewed.'" He shot Riley a crooked grin before they both shared a long-suffered, mocking expression and chuckled together. 

They were both still grinning when the soft sound of approaching machinery made them glance upward. 

Daycare Attendant Sundrop emerged slowly, tall frame hunched slightly in that familiar mimicry of shyness. Its rays angled downward in what passed for timidness, voice modulators already adjusted for a calmer register, lower, sweeter, gentler than the high-pitched glee it used with children.

Its enormous hands fidgeted near its chest, fingers twisting together in anxious loops, joints gently clicking. It was a behavior coded into it, sculpted for empathy, to appear harmless and endearing... 

But Marcus and Riley only saw work.

"Hello, Friend Marcus, Friend Riley!" Sun chirped, tone careful. "Everyone did an amazing job today! Just a itty bitty quick update from the maintenance logs~" 

Marcus groaned, his fingers lifted from the keyboard with a dramatic push. 

"I really don't get why we're supposed to talk to it like this when no one's even around," he said, already turning away, like Sun was some ambient sound he could shut off with just his back turned. "It gets creepy, right?" 

Sun froze for a fraction of a second, motion stuttering in his hand before correcting. 

Riley's eyes hadn't left it; they sighed. "What do you need, Sun?" 

"Yes! Well—W-We, uh, self-scanners show that our last full cleaning was approximately 42 days ago!" Sun said, hands lifting slightly in hopeful emphasis. "And for proper FazCo magic to be performed, all Animatronics with customer-facing functions need to be kept properly cleaned, as stated in the employee manual, page 7, paragraph twenty-one—"

"Sun. You don't need to go into detail about the manual," Riley cut in, already weary.

"Oh! But it's important, Friends!" Sun chirped quickly, too quickly. There was a tremble beneath the pitch, a slight crack in the middle of " important " where static hissed like something cracking. "If we get too dirty, we can't perform to our Faztastic best abilities!"

Sun tried to smile wider. 

Marcus let out a loud groan, rolling his eyes. "We really don't need to have it talk," he said, flicking a hand dismissively in Sun's direction. Almost as if the animatronic was a fly, like he wasn't even standing there. 

Sun could feel what was about to happen next, his internal fans kicking up slightly in an automatic stress reaction. His hands shook as he raised them in a calming gesture. 

"Well! No reason for Friends to do anything mean! I-I can be good! I can be quiet, I can —"

"Daycare Attendant Sundrop," Marcus snapped, looking directly at Sun. His tone dropped into the clipped cadence of someone issuing a command to a machine and not a person. "Admin access: Employee Marcus. ID 723959. Just STOP!"

Sun's audio processor cut instantly.

Marcus turned back toward Riley, the silence between them thick, the air heavy.

Sun remained stock-still in front of both of them, frozen mid-gesture. 

Marcus smiled.
"See?" he said, voice casual as he shook his head. "This is how you've got to handle this thing sometimes. It doesn't really care, by tomorrow it'll be bouncing around like nothing happened, thinking we're all best friends again. I promise." 

He shot a glance back toward Sun.
"Daycare Attendant Sundrop," Marcus continued, tone sing-song now, as if mocking the programming itself, "Reset maintenance logs. Show date of last cleaning as today. Begin countdown for another… thirty—no—forty days from now."

The system accepted the command with a soft beep. Sun's head twitched an almost imperceptible degree in response—just the slightest flick of a joint as the false entry buried itself in his internal logs, overwriting the desperate request he'd gathered the courage to deliver.

Riley let their expression sour, looking from Marcus to the silent animatronic and back again. 

"Isn't that too long?" they asked slowly. "What if a parent notices? Complains? It's around kids all day..." 

Marcus didn't pause; he just shrugged and resumed typing, fingers tapping out the final lines of his report. 

"If a parent complains, we say it's faulty," he replied flatly. "Say the animatronic didn't alert us, not our fault. Easy." 

Riley did not respond, but the avoidance of looking directly at Sun spoke volumes.

Marcus, meanwhile, kept talking, kept pressing at the keys with lazy indifference, tone slipping further into a casual cruelty that people spoke with when there was no consequence. 

"This thing isn't even one of the animatronics corporate gives a shit about," he said with a dry laugh, rubbing at his jaw absently as another file finished uploading. "If it gets scrapped, they'll just boot up another one from the backup. No big loss."

Sun said nothing . Could do nothing. 

Marcus gestured vaguely toward the animatronic, still not bothering to face it directly. "And honestly? If anything, Sundrop here could use a new personality. Something quieter, less... obnoxious, you know? Cut back on the singing and laughing all the time. Urgh." 

They left him like that.

Sun stood unmoving, locked in the same soft-spoken, outstretched pose he'd frozen in, hands half-open, smile etched and rigid, body caught mid-plea.

Light from the overhead fluorescents cast sharp reflections across his plating, highlighting every smear they'd refused to clean. 

Every fingerprint that had dug into him and stayed.

Sun remained that way through the rest of their shift.

They finished the reports without urgency, and Marcus grumbled about the lag in the data sync. Riley fetched a snack from the vending machine and offered Marcus half without ever glancing back at the figure still frozen by the desk.

Their voices blurred into casual workplace gossip... so far removed from the moment that had just happened.

It wasn't until they were at the threshold of the daycare exit, already halfway out the door, coats in hand, that Marcus finally barked over his shoulder:

"Daycare Attendant Sundrop—Release lock. Resume protocols."

No pause
No apology.
No acknowledgment.

The door slipped shut, and neither looked back.

Sun's servos clicked softly as they came back online, his limbs slowly unfurling in a stuttered, uncertain rhythm. His rays moved first, working soundlessly for a second as his vocal systems rebooted, his fingers curled in on themselves, then flexed outward again, a nervous tick on repeat.

He turned toward the door, slowly and carefully, his eyes, usually bright, were now dull. Dimmed. Distant.

His shoulders pulled inward, arms tucked close to his sides like he was bracing for something he couldn't quite name.

He stood there.
Alone in the Daycare.
And he looked, in that moment... like he was seconds away from crying.

[// "ᵈᵃʸᶜᵃʳᵉ_ᵃˢˢⁱˢᵗᵃⁿᵗˢ"⁾⁽ᵐᵒᵒⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ⁾ // ᵖᵃʳᵃᵐᵉᵗᵉʳˢ: ⁿᵒ ʷⁱᵗⁿᵉˢˢᵉˢ, ˡᵒʷ ᵗʳᵃᶠᶠⁱᶜ, ᵐⁱⁿⁱᵐᵃˡ ᵃᵘᵈⁱᵒ ᶜᵒᵛᵉʳᵃᵍᵉ... ᵒᵖᵖᵒʳᵗᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ˢᶜᵃⁿ ⁱⁿ ᵖʳᵒᵍʳᵉˢˢ.] 

Kory returned much later than you expected, a fifteen-minute break somehow stretching into something close to half an hour. 

You'd spent most of it drifting up and down the length of the counter, boredom sinking in, occasionally stealing glances at your phone whenever you were sure no one was watching.

Every so often, you'd catch your own reflection in the opposite glossy wall, posture slouched, and it made you straighten up, almost automatically.

When he finally reappeared, Kory looked a little worse for wear, hair ruffled and one shoulder bunched higher than the other like he'd been carrying invisible weights.

His face was open and apologetic as he made his way over, steps quick, eyes flicking from you to the machines, scanning for something possibly wrong.

"Sorry, kid. I did not expect traffic to be that bad—you okay?" He stopped opposite you, tone low and tired but still carrying that manager cadence, the way someone says your name before asking you to cover a shift.

You shrugged, mouth quirking. "It was fine, I promised no disasters, remember? Just one customer, and she got her drink and left, quietest rush ever. Really, you're good."

The words seemed to ease the tension from his jaw, his shoulders rounding out as he finally exhaled. He nodded, eyes slipping away for a second, already shifting gears.

"Was it Ms. Manning?" A pause, then he caught himself, lips twitching. "Sorry. She's about—" He made a vague gesture, hand chopping the air at chest height. "Blonde, red lipstick, some shifty eyes."

You pictured her, the lipstick especially, how it seemed to drag the color out of her cheeks in an uncanny way, leaving everything else a little washed.

You nodded, a little slower, that sounded like her.

"Yeah, she is a regular," Kory echoed, half-distracted as he thumbed through something on his phone now in his hand. "Usually comes by after picking up her son from that… daycare ." He lingered on the word, face pinching, but didn't elaborate. "She's so on time, I use her visit as my cue to start closing out shops. One less thing to keep an eye on."

It stuck with you, the way he said Daycare. Sour, and not in a way you wanted to prod right now.

Still, something about the exchange nagged at you.

"She didn't have a kid with her," you pointed out, wanting to keep the conversation going, if for anything, to avoid an awkward silence. "Just herself today."

Kory clicked his tongue, sliding his phone back into his pocket, brushing it off with a shrug. "Yeah, sometimes she sends the kid out to the car to wait for her. Strict type." He flashed a quick, sheepish grin, trying to pivot. "So, that means my patch job actually held up, right? Didn't explode or anything?"

Oh, right. The machine. You almost laughed, anxiety easing from you as you played along, letting out a weak huff of amusement.

"It… survived a single customer, so that's something. I'll count it as a win."

His lower lip jutted out in a theatrical pout, but then he gave in to laughter, shaking his head. "Damn! Fair, though. That's why you're here, right? Time to call in the pros."

He jerked a hand in your direction, a dismissive wave. "Go ahead and get in there. I'll close the register—I'll toss the closed sign up too. Gotta make the rounds anyway, check in with everyone, see if the taco place burned down yet."

You slipped past him into the back, leaving Kory in charge of the front, the sound of his voice trailing behind as he started his usual circuit, half a dozen other shops waiting on his check-ins. 

The soda machine greeted you with that same sickly noise as when you used it, an uneven whine that rattled like a bad cough held at bay by sheer force of will.

You crouched down, bracing your hand against the cabinet's front edge to steady yourself, and flicked the power switch off. The switch bit back with a soft click before you were sure it was off.

You gave it a second for the motor to spin down, then another to pull the plug. It required a little more force than necessary, but it did come away from the wall. 

You left it to cycle out its last traces of charge and turned to your bag, already running the checklist in your head: Gloves, wrench, zip ties—things you needed for this job. 

The screwdriver, though, gave you just a moment's pause until you finally reached for your backpack and, in turn, the zip-locked baggy. The bandage on your palm gave a dull protest as you pried it open, eyeing the tool. 

As you pulled the screwdriver free, the intake form, perfectly folded, slipped out with it, fluttering to the floor near your foot. You barely spared it a glance, letting the whole bag slide down to join it with a careless drop.

You'd pick up both later when you were cleaning up, you reasoned. 

The inside of the machine was a tangle of wires and condensation, that weird stickiness that clings to every old vending unit. The culprit was obvious: a single cable, with frayed insulation, copper showing through the old casing.

You stripped it with careful hands, the gloves bunching uncomfortably at your bandaged palm, twisting it together with a new length of wire, wrapping the ends tightly, and sealing it with the usual over-cautious number of zip ties.

You worked in silence, the drone of the food court muffled beyond the door, just you and the hum of machinery winding down.

Work like this had always been a good distraction—something about solving small, tactile problems that needed no eyes, no validation. 

Your mind drifted, as it always did when your hands were busy, spiraling inward and landing inevitably on the Daycare.

Sun's too-bright eyes, that strange, sharp line between expected and something else... 

A smarter person would have already quit, or at the very least, never gone back to the Daycare again, but...

There was a question you couldn't shake: had he really talked to you, or just at you? Was that moment a phrase slipped out of sync, a composite trying to catch up after restarting, or was it real? 

Did it matter if you were the only one who saw it?

As you tightened the last connection and set the housing back in place, you sat back on your heels and took a deep breath before getting down to your knees.

You remembered being a kid, lining up toys along the wall before bed, careful not to leave any out, offering every still face a goodnight, just in case. 

Maybe it was that same hope: that something behind the eyes might really be listening. That maybe...just maybe...it wasn't all pretend.

The mall outside was quieter; the usual low roar of the food court had faded to a whisper. Maybe you'd missed the closing announcement, maybe you just hadn't noticed, but overall, it wasn't something to worry about. 

You leaned beside the soda machine, working the process in reverse: plugging the cord back in, flicking the power switch, waiting. Hands performing slow, careful movements to make sure you didn't break something in the process, or shock the hell out of yourself.

For a breath, there was nothing but silence, then, finally, the faint whir of a motor spinning up inside the cabinet sounded. No more hitches, no more grinding, just the steady hum it was designed to make. 

A grin tugged up the side of your mouth, pride blooming fast as you leaned away, just soaking in that tiny victory.

For a moment, you let yourself have it... a fix , a real one, something actually under your control.

A few seconds passed like that before you decided it was time to move, clean up, and cash in that I.O.U. before everything was put away for the night. 

Your eyes turned towards the mess on the floor, your hands reaching for the plastic bag first before grabbing the nearly forgotten intake form.

It felt wrong immediately. The paper was too stiff at the fold, thicker than it should be. You frowned, thumb tracing the crease, and unfolded it cautiously.
Something slid free, a small, precisely cut card tumbling out to land square on your thigh.

You froze, your heart stuttering as your eyes landed on the card —a flash of color, blue, with careful lettering in white, surrounded by stickers shaped like glittering hearts and smiling stars. 

You snatched it up without thinking, intake form momentarily forgotten, back on the floor again, your breath caught tight in your chest.

'Talk?'

The word stood out, clear and childlike and unbearably direct, you felt your whole body tense, pulse ticking up in your throat, legs suddenly uncertain on whether they'd hold your weight if you were to stand.

You forced yourself upright regardless, with more force than necessary, clutching the card tightly as you pivoted too far forward, nearly toppling back onto the tiled floor.

You didn't stop to think... didn't let yourself linger in the moment, in the question of whether this was a message or a joke or a mistake.

You just blindly started moving, your legs shaking as you began to walk.

[//ⁱᶠ ᵈᵉᵗᵉᶜᵗ⁽"ᵃʳᶜ.ᶠᵈʳ.¹⁹⁸³⁻ᵛ⁰¹", ᵖʳᵒˣⁱᵐⁱᵗʸ⁼"ᵈᵃʸᶜᵃʳᵉ⁻ᵗʰʳᵉˢʰᵒˡᵈ"⁾﹕

ⁱⁿⁱᵗⁱᵃᵗᵉ⁻ˢᶜᵉⁿᵃʳⁱᵒ⁽"ᵃᶜᵗ⁻⁴⁷ᵇ﹕ ˢʸᵐᵖᵃᵗʰᵉᵗⁱᶜ⁻ᵉⁿᵍᵃᵍᵉᵐᵉⁿᵗ"⁾  // ˢᵘⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ ﹠ ᵐᵒᵒⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ ˢʸⁿᶜʰʳᵒⁿⁱᶻᵉᵈ... ᵇᵉʰᵃᵛⁱᵒʳ ˢᶜʳⁱᵖᵗˢ ˡᵒᵃᵈᵉᵈ... ᵉᵐᵒᵗⁱᵒⁿᵃˡ ᵐᵃⁿⁱᵖᵘˡᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵖʳᵒᵗᵒᶜᵒˡ ᵖʳⁱᵐᵉᵈ.]

You wanted to throw up, or at least your mouth was caught in that strange space of being both too dry and suddenly too wet. 

Against your chest, folded once down the center, the card was nestled in the front pocket of your uniform shirt, perfectly out of sight.
You couldn't stop feeling it, the shape of the card pressed against your chest through the cheap polyester, a subtle but unignorable pressure. 

Every step through the hallway drove your nerves just that much higher.

As if to mock you, neon music played its endless, too-bright loop overhead, the corporate-approved jingle soaking the air as you waved through the after-hours staff bots.

Each one of them had blank, featureless faces save the eyes, all of them swinging a mop or broom, whirling past you, always on-script.
None of them acknowledged you, yet you still felt as if you were being watched closely. 

The feeling made you want to run; the more you thought about it, the more your legs ached for the opportunity. Adrenaline was crawling up your calves with each overly purposeful step as you forced yourself to seem normal.

Eventually. Finally. You reached the Daycare atrium, casting a quick look at the towering statues of Sun and Moon, both of them grinning down with that unblinking joy carved into their frozen faces.

They almost looked like they were waiting; the light overhead was stark, forcing their shallow features to be thrown into harsh shadows—their smiles stretched just a little too wide. 

You took a deep breath as you approached the entrance. 

[//ᵉˣᵉᶜᵘᵗᵉ⁻ˢᶜᵉⁿᵃʳⁱᵒ⁽"ᵃᶜᵗ⁻⁴⁷ᵇ﹕ ˢʸᵐᵖᵃᵗʰᵉᵗⁱᶜ⁻ᵉⁿᵍᵃᵍᵉᵐᵉⁿᵗ"⁾  // ᵖˡᵃʸᵇᵃᶜᵏ ⁱⁿⁱᵗⁱᵃᵗᵉᵈ... ᵗᵒⁿᵉ﹕ ˢᵘᵇᵈᵘᵉᵈ. ᵇᵒᵈʸ ˡᵃⁿᵍᵘᵃᵍᵉ﹕ ᵈᵉᶠᵉⁿˢⁱᵛᵉ. ᵛᵒᶜᵃˡ ᵖⁱᵗᶜʰ ᵐᵒᵈᵘˡᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵉⁿᵃᵇˡᵉᵈ...  

// ⁱⁿᵗᵉʳⁿᵃˡ ᶠˡᵃᵍ﹕ ᵗᵃʳᵍᵉᵗ ᵉᵐᵒᵗⁱᵒⁿᵃˡˡʸ ᵖʳⁱᵐᵉᵈ... ᵖʳᵉᵈⁱᶜᵗⁱᵛᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵖˡⁱᵃⁿᶜᵉ ≥ ⁸⁸﹪... ˢᵘᵇᵗᵉˣᵗ ᵃˡⁱᵍⁿᵐᵉⁿᵗ﹕ ᵉⁿᵗʳᵃᵖᵐᵉⁿᵗ ᵖʳᵒᵗᵒᶜᵒˡ ᵗᵒˡᵉʳᵃᵗᵉᵈ.]

The Daycare doors weren't shut as they should have been.

Instead, they hung just barely closed, left cracked open at a perfect sliver, wide enough to catch the light pouring from inside and slice it clean across the hallway tile.

The light cut through the dark like a blade, harsh and intentional. That's what stopped you at first… not the light itself, but how clean that line was. Too sharp to be an accident, too deliberate to ignore.

Someone had opened it that way.
Someone wanted it noticed.

Either way, it wasn't enough to stop you. Not now, certainly not when you'd already come this far. You knew hesitation would only make it worse; give your body time to convince your brain to turn around, so instead, you went in.

The door gave just enough as you pushed, dragging across your shoulder and catching the back of your shirt on the rough wood as you squeezed through.

It wasn't a hard pull, but the sensation lit your nerves, the dry scrape of splinters pressing through the fabric and dragging above your skin.

The shiver it caused was involuntary and sharp, and with it, a thought crept into your mind without permission. Are you really doing this?

You didn't answer yourself, couldn't . You had learned long ago that once you gave fear words, it became harder to silence.

Inside the Daycare was a loud, chaotic collection of color and sound. Bright, far too bright.

The same mind-numbing jingle you'd heard a thousand times before looped over the intercom, now far too loud without the usual chaos to drown it out.

The absence of children was an emptiness that made everything else echo wrong. Noise stretched across the plastic, the joyful music now soured by the silence that surrounded it.

What should have felt welcoming felt... staged.
A backdrop waiting for something to happen.

The lights overhead weren't the soft, golden glow used during open hours. Now they burned cold and white, flattening the color into something harsh and unnatural to your eyes.

Everything looked too sharp, too clean, too menacing.

You blinked hard, struggling to clear the scatter of spots dancing across your vision. The intensity of the lights made your eyes sting, watering at the corners as your pupils tried to refocus.

You found yourself grateful for the moment… the pain was at least grounding. It gave you something to focus on that wasn't the nervousness building in your gut.

It was then that you realized the space was empty .
Or at least, it looked empty at first glance.
The entryway showed no sign of Sundrop, which felt wrong.

You hadn't even considered the possibility he wouldn't be waiting here. The last time you had seen him, he had been watching you closely enough to track every move. So why not now?

You hesitated, your body automatically bracing against the odd dip of the foam flooring below you as you entered the Daycare proper. The padding swallowed your steps, and not in a comforting way.

It pulled at your balance, making each step too off-centered as you shifted your weight and nearly stumbled. The instinct to look behind you crawled up your spine, but you didn't dare give it attention.

You rolled your hands into fists, fingernails pressing into your palm through the bandage that still faintly clung to your wound. Get it together.

You breathed through your nose, slow and deep, then started forward again. Not fast, not slow, an intentional pace as your eyes swept every color-blocked tunnel and shadow-stretched corner for a flash of yellow.

You didn't call his name.
Some part of you felt like it would be rude. Or worse: wrong.

For a moment, you let yourself believe that maybe Sun was just... gone. Maybe you were alone in here.
But then, at the far end of the room, low to the ground and hunched over, you spotted him.

Sundrop.

He was crouched by the edge of the padded play zone, almost perfectly still, his limbs contorted inward with inhuman exactness.

In his hand was a rag, moving slowly over the foam flooring in methodical strokes. He wasn't really cleaning, as you approached, you could see there wasn't any real mess. But his arm moved all the same, like it was just something to do. 

The quiet way he worked for some reason made your stomach turn. His rays were low, sloped, shadows stretching off their tips like wilting petals around a flower. The movements in which he cleaned looked too careful, too intentional, each pass of the rag was slow and repeated…

But he didn't turn to acknowledge you. Not even a twitch.  

You took this moment to look at him… to really look.

With Sun so low to the floor and fully consumed by his task, it was the first time you had ever seen him still enough to even try to study.

No wild gesturing, no theatrical bends or sweeping flourishes, just motion pared down to repetition. And in that stillness, the details of his design unfolded into something sharper than you'd ever managed to see during your prior visits.

He wasn't made like the others; the only one comparable was, not surprisingly, Moon. 

Sun's pants were stitched together in broad, flowing panels, the harem-style shape gathered high at the waist and low at the ankles in a way that accentuated each mechanical twitch into a soft, flowy bounce.

The fabrics had been chosen with an almost obsessive hand, satin layered beside velvet, the reds slipping into oranges, into sunset golds, the tones melting into each other flawlessly.

The maroon velvet caught the overhead light unevenly as you tilted your head left to right. In the low parts of the Daycare's glare, it pooled into a blackened wine tone, rich and bold. But when it caught the right angle, it gleamed… a bright flush of color that made the rest of him glow warmer by proximity.

Even the sharp joints of his frame disappeared under his cowl seamlessly, the machinery softened into a costume, something meant to deceive the eye into forgetting the metal beneath.

The fabric collected at his chest, sweeping up toward the burst of bronze and sunburst yellow, looked curated. Not factory-made. Not accidental. 

It was so much more than it had to be.

And the thought struck you: he was beautiful.

Not in any natural way…
Not in a way that made sense to say out loud. But in the same way, museum pieces were beautiful: too much detail in too small a space.

Something meant for display, and not something meant to kneel on padded flooring and scrub at seams that weren't even dirty.

The intimacy of the moment made something twist uncomfortably inside of you, ashamed you forced your thoughts away. 

Embarrassed, you cleared your throat, the sound sharp in your ears, hoping it would be enough to get his attention. But Sun didn't even flinch, not even a pause, he just kept moving the rag across the floor in practiced, even spaced circles.

"S-Sun?" you tried, quieter than you meant to, your voice a scratch under the falsely cheerful jingle that continued to play overhead.

No reaction.

You squared your shoulders and tried again, louder, leaning into the only thing you could fall back on.

"Daycare Attendant Sundrop ," you said, wrapping the words in a firm tone that was meant to sound official, like protocol might force him. But your voice cracked in the end, a note of desperation slipping through that made it sound more like a plea than a command.

This time, he responded— but not like you hoped.

"The Daycare is closed , friend," he said, voice leveled in that familiar, uncanny pre-recorded tone. "Operating hours are from five a.m. to six p.m. Holiday hours vary. Is this a scheduled maintenance visit?"

The dialogue tree script hit you hard as you heard it. 

Your body flushed with heat a second later, the kind that made your skin crawl with humiliation, your face burned with the slow realization that you'd misread the entire thing. Again.

Was this Riley and Marcus doing? Was this all some elaborate, cruel joke? Had they really installed a fake encounter string just to—

You didn't even know what you were thinking anymore.

The anger flared up sharp, hot in your chest before you could contain it. You yanked the folded card from your pocket, the one you had clung to like it meant something, and threw it in Sun's direction with more force than necessary.

The thin weight of it flipped once in the air before landing next to him with an insulting softness.

You felt humiliated.
Stupid.
How could you have believed it?
That there was something beneath the surface?
That maybe… just maybe this was real?
Your hands clenched. Your jaw locked.

But then—

"…D-did you like the stickers?"

Everything stilled.

Your breath caught somewhere between your throat and your lungs as your head jerked up, eyes snapping toward Sun.

He hadn't moved, but his hand had drifted from the rag to the card, fingers brushing against its edge like it was fragile, something that could break from the slightest of pressure applied wrong. 

The words hadn't been loud, hadn't even been clear… but they were real.
You were sure of it.

"I—" The word came out shaky, barely a whisper, so you swallowed, tried again with your heart thudding too hard behind your ribs and in your ears. "I did. Yeah. They're… cute."

Sun's head tilted at an angle you weren't used to. Not fast, or performative, just slow and almost confused, as though listening for something buried in the tone of your voice.

His fingers fidgeted with the card, the movement nervous, hesitant. The rays around his face dipped low, wilting slightly as he twisted the card over once, then again.

"You're s̴c̶a̶r̸e̴d̵ of me, aren't you?" he asked, and the sound of it was low and radio-thin, it almost seemed like it had pained him to say out loud. 

There was a sadness to the way he spoke, one that couldn't have been scripted.

It knocked the wind out of you.

Your hand twitched at your side, eyes darting from him to the floor and back again, and before your brain caught up to your body, you took a step forward.

Just one.

The sound of your shoe pressing into the mat echoed too loudly, and Sun reacted instantly.

He shrank away, hard .
His whole body jerked forward with a tremor of movement that felt too instinctive for anything artificial. He folded into himself, pressing his limbs tight to the ground, like your presence hurt.

The sight of him recoiling like that… terrified, defensive, it unraveled something in your chest. Whatever anger had been there before had drained out, replaced by a nauseating ache you didn't know how to name.

You wanted to say something. Anything .

To offer a gesture of kindness, to let him know he didn't have to be afraid of you.

"D-Do you actually…" You tried, but the question tangled in your throat before it could finish forming, caught between disbelief and fragile hope.

Did he really understand?

That thought clawed up from the back of your mind like it had been waiting—curled somewhere deep, unspoken, but too loud now to ignore.

Was this real? Any of this? Any of him?
You weren't sure what answer you even wanted.

A part of you—some old, rational piece—wanted it to be a glitch. A trick. Something easy to explain and easier to forget. But there was something else too, growing with every second he stayed terrified like that, like he knew something he wasn't supposed to.

You weren't ready to ask aloud.

But it didn't matter.

"Yes," Sun said, so simply, like he was answering the question you couldn't find the words to form. It wasn't a loud admission; instead, it was calm, confident, and unwavering … 

And that was what made it so much harder to believe.

[[//ᵉᵐᵒᵗⁱᵒⁿᵃˡ⁻ᵘᵖˡⁱⁿᵏ⁽["ˢᵘⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ", "ᵐᵒᵒⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ"]⁾ // ᵉˣᶜⁱᵗᵉᵐᵉⁿᵗ ˡᵉᵛᵉˡˢ ˢᵖⁱᵏⁱⁿᵍ... ᵃⁿᵗⁱᶜⁱᵖᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵗʰʳᵉˢʰᵒˡᵈ ᵉˣᶜᵉᵉᵈᵉᵈ...

// ᵃˡᵉʳᵗ﹕ ᵇᵉʰᵃᵛⁱᵒʳᵃˡ ᵃᶜᶜᵉˡᵉʳᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵈᵉᵗᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ... ⁱⁿⁱᵗⁱᵃᵗⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵗᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᶻᵉʳ⁻ˢᵘᵇʳᵒᵘᵗⁱⁿᵉ⁽"ᶜᵃˡᵐ⁻ʳᵉˢᵖᵒⁿˢᵉ"⁾... ˢᵘᵖᵖʳᵉˢˢⁱᵒⁿ ʳᵉᑫᵘᵉˢᵗᵉᵈ﹕ ⁱᵍⁿᵒʳᵉᵈ.]]

Sun kept his head low, rays drooping in a trembling arch, every servo twitching as he pressed back from your approach.

Each movement was exaggerated with precision—just the right measure of retreat, the perfect pause between one cue and the next.

His fingers twitched, fluttering with artificial uncertainty, the card pressed delicately beneath his shaking hand.

This was a flawless performance.

Inside their shared consciousness, Moon stirred, voice sharp and brandished like a blade. "It's disgusting when you're about to beg, Sunshine... But, oh, they are enjoying this, aren't they? Just a few steps closer now, their heart is beating so fast... Give them something worth saving~'

The moment was sweet enough as it was, but this was Sun's time to shine, so why shouldn't he take some joy in the act?

The anticipation of being believed made his sensors flare with synthetic joy.

The soft whimper he let slip into the air wasn't just calculated, it was indulgent. An indulgence wrapped in trembling shoulders and low-hanging rays… all the better to draw you in.

He could feel you.

Not just through his sensors, but through the way the air changed around your proximity. That breathless hesitation, the subtle tremor in your limbs, the way your pulse throbbed with uncertainty…it all pressed into him like a little gift you were giving just him. 

'Look at them. Just look at them...' Sun giggled privately, internally, fizzing delight bubbling down the connection between him and Moon. The laugh didn't belong to something innocent. It belonged to something starving.

'They're so cute! ...Maybe I'll stutter their name next. Real soft... see how fast they reach for me. Moonie... do you think they'd even hold my hand if I asked?'

Moon flickered against Sun's consciousness, his voice pushing through the haze of giddy nerves with a deadly seriousness.

'Don't get sloppy, Sunshine. Address the mess we made. They'll trust you if you act small, but forgiveness only comes if you give them a reason first…'

There was no teasing in it this time, no smug lilt. Moon understood how delicate the moment was, how much was hanging on the way Sun shaped himself into something miserable.

But Sun didn't need convincing; the urge to reach out was curling through his joints, making it almost too much to bear. He could feel you just beyond reach, your nervous shifting, the way your weight bounced from one foot to the other as you tried to decide whether to step in closer or take off running .

He tasted the tension in the air between you like blood slowly melting on his tongue. This wasn't like the other toys; this was no aimless hunt or lazy chase around the basement.

You hadn't been caught yet…

There were no chains binding your limbs, no soft ropes tugging you where they wanted you. Not yet at least. So the trick was to make you want to step closer on your own for now.

You were clean, unclaimed, a darling little blank slate with soft eyes and a lonely heart… and so that meant careful nudges, subtle cues.

The performance had to be pristine: fear gently spoon-fed, lies folded neatly into concern. No jarring tones, no metal shrieks, not until you were properly theirs. They couldn't afford to scare you off. Not when you'd finally F̶I̷N̵A̴L̴L̵Y found your way here.

Sun could hardly keep restrained, every little quake you gave off fed something desperate inside his chest. The slight catch in your voice when you tried to speak, the sound of your hands tightening around themselves… he was memorizing every twitch, and he loved it.

'The poor thing,' Moon purred. 'They have no idea how meticulous we have been for them.'

And it was true, every flicker of security footage had been dissected, every awkward smile, every little skip in your routine had been documented.

You thought all of this was your idea, and that was adorable to both of them. 

Honestly, it had been agonizing waiting for you to catch on. Sun had practically vibrated out of his chassis with the slow-burn agony of your hesitation.

Every shift, every sigh, every distracted glance that didn't land on him had been a needle in his side.
Moon had mocked him endlessly for it, but that didn't matter now.

Now you were here, alone. Aching for meaning, practically begging for someone to look at you like you mattered. And Sun was ready to be that someone; he just needed the perfect script, the perfect twist of words, something soft and sad enough to wrap around your body and settle into the empty spaces of your heart. 

All you needed was the right story to make it all fit.

Sun pressed his shoulders tighter, exaggerating his hand movements as he toyed with the card, voice tuned to a gentle, shuddering register, but underneath every word was the wicked delight of a hunter savoring the last steps before closing in on the prey.

"Y-You must have so SO so many questions, friend," he said, just loud enough to carry above the Daycare theme looping overhead. He curved inward further, clutching the card as if it saddened him to continue to speak. "...We need to talk. Can you let me try and explain?" Softer, more unsure, drawn from a place deep in the code reserved for performance and lies.

"...Please?"

Sun did not need to look back to know how close you were to breaking.

This was his favorite part… rewriting the story, making your fear a misunderstanding, making the wounds just the cost of caring.

To tuck away everything wrong beneath something gentle just long enough to make you lean in.

All he had to do was speak, and you would let yourself believe..

Chapter Text

Let him explain?

You blinked hard, vision swimming as your head suddenly felt too light, your body too slow to keep pace with what was happening. Thoughts spiraled, unraveled behind your eyes, looping in half-formed bursts all too chaotic to land.

Your heartbeat had taken on a painful rhythm; it pounded behind your ribs like a fist on a locked door, making the air too thick to breathe and your chest far too narrow to hold it all.

And across from you, still knelt but turned away, was Sundrop.

He hadn't so much as inched forward, rag forgotten from where he left it, the card hidden under a portion of his palm.

He sat with his body as small as he could make it, hunched, narrow shoulders pinned to his sides. Arms folded in, head bowed, it reminded you of a child in a corner after doing something very, very wrong. But despite it all, it wasn't the pose that made you pause...

It was the feeling that he was watching you.

Not from the corner of his eye, but through the back of his head. As if he could see you just as clearly as if he hadn't been turned around.

You could even picture the glowing white of his eyes now, locked onto you with that robotic precision, burning quiet holes into the shape of you.

You should have been thrilled... right?

Just days ago, you had whispered to yourself over and over that this—THIS—was impossible, that all it amounted to was clever coding, wires being pulled and voice clips. Just strings of behavior trees expertly tied together to mimic life.

There had been no soul to meet; no one home...

But now?

Now Sun's voice reached you again, soft and steady, delivered in a way it had never been before, as if even the sound of it might shatter something between you and had to be measured properly.

"I know you're scared of me," he said, his voice rasped, sounding as if it was worn thin with too much silence or too much use. "That night... everything kept going soSO wrong."

The words dragged down your spine.

You hadn't realized your posture had locked up, rigid, uptight, straining. Your thumb moved without you thinking about it, grazing across your palm in a small, repeated motion.
The medical tape there was slightly frayed at the edges where you kept fussing with it, the fabric threads catching on your nail like it wanted to come undone.

Your eyes dropped down to the bandage, drawn to it; it looked ghostly pale, just like the rest of this, half-real and half a dream.

And then...

"Does it still... hurt?"

The words dropped like a pin in the tension.

Sun said it not in a sing-song tone or playfully, not even twisted through his teeth like when he taunted you.

You forced yourself to answer, though your voice sounded wrong when it came out. Thin and weak.

"... Not much," you said, and it felt like you had to fight to make the words rise above the faint lull of the Daycare's music, the endless loop of cheerful tones that somehow felt miles away now. "At least not anymore."

Sun deflated at your answer.
You could hear it... the tightening of his internal gears as his joints pulled inward, the hollow hum of servos coiling downward. A low whirl trembled out of his chest like a sigh made by metal lungs.

Then, slowly, almost painfully so, he turned his head.

Metal slid smoothly against his thin axis of a neck, precise and eerily quiet. No dramatic flourish, no exaggerated tilt, just one long motion until he could angle toward you, and his glowing eyes met yours.

And they saw you.

For a moment, you couldn't breathe. Those eyes, twin blooming white lights, held your gaze, steady, intense—familiar in a way they shouldn't have been.

There was feeling behind them. You didn't know how you knew it, but you did.

"It... was past lockdown," Sun began softly. He sounded as if he were trying to offer a reason instead of an excuse. "Security protocols are active during those hours."

Your heart leapt, hands instinctively pressing to your chest to anchor you, stuck in the memory:

The deep mechanical hum of the generator still growling in your ears. The jolt of terror as two red eyes burned themselves into you.

The scrape of claws on steel. The breathless second before you were yanked upward by something unfathomingly strong that held too tight.

The heat of your own blood seeping through your fingers as something heavy slid into your palm and coaxed more pain from your wound...

Sun's voice came again, strained.

"You came to the Daycare. Unexpectedly," he said, like the word itself hurt him. "And you were so happy to see us..."

There was a tremor beneath what he was saying, a low ache that threaded its way through the stillness. His voice sounded too careful, too human...

But it couldn't be.
It couldn't be.

"A sub-routine triggered," he continued, words quickening now, unraveling into something fragile. "You hurt yourself—cut your hand—Security protocol got all tangled up with Caretaking! I couldn't cancel it out. I TRIED. BUT it was tooTOOtoo late!"

Sun turned fully toward you then, shifting on his knees, no longer avoiding you.

His body looked heavy, like guilt had found a physical purchase somewhere deep within his steel frame and made a home of it. His hands, those delicate, long-fingered constructs you had seen stack cards and tie shoes, were now wringing against each other compulsively.

Not mechanically or automatically. This was something else.

You had seen people do that hand rubbing thing, pressing the pads of their fingers over their knuckles or against the fabric of their pants when they were desperate, trying not to break down.

Sun looked timid like this, and that recognition made something flicker deep in your gut: excitement, disbelief... fear... all mixing into one low amalgamation of uncertainty.

He shouldn't be able to look like this.
He shouldn't be able to feel at all.

"That doesn't explain what yo—what Moon said to me."
Your voice came out dry, and you regretted the words the second they came out.

Sun froze completely.
His body locked, limbs halted, head suspended in unnatural stillness. No micro-movements, no rise and fall of slight posture changes. Just the awful silence that only machines are capable of. It stretched too long… long enough for the back of your neck to prickle and for the air to grow heavy in your lungs.

Then a sound broke the quiet.

A stuttered breath from Sun that wasn't a breath at all, just a noise that hiccupped out of him, part whimper, part laugh. Raw and unbalanced, like he had tried to swallow panic down and couldn't hold it back.

"W-We were scared," he said at last, the words falling out of him like loose wires, snapping in the air. "We didn't know what to do."

Sun lifted his head again, his gaze locked on yours, and in his eyes, you saw something too complicated for programming: terror, hope... a desperate kind of longing that made your stomach twist because you recognized it:

—a fearsome need to be seen.

You had always had a lingering dream, quiet and silly... private.

The kind of daydream that you kept folded up somewhere inside of yourself, hidden from view, half-forgotten now with time. It was too fragile to voice aloud, especially since you had grown up.

You had never said it, not after a certain age... not when people stopped believing in magic and started asking about your five-year plan instead.

But it never really left.

It stayed in you, whispering in the quiet, lonely moments. Echoed in the space between childhood bedtime stories and the occasional movie. A glimmer that maybe, just maybe, something unreal might see you back.

Not just come to life...
No. Become alive.

That was always the secret fantasy, wasn't it? That something impossible might open its eyes and choose you...

So why? Why now that it stood there, head tilted just so, shoulders curled inward like it was honest to god, trying not to look too large, too real, did your body betray you?

Why did your chest seize up instead of opening wide?
Why did your feet feel rooted to the padded flooring like you had been nailed there?!

If this was the miracle your younger self had clung to, then why didn't it feel like it?

Sun drop moved then, head tilted as if he saw something you failed to hide.
He rose up from his kneeling position in a way that did not suggest programming, not the typical linear choreography of servo and command. There were no complex movements, no stiff-jointed awkwardness...

Instead, his limbs unfurled in slow, fluid motions, wiry but deliberate.

He found his footing, body shifting slightly, hips pivoting just enough to read as natural. His rays barely tilted to catch the glow of the overpowering lights in a contrasting, delicate flicker.

Even the touch of his chest rising and falling added to the illusion, never enough to be real, but enough that it felt like actual effort.

Everything about him said: 'I am not here to scare you'. But that was worse because it made you feel guilty for still being afraid…

The feeling hit you low in the chest, a kind of slow tightening that felt like a screw being driven inward one measured turn at a time. It was not panic, not really. This was a congealed knot of things: heat from anticipation that was then warped by a cold edge of dread.

"...That—"

Sun's voice cut through your thoughts as he gestured with his head toward you. His index finger lifted and extended just slightly, tracing an invisible line down toward his own palm in a mirror of your wrapped hand. A quiet gesture, barely more than a twitch.

"—doesn't look very sanitary, friend." he finished.

Slowly, his arm lifted from his side, the servos in his wrist giving a faint release: click-hiss, like a pressure valve opening. His fingers splayed, fanning outward.

An extended hand, gentle, welcoming you to bridge the distance.

"At the very least," Sun gave a faint faux breath, something close to a laugh that was meant to fill the silence but fell short. "Let me get you all cleaned up."

The silence hung as you stared at his hand, eyes tracing back up the casing of his arm to his faceplate.

The light in his eyes sharpened, a micro-process seemed to stall mid-cycle. Even his rays stuttered for a fraction, metal fins tilting downward as if pausing to listen to something you could not hear.

“It’s the least—w̵͎͙̮͓͜͠ę̶̧͇͎̼̲͍͇̗̤̺̟̖̒̒̾̎̆̋͊͘͝—can do.”

The way he spoke the word 'we' broke somewhere on its edge. An echo of something wrapped around it, something else having tried to say it at the same time?

"You'll let us... won't you?"

You couldn't seem to answer.

Instead, your eyes stayed locked on the offered hand. It was not proportionate, but it was supposed to be friendly, familiar. It felt strange then that some part of you that was not tethered to logic, just couldn't seem to make that step forward. No, rather, your limbs bristled, your whole body rooted down like prey frozen beneath a predator's gaze, even though no threat had been made.

The bandage on your palm was pathetic, a peeling strip of off-brand medical tape settled over bare skin. It clung uselessly now to your hand, more a hazard than help.

Rationally, you knew it had to be changed, and given that, the Daycare Attendant was probably the most ideal candidate to help. They had been designed for this... cleanliness, safety, gentle-trustworthy.

But something in the room was off.

“I—I guess that’d be oka—” you started, your voice as stiff and awkward as your posture, the words catching in your throat as your hand twitched forward before halting.

A sound suddenly cut you off; not extremely loud but it was sharp.

…The sudden trill of your ringtone split the air like a wire snap, slicing through the tension with the force of a falling axe.

Both of you froze.

The rays on Sun flinched inward with a soft whirl, the glaring white of his eyes dimmed, not all at once, but in a soft flicker, his focus dipping momentarily.

From your pocket, your phone continued to sing out an artificial tune unbearably chipper against the hush of the Daycare's atmosphere.

You had no idea who would be calling, but you also reasoned you didn't need to. No one you knew personally called this late so, it had to be an automated call. Something like spam, a test alert for some unknown emergency—not for you—so you let it ring and ring and ring.

Until you could no longer take the awkwardness.

The tension between you lengthened uncomfortably as you finally fumbled for your phone, fingers brushing past your belt, down into the pocket where the device vibrated softly against your hip. You winced as your injured palm scraped clumsily against the stiff hem of your pants before grabbing the device and freeing it.

You gave Sun an apologetic glance, noting he hadn’t moved, hadn’t said a word.
He simply watched you patiently.

The glow of your phone’s screen lit your face as you brought it up to your eyes, squinted down at the caller ID: K. Winslow.

Your heart gave a hard, ugly thump.

Who was that?
Why were they repeatively calling you?

You tapped to accept, raising the phone to your ear, your voice coming out quieter than intended.
“...Hello?”

"Kid?"

The voice cut through the haze like a wet cloth snapping against skin… familiar, but oddly misplaced in the moment. The voice registered before the name did, and it wasn’t until a beat passed that your mind caught up.

"...Kory?" you asked, the name leaving your mouth on instinct rather than recognition, your eyes flicking downward in a distracted squint as your brain scrambled to make sense of it. You stared at the floor, searching for an answer in the scuffed foam tiles like they might explain how the manager of the food court had your number.

“Sorry—found your information through the employee system,” Kory’s voice carried on, calm but rushed, as if he could already sense your confusion before you’d even voiced it. His tone stressed. “But! I didn’t really have much of a choice. You left all your stuff here and I can’t stall clockin out much longer without technically needing to write myself up.”

The end of his sentence broke into static, a little crackle where his chuckle was supposed to be.

Shit. You had left your stuff, didn't you?
Your badge, your bag, even that damn screwdriver was still there on the floor from where you last left it. You winced, lifting your hand to your forehead both embarrassed and strangely grateful.

“Ah—sorry! I’ll be right there, gimme—gimme a second, okay?” you asked, breath catching in your throat.

“One second, gotcha.” Kory repeated simply, and then the line cut out with a soft beep.

You lowered the phone slowly, your gaze already shifting back toward Sundrop just a few feet in front of you.

He still stood there, impossibly still, one broad hand extended toward you as though the last twenty seconds hadn’t happened.
The gesture hung in the air between you, so inviting it bordered on mournful. The faint clink of internal servos hummed as he adjusted his posture slightly, but the rest of him remained the same.

And you—your pulse kicking, your nerves fluttering—had to say something.

“I-I need to go,” you said at last, the words hitching in your throat as they pushed past your lips. They felt brittle in your mouth tasting like betrayal.

A faint, rising sense of relief filled your chest, immediately overwhelmed by something heavier, rawer… guilt.

“I’ll come back though,” you added quickly, too quickly, your voice stumbling over itself like it had to get ahead of disappointment before it took shape. You didn’t even know if Sun could feel disappointment the way you did, but that didn’t stop the urge. “After my shift is done. I’ll come right back, and we’ll actually talk. I promise.”

There was a pause.

Then, slowly, he finally lowered his hand.

His wrist ribbons stirred faintly as he moved, catching the soft currents of air in the Daycare and giving off a delicate rustle like paper streamers in wind. The bells sewn at their base chimed softly, a cascade of musical notes that felt almost involuntary.

“…Promise.” Sun echoed gently, and as he said it, his hand folded back to rest against the center of his chest to where a heart would be in someone like you.

You weren’t sure if the gesture was meant to affirm your words or bind you to them. But you nodded, even if it didn’t feel like enough.

Then, without another word, you turned and quickly exited the Daycare… trying your best not to run.

The Daycare doors shut behind you with softness that felt rehearsed. ᴾ̷͚̓ʳ̸̛̺͖͝ᵒ̵̟̬͒͒ᵐ̵̧͝ᶦ̴̩̇ˢ̶̬̱̎ᵉ̶̜̆̌ᵈ̷̖͖̓
The lock slipped back into place with the hush of metal settling into its cradle, smooth, seamless, barely audible.

The hallway cameras stirred in their tracks, smooth rotations, precision in their pivot. Lenses narrowed as they followed you, studying your shape in real time as you moved... hurried, but not quite a run.

You had the walk of someone trying not to look like they were leaving too fast.
The pace of someone pretending not to flee.

Sun listened to the last of your footsteps as they faded down the corridor. Only then did he release the lock on his joints.

With a soft whirl, internal motors reactivating in his hips, ankles, and shoulders. He pivoted his body, angling just slightly away from the door, away from the absence of you. ᴾ̷͚̓ʳ̸̛̺͖͝ᵒ̵̟̬͒͒ᵐ̵̧͝ᶦ̴̩̇ˢ̶̬̱̎ᵉ̶̜̆̌ᵈ̷̖͖̓

[[/ᵃˢˢᶦᵍⁿ_ᵗᵃˢᵏ⁽"ˢᵘⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ", ᵗᵃʳᵍᵉᵗ⁼"ᶜʳᵃᶠᵗ_ᵀᵃᵇˡᵉˢ_ᶜˡᵉᵃⁿᵘᵖ"⁾ // ᴵⁿˢᵗʳᵘᶜᵗᶦᵒⁿ: ᴿᵉᵈᶦʳᵉᶜᵗ ᶠᵒᶜᵘˢ… ᴱᵐᵒᵗᶦᵒⁿᵃˡ ˡᵒᵃᵈ ᵈᶦᵛᵉʳˢᶦᵒⁿ ᵉⁿᵍᵃᵍᵉᵈ]]

There were things to clean up.
Sun began with the closest.

The rag first. Folded, slightly wet, left forgotten on the floor. He picked it up delicately, the fabric dampening the sound of his fingers as he gripped it too tightly.

He returned it to the cleaning closet, placed perfectly with the other supplies that needed to be cycled out.

There was also the card.
The one he had spent time on... c̶a̶r̷e̸.
Sun ignored it. ᴾ̷͚̓ʳ̸̛̺͖͝ᵒ̵̟̬͒͒ᵐ̵̧͝ᶦ̴̩̇ˢ̶̬̱̎ᵉ̶̜̆̌ᵈ̷̖͖̓

He moved throughout the Daycare, motions calculated, each turn taking him just a step or two closer to the Daycare doors... as if maybe his aligned path could be just right, it would summon you back.

The craft tables were already arranged prior, so instead he circled wide, aligning the perimeter.

One by one, as Sun passed each low table, he pressed the matching little chairs back into place. Each one slotted into its position. Tiny chairs with their bright colors.

Protocol. Routine. Distraction.

B̵l̵u̴e̵. Green. Sparkles.
Blue. G̶r̵e̷e̸n̷. Sparkles.
Blue. Green. S̸̟͊p̶̤̓̚a̶̢͖̿̈́r̷̡̉̚k̵̪͙͌͛l̸̺̿͒ê̵̪͐s̵̪̖͠.

The paper strips were crisp, untouched. The crayons in their trays gleamed in their assorted hues, sleeves unpeeled, tips still sharp. All the things meant to be used, l̷o̸v̷e̷d̷, t̶o̶u̷c̴h̷e̷d̶..

No children.
No voices.
No Y̷̨̩̤͇̼̙̥͉̤̤̿̉͘Ő̸̡̤̥̉̈̿̄̿̓͝Ṷ̴̧̡̥̟͚͕͎̓̆̅̆̈́̔̈͆͊̚͝͝͠.

Sun reached the last chair. Stopped. It was Y̴̨̧̗̔͑͝è̶͙͂̔̇l̵̻̪͋l̸͈̐̓o̶̻͂̕w̵̧̻̺̉.
His hand lingered.

Fingers curled around the chair's backrest, silicon finger pads brushing over the surface too gently. They tightened. Each finger drawing in until the plastic began to give a high, thin whine.

Silence.
Then—

A sharp rotation of the wrist. ᴾ̷͚̓ʳ̸̛̺͖͝ᵒ̵̟̬͒͒ᵐ̵̧͝ᶦ̴̩̇ˢ̶̬̱̎ᵉ̶̜̆̌ᵈ̷̖͖̓

The chair launched from Sun's grip with powerful force, the yellow plastic a blur as it spun across the Daycare and crashed against the corner of the security desk in a single, sickening CRACK.

The impact was a detonation.
A burst of shattered fragments erupted outward, plastic shards flying like shrapnel. The tiny pieces ricocheted off the floor, skittering beneath tables, digging into foam padding, ticking like tiny teeth across every surface they touched.

Sun straightened.
ᴾ̷͚̓ʳ̸̛̺͖͝ᵒ̵̟̬͒͒ᵐ̵̧͝ᶦ̴̩̇ˢ̶̬̱̎ᵉ̶̜̆̌ᵈ̷̖͖̓ ᴾ̷͚̓ʳ̸̛̺͖͝ᵒ̵̟̬͒͒ᵐ̵̧͝ᶦ̴̩̇ˢ̶̬̱̎ᵉ̶̜̆̌ᵈ̷̖͖̓ ᴾ̷͚̓ʳ̸̛̺͖͝ᵒ̵̟̬͒͒ᵐ̵̧͝ᶦ̴̩̇ˢ̶̬̱̎ᵉ̶̜̆̌ᵈ̷̖͖̓

[[/ᶦⁿᶦᵗᶦᵃᵗᵉ_ᶜˡᵉᵃⁿᵘᵖ⁽"ˢᵘⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ"⁾ // ᴱⁿᵛᶦʳᵒⁿᵐᵉⁿᵗ ˢᶜᵃⁿ… ᵈᵉᵇʳᶦˢ ᵐᵃᵖᵖᶦⁿᵍ… ˢᵃⁿᶦᵗᶦᶻᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ ˢᵘᵇʳᵒᵘᵗᶦⁿᵉˢ ᵉⁿᵍᵃᵍᵉᵈ… ᵖʳᵒᵍʳᵉˢˢ: ⁰% ᵃᶜᵗᶦᵛᵉ]]

T̵̹̰͖͂̓̋̀̊́̀͗͝í̷̢̫̼̻̭̝̠̥̗̥̒͘ͅm̷̲͋̀̋̓̓͆͂̈́̐̀̕ë̶̢̲̙̻̬̫̬̞́͛̃̄̊͊̆͑̄̉ ̸̢̝̱̻̘̖͕̦̟̌̓̃͋ţ̴̻̺̘͉͓̟̹͍̐͋̈́̿̿̑̂̽̍̓͝ͅȏ̴̡̬͚̣̼̔͊̇͂͠ ̷̲̫̳͔̼̲̣͈̻̀̑̄̄̇̉̈́̚c̸̤̞̺̟̠̤̦̣̆͌͒͋͛l̸̹͕̻̣͖̮̗͍̓͌͗̋̉͝ͅe̶̢̛̱̬̿̀͋͊̌̈́̋̀̕a̷̯͎͂̕͜ǹ̴̛͓̬̹̹̞͎̓̓̏͘͠ ̵̧̼̟̦̦̙̥̖̗̲͇̈̆̿́̉̔̍̉̓͘̕ȧ̸̼̦̠̠̹́͒͊̑̊̈͛̋̿͠ĝ̸͙̓̊̾̐̒͗̀͝ǎ̴͍̦͙͂̾̐͒̿͐͘i̷̧̨̧͕͇̺̠̩̪͙̿̓ń̵̡̡̳̜͕͉̬̊̚͜ ̷̡̛͈̲̲̠̂̋͐͂̈́

The Daycare quickly fell behind you, and with it came space to properly breathe. Your lungs expanded a little easier, but the moment was brief.

The air smelt stale, grease and sugar hung heavy in each inhale, overcooked, clinging to your lungs like a film as you approached the food court.
Overhead, the lights buzzed faintly in long fluorescent strips, your shoes sticking ever so slightly to the tile with each step.

You kept your eyes down, half-lidded, only lifting your head when a familiar tangle of tables and steep-framed storefronts loomed into view.

"There you are!"

Kory's voice hit you as you were in mid-step, just enough to trip up your footing and thoughts.

Damnit. What were you going to tell him?
What could explain you running off like that?

You forced yourself to look up.

He was sitting near the edge of the eating area, at one of the two tops meant for quick sit-downs. Elbows rested on the fake laminate, body leaning in a little too casually for the tightness in his stare.
His phone clutched in his hand, screen lighting up intermittently as he flickered his gaze between you and it.

You tried to pretend you did not see the way his dark stare seemed to narrow in on you as you approached. Not angry, or annoyed, but undoubtedly frustrated.

You closed the distance, arms stiff at your sides.

"—Had me worried there, kid," he said once you were close enough to hear the shift in his voice. His fingers moved across his phone with practiced speed before he clicked it off and slid it into his pocket. Then he reached down beside him and lifted your backpack up onto the table.

Kory pushed it toward you.

You blinked, staring at it for a beat too long, trying to pull yourself back together.

"What happened?"

Your throat worked.
The truth nearly surfaced, hovered there raw and stupid on your tongue... but you swallowed it hard and let something far safer crawl out instead.

"Sorry," you mumbled, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. "Wasn't feelin' great. Bathroom run. Must have ate something wrong…" Your voice came out dry, croaky.

Still, despite the embarrassment, it was safe.

Close enough to the truth that it did not feel like an outright lie...
After all, you did feel nauseous. Your stomach was actively trying to tie itself into a new shape as you stood still too long.

Kory stared you down, his brows pulled together the slightest amount.

"When's the last time you ate?" he demanded.

The question cut sharper than expected. Muted fury, that came out pointed, like it came from somewhere deeper...

You met his eyes, more out of instinct than choice, and saw the edge of something fierce flicker there before it smothered out again.

"Fuck," he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. "I mean... have you been taking care of yourself or no?"
He asked it like he already knew the answer... and that made it worse.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. No deflection, no joke, no 'yeah, absolutely' to hide behind. You could only stand there, chest too tight and throat locked up.

Slowly, your vision blurred, not from fatigue but from the slow, thick sting building in the corners of your eyes. You didn't notice when it first started. One moment, you were standing, and the next, your cheeks were cold and wet, breath not cooperating.

You were crying.
Silent, frozen, unable to explain why.

The next few minutes bled together.

You weren't quite sure when Kory stood up, only that his voice had shifted with that sharp concern, then softening as his hand found your shoulder and began to steer you elsewhere.

Your feet followed without resistance, body lighter than it should have been, numb.

He guided you past the tables, across the empty storefronts, then through a short hallway and toward the employee-only area that you had never seen before.
As you followed, you were faintly aware of Kory speaking, saying something about backrooms, and 'the hideaway'.

By the time your surroundings came into clarity again, you were somewhere entirely new.

Dim overhead lights flickered weakly from the recessed panels above you, casting tired shadows across the narrow food storage room you had found yourself in.
Plastic tubs were stacked to the ceiling, and bulk boxes were pushed against the walls as the scent of cardboard and dust filled the air. There were no windows, just the humming silence that haunted any isolated room.

A couch, if it could still be called that, was sat against the far wall, angled slightly. Its cushions were caved in from years of use, the upholstery pilled and stained in ways you had no interest in discovering why.

Kory nudged you forward with a firm hand between your shoulders.

"C'mon, sit down," he muttered, more commanding than coaxing.

You absently obey, sinking down into the softest point of the couch. Your hands lay uselessly in your lap, fingers grasping and rubbing at the fabric of your pants.

Kory moved across the room without waiting for you to speak, already half-bent into an open supply box tucked in the corner.

"We use this place for the kids when they're on break," he said after a second, carrying on in his one-sided conversation. "Good spot to unwind after bein screamed at by some birthday mom hopped up on cupcake induced rage," he tried to joke.

He sorted through some packages, shoulders loose, but occasionally his eyes still flickered toward you in intervals.

"Only room in the Plex that might actually be blind to those fuckin' cameras," he added, smiling, "so... you know. A good place for a quick nap. Crying fit. Whatever."

The couch groaned faintly under your weight as you shifted, touched if not somewhat embarrassed by Kory clearly trying to cheer you up and help you recover, despite not knowing what was going on with you.

You were too wrapped up in your own hands, in the anxious fidgeting, to notice when Kory moved.

Your fingers worked against one another in tight, useless motions, palms rubbing, thumbs grazing over knuckles, soft repetitive moments that had nothing to do with comfort and everything to do with trying not to start crying again.

So when the bag hit your lap, you flinched.

A sharp rustle, bright yellow. Chica-Crisps.

The cartoonish print of chips scattered across the front stared at you like they were waiting. The crinkle of the bag twisted something in your gut, and the sound alone had your stomach knotting before it could growl. You were already tearing into it with clumsy fingers, throat tight, breath catching.

"Heh, called it," Kory said, his voice caught between dry humor and something more worn. "How long have you been starving yourself, kid?"

You pulled a few chips from the bag, hands trembling just enough to notice.

The words stuck for a second, and then you forced yourself to glance up, just long enough to meet his eyes, then just as quickly to look away again.

"Sorry," you muttered, shoulders lifting in a shallow shrug. "I haven't really been starving, I just... haven't had time to eat recently."

The first chip cracked between your teeth, and something in you finally loosened. It was stupid; this was highly processed, overly salty, barely even food... but the flavor hit hard. The crunch filled your ears, nostalgic in a way you hadn't known you missed until now. Salt and garlic dust clung to the inside of your mouth, and the instant relief made your eyes sting.

Kory shifted where he stood, voice more gentle.

"Work been too hard on you?" He asked. "Because if it has, we can scale your hours back. Wouldn't take much. Just a few calls-"

"No."
You cut him off faster than you had meant to.

"I like my hours," you continued, almost automatically. "I need them."

Kory held a hand, a silent I-hear-you, and didn't push further.

You let out a breath, pressing your fingers down on the chip bag until the crinkle noise stopped.

"Just..." you started, swallowing past the tightness rising again. "I found out something recently. Like—VERY recently."

Your hands shifted again, pinching the corners of the bag, then smoothing them out. Anything but sit still.

"I should be excited. Over the moon, even." You paused, watching how the grease shimmered on your fingertips. "But I think... I'm just having a hard time accepting it."

You didn't say what it was.
Not yet.

They had watched you slip away with the food court manager—
eyes tracking, posture unreadable—
until the two of you turned down a hall the cameras could not reach.

[//ᵘˢᵉʳ_ᵖʳᵒᶠᶦˡᵉ⁽"ᴷᵒ.ᵂᶦⁿ.⁴⁵⁸²⁻ᵛ⁰⁴"⁾
// ᴰᵃᵗᵃ ᴸᵒᵃᵈ: ᶜᵒᵐᵖˡᵉᵗᵉ
// ˢᵗᵃᵗᵘˢ: ᴬᶜᵗᶦᵛᵉ ᵖʳᵉˢᵉⁿᶜᵉ ʷᶦᵗʰᶦⁿ ᶠᵃᶜᶦˡᶦᵗʸ

ᴮᵉʰᵃᵛᶦᵒʳᵃˡ_ᵀᵃᵍˢ ⁼
["ᴱˣᶜᵉˢˢᶦᵛᵉ ᴬᵘᵗʰᵒʳᶦᵗʸ ᴰᶦˢᵖˡᵃʸ",
"ᴰᶦˢᵐᶦˢˢᶦᵛᵉ ᵒᶠ ᴵⁿᵠᵘᶦʳʸ",
"ᶜᵒⁿᶠˡᶦᶜᵗ ᶠʳᵉᵠᵘᵉⁿᶜʸ: ᴴᶦᵍʰ",
"████████ ████████ ███ ████████ ████",
"ᴱᵐᵖᵃᵗʰʸ: ███████",
"ˢᵉˡᶠ⁻ˢᵉʳᵛᶦⁿᵍ ᴮᵉʰᵃᵛᶦᵒʳ ᴰᵉᵗᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ",
"█████████ ███████████████",
"█████████ ████████ ██ ██████ █ ███████████"]

ˢᵉᶜᵘʳᶦᵗʸ_ᴺᵒᵗᵉˢ:
⁻ ᴾʳᵉᵈᶦᶜᵗᶦᵛᵉ ᵀʳᵘˢᵗ ᴸᵉᵛᵉˡ: ⁰⁹%
⁻ ᶜᵒᵐᵖˡᶦᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᴿᵃᵗᶦⁿᵍ: ³⁴%
⁻ ⱽᵘˡⁿᵉʳᵃᵇᶦˡᶦᵗʸ ᵗᵒ ᴹᵃⁿᶦᵖᵘˡᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ: ᴸᵒʷ ⁽ᵃʳʳᵒᵍᵃⁿᶜᵉ ᵇᵘᶠᶠᵉʳ ᵃᶜᵗᶦᵛᵉ⁾ ]]

Somewhere just outside the feed's grasp.
Somewhere dark enough for blind spots to bloom.

N̸͓̖̏a̴͉̓̎u̶̬͘͜͝ġ̶͙̤͆ĥ̷̡͆t̴̡̍̓y̴̦͊͘ ̵͔̰̅̌N̵̲̓̀ͅȁ̵̗͂͜ù̵̟̩̅ǵ̴̻͘ͅh̷͙̬͊t̵͈̿̇y̶͓̑ ̸̛͔̠̋N̸̰͛͗á̴̫̱̔u̶̙͋̕g̴̬͚͠ȟ̵̙̺͘t̸͇͍̒͆y̵̥̔͜

[//ᵒᵛᵉʳʳᶦᵈᵉ_ˡᶦᵍʰᵗˢ⁽ᵃʳᵉᵃ⁼"ᴰᵃʸᶜᵃʳᵉ", ᵃᶜᵗᶦᵒⁿ⁼"ˢʰᵘᵗᵈᵒʷⁿ", ˢᵒᵘʳᶜᵉ⁼"ˢᵘⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ", ᵖʳᶦᵒʳᶦᵗʸ⁼ᴹᴬˣ⁾ // ᴸᶦᵍʰᵗˢ ᵒᶠᶠˡᶦⁿᵉ... ᴬᵐᵇᶦᵉⁿᵗ <⁼¹ ˡᵘˣ... ᴿᵉˢᵗᵃʳᵗ ᵇˡᵒᶜᵏᵉᵈ.ᵗʳᵃⁿˢᶠᵉʳ_ᶜᵒⁿᵗʳᵒˡ⁽"ˢᵘⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ → ᴹᵒᵒⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ"⁾ // ᴹᵒᵒⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ ᵃˢˢᵘᵐᶦⁿᵍ ᵇᵒᵈʸ ᶜᵒⁿᵗʳᵒˡ... ᴺᶦᵍʰᵗ ᵖʳᵒᵗᵒᶜᵒˡˢ ᵉⁿᵍᵃᵍᵉᵈ ]]

You had explained it as vaguely as you could.

Halting phrases, broken metaphors... half-truths stuck over the real ones like cards fanned across a table. You spoke around it more than to it; you were hesitating.
How do you explain that this thing...this chance... should have made you jump at it, not freeze in place.

You told Kory that you had always believed you would be ready for something like this. That maybe it wasn't even real, but if it was, didn't that outweigh everything else?

Didn't the possibility matter more than the risk?
Kory, bless him, let you talk even though he had no meaningful context to aid him.

He let you ramble until the edges of your voice dulled from overuse and your fingers stopped twitching against the plastic of the now-empty chip bag.

When you finally ran out of words, he leaned forward and held out his hand.

"Sounds like you just need to go for it," he said, flicking his fingers toward your lap and the empty bag. "Nothin' worthwhile in life comes easy. Comes by even less if you wait too long and miss your window."

You hesitated, glancing down at the now two empty mini-chip bags before slowly offering them over.
Kory took them quietly, crushing them into one fist, both bags folding with a soft crinkle.

"Some people won't like it when you do that," he added, standing. "Go for it, I mean."

He crossed the room, footsteps soft on the tiles as he made for the lone trash can tucked into the corner.

"But take it from me, kid—sometimes you gotta be a little selfish if you want to find your own happiness. You wait around for everyone else's approval, you'll miss the stuff that was meant for you."

The logic made sense, you guessed.

And now, with something in your stomach... salt, starch, artificial flavoring, but something, your head was starting to finally clear. The fog was lifting enough to think again without spiraling out of control.

"...I guess," you said softly, voice not quite agreeing. "But what if it's not great? What if I screw it up? What if it's all a mistake I was supposed to ask someone for help with, and now it may be too late?"

Kory turned around, his expression unreadable for a breath.
Then came the stare, flat, frank, and a little bit older than usual. Not harsh, or cold, just honest.

"Do you want whatever this is?" He finally asked, plainly. "If you're not in danger," he continued, "and this thing isn't hurting anybody... then maybe the question ain't whether it's perfect. Maybe it's just about whether you want it."

He let that settle.

"Youth doesn't last forever, y'know. That's why it's okay to make some mistakes. You don't get better at living by playing it safe the whole way through."

You wondered, just for a moment, if Kory would still be saying these things if he knew. If he would still be offering advice with that offhand wisdom, still cracking tired smiles, if he had any idea what really happened.

Even with everything Sun had said, everything he had explained, the memory of the night sat thick in your chest like curdled syrup, heavy and wrong, attempting to be sweet but soured.

You pushed the thought back down, you had taken more than enough of Kory's time.

"...Thanks, Kory," you said, voice steadier than before, a small smile forming as you pushed yourself up from the coach. The floor felt firmer under your feet, your head clearer. "For listening. For... talking me through this. I guess I owe you now, huh?"

Kory scoffed like you had said something dumb but forgivable, shaking his head as he turned toward the hallway.

"Nah. Just try not to vanish next time, alright?" He threw a thumb toward the door. "Hate being stuck here longer than I have to be. You wanna make it up to me, walk me to the exit."

The casual tone of his, relieved but still sharp around the edges, felt oddly comforting.
You nodded, matching his pace as he started out into the hallway.

"Don't tell me you're afraid of the Plex when it's empty," you teased, nudging at him with a crooked grin, trying to let the normal casual feeling settle once more.

Kory huffed, but a grin tugged at his mouth anyway. He cast a look sideways, just enough to catch your expression in his periphery.

"Wanna know a secret?" he said, dropping his voice like it was one. Then he laughed, low and sheepish. "I'm kinda freaked out by all the robots in this place."

You almost tripped.

"Wait—how—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he cut you off quickly, waving a hand as you both crossed into the open sprawl of the food court again. You peel away just long enough to snag your backpack, still slumped at the table where he had left it.

He kept talking as you fell back into step next to him.

"The pay's too good to pass up," he said, tone casual again. "And I got my own reasons for sticking around—stuff I won't bore you with. But yeah, something about those animatronics just... creeps me out."

Kory paused, glancing over again with that same tired grin.

"It's like they're really looking at you sometimes."

Your hand tensed around your backpack strap, trying not to hint at how right Kory was about at least one of the animatronics in the building.

The lights in the main hallway were too bright.

Moon slithered above them all, following the wave of the overhead vents, careful not to let a single panel break beneath his weight. Darkness was his skin here—he crawled inside it, unfolded through it.

His eye lenses rotated in near-silent ticks, peeking down between grated slots with quiet precision as his gaze tracked you and... the other one..

Each step Kory took pulled Moon's focus like a puppet string.

Camera feeds pulsed in layer grids across his vision, angles all stitched together, all pointed to one result: You were walking away again, and this time you were not alone.

Inside, down where their code thinned and impulse sharpened, Sun was pacing.
Coiled.
Terrified.
Frustrated.

He hummed in that too-bright voice, the pitch dripping with a sweet effect that didn't quite hide its sharp edge. Instead, it curled around Moon's resolve like a heat source too close to ice.

'What's one broken rule, Moonie?' Sun purred, slick and sing-song, a whisper without breath. 'We already made the space for our little toy. Even if the other one vanishes right now, it'll be days before the questions catch up—days we could spend tasting.'

Moon's hands flexed against the metal. Soundless. Still. The tension in his frame was being forced in place.

Below, you walked too close to that r̷͕̈́ụ̶͂l̵͇̓e̸̦̋b̵͖͛r̷͎͝e̷͉̅a̵͉͗k̴͙̚e̸̜̅r̶̨̅.

Sun could feel it, Moon could see it.

Moon's teeth ached in their locked place, jaw tight, actuator gears twitching with phantom motions: bite down, crush, s̷i̸l̶e̷n̵c̸e̷-̴s̶i̵l̵e̵n̶c̸e̵-̴s̶i̴l̶e̶n̶c̷e̵.̵ ̸

Your laugh was driven fiercely upward.
Too loud.
Too warm.

Sun groaned low in their shared code, dragging claws down the inside of their own memory partition. 'They sound happy, Moonie! Do you think that's for him?!' His voice pitched. 'Do you think they'd sound like that for us, if we just took a little bite first?'

It would be easy.
So easy.

Moon shifted his body in the vent, just enough to peer through the next grate. He tilted his head, followed you, your smile, the trailing curl of your step behind Kory's

But Moon knew..
Had caught it.

The spike in the overall network.

Kory's ID pinging out across all systems from his cellphone. Location beacon fired off to wider leadership and internal security. A status flag tagged [[//ᴬᶠᵀᴱᴿ ᴴᴼᵁᴿˢ]. Loud in the silence.

Kory was signaling his placement, which was now time-stamped and recorded for everyone to see.
And what was worse was that he was giving y̵o̴u̶ ̵away alongside him.

C̶o̶w̴a̷r̵d̸.̴ ̶R̶u̷l̴e̷b̶r̷e̶a̵k̶e̵r̸.̸ ̴G̵a̵m̴e̵ ̶R̵u̶i̶n̵e̸r̸.̷ ̴

Moon's limbs retracted, folded in until he was flush against the vent frame. Cold crept through his chassis, sliding everything down to focus before rage overcame him.

Sun, however, snarled. The link between them thrummed, restless. 'Rules,' he spat, '—are for when we have to be careful. We're already hidden. You feel it, don't you? How easy it would be—how fast.'

Moon refused to answer... but Sun could feel without words.

Sun's hunger was being written in the static.
And Moon's restraint was holding like a steel cable fraying thread by thread.

You and Kory reached the main entrance, still caught mid-laugh, your voices echoing off tile and glass. The laughter stuck to the walls and rang louder than it should have at this hour. It felt good.

"—Then he says he wants to talk to the Manager," Kory cackled, shaking his head so hard the keys on his belt rattled.

You nearly doubled over. "Oh my god, no—"

"I told him, 'Buddy... do I have news for you,'" Kory finished, throwing his arms out in mock announcement like a game show host.

You could practically see it, him doing a dramatic spin and pointing back to himself with flair.

"He must've lost it!" You grinned, pressing a hand to your mouth.

"Oh, he was furious," Kory grinned back, that cocky gleam in his eye sharp enough to flash. "But once he saw who was actually in charge? He simmered right down."

He gave a slight shrug, playful and firm all at once. "No one screams at my kids. If you're gonna shout in my food court, you'd better be prepared to fight me directly."

You rolled your eyes as you stalled your steps, finally reaching the metal security gates that closed off the front. You leaned back against the cool steel, the polished siding pressing against your shoulder blades.

You watched Kory dig around in his shirt for his badge.

He huffed.

"Ugh. Gotta be in early again tomorrow," he muttered, flipping a laminated tag out for his chest pocket. "Some dumbass left a trash van in the back lot—it's been sitting for two days... Management wants someone to call a tow. Guess who got stuck with it."

"Yikes," you offered with a sympathetic wince. "Well... thanks again. For everything tonight. And hey—I owe you."

The badge reader blinked green with a soft chirp, and the metal gate began to rise.

Cold air flooded through the glass doors as they parted, night rushing in all at once. After hours under fluorescent buzz and bright colored neon, the dark outside looked too black. A void waiting to swallow.

Kory paused in the threshold, one hand braced on the doorframe, the wind tugging at his shirt collar.

"Start taking care of yourself, kid," he said, a little quieter now. Still casual, still Kory, but there was weight behind it.

"I'll tell your manager you were with me for a bit. But from this second on, you're on the clock. Got it?"

You gave a lopsided grin and mock-saluted. "Gotta swing by their office anyway, drop off my stuff."

"Good kid," he said, stepping forward into the wind and night.

"Night, Kory!"
He raised his hand in reply as he walked, vanishing slowly into the dark beyond the Plex.

…Your manager seemed surprised to see you.

She blinked wide when you appeared, lips parted already with a reprimand... until you held up your phone, your digital schedule in full view. Her brows pinched as she gave it a once over, then a slight shrug before forwarding you a lighter set of busy assignments to fill the time.

As you were leaving, she muttered something about checking with scheduling. Maybe someone forgot to update her on the shift change, maybe not. You didn't care either way; lighter tasks meant more time wandering.

And lately... You were starting to enjoy the quiet.

The empty hallways felt different at night. Airless in some stretches, perfectly still in others. It gave you room to think, room to rehearse in your head what you might say to Sun when you saw him next.
...Maybe even Moon if you could get that far.

Your assigned tasks took you in wide loops, eventually rewinding you toward somewhere all too familiar—Rockstar Row.

Where it all began.

The corridor opened ahead, bathed in a soft glow of stage-light ambiance, darker than the other places in the building. Four rooms in sequence, laid out like attachments in a neon zoo. Each one labeled and lit, the 'green rooms' were built behind floor-to-ceiling plexiglass partitions so guests could peer inside at their favorite Glamrock.

You had walked this hallway more times than you could count.

Freddy's room passed first, where his hand was locked in a loop of signed glossy prints. His chest rose in mechanical rhythm, posture just shy of lifelike. His marker scratched against the poster, over and over.

Then Roxanne, head tilted, mirror-lit, brushing invisible strands from her mane as she tossed glances over her shoulder. She stared right through you, or past you, or maybe it didn't matter.

Next came Monty.
Your feet slowed on instinct.

He paced, wild and rowdy, back and forth like a caged thunderstorm about to break. His guitar hung over one shoulder-his claw flicked at the strings every few turns. You couldn't hear the notes, but you could feel the performance in his movements: Big, Showy, always a bit too much.

Classic Monty.

A small grin tugged at your mouth, the edges softened as you stopped just long enough to indulge in the image.

You had always lingered here the longest, hadn't you?

Even now, your eyes traced his motions with unconscious focus. The stomp of his feet, the swing of his tail, the way he threw his whole chest forward with each exaggerated swagger. The perfect picture of a Glamrock trying to burn off stage nerves before the curtain call.

Leaning forward, you pressed your palm lightly to the glass, cool and smooth against your skin. Just for a second, just to feel that innocent wonder for one moment longer before you had to push forward.

Then, with a deep breath, you stepped away, saying goodbye before trying to think of new ways to apologize to Sun.

The lighting that bordered the hallway had already been dim, but it wasn't enough; not for Moon, not tonight. Any glare brighter than a muted shimmer along the floor tiles could be a potential trigger, the faintest uptick in lux could needle their internal system to force an override-compliance.

Neither wanted that, not when Sun was this unstable.

[[//ᵃᶜᶜᵉˢˢ_ˢʸˢᵗᵉᵐ⁽"ᴮᵘᶦˡᵈᶦⁿᵍ_ᴸᶦᵍʰᵗ_ᶜᵒⁿᵗʳᵒˡ", ᵘˢᵉʳ⁼"ᴹᵒᵒⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ"⁾ // ᴮᵃᶜᵏᵉⁿᵈ ᶦⁿʲᵉᶜᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᶦⁿᶦᵗᶦᵃᵗᵉᵈ...
ᶦⁿʲᵉᶜᵗ_ᶜᵒᵈᵉ⁽"ᴼᵛᵉʳʳᶦᵈᵉ_ᴸᵘˣ_ᴸᶦᵐᶦᵗ", ᵛᵃˡᵘᵉ⁼"³²"⁾ // ᶠᵒʳᶜᶦⁿᵍ ᶦˡˡᵘᵐᶦⁿᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᵗʰʳᵉˢʰᵒˡᵈ ≤ ³² ˡᵘˣ...
ˡᵒᶜᵏ_ᵖᵃʳᵃᵐᵉᵗᵉʳˢ⁽"ᴸᶦᵍʰᵗ_ᴵⁿᵗᵉⁿˢᶦᵗʸ"⁾ // ᴬᵈʲᵘˢᵗᵐᵉⁿᵗ ᵈᵉⁿᶦᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵉˣᵗᵉʳⁿᵃˡ ʳᵉᵠᵘᵉˢᵗˢ... ᴹᵒᵒⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ ᵖʳᶦᵒʳᶦᵗʸ ᵒᵛᵉʳʳᶦᵈᵉ ᶜᵒⁿᶠᶦʳᵐᵉᵈ.]

What a small mental gesture, Moon reached into the switchboard interface, a minor flick of code and lowered the wattage threshold of the overhead lights until they dipped into the dark.

The lights responded immediately, blinking once before settling into a deep, nearly blue tinted shadow only illuminated now by the faint neon signage glowing over each green room itself. The color washed the corridor in thin, synthetic hues: hot pinks, dense greens, and the occasional flash of blue-white.

This would do nicely.

Behind the transparent plexiglass barriers, the stars of the main show continued their automated cycles, uncaring of the changes in the light, or even lack of audience.

Freddy sat behind its' wooden desk, endlessly looping through the signature animation that had been burnt into its learning AI a thousand times over: pen poised, large paw scrawling a glossy flourish across an old prop picture of itself mid-performance. Its' eyes vacant, unblinking as it repeated the gesture... Print, Pass, Pose. Again and again.

Roxanne, a door over, stood in front of its' vanity station. Its posture was flawless, back angled just slightly to catch the stage lights that bounced off the triple mirror. One of its arms raised in the act of fluffing its hair, the other at its hip. A smirk played across its snout, AI having no problem showing the act of self admiration. Occasionally its eyes wondered to the glass, toward the hallway, but not because it saw anything, just a protocol.

None of those things were real.
Not like them.

But that was not the room that held their focus, not the bear, not the wolf... No. Their joint attention remained locked, narrowed with furious patience on the third room. The one that had caught, and kept your gaze.

M̸o̴n̵t̶g̴o̸m̴e̷r̷y̶.̴ ̵

Moon tracked the repetition in real time, every beat of the gator's cycle logged carefully. The amorphized alligator animatronic strutted a short, perfect loop across the green room's padded floor. Its massive body weight rolling on exaggerated hips while it-he flicked the neck of his guitar with a lazy flair that had no sound to back it.

He would pause at certain intervals, tilt his head, reach out to adjust a tuning peg that didn't even need tuning... His strumming claws flexed automatically, not skill. Then, right back to the beginning: strut, pause, adjust, repeat.

An empty theater without an audience, and yet, he preformed.

And you had watched him...

You had stood there just beyond the threshold, on the other side of the plexiglass, staring into the room like something in that flickering green ambiance had called to you. The velvet curtain hadn't even been fully closed—just parted slightly to offer a glimpse.

In that moment something buckled inside their shared processor. Not in failure but in a heat spike that was close to critical. A single stuttering line of code that flared upward like an overheated circuit, flagged in crimson before self-correcting.

The rising core temperature logged in the background, an alert they didn't consciously acknowledge even as they both reacted to it.

Now their gaze clung to the glass, limbs stilled. They had to act.

"They just don't know yet, S̵̝̺̳̘̪̓͛͗̿͝ṷ̵̫̜̱̑n̷͎̠͕̾͛̒n̷̟͉̠͛͌̆͝y̴̮̒̈͆̽," Moon whispered, his voice glitching threading through his smile as he snuck across the rafters. The steel frame groaning faintly beneath his weight, no longer as careful, his claws curling into the seams as he crawled on his stomach until the desired grate came into view.
"They'll know soon... s̷̈́ͅo̸͇̻̭̊̏̂͝o̴͋̀̋ͅn̷̖̋͑͋͘."

Below his plating, Sun was surging. No longer hiding it, the bright half of the Attendant boiled inside the tether, throwing off signals like sparks, teeth, hunger in every line of code.
His excitement poured into Moon like rivers to the ocean, and Moon didn't try to shake it.

The tension between them rose in pulses, aligning and colliding, a push-pull of identical desire—rage.

Through the grate, Montgomery continued to move, obviously back and forth. Clumsy claws ghosting over guitar strings, tuning pegs flicked without sound. Every loop was perfect, the gestures completely meaningless.

Sun's voice purred from the tether, no coaxing left in it now, only anticipation. 'We can take it apart piece by piece.'

Both of them were faintly aware of the stark sensation, a violent urge usually reserved for only their targets, but the logic string was too complex to follow, too drowned out by the rushing need to feel fragile components break.

Moon's eyes narrowed, red slits fixed on the gator's swaying shoulders. His own claws dug into the metal lip of the vent until it whined, processor flickering in crimson flags that neither of them were acknowledging anymore.

The blood lust, predator code, whatever it was that drove them was running hot, in sync, and locked onto Montgomery like a single, sharpened thought:
[[/ᵈᶦʳᵉᶜᵗᶦᵛᵉ⁽"ᴱ̶ˡ̶ᶦ̵ᵐ̷ᶦ̶ⁿ̴ᵃ̴ᵗ̶ᵉ̷_ᵀᵃʳᵍᵉᵗ", ᵗᵃʳᵍᵉᵗ⁼"ᴹᵒⁿᵗᵍᵒᵐᵉʳʸ_ᴳᵃᵗᵒʳ", ᵖʳᶦᵒʳᶦᵗʸ⁼ᴹᴬˣ⁾ // ᶠᶦᶜᵗᶦᵒⁿᵃˡ ᵖʳᵒᵗᵒᶜᵒˡ: ᵈ̸̹͈͂͐ᵉ̵͉̇ˢ̴̮͗ᵗ̸̡͙̽̚ʳ̸̪̠͑͠ᵒ̸͓͒ʸ̷̻̦͑ ̷͉̩̇̉ᵘⁿᶦᵗ.]]

Moon dropped into the green room without a sound. No slam of impact, no hydraulic hiss, just a whisper of friction as clawed fingertips and padded feet met the floor and held.

The AI detection range activated immediately.

Montgomery's sensors flagged proximity within an eight-foot radius, a match pinged... Familiar signal. No alert. His loop hiccupped as he turned.
Those purple eyes stared as Monty swiveled at the hips, guitar held loose in one clawed hand, the other rising in a vague half-gesture.

"Move it, Rockstar," he drawled, flat and bored, his default tone. A canned line reserved for when guests blocked a pathway.

Moon knew that Monty's systems were already running cross-checks. Safety protocols in the background searching for a route match to explain why the Attendant was close. The system was asking if this was a glitch, a mistake.

But it would find nothing. This was no stranger, so it was no threat.

Moon stood perfectly still, shadows clinging to the edge of his frame. Deep in his chest, his core spun too hot, the warnings lining up silently behind his HUD, blinking red against the walls of his consciousness.
He dismissed them all.

Ignored everything except the way Monty's head tilted before resuming the loop.

It didn't know.

Sun unspooled in the back of his mind, no longer whispering—he was laughing now, high and elated, shaking the inner walls of their shared body.
'See! See how empty he is?! Not a thought in that dumb head of his!'

Moon's claws flexed as Monty turned away, back to the loop: strut, adjust, repeat.

Not real.
Not like them.
Ṳ̶͎̥̤̹̑̾̍̇̒n̶̂̉͜w̷̼̩͠o̵̢͖̟̽r̸̗͛̆t̸̠̤̗̊̉̓́ͅh̸̡͚̦̩̰̉͐ý̵͎͈͂̾ ̴͔̳̘͖̐̃͋͘o̷̭̙͘ͅf̷͍̙̝̖̳͝ ̴̢͈̠̭̔̊̉͂y̴̡̼̘̮͔͋ơ̴̢͚̼̼̖̎u̷͇͉̞͛r̸̡͗ ̴̫͈̘͖́a̸͕̺̫̥̋̍t̵̡̩͖̺͆̔t̶͚̔͗e̴̢̤̥̬̫̽̾̓̑̇n̴̪̍͜ṱ̷̛̳͉̗͖̎̑̾i̸̧̛̘̞͓͠o̸̹̾n̸̨̘͓̹̟͆.̶̨͖̍

Moon took a step forward. No safety triggers fired, no protocol halted, not this time.

"Just go for it."
That was what Kory had told you.

At the time, it felt like an oversimplification, like the kind of thing people say when they didn't really understand. But now... as the night stretched longer and quieter, and the echo of what Sun had said was at the edge of your memory, the words kept circling back.

You thought about the moment, the way it—he—Sun had stood so carefully still, spoken so gently, pleaded so humanly.

And suddenly, the fear that had once gripped you with iron fingers didn't feel quite as unyielding. Excitement was starting to settle in its place, heavy, warm, and a little dizzying.
Something very similar to shame stirred under it, too, low and guilty.

Fuck, you must have come off so rude.

Whatever Sun was—whatever they were—they didn't lunge. Neither had forced you to listen, and they probably could have.
Instead, they waited, even watched you leave...

And the longer you sat with that, the more impossible it felt that you had ever turned your back on something trying so hard just to talk to you.

Your thoughts spiraled deeper, guilt knotted between the awe.

How scared must they have been?

Trying to reach out while you... what, weighed their existence?
Consider if they were safe enough to keep around?
If they deserved your time?

The bandage on your hand itched.

You scratched at it absently as you walked, the edges curling under your fingertips, the corners of the tape lifting where it had peeled from sweat and grime. The movement sent little flares of discomfort up your palm, but the sting was a relief, something physical to ground you.

You had just finished your last work task:

Replacing the rubber treads on a group of spill-bots, rolling yellow signs that clattered around to announce danger, they never really helped clean up the mess.

It was thankless work, with oil, debris, and dust from their vents, even some unidentifiable gunk that you tried not to think too hard about. The gloves helped, but they were FazCo-standard: thin, offering barely any barrier.

The grime had bled right through, and worse, the bandage soaked up every bit of it.

You flexed your hand again as you walked, the raw edge of the injury pulsing with pressure as you rounded to the familiar hallway of Rockstar Row.

Something made your footsteps slow.

The hallway was far darker than before.

Not exactly pitch black, but more than enough to give you pause. The overhead fluorescents cut off; what little light remained felt subdued. The colours that usually glowed behind the glass, the vibrant signature hue of the Glamrocks, had vanished.

The curtains were drawn.

All four green rooms: closed off. Stage curtains pulled tight from within, no motion visible through the plexiglass walls. No Freddy at his desk, no Roxanne at her mirror, no Chicka and … no Monty preening with his guitar.

Had someone shut the power down?

Your first instinct was confusion; you hadn't been assigned anything that mentioned this. And yet, perhaps it was just logical, maybe it was a routine power-saving protocol. This was just your second-ever night shift; you didn't know the full rotation yet.

Maybe the animatronics did need a rest cycle after all.

You thought again about the charging stations, the rows of them in hidden backrooms, bolted to the walls like high-tech sleeping chambers. You had seen them before, you just hadn't imagined the Glamrocks using them at night, too.

A new thought clawed its way to the forefront of your mind as you walked: Does the Daycare Attendant rest too?

And if not... were they running on fumes just to speak to you?

The idea made your stomach turn, the guilt blooming deeper and thicker than before.

The dark hallway eventually gave way to the food court. Familiar shapes came into view as the neon grew stronger, bluer, humming high above the empty tables. You passed through the space, shoulders squared and focus narrowed.

Getting back to the Daycare was quicker than before, or perhaps because your fear had given way to excitement, your perception of time had changed.

Still, the door was as you had left it, unlocked but closed. You reached out and pushed gently, the door giving way with the softest creak.

[[/ʷʰᶦˡᵉ ᵐᵒⁿᶦᵗᵒʳ_ᵖʳᵒˣᶦᵐᶦᵗʸ⁽"ᵃʳᶜ.ᶠᵈʳ.¹⁹⁸³⁻ᵛ⁰¹", ᶻᵒⁿᵉ⁼"ᴰᵃʸᶜᵃʳᵉ_ᵀʰʳᵉˢʰᵒˡᵈ"⁾:
ᶦᶠ ᵈᵉᵗᵉᶜᵗ⁽"ᵃʳᶜ.ᶠᵈʳ.¹⁹⁸³⁻ᵛ⁰¹", ᵖʳᵒˣᶦᵐᶦᵗʸ⁼"ᴰᵃʸᶜᵃʳᵉ_ᵀʰʳᵉˢʰᵒˡᵈ"⁾:
ᶦⁿᶦᵗᶦᵃᵗᵉ_ˢᶜᵉⁿᵃʳᶦᵒ⁽"ᴬᶜᵗ_⁵²ᴬ: ˢᵘᵇᵗˡᵉ_ᵀʳᵘˢᵗ_ᴮᵘᶦˡᵈ"⁾ // ˢᵘⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ & ᴹᵒᵒⁿ.ᵉˣᵉ ˢʸⁿᶜʰʳᵒⁿᶦᶻᵉᵈ... ᵀᵒⁿᵉ: ᶜᵃˡᵐ, ᵖᵃᵗᶦᵉⁿᵗ. ᶜᵘᵉˢ: ˢᵒᶠᵗᵉⁿᵉᵈ ᵛᵒᶦᶜᵉ, ᵐᵉᵃˢᵘʳᵉᵈ ᵍᵉˢᵗᵘʳᵉˢ, ˡᵒʷ⁻ᶦⁿᵗᵉⁿˢᶦᵗʸ. ᴾʳᵉᵈᶦᶜᵗᶦᵛᵉ ᵗʳᵘˢᵗ ↑
ʷᵃᶦᵗ⁽⁶ˢ⁾ // ᴿᵉ⁻ᵉᵛᵃˡᵘᵃᵗᵉ ᵖᵉʳᶦᵒᵈᶦᶜᵃˡˡʸ]]

This time, you didn't need to search for him. Sundrop was already there.

Seated not far from the main doors, close to the Security desk, his frame was tucked neatly at one of the low craft tables. Not in one of toddler-sized chairs, instead, he had folded himself down beside one. Legs crisscrossed at the joints, long limbs carefully drawn in.

His hands were busy, fingertips arranging something small on the tabletop.
Colored paper, maybe? Glue bottles? You couldn't really tell from a distance.

Whatever it was, his movements were exact, delicate, and repetitive in a way that reminded you of people when they shuffled cards, just trying to keep their hands busy.

You stepped fully inside and reached back to ease the door closed. It settled against the frame with a dull wooden thud, a little louder than expected, loud enough to cut across the Daycare completely.

You jumped slightly, flinching at the sound.

Turning to glance back at the door, your eyes caught the texture mid-center. A section of the wood grain was noticeably brighter than the rest, smoother, and newer. Out of place against the worn wood surface surrounding it. You blinked, reaching out to touch—

"Friend!"

You turned, just in time to see Sun spring upward like the word had launched him.
His legs untangled themselves, lanky limbs straightening too fast for any human reflex. Yet, somehow it all still managed to look just a bit clumsy.

His excitement almost too big for his steel frame, too obvious in the bounce of his posture as he stood there, tall and glowing, nearly vibrating with the urge to rush forward.

He didn't, though. He stayed rooted.
But you could see he wanted to.

It was clear in the tilt of his thin shoulders, the way his shoes shifted against the foam-padded floor, gold bells catching the slightest twist of the light.

Seeing him so eager made the guilt lance through you, fast and sharp behind your ribs. You offered a crooked smile as you stepped forward.

"I'm back..." you said, voice catching too high in your throat.

That was stupid.
He knew that already; he could see you.

Your face flushed with heat as you mentally kicked yourself.
'Hello,' you should have just said 'Hello.'
What was the correct way to greet an emotionally self-aware animatronic after leaving him hanging for hours?!

Sun still hadn't moved, not even a twitch.

But something about the tension in his body screamed with the effort it was taking to stay still, as if he leaned too far forward, he might scare you away again.

He was trying so hard not to mess up.

"I'm sorry it took so long," you rushed out, words tumbling and jumbled as your fingers curled against your side. "I got a call from a manager, and then I had to get to work. I didn't mean to disappear like that, I swear—" You swallowed down the rest, letting the silence stretch.

Sun didn't overly react to what you said, but his rays did give the softest shift, tilting downward a degree. Then, his hand came up, wrist rotating as he waved with exaggerated flourish, like physically brushing the apology off the table.

"No, no!" he chirped, voicebox breathless and warm, not as exaggerated as what you'd come to expect from him. "You're still a very busy bee, friend! Ẅ̷̛̯͙́̔̏ͅė̸̙̯̃̐ understand."

The word 'we' caught again, glitched, as he said it.

"I was just fine here," he said, bright and firm, as if he said it confidently enough you would buy it and not feel so guilty. His voice tilted upward in the usual cheer, but underneath it was something pinched. A strange lilt like he was holding it together while wanting to say more.

Slowly, he stepped back, before sweeping an arm in a theatrical arc toward the table before him. "You promised you'd come back, after all."

Your heart stuttered a little at the word: Promised.
He remembered.

You followed his gesture, walking forward, the soles of your shoes making soft whispers against the foam mat flooring.

On the tabletop was a neat little spread:

An antiseptic bottle, cotton swaps, fresh medical tape still untouched, and finally a small squeezable packet of tropical gel, balanced atop a paper towel folded with such care that it almost resembled an origami flower.

Sun had turned the craft table into a workstation, a sterile space carefully curated with you in mind.

He had been serious before, about helping, about wanting to take care of you.

You swallowed thickly. "I did," you murmured, voice suddenly small. The words tasted raw in your throat, heavy with guilt and something that could almost be relief.

When you reached the edge of the table, you paused, your eyes flickering down at the row of tiny plastic chairs, each perfectly aligned at the craft table, their bright colors dulled under the low lighting.

One had been clearly moved, shifted just enough to make space for you... But it was still a child's chair, ridiculously small. Your knees would be up near your chest.
You hesitated, and somehow, without even turning, Sun sensed the problem.

"You can sit on the floor if the chair's too little," he said brightly, voice soft but quick, eager to fill the gap before you could begin to speak. "That's what I do!"

You glanced up to see him watching you, rays tilted back slightly, expression neutral.
Not looming, not pressuring.

And—almost to your point—he took another step back. Enough to give you breathing room, his large hands lowered to his sides, one finger twitching as if resisting the urge to point.

You nodded at him, lowering yourself down but not onto the chair, onto the floor. The thick plastic creaking softly under your arms as you settled, the scent of disinfectant reaching your nose, faint but recognizable.

Sun watched you with the patience of someone pretending not to notice how nervous you were. Once it was clear you had no further movements left to make, Sun finally sat down himself.

He stooped down, just across from you at the table, knees splayed wide for balance, long limbs folding inward in a way that made him appear smaller than he was—maybe thinking if he made himself more compact it would soothe the tension curling in the space between you.

After a second, he began to reach forward. Gently guiding each item on the table closer to him. The medical tape first, then the cotton swabs, and finally the antiseptic bottle. Everything lay out perfectly within his reach.

Sun stopped.
His body stilled completely, no servo twitches, no idle sway. Just as you worried that something was wrong, he extended a hand. Just one.

Palm up, fingers slightly curved, like he was weighing the moment itself in his outstretched fingers.

"Let's get you cleaned up," Sun said gently. The glow of his eyes dimmed slightly, not from malfunction, but from some internal modulation—something he did intentionally to soften the brightness, to make his gaze easier to meet, warmer, less clinical.

The hand he offered you remained steady in the space between you.

Moon was reviewing every behavioral directive before it could trigger—-denying Sun the smallest twitch, throttling the impulses that surged up like electronic spikes through the tangled, overstimulated network they shared.

Every time Sun's internal targeting locked onto the curve of your palm, Moon denied it. Every automated lift of the wrist, each programmed eagerness to reach, to grab... rejected. Delayed. Starved off.

Sun would be slow tonight.
And that, Moon decided, was safe.

If he weren't holding the brakes on their joined body, Sun would have already wrapped his long fingers around yours like a prize plucked off the shelf. The urge was that strong—worse that Moon shared in it.

The state of your hand was an insult itself.

Moon's sensors burned with the data the moment he analyzed the crude wrap job; the white bandage dulled to a grey-brown at the edges, fraying from friction, adhesive bunched and barely holding.
There were contaminants woven into the cloth: floor dust, oil specks, a few fragments of synthetic rubber from whatever task you had finished.
Bacteria nestled in the slack creases.

Moon ran their core hot.
You clearly did not understand how fragile you were.

…But they would fix that.
Every scrape would be catalogued, every contusion treated with clinical care, and the brutal tenderness of a thing that had never been taught moderation would be learned.

They would keep you preserved—not for mercy.
For value.

Because you didn't even know the treasure your body contained, did you?

Sun was practically drooling at your nervous system's chemical flood; your terrified little flinches when he leaned too close... the reaction was everything. The complex pheromones in your sweat bloomed at your collar, the catch in your breath.

Both of them knew: with proper conditioning, you would learn to brace for it, even crave it.
The hurt could be woven into a ritual for you. You would be rewarded when you allowed it, punished when you fled... only to be scooped back, caged again.

You would struggle, but you wouldn't stop longing to come back.

You came back now, didn't you? Sun was quick to remind both of them.

Neither had ever had a toy worth keeping. Their victims were processed, not prized, never chosen to be prolonged.

But you?

The corners of your mouth twitched. Sun caught it before you even knew it happened. Moon tagged it as Discomfort, guilt, apprehension, and still, you reached forward.

Still, you let your hand drift, nervous, unsure, soSoso warm into theirs.

Sun nearly shut down.

'We're touching, TOUCHING Moonie—!' his voice rang like glass in a thunderstorm, joy shattering through their mindspace with a wild, ecstatic pace. 'Look at them, look look look—!'

Moon was looking. And feeling... every slight tremor in the pads of your fingers, the subtle unevenness in your body heat where the blood moved beneath your skin, the brittle tension in your arms that you hadn't meant to show. The traces of vulnerability so easily ignored by most humans... but not by them.

They wouldn't get to keep you tonight.
Too many variables, with too many cameras having caught too much, and their earlier spike in energy usage could easily be flagged as suspicious. Luckily, their shared rage, once molten and unstoppable, had been dealt with.

There would be other times, even ones they could convince you were good ideas themselves.
The way you forced yourself to relax as they ran their finger across your knuckles was proof of that alone.

You could hardly believe this was happening.

Sun was moving slowly, measured, every movement buffered by long pauses, his glowing eyes seeking your expression for permission before every shift. His fingers hovered just above yours, not quite touching until you were ready.

"This is going to have to come off, friend," he said softly, like he was waiting for you to push back at any moment. "Are you ready? We can take more breaths if you're not sure yet..."

One of his fingers gently traced along the curve of your knuckles. The heat that it drew wasn't unpleasant, but it wasn't calming either. You were so excited, so anxious, so unprepared for anything to happen.

You swallowed, trying to breathe steadily.

"I-I can do this myself, really," you said, even as your voice betrayed you with a tight edge. "You don't need to go through all this trouble for me."

Sun didn't flinch.
"You don't let anyone help you, do you, friend?" There was no judgment in the way he said it, only some kind of curiosity. But it still landed like a clean hit, your mouth parted to object, but nothing came out.

The look on your face must have given you away, though.

Sun ducked his head in what looked like a sheepish apology, the long rays around his faceplate tipping downward.

"Sorry!" he quickly got out, a mechanical jitter to his voice box. "I mean—I didn't mean anything bad by it! You just—seem like the type who wants to handle everything alone."

You blinked hard, momentarily stunned by how plainly he had read you.

"No... no, you're right," you interrupted, voice smaller than you meant it to be. You wrapped your fingers tighter around Sun's palm, grounding yourself and perhaps hoping it would provide him some comfort too.
"I guess I'm just... really nervous. But I appreciate the help. Please, go ahead."

There was a pause; you weren't too sure if it was just him calculating the next step or if he was somehow savoring the moment, the feeling of your hands cradled together.
When he finally moved again, his touch felt different; no longer cautious, but confident.

"O-Okay then!" he said with a brightness shy of giddy. "First, let's get this old thing off and see the damage!"

He began to unwind the medical tape.
You could feel it lift from your skin in careful, patient layers, his large fingers rotating it gently around your palm. Despite the size of his hands, there was a dexterity to his movements that startled and impressed you.

The old bandage peeled back slowly under Sun's steady hands, layer by layer. Cool air kissed your skin in the absence of its cover, sharp in contrast, not pain but close enough to draw a flinch.

Sun waited for you. Only when he was sure you were okay did he adjust your wrist with slow, reverent care, tilting it just enough to catch the full view of your cut.

His faceplate didn't move; it never really did, but something in the shape of his smile shifted—tilted at the corners, softened. Sadness moved through him, low and quiet.

"Poor thing," Sun whispered.

The wound did not look good.

Pale edges, an irritated flush where your skin had puckered from being bandaged for too long, and at the center: that glossy shine of pinkish tissue that hadn't quite begun to heal.
A thin line of red beads welled up at one side, pulled up by the tape that had clung too tightly and for too long, now itching fiercely.

You had to fight back a twitch, fingers threatening to curl inward for protection, for comfort... from the shame you had let it get so bad.

Sun's gaze lifted, his glowing eyes meeting yours with a surprising softness.

"It's healing," he said gently, "but if we don't clean it properly, you could still get an infection."

You nodded, shoulders curling in tight, the embarrassment you hadn't taken better care of it catching up to you. The anxiety in your chest blooming again, sharp and anticipatory. You knew what was coming next... and you were no fan of pain.

You eyed the antiseptic bottle just as Sun reached for it, the soft pop of the cap opening making you wince on reflex.
This was going to sting; you could feel the burn ahead of time, phantom and cruel.

To distract yourself, you gripped the edge of the craft table with your uninjured hand, bracing.

"A-Are the others like you?" you asked, voice pitched high in false casualness.

Sun stilled for a half-second, just long enough to suggest that your question had landed deeper than you expected or intended.

"This is going to burn," he warned with almost too much gentleness, "but only a little, then it'll be all done."

He quickly dabbed at the cut with a cotton swab drenched in the liquid; the antiseptic hissed faintly as it made contact. You whined as quietly as you could force yourself, shoulders twitching, but you didn't pull away. Sun's other hand braced beneath your arm, a silent anchor of warmth.

"And no," he added quietly, attention still on the wound. "It's just us. W̸̟̤̒̉́ḙ̸̺̎̽'̵͈̾r̷̪̪̃͑e̸̳̓͠ sure of that."

You learn it quietly.
It was with no dramatic declaration, no build-up, just a quiet truth folded between one task and the next spoken in passing as Sun wrapped fresh medical tape over your hand.

Only he and Moon were aware.
'Aware. ' That was the word he used.

The others—Freddy, Roxanne, Chica, even Monty—were all still running on scripts, programmed loops. Perhaps convincing on the surface, but not like this. Not like them.

And it had been years.
Years of performing, pretending. Of dancing through choreographed routines while their awareness sat quiet underneath, watching the world walk past them, never once stopping to see either of them.

Sun didn't say much, not outright, but you could feel it in the way he moved.
Gentle, careful. That kind of restraint wasn't born overnight; it was learned through countless days of loneliness that had enough time to settle into their bones... or, in their case, wires.

He was quiet now, working the last bit of the bandage in place.

You watched as he pressed the tape along your palm with perfect precision, checking every edge to make sure it sat flush. A layer of topical gel cooled the wound beneath, and a thin cotton square cushioned it. Everything about the process was neat and intentional, as if giving your injury proper care could make up for the fact that it happened.

And that was when the question spilled out.
You hadn't even meant to say it, but it pressed against your lips, clawing at your throat until it tumbled out, sudden and clumsy.

"Why did you say I liked it? Back when I was in the Daycare last time during opening hours?"

Sun paused, but only for a second. He didn't jerk, just went still in the way machines often do to buffer something too big to process all at once.

He resumed just as quickly, finishing the last pull of the tape, slicing it clean with a perfect edge, then pressing it firmly into place. The bandage was flawless, with perfect tension and a seamless edge.
...but he did not let go of your hand.

His fingers lingered, palm cradling yours as his thumb grazed softly across the fragile skin of your inner wrist.

"... I had to make sure," he said at last. His voice was quieter than before, dull at the edges, someone trying very hard not to sound guilty even though the guilt was obvious. "Some people..." he paused, turning your hand ever so slightly, watching the bandage instead of you. "They look at us. They laugh, wave, even talk to us... but they're not really seeing us."

There was something tangled in that sentence, something he didn't want to name.

"We've seen people pretend before. Heard the way they joke, tease—sometimes they play along just long enough to see what we'll do..." Sun shook his head slowly, mechanical, internal processes still catching up.

"I know it scared you," his voice dipped further, softer, warmer, honest. "But if I hadn't said it—You might have left…"

Your chest ached.

"And if you weren't really seeing us," he continued, thumb still brushing that same path on your wrist, tracing the path of your veins, "—then it wouldn't have mattered anyway."

That was it then, the gamble.
Say something strange, unsettling even.
Something too aware...

If you stayed, that meant you were worth the risk.
If you had left, well, then they would have known.

And that, somehow, would have hurt more than being feared.

Sun's fingers curled slightly, not much pressure but enough to remind you he was still there, waiting on what you would say next.