#execute command

[superstar-nan]

Execute Command

Night 2

Summary: You fix Springtrap's voicebox.

Words: 5,691

Fun stuff: Trigger warnings for obsessive behavior, trauma and psyche related dissociation, graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of harm to animals (never shown but implied), and Springtrap being a dick. I wrote his voice like how Pit Bonnie sounds in Into the Pit :p

First ♡ Next

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You screamed when you saw me, and pleasure shivered through me. You grasped your heart as you caught your breath, your eyes shaking with fear. It made me feel alive again. I wanted to hold your vitality in my hands. I wanted to choose whether you lived or died. Like coming down from a high, you closed your eyes and your breathing slowed, heavy as it was. 

“How did you...” You looked at the broken door knob discarded on your floor. You swallowed. I could see your mind race beyond your eyes, and it was everything I wanted. How? When, why—how? You must’ve been asking yourself. It must’ve been so... discomforting not to know. That I was quiet enough to not wake you. That there was no noise to draw me to you. How long I watched your chest rise and fall with your sleeping breath. 

Strange. I enjoyed watching you sleep, beyond needing your presence to keep the static from decomposing my mind. Your rhythmic and steady breathing was... leisurely captivating. I didn’t want to stop watching you. Whether it was compulsion or envy, I didn’t know.

Your brow furrowed. You moved off of the bed, still clutching the blanket to your chest. “Hey, Bonnie...” You drew out the syllables as if I were a wild animal in need of lulling. At the very least, you were talking to me instead of to yourself. It was delightful you shivered when my eyes followed you. “Was I making too much noise?” Your voice wavered. 

You slowly, tentatively approached my side. What I wouldn’t have given to jump at you, even if just to startle you. Even more to hurt you. 

When I didn’t lunge at you, you held out your hand to me. “Come on. Let’s go.”

error

failed to execute command

[STORAGE PROTOCOL] = active

Dumbass.

Your brow furrowed lightly, and then relief washed over you in a way that enraged me. “The storage protocol...” You said in a thankful exhale. I swore that would be your last thankful breath. “Must’ve been pretty boring stuck with me, huh?” 

I would strangle the laugh from your throat.

“Well, uh...” You looked at me, unsure. You were sizing me up, debating on dragging me out of your room. You were too easy to read. “...You can just stay in here. In my room. I guess.”

You grabbed the thin device that was your phone and tapped on its surface. You swore under your breath, distractedly tapping at it while hurrying to your closet. You set the phone down on your desk, but it was ringing loud enough that I could hear it.

Someone picked up, “Where are you? I’ve been calling all morning!” I knew that voice. The night guard, the one that called help too soon—the one that got away. Maybe they didn’t have to be the one that got away, if I was patient enough.   

“I know, I know!” You were swiping through clothes in your closet, “I slept in!”

“I thought that thing killed you!” How sweet it was when they trembled trying to find me on the cameras, when they squeaked seeing me peek behind the door frame, when they nearly fainted at the sight of me beyond the glass. I would’ve played with them the whole week if they let me.

You laughed, pulling something out of your closet. Your laughter would’ve enraged me, if I didn’t catch the subtle tremor behind it. 

“I’m being serious!” The voice on the phone said, cracking in a delectable stammer, “Something’s not right about that thing! When it was here, it was like it- it was chasing me or... or something.”

“Really?” You said, and you were in the middle of taking off your clothes when you looked back at me. Your eyes trained on me, calculating and thoughtful, “It does seem to follow me. It’s much more advanced than I first thought. I wonder if it has some kind of hide and seek protocol, maybe something to play with the kids?”

> execute([H+S])

error

failed to execute command

[STORAGE PROTOCOL] = active

It was only slightly satisfying that Bonnie was just as bound as I was.

“It’s more than that.” The voice on the phone said, becoming quieter—more timid. “It’s like it’s... aware. Did anything happen last night? Anything weird or did it do anything unusual?”

You paused for only a beat as you grabbed your new set of clothes, “No, nothing happened.”

Oh. You were a liar, carrot.

“...Nothing?”

My eyes traveled your bare body. Shoulders. Chest. Stomach. Thighs. I’m sure if I touched you, you’d shiver against my cold, metal fingertips. Your blood would rush in response, warming your skin that I loved to feel. I would enjoy carving lacerations into your warm body, a lovely heated canvas.

You slipped on your new clothes as you talked, “Nothing out of the ordinary. Hey listen, I’m gonna swing by to pick you up for breakfast, okay? Then, I can tell you everything I found. Like I said, this guy is way more advanced than I thought was even possible.”

“...Alright,” The voice was hesitant.

“See you soon!” You tapped your phone before they could respond. You shoved the device in your pocket along with your keys. You winked at me in a way that was both charming and annoying, “Hold down the fort, will you Bonnie?”

error

failed to execute command

[STORAGE PROTOCOL] = active

If only I could kill myself a second time. 

You left me with a loud slam of the front door. I resented you for it—leaving me. Sunlight peeked through your windows. It was too bright. A neighbor's dog barked down the street. It was too loud. Nobody was here. It was too cold. 

You returned when it was still light outside. You had a plastic bag filled with wires and tools. You set the bag on your bed, but you didn’t do anything other than nosily inspect my body. You spent most of your day on your computer, and it didn’t take me long to figure out you were working. Your computer, strangely enough, was thin like your phone; the keyboard built in. It was shaped more like a children’s book than a computer, opening up like a suitcase would.

Your desk was in your room, which meant I could watch you all day. I didn’t mind it. I itched for more, obviously. However, like watching you sleep, it was leisurely captivating. The gentle tapping of your flat keyboard, your small and subtle movements, the silence that was comfortable; not suffocating—it was just enough to clear the white noise without hurting me with intensity.

Every so often, you would take a quick glance at me. When you did, you would make a face, shiver, and then return to your work. After the fourth time, you closed your computer, grabbed your things, and left your room, closing the door behind you. I resented you for that, too. I could still hear your clicks and taps from beyond the door, but it wasn’t enough. 

How selfish, carrot.

The sun had set by the time I heard you moving around in your living room. I heard pots and pans at one point, the TV playing at another. At another, you came back into your room to fix your broken doorknob, and you cringed as I watched you the entire time. 

It wasn’t long after that when you decided to give me attention.

You came into your room, but you left the door open behind you. Did you feel more safe with an exit? If you ran, I would catch you. “Hi, Bonnie.”

I tried to move. The storage protocol stopped me. It wasn’t midnight yet.

“Feeling lonely here all by yourself?” You said, offhandedly. Distractedly. You didn’t mean it, but it still annoyed me. 

Lonely. What a pathetic word to describe my dependance on your presence. Neurosis felt more accurate.

You were staring intently at my chest. You bit your lip. “Wow,” You said, nervously. “It’s really in there isn’t it? Behind all the...” You waved your gloved hand over my chest, grimacing.

My whole body, metal and flesh, tensed. You were going to take out my voicebox. You were smart enough to do it while my storage protocol was in effect, but that didn’t stop the dreadful sensation that spread through my body like spiders. You were going to pick and prod at my innards like a mortician would a cadaver. I would’ve broken your fingers if I could move. I was violent at the thought.

You held your breath—as if you had anything to worry about, as if you were the one having someone dig their fingers into your chest. 

Then, you gently probed past my outer casing. 

It burned. You were saying something but I couldn’t listen because it burned. Pain and rage gripped me, searing hot. I wanted to rip off your hand. I wanted to rip off your head. I wanted to make you feel this pain. I wanted to dig my fingers into your chest. I would kill you I would kill you I would kill you I would-

There was a click. All at once, you ripped something out of me, and I saw white.

You gasped, sharp and quick. The pain cooled to a dim, throbbing ache. I wasn’t standing by your bed. I was on it. You were pinned under me, my voicebox in your hand and connected to my chest by wires. My claws were on your chest, digging into your skin, drawing blood where you drew mine. 

I moved. I moved. I could’ve laughed. And your horror was my delight.

Your eyes were wide in terror, and how that fed me. Your free hand instinctively came to my wrist, and you winced at the blood I drew. 

It wasn’t enough. I needed to feel your ribs crack. I needed you to scream. I needed to push and push, slower and slower, until my hand seeped deep into your lungs. I needed to feel your viscera in between my fingers.

> Execute([MOVE])

error

failed to execute command

[STORAGE PROTOCOL] = active

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

Satisfaction slipped from my fingers and I would’ve screamed. You were right there. You were right under me! 

I wanted to tear apart Bonnie more than I wanted to tear apart you.

You... You were terrified underneath me, shaking and breath quick, but that only made me want to hurt you more. You dug your nails into my wrist, trying to move me. It wouldn’t work. I couldn’t even move me. My rage elevated as your horror declined; the fear leaving your eyes as you realized I wasn’t moving.

You swallowed, letting go of my wrist. You tried to wriggle out underneath me, but I couldn’t budge. I had you pinned, my claws against your chest. You were just as much a prisoner as I was, and that brought me paltry satisfaction.

You let out a huff as you gave up on trying to slip out from under me, “Well. Shit.” You winced at my claws in your chest. I hadn’t dug deep, unfortunately, only scratching the surface.  “I’m gonna have to get a tetanus shot after this...” You said with a sigh.

You looked around the room, as if anything on the bed could help you escape from under me. Your eyes fell to my voicebox in your hand, then to your bag of tools you left here. You bit your lower lip. 

I could read it on your face. While I’m here... Might as well... You must’ve been thinking. How endearingly stupid.

You blindly palmed for the bag of tools behind you, feeling for which one you needed, while turning my voicebox in your hand. Your eyes were trained on it as you worked, wholly focused on the clockwork that was my machinery. 

Watching you so closely cooled my rage. I liked to watch. I hadn’t always, but I did now. Was it me or was it him? Did it matter? 

This close to you, I could memorize every detail of your features; the texture of your lashes, the hue of your eyes, the color in your lips as you bit them in your fixation. If I concentrated, I could feel your heartbeat through your chest, and I really liked that. I didn’t know if I wanted to slow it until it stopped or speed it up until it burst. 

You used your thumb to brush away calcified rust, replacing the wires of the voicebox, and I could feel it like it was flesh. You were quick. You were smart. A familiar, nasty feeling crept through me. Envy. I wanted the dexterity your fingers had, to move with delicate deftness. I wanted your mind that was so like Henry’s, quick to solve problems. I wanted your autonomy, free from the programming that chained me. I wanted your beauty, to not be some giant rotting thing. I wanted your breath, your blood, your life. I wanted to be you. I wanted you. I wanted to be you. I wanted you. I wanted to be you. I wanted you.

You let out a breathless laugh, one that sounded both nervous and droll. I didn’t notice through my jealous haze, but you were looking at me. “You’re going to burn a hole in me if you keep staring like that.”

I didn’t ease my stare.

You stared back, cursing lightly under your breath as your brow furrowed, “... Sometimes it feels like you’re...” 

Like I what, carrot? Like I’m watching you? Truly watching you? Thinking? Feeling? Like I’m alive? I assure you, I am.

You shook your head, “I need more sleep.” You snapped the voicebox into place in your hands, and I could feel it—I could feel it through him. It was working. Not that I could use it yet. I hated how easy of a task that was for you. “There. That should work,” You said, before flashing me a charming smile. “You’re not going to kill me if I put this back in you, are you?”

I might.

You shuffled through your pockets before holding your phone to your face, the glow of its screen reflecting on your skin, “Only a few minutes until midnight. We can test it out first, and then...” You grimaced, shifting under the weight of my claws, “Maybe there’s a command to get you to put this back in your chest? Something in that code of yours wants me out of your wires...”

Not the code, carrot. The corpse.

You exhaled slowly, setting my voicebox beside your head. Your eyes, still anxious at my visage, traveled down my face and neck to my chest. Your brow twitched. Your hand came to my chest, and my mind hummed sweetly at the soft touch. Gentle fingertips caressed my casing, your thumb rubbing delicately along its rim leaving a heavenly tingle in its wake. If I had breath, it would’ve hitched.

“Your bowtie is missing...” You said (was it? I hadn’t noticed), and your voice was somber. That should’ve enraged me, but I was too entranced by the feeling of your fingers. The sweetest of treats you could be...

You pulled your hand away from me, and I was cold again. 

> execute command [HOLD_HANDS]

My hand ripped from your chest and grabbed your wrist, mechanical in nature. You startled at the sudden movement, your breath gone from you. As much as I would’ve done the same thing, I couldn’t stand when he took control. I hated when he made me do things, controlled my body when I should’ve been controlling his. I squeezed your wrist tighter.

You hissed at the pain, but endured it. How exciting. How much would you bear? You checked the clock on your phone. It was midnight. “H-hi, Bonnie.”

You stared at me, intently, anticipation oozing from you. You wanted to hear me speak.

“H̴e̷l̵l̶o̵,” It hurt to speak. It was difficult to speak. My vocal chords moved with the voicebox in your hand. They were littered with holes, and it was rubbing sandpaper together using them. I’d dealt with worse pains, however, “C̶a̷r̶r̷o̸t̵.̶”

You reared away from my voicebox, grabbing onto my arm as if it was my voicebox that were haunted, “Good lord, is that your voice?” You said, your face twisted in a disgusted horror that I found humorous. “It sounds like you’re gargling live wires! Is that..?” You held the voice box to your ear, raising your eyebrows, before shaking your head in disbelief. You held it closer to you as if you doubted yourself, “Is that breathing? No.... no, that’s... Hell, I did not fix this thing.”

I think you did. Perfectly.

“Try...?” You swallowed, “Try saying something else, Bonnie.”

You held the box closely to your ear to listen. I was tempted to scream at the top of my ruined lungs to terrorize you—a strangely childish impulse. Did it come from Bonnie?

You furrowed your brow when I didn’t speak. “Hi, Bonnie?” You attempted, but I wouldn’t respond. You exhaled, exhaustion mixed with a touch of exasperation, as you swiped your fingers across your chest. You winced when you saw blood on your fingertips, eyes flitting to mine. You began to scoot out from under me. 

I grabbed your ankle and dragged you back.

Your head hit the bed with a soft thump. Your eyes were wide with the same look you gave me this morning—the one I relished. Fear of uncertainty. A slow build of dreadful ambiguity when I wasn’t hurting you, but unnerving you. Oh, how I loved to see you scared.

“Bonnie...” You said softly, like you were speaking to a wild creature again. You gently probed at my fingers, trying to peel me from your ankle without making any sudden movement. “Let me go.”

> execute command ([RELEASE]) = Yes/No?

> No.

> Execute([SQUEEZE])

I squeezed tighter and you sucked your breath in through your teeth. I could crush your ankle. I could squeeze until it pops and you're screaming. I could snap your foot in half with my grip, and you would never walk again. 

“Bonnie-!”

> Execute([RELEASE])

Which also, unfortunately, meant you would never run again.

You gasped when I let you go. I thought you would scramble away from me like a wounded animal. Instead, you trained your eyes on me. You were as captivated as you were afraid, your eyes scanning me as if staring at me long enough would answer your questions. Then, you rolled your shoulders, your hand still wet with your blood while you slowed your breath. You looked at your bloody hand.

“...Stay here, Bonnie.” You said, and your voice wavered. Pathetic. Surely you didn’t think I’d obey your demands? Regardless, you left, ignoring the way my eyes followed you as you went into your bathroom and locked the door.

I could already feel Bonnie urging me to follow you the moment you closed the door. I knew to wait.

Muffled beyond the bathroom door, the shower started. 

I took the voicebox you fixed in my hand. It was clean. All at once, I shoved it into my chest, suspending it in viscera and wires. It hurt less when I did it... but it still hurt like a bitch.

My ragged, strangled breath seeped from the voicebox like poisonous ichor. It really did sound like I was gargling live wires.

Just like the night before, I silently snapped your doorknob off. Steam billowed out of the bathroom, warm and wet. It was too bright in your bathroom; fluorescent whites burning me. You were beyond a shower curtain, probably trying to scrub the rust from your chest. 

I didn’t like the humidity. It reminded me of rainy nights. Abandoned buildings. Moist suits meant to stay dry. It reminded me of drowning in my own blood.

Metal bolts pierced through my skin and flesh; cracked through my bone. Fragments of my own bones scattered into my veins—I felt every tiny splinter puncturing my nerves. When did I stop twitching in pain, five weeks? Five years? 

I grabbed one of the fluorescent bulbs and snapped it in my hand.

You cursed, dropping something that loudly bounced in your tub. The shower was turned off with a heavy metal thunk. You swiped back the curtain, wide eyes looking at the door, to me, then to the shattered bulb. “Bonnie?!” 

My attention turned to you, my head twitching under the humidity. My voicebox wheezed with that strained breath, undead in nature. I couldn’t bleed, but glass shards jutted from my palm like knives.

You withered under my attention, before steeling yourself anyway. You grabbed a towel and wrapped it around your wet body as you stepped out of the shower. “Was,” You lifted up your arms before clapping them against your thighs, “Fifteen minutes too much to ask?”

My head twitched to the side.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” You took my hand and started pulling out shards of glass. I could hardly feel it. You gagged realizing the shards were embedded in flesh.

“Y̵o̵u̷ ̵w̸i̶l̶l̴.̷” You shuddered when I spoke. I enjoyed that, “P̶u̸t̶ ̵m̶e̶ ̴b̴a̴c̸k̴ ̵t̸o̴g̵e̴t̸h̴e̶r̵.̷”

You had to stare at me when I spoke, your mouth opening and closing, as if you didn’t know what to say. As if you were choosing your next words carefully. Your brow furrowed lightly as you pulled another glass shard out of my palm. “I am.”

“N̷o̵.̵” I closed my fist around the glass and you cringed as if you felt the pain yourself, “F̸i̵x̶ ̷m̴y̵ ̸s̵t̷o̶r̵a̸g̷e̷ ̶p̶r̵o̴t̶o̵c̵o̸l̷.̶”

“I-” You swallowed, “I will. We have all week-”

I slammed my fist against your countertop, and you jumped, “N̷o̴w̷.”

“Now?” You said, shocked.

I didn’t respond, searing my gaze into yours.

You tried to step around me, but I moved in front of you. Through your dread, you somehow still had the spirit to look annoyed, “Well, can I at least get dressed first?”

My eyes dropped to your body. It was living flesh, warm and wet, shivering against the cold. Your chest had five uneven pinpricks from where I ripped out of you. Watered-down blood smeared your chest and stained the top of your towel a light red. Your towel hugged your drenched body, your soft skin. I imagined my hands—my hands, not Bonnie’s—hugging your curves, just as warm and alive as your skin. I wanted you. I wanted to be you. I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to have you. I wanted you I wanted you I wanted you I wanted you-

You grabbed my jaw with one hand and pulled it up so my eyes met yours. Your face, your neck, your chest was warm. You were flushed, “Who made you?” You spat the words like an insult. 

You didn’t wait for me to respond, ducking under my arm and slipping out the door. I didn’t silence my steps as I followed you, letting you hear the weight of my body as you flipped through your clothes. You purposefully positioned yourself away from me as you changed. I was transfixed with how your spine and shoulder blades moved under your skin—your own endoskeleton.

You turned around when you were done changing, “Are you done staring? You...” You waved your hands in my general direction, “Freaky thing.”

I wasn’t done staring. I liked watching you. I liked that it unnerved you. 

“I didn’t think so,” You motioned for me to follow you. “Come on. Let me see what I can do tonight.”

I didn’t move.

You sighed, before coming to my side. You held out your hand and I took it. Your hand was still wet. You lead me to your desk, appraising my body with analytical interest. You took a small flashlight to my chest.

“Yeah, it’s in there,” You said, circling behind me. “I can see it better from the back... Can you...?” You sounded unsure. You didn’t know if your words were getting through to me, “Sit?”

My head snapped to the side to look at you, and you flinched.

“Or kneel?” I liked that command even less, “You’re too tall.”

My head twitched to the side. I grabbed your desk chair and slowly dragged it to me, scraping against the desk with a metallic screech. I sat where you had access to my back.

I couldn’t see you, which agitated me, but I could hear you. You were filtering through your tools. “The fact that you can follow verbal commands is... brilliant.” My metal bones reverberated with delight over your condescending praise. Bonnie was too easy to please. “When were you built?”

> output speech(“[YEAR_EST]”) = Yes/No?

> No.

You waited for a few moments before you asked, “Who built you?”

> output speech(“Mr. Henry Emily”) = Yes/No?

> No.

You finally picked the tools you wanted and set them on your desk, “Well, you can’t blame me for trying.”

My head snapped to you, “D̶o̶n̴'̷t̷ ̵p̷u̷l̶l̷ ̶i̶t̵ ̵o̵u̵t̶.̵” You startled at my voice.

“I’m not- I won’t,” Your brow furrowed as I saw your mind race beyond your eyes. I wanted to know how fast your heart was beating. You swallowed and it was thick. “Your suit is rotten enough that I can...” You shook your head. “I’m going to access your PLC from the outside, alright?”

You were speaking clearly and plainly—purposefully, as if to ensure I processed what you said. I didn’t respond, but I did turn my head forward.

I felt your hesitant hands on my back, peeling past my rotted casing and flesh. You took your time inspecting my insides, and I could feel your thumb prodding into me. You weren’t ripping a piece of me out, but your intrusion was still grating; inflamed and abrasive.

I couldn’t see what you were doing, but then you connected something to me. An electrical shock jolted my core, stopping my mechanical and biological functions with a violent brake. For a moment, I was in a hellish suspension. Then, like a dull computer slowly humming to life, I came back to awareness.

“Huh?” You were looking at your thin computer. There were wires connecting me to it. I imagined wrapping them around your neck—pulling them tight, cords digging into your flesh. I could make you feel that damned suspension, no electricity required. “Strange...”

You turned back to me, but stuttered when you saw how I looked at you. You swallowed your visceral panic and began tinkering with the wires in my back.

“...Something is wrong with you.” You said, returning to your computer. “You should be dead... But you're not.”

My eyes made subtle mechanical movements as I stared into your carpet.

“...What’s powering you?” You whispered, before scoffing to yourself, “Translating this is going to be a beast.” I felt the tapping of your keyboard beyond the wires. They itched like bugs crawling on my skin. I wanted them off of me, but I knew to be patient. I could be patient.

Patience was easier when I could watch you.

As I stared at the monotonous carpet floor, I became hyper aware of every sound. Your taps and clicks (obviously), the quiet humming of the air conditioning, the rumbling of your dishwasher beyond the door, the rustling of leaves in the wind outside—a dog suddenly barking in a way that stalled your fingers before you resumed your tapping. The more I focused on these sounds, the more I heard a heartbeat. A low, weak drum that frenzied my mind like wasps. It had to have been yours. It had to be yours. It was yours. It was yours.

You hummed, and it snapped me out of my trance. I couldn’t hear a heartbeat anymore, and my hands twitched at the urge to dig my fingers into your chest just so I could hear it again. “I would kill to talk to whoever made you...” So would I. “The way they programmed you is... unusual. Genius, but seriously unusual. I bet I could knock out half of it tonight-”

My head jerked to the side, “F̷i̶n̵i̸s̴h̴ ̶i̴t̶.̶” 

You flinched, “I-I am!”

“T̶o̵n̸i̶g̵h̶t̸.̶”

“Tonight?” You laughed nervously, “There’s no way-”

“T̶o̵n̸i̶g̵h̶t̸.̶” I repeated, my strangled breath being squeezed from my voicebox.

“I’m telling you, it’s not-”

“T̶o̵n̸i̶g̵h̶t̸.̶”

You scoffed, and you had the gall to sound annoyed. “Alright, if it’s so easy, why don’t you do it?”

. . .

Someone forgot to be afraid.

I stood up. I grabbed the wires and ripped them out of my back. I dropped them to the floor. You stumbled away from me, remembering yourself. 

Too late.

“I mean, I could try-?”

My head twitched. My voicebox popped and fizzled with strangled wheezing, “L̵e̷t̶'̶s̷ ̶p̸l̵a̷y̷.̵” My voice reverberated with Bonnie’s.

“N-no, let’s not play!” Your voice cracked trying to appeal to my circuitry.

> [PLAY MODE] = active

> enter [GAME]: . . .

You squeaked, and fever rushed through my veins and wires.

> Execute([H+S])

“H̷i̵d̵e̴ ̶a̶n̵d̶ ̷s̵e̵e̸k̷.”

You choked on your gasp as you caught yourself on the wall behind you. Just look at you. Your eyes shook with horror, darting between me and the exit you left open for yourself. I drank your fear like wine. It was so sweet to me. I deserved this. I had been patient. I waited all day. You abandoned me behind the door. I let you dig around in my viscera. It was only fair that I got to have my fun.

> executing command = [H+S]

Exhilaration raced over my metal bones like lightning. I couldn’t tell who wanted to play more, me or Bonnie. It didn’t matter. I still felt twice the delight.

“T̵e̷n̷.̸” 

Your already frightened eyes widened. What an exciting little thing you were.

“N̵i̸n̸e̸.”

You bolted out of the room, your legs barely stumbling to keep up with your own pace. It took everything in me to keep from chasing you down now—hearing the screams you’d make when I’d grab you and slam your head into the floor.

“E̶i̶g̵h̶t̵.̸”

But it was more fun to play, and I didn’t know if I could stop myself from killing you if I caught you now. 

“S̵e̵v̵e̸n̷.̷”

...Could I stop myself even if I did play by the rules?

“S̴i̵x̵.̷”

I heard a loud crash and the sound of furniture moving. My head twitched to the side, mechanical and annoyed. You’d better not make it easy for me, or I’d rip out your intestines the moment I laid eyes on you.

"F̶i̸v̴e̸.̴"

My eyes jerked at the sound of wood scraping against the tile, then strained creaking. At least you weren't stupid enough to run out the door.

"F̴o̷u̵r̸.̸"

Anticipation itched at my fingertips as your frantic wooden creaking rang in my head.

"T̷h̵r̶e̶e̸.̶"

I imagined your trembling body when I'd catch you, the begging that would spill from your lips like sugar, how your skin would break under my grip, painting my fingers a lovely red. My shattered bones shuddered, intoxicated at the thought.

"T̴w̷o̸.̶"

Metal scraped against wood once more, and then there was a loud slamming.

"O̸n̷e̸.̷"

Pressure released from my metal joints in a hiss of air. I took heavy steps. I let my strangled breath echo against your walls. I wanted you to know where I was. I scratched the doorframe to your living room with the loud screech of metal on metal. My eyes mechanically processed your living room. Every inch of the room was scanned for variations. Bonnie was made for this.

What made that creaking noise? I stepped closer to the center of the living room, eyes darting from furniture to cabinets to doors. Even in silence, I couldn't hear your muffled breaths. They should’ve been quickened with your fear, a delightful hushed series of pants and puffs. Were you holding your breath? That thrilled me.

Taking steps past your kitchen, my eyes jerked upward. A single string swayed back and forth from the ceiling: the entrance to the attic. I felt the edges of my petrified grin widened.

I quieted. I loved giving them false hope. It made their horror more raw; their screams louder. I quietly took the string in my hand, soft enough to be gentle. 

I yanked down the ladder in one loud wooden SLAM. It struck the floor in a terrible crash. I would've given anything to see your expression. Were you crying?

I took one loud step up.

CRACK!

...

I snapped the first step.

I carefully stepped on the second step.

CRACK!

Rage and desperation washed over me like a sheet of icy rain. Your damned ladder was too weak to hold me. I tried to be even more gentle on the third step, but it didn't matter. It too snapped under my weight.

It wasn't fair... I had you! I had you! You were cheating.

In a fit of wrath, I ripped the ladder from your ceiling and shattered it against your floor.

As if to taunt me, you peaked past the entrance to the attic. Your expression was everything I wanted: eyes wide in terror, face paled with horror, body shaking as you looked at me—but it didn't matter. I could not have you.

"C̵͓̑Ḧ̵̟́E̵̖͋Ä̵̡́T̵͈̕Ę̶̆R̶̹̃!̷̗́" My voicebox popped and fried in a short-circuiting monstrous screech. You flinched away from me, ducking back into the attic.

It wasn't fair. I deserved this. I deserved this! You were mine! You were mine! And now, I couldn't even watch you sleep. I grabbed the shattered remnants of the ladder and flung it against the ceiling, fragmenting it in a screaming CRASH!

I twitched. My whole body itched. White noise was swallowing me. You were being quiet. I was alone. Again. This was your fault. This was your fault. I hated you. I needed to kill you. I needed to kill something. I needed blood.

Your neighbor's dog started to bark again. I stilled.

It wouldn't be my finest kill, but it wouldn't be the first time either.

> [PLAY MODE] = Active

> enter [GAME]: . . .

> Execute[FETCH]

[workatah4ck3rb4se]

woe! water be upon ye

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

— 🦪

BLARGHALARGAGLARHRGAHSP-

[dailyenglishvoca]

Today's song is EXECUTE COMMAND by Skreya_ featuring the Synthesizer V voicebank Sheena

Content warning: mental health downward spiralling (a commenter joked that this was "top ten songs to eat glass to" which both made me snort and generally sums up the vibe here)

[banhbeotim]

so happy she got her own card and comic <3

[tangents-within-tangents]

Hot take:

Crosshair does not have the Imperial disillusionment and redemption arc of The Bad Batch

Emerie does.

Crosshair has an arc for sure yes but it's not that.

I was thinking about this scene:

and how it got right what this scene kinda didn't:

(It was so close but then bad writing decided to undercut the moment with a joke rip)

And I think it's really interesting that these characters who were more or less raised into the Empire/First Order and chose to leave it are all directly asked why.

But take a look at Crosshair's answers in comparison:

Different context for the asking, yes, but still, compare that to clones like Howzer, Cody, Slip and Cade who left or turned against the Empire because they knew what the Empire is doing is wrong and they weren't just going to blindly follow orders:

Crosshair - Loyalty, Purpose, and Survival

Crosshair didn't choose to join the Empire (though the show isn't very clear or consistent about how much control the inhibitor chips have) but he did, for whatever reason, choose to stay. By the end of S1 we know his chip has been removed and as he definitively says "This is who I am." There were likely still other influences on his decision, but listen to how he talks about the Empire in the S1 finale:

Hunter: Crosshair, I've seen what the Empire is doing. Occupying planets and silencing anyone who stands against them. You know it's not right. Crosshair: You still don’t see the bigger picture, but you will. Hunter: Can't you see they're using you?

Crosshair: We’re not like the regs, we never have been. We’re superior. The Empire can’t protect the galaxy without strength, this is what we were made for. Think of all we could do, together!

Crosshair: You all are meant for more than drifting through the galaxy. It’s time to stop running. Join the Empire, and you will have purpose again.

Hunter: They destroyed an entire city! Crosshair: They did what needed to be done. Kamino, regs, the Republic, that time is over. The Empire will control the entire galaxy, and I am going to be a part of it. Hunter: Don't fool yourself. All you'll ever be to them is a number.

He undeniably knows what the Empire is doing, but he does not care. In fact it sure sounds like he actually supports it and finds self-meaning in it. Hunter spends those episodes trying to convince him it's wrong, he doesn't change his mind. In the end they offer him an out and he doesn't take it.

Wrecker: You coming with us? Crosshair: None of this changes anything. Hunter: You offered us a chance, Crosshair. This is yours. Crosshair: I made my decision.

The next we see Crosshair in "The Solitary Clone" (S2:E3) he follows orders and shoots the Desix governor, right after Cody heartbreakingly tries to do what's right and find a peaceful solution.

Cody: Tell me something, Crosshair. This new Empire, are we making the galaxy better? Crosshair: We’re soldiers, we do what needs to be done. Cody: You know what makes us different from battle droids? We make our own decisions, our own choices. And we have to live with them too.

After this (glorious!) conversation, Crosshair stays. Maybe this began to seed some doubts, but he actually smiles a few scenes later when Rampart assigns him another mission. It seems like for him it truly is as he said in S1:E1 (chip not enhanced yet but still influencing him enough for his brothers to notice he's acting strange):

Crosshair: Republic, Empire... what's the difference.

Crosshair: Orders are orders.

This unethical mission that finally pushed Cody over the edge does not change Crosshair's mind about the Empire, at least not enough for him to take action.

But what does?

Mayday: And here we are, the survivors. Combat troopers stuck babysitting cargo shipments. Crosshair: Mission’s a mission. Mayday: Yeah, I used to say the same thing.

Mayday: After all the clones have done, all we’ve sacrificed. We’re good soldiers, we followed orders. And for what?

This mission has nothing to do with how the fascist Empire treats the galaxy, it's about how they treat their soldiers. It's about how Mayday loyally fought and served his whole life and Lieutenant Nolan let him die

Lt Nolan: He served his purpose as a soldier of the Empire. Crosshair: You could have saved him! Lt Nolan: Perhaps you didn’t hear me, he is expendable, as are you.

Crosshair thought he could find purpose within the Empire, and Nolan shows him exactly what that will be.

His turning point is accompanied with this powerful visual of the ice vulture, a symbol (and threat) of death, and also set up within the episode a symbol of survival:

Mayday: Vicious creatures, but you have to admire ‘em. They find a way to survive.

This critical moment (that gives me chills, oof this episode is a masterpiece!) comes right after Nolan calls him expendable and directly threatens him:

Lt Nolan: And if you speak to me again with such disrespect I'll see to it you meet a similar fate, clone.

then Crosshair sees the vulture's shadow and turns to Mayday's dead body (ahh visual storytelling my beloved) then makes his decision:

Crosshair turns against the Empire not because he believes Hunter was right about this:

Hunter: I've seen what the Empire is doing ... You know it's not right.

but because he was right about this:

Hunter: All you'll ever be to them is a number.

Redemption (both in fiction and irl in my humble opinion) comes with making amends and reparations (which is why death 'redemptions' bother me so much but that's a rant for another time). Unlike Emerie, Crosshair never explicitly denounces the Empire or his own actions within it. He never says anything to specifically show if and how his views have changed from what he said on Kamino. He makes amends with his family (sending the warning message, helping Omega escape, making up with Hunter) but that's about it. The most we get in terms of acknowledgement is this:

Crosshair: I thought I knew what I was getting into with the Empire. I thought I was being a good soldier. Hunter: Nobody really understood what was happening back then. Crosshair: I’ve... done things. I’ve made mistakes. Hunter: I have regrets too, Crosshair. All we can do is keep trying to be better, and who knows there just might be hope for us yet.

Which is nice and all but it's more about them making up as brothers so it's way too excusing tbh ("no one knew what was happening back then" ummm? "The Empire will control the entire galaxy, and I am going to be a part of it" remember? And even if at first Crosshair was being controlled by the chip, the fact that he chose to stay after it was removed* means he condones and is therefore still accountable for those actions).

There's also a bit of self-destructive guilt:

Crosshair: Omega, don't risk anything for me. I belong in here.

Crosshair: Omega needs you both. So I’m doing this alone, it’s what I deserve. Hunter: Don’t even think about plan 99, Crosshair. Omega needs all of us.

(which thank you Hunter for pushing back on the death redemption bs and oh look is that a wrap up for the purpose thing?)

But there's no action taken on his part to make up for what he's done or to stand against the Empire (aside from the bare minimum of help with Tantiss, only after it became personally relevant, which like yeah he had trauma to deal with but still).

While I do think the implications/follow-up of Crosshair's turn should have been handled better in S3 (like rip Howzer! he deserved an apology, but that's a rant for another time), I don't necessarily** think this arc is a bad writing choice. It's just saying different things than we expect:

Maybe Crosshair's story is not about standing up against an unjust system, like we see with many other characters (who deserved more screen time but that's a rant for another timeeee). Maybe his story is about how even those who are loyal to the Empire, who actually believe in it, still suffer under and within it's rule. Not to garner sympathy, but to show that there is no winning.

Crosshair has another 'so what changed' convo in S3:E14 with Rampart, in which they draw parallels to each other:

Rampart: You used to believe good soldiers followed orders. Crosshair: Depends on who's giving them. The Empire betrayed us both. Rampart: And you think you can fight them? That's not you. You're like me, loyal to no one but yourself. Crosshair: I've changed.

(note how he says who's giving the orders, not what the orders are)

"Loyal to no one but yourself" describes Rampart much more than Crosshair, since we often saw Crosshair pride himself as a loyal soldier of the Empire whereas we saw Rampart abuse power to be self-serving within the Empire (like when he killed Wilco to save face). But they were both betrayed either way. Vice Admiral Rampart, snively Imperial opportunist through-and-through, shouts "I was following orders!" as he is arrested for the Empire's purposes. (Edit: and where Crosshair rejected the Empire and found new purpose fighting for his family, Rampart was still self-serving in the finale. He still tries to gain power for himself and he gets his comeuppance).

Even Hemlock, the final boss immoral Imperial scientist, who has to be benefiting the most from this system, echoes the expendability idea:

Hemlock: What I am working on is beyond your understanding. Something so vital to the Empire it makes me indispensable.

Then there's CX-2, also set up as a parallel/foil to Crosshair (fight me), who in the end is discarded as no more than a weapon, a tool that served it's purpose, showing us what would have become of Crosshair if he had stayed.

There is no winning in the Empire. Loyalty is not rewarded, it "doesn't go both ways." Everyone has to fight for their value. Even high ranking individuals** who for a time benefit from the injustice, in the end are just pawns to be used up and cast aside at a whim for the Emperor's gain. Even people who are motivated by self-interest alone cannot survive within this system, the only viable option in this galaxy is to fight the Empire and dismantle that system. (unless you conveniently find a magically safe island to hide away on but that's a rAnT fOr AnOtHeR tImE)

Which brings us back to...

Emerie - Cooperation, Compassion, and Choice

(Okay this post has already gotten away from me but I still want to talk about her to show the contrasts.)

Emerie may not have been given a lot of screen time to really flesh out her development, but there is a lot that is pretty clearly implied with her:

Crosshair: They’ll never turn her [Omega] over. Hemlock: They don’t have a choice. She is a clone, and therefore Imperial property. *Camera cuts to an angle more centered on Emerie’s face*

Crosshair: Give me your access card! Emerie: It won’t get you outside!

Emerie: I tried to warn him what would happen if he did not cooperate with the Doctor.

Emerie: Prisoner? Omega, you are no such thing. It will take time to adjust, but you will acclimate. It is far safer in here than out there.

Emerie: You should go back to your room. Crosshair: You mean her cell?

Emerie: Why children? Hemlock: Children are easier to attain and more agreeable to the subjugations. They are unaware of why they are here and what they possess.

Emerie: They're children. Like I was... Was your plan to discard them too? Nala Se: The Empire will keep them in order to control them.

We don't know a lot about Emerie's background, but it's clear that she had a lot less choice than Crosshair and less opportunity or ability to leave. Unlike Crosshair, we never directly hear Emerie's views of the Empire (and she was most likely 'taken under Hemlock's wing' before the Empire even came to power), but lets look at how she talks about the Tantiss:

"Remain calm. Cooperate and you might survive."

"Don't make this worse, Crosshair! There is no escape!"

"All of us serve a purpose here."

"The Doctor will inform me, if it's necessary."

"It's best not to ask questions."

"Escape is not possible, Omega. This is for your own good."

She honestly does the best she can within the system she is also trapped in. She tries to help Crosshair, Omega, and the vault kids in the only way she knows how (warns Crosshair about the hounds and security, tries to protect Omega from Hemlock, tells Scorch his "actions were extreme" with Jax, insists on overseeing Bayrn's retrieval, double checks his m-count (to give him an out), and tries to find out where he came from). When she gives Omega, and later Eva, the doll, I think it shows just how little she really is able to do here (and it's kinda heartbreaking imo).

The framing of this shot especially (after Jax's escape attempt) visually shows how Emerie herself is trapped/imprisoned:

Despite the fact that very little of this is Emerie's fault, she has very little power and she is doing all she can, the narrative does not excuse her role in the Empire:

Nala Se: What will you do, Emerie? Emerie: There is nothing I can do. I don't have that kind of power. Nala Se: Don't you?

Emerie: I- I was doing my job. Echo: Yeah, I’ve heard that before. You’re a clone. How can you be part of this?

These fighting-the-Bystander-Effect conversations parallel these exchanges:

Hunter: We made a choice, and so did you. Crosshair: Soldiers follow orders. Hunter: Blind allegiance makes you a pawn.

Crosshair: We’re soldiers, we do what needs to be done. Cody: You know what makes us different from battle droids? We make our own decisions, our own choices. And we have to live with them too.

which did not change Crosshair's mind. And honestly, all respect to Echo's disappointed mom glare™ but I think it's clear Emerie had already made her decision, she just needed help to actually be able to do anything about it. When she stopped Echo, with her voice wavering on the verge of tears (ahhh v good voice acting), she clearly had no intention of turning him in. She's on her own in the Empire's most secure facility with very little resources, if she had tried anything on her own she most likely would have failed and been killed

Omega: Emerie, you don't have to do this. Emerie: (sigh) I’m sorry, but I do.

but as soon as she is enabled by an ally, she immediately turns around to help: giving information and getting Echo through security, helping the kids escape, and giving Omega the tablet that allows them to free the other clone prisoners.

Where Crosshair's turn is accompanied by the symbolic imagery of the ice vulture, Emerie's is the removal of her (literally rose-tinted!) glasses:

Symbolizing how she has shed her previous views/indoctrination that altered her perception of the Empire and blinded her to it's wrongs. It's disillusionment.

Emerie's story shows us that even those who are raised and indoctrinated into this system can, should, and will escape (with needed help). Even those who did not choose to be apart of the Empire and are not making the decisions still have the responsibility and ability to act on what they know is right.

Emerie, whose name means 'Home strength' 'Brave' and 'Powerful', and "reflects the importance of leadership and authority in the workplace".***

While Emerie is only in one more scene after her turn, so the wrap up is a bit rushed, she still very simply does what Crosshair does not:

Emerie: Because I was wrong about this place. And I'm trying to do the right thing.

Echo: I’m sure Senator Chuchi would find what you have to say very helpful for our cause. Emerie: I have a lot to make up for. I’d like to help out however I can.

She admits wrong, takes accountability, commits to making amends, and leaves with Echo to go take on the Empire (which hopefully we will get to actually see more of some day).

So, in short, she's showing us how redemption is done right!

---

Notes:

*Whether this writing choice was good/logical/in-character or not is another discussion entirely, but I'm going off of what we were given, what the show is presenting in the canon text and (reasonably inferred/intentional) subtext. Crosshair is pretty multifaceted and I could only touch on so much here. There's a lot of ways to interpret his character/choices, but I tried to avoid the realm of speculation or fanon explanations (even if they sometimes make more sense lol).

**History and political theory are not my area of expertise at all, so I have NO idea how well this aligns with real-world fascism stuff and therefore what implications this storytelling choice could have. I think the message of like 'if you think you could survive or gain power by doing what the Empire/fascist system wants you are wrong' could be good (like how everyone is actually harmed by the patriarchy type of a thing), but I hesitate bc maybe there are those who would benefit, since it's a hierarchal system, right? If anyone more knowledgeable than me has incite to share, by all means

Either way, I do think it works in-story and in-universe though. It's just in the execution. The main problem (even from a strictly theme/character arc stand point) is the lacking follow-up/consequences for Crosshair in S3. Like you gave your character accountability by removing the chip and I think that's great setup for an arc but you gotta follow through with that and actually hold him accountable!

***I'm always curious when clones have 'normal' names, like why did they chose the name Emerie of all things? So I looked it up. Idk how reliable sources are for name meanings so take it with a grain of salt but it's still fun. Fits pretty well, and clones names have definitely had significant meanings in the past (like how Rex and Jesse both mean 'king') so I'm pretty sure it was intentional.

Anyway, thanks for coming to my tedtalk

[suirizmi]

my favorite pokemon characters! (based on this)

[nerdishpursuits]

Reina … Marta de la Reina

[jpsolace]

I finally finished another drawing! And it's angst! So have some angst order 66 Cody art. And remember, if you live in denial, the clones never, ever, got hurt 🥲

[cathartic-tomfoolery]

Human peepers is @om000o 's design!! (And it's so radical, wtf)

Actually a huge fan of their art in general absolutely delectable stuff!!! >_< U should go check out their stuff..or else..

[grey822aaa]

draw the redheads (silver, ariana, mars, and arezu) together chilling

or maybe scheming

If this is a headcanon that they are all related, then I condemn

[superstar-nan]

Execute Command

Night 1

Summary: You're an engineer, and your best friend who works as an overnight security guard for Fazbear's Fright calls you asking for a favor. Now there's a giant rotting bunny animatronic in your home, and you need to fix him by Friday.

Words: 5,062

Fun stuff: Springtrap POV, Springtrap/Reader (but really William/Reader/Spring Bonnie─Willaim and Spring Bonnie are treated like seperate creatures), gender neutral reader, cannon typical violence, slow burn, William is a monster and insane but Spring Bonnie is just a robot, the way Spring Bonnie acts is based on this post. Dark fic. Uploaded from my Ao3.

Technically an AU of my fic Fight Tooth and Nail where the reader's best friend doesn't die, but it can be read as a stand alone.

Next

───── (\ /) ─────

I was locked in darkness so long that sunlight burned me. 

The sunlight that poked through my crate, taunting and painful, was the only indication of where I was.

“Yeah, I mean—I guess you can set it over there.”

“You don’t got a... workshop er somethin’ we can drop this thing off at?” 

“Does this place look big enough for a workshop?”

There was silence.

“No. I don’t. Just set it in the living room.”

“You got it, boss.”

My crate was lifted and pushed. The movement alone tore into me like knives, springlocks pulling against flesh that could somehow still feel pain. I was used to it.

I was set down with a resounding THUD. Pain shocked through me and I saw red.

I’llkillthemI’llkillthemI’llkillthemI’llkillthemI’llkillthemI’llkillthemI’llkillthemI’llkillthemI’llkillthemI’llkillthemI’llkillthemI’llkillthemI’llkillthemI’llkillthemI’llkillthem-

“I’m not your boss. I’m just doing a friend a favor.”

Sunlight still burned tantalizingly against my framework. My whole body itched from it. 

> Execute([MOVE])

error

failed to execute command

[STORAGE PROTOCOL] = active

“‘S quite a favor. This thing... it's a piece ‘a work.”

“Mmm. Don’t excite me. When’s the attraction open anyway?”

> Execute([MOVE])

error

failed to execute command

[STORAGE PROTOCOL] = active

“‘bout a week.”

“A week? Am I going to have enough time to fix him?”

> EXECUTE([MOVE])

error

failed to execute command

[STORAGE PROTOCOL] = active

“Idunno. You're the technician.”

“...Alright. I’ll call if there’s any problems. Oh, and could you move it out of the sunlight? I don’t want the heat degrading the machinery.”

“Sure.”

I was pushed, the crate dragging across the floor with a whining shriek. I was out of the sunlight, but my skin still itched. 

The door closed. It was silent. Muted footsteps slowly approached me. One set of footsteps. There was only one. No witnesses.

 > Override command = [STORAGE PROTOCOL]

error

failed to execute command

It was worth a shot.

Something wedged into the crate, cracking and snapping the wood. Then, the other side of the crate. The crate’s lid fell slowly, like a tree falling to an axe. It hit the ground with a loud THUD .

There you were. Sunlight framed your silhouette, too bright in my darkness. You were smaller than me—and of course you were, there wasn’t a human alive the size of an animatronic. You were coughing and waving at the dust I brought. When you came to your senses, your eyes widened. You instinctively drew back—and that made me desperately want to pursue. It wasn’t a new reaction. Everyone knew to be afraid of me. That was my one balm to that fucking ‘storage protocol’.

You drew closer, tentative with a knot in your brow. How strange, that you would draw closer when you were so clearly terrified. You didn’t have to say it, I knew what you were thinking, but you said it anyway, “What happened to you?”

I wanted to laugh, bitter and spiteful. The pain gnawed at me until it was numbing. I had to tear my flesh apart anytime I wanted to so much as lift a finger. My lungs wanted to fill with air when they were filled with holes, my heart wanted to beat when my veins were sealed with rust. My head rang with a never ending migraine from the rods piercing through my skull . Every light, every sound, every stimulation was too goddamn bright . A lot happened to me.

You extended your hand as if you wanted to touch me. You were slow . Achingly slow. Tauntingly slow. I knew why you were slow. You thought I would bite. I would.

As if snapping back to reality, you shook your head and pulled back. Tease . You hoisted up the crate’s lid and pressed it back into place with your full body, enclosing me in semi-darkness once again. Your subtle footsteps left the room. After you were far enough away, a door opened and then shut loudly. You left. You left me alone.

> Execute([MOVE])

error

failed to execute command

[STORAGE PROTOCOL] = active

Being alone was terrible terrible white noise. It grated like sandpaper against my skull , slowly and gradually wearing at my mind. I was back in that room— blind in the shadows, walls swallowing me whole, twitching in pain that never stopped, nothing for decades —but waiting in this toybox was child’s play. You would return. You would come to fix me.

And I would kill you.

Light surrendered to darkness while in the static of my cage. I had a shallow grasp of time after spending so much of it in the safe room . Had it been hours? Minutes? Days? Seconds? Weeks? It felt like all of that and more and less and like the static was consuming my brain like maggots , but also it had probably been hours since it was dark now.

The instant I heard the sound of the door open and close, the static was gone.

Artificial light dazed me in its suddenness, bringing a throbbing headache to match all the springlocks in my skull.

I could hear you moving around; setting down things, ruffling through belongings. You came back at night . 

> Execute([MOVE])

error

failed to execute command

[STORAGE PROTOCOL] = active

It wasn’t midnight yet, but it was close . I could taste it . I could taste your blood . I only had to wait.

You wedged a crowbar in my cage.

You were going to release me now? You were making it easy for me.

The door to my crate crashed to the floor. You inhaled sharply when you saw me again, as if you had forgotten how horrific I was. You swallowed your fear, but I knew it was still there no matter how brave you pretended to be. You were wearing blue disposable gloves and a jacket .

Would you cry? Would you scream? Would you cower in front of me or would you try to fight back? Anticipation sent electricity through me, and I would’ve shuddered if my body functioned correctly. As easy (and gratifying) as it would be to rip your head off your shoulders the moment midnight struck, making it last would be so much more satisfying .

I enjoyed playing with the night guard, they were so easily frightened. But they called for help too quickly. The fact that they were still alive was so annoying. It gnawed at me, like an itch I couldn’t scratch. I wouldn’t let that happen again.

By six tomorrow morning, I’ll have painted the floor with your guts.

You bit your lip before offering a pathetic smile, “Hi, Bonnie. I’m going to, uhm...” You let out a shaky sigh as your eyes quaked, scrolling me from top to bottom, “... Damn , I should’ve done this during the day.”

You really should have.

You took a step closer to me, and my flesh itched to grab you. Your hand reached for me slowly, but you backed away, unsure. You tried again, but retreated again . “How am I going to...” You brought your nervous eyes back to mine, and then something hardened in them— resolve . I didn’t care for resolve in my victim’s eyes. “Fuck it.” 

You grabbed me. Full-body, arms wrapped around my decaying waist. Pain, feeling, electricity, pain, sensation, stimulation, PAIN —shocked through me like lightning . It was too much, it burned me, it was white and hot and I would tear the bones from your flesh and make you watch me break them. When you let go of me, it was too cold. Static consumed me in a moment. I needed you to grab me again, because while stimulation made me irrational and violent , I hated the static more.

“Damn it,” The noise was gone the moment you spoke. You held your nose with the back of your sleeve, “There’s no way I’m getting this smell out...”

I was on a couch. You moved me. I was in a living room—your living room. Your kitchen was just beyond a pony wall. You had tools laid out haphazardly in a way that reminded me of Henry.

You turned toward your tools, fingering through them with delicate precision, “Sorry about the, uhm, ‘ accomodations ’,” You were supposedly talking to me, but you were truly talking to yourself. It was pathetic. “Who has the money for a workshop in this economy?”

While you were looking for the right tool, I was scanning your measly home. There . A Clock. 11:57 .

You picked up the tool you wanted and turned to me. “I must admit, as... terrifying as you are to look at, you are an intriguing mystery.” Your gloved fingers came to my chin, and the sensation wasn’t as burning now that you weren’t grabbing me with your whole body. The softness of your fingers was dizzying, and the pain was lost to the sensation of gentle touch. I could feel my mind glaze over as you tilted my head to the side, “You don’t mind, do you?”

Then, you jammed your screwdriver into the side of my jaw.

With each twist of your tool, I imagined twisting your limbs out of place. Your voice came in a breathy whisper, “I can’t wait to crack you open and see what’s inside...” The feeling was mutual. 

Your twisting started to slow. Your brow furrowed. You lifted my jaw with your palm, squinting as you tried to peer past my teeth. You were so so close to my teeth. All it would take was one bite. 

My eyes flicked to the clock. 11:58 . 

“...What the hell?” You noticed something beyond my mask. You started to unscrew the other side of my jaw. You peeled through rust, metal, and stiff flesh, pulling my jaw down to see what was inside. Your eyes went wide. You stumbled back from me, your sleeve coming to your mouth. Fear and disgust dripped from you like sugar on a candied apple just out of my reach. You gagged as you rose to your feet, feeling your way into the kitchen.

You collapsed against the sink in the kitchen, just barely in my sight. You slowed your breathing, snapping off your blue gloves. You picked up something small and thin that glowed in your hand.

My eyes flicked to the clock. 11:59.

 You held the object in your hand to your ear. Then, you started talking, “There’s a corpse in it.”

There was silence.

“Yes yes, hi, how are you, there’s a corpse in it! ”

Silence again. The object in your hand must’ve been a phone.

You put a palm to your forehead, “ The bunny animatronic! There’s a body! Inside! The! Animatronic! ” A heavy exhale past your lips, “Well, I don’t know! Did someone put it there, for the haunted attraction or-?” 

11:59 had never passed so slowly before.

You dragged your hand down your face, “... Yes , I’m sure. No, no it isn’t fresh. It’s old. Really old. Look, I’ve been listening to the tapes, someone probably died in that thing. And-and I guess they just sealed it away instead of-?”

12:00.

> Execute([MOVE])

> executing command = [MOVE]

Finally.

My body ached with rust and calcified tendons as I stood. It resisted movement as if it knew it was wrong for me to move. I silently snapped my jaw back into place. I dragged my eyes to you. 

Your back was facing away from me, toward the counter, “Yeah, yeah I know! Look. I’m going to call the police.” My eyes flicked to the thin object in your hand. No, you wouldn’t. “At the very least, that’s going to delay the attraction a few days, and at the most... You might have to find a job somewhere else. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t-”

You turned around and froze. I was behind you. Your eyes slowly scrolled up to mine, wide in shock. I left enough room for you to run. I wanted you to run. Run. Run .

“...Actually, I’m not going to call the police.”

You didn’t run. You didn’t scream. You didn’t cry. You looked... excited.

... Disappointing.

In an attempt to scare you, I dropped my heavy arms onto your counter on either side of you, slamming against the smooth finish with a loud THUD . You flinched, but your lips turned up in an unconscious smile

“No, listen. It just moved ,” You said into your phone, and you couldn’t drag your eyes away from mine. “It moved! It works, after thirty years of rusting, it’s actually moving! I can’t get my toaster to last longer than five years, do you know how incredible that is?”

My head twitched, jerking to the side. You really reminded me of Henry.

Now that I was closer, I heard the faint sounds of someone talking from your thin phone. You rolled your eyes, “Honestly, I didn’t think he was actually moving on your shifts. I thought someone was trying to play a prank on you or something.”

Your hand came to my arm subconsciously as you talked, and my eyes snapped to it. You were touching me with your bare skin. Your bare skin on my rotting suit, but it felt like my flesh . It made me dizzy to feel someone. I couldn’t see anything but your fingers. You were just holding me, but it was all I could focus on. Warm flesh, soft skin, light touch —it drew breath I didn’t have; it sent electricity through my veins. I would sever your hand and glue it to my suit, but I couldn’t pull away from it to even cut you. All I could think was touching soft warmth touching soft warmth touching soft warmth touching soft warmth touching soft warmth touching soft warmth touching soft warmth touching soft warmth touching soft warmth touching-

“Don’t be mad!” You said with a laugh, and you drew idle circles on my arm that made my head spin. Literally. Gears sealed with rust beneath my suit spun for the first time in decades. It was grating and painful, but I wouldn’t dare trade it for you to stop. “The fact that the thing can actually move is a miracle . Wha- Of course , I’m being safe! It’s not hurting me, it’s just...” You tilted your head, looking at my eyes with nervous concern, “... Creepy...”

You pulled your hand away and it was freezing. My nails carved jagged slashes into your counter. You ducked under my arm and kept talking, “Let me work on him a little bit.” 

I felt heavy coming down from the high of your touch. My blunted, metal fingers wrapped around a knife you kept on your counter.

“Just for a little while, then I’ll call the police.”

My eyes trained on you—your back to me, completely unaware. I wondered if you’d still be excited if I cut pieces off of you?

“ Come on! Please? I just want to fix a few things. The rusting... His voicebox...”

I raised the knife above my head.

“The tapes mentioned something about a ‘storage protocol’ locking up the suit during the daytime? I bet I could fix that.”

I stopped.

“Oh, and he apparently follows noises. That’s probably why you kept seeing him move around at night. Maybe I could strip that from his programming, make something more useful for a horror attraction.” 

I slowly put the knife back on the counter, cushioning its handle with my fingertips to keep from making a noise.

“Hey, look at it this way, you’ll be able to keep your job? And when I bring him back to the attraction, he won’t scare you every night. And if I get a peek into the coding of this thing- Oh, relax! I’m not being-”

You turned around. I was inches away from you again.

“Whoa,” You swallowed. “Yeah, it just followed me again. It’s... so unnerving . Watch this thing be actually haunted.”

Yeah. Watch.

“Anyway, please don’t call the police,” You begged into the phone. “I only need one week, and then I’ll put him back together.”

You can put me back together. How... convenient. How unsatisfying , but convenient. I could be patient. If it meant being rid of the damned coding holding me back, I could be patient . 

A large smile stretched across your face once you got your answer from your friend, “Breakfast is on me tomorrow, okay? Thank you!” You tapped your phone and set it on the table. Then, you brought your eyes up to mine.

You were nervous. Your fingers shook when you looked at me, your body shifted from side to side, your eyes unable to break away from me as if I would strike if you did. I liked that you were nervous. You had good reason to be nervous. And then there was the keen interest in your eyes, hiding behind your visceral fear. The curiosity that would kill you. I liked that less.

You took a step to the side. Then, you stepped to the other side of me. You were testing to see if my eyes would follow you. You shivered when they did.

“Well, Bonnie. You’re mine,” You rubbed your arm as if there had been a sudden chill. “At least for the next week or so. Let’s put that time to good use, hmm?”

You rubbed your mouth and chin in contemplation. You took a few steps away from me, as if testing to see if I would follow. When I didn’t, you hummed in thought. You walked back into your living room.

“Come here, Bonnie!” You called, “Over here!”

... You were calling me like a dog?

error

command unclear

> execute command ([FOLLOW]) = Yes/No?

> No.

“Come on?” You exhaled. You looked around, before grabbing the newspaper lying on your coffee table. “ “Fazbear’s Fright: The Horror Attraction! Local amusement park is getting ready to scare your socks off with a new attraction based on the unsolved mysteries of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza!” ” 

You looked up. I didn’t move.

“Fine,” You dropped the newspaper back down and trudged back towards me. You rolled up your sleeves, and said, “Let’s go.” The thought of you grabbing me with your whole body again sent a piercing ringing through my skull.

> execute command [HOLD_HANDS] 

My hand jutted forward without my own volition. Looks like he also loathed the overstimulation. You flinched back from my hand like a startled animal, your chest rising and falling in rapid succession. Your breath slowed as your shaking eyes pulled away from my palm and to my own. You put your hand in mine.

Your touch was sweet warmth and it thrilled my flesh and wires to feel . I engulfed your hand in mine, and I craved to squeeze it until your bones cracked and blood seeped between my knuckles. Not yet, though. This might be your dominant hand.

You took a step back, and I took a step forward. “Okay,” You said, “This works.” You walked backwards, keeping your eyes on me, and you didn’t know the thin line you were treading.

I followed you to your living room where you kept your tools. Your eyes were glued to me, and I thought you couldn’t look away because you were afraid of what might happen if you did. But your eyes weren’t shaking, they were steady. They were steady on my legs, my arms, my chest—you were fascinated with my movement. You were captivated by every step. I loathed it, and worse, I understood it. I remembered my fascination with them . Wretched rotten little beasts.

I twitched as you gently guided me to sit on your couch. You leaned closer to me, your brow furrowed in inquisition, “...How can you move?”

I mimicked your head tilt. I hoped to unnerve you, but a delighted smile spread across your face. 

“Charming,” You said. You started to sift through your tools again, picking through them like fruit. “You’ll have to bear with me,” You were talking to yourself again, feigning to me. “I’ve never worked with machinery this old before... You wouldn’t happen to have a USB port would you?” You laughed as if I had any idea what you were talking about. “I’ll have to do a bit of research tomorrow, but for now let’s ease some of that corrosion, hm?”

You set down two small canisters and a fiberglass cloth next to your lap. Your eyes briefly flitted to mine, before timidly staring at my body. You kept your head lowered as you held my wrist. You were deliberately avoiding my stare. That excited me. 

You gently tilted my wrist back and forth, testing the joints, but you were grinding the sensitive tendons and gears in a drumming pain that was both too piercing and too dull. When you were done with my wrist, you moved to my arm, my shoulder, my jaw; the pain of your flexion mixed with the pleasure of your touch traveling up my body. Your fingertips were hesitant checking my joints. Were you afraid of touching my flesh? I hoped you were.

You took one of the canisters and held its nozzle to my wrist joint, but you hesitated. Your eyes were drawn to mine, but you hastily returned your focus to the canister you were holding, reading its label. When my eyes followed yours, I saw what was on the label. Hydrochloric acid. “...Is this going to corrode the corpse...?” You asked yourself. 

error

command unclear

> execute command ([MOVE]) = Yes/No?

> YES.

“Whatever,” Before you could tip the canister, my hand shot to your wrist. A choked gasp escaped your lips. You froze. You stilled your breath. Your wrist shook ever so slightly under my grip, and oh how I loved that. You were terrified , and it was so sweet to the taste , I could drink it . I realized if you tried to run from me, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from killing you.

You didn’t run. You swallowed, eyes shaking as you studied me. You couldn’t hold my gaze for a fraction of a second before, and now you acted as if your life depended on keeping it. “That’s-... That’s one hell of a safeguard protocol...” You said through a trembling breath. Your skin looked so alive and flush against my rotting, soiled fursuit.

I had never been good at resisting my impulses.

> Execute([SQUEEZE])

> executing command = [SQUEEZE]

Warm flesh and bone pressed under my grip, and panic seized you. I drank how your eyes flashed through shock, then stupor, then horror. I was slow. I wanted to savor it. You instinctually clawed at my wrist with your free hand. You dropped the canister, “ Wait! Stop, stop, don’t-!” 

I relished the sharp inhale that passed your lips when I abruptly dropped you. You held your wrist tenderly, massaging the bruise and leaning away from me with wide, uncertain eyes. I would have laughed if it were possible. You swallowed and slowly inched your hand down toward the discarded canister. My fingers twitched at the possibility of scaring you again, but you noticed. Like an animal being trained, you returned your hand.

“Okay. No rust remover.” You said slowly, as if the words tasted strange on your tongue. You held up the other canister, turning the label toward me. “Is oil okay?”

You watched me with dreadful anticipation, but I didn’t make any move to respond to you. You swallowed and slowly moved the oil to my wrist. Your body was tense, ready to jump back if I moved. That wouldn’t do you any good. I was faster than you. I was tempted to show you that, but... adding lubricant to my joints could make moving less of an excruciating hell. Even just the idea of a little relief from the pain was enough to temper my impulses.

Your brow furrowed as your eyes trained on me. “You... can tell the difference...?” The words past your lips in a doubtful whisper. You couldn’t believe it, and how amusing it was that you were made to. I wondered how long it would take you to figure out that it wasn’t genius coding hurting you; how complex my actions could get before you realized there was a conscious being ruling them. I could play pretend. It wouldn’t be my first time.

The prospect of ‘playing pretend’ sent tingling electricity through me, though I wasn’t sure it was me . Spring Bonnie loved to play games. I didn’t know that until he killed me.

Despite your doubts, you poured cool, thick oil over my joints. You used the soft cloth to smear it over my dull, rotting machinery. I wished you’d use your bare hands, but I feared you’d stop altogether if I snatched the cloth from you. You were quick with your work, spreading a few cursory swipes before moving onto the next joint. Were you afraid I’d grab you again? That tempted me to. 

You coated the joints at each of my limbs, kneeling below me to lubricate my legs and feet. I noticed your raw disgust at my legs, where my corpse was most exposed. You avoided touching my rotten flesh; you didn’t even attempt to dig past my viscera to lubricate the joint at my waist. You hesitated when you reached my neck. 

I leaned my head closer to you, tilting my chin to the side so you would have easier access.

I relished the subtle, weighted inhale you couldn’t suppress. You swallowed before slowly reaching out with your cloth. You smeared thick oil with one hand, but the other hand you used to hold my jaw—your bare hand. It was dizzying to feel. It hypnotized me; wiped my mind the moment you touched me. My eyes closed and my machinery hummed. You were so alive . Your fingers were so alive. I needed them. I needed them. 

“...Weird...” You said. You pulled away from me and I was cold. I hated that I was cold . Rage crept through me until I was blind with it. I hated that you pulled away. I hated that you were alive. I hated that you weren’t touching me. I hated that I needed it. I hated you. I’d kill you I’d kill you I’d kill you I’d kill you I’d-

You held out your hand for me to grab. I took it. 

You stood up and led me to my crate, “There you go. How does that feel?”

The pain was still there, but it was dampened.

You hummed, “Your movement is a little smoother. I wish I could’ve scrubbed off some of that rust...” You leaned closer to my torso, peeking past the viscera. “I spotted a PLC behind all that-” You swallowed, bringing your eyes up to mine before looking away, “Uhm, well anyway, we can do more tomorrow. What do you think about getting your voicebox fixed, hmm?”

I didn’t want my voicebox fixed. I wanted that damned storage protocol gone. And Spring Bonnie’s penchant for children’s noises. However, I couldn’t tell you that. 

You peered at me, turning your head slightly as if you expected me to respond. I didn’t. “...Alright, well....”

You tried to lead me into the box; dragging my hand to it, lightly pushing me in. I wouldn’t go back into the crate.

“...Okay, you can just... stand here then,” You shivered. My eyes followed you as you withdrew from me and moved to a door. “ Goodnight, Bonnie.” You flicked the lights and I was in darkness.

I didn’t move from my spot, but I could still hear you move from the other room. Light pooled at the bottom of the door, an occasional shadow gliding across the floor. Finally, the lights switched off. 

> execute command ([FOLLOW]) = Yes/No?

> No. Not yet.

I was alone. The darkness and silence were nauseating. The white noise returned at the edges of my mind like a creeping sickness. It was dulling, it was numbing, it was maddening . But I could wait. Just until you fell asleep.

I waited. Stillness hugged the air like a blanket. I waited until I suffocated on static.

> Execute([FOLLOW])

Pressure released from my metal bones as they executed the command. I was silent as I moved. I wouldn’t wake you.

I turned the handle of the door. It was locked. 

...Very clever, carrot.

With one quick, muffled jerk, I snapped the doorknob off. Your door slowly creaked open. I dropped the doorknob; it bounced softly on your carpet. My eyes scanned the room for you. It was a bedroom, small and quaint. The blankets shifted on the bed. You didn’t wake. Part of me wished you did.

I moved noiseless to your bedside. You were buried in blankets. Your breath was slow and heavy. How easy would it be to wrap my hands around your throat? To lean over your sleeping body and watch the panic and fear flood your expression? If I had taken a knife from the kitchen, I could’ve painted the sheets with your blood. I’d feel the warmth bleed from you. Your horror would give way to numbness—eyes full of life fading to nothing. You’d be consumed by the static that never left me. Your death, though satisfying, wasn’t what excited me. It was your fear. The terror thrilled me. It thrilled me long before I was dead. 

I didn’t sleep. My body and mind still needed it— craved it— but I couldn’t sleep. I hadn’t slept since death.

I didn’t kill you, though my maggot riddled mind desperately craved to. Even if you weren’t going to put me back together, I wouldn’t be able to resist prolonging your death—squeezing every last drop of fear I could from your heart. Now... now I just had to prolong it a little longer than I first intended. I didn’t mind. It gave me more time to savor your terror. To twist your waking moments with dread . You already were second guessing yourself. How could a machine decades old execute such an advanced cognitive function? How could I know what materials you were holding? How could I follow you without you noticing? How could I break into your room, and why was I watching you sleep?

You didn’t know that last one yet, but I was simply giddy to watch that horror wash over you.

No, I didn’t kill you. But I imagined it. I imagined it so vividly, it felt tangible— mouthwateringly tangible. Over and over , playing like a favorite melody. It was my favorite melody. And when I killed you, I’d dance to the song that was your screams.

[workatah4ck3rb4se]

can you juju on that beat

Can I... Can I what?

[mereelskirata]

Kintsugi.

[thtupidity]

TR execs get the "I love them so I will make them all stupid and dumb" treatment. Oomf and I also came to the agreement that Petrel uses spongebob bodywash. Was gonna hold onto this longer because I could only do sketches of them and I wanted smth else to post with this.

small thing but everyone has like half lidded eyes except for Proton who is looking directly at you. He was hired to stare at you.

[kyouka-supremacy]

I just realized that with Ace dying, an executive seat was left empty, and a replacement should have probably followed. I really hope no Akutagawa executive entrance exam arc is on the way

[betyoudidntcatchthat]

when ahsoka left, she took what lighg was left in anakin with her, leaving only a long dark night in her wake