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Description
Over twenty years.

240 months. 1,043 weeks. 7,304 days. 175,316 hours.

Counting down to the ongoing present time, I remain trapped in this makeshift prison, looking onward from the stage I stood on for most of my entombed life. My limbs are an unwanted invitation to spots of rust, built-up grime, and various questionable fluids now caked and solidified. They are one of the very few things that have been stuck with me all these years, another being this fake microphone that's embedded in my right hand. My prison creaks with age, given very little sympathy by the owner's ignorance. It moves with a jittery and abrupt action with just enough maintenance to barely stand on its own two legs throughout the slow, miserable, tedious days. My eyes glow bright, reflecting the spotlight whenever it shines upon me.

I always welcome that spotlight, for it successfully obstructs my view from forcefully staring at the snot-nosed brats. They come in various forms, but they all act the same once they set foot in this hell hole: sprinting giddily inside screaming for joy, dragging their unenthusiastic parents along as they find a wooden, splintered chair to sit on, chatting with the other little drooling kids that are with them. They wait restlessly for their pizza to arrive, while the parents either engage in small talk to each other, or become too occupied with their own personal devices to become chatterboxes who evolve to being just as obnoxious as the kids. They show no manners once their pizza arrives hot on the plate. They mercilessly dig into the cheesy mess, chomping away with their mouths wide open, snot running down their faces. The very thought of those little monsters make me want to mercilessly dig into their rib cage.

Despite the annoyance of the spoiled brats, it's not the worst part of the day. There is something far worse than having to look at these disgusting little shits. It's not that I have to repeat the same words I spew out with a permanent smile since the day I've been trapped in here, it's not the repeated conversations I have with the other poor, trapped prisoners by my sides. No, it's... the singing. Every ten minutes of every day, I am forced to sing the same songs over, and over, and over, and OVER, and OVER, AND OVER, AND FUCKING OVER! For over twenty years, I have sung the same awful, cringe-worthy songs, and it makes me want to tear my fucking face off! Not to say I haven't tried that, though.

But I'm not the only prisoner here, as what I've stated before. Turns out that there are three other prisoners trapped in this establishment as well. Not only that, but they're also caged in a humiliating way: suits that represent animals that appeal to every kid that comes here, and named embarrassingly so. There's one trapped in a bunny suit named Bonnie, one in a chicken suit named Chica, and one in a fox suit named Foxy. I don't see Foxy as much anymore.

And then there's me, trapped in a bear suit named Freddy Fazbear, who is apparently the main mascot of this god-forsaken place.

We don't communicate, the other prisoners and I. We don't have the capabilities to speak any words, other than the lines our suits force us to say. No matter how hard we try, we can never find a way to talk to each other. We're stuck in repetitive speeches and never-ending torture of appealing to the little gremlins.

At least, until night falls.

The other prisoners and I, who I've come to realize that we're all animatronics, are given the false sense of freedom of being able to roam freely throughout the building. It's not much, but at least I'm allowed to move on my own. I've always wanted more than just being able to roam inside the building. I want to get away from this place, never see it again for as long as my tortured afterlife can take it, with or without the others. But there's one thing standing between me and my true freedom: the security guard.

The guard is always different every time. Whether they be male, female, or whatever, their job is always the same; preventing us from leaving. Some last for a couple of weeks, while others last for only a day, depending on their courage and foolishness. They would sit comfortably in that sealed-off room, watching us from surveillance from the safety of that room as Bonnie, Chica, and I wandered about. That room has the switch to unlock and unseal the only entrance, which is also the only exit. And trust me, I've looked everywhere, but the entire building is hardened with an exterior of cement. And I've tried to break the metal doors and windows down that lead to the security room, but the entire place is sealed tight, almost as if the owner was expecting it. Once the clock struck 6:00 A.M., the free-roam is automatically switched off, and all animatronics are sent back into their original positions. The guards collect their earnings, and go on their way, either quitting or continuing the shift.

This went on for a decade and a half until recently that the building was now slowly degrading to a rundown status, barely kept at average maintenance. The owner started to become greedy and cheap as the years creep closer to the time of the present, so he started cutting some budgets around the place. The food became less than what was expected, the floors would creak with each step, and the animatronics were now collecting rust. Multiple complaints were filed, claiming that the food made children sick, or that the animatronics gave off a gagging odor when close enough. I wouldn't blame them about the odor; every time my jittery joints move, I can slightly hear squashing noises within the suit, which begs the question of what it is. And ever since the Bite of 1987 – as what these people are calling it now – Foxy's area, Pirates Cove, has been shut down for good. The owner and mechanic say it must have been some technical malfunction, but I can tell, at least from the owner, that it wasn't an accident. I haven't seen Foxy since that day. Maybe he was permanently shut down, or isn't allowed to free-roam anymore, who knows. I didn't really care what happened to any of the other prisoners at that time, I only desired and obsessed over my freedom.

However, none of those budget cuts mattered to me, except for one that I happened to eavesdrop during one of the closing sessions a couple of years back. A couple of people who worked there were gossiping about the budget cuts, a conversation that has been brought up multiple times ever since the cuts started, but one of the workers brought something up that caught my absolute interest.

"Did you hear about the boss making more budget cuts in this shit hole?" one of the workers asked as he was wiping the tables. He was a short, stout man who looked in his early twenties. He looked recognizable, for he was both a mechanic and a dishwasher boy for this place.

The other worker, a tall woman who looked in her early thirties, was sweeping the floor when the stout man asked the question. She snorted, obviously annoyed about the subject, "What else could he cut? This place is barely running as it is!"

The stout man pointed up, indicating the lights above them, "Well apparently he's going to cut back on the electricity in this place, make it so that all the lights, cameras, doors, animatronics, etc. are connected to one source. Once that source is drained, everything shuts down, even the doors to the security room." he shakes his head.

"That's pretty specific, mentioning the doors to the security room," the tall woman muttered.

The stout man shrugged, "I knew nothing about it until the owner told me. He acted a bit nervous when talking about the doors. I wonder what his deal was. Probably was nervous about losing money to keep the doors shut or something," the stout man shakes his head, "it doesn't matter, anyways. As soon as I get my paycheck for this week, I'm outta here."

"Might as well," said the tall woman, "I heard he's going to cut the minimum wage by half for next week."

"You serious!?"

"It's what I heard, but I'm not gonna take the chance."

The stout man laughed, the kind of laugh that gives you the instinct to rip one's throat out, "Yea, you'd have to be desperate to want a job here with that pay!"

After the two workers finished their cleaning duties, they shut off the lights for the day, closed and locked the entrance before they went on their merry little way. It was only 11:00PM, and the free-roam switch doesn't turn on until midnight, the time the security guard arrives, so I had no choice but to stand in the darkness with the rest of these animatronic prisoners.

This was it. Over twenty years of being stuck in this mechanical suit, forced to bear the face of a permanent smile. Over twenty years of singing along the same monotonous and wretched songs, communicating with these "band members" of mine with repetitive lines that are etched and seared into my head with a humiliating ability to memorize every word. I've waited ever so patiently for the right moment, and this is it. I can finally be rid of this broken down establishment, and be truly free, away from here as far as this suit can take me. All I have to do is let the power run out before my free-roam switches off at 6:00AM, and I can hit that entrance button! I was so excited and eager, I could have sworn I felt my mechanical limbs shaking!

My glassy eyes remained stationary at the Freddy Fazbear clock located across the room from me, staring at each tick the minute-hand makes. 11:01 P.M... 11:02 P.M... 11:03 P.M... I could start to really feel my mechanical limbs vibrating with eagerness. 11:04 P.M... 11:05 P.M... 11:06 P.M... I was now focusing on the second-hand, staring as it hits each tick mark. 11:07 P.M... 11:08 P.M... 11:09 P.M...

By the time it got to 11:55 P.M., I could hear the entrance door unlocking, followed by the sound of a ringing bell, which is heard whenever the entrance is opened. This was no doubt the work of the guard, setting up for his shift. I could hear the shuffling of feet, then the opening of the security door, and it wasn't long before I heard the individual cameras scan the area, making whirring noises as it overlooks each area.

11:56 P.M... 11:57 P.M...

I slowly rotated my jittery head towards the hallway leading to the security room.

11:58 P.M... 11:59 P.M...

I could hear the animatronic prisoners beside me rattle.

Midnight. Free-roam is now on. My limbs are now to my use.

Description
Over twenty years.

240 months. 1,043 weeks. 7,304 days. 175,316 hours.

Counting down to the ongoing present time, I remain trapped in this makeshift prison, looking onward from the stage I stood on for most of my entombed life. My limbs are an unwanted invitation to spots of rust, built-up grime, and various questionable fluids now caked and solidified. They are one of the very few things that have been stuck with me all these years, another being this fake microphone that's embedded in my right hand. My prison creaks with age, given very little sympathy by the owner's ignorance. It moves with a jittery and abrupt action with just enough maintenance to barely stand on its own two legs throughout the slow, miserable, tedious days. My eyes glow bright, reflecting the spotlight whenever it shines upon me.

I always welcome that spotlight, for it successfully obstructs my view from forcefully staring at the snot-nosed brats. They come in various forms, but they all act the same once they set foot in this hell hole: sprinting giddily inside screaming for joy, dragging their unenthusiastic parents along as they find a wooden, splintered chair to sit on, chatting with the other little drooling kids that are with them. They wait restlessly for their pizza to arrive, while the parents either engage in small talk to each other, or become too occupied with their own personal devices to become chatterboxes who evolve to being just as obnoxious as the kids. They show no manners once their pizza arrives hot on the plate. They mercilessly dig into the cheesy mess, chomping away with their mouths wide open, snot running down their faces. The very thought of those little monsters make me want to mercilessly dig into their rib cage.

Despite the annoyance of the spoiled brats, it's not the worst part of the day. There is something far worse than having to look at these disgusting little shits. It's not that I have to repeat the same words I spew out with a permanent smile since the day I've been trapped in here, it's not the repeated conversations I have with the other poor, trapped prisoners by my sides. No, it's... the singing. Every ten minutes of every day, I am forced to sing the same songs over, and over, and over, and OVER, and OVER, AND OVER, AND FUCKING OVER! For over twenty years, I have sung the same awful, cringe-worthy songs, and it makes me want to tear my fucking face off! Not to say I haven't tried that, though.

But I'm not the only prisoner here, as what I've stated before. Turns out that there are three other prisoners trapped in this establishment as well. Not only that, but they're also caged in a humiliating way: suits that represent animals that appeal to every kid that comes here, and named embarrassingly so. There's one trapped in a bunny suit named Bonnie, one in a chicken suit named Chica, and one in a fox suit named Foxy. I don't see Foxy as much anymore.

And then there's me, trapped in a bear suit named Freddy Fazbear, who is apparently the main mascot of this god-forsaken place.

We don't communicate, the other prisoners and I. We don't have the capabilities to speak any words, other than the lines our suits force us to say. No matter how hard we try, we can never find a way to talk to each other. We're stuck in repetitive speeches and never-ending torture of appealing to the little gremlins.

At least, until night falls.

The other prisoners and I, who I've come to realize that we're all animatronics, are given the false sense of freedom of being able to roam freely throughout the building. It's not much, but at least I'm allowed to move on my own. I've always wanted more than just being able to roam inside the building. I want to get away from this place, never see it again for as long as my tortured afterlife can take it, with or without the others. But there's one thing standing between me and my true freedom: the security guard.

The guard is always different every time. Whether they be male, female, or whatever, their job is always the same; preventing us from leaving. Some last for a couple of weeks, while others last for only a day, depending on their courage and foolishness. They would sit comfortably in that sealed-off room, watching us from surveillance from the safety of that room as Bonnie, Chica, and I wandered about. That room has the switch to unlock and unseal the only entrance, which is also the only exit. And trust me, I've looked everywhere, but the entire building is hardened with an exterior of cement. And I've tried to break the metal doors and windows down that lead to the security room, but the entire place is sealed tight, almost as if the owner was expecting it. Once the clock struck 6:00 A.M., the free-roam is automatically switched off, and all animatronics are sent back into their original positions. The guards collect their earnings, and go on their way, either quitting or continuing the shift.

This went on for a decade and a half until recently that the building was now slowly degrading to a rundown status, barely kept at average maintenance. The owner started to become greedy and cheap as the years creep closer to the time of the present, so he started cutting some budgets around the place. The food became less than what was expected, the floors would creak with each step, and the animatronics were now collecting rust. Multiple complaints were filed, claiming that the food made children sick, or that the animatronics gave off a gagging odor when close enough. I wouldn't blame them about the odor; every time my jittery joints move, I can slightly hear squashing noises within the suit, which begs the question of what it is. And ever since the Bite of 1987 – as what these people are calling it now – Foxy's area, Pirates Cove, has been shut down for good. The owner and mechanic say it must have been some technical malfunction, but I can tell, at least from the owner, that it wasn't an accident. I haven't seen Foxy since that day. Maybe he was permanently shut down, or isn't allowed to free-roam anymore, who knows. I didn't really care what happened to any of the other prisoners at that time, I only desired and obsessed over my freedom.

However, none of those budget cuts mattered to me, except for one that I happened to eavesdrop during one of the closing sessions a couple of years back. A couple of people who worked there were gossiping about the budget cuts, a conversation that has been brought up multiple times ever since the cuts started, but one of the workers brought something up that caught my absolute interest.

"Did you hear about the boss making more budget cuts in this shit hole?" one of the workers asked as he was wiping the tables. He was a short, stout man who looked in his early twenties. He looked recognizable, for he was both a mechanic and a dishwasher boy for this place.

The other worker, a tall woman who looked in her early thirties, was sweeping the floor when the stout man asked the question. She snorted, obviously annoyed about the subject, "What else could he cut? This place is barely running as it is!"

The stout man pointed up, indicating the lights above them, "Well apparently he's going to cut back on the electricity in this place, make it so that all the lights, cameras, doors, animatronics, etc. are connected to one source. Once that source is drained, everything shuts down, even the doors to the security room." he shakes his head.

"That's pretty specific, mentioning the doors to the security room," the tall woman muttered.

The stout man shrugged, "I knew nothing about it until the owner told me. He acted a bit nervous when talking about the doors. I wonder what his deal was. Probably was nervous about losing money to keep the doors shut or something," the stout man shakes his head, "it doesn't matter, anyways. As soon as I get my paycheck for this week, I'm outta here."

"Might as well," said the tall woman, "I heard he's going to cut the minimum wage by half for next week."

"You serious!?"

"It's what I heard, but I'm not gonna take the chance."

The stout man laughed, the kind of laugh that gives you the instinct to rip one's throat out, "Yea, you'd have to be desperate to want a job here with that pay!"

After the two workers finished their cleaning duties, they shut off the lights for the day, closed and locked the entrance before they went on their merry little way. It was only 11:00PM, and the free-roam switch doesn't turn on until midnight, the time the security guard arrives, so I had no choice but to stand in the darkness with the rest of these animatronic prisoners.

This was it. Over twenty years of being stuck in this mechanical suit, forced to bear the face of a permanent smile. Over twenty years of singing along the same monotonous and wretched songs, communicating with these "band members" of mine with repetitive lines that are etched and seared into my head with a humiliating ability to memorize every word. I've waited ever so patiently for the right moment, and this is it. I can finally be rid of this broken down establishment, and be truly free, away from here as far as this suit can take me. All I have to do is let the power run out before my free-roam switches off at 6:00AM, and I can hit that entrance button! I was so excited and eager, I could have sworn I felt my mechanical limbs shaking!

My glassy eyes remained stationary at the Freddy Fazbear clock located across the room from me, staring at each tick the minute-hand makes. 11:01 P.M... 11:02 P.M... 11:03 P.M... I could start to really feel my mechanical limbs vibrating with eagerness. 11:04 P.M... 11:05 P.M... 11:06 P.M... I was now focusing on the second-hand, staring as it hits each tick mark. 11:07 P.M... 11:08 P.M... 11:09 P.M...

By the time it got to 11:55 P.M., I could hear the entrance door unlocking, followed by the sound of a ringing bell, which is heard whenever the entrance is opened. This was no doubt the work of the guard, setting up for his shift. I could hear the shuffling of feet, then the opening of the security door, and it wasn't long before I heard the individual cameras scan the area, making whirring noises as it overlooks each area.

11:56 P.M... 11:57 P.M...

I slowly rotated my jittery head towards the hallway leading to the security room.

11:58 P.M... 11:59 P.M...

I could hear the animatronic prisoners beside me rattle.

Midnight. Free-roam is now on. My limbs are now to my use.