“Who are you?” You demand, opening up your laptop again and finding the DM from the stranger. Clicking on their profile leads to nothing – it’s an account created only today with no profile picture, no bio, no anything. 

“Now that isn’t a polite way to treat a New Friend.”

“‘New Friends’ don’t usually hack into a park’s network after delivering a cryptic message, dumbass. Now I’m going to ask you again and you’re going to give me an answer – who are you?”

“Oh, Starbright, you have certainly grown a spine since we last spoke, haven’t you?”

“How do you know about that nickname? Who are you?”

“To you, I am a New Friend. To me, you are an Old Friend. I must admit, I’m quite disappointed you don’t recognise my voice.~” They reply, and you feel as if they would be amused at the situation if concern hadn’t taken point. “Tell me, Star, what do you remember of your Winters?”

“Why should I be answering any of your questions, huh?” You sneer.

Character One:

You open your mouth to give a cheeky reply but REDACTED beats you to it with a bark of laughter, “aw, no way! You got that old code, ain’t ya? You’re one of them bots directly inspired by the original. That’s funky, I ain’t ever seen one of you before.”

Character Two:

You had expected the bot to run through some calculations first to properly awaken his system or something but none of that happened and you fall onto your ass in surprise as he sits up, a large hand taking hold of your wrist and grin widening.

“Well hello, who do we have here? Aren’t you guapo.~” He sings, leaning forward to invade your personal space. REDACTED ticks his faceplate slightly to the left and chuckles. His voice is a perfect blend of seductive and charming, if a little cheeky. “Do you have a name, my dear?~”

Character Three:

 You gesture to everything and grin, “welcome to my room.”

He hums, gaze flitting around. “Is it always this bare, Star? I must admit I don’t quite like the lack of tapestries and…you don’t even own a lava lamp? That’s preposterous!”

You snort and cross over to open your door and he follows close behind, steps faltering slightly in surprise as the environment ripples in a grey sheen around you. “Feel free to buy me one.”

He gives you a cheeky grin. “Do not tempt me, dear. Now where is it you want us to go?”

Character Four

For a second, he says nothing and then his lips curl into a fanged grin and he bows, an arm pressed against his stomach. “Hello there, mechanic. Forgive me for my untimely intrusion, I don’t remember this place being overrun by endoskeletons the last time I was here – it had me recalculating quite a few routes to get to you~” 

You find yourself surprised by the slight robotic sound of his voice. It isn’t grating like those cheap AI’s you used to find on old phones but every word is perfectly pronounced and male-sounding. He’s calm, soothing yet cool – relaxed as if he has all of the time in the world for his dramatic entrance despite the horde growing ever closer to your position. 

Character Five

It takes another step and the static pierces. This time your body steps back because of the pain and not from fear, a hiss pushing past your lips. The moonbot ticks its faceplate to the left, something akin to impatience crossing its expression for only a second before being replaced by resignation and it folds its legs to sit in the sand, the bell at the end of its hat chiming softly. Other than the bell, everything else about its appearance is so sharp. It drags its claws through the sand, gaze still not moving from you – as if it is afraid to look away in case you run away again. You can’t blame it for thinking in such a way but to prove you’re not planning on doing such a thing this time around, you swallow the lump in your throat and take a seat yourself. 

The skies rumble unsurely above you.

Character Six

Neptune waves lazily from his position on the table, crescent eyes looking REDACTED up and down, calculating. Max’s greeting is much more enthusiastic as he leaps over the box to get a closer look at the new bot’s wings. REDACTED tenses at the sudden movement, squinting at your co-worker and leaning slightly away from him.

“Can you actually fly?” 

“Obviously not.” He grunts in reply. REDACTED'S voice is on the harsher end, gruff and a tone of ‘no nonsense’ you can’t help but compare to Freyr when he’s working. “Get away from me.”

“Max, leave him alone.” You scold, “I said to be quiet if you were going to watch me turn him on.”

“But they’re so cool!” He whines, reaching out to poke at one of the larger wings. The bot reacts before you can even process the idiotic thing your friend just did, grasping Max’s wrist in a harsh grip and hissing out, “I remember distinctly saying to get away from me. Your profile states no issues with your hearing but maybe you should get checked out for a processing disability instead.”

Character Seven:

A moon model with striking resemblance to the original saunters down a runway, face painted with clown makeup and grin stretching wide and filled with needle sharp teeth. They spin and bend at the waist to give someone booing at the front of the crowd their attention. Ticking their faceplate to the left, the bell at the end of their hat chiming gently against their back, they pull at the bottom of an eye with one finger and press a button at the base of their throat pipe with their other hand. Their jaw unhinges and the man flinches back in surprise at the several rows of sharp teeth behind the first set and then grimaces as a black tongue snakes out of their maw. Well, the moonbot has certainly made his thoughts clear on the man’s complaints.

When the bot stands back up, it isn’t followed by any booing and they skip down the rest of the runway, hands clasped neatly behind their back. Laughter drums in your ears and when you look back to the crowd, the man that booed is getting pointed at and laughed at by fans. Their faces are painted in a similar way as the moonbot’s. 

Character Eight:

REDACTED gives him a closed eyed smile, his rays turning in a lazy spin. “Well, I’d say you’re well on your way to becoming a hero. However, you’re already one in my eyes…and as I’ve heard you say before ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder’. You may see yourself as a villain but I have yet to see anyone run from you out of fear – be that a child, adult or animatronic.”

“How long have you been spying on us exactly?”

“Since I first arrived.”

He squints.

Character Nine:

With a smooth gesture the cards disappear from their hand entirely and they plant their feet on the carpet to sit in the chair properly, clawed hands clasped neatly on the table. Their silicone lips pull into a wide grin, displaying sharp yellow teeth, “about time, I was beginning to drift off.”

You blink. Out of everything, an American accent hadn’t been what you were expecting. Kai’s description about the bot was correct, his tone was disarmingly charming and smooth, with more rumble than Whirl’s but still with that fancy flick to it. 

-

“Dunno, thought he turned me on,” he says, gesturing to Kai.

“They.” Freyr corrects from behind you.

“Ah, my apologies,” he mutters, sending an apologetic squint Kai’s way. “I thought they had turned me on but I suppose I was incorrect in that assumption.”

(No he isn't my favourite i have no idea what you're talking about)

Character Ten:

“I presume you’re the Mechanic?” They ask, amused. Their voice is really pretty, soft like Neptune’s but high enough to be associated with a Sun – the accent is familiar, definitely British but you’re unsure where you’ve heard it before. Maybe Bristol?

“That would be me, yeah.” You sigh, hugging yourself. 

They watch you and hum. “My name is REDACTED, no need to be nervous. I’ll make this as comfortable as possible.”

You squint, somehow having a feeling that what they consider to be comfortable would not be your comfortable. Still, you listen when they ask you to move over into the middle of the room, taking a measuring tape from one of the tables before pausing and looking you up and down in thought, humming.

Character Eleven:

A warm hand on your shoulder distracts you from your thoughts and you peer up at the moonbot, curiously. His grin widens slightly and he swishes a glass of wine in front of your face, “wakey, wakey, darling. I have your favourite.~”

You sit up with a snort and take the glass, “thanks, but how do you know I haven’t decided to  go on a diet or something?”

He raises a brow. “Well, if you had, I'd have to say it’s quite unnecessary. You are perfect the way you are.” He reaches out for the glass, eyes shining teasingly, “alas, if such a change in lifestyle makes you happy then who am I to discourage you…”

Character Twelve:

The television goes dark. In the reflection, mismatched eyes brighten and darken again and then with a growl, they shove the box off the table. Rats squeak and scurry along the floor, trying to find shelter in case their new guest turns his anger to them. His eyes follow them. Brighten. One blue on black and a green swirl on white. Dull. Sigh. He goes over to the thick metal door, grabbing the handle and opening it in one swift motion, screeeecccchhh. He exits.

From the boxy tv the screen flickers back on, purple and white bars appearing across the screen and distorting the news reporter's voice. “Galactic Getaway, a new theme park based in the UK and entirely themed after space has failed to respond to residents’ concerns regarding the recent missing children cases–”

Isn’t it odd how we dream?

Simple thoughts in endless scenes.

Whether they be memories,

worlds or scenes from shows,

there is something in there –

a message that only we know.

They said dreams have meanings,

like the ones where you fall from 

a high place or the ones where

you trip and fall only to suddenly awake.

They have meanings,

some of them anyway.

But what do you do when 

there’s a creature in front of you?

It stands stock still,

dressed in purple hues

and spitting static like

sparks from friction.

You are reminded of that old show,

the one with the stone angels,

the Doctor and the grief 

that follows.

This creature is following you.

Does it wish to harm you?

This isn’t a dream you’re

aware of having prior

to this moment.

You look away…

and it takes a step. 

You swing your head round

but it’s no longer there.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end,

and you turn slowly slowly slowly until…

The End.

Seeing the word counts for both side by side is absolutely insane to me -- writing Galactic Getaway has really helped me get my inspiration for writing back. I also really want to thank everyone for their support so far and for being patient as I keep rewriting the lore over and over again. 90,000 words in and we're not even halfway through Act One.

For any writers struggling with their main projects my advice is don't force yourself, create a new universe if you want too, write that fanfic you really want to write. Sometimes a change of pace can really help and regardless your writing skills will improve!

Unfortunately, some of his best lines were too long for the poll lmao.

A lot of acting was going to be needed today and Sullivan must have sensed your annoyance because he’s assigned the two animatronics behind you to distract REDACTED should your temper get the better of you.

Psh as if your temper is going to get the better of you. You can be a perfectly mature adult to a pompous prick, no problem at all.

-

 His lips upturn, enough to make his cheeks dimple and he stares down at you, not a single imperfection on his face. You could easily change that with just one right hook to this pompous prick’s fucking face–

-

“Aw, I didn’t win you over?”

You couldn’t win a fucking duck at a carnival you pompous fuck.

-