#opening hour

Opening Hour

(November 1st, 2031)

Rumors were like ghosts. And, as many people believe in ghosts, the power this belief has over them could be forgotten when the temptation was a bright enough lure. Such were the rumors that followed the company—memory of missing children evaporating before the chattering throng like ghosts in a breeze.

It came to be opening day. When the security team at the front opened the doors at 6 a.m. sharp there was a crowd of close to five hundred waiting to get in and start exploring the new attraction. Kids and adults in equal numbers, some who deeply adored the rockstar lineup Fazbear Entertainment put out in their animated shows and movies, some nostalgic adults who now had kids of their own tagging along—with their interest in seeing both new and old characters. There was a particular interest in the much-hyped robotic performers—emphasis on robotic. The company would not entertain the idea these new roll-outs were comparable to clunky pneumatic animatronics, and many were curious to see whether this was a difference for PR alone, or if the robots were for real.

The museum became choked with bodies and excitement within the hour. Excited kids of the eight to thirteen range huddled around the viewing windows at Rockstar Row, with a lucky line of them winding between the velvet ropes to the Photopass doors, one by one being trickled in by the handlers on duty to have their meet-and-greet with the Band themselves. Bonnie waggled his ears as he chortled at a meme a pair of boys were showing him with a cellphone; Chica was squatting low with her hands resting on knees so she could join a tiny red-haired girl at the child’s mic level and make her wish of a duet come true; Glamrock Freddy had a gold gel pen and was autographing a teen’s newly-purchased T-shirt for them; Rockstar Foxy was making a show of flexing the arm with the bright green parrot “tattoo” on it while the two punk-styled girls took a selfie with him. Things were going smoothly.

The Daycare Attendant waited, waited, waited. It paced and fiddled with as much patience as it had in it, within the boundaries of the small storage area connected to the main Superstar Daycare complex. Currently, the only thing the room stored was the robot itself—the only thing meant to be placed here—but in time surely some items meant to be of use to the Daycare Attendant’s tasks would end up gravitating up here also. Technically the space not much larger than a residential bedroom with an adjoining broom-closet was Sun/Moon’s “room”, though access and pomp like that in Rockstar Row was not deemed necessary. On one end it linked to the backstage hallway to give the robot an easy way into the theater for periodic shows, and on the other led out to a balcony dolled up to be a fantasy castle surrounded by set-designed rings of mechanical clouds—but it was not yet time for it to appear there, for its debut. Not yet time! It knew it was not allowed to stray too close to the castle’s window lest it be spotted too early by an inquisitive toddler, so it instead let its mind race through an internal rehearsal of the Daycare’s Opening. They’d be the center of attention—allowed to engage their purpose for the first time. Their frame seemed to hum until it rattled. It could hardly wait!

A beep at the door turned its head. The red door swung quietly open and a tall man who Sun had never met before slipped inside—his eyes were sleepy and dark and flicking around, searching for something. Soon, it was clear he was looking for it as the sweeping search ended and the stranger began to tentatively approach where it stood. Sun studied him as they paused their movements and rotated their body to be back in line with its tilted head: He was supposed to be here, probably, hopefully, based on the light beige polo shirt and similar-hued slacks of a Maintenance and Technician uniform, and soon after it registered the shiny new security clearance badge dangling below the breast pocket—Level 5? Definitely a Maintenance man then.

“Huh,” he was returning the gesture—stopping an arm’s length short and tilting his whole upper torso back and forth, having a dubious gander at the character robot, “So you’re the Daycare Attendant? You look it, geez.”

“Yes—that’s me,” it gave a vigorous nod and chose not to bother with what that last remark meant, in favor of making an entirely unintended mimicry of the man’s curious examination, “Hello! I don’t think we’ve met—who are ya? What’s your name?”

The man had taken an abrupt step back at the robot’s sudden motion, and it froze for a second of panic before it was relieved to see a crooked, mild smile forming on the man’s gaunt, tanned features.

“Whoa there—” he made a shrug and a soft huff of laughter, “Call me Leo. I’m maintenance for ground and 1st level games, displays, lighting, and… well, you to some degree, starting today.”

“How nice to meet you!” Sun’s voice chirped and it felt proud to have kept focus on Leo’s words—overriding the mental hiccup the mention of “games” had automatically brought on—and lifted its hands in a giddy, double-wave at chest level, “So—does that mean we get to be friends?”

“Well, slow down,” with another, more obvious chuckle, the man reached out and tamped a hand down on the polymer-sheathed metal casing of its shoulder, as if the feather-light pressure would flatten its heels to the floor and stall the excited bobbing. Half-startled by the contact that came without warning, it humored him and sunk down a touch, sitting still while he continued: “It’s the first day after all… I hope we’ll become good friends soon enough, though. I’m gonna be your handler a couple days a week for daytime events, alright? So we’ll see each other a lot.”

Leo found he could not keep his hand on Sun’s frame any longer as the robot stretched up to its full height with an ecstatic little hop; though it didn’t have to tilt its face-piece much downwards for this man, it still had a half-head advantage over Leo in this posture. Sun kept the measure in mind—it felt very little need to reserve its expressions and energy in front of an adult, but for the little children it would need to be mindful. Always mindful!—of size, of eye contact, not moving too sharply, not staying too still, not making any harsh noise, not being too silent!

“Ohoho—! That’s wonderful!” Springing up a few feet high, and a touch back to avoid potentially landing on any toes or other extremities, the robot’s bells gave a pronounced musical jangle as it landed in a low crouch and a continued tinkling as its fingers quivered. “I’m so so so excited—I can hardly contain myself..!

“Oh!—” However, the thought suddenly occurred to it, and it interrupted itself very shortly. It turned its head a bit askew as its fingertips touched together just hard enough to make a soft rubbery tip-tip-tip sound, “If you’ve come here, then—then—is it time to go? Is it time?”

“Energetic dude, ain’cha.” Leo appeared to suck his own teeth, lips curling but holding back mirth. He made a lazy waving gesture, “Not just yet. That’s why I’m stopping in, in fact. Maintenance, y’know? Last minute checks. Once I’m done it’ll be time to go for it.”

The Daycare Attendant was practically vibrating with jubilant energy on hearing that. Cooperation was given—given away for free, and in heaps. Leo poked and prodded, turning the robot’s limbs this way and that, revolving those joints that were meant to do so, having it raise, wiggle and flex its legs and ankles one at a time, peering over and tugging at the wound-up cord loop protruding from the hoop-shaped opening on its back to be sure it wasn’t loose (and thus would not launch out without the robotic character’s specific activation).

“Hot dang,” he grunted, hanging his full body weight on the loop he had three fingers curled around, “You’re strong, ain’cha?”

Sun revolved their head so they were peering back over their shoulder, making a small, inquisitive noise. It had thought it felt a great deal more pressure suddenly exerted on the spine of its endoskeleton, where the wire’s winch was anchored, but it had only thrown their balance off a degree or two. Just enough it had idly braced one of its jingling feet forward.

“I sure am!” it giggled, watching the full-grown man continue attempting to test its footing and stability with vigorous tug-of-war pulls, “I’d better be—” Its voice, if anything, got more chipper, “I’m about to jump out that window! Y’know—for the kids!”

Leo couldn’t stop himself from cracking, though put a hand up over his mouth and staggered off to try and contain the cackling with his other hand on his knees.

“Oof, aha—wow,” he wheezed as he regained some composure, “Pretty good, funky sun dude. A little dark though, wow…”

“Huh?” It twitched, for a moment worried its internal chronometer wasn’t synced up correctly. “Dark? I thought morning hours were lit up—daytime mode only from 6 a.m. to—”

“Y’know what, never mind! Don’t worry about it, just thought you were making a joke,” Leo made a pacifying motion and blinked. Maybe he expected too much from an AI designed for children. He sighed, scratching his neck just under one ear and flipping his long, ratty ponytail back over his shoulder on the follow-through, “So that’s that. You seem in perfectly good shape for stunts. All that’s left is a little application of anti-bacterial cleaner, just in case.”

“Absolutely!” It leaned forward, tone just a hair closer to serious, a slight growl pitching into it. Cleanliness was—absolutely—mandatory and of utmost importance to protect the little ones after all. Spreading a cold—something in its CPU nearly squirmed inside out and shuddered—was tantamount to outright neglect. Such a thing wouldn’t happen—not if it had any say. It stretched itself out once more as the tech began shaking the disinfectant spray bottle.

“By the way,” he said, averting his face from the cloud he’d aimed to coat the robot’s extended arms, “What do I call you, buddy? Besides ‘Daycare Attendant’. That’s a little too formal or, er, technical for my tastes.”

“Huhu, hmm!” It lifted its neck joints exactly skyward so that the backside of its head would also catch a coating of the spray, “I get called a lot of things—any nickname’s fine with me,” It swiftly jerked its head back down, staring level with Leo, “So long as it’s not inappropriate.”

“Uhh… You like ‘Sun’? Like from the cartoons?”

“I love ‘Sun’,” it beamed, making the man jump and then look on in awe as it bent backwards, flipped over, and lifted itself straight up into a handstand so Leo could apply the spray over the back of it. Though it continued to face him, conversing amiably as ever, by its head swiveled backwards to peek through its rigid arms, “I love ‘Moon’ too—when it fits! You can just call me one of those or both of those in front of the kids. Less confusing that way. Though Mr. Jobe calls me ‘Sunny’ a lot! And ‘Moony’ too! I don’t mind either way.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Leo capped the spray bottle, “Ain’t sure what I’ll call you yet. Guess it’ll just come to me organically, eh? Hah, yeah, you’re all cleaned up and ready to go. Head to that upper bit and wait for the spotlight to cut on; should be any minute now.”

------

The massive wooden doors to the Superstar Daycare’s equally massive play zone had opened up at 7 a.m., admitting a few kids at a time once their parental units had registered the boring details. Elsa’s job was centered in those boring details at the daycare’s reception desk on the upper tier, but in-between uplinking photos and allergy information from a variety of 3-to-6-year-olds she stole a few glances out over the metal railing overlooking the lower section. Had to be two dozen munchkins scrambling about amongst the elevated tubes, bounce mats, and miniature furniture sets as the hour neared the proper “full opening”.

She caught a flurry of movement from the corner of her eye; speedwalking up the entry hallway was Fritz, wearing a glower and his work uniform of a deep maroon set of slacks and a matching little suit-vest over the lavender button-up; the end of a leash was in hand—attached to it by the harness was Fritz’s daughter and despite the man’s exasperated hurry her tiny legs were motoring ahead. Almost leading him along.

“Mornin’ boss man,” Elsa couldn’t help but grin as the toddler flounced up to her desk, just tall enough to poke her fingertips up to grip the edge. “I see Jessie’s ready to go—how ‘bout you?”

“Please tell me her file’s still in the system,” Fritz said, a whisper through gritted teeth.

“Rough commute, huh,” Elsa was only a few keystrokes away from submitting the 3-year-olds’ information to the network already. She smiled down at Jessie’s frantic little bounces on her heels that kept triggering the pink lights on her novelty sneakers—if anything was going to help her maintain her customer service face, it was such a genuine happiness. “No worries, she’s checked in already.”

“Thank god,” he blew out a sigh. Kneeling, his hand lingered over the clip restraining his eager offspring from pelting forward at the big slide entrance. Reluctant, his lips tightened into a thin line, and he finally let her go. Elsa’s brows raised.

“You couldn’t find a sitter, could you?”

“Well…” He blinked, drawing himself up, “wait, how did you..?”

“Ya got automatonophobia, my dude,” she stated the obvious with a shrug, “so I couldn’t see you bringing her here unless you didn’t have another choice.”

Fritz opened his mouth to snap a grumble or a snarky retort, but stopped himself and threw out a hand in reproach as he spotted little Jessie all but diving into the slide, “Hey—biscuit! Not with your shoes!”

It was far too late for that, of course. Jessie’s squeaks of laughter echoed throughout the colorful plastic tunnel as she disappeared into the play place—headfirst even. Fritz held his breath after he’d darted to the railing an didn’t let go until he spotted her safely crashing into the brand-new ball pit in a belly flop.

“She’ll be fine,” Elsa said, though Fritz gave every outward sign from his tense jaw to his white-knuckle grip on the rail that he was unable to believe the assurances. “It’s a minute to eight. You gonna hang out and watch through the opening?”

Fritz nodded. He was crawling under his skin—even standing like a statue. He could vomit; despite the mounting nausea and worry he had to wait and see. What kind of dad was he to duck out for his own comfort and leave his own child to be found by that… thing?

With an electric flutter the central spotlight kicked on, lifting up and focusing on the disc of balcony overlooking the far end of the ball pit in tandem with the beginnings of a new instrumental version of a theme some of the kids no doubt recognized from the Saturday morning cartoons. From somewhere in the speakers a disembodied rooster cried out—and with a shiver Fritz realized this was a cue:

It appeared at the edge of the false castle’s doorway, pantomiming a huge morning stretch as the sounds of toddlers and youngsters noticing them drifted up in a mixture of emotions and noise. With an exaggerated start, it peeked out beyond the ledge as if just now noticing it had a sizeable audience, big grin sweeping side to side as it counted the several dozen young faces. Standing back up straight, it flung its arms out wide, as if trying to embrace all of them, the sky, and everything in-between.

“Goo—ood morning, everybody~!” Its voice reverberated to overpower the music—but remained clear and full of sugar as ever—“Ohoho—look at all of you! So many new friends! Welcome, welcome—to Superstar Daycare! What’s mine is yours, and now I’ve just gotta get down from here and greet all of you…”

“Do a flip!”

The Sun’s gaze turned to center on the five-year-old boy who had shouted out the request. “A flip? A flip you say?” It rattled with a bout of warm, simulated laughter and let its hands flap a few times—energetic, eager, yes, but its movements much smoother and naturalistic. Much closer to human. “I can do that, it’s easy—everybody take a big step back! Clear a big circle, because I’m coming down!”

Fritz’s breath hitched; Jesus Christ, it was going to land on a kid at this rate. But he was frozen. The robot kept watching, watching down over the crowd of children, waiting until they’d scooted, skipped or toddled out away from the foam-tiled area immediately to the side of the high castle, and then flexed its spindly metal legs down into a frog squat. It sprang up and over the ledge, front-flipping as it started to be dragged to the ground by gravity—not once, but three times just for good measure. The kids made a concerted gasp—understanding the height and that this sunny creature was without harness or tether—but turned into a series of “ooo”s and wordless cheers as its effortless landing on its large hands revealed how little such a drop could hurt it. With another chuckle it shifted up to only one palm, then flipped its legs down to bounce back upright and make a little bow in reply to the impressed cacophony issuing from the children.

“Heeheehuhu! Whoa now—settle down! Gather ‘round new friends and listen here—there’s a couple of rules we need to learn before we get to play, okay?” It raised and waggled one finger, “Number one—and this is the most important!—is the Golden Rule! No hits and no hurts, in any way. This includes words—we’re here to have fun, and it feels good to be good to each other.

“Rule number two—be fair, and share! Respect each others’ turns and toys! If anyone has an argument, just come and get me and I can set everything right!”

It raised a third finger. The kids had, by this point, shuffled back much closer to it in a ring—half to listen and half out of building curiosity for the cartoonish-looking character, “Rule number three—be clean! If you need a potty break head to the gate, and one of my grown-up friends will help you—there’s bathrooms upstairs and downstairs, so don’t worry about running to find one. Wash your hands before and after snack time—and after arts and crafts cuz we get very very messy!” It gave a cackle, and a rather conspiratorial wink in the form of a dim flutter under one of its eye-lamps, which excited the youngsters but made the handful of daycare workers lingering about look a bit pale.

“And that’s all the rules!” It half-crouched, hopping lightly in place for a few seconds as it surveyed its charges, “Everybody got ‘em? Good? Good! C’mon then, little superstars—let’s play! Let’s play—”

By this time Jessie had finally swam her way free of the ball pit and pulled herself up onto land, sprawled on her stomach and scrabbling to try and catch up. Out on her own she caught the Daycare Attendant’s eye, and as the rabble of rug-rats started off again in all directions it took a careful couple of paces over to crouch beside the three-year-old as she rolled over and finally sat up. Fritz noticed; a cold sweat crept over his whole body as he found himself beginning to rush to the ramps that would take him down to the play-zone’s level.

“Hi, new friend!” The Sun—for all its lanky frame—hovered just a bit higher than the toddler’s standing eye level. Beneath the pale light of the robot’s eye protectors its gaze flicked over and registered she was still wearing her outdoor shoes, “Uh oh, did ya forget to leave your shoes in a cubby?”

Jessie nodded, silent but staring up at the Daycare Attendant’s mask of a face with an awestruck expression. It cocked its head a bit, and she squeaked aloud. Was it real? Surely yes—it was right there within sticky-finger range—but real-real, or did this character really do what she naively assumed, stepped straight out of the cartoons?

“Aww, that’s okay! Here, do ya want help?” Its fingers edged forward, just an inch or so from poking the Velcro straps that held the sneakers on.

“Yeah—” she smiled, feet kicking about and triggering the pink flashes of light which she swiftly pointed out, “Lookee!”

“Ooh! Oh!” Its hands darted up over its static grin, expressing its surprise, “Oh they’re so good! So shiny! Aha—they’ve even got little Chicas on them, I love them!” Its fingers finished the task that the toddler had struggled to begin, unstrapping the Velcro with a pleasant skkrrnch! and popping them off. Now freed to play, Jessie tottered upright and made a series of squeaks and squeals, overjoyed just to be in a world where characters meant for her particular interests (unrestrained play and bright colors) were real. She started following it like a golden retriever pup as it made a swift springing gait over to the backup cubbies by the security desk to hide away her shoes.

“Sunny!” It had pivoted around from that task to find her right behind them, arms raised up and fingers spread out. Chuckling, it lowered again, more of a hunch than a crouch.

“Ah—would this mean you wanna be picked up?” It guessed. Another furious nodding; the robot snickered, obliging with a gentle grip under her arms, her legs kicking a little as she giggled but otherwise much like a comfortable ferret. “Not much for talking are ya? What’s your name, little friend?”

“Jesshie!”

“Jessie!” Of course, Sun/Moon knew the name used by every child who had their information plugged into the network, but of course appearing to read a toddler’s mind apropos of nothing was liable to spook a child. Or an adult, for that matter—but for that matter, adult feelings were much less distressing to bust up. Swinging her lightly, they let the little one’s socks touch down onto one of the close-by bounce areas, “What a lovely name. I’m so glad you’ve come to play today! Oho—you like the bouncies, huh? C’mon—let’s bounce then!”

Jessie wriggled free of its grip and began to do exactly that. The bounce areas were sandbox-like, with low sides tall enough to contain a small child in the event one toppled over but easy to crawl or clamber over. Or step over, in the Daycare Attendant’s case. These boxy things were so bouncy because they were essentially, low bouncy castles devoid of the “castle” bit.

Once it had entered one of these with Fritz’s child, hopping lightly and laughing as she jumped from square to square in a frenzy trying to either outdo or impress her robotic companion, half a dozen other children turned their heads and dropped what they were up to. Several rushed over and joined in until Sun appeared to have a tiny line of uncoordinated ducklings following it.

Fritz stood halfway through the giant, open doorway, steadying himself on the big arched doorframe. Knees were still jelly-like with nerves, but he had paused to take in the exchange. Jessie was cackling aloud, delighted and still full of energy, completely carefree. Fear-free. He found himself repulsed, hating how seeming safe she was—and hating himself for this hate. He felt Elsa tap his shoulder.

“Y’ alright?”

“…Yeah,” he grunted, sucking in a breath. “She’s having a good time, huh.”

“She’ll be okay,” Elsa’s dark eyes creased, patting his shoulder a few more times, “You all’re really fortunate she’s not scared. She’s three, man. She should get to enjoy this.”

“She should,” Fritz nodded, taking one more glance after his daughter. The Daycare Attendant seemed to sense by some inscrutable instinct that Jessie was of few words and of tremendous value, and was helping her climb out of the bounce zone—safely depositing her onto her feet before loping after as she made a bee-line for one of the netting climbing towers. The man wiped at his pale brow, and found it in him to turn away, “Yeah… she should. She will. You’ve got this from here, right?”

“Yes sir,” Elsa smirked. “Just remember last call for pick-up. We’re doing it late; it’s an hour before full close because of the grand open.”

“Not gonna forget my daughter here,” Fritz’s face creased with frump, and he shook his head as he began to make his way back towards the upper level, “For now, I’ve got a lot of paperwork to get through. Let me know if something’s up. Call me. If I don’t answer, text me.”