#willthemechanist

Oh. Okay. That—hm. Technically, that answered the question of the wrong-side lock. Sure prompted a lot of new questions, though.

There was a person in the cramped little closet. And, in a doubly freaky turn of events, she looked exactly like the stupid night guard. 

Gregory stood there for a minute, half wishing he hadn’t opened the door. Her eyes were closed, and she was handcuffed both at the wrists and the ankles. She was slumped against the wall, and he really hoped she was just taking a nap and not, like, dead. 

He reached out and poked her cheek. Her nose wrinkled, and she sniffed before shifting around a bit. Her eyes cracked open. 

Gregory scooted back a bit, just in case. The woman did a double-take at him, eyes widening. 

“Oh my gosh,” she said, hoarse. “You’re a person. A real person.” 

“As opposed to…?”

“One of the dumb animatronics. Holy—I—look, kid, just, what time is it? Are your parents around? Or literally any adults?” 

“It’s the middle of the night,” Gregory told her. “And there’s only the creep-o night guard.” 

The woman lurched forward, nearly face planting when the handcuffs around her ankles hindered her balance. “No! Not her! Does she know you’re here?”

“Yeah, she locked me in here. She’s awful. Why do you look just like her?” 

“She’s impersonating me,” the woman stressed. “I swear, I’m the real Vanessa.” 

Gregory nodded slowly. “Yeah, okay. I’ll believe that.” He stepped closer and crouched. From one of his many pockets, he removed his homemade lockpicks. They were a little iffy on the heavy-duty locks like on the lost and found door, but handcuffs? Easy peasy. 

Vanessa watched with bated breath as he freed her. “Thank you,” she choked out. “Thank you, thank you. Okay, this is—we’ve gotta get you out of here. She wants to hurt you.” 

“I know that,” Gregory said. “Do you have a screwdriver by any chance? I dropped my Swiss Army Knife somewhere in the raceway.” 

Vanessa opened her mouth, but he’d never find out if she knew where some tools were or not, because somewhere outside the room—but way too close for comfort—came some oddly paced footsteps and ominous humming. 

“Get out of sight,” she whispered urgently, and as he ducked beneath the desk, she closed the closet door and hurried over to crouch beside the door leading out of the lost and found. 

Gregory peeked out of his hiding place and watched with increasing bewilderment as a bunny skipped up to the window. It had to be the security guard because the animatronics just didn’t move like that. Her bug-eyed suit head tilted this way and that before she sidled over to the door and pushed it open. 

“Gregory,” she sing-songed as she hopped inside. “Are you hiding? Don’t you want to play?” 

As soon as she reached the middle of the room, Vanessa stood up behind her and, to Gregory’s impressed glee, full body tackled the bunny. The imposter cried out as they crashed to the floor. Vanessa shoved the head off, and it was weird, seeing both of them like that. They really did look identical. 

The imposter bucked her hips to try and dislodge Vanessa, but she turned to flailing wildly as Vanessa wrapped her hands around her throat. She snarled down at the imposter and mashed her face into the concrete. 

“You face-stealing monster!” she growled. “How do you like it, huh? All those kids you hurt—how does it feel being on the other side?” 

And with that, she smacked the imposter’s head soundly into the floor with a crack, and the night guard went limp. 

“Wow,” Gregory breathed. “Think you can do that again with the animatronics?” 

Vanessa didn’t remain conscious for long. She barely managed to mumble out some answers to their questions before her eyelids became heavy. 

The last thing she registered before she slipped back under—past the fear of what was going to happen to her, past the grief of her actions, past the confusion of how she got there—was a small, desk-sized Christmas tree sitting on a chair in the corner. 

• • •

Gregory sat in the nearly empty waiting room, scuffing his feet against the ground, and watched the doctor speak with his parents. Disgruntled as he was at being told to hang back, he could admit he was too tired to really take anything in. 

He tucked his chin into the blanket wrapped around him. His sneakers looked a little silly with his pajama pants, but the call had come in just before 5:00 a.m., and they’d been anxious and waiting for Vanessa to show any signs of improvement for long enough that no one cared much about getting properly dressed. 

He couldn’t believe it. His sister had come out of her month-long coma. And early on Christmas morning, too. Talk about a Christmas miracle. 

He was starting to nod off by the time Gregory was retrieved by his parents so they could all go to Vanessa’s room. His dad picked him up to carry him, and his mom reached through the folds of his blanket to squeeze his hand as they walked. 

She quietly explained to him that Vanessa was asleep again, but that during the minutes she’d been conscious, she had seemed decently coherent, so the doctors were hopeful. Regardless, they were going to take things slow and not stress her out once she awake and aware. 

Because the worst was over, and there was no longer any question of if she would wake up again. It was just a matter of when now. 

• • •

Vanessa thought she must be dreaming. When she opened her eyes again, still feeling so hazy and heavy, her parents were suddenly there, leaning over her on either side of the bed. 

She hadn’t seen them in ages. Years. Since the implant cut her off from everything and everyone she ever knew, forced her to disappear and forget their phone numbers and home addresses. 

Those days—those crushingly lonely days—felt oddly distant and indistinct now. Almost hard to remember. They said she’d been in a coma… maybe she was forgetting? Her head was certainly quiet.

Had they… was the implant gone? Was she free? 

She didn’t dare ask, not when things were so calm, when her parents were so tearfully grateful to see her. Bringing up her crimes would disrupt the peace, and Vanessa selfishly wanted to hold on to this moment for as long as possible. 

Her dad shifted back and looked over his shoulder. She leaned forward to see what had caught his attention. In the chair that had the Christmas tree, a bundle of blankets was shifting around until a child emerged, looking to be half asleep. 

A ringing started in her ears, and she could practically feel the blood drain from her face. She felt dizzy. Her stomach turned, and her throat burned with acid. 

Gregory. He was—but she killed him, with her own hands—how was he, why was he—did someone save him? Did Freddy—but the kid had, he’d been dead, she knew he’d been dead, she’d been crushingly certain that she’d murdered her brother. 

Her—the kid—her brother. The orphan—no—her brother. Her brother. 

“But why me?” Vanessa asked. 

Freddy shrugged helplessly, and she spared a moment to marvel at how different the animatronics were at night. Chica had mentioned once, offhandedly, that some people got freaked out if they acted too alive. That they felt comfortable enough to drop their programmed personalities around her and Gregory… it felt good, welcoming, to be trusted like that.

“So if I don’t sign, these are useless?”

“Can I sign them?” Gregory piped up. “Can I be the boss of the pizzaplex?” 

Vanessa went to shoot back a firm refusal, only to pause. That… now that was an idea. Her brother loved the pizzaplex, loved the animatronics. This building was maybe the first place he had ever truly considered a home. 

She picked up a pen without a word and signed the forms on each line that demanded her name. He groaned theatrically, but even her silent answer wasn’t enough to dampen his mood and stop him from giggling over her predicament. 

“Not yet,” Vanessa said once she finished. “But once you’re an adult… it’s all yours.” 

He paused, mirth battling with confusion. “Really?” he asked after a moment, serious. 

“Really. So, do good in school or whatever so you actually know how to run this place once I give it to you.” Sweeping the documents into a pile, she returned them to the folder they’d been tucked inside. “In fact, you’re officially the unofficial manager or—something. Idea guy. Quality control. Just, tell me what you want to do or change, and we’ll work on that. Like practice.” 

Gregory was quiet for a minute, examining her. Probably looking for a trap or a catch. Freddy was silent, but she’d felt him startle when she made the offer. A quick glance at him showed eyes just slightly brighter than normal. 

“Deal,” Gregory decided. “We’ll do it together.” 

“Business partners. Until you’re old enough and buy me out for, like, a donut.” 

“Maybe even two donuts,” he said, his amusement returning. 

Vanessa tuned him out as he started rambling about rock climbing walls and bungee trampolines and how cool it would be if there was an outdoor area, especially with the great big open field behind the pizzaplex literally just sitting there doing nothing. She turned instead to Freddy. 

“Any objections?” she asked quietly. 

His eyes flicked from her to Gregory, who had migrated to the office chair and was spinning around in circles and talking up at the ceiling. 

“Not at all,” he answered softly. “And I am certain the others will feel the same as I do.” 

“And how do you feel?”

He looked back at her, and it was at times like these that Vanessa was suddenly reminded that for all of Freddy’s sweet, teddy bear personality, he wasn’t an idiot. He was the leader of the band—of all the animatronics, if you knew them as well as she did—and while it was thanks to the luck of the draw, he lived up to the role he’d been assigned. 

“It will be a… welcome change, to be owned by someone who does not look at us and see only ‘dumb robots.’” 

“I bet.” She blew out a heavy breath. Turning around so Gregory would hear, she announced, “I think my first order of business is to give the hardworking night guard the day off.” 

Freddy chuckled, and Gregory’s sneakers-turned-brakes squeaked as he stopped the chair. He grinned. 

“Nap time for the night guard?” he asked. 

“Such a poor, overworked college student who’s frequently tossed into the path of rampaging murderous animatronics deserves a break,” she agreed. “And that means a nap. My second order of business will be to actually try and figure out the rampaging murderous animatronic issue, because I’m not convinced the higher ups were actually putting effort into that.” 

Freddy’s hand landed on her shoulder and squeezed gently, gratefully. “And you, superstar?” he asked. “What will be your first order of business?” 

Vanessa expected to be bombarded with pleas for Dippin’ Dots stands or better arcade prizes or a rollercoaster. 

Instead, Gregory popped to his feet, beaming as he bounced over to them. “I think it’s high time we got Bonnie fixed up and back on stage.” 

She heard the hitch in Freddy’s chest behind her, the stutter of his mechanical heart. His grip spasmed and tightened again, briefly, like he hadn’t meant to.

“Y’know what,” Vanessa said, feeling stupidly proud of her little brother, “first thing tomorrow morning, I’ll call the technicians and see what we can do.” 

“Yes!” Gregory fist-pumped. “C’mon, Freddy, we need to make sure his room looks okay for when he comes back!” He took Freddy’s hand and tugged, and Freddy followed after him without protest. “Do you think he’d like it if we got people to make get-well cards for him so he knows how much he was missed?”

Vanessa shook her head as they left, ready to track down a couch for herself. She needed some peace and quiet to process her… promotion. 

“Hell of a promotion,” she grumbled to herself, undoing her tie. New dress code rule, effective immediately: night guards could wear whatever they wanted. And would get a raise. And a new crowbar on the company’s dime.