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Mike has a semi-bad day

As Mike reclined in his chair, picking at his teeth, he swiveled around the tiny office. “Good God, this shit is tiny. Who do they hire to work here, ants?” 

He wasn’t actually sure about anything regarding the location, besides the fact that (according to his manager) it was created as a sort of answer to Showbiz Pizza in the late 80’s. Other than that, everything else was just hearsay. The dude on the phone drummed up this huge story about malfunctioning robots, probably to keep employees from fucking with the suits and damaging anything, ‘cause holy hell they were advanced. 

Speaking of the robots, these things were ugly. Yeah, the Wolf Pack 5 got their rep for being creepy and busted up, but hell, that chicken thing looked dead inside. Not to mention, pretty much everywhere else used rubber masks and styrofoam to make their suits. This place thought it was a good idea to use hard plastics and metal beams for their “child friendly” robots. 

Not surprised one of them ended up munching someone’s skull, Mike thought, rubbing at his eyes. Good choice picking the night shift when he had insomnia. He yawned, grabbing one of the cruddy drawings from the wall. Looked like it had been done by a 3rd grader. 

“A regular Picasso in the makings.” He shoved it into a corner of his desk underneath the security cams. Speaking of which, he was supposed to be checking those, right? He picked it up, soon forgetting what he was doing as he fucked with his hair in his reflection. Ugliest hair in the history of hair, he called it. Most of it was a shitty buzzcut, with strands of long hair sticking out everywhere like confetti. 

At least my stubble is coming in. It really wasn’t. He wished the stupid manager… what was his name? Harrison? Hardy? Whatever. He wished he got a flashlight. But this place was AdvANcEd, so all he got was a glitchy door light that hardly ever turned on properly. And he was supposed to conserve power. Guess they used pretty much all they got on those dumb mascots. His eyes trailed across the drawings on the wall, trying to decipher each one by the character. 

Bonnie….. Freddy…. Some orange thing? This is why they don’t let kids into the MOMA. He giggled at one, the shitty crayon work making it look like Bonnie had intense eyeliner on. He quickly sat up at a noise from the camcorder, jumping in place. Jesus, he was jittery. Never been good with the dark. Finally, he grabbed the tablet on his desk, switching it on. He squinted at the stage. Creepy chicken… check. Ugly bear… check. Goth bunny..? 

Huh. Guess they did roam around a bit. He put the tablet down, getting bored again. If he saw one, he’d just close the door. He wasn’t worried about getting stuffed into a Billy Bob suit, he was worried about damaging one of the stupid things and getting sued. And to be real, he had NO money. Still a college freshman. Surviving on ramen packets and pure determination. He swiveled around the office, flicking the lights on and off at random. 

Left door, right door. It’s like they WANT their employees to get bored to death in this place. Forget Freddy, the boredom is what’s gonna kill you.

Left door, right door. The guy on the phone did seem… kinda worried though, right?

Left door, right door. Reasonably, there had to be some danger from malfunctioning robots. Like, who in their right mind would let Rolfe DeWolfe wander around at night like some kind of Halloween attraction? 

Left door-He squeaked, falling from his squeaky swivel chair ass-first onto the floor. There, in the doorway, was none other than Gerard Way’s rusty fursona himself.

Bonnie. Mike thought to himself, ever so slowly inching towards the door. The rabbit’s eyes followed him, mouth hanging open, joints creaking. 

“Heyyyy there buddy…. Just… stay still for a moment while I lock you out real quick…” He inched closer still, becoming hyper-aware of it’s utterly rancid stench. Quickly, he lunged forwards, slamming the door. He held his breath for a moment, before realizing that the door had pacified the thing.

He sighed. “Well that was stupid.” He huffed, trying to get the acrid smell from his nostrils. Out of curiosity, he poked the light on again. The stupid thing was at the window, hands (paws? Whatever.) pressed to the glass. It’s breath was fogging up the window. 

Breath? He shook his head, sitting back in his chair as the thing kept staring at him. Gross. 

“Hey, you may wanna try out a new dental care routine. Your chompers are looking pretty ugly.” He stuck his tongue out. Bonnie did nothing. “Oookaayyy…. Are you just gonna stare at me all night?” It responded with a huff. Mike rolled his eyes, flicking the light back off. About an hour later, he found himself spinning around on his chair in circles.

“Wheeee….” He really wished he’d brought a book or something. These guys were really adamant about security or whatever, though. Didn’t even want employees bringing their cell phones in. And he couldn’t exactly sneak his in, ‘cause of the cameras. 

That smell was really beginning to get to him, though. 

“You know, your stink reminds me of something.” He spoke aloud, despite him being alone. 

“Reminds me of the last time I went to Chuck E. Cheese’s as a kid. I was- get this. I was playing arcade games the whole day, mooching pizza off my friends, when some older lady had started complaining to whatever poor minimum wage worker she could find.” He itched his nose, eyeing the large rabbit. “She was going on and on about what she referred to as ‘The Stench’. So of course, me ‘n my friends did what any kids did. We mocked her the whole time and called her ‘stink lady.’ That was, until, we started getting whiffs of The Stench as well.” Bonnie’s eyes seemed to widen. Huh. Must like stories. “Anyway, after enough complaints, the manager got some hokey health inspector guy to clear out the restaurant (restaurant? Is Chuck E. Cheese’s a restaurant?).” He paused for a moment, thinking it over. “Whatever. They ended up finding a dead raccoon rotting inside one of the animatronics. Pasqually, maybe? The poor thing had climbed inside to hide and gotten crushed when the robot tried to move again.”

He turned, again, to the figure outside his window. 

“You got raccoon breath?” He cackled. It blinked back. He furrowed his brows. “Huh…” 

Thinking to himself, Mike scooted across the office. And back. And forward again. It almost looked as though Bonnie’s eyes were… following him? 

“Who designs kid’s robots like this..?” He tilted his head, pressing his face almost flushed against the office window. He blinked when the… creature? Thing? Whatever had begun to open it’s mouth. It echoed with a horrible creak, one he could hear from inside his office. He started to sweat as the mouth opened wider, making horrible, almost gagging noises. It pointed a grotesque, matted paw at the desktop computer at his desk. With a final, disgusting noise, it leaned in, close against the window, and spoke. 

“You have any games on your computer?” 


“So, let me get this straight…” Mike began, again, rubbing at his temples. “You are… a child. And some dude…. Some…. Dude in an Easter Bunny suit…. Stuffed you into uh. This?” He gestured wildly at the large, broken down robot, hunched over his desk playing with the security cams. 

“Uhhhhhh. Huh.” It replied, eyes locking in on the little Freddy plush sitting on his desk. It’s voice was low, creaky, and sounded like it had been ran through a VHS player about 15 times.

“When did this happen, exactly?” 

“My birth...day! I was turning. 7. And-a-half.” Bonnie said, matter-of-factly. 

“Okay, first of all, who celebrates half birthdays, second of all, what year, dude? Also, does that mean you’re like… dead??” The large rabbit stiffened up, holding its hands behind its back. He suspected it had stolen the little Freddy. 

“Uh… Sus… ie doesn’t like us. To use that word. She says it’s... wrong.” 

“I’m fairly certain you’re dead, what with the way you smell, and the fact that you were stabbed… how many times?”

“Twenty... times!”

“The fact that you were stabbed twenty times...” He trailed off, thinking to himself. This had too many fucked up implications to process. “Whatever. Who’s Susie?” 

“Oh… she stays here with. Me. Me and... the others!” 

“Cool. Cool. Hey, can I have a minute to have a mental breakdown?” 

“Only if you... promise to let me use... your neat-o computer-!” 

“Neat-o? Who the hell says neat-o? What year is it?” He slumped over in his chair, eyeing the rabbit. “Um. You’re not like. Gonna kill me like the dude on the phone said, right?” 

“Uhhhmm…. Maybe-? It depends if. We had a good day. I don’t... usually like grown-ups but… you sound... cool...!” Mike nodded sagely, as if this were the most wise thing ever said. 

“So, uh-” He fell back on his ass as the clock on his desk let loose with a staticy sounding cheer, rolling over to 6AM.

He blinked at the sudden silence, staring up at Bonnie. “Uh. Dude?” The animatronic said nothing, only going completely limp and slumping onto his desk with a loud THUNK. “Oh, no. Oh, PLEASE don’t be broken.” He tried pulling it away from the laptop on his desk. “I cannot go back to being jobless. I hate student loans!” He almost sobbed, finally wrenching Bonnie from the desk. The force made him fall flat on his back, letting the probably two-ton robot fall directly onto his chest. “Why.” He wheezed, trying to roll over. At least the laptop was still in one piece. 

In about an hour, he had finally dragged the rabbit’s sorry ass back onstage. It was a bit of a chore, squeezing between the bear and chicken character and ultimately getting stuck behind them in the process. 

“I hate it here.” He began bluntly as he locked up. “Next time I’m gonna do a day shift at Chuck E. Cheese’s. Be the dude who walks around in the suit.” He stepped out the doors, walking into the parking lot. “At least all the children there are alive and DON’T try to kill you..” He then proceeded to pass out on the pavement.

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