The stage lights trembled, spilling a warm haze across the dim pizzeria. Somewhere behind the curtain, an amplifier hummed to life, its low vibration threading through the chatter of children and the distracted murmur of parents. Bonnie's fingers glided over the strings of his bass, the steady rhythm rolling from him as easily as breathing—if breathing had ever been part of what he was.
To the crowd, he was nothing more than a performer, another smiling face in the Freddy Fazbear band. But the smiles, the movements, even the warm pulse of his skin were an elaborate mask. Beneath them lay metal and circuitry, gears whispering in perfect time. They were built to blend in, to live between two worlds, their truth locked away where no one would see.
Yet that night, something shifted. Bonnie felt it in the way the air seemed heavier, in the faint prickle beneath his synthetic skin. His gaze swept the crowd—and then he saw her.
A small figure, half-hidden behind a table, eyes wide beneath a tangle of dark curls. She couldn't have been more than seven. Dirt smudged her cheeks, and her clothes were torn at the seams. She didn't belong here.
The others noticed too. Freddy's fixed grin twitched. Chica's gaze flickered in her direction. Foxy's ear tilted, almost imperceptibly. But no one spoke. Not now. Not here.
The show ended. Parents herded their children out, laughter and the smell of pizza fading into silence. But the image of the little girl lingered, a knot in Bonnie's thoughts. And when the pizzeria fell still, he followed it.
He found her in the storage room, curled small behind a stack of boxes, knees pressed to her chest. Her eyes lifted to meet his—steady, curious. She didn't flinch at the faint glow of his gaze or the metallic glint of his fingertips peeking from his sleeve.
"Who are you?" Bonnie asked, his voice a blend of machine precision and quiet warmth.
She hesitated. "Ariana."
Something shifted in him. For her, it was the first step into a world stranger than she knew. For him, it was the beginning of something he had no word for—something almost human.
Bonnie crouched so their eyes met on the same level. "What are you doing here?"
Her fingers twisted the edge of her sleeve. "I… I didn't have anywhere else to go. I got lost. Then I found this place. It looked safe."
Safe. The word landed like a stone in him. Freddy Fazbear's was many things, but safety wasn't one of them—especially not for her.
He hesitated, systems whirring faintly in the quiet. Comforting someone wasn't in his programming, but something in Ariana's gaze—open, unafraid—pulled at him.
"You're safe now," he said finally.
Her head tilted up, eyes brightening. "Really?"
"I promise," he said, the corners of his mouth tugging into something that wasn't quite his usual smile. "No one's going to hurt you. Not while I'm here."
In the stillness, only the quiet hum of his internal systems marked the passing of time. Bonnie wasn't sure why the words felt true. Protection wasn't his function. But as he extended his hand, and Ariana's small, hesitant fingers slid into his, he knew it didn't matter.
Her hand was warm. His was not. She didn't seem to mind.
They moved together through the pizzeria's shadowed halls. With each step, his resolve hardened: whatever dangers she carried with her, whatever waited in the dark, she wouldn't face them alone.
The corridor felt colder the deeper they went, the cheerful posters on the walls seeming to watch them pass. Bonnie's sensors registered no movement nearby, but something about the stillness pressed against him like a weight. Ariana's small footsteps echoed softly, her grip tightening on his hand whenever the shadows deepened.
They stopped outside the maintenance room. Bonnie eased the door open, careful not to make the hinges squeal. The room smelled faintly of oil and dust, the fluorescent lights above buzzing with an uneven rhythm.
"Sit here," he said, pulling over a chair for her. "I'll find you something to eat."
Her brow furrowed. "Do… do you eat?"
He froze mid-motion. It was a simple question, but the way she asked it—calm, almost knowing—made him pause. "No," he said slowly. "Not like you do."
Ariana nodded, as if that was the answer she'd been expecting.
Bonnie retrieved a wrapped slice of pizza from the kitchen fridge, the faint warmth of his servos radiating through the box as he handed it to her. She ate quietly, watching him between bites. It wasn't the nervous glance of a child around a stranger—it was a steady, measuring look, as though she were trying to understand what he really was.
"Why did you help me?" she asked.
"Because you needed it."
She tilted her head. "But you're… not supposed to, are you?"
The question made something coil in Bonnie's chest—an awareness he didn't want to dwell on. He didn't answer.
A faint sound from the hallway made him turn sharply. It was subtle—metal against tile, like a slow, dragging step. Ariana didn't seem to notice, too focused on her food.
Bonnie rose silently, his internal systems shifting into alert mode. Freddy, Chica, and Foxy should all have powered down for the night. No one else should be moving.
The sound came again. Closer.
He turned back to Ariana, lowering his voice. "Stay here. Don't move. No matter what."
Her eyes widened, but she nodded.
Bonnie stepped into the hallway. The lights overhead flickered, briefly plunging everything into shadow before buzzing back to life. The sound had stopped, but the air felt wrong—too still, too expectant.
And then he saw it.
At the far end of the corridor, half-hidden by shadow, stood a shape. It was tall, its posture bent slightly forward, the edges of its silhouette too sharp, too uneven to be human. Its eyes—two pinpricks of pale light—watched him without blinking.
Bonnie's servos tightened. Whoever—or whatever—it was, it wasn't supposed to be here. And it was standing between him and Ariana.