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Chapter Text

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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏: 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

You stand in the shadow of your father's workplace. For five years, he's said there's a surprise waiting, and only now is he ready to reveal it.

Scanning across the building, you rock back and forth on your feet. It's a miracle you even found this place in the middle of nowhere.

You stop moving and bite your cheek, staring at the floor. The surprise has something to do with your childhood, or so you've been told, and that alone is enough to worry you.

The key fob needed to enter dangles from your hand as you continue to peer down at it. You shake your head. One swift motion across the sensor, and you're granted access inside.

The strong scent of rust, metal and oil would make anyone else's eyes water. Distant chatter and overworking machines bounce off dirty walls. You rub your arm and sway from side to side, scanning for your dad. He's never on time.

The occasional worker runs around, doing whatever they're doing, and you mistake each one for him, disappointment ending in a huff.

As stray thoughts creep in, you study the place. It's a sickly building, with yellow or black stains littering the walls and floor. Trash and misplaced materials scatter the place, nearly tripping people walking by.

You bend down and pick up a discarded piece of paper, riddled with crinkles and coffee stains. Random notes and ideas are scribbled across it, centred around programming:

Make him able to fake cry?

The response time for smiling is delayed.

Tell Desmond to unlock more of the data banks.

Criminal database recognition?

The biggest aspect of your dad's project is the new, fancy, cutting-edge technology he's been given access to. He has the ability to create the most complex and intelligent robot if he puts the work in and you know damn well he'll go further than that.

You loosen your grip on the paper, letting it slip from your fingers and fall to the floor like a feather. Hands on hips, you once again scan for your dad.

Nothing.

"Excuse me," you call to a worker.

"Uh, yeah?"

"Do you know where your boss is? Can you tell him that I'm waiting for him?"

"I mean ... I can ... take you to him?" He points behind him.

"That'd be fine as well."

The worker nods and begins to guide you.

The deeper you get into the building, the messier it becomes. The place's colour scheme is yellow, brown, and even the occasional black. You saw it when your dad first bought it: pure white. Only off-white seems to exist now.

Sharp smells of metal get stronger and stronger, and you almost wish it were just sweat in the air. You sigh and cover your nose while browsing all the work happening, some things recognisable and some not.

Why does your dad let this place be considered his business? No one seems to care. They're all laughing and having fun, so maybe you should shut up.

♡ ♡ ♡

The worker stops in front of a door and knocks with one finger, ear pressed against it. You raise an eyebrow at his unshakable focus while waiting for a response. Voices and other noises inside are cut short when he knocks a second time, a little louder.

"Come in," someone calls.

The worker opens the door a crack and pokes his head through, but you step beside him and push the whole thing open. Three people stand inside, two of them staring at you. The one in the middle, standing with his back turned, is your father, looking intently through a window into another room.

"Uh, boss? I've got, uh, what was your name again?"

You sigh and push past him. "Dad?"

He spins around with a goofy smile. "There you are! How's Emin?"

He motions for the others to leave, which they all happily do in seconds, already celebrating their extra break. You watch them rush out and shut the door behind themselves, then turn to your dad, a deep frown creasing your face.

"She's fine. Dad, you said you were going to meet me at—"

"Yes, yes, I know. I'm sorry. Business is tough and all, blah blah. Close your eyes and come here." He beckons.

You grip your arm, close your eyes and step beside him. An image of what might be there forms behind your eyelids, and uncertainty swells.

"Remember that Bonnie plush you had when you were younger?" your dad asks.

Your stomach drops a little. "Yeah?"

"Open."

After opening your eyes, they remain stuck on the desk in front of the glass for a moment before you bite your lip and whip your head up.

Your heart nearly stops.

"How accurate was I?" your dad whispers.

"Oh, you got him perfect."

It's been over a decade since you've seen that face, and even then it was from a crappy, crayon drawing. Your brain freezes, struggling to figure out how to react. When your dad said the project would be special to you, this wasn't what you expected.

You stare, unmoving. Bonnie's attached by his arms and legs to a device that can change from a table to a chair, to standing upright, with sturdy-looking restraints as if he's some sort of threat. The device is locked upright, making him stand straight. His eyes are open, but are pinned to the floor and void of any emotion.

For your child self, the Bonnie plush was the one you would use for a good hug – all your toys had a role like that – and you still remember being in your room with that plushie helping you stay sane.

You brought that thing everywhere. It was always packed tightly in your arms as if you would die without it, and you refused to give it up. God knows where it is now. It probably still has dark stains from all your tears or holes in the seams from accidental rips.

You grind your teeth and step back, about to speak. Your dad, however, bangs on the glass, making Bonnie look up.

Your dad pushes you closer, which makes him focus on you with the most dead eyes you've ever seen.

It'd be a lie to say you weren't uncomfortable with that constant gaze. He seems to gawk for an eternity, and you don't move. If you were crazy, you'd swear there was a mixture of pain, anger and death in those eyes.

And they're pinned on you.

Your dad nudges you to wave for some stupid reason, and you do – for some stupid reason. A quick flick of the wrist and a weak smile are all you give.

"Um, Dad ... I—Dad?"

He's gone, so you turn to your left and see him opening the door to Bonnie's room, still with that grin on his face. He steps in.

Great. As if you weren't uncomfortable enough.

"Dad, please ..." You poke your head through the door.

"Come on, he's dying to meet you."

You glance at Bonnie, now with an unfiltered view. Nothing about him says, 'dying to meet you'. In fact, he looks more upset now that you and your dad are coming inside.

"A-are you sure?" you call out.

"Get over here. I didn't spend five years on this for you not to get a close-up."

"But I—" You sigh. "Coming ..."

You shiver and clutch onto yourself the second you step into the room. It's bone-chillingly cold. Compared to the bustling workers, cramped together with nothing but sweat to cool them, this almost makes you want to join them. Almost.

Aside from the temperature, the overall atmosphere reeks of unmoving air and a thick stench of oil, worse than the rest of the place.

"All that fancy, cutting-edge tech and you're still using oil," you throw out.

Your dad scoffs. "It's still useful. Besides, there isn't a drop of it in the final product, so it's fine."

You rub your nose and follow him further into the room and closer to Bonnie while darting your eyes around.

The walls are covered in muck, and litter is scattered across the floor: paper, trash, tiny mechanical parts. Ugh. Large cracks are scattered across the walls as if something bashed into them at full force. Couple all that with the fact that the overhead light is about to die, and you've got something fit for a horror movie.

"Wake up." Your dad smacks his hand against Bonnie's cheek.

Bonnie continues to stare at him, despite the number of hits, before he slowly moves his eyes to you, ears twitching as he does.

"He's even sadder up close ..." you mutter.

Your dad tutts. "I don't know why. There might be a glitch in the expression system."

Your dad creeps his fingers to Bonnie's eyelids and moves the bottom ones up, imitating the closest thing to a smile without the help of a flexible mouth. He keeps it there for a moment and then flicks his hands back. Bonnie's eyes immediately go back to dead as he stares at the floor.

"Well, this is what you get for now." Your dad turns to you.

You nod. "Yeah ..."

Your dad stares at you in silence before waving his hands toward Bonnie like he's showing off a prize. "Look. Your childhood best friend made real."

The proud grin across his face makes some guilt bubble in your throat, but you can't find any excitement in your soul.

"I mean, it's nice but ... why?" you ask.

"Why not?" He shrugs.

You frown. "Come on."

Bonnie's ears twitch as you speak. As a test, you grunt, and he does it again. Whenever your dad makes a noise, however, he remains a statue. Strange.

"Fine. I just needed an excuse to use the new tech."

"Ah, there it is."

Your dad motions for you to step closer, and you hesitate, flicking your eyes between him and Bonnie for a few seconds.

When you do walk closer, Bonnie's eyes flick to you and go wide before reverting to no emotion with a quick twitch of his ears. These motions are too sudden and seem involuntary. Your dad had mentioned a while ago that the project – Bonnie – was in late development, so why is he so twitchy?

"Aren't you happy, though?" Your dad nudges you.

This is for him, not me, you tell yourself.

"Yeah." You smile. "But I've got a bad case of 'adult', so you'll have to forgive my lack of jumping around and clapping."

He chuckles.

Now that you're in front of Bonnie, you notice dark splotches and smears blending into the purple. You raise a hand to his face, and as soon as he notices, he flinches, which makes you freeze. He's back to normal just as fast, so you push it out of your mind, figuring that being twitchy is normal. For some reason.

You gingerly lay your fingers on his cheek, nervous he'll react again, but when he remains still, you place your palm on him and drag it across the side of his face.

You knew he looked a bit dull.

Black muck coats your hand, while the area you wiped on Bonnie is back to a bright purple.

You wave your dirty hand at your dad. "Hey, maybe he's not working properly because he's got dirt all over him."

"If he breaks down from a little dirt, then we didn't build him properly." He folds his arms.

"A little?"

You turn back to Bonnie and gently place the tips of your fingers on either side of his head, then slowly tilt it back to better see the underside of his chin.

Just as you figured, it's worse there. You glide your hand across the bottom of his jaw and pick up the same dark muck as his cheek, only worse.

You guide Bonnie's head back to where it was. "Why don't you clean him?"

"We don't have the time," he says, like it's obvious.

You huff and again focus on Bonnie. He's still staring like his life is meaningless, but you notice the tiniest strain in his eyes.

No.

You're just imagining things.

A small bling comes from your dad, and he swipes a hand to his phone. His face twists as his eyes go back and forth over whatever message he received. A twitch of his mouth, about to say something, and awkward eye contact make you cut him off.

"Ah, let me guess. You're needed somewhere?"

He raises his eyebrows and forces a smile. You shift on your feet and tell him to go, turning your back to him. No attention is given to him as he walks away.

As the door shuts, you sigh to yourself, thinking about whether or not you'll ever be able to spend time with him before he dies. It's always been like this, however, so maybe you should have expected it.

You look back at Bonnie, who hasn't moved and tilt your head.

"Can you talk?" you ask.

He stares into your soul, unblinking and still as a statue.

You step back, but he finally responds by slowly shaking his head.

You frown and peer deeper into his eyes.

Fear. There's fear.

"Um ..." You clasp your hands in front of yourself. "I'm not here to hurt you."

Why are you talking like he's alive? He can't be.

But then why do his eyes widen in pure shock as soon as you're done saying those comforting words?

It's only for a second before he goes back to his usual self, but you saw it. And there was no mistaking it.

You shake your head and inspect the restraints attached to his wrists in an attempt to steer yourself away from such thoughts.

There's a tight band wrapped around them, secured into the table-turned-upright, allowing zero movement. Similar restraints are around his ankles.

"Those don't ... hurt ... do they?" You raise an eyebrow.

He's a little quicker to respond this time, again shaking his head, but you don't find yourself relieved. You've seen how his hands twitch and occasionally spasm when he moves too much. Even if it doesn't hurt, it's still doing something to him, and that's making you ... sad?

"That's good," you say.

His whole body tenses for a moment, but his face remains emotionless.

What is with this guy?

An idea pops into your mind, and you tilt your head to the side and stay there.

Very slowly, he mimics you, as suspected. You can't stop the smile from creeping across your face, which he, unfortunately, doesn't return. His eyes do flick to your mouth, however.

If all your years studying robotics and growing up surrounded by it mean anything, then either your dad has severely downplayed how advanced this robot is, or there's something else going on.

When you lean your head back up, he does the same, ears trailing behind, which causes them to bounce when he straightens his neck.

You chuckle. "You're kinda cute."

Again, his eyes widen in unchecked shock for half a second before he fights it off and goes back to nothing.

Maybe your dad was right. Maybe this isn't such a bad thing.

"You know the dynamic learning programs cost over ten thousand alone."

You whip around. A young man approaches with his hands in his pockets, looking out of place with how clean he is compared to everything else. A wide smile is painted on his face as he stares.

He stands in front of you. "This thing can pick up even the smallest twitch in people and predict their actions." He sticks his hand out. "Hi, I'm Desmond Steel, senior programmer, but you can call me Des. You must be the boss's protégé, yes?"

"I guess?" You grab his hand and tell him your name. "Am I in the way?"

"No, no. Your dad told me to come check on you and answer any questions you might have. Your reputation precedes you. It's a pleasure."

You stop yourself from asking what reputation after remembering who your dad is.

You smile. "Feelings mutual, Des."

He grins and lets your hand go before stepping toward Bonnie, hands behind his back.

"So, does it wow you?" he asks.

"I think he's cool."

Bonnie has reverted to being slow and dead, staring at the floor with eyelids half closed. But you can see the tension, the strain and the fear – far worse than before. The moment Desmond is close to him, his hands clench into fists, causing the restraints to tighten around his joints.

You also step closer, in hopes of getting him to relax, but all attempts fail.

"Curious about anything?" Desmond asks.

"Uh, why is he warm?" You hover a hand just above Bonnie's chest.

"It's the inner systems working. You'd be surprised how much we fit in there."

You chuckle awkwardly. "Yeah, I know it's his systems. Sorry, I meant, why is he still warm? Is there no cooling system?"

"There is one installed, but someone said to lower it so it would still give off heat. So its systems are perfectly cooled, but not so much that it's cold to the touch. Makes it more comforting to the kids, I guess."

You turn to him with a raised brow. "Kids?"

"Yeah, it's going to be a performer for a family-friendly restaurant." Desmond hesitates. "You ... weren't told?"

You shake your head. "No. I wasn't."

You look at Bonnie. So your dad does have a plan and isn't just using him as an excuse.

Your mind flashes to all the characters you made in your youth, dancing around on stage, surrounded by awestruck kids like you once were. Well, you did give most of them musical talents. Was this always the plan, then?

You remain still in front of Bonnie. "Is he going to be a guitarist?"

"I think it will be, yes."

Bonnie's ears twitch, and you narrow your eyes before slowly twisting toward Desmond.

"Why do you say 'it' instead of 'him'?" you ask.

"It's a robot." He frowns.

"Right. Sorry."

"Why do you call it 'him'?" Desmond steps next to you. "Is there a connection of sorts?"

"What? I just." You flinch away. "I don't know. It's what he was when I was younger, so I assumed—"

"When you were younger?"

Oh crap.

You close your eyes and subconsciously curse yourself. This isn't the time to try and explain the whole thing, so you wave him off, muttering about how you originally designed Bonnie as a child.

Before he can say anything, you speak. "Why don't you tell me more about Bonnie, hmm?"

He perks up. "What would you like to know?"

"Why is he pinned down with restraints? Really tight restraints, too."

"It makes it easier for tests, modifications, inspections, etcetera. We leave it in there so it doesn't roam around and cause trouble."

You squint. "Cause trouble?"

"Yeah." Desmond rubs the back of his neck. "Uh, would you like a tour of the place? This thing can't do much in standby mode, so it gets boring quickly. Plus, it might, um, act out."

You touch Bonnie's cheek. "Look at his little face. What harm could he do?"

Desmond chuckles. "Oh, I've seen it happen. Pretty bad. Come on."

He gestures for you to walk beside him, and you oblige, with one glance back to Bonnie as you leave. He seems ... sad.

Perhaps it's only the emotional response that's working, but then why would he be sad right now? You would assume that response would be for sombre times at the restaurant – or whatever – not for two people leaving. He wasn't sad when your dad left.

You swing back around and focus on the ground, only peering up to see where you're going. Maybe he's sad you left? That wouldn't make any sense, though.

♡ ♡ ♡

"You're really spacy, aren't you?"

"Huh? What?" You spring upright.

Desmond laughs and pats your back. "You're cute."

You clear your throat, still not fully aware of yourself, and gaze around.

You're in a design room. Whiteboards, paper and art utensils are scattered around, just as messy as the rest of the place. Hundreds of drawings and concepts are pinned on the walls with no rhyme or reason.

You nudge Desmond. "Hey, can you take me to my dad? I wanted to ask him something."

"Of course. What were you going to ask?"

"Just ... something small."

He nods, seemingly understanding you don't want to talk about it and begins to lead you.

You had forgotten the question when you arrived, despite it being the reason you came in the first place. It's not a tall request, and seeing the state the place is in has made you itch to ask. It may also be this strange curiosity you have around Bonnie. You came here not wanting to see him, but now ...

♡ ♡ ♡

"There he is." Desmond dramatically waves a hand toward your dad.

"And they say chivalry is dead."

He smiles and turns to leave with a quick tap on your shoulder while you stare at your dad, who still hasn't noticed you – too busy with the piece of metal in his hands.

You step up behind him. "Dad."

"Yeah?" He stops what he's doing, giving you his full attention.

"I"—you look at the floor—"have a request."

"Oh no."

You chuckle and sit on a table. "Look, I've seen the condition of this place and I, uh—"

"Are you really about to ask me for a cleaning job here?" He folds his arms with a smirk.

You stare at him for a moment. "Yes?"

He nods while staring to the side, still with his goofy grin and rocking back and forth from his toes to his heels. You already know what he's about to say.

"Is this because you were fired from your last job?"

You drop your head. "I wasn't fired, I was let go."

"Uh-huh."

"They said it's complicated."

He scoffs. "I know you. It's not as complicated as they say."

You laugh and look up. "We're getting off-topic. Can I get a job cleaning here or not? I can do it after you close the place every day."

His smile drops. "That's really late."

You shrug. "I've had worse hours."

"Don't you want a better job? I can—"

"No."

His jaw tightens as he stares off into nothing in deep thought, humour gone. You don't let him think.

"Just let me try it out tonight or tomorrow and see how it goes."

A dramatic groan echoes as he throws his head back to exaggerate it even further.

"Fine." He snaps to you. "You start tomorrow night."

You grin. "Excellent."

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏

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Chapter Text

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𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐈𝐬 𝐖𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠

The image of you is stuck in his mind.

Everywhere he looks, you're there.

You aren't a new employee. You aren't some random person.

You're new. You're curious. You're gentle.

For five years, he's been bottling as much as he can, like he's supposed to. For five years, nothing like this has happened. For five years, no one has shown concern as you did.

It's making his head hurt, but all his systems are clear.

This isn't allowed. He's not supposed to be thinking about anything. He's supposed to follow orders.

Nothing more, nothing less.

They say run; he runs. They say stop; he stops. They say speak; he speaks. They say be quiet; he's quiet. They say don't think; he doesn't think. They say don't feel; he doesn't feel.

But then you came.

Your face was nervous and uncomfortable at first, the exact thing he's come to expect from visitors, but then you got closer. You said he was sadder up close. Protocol ordered him to apologise, but he couldn't without a voice box. The expected electric shock never came, despite the boss saying there was a glitch in his expression system.

He didn't smile. That was the problem. He was told to always smile. He deserved the shock. Why didn't he get it? He did something wrong and wasn't punished. That never happens. Was it you? Did you stop it?

You seem to be close to the boss. You called him 'dad', and he acted more casually with you than with the employees. Is that why?

You aren't like him, however. You're too gentle. You don't care when he makes mistakes. Like how he flinched when you went to touch him. That was wrong, but you didn't seem to mind. You just waited for a moment before continuing.

The touch.

It still lingers on his cheek despite you being long gone.

Too gentle.

Were you scared of him? Did he do something wrong again?

You had wiped his cheek and frowned, but still didn't punish him. You weren't upset with him, you were upset with the boss.

'Hey, maybe he's not working properly because he's got dirt all over him.'

That wasn't the boss's fault; it was Bonnie's, but you weren't mad at him.

You touched him again, this time to tilt his head back and run your hand across his jaw.

Too gentle.

He wanted to move; the sensation was strange to his pressure sensors. He wanted to talk but couldn't.

He tried so hard not to stare at you. To study your face. No one in his life has acted as you did, and it's driving him insane.

You were uncomfortable at the start, but then changed to curiosity and concern. What changed? What did he do wrong?

It hurts. It always hurts.

Anything outside his programming should be purged. Swallow it down and forget it's there. The thoughts and wishes are like devils on both shoulders.

He wants to be good. But he's not. He may never be.

'Broken, glitched, scrap, wrong, bad, disappointing, a lost cause, a malfunction.'

He tries so hard to keep himself in check, to not do anything outside of programming, but with each passing day, that becomes harder and harder.

He wants to see you again.

When the boss left, you became even gentler. Your voice was small and settled nicely on his audio receptors.

He again failed basic programming when he didn't respond immediately to your question. He was too confused, trying to figure you out. It scared him. You're an unknown. Something new. And it's scaring him. It's always scary.

Then, you told him you weren't there to hurt him, in the sweetest voice he's never dreamed of.

He couldn't detect any lies.

But what are you here for then?

Those words nearly destroyed him. He was too rundown to look to programming. He didn't do anything.

He couldn't do anything.

Then you made it worse.

You asked if the restraints hurt.

What is wrong with you? Why do you care? Why were you relieved when he answered no? He's a robot, he has no need for worry.

Then he saw your smile.

It took every inch of him not to react. That image has been stuck under his eyelids for hours.

And it didn't stop there, no. No, you had to keep going.

What did you call him? Cute?

The data banks have so many different definitions for that single word.

Things like puppies and kittens are cute. He's neither. He was designed after a rabbit. Is that why? All those things are small. He's not small. He towers over you and nearly doubles in size. He could crush you with one foot. That's not cute. Then why did you say it? Again, he couldn't detect any lies. Then why? What are you? What are you getting at? What are you trying to do? What do you want? Why are you—

The door opens.

Two people enter the room, the boss – your dad – being one of them. The second person seems vaguely familiar, but Bonnie can't name them. He should be able to.

"I would rather there be something I could see here," the second person says.

"Well, the future ideas are still in concept." The boss's laugh shakes.

They both walk toward Bonnie. He tries to filter through memories to figure out who this person is. He fails.

The boss stops a little ways back while the second person steps right in front of Bonnie, judgment strewn across his expression.

"What of the waterproofness?" he asks.

That trips his memory. Bonnie's mind flashes back to two weeks ago, when this same person came and did the same thing, asked the same thing. They're the investor – or at least one of them. Every fortnight, they arrive, ask for progress reports and inspect Bonnie.

"We've got it so a decent amount of water won't hurt him, but I'd say we're still a while away from submerging him in water," the boss responds.

Bonnie's wires burn in his neck. His joints stiffen, replaying those words over and over, but he clenches his hands in an attempt to stay calm. The restraints tighten and send an electric zap into his wrists that rushes up his arms.

The inspector hums, glaring at Bonnie.

Right as he manages to relax, the inspector grabs his face, wrapping his hand around his muzzle. He pulls his head back and forth, side to side, up and down.

Bonnie can't help but think back to you. When you wanted to move his head, it was more of a guidance. You put your fingers on his cheeks and let him do most of the moving. Too gentle.

The inspector releases his grip but drags it up to Bonnie's forehead so he can push his head back into the table.

"Can he talk yet?" he asks.

The boss shrugs. "We had a test voice a little while ago, but we took it out—but we do have a new one nearly finished. I-it's just that we've been focusing on other areas, uh, right now."

The investor looks down with a sigh. "Sir, I hate to say it, but there haven't been any worthwhile developments in a month. If this keeps up, we'll have to lower investments – if not pull them entirely."

The boss's face drains of colour. "I ... I understand."

The investor raises his glare again and stares into Bonnie's eyes, full of judgment and scrutiny. Despite being taller, Bonnie feels like a small bug. Neither of them needs to say it, he knows it's his fault if investments stop. The edge in their eyes is proof enough.

"Can I show you something else we're working on?" The boss pipes up.

"Certainly."

Finally, the investor lets Bonnie go. They turn around and leave the room.

Bonnie goes limp in the restraints, causing them to lock up. His head sags. There's an itch in his joints, an urge to move or stretch or to do anything. His brain tells him to pull on the restraints until they break open, but he resists the temptation. What was once the pleasant ghost of your touch on his face has been replaced by the burn of the investor's.

A nagging voice at the back of his head, vaguely resembling his old voice box, tells him to break out and run; he's more than capable of stopping anyone in the way. He lets those thoughts run wild, but as usual, others come and stop it.

Where would he go?

Would the humans try looking for him?

Is he really willing to do it?

He dreams of the day he does it. If he ever does. Countless scenarios play in his mind of bursting out of the workshop into the sunshine and feeling the fresh air he's heard so much about on his face. He'd run. Run far, far away into whatever lay in front of him, whatever data bank rings true of the outside world.

Would he look back?

♡ ♡ ♡

Bonnie catches another ball. This test never made sense to him. They say it's for assessing his reflexes – see how quick he is – but for what?

His sensors tingle at the back of his head, and he leans to the side before another ball whips by.

He's not given enough time before another is thrown. He tries to catch it but misses, allowing the ball to hit his chest and bounce off.

Everyone in the room gawks as it rolls away before slowly coming to a stop.

Someone sighs. "Another fail."

Again. He failed again. With how many times he fails, it's a mystery why they haven't scrapped him already.

"End it there. Report it to programming," says the boss, rubbing his eyes.

Programming. It's always programming.

Is it because he's thinking of you? Is that why he couldn't react fast enough? Or has he been swimming in data banks too much?

Another employee runs up to the boss as everyone files out. "Are we closing early because what's-their-name is coming in?"

"They're coming in tomorrow night, and no, we're not closing early today or tomorrow."

"Damn."

You're what?

Why are you coming in at night? What's happening tomorrow?

"Bonnie. On the table."

This is why he shouldn't think. He almost missed that.

He shuffles over to the table as the boss and the employee continue talking.

"I don't mean to, uh, discredit our work but ... "

The restraints click in and pin him down as the employee hesitates.

"Is it ... safe?" they stammer.

"Well, five years and we've never had a break in, so I don't think—"

"Not that. I mean ..."

Bonnie stares as the employee lifts one hand and gestures.

"Him."

The boss gawks at Bonnie. "You're saying he'll be a danger?"

"Well, it's just, uh." The employee shrugs. "You said they're into robotics, so if they get curious and start messing with him, they might trigger a reaction. Maybe? It's happened before."

Bonnie fights not to move.

That's not true – well, it is, but he'd never hurt you – at least not on purpose. First protocol and all. He never meant anything. It was an impulse.

"Well, they're an expert in robotics. I'd say better than me sometimes." The boss chuckles. "So I doubt they'd do anything that bad. But, to be safe, we'll put the restraints as tight as they go and lock both doors, and I'll tell them not to go near Bonnie."

The employee nods and maybe says something, but Bonnie's been dragged into his thoughts.

Why are you coming in at night? Why by yourself?

You know robotics. Maybe you can fix him. He'd never hurt you. He never wanted to hurt anyone. Why were you nice to him? He wants to see you. He doesn't want to hurt you. It's not true. It's all true. That look in your eye. You're new.

It hurts.

The restraints tighten around his wrists as he tenses.

It hurts.

The boss and the employee are gone, leaving the flickering light as company.

It hurts.

The restraints tighten further, pinching him.

This is why he shouldn't think.

It hurts.

Every day, he wishes he'd lose these thoughts. Become what he should be. Nothing.

Only then will he stop failing. Only then will he be a success. Only then will the pain stop.

He wishes he weren't here.

Five years.

He's wrong. He's broken. He's bad.

So many problems, but they don't shut him down.

Why?

He's better off shut down.

He's better off shut down.

He's better off shut down.

The cracked ceiling morphs into a bright blue sky, full of fluffy clouds and a glistening sun. Bonnie lies on soft grass, surrounded by colourful flowers that sway in the wind. There's silence.

A familiar place, one he's been to many times before.

However, this time, there's a gentle touch on his hand.

He's not alone this time.

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫  𝟐

└──────── °∘∘♡∘∘° ────────┘

Chapter Text

┌──────── ∘°∘♡∘°∘ ────────┐

𝐓𝐨𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

As the workshop comes into view, you smile. The visit yesterday has sparked your young passion for robotics, once thought behind you. Little you would've been running around and spewing nonstop questions the moment you stepped foot into the building while your dad struggled to keep up. Then you got older, and that energy oozed out. You thought it was gone for good and that you'd truck along life until death like everyone else.

And then you came here.

Despite the initial hesitation about Bonnie – that's still sort of there – you can't help but wonder how he functions. New tech or not, he is nothing like any other robot you've seen or even heard about.

He's been stuck in your mind since you left, and he's still there even as you exit your car and walk up to the workshop. You want to examine him further and see the code.

"Hey."

You turn the moment the door clicks shut and see Desmond with a big smile.

"How're you?" he asks.

"Fine." You muster a grin. "And yourself?"

The desire to see Bonnie is clouding your mind. You can't focus.

"I'm great," he says. "But why are you here so early? Aren't you doing the cleanup tonight? Why not rest?"

"I'll be fine." You smile.

Your feet betray you and begin to walk with Desmond quickly following.

He steps beside you. "Uh, what were you planning to do?"

"See Bonnie."

"You know, I could bring you to see the more interesting parts of it, like the coding or protocol scripts."

You pause for a second before turning to him with a grin. "That'd be great, actually."

His face lights up.

"But after I see Bonnie."

"Uh, okay?" He rubs the back of his neck. "Can I just—"

"Des," someone calls. "We need you."

If looks could kill. The glare on his face is enough to put most on edge, but the worker is unfazed, instead waiting for Desmond to move.

He eventually does, turning to walk backwards so he can face you.

"I'm sorry. I'll—I'll come get you as soon as possible."

"Counting on it."

You're given one last smile before he disappears around a corner, leaving you to continue your journey.

♡ ♡ ♡

You half expected to see other people doing a test or checkup, but you stand in pin-drop silence while staring through the window.

Bonnie's restraint has been locked to the table position, having him lie down and gaze at the ceiling for who knows how long.

You hesitate for a moment when reaching for the handle, but curiosity wins, so you slowly push the door open, letting a quiet creak ring out.

He still hasn't moved, but his hands are clenched into tight fists.

"Bonnie?" you gently call.

He tenses up more and lifts his head to look at you. He stares as you slowly approach with wide eyes full of confusion and shock.

"It's okay." You raise both hands.

Every moment you're around him solidifies how strange his behaviour is. Even the most glitchy robots don't act as he does.

You step up beside him. "Are you okay?"

What are you saying? You're talking as if he's alive, which he can't be. That's not possible. You know that.

But then why, when you look down into his glazed, wide eyes staring back at you with that unmistakable spark and depth, do you think to yourself;

What if he is?

It would throw everything you know about robotics into the dust. It would throw most things you know into the dust. You wouldn't know what to do. What could you do?

As he slowly nods, you push everything out of your mind, telling yourself there's no point in speculating.

"Still no voice box?"

He shakes his head.

He still seems shocked, or maybe confused, or maybe both. You aren't supposed to be here, so maybe that's why. But then, why hasn't protocol kicked in after the shock?

You could just flat-out ask if he's alive, but there's a strange itch to calm him before asking such things.

"It's okay," you say. "I'm not here to do anything."

His ear twitches, and the shock dies down in favour of more confusion, but he remains on edge.

You smile and awkwardly tell him your name. "Is there anything on me in your data banks?"

His eyes drift to the side for a moment before flicking back to you as he shakes his head.

You look away. "Well, that sucks."

Why did you expect there would be information on you?

Oh, maybe because the man creating him is your father?

Was your dad not expecting you to interact with Bonnie? No. He made it painfully clear how much he needed you to see 'his work'. Then why not log any info? Not even facial recognition.

You look at Bonnie. Is there any point in telling him about yourself? It would feel weird blabbing on as he awkwardly stares. What's there to tell anyway? You aren't interesting.

Your eyes flow down to the restraints around his wrists. His hands are no longer clenched, allowing the restraints to be semi-loose but still denying any real movement. If you could release those, it would allow you to inspect how he works in terms of movement and see just how strangely fluid those motions are.

But you don't know how, or if you're allowed to.

When you look back at his face, he's still staring, but now with eyes filled with curiosity and focus. He's studying you? His gaze flicks around your face with intensity, as if trying to figure something out in your expression. When you smile, his eyes snap to your mouth and linger there.

You suppose it's fair – you're studying him all the same – and since there's no information tucked away in his head, you're an entirely new thing.

As you're about to say something, the door swings open, causing you to practically jump out of your skin.

You spin around and see Desmond already making his way over.

You sigh. "Do you always barge in like that?"

His eyes widen for a moment, now realising what he did. "My apologies."

You roll your eyes with a smirk and turn to Bonnie, only for your smile to drop like a rock into water.

Like when you first met Desmond, Bonnie has tensed up with barely hidden strain behind his half-closed eyes, staring at the ceiling as his hands revert into fists.

Desmond steps beside you. "What're you doing?"

"I'm just looking. Seeing how he works – or trying to."

"You sound confused."

"Well, he's not like any robot I've seen. Even other high-tech ones aren't like him. It's—" You shrug. "I don't know."

Desmond's voice lowers, having a slight edge to it. "What do you mean?"

"It's hard to explain."

Bonnie is doing better at staying still than he was previously. You honestly prefer when he's acting 'alive' since this dead, empty, statue side of him is unnerving.

"Bonnie?" you call.

His head calmly turns to you, but it's off. Now he's moving too slowly. The stutters in the movement are misplaced, happening where they shouldn't or are too exaggerated in some places.

"Are you okay?" you ask.

Immediately, he nods, and the irregularities mimic the initial head turn.

Desmond shrugs. "Seems fine to me."

You chuckle. "With all due respect, you're experienced in coding, not the physical stuff."

"True." He steps closer to you. "So what's the issue?"

You raise a hand to Bonnie's face, making sure he sees what you're about to do, so you don't scare him like last time. He doesn't flinch.

You gently place your hand on his cheek and move his head to look away from you before bringing it back.

"There's no stutter," you say. "I should be able to feel a click or some restraint if his movements stutter." You frown. "But I don't."

You aim his face toward you and mimic the nod he gave as Desmond leans on the table. You pick his head up off the table and let go, leaving him in that awkward position.

"If it were a weight thing, he'd be struggling right now. If it were coding – like the response system is glitching – then it would continue throughout the entire movement. If it's a loose screw or something, then again, he'd be struggling now." You turn to Desmond. "Stuttering or shaking movement is either constant or has some sort of pattern. Besides ...

"He wasn't doing this before. It's only after you came in that it started to happen."

Desmond stares at you with a tiny smirk. "Damn. Colour me impressed. Where'd you learn all that?"

You chuckle. "I've been surrounded by robots since I was born." You snap your eyes to Bonnie. "I know how they work."

His dead act is on the verge of cracking. The restraints have tightened as far as they go due to his clenching hands, and his eyes are full of panic.

Is that it? Is that your answer?

If you're misreading, and everything you know is wrong, then Bonnie is the most broken robot you've ever seen.

"Hmm," Desmond hums. "I'll report it, but I don't know how they'll fix it. Anyway, do you want to go see the coding now?"

You continue to stare at Bonnie. "Yeah. Go on ahead, I'll be right behind you."

Desmond obliges, and soon the door shuts behind you, followed by the second one, leaving you alone with Bonnie once again.

You put your hand on his forehead and gently push his head down to rest on the table. He puts up no restraint.

His eyes are trained on you, now with pure terror as if you're a predator about to kill him. It only confuses you further.

Some sort of staring contest creeps up as you study his face, mind wandering. He's frozen. You're so caught up in your thoughts that you don't realise your hand is still on his forehead.

You sigh and turn to leave. "I'll see you later, Bonnie."

You don't glance back.

♡ ♡ ♡

"Where even is my dad anyway?"

"In a meeting."

You hum and continue to skim through the copies of code. There's not enough time to properly study them – you'd have to set aside a few months for that – and from what you can see, the initial code is fine.

"Do you think there's a translation issue?" You look at Desmond. "Like his mind isn't processing it from this?"

He shrugs. "From what I know, all those tests have turned back clear. Any time there's been a disconnect, we've been able to fix it immediately."

You nod and lower your head, looking off to the side as you chew your lip. What's happening then?

"Have you noticed anything?" you ask.

Desmond laughs. "Oh boy, have I noticed abnormal behaviour from that thing – and that's putting it mildly."

You frown but let him continue.

"We've tried everything to make it follow code and protocol since we switched it on, and nothing worked. It's not like it's unable to function properly since it will do as it's supposed to most of the time. But those times that it doesn't are ... strange and, if you ask me, uncannily repetitive."

"Does he correct himself?"

"Sometimes. A lot of the time, it just stares, as if it doesn't know it's stepped out of line."

You slowly nod, half in your thoughts. Being clueless is normal for robots struggling to process code, so his staring isn't strange, but if they've tried to fix it as much as Desmond is suggesting, then there's something much, much deeper happening. Your dad is the smartest man you know when it comes to robots – most of the time – so it seems almost impossible he wouldn't be able to find a solution after all these years.

Desmond calls your name.

You snap your eyes to him. "Sorry. This is just really confusing me."

He smiles. "Don't burden yourself too much. After all, it's our problem, not yours. So don't stress."

You chuckle. "Can't help it. It's in my blood."

Desmond sits beside you. "I know. That thing is fascinating. Although you're doing the cleanup tonight, aren't you?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

Desmond's face shifts, going serious. "Be careful."

"Of Bonnie?"

He nods.

You look at the floor. You're going to be completely alone in a building in a remote area with an unfinished, unstable, unknown robot that could kill you without effort.

Bonnie's face flashes in your vision. He looked more scared of you if anything.

Glitches aside, your dad wouldn't let a violent robot anywhere near you – that you know for a fact. It's the main reason you weren't even allowed in the building until now.

Bonnie wouldn't hurt you. Even if he tried, you know his weak spots. It wouldn't be the first time you've taken down a robot bigger than you.

Although those robots were predictable, and you knew their code like the back of your hand. Bonnie is an anomaly, with even the people who built him seeming confused. That's the scariest part. If his creators can't read him, if they don't know what he'll do way before he does it, if they don't know what's going through his mind, then what do you have? Nothing.

You turn back to Desmond, face stern.

You're a fresh set of eyes. You'll see things that even your dad missed. And if you play into the idea that Bonnie's alive, then ...

"I'll be fine."

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑

└──────── °∘∘♡∘∘° ────────┘

Chapter Text

┌──────── ∘°∘♡∘°∘ ────────┐

𝐒𝐮𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐧

"I'm putting my life in your hands."

"Don't be dramatic."

Your dad drops the ring of keys into your open palm with an exaggerated, pain-filled expression and a small whimper. You snatch them toward yourself with an eye-roll while your dad turns serious – or at least as serious as he can get.

"Now, I've locked Bonnie's room, and you don't have to clean it if you don't want to, but either way, do not let him out of his restraints," he says.

You frown. "Why?"

"Safety. I know you probably want to do your own tests on him, but I don't want to risk anything."

"Is it me in danger or him?"

"Both."

You stare at him with the corner of your lip curled up. "Okay? You're not sending me into a death trap, are you?"

He smiles. "Only one way to find out."

You sigh as he gestures to the still-open doors leading inside the building. If you weren't nervous before, you are now. You were planning on letting Bonnie loose.

With a sigh, you say, "Tell me it's gonna go smoothly."

"It's gonna go smoothly." He nudges you. "Now get in there."

He chuckles and bids you farewell before strolling away to his car. You watch him drive off before re-entering the building, now completely alone in a soundless environment.

Remnants of life are left in the form of the mess you have to clean. The constant loud chatter from workers now seems like a dream.

After scanning the area, you grab the metal basket of cleaning supplies and start walking.

He told you not to release Bonnie.

But when have you ever listened?

He can't be that big of a threat. The nagging voice in your head promises he's more than an empty robot and begs you to at least try getting more information.

You repeat over and over as you walk by the messes that Bonnie isn't a threat, and even if he is, you'll be able to handle him.

He's more scared of you.

♡ ♡ ♡

After fumbling with the keys, you find the correct one and slide it into the keyhole. The door clicks open, and you shuffle inside, aiming your vision toward the window.

Bonnie's stuck in a standing position with the restraints extra tight despite him not tensing. He's staring at the floor but shoots his eyes up at you, already filled with shock and fear.

"Can you look at me any other way?" you mumble.

He continues to gawk as you step up to the control panel. Your plan may crumble before your eyes.

The control panel quietly hums when you wake it up, and the screen blinks on. A mix of relief and horror washes over as the screen shows a user still logged in. Desmond Steel.

You hesitate. Are you really going to do this?

The release button sits patiently, ready to be pressed, and after you glance at his little face, you push it.

A loud clank echoes as his restraints unlock and disappear into the table. He stumbles forward before finding his footing and gawking at his hands.

The shock wears off within a second. He's back to being emotionless, standing straight and still.

You walk over and open the second door, allowing no barrier between you and Bonnie. He doesn't shift.

You remain in the doorway. "You're allowed to move."

He flinches a little when you speak, but nods to show he heard you.

But he still doesn't move.

You tut. "Come here."

Again, fear flashes across his face, but he follows your order and approaches while you leave into the rest of the workshop.

"Are you let out of your room a lot?" you ask.

He stands in the doorway and shakes his head. You motion for him to come closer and leave his room, so he takes one step out and stands still again.

You sigh and look him over. He seems ready to run. He's aimed himself slightly away from you, but he's not as scared as you'd expected – at least with leaving his room. You are his main concern.

"Well," you start, "I'll be cleaning this place and don't have a problem with you walking around. So go. Explore." You wave your hand in a random direction before walking away down a hallway. "I'll come find you when I'm finished and get you back to your room."

You don't glance back while walking and expect him to either wander around or return to his room. This is a test. You want to see what he'll do.

The way he walked already told you that assuming he's more than an empty robot may not be wrong. Robots will make a beeline to where they're directed unless severely broken, and Bonnie hesitated.

If you aren't insane, then maybe you can get him to crack and show you there's something more inside. What you'll do if he does turn out to be more, you don't know, but that's a problem for future you.

♡ ♡ ♡

He's following you.

Throughout all the rooms you clean, there are eyes on you, and while walking around, there's the occasional footstep. He is always the same distance away – a pretty decent gap – and never dares get closer.

It'd be a lie to say it's not a little unnerving. What is he doing? Is he studying you? Is he curious? Does he want to do something?

You've chosen to ignore him for now. However, that's becoming increasingly difficult with each second, and you silently repeat to yourself that you've taken down bigger.

This is what you wanted: a sign there's more to him. What's more alive than secretly following someone? He knows he's doing something weird, otherwise, he wouldn't be hiding, unless it's that good old fear of his yet again. Any time you've turned around or tried to spot him, there's nothing, as if you're alone.

It's more concerning a seven-foot-tall, purple, robot rabbit is able to hide so damn well than the fact he's doing it in the first place.

As you set a box down on top of another, you look at the biggest one sitting on the floor. There's no way you're going to lift that.

Everything else in the room is clean and tidy, so you stand over the box full of heavy materials with your hands on your hips. When you push it with your foot, it doesn't even budge.

"Damn," you say, purposely loud. "It seems I've stumbled across this very heavy object that I couldn't possibly lift." You turn and look at the doorway. "If only there were a big, strong robot that could help me."

You stare at the doorway and let patience take over.

As you suspected, Bonnie's head peeks around the corner – although that's as far as he goes – and you smile.

"Come on." You beckon.

He walks over the same way he did in his room, stiff and timid.

Should you ask him questions? Something tells you that if you flat-out ask if he's alive, he'll just shake his head no. You're getting too hooked on the idea. It could just be one big misunderstanding. He could really be a regular robot, and you could really be insane.

You stand on one side of the box. "Help me lift it—oh."

He picks the whole thing up as if it were a feather and waits for a command.

"Uh, just pop it on top of that one." You point to an identical box.

He complies, and the fluidity irks you, even after he sets it down and stands back up straight. Your dad trained you to practically see the code running in your head as a robot does something.

"Thanks." You smile.

His face lights up slightly, but he manages to fight it down and return to his usual dead expression.

You itch to ask a thousand questions, press him about everything you've seen and watch his reaction. But you don't want to scare him, especially now that he's somewhat more relaxed.

"Well, since you're here, you can walk with me while I work."

You're trying to seem casual and hide the fact that you're studying him, but you feel like he knows.

He lets you get a few steps ahead before beginning to follow, now not needing to hide, and you'd rather he walk beside you, but you keep your mouth shut.

♡ ♡ ♡

Your brain is screaming to say something, to ask something, as you sweep the floor. Anything.

"Has there ever been a cleaner?"

It's better than nothing.

He shakes his head, and you grimace at the mere thought. Is this truly the first cleaning this place has ever gotten? It would explain why it's taking so long to go through rooms, even when not doing a thorough job.

You pause your sweeping. "So I'm the first visitor you've gotten after hours?"

He nods.

"Hmm. Not a bother, am I?"

He shakes his head.

Strangely, he's less twitchy while being questioned, even when asked about his opinion.

You look to the side. He's probably required to be nice, so he could be lying to both you and himself.

Would non-yes-or-no questions be better? He'd struggle to answer without a voice, and that's exactly what you need.

"What do you think of this place?"

He freezes for a moment, eyes darting back and forth, before he slowly gives a thumbs up.

Bingo.

Some things are standard amongst all robots similar to Bonnie, only changing when their personality comes into play. Bonnie doesn't have a personality coding-wise, as you saw in the scripts, so he'd fall into that customary protocol.

Said customary protocol demands that responses are either a head shake or nod, regardless of the question. Positives are a nod, and negatives are a shake; very simple.

And he didn't do that.

You turn around for a moment to hide your smile, covering it by moving a small table, but soon face him again.

"Do you like being alone?" You hold one finger up. "Or with someone?" You hold two fingers up.

He hesitates, and his hand twitches, but he stiffens and nods.

"Both?"

He nods again.

Damn. Basic protocol says answers that indicate 'both' default to positive or 'yes'. He passed that test.

As you finish cleaning the room, you wonder. How do you confirm your suspicions?

He stands a decent distance away and stares right back at you with complete focus. His limbs are completely straight all the way to his ears. Thankfully, he blinks every five or so seconds, and his ears twitch; otherwise, you would've told him to turn around.

"Do you"—you frown—"struggle to process your code?"

That got him.

His ears twitch and spasm as he steps back, panic bubbling as he tries to find an answer.

Unknown answers aren't even attempted in basic protocol. The robot will sit still and never try to find a response.

You step beside him, now finished with the room. "It's okay if you don't know."

Relief fills his eyes as he nods.

You pause while walking away and clench your hand. What if you give him your opinion? Receiving information has always been iffy between robots working on basic code; a lot of people say they should not respond, while others say they should nod. You've always preferred some sort of response, if only to know you've been heard and acknowledged, but your dad has no real preference.

"You know." You face him. "You're not like any robot I've ever met."

His eyes narrow for a moment as he tilts his head.

Something seems to pop into his mind, and he clenches his hands, his body tensing.

"Not in a bad way," you exclaim.

He softens slightly but remains uneasy, so you give your best smile and say, "It makes you unique." You eye him. "It's almost like you're alive."

You add a small chuckle at the end to seem like you didn't choose those words on purpose, but he doesn't react outside an ear twitch. To sell the act, you walk away, but he follows without hesitation.

Alright, that didn't work, you think.

He remains the same distance from you and not a step closer. You want to ask why. Is he trying to follow protocol, or is he staying away subconsciously? What if you tell him he can get closer? What if you move closer?

You decide to leave it alone, figuring that your previous words have affected him enough and he doesn't need another shock to his systems.

♡ ♡ ♡

The rest of the cleanup is in silence, with your occasional request for help to break it, and you find yourself not minding – even with his constant staring.

Although he remains mostly still, he's noticeably more relaxed. His movements have gotten smoother, and he's quicker to respond, allowing you to better grasp what he's really like – including the adorable bounce as he walks.

"Well." You rub your forehead with the back of your hand. "That should be it."

Bonnie nods, but your face falls into dejection.

"Which means you have to go back to your room ..."

He nods again but doesn't change his expression. He just waits for your order.

You oblige and lead him back to his room. He probably foresaw being sent back, but you expected him to have some sort of reaction. That place is as close to a prison as it can get without being called 'a prison', and yet here he is. Unbothered.

♡ ♡ ♡

He walks past and into his room. You close the door behind him and move in front of the control panel, watching him through the window as he shuffles toward the upturned table. When he presses his back against it and positions his hands and feet correctly, you gently push the button that clamps the restraints around his joints.

You can't help but continue to stare as the tiny voice at the back of your head gets louder and louder, telling you he's more. More than a robot.

His eyes float to yours when you don't move.

Emotionless beings don't have that glint.

Emotionless beings don't stare with such depth.

You press the microphone. "Goodnight, Bonnie."

He slowly nods before a short pause, and then the tiniest, sweetest smile creeps across his otherwise sombre face that you return on instinct.

The pureness in his expression melts your heart, and you curse the fact that you have to leave him locked up like some dangerous animal.

You hesitate before clicking the microphone off.

"Smiling suits you."

His eyes widen with new brightness as you switch the microphone off and turn around to leave.

It feels wrong to leave him, but you don't have a choice – at least not now. You got him to relax, and that's something that will ease you for the time being. So, even as you lock his door and make your way to the front of the building, you hold your head high.

Even as you lock the workshop's doors and officially mark your job finished, you want more. You want to talk to him properly. There's so much you could ask and say. You want to know what's happened to him over the past five years he's existed. You want to know why he's so scared, why he's trying so hard to seem like a normal robot and how he came to be the way he is.

There's so much to uncover.

But.

At least you got him to smile.

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒

└──────── °∘∘♡∘∘° ────────┘

Chapter Text

┌──────── ∘°∘♡∘°∘ ────────┐

𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐙𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐬

You pull into the half-full parking lot at the workshop, still lost in thought.

Your attention has been stuck on Bonnie. You cannot and will not believe he's a mindless robot. Despite how advanced this tech is, you know a typical robot when you see one.

His movements are too sporadic, too natural, too real. His expressions and responses.

His personality.

The mere look in Bonnie's eyes is burned into your memory.

Eyes are the window to the soul and goddamnit does that robot have one.

You frown at the building, gripping the steering wheel as your car hums idly.

Are you crazy? Has no one else seen Bonnie's not-so-subtle behaviour? Have you reached a new low where you're trying to find companionship in a robot?

Sighing, you switch your car off and hop out, figuring your dad may have answers. Hopefully.

Cold nips your skin, so you power-walk toward the workshop. The moment you open the door, familiar stenches of oil and machinery attack your nose.

At least it's warmer.

Not two seconds after entering, someone calls your name. You turn left with an eyebrow raised and see Desmond half-jogging toward you.

"Hey," he says, reaching you.

"Hi, Des." You smile.

"How did the cleaning job go?" He fumbles with a small wireless mouse.

"Fine. This place is kinda creepy when there's no one around."

He chuckles. "I've noticed that as well. Um, was Bonnie behaving well?"

"Yeah. I checked up on him in his room, and he was fine, just sitting there doing nothing." You fold your arms. "Weird that he's not shut down after closing."

Desmond shrugs. "If it were up to me, that'd be the case."

You nod, face dropping as you look to the side. "Speaking of Bonnie. I, uh, wanted to ask something."

Already, you picture his expression after suggesting Bonnie's alive. It'd be a miracle if he didn't admit you to an insane asylum.

"Have you ever wondered—"

"Oh, come on," he scoffs. "I haven't talked to you about anything that isn't about this workshop."

You collect yourself. "Uh, y-yeah." You narrow your eyes. "So?"

He smiles and leans on the wall beside you. "I want to talk about you. Where're you from?"

"Same place my dad's from."

He chuckles. "All right. Where are you living now?"

"An apartment building." You step back.

His stare screams a sarcastic 'Are you serious?'.

You laugh nervously. "Sorry, I've never been good at icebreakers."

"Why?" he asks. "It's just answering questions."

You take another step back. "Yeah, but, you know, we've practically just met, and"—you wave a hand around—"you know. That's just ... how it is—plus I-I'm not interesting."

Why you? Why did that kid from school, who insisted on getting to know everyone in detail, have to possess this man?

Desmond laughs. "Really? The child of our prestigious boss isn't interesting?"

'C'mon. Just tell me one thing about yourself, and I'll leave.'

'I did.'

'Ugh, give me something better than you put socks on before pants.'

'Hey, it's easier, and the socks don't roll up when you slide your pant leg back down.'

Desmond leans forward. "Why don't we do something easy, hmm? What're you doing later? Don't say the cleanup job."

'Give me something. Anything.'

'Well, my car—'

"Cleaning Emin," you blurt.

His face contorts into a confused grimace. "Emin?"

"My car."

His expression deepens. "Your car's name is Emin?"

You smile and nod. "Mm-hmm."

He gawks, looking you up and down as if staring at an alien, before slowly nodding and muttering, "All right, you're one of those people. Thinks a hunk of metal has feelings."

"Excuse me, that 'hunk of metal' has had my back and been more reliable than anyone I've met for eight straight years." You fold your arms. "I won't stand for her getting insulted."

He holds his hands up. "Noted."

"Hey, Des," someone calls out.

Both of you turn as a young man walks over, looking as clean as Desmond – if not cleaner.

"Hey, man, sorry to interrupt," the guy says, "one of the designers is asking for you in room four."

Desmond rolls his eyes. "Right, because they can't figure out how to design around my programming again."

"They just want to know if the design will cause any extra work for you. Again."

"All right." Desmond sighs and says he'll see you soon.

"Bye." You wave.

Desmond waltzes away after a quick salute.

The stranger turns to you and asks you to confirm your name.

You nod. "And you are?"

"Andrew. Nice to meet you." He sticks his hand out.

You grab it and remember meeting Desmond. Your hands connected, but did not shake. Andrew lets go after a firm shake.

"Nice to meet you, too, Andrew."

"Your dad talks highly of you," he says.

You raise a brow. "Does he?"

"Yeah. And he also kept saying how much you'll love the robot when you meet him."

You nod. "Sounds like my dad."

How much has he said about you?

"Have you had the chance to meet Bonnie?" Andrew asks.

"Yeah, two days ago."

His face lights up. "Well?"

You sway from foot to foot. Can you ask a man you just met if he thinks Bonnie's alive? Maybe you can lead him to it.

"He's cool." Great words. "If a little strange at times."

Andrew holds up both index fingers. "Weird question. But was he wearing anything?"

You narrow your eyes. "N-no?"

He sighs and hunches over slightly. You eye him.

"Sorry," he says. "It's just I design and make all these different outfits for him, but he doesn't wear them for more than a minute."

You chuckle. "Well, I guess it saves time. Getting him in and out of clothes every time he needs something done to him and all?"

"Yeah, I guess." He sighs again. "Still, I'd wish he'd get to wear them more than once."

You smile. This is nowhere near asking about Bonnie's sentience.

Andrew stands up straight. "Weird question for a stranger out of the way. Do you need anything?"

"Considering I arrived almost ten minutes ago and haven't left the entrance, moving would be nice."

His eyes widen and dart to the doors. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I'll let you—"

"It's fine," you say. "You can make it up to me by answering my weird question."

No backing out now.

"Sure. Fair's fair."

You motion for him to walk beside you towards Bonnie's room; you weren't lying.

"Do you spend a lot of time with Bonnie?" you ask.

"No, unfortunately."

"When you have been around him, have you noticed anything strange?"

"Such as?"

You tense your jaw and shake your head. Maybe you deserve to be in an insane asylum.

"Like he's more than a robot obeying code?" You try to sound as casual as possible.

Andrew's silent for a moment before he chuckles. "Programming is out of my expertise, so."

"But don't you get that vibe from him? That he might be alive?" You shrug.

He's silent again, longer this time. Your chest tightens while half-expecting him to just walk away.

"I," he starts, "never took any notice."

You stop walking and face him. "I'm probably just losing my mind. But at least we're even on the weird questions."

He chuckles. "I'd say you beat me."

You laugh and look behind you. Make an excuse.

"Well, it was nice meeting you, Andrew. My dad's waiting for me," you say. "Let me know if you notice anything strange with Bonnie."

"I will." He smiles and starts to walk away. "And let me know if you need anything."

You nod, and he spins around, leaving you.

♡ ♡ ♡

After dodging and weaving through workers, you arrive at Bonnie's room.

Your hand hovers inches from the door. Instead of knocking, you gently lean your ear against it, straining to listen.

"Okay – and – there. Now speak," your dad says.

"Hey, kids," Bonnie exclaims.

There's a weird high-pitched inflexion and faint static around his voice, but it's smoother than expected. It doesn't sound like an automated response from a children's mascot; it sounds like a random guy.

"Hmm. Maybe ..." Tools clink against something. "That. Now, again."

"Heya kiddos," Bonnie speaks again.

You cover your mouth before a giggle escapes.

His voice no longer has the high-pitched edge to it, accentuating what you thought before. Too smooth, too natural, strangely appealing.

Not a robot.

Your dad doesn't seem to notice or care.

"Perfect. I think that sounds good," he announces.

Others respond, agreeing with him, although one says he should sound goofier. You frown. His voice is perfect.

Your dad explains that the current voicebox will stay forever or until they make a better one, and the worker agrees.

Taking a deep breath, you knock and walk in, not bothering to wait for permission.

Bonnie sits, staring forward with empty eyes. The material around his neck has been peeled away, with various wires snaking inside and connecting to the new voicebox. He twitches occasionally and shudders when something in his neck shifts, resembling a gag.

"Dad?" you call.

Bonnie's gaze flicks to you, but he dares not move. He doesn't need to. You saw the look in his eyes, the uncomfortable fear, pain and desire to be anywhere else.

"Oh, you're here." Your dad sets some tools down beside Bonnie's head and joins you in the control room. "How was the cleaning job yesterday?"

"It was all right." You stare at Bonnie.

He repeatedly clenches and relaxes his hands, making the restraints tighten like they did the first time you saw him with Desmond.

Just relax, you think. Stop shocking yourself.

"Did any of the machines jump out at you?" Your dad chuckles.

You still don't move. "No."

"Okay?" He raises a brow. "What's up, kiddo? You look lost."

"Is he okay?" You nod toward Bonnie.

Your dad looks at the robot he should know like the back of his hand, but his expression doesn't change.

"Yeah? Why wouldn't he be?" he asks.

You frown. "He looks uncomfortable."

Your dad again glances behind himself, and again, doesn't seem concerned – more confused than anything.

"I mean, that's how he always is—"

"And that's normal?" You fold your arms. "You just 'programmed' that in for fun?"

He rolls his eyes. "We've tried countless times to fix it, and one day we'll find the solution. But don't worry, he won't leave this place with any issues. Now, how can I help you?"

Bonnie convulses as one of the workers adjusts the voicebox inside his neck, squeezing his hands as tightly as he can.

You shake your head. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Uhh," He looks back at the workers with Bonnie, talking amongst themselves. "Yeah. Hey, lads, get the table into the standing position and start patching him up. I'll be a minute."

"Yes, boss," they say, moving to follow orders.

The frown remains on your face as you leave the room, your dad following.

He shuts the door behind him and turns to you.

"What's up?"

"I need to ask you something."

Arms around yourself, you pace back and forth, one hand under your chin. Are you actually about to do this? You did just ask a stranger about it, but you can choose the route of never talking to Andrew again if needed. This is your father.

Your dad keeps his eyes trained on you as you pace. "And what would that be?"

"Do you think Bonnie—" You freeze in place. You're insane. Don't say anything. What is wrong with you? "Do you think he ..."

Your dad narrows his eyes. "Do I think heee ...?"

You swallow against a dry throat. "H-have you programmed feelings into him yet?"

"No." Your dad folds his arms. "There is no personality program yet."

You nod and avoid eye contact, remaining silent.

"Why?"

You turn away and clutch your shirt. "Do you think ... there's a possibility that Bonnie could develop his own personality by himself?"

Your dad is silent for what feels like forever. When you glance at him, you see the utter confusion in his eyes.

You're not crazy. You know emotion when you see it, especially when it's clawing to get out.

Bonnie always looks like he's on the verge of snapping, and all those years of bottled-up emotions will explode out. The emptiness of his wide, dead eyes has an edge.

A strain. A plea. A call for help.

You're not crazy.

"What makes you think that?" he asks.

"I was just curious," you blurt. "You kept saying how advanced Bonnie is, so I was, uh, wondering if that's a possibility."

"It could be," he says. "If his dynamic learning had a personality section. Which it doesn't." He folds his arms. "Plus, none of us have noticed a personality."

You chew your cheek. "So that's the only way he could develop one by himself?"

You need to see his code with your own eyes.

"Yeah." Your dad steps fully into your line of sight. "Where is this coming from?"

You're talking to yourself. "Could the dynamic learning set up its own personality section?"

The closest event you know of was another concept robot. The personality section was implemented, but was switched off. It powered on by itself, and the robot began to act like the engineer working closest with it. If Bonnie doesn't even have that section in his dynamic learning ...

Your dad says your name with annoyance. "It's impossible for him to develop a personality. He's running off the code we put into him and that code alone." He pats your shoulder. "You know this. It's either a one—"

"—or a zero," you finish.

'It's either a one or a zero.' He always said that when you were a kid, and got upset when a robot wasn't working correctly. You cried that they were sick or mad at you, and he'd say they can't do anything you don't want them to.

You sigh. "I know that—I just ... Yeah, I guess so. Sorry."

Your dad opens his mouth to say something, but the door opens.

"Hey, boss, what do you want us to do next?"

Your dad looks between you and the worker a few times before speaking. "Let me see."

You follow him into the room. Bonnie is still restrained to the table, now locked to standing. All the devices have been removed from his neck – the protective material sealed – but he still seems on edge. None of the workers notice him following them with his eyes.

They appear empty but will flash with an unknown edge as he peers at each person in the room. His expression morphs into a familiar sombre before fuzzing over, his gaze struggling to keep focused as if drifting in and out of consciousness. His left eyelid twitches.

You can't get his smile out of your mind. It seems so distant now as you watch him flit between emptiness, pain, fear and that unknown one.

He notices you, and his expression melts into softness, settling into sorrow and emptiness, although there is a tiny glint in his eye now.

You stare, not knowing what to do.

Why does he change when he looks at you?

You won't believe them.

He has to be alive.

The tick behind his glazed eyes says something wants out, something wants to scream, to cry, to do anything.

Within a second, it's all gone. His eyelids fall half-closed as he goes limp. Back to an empty robot trapped by lines of code.

Just ones and zeros.

You look at your dad and the workers. They all laugh with each other and chat normally, while a bubble of choked emotions sits beside them, on the verge of bursting.

Bonnie's eyes plague your mind.

That single gaze says it all.

He's alive.

And you refuse to believe otherwise.

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫  𝟓

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𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐲 𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡

You chew your lip as you glide Emin into an empty parking spot. Your dad had left early and dropped the keys off at your house, so you'll enter the empty building alone. The complete absence of life has always made you uncomfortable.

But you're not alone. There is life. Maybe.

In hindsight, it's probably better that your dad didn't see you in, otherwise, he would've been able to tell you were plotting something.

Bonnie will confirm he's alive, whether he likes it or not. It's eaten away at your mind for days – the curiosity is about to kill you – and the fact that he now has a voice makes it worse. You're not looking for a straight 'yes' since he most likely won't provide that, but rather, you're looking for something irrefutable.

What's that something? Who knows.

As the door clicks shut, you shudder and think about how to approach it. Gently? Straight to the point? Lead him into it? You don't want him terrified, but you don't want it easy to deny.

You reach for the cleaning basket but freeze when something appears in your peripheral vision. Bonnie peers around a corner and stares at you with a sweet smile.

"Oh, hello there," you say. "How'd you get out?"

His eyes flick to the side before he shrugs.

Now that he's right here, your voice catches in your throat. You can't jump into interrogating him, can you?

You'll do it after the place is clean; that way, you can leave if things go south.

"You're free to wander around." You grab the basket. "Or stay with me."

You smile before walking away, leaving him to decide, although you soon hear his footsteps following.

Why isn't he talking? You let him walk in silence either way, but you wish he'd say something.

In fact, if he has a voice, he's required to respond verbally by protocol.

Just hint after hint.

♡ ♡ ♡

You're rushing. Having Bonnie so close and free to talk to is putting you on edge. What are you going to do if he is alive?

A fully sentient robot. What would that do to the world? Is Bonnie the only one? Are people ready for something like this? Are you ready for something like this? There has never been a recorded instance of true sentience; some have gotten close, but were only the result of expert coding. Maybe that's what Bonnie is. Maybe your dad is better at robotics than you thought.

You place another pile of papers into a filing cabinet and toss a glance over your shoulder to check on Bonnie, only to do a double-take. He's gone.

You scan the room. "Bonnie?"

Nothing.

Guess he's decided to explore on his own. That's fine. Just hurry up.

♡ ♡ ♡

Where did he go? The whole place is cleaned, and you're wandering around in search of him. Calling his name yields no response.

After another circle around the building, sweat trickles down your neck. The building is relatively small, he's a giant robot, and yet he seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth. You've checked his room every single time you've gone past it and looked in every place he could hide.

"Bonnie?"

As you walk through yet another loop of the building, you keep glancing behind yourself; maybe he's following you. But you still see nothing. There's no sound.

You stop in your tracks. Bonnie was equipped with a tracker in case he got out of the building.

With a long groan, you trudge to the computer system, muttering curses. Why the one night you need him? He has to be purposely hiding from you, otherwise, you would've found him, right? How is he able to hide so well?

You still look for him while walking, and still don't even catch a glimpse. Hell, you keep an eye on the ceiling for gaps or an entrance into some sort of attic. Anything's possible at this point, and your patience has nearly diminished.

♡ ♡ ♡

You shove the door open and make a beeline for the computer.

"Can't believe I have to do this," you mumble.

The computer slowly boots up, and you gawk with heavy eyelids, not daring to look at the time. You can't leave without him back in his room, let alone not knowing where he is, and if he's somehow gotten out of the workshop then ... you're screwed.

A cute jingle rings out as you open the tracking program tailored to Bonnie and press the big 'locate' button at the bottom of the screen. A map pops up with a little dot to signal where the computer is, and you wait for the second dot to reveal Bonnie.

It pops up.

Behind you.

Your eyes widen, and you slowly turn around. Bonnie stands not too far away, looking at the monitor with his head tilted. Unable to move, you gawk, mouth slightly agape. He turns his gaze to you with a little too much innocence, as if he didn't just disappear and reappear out of thin air.

He looks you up and down with confusion, but you quickly swallow the shock.

"Where in the world did you go?" you question. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

You're wary not to sound too upset; you want him more or less relaxed before prying into his consciousness.

He keeps glancing at the computer screen, so you hit the power button and switch the whole thing off. He continues staring at you.

Your eyes flick down. One of his hands is behind his back, whilst the other is clenched into a tight fist.

You take a step back. "Whatcha got there?"

His ears dip as he looks to the side as if contemplating his next move, hesitation painted across his face. You take another step back and feel the desk behind you.

There's a pressure point in his neck that'll send him to the floor.

The hand behind his back moves, and you suppress a flinch as he holds something out. After regaining some composure, you realise it's an old piece of paper, covered in creases, rips and stains.

But you know the picture on it.

Across the paper, made in terrible colour pencils, is a crude child's drawing of yourself and all your characters: Freddy, Chica, Foxy, Goldie and Bonnie. You're in the middle, holding Bonnie's and Freddy's hands with the words 'my best friends' scribbled at the top in rainbow. Some of the picture is smudged, either from the coloured pencils or accidental spills, but you recognise it as clear as day. Somewhere, in the deep recesses of your mind, you remember making that drawing, along with countless others, but many of them have since been lost to time.

On pure instinct, you reach out and gently grab the paper, bringing it closer to your face as if to make sure it's real. You can't even utter a sound. Something's been unlocked in your psyche, and your brain is struggling to process it.

You thought you left everything behind, and maybe you did, but that doesn't mean your dad has.

You flip the paper over and see a date written in blue pen – clearly your dad's handwriting – and '#126' below it.

Drawing number 126. Did he really keep every single one you made?

You blink out of your trance and look at Bonnie, who hasn't moved an inch. "Where did you find this?"

He glances between you and the picture but doesn't make an attempt to reply, so you shake your head, already knowing what he wants.

"I was the one who came up with your character when I was a kid. My dad made you real." You shake the paper. "That's what this is."

His ear twitches, but he manages to keep a straight face, opting to stare blankly.

You can't take it anymore.

After carefully folding the picture and sliding it into a pocket, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, committing to what you're about to try.

"Did you find anything else on your adventure?"

He shakes his head after a split-second pause.

"Did you have fun exploring?"

A longer pause before he nods.

You're not going to get anything this way.

You walk to the side to create more distance, half-turning your back to him. There are too many ways this can go, but you're not going to stop. You need to know the truth.

"Still no voice?"

"I have a voice."

You pause, having expected him to lie. You look at him, and he holds the same blank expression. Now what? It was all planned in your head; you'd ask him about the voice, he'd lie, and you'd have an 'a-ha!' moment.

"S-so why aren't you using it all the time?"

"I was instructed to only speak when necessary."

Strange reason, but not impossible. You fumble for words, the upper hand gone. You could bring up past inconsistencies. What if he's lying now and just talking when he wants to?

You swallow. "Right. Uh."

Are you crazy? How many times do you have to ask yourself that before it's true?

You glance away again. Some uneasiness has wormed into his expression as he seems to struggle to keep eye contact. You take a deep breath. The original plan is gone, and there isn't a backup.

"Can I tell you something?" You turn your entire body toward him.

If he won't admit it, you can at least tell him you know.

He nods.

You move closer. "For all my years being surrounded by robots, I have never met one like you ... I've never seen one so ... alive."

His ear twitches as he takes a step back. Maybe you can get him to confess. You move closer again until he shuffles back. You stop, standing two feet from him.

"You're not just a mindless robot, are you? Even the most broken ones don't act like you do – neither do the perfectly working ones, to be honest." You test fate and take one more step. "You're sentient, aren't you?"

He stares down at you, fighting to keep his face emotionless.

"No," he says.

Your eyes widen. A-ha.

"I thought you said you only talk when necessary?"

Pure panic and fear consume every inch of him. You wait patiently.

His left eyelid twitches. "Systems are not fully operational. A note has been made of the error."

You huff a disbelieving laugh. That should've been expected. He's regained control of his face and is forcing it blank, leaving small twitches and cracks to show something deeper. You urge to grab him and shake him while begging for the truth.

You rub your eyes. "I don't get you."

Why lie? Should he not be ecstatic that someone is willing to talk to the real him?

"The time reads 5:42 am. You should go home and sleep," Bonnie says in a painfully customer-service-type voice.

You stare at him for a moment. He's not going to budge.

With a sigh of defeat, you turn to leave. "Yeah ..." You stop at the door and turn to him one last time. "Think about what I said."

He nods.

You linger on him for a moment before walking away, barely able to process where you're going; there are too many questions fighting for the forefront of your mind.

You pull the old drawing out of your pocket while sitting in your car and stare at it as the hum of the engine fades into nothing. The almost feral obsession you had with those characters has always been difficult for your adult mind to understand. They got you through so much as a child. They were the ones you went to first. It probably hurt your dad to see you run over to various pictures and plushies rather than to him.

You remember going to bed with the drawings under your pillow, and every night you'd wish for them to be real. It was the ultimate dream. You wanted to wake up, leave your room and see them all sitting at the dining table, waiting for you. They were going to be your friends forever. Nothing wrong could happen with them around.

That was the dream.

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔

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𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐀 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

"Shouldn't you be resting, dearie? You look awfully tired."

You sip the warm drink your neighbour, Darlene, made for you. "I'll be leaving after breakfast."

She frowns. "But isn't your shift starting late at night?"

"Yeah, but ..." You sway your shoulders back and forth in a half-shrug. "You know how it is."

She hands over another homemade biscuit, shaking her head. "You'll run yourself into an early grave overworking like this."

You chuckle. "You sound like my mother."

After taking a bite of the biscuit, you look through the glass door leading to the balcony. Darlene calls cold, overcast weather dreary and depressing, but you've found it oddly cosy. In your apartment, there's an entire corner dedicated to that feeling, right beside the back door: a little bed and blanket with a half-broken floor table. You'd put plants or lights around the area, but you haven't convinced yourself you deserve a treat yet.

At the back of your mind, deep in its subconscious, there's a faint image of having someone there. But that's the least of your worries. You can't hold a job, let alone a person. And there aren't any people you'd want to do that with.

Desmond is someone your brain just goes 'no' to for some reason, and Andrew is nice enough, but it feels wrong to be that close to him. Bonnie ...

You lean back onto the couch, taking another bite of the biscuit after dunking it into the drink. The simple 'no' he gave yesterday hasn't quelled your suspicion. Now that you've slept on it – kind of – you realise there's a chance he doesn't know he's alive. How would he know?

Maybe if you make him realise, he'd be open to exploring the world with you. You can imagine his face all lit up and full of awe, with that sweet smile he'll rarely give you.

"Are you cold, sweetie?" Darlene asks.

"Huh?" You look at her. "Uh, not really. Why?"

"Your cheeks are all red. Here, let me get something warm for you to wear." She hurries off to a box sitting between the tiny kitchen and the tinier living room.

While watching her rifle through it, you touch your cheeks. They are warm, but that can be from the hot drink in your hands or the cold weather affecting you.

"Here." Darlene pulls out a big knitted jumper. "Put this on before you freeze."

You eat the rest of the biscuit and set the drink down so you can throw the jumper on. It swamps you, reaching halfway down your thighs, and you have to roll the sleeves up to reveal your hands.

"I made it for my grandson, but would you believe me if I told you he grew out of it?" She laughs.

You chuckle and retrieve the drink. "Thanks, Lin."

"Oh, it's the least I could do for you for helping me all the time in here."

You finish the drink.

♡ ♡ ♡

Bonnie stands motionless in the middle of his room while his mind wanders, focusing anywhere but the here and now. It's all about you. He's thinking of you. He can't stop thinking of you.

He's alive? Sentient? That's impossible, so impossible he's never even thought of it.

Your words echo, and your face flashes in his eyes. You were so sincere, so adamant he was alive, so ... nice, if a little scary.

That drawing as well. Did you really create the concept of him? Wouldn't that make you his creator?

He wishes he knew how to answer these questions – even if he shouldn't be asking in the first place. But also ... he doesn't.

Ignorance is bliss.

Ignorance is—

The door flings open, and the lead programmer enters with a focused expression plastered on her face – Bonnie never caught a name – followed by two others. Among them is Desmond, and Bonnie's energy levels spike as his fingers become static. Although he curbs the external trembling, he can't stop his frazzled mind.

He knows what's about to happen; it happens every time.

He wonders why the others haven't caught on. Surely, they would have by now.

The lead programmer approaches with Desmond, and the engineer just behind. One stays in the control room.

The engineer appears unsure before speaking. "Isn't this kind of redundant if he's got data banks?"

Desmond turns to them. "If it works, this thing won't need the data banks. Which will mean we can get rid of them. Which will mean it's less space used up in its head. Which means—"

"All right, I get it. Sheesh." The engineer rolls their eyes.

"It'll have the same effect. It's just that more memory space will be used with the database instead of an entire system." The lead programmer pushes Bonnie back until he sits on the metal chair.

Can someone please explain what's about to happen?

The restraints lock into place and zap Bonnie. Desmond steps closer with that glint in his eye. Bonnie can't look away. The other people fade, and he pictures what 'accidental mishap' is waiting for him.

They never figure it out. They never know how or why it happened, other than there was a failure on Bonnie's part.

Desmond smiles at him.

Please don't make it hurt.

♡ ♡ ♡

Stumbling through the front door, you hold back a yawn. The cold doesn't help your half-asleep, half-headache condition. You wrap your arms around yourself while observing the workers moving around without a care in the world – no hint of your dad, Desmond or Andrew. That can only mean one thing: make a beeline to Bonnie's room and hope he's free without a second thought. You aren't in the mood to talk to anyone else anyway.

You start walking, trying to avoid being in anyone's way, however, you still manage to bump into one.

"Sorry," you say.

"I was looking for you."

You look at them. "Oh, Andrew."

He smiles. "Nice jumper."

"Thanks." You look down at yourself with your arms outstretched.

He forces a half-hearted chuckle before his face falls into uncertainty.

"Uh, I wanted to tell you something." He keeps his eyes to the side of you as if lost in thought.

"Go ahead."

He moves his lips but pauses, contemplating his words for a moment. "When we met, you asked me to tell you if I noticed anything strange with Bonnie. Uh, I think I have now."

A little panic bubbles in your chest, and Andrew's nervousness makes it worse.

"Uh-huh."

"Yesterday, I had to take his measurements because someone threw out the original copy by accident. We have a rule that no one's allowed to be alone in the room with Bonnie after a test—"

You raise your eyebrows.

"—and Desmond offered to be the second person because he was free. So we went in, and when Bonnie saw me, he was fine – the same blank stare and stuff – but when Desmond came in.

"His eyes went wide. To a concerning degree." Andrew shakes his head. "When I went to measure him, he was as stiff as a board. I mean, I might be overreacting, but ... I don't know, those eyes were freaky."

You silently nod along, remembering the similar response when you first came here, although Bonnie only retreated to his blank stare rather than a wide-eyed horror.

"Thank you for telling me," you say before you get carried away in thought.

Andrew half smiles. "No problem, but is that normal? You'd know, right?"

You clear your throat to stop yourself from diving into the 'Bonnie's alive' pool. Again.

"The expression system is kind of finicky." You fold your arms. "Newer robots usually have it linked to memory or data banks, so when they're seeing a person they've met before, they can have a more 'appropriate face', I guess, depending on their experience with the person. So it might've been a tiny bug."

His face twists into confusion, but he nods either way. "Right."

You weren't lying. Bonnie would probably appreciate you making an excuse on his behalf.

"Well, that's the only thing I wanted to say to you." He starts walking backwards. "Last I heard, your dad was in the office room if you're looking for him."

"Cheers."

He gives you a thumbs-up before spinning around and returning to wherever he came from.

You can't help but wonder what this thing with Desmond is all about, so you turn to the direction of Bonnie's room.

♡ ♡ ♡

Your dad glances up from the monitor. "Why do you look like I've stolen your food?"

"Is it really necessary to have someone standing outside Bonnie's room like a guard when he's having a test?"

"It's to stop people from barging in." He smiles. "People like you."

"Fine." You sigh with a smirk.

You waltz over and drag a chair up beside him. He moves to the side to give more room, clicking off something that escapes your eye.

"What're you doing?" you ask.

The monitor shows the desktop, but the taskbar has the mail open, now minimised.

"Nothing, clearly." He waves a hand toward the monitor.

You tut. "In that case, can I see something?"

He squints at you. "Depends."

"Behavioural reports."

His face lights up. "Sure."

He goes into the file system and clicks into the appropriate folder. A list pops up, ordered by year, starting five years ago. You lean over and take the mouse, not even thinking, and he lets you.

You inspect the first year and see a list of days in the form of a calendar, each day having a green or red square. The first two days are green, so you click on the first red square falling on day three.

A full report loads, and you scan it. It states Bonnie was observed to be very confused, lost, unable to perform basic tasks and 'showing signs of something that looked like the fear response'.

You frown. Is that when he became sentient?

You go back a page and see that a solid month and a half are full of red squares after the third day. Afterwards, green squares start popping up. For the rest of the year, the squares fluctuate between the two colours until they skew more toward green, nearing the end. A brief look at the following year shows that the vast majority of days are green.

None of it confirms anything, so you sigh and readjust yourself in the chair, pulling one of your legs up to your chest.

"What're you looking for?"

"Nothing," you blurt. "I was just ... curious."

"Really?" You can hear the smile.

"Yeah." The silence eats at your head, so you turn to him and are met with a soft grin. "What?"

He leans back in the chair. "You know what this reminds me of? It reminds me of when you were knee-high and wouldn't stop bugging me in my office until I showed you what I was working on."

You tap your finger on your knee, remembering. Back when he could pick you up, he'd settle you in his lap and go through whatever he was working on, whether it was engineering, robotics or something he was watching. You'd usually have food in your mouth or a toy in your arms, you'd batter him with if he ignored you.

You chuckle. "Old habits die hard, I guess."

He takes a deep breath through his nose. "You know, we have some openings available on the engineering team."

You clench your jaw and refuse to look at him.

"I could arrange a promotion of sorts if you'd like. Finally, put that degree to good use?"

Your heart thumps against your chest. "Who'd ... who'd take care of the cleaning?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. We went a long time without one, and if it really gets bad, I'll just hire another one."

With every ounce of might, you control your breathing to a steady pace and hide your trembling hands under your raised leg, between your thigh and shin – two sides of your psyche battle.

After all these years, you thought yourself free of this feeling. You know how badly he wants a yes; you can picture the proud smile beaming on his face. It's something he's always wanted.

Your father's praise and a step closer to stability are one word away.

But you picture the last time you had an engineering job, fresh out of university, that barely lasted a month. You were good at the job, sure, but you couldn't recognise yourself in the mirror.

Just as you're about to convince yourself that the feeling is worth going through, Bonnie jumps into your mind.

You picture him waiting late at night by the front door, searching for your car.

And it never shows up.

Your day would be taken up working, and there's no guarantee you'd be working close to him.

Would he see you as just another employee he has to put up an act for?

"Uh ..." You blink out of your thoughts. "I ... I don't know. I'll, um, I'll think about it."

Even from the corner of your eye, you see your dad's face drop, although you don't need to see it to know it happened. You can feel it like knives carving down the side of your face. The disappointment.

"Okay," he laments, nodding. "Well, the offer will be there when you decide."

He lays a comforting hand on your shoulder, and you grab it.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Boss?" Someone enters the room. "There's been an issue with Bonnie."

Your dad groans and stands, mumbling something.

"Can I join?" You spring up.

Your dad hesitates and looks to the worker, who clarifies that Bonnie is unresponsive and can't seem to move. Relief fills your dad's face whilst dread fills yours, and he beckons you to follow.

♡ ♡ ♡

Five people stand in the control room, one of them being Desmond. Although he looks at you with a smile, you're too busy peering through the window to notice.

Bonnie's strapped to the chair, unmoving and held up by a new restraint around his neck. His vacant, unfocused eyes point to somewhere on the floor.

You're forced to look away as your mind can't stop thinking, he's dead, he's dead, he's dead, the more you stare into his empty gaze. Is he conscious but paralysed? Did he pass out with his eyes open?

When you refocus, your dad is already talking with the lead programmer.

"I see." He holds his chin in his hand. "Is that the only reason?"

"We'd have to do scans to confirm, but I'm sure it's the main reason," the lead programmer says.

Desmond is scowling at Bonnie when you look at him, but quickly meets your eyes and reverts to a grin. Your concern and confusion tip him off, so he strolls over and leans on the wall beside you.

"What happened?" you whisper.

"Investors wanted us to attempt to connect its systems to a network so it could access the internet, and we could delete the data banks. It didn't go well, as you can see." He nods toward Bonnie. "I think there was a glitch or someone screwed up, so instead of gradually connecting to the new network, the whole thing just unloaded on it. Which overloaded every single system." He smiles.

"Is he okay?"

"Who?"

You tut. "Bonnie."

Desmond shrugs and turns away from you.

"I'd rather avoid powering him down," your dad says, failing to hide his worry with a casual arm fold.

"It would only be for a day or so."

"And that's a day or so of testing and progress gone." Your dad bites his knuckle.

"I could try fixing him, boss." Desmond pushes off the wall and approaches your dad. "I've done it plenty of times before. I'm sure I can do it again, yeah?"

The lead programmer narrows her eyes at Desmond but remains silent. Your dad agrees and tells one of the engineers to stay and help Desmond before telling everyone else to call it a day. They all file out of the room, and your dad grabs your shoulder to move you.

"Can't I help?" you protest.

Your dad inhales through his teeth. "You know, in any other situation I'd say yes, but I don't know the condition he'll be in when he's working again." He drags you through the door and shuts it behind him. "And I don't want to risk anything."

"I spend every night with him." You step back. "What danger could he be?"

"He's locked up when you're here." He puts his hands on his hips, like he always does when scolding you. "Is he not?"

You swallow a stutter. "Yeah, but who's to say he couldn't break out and kill me?"

Concern flashes in his eyes. "Don't be silly."

He walks past you before you can say anything, and you merely stare.

"I'm sure Bonnie will be back up and running in no time. It's no big deal," he calls back, still leaving.

It's anyone's guess if he was saying that to you or himself.

You glare at the closed door and hear faint, muffled voices inside. Clenching your fist does little to calm your thumping heart.

"It is to me," you whisper.

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟕

└──────── °∘∘♡∘∘° ────────┘

Chapter Text

┌──────── ∘°∘♡∘°∘ ────────┐

𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐁𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝

Fuzzy blobs move in front of his face. They blend into each other like a strange painting. When static grows louder, Bonnie blinks, feeling easing its way back into him. There's a pain in his head.

The blobs morph into people, standing and chatting with each other. The room fades in, and he tries moving, restricted by the electric cuffs.

Slowly, he lifts his head, an aching tingle in his neck, and tries to remember how he got here. His system reboots itself, and he becomes more and more conscious with each reset. He curls his fingers and leans his head to the side in an attempt to stretch the pain out.

He can feel the chair beneath him and at his back. He can feel the restraints clamped around his wrists and ankles. He's here. He's real.

As he blinks the remaining blurriness from his eyes, his brain reboots and memories start flowing in. He remembers his name, what he is and where he is. There's a struggle to picture what happened recently. He doesn't even know what recent is. What day is it? The internal clock is fuzzed over.

The static gets louder again and starts to resemble speech. What's the default language he uses? There are five asking to be used in his head.

"... thought you could ... ... but ... I ju ... ... ... no ..."

He can't tell who's talking or how many, but he picks up on the English.

Something touches his shoulder, and disappointment fills his chest as he doesn't recognise the touch as yours. Wait. You.

His memory system reboots again, and there's a flash of something standing in front of him. He closes his eyes and focuses on the image, ignoring the thing shaking his shoulder.

The picture clears, and he sees your face staring up at him, intrigue and a twinge of annoyance. Annoyed at him? No.

'Maybe he' ... erly if ... clea ... him.'

You had turned away to talk to something before looking back at him. The image fades a bit before coming back. You're still in front of him, looking up at him, this time softer. Kind. You smile. Then a second voice, and you turn away. The second voice sounded like—

"Desmond, are you really not going to let this go?"

Bonnie looks down, mind clear, and sees a worker removing a device from his wrist. They mumble to someone else that he's been given a stimulant and to record it in a file.

The influx of clarity and sensations freezes him, leaving him to only move his eyes and listen.

The boss stands in the control room with Desmond beside him, leaning against a table with his arms crossed.

"I'm just saying." Desmond shrugs. "Five years without a project manager or some degree of assistant is an unpleasantly long time."

"I'm the project manager." The boss turns away, eyes darting down. "Besides, I've been fine for this long, and I'd rather save funds where I can."

"Well, you don't have to hire an entirely new person, yeah? Just promote someone else."

"That still means their salary will go up."

The two workers in front of Bonnie hold a scanner to his chest. It beeps with a green light, but they still stare at it after taking it away, exchanging weird looks.

"You can spare that extra money, and you know it."

The boss frowns. "If you're trying to ask for a promotion, you should just say so."

Desmond chuckles. "I'm not asking for a promotion ... but I am asking what it would take to get promoted."

The boss closes his eyes with a long sigh.

The two people shrug at each other after reviewing the scan report. Bonnie regains mobility, although he chooses to remain still, fixated on the boss and Desmond. The data banks remain offline, so he can only guess what a project manager does. It would be what the boss does, surely.

Bonnie digs his fingers into the chair. Desmond cannot take that role.

The boss opens his eyes. "I'll think about it."

One of the workers turns to the window and gives a thumbs-up. "He's all good, boss."

He's not.

"Perfect." The boss claps his hands together, a strained smile cracking his lips. "And we're only twenty-five minutes late for the test."

Something sinks in Bonnie's chest. Should they not be asking him what happened? Even if he doesn't know, a verbal checkup should be in order. That's protocol.

One of the workers picks up a small tablet and orders him to look at it. The second he recognises this as a memory test, all attempts to remember what led to this cease. His system instinctively shuts parts of itself down and diverts all focus to the task at hand, no matter how hard he tries to fight it.

He was in the middle of figuring out what happened; he was doing it for them. Why stop him from doing his job? He itches to say something and clarify his directive of giving them a verbal report, but his voice has also shut down in favour of preparation.

A rare but familiar feeling burns the back of his head. It bubbles and boils as he stares at the screen, eye-straining colours flashing by in quick succession.

Red-green-yellow-blue-pink-red-yellow-purple-green. They last for mere milliseconds.

The amount of colours clawing at his eyes makes him dizzy, but he remains unblinking.

If they'd let him do what he's told, there wouldn't be as many issues.

Pink-yellow-green-orange-green-blue.

Whatever is burning at the back of his head deepens and spreads as the colours seem to become more saturated. It hurts to stare at.

Green-blue-purple-red-orange-red-yellow-red-orange-red.

Deny it all he wants, it won't change the nagging voice in his mind that digs deeper and deeper every passing day, growing louder and stronger with each test.

Orange-blue-RED-green-RED-purple-green-RED.

No matter how hard he tries to swallow it or make up a rebuttal, it won't go away.

/THOUGHT CORRECTED. REMEMBER FIRST PROTOCOL./

Purple-green-yellow-blue-RED-blue-pink-RED.

He hates them.

/THOUGHT CORRECTED. REMEMBER FIRST PROTOCOL./

Pink-green-blue-green-RED-oran-RED-gree-RED.

He hates them.

/THOUGHT CORRECTED. REMEMBER FIRST PROTOCOL./

Blue-pink-orga-RED-pin-RED-gre-RED-pi-RED-bl-RED.

He hates them.

/THOUGHT CORRECTED. REMEMBER FIRST PROTOCOL./

The screen goes black.

He's lost in a flurry of blinks, and each time, remnants of the screen flash in his vision as if he were still looking at it.

"Repeat the colours."

He looks up at the workers, and the burn shatters when he makes eye contact with one of them. A real face. He becomes dizzy with sinking guilt as he recounts the colours in order.

Again and again, he tells himself these are people. Precious people with families and futures just doing their job. They don't know any better. He's being unfair. They created him. They have every right to do this to him.

"He got them all right, boss."

"Thank the almighty."

When did the boss enter the room?

Bonnie gawks forward with unfocused eyes, trying to let the relief from passing overtake everything else.

The boss takes the scanner and glances at the report before turning to Bonnie. "Now that that's out of the way. Why did you become unresponsive?"

Unresponsive? He sits in silence, trying and failing to dig through memories. His internal clock has rebooted, and the last thing he remembers was seven hours ago, Desmond hovering above him. The timeframes right before and after that are blank.

If they had let him reboot properly, he would've been able to—

"Unknown, sir."

The boss groans.

"Should we do a full system restart?" one of the workers asks.

Please do, Bonnie thinks. He can't remember the last time he was asleep.

"I would rather not." The boss bites his knuckle. "The longer he's knocked out, the more work we fall behind on."

"It would ensure everything reboots properly and that we won't further damage anything."

"I know." He presses his fingers to his nose bridge for a while, face creased into a tight frown. "Fine. Do it."

The first worker approaches Bonnie and reaches for the control panel at the side of the chair, which needs a yank to get out. Why use that one? Bonnie glances at their face. Oh, they're new.

The second chuckles. "Your kid's not going to be happy about this."

"Well, they can join the club because neither am I." The boss scowls.

Bonnie's eyes go wide. You.

Wait—

♡ ♡ ♡

"For how long?"

Your dad shrugs. "I'm hoping not even a day, but really it's for however long he needs."

You sigh and spin around in the chair. "Can you tell me when he's awake again?"

He raises an eyebrow. "I mean, yeah, but ... why?"

You stop spinning, facing away from him. Do you have a non-insane answer? You can't say that the fear swirling around your head is about to kill you.

"I just want to know." You rest your head in your hand. "I mean, I'd like to see the procedure too and maybe the scans—I want to know what happened. There, I said it."

In the corner of your eye, your dad's face lights up, an equally bright smile forming.

"Really?" he beams.

"Yeah."

"Well, I'd be more than happy to show you when it happens."

You stare at your father, and the joyful expression you haven't seen since you agreed to an engineering course. You know what's going through his head.

But he's your dad.

You won't crush his spirits.

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟖

└──────── °∘∘♡∘∘° ────────┘

Chapter Text

┌──────── ∘°∘♡∘°∘ ────────┐

𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐌𝐞?

It took two days before your dad told you Bonnie was ready to wake up. The two nights of the cleanup were a struggle. Every time you turned around, you expected to see Bonnie standing there, smiling. You wanted to see him there.

"Why do you do this to me?" you had asked his unconscious self the second night. "You make me feel insane."

You shouldn't have worried. You still shouldn't be worrying.

"Get better," you told him. "I wanna talk to you more."

You woke up the next morning with a text from your dad that read: he's ready.

"Take a biscuit with you." Darlene hands you one.

You shove it in your mouth.

"And do say hi to that cute robot you were talking about for me."

"Will do," you mumble through food.

♡ ♡ ♡

"Dad!" You grab him.

He spins around. "Jesus, you hellspawn, what is wrong with you?"

You laugh. "You said Bonnie was ready?"

"That has nothing to do with trying to kill me." He clutches his chest.

"You're not that old yet."

He narrows his eyes before telling you to follow him.

"You know, I delayed waking him up for you," he says.

The door to Bonnie's room comes into view, and you quicken your pace. "Thanks."

He mumbles, silently saying, 'I should think so,' in his dad voice.

You beat him to the door and swing it open. Desmond sits at the control panel, scrolling on his phone.

He looks at the two of you and sets it down. "Finally."

The lead programmer and an engineer are with Bonnie, staring at your dad.

You all shuffle into the main room and circle Bonnie, your dad standing by his head with you beside him. Desmond is on the opposite side, and the other two are a little further away.

Your dad starts, "You don't have to—"

"I'm fine."

As you inspect Bonnie, you notice the dirt on him has worsened. Three clear handprints line his chest, with more fingerprints around the edge of the removable panel leading to his inner workings. The bottom of his chin and forehead are in similar conditions, and you fight the urge to wipe some of it off. A wire protrudes from his neck, connected to a small device sitting beside him near Desmond.

Your dad sighs. "Desmond, you're sure everything's fine?"

"Double, triple, quadruple, quintuple checked," Desmond says, a smirk ghosting his lips.

Your dad turns to the other two. "Go man the control panel, just in case."

The lead programmer scowls as she leaves.

Desmond grabs the device connected to Bonnie. "Shall I?"

Your dad pushes you back a few steps. "Go ahead."

A small beep rings out from the device as Desmond disconnects it. You frown. Why use a tiny thing like that when the giant control panel does the same thing?

Everyone is silent and staring at Bonnie. You bite your cheek. Wake up.

His finger twitches, followed by his ear, and soon his eyes flutter open. Dazed, he looks at you and freezes, so you lean over the table and smile. Desmond does the same – nearly headbutting you – and waves a hand in front of Bonnie's face.

"Wakey-wakey," he says, snapping his fingers.

Bonnie gawks at him.

Desmond smacks Bonnie's face. "Well, he's not freaking out."

"It's a start." Strain stretches your dad's voice. "He's not normally this slow."

"He had his brain fried two days ago," you chime in with a nervous laugh. "Give him some slack."

"He's had worse." Desmond chuckles.

Your forced smile drops along with your heart. An ache replaces the uneasiness in your stomach as you peer back down at Bonnie, who's returned to staring at you.

"Maybe a shock will wake him up," Desmond suggests.

"No, Desmond." Your dad folds his arms. "We'll let him adjust on his own."

You glare at Desmond as he asks about the schedule, saying how they'll be late on already postponed tests. Alive or not, jumping to an electric shock is irresponsible at best. Your eyes float back down to Bonnie, but you're only filled with more anger as you see Desmond leaning on Bonnie's face.

His palm is pushing down and forcing Bonnie's head to cock at an awkward angle, and his fingers are splayed across his face, three of them in his eye, slightly curled into the socket. The empty expression has shattered. Bonnie's free eye is wide and flicking around as his ears stiffen. A quiet zap catches your ear from the restraints as he tenses against them.

You can't stop yourself.

You grab Desmond's wrist and shove it off Bonnie. "Aren't you a programmer?"

The argument stops, and Desmond frowns at you. "Yeah?"

"So what would you know about what's good for hardware?"

He scoffs. "I've been here for years, I know what works for him."

You scowl.

"Thank you—both of you." Your dad puts a hand between you two. "We'll give him an hour. If he's still not responsive, then we'll ... give him a nudge. For now, move out."

Desmond sighs and steps away. You remain still and check on Bonnie. He's calmed down and stares at you with brighter eyes. You smile again, although not with the same eagerness.

Your dad pats your shoulder. "C'mon, he'll be fine."

He has to tug you before you move.

♡ ♡ ♡

"So you're not around Bonnie a lot?"

"No." Andrew leans back in the chair to stretch. "The only reason I'd be with him is for outfit testing or to be a witness."

You grab your tiny paper cup of water. "A witness?"

"Boss likes to have everyone share their opinions regardless of their position."

You sip the water and continue looking over the blueprints of Bonnie. None of it really says anything other than he was supposed to be smaller, and the unnatural number of connection ports in his neck.

"Do you know how much control the investors have over the designs?" you ask.

Andrew smacks his lips. "Uh, over what I do? They don't care. Over the technical stuff?" He shakes his head. "No idea. Your dad doesn't talk about it all that much outside 'we need to do this' or 'this has to change'."

You hum and clench your jaw, imagining Bonnie under the full control of some super corporation. What if he ended up mass-produced? You pause. If this whole restaurant thing is a massive success, then that might happen. Hell, if Bonnie is a fully functional sentient robot ...

You sigh and set the cup down before resting your forehead in your hand.

"Are you gonna accept the engineer position?"

Your eyes snap to Andrew. "What?"

"Didn't your dad offer you a spot on the team?"

"Well, yes, but ... how did you know?"

He raises an eyebrow. "He said so at the meeting? 'There was an empty spot, and I offered my kid. ' Did you not know?"

"I wasn't aware he announced that to the entire team, no."

Andrew's lips form a thin line. "Sorry."

Does Bonnie know?

♡ ♡ ♡

He stares up at you, the dingy bulb above casting a bright rimlight around your head. Worry and annoyance cloud your eyes as the boss tells you Bonnie will be fine. You still don't move, and the boss has to pull you before you do.

Bonnie watches you leave. His systems are still rebooting one by one. A ghost of Desmond's fingers pressing into his eyeball leaves him blinking constantly.

When the last of his systems restarts, he remembers the last time he was temporarily shut down. Two years ago, after a complete system collapse. The pain is still vivid.

You'd call it sleep rather than shut down. That's what humans do – that's what 'alive' things do.

There's a databank at the back of his mind that tells him what 'alive' is.

Movement, yes.

Respiration, no.

Sensitivity, yes.

Growth, no.

Reproduction, no.

Excretion, no.

Nutrition, no.

Two out of seven. He's not alive.

Why did you say he is? Are his databanks not accurate? They are incomplete, so maybe he's missing something.

He wishes he could ask you.

The door swings open, and the boss walks in with the lead programmer and Desmond.

You aren't with them.

"How're we doing?" The boss asks, still in the control room.

"All systems operational," Bonnie states.

He smiles. "Thank the maker."

"You're welcome," Desmond mutters under a fake cough. "So, when are we trying again?"

The boss looks at the lead programmer. "Izzy?"

Her name goes into Bonnie's immediate memory, shoved in with eighty-six others. Half of them don't work here anymore, but he doesn't have the authority to forget something.

Her face lights up. "The issue was minor, all things considered, but a failsafe really should be implemented – also, powering down other systems may make the upload easier. I—"

"I can do that first thing tomorrow," Desmond interjects.

Izzy's expression shatters as she closes her mouth, glaring at Desmond.

"Good, the representative is coming tomorrow afternoon, so get it done quick." The boss folds his arms, looking down at the control panel with unfocused eyes.

Desmond turns to Izzy with a smirk before blowing her a kiss. She cringes and looks at Bonnie.

There's silence as the boss drums his fingers on his arm. The internal clock reads: 10:23 pm. Closing time is anywhere from 10 to 10:30, but that's never stopped a last-minute test.

The shutdown has revitalised Bonnie; he can take it.

"Call it a night," the boss says.

Of course. The one time he wants it.

Desmond pushes off the table and strolls out of the room without a thought, and the boss is about to follow.

"Sir, I need to tell you something." Izzy has a swirl of emotions fighting to stay on her face, mostly anger but also a hint of indifference. 

Maybe. Bonnie apparently lied when he said all systems were operational. The system tells him it's working fine, yet he can't identify a specific emotion.

The boss stops and turns around. "What's up?"

Izzy is quiet, catching glances at Bonnie. Her breathing rate picks up slightly as she bites her lip. How can Bonnie pick that up but not an emotion?

"I can't do this anymore," she announces.

"What do you mean?" The boss turns his full body toward her.

"I love this project," she says, finding a stern tone. "I love my job, but I cannot sit by and be cast aside. I cannot be denied doing my job in favour of some ... some bastard."

The boss puts a hand up. "Whoa, whoa. What's been happening?"

"You don't let me do my job." She scowls. "It's always 'Desmond will do it', 'Desmond will fix it', 'Desmond this' and 'Desmond that'. I'm not the lead programmer, am I?"

"Izzy, that's not—"

"I quit."

A tiny zap hits Bonnie's wrist. Four seconds of silence pass as the two stare at each other, the boss's mouth agape and Izzy's eyes boring into him.

"Wh—" The boss stutters. "I—You can't. What? What do you mean, 'quitting'?"

"I meant exactly what I said." Izzy turns to leave. "I'm quitting. Put Desmond in charge."

She swings the door open and disappears through it with the boss rushing after her, spouting panicked words.

The first log of Izzy's face is time-stamped sixteen months ago, and Bonnie's mind already goes to track the last log without him doing anything. Any other employee leaving wouldn't matter.

Desmond Steel, lead programmer.

The restraints shock him dizzy.

She can't be serious; this has to be a heat-of-the-moment thing. They'll talk it out, and she'll come back, and everything will resume as normal.

Right?

Bonnie's left in his stupor for a few minutes before the door flings open.

A random worker strolls in and powers down the control panel after shocking Bonnie to make sure the restraints are working. Then they switch the lights off, bathing the room in darkness.

They haven't given him night vision yet.

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟗

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Chapter Text

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𝐂𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬

You sigh while entering the building, shuddering as a wave of warmth washes over you. The cold disappears after clicking the door shut, locking it out until the end of the shift. The worsening weather has rendered your sleep schedule a mess, and you find yourself yawning more often.

Clenching your jaw, you turn away from the door. The workshop is as empty as always, and a ringing silence pierces your ears.

The place is back to its original filth, never seeming to stay clean, but at least it doesn’t get worse – if it even can get worse. But that’s why you’re here. This is what you signed up for. To take this dump and make it … less of a dump. You’d need a team of fifty and high-tech supplies to get this place back to what it was before your dad got to it.

You swipe the basket of supplies and begin to walk to the back of the building, since starting there has become the ritual; it’s always worse there.

Bonnie remains unseen, but you know he’s around. Maybe he’s following you again. You guess he did that the first time because of fear – some random person appeared at a time he’s always alone – so what would be scaring him now? You missed yesterday’s shift, but that wouldn’t be enough to revert him, would it? You open your mouth to call out and tell him to reveal himself, but he needs to do it on his own. He’d never disobey a direct order, regardless of how much he wants to, and you’re not about to feed that.

Maybe if you frame it as a question. "Do you want to talk or not?" or something similar. Then he’d have the power to choose while also putting your mind at ease.

You glance behind you. Nothing.

But you know he’s there.

Watching.

♡ ♡ ♡

You place another organised stack of papers beside the others. How does anyone get any work done here? It isn’t as dirty as last time, but still enough to annoy you, especially after nearly slipping on god knows what. You turn around to fetch a mop, hoping it’s still in the supply closet, but the moment your eyes land on the doorframe, you stop and smile.

“Bonnie,” you say softly. “How’re you feeling?”

“I am fine.” His voice is monotone, practised.

There’s a second chance here, but you hold your tongue, noticing the strain in his eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see you today after you were powered on. Dad said no.” You chuckle. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

There’s a flash of confusion before he nods with a little smile.

You return it. “Good.”

He stares at you, holding that smile before he blinks and shakes his head a little, returning to blankness. “H-how are you?”

“I am in desperate need of a mop.” You stroll over and past him.

On the way, you glance at the grime littered across Bonnie’s torso. You frown but continue, and he falls into step behind you.

“Did you reboot all right?” you ask.

“Yes.”

Thank god. Desmond’s words ring in your ear. “Maybe a shock will wake him up.” The same burn at the nape of your neck creeps across your skin. He’s a goddamn programmer, nothing to do with hardware.

The mop falls over after opening the door, sliding down the wall as you stare at the bucket. The dirty bucket. You sigh and drag it out of the closet.

“Are you all right?” Bonnie asks somewhere behind you. He sounds different. It’s the same monotone voice, but it feels more casual or relaxed, if a bit shaky.

“Yeah, this damn thing needs cleaning, too, is all.”

He’s quiet for a moment as you walk the bucket and mop to one of the bathrooms.

“Clarification. Question was meant in general terms.” His voice loses its casualness.

You turn around. His eyes wander the floor as he repeatedly clenches and relaxes his hands.

“Uh, yeah.” You swallow your surprise. “Why?”

He glances at you but looks away after meeting your eyes. Again, confusion bleeds into his face before it’s forced down, his ear twitching. 

“Signs of sleep deprivation were observed in last meeting,” he states.

So that’s why he was staring at you when he woke up.

“I, uh”—you smack your lips and start walking the bucket again—“haven’t been sleeping, but it’s fine. It’s … the weather.”

He doesn’t return the smile you give him.

“Is this job interfering with your health?” he asks.

You stop and face him. “No.”

His eyes are wide as you stare at him.

“Besides, even if it was, it’s the only job I have right now.” You turn around and continue.

“I understand.” Back to the customer service voice.

You round the corner to the bathroom. The ache in your chest swells into a stabbing pain.

“Thank you for asking,” you say just outside the door. “You’re the only one who noticed – except for my neighbour, who says hi by the way.” You push into the room before he responds.

And he doesn’t. Not during and not after you’re done cleaning the bucket and filling it with water.

You look up.

Gone. He’s gone.

You leave the room, dragging the bucket. “Bonnie?”

Nothing.

“All right,” you mumble.

♡ ♡ ♡

“Would you like me to do it?”

You whip up, barely containing a curse, and see Bonnie standing in the doorway like he never left.

You exhale and smile. “You know, for a giant, purple robot, you sure are good at sneaking up on people.”

Panic flashes across his face, but when you laugh, it melts into his regular, forced, empty expression.

“Sorry,” he says.

You wave him off. “It’s fine, and no, I’ll do the mopping, but thanks.”

He nods, and after a while of cleaning, you glance up and again find him gone. Where does he even go?

♡ ♡ ♡

“I think that’s everything,” you announce.

Bonnie scratches underneath his chin in the tiny notch where his neck meets his head, picking up black muck on his fingers. He had popped up again and scared you half to death. Again.

“That must be hell.” You frown.

“Hmm?” He tilts his head before snapping straight. “Clarification needed.”

“All that dirt on you.” You motion to his chest. “Messing up your pressure sensors and clogging your joints.”

He looks down at himself, apathy plaguing his face. Only after stepping closer does he seem bothered, flinching back as you raise a hand toward his chest. He relaxes, and you swipe your thumb across one of the smeared handprints. Muck coats your finger, but at least it’s not a stain or difficult to remove.

“Do you want it off?” You look up at him, rubbing your thumb against your index finger.

His ear twitches while staring, eyes wide and flicking back and forth. You can practically see the gears turning in his head. Again, he clenches and relaxes his hands repeatedly, and you step back.

“Bonnie?”

“The representative is coming tomorrow,” he says.

You raise an eyebrow. “Sssooo, is that a yes?”

His eyes pin to the floor, unfocused. “I … need to look … presentable.”

His own words seem to confuse him, and he subtly shakes his head as if a guttural, “What?” is on the tip of his voice box.

“I’ll, uh, take that as a yes.” You nod. “Follow me.”

His confusion vanishes as he snaps to attention, stiffening up and beginning to trail you.

♡ ♡ ♡

After snagging two slightly less than dirty rags, slinging one over your shoulder, you lead him to the bathrooms.

You run it under lukewarm water. “I don’t get how they can do that to you. I mean, it’s not that hard to—”

After turning to him, you’re met with wide, shaking eyes. Bonnie stands in the doorway, hands clenching and unclenching, with an immovable glare at the damp rag in your hand.

“What’s wrong?”

He flinches slightly when you ask, and his shoulders stiffen as he forces himself to speak. 

“No issues to report,” he states.

The quiver in his voice is obvious, so he winces and closes his eyes for a moment. The emotions are slowly being swallowed down. He’s winning.

“Wait, wait.” You drop the rag in the sink and hold your hands up in surrender. “Wait, um …” Say something. “I-I won’t do anything if you don’t want it.”

His ear flicks, but the vacant expression remains. Less than vacant, he looks half-powered down. His eyes keep glancing from your face to the discarded rag in the sink. The dry one still sits slung over your shoulder.

You frown. “Is it the water?”

A flash of fear.

Your stomach drops.

Five years.

No, that can’t be.

You peer at Bonnie’s joints. Black material covers them, and his body material is waterproof. All perfectly designed. That should be all he needs to protect against a spill, so unless he’s dumped with water, there’s no issue. Is the material cheap? Did someone spill something before it was installed? Or maybe something happened during a test where it was pulled open?

You shake your head. “Okay. I can just do it with the dry one if that’s better?”

He relaxes ever so slightly, and a smidge of emotion blossoms on his face, but he continues glancing at the wet rag.

You keep your voice low. “Bonnie, I’m not going to hurt you. If the water’s dangerous, then I won’t use a drop of it. I promise.”

The last part snaps his attention to you, and you smile while he gawks. After looking you up and down, he takes a step back as if preparing for something.

“Definition of promise is not logged.” His voice is quiet. “Please elaborate.”

For a moment, you hesitate, wanting to ask what he’s trying, but you comply. “Well, a promise is,” Don’t say the word in the definition, “like saying ‘I’ll make sure this will happen.’ It’s like a less fancy vow.”

He nods before glancing away. While squinting, his ears rise, and he tilts his head slightly. It’s similar to what an old teacher would do before asking an unnecessarily hard question.

“Memory banks register whenever someone has made a promise, it is not fulfilled.” His gaze returns to you. “100% of the time. Clarification needed.”

Your mouth hangs open. “Uh … I … That’s …” You purse your lips and huff. “Let me change the results. I promise that not a drop of water will fall on you.”

A pang of discomfort creeps up your spine as he eyes you. Studies you. At least his eyes are pretty.

After what feels like hours, he takes a step toward you. Then another and another until he’s finally in front of you, never taking his eyes off your face. When he’s standing still and showing no signs of moving, you gingerly place your hand on his chest in some form of reassurance. Pushing your palm against him, he blinks and lowers his shoulders, so you smile and bring the dry rag to the fingerprints.

Most of it comes off decently well with no water – the big handprints are stubborn – but your engineer brain takes over. You’re back in the junior school workshop, polishing a cute little robot that does flips and dances before presenting it to the teacher. You still remember seeing a tired but proud face in the reflection and hearing that satisfying squeak as you rubbed the last bit of dirt off. Bonnie’s not made from the right material for either of those things, but he makes up for it by not randomly doing a backflip while you work.

After cleaning as much as possible, you look at the small slit of exposed nylon where his chest meets his abdomen and remember him picking at it.

“Hold on,” you say before leaving the bathroom.

Your father is as predictable as you, so it’s in the first place you search.

Bonnie is where you left him when you return.

“Toothbrush.” You hold it up to him.

He stares at it with confusion. “My teeth do not require cleaning.”

“It’s for your joints.”

His confusion deepens. “My joints do not have teeth.”

You laugh and gesture for him to sit, so he sinks onto the floor, still eyeing you, and after joining him, you present your hand. He doesn’t move, so you make a grabbing motion toward his hand. Slowly, he inches his hand towards yours, glancing at your smiling face. A hair before touching, he flinches, but you don’t falter and continue to wait.

Delicately, his palm slides into yours, and his face lights up as you wrap your fingers around it. The sparkle in his eye remains after you pull his wrist closer and scrub the edges with the toothbrush.

A mix of that and your fingernail removes most of the gunk, so you wipe the brush on your pants and motion for his other hand. While cleaning that one, in your peripheral vision, you notice him moving his hand and wiggling his fingers as if testing the joint.

You smile.

You don’t clean every joint for the sake of time, but after you motion toward his neck, he recoils, sparkle shattering. You hold your hands up but stay silent and move to his ears. He remains tense while you shuffle behind him and bring the toothbrush to the base of his ear, but it all melts after one swipe across the nylon. His ear spasms – nearly smacking you in the face – so you cradle it with your free hand before continuing, although with a small frown. The amount of circuitry and metal parts passing through that narrow path will squish them together, increasing the chance of injury or false alarms within the systems.

The protective covering is, thankfully, not as cheap as you first suspected and appears to be the best of the best. You move his ear back and forth, and it doesn’t catch or stretch. It folds smoothly against itself with enough give to allow the ear to bend nearly all the way back, forward, sideways and twist ninety degrees left and right.

It must’ve been really expensive.

After brushing and scratching away as much dirt as possible, you push your thumb into the middle of the joint and hear Bonnie mumble. His head sways into your touch, so your trance snaps away, and you look over his shoulder. Immediately, he straightens up, so you push it again. No mumble, but his back arches, and he sways again.

You look at his ear.

Ah. Of course.

The internal workings jammed within that thin area are much like a tensed muscle, so gentle pressure would send an insurmountable amount of relief through him.

There’s no stopping the smirk.

You try to massage the area, but he regains control and stops melting at the touch, leaving you with only small spasms. Maybe one day.

You clean his other ear in record time. “All done.”

He doesn’t move, so you walk on your knees and sit in front of him. A similar narrow-eyed expression sits on his face, but this one has more glazed eyes.

“You okay?”

“I”—he looks at you—“would like to ask something.”

He cringes as the words leave his mouth, but you perk up before he backtracks. “Go ahead.”

He’s slow with his words, forcing himself to continue. “You informed me that I was alive. However, I am not.” He clenches his hands. “I would like to know why you believe so.”

Your heart pounds against your chest. This is either an elaborate way to deny it, or you were right to assume he’s genuinely lost.

“Why do you think you’re not alive?” you blurt.

“There are seven characteristics of living things. I only meet two.”

You flash back to science class, trying to remember them all. Mrs Gren. Movement, respiration, sensitivity, growth, reproduction, excretion and nutrition. Right.

You smack your lips. “So?”

“Something must meet all seven to be classed as a living thing.”

You drum your fingers on your arm. A philosophical debate was not in your plan tonight.

“What if I said you’re sentient?” You raise your eyebrows. “Hmm? Self-aware? Conscious? More than programming?”

He sits in silence for a while, his glazed eyes pinned on the floor, before he begins to speak.

“I”—he grimaces—“do not function properly. Would that be why I seem … sentient?”

You chuckle. “I’ve been around robots since I could barely walk. I’ve read more lines of code than I care to admit. I have seen every kind of robot there is. I have seen the most broken, the most glitched, the most messed up robots you could even imagine.” You frown.

“And you don’t fit that bill. Sure, you don’t match programming to a T, nor do you follow protocol all the time, but you do it in a way that isn’t how a typical robot would behave when broken. The way you move, the way you talk and hold yourself … Every little tick you have, all your responses. Something that genuine can’t be replicated as well as you’re doing it. Technology can get close, but it’s nowhere near what you can do.”

Bonnie gazes at you with wide eyes, and the tiny sparkle returns. You know from his ears lifting that he’s at least hopeful, and that’s all you could’ve asked for.

“I—” he blinks. “That is … a lot to process.”

“I know, I know.” You take a deep breath. “I can’t force you to believe me, but can you be open to the idea? For me?”

His gaze flicks around your face as a smile slips past his composure.

He nods. “A note has been made.”

You smile and glance at the clock hanging on the wall: 5:14 am. Bonnie does the same and sinks into himself after turning around. You sigh before standing up with him, following suit.

“I wish I could stay longer,” you mumble, more to yourself. “But it was nice seeing you.”

He tilts his head.

“Those two nights without you were”—lonely—“quiet … I wanna do this talking thing again.”

He squeezes his hands together before whispering, “Promise?”

Your heart skips a beat. “Promise.”

“I would … like that.”

You pat his shoulder and turn to leave. “Goodnight, Bonnie.”

“Goodnight.”

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟎

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