you ask me what i want from life
i said to make a lot of money
and feel dead inside

Younger Hunger
Dead Inside

•••••

  My tired eyes stared at the spreadsheet of numbers before me.

  They blurred, twisting into a numerical soup that left my head reeling. The cup of coffee on my desk that had been drained, refilled and then drained again did nothing for me - even caffeine couldn't shake this heavy weight of exhaustion that had seemed to swallow me whole.

  I was dead tired, suffering the consequences of a broken night's sleep as I sat in my office and tried my damned hardest to finish the accounts I was set to complete. It shouldn't have been this hard. It was the same song and dance everyday. And yet, the numbers cruelly mocked me, turning malicious and teasing circles before my bleary eyes.

  Pushing myself away from the desk, I rolled on the wheels of my chair with a groan as I hung my head back. It'd been a long while since I'd had such an unsubstantial slumber - waking at twenty minute intervals, brain firing scenario after scenario. I was bordering on crying as I grew frustrated from my inability to slumber and the faces that would show behind my eyelids. I couldn't even settle myself into counting sheep.

  I dropped my hands over my face and closed my eyes. They were strained to the point of painful and the brief reprise had them aching in some strange sense of cruel relief.

  I knew exactly why I was like this, and I loathed to realise it.

  It was the Pizzaplex. It was him; because the two - the Aftons and Freddy Fazbear's - would forever be intertwined in some sick sort of eternal duet. I couldn't think of one without being reminded of the other.

  I dragged my hands down my face and sunk my teeth into my bottom lip. God dammit. Why did I send in my CV? Accepted or not, it was a step in a direction that I never should have considered, opening a gateway to repercussions that would do nothing but hurt me. I should've been staying away from anything that reminded me of him.

  That's why you never left Hurricane, huh?

  I mentally smacked away the seething, self-deprecating voice that had somehow slithered its way back into my consciousness. But it was right. I should've left. I should've packed up my shit and skipped this sorry ass of a town the first chance I could.

  I didn't, though, and this was where it left me - my sleep haunted by a pizzeria-fun centre amalgamation. How pathetic was that?

  My fingers fiddled with the locket on my neck as I busied myself with worrying over my job application. No matter how many times I tossed the locket away from me in a fit of rage, it always found itself flushed against my sternum again.

  Just like it belonged there.

  Just like a parasite.

  "Y/n."

  I was pulled from my thoughts as a head poked around the open entrance of my office. I perked up, trying to look like I had been doing my job. The locket fell back against my chest with a small thud.

  "I'm going out for lunch," my boss said. "Make sure you get those accounts done within the hour. Corp needs them back a-sap."

  He left before I could digest this new information, shutting the door to my office behind him. As I did, I felt my expression darken into a look of despondent weariness. My hand found itself at the base of my throat once again, fiddling with the chord as I looked around my office.

  It was drab. Boring. Dull. Just as I had grown from over the years.

  I turned back to the computer and forced my vision into focusing. I requested a new coffee and the assistant that entered my room didn't bother hiding the worried look on his face. He was probably concerned that I was ingesting enough caffeine to warrant a heart attack. He had a right to be.

  I couldn't pick which would be the worst outcome - work or death.

  Same routine, day in, day out. I had told myself again and again that this was comfortable. My own lies were beginning to fray against me.

  The day dragged on, as it usually did. The accounts were done and sent and at one point I had to physically stop myself from searching up information about the Pizzaplex. It plagued my thoughts; just sitting there, staring, calling for me, right at the side of my head. It was like a pesky fly that wouldn't leave. The urge to look it up remained viscerally invasive. 

  I knew jackshit about the pizzeria complex, having had forced myself to ignore its existence for the past seven years since it'd opened. All I did know was that it was a gargantuan family centre, built from using the mountains of millions of dollars Fazbear Entertainment amassed after the release of their VR game. I didn't know much about it. I was busy worrying over other things when it came out.

  The Pizzaplex was just as popular, apparently. Maybe even more so. It was a far cry from the humble family diner it used to be when I was growing up, that was for sure.

  Idiot. Stop thinking about it.

  My phone rang with a number I didn't recognise. I picked up.

  I accepted the job interview.

  Idiot.

•••••

  "Have you been on any dates recently?"

  I stared at the swirling liquid of the coffee before me. It didn't matter that it was my fourth one of the day. 

  "Oh, yeah," I said with a nod as I looked my older brother in the eyes with earnest. "Heaps. Every night. I'm your regular run-of-the-mill whore."

  My sarcasm did not go unnoticed - I don't think it could've. Matt frowned and it made me sink into my seat as my bad attitude deflated. His hands tightened over his own mug of coffee.

  "Y/n..." he said quietly, pointedly. His worry was palpable. It reached out across the table and stoked the flames of guilt in my stomach, making my eyes fall away from his sympathetic expression. 

  "Sorry," I mumbled my weary apology. "I just had a bad night." 

  Matt's brows folded with worry. "Nightmares again?"

  "Among the other mental faults I've seemed to have collected over the years," I chuckled and lifted the coffee to my lips. I hissed when my tongue got burnt. "Anxiety was a real show stopper last night."

  Finally cooled enough, I took a quick sip of my drink. I was going to regret it later when the all the caffeine would finally kick in, but until then, c'est la vie. I noticed Matt's silence and leant forward to present him with a reassuring smile and a kick of his foot.

  "Matty, I'm fine, really," I insisted. "It was just a few nightmares." 

  Matt released a heavy breath and gave me a nod. "If you say so." 

  The topic moved to something brighter in nature when our food was served. I loved meeting up for lunch with my brother, though it had gotten rarer over the years. He was too busy juggling a career and a four-year-old and I was too busy running a management team at my work - but the time that we did get to spend, I cherished.

  Matt helped me every step of the way after what happened with Michael. He helped me get back to my feet and settled. And I loved him dearly, I really did, but sometimes I hated the way Matt would look at me after what happened and I hated the way I worried him. It was why I lied to him about being okay. 

  He had seen me at my absolute worst, and part of me thought that he never really did stop seeing me as that broken little girl that could barely walk into a room without bursting into tears. It was like Matt was stuck in his own limbo, similar to my own.

  "I'm being serious, you know," he said as he took a bite from a hot chip. "You need to get out there, squirt. Mingle. You need more friends, Y/n, and not ones from your workplace."

  I stopped mid-chew. 

  "What's wrong with friends from my workplace?" I accused. He gave me a particular kind of frown.

  "They're all forty years older than you."

  "You're being ageist, Matt," I pointed out with a sarcastic frown. He scoffed. "I'm trying, you know, but Hurricane's small." I shrugged. "The dating pool is tiny, man. They either think the world's best entertainment are low-budget cop shows or they-" I leant over the table to dramatically hiss "- or they like squash as a sport. Like, who are you kidding? Just play tennis, you coward."

  Matt broke into a loud snort before composing himself as I dropped back into my seat. The look he sent me while I victoriously took a bite of bread was dry. 

  "Not funny," he said. 

  "Truma made me hilarious," I disagreed.

  "If that makes you happy," he muttered under his breath before yelping when I kicked his foot again. My phone pinging with a notification stole our attention. His brows raised. "Friend?" 

  I shook my head and quickly considered just how much I wanted him to know.

  "Job interview," I said quietly as I scanned the email I got about the time I was needed to stop by the pizzaplex. Matt perked up.

  "Really?" He beamed over his burger. "That's great, squirt! I've been telling you that your firm has been sucking the life from you. Where's it at?"

  I hesitated. While on one hand, I didn't want to lie, the other knew that he would blow his top if he found out that I was willingly walking right back into the lion's den with fresh steak slung around my shoulders.

  "Pizzaplex," I said with a hesitant smile, barely audible. I prayed that Matt didn't hear me as soon as the word involuntarily slipped from my mouth, but the widening of his eyes told me that my prayer had gone ignored.

  "At Freddy's?!" Matt echoed in horror as his burger dropped to the plate and fell apart. A few irritated glares from around the cafe had him quieten his voice to a harsh whisper as he leant in. "Are you insane?"

  I lifted my eyes to him tiredly. I should've known better than to tell him; Matt hated Fazbear even more than I did, if you could believe it.

  "It was stupid, I know," I agreed. My fingers absentmindedly tapped the screen of my phone. "I'm going to decline it."

  "Good," Matt said determinedly. He leant back in his chair and heaved a weary exhale as he ran a hand through his hair. "God, Y/n, you know what that place does to you."

  "I know," I murmured as I stared at my plate of food. "I didn't know what I was thinking."

  Matt tried his best to pull a smile over the dreadfully worried look on his face. It only half-worked.

  "Just as long as you don't go to that interview, it'll be okay," he said with fake confidence.
 
  "Yeah," I agreed. I drained my coffee.

•••••

  The next day, I was outside the Pizzaplex.

  "I am a colossal idiot," I said to myself as I sat in my car and stared at the massive building with wide eyes. A neon sign of Freddy Fazbear waved at me, beckoning me inside with a smile that looked sadistic but I knew wasn't. I stared at the orange outline of his face with an apathetic frown.

  It'd been a while since I'd seen the bear. He looked different than before. Rounder, softer, brighter. More kid-friendly.

  I just hoped that he wasn't so kid-friendly that there was one stuffed inside him.

  I tore my eyes away from the joyous logo as I tidied the inside of my car - a nervous habit while I procrastinated.

  "I can just turn around," I continued muttering to myself as I feverishly organised some forgotten granola bar wrappers that lay on the shotgun seat. "Right now. Just be a no-show. It's not as if you actually care enough about that company to be worried about having a black mark next to your name. Hell - you might have one already, who knows?"

  I grabbed my phone as I stepped out and shoved it into my back pocket. I locked the car.

  "You can just run," I said under my breath as I stared at the smiling face of this new Freddy that had somehow, in my distorted and anxious mind, began to scowl menacingly at me. Blood dripped from his neon line of a mouth. "You can leave. Go get some coffee and pretend that it does something for you."

  A family of four walked past. The kids were jumping excitedly and squealing with pure elation, tugging on their parent's arms in an effort to get them to hurry. All of them were smiling. It felt like an indirect insult on more than one layer.

  Faster than I would've liked, I found myself at the entrance. I hesitated, steps faltering, as the glass doors towered over me. How mere doors could intimidate me into stalling was beyond me. Behind the glass spread a massive lobby and I had to admit that I was impressed by what I could see of the interior, though it did feel as though I'd been psychically punched by the 80s.

  A couple with a toddler entered. I pretended to be busy on my phone while I hesitated so I didn't look crazy. When they disappeared inside, I glanced up again and found a massive, golden statue just beyond the ticket gates, microphone on a stand in hand, poised in an action pose as he loomed at a frightening height above the guests. 

  It was Freddy, of course. He looked like a golden titan. I pulled a grimace.

  God, just how much money did they spend on this place? Even this quick glance at the lobby had me stunned. I knew that the game was successful, but I hadn't realised that it was this successful. Christ almighty.

  Steeling my nerves - I was there already, so I may as well have a little nosey inside - I stepped forward towards the doors that swung open to accommodate me. I gripped my phone tighter.

  The place wasn't too busy, considering that it was a Thursday morning. Even still, an impressive number of guests mingled around the lobby and I could imagine even more families sweeping the three other floors of attractions. I was hit with noise. 

  A instrumental jingle played overhead as I stood in the middle of the entrance and took in the cavernous room that was just the lobby. My flats squeaked on the polished tile beneath me and I noticed with a queasy sense of amusement that they were black and white checkered, reminiscent of the old diners. They reflected the hot pink lights that shone from above. They reflected my face back at me. I looked away. 

  Realising that the place reminded me of some kind of extravagant night club for kids, I swallowed back my sudden burst of nausea. They truly did build an empire on the corpses of children - and I was there for a job interview? Even if the place didn't remind me of Michael so much that it physically pained me, my moral compass should've steered me in any other direction, anyway.

  I inhaled the pizza-scented air in a deep huff and balled my fists. Just get the interview over and done with. Have a look around because my curiosity was starting to win me out. Then deal with the consequences later - namely in more detailed nightmares now that I had first-hand experience in the place. Maybe cry to my therapist about it in my next session - I'm sure she would love to unpack that.

  "Y/n L/n?"

  I startled at the call of my name and turned. A woman was watching me with a knitted brow. She looked to be barely older than I, with a massive Pizzaplex letterman jacket swallowing her frame. A cartoonish Freddy was winking at me from the breast.

  "You are Y/n, right?" the woman asked again with an awkward grin. "Here for the job interview?"

  I can say no. I can leave.

  "That's me," I said with a lame smile. The woman immediately brightened and shoved her dark hair over her shoulder.

  "Brilliant!" she chirped and pulled me in for an exuberant handshake. "I'm Elsa, I'll be taking you to Dennis, the general manager. He's just finishing up with the previous interview now. I'll be giving you a quick tour of the place while we wait."

  Before we could do anything, the Freddy-shapred watch on her wrist crackled to life. Elsa pushed the material from her sleeve out of the way and held it up just as a static-peppered voice began spilling from the tiny speakers.

  "Heya, Elsie! Bonnie's ears got caught on a door again," greeted a chipper man's voice. "Requesting immediate maintenance."

  Elsa gave me a sheepish smile. "Just a sec, hun," she requested before lifting the device closer and tapping an icon on the flash screen. I watched in amused disbelief - the place operated by smart watches?

  "Negative, Joey," Elsa replied. "Next show's in ten. Is it bad?"

  We waited for a reply. After a couple of seconds, the speakers crackled back to life.

  "It can wait," came the reply.

  "I'll schedule immediate maintenance after the meet and greet," Elsa said. "And I told you to stop calling me Elsie." 

  "Roger that, Elsie!"

  I watched the exchange with wide, curious eyes. Elsa dropped her wrist with a roll of her dark eyes and a tired smile sent my way.

  "Sorry," Elsa wanly chuckled. "We've been stretched pretty thin after the Glamrocks' last manager quit. Taking care of the band is a full-time job all in itself. But this is good! Take it as a sneak peek as to what you can expect here."

  I gave a quiet nod. She was smiling but her eyes were exhausted, and the bags beneath them looked like they could hold an entire robot. Sympathy struck a chord within my chest; with how massive this place was, I could only imagine how much man-power it would take to make things run smoothly. Man-power they looked to be lacking.

  "Let's get going, then!" Elsa said with a bright grin. She led the way through the ticket gates, using her staff ID to let herself and then me through. 

  "This is the main lobby," Elsa explained as we walked towards the rows of stairs leading to a line of elevators. White robots on wheels polished the tiled floor. "This is where we have our information and help desk-" she pointed to the left. "And Glamrock Gifts." She gestured to the right. "Above we have Faz-Pad, which is a cafe where some employees like to have lunch or grab a coffee. Most just go to the food court, though."

  We reached the top of the stairs. Elsa pointed to the right again, past a door that opened to the top floor of Glamrock Gifts. "That there leads to the Superstar Daycare. We get kids in there everyday."

  My mind was already blown. I must've looked pretty funny, because Elsa glanced back and giggled at my stunned expression. It was obvious that I hadn't stepped foot in the Pizzaplex before, and she jumped at the chance to hype the place up.

  "Don't drop your jaw just yet, hun," she teased as she called for an elevator. "You haven't seen nothing yet."

  The elevator dinged and we entered with a small crowd. A little boy in a Montgomery Gator shirt was jumping to the tune of the elevator, as if it was the show itself. Despite everything that I was reminding myself to hate about this place, it made me smile.

  "Have you lived in Hurricane for long?" Elsa asked as we rose to the first level. I nodded.

  "I was born here," I replied with a small smile. "Never left."

  She raised her dark brows. "And you've never been here before?"

  I could understand where her surprise came from. Hurricane was a tiny place and the pizzaplex was the most interesting thing the small town had to offer since sliced bread - Freddy's always had been. I nervously pushed my hair behind my ear and shrugged.

  "Never got the time, I guess."

  The doors slid open before Elsa could reply and the small crowd pushed us out with the little kids making a beeline down the stairs and to the front of the stage. A pushy robot insisted that I took a map and judging from the sheer size of the place, I wasn't opposed to grabbing one while I could. The bot turned to Elsa.

  "Already got one, sweets," Elsa said as she whipped out a crumpled map from her letterman's pocket. Satisfied, the bot rolled away to pester the parents. "Sorry. The map bots are still a little buggy. Can't seem to figure out what's wrong with them."

  "That's okay," I replied. I put the map into my pocket, sure to be used at a later time. I stared at our surroundings and my eyebrows raised. "Wow."

  We were on a balcony floor, overlooking another massive room that held a tiered stage at the front of a large area for a crowd. Entrances to other attractions framed the food court. Gargantuan holograms of the Glamrocks played on the stage, taking up an impossible-to-miss amount of space. Behind them were unused massive LED screens.

  "This is the main atrium," Elsa explained as she lead me to the railing overlooking the theatre. "It's where the Glamrocks perform. The venue can be booked out for other bands, but it's mainly just used for our guys."

  Elsa pointed across from me. I followed her finger to a sectioned-off area that overlooked the whole room.

  "That's the control desk. Lights, sound, effects, you name it. The animatronic handlers usually stay backstage, but they're allowed into the VIP booth beside the control area if it's not in use. Follow me."

  We passed the endless line of snack bars and merch stalls as Elsa walked us to the VIP booth. She swiped her card and we entered, and I was surprised by the luxury of the small area. A small menu for bar snacks was stuck to the wall behind a row of plush, red couches and a golden-rimmed, black glass stained table sat before it.  

  "You came at a good time," Elsa said as she fell back into the seat and patted the space beside her. "It's nearly time for their first show of the day. You'll love it."

  "How many shows do they usually do?" I asked as I tentatively sat beside her. The couch almost swallowed me from how soft it was and I had to stop myself from sighing. It was a nice couch.

  "Two daily during the week," Elsa replied as the atrium's lights dimmed. I was surprised by the crowd that seemed to have congregated at the front of the stage - where did all these people come from? And on a school day? Did people seriously take their kids out of school to watch an animatronic band? "They do three a day on weekends. Morning, at five and then a special night show just before closing. Mondays are closed for maintenance."

  I wanted to ask more, but I was silenced by the rip of a loud electric guitar drowning out the atrium. Laser lights began to zip around the stage as the holograms disappeared with a flicker and the LED screens lit up in their stead.

  I felt myself stiffen when five animatronics showed up on the screens, offering a pre-show video of the band preparing to enter the stage. Elsa crossed her arms with a smug smirk - she was proud of the place, and was totally misreading my silence.

  They all looked so... different. I couldn't tell if it was better that way or not. 

  "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls-!" I jumped when a voice spoke over the loud 80s-flavoured music. "Fazbear Entertainment would like you to put your hands together for the one, the only, Freddy Fazbear!"

  "Oh, my god," I said when a platform raised the five animatronics to the stage, beginning to rip into their music with frenzy. The crowd below was going crazy. I almost wanted to laugh - it was so absurd.

  "Right?" Elsa said with a coy grin. "You should see it on the weekends. This place gets packed."

  "It's so different." I shook my head with a bewildered smile as Freddy began to sing. I was pleasantly surprised by how natural his voice sounded for a robot - unless, of course, it was a pre-recording. It probably was.

  "Fazbear Entertainment wanted to take Freddy a different direction after the game," Elsa said over the music. I was still watching the performance, stunned. "So they made the entertainment complex and rebuilt the robots. They needed a revamp to pull in interest and shake the rumours from the old diners."

  At Elsa's words, I finally tore my eyes from the stage. Rumours. Because the missing kids that were rumoured to be murdered at Freddy's were never found and the killer never caught. Rumours.

  Elsa didn't know the horrid truth about what happened to those kids and how they're tied to Fazbear. It wasn't her fault, and yet I felt vapid distaste curl against my tongue at her disregard. 

  Her watch crackled to life again but I couldn't hear the conversation over the music. I turned back to the show and focused on being admittedly impressed by the fluidity of the movements of the bots. Aside from the fact that they were made of wires and metal, they looked like any other high-energy human band on stage.

  Freddy was a natural star. He leant down and let the kids at the front high-five him and pulled crowd-pleasing moves that would put Mercury to shame. Chica, beside him, shredded on her electric guitar with preppy energy that made me exhausted and want to dance at the same time just by looking at her. On the other side of Freddy was one of the new animatronics, a grey wolf, whose tailed swished to the beat as she played her lime-green keytar.

  God, a keytar. This really was a wormhole to the 80s.

  On one of the raised platforms was the alligator robot, playing bass. And last, behind the others on his own little raised section, was Bonnie with a sleek new starry style, playing the drums at a speed that made me dizzy. I felt my stomach twist. Aside from the new fit, he almost looked the same. 

  "Bonnie's on drums?" I asked as I turned to Elsa in confusion, whose conversation had ended when I was watching the robots. I used to remember him on the banjo as the three-robot band would play their dinky little tunes, though I supposed it didn't make sense for him to be on a banjo in this kind of environment.

  "Yeah," Elsa nodded as she watched the performance. "He didn't like the bass and Monty did, so it was an easy swap."

  My brows rose. Did she just say that Bonnie didn't like the bass? Before I could grill Elsa for answers, a man entered the VIP booth with an excited smile that betrayed how tired he was. Dang, was everyone working here exhausted?

  "Ah! Y/n, this is Dennis," Elsa introduced. "He's the general manager of the Pizzaplex."

  We greeted each other with a shake of hands. Dennis settled down on the other side of Elsa with a pat to his suit jacket.

  "Just in time for the best part of the show." He grinned and turned to the stage. This had to be the most informal job interview I'd ever had.

  The show took an hour to finish, but the energy from the start never faded. If anything, it only vamped up more the longer the show ran. The robots even had on-stage banter and talked to the crowd. Bonnie made a joke that had me chuckling.

  When the robots finally retreated backstage and the crowd was filing out to head somewhere they knew that I didn't, Dennis stood.

  "What did you think?" he asked as the show lights flickered back to normal and the giant holograms returned in place of the band.

  "It was incredible," I replied and was surprised at myself for how much I genuinely meant it. "Their programming is amazing."

  "Just wait until you get into a conversation with one of them," Dennis gushed as he held the door to the VIP booth for me. I followed him back to the elevators. "Their AI is a work of art, the closest to mechanically replicating a human brain ever in existence. They're constantly learning."

  Well, that sounded like asking for trouble. I remained silent on the matter.

  We continued the tour with Elsa and Dennis showing me every notable attraction - Monty Golf, Roxy Raceway, Mazercise, Superstar Daycare, Fazerblast, among others. Rockstar Row, which showed the animatronic's greens rooms, was too busy with the usual crowd wanting photos and autographs from after a show to sneak a look, apparently.

  My head was spinning with new information by the time we finally sat down in Dennis' office. Elsa had disappeared to sort out Bonnie's ears, which had been bent backwards from walking through a doorway. It seemed to be like a regular occurrence, given the grumble she made under breath before leaving.

  "You manage a team?" was Dennis' first question. I returned to my senses and shifted in my seat. His desk backed into a massive window the overlooked the lobby and I could see people lingering about below.

  "Yes, for accounting," I replied.

  "What do you do there?" he asked as he leant back in his seat. "For the team, I mean."

  "Oh." I hadn't expected this kind of question. I was expecting something more along the line of qualifications. "Uh... well, I order in new office supplies, approve leave, make sure things are on track and reach deadlines. Just the general stuff, really."

  "Would you say that you're a fast learner? Adaptable to change?"

  Adaptable to change. I thought of the past eight years and hoped that my grimace wasn't too obvious. Then I remembered that I didn't actually want the job, and reminded myself not to care.

  "... absolutely," I lied through my teeth. "I'm great at it."

  Satisfied, Dennis nodded. The interview continued on this way, with him asking questions and me answering. He dipped into my work life experience and how I handled high-stress environments. I told him that I took university in Las Vegas, which was as high stress as you're gonna get.

  "Now, final question," Dennis said as he absentmindedly shuffled a pack of character cards of the Pizzaplex animatronics in his grasp. "Are you experienced in robotics?"

  Hands guiding mine inside the endoskeleton of a small replica of Chica. Wrench in my grasp. Breath in my ear, lips brushing skin.

  I swallowed sharply.

  "I know the basics," I said stiffly.

  "Great!" Dennis said with a smile and dropped the cards to the table. Freddy's character slid almost all the way towards me. My eyes landed on his beaming grin. "I think that went very well. I hope you enjoyed the tour."

  I was busy trying not to launch into ugly fucking sobs, actually, but I still managed a sane-looking nod.

  "It was brilliant, thanks." My voice sounded thick. I cleared my throat. He didn't notice as he walked me to the door and handed me a general pass.

  "Feel free to have a look around by yourself," he said with a warm grin. "We'll get back to you as soon as we can."

  I nodded in thanks, said my goodbyes and then made a beeline to the exit with the pass crumpled in the tight grip of my hand. The phantom touch of memory had my skin prickling.

  I got halfway down the street before I pulled the car over and burst into tears.