Archive of Our Own

You stare down at the paper, drumming your fingers against the side of your phone. It was a job application- that had been taped to the side of a dumpster, in an alley behind a bar. an odd place to try to promote that you’re hiring, unless they were trying to target drunks, you guessed. Though you had found it, so what does that say about you?

It’d caught your eye, though– it was for an entertainment center called 'Freddy Fazbenders Pizza’, with animatronics and everything. You’d always loved the vibe of places like that, but not so much all the noises– so going to them was really 50/50 on whether you’d just… shut down or not. Plus, you’d grown up somewhere that only had, like, one place even remotely similar to an entertainment center, and it had been a rather sorry excuse. Your first job had been at a bowling alley though, so there was that. You’d spent more time in the arcade section than the actual bowling alley area, but whatever. You’ve never been to an actual full fledged arcade before, again, having grown up in the most unknown, and uninteresting state ever (without exaggeration– unless you liked hunting, fishing, and the very likely potential of getting kidnapped in the woods).

The main thing you liked about arcades, and entertainment centers, though, besides the shitty pizza and nostalgic 90s vibe, were the funky carpets. You loved that shit so much that you’d managed to get a similarly themed rug for your own room. That wasn’t the only thing that you found exciting about those kinds of places, though. Enter: the previously mentioned animatronics.

Yes, you were a robotic engineer at heart –though you lacked the education or money to ever go into it–, so you’d been forced to give up on any hopes of ever working with actual robotics. Until now. Even if that wasn’t the position you’d get –making them, designing them, maintenance, whatever–, you’d still be near them. Working with them, in an overall sense. That was enough for you.

Though, skimming over the paper again, there was no mention of what specific positions they were actually hiring for. Maybe it was freeform, or any? But you imagined certain ones would need special requirements– like robotics, or culinary experience. Then again, there also wasn’t a pay listing/estimate, so you weren’t too sure of the professionalism of the place.

You remain undeterred, Though you should probably be re-considering by now. Or, considering at all? Putting a second of thought into it? but no, honestly, you didn’t care much about the pay (though the looming threat of being evicted for not paying rent was at the back of your mind), you were just genuinely interested in the place.

Though, this was also coming from the same person who enjoyed working at a gas station, because, ‘the vibe just hits different’, as you’d worded it.

You let out a deep exhale, shifting on the floor. You didn’t own any chairs or anything –couldn’t afford it, but you also didn’t really care, you’d never sit in them anyways–, so you opted to sit on the bathroom floor. It was where you hung out when you were stressed, or overwhelmed, which you always were. You spent a lot of time in here.

You glance at the flier, skimming it to find an address, managing to just barely read it, before grabbing your phone to look it up on google maps– just to get a basic idea of where it was. You didn’t own a car, not that you knew how to drive anyways, so you’d need to be able to walk. You’d rather not have to cross any major roads, either, it freaked you out. It felt like everyone hated you for pushing the crosswalk buttons, like you were being stared down, so you could never muster the courage to actually press them.

It was inconvenient– your paranoia and your social skills.

But, you should probably stop being picky. You needed a job, your rent was long overdue as it was. You were only still here because you’re quiet, polite, never bother anyone, and never complain (Though that’s more of a social anxiety thing, with a sprinkle of childhood trauma. ‘be grateful for anything and everything you recieve, no matter what’ or whatever), so the landlord was willing to turn a blind eye. You weren’t sure how much longer he’d continue letting you off the hook, though.

After several seconds of staring at the loading page (shitty wifi, and an even shittier phone), the site finally shows up. You slowly type in the address, looking between your phone and the paper to make sure you put it in correctly.

Oh, neat. It was within a reasonable walking distance. Thank god. Seemed to be in a more active area of town, to, which you weren’t actually sure how to feel about. That was probably a good thing, right? The only con is that your city is pretty shady. dead bodies (mostly just remains- bits and pieces), missing people, it’s all pretty common. You feel your face flush at the thought of being stalked, or kidnapped, before immediately cringing– humiliated by your own thoughts. Jesus, how lonely were you? Desperate and fucked up– not a good combo. All it took was someone simply acknowledging you for you to become obsessed.

You shakily stand up, popping your back as you do so, and stretching so hard your foot cramps– wincing and grabbing onto the counter ledge to stabilize yourself. Right, the time. You glance back at your phone– 10:47am. It’d be impressive that you were awake this early, if it weren't for the fact that you’re only up because you haven’t actually slept yet. You typically slept all day, and stayed up all night. It’s why you always opted for either night shifts, or really early morning ones. The ‘we’re hiring’ paper also didn’t list shift hours, though you aren’t at all surprised by this point.

Honestly, it didn’t really mention anything. You wondered if it’d be okay to just walk in and say that you were here to apply for a job. What if the flier isn’t even real? Like, what if someone just made it for shits and giggles or something? You stall for a good while because of the thought, but eventually decide to try your luck (which you have none of) anyways, refusing to let this opportunity slip.

You dig through the pile of clothes on your bathroom floor, where you kept them –or, well, where they ended up–, before pulling out an arcade carpet themed button up. You had several of those, but this one was your favourite. And it was clean. Hell yeah.

Putting on your clothes, you throw on a few miscellaneous accessories, grab your headphones and your phone, before leaving your apartment. You certainly stuck out, appearance wise– and demeanor wise, to, you supposed.

Most people would say that Colorado was cold, but given where you were from, it was pretty fucking hot– to you (you thought anything above 60 was hot, though). It was mid-july, so it was around, what, 80 degrees currently? Letting out a huff, you continue making your way down the street. With how generally fatigued and malnourished you were, on top of chronic pain and several medical issues, you had to be incredibly careful doing, well, anything really-- but specifically overworking yourself in the heat. You were very prone to heatstroke, and it really wasn’t fun to deal with.

It was fine, you could push through, you’re more used to the heat now anyways. At least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself. You don’t think you’ll ever actually get used to this sort of weather.

pulling out your phone, you turn the brightness up a little now that you’re outside, so that you can actually see the screen. You open the map again, glancing down at it every few seconds just to check that you’re going the right way. It wasn’t a complicated route by any means, but you didn’t really trust yourself to not fuck it up somehow. It was about 5 minutes away. That's fine, you could do this everyday, if you get the job. If there is a job.

You’re half expecting there to just be an empty lot, or an abandoned building, but when you’d looked it up there hadn’t been any news about it being torn down or anything– it was still there on the map.

Maybe you should’ve looked it up outside of google maps, to get a better idea? No, you should’ve definitely done that– done any amount of background checks on the place you were on your way to potentially work for. Not that it’d matter too much, if it was a locally owned place (you weren’t actually sure if it was). But maybe you’d be able to find some news or reports later, when you got back home. You liked doing research– digging into things. Though, doing that has gotten you into plenty of trouble over the years, and a strange gut feeling makes you think it’s going to be the same here. You don’t know why you’d think that, there was (currently) no reason to, but you guess it’s just natural to assume everyone has skeletons in their closet.

You really should’ve done your research before jumping in head-first, huh?

Not that you were known for thinking rationally, especially when excited, but still– applying for a job is a big feat, one you’ve never been too successful at.

You start to feel the pangs of anxiety creep up in your chest, the hot air you’d forced yourself to get used to now beyond suffocating. Too nervous to keep looking up, you stare down at the sidewalk, feet guiding you as thoughts swam around in your head. God, why did you think this would be a good idea? You suck at any sort of social thing, being in public, hell– you couldn’t physically talk to people most of the time– you hated even just being perceived. Why would you put yourself out there like this? There’s no point, plus, you doubt they’d even want to hire you, no one would, and it’s–

–You slam into a lamp-post, letting out a strangled gasp as you stumble back a few paces. You blink dumbly for a few seconds, trying to get your bearings, before glancing around, praying nobody saw your embarrassing little mishap. There were only a few stragglers, doing their own thing. If anyone did see, they didn’t show any signs of it. There were several cars in the parking lot, though, but no one was in them, thankfully. Except for a single car parked across the road– with windows so tinted you had no way of telling. You hoped no one was in there, or had been paying attention if there was.

Letting out a sigh, you scrunch your nose- wincing as pain shoots across your face. Yeah, that was gonna leave a mark. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too visible. At least it’d snapped you out of your thoughts, and, getting a proper look around the area, you realize you’re in front of the Pizzeria. You quickly check your phone, juuust to make sure it was actually the right place, and that you weren’t about to walk into a random building asking for a job. It was.

You glance back up, properly taking in the building. There really wasn’t much on the outside, besides the sign on the front. There were huge windows lining the wall, though, which let you see inside, heart skipping a beat as you steal a glance inside. You really did love arcades (well, the vibe), didn’t you? And, holy shit– were those the animatronics in the far back?

Feeling a little giddy, you skirt around the lamp-post, to the entrance– the door of which was also made of glass. That's when you realize you’re being watched. Just inside, there’s what appears to be a prize corner, with a young-ish looking guy behind the counter. He's giving you a slight look of surprise, expression unreadable. Fuck. Had he seen you slam your face into the pole? Jesus Christ that’s embarrassing.

You hold eye-contact for a few seconds, stalling on actually entering the building, before eventually deciding to just force yourself to walk in– you never would if you didn’t. Resting your hand on the door handle, you pause, before nervously pulling the door open– letting out a breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding. Thank God, the doors weren’t automatic. Those sucked. Made you nervous.

You quickly duck into the building, looking a bit more timid than you’d like, before chirping a nervous ‘hello’ at the same guy who’d been staring at you through the door. Something about him was off putting –though you couldn’t place your finger on what exactly it was that was so off putting about him–, but you really didn’t want to be rude, so you try your best to give him a small smile. It comes out a little strained, but you hope he didn’t notice.

You definitely didn’t look like a customer, but you doubted you looked like someone applying for a job, either. You hoped they didn’t think you were here to do any shady shit, or whatever. The chatter of all the people in the pizzeria, mixed with the sounds of arcade machines and music, was a bit overwhelming– but you’d much prefer that over silence.

…

Now what? you’re inside, that’s certainly a start, but you have no idea who to talk to about the job application. The manager, probably? You have no idea where they are, and you doubted you were allowed to just wander around until you found them. Did Pizzerias –family entertainment centers– have to kick people out for loitering? Could you even loiter in a Pizzeria? Maybe not, but you could sure as hell look like a creep. Which is what you, currently, looked like.

You're getting off track. Just– just look around and try to figure something out, and ignore the fact that you’re in public and probably getting stared at for looking like an absolute weirdo.

Looking around, you seemed to be in, well, the main room, you guessed. It had all the dining tables, dingy LED lights, and was connected to every other area in the building– essentially, a hub. Glancing over at the arcade area, you spotted a few classics, but also several titles you’d never heard of before. Though, one of the machines seemed to be broken. You weren’t the most handy person in the world, but if you got the job, you could certainly try to repair it, if you were allowed to– and if it even could be repaired. Maybe it was too broken, and no one had bothered to throw it out yet. Maybe you’d be able to ask if you could have it.

…What would you even do with a broken arcade machine? You have no room in your apartment– not that you’d be able to lug an around-200-pound-hunk-of-metal back to your apartment anyways.

There was a show stage, to, at the far end of the room– on the opposite side of the entrance. The backdrop was completely covered by a red curtain, and…

speaking of the show stage…

You shuffle across the room, trying to get a little bit closer– carefully weaving through groups of excited kids. Too nervous to actually get right up to the animatronics, you hang back a little, though you made sure you were close enough to still properly observe them. They were cute! Though they did seem a little worn, even from this distance, but you were too busy being fascinated by the robotics that must’ve gone into them to really notice– or care.

A pause as you realize you’d gotten pretty damn distracted, and now probably looked like an even bigger weirdo. face a little red, out of embarrassment –and the realization that you were in the front of the room, clearly visible to everyone–, you stumble back to where you’d initially been, next to the entrance.

As much as you didn’t want to, you should definitely try to just settle in, get a drink and sit down somewhere until someone that you could talk to appeared. You thought it was odd, though, and relatively unsafe, for such a seemingly busy place to have no staff out on the main floor. Sure, you’d worked at entertainment centers before (none with animatronics, though), and it was pretty par-for-the-course for staff to not be visible unless needed, but still. There were a lot of unsupervised machines. Ones that you knew, from personal experience, were a lot more dangerous than they looked.

You glance around the area, trying to see if there were any drink coolers. Again, you really weren’t that thirsty or anything, but it’d be way better to at least try to get a drink, over just… being stood in the middle of the room, looking unbelievably lost. You spot a soda dispenser, and– thank god, a drink refrigerator right next to it.

Nervously making your way over to the refrigerator, you open it to grab… fuck. What did you want? Water, probably, but you were also feeling a bit faint. You hadn’t had your sugars today. Begrudgingly, you grab a cranberry juice from the fridge. Did… did you need to pay? There wasn’t a counter or anything, so you decide that you’ll give the money to whatever staff you manage to find (as if you had enough money to even pay for it), since you had no idea what else to do. You fumble with the lid for a few seconds, before managing to crack it open. Walking back to the dining room, you try to take a sip, when–

–Someone slams into you, at full force. You gasp out a startled response as your drink splashes over you, splattering your shirt and hands. You were on a roll with slamming into things today, weren’t you?

Opening your eyes to look down at the perpetrator, you realize it’s just a kid, who was staring up at you with wide, startled eyes.

“Oh, god i’m– i’m so sorry, i wasn’t–”

You sigh. They seemed genuinely sorry, not like you were someone who really got mad anyways. Plus, their reaction struck close to home. Again, from personal experience-- not anything good. Even if they weren’t actually sorry, you weren’t about to yell at a kid.

“Hey, don’t worry. It's fine.” You state simply, giving the kid a small smile, “Really. Don’t worry about it.”

You felt beyond awkward, hoping your strained response didn’t come off as annoyed. You weren’t annoyed, you just weren’t used to social interactions. The kid themselves didn’t seem like someone who was too fond of confrontation, either, which was slightly reassuring– in a way.

They relax a little, which causes you to relax in return. It seemed like they tried to stammer out a few more words, before just giving up, nodding and running off when you gave a thumbs up. It’s fine– you understood it. Interacting with people, especially those older than you, kinda sucked. You do realize that getting the managers attention with a juice-stained shirt wouldn’t be the best idea, though. You should probably find a bathroom. Not that you just carried spare clothes around, but at least you could clean your face off. Your shirt was mostly black anyways, so it’s not like the stain would be visible or anything.

Giving the room another once over (you chalk it up to years of habit, working in similar places and all), you decide to work on finding a restroom.

…

There weren’t any signs.

Like, at all.

You glance down one hallway, directly across from the entrance. There were, what, two rooms leading off of them? But neither of them had any signs, or appeared like restrooms anyways. You furrow your brows. Okay, well… it was odd for a place like this to not have directions on where anything was, but, again, you weren’t the type to get easily frustrated.

Doing a second once–over of the room, you notice that there seemed to be another hallway on the other side. Might as well try that, right? You shuffle awkwardly across the main area, trying your best to stick to the wall– to avoid any other mishaps. Making it to where the hallway started, you immediately scurry inside, not wanting to come into any unnecessary contact with anyone else.

It was weirdly quiet. You should be able to hear the bustle of the main area, and you could, but it wasn’t nearly as loud as it should’ve been.

Weird.

You turn your attention back to the hallway.

Thank God, there were restroom signs. You take a few hesitant steps towards the doors, suddenly a little paranoid. It felt like you were somewhere you shouldn’t be, but, if you weren’t supposed to be here, it’d be, like, blocked off or something, right? Or, at the least, would have an ‘employees only’ sign.

In your inner turmoil of whether or not you were actually allowed to be here, the door at the very end of the hallway cracked open– with a rather scrawny looking man stepping out of it. He was… purple? at least, his outfit and hair was. You couldn’t see his face too well. Not until he looked at you, anyways.

“...Heeello?”

Oh, God, he had an accent. It sounded nice, but you didn’t recognize where it was from. Guess you just had a thing for accents. He looked a little shaken, though– caught off guard.

“Uh… hi,” You respond, not sure what else to say.

Pausing, you take in the newly–recognized metallic smell emitting from the same door he’d just shut. This was an entertainment center, with animatronics, so maybe it was the room that held the robotics– parts and services? Your gaze flits back to the guy. He seemed to have a decent amount of scars, which would be befitting of the role of a mechanic.

“...What’re you doin’ back here?” He speaks tentatively, taking a few steps forward. You instinctively tense at the action, and, noticing it, he goes still. You pause, before nervously clearing your throat.

“I–I uh… found a job application outside, and, well– I couldn't find anyone, and…” You stammer a little, before lowering your voice, “I uh. Was on my way to the restroom, I guess? I got juice all over me, and–”

“Oh, so you’re here fer a job?” He chimes, cutting you off. You blink at him.

“Uh. Yeah, I um... I guess so.”

The both of you spend a few seconds just staring at each other, neither of you sure of what to say. You decide to take the moment to properly register what you were seeing.

Your previous assessment definitely hadn’t been incorrect, but it was a pretty gross under-exaggeration. The guy was littered with scars; bruises, and– were those stitches? His neck, and both arms, were wrapped in bandages, hiding whatever was under them. His stance was that of a wounded animal, to– poor posture making him appear much smaller than he actually was (though it’s not like you were any different, in that regard). He looked a bit nervous– spaced out, like he was prepared for something that his brain wouldn’t allow him to remember.

“Have you talked t’ phone-face yet?” The man asks, casually, while seemingly studying you. His eyes ghost over the scar on your right eye– lingering on it for longer than what you thought was normal. The feeling of his gaze elicited some nervous fidgeting on your end.

“...Who?” You stare at the guy, uncomfortably aware of the juice that was still currently seeping into your shirt. You were suddenly grateful that every article of clothing you owned ranged from ‘black’ to 'there's so much going on no-one would be able to notice a stain anyways’. The feeling of wet cloth sticking to your skin wasn’t one that was desired, though.

He simply hums in response, walking up to you. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end at how close this complete stranger was. And he was so fucking tall, to. God, that wasn’t helping. It was even more alarming when you realized that he’d be way taller if it weren’t for his terrible posture.

“C’mon, this way.”

You didn’t mean to stare so dumbfoundedly, but he’d caught you off guard. Seemingly noticing your confusion, he adds on, “I’m takin’ you t’ see the manager. That’s what you’re here fer, right?” After a few seconds, you nod, pushing back the thought of cleaning your face. You could cope with the stickiness, if it meant getting a free pass to the manager. He, again, just hums in response, walking past you. You startle, quickly whirling around to follow him.

Trailing behind, you’re embarrassingly aware of how akin to a lost dog you seemed, but you tried your best to not let it phase you. He leads you through out of the hallway, into the room you’d just come from, making his way through the crowd without falter, straight into the first hallway you’d initially peered into. You subconsciously walk a little closer to the man as you enter unfamiliar territory, walking quietly by his side

He brings you to the end of the hall, past another door –that was stained a concerning shade of red–, before knocking on what appeared to be a security door. There was a slight shuffling heard on the other side, followed by an exasperated sounding voice.

“H–hello?”

“Heeeya, phoney!” He draws out the sentence, the corners of his mouth twitching into a slight smile.

“Oh, God. I swear, Dave, if the kitchen’s on fire again–” The door slid open, rather violently, revealing the man on the other side.

Oh! a… phone-head?

Guess he'd been literal when he’d said ‘phone-face’, huh? The guy was adorning a bright red rotary phone, where his head should’ve been– but besides that, nothing else seemed different.

“Oh. uh.” The other mans voice went from annoyed, to slightly caught off guard. You, without meaning to, shuffle a little closer to your guide. “Dave, you know customers aren’t allowed back here–” He turns to the man beside you –Dave, apparently–, his voice strained.

“They’re here t’ see you.” He jabs his thumb back in your direction. The phone-headed guy, who you guessed was the manager, turns to look at you. Your mouth goes dry and you can’t find your voice, so you just give him a small wave instead. You really, really hadn’t thought any of this through, had you? You shiver against the feeling of your still-damp shirt– telling yourself it was because it was cold, totally not because you were internally freaking out.

“Fer the job application, right?” Dave thinks for a minute, before glancing down at you.

“Mmhm,” You breathe out, nodding in confirmation.

The three of you stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do, though much to your confusion they were the ones that actually appeared to be nervous.

After a few more seconds of awkward silence, Dave clears his throat. “Well, I'll leave ya to it.” You, feeling a little dazed, step out of his path as he starts to make his way back down the way you’d both come from. The both of you watch him until he turns the corner, no longer visible, before you nervously turn back to the manager. He was just… staring at you. Or, well, you assumed he was staring at you– it’s a little hard to tell when it comes to someone with no visible eyes. His expression was quite literally unreadable.

“Um… hi. I–I'm sorry to bother you, I just– I found a ‘we’re hiring’ paper and I–” You start, before getting cut off.

“You- you actually want to work here?”

You blink at him, a little taken aback. Wouldn’t the manager want people to apply? Sure, being in charge of a group of (mostly) fresh adults was probably the last thing anyone wanted to do, but it was a lot better than the alternative of having to shut down due to lack of staff, you thought.

“Well, I uh…” you take a deep breath, “...Yeah? I wouldn't be here if I didn't, I guess.”

His dial clicks, but he doesn’t say anything– just observing(?) you. After a few more seconds, his dial spins over a few more numbers, before resetting itself. Was he… thinking? Was that some form of body language? You had no way of knowing, given that you’d never met someone with a phone for a head before. You hadn’t even known that that was a thing that could be physically accomplished, until about 4 minutes ago. Did he still have a normal head under there, or was it mechanical through-and-through? Did that make him part robot?

“Did Dave give you the tour?”

His voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you stare blankly for a few seconds, registering what was said. “N– uh... no. Was he supposed to?”

“Well,” the man sighs, shrugging, “It’s not mandatory, but, uh, it’d probably be helpful to know where everything is, in case something happens.”

You fight back the urge to shiver, the wet patch on your shirt now cold. The way he was talking made it sound like you’d already been given the job (there was also the… ominous undertone to his words, but you weren’t focusing on that at the moment). Mental images of the main floor swim in your head as you space out. You didn’t really think that a tour was needed, given that you’re pretty sure you’ve already seen every area of the pizzeria, even with your short, confusing visit. But, getting to know the specifics of how things worked would definitely be handy. Entertainment centers had a lot going on– a lot of specific positions. Though, thinking about it, that doesn’t really matter, since most companies just give their staff a basic rundown of all the jobs they might have to do while working here, instead of hiring someone who actually specialized in said jobs.

“Normally,” He continues, seemingly unaware that you were barely listening, “I wouldn't mind doing it myself, but uh, you caught me on a day where I'm actually busy, trying to keep the police off our tail, so I uh… can’t really break away right now.”

Wait, what was that about the police? Your attention is back on him as you linger on his words, before just deciding to act as if you hadn’t heard it. Probably not the smartest move on your part, but oh well. You could ponder the legality of shoddy pizzerias later.

“Oh, um. That's okay!” Realizing that this might be the break that keeps you from actually getting hired, you quickly follow up with, “I'm sure I can figure it out.” You let out a nervous laugh, before carefully adding on, “I–I already have experience with jobs like this, s–so uh, you know. Shouldn’t be too hard to get down.” You give him a thumbs up, though it just comes off as more awkward than anything. You were trying your best, but being awkward was all you really knew. Awkward and compliant.

And– sweaty–? Jesus it was hot in here.

When he doesn’t say anything, you panic a little more– words nervously tumbling out of your mouth before you can properly go over them in your head, “So. Not to uh– not to pressure you or anything, but does this mean that i can um… have the job?” You ask, trying to hide the hopeful look in your eyes as you stare up at the taller man. Internally, you cringed a little. That had come out way more pleading than you’d meant for it to. A little humiliating, but if it helps in landing you the job…

Again, his dial clicks, and he fidgets with the hem of his suit– hesitant, like he’s undergoing some sort of inner turmoil. You remain patient, though you don’t think you’re slightly–more–desperate–than–you’d–like look that you were giving him was really aiding the situation.

Eventually, he lets out a barely audible sigh, before going back to his original demeanor, all traces of his previous hesitance gone (what was that about, anyways?). “Well, sure! that’s, uh, why you’re here, right?” Your eyes widen a little out of relief, and you nod.

“Neat, neat. I uhh… I'm gonna need you to sign a contract, though.” His voice falters a little at the last part, something you picked up on. Mentally, you were keeping note of every odd thing that happened, to analyze later. You were just that kind of person– someone who enjoyed looking into seemingly insignificant things.

You did think it was pretty weird that there wasn’t any sort of interview –because talking in the hallway certainly couldn’t count as one–, but you, again, weren’t about to bring up something that could get you turned down.

“Oh, yeah I–I can do that!”

He faces you for a few more seconds, before nodding and making his way back into the office. “It's uh, it’s nothing bad or anything, just–” He shoves around several stacks of paper, before apparently finding the one he was looking for. He shuffles around a bit more, before turning back to you, with a clipboard and pen in hand. “–Just some legal things, legal bindings, you know the drill.”

What was that? You hadn’t quite caught part of what he’d said.

Whatever, it probably wasn’t important.

You politely take the clipboard, and pen, glancing down at the paper in front of you. “It's nothing to worry about. We uh–” He stammers a little, voice sounding strained, “We all signed the contract!”

You hum in acknowledgment, only really half listening, as your eyes scan over the paper. Jeez, there was a lot of fine print. You squint, attempting to read it, before ultimately giving up. It was definitely illegal to have the fine print so small it wasn’t actually legible, but whatever, you’d already made up your mind. You pick up the pen, hovering it over the ‘signature’ box, pressing it against the paper to fill out–

“Wait–” Completely caught off guard by the sudden urgency in your soon–to–be managers voice, you look up, curious. He was tense again.

“I–I uhhh… I mean– uhhh. Are you sure you want to work here? There are definitely way better options, ones with lower death rates,”

You could easily just fill out your name, letting that speak for you, but you decide to indulge him– thinking that the change in demeanor had more to do with personal anxiety, rather than it being a warning. That thought doesn’t even cross your mind.

“Y–yeah! Pretty sure.” You give him a reassuring smile, before clicking the pen and writing down your name. If you’d been paying attention, you would’ve noticed the way he froze– the way he went pale.

“Oh, uhhh… okay, yeah, that’s good. And also a first. I don't think anyone has ever willingly decided to work here.” Another lamb to the slaughter. He swallows, dry and strained, before –seeing as you’d done all that was needed to be done– taking the clipboard back from you.

He looks down at the now-signed paper, before looking back up towards you. If ever a person with a phone for a head could show pity and regret, it would be this guy, right now. You almost open your mouth to ask what’s wrong, but ultimately decide that it’d probably be inappropriate. Plus, a gut feeling tells you that you wouldn’t like the answer.

You furrow your brows, caught off guard by the sudden, cold feeling of dread crawling up your spine– the wet stain on your shirt suddenly seeming ten times colder. You try your best to ignore all the feelings (no, let’s be honest, warnings) coursing through your mind– you had no reason to be worried, not about anything you weren’t normally worried about, anyways. At least, not to your knowledge.

Yu both stay like that for a good several seconds– him, nervous and staring at you, and you: staring right back. Eventually, despite dreading the thought of being the one to break the silence, you speak up.

“Oh, I–I never even told you my name–!” You give the other man a nervous laugh, mentally slapping yourself. God, rude much? You’re making some great first impressions, aren’t you? Though, to be fair, he hadn’t asked you for your name either, or told you his, but you typically opted for letting yourself be the one to take blame for things.

“It’s–”

“Oh, I know.”

You go silent again as he cuts you off, the both of you caught a little off guard. He fidgets nervously, dial clicking as he seems to realize how accidentally blunt he’d been.

“I–I mean it’s– it’s uhh… on the contract,” He quickly tries to back-track, holding the clipboard up, “I read it on the… uh… paper.”

You blink at him, not really sure how to respond. He lets out a strained laugh, deciding to just move on. “My name's Scott, I'm your manager.” You raise an eyebrow, leaning in an attempt to see past him.

Really? Didn’t the tag on the desk behind him say Steven–

“I'd love to chat more, employee, but I have, uhh… workto get back to. You can go try to find Dave, so he can, uh, give you a basic rundown of the place and what you’ll be doing here.” A small pause, before he lowers his voice, “please try not to die on your first day, it makes the company look bad.” It was too quiet- you hadn’t caught what he’d said. Though, you were also pretty busy keeping your excitement in check, so you weren’t sure you’d have registered it even if he had spoken at a normal volume. He clasps his hands together, and you get the hint– giving him a polite nod, before taking a step back towards the exit.

“Th–thank you,” You smile, stumbling rather ungracefully out of the office. Scott hesitates a little, before murmuring out a barely audible ‘You’re… uh… welcome…’, before promptly shutting the door. You jump a little at the suddenness, and the noise. He’d seemed a bit –no, quite– stressed, huh? I guess that’s a given, being the one running a place like this was probably pretty damn taxing (oh, you had no idea).

You turn around, so that you’re facing the sliver of the main dining room that you can see at the end of the hallway, and, despite your best efforts –and vain attempt at ignoring the metallic smell hanging in the hair–, you let out a ditzy giggle. Wow. You actually managed to secure a job. Congrats! That’s certainly an impressive feat, for you anyways. And it was one you were genuinely interested in!

You’re struggling to keep yourself from getting overwhelmed– adrenaline rushing through you as you drum your fingers against your thigh, the thought of cleaning the stain on your shirt currently nowhere near the forefront of your mind.

As you make your way down the hallway, wincing a little at the change in atmosphere –from the secluded hallway to the very colourful and loud dining room–, you replay your interaction with Scott over in your head, in case you’d missed anything while spacing out.

…What was it that he said had at the end, about dying?

You’d probably just misheard.

Stepping into the main room, you give it a once over as you try to spot your purple, now-coworker. You just couldn’t hide your excitement as your gaze flitted over the animatronics.

You needed to find Dave, so he could show you around.

In your lightheaded, dazed state, you fail to notice that you’ve caught the attention of Something else in the dining room. This isn’t going to end well for you, is it? Oh well. It’s far too late to back out now.