𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊 '𝐍 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕨𝕠

You raised your arms above your head in a plea for mercy, inching backward until your back was pressed flat against the wall. The guttural snarl grew louder and a massive figure emerged from the corner of the room.

Monty's glowing red eyes made the points of his star-shaped glasses look jagged like the blades of daggers. Whatever mood he had been in earlier obviously hadn't passed.

"You're not scaring anyone," you nervously lied through your teeth. He was so close now that you could have reached out and touched him without fully extending your arm. Monty didn't say a word, only letting out a loud huff through his nostrils. His steamy breath fanned the skin of your face, pleasantly warm and smelling strongly of fog machine fluid and...weed.

"Not even a little bit?" He chuckled, dropping the predator act with a snicker. You didn't even need the lights on to know that he had the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. Still, he didn't immediately back off like you expected him to. "Whatcha doing up there, babycakes?"

Programmed to speak six different languages and he still comes up with the worst pet names for you.

Monty cocked his head to the side impatiently and you realized with a start that you'd been staring. "I...uh." Even bent over he was still more than a head taller than you. He'd always liked watching you squirm, but maybe that was just the predator in him. "Maintenance," was the lie you came up with after a handful of seconds.

"Maintenance..." He repeated it slowly and you were scared that he wouldn't believe you. "What do they got my roller-bunny doing maintenance for?"

Roller-bunny. Every day you cursed the child who innocently called you that during one of Monty's meet and greet sessions. You know, before he decided to stop showing up to them altogether. It was the only time you ever wished death upon a five-year-old.

Because now every single human and non-human employee in the entire Plex called you that in passing. Except maybe Freddy. He only ever called you one thing and it wasn't even your name.

"We're short-staffed," you supplied. At least this wasn't entirely a lie. "And the wet floor signs don't fit in there, ya know?"

Monty hummed, but it sounded more like he was baring his teeth down at you. Maybe you were right after all and he still wasn't feeling good. Maybe he was finally going to attack you like everyone already predicted should have happened months ago. 

You were just about the only employee that didn't have some form of physical proof that they worked with the band. Whether it be a scar or a broken bone that never healed properly. That anyone knew of, anyway.

You were still disoriented from the fall and the total darkness wasn't helping in the slightest. Otherwise, you would have thought to move before his jaws brushed against your throat and made you freeze in place.

For a handful of seconds, but what felt like eons, neither of you moved. You felt one of his hands flex beside your head where he was leaning against the wall and then all of a sudden you were blinded by the overhead lights of the dressing room flickering to life.

You might as well have shone a flashlight directly in your eyes.

"Ow."

There was a good reason that guests weren't allowed to enter Monty's dressing room. Or if they were, you doubted that anyone who worked here realized just how destroyed it was on the inside.

"Monty...what the-"

"Like it? Decorated myself."

When you finally blinked back your irritated tears, Monty was standing beside you with his hands on his hips. He was proud of his little mess—the stacked pizza boxes, slashed walls, and broken furniture.