𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊 '𝐍 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕨𝕖𝕝𝕧𝕖

Monty stalked closer, jowls dripping with artificial saliva—a toxic slew of grease and motor oil that stained the floor with every step he took. His claws were outstretched to scoop you up in case you tried to run past him, which wasn't really possible anyway because he was just about as wide as the catwalk and you'd already slumped to the ground in an embarrassing show of defeat.

"Finally got you, bunny," he seethed, steam pouring from his flared nostrils. The ears of your headset twitched at the nickname and you scowled at their responsiveness. Monty's eyes were glowing brighter than you'd ever seen them—tiny red pupils locked onto your trembling frame. For a handful of seconds, all he did was stare down at you, heavy breaths rattling through his mechanical lungs. It almost seemed like he hadn't planned to get this far.

"She'll let me keep you if you're good," was what Monty finally settled on, snout jutting toward the glowing exit signs below. Vanessa. He was talking about Vanessa and there was no doubt about it now.

"You...You can't keep me, Monty." Your own voice was betraying you, turning your demand into a weak plea for your life. You weren't afraid of Monty in any capacity, but you weren't half as confident in the strange force that was holding him hostage. As far as you were concerned, the animatronic in front of you now was completely different from the one you had been working with every day for the past few weeks. That had everything to do with Vanessa and absolutely nothing to do with you, despite how hellbent he seemed on making you pay for it.

Your attempt to reason with him went unrecognized. Monty really didn't like the sound of refusal, but you already knew that. "Sure I can," he rumbled, swiftly closing in on you. You scrambled to your feet just as the catwalk shifted and he steadied you with a hand on either hip right before you could go sailing over the handrail. What a gentleman.

Even under all of that rockstar bravado, you knew Monty couldn't hurt you. This wasn't even the first time the both of you had a standoff like this in the rafters above his golf course, but you could get into that later. Nostrils inches away from your face, he bellowed. "The bear's ripped to shit and I'm running the show from now on. I'll be the star and you'll be my little groupie. Right, baby?"

You frowned, coughing away the heavy steam that poured across your face as he pinched your cheek between two massive steel claws. You opened your mouth to argue when a loud, sharp beep sounded directly in your ear. You pressed a palm flat against the side of your head in a vain attempt to quiet it, but Monty's glowing pupils had already turned to slits at the sound of Freddy's voice feeding through your headpiece.

"Little Helper! Can you hear me? Are you alright?"

Before you could conjure a response, Monty ripped the headset clean from your ear and tossed it over his shoulder where both of you watched silently as it landed in the center of one of the many ponds that deckled the putting green below. You heard a soft fizzle as the radio short-circuited and promptly sank into the murky knee-deep water, lost forever amongst a dozen or so neon golf balls.

"Don't need those anymore," Monty chuckled over your shoulder. You couldn't break your stare, unsure if the thundering in your chest was your heart or the bass from the overhead speakers that were still spewing out high-pitched 80s guitar riffs. You could say goodbye to the random helpful quips from Freddy. And, you know, the instructions you needed to survive. 

Those headsets cost three paychecks at the very least to replace and if there was one thing you could prioritize over your own life, it was money. "Are you kidding?" you roared, eyes narrowed as you whipped your head around to glare up at the alligator who was pinning your arms to your sides. He almost seemed to shrink at the sternness in your voice. "They'll make me pay for that, dude! So not cool."