Clocking in before opening the next morning, Mike greeted the crew prepping the dining room and pitched in to finish up last-minute preparations. It didn't take long.
Then the doors opened, and within an hour the place was full of families at the tables, kids bolting for the stage, the arcade already loud. Sometime after noon, a family of four claimed a prime table right in front of the main stage. It didn't take a detective to figure out whose birthday it was. A little girl, maybe seven or eight, sat practically vibrating in her chair, wearing a sparkling plastic tiara and a bright pink princess dress while beaming up at Freddy. Next to her sat her older sister. Slouched with her arms tightly crossed over a dark hoodie, the teenager looked like she'd rather swallow glass than spend another minute in the building.
A busser named Lena passed Mike with a bin full of dirty plates. She paused, glancing toward the arcade. "Hey, Mike? Some kid just threw up by the arcade machines. I've got three tables waiting to be cleared. Can you deal with it?"
"Sure."
Mike grabbed the mop and bucket from the supply closet. By the time he reached the arcade, a few kids were circling the mess, pointing and laughing until he shooed them off and got to work.
A sudden shout came from the front tables. A woman who sounded angry and embarrassed said, "Don't yell at your sister!"
A younger voice shot back, just as loud, "She's not my sister!"
Mike paused, leaning against the mop handle, and looked toward the front tables.
Some nearby parents and kids had twisted in their seats to watch. The mother looked mortified, her face flushed. The father had scooped the crying birthday girl onto his lap.
Mike turned back to the arcade. Family drama wasn't in his job description. He'd seen enough of that on TV.
Mike finished cleaning up and set out the wet floor sign. It wouldn't stop some kid from ignoring it and slipping anyway, but he still had to follow standard procedure. Mike wheeled the mop bucket back to the janitor closet. He leaned the mop against the wall. His phone buzzed, and he pulled it out.
Lolbit: So how's my favorite buddy doing?
Mike typed out a reply, his thumb flicking rapidly across the screen.
Mike: Nothing interesting. Why?
A three-dot typing indicator fluttered on his screen before being immediately replaced by a grainy, six-second video. Mike tapped play.
It was security footage from a camera in the main dining room recorded less than five minutes ago. The video showed the birthday girl offering her sister a slice. The older girl shoved it away, and the pizza smeared sauce across her face, landed on her chest, and slid down her jeans. Strands of her hair were streaked with red.
Lolbit: Form: 4/10. Execution: 9/10. Drama value: off the charts.
Lolbit: I'm saving this forever. Bonnet is watching it on repeat.
Mike: Wait—you're telling me you've had access to the security cameras this entire time?
Lolbit: Compared to that bunker, the security system here was clearly designed by amateurs.
Mike: Who's going to tell you the same guy had a hand in designing the security for both places?
Mike: So how exactly are Bonnet and Yenndo doing?
Lolbit: They were just outside earlier, wandering around the house. One of many reasons I want a physical body so I could do those things. I'd start small by walking to the mailbox, then to the store. Then even bigger. Trip a kid at the park and run away.
Mike: Lolbit, how am I going to explain to them when you inevitably end up in prison?
Lolbit: It can't possibly be that bad.
Mike: I've spent enough time in here. I'm going back to work.
Lolbit: Well, good luck.
Mike pocketed his phone and left the janitor closet. Back in the main party area, the stage show was in full swing. He grabbed a trash bag and started clearing tables near the party area. Mike was helping out by cleaning up the waiting area when he overheard Nancy call out to Dominic to meet her in the kitchen; however, he seemed to be busy getting along with the girl. Mike turned away and headed back toward the dining room. As he did, he nearly collided with a kid who'd come running out of nowhere. The kid stumbled, dropped his drink, and splattered soda across Mike's shirt.
"Easy." Mike stepped back from the mess.
"Sorry, mister!" the kid gasped before sprinting off.
Mike headed to the back to grab a clean uniform from the staff lockers. He took it into the men's bathroom. A couple of people were by the sink or in the stalls. Mike found an empty stall and locked the door.
Before changing, he glanced at the unflushed toilet with a tired sigh. The previous person hadn't flushed. Their shit was still there. Mike quickly changed, pressed the handle, and went to the sink to wash his hands.
On his way back to put the dirty uniform away, he heard the band doing a sing-along with the kids. The loudest voice wasn't the animatronics on stage or the kids. It was Dominic.
Mike made his way back to the main party area yet again. The sing-along had finally finished. The announcer called the birthday girl up to the stage to blow out her candles—Ophelia, as the bright pink icing on her cake read in sloppy cursive. Blowing out candles seemed to be too much for her, so the animatronics helped out. Strange, quirky design choice—unless there was somebody inside the suit doing it themselves. Everybody clapped and cheered. The announcer cut the cake and handed it out. While everyone ate, the animatronics went back to performing.
"Now for the grand finale of today's festivities, may we have the birthday girl back onstage, please!"
That was Ophelia's cue. She scrambled back up.
"And now for the pièce de résistance," the announcer declared. "Lower away!"
While the animatronics played music, Mike noticed something open up above the stage and something being lowered: a human-shaped candy statue of a girl. It looked like it was moving in a constant motion, or someone was just up there making it look like it was dancing. It was difficult to tell from all the way back.
"Kids, for your eating enjoyment, we present to you the birthday gummy!"
The announcer explained they'd start from the toes and work their way up. Since Ophelia was the birthday girl, she got the last bite—the nose. The announcer gave the signal, and the kids descended like starving hyenas. They tore into the candy figure, working upward until they reached the head. The announcer stopped them, took the nose, and handed it to Ophelia, who looked sick from eating all that candy. The nose was wrapped up and given to her to eat later.
Around six p.m., the birthday family finally filed out. As the front doors swung shut behind them, Mike went back to work.
Starting with the main party table, Mike stacked dirty plates, swept squashed candy off the floor, and wiped down the laminate surface for the evening crowd. For the rest of his shift, he floated between the floor and arcade, refilling napkin dispensers, unjamming a token slot for a toddler, and mopping up spilled soda near the prize counter.
The place was closed to the public now, and by late night, the building had gone completely quiet. Most of the evening staff had finished wrapping up and left. Mike was putting away his remaining gear near the arcade, checking his watch—it was 11:35 PM—when he heard quiet voices near the front entrance.
Stepping deeper into the prize counter shadows, Mike watched a teenage girl walk in alongside Dominic, her head bowed low with her hair falling forward to hide her face. She kept her arms tightly crossed over her chest, hands clutching her own shoulders in an effort to cover herself as much as possible. Even in the dim light, the skin along her bare forearms, neck, and jawline looked unnaturally smooth and glossy, like hardened syrup.
Curious about what Dominic was pulling this late—and why a teenager who looked like she was breaking out in some bizarre, translucent rash was meeting him in an empty pizzeria—Mike kept his steps silent against the carpet and followed them down the dark hallway.