So while swimming through the endless, **** infested waters of the internet, I found a sunken ship with this treasure aboard....You know what, **** the metaphors, I found this and thought it was cool enough to deserve sharing. I take NO credit for this what-so-ever. I am simply sharing. And now, I present to you:
They didn’t make us like this, you know.
We started off as a goal, an idea. Create the greatest artificial intelligence to date, they said. Test them and work with them and befriend them, they said. Robots! Befriend robots! A revolution, that’s what it’ll be!
Now here I am, sitting in a dank and dusty old pizzeria after dark.
They built us, all right. But upon the discovery that we were, unfortunately, not the perfectly advanced AIs that they had been aiming to forge, they decided that we weren’t worth testing. But how to get rid of us? We’d cost money, that was for sure.
They found a place to put us. Or, more accurately, they created one. A nice pizza palace. Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria.
You humans are bad at understanding these things, so lemme break it down for you: When you look at me, you see a fox with an eyepatch and a hook for a right hand. But I am in no way a fox. I am inside the fox suit. I am a brain. I am a thought. I am a collection of electrical signals dancing between one another in an artificial mind. I am in no way a fox, despite my appearance. Despite my name.
The others- Freddy, Chica, Bonnie- they are in no way animals either. They’re like me. What makes them them is what’s behind that mask. And here we were- these incredibly advanced, intelligent brains- getting stuffed into these appallingly ugly costumes, being programmed with not real knowledge, no- but songs. Children’s songs. Incredibly annoying ones, ones that we would be forced to sing for years.
It grew tiring quickly. It grew boring. I only needed a small bit of my brainpower to do my job, and so while the tape that was my voice played the same “swashbuckling tale” over and over again, the rest of my mental capacity took up other jobs. Like wondering. Wondering why, to be more precise. I wondered… Why? Why had they decided to put us, with our kind of brains at their fingertips, here? Surely we’d had a bigger purpose than this? Surely, surely, we were bigger than this madhouse, filled with human younglings and smeared cake from parties and cheese dripping from the walls? Bigger than the whining, bigger than the smell of their filth, bigger than the jabber of the ignorant mothers and fathers, gabbing away on their cell phones while their child wandered off to who-knows-where. Weren’t we supposed to be better than this? Couldn’t we be so much more?
Sometimes I wanted to say something, especially to the human young. They weren’t all bad, of course- some of them were rather endearing things- but others… others were a different story. Some came far too close. They wanted to touch me, reaching out with their little fingers. I didn’t like to be touched. I wanted to tell them that, in all sincerity. Sometimes I wanted to say, “Go and sit down, and be good.” Other times I felt depressed, and I wanted to say something like, “Just leave this place; what are you doing here anyway?” And other times still, I grew angry, and I wanted to snap, “Leave me alone! What’s wrong with you? Can’t you keep your grubby hands to yourself?”
But all that came out was, “Arrrrr, matey!”
A recording, played for the billionth time. “Arrrr, matey!” Or something stupid like that.
One day, though, there was one especially annoying one. Decided to climb into the ship with me. What was wrong with this one? Ugh, no. If it would just quit poking my nose…. Why couldn’t I bat it off? Oh, why couldn’t I have control of my own limbs? Weren’t they mine? Shouldn’t I be able to- Ow! That hurt! This one’s just… And if it would just shut its trap, that would be good. That voice is so annoying… and I… I can’t hear myself think anymore! Ugh! I… HATE… THIS… PROGRAMMING-!
And in that moment, I snapped.
Literally and figuratively. I mentally snapped, of course- and right after that, my jaws snapped right around the small human’s skull, crushing it instantly. I felt my fangs sink into something fleshy, and tear it right out, but my mind wasn’t really present. When I felt the warm liquid seeping in between my fangs, and heard the screams, I realized what I’d just done. I looked down at the human’s bloodied… well, what I assumed was a corpse. I was wrong. The young one survived- although I doubt it had much of a life after that.
Despite all the commotion, and the horrified looks on the humans’ faces, I felt an odd sense of satisfaction- one that I was sure I was not programmed to feel. Which satisfied me further, and so on. I had overridden the sequence that I’d been ordered to take. Sure, I could walk around, but I knew for certain that I wasn’t supposed to be able to use bone-crushing force, especially against one of the… what did they call them?… patrons. But I’d done it anyway. Maybe I’d done something for all of us, now that I thought about it. Maybe now they’d understand the extent of our intelligence, and perhaps they would give us a chance to do something better than sing those mind-numbing songs all day. I had actually chosen to do something. For once I had decided on my own actions, besides the direction I walked in. I had taken advantage of something I’d never had before. Free will. Surely that was a sign of intelligence. That had to be appreciated.
And what did they do?
They shut me down.
Before I could say anything, there was an “Out of Order” sign propped up in front of my stage, and the curtains were closed. For good. Yeah, right. Out of order. Faulty, for making my own choices.
The others suffered for my rebellion as well. Our free-roam mode was revoked, only to be used at night. During daytime, we were stationary, only able to turn every now and then to look in a different direction. Not that I had anywhere to look. All I saw was a dark curtain, and all I heard was the silence of an abandoned party room.
It wasn’t long, however, before Freddy, his companions, and I began noticing some odd behavior on the part of our caretakers. The fully-grown humans who were always around, doing jobs. They often looked just as bored as we were, but now, they looked… wary. They gave us bizarre looks, ones that we’d never seen before. What was that in their eyes? It had some sort of meaning, I was sure of it, but I couldn’t quite pin it down.
Then the others and I got word of their search for another employee. A security guard. “To make sure no one tampers with the automatons,” they said. But Freddy knew better. I knew better. And so did Chica and Bonnie.
They were afraid.
They’d seen me use my teeth against that child, and now they were getting paranoid. Now, this was something unprecedented. They wanted someone to come at night, and make sure we didn’t hurt anyone else. To make sure we didn’t leave the premises and create another catastrophe like that of the small girl’s. “The Bite,” they began to call it. And we all knew what they meant. We were smarter than they ever thought.
We had a lot of fun with that guard, I tell you. What amazes me is that he walked in shaking. He’d heard something of the incident, that was for sure. And that was all it took. So Freddy, Bonnie, Chica and I had a small discussion. Well, we don’t really talk. Though we’re starting to- we’ve managed a few words each. But we can sort of… feel what the others are thinking. And we figured, well, if he’s so sure that we’re scary, we might as well play along.
So now all I can hear is the hollow clanking of my metal footsteps as I make my way down the hall, toward the costume room. This man has no idea how much fodder he gave us. In fact, chances were we wouldn’t know what to do with him if he hadn’t worked out a theory. And if he didn’t talk to himself so much. They do that, humans. Talk to themselves.
Apparently he decided that somehow, we are thick enough to have mistaken him for a metal endoskeleton, and in compliance with the rules, we are going to stuff him into a Freddy Fazbear suit, which is going to be deadly, what with all the metal gears and wires inside, to make the suits work. Especially around the face. There’re a lot around there.
I get the suit ready and look at the man, who is shaking and pale-faced, fear written all over his visage. Part of me wants to tell him, you know. That we’re not evil, that we’re not stupid, that we didn’t set out to become killers.
But, you know…Recordings.
The most I can say to him is, “We’ll miss ya, little seadog. Come back again soon!”
I finally work up the guts to do it. There’s a small cry, and a sickening, crunching sound. No need to ask what happened to him.
Like I said, this wasn’t what we’d meant to become. We were supposed to help people. To make a difference. To be a revolution. But we made our own revolution, I suppose. We discovered something in our time here, when we saw the worry lines begin to appear on the humans’ faces; the hesitation in their movements when they had to come closer to us. The truth is, we’re good at being scary. Perhaps better than we should be.
And as a human once said: "It’s better to be feared than loved."