The silence inside the security office felt heavy—dense with unspoken thoughts and unfamiliar emotions. The hum of distant machinery vibrated softly through the metal walls, barely noticeable beneath the weight of it all.
Billy sat at the desk, unmoving, his glowing green pupils now faintly edged with red. After a long pause, he raised his hands to his face—slowly, deliberately—covering his eyes as if trying to shut out everything. But after a brief moment, he lowered them again and stared down at his metallic fingers. His hands flexed once… twice… then stilled.
Across from him, Marie remained seated atop the edge of the desk. Her posture was unchanged—legs crossed at the knee, back straight, hands resting gently in her lap. She didn't speak. She watched. Patient. Calculating, but not cold.
Finally, Billy exhaled quietly and stood. The glow in his pupils flickered, dimmed. He pressed his hands against the desk as he rose, then turned his gaze downward—somewhere between shame and fatigue clouding his voice.
Billy:
"...I'm sorry, Marie. I truly am... But I can't. I'm not sure I'll ever fully understand how you all work—or why you're built this way. But this… this isn't something I can accept."
He looked down at his open hands again.
Billy:"
This isn't just about who I am, or what I do... It's about what I'm made of. I can't bring myself to hurt others for the sake of pleasure. That's not joy to me. It's something... wrong. When I've caused pain before, it was never out of desire—it was because it was necessary. And I never enjoyed it."
His voice wasn't angry. It wasn't bitter. Just quiet—and tired.
Then came the faint sound of soft footsteps down the hall.
Bonfie appeared in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the dim hallway light. Her ears perked up slightly, but her usual bounce was gone. She wore her clothes again, though they hung on her frame a little less confidently than before. She lingered at the threshold, uncertain.
Billy heard her, but didn't turn. His shoulders sank slightly as he sighed and turned his head away, clearly not upset by her presence—but not engaging either.
Marie finally stood, moving with grace rather than tension. She didn't move toward him, only shifted to stand across from him again—eye level, but giving him the space he clearly needed.
Marie (gently):
"You don't need to accept everything, Billy. That's never been the goal."
She paused, then added with measured clarity:
Marie:
"You came seeking understanding—not conformity."
Billy remained quiet. The subtle twitch of his fingers betrayed that he was still listening, still thinking.
Marie:
"Refusing to cause pain doesn't make you broken. It makes you aware. Aware of the lines others ignore. That… is rare. Even in humans."
Bonfie shifted awkwardly in the doorway. She stepped inside just enough for her voice to carry more clearly, her tone uncharacteristically subdued.
Bonfie:
"...I didn't mean to upset you, y'know… I just thought maybe you'd loosen up a little. Have some fun. I guess I went too far."
Her voice trailed off as her ears lowered, tail giving a slow, uneasy flick.
Still facing Billy, Marie didn't glance back. Her voice remained calm, but firm.
Marie:
"You are not required to become like us. But if you're going to exist among us… you'll need to see us as we are. Without fear. Without judgment."
She gestured slightly toward the open door—an unspoken invitation to leave, if he wished. Not pushing. Not forcing. Just… allowing.
Bonfie lingered, eyes downcast for a moment. Then she looked up again and gave the faintest smile—not her usual grin, but something smaller. Softer.
Bonfie:
"...You're still shiny to me. Even if you don't get it."
She meant it this time. No teasing. No flirt. Just honesty.
And with that, the silence settled again—this time, not heavy… but contemplative.
The silence in the security office lingered like a held breath.
Billy hesitated for a moment longer before exhaling quietly. He pulled his hand away from the desk's surface, straightening himself. Marie remained seated atop the desk, her posture untouched—still poised, observant. Bonfie, now fully dressed again, stood at the edge of the left doorway, half-shadowed, hesitant.
Billy (quietly, firmly):
"Alright... I can do that. I'll try. But no more strange situations with me. No games that revolve around hurting anyone—for any reason tied to joy or pleasure. That's not something I'll accept."
His voice was calm, but it held a harder edge now—a boundary being drawn.
Then, with sudden, precise movement, Billy turned around to face them both. His blue pupils glowed vividly, the sharp outline of red flickering to life around them.
Marie narrowed her gaze, intrigued by the change in his pupils.
Bonfie blinked. Her breath caught in her throat as her instincts urged her to bounce toward him again—something wild in her system begged for it—but she stopped herself. Something about him was... different now. He hadn't moved toward her yet, and she already felt that same pressure from earlier—his weight, his strength—without even being touched.
Billy (quietly):
"I was sent here with a purpose... not to become—"
His eyes locked onto Bonfie.
She froze.
She could feel it. Not his hand, not his voice, but him. His presence. That impossible strength from earlier, the effortless way he had lifted her like she weighed nothing—it returned in full force, now only with his gaze. It pressed into her skin. Her excitement spiked uncontrollably, but so did a strange tension in her chest. The sensation wasn't playful anymore. It was grounding. Unshakable.
Billy (flatly):
"—whatever it is you expected me to be."
His steps were deliberate as he walked toward her.
Marie's golden eyes followed him with slow precision. She didn't move from the desk, but her interest piqued. Something was shifting—not just in him, but in the energy around him.
Bonfie swallowed hard. Her knees trembled. Her tail twitched behind her wildly. The pressure of Billy's presence intensified with each step he took toward her, and yet she couldn't bounce, couldn't move. Even the part of her that usually ached for stimulation couldn't override the sheer force of him.
Billy came to a stop directly in front of her.
Then—slowly—he lifted his right arm. Bonfie braced instinctively, her breath held. But Billy didn't strike.
Instead, his hand curled into a tight fist.
Muscles formed beneath the synthetic structure of his arm—flexing visibly. His arm thickened, as if internal systems shifted and compressed with mechanical precision. It was unnatural. Impossible. No animatronic had ever done that.
Not like this.
Billy stood tall, rigid in posture, his right arm bent into a powerful V-shape. His fingers remained clenched into a hard, controlled fist—right in front of her.
Billy (cold, steady):
"I was given orders. I was given time. I was granted more leeway than anyone like me should've received. And I wasn't prepared for what this place was. But I was trusted with this location."
His voice carried—unshaken, mechanical, but… layered. A subtle depth hidden beneath his controlled cadence.
Billy:
"This place isn't just unprepared for Fazbear Entertainment's arrival… It's unprepared for what it could truly be. The potential here is more than lights and music. You're not even scratching the surface."
Marie tilted her head ever so slightly.
There was something in that tone. Something not quite Billy. Like something within him had momentarily stepped forward—something deeper.
And then, Billy reached up.
Bonfie's breath hitched. She flinched—ready for anything—but not this.
Billy's large hand rested gently against her left cheek. His fingers, rough and hard, moved softly—cautiously—stroking her fur with a surprising gentleness. Bonfie flushed instantly, the blush lighting up her entire face as her tail flicked and her legs buckled beneath her.
But then… his grip shifted.
In an instant, his fingers tensed, his hand closing into a solid grip against her cheek—not painful, but undeniably firm. And with a quick, fluid motion, he lifted her from the floor again, holding her aloft with ease.
He brought her closer to him—so close her chest was pressed lightly to his—and leaned in, whispering into her left ear.
His voice trembled.
Not with fear. With something else.
Billy (soft, shaking, cold):
"I'm lonely... I'm so lonely."
The words pierced through the air like broken glass.
Billy:
"Everyone fears me. The adults at Fredbear's PizzaWorld... They all look away. They smile at my performances and thank me for the parties… but they avoid me when the lights go down."
He exhaled shakily, his voice beginning to falter.
Billy:
"Even Michael. Even Henry. The only ones who know what I really am… and they still push me aside. I became Billy on December 6th, 1988. That was the day I was given my role. My name. But it wasn't mine. It was just another assignment."
Bonfie was frozen—no longer squirming, no longer grinning.
Billy:
"I don't remember who I used to be. Not my name. Not my life. Sometimes I feel like I want to cry—but I can't. I can't cry. I don't even have that function anymore. So I shut down. I skip the night. I wake up again and do the same thing… over and over."
He paused.
Billy:
"I exist to entertain. To serve. To clean. To cook. To sing. To dance. But not to feel. Not to matter."
Then, just as quickly, he released her.
Bonfie dropped to the ground with a soft thud. Her legs wobbled beneath her, barely keeping her upright. Her face flushed, her breathing uneven, her tail twitching like a broken metronome. She didn't say a word. She couldn't.
Billy stepped past her.
Marie didn't move, her eyes following him as he walked out through the hall.
No destination. No map. Just a desire to see—to know the place he had been assigned to protect. Not through monitors. Not through duty. But through presence.
And as Billy's silhouette disappeared into the shadows of the hallway, Bonfie still stood frozen in place, shaken—but not afraid.
Just overwhelmed.
Marie remained quiet on the desk, her golden eyes thoughtful as she alternated her gaze between where Billy had gone… and the trembling girl in the doorway.