Billy's footsteps echoed heavily through the dim corridor, the soft hum of the nightclub fading behind him. Neon light spilled in ripples from the Main Room, but as he walked deeper, that glow was swallowed by shadows.
This was his first time truly seeing the nightclub—not from camera feeds or passing glances, but walking it, feeling it. It was far larger than he'd anticipated.
Past the main stage and velvet lounge, where tables glimmered under soft pink lighting and drinks sparkled with unnatural hues, a network of halls led to parts of the building Billy had never cataloged—hidden wings of the nightclub, each with a specific atmosphere.
He first passed the Glow Lounge.
Bathed in blacklight and deep purples, this room pulsed like a dream. Transparent loungers lined the edges, their cushions glowing faintly. LED strips along the ceiling rippled with slow waves of cyan and rose. Soft house music throbbed through hidden speakers. It wasn't a place for chaos—this was where guests floated, between performances, caught in the calm between the storms.
Next, the Chroma Room.
This one buzzed with energy. Motion-reactive light walls shifted with every step, casting technicolor shapes across dancers and animatronics alike. The floor responded to pressure—each footstep pulsed with color. Holograms danced in sync with pulsing basslines. It was chaos with rhythm. Raw expression. Movement with no script.
Then came Studio Red.
Behind two soundproof doors, the air turned heavy. This space was moody—intimate. A red spotlight rotated slowly over a chrome pole in the center. Velvet curtains framed low platforms, some with speakers, others with mounted cameras. This was a performance room—part rehearsal stage, part private show venue. Here, things weren't improvised—they were practiced. And not just for the regular crowd.
Further down was the Backstage Dressing Quarters.
Cracked mirrors surrounded with warm bulbs lined the walls. Racks of outfits—some glittering, some torn—were shoved against lockers and crates. Makeup kits, wigs, props, heels, and perfume littered the space. The air was thick with powder and lingering scent. This wasn't curated. It was lived-in. Real. This was their space.
And then came the Maintenance Tunnels.
Long. Cold. Industrial. Wiring snaked along open panels, flickering lights revealed old shelving filled with worn-down suits, spare limbs, and discarded tech. One cracked mask sat high on a shelf—its eyes empty, its mouth slightly parted. Billy stopped, staring. It looked almost... familiar.
Back in the Guard's Office, Bonfie was trembling with energy.
She stood next to Marie, shoulders tight, tail flicking like a wound spring. Her excitement boiled just under the surface, but this time, she didn't bounce. She held it.
Marie, graceful as ever, stepped down from the desk and gave Bonfie a quiet glance paired with a knowing smile.
Bonfie immediately dove into her arms, face buried in Marie's chest, like a shaken child finding shelter. Marie giggled, brushing down her ears with gentle fingers.
Marie (softly):
"Now, now. Let it all out. Just… maybe not like that again."
Bonfie mumbled something into her chest—half flustered, half dazed.
Marie just smiled.
Together, they returned to the Main Room, where the others had gathered in the front lounge, the velvet couches aligned before the dimmed stage. Soft mist drifted across the floor, curling around the legs of furniture and animatronics alike.
Frenni lounged like a queen, one leg draped over the other, her smirk as bright as the neon over the bar.
Fexa stood behind that bar, glass in hand, wiping with no real focus—her eyes locked on the hallway Billy had vanished down.
Chiku perched on a barstool, arms folded, expression flat but focused.
Golden Frenni lingered half in shadow, arms wrapped tight across her chest, golden eyes fixed on Bonfie as she and Marie re-entered the room.
Frenni leaned forward, grinning wide.
Frenni:
"Well, well~. Look who's alive. Was it everything you dreamed of, Bonfie?"
Bonfie paused. Her steps slowed. Her ears drooped slightly. For once, she wasn't bouncing or teasing.
Her voice came quieter than anyone had heard before.
Bonfie:
"No… He wasn't what I expected at all."
Fexa cocked an eyebrow, drying glass forgotten.
Fexa:
"You didn't break him, did you?"
Bonfie shook her head, slowly.
Bonfie:
"He didn't want it. The teasing. The touch. Not even the fun. He didn't get why we do what we do."
Chiku's expression darkened slightly.
Chiku:
"Hmph. Sounds like he's more machine than man."
But from the edge of the curtains, Golden Frenni spoke softly—her voice glitching, almost a whisper.
Golden Frenni:
"Ør… m@yb3… h3's tøø mùch man…"
The words hung in the air. The girls fell silent for a moment, eyes turning toward her.
Marie took her place again, this time near the edge of the stage, her hands folded behind her back.
Marie:
"He's different. But not in the way we thought."
Fexa finally tossed the cloth down and stepped out from behind the bar.
Fexa:
"So what now? We just let him mope around like some haunted janitor?"
Frenni chuckled, her tail swishing.
Frenni:
"Oh no, no~. I like this. I like a mystery. And if shiny's not gonna play our game…"
She leaned in, eyes glittering with mischief.
Frenni:
"Then maybe it's our turn to play his."