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#readerbot *shaking hands* moon: denial x100
bones-of-a-rabbit · 1 year
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He was tired of you being afraid of him. Even recently, when you hadn't immediately fled at the sight of him, you were stiff and tense- well, more tense than a staffbot could be- and wouldn't look him in the eyes.
It hurt more than he wanted to admit.
He couldn't get an answer out of anyone- Sun, the Glamrocks, even the human workers in the Pizzaplex.
It was driving him mad.
He liked you. More than he probably should. But you were so scared of him. And he didn't know why.
That brought him to now- hunting through logs and security feed for nearly four hours, combing through them, searching for clues as to what happened during the time they had been infected. There was next to nothing in his system, which was only more suspect. Obviously information had been there, but he was struggling to find how to bring it back. The data recovery in his processor wasn't working, so he had elected to go through the security offices one by one to see if there was any saved data there.
Aha.
Someone had forgotten to empty the trash on a monitor, revealing a concerning amount of footage and security logs from when the virus was at its strongest. He started scanning through the logs, pausing when he came upon a log simply titled 'Damaged Staffbot'. Opening it, he scanned the text.
'3:46 a.m. Damaged Staffbot found on the second floor of the Atrium near Roxy Raceway. Arm needs to be fully replaced, wires have been torn at the upper arm.'
He closed the log, suddenly feeling a sliver of dread worm its way into his circuits. Another log.
'2:09 a.m. Damaged staffbot found near Rockstar Row. Legs have been ripped off. Total replacement required.'
Another.
'3:46 a.m. Damaged staffbot found near Gator Golf. Hands have been crushed. Total replacement required.'
Another.
'3:54 a.m. Damaged staffbot found inside the basement of Fazbear Theater. Chest has multiple deep gashes, face has been ripped open.'
Another.
Another.
Another.
And then...
'5:57 a.m. Damaged staffbot found near front entrance. Bot has been almost completely dismantled. Major repairs required.'
Robots couldn't technically feel nauseous, but he felt like he was pretty damn close. His metal fingers threatened to crush the mouse in his grip as he stared at the screen.
It was you.
No other bot would be repaired without complaint so many times, no other had the discolored plating over part of your head that you did.
Now he knew where you got it from.
You were attacked.
Multiple times.
You were terrified of him.
He had to know who did this to you.
You already know.
He clicked on the feed of the day of the final log, hands trembling ever so slightly as he forwarded through the feed watching over the front entrance. He saw Freddy and a small child (how was there a child still in the Pizzaplex) running toward the door. Then he saw himself, not far behind, a manic grin on his face, locked on the child.
He swung lower on his cable, releasing and scuttling across the floor, reaching for the child-
Something slammed into him, HARD.
He watched in shock as his past self was sent tumbling, limbs entangled with something. His past self laid limply on the floor for a moment, and he watched as the person that stopped him staggered to their feet- and his pupils shrank in horror.
It was you. Even with the less than quality video feed, he could see the discoloration on your face where your metal patch was.
No.
His past self rose to his feet, gaze locked onto you.
No.
You took a step back.
No.
He lunged, and you were too slow to move. He rammed into your upper body, sending you down onto the floor hard. You didn't move as he loomed over you, grin sharp.
He grabbed your head, and pulled.
He shut off the computer.
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CONSUMING THIS LOVING THIS I LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS YOU HAVE NO IDEAAAA
ANON PLS I WOULD SACRIFICE MY FIRSTBORN TO U PLS KNOW I LOVE U
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