Bonnie would once have shuddered at the thought of breaking any of the rules. The strange gray area between servitude and free will that he and his friends were created with meant that he had the freedom to break the rules, but he lacked the completely true freedom to leave the Pizzaplex—less of a choice and more like an ultimatum.
That was years ago; back when he had something to lose—back when he was part of the band—back when he was adored by every child that went through those doors. Now? A humble, unappealing bowling alley mascot. His bread and butter went from charming future guitarists and adoring fans to dealing with crying children who broke the equipment and parents who got mad at him for their children’s missed shots. Where had the glory days gone? It was a sad sight.
Laying down across a row of plastic seats, Bonnie anxiously patted his soft stomach. It was against the rules—a showing of ‘bad conduct’ to any potential customers—but he knew well that no one was coming. What was even the point of putting an example for a non-existent audience?
He remembered when his friends were just metal plating—the bitter aftertaste of nostalgia making him scrunch up his face. Everyone but him seemed to like their new artificial organic bodies. Everyone rejoiced at the feeling of textile fur and even better feeling hugs, while he alone was suffering from the… unforeseen consequences of having an organic body. With a barely populated attraction to host that he was also forbidden from playing in when no one was around—something along 'branding' according to the higher-ups—the only thing he had left was to experiment with his recently acquired desires, and his body craved one of the most primal; food.
Pizza—soda—cotton candy—candy bars—and so much more; he consistently scarfed them down every time there was downtime at the bowling alley. His once fit and muscular body was now devoid of definition and soft. He cringed at the thought of being as rotund as the old animatronics of decades ago—probably even chunkier than most. His 80s-inspired singlet eventually stopped fitting. Not that it mattered, since his flashy outfit was phased out for a plain, boring maroon shirt and pants that would 'fit' more his new image as a friendly but humble bowling alley owner.
“Mgh, man…”
The hum of the bowling result screen hummed above him. The repeating set of five animations had gone completely unbearable to look at, but he was ordered to never turn them off. Everything in this accursed place carried his image, but it didn’t feel like something that was truly his own. He was just a shadow—an echo of a long-gone age. Five years seemed like nothing to normal people, but out of artificial beings like him born to perform, it was an eternity.
Suddenly, the entrance chime echoed through the alley. Bonnie sharply sat up straight, a glimmer of hope in his chest. Could it really be? Someone wanted to come play with him instead of—
“Helloooooo, BonBon!”
Instead of Monty.
The crocodile’s booming greeting pierced through the air. The dominant, bravado-filled pitch grated at Bonnie’s already thin patience. Everything about the gator felt like the equivalent of salt rubbing against a gaping, bleeding wound. His sole existence was one of theft—of stolen valor, the means of his heist given to him by the gods who were the higher-ups in the company.
Monty was everything he was not. While he was made to serve as a complement to Freddy—inspiring all children that attended their concerts and trying to instill values and kindness in them—Montgomery was loud and boisterous, a rival to Freddy in all sense of the words down to their very animatronic core. His utter dismissal of anything remotely orderly was met by the populace with—in Bonnie’s opinion—unwarranted praise and adoration. Everyone fawned over his rebellious attitude, sales flowing to the point that it only took a few months after his introduction for him to take over the bunny's role in the band.
“Ugh… What do you wa—“
“What do I want? Come on, Bonman! I thought that you already knew! I wanna make sure that my understudy is doing well. I hope that you're not getting too comfortable working the bowling alley. Who knows when you're going to need to phone in for me?" The gator forcefully wrapped his arm around him, pulling him closer—the sides of their heads rubbing. "I mean, the idea sounds ludicrous since I’m pulling in all the customers to my golfing course and I have top security, but you never know. Never hurts to have a little backup… and it’s not like you’d be busy either, right?”

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Bonnie's dejected. Once part of the main band, he's been demoted to a mere bowling alley mascot while Montgomery hogs all the glory that used to belong to him. He thinks that it's the end, but a new product in combination with an upgrade to the animatronics gives Bonnie an opening to worm his way back into the band...

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This story was a collaboration between me and my friend cyber123 who is a very talented writer. Please check out his gallery and consider supporting him on Patreon.

Read the full story here

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