Chapter Text
From: Fazbear Ent. June 14, 20XX, 8:11 PM
Subject: Order of SSDC-945923-684157
Thank you for shopping with us. Your recent transaction on the Official Fazbear Entertainment website is now available for redemption. Please present the barcode included in this email to a S.T.A.F.F. Bot at the main entrance to redeem it within 30 days of purchase.
If you are a new patron of the Superstar Daycare Service, we recommend that you arrive at 6 AM sharp with your child to register as an authorized guardian, fill out paperwork, and sign legal waivers. The Daycare hours are the following:
Monday: 7 AM - 5 PM
Tuesday: 7 AM - 5 PM
Wednesday: 7 AM - 5 PM
Thursday: 7 AM - 5 PM
Friday: 7 AM - 5 PM
Saturday: 7 AM - 5 PM
Sunday: 7 AM - 5 PM
Order Details:
Order #SSDC-945923-684157
Superstar Daycare VIP Pass | 1 Child | 1 Week
Standard Adult Pass | 1 Adult | 1 Week
Total Before Tax: $695.98
Tax Collected: $45.24
Grand Total: $741.22
This email message will serve as your receipt. Not eligible for refunds and/or returns. All purchases are final.
Cheers,
Fazbear Entertainment
If you had a list of places you didn't want to be at 5:45 a.m. on an early Sunday morning, the "Freddy Fazbear Mega Pizzaplex" would be sitting at second place, just below "dead".
You rested your chin on your steering wheel and listlessly shifted your eye from your phone screen to stare at the complex's neon lights that were flashier than a strip club in Vegas, and for what was likely the hundredth time, you cursed the powers that be for making you come here before the sun was even up. The place had successfully burned a hole in your peace of mind and pocket at the same time, and you were damned lucky that you had the foresight to save up some emergency funds for instances just like this one—though said funds were dwindling faster than you cared to admit. You wouldn't even be here if you had other options: but no, the other daycares were either at max capacity and had been for months despite your best efforts to enroll ahead of time, or their prices were double or even triple that of the franchise's.
The website was nauseating. The prices were exploitative. The email was sketchy. The photos of the talking chicken with lipstick gave you the heebie-jeebies.
But you were desperate.
A near-silent noise of disgust escaped you and you tossed your phone into your purse to pull an eye patch out of its depths. You hooked your chin on it so you could snap the band over your head and under your hair, and with practiced ease, you slip the material over your left eye. A quick peek in the rearview mirror allowed you to quickly tousle your hair to hide both it and the slick, crinkled scars that trailed down the side of your face and neck, though you couldn't stop the habitual scowl that formed when your eye fell on your left shoulder—or lack thereof. Your gaze didn't linger, nor did your thoughts as a sleepy grunt drew your attention to the car seat in the back.
You unbuckled yourself and, not wanting to get out of the car just yet, you awkwardly climbed over the center console and more or less fell into the back in a way that rocked the vehicle so you could peek inside the carrier. Greeted by a scrunched, wrinkly face, you could feel your aggravation at the hour of the day melting somewhat as you watched the nearly-three-month-old rub awkwardly rub her face with clenched fists and you had to bite back the urge to say she looked like a grumpy old man. It made you hum and brush your fingertips through the wispy curls on her forehead, and you took her fussing as a sign to begin the process of freeing her from the buckles.
As you did, you softly sang, "Gooood morning, Beatrice."
A quick click and shift around later, you had her arms and chest freed from the harness to allow her a tad more wiggle room, and you stooped forward to draw a long swath of cloth from the backpack on the floorboard. While you unfolded and began to wrap it around your center to crisscross it around your back, you continued to chatter sweetly to the waking child.
"We're up bright and early! It's a big day, huh, Baby Bee?" you cooed at her and pressed your back against the seat to pin the wrap in place, then drew one of the ends over your left shoulder's stump to hold in place between your knees so you could repeat the action with the opposite side. "Are you ready for your first day of daycare?"
She didn't answer with anything more than a yawn and a gurgle as she stretched her chubby legs and you felt your stomach roll anxiously.
"I'm not ready. Mama's gonna miss you very, very much," you cheerily answered for her, repeated the process around your center one more time, and with the help of your knees, you tied the ends into a sturdy knot. Next was getting her out of the car seat, so you slid your hand under her bum and gently wriggled your arm beneath her until your palm was supporting her head and her weight was resting on your forearm. "Upsy-daisy!"
As you lifted her, you brought your chest down to support her against it as you leaned back once again to lay her on your thighs with practiced carefulness. And then you simply stared at her with a flurry of unpleasant emotions that battered around in your gut. You really weren't ready for this and you wanted nothing more than to stay at home with your chubby little ball of wrinkles just a while longer, but your maternity leave was unpaid, and if you dragged your feet any longer, then your financial situation would be getting dicey. The thought of leaving her with a stranger in a completely foreign place didn't settle well with you either, but it was that or get booted onto the street for not making your rent.
That line of thought made your eye prickle with stressed-out tears and you forced yourself to exhale sharply and put on a little smile as you leaned in to playfully pepper kisses on your baby's cheeks. "Mwah-mwah-mwah! It's gonna be okay. We're gonna be okay."
You were definitely saying that to comfort yourself more than her, but Beatrice made an ugly little snort of a giggle that made your grin a touch more genuine, and you pulled back to peel her onesie open just enough for you to check her diaper. With it being all clear, you ducked close again to scoop her up and used the incline of the seat to balance her against your chest as you began the process of sliding her legs into the pouch you had made with the baby wrap. It took a bit of shimmying and careful balancing, but soon enough she was swaddled securely against your chest with her cheek resting at your collarbone and your hand was free so you could shuffle your way out of the car.
After that, it was only a matter of securing your bags and you locked up your car to make the trek across the parking lot. A quick look at your phone said it was nearly 6 a.m. and you could see the blue-grey light of the morning sun beginning to come up over the horizon, signaling that you had managed to time things just right to arrive at the shuttered doors in time.
There was already a handful of people lingering around the entrance and you noted that they were mostly teens clad in uniforms that marked them as the latest victims of the establishment's summer openings. One of them kept lightly banging their head on the wall while they hotly muttered "this is fucking stupid" under their breath, and another briefly eyed you up before they apparently decided that it was too early to put on a customer service smile; not that you fared any better. Your own face was stuck in an exhausted scowl and you set yourself to bounce in place to pass the time until the doors opened.
It didn't take long for the metal shutters to creak and rise, revealing a lone S.T.A.F.F. bot on the other side of the automatic doors, and the people around you ducked inside without a word. You waited for the group to disperse towards what you assumed were staff rooms before you stepped inside, squinted in the fluorescent and neon lights, and headed straight for the bot that was now driving itself in what could only be described as "confused donuts" in the lobby. Thankfully, it stopped when you approached in favor of staring up at you blankly, and you unlocked your phone to present it with the barcode that had been emailed to you.
"I'm supposed to redeem this and register at the daycare," you explained and received a blank nod that was followed by it performing another 360° turn so it could point off to the side. You slowly turned your head to look at what it was pointing at and spotted a customer service counter with another S.T.A.F.F. bot behind it that waved at you like it was trying to summon a taxi. "Oh. Thanks."
Just as you moved to step around it, the robot reached into a holster on its side and thrust a folded map in front of you. "Map. Please take a map."
It took you a second to readjust your hold on your phone so you could free up a finger to take it; all while it insistently held it in your face, much to your chagrin. "Thanks."
Now satisfied, it rolled back a few feet and resumed its circling, and you parted from it to make your way over to the customer service counter to redeem your passes. Beatrice made a sleepy hum as you came to a stop a second time and you patted her bum soothingly before you placed your phone in front of the bot so it could be scanned, then tucked the map into your purse. Once scanned, the yellow ticket machine behind it sputtered and spat out what looked to be a discount Golden Ticket and a wristband with a musical chime that bordered on resembling a dying wheeze.
It made you wonder, again, if leaving your child in the hands of a corporation like Fazbear Entertainment was a terrible, expensive idea.
The robot didn't seem to notice your dread as it handed over your passes and pointed towards the escalators that led to the floor above, where a directory indicated the doors for the daycare were to the right. Your throat went dry at the sight of them—of course it was up an escalator—and you swiveled your head back towards the robot.
"Do you have an elevator?"
It pointed in the same direction, this time a bit lower and you squinted around the gaudy gold statue of a singing bear to spy what looked to be a pile of construction materials that were blocked off by ropes. Out of order. By then, your baby was starting to fuss again, likely upset that you had stopped bouncing, and you silently cursed the establishment again as you tucked your phone in your pocket and gathered the passes with a mumbled "thanks".
A brisk pace had you approaching the damned escalators in no time, and you stopped at the bottom of one to stare down at the slow-rising steps as if they were going to bite you. You could see them just fine, but the lack of a left eye made it difficult for you to judge the distance between those steps and your foot on a good day, and even harder on days where you were tired; much like today. If you were alone, you'd feel much better, because if you fell, then you'd be the only one that got hurt. But since you had the baby...
Just get it over with.
You exhaled shakily and grabbed the handrail to brace yourself as you hovered your foot over the escalator and counted yourself down.
"One... Two... Three—"
Before you could chicken out, you all but jumped onto the escalator and barely managed to land both feet on one of the steps. The jolt of your unsteady landing made you wobble, but you gripped the rail even tighter and widened your stance to keep from toppling. A cold sweat still broke out over the back of your neck as you fixed your eye at the top, and you waited tensely for the next challenge; getting off. It was a struggle to gauge just how far you needed to step once you reached the top, and the result had you overextending your leg just enough to stumble awkwardly, but you thankfully remained upright thanks to your death grip on the rail.
You blew out a relieved breath of air and backed away from the machinery to cuddle Beatrice to settle your frayed nerves, a low hum escaping you as you swayed in place. She seemed none the wiser to your spike in stress, likely because she was still a touch on the too-sleepy-to-pay-attention side as she sighed against your chest. You hoped that the elevator would be fixed soon so this wouldn't become a frequent thing.
Once you had recovered, you turned to the right and made your way towards the red doors marked as the Superstar Daycare, and with some tactful shimmying with your hip and elbow, you managed to jog the doorknob enough to open them up. The room on the other side was considerably darker than the lobby, though still illuminated with strips of neon lighting in the sitting area surrounding the fountain in the center of the room while the main fluorescent lights appeared to be off. You assumed it was because the daycare had yet to fully open, and shrugged it off as you walked by vibrant murals promoting candies, towards the shuttered door painted with the area's logo.
The shutters rose automatically when you approached, slowly revealing the larger-than-life statues that awaited you on the other side, and you had to blink rapidly to adjust your vision to the softer lighting of the waiting room. When the mild ache from the harsh lighting change began to fade, you ducked inside and allowed the door to close behind you as you slowly soaked in the surroundings that you were going to have to get accustomed to over the next week.
You vaguely recognized what the statues were, just because you couldn't buy the daycare pass without staring at varying iterations of the Daycare Attendant's face throughout the process and you knew that the website promoted them as state-of-the-art childcare workers. The way the one with the nightcap was crouched like a gremlin ready to pounce was off-putting, to say the least, and it was a jarring difference from the peaceful character in the advertisements. Then again, the stiff, bulky Freddy Fazbear animatronics you had seen in your youth were also creepy and uncanny in their own rights, so you brushed it off as the company lacking self-awareness and carried on.
There were tables scattered around it, each marked with a number—for food deliveries, you supposed—and on the far right wall, there were cubbies for children's belongings and shoes that were guarded by two S.T.A.F.F. bots residing behind sign-in podiums. Just past them, there was a glass wall protected by safety mesh on the opposite side, and you spied an opening to a slide that read "Slide Into Fun" which presumably lead into the daycare.
If it's downstairs, then why did we have to come upstairs to get in?
Walking further inside the room prompted the two bots to glance your way, and you noted that one of them wore a hat that read "Security", but you paid them no mind as you approached the windows to peer inside. It looked like a standard kids' play area that you would find in outdated restaurants, with a jungle gym, ball pit, and slides galore, and you relented that at least the entirety of the floor seemed to be heavily padded to help protect children from falls. The main difference was that it too, was dark; this time appearing to be more intentional as the ceiling and walls were illuminated by glowing yellow stars that acted as what you could only guess was a nightlight.
All you could think of was the fact that the bright primary colors of the playground failed to offer your tired eye any reprieve, and you wondered how this place was appropriate for newborns. Was there a nursery secluded away from the rest of the daycare? Or did they expect you to be okay with allowing your infant to crawl around with other children that lacked spatial awareness?
You scowled and turned your head to the side, spotting more stairs that lead down, then huffed and approached the S.T.A.F.F. bots that stood beside podiums. There was a slight feeling of discomfort as you fished in your purse for the documents the website had recommended you bring for the registry, because you had yet to see a human employee in the area. You knew that the complex primarily had animatronics running the show, but there had been reassurances that there were "friendly staff on hand" to assist them as needed, and you were reluctant to leave Beatrice solely in the care of a soulless robot.
Perhaps the human staff aren't clocked in yet, you pondered. After all, you had seen some at the entrance, and the email did say that the daycare opened at 7 a.m.; your phone stated that it was only 6:21 a.m.
When you produced the needed paperwork, the S.T.A.F.F. bots shifted to face you and stared as they waited for you to address them; only for their gazes to immediately swivel to the right, towards the glass near the slide, the moment you opened your mouth.
Confused, you turned to see what had caught their attention, and could only blink owlishly when you locked eyes with an animatronic that clung to the mesh wall on the other side of the window like Spiderman. It was easy to recognize it as the Daycare Attendant's nighttime-themed model—you were standing a couple yards away from a gaudy golden statue of the thing—but you were still caught off guard by its silent appearance on the glass of all things. The animatronic was clad in blue with stars patterning its clothes and nightcap, though what the website and the statue had failed to convey was that half of its face was blacked out ominously while the side that bore the crescent moon was illuminated with a sickly white glow.
It probably could have passed as a child-friendly machine, if not for what you could only describe as a "maniacal grin" and a red-eyed stare like it was a pissed-off Johnny 5.
When you locked eyes with it, it rotated its head at an unnatural angle as if to get a better look at you, and you pursed your lips; unimpressed with whatever the hell it was doing. You returned your attention to the S.T.A.F.F. bots and cleared your throat to get them to focus on you again so you could begin the process of signing up. They took a moment to tear their gazes away, and if you weren't so worn out, you would have sworn that they seemed apprehensive of the other robot that was now watching you like a hall monitor.
"Welcome to the Superstar Daycare. Are you here for a pickup or a drop-off?" one asked you in their standard monotone.
"I'm here to register Beatrice Lark," you explained to them, and added on your last name when they looked over the paperwork you were offering with a nod. In return, they slid you a clipboard with a contract to sign and while you took your time to carefully read over the terms of service, they held up your documentation to better scan them for their records. Overall, the process was fairly tame: they recited legal jargon at you while pointing at spots you needed to sign and advising that it's not recommended to leave your child at the Pizzaplex for more than 292 consecutive hours.
That much was a given.
By the time you were signing the final paper, you heard a series of clicks, followed by one of the bots saying, "The smell of freshly cut grass is a distress signal. It is the smell of grass screaming in agony."
Your head shot up, twisted in confusion. "What—"
SNAP!
A flash of light blinded you and forced you to rub your eye with a muted swear as the bot lowered a bear-themed camera unapologetically. "We have registered you in our system as the authorized guardian for Beatrice Lark. Would you like to register another adult as an authorized guardian?"
It took you a moment to reply after blinking the spots and salt from your eyes. "No. Just me."
"One moment as we print your Authorized Guardian Pass."
You made a vague noise in the back of your throat as you peeled back the baby wrap just enough to get a better look at Beatrice, all while the bots stood stark still and stared at you as though they were peering into the void. Then, the security bot gave a shudder and its chassis spit out a laminated card, not unlike a driver's license, and passed it over the podium to you. When you took it and saw the photo of you printed on it, with a bloodshot eye and frizzy hair, you felt your regrets multiply tenfold. You looked hungover.
With it in your hand, the standard S.T.A.F.F. bot crooked its arms and bobbed in place, imitating a dance before it droned, "Thank you for registering as a Superstar Daycare Authorized Guardian. We hope you have a Faz-tastic day."
Something about their words had you automatically turning to leave just like you would after any other customer-employee interaction, but after a couple of steps, your sleep-deprived brain caught up with what you were doing and you backpedaled to the podiums. "Uhh..."
Again, the two bots faced you and chimed as if they hadn't spoken to you mere seconds ago. "Welcome to the Superstar Daycare. Are you here for a pickup or a drop-off?"
"... A drop-off."
"May we see your Daycare Pass and Authorized Guardian Pass?"
Your lips formed a thin line of not-quite amusement as you fished the passes out of your pocket once more and handed them over for inspection. The security bot peered at your pass, then looked back up to scan over your face with a seemingly satisfied nod before returning them to you.
"Thank you for your cooperation. The Superstar Daycare is currently closed but will open in twelve minutes at 7 a.m. The Daycare Attendant will be up shortly to retrieve your little Superstar VIP. We hope you have a Faz-tastic day."
"Thanks," you responded dryly and turned to scope out a comfortable place to sit and enjoy the last few minutes with your daughter in peace.
Just as you turned to park yourself on the couch against the far wall, a series of hard thunks worked its way up the slide at an impossible speed that made alarm bells scream in the caveman part of your brain that had seen one too many horror movies. A raspy giggle echoed up the plastic tunnel like a demonic child was crawling its way out of a hell made of ball pits, accentuated by the red glow making its way up the slide, and you suddenly decided you'd rather eat the near-$800 loss than deal with Satan confronting you for your sins. It made you jerk back with your arm raised over the baby strapped to your chest, and every nerve in your body was screeching at you to run.
"Oh what the fuuuuuck—"
Then a moon-shaped faceplate shoved itself into view as the animatronic perched at the top of the slide; its body contorted unnaturally to help it fit inside the cramped space, and it chided, "Naughty language is not permitted in the Daycare."
You blinked at it. It stared back like a lazy cat watching its prey.
A few moments of the tense silence barely allowed you to process that no, you weren't going to die and that yes, you were now wide-the-fuck-awake. Beatrice started to fuss from your sudden movements and loud expletive, and the animatronic's gaze dropped from you to her when you automatically began to bounce and rock in place to soothe her. Your heart thundered in your chest, only the fear was gradually being replaced by an inconceivable amount of salt as you gave the animatronic the stink eye—though its gaze was still locked on her—and kissed your baby's head.
"It's okay, Baby Bee," you crooned, "Mama's only got one hand, but she can still shove her boot up a jerk's bum."
It scoffed at you, an all-too-human reaction, but otherwise didn't seem to care about your thinly veiled threat. Instead, it held out its hands and waited expectantly. Your awkward stare-down resumed, and when your daughter seemed somewhat pacified by your rocking, you looked to the S.T.A.F.F. bots, who had rolled a considerable distance away from the slide, then shot an exasperated look back to the Daycare Attendant.
"What?"
"The child," it deadpanned, equally exasperated.
Your response was automatic. "Get bent."
If it had brows, they likely would have risen. "If you are not dropping your child off, then get out, out, out."
This prickly thing was what they were advertising to be their "fun, child-friendly" Daycare Attendant? You felt as though you preferred the expressionless S.T.A.F.F. bots instead and your pursed lips deepened into a scowl. The way it stared at you had your already frayed nerves buzzing and made you doubt your decision to come here for childcare more and more.
You hissed back at it, "I'm not sending my baby down the slide."
It let out a disgruntled sound that was a mix between a snarl and a sigh and squinted at you for a beat before it jerkily pointed to its right, towards the stairs. "Go down, down. The lights will be on momentarily."
Without waiting for your reply, it pushed off the slide to send itself scraping back into the depths from whence it came, and you were left standing in awkward silence. Now that the Daycare Attendant had retreated, the S.T.A.F.F. bots rolled back into their original positions and watched you idly as they waited for the next poor unfortunate soul to wander through the doors. You scrubbed your hand down your face in exasperation and patted Beatrice's bum to keep her from fussing too much on your way towards the appointed stairs.
Much like with the escalator, you gripped onto the handrail for dear life and moved down them at a painstakingly slow pace to avoid misjudging where you were stepping. By the time you had made your way to the bottom of the stairs, the lights inside had suddenly turned on with a loud cer-chunk that let you see it in all its sickeningly cute glory. You consoled yourself with the fact that it was made with children in mind, not adults, and you headed towards what looked to be the door of the main entrance of the daycare, finding it already wide open with a sun-themed animatronic standing in the center with its moon-themed counterpart nowhere in sight.
Upon spotting you, it twirled in place with its arms stretched out wide as if it was presenting a kingdom, and crowed, "Hooo-hooo-hooo! Welcome, welcome! Welcome, new friends!"
Now that you were on the same level, you noticed it towered over you even when slouching, and it bobbed from side to side; unable to fully stand still while it watched you hesitantly come to a stop in front of it. You could only purse your lips in a polite, not-smile as you dug through your repertoire of civil-enough greetings despite the way your hand protectively rested on your baby's back. It also stood quiet for a moment and fiddled with the ruffles of its red and gold costume as it assessed you as much as you were it, like it wasn't sure what to make of you either—perhaps because of your initial reaction to its counterpart, wherever the hell it went.
When you opened your mouth to give a simple "hello" in return so you could get this over with, it threw its hands up in the air again and blurted, "Your baby is BEEEEE-utiful!"
And just like that, your mouth audibly snapped shut as you clenched your teeth at the pun and the jarring volume of its high-strung voice that made your sleep-deprived headache all the worse. You worked your jaw back and forth with an audible creak, then grunted out a simple "uh-huh" that had the robot quickly clasping its hands together as if that could shield it from the dead inside stare you were giving it. Again, another too-human reaction, but it barely registered with you as your fried brain cells scrambled for an alternative reaction since it had thrown you off with its bottom-of-the-barrel joke.
"Anywho!" It cleared its throat awkwardly and said your name with only a hint of hesitance in its tone while pressing its thumb to its chest. "I have you registered as Beatrice's primary guardian. I am Sun: the Daytime Daycare Attendant! But all the kiddies call me Sunny, Sundrop, Sunrise, Mr. Sun, Sunny-Side-Up-With-A-Plate-Of-Bacon—and sometimes they accidentally call me mom! It's a bit awkward, really. But we're so excited to get to know your little one!"
You didn't know what to make of the list of names it gave you, but decided to be simple and call it 'Sun'; and before you could stop yourself, you deadpanned, "The other one definitely didn't look excited."
"Whooo, Moony?"
"The one with red eyes, yeah."
"Ohhh, don't mind him! He was so-ho-hoooo excited to see a baby; maybe even more excited than me! We haven't had someone so young here in ages—I think new parents are nervous to leave their newborns with us, so they wait until they're older to come here—and he couldn't contain himself!" It rambled and swayed like a sunflower in the wind. "I can barely contain myself—oh! I have songs, I have stories, I have toys; so many toys! It will be so much fun; and educationally enriching!"
You stared at it—him? Sun had referred to the moon one as such—with a vacant expression, overwhelmed with the spew of words coming from the animated machine's mouth. The fact that the other one had apparently been excited filled you with doubt, or at the very least, you had to wonder who programmed it—him—to look so pissed when excited. And there hadn't been a baby in the daycare in a while? Did that mean that there was nobody with experience there? Would they expect her to be lumped in with the other, more rowdy children that lacked the awareness to be careful around newborns? Did-
"Is this your first time at a daycare?" the animatronic asked you suddenly, his tone still bright, but a touch softer in volume as he observed the way you were breaking into a cold sweat. You didn't have it in you to do much more than nod while clutching the dozing baby to your chest like she was a lifeline, and he beamed at you in response. "Goodness, no wonder you look anxious, anxious! But don't worry, no siree; we have tools to help you! Come, come! We have a bit of time before the daycare opens, so this way, right this way and we'll show you!"
He stepped back from the entrance and gestured you inside with a wide, sweeping motion and you struggled a bit to unroot yourself from your spot to follow behind. Just as you were about to cross the threshold, he gasped and barred you from moving forward with his arms.
"Whoopsie! We almost forgot: please take off your shoes before entering the daycare!"
You clicked your tongue and were silently grateful that you had decided to wear a pair of slip-on flats today as you obliged and kicked off your shoes as requested. Sun swooped down to nab them and promptly dumped them into a bin labeled "shoes" beside the security desk, then waved you inside yet again.
"Thank you! Now, follow me, please!"
The protective foam under your feet felt firm, yet just soft enough to be marginally better than the hard tile in the rest of the building, and the lemony scent of disinfectant was strong enough to make your nose wrinkle as you warily scanned the area for the other Daycare Attendant. There wasn't any sign of the red-eyed animatronic, but given the way he had crawled up the slide, you decided it would be wiser to keep your guard up in case he pulled that shit again.
Sun paid your hesitance no mind and led you across the daycare, energetically vaulting over the rainbow bridges that connected play structures together with acrobatic feats and cartwheels that made your stomach churn—all while chattering away. "Most people think that we're only programmed to handle children, but no-no; we have many resources in our library about making the transition to childcare as smooth as possible for both children and their guardians."
He came to a stop at the base of a castle-themed structure built into the wall that blended seamlessly with the artwork surrounding it, save for a balcony high above everything else that looked as though it served as a watchful perch despite its lack of obvious ways to climb up there. With an arm crossed across his chest and his ankles crossed at the heels, he dipped into an elaborate bow and banged the wall with the side of his fist. You jumped from the sudden, low thud, and gawped as a door you hadn't noticed swung open to reveal a darkened room inside.
"Ta-daaaa! Welcome to the nursery!" A pause, then he blindly reached a hand inside to fumble around for a light switch. "Just a second—aha! There."
The light flicked on to properly reveal the room, and Sun gently ushered you inside without actually touching you. It was tame in comparison to the playroom outside, and primarily sported a nighttime theme that had its walls decorated with clouds, glow-in-the-dark stars, and a clock shaped like a moon's sleeping face. A kitchenette was against the wall and contained a sink, an electric stove, cabinets, and a refrigerator, and on the opposite wall were supply cabinets beside a set of changing tables and cubbies. In the center of the room was a group of cribs, decorated simply with soft bedding and star-themed mobiles that dangled above them.
It looked cozy and quiet, and it eased some of your nervousness with the realization that this was where Beatrice would be spending the majority of her time. Thankfully. Hopefully.
Sun danced around you to riffle around in one of the supply cabinets, humming in thought as he allowed you to slowly enter the room to further explore the cribs. "Everything is sanitized and washed daily—no germs allowed in the Daycare, no ma'am—and we have state-of-the-art equipment to know exactly what your cutie-patootie needs and when she needs it! And she'll be safe in here; away from all the roughhousing!"
"That's... Good," you muttered in response. You weren't sure what to make of the supposed monitoring equipment—because you certainly didn't see anything—but you did your best to take it at face value rather than focus on the what-ifs that sprung up in the back of your mind.
Having found what he was looking for, the Daycare Attendant spun towards you with his hands clasped together and crept closer to you like he was up to something. "Teeeechnically, I'm supposed to give this to the Daycare VIP, but she's a bit young to have one so... Here you go; your very own Faz-Watch!"
He thrust his hands forward, presenting a gaudy golden-brown watch with bear ears to you, not unlike a child presenting a parent with a snake they had found. You stared at the ugly thing with a brow raised and noted that it looked like a themed smartwatch, but made no move to take it yourself as you felt Beatrice stretching her chubby little legs against your abdomen and murmur quietly in her sleep. Just to be safe, you swayed in place to continue rocking her in hopes it would keep her asleep a while longer.
When you didn't automatically take the watch, he pinched it between his fingertips and waggled it at you. "This handy thing will let you directly update me on your pickup and drop-off times, your child's allergens, or any other special notes you feel I should be made aware of! And I'll be able to send you status reports about your child's day; whether that's behavioral issues that may have come up or if they were exceptionally well behaved during naptime! You'll be the first to know as soon as anything remarkable happens!"
The features sounded appealing enough, if not a bit excessive. You didn't want to be a helicopter parent that knew every move your child was making but at the same time, your struggles as a single parent without a support system have led to you developing hyper-vigilant tendencies. The things that he mentioned sounded as though they would at least help ease your nerves—but wasn't that the purpose of filling out your contact information on the registration forms?
Was it a gimmick to get more of your money?
You squinted at him suspiciously. It wouldn't be unreasonable for them to have programmed their robots with the ability to upsell their crappy watches.
"The website didn't mention the VIP pass coming with that. Is that going to cost me extra?"
"Of course not! Our marketing teams would prefer you pay full price for them and really, I'm only supposed to hand it out if a parent complains about the prices but I think they're so, so, so useful for nervous, first-timers like you!" Sun chirped too honestly.
You weren't sure what surprised you more: the fact that you had apparently already paid for the tacky thing by upgrading your daycare pass to a VIP, or the fact that a daycare robot was open about its owners being money-grubbing bastards. It made you wonder just how sophisticated his AI was to either learn to acknowledge such a thing or if some programmer had been underpaid and feeling cheeky when putting this animatronic together.
Sun gave the watch another wiggle and offered, "You can also use it to order pizza from anywhere in the building?"
That was a bit stupid, considering the place likely had a restaurant in every nook and cranny, but you eventually sighed and held out your hand to accept it, and he dropped it into your palm.
"I can help you set it up if you want—" You immediately shoved it in your purse. "—Ooooor you can put it in your purse. Okay! Did you bring anything you wanted to leave with Beatrice?"
You shot him a vaguely amused look and after the watch was stored away, you hefted the backpack off your shoulders and thrust it towards him. He fumbled to release the ruffles of his costume that he had started to fiddle with to take the strap from you and immediately started to investigate the contents.
"The website was kind of vague on what I needed to leave with her," you explained, stroking the back of your daughter's head as you ignored the creeping realization that soon, you'd have to hand her over so you could leave. "Everything's labeled with her name."
"Good, good! You came prepared; with spare clooothes, diapeeers, toooys—" He prattled on as he took inventory of what you were leaving with him. Then he paused, his head canted to the side, and you heard him unzip the insulated lunchbox you had packed within it before you watched him pull out a half-full bottle of milk. "And... This is yours? Or is it formula?"
You worked your jaw back and forth again, unsure of how this particular back and forth was going to go. On one hand, all the websites you had looked into said that daycares usually had no issue with parents leaving breastmilk for feeding babies as long as everything was clearly labeled with dates. It was perfectly normal and there was no reason that a stupid childcare robot should judge you over it.
On the other hand, you could only think of the heated conversations you had with your employers the past week: the demands of when you'd be back to work, why were you being difficult about having breaks to pump, no you couldn't store it in the break room's refrigerator. Just thinking about the way you had to fight with them was threatening to give you a migraine, and you couldn't help but eye the animatronic warily because of it.
"S'mine," you grunted.
"I'll be sure to keep it stored in the fridge then!" he anti-climatically chirped at you when you finally answered, and returned the bottle to the box so he could zip it back up, pull it free of the bag, and proceed to stuff it in the refrigerator. After that, he returned to the cubbies to stow the bag away and write Beatrice's name on a placard to mark that it was hers. With his hands now free, he held them out to you in a clear gesture asking to hold your baby and you could only blink at him owlishly, not quite able to process the emotional whiplash you were giving yourself.
A stretch of awkward silence passed, and he asked, "May I hold her? Please? I promise we'll be extra careful!"
You had braced yourself for this moment: the instance where you would have to hand your baby over to a stranger. Up until now, it had just been you and her; taking things in stride. Now a robot was asking to hold your baby and that made your stomach wring itself into knots and your eye burn with barely restrained tears. Would his hands be cold, uncomfortable metal? How would he know how to be gentle with her? Maybe it was your perpetual exhaustion or imbalanced postpartum hormones that were making you feel so hung up on this, but it made you suck in something akin to a whimpering breath.
If the animatronic's expression could have allowed it, he would have been staring at you in wide-eyed panic. "Are you okay—?"
Unable to think of what else to do at that moment, you reached out and grabbed his hand.
His fingers easily stretched the length of your own hand from fingertip to palm with room to spare, but you were more surprised that instead of the hard, frigid metal you were expecting, there was a slight give and warmth to be had. It felt like silicone that wasn't quite smooth but wasn't lacking texture either, and in your frazzled state, you held onto it in a death grip as you tried not to start crying over nothing.
In the meantime, he had all but seized up at the sudden contact and mimicked a statue as he directed his gaze to your linked hands. It seemed as though he was just as lost and flustered as you were starting to get, as your stifled sniffles jostled the baby strapped to your chest. Beatrice whined, on the precipice of waking up if you couldn't get your shit together, but all you could think of was how you really weren't ready for what the day was turning into.
"Shhh-shh-shh," Sun squawked in an attempt to soothe you, but he was still frozen in place as he watched the growing meltdown turn into a train wreck right before his eyes. "You... Are you hurt? Uh, emotionally. Not physically. I would have picked that up on my sensors. I can't read minds—but that would be really cool if I could— and you're crying all of a sudden, sooooo was it something I said? I'm so-hoo-hoooo sorry if it was something I said! I... Uhhh! I sort of... Need my hand. So I can assist you! Because babies are sensitive to their mothers crying, especially if they're holding them and your hand is full of. Er. My hand. And—"
"—Ohhh my god shut up," he suddenly growled in a low rasp, and he curled his fingers around yours in a firm grip as he lurched over you. The sun rays on half of his head retracted partially, fluttering with noisy whirs and clicks that made your face scrunch in confusion. "The daycare opens in five minutes!"
Just as quickly as the sudden tone change had happened, Sun was just as animated as he had been before and his free hand shot up to hover beside his faceplate. "Goodness gracious! You're right!"
Still holding your hand, he tugged you over to one of the cribs and folded the blankets within back, then he turned to you and placed his hand over yours in a soothing gesture. The tears were still building on the rim of your eye, but the sudden whirlwind of activity of the animatronic had thrown you off just enough to not focus on the swell of upset lodged in your throat, and you swallowed thickly as you stared up at him wide-eyed.
"Your little one is going to be just fine here," he reassured you in a gentle tone and nodded towards the moon-shaped clock. "That's a camera we use to monitor infants, and you can even access it on your Faz-Watch! Today we will focus on collecting data to get to know your baby's schedule, then we will provide her with activities while she's awake to help her physical, social, and emotional development with the other children—under strict supervision, that is! You've been having tummy time with her, yes?"
You took a moment to process the sudden question. "I- yeah. During playtime."
"Wonderful! This must be really hard on you, hmm? Children grow up so fast, fast, fast!" He carefully guided you closer to the crib and pulled his hands away to tuck them behind his back. "Why don't you put her in the crib, and I'll wait outside to give you a moment alone to say your 'see-you-laters'?"
"O-okay," you managed to get out.
He performed an over-exaggerated salute before ducking out the door and calling over his shoulder, "Okey-dokey! I'll just be out here, tidying things up!"
Your head was a whirlwind of jumbled up thoughts at his abrupt exit and you stood there dumbly as you watched him go about straightening out the play tables and chairs a short distance away. It wasn't until Beatrice blew wet, slobbery bubbles against your collarbone that you moved again, this time to face the crib and fuss with the blankets to prep it. Your stomach was still wringing itself into knots so tightly, you felt like you might vomit, but you knew that you had to do this, and you reasoned with yourself that Sun had a good point: she would be able to get a head start on her social development by being around other children.
You made an attempt to sniffle back your tears and wiped your face, then lowered the siding of the crib to give yourself easier access to put her down safely. Reluctance made you hug Beatrice against your chest a bit tighter, gently squeezing as much care into her as you could before you forced yourself to lean down and begin the process of freeing her from the baby wrap. The angle you were stooped in made your back ache terribly, but it allowed you to lay her into the cushions while you peeled back the loops of fabric that had been holding her secure against you all this time.
She grunted at you unhappily when your actions inevitably jostled her, and you pulled back just enough to kiss her cheeks and pet the top of her head comfortingly. "Shhh, you're okay, baby. I'll be back soon, so be good for the Daycare Attendants, okay?"
Beatrice kicked her legs as she looked up at you with her adorably squashed face, and flexed her fingers with a gurgled response. You pinched your lips together and tried to not start crying all over again as you tucked the blankets around her waist and, after a brief inspection, you plucked the cloud-shaped crinkle toy from the corner and positioned it in her grasp to occupy her for now. She seemed none-the-wiser to your inner turmoil, but that didn't stop you from making a noise akin to a dying koala as you locked the crib's side back in place.
"I love you," you croaked and leaned over the edge to give her one more kiss goodbye. "B-buh-bye, sweetie."
You almost tripped over yourself trying to back away from the crib before you could talk yourself into snatching her back up and leaving, though you almost started bawling again when you rushed out of the nursery altogether. Sun made a pitiful effort in pretending that he hadn't been lingering nearby to listen in on you and easily matched your stride a few steps behind you as you beelined for the door.
"Are you alright? I heard a strange sound—" he started nervously.
"SHE LIKES CHOPIN WHEN SHE GOES TO SLEEP," you interrupted, much louder than you had intended as you tried to pretend your voice didn't crack. Gotta get outta here, gotta get outta here. "And—and she loves those stupid, farting sounds the Boohbah mascots make—"
"Uhhhh..."
"I'll pick her up at 3 p.m., thank you for watching her, see you later!"
Just as you attempted to bolt out of the daycare entrance, Sun called out, "Wait!"
You jolted to a stop and swiveled just enough to level him with a dirty look. "What."
He nervously held up your shoes. "You might need these, ho-ho-hoo!"
Your face burned, but you took them from him and dropped them on the ground so you could hurriedly stuff your feet in them and bolt before you died from embarrassment and hormones. He politely pretended nothing was amiss, and cheerily waved goodbye as you nearly faceplanted on your way up the stairs.
"Have a good day—!" you heard him say, and just as you made it to the upper floor and past the statues, you heard music suddenly filter to life over the speakers; playing an obnoxious jig of noises that belonged on a child's soundboard.
Thankfully, you didn't have to listen to it for long as the shuttered doors opened and you fled to the safety of your car: impeded only by the same S.T.A.F.F. Bot insisting on giving you a second map.