Chapter Text
Your door bangs when you shut it, florescent lights above the gas pumps allowing you enough illumination to find the ignition. Rumbling to life, your truck takes a minute to settle into a low purr, putting it into drive and inching forward.
Bypassing the lot full of your fellow drivers, sleeping away their off hours, you pull up to the curb, throwing on your blinker. Confirming no one is coming, you move to the next intersection, The remnants of the city's outer edges disappear swiftly as you hit the gas, heading away from the myriad of lights in your rear view.
Tuning the radio, your fingers drum to a heavy beat, head bobbing slightly while the miles pass, eventually reaching the turn you need, taking it to an empty highway that stretches towards a dark horizon.
The silent solitude is a comforting song and dance, watching the high desert pass you by, the occasional patch of scraggly trees and bushes popping up. Above, a black void minutely sparkles with tiny dots, a waning quarter moon sat high above the hills. The freedom of being able to be on the road without the stress of being on time for delivery is always nice, your last load dropped just before you hit the gas station.
Smiling faintly, you toss on the cruise control, letting yourself coast westward, intending on a small break. It was not often you actually went home, if you could call it that, considering how content you were being a nomad, making your money on the go. A non-moving roof over your head was pleasant enough on occasion.
Hours trickle by, one or two lonely travelers heading towards the city late at night shooting past you in the other direction. Cresting a hill, your head falls to observe the dip in front of you, immediately rising into another ascent. High beams bounce off another cluster of jagged-looking pines, a sizeable river winding down to parallel the road.
Movement at the edge of the trees catches your attention, and you tap your brakes when it shifts in the direction of the road. Not quite able to make it out entirely in the way the shadows pool at the dip near the very bottom, you are only aware that the shape is massive, hobbling forward as if it is not afraid of the approaching semi. A bear, maybe. A rarity you encountered them on the roadside, but far from unheard of.
That is, until, you get close enough for the darkness to wash away. The first thing you notice is arms and legs, your headlights stretching the lanky form of a humanoid shape. Panic bursts to adrenaline in your system, the pressure on your brakes increasing as you fight gravity. Your first thought, is, of course, that a person was camping out here and probably high off something.
Then, just as you come to a screeching halt several feet from the being, you realize that is far from the case. What stares back at you, nearly as tall as your f*cking truck, is a robot. Your mouth pops open in wordless shock, taking in the mangled mess of metal. Black and white split its face like a crescent moon, the onyx half cracked, orb shattered, while the other locks eyes with you, a single crimson dot in a void. Torn fabric, the tattered scraps of some sort of bloody red shawl cut in half with more black, littered by stars. Beneath the soaked cloak, poofy pants and sleeves cling to its form, one side shaped by diamonds, the other stripes with four-pointed stars tipping the ends, red dots making their way up in a night sky pattern.
Dragging behind them, their left arm hangs on by mere threads, a mangled leg causing a heavy limp. Water pools from their body, a glitch occurring in the pupil fastened to yours. Wherever this thing came from, it clearly took a beating before ending up in the river.
For a minute that feels like eternity, you stare at each other, neither daring to move an inch. Every instinct in you screams to hit the gas and get out of there, the eerie, sharp-toothed grin of this thing straight out of every horror movie ever, but you're frozen. The seconds ticking by drag you closer to what you're sure is a grisly fate, yet, at the same time, another voice whispers that moving might only speed up the process. It might be damaged, but it's right in front of you. What's stopping it from latching onto your truck when you try to drive off?
Uncertainty making your stomach churn, you tense when the robot, at lasts, lifts its good arm. Wicked claws gleam in the bright beams of your vehicle, your foot half a second away from saying screw moving around it and slamming the pedal down, when it merely lays its palm on the hood.
You blink owlishly, the robot tilting its head at you, almost inquisitive, and your stupid human brain cannot help but suddenly conjure the picture of a lost, confused puppy. It seems...perplexed, breaking eye contact at last to look between you and the truck, a single claw scratching at the paint job, mystified. Is it...baffled at your vehicle, and you being inside it?
All at once, the moment ends, the robot seizing in place. A spark pops from the back of its head, and it slams down on your hood, making you jump, before slithering to the ground. Worry hits you instantly, already grabbing the door handle, beginning to open it to step outside, when you pause. Was this really a good idea? You're about to leave your last safety net behind to check on a giant robot that appeared in front of you in the middle of nowhere. This literally was the starting scene of a horror movie. You had no doubt it could and would easily kill you the moment you got close.
Still, its expression haunts you. The way it seemed so curious, how its face twisted when it short-circuited. That was some sentient-level sh*t. It felt pain. It was curious. What the f*ck were you meant to make of that? Would you leave anyone else lying unconscious in the middle of the road, even if it was, say, an alien? The thought was laughable, but was it really any different than the hulking behemoth sprawled on the asphalt, just out of sight?
Groaning, you run a hand down your face. Curse you and your empathetic heart. At least you wouldn't be a total moron about this. Reaching over your dash, you unlatch the glove compartment, retrieving the pistol and magazine from within. A precaution grilled into you by one too many encounters with thieves and druggies on the job. If it did end up attacking you, you severely doubt it would do much against its metal frame, but hopefully you would have time to aim for its only working eye and blind it.
Decided, you take the steps down warily, holding the gun at the ready. Peeking around the side of the truck, you discover the robot to be exactly where you thought it would, laying face-first, completely still. Tip-toeing forward, you nudge at its frame, barrel aiming at its face, prepared for the worst. The metal being does not so much as twitch.
Gaining a bit of bravery, you lower yourself slowly, poking and prodding. When it stays immobile, you at last attain the courage to grab it under the arms and attempt to flip it over.
This f*cker is heavy, is your immediate conclusion. Of course, it makes sense, considering its material and size, but you're still unprepared for the effort it takes to finally get it on its back. You are by no means a full-on body builder, but you are a far cry from a complete weakling. The delivery industry comes with its fair share of heavy loads and prep work that you have to sometimes assist with when a warehouse is behind on your pick up or drop off.
Mission accomplished, your gaze flits from the truck to the robot and back. How the hell are you going to get it inside? Will it even fit? What the hell are you going to do afterward? Bring it to the police? Who the hell built this thing? What if it was the government or something? They'd probably kill you for stumbling across some escaped weapons project or whatever the f*ck you were dealing with. Was it really worth the trouble?
Eyes glued to the strange beast, vulnerable before you, both your fates most likely dangling on the edge, you cannot shake the intensity of its regard.
Goddamn you heart, goddamn you heart, goddamn you-
Taking a deep breath in and releasing it sharply, you begin the unruly process of shoving an over nine foot tall robot into the cabin of your livelihood. Reaching the steps, it becomes very apparent to you that you cannot get it inside by pure strength alone, not unless you want to tear a muscle or two. Thinking, running your hand through sweat-soaked hair, you snap your fingers when an idea manifests.
Rummaging through the storage compartment by the driver door, you pull out spools of your tie-down straps, clambering into the belly of your vehicle and Jerry rigging a crank, looping the loose ends around the robot before feeding it into the ratchets, starting to crank. Through messy maneuvering you, at last, manage to secure the massive figure into the back of your sleeper. It blocks access to ninety percent of everything, including your bed, though you doubt you'll be using it before you get home.
Crashing into the driver's seat, you let out a loud, extended exhale. What a crazy night, and it was just getting started. Now you had to get this thing back to HQ, hopefully without it waking up and attempting to murder you. Sitting up, your gun digs into your thigh, reminding you of its presence. Right. Withdrawing it from where you shoved it into your pants, you chuck it into your cup holder. Better to keep it close.
Finally getting moving again, you do a quick check in your rear-view to ensure there are no lights behind you. How very fortunate that you are traveling down a barely-used rural highway in the middle of the night. You could only imagine the look on any poor passerby's face if they had stumbled across you loading the robot. Sure as hell not an easy thing to explain.
Time feels like it drags more than usual on your journey, unable to help throwing a glance over your shoulder every few minutes. You're still several hours from the coast, even taking the fastest possible route. Every effort to distract yourself using the radio proves little use, unable to bring yourself to make it loud enough to risk waking your cargo.
By the time you come across the dirt road leading to your protected little cove, the sun is beginning to rise, your anxiety close to bursting. Once the simple double wide comes into view, nestled among the spruce and fir, hosting an old, renovated large shop/barn combo, your shoulders sag.
Pulling to the double doors of the bigger building, you hop out and rush to open them. Crawling the truck inside, you brake sharply, killing the engine.
Well, that was the most stressful trip you've had in a long ass time. Now, to deal with your new friend. Twisting to take them in, you frown to find them still offline. That's fine. You got them in, you could get them out. You even had something better for the task this go around.
Going toward the barn wall, you fiddle with your engine hoist, lowering the chain from where it hovers over your truck. It was not often you had to use it, but you preferred working on your engine by hand when it needed it, rather than taking it to a shop, especially considering you could get it done in half the time, and with half the cost.
Getting enough cable free, you drag it through the open door, placing the latches onto either side of the bot's thin, pole-like neck, right where the joints of the shoulders and frame connect. Carefully, you winch your guest from the semi, leaving them dangling awkward above your truck, feet limp on the roof. Hm, that won't do.
Backing your truck up a little, you hear and feel the metal on metal contact of the robot unwittingly peeling more paint off. If it weren't for the fact the outside is already covered in thin scratches from tree branches you would be mentally weeping. Ah, well. Just a bit of paint. You could fix it later.
Of course, your most important project now hung in front of you. At last able to take in the bot fully, you perceive you have your work cut out for you, in more ways than one. You were a mechanic. You could easily fix the body, but coding...not so much. You knew the basics for vehicle computer systems, but this thing was far more advanced. Didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that out.
Still, you had drove it all the way here. There would be no point in just leaving it to rot now. Would be pretty messed up, actually, if it was as aware as you thought it might be. Of course, you could easily be wrong. Maybe it was just mimicking emotion? That was supposed to be a thing AI did, wasn't it? Were you letting your empathy cloud your judgement?
....More than likely. Regardless, you were never one to not finish a project when it landed in your lap, and no way were you going to deny how intrigued you are. That might make you the cat in this situation, but hopefully it would be the type of curiosity that would allow you to come back. It would seem your stubborn ass had some book reading to do.
...After a nice, long nap, you conclude, staring up at the broken bot. Exhaustion drags at your edges, and you know yourself enough to know you're bound to drive yourself into collapse if you dive in this instant.
Departing, you make sure to lock up the shop before doing the opposite for your house. Dust stirs when you push the door open, mumbling tiredly to yourself about robots and stupid decisions. You bypass the living room and kitchen, sitting vacant, stuck in a time bubble, not a thing changed or moved since you were last here.
Entering your bedroom, you plop face-first into the patiently waiting pillows. A faint smell of aging clings to them, which you elect to ignore. Freeing your phone from your pocket, you lift your head enough to check the time. 6:34 AM. Perfect. What better time to f*ck up your already screwy sleep schedule.
Loosing a noise of complaint into the fabric beneath you, you shift to no longer risk suffocating yourself in your sleep, attaching you device to the cable laying on the nightstand next to your head. A fuzziness is already invading you, burrowing into the covers. As it does, your sleepy mind can't help, once again, wondering if you're making a mistake. What if this thing really is from the government, or some sort of mad scientist bent on making a deadly robot army? Crazy, but so is this whole series of events. You can only imagine the sort of trouble that could bring to your doorstep.
Oh well. Not like you had that much excitement in your life to begin with. Maybe a change wouldn't be so bad.
You drift off with that thought burrowing into your subconscious.
Twelve hours later, you wake with the remnants of an already fading dream of twisting corridors and incomprehensible whispers. Smacking your dry lips, you meander into the bathroom, your 'morning' routine setting you on autopilot. Finishing up, you head to the kitchen, guzzling the well water from your tap after letting the liquid clear a minute from iron-tinted misuse.
Breakfast is far from an extravagant affair, frozen waffles with your average toppings and an overabundance of syrupy goodness. The warmth spreads throughout you as it goes down, a familiar itch building the more you stir, rushing through your meal and pretty much slamming your dishes into the sink. Right. Time to get to work.
Racing to the barn, you enter from a side door, flicking on the overhead bulbs to gift you better light in the huge space. Ignoring your truck, you first cautiously descend the hanging bot, allowing you to get a closer look at it. There is no sign it has powered on at all since you left it, making you frown. Whatever the hell type of battery this thing had must have just barely stayed on long enough for it to drag itself from the river and onto the road before getting fried. The first of a no doubt lengthy list of things you're going to have to acquire for your friend.
Speaking of, that might not be a bad idea. Rummaging through your truck, you find a spare logbook, empty and gathering dust in the bottom of your glove box, nabbing the pen from your current one. Pressing the button to release the tip, you start methodically examining the bot. There is, obviously, its barely-attached arm and the leg, crushed at two points, one above and one below the knee. You also discover various torn panels across its body, some with the metal peeled back like a can, while a few are outright missing. The back of its head, where most of its processor is placed, from the look of it, took quite a nasty hit, concave on the same side of the busted eye. Yeesh, must have been one hell of a fight.
Scribbling it all down, your next move is getting off its ruined garments. They, oddly, remind you of a jester, decorated in billowy fabrics, ruffles, and ribbons. What a strange choice for a being obviously meant to scare. Then again, could be pandering towards peoples' fear of clowns. Made about as much sense as anything else.
What little shreds of the cloak-shawl endure easily finish tearing when you tug on it experimentally. You wince at the unintentional destruction, praying that the clothes aren't too sentimental for the bot. You're not exactly the best at sewing, fingers a bit too meaty for that, but you could always give it a shot if it became a problem later on.
The shirt is a bit trickier, requiring you to hop on the hood of your truck to be able to lift it off of them. Placing it next to the shawl, you move to its lower half. Bracing to remove what appear to be boots, you pause when it becomes clear that is not the case, the black melded to its body. Huh. Pointed feet and no toes. Interesting.
Shifting focus to the pants, you slide them off, the last to join the growing pile of cloth. Able to take the bot in fully, you observe the way its torso splits between black and white, following the coloring of its crescent face. The upper portions of its legs and arms are pearly, save for the pelvis panels, while the lower section of each limb goes pitch dark, outlined in scarlet. You spot an abnormality on its right and left arm and leg respectively, a glitching where the black and red seep into the white. Weird.
Delving deeper, you inspect each missing or peeled chunk, plus the panels that otherwise smoothly hold the body together. You are going to need several replacements, not to mention its face, the busted optic reflecting you into three parts. Pulling the faceplate to the side, you grimace at the shattered circuitry displayed under what must have been a protective dome keeping it tucked away. This is definitely gonna be the worst part, you think. You're staring at what is, essentially, a brain. With your skills, that pretty much translates to telling an orthopedic doctor they need to stitch a patient's mind back together. It hits you once more that you are in way over your head.
You're gonna give it your damnedest anyway, though.
Figuring out how to access the guts of your project takes a bit, locating buttons that you have to experiment with several times to find the right combination. The chassis bursts out, spilling water to the cement beneath you. That's not great. At least you have access to an area you're far more skilled in: the body.
A myriad of wires and tubes greets you, a complicated mess of electronics, each part serving a function in keeping one part of the body or another up and running. Pistons and rods, wires and tubes, lubricants and vents, all your jam. Tracing every connection, you place every serial number and color-coded cable into your notebook. The power core presents itself to you as you backtrack said cables, a large, squarish box, upper right corner cut into a small L shape to fit snugly in its spot.
Checking it over, your mouth narrows in a grim line. Just as you thought. Completely water-logged. You have no idea what the hell type of core this is, the closest thing you've seen coming from those god-awful 'futuristic cars' (though hopefully it ran better than those abominations), but you're going to figure it out.
Having your preliminary list done, you pull out your phone, moving to the next phase of your plan. Some of the parts the (quote-unquote) guts required you already had on hand, stored in one of the vacant stalls for when your semi demanded maintenance, but there were some you were going to have to special order. You already had well-established businesses you acquired those from, though. It was all the robotics stuff that would call for a bit of Googling.
Getting the easy stuff out of the way, you spend the next couple hours scouring the web for a place to purchase the plates, core, and processor pieces you need. You had thought to sketch the circuitry you could see on the back of its disk, tiny letters and numbers printed in white. Each item you came across seemed more and more unique and expensive, increasingly making you cringe. You had quite a bit saved up from your workaholic ways, but you were a far cry from being a millionaire, able to toss about their funds as they see fit. This whole thing was definitely a splurge you were gonna have to pick up extra loads to fill the gap of.
At some point, when your eyes began to strain, your body prodding at you for food, you, at last, stumble across the same type of battery in your friend. Scrolling a forum, you immediately zero in on the picture, clicking the thread, the people within going on to talk about their time as techs at...Freddy Fazbear's? That giant, tacky pizza 'mall' you sometimes pass by in the midwest?
Actually...come to think of it...you had been driving through the same state when you stumbled across the bot. The city it was in couldn't be more than a couple hour's trip from the highway you were on at the time....
Peering at the dangling being, the gears in your own mind turn. Was this thing seriously meant to be for a damn family entertainment facility? You could get it maybe being meant for an older audience or teens, perhaps used during Halloween, but something still didn't sit right. Why was it out in the middle of nowhere? Why was it so damaged?
Diverting to the company website, you search for any mention of a horror attraction, or any bot that looks like it. You do get one hit, a daycare attendant by the name of Moon, but the design and colors are (mostly) completely different, save for the crescent moon shape on their faceplates. So, an animatronic (as the site calls them) kept under wraps, maybe? Something they were planning on unveiling? Or...
You glance at the bot again. Something they were hiding. Maybe it would be wise to get in contact with the company. This guest of yours could be just as dangerous as you initially thought it was when you first made contact. Yet your gut immediately let you in on the fact it was not a big fan of that idea. A sixth sense that rarely came to you, but when it presented itself, a deep, instinctual part knew you better listen.
Sighing, you exit the website and revert to the forum. A bit more digging uncovers a part of the conversation where a tech complains about a lack of necessary parts. Apparently not caring about placing it in a public chat, another drops in a link, promising a way to obtain them. There is a mild quip from a third about angering Fazbear, but the link giver laughs it off, citing how understaffed the company already is. 'No one wants to work here. Not for long, anyway,' they cryptically rebuff.
Shoving that worrying text to the back of your mind, you click the link. You are met by a wall of gray, the background and boxes for each item matching. It becomes very apparent to you very quickly that most of what you have spent hours gathering across the internet is already here, including the much-needed core and replacement boards.
Well, if that wasn't enough of a confirmation. The prices are about what you expect at this point, especially for some sort of black market broker for Fazbear robot parts. Putting the last bits of what you require into your cart, you proceed to checkout. Payment options and address boxes fill your screen, causing a surge of distrust. Common sense dictates against giving your personal address for 'hot goods', as it were, choosing to use your P.O. box instead. Normally, it was solely for junk mail, corporations offering you 'competitive pay' to work for them full time. Just as good for this.
Your card info is a bit of a trickier subject, though you guess you could always get a new one after the charge clears. Shrugging, you finish, pressing the power button, your phone screen going dark.
All a waiting game, now. Plenty of time to brush up on the more difficult part of your task. The programming rabbit hole ought to be equally fun.
Over the coming weeks, each part shows up one by one. You stash them with the rest in the stall, placing it all in its own special corner. Throughout it all, the robot continues to dangle there, eerily silent and still. You find yourself beginning to feel bad for it. If there is any sort of actual intelligence in there (beyond the obvious computer stuff), you can only imagine what it would be like to be woken up and learn you'd been basically dead for a month or more.
When the panels start trickling in, they are the first thing you work on. The cosmetic stuff is the simplest, after all. A screw here, a bit of prying there, and the gaps in the bot's shell disappear. You can't help mumbling to yourself as you work, tongue poking out slightly, lost deep in your work. Fitting a sheet into place, you make sure it's secure, offering the animatronic a pat on the shoulder. "There we go. You're well on your way now, buddy. The last of the stuff for your internals should be arriving any time. Just you wait. We'll get you working again here soon...hopefully. Still dreading whatever mess I'm gonna find in that head of yours. I'll figure it out, though, I swear. Even if it takes me an extra month...or two."
When you are not conversing with thin air, you are furrowing your brow, trying to wrap your brain around the absolute nonsense that is AI, and the various types of software, hardware, and everything in between that goes into it. Your boast of knowledge on car systems proves laughably useless in the face of true mastery. You can't even make a guess at the lines of code in your guest's processor with its entire system shut down, waiting for the new core to show up.
The day it does, however, trepidation springs from the oceanic depths to eat you alive. You are about to endeavor to actually turn this thing back on. Who's to say you'll even get to the part where you fix whatever got f*cked up when its head was bashed in? You can replace the external chips and boards, but it could easily have left permanent scars in the code. What if it was too f*cked up for your inexperienced hands to handle?
Little late to be doubting yourself now, a tiny voice points out. Suppose that's true enough.
Getting a head start, for once, you roll up your sleeves in the early morning of what promises to be an overcast day. Your latest task sees to the removal of frayed wires, the arm the first mess you tackle, followed by the leg. Those in themselves consume most of your morning, the joints at last clicking into place. Testing their movement, you smile slightly, wiping sweat from your brow. Torso time.
For all the damages inflicted to various spots across its frame, there is actually relatively little damage to most of the bot's guts. It had surprised you, at first, but you suppose it wasn't that far fetched. Most of the peeled metal and holes had been placed randomly, very few spearing directly through the middle torso.
Stripping what you couldn't save, you rewire and replace the rest. "Just...about...," you mutter under your breath, muscles straining from bringing a high tension point back together. It snaps into place, and you laugh. "Haha! There you are. Almost good as new! Now, to just work on your head and put in the core..."
Casting an anxious glance at the seemingly harmless little box sat on the tack shelf attached to the wall, you sit for a brief break. The last thing you need to be is any kind of shaky when replacing delicate processor chips. If you accidentally busted something, screwed up even a little bit, you could make things worse than they probably already are.
Seizing the opportunity to go over the courses you had acquired, you take a trembling inhale and exhale. So close. You are so close to finding out if you've just made a huge mistake, or done something good.
Idly leaning back, resting your skull on the truck door, you close your eyes. For a brief moment, a sense of calm washes over you. Whatever the outcome, you'll live with it (hopefully, ha ha).
When your body feels like it's no longer going to join your companion in shut down, you move on to the most delicate procedure. The protective cover clicks when you carefully remove it from the back of the bot's faceplate. Placing it to the side, you stare at the cratered portion of the processors. It could have been worse, but the utmost care is still vital.
Opening the other side of the face as well, you expose the wires which connect the eyes to various sensors, extending down the pipe-like neck to latch to the robotic nerve-endings running the rest of the body. Of all the things you had been able to acquire, a new faceplate to replace the cracked one was, sadly, not on the list. The Moon model parts had been closest, but the dimensions had been all wrong, smaller than the bot in your shop. At least you managed to nab a new optic for it.
Popping out the old one, the pristine one snaps into place with just the slightest amount of force.
Welp, no more stalling. Onto the brain.
Using tweezers for fear of your sausages screwing up, you snag every broken chip and bent connector. You sweat more over the next twenty minutes than you have all day. When the last slot is filled, everything looking right, you set down the tweezers, palms clammy. Oh God, if you never had to do that again, it would be too soon.
The only thing left was the core. Picking up the box, you focus intently on the empty space in its chest. Well over a month, and you are finally going to bring this thing back online. The truest test of your grit over this whole debacle.
Inhaling through your nose, your release it heavily from your mouth. Stepping up, you place the core where it belongs, hooking up the wires and tubes. Assured it's secure, you sweep up your laptop, waiting on the shelf for this very moment. Plugging the USB cord into the port in its head, you select the pop up when it appears in the corner.
To your relief (and apprehension) the command menu loads in, blank and ready for you to type. The battery was working, powering the basic systems until the bot is properly turned on. Before you dare it, you think to lock its limbs.
Alright. Moment of truth. Reaching up, you fiddle with the switches on the exposed back half of its head. The entire chassis jolts, making your hand retract like you were just burned. Wary, you observe the optics flicker, the ticking and hums of a machine's gears starting to turn. Rushing to the computer, you watch the lines of code run, alerting you to its rebooting sequence, performing a diagnostic.
A list of check marks promises that everything appears to be connecting properly, the program then shifting to begin downloading and updating. Raising a brow, you watch the download bar, the name of the file mentioning something about a game. What was this?
Hoping for a closer look, you type in the placeholder beside the game mention, requesting help. A single sentence forms underneath, talking about some sort of mansion maze and a Blood Moon catching you. Peering at the bot, you contemplate if that's its name. Definitely fit it (him? The last bit seems to indicate the bot is a him. Do robots have gender? How have you not thought about this before?).
Getting lost in thought, you return to mindlessly watching the bar fill. About three quarters of the way, however, it abruptly scrambles, errors crashing across your screen. sh*t!
Your fingers fly across the keyboard, attempting to figure out what went wrong. Multiple codes cascade, naming the issues, but you have no time to focus on any of them as they build. sh*t, sh*t, f*ck, f*ck, you were not ready for this-
The entire animatronic spams, arms and legs that should have been paralyzed lashing and kicking out. The once-busted optic flashes red on and off, though you have even less time to worry about his sudden ability to move, struggling to ensure the USB stays in with his sporadic motions. All the while, you fruitlessly battle his scrambling system.
Running out of options from your still mostly-basic knowledge, you elect to perform a hard shut down in a last ditch effort to prevent disaster. Every line of code vanishes, and the bot goes utterly limp, face angled towards the ground. Heaving for oxygen, adrenaline running its course, you slump onto your truck step, plopping the laptop on the floor to your right.
f*ck, that could have gone better. Guess you still had more to learn before bringing an advanced AI being to life. You can't believe you thought it would really be that simple in the first place. Overly eager idiot.
Allowing a small period to calm your thundering heart, you eventually lean down to retrieve your laptop. You can try again next month, hopefully. With a bit more understanding of the error codes that had consumed your screen. You were gonna have to access the logs and pencil each down-
Your train of thought cuts out when you realize that the command menu is once more full of letters and numbers, having run a fresh diagnostic while you weren't paying attention. A new error alert greets you, warning of an inability to connect to a network, unable to finish the download, the line beneath notifying you on his incomplete startup.
Attention whipping up, you jump in place to find the robot staring at you, singular pupil fastened to your face. Your laptop nearly falls to the cement beneath you, just barely catching it in time and very slowly putting it back where you picked it up from.
Standing equally cautiously, the bot's pupil follows, but he makes no move toward you. "Hey there, buddy," you finally manage to get out after a long stare down.
His head co*cks to the left at the sound of your voice, raising to scan its surroundings before returning to you.
Chuckling nervously, you offer a small smile. "Bet you're, ah, pretty confused, huh, pal? Do you...do you remember anything?" you probe.
He does not respond. Right. Great. Cool. Perfect, even.
Sighing deeply, you rub at the back of your neck. "Oh, boy. I don't even know if you can understand a thing I'm saying," you mumble, kicking at the dusty ground. Returning your focus to the bot, you give another crack at a friendly, reassuring expression.
"That's fine. I'm not really entirely sure about your origin, either, but for our part, I stumbled across you over a month ago. Or I guess it would be fair to say you stumbled across me. We stumbled across each other? Ey, whatever the case, I've been working to repair you since then. You were pretty banged up when we met. Hopefully you feel alright?," you inquire optimistically.
Again, nothing. Humming, lips drawing a thin line, you once more turn to the computer. The checklist shows full green, that all his bodily functions should be working. Is his lack of reply from being unable to complete the download? Could be his voice box. You had had to replace it as well after the speaker filled with water. Maybe a wire twisted out of place? No, that didn't make sense. The diagnostic would have picked up on that if it wasn't linking properly.
Stumped, you consider your yet-to-move companion. At least he appears just as docile as before. Still hella creepy, but you could live with that. The boot up out of the way, it hits you that you are obligated to handle the aftermath. A large part of yourself had been certain you'd be dead already. Since you weren't, that meant deciding the now-functioning robot's fate, a notion which did not sit right with you. He might not be able to speak, yet there is a certain awareness to how he leers at you, as if making his own assessment.
Leaving him here, stuck dangling and immobile, was the type of cruelty you were keen to avoid. That meant extending some level of trust by lowering him and unlocking his joints. Ha ha ha, you really were a kind hearted fool, weren't you?
Unconsciously holding your breath, you traipse over to the engine hoist controls. Scraping every drop of courage, you pull the level that works the chains, steadily bringing him to floor level. Your next mission, freeing his ability to move, comes grinding to a halt when the bot rises to stand by himself. Ah, right. The crash probably undid that beforehand, hence his flailing around as it occurred. Stupid for thinking it had automatically put itself back in place.
Frozen, you both resume the staring match, craning your neck to meet his luminous gaze. During your time working on him, you had adapted to just how tall the bot was, but it was coming around to smack you once again. Jesus Christ, why had Fazbear built such a beast? Nothing you'd found online offered you a single clue to their line of thought, nor what Blood Moon's original purpose was. In fact, there wasn't really anything on him at all. No discarded promotions, no hidden incidents whispered among the employees you'd stumbled across. The bot continued to be a gigantic mystery.
Breaking from your contemplating, you wave toward the barn door. "I, uh. Gonna be honest, bud, not really sure what to do here. I picked ya up and repaired you cause it didn't feel right to just leave you broken in the middle of the road, but I'm not exactly trying to be your keeper or anything. Ya can leave if you want. I would just stay under the radar if I were you. Never know who the hell might be looking for something like you."
At a loss, you whirl on your heel and march stiffly out the door. God, why did you do this, why did you do any of this-
Your body turns to stone when you hear movement behind you, head whipping to look over your shoulder. The bot has, at last, moved, trailing you to the normal-sized door you left from. It puzzles over the tight space, crouching and placing both hands on either side of the outer wall. It begins attempting to force itself through, your face falling with alarm when the walls bend at his endeavor.
"Wait, wait, wait!" you cry out, rushing forward and futilely trying to shove him backward. "You're gonna break it! Just wait here one second," you plead.
Swinging around to the front while the bot goes stationary, you unlatch the barn door and heave it open. Inside, the animatronic straightens, approaching quietly. Stepping out into the dwindling light of the forest, he soaks in the scenery. Going up to a tree, the bot lays a hand on the bark-covered trunk, picking at it not unlike your truck the night you met. That same puzzled air swirls around him, and it is within that moment you reach another problematic conclusion: this thing has no idea about the real world. Whatever knowledge he hosts must be limited by his creators.
f*ck, it really is like a massive puppy. Or a really big kid. Either way, there's no way you can just let it wander away. It'll probably end up walking right off a cliff or something.
Pinching the bridge of your nose and grumbling lowly to yourself, you intrude on his processing. "Okay. How's this. You've got a really high tech battery, but it still needs a charge every once in a while. You can stay here and use my power box when necessary, cause I doubt a regular outlet would work. In return, if you could try to stick close, not leave the forest or go poking around other's property, you're free to do pretty much whatever else you want. Excluding, like, killing or maiming animals. Those are some pretty nasty talons you got there. Should really be careful with them," you advise. Not that this bot has even a single reason to listen to a word you say, nor accept your offer.
Blood Moon's orbs flicker, miming a blink, faceplate tilting again. His frame turns your way, though that is all he does, motionless.
"...Sure, bud," you retort to his wordless answer. You've done the best you can. Up to the bot to heed you. For the moment, you are in severe need of food. This past month has dive-bombed you into even more atrocious health habits, and you're not entirely positive when you last ate a full meal.
Tromping up your porch, you dig through your pantry, a variety of pastas and canned goods lining the shelves. Keeping perishables in HQ was not exactly prudent normally. It had been ages since you've stayed here for so long. You're going to start getting the itch to travel swiftly with Blood Moon repaired (for the most part, anyway).
Electing the classic college choice of ramen, you obtain a pot and chuck it all onto the stove. Glancing to the side, you are far from shocked to discover Blood Moon standing outside the front door, blocking it, attention raptly following you while you hustle about. Ha, he's not going to stop, is he? So much for being concerned that he'll go get himself mangled a second time.
Loosing the air from your lungs loudly, you step to the door and open it. Your trailer wasn't really built for a being twice your height, but it was better than barring him from the house. Fall was approaching, and it pretty regularly rains at night during autumn around these parts. Considering the water damage you had just tirelessly worked to fix, you would prefer to not a have repeat of that, either.
"C'mon, big guy. Go find a seat on the couch," you instruct, backing up when he bends over, lithely maneuvering himself into the interior. The front door was thankfully wider than the shop one, posing less of a risk of damage. The bot has to hunch to avoid hitting the ceiling, dropping his full weight onto your furniture without a thought. You hear it creak, double guessing your choice immediately, yet it somehow manages to not completely snap in half.
Finishing your meal prep, you set the steaming bowl on the faded coffee table, kneeling in front of the TV. Pushing the power button, you skim your DVD and VHS collection. You didn't exactly have the luxury of internet out here, though you didn't really mind. Preserving the classics, watching them through physical means, was fine by you.
Categorized by genre, your digits halt on a rather ironic choice. Chuckling, you pop in the tape of Predator, already rewound per your own household policy.
Settling down on your reclining chair across the living room, you savor the rich broth flavoring the noodles. A peaceful hush blankets the space, the tension built over weeks of stress and worry about your companion's actions upon waking starting to lift. He is literally just sitting there, watching alongside you. That's what you get for judging a book by its cover.
While Arnold and the other actors (you were horrible with remembering anything Hollywood-related) engage the alien, you eagerly consume your meal, putting the bowl right back on the table when done. You can deal with dishes later.
Unfolding the recliner, you put your full focus on the movie, building up towards its climatic end. Crimson flying, you spot Blood Moon shift in your periphery. Peeking over, he is staring at his hand, completely enraptured by the massive extremities tipped like knives. You catch a twitch in him, a frown tugging at you. The level of intensity surrounding him this instant is a far cry from his examination of something new.
"Blood Moon?" you question carefully. That appears to snap him from his stupor, gaze rising to you. "That...that is your name, right? I thought I saw it when working with your code, kinda seemed to fit with your whole atheistic. You, ah, you alright there?"
The bot stays mute, suspicion budding that that is what he prefers, instead giving you a very slow bob of his head. The movement makes you brighten a little. So he does understand you. You weren't fully sure, even with him following earlier instructions to sit. Just had to keep it simple, apparently. Yes or no questions.
"Cool, cool. That's good. You looked a mite distracted there for a minute. I'm kind of, well, completely new to all this robotics and AI stuff. Pretty sure there's stuff in your programming I gotta fix. Well, if you want me to, I guess. It crashed pretty hard earlier, don't know if you want to risk that again. Hopefully it wasn't too important in the long run. Just, uh, let me know if anything starts to feel weird or off. I'll try my best," you promise. He merely keeps surveying you.
Awesome, another successful talk under your belt. You are just the pinnacle of riveting conversation, aren't you?
Groaning, you move to get up as the credits roll. Traversing to the sink, you wash the few dishes there are before making your way toward the bedroom. You have no need to check to know that Blood Moon is on your heels.
Stopping inside the doorway, you face him. "Okay, buddy. I gotta get some shut eye. I would really prefer it if you didn't come into my room without knocking or while I'm sleeping. If you want to watch more movies, you're more than welcome to, just please don't scratch or break anything. You can also explore close by, if it suits your fancy. The barn should still be open if you wanna make that your main spot to chill. I know it's a bit cramped in here for you. Just, again, please don't touch anything without my say so. A lot of the stuff in there is important, especially my truck. Kinda how I pay for this place in the first place. Night, Blood Moon."
Another bout of skepticism over whether he'll respect your wishes washes over you, but you're not about to spend the last sparks of your limited energy fighting the giant puppy over staying out of your personal space. Hitting the bathroom, throwing on the PJs hung on the other side of the door, you crawl into bed with a yawn. After countless hours of obsessing over getting Blood Moon up and running, you can at last relax, let the impending crash claim you.
And claim you it does.
The next fortnight is a hazy blur, involving you shuffling around like a zombie, Blood Moon shadowing nearly every step. The bot continues to prove curious, poking and prodding at every new item you bring out. He managed to drop and break one of your mugs this morning, but you shrug it off, sweeping it up quickly for disposal.
Despite the fact he stays firmly mute, you end up chatting away, telling him of your travels and life delivering across the continent. His attention is laser focused, absorbing every word from your mouth and every photo you show him. It is becoming oddly comforting to have him around, no matter his unnerving appearance and mannerisms. Such as terrifying you the morning after your crash, when your half-asleep mind forgot he existed, stepping out into a mostly-dark hallway and being promptly faced with demonic red eyes peering at you from the ceiling. You can't remember the last time you tripped over yourself so much and yelled so loudly.
Aside from the unintentional moments, you do catch him being a bit more bizarre once or twice. You've thus witnessed him pluck six flies from midair, proceeding to poke and prod their corpses, stripping wings for closer examination, ending in the poor bugs' bodies dropped to the floor. There are also more incidents of broken items, cabinet doors left hanging off their hinges, a mouse hole in the wall made bigger when he encountered and attempted to chase the fuzzy invader. It became rather apparent to you rather quickly that Blood Moon did not know his own strength, which did cause a bit of worry to seep back in. This bot needed an outlet.
Sipping some afternoon coffee, the bitter taste producing its usual grimace, you sit on the porch and observe Blood Moon pace back and forth, going from one end of your driveway to the other in a horizontal line. The tiniest twitch among the foliage instantly draws his attention, head snapping around so fast you get whiplash just witnessing it. A monarch butterfly fluttering along the breeze results in a fir getting absolutely marred by his pursuit.
What could a concerningly strong and destructive, ADHD-riddled bot do that wouldn't cause even more chaos? Based on the damage to the tree, he'd make for one hell of a lumberjack. Not that you had any use for firewood. You strictly spent the winter months on the road. Might be dangerous, but it was your favorite season, and each new blanket of white was breathtaking.
Perhaps you could get him some sort of robot-sized fidget toy. Wouldn't be hard to catch his focus for a while if it was intriguing enough. A Rubix cube? Nah, you could easily picture him getting frustrated at not being able to solve it.
Swatting at a fly while you try to conjure ideas, a suggestion surfaces briefly that makes your spine go straight as an arrow. ...That was a terrible plan. His thoughtless mannerisms were already a problem, and you were loathe to sic him on any poor animal in this forest. Though...perhaps you were onto something...
Placing your cup on the banister, you trudge down the stairs, approaching the massive bot. "Hey, Blood Moon," you greet, catching his eye. Freezing, he goes limp, pupil tracing every step you take, head craning down the closer you get. "Come take a walk with me," you invite, already well aware he would accompany you regardless.
You can't recall the last time you took a hike through these woods, admiring the earthy scent on the breeze, glimpsing a family of deer in a nearby meadow. Blood Moon lags behind you, distracted by every little thing, as expected.
You have to come to a halt when you threaten to lose sight of him entirely. Backtracking, you find him staring at a faint blue mushroom. Making a sound of amusem*nt in your throat, you address him. "You know, if you see something you like, you're free to bring it to the house. You could even keep it in one of the empty stalls in the shop. Just so long as it's not, ya know, a live or dead animal. Corpse rot is not a pretty smell, and we are not a zoo."
Processing your words, Blood Moon's attention slowly drops to the fungus before bending down to pluck it, shoving it into the sweat pants he dons. Your clothes, no matter how big, remain comically small on his frame, pants looking more like thigh-length shorts, but you have yet to finish fixing his original attire. As you predicted, your sewing skills are quite subpar, and you struggle to stitch even the smallest tear without it looking as if it will fall apart again in an instant. The bot has never showed any signs of disdain at your attire, though, or miss his old stuff, so at least it's not a pressing matter.
Able to carry on with your walk, you take a wonky loop across and to the north of the stream that is the nearest body of water to your abode. Blood Moon eyes the water for only a single second before stepping over its length to join you. Not traumatized by his previous swim, good to know.
At some point, you cross a small clearing, something lying in thick grass beneath a birch snagging your gaze. Waltzing over, you stare at the mostly-decomposed remains of a fox. "Huh," you mutter, crouching to pick up the skull. Whatever remains of its flesh and fur flakes down in gray bits, brushing off the rest. Blood Moon looming at your back, you hold it aloft to show it off. "The good old circle of life. Don't usually like disturb the deceased, but I had a funny feeling you might be interested."
Standing and turning to the bot, you extend the skull. Blood Moon hesitates, arm twitching before raising to accept it. Enthralled, he traces a faint red patch of fading blood blooming across the ivory. The action begins to stall after a minute while you watch, equally curious, until there is a sudden second where his expression shifts, LEDs flaring behind his optics, entire body violently flinching, fingers unwittingly slamming shut to pulverize the skull.
Stunned, you instinctively place a hand on his wrist. "You okay?" you fret, concern knitting your brow.
The bot's pupil flicks to you, and, for the tiniest millisecond, your heart skips a beat. It was like you were looking at a stranger, or maybe it was the other way around. As if Blood Moon didn't recognize you.
Thankfully, it passes in another blink. Wordlessly soaking in the scene, the crumbled bone in his palm, and your anxiety, Blood Moon abruptly opens his palm, letting the powdery remnants drift to the ground, before doing a one-eighty and stalking off.
Rooted to the spot, your body refuses to release you until he vanishes from sight. Then, at last, you are able to look down, taking in the fine grains ashing the grass like snow. What the hell had any of that been? You had seen a few signs of something being off, but nothing quite this flagrant.
It might be time to face the inevitable. You had been brushing aside the failed download thus far, but you couldn't keep it up anymore. Not if the consequences were really as severe as your course said they could be. You had just been hoping...
Determination sets your jaw. If there is something wrong with your companion, you are going to do everything in your power to help him.
By the time you arrive home, gray clouds have formed, the sign of a fall rainstorm. Joy. Not that it was going to deter you. Gathering your electronics, you head for the barn, the cracked door telling you well enough that Blood Moon is inside.
Not finding him in the main area, you scan the stalls, noticing the white parts of his chassis in the dark of the one in the back corner. Approaching, you squint into the dark, eyes taking a moment to adjust. When they do, you discern him facing away from you, staring at something he holds. Peering around him to get a better look, you catch sight of the icy blue mushroom in his grasp, claws gently stroking the cap. Hm.
Rapping the wood to alert him of your presence, you enter cautiously. "Hey, Blood Moon, buddy. I think I need to do something, but I need you to be okay with it first."
His focus does not go to you. Well sh*t. On edge, you scoot closer. "Remember that missing part of your code I mentioned before? I think it might be causing you some issues, pal. I really need to take a look at it again, see if I can't correct it. I've been working on my programming since you woke up on my down time, and I can promise I feel a bit more confident at taking another crack at it."
Not exactly a lie, but still a stretch on reality. You had been digging deeper into AI, unraveling how their systems ran. The log history of your first attempts to crack Blood Moon's had still been there, also allowing you to put a description to every error code which had sprung up. It seemed to be about a majorly corrupted string of code, something from a previous upload between two machines. Without access to the original second source fixing it would be a hell of a task, but you're not about to let your friend's brain degrade into nothing, which is apparently a risk. An incomplete Jenga tower collapsing in on itself.
The animatronic making no move to accept or deny you, you sigh heavily. You hate not having proper consent to pick his brain, but this latest outburst has pushed you to an edge. You just pray he won't despise you for doing this.
Aware you stand no chance of reaching his head with him standing at full height, you go to retrieve your step ladder from the other side of the shop. Setting it up beside him, the commotion failing to break his concentration on the fungus, you carefully balance your laptop on the top step before plugging the USB in.
Blood Moon jolts, causing you to tense, but the bot settles again, allowing your shoulders to droop. Time for another go.
Pulling up his command menu, you perform another soft reboot, Blood Moon temporarily shutting down. His arms go slack, dropping the mushroom onto the musty ground. Coming online...diagnostics...updates!
The bar fizzles into existence, and you pounce, accessing the barrage of data as it comes along. Each item enters the stream flawlessly, until about halfway through. You notice instantly when the mix-ups begin, letters and numbers coming with attached glitches, and the first error pops up. Here goes nothing.
Your hands zoom around the keyboard, tackling each failure as it appears. It keeps a pace you can maintain for a few minutes, bridging gaps and correcting entangled strings. Unfortunately, the pile grows, and you are left scrambling to keep up. Game triggers, plex guests, chases, motor control, security, it all tangles into a massive knot, and suddenly so many pieces are clicking into place. Fazbear was a family entertainment business. They must have copied code from one of their game systems. Cutting corners, it would seem. Only, whatever game they used ended up clashing with the other half of the program already inputted into him when he was built.
You swear to God, if you had a f*cking penny for every instance you've heard of a big company getting lazy and causing problems as a result, you'd be rich enough to buy one of them and Goddamn fix it yourself.
Spewing a slew of mental expletives, you perform the equivalent of shoving a sword through the knot, shredding the coding. It completely shatters his mind, but grants you the ability to piece it back together by hand, bit by little bit. "Hang on, Bloody. We'll get through this," you swear lowly.
The clock ticks on, time losing any and all meaning as you valiantly fight to string everything back into proper order. Holy sh*t, there is so much. He really is on a whole other level from mainstream AI. Your judgement of his sentience has only been cemented throughout this whole ordeal, and the days spent in his company.
Your hands start to cramp, but you refuse to pause and risk your friend's mind falling apart when you're not there, holding it together. You fear making any sort of mistake, sweating purely from the thought, well aware a couple months deep-diving a subject you barely understood before hand does not make you an expert. You are still barely able to understand what any of this sh*t is supposed to mean, but you are all Blood Moon has. You can't seek out a veteran, nor go to the company that caused this fiasco in the first place.
Finally, at last, after God knows how f*cking long, you manage to zero in on the last batch of corrupted programming. From what you can tell, this is the area centered on stimuli response, including his memory banks.
Isolating the strings, you wipe away the sweat threatening to make your eyes sting. You've got this. Come on. Just a bit further, and your friend will be right as rain.
Proceeding with utmost caution, not wanting to trip at the finish line, you connect and dismiss the codes. So far, so good-
Blood Moon twitches, coming online. Your gaze darts to his face, the subtle glow of his optics washing across the floor, tinting the shade of the mushroom. A few tense heartbeats pass, the bot absorbing the situation. Then, he thrashes out, spasming, just like before. Your ladder nearly topples, juggling rapidly to prevent your laptop from slipping and smashing on the cement while leaning your weight back and forth to stabilize your platform.
"Blood Moon, please, calm down! I almost have it! Come on, buddy, I just need to finish these last few strings!" you beg loudly, falling on deaf receptors. Panic warping your expression, you bear witness to another cascade of errors, only...these are attached to files. Specific files. Ones that have nothing to do with the original warring codes that were the major problem.
They're....memory files? Each pops open and overlays with static so fast you can't get a proper look at what they're showing. There's a glimpse of a smiling face, an arm, a light blue dress, dark, endless tunnels, and red. So much red.
Horror turns your stomach, but you have no time to waste on what the hell you're seeing. Barely managing to keep your balance, your mind races. sh*t, you'll fail again if you don't keep these files, but they are...
Thinking on your feet, you spam close the windows, shoving the codes they're linked to into secure storage and burying it as it deep as you can. It won't technically be finished the same way the rest of his programming will be, but it shouldn't cause him to deteriorate like the huge chunk of missing code had.
Slowly, Blood Moon stops, arms drifting back to his side. Your nightmare over, you yank together what little remains after throwing the memory files to the bottom of his mental ocean, slamming the enter key so hard you fear you might accidentally break it. Blood Moon promptly slumps over, cycling into another restart. Holy sh*t, moment of truth.
The same loop happens, processor ensuring everything connects and works properly. Then, the downloads and updates. Every centimeter you attain has you excreting bullets, biting and chewing your bottom lip.
A ping.
Hahaha.
Holy f*ck, you actually did it. Whatever the hell celestials live up there be praised. You cannot prevent the gleeful laughter that escapes you, the near hysterics you fall into.
Ensuring that everything actually stays in place over the next few seconds of him properly waking, you disconnect and descend the ladder. Leaning it on the wall, you pause when the mushroom enters your line of sight. Wordlessly, without a second thought, you pick it up and hide it. You'll not risk triggering anything, having a good idea of what the final straw was for Blood Moon's failing brain.
Facing said bot as he finishes rebooting, you wait patiently for his attention to land on you. When it does, you gift a weary smile, clutching your laptop under your arm. "Hey, Blood Moon. Do you know who I am?"
The animatronic flops his head one way, then the other, as if searching for something. At last, he straightens.
"Yesss."
The voice escapes him, deep, guttural, gravel under your boots, caught by an underlying hiss. There is an animation to him that was not there previously, encompassing your space. "You took me. In your...truck. Repaired me."
Hearing him actually speak after so long of him being utterly silent is a shock to your system, requiring your own sort of reset. "That's right, buddy. Sorry it took me so long to finish the job."
The robot blinks at you. "Whyyy?" it inquires bluntly.
You contemplate the question. It is a fair one, all things considered. The reasoning is still the same it has always been, though.
Meeting his gaze, you smile. "Because I wasn't about to stand by and allow someone to die. Not when they've done nothing wrong and don't deserve it."
That last statement is acid on your tongue. You know it's not true. You've seen too much. You won't have him remember that, though. Whatever the hell happened before he ended up on the side of the highway, you highly doubt it was really his fault. Not with the war you just raged to save his tattered mind.
Blood Moon is stunned into the silence you are used to, electing to walk past him and toward the wide open barn door. Outside, rain falls in rivulets, darkening the soil. Breathing in deeply, you exhale every bit of rigidity worked into your muscles after your close call.
You then promptly turn on your heel to face the towering animatronic behind you. Hehe, still sticking to you like glue. The grin you plaster on is both strained and excited.
"How about we get out of here, Blood Moon? I think we've been stuck in place long enough. Let's hit the road."
