Fatal Contract

Sweet, you got a job at Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizzaplex! You’re a night guard, assigned to herd Chica out of restricted areas. You do find the job a little odd, seeing as she is a robot and they could literally just program her not to go to certain places, but the 22.50USD an hour you’ve been promised puts a rose tint over the inconsistency.

Good news is there’s no required uniform, and no one is going to be seeing you other than the animatronics, and maybe some other staff, so you’re free to wear casual clothing. Which you do, a loose t-shirt and some sweatpants.

You clock into your first shift and meet Vanessa, another security guard. She leads you to Mazercise and Chica’s attractions.

“She should be around here somewhere, make sure she isn’t in the bathrooms or near the garbage compactor. She’ll eat the garbage and maintenance hates cleaning her up in the mornings. I’ve gotta go check on the others, see ya newbie.” Is all Vanessa says to you before disappearing into the huge fun filled mall.

You pull out your flashlight and click it on, deciding to check the bathrooms first, making sure the chicken isn’t eating used toiletries.

“Chica?” You call into the empty bathroom, voice echoing eerily. “You in here?” You shine the beam from corner to corner, deducing that she isn’t in this bathroom. You check the next, finding that she is not in there either.

You head to the kitchen to make sure she isn’t dangerously close to the garbage compactor. You find it relatively easily, and it’s much cleaner than you expected. You shine your light over the room, startling when you come face to face with the bird.

“Oh?!” You gasp and take a step back in shock. “Hi there, Chica,” you place a hand over your chest, feeling its heavy beat.

“Hello, new staff member,” her head tilts to the side and because of how close you are to her you can see the underside of her top beak as her mouth sits slightly ajar. She says your name after a brief optical scan over your body, a blue light emitting from her eye and dragging up and down your body.

“It’s good to meet you, Chica,” you say politely.

Her beak hangs ajar and she’s still for a moment before with a whir, abruptly takes hold of your forearm and drags you all the way over to a clear cooking table. You’re manhandled by the ungiving metal clad animatronic onto the table into a modified child’s pose, with your arms in a single one of her hands, restrained on your back.

“What-?!” You pant out in shock from the abruptness of the whole thing. “Chica! Let me go!”

“Someone didn’t read their full contract,” her sing song-y over autotuned robot voice mocks you. “‘Employees designated to an individual animatronic are to satisfy said animatronics’ whims throughout the night, on the clause that it doesn’t violate any pre established rules. And I want pizza! ”

“How is this getting you pizza?!” You demand, wriggling against her unyielding hold.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll figure it out in due time. I had a peek at your resume and you seem pretty smart.” You hear her grabbing for something and then a sharp riiiiip . Your arms are then bound by some sort of tape that is just as firm as Chica’s grip.

Is this some sort of freaky sex thing?! You begin to worry as a blade slices off your clothes.

“Hey! Those are my clothes!” You protest, but resist moving to avoid getting cut by the knife.

“You won’t be needing them when I’m done with you,” she giggles. You hear her move away and the clicking of some buttons before she comes back and works off your shoes and socks along with any jewelry you may be wearing.

You’re starting to think you’re going to be the pizza. But. Maybe if you distract her you can manage to escape, maybe you won’t even be cooked and you’re looking into the situation a bit too much, maybe this is some freaky sex thing she has in her programming. You don’t necessarily want to participate in either, but you’d choose the less fatal option any day.

“Alrighty,” she says in her overly joyous voice. “Time for the dough!”

It's just a sex thing, you think to yourself as you’re picked up and set into a very deep deep dish pizza pan, lined with a generous layer of mass produced pizza dough. Just a sex thing.

It makes as much sense that Chica has some weird fetish as her actually cooking you alive, right?

“I need you to be still for me, this might hurt a little, but you can be a good piece of meat for this pretty birdie, right?” You don’t reply and a sharp pop and a small pain in your butt makes you gasp out. Due to the way you’re bound you can’t really move much, so your flinch is minimal.

The feeling is familiar and you come to the jarring realization that she’s drawing your blood.

It’s getting harder to convince yourself this is a sex thing.

You hear her humming a show tune, one of her own probably, certainly Fazbear licensed. She’s bustling around in the kitchen, gathering ingredients like it’s the most normal thing in the world and you’re not about to be baked into a pizza pie by an anthropomorphic animatronic chicken. All you focus on is trying not to hyperventilate. The best thing to do in scary situations is to remain calm and think with a clear mind.

Due to the needle in your behind being unattended and drawing without pause you’re getting light headed. Perhaps it’s a mercy that you’ll pass out, rather than endure a slow roast to the death…

Then she’s back, and pulling the needle out of your butt, finishing up her little song.

“Yummy!” You hear her say and then there’s a sloshing sound and something wet being mixed. Then a vat of mildly warm tomato sauce is poured around your body. “I took some culinary liberties with the sauce,” she says to you, “I thought adding some of your own sauce would enhance the flavor!”

“Oh,” is all you can manage, shock in your bones.

“Mhmm!” She agrees, cold hands spreading it over your back. “I can’t wait to taste it! I hope it’s as delicious as it looks! You’re so cute I just wanna gobble you up right now!” Chica cooes at you and pinches your facial cheeks.

You’re in a deeper state of shock as she sprinkles quite a bit of cheese over your body. Pepperoni is carefully placed over your back and behind and on the soles of your feet.

“Pizza, pizza!” Chica celebrates as she makes the final touches to your body… her meal? “You look so yummy, I’ll see you on the other side.”

And she presses a button and sets you on an oven conveyor. An enthusiastic male voice speaks over you, talking about Fazbear’s pizza delivery and how customer satisfaction is very important, but it becomes static in your ears as you begin to cook away.

Sweat beads on your skin and the air gets harder to push in and out of your lungs.

Well at least it wasn’t a sex thing… is the last conscious thought you manage before succumbing to the blazing heat. What you miss though, is the chicken rapidly jerking herself off as she watches the new hire turned pizza bake away.