Marcie the Mime: A Silent Story Fazbear Frights

All In A Days Work

"Marcie! Come take your break," Rachel called, her voice cutting through the quiet hum of the workshop. The scent of metal and machine oil lingered in the air, a familiar backdrop to Marcie's long hours of labor. Rachel leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching her friend with a mix of concern and exasperation.

Marcie didn't look up. Her focus was entirely on the intricate inner mechanisms of the animatronic lying before her on the workbench. Tools and spare parts were scattered around her, a testament to the hours she'd poured into the project. Her dark wavy hair was tied back hastily, strands clinging to her forehead from the effort she had poured into perfecting every detail. Sweat glistened on her pale skin, but she didn't seem to notice. She was consumed by her work.

"Almost done," she said absently, her voice tired but determined. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand, leaving a faint smudge of grease on her temple. Her brown eyes flicked over the components with an intensity that made Rachel sigh.

"You said that an hour ago," Rachel muttered under her breath, but she softened her tone when she added, "Marcie, you've been at this for ten hours straight. You need to eat. Take a break."

"I will," Marcie replied quickly, though they both knew it was a lie. Her hands moved deftly, connecting wires, adjusting tiny bolts, and aligning pieces of the animatronic's framework. She couldn't stop now, not when she was so close. The prototype—her passion project—was almost ready. Every movement felt like progress, every adjustment a step closer to bringing her vision to life.

Rachel stepped closer, folding her arms. "You can't run on fumes forever, you know. What good is finishing this thing if you pass out halfway through?"

Marcie paused for a moment, finally glancing up at Rachel. The exhaustion was clear in her eyes, but so was the fire of her determination. "This isn't just 'some thing,' Rachel. She's going to be perfect. She's... she's going to be more than the others. Unique. Alive, in a way."

Rachel frowned, leaning on the table beside her. "Alive? You're starting to sound like one of those horror stories the night guards tell about the animatronics. You're putting too much into this, Marcie."

Marcie gave a small laugh, shaking her head. "It's just a figure of speech. You wouldn't understand—this is art. It's a piece of me. It has to be perfect."

Rachel sighed but didn't push further. She knew when to step back and let Marcie work, even if she hated seeing her friend run herself ragged. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you when you're too tired to finish the job."

Marcie gave a distracted nod, already turning back to her work. As Rachel left, the hum of the workshop returned, the only sound accompanying Marcie's whispered thoughts.

"She's going to be perfect," Marcie murmured to herself, her fingers brushing the animatronic's lifeless frame. Somewhere deep down, though, a small, uneasy voice asked: At what cost?
Hours bled into each other as Marcie worked, the soft hum of machinery and the occasional spark of soldering filling the otherwise silent workshop. Her hands ached, her eyes burned, but the thrill of creation kept her going. Every piece she added, every adjustment she made, felt like breathing life into something greater than herself.

The animatronic—her masterpiece—lay before her, eerily human in its design. Its painted white face was adorned with soft features, including a small black heart under its right eye. A classic black beret sat atop its head, and its mechanical body was dressed in a striped white shirt and sleek black gloves. The design was meant to evoke a traditional mime, but there was something about it—something in its lifeless blue eyes—that felt almost alive.

Marcie leaned back in her chair, wiping her hands on her grease-stained jeans as she studied her creation. "Just a few more tweaks," she whispered, but the words sounded hollow even to her. She wasn't sure if it was fatigue or something else, but she couldn't shake the feeling that the animatronic was watching her.