Mind Games

Robots

“GAH! NO! NO PIRATE COVE!”

BANG! BANG! BANG!!!

It stops. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding in, burying my face in Mark’s shirt. He goes tense, then begins to rub circles on my back.

“That was way too scary.” I whisper.

“What’s gotten into you?” Mark asks.

“I just…” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m not in control anymore. That terrifies me. I’ve lost control of my own mind.”

I clench Mark’s shirt into my hands.

“No you haven’t.” Mark states firmly. “You’re able to talk to me, right. And right now, we need to focus on keeping ourselves alive.”

I pull away and look up at him.

“This is crazy.” I mumble.

“Trust me, Marlene, nobody in this room is more psycho-bonkers-crazy than me.” Mark replies. He makes a ridiculous face to emphasize his point. I laugh softly.

“You wanna bet?” I ask, prodding his shoulder.

“You think you can be more insane than the mad-doctor-crazed-butt-stabber-... Warfstache-... hybrid-of-doom?!” Mark demands, pulling another face and flailing. I crack up at this point.

“Just wait until he sees what he’s up against!” I chortle. “The world is not prepared for- …”

We both become silent for a few seconds. Everything around us is silent.

“Ducky’s not in the kitchen anymore.” I say slowly. Mark slaps the right side light.

Ducky is literally two inches from his face. I scream and smack the door button, pulling Mark back as I do. He gives a choked cry, looking from me to the door and back again.

“Ch-check the power.” I direct. Mark lunges for the computer as I turn off the door light.

“Shit! Twenty percent, and we’re only at quarter to five!” Mark yells. “Get the left door open before we kill ourselves!”

I dart across the tiny cubicle, slapping the light as a precaution before I release the door. I thunk down on the spinny-chair, feeling Mark’s warm back through my shirt.

“Back to the pattern!” Mark states in a strangled tone.

“The pattern to keep ‘til our days are done!” I agree frantically. Mark brings up the security camera and makes a strangled, groaning noise.

“Where’s Freddy? Where’s Freddy?!”

He slaps buttons until he locates the bear, giving a relieved groan.

“Still three rooms away,” he tells me. “Five AM, just a little longer.”

He hits the switch for the right door. I grind my teeth anxiously, feeling as if I’m going to break down again.

I can’t. I can’t let anything slip. I can’t even let myself feel. No weakness. No fear. Just be a fucking machine, just for a few minutes.

I lean forward and press the light button. Clear. I turn it off.

“Da-da-dum.”

I hit the light again. Still clear. I turn it off and listen to the click as Mark checks the other door. I sit on the edge of the chair.

Focus.

I check the cameras.

“Foxy’s quiet.” I report monotonously. “Freddy’s moved one room closer. Fifteen percent, not quite quarter past.”