Hitmen Scribbles
patreon
Neon Shadows of Fate: Chapter 20
🕑 Added 2025-05-01 13:00:18 +0000 UTCChica bustled onto the concourse with a tray balanced in one wing. “Refill!” she chirped, depositing three more heart-shaped strawberry cupcakes. Bonnie accepted one, Freddy declined with a laugh, and Harry reached for the smallest—only for the Vanny sleeve to nudge the bigger pastry toward him.
“Greedy suit,” Harry muttered, blush creeping up his cheeks. Freddy chuckled, watching the fabric practically insist on extra frosting for its wearer.
Bonnie’s optics softened. “It likes making sure you’re treated right,” he said.
Harry bit in, strawberry glaze smearing pink on his lip. “I guess so.” He didn’t add what fluttered silently in his chest: how the suit felt almost parental, smoothing anxieties he couldn’t name.
Roxanne strolled up, Monty swaggering behind. She eyed the cupcakes, then Monty’s flyer still in Freddy’s paw. “Anti-Valentine Jam canceled?” she teased.
Monty folded his arms. “Postponed. Sappy crowd tonight. Even my sarcasm couldn’t compete.” Then he flicked a claw toward Harry’s frosting-smeared cheek. “Battle scar, kid. Wear it with pride.”
Harry swiped at the frosting, laughing. Roxanne reached out with a tissue, dabbing him clean. “Rockstars must look their best,” she proclaimed.
Music drifted from the stage speakers—Bonnie idly strumming a slow ballad. Couples and families swayed near the massive tree still up from Christmas, lights now twinkling pink and gold. Harry watched a toddler toddle toward the tree, halt in awe, then toddle straight back to him. He scooped the child up automatically; tiny fingers patted the bunny hood. The suit cocooned them both in plush warmth.
Roxanne nudged Monty. “See that? Kid’s a magnet.”
Monty huffed theatrically, but his grin betrayed pride.
Freddy cleared his throat. “Closing time approaches. We should escort guests out before Sun’s R-O-DX protocol initiates.”
Chica’s feathers puffed. “Let’s keep things sunny, not moony.”
They shepherded lingering patrons gently toward the exit, Harry waving shy good-byes. Several children parted reluctantly, hugging his legs before parents pried them loose. A final girl pressed a paper heart into his paw—“For my favorite bunny.” Harry stammered thanks, slipping the crayon-scrawled keepsake underneath the costume’s sleeve. The fabric hugged the note protectively.
When the atrium doors finally slid shut and the lock beeped, relief washed through the group. Freddy stretched with a servo groan. “Good work, team.”
Bonnie nodded. “No props lost, minimal confetti incidents.”
Monty rolled his eyes. “Minimal? I barely used three cannons.”
Roxanne smirked. “And we’re all grateful for the restraint.”
They dissolved into easy laughter—the kind born of nightly routine, trust, and love.
January 16 – 31, 1991
Monty had a flair for mischief that even Roxanne admired (though she’d never admit it). Mid-January, he proposed a “Gator-guided behind-the-scenes tour” for Harry—ostensibly to teach stagecraft. Freddy approved with conditions: no pyrotechnics, no fog until nearest fire-sprinkler tests were done, and strict adult supervision.
So Monty, eager, drafted Roxanne and Bonnie as co-guides. Harry turned up in the practice hall one afternoon to find a cardboard sign: “VIP ACCESS → BUNNY ONLY.”
Monty bowed with a flourish. “Follow me, superstar, to the hidden wonders.”
Roxanne snorted. “Hidden wonders meaning dust closets.”
But Monty did have surprises. First stop: an unused props room where he’d set up a goofy mirrored maze (old set pieces from a birthday package show). He gave Harry a small flashlight, declared, “Find the secret exit!” Roxanne followed, hinting at chords they’d practice later. Bonnie remained outside, tuning a portable speaker—acoustic background for the “quest.”
Inside, reflections warped and multiplied the bunny suit, making Harry giggle in delight. The fun twist: the costume’s paws kept gently steering him away from false turns, as though it sensed the right path. Roxanne noticed, eyebrow arched. “Okay, that’s spooky-clever,” she muttered, half-amused, half-awed.
Exit found, Monty revealed stop two: an unused lighting catwalk above the main stage. With Freddy’s sign-off, they clipped safety lanyards to demonstration rails. Harry stepped onto the narrow walkway, stomach fluttering at the height. Crowd seats below looked toy-small. The costume’s hug firmed, steadying him.
“Any second thoughts,” Monty asked, suddenly serious.
Harry shook his head, though he clutched the rail. Roxanne pointed to rows of colored gels: “These create mood. Watch.” She flicked switches; the stage bathed in deep violet, then ocean blue. Harry gasped each change. Bonnie, below, strummed chords that matched each color, filling the cavernous hall with shimmering echoes.
The tour ended back at stage level where Monty proudly presented Harry with a laminated “Backstage Tech Apprentice” badge he’d designed on the ticket-printer. Harry slid it inside the costume pocket, heart soaring.
That evening, he showed Michael and Vanessa the badge. Michael raised brow. “Promotion already? We should renegotiate your snack salary.” Vanessa, though, pulled Harry into a quick hug. “Well earned,” she whispered.
Mild drama struck two nights later when odd clicking noises echoed from under-stage lifts. Freddy paused mid-calibration, listening. Harry, nearby, stiffened at the metallic clank. Roxanne hopped down a service stair, flashlight in hand. “Probably a loose gear.”
They discovered a centuries-old animatronic arm caught in a pulley, jerking sporadically. No threat, but enough to jam the lift. Roxanne tugged; it jammed further. Monty gallantly shoved her aside—“Let the gator handle hardware!”—then immediately yelped as the arm clamped onto his tail decoration. Bonnie killed power, freeing him.
Harry half-laughed, half-panicked until Monty stood, dusted himself dramatically, and bowed. “You witnessed bravery.”
Freddy exhaled. “You okay?”
“Tail bruised, pride intact,” Monty declared.
Backstage, Vanessa patched a small dent in Monty’s decorative tail-armor and lectured him on caution. Michael logged the incident as “Minor Prop Malfunction; Major Ego Contusion.” Harry illustrated the report with a doodle of a gator wrestling a robot arm, which Monty immediately taped to his dressing mirror.
February 1 – 10: Echoes of Memory
Clara’s illusions solidified more often during these weeks. One crisp morning, she guided Harry to a hallway where sunlight cut through high windows, dust motes glimmering like gold. She knelt—an ethereal figure mirroring Lily’s rumored posture—and spoke of lullabies. Softly she sang a fragment: a lilting melody Lily had loved. Harry listened, eyes stinging.
When she finished, Harry whispered, “Will you teach me all of it?”
Clara’s translucent smile brightened. “Of course.” Over several evenings, she hummed phrases, Harry repeating until the notes settled into his bones. Bonnie eventually accompanied on acoustic guitar, Freddy adding low hum harmonies. The result: a gentle instrumental they planned to slip into the pre-show playlist as tribute.
William watched once from a shadowed corner, expression unreadable. After the session, he approached Harry quietly. “Thank you for keeping her song alive,” he said, voice rough. Harry’s reply came simple: “Thank you for sharing it.” The suit pulsed—a gentle circle of acceptance around them both.
Harry spent spare minutes sketching those scenes: Clara singing, William silhouetted by stage bulbs, the animatronics flanking like guardians. He slipped each page into the album Clara had gifted him—a growing tapestry of blended past and present.
February 11 – 14: Valentine’s Preparations
Pizzaplex staff voted unanimously to let Chica helm dessert strategy. She responded by converting half the prep kitchen into Sprinkle Zone. Harry snuck in to help, ending up sugar-dusted head to toe. The suit, of course, remained spotless, which made Chica declare it “cheating.”
Roxanne and Harry rehearsed a goofy but sweet song—a mashup of pop chords and comedic lyrics about guitars falling in love with drumsets (Monty’s idea). Freddy contributed a deep vocal cameo, while Bonnie twirled lights to match chord changes.
Monty insisted on a power-ballad ending with a stage explosion—Freddy vetoed fireworks; Monty settled for extra bubble machines. Sun helped cut heart-shaped confetti. Moon threatened to eat any stray glitter at closing, so Sun kept a vacuum on standby.
On the morning of the 14th, Harry woke to find the security office door decorated in a giant paper heart collage. Each heart bore signatures: Vanessa’s loopy script, Michael’s scribble, animatronic stamps, even Elizabeth’s playful “Auntie Liz was here.” Inside, a new plush blanket awaited—embroidered with small musical notes and bunny silhouettes (Clara’s handiwork via William’s arrangement).
Harry pressed the blanket to his face; it smelled faintly of lavender and—somehow—fresh linen despite its phantom origin. The suit welcomed it, fluffing softly around his shoulders.
Cards in hand, Harry made deliveries. Freddy’s card featured a pun about “key of love.” Chica’s included a doodle of a bunny hugging a giant cupcake. Monty’s card “ROAR’d you a happy V-Day!” Roxanne’s card? Simple silver ink: Rockstar Bunny, keep shining.
He found Vanessa mid-security sweep, slid her card between fingers resting on her sidearm. She opened it: Thank you for being my family. Always. Her breath caught. Without words, she cupped his cheek, kiss light on his brow.
Michael’s card he left taped to the coffee machine: Thanks for the jokes, the sundaes, the safety. Michael discovered it hours later, tried playing it cool, but everyone saw the way he lingered over the handwriting.
Evening showtime: stage lights dimmed, crowd murmured. Harry and Roxanne stood side by side, hearts hammering. Roxy whispered, “Remember—own the bridge, superstar.”
Monty kicked things off with comedic flourish, bubble cannons firing pink spheres. Then Roxanne hit the opening riff. Harry joined, fingers sure on keys. The new comfort strap balanced his instrument perfectly. Audience clapped time, confetti whirled.
Mid-song, Freddy strode out, deep voice booming a surprise verse that sent cheers through the hall. Bonnie segued into Lily’s lullaby motif, sweet and gentle in the rock groove. Harry felt the suit hum—an undercurrent of Lily’s melody nested in its plush. He played, eyes shining, imagining her smiling somewhere beyond the lights.
Final chord crashed; crowd roared. Monty proclaimed, “Love rocks, roar roar!” to delighted giggles. Roxy bowed, tugging Harry forward for shared applause. He blushed scarlet; the suit hugged proudly.
Backstage, animatronics traded high-fives, Vanessa handed water bottles, Michael wheeled in a dessert cart Chica insisted they deserved. Clara’s and William’s illusions hovered, applauding soundlessly. Harry caught William’s eye; the older man gave a small nod of unmistakable pride.
Later, in the quiet staff lounge, Michael guided Vanessa to the little table festooned with rose petals and battery candles. He’d improved—no stammering tonight—just soft words about gratitude, admiration, future hopes. Vanessa teased him about his “heart-shaped balloon overkill” but her eyes glowed. They toasted sparkling cider, slow-danced to a tape Bonnie had mixed—Lily’s lullaby woven under a gentle beat.
Outside, Harry snuck a peek through the glass, saw them laughing mid-twirl. He turned away, not to intrude, and found Clara’s illusion. She pointed toward the happy couple. “Love multiplies,” she whispered. Harry nodded, understanding more than words could hold.
Freddy appeared, escorting Harry back toward the security office, explaining that even rockstars need sleep. Bonnie trailed, strumming a soft reprise of the lullaby. In the cot, wrapped now in Clara’s blanket, Harry let the suit enfold him.
As his eyelids drooped, he felt: Vanessa’s laughter vibrating through walls, Michael’s goofy dance steps echoing, animatronics humming low tunes in recharge bays, illusions smiling faintly before fading. The Pizzaplex breathed like a giant heart, each beat a promise that tomorrow would bring new melodies—and Harry would play his part with growing courage.
The suit’s final squeeze murmured a wordless lullaby. Harry, smiling, drifted into dreams where guitars glowed like constellations and laughter rang louder than any fear that might one day stir. In those dreams, family was forever—rhythms intertwining, echoes carrying love far beyond neon walls into whatever future waited.
