“You’re a legit crazy person,” I said. “Let go of me.” My voice came out fierce and cruel. Fuck this guy. Fuck this job. I was almost happy Ray’s little favor was going so horribly, meant I could hate him more.
“Your generation has no work ethic,” Gus hissed.
“You’re the same age as me!” What the fuck was wrong with this guy? He smirked, his eyes still cruel, his hands still gripping my arms. He had about two seconds before I kneed his groin and took a cheap shot at his face while he grumbled about his precious balls I’d smashed. Actually, I hope he did keep holding me because I’d really like to do that. My nose twitched and I stretched my fingers in and out, gearing up for a fight. A smile stretched over my face.
Everyone called me a psycho when I got like this. Psycho or not, I loved the thrill of a fight and once I tasted a brawl in the air I got way too excited. The smiling was the part people didn’t like. The laughing upset people too. If I could just grimace while I threw a punch people wouldn’t call me a psycho but I couldn’t stop my expression of joy.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He snapped. I hissed a little as his fingers dug into my arms. Go time, buddy. Time to knock out my boss's teeth.
“Uh oh,” Frankie suddenly said and we both stilled. It was the first time I’d heard him talk in person. It sounded like a programmed phrase, the tone mechanical and barely human. The end of it messed up, dipping enough octaves lower that it sounded almost demonic. Gus slowly looked over my head at Frankie. All the color drained from his face and he pulled his hands from my arms like I was made of fire.
“Frankie.” Gus’s voice shook. He took a few steps back.
“What’s going on?” I asked and tried to take a step away from the animatronic. Frankie’s arm snapped up and then fell on my shoulder. My eyes bugged. “What’s going on!” I eyed the little metal claws on the gray hand.
“Is he malfunctioning?” My voice was getting high-pitched with panic.
“Th-th-th That’s not good,” Frankie said. Once again, the last word dipped down into a low pitch that felt startlinglyominous. The stuttering was off-putting too. Damnit, they hadn’t maintained the upkeep of the machines and now they were freaking me the fuck out.
“Frankie,” Gus said with a forced smile. “You can’t do this. I control you.” Odd chipmunk like laughter came out of Frankie—fast and chittering. Gus’s words sent me into a panic because there were only two reasons for him to talk like that. One, he was certifiably insane. Two, Frankie could do what he wanted.
“Sorry,” Frankie said, the entire word that deep growl instead of the normal pitched friendly tone. It was slowed down too, a low growl that stretched on. I felt chills race up my spine. The paw-like hand on my shoulder had me trembling in place.
Then Frankie moved. He lifted his legs and gently pulled me to the side so he could step one foot in front of the other.
“I’ve had about enough of your shit, Gus,” Frankie said, his voice suddenly completely human. A little wheeze left my throat as I clung to the back wall. That was no prerecorded phrase from a song or show act.
“Frankie—” Gus stopped talking and started screaming as Frankie lifted a hand and swiped. I saw blood drops splatter the side wall—wet, red dots that sort of reminded me of sprinkles because sprinkles painted on the wall of the Funhouse made more sense than blood. Gus kept screaming.
“It’s quiet time, kids!” Frankie said in the pre-programmed robot voice again. What the fuck was going on? He swiped again, this time with his other hand. The metal claws splashed wet, red sprinkles on the other wall. The screaming cut off into a gurgle. Gus stumbled to the side and I saw four deep gashes in his neck, gushing blood between his fingers. His hand was on his throat, attempting to hold himself together and keep his blood inside.
Frankie shook out his hand, trying to flick the excess of blood off. He groaned with a sound of exasperation.
“I hate getting blood out of my fur,” he sighed. It was all too human. Nothing was making sense. I felt like the world was tilting. Oh wait it was. I was falling over. My skates flew from under me and I landed on my hip on the ground. Gus fell over too, choking on blood, gurgles and snotty blood bubbles coming from his mouth. His body jerked as he inhaled sharply, blood pooled out over the linoleum.
Frankie turned around when I fell to the floor.
“Ramona!” He gasped, sounding worried as he turned around and came towards me. My eyes bugged but there wasn’t much I could do except sit there as he kneeled down next to me and pressed one huge hand to my hip.
“Does it hurt bad?” He asked, large, robotic purple eyes a foot from my face. Frankie was huge and powered by metal. He could crush me.
“What?” I asked with a raspy voice, my eyes sliding to Gus who was no longer moving or breathing. “Fuck!” I hissed, pushing Frankie out of the way as I scrambled towards my boss.
“No, no, no.” I pressed my hands to his gored neck and pressed down, trying to stop the bleeding. I felt some of my fingers slide into the wound and gagged as I fingered someone's insides in a way I never anticipated.
“He’s dead, Ramona.”
“Stop saying my name,” I snapped. It was weird. Robots weren’t supposed to just know your name and talk to you like a person.
“Ramona, Ramona, Ramona,” Frankie sighed, his voice smooth and almost sing-songy as he said my name on repeat. His large paw-like hand dug into his own thighs, gripping them as he purred my name.
“Fuck me,” I grumbled under my breath, sitting on my ass with blood coated hands. Gus was certainly dead and there was no fixing that now. I heard the mechanical movements ofFrankie behind me, making it clear he was indeed a robot. I stilled, my shoulders crawling up as I sensed his head hover near me. He leaned forward and I felt fur brush my ear.
“I think I love you, Ramona,” Frankie said.
“Fuck me,” I hissed again.
“Well if you insist,” Frankie rasped and I screamed, my fight or flight response finally kicking in again.
