Stowaway
Closed | @son-of-the-frost-hearted
Eric liked to think that he was a professional. And that he and Louise maintained a professional relationship. They each went about their business without conversation or eye contact, politely ignoring the frigid atmosphere which drove away all others when they stood within ten feet of each other. Machines, performing their assigned roles without question or feeling, just like the animatronics. They only spoke when the time came.
Now was one of those times.
“Did you hear that?” Eric spun, straining his ears over the clump of his shoes on dusty floorboards, the click and groan of his bad leg, the clatter of Louise aggressively sorting her toolbox. He wasn’t sure if she always did that, or only when he was present.
“Hear what?” Her voice was a hammer on steel—impatient. She didn’t even look up.
“Footsteps—stop that.”
She did. And she closed the lid slowly, to avoid any further noise. In the silence, that of forced stillness and held breath, they were easy to make out. Light, scuffing.
Their eyes met. Something—someone, was under the stage.
“Unless the bastards learned to sneak, that ain’t one of the bots.” Louise said, eyes narrowed. But she still took the sledgehammer, and the railroad spikes she drove through the animatronics’ feet when they’d been especially ill behaved. If there was one thing they learned in this line of work, it was caution.
She strode forward to take the lead and Eric let her. Not that he had any say in the matter—she had two good legs. Digging in his pocket for his miniature flashlight, he stumped after her and shone it into the hollow when she nudged open the stage access door. The sign—DANGER, TRAINED STAFF ONLY—caught the light, as did a staring plastic eye.