"FAZBEAR Ent.âą strongly encourages moments that bring our dispatchers and technicians closer together! Because when bonds grow stronger and deeper, so does the magic behind the curtain!"
I've been gone from posting cuz uni but DISSTRESS SIGNAL KINDA NEVER DIED? Altho I love this fella so much hes basically my oc now, but that's okay, that only means i get more obsessed with him and he's basically like a fully developed human being with his own way of speaking and such.
Arnold design by Holub! Member of the DS dc server and a frieeeeend so disparnie (in this case Andrew x Armie) going strooong~
heyyy gulps nervously... i thought i sent this already not sure if i hallucinated pressing send or what but are you okay with your art being used in video edits? (á”,,ÂŹïčÂŹ,,) with credit ofc
hey gulps nervously⊠do you allow for your art to be used in video edits?
I do!!!!! As a matter of fact, I LOOOOVE SEEING IT BEING USED, be it for edits, pfps, banners, as inspiration, etc., etc.
I once saw someone on the bus have my art as a wallpaper on their phone. I made a choked cry and had to get to the other side of the bus to not collapse from shaking.
So for clarity's sake, here's a list of what I do and don't allow:
What I DO allow (with credit)
Profile icons and banners
Using it for edits
Reposting it on pinterest specifically
Using it in like aaaaa yt video
Translating my comics into other languages
Dubbing over my art
Also for personal stuff that I don't even know how would one credit lol:
Personal use (like wallpapers, printing it out for ur room or smth)
Personal study for practice
What I DON'T allow
Aside from pretty logical stuff like tracing, claiming my art is yours etc etc.
Selling my art (merch, NFT's, prints, etc)
Training or uploading it to AI datasets
Reposts without credit
If I missed anything let me know I'll clarify it then
I'm sorry if I made my application for the mod server too formal!! everyone having a good time is important to me (â ÂŽâ Â â .â Â â .Ì«â Â â .â Â â `â )
Not at all!!! We surprisingly got a lot of applications and it wasn't in particular anything too formal or too informal we were rejecting, the truth is we didn't expect the server to have a looot of members so we also didn't take a lot of mods on the team.
The ones we ended up choosing have the timezones and their free time set up in a way that we thought would make it possible to have at least one mod always on
If we ever feel the server had outgrown the current staff we will be opening the mod applications again, for now tho the server is sound and working!
I hope everyone is having fun, you included :3c
And if YOUUUU haven't checked it out yet, please do! I really feel like it turned out better than I could ever think, me and @bye-cass are both very proud đââïž
i saw the arnie latino tweet and i couldnt resist putting dispatch in the shadow the hedgehog "i just love latinas" meme
Tbf tho
As far as character goes, and manierysm etc. Dispatch is waaaaaaaaay closer to Sonic than shadow, if anyone.
Their characters r actually very unique I think, because Arnie isn't just a whiny pathetic baby boy, he's a grown ass man with balls, but you can sympathise with him. He cries cuz mcm and the mimic is fucking teriffying not cuz he needs to be protected, he whimpers cuz he's on no sleep and high adrenaline, probably delusional too, from all of it, and dispatch isn't just (I SHOULD PROBABLY MENTION IM RUNNING OFF OF PURE HEADCANONCS HERE FOR DISPATCH) a cocky assholy phoneguy, he sounds like he's very charismatic and manipulative but not in a manhwa sexyman way, just in a "I work for a greedy horrible company sending specifically lonely man to their deaths, but you wont guess from my voice even A BIT if thats gettign to me when I try to sleep at night or not".
Back to the latinos thoooo
In dispatches case its more of a:
Dispatch: I just LOVE them pathetic and exhausted, Mr. Afton.
A simple community for Distress Signal enjoyers (Arnold x Dispatch) from Five Nights At Freddy's; Secret of the Mimic! | 11 members
a sotm server about dipatch x arnold
Welcome! This server was made with love by me and @waddiwasu for folks who just wanna enjoy Distress Signal without the fandom stress. Itâs small, laid-back, and not supposed to be strict! Be yourself, be kind, and don't overthink it! letâs have a good time together <3 <3
watching ryetoast and friends freecam to look at details in arnold's van...
arnold already has the work order papers, which he signed, in his van for going to MCM, but he didnt seem to know he'd have to do that job right then? or know any details about the job? maybe he just signs everything without thinking. this also implies that while dispatch acts like hes sending him to more jobs impromptu "because he's the closest", fazbears actually schedules him in advance and plans to make him work these crazy hours. without him realising
i think this is a company vehicle and not the truck they threaten to repo, since they could place the data diver into it without him knowing. might be obvious to some ppl but i saw others thinking he owned the vehicle
saying that, he drank a stupid amount of soft drinks in 36hrs RIP his kidneys. he seems to have only consumed brands of food and drink that fazbears owns, so maybe that gift certificate he's offered is just for fucking fazbear stores n the only useful thing he can get w them is junk food. he just has to live off it to save money bc he gets paid like ass
he has a certificate taped to the door about graduating from a fazbear "alternative education" program to become a tech, so i wonder if he didn't finish highschool. his training also apparently expires the same year the game takes place, one of the streamers pitched that fazbears sent him to MCM to get rid of him (or else prob planned to fire him regardless*) so they wouldn't have to retrain him. and his emergency contact is N/A </3333
^ with this i wonder if fazbears targets vulnerable ppl like arnold to become low-level workers bc they're so desperate that they're really easy to exploit. arnold has no loved ones, not even a friend for emergency contact apparently, and he might have a poor educational background. and now possibly his only education/training is to work specifically w fazbear products, which isn't rly transferable, so it'd be hard for him to get hired anywhere else
*wait they pointed out in the bad ending u get fired just for not answering dispatch, even before they find out about you losing the data diver. but they've sent in so many teams before, they have to already know that the mimic will hijack dispatch's contact with them. i thought dispatch's "so you admit it?" line was a little weird-sounding, but now it seems like since arnold survived he had to scramble for an excuse to fire him. fucked up...
Do YOU want to mod for a Distress Signal DC Server??
Distress Signal in the shipname for Arnold x Dispatch
If that answer is yes, then my friend, check out this very simple mod application!
Thank you for your interest in helping keep the Distress Signal community running smooth! This is the application for moderators on our ser
The server is almost done! but before that, me and @waddiwasu thought that having mods set and ready by the official opening would be more beneficial instead of posting the application afterwards.
Okay imma rant for a bit
After the whole normies comming in very big waves to the online spaces thing, everything feels sooooo fuckign monetized and calculated.
(I'm talking from a twitter artist perspective here idk how it's been on tumblr for yall) Fanart accounts don't feel like they make from a place of their hype for the art or fandom, for the joy of talking bout a topic they like or learning to create, but from a place of wanting to be the next big artist ppl look up to
I have really been enoying the community doin arnie and dispatch stuff tho, because they r literally almost blank slates, you can draw them how you want, make them act on one end of the spectrum or another, make them toxic af or wholsome, patheticly in love on strangers, they are COMMUNAL OCS a this point, the world is healign blah blah blah
My point hereeee,
this server is supposed to be a fun hangout spot for ppl who r interested in the same thing and want to talk bout it, like friends who just don't know they are friends yet! Please don't feel like it's corporate, don't feel worried to talk to people, and being a mod isn't a JOB YOU HAVE TO GUARD WITH YOUR LIFE; It's there so things run smoothly and if someone forgets themselves and writes a bible in the art chat, or starts mentioning something that doesn't really have a place there, we can nudge them in the good direction
MY LOVE FOR THIS MAN RN IS TOO STRONG TO LET THAT STOP ME
Rn i'm doing some linarting and testing coloring, since I need to do it in CMYK and im very much used to RGB, also my tablet shows me diferent colors that other pcs, and pcs dont show them liek they r printet sooo thats a doozy
BUT- so far i think it looks good ey?
If everything goes according to the plan in my head and there is no other stuff pullin me away I should be ordering first samples this week! I'll be sharing everything as I go~ Altho I am more active on twitter but I'm trying to navigate tumblr as well. If I'm dead here for a long while tho then check there, chances are I just forgor
I'm also planning on making a matching dispatch one, and toying with the idea of makign more of them in a smaller size so u can link them like a lil chain of characters holding eachother.
Just imagine it, dispatch -> arnie -> small mimic -> tiger plush
The last time he brushes his teeth or combs his hair or shaves, he muses as he enters the bathroom. And heâs not even in his own home to do it. Heâs inside the apartment of a man whose name he still doesnât know; a man who is only too happy to send him to his death, not once, but twice.
And heâs been foolish enough to agree to go both times.
Normally the technician does a hasty job shaving before work; sometimes he even does it in the van on the way, using the mirror on the sun visor for guidance. Yeah, yeah, he knows thatâs kind of dangerous. But heâs a good driver. Heâs got a perfect driving record, as a matter of fact, because that van is the means to his livelihood. He really needs to clean it out soon, though. Those discarded food wrappers are starting to pile up.
Not that any of that is going to matter much when Iâm six feet under, he thinks bitterly.
The shaving cream heâs been lent lathers nicely. Much nicer than that cheap stuff he sometimes splurges and buys at the local grocery store. Itâs not technically in the necessity category, so he doesnât always have it available. But this is nice, this brand Dispatch has. Just like the sturdy razor clutched in a hand thatâs surprisingly steady for a man with a date with the gallows. Nothing but the best products money can buy, of course. He strokes appraisingly over his cheeks and jaw once heâs finished, studying his appearance in the mirrored medicine cabinet. Soft and smooth. Probably the best job of it heâs done in a long while. At least heâll meet his doom looking halfway decent.
Arnie switches on the shower to allow the hot water to run, more out of habit than necessity, accustomed to the delay in his own living space, the water heater not as efficient. He finishes brushing his teeth, wondering if he should toss out the toothbrush or just leave it in the cup beside the dispatcherâs. Was it a bid for good luck, or just foolish optimism? He's still uncertain when he steps over the lip of the tub and draws the curtain closed, now standing under the spray of water while mulling over his fate, the bar of Old Spice soap already forgotten in his hand, oblivious to the scent of citrus fruits and cinnamon and cedar with a hint of vanilla perfuming the air.
He doesnât notice the bathroom door open; doesnât realize heâs no longer alone until the vinyl liner and cloth curtain are pulled back and the apartmentâs owner steps behind him. Maybe the dispatcher had knocked before heâd entered the room, but he doubts it. He doesnât need an invitation to a place he owns. It would be beneath him to ask anyway. Arnie is the one that begs.
âWhat are you doing in here, hmmm? Daydreaming?â Dispatch hums beside his ear as he easily pulls the soap from his nerveless clutches.
The technician remains silent, staring at the pistachio colored tiles lining the wall in front of him. Thereâs a chip in the grout along one of the seams. He wonders if the other man has ever noticed it.
He briefly considers sharing the morbid thoughts heâd been having. Wondering how Fazbear Entertainment will handle his final affairs. An ex wife and a child living in another state are the only family he can lay claim to, and neither wants anything to do with him. Heâd initially put his former spouse down as an emergency contact just for the sake of filling out the job application thoroughly, then had erased it, knowing sheâd never come back. Maybe heâll lie in a potterâs field. No funeral service. No headstone.
And Dispatch will simply doom another candidate. Dozens, if necessary. Until the mission is finally completed.
âI found something for you to wear. Perhaps not as rugged as your work clothes, but theyâll suffice. Save time wasted filling out a requisition form, acquiring a new uniformâŠâ He begins lathering Arnieâs shoulders, and the touch feels wrong somehow. Itâs too gentle. Too considerate. He doesnât want that right now. He wants to hold onto the anger and the fear, as sour tasting as they are.
âYou giving me the silent treatment now? Is that it?â His fingertips drag lather across his spineâsupple and smooth, not calloused like Arnieâs own blue collar handsâfollowing the curves, over and under and over again, finally resting just above the swelling curve of his buttocks.
Arnie bites his tongue. He wants to turn around and yell at the man. How dare he be so calm? So languid, as if they have all the time in the world? Of course he doesnât care; heâs not the one going back in there. Heâll be safe and cozy in the office while the technician is forced to navigate a treacherous building and confront that metal monster once again.
When his coworkerâs fingers abruptly abandon his body itâs almost a relief, but the feeling doesnât last long. Now there is cool liquid being applied to his scalp, an arm snaking around his waist to tug him backward, away from the direct pulsing needles of water, so that his hair can be lathered properly. As Dispatch begin working near the nape of his neck Arnie sucks in a sharp breath. Sensitive there. His body is responding even though he doesnât want it to. Betraying him.
âDoes that feel good?â Somehow the man manages to speak in a low, sultry tone, the competition of the noise of the shower negligible. He nudges his subordinate forward again, bidding him to keep his eyes closed, guiding the water over his tresses. He obeys, listening to the sound of the suds splatting against the floor of the shower. For someone that had implied there was a limited amount of time, the dispatcher certainly seems to be dallying, combing his fingers through Arnieâs thick strands over and over, letting his nails scrape his scalp. Something warm presses against the back of his neck now, insistent, sucking, the realization that itâs his new loverâs mouth making his gut flutter, his cock twitch.
He whimpers when the other man touches him there, stroking over the hardening flesh. He rests a hand against the tiles, his head bowing, pulling his neck out of reach. The cut on his arm is beginning to throb again, a dull beat that mirrors the rhythm set by his heart.
âArnieâŠâ
âNo.â He clamps down on his superiorâs wrist, jerking his hand away and twisting around to face him. The water spills over the other manâs cheeks and nose and lips, his lashes half lowered in damp clusters over eyes gone dark with desire, the pupils blown wide. He looks like some Adonis sculpted into a fountain, wet and handsome and perfect. Too perfect.
âNo?â Dispatchâs mouth twitches, seemingly unperturbed by his guestâs reluctance, his hands now firmly cupping his face. Arnie struggles to remain unresponsive when his mouth is captured, but itâs a lost cause. He tastes the shower water, faintly chlorine saturated, and the lingering mint of mouthwash. Their tongues wrestle and the technician feels himself grow lightheaded. He would have staggered, crumpled if not for the man keeping him upright, bracing the side of his neck and supporting the curve of one hip. Lips press hungrily against the divot of his suprasternal notch, filling the hollow, following the branch of collar bone, licking at the droplets of water scattered there.
Arnie struggles to swallow past the fingers now squeezing the column of his throat, an ever tightening constriction, the rings of cartilage compressed, narrowing his airway. He thinks for a split second that this will be his end after all; that his superior is so eager for him to meet his demise that heâs seeking it early. Then the vise around his throat abruptly loosens and he gasps, sucking in as much water as air, the scalding heat of the dispatcherâs cock grinding firmly against his abdomen.
âArnie.â The name drags across his skin, needy, making him painfully aroused. Flushed and aching, the technician pulls at the other manâs bottom lip with his teeth. He wants to devour him, as poisonous and corrupt as he is; swallow every flavor lurking in every precipice and valley. He wants his bitter taste to be the final one he carries with him back into that factory; the final one that lingers on his lips and tongue and is pressed onto his teeth and gums and palate before he breathes his last, the ultimate sacrifice made for this wicked creature.
He feels the arousal spilling from the crown of his cock, a thicker type of wetness than the water cascading over it. It makes fucking into the loose circle of fingers offered even easier. He huffs his pleasure against Dispatchâs shoulder, his nipples pebbling as they brush the other manâs.
âTurn around.â The instructions confuse Arnie but he complies, surprised to feel something creamy and cool and almost greasy being spread between his thighs. Conditioner, maybe? But whyâ
âOh, fuck.â A cock slides between them, rubbing against his perineum and nudging his balls.
âPut your legs together a little more. Yes, like that,â he croons into his ear. The sensation intensifies as he begins to have his thighs properly fucked from behind, the wet slap of skin punctuating their collective gasps and moans. It feels amazing; Arnie hasnât done much in the way of stimulating anything aside from his cock and occasionally his scrotum. He doesnât think he can cum from this, but judging from the hoarse rasping from his partner, the other man certainly is going to.
Once again the technician braces himself against the shower wall, the harsh, rapid thrusts jostling his body, making his hands squeak against the tiles.
âArnie. Cum with me.â
He lets a hand drop, his fingers curling over his throbbing cock, trying to match the other manâs rhythm. Thereâs a roaring sound in his ears that might be his own pulse, like a freight train barreling forward over the rails. Fingers dig more firmly into his hips. His own grind back to meet the dispatcherâs, then thrust forward, guiding his cock through the narrow circle of his fist. Back and forth, until he feels the man behind him stop and stiffen and shudder, the sight of that splatter of cum making his own spew forth.
He braces his forearm against the wall, using it to cradle his forehead while he recovers. Dispatch kisses the back of his neck as he slides free from the tight clutch between his legs, now slipping an arm around his chest to hold him. It feels deceptively tender again; affectionate when it shouldnât be, but heâll allow it this time. One last little bit of comfort to enjoy.
All too soon it ends, his partner releasing him and Arnie moans in disappointment, confused until he realizes that the other manâs blindly reaching for the lever to shut the water off. He succeeds, swiping now at the shower curtain and liner, opening a pathway for them. Itâs the fastest heâs ever toweled off, after exiting that tub; in truth, heâs still fairly damp, but at that moment heâs not overly concerned about a lecture that might ensue regarding dripping all over the sparkling linoleum or tidy shag carpeting. He watches his guide open the door to the adjoining bedroom, noting the bed linens still havenât been changed, the ruby stains already faded to rust now that his blood has dried. The injury on his arm has stopped bleeding again, the discomfort lessened now that itâs no longer under the stinging spray of water.
âCome here, Arnie.â
He obeys, like he always does when instructed by the dispatcher, moving forward until he reaches the other man.
âYour outfitâs on the dresser. I need to strip the bed. I have leftovers in the fridge if you want them before we leave.â
The technician reaches for the undershirt and briefs folded neatly on top of the pile. âSo thatâs it, then,â he says softly, stroking a thumb over the fabric. Always the finest things money can buy, like the hygiene products and towels in the bathroom, earned from the labor of poor wretches like himself.
âWhat?â
âHow do you do it?â He shakes his head, unfolding the shirt and shaking it open before pulling it over his head. âHow do you sleep at night, knowing youâre condemning innocent lives?â
The dispatcher sighs. An annoyed sound. âWeâve discussed this already. Do I really need to repeat it?â
âNope. I got the message the first time. You want me to risk my neck so you can buy more of your fancy conditioner and your whatever thread count sheets. I copy that loud and clear.â
âYou make it sound as if Iâm enjoying seeing our coworkers perish. As if thatâs the ultimate goal. Things would be a lot simpler if your predecessors had succeeded. The company would have been spared a lot of resources and time wouldnât have been wasted.â The other man begins pulling the pillows and comforter off of the bed, piling them on the floor beside it.
âYet somehow you still manage to enjoy the benefits you reap from it, so itâs really all the same, isnât it?â He steps into the boxer briefs next, wondering for a moment what he wouldâve done if they werenât roughly the same build. Probably made him wear his clothing anyway, most likely.
âWorking to earn money is what motivates every employee, no matter what the job is. Itâs what drives the economy and allows civilization to flourish.â
âI know that.â Arnie scowls. âI just wishâŠâ
âWhat?â The elastic of the fitted sheet snaps as itâs lifted over one corner of the mattress, the man pausing to regard the technician.
âJust wished you cared a little more, is all. About the people you send on these missions,â he adds gruffly, thumbing the front of the long sleeve shirt closed.
âAbout you,â Dispatch clarifies.
âNot what I said,â the partially dressed man mutters, already regretting his words. He doesnât need a reprimand or a lecture. He knows what this is and what it isnât. It doesnât matter what he wants. What he secretly aches for.
âI told you I was glad you made it out okay.â
âYeah.â
âI meant that.â
Arnie shrugs, zipping the fly of his loaned pants. âHard to tell when youâre talking to someone who openly admits they lie.â
âWhat is it you want from me, Arnie?â
âNothing. Not a God damn thing.â He jerks on the leather strap of the belt, securing the buckle before threading it through the belt loops, the process interrupted when Dispatch suddenly drops the sheet and moves closer, wrapping his arms around him.
Arnie stiffens in surprise. He has to struggle to free his arms from the embrace of the other man, cautiously returning the gesture. âWhy?â He whispers.
âYou still donât get it, do you? You think Iâve ever brought anyone else from work into my home? Into my bed?â
âI donâtâŠâ
âI wanted you, Arnie. I want you,â he corrects gruffly against his cheek.
Something tightens painfully in the technicianâs chest. Too much. Itâs too close to what he craves.
âYou donât have to lie,â he admonishes. âI already agreed to go back.â
âIâm not lying.â He combs through Arnieâs damp tresses, drawing back to study his features.
âOhâŠâ He exhales a shuddering breath, his grip on the other man tightening. Youâre killing me, he thinks. Killing me with kindness before you lead me back to the slaughterhouse. And it makes everything so much worseâŠ
âWe should get going,â Dispatch finally murmurs, releasing him and stepping back.
âYeah, okay.â Arnie nods, watching as the other man stuffs the ball of sheets into a laundry hamper, then begins selecting clothes from his closet and dresser drawers. He rubs a hand against his recently shaven jaw, realizing he mightâve nicked himself in a couple of places after all. Hardly the worst of the injuries heâs likely to sustain, he thinks, following the apartment owner into the kitchen. He eats whatâs set before him more out of necessity than appetite, his stomach more and more uneasy as the time to depart draws closer.
He sets his soiled dishes in the sink as directed, then steps into his work boots, dropping to one knee to lace them up properly. Dispatch sits on the couch to slide his Oxfords on, frowning over a scuff mark on the toe of one shoe before unfolding his legs and rising to his feet.
âReady to leave?â
Heâs not. He never will be. But he nods anyway.
***
They ride back to Fazbear Entertainment in silence.
Instead of parking closer to the entrance, the driver pulls into a vacant spot beside Arnieâs van. He withdraws the keys from the ignition, keeping them tucked into his fist as the pair continue to sit without speaking, the only sound the ticks as the engine block cools off.
Finally the dispatcher clears his throat. âNervous, Arnie?â
âYes.â
âIâve never led you astray before, have I?â The cheerfulness sounds forced.
âYou know all bets are off once I set foot inside that building. That thing will be imitating you again. If it even decides to talk to me at all. It may just kill me as soon as Iââ
ââNo, it wonât,â the other man interrupts harshly.
âIt killed those other men,â he reminds him. âWeâre not trained for this. Weâre technicians, not soldiers. We didnât sign up for this. I didnât sign up for this,â he adds softly. âWhen I donât come backââ
ââYou will,â Dispatch interrupts again, his voice a low growl.
âWill you immediately send another unsuspecting soul? Will you at least warn them first? Or will you just keep sending themâŠâ
The dispatcher squirms in his seat. âArnie, I told you, itâs not me making these decisions.â
âWill you?â
âWill I what?â He massages the bridge of his nose and sighs. âWill I follow my superiorâs commands? Yes. Just like you need to obey yours.â
âAlright. Iâm going.â Arnie begins reaching for the door handle, then hesitates. âWhatâs your name?â
His coworker blinks, looking surprised by this query. âIf I tell you, you canât use it over the radio,â he cautions.
âI wonât,â he promises.
âItâs Andrew.â
âAndrew,â he repeats, trying the sound of the name out loud. Yes, that suits him. He wonders if he goes by Andy or Drew; what one has to do to earn the privilege of addressing him so informally; what it would be like to gasp any version of it out during moments of intimacy. Heâll never know, will he? He should have asked sooner. Now itâs too late.
âArnie, wait.â A hand curls around his sleeve, halting his progress again. âGood luck.â He sees the manâs throat working. Maybe itâs not what he really wanted to say. Maybe the real words are still trapped inside, piling up, waiting for a release that will never come.
âYeah. Thanks.â He attempts to push the door open but the other manâs voice stops him yet again.
âCome back safe to me.â
Or perhaps those words have found their release after all. A lump is forming in Arnieâs throat as well, but he merely nods, hurriedly exiting the car.
The dispatcherâs gaze avoids his as he locks his sedanâs door. He begins walking towards the building with brisk strides. Arnie watches his departure, his hand resting on the handle of the vanâs door. He thinks he hears a soft sound at one point, a little sorrowful groan that is distorted by the space of the parking garage, but he canât be certain. Then Andrew vanishes from view and Arnieâs greeted with a creak of hinges as he pulls the door open and hoists himself behind the wheel, the Spring Bonnie bobble head jiggling a welcome. Heâs immediately assaulted by the scent of garlic from the empty pizza box on the passenger seat beside him.
Seriously, if he somehow manages to survive this, he has to clean out this vehicle.
***
âWhy did you come back here?â
The voice echoes in the showroom as soon as Arnie enters. Dispatchâs voice; or rather, the thing pretending to be him.
âYou donât have to bother with the charade anymore. I know youâre not him.â
Silence. He steps off the circular platform decorated with the image of a smiling sun, regarding the first security door tucked into a recess beside an octopus animatronic. He no longer has the Data Diver to grant him access, which means heâll have to pry it open manually. If itâs even possible. If that entity will let him.
âWhy did you come back here?â Itâs still imitating Andrewâs voice. Funny, it doesnât seem quite as convincing as it once did. Maybe because heâs just spent so much time talking with the dispatcher in person. The illusion canât compare to the reality.
Arnie sighs resignedly. âI have a job to finish.â
âYou finished it. I released you.â
âYes, you did. But you deceived me. You stole the Data Diver that had the endo schematics downloaded onto it. I need those back.â
âI didnât steal them. You canât steal what already belongs to you.â
âTheyâre not yours.â
âTheyâre not yours, either.â He doesnât know why heâs arguing with artificial intelligence. Heâs honestly a little surprised nothingâs tried to attack him yet. âIâm not interested in anything else here. I just need to retrieve those things for Fazbear Entertainment, and then Iâll leave. For good.â
âI canât allow you to leave with them.â
âWhy not? What use are they to you?â Heâs managed to remove the outer casing for the door control, but thereâs another shield underneath.
A lengthy pause. âI need them for repairs.â
âRepairs?â Arnie rests his arm a moment, frowning. Itâs beginning to throb again. He hopes it wonât start bleeding. He should have let Dispatch put another dressing on it. âWhat kind of repairs?â
âThe M2 isâŠfaulty.â
âI donât understand.â
âYour confusion isnât surprising. You didnât read all of the logs nor listen to all of the audio recordings.â
âA little busy trying to keep my head attached to my shoulders,â he mutters, sighing when he sees thereâs yet a third barrier to his goal once the shield is removed.
âI am what came before: the first prototype, M1, my consciousness now stored in a super computer. It is M2 that attacked you. It hasâŠadapted according to the violence it endured. But I can repair it. You can help me,â the disembodied voice remarks, sounding thoughtful.
âWhy would I want to do that?â He asks warily, straightening after rummaging for a different tool in the case.
âThen the M2 would no longer pose a threat. I would surrender the Data Diver back to you, then.â
âAnd the schematics.â
âAnd the schematics,â the dispatcherâs cloned voice smoothly agrees.
âIf youâre just a computer, why do you care what the M2 does?â
âBecause I wasnât always a computer. I was a wife, and a mother.â The voice evolves from the familiar mellow purr of Andrewâs to a womanâs, surprisingly warm and gentle. âAnd M2 was once my son. Are you a parent, Arnie?â
âYeah.â He scuffs the toe of his work boot against the floor. âI donât get to see my kid. My ex wifeâŠâ His voice trails off.
âSo you understand, then. What it means to have a child. And to lose one.â
âYes,â he agrees, feeling a wave of guilt and regret wash over him. The child had been a mistake; the result of a one night stand that heâd tried to make up for by marrying the girl. But they were never right for each other, and their differences were only the beginning of what had become a bitter relationship. He worked too much. He was too tired when he was home. He wasnât present enough. Heâd known his wife was right; just like it was right to get a divorce. He should have fought a little harder to see his kid, though. He just didnât know how to balance those needs with the demands of work. How does anyone do it? Some people donât even have the luxury of a partner and still manage to make it work.
He still thinks sometimes he should have tried a little harder, instead of just signing away his custody rights. Even if a complete separation was ultimately in everyoneâs best interests. It was, wasnât it? He has to believe it was.
âWill you help me, Arnie? Help me save my son?â
He sets the pliers down, sighing. Heâs not entirely sure he trusts this computer since itâs already deceived him before, but it also let him escape, making him think it might not intend to harm him after all. Any ally might be better than none at all.
He toys briefly with the idea of scooping up the Data Diver and booking it for the exit, but heâs fairly certain the AI wonât be so benevolent once it realizes heâs double crossing it. Heâs going to have to go along with the computerâs wishes if he wants any chance of getting out of here again.
âAlright. Iâll give it a shot.â
âDoorâs open,â the voice chimes pleasantly. Now that he thinks about it, he has heard this voice beforeâMrs. Helpful, the little bear animatronic that had assisted him with various tasks throughout the facility. âHead to the security office.â
Arnie straightens, watching the door slide open, granting him access. He inhales deeply, then steps forward.
Crossposting from Twitter: does anyone have a clip/link to a SOTM gameplay where we hear Arnold crying? Not just heavy breathing/whimpering, but flat out sobbing. I saw one on twitter a few days ago and then I lost it
Update: a gracious soul on Twitter shared the link to a TikTok of it. I'm gonna share it here, if you don't have TikTok hit me up and I'll send you the clip, unfortunately I cannot post it as a reblog.
Update 2: although it's not isolated, you can hear it pretty well during the Sleepy Moon section in 8-Bit-Ryan's video, starting from 25:41. Arnold was really going through it huh
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