Shim and Sham looked at Sonata, the last of the triplets they had yet to meet. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Shim said, offering her hand.
Sham, on the other hand, gushed. “Oooh! Look, I know a cosplayer who can help us…just picture!” she squeed. “Urd, Skuld and Belldandy! Oh, this is going to be great!”
The triplets looked at one another, confused, while Shim facepalmed, slowly shaking her head.
“What’d I say?”
A few minutes later, Sonata was looking over a Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria application, while Aria messed around with a game on her phone. As for Adagio, she chatted breezily with the two sisters. “Feel free and show them around,” Shim said. “In fact, if you want them to stay overnight with you, I’d actually prefer that: three are better than two, and if we need to, we can pay them from petty cash.”
“I’ll ask them, but I don’t know if they’ll agree to it,” Adagio replied, knowing full well they would; the pay would just make it even better.
“Do they know what’s going on?” Sham asked.
“They’re my sisters. I wouldn’t want to worry them, and besides, I like this job. If I tell our older sister, then she’ll make me quit and I’d rather not do that.” Both Shim and Sham sighed in worry before Adagio added, “But I’ll ask Ari and Soni. I’m sure they’d like to stick around.”
“Thanks for being so understanding, Adagio.”
Adagio smiled and nodded. “If anything, I should be thanking you guys for that, ladies – it’s nice to know that I have bosses who care about my safety.”
An hour later, Adagio was in the kitchen working on dinner – using the new stromboli recipe that she’d been credited with “inventing” for the company, leaving Aria and Sonata to set up everything. “I’m going to go set up the IFF grid. Can you take care of the other stuff?”
“Sure thing!” the youngest teen chirped, tying her hair into a bun. Since they were required now to grow their hair out for the main mission, compromises, such as tying their hairs into buns for battle dress had become a necessity. Just before midnight – the time that Les Scars had picked as the most optimal time to attack, apparently – the trio would slip on their Kevlar vests and position themselves at the three most advantageous locations there was.
Meanwhile, with a great amount of care, Aria set up both the sensors and the tripwire locations. Since this had to be low-lethality, the obvious decision had been to set a few tripwire flashbangs, followed by some sneaky tricks to move them into the middle of Dining Room 3, the largest of the dining rooms, where the main stage and the ugly Mark I animatronics still sat. That, in turn, would be dealt with by Sonata’s “Special Experimental Unit One”, of which she had yet to fully explain to either of her sisters.
One way or another, unless absolute disaster occurred, they had the controlling ground. However, that still lead to questions about the vents. The vents could be used to do anything to them, from gas to miniature explosives to a direct assault. Looking up at the ventilation shaft, Aria figured she’d have to do something about that.
Running to the nearest janitor closet to get a ladder, Aria did, in fact, do something about that.
“Okay, ladies, dinner is served!” Adagio chirped, carrying out a tray with a large buffalo chicken pizza, a stromboli and mozzarella sticks. “Have at it girls!” the eldest triplet replied, as she set the food on the table. She’d brought out pitchers of soda before, and now the trio was getting a chance to eat before they changed into their CADPATs and prepped for battle.
“So, Soni,” Adagio said, pointing with the mozzarella stick in her hand, “what’s this Special Experimental Unit One?”
Wiping her hands on the napkin, Sonata rose from the bench and walked over to the object, which was currently covered by a tablecloth. “Taa-daa!” the youngest girl said proudly, revealing the object beneath. While Aria had seen it before, she was looking to the reaction of their elder sister, who would be feasting her eyes on this object.
Sitting on a stand of its own was a small, 1.5 meter minigun. Painted in hues of blacks and grays, it looked lethal at first, but as both Aria and Adagio got closer, they realized that the weapon wasn’t made of metal, but of a heavy plastic. It also looked loaded, but with what?
“This…it looks like a rotary cannon,” Adagio stated.
“Specifically like a snubbed GShG-7.62,” Aria added. “Vesper showed me her grande sœur’s once.”
Sonata grinned. “It’s actually based on a mix of a GShG, a M134 Minigun and a replica rotary cannon made by Nerf.” She grinned as she petted the weapon. “I call it Rebelle.”
“Rebelle?” both Adagio and Aria asked at once.
Sonata nodded. “It’s made of a few polymers and ceramics, based on an idea that Soprano Burn had before she…was ‘retired’,” Sonata said with a brief downbeat note before piping up with, “but the engineering principles are sound.”
“You built this?” Adagio asked, both surprised and proud of her youngest sister at once.
“Yeah – just because I’m the scout on the fireteam doesn’t mean that’s my only ability: I studied engineering and military science back at the base.”
“Forgot that, sorry.”
“No problem,” Sonata said with a forgiving smile.
“This thing doesn’t look like it fires 7.62mm rounds,” Aria said, looking at the barrels. “Plus, the barrels aren’t rifled. I’m guessing this thing doesn’t take conventional ammunition?
“No,” Sonata said, reaching into a bag and pulling out what looked like a shotgun round. “It’s actually a needle gun.” Tossing the round over to Aria, the middle sister caught it and opened up the shell, revealing a dozen or so 38mm flechettes within. Continuing her explanation, Sonata continued with, “The belt feed to Rebelle makes it capable of shooting up to 6000 ‘beehive’ rounds per minute, each round containing about eighteen flechettes. That means Rebelle can deliver approximately 108,000 flechettes against targets.” She grinned. “And people think Claymores can be messy.”
“Uh, Soni? The point here is to deliver high-impact but low penetration rounds to the enemy,” Adagio pointed out. “You’re talking about enough firepower to slice through the building as if it was a knife.”
“I know, sis, but not only do I have to test this puppy out – I still don’t know how well the ceramics will hold up to extended heat, though my calculations panned out, but also the fact that, well, this is honestly a silent last-ditch weapon. If we have to go down, better to go down with this, which will hurt very little people outside Rebelle’s effective area.”
“I don’t like the idea of either of you being hurt,” Adagio admitted, “but if I have to, I guess that’s the best way to do it – bring the building down on top of us, I mean. Still…you’re my sisters, so please be careful.”
“That’s sweet!” Sonata gushed, leaning against Rebelle. Unfortunately, she was not careful where she leaned, and the gun fell off its perch, jostling the trigger. The gun roared like an industrial fan, and three rounds were dispersed, sending fifty-four one-and-a-half inch metal needles barreling straight towards Freddy’s nose. They tore through like a swarm of cadmium-steel alloy, slamming through the endoskeleton head, where they made thok-thok-thok noises as they finally impacted against the back wall. As for the Mark I animatronic, more of that weird blood-like oil started to pour through the hole where the nose had been.
“Whoops….” Sonata said, blushing.
Aria rolled her eyes. “How many times have I told you to be careful around live weapons, Soni?”
“Sorry!”
Adagio shrugged. “Well, the bosses are getting rid of those pieces of crap anyway; the Mark IIIs are on order. Those and the Mark IIs in the back aren’t compatible with modern electronics, so they’ll probably end up in the County Dump or something. Just…consider this a lesson, okay? Someone could’ve gotten hurt – and not the kind of person we want hurt!”
“Hey, I said I was sorry!”
“Anyway, food’s getting cold, Soni, so come and eat,” Adagio insisted, as the youngest sister joined in.
Finally, as 10:30 came, the sisters got dressed, slipping on CADPATs, web belts and other gear. “Look, girls…I have to tell you something,” Adagio said, looking at them both. “Something about what I said just before dinner hit me, and…look, you two are my sisters. I love you dearly, and I would rather spare you the pain of being captured – or worse – by Les Scars. So…just in case, about an hour ago I laid a whole bunch of explosives around the pillars of the building. If I think we’re going to be overrun with no chance of survival…I’ll trigger them, bring the whole building down on us. Believe me, I wish I could spare you both that, but…you two are SIRENs as well. You deserve to be here in this battle, and just agreeing to it proves that.”
“Does Vesper know?” Aria asked; the look on her face was forlorn. Little doubt Sonata felt the same way about Madrigal, who they lived with; Adagio knew she felt that way about Intermezzo, who was in Horseshoe Bay and might never see her again. That was the bond between sœurs: it wasn’t just one of master and apprentice, mentor and mentee. It was also like mother and daughter, and very much like the French words the terms were based on, big sister and little sister. Adagio loved Intermezzo as deeply as she loved Aria and Sonata and she knew they felt the same way about their grandes sœurs. It was the way of the SIRENs.
“I left a note on the table for when Maddie comes back the day after tomorrow. If we make it out of this, I can get rid of the note, and no one will be the wiser. But if not….” Adagio sighed. “Sometimes, you don’t get a chance to say goodbye to the ones you love. I know that hurts, girls, but that’s just life.” Aria’s response was to merely nod, while Sonata, always the emotional one, wiped away tears from her eyes.
“Okay, let’s get into the mindset and go over the order of battle one last time. We’ve got ninety minutes left and after that, it’s showtime – and I know they’ll come in force.” With that, as the three got ready, they went over placements, their plans, and other readiness for the battle against their hated foe.
Meanwhile, watching with rage in his eyes and the shattered remains of a fox head, Mangle looked at the trio with unbridled hatred. He would tear them to bits, and then the others would have their turn. The hour was nigh….
As the witching hour came to pass, the leader of the animatronics, the injured and insulted Mark I Freddy Fazbear’s eyes glowed like unnatural white pinpricks, showing his level of utter rage. Around him the other animatronics, in far worse conditions of damage then they’d ever been before, looked at him with both fear and urgency. The (un)natural order here had been drastically flipped on its head: the guards were not only closer to kids than adults…but they were doing the hurting, not the animatronics. The hunters had essentially become the hunted, and the guards that once might have been prey were now becoming the most dangerous predators around.
If Freddy were a living thing, he might have made a comparison to being the potential victim in a horror videogame.
In the meanwhile, he placed a synthetic-fur paw in the bleeding, gaping hole that was once his nose, the ichor that continued to drip from it had a coppery smell, the red fluid splashing down onto the ground in spurts. The animatronic’s eyes flickered on and off unnaturally, and of those assembled, they did the same as if the former was sending a message that the latter received. Then all eyes glowed an unearthly shade of red before Foxy, Mangle and Puppet started crawling into the ventilation shafts, while the others started their movements to attack the guards.
Freddy, if asked, might have commented on his desire to rip the head off the cyan-haired guard that shot him and tear her apart from limb to limb. Or perhaps he would’ve shoved her into a spare suit, had there been one around – neither the Springtrap nor Golden Freddy suits had been seen in years, not since the last restaurant closed. Truth be told, who knew what was in the mind of the murderous mechanical mammal? There would be answers forthcoming regardless, as the automatons began their attack. This time they would win, and this time they would wreak bloody vengeance.
Unfortunately for malicious animatronics, they were still more than capable of hitting the tripwire net.
Instantly, two chimes went off: in the left ventilation shaft network and in Dining Room 3. “That’s the cue!” Adagio roared. “Let ‘em have it, team!”
From her position in the kitchen, Aria smiled grimly, speaking into her helmet’s microphone, “Roger that, Digamma. Poppin’ Willie Pete.” Pressing a button on her phone, a signal was sent to series of miniature incendiary grenades strewn throughout the ventilation systems. Receiving their signals, the items went off as directed, sending spikes of white-hot hellfire to burn through the area, both superheating the air in the vents and scorching anyone unlucky enough to be beneath them. They would do extensive damage to the HVAC system, unfortunately, but the girls were sure there was a way to stealthily get repair funds to Shim and Sham.
Unfortunately for both Mangle and Foxy, both had the luck to be caught within the area where the WP grenades triggered, and both were immediately burned with the searing heat of white phosphorus. Both animatronics tried to move out of the way as the heat slagged their wiring and heated their endoskeletons – to say nothing about completely burning off their suits – but neither could escape the micronized inferno that they were caught in. Finally, the vent gave way to the smoldering metal and two burning robots collided onto one of the tables in Dining Room 1, setting it ablaze from the heat even as the antiquated sprinklers kicked in.
In her helmet’s speakers, Sonata heard Adagio’s shout: “That’s the cue! Let ‘em have it, team!”
“Roger that, Digamma,” she said soberly, “Sampi engaging.” Immediately she started to see shapes in the dark moving towards her, as if to taunt her. However, Sonata Dusk had an advantage – she was a SIREN.
Powering up Rebelle from her position, she roared, “OKAY, MOTHERFUCKERS! ROCK AND ROLL!” and pressed the trigger. The minigun immediately started to roar like a jet engine, throwing dozens upon dozens of flechettes towards her targets, like merciless metal killer bees. They impacted against her opponents and threw them back as though they’d been hit with a battering ram, the next dozen rounds of shots roaring over their bodies and tearing massive chunks out of the walls. Finally, Sonata removed her hand from the trigger after having let Rebelle run for nearly a full minute, tossing about a thousand rounds at her opponents. Knowing that even an experimental unit like Rebelle had to cool down, she immediately switched to her small arms, a pair of pistols loaded with frangible bullets.
As more shapes started to move in the darkness, Sonata immediately started to fire, double tap, going for headshots. Whatever armor these CSIS assassins were wearing was good, and if she didn’t end them, they would end her – and her sisters.
Her own death she could deal with…but not her sisters.
“Come get me!” she roared her challenge absolute. “I am a SIREN and I do not run!”
By some minor miracle, the Puppet had managed to travel down the right ventilation ducts, which Aria had missed and thus was a clear shot directly into the Security Office.
Unfortunately for the animatronic, as it burst through the duct, aiming straight at Adagio, murder in its unnatural eyes…
…right until the point where, in one elegantly fluid move, Adagio turned, clotheslined the Puppet, slammed it into the ground, and stomped on its neck with her combat boots.
With a malicious grin she seethed, “Tell the boys in Burnaby to go to hell.”
With that, she emptied her entire magazine into her victim.
With a shaky, stuttering movement that underlined its unnatural abilities, the endoskeleton that was once Foxy pushed itself off the charred, steaming remains of the dining table. Mangle, from what the endoskeleton could see out of its remaining good eye, was now better off being called “slag” than anything else; partially melted to the floor, the chimeric animatronic feebly moved its arms around, while what was left of its iron jaws hung loosely off the remainder of the head. If anything, the Mark II seemed to be telling its Mark I predecessor something that seemed to be inexplicable….
That is, inexplicable until the HVAC, weakened by the ancient sprinkler system’s activation and the damage already done from the incendiary grenades, collapsed right onto the unsuspecting animatronic.
Aria fired again, hitting something directly in the head and pushing it down. Whatever armor these guys were using, it was tough as hell – could CSIS have somehow gotten a hold of something the Americans had recently made? “Digamma, Koppa – we’re not making a dent with frangibles. Permission to switch to standard.”
“Koppa, Sampi – she’s right. They’re using some kind of improved ceramic armor. Request the same,” was Sonata’s addition.
Back in the Security Office, Adagio inspected the machine she’d just shot – it was clear that she’d been spooked by the machine, but why? In order for Les Scars to catch them off-guard, was the obvious answer. Anger coursed through Adagio’s mind as she realized that their enemy wasn’t taking them seriously. Throwing broken animatronics at them as if this were some sort of stupid haunted house instead of an aged pizzeria?
Adagio’s answer was swift: reaching on to her web belt, she pulled the pin on a grenade – a standard one – and threw it into the vent. A second later, a deafening blast and the tongues of fire roared through the vent.
“Team, this is Digamma. Gloves are off, repeat, gloves are off!”
She heard something running down the hall and with a practiced ease, Adagio ejected the frangible magazine, loaded a standard, then popped her head into the hall and fired at whatever was at the end. The thing went down with a satisfying spray of something – likely blood – against the wall.
“Team, this is Digamma. Gloves are off, repeat, gloves are off!”
“About fucking time!” Aria said, putting aside her frangible pistol and pulling one preloaded with regular rounds. “Go fuck yourselves!” she shouted, aiming for the center of the chest at the nearest target and sending him back with a spray of something. “Get your asses back to Trenton, you fucktards!” she taunted.
Freddy, mostly torn to shreds by the last attack, had more than enough. This was his playground, his rules – and nobody could tell him otherwise. Rising from the ground via the unnatural strength given to the endoskeleton via whatever dark forces fueled it, it put one foot in front of the other, moving faster, running, even as a tinny, warbling lamellae and cylinder emitted the haunting sounds of “Votre Toast, Je Peux Vous le Rendre”, the famous Toreador Song. As he finally saw his hated target, he lunged at her, ready to bite her head off in one blow if it was the last thing he did.
“Team, this is Digamma. Gloves are off, repeat, gloves are off!”
Sonata, with the speed of someone who had trained her whole life, saw the bleak figure rushing towards her in the dark, playing the haunting musicbox melody. Ignoring it, she threw away the gun and reached behind her for something she hadn’t told her sisters that she brought along for the party: her trusty FN P90 submachine gun. As she saw the flickering of some helmet lights and the form of the attacker’s strange helmet, she brought her gun to bear and whispered a phrase:
“Say hello to my little friend!”
The roar of the gun tore the animatronic’s head completely off, the 5.7x28mm bullets roaring without mercy towards the air.
And that’s when the problem began. One of the bullets ricocheted off one of the steel beams in the roof, then caromed straight into a nearby column, setting off the explosive. And as the whole thing was set to send signals once one detonated if the master trigger was destroyed, the others went off as well, in succession.
Friend and foe alike suddenly stopped in realization that the building was exploding around them.
Balloon Boy, from his shattered fallen location, uttered a fear-tinged word: “Hi.”
The building imploded as if destroyed by a California earthquake down by the San Andreas faultline, falling down to the foundation and sending up a great plume of fire as the gas lines ignited. A pillar of flame erupted into the air, the sound akin to the scream of the damned for a second before a small mushroom cloud of smoke and dust fell back to earth.