((Might just explain the map. It's pretty much FNaFB, just with a staff room on the East Hall, next to the entrance to the kitchen.))

Scott walked into the pizzeria, yawning slightly. He rubbed his eyes, stepping into the Dining Hall, "Hey, Jer."

"M-Morning, S-Scott," Jeremy replied, "I-I've d-done most of t-today's preparation, but..." Jeremy gave a nervous glance up towards the animatronics, "T-The backstage p-panel broke again. C-Can you...?"

"Yeah, sure," Scott said, walking over to the animatronics and heaving himself onto the stage. Weaving his way in-between Chica and Freddy, he turned to face them, frowning. How do you do this, again?

He remembered doing it with Foxy, but Foxy worked off a different coding system, being the first animatronic made.

"Somebody oughta just rip off their back panels and tear them apart," Scott mumbled, walking over to the side of the stage and opening a little door, pulling out a jumble of cords. The animatronics themselves didn't have a 'usb port' or anything like that where you could just plug them in and code them from there, but for each animatronic was a little machine where you could key in series of movements which was sent over the radio servers - it was basically Bluetooth coding.

Picking up Bonnie's machine, he sat down cross legged on the stage and turned it on, beginning the extremely long and boring process of copying dances down move by move. He had a little guide book beside him, so it wasn't a question of remembering, it was just that he could only program it joint by joint - they moved independently of each other, so you couldn't choose a predefined movement for them all to move at once.

That's right. Every time one of Bonnie's fingers strummed the guitar, that was 3 joints worth of coding. Times 5 for the whole hand.

And this is why I hate working here... Scott thought, keying in the program sulkily.

By the time he'd finished Bonnie and almost finished Chica, the restaurant opened. Mike, Fritz and Vincent walked in, along with the first bustling kids.

Jeremy, the little perfectionist he was, had just finished straightening every single party hat and tucking in every chair.

Hah.

As the kids began fighting over the hats, knocking over chairs and turning the immaculately folded napkins into capes, Scott heard somebody clear their throat next to the stage. Looking over, he saw Fritz standing there, "Morning, Fritz."

"Morning, Scott," Fritz said in his usual nasally voice, "Uh, guess the back panel broke again. You, uh... you need a hand?"

Scott rolled his eyes, patting the floor next to him, "Get up here, you little geek."

Fritz grinned greedily, hauling himself up onto the stage - which was no small feat with his extra weight - and sat down next to Scott, grabbing Freddy's machine and turning it on.

"Need the guide?" Scott asked, putting down his coding panel to find Freddy's instructions.

"Don't bother," Fritz said, "I know all the codes off by heart."

"Of course you do," Scott couldn't help but grin, keying the final few steps of Chica's coding into the panel, "Well, have fun with that. I'm on Pirate Cove duty today."

Scott stood up and jumped off of the stage, walking through the Dining Hall and into the room that housed Pirate's Cove. Slinging his phone out of his pocket, he turned on Eminem and put in his earphones. He felt kind of fed up today. Eminem was definitely the person to listen to when you're fed up with the world.

Nodding his head and mumbling the words under his breath, he leaned back against the wall. Nobody really came to Pirate's Cove. Some kids when they were checking to see if Foxy was back in order, or playing games. Or some teens, when they thought they could make out behind the cove or something.

A group of five or six lanky teenagers walked in, sipping on lemonades. They were all guys, pierced ears, spiked hair - the whole delinquent package.

Scott took a deep breath and turned his music off. This meant trouble.

One of the kids crumbled up a napkin and chucked it into the 'Cove. There was a dull thunk as it hit Foxy's snout.

"Hey," Scott pushed off the wall, "Don't disrespect the animatronics."

The six kids turned as one to face him.

Well, Scott was screwed.

Trigger Warning! Homophobic Teenagers. ;-; why can't you just embrace the rainbow?

"Well, well, well," the lead teen said, crossing his arms across his chest, "Look who we have here. You're the fag, aren't you?" He took his chewing gum out of his mouth and threw it at Foxy through the curtain.

Don't let it get to you, don't let it get to you, Scott glared evenly back, "I said, don't disrespect the animatronics. Unless you want to be paying for a new one."

The kid stood up taller, shoving Scott hard in the chest, "Shut up, you whore. Go complain to your boyfriend."

There were sniggers from the five other kids, some of which threw their half-full lemonade cups at the Cove.

Scott kept his calm, brushing off his shirt and straightening back up, "I don't see why my having a boyfriend would make any difference to your lives, and why it changes the fact that my simple message isn't sinking in: Don't disrespect the animatronics."

The kid glared darkly now, obviously frustrated that he wasn't getting any reaction from Scott. He shoved Scott again, now throwing him to the ground, "You wanna make a fool of me, you cock-sucker? People like you make me sick."

"The feeling's mutual," Scott growled, though the comment ended in a kick in the ribs.

Scott pulled himself to his feet shakily. Don't let them see that they've got to you. Don't let them see that they've got to you. "If you continue like this, I'm afraid I'm going to ask you to leave."

"And if we don't? Whatcha gonna do, rape us?" Another boy spoke, his voice dripping with disgust.

"I'm going to have to call security," Scott said - who was he kidding? He was the security.

"That's right," a third boy spat, "Hide behind real men."

Scott glared, pulling out his walkie-talkie - a fun little gadget that was Fritz's idea of contributing to the business - and pretending to turn it on, "Can I get security in Pirate's Cove, please?"

The boys' eyes widened, they collectively took a step back. One final, "Disgusting faggot," and they were gone.

Oh, but not before the lead boy took the lid off his lemonade and threw it all over Scott.

Then Scott was alone in the room, dripping into the carpet. He was glad for the sticky liquid running down from his hair across his face, though. It meant nobody would be able to tell that he was crying. Don't let them get to you. Don't let them get to you. Don't let them... get to you... But they'd already gotten to him. Their words rang in his ears. He felt like somebody had stuck giant labels all over him. Rapist. Faggot. Whore. Maybe others couldn't see them, but for Scott, they'd always be there.

Somebody appeared in the doorway, and suddenly Vincent was standing right in front of him, his white eyes wide. "Scott..."

Scott looked up at him, then wiped the lemonade and tears from his face, "Hey."

"Scott... What happened?! Who did this to you?!" Vincent asked, his fists clenched with supressed rage, "I'll break their arms and shove them down their throats."

"It was no-one," Scott said, shrugging. "Just... some kids."

"What kids?!" Vincent growled, "I'll get them back for this, I promise."

Scott shrugged again, "Honestly, I'm only upset because it took me almost an hour to get the lemonade out last time," He laughed weakly, but his eyes were brimming again, on the verge of breaking down. He took a deep breath, "I'll be okay."

Vincent looked at him for a moment, then sighed, "Oh, Scott..." He leaned in and hugged him gently.

Scott pushed him away instantly, but not for the reason you might think. He just knew that as soon as he was in the arms of someone else, someone who really cared, there'd be no holding back, and he'd just collapse into sobs.

Vincent's eyes flicked with hurt for a millisecond, but then he patted Scott's back understandingly, "How long did you say it took you?"

"An hour," Scott said, "And half a bottle of shampoo."

Vincent hummed, then walked over to the purple curtains of the cove. He picked up one of the cups of lemonade that the kids had thrown, and lifted it up, "How long do you think it'd take me?"

Scott's eyes widened, "You wouldn't!"

Vincent grinned, lifted the cup of soda over his head, and took the lid off. This wasn't lemonade. This was Coke. The black, sticky liquid ran all down his neck and his shirt. Taking his hair-tie out, he did a little pirouette, showing that his long hair was completely soaked.

Despite himself, Scott chuckled, "Who does that?"

Vincent shrugged, then grabbed a strand of hair, sucking it. "Mm. Grape-Cola flavoured."

Scott laughed again, then picked up one of the other cups of lemonade and took of the lid, throwing it at Vincent's lower half. It was Fanta.

Vincent jumped at the coldness of it, "Oh. Oh no, you didn't. Now I look like I peed myself. It's even the right colour..."

Scott grinned and Vincent laughed, a drop of cola running down the end of his nose.

Without meaning it, Scott felt a surge of affection for the soda-covered man in front of him. Drenching himself in soda just to cheer him up? Scott felt his heart flutter in his chest, and he smiled a little.

Label him all you want, Scott was the happiest gay guy alive.