“AHOY, ME MATEY’S!!”

You loved Foxy’s shows. Every time he got one, he threw himself into it like it was the grandest performance on the seven seas. And ever since you had convinced William and Henry to let you help fix him, patch his wiring, update his code, clean him up. Foxy had only gotten better.

Better, and happier.

He wasn’t stuck behind the Out of Order sign anymore. He wasn’t ignored or dismissed. He was alive again. fast, energetic, full of wild pirate bravado, and the kids adored him for it. They believed every tale, every outrageous sea story, every “legendary treasure” he claimed he’d buried under the pizzeria two centuries ago.

He was back on his paws, and it showed in every swishing tail movement and exaggerated flourish of his hook.

You watched from your spot near Pirate’s Cove, keeping an eye on him, part of the deal, part of the promise you’d made if they let him perform again. But it wasn’t a chore. You liked watching him. His joy was infectious.

Foxy was in the middle of a sea shanty now, his voice glitchy in a charming way as he swayed side to side. A crowd of giggling younger kids copied him, stomping their feet out of rhythm, some waving their arms like clumsy pirates. On the main stage, Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica enjoyed their short break, watching the chaos from afar.

After about fifteen minutes, Foxy ended the show with a grand bow so dramatic he nearly toppled over.

“Fair winds an’ following seas t’ye, lads and lassies!!” he crowed before disappearing behind his purple, star-covered curtains. The kids clapped, some still singing the last notes of his shanty.

Once the curtains closed, you slipped past them. This was your usual routine, checking over Foxy after every show, making sure nothing was overheating, loose, or about to short out. Henry had called it “essential maintenance.” Foxy called it “hangin’ out with the best lass on the crew.”

Foxy was already waiting for you, perched on the wooden stool in the dim glow of Pirate’s Cove. He tapped his metal paw-fingers against his brown shorts in a rhythmic little tune, his personal idling sound—muttering the melody under his breath.

"da da dum dum dum da Dum dum diddly dum dum dee."

Song while he waited for you. When he spotted you, his whole face lit up like a lantern on deck at night.

He lifted his eyepatch with his hook, always dramatic, and gave you an enthusiastic wave with the same hook, his ears perked and tail swishing behind him.

“Oi, lass!” he chirped, voice bright and full of static-buzzed excitement.

“’M ready fer me maintenance!”