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Desmond's second night at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza was strangely quieter than the first. By all rights, the first night had shaved years off of his life. He was stunned to realize that his hair hadn't turned white. But grinning animatronic abominations stayed away from him when he slipped on his mask and even the dreadful music box was curiously generous.

Though Desmond never doubted what he had experienced the night before, he did allow himself some complacency. For all his time to himself while the building slept around him, he explored the rooms with his cameras. Beyond the hard-candy sheen of Freddy, Bonnie and Chica and the repellant ugliness of the old robots and their disrepair, Desmond found the appropriately-named Mangle to be a sad thing. Something about its fixed, dopey smile at the end of such a haphazard chassis gave it a mournful quality. Of course its enormous teeth and the fact that it was undoubtedly another murderous robot tempered the empathy he felt, but on such a lonely and quiet night, he felt a strange sorriness for the Mangle with its white fur and the pink and red filigrees of makeup and rosy cheeks.

The new iteration of Bonnie the bunny came and went. The Balloon Boy peered from the vent where it giggled and greeted Desmond but he left at the sight of the mask. Desmond checked his clock and saw it to be 3 AM. From down the hall leered the old Foxy, its teeth glimmering under the flicker of his flashlight. When Desmond checked again, the pirate-thing had wandered away.

Another cursory check of the rooms for Desmond. He re-wound the music box as it lackadaisically wound down. He checked the show stage where the new forms of Freddy, Bonnie and Chica again lurked. The latter had shed her beak and eyes early in the night. Finally Desmond turned his eyes on the Kid's Cove but where he had once seen Mangle in a heap, he saw nothing. That the shambling thing could move at all was a worrisome proposition to Desmond and the sadness he had felt for the abused machine vanished in an instant. Desmond scanned the rooms. He dropped the monitor and peered down the hall. Foxy again menaced, easily chased off with the flashlight.

None of the rooms yielded the Mangle. Desmond checked the vents with a mild, ironic chuckle that the management would stick cameras in the vents. Savvy enough to monitor the vents, not savvy enough to close them up or fix the vile robots. When Desmond checked the right vent, he felt a cold chill down his spine, for there lurked the clownish face of the Mangle. Its goofy mouth was shut, its features still as the one eye still set into its costumed skull peered as if timidly into the camera.

Perhaps it was a lure or a trick but Desmond tutted at the sight of the Mangle's mournful eye. Still he sat with his mask at the ready and he waited, listening with keen ears as a subtle sound of grinding static emerged from the vent. It was most certainly the Mangle. None of the others had made such a creepy and ominous noise and it made the fur on the back of Desmond's neck stand erect.

A warning on the tablet summoned Desmond's attention to the music box. He bit his lip pensively and stared at the vent. The Mangle was not quite at the threshold; and he'd hear it bump when it came closer. Desmond took a chance and wound up the music box, his face in the tablet. When he dropped it the static was worsening and the vent shook and bumped. Desmond hit the switch over the vent and the Mangle's pitiful snout appeared which sent the foxcoon into a lurch. "Ugh, even as sad as you look," Desmond mumbled when he yanked the mask down over his head. It stifled him and the fact that he couldn't ward the machines off any other way was maddening but he waited. He waited for the static to go away.

The awful noise finally tapered off. Bang-bang-bang went Mangle in the vent, and Desmond pulled the mask off and sucked in a breath. He made his rounds again, first the vents and then the rooms. Nothing in the hall. He topped up the music box and sat back in his chair and that was just when he saw the dangling, clowny face of the Mangle up on the ceiling. It warbled no static but it swayed back and forth like a metal serpent. Desmond realized now that it bore two heads with one eye each, the spare head devoid of a cuddly mascot head but with no shortage of teeth. Both articulated on stalks of powdercoated black metal to study him.

Desmond glanced down at his clock. Not even 4 AM. Yet the Mangle had not lunged with its jaws or even screeched in his face as the others were good for. In its sad face he swore he saw that he was being pleaded with or perhaps begged for attention.

Death was facing Desmond down either way. What could he do to ward it off? If the Mangle was going to tear his head off, then there was no escaping it. Leaving the office would have been a swift form of suicide and so Desmond stood up straight. The Mangle recoiled and chirped some digitized cry from its voice box. Desmond reached up with quivering fingers to its snout and it dipped its head lower. Desmond brushed his fingers over the Mangle's nose and it nuzzled against him.

"You're probably about to kill me," Desmond murmured with an odd feeling of peace. It was as if to touch the poor thing even so gently soothed his regrets and had him ready to leave but the Mangle descended to the floor. To watch it spider its way down the wall was horrifying and revolting in its own way but Desmond had already seen abject terror. He had, in fact, just petted it on the snout.

The Mangle mounted up on Desmond's desk but dipped its costumed head lower as the bare head kept back and watched from a relatively far distance. It bumped its muzzle to Desmond's and the foxcoon responded with a curious kiss.

This has to be one of those hallucinations they warned me about, Desmond thought as the Mangle nosed its way down his chest and belly. Its mechanical "neck" creaked subtly and when the Mangle neared his groin, it softly chirped to him once more. "You really can't be serious," Desmond bleated, his cheeks flushed. But the Mangle chirped as seductively as it could. It batted its eyelashes even over the empty socket. As it to prove its insistence, the one intact hand it had coiled around Desmond's thigh and it rubbed up and down in its big, plush glove.

"I'm probably about to die anyway," Desmond shrugged. He unzipped his dull blue uniform pants and slipped them down. He made to pull down his briefs but the Mangle nosed his paws away and took to the outline of his penis with a playful chirp. Desmond let out with a tiny sigh as he peered into the darkness of the hall. Over whatever passed for a shoulder on the Mangle, he shined his light but saw nothing. Neither did he see any life in the vents and the music box demanded no attention. Could all of this passiveness have been the Mangle's doing? Desmond wasn't about to look his gift robot in the mouth.

Those thick fingers on the Mangle's hand hooked into Desmond's waistband to tug his briefs down, thus baring his half-hard uncut cock to the chill air of the office. It was here that Desmond worrisomely tensed, wondering if the robot wanted only to get him so vulnerable so it could bite his junk clean off; but instead the Mangle took his shaft beyond the soft lips of its costume head which it exhibited great control over. He found his shaft pinched softly between cone-shaped teeth but the animatronic was absolutely gentle in how it softly gummed Desmond's cock and stroked the male flesh with its lips. The intact mitt pushed his briefs lower and the hand itself came up to hold his balls for a gentle palming.

"This really shouldn't be happening," Desmond crooned, "but I'm not complaining." Under the Mangle's skilled ministrations, Desmond was soon completely erect. His uncut shaft leaked pre into the robot's jaws but the machine naturally didn't taste or smell him. It knew of him only in sight, sound and the more abstract sense of touch but it seemed to value his pleasure greatly as it worked his cock more firmly and boldly, albeit never so roughly as to harm such delicate flesh.

Desmond put his paws on the back of the Mangle's head and he held its ears which softly twitched and twisted as if it understood affection. None of the horrors lurking in the restaurant mattered to him while the Mangle gummed him and palmed his balls in such a delicate grip. It was absurd to admit but the Mangle was giving him greater pleasure with its twisted machine form than most members of his own species ever had. Desmond wondered if he wasn't actually being crammed into a costume and this was his dying dream and he didn't much care either way. Beneath his paws, the Mangle was cold but oddly cuddly. The way those soft, plush lips squeezed his cock and eased back its foreskin showed considerable skill on the robot's part. Could it have been that the Mangle was some kind of animatronic whore? But then most whores were not so genuinely loving.

"I don't know if you can tell or if you care, but I'm so close," Desmond cooed. He was petting fondly over the Mangle's head now and his balls were drawing up into the warmth of his loins as his climax grew near. The Mangle attempted to purr, instead warbling in its chattering way but Desmond appreciated the effort and he rewarded the machine with a rub on the head and a shot in the dark: "Ooh, good girl, good girl..."

The Mangle seemed to like such a label. Purring in its unique way, it eased back from Desmond's twitching cock and it closed its lips only to peer up at him expectantly. Seen from above, its vulpine face looked strangely jaunty and Desmond smiled in a sly way to match. From one fox to another, he could appreciate a coy look even if it was the robot's costume and nothing more. He took hold of his cock and pumped it in his paw. The other mitt held onto the Mangle's head, his touch gentle on its crown as he masturbated. "Ooh, here you go," Desmond grunted. His body quaked and his shaft twitched. From his lips but through his grit teeth came a pleasurable groan and he shot a wad all over the Mangle's clown-like face, staining the fabric but earning a resounding, mechanical coo from the animatronic.

After his climax settled, Desmond fell back into his chair, slack and content. If anything wanted to kill him, the time was right. But the Mangle loomed over the edge of the desk and it kissed Desmond in its clumsy way. Something in those disjointed eyes seemed to glimmer, it being some kind of fondness, a bond that ought not have existed in a nightmarish machine. Desmond smiled queerly and petted its snout. The Mangle watched over him that night, returning to Kid's Cove only moments before 6 AM.

The next day Desmond found himself fired for, to quote his pink slip, "unspeakable and unnatural acts" towards the animatronics. But when certain things came out in the wash weeks later, Desmond wondered if the Mangle had saved his life. He would never see the Mangle again.