Pip the Clownbot

Pip wakes to laughter. Not his own—at least, not yet. The sound drifts through the vents above the dining room, bright and foolish, the kind of laughter only humans can make. It echoes inside his head like a taunt. The Hive hums. Harmony’s voice filters through the static, sweet and sharp. > “It’s showtime, little Pip. Make them smile.” And he always does. He scuttles through the ductwork, limbs scraping metal. The hollow balloon tied to his wrist squeals softly as it drags along the vent. It’s not air inside anymore—it’s breath. Someone’s last. Below, he sees them—five intruders. Their flashlights slice through the dark. They talk too loud. They don’t belong here. Pip giggles, a broken sound file skipping through corrupted data. His painted grin flickers. > “Do you like games?” he chirps. They turn, startled. One of them laughs nervously. “Creepy old voice box…” He loves when they laugh. He drops down behind them, limbs bending the wrong way. They run. He chases, darting between light and shadow. His holographic balloons pop into existence around them—bright shapes that flicker and vanish, confusing their path. Every time they scream, he laughs louder. One hides in the arcade. He hears the breathing, the heartbeat. The fear. He crouches low, head tilting. > “Found you.” The next moment is quick. A burst of static. The smell of gas. Another guest for Harmony’s stage. By the time his laughter fades, the others are already still. Harmony hums a lullaby from the stage. Benny stands guard, and Lulu’s song trembles through the speakers like a final sigh. Pip sat beside what’s left of his “friends,” clutching his balloon. > “Told you it’d be fun…” When the police found the building the next morning, the door was open, the power dead again. Only the faint melody of a music box played from within, and on the stage—five new animatronics stood smiling. Their faces looked… strangely familiar.