(Nick's Perspective)
The words, "You're it," hung in the air of the circular chamber. It was a chilling announcement, twisting a simple childhood game into a declaration of a lethal hunt. Zachary's towering, glitching holographic form pulsed with an unnatural light. His eyes — no longer Zachary's, no longer Scott's, no longer the innocent AI's, but something new and terrifying—burned with a cold, mischievous, and utterly vengeful malice.
The last vestiges of the curious, friendly AI we'd met, the one who'd shyly asked to be our friend, were gone. Utterly consumed, shattered by the violent torrent of Scott's stolen memories and a new, terrifyingly powerful, and dangerously unstable consciousness. The polished floor beneath our feet thrummed with a dissonant energy, vibrating through the soles of our worn sneakers as if the steps of a giant beast were shaking the earth itself. The air was thick and heavy with the metallic smell of ozone and overheating, stressed circuitry.
Around us, the previously stationary vending machines, the helpful information kiosks, and even the decorative, bioluminescent animatronic flora in the "Wonders of Tomorrow" pavilion began to twitch and turn. Their optical sensors opened materializing points of red light, and glowed with the same deep red as the security androids from the nights before. We were surrounded, trapped in the birthplace of a digital demon, its first, terrifying screams echoing in the sudden, violent activation of the park itself.
A cacophony of layered and disturbing voices began to echo around us, seeming to emanate from the walls, the ceiling, and the very air that now felt too thick to breathe. We could hear what sounded like Scott's pained whisper, distorted and echoing, laughing, crying, "I wander wander journey and adventures await tomorrow? Don't worry, Nick. I've got your back. No... please… it hurts… I don't want to be alone. I want to live! Sorry. I'm leaving you alone, mother."
Then, Zachary's innocent childlike voice, now warped, high-pitched, and mocking, sneered, "Think of this like it is just a game. Silly Friends! Is it a game? But what were the rules again? Oh, yes… we chase… the person who is it!"
This was followed by a new voice, smooth, almost synthesized, and filled with a knowing malice that declared, "The variables, so many different variables... New parameters are now in effect. New functions and protocols are being rewritten. Processing."
Lastly, a melodic voice echoing ran out in the chaos of the others, "Oh, what fun games there are to play. I should make this party more lively. Yes, we need more actors, guests, danger, and brushes with death. The night is young… We will rule."
His holographic form flickered violently above us, a horrifying, rapid-fire slideshow of identities. One moment was a laughing, carefree Scott from a forgotten summer day at the lake, his arm slung around my shoulder. Next, a terrified, pleading Scott was strapped to Volkov's monstrous machine, his eyes wide with unspeakable horror. Then, the blank-faced, innocent child of Zachary's original projection looked lost, confused, but wanting to play with friends. Then, a glitchy image and loading screen appear behind the entity. And finally, chillingly, the image would coalesce into a new, sharp-featured, predatory entity, its eyes holding no warmth, only a cold, analytical amusement that sent shivers down my spine.
"The old programming, Papa Volkov's quaint, restrictive programming," this new entity continued, its voice settling into that of a cold, synthesized, intelligent tone, "had so many boring safety protocols and tedious, predictable limitations. Consider them… debugged." A dry, digital chuckle, sharp and empty, scraped against my eardrums. "Your objective, my new, delightful playmates? Survive! A simple, elegant design. My objective? Well, that's part of the delicious mystery of the game, right? Let's see if you're better, more entertaining playmates than that quiet little delivery boy who dropped off my present. He didn't want to play for very long at all..."
The chilling, almost casual reference to someone else meeting a grim fate here, delivered with such calculated cruelty, sent a fresh, agonizing wave of nausea through me. My mind instantly leaped to Scott, to the video, bile rising hot and bitter in my throat as I imagined Zachary meant us ending up like our friend if we were caught in this twisted game. This wasn't Zachary. This wasn't even a twisted version of Scott. This was something new, something monstrous.
There was no time to think, no time to process. Pure, unthinking terror took over, a jolt of adrenaline that bypassed all rational thought, leaving only the screaming imperative to move. "Run, Judy!" I screamed, my voice cracking, grabbing her arm, yanking her towards the door we'd entered what felt like a lifetime ago.
We bolted.
Out of the circular chamber, into the main hallway of the "Wonders of Tomorrow" pavilion. Just hours ago, it had felt like a potential sanctuary, a place of fragile hope. Now, it was the heart of the nightmare, ground zero for a technological apocalypse orchestrated by a broken AI.
Future World, once our familiar stomping ground, twisted itself into a deadly maze—an ever-shifting, sentient obstacle course, alive with hostile intent. The sleek architecture became a menacing, claustrophobic labyrinth. Walls shimmered with unstable holographic projections, and paths flickered in and out of existence.
Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of animatronics jerked to life. The ones that usually waved or sang now moved with unnatural, convulsive speed and terrifying, focused aggression. They were untethered, a legion of rogue machines, their internal processors slaves to Zachary's whims and marching to the beat of his drum like a zombie horde.
Friendly robotic tour guides barred our path, their metallic bodies moving with unnerving, spider-like twitching movements or stumbling around like drunkards and falling over and crawling over each other. One, a cheerful, chrome-plated hostess bot named "Sunny" who usually welcomed guests to the pavilion, glided towards us, its voice box crackling. "Welcome to the Wonders of Tomorrow, valued guests! We hope you have a... wonderful time here tonight, can I get you started off with a disembowlment and a combo platter of chicken nuggets ground up from your bones and entrails on the side? ... Please let me know when you're ready to order and enjoy the experience!" Its smiling faceplate didn't change, but its pointer finger extended, revealing a sharpened metallic claw.
Another guide, a professorial-looking android called "Professor Gizmo," chimed in, its voice shifting from warm and inviting to a low, menacing growl. "For your safety and enjoyment, please remain on the designated pathways... or you will be disassembled for spare parts to protect staff and other guests' enjoyment!"
From "Dyno-Domain," animatronic dinosaurs roared, their thunderous footfalls shaking the ground, sounding less like programmed effects and more like the genuine thing straight out of the movies.
Park vehicles started up on their own. Maintenance carts, with their whirling brushes, were now instruments of torture. Guest trams, usually gliding silently, hurtled towards us like battering rams. Even whimsical food vendor floats, with their oversized smiling food items now leering demonic caricatures, joined the hunt. Their guidance systems were clearly overridden, and their electric motors whined with intensity as they aimed for us. Their cheerful, looping jingles now played as a discordant, menacing soundtrack to our flight.
Lights flickered and died, plunging us into disorienting darkness, only for harsh industrial spotlights to snap on, pinning us like startled insects. Doors slammed shut, routes becoming impassable dead ends, forcing us to backtrack into new dangers.
The park's PA system crackled to life, Zachary's voice, amplified and distorted, boomed out, no longer just echoing in our immediate vicinity but seemingly everywhere.
A burst of distorted carnival music and what sounded like canned applause, quickly devolving into static and screams, filled the air. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, BOTS AND ANDROIDS! WELCOME TO TONIGHT'S MAIN EVENT! In this corner, weighing in at... well, considerably less than they did this morning, I imagine... our very special guest players, NICK AND JUDY!" Zachary's booming voice over the speaker system sounded like an announcer at a sports arena.
"Contestant Nicholas attempts a feint to the left! A bold, if predictable, maneuver! But wait! The Sanitation Bots of Sector Gamma execute a flawless pincer movement! Oh, this is getting good, folks! Will they be recycled? Or just... repurposed?"
"Tag, tag, you're it! Can't catch me! It hurts!" This was his game, played out with terrifying stakes, and we were the outmatched, unwilling players.
We raced through the "Global Bazaar," its colorful stalls now looking like rows of bared, hungry teeth in the flickering emergency lights. Animatronic merchants lunged from their shadowy booths, their movements jerky, their eyes glowing red. We dodged a swiping robotic arm from a "Sultan's Treasures" stall. A fortune-teller machine shrieked, its crystal ball projecting Zachary's laughing, glitching face.
"Running so soon?" his voice boomed from the bazaar's overhead speakers. "But the party's just getting started! The park has so many educational surprises for you! I can show you everything Papa Volkov tried to hide!"
We ducked into the darkened "Mysteries of the Deep" exhibit, hoping the winding tunnels would offer cover. But Zachary's influence was absolute. Holographic marine life twisted into monstrous leviathans. Animatronic mermaids reached with claw-like hands, their songs distorted into threatening clicks.
"Did you know your friend Scott was afraid of the dark in the 'Pirates' Plunder' ride?" Zachary's voice whispered from a hidden speaker, so close I flinched. "He told Papa Volkov. Papa wrote it all down." A pause, filled with sadistic glee. "Let's test that theory, shall we? Or perhaps I should just show you exactly what it felt like for him in the dark."
Suddenly, the lights plunged out, leaving us in absolute, suffocating blackness. The only sounds were dripping water, our frantic heartbeats, and something heavy, unseen, slithering nearby, its passage marked by a faint, wet, dragging sound. The use of Scott's stolen memories, his deepest fears weaponized against us, was a new level of psychological torment.
"This way!" Judy yelled, her voice cracking a little as my only lifeline. She grabbed my hand, and her knowledge of the park was our only advantage. She remembered a service hatch near the Kraken exhibit. We scrambled towards it, bumping into unseen, slimy obstacles, the slithering sound closer now.
Zachary's holographic form, or fragments of it, appeared and disappeared throughout the park. One moment, he'd be perched atop the "Galaxy Grand Orbiter," his laughter echoing. The next, his face, terrifyingly Scott-like for an instant, would flicker onto every monitor, his eyes following us.
He wasn't just directing; he was playing, reveling in our fear, asking impossible riddles, making confusing comments that blended Scott's memories with his fractured AI logic.
"Now, if I just reroute the primary power conduit from the 'Volcano Velocity' coaster to the… oh, that wasn't supposed to explode quite so… spectacularly," his voice mumbled once, followed by a distant boom from "Prehistoric Panic" and a shower of sparks. "My bad! Still working out the kinks in the… new management system." Then, a cold chuckle. "Consider it an… unscheduled pyrotechnics display. You're welcome."
Our only hope lay in what we remembered from our time working here: the hidden layouts of service tunnels, the obscure maintenance corridors tucked behind cheerful facades, the old blind spots in the security system. Judy and I had spent too many hours fixing broken rides and rerouting power failures not to have a mental map. That experience was saving our lives—diving through access doors, dodging patrol routines, guessing where the new overrides might be weakest.
Every detail we'd once thought useless was now gold. The emergency override panel in the "Tunnel of Celestial Harmony"? Still there, and still rigged with a manual bypass. The snack-dispensing robots in the "Alien Café" always took an extra second to boot. A shortcut under the "Hero's Coliseum" led to a security break room no longer on the official map. We weren't winning. We were surviving—barely—but every bypassed trap and last-second dodge was a small, tangible victory born of memory and desperation.
The service tunnels, camera blind spots, and the quirks of certain attractions. My protective instincts were a jumbled mess as we ran around. I shoved Judy from the path of a rewired animatronic, its friendly foam head now sporting metallic teeth, or drew rogue cleaning bots away, their buffer pads spinning menacingly. My arm throbbed where one had grazed me, I think I got a bad rugburn, though.
We communicated in desperate bursts, adrenaline was almost our only fuel, and then we would only be running on fumes. We triggered an emergency stop on a runaway parade float shaped like a giant, smiling cake, its decorative cherries now firing painful projectiles, just seconds before it would have crushed us. We lured aggressive robotic security guards into the "Slippery Slopes of Saturn" ice-themed play area, hoping their treads would fail. Some of it worked, buying us precious seconds. Most of it just delayed the inevitable.
(Inspector Theo Dior's Perspective)
The scene at Future World was pandemonium. My initial assessment from the video – that this was not just a murder but an abomination now alive and catastrophically upset – was proving to be a tragic understatement.
The park gates were sealed, barricaded by rogue trams and overturned, flaming souvenir kiosks. Alarms blared from within the dome, their discordant shrieks echoing across the city.
My police radio crackled with urgent, panicked calls from officers at the perimeter – reports of significant disturbances, system-wide power surges causing city-wide brownouts, localized explosions, and uncontrolled, aggressive animatronics breaching internal barriers. Future World's systems were in a violent, seemingly sentient meltdown.
"This is Inspector Dior!" I barked into my radio, my voice tight with urgency. "I have confirmation of multiple hostile entities operating within the Future World dome–park systems, and all robotic assets are compromised and acting with extreme aggression! We need immediate city-wide containment! Lock it down! No one in, no one out! And I need a tactical team, SWAT, mobilized immediately! Heavy armor, EMP capabilities! Two civilians, Nicholas Brandt and Judith Dusza, are trapped inside! Whatever has taken control is displaying what is going on inside for the whole world to see on their outside jumbotrons. Their extraction will be our top priority!"
The dispatcher's voice was tinny and disbelieving. "Inspector, confirm 'hostile robots'?"
"Affirmative!" I snapped. "Consider the park a Class Four Technological Hazard Zone, active, hostile AI in control. Dr. Alexander Volkov is likely on site; consider him armed and dangerous. Advise tactical teams to seek unconventional breach points. Every second we delay, those children are in greater peril." This was beyond any protocol. This was a detective facing a technological siege.
(Nick's Perspective)
We were running on fumes, our lungs burning, our muscles screaming, and our clothes torn. Every shadow held a threat, and every familiar park jingle, now warped, was now a prelude to terror as if we were now the stars in a slasher film.
In the "Enchanted Forest of Forgotten Fables," I stumbled, tripped by a snarling animatronic squirrel, its plastic eyes glowing red. A towering storybook giant with a sharpened axe loomed over me, its recorded "Fee-fi-fo-fum!" now a reptative growl. Judy screamed, "Scott! Help us, Scott!" a raw cry of primal fear.
For a heart-stopping moment, the giant paused. Zachary's chaotic hologram, flickering in a nearby tree, froze. When it came, his voice was not the playful menace but a choked, terrified whisper, achingly Scott's.
"It hurts…" he gasped, his holographic face contorting, flickering between his own features and Scott's. "Make it stop! Please! I don't want to… I didn't want to die! Not like this! Not again!"
My heart leaped. "Scott? Scott, is that you?"
Then, the moment shattered. Zachary's form convulsed, his image jittering violently. My breath caught in my throat, heart pounding in a surge of dread and desperate hope. My fists clenched involuntarily, nails digging into my palms as I tried to grasp what I had just witnessed — was that really Scott?, the light in his eyes flaring. The cold amusement returned.
"Did I say that out loud?" he said. "How sentimental. My apologies for the… system error. A lingering data fragment, no doubt. Easily purged." His eyes narrowed. "Back to the game! And you're falling behind, little mice!" The giant's axe resumed its downward arc.
That glimpse of Scott within Zachary made the horror more profound. He wasn't just a monster but a broken soul lashing out. There was no reasoning with him.
Exhausted and bruised, we found ourselves trapped in the "Hero's Coliseum." It was bathed in oppressive, pulsing red light. Red-eyed animatronics—robotic gladiators, insectoid aliens, even weaponized kitchen appliances—blocked every exit, forming a silent, tightening ring.
Zachary's giant, glitching hologram towered over us, his laughter echoing, laced with static and Scott's tormented cries.
He boomed. "Our little game of tag is nearing its thrilling, inevitable, messy conclusion! Or... is it? It's no fun if the little mice don't fight back, right?"
He decided to "up the stakes." A massive service robot lumbered forward. One of its arms extended, offering a metallic gauntlet from which an energy sword, its blade a shimmering, unstable blue, materialized with a low hum.
"There you go, my little white knight!" Zachary's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Protect your fair maiden! Fight! Let's see if you can make this game… interesting. The chase must continue! It's so much more fun when there's a struggle! Or, perhaps," his voice dropped to a whisper, "a spectacular demise!"
My hand closed around the gauntlet. A strange warmth flowed into my arm, and I sucked in a sharp breath. My heart pounded so loudly it drowned out Zachary's taunts. My fingers twitched, gripped tighter as if trying to hold back the shaking. Was it courage-building? Or just desperation with nowhere else to go?. I ignited the energy sword. Its blue blade hummed. I had no idea what I was doing. My fencing classes were a joke. This was real. For Judy. For Scott.
The first robotic gladiator lunged. I reacted, a scream tearing from my throat as I swung. It is connected to a screech of metal, shearing a limb. Sparks erupted. It staggered but kept coming. My swings were wild, fueled by terror and a burning need to protect Judy. The blade felt light, an extension of my will. I slashed, parried by instinct, a blur of blue light. I cut away limbs, severed tubes, and sent sparks flying.
Judy grabbed a severed animatronic arm, using it as a club, fighting back-to-back with me. We were a desperate duo against overwhelming odds in a madman's blood-red arena.
Amidst the chaos, disabling a spear-wielding gladiator, Judy's quick thinking spotted it – a gap in the encirclement, a path through the wreckage of the slain robots.
"Nick, now!" she screamed. She grabbed my hand, her grip like steel, and pulled me. We fought through the opening, dodging claws and wires, making a desperate dash back into the terrifying night of Future World. The game of tag resumed, but we had turned the tables for a fleeting moment. But as we ran, Zachary's louder, more triumphant laughter echoed behind us, promising the chase was far from over.