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Blood. Smoke. Blood.
The band's performance was in forty-five minutes, and Bonnie hadn't shown up to practice. When they asked Monty if he had seen Bonnie, he played it cool. He must just be having an off day, don't worry about it. Montgomery'll just go grab the bunny from wherever he is, and they'll be good to go in time for the show. He knew this didn't make sense, because Bonnie wasn't late. Ever.
But for all the concern Monty had and kept hidden, he didn't expect anything like this.
Bonnie's gaze was unseeing, blankly looking to the ceiling. A bowling ball laid in pieces beside him. His chest and head were torn apart, smoldering, exposing his inner workings. And most notably, blood was everywhere.
This can't be happening. Bonnie shouldn't even be able to bleed. He shouldn't be smoking, what did he even do, his mentor, his idol, this isn't real, this isn't happening.
Montgomery stepped forward. Maybe this was all a sick prank, and Bonnie would jump up and laugh at him, Monty would rough him up for the scare, and then they'd go back to the band, Bonnie would perform, and one day Monty would perform with him. That was what was supposed to happen. But Bonnie didn't react. Monty continued approaching, his gaze fixed on Bonnie, and he didn't notice when he lost his footing.
With a loud thud, Monty was on the ground, in the pool of blood, absolutely drenched, covered, filthy with his mentor's blood. He could feel it drying in his hair, and the thud was ringing in his audio receptors, and if Bonnie falling sounded like this, how did no one notice this earlier, and how did Bonnie even get to this point?! How, how could he possibly get into a situation that was so unsafe?!
Wait. Unsafe. The blood was unsafe. Monty could vaguely make out notifications of pain from when he slipped. There was a hazard, and he needed to take care of it. Monty dragged himself upward, out of the blood that was sticking to him and wasn't going away, and he stumbled away to find what he needed.
Through a stroke of luck, there was a group of wet floor bots just outside Bonnie Bowl. Monty didn't think he'd be able to walk much farther in his condition. His entire body was trembling and unsteady. Even if he could walk farther, he never wanted to be seen again. The blood felt like it would never go away, even if he washed a hundred times. Could he even be a part of the band now? He didn't want to anymore, he didn't want it to be like this.
He didn't want to be Bonnie's replacement.
Focus. Focus. The blood. The wet floor bots. He needed to get them to Bonnie.
"Hey, little guys. There's a...there's a...there's a spill over there. Could ya go over and guard it?" Monty asked, his voice box sounding like it would glitch out any second.
The wet floor bots chirped in response, and started rolling over to where Bonnie laid. The safety hazard was taken care of. But the band still needed to perform. He didn't want to tell them what happened. He didn't want his friends (or what he hoped were his friends) to be as upset as he was, because if they were, they wouldn't be able to perform. And if they refused to perform, they could all get punished, or decommissioned. He didn't want that to happen. He wouldn't let that happen. He had to keep what happened a secret.
He had to replace Bonnie as the bassist, even if he didn't want to.
First, he had to get rid of all the blood. Thankfully, he was waterproof and could use the showers. Monty sprinted towards the showers as fast as he possibly could, not wanting to be seen like this. He was tainted, ruined by the blood of his idol, who he was replacing and leaving to rot. Focus, he thought to himself as he entered and turned on the water.
He watched the blood wash off him and down the drain. He still felt stained, but when looking at his casing, it was completely clean. Not trusting himself, Monty stayed in the showers for far too long, scrubbing and scrubbing away at his casing, only coming out when there were fifteen minutes until showtime. Monty looked in the mirror and decided he seemed mostly clean. Then he looked at his hair. His hair was still stained a bright red, the blood still entrenched into it, taunting him, refusing to come out. Unclean. Tainted. Blood.
With a bellow, Monty found himself punching the mirror, it shattering to pieces under his fist. He felt better, but not good enough. He could still see fragments of himself in the broken mirror. He snarled and yanked the mirror off the wall entirely, throwing it to the floor. He stomped on the mirror, breaking it further. Any damage to his system was ignored, he just needed his reflection away and gone. With that, he stormed out of the showers and down to Parts & Services.
Montgomery flung the door open. The band all looked to him. They seemed to be asking him something. Monty was in no mood to listen.
"Bonnie ain't available right now. I'll be the bassist for tonight," he said, picking up the bass.
With that, Monty prepared for his first show in the spotlight he once craved, and now wished he had never gotten.