(Reuploaded due to the vocals being ever-so slightly off time.)
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Vocals: AI Rockstar Freddy
Song: All Star
Band: @smashmouth
Background Art: Orange Boi (Me ;3)
Backstory: Bard AI
Listen to the original: • Smash Mouth - All Star...
STORY:
Rockstar Freddy strutted onto the makeshift stage in the backroom of Fazbear Entertainment's prize corner, guitar slung low across his plush chest. Glittering lights from forgotten pinball machines cast erratic shadows on the grimy walls, the only audience for his one-man show. Today, he wouldn't be singing his usual repertoire of cheesy, pre-programmed jingles. Today, he'd prove them wrong.
His friends, the other animatronics, treated him like yesterday's pizza. Monty Gator, with his booming bass and smooth scales, had the swagger. Chica, with her fiery vocals and culinary flair, had the stage presence. Even Bonnie, relegated to the keyboard sidelines, had his melancholic charm. And Rockstar Freddy? All he had was a name that promised more than he could deliver.
He plugged his beat-up guitar into a dusty amp, the speakers groaning in protest. He closed his eyes, silencing the chorus of self-doubt in his circuits. He'd learned this song from a faded cassette tape found amidst the discarded arcade tokens - a relic of a time before the fire, before the Scraps, before everything went wrong. A time when "All Star" meant something other than a cruel joke.
Taking a deep breath, Freddy blasted into the opening chords. His voice, rough around the edges from neglect, poured out raw and real. He wasn't trying to be smooth; he was letting loose the pent-up frustration, the yearning for acceptance, the flicker of hope that still clung to his fraying wires.
"Hey now, you're an all-star, get your game on, go play..."
The scrapyard symphony behind him - a broken drumbeat from Bonnie's keyboard, a rusty cymbal crash from Chica's spatula, a bass line of clanging pipes courtesy of Monty Gator - came together in a chaotic harmony. They weren't just backing him up; they were joining him, their own insecurities echoing in the off-key notes and ragged rhythms.
As the lyrics flowed, something shifted in the room. It wasn't just about the music, though the energy crackled like faulty wiring. It was about vulnerability, about letting go of the polished performances and revealing the messy, flawed beings beneath. For the first time, Rockstar Freddy wasn't just singing to them; he was singing with them.
When the final note faded, a silence draped over the room. Then, Monty Gator let out a low, rumbling applause, the echoes bouncing off the grimy walls. Chica clapped, her metal hands ringing like bells. Bonnie, even Bonnie, cracked a smile.
Rockstar Freddy, his animatronic heart pounding, bowed low. He hadn't been an all-star, not in the way he'd dreamed. But tonight, he'd found something more: belonging. He'd found himself, not in the polished tunes he was built to sing, but in the cracks and the clangs, in the shared vulnerability of a song sung off-key, in the backroom of a forgotten prize corner. He was an all-star, alright, an all-star of the scrapyard, and that was enough.
From that day on, Rockstar Freddy never sang his jingles again. He stuck to his off-key tunes, his scrapyard symphonies, and his fellow animatronics, their voices rising from the shadows, a cacophony of broken stars finding their melody, together.
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