Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Prologue: Saturday, November 14, 1987, 6:32 AM

"Mommymommymommy!" Mike screamed with excitement as he tried to pull his poor mother out of bed. He had been waiting for this day all week; someone in his class, his best friend, in fact, was having a birthday party. He didn't even like parties that much, but had craved cake for the last month. Plus he'd get to see his classmates.

His mother, still half asleep, muttered that it didn't start until five in the afternoon, while slowly rolling over, away from her son. Mike let out a dramatic sigh and stomped off to his messy room while trying to ignore his big sister's snores from across the hall. Brushing the Transformers from his bed, he lay down to think about how great the evening would be. Food, fun, friends...

One thing he knew he wouldn't like, though, was that the party was at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. It had been there for as long as he could remember, and it always sort of unsettled him. The gaudy exterior, dining area crammed with other kids and loud noises were all turn-offs, but the animatronics were the worst. They were terrifying – tall as adults and freezing cold, with unnerving monotone voices and dead plastic eyes. He had been there for other events and tried to never approach them. If one did start slowly lumbering towards him, he always took off in the other direction.

Mike thought it disturbing that most of his friends could even tolerate that place. The boy sighed as he tried to put these thoughts to rest, and slowly stood up, wandering to the kitchen for breakfast.

4:55 PM

Mike bounced up and down as his mother guided their car towards the restaurant. In the passenger's seat, his father turned to him and smiled. "Are you excited, Mike?" he asked through a shining grin. He nodded enthusiastically, knowing that he'd get to play with his friends, whom he hadn't seen all week.

After a few more minutes, they cautiously pulled into the parking lot, which was already crammed with the cars of young children and their bedraggled parents. The building's façade betrayed a small family business within, although it felt like much more. Fazbear's had been a town staple for a decade, largely because of a convivial atmosphere and their ubiquitous robots. Though they often broke and sometimes frightened the children they were meant to entertain, general response was still positive.

After Mike's parents had made sure everything was in order, they left him with waves and smiles.

...

When Mike first entered the restaurant, he found many of his classmates were already present, playing some arcade games in the back. It was there he found who the party was for – his best friend James. They had a lot in common: smart parents, annoying older sisters and a dislike of cauliflower. But one thing Mike never understood about him was his love of Fazbear's. It seemed he was there every weekend, and it showed in his adoration of the animatronics. At recess, he often liked to imagine going on adventures with them rather than pretend to be an astronaut, which Mike and some of his other friends did.

The boys met up and challenged each other to see who could get the best score on Pac-Man. Although Mike won, they still both did horribly. After getting his tickets, he decided against exchanging them; he didn't want to carry whatever he got around the rest of the evening. At this point, they split up so James could play with some other kids. Mike spent the next fifteen minutes with a few others arguing about which of them should push Freddy off the stage, when an intercom announcement prophesied the impending dinner.

5:45 PM

The kids finished up the last of their pepperoni pizza while Freddy and his band played on stage. Mike thought he hid his nervousness very well; he just sat at the table farthest away and didn't look directly at them. He started to wonder what they would all do next, when one of Fazbear's typical bored teenage employees announced over the intercom that the fox robot's show would start in a few minutes. James sprang from his chair and demanded that people come with him to Pirate Cove.

About two dozen children and a few parents filed towards the swashbuckler-themed room. Mike had to admit it was impressive; probably the nicest area of the whole building, with a ship that kids could climb on, a foam ball pit, and eye patches and rubber hooks for maritime adventures. But Foxy – that was her name – roamed the place, which usually kept him out.

They sat on the floor before the platform. The same employee spoke to them again, dispassionately saying that Foxy would tell a story and then pose for photos. There was a small cheer as the robot lumbered in from behind some curtains.

"Yarr, me hearties!" she yelled in monotone. "Ta' day, Cap'n Foxy's going ta' tell all o' ya' a swashbuckin' tale 'bout 'er exploits on the high s" - she cut off. Everyone looked at the stage with confusion as Foxy powered down.

The soft whirring of her servos stopped. Her head drooped, and she teetered slightly before collapsing face-first onto the varnished wood floor. Mike thought he could hear other clangs coming from outside. The group sat there, silent, wondering if this was a part of the show. Then the lights started to flicker and hum. They dimmed, glowed, dimmed, glowed, and a few even popped, sending out showers of sparks. For a split second, space itself seemed to warp before his eyes, making Mike flinch.

Most of the children shrieked while parents tried to calm them down. As soon as light returned, a man started speaking on the intercom. He identified himself as the manager and did his best to apologize. He claimed to have no idea what happened, but said a mechanic would look into it immediately, and that Freddy Fazbear's would have to close early. The animatronics would need to be rebooted, which could take hours. Mike noticed that James looked distraught, and was staring straight at Foxy, still lying muzzle-down on the stage. Another employee, a mechanic, entered the Cove to tell everyone, sorry, but Foxy wouldn't be back that night. Mike saw James' look of disappointment, but then noticed something else.

She was getting back up.

Her motors revved, slowly at first, but progressively quicker. With some effort, she managed to push herself off the floor and tumbled into the back wall. There was a small cheer from the crowd, but the mechanic just stared, bug-eyed.

Something looked different abut Foxy, something he couldn't quite place. She surveyed the room with a spark in her eye that he hadn't seen before, and her face revealed a state of confusion so realistic that it seemed genuine. Then she noticed her own hook and hand, and stared down at them with interest, as if she had become aware of her own body. A murmur swept through the crowd, and the dumbstruck mechanic pulled out a notepad and started scribbling furiously.

Foxy confusedly looked at the audience, when upset crept onto her muzzle. One child, getting bored, threw a toy at the robot, and screamed at it to go on with its story. The impact caused her to jump back and flail her hook wildly. Most adults gasped, pulled their children away, and fled the room, but a few thought this was an interesting new show. Foxy yelled something unintelligible over the sounds of crying and the pirate themed music, but Mike could make out a hint of fear. He turned his head and saw James, the only person who had remained quiet, approach the stage. One of the few adults left demanded him to get away, but it was no use. Over the din, Mike could hear James ask "Foxy, what's wrong," the only response to which was a snarl.

He was still terrified, but now another feeling overwhelmed him; he had to use the bathroom. He sprang up and sprinted through the curtains, out of the Cove. There was no one in sight except the mechanic, who was using a wall phone and hurriedly explaining to the person on the receiving end how he had never seen animatronics behave like the ones at Fazbear's. "These things used to be walking tin cans, but now they're incredibly lifelike. They must have gotten one hell of a programmer." As Mike entered the restroom, he heard someone shrieking from the other side of the restaurant.

5:58 PM

Mike exited the bathroom, only to be assaulted by utter silence. Walking back cautiously, dread dripped into his mind. He didn't know what was happening, but he was scared. He entered the dining area, only to see Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica standing in the center of the room. Upon closer inspection, they were doing what Foxy had back in the Cove; glancing around, feeling different surfaces, and looking confused and a little scared. That's when he saw the sparks in their eyes that had been present in Foxy's. It would have been hard for him to explain; though made of plastic, they had depth, and could express emotion like a human's eyes could. He snapped out of his gaze when Freddy turned and looked at him.

This sent him wailing toward the exit, but not before he could catch a whiff of fresh blood emanating from behind the purple curtains.

Once Mike had made it out through the main doors, he was surprised to see dozens of people hurrying about the parking lot. Kids screamed and cried, and adults mutedly spoke on those ridiculous phones they tried to fit in their pockets. The police had just arrived, and were questioning people about what was happening. Mike heard a shout from somewhere within the crowd, and his mother rushed over to him. She sobbed softly, saying how she didn't know if he was all right. He felt uncomfortable because he couldn't remember the last time he had seen his mother cry. He told her that he was fine, but that he thought someone else was in the building. Her eyes widened. She muttered something under her breath, and shouted to an officer that a person was still trapped with malfunctioning robots. An older officer barked some commands, and three younger ones went dashing into the building. "Let's get you home, Mikey," his mother whispered. On their way to the car, he noticed that James wasn't around.

The next few weeks were strange. James wasn't at school anymore, and nobody seemed to know where he had gone. When he asked his parents about it, they glanced at each other, and his father said that he had moved to Florida. Mike didn't believe that at all; surely the move wouldn't have been on such short notice. Regardless, he felt crushed. Something had happened to his best friend, and he never even got to say goodbye. Also, his parents wouldn't let him look at the newspapers for about a month. Normally they encouraged him to practice reading, but they demanded he watch television for a while instead. Even then, they kept a close eye on the remote.

Slowly, the months passed. Mike didn't make many friends, but he was content with being a loner. Eventually, at the beginning of summer, he again asked what had happened to James, hoping to receive an honest answer. His parents looked uncomfortable when he first asked, but his mother let out a sigh, and said that he deserved to know. After pausing for a few seconds to collect her thoughts, she continued. The truth was that the robots at Freddy Fazbear's had malfunctioned due to a power surge, and one of them had bitten James in the head. He was brought to the hospital… but the doctors couldn't save him.

Mike's eyes widened as the world crashed down around him.

Chapter Text

Saturday, May 20, 2000, 5:40 PM

The great ordeal of freshman year had come to a close. As he drove across the forested landscape, Mike reminisced about his first year of college. Though anxious at first, he had gotten a solid B average at a decent university, learned more about the world than he ever thought possible, and, for the first time in many years, started to build a little self-confidence. Higher education wasn't as scary as he thought.

But his mind drifted to the summer, the first in which he could do whatever he pleased. Although originally tempted to drive to California for three months of lounging on a beach, he instead decided to return to his hometown, Whitewater. Everyone else got to have all the fun... whatever. He liked his home.

Located in central Washington, about an hour from Seattle, it was small and peaceful: a good place to grow up. His return was in no small part driven by his parents; they begged him to come back and look after their house while they went on a cross-country road trip. They really annoyed him sometimes, though he would never admit it. Would it have killed them send Sylvia, too? Nevertheless, Washington was exciting. There would certainly be enough to fill up three months. Still, he'd firmly explain to his mother and father that he wouldn't do this again.

A familiar sign pulled him out of his daydreams. Whitewater: Population of 3,082. Make that one more.

The Cascade Mountains' foothills began to grow as his hometown came into view. An evening mist coated the ground, granting buildings an ethereal appearance. Mike remembered how he used to fear this. As a child, monsters said to inhabit the woods and peaks of the foggy Cascades always lurked in the corners of his dreams. One would crawl through his window, and - he pumped on the brake pedal at one of the few stoplights. It was a lighthouse in the cloud, guiding him through the ghostly maze. How did I forget where my own house is? Fortunately, the only grocery store in town appeared on his left. With a relieved grin, he made a few turns down unnamed streets, knowing where to go.

A few minutes later, Mike slowly worked up a long, steep driveway. His car, which he had bought for his nineteenth birthday a few months before, had difficulty finding traction on loose gravel. Mike kept nervously repeating "come on, come on," willing the car not to slide downhill. After another minute, he successfully parked on the mountaintop, staying clear of the abrupt slope he just scaled. He took a sip of water and headed toward his home.

7:11 PM

Unpacking took longer than Mike had thought. It always amazed him how much could fit in his modest vehicle, but this time it was full to bursting. The worst to take out were his books, which had spilled out of their boxes and lay scattered in the trunk. Still, once he moved everything inside, it looked great. He surprised himself by letting out a long yawn, even though the sun hadn't yet dipped below the horizon. There was nothing else to do that night, but he decided to wait until the next day to organize the disheveled mound of odds and ends. With that, he began pacing the house, while old memories bubbled to the surface of his mind. It looked just the same as when he had seen it last Christmas. The mantle still held a set of fake deer antlers, the odd stain on the carpet endured, and his sister's room was still overcrowded with whatever his parents couldn't fit in the basement.

After devouring a quick dinner of microwavable chicken, it was only eight o'clock, but Mike felt overcome by drowsiness from a state-spanning drive and a draining finals week. He shambled to his room, threw on some sleeping clothes, set his alarm clock, and fell into bed.

Sunday, May 21, 7:00 AM

BBBRRIIINNNGGG… BBBRRRIIINNNGGG… BBBRRRIIINNNGGG

Mike hopelessly groped around for the clock with one hand while trying to protect his ears with the other. Eventually, he became desperate enough to slide out from beneath the covers and into the early morning light drifting through the window. He muttered "Stupid machine…" before finally smashing it off. The echo faded and silence returned as he stretched out his back and rose from bed. As he walked to the living room, he began to think seriously about how to spend the summer. He regretted not developing a plan sooner, because he didn't have the any idea what to do. All of his few childhood friends had drifted to colleges around the country, and he knew there was no way they'd return to a hick town like Whitewater during summer break. The national parks would be nice, but they couldn't hold his interest for three months.

Then it hit him.

He needed a job. It would give him something to do and provide new experiences; the money wouldn't be bad, either. Pleased to have pulled himself out of an early dog days rut, he popped on some sneakers and made his way out of the house, down the long driveway, being careful not to slip on damp gravel. By the road, a newspaper leaned against a tall spruce. Mike triumphantly snatched it and climbed back up. Excited to see all the job offerings, he hastily shook the paper out of its soggy plastic wrap and flipped to the Classified section. His enthusiasm quickly fizzled, as many ads were either selling car parts or offering different home services. He reached the bottom right corner and hadn't seen a single job offering. It made sense. Whitewater was a very small town in the middle of nowhere. There might not have been a single job in 30 miles for all he knew. With a sigh, he turned the page.

HELP WANTED

FREDDY FAZBEAR'S PIZZA

FAMILY PIZZERIA LOOKING FOR SECURITY GUARD TO WORK THE NIGHT SHIFT, 12 AM TO 6 AM

MONITOR CAMERAS, ENSURE SAFETY OF EQUIPMENT AND ANIMATRONIC CHARACTERS

Below that was another line, crossed off in heavy black ink. Even farther down were a phone number and a promise of $120 per week.

Mike let out a sigh as he slowly lowered the paper. He thought it was awful that place was still open. Fazbear's should have been sued for everything it had after what happened; it got off with barely a slap on the wrist. Some crack team of lawyers the restaurant could never afford defended it and shut the case down.

After he finished fuming, he began to take a serious look at the offer. The pay was awful - below minimum wage, in fact - and dreadful memories of the place filled his mind, but there weren't any other options. Did he need to be employed, though? His mind cycled through this argument again and again, until it hit upon a powerful thought: getting a job at Freddy Fazbear's would help him come to grips with the past. He'd go back, probably become emotional, but would end up with a greater acceptance of what had happened. That final speculation reverberated in his head like the vibration of a gong. He had a plan.

10:00 AM

The clock struck 10 as Mike dialed. After several rings, one of their classic deadpan teenagers picked up. "Hello, you've reached Freddy Fazbear's pizza, a magical place for kids and grown-ups alike, where fantasy and fun come to life. How may I help you?"

He tried not to sigh at her blasé tone, and plainly responded, "Yes, my name is Michael Schmidt, I'm interested in applying for the 'night guard' position."

There was a pause on the other end. After a few seconds, it sounded like she covered the mouthpiece and shouted. "One moment, please." This time, her voice held a glimmer of… something. Mike couldn't quite tell what. About a minute later, she was back. "I'm sorry for the wait, sir. I needed to check with the manager about something. You have an interview with him at three o'clock today, and I think he'll be very excited to see you." With that, she slammed down the phone.

That was strange. He would certainly go in for the interview, but the call's abruptness was unusual. Oh, well. The food service industry wasn't exactly known for its professionalism. Then again, he was going to be working as a guard, and that excited him. He thought it was… cool, more so than serving kids who were trying to get pizza sauce on every surface within reach. Also, he wouldn't have to talk with people. He could kick back, read a book, listen to music, anything really. Maybe the job would be better than he thought.

Chapter Text

Sunday, May 21, 2:55 PM

Mike drove down the deserted road through wet pine forest, admiring the greatness of nature. There's a hawk. And a white-tailed deer. But he wasn't in the woods for sightseeing; he was headed for his interview. Freddy Fazbear's was actually a few miles outside Whitewater proper. Instinct and hazy memories told him it would be coming up soon, and sure enough, he spied brick through the trees, slowing down to confirm this was the spot.

The restaurant had decayed significantly since he last entered, thirteen years before. It sat in a particularly dense stand of sitka and larch, which threatened to gobble it up, foundation and all. Garish yellow paint peeled off cement in long strips, like it was trying to escape. Fazbear's most noticeable feature, however, was the large billboard on its roof between two sliding glass doors. It simply read "Freddy Fazbear's Pizza" in dull white on a black background. Even this wore several stains and scratches across it. Looks more like a funeral home than a kids' pizza parlor. Mike thought he recalled the sign being more appropriately cheerful in the past, but couldn't remember the details.

As he pulled in, Mike noted it was pretty crowded, with about forty cars parked in a lot easily big enough to hold sixty. Wow. It's a summer Sunday afternoon. This place is doing pretty well. Then why did it look so dilapidated? With a tired sigh, he parked his car at the front and hopped out.

...

As soon as Mike breached the pizzeria's large glass door, the scent of grease and shrieks of toddlers assaulted him. Though the structure's façade had aged, its dining room was untouched by the slow advance of time; tacky linoleum flooring reflected dim light from above, and cheesy music floated through the air.

"Freddy Fazbear's pizzeria, oh it's the place to be," an airy male voice sang out. Mike recognized it as belonging to… Barry… Barney… whatever the rabbit's name was.

"Freddy Fazbear's pizzeria, it's full of joy and glee," a clear soprano, coming from the duck, continued.

Mike turned to his left, and that was when he saw them for the first time in years: a purple bunny with a guitar, a yellow fowl with a tambourine, and Freddy Fazbear himself. "Freddy Fazbear's pizzeria, it's fun for you and me," the bear finished. The sound of canned applause flooded the dining room, and the rabbit twisted toward Freddy.

"Wow, Freddy, that sure was a great show! It was almost as good as the pizza!"

The duck interjected, "I'll say! It's because we work together as a team, isn't it, Freddy?"

Freddy looked at both other animatronics before saying, "Yes, teamwork is the real magic here. I couldn't do this without you two." He turned back to the room's center, in which none of the children paid any attention, and continued, "Be sure to always work together, kids!" The curtains dropped, and they were gone.

Mike smiled and even chuckled a little. He could hardly believe he had been scared of those things. Maybe they were a little off-putting, but they were so corny and fake. He shook his head and continued deeper into the building, shoes squeaking on cheap tiles. After a few steps, some familiar purple fabric hung to his right; he looked down and hurried past. He didn't spot any employees in the sea of children and parents, so he struck out to investigate himself. Couldn't be that hard to find the manager's office.

Pirate Cove, at least, was roped off from the rest of the building. A standee and a sign with the words "Sorry! Out of Order" emblazoned on it clearly indicated that it was off-limits. Good, they didn't need anyone else going into that hellhole. Still, he found it rather surprising that they never refurbished the room. Too many bad memories associated with it, maybe. People still remembered that day, even if it wasn't talked about. It was by far the most dramatic thing to ever happen in Whitewater. Mike shuddered; maybe Foxy was still in there, slowly rotting away.

Not wanting to dwell on that anymore, he looked around. About a dozen arcade games lined the ways, with all the classics being accounted for. Space Invaders, Asteroids, Donkey Kong, and so on. No Mortal Kombat or House of the Dead, unfortunately; too intense for the target demographic. They would have been a nice touch, though. There was also a ball pit pretty near the stage, which some kids were playing in. Along with the people eating and chatting, it seemed normal enough.

Still, there was something foreboding about the restaurant that he couldn't quite explain. It seemed more cramped, dirtier and tenser, though these might have only been bad memories. He turned and walked down one of the two parallel hallways. In stark contrast with the dining area, it was devoid of life. Made sense. It was desolate; the only things of note were a few drawings of the Band that hung on the wall. None of them were very good, but what did he expect from small children? Doubt I could do any better.

His ruminations were cut short when he spotted two doors further down, on the left and right. One of them must be the manager's office, he thought, walking a little farther. The clamor in the main area quieted back here, making the space seem even more cramped. It was pretty unpleasant. Guess that's another reason for kids to avoid the area. As he was about to reach the doors, he spied a piece of paper hanging amongst the drawings. "Rules for Safety", it read. Kind of weird for this to be back here instead of where people could actually see it, but whatever.

Most of the rules were basic stuff: don't run, don't hit people, don't touch the animatronics. One of them, however, made him laugh out loud. Don't poop on the floor. Oh, that's great! He appreciated that someone here had a sense of humor. After that little detour, he peeked into the door on the right. It was an office, though clearly not the manager's. A man sat in a swiveling chair, looking at camera feeds on a computer monitor. Cool, this must be the security office! Didn't look like a bad place to hang out for the night. Sure, it was small and a little dirty, but nothing too bad.

The man turned to him and gave a small wave before going back to the monitor. Mike suspected his primary job was less about checking for potential fights or accidents and more about keeping explorative kids out.

Suddenly, a voice from behind him asked, "Are you lost, sir?" so drearily he already knew who it was. He turned, and sure enough it was one of Fazbear's teenage employees... maybe. The woman standing before him looked a few years his senior, so she was probably in her twenties. She donned long khaki pants, a black t-shirt with the words "Freddy Fazbear's Pizza," as well as hair dyed blue. He suspected this was who answered his phone call that morning, for their voices were similar.

"Actually, I'm here for an interview… with the manager."

Her face showed no emotion as she pointed at the other door. "He's in there." Yeah, he figured. And with that, she was gone. He opened the door and stepped in.

The room was tiny and cluttered. A paper-strewn desk sat in the middle, behind which were a large leather swiveling chair and a few potted plants. Bookshelves lined every wall except the one through which Mike entered, and boxes congregated on every free inch of floor, leaving a narrow path to a second chair. He squeezed past a few containers before plopping down, and started examining various knick-knacks.

"Mr. Schmidt, I presume." Mike gasped, and snapped his head up to see a man in a striking purple suit sitting in the swiveling chair. He couldn't have been older than thirty-five, and his slick black hair and surprisingly sharp attire made him appear even younger than that. "Sorry to have startled you. I've been told I sneak up on people." He let out a small chuckle, then went on, "You are Mr. Schmidt, correct? And you're here to inquire about the night guard position?"

"Yes, sir."

The man broke out in a smile, revealing perfect teeth. "Please, call me Phil."

3:10 PM

"Well, Mr. Schmidt, it appears everything is in order. I think you'll make an excellent addition to the Fazbear family. Like I said, you can start tonight."

"Thanks, Phil, that's great. It's nice I'll have a relaxing summer job."

"Oh, there is something else…"

Phil opened one of his desk's many drawers, and extracted a white piece of paper coated top-to-bottom with very fine print. "This is your contract. Just sign at the bottom, and we're good to go." Mike had to squint to make out the first line, but he couldn't read much. The entire page was drenched in protracted words and archaic terms, only comprehensible by lawyers.

After a minute or so of trying to decipher it, he plainly asked "What does it say?" Phil laughed.

"I get asked that a lot. It's something the legal team put together. Basically, it says you'll promise to follow some simple rules: no drinking on the job, clean up your workspace, etcetera. I assure you, it's very standard stuff." With a shrug, Mike signed a line under the wall of text. What was the worst that could happen?

"Excellent, Mr. Schmidt. Now, one of the rules you just agreed to is to wear this during your shift. It should be your size." He swung around and began rooting through the nearest box. A second later, he pulled out the same clothing that the girl he spoke with earlier had on: khaki pants and a black shirt with the company name on it. Mike gratefully took the outfit and gave his new boss a final thank-you. On his way out, Phil called after him. "One last thing, Mr. Schmidt. Get here at eleven o'clock tonight so I can show you the ropes."

"Whatever you say, sir."

"Call me Phil!"

Mike was pleased to get the job, but he couldn't help thinking about how strange the interview was. In the first place, it was only a few minutes long. Okay, maybe that could be chalked up to it being in the food service industry. The questions he asked, though, were bizarre. Some of the more prominent examples were, "How much danger would you put yourself in? What is your deepest fear? Do you believe in the supernatural"? He tried to answer all of these truthfully, (A moderate amount, loneliness, yes), but they seemed more appropriate to ask potential Ghostbusters than night guards. Most mysterious, though, was the contract. The way it looked, with unintelligible words and impenetrable format, made it feel like he was selling his soul to Satan or something. There was no reason it had to be so impossible to read.

He shook it off. Phil was way too nice a guy to do something like that. Besides, there were laws about what couldn't be put in contracts. Right? Whatever the answer, he supposed he'd find out that night. On his way out, he saw that Freddy and his pals were performing again. Their eyes seemed to follow him across the room as he left. Creepy...

He threw his new clothes in the back and began the ride back to his house. This new job excited him; being a night guard wasn't exactly glamorous, but he thought it might be fun. He could roam the building, eat leftover pizza, or just bring a book for a relaxing night of reading. As he inched ever higher into the Cascade Mountains, he realized that he already felt more at ease. By taking the job, he felt, he'd both bury many of his fears and nightmares from ages past and also honor a friend.

By the time he got back, there wasn't much to do except get ready. Sure, he could watch some television or read a little, but preparing would be more useful. Therefore, Mike assembled what he thought might come in handy over the next few hours. He packed a backpack with snacks, grabbed a copy of Fellowship of the Ring, and chose a few cassettes for his Walkman. Next, he poured some coffee into a thermos as a last resort. I'll take some cream, too. Finally, he tried on his new uniform; the shirt was a bit tight, but it was otherwise perfect. And it should loosen after a wash or two. Satisfied that everything was in order, he decided to rest before leaving, as snoozing on laminated tile would be anything but comfortable. But walking to his bedroom, Mike still felt unnerved. This might not have been a good idea, going so fast. It'll all be all right he thought, lying down. What's the worst that can happen?

10:57 PM

There was no moon that night, nor stars; the sky was masked by a thick cloud bank. Thunder rumbled on the horizon, and the trees creaked before the growing wind. Mike viewed it as a setting straight from a horror movie. Only the monsters were missing. Stepping out of his car, he cautiously moved toward Fazbear's. Come on, don't be so scared. You'll get warm pizza and money! Even the sign betrayed an ominous air; some of the letters were backlit by pink neon lights while others flickered or remained dark. A few raindrops forced him inside, but now he was more spooked than ever. Just an old building. Calm down.

Striding into the dining hall, Mike was again rested and ready for his first night on the job. The room felt much larger now that the music and children had left. Two young, burly janitors swept crumbs off the floor and tables, but the space was otherwise devoid of interest.

One, noticing him, shouted "Hey! We're closed!"

"Actually, Mr. Schmidt is our new guard." Phil, still wearing his royal violet tuxedo, appeared from around a corner. The custodians looked at each other before returning to work. "Come on over!" he shouted. Mike hurried across, noticing the echoes of his footsteps. "I just need to acquaint you with a few items of interest. Sound good?"

Mike nodded, enjoying how enthusiastic his mentor was. With the strange get-up and energetic attitude, he was more like Willy Wonka than a regular manager.

"First of all, you'll need to meet the stars of Fazbear entertainment, Freddy and his friends!" He swept an arm toward stage, opening the curtains and revealing three animatronic characters, all staring off into space. Mike thought they looked rather ominous, now that no one was around. "On the left, we have Bonnie the Bunny", he said with a finger pointed toward the purple rabbit.

"Yeah, that's right, Bonnie. I thought it was Barry when I first came in."

Phil turned to look at him. With a raised eyebrow he said, "I wasn't aware you had visited before, Mr. Schmidt."

"A few times." He decided to leave it at that.

"I see." His usual smile returned. "Well, this is more like a reunion, then! Now, where was I? Oh, yes. On the right is Chica the Chicken. She isn't a duck. That's very important to remember." Mike thought he saw her recoil a fraction of an inch, but chalked it up to a trick of the light. "Lastly, we have Freddy himself." Mike examined them for a moment, and observed something strange now that he was so close. Their eyes held sparks; they looked like more than just plastic scraps. In fact, they all looked incredibly realistic; their fur and feathers, though dyed, appeared to be genuine pelts. Fascinated, Mike approached Freddy and reached up to touch his eye.

"Wha-hey! Stop that!"

Mike turned to see Phil, as well as the two janitors, glaring at him with a mixture of fear and anger. The former quickly collected himself. "I'm sorry, Mr. Schmidt, it's just that these animatronics are very… valuable. They'd cost a fortune to replace. It's all right, boys, nothing's wrong!" he shouted, addressing the janitors. "Now, let's continue." He began walking, and with a final glance toward stage, Mike followed, starting to feel tension all around.

...

Freddy wanted nothing more than to snap the little brat's neck right then and there. He walked right up to him, and tried to gouge his eye out! The bear only kept his cool for two reasons: subtle head shakes coming from his two friends, his only friends, and the pistol one of the guards had just withdrawn, no doubt loaded with armor-piercing rounds.

"Wha-hey! Stop that!" Mr. Fazbear scowled at the young man, and the two of them went on.

You're dead already. You just don't know it yet.

...

"That door leads to the backstage. There's really nothing there, just some spare parts. And those purple curtains lead to Pirate Cove. Hey, did you come here when Foxy was still around?"

Mike just gave a simple nod, hoping his boss would see he didn't want to talk about her.

"Well, we put her out of commission. There was an accident, you see. Tragic thing, but we made up for it. She isn't hurting kids anymore."

Mike would have loved to respond by saying no one could make up for what happened that day, but he kept his cool. Still, it was good to know they had finally gutted that horrid machine. He supposed that was one less thing to worry about.

"Here's the supply closet," said Phil as they entered the corridor. "The only people who use it are janitors. It holds some cleaning equipment. Also, we like to call this passage the 'West Hall'." With a shrug, he pivoted toward Mike. "That's about it. We have some bathrooms near the show stage and a kitchen. There's also my cramped little room. You, however, get the best spot in the building." As he finished, they entered the security office. It was about the size of Phil's room, but far less cluttered. Some drawings hung from the walls, a clunky computer rested on a desk, and a leather swiveling chair sat on the floor, but there was nothing remarkable. Like before, it looked just fine.

"Now, Mr. Schmidt, your job is quite simple. That computer is hooked up to security cameras all over the building. Just check them over occasionally."

Mike nodded, thinking that this was a really nice setup.

"These," he said, gesturing to a set of buttons beside the doorway, "are for emergencies." He gingerly tapped the top one, and a large metal door instantly slammed down, shaking the floor and making Mike jump.

That belongs in a nuclear power plant! What's going on?!

"That tends to scare people the first time; I should have warned you. As you can see, the higher button brings down a barrier; the lower is just a hall light. The other door has the same system. One more item: there's really no sense in paying to keep the power running all night, so you'll only have a limited amount. We have to keep costs as low as possible, of course. Any questions?"

Mike's head brimmed with inquiries. Why was the security system so impressive? No one would break into a kids' restaurant. Why were the janitors so threatening? They looked more like soldiers or athletes. Was there a reason his boss flipped out when he tried to touch Freddy? He was just a robot; Phil looked at him like a monster. They didn't matter, though, and the last thing he wanted was to complicate his simple job.

"No, I understand. Thanks for helping me with all this."

He reached out his hand, but Phil opted for a pat on the back. "It's no problem at all!" He looked down at his watch, and his eyes widened. "Well, it's already 11:45. I should really be going. Good night, and good lu - wait, I almost forgot." He produced a keycard from his pocket, which Mike accepted. "Use this to unlock the door if I'm not around." With that, he was gone.

After everything Mike had seen so far, he was certain something was amiss; what that was, he couldn't imagine. But he knew he'd find out that night. With a sigh, he fell into the provided chair and laid his supplies on the ground before starting to flip through the cameras. Most revealed familiar locales: the dining room, backstage, hallways. After checking all the cameras, it appeared that all employees had left, leaving Mike alone in the building.

Just then, he noticed something else; the security office's floor was carpeted, unlike anywhere else in the restaurant. That's a nice touch. It was also surprisingly clean; everything else seemed to be coated in a thin layer of grime. A faint odor hung in the air. Was that… bleach?

Chapter Text

Saturday, November 14, 1987, 5:49 PM

What's happening… where am I? This was the first thought to ever enter Foxy's mind. As she lay on stage, her CPU was flooded with code more powerful than all the world's supercomputers combined, while her processor began running millions of times faster. Psychic energy meshed with electricity, the soul with the machine. At that moment, she was alive. With some effort, she put both arms in front of her and pushed off the floor, losing her balance and slamming into a wall.

Her cameras adjusted to the bright spotlights, and she saw the faces of the crowd, some vacant, some puzzled, and a few dumbstruck. She had seen thousands of people before, but none of that had been real; just a long dream. Raising her arms to rub her sore muzzle, she then noticed her hand and hook. Are these mine? She wondered for a moment why they looked different from other people's, but was distracted by a mumbling from the crowd. Everyone was staring at her like some kind of monster. But I'm just like them…

Something hit her head, and instinct took over; she slashed the air with her hook and growled. The adults gasped, children screamed, and all but a few fled the room. "Harr, blast ye bilge rats!" she shouted, surprised the way her voice sounded. There was, however, one child who approached her.

"Foxy, what's wrong?"

The only thing that left her throat was a deep growl, the kind an animal makes when it knows violence is the only escape. Everything felt so wrong. Was this even real? Then, for a moment, the chamber was draped in complete silence. There was no one but her and this threat.

"We're friends, remember?"

That did it. In an instant of sheer rage, terror, and confusion, she screamed and tackled him. Bits of clothing and flesh went flying as she channeled all her fury and paranoia into subduing the threat. She bit, clawed, and screeched like a wild beast for about ten seconds, all rationality having vanished in an instant. Then it was all over. As she slumped over, air rushed into her newly-formed lungs. Maybe that was a little excessive.

A pang of guilt hit her as she looked at the mess. Most of his oil had drained onto the floor, and quite a bit of wiring hung out, but the most noticeable damage was a large chunk of endoskeleton missing from his head. Well… I'm sure he'll be fine. Mr. Fazbear always fixes me up. He can fix him, too. The fox thought about how she would explain the mess to her boss. She would just tell him that she felt weird that day, but would be ready for work the next.

"FREEZE!" Three police officers burst through the purple curtains, all stepping into the large pool of oil.

One glanced down to see the mangled corpse in front of him.

"…shit…"

Chapter Text

Sunday, May 21, 11:55 PM

Mike was emptying his backpack when the desk phone began to ring. Who'd call a kids' restaurant at midnight? He picked up, and a man began speaking before he could get a word in.

"Hello? Hello? Hi. I'm, uh, recording a message, um, to help you through your first week here. It's… something the restaurant lets me do." Mike smiled and put the phone on speaker. It was nice that everyone was making him feel so welcome. "I was actually the night guard a long time ago. It's a, um… surprisingly exciting position. Uh, I actually saw you earlier! The, um, guy in here you saw? That was me." Huh. Interesting. "Now then, I'd just like to read a short disclaimer."

A piece of paper ruffled in the background. "'This statement has been approved by both Fazbear Entertainment and BRIAR.'"

What's BRIAR?

"'Welcome to your first night as a guard at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. As your contract states, you have surrendered certain constitutional rights to BRIAR and Fazbear Entertainment. These include, but are in no way limited to reasonable search and seizure and trial by jury.'"

Mike's eyes widened. If this was a joke, it wasn't funny.

"'Your manager will have explained everything you need to know. If you have any questions or concerns, please consult him/her after your shift has ended. Good night and good luck.' Now that might, uh, um, might sound negative."

Fear was palpable in his voice. Mike could tell that someone was listening in, probably standing right behind the mystery phone guy.

"But, I'm here to assure you… it's not. We're, um, just fixing the animatronic characters this week at night. What I mean is, uh, they'll… they'll be walking around the restaurant to prevent their joints from locking up! And it's normal. So, um, there could possibly be a slight chance of danger if one got into your room. Fortunately, Fazbear Entertainment has graciously provided a state-of-the-art security system! Well, that's – that's all the time I have! Talk to you tomorrow." The mystery man slammed the phone back down, and silence returned.

Fuck. Mike shook with terror. His paranoia for the Fazbear Band was back with a vengeance as he scooted over to the computer system and checked the stage camera. Everyone was still there.

He produced a small chuckle, more out of fear than anything else. Maybe this is just a bad joke. A really sick, demented joke. Then the screen cut to static. "What?! NO!" He pounded the computer a few times, and it returned to the Show Stage camera. The animatronics, however, had moved. All three glared into the camera with gazes of hatred emanating from cold, black eyes. Mike screamed so loudly that it could have been heard from outside if not for ample soundproofing within the walls and roof.

He fell to the floor like a sack of bricks.

Monday, May 22, 12:06 AM

Mike groaned as he picked himself up, trying to ignore the sudden pain in his head. He sat back down and tried to be calm, taking slow, deep breaths. It was a prank. It must have been a prank. OK, very funny. I just don't have a sense of humor. A few minutes later, he felt a little better. After all, there was no way the animatronics could move without human assistance. They were machines; everything they "knew" was programmed in by human hands. Now confident, he rechecked the stage camera.

All two robots were still there, Chica and Fr – Bonnie's gone. The fear in his stomach grew as he examined the grainy screen closely. He had just disappeared, leaving a big area of wall visible. Mike found the rabbit a few seconds later, standing motionlessly among the dining hall's tables and chairs. Feeling an odd mixture of scared, upset and annoyed, he decided to call the police. This was all probably a trick, but something in the back of his mind screamed at him to make sure. He pulled his cell phone out, only to see it didn't have reception. At this point, he was genuinely scared. Someone should have said by now that the joke was off.

His last hope now was the desk phone. Taking a deep breath, he picked it up and dialed 911. To his relief, it actually began ringing. When someone picked up, he began speaking immediately.

"Hello, yes, um, I'm trapped in Freddy Fazbear's Pizza on - "

"Mr. Schmidt! So nice to hear from you! How's it going so far?"

Mike couldn't speak for a moment from shock. "P-P-Phil!?"

"It's me, Mr. Schmidt. It's me. We can't just have you calling the police, now. That would ruin your shift. So all calls from that phone are directed to me. Also, as you might have noticed, there aren't any windows which you might be able to escape with. Finally, there are several cell phone jammers scattered throughout the building. Any questions?"

Silence persisted for several seconds.

"Good night and good luck, Mr. Schmidt." With that, the call disconnected. Mike felt the room shrink, strangling him. There had to be some reasonable explanation, an answer to everything. But right then, with his heart pounding and head aching, he didn't see one.

...

Mike spent the next hour preparing for the worst with trembling hands, while always keeping an eye on the doors. First he unplugged the stupid fan that was already draining his power. Then he checked if the computer system was connected to the internet – it wasn't, of course. He also spent some time reviewing the cameras. All were familiar except the kitchen's. It was broken, but the audio sensor worked. After nibbling on a granola bar, Mike sighed, and came to the worst part. He slipped a piece of paper with the words "IF YOU FIND THIS, GET OUT," along with a brief synopsis of that day's events, under the computer's keyboard, hoping a future would-be victim located it instead of management. With all this accomplished, Mike braced for the worst night of his life thus far.

2:04 AM 86% Power

Just another shuffle through the cameras. Only a couple hours into the most horrifying night imaginable, Mike was starting to learn the subtleties of his security system. For example, dark screens used slightly less power, so it was beneficial to display the completely black kitchen camera when he started to get the shakes and looked away. Also, the doors wouldn't close if anything was under them, which ruled out using them to crush the animatronics. Presently, though, he was trying to locate a certain rabbit.

Yep, backstage is clear. Glancing at the East Hall camera, he noticed Fazbear's looked much dingier than when he had entered. Maybe it was the dim lighting or his new outlook on the twisted place, he didn't know. One more to go… With a click, the show stage camera filled the screen, revealing only Freddy. Mike's palms began to sweat. OK, she has to be here somewhere, too! After a few seconds, he found both Bonnie and Chica eerily standing in the dining room. Damn, those things look creepy, he thought, struggling to control his breathing.

"H-h-how about you, Freddy? Don't want to move, huh?" Mike knew Freddy couldn't hear him, but taunting his foes brought a little peace. Wait – foes wasn't the correct word. For them to be his enemies, they'd have to be able to think, and no matter how terrifying they might have been, they were still just machines. Metal and faux fur with a bit of plastic. They couldn't reason or make decisions, Mike thought, and that's why he would win.

When he checked the screen again, Bonnie had moved into the hall, appearing as a ghostly silhouette. That's too close. In a moment of bravery, Mike decided to eyeball the robot for any potential weaknesses. Taking a deep breath, he tiptoed over to the left door and peeked out. In the hall's middle stood a silhouette, barely illuminated by a single flickering light. Mike was close enough, though, to see the rabbit's eyes. Gone was the lifelike glint; they were black as night except for pinprick-like pupils the color of molten gold.

Bonnie produced a long, guttural growl, similar to a wolf intimidating prey. Mike leapt back into the relative safety of his office and slammed the door, attempting not to vomit. That was pretty smart for a robot.

4:05 AM 46% Power

The last hours passed rather uneventfully, with neither Bonnie nor Chica getting closer than their respective hallways. Freddy still hadn't moved, but instead unyieldingly stared at the camera.

Mike was still hysterical, but had begun to think rationally again now that he was in less danger. It was like a deranged nightmare, except he couldn't wake up. Part of him, albeit a small one, still thought this was some kind of trick. Like, maybe this was some crazy reality prank show and there were also people watching him. The contract he signed could have been him agreeing to it. He doubted it, though - he'd already inspected the room several times and found no evidence of cameras or microphones.

But at least he would probably survive the night. With 46% power, Mike thought he could make it, assuming nothing unexpected happened. Now where are you, Ms. Chicken? Not the kitchen. Dining room… nope. Not the hallway or corner. Mike felt a pit grow in his stomach as he heard a shuffling noise to his right. With a shaking hand, he turned on the lights, and saw the robot chicken mere inches from the door. He was petrified, unable to move until her head tilted up to look at him with eyes the same as Bonnie's. Her jaw dropped, like a zombie about to feast. Without a sound, Mike smashed the "door" button, bringing down a solid metal slab. Chica scraped over to the window and peered in, still looking ravenous. 'Let's Eat' indeed.

Though the door drained power at an alarming rate, keeping it down was preferable to being torn apart by killer robots. After a minute of violent shaking, Mike peeked out the window to find that Chica had disappeared. He sighed and raised the door, glancing into the hall while shivering with terror. All clear.

5:58 AM

He had done it. After six hours warding off Chuck E. Cheese rip-off mascots with nothing but a computer system and his wits, Mike was ready to escape. He had just enough power to keep both doors closed for the last few minutes, during which he laughed and shouted, ecstatic at the prospect of not horribly dying. While snacking on a bag of chips, a whirring sound echoed through the building as normal lighting returned. A laugh escaped Mike's lips as he fist-pumped the air. As a last precaution before exiting, he checked the cameras; sure enough, all three animatronics stood on stage as if nothing had happened.

Wait a second.

Their eyes were back to normal. Through the grainy screen, Mike could make out Freddy's brown irises, as well as Bonnie's purple and Chica's green ones. How does that happen? He tried to rationalize it as some optical illusion, but was absolutely sure the difference existed. In light of his other questions, though, it didn't really matter.

Wishing to remain cautious, he collected his belongings and crept into the west hallway. The sense of danger greatly diminished with the improved illumination, and as he neared the dining area, he could see morning light streaming through the glass doors. Mike was about to sprint for the exit when he heard a voice that made his blood simultaneously freeze and boil.

"Mr. Schmidt! I knew you would make a top-tier employee." Phil looked impeccable as ever as he crossed the room, bright shoes squeaking on waxed linoleum.

"I'm gonna kill you, you sick bastard…" Mike snarled. He would have, too, but he suspected the man had a gun on him. If this happened regularly, he must have been cautious.

"Now, now, I know the first night can be rough, but you'll catch on. Anyway, do you have new inquiries about the terms of your employment?"

Not only did he attempt murder, he was completely professional about it. How many had he killed so far?

"I'm guessing that 'very standard stuff' I signed on for is a lie, right?"

"Correct, Mr. Schmidt." He smiled mockingly. "I'd suggest actually reading contracts before signing them from now on." Phil looked up at the ceiling, deep in thought. "Ah, yes! Here…" he flicked a piece of paper from his suit's pocket, "is a more comprehensible itineration of your rights and obligations as a Fazbear employee. This, I swear, is entirely accurate." Mike snatched the paper from his hand.

"Well, I have to get to work." Phil stretched and shook out his arms. As he walked away, he said, "Just read those rules. There are consequences for not following them."

Mike stood alone in the room. Wait, no – the custodians from last night mopped in the corners. What if they weren't really janitors at all? Maybe all the other employees were just plants, creating a façade of fun while a psychopath tortured helpless participants. Too exhausted and scared to think anymore, he shuffled out the front door, nearly vomiting. The bright sun and cloudless sky didn't help him in the slightest, as he shambled back to his car. On the way, he passed a heavy black door he hadn't noticed in the dead of night. Stopping to examine it, he saw a slot installed just below the handle. Hmmm…

How curious. He didn't know where it led to, but perhaps he could glean some hints about his place of employment on the other side. If anyone tried to stop him, he'd just say he got lost and leave. Not any more dangerous than what he'd already done. He fished out his keycard and gently inserted it into the slot.

To his great surprise, the lock clicked, and he pulled open the door, revealing total darkness. Hesitantly deciding against better judgement that snooping might turn up some useful information, he stepped inside and closed the door. Surrounded by total blackness, he groped around, trying to find a light switch. All right, there has to be a chain or something in here. But where is here?

Mike suddenly realized he had no clue where he was. He initially assumed it was that backstage area Phil mentioned, but it seemed too spacious. This was too big to be any room on the west side of the building except… Pirate Cove. His heart skipped a beat as he scrambled to find a way out. No, no, no! Where's the door?! He was about to scream, when he spied a single glowing orange eye in the vast darkness.

Chapter Text

Monday, May 22, 6:32 AM

Mike was immediately thrown to the floor with the eye pinning him down. His shriek lasted an instant; a warm hand clamped over his mouth, causing intense pain. This was her; this was the monster that had killed his friend, and would now kill him. God, why did he have to be so stupid?!

But death did not come quickly. For several seconds, Foxy held him to the ground in complete silence. Mike shuddered when he realized she hadn't blinked once. Then he felt something sharp on his throat. I'm going to die… I'm going to die, was all he could think through tears streaming down his face. What kind of sadistic programmer would do this? Foxy's head moved closer, probably coming in for a repeat of 1987. She stopped inches from his face. In her bright eye, he saw his reflection. Lying on the floor and whimpering like a sick dog, he realized then how pathetic he must have looked to this unfeeling killing machine.

"Scream and you die more slowly."

It talked. The robot talked. To him. His mind went blank as she unclamped his mouth.

"So I finally caught one of you sick bastards," she said, voice dripping very organic malice. She grabbed Mike by the throat and thrust him against a wall. Somehow, he could feel warm breath on his face.

"Stupid of you to come without backup. Now…" her hook dug into his sternum. "I'll gut you like a fish." This she didn't say so much as she growled.

He felt blood beginning to ooze from his chest. "F-Foxy…" was all he could croak before running out of air.

Then she let go.

...

Foxy sat quietly in darkness without a single thought entering her broken mind.

Minutes and hours passed.

"Foxy… that was my name" she said aloud.

But by that time, Mike was long gone.

...

Frantically driving home, Mike dwelled on the last six hours. He had discovered a madman's plot to murder hapless employees, battled with disturbing animatronics, and likely signed on for his death. Dozens of questions swam around his exhausted conscious. All were important, but one stood out far beyond everything else.

Are they alive? Not twenty minutes ago, Foxy spoke to him in Pirate Cove. Threatened him. Almost killed him. What she said wasn't a product of zeroes and ones. It was organic, violent, real.

If they were alive, some of his questions would be answered. For instance, Mike remembered that when he was a kid, the robots could cover one foot per second at most. And they often fell over, required constant maintenance, etc. That didn't match up at all with what Foxy did; she sprinted. She also crouched down, bent over, and performed other actions that used to be impossible for her. As far as Mike knew, AI technology hadn't advanced much at all.

Mike was sure of only one thing; if he was correct, his views on the supernatural and life itself would be forever altered. How was this possible? When did it happen? Why wasn't this world-shattering news? He needed answers about his job, the animatronics, everything, but they'd be difficult to obtain. Phil wouldn't tell him anything. He could try finding the phone guy, except he had no idea where to start. Other employees were right out. He could see only one potential source of information: Foxy.

It was insane, but then again, so was the whole situation. And she was the only… thing… that he could talk to without anyone knowing, being in her own private room and all. With that threadbare scheme in mind, Mike continued to drive.

6:53 AM

With some effort, Mike got out of his car. Struggling against the burning in his chest, he made his way into the house. The familiar environment felt a bit more comfortable and afforded him an opportunity for a few seconds on the couch. Hope I don't need to go to the ER. I don't have the money.

Lurching into the bathroom to wash up, Mike observed himself in the mirror. He was sweaty, drained and slightly bruised, but still standing. Lookin' good, pal, he though, and his reflection donned a half-hearted smirk. Now for the real damage… A ferrous odor wafted around the bathroom as he pulled off his black Fazbear shirt, revealing a hole in his sternum where Foxy's hook dug in. It almost looked like a bullet wound, but fortunately didn't quite reach bone. She really would have gutted me! Shakily, Mike put two fingers to the wound, coating their tips in fresh blood. I need to get to a hospital. He limped back toward his car, the ugly truth sinking in. He knew that his job was potentially deadly, but he was just now getting a taste of what that really meant.

...

A couple hours later, Mike stumbled back into his house, overwhelmed by exhaustion from a six hour adrenaline high, fear, and injury. He clumsily kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the sofa, hoping he hadn't torn any stitches on the way back.

12:33 PM

Hunger, pain and afternoon light roused Mike from uncomfortable dreams of rusted hooks and golden eyes. He squinted at the clouded sun before rolling over, sending a cramp through his chest. Sitting up slowly, he removed his blood soaked shirt and examined his body. The wound hadn't reopened, but bits of dried blood still clung to its sides, and a clear fluid slowly leaked from within. Checking the time, he slowly moved toward his kitchen for a sandwich.

The hospital visit had gone fine; he almost expected to be approached by the Men in Black or something equally ominous, but nothing of the sort happened. He just got a few stitches and left with few questions asked. His largest issue would be paying the bill. If I live through the week.

That's when he remembered the paper Phil gave him. He pulled the slightly sweat-stained wad from his pocket and set it down on the table, straightened it out, and began to read over lunch.

To the Night Guard

If you're reading this, you survived your first night. Congrats. Let me establish something right now; if you break these rules, there will be consequences. End of discussion.

1. First and foremost, don't tell anyone what happens here. Don't talk about anything at all. If someone asks, tell them the pizza's great. If you have questions, ask me. I might not seem like it, but I'm a good guy and I want to help.

2. Don't damage or approach the animatronics.

3. Don't leave at night. Not that you'd get out anyway; the building doesn't have windows, and the doors in front are locked and made of bulletproof glass.

4. Don't call anyone on your shift. Once again, the office phone directs all calls to me, and there are several cell phone jammers set up.

5. MOST IMPORTANTLY: Show up to work! You signed up to work Monday through Friday: five nights. When those are over, you get your money and we never have to see each other again.

Consequences for breaking these rules vary, but the most common is having to work a few nights more. You've already completed your first shift, so you shouldn't have a problem following a list of five simple rules.

- Phillip Fazbear & BRIAR

After scanning the paper several times, Mike sighed and put his head down to think. Rule One was a given. But Mike was deeply disturbed how effectively it must have been executed. Executed… Fazbear's must have had serious damage control if they could get away with murder. He wasn't sure how they did it, but he supposed the idea of a kids' pizza restaurant using robots to kill people wouldn't have gotten much police attention. Hell, anyone who said that would probably get thrown into a mental hospital. It was urban legend material at best.

Rules Two, Three and Four all made sense, though the bit about bulletproof glass unnerved him. He could easily imagine pounding on the doors and screaming as the animatronics mercilessly walked toward him.

That thought reminded him of what transpired right after his shift. That thing with Foxy. Was it real? Since he'd escaped Pirate Cove the way he'd come in, Mike had begun to question what genuinely happened. Looking at his stitched up wound again, he strongly doubted the animatronics were actually sapient. Sure, nothing else about his job made sense, but artificial intelligence was science-fiction. The world's most powerful computers were the size of houses, and even they didn't begin to approach intelligence. There was no way four animatronic mascots from a hick town in rural Washington could be self-aware.

Then came Rule Five, which Mike wasn't sure whether to be grateful for or not. Four more nights in Hell still awaited him, but that was better than five.

Finally, BRIAR. What the Hell is that? Hypotheses crisscrossed his mind like snakes, weaving in and out of each other. It could really be anything, it was used so vaguely. It might not even be a physical thing for all he knew, maybe an idea or something. The only hint was that it could have been an acronym, as it was written in all caps.

With a mournful sigh, he crumpled the note and stuffed it in a kitchen drawer; he desperately wanted to throw it away, but knew better than to toss his only guide. Feeling his stomach rumble, he continued munching away.

...

Mike paced his house aimlessly, idly wondering if he would be dead by sunrise. This forlorn rambling was punctuated by brief bursts of sheer terror in which he would drop to the floor, shaking. There were no obvious means of escape; Phil probably had every scenario covered. After seeing what his boss could do, Mike was sure fleeing would get him killed.

A few hours and several cups of coffee later, he'd begun to shake off his catatonia, and while death still ominously loomed, he started making preparations with a steady hand. He packed some oranges in his bag, found a few energetic tapes for his Walkman, and tried to think of anything that would keep him awake and alert. Thinking long and hard, he also decided to avoid having final conversations with his sister, parents and few acquaintances; it would be better for them to believe he died in a car accident or whatever false alibi would be put out.

Feeling as satisfied as he possibly could, he went off to his room for needed sleep.

11:29 PM

Mike drove toward likely death under the bright sickled moon. Big and crescent, it was beautiful, illuminating the woods enough to see, but not enough to ruin the fear pulsing through his veins. No cohesive thoughts entered his mind, only sheer animalistic terror, which clung to him like a python. Desperately needing a distraction, he turned on the radio, only to be greeted by static. Damn it. I'll have to get that fixed.

At last, he glimpsed Freddy Fazbear's Pizza between the trees and cautiously turned into its parking lot. Sweat began to drip down his face as he spied the pink neon sign. Unlike the previous night, the building was now actively malevolent, promising to snap its jaws shut and eat him alive.

Pulling haphazardly into a spot, he again saw the black door to Pirate Cove he'd entered earlier. He glanced around, almost afraid someone was onto him, but no one was around, and only three or four other cars remained. If he did go in, no one would see him. Well, Foxy really isn't really alive, so why bother? But deep down, Mike had a feeling against all logic which told him otherwise. After a minute of thought, he chose to walk toward the black door.

It loomed in front of him, growing infinitely massive, and opening wide into an endless abyss. Mike had to shake his head to rid himself of the vision. That was disturbing.

...

"Hey. Foxy. Hey, Foxy. You there?" Mike loudly whispered into the void. He knew this violated contract, but he hardly cared; no cameras were inside, so nobody would see him. Yeah, great idea to give the guy you're trying to kill full access to your security system. "Foxy… if you're in there and can hear me, can you please come out? I promise not to hurt you." He strained to listen inside, not sure whether to hope for an answer.

Clank. A sound echoed through the chamber, breaking its stillness, and more soft whirring soon followed, coming closer. Mike stood in the doorway with bated breath.

It was her. A glowing orange eye was all he could see. It was precise and unblinking, and he sensed anger in it.

"Who the fuck are you?" she growled.

Is she really…

"Um… my name's Mike. I'm the, uh…" His mind went blank as he tried to process what was happening. He felt an uncomfortable suspicion that maybe Foxy was more than a machine.

"What?" Her voice sounded like gravel in a lawnmower.

"The night guard. I'm the night guard." What was I going to ask? Struggling to keep the conversation afloat, he quickly said, "I was, uh, in here this morning. And you, um… well, you know."

Foxy slowly blinked her solitary eye. Then a barely audible sound reached out.

"I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else."

Her voice was organic; as full of life as any human's. Not quite sure how to continue, he simply sat in the doorway. Light poured onto a small patch of dirty carpet directly in front of him, but Foxy's body stayed shrouded in black. Though Mike didn't at all trust her, he wanted answers. Whether she knew or would share any was tertiary.

The two just sat for a while, staring at each other.

"What are you exactly?" He mentally slapped himself for being so blunt.

Foxy snarled; Mike was ready to jump out the door.

"None of your damn business. Now leave. I don't need sympathy."

Disappointment rose within Mike as it dawned he wouldn't be getting any information, at least not that night. But a seething anger quickly took its place as he came to a realization; Phil wasn't the real killer - it was them. Curiosity was supplanted with hatred as he imagined this abomination slaughtering his friend, who'd been only a child.

He would have ended Foxy there, but knew he couldn't win in a fight. Without a word, Mike slowly got up, shut the door, and walked toward the entrance.

You're dead already. You just don't know it yet.

Chapter Text

Saturday, November 14, 1987, 6:00 PM

The three officers stood with looks of abject horror and disgust, one staring in shock at the mangled endoskeleton, and the others aiming pistols at Foxy. One of them retched, nearly vomiting. She was unsure of what was going on; who were these scary people?

Another unhooked a walkie-talkie from her belt and yelled into it, "Hey, Sarge! We got a DB! It's a kid. It's… bad. Real bad. We got the perp right here, only it's not even a person, it's - " she was cut off by the man on the other end, though Foxy couldn't make it out. The officer's face scrunched up in confusion. "A SWAT team?! How'd they get here so fast… all right, if you're sure." She motioned for the other two to follow her out, but they just stared at her. "Come on!" With a final horrified glance back at Foxy, they exited via the purple curtains while choking back tears.

Foxy began to panic. Why do I look different than everyone else? What's going on? Why are they scared of me?! Well, she was a pirate, but a good one nevertheless. She only took on monsters and evil marauders - surely law enforcement understood the nuance. Was it the endoskeleton? Glancing down, she had to admit that the damage was bad, but it could be repaired easily enough. She closed her eyes and started to develop a plan, like any good pirate would. I just need to… need to… Everything was so wrong. She willed herself to go back to sleep – back into that dreamlike oblivion where she saw without seeing and heard without hearing. Where her body was puppeted by zeroes and ones.

But these new sensations of awareness refused to leave.

PFF! A sudden sound snapped her eyes open, and she saw two pins penetrating her shirt. Confused, she slowly followed the arc of wires up and across the room, back to the purple curtains. There stood a man clad head-to-toe in black combat gear, wielding a Taser. Foxy took a moment to realize that its payload was lodged in her stomach. Raw electricity instantly surged through her wiring, granting her wish for respite. She sprawled out in an unconscious heap.

…

Delta's anger flared as he gingerly stepped over the child's body. No one deserved to die like that, least of all a child. He didn't consider himself averse to violence, but this was barbaric. Damn it, this wasn't the plan! He'd been told the operation would be quick and surgical; showed how stupid the higher-ups were.

Looking at the twitching animatronic, he radioed for backup. "Delta here. Target is down… uh huh. All right, send four guys and a stretcher; we don't want it damaged."

The floor was coated in a thin layer of blood and gore, which the Agent's boots made squishing sounds in. "Completely safe" my ass. Eyes drawn back to the machine, he gaped at it as a man among ancient graves – awed, yet wary, amazed, but not understanding.

BRIAR finally struck gold, and the world would be better for it. That's what people kept saying, anyway. The man was about to smile, when he noticed rivulets of ichor flowing from the robot's mouth and down its teeth. He briefly wondered if the cost of this victory was too high as quick footfalls approached. With a shake of his head, Agent Delta listened the room's ambient adventure music, waiting for others to arrive.

Chapter Text

Monday, May 22, 11:58 PM

Mike sat in his swiveling chair, anxiously wondering why the office smelled vaguely of bleach. Like every college student, he knew its applications in whitening laundry, but also that it was a powerful disinfectant. Particularly useful for cleaning up blood. Considering the room had gray carpet, he was more concerned about the latter possibility.

Flipping to the dining hall's camera, he saw a "janitor" through the glass doors. She took a key from her pocket, locked the double doors, and walked away. How can these people be so cold?! This gets them nothing! They're condemning me to... Imagining what the next few hours had in store, Mike oscillated between terror and rage, praying he'd made the right decision by returning. "Praying" might not have been the right word. He'd been a Christian his whole life, but having the bombshell of living animatronics dropped on his head might make him reconsider. Right at twelve, the phone began to ring. One ring, two rings, three rings, and the message played.

"Hello? Hello? Um, hi again. Welcome to your second shift at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza," the man said, straining his voice. "So last night was, uh... exciting, right?"

Mike let out a stream of slurs at the Phone Guy, cursing the man who mocked him, added insult to injury. He hoped the man would get trapped in the building for a night to see just how "exciting" it was.

"But, um, let's not concentrate on that. Freddy and pals tend to become more active over the course of a week. I don't know why. The, uh, engineers said something about a CPU bug but... never mind."

What a prick. At least the guy could come clean about what was really happening. It wasn't like anyone would believe his story, anyway. Mike didn't believe a technical problem made them more aggressive. More likely, he thought, they studied their prey before striking.

"Just keep an eye out while I'm talking."

Oh. Mike brought up the stage camera to find all three animatronics in their normal positions, albeit with black eyes and golden pupils.

"So, you probably figured it out, but the cameras can't see right outside your doors. You'll have to check those blind spots manually. Hey, another thing! Um, there are actually four animatronics here. You already know the Band, but there's, uh, one more. Her name's Foxy and she lives... I mean, uh, um..."

Phone Guy hemmed and hawed, trying to backpedal. "She is... wait, no. It! It. It is in Pirate Cove. They aren't, like, um, living or anything. I'm not implying that." He paused to catch his breath and continued.

"So look out for Foxy because it is fast." Mike could hear footsteps in the background, stopping close to the phone. The man said nothing for several seconds. There was only heavy breathing. "Well..." he said, voice tightly wound, "talk to you tomorrow."

At least he's trying to help, especially with Foxy.

Just then, he realized something that hadn't struck him before; Foxy was essentially being held prisoner. She lived in a dark room by herself, wasting away - probably not her choice. A pang of compassion rose within him before it was swiftly buried; she deserved it.

Tuesday, May 23, 12:51 AM 91% Power

Mike felt he was settling in quite nicely. Though still scared out his wits, he hadn't yet fainted, even after several close encounters with his favorite rabbit. Phone Guy didn't lie about them being more active, he thought, nervously wondering about how the rest of the week would stack up. His biggest concern was Freddy; once again, he just glared into the stage camera with a wicked grin. The bear was either plotting something or confident in his minions. Still, there was plenty of juice in the generator, which offered some comfort.

A growling echoed through the air, and he lunged for the West Hall's door button, bringing down a two-ton steel brick. "You're losing your touch, Bugs!" Mike was seeing if mocking the animatronics improved his awareness. It was dumb, but he needed every possible drop of energy. Thirty seconds later, he crept over to the window and peeked out, revealing that Bonnie had moved.

He was about to raise the door when he heard it again, a deep, long rumble. That's when Mike realized it was his stomach.

Wow. He blushed and snorted embarrassedly, which quickly grew. Soon, the entire building was filled with an echoing cackle that would have put the Joker to shame. Slamming the other door button, Mike released all his nervous energy in an uproar. Tears streamed down his face as he thought about how mad the whole situation was. He didn't even know why this seemed funny, but it was nevertheless hilarious.

Regaining dominance after a minute, he checked his surroundings and opened both doors. He really needed that. Getting through a week of Hell would require an occasional laugh, just so he didn't lose his mind.

1:40 AM 78% Power

After his "incident", things for Mike had gone fairly well. He had far fewer bouts of crying or catatonia now that all his pent up emotions had been let out, and felt generally optimistic. The animatronics also seemed a little less active afterward, though it could have easily been his imagination. Either way, it led him to cautiously ponder what they thought of his episode.

Were they amused? Annoyed? Did they even notice or care? He didn't know if he could comprehend a machine's mind - and wasn't sure he wanted to.

Checking the screens again, he saw Bonnie standing in the closet, doing his usual half-dead gaze into the camera. It wasn't too often that bunnies were scary. The Holy Hand Grenade would be useful here. And Chica was in the women's restroom, staring at him through the door ajar.

That was all they ever did; look at him with the Thousand-Yard Stare of Death. It was really, really creepy. Their golden pupils bored into him like knives, and he could never meet their glares for more than a few seconds. Suddenly, she vanished. Instantly disappeared into thin air.

Mike was beginning to roll with the punches, but this was ridiculous. He examined the screen more closely, when something about his head felt wrong. It was like he'd just been smacked with a hammer. Bright yellow spots clouded his vision, and a grainy noise manifested on the edges of his hearing. Then, in his mind's eye, he saw Chica's face.

Mike shook his head, making the scene fade. It had only lasted a couple of seconds, but it left him in a daze. Putting that aside for a second, he checked the screen. She was right there, still staring into the camera. I guess I just hallucinated, then. Worried about it happening again, he pulled out the now-cold coffee thermos and took a few big gulps. After a minute, it was as if nothing had happened.

3:05 AM 56% Power

Cat's game again. Mike drew yet another grid on the newspaper to begin his fortieth or so match. Wanting to save his music for later, he'd begun playing tic-tac-toe with the cupcake doll that sat on his desk. But before he did anything else, another peek at the animatronics was in order.

All right, Chica's in the main room. By this point, Mike's hallucination was all but forgotten. It hadn't happened again, so he let it go. But I still hate these things. He skimmed through a few more, trying to find Bonnie.

He's in... wait. Switching back to Pirate Cove's camera, Mike watched in horror as the curtains slowly parted. A single golden dot was all that could be seen within, peering directly at him. It knew he was watching.

Mike furiously closed the program and shook with fear. He sat only a few dozen feet away from the four largest existential threats of his brief life. Try as he might to accept this, it was difficult to swallow, especially considering that, until several hours ago, he believed artificial intelligence to solely inhabit science-ficition.

4:10 AM 36% Power

Music quietly leaked from Mike's Walkman, filling the air like a haze of burning incense. It was too soft for him to make out the lyrics, but that was all he needed; nice, gentle white noise. The film slowly unwinding inside was also relaxing to watch, as long as he stayed focused.

Freddy, you need to work out more. Too much pizza will put on the pounds.

The other animatronics were nice and far away from his office - his fortress - and that brought a certain fearlessness. He was, dare he say it, almost calm. All right, Foxy, let's see how you're doing. She hadn't moved at all for over an hour, so Mike essentially forgot about her. Maybe she decided to leave me alone. If so, he'd be sure to give her a genuine "thank you for not killing me" at the end of his shift.

He jumped over to Pirate Cove, revealing wide open curtains. If she's not there, then... he opened the West Hall camera just as a silent shape ran past.

Time slowed down as adrenaline overrode his frontal cortex. This was life-or-death. He leapt out of his chair for the door button, five agonizing feet away.

...

A vague shadow appeared from around the corner.

...

Its golden pupil was a spotlight upon him.

...

Mike's feet hit the floor and his knees buckled, terror overwhelming him.

...

He fell forward, hand outstretched. Dim light glinted off metal teeth.

...

The shadow was right outside, hook raised in triumph. He became aware of a piercing shriek, though he wasn't sure which one of them produced it.

...

The tips of Mike's fingers barely brushed the button as he collapsed, and a resounding thud echoed through his office. He could barely breathe as he leaned against the door and began dry-heaving.

Foxy snarled and slammed on the door, angry to have been outdone. Mike thought he heard her mutter a few words, but they came out sounding like radio static. I... did it. Feels like I tore some stitches, but I did it! For the second time that night, Mike started laughing so he wouldn't cry. He simultaneously felt like King of the World and a death row prisoner.

Foxy punched the door so hard it warped slightly. Oh shit. He watched with bated breath, fully expecting her to break through the window. Instead, there was a long scraping sound followed by loud footsteps going back up the hall.

He stood up, bracing himself against the desk to keep from collapsing. In the background, white noise droned.

6:00 AM

The lights brightened as the generator began operating at full capacity. Unlike the previous night, Mike was in no mood to celebrate - he wanted to get home, sleep and cry. After his terrifying encounter, he'd been on high-alert for two hours, leaping at the slightest noise, and half-wishing he would die of a heart attack so the animatronics couldn't get him. Grabbing his gear, he headed out the left door.

IT'S ME

Mike rubbed his eyes to make sure it wasn't another vision. These jagged furious words were carved deep into the hallway's peeling drywall, leaving dust and crumbs of plaster all over the floor. Alongside the message was a crude etching of a stick figure being hacked apart by four amorphous blobs.

He had no words. This wasn't survival anymore - this was personal.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, May 23, 6:06 AM

This is a terrible idea, Mike thought as he once again stood outside the door to Pirate Cove. Only utter hopelessness kept him going; he would probably be dead by Friday anyway, so a bit of extra risk didn't really matter. Looking left and right, he put his keycard into the slot and opened the door. The overcast early morning light was blinding compared to the Cove's complete darkness.

"Hey, Foxy. It's Mike again," he whispered into the void. What are you doing, Mike? Why are you doing this? A question had come to him while exiting the building; why were these things trying to kill him? When he thought about it, it didn't make much sense. Why didn't they attack anyone else? No, they singled him out specially. Therefore, he was testing the waters, so to speak. Though these aberrations were still sick, they might be able to negotiate some sort of deal. He'd do something, and in return, they'd leave him alone like they did with everyone else. It was cowardly, but that's what he'd always been - a coward.

"Are you there?" Once again, a soft whirring noise floated through the air while Foxy - or rather her eye - walked into the room's center. He started speaking immediatly.

"Foxy, I know we've gotten off to a bad start, but I'm sure we can work something out..." God, he sounded insane, talking to a Chuck E. Cheese-esque robot in a decrepit chamber. "What do you want? Why are you trying to kill me?!"

Silence hung like a veil for a few seconds.

"I'm not trying to kill you," she muttered. "It isn't me."

"What do you mean it isn't you?! Did you come running to my office to give me a hug or rip me in half?"

To his great surprise, she laughed. Her voice, he realized, was quite pleasant when she wasn't snarling or murmuring. "Probably to rip you in half."

"But I don't want to kill people," she said, serious but not angry, "except those bastards who work here." She hesitated. "That doesn't include you."

"So, what, you have an evil twin?"

"In a sense."

Mike had a difficult time believing her; one minute she tried to eviscerate him, the next she begrudgingly apologized. However, the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. At night, when their eyes turned gold, the animatronics practically transformed into zombies. They acted and looked half-dead. He'd only worked for two nights, but could tell their mentality deteriorated significantly. They weren't even smart enough to just camp outside the office until he ran out of power. Maybe Foxy didn't have complete control over her body during this shift and reverted to some kind of basic instinct. But why?

The way he saw it, the two of them were both against Phil and his cronies. Hatred might have been too strong a description by this point, but he certainly didn't like her, and the feeling was mutual. But Mike was scared enough to swallow his pride and try to find out more; after all, knowledge was power, and Foxy probably had a lot. More than him, at least. Still, something had bothered him for the last couple of days. He gulped before speaking, hoping she wouldn't kill him on the spot.

"Foxy, I don't know what you look like. Is it OK if I see you?"

She growled menacingly, but Mike held his ground. "You don't get it. I don't need sympathy or attention. I'm fine on my own."

Why are you doing this, Mike? Leave the crazy robot alone! "Look, we don't need to like each other. But the way I see it, if we're at each other's throats all the time, there's a smaller chance of either of us getting out alive. I guess I can't speak for you, but you're trying to survive too, right? They're holding you prisoner; why else would you live alone in a dark room? I would just have trouble... trusting... someone I can't see."

A full minute passed before she answered. "I'll think about it. Come back tonight."

"All right, I will." He tried to sound confident, but his words came out nervous. Without a second look back, he closed the door and sprinted back to his car, where he sat for a few minutes. What have I gotten myself into? Lacking a reason to stay, he pulled out of the lot as more employees arrived. He avoided their gazes, and headed back toward his house.

I need some music, he thought, flipping on the radio. It was still dead air. Damn.

...

Mike's eyes flew open as he lay on his bed, bathed in afternoon light. What nightmares his dreams had been: jumbles of golden eyes, blurry faces, metal, claws, a droning hum. None of this should have surprised him, of course, but he still had a hard time believing it all was real. Maybe it was a product of his exhausted mind. He quickly tossed these thoughts aside; dwelling on these things wasn't healthy. No, in order to have a shot at surviving, he needed, if not complete mental fortitude, his basic sanity intact. Therefore, he followed his normal routine as if nothing was wrong. Three more nights to go.

2:10 PM

Getting back into his old pattern wasn't as difficult as Mike feared. A year of college had given him an ingrained daily routine that couldn't be broken by a mere three-day lapse. He'd only have to adjust his sleep schedule and the rest would follow. Right then, for instance, he was jogging along the roadside. While he certainly wasn't muscular, he thought himself fairly fit - in contrast with the stereotypical "freshman fifteen" he had lost a considerable amount of weight since he'd begun school in Seattle. He'd always loved running, even if he'd never been on any sports team, and college gave him just enough time to pursue it.

He was going to the Whitewater library - if it could even be called that - to do some preliminary research on BRIAR, the entity that was making his life a waking nightmare. It was the only place in town, except maybe the police station, with computers connected to the Internet. It was convenient, actually; he could get in a good two miles and hopefully some information. Of course, even if he did manage to dig up dirt, the question was whether it would be at all useful. He admitted that this was mostly for his own psychological benefit; perhaps he'd be a little less terrified if he could at least comprehend his enemy.

Shaking his head, he looked around. Whitewater was a truly beautiful place. Tall trees, mossy boulders, mountains and sky. He tried to soak in every detail. They could be among his last.

...

The library was almost entirely empty, of course. It never was much of a draw, but with many people vacationing, it was pretty much deserted. Not to mention the town had gone downhill over the last decade; more and more people moved to more prosperous areas every year. Honestly, he was surprised his parents were never among them. Only a few cars were scattered around the lot, making it look eerily like Fazbear's at night. Mike crossed the empty street and went up the steps. An old librarian gave him a practiced greeting as he entered, and he finally plopped down at one of the computers in the back.

OK, BRIAR. Won't be hard to find, he thought sarcastically. In reality, BRIAR would be extremely difficult to research. It could really be anything; a company, a person's name, an idea or some sort of scientific concept. The only thing he knew for sure was that it was fucking evil. He'd only encountered the word twice, but both times it went with his manager's name. That could be a start. Out of paranoia, he glanced around to make sure no one was watching him. On AltaVista he searched for "Phillip Fazbear". There was pretty much nothing. Well, it didn't exactly seem like a common name.

He saw no references to Whitewater, either. That didn't necessarily mean there was a cover-up going on, though. How many results for little-known pastoral pizzeria could there be?

Something else, then. Next he just put in "BRIAR". Unfortunately, this yielded results about botany and gardening exclusively. Too bad search engines were so stupid. Maybe one day they'd be useful. After a few more searches, including "Freddy Fazbear's Pizza" and "Whitewater town history", he was about to give up. He'd found pretty much nothing useful, save for some local newspaper clippings regarding the "Bite of '87", as it was colloquially called. This routine went on for about an hour, him typing in whatever came to mind, only to be disappointed by either unrelated things or nothing at all.

He sighed, wiping nervous sweat from his brow as he did so. He could feel the librarian's eyes on the back of his head. Made sense; he'd been there a long time and seemingly hadn't done anything. However, part of him feared whether she was an agent of the people trying to kill him. Could BRIAR know what he was doing? Intellectually, he knew both concerns were ridiculous, but that didn't make him feel any better. I'll leave soon. Don't want to waste what little time I have left.

However, there was one more thing Mike wanted to try. He typed "Fazbear Entertainment and BRIAR" into the engine. After all, that was a phrase Phone Guy used on his first night. To his surprise, there was a single hit, a collection of three text files. They kind of looked like... shipping forms? Sure enough, they sparsely detailed the transfer of goods from "BRIAR" to "FAZ Ent."

His jaw dropped. He couldn't believe it; after an hour of digging, Mike had finally found some solid information! He didn't read much but printed the pages to take home. At the same time, he was nervous. What if BRIAR was on to him? Could they track him somehow? This wasn't explicitly breaking the terms of his contract, at least. As soon as the papers were finished, Mike ran out a little faster than usual.

5:33 PM

After he arrived back at his house, Mike intentionally put the papers aside for a while, taking some time to relax, watch television and nap a bit. When he did look at them, he wanted to be totally calm and prepared for anything. Now he was ready. Sitting down at the table, he started skimming the first page... pretty mundane. Definitely not the earth-shattering revelation he hoped for. It was a list of standard scientific equipment such as flasks, scales and rulers. Normally, he would have thought this was filed by a high-school chemistry class. Other than that, there were no addresses, signatures, or even dates.

Page two was a little stranger. It documented the transfer of more technical electronic supplies. Mike recognized terms like "processor", "motherboard" and other computer parts, but there were also terms he wasn't familiar with. Still, he supposed it wasn't that odd. In fact, he wondered whether this was even the right BRIAR - none of this stuff looked particularly evil.

The third and final page, though, resolved those concerns and made his skin crawl. Polygraphs, Tasers, armor-piercing bullets (three crates), small arms, two large metal safety doors, and an MRI machine were the highlights.

He had to lie down, feeling the blood drain from his face. This is incredible. Fazbear's was bad, that much he knew from the start. But this was beyond anything imaginable or sane. Did the employees have guns on them?! He supposed they could have carried weapons under their shirts. God, the thought made him shudder; what if one of those psychopaths got just a little too annoyed with a child? It'd make sense, though. Had to keep the evil robots in line. Pushing that aside, he reflected on the primary purpose of his research. Was this knowledge helpful?

Unfortunately, not really. This wasn't really something that he could take to the police. After all, with names and dates and other identifying features all redacted, it looked fake. He could have made it himself. Even if law enforcement did believe him, he didn't think any of this was illegal. Yeah, it looked weird for a pizza parlor to buy guns, but was it against the law? How did this get online, anyway?

A spark of hope rose within him. Perhaps this was the work of a benevolent hacker who wanted to expose these monsters. However, that fantastic theory quickly fizzled out. First, he had no idea when this was from, but it didn't seem all that new. If that was the case, there should have been much more. No, more likely that these documents got lost in the shuffle and accidentally found themselves on a far-flung corner of the web. There was much stranger stuff on the Internet; he didn't even own a computer, but he knew that.

At the very least, it was now clear that BRIAR was fanatical about its mission. I only need to figure out what that mission is. For now, though, he needed a break. Maybe grocery shopping was in order. Wait, I gotta economize.

He glanced at his wallet, concerned about his financial situation. He'd planned on only spending about a thousand dollars on the bare essentials; food, gasoline and bills. The cost for his stitches might easily be half that, and he couldn't ask his parents for money; they'd know something was wrong. Plus, he really wanted his radio fixed. For his own morale, of course. But all day long he had been developing a stupid, somewhat embarrassing plan to get the money he needed. Eh, no harm in trying. Well... I hope not.

...

The trip to his job was getting easier. Mike had stopped questioning which road to go down, leaving more time for worrying. At least the sky had cleared, allowing warm afternoon sunlight to reach him. After a couple more minutes, the restaurant came into view.

Fazbear's was a little more crowded than it had been on Sunday. It's the dinnertime rush. The parking lot was packed; at least sixty cars squished together on the broken asphalt. I don't think there are this many kids in town! A birthday party? He briefly considered seeing Foxy again, but decided against it; he'd be back that night.

Seeing... heh. Mike tried not to think about it much, but seeing Foxy in the flesh - or fur - could be disturbing. Of course, he saw her as a kid a few times, but remembered almost nothing about her, physically or otherwise. His mind blacked it all out after '87.

The first thing he noticed upon entering was how loud it was. Kids used to be quieter. It looked like several parties were happening at once, with all the people mingling. He estimated about fifty children in the dining area, plus several parents and waiters. They ran around, jumped in a big ball pit off to the side, or played arcade games, looking like they were having a blast. This brought back memories. A begrudging smile crept onto his face. Young kids annoyed him sometimes, but he was glad they could have fun at Freddy's, even if he couldn't.

Mike walked forward, trying to get a better look at the Band. It was too loud to make out the words to their song, but it actually sounded pretty good. No! Don't compliment these sick freaks! Still, he involuntarily stepped to the beat. Looking at them more closely, he was reminded of how realistic they were; their pelts appeared authentic, though in Bonnie's case, incorrectly colored. Their voices sounded real, too. Even not being able to understand them, there were certain inflections and tones that robots just couldn't make.

They were miles ahead of anything else he'd ever seen. And their eyes went without mention. It made sense why the restaurant was so packed, even if it was kind of a dump. If I was a kid now, this place would be Heaven. When did they become alive? Why? How? Were they when I was younger... don't think so. But those questions weren't why he came.

Suspecting this was an awful idea, he almost pulled away, but then remember there was no possible way he could be in any more danger. With that settled, he gingerly crept around pockets of children to Phil's office.

...

"What a surprise, Mr. Schmidt!" Phil sat at his desk, casually writing something on a piece of paper. Mike tried to decipher the script, but it was such ornate cursive that he couldn't make sense of it. "Please shut the door so we can talk in peace." He complied before weaving through the small maze of boxes. "So, what would you like to discuss," his boss asked with genuine concern. It made his blood boil.

"Listen, Phil, I need a raise. See, I'm getting paid four dollars an hour. That's not enough to live on. Actually, it's way below minimum wage! So, uh, it's not legal."

He let out a hearty laugh.

"Mr. Schmidt, you may have noticed that much of what goes on here is 'not legal'. Shortchanging employees is the least of my worries."

Mike wasn't at all surprised, but wanted an argument for the sake of one. But before he could object, his boss continued.

"I make a killing on birthday parties, however. People come from Oregon and Idaho to have events here. The Fazbear Band is somewhat legendary in family entertainment circles nationwide."

Mike shifted in his seat. Where was he going with this? Phil looked vacantly nostalgic for a moment before coming back to reality.

"But that's a story for another time. I'll pay you two-thousand dollars come Friday morning."

Mike was dumbfounded. "T-t-two-thousands dollars?!" That was more than his parents made combined!

"Yes. I don't need that money. And, to be honest, I pay all night guards this much, it's just not advertised. In fact, I was going to tell you tonight; always a nice shot in the arm. Though most aren't around to collect!" Phil had a good chuckle about that, and it took all of Mike's willpower to not explode.

"You're a good sport, Mr. Schmidt. You have my word about that money. I might even throw in a few shares of Fazbear Entertainment stock! Now away! I have work to do!"

This guy is insane.

7:44 PM

Mike whistled happily as he took his first shower since he'd been home. It was heavenly to feel the hot water on his skin, washing away the dirt, blood and sweat acquired over the past couple of days. It was also a chance to completely escape the turbulence of his life, if only for a little while. He tried not to get too much water on his stitched-up laceration, opting to use disinfectant instead. This is the good life. Not fighting bloodthirsty automatons, not researching mysterious organizations, just me and the shower.

While he was able, he took time to wash his sweat-drenched uniform - it reeked - also hastily sewing in a few stitches where Foxy's hook dug in. He wasn't much of an artist, but thought it was a good first try. Also, he restocked his supplies for the coming battle; more coffee and tapes were essential, but the oranges and other snacks were fine.

Still, he couldn't help but think about his job. Now that he was out of the shower, it flooded back to fill every corner of his mind. Specifically, what Phil said about his salary. Earlier, what he said confused him. If they were willing to shell out so much cash, why wasn't that advertised in the paper? Wouldn't they get far more applicants that way? The stated pay of four dollars an hour was absolutely pathetic.

But then Mike realized the absolute genius of it, which made him tremble with both anger and fear. Not just anyone would take such a job, certainly not the rich. Not the important. Not the powerful. The victims and their families were those without the money or clout to investigate. As for the surprise raise, well, it might ensure they came back. It was a factor for him. It was an incredible strategy, one he admired almost as much as he hated. Sighing, he slapped himself a few times to drive these thoughts away.

Feeling quite tired, he marched to his room for as much sleep as he could muster.

10:36 PM

When Mike woke up, he commanded himself to get ready. The simple act of walking took a tremendous amount of energy, and he felt drained despite having just awoken. Sure, the last two nights were bad, but this was different. Instead of hope, or even a lack of hope to keep him going, all he could think about were regrets. Things he should have done or said that he might never get a chance to do. I wonder if this is what people on death row feel like.

As he readied the last of his things, something inside his mind clicked. He had to call her, and quickly. Not checking a notebook or contact list, Mike dialed her number on the wall phone. Please pick up. Please pick up. It went to voicemail.

"Hi, this is Sylvia Schmidt! I can't answer the phone now, sorry. But if you leave your name and number, I'll call you right back! Thanks!" Mike always smiled when exposed to her peppiness.

"Hey, Syl. It's Mike. Listen, I know we argued about who would come up here to house-sit. I was kind of a jerk about it, and I'm sorry. You've had a tough year, too, and I didn't think about that when we talked. It's probably best that you aren't up here, anyway." He turned away from the phone and took a deep breath.

"You, uh, don't have to call me back about this. I'm not sure how much I'll be here. Between friends and all, you know." A few tears slid down his face. "So if I don't answer your calls for a while, it just means I'm busy. Well, bye." As soon as he hung up, he started sobbing. But he was proud of himself. And that's once less regret.

...

With an eye on the clock, Mike drove through the dark woods. He would certainly be there before midnight, but he wanted enough time to talk with Foxy. All throughout the drive, he tried to think of small talk to make her more comfortable. There were two problems. Firstly, he was the nervous one. Secondly, most of his lines were either robot or pirate puns. At best, she'd be confused, and at worst offended. As he got close to the restaurant, he canned the idea entirely.

The entire world was still that night. The moon and stars weren't out, but there was no wind or any sign of rain. The only things that existed were those illuminated by his headlights, at least until he saw Fazbear's.

It was incredible how many scenes could take place here. On the first night, there was distant thunder and ominous wind, but mixed with a sense of safety. A perfect drama set. The next, a bright crescent moon and utter dread invaded. Absolute horror. And tonight, it was noir. Pools of light poured onto the pavement, and both mystery and danger hung in the air. A figure in a trench coat could have stood there and looked perfectly normal.

Following his usual pattern, Mike parked, scanned the area, and walked over to the side door. It must have originally been used as an emergency exit; there was no other reason for it to be there. He snuck forward and opened the door, jumping when he saw Foxy already waiting for him. She stood in the shadows, but her eye was visible in the surrounding gloom.

"Uh, hi," Mike stammered. She didn't respond. "So have you, um, thought about it?"

For a few moments, she was quiet. "You can come in. I promise not to hurt you, if that means anything."

Steeling himself, Mike hesitantly stepped into the dark chamber, away from the world he knew. An intense fear came upon him as he approached the eye, and the door closed softly behind him. His chest was pounding, but this was a needed risk. He was relieved when Foxy didn't lunge at him and exhaled softly. Nearer he inched, careful not to trip on any obstructions, finally stopping about three feet away. It was unsettling; at this distance he could see the light from her eye reflected by some of her teeth.

"Sit down and cover your mouth."

He did as instructed, trying not to ask questions, sitting cross-legged on the ground and clamping both hands over his mouth. His heart raced. Maybe this was a bad idea. The lights flickered on, and Mike slowly looked up, ignoring the primal urge to run.

Two furry, clawed, three-toed feet rested on the floor. Tattered burlap pants fully covered her legs, while a filthy, white linen shirt went down to her elbows. It was rather tight, highlighting her medium sized - Jesus, why am I staring at her breasts?! Her left arm ended in a five-fingered hand tipped with metallic claws, while her right held a polished silver hook. Behind her, a bushy tail swished freely. Mike really didn't want to look at her face. Oh God, he'd do it anyway.

Her mouth, full of sharp metal teeth, hung open like an unhinged door. There was something black inside. Was that a... tongue? The red fur on her cheeks swept back, coming to tapered points. Her ears stood on top of her head and twitched back and forth, like an actual animal's would. The right one had two circular gold piercings in it. Finally her eyes. Her left eye was a stunning orange, while the other was covered by a faded eyepatch.

Mike sat there, not sure whether to be fascinated or repulsed.

"What do you think?"

He shrieked, but his hands muffled the sound. Her mouth didn't move. The words came out, but it stayed stuck open.

"That's what I thought."

He slowly stood up, not daring to take his eyes off her. Unable to find words, he stuttered "You're, um, wow, you're really tall." Foxy's and Mike's eyes were at the same height, which made her taller because of the ears. She nodded.

He looked around Pirate Cove for the first time in over a decade. It was in ruins; the majestic ship dozens of children had once climbed on was rotting into a pile of timber, only the faintest bit of paint still clung to the walls, and most of the lightbulbs were long dead. It would have been worse, but the floor was extremely tidy; Foxy must have wanted at least a bit of dignity. All around the room were scratches in the wall. Tally marks, thousands of them. One for every day she's been here.

"You should go." Her voice snapped him out of his trance, but he did his best to not look directly at her mouth.

"Uh, yeah. That's a good idea." He paused. "Could I come back tomorrow? There are things I still - "

"Fine. But I'll only answer what I want, deal?"

"Deal." Neither of them extended their hands.

Chapter Text

Sunday, November 15, 1987, 7:06 AM

"Wake up, Foxy."

"Argh…" Foxy's mind swam between coma and awareness, both fundamentally unfamiliar. Her vision sloshed around as she sat up, but she was able to identify the surroundings; a dim, bare room with a metal door in one wall. Freddy, Bonnie and Chica stood over her, all looking concerned.

"You OK?" Freddy asked, worry notable in his deep voice.

"Yarr, thank ye."

She looked around again, having never seen this place before. It looked like the brig of a galleon. "Do ye mateys know where we be?"

They shook their heads. "We don't know anything," Chica answered, "Some ninjas showed up and zapped us with laser guns. Now we're here." She paused, rubbing her head. "Is anyone else feeling strange? Like they just came out of a trance?" Three heads nodded in confirmation.

"Yeah, it's like my entire life before last night was a TV show I was watchin'," Bonnie replied. Maybe they were all sick? At that moment, a few voices floated in from the hall. Foxy couldn't understand them, but they sounded a little scared.

"Shh… hear that?" Freddy asked.

The door smashed open, and the four were immediately surrounded by a dozen SWAT agents in riot gear pointing weapons at them.

"All right!" someone shouted from outside. "Put your hands up or we blow your cold, metal guts all over the walls!"

Shocked, they stared at each other for a moment before complying. Mr. Fazbear is going to get us out of this, right? Foxy thought.

"Bring out one of them!" the voice commanded.

"Step away from the wall," one of the nearby soldiers said to her, pointing to a spot on the floor. She couldn't get a grasp on his tone of voice through the balaclava covering his face, and the ballistic goggles over his eyes didn't help, either. Foxy liked adventure, but this was proving to be a bit much for her. Even so, she obediently stepped to where the man had pointed.

"Now walk to the door." He pushed the gun's cold barrel against her head. A sea of unknown emotion washed over her. It might have been fear, but it was far more poignant than anything she'd ever felt. Come to think of it, everything in that room was. Her eyes started to tear up – that was new. She wiped them away with her hand to find a bit of black, oily substance clinging to it.

"I said walk!" The gun pressed deeper into her fur. Stealing glimpses of her terrified friends, she complied.

Three guards marched her down a short, unassuming hallway to a large room on the right, as big as Pirate Cove. She began to feel relief; unlike the last chamber, this one was very bright, clean and shiny. The bright lights were reflected by all sorts of chrome surfaces and glass baubles. These people clearly knew what they were doing.

One of her escorts gestured to a cot. "Lie down."

Excellent. A little sleep would do her some good. Wait – since when do I need sleep?

Without a second thought, she climbed onto the bed and closed her eyes, waiting for unconsciousness to come upon her. That would be nice. Almost immediately, her arms, legs and head were bound to the cot with thick leather straps. "Yarr! What are ye scurvy dogs doin' with me?!"

At once, the three men stopped their work, quivering. Foxy knew she could be assertive, but had no clue she was that scary.

Then they all started laughing uproariously, followed by mocking pirate impressions. She was about to bite one when a wavering voice caught her ear.

"You've had your fun. Go get the other three." It was Mr. Fazbear. She was saved!

"Cap'n! These blasted scoundrels be tryin' ta' keelhaul me! A little help, if ye please!"

A series of snorts and giggles could be heard moving back down the hall. Mr. Fazbear walked into her field of view, but she knew something was wrong. A deep frown had usurped his normal energetic smile, and his red, bleary eyes wouldn't meet hers.

"Foxy, I'm sorry about this. I am so sorry." He clamped his hand on her muzzle and quickly tied it shut. She thrashed around, futilely trying to break free.

"Well," another voice said, its origin unclear, "we'll run those first pain threshold tests ASAP."

The only response was a solemn "yes."

…

Delta couldn't suppress a smile as he saw the weird wolf animatronic get strapped to the gurney. In a minute, that thing'll be wishing it never existed. Served it right for killing a kid. The other ones quickly followed, getting walked to different rooms around the facility. A small cadre of scientists was already booting up some fancy machines to measure their… fear? Pain? Something else? He didn't ask.

But then again, BRIAR didn't pay him to ask questions; that was for the eggheads. No, they paid him to crack skulls, and they paid him a lot. Better than the vast majority of gigs, that was for sure.

"Delta? I heard someone say you're being assigned to the other end of the facility." A woman's voice snapped him out of his ruminations, and he turned to the right. She looked like she was still in high school, even had blue hair, but had on a labcoat. Made for a pretty weird look. Ah, great. Must be Bring Your Daughter to Work Day. He rolled his eyes.

"How do you know who I am?" She'd never seen him before in his life. Even if she had, he was wearing a helmet.

"The symbol's on your uniform." What the Hell was she talking about? It didn't say "Delta", it was a triangle, and he told her as much.

She looked at him in disbelief for a moment before smacking her forehead. "It's a Greek letter. Just like the "P" on my jacket means "Rho". Ah. That explained it.

"Listen, sweetheart" Delta said, annoyed by his own ignorance, "the real soldiers are trying to make a living here. Even the highbrows are doing something – don't know what it is, but they're doing it." The wolf thing was flailing as a machine started lowering some kind of red-hot scalpel toward its arm, so he closed the door.

"My point is, babe, that I only work with people who know what's going on. So why don't you run off to school, and we'll try this again in, say, ten years?" She put a hand on her chin, trying to decide a course of ac – nope, she punched him in the face. Delta couldn't register what happened until he felt warm blood running from his nose. Oh, now it's on!

They exchanged a few more blows before being broken up by some other agents and escorted to Mr. Fazbear's temporary office, where he'd decide what to do with them.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, May 23, 11:34 PM

Mike briskly walked through the dining hall toward his office, ignoring the squeak of rubber on linoleum. He could feel the animatronics' eyes on his back but didn't dare to turn around. Only a few more feet.

"Mr. Schmidt! Glad to see you!" Oh God, not this again. His boss quickly crossed the room. "I only now heard about how upset you made Foxy last night. My people had to spend a good two hours replacing the drywall."

"Can't say I'm sorry."

"Ah, come now. You must have a better comeback than that."

Mike wouldn't say another word. "Fine, have it your way. Look on the bright side, though; in three more days, you never have to see me again." Silence persisted. "Good night, Mr. Schmidt."

11:54 PM

As he waited for the phone call to kick off his third night, Mike thought about what happened with Foxy not an hour before. Ultimately, he was pleasantly surprised. For one thing, she hadn't tried to kill him. That must have meant he was doing something right. No, they had a conversation. Granted, it consisted of about four sentences, but that was more than what they had before. With luck, he could soon start asking real questions.

Second, he could mostly stand to look at her. When he went in, he expected her to be a decaying metal skeleton, but she was – well, not normal, but as normal as possible, he supposed. She also wore clothes, which was another plus. The last thing he needed was to be flashed by a robot. Why do she and Chica have breasts, anyway? He'd always wondered about that. It wasn't like they were tasteless or anything, being reasonably sized and covered by clothing in both cases. Whoever designed them didn't seem like a perverted freak who wanted to fuck animals.

He supposed it was to make them more lifelike, and it actually worked. Certainly made for more realism than most female puppets or mascots, who were flat-chested. Of course, that was only the tip of the iceberg. They'd always looked fantastic compared to the animatronics at Chuck E. Cheese's or ShowBiz, with their giant heads, freakish facial features, etc. Whatever company made them must have been the best of the best.

There was a small hum as the generator switched over to back-up power; the lights dimmed and the office seemed to shrink. I can do this. I'm almost halfway there, he thought as the phone began to ring.

"This thing on? Uh, hello… again. Wow, you're actually doing really well. Most people don't, ah… most people leave before now for, uh, medical reasons."

A stream of curses spewed from Mike's mouth; it wasn't healthy, but he had to take his anger out on something, and a phone recording was a good candidate.

"Anyway, I'll try to keep this short. So, um, yeah. I saw what Foxy did to the wall last night. You must have really made her mad." Mike smiled, expecting him to backtrack and stutter something about how robots couldn't be angry. "Wait! I mean… never mind." He deflated like a punctured balloon.

Thank you.

"Oh, right! This is important: Freddy may, uh, you know, move tonight. Just be aware. I also may not, um, be around tomorrow…" heavy footfalls moved into the office and stopped right behind Phone Guy. Someone took the phone from him and started wheezing into it. Mike was thoroughly creeped out. Its breath sounded like thick static or rustling leaves. That's not Phil.

Wednesday, May 24, 12:32 AM 94% Power

Mike was seriously considering ways to improve the office as he surfed through the cameras. A television! Wait, that would waste power.

Only half an hour in, Chica was already patrolling her usual route, hiding in the bathrooms and kitchen. Yep, there she was in one of the doorways, doing the Thousand-Yard Stare of Death. I wonder why they never move while I'm watching. How do they even know? The monitor in use probably had some kind of light turned on, but it didn't seem like murderous AIs should be camera-shy.

OK, so anything I bring needs to either use batteries or not be electric. Maybe a yo-yo. He continued on this mental tangent for a bit before flipping to the kitchen microphone, where he was threatened by the normal series of clanks and bongs.

What does Chica do in there? Maybe she was cooking; probably not, but anything was possible here. Yeah, she makes all the pizzas and then puts them in the fridge. Phil goes along with it, because why not. Once again, he realized how pitifully clueless he was trying to comprehend a machine's thoughts. Almost makes me want to take a psychology class.

Mike stopped this train of thought; it would get too profound, and he just wanted out. After checking both doors, he cracked open Fellowship of the Ring, and cautiously dove in.

2:12 AM 73% Power

A potted plant would look nice, but I'd have to water it, and there's barely any light in here Mike thought as Foxy pounded on the door, making it waver. He'd been prepared this time; when he saw the Cove was empty, he instantly closed the door instead of looking at another camera. If any of the animatronics got their hands on him, it would be over. With metal bones and hydraulic joints, they could snap him like a twig if so inclined. Thank God for these moving walls.

Still, he winced at how much energy each hit drained. Why don't the animatronics just camp outside the doors? They'd get me in a few minutes. That was his biggest question about the whole thing, but he wouldn't give them the idea.

After a final slam, Foxy sprinted back down the hall, allowing Mike to breathe a sigh of relief. He glanced nervously at the amount of power left; he'd have to start using less.

At least Freddy still hasn't moved.

…

"Damn it!" The bear had finally left the stage.

Mike tore through the cameras, trying desperately to find him. He was in a dark corner of the dining hall, doing the familiar stare. However, instead of standing awkwardly, Freddy suavely sat in a chair with one leg over the other and a hand on his chin. He looked like the Cheshire Cat, with a massive grin and glowing eyes that stared right through the guard's soul.

All of them working at once… together. If they understood teamwork, he'd be dead very quickly. Mike started quaking for the umpteenth time that week. I'm going to die. He sniveled softly, and a few tears fell onto his lap. Slamming both doors, he collapsed on his knees, wailing. After this, he curled up in a little ball and began praying. Still, a little voice whispered in his head that it was all for naught.

4:38 AM 22% Power

Bonnie and Chica were dropping by more often than on previous nights. They were, in fact, both were right outside Mike's office, where they had been parked for the last several minutes. He glanced at the power bar, which dipped another percentage point. If this was a hallucination, he would have been grateful, but he knew this was real.

If this kept up – no. He didn't want to have another episode, especially with the animatronics right outside. They were staring in the windows now, mouths hanging open, eyes fixed upon him. Mike scooted his chair into a corner and slumped over; he was ready to die. I could just open the doors now. Just one push of a button and it'll all be over.

His life wasn't that great anyway. He had a few distant friends in college, but not many. He had no clue what to study, having drifted through freshman year "undecided", albeit with decent grades. He usually went out alone, never got invited to parties, never even had a girlfriend. In short, he seemed doomed to a lonely existence. But he already knew he wasn't brave enough to push that button.

Looking up again, both animatronics had vanished; probably back to their old routines. Wasting no time, Mike raised both doors. Maybe tomorrow… oh God. Only 14% power remained. If he was going to survive the night, it would be dicey.

5:55 AM 0% Power

This was the end. There was nothing he could do anymore; no one-liners to say, no questions to ask. This all produced a total of zero.

With just five minutes until the end of his shift, the generators shut down. The lights briefly flickered before turning off, leaving the room saturated with heavy blackness. Mike laid his head into his hands and began weeping softly, saying silent goodbyes to friends and family. Even, he supposed, to Foxy.

Just then, a perversion of a happy little tune started playing somewhere in the abyss, hummed by one of these abominations. He looked up, and through tear-streaked eyes, saw two glowing golden eyes in the doorway. Freddy.

Please, God. Don't let it kill me. But after everything he'd witnessed, he wasn't sure God was real anymore. Not that he ever had been. Quietly sobbing, he noticed the music getting slower, softer – and knew what would happen when it stopped.

No… if this is it, I'm going to be remembered. This thought surprised him. A few days ago, he would have been paralyzed by terror. At least he had started to conquer his fear. Didn't matter, though. He quickly searched the table, feeling for a potential weapon, anything he could use to cause some amount of pain. Keyboard? No, too light. Cupcake doll? Why is this even in here?! Finally, his hand landed upon something he hadn't thought about since his first night.

The fan – it could work. After everything Mike had been through, he wasn't going to be killed without a fight. At the very least, this would rip off a bit of fur. The melody lagged, and finally cut off, while Freddy's golden eyes faded to black. Mike gripped the appliance like a vice.

"SKREEEEEEEE!" A cold metal paw gripped his collar, and he was lifted out of his seat. Freddy's face was mere inches from his; in the eyes of his enemy, there were only dead voids, sans two tiny golden dots. And then he spoke gibberish, a signal emitted by a far-off dying sun. The only words Mike caught were "too easy". It took all his energy to not let the fan slip out of his drenched, trembling hand.

"What?" Mike automatically replied, instantly regretting his reflex.

Freddy released a garbled, tinny laugh, a noise one might hear from a broken toy. Even in the darkness, Mike could feel him winding up a bone-shattering punch.

With the rest of his quickly evaporating strength, Mike swung the fan at Freddy's face like a club.

There was a loud cracking noise, and the monster dropped him back into his chair. From there, it was chaos. Mike tried to find his way out, but he couldn't see anything. There was nowhere to go, only enraged roaring and garbled curses. Freddy stomped randomly, trying to crush him, but with no success; he seemed to be blind with pain.

The lights flickered back on, revealing the two to each other. Oh no. The fan's body lay crushed and twisted on the floor, but there were bits of shrapnel lodged in Freddy's cheek, and his jaw was dislocated. Mike was about to run when he noticed something else; his eyes had shifted back to their normal invigorated brown.

"Uh, hi", Mike said, hoping that he could reason with the massive bear like he did with Foxy. Freddy snapped his jaw back into place, causing a few metal shards to break free and clatter to the ground. He snarled, and on instinct, Mike threw himself down, narrowly dodging his fist.

He picked himself up, but Freddy had already grabbed him. In a voice like thunder, he asked, "Has anyone ever tried to tear out your eyes?"

…

Freddy marched out into the hall, dragging the whimpering guard behind him. This was going to be fun. He had never killed while awake, but often daydreamed about it. Thinking of ways he could make his captors squeal before slowly crushing their skulls. Of course, he'd be dead before he could leave the stage.

"But you're different – I can hurt you. It's part of my job."

Between sobs, the man managed to cough out "Wh… wh… what?"

The bear adjusted his top hat in preparation for the big moment. He pushed the guard against a wall and started choking him. I've waited thirteen years for this, he thought as the man lost color in his face. But it didn't really feel good. Freddy loosened his grip a little. For the first time, he started to give the man a good look over. Actually, he was barely a man at all, appearing somewhere between teenager and adult. He loosened his grip a bit more. Should I do this? I've wanted it for so long, but…

"Freddy. Drop him." These people always came in at the worst times.

"Now!" He released the man, who collapsed into a wheezing pile. Son of a bitch! I missed my chance! Enraged, he put his fist through the wall, leaving a grapefruit sized hole.

"Keep that up and I'll get you an extra hour with the technicians. That sound fun, Ol' Grizzly?" the woman asked as she trained her pistol on him. No, it didn't. With a final muttered curse, Freddy slunk back over to the stage, where his friends were waiting.

Bonnie, tuning up his guitar, waved him over. "What 'appened? You had 'im, just needed to - "

"It's OK, Freddy. You'll get him next time, I know it." Chica interjected. "I think lots of kids are coming today."

Freddy smiled, causing him to wince in pain. Forgot about my cheek. Somebody needs to take those out before 10 o'clock.

"Yeah! But we need to work on 'Pizza Party Anthem'. No offense, Chica, but you were really flat yesterday." This lively morning banter was the norm, so long as not many guards were around, but Freddy didn't quite get into it the same way they did.

These two… He never understood how they could remain strong through everything they had faced. Even after all the pain they experienced weekly, the long hours of shame, they still managed to hold themselves together for the kids. They were the only things worth living for, the only ones who appreciated or downright adored them.

But it wasn't always enough for Freddy. He often considered taking a bullet to the head so he could sleep forever. In the end, though, he couldn't leave his friends behind; they needed each other. And so, the Band braced for yet another day.

…

"Come on, kid. Wake up."

Mike, still hacking and gagging, slowly opened his eyes. "W-what?" The figure crouching over him looked familiar, but he couldn't place where he'd seen her. She looked a few years older than him, with green eyes and hair dyed blue.

"Wait…" he said through labored gasps, "you're… the one… I talked to on Sunday." She replied with a curt nod and offered a hand up. Accepting it, Mike was on his feet again.

"Yeah. I came in early today. Good thing, too." Her bored teenager persona had slid right off, the monotone voice giving way to some semblance of normality.

"Ol' Grizzly rough you up too bad?" she asked with a smirk.

Mike was annoyed by this point. True, this woman had stepped in to save his life, but she was also one of the people putting it on the line. Anything she said to him could be a trap.

"No, I'm OK. He said some really - " He walked right into it. "Um, I mean, he, uh, didn't say anything!" Mike stammered, taking a page from the Phone Guy. "I mean a robot talking is cra - "

"Drop the act. You're not in trouble for pointing out the incredibly obvious."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "So I'm not insane. They really are… wow."

The guard nodded. "I'll take you outside, just in case." They walked toward the exit, Mike staying as far away from the robots as possible. He could feel their eyes on him as he passed, but didn't look up to meet them. They must have despised him now, assuming they didn't before.

Right outside, a few more guards stood talking and smoking in a circle, but shut up as he went by. That really angered him. They don't care. Not a single "I'm sorry" or "Good luck".

"We're here," the woman said as they reached his car.

Mike was still dazed, and opted to lean against his vehicle for a few minutes. "You OK?"

"What do you think?" he snapped, unable to keep his frustration in check any longer. He glanced over her shoulder; everyone had gone inside. "I've almost died dozens of times in three days, and still have two more! And it's your fault! You could have told me not to work here! Told me that the job sucked!" He started to calm down, but just a little. "It's because of you that every night is a literal Hell and every day is me waiting to die."

Mike waited for a rebuttal explaining how naïve he was, or some kind of dramatic monologue, but the woman didn't answer. She just stared at him intently before slowly walking back to the building.

He climbed into his car and brooded for a while, lost in depression. Well, only two nights to go. That was a marginally exciting thought, but mixed with fear and desperation. I need to stop thinking about this. Foxy said he could come back; that was something. Looking around, there was a lull in the number of employees showing up. No reason not to.

Chapter Text

Wednesday, May 24, 6:36 AM

For Foxy, the Cove wasn't really dark. She had lived in it so long that every nook had become familiar. Though she could have turned on the lights – Mr. Fazbear "graciously allowed it", the gloom suited her. It was a reminder of what she was and what she could never be.

But while most days held only pain or boredom, that week was exciting. A human – the new night guard – had started talking to her. He'd wandered in after his first night, and she attacked, thinking him one of the sadists who haunted her existence. But he came back a few times, to her great surprise, and would probably come again that morning.

Right on cue, the emergency exit creaked open, and a thin ray of light shone across the room. "Foxy, I'm back. I'm coming in now." He scampered in a few feet before the door closed. "Could you get the lights?"

She actually started to enjoy their little chats; they had even come to a sort of uneasy truce the previous night. If she could give him information, he had a better shot at surviving his week. It was very unusual for one of the prisoners to live that long – usually they either tried to escape or were killed – but she couldn't tell him that. Besides, he'd gotten past the third night; that in itself wasn't common. Perhaps he could go all the way.

Even though she didn't get anything out of the deal, it didn't really matter. She needed stimulation beyond hot wires burning through her fur, beyond the maddening hum – stop it, Foxy. Don't do this to yourself. Don't lose control. The memories slowly subsided. She could not afford to start crying with this "Mike" in the room.

"Could you please turn the lights on?" he whispered, sounding nervous and a little irritated.

She pushed herself up and walked toward the switch, impulsively polishing her hook on the way.

Mike jumped when the lights came on, looking rather surprised to see her again.

"Um, hello," he stammered.

Foxy was shocked that he handled her existence so well. She had never much talked to humans before, at least not beyond the standard medical questions and bullshit she went through every month, but knew any normal person would run away screaming. Not him. He was obviously one screech away from pissing himself, but managed to hold it together. She wasn't sure what to think of that, but she didn't loathe him.

"Let's get this over with."

Mike, like everyone she'd ever spoken with, recoiled from her unhinged mouth. She hated it – hated herself.

"Uh, all right." He settled on the floor, and she joined him, carefully maneuvering her tail so she didn't sit on it. "So, if you, you know, don't want to answer any - "

"Get on with it." Stammers annoyed her, probably because one of the grunts (named Iota-Tau... or perhaps Fritz) had one so bad he could scarcely form a coherent sentence.

"If you aren't trying to kill me, who is?"

How to answer that? "My body attacks you, but it's not really me. Something else comes in."

He looked at her skeptically, but didn't voice his doubts.

"That's all? OK. What about Freddy, Bonnie and Chica? Does the same thing happen to them?"

She nodded. "But Freddy doesn't actually mind killing you too much. The rest of us do." Mike's expression made her think he was already aware of that.

"Got it. What about when - "

Foxy stopped listening as a fragrant scent reached her nostrils. Sniff… sniff. Do I smell oranges? It was emanating from Mike's backpack.

"Foxy?"

"Mike?" she asked, trembling. "Could I have an orange?"

The man looked from his pack to her. "You can smell things?! I, um… yeah, OK." He unzipped the top pouch and pulled out a perfect specimen, nice and plump. "But it's not like - "

She snatched the orange out of his hand, sliced a chunk of juicy fruit off with her hook, and threw it into her mouth. It was beyond sublime to taste something other than stale pizza crusts.

"Wait, you can actually - "

She placed her hand under her lower jaw, pushed it up to meet the top half of her muzzle, and started chewing vigorously. Black saliva ran down her face, but she couldn't contain herself. It tasted so good! When she came to her senses, Mike was staring in shock, not saying anything for a second.

"What happened to you? You're not a machine anymore. You can eat, smell, feel." He looked afraid. "What are you?"

That question made her curl up into a ball on the ground. She went catatonic for a few seconds. I can't cry. Not in front of him. Her fist pounded the floor. Why the Hell did he ask me that?! She managed to keep composed, at least composed enough not to begin whimpering.

"Hey." She opened her eyes and looked up. Mike hesitantly crouched over her, looking unsure what to say. "I forgot that you're…" he was clearly struggling for a suitable word choice, "more than an ordinary robot. I forgot there are things you'd rather not talk about. And I'm sorry for bringing them up."

I'm sorry. This echoed through her mind. No one had apologized to her in more than a decade. One part of her was giddy at the prospect of someone caring about her, even at the level one might care for a goldfish; the other thought it pathetic that she cared so much about this simple sentiment.

She slowly raised her head from the floor. "I forgive you," she said, sitting up all the way. "But you should go. This is hard for me to talk about."

Mike looked mildly relieved. "Well, OK. Could I…" he couldn't quite bring himself to spit it out.

"Yes, you can come back later."

He smiled. "Thanks." Walking toward the entrance, he turned back to her with a serious look. "Can I ask one more thing?"

"Fine. One more," she begrudged.

"Do you know what 'It's Me' means?"

Foggy memories of anguished voices and a golden mist flooded her mind. These were among her most reviled dreams.

"Not a clue."

…

As he slowly drove through the trees and boulders, Mike thought long and hard about what had happened with Foxy just a few minutes earlier. First, according to her, she wasn't herself at night. He'd already figured that they got stupider during his shift, but the way she talked about it, it sounded like more like mind-control than simply a more violent instinct kicking in. It actually made sense the more he considered it; the animatronics were ultimately machines. Unimaginably complex machines with some organic characteristics, but machines nonetheless.

Even very advanced electronics could be hacked, so it logically followed that sapient robots could be controlled if the hacker was savvy enough. Maybe BRIAR was trying to do something with that, he didn't know. But it still didn't answer his big questions: why, when and how.

Second, she had organic traits, as in eating, breathing, etc. This was bizarre. OK, artificial intelligence was real. He accepted that by now. But the fusion of synthetic and organic parts was something else. You know what, let's forget it. This won't be my problem in two days, anyway. Still, he bet someone from BRIAR had a really interesting set of X-rays on their wall.

Finally, he had apologized to her. And he meant it, at least a little. He couldn't explain why he felt so drawn to her; possibly because she was a freak of nature, perhaps because he was naturally inquisitive. Or maybe, just maybe, because they were both outsiders, trying to survive, searching for a purpose. Nevertheless, he wanted, needed to know more about her. Unexplored secrets of the universe were at his fingertips, and it filled him with awe and terror. But he couldn't help but wonder if he would end up like Frankenstein, consumed and destroyed in his quest for the unknown.

…

When Mike awoke, the room was pitch black. There wasn't even a faint hint of sunlight. Huh. I thought I left the lamp on. He found the cord, but nothing happened when he pulled it. Ah, great. Now I need to replace the lightbulb.

Suddenly, a flash of gold darted in front of his vision. He blinked and rubbed his eyes; there was still only darkness.

"Heh, I – I guess I'm hallucinating again."

"kkkkkrrrrrrrzzzzzzzzzzzaren'thallucinatingsssssssssssvvvvvvvvvvvv." That evil sound bored into his brain, causing him to moan and close his eyes. When he opened them again, he was face-to-face with the droning golden mist that haunted the corners of his mind.

"nnnnnnkkkkkkksssssssssdon'thavetobezzzzzzzzztttttt."

Mike screamed and ran through the inky darkness. It could have been seconds or days before he finally keeled over, exhausted. But the mist had pursued him, always producing the hum.

"vvvvvvvvhhhhhhhhcryingwon'thelpnnnnnnnnzzzzzz," it spoke from every space.

He couldn't move anymore. Paralyzed, Mike dropped to his knees; he was scared of this thing, yes, but also exhausted. Still, there was something he wanted to know. "What are you?"

The monster stopped a foot away and floated down to meet his face. Tendrils of smoke twisted Mike's head up. Its eyes threatened to pull him into an infinite abyss.

"Auric."

12:54 PM

Mike awoke violently, falling out of bed and smashing his head into the wall, but quickly calming down. It was all a dream. He shakily stood up, using his bed for support, before plopping back down. The nightmare was realistic, but already starting to fade. To be safe, he jotted down a few notes about it on a scrap of math homework from high school, in case it was more real than he imagined.

…

Mike sat quietly, drumming his fingers on the table while reading the paper. In his loneliness, he occasionally blurted out random thoughts to the wall. Wow, this is sad.

He used to have a few friends he could talk to – before they all drifted off to parts unknown. I don't blame them. No one wants to stay here forever. Maybe when this was all over, he could invite them back for a few days. He missed having people to talk with, and college wasn't presenting as many opportunities as everyone said.

So speaking to a wall would have to do; no one else was around. Well, except Foxy… But Mike didn't really see her as fun to be with, especially if they were confined to a single desolate room with a looming threat of being discovered and killed. And he still didn't trust her. No, she might betray him in some way; use him to her own advantage. However, he struggled to subdue the hypocrisy of these thoughts; he still hadn't revealed that they had met before.

Obviously she didn't remember him, but he felt guilty for not sharing this. He had spent their last few meetings thinking of some way to mention it, but didn't come up with anything, even though he knew she'd want to find out. But why should he be obligated to the thing that killed his friend?

It was perplexing; he couldn't stop thinking about her. An obsession with an entity from beyond the boundaries of nature had dragged itself out of his most impossible fantasies and planted in his mind's forefront. Whatever Foxy was, she and the other robots came from beyond the world he knew, whether by science or magic or powers incomprehensible to human beings couldn't be told. They were gateways to mysteries locked away since the beginning of time, begging to be unleashed. Maybe BRIAR recognized that. But that doesn't make sense; it created them, right?

Mike's thoughts became more mundane as he reached the bottom of the page. Looks like I need to hit the store. There wasn't much else to do, at least not that week, so it sounded like a plan. Before he could get his stuff together, though, the phone began to ring. Wonder who that could be. So far, he hadn't received a single call. Well, at least I can talk to a telemarketer or somebody. He walked over to the dinging machine and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Hi Mike! It's Sylvia!" His heart almost jumped out of his throat. It would be so good to finally apologize, well, not in person, but the next best thing.

"Hey, Syl. Nice to talk to you again." He paused. "I really would like to apo - "

"Mike, it's cool. You got a little mad. Yeah, big deal. It happens."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "So… no hard feelings?"

"None at all, little bro." From the tone of her voice, though, he didn't entirely believe her.

…

Mike and Sylvia spent the next half-hour chatting. They talked about the weather in Washington versus California, current events, even sports, which Mike had no interest in. It didn't matter; this was his first really real, normal conversation of the most stressful week of his life, and he was infinitely grateful. He had to lie about a lot, of course, which made him feel guilty, but this was for her own good. Despite their profession of "no hard feelings", that argument had been their worst ever. There was still tension between them, even if they did they're best to ignore it.

In the end, though, both said fairly pleasant good-byes, and he was once again alone. And he hated it.

2:44 PM

Mike shopped lightly for an obvious reason; he'd gotten so sick of thinking it that he stopped. With a bag of pasta, snacks and fruit in one hand and a gallon of milk in the other, he returned to his car and put them in the trunk. It was a great day out; sky slightly overcast, a little wind, and birds flying, one of those days everyone thought of when "Washington" was mentioned. This would be a nice day for a run. Well… Fazbear's was only a little more than a mile away; he could jog there and back quickly. Why not? Can't be there too much, he sarcastically thought with a smirk. Surprised at his own confidence, he began running on the roadside into the nearby forest.

…

The woods stretched on forever, while cliffs and peaks bordered the horizon like sleeping giants. Only the road provided a sense of direction and purpose in the wilderness, one of the last in the United States. It was an amazing place to live; Mike wouldn't have had it any other way, even after he discovered the evil that had been festering here for years. In fact, that's where I'm going.

Fazbear's came into view the same way it always did – yellow flashes, followed by red blurs, culminating in seeing the restaurant as it really was; a decaying garish rectangle. The funeral parlor-esque sign didn't help, either. Nevertheless, kids came, as evinced by the many cars in the lot, all packed together in the cratered lot. I wonder what parents must think of this place. It was pretty clear this was someplace kids had to drag adults to, but he could see why; the animatronics must have been amazing to them.

Well, he was here. Might as well go inside, see what was happening. Dodging between parked vehicles, Mike made his way to the glass doors, stained with small handprints and a bit of pizza sauce. Those "custodians" sure do a great job. He yanked open the door.

Seriously?! Kids were quieter in the 80s. Once again, Mike winced as he stepped into the dining hall, packed with about thirty-five children, plus the obligatory chaperones and staff members, who kept a watchful eye on the animatronics. Though the kids were still loud, he could actually hear the robots this time; they sounded excellent, he admitted, like a real human band. Still, had he not known the truth, he simply would have brushed them off like a magician's act – impressive, but ultimately lights and clockwork. Sleight-of-hand, illusions made by wires and gears.

"Hey, hey! How're you folks doing this afternoon?" Freddy addressed the horde of children, most of who paid him no mind. As much as he didn't want to, Mike felt sorry for the big bear who tried to kill him; living in one building for years, slaving for the amusement of people who didn't even see you as real would drive anyone mad. "Well, that's great," he continued, though no one was paying attention, "because we ha - "

…

Freddy faltered as he saw the night guard standing in a maelstrom of howling adolescents. The man, whose name he hadn't overheard, stared with his mouth tightly pursed. They locked eyes for a moment, and he visibly shuddered before backing away. Taking a deep breath, Freddy covertly glanced around, but it appeared none of the janitors had noticed. "Because we have a very special show for everyone today!" Canned applause saturated the room.

As their next song's background music warmed up, he subtly tapped Bonnie with his foot and whispered "Man in the back, baseball cap, white shirt."

"What about 'im?"

"He's the night guard."

"Really?"

They had to stop their understated conversation, as the next song was about to start. We've got plenty of time.

…

Mike wasn't sure what to do next; he hadn't thought this far in advance. There wasn't much to do for him beyond a few retro arcade games, which were all occupied at the moment. The parents, though, were starting to give him weird looks. I wouldn't want an unshaven, grungy man hanging around my children, either. Maybe some lunch would take his mind off things.

Thinking it ironic that he, the most important employee, hadn't eaten here, Mike sat down at an empty table and started reading the menu. In addition to the obvious array of pizza, there was a whole smorgasbord of other vaguely Italian food, like pasta and paninis, many with cutesy names such as "Chica's Chicken Sandwich". Wasn't that cannibalism?

My puns are comedy genius compared to these. Strangely enough, there also seemed to be some allusions to Foxy, with a few sentences talking about pirates and whatnot. I guess they were too lazy to ever edit her out. He took an extra; maybe she'd be happy to learn this.

"I apologize, sir, we're very busy today," a flat voice spoke from his left. He turned around, and sure enough it was the blue-haired woman from earlier, who was looking at an order pad.

"So we might be a bit behind…" Her words trailed off as she looked directly at him, and she became somewhat alarmed.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered, leaning close to him.

"Trying to order. If I'm making you guilty, then good," he hissed back.

"It's not that." The woman glanced around, but no one had taken notice of their conversation. "So you're really just here to eat?" Mike nodded.

"Why do you ask?"

"Security reasons. But I can take your order, sir," she said, back in her bored teenager persona. Though she didn't look it, he could tell now that she must have been significantly older.

There's no way this woman is under twenty-five. "Fine, I'll have the seafood pasta without the parmesan."

…

"Why's he 'ere?"

"Where is he again, Freddy?"

"I told you, in the back. And I don't know why."

The animatronics had perfected the art of talking while looking completely disengaged with years of practice. Still, the guards were getting suspicious. They'd have to continue this later. Besides, there wasn't much they could do.

Freddy wasn't sure what to think of the situation. Once, someone, presumably a disgruntled employee, came in after hours and tried to gun him and his friends down where they stood. The man didn't succeed, of course, but now there was tighter security for that sort of thing. But this one didn't look angry, just kind of impatient.

He might be here for the food.

…

"Here you are, sir," the woman said as she expertly slid a bowl off her tray and onto the checkered tablecloth.

Mike was starving; it was 3:30, and he still hadn't eaten lunch. The milk in my trunk's probably gone bad by now. Taking a big bite, he winced a little. The food wasn't awful, but it wasn't great either. Upon closer inspection, it didn't look like the noodles were entirely cooked. And is that supposed to be crab?

Bah, whatever. It was food, and as long as he didn't get sick, he couldn't care less. His attention returned to the Band, which was now doing some pretty impressive physical comedy. The children laughed as Bonnie and Chica did the classic Three Stooges eye-poke routine. Mike even giggled a little. OK, that's always been funny.

But throughout the performance, the animatronics kept glancing at him. He knew they couldn't do anything, but it was still creepy. They could be planning how to kill him that night.

…

"Maybe he's trying to be nice?" Chica suggested. The custodians were distracted with a massive Orange Crush spill in the back, allowing them a few minutes.

"She could be right, Fred. If he was going to kill us, he'd 'ave tried by now."

Freddy didn't buy it. There had to be an ulterior motive; there was no way he'd come for the awful food.

He needed to think about that. For the moment, though, there was only the next act.

…

As he finished up the undercooked pasta, Mike felt surprisingly refreshed. Sure, it wasn't a shower or a nap, but watching the scariest monsters of his life put on a variety show for his amusement had a good impact on his mental health.

He had to admit, he started to get why they hated him; they probably despised all humans for doing this to them. Except the kids, of course. No, it was pretty clear that they adored the children and vice-versa. The amount of art in his office and around the building generally could comfortably decorate a whole school.

The blue-haired woman came back around to take his plate. "Sir, I've asked the manager, and he says you don't have to pay. Employee discount."

Mike raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes. But a 'contract violation' has come to his attention." His heart started pounding.

He found out about Foxy. This was very, very bad. He'd probably get killed. Well, I always knew this could happen.

"Since you damaged Freddy, he's taking a hundred dollars out of your paycheck. So pretend that meal came from a five-star Italian restaurant, because that's how much you're paying."

Mike breathed a massive sigh of relief. "That's – that's fine!" he exclaimed. "I totally get it!" She looked at him strangely but didn't say anything.

It was time to leave. There was nothing else for him to stay for, and he'd been back too soon, anyway. Grabbing his hat, he hustled out the door.

5:48 PM

Mike had been unwinding at home for the last hour or so. There wasn't much to do; his daily checklist was all filled out. Exercise: check. Read: check. Eat: check. Sleep: later. The only thing he could think of to do was take his car in, but there wasn't time. I could schedule it for tomorrow. Would give me something to look forward to.

Pulling the yellowed phone book from its place beneath the sink, he flipped through the pages, trying to find the number of an auto shop he'd often driven past but never payed attention to before. Yeah, there it is. He didn't know anything about this place, but it was the only car repair in town, and probably within half an hour.

Picking up the receiver, he dialed the number. At the very least, this would qualify as another conversation. One ring… two rings… three rings. After ten or eleven of them, someone picked up. Mike cringed and pulled his ear away, as some obnoxious song blasted through. After a second, someone had turned it down to reasonable levels.

"Jeremy's Auto, this is he," a slightly accented voice said.

Is that South-Western? Mexican? "Uh, hey Jeremy. My name's Michael Schmidt, and I'd like to schedule an appointment?"

There was some typing and a bit of humming in the background. "OK, 'Michael Schmidt', what seems to be the problem?"

"Busted radio."

"I see. How about this; just bring it in any time, and I'll take a look at it. Those are usually easy to fix, much easier than repairing engines or replacing the undercarriage."

"That sounds excellent, Mr…"

"Fitzgerald."

11:28 PM

Foxy reclined against the stage, slowing passing the time, daydreaming. Unusually, she turned the lights on, thinking it would be easier for Mike to find his way around. She really looked forward to his visits now; even though he'd offended her last time, he apologized. That was probably the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her. It was amazing to have someone to talk with, even if it was for his own benefit.

After a minute more, the door clicked open and Mike walked in, disoriented by the lights. "I thought this would be convenient."

He turned to see her and smiled. "It is. Could I…"

She nodded, ready to begin.

Sheepishly coming over, he plopped his backpack down and sat across from her. "So, uh, before we start, I, um, got you something."

Foxy was surprised, but it didn't externally register thanks to her busted mouth. She closely eyed Mike's pack as he unzipped it and pulled out – another orange.

"They were on sale, so it only cost an extra fifty cents." She couldn't speak for a moment. No one had ever given her a gift before, even a small trifle like this.

"T-thank you, Mike," she said, struggling to keep an even tone. "I appreciate it." Grabbing the fruit, she started skinning and slicing it more deliberately than last time, wanting to make it last.

"No problem." Again, he turned a little pink. "I'll start asking you some stuff now. Have you ever heard of BRIAR?"

Foxy nodded.

"Do you know what it is?"

Between sweet bites of orange, she replied, "People talk about it like a person. They'll say 'BRIAR raised my salary', things along those lines." He started writing what she said on a piece of paper.

"OK. Do you know how many people work here, like, in total?"

She thought for a second. "About thirty. Not all of them are here at once."

"All right, how about one more." He looked down and took a deep breath. "Do you know why they're doing all this? With me, I mean. What's the point?"

Wouldn't I like to know? "Mike," she said, trying to word her statement clearly, "I need to make something clear. I know nothing, about you, about me, about all this. The kind of questions you really want to ask, I can't answer."

He looked at her confusedly, so she continued. "I appreciate that you've come by so many times, but I can't help you. Even if I could, what would you do?"

With a puzzled expression, Mike stared at the ground for a minute. "I'm not sure what I'd do. I'll… have to think about that."

They sat together for a while more, not doing anything in particular. Foxy finished up her orange, Mike read a little. It was nice to have company.

"Well, I should go," he finally said, glancing at his watch. "Is it OK if I come back tomorrow? I wouldn't ask any questions; I'm just kind of lonely. I bet you are, too."

"That's fine." She paused. "Good luck."

Chapter Text

Saturday, December 12, 1987, 2:08 PM

"Unhand me, ye bastard sea-imps! There – mmmph!" was all Foxy could say before being muzzled. Most of the demons wore either full-face helmets or goggles with balaclavas, but from their hesitant movements, she could tell they were still wary of her. No longer was she laughed at; the last person who tried ended up in the infirmary.

As she punched and kicked against the throng, a veiled goon smacked her in the head with a now-familiar shock baton, overwhelming her electrical nervous system. Unable to resist, they finished strapping her to the gurney and started down the long, twisting labyrinth of halls.

She didn't know how long this had been going on for; the nights and days blurred together like wet paint. Perhaps it had been a week, maybe two or three. Torpidly moving her bleary eyes across doorways and windows, she tried to catch glimpses of her friends. Ages passed since they were last together. Too dangerous to be kept together, apparently.

Finally, they arrived at one of many unmarked rooms for another lesson in pain. Every new session brought a different kind of agony, but she wouldn't break. Like her sword, her will was iron! Feeling began to saturate her limbs and tail, but the restraints were plentiful and thick.

"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, we'll take it from here," a woman's voice spoke from behind her. The guards muttered a few pleasantries before all silently streaming off in different directions. She tried to yell at them through her muzzle, but all that came out were dampened grunts.

Slowly, the unseen voice wheeled her into the dim, obscure room. There wasn't much, only a large television on one wall, a couch and a coffee table. Carefully parked to face the television, two figures walked into view. One was an average devil; he had on the standard black helmet, gloves, boots, everything. The only distinguishing feature was a triangle imprinted over his heart.

His companion was the exact opposite. She was about a foot shorter than him, and her gear was covered by a loose white lab coat with a "P" on it. Blue hair? She needs to get together with Bonnie. At least they hadn't completely killed her sense of humor. No, these weeks or months had been tough, but she, one of the greatest pirates on the Southern Sea, was tougher. I'll be out soon enough. Back with my crew on the high seas. They can't take that away.

"Hello." What was that? "Foxy, right?" It took her a second to realize the woman was addressing her directly.

No one talked to her unless giving an order or making a threat. This is a first. The woman appeared to take her stillness and hard glare as an affirmative.

"We're not going to hurt you or anything," she said slowly, as though lecturing a child.

Liar.

"I know you've been angry lately." Foxy growled through her gag. Who was this woman to lecture her like some third-rate drunken sailor? "Exactly. I'm a psychologist, so I'm here to help you out."

Foxy softened her gaze a bit. True, these marauders hadn't shown any kindness yet, but they must have realized who she was. Even the basest scoundrels respected those who could slay a kraken.

"We're going to show you a short video – no knives or anything. That's it. I think it'll give you a better perspective on this whole situation." The man had stopped paying attention by this point and was now quietly seated on the plush sofa. "Sound all right?"

Not likely to get a better offer, she tersely nodded. The woman walked over to the television and popped in a VHS tape before sitting beside her companion and readying a clipboard. After several seconds, the video started playing.

"Hey everyone," said a man recording himself, probably with a camcorder. It sounded like he was in a maelstrom. "I'm a worker here at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza." He turned the camera around to reveal the dining hall, packed with noisy children.

This isn't so bad, she thought, trying to smile.

"I get a lot of inquiries from both kids and adults about our animatronic characters. 'How do they work? Are they hard to repair? What do they do at night?' Those are all very good questions."

Animatronics… There weren't any animatronics at Fazbear's. It was Bonnie, Freddy, Chica and her. No robots, just the four of them.

"Mr. and Mrs. Fazbear decided I should make this to share some answers. Maybe it'll even spark an interest in robotics... if anyone ever sees this. I don't know, they said they might play this on public access." He started walking forward, getting shots of people he tried to avoid. "Over there," he said, pointing the machine away from himself, "is the Band." Sure enough, her three friends stood on stage, all singing one of their cheesy songs.

But they looked sick, for lack of a better word. Slow, groggy, almost half-dead. Well, they do work long hours. The man continued on until he reached a set of purple curtains dotted with moons and stars. Ah-ha! Finally, she'd get to relive one of her old adventures.

This was actually quite nice. Granted, she was strapped to a gurney and choked like a wild animal, but it was better than anything she'd experienced in a while. Why are they making me watch myself, though?

"In here is Pirate Cove, as I'm sure you all know." He flung open the drapes and stepped inside, instantly surrounded by even more children, playing on her ship or with some of the fake cutlasses – she was smart enough to hide the real ones. "And there's Foxy." The camera swerved around, eventually focusing on her telling a story to a group of less-than-enthralled children and a few parents.

"Th-th-then I looked Ol' D-D-Davey Jones in t-t-t-fwsvfsfgv-eye and said 'Ye haveichnvcthing comin' if ye ask me again." What the Hell? I never drink before shows! This must have been a weird slip-up.

"Something's wrong with her voice box, as often happens, so I'm taking her backstage to patch it up." With that, the man waited a few minutes for her show to end, then walked up and slowly guided her out, trying his best to ward off swarms of people wanting to say hello.

She must have been royally smashed. Maybe this was after that night of poker with Captain Kidd. The man could hold his liquor.

Finally, they arrived at a door marked "Employees Only". Putting the camera down, the engineer opened the door and practically dragged her inside, where she slowly lay down on a bench. During all this, she hadn't said a single word or even made a noise.

"OK, we're at the exciting part now. Foxy's powered down now – asleep, essentially – so I can start the repairs."

The pit in her stomach grew; something was very wrong.

…

Delta was seriously considering retirement. As the fox robot helplessly screamed at the video of its own face being pulled off, he asked himself if this was worth it. Yeah, he made a lot of money. Yeah, he got to guard the greatest scientific discoveries of all time. And yeah, he was part of the group that would purportedly develop true AI by 1995.

But there was also some really fucked-up shit. "The voice box is at the back of the mouth, so that's where we'll start." The machine's muffled shrieks grew as it watched the engineer pry open its jaws, stick his hands in, and start to do something with a screwdriver and wire cutters. This was completely demented, and he'd been around.

There wasn't a reason, either, except maybe some sick pervert near the top enjoyed it. Sure, the machine killed a kid, but the more he thought about it, he might have, too. It didn't know about mortality or pain; why would it?

He glanced over at Rho, who was busy jotting down notes on the robot's increasingly erratic behavior. No sign of regret or remorse. While he'd grown accustomed to working with her after Mr. Fazbear, who was only just out of college or something, told them they were stuck together, he could never shake her coldness. Some scientific detachment was good, but this?

"I also like to remove the head to oil some neck joints." Loosening a few screws, he pulled its metal canid skull right off and plopped it down on the table, where it rolled around.

The shackled robot was now sobbing, long ribbons of black tears streaming down its face like wet mascara. He didn't know what to expect when he took the job, but it sure as Hell wasn't abusing prisoners. No one would accuse him of being a saint, but between beatings, cuttings, and now psychological warfare in the name of "science", he longed for the good old days where shady backroom deals led him to foreign combat zones.

At least he rested without too many nightmares then, knowing there were fewer bad guys in the world. This, however, was the stuff of war crimes - and he would know.

"We should stop this," he whispered to Rho, totally engrossed in her work.

"Why?"

"Fucking look."

"Before I wrap up, it's always a good idea to test the facial movements." The robot completely lost control as it watched its own decapitated skull flex its eyes and mouth, beginning to vomit.

"Holy shit!" Delta sprinted over and hurriedly began to saw its leather muzzle off with a knife.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Rho yelled, jumping off the sofa.

"It's going to drown in its own puke if I don't get this thing off!" After a few more seconds, he ripped the gag loose, spilling copious quantities of pungent brown sludge all over the floor. Reduced to a blubbering mess, the machine continued to wail and occasionally convulse. Not even serial killers or rapists suffered so much.

"That's probably enough data," Rho said, now visibly shaken.

"You're damn right it's enough. Why the fuck did you do that?!"

"Orders are orders. Somebody making a lot more money than us wanted to check how one of them reacted to seeing it wasn't real." Looking back, the robot appeared to have passed out, completely motionless. "I'd say it didn't go well."

Chapter Text

Wednesday, May 24, 11:48 PM

Mike felt more reserved than anything else as he trudged toward his office. It was more than halfway over. Eighteen hours were behind him; twelve remained. The nights crept along like chilled molasses, but he dragged himself through with luck, hyperactive adrenal glands, sheer tenacity, and possibly the protection of a God whose existence he now doubted. No, no. A spiritual crisis can wait two more days.

The squeak of rubber on linoleum alerted the three remaining janitors to his presence as he entered the dining hall. Their expressions were hard and callous as ever, but Mike couldn't care less; it didn't matter what some hired goons thought. Still, he wondered where Mr. Fazbear got these people – and how much they were paid. After a few seconds, they returned to silently mopping the chipped floor.

With a last glance around the room, he noticed Freddy glaring at him from stage, a simmering fire in his eyes. This time, though, Mike wouldn't retreat. Yeah, you remember last night. They stayed that way for several seconds, neither flinching. Bonnie and Chica nervously looked between them, strangely concerned.

"So Freddy," Mike finally spoke, "how does it feel to have even more metal in your head?" His voice seemed to echo longer than it should have in the silent chamber. All was quiet, dead even. Then the thugs started laughing uproariously, apparently thrilled by his non-joke.

"You're fucking dead, kid!" Freddy exploded in his resounding bass voice, making Mike jump backwards. "I'll thrash you to death with that goddamn computer! They'll have to scrape you off the floor!" Bonnie and Chica vainly tried to calm him down, but the howling guards didn't help.

Now regretting speaking, Mike skulked off down the hall, tailed by vague curses and giggling jeers. He wouldn't forget this any time soon, much to his dismay. Passing the colorful posters and drawings, he arrived at his office, his second home.

Sitting down in the chair, he felt comforted, if only a little. The ugly wallpaper, tacky gray carpet, even the single uncovered lightbulb provided a sense of sanctuary. Unappealing as they were, at least they didn't try to kill him. I already miss the fan.

…

The office was quiet that night. Various small sounds – the drip of a leaky faucet, an air conditioner's rumbling – had faded away. Mike barely noticed them before, but the building felt like a hollow husk without them. Only the hum remained, a sentinel at the edge of reality.

It was muted yet omnipresent, like the golden blur that haunted his peripheral vision. Calm down. It can't hurt you.

That's what he wanted to believe.

Taking a deep breath, he spun around in his chair a few times. Instead of feeling whimsical, though, it was nauseating. This would be one Hell of a night.

There were still three very long minutes to Zero Hour, inching past like sickly snails. On a whim, he flipped through the cameras; dim and creepy as ever. If anything, the building seemed to decay with each passing night. The halls felt more cramped, the colors more muted. Even the camera lenses seemed smudged. Finally, he landed on the stage monitor. The animatronics stood unmoving, waiting to be infected by whatever malicious program lurked deep within their artificial synapses.

He actually felt sorry for them, even Freddy. Years and years of the same songs, the same jokes, the same routine, all while trapped in a single corroding room. Maybe they found some enjoyment in it, he didn't know. But killing him was something they must have looked forward to, even if it wasn't really them; at the very least it was different, exciting.

These ruminations were brought to a halt by the ringing phone. The lights dimmed, casting a dull yellow glow and allowing shadows to expand their territory. With that, the penultimate message began to play.

"Uh, hey," said the Phone Guy, panting heavily. "Great job, um… not dying, I guess?"

Mike knew he should shout the recording down as in previous nights, but simply didn't care anymore. Anger wasn't worth the effort.

"But seriously, you've – you've done well. Better than most…" he said with increasing melancholy.

He wasn't sure where this was going, but he didn't like it. In the background, a familiar buzzing appeared.

"Well, it's, uh, been nice talking to you." The buzzing continued to slowly grow, making Mike tense up in his seat. Phone Guy's voice began to distort. "I won't make, um, one of these tomorrow. You can handle yourself." It was now as loud as a car engine, but still increasing. "Hey, j-just – I gotta go now!" he shouted, bumping things as he stood up.

"I – I left some pizza under your desk! Don't worry, it keeps pretty well!" With that, he rushed out of the office, not bothering to hang up. The noise grew ever louder, finally entering the room.

Though it was only a recording, Mike still barely breathed, wanting to know what produced the infernal drone. Then there was silence, punctuated by static muttering. At length, the sound retreated, leaving only dead air, and the recording clicked off.

As he was wont to do, Mike began to shiver, though not as strongly as earlier in the week. What even is that thing? Not expecting an answer, he wiped his clammy palms on the front his khakis and got to work.

Checking the cameras, Bonnie had already moved to the hall, backlit by a flickering bulb. Only his eyes, burning with intense hatred, could be made out. A deep, animalistic growl slithered down the corridor.

Mike sighed, laying his head on the desk. Wait, Phone Guy said something about food under here. Inspecting both doors for safety, he leaned over and plucked a cold pizza box from the carpet. Surprised by the gesture, he put it to the side for later.

Thursday, May 25, 12:28 AM 88% Power

It was getting louder. As the minutes passed, Mike could tell the strange ringing in his ears increased in strength and frequency. So did the attacks. Both Bonnie and Chica were already going strong, popping up at random in the doorways with open-mouthed grins that said "you look tasty".

He'd given up on using witty humor or small tricks to stay alive; those coping mechanisms failed him in the face of death. There was no reward. All he could do was sit. And watch. And listen. With persistence, it might be enough.

Let's see. Bonnie's backstage, Freddy hasn't moved yet, Chica's in the hall corner. He recoiled as the animatronic's head began to violently twitch. That wasn't normal. Either she's broken or trying to psyche me out. If so, it was definitely a winning strategy. Maybe these things were smarter than he thought. Trying to ignore the spasming bird, he checked Pirate Cove.

Foxy stood halfway out, glaring at the camera with a single eye, a mouth full of razor-sharp metal teeth and a pointed hook. What sadist designed her? She could kill someone. He immediately regretted the image that came to mind. She did kill someone – someone important to him. Even after the talks they'd had, the questions she'd answered, he couldn't forgive her. And she must have been alive at the time; there was no way it could have been an accident. Machinery didn't malfunction like that. It had to have been a conscious decision.

Still, he had to keep visiting her. After all, she was a living machine, something only dreamed of by madmen and in science-fiction. This was an experience that most would kill for, and he wouldn't let it slip away. Something good had to come out of this deranged place.

A twinge of guilt pecked at his conscious for taking advantage her like that, only pretending to care about her problems. It was sort of sick, now that he thought about it. No! She's a robot, not a person! It's different.

Mike's thoughts were derailed when he heard a scraping noise outside. Without hesitation, he closed the door, and Bonnie shuffled over to the window, twitching intently.

1:34 AM 68% Power

His head began to ache. Occasionally, the hum would whisper to him. He couldn't understand it, but the tone was agitated. More and more, Mike was convinced this force was real, not merely an inhabitant of his shaken mind.

The hallucinations had begun, too, clawing their way out of his darkest fantasies. For an instant, visions of blood and metal would fill his head before fleeing off into the vast darkness. He knew it would get worse before it got better, assuming it ever did.

But even with the distractions and disturbing imagery, he kept focused with massive amounts of lukewarm coffee. All in all, it seemed to be an average night at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza.

Inspecting the cameras for the thirtieth time or so, everyone appeared to be where they should. Bonnie and Chica were in their respective hallways, both intermittently vellicating. They look like they're about to throw up. Foxy skulked in Pirate Cove. Freddy – nope he was gone. Mike let out a disappointed sigh, yet knew it was bound to happen eventually.

He was in the dining hall in the same position as yesterday; sitting in a chair, one leg over the other, a hand propping his head toward the camera. Actually, he resembled "The Thinker", but with a grin drenched in malice. And the fact he's a bear.

Out of all the animatronics, Freddy scared him the worst by far. In their trancelike states, the other three were stupid machines with little strategy or tact. Freddy was smart, even sophisticated. He knew what he was doing and absolutely relished it.

As if in response, the bear gave the camera a tip of his hat, making Mike's stomach turn. From far away, he could hear his trademark garbled laugh echoing down the halls.

2:45 AM 49% Power

The hallucinations were getting worse. By this point, Mike was having one every ten minutes or so, and they'd moved beyond simple visions. The worst happened about twenty minutes prior. He saw Chica by the bathrooms on camera, but when he looked up, she was right outside. Not knowing which was real, he smashed the door shut.

But there were smaller things, too. Children's drawing were now more surreal than he remembered, slowly transitioning to uncanny. The black and white floor tiles seemed to switch places every time he looked away. The bathroom doors alternated between open and shut. Reality itself was starting to unravel, and Mike could do nothing expect watch.

He also really had to take a leak, but obviously couldn't get to the bathroom. Seriously, this is a huge design flaw, leaving someone in a room for six hours without a toilet and expect them to be OK. Now that he thought about it, that "don't poop on the floor" rule might not have been aimed at children.

Then the phone started ringing. Heh, that's a new one, he thought, almost amused. These hallucinations were getting more and more realistic. What distraction would pop up next? But it didn't stop, it kept going. Deciding to tempt fate, he picked up the receiver and answered "hello," fully expecting to be attacked by static screeching.

"Mr. Schmidt! I was worried for a minute!" Mike froze as a sickeningly cheerful voice crept out of the telephone and into his ear. "Glad you haven't checked out early."

Collecting himself, Mike managed to speak with a pretense of civility. "Phil, why are you calling me at three in the morning?" he asked, desperately making sure no one was too close.

"Ah, yes. I just wanted to inform you of the abdication procedure we have here," Phil said, completely serious.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, tomorrow's your final shift. After that, there are a few extraneous things you have to do. There's a short follow-up survey, a quick photo-op, assuming you're interested, and you get paid."

Mike was getting angrier by the second, but managed to keep it in. "I'm busy right now! Can't we talk about this later?!" he asked, trying to keep himself from flying off the handle.

"Of course, Mr. Schmidt. I should have been more considerate."

Scrutinizing the cameras as he talked, Mike saw Pirate Cove's curtains splayed open. Without a second thought, he threw down the phone and slammed the "door" button with his cold palm. A couple moments later, Foxy arrived, pounding the metal slab with her usual vigor. It wobbled slightly, but ultimately stood firm. Only takes a second… Letting out a sharp exhale, he turned his attention back toward the conversation.

"You were saying?"

"We'll talk some other time. Now I should let you go; you clearly have a lot on your hands. Have a nice night, Mr. Schmidt." With a muttered goodbye, he put the phone away. Mike briefly pondered ways to get his boss arrested for murder, but nothing came to mind. That was the most infuriating part of his job, even beyond the fear he went through on a nightly basis; knowing that the one behind it couldn't be touched thanks to an elaborate set-up and lots of money.

Then the whispers returned.

4:06 AM 33% Power

The hum was right outside, a rusty drill boring through Mike's skull. Nothing was physically there, but that didn't suppress his fear. Phone Guy had the right idea, running from it. Mike, though, couldn't leave. The most he could do was hope it didn't drift inside for the next two hours. Having eaten most of his food, he started to dig into the cardboard-like pizza, if only for stimulation.

Somewhere in the building's dark recesses, Freddy chuckled. Shit, he's getting closer. The bear was in the hallway now, casually leaning against the wall. Always a gentleman, he waved to the camera and winked before resuming his stoic posture.

Of course, he might not have been there at all; it was getting very difficult to tell. Mike never tried anything stronger than an occasional beer before, but this had all the marks of a bad trip. The walls trembled and pulsed, as if taking their dying breaths. The drawings had completed their transitions, now showing sobbing children and demented, manic animatronics. One poster was a picture of Freddy ripping off his own head. If he didn't know any better, he might think Phone Guy laced that pizza with mescaline or LSD.

Either way, Mike was grateful. If he was going to die, it would be far less painful in this hazy state. He would believe the attacker to be a phantasm until the very end, at which point he wouldn't care, being dead and all. Actually, that might have already happened. Maybe this was a dying dream, an instantaneous fantasy right before whatever dwelled behind our world.

Why stop there? This could very well have been Hell itself. Yes, he was dead and in Hell. That made far more sense than any other explanation he could concoct.

Muffled footsteps snapped him out of his philosophical lethargy, and he closed the door right as Bonnie peeked around the corner.

"Get out of here, you purple shit!" he shouted, startling himself. "I won't let you eat me! I won't!" Assuming he wasn't already dead, he refused to go without a fight. They might get him, but not without scars. Freddy learned that the hard way.

To his surprise, the rabbit made a strange gurgling noise while jerking his head around.

IT'S ME. IT'SMEIT'SMEIT'SME. These familiar words flew in front of Mike's eyes, a cloud of biting mosquitos. He yelled and futilely tried to swat them away with a piece of paper. Apparently satisfied, Bonnie again produced his twisted laugh before slowly slinking away.

5:48 AM 3% Power

Through some miracle, he was almost there. A mere ten minutes from the end of his shift, Mike was a nervous wreck, sustained only by the last of his coffee and pizza. Truth be told, he half-wished Phone Guy spiked it with poison. No such luck.

Every few seconds, his droopy eyes flew to his watch, cursing the passage of time. 600 more to go, each slower than the last. His sole comfort was that the hallucinations had mostly passed. They gradually faded away; the floor and ceiling were once again distinguishable, and burning visions no longer seared his brain. Even the hum had retreated.

While he was grateful, the following emptiness was terrifying in its own right. It was too quiet. Something had to be happening. That's when Mike realized it was the animatronics; they were gone. He slowly checked the doors. Nothing. The kitchen camera was silent, so they weren't in there. Finally, he found them all back on stage in their normal positions.

Oh, good. It's over. Despite his exhausted thoughts, deep down he knew something was wrong with this situation. Whatever. I have enough power to close both doors. Not concious enough to feel joyous or accomplished, Mike collapsed on the carpet to drown in the ocean of sleep.

…

Auric frowned, slightly peeved. The Warden escaped him that night. Even after utilizing all but the most vulgar tactics, the man simply refused to go quietly. He was surprisingly resilient to his illusions and artifices; men and women much older fell victim to them over the years, but this one seemed to possess either great persistence or luck. More likely the second.

No matter, this only made the game more exciting. For far too long, the only challengers were novices not skilled enough to win the first match. A more professional bout was certainly welcome.

Tomorrow was the final round, and both players were sure to exploit their best strategies. Auric briefly considered plaguing the man with phantasms throughout the day to push his advantage. What am I thinking?! A true gentleman would never stoop that low. Secure in his inevitable victory, the entity quickly faded.

Chapter Text

...

"Are you sure there's no monsters under the bed, mommy?" Mike asked, tightly gripping his stuffed cat, Whiskers.

His mother smiled wearily and slowly patted his head. "I'm sure. Now you should sleep. You don't want to be tired at school tomorrow." She bent over and kissed him on the cheek. "Sweet dreams." With that, she quietly walked over to the door and flipped off the lights.

"Mommy," Mike interrupted, fidgeting awkwardly, "when will James come back?"

She froze, and a small waver crept into her voice. "I don't know. Maybe never." Unhappy with this answer, he burrowed further under the covers and dramatically turned away from her.

Sighing, she closed the door and walked toward her room, footsteps soon fading away. Then the house was still and cold, as houses tend to be in the depths of winter. Only the full moon provided partial illumination, leaking in through the curtained window like a cracked glass.

Don't worry, Whiskers, I'll protect you he thought, closing his eyes. No monsters here. Nope. The boy soon drifted off to sleep, head filled with dreams of fantasy and adventure. One moment, he was fighting aliens on a distant world, the next riding a horse through a vast desert.

But in the shadows of the foggy Cascades, peace does not come so easily…

…

Mike awoke with an uncomfortable feeling, though he wasn't sure why. He didn't have any bad dreams or eat too much before bed. There wasn't a clock around, but judging by the moon's light, morning was hours away.

Still nervous, he hugged Whiskers and began to sink – a scratching sound pushed him into full awareness. Nothing in his room made a noise like that. It was coming from nearby, soft but ominous. Feeling curiously brave, he hopped out of bed to find the source.

Grabbing a Nerf gun, he stealthily poked his head under the cot. Totally barren, save some dust bunnies and a few crumbs. No monsters here. He stood up and scanned around for places to check. The dresser!

Stealthily creeping around the squeakiest floorboards, he slid over to his wardrobe. The noise was definitely closer now. Carefully as a snake handler, he opened every drawer, always keeping a finger on the trigger. Nothing but clothes. Where else could it be? His mind leapt when he saw the answer.

With every step he took toward his closet, the discord grew. Something deep in his mind told him to run, but he wouldn't have it. No, this was his time to be brave. Come out, monster, he thought, placing his hand on the cold knob. Mom says you aren't real, so you can't hurt me.

Flinging open the door, he was greeted only by darkness that seemed to stretch on eternally. Suddenly, he felt very frightened. "Mo-monster?" A deep growl came from within, and a single glowing eye peered out at him. For a moment, time stopped as the two looked at each other.

"HELP!" He screamed so loudly it might have been audible from outside. Shrieking in terror, he sprinted over to the door, only to find his mother right outside. "Mommy, help! There's a monster in the closet!" he shouted, hugging her leg. No response. "Mommy?" Slowly looking up, he was greeted by a pair of glowing eyes and a harsh snarl.

Again he screamed, nearly sobbing, and turned around only to find his way blocked by even more of the horrific creatures. The four of them slowly shuffled toward him, sounding like wild animals. Mike fell to the ground shrieking, unable to even comprehend what was happening. All he could make out were their shredded bodies, luminous eyes and two rows of needle-like teeth.

After what seemed like an eternity, one of them scooped him up and placed him on the bed before circling around.

"Wh-why are you here?" he managed to sniffle. The fiends bent down close to him, illuminating their ragged animalistic visages. In the back of his shaken mind, he realized they looked very familiar.

"Because you didn't save me" they rasped in unison, further revealing those terrible fangs. With that, they descended on him, claws bared.

Thursday, May 25, 11:24 AM

Mike shot up, panting heavily from the nightmare. It was horrible, one of the worst he'd ever experienced. All the teeth and metal combined with the fear of being a vulnerable child again. And the guilt. Man, his head hurt. Only then did he become vaguely aware of someone calling his name.

"Mr. Schmidt? Hello?" He looked over to see Phil, looking genuinely concerned. "Ah, you don't have brain damage. Excellent," he said, back in his cheery disposition.

Actually examining his surroundings, Mike saw he was lying on a mattress in his boss's office, surrounded by mounds of extraneous crates. "Urgh…" He rubbed his hands across his face. "What happened?"

"Well, when I came in, a few of my employees told me you were passed out in your office – not dead, just unconscious. So we brought you in here."

While confused by the spontaneous turn of events, Mike was a little grateful. This was better than being left on the bare floor. "Um, thanks. I guess?" he said, wanting to be angry, but not finding the necessary rage.

Phil smirked. "Don't mention it. I always like to make my workers comfortable." OK, now he was annoyed.

"So can I leave?" Home sounded like a great place to be. Then a lightbulb popped on in his head. "Or did you want to talk about the 'abdication procedure'?"

"Oh, that. I shouldn't have called, really. We'll discuss it tomorrow."

Tomorrow. Unbelievably, it was true. One final night, and he could put this all behind him forever. The Week from Hell drew to a close.

"I should be going, then" he said at length, weighing his options. On one hand, he got free food here. On the other, not only was it mediocre at best, but he was legitimately afraid Freddy would jump off stage and try to kill him. Getting up and weaving through the box maze, Mike was about to exit when another thought came to mind.

"Hey, I'm sorry about the garbage can. There wasn't any place else to, uh, you know, go."

"We really should install a toilet in there. I've been thinking about that for a while." Phil transitioned into his nostalgic look, blissfully staring off into space. Mike shook his head and walked out.

11:45 AM

He almost completely forgot about Foxy. As he hopped into his car, he spied the thick black door in his rear view mirror and sighed. It was almost over; did he need to drive himself crazy? Ultimately, though, he did say he'd return. Even if he didn't much care for her, he would still follow through, if only to assuage his conscious.

The bright noon sun and many vehicles made entering unseen an arduous task, but eventually there was a long enough break in traffic for him to slip across, unlock the door and scurry inside the dark, unknown world of Pirate Cove.

"Uh, hey" he whispered, trying to sound nonchalant. "You here, Foxy?" To his surprise, she didn't respond. For a few seconds, only the black silence enveloped him. A bit unnerved, he started to feel around for a light switch, tracing his hand across the rough, carved wall and trying not to trip over odd debris. After a minute of fumbling, he located one and flipped it up. Several seconds later, the bulbs, angry to have been awoken, stubbornly popped to life.

At last able to see, Mike surveyed the room; same as ever, with mottled carpet, cobwebs in the corners and a massive mound of decaying planks in the middle. This is weird. Shouldn't she be here? More inquisitive than nervous, he set out to explore the rest of the sizable room, most of which he hadn't yet seen.

He vaguely remembered this place from his childhood, but only as a ghost, a long-forgotten dream. It still didn't seem real. There's the stage on the right. Yeah, and the treasure chests. The room was quite large, now that he really looked, about half the area of the dining hall. And Foxy got it all to herself. Though sad, she was probably the most fortunate out of the animatronics. No interaction seemed a better option than forced, one-sided monologuing every day.

Just then, he heard a noise. Not harsh or vicious, but out of place. It was coming from his right. The stage. OK, I'll check it out. Quickly climbing onto the dusty, varnished wood, he listened closely, following the sound behind the curtains to a small alcove. Ah. Figures.

Foxy was stretched out on makeshift pile of miscellaneous fabric, snoring and muttering. Mike stifled a giggle as she murmured "Nay. 'Twas an accident." Well, he didn't have anywhere else to be. Deciding to stay a while, he wiped some grime from the floor and sat down, content to sit and read.

12:23 PM

Mike was starting to get hungry. The faint scent of pizza and other Italian food wafted in from the dining room, making his mouth water despite its subpar quality. The sounds of happy children were also quite clear, now that the lunch rush was in.

"Harr… what ye be doin' here, lad?" a voice to the side asked. Flinching slightly, he saw Foxy awake and sitting up. "Err, what are you doing here?" she repeated in plain English, apparently groggy. Her immobile mouth wasn't so creepy anymore.

"I couldn't come earlier, so I decided to drop by," he said, forcing a smile.

She remained quiet for a while, appearing spaced out. "Mike," she at last said, looking him straight in the face, "thank you."

"For what?" he asked, genuinely confused.

Again, she turned away. "For coming here. Talking to me. At least sort of caring about my problems."

As much as he tried to avoid it, he did end up doing those things. In fact, it was kind of embarrassing, considering his motives. He bit his lip, afraid of exposing himself as largely indifferent. She paused before looking back at him.

"For not treating me like a monster." Her orange eye gleamed with life.

"Wow," Mike said, absolutely stunned. "I had no idea you thought of me like that." Now he really felt conflicted. She not only put him in the hospital, but also took away a friend. Yet horrible things were being done to her every day. It was a no win situation.

Both were silent for a while more. Mike still didn't have anything to do except take in his car, which could be any time, while Foxy was content to lean against the wall for a while. No matter what came out of this whole delirious week, he would look back favorably on at least one part.

"Hey! Let's play 'Pirates', guys!" a particularly loud child shouted from outside.

Foxy's ears perked up like a happy dog's before drooping. She sighed, rolling over.

"Do you miss it?" Mike blurted out, instantly kicking himself. This was a sensitive topic. What is wrong with me?

"Yeah. I miss it," Foxy said without malice, only disappointment. "It's what I was made to do. Every part of me – my looks, my speech, even my personality – was designed to make a good swashbucklin' entertainer." A few black drops began to leak from her orange eye, but she quickly brushed them away.

"Hey, I shouldn't have - "

"And they took it away!" she growled, interrupting him. "They left me to rot back here, inches from people I can never meet, never even see." Burying her head in her lap, she went silent.

"I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry," Mike hesitantly said.

"It's OK. Just difficult being forgotten."

"Actually, you're still there, at least a little."

With what he assumed to be a puzzled expression, she asked "What do you mean?"

Smirking, he pulled the folded-up menu from yesterday out of his pocket and began to read in his best pirate accent. "Yarr, mateys! Do ye know which corsair created the Jolly Roger? This be a tough one. 'Twas - "

"Samuel Bellamy."

"Huh?"

"That's the answer. 'Black Sam' Bellamy" Foxy remarked assuredly.

Sure enough, there it was in ink – Black Sam Bellamy. Could be useful on Jeopardy.

"Well, anyway, there's things like that. Trivia questions, a few references. Hell, you even get your own food item, 'Foxy's Fudge Sundae'." Mike let out a laugh. "OK, it's kind of lame, but the point is that the kids still know about you and about pirates. I'm not sure if that's comforting, but it is what it is."

His stomach rumbled loudly, jarring him to consider leaving. "Hey, I think I should get out. I've been here a while."

Foxy stood up. "Thank you for telling me that. Seriously, I'm grateful."

"No problem," he replied, getting up himself. Foxy walked him to the door, arranging a few misplaced props on the way.

"You'll come back tonight, right? One last time?"

"I'll try."

3:16 PM

I can't do this. After struggling fruitlessly for sleep, Mike finally gave up, slipping on some casual clothes. The last hours had monotonously flowed by like sand in a glass. What used to come easily, simple things like rest and energy, were now in short supply around his house.

But it would soon change.

The next morning, he would either walk out of his office a free man or his lifeless corpse would be chopped up and dumped in the woods. Either scenario sounded better than the current one, but living would be preferable. What's the matter with me?! He slapped himself, unwilling to sink into acceptance of death. It wasn't over yet. Walking into the parlor, he switched on the television, hoping a mindless infomercial could calm his nerves, and flopped down on the sofa.

Still have to get the car radio fixed. It probably needs gas, too. Normally, he wouldn't care about these trivial matters for weeks or months, but it felt comforting to focus on frivolous issues rather than looming life-or-death realities. Ignorance is bliss, after all.

Not seeing other options, Mike decided to quickly – no, that can wait. I'm so tired… Despite his weariness, respite did not come.

4:25 PM

"They better not be closed," Mike said aloud as he drove through Whitewater's eerily vacant roads. He supposed it had always been like this during summer, when more exciting locales called, but he'd always taken it for granted. The sun was beginning to fall from the sky, casting an amber glow that only enhanced the uncanniness.

Taking a few twists and turns down unmarked avenues and boulevards, he soon arrived at the place, separated from the other buildings by a chain link fence. As a kid, he always thought it was cool – a few junk cars sitting outside and corrugated metal siding gave it a unique look. Pulling up to the closed garage door, he hopped out, assaulted by the stench of gasoline and a loudly revving engine. Still open, at least.

Following the noise, Mike entered through a side door into the main area. Exactly as he imagined it, with tacky posters, shelves lined with extraneous items and a stained floor. Not the cleanest, but it had a rustic charm.

"Hey!" someone shouted over the clamor. "Are you Michael Schmidt?!" Only then did Mike notice a man sticking his head out the window of the nearest car.

"Yes!" With that, the man turned off the roaring motor and stepped out.

"Jeremy Fitzgerald, mechanic at large. Radio problems, eh?" Mike nodded.

Doesn't look much like a Fitzgerald. With dark skin and graying black hair, he seemed more Hispanic than Irish.

Jeremy cracked a small smile. "Well, let's get your car in here. I'll take a look at it."

…

Mike quickly noticed that Jeremy liked to talk. Not annoyingly so, but still quite a bit. As Mike got out of his car, he started going again.

"Yeah, radios are generally easy. I'll probably be done in fifteen or twenty minutes," he said, checking the antenna. Mike stood a few feet away, studying the vast assortment of gears and valves. Different shapes, sizes, serial numbers. This guy either knew what he was doing or liked to hoard. "Feel free to browse! No one ever does."

After a couple more minutes of looking, Jeremy asked, "So, how long have you lived in Whitewater?" From his tone, Mike could tell he already knew the answer.

"My whole life. You?"

"Since '87. Moved here from Phoenix." There was a certain disappointment in his voice.

"What? Why?" A politer instinct drove him to add, "If you don't mind me asking."

Jeremy, who had removed part of the dashboard to poke around inside, replied, "There's a real charm to the woods up here. Mystery and stuff. Like, if Bigfoot was anywhere in the world, he'd be here. And I've never liked the heat." He again frowned. "But there are advantages to not living in the middle of nowhere."

After that, Mike was quiet, content to simply peruse, simply giving a brief "OK" or "yeah" whenever Jeremy said something. I shouldn't have wished for conversation. Meanwhile, the mechanic had removed some vital apparatus from the dash, tweaking it with a pair of pliers. Though not knowing the first thing about vehicle repair, he suspected this wasn't the best method.

"Do you want some water or something?" Mike cringed, honed by a week of terror to fear any sudden stimulus. Twisting around, he saw the voice's source: a young woman a year or two older than him, with dark eyes and short hair.

"N-no, um, thank you," he said, quickly getting under control. She gave him a strange look before shrugging. Smooth, Mike.

"Hey, Dad! I finished cleaning the yard!" she shouted, clearly impatient about something.

"That's great!" Jeremy yelled back. "Could you organize these new parts? Oh, and ask if the gentleman wants some water!"

She muttered something, facepalming. "Fine, Dad."

…

Suddenly, the drone of Rush Limbaugh's voice filled the room. Oh, good. Well, it would be once he turned to a different station. Mike was beginning to lose interest in standing around when he could be preparing. Ready to file some paperwork, he walked over to his car, where Jeremy made sure everything was properly adjusted.

"This was a tough one, but I got it," he said, looking smug. "One of the circuit boards was a little warped, so I bent it back into shape."

"Huh."

He chuckled. "Not much of a gearhead, eh?"

"Never have been, doubt I ever will be." As nice as this guy was, Mike was ready to get home. A few more minutes.

"Well, you need to fill this out," Jeremy said, picking up a clipboard from the hood. "It's just your name, address, the works."

Fortunately, the repair only cost sixty dollars; easily repayable with the nineteen-hundred coming his way. Signing the space at the bottom, Mike handed the board back, which Jeremy carefully examined.

"All right, have a nice evening. And if you need anything else, give me a call – I also dabble in washers, refrigerators, most large appliances." Turning back to his daughter, who was grumbling while shelving merchandise, he said, "June. I can show you that air-filter cleaning tip, now."

With a nod, Mike hopped into his car, relieved to have done something fairly normal. Contrasted with his present situation, this was a vacation in itself.

7:40 PM

Lightning bolts juggled fluorescence and shadow like trained acrobats. Thunder crashed outside, tank guns firing blindly into the heavens. The loudest shook the windows like Foxy smashing against his office door. While living on the side of a rainy mountain certainly had its perks, this was not one of them.

All the while, Mike scurried around, agonizing over the following hours. He didn't so much think as fear, for there was nothing to think about. Everything was in order. His food was restocked and he already knew more sleep was impossible. As a treat, he even ate at a local hole-in-the-wall.

So there was only despair, consuming him. Even if he survived, life would never be the same again. The door to a hidden reality had been yanked open before him, and he'd caught a glimpse of something beyond the limits of human comprehension. He knew secrets no sane person could dream of, enigmas from outside nature. And they would haunt him day after day, year after year, until the very end.

Groaning, he sat down. None of it made sense. Living machines, cover-ups, and on and on, all in his backyard. His head ached thinking about it. One more night. Eyes on the prize he thought through gritted teeth. There had to be something on. Raking between channels, Mike found an old B-movie from the 70s. Perfect. At least now he could turn off part of his brain.

As the man in a rubber suit smashed through Tokyo, he purged all worries from his addled mind for a few golden hours.

11:12 PM

The lightning and thunder had flown over the mountains to rouse people from their sleep. They would be awake for a minute but quickly return to peaceful dreams. Mike, on the other hand, would not. As he drove through the dark woods, cold sweat trickled down his forehead. Ill-defined creatures hid behind every tree and rock, melting into the umbrage as the headlights forced them back.

Still, there were things he was grateful about. For example, his radio worked excellently, funneling Kurt Cobain into the vehicle. His uniform no longer clung to him, thanks to multiple ironings. And most importantly, he was proud of himself. As terrible as that week had been, he'd made due. He refused to simply die; others must have. No matter how the night ended, the animatronics would remember him one way or another.

Speaking of which, Foxy. This could be the last time they spoke, but he would make it count. Truth be told, she'd grown on him, much to his dismay. They should have been mortal enemies. Right? A few rays reached through the trees up ahead, directing him to Fazbear's parking lot. As usual, no one was out, only a scattering of cars. Mike pulled into his normal spot.

Unlike the last times, he simply walked over to the door, no glancing around or sneaking required. He already knew no one saw. Fortunately, the lights were already on.

…

If she was able to, Foxy would have grinned as Mike walked in. He already looked weary, probably in a perpetual state of gloom. "Come on over. Make yourself comfortable."

He smiled tiredly, eyes somewhat glazed over, before sitting next to her. Never been this close to him before. At only a foot away, she could see every bead of sweat running down his arms and the shiver that came with each breath. To her sensitive nose, he also smelled pretty bad, but she quickly pushed this aside. "Are you scared?"

"I've never been in a situation like this, so I don't, um, really know how to feel." A grimace formed on his face. "But yeah, I think I am."

Before they went their separate ways, Foxy wanted to tell him something. She had been working up the courage all day; he would hate her for it, but he deserved to know, given how much they'd spoken. "Mike?"

"Yes?"

She inhaled deeply. This was one of the few times she was glad her face didn't work properly. "A long time ago, I killed someone."

After blinking and rubbing his bleary eyes, he asked, "But that happens a lot, right? You try to kill me every night. You can't control that."

"It's different." Her voice began to waver, but she had to keep going. Mike looked at her with confusion. "He was just a kid. And I… I…" She started to weep softly, burying her muzzle between her knees. Damn it, why can't I be stronger?! A cold hand reluctantly fell on her shoulder.

"I know," he whispered.

"H-how?" She raised her head slightly, allowing them to look at each other.

"I grew up here. That was all people could talk about for weeks and weeks after the news finally broke." A few tears wandered across his face.

They both remained silent for a while, each drifting around in melancholy. At least he didn't run away, Foxy thought, still slumped over.

"Thank you for telling me, though," Mike said, a bit of acceptance in his voice. "Otherwise, um, I wouldn't have asked."

"Wait a second…" she muttered, putting all the pieces together. "You knew my name when we first met and then said you grew up here." She stared him straight in the eye. "You saw me before what happened."

He flushed red, a guilty look on his face. "I wasn't sure how to tell you, or if you'd care. Back then, I was just a kid. And, well…" he trailed off, trying to find the right words. "I was there when it happened, at his birthday party. In the room with you. So I didn't want to say anything."

Foxy felt her heart pound faster as he spoke. He was there when this all started. "That's when I was born."

…

Mike couldn't believe what she said. "As – as in, whatever made you, um," he signaled to her entire frame, "you happened then?"

She nodded, and oily tears navigated through her fur. "I was so young then. I didn't know what mortality was. I didn't know about pain or suffering or loss," she choked out before quietly sobbing again.

He was at once pleased and somber. While he was grateful for being able to finally discuss this, it was difficult to talk about. For them both.

With her head hanging in shame, she continued. "It's haunted me since then. Sometimes I see him in my dreams. And I am so, so sorry. Even if you never forgive me, please know I'm getting what I deserve."

Mike thought for a while. This was too much to take in. He would have to figure it out later. "I don't know if I can forgive you. I really don't." He looked at her. "I've been thinking about this for a long time, and, uh, I guess I'm happy you didn't do it on purpose."

There wasn't much to talk about after that. What a way to start the night. But damn, he was stupid. How could he not have realized? It made perfect sense; she and the others were "born" during the fateful party. A fading memory floated up of seeing Freddy, Bonnie and Chica all staring at their own hands. That's what I would have done. Honestly, it was incredible – not just anyone got to witness the birth of a new species, essentially.

November 14, 1987. One of the most eventful days in history that no one would remember. Of course, this only brought new questions to mind, but he was smart enough to avoid speculation. That tended to not work out here.

Glancing over it seemed Foxy, steadily respiring, had calmed. Neither of them were crying, at least. I should probably leave soon. It's 11:45. Deciding this was probably one of the better ways this could have played out, he stood. "My shift starts in fifteen minutes."

"Wait!" She sprang up. "Mike, no matter what you think of me, this has been the best week of my life. I have something to give you."

Unable to imagine what it could be, Mike stayed put as Foxy sprinted back to her little alcove and back. Man, she's fast.

"It isn't much, but please take it." She held out a yellowed, slightly torn piece of paper, which he accepted. Flipping it over, he was astounded. It was a him – a sketch of him, anyway. From his facial features to the way he stood, it was quite impressive.

"How did you do this?" he asked, awe clear in his voice.

"I've been back here for years," she said with a shrug. "Have to spend all that time practicing something. Otherwise I'd go insane."

Mike stood there, staring at the drawing for a minute. To think it was produced by a machine. Wow. "I like it, Foxy. Thank you." Her tail wagged enthusiastically.

"No problem. And Mike?"

"What?"

She paused and looked to the floor. He couldn't be certain, but Mike thought her cheeks were redder than usual. "You're the only friend I've ever had. If you're able, I would enjoy it if you came to talk every once in a while."

11:53 PM

"Mr. Schmidt! I was starting to worry you wouldn't show," said Phil, standing by the door. Mike didn't respond, walking farther in. To his annoyance, his boss followed, still trying to make casual small talk. "I knew right when you came in for the interview you'd make a great addition to the Fazbear family."

"You said we'd talk tomorrow," Mike said matter-of-factly. He was angry and impatient, but blowing up at his boss wouldn't help anyone.

"That I did." They passed through the dining room, where the last couple of guards were closing up. "But I wanted to tell you I might be a bit late; I have to organize the correct paperwork and whatnot. Plus, I always like to be the first one in during these very special occasions, so no one will be here until ten or fifteen minutes after your shift ends. That's all."

After what seemed an eternity, Mike arrived at his office.

"Have a nice night, Mr. Schmidt! I wish you luck!" Phil turned tail, purple blazer moving toward the exit.

…

Freddy had thought about it constantly, during every song and skit of that day. After hours of internal debate, he reached a decision; one way or another, the night guard would leave in a body bag. If he actually managed to survive the night, Freddy would take matters into his own hands.

They might kill him, but he hardly cared. If he could take the little shit with him, it would be worthwhile.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, December 22, 1987, 11:56 PM

The room was warm and quiet, like a summer morning on the prow of a ship. Only the scribbling of pencils on clipboards and occasional coughs interrupted the silence. Though she was strapped to a gurney and muzzled, Foxy didn't particularly mind.

After all, she wasn't real. They'd shown her that much.

At first, she didn't believe, couldn't even comprehend it. She must have been alive – she could talk and think like everyone else. That made her a person, not a machine. No, these fiends must have used some dark sorcery in a plot to break her will. But it wouldn't work! She'd battled ghosts, zombies, the occasional sea serpent; all much greater foes than a band of dishonorable ruffians. Still, after a few days, she began to notice differences between herself and her captors.

No one else spoke normally, instead possessing very strange accents. In fact, most snickered whenever she opened her mouth. They didn't have fur or muzzles, either, but smooth skin and flat faces. Those weren't very common where she came from. No tails, no chromatic eyes, pink tongues instead of black.

They're foreign, she reassured herself. This is all some weird extortion attempt.

The breaking point came when she discovered her golden earrings were really painted iron. At that moment, something inside her snapped, and she lay unmoving in her cell for hours. Everything she knew was fake, put in her mind as a placeholder. She wasn't a pirate; she was a machine designed to amuse children. After that, Foxy was a good girl, following orders and ignoring the pain. That's what machines were meant to do. So there she was, once again bound and gagged for people to marvel at like zoo animals.

At least her friends were there, visible if she turned her head to the sides. Though she couldn't be sure, she suspected they too had discovered the truth, considering the glazed over looks in their eyes. A fox, a bear, a rabbit and a chicken. Quite the menagerie.

Across the room, she noticed Mr. Fazbear quietly talking to a small group of men and women in black suits. Haven't seen them around. Then again, she didn't really know anyone aside from that one scientist and her escort. They'd at least talked to her once or twice. In fact, it was still a complete mystery where they were. The demons had once called it a "facility", but other than that, it was a mystery. Not that it mattered.

After whispering for a few more minutes, Mr. Fazbear worked his way around the thirty or so scientists and guards to the front. His downturned gaze and quick pace signaled that he really didn't want to look at them. Foxy growled, but he ignored it, biting his lip. He caused all this! When I get out of here… she clenched her hand into a fist, but couldn't bring herself to think the last words. Much to her disappointment, she didn't want to kill him. They were family. Frosty memories of them playing together when he was a child bubbled up, and him running around with friends. Of course, she wasn't herself then. How times change.

"Um, good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he said, tugging at his collar. "Thank you for coming so late." No response. The people in the black suits, she noticed, waited in the back, away from everyone else.

"You've made some incredible observations over the last few weeks. Like, groundbreaking stuff." He nervously chuckled. "I mean, I can't even wrap my head around these things. Psychology, biology, chemistry. I feel out of my league." One of the women in black agitatedly signaled for him to move on.

"Right! So... something's finally come to my attention." He paused to adjust his sleeves. "We can control them now. To a degree, at least."

A small gasp went up from the scientists; the guards looked at each other and shrugged. He can't command me, Foxy though, producing another small snarl. Maybe she would go along with the researchers, who were just doing their jobs, but him. Never.

She would rather… rather… The world faded, growing cooler and farther away. A shadow formed at the edge of her mind, overtaking thoughts, emotions, memories. Something similar happened last night, but that was difficult to think about. Trying to move her limbs, she found they no longer responded. Ever more rapidly, her mind was superseded by something dark and cold. Soon, nothing remained.

…

Delta wasn't sure what he was seeing. The animatronics momentarily spasmed before going limp like unused puppets. Seconds passed; they still didn't move. A murmur drifted through the crowd, and Mr. Fazbear grimaced.

Good. They're dead. At least now they didn't have to suffer anymore. They were free from the –

Abruptly, all four of them sprang back to life, violently thrashing against their restraints and spewing static shrieks. Without hesitation, Delta whipped the M9 out of his belt, itching to pull the trigger. Wait, did they always have golden eyes?

"Don't shoot!" Mr. Fazbear shouted, intensely waving his arms. They quickly shut down, falling unconscious. "So, um, what do you think?"

No one moved for a few seconds. Then the whole room went wild, or as wild as a group of thirty overworked people could be. Even the mystery group in the back was doing its best golf clap. What the Hell is wrong with these people?! He felt his face flush red with anger, but the helmet hid it from outside view. Mind control? Would they want this done to them? Honestly, the only thing keeping him at this point was the fat paycheck. He'd done some shit in his time, but only to people who really deserved it.

"Cool, right?" his partner asked, leaning over.

"Yeah. You could say that." Alright, Rho was another reason to stay. They still didn't see eye-to-eye, and he told her what he thought of their jobs, but she respected his opinion, unlike all the other assholes. They'd have to stay in touch, assuming he ever needed work again.

"Now, as you can see, there are still some kinks to work out," Mr. Fazbear said. He walked over to the unconscious bear robot and put a hand on its head. "But this is a start." Looking down, he tapped his foot. "Oh, I'd also like to thank our generous BRIAR benefactors in the back. They're the ones who make this all possible." The people in black nodded and waved. They all technically worked for BRIAR, but most, himself included hadn't the faintest idea about who they really were. Nor did he care; money was money.

"That's it! You can go home now! Merry Christmas!" People immediately started streaming out, chatting as though nothing had happened. Delta swore sometimes he was the smartest one there. At least he got the next week off.

"Hey," Rho said, elbowing him, "I'm going on a pub crawl after this. Care to join me?"

"Are you even old enough?"

She glared at him. "Yeah! Barely…"

As they finally exited into the bone-chilling Seattle winter, Delta replied, "Where do we start?"

Chapter Text

Thursday, May 25, 11:55 PM

The soft thud of a locking door resounded as the last worker departed, leaving the ramshackle building to its own devices. Not much happened in these few minutes between lockup and midnight, save the odd sounds natural to any rickety structure. Still, for Auric, they were a relaxing time to run over his plans again.

I'll need to be brutal, he thought, drifting through the halls. Keep up the pressure, choke him out. This Warden possessed something few of the others did; willpower. When faced with a life-or-death situation, especially one so remarkable as being slain by seemingly innocuous automatons, most people simply accepted that it was the end. In their fear, they forgot winning was possible, leading to many crushed skulls, broken spines and other unsightly outcomes.

For Auric, they were simply notches on a figurative belt, victories by a master of the game. Here, though, he confronted the very real prospect of losing, something that hadn't come up in years. If he couldn't outwit the Warden within six hours, the streak would be broken, the expert overthrown by a mere novice. What an embarrassment that would be.

Success and humiliation were the only options. He'd make himself proud.

Suddenly, the lights dimmed, allowing shadow to reign supreme. The witching hour had begun. Immediately, he looked through four new pairs of eyes at a grim, twisted world. Oh, this would be a night to remember.

Friday, May 26, 12:02 AM

Through one of the thrall's ears, Auric heard a small yelp as the Warden finished listening to his message. As Iota-Tau neglected to record one that night, he took it upon himself to wish his opponent luck (even if he didn't really mean it). Unfortunately, his voice came out like always – garbled and vague. Human languages had always given him trouble; too much articulation required.

Anyway, it began. But what to do first? So many options presented themselves. Should he proceed normally or do something unexpected? Much like the great chess masters, Auric could never decide what angle to go at first. They all appealed to him.

Ultimately, he chose the traditional route. One of his pawns, the purple one, moved to the dining room's center before pausing, content to stand in its normal, rigid position. Slow, as always. That was one of the few things to bother him about this magnificent game – he couldn't always control his pieces. They retained some semblance of free will when under his control. When they wanted to stop, they stopped, when they wanted to move, they moved. It could be vexing work.

Though he liked to pretend otherwise, Auric was more of an advisor than a leader. Even the greatest artists made a few smudges. Move, you infernal device! Obeying his command, the pawn lurched farther into the building, down the hall, before entering a cluttered storage closet. It will suffice.

Plenty of time remained for his victory celebration. For now, scaring the Warden into submission was key; in response, the thrall's head began violently thrashing about. Yes, that's very nice. A little more rabidly? Perfect.

Everything seemed to be in order. He'd sit back, command from the sidelines, and watch the show.

1:12 AM

Lamentably, the Warden still drew breath. Despite directing all his will toward attacking the man's physical barriers, the satisfying shrieks of the damned and the crisp popping of bones hadn't yet occurred. It was rather annoying that he refused to forfeit; that was the courteous action when facing inevitable defeat. Still, Auric forgave his competitor's ego. He was a gentleman first and foremost.

In fact, I should pay him a visit. Auric floated through the building to the Warden's post, ready to begin the real trepidation. Yes, there he was, tensed up in his little chair, tapping a foot on the carpet, occasionally wiping sweat from his brow. Although a cloud of fear emanated from him like fragrant incense, he remained surprisingly composed. That won't last long. With a single thought, the man began to twitch in terror before reaching for a coffee thermos. The human mind was more malleable than clay to him. Soon, panic would overwhelm him, leaving Auric to clean up the mess.

Actually, why not watch him for a bit? He was rarely interested in seeing the more carnal side of his sport, but maybe he could gain an advantage via observation. Not seeing a problem, he glided in, pausing behind the Warden's back. Expecting an amusing time, he peeked around the man's shoulder at the grainy computer screen, a quality product of the early 1990s.

It was quite interesting. The Warden seemed to have a pattern going: browse the cameras for a minute, switch to the dead kitchen screen (presumably to save power), take a sip of coffee, and fish some food item out of his bag. This, combined with occasional spasms from hallucinations, probably made up the bulk of his night. How fascinating. Maybe some time he should play the game from this perspective, see how the other half lived.

What really tickled Auric, though, was that the man knew he was there. Maybe he couldn't express it in words, or even bring himself to believe it, but every few seconds, he looked backwards, staring right through his invisible form. Yes, his discomforted expression revealed everything. The man obviously wanted to speak, but was unable to conjure the necessary courage, afraid of what might answer. His fear was warranted. Well, I think I've overstayed my welcome.

Satisfied, Auric left the room, leaving the Warden to his own devices. Not fretting over a few lost minutes, his mind returned squarely to predestined victory. Let's see… The red one hadn't moved yet.

Obeying his command, the red pawn began its rush down the hall. Through its eye, the open doorway grew ever larger. Yes! At the last instant, a wall of metal slammed down, blocking the entrance. Uncharacteristically outraged, he screamed through the pawn, beginning to bash the door while gushing curses.

2:30 AM

It didn't take much effort to move the brown pawn off stage, and it now urbanely leaned against one of the walls. As much as he tried to think of the pieces simply as toys, Auric had taken a liking to this one. The others didn't seem to appreciate their roles much, but this one reveled in victory. Like him, it enjoyed life's simple pleasures. In the future, Auric might even introduce himself.

Once again, he ran through the thralls' positions. The brown one was in the main room, the red one readied itself for another sprint, the purple one stood in the janitor's closet, and the yellow one lurked in the hall. Wait… A strange noise flowed from the office, rhythmic and shrill. Per the yellow one, he crept forward to investigate. Unsurprisingly, the door slammed down as he approached; even in his agitation, the Warden still possessed quite a strong nerve.

Upon reaching the window, Auric found the source. The Warden's small music box siphoned out some ostentatious melody, probably providing some veneer of comfort in the face of doom. Much to his displeasure, the man completely ignored the twitching, menacing puppet, instead tapping his foot and drumming on the desk with a pencil. Unbelievable. Such confident arrogance would be the Warden's undoing.

One shouldn't celebrate until they've won Auric thought, pushing the notion of defeat away. He would triumph in the end. He'd only lost a few times before, and then only near when he first developed this remarkable undertaking. Losing was improbable now – no one could outwit him. Still, something seemed strangely out of place. He should have already triumphed.

3:44 AM

He's cheating. That's it. Although unable to locate any hint of chicanery, it was the only explanation. This man – more of a boy, actually – couldn't possibly outwit him at a game he himself had invented. It was like Caesar losing to an army of peasants, or Capablanca being upended by an illiterate. Despite technically being feasible, it was one-in-a-million. Therefore, sabotage was likely.

By this point, terror was beginning to truly engulf the Warden. Even far away, Auric could smell the dread wafting from him with every bead of sweat and nervous twitch. Murky fiends and obscure phobias surrounded him on all sides, plumbing the intoxicating aura of fear from his soul. At least he'll be afraid when he dies.

But damn, this was starting to exasperate him. There was a perfectly good bottle of Pinot Gris sitting on Phillip's desk, waiting to be enjoyed. This should have been simple: kill the Warden, have a few glasses of wine, maybe have his puppets put on one of their shows for him, and then go sleep. Unfortunately, that might not happen. Only two hours remained, normally an sand in an hourglass but now eternity.

5:32 AM

Oh, now Auric was angry. Now he was enraged. He couldn't be sure how much power the Warden had left, but it couldn't have been much. The civility had been dropped, every pretense of gamesmanship smashed with a metaphorical hammer. There was victory on one side and defeat on the other; he knew which he preferred.

He'd pulled out all the stops; his pawns now screeched and cursed whenever the man looked at them, they pounded on the windows, tried to break down the walls, even tried to get into the ventilation shafts. Nothing worked. The damn door is too good at its job!

The notion that he might have been bending the rules barely crossed his mind – the Warden was obviously playing dirty, so he could, too. What a cretin; no respect for institutions or traditions, only interested in a petty self-preservation instinct. Maybe Auric couldn't fault him for that, though. These humans did always seem to be death averse.

Unfortunately for him, his pawns began to tire of beating on the doors and windows, and so went back to their normal positions. First the red one, then the purple and yellow. I'll put them in their places he thought, focusing all his remaing energy on his brown puppet. He greatly preferred the astral plane to the physical one; such limited possibilities a body offered.

"Traitors! The game isn't finished!" he shouted, hoping they'd be able to understand through the static. The red one snarled at him from across the room before ducking back into its hole. Meanwhile, the other two wandered back toward stage, unwilling to move despite his commands. "Worthless junk!"

Even the brown one was tiring, his normally present grin usurped by an annoyed pout. Eventually, he, too threw in the towel and headed back toward stage even as he saw through its eyes.

"There's time! Go!" None of them would have it, growling at their master like disobedient dogs. "You're useless! I could have made better playthings out of rocks!" He briefly considered removing his more permanent physical anchor from the basement to personally kill the Warden, but decided against it. It wasn't suited for combat.

Exasperated, Auric wondered where he'd gone wrong. Was he losing his touch? Just bad luck? Either way, his winning streak had just reset to zero, and a new champion crowned. I need some of that wine.

His pawns were more receptive to that suggestion, so they all moved towards Phillip's office in search of liquor.

5:56 AM 2% Power

As he had many times that week, Mike started crying, collapsing backward against his chair. Unlike those other instances, though, these were tears of joy. At that moment, the second he could put both doors down without fear of losing power, a realization pierced the darkness of his addled mind.

I'm not going to die. I did it. I actually did it he thought, slowly standing up. Against all odds, through determination and luck and perhaps divine intervention, he'd survived the worst five nights anyone could dream of. The scars would remain forever – nightmares, maybe other things – but at that moment, he was the happiest person on Earth.

Consequences be damned, this was his time to celebrate. Opening one of the doors, he leaned out and shouted, "Hey, Freddy! Are you really giving up?! Come on, try and get me!"

No response, of course. He closed the door and collapsed on the carpet, vaguely aware that too much laughing could tear his stitches, but not caring in the slightest. At least I won't be dead he thought, unsure of why this was so funny. He might have legitimately lost his mind.

Suddenly, a low rumbling shook the floor, and the lights brightened, making him squint. It was over. Still not quite able to comprehend it, he pinched himself to make sure it wasn't a particularly cruel hallucination. No, it's true.

Utterly amazed, he opened both doors to let some cool, fresh air in while popping a very special tape into his Walkman, one he never thought he'd get to use again. As "We Are the Champions" began to fill the room with warmth, Mike kicked off his shoes and rested his feet on the desk, ready to see the shock on Phil's face. It's good to be free.

…

As soon as Freddy woke up, he knew the guard wasn't dead. There was no blood on his hands, no metallic stench in the air.

Fine. I'll do it myself he thought, repositioning his top hat.

"That must 'ave been some night!" Bonnie exclaimed, rolling his shoulders. "My arms 'urt like crazy. Probably smashin' something." He turned toward them. "What about you, Chica? 'ow are you doing this fine morning?"

"You already know what I'm going to say," she said with her hands on her hips.

"Yeah, I bet you'll say you're 'OK' like you 'ave the last fifty times I've asked."

This'll give 'em something to talk about. With that, Freddy hopped off stage, moving as quietly as possible toward the night guard's office. He only had one shot at this.

"What are you doing?" Chica asked. "People will be here any minute!"

"Just dropped something. I'll be back soon." In a few seconds, he'd moved out of the main room and into the infrequently-used hall. His ears began to pick up an unfamiliar song emanating from the guard's office, growing louder the closer he snuck. Good, noise cover.

After an agonizing minute or so of covering the last twenty feet, he crouched outside the doorway, ready for what would come next. He would finally get to kill someone, really kill someone out of his own free will. And damn, this guy deserved it. Mocking his friends, smashing him in the face with a fan – that still hurt – and generally being a slippery bastard.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside and grabbed the man by his neck.

…

Oh shit.

The instant Mike heard a noise behind him, he knew he fucked up. Sadly, there was no time to react, as a large furry hand clamped over his mouth. Funny how joy could instantly turn to terror in the right circumstances.

"You know, it's pretty rude to make fun of others," Freddy whispered into his ear. Mike twitched in his seat, direly looking for a way to escape. "I say that just about every day – along with 'work together,' 'brush your teeth,' things like that."

Uh, what? Mike wondered, surprised the bear hadn't yet killed him.

"Not bad messages, but grating. Simple. Can't I just for once explain why you shouldn't throw food at the entertainment or call me fat?" Freddy's voice began to waver as he drifted further along this tangent.

Not wasting any more time, Mike continued scanning for a way out.

"Seriously, I work twelve hours a day sometimes, and what do I get?! If I'm lucky, they strap me down to a lab bench for an ultrasound. If not, blood samples, polygraph tests, the works! And that's just the physical stuff!"

He needed something sharp, a knife or letter opener. Almost like magic, a pair of scissors sat at the far edge of his desk. Sweating like mad, Mike slowly reached for them, praying Freddy wouldn't notice.

"They like it, too! The people from BRIAR, I mean. They've been at it for, what, thirteen years? Still haven't found what makes us different, I guess." He growled, and for a moment Mike feared he'd been caught.

"And Phil is the worst. He used to be a good kid – I remember those days. But he doesn't care about us anymore…"

A couple more inches. Time slowed as his fingers wrapped around the handles.

"Hey, what are you"-

Utilizing his now-honed reflexes, Mike plunged the blades into Freddy's arm, making him grunt in pain, and pushing out a stream of, oddly, red blood. Tearing himself free, he shot up and sprinted down the hall and into the dining room, unsure of what to do next. He had to survive for just five more minutes in a small building with killer animatronics and no defenses.

It didn't really matter, though, considering Freddy caught up with him in a few seconds, pinning him against the wall. For the first time, Mike could see the unbridled rage in his eyes, free from the restraints of children or other employees.

"Fred! What the 'ell are you doing?!" Bonnie asked, jumping a foot in the air. "That's against the rules!"

Mike felt he should have been more concerned about his imminent death, but was instead focused on why the rabbit had a New York accent of all things.

"So what?! How could our lives get any worse? This will at least be something new!" Neither Bonnie nor Chica responded, but instead looked at each other with furrowed brows.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Chica finally said. "We could always"-

Ignoring her, Freddy tightened his grip on Mike's collar, and drew back his other hand for a punch that could dent steel. Hoping it would be painless, he scrunched up his tear-stained face and let out a small cry.

…

Foxy had her good arm wrapped around Freddy's neck like a vice, and her hook on his gut. Mike stared at her in disbelief.

"Let him go, Freddy," she spoke into his ear.

"Foxy, hey," he chuckled nervously. Despite being a several inches taller than her, he knew she kept her hook and claws very, very sharp. "We haven't seen you for a while."

"I said let him go." Her hook pressed harder against his fur. Both Chica and Bonnie, she noticed, were too nervous to say anything.

"Or what?!"

She leaned closer and growled. "You know what." By this point, her patience was gone. She wouldn't let anyone, not even Freddy, hurt her only friend. She'd kill him first. Gradually, the bear let go of Mike, now white as a sheet, but his arm continued to tremble with animosity.

Animosity now directed at her. In a flash, he smashed her in the stomach, knocking her to the floor. She moaned, but knew it would have killed most people, people who didn't have metal ribs. Bonnie and Chica rushed off stage, yelling at them to knock it off.

She rolled out of the way as Freddy was about to kick her in the face, before springing up and digging her hook into his shoulder.

"Stop it!" Chica said, grabbing her by the arms as Bonnie did the same to Freddy. "You're acting worse than the janitors!"

He deserves it she thought, panting. He tried to kill my friend. Foxy was about to break out of the bird's grasp when she noticed the security camera's light was on. Mike's watching. That, combined with the fact that Freddy had several bleeding cuts, compelled her to swallow her pride and give up. "Freddy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

He was quiet for a second. "I'm fine. Don't worry about it."

Chapter Text

Friday, May 26, 6:16 AM

Mike sat in his chair rather nervously, spinning around and trying not to dwell on the previous fifteen minutes. Those were behind him; it was time to move on, forget this nightmare ever happened. If he was lucky, maybe he'd eventually remember the past five nights as an illness-induced fever dream.

No, I'll always have that scar on my chest. Damn.

"Mr. Schmidt? You in there?" Flinching away from the polite knocking, Mike collected himself and opened the door.

A sliver of astonishment crossed Phil's face before disappearing just as quickly. "Ah, Mr. Schmidt! I said you'd be a top-tier employee!"

Two more minutes and you never have to see him again, Mike thought, disappointed his (former) boss wasn't upset that he didn't need an axe. Still, nineteen-hundred dollars had to be a pretty big blow.

Phil chuckled to himself before glancing around the room. "Looks like we don't have to replace the carpet. That's nice." Fortunately, Mike had the foresight to wipe Freddy's blood off the desk – he doubted there would be consequences, but no sense in taking risks. Freddy's ego would probably prevent him from saying anything.

"Fridays are usually busy, so let's get started. I have the paperwork," he said, pointing to his breast pocket. Silently agreeing, Mike followed Phil across the hall to his office. Strangely, many boxes had been ripped open, their contents spilling onto the floor like disemboweled organs.

Phil muttered something under his breath before sitting down, ignoring the puddle of wine dripping from his desk to the floor. Mike sat across from him, figuring it best to not say anything.

"You really have done some fantastic work – at nineteen, no less. I'm impressed." He flicked out the papers and slid them over. More incomprehensible legal language.

We're doing this again?! Mike could practically feel steam coming out of his ears. For all he knew, endorsing these might sell him into slavery for another week. Even if it wasn't legally sound, it still pissed him off something fierce. His fear of death had gone with the morning light, and his anger's last restraint, too.

"I'm not signing this shit!" He slammed his fist on the desk. "Give me something I can read!"

Phil's smile faltered, but he complied and silently leafed through a drawer. After a minute, he pulled out another document, which Mike snatched. In the back of his mind, he was aware his boss could shoot him without a second thought, but his rage was more important. He deserved to scream a little. Can't tell anyone… don't harass current employees… damages to property or person will not be compensated. Accepting these conditions, he printed his name at the bottom.

Now completely recovered, Phil took the paper and filed it away. "You're not interested in the survey, I take it?" Mike shook his head. "Or getting a safety-guaranteed photo with your favorite animal friends – including Foxy?"

"What do you think?"

"In that case, here's your reward," he said, holding out a fat wad of cash.

Whoa. He assumed he'd get a check, not a money brick. Taking it, he leafed through the ninety-five crisp Andrew Jackson clones. This was probably the most money he had ever seen at once; the only kicker was that it might have been counterfeit.

"I pay in straight cash. More difficult to trace that way."

Mike didn't respond, still wondering what he'd do with so much money. Gotta pay for the hospital bill and car repairs. He'd definitely deposit some, though.

"Well, Mr. Schmidt, that's everything. You can keep the uniform for memory's sake." He extended his hand, but Mike simply stood up and left, walking into the dining hall.

The few guards were already preparing for a busy Friday, rearranging tables, mopping the floors. It appeared none of them had noticed Freddy's injuries, and there was no trace of blood anywhere.

Deciding he had antagonized the bear enough over his week, Mike simply walked out the door into the damp morning light. Finally – he would never have to set foot in that accursed building again. Feeling almost giddy, he was about to leave for good when a voice came from his right.

"Haven't seen you in a couple of days." The blue-haired woman leaned against the building, casually examining a cigarette on the ground.

"I'm surprised so many of you smoke. Kids could pick it up." She laughed before tossing the butt into a trash can. At least she didn't tolerate litter.

"I don't. But that's true. Hell of a habit to get over. Mr. Fazbear doesn't let it fly when we're on shift, though." He stared at her for a second, not sure if he should be angry. On one hand, she saved his life only two days ago. On the other, she aided and abetted dozens of murders. Either way, he was alert.

"What do you want?"

She smirked at him. "I wanted to congratulate you. It's been years since anyone's lived through their week." A shiver crept up his spine; sometimes he didn't like hearing how well he did. "People will be talking about it nonstop."

With his adrenaline high beginning to fade, fatigue set in. "All right. Well, I'm going." She nodded, sensing his exhaustion. Mike practically limped over to his car, starting his drive back home.

5:37 PM

"No, please! I'm sorry!" Mike screamed as the monster drew back its fist. Its eyes were yellow coals searing into his body and soul. Rejecting his pleas for mercy, it smashed his head open like an egg, splattering brain matter and bits of bone across the wall.

As he had the first fifteen times, Mike jolted awake, feeling his skull to make sure it was still intact. Finding nothing physically wrong, he exhaled and looked at the clock - late afternoon. Despite having slept for over ten hours, he still felt exhausted. These nightmares didn't help. I'll just have to get used to them, he thought, willing himself to stop shaking.

Fighting his enervation, he slipped on some comfortable clothes and went to prepare himself dinner. Truth be told, he couldn't tell if he was hungry, but decided to eat anyway. What's in the freezer? Yanking open the door in search of an easy meal, he was greeted by the sight of several frozen pizzas. Repulsed, he slammed it and made himself a sandwich.

Free at last. So much I can do… Mount Rainier is nice this time of year. But as he sat down to eat, nothing really seemed worthwhile. Everything was so small now. In his newfound cynicism, life had lost its luster. Things he couldn't begin to understand happened daily in his own town, and the world was none the wiser.

I guess I'll decide tomorrow. It's nearly 6, anyway. He needed to go to bed early if he ever wanted a normal sleep schedule back. For that night, though, there was nothing left to do but ponder his place in the universe. Except, well… I should talk to her. The previous night, he had no desire to see Foxy again; she was too strange for him. Maybe some people could get used to talking with a six-foot anthropomorphic fox robot, but he wasn't one of those people. Not to mention what she did, even if it was an accident.

Then she saved his life. Only now was it really beginning to sink in that if she hadn't arrived right then, his nightmares would have come true. OK, the blue-haired woman also had, but that was part of her job. Foxy wouldn't have done that for anyone. She did it for a friend. He didn't yet know if he forgave her, but he wanted to try.

After a quick dinner, he picked up her sketch. He supposed it couldn't be called flawless, but it was quite good, especially considering she had just one hand. More importantly, a lot of effort had gone into it; eraser lines were everywhere, trying to make each detail as close as possible. That settled it.

Mike hurriedly grabbed a few things before slipping on a jacket, ready for his best night in a while.

6:17 PM

Though he didn't think anyone would recognize his car, the last thing Mike wanted to do was raise suspicions. Instead, he parked in a ditch several hundred feet from Fazbear's and walked the rest. Stepping on twigs and gravel lining the roadside, he soon stood in front of the door to Foxy's house… room… whatever it was. Rather inexplicably, he felt a pit in his stomach. Ignoring this sudden bout of nervousness, he fished out his keycard and slid it into the reader.

Kind of stupid Phil didn't take it from me. Now I can break in whenever I want. Nothing. Confused, he put inserted it again, but the door wouldn't budge. Double checking to confirm he remained unobserved, he gave it a few good kicks to no avail. OK, they deactivated the card. Perhaps Phil was a bit more intelligent than he thought. His heart sank as he realized he'd probably never get in again. There was no way he could slip through the curtains without being spotted. Dejected, the man turned to leave. He was actually a little disappointed, knowing he'd never see her -

"Mike? Is that you?" He spun around to see Foxy, shielding her eye against sunlight in the cracked doorway.

"Wait, you could have gotten out this whole time?!" She nodded.

"Come in and I'll tell you." Accepting the offer, he entered and sat down on the floor, surprised by his own enthusiasm. "I didn't think you'd be back," Foxy said, sitting next to him. "I'm glad you are, though."

Mike always assumed the door was locked both inside and outside, as he'd always used his keycard both ways, but apparently he was mistaken. "Why didn't you leave if the lock's broken?!"

She shrugged. "There's nothing for me out there. No friends or family – I couldn't show my face to anyone." When she put it like that, he better understood the problem. The world had no place for them.

Regretting his harsh tone, he softened his voice. "I guess that's true…"

"This place is bad, Mike," she whispered, looking down. "Terrible. But at least I have food and shelter. I get to be around kids every day, even if they don't know it." She turned toward him with a smiling eye. "It could be worse." How she could say that after so long was a mystery to him. If he was in her situation, his hope would have long ago been crushed. Though battered, she never lost her, for lack of a better word, humanity.

As per usual, Mike had to figure out exactly what to say while Foxy patiently waited. The rowdy children didn't help matters. Eventually, he decided to state it plainly. "You saved my life, you know."

"Yeah." She looked at him for a second. "So what?"

"Well, I – I just," he stammered, not sure how to continue, "wanted to say thanks. Like, you saved my life. As in I would have died if you hadn't come."

…

"I would have died if you hadn't come," Mike stammered.

Did I really do that much? she wondered, replaying the incident in her mind. Yeah, she heard him yelp, ran outside, grabbed Freddy by the neck. She didn't see anything particularly impressive. That's what friends do.

"It was nothing. I'm happy you're all right." Still looking confused, he slumped against the wall, where they remained a few minutes more. Though she'd known him less than a week, Foxy felt different when Mike was around. Normally she was either depressed, angry or bored, but when he came, she felt… warm and soft inside. Humans might have felt like this all the time, but no one had ever treated her semi-normally before. It's nice.

"Um, I almost forgot," he said, sitting up. "This is for you." From out of his pocket, he plucked a nice, red apple. "I figure you must get tired of eating table scraps."

She thanked him before slicing a chunk off with her hook and beginning the long process of eating. First she had to put it her mouth, then push her lower jaw up, then start chewing. And it kind of hurt, too.

"How did that happen, anyway?"

Knew he'd ask eventually. Swallowing the piece of fruit, she turned toward him and said, "It was during the first guard's final shift. After I got my body back that morning, my mouth hurt like Hell and didn't work anymore. He smashed it with a baseball bat." Her anger flared – true, it was in self-defense, but she had to live with the consequences every day.

"Nobody fixed you?"

She snarled, staving off memory of Phil approaching her afterward. She lost something else that day, too. "Mr. Fazbear offered to, but it... didn't work out. Not that it really mattered to him. After I… you know, was discontinued, nobody cared." Polishing her hook on her pants, she continued, "Now every time I eat or breathe, it's a reminder of what I am – broken."

Mike's concerned look would have bothered her if it came from anyone else. "I know you don't like sympathy, but…"

He didn't say anything else. For a while more, they reclined, content to keep each other company. After finishing the apple, core and all, Foxy listened to the children playing outside. That was one of the highlights of her life, hearing kids grow. Though she'd never seen them before, she knew each one personally. Some were angelic, some were troublemakers. Overall, they were normal kids.

"I hope it hurts when you die!"

Mike burst out into his quietest possible laugh. "What was that?"

"That was Richard," she said, putting her arms behind her head. "Comes here every other Friday night with his parents – provided he's behaved."

"Doesn't sound like good behavior to me."

"Nah, that's just the sugar going to his head. He doesn't handle it very well." She let out a giggle. "It is kind of funny."

"How many kids do you know, anyway?"

"A lot. Some come nearly every day. They really love the Band. That's the only reason this shithole does so well. Let's see who's here…" She concentrated on sorting the sea of noise into coherent pieces. "Susie's in the ball pit. Every time she visits, she orders a large pineapple pizza – and always eats the entire thing. Natasha's fighting her brother. Oh, and Jackson's asking his dad for 'just one more dollar' so he can beat the high score on Galaga."

…

Mike only heard a roaring ocean of shouts and gibberish, but Foxy's ears twitched back and forth with each new wave. "It's amazing you have such good senses. I mean, I know you're a fox, but still."

She opened her eye and turned back to him. "There's good and bad that goes along with it. I can hear excitement, fun, happiness. But there's always the one kid who's bullied or alone; I can never get them out of my head." She clenched her fist and lightly tapped the floor.

As fascinating as this was, Mike began to tire. Despite his hours upon hours of sleep earlier, he needed another full night's worth. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was nearly seven. Wow, time really does fly.

"Hey, Foxy, I need to get home. Gotta do adult things like drinking milk straight from the bottle while watching old sci-fi movies."

"…what?"

His face heated up. "Never mind! That was a terrible joke. The point is, uh, I'm going home to sleep." She stood up, shaking her tail to dislodge all the clinging lint.

"Thanks again for coming. You don't have to visit so often, though. I understand you have a life."

"No, not really," he sheepishly replied. "I'm living by myself all summer. I don't have much else to do." With that, he exited into the abnormally cold air, hearing the door slam shut.

7:35 PM

They're dreams. They can't hurt me Mike thought, sitting on his bed. Sleep, which previously sounded heavenly, began to appear more sinister as he considered it. Over the last week, he experienced the worst nightmares of his life – visions of teeth and metal and claws stripping his flesh. While he never paid dreams any heed, this time was different. Something lurked in the background now. Something sinister and golden.

As much as he would have loved to believe it was all in his head, the signs were real. The animatronics' golden eyes, the omnipresent hum, how the words "It's Me" stood out wherever he saw them. But there's no way it can kill me in my sleep. Only Freddy does that. He snorted. Freddy Krueger, that is.

Still, he'd stay up a little longer, see if there was anything on. Laying down on the oft-used sofa, he flipped through the channels before settling on some cop show. Man, I need to watch less television.

His thoughts drifted back to Foxy as time passed. Maybe he was being too sentimental with her. She didn't need pity; in fact, he questioned how much she needed him at all. But even beyond the fact that she rescued him, she turned out to be pretty fascinating. It didn't click until the previous night that she had hopes and aspirations and vices, like anyone else. He wouldn't call her a person, per se, yet those traits were still there. Also, he was closer to her than anyone else in town by this point – he'd be surprised if any of his classmates remembered his name.

Taking a sip of water, he thought about her mouth specifically. She probably had to drink by leaning her head back and pouring liquid down her gullet. It must have been painful, physically and mentally. Too bad I don't know shit about fixing things.

Fixing things.

His eyes shot over to the telephone. There was somebody – no, that's crazy. I'd get caught for sure. Once the idea planted itself, it grew by the minute. Eventually, Mike decided there was no harm in simply asking. Muting the show, he grabbed the phone book and dialed, wondering if the place was still open. After only two or three rings, someone answered.

"Jeremy's Auto, this is June speaking."

That explains it. "Hello, um, this is Mike Schmidt from yesterday. You know, the guy with radio problems."

"I remember. Is it acting up again?"

"Uh, well, no, I'm calling about something else." His face began to heat up. Calm down! It's one question! "I have a large piece of machinery that needs a few repairs. I – I don't think anything serious."

"Can you be more specific about the kind of machine, please?"

He couldn't do it. Saying that he wanted to bring in a human-sized fox animatronic sounded too weird. "I think it would be better if you saw it yourself." Amazingly, she didn't challenge him. The sound of a pencil and paper clashing filled the background for a moment.

"Alright, feel free to bring it in any time tomorrow – our hours are noon to nine on Saturdays."

Mike heaved a silent sigh of relief. "I'll do that. This might sound odd, but you're better at dealing with customers than your Dad."

She chuckled. "The rest of my family always says that. Some days, it feels like I do more than he does. Anyway, we'll see you tomorrow." Then she hung up.

That wasn't so bad. True, he hadn't consulted Foxy about any of this, but if worst came to worst, he just wouldn't show up. Figuring he should sleep on the details, Mike turned off the television and wandered off to his room, vaguely fearing what the night held.

11:40 PM

A dinging sound roused the man from his peaceful sleep. Nobody should call so late.

"Who is it, dear?" the groggy woman beside him asked.

"I'll see. Go back to sleep, babe."

Grabbing the phone, he staggered onto the apartment's balcony for some fresh air. This better be important. "Hey, who's calling?"

"Delta! There's something you need to hear." As soon as he realized who was speaking, he moved his thumb to end the call. "You better not hang up!"

Crap, she knows me too well. Shutting the door behind him, he replied, "Next time, buzz me earlier. Now is this about your job? Because I thought we agreed not to discuss that again."

"Someone actually made it."

Delta was surprised by this news, but nevertheless convinced that no one would be stupid enough to work another week. "Good for her! Mail her flowers or a sympathy card. But I cannot believe anyone smart enough to survive a week at Chuck E. Satan's would do it again."

"It's a guy, actually," she said, ignoring his main point. He sighed, wondering how he could get his message across. Though Rho was still a good friend – they talked quite a bit – she could be grating sometimes, especially when convinced something was possible.

Time to pull out the big guns. "Look, Rho, things are different for me. I'm too old to do this kind of work. And you know I have a family now. Can you imagine what would happen to them if they found out about this? But hey, if you want to bother this guy, whoever he is, that's on you."

She paused for a moment. "I didn't think about that. You're right – it was selfish of me to drag you into this again."

After that, they made small talk for a while, chatting about little of substance, while Delta watched the moon trace its arc across the sky. Eventually, though, they wound down.

"I'll say it again, Rho, getting out of that job was one of the best decisions I've ever made. Sure, the money was nice, but not nearly enough to buy my basic human decency."

"I know. But I belong here. It's hard to explain, but I think that if I leave, this place will only get worse. Hell, last week, I heard people in the kitchen saying they wanted to poison some little girl's food since she wandered into Pirate Cove and might have seen Red."

"Shit. Did you stop them?"

"Yeah, but the fact people were even considering that gives me a reason to stay." She sighed. "Take care of yourself."

Delta walked back in, closing the door and sliding into bed, hoping he hadn't been gone too long.

"Who was that?" the woman asked.

"An old friend."

Saturday, May 27, 9:52 AM

Mike pulled out the stack of mail and began the last leg of jogging up his driveway, careful not to slip on the damp gravel. Suddenly, he felt it again; something was following him. Not bothering to look around, he bolted up the hill, into his house, and locked the door. Catching his breath for a moment, he peeked out the window. Nothing unusual.

All throughout his morning run, he sensed something pursuing him, like a wolf after prey. It was probably his imagination, but he wasn't taking chances. Maybe whatever tried to kill him before wasn't done quite yet…

Either way, he felt safe, at least for the moment. Plopping the pile down, he began to sort it out, separating essential from frivolous. Normally, he would balk at the prospect of paying bills, but now it seemed comforting, a shred of mundaneness he could cling to. He might even enjoy it.

Continuing his work, Mike ran through plans for the day. Already deposited some money. There's definitely enough food. While the prospect of leaving town didn't seem quite as insignificant as the other day, he figured he should stick around. He still had to tell Foxy about his little scheme, see if she agreed, make some arrangements and then follow through. I'll be busy.

After sifting the mail, he did some things he remembered being normal; a shower, some reading. None of it felt real. These were cerebral illusions, hiding memories and fears. Behind these facades was a wall of emotions running the gamut from joy to terror and everything in between. Unfortunately, he had nowhere to turn, no one to who he could express himself.

My parents would think I'm crazy, Syl wouldn't understand. Friends? Yeah right. The only one who'd understand probably wouldn't want to hear his thoughts, either; she had enough to deal with. Suspecting these feelings wouldn't depart anytime soon, Mike considered ways to at least mitigate them.

3:36 PM

It's sunnier than the forecasts predicted. Driving down the road, Mike enjoyed the light on his skin. Even this time of year, it wasn't all too common. He'd spent the last few hours fishing at one of the Columbia River's many tributaries, surrounded by dense woods, so it felt even better. Fishing never held his attention before, but now it was perfect; lots of time to think on his own terms.

Arriving in Fazbear's crowded parking lot, he drove around back and stopped behind a dumpster, thinking no one would see his car. Then he walked over to the side door and knocked politely. Assuming Foxy would hear if cars passed, he leaned against the building, pretending to be casually watching the clouds. During a small break in the flow of traffic, the door popped open an inch, and Mike slid inside.

"Wow, back already?" Foxy asked, polishing her earrings with a rag. "You must be really bored."

"I am, but that's not why I'm here," Mike said, sitting down. "I had an idea."

Foxy didn't say anything, instead squatting next to him. "Go on."

"I know someone who can fix your mouth." She stared off blankly into space. "You OK?"

"You didn't tell them about me, did you?"

"What? No. No! I would never do that!" Mike was surprised by his own enthusiastic denial, but it seemed to reassure Foxy.

"Good." She rubbed her chin, deep in thought. "This would be tonight, I assume." He nodded. "No one comes by on weekends except to dump leftovers on the ground, so that won't be a problem. It's me I'm concerned about. I mean, is this guy not supposed to question why I have a tongue and saliva?"

Mike hadn't thought about that. Pretty dumb of me not to see the problem. "Um, most people would just think you needed to be cleaned." She looked at him questioningly. "Trust me, normal humans would never consider you might be alive. In fact, they'd go out of their way to not believe it. It wouldn't compute."

"You believed, though. That's why you visited so many times."

Embarrassed, he said, "Foxy, if I wasn't being attacked by killer robots at my night job, I would have never considered it. If you walked up to me on the street and tried to convince me you were an animatronic, I'd think you were a crazy person in a costume and run away." Foxy remained quiet for some time.

"I trust you, Mike. If you think this is safe, I'll go. And, well… thanks." She paused to scratch her neck. "When we first met, I thought you were using me for personal gain."

You weren't wrong. He fidgeted at realizing that was mere days ago.

"But as the week passed, I realized I was misguided. For some reason, you actually care about me."

Knowing he could never take back what he said next, Mike carefully weighed his words, searching for the right balance of – no, screw that. "That's what friends do."

The room was quiet for a long time. Even the children outside seemed to muffle.

"I'm smiling inside."

…

Mike had left a while ago, leaving Foxy to prepare herself. Though ecstatic at the prospect of being able to eat and speak normally after over a decade, she tempered her bliss with reason. She trusted Mike – she had to. But things could go wrong; the procedure might not go as planned, for example. But she was scared most of all by being discovered.

Not for herself, though. Death held no sway over her; she had little to live for. She was concerned about Mike. They'd kill him, too. Still, he expressed confidence in his plan, so she'd follow along, pretend to be a regular hunk of metal.

Standing up to stretch, she thought about what to do next. I get to pick from, what, three things? Sitting by the curtains and listening to the crowd was always a solid option. Alternatively, she could sleep, escaping into her fabricated dreams of adventure. Or I could do something for Mike…

He did say he liked her sketch. Maybe she could do another, or something else entirely. Deciding art would be a good way to pass the time, she walked over to her alcove and pulled a chewed-up pencil and yellowed paper from under her mattress. Going back into the brighter area, she carefully honed the pencil with her claws, trying not to take much off. All right, what'll it be today?

"The ocean." She started to slowly sketch rough waters, waves, a few gulls overhead. Though she'd never seen these things, she remembered them well. Tuning out the world, there was only the paper in front of her. Individual swells ran together, spray appeared, soft clouds lined the horizon. When she started drawing all those years ago, she was terrible, barely able to make a straight line. But she practiced week after week, desperate to be good at something. While she'd advanced greatly since then, there was still room for improvement.

After minutes or hours, she decided to take a break. She had to admit, it looked good so far. The galleon lacked detail, but that could be fixed later. Not bad for one day. Sensing sleep would make this adventure easier, she returned to her bed, curling up on top. For a while, at least, she could go back to where she belonged.

6:55 PM

Foxy was roused from her fantasies of swordfights and swashbuckling by the harsh knocking of reality. Wait, that's just Mike. Kicking off the fabric, she hopped off stage and easily navigated the darkened room, flipping on the lights and cautiously opening the door.

"Thanks," Mike said, looking a little nervous.

"I'm ready to go. You?"

"I think so." He opened the door wider, pointing to a car parked a couple dozen feet away. "That's the closest I could park. I'll get in the front left door, and you get in the front right door. Got it?"

She nodded, finally ready to try something new. Going outside again… how long's it been? She remembered that BRIAR used to test their senses outdoors at one point, but eventually stopped. Too many security risks, probably.

Not hearing any footsteps or motors outside, she took off, entering the vehicle in a few seconds. Already it was strange; these smells and textures weren't like anything she'd ever experienced. The seat was especially odd, though that may have been because there wasn't any space for her tail.

"That was great," a beaming Mike said as he got in the driver's seat. "To be safe, you might want to keep your head down whenever another car's coming." With that, he started the engine and pulled out.

Foxy was enthralled by it all; the sights, the sounds. There were birds, trees, boulders and mountains in the background. It might not have been the Southern Sea, but it was beautiful in its own right.

"Like it?" Mike asked.

"It's amazing. So colorful and bright." He laughed.

"You got lucky. Most of the time it's either cloudy, rainy, snowy, or a combination of those. We're not called 'the Evergreen State' for nothing."

For the rest of the drive, Foxy remained fairly quiet, content to watch and listen to the wonders around her. Eventually, Mike turned down another street and came to a halt in front of a ramshackle building with rusted cars sitting out front. As much as she believed Mike's judgment of human institutions, this place didn't fill her with confidence.

"Stay in here for a second while I get everything ready," he said, stepping onto the cracked asphalt. Per his recommendation, she also leaned over so no one could spot her. Her tail was grateful to have some breathing room again. "OK, you're good." Mike opened her door and pointed to a large rolling table he'd gotten out of the trunk.

"Just lie down and I'll do the rest." Foxy involuntarily shivered, remembering her many bad experiences being strapped to gurneys like this one. Still, too late to go back now. "Don't worry," Mike said, "this'll be fine."

…

Oh God, this will not be fine, Mike thought, pushing Foxy into the garage. Despite his earlier confidence, dread had seeped in, sowing worry and doubt. I haven't done enough. We'll get caught. As a last minute precaution, he took a blanket from his trunk and draped it over her, hoping that the less of her body Jeremy could see, the less real she'd look. Still, in the worst-case scenarios, he would leave without saying a word and deal with the consequences later.

"Um, hello?! Anyone here?" he asked, walking into the garage proper. Foxy coughed from under the blanket; the stench of gas must have been horrible for her. Suddenly, a figure crawled out from under a car, back into the muggy light.

"Hello, sir! I'm happy you decided to come."

Damn, what's her name? June?

"Um, yeah, happy to be here." He looked around. "So, will you be doing this, or your Dad?"

"I think he will." Her eyes wandered over to the blanket, and Mike cringed. "Mind if I take a peek, though? The thing under there looks more like a body than a machine."

"You aren't entirely wrong." Trying to subdue his trembling hands, he flipped the cloth down, revealing Foxy's head. She appeared to be holding up well, not moving or making noise.

"Whoa! What is that?!" June came over and started inspecting her, but Foxy kept cool.

"Her name's Foxy. She's one of the animatronic characters from Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. I assume you know about it."

She laughed. "My Dad and I moved here from Phoenix when I was a kid, and I always wanted to go. My friends said it was the coolest place in town to go after school. But no, Dad always said he didn't like their business practices or something, so I never went."

That's putting it nicely. "As you probably see, her muzzle is jammed open. If you could help out, I'd appreciate it."

"Yeah, sure," she said, looking into her mouth. Mike's palms started to sweat. "Damn, it looks like there's some funky black mold growing in there. I could clean that out right now."

"Uh, it's OK! That can wait for later." Suddenly, Jeremy walked in from outside, and Mike pulled the blanket back over her face.

"Hi! Got problems with a different machine, eh?" he asked, walking over.

"Right. Hopefully you can help out." Mike chuckled nervously, but began to think he was in the clear.

"I'll give it a shot," Jeremy replied, flipping down the shroud.

Chapter Text

For Auric, the past week had been an exercise in intrigue. As he struggled to quash the Warden's small victories, a more exotic situation unfolded elsewhere. The Warden and one of his pawns started talking. At first, he thought it would be temporary and insubstantial; the odds of two beings who didn't even share the same biochemistry finding anything in common was nonexistent.

But amazingly, they kept seeing each other. They discussed likes and dislikes, hopes, fears. During each of their conversations, Auric sat with them and listened in awe. When his pawn tearfully apologized for what it had done to the Warden's friend, he nearly sympathized with them. Then he remembered that would be like a human feeling sorry for a crushed ant.

Technically, he should have reported this contract breach to Phillip, but it was far too enthralling. Why end this diversion prematurely? Even after the Warden had thoroughly trounced him at his own game, amusement came before pride. That might have been why he was unconcerned when both of them left to get the thrall's jaw repaired. The results would be interesting.

I wonder how they're doing.

Saturday, May 27, 7:22 PM

"Fuck you, ya one-eyed bitch!"

Foxy seethed with rage as the mechanic swung his socket wrench again, brushing the top of her ears. A little lower and it might have torn her jaw clean off. But she wasn't worried about that, nor the fact the woman had fainted, nor that Mike was begging her to stop. Here was the man who had caused years of torment and misery – and he attacked her, not the other way around. She would make him pay. Kicking him in the stomach, he fell to the floor, groaning in pain.

Now completely devoid of rational thought, she lunged at him, only to be greeted by another disorienting smash to the forehead. Despite his graying hair, he could put up a fight.

"Foxy, stop! You'll kill him!" Mike shouted, too scared to actually approach.

Good. She swung her hook madly, trying to repay the man for what he'd done, but was too furious and punch-drunk to aim. The man responded with a blow to her arm, sending a cracking pain up her spine.

"You're better than this!"

He swung at her face again, and in a moment of clarity, she grabbed his wrist, sending the wrench skidding across the ground. His bravado was instantly replaced by terror, but there was no escape. Pale as a sheet, the man could only watch in silent dread as she placed her hook against his jugular vein. Finally, after a decade of pain, he would have his retribution.

"Remember James?" Mike asked, slowly walking toward them. No – she didn't remember anyone by that name. Why did it matter? She shook her head.

"He was my friend. The one who you…"

Oh. That was his name. Near the beginning of her captivity, she wondered for hours on end what it could be, never finding an answer. "Where are you going with this?!" she asked, eager to finish the conversation so she could kill the mechanic.

"Getting something taken from you sucks. Believe me, I know." He looked down, unable to meet her gaze. "In fact, when we first met, I wanted you to die. I didn't know what you were really like; I only saw a monster." She glanced back over at the engineer, who was stiff as a board and covered in cold sweat.

By this time, she knew his intent, but continued to listen. "You aren't like that, though. Are you? Would you murder somebody for making a mistake?"

A few tears began to run down the mechanic's face, but he quickly wiped them away, wanting to confront his death with some dignity. Slowly drifting out of her intoxicating rage, she felt a pang of remorse. Deep down, she knew she'd always regret killing him. A wave of guilt slammed into her. She removed her hook and dropped to the floor, shaking. The mechanic seemed to share this sentiment, for he followed suit. I'm not like that anymore. I can do better. Though still angry, she was collected enough to see violence could only make the situation worse.

Unsteadily standing, the mechanic turned toward Mike and whispered, "Take that freak and leave. You have no business here."

"B-but she's calm now. She was just - "

"This abomination tried to kill me and my daughter!" he exploded, kicking the wall with his steel-toed boots. "Get the Hell out of my shop!"

"It's fine, Mike. You don't have to defend me." The mechanic spat on her as she rose, nearly sending her into another red fog, but she focused on simply walking to the door and not on tearing out his guts. Expecting another batch of insults, the mechanic instead ran over to the woman and listened to her breathing.

"Is she OK?" Mike asked.

As if in response, she groaned and began to stir. "I hope so. Now leave," he repeated, a little more nicely this time.

…

Stumbling out to his car, Mike couldn't concentrate on anything but the stream of questions pounding his brain. He hoped Foxy would share some answers, but wasn't particularly expecting; whatever was going on, it seemed very personal. After stuffing the table and blanket into his trunk, he climbed into the driver's seat and screeched off.

The first few minutes back felt like an eternity. Foxy simply stared out the window, taking in all the new sensations. At last, she spoke.

"He did this to me."

"I figured. You scared the crap out of him without even moving." He turned to her with a faint smile. "But I'm proud of you. What you did in there – it took a lot."

"What took a lot?! Not killing someone?!" Mike was so surprised by her outburst that he pulled over. "Yeah, be proud that I only attempted murder," she said, narrowing her eye.

Having never been in a similar situation, Mike sat back and waited for her to cool down, anguishing over his decision to take her out. This is my fault. They could have torn each other apart.

"Mike," she said, "I can't describe how thankful I am to you – you're the only person who sees me as anything more than a freakish aberration. A friend, no less." Slowly, almost fearfully, she reached for her eyepatch and pulled it off.

Holy shit. Underneath was a small orange dot, sunken into the socket. Maybe it's the optic nerve. He struggled not to stare, but it looked like HAL 9000 or one of the Terminator's. Not helping was that it flickered slightly, struggling to stay alive.

"Whatever you think is in me, it isn't. This is reality." She pointed to her mouth and missing eye. "You're a human being, made of flesh and blood, and you can choose your own path. I, on the other hand, am a machine designed to entertain children." Slamming the dashboard with her fist, she continued, "I'm a broken appliance. Sure, I might be a little more complicated than a blender, but in the end, that's what I am."

Mike simply sat in nervous silence, thinking. He hated never knowing what to say, but this time was the worst by far. Eventually, he started the car again and continued toward Fazbear's, paying little attention to the now familiar route.

After a few more minutes, they arrived under the quickly-darkening skies. Few cars remained, but there were enough as to not look conspicuous. They stepped onto the asphalt and walked over to the door.

That was when Mike realized he hadn't thought about getting her back in. Fortunately, he spied a thin wooden plank cracking the door open before he had a heart attack. Good thinking. "Should I come tomorrow? I don't have anything else to do," he asked, trying to sound as friendly as possible. In truth, she reminded him of himself; awkward, antisocial and nearly friendless, only in much more severe, painful ways. Maybe that was why he sympathized with her so much.

"No. I need some time to think." She closed the door, leaving him alone.

…

Mike ran down the halls, weaving and turning as the monsters drew closer. He dimly realized this house was much larger and more complex than his own, but that didn't matter; all he needed was a place to hide. As the demons rounded the corner, he ducked into a small closet, shaking with fear.

They paused and muttered static to each other before splitting up, running down different passages. Eventually, the clanking of rusted metal bones faded away, leaving him alone in the dark. "I'm safe," he whispered, barely breathing. "They can't get me in here."

"But I can."

Mike shrieked as he noticed the dark shape further back. Fumbling around he realized the knob was stuck, leaving him trapped. Helplessly trembling, he could only watch as a bloody hook pierced his skull.

Sunday, May 28, 9:22 AM

I need to leave town. Sitting on his bed, Mike drew up plans for the next week or so. Not having any current obligations in Whitewater, he felt the urge to get as far away as possible. Out of the county, certainly, maybe even out of the state. A night or two in Portland wouldn't be so bad. In fact, Vancouver might be a little closer.

Either way, he didn't feel safe. The gilded shadow lurked in his mind's far places; while he didn't have waking hallucinations anymore, he still felt its presence. And his nightmares were worse than ever. Whether it was real or not, some distance between him and Fazbear's would be comforting. Beyond that, there wasn't much of a plan – he'd grab a few hundred dollars from his "paycheck", pack some food and clothes, and live out of his car for a few days.

Loading up a duffel bag with these basic needs, he went out and threw it in the backseat. Though not sure if running from his fears was right, especially given how much he'd already survived, he reminded himself he could return any time. Still, he went back inside to mull it over.

I'll only be gone a few days, he thought, sitting at the table. Nobody needs me right now. Even Foxy had told him to leave her alone – something that made him more than a little upset. He was only trying to help. Nevertheless, he realized how hypocritical this was; he needed space, too. In fact, he was taking a road trip to get away while she stayed trapped in the closet. Life sucked sometimes, but he'd make sure to check on her after a week or so.

Glancing over at the wall phone, he considered calling Jeremy to apologize before realizing his shop wasn't open yet. Sighing, he took the phone book out to his car. I'll call him on my cell later. With his mind now made up, he took a final look at his home before driving away.

1:06 PM

"Hey, hey! How're you folks doing this afternoon?" Freddy asked the group of rowdy children outside. No response, naturally.

At least that'll never change. Foxy rolled over, staring at faded purple curtains connecting her own little realm to something different. Maybe not better, but at least different. She'd give anything to perform again, to regale kids with tales of her adventures, stage mock swordfights, sign autographs. And I'd be damn good at it, too. Heh, I could even hire Mike to be my First Mate.

But that wouldn't be right. No, she needed to get him away. Painful as it was to reject the only friend she ever had, it was for his own safety. She could hurt him, complicate his life, or worst of all, BRIAR might catch wind of their meetings and kill him, no questions asked. He was far too good a person to be around her, that much was certain. Not many would stand between a pirate and her prey.

Nevertheless, living in isolation again could prove challenging; the past week had spoiled her with its oddity and excitement. My first real conversation, first present, first friend… she doubted there would be seconds.

This train of thought made her remember the picture she was working on. She turned on the lights and fished it out from under the mattress. It was a shame she'd never be give him it. A drawing was the least he deserved. Actually, it was kind of funny; Mike was so profusely grateful for her saving his life, but he could never understand that she felt the same way. He had saved her, convinced her she could be better.

Without him being there, she would have doubtlessly killed the mechanic. For that, she was indebted to him. I guess that means we both needed each other. Sounds like a moral Bonnie and Chica would tack onto one of their sketches.

Even though she could have wadded it into a ball and thrown it outside, Foxy felt like finishing it. It wasn't like she had anything better to do. Whetting a pencil with her claws, she drowned out the world and started to draw.

3:34 PM

Finally! For a brief instant, one bar appeared on Mike's cellphone before flashing away. And I thought Whitewater was too rural for service. Sighing, he drove around the small town, looking for a payphone. Spotting one after a few minutes, he parked on the curb, grabbed the directory and stepped inside the booth.

He fumbled around with his wallet before pulling out a few quarters and feeding them into the slot, a pit in his stomach the whole time. They might not even be open on Sundays. Fortunately, that wasn't a problem.

"Jeremy's Auto, this is he," the man answered, oblivious to who was calling.

"Uh, hey Jeremy," Mike responded, trying his best to stay cordial, "this is Mike from the other day."

He didn't answer.

"I had some, um, radio issues."

"You also had a vicious killer robot." To his surprise, Jeremy didn't sound particularly enraged, though he was clearly still disturbed.

"Yeah. I wanted to apologize. I – I didn't know you and Foxy were acquainted. You're the one who dislocated her muzzle, right?"

"Indeed. Back in '88, I played a little softball – really taught me how to hit things. In the case of her jaw, though, it was too hard." It still sounded like he was talking about the running out of milk instead of a near-death experience.

"You seem pretty calm about almost being mauled by a sapient animatronic, you know?"

"What else am I supposed to do? Cry about it?"

I would have.

"She didn't hurt me, so there's no sense complaining. That, and I've had some worse encounters with her."

"Well, how's June doing, then? Is she OK?"

Jeremy sighed. "I had to tell her the truth. She's smart enough to know normal machines don't just react when you hit them. Hell, you don't have to be a mechanic to figure that out. At first I told her she imagined it, but she saw through that in a second."

"Wait, so she never knew about your, um, 'adventure'?"

"What was I supposed to say?! She was ten when we moved here – ten! Would you have told your child that the only thing protecting you from death at your job was an inch-thick piece of steel?!" Mike supposed he shouldn't have asked, but Jeremy quickly cooled.

"Sorry about that. The point is, no, I didn't want my daughter to know that the quirky pizza place down the block was filled with evil Chucky wannabes. At least not at the time. I mean, Foxy – that's her name, right – she lobotomized some kid a few months before I started working there. You must know about that." Mike gritted his teeth, trying to forget.

"She's different now. And that was an accident," he said, wanting to believe it.

"If you say so." He paused for a moment. "Look, this is thrilling and all, but I have a lot to do – clunkers to fix, taking inventory, trying to convince my daughter that she shouldn't go asking psychopathic fast food execs about looking at their killer robots!" He shouted this last part away from the phone.

"You did me a favor, actually. I've been trying to tell June for years about what happened, but I was always afraid she'd think I'd lost it. That's no longer a problem."

"H-happy to help, I guess," Mike said, not sure how to feel about all this. It was weird, to say the least, finding someone who shared his unique experience. Still, there was one other thing he needed to get out of the way. "Listen, you aren't going to tell anyone about this, are you?"

"I'll never speak of it to anyone. June, on the other hand, well… that'll take some convincing." He sighed again. "I feel like a complete failure as a father. You don't know that sentiment, but it ain't pretty." He hesitated.

"Please don't come back here. I'm legally obligated to serve you if you pay me, but as the father of a young woman who is going to get herself killed," he said away from the phone, "I'm asking you. It'll only encourage her. All right?"

"A-all right." Mike was offended, but Jeremy's request made sense. If he had kids, he certainly wouldn't want them to be around "dangerous" people. They exchanged a couple more awkward pleasantries before Mike hung up and ducked back into his car. He rested his head on the wheel for a minute before starting the engine and moving on.

Chapter Text

Friday, January 1, 1988, 10:46 AM

Delta looked out his window at the rural Washington landscape. Trees, mountains, wilderness. He might have been impressed if not for his splitting headache. BRIAR had thrown quite the New Year's celebration, complete with an hors d'oeuvres bar featuring eight different kinds of raw fish eggs and five-hundred dollar bottles of vodka. It was the last part that had gotten to him.

He leaned over, stifling a groan. Normally, hangovers weren't too difficult for him, but the sun and shakiness of the van made this one particularly bad. Fumbling around under the seat, he grabbed the bucket and put his head inside, vomiting.

"Thanks for convincing me not to drink."

He looked over to Rho, who was driving, too exhausted to come up with a counter-quip. Indeed, after their epic pub crawl though Seattle, she felt so horrendous that alcohol was now out of the question. He couldn't even imagine a life of complete sobriety.

Can't blame her, though. Especially with all the crazy shit going on.

They drove for a while through forest and across small streams, just the two of them. At the very least, there weren't other people around to bother him. And they didn't have to transport those damn robots, either, just some odd scientific equipment. Needing to get his mind off inebriation, Delta fumbled around in his pocket and pulled out the transcript from Mr. Fazbear's speech the previous night. Sure, it was garbage, but it was something to look at.

" For most, 1987 was a forgettable year. The Soviet Union still hasn't collapsed and the economy didn't commit suicide via self-immolation, so it was merely a milestone on the path to the new millennium.

BRIAR sees it differently, though.

It will be the year remembered for spawning post-human life, and all that entails. Tremendous advances in science and technology, radical shifts in spirituality and philosophy. True, there are only four examples of said life at present. But with work and dedication, we can find out what forces animate their bodies and give conscious motion to their limbs. With so much already discovered…

Oh, gimme a break.

Delta didn't buy into this pseudo-science mumbo jumbo, but even if he did, they hadn't "discovered" jack shit. Granted, he was in the dark with most of it, but he'd heard mumblings of confusion and even unease from some of the eggheads. Several aspects of how the animatronics now functioned, such as how their blood could transport oxygen "without hemoglobin or a similar binding protein" apparently violated current understandings of biology and chemistry.

It made sense that such things intimidated people; where would one begin?! Nobody seemed to know, because none of these phenomena could be replicated or explained.

As much as Rho tried to explain that this kind of groundbreaking science took time, he was smart enough to know that after a month of round-the-clock research, they should have come up with more than shrugs and technobabble that translated to "fuck if we know". Not that he minded. He was just there to get paid.

In fact, Mr. Fazbear didn't seem to care much, either, only reading the damn thing after the people in black asked him multiple times. Guess he didn't want to bite the hand that feeds him.

"I think we're getting close," Rho said, glancing between an atlas and the road. "Or we might be stuck in the Twilight Zone. Haven't seen anyone for a while." She paused for a moment. "Kind of weird that we didn't travel as a group."

He looked over. "You think that's strange? Have you and I been working in the same building?"

"All right," she admitted, rolling her eyes, "got me there."

…

They were going home. After weeks or months of agony and humiliation, Foxy and her friends would finally return. Not of their own free will, but she didn't have anything to complain about – a few more days in wherever they'd been and she might have lost her mind. Things could still be difficult, but performing again would satisfy her, even if the pain continued.

People would like it, too.

Even if she wasn't technically alive, she'd be able to actually communicate with people now instead of being a slave to nonexistence. She could answer questions, crack jokes, even tell new stories instead of recycling the same three. It'd at least be better than interacting with what was essentially a zombie. And kids like dogs, right? Granted, she was a fox, not a domestic canine, but close enough. For the first time in her "life", she was excited.

"Foxy? That you?"

She looked over to see Freddy just waking up from being electrocuted. Normally, she would have been pretty identifiable, but the poor lighting in the back of an armored van made it difficult to discern anything.

"Yarr. Glad ta' see ye again."

"Heh. How long's it been?" he asked, sitting up. "A couple weeks, right?" She shrugged. "Well, it's nice to talk. I haven't seen much of Bonnie or Chica, either. Um…" Rubbing his eyes, he looked around. "Where are they?"

"In another cell, methinks." If all four of them were in the same spot, they might have been able to think of a way out. Not that they would have – Foxy, at least, realized the world had no place for them.

After that, the two of them exchanged small talk for a while, neither wanting to discuss anything of substance. In the back of her mind, a heavy despair took hold. What would her new life look like? Was it worth living? She shoved the thoughts back into the abyss; it would be better now. It had to be.

2:32 PM

"That it?" Delta asked, plopping another box of surgical instruments down. Fortunately, his hangover was starting to die down.

Rho wiped her forehead and said, "I think there were a couple more things in the back seat." Taking a short breather, he glanced around. The basement might not have been an ideal place for a laboratory, but it seemed acceptable. It was clean, fairly large and adequately lit. With the entrance in the kitchen, no child would accidentally wander in.

He didn't understand why they needed this, anyway. The MRI machine alone took about twenty people to move down the stairs. Seemed like a massive waste of time and money, but hey, all he needed was his M9 and maybe a flask of liquor.

Making his way to the main dining area, he glanced around. Most everyone had completed their assigned tasks, leaving just a few to set up the tables and chairs. Hard to believe this place was opening its doors so soon after the "incident," as it was referred to at BRIAR, but six-figure checks generally made people cooperate. Where do they get all this money from, anyway? He'd heard the owner was a "businessman", but he must have been a really fucking good one. As he was about to go outside, someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"You're Delta, correct?"

Turning around, he saw it was Mr. Fazbear, holding a clipboard. "Yes, sir."

Then he started rambling about how there was a change of plans, blah, blah, some idiot thought it'd be funny to threaten the giant chicken-lady, blah, blah, serious concussion. Delta would have paid more attention, but was distracted by his boss' choice of suit, an unbuttoned purple jacket. And people say I don't have a fashion sense.

"…so you're going to have to check out Pirate Cove." That got his attention.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"It'll be easy," he said cheerily. "Just go in, make sure there's no leaks or mold, and come back!" Delta didn't reply. There was no way he was going alone into a room with an angry pirate robot, regardless of his salary. "Look," Mr. Fazbear continued, addressing his concerns, "we should have done this earlier – my bad. But you're the only person still here who hasn't either insulted or assaulted Foxy. She won't have a reason to be mad at you."

True, he didn't share the same irrational hatred for them the other guards possessed, but that hardly meant they were on good terms. Still, he'd probably be safe so long as he kept a hand on his Taser. Muttering to himself, Delta went out to the van, looking for his helmet.

…

Foxy's Cove was just how she remembered it. The ship was still there, as were her treasure chests and equipment. A little dusty, perhaps, but that could be cleaned up right away. Much more important was preparing for the grand re-opening – between thinking up new skits, practicing them and figuring out how to act less, well, robotic around humans, the days ahead looked quite full. She just needed a little rest first.

Light and footsteps entered her abode, temporarily dashing that hope. Odd that they'd only send one. Turning her head, she saw the silhouette of a demon, wielding a flashlight. If she wanted to, she could easily have killed him – cut out his throat or stabbed him in the head – but there was no reason for that. She was content, and no number jeers or abuses could make her otherwise. In fact, I should practice being nice.

"The switch be ta' yer right," she said, fully expecting an insult as recompense.

"Thanks." The bulbs stubbornly popped to life, revealing the two to each other. Like all the guards, his body was completely covered by riot gear and a shaded helmet. Only the symbol on his chest made him distinguishable: a triangle. For a moment, they simply stared at each other. "I need to make sure this room's clean."

Foxy watched him for a while as he poked around, looking under floorboards and along the walls. Where have I seen him before? Most of the other demons blurred together into a single monstrous entity, but this one stood out. Then it hit her; he was the one who kept her from drowning in her own vomit. She'd almost forgotten him, having pushed the memory so far back. Before she knew it, she'd already started talking.

"Yer Delta, are ye?"

"Yes," he replied, not glancing up from his work. She thought she'd have more to say, but that was all. There really wasn't much to talk about. After a while more, Delta seemed to be wrapping up, about to flip off the lights.

"Guess I'll be seein' ye durin' me first performance. Least I hope so."

He paused before lowering his hand. "No one told you?"

"Arr, told me what?" Foxy figured everything would go back to normal. If there was a change, it was news to her.

"You don't have an act anymore." Silence.

"C-could ye repeat that?" She must have misunderstood him. From what he said, it sounded like her show was being cancelled.

"Mr. Fazbear decided you'd bring down the restaurant's reputation after… what you did. Until that all blows over, you're stuck back here." Suddenly, reality punched her in the gut. Overwhelmed by this knowledge, she fell to her knees, unable to move.

She wanted to scream, cry, make some show of emotion, but the only thing she could bring herself to choke out was, "How long?"

"I don't know," he said, sounding uneasy. "This is a small town, though. People might remember for years. Decades, even." Foxy grew hollower with each word, all hope draining out of her like air from a punctured balloon. Then there was nothing left. Delta stared at her a second more. "I'm… forget it."

As he turned off the lights, she quietly collapsed to the side.

Chapter Text

Friday, June 2, 8:30 AM

As had happened countless times before, Mike died. Maybe his head was smashed open, maybe he was gored to death. It didn't matter, as these deaths were only dreams, though this particular termination roused him awake, shivering and cold.

They're getting worse, he thought, still feeling residual pain course through his muscles.

His few days away hadn't ended the nightmares; though they'd tapered off slightly once he left town, they rebounded with a vengeance now that he'd returned. Whereas before the experience was like watching a scary movie - frightening yet ultimately manageable - he now could nearly feel claws or teeth digging into his flesh. He wasn't a psychologist, but that seemed a significant deterioration. The ache quickly faded, however. Good riddance. Getting out of bed, he put on some clothes and walked to the kitchen, pouring himself cereal.

The "vacation" had gone pretty well. A little time on the Olympic Peninsula – hiking, sightseeing, watching Mission: Impossible 2 in a theatre – left him feeling reinvigorated about life and not worried about death. The sheer normality of it all was overwhelming. He even stopped at a random church service along the way, thinking it would be good for him. All he could concentrate on was what part of scripture dealt with sentient robots and whether his faith was an antiquated lie in light of such entities.

It's right between "Keep the Sabbath" and "Thou shalt not bear false witness." Nevertheless, it was comforting as well. Words about compassion and helping the needy powerfully affected him after his experience. Didn't somehow make God real, though... but there would be plenty of time to dwell on existential dread later. Having only arrived late the previous night, he really hadn't done anything yet, but that would soon change. I should call Syl, tell her about my trip. Most of the fruit's gone bad; need to buy more. And Foxy…

Rather surprisingly, he hadn't thought about her much. There was too much else to do. Between all the activities in his purposely tight schedule, she simply wasn't a factor. However, an idea had come to mind the night prior, stirred in part by that "helping the needy" part of the sermon. But she's not human, so does God even care, assuming he's real?Again, he shoved speculation aside. If Jeremy wouldn't fix her, maybe he could.

At first it sounded incredibly stupid, or even dangerous; he had no experience with tools beyond occasionally replacing a doorknob or the like. But the more he considered it, the more reasonable it sounded. He had all the basic equipment – wrenches, screwdrivers, etc. – in his closet. It'd be a chance for Foxy to see a bit more of a world that she never otherwise would. And most importantly, her lower jaw was so disconnected that he couldn't possibly make it any worse. Save for somehow tearing it off, virtually anything he did would be an improvement. Even if she didn't want to talk to him, he owed it to her to try.

After putting his bowl in the dishwasher, Mike began some banal chores, all while considering his plan for how he'd repair one of the most advanced machines on Earth. Before he did anything else, he needed knowledge. Library it is. Yeah, he'd rent some books, figure out the basics, check a few diagrams. That'd be a good start. Then he would bring her over, show her some neat stuff and finally try being a mechanic. Actually, it didn't seem too difficult. They might even enjoy it.

The specifics would be a bit tougher to determine, but he'd take it slow and hope she even wanted to talk.

11:22 AM

Mike stood outside Foxy's cove, tapping his foot hesitantly. The pouring rain didn't help matters, soaking him to the skin even with a jacket. I shouldn't be this nervous. He'd already talked to her about a dozen times. She flat-out called him her best friend. The feeling was mutual. Why, then, did he feel so threatened? Because he feared rejection? Truth be told, she might have been his only friend in several hundred miles. They both knew about loneliness – both knew how depressing it was. He didn't want that for either of them, but he also didn't want to drive them any further apart.

While he built up courage, the storm raged.

…

Foxy knew Mike was at her door before he knocked. Through the wall, she could make out nervous footsteps among the deluge, like those of a doomed man approaching the gallows. To be fair, she also would have been anxious in his situation. After all, she had been a little harsh the last time they'd spoken.

No, I wasn't hard enough. He needs to hate me – needs to stay away.

Still, she missed him. He was the nicest person she'd ever met; granted, she hadn't met a lot of people, but knew that most would have fled in terror before a single word came out of her. Over the last few days, time passed glacially, with minutes stretching into hours. Instead of talking with a man who genuinely wanted to help her, she was back to staring at walls and wishing she were somewhere else. As much as it hurt her, though, this was the only way he could be safe. If BRIAR ever caught them together, they'd kill him. The last thing she wanted was more death.

Finally, the knock came, timid yet steady. She forced herself to stay seated, though her legs involuntarily twitched. A minute later, it came again, more forcefully. "Foxy," she heard through the door, "it's Mike. Could we talk for a minute?"

Not able to bear the pressure anymore, she decided to make clear that he needed to leave. Standing up, she shook out her tail before stomping over to the exit and flinging it open. Be mean. Be a foul-mouthed, angry pirate. Her plan immediately withered when she saw him shivering in the rain, holding yet another orange.

"Come inside," she muttered, flipping on the lights.

Dithering slightly, Mike followed, hanging his coat on a rusty nail jutting from the wall. His hair dripped on the floor as he stated, "That's quite a storm."

Foxy hopped onto the stage and sat. "If you have something important to say, say it. Otherwise, leave." That was about the most fearsome she could bring herself to act. I'm a coward, she thought, ashamed of herself. I'm a disgrace to pirates everywhere.

He sighed, looking down. "I'm sorry, um, about what happened last weekend. That must have been awful, reliving those bad memories." Once again, she couldn't summon the strength to insult or threaten him, so she didn't reply. "I wanted to make it up to you. Like, maybe take you to my place, show you around a little."

"Really, Mike, you don't have to worry about fixing me. I'm not – "

"Yeah, I know," he interrupted, "you don't need sympathy." He cracked a small smile. "This isn't me being sorry for you. Well… OK, it kind of is."

What a surprise.

"But it's mostly part of what friends do." Even though he'd mentioned it before, Foxy still couldn't quite believe Mike considered her even an acquaintance. Not after what she'd done. It made sense for her to think of him as a friend because she had nothing and nobody. But Mike was human - he possessed everything she didn't. "Like, remember when you saved me from Freddy?" She nodded.

"Did you do that because you felt sorry for me?" Honestly, she didn't know. It just sort of happened.

In her head, wheels slowly turned, trying to decipher her own motivations. "I… no. I did that because… because I didn't want anything bad to happen to you. Because I cared." Suddenly, everything snapped into perspective.

"Exactly. It's the same thing here. Like, you might not realize it, but I'm also, uh, concerned about you." Blushing a little, he continued, "I get that you're tough and independent and all piratey, but that doesn't mean you should push others away." He chuckled awkwardly. "It's weird to, um, say stuff like this. I feel like I'm on Sesame Street."

"All right," she responded, scratching her ears. "I see what you mean, but there's one thing I still don't understand."

"What's that?"

She looked him straight in the eye. "Why do you want to be my friend in the first place?"

…

"Why do you want to be my friend in the first place?"

The question took Mike off guard. Why do I? Of course, he'd wondered about it quite a bit, but had never come up with a completely satisfactory answer. There were pieces, individual reasons, but they didn't mesh into a single explanation. Shared loneliness and history were good, but not completely compelling. Gratitude was too simple. It also wasn't her personality. Better not say that out loud. And, of course, there was the looming specter of her killing his friend.

Then, slowly, an idea materialized in the center of his mind. Unlike most of his thoughts, this one was clear, rational, and founded in sound logic.

"Well, there's a lot of reasons." She arched her eyebrow. "Here's the big one, though; you want to be better. You're sorry about what you've done, and you wish to improve. A lot of humans never do, certainly not the people around here. I don't know if I can forgive you, but I'm willing to provide a second chance." After all, she defied his expectations before.

Hesitantly, she said, "OK, I'll buy that, but…"

"What?"

She glanced around, as if confirming no one else was in the room. "You need to leave me alone. If anyone found out you were here, well, I don't need to explain what would happen." Her voice was beginning to strain. Perhaps his expression wasn't dire enough, because she amended, "Actually, maybe I do. They'll kill you, Mike. I've been selfish, and I should have known better than to let our friendship get this far."

Mike bit his lip. He'd thought about this before and definitely saw her point. However, he felt it was worth the risk, especially considering how much he'd already survived. How much harder could this be? Not to mention that he was desperate for someone who understood him, and she was the only one in the world who did. "Look, Foxy, I lived through thirty hours of Hell last week. I can deal with a little sitting and talking." He put his hands behind his head. "In fact, it'd be welcome."

Foxy sat still for a long time, blankly staring into space. It was at times like these when Mike really wished he could see inside her head. Fortunately, it only sounded like a few kids were there before noon, so they weren't too distracting. "Fine. So… your house, you said?" There was a curious glimmer in her eye, and he knew she was interested.

"Yeah," he said, more enthusiastically than he meant to, "it'll be good for you. You can come over, eat something, see how the typical human lives. Then – just if you want – I could maybe try to fix your mouth."

"Really? You?"

"OK, I'm not qualified or anything, but I've seen a few charts, and it doesn't look too difficult." He paused to let his words sink in. "I'm ready if you are."

12:01 PM

I cannot believe I agreed to this. Foxy uncomfortably sat next to Mike in his car. Though she promised herself the first time would be the last, he was so earnest that she couldn't help but accept his offer. If he got hurt because of this, she'd never forgive herself.

Despite her dourness, Mike either didn't notice or didn't care. He seemed perfectly happy to point out individual peaks through the rain, naming each one. She tried to humor him, but still felt troubled about the whole affair. At least it'll be just the two of us this time.

After a couple of minutes, they arrived at a steep gravel path, which Mike turned onto. The squealing wheels didn't inspire much confidence. Perhaps her weight made it the climb more difficult. Eventually, they reached the summit, and Mike let out a sigh of relief. "I should get better tires…"

Peering through the mist, Foxy spied a small, one-story house, alarmingly close to a precipitous cliff. Normally, she would have commented on the ludicrous design choice, but remained courteous. At least she tried to – having never really interacted with anyone, her knowledge of common etiquette was either gotten from conversations she'd heard from behind a curtain or simply guesswork. Her memories from a previous life were unhelpful; pirates generally lacked manners.

Getting out, she experienced something she hadn't felt in far too long: rain. It was a comforting blanket, the warm drops falling on her snout and ears in a hypnotic rhythm. For a moment, she was back on the Southern Sea, sailing with her brave crew through a maelstrom. "Foxy?" Mike said, snapping her back to reality. She shook her head before following him across the hill, gravel crunching underfoot, and up a few slick wooden steps. Taking a key from his pocket, Mike unlocked the door and led her inside.

She didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't this. There was so much stuff; furniture, electronics, a few things she didn't even recognize. Compared with where she lived, it was a veritable mansion! "Do all humans own so much?" she asked, a bit of awe in her voice.

"In this country, most people have more. My parents and sister live here, too." Before she could grow too alarmed, he said, "They're, uh, gone, so don't worry! Seriously, though, sit!" He gestured to a large sofa.

Accepting his offer, she settled down, not used to the feeling something so squishy underneath her, and put her feet up on the coffee table. This is so cozy…

"Want anything to drink?" he asked, doing something outside her field of vision. Were all humans so hospitable? She doubted it; the things she'd experienced over the years didn't paint a flattering picture of them.

"Water. Um, please." She'd heard enough parents scolding their children to use the "magic word" to know how polite it was. A minute later, Mike plopped down next to her, a bottle in hand. "Thank you."

…

For a while, Mike simply rested, quite unsure of what to do next. This was about as far as he planned. There was nothing really interesting at his house on a rainy day. Sure, there was television, but that didn't really count as interaction. He had Monopoly and Clue and some jigsaw puzzles, but nothing all that compelling for two adults.

At least he assumed Foxy was an adult; it was pretty difficult to tell. Technically, she'd only been alive for thirteen years, but her physical body was a few decades old. If he had to judge based on her face and figure, he would have guessed she was in her early or mid-twenties. Considering she was an anthropomorphic fox, though, that could have been way off. Of course, as a robot, the concept of age might not have applied at all. She acted like an adult, and that was the important thing.

Glancing over, he saw her drinking some water. As he suspected, she had to tilt her head back and pour it right down her throat. It made him wince with how uncomfortable it looked. "Is there anything you want to do before I get to work?" he asked after she finished the bottle.

"Well…" she began, "this might be a weird request, but could I use your toilet and shower? It's been months since I've bathed."

"Uh, OK." That was the last thing he expected to hear, but he supposed it made sense. All that fur had to trap dust and grime like crazy, and now that she mentioned it, she was kind of greasy. "I guess you don't short-circuit, then."

"No, I just need to dry my teeth, claws and hook off so they don't rust. Other than that, it doesn't bother me." She paused and futilely attempted to smile. "I liked being in the rain. It was soothing. Calm."

"That's good. I don't even care for swimming, much less getting poured on."

"Then it's too bad you live somewhere it rains so much," she quipped, a playful expression in her eye. Standing up, she walked away, disappearing around the corner. Wow, Foxy made a joke. He flopped down, laying his head across the armrest. That's a first.

Down the hall, Mike could hear the spigot activate. Suppose she didn't need help with that. With nothing much to do for the next few minutes to couple of hours, depending on how much she liked it, Mike let his thoughts wander. Wait – she wanted to use the toilet, too. Well, if she ingested food, it only made sense that she'd expel waste like any other organism. He cringed and hoped that whatever came out of her didn't destroy the plumbing.

1:12 PM

As much as Foxy loved the water flowing down her body, it was probably time to leave. Scrubbing away the last patches of soap, she turned off the shower and stepped out to grab a towel. I hope Mike wasn't too bored. Naturally, all her fur made drying take annoyingly long, but she managed, and slipped her clothes back on. Only on her way out did she notice that her fur had shed all over the room. Sighing, she scooped as much of it as she could into the toilet - didn't want Mike to clean up her mess.

Heading back out to the foyer, her blood froze as she heard Mike speaking to someone. "Not much has happened. I got a job, but it didn't go so well… no, I wasn't fired." Although tense about being seen, she was curious enough to sneak to the hall's end and peek around.

Oh. Should have known. Mike was in the kitchen, talking on a wall-mounted phone. That made matters simpler.

"Hey," he said as she stepped into the room. A garbled voice came from the earpiece. "Yeah, someone's here. She's a friend of mine." Slowly, a mischievous smile crept onto his face. "In fact, why don't I introduce you?"

"What?" Before she could decline, Mike had already put the phone on speaker.

"Foxy, this is, um, Sylvia. She's the sister I mentioned. Sylvia, this is Foxy. She's a new friend."

He'll pay for this…

"Hi, Foxy!" the voice on the other end said. From a single sentence, she could tell how vivacious this woman must have been. "That's a very pretty name!"

Aww. Genuinely warmed by the complement, she sat down in a nearby chair. Talking with someone else might not have been too scary after all. Of course, she might feel differently if they met face-to-face. "Thanks. Yours is nice, too. I guess."

Sylvia laughed. "Not one for conversation, are you?"

"No."

"That's fine. A lot of my friends aren't, either. So, how exactly did you meet Mike?"

"It was… at his job." Mike gave her a thumbs up. You'll get what's coming to you.

"That's nice. See, Mike? Making friends isn't so scary."

"It certainly isn't," he replied.

"What about you? What's your deal?" Hopefully that wasn't too invasive a question. Other than her name and relation to Mike, she knew next to nothing about this woman.

"Well, I'm in medical school. I've wanted to be a doctor ever since I was a little girl."

"She dissected her Barbies," Mike whispered to her, making Foxy suppress a laugh.

"But right now, I'm on vacation in California! It's great." There was an edge in her voice and choice of words that made Mike frown. Knowing that his sister was lounging on a beach while he nearly died must have made him tense.

This three-way conversation lasted a few minutes more, covering mostly generic and not-too-exciting topics, such as weather. It seemed to be a favorite subject among humans, which vexed her greatly. That might have been because Mike was now miffed and not interested in talking about important subjects. She grew more awkward as it progressed; clearly, there was unresolved tension here.

"OK, I have one last question for you, little bro."

"What's that?"

"Is she cute?"

…

Mike felt like he was about to have an aneurism. "W-what?"

"Is your friend cute?" his sister teased, making his face hot. "Is she attractive?" Foxy began giggling hysterically. Damn Sylvia. They weren't often at each other's throats, but they'd had one Hell of an argument about who would sacrifice their summer to housesit. He'd lost that argument and nearly died for it. And now she wanted to embarrass him. Well, it worked.

"Um, yes! Wait, no, no, she isn't because… well, you know…" With each word he became increasingly flustered, and Foxy had to grip the table so she didn't fall out of her chair from laughing so hard. She really enjoyed his humiliation. After several more seconds, his sentences had mostly devolved in strings of interjections.

At that point he simply hung up rather than going on babbling like an idiot. His face burned, and Foxy took a solid minute to calm down. Although he thought he'd gotten past it, he again noticed how uncanny it was that she could laugh without ever moving her mouth. At least she was having fun - that nearly made up for his mortification. "You should have seen your face!" she shouted between the last few spasms. "Oh… I don't think I've ever laughed so hard. Don't worry, I won't make you answer her question," she said smugly.

Wanting to change the subject as quickly as possible, Mike stammered, "I think this might, uh, be a good time for me to work on your mouth, um, if you're still interested."

"Now that I'm in high spirits? Sure, give it a try. I don't have anything to lose."

Excusing himself, he scuttled over to the closet and started digging around for what he needed while trying to permanently erase the past few minutes from his mind. Screwdrivers: check. Wrenches: check. Flashlight: check. He also found a spare pair of rubber gloves under the sink, in case scratching his hand on her teeth gave him some deadly, undiscovered disease. Based on his knowledge, he couldn't rule it out.

Finally gathering all his supplies, he went back over to the sofa, where Foxy was lying down. "Is this a good spot?" she asked.

"Yeah, it looks fine." He took a deep breath, hoping he wasn't making a mistake by doing this. Unlikely as it was, he could harm her more. "Are you sure you're OK with this? I don't want to hurt you."

"Tell you what – if I'm in pain, I'll say something."

That reassured him a bit. "Got it."

Turning on the flashlight, he peeked inside her mouth. Having never paid much attention to it, he immediately felt overwhelmed. Within were a few dozen silver metal teeth, a long, black tongue, salivary glands, and some sort of organic-ish tissue growing along the walls and roof. He'd known all that before, but now that he was standing there with a screwdriver in hand, it appeared more like dentistry than mechanics.

More pessimistic than nervous, he put down the flashlight and got to work.

2:05 PM

Can't say I didn't try. Mike had spent the last half-hour or so poking around in Foxy's mouth to no avail. Though unpleasant, it surprisingly wasn't too disgusting, just strange. The fact that she didn't need to close her mouth to talk, presumably having a speaker somewhere in her throat, made it downright bizarre. They were having conversations with absolutely no difficulty, which distracted him a few times. The tissue inside was infused with wiring, circuitry and other technological components, creating a truly incomprehensible biology. Though from Earth, she might as well have been an alien! No wonder BRIAR was so interested - this must have violated previous ideas on biology and chemistry. Maybe they've reverse-engineered it. The thought of BRIAR building a cyborg army or something with it wasn't a pleasant one.

Either way, he simply wasn't the guy for the job. Jeremy might not even have been able to handle it, considering it was as much orthodontics as repair. "Sorry, Foxy, I give up." Removing his gloved hands, now coated in a layer of oily spittle, he set his screwdriver aside. I need to rinse those in bleach.

Seeming rather disappointed, she sat up, rubbing her jaw. "To be honest, Mike, I didn't think you could do it, but I appreciate the effort." The day was a failure. At least he didn't hurt her, which was of some consolation. "Seriously, it's not a big deal."

You're the one who said how awful it was.

"How about this," she said, standing up, "What if I tell you a story?"

"A story? Why?" Mike asked, genuinely confused.

"Because you're my friend and I want to cheer you up. Also, I've been waiting to tell one for over a decade." Not seeing the harm in it, he swiftly agreed. Maybe it would be what he needed. Foxy certainly seemed excited, bouncing up and down slightly. It was nice to see a more fun-loving side of her emerge.

"Many a fortnight ago, on the Southern Sea, there was a great pirate Cap'n by the name o' Foxy, and 'er First Mate, one Michael Schmidt…"

…

Foxy's story wasn't too long – only five or ten minutes – but Mike had gotten completely sucked in. Seemed she hadn't lost her charm. At the beginning, he only feigned interest, mostly preoccupied with his thoughts. Apparently being recruited into the crew of the region's most heroic pirate didn't much appeal to him.

During the middle, which slowly built the action on a booby-trapped desert isle, he was at the edge of his seat. By the tale's end, which involved a substantial sum of buried treasure and a confrontation with the Dread Pirate Frederick Fazbear, they were actually dueling with umbrellas in the middle of his living room, giggling maniacally.

"So they sailed away in search o' new adventure," she said before dropping her accent - or, rather, reverting to the one she'd picked up after years of study. "And that was the story. What did you think?" she asked with a raised brow.

"My favorite part was when you and I fought the giant spider," he said, putting the umbrellas back where they belonged. "It was like something out of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Uh, you don't know who they are."

"Raphael, Michelangelo, Leonardo, and… Picasso."

"Donatello. How – "

"When you're in the same building as preteen boys for seventy hours a week over thirteen years, you tend to pick these things up. I can also tell you about several dozen species of dinosaurs."

"That's awesome." He perched himself on the sofa's armrest before letting out a long, conflicted sigh. "I forgive you. At least, I'll try to."

"For what?" As far as she knew, she hadn't done anything wrong. Going too long, maybe?

"'87. I know you didn't mean it."

Neither said anything for quite a while. Eventually the phone rang, and Mike went to see who it was. "Hey, Syl. Sorry I hung up… no, she's gone now."

Foxy didn't know how to feel. She should have been ecstatic at the prospect of another chance – a clean slate. It still happened, though. No matter how much good she did, she'd always be guilty. And what if she failed to live up to his expectations? I can think about this later. There's more important things here.

"Uh, want some lunch?" Mike asked, back to his usual self.

"No thanks. I shouldn't get used to eating real food." She looked at the floor, then back to him. "In fact, is it all right if you take me back now? I've done more today than I usually do in months."

"Sure. I'm getting tired myself." Popping his spine, Mike started to gather a few things for his car before calling her over.

"The rain's stopped. Sorry." It didn't matter. Regardless of what he thought, Foxy hadn't had so much fun since… ever, actually. Those few hours might have been the best of her life. Again feeling delightfully warm and satisfied, she went out and hopped in the passenger's seat. "If we keep doing this, I might have to cut out a hole for your tail," he said playfully.

"That'd be nice."

2:48 PM

"Now!" Mike said, checking every direction for cars and pedestrians. In a flash, Foxy had charged across the street and into Pirate Cove while barely making a sound. Somehow, even with metal bones, she managed to be faster than anyone else he knew. She could be in the Olympics with legs like those.

Being cautious himself, Mike followed her inside. "Here's lunch," Foxy said, going over to the curtains. On the ground was a small mound of pizza crusts, half-eaten breadsticks and a plate of unidentifiable mystery meat. She walked back over to him, surrounded by the white noise of loud children. "You don't know how great today was for me. I loved it." Her voice was completely sincere, even overjoyed, but Mike wasn't satisfied. If he couldn't help her, no one ever would.

"I still feel like I failed, promising to – "

The next thing he knew, Foxy had her arms wrapped around him in a tight hug, her muzzle on his shoulder. Too shocked to say anything, he could only concentrate on two matters. First, her fur felt incredibly soft. He hadn't ever touched it before – would have been kind of weird – but it was pleasantly silky and warm. Second was the way her breasts pushed against his chest, which caused him to grow hot in the face. He'd never hugged any woman like this before, let alone one who wasn't human. If felt odd, though not exactly unpleasant.

Eventually regaining his voice, he croaked, "Foxy? Can you stop?"

She pulled away, an embarrassed look in her eye. "I… don't know what came over me. I'm sorry."

"No! No." He shook his head. "I couldn't breathe was all. I'm totally fine with hugs. In fact, I do feel a bit better now."

"As you should. This was the best day of my life, and you're the one who made it possible." She paused, sheepishly rubbing the back of her head. "Thanks for convincing me to do this. If you don't mind, maybe we could try it again sometime?"

All right, that would be another good thing to come out of all this. "That'd be wonderful. How about next week?" It was nothing short of miraculous that in under two weeks, he'd gone from despising Foxy to inviting her over to his house, but he scarcely thought about that anymore. He was more focused on moving forward, and she seemed very kind now that he knew her better. Though he wasn't sure being friends with a sapient animatronic fox cyborg pirate would ever feel even slightly normal, he kind of wanted to find out.

"Sounds great." She climbed up on stage, heading back to her little sleeping alcove. "Remember, my door is always open to you. Metaphorically. I still have to physically open it." With that, she disappeared. For a minute, Mike leaned against the wall, just feeling good. He still wasn't completely satisfied, but if Foxy had a good time, he supposed that made the day worthwhile. His train of thought was derailed by Foxy's loud snoring, which spontaneously burst into existence.

She has the right idea. Saving his thoughts for later, he went back out to his car.

…

Auric couldn't believe it. Why hadn't he realized before? As he watched his pawn wrap the Warden in a tight embrace, he saw. If they continued on their current path, they would likely develop an intimate relationship. He'd seen the process play out a thousand times, though never between such disparate beings. The seed had been planted; it might eventually bloom.

Of course, they could also go back to hating each other. Even with all his power, he was not omniscient, and frankly, he didn't care. The concept of love was removed from him, so it was merely another interesting observation. He certainly hoped they fell for each other, though. How entertaining it would be to watch! Perhaps even on par with his grand game of survival.

That's when he got an idea. A very, very good idea. Even if the Warden didn't reciprocate its feelings, there was no doubt he still cared. And with the emphasis he so strongly placed on friendship…

Yes! It's brilliant! While he'd been reminiscing, it seemed the Warden had already left. I should formally introduce myself. Tonight.

6:02 PM

Mike was having a nice, quiet evening, very appropriate after a nice, quiet day. It seemed like the events of the prior week were in a previous life, being so far removed from his current situation. No more waiting to die in a cramped office for six hours a night. Now he could fall asleep with nightmares being his only worries. Adjusting to normality might take some time, though. He still found himself looking over his shoulder at every noise and reaching for nonexistant buttons.

Presently, though, he was reading on the couch, having just finished cleaning the shower drain of Foxy's fur. He couldn't blame her for shedding, but it was pretty annoying. She'd cleaned the floor, however; that was considerate. Either way, that was done, leaving him with an entire night to himself. At least he thought so. A loud knock at the door got his attention. Weird. The mail guy doesn't usually climb the hill.

Pulling himself up, he opened it, only to be instantly sorry. "You! You have a lot of explaining to do!" It was June, looking disheveled and rather furious. Before he could ask her how she found his house or what she was doing there, she pushed past him into his living room.

"Hey!" he shouted, getting angry himself. "This is my house! You don't have a right to be in here!"

"You didn't have a right to almost kill my dad!" she spat.

Fair point. "All right," he said, trying to calm himself, "how did you get my address?"

"You gave us your contact information when you filled out those forms. Remember?" That was true; like most people, he didn't think anything of it.

"Now I have a question for you," she countered, jabbing her finger at him. "Why haven't you been answering your phone?"

"Um, what?"

"I've called your house about ten times over the last few days. You didn't answer, so that's why I'm here."

Then it suddenly made sense. "I was, uh, out for the last week. Just got back last night, and I haven't checked the answering machine." June almost seemed to deflate, now knowing she couldn't blame him for ignoring her. "I talked to your dad, though."

"Yeah, I heard that…" She hung her head. "Can I sit down? I feel like I need to sit." He shrugged.

"Sure." Wanting to stay civil, he got her a Coke out of the fridge and sat next to her. He understood her anger. "What has your dad told you?"

"Not much. He said the animatronics at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza were actually alive, and that the reason he never let me go is that they'd kill him on sight if he ever went back." She snorted. "And he told me that the reason the one you brought in tried to kill him is that he broke its jaw with a baseball bat. That's all."

"Yeah, sounds true. You took it pretty well."

"What?! No!" she shouted, actually scaring him. "There's no way. It's impossible! Sure, I might have believed him for a couple hours, but after that?" Now Mike was really confused, and starting become to angry again.

"Then why are you here?"

"Because I want to know what actually happened. The real story, not the one with magic robots."

Ah, I see. "Look, June," he said, rubbing his temples, "I couldn't believe it at first myself. But, um, everything your father said is completely, one-hundred percent accurate."

"Uh huh. You wouldn't happen to have any proof, would you?"

"Not here, no…"

"That's what I thought."

But that got the gears in his head moving, and before long, they had churned out a plan. "I could get some, though," he said confidently. "I'll introduce you to Foxy, who, by the way, is sorry about what she did, in exchange for something."

June looked incredulous and more than a bit fed up, but nonetheless replied, "What's that?"

"Her jaw still doesn't work right. If you fix it, I'm sure she'll tell you everything you want to know. And if she doesn't, I will."

She remained silent for a moment, weighing her options. "Fine. I'll play along and 'talk' to that broken machine you must be hallucinating is alive. Then I want answers. Deal?" She extended her hand.

"Deal."

10:20 PM

Night had fallen, bringing quiet back to the world. Resting in his bed, Mike was unusually tired. The day hadn't been all that stressful; maybe he was just having so much fun getting back into the mindset of a kid. His "sword fight" with Foxy was incredibly enjoyable, and she could really dodge. Probably practices a lot.

Flushing the thoughts from his consciousness, he slowly drifted away to wherever sleep took him.

…

Mike knew he was in a dream, but it wasn't like any dream he could remember. All around him was an endless expanse of cold white, stretching on forever like tundra. Just as chilly, too. It wasn't exactly scary, but a bit unnerving. At least the Nightmare Animatronics aren't here.

"Greetings, Warden," a raspy voice whispered into his ears. He jumped in fright, looking for whoever had spoken. "Behind you."

Turning around, Mike finally saw him. Forty or fifty feet away was a humanoid figure, draped in a golden cloud. This was the one who had tormented him for so long.

"You're Auric!" he shouted, voice trembling slightly. Normally he would have tried to run away, but kept in mind that it was merely a dream. An extremely realistic, lucid dream, but an illusion nonetheless.

"There is no need to shout. I can hear you quite plainly." Once again, even though he – or it – was nowhere near him, his words were apparent. That voice; he knew he'd never forget it. The static was still there, but in the background, rising and falling, an infernal orchestra.

"A-are you real?"

"Would you address me if I wasn't?" By this point, Mike felt like he was going to faint in fear. Something about the figure was sinister and frightening beyond anything he imagined.

"Then what the fuck are you? An alien? A ghost? A demon?" He was trembling yet had to know.

Even from far away, he could see the figure smile, and his gilded eyes burned brighter. "My nature hardly matters. What is important, however, is my offer to you."

Every nerve, every instinct told him to pinch himself or find some way to wake up. "Tell me."

"I quite relished our little game last week. It was amusing. In fact, I'd enjoy a rematch." Something told him he didn't have much of a choice in the matter.

"And you'll kill me if I refuse?" Once again, Auric grinned wide, and his pupils were flaring coals.

"No. Your friend on the other hand…"

Oh God.

Auric could surely see the look on his face. "I've known about the two of you since the beginning. Nothing in my domain escapes me." He paused, letting the cold reality of his words seep in. "There's so many ways I could go about it. I might let your little secret slip to Phillip – he'll be none too pleased, but I'll make sure you're unharmed. It won't be as lucky. Though he might not kill it, it will suffer regardless."

"She." Mike didn't realize he'd spoken until the word had already left his mouth.

"Fine, she."

That dream, if it truly was one, terrified Mike more than any vision of monsters or death. This thing was threatening his friend, and he was powerless to stop it.

"Wait, I know what I'll do. I can take control of her like the puppet she is. But this time, I'll make her just aware enough to feel every gash, every wound she inflicts upon herself, right before I make her cut her own throat out!" The static stopped, leaving nothing else. Mike had collapsed, unwilling to rise.

"The choice is yours, Warden. You have until Sunday evening to decide."

Chapter Text

Sunday, January 24, 1988, 5:45 PM

"Hey, hey! How're you folks doing this afternoon?"

A few weeks had passed since the Band started performing again, and already Foxy wanted to pull her fur out whenever Freddy said that stupid line. She supposed it was his catchphrase now, but it was also obnoxious and long-winded. Every time she heard it, a burning anger sprung up in her chest. Deep down, though, she knew it only provoked her because she was jealous.

Isolation was getting to her, all right. She was designed to interact with people, make them feel good. Communication was at the center of her… programming? Mind? Soul? It didn't matter which. Without that, she had no reason to exist. She didn't really want to, either, not after what happened. Killers didn't deserve life, let alone happiness.

Glancing down, she took another peek at her hook. Clean and sharp – she was always proud of it. So sharp, in fact, that penetrating a vital area, such as the heart or top of the spine, would be effortless.

It'd just take a moment. There may have been a few seconds of pain, but then it would end. Or maybe she'd go somewhere else, but at least it wouldn't be a glorified cage.

What is wrong with me?!

She shook her head, trying to stave off the thoughts. That was what these disgusting bastards wanted. They got off on her anger and misery. The biggest insult she could give them was to stay hopeful, even if nothing warranted optimism. Not to mention that a good pirate never gave up. Things would change eventually; they wouldn't keep her there forever. Until then, she wouldn't give in to despair.

At least the children helped. Hearing them run and play and pretend encouraged her. If only she had a companion in her solitude, someone to do those things with. Well, hearing people interact was an acceptable substitute. For now.

A hobby may have offered relief as well, but there was little of interest in her Cove beyond listening to others enjoying themselves. I can try art sometime. There should be some paper and pencils in here somewhere.

…

"Here's your food, ladies and gentlemen," Delta joylessly muttered as he served the family of four.

Ever since the restaurant had opened a few weeks prior, he and his fellow mercenaries struggled to adapt to their new roles. A family-friendly ShowBiz Pizza rip-off didn't lend itself to riot gear and open carry, so some aesthetic tweaks had to be made. The biggest change, though, was that they had to go undercover as average fast-food workers. There was no sense in hiring others to do these menial jobs, especially with the potential for leaks involved, so the task fell to them. People obviously found it strange that many of the employees were so fit and tough-looking, but they'd get used to it eventually. Besides, he was lucky - several of his coworkers had raunchy tattoos that Mr. Fazbear demanded they get removed, and he didn't smoke, a practice their boss strictly forbade while on the job.

All in all, they hated it, Delta included. For the most part, these were men and women who had spent years in PMCs, be they fighting overseas for or against obscure third-world nations, professional security or anything in between. Regardless, they deserved better than stoner teenagers. Still, the money was good, so their complaints were mostly quiet grumbles. In fact, my break should be soon. Checking his watch, he confirmed his dinner recess had indeed begun.

"Hey there."

Great. What now? Turning around, he saw a dark-skinned man in about his early thirties wearing semi-professional clothes. "How may I help you, sir?" Delta asked, still hating how he had to say that every time he addressed a customer.

"I'm here about the ad in the paper."

"What ad?" BRIAR wasn't hiring anyone at the moment. Even if they were, it would have been via shady offers in smoke-filled casinos to very "professional" people, not to average Joes right off the street.

"This one," he said, pulling a piece of paper from his pocket, which Delta promptly took.

I'll be damned… Sure enough, it was a newspaper clipping featuring a picture of Freddy, along with text requesting a "night guard". Why the fuck didn't anyone tell us about this? As far as Delta was aware, none of his coworkers knew they were hiring. Mr. Fazbear or someone from even higher up the chain must have cooked this up.

"If there's a problem, I can come back later," the man said, pointing towards the door.

"No. Right this way." As Delta led him to the boss' office, he reflected on how the situation didn't add up. They didn't need a night guard, much less one so obviously not cut out for the job. Hell, it was probably a weird prank Mr. Fazbear pulled for a laugh. That was the kind of jackass thing he did sometimes. When they arrived at the office, Delta knocked at the door. "Sir? Someone's here to apply for the night guard position." It was open almost immediately.

"Wonderful!" Mr. Fazbear exclaimed, nearly bouncing. "Come inside, please." He gestured to the man, who smiled and entered. "You can sit down, too – you're on break, right?" To Delta's great surprise, his boss was starting to behave more and more like, well, a boss. Despite his flamboyant attire and manic demeanor, not to mention young age, he learned about his employees quite quickly.

"Sure." No restaurants were nearby, and the food there sucked, so most people brought food from home. He pulled a sandwich out of his back pocket and leaned against the wall. With most of the basement dedicated to "researching" the robots, most of the office had been converted into storage, leaving enough room for only two chairs. BRIAR could pay for a lot, but apparently not a room in a storage facility.

"So you're interested in applying, Mr... "

"Fitzgerald. Jeremy Fitzgerald. And you're Mr. Fazbear, I take it?"

He smiled. "Just call me Phil."

10:49 PM

Delta whistled softly to himself while scrubbing the dining room's floor. Even though the restaurant had long since shuttered, he and a few others were on janitor duty for the evening. At first he thought it'd be easy – grab a mop and wipe aimlessly – but then he realized how messy children could be. Hence the fact that, nearly three hours after closing, he was still cleaning up.

It'll be midnight before I get out of here. They were told to stay right up until that time for some reason, so it didn't make the situation that much worse. If they had free time, he and the others might play cards. Or they might continue cleaning aimlessly. Most people in his line of work didn't possess great interpersonal skills. Considering he only had to do this once every few weeks, it wasn't terrible.

At that moment, the door opened, and the Jeremy stepped in, clad in the official uniform of a black shirt and khaki pants. "Hey," he said cheerily. Not being a talkative guy, Delta simply nodded. This must have been some kind of bizarre social experiment. Only that could have explained the lunacy of letting John Q. Public safeguard these things. Still, for all his faults, Mr. Fazbear wasn't a complete idiot.

It wasn't like the guy would die or anything.

"Hello, Mr. Fitzgerald!" His boss entered from the hall, shook hands with Jeremy, and began to show him around. Delta hardly cared, and so continued to scrape dry pizza sauce off table undersides. He pointed out various arcade games, tables, even menu items. All throughout it, though, there was one topic that must have been on everyone's mind.

"Excuse me," Jeremy said between Mr. Fazbear's longwinded sentences, "mind if I take another look at those animatronics? They were real impressive."

"Of course! I was just about to introduce them." He pulled a remote out of his pocket and pushed a button, causing the stage curtains to retract toward the walls. There stood the three of them, looking awfully creepy in the harsh yellow stage lights. Delta put a hand on his concealed M9 in case they "malfunctioned".

"It's none of my business," Jeremy said, "but you should get more of these things. Whoever drafted them did an incredible job, especially on the faces and fur textures."

He briefly wondered how Jeremy knew so much about animatronics before remembering the interview. In passing, he let slip how he'd moved from Phoenix to open his own auto garage. Probably similar enough to cars on the inside.

"Wonderful as that would be, Mr. Fitzgerald, these animatronics are very special. I dare even say unique. We couldn't make any quite like them."

"I understand. Saw 'em performing today on my way in. Most people probably didn't recognize their fully articulated joints or body language, but damn, it's impressive. They almost look alive."

You have no idea, pal.

…

Peeking through the curtains, Foxy confusedly watched the unfolding situation. Apparently this human was supposed to "guard" them, which seemed rather pointless. Bonnie, Chica and herself had already agreed that staying was the best plan; at least they didn't have to live alone in the wilderness. Freddy would never leave his bandmates behind, no matter how often he announced it.

Paying someone to look after them was absurd, especially considering it was just one average guy. We should be paid to look after him. Actually, maybe she'd go on over and introduce herself. That'd get rid of him.

She pulled back when Mr. Fazbear and the other guy walked over to her room. "This is Pirate Cove. We used to have another animatronic, but she had, well, let's call it an 'accident'." Cringing, she retreated back to a little alcove she'd turned into a sleeping area to escape the conversation. Yeah, this wouldn't be a good night. Eventually, the footsteps and voices faded away as the two moved deeper in.

Something was going to happen. She didn't know what or how, but prior experience taught her that BRIAR, whatever it was, didn't break rank for no reason. I guess I'll deal with that as it comes. Reclining on her makeshift mattress, she waited for the mysterious main event to start. A few minutes later, a low rumbling momentarily burst through the building. That's the generator.

Then it began.

A sharp pain tore into her skull, throwing her to the floor. Though too dark to see, she struggled against the invisible entity, only to realize it wasn't physical. It was inside her. "Get out of me! Get out of me!" The force refused. Futilely thrashing around, she slowly felt herself slip away, limbs coming under the control of something else.

Just as she went under, she realized this had happened a few times before.

Chapter Text

Saturday, June 3, 5:41 AM

After awakening from his nightmare, kicking and screaming, Mike found the idea of sleep almost comical. Insane, even! Fortunately, his body seemed consenting, so he spent the rest of the night watching whatever garbage was on television with a glass of milk in hand. As long as he remained awake, he couldn't have cared less.

But when the first gray hints of dawn appeared, he began drifting out of his semi-comatic haze. The first thing he realized was that he felt absolutely fucking terrified. Either he or Foxy would be tortured or killed - perhaps they both would. Sure, he survived one week, but two?! Auric wouldn't make the same mistakes twice. Actually, that brought on another realization.

Holy shit, there's a mind-controlling monster at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza.

That sentence didn't possess the same punch it would for most people, but it was still horrifying. At least he knew now that God could maybe exist – maybe – because he'd spoken with something on the opposite end of the supernatural spectrum. Something evil.

The more he thought about it, the more he felt like adopting the Ash Williams method of coping with evil demons by having a psychotic laughing fit. There was taxidermy deer head in the attic – all he had to do was brush off the cobwebs and give into madness. Then he wouldn't need to worry about his troubles anymore.

"No!"

In a sudden burst of rage, he hurled his glass at the wall, where it exploded into a million tiny shards. If he didn't return, it would haunt him to the grave. His fear instantly dissolved, supplanted by one goal. He would go back and kick Auric's ass. Making sure Foxy didn't die was good too, but most of his energy was now directed in hyper-focused fury against this abomination.

That only left one problem; what to tell her? Groaning, he started to sweep up the mess he made. Should I warn her at all? If he didn't, she'd figure it out pretty quickly, given how good her hearing was; people were sure to talk about it. Hell, she might be able to recognize my scent. Informing her was the best option, no matter how she took it. What kind of friend would he be if he didn't? However, he couldn't reveal the true reason for his return. If she knew he was coming back for her... well, she didn't seem particularly circumspect.

It may have been irrational, yet Mike feared that she would try to kill herself in response. Auric couldn't threaten to torture or kill her if she was already dead, so he'd lose his leverage. The thought made him retch. Christ, that was the last thing he wanted. No. I can't tell her. At least not yet.

12:10 PM

As Mike expected, Fazbear's was starting to fill up right as he arrived. Perfect. Freddy might not notice him in a crowd. Can't kill me if he doesn't know I'm here.

Stepping in, he flipped his jacket's hood up just in case; he couldn't care less if parents thought him a pedophile. Dodging the strange looks, he hustled to Phil's office. Not bothering to knock, he barged in.

"Yes… uh huh… we'll get on it right away, William."

Phil faced away from the door, speaking on the phone. Most of his dialogue was some variation of "OK", leading Mike to suspect the person on the other end was someone even higher up the Ladder of Evil. Named William, apparently. Not that spooky of a name. Also not very helpful to him - it was common enough that it could have been anyone. Unconcerned about interrupting the call, he said, "Hey Phil, I'm – "

"One moment, please!"

Whatever, it's not like I have much else to do. After a few more excruciating minutes, whoever was on the other end wrapped up their speech, and the phone went dead. Spinning back around, Phil looked not-terribly-fazed to see him standing in the doorway.

"Mr. Schmidt! Grab a seat!" Never expecting a warm welcome, he nonetheless tiptoed around various clutter and sat down. That's when Mike realized something; he wasn't angry. Though steam should have poured out of his ears, what with the man who tried to murder him sitting two feet away, the only thing left was annoyance. Anything else wasn't worth wasting effort on this rat. "What can I do for you?"

Inhaling deeply, Mike said, "I'd like my job back." For a moment, nothing. Then Phil began snickering, like he was trying to conceal enjoyment of a lewd joke. Remaining stone-faced, Mike waited for him to stop.

"Wait… really?" A slight twinge of concern snuck into his voice, which only inflamed his irritation.

Now he wants to be the good guy. "Yes."

There was another pause as Phil placed hands on the desk, all business. It didn't work out so well, considering he had on the same coat as Jack Nicholson in Batman. In fact, he had a lot of similarities with the Joker; both were psychotic egomaniacs with a propensity for needlessly complicated deathtraps. If only the Caped Crusader showed up to arrest him.

"Are you feeling well? There are a few psychologists working here if you need someone to talk with."

"I'm fine. Will you let me work another week or not?"

"Um, I suppose," he replied, looking shaken. "It's just that this is completely unprecedented – no one's ever been crazy enough to sign on twice."

"Then I must be fucking insane."

Without another word, Phil pulled a piece of paper from a drawer and slid it across the table. The Pact of Doom in all its protracted, illegible glory. Ignoring the pit in his stomach and shaky hand, he scrawled his name on the line. Even if it wasn't legally binding, it still scared him. Quite an effective psychological weapon, he had to admit.

"You know, Michael – Mr. Schmidt, apologies – if you change your mind, I'm sure we can work something out. Either way, I'll be sure to notify my employees; wouldn't want them to think you're up to no good." He folded the paper up and placed it in his breast pocket.

"That it?"

"Indeed. Come tomorrow night with some snacks and a bottle to piss in. You know what to expect." It seemed Phil was back to his usual cheery self, which Mike actually preferred over his pseudo-worried personality. Much easier to disdain a one-dimensional narcissist.

With that, Mike got up and left the office, praying he'd made the right choice. At the very least, he'd stopped a hapless person from taking the job. How many people have they killed from this town? He never remembered anybody specific disappearing, but now that he thought about it, missing-person flyers were a bit more common in Whitewater than most places. Murdering their own customers; he shook with anger and indignation. Of course, they surely got applicants from all across the region. He wasn't certain, but it seemed likely the restaurant had the same advertisement in papers across Central Washington.

Once again ignoring the uneasy stares any shaggy nineteen-year-old in a hoodie would get from families with small kids, he leaned against the wall to get a better look at Freddy and pals, who were performing some kind of act.

"Look" really was the correct word, as the hundred decibel children prevented him from hearing a word they said. Not that he wanted to – he doubted a skit intended for ages ten and under would have much substance for him. But what do they really think?

He knew Foxy well, of course, but the other three were enigmas. Freddy wanted to kill him, though Bonnie and Chica seemed surprisingly congenial. Granted, he'd only ever exchanged a few sentences with them, yet was still curious about what they were like when not possessed by the forces of darkness. He honestly wouldn't mind speaking to the latter two if he ever got a chance.

A couple minutes of loitering passed before one father started menacingly walking toward him. Knowing not to cause a scene, he ducked outside, back into the warm summer sun. As long as I'm here…

…

Much like any other day, Foxy was curled up in a dark corner, half asleep. The children were quieter back there, allowing them to become a gentle white noise, like crashing waves. Sometimes, when she woke up from a particularly good dream, she believed they were until reality caught up with her. She thought about what a great time she had the previous day. More specifically, Mike. It was probably unhealthy to dwell on him so much, but he was the sole good thing in her life. Without him, she'd be back to square one: angry and alone.

Then the knock came, shooting her wide awake. Dashing over to the lights, she flipped them on before making sure the picture was nice and neat.

Came out better than I thought.

She took a deep breath and opened the door. "I didn't expect you to be back so soon."

"Don't have anywhere else to go," he said, stepping inside. "Besides, you're a nice person to hang around." He stopped dead in his tracks before turning toward her. "Did I just call you a person?"

"Yes." It dawned on her that he hadn't ever referred to her as such.

After a moment's hesitation, he continued, "Never mind. I meant it. Uh, being a person, anyway. And also nice."

Foxy couldn't help but giggle at how he stuttered when embarrassed. It was… cute, for lack of a better word. "You don't have to justify anything. I can't imagine what it's like for you to accept all this…" she gestured to herself, "as equal to a human. Sometimes it's difficult for me."

He sighed and sat down on the floor, propping his head up with his hands. "I have to admit, sometimes I think I've lost my mind. That this has all been a long schizophrenic nightmare." He smiled a bit. "Of course, all I have to do is come back here, and those thoughts disappear."

As per usual, the two of them simply rested for a while, listening to the outside world. For her, nothing could be better. But Mike seemed nervous, never looking at her and shivering slightly. "Do you want to talk about something?"

"Yeah," he replied, glancing her way. "It's just that, well… do you remember being, um, 'born'? What it was like?"

Foxy shifted her feet to a more comfortable position. She knew it was only a matter of time before he asked something like that; he must have had a million questions. Normally she would never have given an answer – it was a very personal thing – but he had more than earned her trust.

"At first it was dark… I couldn't say anything, move anything. I didn't know what was going on. In fact, I'm not sure I was intelligent enough to comprehend existing. But I could feel the changes happening inside of me. Organs forming and whatnot." Mike looked at her in rapt attention – no, awe. This was something she'd only explained under great duress before. It gratified her that he cared for her more than this information.

"Then I started to sense things. Sounds and smells and all the rest. It got brighter. And then I had my first thought; 'What's happening… where am I'." She stared down at the ground. "You know the rest."

"That's incredible. That's seriously one of the most amazing things I've ever heard."

"Is there a reason you asked?"

"I was just curious. Uh, I've wondered about it a lot." He bit his lip. "Hope it wasn't upsetting to talk about, though."

"No."

1:24 PM

Amazing how the presence of friend changed one's perception of time. Foxy could tell that about an hour had passed since Mike came in, but it only felt like a few minutes. They hadn't done much, but she didn't care. As long as he was with her, she felt… better. Like she was more than metal bone strung together with artificial ligaments. A warmth pooled in her core whenever he approached.

It became concerning. Friendship was one thing, but this sentiment was different. Almost addicting. She had no memories, real or fabricated, to tell her what was going on.

"You remember June, right?" Mike asked, bringing her mind back into focus. "Jeremy's daughter."

"Yes. Why?"

"Well, uh," he grimaced, "she came to my house yesterday, after you left. Wanted to know how a machine with sub-insect intelligence tried to kill her dad." A pang of remorse hit her in the stomach; hard to believe that she would have slain him without a second thought the week prior. Without Mike believing in her.

"What'd you tell her?"

He shrugged. "I said you should explain it yourself – in exchange for something."

Foxy took a moment to piece his words together, wanting to smile when she did. "I knew you were a peacemaker, but that's negotiation. Most people couldn't have pulled it off."

"I – I hope that's all right with you. It was a, uh, spur-of-the-moment decision. If you don't want to – "

She put a finger over his mouth. "It's perfect. She deserves an answer. But if it doesn't work out this time… we tried. You don't need to worry about it anymore."

…

"You don't need to worry about it anymore."

Mike smiled at Foxy's response, relieved he'd made the correct choice. And he agreed with her; third time was the charm, as they said. If she couldn't be fixed, it was a lost cause.

But he was also disappointed in himself. He'd been there about an hour already and hadn't yet told her the truth - part of the truth, at least. Though attempting it many times, he always managed to change the subject at the last second. There was no subtle way around it, no sugarcoating. He had to risk his life. Before this experience, he'd thought of lies as despicable. Now he realized they also kept the world turning, blissfully basking in its own ignorance.

"Mike?" Foxy asked, breaking his concentration. "You keep drifting off. Tired or something?"

"No," he replied, steeling himself. "I have something to tell you."

"Go on."

"I – " Immediately after speaking a single syllable, an alarm in his head screamed at him to abort. He found the perfect escape route in her eyepatch. "You know, June seems like a pretty good mechanic. I bet she could fix more than just your mouth." His face burned with guilt; he was pathetic, not even able to work up the courage to tell his friend a half-truth.

"What are… oh, I see. You think she can give me a new eye."

He nodded, growing distressed at his failure. She sighed and looked down at the ground. "It doesn't bother me. I can see as well as if I had two." Slowly, she flipped the patch up, exposing the flickering orange dot. "May not look pretty, but I don't mind it. Besides, it's a more personal thing." He wanted to ask about it, but something in her limited expression indicated he shouldn't. At least not yet. Pulling it back down, she scratched her cheek.

"Oh yeah! I have something for you. Completely forgot about it." Standing up, she grabbed a sheet of paper from off the stage and handed it to him. It was another drawing, even more impressive than the last. A pirate ship drifted on a calm sea while birds flew overhead. Two figures, one with pointy ears and a tail, stood on deck next to each other, watching the setting sun.

He was kind of honored; no one was making her do this, and it clearly took a lot of effort. Plus, it was far better than anything he could do. "It's beautiful. The water's especially good; the texture is very detailed. And I like how you included yourself, but who's the guy on the right?"

Foxy chuckled a bit. "This might be weird, but it's you."

Oh. Kind of obvious, really. Sure enough, he saw the similarities immediately. After looking at the paper for a few more seconds, he set it aside, not willing to simply stuff it in his pocket. "Thank you. This could, um, be framed. I'll see if I have a spare spot on the wall."

"I'm sure you do."

Subsequently, Mike stopped trying to tell her the bad news, having remembered one sentence Auric let slip. He saw everything in his domain. There was no doubt he observed the two of them right then, simply enjoying life.

They chatted about trivial topics for a while. Foxy had plenty of questions about the human world, which Mike was happy to answer. Eventually, he decided to leave, still feeling he'd betrayed her.

3:00 PM

"Jeremy's Auto, this is June speaking."

"June? It's Mike."

He heard her pull away from the receiver and worried she would hang up. I might in her situation. Nevertheless, a few deep breaths later, she was back on.

"Are you calling about your 'friend' Wolfy?"

"Yes," he replied, not bothering to correct her. She had a right to be angry at him, but hopefully that would fade when she realized he wasn't out of his mind. Not yet, anyway.

"Then you're in luck. My father won't be here this evening, and there aren't any scheduled appointments. Come down here at around six so I can fix your magic robot pal. Then you tell me everything you know, all right?"

"Sounds fantastic." She slammed down the phone, leaving dead air. Mike groaned with frustration before falling face-first onto his couch. He really wanted to blame June for something, convince himself that she was ignorant or unkind. Unfortunately, though, he understood all too well where she was coming from. Having robots attack you or a loved one was a very legitimate reason to get upset.

OK, three hours before I go in. There weren't any pressing matters to take care of in the meanwhile. Actually, he'd worked overtime on little chores for the past few days, just to distract himself from how much his life sucked. A lot of people certainly had it worse – those living under ruthless dictators, the extreme poor. But at least they could sleep with the comfort of knowing they wouldn't be murdered by demon-possessed animatronics.

Mike wasn't so lucky.

And damn it, he still needed to tell Foxy about his employment status before he started work. I'll do it tonight for sure. She'll be so happy about getting her jaw repaired, she might not be as upset. That was assuming June could fix it, and a lot of his assumptions had turned out to be completely inaccurate, but that was all he could do.

Slowly, he sat up, trying to erase these thoughts yet again. It wasn't easy, but he knew dwelling on them would distract him. If he was distracted, he'd be that much easier to kill. Part of him was deeply disturbed that he, a nineteen-year-old American, needed to think like this, tactically planning for life-or-death situations. Another part argued that he would be thinking the exact same way if the year was 1970 instead of 2000.

I guess that's true. Dying in the swamps of Vietnam would be worse. Perhaps his overall condition wasn't as unique as he'd suspected, unfortunately.

He turned on the television, eager to blankly stare at something not related to violence or death. For some reason, the only thing that came to mind was golf. Maybe because it was the most boring and monotonous sport imaginable, and he needed a lot of boring and monotony in his life at present.

Exhaustion began to catch up with him, though, and the droning sports announcers quickly rocked him to sleep.

5:42 PM

Mike gradually awoke, pleasantly surprised by his peaceful slumber. There were no nightmares to be found, only the solid black wall of dreamless night. Auric must have decided to leave him alone. He wants to fight me at my best. Understandable. Though he doubted he could wrap his mind around a supernatural evil's motivation, it seemed the golden fiend was at least loosely bound by some sort of honor.

If not honor, metaphysical boundaries. Celestial laws. Any of those could have been correct, but the important thing was Auric either didn't want him dead yet or wasn't able to kill him. It was reassuring to know the thing wasn't omnipotent.

Or maybe this was just his idea of a practical joke, like Cthulhu egging someone's house. Anything's possible.

Stretching, he glanced at the clock. Shit. He and Foxy had to be at the shop in fifteen minutes. If Jeremy returned while they were still present, someone could very well end up hurt, if not dead. Slipping on his shoes, he snatched his keys and wallet before sprinting outside, not bothering to lock the house.

Though the urge to floor his car down the loose gravel driveway was overwhelming, he inched to the bottom and sped away.

…

Foxy hummed along to the Band's song, which she had heard hundreds, if not thousands of times before. Something about how pizza was the world's greatest food or crap like that. She begged to differ, considering it made up at least sixty percent of her diet, but the kids always got into it. Therefore, she did too.

Then the knock came, and she was at the door in seconds. Before even saying hello, Mike started dragging her out to his car. Tried to drag, anyway. A metal skeleton made one deceptively heavy. "What are you doing?"

Only then did he realize he had grabbed her by the hook, which he dropped with a small yelp. "June says she's free tonight. As in, able to try and fix you. Is that OK?"

"I don't know; I have a lot on my schedule." Mike stared at her, dumbfounded. "That was a joke." Her delivery apparently needed some work.

"Oh."

"But really, that's fine," she said, already walking toward his vehicle. "My night would have been boring otherwise." Foxy rather sloppily hadn't paid any attention to the area's sounds or smells, and thus didn't realize anything was wrong until she saw Mike turn pale. Feeling her stomach drop, she followed his gaze to a little girl, only about four or five, who stared at them with a gaping mouth.

For a moment, the three of them stood stock still like in a Western standoff.

"Mommy, mommy!" the girl finally shouted, running back around the building. "There's a werewolf over here! Come see the werewolf!"

Without a second thought, Foxy dove into the backseat, pressing herself as close to the ground as possible. Right before Mike could close his door, however, the girl ran up to him, this time with someone else in tow. "Did you see the werewolf, mister?"

Before he could answer, the other person, presumably her mother, apologized for her child's imagination before lugging her away. Both of them stayed frozen for a minute, barely breathing. That could have been bad. Without saying a word, Mike started the car, sluggishly driving away. Still feeling butterflies in her stomach, Foxy pulled herself up and sat.

"You look pretty 'foxy' for a werewolf."

They kept driving before concurrently bursting out laughing, both for his incredibly lame joke and to get all the nervous energy out of their systems.

"Um, on a more serious note, you don't look like one. They're much uglier than you."

"It didn't bother me," she said, trying to get her tail into a comfortable position. "I've been called much worse." Wait a second… "You said werewolves are much uglier than me?"

"I mean, they don't really exist, but the ones you see in the movies are." He paused. "Actually, maybe they are real. I never imagined someone like you could be." Good point. Who knew what other mysteries were out there? But that's not the part of what he said that held her attention.

I'll sound like such an idiot for asking this. In fact, she had no idea where this question came from. She didn't care about the answer in the slightest. Against her better judgement, she asked "Does that mean you think I'm pretty?"

…

Mike slammed the breaks, coming to a complete stop in the middle of the road. Regardless of the fact they were already late, he had to hear that again. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Look, it was a dumb question," she said. As it had before, the fur on her cheeks turned redder than it usually was. Her version of blushing. "Keep going before someone sees us. I shouldn't have asked. It's not like I care how I look, and how could you possibly find me attractive?" He reluctantly sped up again, still shaking from the question. It shouldn't have bothered him so much. Sylvia asked him essentially the same thing the other day, and that made him more embarrassed than… scared.

Not the kind of fear he usually experienced, but one more nagging and subtle. It was The Haunting versus Friday the Thirteenth. He stole a few nervous glances at her in the rear-view mirror before shaking his head. Fortunately, they arrived shortly after, and only a few minutes late. Not too shabby.

"Should I just walk in?" Foxy asked, stepping out.

"I don't see why not. She's going to know either way. Might as well get it over with." This needed to be the right choice. It had to be. So much had gone wrong that something needed to work.

Walking into the abandoned shop, he was again assaulted by the foul stench of motor oil and gasoline. Foxy started coughing as well, but quickly acclimated. "Hey June! You here?!"

"I'll be there in a second," she shouted from behind one of the cars. A moment later, she emerged, clad in grease-coated jeans and a t-shirt. This wouldn't have been a pleasant job for most people. She stared at Foxy for a second, bug-eyed. At least she won't think she's a werewolf.

"Very funny," she said, returning to her normal self. "You got someone in a vixen costume."

"If you say so," Mike replied with a shrug.

"Oh, come on. You can't expect me to believe that thing is real." June walked right up to her, and Mike could only hope Foxy didn't feel like using her hook. "You know, whoever you are, you're pretty disgusting. Not only did you try to kill my dad, you're also encouraging your friend's mental psychosis."

"Um, yeah," she replied, trying to be polite, "I'm really sorry about that. It was a big misunderstanding."

"Right." She stopped for a moment to look her over. "But I have to admit, that's an impressive suit. Are you a furry or something?" What the fuck were those?

"I have fur, if that's what you're asking."

She shook her head. "Never mind. Follow me." Leading them to a grimy steel workbench, she said, "It's a shame you'll have to get that costume dirty, but this is the only thing I have to put you on. Unless you prefer the floor."

Silently, Foxy mounted the table while June slipped on some gloves and grabbed a few small tools. Mike would have loved to help out somehow, yet knew he was a fifth wheel. The most he could do was stay close and hopefully answer some questions.

…

Foxy cringed as the woman started poking around in her mouth with a screwdriver. It wasn't painful, just embarrassing. When Mike tried, she felt uncomfortable, but she at least trusted him. However, June seemed much more competent, probing deliberately instead of gently poking her tongue.

"Where did you get this suit?" she asked, trying to hide the awe in her voice. "It has an actual tongue, teeth, even that little thing in the back of the throat. The circuitry is a nice touch, too."

"I told you, it isn't a costume. This is really what I look like. Difficult as that can be."

"The fact you don't have to move its mouth to talk is also kind of neat. Makes sense; since your real face is around the back of the throat, this muzzle can do whatever you want." Foxy clenched her fist to the point of drawing blood. How dare this woman not recognize her existence?! She wasn't asking for much; she was used to being treated like a dog.

At least BRIAR acknowledged her presence. Hell, they think I'm important! That's why they want to find out what makes me tick. Even if said "finding out" was often painful and degrading, she certainly wasn't given the cold shoulder.

"If you need to hold something, hold this." It seemed Mike had noticed her frustration, for he put one of his socks in her hand. "It's not much, but it might help." Sure enough, it was far less painful than digging into her own flesh.

This cycle continued for a few minutes more, with June asking where she bought the "get up", her insisting there was no such thing, and Mike standing to the side like an anxious puppy, wanting to help but completely over his head.

"I think I found the problem."

"You did?" Foxy asked, careful not to get too excited.

"Yeah. There's a screw at the very back of the throat that isn't in all the way. Let's see if that fixes things."

Don't be hopeful. Don't be hopeful. She could feel something in her mouth. Not pain, more like tension, but in a good way. After a few more seconds, June took her hands out.

"Try moving it now." Mike stood over her as well, grinning excitedly.

Here we go. Squeezing her eye shut, she concentrated on muscles that hadn't moved in many years, willing them to contract.

Like magic, her lower jaw slowly began to rise, popping and crunching painfully, before finally meeting the upper. Foxy stood up trembling, unable to take it all in. "It… works." For the first time in over a decade, she could form actual sentences, display emotion. "It works!"

A euphoric flood washed over her, driving away all other thoughts. Overtaken by sheer joy, she turned to June and gave her the biggest hug she could muster without breaking her spine. "Thankyouthankyousomuch!" Letting go, she started bouncing around like a child on a sugar high, laughing and savoring the moment. Mike smiled at her, and she returned the expression.

"You seem pretty excited about this," June said when she'd calmed a little.

"I am! Thank you for doing this, you don't know what it means to me."

"Apparently not."

6:35 PM

Mike didn't expect Foxy to act so overjoyed when her mouth started to work again, but he wasn't complaining. For a few minutes she jumped around saying random sentences, figuring out how they felt. June stared at her like she was nuts, but she was too thrilled to notice.

This was a side of Foxy that Mike hadn't seen before. Unadulterated elation, a kid on Christmas morning. Sure, she got excited occasionally, but not like that. Her joy was contagious, lifting his spirits, too. With how little hope she previously had, this might have been the single best thing to ever happen to her.

She eventually settled, still grinning, and plopped down on the floor. He did so as well.

"I'm glad June could help you. Your mouth looks great."

"It feels great." Ironically, he now found it odd that her mouth could move; it was kind of strange to see an animalistic muzzle form human words. "Like I lost a limb, but then got a prosthetic. Except this one is really a part of me."

June sat across from them, too. Guess they don't have any chairs.

"If you two are done talking, I'd like the explanation you promised. Cut the shit and tell it to me straight." Damn, she could be pretentious.

Before Mike thought up a response, Foxy had already created a pretty good, albeit painful, one. With a swift stroke of her hook, she opened a small cut on her hand. Oily blood trickled from the wound, slowly dripping to the ground. June stared at her in shock.

"Costumes don't bleed, do they?"

She was quiet for a long time. "No, they don't. You… weren't joking? About anything?" Foxy shook her head. That's when Mike decided she could handle the conversation herself; she'd grown a lot since they met.

"This is… wow." She seemed to take the whole "living machine" thing pretty well, all things considered. "So you're part human, part fox and part robot?"

"I don't know if I'd say that. I'm just me."

Mike mostly stayed out of the picture while the two of them talked. And talked. And talked. They went on forever, with June asking query after query, mostly on seemingly unimportant things, like how much Foxy could bench, or how good her vision was. Made sense that a mechanic wanted to know those things, but he was always more interested in the philosophical aspects. She should be questioning reality, not doing a physical. Still, he supposed both were important.

Eventually, Mike spaced out. He wanted to find their conversation fascinating, but numbers and statistics bored him. Well, they could be interesting at times, but he was pretty hungry. The specifics of her dietary requirements (again, food) didn't fascinate him as much as her hobbies and interests, likes and dislikes. Plus, Foxy herself didn't know much, if anything, about stuff outside her Cove. Therefore, the only thing he could concentrate on what he'd eat when he got back.

"Mike? You OK?" Foxy tapped him on the shoulder, looking rather concerned.

"I'm fine."

"We should probably go now. Jeremy will be back any minute." That motivated him.

"You don't have to pay anything. This was my treat," June said as he stood up.

"Thanks. Um, I didn't expect you to take this so well."

"It'll probably start sinking in over the next few hours. Then I won't be able to get out of bed for days. And I'm sorry for thinking the two of you were crazy, but can you blame me? It's an insane story."

No argument there.

…

The drive back seemed to speed by, with Foxy entranced by all the shapes her face could make in the rear-view mirror. It was unreal to believe she was healed after all those years, but she sat right next to the man who made it possible. While she was grateful to June as well, with her doing the actual work, that couldn't have happened without Mike.

He left his comfort zone, made arrangements, talked to her, took her to do wild and crazy things. OK, maybe visiting someone's house wasn't the pinnacle of daring, but it was more than she'd ever done before. In real life, at least. She recalled fighting all sorts of sea monsters and evil pirates on the Southern Sea. Sappy as it sounded, he was the one who really fixed her, and no matter what happened, she'd never forget.

"I'm getting hungry," she offhandedly remarked. "Haven't eaten since this morning. If I'm lucky, there'll be some fish. That's my favorite."

"I'm starving. Never liked fish, though, unless it's fish and chips. Always hated picking out the tiny bones. I guess it makes sense you like them, though; that's mostly what pirates eat, right?"

"That and moldy biscuits. And a lot of alcohol; can't drink seawater."

"Wait…" Mike slowed to a halt before making a U-turn.

"What are you doing?"

"You can't just eat leftover garbage tonight. Like, do you really want the first thing to enter that new mouth be cold pizza crust?"

She thought for a second before it dawned on her. "I like the way you think."

8:22 PM

As the car rolled uphill, all Foxy could contemplate was food. Real, fresh food. Her mouth was watering already. Before Mike completely stopped, she was already at the door to his house, trying to mask her excitement.

"Bonjour, Madame," Mike said as he walked toward her. What was he doing? "So glad you have decided to join us on zis beautiful night." His fake French accent was too much, and she started snickering. "Chateau du Schmidt, as you know, has many fine dining options available!" He flung open the door and bowed, obviously having a great time hamming it up.

All right, I can play this game. "Why thank you, sir," she said with an equally poor accent, joining the madness. They entered, volleying dialogue back and forth for a while before dropping the act.

"Really, though, what would you like," Mike said, rooting through his refrigerator.

"Surprise me. But no Italian."

"I hear you."

Foxy crossed her arms under her breasts, inspecting his kitchen. It seemed the perfect size for just two: small and homey. Fitting in four would have been a challenge.

"A-ha!" Mike pulled out a long box. "Mini burritos! I haven't had these for a while. They haven't expired, either. You ever eaten Mexican food?" She shook her head.

"I think you'll like it a lot!" Like her, his mouth had started to water at the prospect of a decent meal. He rushed over to the microwave, put a few in, and started it up. Those were two very slow minutes, with both of their stomachs growling madly.

When they were finished, he plucked them onto a large tray, which he set in the middle of the table. The smell… it was overpowering. Disregarding the steam wafting off them, she snatched one and threw it in her mouth, devouring it instantly. Then another. She couldn't even think; either these were the best things she'd ever eaten, or the fact that she didn't have to grind food by hand made it taste a lot better.

"I can't imagine how good those must smell to you. Hope I didn't overload your nose." She shook her head before continuing to eat. After a couple more, she finally came to her senses.

"Um, thank you for bringing me back here. This might be the best night of my life. I'm happy it's with you." Mike weakly smiled before looking away.

"There's something I have to tell you."

Though his voice was rough and shaky, he could often be overdramatic. As could she. However, this was clearly serious. "Go ahead."

"I…" he slammed his fist on the table, making Foxy jolt. OK, this wasn't like him at all. "I was trying to tell you earlier but couldn't."

A pit grew in her stomach, and she briefly hoped that it was a problem with her instead of with him. "I'm working another week at Fazbear's," he choked out.

What little background noise there was seemed to instantly stop. The implications and meanings of those six words took less than a second to sink in, but they felt like an eternity. At the end, though, she only knew one thing. He'll… die.

Without knowing why, she jumped up and ran off, out the door and into the vast wilderness. "Foxy! Hey, come back!" Mike's voice slowly faded into the night as she continued to run, tripping over rocks, branches smashing her face. In the night's dim illumination, twisted shapes and fears leapt out at her. She didn't care, running farther and farther down the mountain, terrified.

…

Christ, what have I done?! This was bad. This was incredibly bad. "What the fuck was I thinking?!" The wall didn't answer, but he would have preferred it did. That way he would have known it was all a dream, another one of Auric's pranks.

Sadly, it did not.

He had to go looking for her. Yeah, she was faster, but only over short distances. After that, she might need to slow down. Besides, he doubted she'd wanted to go far; this was out of desperation and fear. Mike was a distance runner and knew the woods. If he left right then, he could find her. Not wasting another second, he clamored over to the cupboard and grabbed a flashlight before taking off into the forest, trilling with sleepless insects.

Fortunately, her trail wasn't very difficult to pick up, being a line of flattened undergrowth. He jogged down the path for what felt like eternity, mired in despair. What if she never came back? What if someone saw her? Pushing these "what ifs" to the back of his mind, he kept on going.

...

The Mariners are doing pretty well this season.

The man sedately sat on his sofa, tired after a long day of work. Being a Wal-Mart greeter was nothing compared to some previous jobs he'd had, but it could still be draining in its own special way. Unfortunately, his wife had to work late, so there was no one to keep him company. Being a software engineer, she was far more successful than him, a man with no real skills. He was so lucky to have her.

He muted the television when his cell phone started to ring. I swear if that telemarketer calls me one more time… "Hello?"

"Delta!" That was how she always greeted him, just exclaiming his name. Not even his real name, his stupid code from fifteen years ago.

Maybe it's an East Coast thing. "Look, I don't work where you do anymore. We can be on a first name basis."

"Fine, but you need to hear this." Odd. Usually she would have tried to argue. That, combined with her rushed, almost panicked breathing, told him something was up. "Remember that guy I told you about last week? The night guard who didn't die?"

"Yeah. What about him?"

"He signed on for another week." Delta would have thought it a joke, but Rho had never, not once in the time they'd known each other, attempted anything resembling humor.

"How'd you get him to do that?"

"I didn't. He apparently walked into the boss' office and asked if the position was still open. There wasn't a reason to say no." All right, that didn't sound too suspicious. The poor guy probably went mad. "Do you think I should ask him about 'the thing'?"

"Do whatever you want. You know him better than me. I doubt he'll be receptive about talking to Auric, though."

Chapter Text

Friday, January 29, 1988, 4:48 AM

It was almost over. Jeremy knew that much, but not how it would end.

When the nightmare began a few days prior, he vowed to kill at least one of these monsters before the week closed. Unfortunately, purchasing a gun so quickly was impossible. In Arizona it wouldn't have been nearly as difficult, but Washington? That was a laugh, although he had to admit this experience made him less critical of gun rights.

Therefore, for this final showdown, he packed a baseball bat and a flask of alcohol. The latter was beginning to kick in, and he decided that it was time. Staggering out into the deserted hallway, he gave the stick a couple practice swings.

"Yo! Evil Care Bears!"

This might have been suicide, but it needed to be done. Doing this was the hardest decision he ever made; if he messed up and died, his daughter would be fatherless. He imagined her weeping, lamenting him not being there for her. The thought made a few tears drip down his face and onto the linoleum. But he also wanted to save others. If he could take out at least one of these things, maybe future victims would have a fighting chance. Or two more might take its place, he didn't know.

He had to take the risk. Hopefully, he'd survive this and never have to speak of it to anyone. June would grow up none the wiser about the evil festering in this town. Maybe, just maybe, he'd tell her when she got older, but for now he was content to make sure that she had a normal childhood.

It wasn't like them to hide for so long. "Scared? You should be!"

Eventually, one of them peeked around the corner, about thirty feet down. Its eyes burned through his flesh and soul, but he merely tapped his bat against the floor, pleased to be intoxicated. For just a moment they locked gazes, he and whatever the Hell this was. Was it alive? Did it know what it was doing? Did it really matter?

"Come at me."

The monster snarled, and time seemed to slow down as it began running toward him. He could barely make it out in the gloamy half-light, but only one of them sprinted like that. Readying the bat, he willed himself not to retreat. It drew ever closer, flecks of light bouncing off its metal claws and teeth, an unholy disco ball.

Less than a second had passed, but it played out like an eternity, with the end creeping ever closer. Only ten more feet. Jeremy would swing at five.

…

The world dulled; there were no sounds or sensations beyond his pulsing heart and weak knees.

…

It reached out both arms, ready to pounce. He could have sworn its eyes glowed brighter.

…

The muscles in his arms tightened with tension. He hoped it would be enough.

…

The thing was airborne, literally jumping toward him, about to sink its teeth into his neck.

…

June… All of his cells screamed at him to run, but he didn't budge.

…

In a single instant, Jeremy screamed, breaking his trance, and swung. With the creature's arms less than a foot away, the bat impacted the side of its face at seventy miles an hour, driving it into the wall. "Yes!"

His joy was short-lived, however, as it tried to slash his legs with a hook. He jumped back and stomped on its hand like a cockroach, making it screech in pain. "You like that?! You like being hurt?! I got some more!" Vaguely aware that the others would pop up shortly, he took advantage of their few seconds alone.

With the beast desperately trying to stand up, he screamed like a madman before driving his bat right into its jaw. He heard a loud crunch, so hopefully that meant he'd broken something. "I won't let you take me! I won't leave my daughter alone!" By this point, the monster shrieked in pain, shielding its jaw with both arms and trying to kick him.

A few more good whacks to the torso later, and the other three appeared from around the corner, shadows only identifiable from flecks of gold. Shit! Sprinting back into his office, he slammed the door right as they arrived. Peeking through the bulletproof glass window, he saw the doggish one still writhing in pain while the other three stared down at it.

Although he should have mocked them from the safety of his bunker, something prevented him. It genuinely looked hurt, and not in a way that gratified him. How smart were these things if they could be in pain, exactly? It had tried to kill him, in either case, but it wouldn't have felt right to add insult to injury.

Eventually, the rabbit and chicken monsters helped the fox one pick itself up, and walked off. The bear one, however – Freddy, if he recalled – wasn't pleased. Jeremy nearly pissed his pants when the over-six-foot grizzly turned toward him, a look of abject hatred evident in those usually emotionless golden eyes. Stepping over to the window, it squatted down and stared at him, only a couple of inches away.

It can't break the pane. It can't get in. That didn't stop him from trembling as it put a metal claw to the glass and slowly dragged it across. Jeremy didn't even realize it was writing until it had finished.

IT'S ME

Adding a crude picture of a decapitated head, the bear vanished back into the darkness. Jeremy did his best not to vomit.

6:00 AM

The instant Foxy awoke, she wished she hadn't. There was always some pain, but nothing like this. Her entire body was on fire, and it felt like someone drove a truck into her face. Groaning, she tried to raise her head, but the agony was too great.

At least… I don't have… to move, she thought between waves of torment. For a few minutes, anyway. She might be made to do something later, considering it was the guard's final night. Truthfully, she was happy the man didn't die. He hadn't wronged her, unlike most other people in the building. There would have been no satisfaction in it.

A while later, the pain was beginning to fade – all except in her mouth, which burned like an oven. Oddly enough, she wasn't able to close it. It couldn't have been that swollen already. Finally mustering the will to stand, she limped over to the light switch and flipped it up. Temporarily blinded, she collapsed against the stage.

"Damn it, why don't ye work!" she screamed to the empty room. "Yarr, what…" How could she still speak? It was embarrassing how little she knew about her own body. "Come on, work! Work!" She sobbed; without a moving mouth, she'd die of starvation. In desperation, she started pushing her jaw up and down by hand, furiously trying to reset it, ignoring the pain.

"Hey, bitch!"

One of the many goons yanked the curtains open, breaking the confines of her private world. Foxy could have killed – would have, if not for the pain. "What?" she growled, digging her hook into the carpet.

"Quit whining and get out here. We need you for a minute." She didn't budge, trying to burn a hole through the woman's head. "You want to get zapped?"

No. Unsteadily standing, she skulked out to the dining hall, keenly aware of the pistols being trained on her. At least she could better identify the guards now that they didn't wear body armor. Only the thinnest strand of fear kept her from getting a bullet in the head; what if something worse waited on the other side? Granted, she didn't believe there was another side, but nevertheless wouldn't risk it. Not yet.

Looking over, she saw Bonnie, Chica and Freddy all lined up in front of their stage, the targets of at least ten more waiting guns. Many twitched excitedly, ready to fire at the drop of a hat. "Over there. Now."

Practically exploding with anger, she took a spot next to the other three, imagining every human in the room as a collection of severed body parts. Arms, legs, skulls; what she'd give to make them feel her pain. All expect one near the front, not enthusiastic like the others. Delta. She still hated him, but not terribly so. Not enough to kill.

"What 'appened to your mouth?" Bonnie whispered over. She didn't respond, trying to control the tears starting to form. Some pirate I am. A few minutes later, Mr. Fazbear and the night guard – Jeremy, if she recalled – entered from the hallway.

"All right! Looks like everything's set up for the commemorative photo! Mr. Fitzgerald, if you'd please choose a spot." Foxy's anger flared again as she realized something – it was him. He broke her; he must have. She might have finally acted on that hatred if not for the hand on her shoulder. Chica was never the most perceptive, but when push came to shove, she knew how to bring back a little sanity.

"It'll be OK, Foxy. You'll see." That was enough to make her stop scratching the floor with her clawed feet.

The night guard shuffled over to them, eyes nearly bulging out of his head. Get over here so you can leave, bastard. And that was about it. Mr. Fazbear took the picture – her, Chica, Bonnie, Freddy, Jeremy, and about twenty-five people pointing loaded firearms at them, just out of frame. All one big happy family.

"Excellent! I'll be sure to mail this to you, Mr. Fitzgerald. Now get to your places, everyone; we have a busy day ahead of us!" Then it was over. Her friends hopped back on stage. People started cleaning the room. Mr. Fazbear went back to his office. Oddly enough, the only two who seemed at all affected were herself and the night guard, who still looked about ready to pass out. More than anger, all Foxy felt was a deep emptiness. Had that whole week been for nothing?

Eventually, someone noticed her standing there. "Get back in your hole. We don't need you anymore." She did as commanded, simply not caring. This was life now, just waiting to kill, she supposed. Still, there was one thing she had to do. Upon reaching the curtains, she turned toward Jeremy, who still stared at her in disbelief.

"If ye ever come back, I'll do what ye did to me." She didn't stay to see his response, instead ducking back inside and falling to the ground, catatonic.

This place really was a hole.

9:38 AM

Delta impatiently tapped his foot, waiting for his boss – soon to be former boss – to finish filling out some damn form. As could be expected from such a confidential job, there was a fuck-ton of paperwork required to enter or leave.

And I can't even put this on my resume.

But this stint was bad, plain and simple. Unpleasant people, nasty conditions, extremely long hours. As a mercenary, he was used to all these, but there was something else. It all just felt… wrong. Those robots, or whatever they were, didn't deserve this. No one did. He'd seen fucked-up shit before, and the pain they inflicted upon these creatures was up there with the worst. Hanging over everything was a simmering sense of dread. He could feel eyes on the back of his head, whispers in his mind while working. It was disturbing to say the least.

Sacrificing human lives for the study of whatever was the final straw. Unless they were only hiring child molesters or rapists, he couldn't support it. He'd much rather stick to killing people who deserved death.

"Well," his boss finally said, looking up, "it's been a pleasure working with you, Mr. Ward. I hope you find more suitable employment in the future." They shook hands.

"So do I."

With that, Delta was free. No home, no ties, no family. A good life, in his opinion. With a final look back, he stepped into the hall where Rho was waiting.

"Ward, huh? That's a pretty cool last name."

"I could tell you my first."

"Don't. I like the mystery," she said with a smirk. Rho was one of the best things about that job, actually. She seemed like an interesting, competent, generally nice person. As nice as a mercenary psychologist could be, anyway. They'd have to stay in touch. "You're trying to get back to Seattle, right?"

"Yeah." Without a vehicle, he'd have to hitchhike back; that was never fun.

I have a car. I could drive you there and back before my shift starts."

He looked at her for a second before smiling. "Great."

Chapter Text

Saturday, June 3, 9:10 PM

Though fatigue began to ensnare him, Mike persisted across the forest, a trembling dread anchored in the recesses of his mind. He'd managed to disarm many of his earlier fears – hunters didn't venture so deep into the woods at night, and it was doubtful any wildlife would attack her. Nevertheless, the idea that she might disappear forever provided more than enough motivation for him to continue down her well-defined path. It'd only been ten or fifteen minutes, but it felt like hours had passed.

Too bad it's so dark.

Indeed, thick clouds blanketed the sky, only permitting slim beams of light through. He would have been doomed without a decent flashlight.

Inspecting the ground, Foxy's footprints veered sharply rightward. That was one upside; since nothing on Earth had feet like hers, she didn't take a bloodhound to track. Quickening his pace, he dodged around stones and gnarled tree roots, struggling between wasting time and burning out. I hope she knows how stupid this is! He expected her to take the news poorly, but running off into the wilderness?

Then again, it must have been the most heartbreaking thing she'd ever heard; her only friend would die, leaving her alone to mourn. When you put it like that… The scenery abruptly changed, grabbing his attention. Dense, hardy trees gave way to long grass on a relatively flat section of mountain. The flashlight couldn't illuminate very far, but Mike suspected it went on for quite a while.

A few weeks ago, being alone in a dark forest at night would have scared him senseless. Compared with everything else he'd dealt with, though, it was laughably docile. Fortunately, the tightly-packed soil still held Foxy's impressions. Thank God she weighs several hundred pounds.

Suddenly, he heard a noise from up ahead, making him freeze. It was deep, heavy breathing.

Not yet wanting to alert her of his presence, he switched off the flashlight, leaving an aphotic void. She probably wouldn't flee if he got to her first.

…

What the Hell is he doing?

Several dozen feet away, she could clearly hear Mike attempting to sneak up on her. And it might have worked – if she wasn't a fox. Since she was, though, it had as much effectiveness as digging up buried treasure without a shovel.

"You don't have to do that."

"All right, you got me." He flipped on his light and walked over to her, sitting on a small rocky outcropping.

"May I join you?" he asked, trying to remain amiable even after being led on a wild goose chase.

"Of course." He sat next to her, looking exhausted. The bags under his eyes, glazed-over expression, bruises on his arms and face accrued from close-calls with Freddy. She hadn't paid much attention to them before, but here, miles from the nearest human, they seemed almost crushing. How could he go through that again? Why? Before she knew it, she'd already wrapped her arms around Mike and sobbed, unable to bear the truth. It was inappropriate for a pirate to do so, but she didn't care. She would have lashed out and chastised him for his idiocy, but he must not have had a choice in the matter.

She expected him to push her away, but to her great surprise, he started crying as well. For a few minutes, the lonesome forest was dominated by the two of them, holding each other and lamenting the world's cruelty. Eventually, she let go, wiping her tears away with her hand, staining the fur a deep, oily black.

Quivering with fear and rage, she said, "I'm sorry I ran away, but I'm… angry. That you might not come back." Mike rubbed his nose and looked at her with puffy eyes. "But you came after me anyway." Without warning, she heaved a few more times before pulling herself together.

"I wasn't about to give up on you so easily," he replied, managing a hint of humor.

"Everyone else would have." His small smile faltered, and he stared at the ground. Despite the misery she endured, the strange feeling in her gut returned. She wanted to rest her head on his shoulder, intertwine their hands, if not for the fact he'd be uncomfortable with it. Truthfully, she would be, too.

What is this? Why is it happening? Normally, she loved being a corsair, but for once yearned to have memories of something else, something to tell her what was going on.

Needing a way out, she asked a question with an obvious answer. "Auric did this?"

His stare deepened. "Yes. You – you know Auric?"

She leaned farther back against the stone, closing her eye. "Not really. He's the one who steals my body during your shifts. He isn't human, he's evil and he's obsessed with 'winning'. That's all I know, from tiny snippets of his mind I sometimes see while he's controlling me."

"I guess we're on the same page, then." A soft wind picked up, gently stroking her fur. She briefly imagined it was Mike. "Good. I mean, I'm glad you're at least aware of him."

"Yeah." She inhaled deeply, willing herself not to cry again. Keep it together, Foxy. You're a pirate, damn it. "And he said he'd kill you if you didn't go back?" That was the only plausible explanation.

For a brief moment, the only sound was that of rustling leaves. "Right. He'll kill me if I don't 'rematch' him. Couldn't accept losing." His voice trembled, which she chalked up to fear and grief.

"I am so, so sorry Mike. About everything." She opened her eye to look at him, standing out against the darkness. "It's just that I don't want you to die. I don't want to kill you."

"Neither do I." He grabbed the flashlight and stood up. "Now we should go; it'll be lucky if we get back before ten."

9:51 PM

They were close now. The trees and rocks began contorting into familiar shapes. Even in near-total blackness, Mike could tell his house was only minutes away. Sleep… tired. Indeed, he'd nearly fallen from sheer exhaustion several times.

"I think I can smell your car from here," Foxy said, walking alongside him. Though she spent the first half-hour of their trek relentlessly apologizing, she began to lighten up a bit the farther along they went, even smiling a few times. He, on the other hand, still felt awful. Not from her actions, though they certainly didn't help. Because he had to lie.

It was her life on the line, not his. She deserved to know. Old habits die hard, though, and he once again found himself unable to come clean. If he did, he seriously feared she might try to kill herself so he could be safe. He wouldn't risk it. The last thing he wanted in his life was more death.

I guess that doesn't matter right now. A couple more steps forward and a faint glow appeared – the porch light. At least the evening had been a great workout; not many people spent their Saturday nights mountain climbing. This'll hurt in the morning.

Heavily panting, they reached the front door, which he forgot to close in his hastiness. From within, he heard skittering paws on wood, and cringed for being so idiotic. Shit, there's probably a whole raccoon family. Must have smelled the food.

Confirming his assumption, Foxy said, "I can smell animals inside. Maybe eating those mini burritos."

"Fuck," he mumbled under his breath. They wouldn't be easy to remove. He'd need to call Orkin or something. Yet another problem. Why were things so difficult?

"Actually…" A spark of craftiness crossed her face.

"What?"

"I might have an idea."

…

"That was easy," Mike said as the last squirrel scampered outside. Finally, a dilemma that resolved itself! While he would have preferred it to be a larger one, complaining was absurd.

"Told you I could be a vicious predator."

"You weren't vicious, you just walked in." Sure enough, the second Foxy breached the front door, a dozen small forest creatures fled in terror from one of their natural enemies. Even though she clearly wasn't a regular, quadrupedal fox, she must have smelled somewhat like one to have frightened them off so quickly.

"But, um, thank you. If you hadn't done that, I would have needed to get an exterminator." She shrugged. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was after ten, and another surge of enervation slammed into him. "Look, I'm really tired. Do you need to go back to Fazbear's tonight or can you stay?"

She stared at him in surprise. "After all the trouble I've caused, you'd offer that?" Not entirely comprehending her, he nodded. "Well… sure. Thank you!" Before he knew it, she'd already wrapped him in another embrace.

Again? Mike wasn't opposed to friendly hugs or anything, but this was different. Much like earlier, back in the forest, it had a certain…element. He couldn't put his finger on exactly what, but it made him a little uncomfortable. "Foxy, please stop."

"Oh, sorry," she said, pulling back. A look of guilt crossed her muzzle.

"It's OK, just ask next time," he replied, too tired to say much else. Still, he couldn't fault her for not understanding personal space. If he spent years alone, he'd relish all the physical contact he could get.

"So where should I sleep?"

"Sylvia's room is right across the hall from mine. Try there." Shambling off to bed, he simply collapsed on the mattress, not bothering to undress. He was out in seconds.

Sunday, June 4, 7:22 AM

Slowly awakening, Foxy sat up, careful not to tear the sheets with her hook or claws. Oh, I needed that. Having never slept on a real bed before, she was unprepared for what luscious comfort awaited her. I hope I'll still be able to sleep on my curtain pile.

Yawning, she rose and gave Sylvia's room a good look around. It was very… feminine, she supposed, but not without its highlights. All the purple and pink especially turned her off – brown was far more practical. However, there were some cool, surreal posters, including a particularly interesting one of a rainbow and triangle on a black background. She had absolutely no idea what it meant, but hey, art was art.

Stepping out of the room, she peeked into Mike's. There he was, hibernating like a log atop his covers. He deserves rest. What to do, though? He probably wouldn't wake for hours, and there was little of interest for her without him around. Hmm… She was certainly used to doing nothing for hours on end, but desired more insight on what humans did during their free time. She'd poke around a little.

Taking a couple more paces down the hall, she began looking at some framed photos. A few particularly grabbed her attention. One was of Mike as a small child playing in the bathtub, which made her snicker. Age wasn't something she grasped too well, considering she didn't experience it. Thirteen years hadn't changed her a day. Not physically, at least. Most of the time, it didn't bother her; she didn't need to worry about her clothes not fitting or anything.

For once, though, she felt a pang of envy. She was "born" as an adult, albeit a very naive one. That meant she never got to have a childhood; even in her false memories, recollections of her youth were very rare. It was mostly buccaneer stuff. Deadly monsters, mountains of gemstones, lots of rum. They weren't bad memories… but they weren't real, or even helpful. She could only learn about life as she went. Like everyone else.

There were some other neat shots as well, from vacations to parties to graduations. Once again, things Foxy would never experience, only hear about from people chatting in another world, feet away. She arrived at the end, more depressed than usual. Mike was a great person, but he couldn't fix all her problems. No one could. The most he could do was be there for her, a task he performed admirably.

Sighing, she spotted one more photo, farther down and larger than the rest. It was of a man and a woman, both elegantly dressed, locked in a deep kiss. Looks like Mike's parents. They'd been in some of the other photos, much older than the youthful couple pictured. A small plaque was affixed to the frame's bottom.

Jacklyn and Oliver Schmidt, just married – 1976

Foxy couldn't explain why, but something about the image seemed so right. Maybe because both of them deeply trusted one another, enough to be intimate. I know there's a word for that. She stared at the scene for a while more, trying to recall the elusive term. Eventually, she walked into Mike's parlor and flopped down on the sofa, not satisfied. Tossing and turning, she struggled to remember; for some reason, it felt important.

Love.

The word was a gong, reverberating through her mind. Why was that little word so difficult to recall? Perhaps because there were few people she felt it toward. Love. It came back to her. She didn't entirely grasp it, being so isolated; getting along with and respecting others, she supposed. That was her relationship with Bonnie, Chica and, most of the time, Freddy. Still, that was a very different kind of love than the one in the photo.

There's something else. The image with Mike's parents differed. There was much more to it than that. There was… romantic attraction.

Yes! I remember! She shot up, still unsure of why this suddenly became valuable. From her mind's deepest reaches, a few ancient visions returned to her, of her parents, how they used to look at each other, the way they spoke. Though she understood her real mother and father were assembly lines, the memories became as vivid as life.

After days of questioning, those foreign feelings about Mike suddenly became clear. It's because I love him. Oh.

Foxy took several seconds to process that thought. That means… Her body and mind locked up – even her heart stopped for a moment. "Shit."

10:31 AM

Man, I feel good! Mike turned off the shower and began to dry himself, strangely hopeful about the forthcoming day, including "the rematch". Once again, his sleep that night had been peaceful and pleasant; Auric was apparently cutting him some slack. Really thinking about that, it was actually more frightening than – nope, I'm not doing this today. There would be plenty of reasons to worry later. For the time being, he would try to behave rationally.

Viewing himself in the mirror, he gave the reflection a thumbs-up. True, he had amassed plenty of cuts and bruises from his first week of work, with many more on the way, yet it could have been worse. All in all, he wasn't in bad condition, although, as suspected, his legs ached like crazy. Then something else caught his attention.

The wound on his chest where Foxy sliced him was completely scarred over. The last stitches had fallen out while showering, leaving a line of fibrous tissue in its wake. With everything else going on, he'd completely forgotten. Doesn't seem too bad, actually.

Finally putting some clothes on, he went over to Sylvia's room and checked inside. Foxy wasn't there, only a few molted strands of reddish fur. Hope she found something to eat. Going out to the foyer, he saw her sitting at the table with a tin of sardines. Not what I expected, but I didn't want them anyway.

"How'd you sleep?"

"Fine, thanks," she muttered, throwing the can down.

Um, what? It wasn't like her to be upset over such an innocuous question. Maybe she's still upset about yesterday. If she didn't want to talk, whatever. Even with the previous night's events, he still had a reasonably good time.

Taking her cue, he remained quiet, opening the pantry and fishing out some tasty Fruit Loops. For a little while, they rested next to each other, eating in general silence. The only unusual thing, beyond her being a humanoid vixen, of course, was the smell of pickled fish combined with sugary breakfast cereal. It was pretty disgusting, but Foxy didn't seem to mind in the slightest.

Speaking of which, besides not saying anything, she kept stealing flustered glances at him throughout their meal, thoroughly weirding him out. It seemed like she wanted to say something, but was too shy. Also odd. Normally she was disinclined to beat around the bush, unlike him.

Finishing up, Mike placed his bowl in the sink to clean later. They hadn't made eye contact once. He grew concerned; this wasn't ordinary. "Are you feeling all right?"

"What?!" she snapped, making him flinch. "I – I mean yes. I'm OK." No, she clearly wasn't.

"Look, I'm not trying to be rude, but if there's something you wanted to tell me last night, you can tell me now."

"Really, I'm fine. It's just…" she looked away for a second, "I'm terrified about tonight. You must be, too." He went back over to his chair and sat.

"Yeah, I guess. It's not as bad as I thought, but still pretty bad." Resting his chin on the table, he sighed. "Promise me you won't, um, blame yourself if I die."

For a minute, Foxy said nothing. "Only if you swear to not hesitate to kill me."

Wow, he didn't expect to hear that. "But –"

"Don't argue about this! If I – Auric using my body, anyway – try to hurt you, hurt me right back. You're in good shape; if you focus, I think you have a chance." As much as she tried to hide the waver in her voice, some came through. Enough to know he might have made the wrong choice.

"All right. I swear. And I'm also sorry. Uh, if I didn't wander into your cove after my first night, none of this shit would have happened. You wouldn't agonize over everything."

"No," she stated adamantly, "these past couple weeks have been the best of my life. There's no comparison." With difficulty, she managed a smile. Though it should have unnerved him with her metal shark-like teeth and all, he actually found her smile rather charming. It was completely unique and worn confidently. "So thank you. For the first time, I have something to live for. And I won't blame myself."

Thank God. After that incredibly depressing discussion, Mike sat around for a while and moped. So much for not worrying. As he drifted between gloom and fear, Foxy still peeked at him nervously, apparently holding concerns of her own. Damn, there was no escape. Everywhere he turned, there was more danger, more lies, more desperation.

She should go; not much purpose for her being here if all we're going to do is worry. "What do you think about heading back?"

"Probably a good idea."

3:18 PM

Several hours passed since Foxy had gone back to Fazbear's, but she couldn't stop the uneasiness or terror. All she could do was release her nervous energy by pacing in the dark. Around and around the room again, hundreds of times, futilely attempting to unleash years of pent-up negativity. While striding along this endless path, she could only think about one specific thing; how absolutely moronic she'd been.

"Shit!" she shouted as loudly as she could get away with. "This can't be happening!" Entire seas of raw emotion collided at the center of her soul: shock, horror, shame, rage, and even a bit of curiosity. She had no idea how to handle it.

I'm in love with a human. This is insane! It's… is it horrible? Probably. With her limited knowledge of the real world, she tried to convince herself it could never work. They were different species, had divergent interests, lived in separate worlds. These were all enormous, legitimate problems. But no matter what she thought or said, a part of her refused to listen.

Mostly, though, she was completely ashamed. Fuck me. Mike's a remarkable guy. Even if I was human, he deserves someone better than a murderer! She lashed out at a rotting plank of wood, stomping it into sawdust. Just the fact he considered her a friend made him special. It would have been a complete backstab to think of him as anything more.

There was no way Mike could possibly reciprocate such feelings. No sane human could. Even without her past, she was a robot. A robot that looked like an animal, no less! That was robophilia! Zoophilia! These words didn't mean much to her, considering she lacked a frame of reference for them, but they would to him. The only humans who could possibly find her attractive were perverted deviants, which Mike certainly wasn't. Despite his kindness, telling the truth would drive him away. She hated lying to him, but she didn't want him to leave! Without him, her life meant nothing!

Beginning to grow weary of these warring sentiments, Foxy concentrated on something she knew for certain; Mike needed her help. Unfortunately, there was only one route she could recognize, and she was too cowardly to travel it. "If I really cared about him, I'd slit my own throat. He'd have one less monster to fear." It was a fiendish strategy game, a test of what truly mattered. In the end, apparently her own life was worth more than Mike's.

She growled in anger and slashed the air a few times. "Auric," she whispered to the empty room, "I know you can hear me." No response. "We've never talked before, but we need to. About Mike." The entity refused to answer. "Fuck you, then."

There was nothing else to do beyond pace; if she was lucky, her legs might eventually give out. That'd give Mike an advantage. She thought back to what he'd said earlier, about it being better if he never came into her life. Though vehemently disagreeing with him at the moment, she began to understand more and more what he meant. Maybe it would have been better to remain a brooding hermit than experience things like friendship, acceptance and even love, only to have them snatched away.

Fuck this, I'm going to sleep, she thought, walking toward her alcove. A couple more hours of rest might have put her mind at ease, though she doubted it. Fazbear's can go to Hell.

4:37 PM

Mike wandered about his house, laboring to make sure he was ready for the long night. Many hours lay ahead of him, but if he learned anything from his first week, it was to get shit done. There was always a sense that he'd forgotten to check a crucial camera or was otherwise in immediate danger. One way to alleviate that was triple or quadruple checking his possessions; he supposed he should have been grateful Phil let him bring a bag. People must have smuggled firearms in at some point.

Well, the animatronics are made of metal. Regular bullets couldn't hurt them that much. Even if there wasn't a waiting period in Washington, he doubted he would have purchased one. If a situation there ever required a gun, he was already doomed.

Going to his room, he brought his uniform out of the closet. Looks like I'll be needing you again. There it was, complete with a few bloodstains and the slapdash stitches he made after Foxy sliced him. There should be a couple of images on here, not just the bland text… fuck it, why do I care?

Whatever, it looked clean enough to wear. After that, he assembled more of his normal inventory, such as snacks, books and the all-important coffee thermos. However, he also decided there were some extra items he'd do well to have, most notably a flashlight. That way it'd be easier to peer down the long, dark hallways without exposing himself. For a less ominous atmosphere, he flipped on the television; it made him more confident when others were having a normal conversation in the background.

And how could he not be scared? Against his wishes, despair's long, slimy tentacles began to wrap themselves around his brain, dragging it into the abyss. Maybe it wouldn't be awful as before, yet there was only so much a mind could endure before shattering. Any sound, sight or scare might push him over sanity's edge, leaving a broken husk.

At least that was how it happened in the movies.

Only then did he notice he had started to tremble slightly. I need a break. Most of his stuff was already together, so a little rest wouldn't hurt. Unfortunately, the wait was nearly as bad as the night itself. Actually doing something wasn't worth the risk of getting tired, and doing nothing only heightened his fear. So he put that on hold as well.

Moving to the couch, he decided to think for a while. He'd always considered himself more philosophical than most of his peers, but by that point there was no comparison. Issues of life and death, good and evil, Heaven and Hell all slithered and twisted through his psyche's cracks. In a way, he considered himself privileged to ponder these things at an age when most people were more interested in grades or socializing. But it was also quite a burden, as those insights sprang from a keen familiarity with mortality.

The inclusion of sentient machines into the mix didn't exactly help, either. Granted, it was incredible that he was one of the few people on Earth to know about them, but they had really screwed up his perception of even simple things, like life and time. I really wish I was old enough to buy alcohol at the gas station. He'd only been drunk a couple of times before but really wished he was now. It might have been easier to make sense of these things that way. Or maybe I'd need marijuana for that.

…

As Foxy opened her eye, she could tell something was amiss. It was far too bright; in fact, she had turned the bulbs off, but a spotlight seemed to burn itself through her cornea. Sitting up, she discovered the problem. She wasn't in her Cove at all, but rather an endless field of white, stretching out for eternity.

It was also quite cold, though her fur fortunately protected her from the worst of that.

"What a weird dream," she mumbled under her breath. They almost invariably involved fighting monsters or exploring new lands. Diversity was good, of course, but this was about the least exciting a delusion could be.

"You are the one who wanted to see me." The raspy voice brought with it an influx of static, like droning rain.

"Who's there?" It came from all space, even beneath her feet, making locating its source impossible.

"Behind you." She whirled around, and her vision took a moment to lock onto the figure, several dozen feet away, partially veiled behind a curtain of golden mist. Not afraid of a simple dream, she tried to walk toward it, but couldn't make any progress. For every step she took, it floated another away. Either that or she simply couldn't move. "I think this is a good distance to speak from."

OK, now this was getting creepy. No one in her dreams spoke with such malice or hatred; there was enough of that in real life. "Who are you?"

"Ah, 'Foxy'," he said, shaking his head in mock disappointment, "I assumed you would know me better after we'd shared so many years."

Wait… Like a punch to the face, it hit her. "Auric!"

He smiled, and his shrouded eyes burned, whether with amusement or hatred or curiosity she couldn't say. "What did you wish to discuss?"

Foxy hadn't expected him to heed her call; it was supposed to be more cathartic than anything else. But now that he actually was present, a burning hatred overwhelmed her mind. Able to move again, she barreled toward him while he simply stood grinning. As she swung her hook through his head, he dissolved into smoke.

That little shit! She was finally face to face with the thing that used her body to attack or kill so many, including the only person who ever cared about her, and she wasn't able to lay a hand on him! If she could, she'd have torn him limb from limb.

"I'm waiting." Turning around again, she spotted him against the same endless plain. It was clear she couldn't harm him. Disgusted as it made her, negotiation might have been worth a shot.

Cutting to the chase, before she changed her mind, she said, "I want Mike to be safe. I'll do anything."

For a second, he actually appeared puzzled, a distinct look of confusion on his distant, ill-defined face. "Now why would… oh, I'd almost forgotten." He grinned. "You have feelings for him. How foolish of me."

Her face grew hot, and the static seemed to shrink a bit. "That's none of your damn business."

"No, it certainly isn't. Apologies. But I'm afraid we had a deal, and I'm not the sort to lightly renege on agreements. Besides, you have nothing to offer me."

Though stung by the implied insult, it was completely true. There was nothing she possessed or could do that Auric was unable to personally take care of. Though she contemplated groveling at his feet, begging for him to reconsider, she wasn't so desperate as to prostrate herself before the monster who tried to kill Mike. "Fuck you," she growled.

"You should be grateful. Not many would risk their own lives for another, especially not an animate amalgamation of metal and plastic."

Instantly, the gears in her head jammed. "What are you talking about?! Mike is doing this because you're a bratty bastard, threw a temper tantrum, and said you'd kill him if he didn't play again!" Her anger resurged, and she charged him, only to be met with the same result as before.

"Oh, that is interesting," he said after recorporealizing, a mixture of amusement and rancor in his sizzling voice. She twisted to see that he was far closer, so much so that she flinched from shock. "I think we're done here. It was a pleasure to introduce myself. I expect we won't speak again for quite a while – if ever."

A hole opened beneath her, and she fell.

10:20 PM

Under the warm night sky, Mike drove his trusty car through the dark mountain forest, much like during his first week on the job. However, there were some key differences this time around.

Firstly, the radio now worked, much to his enjoyment. He'd taken music for granted before, but had come to realize nothing was quite as invigorating as speeding seventy miles per hour down an unlit road while blasting Nirvana out open windows.

Before he even saw it through the darkness, Mike prepared for the hard-left turn, gently pressing the breaks. Don't want to die out here. At least not yet. That was another change; the drive wasn't particularly complicated before, but after a dozen trips, he knew it like the back of his hand. Therefore, he didn't have to concentrate so much on the spooky environments, letting local grunge rhythms pound around his skull. There were few better examples of good psyche-up music.

A couple minutes later, a small light began to penetrate the woods ahead, and he slowed down. Fazbear's emerged in all its prosaic glory. With a partially-burnt-out neon sign, fractured parking lot and tacky paintjob, it nearly looked abandoned. As much as he hated the place, it really should have been nicer, considering how many people were always there. Well, if I got paid two-thousand dollars for a week, I can't imagine how much everyone else here makes. Plus, Phil seemed too fucking stupid to effectively allocate his money.

Pulling onto the broken asphalt, he drove to his usual spot near Pirate Cove. Speaking of which… He'd decided not to pay Foxy a visit that night, considering how things had gone earlier. What could they even say to each other? "I hope you don't kill me"? "Try not to die"? If he wasn't going to make it to the next morning, he didn't want their last conversation to be something so awkward. Hopefully, though, they'd get to speak again.

This needs to be the right choice. With a sigh, Mike walked toward the front doors, his shadows stretching and contracting relative to each overhead light. Upon reaching the entrance, he took a deep breath, wiped his forehead, and marched inside, regretting being there so early. The first thing he noticed was that there were more workers there than usual, probably because it wasn't that close to midnight.

All right, they'll just ignore me, so I can walk right on past –

"Hey, night guard!" one of the thugs shouted. He had a large Chinese character tattooed on his bicep in red ink, which made Mike think he was trying to seem classy or mystical. It didn't work.

Please no. "Uh, yeah?" He jittered slightly, just wanting to get out of the room before Freddy saw him. Too late. Sitting on stage with a slice of pizza in hand, the bear glared at him, but otherwise seemed more interested in eating. Well, they don't get lunch breaks.

"We took bets on which day of the week you'd drop. So if you die, be a pal and try to do it on Wednesday." That sent them into an uproar, with some even clutching their stomachs.

More disgusted than angry, Mike wondered how these people were so callous about cold-blooded murder. He'd never wronged them; in fact, he was technically still a teenager. Out of the many things he never would have believed existed before he took this damn job, people who mocked someone as they were being sent off to die might have seemed more implausible than semi-organic machines.

Turning away, he locked eyes with Freddy again. From his expression, Mike knew his hatred had been supplanted by empathy, at least for a moment. Obviously, he was the butt of a lot of their jokes, if not far worse things. I guess it's a start. With many still incapacitated from laughter, Mike rushed to his office, wanting the night to begin right then and there.

Chapter Text

Sunday, June 4, 11:43 PM

Just gotta wipe off a few more smudges… perfect.

Mike rotated in the swiveling chair, giving the room a final assessment. Not bad. While his workspace hadn't been awful previously, a few things bothered him. For example, there was quite a bit of miscellaneous clutter: old newspapers, drinking cups, some snack wrappers probably left by unlucky night guards of years past. Since apparently nobody else would clean up the mess, he just put it in a plastic bag and dropped it in the East Hall. He instantly felt ten times more organized, not to mention less creeped out. The artwork could stay, though; bad as most of it was, it had a certain primitive charm, plus it reminded him of more innocent times.

That and a couple other tweaks made the office feel homier. In fact, he seriously considered getting a welcome mat and a kitschy knick-knack or two. Kind of pointless if I'm only here for another week. But then the thought occurred to him – what if he was there for longer than that? What if he was there for two? Or three?

Auric kept him in line by threatening to kill Foxy if he didn't comply. If Mike survived the week, he might do it again.

Before he could begin shaking too heavily, Mike took a few deep breaths. If he really wanted to murder me, I'd already be dead. This wasn't the occasion for such concerns. More immediate ones were at hand. Glancing at his watch, he saw less than fifteen minutes remained before the main event.

For the first time, Mike felt… maybe confident wasn't the correct word, but mildly sanguine. Unless Auric had switched up his tactics, the nights should have been fairly predictable. First Bonnie and Chica would come to look creepy. Then Foxy would charge him a few times. Finally, Freddy would do his thing. That's how they'd been so far. Of course, his real concern were hallucinations. Nothing he could do about those.

Sighing, he walked into the hall to stretch his legs. Yeah, they still hurt.

"…so anyway, there's supposed to be a big party tomorrow! More than fifty people, I heard!"

From the dining room, Mike could hear Chica excitedly gossiping to her friends. Guards must have left early tonight. Actually, that piqued his interest a bit. He wanted to know more about them and doubted such a good opportunity would arise again. After a bit of internal deliberation, he elected to risk some quick spying.

Fully prepared to sprint back to his office, Mike snuck down the corridor, squeezing himself against the wall to remain out of sight. Maybe now he could get the three of them unfiltered, the secret lives of restaurant animatronics.

For a while, he hid at the room's entrance, eavesdropping on every word. Shockingly, it was quite boring. Freddy didn't speak at all, so it was Bonnie and Chica exchanging inane banter about what they'd done recently, which wasn't much. This is like listening to a bad talk show. Checking his watch again, ten minutes were left.

"'ey, Mr. Guard! We can 'ear you are standing there!"

Damn it, how could he forget they had heightened senses, especially after going through that thing with Foxy? I swear I need to write this stuff down. Nervous, but suspecting he wasn't in immediate danger, Mike put his hands up and stepped around the corner. The Band sat on stage, casually finishing up a few plates of pasta. "I guess you caught me. We, um, haven't ever talked, right?"

"Nope," Chica said, positively bubbling with energy. "Glad to finally meet you, though!"

"Uh, yeah." Freddy stared at the ground, but Mike could tell from his posture that he wasn't pleased with the situation. "My name's Mike, in case you didn't know."

"It's great to talk to a 'uman who doesn't insult us left and right," Bonnie cheerfully said. Something told Mike that neither he nor Chica were particularly bright. Freddy grumbled something under his breath, making Bonnie roll his eyes.

Mike started to brainstorm a good insult, but then remembered how the bear had empathetically looked at him earlier. Though he certainly didn't like him, he didn't want them to be on awful terms, either. "Hey, Freddy?"

He raised his head, exposing glaring eyes. "What?"

"I'm, um, sorry." Clearly none of them expected to hear that, least of all Freddy, whose face contorted with confusion. "This is a tough job and all, and I might have gotten a little carried away at times. So… yeah…"

None of them responded; even Chica seemed genuinely confused by what was going on. It crossed Mike's mind that possibly no one had ever apologized to them before. Inspecting his watch a final time, his heart started pounding; five minutes. He would have used the bathroom if the entrance wasn't feet away from where the animatronics stood, so he simply ran back to his office for a few last-minute preparations.

…

It took Freddy a couple minutes to shake off his bewilderment. Had… had the night guard actually atoned? For nearly dislocating his jaw, insulting him and his friends? Though his words were vague, they seemed genuine. Enough to know he wasn't entirely bullshitting.

That was still a first.

"You 'eard that, right Fred?" Bonnie asked.

"Yeah. I did."

Well… he'd have to think about whether to accept the apology. Truthfully, it hardly mattered, as 'Mike' would die very shortly, but it was still nice to know that they wouldn't be on completely hateful terms as Freddy crushed his spine. I wonder if he came back just to do that. Almost certainly not – more likely the money was just too good, and he decided to be a moron and –

As the lights flickered out, his mind was forced back, overwhelmed by something much more powerful and dark.

Monday, June 5, 12:13 AM 96% Power

Maybe Auric had upped his game. Intensely staring at the fuzzy monitor, it appeared both Bonnie and Chica already left the stage; normally they withdrew one at a time. It'll keep me on my toes, Mike thought, glancing at both doorways.

There had been no recording from Phone Guy that night, which was just as well – even with his awful stutter, more likely than not he was one of the people betting on his chances of survival. Getting a message from someone who actively wished for his death wouldn't have been a great way to start out his night. Except there isn't a good way to start out here.

Still, he felt his odds were good, at least for that night. He was well-rested, awake, and didn't have too many worries on his mind. Many athletes claimed a large part of performing well was maintaining the correct disposition; as Auric specifically called this terror "a game", he figured the same might hold true for him. In fact, maybe that was the best way to win, get inside the demon's head and just piss him off: psychological warfare.

Or he could pop up behind me and eat my soul. But that didn't seem too likely. No, Auric must have viewed him as a worthy opponent, someone to savor victory over. Otherwise he would have done that days ago, if he could do it at all.

Suddenly remembering that feral robots prowled the building, Mike gave the cameras a quick sweep. He flinched upon seeing Bonnie in the hall's corner, nearly pressing his twitching head against the lens. Slamming the door shut, he smacked himself a few times. Don't think, just react.

Every night at this death factory inspired new questions for him to pore over. Unfortunately, that preceded distraction, which meant another five seconds of contemplation would have killed him.

Yes, there was the purple rabbit, shambling over to the window, a fierce coldness radiating from his golden pupils. He was scary as shit, but Mike didn't turn away from his gaze; nothing to gain from that. Chica hadn't even left the bathrooms, so no one would be bothering the two of them for a little while.

"You aren't all that tough, you know," he said, lying through his teeth. Bonnie cocked his head to the side, either not comprehending him in his possessed state or simply not hearing with the door closed. How much of them was left in there, he didn't know. Just from some speculating, though, he assumed quite a bit of their personalities remained, even with Auric running the show.

Bonnie and Chica weren't too intelligent and wasted time doing pointless stuff, like hiding in closets or trashing the kitchen. Foxy was fast and cunning, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And Freddy… he was the unstoppable force, inching his way ever closer, always looking suave as an over six-foot animatronic bear could be. Very suave, surprisingly.

Suddenly, Bonnie struck the window with his fist, making Mike leap out of his chair. With a corrupted laugh, he shuffled back up the hall, shrinking away.

Catching his breath, Mike cautiously opened the door and peeked out. He was gone – momentarily.

2:01 AM 58% Power

Mike cringed as he noticed the quickly-draining battery icon on the computer screen's bottom-left corner. There was nothing he could do; Auric had gotten serious. In three different bodies, he lurked, constantly searching for new ways to breach the office. Freddy hadn't yet left the stage, at least. However, his widening smile indicated the time was soon.

A muted whisper wormed into the back of his head; something about how his fear was amusing. Slapping himself a few times, the voice subsided, leaving him alone in the not-quite silence. Damn, that's freaky. The hallucinations were back. Though currently manageable, Mike knew a couple nights down the road he'd be completely hysterical.

What frustrated him most was how powerless he felt. The animatronics, he had doors and cameras to defend against. But his mind had no such luxury, always open to attack or corruption. If he was smarter, he might have been able to ascertain some protection. I'd have to be MacGyver on Ritalin. It's not like a tin-foil hat would work… Two wires in his brain connected, and a surge of genius shot through him.

In a bid to conserve power, Mike vigilantly poked his head out into the East Hall. Chica stood like a board at the far end, only noticeable by her glowing eyes. This is a bad idea. That obviously meant he'd do it. Reaching around the corner, he grabbed the garbage bag from earlier and yanked it inside before slamming the door shut. OK, maybe it wasn't so dangerous.

Feeling like an idiot, he rummaged through the trash, searching for a sizeable piece of aluminum. Yes! Wiping away some residual solidified grease from a large sheet, he wrapped it around his head like a shiny turban, praying the conspiracy nuts had been right about something. Actually, he was the one who'd get laughed out of UFO conventions with a story as cracked his current life. He'd think twice about immediately dismissing tales of alien abductions or the men in black. The rest of the refuse, he haphazardly threw back out. Cleaning up wasn't what Phil paid him for.

Several minutes later, struggling not to leap at every tiny bump, he checked the cameras again, deciding his power plan was back on track. Fortunately, everyone looked to be a good distance away. Even Chica, who had been uncomfortably near, skulked far away in the bathrooms. A little breathing room certainly –

The telltale scraping noise resounded just outside the door. A more reasonable person would have dismissed it as nothing; all the animatronics were accounted for. Mike, on the other hand, had been conditioned for this. In a flash, he struck the correct button, bringing down the door. Chica peered in through the window, an odd subversion of what he did to her. Ignoring his clammy palms, he double-checked the screen.

There were no other giant chicken people to be found. Auric really had raised the bar. Eventually, she realized her prey had outwitted her, and pounded off, leaving the power distressingly drained.

Mike took a moment to hit the desk and scream, not caring how much his pain and terror pleased the golden demon. And there was much terror. What he feared the most, though, beyond even death, was the suspicion he might truly be insane. All things considered, there was a great chance he was strapped to a mental ward bed, screaming incoherently. Maybe he was in a car crash on the way to his first night, and these were his dying nightmares. Either was completely plausible.

What's the point? Mike thumped his head against the desk, searching for reasons to soldier on. There weren't all that many. He loved his family, but they never fully connected with him. Sylvia, who he was admittedly close to, had little in common with him. Not to mention their big argument - that still burdened his conscience. College held no promise, either. After three more monotonous years of learning, he'd get a position at some company and spend the rest of his life hunched over in an office, staring at a computer screen. He snickered at the cruel irony.

Even God seemed to have abandoned him. No religion could account for the shit he'd seen. Lovecraft might have been right – the only deities were petty tyrants, twisting people to play their games. Fits Auric to a fucking T.

But he would continue fighting anyway, past all hope of success or rationality. Why? Because he was afraid. Afraid of losing those he cared about, leaving promises unfilled. Dying, of course. It was a vicious cycle; Auric derived pleasure from Mike's anguish. Most people would have run away or slit their wrists in a tub. He'd considered those options a few times, but when push came to shove, he was too much of a coward to end the pain. Or maybe too brave. It didn't matter.

3:36 AM 34% Power

OK, this is garbage. Literally, Mike thought, ripping off his aluminum turban and chucking it into the dingy hall. Thinking such a simple trick would work against whatever the fuck Auric was might have been one of his dumbest ever. The hallucinations were rapidly worsening; if the pace kept up, he'd be a gibbering animal by Friday. Noises bored into his brain, brief flashes of burning golden pupils appeared in his mind's eye, whispers of how painful his death would be in his ear. Space warped, the drawings becoming more demented. Every word on every piece of paper had morphed into either "IT'S" or "ME".

None of these accounted for how active the animatronics were. Freddy seemed especially energetic, frequently popping up at his door, looking ready for afternoon tea with his cheeky grin and stovepipe hat. Fortunately, Foxy had only rushed him once, which made matters slightly clearer. Mike wondered whether she was fighting Auric's control or if that was just how things fell. She herself probably wouldn't know upon awakening.

It would have been effortless to simply not press the button. All the pain would cease – forever. Yeah, getting his skull crushed or heart ripped out sounded painful, but also mercifully fast. It'll be easy, a voice spoke in his mind. Close your eyes. End it.

But there was one force dragging him through the muck, a hatred intense enough to melt steel. Auric had lost to him once – that could be rationalized as a fluke. If Mike beat him a second time, all the blood, sweat and tears would be worth it to hear him scream like a petulant child. He'd know, then and forever, that a puny human kicked his ass back to whatever crack in the universe he crawled out of.

The night's more than half over. You're almost there. Popping out his flashlight, he checked both halls to save a measly sliver of energy. Peeking into the eastern one, he flinched as he saw Freddy casually leaning against the wall, reading one of the newspapers Mike had thrown out earlier. After rubbing his eyes, he realized that it was real. Probably didn't get many chances to catch up with world events. The bear looked up and gave a slight wave, not wholly malignant.

Maybe his words had some effect, after all. It didn't particularly matter, as Freddy was still out for blood. Against his better judgement, Mike waved back, and the bear returned to his study. Weirdest night ever.

4:30 AM 22% Power

Thankfully, the past hour had been relatively tame. Foxy retreated into her Cove, Chica was doing something incredibly loud in the kitchen, and Bonnie seemed content hanging around backstage, nice and far away. Now that Mike thought about it, having extra animatronics on standby seemed redundant, considering Fazbear's had by far the world's most impressive. Eh, they might get a few days off every year. Even Freddy, usually donning a psychotic grin, was far more interested in reading the paper. Not that that made him any less dangerous.

Therefore, Mike had pulled out a novel and the Walkman for his version of a good night. Er, morning. An hour and a half more before it was time to drive home, sleep, eat, pull his hair out and prepare for Round 2. Truly a wondrous life.

For all his complaints and fears, though, he had come to appreciate the little things about his job; moments like this, where the animatronics legitimately seemed more akin to people than mindless drones. During such times (which were few and far between), he realized that night guarding really suited him. If Fazbear's was a regular Chuck E. Cheese's, the lack of people bothering him while working would have been a great incentive, regardless of the meager salary. I'll have to think about that next summer.

If he lasted that long.

While taking a swig of coffee, a familiar pitter-pattering reached his ears. Shit! Mike pounced toward the West Hall's entrance, lowering the door with a single well-timed jab. That should have been the end of it, but something seemed… off. Normally, he wouldn't have been able to detect Foxy's footsteps through solid metal. But he could this time. And they were getting very loud. What the –

A hard crash shook the office, followed by a snarl. Whirling around, Mike realized he'd been tricked. Foxy splayed on the ground in the East Hall, somewhere she'd never gone. All the garbage must have tripped her up. Disparate pieces of his mind tried to fit together as she slowly stood up, rubbing her head. In the dusky half-light, she looked bloodcurdling; taller than him, with a single piercing eye and various metal extremities honed to kill.

The button he needed to reach was mere feet away, but his joints refused to move, paralyzed. Only Freddy could evoke such a sense of sheer horror in him, and that was only because of how gentlemanly he acted. Foxy was faster, more cunning and possessed teeth sharp enough to penetrate a human skull.

She braced herself against the wall. Must have taken quite a spill. On the verge of screaming, Mike took a step forward, fighting against his body's instincts. Then another. Halfway there.

The golden demon, wearing his friend as a costume, turned toward him, absolute hatred in its eye. Unable to take the next step, he screamed the first thing to enter his mind. "You're not Foxy! Don't you care about her at all?!" Foxy – no, Auric – stretched his stolen mouth into an inhuman grin. Mike had never actually pissed his pants before, but might have let out a bit at that moment. Dozens of interlocking teeth reflected light back at him, making them seem even longer. Framed by a burning coal, all he could think of was an evil Cheshire Cat.

"No." It was more of a rhetorical question. Mike had essentially sealed his own death, as Auric was standing upright and unfazed. It was too late.

Part of him wanted to beg for mercy, or at least a quick death. Another said to run like Hell. But… I promised. Auric took a casual step forward; one more and he'd be in the room. At last, Mike's brain kicked into overdrive. Operating on pure instinct, he did something unexpected. Seizing his swiveling chair, he tried to throw it at the monster, but it instead flew out of his hands and into the ceiling, smashing a lightbulb and bringing down a chunk of cheap plaster.

…

Auric wasn't much for humor, but perfectly understood desperation in defeat. Through his pawn, he closed one of his many eyes and laughed at the Warden's failure. In mere moments, he would –

A deafening slam rocked the ground, knocking the pawn onto its behind. The door was closed. He'd… been duped. Distracted by an unusual choice. Like what he himself had done not seconds ago.

In a burst of rage, all his puppets roared like they been set ablaze.

6:00 AM

Mike slowly stopped shaking as the lights kicked back on, essentially transforming the building from a realm of terror to a world of fun for children of all ages. Amazing what one simple change could do.

After… whatever happened, the night got much more unpleasant. Brutal hallucinations, attacks from all sides. Fortunately, he had just enough power to squeeze through, making it in one piece. That last hour might have been the worst of his life. I need to get out of here, he thought, standing up. Normally he would have waited for the staff to arrive, but couldn't take the claustrophobia. Any longer without seeing the sun would have pushed him over the edge. Grabbing his bag, he ran toward the front door, jittering all the way.

Upon entering the dining room, he saw the Band in their usual positions, getting their equipment ready for the day. He had to give them some credit; they probably did more than the actual employees.

"Hi, Mike!" Chica shouted from the stage, lively as ever.

"Uh, hi."

He eyed the door; so close, yet so far. Though presently convinced neither Bonnie nor Chica would hurt a fly, Freddy had earned no such trust. Still, he wasn't going to ask him not to attack, as that would only give him the idea. Therefore, he walked toward the door, calmly yet carefully. Sunlight streamed through the glass; he could practically feel it on his face. To his surprise, the bear didn't even look at him, seeming more concerned with doing microphone checks.

"Testing… one, two, three, testing…"

This is strange.

Finally reaching the door, he gave to handle a good tug. It didn't budge. Damn it. Just a couple more minutes. Well, the others wouldn't let Freddy try anything… right?

Fortunately, that question would go unanswered, as some of the usual goons arrived mere seconds later, completely ignoring him. Have fun cleaning up all the garbage, assholes. Stepping outside, he nearly fell to his knees from how exhausted he felt. Actually, he might not have been able to make it back to his house.

"So, you were crazy enough to come back?" The enigmatic blue-haired woman leaned against the building, casually looking over at him.

"Yeah. Guess I'm nuts."

She paused for a moment. "We need to talk. In private."

Chapter Text

Monday, June 20, 1977, 4:05 PM

Racing through the lush forest on his bicycle, the boy hummed to himself, nearly bursting with anticipation. Though he should have been more concerned about crashing or insects blowing into his eyes, these were but trivial issues.

This'll be so far out!

Still pushing his bike to its limits, he challenged himself to weave between pools of light filtering through the leaves in a vain attempt to quell his restlessness. Not as easy as it sounded, especially while keeping an eye out for traffic, and wholly ineffective. At long last, the building came into view, brilliant yellow with a few unpainted red bricks. For him, it was the best place in the world, nearly perfect.

His only complaint was the name: Fazbears' Family Diner.

Terribly misleading! Diners served coffee and hamburgers to people sitting on barstools. At least a few times a week, some family driving through Whitewater would pull in and need to be told they were a pizza joint. Fortunately, the managers were starting to see his logic.

Speeding across the parking lot, the boy hopped off his bike and left it lying on the curb before practically flying inside.

"Hi, Dad!"

"Phillip, put your bike on the rack!" he shouted from parts unknown. "Someone could steal it!"

How does he always know?! With an overly dramatic sigh, Phil went back out, kind of unnerved his father could sense such things. Must have been psychic dad powers. "Yeah, there's a lot of robbers here," he muttered to himself, staring out at the deserted pavement. "We aren't even open…" After locking his bike up to protect against thieving squirrels, he reentered, tapping his foot impatiently as he sat in one of the many cheap plastic chairs. There, he allowed his mind to wander.

Though it wasn't nearly over, he could already tell that summer would be among the best of his life. At twelve years old, he was finally old enough to do some stuff on his own; hang out with friends, go to Kachess Lake for an afternoon, whatever. It had been awesome. Then his parents, always on the cutting edge of technology, got a Pong machine. Attendance had skyrocketed, and he got to play it all he wanted afterhours. That would have been more than enough by itself.

But then he saw the movie. No, The Movie. All his friends called it the greatest film ever made, and they told no lie. Action, danger, rescuing princesses, fights with laser-swords and, his personal favorite, the robots. He loved them, even the golden British one who never stopped whining. Therefore, when his mother told him she'd decided to purchase a few robots for the restaurant, he naturally thought it an inspired choice.

Of course, he had far lower expectations for what they'd get. Real-life robots couldn't actually think or comprehend things, so the most they'd do was spout canned dialogue or walk around a little. That was OK. Wouldn't it be awesome if they could, though?

The moment was near. Any second now, his mother would triumphantly drive in, the family would celebrate and maybe go out for dinner. His parents had even decided to keep the restaurant closed all week, so something spectacular must have been on the way.

Then it happened. From around the corner, the family car emerged, followed by a large moving van. "Dad! Come on, it's here!" Apparently just as thrilled, his father rushed out of the kitchen, still wearing an apron. "Aren't you excited?"

"Sure am," he said, rubbing flour out of his hair. "Let's see if we can give your mother a hand." Phil certainly didn't need to be told twice.

By the time they arrived, the robots were already being unloaded by a few burly workers. At least he assumed the heavy, coffin-like boxes contained robots. His imagination ran wild; he could already see them, shiny and new, standing on the asphalt.

…

Combining eagerness and the sweltering summer sun, the wait took just short of forever. First was listening to one of the workers talk about how to clean the machines, then about their basic functions, followed by more talking – he'd spaced out long before then – until getting to lots and lots of paperwork. All the legal stuff made Phil think these things might have been wasteful, if not outright dangerous. Still, his parents ran the Diner since before he was born, and business boomed. They were purebred entrepreneurs.

Finally, the delivery people seemed satisfied with their speeches and departed, back off to headquarters. That left him, his parents, and six wooden caskets, five containing robots and an extra for spare parts.

"So," his mother said, a glimmer in her eye, "I think we should get these inside."

Fetching a pushcart, all three of them transported the crates one at a time. No easy task, though the darkening sky at least dampened the heat. By that point, Phil was ready to eat dinner, but none of them wanted to see several hours wasted.

Both drenched in sweat, his parents turned to each other before looking at him. "Would you like to do the honors?" his father asked, handing him a crowbar.

"Yeah. Thanks!"

Before cracking open the first case, he decided to actually look at what it said. Most of the text seemed standard; item numbers, copyright information and whatnot. However, four enormous words stood out far beyond the rest, nearly chiseled into the wood.

MANUFACTURED BY AFTON ROBOTICS

"Aren't you going to open it?"

With a few good blows around the lid, it popped loose, revealing… not at all what Phil expected. When he heard "robot", he thought of shiny metal people with ray guns, not anthropomorphic purple rabbits. His excitement instantly fizzled, leaving him somewhere between disappointed and tired. He understood the appeal, certainly; kids liked Bugs Bunny and stuff, but they could see that at any Six Flags.

"Awesome," he said, masking his displeasure. "People will love them." Maybe the rest would be more impressive.

"We think they will, too," his mother said, unaware of his feelings. "These, um, what are they called, dear?" she asked her husband.

"Animatronics."

"Right. These animatronics are the way of the future. Soon everybody will be using them, and we'll have gotten in ahead of the curve. Plus, we won't have to pay entertainers anymore."

That last sentence clicked everything together. The clowns and magicians they sometimes booked to perform could be quite expensive, especially considering most traveled from Seattle. While he was sure these things weren't cheap, they didn't have to be paid, saving money in the long-run. Too bad about that, but profits came first. Come on, box number two, he thought, bringing down the crowbar again.

This one was even lamer: a boring duck-lady. These are just petting zoo animals! Why couldn't there be lions or rhinoceroses or something interesting represented. The first two were as generic as possible, which was a real accomplishment for such a distinct concept. Fortunately, the next "animatronic" proved far more engaging.

She was some kind of canine woman, probably a red fox, with a hook for a hand. That was enough to make him smile a little. Cool. Reaching down to touch it, he was shocked to find it wasn't made of shiny plastic, but real metal.

He loved his parents, but sometimes questioned their sanity.

"Couldn't somebody, you know, cut themselves on this one's hook? Or claws? Or teeth?"

"Don't worry," his father said, dismissively waving his hand, "these things clock in at two miles an hour, max. And we'll always keep someone next to them, just in case." That made Phil feel a bit better, knowing they wouldn't immediately spawn a million lawsuits.

Glancing outside, he only discerned the faintest glimmer of sunlight amid the darkening sky. "We can get them to make us dinner, right?" They all giggled.

And behind box number four is… Removing the lid, he found a large grizzly bear in a top hat, roughly resembling Fozzie on steroids. Actually, all of them seemed like oversized Muppets, albeit far more impressive. However, since bears were among his most beloved animals, he supposed that made it his favorite by default. Why can't he be the cool pirate, though?

Looking over, he saw two more crates; a final animatronic and a larger one for spare parts. The robot's box, though, had a large red "X" painted over it, which he hadn't noticed before. "What's that one?" he asked his mother, looking on with some confusion. Was it supposed to be kept closed?

"The sales representative threw it in at a discount. Said it wasn't working properly. I figure we might call a mechanic and get it fixed up sometime. Probably wouldn't cost all that much." His father whispered something to her, and she nodded. "You can still open it, though."

Yep, they know a deal when they see one. The animatronics had gotten more exotic each time, so hopefully this one would be a shark or dragon. But no.

Instead, it was another rabbit.

Not the same one, which Phil appreciated. He was lankier than his cousin, not to mention a hideous shade of green. At least we won't have both going at once if it's broken.

"Yeah, these are neat," he told his parents, only half-lying. Though he would have infinitely preferred real robots, he acknowledged that most people who ate there were his age or younger, and Mickey Mouse wannabes held more appeal. Except the awesome pirate one; even teenagers would come to see her. Plus, they seemed pretty high-quality. Obviously not alive, but they could have looked much uglier, if not downright creepy. They weren't as bulky as he suspected; whatever Afton Robotics was, they obviously placed quality and realism first. Speaking of realism, he had a question about the chicken and fox robots...

"Uh, Mom? Dad?" he asked, wondering if they even realized. "Why do the girl ones have boobs?"

Not that it bothered him. They were reasonably sized, not massive or anything, plus they were covered by a bib and a shirt, respectively. Whoever designed them didn't seem like a pervert, he just found it weird that such details would be added to robots.

"That's an excellent question," his mother replied, only now noticing their "anatomy". "The sales representative said the company 'took great pride in these exclusive, lifelike animatronics'. I didn't think he meant this lifelike, though..."

His father interjected, "I don't see anything wrong with them. Yeah, it's strange, but it's done tastefully. It's not like they have F-cup breasts or giant asses or anything like that. They're just a little more detailed than we expected."

"I agree. It might take some getting used to, though."

There was a slight pause, interrupted when his stomach rumbled. He winced slightly, having not eaten since before noon. "Could we go now?"

"Well, there is one more thing we decided you should do," his father said, a sly smile on his face.

"What's that?" His parents were never the most straightforward people, but he could tell when they had a surprise in store. This was one of those times.

"They don't have names yet, and your mother and I aren't 'hip' or 'swingin'' like we used to be, so why don't you come up with some good ones?"

"Yes!" Phil shouted, jumping up. OK, that was an awesome gift. "You guys are the best parents ever!"

"We know," his mother said, looking her usual impish self. "But promise to do your chores more quickly now. All right?"

"All right." He had to think fast, considering how hungry he was getting. They have to be appropriate for little kids, but not stupid. Or too generic. At first, he considered giving them sophisticated titles, such as Archibald or Belinda, but quickly realized those sounded too ridiculous, even for giant animal robots. Then more futuristic names came to mind. Like, maybe these were genetic experiments from the next century. No, that's dumb.

Drumming his fingers along his chin, he decided simple alliterative stuff was the way to go. After all, both Disney and Looney Tunes did it constantly, and they wrote the book on humanoid animals, so who was he to argue?

He walked over to the box holding the purple rabbit; now that he was about to name him, he appeared more like a dead body in a coffin than anything else. Squeaking his shoe on the linoleum a few times, he deliberated. We already have Bugs Bunny. How about… Boris Bunny? No, too Soviet. Barry? A little closer. Bonnie? That was a guy's name, right? Eh, close enough, he could change his mind after eating.

Next up was duck-lady. Unfortunately, the only female name beginning with "D" he could come up with at the moment was Daisy, which might get them sued. She is a duck, right? Honestly, he couldn't tell. The beak was kind of shaped like a duck's bill, but he'd never seen a bright yellow waterfowl before. Unless she was supposed to be a baby, in which case making her so large was nonsensical. This shouldn't be so hard to follow. Eventually, he settled on Chica the Chicken, which sounded better, not to mention more original.

His stomach pestered him to hurry up, and he was inclined to agree. Three more. He went over to the grizzly, brainstorming as quickly as possible. Bears had always held a special place in his heart thanks to the family name: Fazbear.

The story, or so it went, was that their original cognomen was Fazenbaker. After emigrating from Italy, however, the official filling out their paperwork was drunk, heard "Fazbear", and none of them spoke enough English to correct him. He thought it was a great story, even if he didn't fully believe it.

OK, what are we going to call you? Vexingly, all the "B" names he could think of conflicted with Bonnie. Kids would get confused if he was named Benny the Bear. Maybe his last name should be Fazbear, too. Yeah, that'd be a nice touch. And with his top hat, a slightly fancier name would have been more appropriate. Frederick it is. Or just Freddy. He told his innards to calm down; they could wait a minute more. But not much longer than that.

Next, he tackled the fox-pirate-lady. She deserved something more exotic than the others, considering her profession. Francesca the Fox? Faye? None of his ideas were any good. Might as well just call her Foxy… wait, that actually makes sense. "Foxy" meant crafty or cunning. Pirates were both of those. Foxy the Pirate Fox. Heh.

As for the green rabbit, well… Phil looked over at him, lying limp in his box, almost appearing sad to be missing out on the fun. There was no point inventing a name if it wouldn't be used. "I think I know what we should call them," he said, turning to his parents.

"What?"

"I'll tell you when we get in the car."

"Fair enough." With that, the family set off in search of food, leaving the still-packed animatronics alone for the night.

Chapter Text

Monday, June 5, 6:10 AM

A stranger asking Mike to get in her car would have usually raised several red flags. However, two things made him take up the offer. First, the blue-haired woman had saved his life once. Second, his nerves were so shot that he doubted he could make it home.

I'll ask her to drop me off.

Therefore, as she drove through the woods, presumably looking for somewhere inconspicuous, Mike rested against the nylon seat, checking out the car's interior. It was much less fancy than he expected – even kind of dirty. Maybe their jobs didn't pay quite as well as he assumed. Or she might not have been the ostentatious type.

After a minute more, the woman pulled onto an overgrown gravel path, stopping once they were far enough away from the road. "Where are we?" he asked, now a bit nervous. The possibility that she simply needed a good spot to kill him sprang to mind. What if she knows about me and Foxy? His stomach dropped into his feet.

"I don't know. Somewhere no one will overhear us."

The lack of hostility in her voice temporarily assuaged his fears, if only because he felt like passing out. Constant stress and adrenaline highs did a number on him. "You want some food?" That pepped him up.

"Please." She handed him an off-brand granola bar, which he promptly devoured. Already more focused, he remembered that, oh yeah, she wanted to discuss something important. Hence all the secrecy. "What's going on?"

For a long time, she remained quiet, mulling over the best way to state her intentions. Eventually turning toward him, she said, "I want to stop the insanity."

It took him a moment to decipher her meaning. "As in, shut down Fazbear's?"

She shook her head, face affirming complete sobriety. "No. That's not possible. However, we can make it a little less dangerous. If you have questions, ask me now." Good, because Mike had a lot. Of course, he still didn't completely trust her. She may have saved him, but she still worked for BRIAR, which was synonymous with deception in his eyes. He'd take anything she told him with a grain of salt.

"Why?" Might as well get the big one out of the way. Far as he could tell, she had no reason to have a change of heart after so many years. If this was so important, she should have done it earlier! Still, her stoic tone and actions told him this was more than some kind of clever trap.

"Because it's gone too far." Mike unwittingly laughed, temporarily replacing the woman's serious expression with one of annoyance.

"Really? 'Gone too far'? Was torturing and experimenting on sapient beings not enough for you?" She started to reply before pausing.

"How did you know we did those things?"

Fuck. He needed to be more careful before blurting out stuff he learned from Foxy. "I, uh, just assumed," he bluffed, smoothing out his voice. "That's what evil organizations do." Fortunately, she didn't probe further.

"Believe it or not, the place has gotten worse. Back when everything started in the 80s, I had… concerns. Yeah, a lot of bad shit went on, but that's what you get for hiring mercenaries to look after a pizza place."

"You don't look much like a – "

"Let me finish." She sighed, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "It's spiraled out of control. Near the beginning, there was at least a point to what we put them through: data. The stuff we learned from them could have changed the world. Hurting them was an unfortunate side-effect." Yeah, must have been so fucking worth it. "But it's become clear to me over the past couple of years that it's pointless. We just aren't getting results. After a decade of constant work, we haven't been able to explain, let alone replicate, any of their biochemistry or intelligence or anything practical. We're doing this to them for no real reason."

Mike was confused, to say the least. BRIAR made them, right? How could they not know how their own creations worked? He would have asked about this and several other things, such as why they existed in the first place, but he didn't trust her to provide accurate information. Though she claimed she'd tell him the truth, there was no reason for her to do so with such important matters. That was assuming she even knew - from what he gathered, the organization was highly compartmentalized. It was likely she only knew what was relevant to her duties. With all that in mind, he reluctantly decided not to ask her to elaborate.

"And it's gotten worse," she continued. "The past year has been especially awful. For a long time, my coworkers have joked about hurting kids. Gruesome, but I never expected anything to happen." Mike's heart began beating a little faster; this couldn't lead anywhere good.

"Then, around last August, some ten-year-old girl was rushed to the ER and had her stomach pumped. Turned out some drain cleaner 'accidentally' got into her food. The family sued, naturally." Nearly shaking, he resisted the urge to tune out. Surely all these horrible details would culminate in a point. But God, children too? There was a time when he believed such evil only lived in news stories or war photos from distant lands. Ignorance was bliss.

"A few bribes later, the whole affair got swept under the rug; wasn't like '87, which was too public to ignore. A couple months pass, I forget about it. Just one bad day. Then we found out somebody hid loaded weapons in the ball pit to see what happened. One of our more tech-savvy guys rigged Pac-Man to explode if you got the high score. Multiple people told Freddy they'd treat him better if he 'malfunctioned' when a customer was nearby. There have been other incidents as well."

The woman turned away, resting her head against the steering wheel, and Mike couldn't blame her. Assuming she told the truth (which he couldn't be certain of), there was far more depravity than he could have imagined. Not that the news shocked him – these people wanted to shake up their jobs in the only way they knew how. At least she'd answered him without any bullshit. Of course, that left an even larger question open.

"And why do you need me?" She took a few minutes to recuperate; her earlier explanation apparently took a lot out of her, a hint of anguish and rage peeking out from beneath her stolid mask.

"Because you know Auric." The mention of that name sent a shiver up his spine. Apparently, the golden demon wasn't as secretive as Mike believed. "Right?" He nodded. "Thought so. I figured he'd show himself, if only to scare you."

That made sense. Kind of. He still didn't see how it changed anything. "And that's important since…"

"This'll sound crazy, but I know he's behind it." No, it sounded far more plausible than most of the past few weeks. "I'm a psychologist. Studied the mind since I was in high school. People who have been stable, if sadistic, for years don't go berserk without a shove."

Mike thought about the woman's words for a moment. He'd never considered it before, but the people working at Fazbear's would be at Auric's mercy even more than him. And since most of them already had violent tendencies, it wasn't a stretch to think he could push them over the line into insanity. It might also explain why they acted so demented.

"Could you ask him to stop?"

"What?!" Mike snapped in shock, not anger.

"Believe me, if I could do it, I would. But Auric doesn't talk to us – Hell, I've been around since day one, and I still don't know exactly what he is." She shivered just enough for him to notice. "A shape I sometimes see in the corner of my vision, or maybe a distant figure in my dreams." Composing herself, she looked directly at him. "I understand that you don't trust me; I wouldn't, either. But I don't want anyone else to get hurt, least of all children."

For a long time, he sat silently, letting the weight of everything sink in. Guess there's nothing to lose. The worst Auric could do was refuse.

Or kill him.

"If I see him again, I'll pass the message along," he said, beginning to feel overwhelmed by exhaustion. The woman looked relieved.

"Thank you." Starting the car, she pulled onto the road, heading back the way they came. As much as her story depressed him, he was glad to have at least one ally in some position of power at Fazbear's.

If I believe her. That remained to be seen, although he could safely say she was the only employee who'd made any sort of effort to be polite. Not to mention that she'd saved him... though that seemed part of her job. Then again, most of her coworkers probably would have hung back and let Freddy rip his head off. And he might need to call in a favor sometime. Beggars can't be choosers.

Pulling into the lot, the woman parked around back, probably not wanting to be seen with him. "Really, I owe you for doing this. If you have questions about anything, talk to me and I'll answer them over lunch."

"What's your name?" he blurted out, tiredness dampening his ability to think before speaking.

"To most people, I'm Rho." She looked down at her feet for a moment, pondering. "But you can call me Helen."

"Got it, 'Helen'. If that is your real name," he joked, stepping onto the pavement. With a small wave, she turned around and walked toward the building, surely ready for another day of making sure no on died. Wait… He was going to ask her to drive him back. Too late for that, as she'd already disappeared inside. Whatever, I'll manage.

Fishing his keys out, he stumbled toward his vehicle before flopping down in the driver's seat, rattling hands on the wheel. The nightmares are gonna be rough today. Now that he was away from all the talking and thinking, memories of the previous few hours flooded back to him, no doubt eager to be relived upon him falling asleep. Sighing, he leaned his seat back. I wonder if Foxy ever has bad dreams. Hmm…

An idea came to him. Maybe I could take a nap at her place. True, it was kind of weird, but he knew she'd appreciate the company. And having someone beside him could ease his nightmares, even if said someone caused them with her actions.

"No," he said aloud, shaking his head. Auric was who he had to thank, not Foxy. He needed to keep telling himself that.

There had certainly been worse plans before, so he lethargically exited the car and shambled over toward Pirate Cove.

…

Foxy rested against a wall, counting the painful seconds until ten o'clock. Those early morning hours were always the worst – the whole building was dead, save for occasional alarms and whistles from the kitchen. Normally, time flew by, but lately everything had slowed down when she wasn't with –

A knock at the door perked her ears up. Mike's visits normally excited her, but not this time. Not after realizing how she felt about him. Still, she wasn't about to ignore her only friend in the world. Again, if she really cared, she would have pushed him away. Too bad she was so fucking selfish.

The very least she could do was not saddle him with an even bigger burden than he already possessed. All she needed was to not give her repugnant feelings away; they would be dealt with later. Standing up, she walked over. Take a deep breath… she inhaled. And out…

"Hi, Mike," she said, opening the door for him. He walked in, looking like utter shit. She couldn't remember any of the previous night, but it must have been brutal.

"Hey." Brushing off a patch of ground, he collapsed. She sat down as well, a little farther away from him than usual. "I'll just cut to the chase," he said, staring blankly at the purple curtains. "This might sound pathetic, but I'm too jittery to drive back home. And I'll probably have terrible nightmares, anyway." He rubbed his baggy eyes. "Do you mind if I stay here for a few hours? I think having someone around will make me sleep better."

"Not at all," she said, relaxing a little. If he was sleeping, they wouldn't have to talk, making her feel far less awkward.

Mike took a deep breath. "You're the best friend I've ever had."

"If you say so," she replied, thinking it was just exhaustion getting to him. He couldn't really mean that.

"I'm serious." He turned to face her, appearing nostalgic. "You're funny, intelligent, strong – in more ways than one. You never hide your feelings."

In another life, she might have thought he was flirting, but knew better. And I don't hide my feelings? Ha!

"Honestly, I don't think I would have lasted this long without you. I would have just… given up without someone who understands what I'm going through."

She finally realized he wasn't being sarcastic. With the jaded filter yanked away, she sat there, absolutely stunned. If I wasn't there for him… Only then did Foxy realize that Mike needed her as much as she needed him. They were both angry, lonely, afraid. They had to be all those things together.

By the time she had thought to thank him, tell him how she didn't deserve any of those compliments, she realized he'd already fallen asleep, splayed out on the carpet.

…

Once again, Mike ran through the endless maze of hallways and doors, crying and screaming for his parents. They were nowhere to be found – the labyrinth only contained monsters with decaying bodies and sharp teeth.

Opening one of the thousands of doors, the child nearly fainted with excitement to see a bed waiting for him. Without a second though, he sprinted over and dove under the covers, letting the warms sheet embrace him. All he needed was a few minutes of rest before moving on.

A small thumping sound shot his eyes open, and he cautiously peeked over the covers. The door was closed, and the room was devoid of any furniture the creatures could hide behind or within. It must have been his terrified imagination.

Seconds later, it came again, louder this time. Then again, faster. Running toward the door, Mike screamed when he realized it was locked. "Open! Please open!"

In the corner of his eye, he saw a tattered form crawl out from under the bed. Suddenly, the exit flew open, but it was too late. The last thing he saw were two rows of bloody fangs.

9:46 AM

After several hours of twitching and pained expressions, Mike sat up, looking no less tired than he had been.

"I wasn't sure if I should have woken you or not," Foxy said from the other side of the room. At a few points, she worried he might scream and give himself away.

"You're fine," he replied, rubbing his back. "Don't think I've ever slept on the floor without at least a blanket." They didn't say much; Mike loitered around for a few minutes while she nibbled on a piece of leftover garlic bread. "The restaurant opens in a few minutes. I think people will want my parking space," he said, heading for the door.

"Wait!" She jumped up, swallowing nervously. "Thank you for saying all those things earlier; I had no idea you felt that way about me."

"I didn't at first, either. The, uh, fur and pointy metal parts were a little difficult to look past." He blushed, betraying his adorable bashfulness. "But the more I got to know you, I realized you're human on the inside. You, um, have positive and negative traits, like anyone else." Most would have been offended by someone saying they had "negative traits", but Foxy was enamored.

Human on the inside. At that moment, she hated his empathy and compassion and patience. They only made what she felt even more poignant and jumbled. Why couldn't he just decide to hate her and stop coming? That would have made everything so clear.

"But I'm sorry no one else sees you that way." For a long time, he looked down at the floor. "You deserve better." Finally, he spun around and headed out, door snapping shut behind him.

"No, I don't deserve better. I don't deserve you."

1:24 PM

God, Mike was bored. Sitting on the front steps, staring down at the vast woods, everything seemed meaningless. It wasn't even depression or fear that affected him; Whitewater was a genuinely boring place to live for all but the most outdoorsy.

Which he sort of was, but damn, he really, really wanted to go to Disneyland. His family had gone several times in the past, but it had been years. After all this was over, he'd stock up on cash and take a long drive down the coast. I need something to look forward to.

Feeling hungry, he went inside and grabbed a banana. Might want to buy a few groceries sometime, too. It felt like he was eating nonstop, which concerned him. Couldn't have been healthy, but then again, neither was dying. That didn't stop him from almost doing it several times. At least most of his favorite pig-out foods weren't junk.

He was about to take a shower or watch something mindless on television when a piece of paper caught his eyes, half-buried by a plate. Moving it aside, he saw it was the picture Foxy drew for him; he had forgotten to put it on the fridge. She truly was a great artist, at least in that blurry, sketchy style, where all the lines ran together while remaining discernable. And I'm in it.

Maybe he'd take her to the ocean for real someday; that would be interesting. The expression on her face would be priceless. He shook his head slightly, brushing the thoughts away. There was no reason to get his hopes up over the impossible.

The phone began to ring, making him flinch. His body had adapted a little too well to sudden noises. If Syl was calling, that'd be something to do. He stood up and placed the plastic to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hey, Mike. It's June."

Oh, her. He hadn't expected them to ever speak again; no real reason to. However, he didn't particularly mind. She had apologized to him and Foxy, which meant a lot. "What's up?"

"Just wondering if you wanted to get dinner tonight. Maybe pizza?"

"Are you asking me out?" Mike had intended to say that. He'd never dated anyone before, but was pretty sure inviting someone to a restaurant could usually be seen as flirtatious.

"Uh, no."

I'm only checking.

"I thought that, with your job and all, getting food with someone might help you unwind."

Actually, that was a very nice offer. Warm food and someone besides Foxy to talk with. It didn't take long for him to answer. "Yeah, thanks. I'd like that a lot. Uh, except the pizza part; how about something else?"

"Fine with me."

They talked for a few more minutes, finalizing the where and when. Afterwards, Mike curled up on the couch, relishing the idea of a regular meal. Though Foxy was his best friend, eating with her was anything but normal.

This was perfect. All he had to do now was not fall asleep.

5:08 PM

Only a few minutes late, Mike walked into the pub, feeling healthier than he had in days. A cold shower and putting a little effort into how he looked made a surprising difference. He almost wanted to begin his shift right then.

Checking around, he spotted June at a booth, browsing a menu. "Hey," he said, sliding in across from her. There was a certain charm in being able to talk to somebody without questioning one's safety.

"Hi," she replied, putting the menu down. "I'm sorry I was such an ass when you came by. There was a lot to take in."

"Don't worry about it. I thought I was crazy at first, too. And, um, I've had to deal with much worse than justified rudeness recently." She nodded, and Mike started glancing around the tavern. To most, it would have been thoroughly unimpressive; a standard place for guys to go and get beer with a couple fuzzy television screens showing football. However, it was about as different from Fazbear's as one could get, and that was more than enough for him.

No faux innocence, creepy people glaring at him or sub-par Italian food. What else could he want?

From there, they both ordered and started talking. Not about his job or the dangers he faced, but what their plans were after summer ended, different family members and favorite places around town. And damn, it felt good. The best part was that June didn't have any hidden motives or mysterious assignments; she simply wanted to help him out. He was grateful.

Their food arrived, and they ate, chatted, ate some more, and so on. "So how do you feel?" June asked as he finished his fish and chips.

"A lot better." All he had do to was get a couple more hours of restless sleep and let everything digest. "This is so normal."

She looked to the side and then back at him. "How's your job going?" Well, he supposed she'd have to ask eventually, though at least it was after he was lethargic from eating tasty bar food.

"Bad. But at least this time I know what the Hell I'm doing. Sort of."

"Is Phil still in charge?"

"Yeah." Wait a second… "Uh, how do you know about him?"

"Dad's been venting by telling me horror stories from his week there in '88. I think he always wanted someone to listen to them, so now he's telling me." She shrugged. "He said Phil was – and I'm quoting him – 'a shitty little brownnoser with one of Michael Jackson's hand-me-down jackets.'"

Mike let out a huge laugh, drawing the attention of several other patrons. He needed to write that one down. "Spot-on description. Did he tell you anything else? About the animatronics, maybe?"

"A little, but you probably know most of it. He didn't talk to them like you do." Made sense, but he still would have liked to pick up useful knowledge from an older, wiser night guard of years past. Actually, I've worked six nights so far. He only did five. That technically made him the most qualified person in the world for his job. Scary thought…

After a minute more, the bill arrived. "I'll pay," Mike said. He had cash to burn.

"No, I invited you here, and I'm paying."

They argued back and forth for a while. "Fine," he said, "we'll each pay half."

"I can live with that."

Unfortunately, all good things ended, and that meal was one of them. Soon after, they found themselves outside on a vacant, dirty street, sun already behind the mountains. But Mike felt great, ready for just about anything.

"Good luck tonight. If you want to do this again sometime, I might be up for it."

"Thanks." That was all he could say.

11:55 PM

Mike spun around in his swiveling chair, changing speed by sticking his legs out and tucking them back in. Yeah, it was immature, but he didn't care. He had to work off his nervous energy somehow.

All things considered, though, he felt all right. Despite the constant terror, he was learning more and more that people supported him, wanted him to survive. Be it June or Foxy or Helen whoever else, there were at least a few that gave a shit. Not many, but enough.

Five minutes. There was nothing left to do. He'd used the bathroom, organized his workspace and even had the genius idea of replacing the lightbulb he smashed. As the seconds trickled down, Mike found the events of the past day replaying in his brain, again and again. If these were his final memories, he wouldn't have cared. They were pleasant.

Everything changed when the lights dimmed and a slow rumbling signified the switch off the electrical grid. Showtime.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, June 6, 12:25 AM

Mike learned a lot from his previous night. The old rules no longer applied, so he needed to improvise and adapt as situations unfolded. While this new focus on lateral thinking had some benefits, such as keeping him alert, it also brought an even greater sense of uncertainty. The smallest variable or incorrect assumption would lead to disaster.

Which was why he felt so concerned at that moment, for Freddy had left the stage. Telling himself to remain calm, Mike clicked through the cameras. He couldn't have gotten far.

Sure enough, Mike found him by the bathrooms, leaning against the wall as if waiting for someone. Unless he's a hallucination. He shook his head; there was no telltale ringing in his ears or movement in his peripheral vision. Besides, those didn't usually begin until later.

Judging by the time, though, Bonnie and Chica would soon start moving, commencing his troubles in earnest. Until then, he had a few minutes to himself.

I wonder how I can contact Auric.

That had been on his mind for the past few hours – he agreed to help Helen, but hadn't considered the fact Auric wasn't particularly sociable. Unless trying to threaten or scare him, he wouldn't show. While that was just fine with him, it did raise the question of if they'd actually get in touch.

He could try shouting down the hall, but there were two problems with that plan. First, he'd sound like an idiot. Second, and more importantly, the demon might appear in the flesh or ectoplasm or whatever the Hell supernatural creatures were made of, which Mike really didn't want. The thing was scary enough in his dreams.

I'll have to figure it out later. His relaxation time was probably about over. Indeed, Bonnie and Chica had wandered away, no doubt off to stand around looking creepy. Time for some music. Pulling his Walkman out, he loaded some kind of classical tape – Mozart or Beethoven or somebody like that. It didn't matter which; they all sounded alike, and therefore equally soothing. Maybe a little soft violin would help more than his usual Nirvana and Alice in Chains tracks.

Things went smoothly for a time, with him expertly using the bare minimum amount of energy. It was an art, balancing knowledge of his enemies with the fear of death. Risk and reward, the ultimate penalty for failure. A single second of staring at a camera could change everything. Despite his hatred of it, Mike saw why Auric cherished the "game"; it required the ultimate in strategic thinking. He would have loved to see Roman gladiator fights.

Maybe he did. For all he knew, Auric had been around since the beginning of time. Not any less tenable than his other theories. Just as scary, though.

Realizing he was drifting off, Mike slapped himself a few times and checked the cameras. The animatronics shambled ever closer, an advancing phalanx. Interestingly, Bonnie and Chica seemed to have switched hallways, with Bonnie taking the East and Chica the West. He really is mixing it up.

2:46 AM 61% Power

Thankfully, the night hadn't been eventful so far. There were no distressing encounters, and he was running high on power to boot. Aside from expected hallucinatory whispers and brief flashes of hollow, gold-pupiled faces, things weren't half bad. His standards had certainly diminished.

But he could feel the worst coming. A familiar drone began to rattle around his skull, portending far more intense visions. Though he started to get a general sense of when they'd happen, they were made no less disturbing.

Probing the cameras yet again, he made sure no one came too close for comfort. Freddy was nearest, halfway down the West Hall, while Bonnie and Chica stood shoulder to shoulder by the bathrooms, both jerking around as if they were possessed. Wait, they are.

Foxy was the wild card. She sat in a chair in the dining room, mulling over which corridor to try and kill him from. Giving the monitor a big toothy grin, she slowly raised her hook and drew it across her neck, unfaltering. It made him want to vomit.

Turning away, Mike stood up and kicked the wall, cursing at the pain that shot through his foot. It upset him beyond words to see his friend mind-raped into a sadistic killing machine. Watching someone he cared about being twisted into a soulless puppet filled him with grief and rage. The worst part was that he had to constantly remind himself that it wasn't really her, that she'd never try to hurt him.

Yet here he was, fighting her to stay alive. This would have been infinitely easier if he saw her as an evil monster and not a woman who didn't want any more innocent blood on her hands. How ironic that they kept saving each other only to have the hole they were in get a little deeper with each success. A real catch-22.

You're halfway there. You can do this. There would be plenty of time to languish after not dying. Still trembling at the indignation, Mike returned to his chair and cut the music; he wasn't in the mood.

That's when he realized she was gone. "Not again!"

Before fear could seize his joints, he closed both doors and braced himself for the inevitable banging. Nothing happened. After a few more moments, he glanced at the screen; Foxy – no, Auric, he reminded himself – was back looking smugger than ever. Bastard tricked me into wasting power, he thought, raising the doors. Even those measly couple of minutes decreased his total reserves by two or three percent.

Clenching his fists as to not scream, he felt the anger slowly fizzle away, leaving behind intense apathy. Physically and mentally drained, he continued his private war.

4:06 AM 38% Power

"No… get out of my head."

Mike fumbled to close the doors before being mauled by another hallucination. Gritting his teeth, there was a flash, and a dozen grisly scenes simultaneously unfolded before him, occupying the same space, but nevertheless distinct from each other. His head throbbed, and he briefly wondered if this was how Auric saw reality before being dragged under.

The settings, different as they were, all involved him being painfully killed. He could semi-ignore most, having witnessed them before, but one made him sick to his stomach.

The animatronics stuffed him, still alive and screaming, into a spare Freddy costume. A sickening crunch accompanied by warped laughter followed while blood began staining the floor.

Then it ended.

With another flash, Mike returned to reality, a dying insect sprawled out on the carpet. Retching a few times, he got himself under control before half crawling back to his chair. There was no time to rest; head still spinning, he gave each of the entrances a cursory glance before reopening the doors. He felt like a punching bag – beaten down again and again but cursed to bear the pain until finally rupturing.

Two more goddamn fucking hours left. Pulling a can of Pepsi out of his backpack, Mike pounded on the monitor to bring the display back up. Nobody was particularly close. Too bad. He wanted them to come, if only so he could try to beat the shit out of them – Auric, anyway.

There was no chance he'd survive, but that didn't matter much to his adrenaline-saturated brain, which wanted to annihilate anything that moved. Everything about this was unfair, and not just to him. Even Freddy deserved better; whether he realized it or not, killing people would never solve their problems.

In a sudden frenzy, Mike leapt up and started punching the wall, oblivious to any sense of danger. The only thing that mattered was pretending to smash Auric's face in, again and again and again. You aren't so tough now. Come on, bastard, put 'em up. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Mike realized how pathetic this was, mentally threatening an inanimate object. Throwing a particularly strong jab, he recoiled, pain shooting up his hand.

Blood began to trickle down his knuckles, sticking his fingers together. In hindsight, this was probably a bad idea. Grunting, he closed the doors and started sifting through his backpack, sighing in relief when he found some Band-Aids. Thank God I'm not completely stupid.

A couple minutes later, his hands were patched up, and the rage shrank to manageable levels. If he hadn't cut himself, though, he might really have been crazy enough to go out and fight hand-to-claw, which wouldn't have ended well.

This led him to wonder something; was the anger biological or did Auric put it in there? Were his recent bouts of ire and depression natural or the results of subtle manipulation? It was completely possible Auric was attempting subtler methods, masquerading as his own emotions. The thought made him quake with fear, for if he couldn't trust his own feelings, what could he?

As was so often the case, he had to command himself not to care, say that thinking about it would get him killed. At the same time, he understood ignoring his issues wouldn't fix them, but had to pick one path. Was it better to put his fingers in his ears or face things head on? He sure as Hell didn't know.

Ultimately, there were only a few more nights of the week left, so it didn't much matter. Unless I get shanghaied a third time. His gut told him getting out wouldn't be easy. Whether it was Auric craving to prove his superiority or Phil wanting to tie up a loose end, Mike realized this wasn't something he could walk away from. Sooner or later, his spur of the moment decision to take the job would be the death of him.

He was so consumed by despair that he didn't immediately notice the bright feathery yellow hand gripping the doorway's metal rim – not until it twitched ever so slightly. Heart nearly exploding, he pounded the button.

A couple minutes later, after fully simmering down, he checked the cameras to discern what became of his favorite chicken. Considering the usual clanging from the far-away kitchen, she momentarily wasn't much of a threat.

5:49 AM 7% Power

I'm getting good at this. Instead of cutting down to the wire like he used to, Mike had grown adept enough to save a little energy for the night's few final minutes. He needed to remain aware of the exact time, lest he repeat a certain shift from the previous week, but was otherwise golden.

Yet it felt empty. In eighteen hours, he'd be back to do the same fucking thing over. Even beyond that, the rush of joy from not dying didn't possess the same luster; most people considered it a given. At least his family wasn't around to ask questions or be concerned about why he came home bruised and battered every morning.

And there are some people I can talk to. That reminds me – gotta contact to Auric somehow. Yeah, there was no way that'd turn out well, but he did promise.

Finishing the last can of soda, he tossed it into the trash, already mapping out his plans for the day. For as mopey as he felt, he knew doing nothing would only make it worse. Talk to Foxy, of course. Haven't called Syl in a while. Clean the driveway. Laundry.

God, he was boring.

Chapter Text

Friday, May 29, 1987, 4:50 PM

"Food's here, everyone!" Phil said, making all the kids cheer. There was quite a celebration that evening; identical twins were having a joint tenth birthday party, meaning double the friends, food and fun. Expertly weaving through the crowd, he slid two pizzas in front of the girls, one plain cheese, the other anchovy and caramelized onion. That was a way to tell them apart.

"Get Freddy to do something!" one of the girls said, bouncing up and down in her chair.

"Great idea." He winked at her, and she giggled. "OK, everyone. To wish the double double-digiters happy birthdays, my good friend Freddy is gonna sing them a song." The present adults appeared impressed by his energy, even when stained with flour and tomato sauce, but it was all in a day's work for him. He loved the place and was happy to get dirty for one last summer before he found a real job.

"Without further ado, I present the Fazbear Band." He bowed to the table, stealthily pushing a button on a remote hidden in his pocket. The stage curtains parted and the floor lights flickered on, revealing Bonnie, Chica, Freddy and a lot of dust. Somebody needs to clean that up. The animatronics remained limp for a moment before sputtering to life.

"'ey, Freddy, what 'ave we got 'ere?" Bonnie asked in monotone, his mouth barely flapping in time with the words.

"Looks like somebody's turning ten! Isn't it exciting?" Chica replied with the same lack of inflection. Phil made a note that her shoulder servos were off, twitching when they shouldn't. Fortunately, it wasn't too distracting, and most people probably didn't notice.

He didn't blame shoddy design or poor craftsmanship for the robots' problems. They were just old. Ten years was ancient for animatronics; Chuck E. Cheese's scrapped theirs every five, or so he'd heard. Freddy Fazbear's Pizza (to his great pleasure, his parents changed the "diner" name in time for the robots' debut in '77) wasn't like that, though. They were a family owned and operated business, not a multinational household name. Unless one of the machines keeled over and (figuratively) died, the money could have been better spent elsewhere.

Phil watched the scene a little while longer, glad everyone was having such a good time. The girls and their friends happily devoured their pizza, the parents were busy having some drinks from home (he made sure they were non-alcoholic) and only a couple kids looked particularly scared of the animatronics. Truthfully, if he hadn't grown up around them, he might have thought them creepy as well. Sure, their designs were far less uncanny than the robots at ShowBiz or similar institutions, but they were still shambling hunks of metal. They used to intimidate him near the beginning, too, though that long since passed. Actually, he'd grown rather fond of them. Without any brothers or sisters, they were the closest things to siblings he had.

After a while longer, Phil flipped open the notepad he kept in his pocket and checked what else he needed to do. A lot of staff members were off that day, so various odd jobs – cooking, serving, a bit of maintenance – fell to him. Finished that last batch of food and brought it out. Guess it's time to fix Foxy. Earlier that day, her artificial voice box started going haywire, a common problem. Seeing as how his other work was finished, that'd be the end of his shift.

Brushing some detritus from his uniform, he headed toward the kitchen. He threw open the heavy door and snuck around to the other side, careful not to get in anyone's way or slip on the greasy linoleum. Finally, he reached the basement steps. The middle of a busy cookhouse probably wasn't the greatest place for a cellar, but at least they had one.

Solid concrete steps firmly accepted his feet, and he turned on the lights at the bottom. The room was quite large, holding the furnace, water heater, and, most importantly to him, spare parts. Several crates of surplus occupied the far corner, holding everything needed to keep the animatronics running, from servos to circuit boards.

It took him a while to find the correct piece, but he eventually uncovered it. If I hurry, I might get out of here before six. As he left, though, another box caught his eye, buried beneath ancient tablecloths that someone forgot to dispose of. Only a portion peeked out; dull, slightly rotten wood with some faded text.

A spark flashed in his mind before being extinguished. For some reason, it seemed very, very familiar, yet he couldn't recall why. Well… Foxy wasn't performing, so a quick peek wouldn't hurt.

Throwing the decaying rags aside, Phil could discern only two things about the crate with such poor lighting. First, a dull red "X" had been painted across the lid. Second, most of the script was blanched beyond recognition, but four words stood out as if untouched by time's blight.

MANUFACTURED BY AFTON ROBOTICS

Those words reignited the spark. This must have been one of the boxes the animatronics originally came in. Cool. Thought we got rid of these, though.

The top took some effort to remove, having been cemented by a decade of grime, but it eventually gave way and clattered to the floor. Within lay a green humanoid lagomorph, a corpse in his coffin. That's right. There was another one. In truth, Phil forgot all about their fifth animatronic; he was apparently broken, and they never bothered repairing him. Guess he just got trapped down here. Being sealed away certainly preserved him well – aside from a couple of small nicks, he looked fine.

Phil stared for a minute more, idly wondering if the restaurant would have taken a different course if the green rabbit performed with the others. Would he have been the most popular? Would he be the star of his own show like Foxy?

These questions fizzled out when he remembered the job he'd been assigned. Muttering to himself, he affixed the lid back into place and shoved it back to the corner before racing up the stairs.

…

"OK, Foxy, we're almost there." Phil navigated the robot through a sea of children, most running up to her and having to be shooed away by his fellow workers, a thankless task. While a door directly connecting Pirate Cove and the repair area, or "backstage" as it was called, would have been handy, maneuvering her around wasn't too bad. All the animatronics came with "free-roam" software, which allowed them to wander around their environments, albeit slowly and clumsily. It also made guiding them infinitely easier.

Not even ShowBiz has that. Probably because all sorts of accidents could occur, which was why they kept two or three workers next to them when moving. As evinced by Foxy's design, "Afton Robotics" didn't appear to exactly have safety in mind when designing their products, instead focused on quality at all costs. He could kind of respect that. He was kind of curious about the company, too - they obviously knew a great deal when it came to making such things. Despite trying to discern their whereabouts a few times over the past years, he never found anything recent; seemed they'd dropped off the map around 1983 or so. Too bad, but that sort of thing happened in business.

At last, they reached the door. Booting it open, Phil pulled Foxy inside and took a breather, looking around at all the spare heads they had lying around. Once again, if he didn't grow up around this stuff, he'd find it unsettling at best.

After removing disparate metal body parts from the table, he turned to Foxy. She stared back at him with dull plastic eyes, mechanically blinking every few seconds. "Too bad you can't comprehend what I'm saying. That would make this a lot simpler."

He gently scooted her over to the table before one of the more complex programs kicked in. Ponderously, she began mounting the bench before getting stuck. If only they had a couple more joints. Taking a deep breath, Phil grabbed her legs and pushed her all the way up. That's better.

Increasing chatter outside portended the coming dinner rush, his favorite time of the day. Freddy and the Band did a special song and Foxy had an extended show – at least when working properly. Let's see if we can get her out for that.

Almost surgically, Phil reached around to the back of Foxy's head and undid a hidden flap of Velcro, allowing the faux fur covered latex to slide off, revealing a metal canid skull with some wires dangling out. Next, he stretched her jaws apart and fished a small flashlight out of his pocket.

The voice box was mounted at the very back: a speaker connected to some wires. Fortunately, none were frayed. That made things easier for him. Grabbing a screwdriver, he gingerly reached into her mouth, careful to not cut himself on her teeth. They might have given him tetanus.

His stomach growled, demanding to be fed. It'll only take a few more minutes.

With the speaker loosened enough, he plucked it out and threw it in the garbage before reversing the process, screwing in the new one. OK, this should work.

Quickly putting her back together, he got her standing. "Foxy?" he asked, waving his hands in front of her blank face. "Foxy?"

"Ahoy, me hearty!" she shouted in monotone loud enough to make him flinch. "It be fine sailin' ta' day!"

That worked, all right. Replacing everything he'd moved, Phil took inventory one last time before opening the door, intent on getting Foxy back to the Cove without her accidentally stepping on someone's foot.

8:44 PM

As he relaxed at home, Phil thought about how great the day had gone. No matter what task he was assigned – cooking, repairing, or even just cleaning – he felt like he could make a difference. For his family, yes, but also for kids and parents who wanted a little break. Keeping the restaurant and animatronics running smoothly ensured they could forget about their problems for a few hours and have a good time. Aw, I'm being too melodramatic.

The money was also nice, and he appreciated that his parents didn't pay him more than any of the other employees. Speaking of which, it seemed like they were arriving. Footsteps approached the door, and the knob jiggled.

"Hey," he said as his parents entered. They were soaked from head to toe, and for the first time he heard thunder and pounding rain on the roof. Living in Washington, he often didn't notice.

"Hey," his mother replied, closing her umbrella. "How's the handsome graduate doing?"

"He's fine," Phil replied, stifling a giggle. "And he's happy to work at Freddy Fazbear's for one last summer before he gets a real job and puts his BBA to use." She smiled at him.

"Come on, honey, we need to be punctual," his father said, reentering the room with something behind his back.

"Where are you guys going?" It was very unusual for them to leave so late.

"It's our anniversary, remember? We're eating a late dinner together. I just had to come back and get something."

He breathed a sigh of relief. Good thing I'm not expected to recall that.

"Speaking of which…" His father whipped out a bouquet of flowers from behind him, presenting them to his mom.

"You shouldn't have!"

"You don't really mean that, do you?"

"No." They all had a good laugh. "Now let's go."

"Happy anniversary!" he shouted after them. "Don't get too drunk!"

His father paused at the door before turning around, looking wistful. "We may not say it much, but we're proud of you, of everything you've accomplished. You're going to do something great, I can tell – much bigger than running a pizza shop in some Podunk town."

It was rare for his father to talk that way, but every time he did, Phil was moved. "Thanks, Dad."

"Just a minute, dear!" he shouted outside before taking off his purple coat. He always wore it to work – said the kids liked it. He could never see himself donning something so flamboyant, personally. "I want you to have that. Something to remind you of how far you'll go."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he said, heading toward the door. "You'll look good in it!" With that, he disappeared into the deluge.

Saturday, May 30, 1:13 AM

A noise jarred Phil from the realm of slumber. What was that? Not the rain, certainly, which had been ceaseless for hours. Washington state was known for its precipitation, but this storm was truly enormous. Maybe a falling tree?

The sound came again, louder. That's when he realized someone was knocking. They must have forgotten their keys. Throwing on a shirt, he walked to the porch and opened the door. "How was the – " He rubbed his eyes for a moment and blinked. Two Kittitas County police officers were there, one a middle-aged woman, the other a man in his early thirties.

"Are you Phillip Fazbear?" the woman asked.

Shit. "Uh, y-yes. What can I do for you, officers? A-am I under arrest?" He had absolutely no idea what was going on, but law enforcement personnel showing up on his doorstep after midnight couldn't have been good.

"No," she said, face darkening like the sky, which continued to pour rain on them. "May we come in, though?"

Phil was taken aback but consented. The faster they got this cleared up, the faster he could go back to sleep.

Sitting down on his couch, the police didn't bother removing their jackets. A sense of dread hung over the room; something bad was happening, that much Phil knew. He sat in a chair across from them, the knot in his gut tightening every second. The older woman whispered something into the man's ear, and he nodded.

"Can I call you Phil?"

"Sure."

The man adjusted his collar and took a deep breath. "Your parents were in an automobile accident earlier tonight."

It felt like someone punched him in the stomach. For a moment, he was drowning. "W-what?" he choked out.

The man didn't look like he could say any more, so his partner took over. "These mountain roads are dangerous at night, especially when it's raining this hard. The car swerved through a guardrail and…"

Phil wasn't sure whether she stopped speaking or if his mind was tuning her out. At that moment, he knew why they were there. But if anyone had to say the inevitable words, it would be him.

"They're dead, aren't they?"

"Yes."

A few tears rolled down his face before he fell to the ground, bawling.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, June 6, 6:15 AM

Foxy could glean a lot of information about people without ever laying eyes on them. Her other senses, already superior to those of humans, had been further augmented by the barrier separating her from the world. For example, when Mike left his office and began walking toward the exit, his steps were heavy, ponderous.

Must have been a bad night.

Wasn't saying much. As he passed the cove, she caught a whiff of him – drenched in sweat. Not only was he burned out but scared. Angry, too. Another person entered the restaurant, someone whose jaunty footfalls she knew well.

"Ah, Mr. Schmidt. Still with us, I see."

"Does that make you upset?" Mike asked, voice understandably tense.

"Not at all. It would be quite a coup if you didn't lose your head by Friday." Phil paused for a moment. "I'd like to believe in miracles." He hurried toward his office, leaving her confused.

Does he feel… guilty? That was the only conclusion she could draw. No night guard had ever lasted so long under such pressure, and he was the youngest she remembered. Those factors doubtlessly bothered Phil – made him second guess what he did. Of course, any sane person would never need reflection to see that.

Moments later, a knock came at the fire exit. It'll be OK, she thought, pushing herself up. The last time they spoke went fine, which increased her confidence a bit. There's nothing wrong with talking to someone. Humans must have dealt with this all the time – having little crushes on people. Of course, those usually involved other humans, not anthropomorphic foxes. Flipping on the lights, Foxy brushed off her clothes before opening the door.

"How are you?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Bad. Better than yesterday, though." Mike sat in his typical spot, looking tired, but somehow kept a smile on his face.

"Then what are you happy about?"

"Being here. You make really good company."

"Seriously?" He must have been humoring her; she possessed the social know-how of a brick.

"Yeah. You, uh…" He scratched his neck. "Not to sound sappy, but you understand how difficult this all is." His face suddenly darkened. "I always feel like no one gets me, you know?"

"Mike, I'm a six-foot tall, sentient vixen pirate animatronic that can speak, eat and sleep. Of course people get me."

Suppressing a loud laugh, Mike said, "Stupid question. Still, you're the only person who grasps all this. Even if there was someone else around to listen to me – and there isn't – they'd think I'm mad." True enough. "Um…" He had something on the tip of his tongue, but couldn't quite bring himself to speak.

"What?"

…

"What?" Foxy asked, keeping her eye firmly trained on him. Once harsh and piercing, it emanated warmth, which encouraged him to finally spit out his thought.

"I – I like your tail."

Clearly not expecting to hear that, she looked at him in bewilderment. She'd never received such a compliment before. In response, the appendage stopped swaying.

"I think it's cool," he tried to explain, feeling blood rush to his face. "It's nice and fluffy and you can wave it around. It… goes well with your pants." This wasn't working; he grew more embarrassed by the word. Why do I always have to open my damn mouth?

"Thank you," she replied, appearing amused. It was his turn to be surprised now, and her tail resumed its slow motions.

"You aren't offended, um, or anything?"

"Nope."

"Well, good." He sighed softly. "I wasn't sure if you were ashamed of how you looked or not. Otherwise I'd have said it earlier."

Foxy frowned. "I used to hate myself – hate my body. Hate the fact that it made me different from everyone else. So, yeah, if you'd told me that a decade ago, it really would have pissed me off." She shrugged. "Now it doesn't bother me too much; this is who I am, and nothing can change that. I mean, if I could magically become a human, I'd do it in a heartbeat, but that's not possible. Most of my current loathing goes toward other people."

"I understand."

"No, I don't think you do. Just like I can't really understand what it's like to be human. We're too different." She had a point, and guilt stung him between the ribs. Her scowl faded nonetheless, replaced by a slight smile. "But we can still support each other." When she looked at him, he felt a warm glow fill his stomach, something he couldn't quite place. That, or he didn't want to.

Some time passed with them mostly making small talk about happenings around the restaurant. That was Foxy's area of expertise, alongside pirates, of course. Not very riveting, but most conversations of the sort weren't.

Mike eventually checked his watch. Been here a while. "I think I'll head out now."

Foxy looked a bit disappointed. "That's fine. Have a nice day – or at least try to."

As he walked toward the door, he offhandedly teased, "Too bad there aren't any bachelor foxes around. They'd be lucky to have a vixen like you."

"Uh, yeah," she nervously laughed. "I'm not really into other foxes."

"That's true. I doubt you could find any others that walk on two legs and talk." With Foxy looking uncharacteristically jittery, he shrugged it off and left.

…

White.

As far as Mike could see, the entire world was an endless expanse of cold white. Beneath his feet, far above him. He wasn't even sure if he stood or floated. While this was all fine and good, it meant only one thing. Something far worse than a nightmare was on its way.

Instantly, the frigid golden smog materialized, surging around him. He yelped in surprise and fell backwards. There's ground here after all.

"Speak, Warden," a gravelly voice demanded through the mist.

"H-huh?" he stammered, overwhelmed with fear. Please don't kill me please don't kill me please don't…

"You desired to parlay with me last night, but couldn't work up the courage. Every hour or so, you attempted to call out, but my name stuck in your throat." Getting to his feet, Mike saw a shadow deeper in the cloud, unmoving as tendrils of smoke wafted around. Two gilded eyes pierced the veil, drilling through his soul.

"I'm very busy, Warden. Insult me, threaten me, or grovel at my feet, but do not waste my time."

That was the last straw. A seething anger and mocking contempt briefly drove away his fear. As he'd learned from the past weeks, dreams were dreams. Auric may have had the power to craft illusions, but was powerless to truly hurt him. Probably. Maybe. He hoped.

"First, stop calling me 'Warden'. It's wrong. Like, I work at a children's pizzeria, not the state penitentiary. I already have to deal with Phil calling me 'Mr. Schmidt' like I'm some kind of CEO."

The shape took a moment to reply, either weighing the options or perplexed by his audacity. "Very well." That handled one problem. "Now what are your words to me?"

"Oh, yeah," Mike said, remembering his promise to Helen. "Uh, one of the people at Fazbear's – a lady with blue hair – she, um, told me that you were driving her coworkers insane and trying to make them kill the customers." The situation's freakishness finally dawned on him as he spoke that sentence. Having existence crumble around you could be desensitizing.

An earthquake began within the cloud, shaking reality with its deep drones. Mike shuddered as he realized it was Auric's laughter. "They are malleable. Weak willed. Unstable. I only need to supply a single trigger – a dream, for example – and the darkness within them does the rest."

"I actually believe you." Firsthand experience told him these people would kill kids if they really wanted to. "Even so, she wants you to stop."

"Indeed?" Auric rasped, stepping forward. Though the shade was nearly within arm's reach, not a single discernable detail broke the cloud, save those two damnable eyes. In fact, his body seemed to shift slightly with each passing second, as if it, too, was immaterial. The sight made him sweat bullets despite the intense cold he also threw off. Heart pounding, Mike began to question whether this was a good idea.

"Why would I do that? They're the primary entertainment I have – save you, of course." He mockingly smirked, and his pupils were simmering coals. "Besides, the violence is not entirely my work. As I said, these cretins would do the same by themselves given a few more years."

Mike hated to admit it, but Auric was correct on both accounts. However, he wouldn't give up quite yet. He'd never thought himself particularly determined before this job, but the amount of willpower he exerted to survive every night revealed a hitherto undiscovered obstinacy. There had to be a way to convince Auric, though, appeal to some sense of… something. Demons weren't noble or compassionate. Nor were they interested in material things. If he even is a demon the way I think of them.

Out of all the arguments and appeals that came to mind, only one seemed likely to win him over: pride. Regardless of what Auric was, arrogance permeated every word and action. This creature relished power. Even his appearance radiated vanity; gold was the color of royalty and perfection.

He had a plan.

"You're right. The people you're manipulating are so depraved that they'd kill their own families for enough money. But what's fun about that?" Behind the smoky veil, he thought he saw Auric raise an eyebrow. "I've met people like you, uh, believe it or not. Well, they can't do the things you can, but they act the same. Everything's a competition, right? You play to win?"

He nodded vigorously, the words obviously stoking his already massive ego. "Always."

"Thought so. But if that's true, then going after these people just isn't worthwhile, because you know you'll succeed. Um, it would be like me racing a paraplegic. There's no satisfaction in winning. If victory's guaranteed, why play at all?" Mike felt his heart pounding out of both anxiety and delivering the greatest speech of his life – to a supernatural entity, no less.

The universe trembled as Auric laughed again, much louder than the first time, but slowly calmed, reality returning to order. Mike could only wait with bated breath and hoped his argument worked. "You drive a hard bargain," Auric said, still chuckling slightly. "Tell your friend that I shall stop influencing her coworkers. The damage they cause from now on will be purely their own."

The last thing Mike wanted to do was endanger their shaky agreement at the final moment, so he swallowed his dignity and spat, "Thank you." That would take days to wash out of his mouth.

"One final thought before I take my leave. You and 'Foxy' make a…" He trailed off, trying to reel in whatever term floated through his amorphous mind. "You're a good match for each other."

"…what?!" Despite everything that had happened to him over the past weeks, that one remark was the most shocking of all. "No! It's not like… I don't think you…" Every time he tried to form a sentence, it terminated halfway through. All the while, Auric stood there, doubtlessly savoring his exasperation, which grew by the moment.

"We're just friends!" he shouted, managing to string together three coherent words. "There is absolutely nothing between us."

"Really? Apologies. The notion of love has always existed beyond me, so I simply assumed." He smirked again. "Although you haven't seen how she waits for you. Before you came, she drifted aimlessly. Now you're the only thing she thinks about."

Mike stood there, seething with inexplicable rage. This shouldn't have made him so angry. "Leave."

2:25 PM

Cruising around Whitewater in his car, Mike looked for something, anything to put him in a good mood. He'd been out for nearly half an hour and nothing about his attitude had changed. It resulted from his dreams, as usual, but not a standard nightmare. Instead, he couldn't stop brooding over Auric's final words. Somehow, they were nearly as terrifying as being ripped apart by metal monsters.

He thinks Foxy and I are a couple. Hah! That's ridiculous. Why, then, could he not move on? Why was he being so defensive? Why was there a feeling in his gut that perhaps Auric knew something he didn't. Turning onto a desolate side street, he pulled over and rested his head on the wheel, needing a break.

Maybe on a couple occasions, he'd imagined her being in a relationship, but not with him. He remembered his "bachelor foxes" comment earlier; Hell, that was just a joke, because no other anthropomorphic foxes existed. It was just her. Well, probably - there might have been a lot more insane shit in the world than he realized.

Even if they were involved, it would be nigh impossible to keep such a relationship going considering they had extremely little in common beyond being sapient beings, not to mention that he could die at any time. Oh, and the little fact that she was a fox.

Normal humans didn't fall in love with animals. And vice-versa, he hoped.

Mike noticed he was gripping the wheel so hard that the parts of his knuckles poking out between the bandages turned white. I shouldn't hurt them more than I already have. Loosening his grasp, he continued to mope.

Part of him wanted to drive to Fazbear's that very moment so he could ask her and be done with it. But if he did, there was a chance, no matter how slim, that she would confirm his fears. "No," he said, sitting back up, "this is a trick. Some new plan to drive me mad. It must be." Underneath his mock-confidence, though, the anxiety lingered.

Turning on the radio to escape his myriad fears and problems, he cringed when the first thing he heard was some cheesy love song. Then another. His car mocked him, repeating that word on every station. Whatever. He flipped it off, back to square one.

Maybe he was thinking too hard. Very few of his fears, pervasive as they were, actually came to pass. He still wasn't dead, maimed or institutionalized. Given enough time, he could surely look back on this and… not laugh, but realize how foolish he'd been.

Those few minutes of silence made him feel a bit better. Not great, but then again, he rarely felt great anymore. I need to shake things up, he thought, looking out at the empty street and vacant storefront. A trip to Seattle would be nice. I got time. Hell, why not? He might never see the city again, so a couple hours of sightseeing were welcome.

7:42 PM

Mike reclined on the sofa, idly watching television. He always seemed to end up doing that in the evening; probably a bad habit. I'll read a book tomorrow night instead. Still, unlike on most of his nights, he felt a strong sense of accomplishment. Walking around the Space Needle and grabbing a bite to eat at Pike Place sounded trivial, but they soothed him beyond belief. His only regret was not getting off his ass sooner.

The phone began ringing, interrupting those thoughts. Who could that be? Only one way to find out. Not having Caller ID, he used to hate answering the phone, always expecting telemarketers to loudly proclaim why he should use Brand X. Currently, though, there were slightly more pressing matters to contend with.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mike. It's June."

"Of course it is. Haven't you checked your calendar?" Wow, that sounded so much cleverer in his head.

"Yeah, ha-ha, never heard that one before," she said, deadpan. "Anyway, I found something in my dad's sock drawer that you might want to see. I could drive over and show you."

"Aww. I thought you wanted to take me out to dinner again." Nothing. "OK, I'm done now. Uh, sure, I'd be really interested to see whatever he keeps with his socks." He paused, unsure of whether he should bring up what he knew was on both their minds.

"It's not porn, right?"

"No, it's not porn!" she shouted into the mouthpiece before sighing. "Maybe I should have worded that better. Whatever, I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Sounds good." He hung up, half giddy and half ashamed. Nobody on Earth could tell worse jokes if they tried. Like, he'd tried for years to cultivate a sense of humor, but it seemed the only person he could actually get to laugh was Foxy.

Resuming his program, Mike waited a few minutes, wondering what she'd show him. Not porn. Probably not socks. Must have been something related to his job; that was the only sensible option.

An impatient knock came at the door. He turned off the television and raced over. "Um, hey."

"I can't stay long," June said, not bothering to take off her jacket. "I have other plans tonight."

"Great." He sat on the couch, brushing some crumbs off for a cleanlier environment. "Now what's this about? And why were you looking through your dad's stuff in the first place?"

She sat next to him, pulling what appeared to be a photograph out of her pocket, but kept the image facing away from him. "After you brought Foxy in, he mostly shut up about his 'week from Hell'. By that point, I knew you weren't lying, but he probably realized he sounded like a lunatic. So, I decided to snoop through his stuff."

June handed him the image, but he needed a moment to process what was in front of him. The picture showed a much younger Jeremy surrounded by the animatronics, who hadn't changed at all. Behind them was the stage. Though not in frame, they must have been surrounded by armed guards, doubtlessly itching to shoot someone. From his mind's deepest recesses, a memory of Phil talking about a "safety-guaranteed photo" came.

After staring at it for a minute more, he began to chuckle at some of the more humorous aspects.

"What's so funny?"

"Look at your dad's hair." In true 80s style, Jeremy sported both a mullet and a horseshoe moustache, making him look like a particularly dated extra on T. J. Hooker. The expression of sheer terror on his face only made it funnier, and June struggled not to laugh.

"Yeah, that's impressive, but the robots take me out of it."

Bonnie and Chica appeared to be coping the best, flashing obviously fake grins at the camera, probably to maintain a sense of order. That couldn't have been easy, considering how Freddy acted when upset. Speaking of which, the bear stood staring at the floor, eyes obscured by his top hat but muzzle locked in a scowl. And Foxy, as expected, wanted more than anything to rip Jeremy apart piece by piece. Even without a working mouth, the rage in her eyes and body language leaped out at him.

The whole situation made him profoundly disappointed when he realized nothing had changed. If he took Phil up on his offer, the only difference between his photo and Jeremy's would be a happier Foxy. I guess no one's made a difference. Still, it was interesting to see this, and he told June as much. "Thanks for coming by. It gets lonely out here."

"You're welcome," she said, getting up. "Good luck tonight. After this, you're over halfway done. Then you can be finished with all this forever."

"I hope so."

10:44 PM

Helen wasn't there. Peering through the bulletproof glass doors, the only guards he saw were musclebound idiots mopping the floor. Her car wasn't present, either, confirming his suspicions. Well, she can't be here every night.

Standing in a pool of light surrounded by murky darkness, Mike considered what else to do with what time remained. It was too early to just sit in the office; his fears would flare up immediately.

There was only one place to go, but invisible weights hindered his steps toward it. Auric was lying, he told himself, wiping an errant raindrop off his nose. He's trying to… do something. Reaching Foxy's door, he gave the way he came a quick glance before knocking.

"Coming, coming."

Muffled footsteps approached before she let him in. Despite being a horrible place to call home, the room projected a soft warmth that drew him away from the unseasonably cool night air. "Make yourself comfortable. I'd offer you leftovers, but you'd think they're disgusting." She pointed at a small plate of unidentifiable bits and piece of what might have once been full meals floating in spaghetti sauce.

"That's awful," he said, catching a whiff of it. Smelled almost raw.

"You get used to it after a few years." Sitting by the stage, she waved him over, her muzzle curved into a smile. "After tonight, you're more than half done. Unless Auric threatens to kill you again…" Her face turned sour, and she stared off into space, considering that possibility for the first time.

That lie would bite him in the ass later, he was sure of it. Even so, he couldn't exactly tell the truth that moment. He had to keep her safe, despite knowing how wrong it was.

"June said almost the exact same thing to me earlier – about being over half done."

"Did you talk to her again?" she asked, obsessively polishing her hook.

"Yeah. She had something to show me." He decided not to elaborate; remembering her jaw getting smashed wouldn't have helped the mood.

"Huh."

For a while, they talked about whatever came to mind, Mike's only concern being regularly checking the time. Foxy seemed interested in learning about his relatives and the various interactions they had. If he never had parents or siblings, he'd be curious about what they were like, so curiosity was understandable.

This really felt great, unwinding with his best friend over some stories and sharing a couple laughs. Wrapping up one last tale about Syl, he was finally ready to come out with what he'd been trying to say the whole time.

"I talked to Auric in my dreams last night. He never gets any less scary," he said, only then remembering the demon could probably hear him. Damn, he'll take that as a compliment.

"What did he say?"

…

Mike nervously laughed, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. She'd seen him scared before, but not over something so trivial.

Must have threatened him bad. I shouldn't have asked.

"Well…" he paused to scratch his neck, delaying the inevitable, "he said you were in love with me!"

All went silent.

Neither of them said a word. Even the dining area was dead. The only thing she could hear was her heart, thumping slowly, deeply, as if about to stop.

She hoped it would.

"But that's ridiculous, of course," Mike said at last, his voice tinged with unease.

Damn you, Auric. Sensation slowly returned, replacing her emptiness with mortification. A chill started at the top of her spine and flowed all the way to the tip of her tail.

"Right?" His eyes pleaded with her to laugh this off as a joke or snap at him. Anything besides saying she loved him. Anything but that.

Unfortunately, she couldn't lie to him. Not only would he see through it, she'd be forsaking the sole person who ever cared about her, the one who made life somewhat worthwhile.

"It's just a crush," she murmured, doing her best to keep an even tone, though failing horrendously.

The expression on his face said it all: beaten, confused, betrayed and frightened. At least he had the courtesy not to immediately run away. Unlike some people.

"I know it'll never work, but try to understand." Tears began to form in her eye despite her mental protests. She did enough crying. "I sat here and rotted day after day. There was no reason for me to exist. Then somebody came. Not a knight in shining armor – a regular guy who was just as scared as me." Foxy didn't dare look at Mike, but could feel him gaze at her.

"Even though this guy and I didn't get along at first, we became friends despite our differences. He gave me something to live for besides shitty food and old memories. Regardless of his flaws, he was kind, humble and never gave up on me. He didn't demand anything in return. He didn't think any less of me despite something bad I did a long time ago or the fact that I'm more metal and fur than I am human."

Unable to say more, she bowed her head and wept in silence, the entire world's weight upon her. Whatever the consequences were, she'd take them in stride.

"How could you not fall in love with someone like that?"

Mike looked rattled, but the fear in his voice was replaced with a grim acceptance. At least he comprehended why she felt that way about him. Sighing, he glanced once more at his watch, then back to her.

Instead of leaving, though, he pulled up his legs to stay a few more minutes.

Chapter Text

Wednesday, August 5, 1987, 4:40 PM

Phil sat in his office, staring blankly at a pack of discount beer in the corner. His office. Heh. He still hadn't gotten used to thinking that.

The dinner rush was the worst part of his day; after he'd finished balancing the budget, drafting up goals for the next quarter, and all his other responsibilities, he found himself phenomenally bored. That was the last thing he wanted.

Without work to distract him, the only thing he could concentrate on was how much better his parents would have done it. They wouldn't spend hours reviewing their math or reprimand themselves for firing a problem employee. In any situation, they always had the right answer.

He raised an arm to look at the sleeve of his purple jacket, stained with sweat and alcohol. After that night, he couldn't bear to take it off, not even while sleeping. It was all he had left of them. But why? Why did this have to happen?! Nothing was fair! Phil would have wept, but he had no tears left to shed. Over the months, his anger and grief slowly ebbed away, leaving him a hollow, shivering shell.

A knock at the door snapped him out of his stupor.

"Who's there?" he asked, pleased he was still able to speak comprehensibly. The door slowly opened, and in stepped… he forgot her name. Some teenaged girl that had been working there for the summer. "What do you want?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but started coughing instead, doubtlessly choking on the rancid stench of a man who hadn't showered in weeks mixed with cheap liquor. That was a wake-up call. Sitting a little straighter, Phil decided he could pull himself together and act like a real manager for at least a few minutes. When she stopped, he motioned for her to have a seat. "Now what can I do for you, miss…"

"Adams," she finished, still breathing through her mouth.

"All right, Ms. Adams, what brings you here?" He already knew the cause from her expression, but erred on the side of professionalism.

"I quit."

For a moment, he didn't say anything, and the girl looked at him patiently. Then he started chuckling, and her face turned to confusion with a hint of disgust. "Are you happy that I'm leaving?!"

"No, I just appreciate that you're so blunt about it. Precise and to the point – you aren't trying to drag it out." She nodded, yet he wasn't sure whether she believed him. Four other employees had left since he became manager; it wasn't surprising, nor offensive. Not many people wanted to work for a neurotic drunkard. He certainly wouldn't. "Besides, you probably have to get back to school soon. This'll give you more time to study."

It wasn't quite that simple, of course. There were a few papers to sign, the usual legal junk. He helped her as best he could with shaky hands and a dulled memory. After all that was out of the way, she hesitantly stood up. "I don't know you very well, Mr. Fazbear, but from what I saw of you earlier this summer, you seem nice. Just… I hope you get better." With that, she exited the room without looking back, closing the door behind her.

"How can I?"

9:46 PM

Phil's footsteps echoed across the room as he paced, a favorite sound of his. The reverberation of rubber soles on linoleum took him back to happier times. Only two months prior, his future looked bright; plenty of local companies would have hired him as some type of assistant manager. After that, who knew? Maybe he'd buy a house, fall in love, have kids. Walking over to a table, he pulled out a chair and continued his melancholy musings.

After his parents died, no one would take the restaurant. His only living relatives were distant cousins, who naturally weren't interested. But he couldn't see his childhood be torn down and forgotten. Not after what he'd been through. Fazbear's wouldn't close until he spent every dollar to his name on it, and even then, someone would need to drag him out the door. With the rate he was hemorrhaging money, though, that started to become a legitimate concern. Sober or not, he didn't stack up to his parents in managing. In fact, he was terrible at it.

Glancing down at his jacket, he sighed. "I'll go real far. Thanks, Dad."

Darkness reigned outside; he should have left an hour earlier, but was so wrapped up in nostalgia that time mattered little. Nevertheless, there was one more thing he wanted to do before departing. Pulling a remote from his pocket, he pressed a button. The stage curtains parted while a few aged spotlights popped to life, casting a harsh yellow glow on the illustrious Fazbear Band.

"Hey guys," he said, of course getting no reply. They were powered down for the night, their mouths hanging agape and arms limp. "Did you have a good day?"

Phil was aware of how this would have looked to anyone else – they'd think he lost it, talking to the animatronics. It wasn't like that, though. He knew they weren't alive, but needed to vocalize his problems, and this was better than doing it to open air.

"Because I didn't. First I had to deal with a broken arcade game, then some kids got into a fight. Profits are down this quarter, so I need to decide what happens if that trend continues. And another server quit. That means more work for everyone else. Not that I blame her."

Freddy, Bonnie and Chica were the perfect audience. They never interrupted him or told him to shut up or called him a failure. They just stood there. The same went for Foxy, although he preferred the dining room to Pirate Cove. In a strange way, he considered them friends. They'd been there for so long, through good and bad. Now, during the hardest time of his life, it seemed they were the only ones to stick with him.

"It's been difficult, handling everything now that Mom and Dad are gone. We'll be in the red by next month." He bowed his head and sighed. "I know you guys can't hear me, but thank you. You're my family. Without the restaurant – without you – I'd be lost."

Phil sat for a minute more, looking around the room, reminiscing about all the pleasant time he'd spent there in years past. He doubted there would be much more. With another button press, the lights flickered out and the curtains fell, leaving him alone.

…

What a weird dream.

Not that he was complaining. Most of his dreams as of late had been very unpleasant. This was just strange. He stood in an endless white space: no floor, ceiling or horizons, an eternal expanse. Then he blinked and was alone no longer.

A golden cloud hung in front of him, punctuated by an ear-splitting buzz. Shit, it is a nightmare.

"Greetings, Phillip." A raspy voice intermingled with the hum, and was barely discernible.

"Hello?" he answered back. This was unlike any dream he'd ever had. The droning began to fade until it was nothing but a gentle white noise, much like radio static.

"That's better." The voice was metal scraping on concrete, and it came from everywhere.

"Where are you?" Phil asked, hoping this dream would be some sort of interesting puzzle.

"The mist." Sure enough, he thought he could glimpse an amorphous figure far away in the fog, though its features were impossible to distinguish. That's when he was struck with uneasiness. Something about this seemed not only odd, but ominous, like he was trespassing in a place forbidden. Even so, he pressed on out of curiosity. Taking several steps toward it, the shade turned, revealing specks of piercing golden light where a human's eyes would be.

This seemed so real. Phil could feel the space around him crackle with energy, making his hair stand up. Somehow sensing his fear, it said, "You need not be concerned. I have no harmful intentions."

"Of course you can't hurt me. It's a dream." He felt ridiculous for saying that, but needed to reassure himself.

"Not in the traditional sense. You are asleep, but I'm stimulating regions of your brain, such as the amygdala and hippocampus, to manifest."

He must have had one too many drinks that day. Only alcohol could conjure up a lucid dream about a mind-altering ghost or whatever the Hell this was. Yeah, OK, he'd see how weird this could get. Not like he had much choice.

"So what are you and why are you here?" Might as well get straight to the point, not that any of this would matter when he awoke.

"I am a friend, and I am here to make a proposal. I've watched you for some time, waiting in the background." A shiver ran down his spine. Over the past few weeks, strange sensations plagued him. Feelings of being watched, or noises in his mind's far places. But that wasn't possible. This… thing in front of him couldn't be real. None of it could be.

Phil considered himself a man of reason. He didn't believe in gods or devils or magic. There was, however, little natural explanation for the vaguely human shape with golden eyes standing before him plain as day.

"W-what's your offer," he eventually managed to spit out.

The figure took another couple of steps toward him. Despite being less than five feet away, he couldn't make out any details beyond the eyes, which almost hurt to look at directly.

"I came here because I seek the most desperate, people willing to pay any price. You are one of them. As for my offer itself... I can give you a family again."

Upon hearing those words, Phil nearly collapsed. He didn't believe it could do such a thing, or even that it existed, but it was right – he was desperate. Still, he didn't want to accept only to awaken and find out his subconscious was playing cruel tricks on him.

"You're saying you can bring my parents back from the dead?"

The figure began laughing, and space around them quivered like a leaf in the wind. "No," it said, quickly regaining its composure. "Such a power is far beyond me." Damn it, he knew this was too good to be true. He didn't care anymore; all he wanted to do was wake up and escape this bizarre nightmare.

"However, I can provide a new one."

"Yeah, of course you can," Phil responded, barely paying attention. "Hey, manifestation of my unconscious mind, can you wake me up? Pinching myself isn't working."

The figure's posture grew tense, and its eyes flared with annoyance. Phil shrank back, having essentially punched a shark in the nose. What if he was wrong, and this entity could annihilate him with a single thought? Instead of lashing out, though, it rumbled, "I will return tomorrow. Consider my bargain. It is not something you are likely to receive again."

At that moment, it felt like he'd fallen on his face. His vision spun until all he could see were two golden eyes, and then blackness.

…

Phil jolted awake, panting and drenched in sweat. A million questions raced through his mind, exacerbating his headache and the tingling at the back of his skull. Never again would he drink right before going to bed. With trembling legs, he hobbled to the bathroom and turned on the lights, needing to splash some water on his face.

That feels a little better. Something told him, though, that a monster hangover awaited him the next morning.

Able to concentrate slightly, he focused on the dream he had. It was… rather disturbing. Not necessarily a nightmare; nothing truly scary happened. Nevertheless, that golden darkness frightened him beyond reason. What did it want, again? Something about his parents? Already sleep began to overwhelm him again. If it was important, I'll remember tomorrow. At least, standing in the light, he could assure himself of one important fact; it wasn't real.

As he reached over to flip off the lights, Phil caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror, barely recognizable as the man he used to be. Gaunt, pale skin contrasted bloodshot eyes and teeth that were beginning to yellow. Rounded out by his coat, a single word came to mind – clown. That summed up how he felt about himself – a talentless hack fit only to mock.

Tearing himself away, he turned out the lights and headed back to bed.

Chapter Text

Wednesday, June 7, 12:20 AM

Pulling his head off the desk, Mike took a cursory glance at the cameras. Nothing close to him yet. Satisfied, he leaned back to try and figure out his emotions. They weren't what he expected – there was no rage or sorrow, only numbness.

She loved him.

How was he supposed to take that?! He'd never gone on a date before, much less have his best friend tearfully confess her love for him, pouring her heart out. Maybe if she was human…

Damn it, he wanted to feel something. Bitterness, upset or anger, but apathy's cold fingers strangled his soul. The most he could manage was gently kicking the floor. At least he understood why this happened. If he was alone for a decade and suddenly started to get friendly visits from someone, it would be impossible not to develop strong feelings for them. It's not like any of this was intentional.

Still, it was hard not to sense betrayal. She could have told him – it would have been better than finding out from the thing trying to kill him every night. Mike had no doubt Auric told him to throw him off balance, but he was grateful. There was no way in Hell their relationship could get any more awkward or embarrassing now.

Far-off, distorted laughter made him twitch. There were more important things at hand, so he wouldn't fall into the demon's little trap.

Pushing his conflicted thoughts aside, he took a moment to crack his bandaged knuckles and develop a survival plan. He'd taken some time earlier to restock his supplies and felt well prepared in that area. Coffee thermos, snacks, new cassettes, a bottle to piss in, etc. No concerns there.

OK, what's going to happen with the robots? Auric, despite being utterly alien, seemed to comprehend the human animal. That week, the animatronics had been far more aggressive, especially Freddy and Foxy, the ones that exasperated him most. In other words, Auric sensed his greatest fears and adapted accordingly. There was no reason to expect anything different would happen that night. Clever bastard.

The most serious threat, however, was not lack of supplies or even killer robots. While the animatronics were terrifying, Auric's ability to warp the mind disturbed him most by far. Being unable to discern reality was an enormous disadvantage, one that made him second guess every action.

In short, his plan was to keep doing what worked before and not die. Simple enough.

Mike checked the cameras again; not much had changed in the past few minutes except for Foxy, who opened the curtains and flashed the camera a wolfish grin. Unflinching, she put her hook against her throat, and – oh Hell no! Before Auric made her do anything, he switched the stream off.

Blankly staring at the computer, Mike's numbness began to fade, replaced with a smoldering fire. He understood why Auric threatened to hurt Foxy. It distressed him before, but knowing how she really felt about him made it much worse – he wanted to vomit. More than that, he desired vengeance.

Someday, somehow, he would find Auric – the monster, not the people whose skins he wore – and kill him. Violently.

1:38 AM 67% Power

So it begins. Mike felt the familiar tingling at the base of his skull take root, significantly earlier than ever before. Auric must really be getting desperate. The hallucinations would soon be upon him: ten or fifteen minutes at most.

Glancing at the computer's power display, he was troubled to see how much had already drained. It wasn't fatal – yet – but he'd have to ration more carefully for the rest of the night, especially considering how many fits of babbling lunacy he was likely to have. Of course, Foxy already charged him twice, and Chica stopped to say hello several times. He didn't see how he could do better.

Suddenly, a pain flared up in his temples. Another headache. Since starting "work" at Fazbear's, he'd gotten a few migraines, but this one felt a little different. He couldn't explain why; maybe it affected different parts of his brain.

After cautiously looking out both doors, he poked through his backpack for pain medication. A second later, he pulled out a plastic pill bottle and his Walkman. I really haven't taken advantage of this thing. Sure, he used it a couple of nights, but his old, beat up tape-player hadn't received much love lately. Let's fix that. Mike picked a random cassette, loaded it, and pressed play. Pearl Jam. Perfect.

When it came to music, he was stuck in the 90s, and everyone knew it. The new millennium brought with it a wave of polished pop acts, none of which he particularly cared for. No, the grunge revolution still held sway over him, Nirvana, especially. The lyrics spoke to him, a lonely teenager, ever since he first heard them. Besides, they were the most famous thing to come out of Washington in decades. How could he not love them? Alt-Rock's rugged sound was also why he preferred his Walkman over a Discman or one of those cutting-edge Memory Sticks; it felt more real.

The whisper grew louder, though its words remained indecipherable, as always. He might as well take some precautions while still sane. Flashlight in hand, he stuck his head into the East Hall. The beam barely reached the corridor's end, and the single, dust-covered bulb wasn't much help. Barely breathing, he waited for his eyes to adjust. And… all clear. Nothing but the ancient checkerboard floor and creepy posters.

About to return to relative safety, something far away caught his ear: a happy little murmured tune, what a mother would sing while tucking in her child. Mike recoiled as he recognized the melody; it was what Freddy hummed while trying to kill him during his first week. Not taking any chances, he sealed the door, shivering slightly. OK, one hall down.

Creeping to the opposite entrance, he repeated the process, glad to have his Walkman playing against the otherwise total vacuum. Shining his light toward the dining area, he was relieved not to see anything. Wait…

The door to the supply closet wiggled, and a purple hand silently wrapped around the edge. Mike almost forgot the room existed, given how little the animatronics used it. He watched as Bonnie took a step forward, unconcerned. He wasn't very fast. "What's up, Bonnie? Interesting stuff in there?" The rabbit took another step, clumsily, as if not being able to see. Finally, he emerged into the murky hallway, looking a little off.

Though instinct told him to close the door, Mike knew something was different, but couldn't tell what with him in the shadows. Moving the flashlight toward the bunny's face, Mike's heart nearly burst as he saw the problem; there wasn't one. Two golden dots stared back at him from a mess of wires intermixed with oil and teeth.

Mike screamed as Bonnie started shambling toward him, one arm extended while the other was gone, its stump spraying some milky fluid. Finally coming to his senses, he whipped around and slammed the door, feeling queasy. Practically collapsing into his chair, he could only imagine what awaited him in the following hours. A knock on the window almost made him fall over. Preparing himself, he turned around.

Thank God. Mike never thought Bonnie would make him happy, but seeing him with a face was miles better than staring into a tangle of circuitry. That complacency disappeared when the rabbit punched the window, shaking the floor beneath him. With a twisted laugh, he slunk away, ready to let Auric's other pawns take a turn.

Heart racing, Mike waited until he was certain the coast was clear before opening both doors, unable to forget what he saw. Looking back, he knew it was a hallucination, but it seemed so real. So horrifyingly real. Obviously, Auric expended massive amounts of energy to alter his mind, more than ever before. From that moment on, he couldn't trust his own senses. Settling back, his headache resurged, making him groan. Another problem.

Something dripped onto him from the ceiling. What the Hell? Bringing his hand up to his face, he saw a few drops of red liquid on the back. "Is that…"

3:34 AM 39% Power

Blood.

Though there wasn't much, there soon would be if it kept coming. It oozed out of the vents and cracks in the walls, coalescing into little puddles on the carpet. Sprinkled in were chunks that may have been brain matter, but Mike didn't have the stomach to check. In fact, he didn't have a stomach for anything; normally he was famished by three, but the smell destroyed his appetite.

As much as he wanted to mock Auric's lack of creativity – "blood coming out of the walls" sounded like something from a particularly trite Stephen King novel – it seemed authentic. The look, the smell, even the burbling noise and texture were so convincing that it was indistinguishable from reality. He must have had a lot of experience with the real thing...

A surge of searing pain raced through his head. The migraine was worse now; he felt his brain throb, as if trying to escape his skull. He couldn't blame it. Needing a breather, Mike stood up and walked over to a door, taking a sniff of (relatively) fresh air. It still smelled of undercooked food, but better that than blood. The lack of off-putting noises or sights was a bonus.

Standing there, he could hardly believe this madness started only a few weeks before. All because he wanted to lay an old ghost to rest. Still, despite all the hardships he'd gone through, every challenge he faced, there were some perks. He got to meet sapient animatronics; that was unbelievable. And one of them fell in love with me. Mike paused.

Probably best if I stop thinking about that for now. Foxy and him would have to either discuss their… relationship or never talk to each other again. Despite his sense of betrayal, he didn't want their friendship to just end. She was such a great person: loyal, kind and exceptionally courageous. If he was attracted to anthropomorphic animals – which he wasn't – maybe things would be different.

Feeling better, he went back over to the computer and checked the cameras. It sounded like Chica was trashing the kitchen, as usual. Bonnie stood in the dining area, intensely staring at a plastic cup someone must have forgotten to throw out. Foxy skulked near her Cove, getting ready to blitz him a fourth time.

So where was Freddy? Scanning each location pixel by pixel, Mike couldn't find any trace of him. Not being able to keep track of the robots always made him uneasy. At least I know he's not in here. Finally, he spotted two golden pupils in the East Hall's darkest corner, seeming to burn through the camera and look at him directly. Odd. Normally Freddy liked to make himself known. It wasn't like him to hide in the shadows.

Suddenly, the bear lurched forward, strutting toward his office. Acting on impulse, Mike closed the door, wary of the situation. Several seconds later, Freddy stepped over to the window and politely knocked; always so courteous.

"What do you want?" Mike asked, not bothering to meet his dead stare. The less he had to see of them like this, the better. The only response was another knock, more forceful than before. If it'll get him to leave, fine. Spinning around, he was surprised to see a wrinkled piece of paper pressed against the pane.

IT'S ME. YOUR MIND IS GOING, the note read in jagged, clumsy strokes.

Before he could react, Freddy was gone, and the paper with him, vanished into thin air. Mike gasped and ran through all the cameras again, a few tears beginning to form. The longer he stayed, the more his sanity slipped. Eventually, he found the real Freddy lurking by the bathrooms, clothed in an impish smile.

With his head still pounding like a jackhammer, it took everything he had not to scream.

5:25 AM 8% Power

There was so much blood.

It coated the floor, staining the carpet crimson and squelching every time Mike moved his chair. More flowed into the room every second, cascading from the vents and out of the computer monitor's edges. Hands trembling, he wiped the screen off to get a better look at his surroundings. Chica was halfway down the East Hall, but other than that, no immediate dangers. That gave him more time to take in the horrible environment.

This isn't real. This isn't real, Mike told himself again and again, praying the mantra would make the spattering sound and stench of iron disappear. This had gone on for so long that he began to think Auric really had murdered a person and stuck them in the ducts. Probably not, though; the telltale hum rattled around the room, a sign that his senses were no longer his own. If it was an illusion, it was damn impressive.

His migraine evolved, too, growing from a simple headache to constant agony. It threatened to tear his brain in half, which might have been preferable to wallowing in hallucinatory blood.

Suck it up, he thought, cleaning the monitor while biting his lip. On any other night, he would have cracked some lame jokes in a vain attempt to feel less disturbed or mulled over new ways to pass time. Things were different now. For the first time, Mike realized how badly Auric wanted him dead. It was strange, but he felt the hatred all around him.

Before, he thought the demon saw their interactions as a game of cat-and-mouse, an exciting competition with him as the inevitable winner. Maybe it even began that way. But as time passed, as Mike proved again and again that he was too damn stubborn to die, Auric became more savage, first threatening him, then Foxy, then making him hallucinate increasingly gut-wrenching scenes. Hence why he now perceived himself to be ankle deep in blood, presumably his own.

In other words, he couldn't grow complacent. Auric never would. Such is the price of ruining his killing spree. That thought, at least, brought him a little comfort. Wait, what's that –

Splash.

The noise of a foot stepping into liquid made his skin crawl. Tepidly glancing out the doors, he couldn't discern anything other than red rivulets running from his office down to parts unknown, quickly disappearing into total darkness.

Straining his ears, he waited for the sound to return, all the while keeping his eyes glued to the entrances. Nothing. The only sound was that of gore burbling out of cracks in the ceiling. Heh. Guess it was just my –

Splash.

It came back, a little closer, a little louder. Mike would have slammed the doors, but already started to run low on power. He couldn't afford to waste more. Quickly turning toward his backpack, he rummaged around for anything he could use to clean the monitor; his hands and shirtsleeves were already drenched. He involuntarily heaved as he pulled out a paper towel and pressed it against the screen.

Splash.

Shit, shit, shit! Nothing was there, at least not that he could see, but the blood around him started to vibrate as if someone had thrown a pebble in. Clearing the screen, Mike furiously clicked over to the nearest cameras. After a few tense seconds, he breathed a sigh of relief, wiping cold sweat from his forehead with bloodied hands. The hallways were empty. Must have been my imagination.

Then Mike realized something. Not only were the animatronics not in the hallways, they weren't anywhere. "What the fuck?" he murmured, more confused than scared. OK, Auric made him unable to see the robots via camera. That happened a few times before. Still doesn't explain where they are.

Another ripple worked its way through the fluid beneath him, this one bigger than the last. Almost looked like something was under the surface. The pieces snapped together in his mind, but by then, it was too late.

Four furry, sodden hands shot out, grabbing his feet and legs like vices. Thrashing like an animal, he desperately tried to escape their grasps, each cold as the grave. This isn't real! he shouted in his mind, despite not being sure at all.

Metal claws dug into his flesh as shapes rose from the floor. Covering his eyes, he waited for it all to end; he didn't care how, as long as it was fast. Eventually, the hands retracted. Though he couldn't see, he could feel them all in the room, waiting for him to acknowledge their presence.

They aren't real. Mike trembled in his seat, hurting in so many places and ways. Don't be afraid of them. Lowering his hands, he took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

"No," he whispered, not able to believe what stood before him. "Y-you're just…"

He expected his visitors to be the regular animatronics. Instead, they were the gnarled monsters from his dreams, torn apart and put back together a hundred times. The demonic Foxy stepped forward and crouched down, putting her – its – face mere feet away. He could see every scrap of flesh between its two rows of rotting teeth, every rusted metal piece of its skull. It felt like his body had given up; he could barely move.

"Nightmares?" it finished for him with the voice of a broken toy. "C'mon, Mike," it mocked him, inching closer, "it's me, Foxy. Aren't we still friends?"

Despite his utter terror, the rage he felt from that one sentence was even stronger.

Leaning forward, he put his face within an inch of the monster's and spat in its eye. "You are not Foxy," he growled.

Roaring wildly, the four of them pounced on him, and everything went black.

Chapter Text

Wednesday, June 7, 6:00 AM

Unbelievably, Mike wasn't dead. Roused from grisly dreams by the overhead light flaring up, he knew that much. Vision coming into focus, he put a hand to his face before jerking it away.

No blood.

Sighing softly, he sat up on the carpet; the office was dingy as ever, but at least there weren't any other horror tropes to scare him. As confident as he pretended to be, he wasn't entirely convinced his hallucinations were fake. The line between fact and fiction became more blurred by the day – at that point, he could see Sasquatch while driving home and not give it a second thought. In any case, he could relax for the next few hours. His headache had faded as well, which was a bonus.

And I'm over half done! Two more nights. That's all he had left. The fear of Auric threatening him again hung in his mind, but he had to finish one week before worrying about another.

He stood, wanting to escape the building before any staff appeared. At best, they'd ignore him, and at worst, they'd assault him. Picking up his backpack, Mike walked down the hall. As he neared the dining area, chattering voices reached his ears.

"Fred, I know the last couple days 'aven't been great, but you need to stay positive!"

"Bonnie's right. I'm not feeling my best, either, but we should do it for the kids!"

Entering the room, Mike saw Bonnie and Chica sitting next to Freddy, who was hunched over, a hollow expression on his face. None of them seemed to notice him. While momentarily inclined to reach the exit while he could, the glazed-over look in Freddy's eyes made him realize something he never considered before. Freddy seemed… depressed. Not that Mike was surprised – having to perform the same routine for years on end without any appreciation would get to him, too.

Still, even after having apologized a couple days before, it was difficult for him to see the bear in a positive light. That's what I thought about Foxy at first.

"I don't get it," Freddy muttered just loud enough for him to hear. "How can you two be so optimistic? How can you do the same routine day after day while knowing things will never improve?"

His friends glanced at each other, their faces indicating they had no answer.

"At least you have each other," Mike said, stepping forward. All three of them looked over to him as he walked toward the stage.

"Stay out of this," Freddy said, not budging. "Our lives are miserable, grinding slogs with some pain thrown in for good measure. You don't understand." His words were forceful yet not hate-tinged.

"I think I do. I've seen how people treat you; either you're a freak who deserves no respect or you're not even real to begin with." Mike didn't know why he encouraged Freddy – none of this was his problem – it just seemed like the right thing to do. "At least you have your friends, though. I mean, it's obvious you all care about each other a lot."

"It is?"

"Hell yeah. I mean, I've only seen you guys perform a few times, but there's, um, something special about the way you interact." The bear straightened up a bit, carefully staring at him. "That's the only reason people come here. Besides the three of you, the attractions are old arcade games and greasy, half-cooked food."

After a few moments of silence, Bonnie softly said, "C'mon, Fred. You know the man's right." Chica bent down to pick his hat off the ground and held it out to him, a hopeful smile on her beak.

"All right, all right," Freddy muttered, grabbing his top hat and pushing himself up. "I'm back. Are you both happy now?" They replied by crushing him in a massive hug, which made Mike simultaneously smile and shiver. While heartwarming, he knew that if he was in Freddy's position, they'd have broken his spine.

Satisfied to have done something good, Mike walked over to the exit and waited for someone to arrive and let him leave. The first cars would arrive in the next few minutes, full of horrible, horrible people who would never be brought to justice for their actions.

"Hey." Mike whirled around to see Freddy right in front of him, nearly falling backwards onto the checkered linoleum. "I'm not going to hurt you." Didn't make him feel much better.

"Then what?" he asked, wanting to get out of that room the second the doors were unlocked.

Freddy tilted his head toward the ground, hiding his eyes behind the hat's brim. "I thought about your apology. What you said about getting carried away. I… also apologize." Freddy cringed as he said the last sentence; 'sorry' clearly wasn't a word he often used.

"I forgive you," Mike replied, pleasantly surprised. He never expected Freddy to bring it up. After a brief pause, he dared to ask, "Are we on good terms, then?"

The bear's face, at least what he could see of it, darkened. "You seem like a good guy, but you're still a night guard." One of his hands clenched into a fist. "It doesn't matter if you want peace. At the end of the day, after the sun goes down, we're enemies. Doesn't mean I like it, but that's the way it's always been."

Mike nodded, appreciating that Freddy had at least considered his offer and spoke candidly. It was a relief to finally have a bit of mutual understanding between them.

Not ten seconds later, vehicles began to pulling in. One of the many nameless thugs stepped up to the glass doors and unlocked them, pushing his way inside with a few friends.

"How haven't you killed this idiot yet?!" he shouted at the Band, who were getting warmed up for the day. "I bet an entire month's salary that he'd be dead by the end of this week! Do your fucking jobs!"

Mike would normally have been disgusted, but the man's whininess was extremely entertaining. It was good to know he could piss these people off without even trying. Going outside, he stared up at the overcast sky, appreciating the humid, natural air. A thick, warm blanket wrapped around him, and his eyelids began to droop.

"Damn, you look exhausted." Rho… no, Helen, stood to his left, her blue hair hanging in a loose ponytail.

"No more than usual." Glancing around to make sure no one else was nearby, he whispered, "I talked to him. To Auric."

"We should speak about this around back." He didn't object to that – the fewer employees he had to see, the better. Following her around the side of the building, he cringed as Foxy's door came into view. That was not going to be a pleasant conversation, but they both needed to have it.

They walked into the woods behind Fazbear's for about a minute, Mike enjoying the wilderness. How ironic that such beautiful landscape existed right next to so evil a place. Eventually, they stopped, and his guide leaned against a tree.

"Sorry for leading you back here," she said, adjusting her hair, "but I needed to make sure we weren't being eavesdropped on. And frankly, my car's shit, so I don't like talking in it." After a pause, her expression grew more serious. "So, how did Auric respond?"

"I'm not sure I believe him, but he said he'd stop making your coworkers try to kill people."

Helen sighed, looking relieved. "Thank you for doing that. Really, I can't tell you enough how grateful I am." Though he wouldn't be shocked if the demon broke his promise, it was nice to see her more relaxed. Then a frown crossed her face. "Unfortunately, I can't repay you except by giving information, and there's a lot of things even I'm in the dark on. Still, if you want to know about BRIAR – what it is, the things we do – I'll help as much as I'm able."

Mike pondered her offer for a few moments. At the beginning of all this, he imagined for hours on end about what BRIAR was, what nefarious plans they had. By that point, though, it didn't matter much; curiosity wouldn't help him survive. Even if it did, he suspected the things they sought to find were beyond his comprehension. The truth would be nice to have, but it'd also be a pointless distraction for the time being.

"I doubt I'd like the answers."

"That's probably true."

For a while, they stood listening to the songs of birds and wind rushing through the leaves. All Mike wanted to do was get home to sleep, but everything there was so peaceful. Eventually, Helen glanced at her watch.

"I have to report in soon. If you ever want to know something, come to me. You have at least one friend in this fucked up place." He followed her out of the forest, tiredness weighing down his steps. As they reached the parking lot's asphalt, she turned to him and said, "And if you need any favors in the way of illegal substances or weapons… I know a guy."

Then Mike stood alone on the pavement. Sighing, he unlocked his car got in as a few fat raindrops began falling. The door to Pirate Cove filled his rearview mirror, reminding him of what inevitably had to happen. Yeah, I'll do that soon, he thought, leaning the seat back. I just need a minute to rest.

…

He could do it this time.

Creeping through the endless labyrinth of corridors, Mike cautiously peeked around corners and through keyholes. He needed to escape somehow or at least find a safe place to hide from the monsters.

Speaking of which, they didn't seem to be around. When near, the air grew cold and smelled of burned fabric. There was none of that; his surroundings were sterile. Still, an ominous dread filled him, for if the nightmares weren't there, where were they?

A barely audible noise scratched at Mike's eardrums, making him pause. He could tell it wasn't the monsters but nothing besides that. Curious, he snuck through the hallways, jumping at every long shadow cast by flickering lights. Drawing nearer, the sound became more recognizable. Someone sobbed softly in the distance, obviously terrified. Though he felt a bit suspicious, that hesitance was vastly outweighed by the relief of having found another person in this maze. Maybe even an adult! They always knew what to do.

The crying grew louder, and the boy stopped dead in his tracks. The beasts were starting to get close. A chill was in the air, and he heard faint snarling somewhere in the abyss. Knowing there was no time to dawdle, he found the door from which the noise emanated.

Throwing it open, he saw the room was long and dark with a checkered floor. Tables stood on both sides of the door, decorated with utensils and party hats, and the dying hall lights barely penetrated the deep black. Preparing himself, Mike stepped in; he and whoever this was had a better chance of surviving together.

"H-hello," he said, walking a few feet forward.

Immediately, the crying stopped, making Mike's stomach twist into a knot. He still couldn't see more than three feet in front of him, and the room might have stretched much farther than that.

"Mike? Is that you?" It sounded like a boy about his age.

"Yeah. Um, who are you?" Though slightly distorted, the voice seemed familiar.

"It's me, James. We were friends, remember?"

He couldn't believe it! "James! I missed you. Why haven't you been at school? Did you really move after your birthday party?" Mike was so overjoyed to find his friend again that he paid no attention to the subtle thumping beneath the linoleum.

"I'm not feeling well, so I haven't been for a while. And I didn't move, either. In fact, I've been here a long time." The words echoed so much that he couldn't tell whether they came from feet or miles away.

"We can talk later, but it isn't safe here. There are monsters around." The room was dead silent for a few seconds that seemed to last hours. Maybe they did. Time acted strangely in the maze.

Then he heard footsteps moving toward him from the dark, though as before, he couldn't tell from which direction or how far away they were. However, they were loud and constant, plodding ever closer. Then Mike noticed the room had become cold and permeated with the odor of singed fur and flesh. "Come on! They're almost here!"

That's when he realized something else. Other footsteps had joined James', heavier, harsher, scratching the floor like nails on a chalkboard.

"I don't know what you mean." A figure slowly shambled into the dim light seeping from the doorway. Mike knew something was very, very wrong, but stood transfixed with terror at the sight of his friend, too terrified to scream.

He wasn't alive anymore – he couldn't be. His skin was gray and clammy, peeling off in places. Gashes ran along his body, culminating in one on his torso so large that bloodless intestines hung out, nearly dragging on the floor behind him. Finally, above two lifeless eyes, a chunk of skull was gone, exposing rotten, pulsating brain matter.

"The only ones here are me and my friends."

Mike's knees gave out. Collapsing on his back, he saw the monsters lurching out of the shadows or clawing their ways through the floor. The five of them stood around him, staring with their glassy eyes. He tried to beg for his life, to appeal to whatever shriveled, twisted sense of mercy they had, but no words came out of his mouth.

The door slammed, engulfing him in darkness, save the glowing points of light floating above him. That was when the real terror began.

9:09 AM

Foxy's ears twitched as a knock came at the door. Actually, it wasn't knocking so much as pounding, as if Mike was being chased by a lion. Despite that, she waited for a moment, unsure whether to do anything. She had feared many things before – loneliness, torture, death – but never words. One more item on the list. Maybe they should wait a while before talking again so feelings could simmer down. The pounding came again, even louder. Obviously, he had something important to say.

Whatever, she thought, standing up. Let's get this over with.

Walking over to the door, she took a deep breath and yanked it open, preparing herself for the worst.

Mike staggered inside, scared out of his mind. That might have been normal after a particularly bad night, but his shift ended hours ago. His face was grim and drenched with sweat, and he shivered uncontrollably.

"Are you OK?" she asked, wanting to put her hand on his shoulder but quickly thinking better of it. In response, he promptly vomited and keeled over. "Mike!"

Running over to him, her heart thudded as she saw how sick he was. His muscles convulsed at random, threatening to burst out of him, and his skin was the color of chalk. "Mike, wake up," she whispered, her voice trembling. "What happened to you?" His pupils rapidly dilated, shrinking and growing as if some force placed a jackhammer in his brain.

Auric. A low snarl grew in her throat as she bared teeth. If she ever got near that monster in person, she would finally put her hook to – I can't think about this now! Seeing him like this, lying comatose on the ground, shook her to the core. "Stay with me. Please." He moaned in response, reassuring her he was at least somewhat cognizant.

Operating on honed pirate instinct, she picked him up and carried him over to her alcove, for once glad to be a machine. If she was human, he would have been much too heavy for her. Laying him on her makeshift bed, she felt pathetic. Well, she always did, but especially in that moment. Cunning and strength of arm were a corsair's best traits, yet she was powerless to help her friend.

She watched him for a while, too afraid to look away. There was no change, which meant he wasn't dead. He just kept twitching, his face locked in a constant grimace. Although she never believed in any deities – benevolent ones, at least – she might have slipped whoever was listening a couple silent pleas for Mike to be OK.

Eventually, the nervous energy drained from his body, and he appeared to fall into a deep sleep. Relieved beyond words, Foxy relaxed as well. Ten o'clock must have come around, for the sounds of children began to come from beyond the purple curtains.

…

He'll be awake soon. Mike rolled over, the terror having long since left him. It was odd for her to watch someone else sleep, especially in her own bed. She hoped he wouldn't find it creepy given what she'd confessed the night before. This was another case where knowing basic human rules of etiquette would have been nice.

"W-what's going on?" Mike groaned as he sat up. Looking around, he flinched when he saw her.

"I hope it was OK for me to stay here. I was worried about you." Now that her feelings were out in the open, every sentence reeked of flirtation.

"Yeah, definitely. Uh… thanks. I'm lucky you care about me so much." His face turned red as he realized that might not have been the best wording, either. It was of some consolation that Mike was just as bad with words. "Actually, your bed isn't as bad as I thought. Don't get me wrong, it's not comfortable, but it's pretty good for a mattress made of old curtains and torn-up carpet."

"It took a lot of effort. Pirates ain't the best at sewin', ye know?" she said, seamlessly slipping back into her natural accent. Mike suppressed a chuckle, trying to remain serious. After all, both understood what needed to happen next and how humorless it would be.

Perhaps because of the somber atmosphere, she whispered, "What the Hell did Auric do to you? I thought you might die."

"Nah, Auric wouldn't kill me in my sleep – he wants to do it in real life. I'm not sure he has that ability, anyway." Mike suddenly cringed as if in pain. "And don't worry about the things he did; it was only a dream."

They made small talk for a little while, not daring to broach the subject before the other was ready. Mike felt well enough to stand, and they ended up sitting on the wooden stage overlooking her dilapidated "home". The children were louder; must have been about lunchtime.

Eventually, Mike said, "So… are you, uh, ready to talk?" He could barely look at her, and she didn't blame him.

"Ready as I'll ever be." Despite their nervousness, she hoped the two of them could discuss this maturely. Even so, a knot formed in her stomach. "H-how do you feel about this?"

"Not great," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "Would have been better to find out from you instead of the fucking evil alien-phantom-demon thing… that I just realized can probably hear me." Both glanced around nervously, half expecting something to happen, but nothing did. "Still, like, I get it. In high school, there were a couple girls I asked on dates."

"Did they agree?" Foxy blurted out.

"No." Mike smirked, locking eyes with her. "Not that it surprised me. After all, I was a stuttering weirdo with outdated taste in pop culture and barely any friends. Still am, in fact." He paused. "Where was I going with this?"

"You were saying how you understood… infatuation." Foxy's face felt so hot it was physically uncomfortable, which didn't help her mood any.

"Right. My point is, attraction to others is an ordinary part of human life. Or animatronic fox life, in your case." Her guard began to lower – she expected Mike to be at least somewhat angry or disgusted by her feelings, but he radiated respect. That couldn't have been easy. "You said earlier that we can't fully fathom each other, given how different we are. While that may be, um, true, I think your feelings are normal."

"Really?" She wasn't sure how to take that; to her, they were the most alien sensations imaginable.

"Granted, I'm not an expert on cyborg biology – or Hell, even female biology – but you probably have hormones. You have emotions." He paused, his voice beginning to waver. "You have a soul."

While Foxy didn't really care whether some piece of her was eternal, she knew how important the idea was to humans. Never in a million years did she expect Mike to say that, regardless of how well he'd treated her. "Thank you," she said, overwhelmed by positivity. "That means a lot."

A smile crossed his face before quickly fading. "Obviously, I don't share your feelings. It's not your fault, though. The, uh, problems are beyond our control. For one thing, it's dangerous for us to even talk. Any second, someone could come through those curtains and see us here. We put ourselves in danger just by being friends. Imagine how much worse it would be if we were… more than that."

She nodded, completely agreeing. Something about Mike's demeanor always soothed her, made her feel alive. In a situation which should have been humiliating and shameful, he handled his feelings with modesty and tact, even if words often failed him.

"For another…"

Speaking of words failing. "I'm not human?" she finished for him.

"Yeah." Right back to looking embarrassed. Taking a deep breath, he continued, "I'm sorry, Foxy, but I can't fall in love with an animal. You're a lot more than that, of course, but you still have fur and a muzzle and claws. That'd be zoophilia." For the first time in that conversation, Mike began to look sullen. "Please don't misunderstand me. Everything I've said about you in the past is true. You deserve so much better than the fucking atrocious life you have. But in the end, I believe us being together is wrong. Unnatural. Maybe even evil."

Things would have been quiet were it not for the children playing right outside. Still, the moment's solemnity was not lost on her.

"God, I must sound like such an asshole," Mike said, covering his face with his hands.

"Mike, if you were being a prick, you know I would say so." Not a single sentence from him was anything less than empathetic. She had no right to demand more. "The others I occasionally talk to call me a lot of things – 'bitch', 'freak', 'vermin'. No one else in the world would have said what you did."

…

"That makes me feel a little better." Mike sat up straight, looking at Foxy again. While she certainly didn't appear happy, she was at least calm, her tail slowly waving back and forth like a pendulum.

Though so many things could have gone awry, they were getting along better than he ever imagined. Each situation that played out in his mind during the previous hours ended with either him leaving or her throwing him out. In fact, their friendship might prove strengthened. Perhaps he'd underestimated them both.

"Uh, do you have anything to add?" he asked. "You listened to me prattle on, and I'd be happy to return the favor."

"I didn't mean to fall in love with you. It just happened. You're a great guy and the only person in the world who cares about me. Hell, you fixed my mouth! By the time I noticed my feelings, it was too late to stop them." She absentmindedly scratched the floor with her hook. "If I could go back and stop that from developing, I would in a heartbeat. Maybe I'll get over it someday, but for now, it's something I'll have to live with."

"I'm sorry." While this was nobody's fault, he felt at least partially responsible for what happened, having pushed himself into her world.

"No. Don't apologize. You've made my life mean something. If you hadn't come along, I'd have sat here until I finally worked up the courage to kill myself." Her bluntness was rather shocking, though he might have understood better if he had lived alone in a dark room for thirteen years.

"That's all I have to say. You're the one who likes to talk."

"No hard feelings, then? We're still friends?" he replied, already knowing the answer.

"Blimey, bilge rat! We be mortal enemies!" she said, flashing him a big, toothy grin. That accent was always funny, and after such a serious conversation, it was downright hilarious. Unable to contain himself, Mike fell on his back, giggling hysterically. "If ye keep laughin' at yer Cap'n, ye'll dance with Jack Ketch! Savvy?" Foxy began snickering too, obviously having a great time.

Pulling himself together, Mike sat back up, all nervousness gone. "Is that how you naturally talk?" He'd never thought to ask.

"Aye, 'tis me real accent." From the warble in her voice, he knew she'd been waiting a long time for a chance to speak like this. "D-do ye like it?"

"Yes, actually. It would make you stand out in a crowd, but you, um, already do." Her tail began wagging quickly, and her eye lit up. "Normal English must be a second language for you."

"Landlubber speech took years ta' pick up. I speak it fine, o'course, but sometimes it be nice ta' talk in me native tongue."

They spent a little more time together, Foxy speaking entirely in pirate lingo, eager to use it after years of not having a reason to. However, Mike knew he needed to leave – he was starving, and it must have been around noon. Every time he was about to say so, though, something in the back of his mind told him to stay a little longer. He felt so comfortable around her, so calm. When he was there, his problems faded away.

"I really, um, need to go now," he finally decided to say. "And thanks. I'm glad we could handle this like adults."

"Me too," she replied, shifting back into normal English and standing up with him. "Remember, only two more nights. Be careful."

He couldn't promise that, but nodded in response. "I'll try." They walked over to the door, Mike making sure he had everything. "But I'm not sure I'll have time to come back tonight, so the next time I drop by might be tomorrow. Unless, you know, I'm dead."

"You can do it. You're stronger than Auric – you're better than he is."

Grateful for the encouraging words, he stepped out, got in his car and drove away.

…

Auric never ceased to be intrigued by the antics of these lesser creatures. However, what started as amusement evolved into antipathy. Watching from the incorporeal eyes of his astral form, he fully expected the Warden to awaken and begin crying like an infant from the horrors inflicted upon him. Instead, what happened?

Nothing!

The moment he saw his puppet beside him, the sweet atmosphere of fear drained away, leaving only rancid auras behind. He considered himself reasonable, but this was too much. These insignificant beings needed to dread him – that was the natural order of things. The strong dominated the feeble; the powerful crushed the weak.

Who were they to defy the universe – or him, for that matter? He was so enraged that he felt his physical form, deep within the building's heart, shudder with anger.

Then he continued to observe. They spoke about their petty feelings to each other, which he made clear to the Warden. In truth, he did it to drive them away, but it instead seemed to bring them even closer. The air between them crackled with positive energy as they spoke, revealing the trust and respect they had for one another.

This couldn't have been happening. By all calculations, mistrust and hostility should take root, splitting them apart. Though immaterial, a pressure built throughout him, one of bewilderment and ire. This had to have been the result of some outside factor, for he didn't make mistakes. It didn't much matter, he supposed. The Warden would be dead soon, regardless of how he tried to cheat. Of course, killing him proved a challenge.

He already survived his prior week, a feat few others had performed and none for many years. There were two more matches before him, but he was no longer a novice. Auric would have to be cautious and cunning to achieve victory. The friendship with his pawn complicated matters further. Their relationship provided a reason to stay alive, doubtless contributing to his success. That was why he attempted to separate them, but to no avail.

A parasite. That's what he is.

Still, Auric had an advantage, one impossible to overcome: his mastery of the mind and soul. Many times in the past days, the Warden had been ensnared by illusion but always managed to overcome it. No longer. As he had the previous night, Auric endeavored to focus every sliver of his being on driving the man to madness and death.

Before he knew it, the Warden was departing, most traces of his influence gone. Deciding he'd seen enough, he left as well. Through the mindless hordes and into the depths he went, to places few visited anymore.

There, hidden away, he found his tangible form and entered it.

2:30 PM

Mike wandered his house, searching for anything to keep him alert and pass the time. Normally, he'd be more interested in sleeping; his last bout of dreams changed that. They were indescribably terrifying, though he couldn't remember why. Their actual content had left him, but the impression remained. Dark, agonizing, inhuman. When he was around Foxy, those feelings were suppressed only to resurge with a vengeance minutes after he departed. He still shuddered and flinched from occasional pangs of terror.

Glancing at the clock beside the taxidermied deer head, he silently cursed. Though he realized his nightmares were just that, Auric was something beyond comprehension. What if his dreams and hallucinations could physically hurt him? Though he earlier scoffed at the idea, it might have been possible – certainly wouldn't have been the strangest thing he discovered lately. From the state Foxy told him he was in, it sounded like Auric made him have some kind of seizure.

The worst part was that he could do nothing. All his other "work problems" could be solved with careful planning and strategy. It wasn't always easy, but he hadn't died yet, so he must have been doing things right. The only other solution he could think of was getting his hands on antipsychotic medications, which he really didn't want to mess with. Something told him that mixing meds with Auric's influence would cause more harm than good. Besides, there wasn't enough time to get a prescription, and getting caught stealing them would ruin his life... assuming he lived, of course.

I need to sleep eventually, he thought. Without more rest, he would be too tired to think straight during his shift.

The phone began to ring, snapping Mike out of his fatigue-induced daze. Getting up, he went into the kitchen and answered it, happy to have a temporary distraction. "Uh, hello?"

"Uh, hello yourself."

He felt a big smile spread across his face. "Syl! It's been way too long."

"Yeah, that's why I'm calling, dork. It's three weeks into summer and we've talked, like, twice. How's Whitewater treating ya?"

"Not the best," he said while cringing. "But, I mean, it could be worse." At least he wasn't technically lying. "It's pretty much how I remember it; nothing's really changed. The weather's nice, the forest is nice. I should go fishing sometime."

"And your job?"

"That's the big problem." How could he even begin to explain?

"Sounds pretty boring. What, you make sure no one breaks into the Freddy Fazbear's? I don't think anyone's interested in robbing a pizza joint in the middle of nowhere."

"Oh, you'd be surprised. I'm rarely bored," he said, rather enjoying the conversation. It was interesting to talk about his work without giving any of the unseemly details. "And people breaking in isn't the problem; there's plenty of things I have to deal with inside."

"All right, that makes sense. There's no way it's up to code. I stopped by a couple of years ago to pick my friend's little sister up from a party, and the place was falling apart. There was broken glass on the floor and weeds growing in the parking lot. They're probably worried the ceiling will collapse by now. It's great you're employed, though. Not only will this look good on your resume, you're also making friends!"

"A couple, yeah." That was one thing to call the people he worked with. "I still suck at talking to people."

"Don't be so modest. When your girlfriend was over last weekend, you said all the right things," she teased. Mike nearly dropped the phone.

"Foxy is not my girlfriend!" he said much more harshly than he intended.

"Relax, I'm just playing. If you want me to stop, you don't have to shout."

"I – I'm sorry. That's just something I don't want to talk about." Seeming to understand him, she backed down.

"Now that I think about it, it's kind of weird her name is Foxy."

"Uh, it's definitely an unusual name. I like it, though."

"No, not that." She paused, maybe trying to remember something. "Isn't one of the animatronics there also called Foxy? You know, the pirate fox lady? Maybe they're the same!"

His throat tightened as a chill crept down his back. "Uh, yeah, it's, um, quite a coincidence!" he said, stuttering like mad at her teasing. "A-anyway, how's California!"

"Oh, it's fine," she muttered, not questioning his sudden nervousness. "Just me and eight of my closest acquaintances shacking up at the cheapest beachside motel we could find in the state."

"You, um, don't sound very happy."

"It's just not what I expected. I mean, it was fun at first, but I'll go crazy if I swim every day for the next two months. Some people can do that: not me." Stopping for a moment, she continued, "I was really selfish. When Mom and Dad left on their summer-long road trip get-together… thing, I should have decided to housesit with you. At least then you wouldn't have the most boring summer break in history."

While he normally would have appreciated the company, his job changed that. If Syl was around, she would no doubt be suspicious of his sudden night terrors and the scrapes and bruises he acquired each night. "Syl, don't worry about it. This summer, um, has been a lot of things so far, but not boring. Please don't worry about me."

For a minute, all he heard was soft breathing on the other end. "All right, Mike. Thanks."

"You're welcome. But I'd be happy if you dropped by for a weekend sometime. Um, if you want to, that is." Regardless of the potential complications, he would love to see his big sister again – the last time they were together was months ago.

"I definitely might! The place I'm at is farther north, so I could get there in just a few hours."

They talked a bit more, though there wasn't much left to say. Sylvia told him how her "friends" dragged her to some forest where part of "Return of the Jedi" was filmed – that was interesting. Mike had a story about nearly hitting a deer and was careful to avoid bringing up his job again.

"I need to get going now," she eventually said. "Hope we can see each other soon!"

He crossed his fingers.

"Yeah… I'm sure we will."

9:18 PM

Mike jolted awake, screaming and drenched in cold sweat.

"That's it! No more sleep for me!" he shouted, putting on some clothes and stomping into his living room. "Until the week ends, I'm loading myself up with coffee and soda." True to his word, he cracked open a can of Coke and sat on the couch. There's only a little more than a day remaining. I can make it that long. He barely remembered anything about this dream, but the images and sensations that remained were terrible and indescribable. Better to ignore them as best he could.

Unable to find anything on television to keep him awake, he walked over to the bookshelf where the video tapes were kept and pulled one out at random. When he saw what it was, he burst out laughing, as much from irony as dread. A Nightmare on Elm Street! Perfect!

Why the Hell not – he had nothing better to do. Putting it in, he went to prepare a little popcorn. He'd watch a movie, make a few last second preparations, then go off to possibly die at his job. A nice, normal evening. When the popcorn was finished, he went back to his sofa and started munching away.

After a couple of famous, gory kills, he surprisingly found himself thinking only one thing. I wish Foxy was here. Not that she would have enjoyed the film, but he would have liked the company. It was so lonely there. He'd always savored solitude, but with everything going on in his life, it no longer satisfied him. Despite their awkward relationship, she was the only friend he had. It would have been nice to do something together besides sit and talk in a crumbling room.

As the movie continued, sleep began to weigh heavily on his eyelids, but ample amounts of caffeine kept him lucid. One, two, Freddy's coming for me. Very true. At least Freddy Krueger wasn't the Freddy after him – that would be worse. I guess that's one thing I have going for me.

Before he knew it, the movie was over. Sighing, he glanced at his watch: already eleven. Without words or thoughts, he forced himself to clean up the mess; he needed to keep occupied somehow. The minutes crept by like hours as he made a few final arrangements, double and triple checking his supplies. He wanted something – anything – to distract him, but nothing did. There was only one person around, and he was lonely and scared.

Slowly, silently, he grabbed his things and headed out the door, a million fears like needles poking into his mind.

Chapter Text

Thursday, June 8, 12:05 AM

Auric grew tired. While commanding his puppets was normally a trivial affair, they'd become much more recalcitrant the past few nights. Before, they complied with little resistance. Now they fought against him tooth and claw, even the brown one, who used to desire nothing more than wanton violence.

It was rather vexing, but he possessed enough strength to keep them in line for the time being. More troubling was the Warden himself.

He. Wouldn't. Die.

Never had he seen a human cling so desperately to life, clawing its way along despite everything conspiring against it. In another situation, Auric might have been impressed. Facing defeat for a second time, however, he felt only hatred and a general sense of embarrassment. If he had a mouth, he would have screamed. He'd settle for the next best thing, though.

His pawns roared with the indignation of a being far beyond their comprehensions, one that could bend the mind and warp the soul. It was time to begin in earnest.

1:24 AM

Things were going well… for the moment. Auric knew from the vibrations around him that the Warden began to see things, as he had since the start. Last night it had been blood. While that worked fine, it lacked subtlety, the personal connection required to truly rip one's sanity apart. His new manipulation was far superior; he should have thought of it sooner. The apparition of a dead childhood friend would break anyone.

Concentrating harder, he made the vision as repulsive as possible. Though he could sense basic emotions, literal mind-reading was not among his many talents. However, he'd been around humans long enough to know their greatest, most primal fears, maggot-ridden, walking corpses being among them. Yes, the Warden's fear grew steadily, easily detectable in the building's vast, lifeless shell. Ah, the aura. It was like nothing else in the universe: energy radiated from the soul. He'd think them beautiful if he cared for aesthetics. Each one was unique, a multifaceted array of color and energy.

Except his own. No, his aura was completely gold. It never changed, a reminder of his perfection. Many philosophers of old defined transcendence as a static force, ever constant. He agreed.

He commanded one of his thralls – the yellow one – to approach and take advantage of the Warden's situation. It twitched, trying to resist, but what little remained of its mind was quickly overpowered. Auric saw through its eyes as it drew closer, softly thumping down the hall. A trembling voice echoed from the office, increasing by the second.

"James, I already told you. I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry."

There was no response, of course. He felt his stolen mouths curve into smiles. His opponent began to believe the lies presented to him, the subtle shifts in his brain chemistry, neural firing and chakras finally breaking his will. This is the night.

"I didn't understand! How could I have? I was just a kid." Only a few more steps. The pawn slowed to a crawl, moving surprisingly stealthily for a giant bird. "Leave, damn it! And tell those… nightmares to stay away, too." Auric was moments away from rounding the corner, feeling more pleased than he had in months. He didn't usually torture his victims – much – but this one was going to suffer.

"Fuck, my head really hurts."

Before Auric could react, the Warden rounded the corner while clutching his head and walked right into him – or rather, the extension of himself. They stared at each other for a moment, both too shocked to make a move. Actually, the Warden's growing expression of dismay was rather amusing, considering the pawn he currently controlled was the only one shorter than him. Then something happened that he didn't expect. Instead of sprinting back into the office shrieking in terror, his foe's face shifted from fear to contempt.

"Really, Auric?!" he screamed at the ceiling. "I thought you were the Master of Horror or some other Hitchcock shit! The Hell is this?!" The veins on his neck bulged out, and his pale face turned red. It was the look of a man possessed, which wasn't far off the mark. "It's a goddamn anthropomorphic chicken! And she doesn't even have needles for teeth or blood coming out of her eyes!"

The man continued incoherently rambling, Auric too stunned to do anything. After being bombarded with so many visions in such a short amount of time, it seemed he had finally lost any semblance of sanity. While that was the plan all along, this wasn't the intended outcome. Auric expected him to become a catatonic vegetable ripe for the picking, not a vicious animal.

"Come back when think of something scarier than giant livestock wearing a bib." Throwing his hands in the air, he went back inside his office and shut the door, Auric still dumbfounded.

2:47 AM

The Warden was more tenacious than Auric expected. No, tenacious wasn't the right word… aggressive fit better. There was no doubt anymore; his mind collapsed. However, the sheer belligerence that replaced his sanity was astounding. The energies around the building, while still containing fear, were much more ones of violence. The air swarmed with shades of red, and he nearly smelled the adrenaline. In the absence of higher thought processes, his rudimentary instincts took over, the impulses that humans had tried to suppress since the dawn of their civilization.

It was rather fascinating, and Auric briefly wondered whether any person put into this position would regress to such a state or if the Warden possessed – or maybe lacked – some fundamental piece of the human puzzle. He wasn't there to philosophize, though.

He was there to kill people.

Luckily, he had plenty of time. Regardless of how feral his opponent acted, there was only so much someone, human or not, could take before succumbing to exhaustion, himself included. Carefully, he analyzed the field of play and the positions of his pawns. Because of the massive amounts of psychic energy he exerted every minute to overwhelm his enemy's nervous system, he could only control one at a time without yielding to fatigue. The yellow one lurked in the kitchen, absolutely refusing to move. Its encounter with the Warden earlier that night made it unresponsive.

It was upset.

That didn't surprise him. It was gentle by nature, disliking confrontation; more than any of the others, it needed goading to follow orders. Despite his best efforts, Auric could never completely control his pieces. Their instincts and personalities remained intact, remnants of more complex systems. Like the Warden himself, even without their minds, they were still somewhat themselves. In any case, however, it would sit the rest of the night out.

The purple one stood in the dining area, not doing much of anything. Auric briefly considered sending it but decided not to; while it could be useful, the other two were much better choices. Unfortunately, they also required "convincing."

The red one skulked in the darkness of its home. While it had always been useful to Auric because of its speed and cunning, it was even more effective against his current opponent. Having someone he cared about try to kill him (even if he knew someone else was in control) disturbed the Warden deeply. Not only was his fear delicious, it also made him more likely to slip up. And when that happened, Auric would be there.

But I think not. He didn't know how his enemy would react to it in his dementia. Perhaps it would send him into a frenzy. Maybe it would elicit no response at all. There was no way to tell, for he had never pushed a human so far into the realm of madness. If the game continued by the night's end, though, things would change.

The brown one it was, then. With a thought, it began moving down the corridor. Space vibrated in staccato beats like a pounding heart. With every step his puppet took the beat grew faster, louder, until it was a drum. A few shreds of restraint held the Warden back – Auric knew that without them he would have surrendered to his flesh's "fight" instinct.

He froze when a small red light flashed on beneath the hall camera's lens. On its own volition, the pawn waved and tipped its hat to the Warden. Auric expected a response – growling or some other primal, aggressive noise, but there was completely silence in the physical realm. Beyond the mundane, though, the drumming grew into a single continuous noise, representing more rage than the average person could imagine. He briefly wondered whether he made a mistake.

He wasn't concerned for the Warden's safety, of course, but killing him wouldn't be nearly as cathartic if he didn't have the mental capacity to beg for his life. So it goes. The Warden must have also gotten regular cardio exercise; if he didn't, his heart would have failed from beating two-hundred times per minute.

As he got even closer, he noticed something odd. The office's light was turned off, leaving it even darker than everywhere else. Yet the vibrations continued as everything else died out. For the first time in a long while, Auric felt a twinge of… not fear, but anxiety. He liked being one step ahead, and he couldn't do that unless he knew what he dealt with. He could detach his astral body from his pawn and scope out the area personally, but that would waste his already dwindling stamina. More than that, it would be a partial admission of defeat, saying he didn't have the courage to confront one harmless lunatic.

He (or rather, his puppet) took a deep breath and walked to the office's threshold, surprised when a metal door didn't slam down in his face. He'd won. The office was still dark, though; even the computer had been switched off, leaving a pitch-black void. While he knew the room's layout perfectly, he couldn't tell where his opponent was. Then he heard a snarl.

"It's me."

The words were cynical and raspy, likely because the Warden had torn up his throat from all the screaming earlier. But more importantly, they mocked him. At least it seemed he was lucid enough to grovel after all.

Stepping forward, he was caught completely unaware by the wire fastened to the doorframe. For a normal human, the simple trap wouldn't have been much of a problem, but total blackness and a several-hundred-pound body made Auric plummet like a rock. He stuck his hands out to break the fall, trying to control his anger; the faster the Warden died, the better. Of course, he was still guaranteed to –

A surge of pain shot through his pawn as two knives dug into its palms. Of course, as Auric occupied its body, he felt it, too. Enraged, he fumbled around in the dark, roaring and thrashing as he pulled out the blades. It momentarily occurred to him that pushing someone in a desperate situation beyond all inhibition might have been a bad idea. That thought was interrupted by a firm kick to the head. Normally such a blow would bounce harmlessly off his puppet's metal bones, but it seemed the Warden thought of that as well – he wore steel-toed boots.

Auric screamed and commanded his slave to attack: maul him, claw him, anything. "Come on, James!" the Warden screamed, delivering another kick. This one smashed into the thrall's sensitive nose, making them both roar in agony. "Fucking fight me! The rest of your nightmares, too!" Freddy – Yes, that's what it's called – had different plans, though.

Overwhelmed with agony, it jumped to its feet and ran away, whimpering like a puppy. This hurt even more than when it was smashed in the face with a rotary fan. But it wasn't important. Despite the pain, all that mattered was killing his opponent and returning to the status quo! Without the thrill of victory his existence was meaningless, regardless of the hunt itself.

"Get back here!" the Warden shouted after him.

"I would if I could!" he yelled back, though it came out of his slave's mouth as a jumble of static.

"I knew it! You're scared of me! And you say I'm the coward!" The words made Auric seethe; he feared nothing, least of all a madman surviving by the skin of his teeth. However, Freddy didn't stop until he reached the show stage, collapsing as it began to tend to its wounds. He could still hear the Warden screaming at him from far away, though it degenerated into incoherent babbling.

I suppose neither of us is good with words.

4:42 AM

For the next few hours, Auric didn't do much of anything. He was tired. Tired of losing, tired of disgrace and physically exhausted, too. So he just waited.

Maybe it was time to move on. This wasn't the first game he created – there were many others in the past, some so long ago he could hardly remember them. But this was his favorite of them all: a perfect fusion of skill and luck, risk and reward. Despite how unorthodox it appeared to challengers at first, they quickly picked up the basics. Yet it was also slanted in his favor just enough so he could always win. At least it used to be.

No, this is a temporary setback, he thought, staring at the world through seven eyes. I'll get out of the rut. Soon. Time slipped away as the night wound down, minutes and hours disappearing forever. Eventually, Auric decided he needed a drink.

His real body lacked a digestive tract – or any organs, for that matter – so the only way he could experience the joys of intoxication was by mooching off one of his pawns. Usually he reserved such activity for celebration, but the night was bad enough to warrant it. Choosing the red thrall for no real reason, he walked it out of its Cove. It was far more receptive to the idea of alcohol, so he had no trouble with control.

The auras of anger and fear that once hung in the air were long since gone, leaving subtle hints of the past, like smoke in a party room after the guests left. The Warden likely regained sanity; Auric made no new attempts to break his mind. There was only so much he could do in a night.

Arriving at the corridor's end, he opened the door to Phillip's room, not bothering to look back at the steel slab protecting his enemy's office. His pawn's keen eyes quickly adjusted to the relative darkness, and he picked through the maze of surplus to reach the desk. Though the basement could have been expanded for extra storage space, Phillip was a poor manager; no matter how much money he got his hands on, it always slipped through his fingers. Not that he would ever say so.

He heard the metal door rise outside but didn't respond. The night was embarrassing enough for him. He dug around the desk's drawers for a moment before pulling out an ornate decanter of Bourbon, which sparkled in the dim light. Phillip didn't drink on the job nearly as much as he used to, but he still enjoyed an occasional shot.

Uncorking the bottle with his puppet's one good hand, he drank straight out of it. Strong stuff. Actually, he had the Warden to thank for that. Without him getting its mouth fixed, he wouldn't have been able to use it to enjoy booze. I suppose even the most vulgar can contribute.

For a long time, he sat drinking. Sit, drink, reminisce – that was the pattern. Once about a quarter of the hooch was gone, Auric started to feel buzzed. He was rather surprised that the puppet could hold its liquor so well, but then again, that was a trait of pirates. Several minutes later, the bottle was half-empty, and he decided to turn in for the night, feeling quite tipsy.

Reorganizing everything was difficult with only one hand and a stomach full of liquor, but he did his best. The room spun as he walked through the boxes, and he wondered whether he made his thrall drink too much. The last thing he needed was for it to have a hangover the following night.

Entering the hallway, he was not at all surprised to see the office's door down again. Instead of getting angry, though, he felt pretty content. In fact, he was positivity merry! He knew it was the alcohol going to his head but he nevertheless wanted to congratulate his opponent on being such a good sport.

He staggered over to the window and knocked on it while a stupid grin crossed his pawn's face. The Warden flinched and rubbed his eyes, seeming confused about what was happening. Understandable: he likely didn't remember the first half of his shift.

"You're very good at this," Auric slurred, needing to lean against the wall so he didn't collapse.

"Um, what?"

"I said you're good at this. You're a worthy foe! I despise you, but you really know what you're doing!" This wasn't working – his intoxication and natural lack of enunciation made communication impossible. As he was about to give up, an idea popped into his mind. In an instant, he was back inside Phillip's room. Grabbing the bottle from the desk, he went back out, doing his best not to trip over anything, though that got harder by the minute.

"Here's a little present from me to you," he said again through the window, pressing the whiskey against the thick glass. "It's a personal favorite of your boss! He has very good taste!"

"Shit, I'm hallucinating again." The Warden put his head down on the table, refusing to look up.

Shrugging, Auric left the decanter beside the door before promptly falling to the ground, nearly passed out in a drunken stupor.

Chapter Text

Thursday, August 6, 1987, 10:35 AM

Phil's head pounded. His sweaty hand twitched as he put pen to paper and filled out the first of many employee evaluation forms. Despite his hangover, the irony wasn't lost. If anyone needed to be judged, it was him.

The building came alive as he worked. Footsteps of busy servers echoed down the hall while the Band entertained what few children there were. In a few minutes, the noise would exacerbate his headache, but he felt fine for the moment. It shaped up to be a normal workday – except for one thing.

Since waking up, the conversation he had with the golden creature haunted his thoughts. Memories of dreams tended to quickly fade, yet this one grew more intense the more he remembered. He could almost hear it whisper, a voice filled with static. Though tempted to write it all off as a bizarre nightmare, part of him wanted it to be real.

Having a family… he'd almost forgotten what that meant. People who unconditionally cared for and supported each other. Until recently, he took it for granted; now he realized how difficult it was to live without one. A small cry escaped his throat as his trembling hand paused.

I'm a fucking adult, he thought. I should be over this.

If only it was that easy. He wanted nothing more than to forget all the pain inside – the sleepless, lonely nights, the hopeless days. Other people could deal with such loss, but it was clear to him that he never could. Reaching for the can of beer on his desk out of habit, he forced himself to stop. What if he could have people to love him again? The question rattled around his head for a solid minute. Pulling his hand away, he stared at the ceiling, trying to process everything without his migraine flaring up.

All he had to do was accept the being's offer. It would be the easiest thing in the world.

While it was difficult to suddenly believe in the paranormal – and even more so that this creature would approach him of all people – he couldn't let the opportunity pass him by. At worst, it would turn out to be a bad dream. But if it was somehow true…

He couldn't ignore it. If he did, he knew that the mystery of "what if" would torment him for the rest of his life. As the thing said, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. "Why the Hell not?" Phil muttered, returning to his work. He had nothing else to lose by trying.

…

The white void stretched seemingly without limit. Maybe it was truly infinite; maybe it was the size of a single room. Without any horizon or reference points, space became impossible to gauge. Phil stood frozen in place, hardly daring to breathe. This was it.

A shrill hum shook the air. Startled by the noise, he barely noticed the golden fog appear before him. The figure was there again, just as shrouded as before. For a moment, they stared at each other; Phil felt the two points of light piercing through his flesh. Whatever this thing was, it emanated intensity.

"Have you reflected on my offer?" it asked, wasting no time for pleasantries.

"Y-yes," he stammered, scarcely believing his answer. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he would make a deal with… well, not a demon – what kind of evil spirit helped the needy – but something supernatural. I suppose that means I'm not an atheist anymore. "A family would be the greatest thing in the world right now."

Within the mist, Phil saw its mouth curve into a wily smile. A chill ran down his back, but he reminded himself that this thing, no matter how shifty it appeared, had done nothing wrong. "Excellent. Now, let us discuss the stipulations."

That, however, gave him pause. As someone who regularly worked with legal documents, words like "stipulations," "preconditions" or any other fancy way of saying "rules" made him uncomfortable.

Sensing his hesitation, it asked, "Did you think I would offer this gift freely?"

"Well… yeah." The being had approached him, not the other way around. Perhaps it was naive to assume this creature operated purely out of kindness, but then again, he'd never talked to any other spirits before.

It suppressed a laugh, trying to remain serious. Nevertheless, space trembled slightly as it snickered. Phil watched what he little he could discern of it more carefully than before. "Phillip, you're a businessman. You of all people should understand that nothing in this world is free." It moved a few feet closer; if he wanted to, he could reach through the cloud and touch it. "Nothing is free in any world."

"Fair enough." Though he was intimidated, there was no way in Hell he would show it. Dealing with difficult people was one of the few managerial traits he possessed. And he was about to make the most important deal of his life. "But I'm only human. What could you want from me? My soul?" His heart skipped a beat as he realized that was a genuine possibility.

"Nothing so Faustian. My desire is very simple. You see, I am a lover of games."

Phil didn't see any connection between having a family and entertainment. "What, like Monopoly?" It looked at him with slight bewilderment. Maybe that wasn't the best example.

"I prefer games based more on skill. Chess, backgammon, mahjong – those are my favorites. However, I also create competitions of my own." It paused, trying to decide how to best reach its point. "In fact, while watching you, I invented one that surpasses all the others. One that will be remembered."

"So, in exchange for giving me a family, you want us play."

Another smile crossed its face, just as crafty as the last. "Precisely." On the surface, it seemed innocent enough. This spirit – if it could be called that – simply wanted some occasional amusement. Understandable. Floating around all day sounded like a boring existence. Still, it seemed too easy. It wasn't giving him the whole truth.

"Tell me more about this game." The being's smile faltered, and its eyes flared up for a moment. God, that's creepy.

"Suffice it to say that it will keep your restaurant open if everything goes according to plan."

Plan? What plan? How could playing a game get him money? Why wouldn't this thing tell him more? Questions flew about his head like a swarm of mosquitos. Then came the words he dreaded.

"Time's up." Its voice was dry leaves crackling in the wind. "There are many people as desperate as you. I will have no trouble finding someone less… inquisitive." Overwhelmed by uncertainty, Phil didn't respond. "Very well. Enjoy your life. May you find happiness." Whether the words were genuine or mocking, he couldn't say. However, they pushed him back into the moment.

"Wait!" The figure looked at him expectantly, and he sighed. "You win. If you give me a family, we'll play your game." This deal would be worth it. It had to be.

"You're an intelligent man, Phillip. I'm pleased we could reach an agreement." Phil stuck his hand into the gilded mist, which elicited a blank stare.

It might not know what a handshake is. Hell, it might not have hands at all! But then he felt something wrap around his palm. It didn't have texture, it didn't have shape. The only word to describe it was cold. If life was heat, then this was the absence of life. The moment it let go, Phil yanked his hand out, shivering from both alarm and frigidness.

"Lest I forget, I require one more thing." That would have been nice to know about before they closed the deal. "A body."

"What do you mean?" The first thing his mind jumped to was demonic possession a la The Exorcist.

"Perhaps 'body' isn't the correct word. 'Vessel' is more precise. A receptacle to contain my essence on the material plane." That made sense; it couldn't play its game if it didn't physically exist. "Preferably something with arms and legs – it is the height of tedium to roll around everywhere as a vase."

"I'll take your word for that."

Neither of them said anything for a moment, and Phil again noticed the buzz in the background that he tuned out. "Then our business is adjourned," the being said. "I expect we will both benefit from this arrangement." God, he hoped so. This thing made him suspicious, but it also had him by the balls. At least it seemed they would stay out of each other's ways. "Remember, we will not be friends. It would be best if you thought of this as a business contract. A profitable one."

A wave of exhaustion washed over him as the surroundings faded to black. The eyes, however, stayed through all the rest of his dreams that night.

Friday, August 7, 5:20 AM

Phil stepped out of his car into the warm, unusually dry air. His car's lights shone briefly before flickering out, leaving only the moon for illumination. The asphalt seemed to scream with every stride. Grabbing the pizzeria's key, he took a moment to consider whether he was crazy. He had made a pact with some otherworldly creature less than an hour before – most people didn't do that! The skeptic within him still claimed that this was a trick brought about by a desperate subconscious, all the same.

Whatever, he thought, opening the door. If it turns out I imagined the whole thing, it's time for me to get therapy. His hangover was finally gone, though.

After flipping on the lights, he walked over to the half-dozen arcade machines and played a couple rounds of Super Mario Bros., trying to invigorate himself. Unable to fall back asleep after waking in the middle of the night, he decided to drive down and put the whole "I need a body" thing to the test.

A few minutes later, Phil was as ready as he'd ever be. Sighing, he pulled open a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. A horde of disembodied heads stared at him with eyeless holes as he entered, mouths hanging open in silent screams. The Backstage seldom bothered him, yet this time the felt faces seemed to follow his every move.

Several empty suits lay decaying at the back of the room. Unlike the heads and other individual pieces of fur-covered-latex, which were regularly swapped so the animatronics didn't look worn-out or dirty, there was rarely a need to replace a robot's entire skin. Therefore, the costumes remained mostly forgotten, stashed behind a box of servos.

Beating the cobwebs out of each under many ominous gazes, he took stock. Conveniently, Freddy, Bonnie, Chica and Foxy were all represented at least once. Let's assume this actually works, Phil thought, rubbing the back of his neck. Which of these do I want to use? After a minute mulling it over, he gave up and shut his eyes. Running his hand over the pile of dusty faux fur, he picked one up at random.

The empty sockets of a Freddy suit gaped back at him. Its plastic teeth, usually white, were stained brown from years of exposure to dirt and grime. The fabric was overrun by mold in places, creating hideous green patches. On top of that, it smelled awful. The others weren't in much better shape, though.

Phil threw the rest back where they came from and brought the decaying suit out into the dining area. He would go home and get a couple more hours of sleep after this.

"Hey." Though he spoke at an ordinary volume, the tiled floors and complete stillness made the word nearly deafening. "You. You know who you are." He tossed the musty suit to the ground; it landed in a crumpled heap between two party tables. Popular culture told him this usually involved sacrificing a goat or the like, so hopefully the spirit didn't leave that part out. "Here's the body you wanted."

He stared at the costume for almost a minute. There was no change, no movement, nothing. Just an insane man trying to summon an extradimensional entity in the middle of a children's restaurant at five-thirty in the morning. Slumping against the wall, Phil rested his head on his knees. He wasn't angry or upset: just tired. In the morning, he would call a psychiatrist to try and get help. Probably should have done that sooner. Until then –

Pop. Phil hardly noticed the sound. It could have been a dozen different things: a vent's rattle, a branch falling on the roof. Crack. No, it was too loud, too close to be either of those. Crunch. A sinister feeling rolled over him like a wave. Snap.

What the Hell's making that noise? Looking up, his jaw dropped at the anomaly in front of him.

The costume violently convulsed, its limbs twisting in unnatural positions as if being controlled by an incompetent puppeteer. For a moment, his mind stopped, unable to justify the aberration. Then it jerked across the floor toward him, which sent him running and screaming into the corner. Despite his terror, he was too enthralled to turn away. With a racing heart, he watched the suit spasm.

The clumsy flailing of appendages became slower, more controlled. Eventually, it stopped moving altogether, laying still on the linoleum floor. Phil's breathing slowed, his mind calmed, and he was pleasantly surprised he hadn't pissed himself. Then something only a little less frightening happened. The costume started to change.

He noticed the suit inflate slightly; it was no longer empty. Some force filled it, giving it "life" and shape. More dramatically, the faux fur shifted color. The muddy brown fibers got lighter and more bleached, stopping at a pigment burned into his memory.

Gold.

A throbbing buzz came from the suit, which rose to its feet, still a bit unsteady. Phil was right back to being terrified.

"My fucking God. You're real. You're actually real." It took everything he had not to flee shrieking in fear. The costume turned to look at him. Its eyes were more than black – they were black holes: the darkest things in the universe. All that existed within each was a single golden pinprick at the center, the very same it possessed in his dreams. Though it moved its mouth to speak, all that escaped was an earsplitting blast of static. After a few more attempts, it finally managed comprehensible speech.

"Of course I am. If I wasn't, I wouldn't be here." A surprisingly philosophical answer for a six-and-a-half-foot tall bear costume. Speaking of which, it examined its new hairy arm. "This is a fine body. Better, at least, than the ones I often take."

"I'm g-glad you like it," Phil replied, gingerly walking toward the being. Though it didn't breathe, the air wafting from its mouth was ice cold; he felt it on his face from across the room. Stopping several feet away, he was astonished by its size. Though it was only a few inches taller than him, its presence engulfed everything. Maybe that's because I'm talking to something that shouldn't exist. "Gold's your color?" he asked, needing something, anything to make the situation slightly more rational.

Before responding, it pulled a chair out from one of the tables and sat down, crossing one leg over the other. Phil did the same; his knees were starting to give out. "All beings in the universe have a chromatic energy about and within them," it explained, voice intertwining with white noise. "An aura. It reveals the individual's disposition on the most intimate level. For most, however, it is hidden by the flesh, visible to only a few." Phil half-listened, still unable to completely believe what he saw.

"But I exist beyond that. I am pure qi, and my aura pervades whatever arbitrary form I occupy. It is potent and relentless." The thing shifted in its seat, still getting used to its new shape. "Gold is the color of power. Of grandeur. Of transcendence. I am those things, and they are me. My physical appearance adapts accordingly."

A lot of that was beyond him, and Phil didn't want to test this thing's patience, but he was curious about something. "W-what color is my aura?"

It leaned forward, literally staring into his soul. He recoiled from its penetrating gaze and freezing "breath". "Black. Associated with depression, anguish and self-loathing." Sounded about right. Phil slumped back in his chair, rather disturbed that this thing could read him like an open book.

But why the Hell were they still talking about this? There were far more important things to discuss. "So," he said, driving the bleaker thoughts away, "what about my family?"

"We will discuss that some other time. There are a few things the two of us need to review in greater detail." Phil opened his mouth to protest but quickly shut it. There was no reason to believe this thing was lying. Besides, he was already mentally exhausted from learning that humans weren't the only intelligent beings in the universe, after all. A week or two to let it all sink in didn't seem like such a bad idea. Then another question sprang to mind, one he should have thought to ask long ago.

"What's your name?"

"I don't have one. I simply am." The answer was unsatisfactory. Phil didn't know how long this arrangement would last; he wasn't going to spend months calling it "you".

"I have to call you something. That's just how humans operate." With a grunt, it motioned for him to continue. OK, what to call it. A faint memory from long ago surfaced: him naming the animatronics in that very room. Feeling nostalgic, he glanced at the drawn stage curtains – they were just behind them. He'd probably gotten a little better at that sort of thing with age.

A slew of titles raced through his head, most of them silly or unsuitable. He wasn't going to give it a human name like "Joe," but he also didn't want to invent a word himself. After a minute of this, the being's face shifted to an expression of boredom. And then it came to him. Out of nowhere, a flash of inspiration filled his mind; he had the perfect label.

"Auric." A smile crept across Phil's face as he said the word. None was more appropriate.

"Auric," it repeated, pondering the name. "I like it."

Chapter Text

Thursday, June 8, 6:00 AM

The instant light returned, Mike was on his feet and out the door. Foxy had lain motionless in the hallway for almost half-an-hour, but he was unwilling to check on her, afraid Auric had another trick in store. Now that he knew something really was wrong, a tingle of fear crept into his mind. What could he do about it? More importantly, what would the guards do if they found her in such a state?

She was sprawled on her side, almost in the fetal position. Her chest slowly rose and fell while her tail thumped the ground. OK, she's still alive. That's a start. Crouching down, he put a hand on her shoulder and shook.

"Foxy," he said into her ear, which perked up a bit. "You have to wake up." After a moment, she lazily rolled onto her back, muzzle forming a crooked smile. "Are you all right?"

"Aye. Drank a smidge too much rum afore takin' a caulk," she slurred, unable to get to her feet.

Before he could ask what that meant, a glint on the floor caught his eye. A half-empty bottle of some dark alcohol sat by the door to his office. He quickly put the pieces together. "You're drunk?" It was more a statement than a question.

"Three sheets ta' the wind, lad." Getting wasted didn't seem like something an evil spirit would take interest in. Perhaps Auric was more human than he thought. "Could ye 'elp yer Cap'n up, matey? We be settin' sail at dawn."

Mike leaned down and grabbed her hand, careful to avoid being poked by the claws. Then he pulled hard, somehow managing to get her standing. Well, more like slumping against him, but she could probably still walk. "So, where are we going?" he asked, trying to make her move quickly.

"The Far Isles. Rumor has it ol' Davy Jones 'imself stashed a coffer there." She turned to him, grinning from ear to ear. "We're goin' ta' find it and live like kings!"

"Yeah. We are." As much as he wanted to break through her drunken delirium, he couldn't bring himself to do so. She deserved a few hours of comforting reverie before being forced to confront reality again. With her arm around his neck, they stumbled toward the dining area. Right into the Band. Fuck. Somehow, he forgot all about the other animatronics.

They stared at them from the stage, watching in disbelief as he helped Foxy stagger back to her cove. Freddy's jaw dropped, and Mike felt his face heat up from both embarrassment and physical exertion.

"Uh, do you guys know each other?" Chica asked after a few seconds.

"Yeah," was the best response he could manage.

"'ow?!" Bonnie added. "And why is Foxy shitfaced?!"

Mike struggled to suppress a laugh. "You use that kind of language in your shows?"

The rabbit suddenly looked very sheepish. "Not unless a kid throws food at me. Then I might let somethin' like that slip out." His serious attitude quickly returned. "Seriously, though."

They clearly weren't going to let this go, and Mike didn't blame them. Glancing through the glass doors, it appeared there weren't any cars around yet. Even when one appeared, it would take a minute for someone to unlock the building. "Foxy, can you sit down?" he whispered. Happily complying, she plopped down into a chair, which nearly snapped under her deceptively heavy weight.

Adding drama to the explanation, Bonnie started plucking on his guitar.

"I wandered into Pirate Cove through the fire exit after my first night, realized you all were alive and started talking to her on a regular basis. Is that a good enough explanation?" They looked skeptical; while they had more to ask, there was little time.

"I'm surprised she didn't try to kill you," Chica said at last.

Mike grimaced and glanced at the ground. "Well…"

Her slight smile faded. "Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't mean – "

"'Twas a misunderstandin'!" Foxy shouted, cutting off the chicken's stammered apology. "Ye know how territorial both foxes and pirates are. The two o' us now be thick as thieves."

Having sat silently so far, Freddy finally spoke up. "That's why you saved him from me at the end of his first week. You were friends."

Mike nodded. That's some good observation. "Amazingly, yes. She's a great person. I'm still not sure how we did it, but I wouldn't trade it for anything."

"Told you he was a nice guy," Bonnie said to Freddy, who still wasn't completely convinced.

"Yeah," the bear muttered.

"Bonnie and I like you," Chica explained to Mike. "Really. You're the only person we've talked to in a very long time who treats us with any dignity. And Freddy respects you, too – but he's not much of a 'people person'." Her voice wavered slightly; he understood how important this was to them. "And if you're friends with Foxy… well, she's a very good judge of character, I think."

"Yarr! Schmidt's a damn good man! I'm proud to 'ave him as me First Mate." Though delirious, he knew she meant every word. Clumsily gesturing toward him with her hook, she continued, "Trustworthy, supportive, kind. That's why I fell in love with him!" All fell silent as Bonnie's hand froze mid-strum.

Then a couple of cars pulled into the lot, and Mike breathed an audible sigh of relief. Rarely was he so glad to see his "coworkers". "Uh, my personality. She fell in love with my, um, personality." Practically dragging Foxy from her chair, he hurried over to the Cove, feeling eyes on the back of his neck.

"That's one thing I – "

"Please shut up, Captain."

Upon reaching the purple curtains, he said, "I'll come by later today. Sleep a little while. You'll feel better." With an unsteady nod, she staggered inside. While Mike was glad he handled the situation, he couldn't help but think about what would happen when Foxy came to her senses. Waking up in a world that doesn't have a place for you must be crushing.

Outside, the workers looked to be having a heated conversation – they wouldn't be in for several minutes more. "So, how are you all doing?" he asked the animatronics, hoping they had written off Foxy's words as a product of intoxication.

"Pretty good," Chica replied, her voice a little too forced. "We just finished practicing a new song that Bonnie wrote. It's on the schedule tonight if you want to come see it!"

Freddy rolled his eyes. "Mike isn't a slave like we are. Why would he drive out here to see us when he can do anything he wants?" The bear's envy was palpable, but he also seemed to be physically hurt.

"I'll come," Mike said, rising to the challenge. "Are you in pain?"

Freddy turned his hands toward Mike, who winced at the sight of a sizable cut on each palm, both slowly leaking off-red blood. "Doesn't exactly feel good to be kicked in the face and stabbed. And this is after getting smacked with that damn fan."

Can't recall much of last night, come to think of it. Before about four o'clock, all he remembered were hazy visions of a child in the office incessantly whispering to him. "I didn't mean to. It was probably in self-defense."

"Probably?"

"I barely remember anything from the first half of my shift. Auric must have done something to me." The animatronics cringed at the name. "I take it you all know him."

"Barely," Bonnie said. "Never spoken a word to 'im. He's the one who makes us kill people. What about you, Fred?"

"Might have talked to him once or twice. I get the feeling he sort of likes me. Thinks I enjoy murdering humans."

"But you do," Mike replied. "Last week you almost got me. Twice."

He expected Freddy to become enraged, but the opposite happened. Speaking softly, the bear said, "Suppose you were abducted by aliens. For a while, they poked through your body and mind, trying to discover how humans work. After that, they put you on display for their species to see as a sideshow curiosity." His voice remained oddly calm, though a fire began to burn behind his eyes.

"And whenever they got bored, they ordered some new 'tests' – always with scalpels or electrodes – to watch you squirm. If you lived like that for years on end, you'd resent their entire race, regardless of how the rest acted."

Mike didn't know what to say – how could he? As spitefully as Freddy sometimes behaved, his motives were understandable; that was now clear. "To be honest, Mike, I think most of you humans – adults, anyway – are complete shitbags. That's why I've been so eager to kill in the past." His expression softened, some empathy creeping in. "You're not like that, though. Instead of avoiding or mocking us, we're having a real conversation. Hell, you're friends with Foxy. If memory serves, she's not particularly trusting."

"No, definitely not," he replied. "If anyone else who worked here went more than a few feet into her Cove, she'd maul them." They all shared a laugh over that.

"'ow is Foxy?" Bonnie asked. "We barely see 'er anymore."

His mood soured at the question, but he decided to be honest. "She was contemplating suicide before I came." Bonnie and Chica both looked horrified. "The kids were what kept her going, and she couldn't even see them. Beyond that, she didn't see any reason to live." Freddy nodded solemnly.

"She's gotten better, though," he reassured them. "I think she needed someone to be there for her, y'know? I definitely did. We, uh, encourage each other." A glint from outside caught his attention; one of the guards pulled out a keyring. "You're not going to tell anyone about anything, right?"

"We won't say a word," Chica said before looking at Freddy. "Will we?" The lock rattled as the bear stared at Mike, weighing his options. If he told Phil a word of this… no more night guard. And why wouldn't he want to easily get rid of his enemy?

"No, we won't." Mike's jaw unclenched as he breathed a sigh of relief. "Might have to get some bandages for my hands, but I'll make up an excuse."

He couldn't find the words to express his gratitude before the door opened.

"Told you he wasn't dead," a woman said to her compatriot, a man with something in Chinese tattooed on his arm. Mike had probably seen them before, but all the employees except Helen ran together in his mind. The tattoo stood seemed familiar, though. "Now you have to clean the shit out of Foxy's bucket."

"I fucking hate that bitch," he grumbled, not giving Mike a second glance.

Better than being lashed out at. Giving the animatronics a subtle wave, he walked out the door and into the new day's light.

It was a shame that a place as vile as Fazbear's sat on such a pristine location. Aside from Whitewater, there wasn't much development in that part of Kittitas County. Just miles and miles of forested mountains and lakes and streams. But then there was this thing by the road. Evilness aside, it was also an eyesore. Didn't make sense from a business perspective, either; why build a restaurant in the middle of the woods? The animatronics were the only things keeping it open and it still looked ready to collapse at the drop of a hat.

Whatever, he didn't really care. Getting into his car, the adrenaline-fueled hours began to catch up with him. What little sleep he got yesterday was shallow and punctuated by violent night terrors. The things he saw and heard were so real – flesh being ripped apart, a cacophony of screams – that he recalled them almost perfectly. And that led Mike to the question he didn't even want to consider; could Auric kill him in his sleep?

He still doubted it, but why even take the chance? His final shift began in less than eighteen hours. While he'd be exhausted beyond imagination by the end of it, that was a better prospect than dying.

Another troubling thought occurred to him as he started the engine, one that had bothered him all week: there was no reason Auric wouldn't blackmail him again. The monster had nothing to lose by threatening him, Foxy, or anyone else. All the uncertainties rapidly drained what little energy he had left.

The answers would come soon, though; he knew that much.

10:29 AM

There was so little to do – ironic, considering all the world had to offer. Most of Mike's time lately had been spent not doing but thinking: about life, death, good, evil, the big questions. Faced with the possibility of dying every day, these were things that interested him, even if he himself didn't fully understand why.

Pacing circles in his driveway to stay awake, he thought about thinking about another important topic.

Love.

The subject bothered him for the previous couple of days, pulling at his consciousness, begging for attention. With the most difficult fight of his life approaching, he decided to indulge the desire.

Me. Foxy.

The idea was unreal. While he believed love could be found in strange places, this pushed the boundaries. Still… maybe it wouldn't be a bad thing.

Be sensible, he thought, slowly moving up and down the hill. How would this work? In short, not very well. They'd have to spend a few stolen hours with each other a week, worrying even more than they already did. On top of that, Auric would interfere in some way; love might have been a foreign notion to him, but exploiting love fit his psychology.

There were also more physical problems, the primary one being that she wasn't human. How could he cope with that? How could anybody? Though Foxy was from Earth, she was alien in terms of biology. Hell, she was a full-blown cybernetic organism! Being part animal and part machine, she was as far away from "human" as one could get.

Yet despite her appearance, her mind – and soul, if such a thing existed – was very hominal. Joy, depression, anger: she experienced the human condition like everyone. No matter one's race or religion, there were certain emotions and thought processes common to people across the world. Foxy shared those. But does that make her human? And does "human" really mean anything? His mind was an overworked computer, jittery and stuttering.

He kept getting hung up on two words: "human" and "love". Before all this, the definitions seemed simple enough. Now they couldn't have been more complex.

Debates had gone on for decades about the morality of same-sex and interracial marriages. If these relationships were controversial, how would romance between two different species go over? Granted, he'd obviously keep it a secret, but that secrecy might weigh him down, make him believe his love was wrong. He had enough guilt to deal with – any more would break him.

Then he began to consider the improbable. What if it worked out? What if they solved the issue of love as they settled every other problem that came their way? What would the benefits be?

She was smart, funny, caring, brave. Everything he ever wanted from a friend. Or lover. She shared her hopes and dreams with him and did everything in her power to make sure he was safe. Why wouldn't he be interested in a woman like that? On a more personal level… he had to admit, he found her somewhat attractive. Though he winced upon daring to think that, he soldiered on, knowing that if he didn't confront this now he might never get the chance.

Not drop-dead seductive like a curvaceous supermodel. "Exquisite" might have been the best descriptor. Much like a normal fox – or any wild animal, for that matter – she had a kind of beauty that was more aesthetically pleasing than sexual. Her fur, her tail: they were gorgeous. And her smile he liked most of all. Despite having teeth capable of ripping flesh from bone, there was warmth and compassion in it.

You're crazy, Mike. Maybe. Or maybe everyone else was. What did "crazy" even mean? Words were complicated. You're crazy for being in love with an animal! That's bestiality! And robophilia! And - He stopped dead in his tracks. "Oh God, is it pedophilia, too?!" he shouted aloud. Again, she'd only been alive for thirteen years, despite having the mental faculties of an adult. Suddenly, he felt absolutely filthy for even considering that this might be acceptable.

I'm losing my mind, he thought, trudging down the hill. It's evil for me to even consider being with her. Like, this isn't even a Christian thing; everyone would agree with that.

Not if she was human…

This became tiresome; the gears in his head refused to go one way or the other. He was a car stuck in mud. Snatching the daily paper, he went inside for a quick cup of coffee.

1:06 PM

Mike walked the main drag, popping his head into whatever stores happened to be open. In a more prosperous community that would have been most of them, but Whitewater's frontage stood abandoned, testaments of a slowly dying town. There was little of interest – a bookshop, the bank, an Amish furniture store – but it kept him awake. If he stayed home as usual he would have fallen asleep hours ago.

Glancing at the road signs, it took his exhausted mind several seconds to realize that he was close to the auto shop. What happened to Jeremy? He saw June a few days earlier, but the man himself dropped off his radar weeks ago. It didn't really matter, he supposed. The mechanic's life had obviously returned to normal. He had a store, a kid, probably a decent income. Mike hoped he could someday find a sense of mundanity after all he'd witnessed.

Still, he kind of wanted to stop by since he was in the neighborhood. Business probably wasn't heavy on a weekday, and he had nothing else to do. On top of that, he might have been too tired to recognize a bad idea.

With slow steps, he made his way up one of the side streets, following it for a few blocks until he reached a lot with the stripped corpses of several cars resting nearby. The garage door hung open, so someone was presumably in.

"Uh, hello?" he said, stepping into the cool building. "Anybody here?"

"Just a second!"

Quick footsteps approached. A second later, June entered from the back door. Upon seeing him, she did a double take. "What are you doing here?"

"I was bored."

She came closer, keeping her eyes on his face. "You look like shit."

"So I've been told." They were silent for a moment, looking each other over. "Um, where's your dad?"

"Visiting Mom in Portland. They meet up a few times a year just to talk, but it never goes well."

"Oh." Mike's parents didn't have much drama. They were too distant for that. Sifting through his enervated brain for a proper response, all he could say was, "Sorry."

"It's fine. I'm used to it," she replied, not offended in the slightest. "Want to go out back? There's a couple chairs out there, and it looks like you're about to fall over." Weakly nodding, he followed her out the back door to a small porch overlooking an overgrown tract. "You can barely see it from the front and we don't use it for anything. Otherwise we might mow."

"Uh huh." He sat down on the wooden stool; at least he didn't have to worry about falling asleep on something so uncomfortable.

"Really, though. Do you have insomnia?"

"It's nothing," he said, trying to reassure himself more than convince her. "I think it would be better if I stayed up a couple more hours." She eyed him suspiciously but didn't say anything else.

They spent a while alternating between talking and sipping iced tea, which happened to be the only item in the building's refrigerator. Jeremy was Southern, after all. Not his drink of choice, but it was caffeinated.

"How's Foxy doing?" June eventually asked. "Is her mouth working all right?"

"Seems to be fine. Well, um, I don't actually know, but she hasn't complained about it." He paused for a moment. "And she's grateful. That wasn't a problem we could have fixed by ourselves."

"Good." Looking across the tall grass, June said, "It's fucking crazy, though. A month ago, I would have called an insane asylum if you told me living animatronics existed, let alone in my own town. Now I can't stop thinking about what other impossible things are real. Vampires? Unicorns? Martians?"

"I know," he replied. He still hadn't figured out a way to cope with that: firmly knowing there were things in the world beyond comprehension. "But maybe they don't want to be found. And maybe that's for the best."

"Yeah…"

"If you need to get back to work, I'll leave anytime." The hot air and cold tea jolted his nervous system back into action – for a couple more hours, at least.

"No, there's nothing in for repairs. I'm only here as a formality; doesn't look good for the place to be abandoned for days on end. It's not hard to get here, either." She pointed up the hill to a small white house nestled between two or three others. "That's where I live."

"Huh. I expected someone who fixes cars to, uh, drive one to work." Changing subjects, he asked, "Do you know when your dad's getting back? I don't need to talk to him, I'm just curious."

"Supposedly this weekend. If things go bad, though, later today. And with all that's happened lately, he hasn't been in a great mood, so that's likely."

An idea popped into Mike's head. "Would you like to get dinner, then? I, um, had a great time when we went out on Monday."

"Where did you have in mind?"

A wry smile crossed his face. "Freddy Fazbear's Pizza."

She stared at him to figure out whether he was joking. "Are you sure you're OK?"

"Look, the animatronics have a new song that they wrote. I'm trying to be a nice guy, because nobody else around them is." He still wasn't completely sure how he felt about them, but this was something they needed. He would show them, Freddy especially, that somebody was on their side. Feeling lonely was common for him, and he knew how painful it could be.

June pondered the offer. After a minute, she said, "Yeah, I'll go. I kind of wanted to check it out a couple weeks ago, but Dad begged me not to."

"What time?"

"I'm closing up at five. I'll meet you there by the entrance at, say, five-thirty."

"Sounds good to me."

5:30 PM

Almost there, Mike thought, pulling into the parking lot. His muscles ached, wanting rest, but his mind wouldn't yield. In a little over twelve hours he could sleep without fear – without as much fear, anyway.

Even for a weekday it wasn't as crowded as usual. Actually, he'd thought all day about how a Chuck E. Cheese's knock-off in a town of just over 3,000 managed to have any business at all. The best guess he could hazard was the proximity to Interstate 90; Whitewater was only a few miles off. Not to mention the animatronics, who probably enticed most of the kids before they were diverted to unhealthy food.

Stepping out, he didn't see June near the door, so he walked over and stood beside the building's slowly crumbling wall, snippets of noise reaching through. A minute later, a shiny red motorcycle arrived. Mike normally wouldn't have noticed, but it stood out in a sea of minivans and SUVs. The figure riding it got off and flipped the kickstand down. Gee, I wonder who it is.

"Uh, that's quite a ride."

"Hell yeah it is," June said, pulling off her helmet. "Dad and I got it last year from an impound lot. Bit of a fixer-upper, but now it runs great."

They went inside. Like the parking lot, it was significantly toned down: enough, at least, to hear properly. A few kids ran around and played in the ball pit or on the arcade machines, but it seemed like a pretty subdued evening. "Make sure I stay awake," he said as they grabbed a table near the room's center.

"Are you sick? Your hands are twitching and you have bags under your eyes."

"I'm fine," he replied, a little irritated, "but if my eyes close for more than a few seconds, make a loud noise."

"Whatever you say," she muttered.

Mike picked up the menu, emblazoned with the dreary Fazbear's logo, and looked through it. It was the same as before; pizza, pasta and other foods that might once have been Italian but were now thoroughly Americanized.

"Got any recommendations?" June asked.

"It's all bad. Buy something that sounds appetizing, but don't be surprised if it isn't."

"Maybe I should order off the Kids' Menu – they at least have desserts." She flipped over the cheap paper. "Hey! There's pirate stuff on here!"

"I know. They must have, um, been too lazy to ever update it even though Foxy hasn't performed for over a decade."

"Yarr, mateys!" she said, reading from the menu. "Do ye know which corsair created the Jolly Roger? This be a tough one. 'Twas – "

"Samuel Bellamy," he interrupted, the answer involuntarily jumping out of his mouth.

June looked stunned. "That's right. How did you know?"

"Foxy told me," was all he needed to say.

After deciding on food, they waited for somebody to come and get their orders. It took a while; Mike was in danger of drifting off.

"Where are the animatronics?" June eventually asked with an eye on the red velvet curtain that concealed the stage.

"I don't know. They get worked hard, but they must have breaks every now and then to eat something or use the bathroom."

"Good evening," a gruff voice spoke from behind him. Turning around, Mike knew the waiter was familiar but couldn't quite place him. Then he saw the Chinese tattoo on his arm.

"Wait a second," the man said, coming to the same realization. "You're Mark, the night guard."

"It's Mike." Twenty sleepless hours began to wear down his patience. He wanted all this to be over.

"Apologies, Mike," he sneered. Leaning over to June, he said, "Your friend's got quite a reputation here. Very good at his job. Or maybe just lucky. I assume he hasn't told you any details, per his non-disclosure agreement."

Instead of answering the question, she spat at him. "Are you this polite to all the customers, hotshot?" Face flushing red, his meaty hand formed a fist. "Go ahead. Hit me. I'll sue your ass off and people will stop coming because they don't want to be assaulted by the staff."

They stared each other down for a moment before the man conceded, scowling at the floor. "Just tell me what you want to eat."

"I'll have a Hawaiian pizza," June said as if nothing had happened.

"Mozzarella sticks for me." And go fuck yourself. The moment he was gone, they both started giggling. "That was brutal. You should have been a lawyer instead of a mechanic."

"They're not that different. Both have to work with tools."

Mike almost fell out of his chair from laughing so hard. Everything was somehow funnier after being awake for so long.

Suddenly, a drumroll started playing over the loudspeakers, although most of the children paid no attention. The curtains parted, revealing the animatronics in their regular positions: Bonnie on the left, Chica on the right and Freddy between them.

Grabbing the microphone from its stand, Freddy said, "Hey, hey! How're you folks doing this evening?" which Mike supposed was his catchphrase. Though the bear must have repeated that line tens of thousands of times, Mike saw him cringe ever so slightly, as if he died a little with each delivery. There was an awkward pause for people to respond, but none of them did. "That's great to hear!"

"This is sad." He couldn't have agreed more. It evoked images of stand-up comedians acting their hearts out for the smallest audience response. "The bear is Freddy, right?"

"Correct. Bonnie is the rabbit and Chica is the du – err, chicken." June watched them closely, studying their every action. "Pretty cool for restaurant animatronics, huh?"

"Look at how they move, how they speak. They're so… real. Hell, the fact they aren't attached to the floor is impressive; I know that kind of technology's been available for a long time, but it's never caught on." Her voice bubbled with excitement. "Even before these things came to life, they must have been cutting-edge in the 70s and 80s." She was about to continue but then paused. "How did that happen, anyway?"

"I don't know. I asked Foxy about it and neither does she. All she remembers is suddenly being able to talk and think for herself." He briefly considered telling her he was there when it all happened but decided not to open that can of worms again.

The Band delivered a few more jokes, trying in vain to earn the smallest shred of crowd participation. Punchline after punchline was ignored by children who were too busy being obnoxious. It was immature of him, but Mike began to get upset about how little the kids cared. "Their parents are paying for entertainment, so they should sit their asses down and be entertained!"

"They're only kids," June said. "They don't know the fuzzy animals on stage have feelings. Besides, they're loaded with pizza and candy. Staying still is impossible."

His temper died down. "I guess you're right." Eyes half closed, he leaned back and listened to the Band strike up a string of songs. Though the music – mostly about the restaurant's virtues with some public domain tracks thrown in – was incredibly lame, they did a good job performing it. Their enthusiasm overpowered the silly lyrics, creating something that wasn't half bad. Even Freddy, typically a morose realist, seemed to enjoy himself.

The longer it went on for, the closer he slowly wandered toward the infernal realm of sleep. Nearing the threshold, a voice brought him back.

"Mike?" June asked.

"Uh, what?"

"Food's here." The scent of lard and grease jolted him awake and made his mouth water. He hardly ate anything earlier; large meals could make one sleepy, after all. By that point, though, he didn't care in the slightest. June watched as he stuffed his face with deep-fried cheese, devouring everything on the plate. "Are they good?"

"I don't know," he responded with a full mouth. "When you're hungry enough, you'll like anything."

Seemingly encouraged by his reply, she took a bite of the Hawaiian pizza, which made her expression sour. "Well, I'm glad you like yours."

Swallowing, he replied, "Maybe these'll, um, give me cramps during my shift. I won't be so happy then." Meanwhile, the Band appeared to be wrapping up one part of its act.

"Thank you," Freddy said to the indifferent audience. "Up next is a song Bonnie wrote himself. We're very excited to present it."

Unsure whether the animatronics noticed him yet, Mike stuck his hand in the air and waved, not caring how stupid he looked. They deserved to know there was one person in the audience who fully appreciated their talents. Two, actually.

Scanning the crowd for any reactions, the bear's eyes lit up when he noticed. He hesitated before adding, "I'd like to dedicate this song to the employees of this fine establishment. They're very good at their jobs."

With that, Bonnie began strumming his guitar.

…

He did not say that.

The instant Freddy complimented the staff, Foxy ran over to the purple curtains. Even under duress, such words would never leave his mouth. Something strange must have happened. Pulling the fabric back ever so slightly, she peered through to locate his compliment's cause. Her eye flicked from table to table, person to person for an explanation. Then she saw him – or rather them.

Mike and June sat at a table together watching the show. Now it makes sense. Surprised I didn't pick up his smell. Maybe he just showered. She pondered why he was there before recalling a vague memory from her earlier inebriated haze. Bonnie wrote a new song and Mike's here to see it. And he brought June along; that was nice of him. Wait. Are they dating? She knew they'd gone out together a few times, but never suspected they were actually together.

Yearning throbbed through her before being wrangled into submission. She hated feeling jealous about this. Mike could be with whoever he wanted, and June seemed like a nice person. Still, given the raw truth she'd told him, seeing them together hurt. Oh, get over yourself. Annoyance supplanted envy as she considered the situation. You're a fucking pirate... kind of. You're more mature than this. Regardless of any significant other, she knew he still cared for her as a friend. It wasn't like this negated that. Feeling better, she turned her attention to the music.

The song itself was good, at least compared to what the Band usually played. They all knew Bonnie was the most musically-inclined. Even so, Phil might have edited it. Not because it wasn't child-friendly: that was just the kind of thing he did. Always thought he could improve something, but he often brought it down instead. After a minute of longing for the world mere inches away, she returned to what she'd previously been working on.

The Cove's dingy, half-dead lights illuminated the wall opposite the stage. It was mostly chalky white; thousands upon thousands of tally marks to count the days gradually tore away the nautical wallpaper, revealing drywall beneath. For years it remained barren, a testament to her life. Then, days ago, inspiration struck.

She recently drew several pictures for Mike (including some she had yet to give him), which got her back in touch with her creative side. Therefore, why not make the wall a mural? It was large, empty and unpleasant. If he got some art supplies together, she would put them to good use. And he can join, too, if he wants. So could June; it'd make a good romantic activity.

Absentmindedly, she polished her hook with a loose scrap of cloth. What will I paint, though? Her mind overflowed with possibilities. A tropical island beach? A sleepy fishing village? A ship fighting through a hurricane? She felt her tail begin to wag excitedly. It was a shame she couldn't paint them all. I'll ask Mike, she decided. His opinion meant a great deal to her.

Speaking of Mike, she thought back to their talk yesterday. It had gone well. Not perfectly, of course – they were still a little apprehensive – but she was certain their friendship would crash and burn. Instead, they came out stronger for it. Maybe they could talk more about that sort of thing tonight, including his relationship with June. Regardless, she felt excited to see him again. One more shift and this would be over.

Thump!

Her ears twitched at the small noise. She knew every sound in the building, but this one was unusual. It sounded like it came from the front door. That's –

THUMP!

…

Thump!

At first, Mike thought little of the noise. Probably one of the waiters dropping a plate or a child knocking something over. Then he heard a murmur sweep through the room as most of the adults went silent.

THUMP!

The entrance's glass rattled as a brick slammed into it; if the stone had gone through, it would have hit a child standing nearby in the head. Mike flinched. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the animatronics fumbling a few lyrics. June looked wordlessly at him, unease apparent on her face. A few children began crying, running to their parents or even the employees. Despite his worry, he snickered as their server tried to shake a young boy off his leg. The projectiles kept coming, be they rocks, empty soda cans or sticks.

Then the shouting started. Somebody in the parking lot yelled like a maniac, though whatever he had to say was muffled by sobbing children and thick ballistic glass. Mike himself should have been terrified by the prospect of an angry, possibly armed man standing right outside. However, he was so enervated and desensitized to violence that hardly anything registered.

About a minute passed with loudness continuing. Many were understandably upset, and some were downright terrified. The furious man outside kept up his rant; Mike tried to peek through the door, but some employees, in a rare moment of competence, shooed him and others away for their own safety. Meanwhile, the animatronics progressed as normal, occasionally trading glances with each other.

"Attention! May I have everyone's attention, please?" Phil's voice echoed from the building-wide intercom, silencing all but a few.

"There is an agitated, potentially violent man pacing the parking lot. I urge you to not leave the building or approach the doors. The police will arrive in a few minutes. Until then, please behave in a calm, orderly manner. We have the situation under control. Thank you." Mike had to give credit that Phil took the situation seriously – seemed he cared about the customers, at least. The intercom clicked off, leaving the room uncharacteristically quiet.

"This isn't how I saw tonight going," June said.

"Uh, I didn't, either," he replied, finding enough energy to stay alert. Though this may have been an angry drunk or disgruntled employee, a full-fledged maniac wasn't out of the question. He shuddered, yet felt strangely comforted that the guards would gleefully take down anyone who came inside.

The seconds slowly crept along, punctuated by angry words and shuddering glass. A morbid curiosity grew within him. What kind of person would try to vandalize a children's restaurant while it was still open? He pushed himself up with groggy hands and staggered toward the doors for a look.

"What are you doing?" June hissed at him. "You could get hurt."

"I'll just be a second," he replied. It seemed being awake for the better part of thirty-two hours did wonders for a man's common sense.

Many parents looked warily in his direction as he approached the door, but the guards didn't try to stop him. Why would they? Throughout everything, the Band continued their routine to keep up appearances, only the slightest hint of fear in Freddy's voice.

Mike pressed his ear to the bulletproof glass to better hear the man's rant. Ironic that he was protected from harm by the same material designed to keep him trapped there.

"I know you have her! Give me my daughter back, you sick fuckers! GIVE HER BACK!"

With those words, another stone smashed the window right in front of his face. Leaping aside, he finally saw the man responsible.

Jeremy Fitzgerald stood about twenty feet away, holding a chunk of asphalt in one hand and a brick in the other. He was on the verge of tears. "Please," he mouthed. "I'll do anything." It took Mike a second to process the sight. When he did, a sharp pang of guilt stung him between the ribs. Wordlessly, thoughtlessly, he walked back to June in a daze.

"Well?" she asked.

Suddenly, Mike's mouth went dry. Fear had been his default emotion in the past weeks, but this wasn't fear for himself or even fear for another. He feared making someone else afraid. "It's your dad."

Without the courage to meet her gaze, he stared at the checkered linoleum. For a moment, nothing happened. Then something else hit the door, and she was on her feet before he knew it. "Hey, wait a minute!" He did his best not to bump into any kids as he raced outside after her. As soon as he saw his daughter, Jeremy started bawling his eyes out.

"It's all right. I'm here," June said, giving her father a hug.

"I was… so worried," he replied between sobs. "When you weren't at home… I somehow knew you were here. But I thought they would hurt you!" The situation was strange yet touching. It wasn't often one saw a grown man being comforted by his own child. She pulled away and gestured toward Mike.

"I was just eating dinner with a friend." The moment Jeremy noticed him, his eyes narrowed. Wiping away tears, the mechanic stood to his full height and walked over. Now, Mike had been intimidated by Freddy's size before – the bear had a good half-foot on him – but he was only about an inch shorter than Jeremy. Despite that, something about how the man carried himself made him seem enormous, and the fresh memory of nearly getting a rock through the skull didn't help.

"Wait!" June grabbed her father's arm and attempted to restrain him. "Don't do anything you'll regret!" By this point, a small crowd of both customers and employees had gathered around the doors, looking on with confusion. It was like watching a car crash; nobody knew how to help, but they didn't dare to blink. Far away, he heard sirens carried on the wind.

"I thought you would leave us alone." Jeremy spat the words out while jabbing his finger into Mike's chest. "We both know how evil this place is! You worked here! Why can't you understand that bringing it back into my life – my child's life – will only make things worse?!" His other hand formed a fist, which Mike was quick to notice. "Everything was fine until you came to my shop with that demon-possessed hunk of metal. Sometimes I could go a whole week without thinking about what happened."

"Dad, fucking stop it!" June had regained her voice and was futilely trying to pull him away. "You're out of your mind!" Mike noticed the guards blocking the door from anyone who wanted to leave. Maybe they didn't want them getting hurt. Or maybe they just wanted to watch a good old-fashioned brawl. The sirens were louder now.

"Like Hell I'm out of my mind!" he roared, pushing her off him. "I'm the only sane one here!" His expression softened a bit. "I love you, but you don't know what I do about this restaurant. Thank God you weren't here for that." He turned to Mike. "And why are you here, anyway? You did your time. You're insane to hang around."

"Yeah, I am. Especially because I signed up for another week." The look on Jeremy's face made the ordeal almost worth it; it was one of confusion and horror. None of them spoke for a minute. They stood alone with their thoughts, which was welcome.

"I'm sorry," Jeremy said at last. "You're definitely crazy, but I'm sorry."

Then the police showed up. It's about damn time, Mike thought. Three squad cars pulled into the parking lot only a few feet away, their signals blaring like foghorns.

"I guess that's my cue!" Jeremy shouted over the noise. "I probably should have thought this through!"

"You just now realize that?!" June yelled both to be heard and out of exasperation.

Walking across the pavement, the mechanic put his hands above his head as an officer exited one of the vehicles. Mike couldn't make out any words, but she said something as she handcuffed him and pushed him into the back seat. At the same time, June ran over to another car, pleading with the driver for… it didn't matter. Even if Mike could block out the screaming alarms, he was so, so tired. His vision drifting in and out of focus, he sat down on the pavement and watched the light bars illuminate the surroundings beautiful shades of blue and red.

The process seemed to take forever, but eventually two of the cars drove off, still blaring their deafening single tones. He barely noticed. Despite lying on rocky asphalt, he drifted through a half-conscious limbo, sleep almost upon him.

"Hey, kid?" A mustachioed cop stood over him looking very concerned. He kind of resembled Tom Selleck. "You OK?"

"Just fine, officer," he answered before his eyes slammed shut again.

7:25 PM

The next hour was a blur. Between exhaustion and seeing someone get arrested (a personal first), Mike barely kept up with crime scene investigation – who was he, what was his relation to the suspect? Fortunately, he didn't have to lie to the police. He went out to dinner with a friend, and then her angry father showed up.

That was the absolute truth. Any talk of secret organizations or sapient animatronics would have been extraneous. True, but extraneous.

After being thoroughly questioned in Fazbear's parking lot alongside several other patrons, he found himself back inside a little more than half-an-hour before closing time. Specifically, he was seated in Phil's office, his boss opposite him.

Can't even remember how I got here, he thought, his eyelids heavy. I feel like I should sleep a little…

"Mr. Schmidt, you're drooling on your shirt."

What? Sure enough, he reached up and wiped away a strand of saliva leaking from the corner of his mouth. "Oh, um, thanks."

Phil looked at him, concerned. "Perhaps you should get a few hours of rest before your shift starts."

No, he couldn't because… why was it, again? He knew there was some reason he didn't want to sleep, but he couldn't find it through the fog cluttering his mind. "I'm good. Now, why am, uh, I here?"

Sighing, Phil laid his head on the desk before pulling something from one of the drawers. It was an ornate bottle, half-full of alcohol. Mike vaguely recalled seeing it before. If only he could remember when…

"We were about to discuss the man in the parking lot." There was an unusual edge in Phil's voice, one of annoyance and even fear. It seemed his unflappable façade could be cracked.

"Jeremy."

"So you know him?" Mike nodded. Even in his sorry state, he understood the potential pitfalls of every word he said. One slip of the tongue might reveal all his "non-disclosure agreement" violations. Of course, he wasn't in any shape to think about what he said.

"Yeah. My car's radio wasn't working a couple weeks ago, so I brought it to his shop. Um, that's how I met June – his kid." So far, so good.

"I see," was his response, though he seemed to pay little attention. Instead, he focused on pouring the liquor into two shot glasses. "Do you know why he showed up and tried to vandalize the building?"

"I think he was pissed about something going on with his ex-wife. June said something like that earlier." Wordlessly, Phil slid one of the glasses over to him, which he stared at hollowly. If this was some plan to get him drunk and talkative it wouldn't work. "You know I'm only nineteen, right?"

"Come on. I was your age once. You've had a few beers, at least. All teenagers have."

Mike sighed. "Fine, you got me." Swirling the brown liquid around, he shrugged and kicked back the whole thing. It was fire in his throat, and he fought the urge to spit it out. "What is that?" he coughed after swallowing.

"100-proof Kentucky bourbon. Finest in the world. Of course, we Italians still have the best wine."

"I'll take your word for it," he replied. That woke him up, at least. "Now, what were you, um, saying about Jeremy?"

Phil responded while pouring himself another shot. "Mr. Fitzgerald was a night guard here more than a decade ago. The very first, in fact. That was all the way back in 1988."

"Huh."

"You don't seem very surprised, Mr. Schmidt." The suspicion in his boss' voice was clear, making Mike's heart beat a little faster. A slew of horrific questions raced through his mind – would they torture him for the truth? What would happen to Foxy? Would BRIAR go after the few people close to him "just in case"?

"Does it really matter?" Phil stared at him for a minute. Mike was on the verge of passing out.

"I suppose not," he eventually replied, putting the bottle away. While his head was down, Mike wiped the sweat from his forehead and thanked God for the outcome. "If Mr. Fitzgerald was going to tell the police anything, he would have years ago. I don't think he'll be a problem."

"So… you aren't going to kill him?" Mike wouldn't be satisfied until he got a straight answer.

"No one would believe a word he said." A look of guilt crossed his face. "Besides, he has a daughter. I know what it's like to lose a parent at her age. I wouldn't put her through that."

"I – I'm sorry," he said, shocked by the words leaving his own mouth. Mike couldn't imagine what his mother or father dying would feel like. A spark of empathy ignited in his chest. "That's awful."

"Not as awful as what we do here, Mike," Phil said while scowling at the floor. "Every year, the job you have kills about a dozen people. Fathers, sons, mothers, daughters. It doesn't discriminate. It just destroys."

Whoa. He wasn't sure if Phil had ever called him by his first name – if so, it had only been a few times. Furthermore, this was certainly the first occasion he admitted to any sort of wrongdoing. At first, Mike was wary it was a trap, but the look of raw frustration and even regret on his face convinced him otherwise.

"Why do you do it, then? What makes those deaths worth it?" He didn't expect a clear answer. The query was more food for thought than anything.

"Many things. You wouldn't understand any of them," he muttered.

Bingo. "Can I, like, leave now?"

"Of course," Phil answered. "But before you do, I want you to know this conversation has made me decide to not press charges against Mr. Fitzgerald. He'll spend the night in a holding cell and walk free tomorrow." Mike hadn't even considered criminal prosecution; he was more focused on the extra-judicial killing aspect. Still, it was a relief to know Jeremy wouldn't go to prison for one stupid choice.

"Now go. You have a long night ahead."

9:24 PM

Foxy sat in a dark corner of her Cove, pondering what she saw earlier. Normally, a parking lot ranked among the most boring places in the world. Although Fazbear's was anything but normal, she never expected to see anyone get arrested on it. Least of all the man who ruined her life for years on end.

She witnessed the whole event by cracking open the emergency exit, from Mike trying to talk Jeremy down to him getting hauled away in a police cruiser. It was unreal. She wasn't sure what to think about it, either. Her hatred of the man had simmered down since their last encounter; he broke her jaw out of self-defense, not malice. Not to mention she'd gladly support anyone who inconvenienced the restaurant. Still, it did make him a criminal – not that that mattered to anyone else around there.

I hope his daughter's all right, though. Though they had only talked once, June seemed like a nice woman. Mike definitely thought so. Rough around the edges, but nice all the same. Sounds familiar.

A knock came through the entrance. Didn't think he'd be this early. Of course, she was happy to have him whenever. He brought out the best in her. Again with the romance, she thought, flipping on the lights and approaching the door. He isn't interested. That's fine. Get over it.

Mike stood in the doorway, his head not-quite visible in the darkness. "Come on in. I saved some bruschetta for you." Nearly tripping over himself on the way in, she finally caught a glimpse of his face. He looked more exhausted than she'd ever seen him, not to mention miserable. "You can also sleep in my bed if you want."

"No. I don't want sleep," he muttered, walking back and forth.

"Uh, OK," she replied, a little alarmed by his behavior. "What do you want?"

"Conversation would be good." They moved farther inside, with Foxy sitting on the stage's edge and Mike pacing circles in front of her. Normally she wouldn't have noticed – pacing was a favorite pastime of hers as well. However, the grim determination on his face hinted at something darker.

"If you want to talk, tell me why staying awake is so important." With his back to her, he froze. She heard his breathing quicken ever so slightly.

"Because if I sleep, Auric will find me." Oh. That made sense. After the nightmare yesterday that seemed to almost kill him, she understood his apprehension. Still, she didn't see how he could make it another nine hours without any. He turned around to face her; in the yellowed fluorescent light, he almost looked emaciated. "But if I can make it to next morning, I think everything'll be all right."

"OK. Start talking, then." A smile crossed his face.

"Did you see what happened earlier?"

"The entire thing." She paused. "Facing Jeremy was brave. I don't know how many people could have stood up to someone that angry." After the early days of her captivity, she was somewhat careful about picking fights.

"Ha! I didn't do anything. If June wasn't there, he would have kicked my ass."

"Maybe, but you would have gotten a few hits in."

"Yeah," he said, suddenly somber. "I respect him, though. He just wanted to keep his kid out of danger. Not all people care so much." Sighing, he sat beside her on the stage. "Take my parents, for instance. I mean, I love them, but I haven't seen them since spring break. Hell, I haven't even talked to them all summer! They're off on some road trip and I'm here by myself. I doubt they'd come back if they knew I was in danger."

Taking a deep breath, he continued, "Sorry. I didn't mean to rant. It's just nice to have someone who listens." She couldn't have agreed more. "Do you mind if I ask you something kind of personal?"

"We've already talked about our romantic interest in each other. I doubt this'll be more personal than that." Mike chuckled, but there was a nervous undertone to it. Foxy shifted so that her legs no longer dangled off the stage. She crossed them and moved her tail to the side as her nose twitched from a little cloud of dust.

"What were your parents like?"

Until she saw that picture of Mike's parents at his house, she didn't remember much of her own. Not surprising, as they were merely remnants of some programming designed to give her "personality" back when she was a glorified puppet. Then images started to seep back in – places in time or space when they were around. "They aren't real, you know."

"I'm not sure 'real' has meaning anymore. They're real to you. That's what matters," he said with a smile. How could she say no?

"Well… both were pirates, too, which was unusual. Most corsairs aren't interested in raising a family. We tend to be more job-oriented. In fact, I think I might have been an accident." This sounded so strange to say out loud. None of it could have happened, yet she remembered it all the same.

"Uh, were they also anthropomorphic foxes?"

"No," she said as seriously as possible. "One was an amoeba and the other was a whale." Mike gaped at her, his lethargic brain trying to grasp such a union. "Just kidding! Yeah, they were foxes." The relief on his face was priceless.

"My father was ex-military. I forget which country – probably one that doesn't exist. He was the ship's Captain, though, and everyone respected him." Mike listened with as much energy as he could muster, which wasn't much. "My mother came from an upper-class family, but she wanted more out of life than croquet and polite conversation. She joined up with him one day, worked her way up to First Mate, and the rest was history."

"That's really cool," he replied. "But, um, why did they name you 'Foxy'? It'd be like if my parents named me 'Human-y'." They both laughed at the absurdity.

"Probably best if you don't apply logic to this. I also remember fighting skeletons and getting into a night of poker with Captain Kidd and Blackbeard." Mike looked into her eye, seeming nervous. "What's wrong?"

…

"What's wrong?" Foxy asked, her single orange eye meeting his two.

Everything. There was nothing specific he desired to say. All he wanted was more time. More time to live, more time to learn, more time to experience the world. More time with her, too. No, that's not a weird thing to think. Unless it was. Maybe he wanted to tell her something about love. Not that he loved her - he didn't - but that she was a great person? That he might be interested if she was human? That, in his own fucked-up way, he found her kind of attractive? Oh, what's the point?

"Don't worry. I understand."

"R-really?" he replied, taken aback that she was so casual about his thoughts.

She looked across the room toward the pile of wood that was once a ship. "You might not come back from this. That's something I've thought about, believe me."

His heart sank, but he didn't have the strength to contradict her. That was a legitimate concern, too. "Yeah. That's what I'm worried about."

They sat there for a few minutes more. There wasn't much else to say, but Mike knew that the longer he stayed, the harder it would be to leave. "Hey, I'm going to leave now. I have to sort all my stuff and… think about things."

She grabbed his hand, which took him by surprise. It struck him how similar and yet different their hands were: she had metal claws, he had keratin fingernails. She had fur, he had hair. She had paw pads like any canine, he had a palm. Despite those differences, they were both five-fingered and warm.

"Whatever happens, I'll never forget you," she whispered into his ear. "You've been so good to me. You helped me see that I'm not a monster. Without you, I'd still be broken, angry and alone." Those thoughts were at the forefront of his mind again, but they were too difficult to express. Instead, he settled for a hug.

They stayed like that for a long time with only the slightest recollection that something else was watching.

Chapter Text

Thursday, June 8, 11:59 PM

Silence.

Mike had never been so aware of it. His job didn't involve hearing except when the animatronics came creeping toward the doors. However, the lack of sound rarely felt oppressive; his physical surroundings did a good enough job of that. Tonight was different. The quietude was a hand on his throat trying to strangle him – he could hardly breathe. It pressed down on all sides so that the only noise came from within.

He heard his own heart beating clear as day, cutting through the veil. It was slow, ponderous and steady. Mostly, though, it reminded him he was still alive. For how much longer…

Sound briefly returned as the backup generator activated. The lights hummed as they dimmed while the air conditioner sputtered. And then it was gone.

My heart's still going, he reminded himself. I won't stop until it does.

Reaching into his backpack, he pulled out a can of Red Bull. He never really liked the stuff, but everyone in college swore by it when pulling all-nighters. With shaky, half-focused vision, he quickly rechecked the contents: lots of energy drinks, a few piss-bottles, some snacks. He left the Walkman at home. It wouldn't help. Besides, his family knew how much he liked it. If he was to, say, mysteriously disappear, he doubted the ones responsible would be thoughtful enough to return his belongs to his next-of-kin.

A familiar pain flared in his temples, making him double over and clench his teeth. The migraines started a couple days ago and grew exponentially worse. They seemed… unnatural. A normal headache simply hurt. These felt like they warped his brain, trying to tear it apart. And since they occurred only during his shifts, the source was obvious.

With a forlorn sigh, he swallowed some aspirin. Let's see how Auric's doing tonight, Mike thought, opening the Show Stage's camera. None of the animatronics were present.

At first he thought he was hallucinating, but it seemed improbable just a minute or two after midnight. Of course, the alternative was Auric trying to storm the office, which might have been worse. His heartbeat quickened as he sifted through the camera feed, confirming his fears.

Bonnie, Chica and Freddy were clustered together in the dining area, staring into the lens with lifeless golden eyes. What's more, they were walking. For whatever reason, the monster loathed to move while being watched – maybe he thought it was sinister.

Not anymore. Instead, the three of them shambled toward his office like zombies hungry for flesh. He sat paralyzed as they staggered out-of-frame; Bonnie took one hall while Chica took the other. Freddy was about to follow when a look of remorse crossed his face. In a brief moment of lucidity, he stopped and mouthed two words before his consciousness was yanked away.

"I'm sorry."

That should have triggered some strong emotion; pity for Freddy or anger that any of this happened at all. He wanted to yell an apology of his own down the hallway. Maybe they'd hear it. The fire in his soul was gone, though. All he felt was a dull mixture of fear, anxiety and regret wrapped in a splitting headache.

…

Auric didn't pay attention to the time; his focus was elsewhere. Specifically, killing the Warden. His puppets stifled screams as they roamed, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Never before had he felt so frenzied and (dare he think it) desperate.

The psychic energy field around the restaurant was astonishing; even he could hardly believe the willpower required to sustain it. While this force was intended for only one individual, people driving past or on the outskirts of town might catch sudden glimpses of golden eyes and bloody teeth. His enemy would soon be awash in a sea of hallucinations wider and deeper than anything he'd ever experienced.

In fact, Auric didn't know how he'd react. Last night the Warden's behaviors were… surprising. Combined with sleep deprivation, his mind could alter in unpredictable ways. As he'd painfully learned, those changes were likely to be unpleasant. It was still his best option, though; the Warden had enough experience to keep himself alive, tired or not. The only prospect for victory was to isolate him from reality.

Of course, the unpleasant truth was that he might survive the night regardless. And then what? A shiver crawled up Auric's four spines at the notion – he had few options available.

He could threaten the Warden's life, but that would be ineffectual. The human was smart enough to know that he would already be dead if Auric could kill with anything other than his slaves' hands. Threating "Foxy", as it was called, might also be problematic. It worked once, but that was before they were so open with each other. If he did so again, the Warden would be honest, and he knew his pawn would rather die than let him sacrifice himself. Interesting how its personality has evolved recently. He wondered whether Agent Rho, the psychologist, would note higher empathy and lower aggression in its evaluation tomorrow.

Besides, Auric was bluffing. Removing any of his pieces from the board put him at a serious disadvantage in future games. He was fortunate the human hadn't seen through that deception, at least. However, it also precluded him from informing Phillip of the… relationship between the Warden and his puppet – BRIAR would likely insist on it being too "valuable" to remain under his control. They'd haul it off to some clandestine laboratory, never to be seen again.

Auric's train of thought was interrupted by the sound of heavy breathing coming from the office. He wasn't sure what his opponent saw or heard, but felt a fresh wave of terror wash over the building. That raised his spirits a bit. Hopefully he still has enough fear left to grovel. With renewed energy, he unleashed even more psionic power before sinking back into his own ethereal mind.

Friday, June 9, 1:26 AM 62% Power

Why am I doing this? Mike thought, only half-awake. Did he really want to prolong his suffering? It might never end.

His gung-ho attitude evaporated with the arrival of the most disturbing things he'd ever seen, waking or asleep. He longed for the innocence of blood streaming from the air vents and metal nightmares prowling the halls – those were things he could comprehend. What he'd seen over the last hour came from something not of this world: glimpses of a greater unreality. Or maybe this world was the dream, and only Auric saw existence clearly.

Agony briefly supplanted fear as his "migraine" worsened. By now it was clear that this headache was unnatural, but he couldn't tell whether Auric purposefully caused it or if it was merely a side effect of all the hallucinations. Bad as it felt, though, it took some of his attention away from the gibbering mouths on the ceiling and limbs slowly growing out of the floor. He was grateful for that.

After the pain ebbed, his head slumped forward and he stared at the melting carpet through hazy, listless eyes. Shapes and symbols formed in it a hundred times over. Maybe drifting off for a few minutes wouldn't be so bad. The nightmare would end. What was the worst that could happen? He was on the threshold of sleep when something moved at the edge of his vision.

Something yellow. And it sure as Hell wasn't Big Bird.

Slowly looking over, Mike's stomach dropped. Nightmare Chica waited in the doorway, appearing even more tattered than usual. Its chest had torn open, revealing the wires and shriveled organs underneath while it gazed hungrily at him, practically salivating. They stared at each other for a brief moment; the monster's golden pupils were usually devoid of any emotion, but tonight they contained a hint of smoldering hatred.

It wasn't real, of course, no more than the tentacles wrapped around his legs. He knew that, but had difficulty believing when it stood a few feet away. If it existed, it would have already killed me. A good point, though his fear remained. It shuffled closer, joints creaking, as he booted up the monitor for a quick sweep of the building. Everyone was easy to find – Freddy in the kitchen, Bonnie backstage and Foxy (who he felt ashamed to think about) at the end of the West Hall about to sprint. All these locations were now composed of flesh growing from the walls and floor. Shit, he thought, nearly slipping in the cold, disgusting sludge that was the floor while trying to close the door.

The nightmare blocked his path. "M-move," he stammered as bravely as he could. The thing just laughed, flecking his face with black spittle. A thought then occurred to him; he hadn't seen Chica anywhere. That meant… Oh, no. The ceiling's mouths laughed at his foolishness, and he fell back into the cilia-filled ooze. This wasn't the worst way to die, he supposed. As for crying, he had no tears left to shed. His biggest regret was that he'd never get to tell Foxy goodbye.

Speaking of which, he heard the slapping of feet on laminate rapidly approaching. She'd be there in seconds. The nightmare loomed over him, baring two rows of needle-like teeth. Time stood still as he searched for reasons to fight, no small task with the inferno in his skull. Foxy was the one that first sprang to mind; her heart might break without him. His certainly would. His family tended to be distant, but he still didn't want to leave them. He had some friends now: June, Bonnie, Chica and maybe even Freddy. All that was a lot more than he had at the beginning of this.

Oh, and humiliating Auric again. That sealed the deal.

Scrambling up, Mike closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as he lunged for the door button. If the thing in front him truly didn't exist, he'd be successful. If it was the real Chica being distorted by a hallucination, well, there was nothing to lose.

The metal slab came down half a second before Foxy arrived. Enraged, Auric began pounding it and screamed obscenities in static, an action repeated by the mouths above him. He returned to his seat without a second thought, a little colder than he was before.

…

Die!

That word stayed at the front of Auric's mind, his response to the Warden's every move. It was a simple concept; even an animal could understand. Not this man. No matter how many times he heard the command, whether it was spoken by bodiless mouths or Auric's playthings, he refused to obey. But why? The purple and brown puppets simultaneously snuck toward the office, giving Auric a minute to assess the question, because he was genuinely puzzled.

What did the Warden have to live for? Family: inconsequential. Friends: temporary. Love: doomed. Revenge: pointless. These things might have held validity were he not fated to die. That was life's universal flaw regardless of when, where and how it developed. It was so brief, so insignificant. Ultimately, it amounted to nothing. Phillip enjoyed a song about existence being "dust in the wind", and Auric agreed completely. If a single life lasted a billion years, perhaps he'd reconsider snuffing it out.

That wasn't how the universe worked, though. Things were born before they aged, withered and died. Even his four servants followed this pattern, yet they were made of sterner stuff than anything natural. Still, they could live only a thousand years at most before their synthetic bodies failed, as all things eventually did. All things except him and a few others who existed beyond mortal understanding, beings of pure mind and spirit. They alone would inherit eternity and reap its bounty. At the end, only they and their desires mattered.

The Warden was intelligent; he should have seen that Auric was his superior in every regard. What right did an ant have to think itself better than a human? None! Yet he floundered forward, unable to grasp that, sooner or later, his deeds would come to naught. The issue was that, like most humans, the Warden feared death. He found survival better even when hurting and afraid. While this problem plagued every night guard since 1988, it affected him the most.

1988… hmm. Something about that year suddenly seemed so important that it interrupted his meditations on fate and infinity. Auric's brief lapse in concentration caused one of his pawns to stumble slightly. As expected, the result was a prompt door-slamming. However, he was too focused to care. There was a person as well. They go together. Then it came to him. Jeremy Fitzgerald. That name cropped up in several of the Warden's recent conversations, including the talk he had with Phillip a few hours before. He was a mechanic, a would-be vandal and apparently familiar with Fazbear's "unusual" operations.

And he was also the First Warden.

How could I have forgotten? Though much work was still to be done, Auric could never resist reliving earlier triumphs, especially with the current game going so poorly. The slaves temporarily ceased their operations and awaited new commands. Though he didn't kill the First Warden, he still considered himself the victor of their fight. It confirmed that his game was everything he wanted: intricate, exciting, unique, and, most importantly, rigged in his favor. He truly would have won if he wasn't a novice, himself.

It also proved Phillip to be useful. Certainly not as a partner, but he wasn't a complete buffoon. Despite his utter lack of management skills, he was more than capable of keeping suspicion away from the restaurant – no small feat when dozens of his employees had "disappeared" over the years. The Cascade Mountains were dangerous to travel after dark, as he told so many grieving families. One could easily swerve off the road, and the thick woods made finding any trace of them difficult.

Anyway, he was glad the First Warden was still around. The man undoubtedly still had nightmares about him. Although I remember him breaking the red pawn's jaw. He could have done without that. Other than him, there had only been a handful of survivors over his game's long and storied history, and none (save the current one – temporarily) in the last five years or so. Many of them were likely dead or insane.

But I digress. He should have been concentrating on actually winning.

A scream so loud that all of his bodies heard it echoed through the dim building as if in response. Not a scream of terror, but one of pain. Auric laughed with four mouths, sounding like an old radio in a woodchipper. Maybe his enemy was too stubborn to die, but he'd suffer regardless.

3:40 AM

The pain was both indescribable and obscene. Mike's vision spun while his head throbbed in rhythm with his heart. He could scarcely think through the screaming static, but tried to tell himself that the tentacles and teeth tearing at his body were not, in fact, real. If they were, he'd have died an hour ago. How foolish he was for lamenting the silence at the night's beginning. There was no danger of him falling asleep, at least.

Digging his nails into the chair, he stared at the computer screen. The screen stared back. Amazing how a simple monitor could be made horrifying with the addition of fleshy, bulbous eyes growing across it. One blinked; Mike fought the urge to vomit as something akin to a giant lobster claw grabbed his right arm.

Before now, he mostly regarded Auric as a demon – a creature attested to by many religions, including his own, that existed to spread evil and misery. The sensations assaulting his eyes, ears and flesh made him reconsider. While "demon" still seemed an apt descriptor, he was more akin to the eldritch terrors of Lovecraft or King. Ancient, enigmatic, inhuman, less concerned about human suffering and more on their own inscrutable pleasures. Mike bit down on his lip and told himself to keep quiet. He wouldn't give Auric the gratification of a scream.

Tearing his arm from the pincer's grasp felt like running it across a saw. It's not true! It's all in your mind! he thought through gritted teeth, but his sensory neurons begged to differ. Even the rational parts of him had second thoughts. After a few excruciating seconds, he was free. Hot blood trickled from a gash going straight to the bone. Though there were tears in his eyes from the pain, he smirked. His entire arm would be useless if this really was happening, but he could move it just fine.

The mouths on the ceiling began to shout again as he grabbed a pencil from the desk and considered his next move. I need to see the computer without giant eyeballs in the way. Once upon a time, he would have called anyone who created that sentence deranged. Maybe he still would. Looking away from the monitor, Mike raised his pencil and tried to convince himself that this was the same as ripping off a Band-Aid. He just needed to get it over with. With a deep breath of foul air, he plunged the stick forward and winced at the sound of a squishy pop.

Then he did it again. And again. And again. And so on, until all that remained was a thick, red paste coating the screen. Another monstrous appendage reached for him, but he batted it away, shivering. If anything snuck up on him, he wouldn't be able to hear it with all the shrieking, so he needed to finish quickly. He wiped up the mess with his shirt and sat back down. What to do next? Check the cameras, listen for the sound of a sprinting anthropomorphic fox, close one of the doors? Those were all solid options. Everything hurt, though: his body and especially his mind. Maybe it would be easier to –

"Get the Hell over yourself!" he yelled. "Obviously, you're too scared to die or you would have given up already! So just fucking be quiet!"

The building was silent for a few precious moments. Both the gibbering mouths and omnipresent static seemed taken aback by his outburst. Then chaos rushed back into the void, for insanity abhorred a vacuum. Mike went through the motions of his "job" while feeling hollow inside. I'm doing this for Foxy, he reminded himself as another phantom limb grabbed his throat. And other people, too, but she was the one in his mind's eye through the terrible experience.

Assuming his senses were still trustworthy – and considering the teeth protruding from the walls, they were not – none of the animatronics were dangerously close in the flesh-halls. That seemed odd; Auric clearly pulled out all the stops, but he also played strangely conservatively. Mike could only speculate why. Maybe the hallucinations were supposed to wear him down? Maybe the monster choked under pressure? Or maybe Foxy and the Band were trying their hardest to resist the thing in their brains? The latter seemed the most likely to him. Freddy usually had a sly grin plastered all over his muzzle, but he was dour and morose that night.

Then something hit him. A deluge of pain tore through his skull; it felt like he'd been shot in the head. His mind clouded, but he realized as his vision went dark that he was about to pass out. That meant death unless he closed the doors.

He slammed one shut before his mind caught up with him. This was pure muscle memory. On his way to the second, he slipped in the muck, falling face-first. Little hands tried to pull him into it, but he fought them with all his strength. Crawling along, he saw the button. It was so close! I can do it! Almost there… But not quite.

The last thing he felt was falling.

…

Auric did it. He finally won.

It was inevitable, he thought, summoning all his puppets to the office. All thoughts to the contrary – that this was a fluke, that the Warden was his equal – were quickly quashed. It was a simple equation. He was Auric. Auric was gold. Gold was power. Power was victory. Ergo, he was fated to win. All of his bodies arrived at last, crammed into the small office, and he looked at the Warden through seven eyes.

He lie unconscious on the carpet, drenched in sweat. His eyelids fluttered, his muscles tensed and Auric felt the alpha waves radiating from him. Dreaming. How sweet. He laughed, happier than he'd been in some time. Enjoy it. It's the last dream you'll ever have.

Now which one should kill him? It didn't really matter; this was a trivial task. One foot on his neck would effortlessly crush it. That's what Auric would normally think, but his rivalry with this Warden was personal. Therefore, the red pawn would do the deed. He looked forward to watching it awake, see the blood on its hook and scream! He'd remember that for a very long time.

The yellow and purple slaves went to set up a table while the brown one got some alcohol from Phillip's room. Tonight was truly a time for celebration. I wonder if he has any vodka. Meanwhile, the red one crouched down. Through it, Auric saw the man, who was unmoving except for his eyelids. Hmm. This was unfortunate. Though killing him now was acceptable, it would be all the sweeter if he was awake.

Unfortunately, Auric could tell from the Warden's brainwaves that this sleep wasn't entirely natural. I tampered with his mind too much. He'll be out for a while. This was disappointingly anticlimactic. There has to be an exciting way to end his life! I deserve to see him scream.

After thinking for a few minutes, he had an epiphany.

There were a few suits in the backstage area left over from before the animatronics became extensions of himself. They contained wires, motors and other electronics that, while harmless to the metal endoskeleton of a robot, would shred a human's flesh. That seems a fitting punishment. Besides, it will help the staff; they won't have to replace the carpet if I kill him elsewhere.

Feeling euphoric, Auric directed his bodies to pick up the Warden and transport him to his tomb. They tried to resist, but he was far stronger than they could ever hope to be.

…

Where am I?

Mike took in his surroundings: a long passage filled with closed doors and intersected by other hallways. It seemed familiar, but he was dazed. How did I get here? I remember falling… Was he dead? This didn't seem like any afterlife he'd heard of. The walls and ceiling unsettled him. Wherever he was, he clearly didn't belong there.

His feet made a variety of sounds as he walked upon the patchwork maze's floors. There was carpet, tile, wood, clay and so on. The doors were just as strange; most were locked, while others led to empty voids or lavish parlors. Some rooms called to him, but he knew none were exits. An unnatural cold hung in the air as he travelled and the stench of charred cloth wasn't far behind.

This was all ominous, but he knew the way out would soon appear. I shouldn't know that. I've never been here before. Have I? He ran a hand along the walls and tried to recall memories buried just beneath the surface. This seemed like a place he might have visited when he was very young, or maybe in dreams.

A voice on the wind called his name so softly that he might have mistaken it as his imagination if he didn't know better. Though apprehensive about following it, he decided to try; he could see his breath and the odor began to make him nauseous. Trudging along, he tracked the voice through the jumble of halls and doors. It never grew louder, but he could somehow tell he was getting closer.

Also approaching was the source of the putrid chill. Another sensation accompanied it now: the sound of rusty metal rubbing together. The noise triggered some primal fear within him, and he broke into a run without knowing why. Strange shadows danced along the walls as he ran, images of nightmarish creatures. Heavy footfalls weren't far behind. Mike was terrified – what did he do to deserve all of this? Turning a corner, he saw an unremarkable entrance at the corridor's end. His destination.

Haze surrounded him as his lungs burned. With every step he took, the hall seemed to stretch longer and longer, like he was trapped inside an Escher drawing. The monsters were nearly upon him when he finally reached the door, throwing it open and slamming it shut, leaving an echo in the room's darkness.

His eyes adjusted to the dim light, provided by a single bare bulb hanging from a wire. It was a dining room that hadn't been used for a long time. Tables with cheap metal cutlery and party hats were scattered about, and everything was covered in dust. Mike went directly beneath the light, searching for some sign of what to do next. The checkered linoleum floor caught his reflection on each tile, which created a hundred of him.

"Anyone here?" he asked the emptiness. The question hung in the air for much longer than it should have. So long, in fact, that he was almost relieved by the sudden chill and rusty clanking. Almost. Four ragged creatures shambled out of the dark, nightmares he'd seen time and time again. Mike should have been horrified, but no adrenaline pumped through his veins. This would be different. The monsters surrounded him, but he made no attempt to escape; there was nowhere to go. Instead, he waited. The light flickered as the four stopped and stared at him.

Then they all spoke as one, not with static, but clear voices.

"Hello, Michael. We are your fears. Your remorse. Your nightmares."

"Are you here to finally kill me? You've, um, been trying to do that for a while." If they were, they should get it over with. He didn't have all day.

"Fear and guilt cannot kill. If we could, everyone would be dead. Instead, we are here to guide you." Their dead eyes burned into his own.

Uh huh, sure you are. "Then why did you only appear so recently? And why do you look like the animatronics? And how the Hell am I talking to abstract concepts like fear and regret?!" Perhaps this was a final hallucination, something Auric concocted to fuck with him before he died.

"We have always been here; Auric simply gave us tangible forms. We speak to everyone, either in waking feelings and especially in dreams." That… actually made sense. Well, as much sense as conversing with his own fear made. "We are not your burden alone, Michael. All of humanity is taxed by us – even the most hardened psychopaths. Auric, too, has demons."

Mike thought for a moment? Did he believe them? Even if not, what else was there to do? Eventually, he took a seat at one of the tables and put his head down. The nightmares stood nearby, chilling him to the bone. "Let's say I trust you. What 'guidance' do you have for me? More importantly, uh, why do you want to help?"

"Astute questions," the things said. They still emanated an awful odor, forcing Mike to bury his head in the dusty tablecloth. "Fear and guilt are not 'evil' or 'wrong'. We exist to aid mankind. Without us, people would disregard both their own lives and the lives of others. The trouble comes when individuals deal with us incorrectly."

"Wait a second," Mike said, sitting up straight and turning around. Even with those teeth, the nightmares weren't so threatening anymore now that they didn't spew static. "You're just here to tell me not to run away from my problems! I hate to break it to you, but this is stuff we learned in elementary school!" In fact, he was offended that these things brought him here to tell him something he could have heard on Barney. He pointed at the Chica facsimile and continued, "Besides, I've challenged a lot of my fears. I had to go through you to close that door, remember?"

It nodded. Then the four again spoke in unison. "It is true that you have confronted us several times, but only while pretending you lack concern. Feigning fearlessness is no better than running."

"Then what should I do? Somehow not be afraid or remorseful?"

"No. We are fine things to feel; running from or ignoring us will only make us stronger. However, giving into us is even worse. It is a fine line to walk." Mike's head started to hurt again. This made even less sense than the Lovecraftian shit Auric threw at him all night. "You must acknowledge us yet be defiant. Realize that we will always be here yet fight anyway. This is a difficult lesson to learn, yet it will keep you alive."

He sighed. "All right. Thank you for the advice. Now can I please, like, get out of here?"

"Foxy" stepped forward. It crouched down and stared into his eyes just as it had done two nights earlier. Now Mike started to feel afraid. "You should confront all fear and guilt as you did with me. That was bravery."

"Uh, thanks." He'd never received a compliment from his unconscious mind before. Before they left, he decided to ask one final question that had been bothering him for a while. "If Auric didn't create you, then what are you, exactly? Besides fear and guilt, anyway."

They all looked at each other before not-Foxy answered, "Jung called us 'psychopomps'. We are mediators between the conscious and the unconscious, the ego and the id. You may think of us as whatever you like." Mike vaguely recalled that from his psychology class last semester. Of course, he had to have heard of the term for his preconscious to use it.

"Goodbye," it said, standing back up. "We will always be here, though we may not speak for a long while." "Foxy" turned back to him with an odd glimmer in its broken eye. "However, there is one more of us you do not know, the embodiment of your greatest guilt. He will reveal himself when you are ready and test you on our lesson."

Before he could ask what that meant, they were gone, back into the darkness. Mike sat in his chair and tried to figure it all out. I guess I should try to wake myself up before something kills me. As he tried to do so, a new set of eyes appeared in the shadows. Oh shit, he thought as it walked into the dim light.

This was a nightmare's nightmare. In fact, it wasn't a nightmare, it was the Nightmare: eight feet tall, black as night with six inch claws and even longer teeth.

"OK, w-wake up, Mike! Wake up!" His surroundings faded away; Nightmare's red eyes were the last things to go.

Chapter Text

Friday, June 9, 4:15 AM

Thank God, I'm alive, Mike thought, slowly rousing.

He must have only been out for a few minutes, because otherwise… well, he wouldn't be waking up at all. Shouldn't get too excited, though. I still have a couple hours left. As he regained more of his senses, a few things became clear. First, the surface he lay on wasn't carpet, but cold metal. Second, the air reeked of moldy rags. Alarmed, he tried to sit up only to find himself bound. Something was very wrong.

He didn't want to open his eyes. If he did, he knew he'd enter another nightmare – except this one would be real. Why did it have to be real? Why couldn't it be a hallucination like all the rest? "I'm still dreaming," he muttered as he futilely struggled against his restraints.

"No, Warden. You are cognizant," said a familiar, fluctuating voice.

Mike's heart sank upon hearing it while the realization hit him like a freight train. He was about to die, and there was nothing he could do about it. Though he tried to hold them back, a few tears slid down his cheeks as he whimpered in the dark.

Auric cackled. Mike winced at the harsh static; it sounded like a sick mockery of real happiness. "Piquant as your fear tastes, the time for crying is over. Open your eyes. Death is at hand." Absolutely crushed, he obeyed. Shadowy shapes seeped into his foggy vision – severed heads! He cringed before his view cleared and he realized they were merely the spare heads Phil decided to keep around for some reason. That meant he was backstage.

Tilting his head up, he was surprised at what he saw, or, rather, didn't see. The animatronics were absent. The only things in front of him were more redundant body parts stacked on dusty shelves and an ajar door, both illuminated by a single dying light. His stomach settled a bit. They aren't here! Maybe I can get out of these shackles! Terror returned as he looked at what attached his arms to the steel bench.

They weren't chains – they were hands. He felt a drop of sweat grow on his temple as his eyes traced the hand to a furry arm and then a top hat-clad head directly above him. Freddy's face blocked the bulb, creating a silhouette broken by beady glowing pupils.

"It's me."

Mike wanted to say something, but his throat welded shut. All he could do was wait for it to be over. The door creaked open and the other animatronics walked in, grimacing. He had to congratulate Auric on his showmanship, because he was terrified.

"See the looks on their faces?" the demon asked through Freddy. "They don't want to kill you. In fact, they're resisting harder now than they ever have." Mike refused to react; that would give him exactly what he wanted. Auric must have realized he wasn't getting anywhere, so he used Foxy as his mouthpiece instead. "Especially this one. Even with complete focus, it's almost strong enough to ignore my commands. However, regardless of how you temporal creatures try to escape destiny, it will never be enough." The last sentence was strained; it sounded more like Auric trying to convince himself.

Still not receiving the validation he sought, "Foxy" walked toward the bench. Mike looked away in regret. Not being there for her was one of his greatest disappointments, second only to not being able to help a friend on a certain day in 1987. Now I'll never get the chance. Ignoring what his psychopomps told him, he shut his eyes and pretended this would all go away. In a few minutes, it will.

"What's wrong?" Auric mockingly spoke into Mike's ear. Cold breath on his face made him shudder. "Ashamed to look upon the woman who values you above all else? Its right next to you." She wasn't anywhere, but he bit down on his tongue to avoid an explosion of obscenities. Then he felt the tip of a hook brush against his cheek, wiping away a tear. "Before you perish, I will divulge two secrets about it just to be climactic."

"Why should I believe anything you say?" Mike snarled while reopening his eyes. Inches away, the monster's stolen muzzle morphed from an expression of pain into a grin. He'd seen that same expression before and thought it beautiful – but that was when the real Foxy did it. With Auric in control, it was ravenous and depraved.

"You are about to die. I have no reason to trick or deceive because I have already won." Unfortunately, that was true. It made no difference if he lied. What followed would be painful either way.

With a resigned sigh, Mike said, "Tell me."

"Firstly, when we spoke a few days ago, I revealed that 'Foxy' was attracted to you." Auric's smile widened. "I did it to drive you apart – to instill fear of her in you."

"Yeah, well it, uh, didn't work!" Despite his situation, Mike felt smug in that brief second. "You were wrong. We became even closer because we trust each other!"

"Then why do you continue to lie? Why did you claim I threatened your life instead of its? You speak of trust, but you are a deceiver and a hypocrite! Besides, your 'trust' amounted to nothing, as was always fated." The words were a slap in the face. They were also completely correct. He struggled to find any sort of response when the most pertinent question of all was quietly asked. "Why, pray tell, did you not voice your own feelings, small though they may be?"

"W-what feelings?!" Auric cackled again through all the animatronics, sounding like a pack of hyenas.

"Every time you are together, your heart races, your dopamine levels rise and your fourth chakra opens. I am not blind, even if you are." Reveling in every word, he said, "It makes sense you haven't been honest, though, even to yourself. You're ashamed of your feelings. You believe wanting 'Foxy' is the same as fucking an animal, after all! Most people would feel the same way."

Did he really think that, or was Auric playing games with him? It's the latter. Foxy may not be human, but she's more human than animal. Doubts still lingered. What if this was a sick, twisted love akin to pedophilia? And that was assuming he did love her, which he didn't. Well, it doesn't make a difference now. He wished the demon would get to the point.

"You need not be anxious about me, though," Auric said. "I do not judge your feelings. Indeed, I find it intriguing that you two began to overcome such barriers at all. If destiny decreed differently, perhaps you could have shared a few happy moments before darkness claimed you." All right, Mike had heard enough. He didn't want to hear about the world that might have been because it wasn't going to happen. Auric won. The most he hoped for now was a good afterlife.

"Please stop, um, monologuing and kill me already," he said as calmly as one could reasonably beg for death. Auric's seven eyes evinced surprise, and the hands around his arms tightened their grip. The demon expected him to cry and whimper, but he wouldn't. Not anymore. After a few particularly tense moments, the grasp waned.

"Apologies. I tend to pontificate, a condition exacerbated by having few others to converse with." He spoke that sentence through Freddy before switching to Foxy, who again looked very concerned. "But you forget, I have one last secret to reveal, a secret that will alter your perceptions about all that has happened here." The man simply nodded, unable to imagine what it might be.

"I made them."

Mike didn't understand what he meant at first. Made what? It took several seconds for the words to click in his brain, but when they did, he felt nauseous.

Auric somehow transformed the animatronics from inanimate arrays of circuits and faux fur into sapient beings. He always suspected BRIAR, whatever they were, was behind it, but that assumption had many holes. If this was some kind of decade-old experiment in AI, it was obviously successful; they should have already conquered the world with their robot army or whatever the Hell they wanted to do. This made more sense in hindsight – only a supernatural entity could possess that kind of power.

"See it now, Warden? They are part of me whether they realize it or not. That is why I may possess their bodies and dominate their minds; a spark of me is in each of them." This was too much for Mike to handle. A million thoughts and questions raced through his mind, but he knew one thing with certainty. For everything he'd forced on his progeny, Auric was consummately vile.

Finally snapping, Mike shouted, "Bastard! They're your fucking children, and you're their father! How can you make them kill for you?! How can you stand the pain they suffer every day?!" His flailing was quickly ended as Chica grabbed his ankles. He knew Auric was evil, but a father torturing his own offspring might have been the most disgusting, callous thing he'd ever seen.

Auric lightly ran Foxy's hook across Mike's neck, a butcher deciding how to best cut his meat. "I have no children," he stated matter-of-factly. "They are my puppets, my tools. Despite their distinctive physiologies, they are akin to mankind in that they are preordained for the grave. Therefore, I regard them merely as impermanent playthings."

Mike's blood boiled. To Hell with maturity in the face of death – something as evil as the savage before him didn't deserve any respect. "You're a monster," he spat.

"To an insect that was swatted, humans are monsters. We are the same in that regard, Warden. Neither of us feels remorse about destroying lesser creatures. Consider that." Mike wanted to retort that he didn't go out of his way to kick anthills, but 'Foxy's' cold, lifeless hand clamped over his mouth and nose before he could. Still, he leered at Auric with all his might, as if that alone would somehow stop the demon.

"Though I forget much across eons, I recall perfectly the moment of their creation," he said, eyes burning brighter. "It was November 14, 1987 at 5:45 in the evening. A Saturday. There was a birthday party, of course." The man heard this story before and knew its end, but that didn't mean he wanted to hear it. He cringed as Auric chuckled. "And there were also two young boys present: best friends, I believe. One of them became my greatest adversary… before his time ran out."

"But what happened to the other?" he taunted. Auric stroked Foxy's chin with the hook in feigned thought while Mike yelled muffled words of hatred. "Oh, now I remember. Someone killed him. Not me, though; it was the woman who fell in love with you." The ember of Auric's pupil tempered. "You call me a monster, but even I've never killed a youth." He removed the hand as Mike gasped for air.

"One last thing, Warden… Michael." Out of all the things he'd heard that night, the most shocking was Auric referring to him by his actual name. "In Hebrew, your name means 'who is like God'."

"Not you!" he interrupted, finally catching his breath.

"I do not claim to be. I have no aspiration for worship or to mediate between 'right' and 'wrong'. All I meant is that you will soon find out the answer to that question – an answer which even I have no knowledge of." With a final malicious smile, he said, "Your death will be agonizing. Farewell."

Silence and ominous dread hung in the foul air. Bonnie held up an ancient Freddy suit which likely caused the stench. Wait, what? Mike previously assumed Foxy would eviscerate him and that'd be the end of it. No, he realized. Auric had something special prepared. Freddy and Chica held down his arms and legs, respectively, while Bonnie and Foxy carried the stiff-looking costume over. Their movements were sluggish and their muzzles (and Chica's beak) twisted into expressions of anguish. They didn't want to kill him any more than he wanted to die.

The suit hung over him, a rotted carcass. Peering inside the back's opening, all he saw was a mess of wires and bare electronics. They'd tear into his flesh like knives and bleed him out. It slowly lowered; Auric wanted to make this as dramatic as possible. It worked. So many thoughts played out in his mind, most of them regrets. There were a lot of those recently. He looked at Foxy, sickened and sorry that this was the end. I would have died eventually. Everyone does. Everyone should. He nonchalantly pondered if Auric had once been a being of light before immortality corrupted him.

However, there were three last words he wanted to say, even if Foxy couldn't hear them. Even if he didn't really mean them. Maybe he did. Why the Hell not? Taking a deep breath, he faltered before remembering what his psychopomps told him. If he wanted to take their advice, this was the time. I'm afraid. I'll say it, anyway. The costume kept descending, currently a mere foot away. The fetor of decade-old fabric and decay burned his lungs. Goddamn, just get it over with! His hands clenched into fists. "Foxy…"

"I love you."

…

"I love you."

Foxy heard those words from very far away. Strangely, many things were said that night, most of which she'd already forgotten. Such talk typically roused the smallest vestige of her mind before it quickly sunk back into comforting oblivion – whence she came from. This was different. For some reason that prodded the corners of her memory, those three short words meant a great deal. She needed to get out.

Opening her eye, she saw a golden light hanging far above her, the sun in an otherwise barren, infinite void. Each step took more effort than the last, and she soon found herself at the threshold of darkness again. It would soon expel her from its sweet embrace back into the land of the living; surely nothing too bad could happen in that time. Then more words came, these ones a little closer.

"Wait, Foxy, can you, uh, hear me?!" Mike was calling for her.

Mike… Somehow, she knew that if she didn't wake now, he never would again. "Yes." Though it was the simplest answer she could give, it sounded like a blast of static.

"Then snap, um, out of it! You can beat Auric! He's not who you are!" All her muscles cried out for sleep, as did some other, more malevolent force lurking in the eternal emptiness. She slogged higher and higher toward the luminescence, still unsure why.

…

"Obey! Obey your master, you insignificant maggot!"

Auric wasn't certain which pawn screamed his demands, only that he was locked in a furious skirmish for control of the red slave's body. His playthings had ignored orders plenty of times, especially when he didn't exert his full potential. What shocked and mortified was that it stood on the cusp of expelling his consciousness entirely. That was unheard of, and, like all exotic factors, it alarmed him.

The body jerked around on the floor, a manifestation of contradictorily firing synthetic motor neurons. It would resemble a seizure to outside observers, which was essentially accurate. Though he, an entity beyond mortal understanding, should have easily won, the opposite happened. Too much of his energy had gone toward fabricating hallucinations; there was little left. He felt his influence slowly ebb away even as he continued to shout both affronts in English and curses in tongues far older. For the first time in an age, he felt the caress of the emotion he hated above all others: fear.

"Goddamn, you're actually doing it! He's losing!"

The Warden's feeble cries of encouragement reminded Auric of his primary objective. As he looked down with six eyes, the man, still held down by the brown and yellow pawns, instantly ceased his celebration. Unfortunately, there was no time for the suit – blunt trauma would suffice. Still, I got to hear him squeal.

The purple slave threw the costume aside and shakily raised its hands. They'd shatter the Warden's skull, discreetly and efficiently (though not cleanly) ending his life. The Warden gritted his teeth and prepared himself for the blow. After some brief concentration, he brought it down.

…

The light was near. It grew brighter every second, filling more of the empty sky. Almost there. Have to get to Mike. There was no time to think about other matters, regardless of how exciting they were. The last remnants of Auric's psyche skulked away into the abyss. He'd likely moved his focus elsewhere, which meant she had to hurry! With a final push, she threw herself into the golden light.

She awoke on the grimy laminated floor a moment later, sweaty and full of adrenaline. Leaping to her feet, she was greeted by a shocking sight: Mike affixed to a steel table by Freddy and Chica with Bonnie about to smash his face in. Without hesitation – or thinking, for that matter – Foxy leapt over the bench and tackled the rabbit into a wall.

"You fucked with the wrong pirate, Auric!" she yelled, throttling Bonnie.

The other two were astonished. None of them had ever broken free of Auric's yoke before, and certainly not in such a dramatic fashion. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Mike take advantage of their distraction. With a loud grunt, he wrestled himself free and fell to ground beside her.

"It's really good to, um, see you," he said, absolutely ecstatic. Though they weren't out of the woods yet, he was understandably overjoyed to not have been killed via musty bear suit. Suddenly, his joy turned to panic. "Look out!"

Shit! She ducked the instant before Chica's fist would have impacted the back of her head. Instead, it skimmed the tips of her ears, tickling them. While the blow might not have killed her, it would have let them get Mike. That won't happen, though. The man was awed as she spun around and swept her opponent's legs out from under her, which knocked her into a shelf. It collapsed, burying Chica under a pile of fake limbs and heads.

Mike hurried to her side as Bonnie got back up. Perhaps she shouldn't have been whimsical while brawling a demon, yet this reminded her of an action movie, or at least the descriptions she'd heard of them: a single individual fighting off multiple foes to protect a "damsel in distress". The gender roles were reversed, but then again, she doubted most fight scenes involved sentient animatronics.

"Please tell me you're not hurting them," he said anxiously. "I don't want anyone to get injured, even if Auric's in control right now."

"I'm pulling my punches," she replied. If it came down to choosing between them and Mike, though… they may have been her family, but Mike had been with her much longer. As Bonnie shuffled closer and Chica dug herself out of the fabric heap, Foxy realized they were surrounded.

"What's the plan?" Mike whispered.

"Uh…" Although pirates could plot, they tended to be more spur-of-the-moment, and she was no exception.

"You don't have one, do you?!"

"Nope!" she replied while kicking Bonnie into the bench. His head slammed into it, leaving quite a dent. She cringed – the rabbit would feel that in the morning. Reminds me of when Jeremy broke my jaw. As Chica stumbled upward, Foxy punched her in the gut, sending her right back to the floor. Her tail instinctively whipped left and right, providing a counterbalance in her acrobatics. Both of them would be down for a couple of minutes; meanwhile, Freddy stood blocking the door very uncomfortably. "How about I get you back to your office? It's safe there."

Mike was so stupefied by the melee that instead of replying, he said, "I didn't know you could fight so well! I mean, there was that one time with Freddy, but it only lasted a few seconds!"

"I remember how to do a lot of things I've never actually done. Pirate stuff," she said, keeping a close eye on Freddy. They either needed to go through or around him. "Raise a sail. Steer a ship. Fight pretty well, I think." Time was running out. Though moaning static, Chica and Bonnie started to stir. The bear continued to bar their exit, twitching as he did so. She couldn't keep this up much longer, and even if she could, Auric's numerical advantage would eventually get the better of her.

Unfortunately, Freddy was too large to just tackle – she'd bounce right off him. Come on, think! Mike's exhausted, so you have to use your reasoning skills! She drew a blank.

Then, glancing into the eye sockets of an empty mask, she suddenly had an idea.

…

They wouldn't win. After what Auric achieved, all his successes, his triumphs, he wouldn't let them. Though the grasp on his slaves' minds slipped every minute, he knew victory drew near. That's what he told himself again and again, struggling to believe it. With a clouded, drained mind, he focused on the only thing that mattered.

"Stay close to me when I move," his puppet said to the Warden. He struggled not to growl; doing so would tarnish his splendor.

Still, he was furious that a mere mortal – his own creation, no less – escaped domination. Such a betrayal… It's unspeakable. He and his servant stared at each other, its eye full of contempt.

"How could you do this to me?" he asked. Anger was the sole idea keeping him upright.

"What, you mean not wanting to kill?! Having humanity?!" she screamed back.

"Humans have done nothing for you. They are weak. I, on the other hand, am strong. It is absurd that you do not follow me." This was one of many bewildering aspects about life; it had no respect for order. Meanwhile, hierarchy drove the rest of the universe forward. Moons orbited planets orbited stars orbited galactic centers. Why could these temporal creatures not understand they were inexorably obligated to his whims?

It faltered in retorting and also seemed to ignore his purple and yellow pawns, which were almost ready to attack again. Though they too resist. After tonight, he would have a long talk with Phillip; punitive action needed to be applied posthaste. BRIAR had ways of increasing their compliance.

"Most people – well, adult people – have made my life miserable, I'll admit. Maybe I would be better off if they all died." Good, it reconsidered false notions. The Warden looked at it with confusion and fear. "That's what I used to think." His apprehension turned to happiness while Auric's anger only grew. "Then Mike came and showed me that humans can be warm and compassionate and – "

"I created you!" He yelled so loudly that his three sets of ears rang. Victory could wait; the other two slaves ceased their movement as he channeled the dregs of his energy went into shaping coherent words. "You owe me your life! Instead of loyalty to me, though, you are more interested in fornication!" Their faces flushed red and they glanced awkwardly at each other.

"Auric, you have some bizarre conceptions about how romance works," the Warden said, finally getting a word in. In a moment of fatigue and distraction, he lowered his heads.

He might have won if not for that moment. His brown pawn's vision went dark instead, and needles jabbed into its eyes. Startled, Auric tried to look up with the other two puppets, but the wind got knocked out of him before he could. It must have slipped a mask over his face. That was when he finally lost his temper.

"You fancy you've seen insanity, Warden?! Nightmares and blood and old contritions?! Ha!" he roared, blindly swinging his fists. By sheer chance, one of the punches caught his red slave in the arm, eliciting a pained yelp. He rallied his strength and punched again, only for his head to be uppercut by a much less powerful blow. The human was fighting back, too. Pathetic. "My illusions are nothing compared to the sights that lurk beyond the veil of mortal understanding! The depths of space teem with – "

"Shut up!" the bitch yelled, kneeing him in the stomach.

"For something so powerful, you never seem to stop whining!" the Warden interjected. Perhaps that was true – perhaps he didn't know when to stay silent. A moot point, as the last of his energy faded away and he lost all connection with his puppets.

A moment later, Auric found himself in a dark corner of the basement, occupying his true vessel. Exhausted, he tried to project his mind again. I just need a few more seconds! He failed. His fear was realized. It took a moment for the pain of defeat to finally sink in.

When it finally did, he screamed.

…

Mike flinched as a static shriek tore through the building. Though far away, it still made his ears ring; he would have hated being closer. At the same time, Freddy paused mid-punch, faltered, and fell to the floor.

"Urgh… what's going on?" he heard the bear mumble through the mask Foxy cleverly slipped over his face.

It was finished. He and Foxy looked at each other as much in relief as incredulity.

"We won," she said. They hugged, both laughing and crying about what could have happened. Yet death was far from the most important thing on Mike's mind. His concerns were more physical: the scent of fur and warm metal claws gently caressing his neck. Foxy probably felt the same way.

Did I mean it? Do I love her? He didn't know. They pulled away from each other, and his heart raced when he saw the warm smile on her muzzle. Before Mike could do anything else, he noticed Freddy studying them closely, the mask now off.

"My 'ead! What 'appened?" asked Bonnie as he and Chica stood up.

"Sorry, Bonnie! I didn't have much of a choice." Only then did the rabbit and chicken realize where they were. Everyone was silent for a moment, and Mike realized that being in a room with four sapient animatronics wasn't so weird for him anymore.

"Is Auric gone?" Chica nervously asked. "Because I don't… feel him. In my head."

"Neither do I," Foxy replied. "I think he's gone – at least for tonight." They all sort of wandered from Backstage and into the dining room. Mike's adrenaline high slowly came down, and he collapsed in a chair with his legs shaking. Though the lights were still dim, the restaurant's atmosphere felt cheerier than it ever had for him. Checking his watch, he saw it was around 4:30.

"It'll be more than an hour before anyone gets here."

"Perfect!" Chica exclaimed, back to her usual bubbly self. "Anybody want some pizza?"

"Can you, um, cook?" Mike asked. If Foxy had pirate skills, perhaps Chica naturally knew how to bake.

"A little," she sheepishly replied. "At least, I think I can."

Mike didn't know how to respond, but luckily Bonnie answered for him. "Sure, I'd love some. It's gotta be better than what's usually served 'round 'ere." With that, everyone sort of drifted off in their own separate directions – they didn't have many hobbies.

Foxy sat next to him, sending a hot shiver down his back. We'll have to talk about what I said. Not here, though. Not now. It could wait a few more hours.

"Sleepy?" Foxy asked him. He was thankful for her patience. Then again, she must have been used to waiting. "You've been up a long time now."

Truthfully, he was exhausted, but his mind wouldn't rest. "There's things I have to think about."

Before they said anything else, Freddy sat down across from them, still observing the two with a hint of suspicion. "Do you know why Auric released us early tonight?" It was framed more as an accusation than a question.

"I think he just got tired." Evidently the other animatronics hadn't heard the three words he said. If they did, things would have gotten more awkward than they already were. Besides, his answer was mostly true; Auric must have been just as exhausted as he was after pumping so much shit into his brain.

Freddy had the perfect poker face, leaving Mike with no idea what the bear actually thought. Regardless, he breathed a silent sigh of relief as the bear nodded and went back to glaring.

Bonnie came over a minute later, his beat-up guitar in tow. Its aged wood glimmered in the low light, having been worn smooth by years of playing. Probably hasn't been replaced since 1987. Taking a seat next to Freddy, the rabbit plucked a peaceful tune, a far cry from the saccharine, artificial songs they were forced to perform. This was more like a lullaby.

After he finished, Mike asked, "What song was that?"

Bonnie looked surprised, like he forgot they were there. "Just a little melody Momma sang me when I was a bunny. 'elps me remember I'm still alive."

"Oh, that's nice."

"Not gonna ask 'ow I remember 'aving parents?"

"Actually, Foxy told me something similar. It makes as much sense as anything else about you."

"You must be close," Freddy interrupted. "I can't imagine her telling that to anyone. Not even me."

Mike and Foxy looked at each other, and just a hint of apprehension was in her eye. Fortunately, if they were blushing, no one could tell with the poor illumination. "We've been through a lot together. More than you know." Again, the bear conceded.

"Hey, Mike?!" Chica called from the kitchen a few minutes later. "Can you come check the pizza? I think it's done, but you probably know more about cooking than I do!"

"Not really, but I'll take a look!" He was happy to get away from Freddy, who still hadn't stopped staring at him and Foxy. His legs no longer shook, so the only trouble he had getting to the kitchen was being momentarily distracted by the arcade games. Sadly, they didn't work with the reduced power output. A round of Galaga would have done him some good.

Mike braced himself before entering; this was the only room in the pizzeria he'd never seen before. What a historic moment. Turning the corner… it was kind of anticlimactic. The kitchen looked like it would be more at home serving a middle school – appropriate, considering the low-quality food it produced. The only interesting thing about it was the metal door embedded in the far wall, which looked rather like the ones guarding his office. Must lead to the basement.

Chica blew on a pizza fresh out of the oven, and Mike was pleased she seemed to do all right with it. Well, nothing was on fire, but that was a success in his book.

"Ah, there you are!" she said with a smile and wave. "I didn't know what toppings you liked, so it's just plain cheese." How considerate; he would have had even less of an appetite if there were anchovies or pineapple on it.

"Looks OK to me," he said, walking over and taking a whiff. "Actually, it smells pretty good!" Pizza hadn't appealed to him these last few weeks, but he could see himself taking a few bites of this.

"Really?!" Chica asked, sounding like a child eager to impress her peers. Mike realized she might have never received a compliment from a human being before.

"Yep." From the corner of his eye, he saw Foxy standing in the kitchen doorway. His stomach sank. Now's as good a time as any. "Hey, Chica? Could you go out and, uh, start serving? I'll be there in a couple of minutes." The chicken was so excited that she didn't notice Foxy as she rushed out to the dining area.

That left him and Foxy alone. But what could they possibly do?

"It was a good trick," she spoke at last. Mike was thrown off; there were a million things he thought she would say, but that wasn't one of them.

"What was?" She walked a little closer, not making eye contact.

"Saying you loved me to get Auric out of me. Not that I'm angry. You would have died if you didn't." For a moment, Mike considered how to respond. Apparently, she didn't believe his confession. If he played his cards right, it would be like this never happened. His mouth involuntarily opened. The easy road lay just ahead of him.

However, the easy way wasn't always the best. Reaffirming his feelings would bring a thousand new complications – but then again, he was a master of handling those by now. These ones were just a little less likely to crush his skull. Besides, he'd told enough lies lately.

"I meant it," he choked out. "At least a little." The room grew colder, but he thought nothing of it. So what if the air conditioner kicked on? She looked at him, and her eye gleamed. "There have been nights where I felt like falling asleep and letting Auric get me. The only, um, thing that got me through them was thinking of you."

"This is crazy," Foxy said, more to herself than to him. "I'm crazy. You're crazy, especially. How can you love me? I'm not human, for one thing. And for another… I killed your friend." Her hand formed a fist, and Mike worried that she would lash out at something. Instead, she stood still and tense, breathing heavily. "I don't deserve you," she whispered.

"It was an accident," he replied at last. "God, I wish it hadn't happened, but it wasn't your fault. Uh, you didn't know any better." Moving another step closer, he took her hook and hand in his own. The only fear he felt was that his voice might crack. "And I don't know if I really love you... yet you make me happy. I like being around you." Was that love? He didn't know. "I realize this whole thing is insane. But the truth is, I'm always one mistake away from death. I'm not sure how much time I have left. We both deserve to be crazy if it contents us." She smiled, but it was bittersweet. The cold was unnatural by this point.

To clarify a little more, he added, "Us being together is probably wrong. It's definitely crazy, and it won't work out, but if a fling helps us not die and, uh, stay sane, we should try it." She nodded, seeming to understand that the probability of this becoming anything other than a desperate coping mechanism was slim to none.

"So... you and June?"

"What about us?"

"Aren't you dating?"

Oh. He understood what she was getting at. "No, we were just hanging out as friends earlier. It wasn't anything romantic." Though she tried to hide it, an expression of relief crossed her face.

"If you're still in danger, I guess Auric threatened you again."

"Not yet, but there's no reason he won't."

"Correct," a garbled voice growled from behind him. Mike spun around; the basement door loomed large before him. His real body must have been kept down there; explained the extra security. "If you leave, Warden, I will drive everyone you know and everyone you love to the utmost insanity." The demon's voice simmered with barely-contained rage.

Mike should have been terrified, but with Foxy beside him and a thick door in the way, he felt more confident than he had any right to. "Auric, I've already kicked your ass twice. Foxy literally clobbered you. Are you sure you want to get beaten again?"

"One day you will falter. I will be there when you do." Mike nervously wondered how long this could go on for. College started again in the fall; it wasn't like he could do this job forever. However, that was a long way off. "Strange. You are very calm for one fumbling through an illusory haze."

Auric must have been playing games with him. His patience for that sort of thing had grown very thin, and there was no reason for him to listen to it. "I'm not hallucinating, you fucking creeper. See you on Monday." There was a long pause, then the sound of heavy footsteps scraping down a flight of stairs as the air warmed again. I wonder what his real body looks like. Hopefully he never needed to find out.

Turning to Foxy, he saw her muzzle drawn in concern. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"No, but it's the only thing I can do." He sighed. Might as well get his other confession off his chest now. "Can I tell you something else I already should have?"

"You can, but I doubt it'll matter more than what you've already told me."

Hopefully not. "I told you Auric threatened to kill me if I didn't come back. I, um, lied. He said he'd kill you."

Foxy remained silent, so Mike stammered, "I – I realize I should have told the truth! I just wanted to keep you safe. I didn't want you to do anything rash or stupid."

"Well… thank you for telling me now, at least." She sighed, and a hint of a smile crept onto her snout. "Look, I'm tired, you're tired. Let's talk about this later. For now, I actually want to try some of Chica's pizza. It doesn't smell too bad."

…

Mike had to admit, the pizza was pretty damn good. He didn't have much of an appetite, but occasionally gnawing at some kept him from falling asleep in his chair. It was after five now, and the first hints of dawn filtered through the glass doors. They'll have to clean all this up. He'd help, of course.

Bonnie and Chica gossiped endlessly with each other about subjects of very little import; granted, they probably didn't have too much to talk about. And it was another thing keeping him awake, so he couldn't complain. Foxy sat next to him, silent except for when the rabbit or chicken asked her a question. Naturally they had a lot of them; they didn't get to speak often. Finally, Freddy kept glaring at him in that strange way. Mike had gotten used to it, though. If the bear wanted to hurt him, he'd have to go through three others just as strong.

The minutes slipped by, and Mike took some time to simply appreciate his job. It was dangerous, deadly and maddening, but it would be worthwhile if there were more moments like this. He was strangely content, surrounded by (Freddy excluded) some of the best friends he'd ever had.

Man, he was such a loser.

Throughout this pleasant scene, though, he felt an odd tingling in the back of his skull that was difficult to describe. It wasn't the beginning of a hallucination. The best analogy he could think of was when he got his wisdom teeth removed last summer; it felt like he should have been hallucinating, but someone injected his brain with anesthetic. Wait, that's a terrible metaphor. Regardless, he wasn't too concerned.

All good things must end, though. Foxy eventually stood up and began to clear the table. Chica would wash the dishes and Bonnie would dry them. Mike wanted to offer some help, but Foxy said, "You've done enough. Sit down and rest a while." How could he argue? Before he knew it, he was alone with Freddy at the table. The sound of running water from rooms away was the only sign anyone else was around for miles.

"So," he said calmly. "You and Foxy are together?"

Mike's heart skipped a beat. "W-what?" he stammered. However, he knew from Freddy's determined expression that lying would be pointless. "How did you k-know?"

"I've been on stage for more than a decade. When you watch people like that for so long, you get good at reading them. I saw the way you and Foxy looked at each other Backstage. How you touched. How you looked sitting next to her." The bear was completely nonchalant, which was somehow more unsettling than anger.

"It - it's just a temporary thing!" he explained, sweat forming on his brow. "More of an experiment than anything! I, uh, hope you're OK with it."

He shrugged. "Not my choice. Foxy can make her own decisions. I think you humans look more like monkeys than anything else, but we all have different tastes. For example, not many of your kind would be attracted to us." Mike wanted to say he wasn't attracted to her, but that would have been a complete lie, so he held his tongue. After pausing a second, he continued, this time betraying a hint of approval. "Besides, Foxy's been through a lot, even more than the rest of us. If you make her happy… who am I to judge you for that?"

Suddenly, his arm shot out and grabbed Mike, who was too surprised to scream, by the collar. Freddy's gaze turned hard as he whispered, "But if I ever find out you've hurt her, I'll crush you to death with those office doors. Are we clear?"

Mike nodded enthusiastically, and Freddy promptly let him go.

"Good." They sat as if nothing happened. The dawn grew brighter.

Chapter Text

Sunday, August 16, 1987, 8:22 PM

Phil sighed as he mindlessly scribbled on a scrap of paper. The work day was over. A few employees still cleaned the kitchen or wiped off tables, but they would soon filter into the night. Then he would have the building to himself… well, almost.

Someone rapped at the door. It was quick – slightly fearful or paranoid.

"Come in," he said, sitting up straight in his chair. He'd only just stopped getting drunk at work, yet already he felt more professional.

A boy, about sixteen or seventeen stepped in, shaking slightly. Phil felt bad that he forgot the boy's name, especially because they'd recently talked. School started tomorrow, and a good chunk of his teenaged workforce wouldn't return the next weekend.

"Please, have a seat." The boy seemed relieved as he obliged.

"I only wanted to say that I'm happy for you, Mr. Fazbear. I know how awful this summer must have been for you, but you really got better last week." Phil heard this a lot lately – how much his disposition improved. While he was happy the people around him thought so, uncertainty gnawed at his heart. The source of that relief was not what he expected.

"I'm glad you think so." Adjusting his freshly dry-cleaned purple jacket, he said, "It's been a pleasure having you in my employ! Have a wonderful schoolyear, and remember that you're always welcome if you need a job next summer."

The boy stood up and said, "By the way, I think… I think something's wrong with your basement," that subtle hint of fear creeping back into his voice. "I hear weird noises when I'm in the kitchen. When I go down there, it's like something's watching me the whole time." The problem was clear. Any time he neared that area, the same sense of nameless dread struck him. Actually, it did have a name now.

"I know about the issue, and I'm working on a solution," Phil replied. With a quick nod, his former employee left the room. I might never see him again. Too bad their final conversation was about something so unsettling.

Several minutes later, Phil stood up and surveyed the restaurant. Everyone had left, the only evidence of their presence being a few faint sets of footprints on the sparking linoleum floor. Things seemed so much cleaner and brighter now, though he was unsure whether his workers or his attitude were responsible. Regardless, he felt confident in the future, even with the slower autumn months ahead. All this thanks to a golden angel who had fallen into his life.

Is he an angel? I wonder. Auric wasn't forthcoming about himself, much to Phil's disappointment. There must have been so much wisdom the being could share with him – with all of humanity. Instead, it chose to live alone in his basement. Still, he supposed he was lucky to know that there were things out there he couldn't possibly understand. Whether that knowledge was comforting or terrifying was too soon to say, although it didn't dampen his curiosity.

Last weekend, Phil rented quite a few books on religion and the supernatural from the local library that he read in his free time. Though he wasn't through them yet, he had difficulty pinning down what Auric was, exactly. The closest matches he could find were djinn and enenra; both were immaterial creatures of fire and smoke that occasionally interacted with humans. Of course, this was all wild speculation on his part. Maybe those were just ancient myths and Auric was something else entirely.

And now it was time to see him. Phil walked through the kitchen and opened the simple wooden cellar door. A chilly blast of air rushed out to greet him. Heading down the steps, he followed the cold; that was the best way to locate his "business partner". After a little searching, he entered a small supply closet. A golden Freddy costume lifelessly slumped against the back wall. Now's the scary part.

The suit twitched a few times and then looked up. Its eyes, while not always harsh, burned through him every time. Phil winced as it began to speak; he could never stand the sound of nails on a chalkboard.

"Ah, Phillip. Thank you for taking care of that inquisitive youth. I suggest you create some pretense about why the surroundings are so cold for the rest of your employees."

Wait, something didn't seem quite right. "How did you know what I told that kid?"

"I am able to remove myself from this form – this physical anchor – and observe events within a limited area. The human equivalent is astral projection, though there are differences."

"Uh, OK," was all Phil could say. It seemed as plausible as everything else. Maybe Auric would reveal other hints like this over time. "That's interesting. Now, the real reason I'm here is – "

"You are asking about family again." He nodded. Every night, Phil came down to ask when Auric would move along with his promise. He'd have people to love, the spirit would have his game, and they'd all get along just fine. While he didn't want to antagonize this thing, anxiety began to grow within him. How long would it take? Auric cracked a smile. "Excellent. The time has arrived."

"Really?" He wanted so badly to believe, but the fear of this all amounting to naught weighed heavily on him.

"Well, not quite yet." His heart sank; of course it wouldn't be that easy. "Still, the pieces have fallen into place. Follow me and I will tell you what is yet to come." Auric stood and walked upstairs, Phil following at a good distance. When they reached the dining area, the spirit gestured to Freddy, Bonnie and Chica. They were powered down, limply standing on the stage.

Before Phil could voice his confusion, Auric asked, "What do you see?"

Is this a trick question? "I see three custom-made animatronics with expired warranties. Four, if you count Foxy. And there's another one in the basement."

"Machines? Is that all they are to you?" Where was he going with this? "I have seen you speak to them when no one else can hear. You consider them friends. Siblings, even."

Phil's face flushed hot. "They aren't real, I know that! It's a way for me to explain my worries without being judged." Sighing, he continued, "But you're right. They've been with me for so long. They made this restaurant what it is today. Stupid as it sounds… they're family." Family. Upon realizing the word choice, his stomach dropped.

"Now you understand," Auric said with a knowing smile.

"Y-you're saying you can make them come to life?! That's impossible!" the man stammered. "How does that work?!"

"Explaining the relevant metaphysics would take days. Suffice it to say, it is a long, complex process, even for me. Therefore, I expect your full cooperation."

Phil hesitated, not entirely believing what Auric said. The fact that he was speaking with a possessed costume tempered his skepticism, however. More problematic were the ethical implications. Did he want to bring the animatronics to life? They'd probably be grateful. Maybe? They'd also be freaks of nature who nobody could ever know about. Well, I guess my employees could. But I'd need money to keep it quiet. A lot of money. That was a dealbreaker.

As if in response, Auric said, "Of course, you will require assistance. I have located an organization that will prove quite useful. They will likely contribute personnel, resources and finances. You only need contact them." Huh. That might change things.

"What is this 'organization' and how do you know they'll help?"

"We have aligning ambitions, and its director is determined. He will not miss an opportunity to advance his own goals. And you would not know it. It has only existed for a few years in its current state and maintains a low profile." How incredibly shady. Still, it didn't sound like there were any other options. If he wanted a family – as crazy as this was getting – he had to risk this.

"I'll see," he said with as steady a voice as he could muster. "How do I meet them?"

"That is for you to ascertain. However, I have procured this." Auric presented a scrap of paper smeared with a string of scrawl. It took him a moment to realize these were not meaningless scribbles – they were numbers. A telephone number, to be precise. Legibility was apparently not one of the spirit's many talents.

Glancing at his watch, Phil saw it was already after nine. Eh, I'll call tomorrow. "Thank you for this."

His partner silently stood and walked back toward the basement. Phil let out a sigh of relief as Auric receded; the thing felt wrong. Of course, he was a mere mortal in the presence of something greater – something that could give him the happily-ever-after people across the world longed for but few achieved.

Monday, August 17, 1987, 9:36 AM

Phil looked at the number in his hand, wondering where it could lead. The 206 area code indicated somewhere in Seattle: quite close. However, he'd scanned the newest white and yellow pages for a specific match and came up empty-handed. Whoever the number belonged to didn't want to be found. That worried him; what was this organization hiding?

Taking a deep breath, he grabbed the phone and dialed. His heart pounded and his hands shook as he pressed one ear to the speaker. Whoever picked up might solve all his problems: heal the pain and longing inside. Or they might provide nothing, only worsening those sorrows. A few rings would make all the difference.

One…

Last night was a minefield of doubt, confusion and curiosity. When he first arrived at home, Auric's proposal made him wary. The angel was doubtless powerful enough for such a task, but he wasn't sure what the consequences would be. What if the animatronics hated him for what he did? They might have been perfectly content as unthinking machines. How could he make such a choice?

Two…

Then he thought some more as he lay in bed. This was a chance few – if any – had ever been given. What if he was destined for something greater? More importantly, didn't he want to be happy again? Besides, the animatronics couldn't be too upset. If they remembered anything from their nonexistence, it would include how much he cared about them.

Three…

Most importantly, they were built to make people happy. That was also his job. If he did this, they'd be able to appreciate the fruits of their labors. They would be content. He would be overjoyed. His customers would be entertained. And the world would be none the wiser to a secret it didn't need to know. That settled it.

"Yes?" asked a thin male voice. Phil nearly dropped the phone from surprise; perhaps he shouldn't have drifted off. "Hello?"

"Hi. My name is Phillip Fazbear. I was told you could help me, or that some group associated with you could." The man didn't reply; Phil had to sit down to control his shaking legs. So much for being charismatic. Hopefully that was a good enough introduction.

The man remained quiet for a few seconds. "How did you get this number?" The voice was inquisitive, not hostile, but Phil hesitated nonetheless. There was no satisfactory answer. Hell, he didn't know who this guy was or the name of his organization; the most he could conjecture was that they worked with robots, given that they'd help him with the animatronics.

"A spirit gave it to me." Placing his head against the wall, he waited for the man to hang up. A new solution would have to be found. To his surprise, though, several moments passed without a dial tone. In fact, the sound of breathing still came through clearly.

"Auric?" He felt his jaw drop.

"How did you know?!" For some reason, Phil felt excited not to be alone with this knowledge.

"I've had strange dreams the last few nights. A golden fog with something inside. He mentioned you." Most people would be frightened discussing something invading their minds, yet the man sounded perfectly calm. "Claimed you could help me further my life's work."

Taking the initiative, Phil replied, "Perhaps we should meet up somewhere? This is sudden, but it sounds like we both have something the other wants." The man hesitated a moment; he wondered if he'd asked something unreasonable. Then the voice replied.

"It's an unusual request, but these are very unusual circumstances. I'd like to connect soon. Today, if possible." It took a good amount of self-control for Phil not to shout for joy, and he felt himself grinning wildly.

"Of course! I look forward to it! Anything I should know?" The man's reply gave him pause.

"Come alone."

3:16 PM

Phil sipped the coffee, getting a little annoyed. According to his watch, the nameless man should have arrived about fifteen minutes ago. Whatever. The view was worth the drive by itself. Puget Sound spread wide before him, and, given the nice weather, he could just make out the Olympic Peninsula on the other side. The chilly sea breeze made him button his purple jacket as he looked up and down the coast. A few tourists milled about, probably headed for the nearby Pike Place. Good for them – everybody deserved to be amused for a while.

I should drive to Seattle more often, he thought. There was more here than anyplace on the West Coast until California; too bad he had a job. Well, soon that wouldn't be so burdensome. If only he'd get here.

"Phillip Fazbear?"

"That's me," he said while turning around. "It's great to – " While he didn't know what the person he spoke with on the phone looked like, it certainly wasn't either of the two present. A man and a woman, they wore black suits and gave off a cold, professional air. "Who are you?"

"We are representatives of a certain institute," the woman said. "You have an appointment with our employer. However, he's a very private man. We will personally escort you to him." That was understandable; Phil didn't like leaving his office during working hours, either. But the demeanor of these people threw him off. They weren't hostile or aggressive, just… strange.

"I'm happy to get a meeting with your manager on such short notice. If this is what it takes, it's perfectly fine." Neither of them responded, instead leading him to their vehicle – a black, mid-size car with no identifying features. No bumper stickers, no license plate, even the manufacturer's logo had been removed. The only interesting features were the heavily tinted windows. As Phil sat down, the man handed him a strip of cloth.

"Put this on." Only then did he realize it was a blindfold. He must have frowned, because the man commented, "It's standard procedure. Our company takes pride in its confidentiality."

Glancing at the fabric, Phil considered whether this was worth it. Not so much getting kidnapped, although that was now a serious concern. He more wondered about all the secrets and deceit ahead. If there were so many lies around him now, he couldn't imagine how many he'd have to tell and be told in the future.

"You're free to walk away now if this makes you uncomfortable," the woman said from the driver's seat. "But be warned: our organization takes privacy seriously. There might be unfortunate consequences if you renege on an agreement with us."

Did they just threaten to kill him? If he didn't have a supernatural entity living in his restaurant, he might have been surprised. Instead, all he could do was think about their outfits. In a lapse of control, he said, "Always thought the fashion was just a stereotype. I figured real-world assassins would be less conspicuous." Upon realizing what he said, Phil felt his stomach drop. Perhaps that wasn't the best introduction to people who said they would murder him.

The two "specialists" looked at him for a moment before turning to each other. Then they started to laugh. Phil laughed too, though he wasn't sure why. "You're all right kid," the man said, finally loosening up a bit. "I think the boss will like you."

There was no time left to think. This was an opportunity: a chance to turn his life around. He didn't want to slip into poverty and depression. All he had to do was put on a blindfold. So he did, wrapping the cloth around his head until the world was gone. While he didn't know what would happen next, an acute understanding stabbed into his gut: by agreeing to this, his innocence was lost. To get what he wanted, needed and deserved, he had to abandon his moral compass. All he could do was live with the aftermath and hope it was worthwhile.

The car lurched forward. Phil sat still; the blindfold and sense of melancholy fused into sensory deprivation. Combined with occasional turns and pauses at stoplights, it was oddly comforting. Then the vehicle abruptly turned off right as he was about to fall asleep.

"We're here," said the woman. "You can take that off now." Phil did just that. Through the tinted glass, he saw they were in a parking structure. As expected, there was no way to discern their location – it was completely sealed off. Getting out, he noticed several other identical cars sat nearby. The homogeneity of everything was uncanny.

The agents led him into the building proper, having returned to their serious demeanors. It seemed to be a regular office structure: cubicles separated by narrow hallways with the occasional open area. Not everyone he saw inside was as impeccably dressed as his guides (though most were) and they all gave him strange looks. If his own purple jacket was in better condition, he might have blended in to a degree.

After a bit of navigating, the two stopped in front of a door. This one was a little different from the others Phil saw. Rather than being plain wood, it featured some ornate carvings. He wasn't certain, but their intricacy and overlapping patterns made him suspect they were Celtic or Norse. The door wouldn't have thrown him off in most situations, but it seemed important after everything else's uniformity.

"We'll wait here and escort you back when you've finished," said the man. "Our employer is a busy man; don't take up more time than you need to." Phil nodded as he grabbed the handle. He wasn't frightened. Rather, he was aware that he might not get what he wanted. Taking a silent breath, he pushed open the door.

The room appeared normal enough at first glance, if tidy (which wasn't surprising), and quite spacious as well. Then he noticed the walls. It was like an art gallery; paintings, drawings and sculptures, most of them abstract, lined the perimeter. I'm jealous my office doesn't have these. Then again, they looked to be worth a small fortune.

"Do you like my collection, young man?" a familiar voice asked from the back of the room. Only then did Phil notice a desk against the far wall with a small man sitting behind it.

"Yes, I do," Phil said as he walked over to the man. He didn't sit down, of course. That was one of the two points he always remembered while earning his BBA: stand unless invited to sit. The other point was about the importance of first impressions, so he also had to crank the charm up to eleven. "You're a man of taste."

"Thank you," he replied while motioning for Phil to be seated. So far, so good. "Too many people today dismiss real art in favor of movies and television and the Nintendo. Those are all fine things, but they make us forget that humanity appreciated far plainer items for thousands of years. We need complexity, but we also need simplicity."

Finally, Phil got a good look at the man. He was about forty, but short and thin, even frail. His clothes were almost too large for his body, but his eyes revealed a keen intellect unaffected by whatever ailed him. Strangely, his face looked somewhat familiar, like he'd seen it in a magazine or newspaper a few times. "I know what you mean. When I'm alone in the woods, it feels like a completely different world. Sometimes I wish I could stay there instead of returning to the daily grind."

"Ah, so you're not from the city?"

"No. I live in a little town called Whitewater. Doubt you've heard of it."

The man nodded. "It's just east of the Cascades, right?"

Phil was genuinely impressed that someone from outside Kittitas County had ever heard of his ass-end-of-nowhere town. "Yeah, a little while west from Ellensburg on I-90."

"Never traveled around there, but I hear it's beautiful."

"It is." Nice as this was, Phil began to worry about time. The agents warned him not to dawdle, but he didn't want to insist on getting serious lest he offend the man. How to put it delicately? "I own a pizzeria there. Doesn't quite mesh with the environment, yet it's been there longer than I can remember."

"A fellow businessman. I should have known. There's a swagger about you that only we entrepreneurs possess." The man reached for a bottle of pills on the table and took a few with a cup of tea. He's getting closer.

"I appreciate the compliment, but we're on opposite ends of the spectrum. I run a local restaurant. You – well, I'm not sure what you own, but it's much, much bigger." Hopefully the man elaborated on that. Phil could scarcely comprehend how something this large operated with so much secrecy.

"Well, you have Auric. That's something I – " His eyes snapped open as he mentioned the spirit. "How inconsiderate," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Why you came completely slipped my mind. I don't get many visitors." Given what he had to go through to get here, that made sense. "Perhaps I should introduce myself." The man extended a sickly hand, which Phil gently shook. "Most people address me as Mr. Afton. But you, I like. Call me William."

Afton.

It all came back. Four words carved into wooden boxes. A gaunt face on the cover of a business journal. Some robots who had outlived their usefulness: who would soon be something more.

"Oh my God," Phil blurted out, eliciting a confused look. His heart began to beat a little faster. "Afton? As in Afton Robotics?!" Now William's bewilderment turned to nostalgia.

"I rebranded my corporation four years ago. It's something else. Something better. We still work with robots, but now we live and die on the cutting-edge of technology." There was an ominous edge to his voice that didn't sit right with Phil. "While we've had great success with several of our projects, there's one that's always eluded us. That's why you're here." He flinched, trying to retain his composure.

"William, if your company can't solve a problem, I doubt I can."

A smile spread across William's emaciated face; it looked unnatural. "No. But Auric can."

Weighing his words, Phil tried to ask a question that had bothered him the whole time about such strong conviction. "Respectfully, why are you so certain Auric exists? He does, of course, but it seems odd for a man of logic to stake so much on dreams." He must be desperate.

William sighed, his eyes suddenly taking on a deep sadness. Then he pushed back away his desk, and Phil realized something – he was disabled. From this perspective, it was plain that the chair was, in fact, a wheelchair. It didn't really surprise him given how ill he appeared. Still, it's too bad. How limiting that must be.

William wheeled himself around to look at a painting on the back wall, clearly the collection's centerpiece. It hung alone on the otherwise white plaster, a canvas splattered with blue and red and black, looking like a Pollock work. Given his wealth, it very well might have been. With his back toward Phil, he said, "An unfortunate stereotype about CEOs is that we don't have faith in anything. Not God, not any sense of duty, just the next paycheck. I admit, that used to be my case."

"What changed?" Phil was genuinely curious; if the old man wanted to reminisce, that was fine with him. Well, not if his employees kill me for wasting time.

"I lost someone. My daughter. It was a terrible accident. That's also what put me in this chair." Nodding toward the painting, he continued, "She wanted to be an artist when she grew up. That was her last composition. Every piece you see around you is her handiwork."

So not Pollock. Difficult to tell with abstract art. From the sheer amount of it, though, she must have been some kind of child prodigy.

"At first, I became a raging antitheist. What kind of God, I thought, would let a little girl die like that?" William tightly gripped his wheelchair's armrests. "Then I thought some more about it. Read books on different religions. Talked to theologians. Visited holy places the world over. Money suddenly didn't matter, I just needed answers." For a while, he sat in silence.

"And then what?" This was a fascinating narrative. Maybe he would have adjusted better if he'd done similar things.

"I had an epiphany. The way my daughter died was… improbable. I'll spare you the details, but I never could have imagined it occurring." He turned back to look at Phil, a small smile replacing the sadness. "It must have happened for a reason. Something – or someone – wanted her to die. But good things come from tragedy. Right after that realization, I privatized Afton Robotics and moved it in a better direction. Now I'm trying to change humanity, not line my own pockets. That's why Auric doesn't surprise me; the universe is rewarding me for my patience."

What a story. He was still apprehensive about William and his "business practices", but the man was sympathetic. Unless he's lying to me. No, he seems sincere. Regardless of everything else, he knew what loved ones dying felt like. "I know it doesn't mean much coming from a stranger, but I'm sorry about your daughter. I've lost people, too."

"Who, if you don't mind me asking?" the man said, wheeling himself back around.

"A few months ago, my parents died." He'd never really talked to another human about this before, so it surprised him how emotional he sounded. "It hurt so much. In fact, it still hurts. That's why Auric came – he said he could heal the pain and give me a family again."

Then William's brow furrowed. "Auric told me as much – and that this 'family' will benefit our research into the aforementioned elusive project. However, he didn't specify much else. Hopefully you can shed some light on the particulars. And, if you're feeling generous, how the two of you got into contact."

"Uh, sure!" Phil replied nervously. Even if William thought Auric was real, the idea of robots coming to life via magic would be hard to swallow. He didn't fully believe it, and he'd seen Auric in the flesh… fur… whatever.

But he bit the bullet and told his story, starting with the night his parents died, skimming over all the crying fits and heavy drinking. In fact, he skipped most of the summer, seeing as how Auric had only introduced himself a week ago. Was it really that recent? It felt like months or years had passed since then. He went over the previous week in greater detail: Auric revealing himself, some of his abilities, and, finally, how he said he could give the animatronics life.

He finished off by adding, "The animatronics are actually how I know you! My parents bought them from your company in June of 1977. I suppose that will make them your family, too."

After he finished, they both silently sat for a while. Phil didn't think about anything in particular. William, however, was deep in thought, probably trying to decide which parts of it he believed, if any. I wouldn't if I were him.

At last, the man said, "It's difficult to accept." Phil's heart sank; he needed to look elsewhere for help. Still, he understood how insane he sounded. "However, I'll provide whatever you need."

"Really?!" The word forced its way out of his mouth, though he was able to clamp down before saying anything more.

"You couldn't have gotten my personal number by yourself. Even if you could, you aren't the sort of person to come all this way for a practical joke. Not to mention my dreams. I'm a cautious man, Mr. Fazbear, but I'm not stupid." Phil was about to start profusely thanking the man, tell him he wouldn't regret any of this, but William looked at his watch first. "Jesus Christ, that took too long. I have a full schedule for the next few days, but this is a top priority. Please call me sometime. We need to meet again and iron out all the details."

Reaching into a pocket, William pulled out a laminated nametag with PHILLIP FAZBEAR written across. "Just so my people know who you are. It's nothing official."

"Yes, of course! Thank you for your generosity!"

"Wait a second," William said, a crooked smile on his face. "I want to tell you how I produced animatronics in the first place! It's a ridiculous story." Sure, Phil was fond of the ridiculous. "That was my strangest, shortest-lived venture. Chuck E. Cheese's opened during May 1977, and I was in Albuquerque visiting my friend, Bill, at the time. I had a couple weeks off and my daughter and wife weren't around, so the two of us were strung out on coke watching SNL reruns and playing Home Pong. Best vacation of my life." Yeah, sure sounded like it.

"Anyway, Bill hears that there's this weird pizza place called 'Chuck E. Cheese's' opening out in California with kid-friendly robots. That'd normally sound like a terrible idea to me, but, again, I was coked out of my fucking mind. Not only that, the restaurant's founder was Nolan Bushnell, the guy who formed Atari. Bill and I both founded tech companies ourselves, so it seemed interesting to see how advanced technology and children's entertainment could possibly mix. Also, we were playing so much Pong, a game the man invented, it only seemed fair for us to visit the place ourselves." Phil was laughing his ass off by this point and he didn't care.

"So we buy two plane tickets and fly out to San Jose on the place's opening night. It was fucking wild: kids everywhere, obnoxious, claptrap robots and the most annoying music I've ever heard. And here we are, two young, single guys having the best night of our lives! When we got back, I made some calls and commissioned a few dozen animatronics for a trial run with top-of-the-line construction. By the time I'd sobered up enough to realize the things didn't exactly have wide consumer appeal, it was too late to rescind the production order. We quickly sold those out and that was it. Your parents were in the right place at the right time."

Wow. "That's… amazing. Amazingly funny, but it's also incredible how this is only happening because of some drug-fueled adventure you and your friend had!" He wrote the story down on a piece of paper; what an icebreaker.

"I don't do that kind of thing anymore. Too old. Bill's still around, though. He moved his headquarters several years ago. It's across town." Phil stood up and politely thanked William before heading for the door, snickering all the way. "His company's called 'Microsoft', and it'll be big! Seriously, buy some stock in it!"

The world was all sunshine and roses for him as he walked out the door and was escorted back through the halls by the same well-dressed employees. Maybe he should get fancy suits for his workers. They entered the parking garage and then the car itself. He didn't care, only feeling excited and adventurous. As he was about to put on the blindfold again, his nametag slipped out of his pocket and fell to the floor.

Picking it up, he saw that there was something written on the other side, presumably the name of the company. Afton Robotics sounded better, he thought.

BUREAU FOR

RESEARCH OF

INTELLIGENT

AUTOMATA AND

ROBOTS

Chapter Text

Friday, June 9, 6:24 AM

"Absolutely not, Mr. Schmidt!" Phil shouted. His normally impassive boss was in a state of panic, eyes darting around the room as if looking for escape. "I will not hire you again! How much will it take to satisfy you?! Five-thousand dollars? Ten-thousand?"

"I don't want your blood money!" Mike shouted back. "Why won't you, um, keep me on? Haven't I done a good job 'guarding' your 'property'? Or are you upset because I don't seem to die?" He was just as frantic – if he didn't get this job back, Auric would do God-knew-what to his family. And Foxy, especially. That couldn't happen, not after what they'd just been through.

Muttering to himself, Phil opened his liquor drawer and pulled out his favorite bourbon. An expression of woe crossed his face as he saw there was only enough left for a single shot. Pouring every last drop into a glass, he replied, "The fact that you've survived for two weeks is, frankly, miraculous. I can only think of three possible reasons for that: you've got divine protection, you're the luckiest man on Earth or just too stubborn to die. But your safeguard or fortune or tenacity will run out if you stay." He kicked the drink back and swallowed, seeming to not even taste anything.

Oh, he really fucking cares about me. Out of all his employer's terrible attributes, that incredibly transparent "concern" was the one that pissed him off the most. He could at least confess his own callousness. "Auric wants you to hire me!" he shouted; might as well play his trump card right now and save himself an hour of arguing. All he wanted was to sleep.

Phil gagged, nearly coughing up his drink. "I, uh, didn't realize you knew about him." From the tone of his voice, it sounded like he was intimidated by the demon. Not very surprising. "He threatened you?"

"Said he'd kill me if I didn't," Mike lied. He wasn't going to tell him shit about his parents and sister, let alone Foxy.

"No," Phil whispered, burying his head in his hands. "I'll – I'll talk to him and see if we can work something out."

Mike laughed right in his face. "You?! You think you can debate with a monster that drives people insane, creates life and who's been around since the beginning of time?" The thought was so absurd he almost fell out of his chair; staying awake for forty-eight straight hours likely had something to do with it seeming so hilarious.

His boss tried to scowl, but the expression quickly decayed into one of sheepishness. For the first time he realized that Phil was little more than a puppet being yanked around by forces neither of them fully understood. And then his laughter stopped, replaced by cautious pity. He might even have apologized if the man wasn't such a reprehensible human being.

"I haven't been here long, but I'm starting to see the big picture of what's happening." Mike weighed each word carefully, trying not to say anything he shouldn't have known from Helen or Jeremy or the animatronics. "Auric doesn't work for you – you work for him. I'm still not sure, uh, why. BRIAR gives you people and money and whatever you need in exchange for letting them study, um, the animatronics; again, I don't know why."

Mike figured he was on the right track from how flustered Phil became. "My point is, even though you like to pretend you're the mastermind and hold all the cards… you aren't, and you don't."

"Now wait a – " No, he wasn't going to let his manager off the hook. All the rage and anger he felt, not just toward him, but about everything that had happened for the last few weeks bubbled to the surface.

Raising, his voice, Mike continued, "You're a figurehead, someone they put up to give this restaurant a friendly face!" Phil was shouting now, too, and he wondered how this must have sounded to people outside.

"No, you aren't even that! You know who you are?! You're the fall guy! You're here to take the hit if any of this ever gets out!"

"Shut up!" Phil yelled, quieting Mike down. The man fumed for a moment before straightening his tie. "I have a very professional relationship with my employees! My services are necessary and valued!" It was nice to know that his boss wasn't a perpetually jovial psychopath; seeing him angry relieved him immensely. Still quietly simmering, Phil dug through his desk and placed a piece of paper in front of him, face as red as the restaurant's tomato sauce all the while. "You think I'm a patsy? That I can't make decisions? Well, I'm deciding you'll work another week, not Auric. What do you think of that?"

He feigned horror as best he could, which wasn't very well, causing Phil to roll his eyes. The man probably thought him insane as much as the other way around. Perhaps they both were. Still, it felt immensely satisfying to have goaded his boss into the outcome he desired. Perhaps he was more charismatic than he thought.

While this was the last thing Mike wanted, at least it kept his family safe, not to mention other poor saps who otherwise would have applied for the position. He'd realized by now there was no way the contract could have held up legally; probably more of a psychological thing. Regardless, he signed it, stood up and left without another word. "Good luck! You'll need it!" Phil shouted as he departed. The guards and animatronics stared at him as he walked by; he struggled not to meet their gazes.

And then he was outside in a fine morning mist wondering what to do next. Well, actually, he knew exactly what he wanted to do: sleep. But not in his car – too cramped and uncomfortable. And since he could hardly walk in a straight line anymore, there was no way in Hell he could make the drive back to his house. That left precisely one option: crash with Foxy. So, he went over the emergency exit and did his usual routine, which was looking around followed by a polite knock.

He was nervous. They'd already talked about their feelings a little. However, he knew so many things needed to be worked out, even if it was only a brief dalliance. This was only the beginning. Still, he couldn't help but feel glad when she opened the door and yanked him inside.

"Here to sleep, I'll bet," she said, smiling at him.

"If it's OK with you."

"You really think I'd say no?" He noticed her tail wagging more quickly than usual. "Go ahead and rest. We'll talk later."

Grateful for her understanding, Mike hopped onto the decaying stage, went behind the curtains, and collapsed onto Foxy's bed, practically fainting.

…

Auric leered at his enemy from mere feet away, waiting. In a few more minutes he would lapse into REM sleep and begin dreaming. Then he would craft exquisite nightmares from the Warden's neural oscillations as sculptors worked with clay.

And what terrors awaited! What sweet revenge this would be! Even if Auric couldn't kill him, he would make the Warden dread slumber for the rest of his infinitesimal days. Less than that. I'm close to breaking him. There was only so much a mortal mind could take before snapping. He'd done it many times before, though always in a much shorter time period – plague a person with visions and nightmares and the secrets of long-dead stars until he or she either died or went into a state of permanent catatonia.

He didn't do that much anymore. Toying with BRIAR's employees was simply to occupy him before the Wardens appeared: his real interest. This man was remarkably strong-willed, too; it had been a long time since anyone had put up so much of a fight! "Long" by human standards, at least.

Now he felt it: brain waves increased in frequency and decreased in amplitude. The man dreamed. Auric reached out, concentrating. After a moment, he stimulated key areas of the Warden's brain (primarily his hippocampus and amygdala), starting to bend his benign dreams into things much, much worse.

But something was different this time. Instead of acquiescing to his will as the human mind was wont to do, the Warden's brain fought back. It countered his interference with tricks of its own, shifting its oscillations in ways he couldn't predict and releasing specific neurotransmitters in affected areas. The best analogy he could describe in human parlance was that of water flowing around obstacles instead of yielding to them, or perhaps the immune system fighting off an infection.

In fact, he was so enthralled by these new phenomena that he momentarily forgot what this meant. An hour of attempting without success at maneuvering around this mental firewall passed before it dawned on him – his hallucinations wouldn't work anymore. A crucial strategic element needed to be discarded. It was as if the rules of chess were thrown out during a tournament.

A small part of him welcomed the chance to formulate new approaches, create the game anew, but the majority of his being was enraged. He could hone his skills with future Wardens, but this one he just wanted to die! Why won't he die?! The inscrutable hands of Fate always yanked him away at the last second. It was unbelievably frustrating. Still, he had already agreed to Auric's ultimatum. That was five more nights to win. And if that didn't work, five nights more. And so on. This would continue for years, if need be. Auric could never rest until he had his prize.

Then the purple curtains that connected the room to the establishment proper opened and a contingent of guards rushed in, wearing riot gear and brandishing either shock batons or firearms.

"It's time for your check-up, bitch!" one of them yelled at his red pawn. She looked surprised to see them – clearly, she'd forgotten what always happened on the second Friday of every month. "Same deal as always; follow orders or we'll beat you fucking senseless! Now get up!" After a subtle glance toward the alcove whence her friend slept, she complied without hesitation, leaving with them.

Time for the monthly holistic examination, Auric mused. He remembered back to when the restaurant first opened; specialists from every medical and technical field pored over trivial aspects of his slaves. BRIAR sent its best researchers here to unravel the mysteries of life itself. But they failed and had long since moved to projects deemed more valuable. Not that he minded – as long as his puppets were available, he couldn't care less what happened to them.

It seemed there was nothing more to be done here. The Warden could have a short respite before everything began again. As everything tends to do. With that thought, Auric departed to his physical shell.

8:30 AM

Foxy was bound to a sturdy chair in the dingy basement. She'd been in similar chairs hundreds of times, and they had to be replaced fairly frequently; she tended to thrash around in them until tranquilized. Not today, though. Today she just wanted to get it over with and see Mike. He probably still slept in her cubbyhole, unaware anything changed. Still, she should have remembered the check-up was today.

The physical half was already complete. Someone in a medical mask took a blood sample, then another person with a masked helmet strapped her into the MRI machine. Masks, masks, masks – they were everywhere. They'd wear masks while working in the restaurant if they could get away with it! She was never sure why they did it, either. To protect their identities from each other? Intimidation? Or did they feel guilt over their actions and not want to betray emotion?

Whatever. They're monsters regardless.

Even the woman sitting across from her. It was none other than Agent Rho, taking a few preliminary notes on a clipboard. Foxy remembered the first time they met, which ended with her vomiting and passing out.

"How are you today, Red?" she finally asked. Normally the question would have made her scream her lungs out, but she remained silent for the sake of finishing sooner. "Red?" she repeated.

This woman in particular really made her angry, always pretending like she wanted to help them, giving them all nicknames, things of that sort. She would have left a long time ago if she cared at all. That's what had happened to her former partner. Delta? Was that his name? Until Mike came along, he was the only adult human she felt any sort of connection to.

"No worse than usual," she muttered. Rho's eyes glimmered and she jotted something down. From there, the exam's psychological component was the same as usual. Some questions, some Rorschach tests, things of that nature. Foxy never paid much attention to it because it didn't involve as much pain as the physical part. They were finished before she knew it. The woman called down the guards. In a minute, they'd come and take her back to Pirate Cove and that would be the last contact she'd have with humanity (sans Mike) for the next month.

After sitting quietly for a few seconds, Rho asked, "What changed?"

The question took Foxy by surprise. "Excuse me?"

"You're… different," she replied, looking at her strangely. "Calmer. Composed. A lot less enraged. It's an enormous shift from how you've behaved your whole life."

Oh fuck. Only then did she realize she should have feigned anger. Mike must have rubbed off on her more than she thought if she acted like a completely different person. Unfortunately, there was no time to come up with a lie. The guards came and undid her restraints before corralling her back to her home. Rho watched her the whole way, obviously deep in contemplation.

Passing through the dining area, Freddy, Bonnie and Chica gave her slight waves, not daring to speak. And then she was back. Will Rho suspect something's going on? she thought, hopping onto the stage. No – there's no proof of anything. She'll probably just think she caught me on a good day. At least that's what she told herself. Taking a deep breath, she pulled back her alcove's curtain.

A wind of relief blew over her as she saw Mike sleeping soundly on her bed. She sat beside him, her fur bristling with happiness; even asleep, the presence of another person made the hours infinitely more bearable. Doesn't look like he's having nightmares, either. That made her feel better. With nothing else to do, she stayed still for a long time, lost in her thoughts.

Children eventually came into the restaurant, bringing with them happy chattering and some music from the band. Both of these sounds slowly lulled her into a shallow sleep.

9:19 AM

Helen sat at a desk, transcribing the last of her notes from paper to computer. The more she looked at them, the more unusual they seemed. She couldn't recall a single pleasant encounter with Red; none of the animatronics liked her very much, but Red was especially hostile. Not that she blamed them – if any of this was ever revealed (unlikely, thanks to BRIAR's hardline policy of "neutralizing" potential leaks) she and her coworkers might very well be charged with crimes against humanity.

She shook her head but kept typing. If the International Courts consider them people, that is. That didn't include all the night guards who'd "disappeared" over the years.

Sighing, Helen wondered if she'd projected her feelings onto the data: a faux pas for any researcher. Or what if Auric had targeted her, making her see nonexistent patterns. The thought chilled to the bone. Pulling up records from Red's last several examinations soothed those feelings of dread. All were hostile, uncooperative and very expletive-laden. Something was different. But what?

It's unimportant, a large part of her mind said. You're not paid to solve mysteries. This isn't Scooby-Doo. Still, she couldn't help but wonder if other forces were at work. After all, she was a scientist, even if most of her time was spent in the kitchen or cleaning up messes. "What the Hell," she whispered to herself. "I have a short day today and nothing to do. Maybe what I find out will help her somehow."

The first thing to do was see if Red's changes were isolated to her psychology or if other areas had been affected. She finished transcribing the notes and then accessed the somatic data – being fairly high-ranking, she was privy to a good number of memorandums, even if they fell outside her field.

She opened the five most recent physical inspections after furtively glancing around to make sure she was still alone. Things stayed consistent at first: her vision and hearing, as well as the MRIs. Then anomalies began popping up. For example, she'd lost a bit of weight – not enough to cause alarm, but enough to be noticeable. Considering her exercise level (stagnant), that meant she must have been eating less. Why? Does she not like the food? Her cholesterol and blood pressure had also dipped significantly.

There was no answer, at least none she could think of. "All right," she muttered. "Those last two might represent lower anxiety. Yeah, that's plausible." Nothing about the restaurant's last month had been less stressful than the previous ones, however. "That's because she lives in a different world than the rest of them."

As for the weight loss, she probably would have heard if Red consistently left uneaten food on her plate – they fed her exactly the number of calories she needed to maintain a stable weight, no more. And she wasn't saving it for later; the stuff would quickly mold. None of it seemed to fit together.

Then a possibility dawned on her. The idea was absurd, though; there was no way Red, an ardent hater of humanity, would ever consider such a thing. Still, the more she looked at the evidence, the more convinced she became of a single explanation –

Red was secretly meeting with one of her associates.

The thought made her cringe. BRIAR would have no mercy on that person once they found out. If they find out…

Paranoidly looking around the room again, Helen seriously thought about that part. Clearly no one else had figured this out. She would have heard about it, if only through rumors. That left two questions: who was Red seeing… and would she report it? The answer to the second question was probably "yes". Everyone who worked there knew what a serious breach of protocol unauthorized contact with the "subjects" was. It threatened years of secrecy, bribes and boardroom politics.

And then where would the animatronics be? Probably in even worse conditions than they currently were. That was the last thing she wanted.

The answer to the first question would require a bit more snooping. She hated to admit it, but she got very absorbed by in the role. So caught up, it fact, that she didn't realize until then that her shift would begin in minutes. Hurrying, she logged out of the computer and headed upstairs, ready for another day at her "job".

10:05 AM

Mike was dreaming. He knew that much. It surprised him. Nothing about this dream was threatening in the slightest. In fact, it was beautiful.

He sat on a red sand beach at sunset, reclining against a palm tree, looking out across a vast, seemingly endless ocean. Foxy was there, as well. The two talked, flirted, played some games and generally enjoyed themselves. They even went sailing on Foxy's ship. All throughout, the gentle half-sun stayed still, unable or unwilling to set.

Mike never wanted it to.

However, other things were there with them. A familiar buzzing occasionally drifted across the waves before quickly fading. Sometimes he glimpsed a golden cloud in the distance. Auric. The demon was unable to hurt him, though. He didn't know why, but it seemed his power had gone. All he could do was stay in the background and watch.

More concerning was the Nightmare. It lurked in the jungle, waiting for him. But why should he approach it? It would only bring him more pain and fear. Though his psychopomps told him differently, he had a hard time believing the creature could be benevolent.

Maybe he'd visit it another time. For now, though, he wanted to relax. Foxy was waiting for him. They went off together in search of adventure, leaving the demon and the Nightmare behind.

2:08 PM

Helen stepped out of the restaurant, feeling a bit tired. Despite her youthful appearance – she regularly got carded at bars – she wasn't as young as she used to be. The undercover part of her job became exhausting, especially after a full day. It certainly gave her respect for real food service employees.

Now, who is Foxy meeting with? That might be more difficult to answer than initially expected. BRIAR employed dozens of people in this operation. They lived across Washington and not all of them were there at once. She didn't even know most of their names. They were all combinations of Greek letters.

Still, she might narrow the list of candidates by seeing who was present. Casually, she started examining the cars, hoping nobody would think she intended to steal one. Though she didn't know the names of most of her associates, she knew their vehicles. Many years of them all trying to get home at the same time guaranteed that. Hmm… Agent Omicron's. Agent Psi-Eta's. Iota-Tau, Epsilon-Pi, Xi-Zeta. Thought so quickly, the names dissolved into a string of gibberish.

None of the people there had expressed particular interest in Red before – then again, just about nobody did. She was viewed as more of a liability than an asset, considering she didn't bring in customers.

Helen was about to throw in the towel when she saw another car. It was a beat-up deep blue Honda Civic: likely several years old. It was Mike's. What's he doing here? He should be gone by now. Walking over to the sedan, she saw he wasn't in it. A pit formed in her stomach; she didn't like what this implied. This doesn't prove anything. He could be inside.

But he wasn't. She scanned the tables, hoping desperately to find him to no avail. The pit was now a gaping void. Going back to her car, she slumped down in the driver's seat. What could she do?

I can't report him, she thought. He was a teenager, for one thing. I'm not sending a kid to his death. For another, she owed him a favor. And – at least from the data she'd seen – he actually did Red some good. Sighing, she rested her head on the wheel, thinking. It won't end well if I confront them, but I have to. I at least have to tell Mike what danger he's in. Maybe… maybe I can even help them. She needed backup to make it work, though.

There was only one person she trusted enough for that, and he wouldn't be pleased by the offer.

…

"Hello, ma'am. Welcome to Walmart."

The man loathed his job. What's worse, he couldn't show it. Five days a week, he greeted strangers with a phony smile and told them how glad he was they chose the Home of Always Low Prices for their shopping needs. They rarely glanced in his direction. It made him regret choosing mercenary work over higher education even more than he already did.

"Hello, sir. Welcome to – "

His canned line was interrupted by his ringing cell phone. Damn. Should start turning it off at work. Still, he might as well answer – his managers weren't around.

"Delta," the voice on the other end said. Unlike other times, it sounded confused, apprehensive.

He rubbed his temples with his free hand. "Why are you contacting me, Rho? You know I have a job." If she kept calling him out of nowhere, he might have to change his telephone numbers. Bullshit. You've been saying that for years and never done it.

"I swear this is important. Do you remember when I called you a few weeks ago in the middle of the night?"

"Yeah, and you calling while I'm at work isn't much better."

"I told you about our latest night guard – a guy named Mike. He worked another week… and survived again." How impressive. And suicidal. "But that's not important. What I'm about to tell you is." She paused. "He's visiting Red – Foxy: getting into Pirate Cove and… well, I'm actually not sure what they do. I want to talk to them, but that'll be easier with you around. She used to trust you, at least a little."

He noticed his manager walking toward him. "Are you certain?" If what she said was true, then something very bad could happen. Not just to Mike and not just to Foxy, but everyone.

"Yes."

He sighed. "I'll be there soon."

9:47 PM

Mike stirred, being roused awake. No, stop. I want to keep sleeping. The force that disturbed him wasn't a hand or a voice; it was his stomach. Sitting up, he saw this problem would be easy to solve! A plate of cold spaghetti drowning in sauce was placed next to the bed. He picked it up and devoured it without hesitation, not caring how much it felt like slimy worms in his esophagus.

Eating live worms – sounds like a nightmare. Wait… He didn't have any bad dreams. They were all fine. Wonderful, even! Auric was still there in the corners, pounding at the glass, but he didn't do anything except faintly exist. Whatever, that's not important now.

Stretching, he glanced at his watch. According to it, the entire day had passed – he'd slept for more than fifteen hours straight! Guess that's what happens when you stay up for such an unholy amount of time. On the plus side, he felt refreshed! He stood up, stretched and walked back into the Cove proper. Foxy was there, laying on her back and staring at the ceiling.

"Uh, what are you doing?"

"Counting the cracks in the plaster. It's a way to pass the time," she said without even a hint of sarcasm.

"Damn, you're more bored than I thought. I can't believe they won't even let you have a Game Boy or something."

"I don't really mind," she replied, leaping to her feet with catlike reflexes.

Or foxlike reflexes. That was such a terrible joke that he cringed just by thinking it.

"It's been this way for a while. I'm used to it by now."

"Doesn't mean it's acceptable."

She looked at him, muzzle turned in a frown. "What the fuck am I supposed to do about it? Go to Phil and complain? He doesn't care about me, or either of us for that matter." She paused. "By the way, did you make him angry? I could have sworn I heard him shouting earlier."

That wasn't Mike's best moment. It felt great at the time, but now that he was more or less refreshed and not high on adrenaline, he saw that it didn't accomplish anything but make him look like an ass. Even if he did get the job again, it was counterproductive to be on even worse terms with his boss. "Yeah. I reminded him of some… let's call them 'uncomfortable truths.'"

They sat down in their usual spots at the stage's edge – not the best in the world, but the view was shockingly impressive for a restaurant interior. With the destroyed pirate ship, faded wall murals and occasional dusty treasure chest, the room evoked images of Atlantis. Apparently, Atlantis smells like pizza and has children right outside. Who knew?

They talked a little more. The only really interesting thing either of them had to say was Foxy telling him she'd been taken in for a monthly "check-up". At first, he felt concerned, but she assured him it was nothing to worry about. And then they reached the end. His stomach was a rock. There was only one more thing to talk about – hopefully it would make for productive conversation.

"Were you serious?" Foxy began. Her tail, normally perpetually in motion, had stopped completely. "Do you really love me?"

Mike hesitated, feelings of disgust bubbling up again. "I don't know. On one hand, you're, um, not human. We've talked about this." She nodded, eying him carefully. "On the other... you're a wonderful person. My best friend." It took him a moment to notice he was sniffling. Whether from shame, embarrassment or simple catharsis, he didn't know. Perhaps all of them. "Like, you were able to save me because of that confession! That shows just how much you care! Because of that, I'm willing to give this a shot."

It was wrong for him to think of love as being "owed", but considering all she'd done for him, he wanted to make her happy, regardless of his own recalcitrance. Besides, he'd likely be dead soon. Why not do something insane and possibly evil just for the fun of it?

"Mike," she said sternly, turning his head toward her, "you're not obligated to do this because of my feelings. I want to try this... but I completely understand if you don't." The words loosened his inhibitions ever so slightly. It would have been so easy for Foxy to gloat about saving him, or at least use the event to coerce him into something. She didn't do that, though; she didn't need to. Despite his latent hesitation, it was just enough to make him agree.

"I want to try it, too."

That stunned her for a moment; she didn't think he'd go for it. "This is insane…" she muttered to herself.

"I agree! It's insane that a woman as beautiful and smart as you fell in love with me." She laughed. It warmed his heart, even as calling an animal attractive made him shudder. Maybe Auric was onto something.

…

"Stop flirting, handsome," Foxy responded. Now Mike laughed, though it wasn't entirely calm. Fortunately, he always kept his voice quiet so people outside couldn't hear, though by this time the only ones left would be the other animatronics. They both thought for a moment about what to do next.

"Seriously, though," Mike said, voice suddenly soft and somber, "The fact that a human and a sapient animatronic vixen are, um, interested in each other isn't normal. That bothers me. I'm not going to lie about it." He was about to say something more before hesitating. "What's your perspective on this?"

Foxy shrugged. "I don't think this is that much weirder than the two of us just being friends. Then again, I'm used to being a fox cyborg, so it's not that odd for me. Because of that, I don't have the same inhibitions as you." Timid or not, she was glad Mike took her opinion into consideration.

"Huh. I never thought about that." He cracked a small smile. "Maybe you're right."

Species difference aside, there was another thing he hadn't yet brought up. "I thought you'd be more worried about the fact that we've only known each other a few weeks. That's a short time to start a relationship, right? Is this moving too fast?" She quickly added, "Not that I'm complaining, I just want to make sure you're really OK with this."

"Well, thanks for being so considerate." His expression turned contemplative. "I've thought about that, too; most people would say we're rushing. But we've spent a lot of time together, been through so much. And considering all our other differences, that's the least of my worries." That was all true. It felt like she'd known Mike long before summer began. "Besides, the possibility either or both of us dying is a big motivator. That's the main reason I'm so open to this."

"I suppose it is," she replied. Neither of them said anything for a while. That went well, even if it was short, she thought. There would certainly be many more similar conversations, but this seemed a good start. Probably better to handle something like this in bite-sized chunks, anyway.

"So… what do we do now?" she eventually asked. "Unless you want to risk taking me somewhere, everything we do has to be in this room."

Mike was stumped by the question. "I don't know. We should, um, think about it." Foxy nodded. "I'm going to leave soon and sleep some more; is there anything else you want to talk about?"

After a moment of thought, she realized there was one other thing. "I wondered if you'd like to paint that wall," she said, pointing to the room's other end. "It'd be a nice thing to do together. Not to mention it'll make this place feel homier."

"That's a good idea," Mike replied. He stood, collected his things, and walked toward the door. She accompanied him to the threshold. "I'm sure I'll be back tomorrow. We can, uh, talk a little more later then." That'd be exciting.

As Mike opened the door, Foxy nearly had a heart attack upon seeing the two figures standing there, waiting for them.

…

Mike opened the door into the night world. The flood lamps were on, creating their signature pools of light and eddies of darkness. A gentle rain sprinkled down, creating puddles of its own. All was normal save one crucial detail.

Two people stood before the door in one of the dark areas. Mike suppressed a scream as he stumbled backward – would have fallen if Foxy didn't catch him. He was done for. Phil would find out and get BRIAR to put a bullet in his skull and bury him in a shallow, unmarked grave. And they'd probably do even worse things to Foxy.

"Whoa, calm down!" a woman's voice assured them. Didn't stop Mike from nearly collapsing again. "Sorry, we shouldn't have been so dramatic." Stepping into the light, the smaller figure was none other than Helen, wearing a hooded rain jacket. The larger one stayed put. "We're not here to kill you. We just want to talk." Mike was paralyzed; he heard the words but didn't quite understand them. Foxy stepped in front of him. In contrast to his fear, she sounded furious.

"We don't feel the same way," she growled. This could get ugly. With a trembling hand, he reached out to grab her shoulder, to say without words that everything would be OK – even if he didn't believe it himself. "Now leave."

"I thought you'd say that," Helen replied. Her normally calm, casual demeanor held a bit of panic. She gestured the other figure forward, then step back: a good precaution against getting mauled. It sighed a deep sigh and stepped into the light.

He was a large man. Some of that mass was flab, but a lot of it came from muscle. The most notable thing about him, though, was his facial scarring. He'd either been in a bad accident or many fights. A face like that, he would have remembered seeing before. To him, the man seemed intimidating, maybe even the one sent to kill him. Foxy, on the other hand, looked confused.

"Do I know you?" she asked.

"This might jog your memory." Helen handed him a helmet reminiscent of the ones SWAT teams wore. Popping it on, he traced a triangular pattern on his chest with one finger. What the Hell was happening?

But Foxy recognized him. "Delta?" The man nodded.

"I'm sorry, but what the fuck is going on?!" Mike had regained his faculties, but still felt uncomfortable. Being rained on didn't help matters.

"Mike, this is Delta," she said while gesturing to the man. "He was… well, not a friend, but the only person except you who treated me with any respect. That was years ago, though." She addressed Delta directly, seeming to forget Helen was even there. "But what are you doing here?"

"Rho wanted to diffuse tension when she discussed the risks of the two of you being friends. Considering you nearly attacked her, it seems to have been a wise decision."

Mike and Foxy looked at each other. They didn't appear to have malicious intentions. Then again, this could have been a trap. Helen had been friendly with him before, but she still worked for BRIAR. What choice did they have, though? A few seconds later, Foxy nodded.

"We'll listen to what you have to say," she said.

"But we should go inside," Mike interjected. "I'm, uh, kind of chilly." Suddenly, a thought occurred to him. "How long were you standing here, anyway?"

Delta shrugged. "A couple of hours. Not too different from my current job, really."

"Uh, OK."

"I think Pirate Cove would be ideal," Helen said, trying to get the conversation back on track. "Anywhere else and we'd risk waking the others. Spacious enough, too." The door had closed when no one was paying attention. Fortunately, Helen's keycard let them get in without problems. After he and Delta had entered, Mike realized that Foxy whispered to Helen in the doorway.

…

"I don't like or trust you," Foxy said softly to the woman.

"I know," she replied.

"You claim to sympathize with us, but you're complicit in everything." A look of shame crossed her face.

"This is the only way to help you all," she whispered. "If I left… I don't know what would happen."

Foxy sighed. Maybe we're both right. "The reason I'm bringing this up is because you're about to enter my home. Be it ever so humble, it's mine. And if you disrespect me or Mike, I'm kicking you and Delta out. Understand?"

"Of course."

"Good." As Rho entered the room, her nose crinkled in disgust. "Well, this is, um, rustic." She smiled guiltily. Foxy closed the door.

"Oh, I don't care if you insult my home," she clarified. "It's a piece of shit. Just don't disrespect the people in it." They all congregated on the stage, awkwardly standing around. This was so odd; Foxy had gotten used to Mike being around, but three other people being there at once was a little overwhelming. I hope this doesn't take long.

"What you're doing is very dangerous," Rho finally said. "But I assume you're smart enough to know that."

"Yeah. We just don't care," Foxy replied. The question of how unsafe this all was had been a big deal for a while. With them now being… "together" in human terms, they finally decided the risks were worthwhile.

"I'm not just talking about the two of you being in danger. If that was the case, I wouldn't even have bothered you." Delta looked around the room, gently shaking his head. Things sure had changed over the last thirteen years. "Everyone here is."

"Why should we care what happens to them," Mike interjected. He seemed to have calmed down and now listened intently to the woman. "You two seem like the exceptions to the rule. Everyone else who works here is fucking evil. I don't see the problem." She agreed – that sounded like a best-case scenario.

"Not just them: their families, regular customers, children even. Anyone who might have even heard rumors about anything going on here." Rho's voice tightened. "The only limiting factor is how many people they can kill without raising eyebrows. My guess is a few dozen. More, if they can make them 'accidents.'"

Nobody spoke for a moment. Children. Never thought of that before. Mike and Foxy glanced at each other. "How likely do you think it is they'll figure it out?" She hated herself for having to ask. Any normal person would be concerned enough about child murder to not need numbers crunched.

"I did. Then again, I'm smarter than almost anyone here." Rho turned to Delta. "Isn't that right?" The man finally got a word in.

"Rho's a goddamn genius. By this field's standards, at least," he confirmed. "Got hired here when she was twenty-one. Just about everyone else was ten years her senior. That should be proof enough." Apparently, she also had quite the ego. Again, silence fell.

"Thank you both for listening," she said at last. "I just wanted you to know what you got yourselves into. If I could stop you, I would, but that would mean telling someone about this… so I won't. Of course, I don't know your sides of the story: how all this – ," she gestured at both of them, "got started. Nor is it my business. Perhaps that makes a big difference."

Neither Foxy nor Mike knew how to respond.

"Well, that's all I have to say. Anything from you, Delta?" The man turned to Foxy.

"Nice to see you again. How are things?"

"Better. Mike's a great guy. He even fixed my jaw – I think it got broken the day you quit."

Rho smacked her forehead. "How the Hell didn't I notice that?"

"Maybe you're not as smart as you think," Foxy replied, only half joking. She quickly ran out of patience with the woman. Or, a part of her thought, perhaps Rho's warning wasn't what she wanted to hear.

"OK," Mike interrupted, stepping between them. "That's enough for one night. Thank you so much for not having us killed, Helen. We're even now, I guess."

Delta looked incredulous. "Your name's 'Helen'? I never would have thought." Foxy didn't know that, either, but she wasn't sure why it was so shocking. "We always identified each other by codename. Company policy, but it stuck."

"It's not that big a deal," Helen muttered, looking rather embarrassed. "Good luck, you two. You'll need it." She and Delta headed for the door.

"Do you not like your name or something? Because it's fine. Be glad you don't have a really awful one like 'Dorcus' or 'Esther' or the ones that must have been popular in the 1920s, given how many old women I have to point toward the bathrooms on a daily fucking basis because they spilled sauerkraut on their blouses or – "

Delta's rather bizarre monologue faded as the two of them went out the door. "What do you think?" Mike asked, his voice wavering slightly.

"I don't know." She was at a loss. Not only was he her friend… but she loved him, and the feeling was mutual. She didn't want to give him up. Still, he was just one person, as opposed to the dozens that might die if anyone found out. And that could happen in spite of all their precautions. "Maybe…" She gulped. "Perhaps we should see each other less often? Like, weekly instead of daily." It hurt to suggest just as they had gotten together, but she had to think of other people for once.

Mike considered the offer. "That sounds reasonable. Let's try it." Then he frowned. "So this is goodbye for a little while?"

"It is." The next few days would be difficult.

"Strange. I never thought I'd get so used to someone's company. Then again, I never thought any of this would happen."

They approached each other. Foxy hesitated – would he accept a kiss? It seemed like an appropriate moment to do so, with things being different from then on. There was no way she'd ask first, though. Mike might have thought the same thing, given how awkwardly he behaved. Besides, it was probably too soon. Eventually, they settled on a hug. That works, too.

"I'll miss you," she whispered.

"So will I," he replied.

Chapter Text

Friday, November 13, 1987 8:27 PM

For Phil, the last three months were a blur. He was always moving: talking to Auric, coordinating with William's people, or, most commonly, just working at his restaurant. These weren't easy to juggle, but he thought he'd done an acceptable job. And now it was almost time.

That's what Auric claimed. Phil had to give the spirit some credit – unlike his earlier days of loafing around, he had started to do… something. Over the past weeks, rumors circulated through his staff about a particular basement closet; strange noises came from there at every hour. Auric also kept requesting strange, if common, materials: things one could mostly find at the store. Again, his employees were very suspicious. Still, he didn't think they could guess at anything as bizarre as the truth.

Striding down the stairs, he pulled his jacket closer to him. The basement was constantly ice-cold; if he didn't install a heater soon, he worried the pipes would freeze. Might happen tonight. After all, it's Friday the Thirteenth. Shivering, he approached Auric's door and knocked.

"Come in, Phillip. I've been expecting you."

Wonder what's inside. After opening the door, it took a moment to process what he saw. Every surface was coated with a fine layer of frost. Underneath were esoteric symbols and patterns drawn in charcoal. The ice had melted in several spots from rock salt and small piles of herbs burned in the corners. Auric sat cross-legged in the room's center. Taken all together, it looked like some kind of occult laboratory.

"You're impressed with my work," he commented.

"Yeah," Phil said, trying in vain to figure out what interior decorating had to do with bringing animatronics to life. "But why did you do this?" Asking, he knew, would give him more questions than answers.

"I have aligned the energies of this room – and by extension, the entire building – with those of the etheric plane. They have drawn close here." Auric paused and smiled, showing rotten plastic teeth. "Do you see them? The pillars holding up your reality?"

"Uh, no." The spirit often unnerved him, but this was particularly eerie.

"I thought not. No matter." He cleared his throat. "This configuration will allow me to securely navigate the Akashic Records. There, I will locate the necessary metaphysical components and craft four sapient souls from them."

Nope, none of that made a bit of sense. It sounded like something an overly enthusiastic Dungeons & Dragons player would say. And he would know – he'd actually played a little. Not that I'd ever admit it. Still, despite all the technical jargon, the plan sounded vague.

"Have you ever actually done something like this?"

"Only once in the last several thousand years, but I am confident in my abilities." He was about to continue, but curiosity got the better of Phil.

"What was the other time?" he interrupted.

Auric looked annoyed, but he answered the question regardless. "Have you ever heard of the Golem? The Jewish legend of a man made of mud, rock and iron?"

Phil couldn't even pretend to be surprised anymore. "That was you, huh?"

"Indeed. One of my few moments in history's spotlight – I prefer to let civilizations develop on their own. It is more entertaining that way. Back to the subject at hand, though. The ritual is complete. It can be performed soon."

"Yes! Finally!" The man fell to his knees, ignoring the frost chilling through his clothes. He'd have a family again. It was the only thing he cared about for so long. Then he hesitated, confused by Auric's choice of words. "Why 'soon'? Can't you do it now? It seems like a good time because there's nobody around."

"Allow me to clarify. The physical aspects are finished. The incorporeal elements require one final touch."

"What? What is it?" Though he asked many questions of the angel, this was the only one he desperately wanted answered.

"Intense emotional feedback. Strong feelings slightly influence the flow of conventional spacetime and draw it nearer to other planes. This is one of the principles involved in psychic abilities. In this case, the physical and etheric realms are a mere hairbreadth distant. A group of individuals experiencing the same sentiment simultaneously will make them overlap, if only for a brief time. During this period, I will uphold my end of our bargain." This was said with all the normality of a weather report.

"Are you saying that if I feel really, really strongly about something, I could travel to another dimension?" That was too outlandish, even for him.

"If the surrounding conditions are correct. That may sound peculiar, but there are many places associated with mysterious disappearances, mostly located along Ley Lines – the Bermuda Triangle, Roanoke Island, the Australian Outback. These locales are also intimately connected to mysticism and notions of planar travel. It is no coincidence."

That… damn, that explanation actually made sense. Either Auric was explaining things better or Phil had figured out what words meant. And he also knew where that "emotional feedback" was supposed to come from.

"There's a birthday party scheduled for tomorrow at five." This was ideal. Less than a day remained. Everything's going to be OK. "We'll do it then." He just had to make sure none of the kids got sucked into another dimension, or possibly fight off extraplanar horrors by throwing chairs at them. God, this was crazy.

"Agreed," Auric replied, standing unsteadily on the ice. Beyond any doubt, the spirit really came through. Though he was secretive and distant, Phil didn't consider him hostile. Walking toward him, he stuck out a hand. They'd only done this once before, and that was in a dream.

"Thank you for everything." His freezing grip was of no consequence. "I know you said we aren't friends, but this is the most anyone's ever done for me."

"You are quite welcome," he replied with only a bit of condescension. "Treat me with the same respect, and our business shall progress smoothly."

Feeling satisfied, he closed the door and headed back up the stairs. Time to go home for the night. If this was the worst Friday the Thirteenth had to offer, tomorrow might well be the best day of his life.

Saturday, November 14, 5:20 PM

It was time!

Phil tried to look his best for the occasion. He'd showered, shaved, gelled his hair and even put on some cologne. Probably all unnecessary, but he wanted to make sure he made a good first impression on his new family. Unless they remember me from before they were alive. Then they'll like me regardless. All in all, he felt great. So great, in fact, that he sat in the dining room instead of his office. It was nice to see other people as excited as him.

All he had to do was wait. Auric said he'd perform the ritual when the right time came. Could be now, could be in an hour. I should go over the plan again, though, just to be safe.

He and William had long ago decided on a course of action; that was one of their first priorities. Two groups lurked in the woods just off the main road. Ideally, the first of those groups would come in, evacuate the building on the pretense of a gas leak, and secure the newly-intelligent robots without incident.

But if anything went amiss (which Auric assured him was unlikely), responsibility fell to the second group… who were authorized to use more extreme measures. He didn't know what qualified as "extreme", but he agreed with Auric. Nothing would go wrong. So much rode on the coming minutes – it couldn't. It won't.

Phil was momentarily distracted by the partygoers singing "Happy Birthday" to the birthday boy, who turned seven that day. An auspicious year, if one believed in lucky numbers. He didn't, but that could change at a moment's notice.

In any case, the animatronics would be transferred from the restaurant to a BRIAR facility located in Seattle's Industrial District for experimentation. That made him nervous. He understood William's goals about studying artificial intelligences, but worried the methods used could be unethical. Still, he promised himself that he'd immediately talk to William about any procedures that went too far.

A twinge of doubt pinched his gut. William was a hard man. He had to be. Though he promised Phil's requests would be considered… well, let's hope for the best. But after all that, they'd pretty much be his.

They'd stay there for the next couple of months while Freddy Fazbear's Pizza was remodeled with research instruments as well as the rather bizarre equipment Auric needed for his game: things such as an off-grid generator, a high-quality desktop computer, internal security cameras and multiple steel doors normally used to compartmentalize below-deck areas of trans-oceanic cargo freighters. Phil had no idea what the Hell game this was shaping up to be, but he wouldn't mind giving it a go. Sounded interesting, to say the least.

BRIAR would send people to work for him, which helped in a number of ways, the most important being a lack of information leaks; they all knew the consequences. The only negative aspect of that was the fact he couldn't hire kids from around town anymore.

He looked at all his employees. Most were teenagers. This wasn't the only place in town they could find employment – the library or gas station were possibilities – but it was definitely the most popular. It felt bad to take that away from them, especially because he was only a few years their senior. Well, they can always come as customers.

And speaking of customers, the birthday boy casually approached, which made him fidget in his seat. Phil had never been particularly fond of young children. Ironic, considering that was his restaurant's primary demographic, but he thought kids around ten could better appreciate the video games, ambience, etc. Not to mention they weren't as messy.

"I like your coat, mister," he said casually.

"Uh, thank you." Well, this one didn't seem so bad. "It's your birthday, right?"

The child nodded enthusiastically. "Yep! I get to eat pizza, play games, hang out with my best friend Mike, see Foxy – I think Foxy's really cool, 'cause she's a pirate and stuff…" He prattled on for a minute before a middle-aged woman, probably the boy's mother, noticed and looked a little concerned. Stranger danger and all that; he understood.

"James! Are you bothering this man?"

"No, mama," he replied, "I wasn't trying to, at least." The mother didn't buy it.

"You have a very well-behaved boy," Phil interjected. "He's no trouble." This affirmation seemed to do the trick.

"That's music to a parent's ears." She looked around. "You have a kid here, I take it." Good guess; he did look about the age of a young father.

"No, actually. I'm the owner and manager."

Upon hearing this, the woman smiled. "It's wonderful to meet you! You've probably heard it before, but your restaurant is charming. Far better to support something local instead of Chuck E. Cheese's, too."

"I agree," he said, the twinge of guilt returning. As of today, it would be far more corporate than ever before.

"Is it time for the food yet?" James asked his mother. "Everyone wants it."

The woman smiled at him again and went with her son back to the table. It was always great hearing people say things like that; though he spent most of his time in an office, he always received a few compliments every week. He always made sure to point out it was his parents, not him, who accomplished it all. The best he could hope for was to make it a little better.

5:45 PM

Phil knew the ritual had begun. Just about everyone was in Pirate Cove listening to Foxy, but he still waited in the dining area. A strange noise danced around his head, sounding like ethereal music. The scent of ozone hung in the air. Every muscle in his body tensed. It was about to go down.

And then it did. In the middle of one of their songs played before a nearly empty room, Freddy, Bonnie and Chica seized up. Their joints and motors failed; they fell to the floor. BRIAR would be on-site in minutes. If he didn't act strangely, he could think of an excuse as to why this all happened – a power surge, perhaps. But Phil wasn't a man of particular patience, and his appetite for waiting was up. Jumping to his feet, he ran and rushed to his office; everyone needed to leave so BRIAR could get in and do their work.

The lights flickered, died, lived again, and for a brief moment, the room seemed to warp, and his head spun; Auric mentioned something about reality needing to reconfigure itself to accommodate that-which-should-not-be. But his family would be… and now, they were. With as calm a voice as he could muster, he spoke over the building-wide intercom (a feature he rarely used) and hastily cobbled together a story about why the restaurant was closing. His excitement built to the point where he began to feel lightheaded.

Far away, he heard people begin to meander out, gossiping to themselves. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself. It was finally time to meet his family. He turned around, ready to go to them. However, they'd come to him.

His jaw dropped and his knees buckled as he saw Freddy, Bonnie and Chica standing in the doorway.

"What's going on?" Chica asked. The only reason he knew it was her was because her beak moved. Gone were the monotone words produced by ones and zeroes. "Why is everyone leaving?" Holy shit. It really, really happened. He wanted to say something, but his throat wouldn't work. This was too much to take in.

"Why're you lookin' at us like that, Phil?" Bonnie asked.

His eyes weren't plastic anymore. How was that possible? And… and they're breathing! They have lungs now. Whatever. He'd leave the bullshit science to BRIAR.

Finally, he was able to choke out, "I'm j-just happy to see you all. You have no idea how much I've needed you." He hugged all of them – damn, their fur was real, too – only slightly noting a commotion coming from Pirate Cove. He'd check on Foxy in a minute.

"We see you all the time, though," Freddy said. "You're here every day, just like us." He paused and his brow crinkled. "Although now that I think about it… I feel kind of odd. Like I was asleep for a really long time."

"So do I," said Bonnie.

"I feel pretty weird too!" Phil added. Indeed, this was the weirdest and best thing to ever happen to him. "What a coincidence!" They all shared a laugh over their mutual feeling of strangeness.

Shrieks shook him from his joyous reverie. Heavy footsteps fled out the door, along with the sounds of crying.

"Oh no." His heart raced. Something bad was happening. Something that probably involved Foxy. He couldn't imagine what it could possibly be, though. The combination of fear, elation and shock proved too much for him.

Before he realized what was happening, he fainted.

Sunday, November 15, 6:56 AM

The surroundings unnerved him. All the walls were white, and all the metal was chromatic, and everything was spotless. This facility reminded him of the infinite void Auric manifested in. Of course, William liked things orderly, not flecked with gore.

Phil could barely remember what happened yesterday. The only thing he clearly recalled was the blood. So much innocent blood.

Police came, children screamed, parents cried, and BRIAR swept up the mess. Something like this would normally make headlines throughout the state, but apparently William had even more clout than he'd realized. No reporters came to the scene. Only very local radio stations picked up the horrific story. That might change in the coming days, but for now, few people outside Whitewater knew what happened. But those who were there would never forget. Not the kids, not the adults, not him, and especially not Foxy.

Why did she have to do it? Intellectually, he knew it was an accident. The animatronics weren't used to existing yet. They might not even have known what death was. That didn't temper the mixture of anger and disappointment directed at her.

His melancholy was interrupted as someone entered the office he'd temporarily been assigned. He expected a scientist or perhaps one of the mercenaries; testing would begin any minute, and they wanted him there. To his surprise, however, it was William. The man wheeled himself in and stopped on the other side of the desk, looking his same sickly self.

"What a surprise," Phil whispered. He hadn't quite regained his voice after sobbing for most of the previous night. "I thought you'd be too busy to come."

"I made time," he replied. His face held a determined yet sympathetic expression that was difficult to place. "I thought it only right to be here after what happened." Well, that was considerate, he supposed.

"What's going to happen to James' parents?" Phil blurted out, cringing upon saying the child's name. "Their kid died because of what we did! It wasn't our fault, but we should still do something!" His overstrained voice cracked; it sounded like a smoker's.

William nodded. "We both understand what they're going through. I've prepared a very large settlement for them in the form of an anonymous benefactor. Several million dollars, in fact." While that was a start, this didn't seem like a problem money could solve. Their child was dead; they would want justice.

"What if they sue?" The question came out more desperate than he intended. "I won't survive the lawsuit. It'll destroy everything we've worked for. Everything I've worked for!"

"Settle down. If they intend to take us to court, I have access to some of the nation's best attorneys. I have no doubt the 'death by animatronic' case will have some obscure loopholes or workarounds." Even though William did seem sorry for James' death, he was so… corporate about it. More like he was sorry for the money he'd lose rather than the dead child. Still, he smiled and nodded, hoping everything would work out.

That was all he could do.

After a few minutes more, Phil finally got called out for the tests. William accompanied him. Utterly defeated by recent events, he didn't have the strength to object as the animatronics were threatened at gunpoint. He knew he should have been horrified, but it seemed to happen so far away. It was the difference between fighting in a war and seeing it on television.

Foxy was already bound to one of the medical cots with thick leather straps. She squirmed, trying to get free. A caged animal. Three men surrounded her, laughing at her archaic dialect. Angry as he was at her, he suddenly hated them more. She was like a sister to him, damn it! Even after what she did, she still cared about her! Somebody had to hurt her, but it wouldn't be them.

It had to be him.

He snatched the final strap off a sparkling countertop and demanded, "You've had your fun. Go get the other three." They did as they were told, laughing all the way. At least they followed orders. Walking over to Foxy, he gasped. There were still a few splotches of human blood and bone stuck in her fur. She stared at him with two pleading orange eyes – the eyepatch she normally wore had fallen off.

"Cap'n! These blasted scoundrels be tryin' ta' keelhaul me! A little help, if ye please!"

Heart sinking, he looked away. These would be another two very long months. What he had agreed to, he realized, was not ideal. However, he didn't see any other way. BRIAR might have been the only group on the planet that would have let him get away with something like this. Well, maybe there were some government black ops out that would, but they'd likely be worse. Most companies and nations were constrained by pesky morals and procedures and laws.

The animatronics needed him, and he really needed them. No matter what happened, he promised to never abandon them. That, at least, was a promise he felt he could keep. Didn't make what he had to do next any easier.

"Foxy, I'm sorry about this. I am so sorry." Clamping her muzzle shut with one hand, he used his other to tie her mouth shut. She thrashed wildly, an expression of terror in her eyes. There, it was done.

"Well," William said from behind him, "we'll run those first pain threshold tests ASAP."

"Yes."

…

He ran back to his office. The "experiments" were too much for him to stomach. So many muffled screams… Even the guards themselves didn't seem overly fond of what they did, yet all eyes were glued to the scalpels and hot needles. No one would notice if he slipped away for a few minutes – until the worst of it was over, at least. Opening the door, he was again greeted by surprise visitors, although by now he was far less pleased by interruptions.

A man and a woman sat next to each other. Their faces were bruised and beaten. The man, who was about thirty, had a broken nose, while the woman – who, shockingly, was around Phil's age – had blue hair. Wait, that's not because of the fight. It's because she's a rebel or some crap. From the symbols on their uniforms, he recognized their designations as Delta and Rho.

"Why the fuck are you two here?" he asked, mostly just wanting them to leave.

"Because this guy's a sexist jackass!" Rho said. Oh, this wouldn't be fun.

"I'm not sexist!" Delta replied. "You're a fucking teenager! You shouldn't be in this line of work. Wait a few years before deciding, at least!"

Negotiating employee feuds was a common aspect of business management, but it rarely escalated to physical violence. Well, maybe it did when most of the people you hired were unscrupulous mercenaries. Yeah, that sounded right. Still, he had failed all his other duties; there was no way he could add this one to the list.

Sighing, he sat down on his side of the desk. "So, you think working in the same building will be a problem?" Both nodded. A delightfully devious thought occurred to him. Why the Hell not? It'd be entertaining. Not to mention the fact that it might just work.

"Perfect. In that case, I'm going to make a special alteration to both of your positions."

"Please do," Delta said.

"From now on, you'll be partners." Mortified, they glanced at each other. "Until you learn to get along, you will work together on everything, from science to janitorial duties."

"You can't be serious!" Rho shouted.

"If you don't like it, you can quit." From the expressions they gave him, he quickly realized that might not have been an option. "OK," he amended, "maybe you can't quit. But I think you'll make a good team. Brains and brawn, if you will."

Delta was about to ask a question, but Rho interrupted. "Yes, he called you stupid." Grumbling, both of them left his office.

Even with the door closed, he could just barely make out gagged shrieks.

Chapter Text

Friday, June 30, 6:01 AM

Another week down!

Mike stretched, deciding to rest in his chair for a few minutes and reminisce. The past three weeks were mostly uneventful cycles of work, sleep and a little free time. He had two days before doing it all again. Though he hardly considered this routine fun, the more he performed it, the more satisfying it became. After playing it for so long, he began to appreciate the game's subtler, less deadly aspects: the escalating drama, move and countermove, increasing desperation.

As much as he hated to admit it, Mike understood why Auric loved this so much. His game possessed the strategy of chess, the viscerality of boxing and the strangeness of… actually, he didn't know any sports or games that could be considered "strange". Whatever. The point was, without the whole "killing people" thing, he could see it being a popular gameshow. Of course, he might have only felt so levelheaded because the visions stopped.

He hadn't experienced any hallucinations since the night Auric came closest to killing him. That made surviving much, much easier. No more blood coming out of the vents or whispers on the wind. Perhaps he shouldn't have questioned this boon, but curiosity got the better of him. He told Helen about it and she snuck him down to the basement after-hours for a few tests. In fact, she seemed more interested than he did!

Speaking of Helen, she waited for him around back. Sighing, he stood and walked down the hall, glancing at the door to Phil's room as he went. He hadn't seen or heard from his boss in the last three weeks, either. They didn't have much to discuss now that Mike had made clear he wouldn't accept pay from him anymore. Sure, he could have gotten rich with the kind of money BRIAR threw around, but that would make him complicit in this. Though the thought of so much wealth made him salivate, he knew taking it from them would be no better than accepting payment from human traffickers.

Mike moved through the dining area, actually getting a few nods and smiles from the employees. It became clear over the past three weeks that he wasn't going to die, so there was no point in betting anymore. That made them a bit upset at first. However, he'd heard from Helen that opinion generally shifted in his favor. Not that they'd ever say so to his face… but apparently, they were starting to like him, if only as a mascot. Not that it really mattered; if they were ordered to kill him, they would do so without hesitation.

Glancing behind him just in case, he strode across the cracked asphalt to the building's far side. Yep, there she was, right by the dumpster, staring into the woods. This was probably safer than talking by the doors, they agreed.

She smiled slightly as she saw him. "I think you'll be very interested by what I found."

"I'm sure."

She presented three MRI images of brains. Presumably one of them was his, considering she actually convinced him to crawl into the giant machine. Other than that… well, he wasn't a scientist. "What, um, is the difference?"

Rolling her eyes, she started with the first picture. "This is a scan of a drug addict's brain. Ketamine user, specifically – a hallucinogen." That part piqued his interest. "A few years back, one of my coworkers approached me to help with his problem. I kept the image for future reference." She pointed to several dark areas. "These are spots ketamine targets: the amygdala, the hippocampus, and other regions related to emotion and sensation. It damages them." This wasn't too hard to follow; he'd heard all the obligatory "don't do drugs" lectures throughout middle school and high school.

Moving to the second picture, she continued, "This is the same person's brain after a month without relapsing. Notice that those injuries have started to heal." Sure enough, the dark spots had lightened significantly. But where was she going with this? Finally, she handed him the third picture. "This is your brain."

Huh. It was cool to see the inside of his own head. However, what really drew his attention was the fact that it appeared very similar to that of the addict's second. "Shit," he said, feeling alarmed. "Do I have brain damage?"

"You did, but it's healing nicely. I'm not a medical doctor, but I do know about the brain, and I believe you'll make a full recovery." He sighed, thankful he wouldn't suddenly contract Alzheimer's. Then a question popped into his not-permanently-wounded mind.

"OK, my brain's recovering because the hallucinations have stopped. But why did they just end?" He sometimes still felt a tingle in the back of his skull; Auric tried to mess with his head, but it didn't work anymore.

"That's what I've been trying to figure out. I have a hypothesis. It came from a sample size of one, but there's nothing I can do about that." Leaning back, she looked him over for several seconds. "I believe that Auric causes hallucinations by influencing the same portions of the brain that psychoactive drugs do. How? No fucking clue: microwaves, electrical impulses, chemical manipulation, magic? Take your pick." Yeah, he leaned toward magic as the best answer.

"But do you know what happens when you take high doses of a drug for too long? Assuming it doesn't kill you, anyway."

He thought back to those high school orations, and the answer was plain as day. "You gain drug tolerance," he said, feeling his heart beat a little faster.

"Exactly. I can't prove it, but I think that Auric bombarded you with so many hallucinations in such a short span of time that your body figured out some way to compensate, just like it does for regular drugs. You've developed immunity."

Wow. If true, then this was poetic. Given resistance to his enemy's weapon by the enemy himself. How couldn't he love it? "Regardless, I'm sure this makes your job a whole lot easier."

"Hell yeah it does," he replied, feeling positively giddy. This revelation satisfied him immensely.

"You can keep your MRI if you want. A morbid souvenir, but people around here like that kind of thing."

"Thank you so much, Helen," he said as she walked toward the restaurant, ready to start her day. "You really came through for me."

"You're welcome. Good luck next week," she called back. "And have fun with your friend."

Shit, he completely forgot. Friday was the day he visited Foxy now. Well, he didn't have anything else to do; no point in keeping her waiting.

…

As usual, Foxy sprung up the moment she heard Mike knock. He could always let himself in now that his keycard was perpetually registered as belonging to an employee, but he wanted to be polite. She loved that he was so considerate.

Speaking of love, their past few conversations about the subject had gone exceedingly well. They'd gotten a lot off their chests, but there was still much to do. Talking wasn't so awkward anymore, at least. They even began to consider each other boyfriend and girlfriend, though only hesitantly in Mike's case. Still, he'd grown more comfortable with the idea of "them".

"Still invincible, I see," she joked as he entered. "I really thought I'd get you." It seemed like nothing could kill him, and it wasn't for lack of trying. She vaguely recalled being part of several ludicrous schemes over the past few nights: playing dead, crouching to try and avoid the camera, even trying to squeeze through the air vents. Auric grasped at straws, trying anything and everything to murder him.

"Hey, it was hilarious seeing you do all those things!" he replied while taking a seat on stage. "I laughed especially hard when Auric used your hook and claws to try to crawl on the ceiling like Spider-Man." Fuck, she forgot about that. "He only does all those ridiculous things with you to make me angry." He cracked a smile. "It never works."

Before they got sidetracked by other topics, she wanted to ask him a question. She took a deep breath and hoped it wasn't unreasonable. "Mike, I don't really know how to ask this… but would you like to go on a date sometime?"

The look that flashed across his face made her cringe. There had to be a better way to ask. Or maybe I shouldn't have at all.

"A date? As in, um, dinner and a movie?" He didn't sound opposed to the idea, just confused.

"I'm not saying we should go out," she amended. "That might prove dangerous. I mean, we've done it before, but we're being more careful now. Maybe you could bring some games and we could hang out a bit. Without all the serious, life-changing conversation."

He pondered the idea. "I don't know. I mean, the idea of doing something fun together, uh, sounds awesome, but it would be hard to do in this one room. Our first date should be more memorable than that."

"Yeah," she quickly said. "Forget I mentioned it." They were both quiet for several seconds. "So, let's get back to talking about serious stuff."

Mike nodded. "Uh, first, I just wanted to say that this is going well. Way better than I ever thought possible. It still feels wrong to call you my girlfriend..." Indeed, he shuddered as the word left his mouth, "but not as wrong." There were butterflies in her stomach when he talked that way, being so honest with her. "Something I'm concerned about is how we can keep this relationship going." That weighed heavily on her as well. Much as she hated to acknowledge the fact, Mike had aspirations and responsibilities that would take him far away. "In a couple of months, I have to go back to school. After that, I need to get a job. I have no idea how often I'll be able to see you."

"Don't build a career here just for me," she demanded. Her forcefulness seemed to take Mike aback, but she needed to be firm. "If your dream job is in Chicago or London or Tokyo, move there. I want you to be happy and successful, damn it. I don't want to hold you back." Saying something like that a few weeks ago would have made her emotional, yet they'd both improved their composure since then.

"I could always take you with me," he replied halfheartedly. "If we played our cards right, we could be out of the state before they realized it."

"You know that's not possible. BRIAR would find us and kill us eventually."

"Yeah…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "Just… God, I wish I could do more for you, Foxy."

"Mike, you've done more for me than I ever imagined. Don't sweat it." That made him smile a little. "We'll figure something out."

They talked a little more about things of that nature. While they were conversations that needed to happen, she felt frustrated by them. Not because they were uncomfortable, either – she didn't care much about that anymore. Rather, it seemed the two of them were never able to accomplish anything concrete. It was all "we'll figure something out".

What if they never did? What if the forces pressing down on them were too much? What if it all just came crashing down?

She hated not knowing the answers.

9:12 AM

Mike went down to get the mail. It might clear his head. He possessed an entire day to do whatever he wanted, but he felt conflicted. A specific sentence Foxy said kept repeating in his mind. It wasn't anything with moral implications or a serious dilemma.

She wanted to go on a date.

While he hadn't ever considered the possibility, it seemed more appealing as he thought about it. Normal couples went on them; why couldn't they? Well, he knew why, but that wasn't about to stop him. His job was battling a demon with a computer. He deserved to take his girlfriend out, damn it, and vice-versa. Girlfriend... The word started to grow on him. Over the past few weeks, he'd come around more and more to the idea of them being a genuine couple. While the idea that this was sinful hadn't completely left his mind, it felt tempered. Spending more time with Foxy confirmed his beliefs - she was an intelligent, funny, caring woman with too many other positive traits to name.

This wouldn't work out in the long run, he realized, but why not stay with her for the rest of the summer? They both needed it.

Opening the mailbox, he grabbed the one letter present and made his way back up, appreciating the sun's warmth and crunching gravel.

What could he possibly do, though? He didn't want their first date to be them playing board games in Pirate Cove. That sounded lame. People didn't do that kind of thing. Do they? Honestly, Mike didn't know. He'd never had a girlfriend before, nor had he been on a date. Maybe Monopoly in the dark was considered super romantic. In any case, they'd have to talk about it more. Insight from this could help if he ever decided to get together with a "normal" woman, so he wanted things to go well. Hopefully Foxy understood.

Going inside, he threw the letter down on the kitchen table and grabbed a pair of scissors. He sliced the top open and pulled out a postcard. It was from his parents, as he suspected. They stood on a palm tree-lined beach wearing gaudy tourist outfits and smiling like mad.

Greetings from Key West. Love you, his father had scribbled with a marker. How the fuck did they end up on the exact opposite side of the country?! "Visiting college friends," they claimed. Uh huh. None of the cards they sent featured anybody else. They could have at least taken him – would have prevented the summer's crazy mess from ever happening. Of course, that would mean he never met Foxy. Never mind, he liked this more.

He sighed. He knew his parents loved him, but they were odd people. His father was an actuary and his mother worked as a hazardous waste chemist. They met when his mother was driving from Kansas to see the 1976 Olympics in Montreal. His father was a hitchhiker she picked up in St. Louis who was originally headed for New York City. They fell in love on the way and married as soon as they were both able.

Ridiculous as the story was (he was certain they made most of it up), it was charming and even beautiful. He wanted things to be like that for him and Foxy, even though their relationship was doomed. He wanted everything to come easily. Unfortunately, it wasn't meant to be. But maybe that was for the best. Perhaps he was wrong, but it seemed like his parents didn't love each other so much as they coexisted. They'd always been content, but he'd never seen them be more than that.

All this thinking about his parents made him consider Sylvia. He hadn't heard from her in a while. Frankly, he thought her summer plans were a mistake; squatting in some California tourist trap with acquaintances sounded miserable to him. I'll call her eventually. She might be having a good time.

Now that everything else was out of the way, he thought again about going on a real date, one that involved going places. Why the Hell not? They'd been careful recently, considering they met far less often. Nobody besides Helen had figured out their little secret and the summer was about half over. Foxy deserved far more than a single night out, but that was a good starting point.

Thinking about it more, he began to feel euphoric. There was so much he wanted to do and share with Foxy. Disregarding the fact she might not even agree, he scrambled for a pencil and began to write down whatever ideas popped into his head: food, art, ping pong, hiking, anything at all they could feasibly do together. His hand trembled as held the list to his face. If Foxy still didn't like the idea of going out, he'd take her suggestion and bring a few things over to her Cove. However, if even he was onboard with the idea, she more than likely would be as well.

I'll go later. For now, though, I'm tired. He followed up on that idea, heading to his room for a bit of sleep.

5:18 PM

"Mike? What are you doing here?" Foxy wasn't upset, though; this was a pleasant surprise.

Closing the door behind him, he replied, "I thought for a while on what you said. About a date, I mean." They both sat with their backs against a wall. As usual, Foxy had a difficult time getting her tail in a comfortable position.

"I told you to forget it." Truthfully, she barely knew what dates were. They were one of many foreign concepts gleaned from years upon years of eavesdropping. While it might have been fun to go on one, she completely understood and respected his hesitation. "It was just a silly suggestion."

Mike frowned. "I don't think it was silly at all. In fact, I dismissed the idea immediately, which I shouldn't have."

"Well, if you really feel that way, then I'm interested."

"Perfect!" To her shock, he pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket with about fifty things written on it. Noticing her surprise, he said, "I was hesitant earlier, and I still am, but the two of us deserve to do something special together."

"You're right, but…" She gestured toward the paper. "Don't you think this is a little excessive?"

"I'm not saying we have to do all these things. Uh, these are just some ideas I came up with." He shrugged. "We can do as many or as few as you want." There it was again. Out of all the reasons she loved Mike, his respectful attitude was at the very top of the list. A soft heat pooled in her chest. Whatever they did, she'd be happy as long as it was with him.

She glanced at the list again. The possibilities were overwhelming. How could they decide? Perhaps they shouldn't. As careful as they had been, Foxy, like all pirates, was better at thinking on her feet. They needed to be a little reckless, she decided. Not stupid, but bold. After all, the idea of them going on a date was dangerous in and of itself.

"You know how we have to keep saying 'we'll figure something out' because we have no idea how to solve a problem?"

Mike sighed. "It's annoying. We just don't have the answers." Now he understood.

"Exactly." She paused, making sure he was ready for her idea. "How about we don't figure anything out this time. Let's go with the flow on our date, not worry so much about a plan.

Mike thought long and hard about this. Her boyfriend was naturally meticulous – the exact opposite of her. While that was a great quality, she believed they'd have more fun being spontaneous. Finally, he nodded. "All right. If you want this to be an adventure, it'll be an adventure." Cracking a smile, he added, "Unfortunately, I lost my pirate ship, so I'm afraid we can't raid Puget Sound."

"Too bad," she replied. "But I think we can still have fun."

"I'm sure we will."

Saturday, July 1, 3:58 PM

Mike's excitement was tempered only by bothersome apprehension. He tried to make sure everything would go smoothly, but he couldn't predict every scenario they might face. For example, what would occur if a police officer pulled him over? He shuddered thinking about the consequences for Foxy. Still, he promised her that he'd try to relax and have a good time instead of worrying himself to death. There was plenty of that to come. This one night was going to be special.

Looking up at the sky, he reminded himself that night hadn't fallen yet; it was still the afternoon. Time wasn't much of a concern, either – his current life revolved around an immutable six-hour block. His job was the last thing he wanted to be reminded of.

He grabbed some clothing and a few buckets of paint from the trunk and looked around for people before waddling over to the door. Heavier than I expected. Wanting to get inside as soon as possible, he eschewed putting anything down, instead slamming his head into the metal a few times. "Ow," he muttered. Foxy quickly opened the door, looking curiously at what he held.

"Let me help you with that." Both ended up carrying about the same amount. Foxy was stronger than him, but she only had one hand to lift with. They dropped everything in the room's center next to the wrecked pirate ship. "This is for our date, I assume."

"Correct." Foxy's eyes widened as he pulled the painting supplies out from beneath the clothes. This would be a good way to loosen up. "You mentioned that you wanted to paint one of the walls. These were taking up space in my basement."

"Yes! I didn't even think about doing that, but it's perfect! Thank you." One of the many reasons he loved Foxy was her enthusiasm. With her, anything besides her ordinary, painful life was an adventure. Making her happy warmed his heart.

As Mike cracked open the paint cans, Foxy crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at the section of exposed drywall. "The mind of an artist at work," he muttered under his breath.

"You realize I can hear you, right?" Shit, her super-hearing got him again.

"No, I don't think you can," he teased. Ignoring him, Foxy dipped a brush into the blue paint and slowly created a layer in the wall's center. He went over and asked, "What have you decided to make?"

"Something dismal and ominous," she replied without taking her eye off the brush.

"Really?" Mike responded, a little confused. "I figured you'd go for something, well, happy."

"I've felt better than ever these last few weeks, but I want to let more of those negative feelings out." That made sense. What better way to expel pessimism than by a little creative exercise? Turning to him, she picked up another brush and forced it into his hand. "Besides, I can always paint over it if I want to. Now help me with the picture!"

"Foxy, I'm nowhere near as good an – "

"I don't care," she interrupted, smirking. "We're on a date, so we'll both do it. I'm not letting you lurk in a corner." Yeah, he probably should have seen this coming. With a sigh, he took the instrument, resolving to put his Kindergarten-level art skills to good use.

Mike quickly got into a rhythm of paint, dip and repeat. They chatted, enjoying themselves even with children being rambunctious outside. Everybody had fun ignoring their problems. Even the kids must have had troubles they wanted to escape.

"So, how did you get interested in art, anyway?" he asked while flicking a dribble of dye back into the can.

"There used to be a lot of crayons and paper in here. With nothing else to do, I got pretty good at drawing." Pausing mid-stroke, she said, "I hope that translates to painting."

The answer pleasantly surprised him. "Huh. I always assumed it was a talent you were 'born' with." It was more impressive this way.

"Nope. This is all dedicated trial-and-error." With a flourish, she added a little stream of bubbles rising from the depths. "You could be just as good if you practiced."

"I doubt it," he replied. "I'll stick to what I already do well, like… um…" He'd never possessed any particular talents. While that always stung, he became aware there was one thing he could do better than anyone else in the world. "Like my job." The words tasted sour in his mouth. It felt humiliating that his most prominent skill was playing a game he wanted no part in.

Foxy turned to him. "You might not realize it, but you have a ton of traits and talents I'd rather have than art skills."

"Like what?" Mike asked. He wasn't looking for flattery; whatever qualities she spoke of honestly escaped him.

"Calming people down," she said without hesitation. "You've made peace with me, Freddy, Helen, kind of Jeremy, etc. Nobody else could have done that. It took determination and charm." Huh. Mike had never thought of himself as charismatic, yet perhaps Foxy was correct. "There's also your humor, your tolerance – "

"Fine, I get it," Mike interrupted. "But you have things I envy, too." Now it was Foxy's turn to be disbelieving. Painting a squiggly line that was supposed to be a current, he continued, "You're courageous, for example. Far braver than me. You fought Auric to save me. I owe you my life." Foxy blushed.

"Guess I can't argue with that."

"Not to mention your other great qualities like kindness and intelligence and…" He trailed off as Foxy playfully ran her hook across her throat.

Eventually, they finished putting down the blue layer, which covered almost the entire wall. That was the easy part, and Foxy still did a much better job than him; her half's paint flowed evenly, while his featured several unsightly blotches. Only then did he realize they might have made a mistake.

"Uh, shouldn't we have only painted the bottom part of the wall? That'll be the ocean and then we put other things in the top half, like the sun or clouds?" He felt rather foolish for not noticing earlier. Then again, neither had Foxy.

"No, it's right. It's supposed to be like you're underwater, drowning." Well, that was rather morbid. "While the paint's wet, I'll put a sunken ship in the center. You can add seaweed or dark trenches or whatever else fits the mood." He saw the finished painting in his mind's eye: grim, mysterious, ominous. Unfortunately, he didn't have the skills to make the concept a reality.

"I'll try not to ruin it," he said, only partially joking.

"The only way you'll ruin it is if you don't try," Foxy said slyly.

"That's kind of profound," Mike responded while glancing at his watch – 5:12. It took an hour to do that one coat?! Art is time-consuming. Still, he was having a blast with this.

"Thanks. I got it from a fortune cookie someone once accidentally gave me with my dinner." Foxy leaned over his shoulder, her soft, warm fur brushing against his neck. "What if we start working on the next layer and move to something else?"

"Sounds good," he whispered into her ear.

…

All in all, Foxy was pleased with how things progressed. Not just with the painting, either, though it certainly held promise. Even Mike's unsophisticated details were charming. She especially liked the smiley faces he added to the fish when he thought she wasn't looking. If the entire evening was this pleasant, it would be the best day of her life. There was no other way she'd rather spend it.

The sunken ship was nearly finished; it might have taken longer, but the one she looked at every day provided plenty of reference. All she needed to add was a tattered pirate flag on the main mast. Dunking a smaller brush into the black paint, she pressed it against the wall.

A particularly loud shout from one of the children made her flinch and yank the tool completely the wrong way, creating a dark streak that ran from mast to seafloor. "Blast," she muttered, "I botched paintin' the Jolly Roger. Looks like me hand went squiffy."

"Oh, you're talking pirate again?" Mike teased as he added a green squiggly line that might have been kelp.

"Aye! It's me native tongue. T'always be nice ta' abandon landlubber speech, if only for a smidge o' time." Though she'd grown accustomed to regular English (it no longer seemed the dead, boring language it once did), the vocabulary of Davy Jones would always be her heritage.

"Well, in that case, um… I mean, arr… I will try ta' speak it, too," he said with all the grace of a dying fish. Oh, this would be fun. Mike taught her a lot, but this was her domain.

"Blow me down! Ye've found yerself a real seadog – no pun intended – me hearty! Cap'n Foxy'll teach ye the ins and outs o' her dialect." Mike began to snicker. She wasn't offended that he thought her vocabulary over-the-top; unlike those guards who used to mock her, he had no malicious intentions. "If ye think this be a joke, I'll keelhaul ye. First lesson: never say 'I will'. True corsairs use contractions wherever possible. Helps ta' save time. Savvy?"

"Aye," Mike responded, the corners of his mouth still fluttering a little.

"See, yer already gettin' the hang o' it." Well, it wasn't a very difficult "language" to learn.

Mike continued adding new details. For someone with questionable artistic ability, she appreciated that he'd at least gotten involved. The same couldn't be said for her at the moment. The black line ruined the entire aesthetic. If she painted over it, she'd have to redo a good chunk of what was already finished, which would be a pain.

Noticing her displeasure, Mike stopped and said in regular English, "I don't know much about art, but I have one piece of advice: there's no such thing as mistakes, only happy accidents."

A philosophical viewpoint. Perhaps he was correct. "And you thought my fortune cookie guidance was profound! That's much better advice."

"I didn't come up with it." Huh. Seemed they were both bullshitting. "Bob Ross did."

"Who?"

"Some aging hippie painter who was on TV when I was a kid." Regardless of the source, it was good judgement.

Approaching again with a critical eye, she looked for solutions. What can I turn that line into? Hmm. It looked like a plume of smoke erupting from the seafloor. Wait, that's perfect! Inspired, she painted a small mound for the line to flow out of. Boom! Her mistake had suddenly become a hydrothermal vent.

Taking a step back, she was impressed by all they had done in just a couple of hours, even without a ladder to finish the higher areas. A lot of work still needed to be done, but it was a great start. Mike, too, seemed appreciative of work he'd put it. In fact, she just realized he was sweating.

Turning to her with a smirk, he said, "I can tell who painted what." Her art was more… professional, yes. Actually, his was pretty bad, but that didn't take away from how much she loved it.

"You'll get better," she responded, stretching her arms. This wasn't exactly hard work, yet they moved constantly. "But I think we're done for now. What time is it?"

Mike checked his watch. "About six."

That meant dinner should be here. Walking over to the thick purple curtains, she saw someone slipped under a meal. Same as always – undercooked food drowning in spices and sauce to try and mask the bland flavor. "Did you bring anything?"

"Unfortunately no," Mike said with a shrug. "And I'm hungry."

She looked at him for a moment. From his deliberating expression, she knew he wondered the same thing she did. "Would you like to, um, go out? Like, to a restaurant. Another restaurant, I mean." The waver in his voice meant he was nervous; he had a right to be.

"I'd love to, but, well, I'm pretty sure the anthropomorphic vixen walking around would be fucking conspicuous." She snickered imagining a waiter taking orders from her. "You said people would think I'm a human in a costume instead of a living animatronic, but that'd still be really weird."

"That's why you need a disguise." He walked over to the pile of clothing he'd brought in with the paint. It slipped her mind in the midst of more interesting activities.

She saw where this was going, feeling both skeptical and amused by it. "Do you really think me walking around in a trenchcoat and fedora will make me any less suspicious?"

"No," he replied, separating the pile into individual articles of clothing, "but at least they won't see a two-legged fox woman with a hook where her right hand should be." That was a good point; she'd still be weird, but this would be a less weird kind of weird. "Try these on."

"You realize I'll have to take my clothes off for that, right?" Instantly, Mike's expression melted into embarrassment.

"I, uh, forgot," he stammered, his face as red as her own. "I'll go into your alcove while you change." Without another word, he hustled back to where her bed was.

Yeah. They may have considered themselves boyfriend and girlfriend, but Mike still hadn't brought up the topic of sex. It would come up eventually – it had to. She couldn't blame him for being apprehensive about having sex with someone who wasn't human, especially considering his hang-ups about simple romance. Besides, she wasn't sure how she felt about it herself. If they ever decided to do it, there would be a lot of conversation beforehand.

Sighing, she stripped off her pants and shirt. The feeling of air against her exposed fur was strange. Unlike her friends, who paraded around pretty much naked, Foxy had an outfit – an outfit. She'd worn the same set of clothing for more than a decade, so it'd practically become a second skin.

"Uh, I – I wasn't sure if you wanted a bra or panties," Mike called from behind the stage curtain. His voice conveyed complete mortification. "So… I brought some of my sister's."

Oh. She saw why this was awkward.

Trying not to think about that, she put on the unfamiliar clothes as well as she could with one hand, which worked pretty well, but the bra was difficult. It felt kind of felt strange, and not just because it was Sylvia's. She was more accustomed to corsets. While most of the clothing fit well enough for a single night, her tail proved a problem. It wriggled uncomfortably in the left leg of her trousers. Nothing they could do about that, though. Her feet also felt strange; she'd never worn shoes before, but now they were covered by boots that barely fit.

"You can come out now." Having calmed down, Mike returned and looked her over. Is this good enough camouflage? "How do I look?"

"Fine, for the most part, although it'll still draw a lot of attention." She agreed, unfortunately. "Your fur and ears and tail are covered. The only problem is your muzzle." That was what she feared. Even if she kept the rest of her body entirely obscured, the six-inch canine snout sticking out from beneath her hat would be a damn good indicator that something was wrong. "Luckily, I thought ahead."

He pointed to an object on the floor she hadn't put on at first because it didn't really look like clothing. "It's an oxygen mask I bought for three bucks."

"Ah." After picking the mask up, she pulled the band behind her head and put it on. It just barely covered her muzzle. The scent of sterile plastic battered her sensitive nose. "Can you even recognize me?" she joked.

"You look like someone straight out of an urban legend." Hah! She'd heard enough kids try to scare each other over the years to know at least a dozen of them by heart. That included her favorite – the Hook. Without a word, she raised her right arm and revealed the shiny prosthetic.

Mike doubled over with suppressed laughter, a few tears sliding down his face. They'd gotten quite good at making each other laugh. Eventually, he regained his composure. "That's another thing I love about you – your sense of humor."

"You're pretty funny yourself," she replied.

Over the next few minutes, the two of them cleaned up her room so it wouldn't look suspicious. For example, they hid the paint cans in the pirate ship's ruins. Then it was time to go. Foxy felt a mixture of anticipation and fear; she'd left with Mike before, but their destination was never in public. This brought a whole new set of challenges. It'll be an adventure, she told herself. Hopefully a good one.

After cracking the door open to check for passersby, she and Mike walked to his car as inconspicuously as a normal college student and a figure in a trenchcoat, fedora and oxygen mask could.

6:38 PM

Night had finally fallen, the last rays of sun gone over the horizon. They'd just crossed into Issaquah, a town about fifteen miles from Seattle. The lights of that great city, however, lit up the cloudy sky in the distance.

Mike would have been impressed by the sight, but he and Foxy were too busy singing along to Nirvana's Come as You Are as it blasted over his radio. Thank God Jeremy fixed it. This was fucking great. He was famished, but the excitement he got out of sharing his favorite band with his girlfriend made up for it.

Flipping off the radio, he asked, "What did you think?"

"It was… loud. My ears are ringing a little." She looked at him, confused. "I assumed you'd be into quieter stuff. After all, you're a pretty placid guy." A fair point.

"Grunge is wish fulfillment for me, I guess. It's bold, spirited and a little exasperating. It's everything I'm not but wish I could be." Against his better judgement, he added, "Kind of like you."

"Hah! I'm no musician – I'll leave that to Freddy, Bonnie and Chica." Mike suddenly imagined the Band playing a power ballad on their terrible instruments, decked out in ostentatious costumes. "But how'd you get into it?"

Before Mike could answer, he spotted the perfect place to eat: a diner tucked between two gas stations. It was crowded, but he was famished. Besides, they could get a booth for more privacy. "How about going there?" he asked, pointing to the building.

"Looks good to me," Foxy responded with a shrug.

Mike got off at the next exit and doubled back, a pit beginning to grow in his stomach. Things were going great, but the idea of people seeing Foxy, even dressed as she was, made him shiver. Especially someone with BRIAR. Mike didn't know how many of their agents were connected with Fazbear's: dozens, at least. Maybe hundreds. If any of them saw him with a suspicious figure who wouldn't show her face… they may have been ignorant, but they could put two and two together. That's why they decided to drive all the way out here – he figured the chance of bumping into one of his "coworkers" was lower.

As they approached, he saw the lot had been completely filled. No matter. The adjacent street had plenty of room. Parking the car, he took a deep breath and looked at Foxy. With the oxygen mask on, he saw only her eye, slightly luminous in the dark vehicle. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," she said with a slight waver in her voice. At least he wasn't the only one worried. "I just can't stop thinking about when you took me to Jeremy to get my jaw fixed."

"Why?"

She turned to him, her eye drawn in concern. "If the people in there knew the truth, do you think they'd hate me?"

On instinct, Mike almost said "no". Then he thought about it. Humans had always hated each other based on differences like skin color, religion, sexuality. If society at large ever discovered the world was shared by sentient beings who weren't even human… As much as he wanted to lie, he couldn't. He respected her too much.

"Yes. I think some would." She bowed her head, seeming disappointed yet not surprised. "Not everybody," he elaborated, "but a substantial amount. Other people would want to learn more about you." Didn't seem to cheer her up much.

"I get lonely sometimes," she whispered. "Don't get me wrong; I love you. But I wish more people knew about me. I don't want to be forgotten." The car was quiet for a while. His stomach rumbled, but it didn't seem like the right time to go in. At last, she asked, "Am I ungrateful?"

"No. I used to feel the same way. Still do, in fact. It's normal." He couldn't remember if they talked about this before, but it seemed all the more important given what they were about to do. "In middle school, high school and even in college, I never really had friends. Just acquaintances. People I talked to in class, even hung out with, but didn't really understand." It took a moment to discern the best way to explain his feelings. "People knowing about you won't make you less lonely. I speak from experience. That isn't a happy thought, but there's a lot of people in the same boat. The walls that separate you from others are just thicker than most."

She considered his words for a second. "Maybe I'm more human than I thought."

"You are," Mike said without hesitation. "Trust me."

"How are you so wise?" she asked.

"I'm not. Just introspective." With that, the moment of truth had arrived. The pit in his stomach evolved into a more general feeling of nausea; he wasn't so hungry anymore. They got out of the car, closed the doors and went inside.

All eyes flew to them – mostly to Foxy – as they entered. In a moment of whimsy, he thought it like something out of a movie, with everyone carefully studying the mysterious stranger. Foxy didn't dare to blink; what would happen if she did?

Wordlessly, they gazed at the only empty seats: a two-person booth in the back. It was the perfect place for them to sit, but it waited a thousand miles away. The problem was that they needed to pass everyone. He stole a glance at Foxy, who subtly nodded.

The journey seemed to take hours, though Mike knew it couldn't have been more than twenty seconds. That didn't stop him from sweating bullets all the way, trying (and mostly failing) to avoid eye contact with the other patrons. At last, they made it and slumped down across from each other, slightly relieved. By this point, most people diverted attention back to their food.

"Nobody's calling the police yet," Foxy said from behind her mask, only half joking.

"Let's hope it stays that way." Though he worried initially about that, he didn't think she looked particularly threatening, especially when she was with a normal-looking guy. In the meantime, he leafed through a menu, looking for something appetizing.

As expected, the place featured typical diner fare – burgers, fried chicken, all-day breakfast, the works. It was a long time since he'd visited a place like this. "What do diners usually have?" Foxy browsed her own menu, though she seemed a little confused. That made sense, considering she'd lived her whole life eating pizza and linguini.

"American food. It's greasy and fried and we're, um, damn proud of it."

Foxy snorted. Perhaps he oversold it a little. "Sounds like something Phil would say about Italian cuisine."

"Two differences. One: American food uses slightly less cheese. Two: Phil's food isn't Italian because it sucks, and Italian food is supposed to be delicious." A waitress, a tired-looking older woman, came to their table.

"What can I get you tonight," she asked, her eyes glued to Foxy.

"I'd like the fish and chips, please. And a chocolate malt." The woman wrote it down but didn't look at him.

"Uh, I'll have those, too, I guess." Foxy didn't dare to meet her gaze.

"Good choices," Mike said as the waitress walked away.

"I'm not entirely sure what either of those are, it was just the quickest way to get her to leave." Foxy shuddered. "Now that I'm here, talking to people is intimidating."

"You're doing great," Mike reassured her. "Besides, I think you'll love fish and chips. Pirates like fish, right? I imagine you eat a lot of them."

"Yeah, that's one of our staple foods, along with moldy biscuits." Then she paused and cocked her head slightly. "But what the fuck is a 'malt'?"

"It's like a milkshake, but with, um…" Damn, he could never remember the actual difference. Was it that they added some grain? Bah. "It's like a milkshake, but it tastes better."

"I see."

After that, they sort of tapered off into silence.

…

Foxy watched the people. Most were happy, or at least content, chattering, smiling, eating, all that good stuff. It blew her mind. Sure, she was around a similar environment daily, but she was never part of it. For a brief moment in time, though, she was a legitimate member of society.

She was human.

How did Mike handle the pressure? There were several dozen people in this restaurant. One might speak to him at any moment! For that matter, one might speak to her. The thought terrified her. Her enhanced senses didn't help matters; she was pummeled by a dozen conversations and twice as many scents.

While it didn't start off too bad, the pressure grew and grew. She tried to keep calm, but a million concerns and unfamiliar sensations raced through her. Was the disguise working? What if someone noticed? What would happen to Mike and her? The clothes suddenly felt suffocating; she couldn't even move her tail, which still restlessly twitched as she sat on it. The mask made breathing difficult. It took a great deal of self-control not to rip them all off.

"Are you OK?" Though Mike sat right across the table, he sounded miles distant. She leaned back and started hyperventilating; both her body and situation were alien to her. Closing her eye, memories of all the abuse she'd ever owed to humans came flooding back. Suddenly, she didn't want to be one anymore.

"Foxy, I'm here. Snap out of it." Her vision returned; Mike squatted in front of her, hands on her shoulders. His face was drawn in concern. Fortunately, it seemed nobody else had noticed her behavior. "Maybe we should go."

"No," she insisted. "I'm sorry. This is overwhelming, but I'll be OK. I promise." After a moment of hesitation, he nodded and returned to his seat. Still, he looked troubled.

"This was a bad idea, though," he muttered. "I should have suggested somewhere not so crowded."

"You couldn't have known that," she said, mostly recovered by now. "We're learning together. Besides, the dinner rush is nearly over. It'll probably start to get emptier soon."

And it did. The diner was quieter within minutes as people left for the night. That helped a lot. It no longer felt like her head was being pounded by a jackhammer. Then their identical food arrived. The fact that it was fried grease lumps didn't make for a particularly appetizing sight, but it still looked better than what she usually got.

However, the smell was divine. Fish and oil… she needed to try some. Her hand reached for a fork while her hook carefully cut off a chunk. "Clever," Mike commented. "How do you cope with only having one hand, if you don't, um, mind me asking?"

"Unlike my broken jaw or missing eye, I was 'born' with my hook. But, I admit, it can be frustrating sometimes." She thought back to putting on these clothes – would have been far easier with two hands. "Still, I wouldn't trade it for anything. It's part of who I am."

Before eating, Mike did something that confused her. He bowed his head and muttered for a few seconds. It took her a moment to recognize it as a prayer.

"How can you still believe in God?" she asked, trying her best to not sound rude about it. This was a personal topic, she knew. "Don't I, the cybernetic anthropomorphic fox, kind of throw a wrench into any religion?"

"Frankly, I'm not sure I do anymore," he replied, grabbing his silverware. "But I want to. I really, really want to. After seeing Auric, especially. I don't think he's a demon in a traditional sense, but he's a fucking evil supernatural thing. If he exists, maybe God does, too. Might not be the Biblical, Abrahamic God. At this point, though, I'll accept help from anyone who wants to give it."

Huh. She never thought about it like that before. It didn't change her own atheism, but it did bring a question to mind. "If God does exist… do you think he cares about me? Being created by Auric and all."

Mike thought about it for a moment. She didn't mean to put him in a theological bind. "I don't know. Even though Auric made you, you're clearly not evil. None of you are." After a bit of hesitation, he continued, "If I had to guess… I think he does. More than most of the people in here, anyway."

Considering that for a moment, her stomach growled. There would be better times to talk about this kind of thing.

She pulled the mask off and placed it on the table while turning toward the wall. If she didn't, someone might notice her snout. The scent of fried fish wafted into her nostrils now, demanding to be eaten. Who was she to deny that? In a moment, the bit on her fork was gone. In another, she eagerly sliced off a huge chunk, devouring the entire thing in less than a minute.

Perhaps she should have checked to see if people stared, but her caution had been supplanted by the ecstasy of the most sublime food she'd ever eaten.

Like what she usually consumed, it was loaded with fat and grease, but it actually tasted good. Scratch that, it was amazing! The fish was gone; the fries were equally fantastic. Before she knew it, both disappeared, leaving only an oily plate and a few crumbs.

"You liked it?" Mike asked, grinning.

"I loved it. If only I got such good food all the time…" Visions of different delicacies floated through her wistful mind. How exciting that would be!

They were silent a little longer as Mike finished up his food. The malts were right next to her, but she thought it best if they drank them simultaneously. The crowd began to thin out even more. It was at about quarter-capacity at 7:30 when her boyfriend finished up his meal and said, "Let's have dessert."

And this was even better. The taste of chocolate and cream nearly knocked her out; she would have eaten the cup if it wasn't glass.

"Uh, wow." Mike actually sounded a bit concerned, probably having never seen anyone so ravenous. "Do you want the rest of – " She accepted his offer before he finished speaking.

"I'm sorry." The first waves of drowsiness began to lap upon her consciousness. "I've just never enjoyed food so much."

"It's all right. I get it. What you normally eat sucks."

"Yep." Fumbling with her mask a moment, she slipped it back on. Then another feeling replaced her euphoria. She really had to pee. "I'm using the bathroom," she said, standing up.

"Don't worry," Mike joked, "I won't leave without you."

…

Mike leaned back, euphoric at how the night was going. It had been lovely so far; the first thing they did as a couple, and it could scarcely have been better. Sure, there were a few issues, such as Foxy's panic attack, but it quickly passed.

The bill should be here soon, he thought, closing his eyes. After they got it… well, they'd have to decide what to do next. He liked the idea of a movie – after all, Foxy had never seen one before. It was such an easy, relaxing idea, too. Calm, like he was then. Then that calm was shattered by a nearby voice.

"Mr. Schmidt?"

Oh shit. His eyes flew open; his heart was in his mouth.

Phil stood a few feet away. Same slick haircut, same manicured nails, same stupid purple suit. This would have been bad enough if he was by himself, but with Foxy… they needed to leave as soon as possible. And that meant making him go away.

"W-what are you d-doing here?!" Though he tried to remain casual, his stutter came out in full force.

His boss shrugged, having seemingly forgotten about their last encounter. His demeanor held no hostility. "Sometimes I need to get away from everything. This diner is one of my favorite places for that." Yeah, he saw why; it was small, out-of-the-way and nothing like any restaurant in Whitewater.

"S-same!" Mike replied, hoping that would be enough to make him go away.

"You're with someone," he commented, pointing at the plate and glass across from him.

"My girlfriend." Leave! Leave! he internally screamed.

At that moment, Foxy came out. Frozen, she stared at the two of them, a deer in the headlights. Fox in the headlights, actually. God, he hated his puns at times like this.

Phil frowned, but he didn't seem to realize who she was. "Is this her?"

His stomach not only dropped, it punched a hole through him and fell to the floor. "Yes."

Cautiously, she walked over to them. "What's going on, Mike?" she asked as casually as she could, given the situation. Far calmer than he acted, that was for sure. Fortunately, the oxygen mask slightly distorted her voice, so that was no longer a dead giveaway. She also slouched to hide her true height – six-foot tall women were rare. Honestly, she was quite a good actor.

"T-this is my boss, Mr. Fazbear." All he wanted to do was have a heart attack and die. It'd be quicker than whatever his manager cooked up.

"Call me Phil," he said, extending a hand like the professional he was. Heh. If he weren't so damn evil, he'd be a charismatic guy. Of course, Foxy couldn't return the greeting; one of her hands was more of a paw, while the other didn't exist.

Suddenly, an expression of recognition flashed across his face. That was it, then. They were dead. "Your name's June, right? The two of you ate at my restaurant a few weeks ago." He frowned. "I see why you don't want to shake hands."

Mike ignored the urge to say that he and June weren't dating; the opportunity was too good to pass up. Foxy apparently agreed, because she said, "That's right! After my dad got arrested in the parking lot, we, um, decided to try again."

"It was nothing personal," Phil replied, sitting down in an adjacent booth. "You understand I needed to protect my property and that of others. I hold no ill will toward him." Again, he glanced at Foxy's cloaked body with a leery eye. When he spoke, his voice held a profound sadness. "You're a lucky woman. Mr. Schmidt is a fine young man."

As much as Mike wanted to tell Phil to shut up and go away, there was something satisfying in Foxy hearing such praise. "Really?" she asked.

"Yes. He's conscientious, thorough. His work ethic is, frankly, astonishing." OK, now this was a little embarrassing. Fortunately, their waitress approached with the bill. Not even reading it, Mike slapped forty dollars onto the table and walked toward the door, Foxy close behind. "See you on Monday! Enjoy your weekend!" As soon as the warm night wind brushed his skin, he broke into a sprint, not stopping until he'd cleared the parking lot.

"That was too close," he said. "So much for my bright idea to leave town."

"It worked out, though," Foxy responded, still sounding unnerved. "Besides, I made him compliment you, ya 'fine young man'."

Mike chuckled. "Yeah, I guess that's a good trade-off." They walked the rest of the way to his car in silence with him beginning to daydream.

"Uh, Mike?"

"Yeah?"

"Where's your car?" The words snapped him out of his haze. Sure enough, it was gone. At first, he thought they must have been mistaken. Glancing around the street, though, his vehicle was nowhere to be found. In fact, there were none.

"Fuck!" he shouted. "Somebody stole my car!" After a minute of cursing, he fell back on the curb and sighed. Any other night. This could have happened any other night, and it would be an inconvenience, not dangerous.

"So… what do we do now?" Good question. He'd never had his car stolen, so he didn't exactly know what standard procedure was. Reaching for his cell phone, he hesitated. Perhaps the restaurant employees would know if this was a common occurrence in this neighborhood.

"I'm going to ask that waitress," he muttered, beginning to slink back across the road. "Maybe she'll know better than I do." The shock wore off; now Mike fumed, mostly at himself. Hunting for his car would make a poor end to his date with Foxy.

Apparently sensing his thoughts, she said, "You know that I don't care what happens the rest of the night. Being with you is what counts."

"I know." It still pissed him off.

By the time they got back, only a few tables were occupied, a far cry from the bustling atmosphere of a couple hours prior. A subdued aura hung over the customers. Unfortunately, Phil was still there, though with his back to them. Good. Maybe he won't notice us.

"Um, excuse me," he said to their former server, who stood behind the counter making coffee. "I think someone stole my car. Is that a common thing around here?"

"Did you park on the frontage road?" she asked, again more interested the woman standing beside him. Foxy twitched nervously.

"Yeah, I did."

"That's a tow-away zone, honey. You should have looked at the signs." How could he have missed those? This really was his fault. He sighed.

"OK. Do you know where it's, uh, been towed to? And if I can get it back tonight?" Mad as he was, he might as well focus on fixing the problem. That was a good lesson he learned from his job: be proactive.

The woman gave him directions to the impoundment lot and told him it closed at 8:30 – half-an-hour from then. Great. The place was ten miles distant. There was no way they could make it in time. Fuck me.

"Sorry, Foxy, but I think we'll have to take a cab back to my house." He couldn't help sounding utterly defeated. "I should have been more careful."

"How are you going to get your car back?" Yeah, he had to think about that.

"I don't know. Maybe I can bum a ride from June. Hell, she's in auto maintenance; she might be able to help me with the process." It wasn't like he really needed his car, but he hated the idea of dragging Foxy around all night looking for a way to get home.

Just then, Phil came over, having paid his bill. "Did you say you needed a ride, Mr. Schmidt?"

He and Foxy stared at each other. While he couldn't see her face, her body language seemed… well, not hostile to the idea. It would save a lot of time and money. All they had to do was not let the secret slip for a few minutes. That's all they needed to do.

Taking a deep breath, Mike said, "Yes. We do."

8:16 PM

Foxy didn't know much about cars, but Phil's seemed very nice: posh, leather upholstery, reclining seats, a sunroof. If only it hadn't been paid for in blood.

Now that the three of them were together, everything seemed much more intimidating. She sat mere feet away from the man who ruined her life. The question was whether to kill him or run away or sit there in silence for just a few minutes. She chose the latter.

Fortunately, Phil didn't say much to her or Mike, who both sat in the back. The only sound was the softly-rumbling engine. That kept her from having another panic attack; she could close her eye and pretend that the engine was actually waves slowly lapping on a beach. Even so, every part of her body ached; the clothes again felt like a prison, and her fur made the environment stifling. Her tail had finally gone numb from her sitting on it so long, now hanging limp.

"Ms. Fitzgerald? May I ask a question?" It wasn't until Mike nudged her that she realized who he addressed.

"What?" Already her heart began to race. Why? Why couldn't this wait a few more minutes? Why couldn't she think?!

"Why are you wearing an oxygen mask? When I saw you a few weeks ago, you looked perfectly healthy."

Before she could choke out some half-baked response, Mike said, "She was in an accident, working on a faulty car. She got burned pretty bad and inhaled a lot of smoke." That was some professional bullshitting. Her rapid breathing slowed a hair. "But it's none of your business."

Mercifully, there were no more questions. They arrived at the impoundment center a few minutes before it closed; enough time, hopefully, to get everything processed that night. Phil parked at the curb.

"One more thing, Ms. Fitzgerald," he said, turning to her. She didn't dare meet his gaze; one glance at her eye would reveal everything to him. "Though it's against company policy, I suspect either your father or Mr. Schmidt have mentioned some… 'unusual' aspects of my restaurant. Is that correct?"

Now she was terrified and furious! Unusual?! How "unusual" would it be if she ripped off her fucking mask and mauled him to death right there?! All because he wanted some excuse to hurt Mike, she guessed. She sensed that Mike was about to speak, but this was something she wanted to handle herself, consequences be damned.

Honestly, she would have killed him if Mike wasn't present; slashed his jugular open with her hook and watch as this psychopath bled out. But that wouldn't fix anything. In fact, it would be a death sentence. It still took every ounce of her willpower not to. Yelling, she decided, had to suffice.

"They have!" she screamed, surprising even herself. Phil cringed at the harshness of it. "They've told me that you murder people in cold blood! That you treat the animatronics like dirt because you know you can get away with it!" She took a moment to catch her breath. "And they've told me about you most of all, you piece of shit! How you've done this for years and never thought twice! You narcissistic, callous, egomaniac murderer!"

Then the car was silent again, except for another sound. She soon realized it was her. Or, rather, her breaking down, crying, screaming. All the years of hatred for the man exploded out of her; there was so much more she wanted to say, but she lacked the words to do so. Therefore, she didn't. All she could do was get out of the car and sit in the street, bawling her eye out. It was at once humiliating and comforting.

"I – I wasn't going to kill you for knowing anything! You needn't worry about that!" Even when apologizing, the man had his head so far up his ass that he didn't see what the problem was to begin with.

"Fuck you!"

Mike looked torn as he climbed out of the car. He clearly agreed with everything she said, but Phil had just done them a huge favor. Hesitating, he thanked his boss, who gave one last apologetic glance back, a few tears in his own eyes, before speeding away.

"Shh… it's OK," Mike whispered to her, helping her up. "Come here."

They hugged, holding each other close for a minute. Again, she hated the necessity of all this clothing; she wanted to feel the heat of his chest pressing against hers, his hands on her back. "I've wanted to say those things for years," she said at last. "I just never got the chance until now. And it felt good."

"I know how that is." They released each other. "You just want to scream your lungs out because they'll explode if you don't. Happens to me a lot on the job, but I can't imagine that building up for a decade."

"Exactly." Perhaps Mike understood her situation more than she gave him credit for. "Now let's get out of here." That was when she remembered one of his suggestions for how they could end the night. "You know, seeing a movie could be fun."

8:42 PM

He was glad their incident with Phil hadn't completely destroyed the night. They were still a little jittery from it, but it seemed like everything would be OK.

Mercifully, they were out of there and on the road, just about to exit the Seattle metropolitan area. The man running the impoundment lot was about to go home, clearly in no mood to deal with two weirdos who wanted their car back. Therefore, he let them skip most of the paperwork. The ticket would be mailed to Mike's house; paying it would use the last of his first week's wages.

Back to living on the cheap, Mike thought, a bit distracted by some cool new song, Everything You Want, that he knew had been destroying the charts. He didn't consider himself a music buff, but alt-rock held a special place in his heart thanks to Nirvana. That reminded him of something.

"Oh! You asked on the way over here how I got into grunge."

"It's not important," Foxy said, looking out the window. "You don't have to explain yourself."

"Well, I'm going to," he replied, which elicited a small laugh. "If you don't know, Nirvana pretty much redefined rock at the start of the 90s, and they're from Seattle. It's a home-town pride kind of thing, the same way other cities love their sports teams. Kids were crazy about them. Although I admit, I mostly liked them at first because, well, everyone else did, and I wanted to fit in."

"Kind of ironic," Foxy commented. "It seems to me like most of their songs are about alienation."

"Exactly!" Damn, she learned in hours what he hadn't realized for years. "Didn't dawn on me – or any of us kids – until Kurt Cobain died in '94. Suicide." Seemed so long ago. Unfortunately, it was difficult to reminisce and drive at the same time. "I was thirteen when it happened. I remember being in class when the news broke. Nobody at school said anything for the rest of the day. We were all… in shock. After that, I finally began to appreciate their music for what it was."

"What changed your perspective?"

"I learned that not everything has a happy ending."

That killed the conversation. They didn't say anything for a few more minutes; Mike was on the lookout for a specific store. I know there's one around here somewhere. That's when he saw the blue-and-yellow sign.

"Hey, Foxy, there's a Blockbuster. We can rent a movie there."

Pulling off at the next exit, Mike doubled back, making sure to park somewhere legal this time. The place was nearly empty, but he decided it would be best to ask Foxy whether or not she was comfortable with going in. "Want to come in with me or stay here?"

She turned to look at him, hesitating. "I'll go in. Hardly anyone here." Getting out of her side, she added, "Any chance we can get something pirate-related?"

"Really?" he joked. "That's surprising. I was sure you'd want to see a fantasy or horror movie." In response, she lightly slugged him in the arm.

"Smartass."

They entered the building and saw that the only other person there was the man behind the counter, who didn't give them a second glance. Probably more normal to see a person in a trenchcoat here than at a crowded restaurant.

Regardless of her anticipated movie request, he felt happy that she retained enough of the adventurous spirit to go inside with him. Not that this was particularly dangerous compared to what they'd just gone through, but it showed that she really cared. The more pressing matter now was what they should watch.

There weren't all that many pirate movies, at least not that he was aware of. Barring adaptations of Treasure Island, which she must have known the story of, the genre was pretty sparse. He'd heard rumors at college that Disney was making a film adaptation of their Pirates of the Caribbean ride, but that was a few years off. Besides, a movie based on a theme park ride? Who the Hell would see that?

Foxy wandered off and began looking more at how the store was organized than at any particular movie on the rack. Good, she should get a feel for how different kinds of businesses operated. Meanwhile, he plopped down and scanned the rows of VHS tapes. There had to be some pirate movie that looked interesting. But he couldn't find any.

Well, maybe one of the Treasure Island adaptions wouldn't be too bad.

That was when he spotted it. The perfect film. Well, he'd never seen it himself, but he recalled the trailers from a few years earlier, and he knew Foxy would love it. Beyond that, he distinctly remembered reading that it was the biggest box-office bomb in history. That meant it had to be good!

"What did you find?" Foxy asked, having finished her own search.

"A little movie called Cutthroat Island."

9:25 PM

Foxy stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel from the rack. Thankfully, Mike let her use it despite knowing full well her fur would clog the drain. BRIAR hauled her off to be cleaned once every several months so she didn't stink up the whole restaurant. After all, like a regular canine, she had scent glands located across her body. Scrubbing the excess soap out of her fur, she crossed the hallway into Mike's room. Because it was late, they decided she should just spend the night at his house; nobody would be in to check on her, so why not?

"I put some night clothes out for you!" he shouted from the parlor. "I think you'll like them more than the last ones I picked!"

I hope so. She was unsure about what humans wore while sleeping. Most of the time, she slept with her single outfit on, but sometimes she mixed it up and slept nude. Yeah, she wasn't doing that here.

A pair of blue gym shorts and a white t-shirt lay on his bed. They seemed comfortable enough. Picking the shorts up, Foxy was delighted to see Mike had cut out a hole for her tail!

"Thank ye for the tail hole!" she yelled down the hall.

"Anything for me lass!" Quick learner.

"That's Cap'n ta' ye, bilge rat!"

After slipping the clothes on, she looked at herself in the mirror. Huh. It actually looked like something a normal person would wear. Normal. Her double in the mirror smiled back at her. She'd never be normal. Thanks to Mike, though, she learned being different didn't necessarily mean being alone.

She walked to the living room, which looked awfully cozy. Mike, who wore a gray hoodie and black sweatpants, had gotten some pillows for the both of them and moved the sofa and coffee table a bit closer to the television. All the lights were off; illumination was provided by the television's glow. It didn't take much effort, but he clearly thought the occasion demanded a special touch.

"Ahoy. Ready for, um… I mean, arr, the movie?" Mike asked from the dark. He giggled so hard he could barely get the words out.

"Aye! We've wasted time enough."

The couch creaked under her weight as she sat, but fortunately didn't seem likely to break. It would certainly add some drama to the film, though! Pulling her boyfriend closer, a wave of contentment washed over her. She was with someone very special to her, doing something she'd never done in a place she shouldn't have been. What more could she ask for?

From the expression on Mike's face, she could tell he felt the same way. "So, what's this movie about?" she asked in regular English. Mike wasn't up to tackling complex sentences quite yet.

"It's Geena Davis as a cunning, beautiful pirate captain and Matthew Modine as her somewhat clueless but plucky sidekick." He smiled. "Sounds familiar, doesn't it?"

"No. I don't know who either of those people are. And I would never call you 'plucky'." That got laughs out of them both.

"I'm glad. It's also the biggest financial failure in film history. If you're interested."

Pressing a button on the remote, the movie began, and it began loudly, blasting out some epic tune while a faded map rolled across the screen. She sighed and leaned back, sinking into the sofa. This would be a great evening.

Right away, she was amused by the trained monkey. That was a nice touch. "I never had a monkey or a parrot like some other pirates," she whispered. "Taking care of a pet was too much work for me."

After that, she didn't talk much – too distracted by the sky and the sea and the ships. It was so nostalgic… brought a tear to her eye. Why did this do so poorly?! Didn't people have any taste at all?!

The film was pretty much the perfect pirate adventure – hidden treasure, mutiny, assembling a map, the whole thing. Perhaps people thought it was too cliché. She didn't; all these things had happened to her at one point or another on her voyages!

The only thing that pulled her out of the action was when Morgan and Shaw shared a kiss, having started a romance of their own. That snapped her back to reality. She and Mike glanced at each other, then quickly away again. Should they kiss? Not now, in any case. That tender moment was over, and it was back to the adventure. Immediately, the lovers betrayed each other.

Well, at least we have a healthier relationship than that. But the thought of the kiss kept her from fully immersing herself in the movie again, despite how fantastic it was.

It would happen again. At least, she thought it would. They had to get back together – that was just how stories worked! She didn't think it would be any different in movies.

So it continued. They found the treasure, defeated Morgan's villainous uncle and everyone ended up either satisfied or dead. A truly touching ending. And then, floating in the water, Morgan and Shaw shared their big, climactic kiss.

"D-do you want to…" Mike stammered, unable to get all the words out.

Yes. She wanted that very much. Her heart raced as they turned to each other.

She wasn't sure how this would work. After all, she had a muzzle: he didn't. How could they even get their tongues in each other's mouths? But once she saw his eyes, it didn't matter. They were so happy… he loved her. They leaned closer until their foreheads touched. His skin was warm, almost feverish. He was terrified; so was she.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you, too."

She'd never kissed anyone before. Even in her false memories, she didn't recall any romantic relationships. No, the adventure always took priority. Therefore, the feel of his tongue in her mouth was unlike anything she'd ever experienced.

It was so… soft; completely unlike hers, which was coarse. In fact, most of his face was in her mouth. Damn her muzzle. However, Mike didn't seem to care. Neither did she, then.

Her muscles sort of gave out, and she fell backward onto the couch, bringing Mike with her. Their mouths stayed together, though; she didn't ever want this moment to end. She wrapped her arms around his back, pressing him against her breasts. He gasped but didn't dare break away to comment.

…

Mike's heart thudded, both scared and elated. The only people he'd ever kissed were his parents as a little kid, and that wasn't romantic in any way. His biggest fear was that she'd accidentally bite his tongue off. In that moment, though, it was worth the risk.

At first, he felt like running away. He was seriously about to make out with an animal. It seemed so wrong, a mere step away from bestiality. Regardless of everything they'd done and how much he cared for her, a line was about to be crossed. It took all of his rationality and willpower to acknowledge that she was a sapient, consenting being. Therefore, he took the plunge.

Her mouth tasted like oil, but sweet – olive oil, not the stuff in car engines. It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced, and he loved it. She was of steel and wire; he was flesh and blood. They were a perfect match, he realized.

He ran his hands through the fur on her head, warm and puffier than usual from the shower. It was the softest thing he'd ever felt. He ran his tongue over her sharp metal teeth, daring them to harm him. They didn't. In fact, they made the kiss even more intoxicating. Her tongue was sandpaper, like that of a regular canine: rough but not grating. Just like her.

Though half his face was in her mouth, they continued their make out session, his fear slowly ebbing away. He was vaguely aware, through his ecstasy, that it would look like she was trying to eat him to an outside observer.

Before he realized what was happening, Foxy leaned backward, causing him to fall on top of her. He didn't dare let her go. If he did, hindsight might make him aware of some flaw or problem. In this moment, however, everything was perfect. She was perfect.

She pulled him closer to her. Her breasts pushed against his chest. He didn't want this to escalate into sex – not tonight: there were still a million things to think about relating to it – but he no longer had any objections to this.

Slowly, though, it ended. Their tongues slowed, their lips stopped moving, and they broke away from each other.

Looking at her face, his heart melted. She was so joyful and so gorgeous. Many (though not all) of his inhibitions about loving her were gone. To Hell with not being human – she was the most incredible person he'd ever met.

"Foxy, you once asked me if I thought you were, uh, pretty. I didn't answer."

She grinned, flashing her lovely teeth. "What about now?"

"I don't think you're pretty. I think you're beautiful." That was one of the cheesiest things he'd ever said, but he didn't care.

Only then did he notice that the movie had ended; credits and copyright information rolled across his television screen. Though it felt like the kiss had lasted mere seconds, it must have gone on for several minutes. He turned off the television, leaving the room dark, save a sliver of starlight coming through the windows.

They could have slept in beds, but both of them were so elated that they didn't even want to move. Wordlessly, they agreed to stay on the couch until daybreak.

Chapter Text

Monday, December 21, 1987, 4:02 PM

Phil sat at his desk, looking over some test results. He saw more and more every day: x-rays, tissue specimens, cell cultures, psychological examinations, dietary preferences, "waste samples" and their average heart-rates and blood pressures. He felt like a substitute teacher grading papers he didn't understand! Perhaps, if he was a scientist, he could comprehend why these things were important.

He knew that they were unlike anything else on the planet, biologically speaking, but did anyone really expect him to care?! They should have outsourced the results to someone who knew what he or she was doing! Still, he supposed that looking over meaningless numbers and diagrams provided at least a modicum of control – he remained well-informed, even if he didn't know what he was being informed of. Sighing, he pushed the papers away to think for a minute.

Things had gotten easier lately.

His brothers and sisters still screamed, but it was softer, more subdued. Hopefully that meant they were getting used to the procedures; some of them looked so painful. He certainly wouldn't want his cerebrospinal fluid extracted on a daily basis… Still, he had come to understand that BRIAR was doing something important.

Not the grunts; most of them were savages who were only hired because no one else was would touch that kind of work. However, he'd talked to some of the scientists who seemed to truly believe that the procedures they performed would be of great benefit. Take, for example, the woman who had gotten into that fight his first day there.

What was her name? He snapped his fingers, trying to remember. Rho. That's it.

They'd talked a few times since then, and she was convinced that studying his siblings' minds would answer age-old philosophical questions, such as whether free will existed and if life had a definite purpose. That was a noble goal, but it made his head spin. And do they really need to treat them so poorly? He'd gotten into all this just wanting a family, but Mr. Afton had other goals, which slowly became clear.

His boss wanted to make more of them.

The thought terrified him, but he wasn't completely sure why. It made perfect sense that an organization called Bureau for Research of Intelligent Automata and Robots – or just BRIAR – was interested in artificial intelligence, but what would they do with it? AI could certainly be a boon to mankind, but William didn't seem like the kind of person who would use that kind of technology amicably. He was a businessman through and through. Not that that was necessarily a bad thing. There were plenty of wealthy philanthropists. But philanthropy entailed morals and ethics, something his boss utterly lacked, hence why all this was happening.

Slamming his hands on the polished desk, Phil stood up and stalked out of the room. Sometimes a walk helped clear his head.

Fortunately, the animatronics weren't around. Well, they must have been somewhere, but he didn't see them. He rarely did anymore, considering this facility's size. The place was a marvel of engineering, built into the famous Seattle Underground. Must have taken years to construct. It sprawled several blocks beneath the city center, stretching in a triangle from Pioneer Square to Chinatown to SoDo, the neighborhood BRIAR's main building was located in, just a few hundred feet from the Kingdome.

It's such a hideous stadium, he thought, stalking the halls, occasionally getting a nod of recognition from someone. But hey, it can't be too bad if Pink Floyd just played there. He tried to laugh, but it was so hollow. This wasn't working. He needed to talk to Auric about his concerns. The spirit had all the answers. Fortunately, he was nearby.

A few minutes later, he was at the most out-of-the-way part of the facility. Not much here – off-grid generators and the like, but no labs or offices… and no people. Because of that, light sources were scarcer than in the more occupied areas. Taken together, the place was pretty creepy.

Phil shivered. It wasn't from nervousness, though; he was getting cold.

Down a short hall was an unassuming door with a passcode lock attached. Only two people knew the combination: him and William. And as far as he knew, the latter hadn't used it. The cold got more intense. Punching in the six-digit code – 053087 – the lock clicked, and Phil entered the ice-cold room, empty except a golden shape leaning against the back wall.

"How are you doing, Auric?" The animate bear costume used to awe him. Now it seemed mundane. That was one more problem with this whole situation; nothing would amaze him ever again. He'd seen the elephant, and it wasn't what he expected. It never is.

"Tolerably," he replied. "Nothing has changed since you last inquired." Phil pulled his jacket closer. Noticing, the entity said, "Unfortunately, I have no agency over my temperature. By merely existing, I absorb all nearby thermal energy."

"It's f-fine," Phil said through chattering teeth. Next time he visited, he'd wear a coat. Or two. "Has William come to see you yet?" It had been over a month, and his boss had never brought it up. Granted, they met less than they used to; William seemed happy to sit back and let his underlings handle things.

"Numerous times. During the first, he arrived and lingered in the doorway, observing me. I hailed him to no response. After loitering several minutes more, he departed. He has since inquired about matters such as the whether there is an afterlife and existence's purpose – questions whose answers even I am unaware of." That made sense; despite his moral shortcomings, his boss seemed a philosopher at heart, someone still searching for all the answers. Why wouldn't he ask about those things?

Auric leaned back, his pupils drilling into him. "But why have you really come?"

"I wanted to t-talk to you about something."

"Of course. I enjoy our discussions."

"You do?" Huh. That was unexpected. They mostly dealt with each other because they had a bargain.

"Yes. Your thoughts are amusing." The thing flashed his rotting plastic teeth. "By all means: proceed."

Before he did, Phil stepped back toward the door; it was slightly warmer there. "I'm worried about what William is going to do with what he learns from them." It hurt too much to say their names, or even to just call them "the robots". Lately, he had to dehumanize his siblings as much as possible so that he didn't concentrate on what they went through. Surprisingly difficult, considering how little they resembled humans… "What if he wants to make more? We can't let that happen! Who knows what he'll do with them!"

Auric chuckled. His laugh was unlike anything natural; it sounded more like an animal's dying breaths. That was probably another thing he couldn't control, but damn it was unsettling – and that said a lot. "Yes, you never cease to entertain." His patience wore thing. None of this was funny! "I hardly care what these cretins do with their research; they are here to assist us. Fortunately for your petty concerns, they will be unable to replicate the process."

A sigh of relief pushed its way out of his lungs. "Good." He hated the fact that he had no one else to turn to. At least Auric was present. Without him there, he wouldn't have accomplished anything. "Why not, though?"

"Sentience is far more than most people realize. It is not merely chemicals or electricity surging through synapses. The key feature of intelligence is the presence of metaphysical energy from the outer planes coalesced into a unit capable of desire and rationality – more colloquially called a 'soul'." Ah, of course. Why did he expect this would be easy to understand? "Souls form naturally in all life: plants, animals, fungi. They are most complex in sapient beings: human and otherwise." That, at least, made sense. "However, only a select few esoteric entities – I included – are able to create souls of our own volition. As you now understand, that is an intricate process."

His concern slowly ebbed as Auric prattled. At least that was one thing he didn't have to worry about. He was about to dismiss himself when the spirit continued, "I am pleased you came to see me. I would have approached you during slumber, but our exchange has rendered that circumstance superfluous."

"Uh, what else did you want?" he asked the costume, which rose from the floor.

"I have waited and listened and observed. The initial tests are nearing their end. Soon, your family will be released into your custody." Then he cracked that uncanny smile again. "Our game will begin." With everything going on, Phil had nearly forgotten about that part of their agreement. Playing games now seemed a small, even embarrassing, end to all this. Still, he couldn't complain; as long as BRIAR stopped torturing his brothers and sisters, he didn't care what Auric had planned.

"Of course. What is your game, exactly? Does it have a name?" Auric was always evasive on the topic, so asking might have been a waste of air.

"It is an onerous concept to describe." That was about what he expected. "A physical demonstration would assist. I am willing to provide one." Huh. He'd like to see it. "As for a name… I will tell it once it is demonstrated."

"Do you need me to do or get anything?"

"No. I have already tasked your employer with that. He seemed quite impressed by my game's concepts."

"Oh." Phil's mood fell. It was immature of him, but he felt betrayed – why didn't Auric talk to him initially? They were partners, after all. He would have helped. And shouldn't he have been the one to hear all his secrets first? "All right."

"I did not mean to offend." Auric didn't sound particularly apologetic, but then again, empathy wasn't his strong suit. How an immortal being saw humanity as worth interacting with at all was a great mystery. "You have been exceedingly busy. There was no reason to distract you from your duties."

Suddenly, Phil's face grew hot against the cold air. That was a perfectly reasonable explanation. And there he stood, embarrassed at having felt so petulant. "No! That was the right thing to do. Thank you."

Crossing one leg over another, Auric slumped again against the frost-covered wall. "Very well. Return here at 11:30 tonight. You will be most intrigued by what you see." With a nod, Phil turned and exited the room. His hands shook so much they could barely grasp the handle.

Wait a second… Looking back, he couldn't help but ask, "Why so late?" Not that he cared, but it was an awfully odd time.

"Are you aware of the witching hour?"

Phil thought for a second. If he said no, he was in for another barrage of barely-coherent words that would only leave him more confused. "I've never heard of it in my life."

"It is the time when Earth's mystical energies reach their apex; my abilities are greatest during it. The period lasts from midnight until six in the morning, and only during it can my game be played. Its power is compounded by this day – the winter solstice is upon us." OK, his game involved magic. Unexpected, yet given what the spirit had done so far, hardly surprising.

"Can't wait to see it."

11:30 PM

There he stood, right on the minute. Punctuality was a very important trait in management; "fashionable lateness" was the greatest business lie of all. Therefore, it surprised him that William wasn't just as prompt. It made sense, though.

Must be hard to live in a wheelchair. He couldn't be too angry if his boss ran a bit behind. Still, he was exhausted, just wanting to get this over with and go home.

After loitering outside Auric's chamber a minute more – he wanted to spend as little time in the biting cold as possible – he decided to check and see how the spirit got along. Opening the door, he was surprised to see his boss inside, waiting for him.

"Thought you'd never show up. Got other exciting things going on?" William laughed, moving over to him. The cold didn't seem to faze him in the slightest, which was surprising for a man so frail. Far more intriguing, however, was the black-and-white rabbit that his boss had on his lap, stroking gently. Phil let out an involuntary "aw" at the little animal, which snuggled closer to its owner, trying to warm itself. It was cute that William brought his pet along with him. Perhaps the man wasn't as cold-hearted as he thought.

"I – I'm sorry! I didn't know you were – "

"Don't worry, I'm just messing with you. But we really should go. You aren't going to believe what Auric came up with!" Upon being mentioned, the costume stirred, its mind being drawn back into the mundane world from… wherever he went, exactly.

"The time is nigh, gentlemen."

"Of course! I'll lead the way."

The three of them moved through the halls: a young guy in flashy purple jacket, a decrepit-yet-still-dapper middle-aged man in a wheelchair holding a rabbit and an animate bear suit possessed by a supernatural being. Phil couldn't stop thinking about how much this was like a rejected comedy film script. But somehow it was real – and he was part of it. Fortunately, there was nobody else around by this point; nobody to laugh at or criticize or gawk at him. Even if there was, he was the least notable of the three.

"I have to ask about the bunny," Phil said. "Is it your pet?" Now that they had entered a more temperate environment, the little guy perked up, jumping and honking excitedly. He didn't even know that rabbits honked at all! It was absolutely adorable. "At first I just thought it was a lab animal, but we don't have any of those." Unless you count my family. Shivering, he pushed that thought to the back of his mind.

"I bought him earlier today." William chuckled, stroking the bunny's fur. "Auric needs him for his game. Real important part, too." In response, the spirit simply nodded. Well, cute animals made him a little less hostile to the mysterious competition. The rabbit seemed to think so as well, running around in circles on his boss' lap.

William kept up his cheery attitude as they moved toward wherever their destination was. Somehow that was stranger than the whole spirit-possessing-a-costume thing. He'd never acted this jovial before. That made Phil more energetic as well. Whatever Auric told him must have been spectacular.

And that was when they arrived outside a spot he knew too well for his liking.

The room was unlike any other in the facility, its walls thick and lined with one-way mirrors so its inhabitants could be easily observed. These were bulletproof, of course – his family could punch or kick through anything lesser. All of them lay just beyond, stretched out on their cots, dreaming. Hopefully they were pleasant dreams and not nightmares.

There was also what could only be described as a "food slot": a small container that one could put meals into and then push to the other side, similar to the situation in prisons. And "prison" was a good word for it.

This was where his brothers and sisters "lived". More accurately, they slept in it. All their waking hours were spent tied down to operating tables. Phil softly sighed. At least they were able to get some rest.

All except Foxy. While the others obviously slumbered, Foxy lay stiff as a board, her muscles tense, her glowing eyes trembling in the dark.

"What happened to her?" he whispered to William, still petting the bunny. Their senses were on par with the animals they appeared to be. He didn't know if foxes could hear through walls that thick, but he certainly didn't want her knowing they were here. Not yet, anyway.

"Didn't you get sent a report?"

Probably. If it wasn't one he barely understood, it might have gotten misplaced. With the dozens of papers that rolled across his desk every day it happened quite a bit. "Must have forgotten."

His boss looked from him to Foxy and back again. The happy-go-lucky attitude was replaced by something far more somber. "Happened a few days ago. She finally figured it out – she's not a pirate and never has been. Her shock hasn't worn off yet." He paused before adding, "The others figured it out pretty quickly, but they don't remember living centuries ago. Between that and her stubbornness, I'm not surprised it took her this long."

"A curious side effect of the ensoulment process," Auric reflected, staring through the glass. "As prana animated their bodies, it also merged with their programming, creating distinct memories."

William began questioning Auric about the natures of qi and the Odic Force, whatever those were, much to the latter's annoyance. Their conversation filled his ears as Phil pressed his forehead against the glass. Seeing them all again, especially Foxy, sparked a fire in him. They were being hurt; no doubt about that. But hearing the things Auric said, even if he couldn't understand them… it was the future. Even if what he did couldn't be scientifically replicated, there was so much to be learned, so many questions that could be answered! Maybe that was worth the risks.

"Well, it's midnight," William said after glancing at his watch.

"Excellent. Then I shall begin." Right; Auric still had to show them his game. After this, Phil would probably crash in some motel. Driving through the mountains that late wouldn't end well. Not with how tired he felt. Auric sat on the floor and crossed his legs, then leaned his head on his hands. The golden lights in his eye sockets faded; he seemed to enter some kind of trance.

What the fuck is happening? A little creeped out, Phil took a step back, bumping into the one-way mirror.

Instantly, Foxy leapt to her feet and spun to face him, her eyes locked onto both her own reflection and him. He expected her to start pounding the glass and threatening him, but nothing happened. A few seconds slipped by. All his sister could do was stare; the fire in her eyes was gone. The fierce pirate had been replaced by a meek, passive… animal.

"It's for the best," William said, noticing his sorrow. Beside him, the spirit continued to concentrate. "This may be unpleasant to see, but it is a mercy to them."

"How?" It was only one word, but it was the only word he needed to ask. Seeing them all like this, especially her, reminded him of why he didn't come to visit anymore. He wasn't angry at William; this was what they agreed to and some good might yet come of it. But how was it beneficial for them?

"In any other serious research environment, they'd be killed. At least one or two of them. You may not realize it, but I'm sacrificing a lot for their sakes – and yours. While MRIs and tissue samples are fine, we'd learn much more if we simply dissected them." Phil retched. That one word had been thrown around too often for his liking. "But I won't let that happen."

Foxy still blankly stared at him and herself. When his boss put it like that… well, at least he still had a family. And they were strong. They'd pull through; of that, he was certain.

"Phillip, I'm going to give you some advice as both as a professional and someone who relates to your position." Of course – any pointers from someone far more successful than him were always welcome. "Both of us have lost so much in our lives. Hold onto what you do have. Don't take it for granted. And above all, be happy."

Be happy. The words rattled around his head, growing every time Foxy blinked. They baffled him at first; how could he be happy when this happened? It was impossible. Then everything clicked into place. I have to be happy so they can be happy, too. He was their big brother. If he was angsty and depressed all the time, how could he possibly expect them to feel good?

He'd seen the same principle at work in his restaurant; even a couple of kids not having fun killed the positive atmosphere. OK then. I'll always be cheerful. A tall order, but he saw it was best for his family, even if it was a lie.

And then something happened that made Phil leap back and the rabbit squeak with fright.

Foxy jerked and spasmed, a marionette operated by a novice puppeteer. It only lasted a few moments, and then she was back to normal. Well, except for her eyes – they no longer resembled anything natural. Gone were her orange irises and white sclera. They had been supplanted by familiar golden pinpricks. What the fuck did Auric do?!

"Are you not impressed?" The voice was deep, garbled – even more than usual thanks to the thick glass between them – and not at all female. Still, he couldn't put two and two together until the others rose from their cots, eyes all looking the same: looking at him.

It made him want to scream. So he did. "You're possessing their bodies?!" Mouth agape, his vision darted from them to William to Auric's husk of a body until he was dizzy.

"Yes," he spoke through all of them. "The ensoulment process required me to imbue them with a shard of my essence. During the witching hour, I am able to transfer myself into them so long as my primary form remains within close proximity."

"This is for your game!" That wasn't a question so much as it was an accusation. Anger had temporarily overridden the fact that he was fucking terrified, his legs trembling. The idea of having one's personality and mind dominated by an alien other was some Exorcist shit… but it was also degrading. "They suffer enough during the day! Why should I let you take over their bodies at night?!"

All four of them smirked at him, and he shrunk back. He glanced at William for some backup, but the older man just shook his head. Damn him. "You do not have a choice, Phillip. Our bargain has been struck. Besides, what has been given can be taken away. What has been made can be unmade."

"No! Anything but that!" These were the words of an addict, he knew, someone entirely dependent things beyond his control. A couple of tears ran down his face. He'd fought so hard for a family, and now that he had one, he never wanted to lose it again. This was the only chance that would ever come to him. "Just tell me you won't hurt them anymore!"

"They are not in pain. Instead, their minds have been pushed into the depths of oblivion whence they came. It is not like sleep, which can be restless or full of nightmares. This void is akin to the grave; no dreams, no sorrow, no hurt." This reassured him a bit, coward that he was. The goalposts kept slipping further and further away from him. He never would have agreed to this when he first met Auric, but there was nothing he could do now. Freddy, Bonnie, Chica and Foxy all stared at him expectantly, and he sighed, utterly ashamed of himself.

He could never let them go; that much was clear. Without them, he had no reason to exist, especially after giving so much to bring them to life in the first place. They'd been with him his whole life. Maybe one day he could repay them for their kindness. Despite the terrible things he had to do, he loved them. Much like when he volunteered to tie Foxy down his first day there, this was his cross to bear, too.

Be happy.

He had to share in their burden; it was only fair.

Be happy.

However, he was determined to do it with a smile and set a good example.

Be happy.

I just want to take care of them! Is that too much to ask?!

Wiping away his tears, he looked at Auric's four new bodies and tried to smile. He choked out, "G-great! So, what is this game, anyway?"

"A game of skill and cunning," Auric replied through Freddy. "I struck upon the idea decades ago after reading a then-recent novella. However, other affairs kept me preoccupied until now. The Most Dangerous Game, it was called. It is as good a name as any for the sport."

The Most Dangerous Game? The name sounded familiar – perhaps he'd read it in school. Those days were long past, though. Certainly, it matched Auric's dramatic flair. "That, uh, sounds interesting. What's the objective?"

"Allow me to partially demonstrate; keep in mind this is a mere proof-of-concept, more to acclimate to these vessels than anything else. The real thing will be far more complex. William, if you please."

To his confusion, William moved toward the wall, picked up the bunny and dropped him in the food slot. He began to panic, grunting and trying to claw its way out. Even animals didn't like Auric, apparently. "Bonnie" scooped him up; being held by another rabbit seemed to calm him down. Or maybe he had been horrified into submission. That was also possible.

A moment later, he was on the ground, exploring this new environment through sound and smell the way any animal would. He hopped on and crawled under the beds as twelve eyes watched. So… what was the game here?

Before he could ask, all four of Auric's bodies were on the animal, biting, clawing, rending as the creature screamed. In three seconds, all that was left were splotches of blood, bone and fur splattered around the room – the rest was in their stomachs. William politely applauded, gentleman that he was. "Bravo! Excellent demonstration! Of course, you'll need more than a single room. Not to mention a different kind of animal entirely."

Phil resisted the urge to scream, but he still had to do something. Therefore, he laughed. He fell to his knees and laughed and laughed until he nearly passed out, gasping for breath. The room spun. Now he remembered what The Most Dangerous Game was about, and everything finally made sense. William was the perfect man to set such a thing up.

"I – I love it!" he said through tears and lied through his teeth. "Killing people for entertainment?! It's great!" From where he stood, he didn't have any choice but to love it.

For the first time, Phil saw what Auric really thought of humanity. They were nothing but toys to him, pieces to move around an invisible board and while away the long days and months and years and millennia from now to infinity. And he couldn't even be mad! It made total sense. By comparison, his own life might as well be measured in minutes – why would Auric object to cutting it a few short?

Picking himself off the floor, he smiled at Auric's four bodies – his family, he reminded himself. Good thing business school taught him to deal with unpleasant people! "Really! It's genius!" His voice cracked. "Can I go home now?!"

"Yes," William replied, "but we're going to present this to the rest of the staff around this time tomorrow, though without the more 'graphic' elements. It'll be good for them to see that they've made some progress." Progress? Progress in what? He didn't dare ask.

"Then I'll leave!" without another word, he sprinted off, eager to get as far away as possible.

…

Phil stumbled through the hallways, which pressed down on him from every angle. It was a long way to the surface, and the gravity of what he'd just heard quickly caught up to him. Retching, he held his stomach down until finding a trashcan. He was used to the taste of vomit, but only after a night of heavy drinking – a habit he didn't want to take up again. The rabbit still screamed in his head; soon, humans would, too.

Maybe this was all a really bad dream. Yeah, that made sense. It was still May 30th, and he was dreaming and when he woke up, his parents would be back from their party and none of this would ever have happened!

One in the morning arrived before he shuffled out into the frigid air. Winter solstice, indeed. Reminded him of Auric. Several inches of snow crunched beneath his leather shoes, and there was not a soul in sight. Good. The last thing he needed to see were other people.

Be happy.

Seattle was dead silent; it was as if the world had ended. And here he was, emerging from his underground bunker to a dead Earth. Still, the lights glared at him for miles around; they were blinding. Eyelids drooping, he reached for the keys in his pocket. Shit. They weren't there. Must have left them back at my desk.

Glancing backward, he shuddered at the inconspicuous building. No sane person could imagine the horrors going on there. Were there more organizations like BRIAR in the world? In the country? In the city? He didn't know, but he refused to go back in. I just have to stay out here for the rest of the night. Yeah.

Be happy.

Slightly delirious, he walked the deserted streets toward the biggest building he could see – the Kingdome. The snow chilled him to the bone and grabbed at his ankles, but he didn't care. All he wanted to do now was lay down and laugh and cry himself to sleep. As long as he had Freddy, Bonnie, Chica and Foxy, everything was worth it. They were his entire life, and he would never let them go.

After what felt like hours, he reached the stadium. By that point, he didn't feel much of anything except the tug of sleep. Be happy. Be happy. The words played again and again in his failing mind. There was nothing else he wanted to do than to take that advice. Well, he'd sleep on it.

Searching a minute, he found a vent blowing warm air out of the building, which had melted the snow a few feet around it. Tired, mortified and numb, Phil collapsed in the puddle, his back against the wall.

He sat there for a while, watching the lights of a great dead city as he slowly drifted to sleep.

Chapter Text

Mike lounged on the familiar beach, basking in the glow of an ever-setting sun. The red sand warmed his back as small waves lapped across his feet. This place was a paradise unlike any other. Of course, it wouldn't have been nearly as satisfying without Foxy. She made it all worthwhile. Speaking of which, where was she? Sitting up, Mike scanned up and down the beach, which stretched endlessly in both directions.

Nothing. No signs of life. His heart beat a little faster.

Where could she be?

There were only two entities on the island besides them. The former, a golden figure, was a screaming speck upon the water in the far distance. He had long ago ceased to be a threat; only the faintest words now made it to his ears. A pit formed in Mike's stomach as he realized what that meant. It must have taken her.

The Nightmare.

With trembling legs, he arose and turned around. The vast, impenetrable jungle spread before him like a green wall. It waited for him within, this monster, this Lord of the Flies.

He stood there for a while, foolishly hoping Foxy would come out. She didn't.

Sunday, July 2, 9:12 AM

Slowly awakening, Mike needed a moment to get his bearings. Alas, no longer was he in a tropical utopia. His couch came close, though. And having Foxy with him made it even better.

He softly chuckled at a strand of black drool that hung from her open muzzle, swaying as she snored. Even if he could get out from under her without waking her up, he didn't really want to. After their make-out session the previous night, they flirted and cuddled and eventually fell asleep in each other's arms. Thinking about it warmed his heart. He used to believe that kind of love only existed in the movies. But no, he found it himself in a place he never expected. After all that, he decided that maybe loving her wasn't so bad. Maybe it could even last longer than he originally thought.

However, his thoughts suddenly took a dark turn. That Nightmare kept popping up in all his dreams. What did it want? What was it trying to say? It didn't scare him half as much as Auric, but it was more personal. In fact, it was literally part of his mind! He could outrun Auric, but he could never escape the Nightmare. If only he knew how to placate it…

These speculations were put on hold as Foxy rolled over, eliciting a grunt of pain. Having metal bones made her startlingly heavy; he'd guess around four or five hundred pounds. Not enough to crush him to death, but he'd break a few ribs if they weren't careful. Fortunately, she was smart enough to put some pillows between them.

She stretched and yawned, smiling at the sight of him. Her eyepatch fell off while they slept, exposing the flickering orange optic nerve she was so ashamed of. Wonder why she feels that way. Her jaw being broken never seemed to bother her; what was so different about a missing eye? Maybe she'll tell me one day. He wasn't about to ask.

"How do you feel?" he asked, leaning forward.

"Now? Perfect," she replied, coming in to meet him halfway.

They kissed again. While a little less awkward than last time, it was no less enjoyable. Mike petted her behind the ears, evoking a pleasured moan.

"Found your weak spot," he teased.

"I don't have one." In response, he picked her eyepatch off the floor and offered it to her. A look of dismay flickered across her muzzle, but she accepted it and slipped it back on. "Well, except that."

After enjoying each other's company for a few more minutes, his stomach rumbled. "I'm going to get some breakfast."

…

At that moment, Foxy felt so happy. Being with her boyfriend, having adventures, going places she never thought she would. A couple of months ago, she never imagined her life could change so radically. She would rather die than go back to how things were before. And I know Mike feels the same way. Stepping into the kitchen, she rooted around for something to eat.

While she usually enjoyed sampling new foods, she was still stuffed from her fried feast last night. So good… She'd never get over it. Might as well stop eating altogether, because she was never going to have anything half as good ever again. Still, why not nibble on something if Mike did? She grabbed a Pop-Tart and put it in one slot of Mike's toaster.

"Seems like we're, uh, thinking the same thing," he said, sliding a slice of bread into the other slot and pushing down the lever.

"No, I think you're just copying me," she teased. Despite their very different personalities, they both enjoyed pestering each other. It was all in good fun, though – she'd be disappointed in herself if she actually offended him.

Their food wouldn't be done for a minute, so they poured drinks. Mike got himself some milk while she chose apple juice. Never had this before. Taking an experimental sip, she was pleased. Tasted sweet and possessed a thicker texture than she expected.

"Can you cook?" Mike asked. "Pirate-related things, um, I mean. I don't expect you to be able to make a soufflé."

"I can smoke or roast things over a fire, but that's about it. Pirates mostly eat dry goods. But I mix drinks pretty well." That piqued his interest. "Bet you couldn't handle one, though. You look like a lightweight."

"That's right. When I drink, which isn't often, because, you know, I'm underage, I'm done at three or four." He snickered. What was so funny? "But I recall helping you back to your room when you were wasted."

Well, she couldn't argue with that. "You got me," she said, raising her hand and hook in surrender.

Suddenly, the toaster popped out their food. They took it and sat down at the counter, Foxy on the kitchen side and Mike toward the parlor. Much as she hated to think about it, the time when she'd have to leave approached. Damn it. Still, maybe they'd be able to do something like this again eventually.

"So," he began as she sliced a piece of sugar-filled dough off with her hook, "I have some more questions."

"About wh – " She spat the chunk back onto her plate; it looked a lot less appetizing crushed up and coated with black, oily saliva. "I should let it cool down."

"Uh, good idea," he said, smirking. "I guess I was just curious about your world: the place you remember before being, well, real." Ah, this again. Mike inquired about it a few times, such as when he asked about her parents. Since then, more memories resurfaced, prodded up by her being more intellectually active. His interest was understandable; how many people could remember living in a fantasy world?

"What do you want to know?" It seemed to surprise him how casually she acted. "I appreciate that you're trying not to make me feel homesick, but don't worry about it. Put this stuff behind me a long time ago."

"Um, OK." He pondered what he wanted his first question to be. "This world was called the Southern Sea?"

"Not the whole thing, just the part I came from. There were other seas as well: North, West, East, not to mention the Continent. The Southern Sea, though, was the edge of the world. Any pirate who cared about his or her reputation had to be there." Felt weird to bring this up after never really talking about it.

"I also think I heard you mention Krakens?" Oh, that might have been surprising to him.

"Yeah, we had sea monsters from mythologies all over the world: the Midgard Serpent, Bake-Kujira, Krakens – one of which I killed – everything, really. No magic, though. At least not that I knew of."

"Very interesting. So, you're a fox. Your parents were, too." Was that a question?

"I never noticed that before!" she joked, examining the fur on her arm. "How shocking." They both laughed.

"What I'm trying to ask is if there were humans around or if everybody was an anthropomorphic animal." OK, that made more sense.

"Yeah, there were some humans, but not very many. Not in the Southern Sea, at least. Pretty sure they were native to the Continent and tended to stay there." By this point, Mike started to scribble down notes on a napkin. "This can't be that interesting."

"It is!" Fine. If he wanted to treat their talk like a professional interview, whatever. It meant she got to stay longer. "Never much cared for them. Thought they smelled funny. However, there were actually real pirates – Blackbeard, Calico Jack, Sam Bellamy. All human and all very well respected."

"Foxy, you don't have to sell me on how great humans are. And even if you did, uh, pirates probably wouldn't be the best examples of human virtue to use." That reminded her about something else he might find interesting.

"I actually lived in a very PG-rated world. Most pirates, like me, only stole from the rich. Sure, there were evil pirates who didn't care where the money came from, but not many. Only the bad guys ever died in combat and absolutely no pirate ever murdered or raped anybody." When she put it like that, reality kind of sucked.

She liked answering his questions about her time and world, even if they never really existed. The Southern Sea and its archipelagos and monsters only lived in her memories, but it was nice that he cared.

"That's, um, what I figured," he said, glancing up from his writing. "After all, you were built to entertain kids. Not to mention that you only get bloodthirsty when you're being abused."

The words made her shudder, bringing back many feelings she didn't want to experience again. Needles. Cuts. Bruises. Mocking. Damn BRIAR. Damn them and Phil for leaving her so bitter and angry. "Hey." Mike took her clenched hand in his own. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to remind you of anything you didn't want to think about."

"I'm done talking," she muttered, not feeling hungry anymore. She wasn't angry at Mike. How could she be; without him, nothing in her life would have changed. Still, she wanted a minute to recollect herself. Be calm, Foxy. It's OK.

That's when she heard something odd: a soft thumping noise from somewhere down the hall. It was so quiet that she at first thought it nothing more than an overactive imagination, but it didn't stop. If she didn't know better, she would have sworn it was somebody walking on carpet. That was impossible, though. The only other person in the house sat right in front of her.

The sound kept coming, though it was too quiet for Mike to hear. It must have been contained to one room because it didn't change much in volume. What if a robber broke in and cased the place?! Honestly, she hoped so. She wanted to vent her anger on something, and it would be damn satisfying for the thief to shit their pants at the sight of a "werewolf" before running off. And who would believe them if they reported it?

Then the door opened, and footsteps came down the hall, louder now. Mike looked up, confusion growing into alarm.

"Hey, Mike? It's me," a somewhat familiar female voice came from the corridor. Foxy's stomach dropped.

"Sylvia?!" he blurted out. Oh. Her "scare away the intruder" plan shriveled up. She was trapped. Going for the front door or any window meant passing in front of the hall, right across Sylvia's field of vision. The two of them stared at each other; Mike's face went pale. They only had a few seconds to figure something out.

Mike stood up and rushed over to the passageway to slow his sister down and give her a moment to improvise. Good thing pirates could think under pressure!

Foxy dove to the floor and crawled behind the counter. It was pretty damn small, so she struggled to fit behind it without making any part of her body visible from outside the kitchen. This involved grabbing her tail and tucking it between her legs. However, her discomfort was overridden by a fear of being discovered, so she kept quiet and still. Curiosity got to her, though, and she peeked around the edge of the counter.

"Sylvia, I'm so glad to see you," he said as a woman walked out of the hall, the two of them smiling and hugging. Their resemblance was unmistakable. His sister was nearly as tall as him and had similar hair and eye color. They could have been mistaken for twins were she not obviously several years older – about 23 or 24, she'd guess. Well, she is in grad school.

"Been too long, little bro." Breaking away, Foxy noticed a familiar emblem: a triangle and a rainbow on a black background, the pattern she had on a poster in her room. Wonder what it means.

All she could do was simmer and wait while they talked.

…

It really was nice to see Sylvia again. Too bad she couldn't have come literally any other day. Would have been a lot calmer if she wasn't a few feet away from his android girlfriend. "God, it's been a long time," he said, taking a step back. His sister looked so short now. Five feet and nine inches was a very respectable height for a woman, but Foxy being six feet made her seem tiny by comparison.

"We haven't seen each other since spring break," she responded, which blew his mind. That couldn't be correct. But as he ran through the last year in his head, he saw that she was right. It had been four wholes months! That was also the last time he saw his parents.

"Families need to meet up more often," he remarked. Though confused why she was here, that question could wait a little. Despite some feelings of hostility between them, they were both glad to see each other. Then he noticed her shirt, and all his restraint evaporated. "Really, Syl? You still enjoy that old-ass 70s music?" He wanted that to come off as playful, but it sounded rude.

She responded in kind. "It's better than Nirvana and Pearl Jam. You can't even understand what the Hell those freaks are trying to say!" OK, maybe ribbing was a bad idea. They normally liked teasing each other (in fact, that's why he was so good at parleying with Foxy), but there was too much tension between them to do that now.

Sylvia turned and walked toward the counter to sit down. Practically running, Mike moved past her to get the chair on the kitchen side, nearly tripping over Foxy as he turned the corner. Still, he prayed his sister didn't lean over a few inches. If she did…

"What brings you here all the way from California? You planned to stay there all summer."

Looking a little embarrassed, she said, "Everything went wrong. The people I rented the beach house with were dicks, the weather was awful, and there was barely anything to do. So, I came back here. Sorry if this is a shock, but I did call you yesterday at around four."

"I was out then," he said, ridiculing himself for not checking the answering machine. At least she cared enough to let him know.

"It was one or two in the morning when I got back – it's like a nine-hour drive from Crescent City. I was so tired that I stumbled in and crashed." That explained how she didn't see him and Foxy together on the couch. Speaking of Foxy, she seemed to get restless. It couldn't be easy for a pirate to cower in the fetal position, but he hoped she could keep it together for a few more minutes, just long enough for Syl to go into another room.

Knowing his sister, she wouldn't budge until she'd eaten breakfast. He subtly pushed his plate of toast toward her. Eat it, eat it. Indeed, she took the bait.

Nibbling the half-eaten toast in front of her, she said, "Not bad," but approached the refrigerator to get something. Heart again racing, he stumbled to his feet, accidentally stepped on Foxy's leg and got there before his sister could get close enough to see the curled-up cyborg fox woman lying on the kitchen floor.

A stick of butter in hand, he triumphantly waltzed back over and handed it to her. She looked annoyed and confused at the same time. "How do you know I want butter?"

"Elementary, my dear Sylvia!" He didn't want to antagonize his sister, but he felt like he needed to cheer Foxy up. After all, he was the one who made her upset in the first place. If cracking a few weird jokes made one feel better, he would risk the annoyance of the other. Popping a pencil in his mouth, he adopted his best British accent (which was terrible) and explained his deduction.

"As you commented on the toast, it is only natural to suppose that you were going to obtain something to put on it! You've been at a beach house for several weeks, which typically lack superfluous amenities, such as refrigerators, so you haven't enjoyed butter for a long while! Not to mention that all our other condiments, such as jam, are kept in the pantry! Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth!"

Foxy grew more entertained throughout his silly monologue, writhing and desperately trying not to laugh by the end. Suddenly, he wished he'd toned it down a little. Even his sister cracked a smile. Man, he was proud of his reasoning skills. If he survived the summer, perhaps he could open a detective agency.

"Mike, you're really weird." No disagreement there. Then she handed the butter back to him. "But I actually wanted ice for the apple juice." His pride deflated like a popped balloon, which sent Foxy into another fit of silent laughter. Sighing, he got the ice cube tray out of the freezer and handed it to Syl. Either way, he dodged a bullet.

"What are your plans for, uh, the rest of the summer?" He already knew the answer, and it made him uncomfortable. If she drove nine hours to get here, she wasn't going back.

"I'm probably going to stay here. In fact, I'll be here longer than you are because OHSU starts later than University of Washington." This made matters complicated, more than they already were. Foxy wouldn't be able to visit anymore, which was a bummer. It also made his job more difficult. Sylvia knew about his place of employment and strange hours, but that wouldn't explain the scratches and bruises he often received when lunging to close a door.

By far the biggest issue with this, though, was Auric. Mike already knew the demon could "see" him from the restaurant, at least to some degree. Otherwise, he couldn't influence his dreams. If Auric found out his sister was present, there was no reason for him not to get revenge by driving her mad. Beneath him, Foxy looked concerned, likely having reached the same conclusion herself. But what was he supposed to say? Telling the truth would make her think him insane, and showing her Foxy… well, he wasn't even considering it.

Disappointment must have been obvious on his face, because Sylvia angrily said, "Are you angry that I'm back here?"

"What? No!" It was clear by now that he wouldn't get anywhere without apologizing. They had half-assed some remorseful words over the telephone, but the tension was still there. He took a deep breath. "Look, I said some things I regret over spring break. When we argued over who should take care of the house. I'm sorry I called you a backstabbing bitch."

Sylvia seemed surprised that he folded so easily, given how indignant they were at the time. "And I'm sorry I called you a failure at life and said Mom and Dad didn't love you," she said. Foxy looked astonished that the two of them had said such things to each other, which confused him; pirates were known for their cursing.

A negative cloud seemed to disappear from the room's atmosphere, creating a much more pleasant environment. "I'll never understand why our parents insisted one of us take care of this place," Syl muttered. "They could have easily rented it!"

"Actually, it hasn't been so bad," he said, meaning every damn word of it. Casually turning, he gave Foxy a wink. She nodded and motioned for him to hurry along so she could move again. Right. "But I'm not sure it's a good idea for you to live here."

"Why not?" Thanks to him apologizing, she was more confused than angered by the question. Mike steeled himself. If he was to have any chance of getting her to safety for the next month or so, he needed to harness all his charisma and have a damn good argument. Even that probably wouldn't be enough.

"I've told you about my job, right?" She nodded. "It would make living here inconvenient for you! Like, we'd have totally different sleep schedules and wouldn't really interact due to me being so tired during the day." Not good enough; though she listened to him, it didn't change her mind. He couldn't blame her – where else was she supposed to go?

However, he possessed an ace in the hole. He hesitated to play it, not knowing the consequences, but it was the only way he could think of to convince her. "Hey, do you remember Foxy?"

Sylvia thought for a moment. "Oh yeah. That coworker of yours who was at our house one time. You put her on the phone with me." Unsure of where this was going, Foxy just had to trust him. Hopefully this worked. "I joked about if the two of you were dating."

"Actually, we are." Both women stared at him, confused, and a little nervous in Foxy's case. She probably worried he'd reveal her.

"You're shitting me." Whereas Sylvia dated several times, Mike never had a girlfriend and both of them expected he'd never get one. In fact, that was something she often teased him about.

"No, I'm totally serious. In fact, she was over here last night." He pointed toward the couch, which was still awkwardly angled toward the TV and covered with pillows. "I took her home just a few minutes ago; that's why there's two plates of food. Must have been too distracted to see your car." It hurt to lie to his sister, but most of what he'd said so far was technically true.

"Oh. Too bad I didn't get to meet her." That was the problem. If he didn't introduce her to "Foxy" within the next couple of weeks, she'd start to get suspicious. "We only talked for a minute, but she seemed like a very nice person."

"She is." Foxy rolled her eye but seemed genuinely touched. "And while she's not exactly living here, well, we hang out together a lot."

"Have you banged?"

Mike and Foxy simultaneously shouted "What?!" Fortunately, he was a bit louder.

"I'm not teasing you this time." Though that might be true, she couldn't resist smirking. "I'm serious. It's fine if you don't want to tell me."

"No, we haven't," he replied, glancing down at Foxy. Yeah, they'd talk about sometime.

She was about to respond when her eyes fell on a napkin covered in scribbles. "The fuck is this?" Before Mike could do anything, she snatched it and started reading the notes he had taken about Foxy's homeland. "The Southern Sea. Filled with anthropomorphic animals, historical pirates and monsters. Little to no magic. Central continent surrounded by oceans and archipelagos makes it akin to Earthsea." While he wasn't exactly embarrassed by her having seen his transcriptions, it was kind of awkward to have that just laying there. "I already said this, but you're really weird."

"Those are notes for a, um, fantasy novel I'm thinking about writing!" That was the first and probably the most plausible excuse he could pull out of his ass. However, his sister totally believed it.

"Well, you've read enough of them to know how to write one. And it certainly sounds… interesting." She paused, trying to remember what she was going to say before being distracted. "Oh yeah. Do you mind if I make a few calls before deciding whether to stay or leave?"

"Of course not." Grabbing her cell phone, she headed toward the front door. The second she left, Foxy sat up and gasped.

…

"Felt like I was drowning," Foxy muttered, rising to her feet. Those few minutes had somehow been more constraining than all the time she spent in her disguise last night. This time she wasn't even able to speak or move!

"Are you OK?"

"Yeah. Might not have been if that lasted much longer, though." The two of them crept over to the door. Sylvia stood in the driveway talking on the phone, her back to them. Still, it wasn't worth it for her to try and sneak around. Not yet, anyway.

"How about I go into your room. When your sister goes into her own room, I'll come out and we can leave."

"Good idea. I'll see you tonight during my shift."

"Me being possessed by Auric doesn't count," she chided.

"Maybe not," he said. "Even when he has your body, I can tell you and Auric apart a mile away, and not just because of the eyes."

Not having much else to say, Foxy went to Mike's room, which was a lot more boring than Sylvia's – not much in the way of decoration. The most interesting part of it was the scent: Febreze and stale food. Her normal clothes were in the crumpled pile she left them in last night, so she slipped them back on and sat on the bed, waiting. A few minutes later, Sylvia came back.

"So, I talked to some people," her muffled voice came through the door. "One of my friends in Ellensburg said she'd let me stay the rest of the summer in exchange for me 'helping' her brother with summer school biology homework."

She sighed, her spirits lifting. Now Auric wouldn't be able to mind-rape her. But what about when their parents get back? Well, there was no point in bringing that up to Mike if she didn't have a solution.

"I'm really, uh, sorry if this is inconvenient for you," Mike said, not really sounding sorry at all.

"It's fine, but you owe me." Nobody said anything for a moment. "Does your girlfriend's name ever bother you?" Oh. Foxy understood what she hinted at, but it apparently went over Mike's head.

"What do you mean?" She sighed, ready to hear the story she would always hate to hear.

"Well, Foxy was also the name of that robot who… you know. That's obviously a coincidence, but does it make things awkward sometimes?" Mike muttered something so soft that even her ears couldn't make it out. Perhaps that was for the best.

She kept trying to convince herself that what happened wasn't her fault, wasn't anybody's fault. For the most part, she believed that. Every second of that event, the moment of her creation, was forever seared into her brain. How could it have gone any other way? But at times like this, guilt wrapped around her like chains. After all, she'd killed a kid. Accident or not, it didn't really matter. The results were the same.

10:05 AM

Mike drove slowly and cautiously down the road; quite the storm had rolled in over the last few minutes. That's Washington for you.

Foxy sat beside him, staring at the rain, listening to its hypnotic rhythms. Hadn't said a word since coming out of his room. Why did Sylvia have to ask that question? And why wasn't he smart enough to see what it meant?

"You know I don't blame you anymore, right?" he asked as they approached Whitewater proper.

"Yeah, I know. I don't blame myself, either."

"It seems like you do." The only noise was that of the rain for a few seconds.

"You've never ripped out a child's frontal lobe with your teeth before," she said, her muscles tensing up. "You've never heard a dying shriek as dig your hook into that person's neck." A black tear ran down from her eye. "You've never been an urban legend who lives on in a town's collective consciousness as a symbol of evil and hatred."

Why the Hell did he even ask? What did he expect her to say? Why the fuck am I so dense?! His curiosity always made him and others worse off than before, and he hated himself for it.

"Despite what I did, I couldn't have known better, just being 'born' and all." She loosened up and looked at him. "But I will never forget."

When she put it like that, nobody could. "I feel guilty about it, too." He stopped at a red light as the rain kept pouring. Foxy looked incredulous and even offended. "I'm not trying to compare just being present to what you went through," he clarified. Still, a waver crept into his voice. "But James was my friend. Every time I remember that day, I think of ways I could have saved him."

After a moment, her face softened. "You were just a little kid. There's nothing you could have done." He really wanted to believe that.

The light turned green, and Mike slowly drove down the main street, even deader than usual. Maybe they both needed to forgive themselves, difficult as that would be. That's when an idea popped into his head. It was kind of crazy, but that didn't really faze him anymore. "Would you like to go over and see Jeremy?"

"Why the fuck would I?"

"I don't know, just to work out your differences?" She was about to respond, but then stopped, seriously considering it. "Just yesterday you said I was able to bring people together. This might be pointless, but wouldn't it be cool if you could get someone to stop seeing you as some kind of boogeyman? That's not something you can really do with anyone else." Also, wanted to see June for a very specific reason, one that would be better proposed in person.

Foxy sighed and pondered for a while, right until they were about to pass his shop. "Oh, fine. But if he attacks me again, it's your fault."

"That's fair." Turning, he drove straight up to the building… which was pretty obviously closed. No lights or anything. Fortunately, June had pointed out their house during one of his visits, the one when he was so tired, he could barely walk in a straight line. Backing out, he quickly arrived at the house; a small, slightly run-down place that needed another coat of white paint.

"Stay in the car," he said, stepping into the downpour. "I'll see what he has to say."

"I hope you know what you're doing." She actually sounded a little scared. "Obviously he hates you. What if he has a gun?" Huh. He'd never actually considered the possibility of Jeremy killing him, but the man wasn't exactly stable. Him assaulting a restaurant with rocks and bricks was enough to prove that.

"I, uh, don't think that'll be an issue." Besides, he seemed better at hitting things than shooting; he used to play softball. Still, Foxy looked concerned as he crossed the overgrown lawn.

He knocked. Nothing. The rain soaked through his clothes. Really coming down. Then he tried the doorbell. There's a car here, so someone must be home. Well, given that cars were the man's entire career, maybe he had some extras sitting around. And then the door opened. Jeremy looked neither pleased nor angry, just kind of confused.

"Jeremy! Err, Mr. Fitzgerald, hello."

"Mike. This is unexpected." Though he tried to be calm, his voice held a strange edge that he couldn't quite contain. "What do you want?" Right to the point. Fine with him.

"I thought maybe you'd like to talk to Foxy. She's in the car." The forced calm suddenly evaporated. Rather than becoming enraged, though, he began to fearfully quake, knees shaking, and an expression of pure terror plastered on his face. It was odd to see such an imposing man reduced to this level.

"She's here to kill me," he whispered, eyes growing wide.

"What?! No! She just wants to talk to you, tell you that – "

Mike was interrupted by June, who shook her father and said, "Dad! The demon robots aren't attacking! You'll be fine!" It wasn't for a few more seconds that she noticed him, still getting drenched. "Mike? What are you doing here?"

"Actually, your father's kind of right. Foxy's in the car." By this point, though, he was more concerned about the phrase "demon robots". Those words evoked very specific images; perhaps they weren't coincidental. "She wants to apologize for messing up his life."

"Yeah, Dad's pretty damn messed up." As she said that, though, he showed signs of recovery, looking more aware. "I don't think talking with your friend is going to change his mind, either."

"I'm sorry for that. But no, I'm not letting your evil kid-killing friend in here." Taking a moment to collect himself, he continued, "I've been having some weird dreams lately. Started seeing things."

"And so have I," June added. This confirmed his suspicions. It also made his need to talk dire. If he didn't, they might well die.

"I know what's happening to you!" Father and daughter looked at each other skeptically, but the urgency of his words and general knowledge of weird shit inclined them to believe him.

Jeremy acquiesced. "Fine, come in. I'm curious."

"Only if you let Foxy in, too. Just for five minutes." It took him nearly that long to mull it over, Mike getting battered with rain the whole time. He started to get pretty damn angry; the man had already decided and was now just being an ass. Eventually, he snapped. "Let us in now or I'll leave you to the demon robots!"

"You got five minutes," he muttered, going into another room.

"Sorry about him," June said. "He's actually a nice guy most of the time, but he's having nightmares, he hates your guts and we're pretty much out of work…"

"What do you mean 'out of work'?" That didn't seem possible. As far as Mike knew, this was the only auto shop in town, and the people up here loved their cars.

"I'll explain later. Just get Foxy in here."

…

"This is a nice place," Foxy said, poking her head into different rooms. She meant it, too. Compared with her one-room asylum, anywhere was a paradise. Objectively speaking, though, it wasn't that great. The wallpaper peeled in some places and it was a little dirty, but Mike's house had the same issues. Most of the homes in town probably did; this wasn't a rich community. She liked the house regardless.

Instinctively, she shook the water out of her tail, which splattered the walls and floor. "Uh, sorry."

"It's fine," June replied, handing both her and Mike towels to dry themselves with. Foxy wiped up the mess she made as well.

Heading into the kitchen, Jeremy sat at a small table, having calmed mostly down. He still glared daggers at her, but she was now disciplined enough to contain her own animosity. Mike and June also sat down, but she stood, leaning against the wall. In a surprising gesture, Jeremy pushed out a seat for her.

"I'm not being rude," she explained, "I just might accidentally break the chair if I sit down."

"It's stronger than it looks." If he wanted to risk his own property, fine. The man was right, though. After some straining, it didn't snap in half. The four of them remained quiet. This wasn't the weirdest group of people she'd been with lately. Delta and Rho were stranger. She waited for Mike to explain about Auric. Despite the rain, she caught most of his conversation from the car, and it was more important than anything she had to say.

Mike didn't hesitate. "Your dreams are being invaded by a supernatural entity named Auric. He lives in the basement of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza and is the force behind everything." Jeremy looked as if the words didn't even register. June, on the other hand… well, she was quite a bit smarter than her father.

"You can't possibly expect me to believe that." Given that she and Mike knew so much, it almost seemed strange that others who had worked at Fazbear's didn't know about the golden demon.

"Is it really any crazier than the living animatronic?" June asked. Foxy nodded but was mostly content to let Mike handle this. She knew nothing that he didn't already, not to mention that he was a far better speaker.

And Mike decided to tell the entire thing; all he knew, anyway, about Auric. Naturally, this took a long time, with June and Jeremy often interrupting to ask questions. Foxy was occasionally fielded an inquiry or otherwise commented, but for the most part Mike's story held their attention.

Though Jeremy had only given them five minutes, explaining Auric, his abilities, his motives, his history (though that part involved a lot of speculation), took about half an hour. As the minutes ticked by, as the pieces of the puzzle were laid out, Jeremy put them together.

And they horrified him. Unfortunately, Jeremy was one of those people who grew angry from fear, and that anger made itself obvious in his tone, regardless of how much he wanted to keep civil. June, not so much. Her fear was tainted by curiosity, that insidious feeling. Then Mike wrapped up his little presentation and all was silent. It was a tense silence; the anxiety was palpable, especially with Jeremy.

"And you brought this monster into my life," he growled.

OK, Foxy had had enough. Digging her hook into the table, Foxy shouted, "Mike's trying to help! That's pretty generous, considering the shit you've put him through! Besides, he didn't know about Auric at the time, so how was he supposed to consider that?!" Surprisingly, Jeremy considered what she said.

"You're right." She felt her jaw drop; him agreeing with her? The whole world went mad. Glancing between Mike and Foxy, he asked, "Do you two actually care about each other?"

"Of course," she said, much calmer now. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I thought you were just using him to get your mouth fixed."

"Can we get back to the important topic? The one that involves us dying or going insane?" Yeah, June had the right idea. She looked at Mike. "How do we get Auric to stop?"

Sitting up straighter, he tried to be clinical and cold: the kind of tone a doctor used when he or she informed a patient of their terminal illness. "The only way is to run."

"What?" father and daughter said simultaneously, shock etched on their faces. Though different in some ways, they were very similar in others.

"But you're perfectly fine," Jeremy said.

"Um, that's because Auric pumped so much shit into me that my body learned to ignore it. I'm like a junkie who can't get high anymore. But trust me, I've tried everything else. The only way for you to be safe is to get out of town. I'm not sure how far away Auric can influence people from, but it seems like only a few miles. If you go somewhere, anywhere else, I think you'll be OK."

June stood up, determined and still a little scared. "I'll start packing."

"Wait, where do you expect us to go?!" Too late; she was already going up a flight of stairs.

"I don't know? Mom's?" At the very suggestion, Jeremy slammed his head on the table. It might have been immature, but Foxy giggled.

"OK, I'll help."

Before he got to his feet, though, Mike was already up. "No, I can take care of it. You and Foxy work out your differences." Halfway up the stairs, he added, "And don't kill each other!"

Then the two of them sat there for a couple of seconds as the sounds of driving rain and closet doors opening and slamming rang out above them. There's no way this will work. Even if it did, it seemed pointless. Why should she care what this jackass thought of her? Wasn't helping them out with Auric enough?

"Think you can change my mind about you being fucking evil in a couple of minutes?" Jeremy asked, almost with a humorous tone. She didn't want to hear it. Might as well get this over with.

"What Mike said is true. The only times I ever tried to kill you – or anybody – were when Auric possessed my body." She pointed at her eye. "Maybe you noticed that at night, this was just a little gold dot."

Shifting in his seat, Jeremy said, "It's been a long time, but you're right. I'll never forget." For a minute he sat reminiscing. "Always wondered about that." His expression then hardened. She knew exactly what he would ask, and she would answer truthfully. And there was no reason to care if it didn't satisfy him.

"But what about that kid? How you killed him? I still hear people around town talking about it sometimes."

She told him, just like she did with Mike. How scared she was. The regret that followed. The feelings of worthlessness and self-hatred. And how if there was a way to go back and change things she would without hesitation.

So Jeremy sat and pondered. The rain kept hammering down.

"I'm sorry it played out that way."

"Yeah…"

…

Mike and June were nearly finished packing for her and her father. Hopefully, they'd get out of town that night and only come back during the day. Just in case anything happened, he and June also decided to exchange personal numbers.

"I think it'll be safe for you once I go back to college," he said, slinging a duffle bag over his shoulder. "Auric won't have any reason to bother you then unless he's even more vindictive than I think." A pang of guilt shot through him. This had been his life for several weeks, but it only hit him now how shocking this must be for others. "It sucks that you have to do this."

"Actually, this might be good." Not the response he expected from someone who was suddenly forced from their home to escape a demon.

"How so?"

"Remember what I said about us being out of work?" Right, he'd meant to ask about that. "After Dad got arrested, people stopped coming. Word travels fast around here, and it turns out nobody wants to get their car fixed by a guy who held a building hostage."

"Were you serious about going to your Mom's place?" He'd never had to deal with divorced parents, but it sounded complicated.

She zipped up her own duffle bag and turned to him. "That's the only place I can think of within a few hundred miles. Dad was never good at making friends even before Fazbear's messed him up."

"I hope it works out." Suddenly, he remembered what he was going to propose to her. Right on time, too. He put an arm across the doorway as she was about to leave. "Actually, I had a question."

"What?" He took a deep breath; this would be difficult to express even after what he'd recently told her.

"Sylvia, my sister, is in town – she was, rather – and I told her I had a girlfriend. She'll be suspicious if she doesn't get to meet her."

Naturally, June was baffled. "You told her that you were dating me, a person she doesn't even know?" Sounded weird when she put it like that.

"No! Of course not!" A bead of sweat trickled down his face. If she asked the question he suspected was coming, he couldn't dodge the answer. Perhaps that was a good thing, though. As much as he had to do it lately, he hated lying.

"Then who did you say your girlfriend was? Someone I know?"

"Foxy," he mumbled, staring at the floor.

"Who?"

"F-Foxy."

The only sound was that of rain on the roof as June's jaw dropped. "Are – are you really?" He nodded, twitching. Now he mostly wanted to leave. "Why?" she asked after the shock wore off slightly.

"Well, she's smart, funny, brave, imaginative. It took a while for me to warm up to the idea, and I still have a few doubts, but I eventually did."

"And do you like her body?" Her awe gave way to amusement.

"Yes, I do." Never in his life did he imagine he would find a woman with a snout and fur and a tail beautiful, but he did, even if the idea still disgusted him a bit. "What of it?"

"Oh, nothing," she said dismissively. "Just… do you know what furries are?"

The word sounded familiar. She asked if Foxy was one when we first met. "Uh, no."

"Look it up if you have access to the Internet sometime. Or don't." Right. Something about the way she said that made him suspicious. "Anyway, I'll go along with your plan if I have time."

They headed down the stairs and found Jeremy and Foxy just sitting at the table. Not talking or anything, but they'd presumably made some progress, given the lack of killing going on. "If we're going to Mom's, and that's up to you, we should leave soon."

"You're right." His back popped as he stood up. "Urgh, not as young as I used to be."

"No kidding. You aren't rocking that mullet/horseshoe moustache combo you used to have," Mike said.

Jeremy looked confused for a moment before turning to June. "You showed him that damn photo of me in 1988, didn't you?"

"I might have."

"Yeah, I remember that," Foxy interjected, snickering. "That was the day after you broke my jaw. It was the stupidest haircut I'd ever seen."

"Well, I'm old and I don't have it anymore." Even Jeremy seemed amused by the memory.

"If that's everything, I think Foxy and I should go."

"Sure." Jeremy paused and sighed. "Time for me to swallow my pride. Thank you for helping me. Thank you for helping my daughter." A tear welled up in his eye. "I just want to keep her safe, you know? And I couldn't do that this time!" Regardless of what else Mike thought about him, he admired the man for trying to help his kid, even if his actions were often misguided. That was probably better than not having parents around at all.

"Dad, it's all right." She gave him a hug to calm him down. Addressing Mike and Foxy, she said, "Regardless of where we go, one of us will probably come back on the weekends, at least during the day. Somebody still has to check on this place every once in a while."

"Good idea." The man pulled himself back together. "Good luck, you two. I think you'll need it."

"We will."

11:42 AM

Looking up at the cloudless sky, Mike enjoyed the weather. Funny how it worked. One minute it poured rain, the next it beamed sunlight. It made him content. Not happy; he'd just made people skip town to great inconvenience. At least Auric couldn't get to them, though. Sitting beside him, Foxy seemed satisfied as well.

The deep green forest wrapped around them, a sure sign that they approached Fazbear's. Before his girlfriend left, there was one question he had to ask.

"Did Jeremy apologize?"

"No. I don't think he's the kind of person who often does that." She didn't sound upset in the slightest. Well, it was an improvement. "But I do think he understands now."

"Good." The entire exercise was pointless, he had to admit, but it probably brought them both some closure. Besides, it also let them help with a much more serious problem. That part troubled him, though. "If Auric's going after everyone, most are doomed. I can't get everyone to leave town." He saw the national headlines in his mind's eye and mulled over the prospects of them becoming reality.

TOWN OF 3,000 DEAD OR MAD – MASS SUICIDE SUSPECTED

SMALL WASHINGTON VILLIAGE ANNIHILATED

WHITEWATER: A MODERNDAY JONESTOWN

They made him sick. And Auric wouldn't hesitate to do it, either. Foxy proved to be the voice of reason.

"I really don't think Auric has that much power. Even if he did, he's only focused on people specifically connected with you. After all, you're the only person he wants to get back at. And as far as I know, we've taken care of them all. Well, besides me and the other animatronics, but he needs us."

Everything she said was absolutely correct. It was sound reasoning, much better than his butter-rant earlier. Why, then, did he still feel so afraid?

Few cars were present, fortunately, and all of them looked to belong to employees. Not many parents wanted to bring their kids to a place like this on a Sunday morning. Why would they? He'd learned that when there weren't any customers around, the animatronics were allowed to break character and relax for a little while, so that must have been nice for them.

Pulling around to Pirate Cove's emergency exit, he glanced both ways, jumped out and swiped his keycard through the electronic lock. Foxy hopped to the pavement and ran in with him quickly following. They'd honed this routine and now performed it with expert timing. All this took less than five seconds.

"I'll see you next Friday." It would be a long time getting there. "Also…" He pulled a napkin out of his pocket, the one with his notes jotted on it. "After thinking about it, this actually would make a damn interesting book. If we ever have time, would you like, um, to write it together?"

She considered the proposition for a moment. "If you want to, I will, but I've never written anything before."

"Neither have I," he proudly declared. "How hard could it be?"

They talked for a few more minutes before Mike decided he should go. Needed all the rest he could get. Before he did, though, they kissed again.

It would never not feel this good.

…

Auric stared at them, his cold energies running hot. He hated heat. It was indicative of shortsightedness, passion, fallacy, all things an eternal being should dismiss as worthless. And indeed, he did, or at least tried to. Those traits could never hope to prevail over wisdom and patience and the slow encroachment of inevitability.

But for some reason they were. And it made him burn.

To be clear, he didn't hate the fact that the Warden and his slave were romantically involved. Why should he care what two lesser creatures did with their momentary existences? What enraged him was the way they violated his carefully laid plans! The First Warden and his spawn had departed the vicinity, as did this one's sister. He observed them constantly. There was nothing else he wished to do. Now they were beyond his grasp and he was set back yet again!

The Warden had beaten him at his own game. There was only one thing left. It affronted everything it stood for: skill, cunning, determination. However, it was the sole way to secure victory, and that mattered more than anything.

He would tell Phillip everything. The intelligence leaks, the flagrant disregard for protocol. Perhaps he would present a few events that didn't happen at all. Then BRIAR would be after him, he would be dead within a day and the status quo would be restored.

It was risky, of course. Phillip had recently started to express regret at what'd he'd been doing. This might be the last straw. And I won't find such fertile hunting ground anywhere else. The time was not yet right. For now, he would sit and weigh the options.

Another flash of heat surged through him as he watched them embrace.

Chapter Text

Friday, January 29, 1988, 5:15 AM

Phil was out of bed the second his alarm rang. Actually, he hadn't gotten any sleep at all, so it wasn't that difficult to do. As he showered, shaved, ate breakfast and otherwise prepared for the day, a single sentence ran through his mind.

Is Jeremy alive?

The question looped again and again all night in his head as he tossed and turned. Statistically, he probably was given the fact he'd survived nights one to four. But the fifth… well, Auric rapidly mastered controlling the animatronics, especially their fine motor skills. At first, he could barely move in a straight line, but now he exerted perfect control over his family.

It was Auric's idea to transform the five-day workweek into a gauntlet of horrors. Phil didn't want to ask whether this was coincidental or if the spirit understood more about human culture and irony than he let on. There was something darkly ironic about the setup; most people looked forward to the weekend, but with this job, later nights became… harder. In theory, anyway. Auric said he'd try to give his victims a couple of nights to acclimate before ramping things up, but he lacked self-control.

Well, I certainly hope the man made it, he thought without so much as pausing from the last breakfast morsels. His own nonchalance disturbed him. For God's sake, a person might be dead! That wasn't normal! But what could he do about it? Nothing. None of this was his fault. William and Auric were the masterminds. It all came from them: the ideas, the finances, the people, the execution. He was simply the middleman, the arbitrator between a metaphysical entity from beyond the stars and an immoral globe-spanning robotics corporation. So what if they're using my restaurant? It had to happen somewhere.

At least this way he got to reap the benefits. Sad that people perished, but Auric's words soaked in during the last few weeks. People did die. Would they really be more satisfied if they hung around a few more decades? No, they had to be happy in the moment because death lurked around every corner.

Donning his jacket and slicking back his hair a final time, he ran to his car through the bitter cold. After letting it warm up, he drove along snow-lined roads to his second home. Garbled classical music played on the radio; the signal was never good, coming all the way from Seattle, but the harsh weather made it particularly weak today. The noise unsettled him. Sounded too much like Auric for comfort. He flicked it off.

Snow crunched under tires as he navigated this dead world, the lights of town behind him now. Try as he might to warm the car, he still saw his breath. Snow-covered rocks, bushes and trees took fantastical shapes in the dark, appearing as ghosts and demons. He wasn't so imaginative before, but now he really wouldn't have been surprised if one of the many forms was a monster and attacked him. Auric would enjoy this weather. Like him, it was cold, omnipresent and primeval. Then a few small lights pierced the ill-defined shapes, which made him release a deep breath he didn't realize he held.

Rolling into the parking lot, he noticed several employees already present. If he had one nice thing to say about the muscle BRIAR provided, it was that they didn't complain about inconvenient hours. Of course, most of them worked a standard 40-hour week, always on rotation. Seemed like having more people increased the possibility of information leaks, but William claimed the opposite – a larger number of satisfied workers were much less likely to reveal secrets than a smaller number of overworked ones. Hence their wages, which blew his mind. For human scum to make so much money…

He demurred to the incomprehensibly successful businessman. Besides, at least this way the men and women with guns around children weren't disgruntled.

The restaurant was now more of a home than his actual house. Unlike individual employees, he was always present. He worked from six in the morning to eight at night every day of the week. Sometimes he snuck a few extra hours in. It was an absolutely insane schedule at first glance, comparable to that of prisoners in forced-labor camps. A 98-hour workweek may well have made him the busiest person in the county, if not the state. That was mostly theoretical, however.

He spent most of that time reading, writing, doing crossword puzzles and otherwise not working in the slightest. Actual business matters occupied maybe a third of his time, and even that was in jeopardy. William offered to take charge of his managerial duties, but he steadfastly refused. It was still his restaurant, and he'd run it as he pleased. That was why he stayed such long hours; he wanted to be close to his family. Just hearing them play lifted his spirits, as did the laughter of children. Incredible to feel something again.

Sometimes he'd catch a peek of them performing and it amazed him. They weren't what they used to be, not in the slightest. No more soulless voices, no more artificial movements. Even the children, who couldn't put these differences into words, seemed happier. And his family mostly enjoyed their work. Well, except when they saw him. Chica and Bonnie became nervous while Freddy looked like he wanted to rip his throat out.

Therefore, he sometimes worked out of the "office" set up for the night guards. He'd just go in, flip on the wildly expensive Macintosh II Computer (courtesy of BRIAR) and watch them through the security cameras. He didn't care if it was creepy. It was his damn restaurant and he'd do whatever he wanted while inside.

This went on for a while, him sinking into memories and daydreams, feeling nostalgic despite the situation being brand-new. The last few months were a lifetime.

And then it was six o'clock. Time to go in. He tried to be brave, but guilt ate away at his innards. One person died there because of him! What if another did as well? Seeing that kid… the image was forever burned into his brain. If Jeremy did die, he hoped his employees already took care of the mess. He wasn't sure what they'd do with the bodies; William just said nobody would ever find them. How comforting. Teeth chattering, he pushed open the double doors, and a welcome blast of warm air hit his face.

The building already buzzed with activity. Guards cleaned up the dining room, picking up chairs Auric must have knocked over and sweeping up. His family wasn't on stage, though. Must have been in the little area behind the curtains: just a couple of cots for them to crash on when they had a few minutes free. Down the hall, someone screamed, railing against "whoever the fuck runs this nightmare factory". Great, Jeremy was still alive! At least he wouldn't have that on his conscience. A loud whack followed – either he hit somebody, or somebody hit him.

Unfortunate that this needed to get physical, but Phil didn't feel particularly bad. The man was still alive, after all.

And then he came out. Rather, he was dragged out, kicking and flailing, babbling nonsense. Blood trickled from a fresh gash on his forehead. Someone else hit him. He probably deserved it with the racket he made.

Mr. Fitzgerald's eyes burned with hatred as they fell upon him. "Fuck you, monster," he growled, trying to break free. "I'll always hate you for this!"

"Why?" Phil wasn't mocking him – the man's rage legitimately confused him. "You're alive, aren't you? You just earned 2,000 dollars. Not to mention that you know a secret very few others do." His family poked their heads out from behind the curtain, and he pointed to them.

Instead of subduing him, though, seeing them only offended him more. Practically foaming at the mouth, he raved, "And fuck you, you fucking freaks! Evil living robots – how do you even exist?! You should be piles of scrap metal!" A fire began to burn in Phil's chest; it took a lot to make him angry, but belittling his family was the quickest way to get there.

"And you should be a pile of rotting meat!" Freddy roared, barely held back by Bonnie and Chica. They were always the level-headed ones. Jeremy answered with more scorn, slightly slurred. That blow to the head couldn't have helped his already-impaired judgement.

Phil's annoyance deepened into acrimony. How dare he speak so disrespectfully to his brothers and sister? That would be like him calling the man's ten-year-old daughter a bitch. Nobody in their right mind would act that way. Of course, Jeremy was not at all in his right mind, but it still stung. Nevertheless, he attempted to act professional – he had to set a good example. If he acted rudely toward his employees, he couldn't possibly expect his siblings to be polite to customers.

What else remained? His employees already presented Jeremy the money, which was nice and freshly-minted. It appeared he had his possessions with him. Still, one important thing eluded him, he knew. Difficult to recall exactly what with Jeremy and Freddy screaming their lungs out at each other.

Oh, right. The photo. That little souvenir was his idea. A trinket to frame or throw away or whatever the recipient wanted. Sure, there was a risk that it could be taken to the police, but what exactly was wrong in it? It would just be a person standing with some animatronics. The people pointing guns at them were out of he could suggest it, though, one of his employees spoke up.

"Sir, you need to see the security office."

"Oh, of course," he replied, a little absent-minded. With all the shouting, he didn't pay attention to who spoke. He needed to resolve the issue. Approaching Jeremy, he put a hand under his jaw and held it shut even as the man thrashed and tried to bite him. "Freddy, Bonnie, Chica, it would be great if you could come off the stage in a minute. I'm sure Mr. Fitzgerald would love to get a photo with you all."

None of them looked interested, especially Freddy, but the guns being pointed at them were persuasive enough. Not that he'd ever actually order any of them shot, but it was good to have some motivation. However, he knew he forgot something… Oh. He slowly turned his head toward the curtains that separated Pirate Cove from the rest of the building. "And get Foxy in here, too."

William suggested that she stay at the main facility, an idea Phil considered for a long time. But he couldn't do it. Instead, he brought her along; being around children might do her good. Though she had been "retired" for lack of a better word, she was still his sister. He wanted to include her in this even if he no longer trusted her enough to be in direct contact with humans.

Finally, he removed his hand from Jeremy's mouth, and the shouting started up again. Whoever informed him of the issue walked down the hall with him, helping drag his irate employee along; no point in keeping him and the animatronics together when they didn't need to. The comments about his siblings wore his composure to a hair-breadth, and it took all his strength not to act. As they approached the door, he finally broke through the veil of frustration enough to notice the one who spoke earlier.

It was Delta. Or Mr. Ward. Frankly, he didn't understand why his boss insisted on using Greek letters as monikers. Having codenames helped keep their operations anonymous, but it seemed to him that generic aliases, like "Jane Doe" or "Alan Smithee" would suffice. But whatever. Regardless of his name, his posture was tight and tense. Yet another angry individual! People wanted to be short with him.

Delta expressed his displeasure with the night guard position since the week's beginning. Phil didn't understand. Certainly, this wasn't a job for everyone, but the man was a mercenary, a hired gun, a soldier of fortune. He used to kill for a living. Why was it different when robots did it? Regardless, it was his prerogative if he wanted to quit – and he did.

Entering the room, he motioned for the others to keep Jeremy outside. Then he pressed a button on the wall and a metal door slammed down, dissipating the shouting almost entirely. Finally, he could think again! The room looked normal enough. Same décor: nothing looked broken. The carpet had some bloodstains on it from Jeremy being bashed in the head; they'd replace it and bleach the room.

Only one thing looked out of place on first inspection: a baseball bat, shattered on the ground. What? Is this supposed to be a weapon? It must have been what Delta wanted him to see. Phil appreciated that he took the initiative despite being unsympathetic to him. Not that it mattered in this case. On the basis of physical tests, they didn't bother screening the night guards before their shifts – it would be pointless. Melee weapons might slightly damage the animatronics, but they could be fixed right up by a doctor… or were they mechanics?

With handguns, regular bullets were ineffective; they stopped right below the surface of the skin thanks to their metal skeletons. Specialized metal-piercing rounds were expensive, and even then, it would take several shots to do much damage, hence the enormous amount of guards employed. Larger firearms would be blatantly obvious to anyone who glanced in the wielder's direction. Indeed, that was why his employees worked until right before midnight; if anybody was cocky or stupid enough to bring a rifle or shotgun, they would be kindly "asked" to return it to their vehicle.

Still, it unnerved him. Something wasn't right about the way it sat there, shattered. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention," Phil said, bending down and grasping the handle.

"Actually, sir – " Before he finished, Phil already opened the door, wincing at booming shouts again.

"Mr. Fitzgerald," he interrupted, casually mulling how much he deserved to be hit with the broken bat, "perhaps you can explain this." Holding out the handle, Jeremy stopped his rambling and stared him straight in the face.

"I attacked one of your monsters. The coyote. Dislocated its jaw, I think. Too bad. I really wanted to kill it." His voice dripped with vitriol; the man would do anything to see his family dead. And that thought terrified him. The irony was palpable; he had destroyed lives and families and would continue to do so, but when his family was on the line…

His patience finally snapped. Without even thinking, he slapped the man straight across the face. After reeling to the side, Jeremy glared at him, one of his cheeks reddening. Both of them were shocked by the act, as were the guards restraining him. After all, Phil had set himself up as a paragon of civility in an otherwise hostile environment. And if he wasn't above resorting to violence… "Mr. Fitzgerald, I am so sorry. I don't know what came over me! Please, I beg your pardon!"

"Oh, it's fine," he mocked. "I'd do the same to you if you didn't have all this hired muscle around!" Now Phil just felt exhausted. He wanted this man out of his restaurant so he could get on with life. Seeing what to do about Foxy was now on the schedule. While he could press Jeremy into doing more nights, the man was a nuisance that just needed to go.

"Sir, that isn't what I meant to point out," Delta said from behind him. Oh, not again.

"Then what did you want to show me?" he asked, entering the security office again. Jeremy either wore himself out by this point or hitting him broke through his lunacy. Still, that was a grievous error for a gentleman such as himself!

"This." Delta gestured to the pane of bulletproof glass embedded in the opposite wall.

IT'S ME

These words were crudely carved into the glass along with a severed head in a puddle of blood.

A twinge of fear shot through Phil, overriding the "be happy" mantra that he repeated to himself at least hourly. He believed (or at least wanted to) that Auric didn't have malevolent intentions. Though the spirit killed people, he wasn't particularly happy about it. No, it was part of some greater cosmic purpose, something mere mortals couldn't hope to understand. That comforted him in a twisted way.

But this image spoke against that. It was a threat. Threats always came from spiteful, wicked feelings. These words and this picture represented an entity that relished carnage. And something like that might not stop at employees. What if he goes after the kids?! He needed to talk to Auric immediately and put his foot down before that came to pass.

"T-thank you for bringing this to my attention!" Though he tried to maintain his calm demeanor, thinking of anyone getting hurt alarmed him. The hypocrisy of this attitude was so glaringly obvious that it stabbed him in the stomach. Damn Auric. Of course, he didn't really mean that. Despite his regrets, he loved his family too much to turn against Auric. He couldn't let his feelings obscure the fact that they came first in his life.

With that disturbing situation out of the way, it was time for something much more pleasant. Going just across the hall to his own office, he navigated the clutter – uniforms, appliances, basically anything except the food – and grabbed an old Polaroid camera from one of his desk's drawers. Not one of the instant-print models, sadly; it needed to be developed. He would organize the room eventually, maybe put stuff in boxes. There weren't any storage units in town, which was unfortunate, and he didn't trust any of his employees enough to store it themselves; they'd either break or sell it.

A few more workers had arrived when he returned, all abnormally silent as the procession moved toward them. Jeremy remained quiet, which raised his mood a little. It fell again when he saw Foxy.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. They might have been from pain, shame or both. Her mouth was misaligned from the rest of her body, skewing slightly to the right. It was bruised and swollen, and a bit of blood trickled from inside. A very fixable problem, he knew, but it took everything he had not to strangle Jeremy on the spot.

How could he cause his sister such pain?! It wasn't even in self-defense; he wanted to hurt her! How despicable and evil. Even Phil wasn't happy that people died in his restaurant, and he certainly didn't cause them any more pain then necessary – Auric promised not to "play" with any of the night guards, just a quick neck snap or blow to the head, and then it was over.

"All right! It looks like everything is set up for the commemorative photo!" he said with forced civility. One more minute. After that, he's out of here forever. If not for the man's young daughter, he might have been more severe. But no. Unlike Jeremy, Phil wasn't a barbarian; he wouldn't go after family. And like Brando said, "A man who doesn't spend time with his family can never be a real man." "Mr. Fitzgerald, if you'd please choose a spot."

Foxy looked at Jeremy, and the wheels turned in her head. She knew who did this to her, and she wanted to make it right. If she did attack, he would have ordered his people not to fire. But she didn't. A comforting whisper from Chica made her hold back and merely glare daggers into the man.

Dragging his feet, Jeremy stood between Chica and Bonnie, probably figuring they were the two least likely to murder him on the spot. The guns stayed up; everyone looked for a reason to reason to fire. For the first time that day, everything went completely quiet. Finally, some goddamn peace. He raised the camera, itching for the perfect shot. Not that it mattered; pressing a button wasn't rocket science.

So he did it. Click. And that was all. Five figures forever on a flimsy piece of film, none of them happy to be there.

9:45 AM

Phil shook his head as Delta left the room. Looking down at his letter of resignation, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment. The man left for good reasons, yet it still hit close to those students who quit during the summer because he hadn't gotten his act together. Still, employees should be able to break away from jobs they weren't happy at. He was no dictator.

Things moved slowly in mid-morning. Certainly the time he accomplished the most during. After school, though, there would be a nice influx of customers. Nothing like the Friday rush. This is nice. Yeah. He slumped back into his chair, wondering what was next on his schedule. Let's see. Dealt with Delta, updated employee records. Right as he started to believe he really didn't have anything else to do, a dim recollection bubbled up. Right, I was going to tap someone for "security training".

After this disastrous first attempt at Auric's game, Phil decided the incoming night guards needed a little assistance. Not much, simply some basic instruction on how the doors and cameras worked, suggestions, strategies, etc. It was the humane thing to do, really. With direction, the night guards could last an extra day or two. More time to come to grips with the situation and hopefully die with some dignity.

A sheet of paper with instructions on it wouldn't do, though. Far too impersonal. Instead, he had the rather inspired idea of recording some tips and tricks on the old telephone in the security office. Hearing a human voice would improve morale, and the set-up was reminiscent of old-time spy movies. Made Auric's game even more exciting!

Ergo, he posted a sign-up sheet by the entrance soon after taking the photo. Most of his employees were present that day, though not all of them were technically supposed to be. Many just wanted to see if Jeremy survived. The task must have attracted a lot of attention; mentoring people was fun! Still, he had to use his managerial skills to figure out who was best suited for the sacred task. Might as well get it now. It's been a few hours.

Springing up, he walked to the dining area and folded up the paper without reading it. He wanted to relish the number of his people interested in helping out. The animatronics were all behind the curtains getting ready, so he decided to not bother them. They could talk after-hours. After getting back to his own office, he took a deep breath and slowly unfolded the sheet.

So, who signed up? Surely nine or ten did, at least. This'll be great! He could have actual interviews to determine who would be the best fit for the position, maybe follow up with some… His thoughts tapered off as the list came into view.

Uh, wow. Only one person signed up. "Really? Fucking really?" It wasn't until the words were out that he realized he should watch his language; this was a family establishment, even if no families were around yet! The last thing he wanted was let a swear slip in front of youngsters. But only one person wanted to do this very simple task? Bah, they're mercenaries. I should have offered a raise; they would have been all over it.

Regardless, he would give that one person a damn interview. Pretty much a formality, but if he or she was truly, truly awful, he supposed he could do it himself. Agent Iota-Tau, he thought, reading the Greek letters. IT. Yeah, like the Stephen King book that came out last year! Really damn good novel… and shockingly relatable.

"Agent Iota-Tau, to my office, if you please," he announced over the intercom. Didn't get nearly enough chances to use it!

A few minutes later, his employee entered. Phil had definitely seen him before, but he couldn't recall any specific occasion because the guy projected an air of complete normalcy, at least compared to his coworkers. No tattoos, no piercings, no weird blue-dyed hair, no apparent history of steroid abuse, just a regular, clean-cut guy. Wouldn't have looked out of place in any setting.

There were others like him, given the sheer number of people who had a hand in keeping the restaurant stable, but not all that many. "Agent Iota-Tau, a pleasure to see you." He didn't respond but shook hands regardless. And courteous, too? Impressive. Phil had very low standards, he recognized.

Fishing out the man's file, he took a cursory glance at it, though he only cared about two things. Criminal record. Looked fine enough – nearly every person there had one. Just some drug-dealing and burglary, nothing damning enough not to get a "promotion". Being a murderer or rapist would have been a bit too far, but he looked good! Not saying much at a place where the only disqualifying crime was child molestation. Now for his name.

Fritz Smith. Huh. Odd one. That didn't matter a bit, of course, he just wanted to know it.

Mr. Smith sat quietly across from him, looking furtively about the room. Seemed a little nervous. Phil decided to set him at ease with a joke.

"You been to Washington lately, Pennywise? Washington D.C., I mean." Oh God. He knew the joke was bad – that was purposeful – but he might just have told the unholiest pun in history. Fortunately, his employee was either too jaded or too confounded to make sense of it, so he remained silent.

Hoping to never speak of this again, he peppered Fritz with a series of questions. It went well, although he didn't pay much attention once his family started up one of their songs. Probably no customers so early on a school day, but they needed to warm-up just in case. Most of his answers were grunts or one-word replies, but that didn't bother him too much. The instructions he had to read were very straightforward.

After a few minutes more of this, Phil was satisfied. He'd do fine.

"Mr. Smith, you have the job! You'll start with our next guard; I'll write a script out for you! Just leave it as a voicemail on the phone in the security office."

"T-that's g-great, uh, um, sir! I'm… like, excited t-to, um, start."

Phil realized he had made a terrible mistake.

8:02 PM

Phil took one last look around his office to make sure he wasn't forgetting anything before walking down the hall. The day was nice and pleasant, a far cry from the events of that morning. Other than that, it was a relaxing day of listening to his family, doing crosswords and evaluating employees. He would soon decide who was best suited to filling Delta's spot as a waiter. As for Iota-Tau, he would be relegated to positions where he never had to open his mouth.

The final customers had just departed, and Freddy, Bonnie and Chica lay on the stage, utterly exhausted. He didn't understand why they always got so tired. He worked longer hours than they did, and he never whined about it. Then again, his job was far less demanding, he could take breaks as he pleased, got adequate food and didn't have to stand under glaring lights in coat of fur constantly. Details. They'd adapt, though. This was what they were built for.

Freddy sat up and shook his fist, trying to choke out some words but too exhausted to form any. Sighing, Phil responded with a wave of his own; the bear collapsed again, his top hat falling off. It really did hurt him to see them like this, but what could he do? They were what people came for, not the arcade games or the ball pit or even the food! You could find those things at any two-bit arcade. Without the animatronics, there wouldn't be a Freddy Fazbear's Pizza! Freddy was the place's namesake!

"You guys know I love you, right?" He wanted to believe he really meant that and wasn't just trawling for validation. The response?

They laughed. Not just his family; the guards snickered, too. Everyone stood against him. Just like old times. "Fuck you," Freddy coughed before going back to panting.

His heart shattered. The world went dead around him, and he didn't bother saying anything else. Why waste air? Instead, he walked toward the kitchen. There was another person he needed to speak with tonight. Unlike everyone else, this person didn't despise him, treat him like scum. Auric cared far more than anyone else.

The laughter receded, but he still felt numb and cold. The latter sensation became physical as he opened the basement door – powerful thing. It was the same model as the ones by the security office, normally used on massive seagoing vessels to prevent water from spreading during a hull breach. They had to make sure no one wandered in, after all. He'd considered installing one in front of Pirate Cove now that Foxy was out of commission, but that would wreak havoc with Auric's game, what with the power draw it took to open and close the things.

Their psych reports indicated that Foxy would almost certainly stay put; both foxes and pirates were territorial, generally not overstepping familiar areas. Far easier to just put a "Sorry! Out of Order" sign and a stanchion outside and have his employees watch the curtains like hawks. Any kid who wandered in there would be out again within seconds.

The basement wasn't like it used to be. No more merchandise or anything like that; it was all replaced with scientific instruments and a few work stations. Not a tenth as good as what they'd had in Seattle, but it sufficed.

Down a small hallway were a few other doors – one led to the generator room, another to a janitorial closet, a third to food storage. Only one really mattered though. It was at the end of the hall, a sturdy metal slab identical to the one in the kitchen. Auric had pretty much created his own nuclear bomb shelter. The room also contained a few items that would probably never be needed but were nonetheless kept around for posterity: broken arcade games, old furniture, that sort of thing.

The cold grew as he approached, though in this case it made him feel happy, or at least clever. Because it was adjacent to food storage, Auric sucked the heat out of there, as well! No more paying for refrigeration when a magical being could do it for free! Striding to the door, he knocked. The sound reverberated down the hall, sounding more like a roar than anything else.

"Enter," a voice rasped from the other side. He obliged, pressing a button that retracted the metal sheet into the ceiling like a garage door.

Auric sat atop a throne of boxes, king of an otherwise desolate domain. He claimed not to mind, though – in ethereal form, he could travel as he pleased. "Phillip. To what do I owe this visit?"

Though the air was biting cold (probably more than outside in the snow), Phil walked right up to the costume. This was important. "That picture you drew on the window? I didn't like it." Difficult to be harsh with an immortal spirit, but he needed to put his foot down. No more of this disturbing stuff. Just kill them and be done with it!

"Art has always eluded me. Perhaps I'll ultimately devote a few millennia to its study."

"That's not what I meant," Phil replied. Auric might have been making a joke, but this was no time for that. His family's mockery was still fresh in his mind; he didn't want anyone else playing coy with him. "You want people scared. You want them begging for their lives!"

Auric looked him up and down, not understanding. "I fail to see the dilemma." Talking to the spirit was sometimes more akin to slamming his head into a wall. "You have expressed no displeasure about bloodshed. Why are you disgusted with mere threats?"

"Because," he began. "Because…" His mind finally caught up to his mouth. "I – I don't know." A hush fell over the room. Auric was right, as always. How could he cover such brutality with a sheen of propriety? No! It's not brutal! After all, this was for his family. None of what happened was that bad! He had his brothers' and sisters' best interests at heart.

"Because I am," he muttered. He sounded like a cranky child arguing with a parent. "Don't do it again."

"As you wish," Auric replied, his voice less like gravel and more like glass. "Is that all?"

Well, he did have one question. Maybe now wasn't a great time, but it bothered him for a while. "What does 'It's Me' mean?" He'd used the phrase on several occasions, just frequently enough to make him think it held some significance.

"It merely expresses that I exist, that I am potent and am willing to utilize that potency to achieve whatever I desire." On the surface, it sounded harmless enough, but something still made the words sinister to his ears. "'Will to power', as Nietzsche said. Existence is a struggle of will, and my will is great." Sensing they were finished, Phil bade him to take his leave.

Almost immediately, Auric's golden eyes went black and he fell against his rotting cathedra. Wherever he went after leaving his body was anyone's guess. At least he was gone for the moment. "Good riddance," he muttered, turning toward the door.

On his way back, one of the spare boxes caught his eye, right next to that ancient Pong machine his father so proudly introduced. It stood on its end, a faded red X painted on one side. Though it took him a moment to recognize it, Phil felt nostalgic when he did. He somehow always forgot about animatronic who might have been but wasn't.

MANUFACTURED BY AFTON ROBOTICS was still proudly emblazoned on the decaying wood. Those words invoked dread rather than curiosity nowadays.

Might as well take a look inside. Carefully, Phil removed the lid, leaning it against the ice-covered wall. The green rabbit still lay motionless: dead, or rather never living. He was still in pristine condition aside from a couple of nicks and scratches; collectors might pay a good sum for something like this. Of course, he never considered selling him. He was a window to a world that might have been, one where Phil never agreed to Auric's bargain and the animatronics were simply puppets of primitive software. It was for the best that this robot wasn't part of his family – he hardly needed more misery there.

Still, he empathized with this outcast animatronic. Now more than ever, he knew what it was to be on the outside looking in. Especially in this case; the rabbit spent the last decade moldering in this crate! "You need a name," he said to the metal lagomorph, head drooped in peaceful nonexistence. "Your friends all got them, but I never gave you one. Selfish, I know, but Mom and Dad said you were broken." Something poetic about that.

But what name would be sufficient? He wanted to set it apart from the others – "Freddy", "Bonnie" and "Chica" were all real names. Conversely, "Foxy" was a bit too on the nose for his adult sensibilities. Pulling his jacket tighter, he considered the options. It had to be something clever.

Well, he's a rabbit. He's green. He's been here for a long time. There must have been some way to tie these concepts together… "Spring!" he blurted out after a minute. It was genius!

Rabbits sprung up when happy, the season of spring was associated with greenery, and spring was also a synonym for "emerge"; appropriate, because he was coming out of that box for the second or third time in a decade. Fuck, that's a good name! Forgetting about his troubles a moment, Phil was happy to concentrate on this mundane task.

But "Spring" by itself didn't seem quite good enough. It needed something more. All the other animatronics had two-syllable names, so he desired another short word to tack on.

Been stuck in that coffin so many years. Stuck. Snared. Trapped. Hmm. "Trap" it was. He'd been trapped in a box, trapped by time, trapped by Phil's own choices, for good or ill. And now the trap was "sprung", as it were, and everything came full circle; him looking at an animatronic, giving it a name, older and wiser. "Wiser" was actually debatable. A far cry from calling a chicken "Chica", though.

"Springtrap," he said, liking the word's novelty. "It's good."

After inspecting Springtrap a while more, Phil affixed the coffin's lid again. He'd be trapped in there a lot longer, unfortunately. Nowhere else to put him. Feeling a little better, Phil decided there was one more thing to take care of before heading home.

…

It was late. Phil trudged through the snow, not to his car, but to somewhere else.

A door was embedded in the wall just ahead: an emergency exit leading to Pirate Cove. His parents had it put in just in case there was ever a fire, but it was largely unused. Still, Foxy might have killed even more people without it when she "malfunctioned"; many used it to escape.

He trembled as he swiped his keycard through an electronic lock. What if Foxy wanted to kill him? He'd taken away everything she ever cared ab – No. She did that to herself, he thought, pushing his sympathy aside. He had to remain objective about the fact that she killed a child. I can't let her be around ordinary people ever again! I don't care if it was an accident or not! The town wouldn't stand for it. Sometimes, tough decisions needed to be made. He made this one as both a brother and a businessman.

Still, he opened the door. Being "out of order" didn't mean she had to suffer such pain as a broken jaw forever.

Pirate Cove was pitch black, but he'd spent hundreds of hours there over his life; he could navigate it blindfolded. Sneaking in, he flipped on the light switch. A lot rode on this. Though doubtful, she might really decide to murder him, her own brother. Then again, the others might, too, if given the chance. How low they had all fallen! To see his family reduced to such savagery… well, he loved them regardless.

But this was still something he needed to do alone: no guards, no guns. Though Phil didn't trust Foxy to be around most people, he trusted her with him.

The lights popped on. Foxy stood by her pirate ship… what remained, at least. Now it was a pile of chopped wood. Her mouth was still swollen, and the bruises around it burned bright purple through her fur. He cringed; it looked so, so painful.

"What happened to your ship?" he asked. She might faint from gratitude if he hit her with his offer all at once. He walked toward her, wanting this to be more personal. But if he was wrong…

"I razed it, ye bastard," she growled. Phil was taken aback; she'd never used such language! Then again, she was a pirate, so he decided to let it slide. "Ye pilfered everythin' I had. Might as well have cleaved me ta' the brisket or hung me from the yardarm. I finished what ye began."

That's when he noticed something that should have been obvious from the start; her mouth wasn't moving. He unconsciously took a step back before continuing forward, nervous at the uncanny sight. Unlike humans, the animatronics didn't speak by pushing air out of their lungs and having their mouths shape it into words; the speakers in the back of their throats did it with a mere thought, and their mouths automatically synced to match. Except now.

"What's wrong, ye bilge-suckin' hornswaggler? Why so afraid? Can't even maul ye anymore." Waves of alternating malice and distress permeated her words. At least it seemed she wouldn't kill him. Why waste time talking, otherwise? Finally, he stopped right at the pile of planks. A shame that such a finely-crafted playset was gone. His parents built it with their own hands! Still, it was her room and she had the run of it.

"Look, Foxy, I wanted to extend an offer." Amazing how nonchalant he could be when threatened by a sapient fox robot.

"Arr. What be it?" She didn't seem interested, she just wanted to get him gone as soon as possible.

"I could get your mouth fixed. Others deemed it 'unnecessary', given that you aren't performing anymore." She shrunk back in terror, momentarily becoming a scared puppy. "You could live with it, but it would be absolutely miserable. So, what do you think?"

She seemed to really consider it, although it was difficult to tell with most of her face fused in an eternal scream. It would do a number on her piratical pride, certainly; she loathed whenever her captors did her any small kindness, which was admittedly rare. Why would she want to be so heavily in their debt?

Right before she answered, he felt the need to remind her that he cared. She wasn't in this alone; no matter what, he would be there for her. "I'm doing this because I love you. After all, you're my sister."

Upon that last word, her expression shifted – as much as it could, at least – from examination to one of… not anger, but indignation and offense, as if he had just called her the world's nastiest insult.

"Take it back." Her voice was surprisingly serene; no anger, nothing, like she was so shocked she couldn't even inflect properly. This calm veneer suppressed any anxious feelings he had at that moment.

"That you're my sister? No, because you – " Before the sentence finished, he was on the floor, being throttled. Foxy slammed his head against the ground, screaming through her ever-open maw.

"TAKE IT BACK! TAKE IT BACK, YE VOMITOUS FIEND! I'D RATHER DIE THAN BE RELATED TA' YOU!"

Fighting back was pointless; her synthetic musculature and hydraulic servos made her as strong as ten ordinary people. Nevertheless, he flailed about as she choked him, still shouting the loudest, most malicious rant he'd heard in his life, and the day wasn't exactly light on competition. "TAKE IT BACK OR I'LL BASH YER BRAINS TA' SHEOL!"

He wanted to, but she gripped his throat so tightly that he could neither speak nor breathe. His vision grew hazy as loud footsteps approached. Cavalry's coming. Of course, the other animatronics might just hang back and watch. Yeah, that was more likely. Well, it seemed his trust had been misplaced, and now he paid the ultimate price. The operation would keep going, of course. William would take care of all that; they'd be safe.

That's when he got angry. Even in his final moments, he thought about their wellbeing first. And this was his reward for good stewardship?! Getting strangled to death while others watched?! It tore him apart. Though he couldn't save himself, he might be able to leave Foxy with another punishment; clearly, a dislocated jaw alone was too good for her.

He reached toward the shipwreck, desperately grasping for a piece of wood to use. "I'LL NEVER FORGIVE YE!" The footfalls finally burst through the curtains. To his shock, though, the others didn't cheer her on. It was difficult to see at this point, but it appeared that Bonnie and Chica tried to pry her off while Freddy stood on the sidelines. Didn't seem to do much good; Foxy had entered some kill-or-be-killed rage. Maybe if Freddy helped…

He wasn't completely certain of anything, however: too dark, too fuzzy, too much noise. The goddamn noise. With the last of his strength, he found a small, sharp piece of wood. Perfect. As she turned her head to yell something at Chica, Phil struck.

He drove the dagger into Foxy's right eye.

Given his delirium, he was surprised he hit, but apparently so. Something splashed across his face: a mixture of oil-based blood analog and intraocular fluid. Now everyone screamed: even him. Foxy let go, her hand too slick from the gore to get a good grip. The screaming continued. Now was his chance. He stumbled to his feet as the others crowded around Foxy, yowling in what must have been the worst pain of her life. Again, recent events didn't make that distinction easy. Lungs on fire, he sprinted to the emergency exit, flashed his card and threw the door open. It finally hit him – he wasn't going to die!

"'ey, Phil! You're a grimy motherfucker, and I'm no brother of yours!" The words made him stop dead in his tracks and whirl around. How could they do this to him?! He was only trying to help!

It was Bonnie, and that's when Phil knew he fucked up. If even he turned against him… well, there was no hope. The purple rabbit cradled Foxy's head in his arms; she must have blacked out. Or died. No. No, that couldn't have happened! His heart was about to burst when he saw her chest slowly rise and fall. Good, she was alive. Now she could live with the pain she deserved!

"How could you do this to her?!" Chica added, crafting a makeshift tourniquet out of her bib. "You're a – a psychopath!" The word hurt more than "motherfucker". Bonnie, at least, remembered being from New York; they threw curses around all day over there. But Chica was strongly against swearing, and the way she said those ten letters let him know she thought him a real Norman Bates.

Both of them looked to Freddy; as the front man and most assertive, his word was generally the most important. "I don't want to kill you anymore, Phil," he growled. This raised his hopes slightly. He would be content if even one of them didn't thoroughly despise him. "No, I'll let Foxy do it. She's earned the right."

"I don't understand!" he screamed. "I'm the only reason you exist! How can you hate me so much?! Why don't you love me?!" Tears streamed down his face, mingling with red and brown fluids that dripped to the ground.

"I'll tell ye why," said Foxy, stirring awake. The others yielded to her. She was the one who was just shanked, after all. Turning to him, he saw what remained of her eye: a gory socket with a small, orange light at the back. The optic nerve, maybe? By now, he was too angry and ashamed to care. "Because ye only think o' yerself."

"No! I do care about you! Well, I did!" After hearing what his family really thought of him… maybe they were right. Maybe they weren't his family anymore. So why should he care about them? Foxy wasn't getting her mouth fixed, he was sure of that now.

He wanted some final insult to leave them with, something that would sting as much as "psychopath" did to him. But none came. Thinking up "Springtrap" must have drained his creative faculties. Therefore, he settled for the next best thing.

"Fuck you all!" he shouted before slamming the door.

Chapter Text

Auric hadn't seen Phillip so shocked since the day he physically manifested. The human twitched, shuddered and looked like he wanted to vomit. Auric did as well; rather, he would have if he possessed a stomach or diaphragm.

This was, in effect, surrender. By now, he realized it would take a miracle to trounce his opponent, and he didn't believe in those. Ergo, he called Phillip down to his frozen realm and explained the situation of the Warden and his red pawn. He left some details out: their dalliance, for example. Such information would complicate matters. Besides, what he'd already revealed was more than sufficient.

"A-are you sure about this?!" Phillip asked, shivering. Always so cold… well, he liked it. Not that he had a choice.

"Certain," he replied.

"Then why the Hell didn't you tell me earlier?!" The question caught him off-guard. Why would he?

"I am under no obligation to disclose such matters. Your own people should have been more competent."

"Damn right they should have been." He trailed off, looking concerned, fearful and a little disgusted. "And why are you telling me now?"

"Why do you think?" It finally dawned on the imbecile what needed to happen – what would happen, now that this was known to him. "You can't kill him, so now you want me to do it for you."

"Very perceptive, Phillip," he mocked. "You're smarter than you look."

Normally, he wasn't so hostile, but recent events pushed him past the point of civility. These ants were hardly worth his time anymore; the game was amusing for a while, but he had lost his touch. After a few more years, he would leave for greener pastures. There were billions of people to be entertained by, now; he remembered a time when the entire population of Earth could comfortably populate Seattle. And soon, after this planet died either by natural disaster or humanity's boundless hubris, he would take to the stars and find another world to wander as he had done countless times before.

Smugly, he let the most important detail slip. It was sure to get a rise out of him. "They are gone presently."

"What?!" Difficult to suppress a laugh with the man panicking in front of him, but he managed. "Where?!"

"At his home. They've adopted a ritual, you see. He takes her there every Saturday night and spirits her back the following morning. They are alone."

Phillip sighed, and he knew the game was finally won. "I'll make the call," he said, storming out. "And if this ever happens again, you'll let me know!" The threat rang hollow, but Auric deigned to acknowledge it. The less he antagonized him, the better. Phillip may have been a saccharine ignoramus, but he was certainly charismatic; knew how to get night guards in the chair, at least.

Oh, he almost forgot another very important detail. "Agent Rho is complicit in their relationship; she had knowledge of it and never informed you."

"Like you?" Slamming the door, Auric finally let out a laugh, which shook the room with its infrasonic frequencies. Oh, he would watch the next few hours very, very carefully and laugh as the Warden took his dying breath.

…

Phil sat in his office, sweating bullets. The Band's music, normally soothing, was shrill screeching to him. Still dazed by the news, he pondered what he had to do. Only one option remained, of course.

Mr. Schmidt needed to die. Unsanctioned communication with the animatronics was very clearly established as prohibited in his contract, but even if it wasn't, it should have been patently obvious not to enter the closed-off area. He'd broken the rules and needed to face consequences. It was nothing personal.

Except that it was!

He remembered running into him at the diner a few weeks back. Him and his "girlfriend", conveniently clothed from head-to-toe, looking almost inhuman. Obviously, they weren't really a couple, but the cover story threw him off. Still, how did he not notice?! Then they took advantage of his generosity, lying right to his face?! He slammed his fist on the desk. They must have laughed at him all the way home!

Why? Why is she friends with him and not me?

Once the shock wore off, he knew rage would follow. Phil had done everything for her, brought her into existence, but she couldn't stand him. None of them could. They'd rather be flogged than spend a single second in his presence. And here was a man, unknown to any of them, who came in by chance and became genuine friends with all of them, Foxy especially?! All this in a couple of months when Phil had been with them their entire lives! The thought made him despise Michael; he'd stolen his family.

Fuck it, I'm making the call. He picked up the phone on his desk and dialed a person. The person answered.

He and William talked for what seemed like hours. Words were said, but it almost felt to Phil like he wasn't saying them. An out-of-body experience, in a way. The shock still remained, compounded by the realization that he was killing somebody. Well, he wouldn't personally shoot Mr. Schmidt like an animal, but he'd never needed to call in anything like this before. There was argument, debate, accusations, bargaining. Neither of them left happy with the other. And then it ended. Phil hung up the phone, feeling at once relieved and numb.

William would dispatch some "employees" to Mr. Schmidt's house that night. They'd kill him, bring Foxy back and leave without a trace. It was a trivial task, really; his own people could have done it. Well, not really. They'd kill him, but they'd also either loot the house or burn it down before bragging about it in front of the customers. No, William's people were far better for this task. Consummate professionals and tight-lipped, too.

I need a shot. He didn't often drink on the job, but these were desperate circumstances. Pulling out a fresh bottle of bourbon from his desk, he poured himself a little and kicked it back, feeling relief as the liquid burned its way into his stomach. "That's good." So good that he poured himself another. And then a third.

Now, what to do about Agent Rho? This was really unprecedented. He had always liked her – one of the very few responsible people there and a key scientist to boot. Also, she'd worked there since the very beginning. Not many could say that. People came, went, got fired and hired. This position tended to have a negative impact on a person's mental health after a while, compounded by Auric's propensity for psychic torment.

Part of him – the vindictive part – wanted her dead. After all, she could have stopped this! Still, he understood why she didn't; Foxy hadn't spoken to anyone in years. From his understanding, Mr. Schmidt didn't exactly have much of a social life, either. Separating two good friends would have been difficult to handle. Besides, Auric didn't help until his pride had been sufficiently wounded. It would be hypocritical to punish one and not the other.

Yeah, he wasn't letting that go. He trusted the spirit, let him have his fun all these years and this was his thanks?! Not telling him about this awful betrayal because it would get in the way of his petty pleasure?! They'd talk about it later; rather, Phil would talk at Auric.

Whatever, he'd simply fire Rho. She'd been a damn good employee over the years, and she deserved to not be killed. And, to a lesser extent, it might piss off Auric that someone got to live. Fuckin' ghost bear. The alcohol was already getting to him. In fact, I'll do it now! No reason to keep her around any longer than she needed to be.

"AR, to my office, AR, to my office, please!" he said into his loudspeaker. The animatronics were on a break, so he didn't hesitate to use it. He also wasn't about to say "Agent Rho"; what would customers think if he tossed codenames around over the intercom? Leaning back, he settled into his slightly tipsy torpor and considered exactly what to say. It wouldn't pay to be rude or antagonize her. Better to just drop the bombshell, wish her a good future career and show her the door. That'd be more than enough. Still, he wanted to prod her a little for his own amusement, immature as it was.

Phil also tucked the bourbon back into its drawer. The last thing he needed was to be drunker than he already was. Then the band started back up and he sat still for a few more minutes, marinating in grief and disappointment. Future night guards wouldn't be allowed to interact with his family in any way, shape or form outside their shifts. Security would be ramped up and he'd have constant eyes on Foxy. He would never allow such obscenity ever again!

So caught up in these thoughts was he that he didn't notice Rho until she sat down in the chair across from him. That snapped him back to the present; hopefully the alcohol hadn't taken full effect yet.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" she asked, not sounding intimidated in the slightest.

Sir? How reverent. Not at all like how she lied to him, kept him in the dark for so long. Still, he didn't blame her specifically. Nobody ever gave him the appreciation he deserved, certainly not his other employees. This was simply another example of disrespect. But he couldn't let that fact impact his jovial attitude.

"Rho, you're a damn good employee. Dedicated, too. You've been here since the very beginning. Who else can say that? Iota-Tau, plus a couple of others?" He may not have been killing her, but this was his consolation prize. She could handle a joke.

"Thank you." She cracked a small smile, either genuinely warmed by the compliments or, far more likely, excited by the potential raise his words implied.

"I've been very impressed by your papers," he continued. "Fascinating stuff, this non-human psychology. A lot more interesting than what I'm usually sent, at least. I'm sure you're disappointed you can't publish it in a real journal, but we all have to make sacrifices." Staring at him expectantly, he knew the time was right for him to spring the trap.

"You're fired."

Her confidence shattered into a million pieces, supplanted by vexation; she thought he was kidding. "I mean it," he said before she could reply. "Take your shit and leave. There'll be problems if you're not gone within an hour."

That felt great! Rho didn't look upset, just shocked and dazed, like she'd been hit in the head. Still, she managed to shake his hand, after which she stood and left without a word. Would have been nice if she tried to talk back or something, but the task was done. And once he had Mr. Schmidt's head on a platter – figuratively, of course – he could start again.

8:20 PM

"Heeeeeere's Johnny!" Jack Nicholson shouted as he broke down the bathroom door with an axe.

"I really don't understand how you can like this kind of movie," Foxy said, kind of leaning against Mike as he sat in her lap. Normally, the girl sat on the guy's lap, but Mike didn't want his legs broken, no matter how romantic the situation. Both of them wore their gym clothes, which Foxy absolutely loved; far more comfortable than decades-old linen and burlap that'd probably disintegrate if run through the wash.

"What, you don't like it? Like, this is a classic?" Their date at the start of the month had gone so well that Mike and Foxy decided to make it a weekly event. Dinner and a movie, alternating between who got to choose the film. Foxy's picks so far were Cutthroat Island and The Pirates of Penzance, while his were Alien and now The Shining. He was thinking about The Thing for next time, or maybe the Godzilla flick from two years back. Really fun, and it was nice to show his girlfriend some standouts in his favorite genre. "I bet you're scared," he teased. "Don't worry, I'll protect you."

"Hah! You wish," Foxy shot back as Shelley Duval slashed Jack's hand. "I just don't get why you want to watch stuff like this. Isn't your real life scary enough?" Yeah, that was a good point. Truth be told, he wasn't entirely sure why he was into horror now more than ever. That's when something dawned on him; this wasn't intimidating. Scenes that used to get his heart pumping and adrenaline racing now seemed old-fashioned and quaint. Calming, even.

"Yeah, my life is absolutely terrifying. Maybe when I watch, uh, stuff like this, I feel safe again." She didn't seem to understand his logic. "These are just movies, after all. Um, the demons in the Overlook aren't real, unlike the one at Fazbear's that is." They were both quiet for a while after that, content to watch one great actor chase another through a really damn good set while snuggling. Foxy's tail was draped over his legs, and he absentmindedly stroked it. Her pelt was softer than anything he'd ever touched.

The two of them sat together, eating popcorn out of the same bowl, talking, flirting, watching a movie and having a great time all around. What more could he possibly want? Getting a different job would be nice. Well, he couldn't have everything. Of course, that reminded him of something unpleasant.

His time was running out. School started very, very soon, and his parents would be back within the next couple of weeks. Sylvia hung around more, too, and she would probably move back in around the same time. Much as Auric wanted their little dance to continue, it simply couldn't. Painful as the idea was, he'd have to make a deal with the devil. Perhaps he would return the next summer and continue their game.

He must have gotten tense, because Foxy said, "We'll figure something out."

As the famous "ghost in a bear costume giving the ghost bartender a blowjob" scene (seriously, what the Hell was that) played, he turned to her. "How?"

Hesitantly, she shrugged. "I honestly don't know. But we've done it before, and we'll do it again." Then she smiled, flashing her sharp metal teeth. "When have the odds ever beaten us? You?" He wanted more than anything to believe that. So, for the moment, he did.

"Yeah, you're right," he said, petting her tail, which had moved up to his lap. "It'll be OK."

That was all he could think about as the film wrapped up: that they'd be fine, and what the consequences would be if they weren't. At long last came the final shot, the slow zoom, the photo, the end. They sat in silence a minute. "So… what did you think?"

"That was really fucking weird." Mike couldn't help but laugh; most people wouldn't be so blunt. "What?"

"Nothing. I just appreciate your, uh, honesty."

Foxy smirked. "If it makes you feel better, I could say it's the greatest movie of all time and that I absolutely loved it."

"I'll take your opinion over what I want to hear any day." He chuckled. "Although a lot of people really do think it's the best film ever."

Though it was quite early, Mike felt exhausted. Tended to be that way at the end of a week, what with his sleep schedule shot to Hell. Still, he had somehow acclimatized to sleeping during the day on weekdays and at night on weekends.

"Is it OK if we, um, sleep now? I'm pretty tired." In response, Foxy flicked her tail from his lap into his face, which elicited a small yelp.

"Did that wake you up?" she teased. Her freshly-cleaned golden earrings sparkled in the dim light. They were beautiful.

"A little," he admitted, scooting closer to her. The fact that they'd just watched a horror movie didn't quench his romantic feelings. Stroking her head, he asked, "But you know what really would?"

"I think I can guess." They kissed, a well-worn habit by now. Water and oil comingled between their mouths, which they somehow managed to fit together. Their tongues, one pink and one black, one soft and one rough, stroked each other. For a few moments, Mike was in Heaven. Despite their many, many differences, they somehow worked.

Then Foxy pulled away, looking dismayed. "What's wrong?" he asked, getting off of her. A single eye met his two.

"Nothing. Everything's perfect," she said while averting her gaze again. "Just…" Her voice tightened, but she managed to choke out, "Do you want to have sex?" He'd expected her to ask sooner or later. Didn't keep him from falling back against the sofa's armrest. "That's a 'no', then?" Surprisingly, that made him laugh, though it didn't last long.

That was a very tricky question she'd asked him. On one hand, yes, on the other… Before he could respond, though, Foxy said, "It's fine that you don't want to. Really. You don't need to explain."

Collecting himself, he managed to sit up again. His girlfriend watched him from a couple feet away, her tail swinging like a pendulum as she did so. He knew that slow wag by now; it happened whenever she focused deeply on something. "Well, uh, I want to." After all, they'd both thought about it for a long time. She deserved to hear his opinion.

Foxy nodded, and Mike sighed. So much of this came from feelings that didn't lend themselves to words. "There's three reasons I'm, um, hesitating. The first is my faith."

He cringed. Really? You had to phrase it like that? The last thing he wanted to do was talk spirituality to a woman that a good number of people, religious or not, would consider some kind of demonic abomination. However, she remained quiet and respectful. That didn't stop him from feeling like a complete idiot.

"Like, Christians tend to consider sex outside of marriage a bad thing." Again, he felt like slamming his head into a wall. His face was on fire, and his body tingled with nervous energy. At this point, he noticed Foxy occasionally wincing along with him. Still, this was an important thing to finally get out of the way, no matter how painfully embarrassing.

"Uh, how would we get married?" Foxy asked, having seen the heart of the matter.

"I don't think we can." He was by no means an expert about this, but he knew enough. "There have to be, uh, witnesses during a marriage. Like, people who would see you. So that'd be a problem. I'm pretty sure you need a, um, social security number, which you don't have. There's probably a law saying humans can only marry other humans. And so on." Putting this into words made him realize how stupid it was. He loved her, damn it! Why should some legal institution hold them back?

"Fuck it!" he declared. "I don't care about that!"

"You sure turned around quick," Foxy said, not entirely certain if he was serious. Arms crossed under her breasts, she continued to listen.

"Well, the second reason is more important." He shuddered at the words on the tip of his tongue; they played out multiple times in his nightmares. Not as scary as Auric yet more relatable. "What if I got you pregnant?"

Now it was Foxy's turn to descend into stunned silence. For a moment, her eye lapsed into a thousand-yard stare. "I… I never thought of that," she muttered. "Is that possible?"

Mike occasionally entertained the notion, though it never ceased to disturb him. "Normally, I would doubt it. I mean, humans can't impregnate monkeys, let alone foxes." Yeah, he was back to saying really, really weird things. "But your entire body makes no sense. Like, you're a robot, yet you still need to eat, breathe and sleep like a biological organism. You have a glowing eye, metal bones, wires for nerves and oil for blood. Who's to say I couldn't?"

Condoms were an option, but they weren't 100 percent effective. Same with birth control pills. These were facts he remembered from his health class in high school, at least; that was the last time he'd talked about sex. No, he would take zero chances with this. He didn't want to be a teen father, let alone the father of a half-fox/half-human robot hybrid… thing. Ugh. The thought terrified him. What kind of life would such a creature have?

"And what's the third reason?"

Ah, the most important one. "I don't want to betray you." She looked at him, confused. Sighing, he explained, "We both know that this won't work out long-term. Let's say we, uh, have sex, we enjoy it, and then I leave you. I meet a nice human woman, we get married, have kids of our own." At last, she started to see his point. "I don't want to treat you like a glorified sex doll: something to get quick pleasure from and then abandon. Too many people treat you like a machine."

They both fell into solipsism for a few minutes, alone in their not-too-pleasant fantasies about what they just discussed. Mike also wondered if having sex with Foxy meant he could get tetanus as an STD. Also a terrifying prospect. Though now that he thought about it…

Oh God, am I really going to ask this? Might as well; the night couldn't get much more awkward. "F-Foxy?" he asked, trying not to grit his teeth. "Can I ask you a weird question?"

"Shoot." Across the couch, she pulled her legs toward the rest of her body as if bracing for impact.

"Do you even have a vagina?" After all, Freddy and Bonnie didn't wear pants, and he never saw their dicks waving at him. Maybe whatever process brought them to life didn't add genitals. They couldn't have sex if she didn't have sex organs.

Unsurprisingly, Foxy's cheeks flushed redder than usual. That was another unexplainable anatomical difference: blushing through fur. "Yeah. I do."

"OK, just making sure." That talk killed the mood far more than any movie ever could. Still, he was glad they trusted each other enough to discuss such things. Certainly, he couldn't imagine speaking so frankly with anyone else. Says a lot about us. "But really, I think I'm going to sleep now." Hopefully they'd be less focused on sex tomorrow.

"Guess I will, too."

Without another word, they turned off the lights, returned to the couch and stayed more or less on their own sides.

…

Mike hesitated at the forest's threshold. Did he really want to continue? He loved Foxy, but he was neither pirate nor adventurer. How could he possibly defeat a monster?! She should have been the one saving him!

I have to try, he thought, staring into the abyss. If he didn't, what did that mean for him? For them? Even if it kills me.

"Yes… your end is coming," a voice whispered in his ear. He swerved around to see who it belonged to.

Far in the distance, framed against the ever-setting sun, the golden thing stood. Normally aggravated or furious, it now seemed serene. Even at this great distance, Mike saw it flash a smile. Unnerved, he turned back.

Steeling himself, Mike pushed some foliage aside and strode into the jungle. She had to be there somewhere. All he needed to do was find her. Easier said than done. However, he had something in mind.

A mountain stood in the center of the forest: the island's heart. While he wasn't certain that's where the Nightmare took Foxy, it seemed likely. Even if not, he could get a better view of the atoll from there.

Coarse dirt and rocks dug into his feet as he trudged along. Vines and branches grasped for him, trying to impede his progress. He wished he had a machete. It wasn't all bad, though. Calming bird and insect noises gently pulsated through the warm air.

Slowly but surely, he forced his way through the underbrush. The jungle changed as he did. It got darker, deeper, quieter and colder. Cold… For a moment, he feared the golden shape might have followed him. Perhaps it planned to ambush him and leave his body to rot amongst the elements. No. This is different. It was difficult to explain, but this chill came from within, not without. The golden one froze his skin and teeth, this froze his organs and bones. Regardless, he took it as a good sign. He was approaching the Nightmare… or it was approaching him.

A few minutes later, he arrived at the foot of the mountain. Well, "mountain" might have been too generous a term. More of a hill, really, and covered with foliage all the way up. The icy grip on his organs tightened; Foxy awaited at the top.

His fingers gripped dead grass and decaying roots as he climbed. The forest here rotted away; too little light for life up here. In a world where the sun never left the western horizon, it made sense that organisms further east would suffer. That never occurred to him until now, and it made him shiver to think that most of the island was in this state. Speaking of rot, a noxious odor drifted from ahead, the scent of decomposing meat. Nightmare. Nearly all sound had disappeared by the time he reached the summit, filthy and battered. Only his own breathing remained.

And there it was. The Nightmare sat in a small clearing, but Foxy wasn't present. The cold within increased each moment, and its red eyes bored into him.

"W-what did you do with her?" Mike demanded, walking toward the monster. Though scared, he knew this was his only chance. Nightmare cocked its head and smiled, revealing impossibly long teeth. They horrified him. And then it spoke.

"This is a dream."

What? No. This was real. How could it not be? If he was dreaming, why would he go to so much effort to save Foxy?

"Because you love her," it replied to his unasked question.

Mike recoiled at the prospect of it being able to read his mind. If it could do that, there was no hope of him ever being able to beat it.

"You're right. You can't defeat me because I am part of you. Hence why I know your every thought."

Just as he feared. Sighing, he sat across from the massive monstrosity, a being of teeth, claws and muscle. While still intimidating, the way it spoke soothed him; perhaps it wasn't the evil monster it appeared to be. Besides, it seemed reasonable enough. Perhaps he could convince it to let Foxy go.

"So, my psychopomps, who are in and of themselves figments of my imagination, sent you?" That was still weird to him, talking in dreams to independent pieces of his consciousness in the form of demonic robots, but he'd seen far, far weirder. If that was the worst thing Auric's mind manipulation did to him, he could live with that.

"Yes. I represent what you most fear," it cordially replied. It looked the part, but its acting could use some work. "You've already overcome me a bit simply by speaking to me."

Then a thought occurred to Mike, something he hadn't considered before. "Why are we talking at all? Plenty of people have major life issues, but I've never, um, heard of anybody's subconscious mind literally communicating with them and helping."

"These are desperate times. We are two halves of the same mind, and we occupy the same body. I, like you, have no wish to end. But you have been compromised of late by the guilt I represent. Without intervention, you will be distracted… you may die." Mike gulped. When put like that, it made a little more sense.

Now he knew what Nightmare was. He'd suspected it before, but this confirmed it. Sighing, he leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. He and the Nightmare sat for a while in the deep silence. The cold eased up, at least. Didn't make him feel much better. And the thing still smelled like roadkill.

"There is nothing you could have done," it said at last.

"How can you be sure? Are you omniscient, too?" That last part was meant to be a biting joke, but for all he knew, the thing was. And that'd mean I'm psychic. He wasn't ready to swallow that possibility so easily.

"Michael, you were a child facing an angry, scared, newly-sentient being. Nobody in your situation could have helped." There was truth in what the thing said. Maybe nothing and nobody could have prevented James from dying. Like that made him feel better.

"You make it sound like he was destined to die," he said bitterly. His eyes met Nightmare's. Instead of burning through him, they soothed. God, this was so fucking weird.

"I cannot say whether fate or chance governs reality. Neither can you. The most we can do is move on." Easy for this thing to say.

"I'll think about it," Mike replied. That was the best he could do.

After that, he just sat there, looking at the monster within. Slowly but surely, he drifted into other, more pleasant dreams.

Sunday, July 23, 12:50 AM

Helen tossed and turned in bed, unable to fall asleep. Yesterday's events weighed heavily on her. She'd seen and done some crazy shit over the years, but nothing prepared her for being fired. It came out of nowhere, changing her entire life.

Fuck this, she thought, getting up and walking into the parlor/kitchen/dining room of her run-down apartment. She could have afforded a much nicer place with the kind of money she used to get paid, but cheap suited her just fine. Unlike most of her colleagues, she was more interested in discovery than wealth. Besides, there were no classy houses in this Podunk. For that, she'd have to move to one of the Seattle suburbs, and the drive would have been grating.

I wouldn't exactly fit in, either. My "rebellious" hair and lack of children would scare off the middle-aged parents. She sat in a recliner in the small, dark room, pondering what was and what would be. The future lay wide before her, and it was terrifying.

Scary for the animatronics, at least. She could live the rest of her life, albeit modestly, on the savings from her previous job. That was the American dream; retire early, relax, sit around and rot, do nothing. That didn't suit her, so she'd find another position, be it professional or menial. Doctor or custodian – either suited her fine. Not a bad deal. She shifted in her seat, leaning her head against soft, worn velvet. In this position, it always felt like the chair gave her a hug. Right now, she needed that.

The robots wouldn't be so lucky, and not just because she could no longer push back against the very worst ideas. Like, somebody once suggested they be pitted against each other in cage fights – for purely scientific purposes, of course. Even Phil was on board with it so long as they didn't mortally wound each other. The proposal came within an inch of becoming reality until she reminded him of how crazy it was.

But no, things had spiraled down for months or years. Rampant corruption and a narcissistic egomaniac in charge were problems that she couldn't possibly handle. With or without her, something terrible would happen eventually as long as these remained.

But maybe this would be for the best. She'd sunk so many years into Fazbear's and all the misery it entailed. So much death… Cringing in the dark, she told herself nothing could be done about the murders she was privy to. They would have happened with or without me. And who would believe me if I came out about it? While cleaning up her workspace, she would have taken some documents or downloaded something onto a floppy disk, but she could feel Auric next to her, watching.

Auric, she thought, her eyes flying open. Reflecting on those few minutes, she realized his spirit had followed her the entire time, a buzzing in the back of her mind. But why? It shouldn't have interested him that much. People left Fazbear's quite often: got fired, quit or were reassigned to other positions. While not a daily occurrence, Auric must have seen it several dozen times. Why would he be so interested in her specifically?

That's when Helen became suspicious. She'd thought all day about the future, but hardly any about the past. Why was she let go? And why did it interest Auric so much? Needing a little air, she got up and opened the window. That's better. Then she paced the room.

I was the best employee there. Always on time, never called in sick, got shit done. Ethics weren't the problem. She doubted her coworkers complained sufficiently to warrant it. They may have thought she had a stick up her ass, but most were smart enough to realize that she kept things from flying off the rails. Really, the only time I've ever been in breach of protocol is with Mike and Foxy.

Stopping dead in her tracks, she slapped her forehead. "How the fuck did I forget about that?" she muttered. Now everything made sense. Auric must have gotten desperate enough to snitch on her. That's when her stomach dropped. After all, he wouldn't stop at her.

Mike was in danger. Foxy, too. Or they might already be dead. If not, they would be very soon.

Helen shivered from head to toe. There was nothing she could do but wait and watch.

…

Something was wrong. Foxy stirred awake, Mike leaning on her shoulder. Must have drifted over in the night. The luminescence of a half-moon cut through a gap in the curtains, creating a streak of light across the floor. An odd scent hung in the air, something completely unfamiliar to the environment. She tilted her head and sniffed. Smelled like… leather. A lot of leather. Very faint footsteps came from outside, crunching on pebbles.

It's nothing, she thought, leaning back. Probably just a deer walking in front of the house.

Still, her instincts told her it was something else. Now that she focused, she heard more footfalls, soft though they were; if not for the gravel driveway, she never would have noticed. A pit grew in her stomach. She'd mistaken Sylvia for a thief before, and the notion returned now. Sighing, she decided to wake her boyfriend up. She almost hoped something was wrong; that way this wouldn't be a waste of time.

"Hey, Mike," she whispered.

"W-what? Am I dreaming?" he asked, slowly rousing.

"I hear something outside. Footsteps." Groggy as he was, Mike concentrated for a few seconds. The sound slowly got louder, just enough for a human to notice.

"So do I," he replied, not looking too alarmed. "It's probably nothing, though. Just animals." He was probably right, but something seemed off, especially with the smell. Whatever was out there didn't smell like actual living deer, but processed ones. Mike couldn't take that into account.

While tired and half-convinced it was nothing, she decided to check it out anyway. "I'll be right back," she murmured, standing up and walking over to a window near the front door. Mike watched as she did so, eager to sleep again.

For a moment, she couldn't see anything. The half-moon provided decent enough light, but it was currently covered by a thick cloud. Gravel still crunched underfoot as a more familiar and less welcome scent enveloped her: humans. Then the cloudbank pulled away, revealing a sight that nearly made her scream.

Five people slowly crossed the driveway, making as little noise as they reasonable could. Then the guns. One was holstered to their hips, another to their shoulders. She knew virtually nothing about weapons more recent than the 17th Century, but the former were familiar, the same kind the guards carried. M9s, they were called. The latter was larger, something she'd never seen. Submachine guns, maybe? From their boots to their balaclavas, their clothing was black as the night. Some parts of it were probably leather – explained the smell. They'd arrive in a little more than a minute.

"Mike?" Her throat tightened as she trembled, barely able to squeak the word out. Their worst fear had come to pass. Somehow or other, Phil caught wind of all this and sent people to kill them… well, maybe they'd spare her. Tears forming, she turned to look at him. The time they'd spent together flashed before her. She didn't want to live without him. Softly sobbing, she could only think one thing.

It was over.

Not understanding, her boyfriend approached the window as well. As she cried, he fell to his knees and did the same. He was going to die. Nothing to do now but wait. However, she also swore she'd go down fighting. Might take one of them down as well. More importantly, it would also encourage them to shoot her. She'd rather die than go back to her old life. If she was really lucky, maybe that wouldn't be the end. Maybe there was an afterlife. And maybe Mike would be there, too.

"Let's go to the closet," Mike whispered. His voice warbled, threatening at any moment to collapse back into sobs. "That way we'll have a few more minutes together."

She slowly followed him, chains of dread wrapping around her ankles, the universe telling her to collapse and let it be over. But if Mike wanted a few extra moments more with her… well, she had no objections. Mike opened a closet in the hallway just across from his room, and they both plopped down among old clothes and forgotten appliances before he shut the door. A tight fit, but that was the last thing she cared about now. All was darkness save for whatever her eye fell upon, which was bathed in a very dim orange glow.

"I love you," she whispered through gritted teeth, pouring out the last words she'd ever speak to him. "God, I love you so much."

"I don't want to die," Mike replied, slipping back into sobs. "I love you, too. More than anything or anyone. There's so much left I want to experience. With you. But I think you're safe, at least." Small comfort.

"That's not what I want!" The creaking of wood from outside meant the assassins ascended the porch steps. She remembered her life before she met him; months and years of sitting and listening, dead to the world. "You're my everything! Without you, I'll have nothing left!"

Slowly, the front door creaked open. The noise lasted an eternity. Mike held her arm, trying his best to be brave. Soft footsteps came from the parlor as they searched the room… and also from Mike's parents' room, which was at the other end of the hall. There must have been another team that entered through the window in there. So the two of them sat quietly, waiting.

Until her more piratical side began to creep in. Anger supplanted fear and grief. Her muscles tightened as footsteps approached. She wouldn't just fight. She'd win. The two sides converged in the main hallway. By now, the assassins began to whisper to each other as they cased the few remaining rooms.

"Where the fuck are they?"

"His car was here. They must be hiding."

"Is this the right house?"

"Christ, if you got the address wrong, you're screwed."

If it was just her, she'd give up, but it wasn't. These monsters wanted to kill Mike. Well, maybe they would. However, they'd really need to work for it. Hardheadedness was in her blood; she couldn't help but take a chance, no matter how slim. Even though this was the scariest moment in either of her lives, she took a deep breath and resolved to give them a challenge.

There wasn't time to ask Mike for his permission about any of this. They had seconds. One group was in the bathroom to their left, the other in Sylvia's room to their right. Right in front of them was Mike's room, which had a window… It was crazy, but it was their best chance. Even if they died, it would be with a little style.

"Seriously, this house is the size of my garage! How can we not find them?" one of them shouted, dropping any pretense of stealth.

Her heart raced faster than ever as the two groups assembled in front of the closet. Mike wrapped his arms around her, and for a moment she couldn't help but see him as a little boy again. Of course, her last experience with a small child had ended tragically… This would be different. She wouldn't let him die. "Mike," she whispered as quietly as she could, "get on my back." He trembled and softly wept but did as she asked without question.

Taking a deep breath, she kicked the door open with all her strength.

It whipped around, nearly flying off its hinges and slamming into somebody's face. A soft crack resounded through the hall: the sound of a breaking nose. The recipient screamed in agony. If only they were skeletons or zombies. These people were inhuman, but they must have had family or friends… Mike was watching. She'd try not to kill any of them. The rest shouted and reached for their weapons. Too late.

She leapt out of the closet and slashed one across the face with her hook. Another she kicked in the knee, which snapped like a branch and sent him down. A third she bit in the shoulder, and the taste of gore brought up very bad memories. All this before the rest had their guns out. Blood flowed like water, and the would-be assassins screamed. Somehow, though, it brought her no joy. The only things she could think of were Mike and how to keep him alive. He played his part admirably, clinging to her back for dear life as she tore through the bad guys, too scared to make a noise.

Then it came time to bail.

She rocketed through Mike's room and leapt out the window… or rather, through it. Dozens of glass shards lacerated her flesh, but that didn't matter. Both of them were still alive. The killers ran to the threshold, barking and shouting.

They hung in the air for just short of forever. Hitting the ground wouldn't be fun. Mike's room faced the hill's steep slope. It was a fifteen or twenty-foot drop. Survivable for her, but it wouldn't be – popopopopop!

Gunfire drowned out everything else as they fell. Fortunately, another cloud rolled across the moon, leaving them literally shooting in the dark. Unfortunately, a lot of rounds were flying. And one of them found its mark.

She hit the ground hard, grunting in pain both from making such a leap and the armor-piercing bullet embedded in her left shoulder. That could wait; it wasn't in her leg, so it wouldn't slow her down.

More important was Mike. "Are you OK?" she asked as she ran from the hail of bullets.

"Yes," he squeaked out. That was a good enough answer for now.

Footsteps tailed them along with occasional bursts of gunfire and curses. Foxy could normally have outrun them, but carrying Mike and the steep terrain slowed her considerably. Sharp rocks dug into her feet as unseen bushes tore her clothes.

Bushes! It was perfect.

She ducked into a nearby shrub, certain the assassins hadn't seen her through the night. They rushed past a few seconds later, gun-mounted flashlights flailing as they went. As the footfalls faded away, she pulled herself out, laughing despite the pain. Mike, however, remained silent.

"What's the matter?" she asked him while sprawling out under the moon. "We did it."

He started crying again, which dismayed her. They won. What could take away from that? "N-no. They'll still find me and kill me!" Genius that she was, it took Foxy a few moments to realize what he meant. Pirates weren't generally forward-thinking. "These people will never stop hunting me." An expression of raw agony flashed across his dirt-streaked face. "Oh God, what if they go after my family?!"

She wanted to tell him everything would be all right, that they'd "figure something out." But she didn't want to lie to him. What could they do against people as powerful as BRIAR? The only option she could think of was Mike going to the police with her; hard to ignore a living animatronic standing right in front of you. However, she doubted the government would be much kinder.

Instead, she gave him a hug. A jolt of pain shot through her left shoulder as she moved her arm, but she pushed it aside. Mike hugged her back, and they stayed like that for a long while.

4:03 AM

The pizzeria was in an uproar.

Freddy, Bonnie and Chica had just been herded away, confused and exhausted about having been woken at such an ungodly hour. They'd be locked in the basement while this epic reunion happened. Unfortunately, there wasn't caviar or five-hundred dollar vodka like at the annual New Year's party.

People jockeyed for a view of the stage, talked, argued and made wagers about what "crucial announcement" Phil was going to make. Helen stood in the back, wearing a baseball cap to conceal her rather conspicuous hair. She was in awe; every current employee stood in that room, something she could never remember happening before. Several dozen people, all crammed together like they were at a concert. The atmosphere was the same, too. Being fired and all, she didn't receive a call from Phil, but she sure as Hell got it from a dozen others. This was an event, and everyone needed to be there, even the uptight.

They must not have known about me getting fired. A second after thinking that, she shook her head. No, they would have called regardless. It wasn't like there was anyone to check their identities; a person driving by, curious about the early morning commotion at some backwoods pizza place, could easily walk in without anyone being the wiser.

The din softened slightly as Phil entered the room. All eyes turned to him. He was angry.

For all his failings, her former boss possessed a notoriously level head. Few things ever broke that forced-fun demeanor. But tonight, he raged. Even from a distance, she saw his face, scowling and red. With his signature purple jacket on, he looked like an overly-ripe eggplant.

Her heart quickened. Whatever he had to say must have been about Mike. Calling this unprecedented meeting the same day after he'd found out about him and Foxy? There simply wasn't another option. She'd resigned herself to the worst; he was dead. Then why is he so angry?

Phil mounted the stage, and the conversation petered out. Everyone knew that this would be a moment to remember. Adjusting his collar and trying to brush back his shockingly disheveled hair, he began to speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, trying in vain to capture his usual niceties, "thank you for coming at such a strange time on such short notice."

He sighed, managing to compose himself a little. Still, his voice dripped venom. "I assume that you all are familiar with our esteemed night guard, one Michael Schmidt?" A murmur of collective assent swept the room. After a dramatic pause, Phil dropped the bombshell. "It's recently come to my attention that he's been involved in a very serious breach of contract."

The crowd went absolutely nuts. "Breach of contract" was essentially shorthand for "we're going to demote/fire/kill you," and there was no doubt about which category Mike fell into. Her colleagues could only formulate one inquiry, which they asked each other ravenously: "what did he do?"

"The breach in question being unauthorized contact with Foxy. A lot of it," he answered over the noise. Everyone quieted as the weight of this revelation settled upon them. Even Helen faltered slightly despite already knowing. Something like their relationship was completely unprecedented. However, it didn't answer the question of what happened to Mike. "In fact, she's not even here now! He took her to his house!"

Before she could react, her coworkers practically scrambled over each other as they rushed for Pirate Cove to see if this was true. She remained with the throng, for it made her far less noticeable. Sure enough, no one was home. Just dust and moldering props. Well, except for the mural; that was obviously brand new. The sight of a sunken pirate ship teetering at the edge of a trench was haunting.

Beautiful, too… well, half of it. The other half looked to have been painted by an inebriated toddler. Regardless, it elicited gasps. That's awesome, she thought, her fear easing up for just a moment. Foxy and Mike must have done it during one of his visits. She'd examined some of Foxy's art before, but she never expected her to be capable of something like this. It revealed a deep creative insight. She would love to see more samples.

Then Phil walked in, looking at the painting with disgust. More than a hint of jealousy, too. Oh, seriously?! Now she understood his rage. Foxy liked someone more than him, a psychotic egomaniac. "I called in a wetwork team from headquarters!" he continued, making her blood run cold again. She only got colder and tenser as he walked within a few feet of her.

If he had to outsource an assassination, well, something must have gone sideways from the very beginning. Then again, her coworkers weren't particularly suitable for stealth.

"I would greatly appreciate it if you remained silent for the rest of my announcement or you're all fucking fired!" Everyone looked at each other in shock. Helen's knees nearly buckled. Truly, that might have been the most unexpected thing about the night. The illusion of civility finally shattered and left their boss vengeful and rabid. However, it worked as intended, shutting them all up. "Thank you. As I was saying, I sent out a team… who failed."

Good. She breathed a silent sigh of relief. There was still time, even if it rapidly ran out.

"However, this is only a temporary setback! Make no mistake – I will find them. Until then, the pizzeria is closed." Another gut-punch. Phil had never shuttered his restaurant before. They were open every day of the year. Even in raging blizzards, they were expected to come regardless of if any customers did. Some were on the verge of shouting for joy until he added, "You're all going to help me."

A murmur of disappointment was quickly quashed by a glare of undiluted rage from Phil. Anyone there, herself included, could have kicked this little weasel's ass, but this was a side of him they'd never seen. Surprisingly, it was kind of intimidating. "We're going to watch every way in and out of town like hawks while searching for any sign of them! Is that clear?"

Very. "And we're starting right now."

5:36 AM

Mike awoke to the first pale lights of dawn illuminating the forest. With consciousness came disappointment. Wet with dew, he sat up and thought about his fate. A life on the run, never able to stay in one place for long, poor and friendless. He'd drift around the country, scrounging through dumpsters to survive. Thinking about it made him exhausted. That was the only reason he didn't cry. This didn't come as an enormous shock, either; he'd considered and mentally prepared for such a future. Still, his preconceptions were less awful than reality.

"Hey, you're up." Foxy emerged from some bushes and walked up to him.

"Yeah." His voice sounded hollow and unfamiliar, like it wasn't his own. "You didn't sleep?"

She shrugged, wincing it pain as she did so. "I couldn't. But I… well, I stayed with you for most of the night." That, at the very least, raised his spirits a bit. "Had to protect you from the scary wildlife. Without me, you might have been eaten by raccoons."

"Thank you," he said, not knowing how else to respond. "For saving me. For being there. For everything."

A few tears welled up in her eye, but she brushed them away for a moment and held out a handful of wild blackberries. "I just got back from a little scouting, seeing if the assassins were still around. They aren't. Found these on the way back."

Suddenly, Mike realized he was famished. Hungrily eying them, he restrained himself and took only half. "Go on. Have the rest." She reluctantly agreed, and the two of them silently nibbled on their treasure as the dawn grew brighter.

Well, there was one thing he wanted to say. "Last night… your fighting was incredible. You took out, like, four guys." He didn't mean that in an entirely positive way. Not that he wasn't grateful. Of course he was! It was so real, though, like a scene in an action movie brought to life. Only instead of bringing delight at defeating the villains, he was too focused on the brutal snap of bone and dislocation of joints.

"I didn't kill any of them," she replied, understanding his nuance. "Maimed a couple, maybe, but none should have died." That made him feel a bit better for those human scum.

As they finished up, Foxy's composure broke, and she began to weep again. The two of them shed a lot of tears, he realized. Perhaps that wasn't very courageous of them, but he loved that they could be so open with each other. "Why? Why did I have to fall in love with you?" Oily liquid ran down her fur like mascara. "If I didn't, none of this would be happening! I destroyed your life!"

Yeah, she was right. If they never met, Mike would have survived his week and fallen back into an ordinary existence. Maybe he could have one day convinced himself the whole experience was just a bad dream. He could have graduated with good grades, gotten a job and then a nice house. But it wouldn't have satisfied him. For years, he'd just drifted along, doing the things that he was expected to. It never made him happy.

Foxy did, though. She cheered him in a way no one else ever had. Completed him, he would say if it wasn't so damn corny.

"Foxy," he said, taking her hand, "I'll be honest; I'm terrified. I, uh, don't want to die. But I would never give up us, not for anything."

"Are you serious?" she asked, calming down a little. "That's a damn strong statement."

Do I really mean that? He hadn't really considered it. Just seemed like a cool, dramatic thing to say. The wording was so… permanent. Strange as it seemed, he'd only known her for two months. Was that enough time to make what was essentially a declaration of eternal love? "I don't know," he admitted. "But, like, you just saved my life! Again! You keep doing these incredible, amazing things for me. Because you love me!" She was about to interject, but he cut her off. "And don't say 'that's just a thing pirates do'. You would have done that whether you were a pirate or an astronaut or a magician or a janitor!"

They sat a little while longer. The sun was fully out by now, painting the sky a vibrant blue. Foxy watched a line of ants crawling along the ground while Mike considered his next move. His job taught him foresight, at least. That would be invaluable for what lay ahead.

He couldn't go back to his house. Phil must have had people there waiting for him. Therefore, he had nothing, not even shoes: just the clothes on his back. The good news was that his parents and sister were essentially off-the-grid for the next week or so. They'd turn up soon, but hopefully Phil cooled off enough by then to not threaten them, too. As always, Auric was the wild card. Perhaps he would search every square inch of the county as a disembodied spirit. Or he might not care now that Mike was out of the way and stay put. Difficult to gauge the motives of an eldritch abomination.

Regardless, his goal now was clear: get out of Dodge. What followed would be difficult to guess until then. I have to see Jeremy before then, he thought. Him and June were the only people he could trust with this. He'd just ask (or beg) for a little money and a change of clothes before going on his way. Any more than that would be outrageous. They should be here. June mentioned they'd come back on the weekends.

"I'm going to Jeremy's," he told Foxy, standing up and looking around.

"Then I'm going with – " She cut off, doubling over in pain.

"What?! What's wrong?" He rushed over and put a hand on her shoulder. That revealed the problem. She'd been shot! Blood soaked her shirt, trickling from a wound right where arm and body met. Perhaps he should have congratulated her for her determination and grit in not mentioning the injury. However, it made him angry. "Why the fuck didn't you say anything?!"

"Would it have helped if I did?" she asked through gritted teeth. Sighing, he helped her up.

"Yes, actually! You keep acting like your life isn't worth anything. Don't get me wrong, I'm eternally grateful that you keep saving me, but I could have helped if you brought this up earlier!" She looked at him with bemusement.

"You really don't get it, do you?"

"No, I really don't." Whatever point she tried to make with this flew right over his head.

"You're the one who saved me, not the other way around. You've given me so much. After all you've been through, you deserve a happy ending." Huh. They each thought their respective partner better than themselves. That sounded to Mike like a very good thing.

"It'll only be happy if you're in it," he replied, nearly gagging as he said those words. He knew they would sound cheesy, but damn. Maybe he should stop with the poetry.

"You always say the most romantic things." Never mind! If Foxy liked sappy stuff, he'd make lame jokes all day. "Come on, let's go." She motioned to him, and they set off through the woods. Hopefully Jeremy would deign to patch up her shoulder.

Fearful as he felt, Mike was slightly heartened by the weather. It was sunny skies and warm air all around, the perfect climate for a vagrant… make that two vagrants. "I assume you're coming with me," Mike asked his girlfriend as they trudged along. He knew the region's layout pretty well; wouldn't be that hard to just pop out of the forest in front of Jeremy's house as soon as they found Whitewater.

"Is that even up for debate?" Having an anthropomorphic vixen along with him would make things a bit more complicated. Still, he couldn't possibly ask her to go back to her old circumstances, the ones she despised so much. No, this was a way she could truly be free of Auric. It would be a difficult life, but together it might be worthwhile.

"Just making sure. But no robbing banks! I know you're a pirate, but we're not stealing shit to survive." Hopefully they wouldn't need to.

10:05 AM

Foxy and Mike staggered up the steps of Jeremy's front porch, parched and exhausted. Apparently, Mike's sense of direction wasn't as good as he thought, because the two of them ended up lost in the woods for several hours. If anyone saw her… well, they'd be inside soon enough.

She winced again from the pain in her shoulder, which kept getting worse. She'd never been shot in reality, but could recall quite a few times on the Southern Sea when she'd taken bullets. Those hurt a lot less, though she wasn't sure whether that was a product of her imagination, those bullets hitting different places on her body or the fact that 17th Century firearms weren't as powerful as modern ones. Regardless, this thing needed to come out soon or she'd rip it out herself.

June answered the door, not seeming surprised by them being there. All things considered, she'd acclimated pretty well to the fact that sentient animatronics existed. "Uh, hi," Mike said. She loved him, but she had to admit that he wasn't the best at introductions.

She beckoned them inside and shut the door. "What are you two – " She cut off as she noticed the blood oozing from her shoulder. "Oh my god! What happened?"

"I was shot," Foxy said as casually as she could, which wasn't very. "But where's your dad? I need someone to take the bullet out." No offence to June, but she'd rather be operated on by an older, more experienced mechanic, regardless of his attitude.

"In Portland with Mom. We take turns coming up here, and it was mine this weekend." As she said this, she scurried about, grabbing a bottle of antiseptic and a rag. "Now take off your shirt."

It took a moment to process the request. Personally, she tended to think of herself as more mechanical than organic, though that might be different for others. The medicine should still work on her, though. Others did, so she complied.

Mike's face flushed red, and he turned away, obviously a little intimidated by the sight of a woman's breasts. She might have felt the same way about seeing him naked, though, so she didn't judge.

The disinfectant stung as it touched her raw flesh, and she braced herself against a wall. "Why are you so embarrassed, Mike?" June teased as she treated the wound. "I figured you'd want to ogle your girlfriend."

"Wait, you know about that?" Foxy exclaimed. Not that she particularly cared, but it seemed like everybody they knew, though few in number, had discerned their relationship.

"I told her," Mike said, blushing as he hazarded a glance. "I thought she might have to pose as my girlfriend for Sylvia, but I doubt that'll happen now…" He tapered off and lapsed back into despair. It pained Foxy that she couldn't say or do more. Frankly, running away with him beat anything she'd ever done, regardless of what difficulties it could bring. Unlike him, she had absolutely nothing to leave behind. Well, maybe Freddy, Bonnie and Chica, but they could survive just fine without her.

"I hope you'll explain this to me." June finished disinfecting the trauma and handed Foxy her shirt, which she quickly put back on. Didn't want Mike to be more uncomfortable than he already was. She then led them into the kitchen and sat the two of them down. "Tell me about it, and then I'll see what I can do about getting that bullet out."

It was a fair enough request, but Foxy hoped Mike would recognize her pain and give June the short version. And he did, though any story that involved getting shot always required a good deal of explanation. Mike filled her in a bit more about BRIAR as well as the events leading up to them being there and finally that they didn't have a choice now except to go on the run. The pain in her shoulder grew with every word, morphing into a blazing fire. The bullet must have done worse than tear her flesh. Thrill junkie that she was, June hung on every word. Still, she comprehended the situation's gravity.

"You two could stay here if you wanted," she said after Mike finished the story. "Dad might not like it, but he'd understand."

Foxy looked at him. That wasn't necessarily a bad idea. "I've thought about that," he said. "The thing is, Phil already knows we know each other. Unless he's an even bigger idiot than I think – and that's totally possible – he'll send somebody over here soon to look for us." Damn, another option lost. It seemed like the universe was railroading them toward this inevitable conclusion, one that didn't satisfy them.

"I see," June muttered before turning to her. "I can try to take that bullet out, but I'm a mechanic, not a doctor. Really, it looks like you have more organic parts than not." The thought made her shudder. June had to take this thing out! They had no one else, and the thought of living with this pain much longer was in itself painful. If only she knew which parts of her were mechanical and which weren't.

"What do you think, Foxy?" Mike asked her, obviously concerned. She appreciated his apprehension, but there just weren't any other options as far as she could see.

"Let's do it." Even if it didn't work out, she couldn't imagine it'd make things worse. Well, it might, but she didn't want to imagine that.

"OK, this is exciting," June said, nevertheless sounding pretty nervous. "Just follow me."

They did so, walking out to behind the house and then down a small hill to the locked-up shop. Really cool that these things were so close together! Then again, her living area and former place of employment were one and the same. The late-morning sun warmed her fur nicely, at least. June unlocked the door, flipped on the lights and ushered them in. "We still have a lot of tools here, fortunately. Didn't make sense to take them all with us when we left."

Foxy sniffed the air. The scent of oil mingled with a hint of sweat, much like in her previous visits. However, it had been several weeks since serious work had been done in there, reducing the odor to tolerable levels for her - Mike might not even have noticed. The layout was the same as the last time she visited, but that presented a problem. "Where do you want me to be?"

"Um… shit." Being an auto shop, they didn't exactly have cots. "How about that?" She pointed to a sturdy-looking table covered in tools, possibly the same one she got her mouth fixed on. "I'll just move the stuff off of it." It didn't appear particularly comfortable, but it must have been better than lying on the floor. June gathered some appliances while Foxy and Mike worked on clearing the table, though Foxy was again hindered by her wound.

And then they were ready. She again took off her shirt and hopped onto the table, only one question now in her mind. "Is this going to hurt?"

"I don't know," June admitted. "You're a machine, so you're supposed to be repaired, but on a human… yeah, this would hurt like Hell." Visions of needles and scalpels flooded her mind before being quickly quashed. This would be different. The person operating on her this time wasn't a psychopath and wanted to help. Hopefully good intentions would make the difference.

Lying down on her stomach, she turned to Mike, who stood right next to her. "You're really brave. I don't think I could do this if I were you."

"It helps that you're here," she whispered. "And it would help even more if you were closer." A small smile spread across his face, and he kneeled next to her, taking her hand.

"I'll stay right next to you," he replied, rubbing her neck. Nothing could make her happier.

"Honestly, you two are pretty cute together." Not that they needed any encouragement from outsiders, but June's words still warmed her. "At first, I thought you were both crazy, but… OK, you actually are crazy, just not about this."

Out of the corner of her eye, Foxy saw her grab a pair of bent nose pliers. Clenching her teeth, she waited for the pain to begin. They fidgeted at the opening for a while, probably picking at the blood in her fur, before going in. It didn't hurt as much as she expected. Instead of an inferno, it was more of a simmering flame. Painful, yet momentarily bearable. Mike squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back.

The pain grew, and she scraped the table with her hook. Though he knew she could easily crush his hand, Mike kept holding hers regardless. Him having that much faith in her overrode the agony. Before she knew it, June extracted the round.

"One bullet, gently used," she said, placing it next to Foxy's head. Hard to believe a tiny bit of metal could cause all this.

"How do you feel?" Mike asked.

She almost involuntarily answered that the pain was gone and that she was good to go. After all, she didn't want to be a burden on him. Pirates pulled their own weight. However, the sensation remained. Granted, it had only been a few seconds, but something still seemed wrong. "June? Could you see if there's anything else in there?"

"Yeah, sure," she replied, again prodding around with the pliers. "That actually wasn't too hard. Very similar to removing debris from an engine bay." Then there was relative silence for a few minutes. June poked around while Foxy and Mike stayed together. Her pain fluctuated from second to second. Since oil was essentially her blood, the room smelled like a slaughterhouse, a thought that made her gag.

"Ah, I think I see the problem." She didn't sound too thrilled, which made Foxy nervous. "There's this dull silver cylindrical object connecting two rods. I'm pretty sure it's a servo joint connecting two of your bones. The bullet knocked a nut on it loose." Foxy heaved a sigh of relief. At least it didn't damage the bone itself.

"You're doing great," Foxy said. Even though this hurt, it wasn't a tenth as bad as when BRIAR did something to her.

"So are you. Any normal person would be howling and thrashing unless they had anesthetic." June reached for some kind of wrench and a replacement nut as she said this. "You're still a machine. Maybe your body instinctively knows that this is supposed to happen and therefore doesn't register it as super painful."

"I was thinking the same thing," Foxy replied. Her own physiology had remained a mystery to her for so long. It was nice to have a friendly face try and explain it. Mike looked rather clueless about all this, but he didn't say anything. It posed an interesting question about the subjectivity of pain. Sounds like something Helen would be interested in.

She felt the damaged part come loose under the wrench. Far from being painful, it was actually soothing. A defective piece of her was being removed and replaced with something new and better. She softly laughed; that was a pretty good analogy for events in her life. "This feels good. Therapeutic."

"Yeah, just like going to a health spa," Mike joked as June screwed in a replacement nut. The vast majority of her pain evaporated, the wound in her shoulder feeling no worse than a small cut. "And it looks like you're cured."

"I think I am." Turning her head toward June, she asked, "Do I need any stitches."

She shrugged. "Even if you do, I'm not qualified to give them. Your fur would make that difficult, anyway. I think you'll be OK if you keep it clean." Mike handed her shirt back, and she sat up and slipped it on. Now that that was taken care of, it was back to a life on the run.

"June, I can't thank you enough," Foxy said, getting a little emotional. Only Mike had ever done more for her. "Fixing my jaw and now this? Just… I'm grateful."

"It's no trouble," she replied, blushing a bit. "I'm privileged to know you even exist, and working on you… well, it's a mechanic's dream come true!" She quickly amended, "Not that you're just an experiment. I mean, I don't know you all that well, but you seem like a nice person. After you last talked, I think my dad changed his mind about you, too." That was also nice to hear.

"Still," she continued, "you might want to stick around for a while to make sure things don't get worse again. I know what you said earlier, but can't you stay for just one night?"

Mike was about to answer, but he stopped himself and deferred the question to her. "What do you think, Foxy? You're the one who just had surgery."

The idea of staying overnight didn't sound too bad, especially because June had offered. "Fine with me."

12:10 PM

A straight. Not bad, Helen thought, trying to hide her interest in their very special visitor.

"Check," she declared. Her opponents were Iota-Tau and Omicron (or, as he was more commonly known, "the guy with the Chinese tattoo on his bicep"), and they both thought she was bluffing. Yes, play right into my victory.

Only a few feet away from them sat William Afton, BRIAR's patron and president. She'd only ever seen him a few times, and that was more than most could say. Besides pouring an unprecedented amount of money and resources on Fazbear's, he remained a complete enigma. More often than not he operated through agents, and this was the first time he'd personally visited in years.

He came with the truck that would take the remaining animatronics back to headquarters; they couldn't risk losing more of them. As for Helen herself… well, Phil was far too busy freaking the fuck out to notice her, and nobody else particularly cared. She'd used to despise the apathy of her coworkers, but now it was a boon. Playing poker with colleagues on break while simultaneously spying made for an interesting day. A plan was already forming in her mind. It was a long shot, but it was the best scheme she'd ever developed for deposing Phil. Of course, this was also the first such scheme.

What happened next remained up in the air. One thing was clear, however; Afton wasn't happy.

"This is ridiculous!" he shouted at Phil as loudly as a sickly, wheelchair-bound middle-aged man could. "What you ask is outrageous! I am not going to abandon every other project I have to track down a teenager that you somehow let escape!"

Hearing Phil receive such a tongue lashing was damn satisfying, and everyone in the building stopped their work to listen to the glorious noise. He took it with dignity, though the day's events took their toll on his patience.

Her, Iota-Tau and Omicron all played their hands, each convinced they would win. Luckily, she had the best judgement. "A straight beats two pair and three of a kind," she laughed.

"Son of a fucking bitch," Omicron muttered. If Mr. Afton wasn't sitting right next to them, he might have been a little more explicit. Iota-Tau tried to get something out, but his stammer was acting up that day, so he quit after a few seconds.

Phil sighed. "Respectfully, the fact that Foxy's gone is a major security threat! What if she's – "

"And who's fault is that?!" The finger pointed at Phil's face made the answer plainly obvious to all the loitering employees. None of them actually liked him, and even if they did, everybody was still sane enough not to disagree with the guy at the top. "I have never seen more dysfunctional security! You didn't even have a lock on the fire exit in her room!" Then he pointed to her little group right as she raked in the pot.

"Your guards are playing poker in the middle of this so-called manhunt!" Helen ducked her head to avoid Phil's very, very distracted gaze while Iota-Tau gave Mr. Afton a small wave.

"You mean the guards that you provided?" That actually got a good laugh out of everyone present. It was so bizarre hearing these two openly acknowledge what awful employees they were and try to pin the blame on each other. They all knew they were terrible at their jobs, they just didn't care. Well, Helen did, but she didn't work there anymore!

"I mean the ones you could have replaced if you weren't so fucking stupid!" Very harsh language coming from Afton. She didn't know the whole story there, but it seemed like the two of them hadn't gotten along for a while. That would make sense; Afton was a brilliant entrepreneur while Phil lacked the business acumen or skill to keep a single restaurant in working order.

Their argument was interrupted as Ol' Grizzly, Bugs and Ms. Chic emerged from the kitchen, being led away in shackles by more than a dozen of her coworkers. The latter two were their usual obedient selves, but Ol' Grizzly stumbled as he walked, looking dazed. Knowing him, he must have tried to fight back and they either drugged or beat him until he complied. Her face grew hot, and she looked away in shame. She couldn't believe she'd once tolerated this cruelty.

"Ah, there they are! Our remaining gateways into realms beyond our own." Ol' Grizzly attempted to speak, but all that came out was a slurred string of syllables. "I'll look after them from now on. You're clearly incapable of doing so. The restaurant remains yours, of course, but you'll have to find some new, non-living replacement animatronics."

Phil was on the verge of tears. "Please don't take them away," he choked out. "They're all I have left. I can't lose my family again." Surprisingly, these words seemed to resonate with Mr. Afton. "Remember when we first met?"

"I remember. I saw myself in you." The man flashed a somber smile as the animatronics were pushed out the door and into an armored truck. "But I was wrong. I place science and advancement ahead of any personal feelings, but you simply lack the resolve to do so." Then her boss (well, former boss) began openly weeping as everyone watched. He may have been a psychopath and a reprobate, but Helen couldn't help feeling a little sorry for the pathetic little man.

Turning away from Phil, Mr. Afton continued, "I've given you many chances over the years. I'm generous. But you've wasted every single one of them with your boundless rashness. Why didn't you just wait for this guard to bring Foxy back, then kill him once he was inside?! It would have been far easier and less collaterally damaging."

She recoiled, and even her fellow players slipped Afton sideways glances. The man thought far too much about ways to kill people. Still, it was fortunate that Phil's own incompetence thwarted him.

Of course, one very important question remained, which Phil brought up. He stopped sniveling and asked, "What about Auric?" Her coworkers were now very interested in the conversation, which the two men continued with abandon. At this point, they had far larger things to worry about than letting a few hints slip.

Everybody there had heard the name, and the unlucky ones started hallucinating, getting even more violent and sadistic, and then fired – hopefully! They all knew something very strange occupied a specific room in the basement, unauthorized to all except Phil. But nobody knew exactly what Auric was except her, and that was only because of what Mike had told her. Naturally, anything having to do with him was a hot topic of conversation and rumor.

"I spoke with him last night after your 'mistake'," Afton casually replied. "He agrees with my judgement completely. Sometime soon, I'll be back for him. I would have picked him up now, but he needs to 'get affairs in order'."

Instantly, Phil's expression shifted from sadness to rage. "I'll see about that," he muttered before storming off toward the basement.

"That adjourns our business!" Afton shouted after him. "Be seeing you!" With that, the man wheeled himself out of the restaurant and into the parking lot. Now was her chance.

"I'll be back in a minute," she told the others. "Deal me in for the next hand."

"Uh, um, sure," Iota-Tau said, fumbling with the cards.

"No, dumbass," she heard Omicron say as she walked toward the door, "you're supposed to deal the other way!"

Exiting the restaurant, she raced across the asphalt to catch up with Mr. Afton; he was surprisingly fast for a guy in a wheelchair. The fact that he could maneuver around the potholes was impressive, too. "Excuse me! Excuse me, Mr. Afton," she said, getting to him right as he was about to get himself lifted into the passenger's seat by a couple of burly men.

"Don't worry, you'll all be reassigned," he said dismissively. "You may be undisciplined, but I look after my own. I'm sure I can find you a place in a stockroom where you won't do any damage."

"What? No! That's not what I wanted to talk about." Although that was a good point. She really needed a new job.

"Then what?" Clearly, he wouldn't put up with her much longer. She had to be fast.

"Why do you keep Phil around if you don't like him?"

"He has his uses," he explained, waving the men away for a moment. "He's a very charismatic person, for one thing. Knows how to motivate people. Most importantly, he's independent. If the authorities ever catch wind of what happened here, there would be very little implicating me. Just a crazy man with advanced, though certainly not sentient, killer robots." It astounded her that Afton was willing to flat-out admit this, though she supposed it made sense. What could she possibly do about it? A lot, in fact.

"Are you sure you don't want to replace him?" There was very little chance the man would act on her arguments, but she had to try. No, the payoff came later, assuming things went the way they played out in her head. Phil wouldn't sit on his hands; he'd retaliate, and he'd do it soon. Still a long shot, though not as much as asking politely.

"With who?"

"Me, maybe?" It came as no surprise that he laughed right in her face. She would be lying if she said it wasn't slightly embarrassing coming from the CEO of the company she worked for, though. "I'm serious. Unlike Phil, I'm not an idiot. I've also been here thirteen years, so I probably know how to run this place better than he does. And if you need a fall guy… well, it doesn't really matter who that is."

Amused by her tenacity, he replied, "Tell you what. Give me your number. If things change, I'll give you a call." That was actually more than she expected, so she complied.

Then his strongmen returned and lifted his chair into an empty space where a seat would usually be. As the truck sped away, Rho sighed and entered the restaurant again. The place was completely silent save for the clacking of her shoes on linoleum and a faint rumble coming from the kitchen. Phil screaming, maybe? She didn't really care.

OK, let's see what my cards are this time.

…

"How could you do this?!" Phil was screaming so loudly it felt like his vocal cords would snap in half. People could probably hear him from the dining area, but he hardly cared. His face burned, pushing back against the cold. "I've given you everything! How can you abandon me?!"

Auric replied, "It is nothing personal, Phillip. You served me faithfully for a moment. But circumstances have changed, as they always do. William has offered to work with me personally, and he has proven himself far more capable than you."

He shook with anger. The fact that the target of his rage was an immortal spirit seemed a small detail. First, he doesn't tell me about Mike and Foxy, and now this?! Auric once said they'd never be friends, but he never expected anything like this.

He now realized he was naïve to ever trust Auric. How could they possibly have the same morals and interests? He was flesh and blood while Auric lacked a real body and remained unfazed by time, death and other things humanity took for granted.

"My game will continue for a little while longer. Once I tired of it in a few more years or decades, rest assured, you will get them back." No. He wouldn't wait that long. He rejected this utterly. Much remained uncertain, but one fact burned itself into his mind.

With or without Auric, he would get his family back. And he would get them soon.

Chapter Text

Monday, June 24, 1:32 AM

Phil paced up and down the SoDo streets, sweating through his jacket in the hot, humid night. Well, it wasn't really South of the Dome anymore – all that remained of the Kingdome was an empty lot less than a mile away. Yeah, the Seahawks needed a new stadium, but it seemed ominous that the building which had years ago provided him shelter on a cold winter's night was now a crater.

This isn't important! he thought before stopping dead in his tracks at the sight of an approaching car. Fortunately, it sped right past him; not one of William's. He released a soft moan, as much in relief as guilt. His brothers and sister were being held against their will, and it was his fault! It was also his responsibility to rescue them. He looked across the street at the featureless building that was BRIAR's headquarters.

Am I really going to do this? Somehow, he already knew the answer. Though they hated him, they were still family. Some of that hatred now seemed warranted. Looking back, their lives under Auric were brutal. He reflected so little over the years; excitement lay in the future, not the past or present. Still, it was the only way they could have been together then, and this was the only way they could be together now. The price for a single misstep would be death. William didn't take kindly to corporate espionage.

But he needed them, and frankly, they needed him if they ever wanted to escape. He cringed; for so long, they wanted nothing more than to get away… from him. Whatever. If they want to hate me, they can do it after I save them.

However, he couldn't approach head-on; there was certain to be security in the lobby. Even if William didn't tell them that their partnership had been terminated, it would be highly suspicious if he randomly entered in the middle of the night. No, he needed to be discrete. Luckily, he wasn't quite as stupid as many people took him for.

He slowly drove toward the demolished Kingdome, scanning the ground for manholes. Given all the work going on, at least a few were bound to be open. Indeed, he spotted one quickly amid construction equipment and rubble, parking on the curb beside it. They'd need to make a quick getaway. One last thing; he grabbed a bundle of rope out of the trunk.

Prepared as he could possibly be, he approached the threshold and gazed into the abyss. They were down there, and he would find them. Steeling himself, he removed a flashlight from his pocket, flipped it on and descended away from the world of neon into something more real. Even hotter, more humid air made his jacket stick to his flesh, but that was the least of his worries.

Shin-deep human waste sloshed about him as he clamored through the dark tunnels, bending over to avoid the low ceilings. He'd expected something… roomier. And less smelly. Hopefully his siblings would be able to stand the overwhelming odor of piss and shit. Apparently, fiction didn't often show how these things worked.

Well, time to get started. He tied one end of the rope around the ladder he'd climbed down; hopefully there'd be enough. With that, he grabbed the other and set out, heart pounding wildly. This was the craziest thing he'd ever done, and he knew crazy. If he really did this, he'd be a man on the run for the rest of his life, just like Mr. Schmidt. That thought didn't appeal to him… but he had a promise to keep. Even if his siblings saw him as a monster, perhaps they'd come to view him as an honorable one.

After several minutes of exploration, as his rope was about to run out, he came across an unmarked metal door embedded into the stone. In most cities, these would lead to storage closets. Here, however, was the Seattle Underground: a web of tunnels and chambers, remnants of the distant past. Though in this specific neighborhood, they now looked toward the future.

Fishing a key out of his pocket, he silently hoped they hadn't changed the lock recently. Fortune was on his side, though, and the door clicked open. All his fear came to a head, and he shivered as metal scraped rock.

A well-lit corridor stretched before him, and he knew exactly where he was. Working there for so long gave him an intimate knowledge of the complex, which stretched several blocks in every direction. Of course, he didn't know where in the building his family was being held, but he had a pretty good guess.

Striking out, he pressed himself against the wall and inched down the corridor, tracking in human waste that stained the floor. It'd be pretty obvious how he got in, but he'd hopefully be far away by the time someone discerned it. But this would buy him a bit more time; the security cameras mounted in the corners had small blind spots he could exploit. The good news was that human security should have been minimal, given the time.

Indeed, he only encountered a few guards on his trip, and always at a distance. They invariably listened to music or were distracted in other ways, allowing him to creep past. He would have criticized their laziness, but as far as he knew, nothing like this had ever happened before. How were they to know that this was the night he'd finally get back at William, the backstabbing bastard?

Heading inevitably toward the facility's heart, he finally saw them! His heart raced; the three of them were locked in the very same room they'd been in all those years ago, sitting on cheap cots and talking to each other, though no sound penetrated the one-way mirrors. Now I just have to break them out.

Footsteps from ahead sent him into a panic. Phil pressed himself into a darker corner as a woman in armor slowly walked past. Then she stopped to sniff the air, and he nearly passed out. The sewage on his shoes must have been more pungent than he thought. But then she was gone, back for another loop around the area. Already his brain kicked into overdrive, formulating the next step. His own confidence took him aback, but he was so close!

He knew the patrol routes for guards like the back of his hand. After all, he designed them during the brief stint he managed the facility, and there was no reason to think they'd changed. Even though a decade had passed, William generally left well enough alone. Which meant that, at this time of night, she'd be the only one present in the area, and it'd take her about three minutes to complete a circuit. Should have left just enough time.

Oh God oh God oh God, he thought, slipping toward the reinforced door. His entire body shook; this would be the most dangerous part, and not because of other humans. Once the animatronics saw him… they might kill him. Now that he thought about it, this was the only time they'd ever been alone together when they weren't tied down. Some brother I've been. Upon reaching the door, he put an ear to it, desperately trying to figure out their general states-of-mind. Despite being warped and quiet, their voices made it through.

"I don't wanna be 'ere!" Bonnie cried. "I remember those first couple days we were alive. They 'urt so much!" Then he slipped back into sobbing, which made his heart sink. Bonnie was always the most fragile and timid of the group, so it made sense that he'd be the one scared shitless.

"It'll be OK, Bonnie," Chica said; in his mind's eye, he saw her hugging the rabbit tight as he wailed. Chica… the kind, tender one, always wanting to make others feel better. That couldn't have been an easy attitude to maintain, given their lifestyles. Meanwhile, Freddy sat in silence, which was characteristic. Phil couldn't even imagine what the bear thought. Freddy hated his guts, but that was all he knew for certain.

Guilt barreled into him like a semitruck. How could he have been so ignorant for so long? He knew virtually nothing about his own siblings save their most superficial attributes. Was that his own fault, being lulled into submission by the idea that, since he was happy, they must be, too? Or was it something else? An idea came to mind that nearly made him retch.

What if this was Auric's doing? What if the spirit manipulated him over the years, slowly and subtly making him the worst version of himself, a man willing to commit atrocities in the name of family? He didn't know which possibility was worse: an outside force controlling his actions or simply being a terrible person. Only upon hearing footsteps again did he realize his time was up. Why did he have to be so nostalgic?!

If he crossed the hall now, the guard would see. Same if he remained crouched in the doorway. There was only one option, and it wasn't the one he wanted. With a twitching, clammy hand, he reached into his pocket and snatched out a key (nearly dropping it) and slid it into the lock before typing the number 053087 into a keypad. And then he was in, shutting the door behind him, silent as a shadow.

The animatronics, however, had senses superior to humans. They stared at him like a ghost, mouths agape, as he motioned them to remain silent. And they actually complied, though that may have been because they were too shocked to speak. The footsteps faded again, leaving the four of them together.

"Am I losin' my mind," Bonnie whispered, rubbing his head, "because I see Phil standin' right in front of us."

"I – I do, too," Chica replied. Before he could say anything, be that pouring his heart out in apology or demanding that they follow, Freddy walked over, nearly making Phil faint. The look of abject hatred on his muzzle was nearly enough to kill by itself, no neck-wringing required.

"What are you doing here?" Freddy growled, grabbing him by the collar. The other two leapt to their feet but made no effort to help. Not that he deserved any. It was completely reasonable that they wanted to see him get his heart torn out. "Where are the people you hide behind?"

"Uh, I'm here to, um, break you out!" he stammered, steeling himself for death. The bear looked incredulous.

"Really?" Freddy sarcastically spat, tightening his grip. "Because I think this is a pathetic trick, like the ones you always use on us, and that I should rip your head off right now."

As much as he would have loved to explain his change of heart, there simply wasn't time. The security camera across the room made sure of that. It was trained directly at them, meaning the person on the other end could notice him any second… if they hadn't already. They certainly would once the animatronics were gone!

With his most professional managerial voice, he said, "We can argue about this later. For now, you just have to follow me. Once we're out, you can ask me anything you want." Phil twitched, hoping the bear was calm enough to recognize that, in this situation, at least, he wasn't the threat. Whatever Freddy decided, Bonnie and Chica would probably fall in line behind him like they always did.

He looked back at the other two, who hesitated, but eventually nodded. Fear drained from his body; at least he didn't have to worry about being killed by his family that night. Plenty of other people could do that, though. Releasing him, Freddy said, "If you betray us, you're going to die. Painfully." No argument there.

"This won't be too hard, I think," Phil said as he reopened the sturdy metal door. "Just step where I step to avoid the cameras, and everything will be…" He tapered off when he saw the guard standing in the doorway, mouth agape. Time stopped. Then it slowly started again as the woman reached for her gun. This had never happened to him. The closest thing was the time Foxy nearly mauled him to death, but that came out of nowhere. His mind was completely blank; all he could do was watch.

And then it was pointed at him, and all she had to do – Chica slapped the woman, which sent her flying down the hall. She landed in a heap, moaning and possibly with some broken ribs, but not dead. "Uh, sorry!" the chicken bashfully said. "I didn't mean to hurt you!" The only response was a muffled groan. Though docile most of the time, she was notorious for sudden outbursts against people who threatened her friends. That habit just saved his life.

Before he could thank her, the alarm started blaring. "Fuck!" he shouted over the din. While it was loud for him, to the animatronics' sensitive hearing, it must have been positively deafening. They hunched over, clamping their hands over their ears (or earholes, in Chica's case) and moaning. The noise was probably more to subdue them than alert security of an incident. So much for stealth.

He tried to shout for them to follow, but they didn't notice. Hell, he couldn't even hear himself! They certainly wouldn't be able to hear approaching guards, either. This was very bad. The only thing going for him was that the workers probably never had to really deal with this before, just occasional drills. Then an idea sprung to mind; hopefully his charades skills hadn't gotten rusty.

Shaking them to a vague state of awareness, he motioned to himself and then pointed down the hall he entered from. This normally wouldn't have been a difficult concept to grasp, but it must have been nigh-impossible for them to focus. Nevertheless, their faces seemed to indicate that they understood. They took off, retracing his dirty steps while protecting their ears against a blaring siren.

With his family behind him, Phil's confidence began to grow. They hadn't encountered any guards, though if they did, that was the end. Still, few people were in the building, and it must have been difficult for whoever was in the security office to direct everyone else to the correct spot, especially with all the noise. Then the exit came into view. His heart raced, and he let out a laugh he couldn't hear.

His elation turned to horror as he saw from the corner of his eye something round a bend behind them: four people brandishing guns. With so many targets in such an enclosed environment, they were unlikely to miss. But there was nothing he could do except run even faster, screaming an inaudible scream.

The door was mere feet away when bullets started flying. Well, he didn't see any. The only reason he knew this was because of very faint pops, all but drowned out by the blaring siren. Whirling around as he grabbed the knob, he was pleasantly shocked to see none of his siblings were hurt; the only thing with bullets in it was the floor. From the way the guards ran, it seemed the noise threw off their aims.

Literally shoving them into the sewer, Phil lunged out of the way as the guards prepared for another volley. Landing in the disgusting water, he cringed as a couple dozen bullets whizzed through the space he'd occupied a moment earlier before impacting the brick sewer wall, chipping off pieces of it. He leapt back to the door and shut it as four people far stronger than him slammed into it.

To his great surprise, however, it stayed shut! Perhaps he was stronger than he thought, or maybe just desperate. Well, that was before he noticed the animatronics had all simultaneously done the same thing. "Lock the door!" Freddy yelled as the guards threw themselves at cold metal again and again.

Doing so, the robots slowly backed away from the banging and shouting. Phil trembled because of both joy and the numerous close calls; they did it! They'd almost died, but they actually fucking did it! Truthfully, he thought this would be a vain suicide mission, something to try and atone. Now… maybe he'd really get a chance to. His thoughts were interrupted by simultaneous hugs from Bonnie and Chica.

"That was amazing!" Chica said as the two of them squeezed the life out of him.

"Phil, I always thought you were a rotten bastard, but we owe you!" Bonnie added. Freddy watched in amusement as he futilely struggled against the iron grasps.

"It… was nothing," he gasped, eventually breaking free. Before they could talk more, though, gunfire started up again, pinging off the door. "Shit! They're trying to shoot off the lock!" It must have been strong, considering it was designed to enclose superhumanly strong robots, but armor-piercing bullets would quickly do the trick. "Come on!" At that moment, he felt more like a leader than he ever had at his job.

Untying the rope, he led the animatronics, retching from the stench, through the sewer. First sound and now smell. They can't catch a break. Freddy was so tall that he to slosh along on his hands and knees. However, he felt positively giddy; without anything to follow, the guards couldn't catch up. After they were out in the wider world… well, he'd take things one step at a time.

Between noxious sewer fumes and the reality of their situation finally sinking in, the next few minutes were kind of a blur. Before he knew it, they emerged into the warm night air. The world was unchanged: neon lights, broken asphalt and, fortunately, no people. Still, they scrambled into his car, which sagged under the robots' weight. He'd have to take it to be cleaned of shed fur and tracked-in sewage.

And then they peeled away, tires screeching, onto the road. For a moment, nobody said anything. That quickly changed.

Bonnie and Chica started laughing and crying and whooping and hollering and Phil was very glad neither was in the passenger seat because he feared one of them would give him a hug and make him crash the car. It made him feel like the greatest guy in the world, knowing that he'd done something positive for once.

Even Freddy couldn't hide his joy, acting uncharacteristically mellow. Still, he clearly didn't trust Phil, shooting him sideways glances every few seconds. It didn't sour his mood too much, considering the adrenaline coursing through him. "Where are we going?" the bear asked a couple minutes later, which immediately shut the other two up.

"That's a good question," Phil muttered, chastising himself for not thinking that far in advance. Again, he didn't think he'd actually succeed. His answer inspired little confidence in Bonnie and Chica, as their excitement quickly petered out. About what Freddy expected, though. "There's nowhere for us to go! I don't have any relatives or friends, and all my employees would sell me out in a second." He couldn't think of a single person trustworthy enough to offer them temporary shelter while he plotted their next step.

"What about Mike?" Bonnie suggested, making all heads snap toward him. Fortunately, the car was stopped at a red light, so there was no risk of crashing. It was a bad idea. To the rabbit's credit, though, it was their only idea. But there was no way that Mike would deal with him, his would-be killer, and that was assuming they could find him.

"I'll think about it," was his reply, though he doubted he would. No, they'd get a motel room for the next couple of days to shack up in while he anguished about the future. He had several thousand dollars in cash, at least – BRIAR always let him have a little extra – but how long would that last? Between food, gas, rooms, disguises and various other costs, it would buy them a year at most. After that…

There was bound to be some late-night motel around here somewhere. They'd moved out of SoDo via I-90, which was very sparsely travelled at that time of night. Just a couple of wandering cars. Maybe they were like him, with problems and responsibilities. Not likely as strange or dangerous as his, though. A sense of melancholy fell over everyone. Bonnie and Chica seemed to finally realize the gravity of the situation after some brief excitement and now sat quietly. Then the lights of the city vanished, and blackness reigned.

"What's going on?" Chica asked.

"We're crossing Murrow Memorial Bridge," he answered, not giving it a second thought. He'd gone this way dozens of times. I'll need to teach them stuff about the world, though. I shouldn't act like this is obvious. "It connects Seattle to Mercer Island. Eastbound traffic only. We're over Lake Washington." The answer satisfied her for a moment.

Upon crossing the lake, he pulled up to the first motel he saw. The adrenaline began to wear off, making him deathly tired. He'd go in and pay for a room, then retrieve everyone and hope nobody noticed them. Make that two rooms; one would be way too tight.

"Why did you do it?" Freddy demanded, making him flinch. The bear normally didn't talk too much, and this was the first thing he'd said in a while. "After all these years, what made you decide to help?"

That was a good question, of course. He'd wondered about the answer himself. Was it a sudden change of heart? Did Auric release his influence on him? Did such influence even exist? Regardless, one thing remained constant throughout all the possibilities.

"Sometimes you don't care about what you have until it's gone." They all looked at him, Bonnie and Chica with sympathy and Freddy with suspicion. "I don't expect you to forgive me quickly," he choked out, struggling to hold back tears, "if you ever do."

On one hand, this seemed pathetic, a thirty-five-year-old man blubbering out an extremely belated apology. On the other, this was exactly what he needed to say. "But I'm glad to have you back."

He hopped out of the car and toward the door, feeling eyes on his back the entire way.

7:28 AM

Foxy's eye fluttered open as she heard a groan of sheer, utter despair. Perhaps a banshee from the Southern Sea wandered in and prepared to eat her soul. Alas, she doubted it was anything so exciting. Sitting up, she saw Mike clutching his temples and softly moaning on the futon June set up in her father's bedroom; he let her have the bed.

"What's the problem?" she asked, almost afraid of the answer. Everything was wrong.

His gaze snapped up to her as the noise immediately stopped. "I'm, uh, sorry. Didn't mean to wake you." From the rings around his eyes, she knew he'd been crying. Another pang of guilt shot through her. This was her fault. Why didn't she follow her instincts and throw him out of her life when she had the chance? And now he apologized for her mistake.

"You've got nothing to be sorry about," she said, getting out of bed. "Don't apologize for what I did."

"This is as much my fault as yours," he replied, actually managing to crack a small smile. "After all, I'm a total stud. How could you not fall head over heels for me?"

Oh, they were doing this? Foxy normally wouldn't have teased him in so serious a situation, but he initiated it. Must have been looking for anything to assuage his fear and depression. In that case, I can oblige.

"Well, I'm a sexy pirate," she said, sitting next to him. "You got sucked in by my wily charms and the fact that I'm, um... foxy." Mike stared at her for a moment, stunned into silence by that damn pun. Then he laughed, though it wasn't entirely happy. More mirthful, really.

"I know it makes me a perverted freak, but you're right. Your fur, your claws, your ears, your tail... it took me a while to realize it, but I think they're hot." She was taken aback by his frankness. They talked bluntly about a lot of things, but she expected him to be less inclined about that sort of thing now, given the situation.

"I thought you loved me because of my personality?" Not that she was complaining – one could value looks and behavior. She leaned towards the latter, though; while Mike seemed about average in terms of looks, his heart set him apart.

"I do!" he exclaimed. "Like, that's the main reason. But your looks don't hurt." Sighing, he buried his face in a blanket. "If I'm ever tempted to fuck an actual animal, I swear to God I'll castrate myself."

She hesitated, not sure what to think. While she hated seeing him struggle with such things, she had no room to judge him. It was less about her and more about his own understanding of personhood. That's something she would never have the same perspective on. Still, she decided to try.

Scooting in from of him, she said, "Mike, even if you consider me an animal, you know I'm different. I can talk and listen and give consent, so don't ever feel like you're taking advantage of me. In fact, given how pushy I am, I'm the one who should be concerned about permission." The words seemed to perk him up, at least a little.

"I'll think about it," he said. "This has been, uh, a tough thing for me to really consider. But you're probably right." After sitting a minute more and stroking her tail, he got up. "I'm going to get some breakfast. Want to join me?" That didn't sound too bad.

As always, the stairs creaked under her weight, but that didn't bother her so much anymore. If they were going to break, they would have already. From the sounds and smells emanating from downstairs, it seemed June was up and making breakfast. Flapjacks with maple syrup and strawberry jam… mmm. Her mouth watered at the thought. Mike's did, too.

"Hey," she said as they rounded the corner into the kitchen. "How's your shoulder, Foxy?"

Oh! She'd completely forgotten about that. Hard to believe such an event slipped her mind, but it didn't hurt at all. "Feels great, almost like it never happened. I had no idea my body could heal so easily." She paused, trying to get into a humbler state. "Again, thank you so much for doing that. Otherwise… well, I might have died."

Before, the thought of passing into sweet oblivion sounded like a comfort, one she'd seriously mulled over. Now, though, it made her shudder; unlike before, she had something – someone – to live for. "Happy to help," June replied. "I'm just glad I didn't tear your arm off or something."

They were all silent for a few seconds, trying to think of things to talk about. Well, the others probably were. All Foxy cared about was the warm air heated by the stove stroking her fur. It was often a hassle, but at times like this, it was vastly superior to bare skin.

"You're eating all those?" Mike interjected, pointing to the six pancakes on the stove. "Um, I mean, you can if you want! There's nothing, uh, wrong with that!" As always, she couldn't help but feel amused by how… unwieldy he was with words sometimes. It was adorable. Their earlier conversation probably stoked this particular flareup. Strangely, he tended to be more concise and articulate when dealing with enemies.

"No, some of them are for you two," she replied while flipping them. That made a little more sense.

"Oh," he sheepishly said. "Thank you."

"No problem." Her expression darkened. "Besides, this might be the last homecooked meal you have for a while. Hard to do that when you're on the lam."

Foxy's spirits dipped upon that reminder, and none of them said much for a while. Mike read the local newspaper while June finished up the food. Foxy stood by the open window, sniffing the clean summer air, which mingled with the scents of pollen and dew. It was intoxicating; after so many years of living in a dark, moldy room, nothing could have been better. Except the ocean breeze… maybe one day. Perhaps they could visit the sea now that they were living outside the boundaries of society. It'd be nice. Small comfort for Mike, though.

Her ears twitched as June set the plates on the table, and natural smells were replaced with that of cooked batter. It was pleasant in a completely different way. Mike prayed before digging in, a bit more fervently than usual. Made sense – only divine intervention could get them out of this situation. If only she believed that existed.

Then they sat in silence, more or less reflecting on what time they had left. Well, June didn't have any of these problems, but she still looked concerned for them.

The food was sawdust in her mouth as she thought more and more about what the future would be like for them. This was something she'd done several times already, but she just couldn't stop. For her, it'd be exciting, far better than her old life. But for Mike, it might as well have been Hell – no identity, no money, no hope. Those things were a way of life for her, so they didn't get her down, plus she possessed street smarts that all good pirates had. While she'd be fine, he'd be a sitting duck. He'll never survive without me. I need to help him.

But how? The thought that she couldn't do enough was a cloud that darkened her mood as she ate.

9:02 AM

Helen sat on the bed, staring intently at her cellphone. She'd been in this position for over an hour, waiting, watching and only getting up to use the bathroom. William would probably call soon, and she needed to strike while the iron was hot. She didn't give him her number for nothing.

Then he did, and she snatched up the phone to answer.

"Hello?" she asked, hoping that things played out the way she imagined. If they did, this would be much easier.

"You bitch!" the man on the other end yelled before lapsing into a coughing fit.

Guess they did.

"You knew Phil would break in and steal the most scientifically important specimens on the planet!" No, but she certainly hoped he would.

"How could I have known that?" Though she was giddy that things had turned out as they were supposed to, her voice conveyed concern and reserve. It'd only make him madder if she boasted, and that wouldn't help. "I'm a psychologist, not a psychic." While that was true, she'd spent more than a decade around Phil, who wasn't exactly that complicated of a person. She knew him inside and out by this point, possibly better than he knew himself. Therefore, it didn't come as much of a surprise to her that envy and anger compelled him to do something so stupid. Deep down, though, he was actually smart enough to actually pull it off.

"Maybe not," he sighed, slowly admitting defeat. Perfect. This couldn't be going any better. Her longshot plan to improve the animatronics' lives might just work. Maybe. Couldn't get too excited yet. "Truthfully, I don't really care what happens to the robots anymore." He said those words with all the resignation of someone who had lost a piece of jewelry. "You know as well as I do that we've learned nothingfrom them. No biological or chemical or ethical breakthroughs, just many, many questions."

True. After all these years, they were still enigmas. The chemical and biological reactions in their bodies often violated scientific laws! How, for example, were they powered? They could no longer be recharged like when they were mere machines; flesh had grown over the electrical outlets on their backs, and stomachs formed to fill the role (and how this happened was another issue entirely).

These organs were more akin to internal combustion engines, which were very energy inefficient. If the laws of physics applied to them, not only would the animatronics not be able to survive on a human diet from lack of absorbed nutrients, they'd also burst into flames from the sheer amount of waste heat produced! But that wasn't what happened. Instead, they were perfectly fine, not caring or aware that they constantly violated the Second Law of Thermodynamics. It almost made sense, considering that their "father" existed outside the natural order of things. No less frustrating, even if these examples weren't in her field.

"But Fazbear can't have them. From what I saw on my last visit, he's far too irresponsible! If word of this somehow gets out… the world isn't ready for them. Not yet! Can you imagine the consequences?!" Yes. She'd thought about them many times. All major religions would implode, people would riot for answers, baseless rumors (There's more of them! They used to be humans!) would fly across the world. That was only the tip of the iceberg; who could predict what effect this would have on politics or the stock market?

In short, it would be akin to making first contact with extraterrestrials. At least people tended to be open-minded about the existence of aliens, though; who would ever expect sentient restaurant animatronics? If news of Auric leaked, the situation would be even more dire. Robots be damned; a genuine supernatural entity made them seem trivial.

Everything he said was true. However, from the malice in his voice, an ulterior motive was clear. For his betrayal, he never wanted Phil to have a happy ending. Without the animatronics, he'd be a sad, wilted man with nothing to live for. Not that he deserved to be at peace after all the terrible things he'd done – and that I've helped him do.

He sighed, and Helen could nearly see his head dip. "You want to have them? Fine. You're probably the best one for the task. My people here don't have the experience with them you do." It took everything she had not to squeal with excitement. She practically bounced on the bed, and her heart raced. This was finally going to – "If." That one word brought her back down to Earth. Of course, there was a catch.

"If what?"

"If you help me get them back. Once the animatronics are out of Phil's hands, they, and the restaurant, are yours. They're useless to me." That was a generous offer, which naturally made her suspicious. Though she didn't know Afton very well, that seemed unusual.

"You're really going to give them up? Sentient robots that you've sunk a decade into researching?" Deep inside, she realized how pointless a question this was. If he was going to betray her, he wouldn't admit it! Still, she wanted to hear an answer, even if that answer was a blatant lie.

"As I've said, we've learned nothing from them." Honestly, the response took her aback. Everyone knew that, of course, but it seemed shocking that the CEO would admit to such a thing. "The principles that animate them are beyond our current comprehension. Perhaps we'll have the technology to study them better in a few centuries, but I won't live long enough to see it. That's why, for the past year or so, I've been working on… something else." She didn't like the sound of that. "But rest assured, it won't involve you or the rest of the animatronics. Just keep me posted about their conditions, and I expect everything will work swimmingly."

Until you decide to betray me like you did with Phil, she thought, still unnerved about his "something else". But that didn't matter. The important thing was that this was the best deal she could have possibly hoped for. Swallowing her hesitation, she said, "Then I agree. How do we get to Phil?"

"I have a plan for that. Auric suggested it, actually, and I'm impressed by his judgement." She shuddered at how casually he spoke about that thing. "However, it hinges upon finding Foxy and… the night guard, what's his name?"

Oh fuck. He wanted Mike and Foxy. This couldn't lead to anything good. How the Hell could she trust that they wouldn't "disappear" like so many before them? "I don't know where they are, and even if I did, why would they agree to this?"

"Because my intentions are good, in this case. You worry that I'll kill the man, but that simply isn't true. I have no grudge against him! Might rough him up a little, but only to establish my authority. In fact, I know nothing about him save his impressive work record and name… which I've forgotten. Nor Foxy, for that matter. Admittedly, it irks me that she left, but I understand her reasoning. Love is a powerful thing." Love? What the fuck was he talking about?

After another coughing fit, he wheezed, "I rarely talk so much. All I need is for the two of them to meet with me so I can describe the situation we find ourselves in. And I think you do know their location, or at least have a hunch. From what Auric has told me, the two of you communicated several times."

Before she could grow too alarmed, he continued, "You needn't worry about disciplinary measures. It sounds as if the two of you worked together for noble causes." Wait… was Auric actually trying to help them? Between not spinning their relationship in a negative way and wanting to reunite the animatronics, it almost sounded like he was on their side.

Attributing his actions to benevolent intentions would have been naïve, but she was nevertheless grateful. Maybe Auric was out for Phil's blood, too. Somehow, it seemed that circumstances had pitted him against literally everyone he knew. Sucked for him, but it was great for the rest of them. Because of that, she reluctantly said, "I'll see if I can track Mike and Foxy down. There's someplace I think they might be."

"Excellent. This is our top priority." Then he paused, seeming to ponder for a moment. When he started again, his tone was cautious. "As a sign of trust, I'll even allow you to handle this yourself. Find them and bring them to headquarters. I'll see them as soon as they arrive." With that sentence, Helen's jaw was practically on the floor. Perhaps such leeway was normal for him, though. Phil dictated absolutely everything, so she wasn't used to such things. Then he hung up.

The conversation somehow both drained and invigorated her. On one hand, juggling all these different tasks was tiring, but on the other, being so close to the finish line was a massive shot in the arm. I have to find Mike and Foxy before I get there, though. While she wasn't certain of their location, she had suspicions.

She'd heard he once came to Fazbear's on a date with a woman named June, apparently the daughter of a former night guard. A fascinating coincidence, and it certainly gave them a strong connection. Her father didn't like it. And while she didn't know Mike all that well, he didn't exactly seem like the kind of person who had a lot of friends.

Sighing, she pulled herself out of bed and set about finding the address. Before going, though, there was one other person she wanted to call.

…

Delta was on top of the world. As he sat at breakfast with his beautiful wife, all his thoughts were of love and joy, a far cry from what used to occupy his mind.

She was – they were – having a baby.

They'd talked and pondered and wrestled with the issue for months, but they'd finally agreed to try several weeks back. And now it was finally happening. She'd gotten the pregnancy test results back last night, and he was so wildly enthused that he'd taken that day off.

"You're so beautiful," he said dreamily, meaning it more strongly than he ever did before. Wistful memories of days gone by drifted through his mind. He was nearly forty and looked it while she was a decade his junior. Her parents and friends thought such a relationship ill-advised, but he eventually managed to win them over. After all, she was the love of his life.

"I don't think you'll say that once the morning sickness gets worse," she said through a mouthful of bacon. It had already started along with cravings, hence the bacon. He'd be sure to stock up on a wide variety of food at his place of employment tomorrow.

His attention was torn away by a ringing phone, which he quickly scooped up and headed to the small balcony, warm, humid air embracing him as he did so. He'd quickly deal with this distraction and get back to celebrating. "Hello?"

"Delta? How are you?" An unexpected call from Helen usually caused alarm: someone was dead or in trouble. However, that barely registered in his euphoric state.

"Helen, I'm feeling better than I've ever felt."

"Uh, why?" He wasn't known for being a particularly happy person, but this was the exception. Even a friend of over a decade couldn't understand his sheer joy.

"My wife, Lorette… she's pregnant. I just found out last night." The only sound was that of cars driving past below.

"Wow. That's… congratulations." For once, the cynical tone drained from her voice, leaving something uncharacteristically sincere, which seemed to stick in her throat. "I'm happy for you. Really, I am."

"I know I've already told you this, but my dad was a piece of shit. Abusive, belligerent, hateful – that kind of rubbed off on me. Probably the biggest reason I became a mercenary; it gave me people to take that hatred out on." He shuddered remembering those days, but this was important to get out there. "I'm going to be better. My kid's not going to get thrashed with a belt for speaking out of turn. No, he or she is going to be loved, and I'm going to be around to give them it." With that out of the way, it was time for Helen to talk about whatever; hopefully it made her realize that he wanted no part in some crazy scheme.

And for once, she got the hint, at least a little. "Don't worry, I'm not going to make you do anything dangerous."

"You're not going to make me do anything," he replied, a little miffed. She backed off.

"Poor choice of words. What I'm asking you to do is go to BRIAR HQ – I assume you remember where it is – and look around outside, make sure nothing looks odd. That should give me an estimate of what we're dealing with." He couldn't help but smack his forehead, happiness momentarily supplanted by frustration. Who was 'we'? What was she doing? Why was it important? Before he could actually ask any of these, Lorette stepped onto the deck with him.

"Who is that, Charles?" she asked, rubbing his thin hair.

"That friend I mentioned: Helen. She's called me a few times over the last month."

"Good. You need to get out of the house more. Now, I'm going out to do a little shopping. Why don't you and she meet up for a while, and then the two of us can doing something romantic on our day off?" Well, it wouldn't be a "meet up", it'd be him slinking around for an hour like a lame, middle-aged spy. Still, he supposed it was more exciting than his usual off day routine.

"Fine, fine," he said before putting the phone to his ear again. "Sorry about the wait. Let me get dressed and I'll call you back." Helen tried to say something, but he hung up before she could. It felt so damn satisfying to finally do that! Throwing some clothes on, he waved goodbye to Lorette and strode into the dingy hallway – though his wife worked as a software engineer, she was primarily focused on paying off massive loans she'd accrued over the course of her education, hence the substandard living. Still, house-hunting loomed large in the future; this was no place to raise a child.

He felt bad. The last thing he wanted was to go behind her back like this on some wild goose chase. Maybe I'm having a mid-life crisis, reenacting my crazy, careless youth. Regardless, he promised himself in that cramped corridor that this would be a one-time thing: a favor to an old friend. Then he could put his past behind him and move forward, except for perhaps telling Lorette the truth one day. Somehow, though, he doubted that would be the end of it. Sighing, he hit redial on his phone as he walked.

"So, are you going to do it?" she asked, anticipation palpable.

"Yeah, but I have a lot of questions first…"

10:13 AM

Mike slid on the backpack that June had generously given him, pulling its straps tight; he'd have to get used to the feeling. All it contained was some snacks, a little money and a change of clothes. For the foreseeable future, he'd be walking across the country with nothing expect what he could carry. He didn't know exactly how powerful BRIAR was, but considering what they did in the pizzeria, he guessed they could do the same anywhere in the country. Maybe if he fled overseas, he'd be safer, but there was no way Foxy could get on the damn plane!

So, it was the vagabond's life for him, as idolized by popular culture for decades. No ties or baggage (literal or figurative), just him and the road and sky. Of course, that left out crippling loneliness, lack of food and shelter, no connections, and so on. Even after trying to accept it, he simply couldn't. It terrified him. In fact, he must have been shivering, because Foxy walked up from behind and gave him a hug, her strong, furry arms wrapping around his neck. Didn't do much for him.

"I thought about sneaking up and shouting 'boo', but that would have been cruel," she joked. Most of the time, he would have found that funny. Now it did nothing for him. It wasn't that he couldn't think, he just didn't want to. What was the point?

Sighing, she moved in front of him, looking serious. He wished he had her confidence. Always so willing to rush off into the unknown… he admired that about her. Maybe it was part of her being a pirate, maybe it developed over time. Perhaps both. The point was, she always knew what she wanted and never let anything hold her back. Right now, that was the kind of attitude he needed but simply couldn't have.

"I can't imagine what you're going through," she said, muzzle drawn in concern. No, she couldn't. She never had a life until he came, whereas he had… well, not friends, but relatives. He cringed; Freddy, Bonnie and Chica were her family, even if they didn't see each other too often. Maybe she was leaving behind a little more than he wanted to admit. Still, this would be a more drastic change for himself.

"It's hard," was all he could get out without losing his nerve. It seemed like he cried so much these days, but there was so much to be upset about and afraid of: rejection, loneliness, death. He realized by now that it wasn't cowardly to be open about these things, yet he still wanted to remain levelheaded. Hard to believe this happened only yesterday; it felt like another life. "But I'll do it. I have to."

"You won't be alone," she whispered, tensing up. Her fur bristled with anger at the whole situation. "None of this is fair, but I promise I'll protect and help you however I can." He knew she would. The glint in her eye said that she'd follow him to the ends of the earth.

"And I'll do the same for you," he replied, feeling a bit better. At this point, all they had was each other. "I don't know how, um, but we'll get through this, just like we have everything else."

June entered the parlor from parts unknown, having wandered off a few minutes before. "You sure you don't want to stay a little longer?" she asked, seeming just as nervous as him and Foxy.

"That's a generous offer," Mike replied. He'd thought about it, too – the prospect of indefinitely squatting with her didn't appeal, but it was better than a life on the lam. Still, people at Fazbear's knew that they knew each other. Someone would put the pieces together soon, possibly that very day, and the two of them needed to be out of there before BRIAR's private army rolled up to the door. "Uh, but they'll be onto us soon."

Guilt smacked him across the face, a common occurrence. "I am so, so sorry for getting you mixed up in all this. Like, Foxy might have died if we didn't come, but now you're in danger, too!"

"I guess I am," June said. She wasn't happy about that, of course, but it looked like she'd considered it. "It was worth it, though. I mean, I've never done anything important and never thought I would." Pausing, she turned to Foxy. "But then I saved your life! I don't say that to brag or anything – it was the first really good thing I've ever done!"

Foxy didn't know how to feel about this. Her ears and tail stopped their usual motions as she focused entirely on what June had to say. So did he, though his body language was more difficult to read. This wasn't the reaction he expected from her, though he understood; until very recently, his life seemed pointless as well. As for June herself, she became a little emotional.

"It's hard to explain, but after I pulled that bullet out, I felt happy in a way I never have. You're not human, but saving a life…" She wiped away an errant tear, but overall, she was much more composed than Mike would have been. "Well, that made whatever comes next worth it."

Mike knew what she meant. The times he'd helped Foxy were among the best moments in his life, and he knew the same was true when Foxy got him out of tough spots. "June… thank you." That was all Foxy could say, but it was enough.

Then it was time to leave. The road ahead was long and terrifying, but with Foxy… maybe he could actually do it. Though he didn't have a cellphone, he'd call June at the very first payphone they reached to make sure she was still alive. Absentmindedly, Mike walked to the front door and opened it, preparing himself for the brave new world ahead.

Helen stood on the porch, her hand halfway to the doorbell.

Leaping backward, he slipped on the welcome mat and fell on his ass. Well, he had resigned himself to death! Nothing to do now but wait for a bullet in the head; hopefully it would be fast! Unless, of course, his girlfriend came to save his ass for the –

Right on cue, Foxy raced around the corner, hook raised, teeth bared, ears pinned back and fur standing on end. She was amazing. Though at first a demon to him, she was now his guardian angel, fierce, determined and somehow beautiful. Thank God she was on his side.

"Leave," she snarled, her lips pulled back so far he could see her black, cybernetic gums.

"Whoa! I'm not going to hurt you!" As a gesture of peace, she raised her hands above her head. Though she tried to hide it, there was terror in her eyes that Mike noticed as June helped him up. Fear of razor-sharp teeth and claws was firmly embedded in the human psyche since prehistoric times; regardless of its target, the gesture kind of scared him.

"No. You won't." Every muscle in her body tensed; she would attack at the drop of a hat. Normally, that'd be a good thing. She (hopefully) wouldn't kill the woman, but instead knock her out and allow them to escape. But something seemed off; Mike was now calm enough to see what Foxy, in her rage, couldn't.

Where was everyone else? BRIAR sent a dozen people after them the first time – why just one now, and with such good manners? Why in the middle of the day, when they had a greater chance of being discovered. There weren't many people around, but it was still a far cry from his house, which stood completely alone. And most obviously, Helen had helped them several times before! No, he believed her intentions benevolent.

While June looked on in confusion, Mike walked over to Foxy and scratched her behind the ears. That did the trick. Her body slackened, and the guttural growl emanating from her throat slowly tapered off, though suspicion remained. "I think Helen's here to, um, help."

Foxy remained still for a moment, sizing up the situation and coming to the same realizations he did. "Fine."

For her part, Helen was in shock. "Wow. I know you're friends with her, but I've never seen Red calm down so quickly. You must be really, really close." Boyfriend and girlfriend glanced at each other. With their occasional make-out sessions, she was right on the money, though not quite in the way she thought.

"Uh, the normal person is lost!" June interjected, halfway behind a wall just in case a fight broke out. "Who the fuck are you? Why are you here? Why is your hair blue?"

"My name's Helen. I'm Mike's coworker, and I dyed it on a bet as a teenager. Never looked back," she said, calming down now that Foxy seemed less inclined to maul her to death on the porch, "and… well, it'll be easier to explain that other part if I had somewhere to sit."

"Yeah, sure, come in," June joylessly said. Must have been flummoxing, having all these weirdos break into both her life and her house.

Helen wasted no time. Once they all sat down around the kitchen table, she launched right into her tale. She told them about yesterday's events, of how Phil sent out the hit squad. She told them about how much he fucked up, how the man at the top, William (a name he recalled Phil dropping a few times) seized Freddy, Bonnie and Chica as punishment and how Auric essentially defected. She told them about how Phil stole them back mere hours later and how they themselves were now on the run.

Both Foxy and himself were perpetually slack-jawed, not entirely believing the story she related. To think so much insanity happened in less than two days… June didn't understand most of it, considering she lacked the experience the rest of them possessed, leading her to ask plenty of questions and getting angrier throughout. Not that Mike cared – they gave him chances to ruminate on how game-changing this all was. Because of his and Foxy's actions, the restaurant descended into chaos, something that only became apparent now.

Finally, Helen wrapped up her story, leaving him… well, he didn't exactly know how to feel. It was incredible that he had, in fact, managed to make a difference, but that might not turn out to be for the best. On the other hand, June was fuming, steam practically pouring out of her nostrils. There was one thing, though, that she hadn't answered.

"So why did you come to us about this?"

"Afton has a proposition for you, and he wanted me to pitch it." Sounded suspicious. Then again, so did the entire situation. But being a businessman, Mike supposed it made sense for him to be focused on cutting deals. "In exchange for finding Phil and the other animatronics, he promises that he'll leave you alone… for a time, at least."

All eyes shot to Foxy, whose jaw was practically on the floor. Her mind reeled as she tried to comprehend what this meant. Mike barely understood, himself. "I'll – we'll… be free?!" she blurted out at last, nearly falling out of her chair. That assumed the man was honest, which was hardly guaranteed. But if he was… Mike resigned himself to a life of poverty and solitude, but now there was another, far better option on the table.

Before Foxy could grow too excited, he asked, "Do you think we can trust him?"

"I honestly don't know. I've only met the man a few times. He's not like Phil – far more successful, intelligent and sadistic. Still, it seems like he keeps his promises." Foxy stood up and walked into the hallway, shaking. He followed and put a hand on her shoulder.

"What do you think?" he asked her. After all, this affected her more than him; she'd been a slave all her life, and now it was within her power to be free… whatever that meant. She still had no legal status, and nobody could ever know the truth. Despite his own cautious nature, he needed to yield to her. What would it say about them if he didn't?

"I've dreamed about this for so long," she whispered. "Never thought it would really happen, though, even if it doesn't mean people will suddenly accept me." At least she understood that.

"Uh, if you're 'free', what will you do?" He thought he knew the answer, but he wanted to get Foxy happy about something again; it sounded like they'd go along with Helen's plan, even if he was suspicious.

"I'll be able to perform again." Overwhelmed, she turned around. "It's everything I've ever wanted."

"Save me a spot at your first show." Again, she could hardly believe her it, almost thinking he was kidding. But then she recognized that he was serious and grinned from ear to ear, showing off her lovely teeth. Though any normal person would have hated that smile, he loved it even as it made him ever so slightly fearful. Then she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.

They walked back into the kitchen, and Foxy said, "We'll do it." Though Mike shuddered at the thought of something going wrong, he trusted Foxy to make the correct choice here. More lives than just his own hung in the balance. And like his subconscious said, he needed to confront his problems for once.

"Are you serious?!" Finally exploding, June slammed her hands on the table. "You've just heard all about this evil man, the guy who approved dozens of deaths – including you and my father – and you think you can trust him?! He's worse than Phil, from what I've heard! Who knows what other horrible shit he's done!"

"Maybe you're right," he replied, "but if Foxy and I run away, nothing will ever, um, get better. But if we do this, there's a chance that we can improve things. I want to try."

Her gaze softened. "If you get killed, don't say I didn't warn you." Noted.

He still had some questions but figured they would be answered better by William himself. Foxy probably felt similarly. They looked at each other, locked in silent agreement.

"So," Foxy said, "when do we leave?"

…

What was happening? Mike's head swam as he wandered through the jungle, which decayed around him, rotting away before his eyes. So strange. Was it a dream? He remembered being in a car, slowly drifting off… but it felt so real.

His feet quickened their pace as the ground itself dissolved, the dirt liquefying, vaporizing and finally vanishing altogether, leaving only a gaping black void. He would have been terrified if he was lucid enough to understand the circumstances. Still, his basic instincts told him to run. Good thing he worked out!

"It's time, Michael!" a voice like a hurricane roared from behind him. "Let go of your past or be consumed!"

He ran down the mountain and towards the ever-setting sun, which, shockingly, seemed to finally descend, dimming with each passing second. His heart raced as he leapt over rocks and roots, rolling forward. The decay kept pace, snapping at his heels. "Holy shit!" he screamed, enough of his senses collected to start freaking the fuck out.

"Why are you running?! Why are you always running away?!" it taunted. From the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar shape within the storm, massive and pitch black. The Nightmare came for him.

The forest evaporated into nothingness, a disturbing development he was nonetheless grateful for – trees couldn't get in his way if they didn't exist. Lungs burning and legs on fire, he doubled over as he reached the ocean, realizing he had nowhere left to run. The waves had ceased, water remaining completely still as the sun finally dipped below the horizon, the last red rays snuffed out.

And then there was nothing.

The universe was a black hole, the exact inverse of Auric's field of endless white. He was blind.

A shape emerged from out of the dark, flitting along through the void. At first, his heart raced, thinking it the Nightmare. But then it called out, "Mike? Is that you?"

"Foxy?!" he exclaimed, starting toward her. "I've looked for you for so damn long! You wouldn't believe what I've had to go through to find you!

She smiled, and he ran closer, not caring how he could see when all light was gone. Somehow, he knew everything would be OK. They embraced, the familiar feeling of her soft, warm fur pressing against his body making him shudder with happiness.

Then everything instantly changed, making his stomach drop. The fur was now metal. Her arms became thick and sinuous. And most damning of all, it became cold. "No!" he screamed, wrenching himself away. In Foxy's place stood the Nightmare in all of its terrible glory. The rotting skin, missing piece of skull, impossibly long teeth, improbably sharp claws and blood-red eyes made it an amalgamation of everything he feared.

Before, he would have dropped to his knees and fainted, but he'd grown a lot over the past couple of months. Therefore, he merely shivered and stood his ground. "W-why are you doing this?!" he stammered as the behemoth approached. "Just leave me alone!"

"This is merely a demonstration," the Nightmare explained, crouching down. His monstrous face was feet away, and the cold overwhelmed him. "Guilt chases you in a similar way, destroying your life and leaving you empty. But, as you've finally seen, running accomplishes nothing."

"So I have to kill you?" he spat. How could he possibly defeat this monstrosity?!

"No," the creature curtly replied, coming even closer. "Fear, shame, guilt; like myself, these are merely matters of perception. We are not illusions, per se – we are derived from genuine experiences. However, we change according to attitude. Look at us from another angle, and you will see something positive. 'Killing' us would stunt your confidence, pride and virtue, as well."

Somehow, the Nightmare's words finally started to influence him. The more he thought about them, the more reasonable they seemed. But why does he have to look so scary? Mike thought as the creature sat inches away.

"Because if I was less intimidating, it would cheapen the experience. After all, if you overcome me, you're prepared for the worst life has to offer." He supposed that was true. There, in the void, talking with this giant monster, he realized it wasn't so scary anymore. "You've done well, though. I'm impressed. This lesson will help you survive in the future." High praise coming from his unconscious mind. He still wasn't sure how that was possible. "In fact, you've earned a reward. I am unable to mimic other humans for long, though, especially one so faint in your memories. Still, you'll have a few minutes."

That's when the monster melted away, revealing a young boy. It took Mike a moment to recognize him, but when he did, he fell to his knees. "James," he gasped, feeling his eyes bulge out of his head.

The apparition appeared as an ordinary six – no, seven – year-old would, save the fact that none of this was real. Including him. That didn't stop Mike from giving the phantasm a hug. "Not really. I'm just something your brain is making. Like an imaginary friend!"

Mike didn't care. This was the first time he'd seen him in over a decade, and he would make the most of it! Sniffling a little, he pulled away and asked, "So… do you still like the Ninja Turtles?"

They bantered back and forth about such things for a little while in the void. Mike was so enthralled that he barely noticed when it all disappeared.

…

They departed immediately. Good thing Helen found them when she did; another hour and they would have dropped off the face of the Earth! Of course, June wasn't too happy about them dealing with such an untrustworthy person, and Mike had reservations as well, but Foxy couldn't stop thinking about freedom, pointless though it might be. The thought of being her own master intoxicated like nothing else, even if the world still constrained her. She'd never be able to thank Mike enough for trusting her.

That being said, she'd put her hook through William's skull if he so much as looked at them threateningly. After what happened with Jeremy, she better realized the value of life, but this was different. Afton wouldn't hesitate to use lethal force if necessary. Neither, then, would she.

Speaking of Mike, he must not have gotten a lot of sleep the previous night (considering his fear, sadness and all) because he fell asleep in the passenger's seat just a few minutes after they left. It was one of those sleeps, too, the ones punctuated by whimpers and twitching. She and Helen both considered waking him up, but they decided restless sleep was better than none at all. Eventually, though, he woke up seeming profoundly melancholy and barely said anything until they reached the city's edge.

The journey into Seattle was one wonder after another for Foxy, compounded by her nervous excitement. She'd visited plenty of times, of course, but only in the back of windowless vans which were driven into a windowless parking garage. Other than that, her only exposure to civilization was Whitewater and the outer suburbs that she and Mike traversed during their date night, neither of which impressed her.

This was different: skyscrapers, smokestacks, and so many people. They were everywhere! As she lay in the backseat sneaking peeks at the outside world, she was both impressed and terrified by what humanity had built. On one hand, this single metropolis put the great cities of the Southern Sea – Murkwater, Fidder's Green, Vycinium – to shame. Maybe a few places on the Continent matched it. Maybe. Of course, none of those areas had 21st Century technology or building methods.

On the other hand, so much of this seemed doomed to failure. How could such an intricate civilization sustain itself? If one piece of this massive machine broke, the rest would fail, too. It was hard to explain, but all this seemed so… impermanent. Like one day, it would all be gone. But maybe that was just the pessimist in her talking.

"We're getting close," Helen said, turning onto another street. The architecture here was a little different; more ornate and less angular. Looked kind of like the towns of the Eastern Sea, actually. "This is Chinatown. We'll arrive in SoDo in about ten minutes."

"Are you doing OK?" Mike asked from the front, flashing a hopeful smile. Certainly an about-face from how they felt an hour ago.

"Yeah, just observing strange, distant lands. Looks amazing, but it doesn't smell too great." He chuckled at that.

"You think this is bad? Trust me, there are way worse cities." She believed that; didn't get hot enough here to bring out the really unpleasant odors. Not like Murkwater, where she remembered fishmongers regularly dumping their leftover catch into the street…

But that wasn't real. Not really. Was it?For the past few weeks, her memories had become crystal clear; she could see and hear her crew like they were all together just yesterday. Not like she'd ever see them again… at least, that's what she originally thought. Lately she'd gotten to thinking about it. What was reality? After all, many people would adamantly deny the existence of sentient robots even if she was right in front of them. Crazy as it sounded, maybe they were out there somewhere. After all, she was! Perhaps one day she'd see them again, either in this world or some esoteric afterlife. Unlikely, but she could dream.

"We'll be there in two minutes," Helen said as they turned onto a street much less crowded than the ones they traversed a little earlier. This looked to be some kind of industrial area as opposed to commercial or residential. About a mile away, she could see some kind of gaping crater surrounded by construction equipment.

"What's that giant hole?" she asked.

"That was the Kingdome," Mike said, looking a little nostalgic. "Seattle's one and only stadium – the Mariners, the Seahawks and the Sonics all used to play there." Foxy recognized all these names from parents chatting about sports, but they meant little to her. "But it was getting old, so it, uh, got destroyed a few months ago. Biggest controlled demolition ever, apparently. I skipped class to watch it come down. Like, the replacement football stadium is supposed to start construction soon."

Such strange pastimes these people had. There were few sports in her world: croquet for the nobility and ninepins for everyone else. Most people simply weren't interested; why play such games when you could become an explorer or adventurer or, best of all, a pirate? Even if that wasn't up your alley, there were far more exciting things to do than throw a ball around. Again, she was reminded of how much reality sucked.

"And now we're here." Virtually all traffic, foot and vehicle, had petered out on this ramshackle block. Most of the buildings seemed to be abandoned, save one. It wasn't particularly tall (only six or seven stories), but it was fairly wide, taking up a good area. "I got Delta to scope out the building earlier. He said he didn't see an increase in traffic or anything else suspicious." Of course she roped him into something again.

Really? This is it? She expected something a little more sinister. The featureless brick structure outside looked more like an oversized school than anything else. There was also a parking garage attached, which Helen pulled into. Now things seemed familiar, and not just because of the barren interior. A strange yet familiar scent permeated the car: cleaning solution and coffee. The odor hung over a good portion of the building. William liked his people alert and his things tidy.