Chapter Text
Ah, yes, how wonderful.
Another day.
He wanted to flop over and crush the alarm clock on his bedside table in frustration as it screeched near his ear, but he wrangled enough self control to keep himself from doing it.
Barely.
Michael winced and grunted as he pulled himself up from the bed he'd been "sleeping" in, grimacing as the gears whirred to life and creaking metal joints protested under hidden layers of bandages and purpled skin.
Ah, how great unlife was.
Ever since he forcefully got his organs removed - without his consent, imagine that - he couldn't "sleep".
He drifted, sure, but he was also equally as present as if he were awake. It was like his own personally made punishment, unable to rest even in the most mundane way possible.
Sometimes he had half a mind to set himself on fire to see if it'll actually take this time.
The white pin pricks, which have long taken the place of his eyes, flickered up to the ceiling in thought.
Could he...?
Michael shook his head, coming to the conclusion that surviving more than three fires might mean that he might just get stuck with where he's at now.
Again.
With more issues piled on.
What a pain.
Lazily, he reached for the trusty white bear mask that he threw on the floor the day before, huffing a puff of air out of habit as he stretched across the bed, feeling his skin protest at the action. He ignored the feeling, though, quite used to it as he languidly picked up the item on the floor.
After snatching it up , Michael sat back up on the bed and regarded the mask silently.
It had been, what? Three months since the fire at that Fazbear knock-off place?
And now? His reward for finally putting everyone to rest? Even his damned father? Prolonged life in this godforsaken body and seated with the responsibility of branch manager for some nowhere city.
He flexed his hand, then absently clicked the alarm off as he heaved his body off the bed, throwing the mask onto it.
And niw he was alone.
No one else will understand what he's gone through. What he's sacrificed.
...
What they all sacrificed.
Michael pushed the thought down in frustration, trudging over to the bathroom to replace the layers of bandages that precariously covered his body.
Not that his body produced anything substantial anymore, but it was out of mostly habit and self-conciousness.
Because of the machinery left behind by his beloved sister to keep him upright and able to actually move around, he couldn't take a shower.
Yes, so gross, so stinky.
He knows, you bloody idiot.
And as such, he relied on wipes, perfumes, sprays, and switching out bandages to maintain his appearance - if not to just settle his nerves.
Not that most people saw him anyway. He mostly worked into the late hours of the night into the early morning, staying to the shadows and dark alleyways for cover to and from work.
At least they made things more interesting when coming and going in the evenings and mornings. The one small, if not barely-recognized mercy granted to him.
Michael suppressed a wince as he felt a patch of taut skin rip slightly as he peeled off the last of the wrapping from around his arms.
Ugh, it was disgusting.
After examining the tear, he deemed it safe - despite seeing the metal that gleaned underneath it.
Carefully wrapping every inch of his body once more and spraying a mismatch of cologne and whatever other good-smelling things he'd managed to nab a few weeks prior, he walked out of the bathroom. Immediately he beelined for the closet, keeping an eye on the time, not willing to be late for a second time this week.
Michael, regretfully, didn't have much in terms of clothes. He just had his work uniform, outdoor clothes, three hoodies, and the pjs he wears to bed - so you could probably imagine the space was painfully bare, despite his hefty bank account.
Of course, thinking that you were going to peacefully pass on with you family surrounding you - even though they were in robot bodies built to kill little kids - tends to have you packing like that.
Guess he'll have to go to one of those night stores at some point.
Rolling his glowing pupils at his own train of thought, he grabbed for the uniform, slipping it on like a second skin before throwing a hoodie overtop of it.
Bygones will be bygones, and what have you.
Glancing back at the mirror in the bathroom that peeked through the door he left wide open, he squinted - his equivalent, of course - and tried to see if anything was out of place. After checking for any inconsistencies, he hummed in approval.
Nothing stood out from the norm.
Nothing except...
Michael narrowed his eyes at his bald head.
Yet another punishment for living, he supposed.
Walking to a drawer and opening it, it revealed a basket that tightly fit in the space, filled to the brim with wigs - the one thing he often splurged his money on when he could.
Sue him, he wasn't ready to commit to being bald just yet.
That, and he didn't feel like learning how to do makeup to cover anything up.
Not that it'll do anything for any exposed bones and rotting, singed flesh, but a guy can dream.
Grabbing a wig at random, he walked briskly back to the bathroom, taking a brush to it so it didn't look raggedy and, well, unsettlingly fake.
God, he's like a dude in his sixties wearing a tupee. Michael suppressed a shiver at the comparison before croaking out a laugh. I probably look worse than a sixty year old, though.
Self depreciation at its finest.
He put it on his head and fixed it, moving it this way and that, trying to make it more comfortable and seemless. A hiss left him as the corner of the wig brushed against a patch of skin that seemed to be ready to drop off from his body.
Not exactly pain, but not unfeeling either. Though, it wasn't an uncommon occurance anymore, seeing as his rotted skin ripped slightly not too long prior, so he didn't mind it all that much. The branch manager settled again, pulling his hands away after a few more seconds if adjusting it.
Michael let out a sigh, looking at himself in the mirror, greeted by his own, rotted face. Twisted into something hideous from one self-sacrifical mission to another throughout the years.
There was a crawling sensation under his skin, but he ignored it.
He was so tired. If he looked the way he did several years prior, there wasn't a doubt in his mind that his eye bags would droop to the floor.
Hesitantly, Michael glanced over at the time on the clock.
10:30 PM.
Not too shabby. Actually somewhat early this morning.
The main pizzeria he's mainly working out of is about a ten minute walk from the little apartment he rented out.
He had time to burn.
Maybe he could walk around the block? Explore a bit? It was late enough that most people were at home, getting comfortable in their beds.
The lingering fear of being seen was still there, but he favored to contemplate the thought instead.
They won't be up until later, so...
He had time to himself.
...
Too much time.
Life was a monotonous and continuous thing, something he learned quite quickly after everything that's happened to him. Even when it seemed that the world was going to end, things were always going and never stopping. The world didn't care about any one specific person, regardless of how kind or how awful they were.
It just stayed the same, no matter what...no matter how he tried to...
If he just stayed at home and rotted away on the ground, maybe finally...
Finally...
"Michael," a shrill voice snapped him out of his thoughts, the heavy metal tendrils that wrapped around his insides twitched under his skin, "you're doing the thing again."
The undead corpse blinked for a moment, and cracked a brief smile on his torn face. "Yeah, my bad," he chuckled, pulling away from the mirror, "human stuff."
There was an indignant scoff, and if he focused on it, Michael could almost feel the curling poking at his insides in retaliation.
"Ugh, tell me about it," the voice sighed again, the twitching lessening, "how Circus Baby convinced the others to come up here, I will never know."
Michael walked over to the bed and picked up the mask, sliding it over his face. "Welp, you're all kind of stuck with me, buddy." He pulled out a pair of gloves that were tucked away inside his work pockets and slid them over his hands. "Hope you guys don't mind."
"As long as Freddy isn't in here anymore, I don't mind," it chided back, pleased.
Throwing the hood over his head, he hummed in thought, slowly making his way to the door while grabbing his keys. "You guys don't normally come online until I get us to work, what's different today?"
"Well, the others are asleep," it exclaimed, sounding proud of itself, "I was bored."
Pulling open the door, Michael chuckled at it's antics, slightly thankful that the others weren't awake - knowing how cruel they could be. "Well, if we pull off our little experiment, we might be able to do more activities without all of..." he trailed off, theb propping the door open, gestured to their shared body, "...this."
The voice was excited, and Michael listened as it rambled, shutting the door behind him and waving to the neighbor a couple of doors down, seemingly just coming back from their own job.
They blinked at him, hesitated, and gave him a little wave back.
Behind his mask, a slight smile formed on his face at the gesture.
From what he could gather, despite his recent move, his neighbor was nice and often kept to themselves, but they never prodded about his getup or why he dressed the way he did - when they did talk, that is.
Michael turned around, turning his focus to the voice ranting into his ear as he mumbled his own injections under his breath.
Maybe they could be...friends, he supposed.
One day.
But for now, he was busy.
He missed how his neighbor's eyes stayed trained on him, lost in thought about something. Their eyes lingered on the white of his mask as it disappeared from view.
Then, they righted their barista apron self-consciously before walking into their room for the night.
_______________________________________
The circus came to the city the day before, unnoticed. Seemingly materializing in the dead of night.
It was their whole shtick, you see - since the circus was a circus of horrors.
Being "scary" was half the job.
After quickly and expertly setting things up - albeit temporarily for the time being, enough to get them situated - one of the performers became restless. To remedy this, he tried sneaking out without getting caught.
That in itself was a short lived dream.
With a sigh, the oldest of their group - Ticket Taker - seemed to appear in the shadows cast by the circus and grabbed a hold of his cape before he could escape.
"And where might you be going, Harlequin?" The masked man hummed, his free hand tucked politely behind his back.
The green performer, even slightly stunned as he was, still shot him a smirk, "You know, can't sleep, might as well go explore before we go out tomorrow~. Gotta find the fun spots before they're overrun with humans." The word "humans" was hissed out like one would with pests or pets.
Cape still firmly in his grasp, the Ticket Taker peered at him thoughtfully, as if contemplating something. Harlequin, no matter how slick he might think he was, was clear about how eager he was to shake him off as quickly as he could.
C'mon, he thought, I got my chores done early, you can't keep me here!
...
He kept that to himself, though. Didn't want to face the wrath of Jester so soon - he just got off his last punishment.
"...You know the rules, correct?" It was a gentle yet firm reminder, a quiet lilt to it that said the unanswered statement, "don't get in trouble, and don't get caught doing something out of the ordinary".
The performer sneered, "I'm not that Pierrot, I can handle myself."
The older man cleared his throat and raised a brow. "We shall see," his singular white pupil trained on him for a little longer, amusement bleeding through as he saw the circus performer tense slightly, "I'll inform Jester of your whereabouts, then."
Harlequin blinked in surprise.
Huh, strange.
Rarely did Ticket Taker let them go free without a catch.
"...So, you gonna let go?" He hummed, looking pointedly at the clawed hand still keeping him in place.
Reaching within his suit, the older man pulled out a pile of fliers, eye curving slightly as he watched the Harlequin falter in his grip. "Might as well be useful if you're going out tonight, hmm?" He seemed to smirk behind his mask, handing the stack of papers to the other.
Harlequin glared at the papers, but took them into his hands.
"If you put them out tonight, you don't have to go out tomorrow-," Ticket Taker let go of the green performer's cape, but what he said seemed to spark the other's motivation as he shot out of the circus.
He paused, watching the green blur leave through the soon-to-be-entrance, fliers held close to his chest with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Ticket Taker waited a few more moments, gaze following the Harlequin, before turning with a sigh, venturing further into the circus.
After all, Jester has to know where their troublesome friend has gone.
...
He prays Harlequin learned his lesson from the last time, at least.
...
His steps fell short as his gaze shot back to the entrance.
Perhaps after updating Jester he should go keep an eye on him.
________________________________________
What others call petty, he calls malicious compliance.
Darting from one shadow to the next with ease, he spread the sheets of paper messily along the main streets, certain that anyone who walks through in the morning would see them.
Technically he's putting them out.
Ticket Taker never said he had to use tape to put them up.
All this, and he gets to ditch flier duty tomorrow?
Win-win for everyone.
Eyes narrowing as he spilled the last of the fliers onto the ground carelessly, he was slightly surprised to see how quiet and still it was at night.
Normally, in cities like this, there was a night life, or at least a few people walking home from work. But here, it was silent.
The pavement was empty of people, there was nothing except a few stray cats who seemed to scramble away in his presence.
Harlequin rolled his eyes. Pests.
Slowing down, he started walking on the sidewalk, eyes curiously darting this way and that.
It seemed to be a more laid back area, with a café and salons and the like.
He saw no bars, no late-night convenience stores, or even one of those crappy gas stations that typically had at least one creepy guy manning the counter 24/7.
That probably explains it.
For a moment he contemplated on grabbing a few flyers from the ground to spread them further down the street. Maybe Ticket Taker wouldn't kill him if he...stretched the advertisement borders just a tad, he mused.
A devious chuckle left him as he grabbed two flyers from the ground, stopping in his tracks for a moment.
It was a thoughtless movement, really, but something made him snap his head in the direction of the alleyway he stopped in front of him.
For a moment, a flash of something came from the corner of his eye.
The green performer tilted his head curiously, weighing his options.
Perhaps it was a cat? No, no, a cat wouldn't be that careless and clumsy...
From behind his mask, his forked tongue lashed out. Despite being confined by the mask itself, he could faintly smell something familiar in the air.
It was as if someone tried to mask the scent of death with febreeze and air freshener.
The thought made him internally gag, relieving a terrible memory involving Doctor's attempt to remove the scent of blood from his tent all those years ago.
...No one in the circus had a good time that day...
Creeping into the alleyway, he peered around the corner, green eyes brightening with interest as, in the distance, a hooded figure ran further and further away.
Even with his superb eyesight, he couldn't make out much except for the yellow pants. The sight made his face screw up.
What an ugly color.
He huffed and turned away from the alley, walking back out to the open again. Maybe it was a future client, he thought, humming a senseless tune as he wandered around for a while longer.
There was nothing to do. The silence almost seemed to mock him. No one to bother or no random passing human to coax to his tent with a green ticket.
Nothing.
It made his fingers twitch and release a huff of agitation in relatiation.
He could fill the silence with his own words, but what fun is that?
And yet, nothing cut through the night air except for the sounds of bugs and strays and far-away cars.
He hated silence. Made things less...interesting.
The scene made him frown as he clutched the papers in his hand in frustration.
"What a boring city," he tsked in disappointment, tossing the papers in his hand haphazardly to the ground and turning to return to the circus.
"Guess I gotta wait until opening day, huhum~. What a shame~."
About a block down, a black cat ran across the street. The green performer paused, eyes following the stray cat.
They say that black cats are bad luck, and one crossing your path meant something bad was coming your way.
Another thought crosses his mind, and sharp smile stretched across his face as the poor creature became the new target of his fascination. The trip back to the circus forgotten for the time being.
...Maybe I can have some fun.
He proceeded to chase the cat for the next hour to dispel his boredom.
...
Ticket Taker was not happy about the mess, to say the least.