Written for my sweet nephew and all the wonderful people living with autism. Out lives would be black and white without you.

"He's not 't you see it? He's like me. Just a little different that's all." —the biggest 10 year old foxy/ FNaF fan on the planet.

.org

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Summer 1990.

"You don't have to flip it down so hard."

"Oh, sorry, Mr. Afton," Russel said as he retracted his hand from Foxy's head like it was a hot stove eye.

"No worries. Now, uh, just grab the eye patch like this."

"Russel Devins leaned closer to the table, watching him intently with his pewter brown eyes. He flipped his thick black hair out of his line of sight.

"Your generation could learn a thing or two from me. More than occupational apprenticeship you know. Real life stuff," William chuckled as his graying brown mustache tickled his upper lip.

"Sure, Mr. Afton," Russel nodded with curiosity.

"Get a haircut and pull your pants up," Afton snorted.

Russel apprehensively noticed his sagging belt line. He hiked up his blue jean to his hips. He was careful to recenter his heavy utility belt below his belly button, confident that it was the culprit of his wardrobe malfunction. His hair—that was just a matter of style. Russel's cheeks reddened with embarrassment.

Afton grinned at the teenager. High school trade training programs were always a reliable source of work. Afton thought of them like drawing names for Christmas. He never knew who he was going to get. They could be 'too cool for school' and thought of themselves as rising geniuses, but they couldn't even fill out a job application. Russel didn't fit this. He fell into the 'trouble maker with a good heart' category. The student authority was often thrilled just to get some of these kids out of the classroom. It was easier to deal with them that way; it was a cheap, effective cop out. Truth be told, Afton preferred Russel's type. He was a bit dull, but worked like a mule.

"Anyway, Foxy's eye ball is hard glass, like a marble. His eye patch is a piece of plastic on a metal hinge. What do you think'll happen?"

"It can break?"

"Right on the money. These animatronics are really expensive, even for something like that. Screw driver please…"

" Flat head or the wonky four way one? What's wrong with 'em this time?"

"You mean a Phillips— Phillips head screw driver. I need that one. His voice box malfunctioned again."

"It seems like this one stays messed up. We'll have to come back and fix him in a week."

"He's a pirate. What do you expect? Fella doesn't follow our rules," William fondly spoke over the machine on the table.

"He's just too much of a bad ass."

"Language, Russel."

"Gee, sorry, sir. God he stinks," Russel said wrinkling his nose, "How'd you fix 'em?"

"Well, how would you have fixed him?"

"Replace the voice box?"

"That too, but what else?"

"I dunno," Russel shrugged his shoulders.

"Common sense tells us to figure out why he blows out every voice box we put in. It was getting too much juice. I replaced the grounded out wire I found and stuck a new voice box in 'em. Now we'll hope for the best."

"You'd think after a while that they'd just get rid of 'em. Know what I'm sayin'—make a new one."

"Nonsense. He's a personal favorite of lots of kids and adults alike. He still has plenty of good fixtures. He's just old. You don't throw out your grandparents just because they get old."

"Touché, Mr. Afton. He's glitchy as all get out, though. Gives me the spooks, know what I'm sayin'," Russel added running his index finger over the sharp yellowing teeth attached to Foxy's gaping jaw, "Maybe we could, uh change his teeth or somethin', make em' less sharp. If it weirds me out you know that its gotta freak them little guys out too."

"What, the kids?"

"Yeah, my lil sis would piss herself. And that hook—jeepers creepers Batman!"

"Nah, you're letting your imagination get ahead of your brain," William laughed. His cheeks rounded beneath his blue eyes as he smiled, " He's just a bit twitchy. Always has been."

"What ever you say, sir. You're the boss."

William raised from his seat at the examination table. He brushed away lingering red stringy pieces of faux fur from his khakis.

"Let's go, we still have to service the others, just general maintenance—rotating musical routines and such" Afton said as he ushered Russel to the door.

Afton stepped through the door first. Russel's olive skin looked sallow in the yellow light hanging from the ceiling. He leaned into the doorframe, lingering head first into the maintenance room. His eyes rested on the patchy animatronic laying limp on the table.

"Come on now."

William's voice snapped Russel out of his trance. He still squeezed the door knob with his white-knuckle vice grip.

"Sorry," Russel uttered as sweat collected on his thick brows.

"It's fine. Just don't slam the door. The masks will fall of the walls."

Russel peaked into the maintenance room again. Smiling empty masks covered the walls. Their void-black eye sockets were unrelenting, following Russel's every move. The door creaked shut at last. Russel straightened his neck and turned to his mentor.

A quaint toothy smile was carved on William's face, "He's my favorite."