A/N: This whole story will be attempted to be told from Pac-Man's point-of-view. I plan to not make any changes in who narrates the story, but there may be a few exceptions; I'm not so sure about that yet.

Disclaimer: I do not own Pac-Man or anything of the like. He belongs to Namco.

Ch. 1: Missing

My name is John Packard, but my friends call me Pac-Man. I work as an exterminator along with my dad. Well, he does the exterminating, and I mostly pack and unpack inventory in the back, which is another reason for my nickname. Actually, when my dad found out about my nickname, he liked it so much that he renamed our business to "Pac-Men Exterminating, Inc.", which makes a lot more sense than the other name it had, which was "Golden Fruit Exterminators". I mean, am I right or what?

Anyways, since I'm always in the back, I deal with a lot of poisonous chemicals, which gets me sick real easily. So to solve the pain, I have to constantly take these white round pills – I forget what they're called – and I can manage for a few hours. I've been telling my dad that I should get a job somewhere else, but he always tells me no. Even at 23, I still don't have my freedom. But I understand anyway; after all, it's the family business.

Earlier today, my dad got a call from someone reporting an infestation or something like that. I don't know what the problem was really, because he rushed his words too quickly before leaving that I couldn't understand everything he said. He tends to get too excited before leaving off to his duty that he doesn't speak right. Right when he told me that he'll be back soon, he slammed the door shut, which caused some parts of it to break. I get mad at the door too much. I have to repair it every week, since it's an old door. Now I have to make plans to fix it tomorrow first thing in the morning.

Every day, I tend to stand right behind the door glaring at our competition across the street. Yes, we had competition. Dig Dug Industries. We do the same amount of jobs, but they get more out of it. Their building is certainly not outdated as ours was. Everything sparkled like new. Every. Single. Day. It just gets me mad that no matter how much money I pay to repair every little thing in our business, it still looks like a dump. It will never look as new as the other guys across the street.

But I shouldn't complain. I was taught by my mom – who may rest in peace – that complaining is a bad habit. She's right. I shouldn't complain about the luxuries I know I can't have. I decided to take advantage of this time to catch up on some reading. It's been a while since I've read something good, and the slow business day is perfect for that.

Now I'm getting kind of worried. It's almost ten thirty and my dad hasn't come back yet. That was six hours ago, and three hours ago I was taking a nap. Dad doesn't stay out this late. Ever. It's very unlikely that he stays out this late for some small job to attend to. I thought it would be best if I looked for him.

My dad tends to write down where he's going before leaving just in case someone needs him. I started looking through his desk, which was piled high with paperwork and sticky notes. My dad was always a messy fellah. Finally, I found my dad's purple address book. I skimmed through it, trying to find today's date. I then found his recognizable small handwriting written in blue ink.

No. Way. He went to 1226 Parkway Avenue. That's where that old abandoned mansion was at. Or, at least we thought it was abandoned… Oh! I remember now! About a month ago, I remember seeing a girl about my age moving into that place. But… why in the world did she decide to move in there? Did she not hear all those rumors about that house, rumors that tend to spread easily around this small town? Oh well. Different people have different taste.

I wrote down the address in a sticky note and shoved it in my pocket. I was dashing across the room until I stopped and remembered something.

"Son," dad said. "If you need to go where I'm working, just remember to gear up before looking for me. I could use an extra hand sometimes."

The suit. I hated that yellow latex suit so much. It felt so uncomfortable, and with that yellow helmet… it just makes it worse. You can't really breathe in that thing. I have only worn it once a few years back, but that was enough for me. I found myself sighing in frustration, knowing that I didn't have any other choice. I stomped to the back where our beaten up lockers were and opened mine. The yellow suit was hanging there, waiting to be worn. I took it out and stretched the sleeves. I can't believe that I can still fit in it, even after two years of not wearing it. I struggled and wriggled around until the suit was holding snuggly to my body like a strong hug – you know, like the ones you get when someone hasn't seen you in a long time. It was killing me alive.

The helmet was worse. I found that it was bigger that I remembered it to be. It was sitting loosely on my head, and it was just annoying. I better get this over with at once. I got my exterminating backpack, remembering how my dad showed me how to use it. Like I said before, I have never exterminated before, so I was unsure on how the thing actually worked. I grasped the vacuum-like piece tightly, thinking if dad was alright. I hope nothing bad happened to him. He was a very skilled exterminator, so it's very unlikely for him to get hurt.

I stopped by my gym bag and pulled out three capsules of my medicine. If I'm gonna be carrying poison, I might as well be safe when handling it. Making sure I got everything I need, I locked up the shop and walked towards my destination. It was a cold night, and everything was quiet. Too quiet. Wherever my dad is, I thought, I'm gonna find him, no matter what.