Hello, readers!
This is the edited version of Vespertine! I know it's been a while, sorry, and all I did was add one last chapter! God I'm awful. Anyway, if you're new here, this takes place sometime between my Phantasm and Nightmare fics, but is NOT CANON to the main Nichole storyline. If you haven't read those, don't fear. You don't really need to. I'll just go over the highlights real quick of what happened in Phantasm.
If you're familiar with the Aliens/Predator franchises, this'll make sense. If you're not, then I apologize. The gist of it is that when Nichole was a teenager, she was trapped on a crashed Predator ship full of xenomorphs (Aliens) and had to fight to survive. She teamed up with a Predator she named Wolf and with his help, she was able to survive the night and even became buddies with the guy. She joined the FBI in order to destroy what Aliens they captured and awaits a time where she can see Wolf again.
Again, this story is only SEMI-CANON NOT REALLY to Nichole's main story. I just wanted to write a FNAF fanfic and didn't want to come up with new characters so I just put Nichole and CO in it because I'm lazy sorry!
It's completely finished, even though it's only 8 chapters long. I mean, I'm not gonna write a full-fledged fic on a story that isn't even canon to my main series! So, enjoy, I guess! Hopefully there's a little bit of something for everyone in here. It's edited and little more clean, so hopefully it's not a total disaster. It's still pretty rough and I'm not really going to go through and fix any left-over typos, so please forgive me in advance! I'm on a bit of a time crunch here.
~ Crayola
Chapter One
Never Forget
Headquarters' in-house gym wasn't anything to write home about, but it gave me something to do and, more importantly, a way to stay in shape. Jogging every morning kept my stamina up, but I needed to be strong, too. I wasn't sure if I'd ever be able to keep up with Wolf, but I couldn't just give up and not strengthen my muscles.
Weight training was important to me, though it was hard work. I wasn't really built to be muscular—I was more athletic than anything.
My legs limited the length of time I could spend doing any kind of exercise, but I did my best.
After my last rep, I sat on the bench and took a drink from my water bottle. When there was downtime between missions and paperwork, there wasn't much to do around the office. I couldn't go poking around the cryptid vaults and cells too often, otherwise the higher ups would start to wonder what it was I was up to. Especially since there was only one that I was really interested in.
"Agent Shain?" The voice pulled my gaze up from the mats and I straightened my back. It was the errand-boy of the office, Walter. Waif of a man; greasy hair and big teeth.
"Yes?"
He nodded and slapped a folder against his palm. "Get changed, boss has one for you."
I was on my feet immediately and in the locker room. Every potential mission carried me further up the food chain. Right now, it was all a bunch of false alarms—people crying wolf, claiming they saw a UFO or the Chupacabra. We investigated every rock that fell from space, every mutilated opossum or cat corpse people thought was some undiscovered monster.
I had even heard rumors that some of senior agents from other departments were out tracking down ghosts and shit. None of that was my line of specialty, though. I spent most of my time investigating possible alien sightings, but I picked up whatever case they would give me, too.
Most were dead ends.
Some, though, yielded quite interesting results. I hoped this whatever they had for me this time was going to be one of those times.
It took some time to move from the first floor to the thirteenth, and then I was busting into the director's office—after knocking, of course. I was eager to have something to occupy my time, but I wasn't born in a barn.
"What wild goose chase do you have for us this time?" I asked as soon as I walked through the door to Director Dixon's office. Agent Devon Hart, my partner, was there already.
Dixon looked up from a pile of papers and raised his eyebrows. "Ah, good. You're both here now. We have a time limit on this one, agents. We've been watching this place for years and we finally have a way inside. We have a possible haunting or several well-executed murders and cover ups."
Hart and I shared a glance, then he said, "A haunting? That's not really our—"
Dixon cut him off with a sharp gesture. "I'm aware. This case would normally go to agents from another department, but most of them are busy with their own cases. Like I said, we're on a time crunch. You shouldn't have any problems at least identifying if this a true haunting or just a crazed man. We'll have someone take over if it's the former, since you may not know how to deal with such a thing. Until then, though, treat this like any other case and figure out what's going on. Head to records for the file."
"Sure thing, sir," Hart said with a dip of his head. All I managed was a curt nod: I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, nothing polite would come out.
This would be the first real mission I'd been on that wasn't investigating a space rock or dead creature. Real murders—real victims—alright, that mentality was horrible, and it was certainly tragic. However, I was being given the chance, along with my partner, to bring their killer to justice.
Even if it was a dead person with a grudge.
Just another stepping stone to my goal. I went on these stupid dead ends and did everything they asked. I'd only been working there for a year, but I had a good feeling that I was one of the most reliable members of the division: I accepted every request from the higher-ups, I never complained about my partner, and I hadn't once called in sick no matter how ill I felt. Things were still moving slowly, and I couldn't see the xenomorphs yet, but I had hope that it would be soon.
Once I'd managed to gain the clearance, all I had to do was make a plan to kill them all.
What I had to show for my work so far was access to the files. No one batted an eye when I asked for the latest developments, not when I was the one who had led to their capture three years ago. As far as I knew, one of the originals had metamorphosed into a queen and they were talking about bringing in hosts.
Thank the lord that they hadn't been cleared for that yet.
Those awful creatures—I didn't want to think about what terrible things awaited whatever hosts the higher-ups managed to shove in there with them.
"Hello? Earth to Nichole. Do you read?"
I was snapped back to reality and I turned sharply to Hart, eyes wide. He lifted his hands defensively and chuckled, "Anyone home? The lights are on."
"Sorry," I said, relaxing my shoulders. "I was lost in thought. . .what were you saying?"
He motioned for me to enter the elevator first and I stepped inside. "Ah, I was just talking for the sake of talking. What kinda haunting do you think? Amityville or Poltergeist?"
"I wouldn't even begin to know, Devon. Not much into horror movies."
"Really? You didn't peg me for someone who find that stuff scary," he replied, hitting the button for B1. "I mean, you're one of our youngest agents and even fought off real aliens when you were in high school. What's a few horror movies?"
Grimacing, I shot him a sidelong glance. "Horror movies don't scare me. I just don't like them. Is there a problem with that?"
Hart quickly backpedaled. "What? No, sorry, that's not what I meant! I was just yanking your chain. I just can't wrap my mind around all this supernatural stuff, y'know. I'm actually kind of hoping this is just a regular murder case. Those I'm used to!"
"You get used to these ones, too," I breathed.
The elevator pinged when we arrived at the correct floor and we were set free. William's "office" was at the end of the hall and it was a short walk. The doors were unlocked as usual, so we let ourselves in without an announcement.
It was dark in the records room. Whether it was because of the dim overhead lights or the sheer number of filing cabinets, I didn't know. A single desk sat in the center of the small bedroom-sized area, and it was cluttered with stacks of paper, open manila folders, and about three dozen pens. One man sat at the helm, glasses set snugly against his face. His dark hair was slicked back by what could only be several gallons of hair gel.
"William?" I greeted him, approaching the desk with Hart at my side.
He looked up from an open box filled with folders and papers. For a moment he did nothing but stare at us like he wasn't sure we were real, and then he put the box's lid back into place and offered us a welcoming smile.
"Ah—Agents Shain and Hart, I presume?"
"Yes," I replied.
William lifted his index finger into the air and nodded. "Yes, yes the director said he'd send you my way. I have, um, all the files ready for you. C'mere."
Hart and I stepped closer to his desk as we were summoned, and I tried not to fidget while he thumbed through the stack of files. When he couldn't find what he was looking for, he picked a cabinet seemingly at random and pulled out a thick stack of files and papers, then brought it back to his desk where he let it drop to the surface with a loud noise. It was enough to cause a slight tremor to dash up my spine, but I ignored the unease and my own reflex to fight.
"Here we are. Case number 16-10SN3005. Possible haunting at a family restaurant." William shook his head. "I know aliens are your specialties, but the bureau covers everything that the general public isn't allowed to know about. You guys'll be okay, though, right?"
"Yeah, yeah, we'll be fine. The suspense is killing me, just tell us what we're doing," Hart said.
William held out the file for us and I snatched it from his hand before Hart could, then started thumbing through the contents.
The look on his face didn't fade even as he let his arm fall back to the desk. "Alright then. The skinny of it is that the place has closed and reopened three or four times now. It's due to shut down at the end of next month, for good this time. There's been a lot of shenanigans going on, but it's been on our radar since some children went missing. They caught someone, but the bodies were never found."
I flicked through the pile of newspaper clippings and reports—most pertaining to the two restaurants before the newest. A few children had been presumed murdered by a man they put in jail. One man lost his entire frontal lobe when one of the animatronics malfunctioned and bit him. Another kid was killed by a wearable animatronic suit when it malfunctioned.
"All of these are dated from years and years ago. What's going on now?" I asked, staring at one of the pictures of the restaurant before it reopened.
Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. I recognized the name—it was a small franchise set to be the rival to Chuck E Cheese's, but it was swathed in so much controversy it never caught on. I had only visited Chuck E Cheese a few times when I was young, so I wasn't sure what to expect from this place. The stupid animatronics had always given me the heebie jeebies, though. That I remembered.
"The current night guard was set to retire at the end of last week and they just put up an ad for his replacement. It's our first way in. There have been strange reports from people who walk by the place at night."
I glanced up at him, then skimmed a few more pages.
"What makes you think it's haunted? None of that sounds suspicious at all," Hart pointed out, taking the file from me to look through it himself. He pointed at one of the pictures and grinned. "Hey, Freddy Fazbear's! I went here once. Oh man, I liked Bonnie the most."
Prompted by my blank stare, he showed me the picture of a tall purple rabbit with a guitar in his hands. "Bonnie, the bunny. I like rabbits, okay?"
Hart shuffled uncomfortably when William and I stared at him a bit longer, and then William continued. "We've been keeping the franchise under surveillance for a while. We haven't really been able to get any cameras on the inside, but we watch the outside. People have seen the animatronics acting weird at night, and the whole place is off the charts creepy."
"That's hardly grounds for a haunting, isn't it?" I said, echoing Hart's sentiments. "I mean, they're old and jenky robots. Of course they're creepy and do weird shit."
"True. We don't know for sure it's haunted, but we need to find out and this is the first chance we've gotten. Some employees have gone missing, on top of everything. Always reported so many days after they were last scheduled, though. So, one of you will need to be hired into the night guard position and the other will provide back up," he finished.
"I want to be the guard," I volunteered before Hart could even open his mouth. I may have lost my composure a little bit, but I needed the position. "I'm tired of sitting around doing paper work, please let me be the guard."
"How do you know we'll get hired? Won't other people be looking for a job?" Hart asked, seemingly undisturbed by my outburst.
William pulled out a newspaper from his desk and held it out for us. "We pulled the ad from the newspapers. They're paying worse than any fast food place, too. You guys can decide among yourselves who gets to be the night watchman and who gets to sit on the sidelines. Your paycheck from Fazbear's are getting split, anyway."
Hart scoffed, staring at the ad. "You hear that, Nichole? We'll each get $60 per pay check."
"What?" I reached over and grabbed the newspaper from him, skimming until I found the ad in question. "They're paying $120 a week? What year is this?"
"Dunno, think of it as a bonus. You guys need to leave soon, though. Flight leaves in a couple hours. That file is all we have right now, though I trust your investigation will yield more results."
We thanked him for his help and took our leave. I pulled the file open one more time to look through the rest of the reports. The eatery had any number of citations for health violations, cleanliness, accidents. . .and yet it still kept coming back from the dead. I supposed most of that would have to do with the gimmick of pizza and arcades—Chuck E Cheese, Dave and Buster's—people ate that shit up.
Becoming a security guard at the place wouldn't be the hard part. I would just have to convince Hart to let me do it. He didn't seem too against the idea, but I knew he was itching to avoid doing paperwork just as much as I was.
As we walked back the way we came, a sound caught my attention. I removed my nose from the file and stared down the adjacent hallway. The familiar noise had my heart beating out of my chest and lined my throat with sandpaper. My hands balled into fists and, despite the tremors chasing each other up and down my spine, I charged down the hall with an unrelenting determination.
"Nichole, where're you going?" Hart called out to me.
It grew louder and louder as I ate the distance until I came upon a solid steel door. It had no markings, no identifiers. They weren't needed. I knew what was beyond that barrier without any labels. I had been shown this door only once, and I would never forget it.
Just like I would forever remember that particular pitch for the next thousand lifetimes.
"I'm coming for you soon, fuckers," I whispered, pressing the palm of my right hand flat against the cool surface of the door. Whenever I had a reason to come down to the basement, I always stopped by to remind them that I was there, waiting and biding my time.
One day I would kill them and take my trophies.
The xenomorphs in the lab on the other side of the door continued their caterwauling long after I joined Hart back in the main hallway. Taunting, challenging, telling me that they would be ready.
