Disclaimer: FNAF belongs to Scott Cawthon, and the plot with Puppet and all that belongs to Mable. One-shot based off of Mable's story Can't Go Home Again. Be sure to read that super-amazing story before reading this! Again, pretty much all this except for Macy belongs to Mable. Wish I could link her.

The clock passed 12. The clock passed 1. By the time the hand hit 1:30 am, Marionette knew that the security guard had no intention of winding his music box. Rarely did the guards forget the box, yet here was a guard, leaving him unwound for nearly two hours. The porcelain-faced puppet crept out of his box and silently slipped down the hall. Both doors to the office were closed. His pinprick eyes rolled and he teleported himself into the office, having been in there dozens of times before. He looked in horror at what he saw.

A small girl, no older than five, was strapped to the table and was practically being gutted alive. Her eyes were wide open in fear as he looked over her face. She was looking straight upwards at the light, determined not to watch her attack but unable to fully close her eyes. He watched as her life slipped away slowly, his face in a rare frown, and corrected her spirit into a newer animatronic of Williams', a hand puppet Bonnie, Bon Bon. He used his slender fingers to shut the blue eyes of the dark haired girl and hastily wiped away his thick purple tears, turning abruptly towards the door where the Purple Guy had slipped out as he did the ritual.

"You'll be the last." He promised. He'd rarely spoken before, but felt this promise needed to be said.

He couldn't control the sudden burst of Pop Goes the Weasel as he chased the man, not having time to alert the others. He spotted him taking a turn into the party room, but as he rounded the corner he saw nothing. He saw nothing but heard the slightest huffing, hardly audible from his distance. The Puppet slowly crept towards one of the tables and raised the tablecloth suddenly, causing a shriek from the purple-stained nightguard. He quickly shoved his slim arm through the stomach of the man and he fell unconscious, but the Puppet was blinded with anger and by the time he was done, both arms were stained with drying blood as he shoved the dead man into a Golden Bonnie springtrap suit, hovering towards the bathrooms to quickly wash out his fabric arms. He would've felt guilty if it wasn't for the dead girl who he'd witnessed being sliced open by the guy. The girl, he rushed back to her corpse and dumped her body behind the Pizzeria, laying it out softly and crossing her hands over her chest and laid a white tablecloth over the girl, her hair spread out like a fan and her facepaint, one which resembled somewhat of Marionette's own, was nearly washed off by her own drying tears.

Michael Schmidt woke up in an ambulance. He remembered the tussle over his sister, he remembered getting stabbed, but he didn't remember the 911 call. Then again, on Halloween night there are always teenagers around getting into trouble. One of them probably called.

He was rushed into immediate surgery, but was released by morning. Most of the time they'd tend to keep stab wound victims longer, he figured, but according to them he was 'refilled' with blood and bandaged up. They taught him how to wrap a wound and threw him out.

All the nurses and doctors refused to tell him if his sister was alright or not. Though seeing as he was the primary guardian over the small girl, he knew her fate. He only hoped she was okay and not in any pain. He'd rather her dead than suffering, though the selfish part of him clung on to maybe, maybe she was alive.

He pulled his cell phone from his jean's pocket and dialed a familiar number. It rang four times and Mike almost gave up until he heard a voice on the other line. "Mike, why are you calling at seven in the morning?"

"Hey Sam, can you come pick me up? I'm in front of the hospital."

"Do I even want to ask?" Sam Fritz wondered aloud.

"Nah, you don't. I'll tell you when you get here. Thanks." He hung up before he could reject and sat down on a bench. Just because he was free to leave didn't mean he wasn't in pain. He looked down at his stomach and winced, remembering the rapid movements of the knife in and out, in and out. He had no idea how he wasn't dead.

Soon enough, the truck pulled up in front and Mike climbed in slowly, being careful of his stomach. "Drive slow, I don't want my stitches coming undone."

"Woah woah, stitches?!"

"Yeah... last night some creep told me to hand over my sister. I declined, obviously. He stabbed me in the stomach" he left out multiple times part, obviously, "and took her, so here I am now. Now shut up so I can call the police about my sister."

He dialed the phone and called the station. When they asked him to hold, he let out a whole lot of curses so they'd let him go straight to the manager (disclaimer, I don't think this works, don't try it at home XD) whiched worked. He then explained everything to the sheriff in one breath, trying to ignore Sam who was staring at him.

"Is she a girl with dark hair, dressed like... that sock monkey thing from Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria?" The sheriff asked.

"Yes!"

"Please, come down to the Pizzeria..."

He hung up the phone. "Drive."

The Pizzeria was closed once again, but for once it had nothing to do with the animatronics. They'd found a girl's body dumped behind the Pizzeria, but there was no indication she'd been murdered in the restaurant as the Puppet bleached the office. He didn't want them to find William Afton's body stuffed in an empty suit upon investigation.

"Goldie... Purple Guy is gone." Marionette said softly to his leader, who froze his abrupt pace and turned slowly, as dramatic as can be.

"What?" He asked in his obnoxiously deep voice.

"He-he was attacking a little girl... if I didn't get him then he would've gotten away again. I- all I could see was purple... I needed him gone." He said in nothing above a whisper. This kind of thing was the only time he talked, and he both relished in the fact and hated using his voice box for something like that.

"Marionette... I can't believe you! Twenty years I've been looking for this #?!&$ and you took the prey for yourself! What do you have to say for yourself?" The Puppet did nothing but walk, or float, angrily in the other direction and close himself in his box, but for once sat and thought about the victim. He never tried to think of them, but she... was so young. How could William Afton live with himself?

Meanwhile, Goldie looked out on the scene of the police sirens and press trying to get the attention of forensic scientists. He caught a glimpse of the little girl, and part of him wished that he'd been invited again. Before he would think it was wrong, but really, it gave him a sort of rush he just couldn't get from chasing the nightguards down. He frowned at the scene, upset he couldn't kill Afton. Or that girl, really today had just been a sucky loss. Though, the only thing that was truly holding him here was the murderer. William Afton, the guy he shamelessly teamed with the attack innocent kids. He tried to fight it, but knew he was ready. He was ready to move on.

He snuck one last glance at the girl's pale face and closed his eyes, they never were to open again.

"Mr. Schmidt." A man came up and asked through the window. He rolled down the glass and nodded. "Come here."

Mike slid ungracefully from the steep car and left Sam to park and followed the FBI agent.

"Sir... is this your sister?" Michael was asked as they slowly tugged the transparent sheet down from her face, and even with the mental preparedness he'd done, he gasped from shock and began shaking his head rapidly.

"No, no, no! Why?! Why wasn't it me?!" He tried to reach out for Macy but was pulled back.

"Sir, we need you to calm down." A female officer soothed, but that was the last thing on his mind as he sunk slowly, mindful of his stitches, to the ground and just sobbed, closing his eyes and trying to get the image of her lifeless body from his mind.

Meanwhile, Marionette stood by the door and listened through to whatever the officers were saying about this cold case. Never could he remember a death that affected him so much, except for maybe Foxy. Maybe it was seeing the killing in action that made it so hard, instead of seeing he'd stuffed another dead corpse in an empty suit about ten days before. He never tried listening in on the officers as long as he could remember. This time, he didn't wipe his tears.

Thanks so much for reading! This one-shot sorta thing was inspired by a song called Painted Faces, at least my take on it. Of course, as I said before, the original plot belongs to Mable who wrote Can't Go Home Again, but this is my 'spinoff'. For example, Mable had Mike with no siblings, but I feel like the reason he kept coming back to Freddy's was more than just the thrill of the chase, but because he lost family there. You would come back too if you'd lost your little sister there, right?