A/N: For those who know my particular writing style, I can't just lay on heavy feels without a bit of humor. If anyone is OOC, I'm sorry.
I love Mike to death and he will be his constant "meh" self, so don't worry. I just love the idea of the sad and scared little Marionette. If you're expecting a super serious story from ME of all people...then...yeah...I hope I don't let you down!
WARNING: There most likely will be some Mike/Vincent stuff (spanking, hugging, smex) in the next chapter. ...Cover your eyes, Doll.
Life. It can either suck or blow. At least that's how Mike Schmidt pictured it. By all accounts he had a pretty well established way of living compared to other unfortunates. Even if his life was put into danger every single night, that is. Well...not EVERY night, those weekends off were golden, no pun intended.
So there he sat, winding the music box at 2 am to lull Marionette to sleep. Only two more hours of this crap. He honestly didn't know what Jeremy was flipping his shit about, none of the animatronics seemed to care he was there tonight. He called in sick last minute, leaving Mike to do the shift instead.
"Hi." came that dreaded child voice from one of the vents. Mike stood up and kicked at the vent, making sure the loud banging echoed to who was in it.
"Go the FUCK away, Fuck Boy! No one fucking likes you!" he yelled.
"Aww..." came the pathetic reply accompanied by movement that got fainter and farther away.
"That should keep him away for a while." Mike thought, shining the flashlight down the hall on and off rapidly out of habit. Nothing. The animatronics just weren't being active at all, and it was bugging him. While looking through the cameras, he failed to notice the soft melody of the music box stop.
The Puppet noticed, however! Its eyes snapped open and it looked about before looking up at the camera that fed into the room that contained the prize area. He was still being watched, so why did the music stop?! Unforgivable!
"Weeeeeeehhhhh!" it whined, scuttling into the security office.
"Oh shit!" Mike screamed, cringing and waiting for the enviable. Puppet lunged at him and clung onto his leg, crying. "What...the hell?" was all Mike could think at this moment. He looked around the office for something to pry the possessed thing off him. Or something to knock it out with...either one would work.
"Wind it!" it sniffled, pointing to the music box on the table.
Mike narrowed his eyes and huffed, "Wind it yourself!"
"WIND IT, MOTHER FUCKER!" The Puppet repeated quite loudly, with a hint of demonic possession in its voice. Mike went to quick work of winding the damn box. What appeared to be a smile formed on the figure's face and it curled up in Mike's arms.
"What the fuck is this shit?!" the confused security guard thought.
"Oh no. No no no! You're going back in your box in the prize room, mister! ...Missy? Whatever you are!"
"Nooooo!" it whined, keeping its eyes closed and trying to drift off to sleep. Mike rolled his eyes and scoffed. At least he was still alive. Or maybe he wasn't. Perhaps The Puppet, or any of the other animatronics, had killed him and this was his personal hell, an eternity of working at this crappy ass job.
The music box started slowing down and the half asleep bundle in Mike's arms started trembling. "Why do you even need this silly music box?"
"To sleep," they answered, sniffling back tears. Mike rewound the box and the placating tune returned. "it keeps my mind off...the memories"
The guard quirked a brow at those words. He glanced at the cameras once more just in case, there was little to no movement. No emanate doom whatsoever. Except for BB, they had either remained in place, or were just keeping far away from the security office. That damn Balloon Boy always had to be a little shit...
"What memories? And will this take long?"
The Puppet only pointed a long, thin finger to the music box. Mike frowned more of a frown than usual and spoke again. "I'm not winding it up again unless I get some kind of explanation!"
This time it was The Puppet's turn to frown. But damn it, that music box practically kept the possessed being from tearing out their own soul out! "Fine! But just wind it up once more so I can keep calm enough to tell you."
It was almost perfect timing when The Puppet had finished their explanation. 6 am. Mike was free to go. With a yawn, The Puppet slinked out of the security office and back into its box behind the prize counter. There was plenty of repetitive music that played in the pizzeria during the day that kept them pretty pacified. It had been a very tame night compared to others. Mike was grateful for that, but now he felt uneasy. About as uneasy as you can be after working at this particular place, mind you. The Puppet's story had struck a chord with him.
As he walked towards the exit of the establishment, he passed by his rarely seen co-worker, who's entire being was an odd purplish hue. They sort of nodded at him and brushed passed him without saying much aside from an insincere "Good morning."
Mike didn't reply, but starred at him intensely, a queasy feeling in his stomach. Him? He had done the horrific child killings that no one could solve? Vincent? Perhaps the now slumbering marionette had been mistaken? Mike shook his head, knowing that wasn't possible. Of course The Puppet would remember who had killed them, the poor thing practically relived their own murder every waking moment of their shitty existence bound inside that doll.
That morning, Mike didn't rush home as he usually would after work. He needed to do something to make Vincent fess up; if not to the authorizes, at least within earshot of him and a tape-recorder.
But what could he do?
To Be Continued...