See the end for notes.
"Oh you found another home
I know you're not alone
On the nightshift…"
4. In Plain Fright
They waited for Freddy.
The animatronics are eager; Mike can hear them mutter amongst themselves as they stick to the outer halls. They seemed social, friendly. Joking and teasing but with an undertone of familiarity Mike almost envied. It's obvious they care for one another, but it's more obvious still they prefer teasing as a form of affection. Mike is curious as hell, he can feel it nagging in the back of his skull that these robots, with their impressive AI's, have a pecking order. A social hierarchy among them. He desperately wants to edge closer to the doors and try to listen, try to learn their personalities and their mannerisms if it will help him survive the night. At least, he would be if he hadn't been so scared that all he could listen to was the heavy footfalls coming down the East wing.
And then there Freddy fucking Fazbear is in the hall way in the time it takes for Mike to blink, and the skinny man stifles a scream. His eyes lingered too long on the cruel ice blue aimed at him, and he diverted his own powder blue ones in submission, wincing back into his chair. His gaze landed on his protector, the Puppet-in-the-box, and Mike swallowed. Freddy growled from the gloom, and Mike heard him. So did the others, because they respectfully backed off, so that Fazbear himself is the only one looming over the night guard, and the others are hanging back. a silent support system.
And Mike had a three foot tall puppet that was hiding in a cardboard box. God, he was so fucked.
Freddy stomped closer, jabbing a short paw-like finger in his direction. Mike squeaked.
He can no longer pretend he can't understand their strange language.
"Ah been sick n' tired of yer malarkey, boy. Since the second night I've had it. Been giving us nothing but trouble, I aint made for running—" Freddy's deep voice is spoken with a mildly southern accent, Mike knows because that's where his Uncle lived and he almost sounds just like the guy. Pity, Mike enjoyed Uncle Marty tons more than this giant bear. He noticed immediately, in that desperate sort of way cornered people do, that Freddy sounds winded. His fake fur body heaves with every move, and he can't seem to raise his left arm correctly. Mike's no genius, but he's tampered and fiddled with electronics all his life.
He can see the cosmetic damage on Freddy from here. All of them, in fact, and Freddy has it the best, which is sad. The rest of them…
'Does it hurt them? They're all broken down…' Mike crushed the thought as quickly as possible. 'No! I'm not gonna give them pity just because I think I'm safe! They tried to kill me!'
"Freddy," That was Chica, her voice a soft hush. The bear pitched a glance over his shoulder, much kinder and warmer at her than at the human. "Look…"
The bear followed her pointing wingtip and his gaze too fell on the present box. Again, nothing remarkable happened. There was no music this time. There didn't seem to be a need for it, because Freddy's expression swiftly changed from one of anger to…shock and anger. Maybe a little bit of hurt.
Oh, wonderful.
"It choose him. Him!?" The bear sounds stunned. Then downright enraged. Then Freddy grits those acrylic teeth and Mike wants to close his eyes and make this all go away.
'There you go, Schmidt, being childish again.'
"What do we do now?" Bonnie asked tentatively, peeking out from Foxy, who was watching Mike grimly. Mike blanched from the fox's stare and turned back to Freddy. At least Freddy's glare didn't come with those big sharp teeth.
'Children's entertainers my flying ass—'
"What can we do?" Foxy grunted, since it seemed Freddy wasn't about to answer. "We got no choice, we tried reasonin' but Marion had none o' it. Haven't seen the black devil like this in ages, not since, you know. That other one." Something in Foxy's words made Mike…snap. He was talking before he realized, indignation lacing his tone.
"Reasoning!? You tried reasoning—no you did not!" Mike was well aware of all eyes on him, but he blocked it out. As his annoyance grew, it was surprisingly easy to do. "You threatened to kill me anyway a-and the puppet-thing-guy whatever! It told you to stop! That's not reasoning you were j-just going to ignore it!"
"He even understands us, now…" Bonnie bemoaned, as if this were some great tragedy and they were the victims of this whole mess. Mike felt like his entire world was turning around, and he wasn't sure if it would ever fix itself—or he would be forced to adjust to this new way?
"Watch yer mouth, swabbie." Foxy bared his teeth at Mike, eye plates turning down to make him glare.
"N-no!" Oh god, where was this coming from? They could still kill him—the puppet thing was maybe three feet tall compared to their hulking sizes. Mike grabbed the present box and hugged it to his chest. If this thing was going to be his only shield, he had every right to hold it against his body. The whole gang of animatronics looked downright shocked, eyes on the box as if waiting for the Marionette to rise from it and deal with Mike itself.
It did not.
Mike hugged it tighter, trying to get his breathing back under control. This was not good.
"I-I have e-every right to talk! You guys, for two nights, tried stuffing me in a suit! I'm not an endoskeleton! T-that should be obvious from the get go—I'm not even metal!" Shit, he really needed to stop breathing and shouting. In his chest he felt his traitorous, weak heart fumble in its cavity. His chest felt increasingly heavy, and tears stung the edges of the guard's eyes.
"W-which should have been obvious if you're AI is advanced enough to track a man down! I mean w-what kind of Hell is this place!" His voice was reaching dangerous levels of intensity, soon it was almost amusingly high pitched.
"Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home." Bonnie cackled, seeming to outwardly enjoy whatever turmoil Mike was going through.
Thankfully, the rest were a bit more sensitive. Well, sort of.
"We don't use that language in this establishment, Mr. Schmidt—" Freddy thundered right back. "Next time ya speak like tha', ya be meeting the jar."
'How did he know my last name? Wait—' "The jar?" Mike parroted.
"The bad words jar!" Bonnie informed, his ears bobbing.
"You—you have a swear jar?" This was way past weird and heading swiftly toward surreal.
But it was good to know the homicidal robots were concerned about foul language running amok. You know, in a strange, Addams Family sort of way.
"Mostly for the teen employees. You know, the ones who work here over the summer? They have the worst attitudes some days." Chica complained, folding her arms.
"O-oh…" said Mike, who looked stunned back into normal breathing levels. Good for him too, he wasn't in the mood for passing out again with 24 hours.
"But ah don't like anyone here using foul language. Might forgo the jar and take ya to the kitchen to wash yer mouth out with soap, boy." Freddy warned, and Mike fought the urge to roll his eyes.
"A mouthful of soap for some salty language? Compared to being brutally murdered for existing? Gee, wonder which one I'd prefer."
"Don't be mistakin' our tone, lad." That was Foxy, his voice a warning snarl. "There still be a black mark on ya, plain as day. Ye could still be strung up and fitted fer a suit if'in ya fail the tests."
"Tests? I have to take a test?! What for—I already got the job!" He had a feeling the Marionette was holding out on him. Maybe he could wheedle more information out of the bots?
"You're not out of the woods yet, Schmidt." Fazbear informed, before turning and stomping down the hall.
Then again, maybe not.
Mike stared at his retreating back, and then realized the rest of them were staring too. It was silent for a full minute, only the soft sounds of processors whirring could be heard.
"I've never seen him like this." Chica admitted softly to Bonnie, sounding a little concerned. "Do you think he'll be okay? I mean, this has happened before, but—"
"Don't worry about him, Chica. Fred'll come around! It's not like we don't know what to do when Mikey here goes and flunks." Despite his cheerful tone, the bunny's electronic voice was clipped—he didn't sound so positive. The two of them began to walk out, taking the same route as their leader. Mike guessed they were heading back for the stage in the main room.
"This be a lot to take in, lass. I know how the bear feels." Foxy sounded bitter, almost…betrayed? But he too followed the others, tail swaying a bit as his metal feet clanked.
Mike's world still hadn't righted itself—but it was getting easier to swallow. Questions chased themselves round and round in his head, making him sit down heavily in the swivel seat. Was this because of what the Puppet was doing? Or not doing, as it were?
How much trouble was it (and Mike) in, because of its inaction?
He was breathing poorly again, something he noticed when the lid of the box he was holding moved back. Out of the box the puppet rose, stopping when its painted face was level with Mike's gaze.
"Uh…h-hey." He breathed, feeling a little awed. This thing—this skinny, short little robot was capable of keeping the other animatronics from killing him?
'That went…well.' The Marionette's voice said between his ears. It was an odd feeling, but Mike held back his shudder. He didn't want it to think he was repulsed by his protector.
"I'd hate to see what 'bad' is then." Mike couldn't help the joking comment, said softly as he sank into his chair. The box was on his lap. He moved it onto the desk; the Marionette did not seem to mind.
The puppet was shaking its porcelain head. 'Do not take their retreat so lightly. They are upset with my decision—I don't suppose I blame them. But give it time. Things will change.' The Marionette was now looking around interestedly at the security office. 'They always do, Night Guard.'
"You keep calling me that." Mike mumbled as he wearily flipped through the camera screens. Even if nothing was happening, it had become a nervous tick now. He was compelled to do it, and couldn't fight the urge just to check. Just to make sure. God, he was fucked up from this job and he had only been here half a week.
No answer.
"Hey. I'm more than just a night guard, y'know?" He tried, but received a blank stare.
'No. This is your job.' The Marionette leaned eerily close. Mike noticed distantly that he could hear the other bot's inner workings. There was nothing but silence from this one.
'I will call you what you are. You will remain this way until you die, or otherwise.'
Mike swallowed, his heart thundering in his chest at the solidifying words. 'Otherwise?'
"I don't…what?" he managed smartly.
'Each night guard was similarly considered. All of them were flawed. I allowed the animatronics to…dispose….of them.' The puppet leaned back into its box. 'It was the humane thing for me to do. They did not suffer long.'
Mike knew, logically, it was best to stay on the good side of the thing that seemed to repel the killer robots. But Mike was not known for logic, unless it had something to do with a schematic.
'You put all your brain power into those projects of yours—then let your hear govern everything else. It's one of the things I love about you, sweetie, you can be so brave.' His mom had once said. The words came back to him fleetingly, but Mike pushed them to the way side. He didn't feel very brave right now. He felt like he wanted to throw up.
"Wh-what do you mean—you let the animatronics 'dispose' of the others? H-how could you—how could you just let them die?! T-they were humans!"
'No. They were adults.' The Marionette said slowly, as if speaking to a very young child. Mike bristled. Something prickled in the back of his mind—he shouldn't be arguing with this, this thing. Whatever it was. It was powerful, it's every action carried weight.
But he couldn't help it.
"Uh-huh and that means they were kids once too! I mean, what the shit, man. Why the shit am I you golden boy all of a sudden? Where the hell were you on the first night?" Mike said, feeling angry for himself and all the others who came before. "Or for that phone guy? He sounds like he loves this place a lot more than I ever could!"
'This isn't about love, night Guard.' Marionette spoke lowly, and Mike felt ice crawl up his spine. 'This is about revenge.'
"Revenge? Revenge on who—on what?!" He corrected himself, wondering if there yet another animatronic lurking around, waiting in the wings.
'Do not concern yourself with the details yet. Right now, it is important you work on creating and maintaining a positive working relationship with the animatronics. Their aid will prove to be invaluable….if you can manage to sway them.'
"Sway them? What, like, make nice? Uh, hell no. No thank you." Mike flipped the tablet closed—fighting his better judgment—and shoved it onto the desk. He folded his arms.
'You may refuse. But understand my protection will be revoked, and I will not be able to stop the robots should they capture you.'
"…this is blackmail." Mike said.
'This is business.' Marionette replied.
The night guard shivered.
Well, what did he have to lose? A lot, apparently, if he choose to ignore the Marionette's advice and instructions. For now, if he wanted to stay alive, he would have to make some undesirable choices. He supposed he could fake being friends with these killer machines if push came to shove. Which it definitely looked like it was already.
"…al…alright." Slowly, he held his hand out. For a moment, the two stared at one another. "Uh…dude?"
The puppet blinked at the hand. 'Yes. That is your hand.'
"I'd figure we'd…we'd shake on it? You know? Give me your…hand…thing?"
'Shake?'
"People do it when they're making a promise to one another. Like, I promise to try and befriend the robots—and you promise to keep me from being murdered or something like that." Mike informed gently, giving the Puppet a little confused smile.
After a moment's hesitation, the Marionette mimicked Mike, and the two shook hands slowly. The puppet seemed lost in thought, because it withdrew back into its box without so much as a good bye. Thought it did give Mike a strange, contemplative look. The lid closed softly. Mike could hear the soft, lilting notes of a music box. But the sound was too muffled to make out, and it went on for thirty seconds before fading.
Okay. That was…weird. You couldn't be a cold calculating figure and have such a childish view on the world and how things worked. Who didn't know how to shake someone's hand?
That was such a little kid thing.
Mike frowned, and felt like a piece to a puzzle had just been presented to him. He had no idea what to do with the information yet, but he filed it away nonetheless.
Sighing wearily, Mike relaxed back into his chair and stared at the ceiling. He checked his watch, and the power. Already four and plenty of power to last. He wouldn't stare with Freddy and his gang tonight. He needed some time to regroup. He needed a plan. He was going to have to be convincing with these…things. They were smart. And quick. A bad combination when it came to Mike's mental and physical health.
Shit, he was gonna have to start taking notes. Record some stuff. Anything to keep his ass from being shoved in a damn suit.
Just around six, the sun peeked over the horizon, and decided to make a run for it. Gray clouds that were thin and pasty covered its light and gave Mike a chilly, cool morning to head home in. He had turned off the tablet, tucked the silent box under his deck, and headed for the door. He had done this all very calmly, before turning before the double wide entrance. Sticking his middle finger coldly up at Freddy and his gang on the stage, Mike turned and walked out.
"…see you guys tonight." He grunted, despite this crude action.
He locked the door. He headed for his car. He did not look back.
It was only when he was sitting in his old car that It happened again. The world around him sucked in and squeezed his very core, that voice impossibly deep rumbling around him. It was so loud, and so close, but he knew no one was there in the car with him.
And yet…
Mrtsg tfziw, mrtsg tfziw, ru blf pmvd. Wlm'g yrgv luu nliv gszm blf xzm xsvd…LI UIVWWB'H TLMMZ XLNV ULI BLF.
Mike swallowed, and tried not to think about how warning that jumble of words sounded.
So! Things get real tonight, as Phone Guy usually puts it. As always, I appreciate each and every review, even the ones I can't answer since they're on anon. Thank you! Reviews are never required, but always treasured a ton. This chapter's song is called 'Nightshift' by the Commodores. Rather fitting, eh? Now, for last chapter's sentences in order of appearance:
Something is there on the stair, coming up with care.
Mike be nimble, Mike be quick, the purple man still has some tricks.
