"I don't care what anyone says about this place! It's my company, and you all are my animatronics! If I wanted to, I could have all three of you shut down before your third day, and we wouldn't want that, would we?" Mr. Heston's boiled red with rage, fresh out of the morning.

I had just walked back into the dining area, holding the four posters from the wall in Parts & Service in my right hand. Freddy conversing with the manager, and from Mr. Heston's tone, it wasn't going very well.

"Please, Mr. Heston. If you just listen! You know just as well as I do that the night guard is an extremely hectic job to have in this area," says Freddy in an attempt to reason with him. He almost sounded like he was pleading.

Mr. Heston sighed, blowing his hair up. "Fourteen years ago, right before this place closed down, my uncle told me that he had to move one his most valued employees, Mike Schmidt, to the day job. He said Mike was complaining about the animatronics trying to get into his office, despite being informed that they do move freely at night. And now I'm getting the exact same complaint from one of my own animatronics, saying that animatronics are getting into the office! Oh, the irony!" His tone rose sharply. "When he died, I went on to make sure everything runs just the way it did from the old edition of the restaurant. I promised to keep this place as safe as I possibly could, and that would mean that for every second this building stands, someone will be watching it, and if I can't have good, healthy animatronics that abide by the rules, I can just easily have you all shut down and close this place for good!"

That seemed to silence Freddy. He just sat there in shock, staring into space thinking about what he had just said. It was obvious. Mr. Heston threatened to shut us down again and put us in storage. Mike walked through the glass doors nonchalantly, already in his uniform, complete with his cap that clearly had the word 'SECURITY' etched on the front. He headed down the main hallway and took a glance back to find a man with a red face staring directly into the eyes of an animatronic. He shrugged it off, though, and headed down the main hallway.

"Okay," says Freddy in a softer tone. "I see how it is. If you're not going to talk about it, then I'll leave you to your business. Just give you time to calm down."

Mr. Heston turned his back to Freddy and, as silently as he could with sluggish feet, created more distance between the two. Soon, Freddy also left in order to make preparations for the third day.

I was able to get a good observation of the cove, somehow steering clear of Mike. It was still incomplete, although I could tell that they were nearing completion. Most of the design was already complete—there were pizzas, obviously fake, hanging on the walls of the cove, along with a few wrapped gifts stacked in a pyramid on the black and white tile floor. A curtain separated the cove from the main game area. The new Foxy was propped up against the wall in a powered-down state, his costume fully polished. Like the old one, a hook replaced the right hand. Not a scratch or a speck of dirt was visible on his face.

As of right now, the time was 8:43. With seventeen minutes until the doors open, many of the employees in the area were flying across the entire dining area, setting down birthday plates and hanging banners for those kids whose special day was today and had scheduled a party here. Janitors were bolting down the main hallway toward the office to clean up the mess from Kyell's shift.

Light rays of sunshine shone through the windows reaching inside all the way to the front desk. Children were waiting outside attentively, waiting for someone to flip the sign on the door. Watching vigilantly through the windows, and becoming tense every time someone inside came close to the glass. They just want to celebrate, and by looking at them, I could tell whose special day it was.

But backstage was a different story. Freddy was walking back and forth, uttering some words in frustration. "With no way to show him, I'll show him!" I pick up from him.

"Hey," I say, interrupting his thought process. "No luck with Heston, I see. I knew Mr. Bronson would have been a better manager…" I trail off under my breath.

"Huh? What was that?" Freddy perked up.

"What? Oh, nothing," I say, dismissing the thought.

The rest of our little window of time between the end of night and the unlocking of the doors had ended. Just like the last two days, children were pouring into the pizzeria to get a taste of the new restaurant, starting with those who had birthdays today. Their mouths were watering in anticipation for a slice of pizza, of which those in the kitchen were scrambling about to prepare.

"We've got twins today!" exclaims Chica as she brushed past us.

Several minutes later, all three of us are standing by a table. Every single seat was occupied with a child, along with about six parent chaperones. The twins, both girls, were at the very front, wearing typical cone-shaped party hats. There were balloons attached to both of their seats, many of them having the words 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY!' printed on them in big bubble letters.

Each twin had her own cake. The side with the chair marked with 'JESSICA' had a rectangular-shaped chocolate ice cream cake with the top edges lined with whipped cream and the entire top face covered in icing. Its edges and corners were rounded. Also inserted into the cake from the top was six blue birthday candles. The side marked with 'JOSEPHINE' on the chair had a circular Oreo cheesecake with more rigid edges. The Oreo cookie was broken down into fragments, most of which sat on top, but a few fragments did lay on the side. A single candle, shaped like the number '6' was on top. It was mostly white, outlined in green, and decorated with purple and blue dots.

The case seemed to be that the parents allowed each of their kids to choose their own cake for the party. They started with the chocolate cake, lighting the six candles on top. The flame burned away at the wax, gently emitting a small amount of light.

Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday dear Jessica!
Happy birthday to you!

The little girl blew on her candles, with her sister watching attentively. Light wisps of smoke fluttered about the building, rising and rising until it was no longer visible. Soon enough, Josephine's turn came, and a parent lit the single candle she had chosen for her birthday.

Happy birthday to you,
Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday dear Josephine!
Happy birthday to you!

The songs came to a close, zooming past us in a flash. Chica set a bright pink cupcake down on the table. Finally, the pizza was ready, and each child received his or her own share of two small slices. The kids dug straight into the mouth-watering, cheesy pizza. With every bite they took, the sticky cheese stretched into thin strands before detaching on one end, either back down to the plate or into a mouth.

I knelt down near Jessica until I was about eye-level to her. She ran her hand over my head, on my right ear. I responded by running my right hand over her head and caressing her hair. She responded with laughter, muffled by the mass of cheese and crust in her mouth.

The two birthday girls both had smiles plastered onto their faces. True smiles this time, not like one of the last few times a child has tried to hide something. We always caught them anyway, and they would always regret hiding the truth. We were made for children specifically, to give joy, even if not in its simplest form. We wanted to make sure every visitor left happy.

And that's exactly what happened. The pizza was reduced to nothing but small bits of the cheese and crust, while the two cakes had turned from a neat chocolate cake and cheesecake into a series of crumbs scattered among many paper plates. The family and their party left, stepping out into the hot July sun.

Even after their departure, there were still many people left in the pizzeria. The parents, as usual, were simply relaxing or reading the newspaper at their tables while they allowed their children to run around and play games, either with each other or individually. They didn't seem to worry much whenever one of us neared someone, despite us being at least two feet taller than everyone under the age of ten.

Chica dished out a few trays of pizza while I waited behind the curtains, away from the kids for once today. Not that I didn't enjoy being around kids—I would give up anything to be able to hang out with children—but we still needed to take breaks every once in a while. Besides, there was still Kyell to worry about for tonight.

How much he could handle anymore was already out of my mind. He can either make it through his fifth night unfazed and unscathed, or something as little as a light flickering could send him running and screaming one hour into his third night. We just hoped it wasn't the latter. Besides, he has yet to even see and experience the old generation versions of Freddy and Chica.

It worried me. At several points during the day, I wished for the doors to lock, for Kyell to clock in, for the sun to go down, and for the lights to go out just to get another night out of the way.

Finally, I could see the sky begin to grow darker, the bright sunset unfortunately blocked out by several buildings. The clock continued ticking. 7:23. The last of the families left, and the doors closed early today. 8:00. Once again, janitors began working to tidy up the place for the night, almost as if they were setting the stage for what would be Kyell's torture chamber for the rest of the week. Mike Schmidt also left, leaving no security guard to watch the place for the next three hours. The only ones watching were the clean-up crew and us.

Kyell finally appeared around 11:28. Mr. Heston, after a long and tiring day at the pizzeria, greeted him on his way out. He also handed Kyell the camera tablet, and mentioned something about being more careful about keeping track of it, saying that he found it with the lid open on the floor of the office among a conglomeration of other office items.

Kyell simply nodded at Mr. Heston's advice. Wishing him luck, Mr. Heston left through the front door, checking the sign to make sure it said 'CLOSED' to those viewing from the outside. I watched as Mr. Heston hopped into his van and pulled away from the pizzeria.

11:33. Kyell headed down to the office, and I followed him. He valued every single second he had in between his arrival and the start of his shift. He must have checked for everything at least six times over, laying out the Freddy mask, the camera viewing tablet, and his phone on the desk.

"You think you'll be able to make it through the night?" I ask.

Kyell breathed heavily and checked his pulse. "It's pounding at my chest," he murmurs before raising his voice. "I'll try to get through this night without going insane like I did last night. I'm just really hoping that Foxy is the scariest one I'm going to encounter during this shift." His voice lowered to a mumble. "If he even runs down here tonight." He continued to check for everything. "Tablet, check. Mask, check. Everything's where it should be, check."

"You really don't seem that ready. You seem to be panicking already, and the shift hasn't even started," I mention.

"Gee, thanks," he says in reply. "I really needed that."

"Look. Just take a deep breath. Relax. You are going to make it through this night. You hear me? You are going to make it through this night, and the next night, and the next night."

Kyell did as I told him, breathing deeply and allowing himself to loosen up a bit. "Yeah, I hear you."

I nodded. "Good."

I headed back over to the show stage for final evaluation. Freddy was watching the last of the clean-up crew scurry off onto the street. The last one had bolted out of the door just in time, because as soon as the door closed behind him, the lights went out, plunging us into pitch blackness.

Again.