Chapter four: Interrogation

After finally having assured Watts that I'm okay, she revealed to me that she had done some additional research and found something that could be of significant help to our investigation. She had contacted one of our colleagues at the Agency, who was more than willing to rip some direct clues from Owen Stone's database. Using his advanced knowledge of hacking, he sent the information to Watts' phone without leaving any trace on Stone's computer.

The data included files of the night guards, of which most were 'missing'. However, after looking through them, Watts found the name of a guard who had managed to survive his ordeal at Freddy's before somehow escaping the grasp of the company. According to the rest of his file, he had made several attempts to investigate the murders on his own, but eventually discontinued the hunt – likely to make sure that Stone wouldn't 'shut him up'. The file said that Schmidt had already received a 'warning' from the manager.

The guard's name was Michael Schmidt. He started working on November 8, 1993, and was fired after seven days due to tampering with the animatronics, general unprofessionalism and odor. Personally, I couldn't blame him for any of those things, but those complacent rapscallions at Fazbear Entertainment apparently thought that he wasn't good enough for masterfully evading a group of murderous, possibly possessed robots.

Regardless, we needed to find this man. If his investigations turned out to be worth something, then we needed to know it. The file informed us of – among other things that could prove dangerous if it were to fall in the wrong hands – Schmidt's address.

I wanted to pay the man a visit immediately after my nap, until Watts reminded me that Stone likely held valuable information as well. I told her it was too dangerous, and that we didn't know how powerful Fazbear Entertainment really was – they had been watching Schmidt closely to make sure that he wouldn't resume his investigations. She told me, however, that if we suspected anything was wrong, we could contact the Agency, the FBI or even the local PD. Her plan was that I would go to Schmidt while she interrogated Stone, since he didn't know her yet. I reluctantly agreed.

I arrived at the address I was looking for, and was just about to ring the bell next to the wooden door when a click from the other side could be heard. My hand froze in mid-air as a man who seemed somewhere in his fifties revealed himself. His bright blue eyes looked at me with a stern expression, yet I could feel some anxiety behind them as well. I could not blame him, as surviving five nights with supernatural murderous robots must have taken a heavy toll on his mind. It was likely that he had developed a post-traumatic stress disorder – PTSD – during the ordeal, which meant that I would have to choose my words carefully if I were to extract any information from him.

"Mr. Schmidt?" I assumed. "Michael Schmidt?"

The man glared at me. "If you're here to ask about my job at Freddy's I had years ago, save your breath!"

"Special Agent Bryan Roth, I'm with the FBI," I calmly lied as I showed him my ID. Every agent from the Agency had legitimate ID's from several other agencies. This had two reasons: it would keep the secret that the Agency existed, and…well…the reason why most agents have their ID, really; to convince someone to cooperate with them.

The man checked the ID before glaring back at me once more. "What do you want, Agent?"

My calm, stoic expression did not change as I stuffed the ID back into my pocket. "We are aware of the unexplained disappearances at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. With your help, we may be able to stop whatever causes this and shut Fazbear Entertainment down for good."

More anger and fear appeared in Schmidt's eyes. "I want nothing to do with that! Leave me alone!"

He tried to shut the door, but my reflexes and strength were decent enough to stop it from closing. I looked at him, still showing no emotions.

"Refusing to cooperate with us is not an option, Mr. Schmidt," I calmly reasoned. "If you want the animatronics and the manager to be defeated, we can help and protect you."

I waited for his response. Through the small opening, I could see that his expression had turned from angry to thoughtful. I knew he was sitting with a dilemma now: he can risk his life by helping us, or ensure his safety without the killings stopping. Eventually, however, his true morals apparently made an appearance, as his eyes softened and he opened the door.

"F-fine…" he said. "But if Stone finds out about this, I'm a dead man."

"Which is the reason why we're not letting Stone find out about this," I simply said.

Schmidt's house was small and didn't have the greatest luxury. Nevertheless, it was decent enough for a man to live in, I suppose. The living room – which also served as his dining room – had a chair, a couch and a table. There were two doors, which likely led to his bedroom and the bathroom.

Schmidt sat down in the chair and urged me to sit on the couch. I did as I was told, eager to find out what kind of information I would be able to get out of this man. Michael Schmidt, who should've been recognized as one of the few – if not the only – night guard at Freddy's who managed to survive.

I did need to keep in mind, however, that he was probably still traumatized. An experience like the one he had gone through was not something you'd just walk off and be done with. I didn't want to be responsible for putting him through the memories that had tortured him for so many years now, simply because he applied for a job as a night guard at a children's pizza place.

He folded his hands. "Alright, let's just do this…" he looked up at me. "Ask your questions. I'll tell you what I know."

"Thank you. But do not feel obliged to answer if you don-"

"Got it, got it, but I think you'll need all the help you can get if you want to stop these things from continuing their killing spree."

"Right…" I said, slightly taken aback upon hearing how much this person was actually determined to assist in ending the homicides. "First of all, do you know what is the driving force behind the murders?"

The older man took a breath, briefly closed his blue eyes before opening them again, anxiously rubbing his hands.

"Well…" he began. "Back in '87, a bunch of kids were murdered."

"I am aware. And we have already set connections between the deceased children and the animatronics' ability to move on their own."

Schmidt blinked and gave me a weird look. "You know that the robots are possessed?"

"So far, it is only a theory," I said.

The man shook his head. "No," he disagreed. "No it isn't."

I gave him a questioning look. He looked down.

"They…spoke to me."

My eyes widened. "What?"

"On the seventh night," Schmidt shakily said. "They described the murder in detail – if only to intimidate me." He looked at me again. "They can't think correctly or something. They always think the night guard is the killer."

"According to your file, you tampered with the animatronics on your seventh night," I skeptically said. The older man scoffed.

"Suppose that's one way to put communicating with dead children that possess those things," he sarcastically replied. "Really, I was glad when they threw me out."

"According to your file, you had also attempted to investigate the matter on your own. It does not say what you found out, which is why I'm here." I leaned forward. "Do you know who the killer is, Mr. Schmidt?"

He nodded. "Yes," he answered. "The dead children kept calling me 'Afton'. After some research, I found out that Afton was one of the co-founders of Freddy's and later had his name changed to Dave Miller."

My eyebrows shot up. "So you're saying that one of Freddy's original owners was the killer?"

"No." Schmidt leaned forward. "I'm not saying that he was the killer; I'm saying that he is the killer."