Chapter 3 - Proper Introductions, part 2

[nowhere, a time unknown]

What is your name, child?

"Jack, sir."

I see. How... fitting.

A low, unsettling chuckle.

And tell me, Jack, do you want revenge? Does your heart crave for justice?

"...yes, sir."

Very well then. I'm afraid that no lantern will aid you as you wander through the darkness, young Jack; I have no light to give. In its stead, I shall give you... POWER.

[Present day, Freddy Fazbear's Family Pizzeria]

"Congratulations, Mike Schmidt! You're talking to dead people now."

This was it – confirmation, something that Mike had both hoped for and dreaded. The robots were possessed, ghosts were real. The implications were... but, no; he had to focus, here and now. He had a metal rabbit a good head taller than him to keep an eye on, and even with last night's reassurance he still didn't feel very safe in his company.

"That... Wow. That is a lot to take in," he managed, out loud.

"Uh-huh," the mascot responded, nodding in understanding. "I know what that feels like, believe me. My advice, you should try and just sorta' roll with it, you know what I mean?"

"Roll with it...?" the young man echoed back, still reeling.

"Yeah."

The two stared at eachother for a while, neither quite knowing what to say further. Then, Mike broke the silence:

"What I want to know is, why me? Had a day to sleep on it, and I realized, you guys were way too aggressive for just wanting to get your wiring fixed. Felt rather like you had this... vendetta, against me, but for the life of me I can't figure out why."

There was another pause before Bonnie answered; his expression was entirely unreadable, but at the very least he did not seem mad. "Your... uniform," he explained, gesturing vaguely towards his interlocutor. "The purple shirt, and the yellow badge – same as the guy who killed us."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a second here." Mike blanched, raising his hands in the air. "Are you telling me the murderer was a night-guard? But I thought... in the papers, it just said it was some random loon!"

"Well, they wouldn't know, would they?" Bonnie sighed, the sound coming out as a burst of static. "And it wouldn't be the first time that he's returned to the crime scene. He's come back, killed again, while we were goddamned here. So, you can see why we're a little bit... paranoid."

"He... returned? What does... what does that mean?"

The animatronic looked up, a hint of annoyance returning into the light of his crimson-red eyes. "Look, change the subject, okay? I'm not in the mood."

Mike nodded quickly, not wanting to test the animatronic's patience too much. "So, uh-"

"Actually," Bonnie interrupted, "there's another favor that I'd like to ask of you. If you'd be so kind...?"

"Yeah, sure, shoot."

"There's this panel, in the back of my head. Open it up, and you should find a bunch of switches, labeled one to... uh, fourteen, I think."

Mike complied without question, removing the back of the rabbit's mask and unlatching the access hatch. Inside, there were a number of circuit boards encased in black plastic boxes, a few small servomotors, a jumble of wires and what seemed to be a control panel of sorts. Also visible were the robot's eyeball-like optics, which had rather disturbingly swiveled 180 degrees in their mounts, to peer at him through the darkness.

"You see the one labeled twelve?" the mascot asked.

Mike simply nodded, the strangeness of the situation he found himself in beginning to wear off with time.

"Alright, good; I'm not really allowed to mess with my settings, and I wouldn't know what most of the other switches do anyways. But flick that one on."

"Wait, what am I-"

"It's just the facial recognition we had installed when... Yeah, anyway. It got disabled, supposedly because it malfunctioned, but it actually works fine."

"Facial recognition?"

"Yep. It's supposed to be tied to a criminal database, but it'll work for actually remembering your face just as well."

"Wait a sec here, a criminal database? And they say it malfunctioned? What-"

"Too many questions, Mike," Bonnie warned. "Anyway, you don't need to worry." He gave a sad, tinny laugh. "We may be a little messed up, but the system itself is entirely functional."

The guard accepted this explanation, even though he wasn't entirely satisfied with it, and activated the program. The old electronics began to whirr as he closed the animatronic's head back up and replaced the plush covering, stepping off to the side to give the bot room. Bonnie stood up with a slight shudder and turned his head to face the young man, lenses refocusing audibly as he scanned his features. A grid map briefly overlayed on his view, and he found he could clearly recognize the night-guard even from a distance.

"Much better," he admitted, without particular fanfare. "I... hm. I'm not very good with trusting new people, and I may have been a bit brusque with you earlier. But know that your help is appreciated." He shrugged, turning to leave, but stopped momentarily in the doorway. "I'll be sending the next one your way, so stay here. Take care, mister Schmidt."

Mike watched him disappear among the thick shadows, and shook his head slowly. Why did that have to sound so damn ominous?

[ooo]

The night-guard had intended to check the cameras while he waited, but he'd drifted off into thought instead, losing track of time, and barely stopped himself from slamming the left door shut when the clatter of heavy metallic footfall startled him from his musings. It was odd, seeing Chica break her usual routine and appear on the opposite side of where Mike had grown accustomed to spotting her, and it served as another reminder that he was dealing with much more than just haywire programming.

The robotic chicken sat quietly as the young man got to work reconnecting stray wires and cleaning up the debris of ages, then moving on to reactivate her facial recognition system. He sat back in front of the mascot, watching warily as amethyst eyes scanned him thoroughly. Tense as he was, he yelped out in surprise when the animatronic suddenly dashed forward with inhuman speed, pulling him into a crushing hug – the avian's yellow suit was only a cover for unyielding steel, and though her archaic pressure sensors still stopped her from doing any real damage Mike could feel his bones groan in protest. It didn't help that the lingering corpse-stench immediately made him gag, either.

"I'm sorry... and thank you." Her voice was warm, and much kinder than that of her purple companion, though not lacking in robotic inflexions. "I don't know why you kept this job, but I'm glad that you did."

The guard would perhaps have been more inclined to return the sentiment, were it not for the fact that he was currently about to pass out due to lack of oxygen; as it was, all he managed was a weak gasp for breath.

"Oh!" Realizing her slight miscalculation, the chicken let go of her benefactor. "Uh, sorry about that. You okay?"

Mike only nodded, massaging his ribs. Well, that's another suspicion confirmed, at least, he decided. Which is to say, that these guys are needlessly goddamned strong.

"You know," the animatronic continued, looking off in the distance, "I'm pretty sure that you're the first living human being that any of us have talked to in, oh, nearly ten years now. It feels... nice." Her gaze turned onto him once again, and there was a seriousness about her that the limited expressivity of her mechanical mask should not by rights have been able to convey. "I believe you could do a lot of good, mister Schmidt, if you wanted to; both for us, and for the rest of the world."

Putting that final tidbit aside for later analysis, he asked instead: "N- not to be standoffish or anything, but, uh, how do you know my name?"

"Well, Bonnie told me, of course," Chica answered.

Of course, thought Mike.

"Not like I could read your mind or anything, eh?" The chicken leaned in, completely disregarding his personal space, and smirked dangerously. "It's not like ghosts could just, perhaps, reach into your mind, not like I could steal all your memories, or replace them with lies, or break your brain into so many pieces that it could never be fixed."

Mike had shrunk back as far as the cold concrete wall behind him had allowed him to, and was beginning to seriously reconsider his life choices by now. The mascot drew back, sensing his fear, and broke into a static-filled chuckle.

"Relax, mister Schmidt, I'm just joking. If we had powers like that, we'd have used them by now." Then, realizing the way that had sounded: "Not, uh, not to drive you insane or anything. That's not what we're trying to do here. I meant, we'd have used them to, um... you know what, never mind."

The night-guard took a moment to calm himself down. "Right, right, okay. Could you please not do that again?"

Chica shrugged noncommittally. "If you say so."

"I think I've had altogether too much adrenaline for tonight as it is, but thanks all the same. Say, uh, would you mind if I asked you a couple of questions? I get that you don't like to talk personal, and I can respect that, but to be honest I'm still not entirely sure what happened last night, or why I'm even alive. I mean," he added hastily, "I'm grateful for it and all, but how come?"

"Well, uh..." the avian robot rubbed the back of her head, looking uncomfortable. "It's kind of a long story, and it has to do with how we ended up being... this," she explained, pointing towards herself. "We had, er, reasons to believe that-"

"I know about the murderer being a night guard," Mike stopped her. "And I'm guessing you couldn't tell people apart, because your recognition system or whatever wasn't turned on. But I don't understand, what made you change your mind? I'm thankful that you decided not to kill me after all, I really am, but what happened?"

"For starters, your guess is only half-right," Chica answered. "We could still sort of see your face, even then, at least enough to realize you were innocent – we just needed to get real close for that to actually work. Hence why we were trying to get into your office to begin with."

"But..." Mike was thoroughly confused. The explanation made sense, sure, but he felt like something was still missing. "Is that really all there is to it?"

The animatronic bird nodded. "Yeah, pretty much. Goldy knocked you out cold, Freddy saw that you weren't our guy, you woke up and got... well, understandably scared. Still sorry about that, by the way."

Sorry was an understatement – not only had their quarry been guiltless all along, but it turned out they'd been picking on someone who'd already had a pretty tough lot in life. In a way, that made Chica feel even worse than the killings, because she'd scared the poor man on purpose. She'd been surprised to hear his voice again after that, at least until her brother had explained the situation to her, and the fact that he was willing to help them out despite everything was a kindness that she wasn't forgetting any time soon.

Meanwhile, Mike had a sudden flashback to the golden Freddy mascot's nightmarish, anguished face. "Goldy, that's the fifth vict- the fifth child, isn't it?"

"Uh-huh," she confirmed. "But, let me put your imagination to rest there: none of us want to hurt you, not really. It's just... look, you have to be a bit patient with the others, okay? It's been a long, long time and being undead gets to your head, if you know what I mean. Besides, this restaurant's a pretty spooky place to be cooped up in for a bunch of kids, immortal robotic monstrosities or otherwise."

Mike couldn't help it, he actually laughed at that. "I'm sorry, but... you're scared of this place?" For a moment, all his worries melted away, replaced with good humor. "No offense, but that's like zombies being scared of the graveyard! I'm pretty sure you guys are the creepiest things around here, bar none."

"Oh, I wouldn't know," Chica retorted, in the tone of someone recounting a ghost story at a camp bonfire. "You start seeing pretty odd things, when it's late at night and no guards are around. One night, Bonnie swore up and down that his shadow started whispering things in his ear, and we've all seen these, like, glassy eyes staring at us through the windows. Sometimes, when I look in the mirror, I see this weirdly duck-like chicken robot glaring back at me!" The last part was said with trill chortle, but it didn't much help the shiver that ran down the night-guard's spine.

"Did you, uh... Did you actually see all those things? The, the shadows and eyes and whatnot."

The mascot shrugged. "I mean, yeah? But I'm pretty sure that's just because we don't exactly get out much. And also 'cause we're, you know, dead, but I'd think that's implicit."

"Y- yeah." Another piece in the weirdness puzzle, and I still understand exactly jack shit about anything. "Ya' know, you seem much more comfortable talking about this stuff than the rabbit was."

"Yeeeah, about that. You remember how I said none of us want to hurt you, right? We don't, but... we might, anyway? I- I tend to keep a clearer head than the rest of us, for the most part, but I can't claim that you won't be in any danger if you stick around us. Accidents can happen, and things... aren't always as clear, for us, as they may be for you. Sometimes your mind can, eh, play tricks on you, you know what I mean? So I, uh, I wouldn't blame you, if you wanted to, well, never come back here after tonight," she finished, looking downcast. "I'd miss you, though, even if I just met you," she added quietly.

For a moment, Mike remained quiet. Then: "Nah, I think I'll be fine."

Chica looked up. "What, really? Just like that?"

"Just like that," he answered, nodding. "Don't get me wrong here, I don't particularly want to die neither. But this is the most interesting thing that's happened in my life since I had to drop out of college, and frankly, this job still ein't as bad as some of the things that I've had to do to pay bills. A word for the wise? Never, ever accept work from people who won't tell you exactly what they want you to do before-hand, and refuse to show you any proper accreditation. You'll get chased by cops and end up knee-deep in sewer."

"So, does that mean you'll keep coming?"

"Yup. But first, I got work to do, don't I? There's still three more of you metal psychos to fix up, if I'm not mistaken."

Chica grinned widely, which looked deeply unsettling with the way that her face was built. "Goldy doesn't actually have a voice-box to fix, so just two. I'll go fetch the next one. Take care, mister Schmidt!"

Are they all gonna say that? Mike wondered, bemused, as he waved. For some reason, he didn't feel nearly as afraid as he had been mere minutes ago.

A/N: Okay, so first thing we learn today? I can't be trusted when I say I have any sort of deadlines with these things. What happened here was that school started between the time I uploaded the last chapter and now, and I'd hoped it wouldn't make that much of a difference, but obviously... I was terribly wrong. I'm very sorry for the lateness of this chapter, but as an attempt to tide you over I've also made it a fair bit longer than usual (well, that and I didn't have any convenient break points before then). Originally, a good chunk of the next chapter was supposed to be part of this one, but I guess I really didn't estimate how ginormous it was gonna' turn out. Oh well. Enough rambling for now, but I'll see you next time!

EDIT: Yeah, so as it turns out this ended up being a three-part chapter instead of the two-part that it was originally going to be; also, I utterly messed up and had the wrong lyrics here. Whoops! But hey, look on the bright side, I'm finally updating again.