Hey, guys…um…Merry Christmas?

…

Am I late? I can't tell. Stupid time zones...

Before I'll get to my excuses as to why this chapter is so late, I'd like to apologize for that. I don't know how many of you were eager to get this chapter, nor do I know if you think this chapter is worth your time. If you don't…well…have an additional apology!

As for my excuses, last week I had something at school that my teachers like to call 'activity week'. Basically, it involves activities that one doesn't do every day at school, such as going to a museum or get special French literature lessons.

While activity week sounds pretty fun, most activities are shitty. On top of that, they took a long time, leaving me mentally tired and unable to write a lot.

For those who read my other stories, this one is almost over, allowing me to spend more time writing A Knight of the Night and Ghosts of the Past.

LAST BUT CERTAINLY NOT LEAST! I have decided NOT to include romance in this story or any of its sequels. I like it better that way, and I think you guys agree with me on that.

Chapter eleven: Injustice

Blake Maxwell clenched his fists with all the strength he had, ignoring the pain his hands eventually suffered as he felt the anger he had had over the past day rise in power. Anger towards everyone involved with his problems. Kyle Griffiths, that condescending sonofabitch who refused to let him have the job he needed and wanted. Douglas Goodwin, the little shit who had that very job. Even Douglas' older brother Zach, who always stuck his nose where it didn't belong.

The thing was, Griffiths didn't see how incompetent Douglas really was. How could such a lanky gawk be a good guard? He'd be more scared of his own taser than the burglars themselves. As far as Maxwell knew, the guy didn't even know how to fight. So how was he going to guard those robots?!

Heh…yeah…those robots sure looked nice.

…

Wait…

If Griffiths was too blind to see that Douglas wasn't fit for the position of night guard…maybe Maxwell should give the old man a hand by proving it.

Maybe he should show how shitty of a guard Douglas really is.

After all…it is survival of the fittest.

22:00 pm

Kyle Griffiths suppressed a yawn as he continued making the paperwork in front of him, stubbornly resisting the temptation of going home right then. There was so much he had to do to make sure the restaurant could stay open. Purchase this for the bots, buy that for the general decoration around the place, and then there were several job applications…

The manager had no wife or children. He didn't even have a hobby or anything like that. He was very much willing to work for this restaurant, however: it was his job, after all.

He did have plenty of friends. They spoke with him whenever they could, which wasn't very often. Most of them also had a fulltime job, which consumed most of their time. Unlike Kyle, though, they weren't as passionate about their jobs as he was about his. Most of them had families to look after, which was yet another difference between them and Griffiths. In addition, they did mind working outside working hours.

They always said that Griffiths worked way too hard; a notion the manager disagreed with.

Despite the fact that he had dinner at the restaurant sometimes.

At 23:41 pm, Griffiths finally began packing his stuff and left the restaurant…not noticing an unidentified figure hiding behind a nearby trash can.

23:54

Douglas didn't know the exact time, but he knew that his chances of arriving at work late were increasing by the second. Sure, the girls would probably forgive him, but if the manager were to somehow find out, he'd be in trouble.

The main reason was actually that he wanted to hang out with his friends as long as possible without losing even a minute of time. They were, after all, the only friends he really had, and even though he was still a bit nervous when he'd go inside the building, he really liked having them around.

The guard hastily stepped out of his car, still in his casual clothing. He didn't dare put his uniform on at home due to the time, and he had eventually decided that he'd equip it in the restaurant.

He was going to need a private space where the girls couldn't come, though…maybe the bathroom?

CRASH!

Something impacted the back of Douglas' head with great force, causing the young man to be thrown against the wall of the restaurant in a dazed state.

"You really are a shitty guard," a frighteningly familiar voice said.

Scared, the guard turned around to come face to face with an equally familiar figure. They were shorter but more robust than Douglas, their physical strength very clear. They also possessed a baseball bat. The voice in which they spoke sounded masculine, and the guard had recognized it immediately.

"B…Blake!" he blurted out.

Maxwell lifted up the bat in response, after which he attempted to bring it down on Douglas' skull. Reflexively, the guard lifted up his own arms to protect his face, crying out in pain as the bat hit his ulnas.

The bat-wielding human readied his weapon once more. Douglas covered his head once more in response, waiting for the attack to come.

And it would've come, were it not for the unidentified gloved hand that caught the weapon in time.

Maxwell turned around, ready to counterattack whoever had grabbed his bat – only to come face to face with a very pissed off Foxy.

Douglas, whose arms obscured his sight, nervously peeked over his protection to find out why the blow he expected hadn't come. Upon seeing the silhouette of his protector, relief and confusion mixed with the fear and anger he felt towards his assailant.

Maxwell – who was frozen in fear – quickly got disarmed by the towering crimson she-fox, who then threateningly lifted up her hook.

"Prepare to be busted up-"

She was interrupted by the front doors of the restaurant creaking open and several sets of footsteps hastily approaching in the thick darkness.

"What is happening here?" a stern version of Freddy's voice demanded. She gestured towards Maxwell. "Who is this?"

"I know that guy!" Chica exclaimed. "He's that weirdo who applied for the nightshift twice in a row."

"Douglas! You okay?! What happened?!" Bonnie's voice suddenly cut in. The guard in question felt how two hands gently grabbed him and searched him for injuries. They eventually got to the back of his head and the rabbit girl softly gasped when she felt the bruise there.

"D-Douglas…" Mangle voiced from close by. "Y-your arms…"

Another pair of hands carefully grabbed the bruised area on his lower left arm.

"Y-you're hurt…"

"I…I'll be alright…" the guard answered. He mentally kicked himself. He seemed weak. He was weak.

"Let me see if that's true," a third voice, which belonged to Golden, said. "Move aside, girls."

Bonnie and Mangle released their grips and stepped away from the young man as Golden approached. She put her hands on his shoulders and seemingly froze.

After a few seconds, she released him. "You're alright. No serious physical damage."

Douglas gave her a thankful nod, and didn't bother to ask how she just examined him without actually examining him.

Meanwhile, the pissed off Foxy had mercilessly thrown Maxwell on the ground and was now advancing on the terrified human, who was struggling to crawl back and believe his eyes at the same time. The she-fox was accompanied by an equally pissed off Chica, who threatened to kick said human in the abdomen.

"Enough," Freddy called out to them in her stern voice. "Violence will not solve anything. We have to contact the police."

Foxy gave her an incredulous look. "Really? The cops?"

"Before you continue your protest," Freddy interrupted, "I know for a fact that assault is not a legal activity. The law also applies to us. This man will get the penalty he deserves, but we ourselves cannot find ourselves guilty of crime as well, even…no, especially since we are less likely to be arrested," the she-bear calmly explained. "You understand that, don't you?"

A deep growl of angry reluctance could be heard, but Foxy nodded and backed off. Chica did the same, but kept her glare on Maxwell.

"I-I'll call the police," Douglas spoke up as he grabbed his phone. Spring kept him in a protective embrace.

It didn't take long for the police to arrive, though not before the anime-tronics went to their respective positions on their stages. Maxwell – whose screaming about sentient robots had made the officers tired and annoyed – was taken to the police station for assault.

Kyle Griffiths had been contacted as well, and the manager arrived just after the authorities did. After he and an officer had asked Douglas what had happened, the guard replied that he managed to single-handedly defeat his attacker. He said this with great reluctance, but the anime-tronics had insisted the guard take the credit. If he were to mention the girls in any way, the cops would probably take him to a psychologist or something.

When the officers proceeded to leave, Griffiths had tiredly ordered Douglas to go home, to which the young man protested.

"Sir, I'm fine," he said. "I've done my job; that doesn't mean I get to leave."

The manager shook his head. "You're right, it doesn't. But I've seen that you took a beating yourself. If you don't want to go home because you deserved it, think of it this way: you can't function optimally with those injuries."

And with that, their conversation was over.

Again, Merry Christmas.

Also! The next chapter will be the last.