Hello again, everyone. First of all, I apologize for the late update. I know I've said that a lot recently, but this should be the last time, now that Christmas is over. I don't have to worry about family matters or the like, so I can spend more time on this. Second, I'm very proud of this chapter. I'd say it's polished a bit more than usual, and has some stuff you've probably been waiting to see. So without further ado, I invite you to start reading the first chapter with a name I actually like, "Ultimatum". Oh, and as always, I greatly appreciate follows, favorites and reviews!

Friday, June 2, 8:30 AM

As had happened countless times before, Mike died. Maybe his head was smashed open, maybe he was gored to death. It didn't matter, as these deaths were only dreams, though this particular termination roused him awake, shivering and cold.

They're getting worse, he thought, still feeling residual pain course through his muscles.

His few days away hadn't ended the nightmares; though they'd tapered off slightly once he left town, they rebounded with a vengeance now that he'd returned. Whereas before the experience was like watching a scary movie - frightening yet ultimately manageable - he now could nearly feel claws or teeth digging into his flesh. He wasn't a psychologist, but that seemed a significant deterioration. The ache quickly faded, however. Good riddance. Getting out of bed, he put on some clothes and walked to the kitchen, pouring himself cereal.

The "vacation" had gone pretty well. A little time on the Olympic Peninsula – hiking, sightseeing, watching Mission: Impossible 2 in a theatre – left him feeling reinvigorated about life and not worried about death. The sheer normality of it all was overwhelming. He even stopped at a random church service along the way, thinking it would be good for him. All he could concentrate on was what part of scripture dealt with sentient robots and whether his faith was an antiquated lie in light of such entities.

It's right between "Keep the Sabbath" and "Thou shalt not bear false witness." Nevertheless, it was comforting as well. Words about compassion and helping the needy powerfully affected him after his experience. Didn't somehow make God real, though... but there would be plenty of time to dwell on existential dread later. Having only arrived late the previous night, he really hadn't done anything yet, but that would soon change. I should call Syl, tell her about my trip. Most of the fruit's gone bad; need to buy more. And Foxy…

Rather surprisingly, he hadn't thought about her much. There was too much else to do. Between all the activities in his purposely tight schedule, she simply wasn't a factor. However, an idea had come to mind the night prior, stirred in part by that "helping the needy" part of the sermon. But she's not human, so does God even care, assuming he's real?Again, he shoved speculation aside. If Jeremy wouldn't fix her, maybe he could.

At first it sounded incredibly stupid, or even dangerous; he had no experience with tools beyond occasionally replacing a doorknob or the like. But the more he considered it, the more reasonable it sounded. He had all the basic equipment – wrenches, screwdrivers, etc. – in his closet. It'd be a chance for Foxy to see a bit more of a world that she never otherwise would. And most importantly, her lower jaw was so disconnected that he couldn't possibly make it any worse. Save for somehow tearing it off, virtually anything he did would be an improvement. Even if she didn't want to talk to him, he owed it to her to try.

After putting his bowl in the dishwasher, Mike began some banal chores, all while considering his plan for how he'd repair one of the most advanced machines on Earth. Before he did anything else, he needed knowledge. Library it is. Yeah, he'd rent some books, figure out the basics, check a few diagrams. That'd be a good start. Then he would bring her over, show her some neat stuff and finally try being a mechanic. Actually, it didn't seem too difficult. They might even enjoy it.

The specifics would be a bit tougher to determine, but he'd take it slow and hope she even wanted to talk.

11:22 AM

Mike stood outside Foxy's cove, tapping his foot hesitantly. The pouring rain didn't help matters, soaking him to the skin even with a jacket. I shouldn't be this nervous. He'd already talked to her about a dozen times. She flat-out called him her best friend. The feeling was mutual. Why, then, did he feel so threatened? Because he feared rejection? Truth be told, she might have been his only friend in several hundred miles. They both knew about loneliness – both knew how depressing it was. He didn't want that for either of them, but he also didn't want to drive them any further apart.

While he built up courage, the storm raged.

…

Foxy knew Mike was at her door before he knocked. Through the wall, she could make out nervous footsteps among the deluge, like those of a doomed man approaching the gallows. To be fair, she also would have been anxious in his situation. After all, she had been a little harsh the last time they'd spoken.

No, I wasn't hard enough. He needs to hate me – needs to stay away.

Still, she missed him. He was the nicest person she'd ever met; granted, she hadn't met a lot of people, but knew that most would have fled in terror before a single word came out of her. Over the last few days, time passed glacially, with minutes stretching into hours. Instead of talking with a man who genuinely wanted to help her, she was back to staring at walls and wishing she were somewhere else. As much as it hurt her, though, this was the only way he could be safe. If BRIAR ever caught them together, they'd kill him. The last thing she wanted was more death.

Finally, the knock came, timid yet steady. She forced herself to stay seated, though her legs involuntarily twitched. A minute later, it came again, more forcefully. "Foxy," she heard through the door, "it's Mike. Could we talk for a minute?"

Not able to bear the pressure anymore, she decided to make clear that he needed to leave. Standing up, she shook out her tail before stomping over to the exit and flinging it open. Be mean. Be a foul-mouthed, angry pirate. Her plan immediately withered when she saw him shivering in the rain, holding yet another orange.

"Come inside," she muttered, flipping on the lights.

Dithering slightly, Mike followed, hanging his coat on a rusty nail jutting from the wall. His hair dripped on the floor as he stated, "That's quite a storm."

Foxy hopped onto the stage and sat. "If you have something important to say, say it. Otherwise, leave." That was about the most fearsome she could bring herself to act. I'm a coward, she thought, ashamed of herself. I'm a disgrace to pirates everywhere.

He sighed, looking down. "I'm sorry, um, about what happened last weekend. That must have been awful, reliving those bad memories." Once again, she couldn't summon the strength to insult or threaten him, so she didn't reply. "I wanted to make it up to you. Like, maybe take you to my place, show you around a little."

"Really, Mike, you don't have to worry about fixing me. I'm not – "

"Yeah, I know," he interrupted, "you don't need sympathy." He cracked a small smile. "This isn't me being sorry for you. Well… OK, it kind of is."

What a surprise.

"But it's mostly part of what friends do." Even though he'd mentioned it before, Foxy still couldn't quite believe Mike considered her even an acquaintance. Not after what she'd done. It made sense for her to think of him as a friend because she had nothing and nobody. But Mike was human - he possessed everything she didn't. "Like, remember when you saved me from Freddy?" She nodded.

"Did you do that because you felt sorry for me?" Honestly, she didn't know. It just sort of happened.

In her head, wheels slowly turned, trying to decipher her own motivations. "I… no. I did that because… because I didn't want anything bad to happen to you. Because I cared." Suddenly, everything snapped into perspective.

"Exactly. It's the same thing here. Like, you might not realize it, but I'm also, uh, concerned about you." Blushing a little, he continued, "I get that you're tough and independent and all piratey, but that doesn't mean you should push others away." He chuckled awkwardly. "It's weird to, um, say stuff like this. I feel like I'm on Sesame Street."

"All right," she responded, scratching her ears. "I see what you mean, but there's one thing I still don't understand."

"What's that?"

She looked him straight in the eye. "Why do you want to be my friend in the first place?"

…

"Why do you want to be my friend in the first place?"

The question took Mike off guard. Why do I? Of course, he'd wondered about it quite a bit, but had never come up with a completely satisfactory answer. There were pieces, individual reasons, but they didn't mesh into a single explanation. Shared loneliness and history were good, but not completely compelling. Gratitude was too simple. It also wasn't her personality. Better not say that out loud. And, of course, there was the looming specter of her killing his friend.

Then, slowly, an idea materialized in the center of his mind. Unlike most of his thoughts, this one was clear, rational, and founded in sound logic.

"Well, there's a lot of reasons." She arched her eyebrow. "Here's the big one, though; you want to be better. You're sorry about what you've done, and you wish to improve. A lot of humans never do, certainly not the people around here. I don't know if I can forgive you, but I'm willing to provide a second chance." After all, she defied his expectations before.

Hesitantly, she said, "OK, I'll buy that, but…"

"What?"

She glanced around, as if confirming no one else was in the room. "You need to leave me alone. If anyone found out you were here, well, I don't need to explain what would happen." Her voice was beginning to strain. Perhaps his expression wasn't dire enough, because she amended, "Actually, maybe I do. They'll kill you, Mike. I've been selfish, and I should have known better than to let our friendship get this far."

Mike bit his lip. He'd thought about this before and definitely saw her point. However, he felt it was worth the risk, especially considering how much he'd already survived. How much harder could this be? Not to mention that he was desperate for someone who understood him, and she was the only one in the world who did. "Look, Foxy, I lived through thirty hours of Hell last week. I can deal with a little sitting and talking." He put his hands behind his head. "In fact, it'd be welcome."

Foxy sat still for a long time, blankly staring into space. It was at times like these when Mike really wished he could see inside her head. Fortunately, it only sounded like a few kids were there before noon, so they weren't too distracting. "Fine. So… your house, you said?" There was a curious glimmer in her eye, and he knew she was interested.

"Yeah," he said, more enthusiastically than he meant to, "it'll be good for you. You can come over, eat something, see how the typical human lives. Then – just if you want – I could maybe try to fix your mouth."

"Really? You?"

"OK, I'm not qualified or anything, but I've seen a few charts, and it doesn't look too difficult." He paused to let his words sink in. "I'm ready if you are."

12:01 PM

I cannot believe I agreed to this. Foxy uncomfortably sat next to Mike in his car. Though she promised herself the first time would be the last, he was so earnest that she couldn't help but accept his offer. If he got hurt because of this, she'd never forgive herself.

Despite her dourness, Mike either didn't notice or didn't care. He seemed perfectly happy to point out individual peaks through the rain, naming each one. She tried to humor him, but still felt troubled about the whole affair. At least it'll be just the two of us this time.

After a couple of minutes, they arrived at a steep gravel path, which Mike turned onto. The squealing wheels didn't inspire much confidence. Perhaps her weight made it the climb more difficult. Eventually, they reached the summit, and Mike let out a sigh of relief. "I should get better tires…"

Peering through the mist, Foxy spied a small, one-story house, alarmingly close to a precipitous cliff. Normally, she would have commented on the ludicrous design choice, but remained courteous. At least she tried to – having never really interacted with anyone, her knowledge of common etiquette was either gotten from conversations she'd heard from behind a curtain or simply guesswork. Her memories from a previous life were unhelpful; pirates generally lacked manners.

Getting out, she experienced something she hadn't felt in far too long: rain. It was a comforting blanket, the warm drops falling on her snout and ears in a hypnotic rhythm. For a moment, she was back on the Southern Sea, sailing with her brave crew through a maelstrom. "Foxy?" Mike said, snapping her back to reality. She shook her head before following him across the hill, gravel crunching underfoot, and up a few slick wooden steps. Taking a key from his pocket, Mike unlocked the door and led her inside.

She didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't this. There was so much stuff; furniture, electronics, a few things she didn't even recognize. Compared with where she lived, it was a veritable mansion! "Do all humans own so much?" she asked, a bit of awe in her voice.

"In this country, most people have more. My parents and sister live here, too." Before she could grow too alarmed, he said, "They're, uh, gone, so don't worry! Seriously, though, sit!" He gestured to a large sofa.

Accepting his offer, she settled down, not used to the feeling something so squishy underneath her, and put her feet up on the coffee table. This is so cozy…

"Want anything to drink?" he asked, doing something outside her field of vision. Were all humans so hospitable? She doubted it; the things she'd experienced over the years didn't paint a flattering picture of them.

"Water. Um, please." She'd heard enough parents scolding their children to use the "magic word" to know how polite it was. A minute later, Mike plopped down next to her, a bottle in hand. "Thank you."

…

For a while, Mike simply rested, quite unsure of what to do next. This was about as far as he planned. There was nothing really interesting at his house on a rainy day. Sure, there was television, but that didn't really count as interaction. He had Monopoly and Clue and some jigsaw puzzles, but nothing all that compelling for two adults.

At least he assumed Foxy was an adult; it was pretty difficult to tell. Technically, she'd only been alive for thirteen years, but her physical body was a few decades old. If he had to judge based on her face and figure, he would have guessed she was in her early or mid-twenties. Considering she was an anthropomorphic fox, though, that could have been way off. Of course, as a robot, the concept of age might not have applied at all. She acted like an adult, and that was the important thing.

Glancing over, he saw her drinking some water. As he suspected, she had to tilt her head back and pour it right down her throat. It made him wince with how uncomfortable it looked. "Is there anything you want to do before I get to work?" he asked after she finished the bottle.

"Well…" she began, "this might be a weird request, but could I use your toilet and shower? It's been months since I've bathed."

"Uh, OK." That was the last thing he expected to hear, but he supposed it made sense. All that fur had to trap dust and grime like crazy, and now that she mentioned it, she was kind of greasy. "I guess you don't short-circuit, then."

"No, I just need to dry my teeth, claws and hook off so they don't rust. Other than that, it doesn't bother me." She paused and futilely attempted to smile. "I liked being in the rain. It was soothing. Calm."

"That's good. I don't even care for swimming, much less getting poured on."

"Then it's too bad you live somewhere it rains so much," she quipped, a playful expression in her eye. Standing up, she walked away, disappearing around the corner. Wow, Foxy made a joke. He flopped down, laying his head across the armrest. That's a first.

Down the hall, Mike could hear the spigot activate. Suppose she didn't need help with that. With nothing much to do for the next few minutes to couple of hours, depending on how much she liked it, Mike let his thoughts wander. Wait – she wanted to use the toilet, too. Well, if she ingested food, it only made sense that she'd expel waste like any other organism. He cringed and hoped that whatever came out of her didn't destroy the plumbing.

1:12 PM

As much as Foxy loved the water flowing down her body, it was probably time to leave. Scrubbing away the last patches of soap, she turned off the shower and stepped out to grab a towel. I hope Mike wasn't too bored. Naturally, all her fur made drying take annoyingly long, but she managed, and slipped her clothes back on. Only on her way out did she notice that her fur had shed all over the room. Sighing, she scooped as much of it as she could into the toilet - didn't want Mike to clean up her mess.

Heading back out to the foyer, her blood froze as she heard Mike speaking to someone. "Not much has happened. I got a job, but it didn't go so well… no, I wasn't fired." Although tense about being seen, she was curious enough to sneak to the hall's end and peek around.

Oh. Should have known. Mike was in the kitchen, talking on a wall-mounted phone. That made matters simpler.

"Hey," he said as she stepped into the room. A garbled voice came from the earpiece. "Yeah, someone's here. She's a friend of mine." Slowly, a mischievous smile crept onto his face. "In fact, why don't I introduce you?"

"What?" Before she could decline, Mike had already put the phone on speaker.

"Foxy, this is, um, Sylvia. She's the sister I mentioned. Sylvia, this is Foxy. She's a new friend."

He'll pay for this…

"Hi, Foxy!" the voice on the other end said. From a single sentence, she could tell how vivacious this woman must have been. "That's a very pretty name!"

Aww. Genuinely warmed by the complement, she sat down in a nearby chair. Talking with someone else might not have been too scary after all. Of course, she might feel differently if they met face-to-face. "Thanks. Yours is nice, too. I guess."

Sylvia laughed. "Not one for conversation, are you?"

"No."

"That's fine. A lot of my friends aren't, either. So, how exactly did you meet Mike?"

"It was… at his job." Mike gave her a thumbs up. You'll get what's coming to you.

"That's nice. See, Mike? Making friends isn't so scary."

"It certainly isn't," he replied.

"What about you? What's your deal?" Hopefully that wasn't too invasive a question. Other than her name and relation to Mike, she knew next to nothing about this woman.

"Well, I'm in medical school. I've wanted to be a doctor ever since I was a little girl."

"She dissected her Barbies," Mike whispered to her, making Foxy suppress a laugh.

"But right now, I'm on vacation in California! It's great." There was an edge in her voice and choice of words that made Mike frown. Knowing that his sister was lounging on a beach while he nearly died must have made him tense.

This three-way conversation lasted a few minutes more, covering mostly generic and not-too-exciting topics, such as weather. It seemed to be a favorite subject among humans, which vexed her greatly. That might have been because Mike was now miffed and not interested in talking about important subjects. She grew more awkward as it progressed; clearly, there was unresolved tension here.

"OK, I have one last question for you, little bro."

"What's that?"

"Is she cute?"

…

Mike felt like he was about to have an aneurism. "W-what?"

"Is your friend cute?" his sister teased, making his face hot. "Is she attractive?" Foxy began giggling hysterically. Damn Sylvia. They weren't often at each other's throats, but they'd had one Hell of an argument about who would sacrifice their summer to housesit. He'd lost that argument and nearly died for it. And now she wanted to embarrass him. Well, it worked.

"Um, yes! Wait, no, no, she isn't because… well, you know…" With each word he became increasingly flustered, and Foxy had to grip the table so she didn't fall out of her chair from laughing so hard. She really enjoyed his humiliation. After several more seconds, his sentences had mostly devolved in strings of interjections.

At that point he simply hung up rather than going on babbling like an idiot. His face burned, and Foxy took a solid minute to calm down. Although he thought he'd gotten past it, he again noticed how uncanny it was that she could laugh without ever moving her mouth. At least she was having fun - that nearly made up for his mortification. "You should have seen your face!" she shouted between the last few spasms. "Oh… I don't think I've ever laughed so hard. Don't worry, I won't make you answer her question," she said smugly.

Wanting to change the subject as quickly as possible, Mike stammered, "I think this might, uh, be a good time for me to work on your mouth, um, if you're still interested."

"Now that I'm in high spirits? Sure, give it a try. I don't have anything to lose."

Excusing himself, he scuttled over to the closet and started digging around for what he needed while trying to permanently erase the past few minutes from his mind. Screwdrivers: check. Wrenches: check. Flashlight: check. He also found a spare pair of rubber gloves under the sink, in case scratching his hand on her teeth gave him some deadly, undiscovered disease. Based on his knowledge, he couldn't rule it out.

Finally gathering all his supplies, he went back over to the sofa, where Foxy was lying down. "Is this a good spot?" she asked.

"Yeah, it looks fine." He took a deep breath, hoping he wasn't making a mistake by doing this. Unlikely as it was, he could harm her more. "Are you sure you're OK with this? I don't want to hurt you."

"Tell you what – if I'm in pain, I'll say something."

That reassured him a bit. "Got it."

Turning on the flashlight, he peeked inside her mouth. Having never paid much attention to it, he immediately felt overwhelmed. Within were a few dozen silver metal teeth, a long, black tongue, salivary glands, and some sort of organic-ish tissue growing along the walls and roof. He'd known all that before, but now that he was standing there with a screwdriver in hand, it appeared more like dentistry than mechanics.

More pessimistic than nervous, he put down the flashlight and got to work.

2:05 PM

Can't say I didn't try. Mike had spent the last half-hour or so poking around in Foxy's mouth to no avail. Though unpleasant, it surprisingly wasn't too disgusting, just strange. The fact that she didn't need to close her mouth to talk, presumably having a speaker somewhere in her throat, made it downright bizarre. They were having conversations with absolutely no difficulty, which distracted him a few times. The tissue inside was infused with wiring, circuitry and other technological components, creating a truly incomprehensible biology. Though from Earth, she might as well have been an alien! No wonder BRIAR was so interested - this must have violated previous ideas on biology and chemistry. Maybe they've reverse-engineered it. The thought of BRIAR building a cyborg army or something with it wasn't a pleasant one.

Either way, he simply wasn't the guy for the job. Jeremy might not even have been able to handle it, considering it was as much orthodontics as repair. "Sorry, Foxy, I give up." Removing his gloved hands, now coated in a layer of oily spittle, he set his screwdriver aside. I need to rinse those in bleach.

Seeming rather disappointed, she sat up, rubbing her jaw. "To be honest, Mike, I didn't think you could do it, but I appreciate the effort." The day was a failure. At least he didn't hurt her, which was of some consolation. "Seriously, it's not a big deal."

You're the one who said how awful it was.

"How about this," she said, standing up, "What if I tell you a story?"

"A story? Why?" Mike asked, genuinely confused.

"Because you're my friend and I want to cheer you up. Also, I've been waiting to tell one for over a decade." Not seeing the harm in it, he swiftly agreed. Maybe it would be what he needed. Foxy certainly seemed excited, bouncing up and down slightly. It was nice to see a more fun-loving side of her emerge.

"Many a fortnight ago, on the Southern Sea, there was a great pirate Cap'n by the name o' Foxy, and 'er First Mate, one Michael Schmidt…"

…

Foxy's story wasn't too long – only five or ten minutes – but Mike had gotten completely sucked in. Seemed she hadn't lost her charm. At the beginning, he only feigned interest, mostly preoccupied with his thoughts. Apparently being recruited into the crew of the region's most heroic pirate didn't much appeal to him.

During the middle, which slowly built the action on a booby-trapped desert isle, he was at the edge of his seat. By the tale's end, which involved a substantial sum of buried treasure and a confrontation with the Dread Pirate Frederick Fazbear, they were actually dueling with umbrellas in the middle of his living room, giggling maniacally.

"So they sailed away in search o' new adventure," she said before dropping her accent - or, rather, reverting to the one she'd picked up after years of study. "And that was the story. What did you think?" she asked with a raised brow.

"My favorite part was when you and I fought the giant spider," he said, putting the umbrellas back where they belonged. "It was like something out of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Uh, you don't know who they are."

"Raphael, Michelangelo, Leonardo, and… Picasso."

"Donatello. How – "

"When you're in the same building as preteen boys for seventy hours a week over thirteen years, you tend to pick these things up. I can also tell you about several dozen species of dinosaurs."

"That's awesome." He perched himself on the sofa's armrest before letting out a long, conflicted sigh. "I forgive you. At least, I'll try to."

"For what?" As far as she knew, she hadn't done anything wrong. Going too long, maybe?

"'87. I know you didn't mean it."

Neither said anything for quite a while. Eventually the phone rang, and Mike went to see who it was. "Hey, Syl. Sorry I hung up… no, she's gone now."

Foxy didn't know how to feel. She should have been ecstatic at the prospect of another chance – a clean slate. It still happened, though. No matter how much good she did, she'd always be guilty. And what if she failed to live up to his expectations? I can think about this later. There's more important things here.

"Uh, want some lunch?" Mike asked, back to his usual self.

"No thanks. I shouldn't get used to eating real food." She looked at the floor, then back to him. "In fact, is it all right if you take me back now? I've done more today than I usually do in months."

"Sure. I'm getting tired myself." Popping his spine, Mike started to gather a few things for his car before calling her over.

"The rain's stopped. Sorry." It didn't matter. Regardless of what he thought, Foxy hadn't had so much fun since… ever, actually. Those few hours might have been the best of her life. Again feeling delightfully warm and satisfied, she went out and hopped in the passenger's seat. "If we keep doing this, I might have to cut out a hole for your tail," he said playfully.

"That'd be nice."

2:48 PM

"Now!" Mike said, checking every direction for cars and pedestrians. In a flash, Foxy had charged across the street and into Pirate Cove while barely making a sound. Somehow, even with metal bones, she managed to be faster than anyone else he knew. She could be in the Olympics with legs like those.

Being cautious himself, Mike followed her inside. "Here's lunch," Foxy said, going over to the curtains. On the ground was a small mound of pizza crusts, half-eaten breadsticks and a plate of unidentifiable mystery meat. She walked back over to him, surrounded by the white noise of loud children. "You don't know how great today was for me. I loved it." Her voice was completely sincere, even overjoyed, but Mike wasn't satisfied. If he couldn't help her, no one ever would.

"I still feel like I failed, promising to – "

The next thing he knew, Foxy had her arms wrapped around him in a tight hug, her muzzle on his shoulder. Too shocked to say anything, he could only concentrate on two matters. First, her fur felt incredibly soft. He hadn't ever touched it before – would have been kind of weird – but it was pleasantly silky and warm. Second was the way her breasts pushed against his chest, which caused him to grow hot in the face. He'd never hugged any woman like this before, let alone one who wasn't human. If felt odd, though not exactly unpleasant.

Eventually regaining his voice, he croaked, "Foxy? Can you stop?"

She pulled away, an embarrassed look in her eye. "I… don't know what came over me. I'm sorry."

"No! No." He shook his head. "I couldn't breathe was all. I'm totally fine with hugs. In fact, I do feel a bit better now."

"As you should. This was the best day of my life, and you're the one who made it possible." She paused, sheepishly rubbing the back of her head. "Thanks for convincing me to do this. If you don't mind, maybe we could try it again sometime?"

All right, that would be another good thing to come out of all this. "That'd be wonderful. How about next week?" It was nothing short of miraculous that in under two weeks, he'd gone from despising Foxy to inviting her over to his house, but he scarcely thought about that anymore. He was more focused on moving forward, and she seemed very kind now that he knew her better. Though he wasn't sure being friends with a sapient animatronic fox cyborg pirate would ever feel even slightly normal, he kind of wanted to find out.

"Sounds great." She climbed up on stage, heading back to her little sleeping alcove. "Remember, my door is always open to you. Metaphorically. I still have to physically open it." With that, she disappeared. For a minute, Mike leaned against the wall, just feeling good. He still wasn't completely satisfied, but if Foxy had a good time, he supposed that made the day worthwhile. His train of thought was derailed by Foxy's loud snoring, which spontaneously burst into existence.

She has the right idea. Saving his thoughts for later, he went back out to his car.

…

Auric couldn't believe it. Why hadn't he realized before? As he watched his pawn wrap the Warden in a tight embrace, he saw. If they continued on their current path, they would likely develop an intimate relationship. He'd seen the process play out a thousand times, though never between such disparate beings. The seed had been planted; it might eventually bloom.

Of course, they could also go back to hating each other. Even with all his power, he was not omniscient, and frankly, he didn't care. The concept of love was removed from him, so it was merely another interesting observation. He certainly hoped they fell for each other, though. How entertaining it would be to watch! Perhaps even on par with his grand game of survival.

That's when he got an idea. A very, very good idea. Even if the Warden didn't reciprocate its feelings, there was no doubt he still cared. And with the emphasis he so strongly placed on friendship…

Yes! It's brilliant! While he'd been reminiscing, it seemed the Warden had already left. I should formally introduce myself. Tonight.

6:02 PM

Mike was having a nice, quiet evening, very appropriate after a nice, quiet day. It seemed like the events of the prior week were in a previous life, being so far removed from his current situation. No more waiting to die in a cramped office for six hours a night. Now he could fall asleep with nightmares being his only worries. Adjusting to normality might take some time, though. He still found himself looking over his shoulder at every noise and reaching for nonexistant buttons.

Presently, though, he was reading on the couch, having just finished cleaning the shower drain of Foxy's fur. He couldn't blame her for shedding, but it was pretty annoying. She'd cleaned the floor, however; that was considerate. Either way, that was done, leaving him with an entire night to himself. At least he thought so. A loud knock at the door got his attention. Weird. The mail guy doesn't usually climb the hill.

Pulling himself up, he opened it, only to be instantly sorry. "You! You have a lot of explaining to do!" It was June, looking disheveled and rather furious. Before he could ask her how she found his house or what she was doing there, she pushed past him into his living room.

"Hey!" he shouted, getting angry himself. "This is my house! You don't have a right to be in here!"

"You didn't have a right to almost kill my dad!" she spat.

Fair point. "All right," he said, trying to calm himself, "how did you get my address?"

"You gave us your contact information when you filled out those forms. Remember?" That was true; like most people, he didn't think anything of it.

"Now I have a question for you," she countered, jabbing her finger at him. "Why haven't you been answering your phone?"

"Um, what?"

"I've called your house about ten times over the last few days. You didn't answer, so that's why I'm here."

Then it suddenly made sense. "I was, uh, out for the last week. Just got back last night, and I haven't checked the answering machine." June almost seemed to deflate, now knowing she couldn't blame him for ignoring her. "I talked to your dad, though."

"Yeah, I heard that…" She hung her head. "Can I sit down? I feel like I need to sit." He shrugged.

"Sure." Wanting to stay civil, he got her a Coke out of the fridge and sat next to her. He understood her anger. "What has your dad told you?"

"Not much. He said the animatronics at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza were actually alive, and that the reason he never let me go is that they'd kill him on sight if he ever went back." She snorted. "And he told me that the reason the one you brought in tried to kill him is that he broke its jaw with a baseball bat. That's all."

"Yeah, sounds true. You took it pretty well."

"What?! No!" she shouted, actually scaring him. "There's no way. It's impossible! Sure, I might have believed him for a couple hours, but after that?" Now Mike was really confused, and starting become to angry again.

"Then why are you here?"

"Because I want to know what actually happened. The real story, not the one with magic robots."

Ah, I see. "Look, June," he said, rubbing his temples, "I couldn't believe it at first myself. But, um, everything your father said is completely, one-hundred percent accurate."

"Uh huh. You wouldn't happen to have any proof, would you?"

"Not here, no…"

"That's what I thought."

But that got the gears in his head moving, and before long, they had churned out a plan. "I could get some, though," he said confidently. "I'll introduce you to Foxy, who, by the way, is sorry about what she did, in exchange for something."

June looked incredulous and more than a bit fed up, but nonetheless replied, "What's that?"

"Her jaw still doesn't work right. If you fix it, I'm sure she'll tell you everything you want to know. And if she doesn't, I will."

She remained silent for a moment, weighing her options. "Fine. I'll play along and 'talk' to that broken machine you must be hallucinating is alive. Then I want answers. Deal?" She extended her hand.

"Deal."

10:20 PM

Night had fallen, bringing quiet back to the world. Resting in his bed, Mike was unusually tired. The day hadn't been all that stressful; maybe he was just having so much fun getting back into the mindset of a kid. His "sword fight" with Foxy was incredibly enjoyable, and she could really dodge. Probably practices a lot.

Flushing the thoughts from his consciousness, he slowly drifted away to wherever sleep took him.

…

Mike knew he was in a dream, but it wasn't like any dream he could remember. All around him was an endless expanse of cold white, stretching on forever like tundra. Just as chilly, too. It wasn't exactly scary, but a bit unnerving. At least the Nightmare Animatronics aren't here.

"Greetings, Warden," a raspy voice whispered into his ears. He jumped in fright, looking for whoever had spoken. "Behind you."

Turning around, Mike finally saw him. Forty or fifty feet away was a humanoid figure, draped in a golden cloud. This was the one who had tormented him for so long.

"You're Auric!" he shouted, voice trembling slightly. Normally he would have tried to run away, but kept in mind that it was merely a dream. An extremely realistic, lucid dream, but an illusion nonetheless.

"There is no need to shout. I can hear you quite plainly." Once again, even though he – or it – was nowhere near him, his words were apparent. That voice; he knew he'd never forget it. The static was still there, but in the background, rising and falling, an infernal orchestra.

"A-are you real?"

"Would you address me if I wasn't?" By this point, Mike felt like he was going to faint in fear. Something about the figure was sinister and frightening beyond anything he imagined.

"Then what the fuck are you? An alien? A ghost? A demon?" He was trembling yet had to know.

Even from far away, he could see the figure smile, and his gilded eyes burned brighter. "My nature hardly matters. What is important, however, is my offer to you."

Every nerve, every instinct told him to pinch himself or find some way to wake up. "Tell me."

"I quite relished our little game last week. It was amusing. In fact, I'd enjoy a rematch." Something told him he didn't have much of a choice in the matter.

"And you'll kill me if I refuse?" Once again, Auric grinned wide, and his pupils were flaring coals.

"No. Your friend on the other hand…"

Oh God.

Auric could surely see the look on his face. "I've known about the two of you since the beginning. Nothing in my domain escapes me." He paused, letting the cold reality of his words seep in. "There's so many ways I could go about it. I might let your little secret slip to Phillip – he'll be none too pleased, but I'll make sure you're unharmed. It won't be as lucky. Though he might not kill it, it will suffer regardless."

"She." Mike didn't realize he'd spoken until the word had already left his mouth.

"Fine, she."

That dream, if it truly was one, terrified Mike more than any vision of monsters or death. This thing was threatening his friend, and he was powerless to stop it.

"Wait, I know what I'll do. I can take control of her like the puppet she is. But this time, I'll make her just aware enough to feel every gash, every wound she inflicts upon herself, right before I make her cut her own throat out!" The static stopped, leaving nothing else. Mike had collapsed, unwilling to rise.

"The choice is yours, Warden. You have until Sunday evening to decide."