So, this took a while. Two months, in fact. I really do try to write quickly, but things keep getting in the way. School, family, etc. And especially in this case, the length. Even without the Author's Note, this chapter is nearly 10,000 words long. That makes this the longest thing I've ever written, fiction or otherwise.
I can't be sure, of course, but I doubt I'll ever write a chapter this long again – it took so much energy. Still, I hope you all enjoy the various twists and turns. Next chapter, however, is something to look forward to. Without giving too much away, it contains three words many of you have wanted Mike to say to Foxy for a very long time.
And speaking of length, this story just passed 150 favorites and 200 follows. I'm not writing this for popularity or fame or anything like that, but I want to thank each one of those people from the bottom of my heart. I've talked to many of you, and you're all very polite and understanding. While I believe the world is in a bad place right now, it really is a blessing to be able to bring together people from all over the world to enjoy something.
Well, that was longer than I expected! Read on! And, as always, I appreciate reviews and stuff like that.
Thursday, June 8, 6:00 AM
The instant light returned, Mike was on his feet and out the door. Foxy had lain motionless in the hallway for almost half-an-hour, but he was unwilling to check on her, afraid Auric had another trick in store. Now that he knew something really was wrong, a tingle of fear crept into his mind. What could he do about it? More importantly, what would the guards do if they found her in such a state?
She was sprawled on her side, almost in the fetal position. Her chest slowly rose and fell while her tail thumped the ground. OK, she's still alive. That's a start. Crouching down, he put a hand on her shoulder and shook.
"Foxy," he said into her ear, which perked up a bit. "You have to wake up." After a moment, she lazily rolled onto her back, muzzle forming a crooked smile. "Are you all right?"
"Aye. Drank a smidge too much rum afore takin' a caulk," she slurred, unable to get to her feet.
Before he could ask what that meant, a glint on the floor caught his eye. A half-empty bottle of some dark alcohol sat by the door to his office. He quickly put the pieces together. "You're drunk?" It was more a statement than a question.
"Three sheets ta' the wind, lad." Getting wasted didn't seem like something an evil spirit would take interest in. Perhaps Auric was more human than he thought. "Could ye 'elp yer Cap'n up, matey? We be settin' sail at dawn."
Mike leaned down and grabbed her hand, careful to avoid being poked by the claws. Then he pulled hard, somehow managing to get her standing. Well, more like slumping against him, but she could probably still walk. "So, where are we going?" he asked, trying to make her move quickly.
"The Far Isles. Rumor has it ol' Davy Jones 'imself stashed a coffer there." She turned to him, grinning from ear to ear. "We're goin' ta' find it and live like kings!"
"Yeah. We are." As much as he wanted to break through her drunken delirium, he couldn't bring himself to do so. She deserved a few hours of comforting reverie before being forced to confront reality again. With her arm around his neck, they stumbled toward the dining area. Right into the Band. Fuck. Somehow, he forgot all about the other animatronics.
They stared at them from the stage, watching in disbelief as he helped Foxy stagger back to her cove. Freddy's jaw dropped, and Mike felt his face heat up from both embarrassment and physical exertion.
"Uh, do you guys know each other?" Chica asked after a few seconds.
"Yeah," was the best response he could manage.
"'ow?!" Bonnie added. "And why is Foxy shitfaced?!"
Mike struggled to suppress a laugh. "You use that kind of language in your shows?"
The rabbit suddenly looked very sheepish. "Not unless a kid throws food at me. Then I might let somethin' like that slip out." His serious attitude quickly returned. "Seriously, though."
They clearly weren't going to let this go, and Mike didn't blame them. Glancing through the glass doors, it appeared there weren't any cars around yet. Even when one appeared, it would take a minute for someone to unlock the building. "Foxy, can you sit down?" he whispered. Happily complying, she plopped down into a chair, which nearly snapped under her deceptively heavy weight.
Adding drama to the explanation, Bonnie started plucking on his guitar.
"I wandered into Pirate Cove through the fire exit after my first night, realized you all were alive and started talking to her on a regular basis. Is that a good enough explanation?" They looked skeptical; while they had more to ask, there was little time.
"I'm surprised she didn't try to kill you," Chica said at last.
Mike grimaced and glanced at the ground. "Well…"
Her slight smile faded. "Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't mean – "
"'Twas a misunderstandin'!" Foxy shouted, cutting off the chicken's stammered apology. "Ye know how territorial both foxes and pirates are. The two o' us now be thick as thieves."
Having sat silently so far, Freddy finally spoke up. "That's why you saved him from me at the end of his first week. You were friends."
Mike nodded. That's some good observation. "Amazingly, yes. She's a great person. I'm still not sure how we did it, but I wouldn't trade it for anything."
"Told you he was a nice guy," Bonnie said to Freddy, who still wasn't completely convinced.
"Yeah," the bear muttered.
"Bonnie and I like you," Chica explained to Mike. "Really. You're the only person we've talked to in a very long time who treats us with any dignity. And Freddy respects you, too – but he's not much of a 'people person'." Her voice wavered slightly; he understood how important this was to them. "And if you're friends with Foxy… well, she's a very good judge of character, I think."
"Yarr! Schmidt's a damn good man! I'm proud to 'ave him as me First Mate." Though delirious, he knew she meant every word. Clumsily gesturing toward him with her hook, she continued, "Trustworthy, supportive, kind. That's why I fell in love with him!" All fell silent as Bonnie's hand froze mid-strum.
Then a couple of cars pulled into the lot, and Mike breathed an audible sigh of relief. Rarely was he so glad to see his "coworkers". "Uh, my personality. She fell in love with my, um, personality." Practically dragging Foxy from her chair, he hurried over to the Cove, feeling eyes on the back of his neck.
"That's one thing I – "
"Please shut up, Captain."
Upon reaching the purple curtains, he said, "I'll come by later today. Sleep a little while. You'll feel better." With an unsteady nod, she staggered inside. While Mike was glad he handled the situation, he couldn't help but think about what would happen when Foxy came to her senses. Waking up in a world that doesn't have a place for you must be crushing.
Outside, the workers looked to be having a heated conversation – they wouldn't be in for several minutes more. "So, how are you all doing?" he asked the animatronics, hoping they had written off Foxy's words as a product of intoxication.
"Pretty good," Chica replied, her voice a little too forced. "We just finished practicing a new song that Bonnie wrote. It's on the schedule tonight if you want to come see it!"
Freddy rolled his eyes. "Mike isn't a slave like we are. Why would he drive out here to see us when he can do anything he wants?" The bear's envy was palpable, but he also seemed to be physically hurt.
"I'll come," Mike said, rising to the challenge. "Are you in pain?"
Freddy turned his hands toward Mike, who winced at the sight of a sizable cut on each palm, both slowly leaking off-red blood. "Doesn't exactly feel good to be kicked in the face and stabbed. And this is after getting smacked with that damn fan."
Can't recall much of last night, come to think of it. Before about four o'clock, all he remembered were hazy visions of a child in the office incessantly whispering to him. "I didn't mean to. It was probably in self-defense."
"Probably?"
"I barely remember anything from the first half of my shift. Auric must have done something to me." The animatronics cringed at the name. "I take it you all know him."
"Barely," Bonnie said. "Never spoken a word to 'im. He's the one who makes us kill people. What about you, Fred?"
"Might have talked to him once or twice. I get the feeling he sort of likes me. Thinks I enjoy murdering humans."
"But you do," Mike replied. "Last week you almost got me. Twice."
He expected Freddy to become enraged, but the opposite happened. Speaking softly, the bear said, "Suppose you were abducted by aliens. For a while, they poked through your body and mind, trying to discover how humans work. After that, they put you on display for their species to see as a sideshow curiosity." His voice remained oddly calm, though a fire began to burn behind his eyes.
"And whenever they got bored, they ordered some new 'tests' – always with scalpels or electrodes – to watch you squirm. If you lived like that for years on end, you'd resent their entire race, regardless of how the rest acted."
Mike didn't know what to say – how could he? As spitefully as Freddy sometimes behaved, his motives were understandable; that was now clear. "To be honest, Mike, I think most of you humans – adults, anyway – are complete shitbags. That's why I've been so eager to kill in the past." His expression softened, some empathy creeping in. "You're not like that, though. Instead of avoiding or mocking us, we're having a real conversation. Hell, you're friends with Foxy. If memory serves, she's not particularly trusting."
"No, definitely not," he replied. "If anyone else who worked here went more than a few feet into her Cove, she'd maul them." They all shared a laugh over that.
"'ow is Foxy?" Bonnie asked. "We barely see 'er anymore."
His mood soured at the question, but he decided to be honest. "She was contemplating suicide before I came." Bonnie and Chica both looked horrified. "The kids were what kept her going, and she couldn't even see them. Beyond that, she didn't see any reason to live." Freddy nodded solemnly.
"She's gotten better, though," he reassured them. "I think she needed someone to be there for her, y'know? I definitely did. We, uh, encourage each other." A glint from outside caught his attention; one of the guards pulled out a keyring. "You're not going to tell anyone about anything, right?"
"We won't say a word," Chica said before looking at Freddy. "Will we?" The lock rattled as the bear stared at Mike, weighing his options. If he told Phil a word of this… no more night guard. And why wouldn't he want to easily get rid of his enemy?
"No, we won't." Mike's jaw unclenched as he breathed a sigh of relief. "Might have to get some bandages for my hands, but I'll make up an excuse."
He couldn't find the words to express his gratitude before the door opened.
"Told you he wasn't dead," a woman said to her compatriot, a man with something in Chinese tattooed on his arm. Mike had probably seen them before, but all the employees except Helen ran together in his mind. The tattoo stood seemed familiar, though. "Now you have to clean the shit out of Foxy's bucket."
"I fucking hate that bitch," he grumbled, not giving Mike a second glance.
Better than being lashed out at. Giving the animatronics a subtle wave, he walked out the door and into the new day's light.
It was a shame that a place as vile as Fazbear's sat on such a pristine location. Aside from Whitewater, there wasn't much development in that part of Kittitas County. Just miles and miles of forested mountains and lakes and streams. But then there was this thing by the road. Evilness aside, it was also an eyesore. Didn't make sense from a business perspective, either; why build a restaurant in the middle of the woods? The animatronics were the only things keeping it open and it still looked ready to collapse at the drop of a hat.
Whatever, he didn't really care. Getting into his car, the adrenaline-fueled hours began to catch up with him. What little sleep he got yesterday was shallow and punctuated by violent night terrors. The things he saw and heard were so real – flesh being ripped apart, a cacophony of screams – that he recalled them almost perfectly. And that led Mike to the question he didn't even want to consider; could Auric kill him in his sleep?
He still doubted it, but why even take the chance? His final shift began in less than eighteen hours. While he'd be exhausted beyond imagination by the end of it, that was a better prospect than dying.
Another troubling thought occurred to him as he started the engine, one that had bothered him all week: there was no reason Auric wouldn't blackmail him again. The monster had nothing to lose by threatening him, Foxy, or anyone else. All the uncertainties rapidly drained what little energy he had left.
The answers would come soon, though; he knew that much.
10:29 AM
There was so little to do – ironic, considering all the world had to offer. Most of Mike's time lately had been spent not doing but thinking: about life, death, good, evil, the big questions. Faced with the possibility of dying every day, these were things that interested him, even if he himself didn't fully understand why.
Pacing circles in his driveway to stay awake, he thought about thinking about another important topic.
Love.
The subject bothered him for the previous couple of days, pulling at his consciousness, begging for attention. With the most difficult fight of his life approaching, he decided to indulge the desire.
Me. Foxy.
The idea was unreal. While he believed love could be found in strange places, this pushed the boundaries. Still… maybe it wouldn't be a bad thing.
Be sensible, he thought, slowly moving up and down the hill. How would this work? In short, not very well. They'd have to spend a few stolen hours with each other a week, worrying even more than they already did. On top of that, Auric would interfere in some way; love might have been a foreign notion to him, but exploiting love fit his psychology.
There were also more physical problems, the primary one being that she wasn't human. How could he cope with that? How could anybody? Though Foxy was from Earth, she was alien in terms of biology. Hell, she was a full-blown cybernetic organism! Being part animal and part machine, she was as far away from "human" as one could get.
Yet despite her appearance, her mind – and soul, if such a thing existed – was very hominal. Joy, depression, anger: she experienced the human condition like everyone. No matter one's race or religion, there were certain emotions and thought processes common to people across the world. Foxy shared those. But does that make her human? And does "human" really mean anything? His mind was an overworked computer, jittery and stuttering.
He kept getting hung up on two words: "human" and "love". Before all this, the definitions seemed simple enough. Now they couldn't have been more complex.
Debates had gone on for decades about the morality of same-sex and interracial marriages. If these relationships were controversial, how would romance between two different species go over? Granted, he'd obviously keep it a secret, but that secrecy might weigh him down, make him believe his love was wrong. He had enough guilt to deal with – any more would break him.
Then he began to consider the improbable. What if it worked out? What if they solved the issue of love as they settled every other problem that came their way? What would the benefits be?
She was smart, funny, caring, brave. Everything he ever wanted from a friend. Or lover. She shared her hopes and dreams with him and did everything in her power to make sure he was safe. Why wouldn't he be interested in a woman like that? On a more personal level… he had to admit, he found her somewhat attractive. Though he winced upon daring to think that, he soldiered on, knowing that if he didn't confront this now he might never get the chance.
Not drop-dead seductive like a curvaceous supermodel. "Exquisite" might have been the best descriptor. Much like a normal fox – or any wild animal, for that matter – she had a kind of beauty that was more aesthetically pleasing than sexual. Her fur, her tail: they were gorgeous. And her smile he liked most of all. Despite having teeth capable of ripping flesh from bone, there was warmth and compassion in it.
You're crazy, Mike. Maybe. Or maybe everyone else was. What did "crazy" even mean? Words were complicated. You're crazy for being in love with an animal! That's bestiality! And robophilia! And - He stopped dead in his tracks. "Oh God, is it pedophilia, too?!" he shouted aloud. Again, she'd only been alive for thirteen years, despite having the mental faculties of an adult. Suddenly, he felt absolutely filthy for even considering that this might be acceptable.
I'm losing my mind, he thought, trudging down the hill. It's evil for me to even consider being with her. Like, this isn't even a Christian thing; everyone would agree with that.
Not if she was human…
This became tiresome; the gears in his head refused to go one way or the other. He was a car stuck in mud. Snatching the daily paper, he went inside for a quick cup of coffee.
1:06 PM
Mike walked the main drag, popping his head into whatever stores happened to be open. In a more prosperous community that would have been most of them, but Whitewater's frontage stood abandoned, testaments of a slowly dying town. There was little of interest – a bookshop, the bank, an Amish furniture store – but it kept him awake. If he stayed home as usual he would have fallen asleep hours ago.
Glancing at the road signs, it took his exhausted mind several seconds to realize that he was close to the auto shop. What happened to Jeremy? He saw June a few days earlier, but the man himself dropped off his radar weeks ago. It didn't really matter, he supposed. The mechanic's life had obviously returned to normal. He had a store, a kid, probably a decent income. Mike hoped he could someday find a sense of mundanity after all he'd witnessed.
Still, he kind of wanted to stop by since he was in the neighborhood. Business probably wasn't heavy on a weekday, and he had nothing else to do. On top of that, he might have been too tired to recognize a bad idea.
With slow steps, he made his way up one of the side streets, following it for a few blocks until he reached a lot with the stripped corpses of several cars resting nearby. The garage door hung open, so someone was presumably in.
"Uh, hello?" he said, stepping into the cool building. "Anybody here?"
"Just a second!"
Quick footsteps approached. A second later, June entered from the back door. Upon seeing him, she did a double take. "What are you doing here?"
"I was bored."
She came closer, keeping her eyes on his face. "You look like shit."
"So I've been told." They were silent for a moment, looking each other over. "Um, where's your dad?"
"Visiting Mom in Portland. They meet up a few times a year just to talk, but it never goes well."
"Oh." Mike's parents didn't have much drama. They were too distant for that. Sifting through his enervated brain for a proper response, all he could say was, "Sorry."
"It's fine. I'm used to it," she replied, not offended in the slightest. "Want to go out back? There's a couple chairs out there, and it looks like you're about to fall over." Weakly nodding, he followed her out the back door to a small porch overlooking an overgrown tract. "You can barely see it from the front and we don't use it for anything. Otherwise we might mow."
"Uh huh." He sat down on the wooden stool; at least he didn't have to worry about falling asleep on something so uncomfortable.
"Really, though. Do you have insomnia?"
"It's nothing," he said, trying to reassure himself more than convince her. "I think it would be better if I stayed up a couple more hours." She eyed him suspiciously but didn't say anything else.
They spent a while alternating between talking and sipping iced tea, which happened to be the only item in the building's refrigerator. Jeremy was Southern, after all. Not his drink of choice, but it was caffeinated.
"How's Foxy doing?" June eventually asked. "Is her mouth working all right?"
"Seems to be fine. Well, um, I don't actually know, but she hasn't complained about it." He paused for a moment. "And she's grateful. That wasn't a problem we could have fixed by ourselves."
"Good." Looking across the tall grass, June said, "It's fucking crazy, though. A month ago, I would have called an insane asylum if you told me living animatronics existed, let alone in my own town. Now I can't stop thinking about what other impossible things are real. Vampires? Unicorns? Martians?"
"I know," he replied. He still hadn't figured out a way to cope with that: firmly knowing there were things in the world beyond comprehension. "But maybe they don't want to be found. And maybe that's for the best."
"Yeah…"
"If you need to get back to work, I'll leave anytime." The hot air and cold tea jolted his nervous system back into action – for a couple more hours, at least.
"No, there's nothing in for repairs. I'm only here as a formality; doesn't look good for the place to be abandoned for days on end. It's not hard to get here, either." She pointed up the hill to a small white house nestled between two or three others. "That's where I live."
"Huh. I expected someone who fixes cars to, uh, drive one to work." Changing subjects, he asked, "Do you know when your dad's getting back? I don't need to talk to him, I'm just curious."
"Supposedly this weekend. If things go bad, though, later today. And with all that's happened lately, he hasn't been in a great mood, so that's likely."
An idea popped into Mike's head. "Would you like to get dinner, then? I, um, had a great time when we went out on Monday."
"Where did you have in mind?"
A wry smile crossed his face. "Freddy Fazbear's Pizza."
She stared at him to figure out whether he was joking. "Are you sure you're OK?"
"Look, the animatronics have a new song that they wrote. I'm trying to be a nice guy, because nobody else around them is." He still wasn't completely sure how he felt about them, but this was something they needed. He would show them, Freddy especially, that somebody was on their side. Feeling lonely was common for him, and he knew how painful it could be.
June pondered the offer. After a minute, she said, "Yeah, I'll go. I kind of wanted to check it out a couple weeks ago, but Dad begged me not to."
"What time?"
"I'm closing up at five. I'll meet you there by the entrance at, say, five-thirty."
"Sounds good to me."
5:30 PM
Almost there, Mike thought, pulling into the parking lot. His muscles ached, wanting rest, but his mind wouldn't yield. In a little over twelve hours he could sleep without fear – without as much fear, anyway.
Even for a weekday it wasn't as crowded as usual. Actually, he'd thought all day about how a Chuck E. Cheese's knock-off in a town of just over 3,000 managed to have any business at all. The best guess he could hazard was the proximity to Interstate 90; Whitewater was only a few miles off. Not to mention the animatronics, who probably enticed most of the kids before they were diverted to unhealthy food.
Stepping out, he didn't see June near the door, so he walked over and stood beside the building's slowly crumbling wall, snippets of noise reaching through. A minute later, a shiny red motorcycle arrived. Mike normally wouldn't have noticed, but it stood out in a sea of minivans and SUVs. The figure riding it got off and flipped the kickstand down. Gee, I wonder who it is.
"Uh, that's quite a ride."
"Hell yeah it is," June said, pulling off her helmet. "Dad and I got it last year from an impound lot. Bit of a fixer-upper, but now it runs great."
They went inside. Like the parking lot, it was significantly toned down: enough, at least, to hear properly. A few kids ran around and played in the ball pit or on the arcade machines, but it seemed like a pretty subdued evening. "Make sure I stay awake," he said as they grabbed a table near the room's center.
"Are you sick? Your hands are twitching and you have bags under your eyes."
"I'm fine," he replied, a little irritated, "but if my eyes close for more than a few seconds, make a loud noise."
"Whatever you say," she muttered.
Mike picked up the menu, emblazoned with the dreary Fazbear's logo, and looked through it. It was the same as before; pizza, pasta and other foods that might once have been Italian but were now thoroughly Americanized.
"Got any recommendations?" June asked.
"It's all bad. Buy something that sounds appetizing, but don't be surprised if it isn't."
"Maybe I should order off the Kids' Menu – they at least have desserts." She flipped over the cheap paper. "Hey! There's pirate stuff on here!"
"I know. They must have, um, been too lazy to ever update it even though Foxy hasn't performed for over a decade."
"Yarr, mateys!" she said, reading from the menu. "Do ye know which corsair created the Jolly Roger? This be a tough one. 'Twas – "
"Samuel Bellamy," he interrupted, the answer involuntarily jumping out of his mouth.
June looked stunned. "That's right. How did you know?"
"Foxy told me," was all he needed to say.
After deciding on food, they waited for somebody to come and get their orders. It took a while; Mike was in danger of drifting off.
"Where are the animatronics?" June eventually asked with an eye on the red velvet curtain that concealed the stage.
"I don't know. They get worked hard, but they must have breaks every now and then to eat something or use the bathroom."
"Good evening," a gruff voice spoke from behind him. Turning around, Mike knew the waiter was familiar but couldn't quite place him. Then he saw the Chinese tattoo on his arm.
"Wait a second," the man said, coming to the same realization. "You're Mark, the night guard."
"It's Mike." Twenty sleepless hours began to wear down his patience. He wanted all this to be over.
"Apologies, Mike," he sneered. Leaning over to June, he said, "Your friend's got quite a reputation here. Very good at his job. Or maybe just lucky. I assume he hasn't told you any details, per his non-disclosure agreement."
Instead of answering the question, she spat at him. "Are you this polite to all the customers, hotshot?" Face flushing red, his meaty hand formed a fist. "Go ahead. Hit me. I'll sue your ass off and people will stop coming because they don't want to be assaulted by the staff."
They stared each other down for a moment before the man conceded, scowling at the floor. "Just tell me what you want to eat."
"I'll have a Hawaiian pizza," June said as if nothing had happened.
"Mozzarella sticks for me." And go fuck yourself. The moment he was gone, they both started giggling. "That was brutal. You should have been a lawyer instead of a mechanic."
"They're not that different. Both have to work with tools."
Mike almost fell out of his chair from laughing so hard. Everything was somehow funnier after being awake for so long.
Suddenly, a drumroll started playing over the loudspeakers, although most of the children paid no attention. The curtains parted, revealing the animatronics in their regular positions: Bonnie on the left, Chica on the right and Freddy between them.
Grabbing the microphone from its stand, Freddy said, "Hey, hey! How're you folks doing this evening?" which Mike supposed was his catchphrase. Though the bear must have repeated that line tens of thousands of times, Mike saw him cringe ever so slightly, as if he died a little with each delivery. There was an awkward pause for people to respond, but none of them did. "That's great to hear!"
"This is sad." He couldn't have agreed more. It evoked images of stand-up comedians acting their hearts out for the smallest audience response. "The bear is Freddy, right?"
"Correct. Bonnie is the rabbit and Chica is the du – err, chicken." June watched them closely, studying their every action. "Pretty cool for restaurant animatronics, huh?"
"Look at how they move, how they speak. They're so… real. Hell, the fact they aren't attached to the floor is impressive; I know that kind of technology's been available for a long time, but it's never caught on." Her voice bubbled with excitement. "Even before these things came to life, they must have been cutting-edge in the 70s and 80s." She was about to continue but then paused. "How did that happen, anyway?"
"I don't know. I asked Foxy about it and neither does she. All she remembers is suddenly being able to talk and think for herself." He briefly considered telling her he was there when it all happened but decided not to open that can of worms again.
The Band delivered a few more jokes, trying in vain to earn the smallest shred of crowd participation. Punchline after punchline was ignored by children who were too busy being obnoxious. It was immature of him, but Mike began to get upset about how little the kids cared. "Their parents are paying for entertainment, so they should sit their asses down and be entertained!"
"They're only kids," June said. "They don't know the fuzzy animals on stage have feelings. Besides, they're loaded with pizza and candy. Staying still is impossible."
His temper died down. "I guess you're right." Eyes half closed, he leaned back and listened to the Band strike up a string of songs. Though the music – mostly about the restaurant's virtues with some public domain tracks thrown in – was incredibly lame, they did a good job performing it. Their enthusiasm overpowered the silly lyrics, creating something that wasn't half bad. Even Freddy, typically a morose realist, seemed to enjoy himself.
The longer it went on for, the closer he slowly wandered toward the infernal realm of sleep. Nearing the threshold, a voice brought him back.
"Mike?" June asked.
"Uh, what?"
"Food's here." The scent of lard and grease jolted him awake and made his mouth water. He hardly ate anything earlier; large meals could make one sleepy, after all. By that point, though, he didn't care in the slightest. June watched as he stuffed his face with deep-fried cheese, devouring everything on the plate. "Are they good?"
"I don't know," he responded with a full mouth. "When you're hungry enough, you'll like anything."
Seemingly encouraged by his reply, she took a bite of the Hawaiian pizza, which made her expression sour. "Well, I'm glad you like yours."
Swallowing, he replied, "Maybe these'll, um, give me cramps during my shift. I won't be so happy then." Meanwhile, the Band appeared to be wrapping up one part of its act.
"Thank you," Freddy said to the indifferent audience. "Up next is a song Bonnie wrote himself. We're very excited to present it."
Unsure whether the animatronics noticed him yet, Mike stuck his hand in the air and waved, not caring how stupid he looked. They deserved to know there was one person in the audience who fully appreciated their talents. Two, actually.
Scanning the crowd for any reactions, the bear's eyes lit up when he noticed. He hesitated before adding, "I'd like to dedicate this song to the employees of this fine establishment. They're very good at their jobs."
With that, Bonnie began strumming his guitar.
…
He did not say that.
The instant Freddy complimented the staff, Foxy ran over to the purple curtains. Even under duress, such words would never leave his mouth. Something strange must have happened. Pulling the fabric back ever so slightly, she peered through to locate his compliment's cause. Her eye flicked from table to table, person to person for an explanation. Then she saw him – or rather them.
Mike and June sat at a table together watching the show. Now it makes sense. Surprised I didn't pick up his smell. Maybe he just showered. She pondered why he was there before recalling a vague memory from her earlier inebriated haze. Bonnie wrote a new song and Mike's here to see it. And he brought June along; that was nice of him. Wait. Are they dating? She knew they'd gone out together a few times, but never suspected they were actually together.
Yearning throbbed through her before being wrangled into submission. She hated feeling jealous about this. Mike could be with whoever he wanted, and June seemed like a nice person. Still, given the raw truth she'd told him, seeing them together hurt. Oh, get over yourself. Annoyance supplanted envy as she considered the situation. You're a fucking pirate... kind of. You're more mature than this. Regardless of any significant other, she knew he still cared for her as a friend. It wasn't like this negated that. Feeling better, she turned her attention to the music.
The song itself was good, at least compared to what the Band usually played. They all knew Bonnie was the most musically-inclined. Even so, Phil might have edited it. Not because it wasn't child-friendly: that was just the kind of thing he did. Always thought he could improve something, but he often brought it down instead. After a minute of longing for the world mere inches away, she returned to what she'd previously been working on.
The Cove's dingy, half-dead lights illuminated the wall opposite the stage. It was mostly chalky white; thousands upon thousands of tally marks to count the days gradually tore away the nautical wallpaper, revealing drywall beneath. For years it remained barren, a testament to her life. Then, days ago, inspiration struck.
She recently drew several pictures for Mike (including some she had yet to give him), which got her back in touch with her creative side. Therefore, why not make the wall a mural? It was large, empty and unpleasant. If he got some art supplies together, she would put them to good use. And he can join, too, if he wants. So could June; it'd make a good romantic activity.
Absentmindedly, she polished her hook with a loose scrap of cloth. What will I paint, though? Her mind overflowed with possibilities. A tropical island beach? A sleepy fishing village? A ship fighting through a hurricane? She felt her tail begin to wag excitedly. It was a shame she couldn't paint them all. I'll ask Mike, she decided. His opinion meant a great deal to her.
Speaking of Mike, she thought back to their talk yesterday. It had gone well. Not perfectly, of course – they were still a little apprehensive – but she was certain their friendship would crash and burn. Instead, they came out stronger for it. Maybe they could talk more about that sort of thing tonight, including his relationship with June. Regardless, she felt excited to see him again. One more shift and this would be over.
Thump!
Her ears twitched at the small noise. She knew every sound in the building, but this one was unusual. It sounded like it came from the front door. That's –
THUMP!
…
Thump!
At first, Mike thought little of the noise. Probably one of the waiters dropping a plate or a child knocking something over. Then he heard a murmur sweep through the room as most of the adults went silent.
THUMP!
The entrance's glass rattled as a brick slammed into it; if the stone had gone through, it would have hit a child standing nearby in the head. Mike flinched. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the animatronics fumbling a few lyrics. June looked wordlessly at him, unease apparent on her face. A few children began crying, running to their parents or even the employees. Despite his worry, he snickered as their server tried to shake a young boy off his leg. The projectiles kept coming, be they rocks, empty soda cans or sticks.
Then the shouting started. Somebody in the parking lot yelled like a maniac, though whatever he had to say was muffled by sobbing children and thick ballistic glass. Mike himself should have been terrified by the prospect of an angry, possibly armed man standing right outside. However, he was so enervated and desensitized to violence that hardly anything registered.
About a minute passed with loudness continuing. Many were understandably upset, and some were downright terrified. The furious man outside kept up his rant; Mike tried to peek through the door, but some employees, in a rare moment of competence, shooed him and others away for their own safety. Meanwhile, the animatronics progressed as normal, occasionally trading glances with each other.
"Attention! May I have everyone's attention, please?" Phil's voice echoed from the building-wide intercom, silencing all but a few.
"There is an agitated, potentially violent man pacing the parking lot. I urge you to not leave the building or approach the doors. The police will arrive in a few minutes. Until then, please behave in a calm, orderly manner. We have the situation under control. Thank you." Mike had to give credit that Phil took the situation seriously – seemed he cared about the customers, at least. The intercom clicked off, leaving the room uncharacteristically quiet.
"This isn't how I saw tonight going," June said.
"Uh, I didn't, either," he replied, finding enough energy to stay alert. Though this may have been an angry drunk or disgruntled employee, a full-fledged maniac wasn't out of the question. He shuddered, yet felt strangely comforted that the guards would gleefully take down anyone who came inside.
The seconds slowly crept along, punctuated by angry words and shuddering glass. A morbid curiosity grew within him. What kind of person would try to vandalize a children's restaurant while it was still open? He pushed himself up with groggy hands and staggered toward the doors for a look.
"What are you doing?" June hissed at him. "You could get hurt."
"I'll just be a second," he replied. It seemed being awake for the better part of thirty-two hours did wonders for a man's common sense.
Many parents looked warily in his direction as he approached the door, but the guards didn't try to stop him. Why would they? Throughout everything, the Band continued their routine to keep up appearances, only the slightest hint of fear in Freddy's voice.
Mike pressed his ear to the bulletproof glass to better hear the man's rant. Ironic that he was protected from harm by the same material designed to keep him trapped there.
"I know you have her! Give me my daughter back, you sick fuckers! GIVE HER BACK!"
With those words, another stone smashed the window right in front of his face. Leaping aside, he finally saw the man responsible.
Jeremy Fitzgerald stood about twenty feet away, holding a chunk of asphalt in one hand and a brick in the other. He was on the verge of tears. "Please," he mouthed. "I'll do anything." It took Mike a second to process the sight. When he did, a sharp pang of guilt stung him between the ribs. Wordlessly, thoughtlessly, he walked back to June in a daze.
"Well?" she asked.
Suddenly, Mike's mouth went dry. Fear had been his default emotion in the past weeks, but this wasn't fear for himself or even fear for another. He feared making someone else afraid. "It's your dad."
Without the courage to meet her gaze, he stared at the checkered linoleum. For a moment, nothing happened. Then something else hit the door, and she was on her feet before he knew it. "Hey, wait a minute!" He did his best not to bump into any kids as he raced outside after her. As soon as he saw his daughter, Jeremy started bawling his eyes out.
"It's all right. I'm here," June said, giving her father a hug.
"I was… so worried," he replied between sobs. "When you weren't at home… I somehow knew you were here. But I thought they would hurt you!" The situation was strange yet touching. It wasn't often one saw a grown man being comforted by his own child. She pulled away and gestured toward Mike.
"I was just eating dinner with a friend." The moment Jeremy noticed him, his eyes narrowed. Wiping away tears, the mechanic stood to his full height and walked over. Now, Mike had been intimidated by Freddy's size before – the bear had a good half-foot on him – but he was only about an inch shorter than Jeremy. Despite that, something about how the man carried himself made him seem enormous, and the fresh memory of nearly getting a rock through the skull didn't help.
"Wait!" June grabbed her father's arm and attempted to restrain him. "Don't do anything you'll regret!" By this point, a small crowd of both customers and employees had gathered around the doors, looking on with confusion. It was like watching a car crash; nobody knew how to help, but they didn't dare to blink. Far away, he heard sirens carried on the wind.
"I thought you would leave us alone." Jeremy spat the words out while jabbing his finger into Mike's chest. "We both know how evil this place is! You worked here! Why can't you understand that bringing it back into my life – my child's life – will only make things worse?!" His other hand formed a fist, which Mike was quick to notice. "Everything was fine until you came to my shop with that demon-possessed hunk of metal. Sometimes I could go a whole week without thinking about what happened."
"Dad, fucking stop it!" June had regained her voice and was futilely trying to pull him away. "You're out of your mind!" Mike noticed the guards blocking the door from anyone who wanted to leave. Maybe they didn't want them getting hurt. Or maybe they just wanted to watch a good old-fashioned brawl. The sirens were louder now.
"Like Hell I'm out of my mind!" he roared, pushing her off him. "I'm the only sane one here!" His expression softened a bit. "I love you, but you don't know what I do about this restaurant. Thank God you weren't here for that." He turned to Mike. "And why are you here, anyway? You did your time. You're insane to hang around."
"Yeah, I am. Especially because I signed up for another week." The look on Jeremy's face made the ordeal almost worth it; it was one of confusion and horror. None of them spoke for a minute. They stood alone with their thoughts, which was welcome.
"I'm sorry," Jeremy said at last. "You're definitely crazy, but I'm sorry."
Then the police showed up. It's about damn time, Mike thought. Three squad cars pulled into the parking lot only a few feet away, their signals blaring like foghorns.
"I guess that's my cue!" Jeremy shouted over the noise. "I probably should have thought this through!"
"You just now realize that?!" June yelled both to be heard and out of exasperation.
Walking across the pavement, the mechanic put his hands above his head as an officer exited one of the vehicles. Mike couldn't make out any words, but she said something as she handcuffed him and pushed him into the back seat. At the same time, June ran over to another car, pleading with the driver for… it didn't matter. Even if Mike could block out the screaming alarms, he was so, so tired. His vision drifting in and out of focus, he sat down on the pavement and watched the light bars illuminate the surroundings beautiful shades of blue and red.
The process seemed to take forever, but eventually two of the cars drove off, still blaring their deafening single tones. He barely noticed. Despite lying on rocky asphalt, he drifted through a half-conscious limbo, sleep almost upon him.
"Hey, kid?" A mustachioed cop stood over him looking very concerned. He kind of resembled Tom Selleck. "You OK?"
"Just fine, officer," he answered before his eyes slammed shut again.
7:25 PM
The next hour was a blur. Between exhaustion and seeing someone get arrested (a personal first), Mike barely kept up with crime scene investigation – who was he, what was his relation to the suspect? Fortunately, he didn't have to lie to the police. He went out to dinner with a friend, and then her angry father showed up.
That was the absolute truth. Any talk of secret organizations or sapient animatronics would have been extraneous. True, but extraneous.
After being thoroughly questioned in Fazbear's parking lot alongside several other patrons, he found himself back inside a little more than half-an-hour before closing time. Specifically, he was seated in Phil's office, his boss opposite him.
Can't even remember how I got here, he thought, his eyelids heavy. I feel like I should sleep a little…
"Mr. Schmidt, you're drooling on your shirt."
What? Sure enough, he reached up and wiped away a strand of saliva leaking from the corner of his mouth. "Oh, um, thanks."
Phil looked at him, concerned. "Perhaps you should get a few hours of rest before your shift starts."
No, he couldn't because… why was it, again? He knew there was some reason he didn't want to sleep, but he couldn't find it through the fog cluttering his mind. "I'm good. Now, why am, uh, I here?"
Sighing, Phil laid his head on the desk before pulling something from one of the drawers. It was an ornate bottle, half-full of alcohol. Mike vaguely recalled seeing it before. If only he could remember when…
"We were about to discuss the man in the parking lot." There was an unusual edge in Phil's voice, one of annoyance and even fear. It seemed his unflappable façade could be cracked.
"Jeremy."
"So you know him?" Mike nodded. Even in his sorry state, he understood the potential pitfalls of every word he said. One slip of the tongue might reveal all his "non-disclosure agreement" violations. Of course, he wasn't in any shape to think about what he said.
"Yeah. My car's radio wasn't working a couple weeks ago, so I brought it to his shop. Um, that's how I met June – his kid." So far, so good.
"I see," was his response, though he seemed to pay little attention. Instead, he focused on pouring the liquor into two shot glasses. "Do you know why he showed up and tried to vandalize the building?"
"I think he was pissed about something going on with his ex-wife. June said something like that earlier." Wordlessly, Phil slid one of the glasses over to him, which he stared at hollowly. If this was some plan to get him drunk and talkative it wouldn't work. "You know I'm only nineteen, right?"
"Come on. I was your age once. You've had a few beers, at least. All teenagers have."
Mike sighed. "Fine, you got me." Swirling the brown liquid around, he shrugged and kicked back the whole thing. It was fire in his throat, and he fought the urge to spit it out. "What is that?" he coughed after swallowing.
"100-proof Kentucky bourbon. Finest in the world. Of course, we Italians still have the best wine."
"I'll take your word for it," he replied. That woke him up, at least. "Now, what were you, um, saying about Jeremy?"
Phil responded while pouring himself another shot. "Mr. Fitzgerald was a night guard here more than a decade ago. The very first, in fact. That was all the way back in 1988."
"Huh."
"You don't seem very surprised, Mr. Schmidt." The suspicion in his boss' voice was clear, making Mike's heart beat a little faster. A slew of horrific questions raced through his mind – would they torture him for the truth? What would happen to Foxy? Would BRIAR go after the few people close to him "just in case"?
"Does it really matter?" Phil stared at him for a minute. Mike was on the verge of passing out.
"I suppose not," he eventually replied, putting the bottle away. While his head was down, Mike wiped the sweat from his forehead and thanked God for the outcome. "If Mr. Fitzgerald was going to tell the police anything, he would have years ago. I don't think he'll be a problem."
"So… you aren't going to kill him?" Mike wouldn't be satisfied until he got a straight answer.
"No one would believe a word he said." A look of guilt crossed his face. "Besides, he has a daughter. I know what it's like to lose a parent at her age. I wouldn't put her through that."
"I – I'm sorry," he said, shocked by the words leaving his own mouth. Mike couldn't imagine what his mother or father dying would feel like. A spark of empathy ignited in his chest. "That's awful."
"Not as awful as what we do here, Mike," Phil said while scowling at the floor. "Every year, the job you have kills about a dozen people. Fathers, sons, mothers, daughters. It doesn't discriminate. It just destroys."
Whoa. He wasn't sure if Phil had ever called him by his first name – if so, it had only been a few times. Furthermore, this was certainly the first occasion he admitted to any sort of wrongdoing. At first, Mike was wary it was a trap, but the look of raw frustration and even regret on his face convinced him otherwise.
"Why do you do it, then? What makes those deaths worth it?" He didn't expect a clear answer. The query was more food for thought than anything.
"Many things. You wouldn't understand any of them," he muttered.
Bingo. "Can I, like, leave now?"
"Of course," Phil answered. "But before you do, I want you to know this conversation has made me decide to not press charges against Mr. Fitzgerald. He'll spend the night in a holding cell and walk free tomorrow." Mike hadn't even considered criminal prosecution; he was more focused on the extra-judicial killing aspect. Still, it was a relief to know Jeremy wouldn't go to prison for one stupid choice.
"Now go. You have a long night ahead."
9:24 PM
Foxy sat in a dark corner of her Cove, pondering what she saw earlier. Normally, a parking lot ranked among the most boring places in the world. Although Fazbear's was anything but normal, she never expected to see anyone get arrested on it. Least of all the man who ruined her life for years on end.
She witnessed the whole event by cracking open the emergency exit, from Mike trying to talk Jeremy down to him getting hauled away in a police cruiser. It was unreal. She wasn't sure what to think about it, either. Her hatred of the man had simmered down since their last encounter; he broke her jaw out of self-defense, not malice. Not to mention she'd gladly support anyone who inconvenienced the restaurant. Still, it did make him a criminal – not that that mattered to anyone else around there.
I hope his daughter's all right, though. Though they had only talked once, June seemed like a nice woman. Mike definitely thought so. Rough around the edges, but nice all the same. Sounds familiar.
A knock came through the entrance. Didn't think he'd be this early. Of course, she was happy to have him whenever. He brought out the best in her. Again with the romance, she thought, flipping on the lights and approaching the door. He isn't interested. That's fine. Get over it.
Mike stood in the doorway, his head not-quite visible in the darkness. "Come on in. I saved some bruschetta for you." Nearly tripping over himself on the way in, she finally caught a glimpse of his face. He looked more exhausted than she'd ever seen him, not to mention miserable. "You can also sleep in my bed if you want."
"No. I don't want sleep," he muttered, walking back and forth.
"Uh, OK," she replied, a little alarmed by his behavior. "What do you want?"
"Conversation would be good." They moved farther inside, with Foxy sitting on the stage's edge and Mike pacing circles in front of her. Normally she wouldn't have noticed – pacing was a favorite pastime of hers as well. However, the grim determination on his face hinted at something darker.
"If you want to talk, tell me why staying awake is so important." With his back to her, he froze. She heard his breathing quicken ever so slightly.
"Because if I sleep, Auric will find me." Oh. That made sense. After the nightmare yesterday that seemed to almost kill him, she understood his apprehension. Still, she didn't see how he could make it another nine hours without any. He turned around to face her; in the yellowed fluorescent light, he almost looked emaciated. "But if I can make it to next morning, I think everything'll be all right."
"OK. Start talking, then." A smile crossed his face.
"Did you see what happened earlier?"
"The entire thing." She paused. "Facing Jeremy was brave. I don't know how many people could have stood up to someone that angry." After the early days of her captivity, she was somewhat careful about picking fights.
"Ha! I didn't do anything. If June wasn't there, he would have kicked my ass."
"Maybe, but you would have gotten a few hits in."
"Yeah," he said, suddenly somber. "I respect him, though. He just wanted to keep his kid out of danger. Not all people care so much." Sighing, he sat beside her on the stage. "Take my parents, for instance. I mean, I love them, but I haven't seen them since spring break. Hell, I haven't even talked to them all summer! They're off on some road trip and I'm here by myself. I doubt they'd come back if they knew I was in danger."
Taking a deep breath, he continued, "Sorry. I didn't mean to rant. It's just nice to have someone who listens." She couldn't have agreed more. "Do you mind if I ask you something kind of personal?"
"We've already talked about our romantic interest in each other. I doubt this'll be more personal than that." Mike chuckled, but there was a nervous undertone to it. Foxy shifted so that her legs no longer dangled off the stage. She crossed them and moved her tail to the side as her nose twitched from a little cloud of dust.
"What were your parents like?"
Until she saw that picture of Mike's parents at his house, she didn't remember much of her own. Not surprising, as they were merely remnants of some programming designed to give her "personality" back when she was a glorified puppet. Then images started to seep back in – places in time or space when they were around. "They aren't real, you know."
"I'm not sure 'real' has meaning anymore. They're real to you. That's what matters," he said with a smile. How could she say no?
"Well… both were pirates, too, which was unusual. Most corsairs aren't interested in raising a family. We tend to be more job-oriented. In fact, I think I might have been an accident." This sounded so strange to say out loud. None of it could have happened, yet she remembered it all the same.
"Uh, were they also anthropomorphic foxes?"
"No," she said as seriously as possible. "One was an amoeba and the other was a whale." Mike gaped at her, his lethargic brain trying to grasp such a union. "Just kidding! Yeah, they were foxes." The relief on his face was priceless.
"My father was ex-military. I forget which country – probably one that doesn't exist. He was the ship's Captain, though, and everyone respected him." Mike listened with as much energy as he could muster, which wasn't much. "My mother came from an upper-class family, but she wanted more out of life than croquet and polite conversation. She joined up with him one day, worked her way up to First Mate, and the rest was history."
"That's really cool," he replied. "But, um, why did they name you 'Foxy'? It'd be like if my parents named me 'Human-y'." They both laughed at the absurdity.
"Probably best if you don't apply logic to this. I also remember fighting skeletons and getting into a night of poker with Captain Kidd and Blackbeard." Mike looked into her eye, seeming nervous. "What's wrong?"
…
"What's wrong?" Foxy asked, her single orange eye meeting his two.
Everything. There was nothing specific he desired to say. All he wanted was more time. More time to live, more time to learn, more time to experience the world. More time with her, too. No, that's not a weird thing to think. Unless it was. Maybe he wanted to tell her something about love. Not that he loved her - he didn't - but that she was a great person? That he might be interested if she was human? That, in his own fucked-up way, he found her kind of attractive? Oh, what's the point?
"Don't worry. I understand."
"R-really?" he replied, taken aback that she was so casual about his thoughts.
She looked across the room toward the pile of wood that was once a ship. "You might not come back from this. That's something I've thought about, believe me."
His heart sank, but he didn't have the strength to contradict her. That was a legitimate concern, too. "Yeah. That's what I'm worried about."
They sat there for a few minutes more. There wasn't much else to say, but Mike knew that the longer he stayed, the harder it would be to leave. "Hey, I'm going to leave now. I have to sort all my stuff and… think about things."
She grabbed his hand, which took him by surprise. It struck him how similar and yet different their hands were: she had metal claws, he had keratin fingernails. She had fur, he had hair. She had paw pads like any canine, he had a palm. Despite those differences, they were both five-fingered and warm.
"Whatever happens, I'll never forget you," she whispered into his ear. "You've been so good to me. You helped me see that I'm not a monster. Without you, I'd still be broken, angry and alone." Those thoughts were at the forefront of his mind again, but they were too difficult to express. Instead, he settled for a hug.
They stayed like that for a long time with only the slightest recollection that something else was watching.