A Fun Weekend at Freddy's

by PyroFox117

AU. Sequel to "A Summer at Freddy's". Mike has a lot on his plate - sophomore year of college, campaigning for Al Gore, yearning to spend time with his animatronic pirate fox girlfriend. He gets an opportunity for the last on Halloween weekend, and he's ecstatic. There are no monsters to fight this time. All he has to do is make the most of a few blissful days. Mike X Fem!Foxy

2. Halloween

Saturday, October 31, 2000, 8:30 AM

Mike's sleep ebbed away, replaced by the flow of wakefulness. It occurred to his half-conscious mind that the two pushed and pulled at humanity through their lives like the tides, and he was caught in the current. Spending so much time around Foxy has made me think in sea metaphors.

He awakened fully and began to sit up, only to grunt at something poking him in the ribs. His first thought was that a splinter stuck in his shirt, but his heart skipped a beat when he looked down; Foxy's right arm was draped across his body with her hook resting on his chest, right atop the scar she gave him at their very first meeting. Mike took a deep breath and gingerly moved the appendage to the side. Foxy didn't stir in the slightest, continuing to lightly snore. Good thing she was a sedate sleeper. Otherwise her claws and hook would've torn up her sheets and pillow… and him.

That scare out of the way, he looked at his girlfriend, feeling a smile tug at his lips. Reminded him of a puppy waiting to be petted, especially with her twitching black nose and the happy grin on her muzzle. He didn't mean to diminish her, though. She could be both adorable and the bravest, strongest, most confident person he knew. Mike glanced at his watch, not surprised to see how late they slept in. The Cove had no windows for sunrise to disturb them and both were tired. Hey, they deserved extra sleep, especially Foxy. She didn't get many days off.

The bed shifted and the floorboards creaked as Mike rose, yet Foxy slumbered like a log. He idly wondered what happened in her head at night. She often envisioned being a pirate, essentially reliving her "past life", but did she also dream of electric sheep? Were there differences in the way their brains worked that neither realized? He imagined there was at some level. The scans he'd seen of her "brain" and what Helen told him showed it to be her CPU, somehow changed by Auric into a hyperextended form not replicable by modern science with organosilicon tissue surrounding it. How could they dream in the same way? Then again, his dreams of late hadn't exactly been ordinary.

At least I haven't seen any more of my "psychopomps," he thought while exiting the cabin, clothes in hand to change. He was glad his shattered subconscious helped him with personal problems and probably saved his life, yet he was in no hurry to talk to himself any time soon. Especially if "I" end up manifesting as James turned into a demon Nightmare monster. He shuddered, eyes flying to the memorial as he did. God, the last couple months were fucked up.

Those dark times were gone. A new day dawned, one brighter than the last. Mike realized he was privileged in many ways – being a financially comfortable white American guy gave him a better deal than most. However, that didn't mean he was happy. For a long time, even before Fazbear's, he'd been dispirited and lost, doing things only because they were expected of him. But now he was satisfied. He had love, friends, a purpose and hope that everything would be all right. Funny how his world had to be sundered for him to get it together.

He spent a few minutes peeking around the Cove, not wanting to get too far away. Spent particular time on the Ruby Tempest, since Foxy deemed it unworthy of showing him last night. They were tired, but it was still nice to explore, having an adventure of his own. OK, I'm a stowaway scouting Captain Foxy's ship, he thought while slipping into a stealthier gait. His heart fluttered a little, and there was a spring in his step. His girlfriend taught him how to tap into his inner child, which made otherwise mundane parts of life (just looking around, in this case) more exciting and added a tasty twinge of taboo on top. Adults weren't supposed to pretend; imagination was the domain of children.

Foxy showed him that anyone could use it, and moreover, that it could be strengthened with training. It'd be tested to its limit if he ever wrote that pirate novel, so why not practice?

The vessel's exterior hadn't changed much. No point fixing something perfect! Hmm. I'll have to walk the plank if I'm caught. He looked at the literal gangplank next to him, which luckily dropped into a ball pit instead of the ocean's cold embrace. Scampered up to the Crow's nest and ducked to keep his head from hitting the ceiling. The vantage point let him marvel at the whole room. This place was its own little world of Foxy's design. It pleased him to be a citizen, if only an honorary one.

Then he climbed down and slipped into a secret door to the craft's interior. Slinking through the galley and brig, he was surprised to see these areas changed quite a bit! Not the floorplans or stuff bolted down, but the props and pieces of scenery had been altered. Foxy once said she wanted to build connected stories with an overarching narrative, and it seemed she did an admirable job. Perhaps a bit too well with the amount of time he spent investigating.

"What d'ye think yer doin' down here, scurvy dog?"

He whirled around to see Foxy's head poking through another chute leading down. Quite alarming to see an upside-down talking fox head. Hey, he was just glad she didn't ambush him with her hook or a sword. She must have realized that still scared the piss out of him. "Trying to ransack your beautiful ship," he said, accepting her strong hand, which pulled him safely to shore. "But I've learned my lesson."

A nostalgic grin was firmly writ on her face. "Cap'n Foxy's feelin' magnanimous ta' day, so she'll let ye free with a mere tongue lashin' 'stead o' anythin' more serious." Mirth leaked by the gallons through her pirate accent and in her body language. He'd seen her tail wag and her ears twitch enough to know she felt great.

"You're in a good mood. What did you dream of?" He didn't know what else the source of her happiness could be.

"Sailing the Southern Sea with you," she replied, dropping the cadence. "That's my usual fantasy these days." Mike wasn't sure whether to be flattered or distressed. It felt good to make her happy even in dreams, but he sometimes worried she obsessed over him, and this didn't help that perception.

"There's more to life than me, you know." He tried not to say it accusatorily, for he wanted to be sensitive. She looked confused for a moment before catching on.

"I know, but my life will always be more limited than yours," she answered. "Don't judge me for appreciating what I have. I'm getting more interests, but you'll always be the most important person in my world." All right, fine. Anger simmered in his gut that she'd never get the same opportunities as him. She needed to make the most of what life handed her. Didn't mean he had to be happy with that.

Foxy seemed to be, though… or at least content. "Come on, Mike. You'll feel better once you eat something." Reluctantly, he followed Foxy down the rigging and to the main dining area. It was empty, as expected. Just the tables and chairs standing in mute memorial to all the children who'd been there over the years. The others slept in when they could, too. "They might not be awake for a while, so you can do whatever you want for now," Foxy said. "Then again, that was always true. I know you enjoy being in Whitewater."

"Yeah. I'm so busy nowadays that being able to come back is always a gift." A gift… hmm. That word sparked a memory which slipped his mind. He had something to give Foxy.

A few weeks ago, he'd visited Seattle's International District – better known as Chinatown, Japantown, Little Saigon, etc. – to go to a restaurant a friend recommended. Excellent food, and Mike kind of wished Chica made chả giò now. After stopping at several local landmarks, he visited a couple stores just to see what was available. One of these was an electronics/media outlet, and they had a lot. Mike didn't know much about Japan (it was all the way across the Pacific), but everyone not living under a rock for the past several decades appreciated the technology they exported. Everything from his Honda to Foxy's television was designed there, and it was where he bought his used Game Boy.

But there was something else he was less familiar with: Japanimation. He was somewhat aware that the animation for the shows he watched as a kid (primarily Transformers and TMNT) was done in Japan, or at least East Asia, but this "anime" was a homegrown product made for people over there that only now began coming to the United States via dial-up Internet and cutting-edge message boards and Usegroups. He'd trawled some of them at the college library, and they were neat. Anyway, he got the impression from them and a couple people he'd talked to that a lot of this stuff had serious themes and was heavy on story – the exact opposite of cartoons over here.

Therefore, his interest was piqued when he saw the store had several VHS tapes of dubious legality in stock; the sample of Sailor Moon unfolding on a TV looked ripped straight from broadcast, played in the original Japanese and was only comprehensible to him via hastily slapped on English subtitles. Seemed like the paltry cost of each cassette wasn't even worth it… until he saw the two-tape set about pirates. The only things he knew about it were what was written on the plain white box in Sharpie: the title, that the first eight episodes were on these tapes and a single paragraph of description. Good enough for him.

It was in his car right now, so he could easily give it to her. Maybe doing so tomorrow during their little gala would be more impactful, but he wanted to do it now. Tomorrow night would be hectic and sensual and not a great time to watch cartoons. He wanted to experience this with Foxy even if it turned out to be crap. The specter of lost time haunted him since last night; he realized he couldn't do everything with her, but he wanted to make every second together memorable. What was more special than watching a show about pirates? Barely any of those in the West – some old stuff from the 60s, Treasure Island adaptations and, of course, their beloved Cutthroat Island (which she now owned on VHS), so she hadn't seen all that much.

"But I'm going to take a shower before we do anything else." Foxy's words snapped him out of the dreamy haze. They also brought a new topic to ponder.

"You guys have a shower?" Mike never thought the logistics of their personal hygiene through. He knew they usually used the main toilets during off-hours, and there was an emergency one in the little backstage area the Band had, but he hadn't mulled the logistics of other such things.

"'Shower' might be too generous a word. It's just a spigot and hose we have around back. Bring soap and shampoo, and it'll get the job done," she answered. "We have to be cleaner than we used to because we interact with people now instead of standing far away on a stage."

"I hope your fur keeps you warm when you're using, um, cold water outside in the fall," he laughed. "…seriously, though, does it?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. It's chilly, but nothing too bad if I make it quick. I appreciate you caring so much." He felt himself smile. "Aww, c'mere," she said, having not lavished physical affection on each other that day.

"Never too early for love, is it?" Mike joked while being pulled against her. Her breasts pushed against his chest, and he feared something of his might also be poking her down below. She leaned in close until his nose touched her snout. Stared into her orange eye while she smiled. Then they rubbed noses. He was so used to being close to her… that he knew she was right. She did need a bath. But rubbing his face against her fur and other inhuman features got his heart pumping while it lasted.

They finished with a delicate kiss before Foxy pulled away, headed to the front door. Their need for sneaking and subterfuge was gone, so their lifechanging door had been reinstated as an emergency exit. She didn't even need to worry about the errant car on the road spotting her. Just about everyone in town knew of Fazbear's and their incredible technology by now, even if they weren't demographics that would regularly visit. Seeing an "employee" just outside wouldn't make people think twice, least of all on Halloween.

Meanwhile, Mike went to Helen's office. He still had to pick up the book she loaned him. Then he walked out the door as the building began to stir. Frigid puffs of air were the antithesis of Foxy's fur against his skin as he shuffled for his car. His frozen brain stuttered, I r-really should've brought a coat! He'd left them all in his trunk for that night, along with his costume.

He only had to walk a few steps to his car, so he couldn't imagine how miserable he'd be after walking 1,000 times that without proper gear. Opened the back door, grabbed the tapes from his cluttered backseat and tossed in the tome.

The sound of running water faded as the door closed behind him, and he briefly wondered what Foxy looked like without clothes… I guess I'll find out tomorrow. He let out a nervous giggle at the absurdity. Having sex with a sapient animatronic pirate vixen wasn't even a cogent thought that would occur to normal people. He'd resolved the ethical question and felt at peace with what would happen, yet the premise sounded ridiculous. I won't feel that way soon.

"Uh, are you all right?" Mike flinched as he saw Springtrap sitting at a table, suspiciously eyeing him up. Speaking of abnormal, most people didn't chuckle at the air. Good to see him getting out more.

"Yeah, I'm OK," Mike answered shyly. "I was just thinking about my girlfriend."

"Foxy." He nodded at the clipped word. Springtrap didn't respond, merely furrowing his brow and looking into the distance. That didn't sit well with Mike.

"Got a problem with that?" he asked, trying not to sound overly defensive. It hardly mattered what this guy thought of their relationship, yet he wanted Springtrap to admit it to his face if he disapproved so they were on the same page.

"No," he reluctantly replied. Good enough. Clearly wanting to change the subject, he then said, "Is it all right if I ask you something?"

"Sure." Mike answered enough of Foxy's existential questions that he could be a pro. He sat down with Springtrap, who twitched (not a big surprise) at the sound of the structure awakening. Water flowing through pipes and creaks behind curtains meant everyone else would soon arrive for a lazy morning.

"The question I have can only be answered by a human, and I… Helen would overanalyze it, so I'm asking you." Mike sat up straighter and got ready to process whatever deep inquiry Springtrap had. He took a deep breath.

"Do you think everyone can be forgiven for wrongs they've committed, no matter how evil? Or are some people beyond redemption?" Mike thought a lot about that question over the summer. He wrestled with it again and again, for it mattered to him more than most. Foxy took away both his friend and arguably his entire childhood away in an instant. Even after he learned it was an accident, could he possibly forgive her?

The answer, of course, was yes. He replied without hesitation.

"Yeah, I believe anybody can be pardoned – as long as they humble themselves before the people they've wronged and work to make amends. That means you've really changed instead of just making a pointless apology." Springtrap continued to stare at or through him, which made Mike wonder why he was curious. "Are you asking this about Auric?"

"Um, yes. I am. You know, with everything he did to you. And creating me… which isn't all bad, I suppose," he said, snapping out of his funk. Seemed Mike wasn't the only one who stuttered anymore. Still, that was a good reason to ask. The cosmic demon put him through Hell on Earth and brought Springtrap into a world not his own, possibly out of petty spite.

"I'm not sure what I just said applies to Auric, because he's not human." Springtrap cocked his head, making Mike realize his faux pas. "You're not human either, but, you know, you're human-adjacent. You think and feel like I do, for the most part. Auric has none of that. He's completely alien." Both in the sense of being from space and having no traits humans could understand. "But he was in my head so long I can safely say he loves the violence and the pain he inflicts. So, no, I don't think I'll ever forgive him. Not that I expect him to ask."

They remained silent for a moment while Mike was stuck with the pain he'd conjured. He never willing revisited those darkest memories when invisible claws scoured his soul. They mostly came back to him in nightmares. He cringed. Hey, it's important to help Springtrap, even if it's hard for me. His summer torment thankfully didn't come back to haunt him often. It should've given him PTSD, but it didn't affect him much outside bad dreams (which were admittedly more common than they used to be) and occasional intrusive memories. His best guess was that his shattered psyche shielded him from the worst of it. "Does that answer your question?"

"I think so," he responded, sitting up straighter than before. Ears weren't as droopy, either. "I'll try to take what you said to heart." Mike nodded as Foxy reentered, her coat fluffy and metals parts all polished. Looked as good as the day as she was assembled.

"Hey." She walked over and sat beside them, shaking the last bits of moisture from her tail.

"You look fresh," he said, trying not to linger on why he sat with Springtrap. Something told him he didn't want the other animatronics to know about his questions, and that was OK. Sometimes people needed a confidant. "You use any special shampoo?"

"Nope, just regular old human stuff," she chuckled. "Head & Shoulders, though it gets used a fewmore places than that. I also use liquid soap and body wash, plus metal polisher for my hook and claws. Not my teeth; I don't want to accidentally swallow any." Quite a cleaning regiment. It'd always been said that women had a tougher time in the shower, but Foxy was on the extreme end.

They chatted a bit more, and it pleased him to see Springtrap emerge from his shell. Mike knew how hard making friends could be, but he was on the right track. Freddy, Bonnie and Chica came out soon after, ready to start the day.

"Uh, this is going to be a pretty lazy morning," he called to them as they came down. "I'm really not sure how much you know about Halloween, but trick-or-treating doesn't start until afternoon."

"We actually don't know a lot. None of us had it in our, um, 'worlds'. Not that we're aware of, at least," Freddy explained. Mike supposed that made sense. What was the point in dressing up as different things when everybody already looked so different? He wouldn't dwell on it too long, though, lest he start to get an aneurism. "Always saw an influx of kids wearing costumes one day of the year, however."

They all idly sat and listened to the little speech he prepared on the holiday. The research he had to do for this was worthwhile, since he was ignorant about it. It began as Samhain, an ancient Celtic festival around the autumnal equinox, a time when spirits of the dead crossed back to Earth. Magic waxed and waned along seasonal lines, and strange things crept during the witching hour, when all magic was at its height. Mike wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disturbed that so much of this lined up with what little Auric told him and what he'd pieced together afterward about the otherworldly. Ancient cultures really did know more than modern people gave them credit for – things that had since been forgotten.

"Now it's mostly a day for kids to gorge themselves with candy," he said, winding down on a dour note. "The only people who celebrate it seriously anymore are druids and some neopagans, and there aren't a ton of either. This all got watered down by time, Irish diaspora and the fact nobody believes in magic anymore." Well, not nobody. They all did. But relatively few, at least of the kind they spoke of. Sure, most people were at least nominally religious, which was all about the supernatural, but most would still balk at the things he'd been through. Mike supposed there were various degrees to which people suspended disbelief.

"That's kind of sad," said Chica. "Something so important shouldn't be forgotten." He knew what she meant. So many things in this world were tossed aside or swept under the rug, for the collective attention span of humanity was short. In that way, at least, it made sense that the unnatural underbelly of the world had been so long hidden. But there was another side to that.

"Look, Samhain and Halloween aren't quite the same thing, but they're connected; one evolved into the other. Most things change. Like, it's inevitable. You just have to hope it's for the best." The animatronics all looked at each other knowingly. They understood and appreciated situations changing more than him. His heart sank that not everything would alter. "I don't see you guys being who you truly are outside this building anytime soon, though. You get today and that's it." He slumped, putting his head in one hand.

Bonnie let out a discretionary cough before turning to him. "We appreciate your sympathy, but you don't 'ave ta' feel bad for us all the time. You know we love our lives." He shrugged. "I know it's more nuanced, and sure, we got problems. But you aren't gonna be the one to solve them. We're just glad ta' 'ave you along for the ride." Mike sometimes forgot Bonnie's wisdom and Zen outlook. The others echoed this sentiment. He sighed and pushed himself away from the table, unsure what to think. How was he to balance compassion and being an ally without making their issues about him?

"I just hate that you're alone," he explained. His myriad thoughts were difficult to collect. "There's nothing and nobody else in the world like you… and I'd be terrified if that happened to me." Freddy once compared humanity to aliens from their perspective, and Mike would have felt crushed if he found himself in a civilization with nothing and nobody like him. "I'll be, um, quiet now because I've said everything I can." Nobody spoke for a moment; the only sound was the building shifting on its foundation like a sighing specter.

Good spirits might not have been the only things to haunt the place. This would be the day to see ghosts if they were real. Enough people died there scared, in pain and with unfinished business to fill a small cemetery, so it should've been off the scales on the haunt-o-meter. Mike ground his teeth. Funny thing. Besides Auric, he never felt like Fazbear's was literally haunted. He'd never seen an object fling itself across the room or unexplainable shadows dancing on the walls… not in the last couple of months, at least. Neither had the animatronics. Perhaps Auric drove off any ghostly "competition" or getting rid of him laid them to rest or human ghosts weren't real to begin with.

"We might not be as alone as you think," Foxy countered. Mike looked at her, not following, so she continued. "Well, you've been talking up all the strange, mystical things in the world since this is Halloween. We and Auric can't be the only ones. There may not be more people exactly like us, but different kinds of 'freaks' must live out there. I know it." He'd pondered the reality of vampires and werewolves and Bigfoot and Loch Ness Monster plenty of times now, and he was inclined to agree. If Auric remained under wraps and hidden for thousands of years, why not other things? Not much comfort to him, but he was glad it brought them all peace to perhaps not be truly alone. He just hoped that whatever else lived in the shadows was benign.

"All right," he said, purging the sadness from his face and soul. Today was too important for all that. "You've convinced me." Freddy gave him a pat on the back, and they all talked about happier things. Mike's mind wandered through topics that made him feel better until it turned to food. Right on time, since they were collectively hungry enough for a simple breakfast. Just cold cereal, for Chica didn't feel up for cooking eggs (again, seemed like she shouldn't want to eat those) or bacon after cooking so much other times. This was still her day off!

10 rolled around before everyone dispersed, content to engage in their own private hobbies and personal fads before trick-or-treating started in the afternoon. Mike understood the importance of alone time, so he had no qualms about that. Eventually, it was down to just him, Foxy and Springtrap before the latter stood up.

"It's been pleasant talking to you both, but I'm going back to my room now." Of course. Must have been nice to have the only computer in the building (though Helen also said something about getting one soon), especially if he got Internet access by hooking a modem to the phone. It'd be the first time that damn thing was useful! He took a few steps before sighing and turning around. "I – I'd also like to go trick-or-treating with you, if that's OK."

Mike noticed Foxy's jaw drop a little, and she enthusiastically nodded. "All of us would love that. If you're comfortable doing it, of course."

The rabbit hesitated. "It'll be an adventure." Then he thumped down the hall back to his room, echoes of heavy footfalls fading until nothing remained. Just them and the room. It was time.

"Can we go into Pirate Cove? I want to show you something."

"Ooh, I love surprises," she teased, leaping up and dashing through the curtains. Mike laughed and followed.

"Hey, wait up!" he called, huffing and puffing a little as he crossed the threshold. May've been a runner, but he was no sprinter. Foxy was far more physically adept by birthright than he could ever be. "That's not a very nice way to treat me," he joked.

"I just wanted to get your heart pumping," she replied. "I'm not sure how often you're getting your exercise. Don't want my boyfriend slacking on his exercise."

"I appreciate your concern," he teased, holding back a giggle. They could trade corny blows all day and come away entertained, "but I'm getting pretty regular workouts. Plus walking all over, um, campus is activity in itself." His hand slipped under his jacket while Foxy stared at his face, fingers wrapping around the cassettes. A smile grew while he imagined her reactions.

"Happy birthday," he said, presenting the package. "Early birthday, anyway." Indeed, her eye lit up and an excited smile bloomed across her muzzle. A warm and tickly sensation overtook him, like he suddenly sprouted a fur coat of his own. He cherished each new experience he was able to give her; she'd never received a birthday present before. The day itself wasn't for another two weeks, but he wanted to do this in-person instead of over the phone.

"You remembered!" she exclaimed before recoiling; beset by the memory he knew would follow. Mike cringed himself when she looked toward the looming monument. November 14 was not only the day of their birth, but the day of someone else's death. "I suppose it's not an easy day to forget."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"No, it's fine. This… I just didn't expect you to do anything special." She scratched her head. "Did you get the others anything?"

"No, I didn't. I know exactly what they'd want… but, like, they already have those things." Chica had her cookbooks, Bonnie, his instruments, and Freddy seemed happy enough to just be left alone. "From what I can tell, Bonnie and Chica and maybe even Freddy to an extent have everything they've ever wanted. You want more."

Foxy stopped short of scoffing, but she wore a jaded look. Maybe she was right to do so; they were right in saying he couldn't fix all their problems, let alone this one. But damn it, he wanted to try and help, anyway. "So, what, you have my world in that box?"

"Unfortunately not. With luck, though, this will be a passable substitute." Foxy raised an eyebrow as she took the package.

"One Piece," she muttered, turning it over in her hand. "Some kind of movie?"

"A cartoon, actually. One from Japan; I found this in the International District. All I know is that it's about pirates, but I thought that'd be enough to get you interested." Indeed it did, for her face lit up. Pirate media was one thing, but what treasures would a take on the subject from the other side of the world hold? Her cynicism ebbed, for she always wore her heart on her sleeve. This obviously couldn't quell the alienation she felt… but maybe him being there for her would be enough. More than this tape, it was all he could give.

"Can we watch it now? We're not leaving for hours." Her tail wagged faster than he'd seen it go for a while.

"I'd love to." Mike took her hook in his hand, and they slipped into Foxy's den. A cloud of dust got in his face, making him cough and nearly trip over the beanbag chair, but she caught him at the last second. "Ye saved me, Cap'n," he said, getting a love tap in the arm. He one-upped her, going in for a bear hug. She purred, hugging him back as they collapsed on the sea of shifting foam.

Her smell and warmth and love overwhelmed him, bringing a tear to his eye and a quiver to his lip. He loved Foxy so fucking much and wanted to show that love every day. She echoed this sentiment in his ear. "Let's watch cartoons now. I really want to fuck you, but that can wait until tomorrow." Mike wanted to giggle at the brashness, but this was no laughing matter for him. Tomorrow would come sooner than he cared to admit.

They sat up, still holding each other and rubbing noses while Mike popped the first tape into the VHS player. A burst of static, followed by a distorted screen with Japanese symbols, probably copyright information flagrantly ignored by this pirated tape. "Pirated!" He'd only just realized, which made him burst into laughter. This day got better and better.

Foxy turned around and got some drinks from a minifridge he hadn't noticed before. This was Heaven for them both. Cutthroat Island had been such a watershed moment that he hoped this darkened theater could compete. They leaned back together, his head nuzzled in hers, their feet on the floor as the intro unfolded.

10:30 AM

Phil turned over what Mike told him again and again in his mind. Thought it would quell the restlessness in his soul, but it shook him up even more. He didn't believe it, but the notion that he could someday be forgiven mollified and depressed him. It would take years or decades of emotional labor before his siblings even began to show mercy.

Or they might never, no matter what he did or how hard he tried. Would he forgive someone who inflicted that kind of pain on him? Not a chance. Of course, that all hinged on them knowing his identity, something that made his stomach churn just thinking about. He would tell them one day… but not now. Halloween should be a happy time, plus it was their day off.

He stood up from his bed, the weight of metal bones in his legs still unfamiliar. Despite being stronger than before, walking became harder since every part of him was denser than its human equivalent. Just another change he'd likely never completely acclimate to. Planted himself in his sturdy leather chair and surveyed his abode, spinning around like an idiot. What did it matter if nobody could see him, though?

I'll bet Mr. Schmidt – Mike – liked doing this. His eyelids drooped as the world spun, which told him he needed a nap before they went out later. That shouldn't have been a problem; he slumbered more often than in his old life to escape the pain. He would've started drinking again or even doing harder stuff, but there was no way to acquire the drugs, let alone keep that private if he did. This was good, though. He could sail on seas of dew and fish for stars or sink into quiet oblivion. It didn't matter. Best of all, Auric never came knocking to bother him. Perhaps he should've been offended that the creature he's aided for years never visited, but Phil would be happy if he never laid eyes on the monster again, corporeal or illusory.

Sleep was about his onlyoutlet nowadays. Sleep and work. Some things never change, he thought, staring at the conspicuously barren walls. No posters or paintings or ornaments of any kind, for nothing meant anything to him.

It wasn't until his rebirth that Phil realized he had nothing in his life. The lack of family and skills were the most obvious (and painful), yet more subtle deficiencies also stung. For example, he had no hobbies. Absolutely none. He hadn't read a novel or seen a movie or listened to a CD in years. Kept some of those around, but only to seem more cultured than he really was. Barely went anywhere besides his house, his establishment and occasional "business trips" into Seattle to meet with Afton.

He went out to eat occasionally (that was how he stumbled onto Mike and a disguised Foxy dating that one time), but that was largely because he hated cooking and the taste of his own restaurant's food alike. Of course, he got out even less lately. And he almost believed that was normal, or at least healthy. He ran his own business, had wealth beyond belief and was successful by most measures… and he hated it. Mike was right: William and Auric made him the fall guy in case anything went wrong. Now he was here with all the regret in the world and not much else.

His eyes darted to the file cabinet turned dresser which housed his few personal effects. Well, I do have one thing. He glanced back and forth to confirm the windows were all covered. Rolling the chair over, he bent down and opened the bottom drawer. At the back, under a pile of random junk, was something he still treasured.

Phil pulled his violet coat from rubble and held it aloft against the light. Nobody would notice it disappeared from its box in the basement over a month ago, for none wanted it to see the light of day again. He'd owned it through 13 years of Hell, yet the suit was as pristine as ever, if worn thin from time. Seeing it took his breath away; he received it from a man far better than him, both as a manager and as a person, who claimed it would help him remember where he came from once he became some superstar CEO. There was power in that narrative, even and especially when none of that came to pass.

Instead, he became a monster, first in spirit, now in body (no offense to the other animatronics, of course). His jacket still helped him out. It somehow grounded him. Gave him a concrete connection to humanity when nothing else human persisted. He put it on, immediately feeling more sedate with fabric around his frame. It felt nice to wear clothes in general, but he ditched them out in the open to seem more "normal". Didn't want to raise any hint of suspicion about him being "different" even if Foxy also wore stuff.

"What do I want to do before I nap?" he asked himself. Few options available. The most appealing was one of his tertiary "interests": computer games. He spun around and got onto the building's one and only computer: an iMac G3 with a sapphire-tinted translucent shell. The innards were still very visible through the blue hue. That's probably what my guts look like now, he thought while staring at the tangle of circuits and wires. Traced the contours of the machine with his eyes a minute longer before shaking his head and logging in.

The original model they had for the "game" was a Macintosh II, which got updated every few years (or whenever someone broke it in fear or a killing frenzy) with a new variant. He navigated the interface with the mouse; always had to be careful to not crush the thing with his grip strength. What do we have today? He scrolled through the dozen or so pre-installed options – chess, solitaire, minesweeper and so on. His interest with them all waned. That modem should be getting here soon, he thought. Perhaps the Internet would alleviate his chronic boredom.

Eventually, he settled on a nice game of Hearts. As the virtual cards were dealt, a rather morbid thought occurred to him – he played games on a machine that Auric used to play people.

5:15 PM

Adventure and heroic pirates and treasure and music in a foreign language rattled around Foxy's skull as she sat in Mike's car, smooshed between Bonnie and Chica in the backseat. That was all far away. A veil separated her from reality, making everything around her dull and blurry; she perceived it only as dull noise and shadow. It was almost like shell shock, though not traumatic. Not in the slightest.

Foxy just watched the greatest television show of all time, and it rocked her world. Cutthroat Island was good, to be sure, but this reached a completely different level. One Piece blew her fucking mind. From the quality of animation to the worldbuilding apparent from episode one to the stories presented, it was perfect. She hadn't watched much TV (occasionally stuck around for whatever sitcom Bonnie watched), yet she doubted she'd ever see anything better. Not unless all Japanese television was on the same level.

Subtitles didn't erect a barrier other than some questionable word choice (she didn't think the translator knew quite what a dolphin was). The tapes worked fine besides occasional video glitching. The tough part would be getting episodes! She slumped in her chair, barely noticing feathers and fur pressing against her or mounting heat in the otherwise biting cold. Apparently, their media rarely made it stateside, so it was up to pirates to make the heroic (and profitable) choice to make sure it alighted in less-than-legal formats. At least this version of piracy is a victimless crime. Hopefully Mike could go to the International District to find these treasures for her on a semi-regular basis. If not, Foxy would sail across the Pacific herself to get them!

But the biggest appeal to Foxy was how much it spoke to her on a personal level. The amazing exploits and pan-global sailing paled in comparison to the strikingly similarities between the world of the show and her own. It wasn't identical, but the parallels made her raise an eyebrow: a central continent surrounded by four oceans named after cardinal directions with various archipelagos, a mixture of humans and non-humans, strange sea monsters and a low-magic universe with ancient artifacts (Devil Fruits, in this case) nevertheless suffused with supernatural power, plus more natural, druidic stuff. And this only came from the first eight episodes.

Though she didn't believe in any deities, Foxy idly wondered whether the author of the comic on which the show was based (Mike said it was called a "mango" or something) had some kind connection to her universe, be it real or imaginary. Like, was he from there and making money off it? Sounded crazy, yet stranger things had happened to them. She wouldn't discount being able to travel between universes. Or it could have just been a huge coincidence; the world was big enough for serendipity. At the very least, it implied to her that such a setting could be commercially viable if Mike ever wrote that book.

Her listless requiem was cut short in a burst of whiplash as Mike slammed the brakes. The world snapped back into being with all its sound and color. Her boyfriend turned back to them, already wearing a grin. They both smiled a lot, she realized, and with good reason. They were mostly happy. Like Foxy told him, she loved her life yet would likely never find complete fulfilment in her current existence. Mike kept her anchored, though, for he was a prize greater than any gold or gems. Still, if she had a choice of going back to her world without him or staying here with him… she was glad she'd never have to pick.

"Um, sorry about the sudden stop. Almost overshot a good parking space!"

"Hah! Our necks are tougher than yours. It's you you should be worried about," Freddy joked from the front seat. The most stoic among them being in a jovial mood portended a happy evening, so Foxy was content to sit back, relax and let Mike try his hand at parallel parking along the bustling main street of Whitewater.

It didn't quite take her breath away after having been to Seattle, which was much more active than a small town ever could be, yet she'd never seen the place so energized! A normally lethargic atmosphere had been replaced with something vibrant and dynamic. Little pumpkin decorations dangled from lampposts. Local businesses put up skeletons in the windows (fortunately not real, animate ones). Colorful autumn buntings of orange and yellow beat back chilly air with the promise of warmth. Foxy didn't see that happening unless they burned the stuff, but they still looked nice. Overall, she was impressed with how the town pulled out all the stops to build flavor, entertain the kids and hopefully pull in some much-needed cash.

Mike put it in park, and the clown car piled out onto the pavement to the delight of a gaggle of kids who passed by. Foxy was swamped a moment later and had to (carefully) provide a few high-fives and hugs to get through.

"I'm surprised the manager lets you take those suits out of Fazbear's," one father commented as most of the kids hustled off, distracted by potential sweets. "It's nice that you're here, though; the kids'll love you guys joining the fun."

Foxy shrugged and decided to make light of their predicament. "We decided to stop on by. This is the one night of the year we won't get any funny looks."

"That's true. It'd be weird to have you on the street most other days." Exactly what she expected to hear, so the impact was lessened. Still knocked the wind out of her a bit. Being flat-out told "you don't belong here" by someone never felt good, even if it was correct. She sighed as that group all went off, rubbing her paw pads against her thigh to heat up her hand. Her breath formed fog before her face from cold, something she hadn't seen for a long time.

Back on the Southern Sea, sages said it was tiny pieces of one's soul being forced out by winter, which was the end of life, only to be returned by the subsequent spring air. And maybe that was the truth on her world. She wanted it to be, since that would mean she had one of her own.

Auric once said they only existed because sparks of his otherworldly nature lived within them, allowing them to break the laws of reality and live. It was also what let him possess her at night, when the world's natural magic was strongest – on some level, they were the same. But how much was him and how much was her? She shuddered from far more than cold, gritting her teeth. Sometimes she wondered if her memories and dreams were fabrications by Auric to keep her docile. It worked, after all. She would've been far more violent without connection to any world. Just another lie atop all the others.

Think about this later, Foxy. She shook her head and turned to Mike, who dug clothing out of the trunk. Though their fur and feathers warmed them more than skin alone, they still needed more protection against air so cold. Foxy's single layer didn't do much, to say nothing of the others. Was Bonnie's tie supposed to ward off hypothermia? Fortunately, they'd scrounged together enough spare coats and whatnot from Helen and Mike and ones just left at the restaurant to protect their torsos, which needed it most.

Mike handed her one, which she slipped on, the cold immediately decreasing in power. She found it comfortable enough. The same couldn't be said for the others, who had almost never worn clothes in their lives. Chica shifted the jacket back and forth on her shoulders, trying to find some position that didn't ruffle her feathers, while Freddy struggled with the zipper. They eventually got them on with some help from Mike.

"S-should we start now?" Chica stammered, clearly still freezing. "Standing a-around will just make us colder."

"You all can start, but I'm waiting for June," Mike answered. "She should be here any minute." Turned out they didn't even have to wait that long.

A familiar roar reached them as a certain cherry-red motorcycle rolled down the drag. The helmeted driver's hands impatiently fiddled on the clutch, like they wanted to arrive as quickly as possible without running over any children, who were, from Foxy's experience, very likely to spring into the street on a whim. Swerved to the curb, put the kickstand down and was promptly greeted by Mike. Didn't take a super-sleuth to figure out who owned the nicest bike in town.

"It's great to see you!" Mike said as June popped her full-face helmet off and set it on the seat. She looked the same as ever, down to the perpetual grease smudges on her brown skin. Her hair had grown out a little more, though still not quite down to her shoulders. That was about it.

"Been way too long, Mike," she replied before hugging him, a gesture he happily returned.

A more jealous person might resent her boyfriend hugging another woman like that. Well, Foxy was envious, but not of this. She loved Mike enough to know he'd never want anyone else. Similarly, she trusted June not to put the moves on her man even if she was interested in him. It was easy to see why she would be. Aside from Mike's great qualities, which she had extolled enough, there simply weren't a ton of people their age in Whitewater. Small town; she guessed the kids on the next few blocks comprised half of them in city limits, and she recognized them all (the ones not wearing masks, anyway). June didn't have a lot of options was what she meant.

They pulled away after a second. Unlike Mike, who hadn't seen her since summer, they hung out occasionally. Helen called her in whenever something broke and on certain days when they were swamped and needed another server they could trust. She'd even stopped by a couple times to watch movies with them, so they all considered her a friend. Therefore, fewer hugs and greeting went around: less of an event.

"I haven't been trick-or-treating in years, but I'm excited for tonight," she exclaimed, buttoning up her collar for good measure. Then she looked Mike up and down, apparently not impressed with his outfit of jeans and a University of Washington hoodie. "So, did you not dress up? Or are you 'going as yourself' like the rest of our pals?"

"Oh, I've got something, all right," Mike said with a grin as he turned to the trunk once more. Foxy cocked her head, for she also assumed he wouldn't dress up. At least, he hadn't mentioned the outfit. He put on some formless black robes, slipped something onto his face and whirled around, face now an otherworldly white mask locked in a perpetual expression of horror. "Do you like scary movies?" he rasped, splaying his gloved fingers like claws. Foxy would've been slightly unnerved if the man under there wasn't a total dork.

"Not really," June deadpanned, "and it's kind of weird to me that you do, given that everything you've gone through would be too unbelievable for the big screen."

Mike shrugged and returned his voice to normal. "Um, that's just why I like them now more than ever. They're tame because they're not real. Now I can enjoy them without being scared."

"Are you somebody from a scary movie?" Bonnie asked. The question made the gears in Foxy's head align. She recalled she'd seen that mask on the side of a VHS sleeve on Mike's video shelf.

"Yeah. Possibly my favorite. I'll tell you more, uh, about it once we, like, get moving." And move they did. Standing in the cold for so long began to freeze her bare feet to the pavement, something uncomfortable even with thick paw pads. Walking brought fire to her core as her innards found action.

Her eye wandered from the painted sky to the cracked pavement to the gaggles of kids, most glancing in her direction. They were the biggest celebrities in town, and people looked happy about their presence. The past months flowed so flawlessly that the place was no longer a bane of parents. The food and conditions and atmosphere had been fixed so that the restaurant's seldom-used tagline – "a magical place for kids and grown-ups alike, where fantasy and fun come to life" – fit, perhaps in more ways than their customers imagined. People lovedthem (or at least the "costumes") now.

Even the notorious "Bite of '87", still the most notable event in the town's history, had been made largely irrelevant. Not forgotten, for the memorial inside Pirate Cove would ensure it never faded, though diminished. Few parents kept furtive watch over their children when she played with them or asked her why she chose to be "that one". Some, but few. Foxy felt grateful for the chance to be there. They all did. She glanced back at Springtrap, who hadn't said a single word since they left, teeth nearly chattering from cold or fear; even the timidest among them possessed the courage to be there. "Thank you," she mouthed at him, which broke his expression into a small smile.

Being there on that evening, the world temporarily theirs, with her best friends and boyfriend and the approving faces of everyone… how could she want more? Why long for a possibly unreal world when she lived in this one? Even if it did exist, how would she ever go back? These questions and more assaulted her before she pushed them away to fester. They walked under the withering leaves of a tree by the sidewalk before Mike found another topic.

"What about you?" he asked June. "The motorcycle jacket looks good, but I'm not sure I see a character." In response, she just slipped on the black helmet with a strange visor she'd held in her hands until then. "Wow! You're Snake Eyes! I had no idea you were a G.I. Joe fan!" Nostalgia dripped palpably from Mike's voice. OK, Foxy knew exactly who that was, she'd just never seen him… her, in this case. Children's media of the 80s and 90s was an area of expertise rivalling encyclopedic pirate knowledge. Listening at the curtain for 13 years gave her intimate understanding of every toy and cartoon of the age. G. I. Joe was a big name during the first couple years of her life.

"Yeah, it was my favorite show growing up," one masked person said to another. Reminded her of BRIAR's employees wearing similar helmets to protect their eyes and identities. "How could I not like the ninja with the sword and the combat skills?" Chica evidentially got bored of this conversation, so she began swinging an imaginary blade in the air, muttering as she slashed back and forth. Bonnie conjured a katana of his own as the two masters traded blows. Freddy stifled a groan, and Springtrap giggled. Foxy just watched the show.

"I was more of a Transformers kid, but good pick," Mike commented. Foxy knew that one even better, despite, again, never seeing a single frame; the only TV show she'd ever seen more than five episodes of was One Piece, which she'd started earlier that day! Wonder how long it'll go for. She'd like to think a universe such as hers had enough story potential for season upon season – hundreds of episodes! By this point, Bonnie and Chica's silent duel inspired a toddler with a Darth Vader helmet and lightsaber to smack Springtrap in the leg before Foxy could stop him. Much as she loved kids, ones so little could be real brats. His metal bones were, of course, unaffected by plastic wielded with all the might a 3-year-old could muster.

Perhaps too unharmed, for the tyke was none too pleased when his prop shattered from the force of his little arms. Springtrap yelped and leapt higher than she'd ever seen him or Bonnie jump while the kid bawled over his broken toy. "I – I'm sorry!" Springtrap stammered even though he didn't do anything wrong. The others watched as he tried to stick the pieces back together; obviously a job for superglue.

Fortunately, the kid's mother wasn't crazy (most parents who frequented Fazbear's were great, but a couple flipped out at any inconvenience), so she profusely apologized to a very confused Springtrap before stuffing the pieces into what should have been his candy bucket before punishing him with the promise of no candy before dragging him away.

Foxy felt kind of bad he wouldn't get to load up on sweets, yet kids had to learn somehow, and she thought this much more appropriate than spanking. It would've been outlandish to compare what she'd gone through with parents disciplining their offspring, yet her experiences made her loathe hitting of any sort. A pirate who doesn't like corporal punishment. I'm such a softy. She rolled her eye. Wonder who it is, though. Didn't recognize the mother, but plenty of parents dropped their kids off at Fazbear's or sat around. They'd made it more interactive for adults with the Band's avant-garde and just chatting with grown-ups as equals. Still, their slogan promised entertainment and interactivity with everyone.

Good thing they didn't go through with Helen's wacky idea of trying to make it a part-time hang-out spot for teens. That was dumb and gimmicky, which she acknowledged when her head cooled. Now they tried to create a space for people of all ages. There was certainly a slant toward kids, but they'd recently emphasized it was OK for teens and adults along for the ride to enjoy themselves. Mortal Kombat did a good job for the former demographic (it consistently had the longest line of any arcade game), but they still had work to do. You couldn't stop having fun at 12 – take it from the animatronic fox with the mind of an adult woman.

Foxy looked to the humans again and was floored to find them still ensconced in conversation! June and Mike drowned in schmaltz so deep they didn't notice the chaos unfolding behind them. That admittedly annoyed Foxy, yet she understood why. Mike spent a whole day with the rest of them beforehand and would again tomorrow. He only had June for one night. Still, she wanted in on their dialogue again, so she barged past the Band.

"Feels strange to do this so early, but the sun will set soon." She stated the obvious as a way back in. "I hope parents are smart enough to get their kids in or they'll be in for a bad time." Already a cold day, and temperatures would sink further once the sun was down. Shadows of the westward peaks stretched along the tree line. The first frost of the season might be that night.

"Yeah, definitely. Good thing we've got masks to keep our faces from freezing," June said while elbowing Mike.

"I think face fur might be ever better," Mike said from behind his ghastly visage. "It keeps you warm, and trust me, it's hot." True, and his flirting warmed her heart enough for the rest of her! He had a way with words when not tripping over them. His unsaid affirmation that he didn't hit on June was nice but superfluous. She already knew he had eyes for nobody else.

The cold made it feel like minutes passed before they got anywhere interesting. Businesses passed on the other side of the street. Gas station, hardware store, that grocery bodega Mike bought his stuff at. All decorated nicely, but they didn't appear to do anything special beyond displaying holiday signs and decorations. Same deal with the bank and library on their side. However, the Amish furniture store hosted an event if the congregation there meant anything. An older guy sat outside with a big bucket, giving things to kids before they went on their way.

Mike turned back to them, squatting a little like he wanted them to get in a huddle. "OK. Let's, um, recap." He pointed at the guy, then to the brown paper bag in his hand. "We're all going to go up and say 'trick-or-treat'. Then he'll give us candy. Uh, maybe he'll question why seven adults are doing this without, like, kids around, but nobody's going to refuse."

"Got it," Freddy said. "Be polite. Easy enough." They walked up to the man, who seemed unfazed by the menagerie.

"Trick-or-treat." The hyphenated word stumbled out of their mouths like the dashes caught in their teeth. It was an odd phrase to say for the uninitiated. Mike explained what it meant ("give us candy or we'll egg your house", though most people never followed through on such a threat, so it became a pithy greeting), yet it didn't make much sense to her. The important thing was that he reached into his pail to gift them with sugar, which he slipped into each bag before waving them off. Not a talkative guy, but Foxy liked his community spirit.

"That wasn't 'ard," Bonnie said as the downtown area gave way to the valley's small suburban district. Mike's house was a 10- or 15-minute walk. "Anyway, what's next on the menu?"

"Regular houses now. Just knock and say 'trick-or-treat'. But, like, not if all the lights are off. That means the people there aren't participating. Or they're asleep or not home or whatever. You won't get anything is the point." Sounded good! Foxy had a spring in her step while her ears pivoted to every little noise.

She wanted to see their first prize before they got more candy, so she hung one of the bag's handles on her hook and reached in to extract the treasure. Her mouth watered at the taste of chocolate, marshmallow, or peanut butter. One area where this world surpassed hers was junk food. Processed sugar and corn syrup outdid honey or nuts every time.

"And the first haul of the night is…" She unclenched her fist to see what was within, spirit instantly cratering when she did. "Raisins and a toothbrush. Great."

6:30 PM

"…and then Ghostface was also, um, in a parody film called Scary Movie which came out last summer. Rented it from Blockbuster recently, and I thought it was more stupid than funny. Glad I didn't take Foxy to see it, uh, even though going to the theater would've been amazing. But that's separate, and the original Scream is fantastic." He coughed; talking in a rubber mask sucked latex molecules or whatever into his lungs.

Mike finally finished explaining his costume's context as promised, which they found somewhat helpful given the few follow-up questions. Or they just didn't care. However, it gave him a chance to rattle off facts about what might've been his favorite horror film. I should show Foxy sometime. The whole trilogy. After she sees more of the genre, since otherwise she won't get most of the references.

He tugged on the extended mouth, which peeled it away from his sticky, sweaty skin. Better than being exposed to biting cold, yet the mask and robes proved warmer than he expected. Hopefully that stayed true as they wandered through a dark world lit only by intermittent streetlamps and house lights; they ventured farther afield than expected, leaving them among the last people out that night except hoodlums, partygoers and, perhaps, some of the planet's less natural inhabitants… if you believed that sort of thing.

We should've started at 4 or 4:30, but we got a lot. He looked around, satisfied half the houses in Whitewater had been hit. Nowhere was safe, not even houses atop hills like his own! This was just as much a workout as running, though the calories burned were about to be offset and then some. They'd had their fill of trick-or-treating, but not of sweets.

He dug a gloved hand into the paper bag, full to nearly bursting, valuable treasures slipping through his fingers. It had all been good stuff other than the raisins and toothbrush the first guy gave them, and even then, he understood an older person wanting to encourage actual health in people. Still, he was happy to have more confections than coupons.

Admittedly, candy felt less special now than as a kid. Back then, it was a forbidden "fruit" his lenient parents were smart enough to not let him gorge on whenever he pleased and reserved for desert and holidays. Now he could drive to the corner store and get a giant bag of Twix or Hershey's or Snickers or M&Ms or anything else imaginable for less than a gallon of gas (which ran about 1.60 dollars that day). He looked at Foxy, scarfing down a huge Kit Kat bar while the others gobbled their own hauls. OK, maybe that's why they didn't reply earlier. His hidden lips pressed into a smile. They would remember this night for the rest of their lives.

"Tonight's been great," said June, giving voice to his thoughts. "Thanks for having me along for the ride. You're the one who organized everything." The others echoed their thanks, which took Mike aback. He thought of this as a group effort. Still, he was elated that everyone enjoyed themselves. "I can't think of anything that would have made it better."

Mike took that as a challenge; his head brimmed with ideas that only came out on pitch black nights. "What about scary stories?" he fielded, turning so that his shadow fell across the lot. "Campfire tales about hidden things that creep in the corners of the world. Things that shouldn't exist, yet the stories keep returning. They have to come from somewhere." He felt positively ghoulish as he channeled the spirit of his costume; didn't stumble on a single word.

Springtrap cringed, which stung Mike in the sternum. OK, he didn't want to be mean and scare the bunny when he'd put in so much effort that whole night. He was impressed with how composed he'd been through so many interactions and didn't want to ruin it at the last second.

"Sure. Have any you want to tell?" the rabbit retaliated, wearing a smile of his own. All right, he'd bite. The others seemed interested enough. He cracked his neck while thinking, but the subject of his drama was never in doubt. He would tell them about the most famous monsters that may have been.

"I'll start with the classics. Vampires…" He put his index fingers to the sides of Ghostface's freakish mouth like fangs, "…and werewolves." For this, he pointed at Foxy, who immediately started giggling with him at the memory of that one little girl thinking Foxy was one! Hilarious, wholesome, and the moment that got him wondering whether creatures of legend or other novel beings like the animatronics walked the world away from human eyes or hidden in plain sight. It also made his friends look at him funny. Shadows of tree limbs seemed to reach for him, and he hoped he didn't trip over a garbage can while backpedaling.

"I'm sure you're all familiar with the basics. They're the two most famous monsters, at least in the West. They need no introduction." They all had enough context from people talking at Fazbear's. And that was a problem; anything kids talked about probably wasn't that intense. However, maybe the monsters didn't want to be feared.

"In fact, they're so famous that they're not really scary anymore – they're kitsch along with the Invisible Man and the rest of the Universal movie monsters." June emphatically nodded, and the rest also didn't look too spooked. Hopefully he could change that a little. Despite what Foxy thought, his skills as an orator were few. "They should be, though. They suck blood and shapeshift at the full moon. I think that's frightening. But the really spooky part is that they might be among us right now, maybe on this very street."

He allowed a moment for this to sink in, which made Bonnie and Chica slightly concerned. "After all, both these kinds of monsters can pass for human, hate the sun and love the dark, right? There aren't many places in the world so overcast as Washington. The mountain shadows make great shade. The view of the moon? Spectacular." It hung behind the mountains now. Good thing it wasn't anywhere close to full. "A lot of isolation, too. There're parts of the Cascades that have never been explored. Also, one guy from the Olympic Peninsula in last year's Intro to Biology swore up and down that his town had a vampire coven, so make of that what you will."

Not so much a story as a description, he realized, yet he was pleased with his ability to talk, walk backwards and not fall on his ass. "You really believe either of those could live in or near Whitewater?" Freddy asked sincerely.

"If you guys can, I don't see why not." That brought a moment of silence as they crested a hill. The twinkling lights of downtown were in the distance. Maybe a little more than five minutes? It would feel much longer because of the cold. There was time for a couple more if they wanted. Despite (or probably because of) his account not terrifying, they sought to hear another. Wouldn't be from him, though; he wanted to pass the conch around.

"How about you, June?" he asked. "You're from, um, a different culture and background than me. Know any monsters we might not be familiar with?" June said she had little contact with the larger Hispanic community, living in a very white town, but she must have known at least a few myths the rest of them were ignorant of. She ran a hand across the top of her head, thinking.

"Yeah, there actually is one. Any of you ever hear of chupacabras?" All of them replied in the negative. Then again, he might not have been able to pronounce that word, so it could have slipped his mind as a kid.

"It's a new kind of monster. The legend – if it is a legend, because I'm as unsure as you – started about five years ago." Never mind, he didn't hear it as a kid! Truly a monster for the modern age if the sightings only began in 1995! "Started in Puerto Rico, but it's quickly spread to the rest of Latin America and the Latino diaspora in general. I have some family that lives in Portland with my mom, and they told me about it the last time I was over. Scary stuff." By this point, she just teased them with stretching the introduction so long.

"But you want the story. Got it." She cleared her throat and assumed his previous position, walking backwards like someone giving a tour. "Chupacabras are beasts, maybe aliens, maybe undiscovered animals, maybe escaped military experiments, that look like lizard/dog hybrids. They're four feet tall with big, glowing red eyes and a row of spines on their backs." Any or all of those sounded plausible with the crazy world they lived in. Also, he wouldn't want to run into one in an alley. "That's not the worst, though. 'Chupacabra' means 'goat-sucker' in Spanish, and that's how they eat. They find farm animals, bite them and suck their blood out!"

Chica's eye went wide, and her hand flew to her neck to stop the hypothetical monster from desiccating her. "I, uh, know you didn't mean me specifically. Just hard to think of that and not empathize," she sheepishly said. Much as Mike felt sorry for her, it was funny imagining one of those things trying to get Chica – she'd bash it to death against the ground and then feel awful about it. Good thing they lived about as far away from Latin America as possible in the contiguous United States.

"No, I get it. That's about all I know, anyway." She thought about something a minute. "Ironic, but I might be more ethnically-connected to Halloween than you, Mike. After all, I'm 1/32nd Gaelic and my last name is 'Fitzgerald'. Some of my ancestors might have been druids." He chuckled a little, but she was right. That was interesting to think about, considering she didn't look stereotypically Irish at all. "Plus, in Mexico, we have another ancient, Indigenous holiday that starts tomorrow: Día de Muertos. 'The Day of the Dead'." Huh. Mike had heard of that in passing but knew little about it. He kind of assumed it was just the name for Halloween in that region, not a separate event. "It's supposed to be a time when souls come back and visit their families. Me and Dad don't really believe that, but he does put up pictures of his parents."

That sounded shockingly like what he'd learned about Samhain! What were the odds two completely different civilizations from other sides of the world would mark similar holidays one day apart from each other? Didn't prove anything, but it put him on edge and again indicated the peoples of old knew things the modern world didn't. He'd look out for more convergences. Then the humans started looking the animatronics' way.

"Sorry, I don't have any," replied Chica. "The most frightening thing that ever happened on the farm was kids going cow-tipping. None of them… animal-sucking monsters around. We'd have noticed those." Fair enough. Bonnie was next in the row.

"Eh, not really. Don't know, I just never paid attention to that kinda stuff. Would'a been weird to write a song about sewer gators or whatever." That made Mike snort from behind the mask. He'd have loved to hear one of those! Then Bonnie elbowed his bear pal in the ribs, something Mike couldn't imagine any human being getting away with. "What about you, Fred? Anything you wanna share?"

"The only horror stories I have are about our time with BRIAR, and nobody wants to revisit those." Enough to shut down their question. Nobody even looked Springtrap's way. No chance he'd want to share such a tale even if he had one.

Frankly, Mike expected they wouldn't have many scary stories. Foxy once said that the places they came from (or at least remembered) were much softer than this one. Not completely utopian: there was still death and bad things happened, yet fewer vices such as hatred plagued them. Wouldn't make sense if beings designed to entertain and love were world-weary at the start. Even Auric recognized that. Therefore, scant stories about monsters, since they had less experience with emotions like fear and grief. Well, now they did, but still. Of course, the meaning of all these metaphysics on whether they were "reincarnated" or not was beyond him.

However, he was certain at least one animatronic had a story she'd like to share.

"What about you, Foxy? You must have some great ones; you lived in a world of monsters," he said. This was the one he really got excited for. He loved listening to his girlfriend in general, and Foxy also had stories to beat all of theirs. The same general "rules" held true for the Southern Sea, yet it was less urbane and more adventure-oriented from the start. More chances for cool, crazy stuff to happen.

"Funny thing about that." Her eye glazed over as she already lapsed into old memories. "When you see the impossible every week, it becomes normal." Mike understood that well enough. "I'll shut up about killing a Kraken, since you've all heard it before, but it hardly raised eyebrows. Not a lot of spine-chillers on my resume… but there is one story that gets me to this day. I've never told it to anyone before."

A silence dropped over them; Mike wasn't the only one on edge. The slight sorrow on Foxy's face could have been to enhance the coming story, but this seemed genuine, even to other actors.

"Once, I was exploring an island. Just me. I went in with a rowboat while my crew and the Ruby Tempest moored, for it was too dangerous for anyone else. There had been strange reports coming in about this isle from people who passed – black fog billowing off it by day and fire in the sky at night." Already sounded a little different from other adventures she recounted to him. Foxy was smart, yet solving mysteries wasn't really her forte. She preferred things more straightforward, and the fact this was dangerous enough to be a solo mission (again, in a world where even most zombies weren't out to kill people) raised another red flag. "Those brave enough to investigate found a world decaying before their eyes: a volcanic isle with a structure by the crater." She took a moment to pop another miniature chocolate bar.

"This was all old, dangerous stuff, and that meant money to a swashbuckler. So off I went. Sure enough, death was everywhere. Plants rotted and wilted, the weird volcanic gas going into the nearby sea and poisoning it. The air went fowl by the time I got into the temple. There weren't guards or anything, just a few deer carcasses and hot rocks. Snuck around. It was scorching. This isn't important. What is is that this place was ancient, yet the vulcanism was new and unnatural." A growing sense of dread filled Mike about what waited inside. Foxy's narrative skills were unmatched in his mind, which put him in the action, too. Bonnie and Chica stood closer together than before.

"I found the treasure room, which had a whole lot of old loot nobody would miss. Exactly what I looked for. Put everything I could carry in a gunny sack and started out." She pursed her muzzle and blinked. "That's when I saw it. Heard it first, actually. One hallway gave a straight shot onto a platform overlooking the caldera. Someone was on it, chanting in a language I never heard before or since." Mike's arms trembled slightly at the coming reveal. What kind of beast could be awful enough to disquiet her?

"I watched for a minute until it turned around to look at me. I expected some kind of undead, maybe someone trying to start a cult. This was neither. Less 'monster' and more 'aberration'. Eyes and tentacles – that's all I got a chance to see, but it was enough. I sprinted out and rowed away as fast as I could while the mountain began to erupt."

Mike's mouth hung agape under the mask while he waited for the next sentence, but there was none. That couldn't be the end! "W-what was it? And what happened next?"

"I never found out. Some things just exist that you can't explain. Auric, for instance." True. It also made Mike wonder whether whatever she saw was a natural, if rare, creature native to that plane or something like Auric. They'd probably never know. "But reports stopped after that. Visited the island again not long after to check on things; the temple had been wrecked while the eruptions died down. I guess whatever it was either realized it did something wrong or wanted more privacy." He walked on in silence, knowing what he'd dream of that night.

They were close to town by now, and the time was close to seven. Out longer than Mike expected and wanted, but that didn't detract from the fun. Now to go home and sleep it off. His vision became hazy as his eyelids drooped, not helped by the mask restricting his field of view. As they neared, though, one house at the end of a cul-de-sac to the left caught their collective eye. It was big and lit brightly – looked like the place for a perfect haul.

Despite already eating, Bonnie's stomach growled. "I'm gonna go down there real quick for one last stop. Anyone wanna join me?" All the animatronics volunteered. Speaking for himself, Mike was satisfied with what he already had, so he opted to stay put. Cold, but he'd manage.

June looked between him and the rest before whispering, "I'll go with them in case they need help for whatever reason." All right. They might as well be safe as they neared the finish line. That left Mike by his lonesome, stories of monsters rattling around his head. Maybe this wasn't the best time to split up from everyone. If this was a horror movie, I'd be the perfect kill. Especially given my costume.

Wind whistled through the bare boughs he stood under. Not many evergreens in town. He guessed they weren't pretty enough for beautification in the eyes of most, but he didn't think there was such a thing as an ugly plant. All were parts of nature, and that was good enough for him. He knew enough by now to not judge something on appearances. His haze, both mental and visual, cleared enough for him to recognize the darkened space to his right. At first, he thought it was a park, but the shadows of small rectangular blocks illuminated by a single gazebo light made him realize it was the town cemetery. Yeah, he was dead. He sighed and took two steps into the street just in case.

Craned his neck at the sky to leer into the dark reaches of space. It seemed like one could see to the edge of the universe and beyond on a night like this. So vast, so dark, so… wet. Ow. A fat raindrop found the perfect shot through the rubber and into his eye. No wonder it's so dark – the whole sky is a cloudbank. He really couldn't tell with the moon having already set. Hope that was just a one-off.

Pitter-patter on the branches above quashed those hopes. The sky ripped open without warning, and he found himself in a 35-ish degree deluge of cold rain mixed with sleet. Why couldn't this have been snow? "Fuck!" he cursed, though nobody could've heard him even if they were around from ice pellets hammering pavement.

He whipped his head around, trying to find any protection from the downpour. Barely any leaves on the trees to shield him, the houses across the street didn't have awnings, and the streetlamps lacked hoods over them. He also didn't want to go too far for fear of losing his friends, so he resigned himself to hypothermia and all his candy ripping out the bottom of a wet paper bag.

Then he looked behind him at the gazebo in the graveyard. Illuminated and maybe 100 feet away from the street, so he'd easily be able to spot his friends returning from the cul-de-sac. A gate was right there. The unpleasantness of getting soaked to the skin and having to drive home in a sopping hoodie outweighed the slim chance of getting jumped by a werewolf or chupacabra, so he swung open the polished metal gate and stomped toward shelter.

I'm really walking into a graveyard by myself on a stormy Halloween night. At this point, he was more enraptured by all the cliches than scared, though subtle terror certainly gripped him. Especially when he saw another figure under the light of the gazebo. One looking directly at him. A yelp stuck in Mike's throat and the candy nearly dropped from his wet hand. The shock would have terrified anyone, casual horror fan or not, but the sight was particularly grizzly for him. It was the spitting image of an event from his first night at Fazbear's that defined his tenure – an Auric-possessed-Bonnie, standing beneath the single flickering hallway light, looking at fresh meat with golden eyes.

But this isn't Auric! It can't be, Mike desperately thought, knees going weak. The demon left months ago! But perhaps that was too good to last forever. Mike always feared the bastard would end up in his life again, but never like this. It's not Auric, damn it! He trudged forward to prove himself right, knowing full well the consequences of getting it wrong.

Stepped into the light to meet this stranger face-to-face, the tension in his stomach immediately slackening as he did. To his relief, the silhouette belonged to neither Auric nor any other creature of the night (except maybe a passing vampire). Nope, it was just a regular middle-aged woman. That brought him relief. The same couldn't be said for her.

Oh, duh. He was so absorbed in his own fear he didn't think she might feel the same thing about the lone figure wearing a serial killer mask. He promptly pulled it off and flipped his hood back, letting his sopped hair drip on the ground. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

She nodded, and the two of them stood on opposite ends of the covered platform, listening to the pounding storm. Little ice balls bounced around like marshmallows. He really did have candy on the brain. Not enough to avoid looking at the tombstones tapering away into darkness. Whitewater was only settled a century ago. It never got too big to start, even if the population additionally declined (the new official sign at the edge of town pegged the population at 2,756 – down from 3,082 with data from the census earlier that year), so the place was small.

"Rough night, huh?" the woman said. It felt like it had been weeks since he'd heard a voice.

"You can say that again. It was all going, uh, well until it started pouring." He could barely see through the curtain of rain and sleet. Only hoped his friends found somewhere to hide. The house they went to looked to have a nice, big porch. She glanced side-eyed at him, still looking rather suspicious. Hey, he couldn't blame her.

"Aren't you a little old to go trick-or-treating? Not that it's any of my business, but I'd expect someone your age to be binging on alcohol instead of sweets." Mike laughed at that, since he admitted this wasn't the typical college student modus operandi. He rolled his shoulders.

"Some of my friends never had the opportunity to do this before, so I decided to take them," he explained, sating her curiosity. "Plus, I've recently learned, um, you're never too old to have fun." She smiled politely, and Mike added, "Do you have a kid my age to make that assumption?" more as a joke than anything.

Her grin faltered, and she looked groundward. "I did." Mike's heart sank as he suddenly understood why she was present. "He would have been 20 this year. I can hardly believe it. I'm in this cemetery tonight to visit James."

The name was a sucker punch in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. Between that and his eyes widening, he felt like a beached fish flopping around. "Mrs. Dunn?" he gasped.

"I'm sorry. Do I know you?"

He straightened up, wiping shock and awe off his face and forcing his mouth to form words. "M-my name's Michael Schmidt. I was a good friend of James when we were v-very young. Probably silly, but I considered him, like, my best friend. I was there when…" He cut himself off lest he say anything insensitive. The moment where she looked him up and down for any hint of familiarity lasted hours.

"No, I'm sorry. I don't remember you. It is nice to meet you again, though." Of course. Silly of him to expect her to remember something that happened over a decade ago when he was in first grade. Honestly, he didn't recognize her, either, but how many times would he possibly have seen her, let alone paid attention, to begin with? They shook hands, his gloved one dripping more as the squeeze rung water from it.

"I don't want to push any boundaries, but what are you doing here in the middle of Halloween night?" he asked. He understood coming to his grave, but doing it now seemed bizarre. "I assumed you were up to no good at first."

"It does look rather morbid, doesn't it?" she chuckled, yet sadness lurked behind a normally happy noise. The woman mourned; he shouldn't have barged in. "There are a couple reasons. First, it's nearly his birthday… and death day. Second, I'm leaving tomorrow, so this was my final chance."

"Leaving?" A gust of wind rushed through the open space, chilling from flesh to bone.

"Leaving Whitewater, I mean. There are a lot of reasons for that, including me and my husband getting a divorce." Ah… he didn't want to know. No surprise that she moved on to greener pastures, however. He'd just thought about how young people trickled out, and even some older folks like her. "But the main one is that there's nothing left for me here. This isn't the town it once was. It's dying. Not that it was ever some hub of industry, but it's gotten noticeably worse lately. Half the buildings downtown are boarded up. It'll be a seasonal ski town in 30 years." She sighed, running a hand through her done-up hair. "I've had enough of the cold and rain and gloom, so I'm moving to Los Angeles."

Mike had been two or three times when he was younger and his parents took him and Sylvia to Disneyland (while also critiquing their ethical failings, but they weren't heartless enough to deprive their children of the Mouse). He had fond memories of the city, at least what parts he saw. Nowadays he mostly associated it with the crime and air pollution reported on television, though that was clearly not without bias. Nor was he. Still, probably an objectively better place to live than Podunk, Middle of Nowhere, USA.

"I hear it's expensive to live there, and California in general," he commented. That was another thing he knew of the city; all the habitable land had already been developed, so prices were high unless you lived at the edge of the desert.

She stared into the night, no longer meeting his gaze. The rain, he noticed, began to dull in ferocity. "You'd be too young to remember, but your parents may've told you that I sued Fazbear's for all they were worth after what happened. I lost. I'm not sure how they assembled the world's most competent lawyers, yet they did." Yeah, Mike remembered it all vividly after the fact. It was a big mystery for a while, though he now knew exactly who paid the bills, including hers. There had been a big settlement, he now remembered. "However, someone noticed and took pity on me and my husband; we received an anonymous donation of… I forget. Maybe seven or eight million dollars after taxes. Meant we never had to work again, so we've just lived off that for the last decade."

Mike blinked at the figure. He knew the family had been paid a lot, yet he could barely comprehend such a number. William had money to throw around, and he didn't even entertain the notion that this was altruistic in any way. Still, the guy knew what it was like to lose a child.

"My husband took half, but that's still left me enough for a nice house and a little more besides. I'll be old enough to start drawing Medicare and Social Security in a few years. I'm all right with spending my final decades somewhere with decent weather and good food." Nice. He didn't know how to respond to that, since the idea of drawing a pension was as alien as Venus at his age. Good that she had the future planned when they stood somewhere dedicated entirely to the past. They'd both managed to move on. "What about you?"

He gave her the basic spiel every college student gave the adults in their lives: his major, current goals, hobbies, plans. He must have spouted it dozens of times over the past couple years, so he barely paid attention to the words leaving his mouth. All his focus was on the rain as it slowed over the next few minutes. Went from downpour to drizzle to sprinkle as the glut of clouds swept eastward across the plains. A few stars poked through. The last sleet pellet hit the sidewalk before him with a tiny thud. It was over. "…and that's what's up with me."

It became a waiting game. His friends surely ventured out by now and would return within minutes. That made his train of thought a steaming locomotive barreling down the track. Him. Her. James. Foxy. Apologies. Peace of mind. It was a crazy idea born from standing next to someone whose life had been accidentally demolished by the woman who saved his.

He told Springtrap hours earlier that anybody could be forgiven if they earnestly apologized and poured out their heart. Mike meant that sincerely, even if that principle had never been tested before. Not everyone did, and he might not, either, if confronted with the person who killed his child. That was in addition to needing to admit that the animatronics were alive and all the other insane stuff that happened. It could be the riskiest things they ever did, and for what? This was all behind them, and Mike didn't want to reopen this old wound for a slim chance at permanent closure when it already scarred well enough for all parties.

Still, he supposed he might as well get her contact information, since he'd otherwise never see her again. Better to have it and not need it. "Is it OK if we exchange cell phone numbers? It would be a shame for us to lose track of each other if we ever want to talk." She agreed and took a spare Kleenex from her pocket while Mike reached into his bag to find a pencil he knew somebody dropped in there.

He stared at the number in messy graphite and placed it in his driest pocket. Whatever happened next was up to Foxy; he'd tell her once they got a moment to themselves. A gaggle of shifting shapes stepped onto the street a few minutes later, distorted by lamplight and what little precipitation still trickled down. Obviously his friends, yet luckily they were far enough away to not immediately be recognizable as the animatronics/springlock suits, so Mrs. Dunn (now Miss) didn't question the circles he ran in.

"It was nice to meet you again, and I wish it were under better circumstances, but I have to go." He shook her hand again for good measure before slipping in the mask again.

"Likewise. This was an unexpected treat. Good luck with the rest of college." Her lip quivered as she glanced at the ground. "Maybe it's not right to speak for the dead, but I think you and James would still be friends today." Mike kind of doubted that, simply because he never had many friends after that until he met Foxy and company. Then again, that experience completely destabilized his social life… He didn't want to think about it.

"Perhaps." With that, he hustled off to join the group, which showed him the multiple giant candy bars they got. At the end of the night, the people there gave their surplus away! Mike was almost jealous of not making the trip, though his experience had been better. Throwing a glance back toward the gazebo, he saw the woman walk back toward one of the graves.

"Don't worry, you can have one of mine," said Foxy as she slipped a Snickers into his damp bag. Had to carry it by the bottom so it didn't explode out. Otherwise, he'd give her a hug. And he couldn't kiss her with his mask on! Truly a curse.

"Thanks." Apparently nobody saw him with anyone else, since none of them asked. Instead, they talked about whatever as they finally made it back into town, Mike dragging his wet sneakers along the pavement as they reached their vehicles, among the last on the strip. Man, he felt tired. Couldn't believe he'd once regularly stayed up until 6 AM. "Sorry I didn't think to bring rain gear, guys," he said as they shoveled their wet clothes into the trunk. Between that and their damp fur on polyester, cleaning the car would be a pain. Knew I should have gotten leather seats.

"It's fine. We have towels back at the restaurant," Freddy grunted. Then he smiled gently. "I had a good time. Thank you for arranging this." Mike wasn't shocked or floored by this, but it still felt nice to hear. Validating. More importantly, they all got to do something they otherwise never would.

"I also had fun," echoed Springtrap, which was icing on the cake. If those two were happy, he didn't even need confirmation from Chica and Bonnie (which they gave him anyway). And Foxy… well, now he could kiss her, which he promptly did. Her wet fur bristled as his face brushed against it for a quick smooch. That was it, for the real action on that front began tomorrow.

"It's been great, guys," June said, getting her motorcycle ready for take-off. "I'm not sure when we'll all get the opportunity to hang out again. Maybe around Christmas?" she mused.

"Sounds wonderful," he replied, immensely relieved she decided to not move to Portland like she once planned. Frankly, even with business here on the decline, there was still enough to do for the only mechanics in town to make a decent living. For a couple more years, at least. "Say hi to Jeremy for us! And happy Dead of the Dead tomorrow."

"Thanks, and I will. I honestly think he'll appreciate it!" She flipped down the visor on her helmet before giving them a wave and starting down the road, blasting a trail of water vapor behind her.

"June has the right idea. Let's go home." He paused. "And by 'home', I mean I'll take you all back to the restaurant while I go to my house. Like, I haven't seen my parents in almost two days, and I don't want them to get worried about me."

"That might actually work out for the best, since we're going to be getting everything ready for you and Foxy tomorrow."

"Wait, what?" Springtrap interjected as they got in the car, seemingly unaware of their little date night.

"We're doin' somethin' for their three-month anniversary," Bonnie chimed in. "Didn't tell you because we figure you probably weren't interested." Springtrap still looked confused but decided to drop the matter.

Hey, I'm as confused as you are. Mike gave one last look around town and beyond before pulling out and driving away.

…

Another chapter done. Thanks to Accelerator7460, d8rkforcen1igh7, Jctherebel, Soviet Fox, derpysauce, V-0-I-D, Crimson An'Xileel, darkstalker64, Celfwrdderwydd, BlauOrange, JasonVUK and pokemaniac1990 for reviewing since the last update! It makes me happy and energized to see so many people engaging with my work.

Aside from the usual, a few things entertained me when writing this chapter. The first was making Foxy a nascent One Piece fan. I originally wanted to make it Pirates of the Caribbean, but the first of that series didn't come out until 2003. I think this is better, though. I know little about One Piece, but I think it's fair to say it's the most popular, celebrated piece of pirate media ever (the anime is nearing 1,000 episodes), so she'll never run out of content. Just don't expect me to invoke specific story elements, since the very vague ones included here might be wrong. Also, Foxy's world being so similar to the One Piece setting is purely coincidental… unless my limited knowledge of the show subconsciously influenced the description during the last story.

Another nice segment was the trick-or-treating part. It was great to write the animatronics interacting with normal people outside their restaurant for the first time, and I'm not sure that will be common. Mike being Ghostface came about because of his love for horror movies, and I thought it would be cool to showcase something more contemporary. Scream came out in December 1996, less than four years before this story takes place. Ghostface is the last great cinematic slasher, and it's very meta, which works with me trying to cement this story in that era. It also might be a subtle nod at the fanfic about Marvel's Scream I'm going to write.

June being Snake Eyes was partially because his movie just came out at the time of this publication, and I do like to be relevant on occasion, even if it looks to be a critical and commercial bomb. Also because it's a cool outfit, June rides a motorcycle, etc.

The final aspect I want to go over is the meeting with James' mom, which is a scene I've planned to include since forever. I intended to have such a bit in ASaF, but I couldn't find anywhere to naturally put it, so it's been on the backburner. It provides some much-needed closure to that aspect arc and opens the door for future possibilities. That's all for this time. I'm excited to see you all when the final chapter (and sex scene) roll around.