New Foes, Old Tricks

The animatronics stood on their stage, frozen in time. Like gargoyles peering down on ignorant bystanders, they were eery. Mysterious. Almost frightening.

Then, ever-so-slowly, Freddy Fazbear's eyes flickered on and he blinked.

He sighed as he awoke; it was never a pleasant experience, whether it was falling asleep to begin with or waking up after. All there was in between was darkness, but without the luxury of true unconsciousness.

"What are we going to do?" Chica asked to the side of Freddy, quietly.

Turning to look at her, then at Bonnie—who shared her look of worry—Freddy gave another sigh as his mind worked at finding an answer.

"I don't know." He replied, not wanting to see their looks of disappointment.

They remained quiet after that, with even the usually vocal Foxy retaining his recent subdued persona. Ever since they had been lifted from their curse of ignorance, things hadn't gotten any better for the animatronics. Freddy decided that it was a foolish notion to have expected any different.

Hearing the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway, Freddy blinked in alarm.

Mike Schmidt had left the safety of his security office and was standing right at the entryway.

"Michael…?"

Holding his arms tight against him as if he was cold, Mike looked at them expectantly. "We need to all have a chat."

Hesitating, Freddy nodded. "Stay on your stages."

With the three on the main stage standing at attention and Foxy pulling his curtain back slightly to see what was going on, the room was clear for Mike. As if still figuring out what to say, Mike remained vigilant, being sure not to take his eyes off any of them.

"Did you hear what was said last night?" The night guard asked.

Freddy glanced at the others by his side, "Briefly. We…we turned off at some point during it."

"Well, it's obvious that the detective knows more than he's letting on. He isn't going to be easily convinced that nothing is going on in this pizzeria and last night didn't help."

"What did he say?"

Crossing his arms a little tighter, Mike seemed gaunt. "He's done his research. He knows about the history of this place. The Missing Children's incident, the Bite of '87, all the rumors and urban legends…what's worse, it doesn't seem that he's willing to dismiss any of it as 'superstition'."

"He said that the Bite might've never happened." Bonnie offered,

Mike looked at him strangely, like he wasn't expecting it. It made sense, Freddy mused. The animatronics weren't deluded; they weren't about to shy away from the things that had happened before their isolation.

"Yeah," Mike replied, "But that doesn't mean he believes it. He also doesn't necessarily believe that you guys contain any sort of autonomy, but Foxy moving last night probably threw that out the window."

The animatronics froze in shock at the venom in his words. Blinking once more, Freddy's gaze turned sorrowful. As much as he wanted to defend his family member, he knew what Mike was saying wasn't wrong. He'd seen it himself.

Foxy's own stare turned sour. He snorted in disdain and turned away, "Ya didn't exactly do much better than me, lad."

A scowl on his face, Mike shot back, "Me? I had to spend my night escorting a police detective around! And all you had to do was stay still!"

Spinning around, Foxy snarled. "'e annoyed me!"

"He was testing you!"

"I ain't the first to lose me cool," Foxy growled, "an' blaming me for ya mistake is just low, lad."

"My mistake?" Mike yelled, exasperated, "How is it my mistake!?"

"Tha' landlubber only be here because of ya bringin' those guns in!"

Freddy was seeing how volatile the situation was getting, "Please, let's just calm down…"

"I only brought those guns in because you were trying to kill me!" Mike's face was growing red, "What, you'd rather I died that night?"

Foxy seethed with rage, "No! I put meself in between ya an' me family! I fought on ya behalf!"

"I get that, but—"

Shaking his head, Foxy scowled at Mike, "I be sorry for what we did to ya, lad. If Ol' Foxy could take it all back…I would. But we be trying. Trying to make amends."

"That doesn't mean—"

"What it means," Foxy cut through, though his voice was lower, "Is that ye need to stop treatin' us like the enemy. Either tha', or get lost and let us settle it ourselves."

Silence filled in the gaps as Mike and Foxy continued their stare down. Glancing in between his friends—whose faces emitted concern and trouble—Freddy himself decided not to interfere. He knew that this was something they needed to sort out themselves.

"Fine," Mike said bitterly, "Then let's get on with the plan."

Freddy blinked at that, "Plan?"

"That detective isn't going away anytime soon. And I have a feeling he isn't going to be scared off or will let up on his 'investigation'. So, we strike first."

"An' how do we do that?" Foxy snapped,

Mike shrugged. "By giving him what he wants to see."

Confusion covered the animatronics faces, but when it dawned on them what he was saying, Freddy's face turned foul. "No."

"Have you got any other ideas?"

"It's not happening, Michael."

"It'll be in a controlled environment—"

"There's nothing 'controlled' about this."

Bonnie looked at them strangely, "What are you two talking about?"

With that bear unwilling to answer, Mike sighed out, "We fake my death."

Silence erupted into a clamor of rejections and hostility.

"You can't be serious!" Chica shrieked,

"I won't have a part in it," Bonnie stated,

Foxy shook his head, "Ya gone off the deep end, lad."

"I don't like it any more than you do," Mike said through gritted teeth, "I don't exactly want to relive one of the worst experiences in my life. But this guy, this 'Detective Caine'…he knows something. Or at least, he thinks he knows something."

"Then we play it cool," Freddy spoke quietly, "and don't do anything rash."

"I don't think that's going to work this time. Even if he's persuaded off the case, what next? Even the possibility of people knowing what's gone on here…"

"Is not worth the possibility of exposing ourselves," Freddy interrupted, "What would the plan be, anyway? Hope that we can scare him into not talking? Or are you wanting us to kill him?"

"No!" Mike exclaimed, "God, no. And you're right; I don't think he'd be the type to be scared off, anyway. No, after we'd be done with scaring him, we let him go."

"Then what?" Bonnie demanded,

Mike shrugged, knowing this wasn't going well at all, "He goes to his superiors and tells them everything."

Bonnie paused, "You're not really selling this to us well, are you?"

"Ye be askin' us to walk the plank," Foxy hissed,

But Freddy's eyes lit up with understanding. "He goes to his superiors, telling these stories of how he was attacked by killer robots and watched the night guard get killed, but returns to find you, still very much alive."

Mike nodded, thankful that there was someone who understood. Of course, as he reflected, it wasn't just a step in the plan; it was also some insurance. He knew that the paranoia constantly flickering in his head wasn't going away and at least this way, he was giving them every reason not to suddenly turn around and finish what they started.

"Whatever he says," Mike continued, "He'll come off looking crazy. He will be discredited. Even more, all those rumors, all that superstition…it will look less credible."

"I still think it's a bad plan." Chica pointed out, before looking apologetic, "Sorry."

"It's a big risk." Freddy agreed, but was looking less certain, "But…maybe Michael is right about this."

"An' if 'e isn't?" Foxy demanded, glaring at the bear with his one eye, "Ya be playin' a dangerous game, Fazbear. You too, lad. If ye little scheme goes broadside, we all be in Davey Jones' locker!"

"But if we don't do nothing," Bonnie pointed out, "We might end up worse for it."

"There's a lot of 'what ifs' flying about here." Chica stated, "The fact is, this detective might not be as good as we're expecting. What if he walks in, hasn't found anything, and just gives up?"

Freddy paused, "You do have a point, there. We might take a big risk for no good reason."

Knowing that they weren't wrong, Mike nodded, "Then we should consider it a contingency plan. The last resort. If things seem like they're going normal, then we play it smart. But if it's clear that we're not just going to get away with this…"

"Then game on." Freddy finished.

The looks darting across the faces of the animatronics told Mike that they were wanting to object, to reason, or to deny the possibility, but he knew those options were quickly dwindling.

"How about we hold a vote?"

Freddy hesitated, then nodded. "All in favor."

Hands were raised.

"All opposed."

Hands were raised.

Breathing in, Mike nodded, accepting the outcome. "Alright, then. This is the plan. When he next comes to visit, I'll get him in the security office…"

Smiling as the server arrived with his coffee, Detective Caine smiled. "Thanks, love."

Once he'd finished paying for it, and offered a tip to the kind lady, Caine left the small coffee shop. He'd started to rely on that caffeine boost to get through his long days and sleepless nights. It was a problem that was quickly manifesting into something he didn't like.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept right.

Stifling a yawn as he walked down the dark street, he reflected on the plan. That night, he was paying another visit to 'Michael Schmidt' and his posse of robots. It wasn't a case he wanted and it certainly wasn't helping his sleeping arrangements, but when Sanders wanted him on a case, it was for good reason.

The moment he'd stepped in, he knew Schmidt was hiding something; he wasn't as experienced as he liked, but Caine knew a liar when he saw one. Exactly what he was hiding was unclear, but it wouldn't be long until he got to the bottom of it.

First, though, he was going to pay a visit to an old friend.

Standing unassumingly in the middle of the street was an old apartment complex, three or four stories high with old walls and faded windows. At first glance, it would be understandable to assume it was abandoned, but the occasional flicker of movement told a different story.

Caine was just unsure whether the occupants were legal occupiers, but it wasn't his job to sort out squatters.

Creaking the old door into the complex open just a bit, he glanced in and unclipped his pistol from his jacket holster. The last thing he needed was to be jumped unprepared. Part of him had wanted just to use the old fire escape around the back of the building, but the ladder was jammed stuck.

Being sure not to make any unnecessary noises as he walked up the staircase, he was glad to have the apartment number; he didn't want to have to go door-to-door until he found his man.

Reaching the third floor in little time, he approached the door and tapped it slightly, waiting for any sound on the other end.

Soon enough, there was a voice.

"Be ready as well for the ultimate sacrifice," The voice said,

"For nobody comes out of hell without a scratch." Caine finished.

The door opened and Caine stepped in.

He stepped through darkened halls and found himself standing in a den filled with computers, boards with pinned pieces of paper scattered around, and all sorts of pots and pans laid askew. Standing in the middle of the room, a sawed-off shotgun in his hands, was a dark-skinned man with a small goatee.

A smile played on the man's lips as he laid his eyes on the Detective. "Well, well. If it isn't our very own Detective Caine."

"Good to see you too, Carl." Caine glanced around the room, "I see you've not gotten any tidier."

"Well, I've had a lot of things on my mind. A Mexican cartel out for blood, for one."

That peaked Caine's attention, "The Fuego Verde? They're still around?"

Carl shrugged, "The leader's brother, the weird guy with the twitch? I guess he wasn't the type to forget."

"He's a persistent one, alright." Caine sighed; that was just one more iron in the grill, "After the landing strip, I thought they were done for…"

"Well, 'tis what it is. Time catches up for us all. Speaking of which…" Carl opened a drawer near his main computer, pulled a small chain of gold out, and threw it to Caine.

"Ah, cheers." Caine smiled as he took the broken piece of silver he called a replacement pocket watch out and replaced it with the golden one, "I was hoping you'd recovered it."

Carl shrugged, a gesture that Caine took as 'think nothing of it', before frowning, "I'm guessing you're here for more than a family heirloom and to greet an old friend, though."

With an unsure nod, Caine sat down in an old armchair near the door and breathed in. He knew the likely reaction from his partner-slash-informant as soon as he explained his reasoning, but he'd been given the case and he had no intention of letting it go.

Even if the argument of 'conflict of interest' was becoming more and more sound…

"Freddy Fazbear's Pizza."

Ranging from a scowl to a concerned frown, Carl closed his eyes. "Seriously? They gave you that?"

"They felt like I was the best choice they had."

"Sounds fishy."

"If it was Donovan alone, I'd agree with you. But Sanders gave the order."

"Still…"

"I'm not happy about it," Caine said grimly, "but I get their reasons. They need a scalpel, not a hammer. Though if they'd chosen Sokolov's lot for the job, I wouldn't have argued."

"Can't blame you."

"Anyway, I paid a visit there last night. Decided to go just before dawn. Didn't find anything out of the ordinary, except for a nightguard badly pretending that nothing bad happens in there."

Carl nodded, "I've been hearing some stuff from the locals. Bad stuff. A lot of missing people, more than you get in most small towns in this country, and a lot of theories saying that Freddy's is involved."

"So," Caine asked, "You think it's just local superstition?"

"I don't know. But I was doing some digging over the last couple of weeks."

Caine raised an eyebrow, "That's convenient."

"I love myself a good mystery. But something that happened a couple of weeks ago caught my interest."

"The shooting, aye." Caine frowned, "Attempted armed robbery, animatronics in tatters, Night Guard injured and no sign of the gunmen. Something happened that night. Something bad. I can feel it."

"Well," Carl seemed hesitant, "Something stood out. The night guard involved in the shooting, I think his name is—"

"Mike Schmidt." Caine answered, "I've met him. He's working there right now. He's lying about what happened, that's clear, but I'm unsure why."

"And did you know he worked there last year, too?"

Caine shrugged, "He's been working there since November. So what? Not unusual for someone acquainted to odd jobs to find long-term work."

"Well, that's just the thing." Carl rolled his office chair to his desk, pulling up a bunch of files faster than Caine would've been able to turn the thing on, "This is the guy's fourth week working there."

Caine blinked, "Come again?"

"He was working in November, that's true enough. But he was fired at the end of his first week. Let's see…'Tampering with the Animatronics'. 'General Unprofessionalism'. 'Odour'."

"Odour?"

"I mean, what did he smell like?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary. For an American, at least."

Carl scowled, "Screw you too, Scot."

"So," The wheels were starting to turn in Mike's head, "High school drop-out, early twenties, gets a shady job working as a Night Guard at a closed-to-the-public pizzeria. No training, no license. One week later, he gets fired for 'tampering'."

"Must hate modern technology," Carl mused.

"Then," Caine continued, "Nine months later, he gets offered his job back. Not even a week after that, there's a massive shootout which leads to the animatronics damaged and him injured."

"Without so much as a lead for the 'armed gunmen," Carl finished for him.

"The question, then," Caine pondered, "Is why? Let's just say, for a train of thought, that the rumors were less 'Lochness Monster' and more 'Charles Manson'. What if, the animatronics were indeed killers?"

"I don't like where this is going," Carl said.

"Then the night guard, one of many unlucky victims, survives. In his anger and contempt, he tries to destroy them. He fails."

"Caine," Carl said seriously, "You're talking crazy."

"Then he gets his job back," Caine continued, unperturbed, "Tries to finish them off once and for all. Somehow, he manages to do so without getting caught."

"There's one detail you're missing out."

"And what is that?" Caine frowned, knowing what the question was going to be,

"If all that is true," Carl pointed out, "Why keep it a secret? Why lie? The animatronics aren't destroyed and he hasn't run for the hills. If all of that is true, why does it sound like he's protecting them?"

"That," Caine answered, "is something I would very much like to know. I guess it's time to pay Mike Schmidt another visit. Thanks for the help, Carl."

"No problem," Carl said, "and in case your story of killer robots turns out to be true, I'll keep in touch."

Walking out, Caine sighed. This was just getting better and better…

TU4QU0I53T4IAN6L3: Unfortunately for Mike, getting away with shooting Freddy's up isn't going to be as easy as he'd hoped.

TheAmberShadow: No worries! Can't blame Foxy, either. His bad deeds just keep following him.