Act 3 – Closed Doors

Setting his pristine chrome pen aside on his next, placing it carefully amongst the three others aligned neatly, Mr. Garfield clasped his hands together and gave a sigh as he looked between the three men in front of him.

The leader, a scruffy man with an unkempt beard and hard eyes, looked uncomfortable sitting down. It took Garfield a moment to realize that underneath his left sleeve, he lacked a hand. The sleeve was tied up to hide the lack of appendage.

The other two were erratic, constantly twitching and nervously glancing out of the window, like they were looking for someone. One of them had arrived with an AK47, which Garfield's security had 'politely' taken away from him. He hadn't liked being unarmed.

But the Fuego Verde was a shadow of their former selves.

It had been many a moon since Garfield had severed the relationship of his enforcer gangs. Things had worked differently back then; he'd been forced to take unorthodox—and occasionally legally questionable—actions to keep people in line.

With the increasing power of his superiors in Fazbear Entertainment, however, he'd been able to stop outsourcing. It came at an opportune time, too. The Fuego Verde—which Garfield knew as the 'Green Fire'—was one of his best. A multinational feared cartel. It had only taken one day for their empire to burn.

Now here they were; merely seven members left and begging for help.

"So," The leader said, his voice softer than you would initially think, "what do you say?"

Garfield shook his head, "I don't know what you want me to say, Gregor. I'm sorry about your brother, but I cannot see how this will benefit me."

"We've got something coming," Gregor gritted his teeth, but kept his voice neutral, "A big job. Lots of money. We can pay."

"It's not about the money. And this big job, well…" Garfield looked over the document, "Even if you succeed, how exactly do you plan to get away with it? If these people are as powerful as you say—"

"Once we get the target, we'll be in and out before they even know what hit 'em," Gregor assured, but Garfield was unconvinced.

Standing up, Garfield walked over to the window of his office, staring out over the view. His office was on the seventh floor, overlooking the city. "Our business together has always been fruitful, I'll admit. But times have changed. What worked ten years ago doesn't work anymore."

"Then we'll do things differently," Gregor scowled.

"How?" Garfield turned to him.

With some hesitation, Gregor looked at the two men with him. Clearly reluctant to share what he wanted to, he sighed. "We have information for you."

"Oh?" Garfield raised his eyebrow. Finally; they were getting to the nature of this visit.

"That group we mentioned? The one the lady told us about? They've been making aims. Getting information. Sending their agents all over. As far as I can tell, they got one target."

Garfield looked at him, "And what, pray tell, is that?"

"Freddy Fazbear's Pizza." Gregor said, before giving a small smirk, "You're the CEO, right?"

"Not quite," Garfield replied, but closed his mouth in worry, "And do you know what they want with it?"

"I don't know," Gregor admitted, "But whatever it is, they've been after it for months. Something about…'missing people' or something like that. Wanting it closed down."

Now it was Garfield's time to smirk, "You'd be surprised just how many people want that in this town…"

Shrugging, Gregor replied, "We're not locals. But we've heard some stuff. Now, since this group is after you and anyone who works for you…"

Once again looking out the window, Garfield brought his hand up to his chin thoughtfully. As tough a bargain as it was, the idea that a group of people that—according to Gregor—were advanced enough and ruthless enough to do what they do and were now targeting him and anyone tied to Fazbear Entertainment…

Above all else, Garfield was a businessman. A businessman who cared much for the Freddy's name, even if he disagreed with Fazbear Entertainment's practices. If this meant protecting the name of his beloved restaurant…

Garfield turned to look at him, "So, you give me this information and it proves to be accurate. What do you want in return?"

Gregor shifted uncomfortably, "I've already told you. I want to restart our business relationship."

"Don't play coy," Garfield warned, "I might be open to doing that, but there's something else. If we're going to do this, you need to be honest."

Gregor looked at him for a few moments, before looking at the two men with him, "Leave us."

One of them blinked and looked at Garfield nervously, before nodding, "Sure thing, boss."

Soon enough, both men had left the room, leaving Garfield and Gregor alone.

"Well?" Garfield asked him.

"The attack on the airstrip," Gregor explained, "Where my brother was killed."

"Jacob Henshaw was one of my best henchmen," Garfield said carefully, "He spoke highly of you."

Gregor nodded, "Me and him, we started the Fuego Verde together. That day, I thought it was all over. But we survived, me and the six of us. We made a promise to avenge my brother's death."

Seeing where he was going, Garfield leaned back in his chair, "You want me to track your brother's killer down."

"I do."

"It'll be hard without a name."

"The lady told me."

"So, what is it?"

Gregor closed his eyes, "Caine. His name is Caine."

His eyes hadn't left the front door and his feet were glued to the pavement. Standing there with a defective streetlamp blinking orange above him, he might've looked eery had anyone spotted him there, standing outside the ominous and infamous pizzeria.

Taking deep breaths, Mike fumbled around his pocket for his flashlight and stepped closer.

It had been a week since Caine's last visit and the gloom surrounding him and the animatronics hadn't quite left. He was fully suspecting that at some point, he'd either be handing himself into the authorities or he'd get a rude awakening one night.

So far, neither had happened. He'd heard nothing from Caine or any other member of the Police Force, so at least for now, he was safe.

That was until he'd arrived at Freddy's and found the front door hanging open.

He feared a trap. Someone had clearly either entered or left with no regard in the security of the pizzeria and as often careless as he knew some of his co-workers could be, he'd never found something like this before. He approached the building, looking out for any sign of an intruder, but couldn't see any obvious signs.

What was the chance that someone had decided to try their luck and break into a place littered with superstition?

"In this town?" He mumbled to himself, "Anything is possible."

He entered the darkened pizzeria, biting his lip and eyes frantically searching for any movement. He made his way towards the office, finding nothing throughout the pizzeria to be any different than he'd usually find it.

His stomach lurched when the phone started to ring.

After calming his nerves, he picked up the phone, nervously answering it.

"Er," Mike said, his teeth close to chattering, "Hello? Freddy Fazbear's Pizza?"

"Is that you, sport?" A voice asked on the other end,

Mike found himself surprised that he was breathing a sigh of relief, "Mr. Garfield. What's wrong?"

"I must've called at least fifteen times!" The manager explained, "All through the day! No one's picked up, until now."

Blinking, Mike hesitated, "Wait, really? Where are you?"

"I've been away on business since Thursday last week. Out of town. I've made a point to call the day guard once a day to ensure everything is alright, but…"

His concern only increasing, Mike pondered on whether to tell Garfield about the situation he'd walked in on. No matter his own problems on the matter, he didn't want to get someone into trouble when it simply wasn't necessary.

Still, though…this was something far too off the rails to be considered small. The whole place had been left unlocked and empty. Even if it was a simple mistake, who knew if someone had walked in and made off with something? Was Mike really wanting to put more irons in the grill when he had enough to deal with?

He knew his answer, "Yeah, I walked in on something weird."

Garfield mumbled under his breath which sounded like 'Oh God', "Please don't tell me Hugo's brought another dame in the pizzeria? I cannot afford another inspector's visit! If his father wasn't a member of the board, I'd—"

"What?" Mike exclaimed, "No! Nothing like that!"

"Oh," Garfield replied, "What is it, then?"

"Well…" Mike hesitated, "I found the front door unlocked."

"Unlocked?"

"Well, not just unlocked. Like, completely open."

"Really?"

"I haven't been able to find anyone, either. Is that normal? I know I don't see anyone usually, but still…"

Garfield didn't answer at first, "Well…I usually send off the afternoon guard and janitors early whenever I'm there late at night…have you checked the timesheets?"

"I had a glance at them when I came in."

"And?"

"No one after noon had signed out."

With Garfield's delay in answering, Mike was only getting more nervous. This clearly wasn't a usual occurrence and what that meant felt bone-chilling. Like there was something he was missing, something that would send not just Mike, but everyone involved into a chasm of problematic situations.

"Has anything happened over the last few days?" Mike asked plainly, "Anything…unusual?"

"Anything…more unusual than what has happened there, recently or otherwise?"

"Exactly."

"Well, there is one thing, but I doubt it's anything that's worth your while…"

"Humour me," Mike pushed,

Garfield breathed in, "One of the day guards, Peter? He mentioned something to one of the janitors. Seeing some sort of apparition."

Narrowing his eyes, Mike continued, "What did he say?"

"Well…he said it looked like a yellow, dead-looking version of Freddy. Only…it wasn't quite 'there'."

"Like a ghost?" Mike asked,

"As I said, it's just your usual superstition. Nothing worth your while—"

"You've seen him too, haven't you?"

Garfield went quiet again, "Ghosts aren't real."

He didn't need to say it; Mike could read it from his tone. It wouldn't seem that Mike was as crazy ad he believed himself to be. "There's something wrong in this place. It's never just been about the animatronics."

"I know," Garfield pleaded, "But please keep this a secret. Whatever this apparition is…I'll get to the bottom of it."

With that, Garfield hung up. Placing the phone back, Mike sighed, sat down, and rubbed his face with his hands. It just seemed like every time he was done with one can of worms, another can was just ripe for opening.

The night power kicked in and with a heavy sigh, Mike stood up and walked out of the office. His only source of information was whatever the animatronics had seen, since he knew for a fact that they would be briefly awake during the day and even when they weren't, Foxy would be.

Whatever had happened, it was just another headache—

He blinked as he felt his foot hit something in the hallway. Looking down, he pried for the object before grasping it and holding it up to his face.

It was a hat. Midnight black, with a white strip of fabric Mike knew as a trim wrapped around the band.

Caine's hat.

Frowning, it took Mike moments to understand what it meant. His frown turned into a scowl as he picked up the hat, before stepping back into the office and placing it down on the desk.

Detective Caine had been here. It was undeniable. It might be a stretch to assume that just because a black fedora hat was just lying there on the floor it meant that the detective had gotten into Freddy's—trespasser or otherwise—but how many people wearing half-a-century-out-of-fashion hats and holding an interest in Fazbear Entertainment were there.

Preferring not to have an answer to that, Mike sighed as he left the office. Time to talk to the animatronics.

Although the bear had feigned disappointment when Mike had gone in to work soon after the incident with Caine, the Night Guard had been able to tell that the bear was secretly grateful. The truth was, it didn't matter whether Mike stayed to await the fallout or tried to run; where would he go, anyway?

Whether or not it was foolish, Mike also had some loyalty left in his bones, however misguided and often harmful they were to him and his sanity.

As he entered the dining hall, he saw that the animatronics were already awake.

"Michael," Freddy called a greeting to him,

With a nod, Mike glanced between the animatronics, "You guys holding up?"

"Somewhat," Freddy answered, neither of the other two giving their own, "As good as we can given everything. Yourself?"

Mike shrugged, "Same old." However, something had rubbed Mike the wrong way. Glancing between the animatronics again, he sensed some traces of…what? Confusion? Tension?

They were hiding something for sure, but rather than asking about it directly, he decided to ask a different question.

"So," He said, "I found the front door unlocked. Open, too. Whoever was here last didn't seem to have any interest in shutting the place down."

Freddy blinked, "Really?"

"Yeah. Did you guys see anything?"

None of them answered. Not even Foxy, who had poked his head out to see what the commotion was all about. Bonnie and Chica shared concerned glances, and Freddy looked around the room, starstruck.

"No," He said, his tone off, "We didn't see anything."

"Okay," Mike kept his voice neutral, "It happens. Why is that so—"

"No, Mike," Freddy pressed on, his voice urgent, "We didn't see anything. At all. Nothing since last night."

Not understanding at first, it dawned on Mike what they were saying, "Wait, aren't you guys active for a bit during the day?"

Freddy nodded, "Every day. From twelve to six. We always remember every day."

"But today…" Mike began,

"…is gone. We cannot remember anything."

The concern was quickly rising. This was only just complicating things further. From what little the animatronics had told him, they were active for at least twelve hours each day. They always remembered everything that happened while they were active.

"Something," Mike mumbled, "Or someone made you forget."

Nodding again, Freddy glanced between the others, "Is it the same to you three? Even you, Foxy?"

"Nothing after six am," Bonnie agreed.

"I remember being in the kitchen," Chica offered, "then nothing."

"Even Ol' Foxy's memory be gone like rum," Foxy called from his cove, "An' I be awake all day."

Biting his lip, Mike knew what this meant. "Has anything like this happened before?"

"No," Freddy answered, "At least, nothing we can remember."

Hesitating, Mike nodded, "Someone must've done this. The door being open, you guys not remembering anything, Caine's hat…"

"Wait," Bonnie interrupted, "What was that about a hat?"

"I found Caine's hat in the hallway," Mike explained, "just on the floor. He must've been here."

A look of annoyance flashed in Freddy's eyes, "That makes sense. When he was here last, we were all shut down by something. Who knows what else he has in his bag of tricks?"

"If he be the one givin me amnesia," Foxy snorted, "tha' landlubber could at least take away me bad memories…"

"Either way," Mike jumped back in, "he was here. That's for certain. It's just why that is the smoking gun…"

"Perhaps he was just checking on us," Chica offered,

"Or just looking for any more information." Bonnie pointed out.

"'e be lookin' to prove something," Foxy agreed, "That be certain."

"Or maybe," Freddy said darkly, "he just wanted to finish the job."

As the animatronics conversed between themselves, something caught Mike's attention. Much like the front door had been hanging open, the backstage door was, too. Heading over to it, his concern was only rising. These things were meant to be taken care of before he arrived. It felt like someone had stopped doing their job halfway through their shift.

The animatronics' voices seemed to grow distant and Mike was surprised to find himself struggling to breathe.

It was the smell that hit him, first. A putrid thing, that had somehow been dampened in his rush to discover the reason behind the security breach. It was not a smell he'd encountered before, but he had heard of it.

His entire body shaking, he chose to push the door open slightly rather than closing it and prepared himself to look inside. The whole room was dark, even more so than how he'd seen it before on camera. Almost as much as when Bonnie and Chica had dragged him in there the week prior.

But in spite of the darkness, he was able to see them. One large suit in the shade of Freddy, standing in one of the repair stations to the back of the room. He'd never noticed the stations before, but it was clear how they put the suits together and how they repaired the animatronics.

The other suit, which he recognized by the purple fabric and obtuse snout to be Bonnie, was propped up on the table.

His hands fumbled for the flashlight and he turned it on.

A dark, thick liquid was spilling onto the ground, staining the tiled floor. Some of it had dried, but more was spilling out and it slowly leaked out of the crevices of the suits, stretching towards him.

Many apologies for the cliffhanger. Like I warned you last time; things are going to get a LOT darker.

TU4QU0I53T4IAN6L3: It's not going to be easy, that's for certain. And it's about to get a lot harder.

TheAmberShadow: Very soon, on top of being stuck between a rock and a hard place, they are also about to get a nuke dropped on them.

vaetta: Good choice on being terrified about Act 3, because it's going to be a rough one.