Necessity; Mother of Invention
"So," Carl asked absent-mindedly as he continued to flick through mediocre data entry after mediocre data entry, "How's Sam?"
His eyebrow raised, Caine glanced over to him, "Bit of a loaded question?"
"Eh. I'm getting bored."
Giving an exasperated sigh, Caine continued going through the files on the fifth cabinet, having no more luck than Carl was, "She's good. Or at least she's pretending she's good. Only saw her for the first time in months a week ago."
"Right," Carl nodded, "You were AWOL after the stuff with the Fuego Verde, weren't you?"
"Four months on the run, having no idea whether I was being tracked or not," Caine closed his eyes for a moment, briefly remembering those weeks spent in the desert of New Mexico on foot with about as much fondness you'd expect from a stubbed toe.
"Yeah, I get that," Carl agreed, "I ended up in Texas for a while. Got lucky and met a family that took me in for a few weeks. Most of the people there were nice enough."
"'Most'?" Caine replied, giving him another strange look,
Shrugging, Carl gave a smile, "About as to be expected, I guess. Most Southerners are the kindest people you could meet. There's just the minority, that…well?"
Seeing where he was going with that, Caine winced, "Sorry. I didn't think about that."
Giving another shrug, Carl continued fishing for any information on the computer, "You must've gotten some of it, too. Right?"
"I guess," Caine said, unsure, "Not many people notice."
Carl laughed at that, "True, that. I suppose it's easier to notice a black guy than a Scot."
They continued working in silence, Caine narrowing his eyes at every file that seemed interesting and discarding any that seemed pointless. On his end, Carl kept up the same routine, finding nothing that proved to be useful enough to focus on.
Then he found the file labeled "FazbearENT".
Immediately clicking on it, Carl started to look through the contents within. His eyes lit up more and more as he examined the contents, becoming more and more intrigued.
"I've got something, here," Carl said, glancing at the detective again.
Nodding, Caine replied, "Same here. What have you got?"
"Blueprints. Of the animatronics."
Not moving at first, Caine slowly turned around to look at him, "Go on."
"I've got dates, here. Materials. Explanations and…" He smiled slightly, not being able to hide his satisfaction, "Names."
"Names?" Caine asked, looking intrigued.
"Yep, names. Looks like the people that had a hand in creating the animatronics."
Nodding, Caine looked at him thoughtfully, "What about details? Addresses, exact times, and such?"
"Doesn't look like there's anything in this one with any of that…" Carl's eyes lit up again, "But what about the stuff you pulled from the storage facility? I bet they got stuff there?"
Not understanding at first, Caine began to smile, "Cross-reference the names from that list and we might just get some leads."
"Exactly," Carl smiled back, "What have you got?"
Flipping the file he'd retrieved from the cabinet out, Caine displayed it, "A list of employees that worked in Freddy Fazbear's, from the last six years."
"What dates?"
Reading it in his head for a moment, Caine answered, "'November of 1987 to November of 1992.'"
"So," Carl started to recap in his head, "Not only have we got information on the creation of the animatronics, but we've also got the names of employees that know exactly what has been going on here."
"Not only that, Caine stared at the file darkly before tossing it to Carl, who caught it with one hand, "but we've got the names of possibly every night guard that has been killed by those things. Once we get this information out, Fazbear Entertainment will be nailed to the cross."
Nodding in agreement, Carl became more somber, "We're almost there. Just a few more-"
They both heard the footsteps, coming from down the hall.
"Damn it," Caine cursed, before gesturing towards the bookcase on the other side of the room. Understanding immediately, Carl hopped off the computer, trying to shut it down as quickly as possible.
As Caine shuffled one of the file cabinets slightly, he carefully squeezed behind it, hiding him from view. Just as the door opened, Carl managed to reach the shadow of the bookcase, stepping behind it.
Both of them gritted their teeth and covered their breath as the door was fully opened…
As per usual, it was another boring shift for Peter Crews.
Ever since he'd first joined Freddy's, almost six months ago, Peter had expected something big. Being a soon-to-be-high-rolling business manager who had already accomplished two certificates in Business Studies at the age of nineteen, he had all the potential and drive, yet none of the opportunities he felt he deserved.
Which was why when he saw the opportunity at Freddy's, he seized it with both hands. An opportunity to take over a failing PR disaster with none of the flair it once had, but plenty of the nostalgic factor?
All he had to do was be patient, bide his time, and Freddy's would soon be back in business, earning more money than it ever had.
That was when, to Peter's chagrin, he had met the biggest thorn in his side: Mr. Charles Garfield.
The truth was, as Peter smugly thought as he absently swung on his aluminum-lined office chair, Garfield didn't like him. Ever since Crews had arrived, the over-the-hill middle-aged man had been pushing back, trying to derail Peter's destiny, clearly hating the concept of a younger, more driven man taking his place.
The truth was, Mr. Garfield was scared of him.
So there Peter Crews was, wasted on a job any of those knuckleheads back from high school could do. But, as luck would have it, that wasn't going to last. Over the last few weeks, Peter had been taking chances, gaining the loyalty of his co-workers for the inevitable takeover.
Already he had some of the janitors, two of his fellow day guards, and even one of the board of directors on his side. Potentially, he also had someone with dirt on Garfield working as the night guard.
All he had to do was play his cards right.
Glancing through the cameras, as boring as it was, Peter saw one of the janitors finishing up with his cleaning duties. Remembering him as Wilson, Peter wondered how long the old man had been washing floors for Fazbear Entertainment. Merely months? Years? Or perhaps even decades?
It was a simple matter of skillset, Peter supposed. Some people were meant for greater things, to be pioneers and architects of the future. Others were simply meant to be workhorses, a single cog in the machine reaching for a purpose.
Some people were simply meant to be cattle. It was up to people like Peter Crews to be their Shepard.
Eyes snapping open at the sound of something coming down the hallway, Peter jumped in his seat. Embarrassed, he started to settle down again until he heard it once more. Pausing to listen, he quickly realized it was the occasional thud and…a voice?
No, Peter thought, two voices. Barely audible. So much that he would've thought them to be in his head. Perhaps they were.
He stepped out into the hallway and heard nothing. Becoming increasingly concerned, Peter walked down the hallway towards Garfield's office.
With the voices gone as Peter reached the door, the disgruntled guard was about to return to his duties when he realized that the lock to the door wasn't locked.
Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Peter pondered on whether he should open it. Perhaps it was Mr. Garfield having returned from his trip? Deciding to be safe rather than sorry, Peter pushed the door open.
Freezing at the sight of the office, Peter quickly realized that there was no one within. How could that be?
He was about to turn around and leave it to somebody else to figure out when he saw the file on the desk. Nervous and excited at the same time, he looked down the hallway on both ends, making sure that there was nobody watching him, before stepping in and walking straight to the desk.
Whoever he'd heard, they didn't seem to be there anymore. Picking up the file and looking at the text written in red ink, his excitement was only growing when he saw:
Fazbear Entertainment – Employee Dossiers 1987-1992
Peter could smell opportunity a mile away. He'd gotten it from his father, who had been a regional manager of a chain of small businesses back in the sixties. Even Peter knew just how filled with controversy the Fazbear name was and how many of those controversies were tied to employees once working for Freddy's.
If Peter could find something he could use against Garfield…
Smiling in glee, Peter strolled out of the office, shutting the door as he left with the file in hand.
"Bloody hell," Caine scowled after peaking out from being the file cabinet.
Shaking his head as he left the shadows of the bookcase, Carl glanced towards the detective, "What do you think we should do?"
Not answering for a moment, Caine looked down thoughtfully. Being able to practically read the thought process on his face, Carl crossed his arms and patiently waited for the answer.
On one hand, the risk was too great. Getting spotted now would seriously screw things up for both of them and escaping would be hard enough without factoring in the attempted recovering of that file.
Of course, on the other hand, leaving half-empty handed was simply not an option and if Carl had learned anything about Caine over the time they'd been working together, he had quite a hard head.
So the hacker wasn't surprised when Caine gave his answer.
"Alright," The detective said cautiously, "I'll sneak into the office. Do you think you can disable the security cameras from here?"
"Disable?" Carl repeated, "No. I should be able to cause some interference, though."
"And do you think you can lure that guy out of his shell?"
Hesitating, Carl shrugged, "Not sure. What are you thinking?"
Caine gave his own shrug and smiled, "Do what you do best. Improvise."
With that, the detective stepped over to the door. Giving him a nod as he disabled the outside camera one more time, Carl moved to the computer as Caine left the office.
For some moments, Carl rammed through all the systems he could gain access to, trying to find something. Anything.
Then he saw it.
Carl smiled, "You want a distraction? I'll give you one."
Quickly reaching the edge of the security office, Caine peeked in and found the day guard sitting at his desk. However, rather than watching the cameras, the guard was pouring over the contents in the file.
At least the cameras wouldn't be a problem.
Trying to find an opening, Caine gritted his teeth in anxiety. "C'mon, Carl…"
The noise practically made the guard jump out of his seat and Caine's heart from his chest. It was a loud, mechanical screeching that bounced off the walls and pierced his eardrums.
"God damn it!" The day guard shouted, "Those stations are going to be the death of me!"
Both in anger and urgency, the guard ran out of the other doorway.
Waiting for a few moments, Caine smiled. Carl always came through.
Entering the office, Caine placed all the files back in the folder and was about to meet up with Carl again so they could make their escape when he heard the scream.
Breath struggling to escape his lungs, Caine closed his eyes. Of all the things…
Now there was a dilemma. Either the scream was simply a nervous reaction, or either the day guard or the janitor had gotten themselves hurt.
Possibly killed.
With every part of him telling him to just walk away and damn the consequences, he gave an irritable sigh. He knew he couldn't leave a man to possibly die.
Stepping out into the hallway, Caine fell into a crouch and slowly went down into the darkness. His ears pried for any sound, but he couldn't find anything—
—Metal. Mechanical groans. There could be no other answer; the animatronics were on the move.
He fell back against the wall, looking for any other cover. His eyes settled on the supply closet. Other than the office—which had no subtle cover—or the escape door—but he wasn't willing to leave Carl behind—the closet was the only option.
But just as he made a move towards it, a large figure appeared at the end of the hallway.
Cursing with every fiber of his being, Caine moved back against the wall, hoping that the shadows would keep him from view.
But it didn't. Without a moment of hesitation, the animatronics came stomping towards him.
Closing his eyes and giving a bitter smile, Caine said, "Alright. You got me. How about we settle our differences like gentlemen and we go on our merry—"
He couldn't have avoided the lunge even if he tried. Within moments, the animatronic—the bear, if the features were anything to go by—had covered five meters within seconds, grabbed him by the throat, and lifted him up.
Gasping, Caine reached for his pistol, but before he could get a hold on it, Freddy slammed him head-first into the wall.
Falling to the floor and his vision going black, Caine felt for his hat, but it must've fallen off. No, he thought, that was a gift…
Before his vision faded, he stared up at the figure looming over him, those eyes burning into his soul.
Those silver eyes.
Mike's trip to the backstage room had fortunately been uninterrupted. He'd been worried that either Foxy in his cove would notice something, or even that Bonnie who'd been playing the guitar onstage would be confused.
After all, there was Mike rolling an entire cleaning trolley through the dining area, looking like he was on a mission.
Either way, he was able to wheel it into the room with some difficulty, closed the door as quietly as he could, and turned on his flashlight again.
The smell was only going to get worse, so Mike grabbed the medical mask he'd found in the trolley and slid it on. He then started to put the protective gear on, made of a clingfilm material that had as much friction as rubber.
He then unloaded the equipment from the trolley, including the mop, buckets, and cleaning liquids. He'd considered bringing the dry cleaner in the supply closet, but decided against it; with how much this plan of his relied on subtlety, putting on a loud device to make things quicker was not going to help him.
Glancing at both of the suits, one propped up on a table and the other in the repair station, Mike gave one last sigh. Now it was time for the difficult part.
Stepping over to the suit propped up on the table, the question in his mind on how he would get the suit down weighed on him. Should he just push it over?
No, he thought to himself, too risky. It was bound to cause a heck ton of noise. The only thing he could do was try to carry it down.
Stepping over to it, Mike gingerly put his hands on the arm and body of the suit. Even with the mask, the smell was horrendous.
Slowly, he moved it off the table and started to place it on the ground.
Almost there…
But then, just as he was seconds away from the ground, his foot slipped.
Crap, he cursed in his head, before falling over on top of the suit. His flashlight fell from the table he'd placed it on and cracked on the floor, spilling pieces of glass.
Cringing his eyes closed, Mike looked at the table.
His face froze in horror at the sight of one of the buckets filled with water, teetering on the edge of the table feet away from him.
I'm not going to make it.
He tried to stand up, his legs shaky and yielding, but there was no time. The bucket fell.
Bang.
Water spilled all over the floor, mixing with blood. Getting to his feet, Mike closed his eyes as he heard the loud, stomping footsteps coming from outside the room.
"Mike?" Bonnie called as he opened the door, "What happened? Are you okay?"
"Bonnie, don't come in!" Mike desperately replied.
The door opened fully and the large figure of the rabbit stepped in.
"Are you hurt—"
Even with the darkness, the rabbit could clearly see. He stepped back at the sight of Mike, on one knee with the floor mixed with water and a darker substance almost like oil.
The two suits, one propped up on the repair station and the other on the floor.
"Bonnie," Mike whispered, "Please. Please leave."
Bonnie didn't respond. His eyes were wide. Slowly, ever so much that Mike almost didn't see it, Bonnie shook his head.
"No," Bonnie muttered, "No. No."
His own words frozen on his lips, Mike looked away in shame. The blood had stained his jumpsuit, in spite of the precautions he'd taken.
"No, no, no!" Both giant hands pressed against his head, Bonnie leaned back against the wall and fell down. He started wailing.
It didn't take long for the others to arrive. At first, concerned and shocked questions arrived to greet them. But once they had seen what lay within, all that remained was stunned silence.
Mike wasn't quite sure what was said after that. A painful pounding hammered inside his head and all he could do was stare at the floor, eyes gaunt and lip bleeding.
Stepping closer, Freddy stared blankly at the suits, "I…I don't understand…"
For what seemed like an eternity, no more words were spoken. All there was left was the sound of wailing and the mixture of water and blood that had begun to spread outside the backstage room.
The next chapter's the big one. The one I've been dreading since I first started writing this. So, with that knowledge, brace yourselves for the next upload.
TheAmberShadow: Certainly wasn't enough and now, it's backfired majorly.
TU4QU0I53T4IAN6L3: He's probably going to need a new uniform by the time this is done. Let's hope that uniform isn't prison-orange.
The next chapter's likely coming next week.