Author's Note: Jinkies, so many reviews here and on FA due to the events of chap 11. Here's a juicy chapter as my hearty thanks. There's six…or seven? Chapters left, minus the preview chapter. (I DID say I wanted this to be a longer book like Ghost String's, rip me.) This chapter's title is based on one of my favorite songs by No More Kings, aptly named 'The Living Dead.' PLEASE give it a listen; it's been on my morning playlist since I first heard it in 2014.

Warning: This is where the fic starts to earn its rating. Depictions of violence against humans, injuries ahead, and always: horror.

"When there is no more room in Hell, the dead will walk the earth." –George Romero

ACT III.
Chapter 12. The Living Dead (Are Keeping Me up at Night)

The last time he acted this recklessly, the only hide on the line was his.

Well, and Golden Freddy's. Mangle's too, since she followed him down into Pizza World.

And—and alright Danny's as well, apparently, since somehow he'd found his way down to the defunct Circus World somehow. With a poor, unstable Springtrap in tow.

'You were right Mari, history always repeats itself. Instead of me and Danny and Gold and Ms Foxy, it's me, and Max, and Gold…and Scraptrap.' Mike eyed the monitor in his miserable little office area, and smacked a key.

'Same stakes. How am I gunna get us out of this one?'

Nh. His head was killing him.

Ever since the gang had been locked down by someone—'or something' the voice that reminded him of the Puppet warned crisply in the back of his mind—Mike himself had been trapped in a thick fog of fear, feeling unmoored and unfocused, like he knew something else was going to happen but didn't know what. It was a wounding, lonely feeling, one he'd hadn't felt in a long, long time. Years, even. He sat in the miserable tiny chair in his miserable tiny office, Max lingering behind him on the threshold that lead to the hall, Scraptrap behind him actually in the hall because the poor hollow bunny couldn't fit, and Helpy perched in Mike's lap. The little bear had taken to shadowing Mike around even more than before, as if understanding his anxiety and pain and trying, in his own little way, to offer comfort. Helpy hadn't even had to tug the man's jean before he was scooped up and deposited on the man's lap as Mike stretched his arms around Helpy and went back to typing at the ancient dinosaur of a desktop. The computer whirred to life, kicking heat into the unvented, suffocating room and he grunted, waving a hand tiredly. Helpy played with his watch and the blue band on his wrist.

"This system is a piece of crap." Mike declared finally. "Worse than what I cleaned out at Freddy's on my first few nights. I never really stopped to notice it until now, I had so many other tasks and junk to get done in the past few nights."

"Not really a surprise. Name one Freddy's that's been tops for security and safety, dude?" Max offered, and Mike pitched a snort over his shoulder of dry agreement. But something still nagged at him.

"It's not that, I guess. It's just…so outdated for the rest of the tech in here, y'know? Look at the arcade games, hell, the Rockstars! This stuff doesn't match. Even the monitors in my old office, they fit the rest of the run down joint, hell even the gang matched their surroundings back then. The Funtimes matched their chrome crap world, like the Toys did theirs, even the diner…"

Max eyed the man's shoulder with an odd look but said nothing to question how Mike knew the original pizzeria compared to the third one that he had worked at. Let alone the diner.

"Maybe….maybe that's by design. Maybe Uncle Henry didn't want you to look too close, Mike." The eldest of the Afton siblings had been hanging around him more than usual too, though he tended to shadow Mike more and more—either because he knew Mike would defend him against a grouchy Freddy, or simply because he was growing to enjoy the man's company. Mike hoped it was the latter, but knew it was likely the former.

In any case, Max didn't have to worry about Freddy getting on his case now, and Mike wondered if some small part of Max wasn't relieved by that.

If he was, he hid it deep, and didn't gloat or seem happy by the loss of the gang. Freddy's ire or not, they were still down four protective and still intimidating animatronics. Security Puppet and Helpy were hardly going to be great offense against Molten Freddy or Afton himself.

Really, the walking corpse of a teenager hadn't left Mike's side since they'd discovered the inactive and presumably shut down Fazgang, and Mike had the oddest feeling Max and Scraptrap were trying to protect him in place of his family. The thought warmed him, just enough to regain his senses. It was sweet, and obviously a tad misguided but Max didn't have to know that. He knew the general census about the Spirit in his bones when it came to other Suits, he knew Goldy was the biggest, and strongest, and the arguable 'alpha' of the situation. Especially with the loss of the Marionette. And now he knew Max's opinion of the Giver of said Spirit.

Things were better left unsaid for now, because the last thing Mike needed was to hurt or scare Max off.

He needed a plan. They needed a plan. And a damn good one, because if something happened to Max or Scrap, Mike really would go off a deep end this time.

'I definitely can't afford to turn into Nightmare-Fredbear again. Gotta keep my cool.' Mike exhaled a hot and heavy sigh to relax his nerves. 'One open eye, Mari. I can do this. I swear on your grave—I'm going to finish this once and for all. I don't care what it takes, right Gold?'

Across their bond, half roused and shifting lazily in the back of Mike's mind, Golden Freddy grinned, bearing his big, sharp teeth with which to bite when needed—but only when needed.

'Right, Michael.'

Mike forced another exhale, and this one was easier. He still had Gold. He could do this.

"I'm so sick of the ghosts here, man. At least Dad and Molten we can just hit or take apart." Max grunted to the tune of his bunnybot's low hum of agreement. And even pacifist-Mike couldn't outright argue against the tempting concept. Still, he did address one thing the kid brought up.

"Some ghosts aren't real, Max. I know that sounds strange coming from the guy whose job was essentially 'try-not-to-get-murdered-in-cold-blood-by-some-haunted-animatronics,' but that wasn't their fault either. That was your brother's Uncle, who hated the restaurant for locking your dad away."

"I—wait. He did all that? All the—the night guards? Even Uncle Scott?" Max's shoulders slumped at Mike's sad nod. "You mean Freddy and the others weren't…? But their kids were…"

"Someone was out for revenge, but it wasn't them. Their kids powered them and helped them become more human, but the kids weren't outright evil, just scared. Freddy and the gang were scared too. Wouldn't you be?" Mike added solemnly, "They got the blame for it though. Just like Springtrap did for Afton's actions. Just like Alexander. Just like you, for…whatever it is my family thinks you did to hurt them."

At that, Max lapsed into silence.

And, true, King had been the one punishing night guards, but he hadn't been the one pulling on all the strings. The Marionette's allowance of the murders had been because it was searching for the next Suit for Golden Freddy. That guy on the phone had been a contender, but he—like so many after him—hadn't been able to go the distance with Fredbear, and had been lost to time and memory. The Puppet had given up hope, kept dormant and slightly weak until new blood spilled and woke it and the Crying Child up all over again.

But that was another part of history Mike was careful to keep hidden. Soon, but not yet.

"Did Uncle Henry give you a time when he'd be coming over?" Max changed the subject, and Mike let him.

"Said around midnight. Something about catching me up on this places for Saturday, I don't know." Mike did know, but he wasn't caring about it right now.

One hour after Mike had discovered the locked down Fazgang, he had cracked into a couple pieces and moped. Hour two had found him pulling out his toolbox and opening everyone's heads, trying to pin down the problems, or the malfunctions, if any. He couldn't find anything.

Hour three was a mix of tinkering and begging and drained, dry tears. It was just as useless as the other hours, and Mike was losing steam hand over fist by then.

By hour four Max had had enough, and instead of bringing him coffee and quiet understanding he'd brought soft words of coaxing to step back and try later. That he wouldn't do Freddy and the others any good if he burned himself out or worse, let his guard down if another salvage came in and they had to deal with that too. Scraptrap had growled his agreement, Helpy had picked up a tool and refused to hand it over, and so Mike had relented, but his heart was heavy and ached still. Still, his friends were right, and he knew that.

Fourteen minutes after Mike had checked the alley way (nothing, thank god) his tired little flip cell had rang, startling sensitive Scraptrap's ears and when Max laughed at his best friend's comical spook, even Mike had managed a low grin before answering.

Plenty of static filled their quick conversation, but Mike had gotten the jist of it.

Henry was coming back, and his timing simply could not be any worse.

Small miracles though, because now Mike didn't have to worry about the gang being off stage and 'Alive' when Henry showed up for the first time in a few days. So that was something.

It was cresting toward midnight now, actually. Mike's idea to check the cameras for who—or what—could have done this to his animatronics had been a good idea when you factored in what Mike's point of reference was for the security feed. The one he'd been used to, anyway, might have given him something. Even if the camera had gone dark, or acted oddly, that would have pointed the clever night guard in the direction of something supernatural, because regular humans couldn't magically tamper with cameras without leaving a mark. he was still pretty sure it was Afton's doing, but something nagged at the back of his head and Max didn't seem overly confident in his idea either.

But this system wasn't designed like that. And Mike hadn't stopped to notice until now. He kicked himself mentally, but pushed the keyboard tray in with more force than necessary, then stopped himself. Keep it cool. Mike busied himself with gently rescuing the mouse from Helpy's tiny paws and placing that back on the desk too. The room was getting warmer, so he hit the power button on the desktop and cleared his throat.

"I still think your father is up to this. He took them apart with an axe when we were in Fazbear's Fright. Why not try this, too?" Mike snapped in disgust as he rolled himself and Helpy away from the desk. "Give me false hope about getting them Awake again, huh? Distract me?"

"If it was to distract you, then it worked for almost the whole night, Mike. But me and Scraptrap hung around, and didn't see anything unusual." Max reminded.

Even worse, they hadn't detected any movement on the cameras that wasn't one of them—well, what stood in place for movement. Little white X's that flashed on the screen in the corresponding boxed out room. Mike had noticed an audio log of all the rooms, alongside the fake cue used to lure animatronics from through the grand restaurant. But if the floor plan's ancient motion detectors didn't pick any movement, what would there be to listen to in the Dining Hall? Worse, what kind of quality could he expect? He didn't have Bonnie's ears anymore to rely on either, but he supposed Scraptrap's might work.

Still—Marion had always taught him to measure twice, cut once. He'd listen to the audio later. Right now, between Afton and Henry, Mike was distracted enough.

"What makes you so sure Dad pulled this off? Springtrap's good at illusions and his shadow creations, sure, but to be able to do something as real as that…"

Mike stood, having to gently shoulder past the kid but clapped a warm hand on his shoulder. He didn't notice that Max no longer flinched at the touch but almost seemed to perk up at the quick affection.

"Because Max, if there's one thing I learned as a night guard, then it's this: ghosts are what people make up when they feel an injustice has been done." He headed down the hall, past Scraptrap who gave a gentle whur, but lingered by Max as he usually did.

"What if the injustice was a lie though, huh? What then?" Max called down the hall at him.

The night guard turned, eyeing the purple teenager quietly.

"No one here at Freddy's tells the truth." Max told Mike softly. "Not ever."

Not even Mike had anything to reply to that. Because it was true.

Henry was waiting for him in the Dining Hall, having already let himself in. Mike thought he'd locked the front doors after the gang had been shut off, but he supposed if anyone had a master key, it would of course be Henry himself. Still, Mike was glad for Scraptrap's ears, because the bunnybot had heard the man enter the restaurant even from the office hall, and so he and Max had wisely slunk the opposite direction without Mike having to say anything. They were probably outside in the alley already, just in case Henry wanted to see the Office or Parts and Service. Mike felt a sting of worry creep into his mind for the two, but forced himself to remember that Max and Scrap were better at hide and seek than any two souls had any right to be—they'd been on their own long before Mike after all.

'Suits, too.' Gold reminded with faint amusement, maybe a small hint of pride. 'Like us.'

'Yeah…like us.'

They'd be fine out there, even if Scraptrap couldn't hear through the lead lined walls. Mike would simply go and fetch them when Henry had left. He understood Max's apprehension for meeting the older fellow, afraid of being accused of being his father or worse, being treated like him even despite Henry knowing he was the man's son, and still placing blame on the teenager's shoulders.

"Hey, Henry." Between the events of the last day and a half or so, Mike couldn't muster an ounce of respect or even attempt to fake it. He was tired, he was sore, and he wanted to be out hunting down William, not playing security guard for an unopened pizzeria that was going to replace his friends in the end. Nothing seemed fair anymore, but then, that was life for you. Mike sighed, wishing the doom and gloom of his mind would leave him the hell alone for once, and let him think. He missed Freddy and the others, but underneath it all he knew who he was really missing. The extra loss had compounded ontop of it all, until it felt like his lean frame was being smothered. Even Gold's added warmth and Max's sudden attachment was only doing so much.

'Even when I had no one, I had you Mari.'

"Mike," Henry greeted him warmly, and if he picked up on the terseness of the man's words or the sharpness of his normally relaxed frame, he didn't mention it. "Noticed little Security Puppet's band on your wrist. She still in working order, then? Hasn't let you leave the joint, I reckon?"

"She's okay…kinda distant. Checks on me all the time, near clockwork. Guess that means her internal timer is fine, and she isn't keen on me leaving the restaurant, no. So blue pings in her system, I haven't gotten around to try the other colors yet." Didn't mean she was ready to be on the floor on Opening Day of course, but Mike would take what he could get. He was already trying to think of offers to buy the little Puppet and bring her home with them, where she'd at least be respected and treated well. He wasn't fond of thinking of the Animatronics like property, but he would play by Henry's rules to get his way, and help SP out. Mike had no idea how she'd fair here, especially if the business got busy and she got overwhelmed by the new animatronics like the gleaming, brightly painted Rockstars. But the birthday parties that booked he and his gang were, by nature, smaller and more private. And it could be argued extra security in other places was more necessary than here, especially once he handled Afton and Circus. Even when he got rid of those two, kids could still be kidnapped, violence still happened. Mike tried to see the good in everything, but he wasn't stupid or naive. Not anymore.

"Good, good." The thing was, Henry wasn't here to ask genial, airy questions about a rusted and half-broken security system. They both knew that, and slowly Mike's well honed senses began to creep awake as something dawned on him.

The timing of the old man's arrival seemed too…coincidental. And if something felt like a coincidence, it probably was. Mike opened his mouth to say something, then snorted as Helpy toddled into view. He spotted the old man standing by the lip of the stage in front of Chica and Lefty, and jumped in delight, dropping his Skee ball and promptly hurrying for the old gentleman.

"Hello there, little Fredbear~ Been up to lots of things, have you?" Henry leaned a bit, patting the shiny miniature Funtime on his head before correcting his stance to toss a secret smile at Mike.

Mike watched the two together, and mulled the little scene over.

Maybe it was Mike's paranoia. Or maybe it was his smarts, but seeing the two so happily reunite jogged a neuron in Mike's brain and gave it a scolding kick. Words the man had said to him his first night here rang in the back of Mike's mind like the warning toll of a bell:

"You get up to anything you shouldn't…and Freddy will tell me."

Freddy. Not Freddy Fazbear—but Funtime Freddy, as in Helpy—why, Henry had warned him plainly from the very start.

Mike eyed Helpy and only barely managed a smile when the little bear waved brightly up at him. His optics were wide and happy and clear. Crystal clear. Like a high quality lens. He had seen BonBon's schematic down in Pizza World. The miniature Bonnie model could be Helpy's match set, so naturally the two were built alike. Henry must have copied the design in much the same way Afton had copied him all those years ago. BonBon had cameras in his eyes to help Funtime Freddy track and remember prey better.

Which meant…

Helpy had been watching them this entire time. He'd been following Mike everywhere. He'd seen Molten Freddy be hauled in. Seen Max and Scraptrap arrive.

He'd seen the gang suddenly and mysteriously be trapped on the stage.

'Timing in show business is everything, dear night guard. Never forget, we are many things, but we are always and forever will be seasoned performers~' The Marionette's past words lectured him with that lilting, warm edge it always carried when helping Mike.

He could sure use that help now.

"Henry—can I ask, can I ask you a question?" the night guard spoke slowly.

"I encourage it! Did you know, 'an educated mind is a questioning one? …or is it?" Henry winked at the playful joke as Mike stepped nearer to the ancient man, leaning heavily on his stripped cane like always.

Now, Mike was blindsided all over again, and licked his dry lips nervously.

"Yeah, that's—funny, a friend of mine used to tell me that." Mike halted again, and under his skin, Golden Freddy stirred.

Henry, the old man, the impossibly old, shriveled, bright-eyed, smiling man, regarded him with a sudden strange, chilling hunger. It was a look Mike could remember seeing from those that knew about his other half, and coveted the power. Nightmare and Afton had the same look.

"A wise friend you had, young man. It's a pity what happened, but nightmares can be deadly, can't they?"

Mike Schmidt stayed rooted in place, but damn if his heart wasn't running a mile a minute. Henry was closer now, but Mike stayed stuck on those clear, energetic eyes.

"I…I never told you what killed the Pu—"

And then the hand around his throat had gripped him tightly, and his airway was being pressed closed with the force of a vice. Mike gagged, flinching and fighting back as anyone would in this situation. His fingers scrabbled at the man's iron grip. That failed, and when it did, Mike gripped tighter with more purpose, and this time golden, fierce electrical shocks danced from his palm, his scarred eye glowing the same color as he tried to electrocute Henry to gain freedom and oxygen.

That didn't work, either.

"None of that now," Henry clucked his tongue in distaste, and watched the night guard's long legs buckle as the bolts of lightning halted. "Those powers you're borrowing won't work on a corpse, Mike."

'A corpse—'

"Wh—y?" Mike wheezed instead, trying to remember what time it was. It seemed an errant, strange thought but he had a plan. His mind raced, though with the lead and his own closed voice he had no way to call for Max and Scraptrap.

"Loose ends." Henry said simply. "You had a hand in this even if it was the good side—for almost a decade. Until this. Until now." Henry's smile curled into distaste, disappointment, and thinly veiled regret. "Your little stint down in Afton's House of Horrors damn near ruined our years of hard work, didn't it? They're awake now, Michael, and up here. Because of you."

"I—I—" but what could he argue against that? It was the truth.

"You couldn't even keep William dead and gone, no, and what's worse—you repaired his Suit enough that the two could survive longer!"

He'd been fixing Springtrap all those months ago, though. Not the killer. Mike hadn't done it on purpose. He'd thought Afton was gone, just like Mari had been.

But everyone knows what the road to Hell is paved with. And Mike Schmidt, it seemed, had done more than his fair share of brick and mortar lying in Henry's eyes along that path. There was dead certainty in the old man's gaze, filled now with empty loathing and disgust and it made something in Mike crumble and shrivel in shame and hurt.

He'd trusted someone again, and again—it'd been the wrong choice.

"So here's what we're going to do," the old man hissed, venom and ice in his tone as Mike started to go limp, the gold of his eyes leaking toward Henry's chest. Gold's presence went from lighthouse bright to flickering embers, and it was dimming by the second. Helpless to stop it, feeling like his very soul was being cleaved in half—and wasn't it, technically?—Mike Schmidt could only croak soundlessly and fumble against the suddenly inhuman might of the old man. "You are back to playing your part, night guard, and it's the first five nights all over again. Without help from Fredbear, or any of my Animatronics."

Mike fought a growl out, defiance forcing his body to struggle weakly back. Using Gold's still lingering strength, he wrenched the man's heavy fingers off his air pipe just enough and choked out in his family's defense:

"They're not yours—they're not things to be owned you sunvabitc—nhn!" Mike's threats were sliced in half as Henry overpowered him once more, and added his own forceful weight this time. Before Mike knew it he was being slammed, spine first, into the stage in front of the statuesque Freddy and Bonnie, Henry's back to the restaurant and the tables. Stranger still, was the constant and bleeding unearthly golden light that seeped steadily outward from Mike's chest and into Henry's. Mike's strength left him to the point where Henry could release the half-conscious man's throat and grip him by the shoulders, half to keep him pinned, half to prop the now sagging man up as he was drained.

"To catch a big fish you need big bait, young man." Henry lectured as if Mike cared at this point, "And what's better than a mortal, pathetic night guard to them? Easy to hunt and kill. I need everyone in one place for Saturday, and you're going to get us what we want, dear night guard, whether you approve of my methods or not, they're the right ones—"

Mike twitched at the title, forced his lolling head upright. He managed to lift his right arm, though it trembled like thin paper, and eyed his watch. His scarred hand managed a loose fist, and Mike's lips twitched in triumph.

Mike grinned, catching the crazed, driven man's attention.

"Sorry," the night guard slurred, sounding drugged and exhausted as more of Gold was being siphoned from him, "Yer time'ss up…H'nry…"

The hands on his watch ticked to 12:00 am.

Henry only glared at him, confusion marring his look for a second. That was all Mike needed.

The sound of a sharp, alarmed bell chimed from the tables and with a lunge, the Security Puppet darted at them, her buttercup yellow optics locked on the blue band on Mike's shaking arm. And then she was on Henry, and her little spindly fingers scratched at him, right at his face, making a series of rather terrible chiming as she attacked the man. The old man howled, forced to wrench away from the still wilting Mike, who clumsily caught himself on the stage and hung on as golden glow halted and reversed some.

'Shit—Gold? Please tell me—'

'Here, Michael.'

The deep rumble was oxygen to Mike's lungs and he refocused, forcing his still weakened body to move. He got distance between himself and Henry, and sucked in air for relief as his soul righted itself and let him straighten. He swayed, but didn't fall.

"Okay, Security, that's enough," Mike was worried Henry would recover from her surprise launch and do serious damage to the little gal. Thankfully she sprung lightly away the instant Mike spoke, blinking out of sight. Only to teleport back into existence beside him now, hovering warily and giving tiny, off keyed chimes of warning and ire. She seemed startled and cautious and didn't even notice the silent Animatronics behind them, her eyes locked stubbornly on the man who'd attacked her blue band wearer.

"You tell him, sweetie," Mike snorted, because the noises were more adorable than outright scary, but he glared down Henry as well too, arms folded.

"You hired me to do a job, and yeah, to a point, I was kind of okay with being bait. But taking the Fazes and Gold from me was never part of that deal." He hissed, poison in his own tone. "Now get out the hell out of here, I'm still on shift. And don't even think about going near Max, either."

Henry stared at him, face flat and eyes dark. Finally he sighed, shrugging in boredom as if Mike was a teenager that needed scolding.

"If that's how you want to play it, fine. But sooner or later we have to pay the piper, young man, and you've been long overdue for years." He retorted, and when Mike only deepened his commanding glare and pointed at the door, the old man sniffed in distaste. He eyed the little Funtime standing beside the stage, one paw touching his cheek. Helpy hadn't joined Henry but he hadn't moved to help Mike either—the bear's puzzled, worried stare at them both seemed a clue in to his thoughts. He didn't understand the odd violence, and wasn't prepared for it. So far, Mike and the others had never done something like that, even if Foxy snapped and growled near him. Helpy tossed a dubious, searching look up at Mike, as if to ask 'that was an accident, wasn't it?'

"Come, Helpy." Henry told him, earning the little shiny model's attention once more, but unlike Security, Helpy didn't move an inch. "I've seen all I need to through you."

Helpy didn't move, but he began to fidget in place.

"I said come! Now!"

But the bark had the opposite effect, and with only one more double take, Helpy scurried to the right instead of the left, taking shelter behind Mike's legs. He peeked out miserably, one pink paw clutching the night guard's jeans. Security Puppet's chittered sweetly down at him from Mike's side, as if sensing the little bot's distress and offering comfort.

Mike's smug smirk was all he tossed the old man, whose look was ugly and angrier than before, his eyes flashing black.

The old man's look was dark and heavy, but he merely backed up to the hall that led to Parts and Services. He eyed the stage, left a lingering, cold gaze on the nearest animatronic and then smiled at Mike.

"Fine. Fine." Snapped Henry, in a tone that Mike was sure would make Max flinch if he could hear it. "If you're so sure you can clean up your mess, be my guest, Michael. When you inevitably screw up, like you've done all your life, then I'll come back."

Mike followed the man with his own long, wary strides, but kept his distance. Security Puppet gave something like a tiny hiss, but shadowed the night guard alongside the still frightened looking Helpy.

Parts and Service's door was opening, and from it bled black shadows and thin tendrils of…something…that whipped and wriggled. The darkness bleeding from the frame like an open wound was hiding the long, worm-like things, though they reached hungrily for Henry as he neared. But then Mike saw glints of white and black, making his eyes widen as his heart skip a few beats.

In the dim, flickering overhead, marionette strings glinted a long path down to Henry's neck and wrists, and his smile grew sicker when he caught Mike staring. The tendrils were stripped, ebony black and iridescent white.

"That was how you did it." Mike breathed, floored. Trying to take Gold from him, he meant. Marion was the one who put them together; of course it'd only be him who could take them apart. Or…an approximation of him, of his powers.

"I made them, Michael. Everyone of them. They're Mine." Henry warned coolly.

"Wait," Mike tried, watching the old man step back into the blackness. "Wait! Stop! Mari!?"

But in the time it took for him to get within arm's reach, the door to Parts and Service snapped tightly shut.

Mike pried at the knob, summoned Gold's dregs of strength, forgetting the flashlight by his side. And when he did remember it, the door popped free with a golden sizzle but…

The tidy, empty, and brand new maintenance room was all that met him when he flicked the light on.

It was like nothing had ever happened at all.

'There are some doors that should never be opened. There are some doors that hold secrets, that must never be known.'

Mike quietly and reluctantly shut the door to Parts and Service, splayed his fingers into the grooves of the wood and deflated forward, leaning against it for a long while.

"There's something I'm not seeing," he muttered into the wood, feeling the lingering, worried presence of his new friends. "You'd never hurt me or Gold, buddy, not even for that man…"

Mike shoved off the door and groaned, running a frustrated hand through his hair as he stalked back to the Dining Hall. He stopped, feeling Gold prickle under his skin again. Behind him, SP and Helpy halted too, one remained silent but the other chimed, confused at his actions. Mike didn't spare them a glance, but he lifted a finger, guiding their curious gazes to the corner of the hall.

Beside the arcade games, between Rocket Ride and Fruity Maze, stood a purple glob of shadows and a set of white eyes, somewhat resembling the shape of the titular bear character that stood on the stage in the middle. The smile spread under it, a low string of pearly white teeth.

Shadow Freddy was watching Mike, and when the night guard noticed him, the strange purple bear's smile slowly stretched. Mike lowered his finger when the other two noticed, and despite both standing up to Henry in their own way, they crowded behind Mike's frame as if to hide. Mike didn't blame them. Ghosts, the real ones that is, were scary.

"Thanks for all the help." Mike snorted, realizing the bear must have been standing there for a while. He rubbed at his sore, swollen throat, and felt Gold's power rush to soothe and soften the damage.

For a long while, neither moved.

Then Shadow Freddy's smile wobbled wider, and his head lolled to one side, as if asking a silent question in its soft cant. For a second mike thought the strange spirit was looking at something behind him, but there was only the left edge of the stage with Lefty, and SP and Helpy. Nothing of interest, then. Mike had no idea what the ghostly force was trying to communicate, and he couldn't find it in himself to care that much. Filing it away for later is what he ended up on doing, because right now there were bigger fish to catch, and certainly to fry.

Saying nothing, Shadow Freddy began to vanish, leaving only the pearly white squares and the whites of its eyes behind as it did, rather like the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland. Mike's frown deepened, but he turned toward the door that led to the salvage room.

He didn't exit the restaurant fully, couldn't, not with little Security floating behind him. But she still chimed unhappily when he even neared the threshold.

"I'll be alright Security," he soothed, "I'm not leaving—Max? Hey, uh, yeah we…we need to talk."

"What'd Uncle Henry want?" Max asked, but his tense posture clued Mike in he had a feeling he was already on the same page.

'My eternal soul.'

"…that's what we gotta talk about it. Because your Uncle Henry just drew some lines in the sand and we have a new problem on our hands, kid." Not that they were doing so great before.

Max shot him a confused look, and an even more curious one at the looming little puppet model, who chimed nervously at Scraptrap and sank behind Mike's shoulder again. She peeked out, making Max smile but he left her alone, and Scraptrap thankfully followed suit. Mike let her shelter there, but quickly filled Max in to what had happened as they reentered the restaurant.

Minus, of course, the part where he tried to separate Golden Freddy from his Suit, and the Puppet's odd, unearthly limbs that slithered and waved from a door that led to…Somewhere, but wherever it was, it sure as Hell hadn't been Parts and Services. Keying Max up about Marion's return wouldn't do any of them any good, and Mike made a mental promise to Gold that he would fill in the teenager about everything, just not right now.

'Three can keep a secret, night guard, if two of them are dead.' Another Marionette-ism that he'd been told long ago on one dark, sleepless night.

'Well I'm one, and Gold and you make the other two.' Mike had drawled in his usual sarcastic answer nine years ago. 'Whose gunna tell? My secret's safe.'

But for how much longer? Mike had thought he understood the little warning quote before, but he now knew exactly what Mari had meant.

"Christ, Mike." Max hissed in sympathy when the night guard finished his slightly edited retelling of the old man's attack and traitorous turn.

"I kinda figured Henry would go at me and Scrap, not you, dude. That's heavy. But you were the one down in Pizza World—doesn't make it right what he did! But…yeah." Max looked uneasy and upset, and since he and his friend were fine, Mike knew it was for him, and he softened a bit. "We should have thought about that. I'm sorry we weren't here…"

"It's okay. I handled it, and I've handled worse than Henry before." Mike assured. "We'll stick close unless absolutely necessary from now on. And SP was there thankfully, and she followed her programming perfectly, didn't you sweetie?"

There was a light, shy little chime at the praise, and when she noticed Scraptrap still wasn't looking at her, she edged back out, thin limbs tucked contently under her. She wasn't poised to spring into her box, and Mike managed a small smile. One animatronic she could handle, it seemed.

He eyed the still silent and lockdown gang. They hadn't so much as twitched when he'd been attacked, and he knew it didn't mean a damn thing to them about Gold or not. Freddy alone would have gone at Henry without a second of hesitance; he could just hear Foxy's characteristic screech he did when angered. Mike believed that as deeply as he believed something was wrong with whatever the hell Henry was using to power himself up—even if that was Marion, it wasn't really it. It couldn't be. His gaze lingered from Bonnie to their band leader, studied Chica up and down, and then eyed Cakey. And that made him twist and peer over Max's shoulder at where the torn and tattered pirate fox stood, placed in his usual pose when they first arrived, when Mike had to wheel him into the corner. His jaw was loose, but that was to be expected.

Foxy's proud, hook raised pose faced them head on like it always did. Except…

This time, Mike listened to his instincts. Because something was wrong. Something was slightly off. One little piece didn't fit the picture he was used to seeing. The rest of the gang looked like they always did. But not Foxy. Foxy looked…altered. Off. He squinted, and moved over to the stoic captain, deciding to stand beside him in the corner to puzzle it out.

"…Mike? You okay?" He half heard Max call, his tone laced with bewilderment. Mike probably did look strange, stalking slowly over as he eyed Foxy like he was trying to trap an animal in place with his stare.

"Look at this." Mike said by way of explanation for his odd actions. "Look—Foxy's shut off pose. Right here. It's not his preprogrammed one, the one he locks into so he doesn't fall over." He gave a gentle push to the worn red shoulder and confirmed his own words. The corner was propping Foxy up, not his own stance or metal legs Mike had replaced with framing from parts he stole in Pizza World. It was hard to see from any other angle, but Mike could see it now and suddenly it was all he could focus on.

"Uh…how can you tell?"

"I like patterns." Mike mumbled, as if that was a good enough answer. "Made me a good night guard, I guess. You spot the differences, you see another shift." Left hall, right hall, where Freddy liked to lurk, the timing of Foxy the longer the night dragged on.

"…right." Said Max.

Mike guided Foxy back into the original place he'd found him in. This was the clue, he decided. It had to be. He aligned himself at Foxy's shoulder, since the old seadog was closer to his height due to his stooped position, and leaned to one side to follow the extended arm, and even the gaze of the old pirate.

Had Foxy chosen this pose? Because if he had, there was a reason for it. Foxy was too clever to not try and leave a clue for Mike if he could. He followed the old fox's gaze first, trying to puzzle it all out.

Well that…didn't make sense. Foxy was staring between Freddy and Chica. No help there. Mike leaned back, sighing in irritation at himself, and then studied Foxy's gaze with tired, hurting pain. It was nothing, he was acting nuts…wait. Wait. Was that it?

Mike cocked his head, realized his problem. Foxy's eye patch was down. He only kept it down for parties, when he was in full on, theatrical pirate mode. Otherwise he preferred full use of his orange optics, especially since he could move quicker than the other animatronics combined. Even in shut off, it was usually lifted back out of his way. When Mike closed the same eye, his depth perception vanished and his point of view narrowed, and Mike realized with exception to a few inches, he was seeing exactly what Foxy had been seeing.

Now Mike followed the jutting direction of his arm a second time, keeping one eye shut.

"…Scraptrap? Move a little to the left." Mike called with a nudge of his hand in the desired direction. Because now there were two bunny ears in his way, and he didn't think Foxy was pointing to something that could move, like Scrap.

Scrap obliged, humming rustily as the two split Suits eyed the night guard and his strange actions. Scraptrap looked at Max for answers who shrugged, but waited. Even SP trilled her confusion as Helpy wandered around, adorably miming Mike but being too short to do so fully, or perhaps to understand what Mike was attempting.

"Okay Captain…what are you trying to show me…?" He mumbled to himself.

Mike now let his gaze push farther across the big room, past where the bunny had been standing before.

The hook wasn't pointing at the stage. It wasn't pointing at the wall. It wasn't pointing at Chica.

"Shit…"

The hook was pointing at Lefty.

The thing was, Mike realized after a silent beat, was that now? Lefty's head was turning slowly to the right.

Lefty was staring back.

Hey I never said I wouldn't end on another cliffhanger, just said this chapter would be juicy. Was it ;) ? Reviews are like kittens in my inbox 33 I'm going to try and finish this series by Halloween~ (She said, with a completely irrational sense of optimism)