Author's Note: So the odd thing is I had chapter 15 written well before this one. Ain't that just how it goes? Def won't make the Halloween deadline, but that's a combination of reasons, both concerning personal life and this story. Uh, anyway, ennnjoy!

A sly rabbit will have two openings to its den. A sly fox will know this, and bring a friend. -Anon

ACT III
Chapter 14. I'm Already Inside :)

The Past, 1985

Today was a good day.

Mostly because Dad wasn't paying them any attention again. Something had gone belly up with one of their suppliers, and so Michael had easily avoided the office, where behind a closed door could be heard curses and mutters and liquid hissing of all sorts as William Afton did what he did best.

Intimidated everyone that could be, and ran the show.

Michael slunk past the room, relieved the window was covered with a Fazbear and Friends television show poster, and hurried through the diner. He stopped to wave back at Freddy, and eyed the closed main stage. Fredbear and Springbonnie had software updates coming, but other than that, things were quiet on the home front. Well, that and the final addition to the Fazes…which is where he headed, knowing at least one sibling would be lurking around the small Pirate's Cove.

The best way to make Alexander do something was to tell him to never, not once, do the thing. So naturally the off limits Pirate's Cove was the first place Michael went to look for the punk.

"Hey Al, you seen Henri anywhere?"

"Tch, no. She's prolly in Dad's office. Taking notes."

"On what? She's like, seven." Eight? He couldn't remember. Her and Artie were so close in age that sometimes they just called them the twins—even though Arthur and Henrietta Afton were complete opposites in every way.

Alexander just rolled his eyes, his freckles scrunching across his cheeks before he went back to waving a hand across Foxy's blank face. Michael eyed the dull, empty gaze and noticed even though the Fox's cameras were off, the lens was slightly retracting. He winced, the hair on the back of his neck standing up.

"Don't mess with them too much, man." He warned, big brother instinct rising to the surface. "Especially Foxy. You know how sketchy he was even in build."

"Why not?" This, finally, earned him the attention of his younger—but not youngest—brother. "You do it all the time. First thing Freddy does is look for you these days, how come? You mess with his programming to give you priority?"

"I didn't do anything," Michael felt the prickle of insult and irritation nestle between his shoulder blades. As if he wasn't good enough to be one of the animatronic's favorites simply by being himself, let alone the lead bear. "He just likes me is all, I dunno what it is."

"Because you're always bothering them, prolly." Alex shrugged. "And you are Uncle Henry's favorite."

"You're jealous." Michael snapped in reply, and a hint of warning. "Let it go man. And I mean it," he grabbed the teen's wrist when he saw it reach for Foxy's muzzle. "Don't touch him. Foxy's still booting up everything. He's not ready for 'social engagement' until the programmer's check his code, and if he reacts he could take off your hand by accident—he wouldn't even mean it. Just bam, then gone. You bleed out, that's it."

"Man, you sound just like him." Alexander snorted, but let himself be dragged away.

"Like who, Uncle Henry?" asked Michael.

"Like Dad." Replied Alex, and Michael dropped his wrist in shock.

Michael didn't speak to his brother for the rest of the day.

All too soon, Max had to bid Alex farewell and let the Nightmarish animatronic slink back into the darkness and shadows to which he belonged, and to which he owned.

It hurt, sure, but in a good way. A good ache, if there was such a thing, that seemed to cleave open his chest and pour into the gaping, hollowed out cavity. Like when lava spews out of a volcano—many people think a volcano erupting is always a powerful, grandiose, and earth-shattering affair. Overwhelming. Well, yes, some are. But most of them, a lot of them, are quiet, sedate things that happen whether humanity is there to witness them or not. Volcanoes have burped and belched their lava long before us, and they will do so long after. The lava hits the cooler air and slows, turning into a ponderous and sedate, sleepy monster. The liquid fire seeps and pours and billows, spreading into every little crack and crevice, filling the empty in with something that will harden. It will solidify, and perhaps in a few years or more, something might consider growing over the top of it. Maybe something beautiful.

That was how Max felt. At the very beginning stages of something he decided was possibly the first slathering of hope and healing. He had a long way to go, but it was kind of nice seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, and for once not worrying if it was an oncoming train, or something even worse. And this realization lifted his mood so much that when he saw Mike walking up to him, the first thing the kid did was offer a small, but genuine smile at the older man.

Mike halted, clearly surprised but then seemed delighted in return, and his previous determination warmed to amusement as he approached the kid with slower steps.

"Nice seeing your brother?" Mike guessed airily, hands in pockets and tone casual, as if he hadn't done anything at all. As if it was a chance encounter, and Mike himself wasn't the catalyst to the impromptu meeting, hadn't rushed in to find him and drag him right over to the confused Nightmare. The way the man had backed off and then didn't seem in the mind to take credit for the reunion, or gloat over it only made Max feel a stronger wave of affection for Mike than he ever had before. The guy was weird, but at least he was friendly too. That was nice.

Something about the way Mike did things made you feel secure, made you trust him. And though Max had absolutely no idea how he was going to begin to repay him, he also had a feeling Mike wouldn't event want repayment anyway, so the point was mote.

"Dude, I, listen…" Max ducked his gaze sheepishly, but his grin held steady, and he wondered how obvious the lavender tint to his cheeks was. "Thanks—thank you—I dunno how I can…Mike, that was, just seeing him again? Even though he was, uh…like that…it was everything I…y-yeah."

"Hey. I get it." Mike soothed immediately, grinning when Scraptrap made a rusty purr of his own. "He's your family, no matter what he did. You don't have to explain it. I'm sorry he couldn't stick around longer. The Nightmares are an odd bunch though, and they kinda adhere to a set of rules that are stricter than the usual ones at Freddy's."

Wasn't that the understatement of the century? Max had been surprised to see Nightmare Foxy so…robust, and all edges and claws and yet perfectly controlled and gentle when he interacted with his older brother. Arthur's and his Nightmare were both gone, yet Alexander remained. He was the leader of the Nightmares and though at first Max was concerned, he realized within minutes of talking to his little brother that the kid had done some maturing of his own. Whether it was Foxy or Uncle Scott, or Alex himself that had started it, Max would never know. But he decided for once it didn't matter, and to just be grateful Alex seemed stable and content where he was. He'd told Max how he and the others could breach dreams, mostly of kids, and while he was judicial in his terrorizing, they made an effort to teach more than harm. Simple, easy to swallow lessons that someone should have taught Alex long ago:

No one likes a bully.

No one likes a traitor.

Don't cause knowing harm to another person, even if you feel justified.

The Nightmare gang wasn't the friendliest, but they obeyed the hierarchy set in place by Alexander and didn't question him much apparently. That was good, because Max had no problem taking on either monsters to defend his little brother. Nightmare Foxy had only laughed throatily, and shook his head. No, he was fine, and for now he knew his place was shadows and darkness. He knew he was a ghost with unfinished business, but for the moment he didn't seem in the mind to chase the answer and move on. So Max let him be.

"Yeah, uh, he explained a little of it…" Max recalled the conversation, gaze lilting toward Lefty the bear who wandered after Mike. The bear's one optic flitted at him in passing interest but soon refocused back on the night guard standing between them. The shabby bear's expression could almost be labeled as fond, but maybe Max was seeing things. It was hard to see much lifelike activity in Lefty's broken down and slanted frame, no matter how hard you squinted and scrutinized.

Idly, Max wondered if that was by design, then wondered if that was taking his paranoia too far.

"What about you, man? What's up next?" Max asked almost without thinking, and he was rewarded with Mike's usual charming smile of appreciation and affection. Max felt his ears burn, but he grinned back.

"I got some rest, and checked the task list in my office. I'm up to date, minus the usual one."

"The salvage, right?" Max hummed as he leaned on Scraptrap, arms folded and cocked on one hip.

"The salvage." Mike affirmed with a curt nod. His jaw set. "And after that, provided we don't find anything—or anyone—out there, I've got another job for us. That one might be dangerous."

Max and Scraptrap shared a look, brows flat but amused.

"Compared to testing clearly haunted animatronics with nothing but a shock stick and a tape deck, Mike?" Max demanded sarcastically, and Mike was so startled he barked a laugh.

"Fair point." He smirked, leading the way to the interrogation room door that would open to back alley.

The back alley was empty. This wasn't the problem.

It was stepping back into the interrogation room that did it, because Max noticed it first and he jumped.

"What?!" Mike whirled, and he had his flashlight trained in the direction Max was staring with wide, horrified eyes in the time it took for him to do so.

They stared at the sign, sitting in the chair.

"Well that's…not great to see."

"No. No it's not."

Mike and Max shared doubtful glances, and quickly hurried back the way they'd come.

"C'mon Lefty, move it buddy—I know, I know, thank you," Mike slid his way past the slow moving bear with impatience, Max darting the other way. Scraptrap mumbled something in his rusty manner, looking confused as the two animatronics stopped to see what was the matter.

'I'm Already Inside :)' read the sign.

Scraptrap lowered his ears, and whined.

Lefty merely turned to follow Mike, hiding his smile.

The frantic paced search yielded nothing but two panting men and two confused but waiting animatronics.

"Seriously…? Nothing big as these guys could hide anywhere. Place is too tidy." Max remarked as he rejoined Mike in the main Dining Hall.

"Did you check the vents?"

"I didn't, but—" the tinkle of a bell answered from above, and Mike snorted. He leaned back and up, reaching to help the little Security Puppet into his arms. Even though she could float just fine she still seemed clingier than usual. "I sent in SP, and she didn't sound the alarm. Anything, sweetie?"

Chime! Along with a resolute shake of her head.

"That eliminates anything like Molten, or Molten himself pulling a prank." Max hummed.

"He could fit in smaller places, but you're right, he was too loud." Between the rattling and arguing, it was hard to miss that amalgamation.

"You don't think its Dad, do you?" the corpse kid asked.

"I don't know." Mike admitted honestly. "With the gang locked on stage, I lost a lot of my eyes and ears, Max. And Lefty's hardly been six feet from me since he activated."

The bear lifted his ears at the sound of his name, canting his head ever so slightly, but that was all. Mike still gave him a chuckle and reached over to tug an ear fondly, the same way he did to tease Freddy. Freddy usually swatted his hand away with good humor, but Lefty merely cocked his head further, and closed his eyes a little, as if he liked the touch.

"Maybe a trick…?" though Max didn't sound as confident as he would have liked. "Yanno, misdirection?"

"Best trick in the book, but…" Mike sighed, scratching at his messy hair in frustration. "Look, let's stick with my original plan. I want Lefty and Scraptrap to stay in there while we go check out the warehouse across the way. Okay?"

"Scraptrap and I stick together." Max muttered, ducking his gaze and looking tense, like he was ready to be told otherwise or argued. "We don't…like being separated, remember?"

"Right," Mike nodded, his gaze softening. "You're right. I forgot, Max, I'm sorry. C'mon, you two stick with me then. You can go back to your box, SP, take my band with you okay? Yes—I'll put it back on the second I return."

And that was it, apparently.

Mike had turned around already, so he missed the raw and open look Max Afton gave his back, but the wandering, shabby old bear behind them did not. Lefty eyed Max until the kid jerked in surprise and hurried after Mike Schmidt.

The instant Mike crossed the threshold into the aluminum warehouse that sat behind the restaurant, he felt it.

It was old. And it was angry. Beneath his skin, Gold prickled in place of goosebumps, stirring more Awake and Aware and echoing his Suit's growing resentment. If Afton had pulled that little stunt to get Mike's attention, then it should be said that sometimes we should be careful what we wish for.

Without having to second guess Gold's instincts, Mike knew Springtrap had absolutely, 100%, without a doubt, been in here. And even if he'd left, he probably had left something behind. It was good odds he was walking into a trap, but Mike was too hurt and heated to care.

"Stay behind me, Max." Mike ordered, forgetting himself and not even paying attention to the startled look the teenager shot him as he followed. Even Scraptrap flicked an ear at Mike's tone with a tiny rusty squeak, both of them wondering at the sudden authority in the gentle fellow's voice. But the rest of him—and soon Max too—refocused on the dark depths of the building.

"Molten's in here too, Mike. How are we gunna take two of them?" Max muttered, wondering how well these 'plans' of Mike's worked. Judging by the scars littering the tall man's frame, not always great.

Mike didn't have time to answer.

"Daddy isn't here anymore, Big Brother. But don't you want to come in and meet the ones that are?" came that silky, familiar purr of a young girl's voice. The faintest tint of a mechanical edge lingered with it, threatening something with poison in its tone.

Because from around a shelving unit came Circus Baby—or what was left of Circus Baby.

Mike's glare doubled, and now that he had something to take his anger out on, his hand reflexively made a fist, but his other one twitched toward the flashlight on his hip. It felt like some macabre mockery of a western standoff, and though the withered and cruel looking Circus had addressed Max, her eyes were locked hungrily on Mike. By the time Max noticed it, it was too late.

"Hello, Eggs. I've missed you." Her face split wider, trying to manage a smile that was little more than a gaping maw of blackness and oddly placed teeth. Wires slid like snakes under her grimy, stolen plating as she grinned.

"Where is he, Circus? Is this what he wanted, huh? Make me mad?" Mike demanded, voice thick and low. Deadly. "Cause, yanno, mission success. He's got my attention, and I'm going to tear him limb from limb for what he did too—"

"Daddy didn't do anything in there, Eggs," Circus cooed, giving him a sickeningly sweet noise of sympathy, like he was a stupid child who didn't understand anything. "It's what he's done in here that's important. It's a surprise you're just going to die for~"

And then she was vanishing backwards, and Mike snarled, giving a step forward to chase her—

Only to swing into a duck, narrowly avoiding a bright, plastic arm that had almost haymaker-ed him across the chest.

"What the hell—" Max yelped as Mike leapt on instinct out of reach, and he shoved Scraptrap back into the door frame as they all watched Rockstar Freddy stomp out of his hiding place, eyes rolling in uneven motions. His body spasmed and he twitched, bringing himself around and looming down on Mike, who got his legs under him and bolted around some crates. Beside Rockstar Freddy, Rockstar Foxy threw himself unsteadily into the crates in a misguided and rather stupid attempt to corner Mike and did more damage to them than the night guard he was aiming for.

"Hey! Over here, ya creepy Toy copies!" Mike recognized Max's young voice and despite the situation, he snorted.

'Brave kid. Stupid, but brave.'

'You two related, Michael?' Gold asked.

Mike cackled at the playful barb, and so he rounded on Rockstars Bonnie and Chica with feral grins as they tried to corner him, each shoving at the other as they tried to grab hold of Mike first. Their rolled back optics and hanging mouths added to the terror, but Mike kept his smirk in place.

"You guys may look like a million bucks, but you don't get the teamwork concept well, do ya~?" He grabbed hold of a shelving unit and hauled it sideways, watching it topple into its brother and send a plethora of boxes and animatronic parts down onto of the lavender bunny and yellow chicken.

While effectively trapped for the moment, the two Rockstars remained unharmed and able to function. Guess being brand new had its advantages.

"Hmm." Mike stood there, listening to the struggling servos. "Not too smart, but you can take a hit…"

Max was gone, but Scraptrap was no longer see-through and his eyes glowed a spitting violet, and the bunny and teen duo flung deftly under Rockstar Foxy's gleaming hook. The parrot on Foxy's shoulder screeched and hooted, but aside from that, there was no noise from any of the animatronics.

Having scrambled to join Mike deeper in the warehouse, Scraptrap edged closer to Mike. Now with their shoulders touching as they eyed the bear and fox, still on the war path and still blindly focused on getting to them. Though their motions were slow and stilted—like they hadn't quite learned how to walk well, let alone quickly.

"You ever seen Night of the Living Dead, Mike?" Max offered by way of explanation, his tone tight and sharp with anxiety.

"Only about a hundred times," Mike answered, keeping his eyes locked on the wobbling and lurching Rockstars. "Wait—you think this is…this is that? They're just…zombies?"

"Dad can kind of do what the Puppet could—because he was the 'first' night guard or some shit. A Suit. Only instead of 'Giving Life' it was more or less, uh…"

And for an instant, it was nine years before and Mike was sitting in the rolly chair, arms behind his head as he questioned and poked and prodded at the very patient and tolerant Puppet relaxing in its box on his desk—

'So if I kick the bucket, you could just stuff me into an Animatronic, and I'd get to go on living?' Survival was survival, although Mike wasn't sure how much he'd like sharing his life with one of the Fazes just yet, they didn't seem to like him much. Freddy especially hated him…

'I could yes, but try to avoid such an outcome if you please' The chilling creature sighed. 'My abilities developed from my original programming, as far as I can tell.' The Puppet chimed in amusement, then admitted carefully, 'There is another way to do it, of course…but I don't like that way.'

'Which way is that?' Mike asked, curiosity ever bottomless.

'It's hard to explain. An empty body, be it human or machine, can always be forced. Forced to mimic life. But it won't have a Soul, or memories, or emotions.' Those spider leg fingers flexed, and the creature almost sounded sad. 'It will be…Empty.'

'Sounds awful, Mari.'

'I can Give Life, dear night guard. I am the only one who can. But remember, I can always take it away. Leaving only a shell to do my bidding.'

Mike blinked, the moment passed.

A shell.

"'Reanimating.'" Mike exhaled. But that knowledge opened another section of the library in Mike's mind, and his heart sank at the implications his connections were making.

"He found a way to…" Mike now ripped his gaze from the eerie machines down to the walking, talking corpse beside him. "That's what he did to you—he killed you, brought you back to life and then—?"

Reanimation. Mike gazed down at the corpse in the Slayer shirt and vintage high tops and his look gentled in sympathy. Max shrugged it off, but he looked uncomfortable.

"Then put me into Scraptrap. Yeah. Only…" Clear purple eyes traced the lines of the Rockstars, even as they shuffled closer. On cue, he and Mike began to step backwards slowly, the safety of the exit behind them.

"Only to do all that, and do it correctly, he needs a soul. Like the Puppet did when Dad killed those…those other kids." Max swallowed. "I don't see how…I don't think these are like me, or Henrietta, or even like Alex…"

"They don't seem too smart, no." Mike agreed, eyeing the barely freed Bonnie and Chica. The other two members of the gang hadn't so much as glanced in their down teammate's directions. They didn't care, and likely didn't even know what caring was. Which meant he and Max were facing a creature that had no concept of forgiveness either. Lovely.

"When the gang used to hunt me, there was always a pattern. But they were still family, even back then. The spirit of the kids instilled a lot of Life, be it by accident or Mari's own planning. The gang followed the same rules every night—" Mike leveled a finger at Rockstar Freddy.

"Freddy's the last to move, not the first." He rattled off, "Bonnie's first due to his ears, so he and Chica always team up, they never fight. They knew they had better odds tag teaming me. And Foxy, well, he's the sprinter, not the muscle.

"Something isn't adding up here. There's nothing in them that even suggests they were anything but empty machines from the start." Mike puzzled thoughtfully as they backed up easily out of reach of the sluggish and brainless machines, their optics glowing purple every so often, but weakly. Like a set of bulbs dying at the same time.

"Can we solve this mystery later, Frank Hardy?" Max moaned, Scraptrap's metal fingers grabbing Mike's sleeve and giving a tug toward a walkway that would lead them down a path to avoid the stalking Rockstars and to the front door, which could be slammed and locked. "Let's go!"

"Fine, but that makes you Joe—"

"Mike!"

"Coming!"

"Not so fast, Eggs~" was the only warning they had that Circus Baby was behind them, and that she was very close. Within arm's reach, even. Max hadn't realized she'd snuck up on them until the moment was too late.

Mike choked, frozen in place as he slowly looked down, staring at the tip of the horrible claw that now jutted from the center of his chest. His shirt flushed with blood around the area, spreading far too quickly to be stopped and he staggered, caught on the claw that replaced the animatronic's hand.

Behind him, Circus Baby giggled, like a delighted little girl watching her new toy do something strange and special. She wrenched her arm back, freeing herself and the night guard.

Mike managed a gurgle, and his legs buckled.

"Want to see what Eggs is really made of, Mikey?" She purred, watching Mike crumple to his knees and sway, clumsily shoving a hand over the hole that was now his torso in a pathetic attempt to stem the blood. "Here's a hint to the surprise inside—enjoy it~"

"Henrietta! What the fuck are you talking about? Mike didn't do anything to you!" Max shouted from within Scraptrap, forcing their legs to move as they grabbed hold of Mike and tried to haul him upwards, but the lean man was almost dead weight. "Fuck! Mike, we gotta go c'mon—"

Blood splattered along the cheap flooring as Max dragged Mike to the Exit. Scraptrap kept his sharp ears trained behind him, ready to strike out if there was so much as a whisper in close range.

There wasn't.

There was Lefty though, holding the door open for them to the restaurant like Mike had asked it too. Max felt a brief bolt of affection for the bear, despite his age and general creepiness. He pushed himself free from Scraptrpa, tearing at his skin in a few patches as he separated from his bunnybot to help Mike. Scraptrap turned round, helping Lefty. Max hurried much as he could with supporting the wilting and sagging Mike, the fellow was tall, and as thin as he seemed he was heavier than he looked.

"No, no, hey Mike, no, don't close your eyes—don't go to sleep," Max begged when Mike's head lolled forward and his body dipped without correcting itself.

Mike grunted something that might have been the teenager's name at once point, but nothing more.

"C'mon, no, it's gunna be okay, yer gunna be okay,"

What could Max even do in a situation like this? He hauled Mike to the nearest open section of tile—in this case the hallway just outside the interrogation room, stopping only to snap for Scraptrap to bolt and lock the door to the outside, and he didn't even bother to wait and check on that. He turned back down to check on Mike, on all fours as the man lay in front of him, the leaking blood following gravity and spreading to paint the tile the a cheerful cherry. And as bright as his blood was, Mike himself seemed unearthly pale, and his eyes drooped closed before Max could begin to see the yellow glow of them.

The door behind them slammed shut as well. That was good thinking on Scrap's part, Max supposed, addled and distracted as he tried stemming what he could while ultimately realizing he was watching this man die before his eyes. A paw landed on his shoulder in that moment, and Max turned to ask his bunny what to do when he realized it was worn black, not green-yellow.

Something around them had shifted. Max felt as if he were being suffocated by something very heavy and invisible from above. He stared slowly up at Lefty, watching that single eye lock onto him, feeling the paw tighten. Mike's hand, which had been kind of helping apply some pressure, slipped away from his in the same instant.

There was a pounding from the other side of the door, and Max Afton realized a handful of things all in one go.

Mike was dying before him.

Lefty's maw was opening slightly beside him.

Scraptrap was trapped in the interrogation room behind him.

And soft notes of an old, rusty music box were playing all around.

"W-wait," Max felt like his mouth was full of marbles. "You're not—y-you can't be—"

"I can. And I am."

It was here, the Puppet. And worse, Max realized as ice snapped through his frame, the damn Puppet had been here, ever since Henry brought in Lefty.

'I have to warn Mike—' Because surely, Mike was next wasn't he? He was a night guard. He was easy game, if he was going to stay alive at all. Worse, what if the Puppet tried Giving Life, and shoving Mike into some nearby animatronic? He had to protect the man. Freddy certainly wasn't around to do it.

Lefty straightened then, moving with a sudden ease that was jarring to witness even as it meant Max was being ripped up to his high tops and hauled away from the dying Mike. There was no chance to fight, though Max tried arguing.

"No! No—lemme go!" He tried, he really did. He had no idea where the hell his sudden surge of bravery came from, because no one, absolutely no one, challenged this monster. Not even his old man had the balls to tell the Puppet no or argue, because invoking the little devil's ire usually resulted in chaos and rage. Arthur never really threw temper tantrums, but the Puppet did it enough for both of them. The problem was its powers were absolute and destructive when it wanted to be.

Maybe Dad had stayed away for so long because he knew what Lefty was. Maybe he didn't know exactly, but felt the Puppet's deadly, smothering pressure and avoided it on instinct. And tried sending the poorly reanimated Rockstars in to do his business?

'You aren't meant to save him.' Purred that horrible, emotionless voice that haunted his nightmares nearly as much as his father's.

'You tried, though. That's what I'll remember.'

And so Max Afton was wrenched unceremoniously down the hall toward the Dining Room, dragged away despite his struggles and shaking, by a relentless animatronic that had been hiding in plain sight.

The lock on the door to the interrogation room began to give way. This meant that by the time Scraptrap was forcing himself through the opening he managed, he very nearly tripped over Mike Schmidt's still body. The man was ashen and unresponsive, but his fingertips twitched suddenly.

This proved to be good timing, because it meant the startled and alarmed bunnybot had a front row seat to the sudden burst of electrical discharge that was skating around the unconscious Mike's frame. It was a thin whisp at first, catching his eye and making the animatronic lean back with an uncertain creak, because surely, he hadn't just seen what he thought he had, right?

Another bolt of yellow loosely followed the path of the second one, this one brighter, more self-assured. And that sliver of power couldn't be ignored, and Scrap whined and watched, waiting.

He also saw the sudden, sharp, inhale of breath, and the way the man's chest sealed shut and he sat bolt upright out of the pool of his own blood. Mike coughed, and he coughed a glowing discharge of static, his yellow eye glowing softly. The familiar golden electricity jogged a memory in Scraptrap, and the bunny ducked submissively and gave a rusty, rattled whimper. He eyed the walking deadman with no small amount of fearful, awed respect, and groaned warily.

This caught Mike's attention, and the man panted as he rubbed at the previous, life-threatening injury as if it were nothing more annoying than a pulled muscle.

"…oh…hey, Scrap." Mike offered, and he didn't miss the way the bunny was staring at him. Couldn't miss it, really. The man offered a sheepish, weak smile that did not match the fact Scraptrap now knew exactly what it was that made Mike Schmidt so good a night guard. He wasn't just any night guard, after all. But the true one.

"Yeah. I know. I was gunna tell you guys. Explains some shit, doesn't it?"

The bunny shuddered, but nodded cautiously.

"Hey…where's Max?" Mike eyed the hall, dread filling his stomach. "Wait…where's Lefty or Max?"

Scraptrap was signing something, and for a moment Mike didn't understand. And then he did, and instead of a penny dropping, it was a whole roll of quarters.

The bunny was wriggling his fingers, pretending to move something on a set of strings attached to his jagged paws. Mike wasn't fluent in ASL as Max was, but he knew enough to puzzle this one out, and it filled him with immediate and instant dread.

'The Puppet.' Scraptrap signed.

"Oh, fuck." Managed Mike, because in this type of situation that's about all you can say.

"Played me fer a damn fool is what he did, now we're stuck playing statues, and what good is ole-Foxy? I be more use at the bottom o' sea I would…" the angry mutterings were cut off by a firm tenor.

"It wasn't your fault, Foxy, don't blame yourself. You know how the Marionette can get." Freddy's voice reached them all in the deep, smothering darkness, where nothing and no one lived. "Sound off, who's not dead?"

"Yo!"

"I'm fine, Freddy. And Cakey too."

"In spirit only, Cap'n."

"Well. That makes all of us, at least." The voice groaned in tried resignation. "Damn Puppet…"

"Ohh-ohh, Freddy swore~"

"Hush, Bon. Anyone see anythin'? Any clue as to where we got stuck?"

"Besides back on stage?" Bonnie complained. "Man…my harddrive's are killing me. I'm not built for these hard shutdowns!"

"Guessing I'm back in me corner, since the place ain't got no Pirate's Cove." Foxy wondered. "Hopefully the lad'll get me hint."

"I can't move, you guys! Bonnie?" came a worried whine.

"Not even my ears, sis! This sucks," bemoaned that young voice. "Now what do we do? The Marionette's back, and he turned on us quicker than Mike can clear his plate on nacho night!"

"Weren't his idea, that much I managed ta' figure out." Foxy immediately cut in. The others listened intently. "At first, wull, ah thought it was our lad that called him back, what with his drive lately to nab Afton and his little spawn. And…the two always been close, sure Mike liked the little chew toy, but the Marionette liked the lad a great deal back, which struck me as odd but now I'm thinkin' it's what saved our anchors today. Worst of all, he kept talkin' to the bleedin' devil, saying its name so damn often…"

"Dead don't die until their name ain't spoken anymore." Freddy agreed. "And intention is everything, if not the entire key to a haunted Suit's powers." They all knew without saying it, how strong their night guard's spirit was. And not only Golden Freddy's. Mike's own was something to be wary of.

"Mike's not like that, though, is he? He's not cruel! He…he wouldn't want us to be…like this." Bonnie sounded out warily. "…right?"

"Of course he wouldn't!" Chica scolded into the nothingness. "What else did you find out Foxy?" she urged.

"Noticed Lefty was off the second I saw him. Thing that caught me, though, was Mike and Gold never did. Don't think they could. So I kept me muzzle shut. Figured the first thing that old scallywag would do was return to Mike's side. Only it didn't."

"Let me guess," Bonnie drawled, sounding angry. "Not because it didn't want to. Because it couldn't. And I can only think of one person the Puppet can't go against. Not even for Mike."

"Oh no…" Chica moaned.

"Henry, right?" Bonnie finished. "That two timin' rotten apple pickn' piece of—!"

"Bonnie." Freddy warned, and then prompted the pirate fox to continue.

"Aye, rabbit. Be old Henry's that done brought the devil back. Somehow. Ain't sure how yet, but the ghost of the Puppet's trapped in that black copy of the Cap'n. Lefty ain't no more than a new box to hold it in, and Henry's got the Devil's strings held just as tight."

"…maybe not as tight as you think, Foxy." Freddy hummed thoughtfully after a beat. "When I mentioned Mike…"

"He reacted, yeah!" Bonnie's voice light up. "Hey, if Mike can figure out it's in Lefty, maybe he can get it out and turn this show around! After all, if the Puppet'll listen to anyone—"

"No chance, rabbit." Foxy said. "Even if the lad does, Henry's not playing nice no more. He'll do anything ta keep the Puppet on his side. He's gunna take 'em all out, and he's gunna use the restaurant—"

"And Fredbear." Freddy realized sharply.

"—To do so." Foxy sighed heavily. "Aye. And we saw how Mike reacted to losing the Puppet. We ain't ever seen the reverse of that. But…"

"Think it'll let our Creator kill Michael?" Freddy snapped, sounding more alarmed than before.

"Don't think it will be consentin', no, but if it happens? If that old Devil loses the one thing that it's holding on to? Loses Mike?"

"…no one's gunna stop Henry then." It was Bonnie's turn to finish this time, and the silence was somehow heavier than before.

"Mike turned into Nightmare Fredbear. What's…what's the Marionette gunna turn into?" Chica hedged softly, unsure and frightened.

"Probably another Nightmare. Fine. Fine!" Said Bonnie, and though they couldn't see or feel, all of the others reacted in bristled alarm and shock. "What?! We got two Michaels in play, don't we? Put Max to use, I say. He's a Suit too!"

"But he and Scraptrap are older than Mike, Bonnie." Chica reminded. "And they're barely held together as it is, least that's how it feels. You saw how Molten Freddy got to them."

"True. They're not older than Gold though, lass." Foxy added. "Even the Devil made a remark on how rickety Mike and Gold were getting. They're good Suits, aye, but the candle that burns twice as fast…" he didn't want to say it, out of respect for the now furious and silent Freddy, and so he trailed off.

"…oh." Whispered Chica, distraught. "Oh, you're right Foxy. Oh…poor Mike…"

At that, everyone agreed, and lapsed into unhappy and fearful silence.

"What I'm hearing…" Freddy finally started, his voice low and dangerous. "Is that Michael needs all the help he can get. And he needs us."

"We don't even know where we are, Freddy. Our bodies are locked on stage and can't see shizz, how we gunna bust outta this one?"

"Dunno. Don't care. But we're gunna try. Michael's never given up on us, he's family. I ain't letting him hang fer an old man's consequences. How bout you lot?"

The silence, this time, was the same as before. Until suddenly it wasn't.

'Perhaps I can be of assistance with that. I was only told to take you four out of the picture. The Creator never said anything about leaving this horrible 'museum'…if you catch my hint~ And you're right, Foxy. I am trapped. Bonnie is also right. I am a Nightmare to deal with right now~ But my strings reach farther and farther by the day…when I'm back to full power, I will get you back to our night guard. And in return…I think you know what I want.

Hmm…Perhaps Michael taught me to be sentimental after all.'

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