"So, a missing children's case is what you're telling me?" He chewed on his cigar thoughtfully, flipping through the newspaper Sean had handed him.

Sitting across the desk was Sean, who nodded and replied as he rested his arms on the oak desk, "Yes sir. I believe I may be on to something, but I can't further investigate without your permission."

The officer sat up and took his hat off, signifying he would drop his professional demeanor. Chief Whittaker always preferred his men speaking from the heart. Sean had known him for a while; to an extent Whittaker was his mentor of sorts. A direction in a city with too many paths to take.

"Sean, I get it. This very well could be a lead." The bear of a man adjusted his position in the rolling chair, "But I know you're aware of our resources at the moment. I'm having some of our men pull double shifts, and I hate calling them in right after they get back to their families. Last thing I want to do is send one of our best guys out on what could be a fool's errand."

Sean sighed; he knew he would get an answer like this from him. At least he had given it a shot. If he couldn't help, then at the least the officer laid the idea out on the table. God knows Chicago needs as much help as it can get right now. He would hate to have to let another family know their child was assumed dead inside a place where kids should be having fun, not running from some killer!

"However." Whittaker raised his hand, "I did say you are one of our best men. I'd be a fool to not let you at least look into it. I can't officially give you an order since the city is breathing down the chain of command's necks right now but consider this an under-the-table sort of thing."

The officer was taken aback by Whittaker's statement, who only smiled back at Sean. This meant he could at least research the company itself and see if he could find anything.

"Alright. I appreciate the chance to look into it."

Whittaker nodded, motioning Sean to the door to get to it. Sean affixed his cap back on and speed-walked to the front door of the office.

The chief called from behind him before he left earshot, "Feel free to use one of the undercover Ford cruisers around back at the motor pool!"

Oh hell yeah.

"Hey, Sean, what's up? Chief called you?" called Dallas from his desk, who was still sitting around waiting for orders.

"Sort of. You know that pizza place we were talking about? I think I may have a lead."

Dallas rubbed his hands together, "Oooh… Detective Davis returns, huh? Let me know if you need a hand."

Sean chuckled as he grabbed the front door handle to leave the police station, evidently already trying to research the company, "Yeah, yeah, alright. I'll give you a call if I need anything. Chief let me use one of the new Ford cruisers, by the way." Sean winked towards Dallas, who slammed his fist on the desk in reaction.

"What!? You're serious? You lucky bastard. You're gonna look like an FBI agent in that thing." He took a drag of his cigarette, "Don't let it get to your head, Davis."

Sean shook his head, pushing the glass door open and stepping out into the mildly rainy Chicago weather. He took a deep breath, taking in the crisp cold air. Now it was a matter of finding some history on the company, he figured. Perhaps he could interview some of the families of the children. So many places to start looking; he may be able to visit the Pizzaplex during the day. He'd have to probably do it in uniform, though, since a single thirty-year-old dude walking around a kid's entertainment area alone would probably be slightly suspicious.

The officer speed-walked over to the motor pool around the back of the station. He had already picked up the keys to the car at the front desk; it was just a matter of finding it.

Of which was easy. All the vehicles in the pool were dressed in the Chicago Police Department livery, with some utility or prisoner transport vans dotting it. The lone black Ford stuck out like a sore thumb. He walked over to the car, inserting the key into the lock, and popping the door open. He was greeted with an entirely civilian interior, free of the rear cage and plastic seats. The car was still equipped with radio equipment and a spotlight, though. Its roof was occupied by only a lone red siren, which was effectively invisible in practice. Sean started the car, which took a bit of pumping and coaxing in the cold weather, but it eventually roared to life.

He shifted the car into drive, already aiming for the Chicago Public Library. The company didn't seem to have a huge presence outside of the Pizzaplex, but if any place would have information on Fazbear Entertainment, Inc., it would be the public library.

The Chicago Public Library was a gargantuan brick building in the heart of the city. It's adorned with gargoyle-like statues on the corners of the building with a more apparent one at the tip of the roof. Sean had been at this library before, but he wasn't exactly a reader besides the news and whatever he had to investigate for his job. His job made him very cognizant on the best places for information, though, one of which was this library.

The officer parked the car on the streets of the city after he had finally found a parking spot. He reached behind himself to bring his hood up since the rain had picked up; evidently the weather would not be his friend this time.

The sidewalk was reflective it was so rainy out, with the clouds blocking the intense sun and leaving the morning looking more like dusk out.

Sean entered the library. The interior was amazing; he always loved the late 19th century architecture it had. The entrance doors immediately dumped out into an indoor courtyard, decorated with various flora and white-granite statues. The floor was patterned stone, shiny as ever.

He was greeted by one of the librarians, who waved towards him. The officer decided to start with the woman since she would probably have an idea for what he was looking for.

He walked up to the mahogany desk, "Hello, ma'am. I'm looking for this library's newspaper archives. Anything that might have information on a company."

She looked at his uniform and jacket, "Good morning, Officer. Are you on an investigation or something?"

Sean mentally slapped himself: He forgot he still had his uniform on! He knew he was forgetting something. So much for the unassuming Ford he was given.

Damnit.

"Y-no. Personal thing; I'm just on break right now." That excuse would probably be good enough.

She nodded, typing something in a beige terminal as she spoke, "Alright. Well, the newspaper archives you're looking for will be over in one of the back rooms." She pointed towards a doorway on the opposite side of the library that led to one of many shelves and desks.

Sean briefly thanked the librarian, already on his way to the archives. The library had recently upgraded all archives to this new "Microform" technology. Sean likened it to a sort of microscope: all the records had been converted to little images which made searching and viewing much easier. There was no need for keeping paper newspapers for the public since they had easy-storable copies using this stuff, along with their complimentary computer-like viewing devices.

The process of searching for anything related to Fazbear Entertainment Inc. had been slow. He had already checked tax filings for the company; it only dated back to the seventies. The company appeared to have some history in Colorado, too. Sean had found a newspaper article related to the opening of a new "Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria". This location appears to have been based in Colorado.

February 27th, 1973

Freddy Fazbear's Pizza: Robotic Entertainers

The image at the top depicted four animatronics, although Sean noticed these ones seemed much more uncanny and cruder. Two of them, the bear and duck/chicken, looked familiar to the ones in the Pizzaplex. The other two, a purple bunny and a red fox didn't seem to have an analog to at the Pizzaplex.

Engineer and robotics expert, William Afton, has held the grand opening of his radical new pizza parlor. Patrons say that the star entertainers, Freddy Fazbear, Bonnie the Bunny, Chica the Chicken, and Foxy the Pirate, aren't humans dressed in costumes. According to Mr. Afton himself, they are actually "animatronics" who are entirely driven by AI and their advanced skeletons dressed in their suits. He tells us that he has had some governments interested in his technology, although he has no comment on whether he has decided to sell it to any third parties. The parlor is now open for business, seven days a week, from 12pm-10pm.

He grabbed a pen from his breast pocket along with a small notepad. This article wasn't the most useful, but he made sure to write down the name of that engineer and some other pertinent information. William Afton was not a familiar name to him, unfortunately. Despite the article stating him as an engineer and robotics expert, he could not find anything pointing to him in any scholarly papers in an adjacent room. Perhaps he isn't American?

Sean spent some more time flipping through the archives but didn't find anything related to Fazbear's until he hit 1978. The article started off normally, but the header image alarmed him: It depicted the same Pizzeria as in 1973, but the exterior was covered in police tape and the parking lot was filled with various police cars. The body of the article described how five children had gone missing. The animatronic entertainers had apparently oozed blood and mucus according to patrons a few days later – investigations later uncovered that an unknown perpetuator had stuffed children inside the animatronics to hide them. The coroner's officer stated that the children appeared to have stab wounds inflicted – although it is theorized they later passed after being shoved into the robots.

This disgusted Sean, but even with this article it still wouldn't be enough to justify getting into the Pizzaplex after hours. Legally, he had no power to search the place or do any investigation inside it since his permission was more of a gentlemen's agreement. Then again, he sort of signed up for this kind of work as soon as he walked out of that police station. The job of a police officer sometimes erred on the fine line of legal and illegal, but at this point Sean accepted that he'd probably be that cop during this "investigation".

He heavily sighed and checked his watch: It had been a few hours.

Sean made one last check over the documents he had collection, before coming back to the tax filings for the area. Within the list, he saw that William Afton was the registered agent, in other words, the CEO of Fazbear Entertainment from 1973 to 1978. Humoring himself, he tried to find any other business within his name. Almost immediately at the beginning of the binder, he saw an Afton Robotics also registered under his name from the same years. Post '78, the company moved hands to Michael Afton.

Must be his son? But why did the company change hands after the murders?

Renewed with vigor at making progress at something, he went back into the archival shelves and began looking for anything related to the Afton name. Unfortunately, with more flipping through binders and hastily walking around, he hadn't dug up anything else. He had held out hope on finding something, but he was too stubborn to let that deter him. Perhaps another time.

The officer quickly noted down his findings after cleaning up his mess of documents. He bid farewell to the librarian and walked through the indoor courtyard to the exit of the library.

As luck would have it, the shiny black sedan he could now call his car was still sitting on the side of the street. He shoved the key into the tumbler and turned it. The car replied with a thunk, indicating it was unlocked. Sean sat in the car and immediately cranked on it to get the defrost running. As he sat in the car waiting for it to warm up, he spotted a yellow notecard he hadn't seen before due to the frost. It was placed under the wiper on the windshield. Puzzled, the officer stepped out of the car and reached his arm over the door to swipe it from the windshield.

The notecard was wrinkled and damp, an on its face was text scrawled hastily in sharpie.

YOU CAN'T

He rolled his eyes at whatever lame prank this was, crumpling the paper up and discarding it on the passenger seat before setting the car in drive and rolling away into traffic.

It's so cold!

It had been almost a week since he had found somewhere to sleep inside. Being around homeless men was scary; he had some close calls from that, but he did not have a choice. His last set of good clothes were dirty as could be from the snow and salt as he held himself in the cold, walking down the street aimlessly. He couldn't go back to that place. He hated it here. The city was unforgiving; its bright lights at night made it hard to sleep and the crime was bad enough that even finding a mildly safe place to sleep was nearly impossible. The winters were intense. He had to make his way south, but he had no money to get a greyhound and the driver would raise his brow at a raggedy boy travelling with nothing.

The sun had all but set on the city now and the streetlamps illuminated the cracked, snowy street Gregory was walking on. It was so, so windy now. He felt like a sail at the mercy of the wind. Each step was harder to make to his unknown destination. His eyes were tearing up it was so freezing out.

Suddenly, he heard something from around the corner.

It's a car! Aw man!

He wasn't sure if it was a cop or not, but even normal people could be risky. He looked around, squinting his eyes in the heavy sleet trying to find a place to quickly hide.

There!

Gregory spotted a plastic trash bin. Not his favorite hiding spot, but it would do. He burst into a run as fast as his tired legs would carry him. Time felt slow as he reduced the distance to the other side.

Then the world went upside down when he slipped on ice and tripped over the cracked curb. He outstretched his arms to break his fall, but he wasn't fast enough. He hit his head on the cold concrete. Not hard enough to knock him out or give him a concussion, but it hurt.

N-no. I can't cry. Not now. I'm too old for this. I can take care of myself.

His body betrayed him as his eyes started welling up with tears. Gregory's vision went blurry as he pushed himself onto his hands and knees. The hot tears were almost blissful on his freezing skin as they ran down his face.

In his haste and later painful fall, he had entirely forgotten about the car. His side was painted with the dim halogens attempting to pierce through the storm. He wiped the tears off his eyes with his sleeve, seeing the silhouette of a sedan crawl to the curb and park. Someone let themselves out into the cold.

"Hey? You okay kid? Where are your parents?" The person – no – man, called out to him.

No no no no! I need to get out of here!

Gregory frantically stood up and tried to run, but he had been in the cold for so long it felt as if his legs were frozen solid.

The stranger called out again – this time jogging towards Gregory.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, son! Calm down!" The stranger exclaimed, taking off their heavy jacket and wrapping it around the boy.

"C'mon, let's get back in the car. It's warm."

Gregory couldn't refuse the potential warmth and safety of a car. He followed the man – who appeared to be a police officer for the city. The officer opened the passenger door for Gregory and helped the boy into the car. The heat was blasting from the vents like an inferno. Greg's shivering body was tingling as he brought his dirty hands to them. The door next to him was shut, and the car leaned to the left as the police officer hopped in and closed his own door. Silence permeated the vehicle now that the storm was behind steel, other than the hum of the A/C fan and quiet chatter from the radio.

The officer shut off the radio, taking his navy-blue beanie off his head and letting his brown hair fall. The pair took deep breaths after being in the storm.

Gregory stayed silent. He didn't want to tell the police officer anything. The officer looked at him, frowning and handing Gregory his beanie too. Greg snatched it out of his hand and put it on.

The officer quietly asked him, "What're you doing out here, kid? It's nearly below zero and you're wearing short sleeve clothes. Where are your parents?"

Gregory did not reply.

He sighed, "Alright, I get it, I'm a cop. You probably don't trust us much because it's the Chicago PD. My name's Dallas." He held out his hand to Gregory. Greg shakily gasped the officer's hand and shook it but retracted his hand timidly after the gesture.

"M-my name's Gregory."

Dallas smiled, patting him on the head.

I hate when they do that!

Dallas withdrew his hand, "See, how hard was that now? So, where are you from? I'd be happy to give you a lift back home."

The boy looked to the floor dejectedly. He absolutely did not want to tell him anything else, but Dallas is an officer and Greg already knew he wouldn't let him leave the car now.

"I… I don't have a home." Greg replied.

Dallas frowned; he hated seeing yet another victim of the city's issues.

"Well, did you get lost from a shelter? I know the city like the back of my hand, I bet I can get you there in a jiffy."

Gregory's eyes widened.

No! Please don't!

He started blubbering an excuse to not go back, his face turning red but not from the cold. He almost began sobbing while asking the officer to not bring him to one.

"N-No! I can't go back! Not there! They're so mean. The other kids. The adults are even worse! P-please. Don't."

Dallas reeled back in surprise at his outburst

Damn bastards.

He hugged Gregory over the center console, reassuring him he wouldn't bring him to wherever he came from. "Hey, hey, I won't. I'll figure something out. For now, we can get something to eat for you, how 'bout that?"

Gregory shook his head yes through his sobbing; it had gotten quieter, and he let go of Dallas.

"Well, what do you want son? There's probably a McDonald's around here if you'd like."

He saw the kid's head nod enthusiastically. Dallas chuckled, taking that as a definite yes.

Thirty minutes later, and Gregory was scarfing down a Big Mac in the establishment. Dallas just decided to order a coffee and an apple pie, though he assumed the kid would want that too.

"Hey, slow down. You're gonna get sick if you keep eating like that."

Gregory wasn't listening and kept eating. He seemed underfed; Dallas knew a neglected kid when he saw one. Hopefully he can find a better home at a different foster home. He hated lying to the boy, but he'd already told dispatch of the situation while Gregory was in the restroom.

"Hey, Greg." He spoke up, the boy looking up from his meal, "After this I'm going to take you back to the police station. I can't in good faith either let you go out there" Dallas pointed over his shoulder to the intense weather outside, "or keep you with me. I'm an officer. I'm in no position to take care of you. My wife would kill me."

Gregory angrily stared at the mullet-wearing officer, shortly after looking away from him.

"You lied to me."

Dallas sighed, "Yes, and I'm sorry. I'll try to make sure to get you a good foster home, how about that?"

The officer stood up and left for the restroom.

Big mistake.

Gregory immediately stood up, scooping the food into his arms, and sprinting out the door into the blizzard against better judgement. A few minutes later, Dallas left the bathroom only to see an empty booth.

He facepalmed, "Oh for – did anyone see a kid leave here?" He called out, the workers looking at him and telling the officer a kid ran out of the restaurant.

Dallas ran to the door they pointed at but didn't see anything.

"Goddamnit!"

He picked up his coffee and ran back to his squad car, driving into the night in search.