Summer 1978
Mike tightened his grip as they walked, unsure of where they were going. As promised, he kept his eyes closed, with a hand over them as a double assurance that he wouldn't peek.
"How much farther?" Mike asked.
"We're almost there," came a voice only slightly older than his own nine years, with a soft Irish brogue.
Mike frowned, but kept going. After a few more moments, they stopped.
"Okay, you can open your eyes now!"
Mike let go of his friend's hand and did as he said. They stood in the parking lot in front of a white building, with a large purple stripe and silver stars circling the top. A smiling bear in a top hat looked down at them. Mike winced a bit, taking a step back. He warily looked up to his friend.
"...Why did you bring me here?" Mike asked.
"...Because you were sad," came the answer. "I just thought…"
Mike stared ahead at the front doors, where light and movement shone from inside the building. An uneasy silence lingered between them from the an unintentional wrong his friend committed.
"...Doesn't this place make you happy?"
Mike, lost in his own thoughts, didn't answer that question immediately. His companion shifted uncomfortably.
"We don't have to go in if you don't want to," he friend said. "I just thought-"
"We can go in," Mike said at last.
He forced up a smile.
"You're right. This place does make me happy."
He offered his hand, and felt the warmth of another's fingers curling into his palm. Together, they entered the building.
Monday, November 8, 1993
Mike pulled up to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza at a quarter til midnight. He parked his car beside an old green truck. Mike looked up at the white and purple building with its flickering sign and dirty windows. He snuffed out the remnants of a cigarette, grabbed his thermos, and slipped out of his car, making sure to lock it behind him - not that he had anything of value inside. The car itself was an old '83 Suzuki FX, and showed its age with the chipping light blue paint and the dents in the sides. Despite its appearance, Mike kept it in good working order.
He glanced behind him, taking in his car sitting near the front door. The flickering sign above highlighted the blue color, the empty seats, the sense of abandonment as it sat there alone.
Mike ignored the eerie sense of déjà vu and turned away. He searched his keys for the building ones, once more biting back old fears and superstition. The talk with Vanna earlier had helped ease his trepidation about the place, along with the knowledge of how smoothly things went last night. The stupid jingle played as he entered. Mike walked past the hostess stand to get into the dining room. Like before, he had company for a few minutes.
The janitor came from the west hall, having just put the mop away in the supply closet and emptied the water bucket. The elder man whistled a little ditty as he brought some more party hats to the tables. He stopped whistling and perked when he noticed Mike there.
"Heh. First night's always easy, ain't it, kid?"
Mike frowned.
"Yeah, I got your damn phone call. Very fucking funny."
The janitor gave him a strange look.
"Don't know nothing about that."
"Sure you don't."
"Really, kid," the janitor scoffed, his voice cracked and gruff. "I just come in at ten to tidy up and leave when the night shift gets in. I don't like to stick around longer'n I have to."
He carefully set the hats on one of the tables, filling out the spaces that didn't have any.
"All I know is folks tend to quit before the week's out," the janitor continued. "Almost like clockwork, they're gone before their third night."
Mike eyed him warily. The weirdness from the previous night hadn't left his mind. The janitor shrugged and gave him a poignant look.
"No point in gettin' close when there's gonna be a new face in two days anyway," he said softly.
Mike just shook his head.
"Whatever," he said, setting his thermos on one of the tables before grabbing his flashlight. "Play your stupid game. I've got work to do."
"You do that, kid."
Mike ignored him and headed for the bathrooms, having learned his lesson from last night. Take care of business there first, then check the rest of the building. He barely heard the jingle over the running water as he washed his hands, indicating he was the only breathing soul left her.
As Mike grabbed a paper towel, his mind flashed briefly to the last time he was here all those years ago.
Of remembered panic, and old pain in his right arm.
Of gold.
Mike tossed the paper towels into the trash can, then briefly touched his wrist where he still bore an old scar. He absentmindedly ran his fingers up his forearm to where he felt another one under the fabric of his purple shirt. He pushed the thought back as he left the boys' bathroom.
It was done; he had work to do.
Mike took a quick peek into the girls' bathroom to make sure no one was hiding inside, then headed down the east hall to quickly scan the kitchen and the tiny manager's office. He made an attempt to open it and found it locked. Mike frowned, half-hoping he could have explored it, but shook his head as he went to the security room, cycling through it to the west hall, making a brief stop at the hall closet, and heading back into the dining room. Upon his return, Mike quickly checked the back room. He came back still feeling unnerved about it, but finishing his checks at the stages and the prize counter revealed he was alone save for the robotic animals and the Puppet.
His solitude confirmed, Mike retrieved his thermos and went back to the office.
Tuesday, November 9, 1993
Mike barely settled in his seat, the monitor off for the moment. No need to waste power right now. Chances were good it would just be Bonnie and Chica wandering the dining room again. The cupcake watched him from its perch on top of the monitors. Mike gave it no further notice.
He perked a bit when the phone rang. Mike rolled his eyes to hit the speaker button, already knowing who would be calling.
"Uhh, Hello? Hello?"
Yep.
Phone Guy.
"Uh, well, if you're hearing this and you made it to day two, uh, congrats!"
"For not falling for your stupid prank?" Mike asked.
He had since decided that Phone Guy and the janitor were in cahoots.
"I-I won't talk quite as long this time since Freddy and his friends tend to become more active as the week progresses," Phone Guy told him. "Uhh, it might be a good idea to peek at those cameras while I talk just to make sure everyone's in their proper place. You know…"
Mike rolled his eyes, but turned on the monitor anyway. As he expected, everyone was still in place.
"Uh...interestingly enough," Phone Guy continued, "Freddy himself doesn't come off stage very often. I heard he becomes a lot more active in the dark though, so, hey, I guess that's one more reason not to run out of power, right?"
"Don't fuck with me."
"I-I also want to emphasize the importance of using your door lights," Phone Guy said.
Mike glanced over to the left door. He'd tested them last night, but had no reason to use them since Bonnie and Chica seemed content to stay on the other side of the building.
"There are blind spots in your camera views," Phone Guy explained, "and those blind spots happen to be right outside of your doors. So if-if you can't find something, or someone, on your cameras, be sure to check the door lights. Uh, you might only have a few seconds to react…"
Blind spots? Mike already questioned the camera layouts the previous night, less for the bots, who he decided weren't really a threat to him, and more for in case someone broke in. Now that Phone Guy brought it to his attention, it bothered him. The little shopping center where the restaurant sat wasn't exactly in the best part of town.
"Uh, not that you would be in any danger, of course," Phone Guy assured him. "I'm not implying that."
Mike rolled his eyes again.
"Riiiight…"
"Also, check on the curtain in Pirate Cove from time to time. The character in there seems unique in that he becomes more active if the cameras remain off for long periods of time."
That got Mike's attention.
"Wait...Foxy still works?"
"I guess he doesn't like being watched," Phone Guy droned on. "I don't know. Anyway, I'm sure you have everything under control! Uh, talk to you soon."
The phone clicked off, but Mike ignored it as he fiddled with the monitor switches to show Pirate Cove. The purple curtains with their silver stars hung in view, with no movement or signs of life.
So far.
His stomach dropped sharply as he tried to convince himself that this was still just a joke. That Foxy wasn't scary anymore. That it was just a broken machine, and Phone Guy was just fucking with him.
God, that thing and its teeth…
Mike shook his head to banish the sudden thoughts that crept up. According to Phone Guy, he just needed to check in here and there. Make sure he was accounted for. And worst case...just know where Foxy was, like he'd been doing with the others.
That eased his mind a little. It would be more of the same, really. Just one more robot walking around the building, and one he only felt anxious about due to childhood fears that hadn't quite gone away.
Feeling even a little better about it, Mike adjusted the monitor to go back to the stage.
Like last night, Bonnie left first.
Things went more or less the same way they did the previous night. By the time 2am rolled around, only Bonnie wandered the establishment, with Freddy and Chica still onstage, and Foxy still behind his curtain.
Mike kept checking to be sure.
Only one thing changed from the previous night: Bonnie now started to come into the west hall leading to the security office, and at times stood right in the flickering light at the end of the hall where his silhouette faded in and out, bringing to mind horror movie posters where the killer stood in shadow. The rabbit often stood still, as if deciding whether or not to go down the hall. So far, Bonnie turned around each time to go back to the dining room.
Mike briefly wondered what would happen if he changed his mind. Those steel doors would keep the animatronic from getting to him, which he hated to admit brought him a sense of comfort.
Not that he was in any real danger.
But as much as he dismissed Phone Guy as a prankster...some part of him still wanted to remain alert. That something about this place was seriously amiss, and he didn't want to find out what.
He flipped the monitor from the now-empty hall and back to the dining room, to find Chica now joined the party. And like the previous night, he found both of them less weird when they walked together. Mike shut the monitor off for a moment to sip from his coffee. The two of them could entertain each other while he saved a bit of power.
Strange how he felt almost bored in those moments where everyone was accounted for, where it was just him and a small sip of Folger's. Just enough to keep himself alert; in the two hours he'd been watching, the thermos cup still remained about halfway full.
Mike perked a bit, suddenly remembering to add to tonight's routine. He turned the monitor back on to Bonnie and Chica still in the dining room, then flipped the view to Pirate Cove.
Coffee covered his hand as he jumped. He saw the curtains parted for the first time, just enough to reveal what hid behind them. Mike set the thermos mug down and wiped his hand on his pants, grateful that the brown liquid had cooled at least enough to not leave burns. Then, he looked back to the monitor to fully take in Foxy.
The pirate fox leaned out of the now-parted curtains. His eyepatch flipped up to reveal glowing yellow eyes that stared up into the camera. Numerous sharp, glistening teeth protruded from his broken jaw. From this angle, the torn costume was almost as prominent, revealing parts of the endoskeleton chest underneath.
Mike found himself morbidly intrigued. He stared into eyes that seemed to stare back...and swore he saw the jaw lower a little more, longing to bite. That alone got him to change the camera view.
The dining room prominently showed Chica now danced alone. Mike quickly flipped to the backstage area, and even with a careful look to the shadows, he found it empty save for the masks. Cam 1B still showed Chica still by herself, Freddy had no company on the stage, and Mike only stayed for a second at Pirate Cove to avoid looking at Foxy.
Mike's heart pounded as he checked the end of the west hall for Bonnie. He found nothing in the flickering lights except the children's drawings on the wall. Maybe he went to the other side?
The bathrooms showed nothing. The east hall was empty, as were the corners in both hallways.
He tried not to panic as he flipped through the camera views on the monitor again. Dining room still contained one yellow chicken. Only Freddy stood on the stage and Foxy still stared up alone with gaping jaws. The kitchen camera's broken, don't even bother. No dice on the back room or the bathrooms.
Mike tensed as he double-checked each one except the stage and Pirate Cove, just to be sure. Was he missing something? Did the rabbit move into another view while he searched a different one?
...Did Bonnie possibly get close?
Mike kicked his chair towards the left door to try the light. The fluorescent bulbs above flickered, but nothing showed in the hall when he dared to peek his head out to investigate. His vision a little hazy from the light, he tried the east hall.
Nothing.
Fuck, where was he? The back room? The dining room again?
A quick flip through the views revealed nothing. Mike bit down a sick feeling in his stomach, a gnawing wonder if the robot was even still in the building. The outside doors should be locked, and the dumb jingle that played when someone entered or left would have alerted him. How could such a large machine just disappear like that?
Mike hastily looked again, trying to find the rabbit's ears, a silhouette, hell, he'd even take the damn demon face right now if it meant confirmation. He just...needed to find him. His job depended on it.
The tension built as he looked again. He ignored Chica and Freddy - who were both still where he saw them last - and finally found one camera he somehow missed.
Cam 3, the hall closet. Everything about it set him on edge.
Unlike before, Bonnie stood completely still. Though he faced forward with his back against the shelves behind him, the light from the hanging bulb cast shadows on his eyes that gave the illusion of the rabbit looking up. Seeing how the light hung almost close enough to touch his snout only reconfirmed just how big he really was. Everything about the downward angle, the shadows, the robot's stillness...it reminded Mike of a vampire patiently waiting in his coffin for sundown.
God, that thing had a knack for being in just the right places to creep him out. Mike checked the time and power.
2:53am and 62%.
Bonnie stayed in the closet only for a few moments - Mike swore he saw the machine reach up and bat at the hanging light bulb at one point - and left sometime when the security guard checked a different camera view.
Now Chica was starting this stupid game of deviating from her usual pattern. Neither bot occupied the dining room, the bathrooms were empty, and so were the hallways. Mike checked back to the dining room to confirm Bonnie's return, found him in the back room, then went back to his search for the chicken. He was about to skip the kitchen camera, when he stopped, hearing something. Clattering?
Just to test it, he switched it to the back room - stay there, you goddamn rabbit - and then back to the kitchen. Metallic screeching that resembled gym shoes on a floor entered his ears, along with what he assumed were pots and pans being banged around.
Okay, so that visuals were out, but the camera still had an audio feed. The relief gave way to uneasiness when Mike realized that Chica, like Bonnie in the closet, was uncomfortably close to the office. Mike's blood pounded in his ears as he waited and listened for the clattering to end, then checked the views when it stopped.
Good, she and Bonnie both decided to go back to the dining room.
He flipped the monitor off, then forced himself to breathe.
You're fine, he thought to himself. You're letting everything get to you. Just stay calm.
Mike grabbed for his coffee to drink what was left from when he spilled it. His jittered, and it wasn't due to caffeine, not when he barely had half a cup all night. He practically choked the remnants down, then took another breath. A quick glance to his watch showed it was just after three. He was over halfway through the night.
So long as nothing else changed, he could handle this.
Just like last night.
Everything except-
Mike suddenly turned the monitor back on, remembering tonight's warning...and the one animatronic that legitimately frightened him as he flipped the view to Pirate Cove.
Foxy had stepped out of his little home, the curtains now halfway open behind him. He paced as the audio feed picked up...singing?
Da da da dum da dum dum. Da da dum dum dum doodly do…
Weird, he decided, and probably nothing to concern himself with. But Mike hated the vibe he got from the fox. The sense of...anticipation.
That the animatronic was biding his time for something.
"It's just a robot," Mike told himself. "It's just a…"
His tone dropped as the word came to him, the recollection of the phrase crawling out from the far reaches of his mind.
"...Toy."
Spring 1974
"...The Kraken be a foul beastie," Foxy said to the crowd of children sitting before him.
His animatronic parts whirred and clicked, his mouth moving up and down in time to the story he told, his arms making exaggerated gestures to emphasize each plot detail.
"Just one o' its wobbly ol' legs is the length o' twenty ships, its mouth big enough to SNAP-"
The pirate fox leaned in, snapping his jaws to make the point.
"-A ship in two."
In the back of the crowd, a small six-year-old boy let out a terrified squeak. While the other children gasped at the snapping jaws, but remained engaged with fascinated curiosity as Foxy described how he fought the Kraken, Mike moved to slip away from the crowd, trying to fight back tears.
He got up on shaking legs and ran over to the dark corner in the dining room between Pirate Cove and the the main stage show. The stage show curtains remained closed, hiding the other animatronics as to not draw attention away from Foxy while he told his story. The silver stars on the purple fabric blurred by as he passed them.
A voice called out behind him, trying to be heard over the pirate fox, the music, the beeping of the games creating both atmosphere and noisy chaos. He stopped only for a moment by the stage as a terrified chill ran down his spine. Foxy's voice spurred him to move again. Mike ran to a door in the corner, noticing it ajar. He paid no heed to the "Employees Only" sign. He knew he shouldn't be back there, but he didn't want anyone to see him.
Not when he felt the tears escaping.
Just for a moment, he told himself. Slip in, dry his eyes, slip back out.
Pretend to be okay.
Pretend Foxy's sharp hook and teeth didn't bother him. That he didn't imagine those jaws biting him into smaller pieces, then swallowing him bit by bit.
Mike slipped through the crack in the doorway. No light shone in the room, save for the dim glow from the dining room just outside. All he could make out was part of a table, and shelves with weird shapes sitting on them. He paid them no heed as he pressed against the wall, his back to the door. Mike wiped his eyes on his sleeve.
He only needed a moment.
Mike shoved the memory back as he changed the camera view to the dining room.
To focus on something a little more pleasant.
To smile at Chica's goofy beak and Bonnie's odd habit of pushing the party hats perfectly into place, and shifting the chairs when he felt it needed.
He took a deep breath and reached over to grab his thermos, though he took no drink from it. Instead, Mike grabbed the now-empty cup and tightly twisted it back on. His hands shook, his left still sticky with coffee residue.
Damn fox.
But the scare did kick-start his adrenaline and force him into uneasy alertness. Mike breathed again. He wouldn't need anymore caffeine tonight, and truthfully, he didn't want it. Just knowing that Foxy was up, about and pacing set his nerves on edge.
For a long moment, he stood there in the dark. Mike let the tears drop. He took long, deep breaths to try to calm down. He kept his back to the door while he wiped his face on his sleeve, again and again.
Bite it back.
You're brave.
Show them you're brave.
The sound of creaking hinges entered his ears. The outside music grew louder, accompanied by the footsteps of someone else entering the room.
"Michael!"
The voice held the faintest trace of a German accent. Footsteps followed it, then the rustle of cloth. A pair of large, strong hands gently turned him around. The dining room light hid the man's form in shadow save for a ring of light around him, but Mike didn't need the light to know the face, the familiar green eyes, the slicked back blond hair, the shaven face with its strong jaw. He reached up to wipe his eyes again as his father knelt down to his level.
"Hey," Johan said quietly. "It is okay, Michael."
"I d-don't-!"
"I know," Johan replied, picking up on his distress. "You do not like him."
He moved to hold his son close to him for a moment in an attempt to assuage his fears.
"But let me tell you," his father said, "I am proud of you for trying to overcome this on your own."
Mike just nodded as he clung tightly to Johan. He buried his face in his father's shoulder, felt the warmth of his skin under his button-down shirt, and took in the familiar scent of cologne that never quite hid the smell of cigarettes lurking underneath. He felt his father's strong fingers carefully run over his back to ease him. Outside, he faintly heard Foxy finishing his story, and several kids cheering.
He imagined the curtain at Pirate Cove closing, hiding Foxy from sight. He heard several sets of small footsteps suddenly adding to the chaotic atmosphere just outside the room.
Johan let him go after another moment. He gently lifted his son's face to his own in the dark. The gesture, though pointless, brought a safe sense of familiarity as he spoke again.
"We should not be here, Michael. You had your moment alone; we should go back out before someone catches us."
Mike nodded. He wiped his eyes one more time on the back of his hand.
Behind them, the door opened a little more, bringing more light into the room. In the corner of his eye, Mike caught some of the shapes on the shelves on the other end of the room: flecks of yellow, purple, brown. But he paid these no heed as he glanced to the form now standing in the doorway.
At the figure half in shadow, half lit from the dining room light. More importantly, he caught the thing's glowing yellow eyes staring down at him.
Mike's own eyes widened as his voice hung in his throat with terror. He found it a moment later when the creature he feared lunged forward, its long white and gold teeth catching the light.
"Dad!"
Foxy.
He had almost forgotten about Foxy.
Mike quickly turned the camera to Cam 1C. The purple curtains hung completely open now, showing only an empty stage and the -Sorry!- Out of Order sign. Mike's heart skipped a beat as he frantically flipped through the views.
No.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no!
Dining room. Stage show. Kitchen. Backstage. Bathrooms.
He only found Chica up by the bathrooms, and Bonnie still wandered the dining room.
Hall closet. Hallways. Hall corners.
Like Bonnie before, Mike didn't see Foxy in any of the camera views. He hadn't noticed his heavier breathing or the sudden heat under his collar. He did another round of quick camera flips, trying to find the pirate fox before it found him.
He never noticed Freddy no longer faced forward, but now stared up at the stage show camera.
Mike's hands trembled as he neared the end of the cycle, but perked when new sound entered the night's serenade. He held his breath to listen, to pick it out from the normal mechanical whirs and clicks, the spinning fan, the buzzing light overhead.
His heart stopped as he narrowed it down.
Scratching.
Metal against linoleum.
A distinct rhythm, like something preparing to...
The sound abruptly changed, metal pounding against the floor, another metallic pound following it. The sounds hit a certain beat, much like...
Footsteps.
Fast, metal-clanking footsteps.
Fast, metal-clanking footsteps against the tile floor.
Fast, metal-clanking footsteps approaching him in the west hall.
Mike dove from his seat then, his open fingers slamming against the left door switch. Pain shot through his fingers as they bent back with force. He ignored it as he fell to his knees, his chest slumped up against the wall. The door slid down in place. Mike barely caught a flash of red and a glint of metal before it clicked shut. Not even a second later, something large and heavy banged on the door, so hard the wall vibrated underneath him.
A second bang hit the door, and Mike yelped. He quickly slipped down onto his stomach. A third bang followed, which forced him to ditch any attempts to get off the ground. An angry, frustrated screech rang from the other side. Mike stayed down. His body trembled with the surge of thoughts that forced themselves to the front of his mind.
Blood spilled on black and white tiles.
Screams. Confusion.
Staff members trying to contain the scene.
And white teeth dripping with red.
Mike reached a hand to his mouth and forced himself to remain still and silent. He didn't hear the metal feet stomping away or see the little tufts of red fur in the office window as Foxy went back down the hall. Instead, he kept his focus solely on making himself as small as possible, instinctively curling himself in.
Push them back.
This isn't…
That didn't just…
This wasn't real.
Oh god, it couldn't have been real.
Bile tried to force its way up his throat. Mike barely managed to swallow it back. His stomach hurt, his nostrils stung, and breathing became a chore. Tears clouded his vision as Mike forced himself to regain control again.
Why the hell was he here? Why put himself through this?
Only after several long moments did Mike finally calm down enough to try to get up again. His legs wobbled and threatened to collapse as he grabbed the edge of the desk. Movement caught his vision, and on the monitor, he saw a red tail slip in between the now-closed curtains at Pirate Cove.
Mike's face flushed with relief as he stared at the screen for a moment, ignoring the little power indicator that now read at 46%.
For the first time since last night, he wondered if he should start taking those calls seriously.
Provided he made it through the rest of tonight.
Provided he dared to come back tomorrow.
His stomach revolted again. Thinking quickly, Mike grabbed the empty striped Freddy's cup that sat on the desk, popped the lid off, and let loose. Only when he purged the fear along with what remained of his dinner did he feel even remotely better. He slammed the lid back on when he finished to keep the vile contents contained. Mike wiped his mouth on his sleeve, ashamed of himself for it, but in that moment, he didn't only see the horror: he felt a resurgence of feelings he thought he buried, even smelled the gore directly under his nose when he pictured that scene.
"...Only a toy," he whispered. "O-only a…"
Who was he kidding? He heard it run. He saw those flashes of red, heard the banging and that screech that now haunted his mind.
He didn't know how much time passed, only that it felt like eternity before he calmed down enough to remember he had a job to do. Mike's blood pounded in his ears. He loosened his tie and top buttons and rolled up his sleeves to release the heat that built up under his shirt. He reached up to rub his temples, his head throbbing as he checked the time.
Almost 3:30am.
Less than half the night left in this hellhole.
Mike steeled himself as he checked right door, only now realizing how long it had been open. He shut it quickly, not wanting to risk any further exposure, before he went back to the sole working monitor on the desk and fiddled with the knobs to change the camera views.
Only when he confirmed the starry curtains at Pirate Cove remained shut (which he flipped back to after checking every room to be sure), that Bonnie and Chica doing their weird dining room dance, that Freddy was still onstage did he dare to open the doors.
Knowing for certain there was real danger to look out for, Mike planned to spend the next two-and-a-half hours keeping vigilant. If Foxy got in…
No. Don't think about it.
Just focus.
Survive.
And get your ass out at 6am.
Johan turned around at his son's prompting and saw Foxy lean into the room.
"D-don't hurt him!" Mike cried.
If the animatronic understood, or simply stopped out of coincidence, Mike couldn't tell, only that Foxy's jaws suddenly closed, and his head fell forward. In the darkness of the room, Mike felt his father's grip suddenly tighten, betraying his jovial next words:
"What did I tell you, Michael? We should not be back here."
Johan stood up, though he kept Mike behind him for his son's sake. Foxy twitched a bit, his arms swaying as a power-down sound suddenly filled the room. The lights in the room came on, revealing the table and the shelves. Mike paid them little heed. He just buried his head in Johan's stomach both for comfort and to shield his eyes. From behind the animatronic, a man popped up, the brim of a red Freddy's baseball cap over his eyes and showing only his smile. The sudden light revealed a green polo shirt with the Freddy's logo just above the pocket.
An employee.
"I'm very sorry about that, sir," the employee told Johan. "I saw him walk away after the show; he's not supposed to do that."
Though Mike didn't see it, he heard the frown in the man's voice.
"But guests really aren't supposed to be back here."
"My apologies," Johan said. "I was just collecting my son. He…"
He protectively held Mike to him, let him keep his face hidden.
"He panicked during the show and ran in here. We were just leaving."
"I understand."
Mike kept his face buried in Johan's shirt as the employee spoke to him.
"Sorry about that, kiddo. We'll see what we can do to make Foxy less scary."
Mike just nodded and focused on his father's cologne and cigarettes.
"And sorry about that near-miss," the man told Johan. "This one's been a bit twitchy the last two days. I'll have to figure out what's wrong."
"No harm done," Johan replied.
He forced up a smile and looked at Foxy.
"My, what big teeth you have!"
Mike ignored the joke and clung tighter to his father. He felt Johan carefully run a hand through his dark hair, then gently urge him to start walking.
"That was a bit close for comfort, eh, sport?"
His father's tinge of a German accent, the soft "sh" at the beginning of his nickname, set him at ease. Mike clung to Johan as he lead him out. He refused to look at Foxy, and didn't speak until they were back in the dining room. Back with the colors and games and the curtains on the main stage now opened to Freddy and his band happily singing a tune.
"Dad," Mike whispered. "He was gonna eat you!"
Johan carefully lead him back to their table, where four slices of lukewarm pizza, their sodas, and Mike's token cup sat waiting for them. He helped his son into his chair, then took his own.
"Nonsense, Michael. He is a machine. He cannot eat."
"But I saw him!"
"Michael. It is fine. He just glitched, and that nice man in there is going to fix him."
Johan slipped from his seat and knelt down to his son's level, gently urging him to look at him.
"You know your red car at home, Michael? The one with the remote control?"
Mike nodded. Johan pointed up to the stage, where the rest of the Fazbear band played.
"Look. Do you see the metal pieces on their arms and legs?"
Mike nodded again.
"That means they are machine, ja?"
"Yeah…"
"Okay. Now, remember: Foxy is like them. And he is also just like your car. Underneath the fox costume is just a metal frame and wires that make him move. And behind the scenes, someone makes him move and talk and sing. He is just a very big puppet. A toy."
Johan gently placed a hand on Mike's shoulder.
"And like any other toy," he continued, "he can break. I do not know what made him break, but that is why he is not out right now. The technician is going to fix him so he works properly. Okay?"
Mike hesitated, but nodded.
"Okay, Dad."
He glanced over to the now-closed curtains at Pirate Cove. Only the quiet that followed eased his mind.
"Just remember, Michael. He is only a toy."
The rest of the night drifted between a haze and being acutely aware of every minor detail around him. Every minute ticked by slowly, stretching into eternity now that Foxy successfully forced him to pay the strictest attention to the cameras. Every sound magnified, so that the faintest noise had Mike grabbing for his flashlight and shining it up in his windows to ensure the hallways stayed empty, that it wasn't heavy metal on linoleum moving at a speed far too quick for comfort.
He hardly cared what the others did now; he doubted Freddy would move, and Bonnie and Chica seemed to have settled back into the same routines they had the previous night.
All that mattered now was ensuring those curtains remained shut.
The bastard peered out again around 4:45am, his yellow eyes staring knowingly up at the camera. Mike swallowed hard when he fixed his gaze with Foxy's, his mind flashing to that night so many years ago, to the piercing, glowing gaze in the darkness.
But this time, he defiantly glowered back.
You're only a toy, he thought, mulling over his father's words. A broken, glitching, overgrown fucking piece of scrap.
He knew better. The damn thing almost got inside. But Mike needed that sense of power, to feel he had some semblance of control. And as he stared at the camera...Foxy seemed to smile at the sentiment.
To challenge him.
Mike shut off the monitor to save power and rest his eyes. He didn't have too much longer to go; he was in the home stretch. Just breathe a moment, check in, keep an eye on Foxy.
He kept a sharp eye on his power levels, and had even dared to open his thermos and take a few small sips. The freak-out took a lot out of him, allowing fatigue to creep up. He needed to stay awake, alert, and get back to it.
Foxy came out to pace again. Mike paid attention to his movements when he did. He guessed the first metal scratches he heard were preparation to run, a marathon runner digging his feet into the dirt to preamble a sprint. It might be the only warning he got to shut the door in time.
But the moment never came. Not when he saw Foxy turn to go back inside, the curtains shutting around him.
The beeping of his watch startled him, but Mike knew what it meant. Foxy's daytime programming kicked in, and so did the others'. They would all be in their places when he left the office.
Whatever resolve he had left drained then. He turned the monitor off, knowing he had a few precious moments alone before the early morning employees got in. Mike stared at the blank screen in resigned shock.
A wave of emotion overcame him a moment later.
He moved a hand to his mouth as his emotions broke free. He didn't care that his eyes grew wet, that his body shook, that he wasn't sure if he felt sick or relieved.
He sat there in silence, the sound of the fan hiding the occasional choked sob.
Get control of yourself.
Calmly walk out that door.
And try to pretend this was all just a very bad dream.