Click-click. Click-click. Click-click. Click-click.
Mike hopelessly tried the switch again, hating the sound more and more with each press of the red button.
"Damn it! Open!"
He kicked against the door, creating a loud metallic echo in the room. Despite his efforts, it refused to budge. Defeated, Mike slammed his fist into the door, the object he gripped digging into his skin. For the first time, he noticed a long, black leather strap dangling from his fist, the warmth of the metal object in his hand. Mike turned away from the door and rested his back against the cold metal slab. Slowly, he uncurled his fingers, the torn black strap already cluing him in to what he held:
An old silver watch, with the strap torn at both ends.
Reddish-brown smears and splatters covered the face, some of it stuck at the edge of the protective glass. A few places on the glass covering remained clear enough for Mike to pick out silver dashes set into its black face instead of numbers. A long time ago, the silver hands froze at 11:13.
Thoughts of the black circle drawings came to mind, along with remnants of the dream he had on Vanna's couch.
How he was running out of time.
Mike slowly turned the watch around, his hands trembling as he examined the stains obscuring the back. He ran his thumb over the back, hesitating to scrape at the old reddish residue. But if this was what he thought it was, then he had no choice.
Taking a breath, he readied himself, and ran his thumbnail over the stains.
One by one, two initials appeared:
M. F.
They would not match the initials of their last owner, he knew, but the watch's existence, being here in this state…
Mike looked up at the other side of the room, where the other door remained shut from keeping Foxy out, but his eyes found the window where Spring Bonnie stood before.
"...Why did you have this?" he whispered.
But the old watch and its current condition told him all he needed to know. The torn straps, the red stains...Mike briefly recalled what the janitor told him about the spring suits as he turned the watch in his hands, solely to give them something to do.
Six years ago, he disappeared. Six years ago, the case went cold due to lack of evidence of his fate. And every November afterwards, Mike shut down, unable to face the pain of not knowing what happened.
That horrible night...that horrible day in 1987…
Mike reached up to wipe his eyes on his sleeve, realizing something.
"But he wasn't...he wasn't here."
He stood up, running to the window, his flashlight ignored on the floor. Mike reached up to touch it, his hand pressed against the glass where Spring Bonnie held hers before.
"...He wasn't here."
The light from the monitor flickered beside him, getting his attention. Suddenly pulled back into his job, he quickly checked the time and power level first.
12:28am, and 79%.
Mike set the watch on the desk and did a quick check of the premises. Freddy still remained on the main stage. Bonnie lingered in the back room, with Chica circling the dining room tables. The curtains at Pirate Cove stayed shut, which left only one animatronic unaccounted for.
And Vanna.
Mike did a second round of investigation, trying to find her.
Where had she gone? And why had the right door been closed?
Upon finding no clue to her whereabouts, Mike glanced over to the right door and tried again. Once more, the button uselessly clicked at him, the door stubbornly staying in place. And in that moment, Mike realized the futility of trying to save power tonight. In the time he spent checking alone, the power levels dropped down to 75%.
His flashlight still sat on the floor, shining at the cobwebs under the desk. Mike reached down to pick it up, then turned to the left door.
They won't hurt me.
He glanced to the old watch on the desk. Without a second thought, he grabbed it and shoved it into his pocket, the bloody object an odd comfort as it warmed against his body again. He then picked up Vanna's purse to fish the spare batteries from it, shoving them into his other pocket.
Mike opened the left door, as prepared as he could be. He aimed his flashlight out into the hall, checking the corner first out of habit, then down into the dining room.
Chica was passing by. She stopped in the light, in perfect profile, then slowly turned her head to look at him. Her dark lids hung partway over her eyes, tilted to give the appearance of sadness.
Sometimes found, and sometimes lost, she sang. The greatest ones are worth the cost.
This time, her song lacked cheer. Mike simply nodded to her.
"...I understand now," he whispered, "what you were trying to tell me before."
Chica still stared at him, though she took a step back to clear the hallway.
To create a path.
Mike took the hint and slowly stepped forward.
For a long while, Vanna stayed still, listening for distinctly heavy footsteps. She held her breath, only to be met with silence. She slowly let it out, before she carefully picked her way under the table, half-crawling, half-crouching in order to reach the other end without moving the chairs.
Vanna started to speak, but stopped. What if the animatronics heard her?
Maybe…
Vesper, she thought, hoping her sister could hear her, you need to tell me where you went. I don't know where you are.
Silence.
Vanna pressed herself down onto her stomach, peering under the tablecloth to watch for animatronic feet.
I'm not alone, Vesper answered, finally. I can't move. I need my m-medicine. I want to go home!
A pair of orange, two-toed feet suddenly stomped by. Vanna backed away a little, holding her breath.
I'm coming, she promised. Just hold on.
Vanna waited for Chica to pass, then carefully peered under the tablecloth again.
The room looked brighter again, newer. She held up her flashlight, but realized she didn't need it. Vanna carefully surveyed the immediate area, then crawled out from under the table. She glanced behind her, intending to listen for the footsteps, but realized the table looked...round.
A smaller family table to seat six.
Tables that hadn't been in use for almost two decades.
She took in a quick breath. Vanna choked on a gasp as she surveyed the room: purple and gold, with decorations long considered relics, but were bright and new. She carefully stood up, then looked over at the stage. The purple curtains were closed again, with gold glitter instead of silver stars. Faintly, she heard talking and laughing and-
Come find me.
Ghostly footsteps ran by the stage.
"Vesper!"
Vanna started to follow, but stopped.
Was this merely a dream? A hallucination?
Or had she somehow stepped back in time?
She looked across the room where Pirate Cove no longer existed, just a line of video game cabinets and a large rainbow mural.
Vanna's eyes were immediately drawn to the dark gap at the end of the rainbow.
I never looked back there, she realized.
The employees-only room. Even back then, it had been off-limits to the public, and she avoided it for that reason.
But with everywhere else accounted for...
Vanna hesitantly stepped towards the door, readying herself for what she might find. Perhaps the back room would revert back to the present like the dining room did. Or maybe it would show her the truth.
The door carried a faint warmth under her touch as she carefully pushed it open. The light from the dining room carved out a long rectangle that illuminated the objects in front of her: familiar shelves and a sturdy wooden table.
Something rested atop it: a partially-dressed animatronic, its chest and part of its arms covered in gold plush, but a slightly lighter color than Fredbear and Spring Bonnie. A small, pink object sat on the corner closest to the door.
A cupcake with eyes.
Dulcie.
Vanna stepped closer, reaching for it. She grabbed it and picked it up, turning it in her hands.
It had been gutted, just like the one in the office. And just like the one in the office, it had distinct scratches on the inside. Vanna flipped it right side up, trying to determine if it was the same one. She found a long scratch in the paint, and remains of dust.
Dulcie's eyes suddenly peered over to the left. Vanna barely kept her grip on the resin treat, but took its subtle hint and followed its gaze to the furthest corner in the room.
Her eyes widened at the sight before her. Every muscle in her body tightened, and her breath stopped short at what lay before her.
There, poking out of the shadows, stood the Puppet's box.
You know how you got here, the Puppet said, still hovering near Spring Bonnie. Yet you still do not know who you are.
Spring Bonnie ignored the creature for a moment, her attention completely focused on the mirror. How many times in the last few moments had she traced those tears in her face? Counted the teeth? Adjusted her ears? Fiddled with the wires poking from under the plush?
The more she looked at it, the more foreign it became, beyond the rips and rust.
This isn't my face.
Earlier, when she saw Mike, she saw...something else.
Blue eyes instead of green. A different covering over her hand. A glimmering circle that hung at her wrist.
This isn't my face.
The words rang in her mind when she next saw the vision: a quick glimpse of a human form right before Puppet found her here.
She stared at the mirror, at the empty silver eyes staring back, at the torn, rotting cloth and twisted smile. Spring Bonnie reached for the mirror, once more attempting to make it change, to make the eyes green, the cloth whole, the smile friendly.
And then it did.
The reflection changed for a moment, the silver eyes now wide open...and blue.
Blue eyes that looked back with fear. Blue eyes that shed horrified tears down a face with a mouth twisted in agony, a face that tried to speak, to scream.
Spring Bonnie stepped back from the mirror. Before, the image of the human flashed so quickly, her facial scanners failed to process it long enough to match it. But this time, she caught it, the image burned into her processors. She even now had something to compare it to, thanks to the Puppet.
Her hands shook as they rested against the glass, the silver eyes reflecting back.
The Puppet watched her quietly for a moment, then floated closer to her, gently setting a hand on the old animatronic's shoulder.
I know, it said, gently, and I am sorry.
It gave Spring Bonnie a moment to process what she just saw, before it slipped a hand under her chin to urge her to look up at it.
There was life there now, white pinpricks behind the silver discs.
Like the rest of them when they properly awakened.
Perhaps now, the Puppet suggested, you should play that other file.
Spring Bonnie attempted another blink, nodding when the old lids expectantly stalled.
And slowly, she located the file she skipped over before.
11/13/1987 07:10:34am"Look! Right there, in the back!"
Disengaging standby mode.
Activating watch_
By the distinctly higher pitch, she determined the voice to be female, albeit a bit gruff. She picked up two sets of footsteps coming toward her on her microphones. Her internal camera looked down at her own feet, at the black and white tile, and the strange red oil drying around her. She saw two sets of boots step into her camera view, meticulously avoiding the red puddle.
"...Jesus."
This second voice held a deeper pitch, a slight drawl.
Male.
"Who's inside?" asked the woman.
"Only one way to find out."
She watched as the man bent down, catching part of a salt-and-pepper beard and dark skin. The man held a cloth in one hand, and while clutching it, dug his fingers under her chin. The cameras slid up to face the ceiling, blurring the rest of the man's face.
His companion made a strange, lurching noise.
"Oh, god. Isn't that-?"
"The new hire? Yep, looks like it. Now we know why he didn't show up this morning."
"Look at...oh god, the eyes."
She made that lurching sound again. By the sound of it, the woman barely kept it in.
"...Kid was terrified," the man whispered, trying to keep his own voice steady. "Can't blame 'im."
The words were hardly distinguishable over the woman's choking coughs. A few pats echoed under it as her partner tried to help ease her. When she finally got control, the bearded man spoke again.
"...Somethin' ain't right."
"There's a d-dead man right there, William!" the woman said, urgently. She violently coughed again. "Of course something isn't-isn't right!"
"Not what I meant," William replied, once more forcing himself to speak calmly. "How old was the kid? Twenty? Twenty-one?"
"I think?"
"The spring suits were retired as costumes way back in '70. He would've been a youngin' back then."
The woman forced back another cough, then tried to follow William's train of thought.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm sayin' he wouldn't have known it can be worn like this."
A small pause, then a cleansing breath as William cleared his mind.
"I know what it looks like, Marcie," he continued, "and what we're seein', it ain't what it seems. It's been circlin' 'round the staff that a yellow suit was used in the incident, right?"
"Yes, but…"
Marcie paused for a moment, computing this new information.
"...You're saying he was framed."
"Not just framed. Murdered. Someone else set 'im up. Someone who knows how to work these suits."
William pulled the animatronic mask back into its proper place. The ceiling tiles disappeared from the camera view, and after another quick blur, the camera looked down at the floor again, at her feet, the red oil.
"But ain't no way to prove it," William continued. "The tapes were erased, and anyone who worked with the spring suits before doesn't work here now."
"You know about them," Marcie pointed out.
"Only 'cause I worked at Fredbear's back 'fore it was bought out. There was an incident there, too. Same suit, even. It's why they were supposed to be locked in their animatronic modes."
"What happened at Fredbear's?"
"Nevermind that," William said, taking on an authoritative tone. "What are we gonna do about the kid here? We call the police, they'll consider it a cut and dry case. Yellow suit malfunctioned, only one there after hours, no alibi. Poor kid goes down in history as a murderer for a crime he didn't commit. Meanwhile, the real one's still out there."
"Then why don't you tell them what you told me?" Marcie asked.
"Speculation. We'd have to prove for certain he didn't know. No prior history here, sure, but we can't prove he wasn't messin' around after hours and figured it out."
"So what do we do?"
A moment of silence.
"...Get the mop and the bleach," William said at last. "We'll clean up what we can, then cover it until the place closes."
"But-"
Marcie started to protest. William cut her off.
"We have to, Marce. It's the only way we'll find out what happened. And the only way the police will keep looking for the bastard who did all this."
He let out a long sigh.
"...I feel bad for the family. I really do. But it's better he disappears. Some folks might still blame 'im, but others'll think he disappeared with those kids. It'll give his folks some peace of mind when they come lookin'."
Marcie forced back another cough.
"I don't...I don't like this," she said, sounding hesitant. "But when you put it like that...I'll get the mop."
"Good. I'll stay here and make sure no one else comes in."
Her microphones picked up one set of boots turning around to leave. When they stopped echoing against the tile, William knelt down. The internal cameras caught the beard more clearly now, attached to a worn face, brown eyes that looked on with concern.
Facial recognition engaged.
Auto update date and time: 11/13/1987 07:14:14am
"I'm sorry, kid," he said. "...Jeremy, wasn't it?"
No. Not Jeremy.
Spring Bonnie.
But all she could do now was listen with her built-in microphones and observe on her internal cameras, at least until her battery ran down.
"I'm gonna try to figure out who did this, kid," the man said, "but it's gonna take time."
He forced up a smile.
"Try to rest in peace in the meantime."
Jeremy.
That was his name, wasn't it?
Spring Bonnie stared at the mirror, computing this new information. The human face she saw before, the terrified blue eyes...they were his. The decrepit old rabbit seemed to fade back into the glass as more details slowly filled in: short, straight, dark brown hair, parted at the left. A long, but handsome face, with lips that trembled in fear and uncertainty. The purple shoulders and collar of a security guard's uniform.
And the glimmer of a gold badge at his chest.
Spring Bonnie stared in horror as remembered chimes echoed somewhere beyond the processors, a voice on the phone, metallic bangs from inside the walls around him.
Flashes of a dark room crossed his vision, one filled with animatronic parts and a strange man's smile. Even now, he was trapped in this decrepit old body, terrified and unable to breathe.
Just like he had been before.
Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. And no way out.
No way out…
Spring Bonnie lifted the golden hands up in the camera view. They trembled as his eyelids widened.
Trapped, he thought. I c-can't...oh, god…
He looked up at the mirror, at the decrepit old rabbit staring back.
This….th-this isn't my…
In a panicked second, the golden hands reached out, trying to push the yellow rabbit away. The mirror glass cracked against the strong metal hands, cutting and tearing at the old cloth fingers. Spring Bonnie reached up and grabbed for the mask.
Can't...c-c-can't breathe…
In a vain attempt to pull it off, the hands smashed into the mirror again, leaving craters in the once-smooth surface.
Th-this isn't my...this i-i-i-i-sn't...my...have to get it off, h-h-have to-!
Over and over again, the head and hands slammed against the mirror as panic surged through him with every failed attempt to pull the mask away. Shards flew and exposed broken plaster underneath. The cracks in the glass finally gave in, and several large mirror pieces collapsed out of place, smashing into the floor. They left nothing but a blank wall where they once sat, with only a few pieces barely clinging to the frame.
Spring Bonnie stumbled back, reaching behind him to grasp something for support. The gyro failed as the animatronic fell back, landing with a loud CRASH into the edge of one of the stalls. He slipped down against it, his large metal feet scraping against the tile until his rump hit the ground.
For a long while, he sat there, staring ahead at the sinks and the glass piles on the floor and the counters. Finally, he pulled his knees up to his chest, with several soft whirs and metal clinks gently echoing as the robotic body trembled. He then moved his hands up over his face, blocking the internal camera feed from taking in anymore.
But even that was no comfort when the nightmare of his last night on earth came back to haunt him.