Saturday, November 13, 1993
He awoke, shivering with cold. Will remained on the floor for a moment, taking in the hum around him and the chill of the circulating air. After a moment, he pushed himself up, his joints stiff with age and cold and pain. His stomach and sides still ached, and his head throbbed from when Greg slammed him down. Will took another breath as he felt around in the dark for something to pull himself to his feet. He found a metal shelf, the metal even colder than the air around him.
"Dirty son of a devil," he muttered.
Will felt for his pockets. No keys, no pen light, no tools, only his wallet.
Greg ensured he had nothing.
There wasn't much else to do but try to find his way out. Using the shelf as a guide, Will walked around the room - the refrigerator, he figured. He held a hand in front of him to feel for the smooth steel door. All around him, he felt tall pizza trays, with their goods waiting to be baked in the morning. The trays were wrapped in plastic to protect their wares, and shifted around on wheels. No doubt Greg moved them around to make getting out harder.
Will took a moment to gather his bearings. His head throbbed, and he still ached from his tussle with Greg. If anything, the chill dulled pain. He felt the trays around him, and mentally calculated their positions and the orientations of their wheels.
He would need to be careful. Count his steps, and keep account of each tray and how far it went when pushed. More than that, he had to ensure he didn't accidentally trap himself further.
Slow and steady.
Will pulled his coat more tightly around his shoulders. At least Greg left him that.
He didn't have time to lose. Mike and Vanna would be here soon, if they hadn't arrived already. If Greg got one of them alone, he didn't want to think about how well they would fare...or what he'd do to the other when he found them.
Mike arrived at Freddy's. Like Will, he turned into the back of the building and waited a moment. Only when he saw Vanna's little black Chevy in his rearview mirror did he pull out and head to the front.
The sign still flickered, with Freddy's eyes lingering a little longer than the rest, as usual. Will's truck was parked below it, along with a station wagon he guessed was Greg's. Mike pulled up into a spot as close to the front door as possible. He took a long breath before he exited the car, leaving it unlocked this time.
He felt better as he pocketed his keys, knowing that if it came to it, he wouldn't have to waste precious seconds getting inside.
Mike approached the front door, taking care to peer into the front windows first.
No sign of Greg.
Fine. On to the plan.
Mike unlocked the door and pulled it open, though he didn't step in just yet. If he was right, and that was Greg's car out front, then he shouldn't announce his presence. He took a breath, and carefully stepped over the old rug with the Freddy Fazbear's logo on it, breathing a small sigh of relief that as he suspected, it was something it under the rug that caused the familiar jingle, and not a motion sensor.
The door slowly shut behind him, a design element intended to prevent small guests from slamming it, but currently worked in his favor. For now, Mike listened for Greg, and scanned the dining room for known camera blind spots, for once grateful that the front door, of all things, was one.
"...Will?" he whispered.
Silence.
Mike reached into his pocket and felt along the buttons of the tape recorder until he found the small indented circle. Anything that happened within the next hour, he would have a record of.
And with any luck, Greg would hang himself.
The dining room still empty, Mike stepped back and slammed his foot onto the carpet. If Greg was here, he'd know shortly.
"...Hello?" Mike called.
Just walk a little further. Be natural. Check the room like you're supposed to.
Mike headed for the stage. As he looked over the animatronics, something about them felt off, and more so than usual. Yet Bonnie, Freddy, and Chica stood in their usual poses, ready to sing and play.
Same stances, same expressions, same trademark items held in their hands.
He looked them over again, before he noticed the difference, particularly with Chica noticeably a brighter yellow than before.
Were they...cleaner than usual?
Mike stepped closer, leaning over the stage to get a faint whiff of Bonnie's plush. The strange odor he caught off the animatronic a few nights ago was still there, just fainter now, and mingled with the scent of cleaner.
He couldn't put a finger on why this bothered him. Mike turned to look at the curtains at Pirate Cove. As he did, he caught the present box in the corner of his eye...and the creature hanging over the edge of it.
"Puppet!"
Mike ran over to the box. Puppet's body hung halfway out, its arms scraping the floor. The head had been carefully removed. The back of its costume was torn open, revealing the smooth metal that shaped its torso...and more than that, a closer look showed its servos had been gutted.
He carefully stepped away from the box. Something hard and round slid against his foot. He looked down to see Puppet's mask staring back up at him. A long crack fissured its way over the resin forehead, and one of the small hooks that once held it in place had been bent to the side.
Mike slowly crouched down to pick up the mask, knowing immediately who did this. He remembered what the Fazbear band told him about the night Jeremy died, how Puppet tried to help him.
The bastard remembered, and he took preventative measures.
Now down an ally and more on edge, Mike turned around and ran to the stage, the mask still clutched in his hand. The animatronics' sudden cleanliness now made sense to him.
What better way to get to them right under Waylon's nose?
What have you done to them, you son of a bitch?
Mike looked behind him to ensure he was still alone for a moment, before he started up the steps leading up onto the stage. He briefly glanced to his watch to ensure he still had time before midnight.
11:48pm.
Just as Mike cleared the last step, he saw the curtain move in the corner of his eye. He turned, seeing nothing. Before he could investigate any further, something wrapped around his neck and yanked him back.
His feet slipped off the edge of the stage, his body's own weight pulling against his neck as whatever now held him tightened against the bruise. Mike choked on a gasp as his captor strengthened their grip. He found his footing on the tile floor, forced up onto his toes to maintain any semblance of balance. He barely registered the warm flesh under cotton cloth at his throat, and the firmness of a torso at his back.
Mike choked again. The Puppet's mask fell from his hands as he reached to grab his captor's arm in an attempt to relieve further pressure on his neck.
"I don't think you were entirely honest with me earlier, Mr. Schmidt."
Greg tightened his grip. Mike weakly tried to elbow his stomach.
How did he sneak up so quietly?
And where was Will?
Greg let out a small chuckle.
"I think you do know me from somewhere else."
Mike heard the smirk in his voice.
"November 13, 1987," Greg said, coolly. "You came looking for Jeremy Fitzgerald."
Mike saw black shadows begin to creep into the corners of his vision. He wondered if the lights were flickering as they sometimes did. Greg's voice started to sound hollow. With his options running out, Mike tried to stomp down on one of his attacker's feet. Greg groaned and forcibly moved Mike to his side until he held him in a chokehold.
"You should have dropped it, son," he said, bitterly. "But look on the bright side. Tonight, you'll know exactly what happened to Jeremy."
Greg let him go only long enough to slam him face-first into the nearest table. Party hats tumbled over and fell onto the floor, his own hat joining them. Mike's head spun as it smacked against the cloth-covered surface. Pain sung at his temple and cheekbone, where he now certainly sported more bruises. Before he could even take a breath, he felt himself lifted up by his collar. He barely managed to remain on the tips of his toes again.
Dizzy, in pain, and barely balanced, Mike didn't fight him. He simply tried to loosen his tie.
"And the best part?" Greg hissed in his ear.
He forced Mike to look at the stage. Mike twirled on one toe as Greg maneuvered him, barely catching the animatronics before him.
"Your little friends can't interfere like they did with Jeremy," Greg said, coolly.
"Wh-what...did you…?" Mike managed.
"It took a while to disconnect their batteries," Greg said, coolly. "I don't trust their programming. It has a strange way of resetting itself."
He smirked.
"Nice attempt with the new shirt, though. It won't save you."
Mike steadied himself and tried to kick Greg from behind. All he did was throw off his balance as his collar tightened. Greg didn't say another word. He simply threw Mike back into another table, once more knocking the breath out of him.
Crack.
Mike felt his head spin again, and a thick gush shoot from his nose, leaving distinct red stains against the pristine white tablecloth.
Fearing Greg might lift him again, Mike didn't fight him, going limp with his arms spread over the table. His fingers weakly gripped the edge. He let his legs cave, as loose as a rag doll's. He felt Greg's strong hand tighten around the back of his neck, the day guard's fingers pressing down on specific pressure points.
Fingers covered in cloth, he noticed.
Gloves.
Greg pressed his hips against his, just enough to ensure he couldn't wriggle away. He leaned over Mike, grabbing one wrist with his free hand. Mike allowed himself only a wince in pain and a desperate gasp for breath.
His tormentor seemed content with merely holding him down and trying to make him blackout. Mike shuddered and choked, no longer able to breathe through his nose. In the corner of his eye, he saw Greg's grin as shadows crawled into the edges of his vision. He lifted his head under the guise of struggle, trying to get a somewhat decent look at the day guard's chest.
He only had one shot at this.
Mike closed his eyes and struggled for another breath.
Now or never.
He let go of the table and shot his free elbow up into Greg's stomach, hooking up against the low edge of his ribs. The sudden lurch from Greg and his loosened grip was all he needed. Mike pressed his hands against the table, bracing himself as he bucked back into Greg, knocking the bigger man off of him.
More blood dropped onto the table. Head throbbing, chest aching, and his vision still starting to clear, Mike choked on a cough as he noticed the chairs in front of him. Without a second thought, he grabbed the back of one and blindly swung it behind him, not caring where he hit Greg so long as it connected.
A painful grunt combined with the forced stop of the chair heralded his success. Mike dropped the chair and broke into a run then, not daring to look behind him. He grabbed at the chairs as he passed them, knocking them down behind him to create as many obstacles as possible.
His feet stumbled. His lungs burned. His head threatened an oncoming migraine as his new bruises ached against the cool air that brushed against his face. Blood still leaked from his nose, trailing down his lips and chin, and onto his shirt.
He had to keep going.
He had to get to the office.
He had to keep Greg distracted and focused on him until Will and Vanna could assist.
As he passed Pirate Cove, a brief thought entered his mind. Of all the nights he would want Foxy to come for him...
Mike shoved the thought back as he booked it down the hall. The lights flickered above him as he ran. On instinct, Mike gave only the quickest of glances behind him for Greg.
The day guard wasn't following.
Mike stumbled into the office, his chest bruised and bursting as he ducked to the side of the door. From the other side of the room, he heard heavy footprints approaching. Only then did Mike realize Greg's plan to try to intercept him from the other side.
He started to stand to get to the right door first, when he heard a familiar sound:
Scritch-scratch.
Metal feet picked up into a run. Uncovered metal footsteps pounded into the tile.
Never before had he been glad to hear it.
With a smirk, Mike abandoned his plan to get to the right door and ducked back into the corner beside the left door, getting out of the way.
The lights went out for a few seconds.
Mike heard Greg's footsteps catch up. The lights came back on just as the day shift guard came in through the other door. The look of awed terror on Greg's face was priceless as he faced the creature across the room. What happened next occurred so fast, Mike barely had time to take a breath.
"RRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHH!"
A blur of decrepit gold and rusted metal dove into the room. Greg gripped his attacker's shoulders as it charged in, digging his own feet into the floor as he braced himself against Spring Bonnie's speed and weight. His shoes slipped against the tile, and his legs collapsed underneath him. Uneven gold fingers gripped his collar, and lifted the day guard up into the light.
You are not going to hurt him again!
Whether or not Greg heard it, he clawed at Spring Bonnie's hands, trying to force the animatronic to let go. Mike watched as the day guard's legs kicked at the air, trying to kick at the chest or throw off the rabbit's balance. Spring Bonnie's eyelids turned until they resembled a glare. With another scream, the animatronic shoved Greg back out into the hallway, releasing his grip as he did. The day guard crashed into the wall with a painful groan. A small thump afterward indicated he hit the ground.
The yellow rabbit stood in the right doorway then, blocking the way into the room.
He stood firm, tall and imposing, his bulky form taking up most of the doorway. His one good ear twitched, the gesture almost daring Greg to get up and try again. Mike used the left door frame as a brace to pull himself back onto his shaking legs, still in disbelief at what just happened. He took a moment to catch his breath, and when he found his voice again, the word struggled to fall from his lips.
"...Jeremy…?"
The old robot turned around, the silver discs that formed its eyes catching some of the overhead light. The ghostly pupils gently shone from behind them.
Didn't I promise I'd always protect you?
Mike slipped on his shaking legs, and caught a glimpse of his watch on the way down.
11:53pm became 11:54pm.
It wasn't even midnight yet.
"...How?" Mike gaped, trying to stand again.
Before Jeremy could answer, Mike saw something move behind the golden rabbit. He quickly pointed to the right door.
"Jeremy!"
Spring Bonnie's head turned in time to see Greg flying towards him. The animatronic crashed to the floor as Greg shifted his weight to pin its chest, then grab for the mask. His fingers dug into the sides as he slammed Spring Bonnie's head down against the floor. Jeremy grabbed for Greg's hands, but with each slam, the video feed sputtered, shifting in and out of white noise.
"Thought I disconnected you," Greg said.
You did, Jeremy said, bitterly. Puppet had other plans.
Greg simply slammed Spring Bonnie's head down again. If he heard Jeremy, he made no indication of it.
"Stay down!" he screamed.
Mike scrambled to his feet, stumbling over to the desk. He grabbed the desk chair, grunting in pain as he lifted it up.
"Thanks, Schmidt."
Greg maneuvered to grab the chair from Mike on the downswing, then yanked it from his grasp. The night guard fell to the floor, barely catching himself before he could slam into the tiles. Mike tried to get back up onto his feet.
"No!"
The chair came down on Spring Bonnie's mask. The entire endoskeleton flinched, before Greg threw the chair at Mike, the weight of it knocking the night guard down again just as he started to stand. Greg then reached for Spring Bonnie's neck to hit the switch. His fingers caught something sharp as the animatronic struggled, and in turn tore through his glove and drew blood.
Only then did Greg notice that the switch had been broken off, leaving only a sharp metal stub where it used to be.
"No," he whispered.
That goddamn Puppet must have done this. Nothing else could have gotten into that back room. Greg glowered as he grabbed for Spring Bonnie's head again, holding the sides tightly. The bashing from the chair pressed in the rabbit's nose, and its jaw hung a bit wider. Spring Bonnie grabbed for his shoulders.
Facial recognition match: 96.7%
Retrieving files.
Spring Bonnie's grip loosened. The animatronic collapsed as if in a faint. Its facial features returned to their neutral positions.
Opening…
Greg warily stared at the fallen animatronic. He carefully moved a hand over its eyes, trying to trigger the motion sensors. Upon gaining no response, he glanced over to Mike, who tried once more to stand. Greg growled, then pushed himself up, springing towards the night guard. Mike yelled in surprise and stumbled forward, only for Greg to catch his ankle.
"Don't think I didn't hear that, Schmidt," Greg said, pulling the night guard back toward him.
Mike's fingers gripped the edge of the left door. He glared and kicked at Greg's face, trying to make him let go while simultaneously pulling his body forward. Greg raised a hand to his now bruised nose, then turned away as Mike kicked again, his shoe now hitting the base of his neck. A horrid cough escaped Greg's throat, and he felt his body start to slide over Spring Bonnie's while Mike tried to pull his ankle from his grip.
Greg ducked as Mike kicked at him again, then caught his other ankle. He pulled himself forward, using his weight to pin the night guard's legs down.
"Jeremy, huh?" he asked, his fingers now gripping Mike's belt.
Mike let go of the door with one hand to bring a fist down on Greg's fingers.
"Let go!" he cried.
Greg grabbed his wrist. He pulled him forward, trying to make the night guard let go of the door frame.
"I don't think so," he said.
Mike barely managed to keep his grip. He shifted his hips and legs, trying to snake them out from under Greg's weight. Greg in turn countered by shifting his weight until he was almost sitting on top of Mike. Mike winced as the tape recorder dug into his leg.
"I don't know how you figured it out, Schmidt," he said, coolly, "but I made a promise that you'd know what happened to Jeremy."
One more good tug, and he had Mike's other wrist ensnared.
"And you'll die, alone and terrified, just like he did."
07/31/1970 3:59:04am
Sound_location activated.
Disengaging standby mode.
Locating guests.
The familiar door jingle caught her attention. Being after hours, she remained in her place onstage, with her night vision picking up the room in a green overlay. Round tables with six chairs were scattered over the tile floor, with party hats set in front of each chair, waiting for the guests. Across the room, the prize counter caught the outdoor light, shining brightly. A little Fredbear statuette stood beside it, with balloons in his hands ready for the next day's festivities.
Only her head moved, glancing over towards the door as she took in the footsteps.
A tall, broad-shouldered man in a baseball cap entered. She watched him calmly head for the back room, barely catching his profile as he passed by. Some rummaging sounds entered her microphones before the man came back, walking in line of sight of the camera. The man now carried a toolbox in one hand, and had a large, rectangular box in the other. He glanced up at the animatronics on stage, looking between the two of them, before settling on her. He walked up, giving the animatronic a clear look at his face.
Facial recognition engaged.
Verifying...
"Sorry, Bon," he muttered. "Hate to be unoriginal, but this is going to hurt you more than it hurts me."
Voice print match.
Bringing up profile: Gregory Mortman.
Designation: Mechanic.
After hours authorization: Approved.
Gregory reached up a hand.
And soon, Spring Bonnie's camera blacked out.
Maintenance mode activated.
Auto update date and time: 07/31/1970 4:16:35am
Recalibrating spring locks.
Safety_click: Adjusted.
Safety_recoil: Disabled.
Costume_backup_safety: Disabled.
Automatic_springlock_control: Disabled.
Exiting maintenance mode.
Restarting...
Vanna killed her engine and gave Mike exactly two minutes before exiting her car. Like Mike, she left the doors unlocked, providing a quick getaway opportunity if needed. She did a quick once-over to make sure she had everything she needed, before slipping out of the driver's seat and quietly shutting the door behind her.
She then carefully approached the back entrance and frowned as she saw the padlock there. Vanna checked it anyway. A closer inspection showed it was open, just left to appear locked. With a small smile, Vanna slipped it out of place and set it down on the ground, before she gripped the bar.
It didn't budge.
With a frown and a small grunt, Vanna pushed it up. It gave way a little, but the cold metal meant a bit more jostling to get it open. After what felt like eternity, she lifted it up and slowly pulled the door open. Already, she heard the sounds of a struggle.
Shit.
"...has a strange way of resetting itself."
Vanna made sure to quietly close the door behind her to not attract Greg's attention, though the sounds of someone being smacked around both provided her some cover for the door, and made her hurry. Just as she started for the dining room, a shifting sound made her freeze. She stopped, trying to find the source of the sound.
The shifting became a metallic groan. Vanna turned to the table in time to see Spring Bonnie sitting up.
"...Jeremy?" she whispered.
He turned to her, and moved a finger to his lips as his one good ear twitched, picking up sounds. Greg let out a grunt as something hard smacked into him. It was soon followed by the clatter of chairs hitting the tile, and footsteps dashing down the west hall.
Spring Bonnie's animatronic face shifted as he listened, the flickering lights giving his smile a disturbing edge. He quietly slipped from the table and stepped carefully towards the door, until he caught sight of Greg heading for the east hall.
He didn't have much time to waste. Jeremy turned to Vanna.
Stay here, he said. I'm going to help him.
Vanna nodded, watching as the giant rabbit dashed out of the room. She listened to his metal footsteps echo down the hall.
Unexpected, but this could be useful.
Trusting Mike would be safe and Greg occupied for a moment, Vanna slipped off her coat. The lights flickered again, then went out for a few seconds. Vanna winced, but reminded herself of the building's weirdness. She heard a metallic creak and a soft hiss before the lights came back on.
Vanna started to look for the source of the sound when Spring Bonnie's furious animatronic screech rang down from the west hall, just as clearly as if he were standing right beside her. Taking it as a cue, Vanna quickly dug through her purse for the last thing she needed.
She didn't have much time.