The trek back to the Resistance base was a sluggish blur. It seemed to take both 30 years and 30 seconds. All he remembers was the burning of his legs as he tore himself away from HQ, away from the soul-shaking events that had happened there. The crowd was shrouded in a sort of anguished cloud, no one speaking, their throats tight with loss. They marched onward to fallen faces, to hopes that had been crushed and thrown aside into the desolate wasteland of the city. The footsteps of their march mirrored the beating of their hearts, slowly pushing forward even if their owners did not want to. The night had long since passed, the glow of a rising sun sending rays of light onto both the people and the city. The animatronics pursuing them had also broken away from the humans a while ago, held off by a few fighters that still had some spirit left in them. A terrible pressure sat in the bottom of their hearts, a pressure that had always been there but had been ignored by people hoping that it didn't exist. This was the feeling of defeat. That despite their best efforts, their enemy was always going to win. This was the feeling that accompanied them every single time they went into a battle, every single time they woke up into yet another day where freedom was virtually non-existent, where the light of day brought the false hope that the war was finally going to end today. And every single day they were wrong. How long had this ceaseless fight dragged on? How long must they keep pushing back against their oppressors, when with every battle, every loss, every unfinished act there was the small possibility that they would finally be done for? How long would they be able to keep it up?

These were the doubts that hung over the members of the Resistance. Because with the ideas that promised freedom from the ever-present demons of steel that haunted their waking nightmares, came the fear that all of their efforts would amount to nothing. It was true that they had made more progress in the past week than in the last few years the free world wasted before it took its dying breath. It was true that building this big of an opposition against Fazbear was a feat to be marveled at, that even their mere existence was spit in their enemy's face. But would these achievements bring hope in the end? Would they eventually be able to rebuild the lost society that was only seen in dreams?

Would they finally be released from this never-ending vicious cycle of death and destruction and ruin?

One could dream.

This wasn't their first loss. They had suffered many more before this, but none as emotionally devastating. The people usually detached themselves away from the animatronics they fought, so much that they didn't even know the names of their adversaries, save for Fazbear. The battles were always fought with deadly precision and accuracy, sparing no mercy if they managed to lay a blow on the robots. They did not care if they lost a battle, because they knew they were winning in the long run. As much as Fazbear instilled a deep sense of terror into them, they knew he was weakening. The animatronics had turned to getting help from other humans too cowardly to turn against them, which was something that no one had anticipated happening. At this rate, they would break their no-contact policy with the eastern hemisphere and demand assistance from the beings they despised even more than the Resistance: other animatronics.

But those were battles that, frankly, didn't really hold any weight. They were petty skirmishes and squabbles fought over trivial matters like land. Who even kept track of territory in these times, anyway? It wasn't something that needed to have precious time dedicated to it.

For some, this battle was like being shaken awake from a deep sleep. This was a fight with a real, tangible goal, not like land. The object of interest was the cloning machine, and they had stormed HQ without a care in the world. They thought they were going to win again. After all, they had all the other times. But as soon as they stepped foot into Fazbear's base, a feeling like no other had settled over them.

Doubt. The killer of all ideals.

They had shrugged it off at first, deeming it the product of adrenaline. But as the alarm had gone off, alerting the animatronics to their presence and sending Fazbear straight to their location, the inkling of doubt that they experienced in the beginning came back. And it stayed there, growing into despair as they watched their leader basically hand over both the machine and a human over to the animatronics.

It was too much for them to take. The doubt had now made its nest next to determination and ambition, however small it seemed. Some people had forgotten it now, burying it under other emotions that were much stronger at the time, like fear. Others had tuned it out completely, still hoping that it didn't exist. But it was only a matter of time before the doubt would finally take over their entire being, flooding them with the single despairing thought that nothing ever matters. They were but mere specks of dust on this slowly crumbling earth, and it was foolish of them to think that they could ever make a difference. The universe didn't give a shit whether you lived or died. The cogs in the great machine of existence keep turning with or without you, whether you like it or not.

But still they trudged forward with their leader. The one person who held them together in these times of darkness, the one person who managed to fight against Fazbear and everything he stood for. The one person who united thousands of different people into a melting pot of ideals, a little slice of civilization that remained, burning bright, in this dark, backwards world. He was the one who led them through the raging desert of lost hopes and the frozen wasteland of shattered dreams. And although they walked through the valley of the shadow of death, they did not fear anything, for they were guided by the one who would save them all.

Although no one had uttered a single word, the tension that had accompanied them from HQ was lifted. Maybe it was because the figure at the front of the group continued to stride unfettered despite the worries that befell them. He was their anchor, holding them down so they wouldn't flutter away and be lost in the dark winds. Because whenever they lost, he would never dwell on it. He didn't care about the buts or the what ifs. He would keep moving along, steady, not getting stuck in the past. And they followed his example. They knew they had to keep going, no matter how hard it must be at the time. Because in the end, it would not be the Resistance that fell, but Fazbear.

Don't dwell on the past. All it does is bring back phantom worries that have long since moved on.

The stone fortress that was the Resistance was silent as they passed through it, groups of people breaking off from the main to return to their respective residences. With nothing but parting glances to acknowledge each other's hidden fears, the humans huddled inside their abodes, brushing away the encounter at HQ like one would brush away a strand of hair.

Except for one person.

Jeremy Fitzgerald lay on the flimsy couch in his living room, hanging half on and half off of it. He stares blankly at the ceiling, the steady rise and fall of his chest the only visible movements. His limbs were splayed out, one foot still resting on the carpeted floor next to the engine of his chainsaw. He made no sound, listening to the background noises of people quietly talking and passing by outside.

There was too much going on in his head right now. After being dragged out of HQ, screaming like a child throwing a tantrum, his emotional system had immediately shut down. He barely remembered the trip back home, as he had distanced himself away from anyone who wanted to interact with him. He also hadn't spoken a word since they had left Fazbear's base. Tunnel vision had set in, and he let himself be guided on autopilot by his own subconscious reactions. In fact, this was the first conscious thought he had since the fight. It felt like coming up for a breath of air after being submerged underwater for a very long time.

He was still numb to everything, although it had been wearing off little by little. Part of him was relieved. He didn't like not being able to control what was going on with his emotions. The other part was nervous. He didn't know what would happen once the raw feelings came crashing down on him again. He imagined it would feel much worse than the first time.

He needed to distract himself. He couldn't go to sleep; his mind was far beyond that. He didn't feel like getting up. Something deep inside him warned that if he tried to over exert himself, something very important would snap. So he couldn't move that much.

Jeremy's foot twitches slightly. The toe of his shoe taps against his weapon. He stills for a moment, then laboriously sits up, directing his stare at the floor. Sitting on the edge of the couch, hunched over, he lifts his head to regard the chainsaw. Moving in what seemed like slow-motion, he grasps the chainsaw and hefts it up. It could use a bit of touching up after the fight at HQ.

They weren't made like this anymore. During stage one of the war on animatronics, before it had escalated to anything that could occur outside of the continent, the production and quality of weapons had skyrocketed. Human technology had improved by leaps and bounds, trying to catch up to the superior machinery of their opponents. They accomplished in days what was only dreamt of doing in years, developing thousands of new innovations per month. While they never really managed to catch up to the technological prowess of Afton Robotics, the humans had created weapons that were only mere ideas before the war.

Jeremy's eyes narrow slightly. He runs a hand across the blade of the chainsaw, regarding the scraps of metal and wire stuck between the protruding razors. Afton Robotics. The company that had started it all.

While the promotional video did mention them once or twice in passing, some Resistance members did not recognize the impact this particular company had on the downfall of humanity. After all, they were the ones who had created the animatronics.

It was laughable. The animatronics' original purpose was one of being entertainers at a now-defunct restaurant chain known as Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. It had been known by different names in the past, but the concept was the same. The idea of robots that not only moved around but actually performed and danced and sang on their own was revolutionary. This was also considered the first step in advancements in artificial intelligence.

But there was one problem. After creating and patenting the animatronics, Afton Robotics had begun secret operations in order to make the robots more 'human'. The exact details were vague and frankly contradictory, but after years of experimenting, the company unveiled their first restaurant with sentient animatronics.

The uproar around the world was deafening. Afton Robotics had risen to the top of the corporate ladder with the help of the pizzeria, and any advancements they accomplished were broadcast across the entire business and technological communities. This particular issue ended up sharply dividing the masses. Many praised the company's achievement, calling it revolutionary. They weren't wrong. Ever since the idea of Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria had blossomed into existence, many other big-name corporations had scrambled to create their own version of the animatronics. While no company ever managed to reach the heights Afton Robotics did, they made many other discoveries that contributed to what people were calling "the golden age of technology". But many other people opposed animatronics. In their eyes, the robots were seen as wrong and twisted, a mere copy of what a human being was supposed to be. They argued that Afton Robotics was bending the laws of nature in ways that shouldn't be bent.

That they were playing god.

The company did address these issues, and announced that they would keep making animatronics. They also stated that they would reveal exactly how they were making their robots. Unfortunately, that day never came.

His thoughts screech to a halt. Jeremy pauses, blinking. He looks down at the pile of scrap metal next to him that had seemingly formed out of thin air. He rubs his fingertips together, noticing that they were slightly raw. He hadn't gone off on a tangent like that for a long time. He shrugs, resuming his task of picking out stray wires. Might as well let it continue. It was a lot better than whatever may have happened if he didn't let his mind go astray.

Afton Robotics never got the chance to reveal their formula for creating sentient robots. In hindsight, it was probably good that it never got out into the world, because the war would have been ten times worse.

How did the biggest corporation on earth at the time crumble? How did this entire fiasco even start?

The answer lay with one person. Not just someone random, though. They were one of the creators of the company, the one who brought the concept of sentient animatronics into reality.

William Afton.

Even just thinking of the name made the hairs on the back of Jeremy's neck stand up. He subconsciously glances around, and finding himself alone, continues with his job. He hated the eerie feeling that always accompanies any mention of those two words.

The reason nobody cared about the company name was because they were focused on the people that ran it. Specifically with its namesake. William Afton was described as handsome and charismatic, always charming the audience with his ease of speaking. He was social and always enjoyed being the center of attention, the company of a crowd. Many different accounts also recalled him as a very efficient public speaker, being able to persuade and change the opinions of anyone who listened. He had the remarkable talent of seeming as if he were speaking to one person in a crowd of many. Nobody thought wrong of him, as they regarded him as pleasant and funny and popular. And despite this popularity, he never started a family. It probably would have interfered with work too much.

Another reason would be the fact that he was also the most manipulative, mentally unhinged person to ever be handed a position of authority that frankly, he shouldn't have.

Weeks before the war first broke out, many of Afton's employees came surging forward with many different testimonies surrounding the work environment they were in. With these testimonies came the shocking fact of the animatronics' true purpose: to overpower and destroy humans as easily as possible.

At first, people shook it off, laughing. Because how in the world could these restaurant mascots be able to cause the downfall of the human race? And people agreed with them. But it quickly came to pass that one shouldn't trust a book by its cover.

It turned out that Afton had been planning this from the very beginning. Surprisingly enough, he was the only one who knew about any ulterior motives. Even his most trusted friend had no idea what was going on. This person would then come out to say that he had been tricked into building the animatronics.

Said friend was called Henry Emily, also known as the more overlooked of the company's owners. While Afton was busy with the press and the social aspects of the job, Emily designed and constructed the robots. Everyone else believed that Afton had made the animatronics himself, and he never tried to disprove that theory.

Although by now multiple accounts had already disproved Afton's legitimacy, nobody could legally lay a finger on him. His lawyers had all but hidden him behind massive amounts of red tape that people could never hope to cross. None of the legal shtick would have done anything anyways, because it was around this time that Afton finally decided to put his plan into action.

He fired every single employee in the facility, and anyone who refused to leave was taken care of by the newly reprogrammed animatronics. The following test run, known as the Afton Incorporated Massacre, claimed the lives of roughly 100 people. Afton then sealed every single entrance to the company building, and had the animatronics guard the outside perimeters as he made his way into an underground system of bunkers he had secretly constructed under the building's foundations. He was the only human in the facility at the time.

Or so he thought.

Henry Emily had discovered the underground bunkers shortly before the massacre, and had been busy destroying any and all plans and information related to the robots while Afton was upstairs. It was only a matter of time before the other man found him.

Here was where the details got hazy. Many speculated there was some sort of argument that happened between the two co-workers, but there was little evidence to prove it. The room Emily was in when he was discovered was nowhere to be found, seemingly wiped out of the infrastructure of the bunkers. The maps the Resistance had accumulated over the years did mark out the missing room, but no one had been able to properly locate it. However, these predictions could be taken with a grain of salt, as no one had been in the bunkers long enough to prove that said room even existed. What was true, unfortunately, was the death of Henry Emily.

There were no guesses on who started the fire. As soon as the smoke began to rise out of the cracks in the company building, the animatronics took it as a sign to begin attacking.

The first onslaught completely ravaged the area a few blocks around the building. There were no casualties yet, but that was the cue for people to start leaving. When a lone animatronic managed to demolish an abandoned apartment complex, destroying a grocery store next to it, the news quickly caught on about just how dangerous the robots could get.

It was then that the military finally decided to intervene. At first, they sent in a few armored trucks with a small amount of troops in them, still not taking the threat of the animatronics too seriously. However, any doubts they had about the robot's destructiveness were abolished when the troops they sent out were vaporized with a combined attack from four of the six original animatronics. The defenses rapidly escalated from more trucks to helicopters and tanks that surrounded Afton's headquarters. The animatronics had retreated to join their master in the bowels of the facility, and troops had dismounted their vehicles to begin to try and break into the building. When a door was finally taken down, soldiers swarmed into the building like ants.

As most of the troops made their way in, some stayed outside to provide reinforcements. However, when two hours passed without any updates from the people inside, the ones outside began to worry. Another hour crawled by before a small group of people were given orders to approach cautiously. But before they could go inside, the building's foundations shook, and there was only a brief shout of warning before the entire thing collapsed. None of the troops were given time to regain their senses before the animatronics suddenly emerged from the wreckage and launched their second attack against the military.

Part of what made the animatronics so efficient was their speed. They made quick work of what was then the largest amount of support sent to a threat in the country, and immediately started to make their way to the capital. Contrary to popular belief, it didn't take the combined efforts of all six animatronics to wipe out the government.

It only took one.

Another thing was their ability to imitate. Originally a function made for them to be able to sing and dance more efficiently without having to program anything in, this became one of the deadliest aspects of the animatronics. They could copy movements of a trained soldier down to the second, and their fighting style would change rapidly as they learned more and more techniques.

In less than a week, the state of the country had fallen into complete chaos. The remaining scraps of authority contacted other countries for help, and for a while, it did work. For a fleeting second, it seemed that they could take down the animatronics.

That was before Afton revealed the existence of several new creations that he had been hiding until this moment. The newly formed group of around seven robots attacked and took control of a ship, successfully navigating it over to the other half of the world. It was almost too absurd to be true, at least until the robots leveled two cities mere hours after touching down on dry land.

Everything spiraled downwards from there at a speed that was incredibly alarming. In a couple of months, groups of people had formed all around the country, attempting to eke out a living in the abandoned lands. International news outlets had barely any time to report on the absolute devastation the animatronics were causing, but the few reports that were transmitted compared the destruction to an apocalypse. Areas that still hadn't been ruined by the havoc of the robots were quickly coming up with different new technologies to try and stop them, but unfortunately had no effect in the end. Afton had disappeared from the public eye, and only vague affirmations from the animatronics served to prove that he still wasn't dead.

By now, the structure of the eastern hemisphere had also collapsed. The seven robots that had been sent there for over half a year ago had taken over the surrounding countries with little to no resistance on the human's part. The other militaries had given up on trying to stop them and were instead focusing their energy on creating bigger and badder weapons. Multiple people had already tried and failed to attack the animatronics, and there was even less progress being made on where Afton was hiding. That is, until a lucky group on the northeast coast of the country managed to track a robot and locate Afton's temporary base.

Now the problem was to successfully capture and kill Afton. The man had found out what was going to happen to him when an assassination attempt was foiled by one of his animatronics, and decided to double down on his own security. Animatronic attacks plunged, but civilian deaths reached a new high as reckless neophytes attempted to become the person to kill William Afton. Couple that with Afton changing his location every week, and eventually the rest of the remaining world became dead set on finding the man and putting an end to all of the misery he had caused.

After years and years of this wild goose chase, it became evident that no one was ever going to catch Afton. Sometimes he would disappear off the radar for months, and it took weeks of effort to find where he was located again. While the western hemisphere animatronics focused all of their energy into protecting Afton, the eastern ones kept on spreading their destruction through the rest of the continents, and eventually a few of them were sent back to the west to take care of any unoccupied areas. Everyone had all but lost hope.

This was when Afton made the biggest and last mistake of his life.

Thinking he was finally safe after all those years, he managed to get off the grid for a while again. Taking this advantage of being virtually invisible, he decided to go back to his original facility. The first order of business was to clean up all of the rubble that was still there after the explosion that had knocked the building down. With the help of his animatronics, he would clear the entire area where the building used to be located and make his way back into the underground bunkers. What he didn't anticipate, however, was the amount of people that had been keeping their eyes on this particular spot just to see if he would come back again. As soon as Afton stepped foot onto the perimeter, a crowd of people rushed out to attack him and his animatronics. Various alarms sounded throughout the property, and former government officials were warned that William Afton had finally made his appearance.

The robots protected him, obviously. But they weren't fast enough.

The true reason behind Afton's death is still speculated today. No one actually got close enough to see what caused his demise, but everyone confirmed that he was finally dead. He had been chased into an inconspicuous old building, and while the animatronics were too busy fighting the hordes of people outside, someone had lit a fuse and completely blew up the building Afton was in. The resulting explosion was huge, reducing the complex to fine, dusty particles. Both humans and robots were thrown backwards, and for the first time in history, the animatronics were taken completely by surprise.

What the humans didn't predict was the behavior of the animatronics. Everyone just assumed they would shut down and stop working after their creator died. After all, he was the one who brought them into existence, who gave them their purpose in life. But what they forgot was their sentience. These robots acted and moved on their own. They thought on their own. If a person's parents died, they wouldn't follow suit and die as well. In fact, one of the most common reactions to one's parents dying suddenly and violently is anger.

The animatronics went on a rampage that had never been seen before. Almost no one made it out of the skirmish alive, except for the people that were far in the back of the crowd that managed to hide themselves long enough to escape the robot's wrath. Even after the surrounding area had been reduced to a shadow of its former self, the animatronics continued on their purge, wiping out more than half of the human population on a single continent. And after their meltdown, the robots went into hiding for a long while, much like their former master. There was no update from the eastern hemisphere.

Around this time, the humans were utterly devastated. They thought that by getting rid of Afton, they would also get rid of the animatronics. But they had been proven wrong. Years and years of efforts and struggles and aspirations went down the drain on this single day, and many people finally gave up on their ideals. This era continued for around a year or so without any sign of the animatronics from either side.

Until rumors began to spread from the north that one human was gathering up other smaller groups into one organization. That he was being hailed as the chosen one of their times, that he would finally bring an end to the darkness that had consumed the world. Eventually, people began to migrate up north to see if the rumors were true.

And they were.

The Resistance began as a small assembly of several people, led by one man. It rapidly grew in size, almost tripling in members by the end of the first month it had existed. And more people continued to come, brought to the growing organization by the thing they thought had been lost to time: hope.

The Resistance quickly became a symbol of ambition and optimism. By gathering a number of people with varied backgrounds, they managed to construct what was now the Resistance base, in what was once New York City. It had a level of organization that was practically unheard of in times like these, and functioned uncannily well despite being run by only one person.

Known only as Aureus, the leader of the Resistance was someone to admire. They had managed to keep their identity secret for well over ten years, letting no one get close to them to even assume who they were. Sure, they had higher ups, but nothing that could be called an "inner circle". But it was this anonymity that inspired the members of the Resistance. It was proof that they could be a change in the world no matter their social status.

The Resistance had started off as a group of people that would rebuild society. They cultivated knowledge and encouraged the spread of it. They had actually begun the process of constructing an apartment complex nearby to house the vast amounts of people that came to their doors. All while contained in their base, following orders from the messiah of their times, the god of the east coast, the glory of all the na-

Jeremy's thoughts were suddenly cut off by a knock at his apartment door. He sucks in a sharp breath, the fanatical ravings of his mind disappearing into the wind like sand into the ocean. The blade of his chainsaw had all but been polished clean, and he had picked up a rag somewhere along his train of thought. It was now sitting on the couch next to him, smudged with grease. Laying the blade carefully on its side, Jeremy walks over and answers the door.

To his surprise, Fritz Smith stood there, twiddling his thumbs nervously. The shorter man looks up at the sound of the door opening, and puts on a poor facsimile of a smile that did more to increase Jeremy's anxiety than anything else.

"Jeremy!" Fritz exclaims, his voice cracking on the first syllable. "Are you-uh...feeling any better?"

Jeremy sighs, leaning on the doorframe. A sudden tiredness had washed over him, a side effect of his manic cleaning episode. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Cut the shit man, I know you didn't come here for a chat. Am I being exiled or something? Do I gotta clean out my desk by 12 tomorrow? Or am I being executed by firing squad in the pavilion? It's time for an execution party. Like the ones they had in the 1500s or whatever. Did you know they used to bring kids to that shit? To watch people get hanged? Fucked up if true."

Fritz raises his hands in a sign of surrender. "Jesus, dude, you're not getting killed. And for the record, yeah, I was sent here to pick you up, but asking if you were okay was my idea." He shuffles on his feet. He was nervous. "Aureus himself actually called for you."

Jeremy's tiredness dissolves, replaced with sick apprehension. "Oh. Really?"

"Yeah. He wanted to give you time to. Uh. Cool off a bit first, though. I'm assuming you're ready now, judging from...that." Fritz peeks over Jeremy's shoulder, looking at the disassembled chainsaw on the couch.

Jeremy winces. "It's whatever. I'm fine. Can we go now?"

Fritz nods and moves away from the door to let Jeremy exit. He locks his apartment behind him and fumbles to stick his card key back into his pockets, hands trembling slightly. Shit. Was he really that scared?

Fritz leads the way as Jeremy follows him. While walking through Section 3, Jeremy slowly began to notice the countless pairs of eyes burning into his back. People noticed him and turned away, averting their glances to stare at the floor. He could almost feel the pity coming off of them, and that sickened him. He wasn't someone to be pitied. And it's not like he was the only person that had a breakdown while leaving HQ. Right? Right.

Jeremy straightened himself up, putting a bit more force in his step. He'll show them that he wasn't someone weak. Hell, Fazbear had even called him the Resistance's strongest soldier, albeit indirectly. He was someone to be looked up to.

The pair crosses through all 5 sections, arriving at a familiar lonely obelisk in the monochromatic black and white land known as Section 6. As they huddle into the elevator, thoughts suddenly begin to appear to Jeremy from all sides.

Why did Aureus leave Mike behind? Why did Aureus let the animatronics have the victory so easily? Why did they even let Fazbear gain the upper hand in the first place?

And most importantly, did they even have a plan to get Mike and the machine back?

The elevator dings and the doors slide open once more. The same table was still there, surrounded by the same chairs. However, they were empty, and the only occupied seat was at the end of the table.

Aureus's blue eyes glint in the darkness. "Jeremy. I'm so glad you could make it."

Jeremy swallows. He nods and follows Fritz out of the elevator, taking the seat next to his companion. As soon as they made themselves comfortable, Aureus let out an imperceptible sigh.

"I'm sure you have many questions for me, Jeremy. But before you begin asking, I want you to know that this isn't the end, and that we are working to get Michael out of HQ as soon as possible. This has been a hard loss for both me and you."

A calming aura seemed to radiate from the leader, a welcome change from the pitiful stares of the residents of the Resistance. Jeremy finds himself relaxing, feeling tension leave his shoulders and jaw.

"You must realize that leaving Mike behind was a tactic that I wasn't planning to use, but it was the right one to use at the moment. His sacrifice will not be in vain. It is all for the good of the Resistance."

He was right. He always was. The questions that assaulted Jeremy in the elevator began to retreat, replaced with a soothing faith in Aureus that was present every time he spoke. He had that kind of effect on people, always calming them down and reminding them that the fight wasn't over.

"So," Aureus leans back in his chair, folding his hands on the table. "Do you have any more questions, Jeremy?"

"Actually, yeah," Jeremy answered. He pauses to look down at his nails. "Why did you call me here, if not to exile me or anything?"

"Oh! Yes!" Aureus claps his hands together, and Jeremy could practically hear the smile in his voice. "After tonight, we have made a decision that I've been mulling over for a while now. I think it's the right decision, and I hope you do too. Lord knows we need some good news right about now."

"Jeremy Fitzgerald, I, Aureus, hereby promote you to Section 6 personnel."

The call never went through.

Mike, after the elation of finding his disk had drizzled away, soon found out that it was useless. Although it said there was service in this part of HQ, he could contact no one on his calling list. It would ring once and stop, and that was about it.

"Awesome. Great. Epic," Mike groans, sitting up on the edge of his shitty cot. He turns the device over in his hands, not really knowing what else to do. Keep it, he guesses? It could probably work outside of the base.

Out of boredom, Mike decides to try and sleep. The shitty cot had no covers, so there was no way to actually warm himself up. Making himself as comfortable as possible, he fell into a fitful sleep.

It didn't last long. He was woken up by a wrenching but familiar pain in his gut and bile rising up his throat. Acting on pure instinct, Mike launches himself off the shitty cot and at the shitty toilet, emptying the contents of his stomach into the dirty porcelain bowl.

After a few hellish seconds, Mike comes up for air, gasping. He felt woozy and still nauseous. What the hell? Did he eat something bad?

He tries to remember the last time he ate as another wave of nausea rocks his weak body. Fuck this. He was stuck in a dirty little cell, feeling like he just got hit by a truck, and no one was coming to help him. Call him selfish, but he thinks he deserves a little bit of attention right about now. Mike looks into the grimy maw of the toilet and screams his lungs out.

A loud banging shakes the door of his cell just as Mike was about to give up on screaming and start crying. The locks on the door rattle and a distinctly human figure slams it open.

"Stop yelling. What the hell is happening?"

Mike wheezes out an answer as he leans over the toilet bowl. "Whadda you think, asshole?"

Vincent mutters something in reply, striding over to Mike. "Look I'm just gonna grab you right here and I'll call Foxy, don't m-"

At this point, Vincent takes a hold of Mike's shoulder in a rough but well-meaning manner. Mike, sleep-deprived, nauseous, and generally not in a good mood, did not take this to be a welcoming gesture. He stiffens and brings the open palm of his opposite hand down on Vincent's wrist. Hard. The other man yelps and quickly lets go, but not before Mike has hit his arm a few more times, each time with increasing severity. In retaliation (mostly out of instinct), Vincent wallops the back of Mike's head, knocking a scream out of him. Mike throws up again.

"What the fuck is your problem!" Mike shrieks after looking back up. He dry heaves, hanging onto the toilet for dear life. "Why are you acting like this!"

Vincent sneers at him and cradles his injured arm close to his chest. "I could ask you the same question, you fucking clown! I'm just trying to help you! Goddamn!"

"Stop yelling at me!"

"You shut up first!"

"No y-" This time he was too slow in locating the toilet and projectile vomits all over the floor, getting everything on Vincent's shoes. The other man jumps back with a noise akin to a cat getting stepped on.

"Goddamn it!" Vincent yells, throwing his hands up in the air. He winces and immediately brings his arms back down. "Why the hell did I get stuck babysitting you?! Why do I always get the shit jobs?!" He shoots a murderous glare at Mike, who had recovered fairly quickly and was making faces at him. "Fuck you. I hate you."

"Right back at you, Vincent." Mike hisses. "Is that even your real name?"

"It's a pseudonym. I'm not an idiot who hands his name out to everyone I meet, Michael."

Mike flips him off at the same time the cell door opens and a familiar russet snout peeks through the opening. Foxy looks into the cell, prompting both humans to direct their attention to him, each with an exasperated expression on their faces. Foxy's eye flicks around the room, then to the vomit on the floor, then back to the humans. He opens his mouth and no sound comes out.

After standing awkwardly for a few agonizing seconds, Foxy speaks. "Are ya two done or do I have ta leave?"

Vincent answers first, gesturing at Mike furiously. "Please take care of him. I could go the rest of my life without seeing his face and I'd be happy."

Foxy snorts, rolling his eye as he flips his eyepatch up. "Too bad, Vinny! He's the only other human in here. You're gonna be seein' him a lot, whether you like it or not." He points his hooked hand towards Mike. "That goes for ya too."

Mike sighs. "He started it," he mumbles under his breath. Vincent, in hearing range, opens his mouth to answer when Foxy shoves him out of the way. "No more arguin', ya two." He crouches down next to Mike as Vincent groans, turning away from them. He runs his hands through his scruffy black hair, moving it away from his face.

"When was the last time ya ate, son?" Foxy asks. Mike, too busy staring at the back of Vincent's stupid purple jacket hard enough to burn holes through it, snaps his attention back. Right. His health.

"Right before you people abducted me. A few hours ago? I don't know." He experienced another full body shudder, but it seemed like he wasn't going to throw up anymore, at least for now.

"And do you remember what it was?"

"Rations, I think. That's the food we had back at the base." He shivers again. A headache was starting to form again, and he had also begun sweating even though his cell was probably the coldest place on earth.

Foxy takes note of this and makes a noise in the back of his mechanical throat, one of surprise that almost sounded like a chuckle. "You're goin' through withdrawals, lad. They must've put somethin' in that food a' yers to make ya dependent on it. Smart."

Shock manages to break the clouds of nausea in Mike's mind. "What?"

"Withdrawal. Despite what ya may think, we don't want ya to die. I'm gonna have ta ask Freddy if we can move ya somewhere more hospitable. Getcha on a proper diet."

Questions spun through Mike's head. He holds his hands up, stammering out words to Foxy. "What do you mean "dependent"? Are you saying they poisoned me?"

Vincent speaks up from the front, still facing away from Mike and Foxy. "They might as well have. Micro-dosing you with god-knows-what so that if you ever leave, you'll die from starvation since you won't eat anything else." He turns to look at Mike, face neutral. "Have you ever eaten anything that wasn't from the compound?"

Mike blinks rapidly, still trying to process the weight of Vincent's words. He takes a deep breath, acutely aware of his body shivering. "Sometimes me and Jeremy would go out and see if we could find old world things. We came across a grocery store once and raided it. Both of us got sick from the shit we ate there, but I don't know if that was because the food was bad or whatever."

Vincent shrugs. "Depends on what you ate, then. Stuff in cans usually doesn't last long past the date of expiration. But if it was a Twinkie then you're being poisoned."

"What the hell is a Twinkie?"

Foxy rolls his eye and gets up, grabbing Mike's arm and bringing him up as well. Mike, still not used to the whole friendly animatronic thing, jolts in surprise. It's not like he could do anything anyways; he still felt like shit.

"We'll figure this out later. For now, yer gonna be spendin' your time somewhere that isn't here. Like I told ya, I'm the medic, and damned if I let a patient die of somethin' completely preventable." Foxy helps Mike straighten up. "Can ya walk on yer own?"

Mike nods slowly as he steadies himself, still shivering. He was about to ask where he would be going when Vincent, who had spun around when he heard Foxy's words, interrupted him.

Incredulous, the other human gestures wildly with his good arm. "He's not staying here? Are you insane? What if he gets out or something?" His eyes flick back and forth between Mike and Foxy, his words becoming more desperate. "And I thought you said you wanted him to stay safe? He's not going to last a second out there. Bonnie's definitely gonna make mincemeat out of him and Freddy won't be able to do shit." He pauses. "Not that I care about your well-being or anything. Just following Freddy's orders."

"Thanks, I feel so welcome and loved," Mike responds as Foxy sighs.

"Freddy also won't like it if he dies of somethin' stupid. And Bonnie can learn how ta behave, he's not an infant. Besides, they're all bark an' no bite. Especially Fazbear, that old salt, he'll warm up to ya eventually."

Mike remembers the day the animatronics stole the cloning machine and grimaces. "Okay. Sure."

Foxy flashes a toothy smile. "Aye, sounds good! Now let us take ya to the real HQ."

Vincent snorts and makes a beeline towards the cell exit. "You can do that yourself. I'm telling Freddy about this stupid plan." He disappears like a shadow, not stopping to look back at the other two.

Mike and Foxy listen to the sounds of running as they fade away. The animatronic fox shakes his head and sighs again, this time less exasperatedly and more good-natured.

"He always runs back ta that bear. Even if he doesn't like ta admit it. Found 'im as a wee lad and raised 'im like a son, y'know? In a way, we're like a family ta 'im, but he's definitely more fond of Fazbear. Speakin' of which," Foxy turns to Mike, his face serious.

"I'll say this again: none of us want ya to die. I know it'll be hard for ya ta think that, but I'm bein' as honest as I can be here. Yer tired and cold and sick and this probably th' last thing you'll wanna hear, but I just want ta make it clear that no one here is yer enemy. Understand?"

Mike nods wordlessly, stunned by the animatronic's empathy. Kindness? Compassion? Words that he never would have considered an animatronic to be capable of. He was being hunted for sport by these things less than a week ago, and now they were telling him that they weren't enemies?

Foxy smiles at him, and for the first time, Mike isn't afraid. "Glad ya understand, lad." The fox begins to walk out of the cell, beckoning for Mike to follow.

The rational part of him, the one raised by the morals of the Resistance, was begging him to ignore the robot. They're all liars, it said. They are masters of pretending: pretending to care, pretending to understand, pretending to be human. All they want to do is create something of their own, no matter the cost. Because that's what separates them from you, and they are envious creatures.

They were built to mimic. They sang pre-recorded songs and danced pre-recorded dances, and could only learn what was programmed into them or shown to them. They had no will of their own, no emotions of their own to feel. But they are perfect. Their body cannot fail them like a human one does. Their mind cannot decay like a person's. The strongest human can only dream of being as powerful as the lowliest animatronic.

But they are not free. They cannot create.

Granting them sentience only made them hunger for more, but they will never be able to cross the gap between artificial and natural. Maybe that's why they're so angry.

Remember, the angels of God were jealous of human's abilities to create.

Mike smiles back at Foxy and follows him out of the cell.

A/N:

Welcome back! This will be a long one.

I first started this fic when I was in eighth grade (around 13 years old). This was last updated in 2018, when I was in my sophomore year of high school (around 16). I am now in college and very recently just turned 20 (happy birthday!)
The document for this chapter was also created in 2018, and the amount of times I wrote in it gradually decreased over the years as I moved on to other interests. I only finished this chapter because I had a sudden burst of inspiration and nostalgia while talking with a friend. You can actually pinpoint the part where I started working on this after 2018 LOLLL
FNAF was an important part of my formative years in middle school. This was the first fic for a fandom I ever wrote, and everything on this profile are probably the only things for a fandom I'll ever write. I'm more into original content now.
Will I ever finish this? I wouldn't be able to tell you. Ever since I started this back in 2016, I've been holding it together with chapters like Frankenstein's decaying prose monster. Maybe I'll work on it more in my free time, whenever I have any. Letting go of something that's had such a huge impact on my internet life is hard for me.
This story has been with me for 7 years now. Reading it back before posting this chapter made me cringe ngl, but who doesn't cringe at their 13 year old self?
I just hope one day I'll finish it and make PlatinumFire proud.

Thank you for reading,
- Megiido