TU4QU0I53T4IAN6L3: Mhm, Mike is indeed having a very joyful experience (note the sarcasm). And that suit... Isn't it nice to know that spring lock suits are so impeccably unique?

This chapter is even shorter than the last, but that's all apart of my beautiful, meticulous story planning... Kinda. Honestly, the next chapter is going to be a hell lot of more eventful, but take this as even MORE filler for right now.

Barely suppressing a scream, Mike stared straight into the rabbit's eyes. It clashed back with blue against blue. He couldn't see an inch of skin or metal beneath any of that patchy fur. However, there could be a person inside that suit. If not the lack of humming wires that gave it away, then it was Mike's own knowledge of where each springlock hid itself.

He sure as hell felt sympathy for that person. Just in case those locks tripped.

Michael tried to weave his way between the doorframe and the rabbit. It became very clear very quickly the rabbit wouldn't move. Just watching with an unwavering gaze.

Eventually, he just squatted down on the floor and squeezed every part of himself through the gap of the rabbit's legs. By the suit's design, it was constructed where each piece had the outside fur, a plasticy underskin, large plates underneath that, the robot's hidden wiring beneath a frame, and thousands of small locks keeping the wirings away until a robot was needed. The suit was like an entire suit of armor. Protective yet dangerous.

Dank fur brushed against his eyes. He shook his head, eager to get away from this thing. The rabbit didn't even react to Mike pushing his legs through the gap. Whoever was dressed up didn't react or say a word. The checkered floor was cold underneath his palms as Michael pushed himself up. He dusted off his pants even if there was no dust.

He didn't stick around long enough to watch the golden rabbit move. Immediately the next phase in the plan began. The building was like a maze, an endless collection of doors and halls. Most of the doors were either locked or talking with occupied rooms, a line of light shining beneath the bottom frame.

The hallways further down were pitch black, overhead lights either busted or dead. Then there was a door.

He saw it, the frame itself completely metal, unlike all the other doors, which were a plastic black. There used to be a sign, but several of the letters had disappeared with rust and age. Mike shivered. He felt like he was being watched. The door itself was unlocked, missing its deadbolt. He found it very quickly, nudging it with the toes of his shoe.

Coldness swept between his fingers and the door. Goosebumps. Michael tilted his head, craning to look over his shoulder. Was someone there? Did someone see him? Hear him?

"Hello?" Mike's voice echoed back, and he winced. And he waited for a moment, waiting for a reply he was dreading.

He stood, ears pricking. Heart pounding.

Lowering his hand, he felt for the handle. The metal was as cold as ice. He shivered again, turning his attention to the barrier before him. Was he stalling time? Probably. Most likely.

Dammit.

The door was stuck.

Mike groaned softly to himself, releasing the handle and pressed his side against the door. Static plastered some of his hair up on the metal. His hand was red with the cold, every strip on his palm highlighted white. Mike looked down out the hall. He didn't really want to break unto unauthorized, but for the sake of supposedly most, he didn't really have much of a choice.

He pulled down the handle, fingers choking, and pushed on the door with the weight of his body. The door squeaked, scraping within its frame. It still barely budged.

Mike pushed away from the door.

Then he slammed himself against it, the vibrating force hitting his bones. It hurt, but it couldn't be compared to any sort of emotional trauma. Michael pulled away again, suffocating the handle as he threw himself against the door again. The sound was deafening. Each and every time Mike attempted to force open the door, he could feel his unnoticed attention slip away. Each and every second. Someone would surely hear him. Someone would surely get suspicious.

Surely he was bruised. Mike stumbled away from the door, mind foggy. Pained. He'd lost count of the amount of attempts. He pushed himself. One more time. Just one more time–

One more time. He pressed on the handle. Red hands, maybe. Irritated, cold skin– probably. He would warm them up. As he got home. Thoughts kept pausing with exhaustment before he could finish them at once. A nap. He slammed at the door. A nap would be nice.

Something clicked. Michael's head snapped up, the fog gone temporarily. Hallway? He turned his head, unfocused, looking. Searching. He pressed himself on that door, and all at once he fell onto the gritty floor.

Gritty floor? He was tired, sure, but he found energy in that wave of confusion. Hands pulsing, he pushed himself up on his elbows. The handle of the door was in one of his hands, knuckles white over the metal.

Fake metal. He dropped the handle, going up on his knees, blinded by darkness. He was in the room. He got in the room!

But the room wasn't exactly how it imagined it would initially look like. Whatever checkered flooring that layered inside the other places around Freddy's did not continue into his room. Instead it was something similar to a rugged, scratchy floor carpet. He could barely see the texture, wishing he brought a flashlight with him too along with that stubborn determination.

His shoes disappeared from his line of sight as shadows swallowed him. Neverending black. Mike somehow found his way to a wall, walking across the room, hoping to find something. Anything that would've made his effort worth it.

The wall was smooth. The floor was bumpy. Dust threatened to enter Michael's mouth and nose. He covered his face with an elbow crevasse. Somewhere dark and secluded would be the most perfect place to kill and hide the children. Perhaps he was just metaphorically and literally searching in the dark, but any step was a sign of progression. Sometimes he wished Cassidy told him more.

She probably didn't even know where Afton hid the bodies. She was the one who was already dead. But she also possessed a robot, and it was smart to consider that the other children did as well. The thought was too hopeful; maybe there were animatronics hidden away in the backs of restaurants, just sitting for parts or backups.

The room was empty. Utterly empty. Mike maneuvered back to the door. He pushed it closed, but it protested, wanting to stay open. Because the handle, the closing mechanism, was broken. Gone.

Just like his motivation for right now...

He reminded himself that tomorrow was another day.