I saw the car in the driveway and couldn't breathe. He's here. The pitch-blackness of the night and the cold rain pelting my face made it hard to see which way the back door was. I turned the slippery doorknob, glancing over my shoulder multiple times as if meeting eyes with him would stop what he'd do if he caught me. I slipped into a dim hallway, my shoes creating little squeaks on the wooden floor.
"WHERE IS HE?!"
I wanted to collapse and die right then and there. It wouldn't be the worst thing that could happen. My legs forced me to duck into the nearest room. I flicked the dripping hair out of my face to frantically search for a place to hide here. I shrank in the tiny space between the bed and the nightstand. My heart was beating so damn loud that I couldn't listen for footsteps.
"COME HERE YOU LITTLE BRAT!"
I had to move. I looked to the closet doors, then hesitated. If he caught me in there, there'd be nowhere to run. I snatched Fredbear off my bed, tucked him under my arm, and took the door out of my room into the second hallway. As I pushed the door shut, I heard the other door burst open.
"YOU CAN RUN, BUT YOU CAN'T HIDE!"
I raced into the bathroom. Bad idea. My feet slid out from under me as soon as I entered and the side of my body smacked the tile. I groaned an "ow" then clamped a hand over my mouth.
"I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!"
I darted into the next room and tripped over old barbie dolls. I tried to stand, only to be yanked to my feet, only to hit the ground again after a blinding blow to the face. I squinted through a blur and saw a faceless purple figure reach for me. The wall slapped and pressed against my back. I saw yellow teeth growl in my face; the thick, foul yet sweet smell suffocated me.
"This is what happens to bad little boys."
My body refused to move, despite my brain screaming to run. Stings and throbs developed all over my body- my face, my arms, my legs, my chest. After seconds, the pain began to melt into a scalding heat. My best friend reached out to me- I could barely see him through the spots of colour flashing before my vision.
"Remember," he whispered.
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I opened my eyes and saw nothing but black. My mind still in a daze, I tried to blink away the darkness.
Where am I? My brow furrowed as I tried to recall. A distant throbbing in my head made it nearly impossible to think straight.
Work... I was at work. I was... Funtime- Funtime Foxy. He- I got knocked out.
Every inch of my face ached. My breathing was loud and hot. I attempted to stand but pieces of metal jabbed my sides.
"What is this?" I cried out, my voice sounding loud and muffled. "Where am I?" I lifted my heavy head and felt something slice my forehead. Fear rose up my gut like bile in the back of my throat. My breath quickened at an alarming rate as I realised I was stuck.
I'm trapped, I'm trapped, I'm going to die, panicked my brain.
A soft female voice broke the silence. "Shh. Be still and quiet."
"Circus Baby," I breathed, recognizing her voice instantly. Is she here? Did she do this to me?
"You've been sleeping for quite a while," she said. "I think they noticed that you never left the building last night. The cameras were searching for you, but they couldn't find you. I have you hidden too well." The next words she uttered sent shivers down my spine.
"I kidnapped you."
My breath picked up again.
"Why? What is this? I can't move! What are you- AH!" I rattled on, stopping to grimace when my ribcage tightened.
"Don't be afraid," reassured Baby, "I'm not going to hurt you. I am only going to keep you for a little while." I swallowed, my throat dry.
"What is- what am I... inside of right now?" I rasped.
"You're inside something that came from my old pizzeria." She paused before adding quietly, "I don't think it was ever used- at least, not in the way it was meant to be used. Too dangerous. It's just big enough for one person to fit inside. but just barely."
"Why did you put me here? Where am I?" I spewed questions at her.
"You're in the Scooping Room. Do you know why they call it the 'Scooping Room'?"
"No," I said after thinking about it. "No, I don't." For ice cream, maybe?
"It's because, dummy," Baby snapped with a cold edge in her tone, "this is the room where they use the Scooper. I thought that would be obvious." I opened my mouth but didn't know what to say. What does she want from me?
"Isn't that a fun name for something?" she continued. "The Scooper. It sounds like something you would use for ice cream, or custard, or sprinkles."
"How do I-" I started, but Baby interjected, "It sounds like something you would want at your birthday party to ensure you get a heaping portion of every good thing." She paused. "I wonder, though, if you were a freshly opened pint of ice cream, how you would feel about something with that name."
I winced, feeling a swirling pain in my forehead. "I don't know."
"Thankfully, I don't think a freshly opened pint of ice cream feels anything at all."
"How much longer-"
"Uh-oh, it sounds like someone else is in the building. Shh!"
Someone else? They can help me!
"Hello?" I croaked, my voice not carrying the strength to be heard. I tried again, louder. "Hello?"
"Shh!" Baby repeated. I didn't want to listen to her. My head hurt too much and freedom was too enticing. But I heard the voices, deep and masculine, and shut up to eavesdrop on their conversation.
"Okay, bring her over. Forward. More. Mooooore- okay, stop. Set her down. Watch the step."
"What happened to it this time? It just seems these damn things can't go a day without breaking down."
"Who knows," the first guy sighed. "It's always the same, man. Some kinda hardware malfunction or-"
"Well, you know I gotta be somewhere in like, 15 minutes, and this place gives me the creeps. Can we just get this over with?"
"It's all automated, dude- we don't have to be here for it. Just get her on the rollers, and we can go."
"Coolio."
A thunk sounded, bouncing off the walls. I heard footsteps leaving and felt my heart drop.
"Wait!" I screamed at the best of my ability. "Please! Help me! I'm trapped! This- suit-thing hurts and I'm really claustrophobic-" The footsteps were gone. I took a shuddery breath, tears burning my eyes. A clank caused me to jolt in the suit which tightened around me as a result. I bit my lip, tasting blood there. A conveyor belt buzzed to life. It brought something past me and I peered through the darkness to see what it was. My breath got stuck in my throat.
Ballora.
Beep. Beep. Beep. An alarm rang in my ears. I jerked back as what appeared to be a shovel clashed against Ballora's midsection. Her skin cracked apart, revealing her endoskeleton. Another hit and her faceplates split and hung beside her. I found myself wincing. They're breaking her. Purple eyes shifted and locked onto me. I watched, waiting for her to move.
"There is something very important that I've learned to do over time. Do you know what this is?" Circus Baby suddenly speaking nearly made me pee my pants. She didn't wait for me to reply. "How to pretend. Do you ever play make-believe? Pretend to be one way, when you are really the other? It's very important. Ballora never learns, but I do. They think there is something wrong on the inside." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "The only thing that matters is knowing... how... to... pretend." I could barely hear the last word.
"I'll open the faceplates for you," she said in a normal volume, "that way they can find you on the cameras." With the suit's faceplates open, I could see and breathe now.
"Now all you have to do is wait."
"Wait for them to find me?" I asked. The guys or Ballora?
"I'd recommend that you keep the springlocks wound up," Baby replied, grazing over my question, "your breathing and your heartbeat are causing them to come loose. You don't want them to get too loose, trust me. So calm down. Take deep but shallow breaths."
"Okay," I said and did as she instructed. "Okay."
"Good."
Circus Baby didn't speak again, leaving me alone in the darkness with a broken Ballora. Sleep deprivation crept up in the back of my head, slowly dragging me away.
"Can't fall asleep yet," I mumbled. I moved my leg so it would wake up, bumping what sounded like a metal rod in the process. What's that? I shuffled my foot around until the rod was beneath it, then slid up my legs to push it toward me. Got it. I held the object up to my face to examine it- it was a rusty handcrank.
"This must go to the suit," I whispered. I didn't wonder where I got that assumption, only fumbled with the handcrank until I managed to insert it into a slot on the side of the suit. I began to turn the crank and the pressure squeezing my torso lifted. I opened my mouth to sigh in relief before noticing a slender figure crawling up my arm. While shouting jumbled words, I flung the Minireena off. My sudden movement tightened the springlocks. I wound them back up, only to find a Minireena on my other arm.
"Get off me!"
The process repeated over and over- a Minireena would crawl up my arm, I'd shake it off then re-crank the springlocks. Every time, however, more and more showed up, making it more difficult. Screeching, they latched onto my face and blocked my vision- I'd pick them off but, while in the process of doing so, the others would grab the handcrank and turn it the wrong way.
"Get out!" I hollered as the Minireenas slithered in the thin space between the suit and my body. They agitated the springlocks the more they crawled around. Grimacing, I turned the hand-crank against them. A Minireena pulled my lip to distract me but I ignored it.
After what seemed like an eternity, the Minireenas scattered when footsteps sounded from across the room. My eyes widened and my body's aching went on pause.
"HEY!" I shouted with every drop of energy I had left. "OVER HERE!" I saw movement in the dark and nearly choked with excitement. A flashlight ray blinded me. Two men stood in front of me- I couldn't make out their faces on account of how dark it was.
"Hey, what are you doing in there?"
"Thank God!" I exclaimed, then spat out an explanation, "I- the robots, they- they attacked me and I passed out and-and woke up in this suit!" The men paused.
"You do look effed up."
"You weren't drinking on the job, were you?"
"No! I don't- I wasn't- it was the robots!" I protested. "Please just help me get out of this!"
"Okay, okay. Uh... how exactly do we do that?"
"Turn th-the handcrank to loosen the springlocks," I directed. I felt one of their hands brush past mine to grasp the handcrank.
"That thing?"
"I'm just gonna pull it over your head, okay?" the other said. I nodded then, thinking about what he said, shook my head.
"No, wait, don't-"
The guys yanked the springlock suit torso off me and threw it away. A second later, snaps and crackles like fireworks reverberated from the suit as the springlocks gave in. If he hadn't been so fast, I would have lost my head or at least my hair.
"Are you okay?" asked the taller of the guys, grabbing my hand and helping me to my feet. My knees buckling, I leaned against the wall. Sleep caught up to me like a slap in the face.
"I... think so," I said, then mumbled, "I'm just so tired..." I clutched my stomach as it pretzeled. I couldn't bring my hands up fast enough to stop the puke from shooting out of my mouth. The guys screamed, jumping back.
"He just blew chunks on my uniform!"
I felt my body sliding down and couldn't muster any energy to stop it.
"I'm... sorry, sir, I don't... know what..." I heard myself slur before conking out again.
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We're moving, my brain told me when I woke up. I squinted through blurs. I'm in the backseat of somebody's car? At that thought, I snapped upright. The world tilted sideways.
"Where am I?" I said my thoughts out loud. I'm being kidnapped right now. "Where are you taking me?" The two men that had saved me earlier turned their heads to the backseat.
"To the hospital," said the one in the passenger seat, combing a frizzy goatee. My head throbbed at the sharp antiseptic smell suddenly shooting up my nose.
I could sense everything- touching, prodding, talking, pricking, beeping, screaming, crying-
"No!"
The guys blinked. "Why not? You're beat up real bad, dude."
"Please don't take me to the hospital," I said, whining like a stubborn child. I hugged myself and winced at the stabbing pain in my ribs. I do need help.
"Fine," replied the driver, "we won't take you. But we are stopping at a gas station so you can wipe the blood off your face and Peter can clean the vomit off his shirt."
"Oh, I'm sorry about that-" I began, but Peter shook his head.
"It's cool, dude. You weren't feeling okay. Besides, Bobby here has barfed on me twice when he was wasted."
The driver- Bobby- shot Peter a glare. Hearing the word barf made my stomach want to do it again.
"So are you guys technicians, too?" I changed the subject.
"Yeah," said Bobby. "We saw the ad in the magazine and dared each other to apply. I used to work security but they moved me to technician after some bad performance." He chuckled dryly. "It's not my fault the robots kept escaping."
The car pulled into a gas station parking space. Peter turned in his seat to face me.
"Is your name really Eggs Benedict?"
He pointed at my nametag with a small smirk on his face. I didn't have the energy to laugh.
"No, the thing glitched out. I'm Mike- Mike Afton."
Peter frowned at the name.
"Afton." He paused, a distant look on his face. "Are you related to that kid? Or maybe are that kid? The one that got attacked on his birthday by that broken animatronic?"
I cocked my head. Attacked? Every time I tried to recall my childhood, I got static. This time wasn't any different.
"I don't remember that far back," I said.
"The whole town talked about it. The Bite of '83, they called it." Bobby shook his head. "I didn't step foot in any Freddy's pizzeria after that."
"There was always something off with those animatronics," Peter said as he got out of the car. He opened the door for me.
I followed him into the convenience store bathroom. There, I got a good look at my busted-up face in the mirror. I had a black eye and bruises on my cheekbones. A recent cut on my forehead dripped blood. I lifted my torn uniform, revealing purple and red spots all over my midsection. Among the bruises, I noticed red lines in an even pattern. I traced them with my finger, cringing at the pain.
Father had these lines, too.
"Damn," cursed Peter, looking at my injuries. "Looks worse in the light." He threw me a wet paper towel. I dabbed away the dried-up blood.
"You said the robots attacked you?" he asked. I nodded, poking my tender jaw.
"Ow- Yeah. They want me dead."
"For serious? They never really attacked Bobby and me. Maybe it has something to do with you being an Afton."
I raised an eyebrow.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Don't take it offensive, dude," Peter said quickly. "It's just that Aftons and robots don't mix. Everyone here in Hurricane knows that."
"There's a lot I don't know about my family, it seems," I thought aloud. I tossed the soiled towels into the trash bin and hung my head over the sink basin.
Father won't tell me anything about my history.
"Hey, do you need us to take you home?" Peter asked. I shook my head, trying to be polite.
"Thank you, but I'll walk."
"Hell no, you aren't," Peter huffed. "Not like that." He walked past me, brushing his beard. "If you don't have anybody to drive you, we will. You're, what, sixteen?"
"Nineteen," I mumbled, sticking my fingers in the belt loops on my jeans.
"Exactly," Peter declared. I rolled my eyes as I followed him back to the car.
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I told the two technicians my house was near work and they dropped me off there. They refused to leave until I told them it was 1996, the president was Bill Clinton, and that I was okay. It felt nice to have people care about your wellbeing.
I walked the quarter-mile back to the house. The cool summer air blew into the rips on my shirt and I wished I'd brought a jacket to work. Father's car was in the driveway. I can ask him questions.
I went to my room, took off my ruined uniform, and scoured through my dresser for a new shirt.
"Where were you, Michael?"
I turned to find Father standing in the doorway.
"Oh, so now all of a sudden you care," I muttered, then answered, "I was at your underground robot factory." He stared at my bruises and lacerations, looking more intrigued than concerned.
"Why are you messing around with springlock suits?" he asked. I wiggled into a previously-buttoned button-up.
"I should ask the same of you," I replied with a bitter edge. Father made an unreadable expression; his eyes drifted away as if reminiscing the incident.
"That was an accident that happened a long time ago." He crossed his arms. "Now you answer my question." I narrowed my eyes.
"Your robots attacked me," I said despite not wanting to answer. "They knew me."
"They don't know you, they know me," Father said, frowning to himself.
"They thought I was you?"
He nodded. My tensed shoulders faltered. He actually answered my question. As he turned to leave, my face fell. He didn't even ask if I was okay.
"Father?" I called. He didn't face me.
"What is it?"
"What's the Bite of '83?"
The words tasted odd coming out of my mouth. My heart pounded in my throat. Father whirled, his face pale.
"Where did you hear that?" he asked, his voice hushed.
"Apparently everyone in Hurricane knew about it," I snapped. The guilty look on Father's face told me what I wanted to know- that he was involved somehow.
"What happened?" I prodded, and Father frowned.
"Why do you want to know?"
I paused. If he's not going to answer my questions, then neither am I.
"What happened?" I asked again. Father clenched his fists, repeating himself with a growl, "Why do you want to know?" I glared at him, anger boiling in my chest.
"Because you hide things from me," I declared, also balling my fists, "and if it has to do with me, shouldn't I know?" Father shot me an awful look- like I was a pile of trash he'd just stepped in by accident.
"No. You shouldn't."
He left it at that and I shrank to the floor.
Why am I the only one to be left alone in the dark?