The boy- possibly a second grader- noticed my presence. He scrambled away like a helpless animal, dark curls on his head swaying with him. He covered his face with his hands in the same way that Bonnie did.

Calmly, I untensed my shoulders and crept toward the child on hands and knees; I didn't stand in fear of startling him with my height. He flinched at first. I flinched, too. His mouth mumbled words I didn't comprehend. A tense silence later, the boy lifted his head to examine me.

"You're not the bad man," he said. I shook my head, at which he sniffled through a small apology. His tears sparkled on the floor, and an icy tingle lingered in my body. I reached out to comfort him but hesitated on how.

"Um, hey, it's gonna be-" I began, stunned at my voice sounding so clear and youthful, "-it's gonna be okay. I'm not here to hurt you. I want to… help you." The boy didn't respond- only fiddled with his fingers. I asked for his name.

"Joseph," he answered after a delay. He may have forgotten it.

I went over questions in my head: How did he get you? Do you remember what happened? I shouldn't ask that. But when did he- Just before my curiosity got the better of me, Joseph suddenly perked up in alarm.

"Is… he… here?"

Fear overwhelmed the soft features of his face the longer I didn't speak. My brain conjured up a million scenarios for how this boy ended up this way- how my Father did this. I couldn't answer him until I first swallowed back the feelings swelling up my throat. I do look like him sometimes. I needed to be strong.

"No," I began slowly, "he's not here. But I am going to be here when he shows up. And I'll… I'll take him down." I attempted a reassuring smile. "Do you like that idea?" Joseph wore confusion on his face. But despite his visible doubt, he nodded.

"I do like it."

Suddenly, the dark and musty used-to-be-arcade room surrounded me once more, and only Bonnie's scattered pieces sat on the floor. I watched his remains for any sign of life. Nothing happened. His glowing eyes stared blankly at the heavens.

Did I really… release his soul? Did I save him? Did that really work? My mind processed what it had seen. The boy was there, and then he wasn't. Just like my family. I released a long, slow breath, savouring the feeling of false-humanity, then held my cold, still heart. I did something. Let's do it again. I swiped the axe off the floor.

While I snuck back into the office, the lights spasmed.

"S-stupid power!" I hissed with a frown. I inspected the terminal. POWER: 4%. The clock displayed the same time it did half an hour ago (or perhaps time hardly moved at all?). As for the camera footage, it hesitated behind, choppy and scarcely functional. Something was definitely wrong with the power system. I searched the cameras for the source of the dying power. White light blanketed one section of a room for just a second. There! The generator struggled in the corner. I blindly dashed out of the office.

Having no real knowledge on how to diagnose a mechanical problem, I kicked the generator. It sputtered and groaned. And voila- the lights revived themselves. I hummed in satisfaction, then noticed on the ground small muddy tracks of bare feet and hands. But I dismissed them: those must be old. There's no way a kid is here messing with it.

When I reached the office, I halted. Chica was hunched over the desk. Morsels of red flitted about the room as she worked violently with her hands and mouth. My brain came up with the most disturbing of conclusions for what she ate; my stomach lurched.

She is not eating a body, I tried to convince myself. There wasn't a body in the office. Unless- what if there was-

Chica looked up. I ducked back into the hallway with an inaudible yelp. Seconds passed. Chica resumed her barbaric gobbling. Holding a hand over my mouth, I peered around the doorway again for a better look. My saliva seemed to congeal in my mouth. The demolished, sticky mass in her hands was a God-knows-how-old slice of pizza; its sauce stained her face and bib. Like someone had detonated a pan of lasagna. A few roaches in her feathers happily engorged on the "food".

That is one of the most disgusting things I've ever seen, I thought, my tongue protruding past my lips. Chica stopped all of a sudden. I froze, thinking in a panic that she might not notice me here. Her head fell to her chest and a moist, baby-like burble left her gaping mouth, followed by a chunky slime of chewed-up food. A gag rattled my entire body. Don't throw up! That's when she finally saw me.

"RAH!" she shrieked, perhaps just as shocked as I was. In a haste to make a speedy getaway, I tripped over my feet- you know, like I always do when I'm in danger- and felt sections of my structure shift under my skin. Bad time! I crawled, dragging my legs, to set my back against the wall. Chica peered out from within the office. She watched me fix things back into place, curious. I shot upright and she started forward. My mouth moved faster than my brain did.

"H-hey-hey, y-you want s-me more p- th-there's- y- there's more p-pizza! Pizza! In the k-kitchen."

That was not English.

"Pizza?" Chica repeated, sounding hopeful. I nodded. Her eyes twinkled. And just like that, she followed me to the kitchen, tracing my wobbling steps. She didn't acknowledge the axe in my other hand. I opened the door, turning up my nose at the dust cloud falling from it. The chequered floor in here was more of a black-and-grey combination. This kitchen was dirtier than mine used to be- and that's pretty nasty. I grimaced. There better be something edible in here. The fridge housed not pizza but its many ingredients: a few bags of shredded cheese, some trays of reddish-brown "tomato" sauce, a container labelled MEAT, and another container labelled NOT MEAT.

"No pizza?" Chica whined in disappointment. I shut the fridge and took a step back as her large body began to shake. Her teeth grinded together, making an awful grating sound.

"Uh…" I tightened my grip on the axe.

"NO PIZZA?!" she repeated much louder and jerked forward. I pressed my back into the counter edge. Her eyes burned with a fiery intensity.

"Hey, hey, it's- I'm sure the c-calories were a bit much, anyways… uh…" I blabbered whatever I could to delay her attack. Meanwhile, my eyes glanced frantically. I can't break her here. Cameras. Plan, plan, plan… I noticed the stack of pots in the sink. This might be stupid! I snatched them up and shoved them into Chica's open hands. She looked down at the pots, then back to me, clueless to what I was implying. Her jaw hung from her tilted head.

"Y'know, you c-can make y-your own… pizza?"

Chica's head raised while her eyebrows dropped. Offended by my idiotic suggestion, she slung the pots together. CLANK! CLANK! She screamed as if imitating a war cry.

"Sh-sh-sh!" I panicked, throwing my hands up. But she didn't even think about stopping. I slid past her, maintaining eye contact and holding my breath. Then I booked it out the door. I ran as fast as I could given my current fragility. Thumping footsteps quickly approached. I heaved myself into the office chair and scanned the terminal, squinting through pizza sauce. The power's draining! Wait, wasn't it at 4% before? Now it's going down from 19%! On the cameras, both Freddy and Chica advanced. Her pot-clashing had alerted him from the stage. I chewed on a fingernail. Not Freddy! My free hand shut his door.

I need to get Chica, I decided and fumbled through my bag for the journal. This is a crazy idea. After swiping the crayons from the locker, I commenced the crazy idea: I scribbled a series of pizza slice drawings.

"Be-etter than Picasso," I made a quick remark before checking the cameras. Freddy now occupied one of the far party rooms. I fist-pumped, let up the door, and crouch-dashed down the hallway to loop around to the other one.

"Hey," I shot a whisper at the robot chicken standing at the end of the hall, "I found-d s-some pizza! It's, uh- it's thin crust!" Chica pivoted, her head snapping first then the rest of her body. Her beak went slack. I shrank back at her sudden rapid sprint, yelping, "Oh!"

I laid the papers down like a bird's nest on the arcade floor. Chica's shadow consumed what little light poured into the room. Not unlike her rabbit compadre, she lingered in the doorway. I gestured softly, again hiding the axe behind my back.

"Almost there, Chica. This pizza in here is- is… life-changing. Follow me," I called and once more triggered a sour, heavy feeling in my body. Chica finally stepped inside. Her eyes locked onto the "pizza" on the floor. She broke into a grin, cheering, "Pizza! Yay!" I bowed my head. The axe's wooden handle suffered under my tightening grasp. As Chica dropped down to reach her cheesy prize, I vaulted, watching the axe blade slash through fabric and metal with a SHHKACK! Chica collapsed chest-first. She wriggled like a fat worm on a sidewalk, screaming. Despite the damage being served to her body, she still desperately tried to wrap her wiry extremities on a slice of paper.

"P-piz-za-a…" her voice trailed off after a few more swings. Dismantling what was left of Chica, I distanced my mind from my actions. My head entered a foggy daze. I saw a dead glare in my peripheral vision. It's not real. Bits of gravel trickled from her hair. Stop looking at me like that! I'm not killing anyone! I'm saving them!

The pizza papers burst into the air with my final blow, and Chica let loose an ear-splitting shriek. My knees hit the floor. The ghostly echoes of a faraway party crowd flooded the room. In the centre of the commotion, a small girl stood firmly. Her shocking blue eyes glowered at my soul.

"You tricked me! Again!" she bellowed, balling her fists and stomping. I wasn't very intimidated by this rotund and rosy-faced child. Rubbing the nape of my neck, I replied, "Sorry. I can't exactly get close to an angry robot without- wait-" my eyes narrowed- "-again? What do you mean, 'again'?" The girl fired a glare. How dare I not know what she was talking about? But then she scanned me up and down and softened her defensive demeanour.

"Oh. You're not him," the little girl muttered. She looked away with a distant gaze, adding quietly, "He told me my puppy was here. But I know that he… did somethin to him. And the nice lady that tried to save him…" When she remembered my presence, she blinked and gave a dainty, polite smile. "I'm sorry. My name is Susie. Did he trap you here, too?"

"No, but he-" It doesn't matter. I answered her question with a question, "Have you seen him here recently?"

"I was the first," she said, crossing her arms, with misplaced confidence. "I have seen everything." She paused. "What's your name?"

"Mike," I answered simply. Her grown-up attitude I found charming and amusing. She doesn't seem very sad to have been horrifically murdered and stuffed in a robot suit.

"Well, Mike, I'll tell you that there is a secret, secret place where he took us. It's a secret lil' ol' door." She gestured with two pinched fingers and a closed eye. "He goes down there sometimes when nobody's around. I heard lots of kinds of cryin down there." I tried to imagine a "secret place". Another underground nightmare house? God no. My skin tingled; my stomach was heavy. Holding my throat, I asked a million questions at once, "Who? Wh-when does he- Do you know what time? Where is it?"

"I dunno," Susie shrugged. "Ask Gabriel."

"Who is-"

I flew upright next to Chica's battered parts, releasing the axe from my hands. Not a single sign of life around me- just two mangled animatronics. Again, my soul had been sucked back into my body, and I was alone in the arcade room. I huffed as I got to my feet, annoyed that I couldn't ask that girl any more questions.

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Six a.m. had long since passed. Sunlight poured its orange glow across the party tables. Freddy Fazbear had complied with the rules of this game: he stood alone on his stage. I approached him. A surge of confidence filled my veins, and I squared my shoulders as I looked him directly in the eye.

You're next, big guy.