Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria loomed over me for the- what, sixth time now? I chewed on my jacket string. I shouldn't be back here.

Early this morning, I'd woken up underneath the party table in a thick, terrible daze. Charlotte's appearance occupied most of my thoughts. What did she mean, 'the other me'? Honestly, the entirety of last night felt like a nightmare, personally-concocted to further my torment.

If last night really happened, then Charlotte saved me. I owe her. I should help her. How do you look for another version of the same person? That's a clone. Is that what she meant? Thinking about clones struck a sense of claustrophobia in me; my clothes squeezed my skin, feeling hot and restricting, and I was reminded of those little jackets that pizza pockets wear in the microwave. I tossed out the idea of clones. Maybe she was talking about a twin. Or maybe it really was all a dream. Has everything been a dream? This thought tickled my brain for too long.

Now, as my eyes locked on the glass front door, fear gripped my throat. What if Fredbear is waiting for me? I didn't dare blink. No, surely he's still locked in the kitchen. I need to find Charlotte- to ask her what the hell she-

I noticed a car's purple sheen in the parking lot.

"Father," I breathed, my mouth hardly moving. He's here. I pulled my arms together. Last time Father's car appeared, something bad happened. I caught not a glimpse of any decrepit old men nearby. Would he be in disguise? A tumbleweed could have rolled across the bare streets- if Father was around here, I would have seen him coming. Unless he was invisible, which probably wasn't the case but I did not rule out the possibility. After a few more minutes of securing the area, I slunk inside the pizzeria's unlocked doors. The vacant party room surrounded me.

Father could be anywhere… hiding in the shadows.

The stage was dark and eerie like a graveyard for its entertainers. A croak in the floor startled me; my body coiled away from the sound, my spine reminiscent of a shrimp. Small red faces watched in my peripheral vision. I turned halfway and saw nothing.

They're watching me, aren't they? Poking fun at me. Look at that over-emotional man baby, jumping at nothing!

I shook my head, my nose wrinkled, and returned to my search.

If they're watching, they'll see me end this. My mind was quickly distracted by some stomach-tightening thoughts: What should I do if I see him first? Motioning with my hands, I went over some gruesome options. Wring his warm neck. Stab him as many times as I can… until I see what little life he had fade from those damn eyes. Make him feel what- I finally became aware of my scrunched-up scowl and relaxed my facial muscles. I'm getting angry. Those ideas are too messy- too… wrong. It's what he wants. I plucked the taser off my belt after more thought. I could shock him back and then dispose of him quietly.

When I glanced up, I noticed a white gift box sitting on the table. My hands relaxed at my sides. The Puppet's box… but a little tiny version? I picked it up, halfway expecting to see "Eggs Benedict" written somewhere and narrowing my eyes when I didn't. The dainty red ribbon atop the box looked so… pullable. Should I open this? Will I die? I shook the box by my ear and winced when met with metallic clanking. What th- oh, keys! Sure enough, a chunky set of keys inhabited the box's interior.

These are Father's keys, I realised. But why are they in this box? A confused frown fell on my face.

"Char-lotte?" I called out and immediately rubbed my throat at the ugly, scraping rasp that escaped it. My voice was like that of an elder approaching death. I winced. Last night's nightmare-fest really did a number on my vocal cords. I thought about trying to yell as loudly as possible, but I had a feeling it would be both stupid and painful and therefore, did not. Now I know what a sore throat is like. Egh.

I raised the taser again after pocketing Father's keys, my leg stance widening and my eyes focused. Now I have a getaway vehicle. As I neared the kitchen door, a heavy headache swung my vision. I quickly remembered that burst of light and Fredbear disappearing behind it. My ears rang. I am NOT exploring that. My attention diverted to something out of place down the hallway: a shiny padlock hung off the fire axe's dirty case. I scratched my neck. Okay, so they KNOW that someone has been messing with it. Just in case luck was on my side today, I gave the lock a little pull. As you'd expect, nothing happened. The taser really was my last defence.

I turned and noticed something even more out of place. A section of the wall looked clean- no signs of grubby children's hands or food waste- and lacked the checker print, completely brand-new in only one segment. The paint felt cool and smooth under my hand. They must be starting on renovations. Covering up secrets, most likely. This thought reminded me: Right, the secret place. What did that boy say about the secret place? Something about robot parts?

Down the other hallway was the parts and service room. Robot parts. That has to be it. It was almost too easy. I entered the room with a flitting gaze. He isn't here, either. Spare robot pieces lined the shelves above, and a blackened apron hung on a hook against the wall. As I eyed everything, I recognised some details.

This table… and there was an old suit across from it. We hid from the Puppet in here. The corner lacked its dusty old suit. I'd forgotten its appearance, but that didn't matter; for in this corner, the metal floor appeared raised, and lines formed a suspicious square. I dropped to my knees and inspected the corner, grimy dust sticking to my palms. Why didn't we notice this before? Hell, why didn't anyone notice this? My fingernails latched onto the edge of what I quickly realised was a door. The hint of a smile flashed across my lips.

I found it.

It was deceptively easy. I glimpsed over my shoulder a few times before creaking open the secret little door. No bombs or torturous traps were triggered by this action. At least, none that I knew of. Anyone can just open this? A pit lingered below, a staircase hiding from the light. I shrank back.

Should I? What if more robots are down here? Ghosts? Bodies? What is it with my father and scary underground lairs?

After a moment of contemplating my life choices, I gulped down my fears and slid into the vent-like opening. The metal trapdoor snapped shut once I let go, drowning me in darkness. I turned on my flashlight. There wasn't much to see, though- just a dirty concrete staircase. What if this leads right into hell? My knees knocked into my chest with every step down. Some stairs groaned underneath my weight, threatening to crumble into dangerous ruins. The ceiling caressed my hair.

What if a dead body is down here? An unwelcome memory forced its way into my brain, almost rocking me off my feet. I gripped the walls around me. A hanging corpse on the ceiling- rotten flesh, pooling blood? A giant searing-hot machine in the uncanny shape of a kitchen utensil? Circus Baby's declaration sounded in my ears, "Peter Jansen is dead. Boddy Nicholas is dead." I looked up and swallowed hard. Those technicians didn't deserve to die. But I will NOT find their bodies down here. This isn't the circus. Doubt circled my mind, but I forced myself to continue regardless.

I was lucky enough to find a switch and envelope the area ahead in a stale yellow-green light. The room was an open space with two work tables, and it all reeked of a strong cleaner scent- of bleach and vinegar. A rusty toolbox wasted away in the corner, contrasting the shiny tools left atop it. Whitish mechanical bodies occupied the tables and some of the floor area. I bit my tongue. What are those?! Upon further inspection, I noticed that many limbs laid unattached or only partially connected. A few pieces were just faces. But not cutesy animatronic faces. Uncannily humanoid. Their blue eyes followed my slow movement.

Are these things… alive? I thought, wincing as I crept forward. Despite their eeriness, I found myself staring back. What else was there to explore in this room other than some boring toolbox? The faces didn't do much other than look even when I got a little closer. I poked one's cheek and widened my eyes at its squishy texture. Is that skin?! The face gave no response. I furrowed my brow as I leaned even closer. I've seen these faces before, or something like them. I touched it again, grazing my fingers over its facial features. And my jaw dropped.

These faces are mine.

I recognised their details via muscle memory, albeit not everything matched perfectly; the nose was too broad, or the lip shape was too thin, or the cheekbones were too pronounced. These were failures. Certain limbs on the floor didn't appear to match my stature at all. Are these mine, too? Or does Father have another robot in the making? My head throbbed with this information. I moved my hand away.

They aren't alive in the same way that I am, I figured, rising from the ground, and then wondered what they were doing down here. Why would Father be making another thing like me? He hates me. As I passed one of the tables, a bare silver-white hand snagged my arm. I swiped it off with a sharp gasp. What th- The hand belonged to an unfinished torso sitting on the table edge. I didn't have time to ponder the unnerving interaction, for the body's other hand reached out to me. And in its palm sat a hair scrunchie. Taking it with a puzzled look, I took little time to notice the hair coiled around it. Dark and tightly-curled.

No.

At first, my mind denied it. This belonged to someone else. This is someone else's hair. Heat flushed over my face and neck. Someone else's. Blanching, I swallowed down a wave of pressure into my stomach. The scrunchie I let slide across my fingers. A grimace crossed my face when the elastic band grasped the bones in my wrist.

I shouldn't be keeping this. It felt wrong. I pushed away incoming distress with a violent shake of my head. Focus, dammit. My hand scratched the scrunchie while I went back to surveying this secret room.

This place… too clean to be abandoned. Father was the only person to come down here because this is where she and the children- I swallowed that thought- this is where he… worked. It has to be. He was down here recently. I know it.

Suddenly grabbing onto an idea, I hurried up the steps and let the trapdoor slam behind me. There was no point in sneaking around anymore- Father clearly wasn't here. I leapt around the corner, aiming my taser through the open security door just in case maybe I was wrong. My eyes scanned every inch of the room. No one occupied the office chair. Perfect. The file cabinets hung ajar, their key right on the desk, and chunks of old newspapers and legal documents filled them. On the desk, a stack of tapes threatened to topple. I decided to check the papers first- perhaps there was something I needed to remember. Information jumbled around in my head as I skimmed over words. These things seemed to date between 1972 and 1983.

FREDBEAR'S FAMILY DINER GRAND OPENING!... new franchise in the making… TRAGEDY STRIKES… gas leaks… missing… new CEO of Fazbear Entertainment had this to say…

I tossed aside content that felt familiar or unimportant. Until a certain name stuck out to me all of a sudden.

Henry Emily.

Like Charlotte Emily?

I couldn't pin a face to the name, but I pictured robust and hairy arms fiddling with mechanical creations. The old diner formed easily in my mind. I saw this Henry with my father, conversing about whatever and laughing about nonsense; I saw Charlotte begging to play as she gripped her father's leg. The rain. I could imagine those big arms closing around the lanky Puppet doll. My hands clenched together. A smaller doll was buried between them, sheltered from the rain yet soaked with something else. I blew out all those dark images with a breath.

His address… I leaned closer to the typed-out letters on an envelope. And thus, a new plan was born. Henry Emily knew my father. He'd know where he is, or where he's been. Maybe he'd know… something helpful? At that, I pressed my lips together and shoved the paper into my bag. I didn't need to get my hopes up so fast- luck always came with a price. He could be secretly still working with Father for all I know.

As I turned around, the sight of the computer reminded me why I came in here in the first place. I booted up the thing in a few button presses and then carefully picked the most recent security tape. My teeth clenched. Here goes. Let's see what Father's been up to. And a bonus: if last night really happened.

The footage crackled onto the screen after a few minutes. Watching the events unfold in the third-person was strange, to say the least. This is how people see me… scary. Every time that damn Golden Bear appeared on a frame, the following feed fizzled into dark static. My own mortified scream blared through the speakers. A chill caressed my spine, and I winced at the feeling. The screen was still black, so what was happening I could only replay in my head. I heard no voices in the audio, save for the occasional robotic growl, and the only sounds were muffled shuffling.

It all felt so real… that bear forced me to relive one of my scariest memories. He wanted me dead. Was he actually capable of killing me? It felt like I was actually going to die. I can't die like that. I'm not like my father. I've been doing good things.

Once everything quieted, the footage became clear. The Puppet climbed atop the table to peer underneath it. I leaned in, waiting to hear Charlotte's merry little speech. Milliseconds later, the Puppet arose and disappeared from the camera's view.

Wait, where did… so all of that happened in my head? Did Father have something to do with this?

I watched every pixel. My finger tapped the desk every few seconds; my nose was centimetres from the screen. Not a single thing moved in the building. I scowled. No, this isn't right. The early dawning sun brightened certain areas in the footage. I watched myself hesitate into the light and slowly make my exit. Time passed. My shoulders hunched, I didn't blink or breathe. What is- And then, there!

"That's him," I whispered into the collar of my shirt. Something- anger, fear, I don't know- churned deep in my gut. A dark-haired man entered the building with a bottle in one hand; there was no way that wrinkled button-up and slouchy, don't-give-a-damn walk didn't belong to William Afton, my father. Every step he took coldened my stomach. But then I noticed the seven-foot figure sauntering behind him. My lips parted underneath my hand. What the what is that?! The camera blurred the figure's bulky white features yet failed to hide its human-like movements.

Is it… a robot? I couldn't help but wonder. It trailed behind my father down one of the halls, keeping at an unusual distance as if it were hesitant to follow him. Did Father make it? Father suddenly tripped over his own feet, scrambling across the floor, his mouth open in a yell. His frantic movements froze my body in place. I had never seen him so terrified. What's he doing? There's nothing- The car keys hit the floor with a clunk, and the camera feed flickered in and out. I saw a chair fly across the tables. Father and his creature fled behind the hall curtain- into the old arcade room.

They were running from something, I realised. I squinted into the screen again. As the tape went on, the mystery robot?-thing left the room. Father did not. My jaw clenching, I fast-forwarded the footage. Nothing. I bit the tape on my finger.

No, no- the car, the keys- he was here, and… he still is. Father is really here. My stomach pretzeled. It suddenly occurred to me that I had no actual plan for my father's demise. Did I even want to kill him? He had her in his arms. I said I would stop him. He said that he was proud of me. For what?

Sirens screeched from outside the pizzeria.