Author's Notes: Coincidentally, the author is a lefty when it comes to writing and so was very delighted to make this title. (I'm a righty with almost everything else…mouse is right handed. Eating is both, but cutting with knives is left. Throwing over handed is right, but underhanded is left. Otherwise I'll take out an eye.)


"The slithery-Dee, he came out of the sea
he ate all the others...but he didn't eat me."
-Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark


ACT I
Chapter 3. Lefties Have Rights Too

Henry showed up about two hours after Mike finished his breakfast, and was eyeing SP's closed and silent box thoughtfully when the man's keys unlocked the front doors and he stepped in, leaning on his cane heavily.

"You're still here!" was the first thing Henry said before even a good morning. "Good job, Schmidt. I can see why you're the night guard."

"Thanks." Mike drawled, and then immediately wondered what was here that would make him leave. "And thank you for the note about Helpy. He's certainly…something."

"Ain't he a pip?" If Henry noticed or cared about Mike's ruffled feathers, the old man was certainly good at pretending he didn't notice them.

"Besides, I heard from a little birdy you had a soft spot for them Freddy models. I figured you might not mind one more, eh?" Henry grinned because he seemed to know he was right, for Mike lapsed into sheepish agreeable silence, shrugging with one shoulder.

"This new one's Something too, truth be told. He's going to be your first project, in fact! Don't that sound fun?"

Finally, they were getting somewhere. Mike nodded, moving to follow the man eagerly.

"Ah-ah, first things first. Take that doo-hickey off, if you please." Henry gestured with his cane tip to Mike's wrist. "Go on, nice and quick. Even if she isn't on yet, we don't need one of her expensive bands getting lost."

Henry eyed the three Fazes standing on stage, each and every one of them silent and still. He didn't even look at Foxy, who was standing in the same pose as he'd been set in yesterday against the back corner by the stage. Helpy wandered over from the ball pit as Mike set his finder-bracelet down by SP's box, hoping if she saw it sitting there she wouldn't jump to the conclusion he had lost it or it had been torn off, as perhaps her fearful programming might assume. For once, he desperately did not want the little puppet to come looking for him, especially like she had last afternoon. Mike was afraid if Henry saw SP malfunctioning he wouldn't be happy, or worse, would think Mike tampered with her.

"Bonnie show you your office?" Henry asked conversationally as he shuffled toward Parts and Services. Mike guessed they were headed through that room, then the second interrogation room as he began calling it, and out to the long morton building out back.

"Ah—yeah, he did. Sir, is—" Mike started.

"Henry," the man interrupted.

"Henry, right, is that…uhm…all of it?"

"What more would you need?" Henry asked with such honest surprise Mike truthfully couldn't tell if the old man was patronizing him or not.

Mike was so taken aback that, for a solid minute, he didn't have an answer. Well…fair point. He felt cramped but he also wasn't spending five nights or even a whole night in there by himself. He was out of the room the second he finished the jobs on the pc. He wasn't being locked in that little tiny dungeon, which was good. He was pretty sure Gold wouldn't fit if they had to switch Suits for some reason.

"Now come along, come along. I haven't got much time. Once we get him on stage, you can go back to your daily chores and seeing what Helpy's found that needs tweaking."

"Uh, okay?"

The alleyway was even less interesting in the day time. The air was chillier than the day before, making Mike shove his fists into his pockets. He tried to offer Henry his elbow but the old man only laughed kindly at him and ambled toward the back of the two buildings. Well, the side of the restaurant, the back of the longways building, which seemed less shed and more brick and mortar and steel, a gloomy massive and windowless prison.

"Sturdy." Was all Mike could say, especially as he watched Henry pull out a key ring of about twenty keys, and begin unlocking one of six locks.

"Ah, got to keep em safe in there, son. You know how it goes."

'Yeah. Only, in this business, it's more like, 'got to keep everyone else safe, so lock them up tight somewhere.' Mike swallowed, watching Henry undo the last lock. 'Whether the animatronics have any say in this or not is usually up for debate…'

Mike shivered under his heavy jacket, wishing a Freddy model besides the wandering and naive Helpy was with them. Gold brushed across their bond in low amusement, and Mike hid a secret smile. Fine, so he wasn't alone-alone.

The inside was…well, dark. He knew better than to turn on Gold's glowing optics to see, glad that Henry didn't question his sunglasses even when they were inside a building. 'Get migraines from the overhead fluorescents,' might work as an excuse with the man, but you never knew…

Even in the dark Mike could sense it was crowded, and his assumption was spot on when Henry shuffled in and hit a switch. Six overhead, naked bulbs hummed on, casting light directly below but keeping the outer edges of the storage garage in sleepy darkness.

This didn't feel as smothering as the warehouse that housed the Toys and some other secrets, which Mike supposed was a good enough sign.

"Okay…who are we here for?"

"Well, grab that dolly there—no, the big one, and follow me. He should be around here somewhere…" Henry tossed Mike a half smile that awoke some of the snakes in Mike's stomach. "Provided he's where I left him, that is…hah-hah, just a joke! Of course he is~"

"…right."

A dozen reinforced steel shelves stood like pulpits, but loomed like preachers over even tall Mike by three feet. Ladders rested here and there for those that couldn't reach the items on the tallest shelves. There were plenty of unmarked boxes, and plenty of marked ones. Things like 'left arms' or 'nuts and bolts ONLY!' as well as Mike's personal favorite, labeled nothing more than 'All of Their Eyes.' Which was so eldritch and unnerving he snorted at the surrealness of it, and promptly moved on without letting himself be nosey for once. Later. He knew how to pick a lock without it showing, which was just one of the many things he learned at Freddy's that should never be added to a resume. And if he didn't want to implicate himself, Foxy's hook was just as good at picking them, and Foxy didn't leave DNA for obvious reasons.

They rounded a corner of tall crates and Mike perked up, staring at the tall animatronic on its own, special and brightly colored stand.

"Wow!" He eyed the strange, brand new and shut off Freddy, catching Henry's attention, who was ahead of him only a few steps.

"Oh, Rockstar Freddy? The rest of 'em are right over here…"

Mike left the dolly at Henry's word, and trotted after the gentleman as he stopped beside the other three animatronics, making four in total.

"Hey, these guys look great…huh, kind remind me of the Toy models…"

"Ah, with more brains, let me tell you." Henry snorted. "The Toys were a little more glitz than glam, and it showed, I think. Oh, they entertained well enough, followed programming just fine. But when they got old, or confused…" Henry shook his head in what Mike thought was ashamed disgust. "It wasn't a good finale for them, no. I tried making that up with these four, what do you think?"

What did he think?

The Rockstars were awesome looking. Their plastic was new and shiny, freshly polished even. Rockstar Freddy was big and bold; Bonnie's guitar was so new Mike knew that his Bonnie would give one of ears for it. Rockstar Chica's added dashes of periwinkle blue echoed her brother bunny a bit better, and her maracas were as cute as Rockstar Foxy's accordion was downright hilarious.

"Is...is his hook holding the—hah!" Mike snickered to himself, finishing his slow walk around the other three and walking back over to Rockstar Freddy. "He's even gotta parrot on his shoulder! Ohh, I wish I had a camera."

But were they haunted…? Alive? That was the real question, and Mike knew based on Henry's previous attitude toward his Fazes—poor Foxy included—he might not get the most honest answer if he just blurted the question out right. He edged right up to the little stands, pretending to want a closer look at their joints and faces when in reality, the closer he was the better Gold could take a look for himself.

A quick ask to Gold confirmed dubious disagreement. No…if any of them were, it was possibly poor Security Puppet. These guys…

'Don't think so, Michael.'

They were just animatronics. New and unused. AI's ready and blank slates, needing nothing more than a stage port, an audience, and some love to keep them running. They needed to be left alone aside from that, not tweaked, or opened up and dismantled, or had anything or anyone shoved inside of them, or used as a fucking prank by a teenager and his friends to—

Mike's happy smile slipped slowly away.

'Maybe Foxy's right. Maybe I'm not over Circus' playing me. Maybe it's clouding my judgment. There's…there's really nothing that bad here so far.'

"So, which one of them are we taking to the stage?" Mike asked.

"Eh? Oh, none of those." Henry replied, which of course seemed a little odd. Mike shot him a look, but Henry smiled and continued the direction he'd been going, and Mike followed the man around yet another corner.

"We'll be starting with this fellow, here." Henry gestured to the black Freddy model. "His name is Lefty."

Mike waited for the punch line to be delivered, and when there was none, he stared.

Lefty was…well, Lefty was just about everything the Rockstars were most absolutely not. Mike winced, eyeing the rickety frame, the loose arm that dangled, or the way his one glass, ochre colored eye seemed to follow Mike's movements as the night guard walked toward him. The bearbot was black—well, alright, at one point he might have been black. Mostly he was dark grey and splotchy, the sort of soft black that came when you left your favorite toy outside in the baking sun for a long afternoon. Mike had a little stuffed dog that had received the same treatment as a kid, and the poor thing had been thrown out without his knowing when he'd been rushed to the hospital one afternoon.

That was it, Mike realized with a half blink of muted, unsure surprise. Coloring aside, the Rockstars were fresh, out of the box new. That much was obvious. But here was poor Lefty, who looked like a worn toy someone had pulled from storage, dusted, charged and left, waiting for his first party in years.

Although Lefty was not without color; but what might have been cherry-red was now equally muted brick-burgundy, and the microphone in his hand looked it had seen more days as a blunt object instead of as tool to sing to children with. Nothing about Lefty was new, and everything about him was shabby, from his lopsided silk red hat to his crooked knees and gentle lean to the right he naturally did, his head canted to the side as if leaning down to listen to someone thoughtfully.

Once again, he nudged Gold across their bond, and the sleepy ghost hummed thoughtfully.

'Nope.' He decided and then faded away. That was a shocker, but he and Gold were more action than study these days. Maybe Foxy would be able to sniff something out of Lefty? If anything existed, that is…

Lips pursed thinly, hands on hips and radiating uncertainty, Mike studied the black, ragged Freddy model.

"…are you sure I don't need to repair him, Henry? He looks awfully…" 'Awful' was the term to coin here. But incase Lefty could hear him, (because if any of these five were haunted, it was going to be this one, holy crow) and in case he was the sort to hold a grudge, Mike went for a diplomatic, "…uh, worn."

"Adds to his charm." Henry said simply, and the matter was closed. "Your only project is to set him up. The Rockstars can wait their turn, Michael. But we got an empty stage port beside your little friends and, frankly, I want to see if Lefty still works on stage at all. If he's got the right stuff inside. Know what I mean?"

Mike most certainly didn't, but he kept that little thought private and nodded.

Lefty wasn't too heavy, as far as animatronics went. He was certainly the lightest Freddy model Mike had ever moved, which was saying something since, by all accounts, Mike was the heaviest Freddy model but only when Gold switched Suits with him. Toy Freddy wasn't too heavy but he was also 'full of hot air' as Bonnie would often berate. All that aside, Lefty was loaded and hauled back into the interrogation room, Helpy scampering ahead happily, where Henry told him something odd, nothing but the dark room and Lefty between them.

"Now, with every other animatronic we find, we'll need to test them. Make sure nothing's hiding inside, Schmidt. But old Lefty here is harmless, and I've got to get a move on. Your first salvage might be tomorrow, or it might be the day after!"

"Salvage…?"

"One thing I didn't tell you before, son…" Henry cleared his throat. "There is another aspect of your 'end of day routine'. And that is inspecting and salvaging any animatronics found in the alley, outside of that back door. Things are found here quite often. And while we aren't sure why, what we do know, is that they can be used for parts. Which can mean a much needed revenue boost."

"That how you found Lefty here?" Mike guessed. He had to agree with the salvage statement—after all, the Fazes were currently using lots of 'borrowed' bits and ends from Pizza World, hidden under their fur suits.

"Might be." Henry smiled as he watched Mike push the still animatronic into the little back room just behind Parts and Services. "I've taken the liberty of testing him for you, there's no need for that. Lefty, thankfully, is safe as they come."

"Well that's…good." And hard to believe, but Mike kept his mouth shut again.

"Of course, as with everything else in this line of work, those benefits I just mentioned come with risks." Henry admitted slowly, before stating primly, "The safest thing to do is to throw it back outside."

"But then, we'd get no money for the salvage, right?" Mike hummed thoughtfully. He could see where this was going, and while he knew Freddy or the others wouldn't like it…Mike did. In some small, sick way, he felt eager. Almost excited. This was a good plan, or at least it had the potential to be, if it was going where he thought it was headed.

'He really did need me for this job. Not just because I'm younger. Because I'm tougher.'

"Smart guard; that's correct. Choose to keep it and you run the risk of certain negative consequences, especially should the item in question not to be as docile as it first appeared. Of course, you're used to those sorts of consequences, aren't you lad?" Henry's gaze flitted to Mike's scarred face, the discoloration of his eye above his black sunglasses that he had told Henry were for migraines due to sensitive eyes.

Mike said nothing, but watched the old man evenly. This was more in line to what he was expecting, not exactly of course. But at least he wasn't being put in a wholly dangerous situation it seemed.

After all, if (or when) Springtrap showed up, Mike could get his revenge. He could stop the murderer for good this time, and maybe catch Circus Baby too while he was at it.

And anything else that might be lurking out there in the dark…

"Now, if you do decide to try to salvage it, then there's a tape recording for you to play. We'll get into that when there actually is something for you to do, but for now…why don't we get Lefty on stage, and I'll leave you and Helpy to your daily chores. That net around the ballpit was a good idea."

"Oh, you liked that? Thanks…that was Helpy's first contribution." Mike snorted, and proceeded to regale the man with the story of Helpy's maiden voyage down the big yellow slide, and how they were still finding little colorful balls in corners of the big pizzeria a day later.

Henry laughed at the story, the sound rich and warm and for a second, those snakes in Mike's stomach loosened and went back to sleep. Good intentions or bad, Henry did truly, honestly, love the animatronics in much the same way Mike did.

And that was a good sign…wasn't it?


Michael Afton peeled himself gently forwards, freeing his left arm first, then his right. Then his right leg, and then his left arm, with careful turns and light tugs. He stopped when he felt his clothes snag, knowing his skin wouldn't be far behind. He was a corpse who had stayed relatively fresh, but not by much, and he didn't have time to stitch himself back together, nor even good lighting to do so. It was all very methodical, very practiced, because it had to be. Scraptrap wasn't in great shape even on his best days, but closing around the dead teenager and using Michael's body as literal scaffolding meant Scraptrap could get away with movements he simply couldn't when he was himself, but it also meant that separating had to be done as carefully as humanely possible to avoid…accidents. Scraptrap, a worn bonnie model that might have been yellow once but was now almost pea green with decay and age, stood back against a wall completely and patiently still, letting the walking corpse remove himself. It was partly why they worked together so well, their strange and unique ability to combine and detach when necessary. Not even Dad could do this, Michael knew. That, and Scraptrap couldn't injure his suit very well even if he wanted to—to lose his corpse would lose most of his mobility, plus the one who kept him running. (Well, functioning. Running was a whole other kettle of fish for this old Suit team, as someone who once loved Michael used to say.)

"Okay," the living corpse whispered, relief flooding his soft tone. "You can unlatch your springlocks, man." He waited for the tell-tale clicks behind him that were as familiar to him as his own hands, missing left pinky and all. "But stay here, yeah? I'll be right back."

He was quieter by himself; his high tops so worn that they muffled every little step he would have to make. Moving around together was their norm and certainly Michael's security blanket, but right now they had to separate and rest; make up a game plan.

Scraptrap grumbled under his speaker in unease and rose jerkily, shaking himself out a bit, getting used to walking by his own accord and moving without Michael wedged safely inside of him. Scraptrap eyed the darkness of the building they had slunk into behind Uncle Henry and that other guy, and growled again. After all, he and Micheal tended to go everywhere together, which meant working alone made them both feel…exposed. And in a new place, with threats all around?

"No, no arguing!" Michael caught himself and pointed firmly until the yellow bonnie model sat his mostly broke ass down. "Look—I saw some boxes when we came in. Gunna sneak some parts you need first, since I haven't had a chance to repair you since Pizza World, and look man, we gotta patch you up."

The eldest Afton eyed the rotted frame of his partner doubtfully, from his rusted stiff hands that neither of them could move to his jutting hip joint, to his wedged upward shoulder that kept clicking dangerously, and to his closed chest, which even shut was still cracked open and spilling wires. Scraptrap tried shoving some uselessly back into his chest cavity, grumbling in annoyance and frustration at himself.

"Yanno, best we can manage." Michael snorted fondly as he shook his head. Scraptrap glanced up at him, optics on low but illuminated enough to see by.

A metal finger jabbed at the young man's chest, his worn shirt that he died in had plenty of holes after twenty some years, and made the old 80's band hardly legible anymore. Michael grunted right back, his stitched up, purple-grey hands shoving themselves into his pockets of his jeans in stubborn refusal.

"Worry about yourself, dude, I'm fine." He muttered. Wasn't like he needed food or water anymore, after all. And embalming fluid was pretty impossible to get for obvious reasons.

He thought he saw a smirk of a phantom smile on Scraptrap's chipped face, and he spied the way his rusty eyelids lowered in passive amusement but clear disagreement.

"I'm just a little tired, okay?" Michael rolled his eyes. "I'll sleep later, after I know you're in back in shape. You can take first watch, deal?"

Scraptap seemed satisfied with that, and so Michael slunk off, crouching his lean form nearly in half. When he wasn't in Scraptrap, he liked being able to move better, liked having his flexibility back. He also liked the lack of buzzing in his ear, which had only gotten louder the closer they got to this…

Where were they exactly?

A new pizzeria, maybe. A really, really new one. Months new. Wasn't even open yet, in fact. That much he could tell. Michael couldn't be sure of any more specifics beyond that, and the unknown unnerved him real bad. And any info he could grab from Uncle Henry's little conversation with that scrawny guy didn't help none. It also didn't help that Scraptrap seemed as repulsed by the stranger as he seemed obsessed with the strange noise they tracked here, because Michael couldn't concentrate when Scraptrap refused to walk within thirty feet of the man.

'What the fuck was so scary about him? Well, at least we got here before Dad.' That was one thing going for them. He wasn't sure about Henrietta, only that he knew she was out of the underground prison Dad had ordered her to stay in until he returned. Which…for obvious reasons wasn't good. Henri wasn't really herself anymore, Dad had sunk his hooks in deep. Michael knew that, but it didn't mean he had to like it.

'I thought he was just kidding. He'd been gone for so long…I guess he was right though. He really does come back, always.' Michael glanced around, paranoia keeping his adrenaline—or whatever that substituted as adrenaline for him these days—fueled and on edge. He rooted around in a few boxes with a practiced eye, and only spared the shiny Rockstars a passing, unimpressed glance. You couldn't take from animatronics that were that new—people would notice. People always noticed when the nice things got ruined for 'no reason.' It was crap they tended to overlook, things like old bunny bots and glowering, rude teenagers. Uncle Henry wasn't here anymore; he'd left the restaurant which was for the better. But that new guy, a guard maybe, he seemed like the type to notice if Michael borrowed pieces to rebuild his best friend. And if the guy went looking for those missing pieces, and found them…? Yeah, uh-uh. Michael Afton was tired of being screamed at, of being the star antagonist in a goddamn monster movie. He just wanted this all to end. If it weren't for Scraptrap being left behind, he'd have finished himself off years ago. But he couldn't leave his best friend, his other half. Scraptrap would be an empty Suit, and that was against the rules here at Freddy's, no matter which restaurant it was. And now with Springtrap back and Henri on the loose…

'One damn thing at a time. Scrap needs the usual done. Gotta find some WD-40…'

Their luck held, which was surprising but not unwelcome. The corpse shuffled his way back to the far back of the garage, hidden behind plenty of boxes and crates and totes and dust. He exhaled in relief, dusty lungs long ago unusable…but old habits hadn't died with him, he learned. Only eating had left him, although sometimes he felt stiff, and cold weather caused his purple skin to crack or chip. Layers helped, or simply hiding in Scraptrap's frame worked wonders, and the old animatronic was more than happy to keep him warm during the cold weather.

"I'm back, buddy." He called softly, and almost smiled when Scrap's ears perked up toward him. "Hear anything useful, man?"

Scraptrap cocked his head to the side, and seemed to think before pointing to his rusted, frozen hand, the single pointer finger which had locked in place.

"Oh, right, my bad…"

Michael got to work, focusing on the bunnybot's stiff, clawed hands first and working by the light of Scrap's optics. Most of his butter yellow paws had worn away years ago, the fur crinkling and peeling like a dead animal, leaving sharp metal joints that were hollow enough for Michael to slide his blackened fingers through when he had to. Unlike Dad, or Alex, and unlike Henrietta too, Michael had died before being shoved into his Suit. Well, dying maybe wasn't the correct term, murdered was a better one.

Forcibly embalmed while being kept just barely alive and aware and unable to cry out—that was the exact term. Then he was horribly reanimated, the task so laboriously horrific, cursed and re-cursed and then shoved inside the spare Bonnie model Dad had lying around…a test subject. A miserable brat that at least could be made useful for once, he was told. He'd almost started believing it, too, until Dad cast him aside and tried to…undo the past.

The next thing Michael knew, he was Awake but he was not breathing, and his thoughts were not his own anymore. Scraptrap was thinking too, and none of the thoughts had been good. But they both agreed on one thing.

Dad had to be stopped before he made Suits using anyone else.

"There." Michael sat back, dropping the tool into his pocket and slumping down to lean against the wall, taking shelter the shadow of his bonnie model. "That's the best I can do now, man. Sorry."

Scraptrap hummed in approval anyway, lifting his hand to flex the digits in gentle tests. His hands and fingers bent and moved, signing his gesture for 'thanks.'

When they were separate, they had to communicate somehow. Michael had stolen a book from a library on ASL years ago, and Scraptrap's computer brains had picked it up with ease.

Michael smiled. "Don't mention it. Okay, now what did you want to tell me?"

'Uncle—hide—noise?'

"You remember what Dad said. We're monsters now. Uncle Henry…he'd probably call the cops on us, or worse, he'd…" Michael sighed, tilting his head to read Scraptrap's hands when they creaked in soft shifts, declaring a solemn single word of:

'Kill.'

"Yeah. Kill us dead. Talk about heavy, huh? I can't fight Uncle Henry, and you better not hurt him neither." Although he knew the bunnybot wouldn't…Scraptrap didn't attack unless Michael told him to.

"I don't really feel like dying again—you?"

His animatronic shook his head, the noise rusty and scraping.

"Yeah."

'Bear.' Scraptrap signed suddenly, and when his human shot him a confused squint he shrugged and signed, 'F-A-Z.'

Freddy? Freddy Fazbear? …talk about old ghosts. Michael wasn't eager to see the favorite bear of Uncle Henry…and of himself, once too. It would…no. Wouldn't end well.

'If he's still got that…personality glitch…if he remembers me…god, I'll be lunch meat. Look what I've did, what I've been doing. Family has always been everything to Freddy. He'll rip me outta Scraptrap only to stuff me in another suit probably. Only he'll just be doing it to kill me. Thing is…I dunno if I'd fight him too much. He was the only parent I had after Uncle Henry...'

"F…Faz, huh? You think—you think the original is here?"

Scraptrap purred softly, but corrected him with a motion of curling fingers.

"All of them?" Michael blinked. "Dude, c'mon, they wouldn't…I just walked by some brand new ones. Are those the ones you saw? Uncle Henry wouldn't put up the original four if he…no, that's exactly what he would do, what the hell am I thinking?"

Michael shuddered.

"Fuck, if they are here, then…it's really good we got here before Dad." Even better that they could rest up before having to confront him. Being a bonnie model's Suit with both intact ears had its advantages, neither he nor Scrap could hear anyone else approaching the restaurant yet.

Scraptrap must have heard something Michael hadn't, because he seemed confident in his words and settled with a hum of old parts.

"We can take Springtrap this time, I'm sure of it. Nothing's gunna stand in our way."

'Puppet—Go.' Scraptrap signed, mimicking with both hands a puppeteer moving a small toy on strings below his splayed hands, causing the dead teen to shiver and scoff.

"Right—no more Puppet. He's at least one creep we don't have to worry about." Michael said with relief in his tired tone, and Scraptrap nodded with echoed sentiment.


Freddy Fazbear eyed the other bear model. He glared at it; optics lowering in distrust, then glanced at Mike with the look of an eternally tired, exhausted leader. Mike smiled sheepishly.

"Son, ya can't be serious."

"Uh, well maybe he isn't quite in shape as the rest of you…" Which was saying something—the original four had been considered over the hill when Mike met them almost a decade ago. Now they were held together with stolen parts from a sister location and Mike's ingenuity and stubbornness and their own haunted histories. It wasn't a great combination, but they at least looked more welcoming and friendly than a freakin' animatronic named Lefty with only one eye, a tilted head and a crooked jaw.

"'Cept Captain Kitty," Bonnie eyed the faded ebony bear as he circled it. "Looks like he and Foxy were in the same boat wreck!"

"Oh, bite me, rabbit," Foxy snapped in playful warning as he continued to study Lefty. "Least I don'limp loud enough ta shake the crow's nest."

"Boys, stop—" Chica was ignored, mostly because she was distracted as she moved from Lefty as well. He was…creepy.

"Hey, I gotta loose bolt, you know I'm sensitive 'bout it—!"

"QUIET, both a'yas!" Freddy boomed, causing Helpy to drop his skee ball and scatter behind the machine.

"Freddy," Mike soothed firmly, getting the old bear's grumpy attention focused on him again. The night guard walked over and saved Helpy's runaway skee-ball, and crouched to return it to the little bear as he toddled back out toward Mike.

"Look, I'm only following orders." Mike explained. "This is what Henry wants."

"Old fella's lost his mind, son." Freddy pointed out.

"Maybe he has, but if I question too much we'll be risking more than we're able to." Especially with his knowledge of Henry's plan. Mike glanced at Lefty, still standing quietly and lifelessly on stage where he'd been installed, and debated telling Freddy.

…maybe later. If Freddy was this wary over poor, shabby looking Lefty then he could only imagine how he'd go off if he learned Henry was using Mike and the new building as tantalizing bait.

'Hey, high risk, high reward. If it works? Then I'll worry about how to tell Freddy. Yeah…just gotta play my cards right.'

"Please? Maybe I can talk Henry into getting a spot for Foxy in the shows next week, especially if I do what he says early, and get in good with him." Mike smiled hopefully, hands folded behind his back as he crossed his fingers. Bonnie spotted this, guffawed but said nothing, and merely lurched away in boredom.

Freddy shot Lefty a warning glare over his shoulder. No, nothing. Perhaps, like his kid, he was getting paranoid in his old age. Why did this Lefty fellow set him off but the little Security Puppet did not? Maybe because she was small and frail and rusted looking, maybe because she seemed willing to protect Mike even if it meant fighting him or Bon, who she didn't stand a ghost of a chance against. Either way, he was uneasy. Mike had been bitten by too many strangers recently, and it had Freddy on edge.

"…Freddy?" Mike hedged, his voice light and meek with anticipation.

…was hard saying no to his night guard, it always had been.

"Fine, son. But I'm keepin' my eye on 'im. If he puts one paw outta line, he's getting hauled back to the storage shed. In pieces."

"He won't! I mean, look, even Gold can't pick up on anything. That's why I didn't bother asking Foxy, I think he's just an old model who got wrecked and no one repaired." Which was sad. And the same thing that might have happened to Security Puppet.

"Gunna make me jealous, son, picking up all these strays with my face." Fazbear finally grunted, but his smirk reached his blue optics, and Mike's own familiar, easy going smile blossomed.

"Awh, big guy." Mike chuckled, setting down Helpy pointedly and reaching up to pat Freddy's shoulder playfully, unafraid and loving. "No one can replace my pooh bear, right Thumper?"

Bonnie seemed to perk up now that he wasn't being yelled at, and so he chuckled. "Right, Bambi. Hey Faz, c'mon. We're all here and so far, Henry keeps giving us space to be us. Lefty may look like crud but he seems pretty empty if you ask me."

"That is a lot to get through before Mikey." Chica agreed slowly, finally able to ignore Lefty's empty smile at the missing audience and join them fully in the conversation.

"Don't sense nuthin much in 'im, Cap'n." Foxy finally muttered after a long look. "'Sides, lad's right. We're all here to keep an eye on 'em both."

Freddy balked, before relenting with a grunt of clear dislike but acceptance. Mike, having got his way, perked up fully.

"C'mon, let's grab a bite, gang." Of course, Mike was the only one who ate. But he rarely ate alone, and they all knew that. And so they all followed Mike into the kitchen.

Foxy paused, lingering behind on purpose as he sniffed toward the stage. The galley doors to the kitchen swung closed, and for a single moment it was him, Lefty and silence. His eye patch lifted and the fox glared seriously at the motionless, deactivated bear. He squinted, optics narrowing as if trying to peer through fog. Foxy had been haunted not by a child but a teenager, and the kid's eerie abilities had stayed behind in Foxy long after Nightmare's game ended.

With a decisive huff, Foxy leaned back, his ears folding down in aversion.

"Wise choice, pickin' the lads favorite model. I'll give ye that much." Foxy smiled a mouth full of big teeth, his tone cruel and warning. "Didn't think ye had anything left in the tank, ya little devil. Well…fer Mike's sake, let's hope ye do. Lots changed since those first five nights. And we don't let no one hurt Mike, not even you."

Lefty said nothing, only gazed lifelessly out into the pizzeria, the fall sunset setting the long room aglow with soft light.

Foxy scoffed in annoyance, and decided he now had two good reasons to go searching in dark areas at the haunting hour. One, to do Mike's bidding and ask Alex Afton about Shadow Freddy. Two…to see what all this nonsense was about, and ensure it wouldn't do more harm than good to their night guard.

"Lad's been through enough." Foxy sighed and pushed through into the galley.

After a moment, there was movement. Slight, and soft, barely a whisper. It was only Security Puppet's little bell tinkling softly as she peeked over the lid of her box, still hiding under the lid. The noises around her had stopped, and so her programming dictated she take a peek into the world, and see what was going on, if anything.

Lefty was staring directly at her with his one good optic, and with a tiny jangle of fright she vanished back into the depths. Which does bring to mind a good question, actually:

If an animatronic moves and no human is around to see it, did it actually do so?


The rest of the day passed in almost relative ease. Mike checked off his To-Do list for the Daily Tasks on the computer in his office, (with Helpy's help) and rearranged the last of the wiring along the back stage so no worker or bot would trip and wreck themselves or the stage, (with Helpy's help) and even managed to finish building a half finished arcade game, (…again, with Helpy's…idea of help.)

"Are you gunna be our test pilot, little bear?" Mike laughed as Helpy dropped the wrench he was playing with in startled shock, and promptly beelined for the step up into the blue and red rocket ride.

"Awh, no fair! How come I don't get to be first!?" Bonnie demanded from where he was looming, ears flopping forward in a pout.

"Because for one, your cute little cotton tail doesn't fit, rabbit." Mike reminded with a snort of amusement. "Two, even if you did manage, the weight limit does not include three hundred pound robotic rabbits."

"…oh, yeah. Go figure, eh?" Bonnie grinned, shrugging any heartbreak off with teenage indifference. "Meh, so what? I'm bored anyway, gunna go see what Foxy's up to…"

"Think he's helping Chica rehang the pots and pans." Mike warned, not looking up from his work.

"…think I'll go see what Freddy's doing." And off Bonnie limped.

Shaking his head in fondness at the bunny's allergy to work, Mike turned back to the project.

"Let's see…twist here…tighten this…yeah, okay!" The man stood, clapping his hands and giving a sigh of pride and triumph. "Looks like it's finished! Lemme just plug it in, Helpy. Ready to be the first bear in space?"

Helpy, naturally, was already in the child's seat and nearly bouncing with unbridled and unabashed excitement, and it was contagious so Mike laughed as he moved to check the plug behind the rocket ride. This was a good distraction, building something new even if it didn't come with instructions. That was fine with Mike, who liked a challenge.

Mike was so focused on watching the ride's maiden voyage that he hardly noticed when a soft tinkling sound went off behind his shoulder, until the happened again, louder.

He did what any night guard who'd survived past the first five nights at Freddy's would do. He absolutely spooked and scattered, nearly going ass first over the rocket ride and freezing when he saw Security Puppet take off in fright in the opposite direction of his jerky scramble.

"SP!" Mike let go of his chest, ignored the chuckling Gold in his mind, and forced himself to calm.

"H-hey, wait! Come back, please?" he tried to be as soothing as possible, even with the loud music of the rocket ride playing behind him.

Surprisingly, the little puppet model obeyed. She eyed him warily and gave another bell-like noise, closer to a chirp of a music box than anything loud or jarring.

"Sorry," Mike grinned sheepishly. "I, uh, don't like being snuck up on. Creeps me out. Usually Freddy watches my back so I don't go up a wall, or Bon's ears let me know if something's, uh, coming up behind me. Good or bad. So...sorry." Like Marion, SP clearly was a listener, and not a talker. Mike rambled without meaning to, on instinct.

She nodded to herself, as if to say, 'Yes, I agree, being frightened is terrible,' and then glided primly closer, reaching a tiny, spindly black hand out.

"Whatcha'got there, Security?" Mike eyed the blue band he had been wearing earlier and blinked. She'd clearly found it on one of her peeks out of her box and grabbed it, then come looking for him when she spotted him alone with the exception of the small and easily distracted Helpy.

"Oh...uh, am I…you want me to wear this, yeah?"

She nodded, which caused her bell to jingle-jangle a bit louder than the main speaker she used to project through.

"I mean…sure…?" He didn't remember Henry saying the Security Puppet choose children to wear a band. No…he remembered that Henry specifically stated the parents rented a band color and gave it to the kid to wear. SP was only there to intervene when her tracking pinged and the child was out of bounds. Was this…normal for her then?

Or another sign of something…not normal lurking in her frame?

'And, if she's not haunted, how the hell is she floating?'

'Perhaps she is haunted after all, Michael.' Golden Freddy rumbled, one of the rare moments he projected so strongly Mike could hear words instead of emotions or sensations.

'Okay.' Mike said. 'By who, then?'

At this, Gold was silent. Mike thought so. To be fair, he didn't have a damn clue either, so that made two of them.

And Security Puppet certainly didn't seem in the mind to spill her secrets, whatever they were.

Mike snapped the band back around his wrist, and wondered if he could find a way to turn it on and off. He appreciated SP's desire to follow her protocol, but Mike had enough overprotective animatronics looking out for him. And anyway, she didn't seem to understand that him leaving the restaurant was allowed, and not a warning sign of some nefarious act.

'I'll fiddle with it later.' He settled on, then smiled and held his wrist up for the little puppet to see. She chimed in praise and delight, and then promptly wandered away from him and back toward her present box, just like that.

Mike sighed. That wasn't what he had in mind when he said he wanted her to engage with him more, but he was also afraid to push her. Mike noticed she only ventured up to him when he was alone as Helpy, apparently, didn't count as a threat to her. It was just him and the little Funtime model in the arcade room which was really just the entire left hand side of the pizzeria.

Well, Lefty was on stage but he hadn't so much as twitched since Mike hooked him to the ports. Maybe he needed a new battery?

'Still daytime.' Gold reminded from the back of Mike's mind.

'If he's going to move, he's going to move after midnight. Good point, pal.'

Mike went back to his work, back to the room and the tables and the stage. Helpy liked Rocket Ride so much he demanded four more times, using Mike's quarters each time. Security Puppet crawled her little self back into her box and vanished under her lid, the bow rustling softly.

And Lefty did nothing.


'Good job. I want him wearing that at all times, and for you to keep an optic on him—Michael is accident prone enough as it is, and I fear certain dominoes are going to start falling on him.'

A little bell chimed in answer.

'Yes, I know what the others used to do. They don't anymore, to neither children nor night guards. Freddy Fazbear however, you must learn to avoid him or get along with him, because I assure you he isn't going anywhere. He is the night guard's favorite, and he is stubborn as I am.'

Tinkle-tinkle.

'For a rusted animatronic you are still very sharp, aren't you? You're correct again. That night guard just so happens to be my favorite. You follow your programming to the best of your abilities or I will deactivate you myself.'

A soft Jangle! of fright was the only answer given.

'I am glad we have an understanding.'


Happy New Year!