Author's Notes: Deadass almost forgot to edit and upload this chapter. Ah and don't worry—the two Michael issue will be resolved next chapter, I hope I wrote this so it wasn't too confusing. After all, you guys know Mike, and he and Michael Afton are very different.
To fear love is to fear life, and those who fear life are already three parts dead."
ACT I
Chapter 5. You'd Better Go in Disguise
Michael Afton knew their luck would run out someday.
He had hoped, however, that it would at least last until the next day. Two days of good luck—good weather at night to travel, the snow holding off, a sheltered place to lie in wait for his father—had ended so abruptly he would have given any of the other good things up in exchange for avoiding this. The worst case scenario was Dad and Springtrap beating them and going on his way.
The second worst case scenario was the Fazes—and their weird pet night guard—finding him. Freddy finding him.
Honestly, if pressed to choose, Michael would have chosen his father. Afton, he could beat. Afton, he could over power and torment and make the bastard pay. But here, right now…
The only high ground was on Mike Schmidt's side, and the man seemed to know it, even if he didn't gloat outright.
Michael Afton fully expected to die back there, and he wondered if this night guard knew that, too. If he even understood the icy acceptance of knowing your life was going to be snuffed out like a candle, and that there wasn't a damn thing you could do about it.
Michael eyed the scars carved across the man's knuckles on his right hand as the brunette pushed open the door into the restaurant, and the ones jutting across his yellowed eye on the same side when he turned to check to make sure he was following the night guard as promised.
Maybe he did. He seemed like the type to play a part almost as well as Foxy, or Bonnie. Act like an airhead, and people slipped up. Act friendly and casual, and people let down their guard.
"Alright, we can talk here. Anyone who has anything they should be doing—" Mike shot a look at Foxy and Bonnie, the latter who smirked and ignored him blithely, "maybe should get back to work."
"And leave you with this copy-cat traitor?" Bonnie the bunny demanded when he realized he wasn't getting his way, ears bobbing. "Oh, uh-uh, not for all the guitar picks in the world, Mike."
Michael felt Scraptrap—it was always easy to feel Scraptrap when they were in Suit mode—bristle at the insult and he fought down a growl of his own. Some things never changed—Freddy's anger hadn't, and Bonnie models never getting along didn't either. There was something comforting in that.
'Keep it zipped, man,' Michael moaned plaintively at his own bonnie model. 'We're already a jigsaw puzzle, just lemme think of a way out of this.'
Michael ignored the burn of Freddy's bright blue optics on him. He had to, otherwise he'd lose so many nerves he'd probably just disintegrate inside his bunny's body. And that certainly wouldn't get them anywhere!
"Let's start with the obvious." The night guard shoved sloppy bangs from his eyes—two colors? The other eye was blue and normal—and got right to the heart of the problem.
"How are you doing that?" Mike demanded, so straight forward and inquisitive.
Michael—and Scraptrap—stared.
"…doing…what?" Michael finally asked.
"That whole," the strange guy gestured inarticulately at them with his hands, "Combined together thing—and still able to—you're not bleeding out?" He looked disturbed, almost…worried.
"You're not bleeding out are you?"
The Fazgang snorted, but seemed content to let their night guard give the eldest Afton sibling the third degree, as if used to the man's questions and poking and prodding and general nosiness.
'Night guards lived longer when they didn't ask questions. Look at Scott, after all.'
So what the hell was this guy doing?
"Scraptrap and I are close. That's all there is to it." Michael said through gritted teeth. He'd said he'd behave, he didn't say he'd tell the dude his life story. "What's it to you, anyway? You know, these guys are the ones you should be worried about. You're even dressed in the old uniform. Honestly, just paint red and walk into a bull's pen, you'll live longer."
"Well what am I supposed to wear? Freddy just about has kittens if I come to work out of the uniform." The man rolled his eyes but it was fond, and for some reason Michael's heart hurt. For an organ that could no longer beat or pump blood, it sure was making an awful racket lately.
"Yeah." Summoning courage he didn't know he had, Michael turned violet optics to the looming bearbot briefly, then back to the night guard and snarked, "You can thank me for that. I used to clean the joint in jeans and a t shirt, and he hated it."
The night guard's eyes light up in curiosity.
"At Fredbear's Diner?"
"No, on the moon—yeah!" And when his tone got too snotty for Fazbear, he was given a low growl that made both him and Scrap clam up in brief, instinctive unease.
For some reason, the man's face flitted to a relaxed grin. He turned fully to Bonnie now, and commented,
"I see where you get it from."
Bonnie looked sour at the reminder, but just shrugged.
"I'm Mike—Mike Schmidt."
"Great, now we got two Mike's running around here and we don't even like the second one."
"Could always rename'im," Foxy muttered behind his hook at Chica, who giggled in wicked agreement.
"Look, we'll leave. Don't even have to ask—" Scraptrap lurched in place toward the door they'd come, only for Bonnie and Chica to block his way when Mike held up a hand.
"Uh-uh. Next question, why didn't Scraptrap kill me back there?" Mike asked. The tired stare on Freddy's expressive face said silently what they were all thinking, which was something along the lines of: 'why wasn't this question number one, Mike?'
The combined bunnybot and corpse turned, ears flicking in instinctive confusion on Michael's end. Scraptrap filled him in with flashes of memory, and his purple eyes blinked once in recognition.
"Oh. I told him not to. We're not here for you." He eyed the Fazes with less suspicion. Yes, they had blocked all attempts to escape, but no one had grabbed him physically to do so, and they obeyed Mike at the drop of a hat, as if attuned to the man for years, as if he was Uncle Henry himself. Interesting.
"They're not hostile at all….are their kids gone?"
Alex certainly seemed to be. Foxy wouldn't look at him with anything less than bared fangs and a narrowed glare, and he kept pacing around behind Schmidt's back as if hoping for a chance to lunge. The thought was chilling—Foxy seemed more worn and older but his frame moved easily. Too easily for his age and for his damage that Michael knew he had. His endoskeleton had been repaired, but by who was the question.
It was Mike's turn to be silent now, his gaze suddenly old and knowing and perceptive.
"Yeah. Story's over, Michael." Said Mike.
"Maybe yours is." The eldest Afton sibling muttered back, but his gaze dropped in submission from Mike's before he could stop it. Scraptrap whined softly.
"I never said I was in it." Was Mike's cheerful reminder, and he leaned back on one hip, sighing thoughtfully. "I don't know if this is gunna work."
"My thoughts exactly! C'mon Foxy, let's see if he fits inside of a—"
"Bonnie." Mike warned with a finger and a warning stare.
The bunny grumbled, but when he saw Freddy giving his own patented-Fazbear Look, he backed off with an annoyed grunt.
"…my turn." Michael decided, and forced the words out despite his fear, "You do that to Foxy?" they pointed with a rusty finger at the exposed joints in Foxy's strong legs. Even behind his ratted and torn suit, he could see the job was a good one. If he and Scraptrap ran for it, they likely wouldn't make it far. No wonder Mike wasn't scared of them.
"Yeah." Mike shrugged, as if this was no big deal. "I'm their technician, too. Went to school for that, technically."
"So you became a night guard?" Michael demanded icily, "At freakin' Freddy's?"
Mike shared a silent glance with the big brown bearbot at his side.
"Haven't been in society for a while, have you, Afton?" Mike Schmidt apparently knew things about Michael Afton, and the dead teenager wasn't sure he liked that. Scraptrap sure as hell didn't.
"Don't call me that." Michael warned, and this time his anger was so strong not even Freddy's growl could get him to back down.
"Well calling you 'Michael' is weird…" Schmidt shrugged.
"Too bad." Why should he feel sorry for this dude? "Pretty sure I'm older than you, so I get seniority."
"Do you?" For some reason this comment made Mike smile, and it was startlingly kind and light. "You're younger than me, I think." 'At least, you were when you died.' Mike wisely held his tongue at that little remark though.
"Last question," Michael said, "You mean what you said back there? About our shoulder?"
"Hip, too. Socket looks busted, and you keep swaying to the right…screws stripped?"
"Yeah, because they're fu—" Freddy arched a brow and Michael Afton swept through the word on instinct he didn't know was still around, trying to protect a wallet no longer filled with money, "—freakin' plastic. It's all I had."
Mike's eyebrows rose and nearly vanished behind his sloppy bangs.
"Any more parts like that?" and for some reason unknown to Michael, the guy sounded concerned.
"Some." He said diplomatically. "I dunno bout letting you do it, but you can watch. And help. Maybe."
"Sounds fair. Freddy?" said Mike with that same playful, infuriating smile.
'Well so much for that—'
"Fine, son." Fazbear eyed Scraptrap with outward distaste, but he backed off some from Mike, allowing the night guard room to move, which the man did.
"C'mon Captain." Mike beckoned with his scarred hand.
"What about us!?" Bonnie demanded, taking a hopeful step at them anyway.
"You and Freddy can move all the arcade machines back into place. Plus find a spot for Candy Cadet. And Chica—"
"I've got all the pots and pans out, Mikey. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me~" Chica glanced at Scraptrap, who had the decency to lean away slowly when her smile showed her second set of teeth. "With all those big sharp knives. Just in case."
Mike snorted, but said nothing. Just smiled and shook his head fondly.
"Okay. Follow me." Mike said, and that bothered Michael too. This night guard was far too chipper and chill to be, well, normal. Something was up with the man standing so nonchalant, so at ease, before him and among haunted animatronics that, in Michael's well-seasoned opinion, were better off deactivated and dismantled. Mike Schmidt was friendly, and it seemed hard for others—even Freddy—to not like the guy, be drawn in by his calmness and ease.
His dad had been described as charismatic too, in his younger years at least. Before he and Springbonnie had lost their collective minds.
Mike Schmidt watched in rapt and obvious fascination, settled in a chair backwards with his arms folded over the back.
Michael Afton and Scraptrap weren't anything like they'd been described on paper.
Those words had been Afton's words, though, and Mike couldn't say he was surprised at the lies he read from their father's pen.
'Disruptive.' Said the notes on the combined Suit souls.
"Gimmie that wrench, man, and my walkman." Michael asked without looking up from his work, the purple corpse bent over his bunny's open and worst leg. Scraptrap handed the wrench over and then reached into his chest, moving something aside so casually that Mike felt just a bit queasy. The rustling of wires and metal didn't help. He pulled out an old cassette player plus headphones, but Michael's hand met him halfway—he was missing his left pinkie, Mike noticed—and shook his head. He pushed the walkman back toward the bunny's center, where it was hidden from view, and Scraptrap grunted in surprise and askance.
"Gotta stay alert, dude." He reminded the bunny, who glanced at Mike irritably but nodded.
The walkman vanished back into Scraptrap's torso.
'Uncontrollable.' Afton had scrawled, his handwriting pouring anger and annoyance.
Scraptrap's metal fingers—more dexterous and human than the original four's due to Scrap's role as a human shape suit—moved and swiped the air, curling as he gestured down to Michael, who was looking up now to read the bunnyboy's paws.
"Not until dad shows his ugly face. " Michael said sternly. "Then we start ripping heads off. Until then…we gotta get you reinforced. Show room new if I can. Capice?"
Whatever Scraptrap signed, it seemed to be an agreement because the conversation ended there. Mike wondered what violence he had just avoided. Beside him and leaning on the counter, Foxy yawned lazily, and the motion just so happened to show off the many remaining teeth that were far too sharp to be anything other than brutal. Scraptrap and Michael both noticed it, but any wary looks were reserved for the night guard himself—mostly because Mike sensed his captain's unease and reached back without thinking to stroke that big muzzle soothingly. He stopped when the jaw creaked closed behind him and Foxy huffed.
'Uncaring—a disgrace to the family.'
"Does that hurt? Yeah?" Michael's voice was feather soft as he rubbed his hand over the bunny's arm, "M'sorry, I'll be gentle. I promise…I got you."
Scraptrap relaxed slowly, silently, and nodded. He was staring down at Michael Afton with such a familiar look that Mike almost didn't recognize it. Then he did, because it was a gaze Freddy gave him just about every damn day—a look of trust and adoration, of love.
'Better to be dismantled, retrofitted. Needs new Suit.' 'Suit' had been capitalized, the word so chilling and matter-of-fact that Mike remembered even Gold shifted in unease at the very concept.
Splitting these two up would be more for William's sick idea of torture than anything good for them, Mike realized. His stomach twisted, those slippery snakes were back and causing a slow burn of anxiety to filter up his frame.
Granted, Scraptrap was not show room new, and likely would never be that way again.
But he wasn't in the shape Springtrap was.
He wasn't in the shape Goldy was either, so powerful but so ethereal and anchored to Mike Schmidt, but somewhere in the middle perhaps.
Strong enough to be dangerous, that was for sure.
Mike's gaze flitted from the two down to Helpy, who toddled happily around Michael's kneeling from and picked up an awl to inspect. A second later Michael groped for it, saw where it was and snorted, his violet eyes actually softening a fraction.
"I need that, man." He gently pried the tool free, only to replace it instantly with a tool Michael hadn't touched yet. "Here, play with this."
Satisfied, Helpy wandered across the distance to show Mike the wrench.
"I see, little bear." Mike chuckled despite himself.
"You build him?" it took Mike a moment to realize the eldest Afton child was addressing him, and gesturing with a curt nod at the plastic Funtime model.
"What? Oh, no. Henry built Helpy." Mike paused. "I guess."
"Really? He looks like the Funtimes. That's not Uncle Henry's style." Michael said superiorly.
Mike leaned forward, interest absolutely snared. Behind him, Foxy's optics flicked to the ceiling, silently praying to gods that wouldn't recognize him.
"You know about them?"
"Yeah. Dad made em after…after I died. After Scrap here didn't die, but came to Life." Michael held his words back, glared warily at Mike and buried himself back into his work. His fingers looked stiff and were a horrible shade of purple-grey, his fingernails black and chipped. While the color looked appropriate for the kid's 80's punk look, Mike had a feeling there was no nail polish involved.
But the kid moved with careful assurance and calm faith in his own hands. Foxy thought he looked just like their night guard working on one of them, but shrewdly kept that thought to himself.
"He made them after your sister died, too Michael." Mike had spent hours playing games with the Marionette, teaching the curious little puppet everything from Snakes and Ladders to Gin Rummy. Marion had taken to each and every game like a champ, but he preferred cards most of all.
And sometimes in poker you had to show your hand a little.
Michael's hand slipped, the awl clattering along the floor. Foxy raised his head from where it was resting, and he and Scraptrap had a quiet stare down as the humans did as well.
"You been down there?" the dead teen demanded, tone tight as Bonnie's guitar strings.
"Unfortunately." Mike nodded.
"Recently?" And now Michael moved, keeping a leg under him bent up as he braced on one knee and glared across Parts and Service at Mike Schmidt.
"Erh—yeah," knowing full well he had been placed on trial, and that perhaps he had shown too much of his hand before the call, the man winced.
"You were the reason they got out!?" and when the teen stands, Foxy does too. Only Foxy's motion comes with a growl so deep even Mike startled a bit. Michael Afton smartly didn't flinch back, but his eyes narrowed and blazed. For some reason, the kid looked betrayed and hurt, the same look he had given Freddy earlier.
"Captain, it's okay—he's upset, he has every right to be—"
"Damn right I do!" Michael seemed to know who you could and couldn't swear around, which was interesting. "I was supposed to be there! That was my job you took, you know that? You ruined everything!"
Mike straightened up in interest. "Your job—?"
"Dad told me to go down there and turn on Circus Baby." Behind him, Scraptrap shifted in rusty unease and dislike, but he was grumbling up at Michael now. Something unspoken passed between the two living, visible Suits and Mike felt a tiny pang of jealously. He couldn't talk with Goldy like that, so effortlessly.
"Only you weren't going down there to do that, were you." Mike finally mused. "You were going down there to deactivate her. And she knew that, maybe. We know she was the one who pretended to be FazCo, to lure me down there..."
"I had to. You've seen her, what she's like now." Michael stooped to pick up the awl, his hand quivering. "She's not Henrietta. She's not even human."
"Looked in the mirror lately, swabbie?" Foxy muttered darkly at the teenage corpse, and this time he shied away, that look of hurt lancing through his gaze.
"Foxy." Mike hushed.
Foxy lapsed into obedient silence, but made no move to apologize. Mike didn't blame him.
"Anyway. Now I got the Funtimes and Dad to worry about. Thanks for that." Michael snapped tersely.
"Oh, welcome. Anytime." Mike snorted right back, tone dipped in sarcasm. "Except this job really is mine, this time. You can ask your Uncle Henry if you want—although I think you're too scared of him to do so. So take my word for it; I'm the night guard here, Michael. We'll get rid of them together, agreed? It's like Freddy always says, many paws—
"—make light work." Michael finished.
Something odd passed between them, and Mike Schmidt nodded. There was one more rule of poker, and that was that the house always wins. He and Michael couldn't afford to be at odds so much that they let Afton slither away again.
"Exactly." He sighed, feeling this was as far as he was going to get. He stood, moving back from the chair he had been straddling. "I gotta finish some chores for the night. Henry's coming back in the morning, I think. The back door is where—"
"Where they'll come. Yeah." Michael winced, as if remembering something, and Scraptrap scratched at an ear as if distracted by a memory. "We know."
"Good." Mike hummed, then crouched and gestured Helpy into his space. "I've got a very important job for you, little bear. You keep an eye on these two, awright Helpy? Hey—focus, look at me."
Michael snorted, but turned away, trying to focus on Scraptrap's busted and cracked hip.
"Come get me or Freddy if something happens you don't like. Do a good job and you can have as many rides on the Rocket as you want, yeah?"
Helpy perked right up, dropping the wrench in eager shock and saluted, looking more adorable than serious. He turned and beelined right for Scraptrap, standing fearlessly between the bunnyboy's straightened legs. Scraptrap chuffed down at him but seemed more amused than insulted.
"When Scraptrap's repaired, come find me. We can discuss how we're gunna handle this."Mike saw the teen's wary glance at the clock on the wall. "Right, unless it's day time. You and Scraptrap better hang low if Henry's here."
"Can we go back to the warehouse across the way?"
"No." said Mike, then smiled. "I'm not that convinced yet, kid. I won't make you wear one of SP's tracker bands though. Don't give me a reason to."
Michael Afton grouched, but admitted, "Fair."
"And don't try an run, boy." Foxy warned.
"Right. Foxes chase rabbits, huh Captain?" Mike snorted but this seemed less a threat and more affectionate amusement aimed at the captain who he was currently tugging a red ear fondly.
Scraptrap answered this time, making a gesture that Mike or Foxy didn't understand. Mike blinked but noticed the corpse was snickering.
"I'll guess that was a phrase that would have cost him a dollar for the swear jar."
"More like five dollars, but yeah," Michael smirked wickedly, and it was the first sign of life the night guard saw.
He and Foxy left the Suit of Scraptrap and Scraptrap himself in Parts and Services. Mike counted to five in his head, and decided now was a good a time as any to cast a line in the water, see what hooked.
"I think he was hoping your old spirit was in your suit." Mike wondered, and Foxy nodded.
"He was, aye. Shame Alex ain't though." Said Foxy, and then spoke strictly, "And the lad needs to stay on his side of the restaurant, in that dream world o'his, not come wandering inta' ours too much."
True—Foxy had already drawn the Nightmare leader over to their side once this week. Anymore and they could risk opening doors that, like someone very wise had once warned Mike, were better left closed.
"The Nightmares maybe more agreeable but they're not tamed, true." The first scent of fear and they were sharks in the water finding a trace of blood. Michael had plenty to be scared of here, and that could set off the Nightmares to the point even Nightmare Foxy may not be able control them—or worse, make him join in on the tormenting. Kid looked at Freddy like the big bear was holding a loaded shotgun pointed at him.
"You've called Alex over once anyway." And told Mike about Security Puppet's shrouded, confused history. "You're right. I just thought maybe…"
"…maybe what, lad?"
"Maybe seeing Alex would help Michael open up to us. At least a little."
"And maybe it'll make him lose it more."
Mike grumbled, but didn't argue. Foxy had a good point.
"Rough seas don't make for smooth sailors, lad." Foxy reminded under his speakers. But his ears drooped, betraying his statement. "What Michael's told ye confirms a lot of what ye already knew. He was planning ta Terminate them Funtimes. Kill his little sister. Those two have been through far too much to ever be normal again. Maybe…"
"Maybe what, Foxy?" asked Mike.
"Maybe, like the black devil, Death will be a welcome reprieve for 'em both."
The implication of what should be done to the two in the repair room sent icy fingers tapping up Mike's spine. He loved his family more than anything, but he would never, could never, forget what they had done and been used to do. How it changed the way they saw the world.
And Foxy, of all of them, had been haunted longer than Freddy or Chica, or even Scraptrap.
"Stop right there, Foxy." Mike said, and his tone was chilly. "I don't want to hear it."
"Oh, aye, ye never want to hear it lad, yer just like Captain Faz." It was a compliment, but a stilted one, and Mike's expression told Foxy he knew that. "But maybe ye need to."
"Then it won't be anything I haven't heard before, okay? So drop it."
Foxy grunted in reprimand, and Mike sagged.
"…sorry."
"Sometimes, ye need to let sleeping dogs lie, Mike." Foxy said. "No matter how much ye think they ought to be woken up."
Mike frowned softly, wondering why that sounded like a warning for something he had already done. He wasn't sure what though, and as they crossed by the stage, he was completely and utterly oblivious to the single optic tracking him from where Lefty stood, stoic and still.
"Foxy hasn't found anything off about that creep up there?" Bonnie demanded as he glanced over his shoulder. On the stage, Lefty stood in the exact same spot Mike and Henry had placed him.
"No. And midnights come and gone."
"Maybe he's like the freaky Funtimes—only goes off around children?" Bonnie asked, more to himself than his best friend. But he snared Freddy's interest and the big bear looked up from his work of pushing the repaired arcade machines back into play and making sure their cords were out of the way. Little ones needed no more reasons to trip and hurt themselves. He found nothing of interest on stage—shabby and silent Lefty stood with head half cocked and jaw hanging just a fraction too wide, his grip on his mike slack and lowered. Freddy found more interest watching the demure little Security Puppet, who was peeking out of her box to check on the restaurant as she did at the start of every hour. Mike had noticed the pattern immediately and encouraged her to follow whatever programming she had that made her feel comfortable and in control.
"Could be, Bon." Freddy watched SP lower the lid on her box with a content chime and went back to his own work.
"Foxy wouldn't be able to pick up a programming thing, only a ghost-thing, right?"
"Right." Freddy eyed the black bearbot. "But he don't look like the Funtimes Afton designed."
"Maybe that's why he designed him like that."
Freddy hummed, but didn't seem convinced.
"Let's get that Cadet fellow plugged in, Bon. We can speculate later."
"You just wanna get done Mike's chores and then go check on him and—uh, the other Mike." This was going to get confusing!
"And why shouldn't I? Lad's lost his blasted mind." Fazbear growled as he moved the slumped over Candy Cadet off his dolly. "He knows better than to trust an Afton!"
"I don't think he's trusting him, but, yeah. Still," Bonne shrugged and shoved a strange game called Midnight Motorist back against the wall, wriggling it a few times. "That's Mike for ya. He's dumb, but he's ours."
"I'll worry about Lefty when he does something he shouldn't. As for Scraptrap…"
"That's not really fair, is it Faz?" Bonnie teased, but his stare was knowing and curious. "Because right now all Afton Jr's done is exist and ya hate him."
Freddy shot a look, but didn't deign Bon's words with an answer.
His silence was its own reply anyway.
"Not that I blame you! I kinda hate the little punk to." Bonnie glanced over at his guitar forlornly, then muttered, "He left us…"
"He became his father is what he did." Freddy snapped crossly. "If Mike weren't here…"
"We'd be making stuffed crust pizza, only hold the cheese and the pizza. I geddit, I'm with you, Faz. But we can't. You know how Mike is with killing." The bunny rolled his pink eyes in exasperation.
"Puppet was right." Freddy grunted, so off the cuff even his best friend shot him a strange look. When Freddy noticed the bunnys raised eyebrows, the old bear shook his head in mild, if bemused, frustration. "Just…sumthin' it used to say bout Mike. How sentimental he was, and how…hard it was to think like him."
"Oh." Said Bonnie, and then he clammed up, one of his clever ears twitching. Freddy took the bunny's cue, knowing he likely heard something Freddy didn't, or couldn't. A second later this silence was answered when Mike and Foxy's voice filtered down the long hall.
"You guys finished?" Mike's voice came to them as he and Foxy wandered into the main area. "Hey, awesome! I might do a test run on some'a these games but most of them, I think, will play just fine on opening day."
"That'd be…Saturday, right son?" Freddy queried as he wriggled Midnight Motorist just so. Mike came over to watch and shot him a casual smile, hands on his hips.
"Yep."
"And our…guests?" Freddy didn't look up from his work, but his tone was razor sharp. "They gunna be here too, then? When the place is bustlin', and full?"
Mike's smile slipped like a man in dress shoes on ice. "I…uh…dunno. Haven't thought that far ahead."
"You haven't thought tha' far ahead." Freddy repeated in his most unimpressed, exhausted drawl.
"Well , alright, give me a minute!" Mike said, "…okay, give me a few minutes."
"Ya got four days Bambi," Bonnie retorted. "Maybe four, if Henry doesn't find em first and flip his lid." Henry was someone Mike could not control or calm down, and the man sensed that warning.
"Would he really do that? I mean, look, Scrap and Michael don't seem so dangerous, and it's not like—"
"They could'a killed you, boy!" Freddy's fist came down on the curled screen of Midnight Motorist, and it thudded in feeble protest. The bear grumbled at his own reaction and sharply lifted his paw to check for damage.
"…you're lucky these games are built with plastic instead'a glass, big guy." Mike warned, and this time his own tone was flat and quiet. Disappointed.
"That all ya got ta say?" Fazbear finally demanded, his tone glacial.
Mike eyed him, his lips pressed thin, before he puffed out a noise of exasperation—this earned him a glare from Freddy for his perceived petulance—and motioned.
"Come with me, Freddy. C'mon. Bonnie—you help Foxy. And keep your ears up. If those two do anything—"
"Oh, I will be delighted to tattle on those two intruders," Bonnie crowed with delight, "You bet your last Fazcoin on that, Mikey-boy."
Their night guard rolled his eyes, but marched for his office, knowing Freddy was behind him.
The animatronic always was.
Michael Afton had been right on two counts. One, it was raining. And two, his luck had run out.
Because despite the frigid sprinkles, a figure was moving through the forest. It wasn't easy, and the worn cloth over its shape only kept some of the rain out, but it rocked and wobbled on its way nevertheless. Existence is something done by stubborn individuals, and it was one of the most stubborn souls on this good green Earth.
Soft light blazed through the drawn windows of the brand new, unopened pizzeria. The neon sign flared brightly, so bright, almost as if planes were going to be allowed to land in the parking lot.
As the figure neared, the S in Freddy's began to flicker. It was very subtle, and very soft, but it flickered in weak winks of warning.
A ragged ear poked from the mess of cloth, and the figure lurched to a swaying, off-timed stop.
"Do you hear that?" William Afton rasped, voice barely a breath, little more than a squelch through the clogged speakers in his green and grey rotted chest.
"I do." Whispered a flat tone.
"Fascinating, isn't it? So…loud." He drawled conversationally, ignorant and uncaring of almost anything else—certainly even the second voice buried deep inside his mind.
"It is."
"What a deceptive calling. I knew it was a lie the moment I heard it, obviously, but it is intriguing nonetheless…wouldn't you say so, old friend?"
Springtrap, tired and worn in more ways than one, answered in his head so mechanically that Mike's heart would have broken, "Yes, Billy."
And so Afton grinned—well, in truth he was always grinning—but this time he meant it, rotted and sticky teeth clenched and lower eyelid plates creaking up, making his purple optics sharpen as he eyed the buildings across the way.
And from the forest, he lurched.
"They may not recognize us at first, but I'll assure them…it's still me."
END ACT I.
"But then the demon, much too soon
returned one Sunday afternoon." –Edward Gorey
