Author's Note: Trigger warning for drug usage later in this chapter.

July 1980

The telephone on a nearby table rang, its shrill tone interrupting the insipid game show Derrick had been watching sullenly from his hospital bed. Muting the television, he winced as he shifted his weight away from his injured leg and reached for the receiver, already dreading that it was likely another work-related call. He had burned far too many bridges and cut too many ties in his personal life for anyone else to bother checking in on him.

"Hello, hello? Hey, Derrick! I have some great news. I still can't believe this myself, but someone in management actually took me seriously and listened for a change." Derrick groaned and slapped a hand to his forehead in frustration, pulling it down over his eyes and peering out at the room through splayed fingers. The kid just didn't get it that he hardly cared to be filled in on the changes taking place at the pizzeria in his absence, calling at least daily and somehow believing they had a sense of camaraderie.

"They're retiring the Spring Bonnie suits; in fact, in typical Fazbear Entertainment fashion, they're going to seal them up in the safe rooms at each restaurant and forget they ever existed," Clyde continued, undeterred. "The new band characters are nearly finished, but in the meantime, each location is renting out some mascot costumes from the local theater shop. Y'know, just ordinary fleece-and-fur walk-around suits, no dangerous wires or springs whatsoever."

"Don't kid yourself, Clyde," Derrick cut in, staring glumly at his leg, which had been mended with a countless number of pins and a steel rod. "Didn't you say yesterday that the insurance company was breathing down your necks? That's what led the company to stow away the suits, not any case you pleaded." He yawned, tempted to cut off the call altogether, but when little else was working in his favor he at least enjoyed messing with the kid. "I have some 'great news,' too. That swanky restaurant, the one that was my real bread-and-butter day job? They called today as well, and said not to bother returning to work when I'm better. They've already found a replacement server for my shift." He heard a startled gasp on the other end of the line.

"Aw, no," Clyde exclaimed. "I'm sorry they cut you loose, but we're more than ready to have you back at Freddy's. I argued for you; they're even willing to give you full-time. Full-time with benefits, nobody gets that! There's an opening for a security officer I wouldn't mind taking myself, but of course I'd save it for you. It's a cake job: just sit there and watch the grounds and the animatronics on the monitors. That might be perfect until you regain the strength in your leg."

"Is that so?" Derrick asked, sharing little of Clyde's enthusiasm. "Well, I'll consider it, and while it's a real honor to hear I'm the casualty that led to the big cover-up, you're a day late and a buck short." His voice lowered ominously. "And I meant what I said in the safe room. Better watch your back, chum."

The training coordinator laughed reluctantly. "How much morphine do they have you on, anyway? You might wanna ask 'em to dial it back just a little bit; you're not yourself." The phone receiver seemed to grow cold in his hand and he was grateful when he signed off for the night and hung it up.


"You're interested in working at that monstrosity my son's trying to rig up?" asked the park manager incredulously, shaking his head and watching Mike fill out an application right in the office. It had been so long since anyone had requested an actual paper form versus applying for work online that he'd been challenged to recall where he even stored the forms, finally locating them in a filing cabinet. "You frankly look like you could do better, but then again, provided he'd even listen to you, maybe Randy could use the guidance of someone with a little more maturity and professionalism under his belt."

Mike's breath caught in his throat; that was one he'd never heard before."Ray, I'm perfectly willing to lend my expertise and help him with anything he needs to get his project guest-ready." He passed the completed application to the patriarch of the family that owned the park, biting his lip while the man skimmed the long history of falsified work experience and nonexistent references. To his relief, Ray's face positively lit up.

"You've worked the carnival circuit for the last seven years? By Jove, you're exactly who he needs; you know how these attractions work and what draws the crowds in." He strolled over to a large map of the park pinned to the wall, feigning sudden interest in the layout he knew like the back of his hand. "Just between you and me, Mister Schmidt, I let Randy do his own thing the last few years, which as far as I can tell amounted to a whole lot of nothing, just a kid running amok and refusing to grow up." He grimaced. "At his age, I wasn't sure if I wanted to stay in the family business or strike it out on my own, either. But at any rate, he's decided he wants in on this and wants to prove himself with this abomination he's using my money to build. Maybe you can keep his efforts a little more...directed?"

"Put in a good word for me and I'll try my best," Mike vowed, his breath catching in his throat.


"Dude, you're like, almost as old as my old man!" Randy exclaimed, leaning back in his chair and resting his dirty sneakers on the desk in front of him. He had set up a makeshift business office right in the center of the vacant horror attraction, and Mike recognized the heavy steel desk as the same one he'd helped haul out of his old security room. "And you're so old-school, dressing up for an interview like that." The smell of cannabis hung heavy in the limited space around them as he broke into a laugh, and the twenty-something fumbled for the joint he'd seemingly lost in the ashtray.

"Uh, yeah, but I'm a cool older guy," Mike corrected him, looking down at his typical interview outfit, a button-down shirt and pair of pressed slacks he'd owned for nearly as long as Randy, who was wearing torn jeans and a rock concert t-shirt, had been alive. Adapting to his potential employer's nature, he gradually changed his posture to match the other man's, slouching insolently in his chair, hands clasped behind his neck.

"Got it. You as nervous about interviews as I am? Have one of these," Randy offered, fishing a second joint out of a case in the desk, lighting it off the first and passing it toward Mike, who took it with a grin and inhaled deeply. The former security guard rarely indulged in the stuff, but he was willing to do anything to ingratiate himself with the young entrepreneur.

"Wow, thanks, man. Yeah, normally I get all worked up about job interviews, but this is by far the coolest one I've ever been on," he admitted, thrilled the kid was buying his act wholesale. "So I get it you're trying to make some sorta spookhouse based on the pizzeria murders? That's so far out."

Randy positively beamed, his face reflecting his joy over being able to discuss his plans with someone else who shared his enthusiasm. Enveloped in a thickening cloud of smoke that was slowly filling the trailer, he needed no further invitation to present his ideas, his hands gesturing wildly as he talked.

"You bet! I'm trying to stick it to my old man and show him I can really make something that'll add to this place, maybe even outdo all he's ever built. I grew up surrounded by all these dark ride attractions in this park and none of them remotely scare me anymore, or anyone else for that matter. You wanna know what the big stunt is in the funhouse, the one that's supposed to frighten everyone half to death? A lousy bedsheet ghost that pops down at you with this canned scream, and that thing's so filthy and sorry-looking that most guests just laugh at it. I wanted to make something that would truly terrify everyone, something that would bring them to the park all on its own."

Randy frowned, looking thoughtful for a moment. "My old man is sore because he didn't know what I was planning until it was too late and I'd already bought all the Freddy's stuff at the auction. I guess he feels it's bad karma to make a horror house based on something that really happened, but that was, what, thirty years ago? That was all way before my time, and I doubt most people remember it."

"I dunno, but maybe he's got a point," Mike admitted, trying to remain focused despite the effects of the drug creeping in on his mind. "I didn't live around here back then, but most folks my age sure recall those incidents. When a bunch of local kids your age go missing, you don't exactly forget about it, even if you wish you could."

The entrepreneur peered through the smoke at the empty walls all around him. "You might be right," he admitted. "But it's too late to back out now; I already blew all the money I was given on this pizzeria stuff." Running his fingers through his shaggy hair, he was already feeling overwhelmed with the business decisions he had made, and being under the influence was hardly helping him get his thoughts in order.

"Bummer, man," Mike said, his eyes straying down to his interviewer's forgotten stub of a joint, left smoldering right on his job application. "Oh, hey, you might wanna do something about that." Randy sheepishly retrieved it and crushed it out in the ashtray, frowning at the scorched paper, and it was then that Mike realized that he actually liked the young kid, despite his initial misgivings about his intentions. They both had something to prove to the world, and precious few, if any, allies who believed in them.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Mike consoled him, taking a deep, languid draw of air. "Here's how I see it: you go with a theme around the murders and this place's days are numbered. That's more than a little cold, and someone's gonna burn it to the ground outta sheer vengeance, maybe even taking your dad's park with it. So just tweak your plan a bit, maybe go with a scary pizza-robot theme." He chuckled. "Those things were terrifying back in the day, even if they made some efforts to make 'em less frightening for the kids later on. I'm sure with your imagination you can put together something really wicked, and even if you don't hire me, I'd love to come back and see it."

"Even if I don't hire you?" sputtered Randy, his gratitude apparent. "Consider yourself not only hired, you're practically my partner in this deal now! I'm totally going with your idea." Mike rose to his feet in surprise and they shook hands, grinning fiercely.

"Then it's a done deal! Come back after the weekend and I'll show you around," Randy promised as Mike left the trailer. "I've got my work cut out for me, but you're gonna love this when it's done. That's Monday at midnight, because my dad insists I test out the attraction after hours." His face fell momentarily. "I don't think he wants the embarrassment of anyone else seeing it fail, you know, just in case it doesn't work out."

"It'll work out," Mike reassured him, flashing a peace sign back at the trailer. "Keep the faith!" he yelled, smiling when Randy flashed him the devil's horns in response. He made the decision to trudge his way home in his dress shoes rather than hitch a ride after all, just to give himself the time to process all that had happened. He'd gone in to the interview expecting to meet with a completely amoral opportunist, yet had left with a new friend he felt oddly protective of, just as someone else had looked out for him back at the pizzeria.