Hey guys. I'm so sorry for the long update. I would have gotten onto it sooner, but school's been hectic and I'm all out of whack. Thank you guys so much for your patience and I hope to be updating more regularly soon.
That winter brought hard thunderstorms, giving Freddy Fazbear's Pizza a depressing atmosphere after hours. Caleb, John, Luke and the animatronics had almost nothing to do when they met up at night. William was still taking the night shift, and would say hello. He'd long since gotten used to the animatronics walking of their own accord. They didn't tell him about everything that was happening, however. There was no need to worry him about any of that... yet.
Mangle and Foxy's practice fights only added to the gloom; a constant reminder of things to come. The idea of facing Mike Schmidt's brother, combined with the constant threat of killer animatronics, made Caleb feel sick to his stomach from the moment he woke up to the moment he went to sleep.
And yet, Caleb was downright terrified of what would happen after it blew over. If he was dead, then that was that, even though that thought frightened him too. But what if he survived this hell? What would he do then? When John had confessed to burying Mike Schmidt deep in the woods, Caleb knew things would never go back to how they were. Not when he knew what he knew. Could he even go back to a normal life, given everything he had learned?
And then there were the questions. So many questions that might never be answered. The animatronics were clearly alive, and some of them were out their, waiting for the moment to end his life. Why? What created them? It was enough to drive a man mad.
Winter raged on, giving the place a chill, even with the heaters on. Nobody could understand it. The number of customers began to decline, and word got out that conditions at the pizzeria were getting unbearable.
"We're trying to work it out," John said to the press when they started badgering him, "The heaters are on full blast, and we're getting some portable ones within the week. The place should be warm again soon."
The pizzeria closed for a weekend to install the new heaters, and they had the place mostly to themselves. Luke was getting impatient. He wouldn't sit down at all. Instead, he would pace furiously back and forth.
"I'm sick of this goddamned waiting!" he snapped when John finally got sick of it and told him to stop. John didn't say a word to Luke for the rest of the weekend.
Not until Sunday night, at least.
Usually, the phone in the office never rang, leaving the office silent except for the hum of the heater. So when it did ring, John almost jumped out of his seat.
"Hello?" he said after regaining his composure and picking up the phone.
"I've got information on Schmidt's activities," the voice on the other end said. John noted the deepness of it; it must have been one of those things to disguise your voice.
"Who is this?" John said, sitting up from his tired, slouched position in the chair.
"That isn't important," the deep voice replied, "What is important is that I have information regarding Walter Schmidt's plans for you and the others."
"What?" John said, struggling to process this, "What do you mean?"
The voice sighed, and said, "Let me explain everything you need to know; I have my own irrelevant reasons for wanting Schmidt's crime group out of the picture, which means we have a common enemy. I have assets at my disposal that could help you greatly, but you must meet me in person."
"Why?" asked John.
"You do have a brain, yes? So use it. This line isn't secure. Anyone could be listening in on this conversation."
"Okay," said John, feeling rather foolish, "Where do you want me to meet you?"
"Give this message to Luke; I can be found at the place that changed his life forever."
"I don't understand."
"Luke will know what it means. Bring him with you. He can vouch for us."
"How do I know you're telling the truth?" John asked the person, who scoffed.
"If I wanted you dead, I'd have bombed your pizzeria already."
All John heard after that was a click.
John had to take a few minutes to process it all before confronting Luke.
"What's up?" Luke said, entering the office.
"I got a call earlier," John explained, "From someone who claims to have information on how Walter Schmidt plans to move on us."
"What?" Luke replied, "How can you be sure?"
"Truth be told, I can't" admitted John, "But there's something else. He mentioned you in the phone call."
Luke frowned. "What did he say?"
"He said that we can find him at the place and time that changed your life forever."
Luke's eyebrows shot up, and he said nothing for a moment.
"W-who is he?" he asked.
"I don't know, he disguised his voice. But he says he has reasons for wanting Schmidt out of the picture."
He stopped, and looked at Mike with a I-need-answers sort of face.
"The anniversary of my parent's death is two days from now," he said, "They were killed at our house near Los Angeles, where I was rescued by Mike and Walter Schmidt. They were in a gang with my father."
John couldn't hide his surprise. He swore.
"Christ Luke. I had no idea."
"It's okay. I was going to tell you when I was comfortable with it."
"Luke, before you left the gang, did you know anyone who wanted to move against Walter?"
"Schmidt treated most of the people who worked for him like absolute shit," Luke said, "And he's got God-knows how much money. Anyone would want to take him out. I'm surprised it hasn't happened already. If this guy is one of his lieutenants, than he could be a big help."
"Then I'm going," John said, standing up.
"John.." Luke began.
"I understand if you don't want to go, Luke," John said, "So you only have to give me the address."
"It's not that," Luke assured him, "For all we know, this guy could give us up to Walter."
"It's a risk we have to take, Luke," John said, "We can't afford for another siege to happen. We're getting too much undue attention as it is."
Luke looked puzzled. Then John remembered he didn't listen to the news.
"The media's still putting the spotlight on us. It's not good, Luke. If Schmidt sends another three guys to terrorize our customers, then we're in deep shit."
The debate was over; Luke couldn't argue there. If Freddy's went under, he'd be screwed too.
"I hope you're right about this, John."
Luke and John set out for Los Angles the next day. John rarely ventured into the city; he had everything he needed out in the small town where Freddy's was based. If they ever went ahead with opening up elsewhere, he'd probably have to come back. He hated cities; the enormous crowds, shitty traffic, and pollution made the city feel like a haven for evil.
Thankfully, Luke's family had lived just outside of the city, in a cheap house in the hills. Luke had explained that the house was a shithole even when he lived there, but John knew it hadn't aged well. Rubbish was strewn around the tiny yard, which might have once been green grass, but it was now just an ugly shade of brownish-yellow. The windows were boarded up, and a portion of the roof had collapsed into itself.
The front door, however, was wide open. Luke frowned.
"There might be someone in there," he whispered, drawing his gun from the waistband of his jeans. He stepped up to the porch, and stood at one end of the door, while John stood across from him.
See anyone?, John mouthed. Luke peaked inside; the dilapidated hallway was empty, apart from a few planks of wood and pieces of rubbish.
Luke gave a small shake of his head, and John stepped around the door and into the hallway, his head swiveling around to check the living room and dining room. It was a gruesome place; there were blood stains in several places. On the floor, by the open cupboard door. But what made John sick the most was the broken window in the dining room; most of the glass had been smashed out onto the porch, but the glass that remained had the unmistakable tint of dried blood.
The floorboards in the hallway creaked, and John whirled around in time to see the front door open, and someone step out.
"Don't move!" John called out. The stranger froze in the act of stepping into the hallway, and all John saw was one foot clad in a black leather boot.
"I'm not here for trouble!" the newcomer said back.
"Step out from behind the door!" John demanded, raising his gun. The man stepped out, his hands up to show he was unarmed. He was an older man, maybe mid-forties or so. His hair was graying at the sides, and he had a weary look in his eyes, eyes that went wide.
"Luke?" He said, "Is that you?"
"Daniel?" Luke whispered, his jaw dropping.
Before John could interrupt, two black cars pulled up outside. There was the sound of doors opening.
"All three of you drop your weapons are step onto the porch!" A voice yelled, amplified by what seemed to be a megaphone.
"Shit!" the man called Daniel said.
He turned to John and Luke with a sad look in his eyes and said, "Guys, I'm so sorry."