A/N: Hey everyone, I just wanted to clarify a few things about the story going forward. As much as I like the animatronic characters, this story isn't about them, and therefore there will be no POV for them. Furthermore, the story will be going more and more AU as time goes by, simply because I think the FNAF lore as it is can get quite convoluted, and doesn't necessarily make for the best story. Therefore, I am telling the story roughly as I think it should be told, but apologies if this causes any offence to anyone; it is simply for the best of the story, in my opinion.

Anyway, on with tonight's fare!

Chapter Seven: Lasagne (1985)

Day 534.

Andrew woke up as usual, eyes firmly planted upon the mould-encrusted ceiling of his cell. The sun was streaming in through the cracks in his curtains, illuminating the crunchy stone pave that composed the floor and the sink/mirror that was built against the wall - an installation with an unfortunate tendency to drip incessantly throughout the night.

Climbing out of bed, Andrew splashed water onto his face from the sink, just as the hatch of his cell was drawn open, and a bowl of cement-like porridge was slid through.

Breakfast.

The voice of his permanently-tired jailor resounded through the latch as he stooped to pick up his morning slop.

"Visitation is at 11am, Andrew. Make sure you're dressed by then."

Andrew's weary face lit up like the spark of a firework.

Visitation was today?

Somehow he managed to forget; every first Monday of the month, Milford came to visit him.

It was a strange thing to have forgotten over the far more tedious factors of his life that sapped the joy and life from his body, but he wasn't too irritated by his own incompetence. It was, after all, a lovely surprise.

Andrew dressed quickly, but was disappointed when he read on the clock in the corridor outside that it was only 10.06. Keen to skip past the remaining 54 minutes of waiting, he picked up the book that rested on the floor beneath his bunk and started to read.

'Alice in Wonderland.' A smarter man might have realised the unsubtlety of distributing such a colourful book throughout a prison for the criminally-insane, but Andrew was not a smarter man. He resided in a state of blissful ignorance; a whimsical white world where daily life was a checklist and surprise visitations were the highlight of the week.

Eventually, the time came and Andrew was escorted from his cell by two guards armed with batons to a room on the east wing of the facility. The visitation room was easily the best-furnished area of the prison that Andrew had ever seen, although such sections of the facility such as the gymnasium and communal showers were unsurprisingly still shrouded in fog to his incurious eyes. Consistent good behaviour (essentially acting like a sheep for his entire stay) had warranted Andrew the right to speak to Milford face-to-face, instead of through a glass pane surrounded by grumpy guards.

When Andrew arrived in the hallway and saw Milford already waiting for him, smiling like he did every time he had visited, Andrew's mouth curled into a beacon of joy.

"Mifford!" he called, practically running up to his old colleague.

"Hi, Andy!" Milford greeted, embracing the lean man as he thundered against him.

Andrew drew back, his smile replaced with a confused stare. "Mifford, what happen to your face?"

Milford chuckled. "It's called a beard, Andy. And I've had it for months now."

Andrew grinned toothily, apparently remembering his previous visits. "Oh, yeah. How's Fredbear?"

They say old habits die hard, but Andrew's apparent refusal to revise the name of the restaurant for which he had worked nearly three years bordered on schizophrenia. Nonetheless, Milford just smiled in response and said "It's okay. Boring, unrewarding; the usual. I'm aiming to quit before the end of the year..."

Andrew giggled. "You say that every year!"

In fact, Milford had said this on every single visit. Funny the things that Andrew chose to recall.

"Although the restaurant is closed today."

Andrew looked startled, like a fat hedgehog peering in the direction of a lip-licking fox. "Why?"

"Some kind of missing child case. Someone went missing during Saturday's shift… They probably wandered outside, because there's no trace of the kid in the restaurant, but they have to carry out forensics and such all the same."

Milford noticed Andrew's gaze was now dropped to the floor; the very picture of frightened contemplation.

"It'll be fine," Milford assured him. "They're not going to close us down or anything…. In fact, Joe said that-"

"S'all wrong, Mifford," Andrew said softly. "I can feel it."

Milford frowned. "Why'd ya say that?"

Andrew shuddered slightly, and it was with great shock that Milford realised he was crying.

"It's all so wrong…" he whimpered.

Milford fumbled awkwardly. He wondered if the toll of prison life was finally starting to break Andrew. He was wondering whether to call to a nurse when Andrew suddenly rose up from his chair, his face contorted by terror, and grabbed Milford firmly by the shoulders.

"Save them!" he cried manically. "Save them!"

Milford was horrified, and tried to prise Andrew's hands away. "What are you talking about?"

By this time, orderlies had started to flood into the hall. Andrew was grabbed by two white-coated men and pulled away from Milford. Another doctor, a short Asian man who Milford assumed to be Andrew's psychiatrist, put a hand on Andrew's forehead and shushed him, before the whole parade was marched back through the open doors and out into the corridor.

"Sorry about that, Mr. Barnes," another whitecoat said. "He's usually so calm. Something must have agitated him."

Milford blinked hard to relinquish the grip that bewilderment had around his neck. He couldn't help but agree with the whitecoat... Something had really set him off, and he wondered if it was finally time for Andrew to be administered medication.

And yet… he had never seen a man so scared in his life.

"I'm telling you officer, here at Freddy Fazbear's, customer service and security is our top priority!"

The officer that James was sternly addressing snorted; apparently, he was amused by this statement. "Among other priorities, like covering your own ass."

His partner, a less witty man, tried to calm James. "I'm sure we'll be out of your hair soon enough, but we have to be thorough. This kid's parents are worried sick."

"I can't begin to imagine what they're going through," James admitted. "But this kind of ongoing investigation stirs up bad press… Our franchise is already stagnating; we don't need a full decline."

The second officer, now dusting the wall for prints, had nothing helpful to reply. James, trying his best to retain a certain level of professional conduct, took the blue-tinged floor plans for the restaurant from the table in front of him, rolled them open, and pointed a chubby finger at them insistently.

"What you see is what you get," James explained. "This kid cannot be in the restaurant."

The officer turned his head. "We know that, Mr. Hill. But there could be forensic traces that we can pick up on. Little kids don't just vanish into thin air without leaving a trace of their existence behind."

"Jesus Christ, what an ugly thing…."

The first officer had wandered into the backroom, and was now face-to-face with Chica, the jarringly-yellow chicken animatronic. Shining his flashlight into the robot's soulless glassy eyes as though he were expecting one of them to twitch, the officer remarked again.

"It's got teeth… A duck with teeth. I mean, really? Doesn't that terrify the kids?"

James closed his eyes, swallowing the indignant remark that had threatened to pop out of his mouth.

"It's a chicken, and no, the kids love her."

"That's surprising," The officer chuckled, scanning Chica's face once over with the flashlight just to be sure that there was no hidden evidence upon its textured face.

The forensic search continued for another hour or so, by which time James had taken to sitting out on the curb and staring at his fingernails, perhaps in the masochistic notion that willing hard enough would prompt them to slide out from under his skin. When the officers came outside to bid him farewell, he had one nail in the corner of his mouth, which he quickly withdrew, as though a scolded child.

"Alright, Mr. Hill," the second officer declared. "We're done here. For now."

"Did you find anything suspicious?" James demanded, polite demeanour now mostly melted away into bitter smarminess.

"Just one fucking creepy kid's restaurant," the first officer said. "Come on, Pete. Let's go."

The two officers got into their wagon and rolled off in a cloud of dust, leaving James to straighten his suit and examine his watch.

3:46.

There was still time to catch the late lunch rush.

"Can I get you to work the night shift tonight, Barnes?"

A simple question had never been quite so jarring in Milford's entire life. Almost immediately, his vision of his evening plans – order in a Chinese and surprise Jenny at home with a bouquet of flowers – crumbled into dust and blew away into the air.

As though sensing the panic rising in his employee, James interjected again with "Paid overtime, of course."

Milford frowned, debating whether the prospect of losing a job he fully-intended to leave soon was worth it for a cardboard box full of egg-fried rice and a slightly more enthusiastic bedside response from his girlfriend.

"I-"

"The night watchman hasn't been responding to calls lately," James explained. "But what with this police investigation and all, he's probably just decided that this job isn't for him anymore. Still, I'm going to fire his ass if he ever shows up here again."

Milford sighed inwardly. If he was ever going to move up in the world, he needed James on his side. A good reference was often the difference between make and break in a competitive job market.

"I suppose I co-"

"Great!" James roared, clasping Milford's hand in commendation, as though he were the developer of a successful cancer vaccine. "Joe has worked the night shift before. It's not particularly complicated but I'm sure he'd be happy to talk you through it."

As it turned out, Joe was not happy - happy to talk him through it, but not happy in general. Sadness seemed to run through his veins like an icy blue blood.

"There are just a few things you have to know, really" he began. "The animatronics were never given a specific 'night mode', and so when it gets quiet, they go try to move to where the people are, and in this case, that's the office. You know the animatronics better than anyone here… Just endoskeletons with fluffy costumes on, but still… Just, be careful. You wouldn't want one of these things falling onto the door or the floor… Tripping hazards, ya know?"

Milford wasn't really listening. Instead, he was fixated on the grim expression on Joe's face. "Are you alright, man?"

Joe heaved his shoulders and let loose with a gusty sigh.

"No, man. I'm really not. I'm thinking about taking some time off soon… This missing child case is stirring up bad thoughts about… well, you know… Personal issues right now…"

"Go, dude," Milford encouraged. "Nobody can argue; and, if James tries, sod the bastard."

Joe smiled but he didn't laugh; a far cry from his usual behaviour. "I think it's this place too… There's only so long you can look into those stupid robots' googly eyes and smiley faces before you want to stick a fork into their head… Not everything was made to be happy."

Milford watched Joe remorsefully as he trudged through the door, before turning his gaze to a discarded Freddy Fazbear head resting on the shelf.

Joe was right. Working at this place was like Stockholm syndrome. It suddenly occurred to Milford how strange it was that he had worked in one place for so long – especially when fellow employees like Jenny, Hai and Wendy had long since packed up and left.

What was it about this place that kept him here, like a moth to a golden wick?

But such thoughts soon dissolved into trivia as day turned to night and, soon enough, Milford's night shift was upon him.

The one thing Joe had neglected to mention about the night shift was absolutely monotonous it really was.

Sure, the sight of the darkened corridors that seemed to extend into eternity on his flickering monitor screen were initially fearful to behold, but as soon as he realised that his job simply required him to sit in a chair until 6am in the morning and occasionally look at the monitors, he soon regretted his decision to take the shift. Every so often, an animatronic would wander outside the door of his office and stand ominously still as it stared at the door, before patrolling back to its original position, which was about the extent of excitement that Milford experienced in the first two or so hours of the shift.

It was roughly 2:30am when Camera 7 started to malfunction.

Milford had taken to reading a local newspaper he had bought early the previous day. The headline was, unsurprisingly, the missing child case, or, as the newspaper eloquently put it, "Freddy FazFear: Child Goes Missing in Family Restaurant." After skipping over that particular story, which had featured an unsavoury interview with Ramses, Milford turned to the sports section, and began to flick through the statistics.

That was when he heard the loud boom echo down the corridor. It was the sound of a fuse blowing out, which wasn't an uncommon noise in Milford's line of work. Immediately, Milford looked up, and the grey static across Camera 7's screen caught his eye like the sight of a gold nugget in a mound of earth.

"What the-?" he began, before his voice petered out at the hearing of a much more disturbing noise from somewhere in the restaurant.

"Where are we going, Freddy?"

It was a child's voice. There could be no doubt. Milford practically leapt out of his seat, throwing open his office door and shining his torch out into the murky corridor.

"Just be quiet!" ordered another, much deeper voice.

Milford bit his lip and stepped out into the corridor, calling "Who's there?"

Deathly silence followed. Milford, now thoroughly on the edge of his comfort zone, looked back at his open office door wistfully, before swallowing the rock in his throat and moving further out into the darkness.

Andrew opened his eyes, a terrified whimper blurting out of his mouth.

He'd had the dream again. The dream. The one with that creepy toy – a horrific thing, with vacuous black eyes, pale white wooden flesh and a curved smile that seemed to relish in his discomfort.

His sheets were soaked with cold sweat, so he climbed out of bed and moved towards his sink. Splashing water on his face and chest, Andrew tried to calm himself.

It was only a dream, after all. Dreams can't hurt you. Just like his mother had always said.

His breathing slowly began to return to normal, his chest puffing in and out at a regulated pace. He was just about to sit back on the edge of his bed when he heard the lock of his cell door turn with a metallic groan.

"Huh," he whispered aloud, watching with both fear and longing as the door swung open, revealing an empty corridor and the sound of a gentle clacking.

Tentatively, he approached the door. The closer he got to the open corridor, the more he started to feel ecstatic glee, the thought of escaping his nightmares now within his sweaty grasp.

A smile started to spread across his face; an expression that stopped abruptly when he reached the doorframe and saw what was lying at his feet.

Milford walked slowly, his sense of direction spiralling outwards frantically as he tried to pinpoint the direction from which the ominous sounds had emerged.

He reached the storeroom and paused, his hand freezing indecisively on the door handle. Pressing his ear against the door did not grant him any deeper perception of sound, although he was now more acutely-aware of the throbbing of blood in his head. Eventually, his body tensed and he pulled on the handle, swinging it open to reveal a room straight out of a child's nightmares.

The animatronics stood together in a line like recruits for a robot army, still as bottled water. Milford noticed, much to his disconcertion, that Bonnie's head was slightly tilted to the right, as though he had been knocked at some point during a nightly stroll. Although perfectly understandable, the sight of his costume in such an unkempt state only further emphasised the cold, unfeeling steel of the skeleton beneath and further alienated onlookers from the vision of the rabbit as a cuddly kid's entertainer.

Perhaps out of some perceived duty to the restaurant, or simply a desire for uniformity, Milford strode over to the animatronic, and straightened its head.

The image of the rabbit's empty face would remain permanently etched in Milford's long-term memory; for it was at that very second that his hands left the animatronic that he heard a sound that sent nauseating shivers all through his body.

From the supply closet right next to him, a girl screamed. And not just an 'I got chased by a dog in the park and want my mummy' kind of scream. It was a guttural, terror-stricken call that could only come out of a situation of mortal peril.

Milford exploded through the supply closet door, and the first thing he saw was blood. Crimson puddles all over the floor the stony tiled floor.

So distracted was he by the sight of the sanguinary spillage that he only noticed the rush of gold fur when it was far too late to react.

Golden Freddy punched him square in the jaw and he went sprawling to the ground, pain rocketing in his heavily-vibrating skull. He tried to stumble to his feet, but was grounded once again by an overhead smash to the back of his head by a paw that felt as though it were made of stone.

As Milford's vision started to whiten, the memories of the past few days came rushing back to him, as though to take him in their arms and carry him away to something better.

Jenny's smile when he had brought her toast and marmalade for breakfast…

Joe's downtrodden smile as he had assured him his emotional support…

And Andrew's face that day in the prison. Contorted, agonised, fear…

Save them.

"You can't," Golden Freddy chuckled, before his foot came down on Milford's head and there was nothing but the void.

TO BE CONTINUED….