Chapter twelve: Fusion

Foxy eyed the door to Kyle Griffiths' office. The manager wasn't there—it was the middle of the night—and it didn't matter, really. She might need his help if ever she came to a decision, but until then this was her problem to deal with. Never truly erased. That's what Kyle had said about her memories—the memories of her former life, her life with the protos. How long had she been grappling with this one decision, now? Weeks?

She grunted, leaning back in her seat. She didn't feel like doing anything today, but not doing anything was so uneventful even as time crept by. What could she do though? What could she do at night, when there was no one in the restaurant besides herself, Douglas and the other animatronics?

There was a time when she could answer that question with ease.

Her ear twitched when she heard footsteps coming from down the hall. She glanced over to see Mari approaching, like a pale ghost dressed in dark. Huh, she rarely ever came out of her little room unless there was a family meeting.

Foxy let out a gruff chuckle. "Huh. Okay, lay it on me."

Mari tilted her head.

"Yer here to talk more 'bout that Maxwell business?" Foxy said.

"Should I be?" Mari said.

She huffed. "Whatever."

Mari said nothing at first. Then she tentatively took a chair and sat in it with a kind of grace that rivaled Freddy's. She said nothing.

Finally, Foxy gave her a glare. "Ya weren't there when Maxwell beat Dougey with a metal pipe, ya know. Dougey's lucky to be alive if ya ask me. We can't help 'im when he's doin' stuff behind our backs."

Still Mari said nothing.

"But you and the others convinced him anyway," Foxy muttered, looking at the wall, her arms crossed. "He wouldn't-a gone if it weren't for that ridiculous plan you lot came up with."

"This wasn't anyone's intention," Mari said calmly. "We were planning to let him have a bodyguard."

"And that woulda been better?!"

"It would have. What could one human do against one of us?"

"Ya dunno how resourceful humans can be," Foxy muttered.

"Maybe not, no," Mari admitted. "But regardless of what Douglas would've done—of what we would've done—there was a risk attached."

"Not if he stayed back, there wouldn't."

"There would. We don't know what the detective would do if he found out about us. Visiting Blake was simply another risk. One Douglas was willing to take."

"Yeah, well, it didn't do any good."

"Another risk. Not everything yields desirable results, even if you expect it to."

"That's real wise."

A small smile crept on Mari's face. "What I'm trying to say is that, maybe, there wasn't a 'right' answer in this situation."

"Yes, there was."

"That's what everyone wants to be able to say, isn't it?"

"Doug shouldn't-a done anythin' without tellin' us first."

"He and Brunette seem to disagree with that."

"They're wrong."

"I also wish he would've told us," Mari said softly. "But at the same time, I wonder—is it our right to scrutinize everything he does in his daily life? I have my reservations about what happened, but where's the boundary? Where does his personal freedom start and end?"

Foxy shot her a look. What was this, a philosophy debate? "Why're you really here?"

Something grim grew behind Mari's calm eyes. "We just received news. Something happened at the warehouse."


Douglas hurried through the warehouse's door and went up the stairs. In the now-familiar room were four people he didn't recognize, examining a motionless Proto-Freddy and -Bonnie. The two prototronics appeared shut down.

He grimaced when he saw Bonnie's face, mangled beyond recognition. A sting of worry hit him. Was that the mechanics' doing, or Mortar's?

"Hey," he asked one of the men. "Could you tell me where Mr. Afton is?"

The man pointed to one of the doors on the side.

Douglas hurried over and knocked. "Bill?"

He heard the click of a door unlocking. It swung open to reveal Bill Afton. The greying man frowned. "Douglas? What are you doing here?"

Douglas hurried inside and Bill locked the door behind him. Chica's predecessor and namesake sat on the ground, her back against the wall. She looked up at him with haunted eyes.

"My shift just ended," Douglas said. "I got here as soon as I could. Freddy and Bonnie…?"

Afton turned to him. In the dim white light of the room, he looked even more serious. And tired. "They'll live. Worst case, they're going to need new endos."

"You think that'll be necessary?"

"You saw Bonnie's face?"

That was enough of an answer.

Afton gestured to the door. "Those people outside were sent by Griffiths, but they're not used to this. These endos are older models that only a few people have ever had to work with."

"Like you," Douglas said. "Can we ask your old colleagues to come over and help, maybe?"

"Oh, sure—assuming they haven't changed professions, retired or died. I'm not exactly young anymore, kid. Neither are they."

Douglas glanced at Chica. She hadn't said a word the entire time, but her disturbed gaze was fixed on them both.

"Chica," Bill said. "Tell him what you told me."

She slowly glanced up at them. "This… This man snuck inside at night," she started. "We hid. Bonnie couldn't get away in time, so she pretended to be shut down." She glanced to the ground. "He noticed. She freaked out and ran. He tried to leave, but Freddy wouldn't let him."

Freddy wouldn't let him leave? Douglas glanced at Bill uncertainly.

"To subdue him," Bill sighed. "Talk to him, convince him they were harmless… If he knew the girls' secret, it'd be best to have him on our side."

Douglas could believe that. The animatronics could be intimidating—he knew all about that—but as he looked down at the haunted Chica, he couldn't imagine the protos trying to kill anyone. Bill wouldn't condone that, and they knew it. If they could've convinced Paul that they were friendly, maybe he would've stopped his investigation.

"Chica called me right after," Bill said. "I drove over and inspected the damage. Called Kyle; he contacted every mechanic who was willing to work at this hour."

Douglas nodded. Griffiths had called him in the middle of the night, telling him what happened. Douglas had wanted to go to the warehouse immediately, but Griffiths told him no; things were already under control, and Douglas had his own shift to worry about.

"Is there anything else we can do for them?" Douglas softly asked.

"Kyle told me to bring them to the restaurant. I think that's a stupid move; Mortar's coming for you next. But, Kyle said it'd be better than keeping them here."

Douglas paused. Ah… That was a lot to take in. He knew it was necessary though. Griffiths was right; if Mortar returned to the warehouse and spotted the protos again, things would get ugly. What were the chances that he'd strike at the restaurant directly? The warehouse was pretty far removed from any populated parts; the restaurant, on the other hand…

"What if we call the police?" Douglas suggested. "There's no way breaking into a warehouse is legal."

"If we call the cops, they'll find evidence of Mortar shooting his gun. They're going to ask questions and interrogate everyone involved. I'm not about to let that happen."

Douglas sighed and ran a hand through his hair. That would be a risk. Mortar was one thing; the police getting involved with the restaurant? If they found the wrong piece of evidence or caught someone lying, things would only get more difficult. "I'll tell the animatronics at the restaurant," he finally said. "Foxy and Freddy should know about this."

"You do that. I'm going to wrap things up here as quick as I can."

Douglas nodded and turned to leave.

"Wait."

He stopped and glanced back. Chica had been the one to stop him. He looked at her questioningly.

"Foxy's still in the restaurant, isn't she?" Chica said quietly.

"Yes."

Chica nodded, looking down. Douglas waited for her to continue, but she said nothing.

Bill placed a hand on Douglas' shoulder and guided him to the door. Confused, Douglas let it happen. Bill followed him out and closed the door behind them.

Bill paused at Douglas' questioning expression, then sighed. "In case it wasn't obvious, the protos don't like your friends very much."

Douglas frowned. "Why not?"

"They got scrapped and placed in a coma while their replacements stole their stage and their best friend," Bill flatly said.

"But that's not their fault."

"How would you react if you woke up after years of sleeping and found out you got replaced by some 'new and improved' lookalike?"

Douglas fell silent. He found it hard to argue. The protos had been deprived of human interaction their entire lives, even before they were shut down. The only person they really talked to was Bill. They were never employed for any restaurant, and thus never got to interact with any customers like the current animatronics did.

"I'm going to update the others," Douglas finally said.