"Alright then, so who will I be working with?"

Once this question was thrust out in the open, the boss recoiled a bit with distracted confidence.
He knitted his graying brows together, creasing them in something crossed between annoyance and worry.
By proxy, the rest of his demeanor notably shifted.
He slouched back in his chair.

"There are two security guards working here as of now,"

Boss said while piping on his cigar, causing the end to burn red with fresh embers.

"One of them I have no doubt you'll like, the other one you...eh...might like."

Your legs had been crossed before unwinding as a result of peaking interest.
You caught yourself leaning toward his desk in wonder.

"Might like? Why do you say that, sir?"

'I haven't really been around the world, but whatever it is, I'll understand.'

"Well..."

The boss removed the roll from his mouth, expelling a scribbled cloud of white that you almost wrinkled your nose at due to the overwhelming scent of tobacco.

Why people did this was a real mystery to you.

"With this guard in particular, I find that most employees either come to love him or hate him. No in-betweens. It's a bit cosmic, really. It's either one extreme or the other."

'There's nothing about this I understand.'

And you had to admit that was a bit strange.

If you were working among people, you were the kind of person who would always either make friends, or just be in close proximity, or just ignore them.

Meaning that you didn't particularly 'love' or 'hate' anyone you meet (unless it was close friends/family or people who disrespect nature and cats).

So that got you thinking:

What kind of personality could warrant such a polarizing response?

Was this employee annoyingly nice?

Was he a bully to some?

The different possibilities left you somewhat antsy.

"I'll tell you now,"
Boss went on to say,
"Dealing with him will probably be the most difficult part of this job for you. Unless of course you end up liking him. Then that's another story entirely. One that might work in your favor given the nature of his...ahem...friendliness."

Did... Did this worker have autism?
Was that what he was trying to say?
Or was it something else entirely?

"Sorry, but,"
Your eyes darted away anxiously before returning to his, a soft laugh spilling out of you,

"I'm not entirely sure what you mean by all this. But... I've worked with people before. I'm sure I can handle it. Whatever it is."

Boss's eye quirked at your statement.

"That's what I like to hear."

He stood from his chair and maneuvered around the cluttered desk, taking your hand and shaking it firmly.

When he pulled the cigar from between his teeth, a few flecks of ash set alight by fire fell near his chin before evaporating.
It took everything in you not to stick out your tongue in disgust.

He smiled largely at you.

"You seem like a smart girl with a good head on her shoulders. I know I would be wrong to not put my faith in you."

A bit of a heavy statement since you were technically not an employee yet, but you knew better than to do anything other than smile and nod in return.

Why he was putting so much emphasis on a single troubling coworker was beyond you.

Surely he must've been exaggerating.

He wouldn't willingly keep someone prone to mischief on staff when he had the authority to fire them and solve any potential conflict... Right?

None of that mattered though.

One thought lingered longer than the rest, one traced with hope.

You were another step closer to obtaining your first job.

That's what was most important.

No worries. This would be a piece of pizza-flavored cake.

A voice cut you loose of your tangled reminiscing and forced your thoughts into slowdown.

"Here, I got you a piece of cake."

You were still sitting in the boss' office, fixed back in present day, and now Vincent had returned after putting on possibly the most erratic performance you'd ever witnessed in another human being, this time presenting you with a yellow wedge of cake that came complete with plasticware for your convenience.

You could tell by the revolting grin and giant twinkle in his eye that he had every intention to pretend all events from just a few minutes ago never happened.

The cake was a peace offering.

How delightful.

"Why did you get that?"
You asked, though you knew the answer before he even opened his mouth.

"That nice little birthday boy wanted to give you a slice. Said he was sorry for not blowing out all the candles. Otherwise you wouldn't have hurt yourself."

Well, it actually wasn't his fault.
He did blow out all the candles, you had just stuck your finger in the still hot wax.

But you were not in the mood to explain.

If you could roll your eyes any harder they'd have left orbit.

With pursed lips, you accepted the plate with a quick thanks, dropping your eyes down to the porous dessert.

"I don't care about the candle anymore,"

You said, fingers trembling lightly beneath the flimsy material.

"What I do care about is figuring out what's happening here that you refuse to tell me."

Vincent had the nerve to gawk back at you, fueled by pseudo-confusion.
"What ever do you mean, darling?"

You jolted your head up with a snap.

What ever do you mean, darling?!

That was the final straw.

You angrily tossed the plate onto boss' desk, where it skidded several inches before friction saved it from toppling to the floor.

You jumped from the chair and took giant steps toward Vincent, only for him to slowly step away in retaliation.

"Tell me, Vincent. Tell me what the heck-a-hedron's going on here. Right now."

"Babe-"

"DONT FRIKEN CALL ME BABE!"

Vincent held his palms out nervously, as he seemed perplexed by your spontaneous aggression.

"I already told you, you should forget about it. It would be for the best."

"No it wouldn't!"

You came face to face with him, hands near you face in an almost boxer like position, eyes screwed up so that you could glare at him intently.

"Why don't you talk in words instead of your dam dirty lies! Just tell me: Were people in danger a few minutes ago? Was Freddy Fazbear going to attack them? Why would he be programmed to do that? I want answers. I want them now."

The instant you said the titular character's name, Vincent's brows fell sharply, darkening his eyes to an almost violent degree.

His nervous grin tanked at the corners, reverting his mouth into a frown that still bore teeth.

"I'm warning you, darling. You don't want to get into this with me."

The pet name alone took control of your greater judgment and tempted you into standing on your toes, subtracting even more distance between you and your purple coworker.

Your attacker.
Your menace.
Your everything rolled into one infuriating package.

"Call me another pet name or talk again and I'll gut punch you."

At this, Vincent's anger seemed to multiply by the thousands.

In just a few seconds flat, his expression was taken over by venom that made him near unrecognizable.

For a split second you anticipated a strike across the face, which you were ready to defend against.

Given his behavior earlier while he was trying to tend to your hand, you already knew the incident with Freddy was touchy subject matter, but you didn't care enough to parade around it any longer.

You knew you deserved answers, even if he thought otherwise.

It wouldn't be the first time Vincent was wrong about something.

"Uh, pardon me?"

Both you and Vincent snapped free from your bubble of tension, turning your heads at the sound of a foreign voice.

The two of you shared a synonymous "Huh?"
Upon noticing the face looking back and forth between you.

A very modest looking boy dressed in pale clothing stood in the doorway, scratching the back of his head while staring in confusion.

Or at least, he would be, if he'd been given eyes.

The upper hemisphere of his face was naught but a large, solid black question mark that seemed to be made with ink.
Similar to Scott, this did not render him blind.
He seemed quite aware of his surroundings, though still not entirely sure what circumstances they accounted for.

"Sorry, I believe I have the wrong office,"
The boy said in a gentle voice.

"I didn't mean to disturb... er... whatever's going on here. I'll be going now."

Just as he went to leave and pull the door shut behind him, you retracted yourself from Vincent and ran toward the boy.

"Wait!"

The boy stalled in his steps, his brows shifting with slight reluctance.

You cleared your throat.

"If you're looking for the boss, you've got the right room. Boss is uh...he's..."

"Dealing with Freddy,"

Vincent finished for you, earning stares from you as well as the other kid.

You couldn't help but zero in on his reply.

Dealing with Freddy?

What on earth was that supposed to mean to him?

Your stepped back when Vincent passed you and instead closed in on the boy, hands on his hips, leaning lower to reach his level.

"And just who might you be?"
He asked, examining him like he were something on a petri dish.

You wanted to intervene, to tell Vincent that he was being a little harsh, but you were stopped by his response.

"I-I'm Jeremy. Jeremy Fitzgerald,"

The boy answered, visibly resisting the urge to back away.

Vincent was already giving him bad vibes, as he was known to do.

"I was asked to show up here at this hour so I could get some training for the night guard position. I'm starting tonight, you see."

"What?"
Vincent flew away in shock.
"You work here?!"

"As of today, yes..."

Jeremy's head dropped to the floor, his shaggy brown hair concealing part of his face.

He was bashful.
And you knew the feeling.

Contrary to Vincent's mostly negative reaction, you approached this Jeremy with spirit and innocent curiosity.

It was nice to find someone just as out of the loop as you, perhaps to an even more severe degree.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Jeremy! (Y/N)'s the name, and being normal's my game. I'm also fairly new here!"
You thrust out your hand to shake.

"Oh!"

The punctuation mark on Jeremy's face wobbled slightly, as if itching towards that of exclamation.
He lifted his own hand to shake.

"Well that's just great! Now I won't be all alone!"

"Oh hell no."

Vincent's footsteps crept up on you from behind and before you could do anything, you were yanked back by the collar of your shirt.
Vincent held you near, as if dangling you.

"This?"

Vincent pointed a finger at you, his wide eyes stinging Jeremy like bowls of acid.

"This is not up for grabs. This is mine. So you best learn your place here before you mess up hard because trust me, I'm not a fun person to deal with when angry."

"Wha...?" Jeremy's mouth dropped at the accusation.

You felt yourself tense in irritation before struggling to distance yourself from Purple Man's grasp, stomping on his foot until he released you and you backed up to stand next to Jeremy like a protective mother.

It was as though the delusion beginning at the scene of the car crash had become his twisted reality.

Which it hadn't.

"Are you for real right now Vincent!? Every thing you just said is bulshavic! I am not yours, and you are fun to deal with never. He hasn't been here five minutes and you're already going to act like a greedy hog monkey!?"

"I'll say."

All three of you paused as another person stepped into the room, in a manner that couldn't be considered intrusive being he was its owner.

Boss was standing with his arms crossed.
His foot tapped impatiently.

"Sir!"
Jeremy gasped, whirling around and actually bowing toward Boss like he were some kind of deity.
Both you and Vincent traded quizzical glances.

"I hope I'm not late, sir! I'm ready to begin training so I can start my job tonight!"

This kid was starting to remind you of Aang.

Boss was obviously humbled by the gesture, though instead of responding directly he quickly met eyes with Vincent again.
His nose twitched.

"Vincent, go home."

"Excuse me?"

Your eyes widened and you groaned inside your head.

Oh boy, here we go again.

"I said go home. It would be ludicrous to have four security guards working the day shift. I don't have that kind of money."

Vincent was quick to resist the order. "No."

"What did you say to me?"

"I said no."
He was blatant.
"Send Scott home. It's as simple as that."

"Scott's the one doing the training, smartass."

"(Y/N) and I can train him. Hell, I'll show him the ropes and she can watch the customers. But I'm not going home."

Oh jeez.

You couldn't help but bring a hand up and shield your eyes in secondhand embarrassment.

It's as though Boss was demanding a repeat of what happened the last time Vincent was told to leave early.

"Vincent, do you want to keep working the day shift with (Y/N)?" Boss asked.

A stupid question was awarded a stupider answer.

"Obviously. What does any of that have to do with this?"

Boss crossed the threshold and wandered toward Vincent with a very clear superiority complex.
Vincent was far from intimidated, though his forwardness seemed to falter.

"Scott can't work the night shift every single night. So unless of course you insist on taking some of the workload off him and instead claiming it for yourself, with those hours specifically-"

"Say no more. I'm on my way out."

"That's what I thought."

Well, that was easy.

Vincent was suddenly moving past him, having lost any and all theatrical expression, not even putting in the effort to wear a lazy smirk.
He left the office, his aura reeking of defeat.

Meanwhile, your head spun with new questions while roping in the cobwebs of old ones; why on earth was Vincent so against doing the night shift?

Did he have a fear of that just as much as the needles?

Or was it something else entirely?

The last time you asked that question to yourself it ended up being the later.

You turned to Boss and was about to speak until you realized that you were all alone.

Great, you zoned out again.

Looking around, you figured that Boss was taking Jeremy to Scott to begin his Night Shift training, which left you to continue your job, except this time, purple pain free!

With a satisfied sigh, you walked off in another direction of the building. Alone.
Where no one would follow you.
You took pride in your solitude.
You might have even been in dire need of it.

But, once you passed an unmarked storage closet that you'd somehow failed to notice up until today, your stomach clenched, your breath hitching with surprise.

You had remembered reading about the extra content of the article, the part that had stated that the animatronics that held the corpses were, in fact, kept in a storage unit in the new restaurant, away from the public eye.

You had thought that this was just another rumor, but now you were starting to think it was not.

One could only guess what was hidden behind that door.

You gaped at it in silence.

A new terror was leaking into you, accompanied by a few images of gore that shifted in faded transparency behind your eyes.

And suddenly, you didn't want to be quite so alone any more.

But that's the way it meant, and had to be.

Jeremy Fitzgerald was, for the most part, completely tolerable in the few times you and him encountered one another during the day.

He was too busy preoccupied with Scott, who gave him a tour (a real one, not one that ended in a creepy closet) before explaining to him the mechanics of working the night shift and using the security cameras to his advantage.

You remembered hearing these words in passing, and suddenly the little black devices mounted in the corner of every room became of great interest.

Their lenses swiveled side to side, watching all the activity beneath them.

You noticed the one near the stage and shot it a curious glare.

Had it captured your interaction with Freddy?

What would become of that footage?

Would the only documents of it be discarded, or purposely destroyed?

You had a feeling that, even though it'd had such a grand impact on you, the contents of it would more than likely get swept under the radar, dismissed as nothing more than a tiny malfunction in Freddy's software when you suspected it was so much more.

As for Freddy, he was a no-show the rest of the day.

You had no idea what became of him, and you decided against asking your colleagues.
The stage was left to Chica and Bonnie, who still put on a show even though a huge chunk of their performances was met with awkward silence, since when they spoke, there was no Freddy there to answer them.
And given Freddy had most of the dialogue and singing, it made for a lot of discomfort.

Many people noticed Freddy's absence but none of them thought to approach the workers and ask upfront what the reasoning was, and for this you were grateful since you knew you'd have a very minimal response.

You didn't know all that much yourself after all.

Time advanced sluggishly, but before long it was eight and you were dismissed by Scott.

"You gonna be okay on your way home?"

He asked as you proceeded toward the exit.

It was just the two of you, as Jeremy had his attention snagged at the prize corner where he was poking a large box, one sealed tight with a handle on its side.

"Yeah, no worries bruh"
You said quickly.

You honestly thought about staying a while longer and having a chat, just you and Scott.

It may have been useful in the long run as far as learning some things about the restaurant went.

But you decided it was unfair and unnecessary to ask Scott just because Vincent had left you desperate for an explanation.

You figured you'd just find out on the computer, just like the first time.

Scott probably wouldn't feel comfortable telling you anyway.

With half-fast goodbyes, you left the restaurant and made your way to your car.

Once at the door, you quickly looked around in search of a purple stalker, but found the parking lot completely empty.

Relieved, you stepped into the car, switched on the engine and drove away while blasting music to keep your head from drowning itself with questions.

The sky was a lot bluer than what you were accustomed to given the lateness of the hour.

You were happy you could be a little less careful, as traffic was sparse this evening, so you were allowed to stare off into space every so often and notice details such as this.

You hummed along to the lyrics of the song, consciously aware you were only doing it to distract yourself.

Distract yourself form today's events.

But you couldn't help thinking about it.

By the time you had driven up to your house, you had sorted it out with yourself; a minor-major malfunction,

That what it was.

Everything happened because of a minor-major malfunction.

And that's how you were going to see the situation until someone came clean.

Reviews and Criticism are always appreciated!