Freddy Fazbear's Pizza - Tuesday, December 14th, 1993

Maxwell ventured into the building that morning and quietly made his way to the locker room to get ready for his shift. On his way over, he bumped into Anthony, who was busy hanging his coat.

The redhead smiled warmly at his friend. "Hello, hello! How are you on this fine morning?"

Maxwell blinked distractedly. "I'm uh... fine."

"Ah, wonderful!" He clearly didn't seem to notice the subtle discomfort on his face.

He continued to his own locker, a few away from his co-worker's, and proceeded to hang up his own coat and grab his security uniform. He snapped the locker shut and shuffled off to change. Anthony said something that he wasn't paying attention to. After getting ready, he returned to the locker and haphazardly stuffed his clothes in. Much to his surprise, Anthony was still there, spiking up the front of his hair in the mirror. Seeing Maxwell behind him, he beamed.

"All ready to go?"

He nodded; something was clearly 'off' about his expression.

"Hey... Are you alright?" He asked carelessly, more focused on his hair than on Maxwell.

Before he could react, Anthony found himself being roughly turned around and shoved against the wall beside the mirror. Soon after, he felt the pressure of a hand on his throat, pinning him in place. Maxwell held him at an arm's length, glaring into his eyes with a crazed gleam.

His eyes widened in fear as he weakly choked out his co-worker's name. As he attempted to sneak his hand up to his neck, he felt the point of a sharp object start to press into his stomach.

"Stop," Maxwell spat. "Move, and the blade goes in. Got it?"

"O-Okay, okay... I... I w-won't..." He choked, lowering his hand back down to his side. He feared that resistance would lead to his demise. Maybe he'd be able to hold out until someone came in.

Anthony couldn't help but wonder exactly why this was happening to him. He couldn't think of when he'd done anything to upset Maxwell so much. Last he checked, they were good friends...

"Why?" he shouted. "How could you, Howard?"

"W-What are you t-talking ab-"

He put some pressure on the blade, using enough force to draw some blood. His face went pale as he felt the warm liquid begin to trail down his stomach. The man on the other end of the weapon could clearly see the fear in his eyes. He knew from the sadistic smile he saw spread across Maxwell's face for a moment.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. I know what you did."

Anthony's thoughts briefly trailed off to Dianne. What would she do? He was ready to cry at the mere thought of leaving her, never mind permanently. As much as he hoped he'd get out of this alive, his hope was fading rapidly with every moment that passed. He gulped nervously and thought about what he would say. After all, it could be the difference between life and death.

"Maxwell... I-I don't know what you're talking about."

His expression changed from one of lunacy to one of worry. "You betrayed me! You turned me in! Now they're after me because of you!"

He felt the hand tighten around his throat, making breathing even more difficult. Anthony was taken aback, shocked by what he was being accused of. What was with colleagues making outlandish accusations as of late? First it was Mike, now it was Maxwell...

"I-I didn't turn you in, anywhere..."

Anthony felt Maxwell twist the tip of the blade, drawing more blood and causing him considerable pain. It was hard for him to hide how much it hurt, as he cringed. He was surprised he had managed to keep his voice quiet, despite the immense discomfort.

"You're not fooling anyone." For a moment, he withdrew the blade.

He sighed in relief, and attempted once more to move Maxwell's hand. Unfortunately, he was caught.

"You little bitch!" Without hesitation, he slashed Anthony's right leg open, cutting deep into it.

He screamed in agony as his leg began to burn with pain. His knee gave out, applying more pressure to his neck as his body's weight settled. He could no longer breathe.

"Only you could betray your friend."

Anthony tried to breathe and reply, but could do neither. He could only hope that Maxwell would let go before it was too late. He tried once more to claw at the hand, but it was useless.

"You're a redhead, everyone knows you don't have a soul," Maxwell growled. "No one will miss you."

He shut his eyes tightly and waited for the end. Yet, instead of feeling the knife pierce his skin once more, he felt the hand's grip relax. Anthony tumbled to the floor, gasping and coughing.

Maxwell's eyes widened as he looked down at his bloodied hands. It was as if he were in a trance, and had just come to his senses, realizing what he had done. He put his knife away and fled from the locker room, taking off out the back door and abandoning Anthony.

He found himself left alone to bleed out. He hoarsely cried out as he used his arms and uninjured leg to drag himself to help. He didn't make it far before Jeremy came in, looking around the room. He could only guess that he'd heard his scream and was searching for the source. Almost stepping on him, Jeremy found Anthony. He stared in shock and confusion.

"H-Help…" Anthony croaked.

Jeremy continued to stare, clearly thinking but not acting. Despite the serious brain trauma, he was far from stupid. He just had trouble articulating his thoughts and responding appropriately to his environment. Of course, any response would have been more helpful than the blank expression he was receiving. Anthony could only wait and hope that he'd eventually do something helpful. After at least minute of hesitation, Jeremy offered a hand to him. Shakily, he took it and, with his help, stood without putting weight on his right leg.

He coughed before speaking. "Go to Mr. Fazbear…"

Jeremy nodded and started to move out of the room. With some help, he brought him to the office. Anthony weakly tapped on the door, bringing the boss' attention to them. His eyes widened in horror at the sight before him. Jeremy looked between Anthony and Thomas, trying to decide what to do.

"W-What happened?" Thomas stammered.

"I-I, um…" Jeremy mumbled.

"Take your time," his boss encouraged.

"F-Found him."

He nodded, stood, and took Anthony from him. Despite his efforts to be careful, he heard him groan in pain from the movement. "Call your wife. You may go home early. You'll still be paid for your shift, of course."

Jeremy looked down and quietly left the room, leaving Thomas to deal with his injured employee. He set him down with his back propped up against the wall, mindful of his injury and made his way to the phone on his desk, calling 9-1-1 without a second thought. Once he ended the call, he went to Anthony's side and pressed his jacket to the gash in his leg, bringing about a sharp gasp.

"So, how did this happen?"

"M-Maxwell…" Anthony cringed from the pain. "H-He tried to kill me."

Mr. Fazbear became worried. "Where is he?"

"I-I don't know…" He coughed and rubbed at his throat, which had begun to bruise.

"We'll find him, I'm sure." He met Anthony's eyes. "For now, just hold out until the paramedics arrive."

An Alleyway - Tuesday, December 14th, 1993

Maxwell had run as fast as he could from Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, which proved to be rather difficult in the cold winter air and due to his smoking habit. He'd only managed to get a few intersections away before he had to stop, ducking into an alleyway to take refuge from the blustering wind. He began to shake from both the cold and a strong cigarette craving. As he paced around the cement shelter, he dug his hand into his pocket to grab a smoke from the pack.

"Only six left…" he muttered to himself. Yet, he knew he needed one right at that moment. Slowly, he slid one out of the pack and lit it with his lighter. Maxwell wrapped his free arm around his torso in an attempt to retain some of his body heat.

He took a long drag and tried to calm himself down. He reasoned that he was out of the restaurant, so he'd have some time to escape. They'd be looking for him for sure, especially after what he'd done to Anthony. The thoughts of what would happen to him if he was found scared him.

After finishing the cigarette, he looked left then right and carried on his way. Snow has started to fall, nestling into his hair as he continued to distance himself from his workplace. This time, he walked quickly instead of running. Maxwell noticed that he was splattered with blood from the incident, so he did his best to take back roads. It would take him longer to get home, but at least that way he would avoid the scrutiny of the general population.

When he finally got back to his apartment, he welcomed the toasty embrace of the heated indoors. He casually, as if it were a common occurance, went to the kitchen sink and washed the blood off of his hands. Afterwards, he started preparing to make himself some toast. As he was placing the bread into the metal slots, he felt something brush against his leg. He didn't need to look down to know that it was his cat, hearing the trill-like meow of greeting and the sensation of small paws stepping on his toes. He cringed a little as he felt claws dig into his foot.

Maxwell pushed the lever down and went to his bedroom to change. He took off his shirt and held it up, frowning at the red stains smeared across the steel-blue fabric, namely at the ends of the sleeves. He sighed and tossed it on his unmade bed. He changed into a t-shirt and jeans, taking the soiled button-down with him to the bathroom sink, which he filled with hot water to soak the garment in.

Hearing the toaster pop made him smile to himself a little as he dunked the shirt into the water and returned to the kitchen. Nothing smelled nicer than the aroma of a crunchy piece of bread waiting to be buttered and eaten.

Once he had his toast, he curled up in the sofa and put on Child's Play. As bizarre as it seemed, slasher movies usually calmed Maxwell down. Not long after the start of the film, he felt the cat headbutt his foot. Smiling, he set his plate down on the coffee table and scooped the feline into his arms.

"Nice of you to come see me," he said softly. He turned his attention back to the screen and scratched behind the cat's ears. She seemed to like it, leaning into his touch.

Just as the movie was getting good, it dawned upon him: hot water doesn't remove blood stains, it sets them. He paused it and went to the sink, swearing under his breath as he saw the garment, just as dirty as before. He drained the water and began to scrub at the stains, but they refused to budge.

He dropped the uniform shirt back in the sink. "How the hell am I going to explain this to Mr. Fazbear?" Maxwell sighed. "Maybe I can tell him I lost it or something..."

The phone began to ring. As much as he enjoyed talking to his girlfriend, Haruka, he was in no mood to do so today. Cautiously, he picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hello, hello," Maxwell heard hoarsely from the other end. There was only person who would ever start a conversation like that.

"Anthony…"

The man's voice brightened a little. "I'm glad you answered the call. Uh, I wanted to check on you. I've been worried about you."

"Worried about me? Why?"

"Uh, well," Anthony had to stop to cough. "It's not like you to… act like that."

"It's not like anyone to act like that," he snapped.

"C-Calm down, I'm not trying to pick a fight."

"What, then?"

"I just wanted to talk to you."

"Yeah, I cut you up. What else is there to talk about?" Maxwell replied shortly.

"Just…" Anthony sighed. "Why, Maxwell? Why were you so angry?"

He tightened his grip on the phone. "I knew you betrayed me."

He coughed several times. "I-I still don't know what you mean by that…"

"Quit playing dumb, Howard." He growled. "You and I both know you turned me in to the cops."

"F-For what? I have no idea w-what you're talking about!"

Maxwell twirled the cord around his finger and sat at the kitchen table. "Aw, come on, you must think I'm pretty stupid, don't you? Well, I'm not. I know that you know. You know everything there is to know about Freddy's. There's hardly a secret that you don't know."

The line remained silent for several moments before Anthony spoke once again, his voice barely above a whisper. "Oh God, you don't mean…"

"Go on," he taunted.

"Y-Your name isn't Maxwell Richmond… is it?"

He laughed darkly. "Smart, aren't you? What was my name, then?"

"I-I, uh…"

"I've got time."

Anthony sounded as if he'd just seen a ghost. "P-P-Porfirio…?"

He smiled, "Missed me?"

"I-I thought you were-"

"In jail?" Porfirio chuckled. "Not anymore. I hated it in there."

Again, the call went quiet, save for the occasional cough from Anthony.

"They warned me about you. They told me you'd turn me in." He paused. "Let's make a deal. If you keep that big mouth of yours shut, especially around Ol' Fazbear, I won't finish what I started. I like you, Howard, so don't make me get rid of you."

"I w-won't say anything…"

"Good, so we can put this behind us," Porfirio replied. "It's good to know that I can trust you."

"Yeah, uh…"

"What? I'm only telling you the truth. It's nice to have someone else to talk to, someone who knows who I am. Someone I trust. It got lonely, just talking to Kowalski and Them. But now I have you." He sounded genuinely happy.

Anthony sounding a little distracted and uncomfortable. "Listen, uh, my wife's coming in to see me now, so I'll talk to you later."

"I look forward to it."

Porfirio hung up and went back to his movie, picking up Kowalski along the way. He knew he'd have to keep a close eye on Anthony to ensure he kept quiet, but he otherwise felt good.

I can't believe you let him find out.

You should have finished him.

He frowned. "But I want him to be my friend…"

It's too dangerous, and you know that.

Anthony seems fine to me. Besides, now he's got both a friend and a girlfriend. I knew he could do it!

'Could' and 'should' don't mean the same thing.

"He won't tell anyone about me… "

He'd better not. If he does… You know what to do.

Porfirio sighed. "I hope it doesn't come to that."