Chapter 4: The Second Day (What the hell am I doing?)

I wasn't weeping with relief at my narrow survival of an insanely cheap and poorly written horror movie that had been my night, but I wasn't exactly jumping and dancing for joy either. Oh, sure, I was laughing to myself quietly as I walked through the pizzeria except that didn't count. Anyone coming down from an adrenaline rush that's anywhere close to what had been my encounter with Bonnie at the end there would need to do SOMETHING with the nervous energy I had left over, and I didn't feel like running out the front door and screaming my head off. For one, that would attract attention this early in the morning, a grown man running and screaming everyone awake would draw people in police uniforms with concerns and questions and probably take me to a hospital to make sure I wasn't on some seriously wild drugs or utterly piss faced. Then, once they found out I was sober as a nun I'd be committed somewhere on the grounds of mental illness and a public threat because no one would believe I'd just spent six hours avoiding death at the hands of my childhood pizzeria's animatronics.

Plus, that'd violate the non-disclosure agreement I'd signed, and I was pretty sure Fazzbear's lawyer lady would love to sue me for everything I was worth, including my kidneys.

Which, I realized, posed another issue. Again, I couldn't tell anyone about this because of those same legal forms I'd signed. Even if the police believed me, or a news network, I'd still have to deal with the impending lawsuit. Whistle blower laws be damned, this was America and corporate lawyers could wiggle their clients out of anything they damned well pleased. Assuming they didn't just sue me for divulging corporate secrets instead. And I could at best afford a pro-bono lawyer, and those guys have good intentions but are not always a sure bet.

As I entered the dining area, caution in my footsteps even as the well lit room showed no walking robots of squicky death, my second problem revealed itself in my memory. I'd also signed an agreement to at least one week of employment during which I couldn't quit and they couldn't fire me while on probationary pay. Violating that wouldn't result in a lawsuit, but that sort of thing could follow a guy the rest of his life. Not exactly a glowing recommendation for when you're looking for work. It'd be like quitting your job without a two weeks notice. Employer's don't always care WHY you left without warning at your last job, just that you did and made you potentially unreliable.

Meaning I was stuck at this for four more days. Hell's Teeth, this wasn't good.

After collecting my lost flashlight and nightstick, I left the restaurant just as the day manager was arriving to open up and get the place ready for business. I didn't say anything to Mr Ross even as he greeted me, just shot him a cold look before walking past him towards the nearest bus stop. I don't think I could have stopped myself from killing him if I hadn't, which would be a shame. Mr Ross was about my height but at least twenty years older than me with a belly and fading blonde hair. From the disappointed look on his face as I left, and from what I'd parsed from our conversations on the phone, David Ross is one of those guys that'd be your cool uncle when you're a kid. You know, the one that sneaked you treats or spare cash and would drive you to the movies and sneak you into the R rated action one or horror? I had an uncle like that, let me try out a beer when I was 13 and grinned as I made a face.

I'll have to apologize to him later, I told myself as I calmed down some more and made it to the bus stop and checked my cell's clock. Ten minutes before the 6:14 bus. Add on another couple minutes, city buses never run according to your clock, fifteen minute ride to home, couple minutes up the stairs to the apartment...I could sneak in a good hour or so of sleep before worrying about class. Good, I'd need it...

But to my complete utter lack of surprise, I wasn't going to be getting that sleep right away. Rico had gotten up early to, according to him, work on one of his commissioned pieces for some web show's title card and somebody's character artwork for an independent game. Which he was doing, but I saw that as soon as I walked in, he lost all interest in his work and turned to grin at me, the question already on his lips. It died, though, when he saw my exhausted eyes and the signs of poorly covered dishevelment.

"Shit, Titus. They'd have invented 'rough night' to describe how you look. What the hell?" Rico asked, confusion evident in his voice. "Was there a break in and you spent hours talking to the cops?"

That was Rico for you. No 'are you okay' or 'did you get hurt' before the 'why' of what happened. The results were dealt with second. He could clearly see I hadn't been patched up or carried myself like I was in pain anywhere, so any injuries were probably minimal. I swear, he's an uncannily spooky guy, probably should have gone to the academy and been a cop.

Before I could answer, though, Jon chose that moment to come in and show what HIS excuse to be waiting for me that morning was. His was actually plausible too, wearing his running outfit and signs that he'd been sweating not long ago, but I knew he was just like me and viewed being up at 6am without an impending hang over as stupidly early. He was rubbing a towel over his hair, like he'd just shoved his head into the shower, and was giving me a similar look to Rico's, curious concern marking his blunt features. He'd clearly heard Rico, and was holding off his own questions.

I briefly entertained the idea of making something up that was at the very least more believable than "I was almost killed by a seven foot humanoid rabbit death machine", but disregarded the idea almost immediately. Rico and Jon would buy a fake story once, maybe twice, but they'd catch on the second time.

So I collapsed onto the couch and began to tell my story, starting with the frigid lawyer woman and my legal obligations. Rico was frowning softly as he listened, clearly not seeing the problem with just quitting, but he kept his questions to himself. I talked about the place, how it'd changed, how different it was so late at night than we remembered. The animatronics and their conditions-Jon actually tut tutted when he heard Foxy was still out-drew mostly thoughtful looks, until I told them about the rest of my night.

I could tell right away after I told them about my first encounter that they were thinking the same thing I had. Some big guy in a extra heavy costume, no big deal. Jon looked like he was waiting for me to laugh and say something like "nah, I'm joshing you, he's in the lockup right now". Rico looked even more skeptical.

"Guys, I'm not kidding. Bonnie the fucking Bunny chased me all the way to my office. It wasn't somebody's idea of a prank, it was the real deal, and that...thing wanted to kill me!" I said, getting frustrated as I looked at my close friends, my compadres, and saw only bemused disbelief mixed with concern. "Jer, I know that's probably what it looked like, man, but be reasonable! How do you know it wasn't some particularly strong guy?" Jon asked, folding his arms across his chest as he studied me.

"Because when I planted both my boots in a running jump kick, something that SHOULD even put big guys on their backs or grasping their ribs, he barely rocked back a foot? Cause I could see the joints in the robot? He ran faster than someone in a suit would be able to do? Guys, I AM being reasonable, I know what I saw."

"Saw in the dark, while pumped on adrenaline, after hearing some vato's idea of a joke on a tape." Rico said, scoffing a little bit from the chair, but he wasn't grinning at me, which may or may not be a good sign. I groaned and rubbed at my head, and proceeded to give the highlights of the next five-and-a-half hours before the shift ended. The one that capped off the story, though, got them to really pay attention, and looking back I couldn't blame them. We all have our brushes with death everyday, sometimes without even realizing it, and between the three of us we've probably caused the Reaper some headaches. Probably not as many as Sam Vimes, but Sir Samuel Vimes the Duke of Ankh is a fucking badass, he's allowed to do that. Before that morning, the closest I'd gotten was a car wreck, and we had pretty active lifestyles. Pain and adrenaline aren't strangers.

But even retelling that encounter with the big Bunny, it brought me right back to that place. That feeling of helplessness, of being without any options at the time, being dragged away like a doll to be crushed to death...

My hands were shaking. I looked at them, confused. Why was I shaking? Why was I still so scared, I didn't understand? I got away, didn't I? It was strange, the event felt so far away but at the same time...

I shook my head roughly, set my jaw, and looked up at them. I was surprised to see them both looking at me for the first time like they might believe me. Or at the very least they knew I believed it had happened. Hope built in me, but it died. How could they help me?

I got my answer from Jon, without even asking him. "I think we should get a chance to see this ourselves..." He said, in a tone of voice that brooked no argument. And I didn't want to. Sleep took me in bone deep weariness and relief as I slumped backwards onto the couch, and I didn't fight it.

Author's notes: The chapter in which...basically nothing interesting happened! But this is important, because it sets up a couple things. First, why would he go back after the second night? Answer: Lawyers! Why doesn't he call the cops? Who would believe him, and also lawyers again!But now that this is out of the way, we can move onto night 2, where our intrepid...protagonists, I couldn't call them heroes with a straight face. Our protagonists fully face how terrible things can be... Arrrr!