It was a beautiful morning in L.A.
Even if it was raining.
Jacob Raus was in excellent spirits on his way to work when he switched on his car's radio and tuned it to KASD, Sunnydale, only to have those spirits match the pavement outside his car window – the news announcer, some schmuck with a voice like a hyperactive buzz saw with a speech impediment mentioned everything BUT Freddy Fazbear's latest financial liability conveniently burning to the ground in the night - thus freeing up a small amount of insurance money towards Mr. Raus's long-range retirement plans.
However, it seemed that the loose cannon he had aimed, had opted not to go off.
This would not do.
"Patience," his dybbuk, his invisible partner counseled, "Patience." Budapest, Krystalnacht, and the Boston Molasses Flood of 1919 (and the ensuing anti-Italian immigrant violence) didn't happen all at once. These things took time. They required build-up.
They, above all, required patience.
And the dybbuk had enough patience for both of them.