"Vinnie? Who the hell is Vinnie, and why is he my problem?" After glancing at the monitors, Spike stood and after pushing past a blankly staring mechanical purple bunny out for a vacant eyed stroll, walked down the dimly lit hallway that led to Parts and Service, and switched on the shop lights.
Fredbear had obviously been repaired as he and the packing crate weren't taking up space where Spike had left them on the floor the night before, like a carefully broken piñata – but that wasn't what the vampire was looking for.
His first biggest mistake earlier before had been in grabbing the first animatronic he saw that wasn't moving. What he needed was something smaller, and less likely to be put back in service right away…
…and he found it, under a pile of broken parts and worn out fursuits.
And it was 'orrible. Beautifully 'orrible.
The fact that it had two heads and sharp pointy teeth was just icing on the cake – a cake that Drusilla would have baked from a recipe that included broken glass and razor blades and was guaranteed to poison anybody within ten miles of the oven as she took it out to cool. That is, if he could have convinced Drusilla to stop trying to unionize the magic pixies living rent-free in her navel long enough to attempt such a culinary obscenity – anyway two heads, a stained and torn fursuit that maybe had started out white with pink accents, and big floppy feet with the underlaying skeleton poking out at dangerous angles, was a good starting point. Spike sniggered, imagining the look on Riley's blandly handsome face when THIS came out of the shipping crate and started chasing him and the little woman around their hotel room or wherever it was they were staying.
Problem was (or was it a benefit?) the thing was in pieces, literally, so that when his two unasked for hauntings caught up with him, Spike had pulled what he thought was MOST of his future fixer upper death machine out of the spare parts heap and more or less laid it out piece by piece in somewhat rational order on the floor by the workbench.
"Vinnie, dude, Vinnie!" Anxiously, Jeremy crouched down beside Spike as he rearranged the bits and bobs, "You know, back in the Vinnie, the owner's kid – he disappeared back in the 80s long before I took this job! Big stink, major big stink dude – at the same time there was some other dude killing kids in the area – not here, but L.A. – don't you remember? It was all over the news!"
Having already forgotten his question in the other room, Spike looked across the metal monstrosity he'd found so far and said, "Huh? What the hell are you blattering on about?"
"Vincent Afton. You know, Vinnie! You asked me about him back in the other room."
"Oh. Him." Spike stood, kicking thoughtfully at what he hoped to have up and running, no rampaging, around Mr. and Mrs. Riley Finn's happy home – preferably murdering everything in its path as it did so. And as for an 80s kid killer in L.A., he'd been so busy doing a bit of killing himself at the time to pay much attention to the competition. "I thought Henry was the founder."
"No, co-founder, dude! It was all in the orientation brochure they gave me the first night I worked at the Toy Fazbear's location just off Rodeo Drive in L.A. – didn't they give you one?"
"No." Huh, a portable ghost… not my problem! Spike thought to himself while picking up a screwdriver. If he understood the manual at all, he could access the main operating system in the chest region – only there wasn't one. "They just handed me a shirt and said, "You're hired, mate!" Anyway, who was "this"?" He said absently while kicking thoughtfully at one of the two titanium alloy skulls.
"That's The Mangle."
Scribble. Scribble. Mike had joined them. Lovely. She replaced Foxy in the Toy location.
"This. Is a she?" News to me, thought Spike. Not that it matters. And by all that's unholy, including myself, who the hell designed THIS thing – and what parent would let their kid near it?
"Dude! It's wearing lipstick... ummmm, sort of."
Spike looked more closely at the head that was in better shape. Lenny and Squiggy were right, it was sort of female. Time to go back to digging through the scrap pile for a somewhat femine torso, then.
Spike paused. He was forgetting something.
He walked back to the Security Office, unplugged the monitor and VCR that he'd been using to watch Temptations on and returned to Parts and Service. After plugging it back in and rewinding the VHS tape of pure gold back to where he'd left the office the first time, he went back to digging around in the pile of robotic rubbish for the Mangle's missing torso and control unit.
Scribble, scribble, scribble, You have horrible taste.
"Your mother doesn't think so." Spike mumbled around a fresh-lit menthol. He pushed past what looked like the blood stained remains of a Fredbear fursuit.
Screw you!.
"Get in line."
Mike scowled and went to sulk in the doorway. Jeremy sat down on the floor to watch Temptations. Around 11:50, Spike found the missing torso, "No, that's a bit more like it!" He held the roughly hourglass-shaped pink and white thing up in triumph before hauling it over to the brightly lit workbench.
Jeremy didn't bother looking up from his self-inflicted vegetable-hood in front of the commandeered monitor, and Mike presumably had gone off to sulk somewhere else.
The battered torso gleamed up at him as he unscrewed the back plate to get at the electronics inside. According to the manual, there was a port for a computer jack on a red box thingy. From there, he could access the main core and configure it to do whatever he wanted it to, within limits. Hopefully the CPU wasn't toast. Still, no problem if it was. These things looked like they were modular, and there was a fresh unit on the shelf by the door that was still in the box. He could always yank the old one and slide the new one in its place before driving on.
Damn, that wasn't in the manual! Spike poked at the second and unexpected plate with the metal-handled screwdriver that blocked his access to the inner core of the damned thing. Oh well, he'd found the second set of screws – a few more twists should do it.
The secondary plate came off, revealing a mass of electronic… things.
Things… which weren't in the manual.
"Bollocks!"
As the grandfather clock that was hidden somewhere in the building struck twelve, Spike stuck the screwdriver in and began randomly poking about, hoping to see something that looked like a port.
"I wouldn't use that screwdriver with the metal handle, if I were you." Came a voice from beside him. Still poking around, Spike looked down. It was the kid with the eyes like old brass coins.
"And why the hell not?" God, but this place had ghosts like Buckingham Palace had rats.
"Because in this model, there's an extra capacitor in the main body that's not on the…"
"Sod off, kid." Spike interrupted, "I know what I'm doing, so I don't need a backseat driver!"
"Ok." Said the kid, shrugging. "If you say so, but it can hold quite a char..."
"Daddy's busy, bugger o…" There was a large blue spark accompanied by a sharp, electrical smell and "A-r-r-r-r-r-rggggggh!"
Plus, quite a bit of smoke.
Hair on end and twitching spastically, Spike toppled over backwards, landing heavily on the greasy concrete floor.
Hands on knees, the kid with his Ronald McDonald red 'do and slit pupil eyes leaned over him as twitching all over, the vampire blacked out, "I told you so."