Little unsure about this chapter. Oh well; I hope it's still good enough.

Chapter four: Reluctant to leave

"So…" the 'puppet' anime-tronic said. "Earlier, you said you only started working here about seven weeks ago…?"

She and Douglas were heading for the main dining area, hoping to find some chairs. As they moved, both the differences and similarities in their respective ways of walking became very clear; Douglas' hunched, slightly insecure posture was a contrast to the newcomer's elegant but diffident steps.

"Something like that…" he replied. "A lot's happened since then, though."

"I heard about that, but I didn't get a lot of details. The others said that it wasn't their place to tell." She glanced at him. "Something with your past…?"

Douglas nodded silently. Both Zach's visit and the Maxwell incident indirectly happened because of him. While he didn't consider the former a private thing, he was kind of thankful that the latter hadn't been mentioned yet.

"You don't want to talk about it?" the puppet asked.

Douglas shook his head. "N-not right now. Sorry."

"That's fine."

When they entered the main dining area, they both took a seat. The puppet was just about to talk again, only for her attention to be drawn by something. She looked to where they'd come from. Douglas followed her gaze.

There stood someone.

The person—a young brown-haired woman with a blue and red t-shirt and jeans—came into the room. She slowed her pace upon seeing Douglas and the anime-tronic. Oddly enough, she didn't show any sort of alarm when she noticed the latter.

Douglas quickly stood up. "Ma'am," he said, subconsciously moving his hand to his utility belt, which held his baton and his taser. "The restaurant's closed."

The person gave an amused smile. "I know."

Douglas heard the puppet giggle a little behind him. He looked at her, confused.

"That's the other newcomer, Douglas," she said. "She's supposed to be here."

Douglas blinked. He looked back to the other person, feeling his face get warm. This was awkward. He had no idea he was actually looking at an anime-tronic.

"Uh… S-sorry," Douglas muttered, scratching his head and sitting back down.

"Eh, it's fine," the brunette reassured. "Anyway, don't mind me. I'm just taking a look around the place."

"You don't want to come join the conversation?" the puppet asked. Douglas felt a spike of nervousness when she said that; meeting one person was already enough to make him stutter.

Then again, he'd met two people at the same time before—Bonnie and Chica being a prime example.

"Maybe later," the brunette said. "I haven't been moving a lot since I woke up." She paused. "On second thought, I was wondering if you guys have thought of any names yet?"

The puppet's eyes lit up. "Oh, right. Almost forgot about that." She expectantly looked to Douglas. "I don't suppose…?"

Douglas frowned, realizing he'd completely forgotten about that. Having a solid subject to discuss made him feel a little more at ease though, so that helped. "Names, huh… Well, I didn't think of any, but we could do some brainstorming…"

After becoming acquainted with the recruits—and hanging out with the anime-tronics he already knew—time flew straight to 6 a.m. at high speed. Once the alarm went, the guard packed his things and left for his home.

The next day, he prepared to return to Freddy's to ask Griffiths about the company's past. He didn't expect the manager to give him unlimited access to the company's files, and he knew that the chances of finding anything notable were low—but he wanted to continue the plan anyway. No harm in doing the anime-tronics a favor.

Only when he was about to grab his jacket did he suddenly freeze, his gaze stuck on something in the room.

The phone.

It's not like you had much of a choice, man, Zach's voice echoed in his head. You dropped out of college, they can't say that taking the nightshift was a mistake. Especially if you like it there.

Douglas sighed. A few nights ago, Zach had called him to remind him of that. Their parents still didn't know what Douglas did for a living. They didn't even know he'd dropped out. He'd been very unwilling to tell them; he really wasn't waiting for the disapproving words they'd spill his way once they learned that he'd chosen a restaurant above college.

But they were bound to find out at some point. Better to hear it from him personally—and soon.

With the ever-growing anxiety in his stomach, Douglas slowly inched towards the phone, eyeing it as if it was some kind of monster he didn't want to wake. With shaking hands, he picked it up and dialed his parents' number.

They answered within the first two rings.

"Nicholas Goodwin," his father's voice sounded from the other side.

"Dad," Douglas said. "I-it's Doug."

"Douglas," Nicholas greeted. "How are you? It's been a while."

"Y-yeah."

A brief silence. "Douglas," Nicholas said with a sudden sternness. "What's the matter?"

"W-what?"

"I can practically feel your anxiety, Son. What's the matter? Something going on at college?"

"Yeah," Douglas admitted after a second of hesitation. His father apparently didn't need many clues to know where the problem began. Not surprising, seeing how most of his problems originated from school.

"So? What's the issue?"

Douglas didn't reply.

"Douglas."

"Dad…" Douglas finally said. "I… More problems there caused my grades to go down…and…I…dropped out."

His father didn't speak at first. "That's fine," he ultimately said. "We'll send you the necessary funds to start over. Just tell me how much you need and I'll transfer it to your bank account."

Douglas squeezed his eyes shut. This was the hardest part. "N-no…"

"What was that?"

"I…I got a job, Dad. I've got friends there, and the pay is good… I don't want to quit."

"You took Zach's job offer? You two work at the same company, then?"

"No. I…work somewhere else."

"Where?"

"F-Freddy's Restaurant," Douglas blurted out. "I-I work the nightshift there."

Silence.

Nicholas' breathing could be heard through the phone. It was steady, but shaking. Like the breathing of someone who was frustrated, but just about managed to keep it contained.

"You work the nightshift," Nicholas flatly said. "In a restaurant."

"Yes," Douglas softly said.

"And you're reluctant to leave."

"Yes…"

"… Might I suggest you either go back to school, or you'll find a job where you can actually put what you've learned over the past years to good use. Preferably both. Those friends at the restaurant won't be gone when you do."

Douglas sighed. "D-dad, I can't—"

"Douglas. Listen to me. The nightshift is better left for someone who can fight burglars. You should be standing in a lab. You can make plenty of other friends there."

"I-I can't leave! I've got to stay… These are the first real friends I have…!"

"You can always stay in touch with them after you quit."

"It's not that easy…"

"It is that easy. You just always have to make things hard."

Douglas remained silent at first. "I have to go," he finally said, his voice soft. "Bye, Dad."

Not listening to the objections his father began to give, Douglas hung up.

A knock came at the door to the office.

"Come in," Kyle Griffiths called. Only when the door opened did he look up from his paperwork.

Douglas entered the office, closing the door behind him. Griffiths could tell there was something off about the young man, but the manager didn't want to stick his nose into anyone's business, so he decided to ignore it.

"Good afternoon, Douglas," Griffiths said. "Have a seat. How can I help you?"

"I, ah…I would like to ask you something, sir…"

"Ask away," Griffiths said.

"It's about the company's past," Douglas said. "I heard about some…rumors I'd like to investigate."

Griffiths raised an eyebrow.

"… It's about…some things that predated the golden animatronic models," Douglas said.

"Some things," Griffiths repeated. "Some…clandestine things?"

"Wha— No, no! Nothing bad or anything, sir. Just…" He trailed off, visibly desperate for words.

"It's alright, Douglas. I think I might have something you can use." Griffiths opened a drawer in his desk and took out a keyring. "Some relics from the very first version of this restaurant have been preserved. That very first version was never opened to the public, but there's an old warehouse that holds some of those relics. As far as I know, no one has been there in years. You could start your search there."

He handed Douglas the keys. Douglas looked at them, then at the keychain that hung alongside them. An address was engraved in the oval piece of metal.

He recognized that address—it was at a location where few people came anymore. Old buildings and storages that belonged to several different companies dotted the terrain. He'd been there once; the silence and the sense of isolation had unnerved him.

He looked up. "Th-thank you," he said. He hadn't expected anything like this.

"No problem, Douglas," Griffiths said. "By the way, if you find anything worth noting, please tell me. If some of the employees from the old days really did have some shady secrets to hide, I would like to know about it."

"I will. Thank you again, sir."

As Douglas left, Griffiths couldn't help but feel a little nostalgic. He recalled working as a janitor at Freddy's first version. It'd started off as a way to gain necessary money. When he joined, he'd never thought he'd be promoted to manager only sixteen years after. That promotion was nineteen years ago now.

Thirty-five years of working at Freddy's. How time flew.