Chapter eleven: Picking closed locks
Paul drove his car down the abandoned road. His headlights dispelled only a fraction of the late evening's darkness, but it was enough. As he drove, some part of his mind continued mulling over his findings. Or, his lack thereof.
He had considered declaring all of his leads as a dead end. There just didn't appear to be anything worth investigating. As far as he could see, this was just the result of rumors and paranoia. Afton's brusqueness could've been little more than a cranky old man's impatience. Douglas had seemed like he was lying, but maybe he just feared how Paul would react if he knew the animatronics roamed around at night—a recurring element in the many rumors that surrounded the restaurant, some of which were sparked by the former nightguards themselves. If it were true, maybe the animatronics could access the security system, hence Douglas' casual reaction when seeing that one camera activate; he was probably used to it. The situation was odd, but was it really worth looking at if there was no actual evidence of anything illegal?
That's what he thought. Until Hector Maxwell abruptly withdrew from their agreement.
He took the next turn and pulled up on the subsequent parking lot. Maxwell had been determined to figure out what happened with his son that night. Now he suddenly backed off? Paul grimly wondered if Griffiths happened to know anything about that.
He parked his car and glanced around the lot. He didn't see any other cars. Afton must've gone home. Good.
He stepped outside and let his flashlight glide over the surrounding area, making sure no one else was present. The warehouse loomed over him—a giant monstrosity in the pale moonlight. In light of Maxwell's withdrawal, he'd decided to take another look here. If Afton wouldn't provide answers, maybe his workplace would.
Taking a flat pouch with him, he stepped over to the warehouse's front door and tried the handle. Locked, of course.
Feeling a light smirk dusting his face, Paul fished a lockpick out of the pouch. Taking one more glance around, he kneeled down before the lock and began his work. A few minutes was all it took before the lock clicked.
He put away his picks and slowly opened the door. Creaking sounded from the unoiled hinges as the darkened lobby was revealed. He stuffed the pouch of lockpicks in his inside pocket near his handgun and took out his flashlight to scan the room. Nothing out of the ordinary—the same torn decorations, the same small windows. More ominous thanks to the dark of night perhaps, but that was to be expected.
After a quick sweep of the ground floor, he ascended the stairwell and stepped inside the room where he'd met Afton. The giant pallet racks loomed over him ominously, illuminated only by moonlight and his flashlight.
He hesitated. Then he took out his gun, just in case. He started to the other end of the room, where the supposed office doors were situated. When he reached the doors in question, he stopped, listening. He wasn't sure what he was expecting other than the silence that met him.
His hand slowly went to the door handle. He paused for a moment.
Then he swung it open.
A tiny room lay beyond. There was nothing inside.
Paul stopped for a moment, re-scanning the small room. As if there was any way to hide something here. It was completely empty, save for some smaller racks, shelves and boxes.
He shut the door and checked the next one, and the next. Nothing and nothing. Some actually looked like offices—another thing Afton apparently hadn't lied about. Once he was done he turned back to the giant room.
Still keeping both his flashlight and his gun leveled, he made his way to the side and started back to the other end. He kept his eye on the pallet racks and everything around it. He took an extra moment to observe the aisles between the pallet racks whenever he passed one. Those didn't seem to hold any secrets either.
Until he reached the final one.
He shone his flashlight down the aisle to see a slouched figure on the very other side. He frowned. There wasn't supposed to be anyone here, was there?
"Freeze!" he called out as he started towards them. "Private detective. What's your business…here…" He stopped. The figure hadn't moved.
He hesitantly moved closer…until he saw their unnaturally purple skin. They sat on the ground with their back against a pallet rack's narrow column, their head tilted forward. Two bunny ears protruded from underneath lavender hair.
Paul paused. Then he squatted down next to it, shining his flashlight in its face. Its lifeless eyes were turned to the side, straight at him.
He lowered his flashlight. The eyes were still visible in the dark, like two white pinpricks of light. He raised his flashlight again, and the eyes turned back to normal, still looking at him.
Well. That was only mildly unsettling. He wondered if the animatronics in Freddy's had the same feature.
He regarded the robot. Its purple body was covered by a red t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Its arms lay limp at its sides. Paul noticed some rips in the artificial skin. Despite the damage, it was still clear that, much like the current models, the robot's synthetic face and…proportions…were designed to…appeal to people.
He frowned and got a little closer. He noticed some…scar tissue? Did these things heal on their own? No, that wasn't possible. Someone had been sewing these cuts shut, but why? Surely there had to be better ways to repair them.
"You're one of the originals, aren't you?" he muttered. "Why are you here? And why does it look like someone's been patching you up?"
His mind immediately went to Afton. Maybe, given his past, he was attached to these models. But when Paul brought them up, the old man hadn't mentioned that they were here. Why keep it quiet? Was he scared Paul would take them away for some reason? Or did he not want this little project to become public?
Did he want to keep it hidden from Griffiths, perhaps?
Paul looked the animatronic closely in the eye. Appealing design or no, the thing's gaze was unnerving. Maybe because it was looking at him. Or maybe because…
It was looking at something behind him.
No, Paul thought, half-amused. That made no sense. His imagination was running again.
... He had theorized the animatronics at Freddy's roamed around at night.
That reminder made him pause.
He whirled around and shone his flashlight down the aisle. Nothing.
He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Of course there was nothing. He was getting paranoid.
"I'm going to search this place further," he said to no one in particular, turning back to the purple animatronic. "And then I'm going to confront Afton about how he kept this from me."
The robot sat there, motionless.
Paul frowned and squatted down again. Its eyes… They weren't looking at him anymore. They'd turned to the ground.
The feeling of dread returned. Paul rose, backing away, leveling his gun and flashlight. "What in the…"
The animatronic surged to its feet. It leaped through the pallet rack, passing between two shelves with unexpected grace. Paul scrambled back.
Sounds of soft feet running away echoed.
Paul remained frozen for a second.
Then he started running in the same direction.
He couldn't keep up; the robot's footsteps were fading fast and abruptly stopped. Paul reached the frontside of the room again, to be met with nothing.
He frantically shone his flashlight around. Where did it go?!
He checked the aisle where the animatronic should've been. Nothing.
He stood there for a moment, heart pumping. Then he turned to the stairwell door. He had his answers, and now—
A thump sounded behind him. He whirled around to raise his light and gun.
A brown animatronic stood between two pallet racks, only a few meters away from him. Where had it come from?!
As soon as his light was on it, it raised its hands and took a few steps back.
Paul stood frozen. Then he began to advance slowly, keeping eye contact with the animatronic. He couldn't risk it getting away just yet. He needed more answers.
He looked it over. A humanoid figure just like the purple one, but with brownish skin and bearlike ears on its head.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Mortar…"
His breath froze. This thing spoke.
"But," the bear said, "we can't let you leave yet."
Paul stopped.
He then realized he was standing between the two pallet racks. The animatronic had lured him into the aisle…
Trap.
He swiftly turned to the left, then the right. He couldn't see anything through the empty pallet racks.
Above.
He raised his flashlight and gun to look up. A pair of pinprick lights looked down at him. The figure looked about ready to jump down—only to freeze when he locked eyes with it.
He fired his gun. Sparks flew, and the figure retreated.
The bear lunged. Acting on instinct, Paul redirected his gun at it and fired.
The bullet hit its shoulder. With a yelp, the bear stumbled and fell.
Paul turned—to see the rabbit from before blocking his way. He fired. It dropped.
He ran past it. He hurried down the stairs, ran for the entrance and burst through the door. He dropped his flashlight and reached into his pocket with a shaking hand. His keys.
He unlocked his car, jumped inside and drove onto the half-broken road as fast as he could.
His heart kept racing until he was halfway back to the populated part of town.