Three weeks later…

He should be doing his homework, but the endless articles consumes his mind. The Pythagorean Theorem was meaningless in comparison to what he'd discovered. Fazbear Entertainment has a history, and not a great one. A past made from killer animatronics, murdered children stuffed into those wires and springlocks, and the murderer himself, William Afton. Any name associated with Fazbear and whatnot was bound to be up to no good. The last location burned down years ago, and yet, it's remains haven't been found. Why was a place like this continuing to exist? What troubled him more is why people aren't noticing this.

Maybe they do, and they don't care.

"Gregory," His dad's voice makes him jump, scrambling to switch browsers. It was too late. "What are you doing?"

"Dad, I – " Gregory starts to explain when he notices his father dressed in his work attire. It's Tuesday. His father's off days were Monday through Wednesday. He should be sleeping, why was he dressed? "You're going to work?"

"They're in need for staff. Some sweet sixteen is happening and Colleen doesn't want to overload the security bots." Franklin replies in a tired voice, not fully recovering from that double shift on Sunday. "Now, why are you goofing off instead of doing your schoolwork?"

"Dad, I don't trust Colleen. She has this creepy agenda and something doesn't feel right."

"Gregory, we went over this."

"You went over this," He interrupts annoyed. "I'm not going crazy. I know what I saw. There's a killer going around in that place. These articles prove it."

"Gregory…"

"There's missing children! And nobody's saying anything."

"Gregory…"

"Somebody is going to get hurt or killed. We have to stop them –"

"Gregory, enough!" His father barks, dispensing silence between the two of them. Franklin lets out an aggravated sigh. "I don't have all the time in the world to be entertaining childish thoughts." He rubbed his temple. "I finally got a job to support the both of us and thankfully Colleen was understanding. None of my former employers were like that. Ever. So, please, for the love of God, tune your imaginations."

Gregory felt tears brimming at his eye sockets. So, it was true. His dad didn't believe him. Despite the full-blown hysterical that he witnessed. His dad had to know him better than that. He has too. He bit his lip hard enough to attract blood and to resist the urge to cry. There was also an urge to reply, but the more he suppressed it, the more it pressed against the tip of his tongue.

Until finally, he couldn't hold it in. "Mom would have supported me on this." He said bitterly.

The older man sighs. "I'm not dealing with this right now," He responds, taking a bag and walking out the door. As he approached the car, Gregory hears him whistling his favorite verse of Fly High. How happy he was like they didn't get into an argument seconds ago. He retreats to his room, slamming the door and letting out a muffled scream into the pillow.

He had fallen asleep on his bed, but when he opened his eyes, there he was back in the Pizzaplex's darken hall. No. No. Not this place. His mind races. Out of all nightmares to have, it had to be in relation to before?

"Greggggorrryyyyy." The voice sings. He violently turns to see the mysterious bunny laughing and waving at him with its red eyes. The bunny skips towards him but when he goes to run, he couldn't move. "Come on feet, move it!"

"Are you having fun, Gregory?" The voice rings louder.

"No! Stop it! Stay away from me!" With one last urge, his feet manage to move, but it was too late. Entrapped in the clutches of the bunny's arm, he wiggles violently, desperate to escape. "Let me go!"

"No one's coming to save you." It taunts. "You're all mine." The bunny spins around with him, almost like the tango dance, but at the last twirl, Gregory's thrown onto the ground, unable to move, unable to speak. Unable to do anything but scream as the bloody knife plunges into his chest.

"Ah!" Gregory screams, sitting up straight. He was back in his room. Back to reality. He rubs the skin of where he had been stabbed in the dream. It tingles, feeling like the skin had been ripped apart in real time.

Outside, the sun's shining in a different light. Judging by the glare, it had to be late morning or early.

"Dad?" Gregory calls for his father once he left his room. The clock displayed 12:29 and stands to be the only change in the room. Everything else looked the same as it was yesterday. "Dad?"

Maybe he went to the store. He concludes and sits on the couch to turn on the computer. He was late to school by a whole half a day. The teacher would want an explanation as to why he was tardy. Thankfully, she didn't pester him on it and the school day continues.

At 2:30, he logs off from school, still no sign of his father. The house phone rings a few times but he doesn't answer, opting to make a sandwich to ease his anxious stomach.

Now it was 5:30. Now, he was feeling more worried. He rushes outside, the truck not parked in its usual spot. He rushes inside and immediately dials the number to the pizzaplex. His dad couldn't be at that place working. No human can bare to be functioning with that many hours without rest.

"Customer Service, please state the name and department for your call." The robotic voice answers.

"Franklin Silo, security." Gregory responds and is transferred. Ring after ring fills him with dread. Come on dad, pick up the phone.

He got sent to voicemail and tried again. This time was different. A static ring through his ears, prompting the boy to hang up. His next call would be the police, but before he had the chance to dial, the front door knocks. A peek outside to see a female police officer, peering around the windows. She knocked again. "Gregory, open the door please."

He cautiously opens the door, timidly glancing at the adult smiling back. "Hi?"

"Hi, may I come in?" He invites her in, sitting on the couch and beckons him to sit. He eyes her anxiously.

"Gregory." Her tone changes and the smile disappears. Oh no. "I have some bad news…"

No, no. Please no.

"Your father, he's missing."