Michael Afton attempted to exert force against his restraints in a futile escape attempt. He couldn't do anything, he couldn't do a damn thing. He even tried to plead in a desperate attempt to save his life, hoping that his sister wouldn't kill him with the metal spoon in front of him.
"The scooper only hurts for a moment."
He could hear the sirens in the room blaring for a few seconds. The sound made Michael tense; he knew what was coming and he was scared. He didn't want to die like this.
He didn't want to die. He still needed redemption, he needed to save her, but his wishes amounted to nothing to help her.
When the sirens stopped he went through the worst experience of his life.
The spoon lunged forward, and he felt it.
He could feel the cold, rough metal spoon sinking as deeply as it could into his stomach, piercing his organs and causing his body to stagger from the strong impact before the spoon started to rise, breaking through all the sternum that held his ribs together. Then the spoon violently pulled back, taking most of his entrails.
He tried to scream from the absolute AGONY he felt, but his scream of pain only lasted a few seconds before he began to choke on his blood. The pain was unbearable. His body's blood splattered all over the floor and kept coming out of his body.
He felt the restraints fade before he fell backward into an uncomfortable position. For a brief moment, he could see his organs and fragments of his broken ribcage on the floor, collected on the metal spoon along with his blood.
He tried to think of something coherent, anything. But the only thing he could focus on was the pain. It felt like he had been doused in gasoline and set on fire or crushed into a million pieces.
God, he wanted to scream in pain or ask for help, but he could only let out a pathetic moan. He could only lie still, feeling numb, with tears in his eyes that he couldn't wipe away. He couldn't ask for help, and no matter how much he begged any merciful being for someone to help him.
Nothing happened, no one came for him.
He was completely alone. Suffering in AGONY.
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Charoite was jolted awake from his slumber, his first instinct to clamp his hand over his mouth to stifle any harsh gasps. His eyes burned with unshed tears as he desperately tried to hold back the surge.
His heart pounded fiercely in his chest, the memory too damn vivid, too damn real. He tried to forget, but no matter how damn hard he tried, that damn death haunted him like a relentless ghost. He couldn't damn shake it. No matter how fast he ran, it followed him like a shadow, a burden he couldn't damn shake off.
A burden that would damn haunt him and torment him for the rest of his miserable life. A wince crossed his face as the phantom pain surged again – a sensation he thought he had long buried.
His stomach burned, his head throbbed. He attempted a deep breath, but the pain only intensified. Charoite gritted his teeth, clenching his eyes shut in a futile effort to damn stave off the AGONY.
The stabbing sensation dug into his gut. It wasn't the gnawing of hunger, but a phantom ache, an echo of the AGONY that wouldn't damn release him. His mind seemed to be shoving him back into that damn room. The Scooping Room.
"The scooper only hurts for a moment"
The words hung like an unsettling refrain, etched into his mind as if they had been carved there by malevolent hands. He could almost hear the wail of sirens, the symphony of terror that accompanied his damn torment. Memories unfurled like a twisted horror film, vivid images projected onto the canvas of his thoughts.
His stomach clenched a visceral response to the memory he couldn't damn shake. He imagined the sensation: the cold touch of metal, the cutting incision, the intrusion into his very damn being. He could damn feel the AGONY beginning to scorch through him. Bloody spoon. Bloody Hell.
He stood up on shaky legs and looked at Hikaru who was still sleeping a short distance away from him. He took a deep breath to try to calm his Remnant. Charoite didn't want to cause an accident like the previous time.
He walked as quietly as possible without making any noise and left the room to head straight for the bathroom.
Charoite felt every step towards the bathroom as if he was at war and had to cross a bloody minefield, his thoughts a whirlwind, emotions jumbled like a deck of cards tossed in the air. He tiptoes across the room, like a damn thief trying not to set off any alarms. And then it hits him, the feeling of wanting to puke his guts out with abrupt force.
Grotesque. His insides twisted and churned like a damn roller coaster, and his throat tightened like a vise. The sensation of vomit lurking at the back of his throat was a damn nightmare, a foul taste of fear and helplessness he couldn't damn swallow. He stumbled a mess of limbs and anxiety, clutching at the damn doorknob miraculously.
He swung open the bathroom door, his grip vice-like on the handle, fingers trembling as he fought to steady his shaky legs. His body was a container of chaos, teetering on the edge of collapse. The sensation of retching became overwhelming, a cascade of discomfort rushing from his belly to his throat.
Charoite's eyes widen in horror, he lunges, he stumbles into the bathroom, desperately hoping to reach the safety of the toilet in time, In a dizzying blur, he finds himself clinging desperately over the toilet bowl like a sure mantra that kept the darkness from consuming him as he bent his body.
And then it happened: the taste of bile rose, acidic and vile, like a damn curse. His body convulsed, his stomach burned. He tried desperately to be as quiet as possible, but his body began to jerk forcefully, attempting to expel something that certainly wasn't there.
Tears involuntarily flowed from his body from the force of the vomit he tried to calm down in a desperate attempt to be silent. Seeing his attempts unsuccessful, he used his AGONY to silence or at least muffle the sound of the retching vomiting.
Charoite doesn't know if it worked, but he certainly prayed that it would, he hoped that at least the damned Old Man Consequences would give him a helping hand, for the torture it was putting him through.
His throat burned, his eyes stung. His stomach contracted forcefully, a pain akin to the damn Scooper. Just when he thought he was safe when he thought the damn punishment was over and his torment would end, as if panic sensed its opportunity, his chest began to burn.
The claws of panic sank into him, sharper than any damn fang, and he found himself trapped in his damn mind, imprisoned by his damn thoughts. Each breath was a struggle as if his lungs were being crushed by an invisible vice.
He was spiraling, a damn top that had lost its balance, his thoughts swirling in a vortex of confusion. He clung to the edge of the toilet like a lifeline, his knuckles white from the tension of his internal battle. It was like being a damn sailor caught in a raging storm, clinging to the mast to save his life as panic waves crashed over him.
His damn skin felt strange, like a prison he couldn't escape. He clutched at his chest as if his fingers could damn crack open his ribcage and free him from this damn torment. His damn breaths came in uneven gasps, each inhalation a struggle against the damn grip of his lungs.
The damn darkness seemed to close in around him, the bathroom shrinking to suffocating dimensions. Fear crawled under his damn skin like a damn spider, its venom threatening to paralyze him from the inside out. The damn memories of the Scooper refused to leave his mind, and no matter how hard Charoite tried to damn escape from them, the place was like a damn labyrinth of torment, a maze he couldn't damn find his way out of.
Charoite's heart hammered like a pneumatic drill in his chest, each beat a reminder of his vulnerability. He couldn't damn keep spiraling like this, he needed something to damn anchor him, to remind him he was still here, damn it.
When a moment of clarity cut through the chaos, Charoite remembered it like a damn lifeline. The Grounding technique. Clinging to it like a drowning man, each step a damn struggle against the damn tide of panic.
He pressed his trembling hand against the cool toilet lid, his fingers tracing the smooth texture like a damn lifebuoy. Five things I could be seen, he reminded himself, narrowing his eyes to better observe his surroundings. Charoite surveyed the bathroom with a critical eye.
The sink: white porcelain gleamed in the dim light, its smooth surface contrasting with his racing thoughts.
The towel rack: a silvery color extending beside him, its cold metal a tangible presence.
His reflection: the faint reflection of himself in the mirror. A reminder that he was still here, facing his damn demons.
The shower curtain: blue and white swaying gently in the faint breeze, its rhythmic movement like a soothing lullaby.
The bathroom door: The wooden door was in his peripheral, a barrier between him and the outside world. He imagined opening it and stepping into the hallway, a simple action that promised an escape.
He felt his heartbeat gradually slow, his grip on reality strengthening. Four things I could feel, he thought, focusing, on the sensations around him.
The toilet lid: cools against his hand, its cold texture causing his hair to stand on end with each touch.
His racing heart: the once wild drumbeat of his heart began to steady, its rhythm a lifeline that pulled him back to the present.
The faint chill in the air: the air carried a slight chill, a reminder of his surroundings and the sensation of being in the moment.
The softness of the towel: the towel in his other hand was gentle against his skin, a tactile reminder that he was still here, still alive (even if he thought and wished to be dead).
Charoite took a breath, shivering, focusing on the sounds around him. Three things I could hear, he thought, honing in on the auditory anchors.
The soft creaking of his tense muscles: the slight creak of his muscles was a reminder that he could feel, that he could move, that he wouldn't damn turn into a decomposing corpse again.
The gentle rustling of the curtain: the shower curtain rustled softly in the breeze, its sound a comforting background melody.
His breaths: his breaths, once irregular, began to steady, a reminder that he was still alive and breathing.
Charoite closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the silence. Two things I could smell, he thought, focusing on the scents surrounding him.
The clean scent of disinfectant: the lingering scent of cleanliness hung in the air, a familiar and soothing aroma.
The putrid smell of his vomit: the stench of vomit was a recent reminder of his internal struggles and how he was overcoming them, reminding him that he wasn't the same useless person he used to be.
And then, as his senses gradually returned to him, he breathed one last time. One thing I could taste, he thought, focusing on the simple sensation.
The remnants of vomit in his mouth: the damn lingering bitterness of bile, a reminder of his damn vulnerability.
With each damn step, Charoite felt the panic loosen its grip, the tempest within him calming like a damn storm subsiding. He straightened up and pulled the toilet lever to get rid of the damn stench. The room seemed brighter, the damn shadows less oppressive, as if Grounding had cast a light on the damn darkness within him.
He leaned against the sink as he listened to the sounds of the toilet water, opening the tap and splashing his face with cold water, the damn droplets like a cleansing balm against his damn skin. He caught his damn reflection in the mirror. And Charoite looked terrible: tired, sunken eyes, pale and sweaty skin.
The only good thing he could note in all the damn darkness and torment he had to go through was the determination in his eyes. The stars in his eyes shone with an unsettling hope. He sighed, relaxing his tense muscles. The nightmare hadn't damn broken him, he was still standing here, damn it.
He was damn Mike Schmidt (Michael Afton). Also known as the damn ANOMALY that all supernatural beings were afraid of. The damn zombie that caused over four fires, the one who created a damn AI to help his fragile mental state.
And now he had a new chance as Charoite, and he wasn't going to waste it like his previous life, hiding and drowning in a sea of misery. He was going to find the damn William Afton and kick him in the balls, then he was going to destroy him and burn him, just to make damn sure the damn cockroach died. He was going to throw the remains into a damn volcano.
When he straightened up and left the bathroom, he carried with him a damn sense of triumph, a knowledge that he could damn navigate the labyrinth of his fears. The bitterness remained, but it was now mixed with a damn determination, a fire that roared and burned deep within him.
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The dimness of the night hung over the room, enveloping Hoshino Charoite in a heavy silence. He had returned from an episode of vomiting and panic, a torrent of emotions and dark memories that had assaulted him with unexpected force. He slid beneath the sheets, closing his eyes in an attempt to find the coveted comfort of sleep. However, his thoughts didn't relent, spinning like a carousel of images and emotions.
The Scooping Room held a prominent place in his mind, a vivid recollection of his death at the hands of his sister Elizabeth. The pain and betrayal he had felt in that moment had left deep scars on his heart. Additionally, the shadow of his former father, William Afton, lurked in every corner of his consciousness. The knowledge that William's soul could be trapped within the accursed robot Scraptrap filled his mind with a sense of unease and paranoia.
Charoite's eyes opened in the darkness, his mind plunging into the dark thoughts that threatened to consume him. Could he truly escape his past? Or was he destined to carry the weight of his previous lives with every step he took, never able to find the peace he so yearned for? The feeling of helplessness overwhelmed him, making him feel small and insignificant, but above all, extremely tired.
He could feel his Remnant writhing beneath his skin, a constant reminder that his past would always be lurking, reminding him in every moment, cruelly whispering his former fate.
Vivid images of his tragic end intertwined with thoughts of how he had come to be here, reincarnated in a new body. Charoite had struggled to find a place of belonging in his new life, but the ghosts of his past continued to haunt him, like chains binding him to Michael Afton's destiny.
As Charoite tossed and turned in his bed, wrestling with the specters of his past, a distant sound broke the silence of the night. A muffled groan, a lament of agony, resonated through the air. Charoite sat up abruptly, his eyes flickering with concern as he watched the restless figure of his new father, Kamiki Hikaru.
The pale skin and unintelligible murmurs bore witness to the nightmare plaguing Hikaru. Charoite moved quickly and decisively, approaching the side of the bed cautiously. Memories of his struggle with panic and trauma came alive in his mind, providing him with the empathy and understanding needed to face the situation.
Hikaru awoke abruptly, his body tense, his eyes open but unfocused. The torment of his past had ensnared him once more in a web of painful memories and uncontrollable fears. Charoite observed with compassion as Hikaru fought to escape the clutches of the nightmare that plagued him.
Without hesitation, Charoite extended a gentle hand, placing it tenderly on Hikaru's shoulder. Charoite's voice, calm and soothing, resonated in the tense air. "Hikaru," he murmured, his voice a whisper of serenity amidst the chaos. "I'm here. You're not alone in this."
Hikaru trembled at the touch and the words from Charoite. His eyes met those of the young man, a mixture of disbelief and need to be reflected in his gaze. "Charoite?" Hikaru gasped, his voice quivering with vulnerability. Hikaru clung desperately to the comfort he found in the presence of his son Charoite, and though it seemed strange for a child to console him, he had a sense that he understood his pain in a way others couldn't.
Charoite squeezed the hand on his shoulder. "Breathe slowly and deeply," he instructed, his voice soft and unwavering. "Focus on each inhalation and exhalation."
Hikaru's murmurs transformed into sobs, his emotions overflowing at the understanding Charoite radiated. The anguish and fear that had tormented him for so long found an outlet in the refuge offered by the young man. Tears welled up in his eyes, releasing a torrent of pent-up emotions.
Hikaru tried to hold back the tears, but the suffocating weight in his chest and the memories of the incident that had damaged him loomed over him like a ravenous predator. He shivered as he felt the phantom breath against his ear.
Charoite furrowed his brow as he observed the state of his new father. He fell silent as he searched his mind for something that could help. And he remembered the techniques and methods he had used to control his panic attacks and trauma. He focused on every detail, trying to be a beacon of calm amid Hikaru's emotional storm. Each word, each gesture, was imbued with the empathy that only someone who had experienced the pain could offer.
With patience and determination, Charoite guided Hikaru through the same strategies he had used in moments of crisis. Every word of encouragement, every careful instruction, was intended to bring Hikaru back to reality, away from the ghosts of his nightmare.
Charoite continued his words with a comforting refrain. "You're safe here, Hikaru. She can't hurt you. What you're experiencing isn't real. It's just a memory."
As they sat side by side, their breaths intertwining like threads of a shared struggle, Charoite's thoughts drifted to his battles against internal shadows. He had faced his demons, an unrelenting inner conflict that still burned within him. Yet, in this moment of guiding Hikaru through his darkness, he found a glimmer of purpose.
The battle was arduous, but gradually, Hikaru began to calm down. His breathing became more regular, his sobs subsided, and his pallid skin regained some color. Charoite watched with satisfaction as Hikaru emerged from the abyss of his trauma like a lighthouse guiding a lost ship back to safe shores.
Finally, Hikaru's eyes met Charoite's, a glint of gratitude and vulnerability in his gaze. Hikaru took a shaky breath, his voice barely a whisper. "Thank you," he murmured hoarsely, his voice laden with complex emotions that Charoite understood all too well. "Charoite. I don't know how you do it, but... You make me feel a little less lost."
Charoite smiled gently, seeking to reassure him, his hand still resting on Hikaru's shoulder. "You don't have to thank me. I'm here for you, Hikaru. Always." He could sense his new father looking at him with a morbid curiosity.
Charoite diverted his gaze to the ceiling. Melancholy and sadness overwhelmed him, both of them sitting side by side on the bed, looking like a scene shared between father and son. It was a pleasant moment that warmed his heart, despite the situation that brought them together not being what Charoite wished for.
He tried to recall a moment he had shared with his former father. William Afton. He desperately attempted to remember something, but it was futile. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't recall even a single moment with him. Perhaps they had shared one when Michael Afton was Charoite's current age, but if he had, he had forgotten it long ago.
"I'm sorry," Hikaru spoke softly, breaking the silence. "I didn't want you to see Dad like that." Charoite could notice him clenching his hands on his thighs as he furrowed his brow with an angry look before Hikaru sighed wearily and lay down, gazing at the dark ceiling of the room.
Charoite could only shake his head wearily. "It's alright. I've read that we all have our moments." He hesitated for a moment before gathering his courage and moved closer to Hikaru, laying down atop his chest, sighing in relaxation from the comforting warmth of his new father.
Hikaru looked at his son with surprise before furrowing his brow slightly. With hesitation, he reached his hand over Charoite's shoulder. "Don't get used to it. I'll try to avoid worrying you like that again." Then Hikaru remembered something. "You know, I was going to tell you later, but since dawn is approaching, I think I'll tell you before I forget."
"Hmm," Charoite hummed, trying to think of what his father might want to say, something that could be so important.
"Your mother is going to a recording studio tomorrow. Your siblings are going with her along with the nanny Saitou, who takes care of the kids." Hikaru tried to explain to Charoite, giving him the context first. "And, well... she asked me if you want to go with them to see how your mother works and, well, to spend more time."
"I see," Charoite commented as he thought about the pros and cons of going on a trip with them.
"But that's not all... You see, on the same day, there will be a camp for kids who want to train any talent related to the entertainment or art industry. And since I found out that you love drawing, it might help you improve," Hikaru shrugged. "Who knows, maybe you'll succeed in achieving something your father couldn't."
"Besides, Dad will be busy with his science studies and getting money to raise you and make sure our lives are comfortable." Hikaru rubbed his eyes with his free hand, remembering that he retired from the entertainment industry. He knew that if he continued doing what he was doing, he would make a mistake and end up killing someone. Fortunately, he had enough saved money to last for quite a while.
Chaorite thought carefully about it. On the one hand, he could continue building a stronger bond with his mother, Ai, and his siblings, Aqua and Ruby. Not to mention, he was beginning to suspect that his siblings were also reincarnated individuals due to the encounters he had with them over the months during his visits.
And his mother was quite pleasant and affectionate toward him. His former mother was never that affectionate with Michael Afton. When he was a child, she only made sure he was healthy, and while Chaorite remembered having good moments with her, he was cast aside once Elizabeth was born, and then when Evan arrived.
Evan was Mama's boy, her favorite. At the time, Chaorite never understood why she didn't love him as much as she loved Evan or at least Elizabeth, but now he understood. She knew from the start that he was just a waste of oxygen.
Maybe that's why she killed herself when both Elizabeth and Evan died. She didn't see him as a son, just someone who resembled William Afton. He was the reason she killed herself. If he hadn't been so negligent, he could have saved Elizabeth. If he hadn't been so bitter, Evan wouldn't have had to die because of his ineptitude, because he was a piece of crap and a worthless human being.
That's why he held some resentment towards Clara Afton; she wasn't the mother he had wanted, looking at him just like any other acquaintance. She left him alone with that damn William Afton. He still remembered all the suffering he had to endure because of his old mother. At the hands of his old father.
Despite that resentment, he didn't hate Clara; he understood her. She always should have known that Michael Afton would be the family's downfall. The black sheep. An idiot who thought he knew what he was doing when he knew nothing.
That's why Hoshino Chaorite hesitates so much to get closer to his new family. He's afraid that he will be the ruin of his existence, the misfortune. That the events of his previous world will repeat themselves. That these people will be hurt by someone like him.
A being without value, a piece of crap, a disgusting human being who should never have existed, a damn monster, a murderer, someone who always ruined people no matter how good his intentions were towards them.
He could feel his AGONY eagerly feasting on his negative feelings, but he was just too tired to give a damn.
"I still feel uncomfortable around them," Charoite told the truth. "I thought I was more discreet with my drawings, but I guess you've seen them." It's not that he drew anything bad; he just didn't want them to see his drawings. Then he shrugged, "I suppose I can go to this camp and see what it's about."
Hikaru nodded, smirking a bit. "Alright, I'll sign you up for the camp; maybe you can make some friends. Your dad will take care of some very important matters." His black stars began to shine strongly with malice. "I have to meet the husband of an old mentor. They seem like a happy couple."
Charoite didn't like his father's tone of voice and squinted, trying to figure something out, but in the end, he gave up due to the darkness and dismissed it as simple paranoia of his mind, although he would be watching for any suspicious things his new father might do.
Still, Charoite couldn't help but ask out of curiosity. "I suppose they're acquaintances from your acting job?"
Hikaru shook his head. "I only know his wife, and she helped me a lot when I was starting before I met your mother during one of my practices. And I'll help her too." Then Hikaru chuckled lightly. "Your mother quickly learned everything I taught her and how the industry worked. Though I admit I got stressed out a couple of times with her for being a bit clueless about certain things."
"Hikaru, why did you and Ai end your relationship?" Charoite asked, looking at his new father.
"You seem to get along well at gatherings," he commented. Of course, there was some discomfort on his father's part toward his mother, and the glint in his father's eyes toward her gave him shivers, but they didn't seem to hate each other.
It's not like he was trying to play matchmaker; he was just curious why they separated, and it might help him understand his father's mind a bit better.
"Things just didn't work out between us. Don't overthink it, kid." An awkward silence followed as Hikaru ended the conversation. "Hey, do you want me to buy you a drawing kit? You know, for better drawing and coloring of your art."
Chaorite was about to decline before thinking about it more carefully. "Sure, why not?" he agreed.
Silence settled in again. Finally, calm enveloped the room once more. Charoite and Hikaru, each with their own bitter and dark thoughts, found refuge in each other's presence. They cuddled together on the bed, like father and son, finding comfort and strength in the bond they had formed.
The night gave way to dawn, and as daylight began to filter through the curtains, Charoite and Hikaru succumbed to restful sleep. As they were carried away by the arms of slumber, the bond they had forged provided them with the assurance that they weren't alone in their struggles. Together, they would face the demons of the past and strive to forge a brighter and more hopeful future.
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Camp Day - The Next Morning.
"Charoite! Are you ready? We need to go where they'll pick you up for the camp," Hikaru shouted from the apartment's exit, tapping his foot impatiently.
"Yes! Just a second!" Charoite hurried over with all his things ready, prepared for the adventure he was about to embark on, away from the apartment where he had spent most of his time in his new life. Once he was by his new father's side, he quickly slipped on his shoes. "Ready," he directed a playful smirk at his new father.
Hikaru tapped his temple with his fingers before sighing. "Next time, try not to rush and please don't run around the apartment; you could hurt yourself."
Chaorite shrugged. "Don't worry about me, old man. We should get going." Chaorite quickly exited the apartment with his backpack strapped to his back.
Hikaru's eye twitched. "I'm not that old! I'm only 16. You should stop consuming so much internet; it's starting to rot your brain."
Chaorite put his hands on his head while giving a teasing smile. "It's an endearing nickname, don't get so worked up. Besides, the internet is amazing. It's not my fault you don't appreciate the good sites and only focus on the toxicity of Twitter." Chaorite shuddered. "Seriously, that site is full of weird people. It's no wonder you and Ai were careless, and she ended up pregnant. Taking advice from silly folks."
Hikaru furrowed his brow, shooting a glare at his cheeky son. "That's not why she got pregnant. There were other factors."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, old man."
Hikaru was about to retort before shaking his head. He wasn't going to waste time arguing with a nearly 2-year-old child. "You know what, let's just go to the car," he said before grabbing one of Charoite's hands to lead him out of the apartment building.
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After a long road trip, they finally reached their destination. Once Hikaru brought him to the meeting place where there would be many children with a much younger mental age than Charoite's, he waited while his father spoke with one of the coordinators. Charoite wasn't paying attention, instead looking around like a curious child who had just stepped out of a cage for the first time.
It wasn't far from the truth. He rarely ventured out when he was a walking corpse, and even when he was alive, outings were few and far between. His only excursions involved hunting spirits, cursed objects, or the AGONY, and he never really enjoyed those trips due to the same nuisances.
"Charoite," his father called, snapping him out of his thoughts to look at him. He was smiling a bit too falsely for Charoite's taste, but he supposed everyone wanted to keep up appearances, especially when you were an actor. "This is Ishikawa-san. She'll be one of the supervisors taking care of the camp. You can go to her if you need help."
Charoite glanced at Ishikawa with curiosity. She was a quite beautiful woman with Japanese features, brown eyes, and bluish-blonde hair. It was unusual for him, considering he had been living in the United States all his life, but he was slowly getting used to it.
"Hello, Charoite-chan. I'm glad your father enrolled you in our camp. He told me you're very talented at drawing." She crouched down, putting her hands on her knees to meet his gaze and smile at him.
"I guess," Charoite shrugged, a little uncomfortable. He wasn't sure how to act when talking to a stranger, but considering Hikaru hadn't instructed him to behave in any specific way beyond not being rude to people, he assumed he could act however he wanted as long as he didn't insult or be rude to people.
Besides, they preferred insulting people in their minds if they didn't like them.
"You're shy," she smiled. "But don't worry. Some kids are as shy as you, but most of them are a bit more outgoing. You'll get along and have fun with them. I promise."
"If you say so, Ishikawa-san." Charoite smiled in a childlike manner, feigning a behavior fitting his age.
She nodded. "Smart too, I see." Ishikawa straightened up and glanced at his father before looking back at Charoite. "I'll leave you to say goodbye to your father, Charoite-chan."
Hikaru looked at Charoite. "Take care, kid, and don't do anything foolish." Then he gave Charoite a wicked smile. "Oh, and watch out for bears; they might rip you apart and eat you alive."
Charoite shuddered and then paled. "Are you kidding?" Hikaru just laughed before starting to walk away towards the exit. "Hey, was that a joke? Because if it wasn't, what kind of father says that to his child? You have no heart." He frowned as he saw his father walking away further, ignoring his remarks. "Bastard! Don't ignore me!" Charoite shook his head with a small smile before approaching the caregiver his new father introduced him to.
After bidding farewell to his father, he was led to a fairly large transport vehicle where all the children going to the camp were being taken. Charoite had to admit he had expected the bus to be much more chaotic or disorderly, but he was surprised to find that despite the various noises he could hear, it was mostly quiet.
He shrugged. Maybe it was because there were only around 20 children in total, including himself. He didn't pay it much attention and settled into his seat, ready to sleep peacefully for the entire journey.
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Once they arrived at the camp. The forest they were in was quite beautiful, the air of nature was quite refreshing and pure. An air much purer than that of the cities of Japan. Charoite wanted to draw the beautiful scenery that was all around him, so he quickly looked for a secluded spot where he could draw in peace while waiting for the caretakers to set up the camp next to the tents.
The children were free to explore around them in the areas near the camp, and so that no one would get lost, the caretakers were watching an eye on the surroundings so as not to miss any child who was too curious.
Despite everything, Charoite was still worried about William Afton. He had been investigating places or areas where there were rumors of something supernatural or looking for any cases of missing children, but he hadn't found any positive results.
Charoite didn't know how to find him. He had no idea where to start looking, even if he were older, he wouldn't have the slightest clue of what to do. He'd probably just wander from one place to another like a nomad, going to places with paranormal rumors.
But as he thought and fretted over how to find his father and put an end to the damn nightmare once and for all, a brilliant idea struck him. An idea that came to him while watching one of his mother's concerts. Hoshino Ai.
What if Charoite didn't search for his father? What if instead of searching, he made William find him directly? Of course, he would lose the element of surprise, but it was much better than taking another thirty years to find him, or worse, maybe never finding him at all. The bastard could remain hidden if he wanted.
That's why it would be better for him to set a trap, a bait much more discreet than Pizza Simulator. He could put up posters all over Japan saying, "Here I am, I'm Michael Afton, you can attack me whenever you want, Father."
And he would make money from it too. He was going to create a damn manga. A manga so perfect that it would go viral worldwide; he could even create video games to make it even more famous. Something that his father would see, and if he hated him as much as he claimed, then he would try to kill him or at least find him and have a showdown with him.
Charoite could already see the sales and fame he would achieve (or at least he hoped so), not to mention he would earn money to buy materials and tools to build instruments and weapons to fight against William Afton. He could even recreate Helpy with enough money. And on top of that, he would fulfill his dream of becoming a successful drawing artist (although this wasn't necessary for Charoite as long as William fell for the bait).
He could also become a YouTuber and create memes of his own story. He could already envision it.
"Five Nights At Freddy's, Author: Michael Afton."
Or maybe he should use a different name for the protagonist. How about Scott Scawtwon? It was the name of one of the managers at Fazbear Entertainment, so it wouldn't be entirely off.
"Your drawing is quite impressive." The childish voice of a girl snapped Charoite out of his thoughts. He looked up and turned his head to see the girl with surprise, who was looking at him with a curious expression.
The lime green eyes of the girl named Shiranui Frill met the piercing purple eyes of Hoshino Charoite.
Two people who for random reasons of fate would be linked together for better or for worse. Only time will tell.
Author Note:
It focuses on the consequences of going from a rotten body to a fit body, Michael was honestly super tired of all the suffering, but the poor guy just has to keep going and grit his teeth.
Also focuses on his relationship with his new father and how they're both screwed up, Only Michael Afton has a lot of experience dealing with the crap out of his traumas. Poor Mike, he doesn't have a good opinion of himself, there's even anger towards himself. Opinions and concepts that you can sense when everyone around you disappears and the ones you trusted as friends train you and turn their back on you at the slightest mistake. Ahem... ahem... three tormentors leftover... Ahem, ahem.
Well, and finally our two main protagonists are reunited. What will happen? Well, find out in the next chapter. What I can say is that Michael will be very uncomfortable.