Happy New Year's, everyone! Here's to 2023!

July 2nd, 1991:

It was just unbelievable. Absolutely inconceivable.

Michael stared with a frown at the picture in his hands, comparing it with his reflection in the bathroom mirror. There was no way he should be alive, let alone healing.

Despite the polaroid held between his fingers that displayed the horrifying image of how he'd looked just days prior, it was hard to imagine he'd actually looked like that- skin dark and discolored, rotting gashes on his face and chest, one eye sunken and blackened. It was like looking at a corpse.

The boy looked back up at the mirror with a furrowed brow, raising a hand to touch his cheek, where, yes, his skin felt dry and thin, but certainly not anything compared to the photograph he carried... in fact, he seemed almost back to normal apart from his right eye which remained fogged and glassy.

To his misfortune, it still hadn't gained its sight back.

Michael's mouth thinned with a fatigued exhale as he set the picture down, leaning on the bathroom countertop before reluctantly pushing off it as he walked into the hallway and down the stairs. His hand felt the slick oak of the banister as he descended, muddled thoughts clouding his mind. While he couldn't grasp an explanation for his condition, the only thing he could think of was the image of his father in Fazbear Frights, half-rotted but standing with even more strength than he had when he was alive. Alive...

The boy didn't realize he'd walked into the kitchen until he received a tap on his shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts.

"Alright, there?" Henry inquired.

"Uh-" Michael started, blinking. "Yeah... sorry."

The man's hand lingered on his shoulder, studying his expression before he nodded once and let go. Things had been somewhat tense and awkward since their outburst a week prior and Michael got the impression that Henry didn't know if he could trust him.

But who could blame him?

Michael moved to the kitchen table where a spread of notes lay atop it, reaching for a glass of orange juice he'd left earlier that morning as Henry leaned against the counter.

"How's your eye?" The man asked, scanning the morning paper. "The same," he responded disdainfully, catching his reflection in the glass with a frown as the sight of one unnaturally lighter orb greeted him. "Hmm..." Henry murmured softly. "Well... we'll keep hoping..." he trailed.

Michael sighed with a nod as the garage door opened.

"Hey," said Laura, walking into the kitchen, hair wind-blown and disheveled as she set a notebook and recorder on the counter. "Hi," the boy greeted before catching her appearance. "Are you wearing a jacket-?" He stuttered as she slid the article off her shoulders. "It's kind of cold out there, believe it or not," she defended. "Especially with that wind. They don't call this place 'Hurricane' for nothing."

"Still, it's July," Michael added with a raised eyebrow. "It can't be that cold-" he said, stopping himself at the unamused expression on her face.

Laura cast him one final warning glare before sitting at the bar. "Well, I figured out what exactly was stolen from those hardware stores," she spoke, sliding her notepad across the counter to Henry, who picked it up and began to read the list of items neatly documented on its yellow pages. "And I think it's what we guessed- machinery parts."

The man nodded in agreement, brow furrowed in thought. "These are all things I used to build our robots. The only things missing are the actual parts themselves."

Laura nodded, rolling her eyes. "Well, I don't know what was taken from the Fazbear warehouse, the employees and managers are really tight-lipped about it. Wouldn't even give a statement when I told them I was a reporter," she said with a sigh, running a hand through her hair. "I dunno, maybe they could tell I was lying."

Henry continued to examine the notepad. "The company isn't fond of publicity right now. Especially the negative kind." He spoke. Michael nodded in agreement, remembering the coverups he'd seen in his short time working with them as he checked his watch.

"Say, when do you think Charlie is going to get back? She's been out for nearly eighteen hours, now," he asked aloud.

"Which I think is quite timely, thank you," an icy voice uttered from behind him, causing him to jump in his seat with an embarrassing yelp. "Could you not do that?!" Michael spluttered with reddened ears as Charlie slinked through a kitchen window silently. "We have doors! Three of them!"

She ignored him, passing the table until she came to a clearer space, curling her legs up with crossed arms as she hovered a few feet above the tile.

"I kept my eyes out for William, but I couldn't find a trace of him or his whereabouts," she spoke smoothly, face expressionless. "I did, however, find Circus Baby."

The three instinctively cast their attention to her, listening apprehensively.

"She's hiding in the sewers. She's afraid of being caught," she elaborated. "But she apparently wasn't the only one who made a getaway out of Michael," she continued, gaze turning to him darkly. His brow narrowed, confused.

"What are you talking about..?" He questioned slowly, paranoid there was something else he'd brought back that was lurking in the house without their knowing.

"There are three others with her," Charlie answered simply. "As in- three other animatronics?" Laura asked, leaning forward with a confused expression. The girl nodded.

"They've combined to make one whole," she explained.

Michael's gaze fell downwards, eyes darting back and forth in thought as to what that could mean until the reason manifested obviously in his head. He grimaced, shuddering. "It must have been the other Funtimes from the rentals," he muttered. "That would count Foxy, Ballora, and Freddy... Baby said herself they were all destroyed with her. I guess they all wanted out."

Henry scowled from where he was leaning against the counter, arms crossed tightly. "How cruelly poetic," he snarled. "I thought we were past repeating evil.

Michael and Laura exchanged glances, confused at to what he meant, but Charlie apparently understood as she replied over their bewilderment. "The longer they're trapped in those machines, the further they lose themselves. They did what they had to to escape, in their minds," she murmured with an exasperated sigh. "I'm not sure they even remember their names."

Michael couldn't help but frown, the image of Elizabeth alone and desperate for help manifesting in his mind. He felt more sympathetic to forgiveness if that were the case, given she'd been tainted by the malice of Baby.

More than anything, he just wanted her to be helped or freed from that prison.

"How do we help them?" He asked quietly.

Charlie's dark head turned to him, a small frown on her face. "Free them. Let their souls move on," she answered simply. "But I can only do that if they let me. And they don't seem like they want to leave anytime soon."

"Why wouldn't they?" Laura questioned, confused.

She shifted uncomfortably. "They're angry... they want to get back at their killer. Some want something else... I couldn't decipher what."

Michael clasped his hands tightly, letting out a tight exhale. "Well, there has to be another way, then. And whatever that is could take my dad down too..." he trailed in thought. He could feel the others' eyes on him as he peered at a spot on the tile. "And there's one place that might hold the answers for that."

He finally looked up, gaze meeting Laura and Charlie's before landing on Henry's.

"I think it's time we give dad's workshop a little visit."