Michael peered his flashlight at the entry-door, the beam glaring through glass to an eerily empty auditorium, turning his head back once as he retrieved a key from his jacket pocket.
"Clear?" He said quietly, Laura shielding him from where the parking lot faced them.
"Clear." Henry affirmed.
The boy pressed the key into the door-lock, grateful that the locks hadn't been changed since the building's construction and that his copy still worked. He twisted his hand, pushing the door open silently and urged the others inside, eyes scanning the road and nearby stores for anyone who might be watching, but to their luck, they seemed to have the rentals to themselves that night.
"Now, where?" Laura asked quietly, relying on the moonlight coming in through enormous windows to see as Michael flicked off his flashlight.
His gaze moved to the front desk where it felt like so long ago he'd rung its bell and first toured Circus Baby's since coming home, realizing just how lifeless the building felt. "The elevators," he answered, proceeding down one of the expansive hallways laid with purple carpet and yellow-patterned stars.
"Has this place changed much since it opened?" Henry asked curiously as they proceeded past abandoned party rooms and arcades.
"Apart from making half the stuff here storage, no," Michael answered, turning a corner.
The man hummed as if something were confirmed. "It screams your father," he explained, eyes gliding over the colorful floors and walls, most of which elegantly echoed violet hues and circus themes, decorated intermittently with posters, curtains, and curious lights. Laura eyed them with a raised brow and a small frown. "Doesn't seem very serial-killer-y to me," she voiced suspiciously. "More like 'I didn't get enough love from mom and dad' or something."
"He's both," Michael remarked offhandedly as they approached metal doors. "And I think we're clear here too, by the way."
Henry nodded, lifting one half of his coat as Charlie untangled herself from where she'd hid wrapped around his middle, creeping to the ground silently with ease. "I wouldn't be so sure about that," she murmured skeptically, dark eyes studying their surroundings. "Something feels off."
"Do we need to leave?" Henry questioned, looking at his daughter concernedly as the other two turned to face her.
"...I don't know." She responded hesitantly. "We might as well keep going... but be careful."
Michael nodded, turning back to the elevator as he inserted his key into its lock and thumbed the down arrow, leaning back as the metal doors slid open. The four stepped inside and the doors closed behind them.
"Which floor?" Henry asked, closest to the level indicator.
"Three," Michael answered swiftly as the elevator shuddered and began its decent.
His jaw set as he examined the whirring fan and the steel winking back at them. One of the posters seemed to be missing, the other damaged, though it was altogether an unsettling environment to find himself in again... especially when thinking of the determination he'd had the last time he was there, believing he was running into the lion's den with a sure rescue plan.
A sure wakeup call to his naivety, more like.
The boy blinked, coming out of his daze as he felt Laura's hand brush his. "Are you okay?" She whispered, looking up at him concernedly. He immediately relaxed, surprised at how tense he was.
"Yeah. Sorry," he murmured back as another voice interrupted the otherwise quiet shaft.
"Welcome to Circus Baby's Rentals and Entertainment. I'm a Model 5 of the Handyman's robotics and unit repair system, but you can call me Handunit," the voice spoke. Michael looked up, mouth opening in surprise- he didn't think the guide would still be active.
"If you are a guest, welcome. If you are an employee, welcome back," Handunit continued. "Guests, please enter your names on the keypad below for your temporary ID passes. This cannot be changed later, so please be careful."
Michael scowled, stepping back, repulsed as a familiar yellow tablet appeared, its screen as erratic as ever.
"You-" he hissed as it looked cheerily back up at him.
The others in the elevator exchanged confused glances and Henry opened his mouth to speak, hand reaching for the boy's shoulder before he suddenly withdrew it with a jump as Michael kicked the tablet over, screen spitting with static.
"Eggs Benedict, take that you crummy little..." he grumbled to himself, straightening as the elevator slowed to a stop. "Guests, please keep your ID badges with you at all times, and enjoy your stay," Handunit spoke smoothly as the doors slid open.
Michael adjusted his jacket, clearing his throat. "Let's go."
The four gingerly stepped out of the shuttle into a darkened hallway, lit only by dim, softly glowing circus bulbs spotted on scarlet walls. They began to creep quietly over checkered tile that glared mellow light back at them, ears perked and attentive to faint creaks of pipes and machinery.
Michael turned on his flashlight, aiming it at the plates hung over doors that dotted the corridor, eyes peeled for anything that might be William's workshop... but so far, all that remained were breaker rooms and storage.
"Are you sure it's this floor?" Laura whispered as they continued further down the long hall.
The boy's eyes narrowed, beam turning to the next plate. "I thought..." he murmured, trying to reach back to those distant memories of when his father took him and Elizabeth to this place. He was sure it'd been this level, but perhaps...
His flashlight met the next tablet, and he stopped. Above the door hung a slab that was simply labelled:
WILLIAM A.
The group halted. "Well..." Henry murmured. "This has to be it."
Michael reached into his jacket pocket, withdrawing a worn ring of keys he'd found in his father's desk drawer. He could only guess that one of them belonged to his workshop in the underground... and, if not, they were going to find themselves at another dead end.
"Let's hope one of these works," he muttered, holding his breath as he inserted the first key into the lock and turned it.
Nothing.
He drew another and tried the same. Nothing.
He swallowed, pressing one of the remaining keys into the knob, and his heart leapt at the resounding click of the door as it creaked open.
"Bingo," he said under his breath as he pushed inside.
The four walked quietly into the workshop, Henry easing the door shut behind them as white lights above them buzzed. Michael's eyes began to wander over the room, taking in his eerily familiar surroundings. It felt almost like he stepped back in time.
He urged his feet forward, walking past metal shelves coated with dust and boxes of parts, peering at diagrams pasted on the walls. The others began examining the file cabinets and strewn packages as he approached his father's abandoned desk.
"What are we looking for, exactly?" Asked Charlie from across the room, a stack of documents in her clawed hands.
"I don't know... something that might give us a clue as to what he wants or where to find him," Michael replied offhandedly, looking the mess of items on the desk. "Just whatever catches your eye."
He moved toward it, hands sorting through the files scattered over the wooden surface. They seemed mostly to be old animatronic designs, though they all held the same scooping claw in their centers. He scowled, repulsed as he tossed those aside, coming across the more sophisticated ones that made it to manufacture.
Michael's jaw clenched as he looked over them, recognizing his father's neat cursive.
"Tidy just like those murders, eh, Pop?" He muttered with a frown.
He looked further down where scribbled notes were left, detailing the success (or, for some, the lack thereof) of the murderous machines of the rentals, some parts circled and starred.
The boy sighed. He didn't understand.
Why had this happened? Where had it all gone wrong?
When did his father, a once respectable, well-natured man turn to this for answers? Why did he ever think this would get him what he wanted and furthermore, why did he think his family would approve, even if he accomplished what he hoped for?
Michael frowned. he couldn't help but wonder, if maybe...
If maybe this was his fault, in the end. If he was the spark that lit this flame of torment and pain... if he was, he could only hope that his endeavors now would atone for that fault.
He sighed, setting the papers and blueprints down, not wanting to look at them anymore. Instead, his attention moved to strange looking items laid further down the desk.
He moved closer, observing what were evidently metal cases, the first left ajar. He turned it to face him, noticing the insides that were lined with felt, once dark but made gray with dust. There were depressions and grooves lined vertically across the interior, empty, though, there as if it were meant to hold something fragile. Whatever that something was, Michael didn't know, but he guessed they might be some kind of tools given the lean, long shape the cavities made.
His attention turned to an identical box beside it, this one closed. He pulled it closer, turning it so the latches were facing him, and attempted to open it.
To his disappointment, it appeared to be locked.
He sighed, frowning a little, wanting badly for some reason to get into it, but doubted he'd find a way in. He pushed back, expecting nothing more from it before his eyes caught the curious keyhole situated between the two latches. It looked vaguely familiar, almost as if...
The boy's eyes widened, suddenly hurrying to find the ring of keys in his pocket. He retrieved them clumsily, hands gracelessly fingering through them until they came to the one he was looking for.
In his grip he held a jaggedly cut key, smaller than others and needing a silver polish. But if he was right, it was this box to whom it belonged.
Michael's heart began to beat rapidly with some unknown suspense, holding his breath as he lowered it to the lock and pressed it inside. He held it tighter before hesitantly turning it, mouth opening in surprise and eagerness as it clicked, popping open a crack. The boy set the key down on the desk and lowered his hands to the latches, flipping them up as he raised the lid.
He was surprised to be met with soft light, eyes opening wider.
Inside lay a row of seven slots like the first, though, in this one, two were still filled of what presumably had occupied the former. Two glowing vials lay in the last of the depressions, a cyan substance swirling easily within them, ivory lines and bubbles slowly twisting with it in a slumberous hibernation.
Michael's eyes opened wider, allured as he went to touch the vial's glass, but before he could grace its surface, Laura called from across the room.
"Guys..." she stammered in a wavering voice.
He looked over as the others approached her and closed the box, tucking it under his arm as he moved to investigate what she was looking at.
He came to her side where she'd opened a rather fresh-looking cardboard box, opened to display a series of knobs, bolts, tools, and metal. He frowned, confused... it appeared to be a simple old case of parts.
"What's wrong?" He asked.
Michael looked over, noticing Henry's equally confused face dawning a much more fearful expression, mouth dropping. "Oh no..." he gasped.
The boy leaned in, brow furrowed as he tried to gauge what everyone was so worried when it struck him-
These were the stolen parts from the warehouses.
His eyes widened as he took a step back, heart stopping as he realized... if the pieces were here, that could only mean-
The four suddenly froze at the sound of low, grated growling, eyes turning to the slowly opening door as a long muzzle lined with gleaming teeth poked its way through the gap.