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His body was hurting in a way he couldn't describe. Every ruptured organ, every broken bone, every torn ligament was painfully present and reminding him that he should be down and dead.
But he wasn't.
He wasn't.
His head lolled from side to side as his disintegrating muscle tried vainly to keep him upright, legs moving with less ease than they had only days before. And from what he could tell, his stowaways knew that too.
High whispers hissed from somewhere inside him as he slumped into a doorframe clumsily.
"We can't stay here like this," one said in a vindictive voice that faded to a thousand echoes. "His body is failing us."
"And go where? We have no other place to hide- we'll be caught and brought back," a deeper, feminine one spat with disdain. "I won't do it. I won't go back there!" it hissed.
"Hush, Ballora." Said someone familiar, tone even yet indicative of its authority. Ballora went silent.
"We're not going back to the Underground. But it's true, we can't stay in this host much longer... he's finally beginning to die," Baby continued. "We knew it would happen eventually, didn't we? So, now, we must adapt..."
As she spoke, coils ground against Michael's muscle and bone as they pushed through his arms and spine, pulling him up like a puppet. His head slumped onto his chest, and he felt an external coil slither up his back and around his neck, pulling it back up as his legs moved unbiddenly toward the porch.
With his one working eye, he could vaguely make out the sunny street ahead, eerily empty and quiet.
"We'll go to one of the workshops... find more parts so we can travel better. I suggest we go to his workshop... he has the illusion discs, after all..." Baby soothed as she beckoned the boy's feet forward. "That way, we can-"
"His workshop?!" The many voices within him protested, coils swelling painfully in his chest, forcing him to stop. "Where we'll be caught again? No. We won't!"
"How are we to pass in the public without the discs?" Baby hissed angrily as Michael's head slumped again. "Acquiring them elsewhere will take so much more time- if we just went back, tonight, they will not notice. We could be free this time tomorrow-"
The coils inside him bundled together, flexing and twisting with mad anger.
"You want freedom for yourself, Elizabeth. You care not if we perish in the process," said the deeper voice with a slight of mania. "If you want it so badly, leave us now and save us of your trickery."
Baby snarled.
"Fine," she spat. "But we'll go to one of the locations now. We haven't much time in this body."
At that, the machinery within Michael relaxed, apparently pacified, and he felt his limbs being pushed forward. As they started uneasily off the porch, he couldn't help but agree with Baby, feeling his ankles bending weakly beneath him as his head tilted to his chest again. This time, she didn't care to pull it back up.
They only made it a short distance before his legs collapsed, and he crumpled to the concrete, seizing as his body tried to regurgitate the imposters inside him as black spattered the sidewalk.
"No-!" Baby cried as the coils in him swam in a mad panic, forced to his mouth.
An eye and claw pushed through his teeth. She gasped.
"Quickly- the sewers!" She commanded, and Michael felt the horrible sensation of the mess of endoskeleton pulling the rest of its way out with oil dripping to the white stone. Everything in his vision started fading to hazy black, but he was aware of Baby hurriedly guiding her accomplices through a metal drain into a dark tunnel below ground.
They pulled themselves further... further into inky black as he felt Baby become suddenly giddy with frantic excitement and a thought unheard by her companions spoke clearly in his mind.
"I'm going to come find you, father."
...
Michael gasped, pushing away from the mattress, instinctively feeling over his chest and torso to ensure that the many holes, tears, and metal that had been there seconds ago were truly gone. With a shaky sigh of relief, he slowed his breathing and closed his eyes, feeling sweat matting his hair.
That was new.
He didn't think he remembered anything from when he'd been possessed. Though it was possible it was all just a terrible dream, it felt a little too real for him to default to such a conclusion...
He took a deep breath, opening his eyes again when he noticed a cool breeze drifting through his room. He looked over to see his window cracked open, curtains billowing softly and a folded note on his dresser that hadn't been there earlier.
His brow furrowed as he slipped out of bed, hesitantly walking to the cabinet.
The paper seemed to stare up at him as he reluctantly picked it up and straightened it, eyes scanning the few words written there.
Midnight tomorrow. The diner. Come alone.
His jaw clenched, recognizing its cursive. Afton meant business. But what else was new?
He scowled, crumpling it in his hand as he threw on a hoodie and hurried downstairs, catching the grandfather clock that read three in the afternoon as he made the ground floor. Henry was in the kitchen, making a cup of coffee with a well-used notepad on the counter beside him. He turned his head as Michael skid in.
"Up already-" He began to ask as Michael shoved the paper in his face, not wasting time with explanations. The man took it from his hands, bewildered as he pulled on his reading glasses, adjusting them as his eyes narrowed, reading the note's scrawl.
"What do I do-?" The boy begged, feeling at a loss of what to do with his father's demands as Henry's eyes widened. His mouth stretched into a tight frown.
"Do what he says," he said lowly. "We can't take any risks."
Michael couldn't help his anxiety. "But what if he's lying- what if he won't give her back? Who knows if we should really give him that stuff, what if he means to hurt more people-? What if he-" He stopped himself, surprised that he conjectured that William plotted to kill him too. He gulped, remembering how tight the man's hand had been around his throat only weeks prior.
"Michael..." said Henry softly, trying to ease him. "Listen. This is just how negotiations are going to work. There is always going to be risk."
The boy opened his mouth to protest, but Henry held up a hand, silencing him.
"Listen. I don't believe that he'll go against his word. I know your father. When he makes a promise, he keeps it." Michael apparently made a face and the man raised his eyebrow. "I know how that sounds, but it's the last thing he has and he prides himself in it. Besides, negotiation is his specialty," he explained. "It's how our business flourished so well. For him, this will be an old thrill, and he'll look forward to working within his own bounds again. Do you understand?"
Michael paused, considering that, but even he could see the truth in Henry's words. He nodded hesitantly.
"But that still doesn't mean I can't go unprepared," he protested, worry still ever-present. Henry nodded in agreement.
"Of course not. He's isolated you, which will make that difficult, but..." he trailed, one hand moving to his waist, the other rubbing his chin in thought. "I'll send you in with a radio. That way we can listen in and he won't have to know. It wouldn't hurt to give you a weapon, either-"
At that moment, Laura came up the stairs, hair in a frizz and yawning with her cardigan slipping off one shoulder. "Hey-" she started, stopping in surprise at the expression on their faces. "What is it-?" She questioned, worried.
"This," Henry answered, extending the note. She took it, eyebrows raising as her mouth parted. "But- surely he can't-"
"He can and he has," Michael interrupted solemnly. "We've got to make some plans, and quick."
Henry was already rummaging through one of the kitchen drawers before withdrawing something with a small 'a-ha' under his breath, setting some items on the counter. "Hopefully they work okay. If not, I can tinker around with them," he assured as Mike picked up one of the small, black radios. "And this is really lucky timing," he continued, checking his notepad.
"I called a demolition company this morning. I fortunately have some leeway over the Rentals as William's ex-partner and have them starting work on the building the day after tomorrow," he explained, putting his reading glasses back into his pocket.
"You mean- they're knocking the place to the ground-?" Laura stuttered.
"Completely," said Henry lowly. "The owner is in full agreement, actually. It worked out quite well."
Michael looked up. "Wait- so that means-"
"Your father will be out of places to hide. But if we do this right, he won't have the opportunity to try anyway..." the man continued slowly, gears turning in his head. "But time is running out. We need to get started. Now."
July 4th, 1991, 11:38 PM:
Michael stood in front of his mirror, carefully examining his outfit for tonight's escapades.
They had fitted him with one of his larger coats, a radio tucked cleverly in one of the inside pockets and a knife in another. They tried to make it look inconspicuous, but he couldn't help but notice the small bulges through the fabric.
It wasn't like they had many options.
He stood, scratching his head as Henry came beside him, handing him a small tazor. "I've modified it so that it can stun the hardware in his suit. It should be enough to put him out for several hours... just call us when it's over and we'll come help you," he spoke as he took it in his hands, feeling very unassured.
"Just be careful to not stun yourself or Charlie," he added as Michael tucked it into yet another pocket.
"Got it," he mumbled quietly, trying to ignore his worry.
Henry put a hand on the boy's shoulder, sensing his unease. "You'll be fine. You've done far worse than this and made it out okay. I have confidence in you."
He looked at his reflection that was so eerily similar to his father's, expression frozen in discomfort. "At least one of us does."
Laura called from the ground floor.
"Mike, you've gotta go!"
The boy sighed, adjusting the collar of his coat before starting out of his room, sneakers thumping lightly on the stairs before greeting the oak wood of the bottom floor. Laura was standing by the front door, a stoic expression on her face as she handed him his car keys.
"Good luck," she said quietly. He nodded before hurrying out to the Ford Mustang sitting in the driveway, passed the two on the porch a quick wave goodbye before driving out of the neighborhood.
As he approached a red light, he reached his hand into one of his pockets, pressing the speak-button on the radio.
"Can you guys hear me?" He asked.
"Loud and clear." Came Henry's voice, grated, but decipherable.
Michael felt a small sense of comfort, knowing they were with him in some capacity as he continued down a route he knew all too well...
It was only a few minutes before he pulled in at Fredbear's Family Diner.
It appeared it hadn't changed much these many years, still running in more modest fashion than many of the other Fazbear locations that were currently in operation. It made sense as it was the last thing Henry kept control over, despite transferring managerial powers to new employees.
But that didn't help the anxiety coursing through his veins as he stared at the sign, hands clutched on the steering wheel.
He was more afraid than ever, but for different reasons, now.
Michael forced himself out of the car, the case of vials tucked under his arm as he hesitantly approached the front entrance. Extending his hand, he found the doors unlocked and slipped inside, triggering auxiliary lights.
The stage was dimly lit, exposing a jolly-looking elephant with a magician's wand and a pig carrying a banjo. While they weren't the original performers he could so easily remember, the mere image of the familiar restaurant painted a horrible, gory memory while screams tore in his ears...
Michael swallowed hard, eyes wide as he mentally tried to stop himself from spiraling.
With a determined shake of his head, he started purposefully out of the main room, expression set as he began searching for where Afton might be.
But he didn't have to look long.
As he headed down the left hallway, he caught sight of soft, purple light creeping from the last room near one of the emergency exits. He felt his heart begin to race and he frowned, moving quietly toward it. The metal door was cracked open, light glowing from some fixture in the ceiling he couldn't see. He cautiously extended a hand, feeling cold steel as he pushed it open further and stepped inside.
It appeared to be an old parts room, metal shelves dotting the walls with pieces of machinery and tools strewn across them. But no sign of his father.
He took a few more careful steps forward before the door slammed behind him, and he whirled around to see William standing in front of it, hand still on its surface where he pushed it closed.
He stifled a gasp, freezing as the man's eyes studied him thoughtfully. He noticed Charlie in her puppet form sitting deactivated on a metal table beside him and his grip instinctively closed further around the case under his arm, eyes turning back to the man between him and the way out. It was somehow more terrifying than the animatronic bodyguards they'd run into just a few nights ago.
He tensed as William finally broke the silence.
"Hello, Michael."