Prologue – Tomorrow is Another Day
Tuesday 19th July 1983, 06:00 AM
There was nothing but darkness.
All around him. Even the crack of light that emanated through the door of the closet was barely enough to even allow him to see what was in front of him. That was a good thing; it meant that there was no one who could see him in there, watching him. Perhaps even the monsters couldn't see him, he so naively hoped.
It was just him. Him, and the plushie doll he was cradling close to his body as he wondered. Before he had hidden away, the crack of dawn had appeared through the window. Was the night over? He didn't know if he wanted the answer. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to control the tears, but they fell from his eyes involuntarily.
Somewhere in the distance, he heard laughter. He had long since stopped asking if it was real. Maybe he wasn't meant to know. Hugging the plushie doll tighter, it asked the question for him.
What did he do this time?
Whimpering, the boy couldn't answer. He already knew what awaited him if he went to check, to see what had happened. He knew in his heart what the day would have in store, just as he had known what yesterday would bring. It was the same thing every day.
Yet, the plushie still inquired, it's beady black and white eyes almost staring at him. Knowing and relentless.
He locked you in your room again.
Feeling the sobs close to wracking his chest, the boy nodded. Terror at discovering the answer halting him from even so much as opening his eyes, let alone getting up from the corner and going to investigate.
Don't be scared, the plushie assured him, I am here with you.
Looking down at the plushie, the child noted its yellow, plump frame and the bear-like features it possessed. Alongside several black buttons, the bear was wearing a purple bow tie and hat. A friendly grin was showing on its face and as the child stared into its eyes, he knew the bear stared right back.
Sighing in worry, the child turned his tear-stained eyes to the closet door and shakily stood up. With the bear close against his body, he stepped closer to the closet door and peaked out through the crack. There was nothing there; nothing but the idle toys and furniture. Breathing in his fears, the child pushed the white doors open and stepped back into his bedroom.
He took tentative steps onto the blue square carpet, looking over every detail and seeing if anything had changed. When he saw that everything was the same as he left it, he took a deep breath before going over to his bed, a small-framed single with a mattress covered in a blue sheet with two white pillows at the end. He had taken the duvet with him into the closet to use it to hide better in the darkness.
Placing the bear plushie on the bed, he stood in the middle of the room. It felt like every step he took, the white pinpricks of the plushie would continue to watch him. That didn't upset him, for it was a good feeling to know he wasn't alone. Glancing at every bit of furniture, the child tried to look out for anything out of place.
A blue dresser was against the front wall near the doorway, a lamp with a similar shade resting on top. Next to it was a purple fan, plugged in but not on. Hanging from the white wallpapered walls were picture frames, showing anything from photographs to comic book art. All on the floor were various toys, including that of a robot and a rotary phone with eyes and wheels.
Struggling to remember, the boy was satisfied when he confirmed that everything was as he left it. One of the signs he had learned to look for what if anything had been moved, even slightly, because it meant that they were still here. Even still, he worried. Looking at his bed again, he slowly got down to his hands and knees and looked under it.
There was nothing there. He then stepped over to his window and lifted the blinds carefully, peeking under it. The window was still closed and all there was outside were trees and the rising sun to announce the incoming new day.
The sound of laughter in the distance made his freeze, as he looked around the room in a panic once more. When he saw nothing, he looked up towards the small ventilation duct on the top right corner of his room. There was also nothing there. Finally, he looked down at the four other plushie dolls which sat in the corner. When he had chosen to hide, he had only enough time to grab one.
The first was another bear, though this one was simpler than its cousin. Brown and furry, it wore a black bow tie and hat. The eyes were simple black beads, lifeless and non-threatening. A small grey rod was sewn into its right hand, making it look like it was holding a microphone.
Next to it were two other plushies, one a blue bunny rabbit and the other a yellow chicken. With gray eyes and a red bow tie, the rabbit's ears were floppy and silly looking. The chicken wore a white apron and had a white disk which resembled a cake, sewn into its left hand.
Then there was the fifth plushie, which the child could hardly look at anymore. Red, with a fabric hook for a hand, the doll once resembled that of a fox, a patch over the missing eye. But the head of the plushie was gone, leaving only a neck hole with stuffing poking out of it. The child hadn't found the head since it went missing, but he hadn't been able to find the heart to so much as hide the plushie doll from his sight.
These are my friends, he thought to himself sadly. The only friends he had in the world. So when they were treated in such a horrible way, it broke his heart. Even if he were to find the head of the fox, what could he do? Try to put it back together? He didn't know how to sew, and he doubted he could find someone to do it for him.
So against his will, he could do nothing more than leave the decapitated plushie doll with the others, hoping the answer to his problems would come to him. As always.
When his eyes finally fell to the doorway, he felt that surge of anxiety fill his bones. All he needed was the hope that he could go to that doorway, press down on that door handle, and push it open. Even as he continued to hear that laughter, reverbing off the walls, he hoped and prayed.
Taking small, less than eager steps towards the door, he felt like he was approaching his own doom. Even if it opened, what was laying on the other side? He knew that it would perhaps be easier for him to simply ignore the door, retrieve his duvet from the closet and hide away until the answer came to him, but he had made his friend a promise that he would be strong.
Even if he was anything but.
Breathing in any sort of courage he still had, the boy stepped closer to the doorway and got down to his hands and knees, looking through the crack at the bottom. The absence of a shadow gave him pause, and he knew he was alone. Climbing back up, he looked at the door, looked back at his friend, and tried to choke back the tears that were threatening to spill.
Then, raising one tiny hand up, he went for the door handle, pushed it down, and pulled it towards him.
When it didn't budge, he knew the worst to be true. He tried pulling it again, but the metallic resistance was unyielding. Knowing that it was pointless, he instead let go of the handle and knocked. When there wasn't an answer, he knocked again, more loudly. What felt like an eternity passed as he kept knocking more loudly, until eventually he was almost pounding the doorway in anger.
After he knocked so hard that it hurt his hand, he felt his emotions finally win out and fresh tears began to spill from his eyes. Sobs wracked his chest and he felt down to his knees, then onto his side, and began to cry deeply, yet quietly. He had learned long ago to cry quietly.
He knew that the yellow bear was staring at him, whether in sympathy or apathy, but he couldn't open his eyes to stare back. Yet he heard that voice state what he always did so. The one truth he held onto with dear life.
Tomorrow is another day, the bear said.
Sunday 15th March 2015, 09:24 AM
A certain satisfaction filled his bones whenever he was moments away from making a public speech. No matter how good or bad. The knowledge that he was the most important person in the room, how his words would be listened to and focused on. How every single moment he spent before, during, and after would be scrutinised.
So as High Overseer Nate Donovan stood there at the top of his office balcony, looking down at the gathering crowd within the judgement hall who were all waiting to listen to his speech, it felt all too alluring to keep them waiting for however long he wanted. Eventually, he knew he had to go down there and continue.
Even if the crowd of people were unsettled, anxious, and even angry, it still filled him with that satisfaction. Even the other members of the Council were waiting for him, but how could they do their job without him? He never understood why Sanders hadn't revelled in his position more before he lost it.
Heading back over to the mirror, Donovan adjusted the collar of his shirt again, buttoning every button on his suit jacket except for the top one, and brushed his hair a little more until he was happy with it. Then, happy with how he had prepared and deciding it was time, he put on his ceremonial robe, a pristine scarlet-red material which the less educated would have called a poncho, and started heading downstairs.
Before the meeting, he had ordered his clothes to be ironed with care. Not a single crease was allowed, and he had been satisfied with the work. Entering his elevator, Donovan pressed the button to be sent down to the level he wanted and pondered on exactly what he was going to say. Without the need to write anything down, he had planned precisely how he was going to say it in his head.
The elevator doors opened and he stepped out, immediately accompanied by Law agents. He didn't so much as say a word to them as he made his way to the council chambers, the adjacent private rooms connected to the judgement hall, where he knew the other council members to be.
Entering the chambers, he saw his three fellow council members all quietly discussing amongst themselves. Overseer of Order and Shield Ramsey Lancaster, a dark and silent gentleman who had been at Donovan's side for just over twenty years. Overseer of Light Evelyn Jones, a woman Donovan had found best to keep as a friend, but never to trust. Overseer of Shadow Fredrick O'Connor, an inexperienced leader who preferred to defer to his superiors.
As much as he hated to admit it, Donovan knew this council was a shadow of its former self. Once upon a time, they were a force to be reckoned with, when they had people like Sokolov, Lamarck, and St. Clair. Sanders had kept a tight ship afloat.
"High Overseer, is it true?" Jones asked, failing to keep her voice quiet, "We've only heard rumours."
Donovan nodded solemnly, "I'm afraid so. All of it."
"Do you think they suspected anything?"
"They must have." Lancaster sniffed, keeping his voice low and face stone, "This sort of reaction is unprecedented."
"I knew there would be fallout, but…" Evelyn seemed troubled, as did O'Connor. Donovan knew he needed to keep a close eye on them both.
Choosing to ignore their meltdown, Donovan continued walking past them, quickly joined by Lancaster. Up they went, up the marble staircase that led to their thrones. As they reached the top, Donovan was almost in shock at how many people were standing there in the lower platforms, waiting impatiently for answers.
The moment the crowd witnessed their arrival, all eyes fell onto the council. He could tell that many of the agents wanted to shout out, to demand answers, but their discipline won. Donovan could see both old and new agents. The old looked weary and unsure. The new looked clueless and confused. Both could do nothing more than wait.
Sitting down on his throne, Donovan looked to his right and to his left. Once, a long time ago, there were seven thrones. One for the High Overseer, and another six for each department's Overseer. Now there were five, as he had maintained his position as Overseer of Law in spite of his role after Sanders retired.
To Donovan's left sat Lancaster and O'Connor, and to his right sat Jones. The throne furthest to his right was empty.
Nodding to Lancaster, Donovan watched as the Overseer of Order and his right hand man stood up, stepped forward, and spoke.
"Attention, please." Lancaster ordered in a loud voice, loud enough to be heard even by the ones standing at the back. "The High Overseer wishes to announce our response to the latest issues affecting our organisation, and to give the answers you all have been requesting."
With that, Lancaster sat back down and looked impassively at the crowd. Standing up, Donovan walked over to the podium in front of the thrones, where a microphone stood which was linked up to the loudspeakers. Clearing his throat, Donovan gave a small smile before speaking.
"It would be an injustice to ignore the hardships that the Crucible has faced over the last two decades. I look at many of the new faces among us, and I know how unburdened they are for not having to see them, yet how burdened they are by not knowing us at our full strength. Yet, in spite of all this, the first thing that remains true is this: The Crucible was, is, and will always be, this world's last best hope."
Nodding to the agents listening to his every word, Donovan continued, "This hasn't changed. Me and my fellow council members work tirelessly to make the best decisions not just for our agents, but for the people relying on the core principles of Law. Order. In times of peace, we work in the Light and in the Shadow to maintain the stability that many take for granted. In times of war, we are the Sword and Shield which defends the innocent."
"Consider the Manchester Cataclysm. The many lives that were lost on that dreadful day. When the world's Governments bickered and looked for their best interests, it was the Crucible that answered the call to contain and safeguard the lives still in danger. Because the second truth still remains, tribalism is the final resort of the selfish."
Breathing on, Donovan knew it was time to acknowledge what was going on. "But there remains a third truth. Though there are many out there whom would seek to destroy all that we have built, to lay waste to our core principles and build a new world on top of the foundation of chaos, those are not our biggest challenges. They are not our worst enemies. The worst enemies of the Crucible has always been, and still remains, itself. Itself, and those who heard the call, yet failed to answer."
"Though I am sure every single person has heard what has happened, I feel that as High Overseer of this great organisation, it is my duty to quash any doubts. One week ago, a former agent of ours by the name of Thomas Caine was tragically murdered by the infamous criminal, Dutch Lawson. The reason for this incident was due to the simple, sad fact that Mr. Caine attempted to subdue Mr. Lawson on his own."
"Now, while Thomas Caine had fallen from grace, choosing to leave the Crucible to join up with a team of mercenaries, I would like to state on the record that he was once a renowned and effective agent. The baseless claims suggesting that we had anything to do with this unfortunate incident are simple lies being spread by his team of grieving misfits and troublemakers, attempting to hide their own responsibility in a man's death."
"These lies have consequences. They are the reason behind this little bit of workplace drama regarding our dear Sword Department. My fellow Overseer of Sword Takeo Hasashi has unfortunately been manipulated. I assure you, it is all a blip in the road and order will be restored."
Smiling, Donovan raised his hands , as if to embrace each and every single agent in that room. "Remember: The success of the Crucible depends on the hearts and minds of every single one of you."
Then he turned, ignoring the uneasy murmurs and demanding questions, walking back down the staircase with grace. Closely followed by his overseers. Knowing that they were out of earshot, Donovan asked Jones, "Have you found them?"
"Not yet." Jones said reluctantly, "They've likely gone off the grid."
"Leave them be, for now. Let them mourn their losses."
"Okay. And then what?"
Donovan almost smiled at the thought. "It has been a long time since the Nightingales have had such a target."
Saturday 21st March, 07:45 AM
He couldn't remember the last time he had slept.
Had it been a few days into their exile? Before all of it, when he was losing his sanity watching those recordings over and over again? Or had it been mere nights ago, so uneasy and fruitless that he had barely noticed it?
Rubbing his tired eyes, Mike tried to make sense of any of it. Two weeks on the run had near enough broken him. Not only due to the constant fear of being found, or the unfamiliar environment that they were standing in. Perhaps it was most of all the fact that he hadn't been given even a moment to make sense of any of it.
When Ella had confirmed that the CCTV footage on a nearby building had caught them near enough to the fire that it hadn't been passed off as coincidence, Mike knew they were in trouble. They had chosen not to stay around the safehouse for very long, knowing that it wouldn't be long for the Police to start sniffing around there.
So when their fears were finally proven true over Carl's radio, announcing the official manhunt for them, it had been a good thing that they were already long gone. In the outskirts of the county. Mike still remembered how his spine had chilled, hearing the news reporter over the radio.
"And more information has been confirmed by the Sheriff's department, regarding the incident at the local horror attraction known as Fazbear Frights which claimed the life of at least one individual, owner and manager Reginald Wood." Pausing for a moment, the news reporter seemed to take his time looking over the information before reading it out.
"CCTV footage, caught from a houseowner's cameras who lived just across the street from the attraction, has shown the suspects Police are now pursuing for questioning. We are able to confirm that Police have identified three of the suspects. Wanted Posters have been published by the Sheriff's Department. All five suspects are believed to be armed and dangerous."
Once more, the reporter had paused for a few moments before continuing. "The three identified suspects are believed to have been employees of the late Mr. Wood. Mr. Jack O'Driscol, male white Caucasian, red hair, age forty six. Miss Michelle Lang, female Chinese American, aged 32. Mr. Michael Schmidt, male white Caucasian, aged forty two, and the suspected ring leader."
"Two more suspects have yet to be identified, though they are believed to be an African American male in his early forties, and a White Caucasian woman in her early forties. More information hopefully to come within the next few days…"
Knowing that they had been identified, on top of being suspects of a murder investigation, had only made things worse. All of this, on top of the one thing that constantly weighed on Mike's mind. An impossibility that had broken him and had made not just him suffer.
Thomas Caine was dead.
Hearing the sound of footsteps approaching him, Mike turned quickly, almost in panic. When he saw the sad eyes of Carl looking at him, Mike nodded and stood up.
"What is it?" Mike asked him, groggy.
"I'm worried people are going to leave." Carl explained, looking off in the distance.
"If they do, they're just gonna be picked off one by one. They're not stupid. They know staying together is our best course."
"Except people aren't entirely thinking clearly." Carl shook his head and closed his eyes, "Morale is low. Desperately low. I've seen it before. People are scared, and they are worried. We haven't even had time to mourn…"
Looking over to the other three people in this desperate situation, Mike knew his words to be true. Jack seemed exhausted and completely out of his element, while Ella had become more reserved than usual. She seemed to be stable, keeping guard and watching out for any onlookers, such as hikers, fishermen, or other wanderers. But Mike knew she was struggling. Both of them were running out of hope.
That was nothing compared to Samantha. Looking over to her, Mike saw that she hadn't moved from the riverside she had been sitting by since dawn. Every time he had looked at her face, she had barely registered an emotion. She didn't talk to anyone except for Carl, and even then she only ever said a few words. The most concerning was how little she had eaten over the two weeks on the run.
Of course she isn't eating, Mike cursed to himself, she just lost the love of her life.
The worst part of it, no matter how much he tried not to think about it, was the reality. Caine had been Mike's friend. He had followed him into hell.
This time, he hadn't come back.
"I know why we need to keep moving," Carl reasoned, "but we're just delaying the inevitable. Without AESIR's aid, all we can do is keep low for God knows how long. But none of that will matter if we break before we get there."
It seemed that Carl hadn't been expecting Mike to nod in agreement. "We need to mourn."
Blinking, Carl seemed unsure. "Exactly. Not just Samantha. Even Jack and Ella…they need to know that we're all on the same page."
"We'll delay the move until this afternoon." Looking over the horizon, Mike knew it was risky to wait so long before moving onward. Not just for keeping them away from the manhunt, but also because they had no camping gear. At the same time, he knew what a group close to breaking looked like. "Let's just…have this morning to accept it."
Carl gave him a nod, before turning away. He seemed like he wanted to say something to Mike, before deciding against it and walking over to Samantha. Sighing, Mike tried to shake himself awake before heading over to where Jack and Ella were, trying to clear his head of any doubts.
It was Jack who saw him first, giving a tired nod. Looking around from her watch, Ella gazed at Mike for a moment before asking. "What's up?"
"We're meeting up the hill in fifteen minutes." Mike answered, looking down where she had just been watching.
They exchanged a weary look. "We're moving already?"
"No. No. We…we need to take the morning. To…accept things."
Glancing over to where Carl was trying to talk to Samantha, Ella seemed to understand. "It'll be a bit makeshift, but…there's some old loose boards over by that broken shack further down the river. I can grab a few…make a memorial."
"That…that sounds great. Thanks, Ella."
"Of course." Walking away, Ella walked off by where they had seen the shack without a roof and Jack took her place on watch. Looking over to the river, Mike saw that Carl was now crouched down next to Samantha, who still seemed despondent. Then, he nodded, stood up, and walked over to them.
"Is she okay?" Mike asked quietly, trying to discern anything from that look in Carl's eyes.
"It took a while to convince her, but she'll be there."
Minutes later, they were all further up the hill, just near the end of the treeline. There was a small, shaded spot that was overlooking the countryside, not a building or person in sight. The morning sun was shining over the fields and Mike was sure he could see a small herd of whitetail deer in the distance grazing.
Ella arrived next to last, holding a cross the length of her arm, tied together using twine. Using her pocket knife, she had delicately scratched Caine's name on it.
"I wish I could've done more." She admitted.
"Ella, it's brilliant. Thank you."
Working together, they were able to plant it properly into the ground. As the sunlight shined through the trees, the rays of light bounced off the cross. As he stared at the grave, Mike felt the familiar sting of tears threatening to break through, but he was able to hold them off.
Finally, he heard small footsteps behind them. Looking around, Mike saw Samantha heading up the hill to join them, eyes glued to the ground. Shoulders slouched. Not knowing what to say to her, Mike closed his eyes and felt the guilt dripping all over him.
With all five of them gathered around, they all stared at the memorial for what felt like an eternity. Then, Carl spoke over the silence, pain in his voice. "Who wants to speak first?"
When no one answered, he nodded in understanding before stepping forward, standing by Caine's grave so that he was facing both it and the group. Breathing in, Carl had the small religious necklace Mike never knew he had out and was holding it with one hand.
"I first met Thomas twenty five years ago, when I was working as a software engineer for a small business. This was back when John Lamarck was still alive, and he was working on a case. Two armed men, running from the law, broke in and took us hostage. As the Police arrived to attempt a negotiation, it was John and Thomas who made the breach."
"I was able to help them by turning the lights throughout the building off as they did so. Helped them take down one of the criminals. But the other found me, and just as I thought my life was about to come to an end, it was Thomas who saved it."
"I suppose they were impressed with my skills. John offered me the role of contact and I helped them with several of their cases. After John died, Thomas continued working with me. We went on many cases together. At some point…I suppose we became close friends."
"If there is one thing I learnt about him, it's that he spent his entire life fighting. He fought the bad. The corrupt. The evil. But most of all, he fought his inner demons. All to bring just a little bit of light into this world."
"Thomas was my friend. My best friend." Closing his eyes, tears leaked from them as Carl finished, "Oh heavenly father. You got one of the good ones. Treat him right."
As Carl stepped away, Mike looked at both Jack and Ella. He knew for a fact that they had chosen to step back, to not get in their way. Taking a deep breath, Mike stepped forward next. He almost felt Samantha's eyes burning into his back, but he tried to ignore it.
"Caine saved my life, too." Mike admitted as he turned to look at them, "Too many times to count. He put himself in harm's way for me, selflessly. Even when he had honest reasons to do anything but. I think…"
He almost laughed, but he could only feel the tears sting his eyes. "I think the greatest irony is that he honestly believed himself to be the bad guy. To be the sinner, doing bad things for the right reasons. He focused too much on how some people saw him. Like the Donovans' of the world. I don't think he ever truly realised just how much the people who mattered valued him. Idolized him. Loved him."
"Because the truth is, Thomas Caine was a hero. I wish…I wish I had been able to return the favour. What happened…it shouldn't have been him."
As Mike stepped away, he saw Samantha step forward and walk past him, kneeling by Caine's grave. She didn't say a word and Mike knew she was crying. In her hand was Caine's hat, which Carl had recovered. In her other hand was Caine's pocket watch, which he had given to her. Placing the pocket watch over the crux of the grave, she then placed that hat so that it hung on the top of it.
Then, before she stood up, she quietly spoke, "I'll see you again. Nothing will stop me. And…and our children will know you loved them. I promise."
When they finally were ready to leave, the place they had camped at was left as they found it. All that remained of their presence was that little cross and the things he left behind.
So, here we go. Fourth story starts right here. I just wanted to quickly update you on some rules I'm going to be putting in place regarding my uploading.
- Chapters are only going to be uploaded on a Saturday and unless I've got a lot of time on my hands, there's only going to be one upload a week.
- After the end of an act, I will likely be taking a short, at max month-long hiatus to go back to the drawing board and properly get my plan into gear.
I've got the skeleton draft for this story all planned out, but I'll need to take some time to properly go over some of the smaller details. This is, of course, going to be FNAF 4 as the main focus, but I'm also wanting to incorporate elements from The Silver Eyes with it.
TU4QU0I53T4IAN6L3: When it comes to the Purple Guy, I've been making a point to try and focus on what was shown through the games rather than focusing too much on personifying him. Does anyone remember back in the older days, when quite a few people referred to him as Vincent? Then Silver Eyes came along and threw everything into chaos. The Purple Guy back then was a mystery, an enigma. Dealing with that Happiest Day minigame caused me a lot of headaches. In the end, I decided to go with the other children there being the Toys', because it felt like a nice little wrap up for them. They all deserved a peaceful ending, even Golden Freddy, who started off just as much a victim as the others.
As for Caine...that was something I knew would happen. It still hurt all the same. Caine's final twenty four hours was undeserving of him. To go from the betrayal, to finding out about the likelihood of an all-out war. To facing Dutch Lawson one last time and surviving. Then to meet his end because of the killer he had spent so long trying to track down. All of this just as his allies were a mere hour away from arriving. In the end, those days of happiness were long gone. Unfortunately, the scars remain, as does the one who held the knife. There's three stories left to go and it's only going to get bigger and badder from here on out.
