Hey guys, I'm back! Sorry about the sudden little break here in between the second chapter and this one.
So, as for the whole romance route, I've seen overwhelming support for Roxanne and literally none for Vanessa (lol), which makes me happy, I definitely wanted to shoot for that route.
So for next chapter, be sure to keep that in mind. Just trust me, I came up with the idea for next chapter a few days ago and I'm so excited to write it. Gonna take a little bit probably, but I will do my best to get it out within a couple weeks.
Warning, there are mentions of suicidal thoughts and self harm. Not as prominent as last chapter, but it's there.
Songs: Daylight (David Kushner), Gasoline (Halsey), One More Light (Linkin Park)
Sometimes, I really wish I could feel the brisk morning air I loved before
I remember when I was much younger, I'd hear kids complain all the time about how much they hate mornings in middle school. I'd wake up early on purpose, put on my favorite light purple sweatshirt (ironic, yes), and sit and watch the sunrise, reveling in that smell of fresh air.
After all this time, I've pretty much forgotten what it's like to feel.
…
This isn't a happy train of thought, let's switch it up.
…
It's… I think it's about sunrise time?
I check my cracked watch… an old Laco pilot's design watch, the band a dark leather with tan stitching, a bland gray face casing, the face itself a clear sapphire crystal.
Well, clear except for the ugly crack, of course.
I say my watch… It was one of Henry's gifts to my father, a testament to a time much happier and simpler. I found it in one of father's 'workspaces'. I almost burned it after I died, in case somehow, some way father's soul was attached to it, or he possessed it, or any of a hundred other possible ways he could still plague this world.
I couldn't bring myself to do it. So here it is, still on my wrist.
And here I am, back on the damn topic.
It's truly shocking, how I still think about all of it every single day, without fail.
But lately it's been different. It's the only thing I've thought about for the last couple weeks since the interview. It stands to reason it's especially bad today, considering this will be my orientation day.
Of course, I applied for the nightguard position and I was promised the nightguard spot, but they want me to start on the daytime guard. The reasoning for that, I don't know. It makes more sense to me to have the new guard start on the night shift as there's less chance of a security crisis in the night.
Yes, I recognize the irony in me saying that. But that is the truth for normal places, in my experience.
…
Anyways, yeah, it's 6:15. The sunrise is beginning.
I do this most mornings, come out and sit on my back deck on my swinging couch at my small, abandoned property on my middle-of-nowhere road.
I suppose I'm a bit of a hermit. The last thing I want to do is be around people. If I'm going to be stuck here for all of eternity, then I'm going to do it on my own damn terms. Plus, the less people who know me, that I connect with, the less of a chance I raise suspicion.
No one knows who I am. People have forgotten about the old locations. It's my duty to ensure it stays that way.
…
The light starts to pour over the field from overtop the trees, coating the world in a blanket of warm, orange light, a shine visible on the grass due to the dew created by the temperature change between night and day. It looks… magical.
There are plenty of things that have totally lost flavor to me, things that I used to love and now hate, things that I used to enjoy but now can't stand the sight of.
But the sunsets and sunrises I never tire of.
You'd think I would, as they are the very symbol of passing time, the very same thing I'm cursed to never fall victim to.
But, if I could choose, a loop of the visual of sunrises and sunsets are all I would see. That is all I would ever see until the end of days.
…
…
…
And now the sunrise is over, as well as the peace it blessed me with.
…
I have no idea whether this new Fazbear location is exactly what I wanted or the thing I feared the most.
I've been roaming this damned planet for so many years now, looking for a purpose. And now, it would seem I have one.
But that purpose is brought on by a continuation of the thing that cursed me to eternally exist to begin with. And the thought of more murders or tragic events…
It sickens me.
The thought that I didn't truly end it, or I missed some rogue abomination, or some animatronic with murderous programming is still out there, or any number of outlandish possibilities disturbs me to my very core.
If, somehow, some way, my father survived it all…
…
…
…
I blink back into focus, and I feel a weight in my right hand. I look down to see that I've picked up the knife I keep in my pocket and am holding it to my wrist, ready to slice.
I guess it's like muscle memory at this point.
I usually do… that, in the mornings while I watch the sunrise.
It's with that recollection that I realize this is the first morning I can remember where I'm not actively thinking about cutting.
Funny how those things work, isn't it?
Maybe that's a sign I shouldn't do it?
…
Whatever, I've already got the knife to my wrist. I got to go to the yard, first, though.
I'd like to say that was relieving, but it never truly is. I never hate myself any less after doing it.
Jesus Christ, a therapist would have a field day with me.
Well, a couple have now that I'm thinking about it.
I have tried seeking help before, to try and cope with my immortality. Of course I could never tell them anything about the whole story, nor could I ever say the reasoning behind how I really felt. It's for that reason I could never get anywhere. It just ended up making me feel worse in the long run because every time I ran through a therapist, I was reminded of how truly, helplessly, hopelessly alone I am.
I kept getting recommendations to see different psychiatrists every time I ever got anywhere progressive.
…
I really gotta stop thinking about this shit.
I came in this bathroom to shower, not stare into the mirror and have an existential crisis.
Well, I got the shower part out of the way, I guess. As I stare into the mirror after zoning back in, I glare at the large, ugly scar spanning across my abdomen. Thanks, scooper.
For some reason, that spot never did heal. The wound would close after injury, but it never just disappeared like literally every other imperfection on my body. It just… didn't.
It's as if it's some kind of mark on my soul, because during my first half a decade of… adventures, every time my body suffered catastrophic damage, my body healed up to the point of that exact scar.
It's always looked slightly irritated, a little bit puffy sometimes, with mild and faded purple streaks leaking out of it.
A constant reminder of the beginning of my mortal end.
Okay, yeah, I've done enough thinking about this stuff for the day already. It's time to get dressed and go into my first day at the latest location, see what I'm dealing with. I am walking into completely uncharted territory, so it's time to get my game face on.
I haven't seen the new place yet. My interview was online over a zoom meeting since the boss was out of town at the time. He didn't say what for and it's not my business anyhow. But of course, my mind immediately jumped to the absolute worst. I think I almost blew the interview because I got nosy about it and sorta started tweaking the hell out in fear he was doing something shady.
Yeah. Not one of my prouder moments.
But whaddayaknow. I got the job on the spot. Probably because this is a job no one seeks to have, but I'll take what victories I can get.
Nick (the boss), said the dress code was just a standard security uniform, and he was right to assume I already had a couple uniform sets, though he said I'd be provided one by law on my orientation day.
Regardless, gotta make sure to wear my best suit and my most presentable attitude, however unimpressive it is.
After all, no one expects the guy excited for his first day to be the guy waiting to burn the place down.
I throw on my shoes, my cap, brew a fat cup o' joe, grab my truck keys, and head to the pizza plex.
Oh. My. God.
"Holy shit."
This place is enormous.
I pull into the parking lot, and I can't help but look on in wonder at the building before me.
It's the size of a Costco, hell, probably bigger. There's a large icon of the official title of the location at the top of the building, a logo of… some kind of orange and blue variant of Freddy, with the words Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizza Plex appearing around said bear in a light-up text fashion. The words themselves are formatted in a very retro-like manner, with neon pink and yellow reverberating off the letters and the letters themselves being a vibrant silver.
It reminds me of arcades I saw as a kid.
Oh damn, is this place like an 80's themed pizza… mall, of some kind?
Not even in the door yet and my expectations are already blown out of the water.
This is going to be a damn adventure; I can feel it.
I make my way to the front door past the empty parking lot, I'm guessing it doesn't officially open until 11 or 12. Nobody's coming to a pizza themed entertainment establishment before noon, surely.
I open the front entrance and enter the building. Well, not before I'm met with a second door to defeat before gaining passage to the lobby.
What the hell do they need two doors for? Seriously? As if I wasn't satisfied with the first door, I need to apparently experience the magic of an entrance twice.
…
Wow. I just had a mental pissing contest about doors.
It's been a while since doors pissed me off.
Nice to meet you, I'm Mike, the man who fought off bloodthirsty animatronics for years on end. I also hate doors.
…
Anyways, I enter the building to see a massively open area, my eyes catching a fountain a bit farther past the entry turnstiles decorated with a large statue of…
Is that Chica? In a punk rock outfit? With an 80's… piano guitar thing? And a Mohawk?
What an… interesting concept. Can't wait to see how Freddy looks. He'd look funny all decked out in punk rock gear.
Come to think of it, how come its Chica who's displayed as the first thing the customers see? Freddy is the face of the franchise; it stands to reason it'd be a figure of him.
Whatever, not my place to judge. Well, that's exactly what I'm doing here, but… YaknowwhatImean.
The building looks so… new. Clean. Untouched. At first glance you wouldn't think this building has any association with run down, small, local pizza places famous for their sketchy cleanliness and child homicide stories.
I check the watch on my wrist, fingering the crack out of force of habit. It's 9:06.
I… have no idea what to do here. The place is empty, void of all life save for these maintenance bots mopping… the exact same area they've been mopping for the last few minutes.
Wonders of technology.
I was told to meet the boss here just inside of the entrance, but there appears to be no boss in sight. I'd pick up my phone to call him, but I'd hate to look incompetent on my first day on the job, calling the person who hired you the minute you arrive and asking what to do makes you look incompetent and dependent.
Plus, if I'm going to scour this place's dark corners and files, I need to be trusted enough for them to leave me alone here.
It's as if it's right on cue that I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. "Ryan is calling you."
I answer the phone and bring it up to my ear and start pacing aimlessly, like normal people do when they take a call.
"Hey Mike, how are-"his voice cuts off very quickly, and only silence follows.
"Ryan? Hello?" I ask, not receiving an answer. I shake the phone, as if that would have any logical effect on the quality of long-range cell service. I'm just… so smart.
I take the phone away from my ear and, sure enough, the call failed. I grunt as I read the words on the screen confirming my suspicion. I tap my thumb on the green button to retry the call, and after ringing for a few moments, it picks up on the other end.
"Mike, is that you?" He speaks.
No, it's the other Mike that you literally JUST CALLED.
…
I need to take a chill pill.
I'm just a little on edge today, can you blame me?
"Hey Ryan. Yeah, I'm here." I reply with an accidental sigh.
"Sorry about that, I'm going through dead zones here. I'll make it quick. As you probably noticed, I'm not there." He rushed to explain. I can tell he's in the car, I can hear the wind noise on the other end. Probably trying to avoid getting cut off again.
"Is something going on?"
"Nothing to concern yourself with. Something just came up and it couldn't wait. I totally blanked on letting you know, that's my bad."
That's… a little sloppy on your part, man. Well, who am I to judge.
"It's alright, so is the day cancelled?" I almost hope he says no. I freaked myself out so much for this day, so if it turns out to be nothing, I just might lose it.
"Nah, but I wouldn't call it an official orientation," he ends on a note signaling he's going to continue, "tell you what. Take a quick tour down through the building, get a feel for the environment. There's no official punch-in spot, just let me know when you leave and if you have any questions or worries. I'd say you're good to go by the time the place opens at midday, other employees won't be there til' about 11."
That's not super unusual, I suppose.
"Ok."
"Be sure you take extra time in Rockstar Row. That's where all the animatronics rooms are. Go ahead and meet with each of them, they'll appreciate the gesture, and you'll better understand the dynamic."
…
…
…
Come again, there?
"I'm sorry… meet them?"
There's silence on the other side for a moment, as if he's confused. Well, I'm confused too, brother. And I will wait for an answer.
"Ah… I forgot, you probably dunno what I'm on about. You'll see. Buh-bye!"
That is not a comfort nor an explanation nor a sensible response.
"Wait, what?" I hope for a response, but it would appear that I am talking to myself.
"Ryan?!" I call again, desperate. I look at the phone screen and, of course, no call screen.
Well then, I suppose I'll just go fuck myself.
Hmph.
He probably just meant that as a figure of speech.
Well, got nothing else to do and a building to explore. Might as well start in Rockstar Row.
…
Where is Rockstar Row?
Ah, here's a map…
Damn, there are multiple levels too? How on Earth did they manage to convert this franchise from standalone pizzerias to a what's basically a whole kid's themed resort?
Looks like it's across the building and down a flight of stairs. Amazing. Love it.
After a nice walk around the pizzeria, I arrive at this Rockstar Row, and what I see is… somewhat strange to me.
It's a long hallway shaped to be a slight curve, portrait shaped electronic screens alternating between attractions and animatronics. There are couches spread out fairly evenly across the place This could be a nice place to sit down and relax, the dark carpeted flooring complements the lively neon light strips strewn about where walls and the ceiling connect.
That's not the unusual part. The unusual part is the themed rooms, four of them, one for each animatronic, coordinated by the bright neon signs indicating which room represents which animatronic.
Glamrock Freddy, Roxanne Wolf, Montgomery Gator, Glamrock Chica, in that exact order.
The windows on each one of them are entirely blacked out. There is an area indicated by red velvet ropes shaped to form a zig zag line by the entrance door to each room. So, are these tour attractions just spaces to walk through? Are there areas the animatronics are programmed to shut down at?
I could always just investigate the rooms instead of guessing at something I know literally nothing about. I think I might do that.
I walk up to the entrance to the room labeled 'Freddy', stepping over the rope. Rebellious, I know. Separated from the orange walls is a white door, with a vibrant red light where a handle would be on a normal door. It would appear the door is locked, and there is in fact no handle. Luckily, I've got a superpower.
The keycard code Ryan left on my phone.
It's actually a pretty neat system. Since smart phones are a life necessity that pretty much everyone has, the company uses an app for everything for their employees. Pay periods, individual paychecks, summaries of hours worked, and we're given a QR code assigned to each employee uniquely stating their identity and security level. There are 10 levels, I'm at… I think 6?
So I put the scanner up to the reader and with an audible high pitched beep the light turns blue and the door opens… up.
That's fun. Unnecessary. But fun.
I walk in and see Freddy laid up on his couch with a magazine about AI in his hand.
…
…
…
Wait just a goddamn minute. That is Freddy. Reading. Doing something human.
…
Okay, relax. Maybe he's just programmed to sit like this as decoration in the off hours. That's it, right? Yeah! Just a gimmick from… the… programming…
And he just turned his head to look at me. And now he's analyzing.
"Why, hello there. You're the new security guard, I presume?" This hunk of plastic and metal asks me politely, putting the magazine aside and the arm holding it behind his head to rest on.
…
…
…
You know, I like to think of myself as a calm, collected man who knows what to say. A guy who can think on his feet, form an explanation for things.
But at the moment?
Yeah, nope. Nah, got nothing for ya.
…
C'mon Mikey, say something, anything. Do something.
"Are… you alright? Is there something on my face?" The animatronic bear asks again, sitting up and rubbing his face in a self-conscious manner.
I finally find the strength to speak and open my mouth, hoping to say something profound.
"I… you…" Goddamn it.
"Sir, are you having an episode of some kind?" Freddy stands and begins walking toward me. I can't help but instinctively back away, a pang of fear hitting my chest when I see his hand reach towards me.
He notices, and responds with silence, pulling his hand away slowly, backing away a step.
"I'm… fine." That's a lie. A complete and utter lie. I'm dying inside. I have so many thoughts and concerns I couldn't possibly pick one to speak up about.
So this is what Ryan meant. He treated it as if it were some joke we'd have a laugh at. He just played with every traumatic event I've ever endured with these things.
I'm about to engage in a conversation with an animatronic. The very thing I spent my mortal days attempting to end, something that should have no personality whatsoever.
"Are you sure? You're… turning pale." Freddy takes a small step towards me again, this time I don't flinch, regaining my composure.
"Yes, I just… didn't expect… you can talk?" I ask moronically.
"… Yes, indeed." Freddy answers confidently, raising an eyebrow at me as if I'd asked something I should instinctively know the answer to.
Now that I'm somewhat calmed down, I can actually look at… him. He's about 7 feet high, a light brown bear with a shine to the plastic shell he wears with red colored shoulders and lower legs, assumingly meant to act as pads. He has a black bowtie and small top hat, the signature Freddy look. He's got a lighter colored belly with a light blue lightning bolt across his chest plate. This same color blue can be found on the stripes on his cheeks, his chin, accenting the outside of his eyes, his pupils in his eyes, and on his claws on his hands and feet.
"Why does that surprise you?" Freddy asks again, noticing I'm unable to continue the conversation. Sorry, Freddy, I'm not a very conversational guy, you're stuck with this.
"Just… not used to it. I've never met an animatronic that could talk." I explain, crossing my arms, stepping just inside the doorway allowing the entrance to close. A risky move in case I'm in need of escape.
"Well, I'm honored to be your first. As you might have guessed, my name is Freddy Fazbear. You are…?" He extends his arm to me with a friendly expression on his face, I don't extend mine. I can't help but be cautious. What's the use of pleasantries, anyway? It's a robot.
His ears lower a bit. He slowly retracts his arm, seemingly hurt by my lack of reciprocating the handshake.
Well, now I feel like an asshole.
"Michael Schmidt. It's my first day." I explain, adjusting my hat.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Michael."
"Just Mike is fine."
"If it's all the same to you, I'd like to stick with Michael. We're professionals after all," He says, stepping back in front of his couch, he points to a chair on the other side of a coffee table in front of it, "now please, have a seat."
I hesitate.
"I insist. I promise I don't bite!" He says lightheartedly. I'm sure you understand why that is just a teensy bit distasteful. I can't hide the frown that forms on my face.
However, regardless of my feelings on the matter, this bear has shown me nothing but kindness so far. I'll have a seat for a little while. The jury's still out on my opinion of all this, though. I sit and so does he, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped.
"So… what brings you to the Pizza Plex?"
What is this, an interview? Hate to disappoint you pal, but I already did that step.
"Seemed like a good place to work. The job's simple and I've done it before. Pays well." I explain, trying to cover all the bases in as few words as possible. This just might be the nearest thing I've had to a normal conversation in years.
"Where have you worked before? Places like this?" He asks, genuinely interested, gesturing with his hand to the window as if to indicate the building. One thing is for sure, this bear has an incredible sense for situational awareness. He respected my boundaries when he stepped away and let me come to him, and he makes me feel listened to by interacting with what I say.
Come to think of it, the second I entered the room, I felt something, I suppose. Like a sense of familiarity. I felt trusted, and trusting, in the same way. I have no idea why.
I'm probably just thrown off my game.
"Just similar places. You wouldn't know them." I say, attempting to avoid the question.
"Nonsense! I can access the internet and look it up. Give it to me!" The bear insists, his eyes glowing a light blue.
"I don't want to talk about it. Sorry." I dismiss, I can't think of another way to manipulate this conversation. I'm a bit out of practice. He doesn't look disappointed or disapproving, rather understanding.
"I understand." He says, blinking hard and nodding his head. A few moments of silence pass.
I'm still… processing all this. How is it possible this robot can converse like a human? Act human? Feel human things? Is artificial intelligence just that advanced anymore? Or…
Oh… I really hope there isn't some kind of soul play at work here. If that's true…
I need to get ahold of the blueprints for these animatronics, a list of third party suppliers and partnered companies and such.
But, after dealing with this shit before, I've gained a sense for when something is wrong when it comes to animatronics. And, even after having my world shaken by this talking bot, I just…
I don't see it.
In my limited experience here, this place feels clean. I felt it when I first entered, a cleanliness in spirit, not just lack of grime, although that's true as well.
Freddy must have noticed a shift in dynamic, deciding to speak up after the moments of silence.
"I'm sorry if I pried too much, it was not my intention to intrude." He speaks. There's that situational awareness I mentioned.
"It's fine, I know."
He stands from the couch and I follow suit.
"Well, Michael, it's been a pleasure speaking with you, I'm glad I got to meet you this morning. Unfortunately, we open relatively soon and need to begin preparations. I'd imagine you aren't staying after opening?" He walks me to the door, speaking all the while. I put my hands in my pockets, feeling relaxed enough to do so.
"Ryan suggested I leave at opening, yes."
"It's a shame you couldn't meet the others this morning. I'm grateful you made the time for me, though."
"What time is it?" I ask, only realizing now that I have a device on my wrist designed to tell me that exact piece of information. Well, if I check it now, I look like a fool and a douche. Nice one, Mikey.
"It is currently 10:30."
Damn. Time flies when you're having an existential crisis about sentient animatronics I suppose. God, how long was I just sitting there?
I probably don't want to know.
"Alright, I'll leave you to it." I say, exiting the door Freddy has opened for me.
"Thank you again, Michael. I look forward to working with you. I'll put in a good word with the others! You may need it…" He says that last part under his breath. I'd wonder what he's talking about, but I am indeed not very good at socializing. That or he means the others may be more difficult.
Fuck it, we ball.
I'm inclined to agree with him, however.
I'm also inclined to believe I could use a damn drink after this.
Did somebody say, "Crack open a bottle of Honey Jack Daniels and dwell in my own thoughts?" No?
Oh well.