Hey there. So this is my first real attempt at something like this. Now that I'm off at college I find I have an urge to write. Hence, this story.
This story is inspired by (but not by any means a retelling or continuation off of) user @ParticularlyLargeRat's story, Michael Afton: Outlived Purpose. It's really a hell of a read and I couldn't recommend it more. You're honestly doing yourself a disservice if you don't check it out.
If you read the trial version of this, I've made minor changes to the original chapter and added quite a bit to the end. Hope you like it!
If I do continue doing this, I'm gonna definitely be leaving songs that inspired my train of thought while writing. Or songs that I just feel share the overall plot of the chapters.
Songs: Who I Am (The Score), Chasing Shadows MKJ Remix (Alex Warren), Shakedown (The Score), Fall Apart (Gidexen, Besomorph)(REALLY RECOMMEND THIS ONE)
Also, considering doing a one shot series as well, starring, of course, Michael Afton. What can I say, I love his character.
The final interview.
The last "interrogation" had begun. The others were simply husks, faded souls almost incapable of controlling their metal prisons without an external stimulus (the audio files Henry prepared).
Henry really did have a brilliant idea here. He knew Father… ahem, William, would rush to whatever new Fazbear name in the chain there was, and I think he knew I would too. I was… quite shocked, to say the least, that it was Henry I saw in the interview. He knew I'd come, and he was quick to let me in on his plan.
He gathered certain sound frequencies and sequences that would incite a reaction in the possessed suits through an experimentation process I'm blissfully unaware of. He needed someone to bring in dumped old animatronics from the alleyways and check, through "interrogation sessions," he dubbed, for possessed, remnant infested suits.
Then, when they'd all been gathered, I'd set a match to 'em.
This session, the subject however, was none other than the demented catalyst. The man himself.
The one who…
...
The one that...
No, I can't think about that right now. I have a job to do. This thing is a task, nothing more.
But, then I investigate those supernatural, strained, reddened, sickened eyes, and I can't avoid confronting the fact that this is my father.
A good father at one point in time...
A lump develops in my throat and my heart stops for a moment.
Before me sits the man who raised me. The man who'd sit down at the dinner table every day with greasy hands from working at the restaurant. The man who then was forced to wash his hands before eating at said table by my mother. The man who taught me how to shave what little prepubescent facial hair I had. The one who gave me advice on how to go after my first crush. The one who sat me down and handed me a beer after she turned me down my freshman year of high school.
The man who, rightfully so, blamed me for the death of my younger brother. The man who then was driven to madness due to my own actions. The man who murdered his best friend's daughter. The man who put on the golden bunny suit and brutally murdered children in a brazen attempt to harness what made them human, then stuffed them unceremoniously, carelessly, fecklessly, into animatronic suits.
The man who brain-warped me into thinking nightmarish abominations wanted to kill me night in and night out for months. The man whose underground creations had used my body as a suit to roam the surface, making me a passenger to my own existence.
The man who would rot in hell's depths for everything he's done, and the one who'd be tortured by yours truly when I get there.
The creature across the table from me is a wretched looking thing. Charred at edges, plating and fake fur faded and ripping at the seams. Patches where I can see his tendons and spare muscles hanging loosely or hugging the metal endoskeleton of the suit. Eyeballs jutting out, only held in place between the sockets because the ocular nerves were pulled taught.
It's only by some stroke of cruel 'luck' that this man is alive. He never died and came back to possess the suit, like his victims. He wasn't some angry spirit left in the in-between to deal with unfinished business. Under no circumstances does he have the right to be alive, even in such a decrepit, disturbing form.
Then again...
Is it really anything beyond a curse?
How much pain has my father felt in his miserable life? If my math is right... he's been trapped in that suit, tendons loose and taught all at once, brain matter exposed, for the better part of a decade.
I can't help but wonder what kind of hell he's experienced in life. Wonder what it feels like to rise from the ashes of a burning building in a springlocked deathtrap. What it's like to feel the wind against your bare muscular structure. What it's like to have hundreds of dull pins driven through your legs, your spine, your arms, your head. Left to do nothing but twitch and convulse involuntarily while you drift in and out of clinical shock. It's...
I gag at the thought, but supress it quickly as the half-man in question picks up on it.
It's almost enough to make me question whether or not I should help him find a mercy, some way out, even if it's a peaceful, quick death.
Then I think for a split second about the kind of hell he put all those kids through and...
My conscious is clear.
Upon reflection, this sick bastard deserves no sympathy. Hie hasn't quite paid his dues yet.
Okay, let's get to business you monster.
"Father." I say, knowing that under that mess, he can still understand me.
He tries to speak back but his crushed, twisted and ripped vocal cords won't allow him. Not that his brain could verbalize a cohesive thought even if he could speak, that was thanks to the Fazbear Frights fire melting his brain matter.
"It's me, Michael…" I cross my arms and remove my 'security guard' hat, "thankfully you can't reply back, but I have a sneaking suspicion you can still understand me."
William again attempts to speak, but it results in a physical recoil in his chest, blood spewing from his windpipe, knocking him back into a slouch in the chair. His eyes return to meet mine as droplets of blood land on my coat.
"So, you're going to hear me." It's as if he understands me, man to man, and perks his head to listen, despite gunning for my life before.
"I'm sorry."
…
"I am so sorry for everything I have caused. I am sorry about… about Evan…" I choke out, quickly regaining my composure, "I'm sorry I did that to our family. I'm sorry you went into a depression, then a child murdering rampage because of trauma, and that what began as a truly valiant goal only fed into your descent into madness."
My legs tap in anxiety against the tiled, dusty floor.
I swear I can see his head pick up again, as if he's being praised. Like he's proud. Well, strap in, father.
"However, I am not sorry for the fate that you are about to meet." His head sinks in a displeased fashion.
"You, father, have done irredeemable things. You've played God with human souls. You've tampered with the laws of nature. You abandoned your family. You've murdered children, including your business partner's daughter… Oh, he's here, too. Say hello, Henry." My eyes never leave his as I stand from the table and plant myself against the hefty metal door behind me, my left knee raising to rest my foot against it, attempting to appear as casual as possible.
It may be petty, calling upon Henry to chime in, but William deserves it, and Henry's earned a little get back. No, the thing deserves to feel an eternity of pain and suffering and misery, but this'll have to do for now.
"Hello, old friend. I wish I could say it's good to see you again." Henry's voice came on over the intercom from the corner speaker, as if it were the voice of God preparing to rain judgement. William raises his head to look up, as if he's going to see Henry floating in the air, within melee range.
I can't help myself but to smirk in reaction to William's brief panic, surely beginning to realize what's going on here, the trap he's walked into. His gaze slowly reverts to mine, my smirk never leaving. In all my years of hopeless existence, I've never felt more satisfied.
I've come nowhere close to redeeming myself for Evan, my poor brother. But this is a start.
"You're nothing if not a genius, William. I'm sure you can put the pieces together now." I say as he notices the gas can in the corner placed there on purpose. He slams his hands on the table, cracking the wood from the sheer force as he stands.
"That's right, you volatile perversion of nature. Feel the panic. Feel whatever dread you possibly can with whatever soul you have remaining in that empty goddamned husk you inhabit. You're not making it out of this one by some scrape of luck." He grabs the table, digging his endo claws into the wood in frustration. I'm not done yet, though.
"Before you think to outsmart us and follow us for an exit or some means of escape, we don't expect to get out either. It's… a sacrifice we thought worthy to make to ensure that the Afton name leaves this world once and for all. Ya'know, the way it should have been years ago."
If you had told me years ago that I'd be so willing to give up my life, so willing to end my time here just to ensure that my own father finally dies, I just might have called the police and run the other way.
But things have changed.
I remove the match box from my jacket pocket, striking the match box and lighting a blaze.
"I'm sure you're angry, itching to tear me apart." Judging by his growl I couldn't be more correct.
"Well, I'm not going to stop you."
I get off the wall, and plant my feet.
"Come on, motherfucker."
William, in a flash, leaps over the table to spear tackle me. But I'm quicker.
I sidestep it and open the door to open a large furnace room with fire spitting out from the grated floor, watching William trip and stumble his way to an eventual fall.
I watch William's panic. His writhing on the floor.
With a childlike glee, I chuckle watching him desperately attempt to stand, his knee unresponsive.
It's as if one final failed tug, with his shoulders going limp, he fully realizes he's finished.
It seems that the others have found their prey, all of the other animatronics approach him from the corners of the room, his eyes darting between all of them, then lastly at me in a desperate final effort.
I nod my head 'no', take one last look at him.
There's a moment, a flash, where I remember him in the same position, knelt over my brother's lifeless body.
I remember his manic speech, "I will put you back together. I will fix you." There's a blink where I feel a compulsion to pull him out of that burner room, tell him how much I miss him and collapse to my knees to comfort him.
But the time for that died with Evan.
"Goodbye, father. I'd wish you peace, but I know you won't find it."
I shut the door as the animatronics close in and I hear the sharp click of Scrap Baby's claw.
"Now, we can do what we were created to do. And be complete. I will make you proud, Daddy. Watch, listen, and be full."
My heart bleeds listening to the spirit of my little sister speak to William. So misguided. So angry. So tormented.
I wish-
Henry's voice comes on over on the intercom.
"Connection terminated. I'm sorry to interrupt you, Elizabeth. If you still even remember that name.
But I'm afraid you've been misinformed.
You are not here to receive a gift. Nor have you been called by the individual you assume. Although, you have indeed been called.
You have all been called here. Into a labyrinth of sounds and smells, misdirection and misfortune. A labyrinth with no exit, a maze with no prize. You don't even realize you are trapped.
Your lust of blood has driven you in endless circles. Chasing the cries of children in some unseen chamber. Always seeming so near, yet somehow out of reach. But you will never find them, none of you will.
This is where your story ends.
And to you, my brave volunteer. There was a way out planned for you, but I have a feeling that's not what you want. I have a feeling that you are right where you want to be.
I am remaining as well. I am nearby. This place will not be remembered. And the memories of everything that started this can finally begin to fade away. As the agony of every tragedy should.
And to you monsters still in the corridors, be still, and give up your spirits. They don't belong to you.
For most of you, I believe there is peace and perhaps warmth waiting for you after the smoke clears.
Although, for one of you, the darkest pit of Hell has opened to swallow you whole. So, don't keep the Devil waiting, old friend.
Damn, Henry.
You know how to write an ending.
Now we wait.
I check the lock on the door behind me and tip the filing cabinet over for extra barricade, leaving about a foot of open space open under the door so the fire can spread to this room.
I meant it when I said I have no intention of leaving this place. I've served my purpose on this Earth. Hell, I deserve to burn here just as much as William.
Even if I don't... I just...
I'm tired.
It's been such a long time since I dedicated my life to ending father's mistakes. There's been so much tragedy... In fact, I think the only reason I'm alive is because of the thing that should've killed me in the first place, Ennard suiting up in my skin. I've theorized it's the remnant that father used to assemble the Funtimes, and since Ennard is a fusion of those animatronics, it makes sense I'm alive due to traces of remnant.
What I wouldn't give to have just died that day...
I'm so sick of trailing this damned business, of following father's every move to undo all the horrible things he's done.
Well, not undo. I should say... righted?
No, that's not right either...
I don't think there's anything that could have ever been done to rectify the past, to make things right. The only thing I could do was stop him. And I did. And now that I have,
I can't wait for it to end.
I take a seat next to the door and start to see more smoke trail through the gap between the frame and the floor, propping my elbows on my knees as I remove my hat and slide it into the furnace room.
That felt pretty damn good.
Now I've nothing left to do but wait. Just...
Wait.
And ponder.
...
...
...
This may be the first time I've ever just sat and, well, pondered. And now that I am, I can't help but mourn.
God, Evan...
The sorrow and regret I harbor for what I've done to him, to my family, knows no bounds.
I remember being so jealous of Evan. Me, a 15 year old at the time, deathly jealous of a 7 year old kid. I remember how much father wanted to make him happy. Since things were going much more smoothly in the Fazbear business, he wanted to give Evan the happiness and gifts he couldn't give me. Plushies, mascot heads, hell... even a television show because the kid asked for it.
The smoke is growing thicker, blacker, becoming visible in the room now. I start sweating due to the rise in temperature.
I remember deciding that enough was enough. I began to torment him and scare him with the things he loved so very much. I'd put on the Foxy mascot mask and scare him so bad he'd curl up in a fetal position and bawl his eyes out. Then I'd act like I wasn't the one who did it, like I had no idea it happened. He started to believe me after the first month I did that. This continued for months. I'd come home from school before he did and move his little plush Fredbear and made him think it was some kind of psychic friend. I'd bring my friends over and let them eavesdrop outside his bedroom door and we'd cackle listening to him talk to the plush, thinking it could understand him. That was his only friend, and I had realized that far too late.
He began having nightmares about the animatronics, that nightmarish forms of them wanted to kill him at night. I think most nights he didn't sleep.
But he never told father. Evan could see how happy father was when he'd come home from work with new ideas about work, about how to make them more in Evan's image. He'd come home and ask him what he wished they'd look like, what features he would want them to have.
It's only now I realize that, even in his young age, Evan was stronger of will and mind than I could ever hope to be.
I start to choke up and, for the first time since that fateful day, I feel tears run down my face.
I remember father had surprised him with a birthday present he thought would make for one of the happiest days of his life. He took him to work with him all day, and made me tag along. Every time father showed Evan a schematic of the animatronics all their small parts and planned features, he was so oblivious to Evan's discomfort because of his own excitement, that his son was interested in his work. It was what drove him to be better every day. I, of course, knew Evan's discomfort, and I did nothing to ease his pain. I, in fact reveled in it, relished it. Instead of doing what any brother should and pull him aside, I just stood there like a goddamned fool with my arms crossed and a sour frown on my face because he was getting attention he didn't want.
This went on all day until the evening when Evan's birthday party took place. When I...
...
The smoke is getting thicker, the air thicker, my damaged throat raspier.
I called my friends to come because it was all kids there. None of these kids were Evan's friends, but they claimed to be in order to get a free ticket to the place. I remember everyone getting free mascot heads when they came in.
Naturally, Evan was terrified. He sat in the corner and cried with his eyes closed for at least an hour straight out of blunt panic. Can you really blame him? After what I'd done? After how I'd warped him?
So, me and my friends...
We decided to pull the biggest prank of all.
"He's the birthday boy! Who better to give Fredbear a big kiss." I said to my friends with a childish venom to my voice. I remember each of us took an arm and a leg and hoisted him in the air.
Onlookers laughed as they reasonably thought we were having a good time, our laughing overshadowing Evan's cries for help.
We put him close, within inches to Fredbear's mechanical mouth, the closer Evan got, the more he shook.
We didn't expect Fredbear's head to lunge forward in his routine programmed motions. It's entirely too late we realize his next step is to close his mouth.
His bite force is strong.
Evan stops shaking.
I think it's his tears that splash on my arms. But I open my eyes and it's his blood.
And that image of his head disfiguredly shaped in between that goliath's jaws has never once left my find.
It's never left my mind that Evan's most excruciating fear was exactly how he died.
It's my fault. It's all my fault.
...
...
I'm getting dizzy...
It's about time.
I'm ready to be done.
I'm ready to apologize to Evan.
I'm ready to die.
The smoke becomes too much, and I slump to my side.
"I'm sorry, Evan. I'm... sorry..." I rasp out and I feel a sharp, deep breath escape me.
And then I don't feel.
