NOTES
A bit of a longer chapter this time around, but only by like 1500 words. So that's cool.
UPDATED
Did the round of proofreading I said I was gonna do this morning. Turns out I only changed like, 3 grammar issues, so not the fantastical change I thought it was gonna be. Neato.
Enjoy
Shorties
I spin my flashlight on the tips of my fingers while I walk, probably not paying as much attention to my surroundings as I should be.
Flashlights are reasonably necessary for most night-guard positions, but these halls are lit plenty with all the neon and LED lights outlining the walls. I guess it's nice to have for the sub-levels, though.
I turn the corner into a new hallway, letting the silence fill me. Bustling public areas are places I try to avoid, but those same areas with the people taken out of them create some of my favorite atmospheres. All that accompanies me are my light footsteps clacking on the cement floor, and the paper-plate 'dolls' hung from the wall beside me.
The desk fan is audible from here, which speaks volumes for how infuriatingly loud that thing can be in the office. Maybe I should unplug that thing; I might be able to hear the animatronics better as they stomp around the.. Uh.. around the...
What..?
I twist to look over my shoulder, using the flashlight to illuminate the hall behind me.
The fan.. The pizzaplex doesn't have a need for that old metal thing, the ventilation is powerful enough to cool down a nuclear reactor.
I crane my neck to see what's behind me, but all I can see is the outline of the doorframe holding up the heavy-ass door.
Suddenly, I'm struck with just how little this situation makes sense.
I'm shining my flashlight down the hallway.. The flashlight that I don't turn on, because the pizzaplex is well illuminated.. Those blast doors shouldn't be there, I'm nowhere near an office.. My footsteps were landing on cement, which the pizzaplex has very little of, if you don't count the sub-levels. Why would I need to be able to hear the animatronics? Couldn't I just use the faz-watch and know where they all are?
I look down to my arm to find that my faz-watch isn't there, but a familiar sleeve draws my attention to my uniform.
My head lifts slowly as I begin to realize what's happening, and notice the most obvious difference of them all.
These aren't the Pizzaplex's halls. I'm in Freddy Fazbears Pizzeria.
...I'm dreaming...This is rare.
I take a silent breath to calm myself down and come to terms with the situation. I rarely have dreams, and even rarer do I recognize that I'm in one without immediately snapping awake.. But this has happened before.
There's a small pause as I take it all in, and I continue down the west hallway.
Once, while I was the night guard at the place, I had a dream that I was doing a shift like normal. It took me a while to realize it was a dream, but even after I figured it out, I didn't stop working as usual. Even if I was imagining it all, the 'dream' animatronics were still outside the 'dream' doors, trying to get into my 'dream' office and kill 'dream' me.
Rarely, I would have the dream again, even after I had left that place. I would be defending myself in the security office, no different than a night in real life. I took comfort in knowing that I was dreaming, but I still wasn't entirely comfortable with letting the animatronics get me just to see what would happen. This sounds a tad bit immature, but I kinda treated them like one of those Sonic the Hedgehog bonus stages in the old games. Unfortunately, passing the night didn't award me with any chaos emeralds. I'd just wake up like it was any other day.
The dream changed, however.
I can't remember how many times I had the dream, but if I had to guess, only around 5-10 times. I was used to the rhythm.
But it changed. After I torched Fazbear's Fright, I had the dream again a couple days later. I didn't even realize what was different until a good amount of time had passed.
I make it to the main room and weave around the party tables, eventually stopping and shining my light at the stage.
The animatronics were gone. I don't mean they went off to a different part of the building, they just stopped existing. That's what changed.
I'm alone in here. The characters and souls that once resided in this place no longer exist linger. That must have carried over into the dream world as well.
My gaze remains fixated on where the animatronics once were for a little while longer. A few extra seconds pass before I turn around to sit on the edge of the stage.
I can't figure out why these dreams occur. I'm not a lucid dreamer, the opposite even: I never realize that I'm dreaming when an impossible scenario occurs, since I've seen my share of impossible scenarios in real life. I don't question what's going on in my dreams, instead choosing to just work around whatever's happening. And that's only WHEN I dream, which isn't a common occurrence either.
Obviously, this is an exception.
I can't force myself to wake up or make changes to the scenario like most lucid dreamers can. I'm just here, without an obvious objective.
Maybe I shouldn't admit it, but I think I might have preferred it when the animatronics WERE hunting me down. The rush felt excited me, and it helped pass the time. I'm not exactly complaining that I have to just sit here and chill for a while, but this place feels a whole different kind of empty without the animatronics around. I know there's no customers waiting for this place to open, and nothing left here is of any kind of value; not that there would be someone who'd try to rob this place anyway. I'm not defending anything, I'm not preparing the place for anything, and I'm not protecting myself from anything. I'm just alone in a building lost to time.
A chuckle escapes my lungs as I realize something. I've been lost to time as well, or at least I was supposed to be. When I awoke in the smolders of my old pizzeria, I became someone else. Maybe the Michael Afton that put an end to this story is a different Michael Afton than I am now. Maybe that Michael Afton did die and move on alongside everyone I knew, leaving 'this' Michael Afton to hold on to the memories and regrets that they so desperately wanted to relieve.
Or maybe I'm making excuses to feel sorry for myself again.
Yeah, I think it's that latter thing.
I'm Michael Afton. The one who killed his brother, the one who killed his father, and the who was killed himself. If that other Michael Afton left all the memories, feelings, and regrets with me, then he wouldn't had anything to take for himself.
As negative as that sounds, it makes me feel a little better to think about it that way. I may not be the person I wanted to be, but at least I'm still me.
I flick my flashlight off, deciding things would be easier if I just let my eyes adjust.
Aside from in my father's old house, this is one of the only places that I don't feel out of place in. It's not much of a surprise, but just like that old house, I can't say I would rather be here than anywhere else.
...Maybe I'll think about something else for a while. No one's gonna be here to snap me out of an episode if I start one now.
Maybe I'll check out pirates cove. Foxy was always my favorite.
Just as I kick myself off of the stage, the world suddenly begins to shake violently.
With zero clue what this might mean, I use all my focus to try and stay standing and remain aware of my surroundings.
"MIKE"
A voice booms, severing my focus and causing me to crouch to a kneel. What the hell was that?
"MIIIKE"
It's like god himself is angrily calling my name, about to smite me where I stand. The voice is thundering, and I can't figure out where it's coming from with how much everything is moving. What do I do? What does it want?
"MIIIIIKALIIIIKE"
...What?
My body awakes all at once, as if physically snapping back into reality. My eyes shoot open as soon as I have the power to do so.
It's Monty, shaking me like a piggy bank, almost screaming my name.
"W-Wh-!?" Is all I can mumble as my body forces itself to become conscious.
"MIKE!" He barks, suddenly stopping all momentum and holding me still.
I blink at him a couple times, not awake enough to figure out what emotion he's yelling at me with.
"..M-Monty?"
"I'm stuck Mike! Help me beat this guy"
"What?"
I barely had enough time to look around my office and see that my laptop was open before one of my controllers was shoved into my arms.
"That red guy! He keeps getting me!" Monty points at portion of the screen, almost touching the monitor.
Upon waking up a bit more, I finally come to the realization that Monty's frustrated. Evidently by something on the game he's playing. On my Laptop. With my controllers. While I was sleeping.
"I-.." I shake my head a bit, waking myself up the rest of the way. "I thought I said not to play on my laptop..?"
"What!?" Monty snaps his head towards me, horror present in his eyes.
"I thought-"
"You said that I couldn't play that monster game! The one with monsters!" He whines, pointing at the laptop again.
"I, uh.."
Hmm.. That 'is' what I said, isn't it.. I guess maybe I implied that he shouldn't play on my laptop, but Monty isn't one to pick up on something that isn't told to him outright.
I internally sigh.
"Alright, I'll help you beat this guy if you don't tell anyone I was sleeping."
"Deal! HA!"
Triumphant, Monty energetically turns back to face the game with fire in his eyes.
I lean back in my chair, still catching up with everything that's happening.
That was the first time that dream's been interrupted. I guess it makes sense, since the interruption came from external stimulus instead of just trying to will myself awake while I'm dreaming. Still, it was a bit jarring. I was completely expecting to have to sit through the night until completion.
...Probably wasn't great that I let him catch me sleeping. I don't even remember nodding off, but I do remember being really tired when I walked into work. I got decent sleep, but I had a lot of stuff to do throughout the day, so my energy hadn't fully replenished by the time I awoke to go to work.
Well whatever, Monty said he wouldn't tell anyone, and even if he did, I'm sure no one would really care.
"Mike gettem."
"Help me 'gettem'."
"His attacks are scary."
"I know, so help me."
"Mike gettem."
"Monty."
"Gettem."
"I'm trying, get over here and help-"
"I'm busy."
"You are 'not' busy, I can see you on the screen!"
"Mike gettem."
"I'm leaving the arena if you don't get out here and fight him with me."
"You can't leave."
"I can't?"
"No. I tried. I thought you played this before?"
"I did, I've never had to try leaving the arena before."
"Why not?"
"Because the friggen enemy is down here, where you should also be."
"Why?"
"What do you mean 'why'?"
"Mike gettem."
I'll kill you.
"Monty- I can't."
"Yes you can."
"I literally cannot finish it off with you standing on that platform."
"I believe in you."
"Monty- I can't hit him because you're preventing the screen from moving!"
"Mike gettem."
"You're doing this on purpose."
"Gettem."
He absolutely did not need help beating this guy, he just got bored and wanted to mess with me. It's working.
Chica's room is really damn pink I've noticed, now that I've been in here for longer than a three minute period. I've been trying to focus on the gadgets in front of me for a while, but the hot pink wall in the corner of my eye makes it hard to focus.
I cave in with a grimace, letting my eyes focus in on the wall, as if it's going to be anything more interesting than a wall that is pink.
Satisfied with my look, and dissatisfied with the series of events, I internally sigh and rotate the chair I'm in to look into the room.
Just as before, Chica's sitting on a nearby desk and kicking her legs happily, eating a fast food burger I grabbed upon realizing I forgot to make Chica a meal before I came to work today. I dunno why I try so hard, she looks just as satisfied with the burger as she does with anything I take the time to make at home.
Mmn.. I'm starting to let everything annoy me, maybe I should find a solution to this hot-pink issue.
"Chica."
She stops kicking and perks up to face me with interest. Admittedly a pleasant change of pace from being glared at or ignored whenever I try to tell Roxanne anything.
"It alright if I dim the lights a little bit? Those bright pink walls are.. Pretty good at reflecting light.." I say, unsure how to politely explain that I'm not the greatest fan of this room's color palette.
...
"I thought you left?" Is all she responds with after a brief silence.
Sigh.
"Nope. I'm still here, if that's alright."
She nods rapidly.
"Yep! Didja need something in here?" Chica continues, shimmying her sitting position to face me.
"No, I've just got nothing else I need to do. Thought this place was as good as any to sit around."
Y'know.. Minus the whole 'wall' situation.
"Mhm!" She.. 'agrees' while hopping off her desk to maneuver to her light setup. "I like sitting around here too! Lotta places to sit!"
Sometimes I wonder if she says stuff like this on purpose.
I turn around, and by the time I can scoot back up to the desk I was using, the lights dim to about half of what they were before; greatly reducing the amount of light reflecting off the walls. I hear her shuffle back to her spot behind me, followed shortly by the sounds associated with hopping back onto her desk.
A few of the trinkets I was messing with are laid equal distances apart on the desk; I resume picking at various bits of the one in my hand.
...
Y'know, I've noticed the sound of eating hasn't continued.. I don't think she was finished with her food, but maybe I was mistaken.
What I am confident of, however, is the feeling of Chica boring holes in my back with her gaze. I figured that if she was curious about the things I was messing with, she wouldn't be shy about it.
Feeling the pressure of being watched, but not enough pressure to turn around and comment on it, I continue to sit upright and do what I was doing before. But as the minutes pass, the holes she's boring don't seem to be getting any smaller.
...
I swivel my chair around to see Chica turn her head to look in the other direction. I didn't turn around very fast, so maybe I would have fallen for it if Chica wasn't now intently staring at a blank wall.
"Are you alright.?"
"Hm?" She turns to look at me innocently.
Uh-huh. Might wanna leave the lying to the liar in the room, Chica-chee.
"Did you need something?"
"Nope! I was just-! Uh..!"
Her sentence slows down and some confidence seeps from her face.
"I was just.. wonderin' about your thing on your tummy.."
I blink and look down at my shirt, thinking I must've dropped something on it. Only after a second or two do I remember that Chica's aware of the scare splitting me up the middle.
"Mm, what about it?"
"You said it makes you purple."
"Sort of, yeah."
"Why?"
...huh...Can't believe I didn't foresee this question. It's gonna be a chore figuring out how to word around this one.
"It.. When I got it, it messed up some veins, which messed with my blood. It's a long story, but it made me purple."
" 'Cause your blood?"
Lack thereof, technically.
" 'Cause my blood. It doesn't hurt or anything, so don't worry about it being gross. It's just affects how I look, and nothing else."
"Oh.." Chica crosses her legs and looks to the ground in front of her. "A doctor couldn't fix you, or something?"
"I'm already fixed. I told you it doesn't hurt, and it's not gonna re-open."
"I know! But like-! It looks weird! They couldn't make it look less weird?" Chica continues, probably phrasing it a little meaner than she meant too.
"Maybe. Probably not. But I'm not going to a doctor to look less weird."
"Why not?"
"I'm fine looking weird."
"Why?"
..How am I supposed to answer that?
"I just am.? What do you mean?"
"It's like, uuuum.. What if someone says you look weird?"
"I do look weird."
"But what if someone says it!?"
"..They're right?"
Chica stares at me blankly for a few seconds.
"Well, but what if it makes you feel bad?"
"It doesn't."
"..But what if, like.. What if it does?"
"Then it shouldn't."
"But shouldn't those kids be wrong, then!?"
' those kids '...
"Probably, but it doesn't mean you sh-.. it doesn't mean 'I' should feel bad about it."
"But they're being mean!"
"Probably, but I can't help looking this way, so I don't have any reason to feel bad."
"...W-Well-!"
"You shouldn't feel bad, Chica."
She recoils from leaning forward on her desk.
"..We were talking about you..!"
"Is there a group of kids saying you look weird?"
The tension in her body starts to melt away upon realizing I'm not letting this go.
"..No..Sometimes a little kid will say something to their mom about how I'm different than the rest of them, and it makes me feel weird.." Chica elaborates. Well that's good.
For a second I thought there might be a bullying problem, but thinking about it, that would've probably been taken care of pretty quick with all the security around.
"You are weird."
"Huh-?"
"We're all weird. I'm not trying to say you aren't weird." I fully turn my chair around and kick up my feet to be more engaged with the conversation. "I said you shouldn't feel bad about being weird. Being weird and bad aren't the same thing."
"Oh yeah.." Chica lifts her hands to face level to look at them. "That kinda makes sense.."
"You're a chicken robot, I'm a purple guy. We're weird."
Chica giggles, which isn't entirely what I was going for, but progress is progress.
...
"Are you alright, Chica?"
"Yep!" She brings her hands down and gives me a warm smile.
"You can talk to Trudge about stuff like this, you know."
"Aw- but I don't wanna make him think I'm weird!"
"You are weird. Trudge is weirder."
"I-.. Well.." She puts her hands on her hips as she thinks about it. "I guess so.. I dunno if Trudge wants to talk about this kinda stuff though! Usually he likes talking about happy stuff!"
"He'll be happier if he think's you're being open with him." I take my feel down from where I was resting them, swiveling my chair back around. "It might not seem like it, but he's good with 'empathy', better than I am."
"Whussat?"
"Empathy?"
"Yea!"
"I mean he's good at dealing with other people's emotions. He knows how people feel."
"Ooooh!" I hear Chica softly thud against the wall behind her, presumably leaning against it. "I know what that is! 'Empathy' is a weird word.."
"I think it's fitting."
"It should be a smaller one!"
"...A smaller word?"
"Yeah! Like! Uhhhh..."
...
"Like 'Emy'!' She concludes her thought after a worryingly long pause.
"Emy's a name."
"It can be a word too!"
"I think it'd be confusing."
"Fine! Then.. Emathy!"
"That's most of the word 'empathy' by that point."
"Trudge would like these ideas!"
"I don't doubt that."
"Then-!"
This is not how I'm spending my next hour.
Roxanne and I stand just inside the main entrance as a truck pulls up a few meters outside. Only a few minutes remain of my shift, but Arin messaged me to let me know there'd be something getting dropped off. I guess I'm the one signing it off.
"I wonder what kind of hours this guy works to get this stuff over here so early.." I think out loud.
" 'You' don't get to pity anyone about 'their' hours, night freak." Roxanne comments back bemused. I shrug.
"Maybe this guy works overnight too. I don't think that's very common with delivery jobs, though."
"Don't you need to go talk to him, or something?"
"I'm waiting for him to get situated before I come out and make him feel rushed."
"Better him feel rushed then make 'me' wait. I've got shit to do, I'm not sticking around to help you forever."
At no point did I ever ask for your help, but whatever you say your highness.
I do go out there to meet him however. Turns out this thing we've got here is a machine that cuts friggen trees. It doesn't make very much sense for a place like this to have one of these, but Cooper had fire in his eyes as he was talking about the decorations for holiday season. He wants Christmas trees EVERYWHERE. Admittedly, it will look pretty dang nice if we can get it to work the way he wants it too, but still..
For it's purpose, the machine isn't horribly large. Two people will likely be enough to lift it inside, but just barely. By 'cutting' trees, I mean you insert the bottom of a tree horizontally, and the machine just friggen chomps the bottom of it. Chomp it enough times, and it'll eventually be the height you want.
The (curiously young and timid) truck driver and I engage in little bits of small talk, and get everything signed for. All that's left is for the two of us to lift the thing inside.
I make a small waving motion to get Roxy's attention, and sign to 'open the doors for us' when we get close.
The driver follows my gaze, and is shockingly surprised upon noticing Roxanne begrudgingly acknowledging my request.
"Woah.." The driver mutters beside me.
"You alright?"
"Y-Yeah! All good! Is that the wolf one? Like, t-the robot one?" The driver nervously inquires. The stutters are just a result of his personality; he wasn't THAT shocked.
"Yep, she'll hold the doors while we carry it inside."
"I, u-uhm.. Isn't she really popular?"
"This place itself is really popular."
"Well, yeah.. I-It's like I'm looking at a celebrity though.."
"Are you a fan?"
"N-Not really.. I just don't wanna say the wrong thing, I guess..?"
I smirk in order to prevent myself from snickering.
"She's not as scary as she looks, even when she tries to be." I assure him, positioning myself to lift one side of the machine. The driver perks and quickly mirrors me.
The tree cutter is picked up without much trouble. It's heavy, but not all that awkward to hold. Still, we make our way quickly.
The driver is the closest to the door when we approach, I motion to him to get Roxy's attention. He acknowledges quickly, but his confidence wanes upon trying to call out to the 'celebrity'.
"R-Roxanne? N-Nice to meet you! And everything! C-Can you please open the-.. My name is-!"
Roxanne has already caught on and opened the door before the babbling mess carrying that end of the machine can finish his introduction. However, almost as soon as Roxy flings he door open, she jumps and recoils backwards.
"Jesus!" Roxanne blurts as she recoiled. The driver already looks like he's about to go into a nervous breakdown.
"I-I'm sorry! I-I didn't m-mean to-!"
"Mike, it's freaking freezing out there! Are you kidding me?"
"H-Huh?"
I decide to take over.
"Of course it's cold, what happened to you?"
"You didn't tell me it would be this cold, idiot!"
"It's the middle of winter, Rox, open the door."
"Jeez..!" She reaches for the handle again. "Are you ready?"
"Am 'I' ready?"
"I'm not holding this door for you to slowly hobble your ass in here, you're rocketing in here as soon as-"
"Yes we're ready! We've been ready! Open the door!"
"Don't get snippy with me!"
"I'm 'snipping' off your tail if you don't open this door in the next ten seconds."
Half of me is trying to continue this banter solely for the fact that the truck driver looks horrified that I'm talking to her like an equal. It's funny.
"Fine! Fuckin-.."
The door swings open and the two of us march inside. I can hear Roxy swearing repeatedly under her breath as I pass by her.
The door closes, and the machine is placed safely on the floor. I don't know where Arin wants this thing, so it's gonna be an Arin problem when he gets here.
Upon recovering from holding up the heavy machinery, the panicked driver begins to apologize profusely to the wolf glaring at us from the door.
"I-I'm sorry we were slow! I-I didn't think to tell you it was cold outside! I-I swear I'll-!"
This kid's gonna explode if he continues on like this. Roxanne's about to try and calm him down before I cut her off.
"It was 35 degrees at the very lowest, Roxypox. Think you'll survive?"
"If you ever call me that again, I'll kill you."
"Too bad I know your weakness is slightly-below-lukewarm days. What are you going to do if I take three steps outside?"
"Mike, I'll drag you back in by your-!"
"C-Can I go?" The driver pleads, hiding behind the machinery.
"Right, you're free to go. You sure you don't want to meet the one and only Roxanne?" I cockily point my thumb up towards her.
"I-I'm-! U-Uh!"
...
The driver stares at me and the stunned wolf, who half-forgot he was there. Eventually he decides to cut his losses, giving an awkward salute-wave and jogging out the door.
He's gone before Roxanne gets the chance to redeem herself, now crossing her arms and looking down at me with an emotion I'm not sure to describe. It's fitting to the contempt glare I'm giving her though.
"Mike, what the hell's gotten into you in the last five minutes?"
"Sorry. That guy was fun to mess with."
"..Did I swear around him?"
"Multiple times."
Roxanne groans and buries her face in her hands.
...
As time passes, I can see Roxy's face grow redder and more embarrassed through her hands as she recalls all the things she did and said in front of the guest.
"Thanks for holding the door."
"I'll kill you."
"Do you know where Arin wants-"
"I'll kill you."
"Rox?"
Before I can react, Roxanne has me by the collar, and is dragging me off somewhere again.
I wonder if whatever comes next can be counted as workplace injuries. Maybe I can get some compensation off of it.
I love this job.