What I Deserved

Thursday 23rd July 2015, 15:35 PM

After their meeting with Quantum, Carl and Samantha hadn't spoken to each other. Once again, he was feeling the wall between them forming. In spite of his denial, he knew that it had been forming for months.

Though they exchanged dialogue with each other after he had dropped her off near the house on the road opposite of the forest, he could still feel it. When Quantum had offered that job to them, the answer had come easily. Of course they wouldn't do that. Their whole deal with Quantum was on the foundation of moral ambiguity. The last thing that Carl wanted to do was act morally superior when he had been forced to do ugly things in the past.

But to kill a man, in cold blood, to silent a witness? No matter what the man was doing himself, Carl couldn't find any justification in participating in a gang hit. Whether or not he had information that would truly blow the lid off the case. There were too many variables to consider.

Such as the fact that Thomas had made it clear that none-sanctioned killings would no longer be overlooked.

When they had put together this ragtag, misfit-like group of theirs, they had seen the potential problems. Out of the seven of them, four had a history of violence that couldn't be ignored. Thomas had been one of them, so it had been a good thing that he was the one to impose it. As much as his late best friend and himself shared a respect for Hans Sokolov, Takeo Hasashi, Stevens, and the rest of Sword Department, their body count was unsustainable in many ways.

Perhaps it was hypocritical, but they wanted to be better than that. Carl had a funny feeling that it would be a quick way to disgrace their fallen leader's name if they resorted to assassination.

Closing his eyes, a fresh wave of pain hit Carl when he remembered the news he'd learnt about Peter Crews. How could he live with himself, knowing that he had been the one to bring the man into this? Of course they had made him a target by going to him for help. At the time they had been desperate, but that was no excuse.

They'd dragged him from that September fire just to serve him on Nightingale platter.

Absently, Carl parked up his car in the parking lot opposite of a large one story building, which had a spire in the front yard that stretched over twice its height. On the spire's foundation had been an engraving, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. When Carl had seen the sign, he had turned up his nose somewhat. Of course out of all the churches that could have stood in this little town, it would be one with such a complicated history. Had he been able to, Carl would've preferred to look elsewhere for guidance.

For a moment, he envied those who found answers in a bottle rather than on a pew.

Parking up carefully around the back of the church, Carl couldn't help but notice how it didn't fit the conventions of most of the churches he knew. Rather than being made out of ancient bricks and aged architecture, this one was too clean. To the naked eye, it could have been a resort, or a Parlor house.

It hadn't been the first time he had been here. Over the course of the last month, he had taken the time to go there. At first, the local reverend had treated him nicely enough with a hint of suspicion. At face value, Carl had a feeling the first impression was based on what he looked like rather than how he acted. Since then, they were on better speaking terms.

He had even been kind enough to allow Carl, as a fellow man of God, to enter and worship without the need for an appointment.

As he entered the clean church, Carl passed by the reverend and exchanged greetings with him. Other than the elderly man, there was nobody else there. Choosing the front left pew, he sat down and began to process his thoughts as his prayer began.

"These days, I am running out of things to ask." He admitted, mumbling to himself, "After all, what more can I request from you? That I haven't asked for countless times?"

"Should I ask you for sanctuary, away from the vile things that are hunting us? Should I ask you again to have mercy on those who aren't with us?" Closing his eyes, Carl felt a bitter tone in his voice, "To those still with us. For those who are not. Yet here we are, the dead still not honoured."

"When I offered that saying to Thomas, I didn't expect him to take such a liking. To make that our rallying cry, to those who fought against the world we wanted. It gave us a reason for this moral code. To strive to be better."

"Yet here we are." Rubbing his hand against his eyes, he felt that hopelessness he'd been hiding from the others. "We stand here, presented with this disgusting task of murder. Of course I turn it down. All the while, there are thoughts in the back of my head, voices that ask me why? Why not? A simple act of murder. An evil man, who has harmed the innocent and continues to do so. Wouldn't the right thing be to act as your sword of judgement? Not to be the judge, but to simply be the courier?"

"I know…I know that these thoughts, these ideas…they will only lead to sin. I have seen far better men than myself be marked by such deeds. Which makes me worried…because it's not just me who has to relent, to resist. I saw the look in her eyes, and I'm worried that in her grief, she will go too far."

As he spoke those thoughts, something overwhelmed Carl. Something he had not felt since he had been standing in front of the memorial Ella had built. For all of these months, he had chosen to hide his grief and in that moment, he had to remind himself. Remind himself that none of the souls he considered friends no longer with them were coming back.

Holding the bridge of his nose, Carl fought back tears before clasping his hands together. His words came quietly, hushed, and full of pain. "In this moment of sorrow, the Lord is in our midst and comforts us with his word: Blessed are the sorrowful; they shall be consoled."

"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul; He leads me in the paths of righteous-ness For His name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; For You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me."

Ahead of him, near the altar, the reverend was tending to the statues and the shrine, cleaning it delicately yet thoroughly. Done with his task, the elderly man moved off into the shadows and Carl heard a wooden door open, then shut.

"You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; You anoint my head with oil; My cup runs over." He continued, feeling his bottled down emotions running through the words, "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever."

The sound of another door opening, this one as faint as a whisper, sent a shiver down Carl's spine. Raising his head for a moment, he could feel the presence in that room with him. For a moment, he considered acting, but knew it to be too late.

"Let us pray; Lord Jesus, our Redeemer, you willingly gave yourself up to death so that all people might be saved and pass from death to new life." This time he spoke above a whisper, staring ahead hard at one of the shrines, "Listen to our prayers, look with love on your people who mourn and pray for their brother."

Then, a voice spoke from behind him. Low, yet elegant, as the footsteps approached.

"Lord Jesus, holy and compassionate: forgive his sins." The voice said before Carl could continue, "By dying you unlocked the gates of life for those who believe in you: do not let our brother be parted from you, but by your glorious power give him light, joy and peace in heaven where you live and reign forever and ever. Amen."

Trusting himself not to break, Carl followed the voice.

"Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him. May he rest in peace. Amen."

Then, as he spoke the last few lines, the voice spoke with him, as the footsteps came from behind him and he heard the small protesting squeak of the pew as the speaker sat down behind him.

"May almighty God bless us with his peace and strength, the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit." They said together, the calm before the storm. "Amen."

Silence came next and Carl knew nothing he could do would save him. From the moment he heard that door open, he knew it to be well too late. "I never would've taken you to be a follower of the Lord."

"I'm not." The voice admitted, far too calm and relaxed for Carl's liking, "Merely a respectful observer and listener."

Carl almost laughed at that. "Of course. Many mourners would have sat here where we sit now because of you. Did you, perhaps a few times, attend the funerals to pay your respects?"

"Sometimes it was considered customary."

"Others would call it disrespectful." Carl scowled, "Like dancing on a man's grave."

"Call it what you will, Carl Young."

"I suppose I must thank you for such a small victory, Nightingale. I had a bad feeling Donovan would send you after us."

Carl couldn't see the man's voice, but he knew the voice. Like steel, it was surprisingly smooth, yet viciously sharp at the same time. "If it is any consolation, I would have rather been sent with my brothers. You should have known that we would eventually catch up with you."

"Right." Carl sneered, "And all it took was killing an innocent man. I thought better of you, Midnight."

"Peter Crews was regretful." Midnight acknowledged, "More so of his actions before death. Had I recovered those files before he burned them, I would have tracked you down over a month ago."

Closing his eyes again as he heard that, Carl cursed softly. "So…how did you track us down, in the end?"

Though he couldn't feel it, Carl knew there was a suppressed pistol pointed at his heart as Midnight explained. "There is a man, one who was involved in gang activities taking place, here. He has been reporting to the FBI to get a deal with them. In the pictures he provided recently, you and Mrs. Williams were there. An inside man of the Crucible gave this to us."

That information almost made Carl laugh. Of course it was their work with Quantum which led to their downfall. "Well, it is what it is. I suppose telling you not to be a lackey of Donovan and to think for yourself won't get us anywhere?"

"My duty as a Nightingale compels me. I must do this."

"Thomas respected you, you know. Now you're here, working with his killers."

"Thomas was a good man." Midnight said respectfully, "Which is why I wish I didn't have to be here."

Carl knew there was no point in arguing. "Very well. Do what you have to do, Nightingale, but know that you have not won yet."

As he said the words, Carl settled and felt at peace. He could only hope that the others would stand a chance.

Then Midnight spoke again. "I'm not going to kill you here, Carl. To shed blood in a holy place…no. I will warn you, though, that your time has run out, as have your companions'. Enjoy the sunlight, for you will not be seeing morning."

Then he felt the stir of movement and Carl slowly turned to look. By the time his eyes settled on the room, he heard the door close and knew he was alone. Taking care to take deep breaths, Carl stood and went to the door.

Pushing it open, he quickly went to the street level and scanned the roads for him. Yet, when he was standing right there, he didn't see a soul anywhere in sight.

Turning around, Carl went back into the church and considered his next move. Either Midnight was out there waiting for him, or he wasn't. Alone, he knew he didn't have a chance against the Nightingale leader.

So he only had one choice. Rather than heading back the way he came from, Carl went further into the church's halls.

Midnight was right about one thing, Carl mused to himself, tour time is done. Without an idea where Samantha was, Carl knew he had to find her, reunite with the others, and alert AESIR to where they were. There was no point cherry picking now. Any sort of cover they had went out the window.

Without seeing the reverend on the way, Carl found the back door and exited the church. He considered his car for a moment. Had Midnight spotted it and had it keyed in? Would he be walking straight into a trap by going to it?

If he has, Carl considered, then he's got eyes on me anyway. Walking out of here on foot won't be any less of a bad idea.

So instead of heading to the parking lot, Carl ducked back inside the building and looked for another exit. He found one, inside a supply closet, via a window. Opening it, Carl squeezed through and found himself standing across from a house. Without a moment of hesitation, he stormed away from the church.

The car was only a rental, after all. One they would hopefully not be needing. Not once they were out of town.

As Carl hurried off onto the lower street, he knew that he couldn't return to the house. There was a good chance that Midnight would be following him, trying to suss out the others. At the same time, he needed to warn them.

Taking out his burner phone, Carl tried to call Sam. As the seconds went by, the dismay he felt when it went to voice mail was staggering. Instead choosing Jack's number, he glanced around as he walked, watching for any sign of movement. When Jack answered, Carl breathed a sigh of relief.

"Hey," Jack said, "Everything alright?"

"No." Carl answered brusquely, "No, it ain't at all. We're burned."

"What?" Jack breathed through the phone, "How?"

"Some guy involved with Quantum."

"Damn it. Okay, what do you want us to do?"

"Where are you right now, for starters?" Carl asked him, knowing that time was of the essence. As he considered their next move, he started to get a bad thought. What was the likelihood that Midnight was the only Nightingale in town? Alone, he was dangerous and they stood a small chance of winning. If he had brought backup with him, their situation would be far worse.

"We're just running a job." Jack explained, though Carl heard him say something to Ella before he returned to the phone, "Carl, what happened? This doesn't seem like it's just we're burned. Someone's here, aren't they?"

Smart man. Looking around again, Carl couldn't see anyone who could be following him. "Yeah. Someone's here. Nightingale, and very, very dangerous. We cannot risk getting into a fight with him. We have to pack our things, and get out of here. For all we know, it's not just the Nightingales who know where we are now."

"Right. Right. Well, we were finishing off a job, but…did you want to just meet up?"

"No. Not yet. Not until everyone is aware. We have to tell Mike and Sam. I don't know where either of them are. Last time I saw her, Sam was heading back to the house, but…she isn't answering her phone."

Carl heard Ella speak through the phone, barely audible. Clearing his throat, Jack reiterated what she said. "Ella says she tried to call Mike less than an hour ago. Same thing. Carl…you don't think…?"

"Maybe." Carl admitted, as much as he hated the thought. "Keep your heads down. I'll contact you again when it's time to make our move."

As he ended the call, Carl hated himself for lying. He knew what he would have to do: Once he contacted the others and everyone knew what the situation was, he would need to feign a meeting. Assuming that Midnight was following him, the best he could do was get the Nightingale away from the others.

When his phone started to ring again, Carl frowned. He answered it, still keeping an eye out. "Hello? Who is this?"

"Hello, Young." The voice spoke down the line, "It's Quantum."

Holding his irritated sigh, Carl kept his voice low. "We're a bit busy at the moment. What is this about?"

"Really? Huh. That is strange, considering you changed your mind."

Carl blinked. "No. No we didn't. Our situation's only gotten worse."

"Ah. I see."

"Quantum." Carl suddenly felt dread seeping into his bones, "When did she come by?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say."

"Where is this target of yours?"

"Your services are no longer required. I wish you well for your future."

"God damn you, Quantum, where is she?" Carl almost yelled out, but the call was disconnected before he could finish.

Thursday 23rd July 2015, 17:26 PM

They were out there, somewhere. He knew it. Behind the treeline, hiding in the rising shadows. Though he wished he could still pretend that they were all in his head, he knew it wasn't true. Not anymore.

Whenever he closed his eyes, whenever he hoped that they would go away like they had before, it was all for naught. Mike could only stare out of the window, watching for their movement. Even before night would fall they would arrive. He would see their teeth shining in the darkness, behind those maleficent smiles. Ghouls made of metal, haunting him and him alone.

How they had followed him here, he did not know. Or perhaps, the thought crossed his mind, they never left.

Mike could feel his trembling breathing as he moved away from the window, going to the next one. It was slowly being wrenched away from his body, leaving him gasping for air. He was trapped in that house, knowing nothing he could do would save him from these monsters. Hear a noise behind him in the hall, Mike spun around, eyes frantically searching for the impossible being that was there to claim him.

To claim his soul. Inside of that twisted house that wasn't his own. Running to the door, he flashed his light and saw not a sign of movement down it. A chill ran up his spine as he moved away to the other door, but before he could reach it, he heard that rumbling laughter. Freezing on the spot, he intently listened for anything else, hearing the footsteps leading to the same door in front of him.

It was the bear, again. Fredbear. Running to the door, he flashed his light down it, expecting to see that lumbering yellow giant reaching for him.

Instead, he screamed when he came face to face with the shadowy monster in front of him before he slammed the door shut. Backing away, he felt the image of that thing burnt into his mind, but forced himself to keep moving.

Though it had certainly looked like Fredbear, this thing had been different. The yellow plastic attached to the body of the monster had been midnight black, almost translucent. Like it was made out of stained glass. Rather than the purple hat and bow tie of Fredbear, this thing's own accessories were yellow.

In spite of all this, the eyes had been the same. Crimson red, searching for life and weakness to swallow whole.

As he pressed forward, he found himself once again worrying about what this meant. Every time something new had been thrown in to this nightmare of his, it meant only pain and suffering for him. Hearing the laughter inside the room with him, he checked the closet after seeing the bed empty.

Flashing his light inside the closet, he felt his breath leave his body as that shriek of static pierced his ears before he shut the door. Within a moment, the shrieking stopped and he knew he was safe for another moment.

He continued onwards, trying to placate himself by considering that it seemed this dark reflection of the one before shared the same tactics. If this was indeed the case, then all I needed to do was remind himself of that fact.

Old habits die hard, after all.

When he checked the right hallway after hearing the footsteps down it, it stunned him how difficult it was to see the shadow monster. It blended in too well, much so that if it had been standing further back in the hallway, he might've not seen it.

He didn't need to worry about that, of course. It seemed that this thing wanted him to be perfectly aware of where he was. Those red eyes would light up the moment they made eye contact and it would never try to hide. This wasn't a stalker, creeping up on its prey. This was a predator that knew there was nothing its target could do to escape.

His legs were beginning to tire as he ran again. It was moving too fast for him to catch up, impossibly so. By the time he would turn around after stopping it, the monster was already going down a different way. If he wasn't hearing those frantic heavy footsteps as the laughter boomed, he would've been convinced that it was teleporting.

This thing was faster than all the others combined and filled with far more desire to see his end. Worse still that it meant he had to make far more decisions with every minute went by when he wasn't sure where it was. Whether it was his subconscious making the right decision or pure blind luck, he found himself making the right call every time he had to.

At least until he didn't.

Perhaps it had been fatigue, or his mind making the brutal mistake of ignoring the sign, but he heard the laughter and didn't listen properly. He ran to the door, gripping the flashlight hard in his hand, but he stepped back when he realised the mistake.

Hadn't heard any footsteps.

Gasping out as he told himself this, he spun to face the bed and didn't see anything. He could feel his heart drop as he heard that shrieking again before running to the closet and shining his light through it, but there was nothing there either.

In his heart, he knew it was too late. The flashlight in his hand began to flicker and he felt his hand weaken, letting it drop to the ground. He turned and saw the gigantic figure standing in his room, looking down at him.

As he looked into its face, those red eyes, he heard something in his head. Something loud and droning and his vision darkened until all he could see was the face of the monster. As he felt his life fade right before him, he thought to himself that it almost sound like a siren.

When the vision faded this time, Mike didn't feel that dread or horror. Instead, he felt a deep pain in his chest. Gasping for air, he tried to steady himself, but lost his footing and hit the wooden floor hard.

As he laid on the floor, he looked up towards the rotten ceiling and chipped painting. When he could finally feel his muscles wake up, he clambered onto his feet, using the table he had placed against the doorway. For a moment, he wondered why it was there.

Right, he affirmed to himself, I moved it there. That was what I was doing. I need to keep those things out.

In the basement of the house, there had been a few tools and materials left. They were laying on the floor now, except for the materials. Wooden planks lined the windows, blocking the view unless you peaked through the cracks. Both doorways into the house were similarly boarded up using what little furniture was left.

For a few moments, he couldn't remember why he had. When he looked outside again towards the treeline, his thoughts went back to the monstrous things he knew were out there, closing in on him.

The things that resembled twisted souls in the shape of his friends. Who had been killed by him. The Purple Man. William Afton. He should've known. It always came back. No matter how much he ran, it would always catch up.

This time, he knew there was nobody to come save him.

A part of him bitterly wanted to ask why. Was it because he knew what happened? Had Samantha been right, and it was all just in his head? Not the monsters themselves, for he knew them to be more real than ever. These weren't your typical monsters under your bed.

These were his sins incarnate.

Samantha's words came back to him and he knew she was right. Everything that was happening right here was what he deserved. This fear that he was feeling, this evil that was here for his own soul…all of it was a long time coming. He hadn't done enough to excuse himself. Part of him wondered if there was ever a chance to.

She had called him a monster, blamed him for everything that had happened. How could she not? He had brought all of this onto them. His intentions had never really mattered.

Sitting back as he stared out of the window, he felt his body tremble, imagining what his end would be like. Would he suffer, in the end? Like so many had before? Six children, the truest monster's victims, rose from their metal graves. He had tried to help them and he truly hoped it worked. That wherever they had gone was better than here,

Since that night when he found himself in that place, none of this had seemed real. Like he had remained stuck, trapped in a nightmare of his own making. One where every single transgression, every single regret, was rearing its head and punishing him.

Were they echoes? Simple remainders of what the Purple Man had done, forced onto him like a disease? Was he really just going insane, losing his mind, all of this pain and torment he had been involved in finally breaking him?

It doesn't matter, he had to tell himself as he felt the tears sting his eyes again, because I've never been more afraid. This…this masquerade that I can't get away from. I want this to end. I can't do it anymore. Why did I come back? Why am I still here?

He heard the noise in the hallway again and he found the strength to stand up. Grasping for the flashlight he had dropped, he moved to the hallway and flashed the light down it. Something struck his chest as he saw the chair at the end of the hallway, right up against the wall.

There was something sitting in it. Small, the size of a toddler. Staring down at the ground, limp. Its rotten yellow fur stuck out, gigantic eyes looking at nothing. Long ears pointing towards the ceiling.

As Mike blinked, he terror came back when he opened them and saw nothing there. Running for the doors, he flashed his light down into the empty rooms until he checked them all. With nothing there, he had to remind himself to breathe.

Shaking his head, he went back to the window and gasped when he saw them. Towards the back of the treeline, in the brush. At least three figures in the waning sun that were looking towards the house. One brown, one blue, and one red. Their jagged white teeth were pulled into horrifying grins and though he couldn't see them up close, he knew they were watching him.

There was nothing he could do, now. Nowhere he could run where they wouldn't be able to catch him. No do-overs. They were here for him and they wouldn't allow him to escape again.

Lowering his head and feeling that deep pain fill his bones, he allowed himself to accept it. By the time he looked back, he didn't see them again. But he knew they were still out there, that they would be there soon.

Sitting down against the wall by the window, he felt sadness creeping into his thoughts. None of his friends were here and they would never understand. They hated him. Hated him for pulling them all into this gigantic mess.

There would have only been one good ending to all of this: If it had been him pressed against that wall, a pistol in hand, firing at that fuse box.

He deserved all of this. He was done running.

Feeling a new strength fill his body, Mike stood up and stared out hard towards the treeline. If they wanted to claim his soul, they could certainly try. Looking towards the sun, he had a funny feeling that it would be the last he'd ever see.

We're closing in on the end. Three chapters remain.

TU4QU0I53T4IAN6L3: The Crying Child's death was, at the time, the most significant and the most polarising event in the entire community. There was always the question of what exactly it was all for. The truth is, I don't think it ever was for anything. It was a tragedy that never needed to happen. As for the deal that Quantum offered, the reward is something that will definitely be touched on later. It's what Samantha is going to do to earn it that is a problem. But he didn't force the job on them. It is clear that Mike's mental state is deteriorating, and it couldn't be coming at a worse time. It might be true that Mike was the one who caused what happened at Fazbear Frights; the issue is, Samantha is the reason why they're still there.