More than likely the last double upload for this story. I'm now back on track with what I was needing to get to.

A Monument to All of Your Sins

Thursday 23rd July 2015, 12:06 PM

Having made a point to have an early lunch, Mike was up and about from the morning for his tasks. He had been through this several times and he knew all he had to do first was receive the instructions. Running a criminal empire was a risky job, but it seemed that Quantum knew how to play it safe.

Every part was in steps, each little piece in a different location. It was Mike's job to go through the instructions, decoding them, and then finding the next piece. His first step was heading to his allotted briefing point, an old phone booth near the church than hadn't been used in years.

As he entered the phone booth, checking for anyone watching him, Mike felt behind the phone and found a small note taped to the back. Ripping it off, he read through the note before stepping out. It hadn't taken Mike long to memorise the many codewords that Quantum used.

Strange as it seemed, Mike had actually appreciated being able to do these jobs. It got him away from that house and something else to think about.

After reading through the note a few times, he was sure of the next step; it only took him ten minutes to get there on foot. There was a small scrapyard full of broken down cars off towards the north western border of New Harmony. He'd maybe seen two workers there at a time. When he arrived, he was fortunate enough to find that no one was there.

Mike scaled the fence before heading just towards the left, finding a rusty pickup truck that must've been there for years. Carefully, Mike opened the driver's side door and looked in the back seat, finding a duffle bag inside with a note taped to it. He grabbed the bag and pulled it out, feeling the heavy weight inside.

By now, he had learned not to look inside the bag or question its contents. Whether it be something as linear as cash or things he would rather not be caught transporting in fear of ending up locked up for a long time, he knew that it was better for him to get the duffle bag where it was meant to be going and question the moral ramifications of it once they were gone.

Hopping the fence again, Mike read through the note a few more times and worked out where it was meant to be going. Having transported enough of these a few times a day, Mike knew them to be dead drops. With such an intricated network, it seemed that Quantum didn't trust anyone enough to give them the full job, so he preferred to give pieces of the same pie to different people who didn't know each other. This stash that Mike was heading to had been dropped off by one person and it was up to him to pick it up. It was like a game of hot potato, he mused to himself.

Whether or not it would be him being the last one to drop it off or he was just handing it over to the next chump, it wasn't his responsibility afterwards.

He looked at the note and questioned it. It seemed to him that it was pointing towards the old railroad tracks across from the old Fredbear's, the ones that had been mostly covered up. Readying himself for another fifteen minutes of walking, Mike knew it was better this than being stuck back over by the house.

As he walked down the street, he chose to head over to the left, rather than going straight through the main street. That was a good way to attract suspicion. Though as far as he was aware Quantum had friends in the local Sheriff's Office, and the town residents tended to turn a blind eye towards his activities, Mike knew it was better not to chance some do-gooder getting him in trouble.

It felt almost hilarious to Mike; at the beginning of the year, Mike alongside Jack and Ella were off in New York trying to suss out these sorts of schemes. Ending any sort of corruption or criminal activities by businesses that they felt was hurting people. Now they were off in some random village participating in such schemes.

Necessity, Mike reminded himself. He knew that it didn't matter whether or not Quantum rewarded and looked after his own people. What had Tom said once, that night they were attacked by Gregor Henshaw and his gang? A drug fiend is a drug fiend. The only thing that worried Mike was if the ridiculously named Quantum decided they were a liability to his operation and stabbed them in the back.

Shaking those doubts out of his thoughts, Mike told himself that it was better to get the job done now and worry about the consequences when they became a likelihood rather than a possibility.

He had spoken of these doubts to the others, of course. It seemed that he hadn't been the only one considering this. Carl had been the one who agreed the most, which didn't surprise Mike. The two of them had been the only two against the idea of working with Quantum in the first place. Jack had tried to offer reassurances and Ella had supported them, though it was easy enough to see that they were just as worried.

The only one of them who didn't seem even slightly concerned was Samantha. Mike reminded himself that he couldn't allow his objections to her having them stay here get in the way of his opinion, but how could he? They should've left New Harmony a month ago, headed to the west coast themselves to find these other operators.

As much as he hated to think about it, Mike was starting to suspect that they hadn't met up with them because Sam wasn't ready to be found yet.

A part of him hated that he was allowing himself to wallow in this cycle of paranoia and suspicion, especially when it was aimed towards someone he had so much respect for. Mike couldn't help but feel that stab of pain when he was reminded of how she had saved his life twenty years ago, how she had done the same only a few months ago.

At the same time, he couldn't ignore the animosity she had for him.

Every part of this idea, of joining up with Quantum and doing what was basically jail-worthy crimes for him when they already had so much risk hovering over them, made Mike weary. Perhaps it was also because he wanted as far away from this town as physically possible. Ever since he first stepped foot here, he'd felt uneasy.

They were on the run from the law, they were being hunted by the Nightingales, and they were only one mistake away from being caught by either. What if Quantum learnt of this and decided that giving them up was going to be in his favour? Mike highly doubted that the criminal mastermind would give them any sort of protection if he knew.

Then there was the fact that the Nightingales could've easily have found them already. It was clear to Mike that Sam and Carl's little change of tactics had just become a huge mistake, now that they knew for certain that this Midnight guy was on their trail and possibly closing in fast.

Between the five of them, would they stand a chance against him? The only person Mike could think in their group who could hold his own would be Carl. The fact that Carl was clearly scared of the arrival of this man meant they were in far bigger trouble than they were prepared for.

The issue was, one that Mike had been unable to ignore ever since it had popped in his mind, was that he wasn't sure that Samantha had their best interests at heart. As much as he could understand it and knew it wasn't even close to being his right to question it, she had changed. Severely so. Either that, or whatever darkness she was carrying had become clear to them all.

Mike had seen it in her eyes when she'd injected that Nightingale back in Cheyenne and left him to suffer inside his shell.

Walking along a little more, Mike drifted towards the side streets and pathways that weren't crowded nor had many eyes. Years spent doing risky work had put a certain pattern to the way he did things; always with the assumption that trouble could drop out, at any time, led by anyone.

You were only one bad day away from dying.

Mike closed his eyes for a moment when the pain of the news this morning relayed back to his thoughts. He hadn't been able to find the time to talk about it, but learning of Peter Crews' death had hurt. When he'd known him back at Freddy's, the man had put on airs and seemed to consider himself to be the most important person there.

That day in September had changed him, of course. Mike could relate; the memory of his own really bad night a year before that, when Freddy had been seconds away from finishing him off after that seventh night in a row, had left Mike a wreck.

To have survived that, to have recovered and made a new life for yourself, just to end up dead at the hands of a killer you'd never met before…

Of course, Mike reminded himself in guilt, that wasn't the reason why he died. The truth was, the reason why Peter Crews was dead was because they had sought his help at their time of need, and he'd made the foolish decision to take them in and get them a way out.

Had Crews turned them away, perhaps a Nightingale would've never ended up at his doorstep.

They'd put a target on his back, when he should've never been involved in the whole thing in the first place. All for what? To buy them a month, to give them some breathing room before they ended up right back where they started? Mike knew he should've walked away the moment Sam had gone through those damned files and found that house., in spite of all the precautions he'd taken.

Had they kept walking until they hit the west coast, they would've been safe by now.

Yeah, it's easy for you to say that, a small voice in his own head pointed out with venom, but if you hadn't started digging up graves and revisiting old wounds, Tom would still be alive and we wouldn't have ended up in this big mess.

But another voice spoke in his head, one he was thankful for but nevertheless felt guilty about, What happened in Hurricane was my fault. But I've not been the one holding the reins since then. It shouldn't be my fault for every mistake we've made!

No matter how he thought about it, it felt like he only had two options: Wait until the end of that day and follow the others out, or finish this job, pack his things, and get going. Abandoning his allies was distasteful and he knew he could never do it.

At the same time, how could he guarantee that Sam would lead them to safety now that they were at the end of the road, rather than taking them along for another wild goose chase?

Even if Sam and Carl would perfectly capable of taking care of themselves and had people to fall back on, how on Earth could he leave Jack and Ella behind? They would never go with him, but he could not live with himself if he left them and either of them were hurt, or worse. They would never leave him behind, so how could he ever think of doing so?

As he saw the old Fredbear's up ahead, Mike shook those thoughts out of his head and got back to the task at hand. He went over and followed the route down until he found the old railroad tracks, buried underneath grass and roots. Up ahead there was a small creek with a crooked tree.

He looked for the best way to get to the tree without soaking his boots in the creek. A few moments of crossing later, he got around and stepped over to the tree. After walking around the side, he could see that there was an incline to the right of the tree that exposed the roots, creating a small crevice that opened up.

With a moment of hesitation, Mike checked the note again and read it. As far as he could see, it was right at this spot where Quantum wanted the stash.

Pulling the duffle bag over his shoulder, Mike had a look around to make sure nobody was watching him before he carefully pushed the duffle bag into the crevice. After making sure it was hidden from sight, he looked over his handiwork with satisfaction before heading back the way he came from.

That takes care of that, then, Mike mused to himself. With all of his tasks completed, he knew all that was left for him to do was head back home and consider what next move would be. Whether it was to continue down the path he was being led to, or break away and risk everything.

When he passed by Fredbear's again, he could almost feel the shadow of the place gazing into his soul. Trying not to look back at it, he crossed into the woods and made his way across the gravel and dirt back towards the house.

His time away from that hole was over, at least for now. He knew that if he decided to stay rather than doing the logical move, he would take the next chance to get out of there when he could. Every moment he spent standing in that place was another moment he couldn't—

His head spun at the sound of a twig cracking. Eyes wide and as still as a statue, he tried to find the source; a squirrel, or a rabbit, or something normal. Perhaps something as innocent as a branch up high cracking and losing a single piece?

When he didn't see anything that would confirm such a simple answer, Mike began to feel his pulse go. Swallowing his worry, he knew in his heart that he needed to keep going. Without looking back, Mike headed further into the woods, shadowed from the sun and from any prying eyes, nevertheless feeling far less alone than before.

Maybe I'll get lucky this time, Mike tried to cheer himself up, maybe this time it's actually a Nightingale.

Even though he tried not to, Mike found himself looking over his shoulder and around him for any sort of movement, any sign of something which knew he was there and didn't want him to. When he didn't, he started to look for anything that was just there not to harm him in anyway.

But he came up fruitless. Not even as much as a bird tweeting high up in the trees above him. Not a single squirrel bounding from tree to tree. In desperation, he even searched around for bugs, but he wasn't so fortunate.

It was as if every other thing in those woods had fled from there, leaving only him and the predator he knew was stalking in the shadows.

Recognising the signs, Mike found himself in the middle of a pit of silence. As unsettling as it was, he knew he could use it to his advantage. It made it easier to sense things, such as a scuttling. A flap of wings.

Or a scraping against a tree.

When he heard it, he knew what he had to do. Screw this, he thought to himself as he felt that energy in his body surge for a moment. He wouldn't wait around this time. Without a moment to lose, Mike sprang his legs against the ground and began to run. If he were wrong about this, the worst that would come was he'd be tired by the time he got there.

Being careful not to trip over the roots and foliage between him and his path, Mike ran in a pace between a jog and a tap dance, being mindful of where his feet were going. The path he'd taken wasn't the most stable and he could've easily ended up tripping up with a misstep.

In spite of his refusal to go slow, he never felt that rising anxiety leave his thoughts. He'd hoped that it would've given him power.

Instead, he started to feel like all he was doing was trying to outrun a wild animal. Feeling himself already begin to ache, he began to slow down, as he reached a clearing. As he did so, Mike looked around and knew he recognised the clearing. It wasn't that far away from the house, perhaps three minutes at most.

Giving himself a few moments to breath, he examined his surroundings to make sure he wasn't being watched. If he were, perhaps he'd be lucky this time and have just passed by a very confused dog walker or an afternoon jogger.

He didn't know how he had managed to spot it, in the end. A one in a million chance, a glint of light, or maybe because he had sub-consciously known where to look. Had it been any of the others, he would've always seen it, but its brown fur blended it in the trees and the dirt.

A bear, standing on two legs, jagged wires sticking out of its limbs. A black top hat placed on its head. Its almost orange eyes glaring at him from behind the tree it was hiding behind.

Mike knew it had been following him.

His vision cleared up and he almost found himself screaming in rage as he saw those walls. Hoisting himself from the bed and grasping the flashlight nearby, he ran to the right door and shined the beacon of light down it.

The crooked shade of Chica dashed behind the corner before he could see her properly. Knowing to wait even a moment would be a mistake, he darted to the next one. He heard the breathing almost immediately and shut the door in a panic, until he heard the breathing dissipate.

As he backed away from the door, he heard the chittering behind him and spun around, using the only weapon in his possession to scare the Freddles away. He didn't even see which way they went, despite the good position he was at as they fled.

Then he ran to the closet door and slammed it shut as the snarling face of Foxy lunged at him. He rapidly flashed the light after opening it just a bit until he was sure it was safe, only leaving behind the innocent-looking plushie doll inside.

Already, right from the start of this sordid night, it seemed he was facing the gang entirely.

Time and time again, he ran back and forth without so much as a moment to breathe. He knew that to do so would be the end of the night. Back during the previous nights, he had made a habit of trying to be quiet, under the impression that causing noise would only attract these monsters hunting him down faster.

Now, he didn't care to. No matter how quiet he had been, it never seemed to help. There was nobody human in the building. How could there be? Why would anyone leave him here to suffer, through so many nights?

So he slammed the doors without hesitation the moment he heard something on the other side. He ran back and forth, between each of the stations under his care, and repelled the monsters like his life depended on it.

At this point, he didn't know how many more times he could mess up and survive the consequences.

Back and forth he went, for what felt like an eternity. He could feel his legs growing like jelly underneath him, felt something metallic in his mouth as he lunges burned from the activity. Even as his body pushed back, he pushed forward.

As he slammed a door in the ugly, terrifying face of Bonnie, he started to reflect on the fact that he had grown so used to repelling the demonic rabbit, alongside Chica. He had done so that many times that he was almost acclimated to the fear that grew in his stomach. The worst part was when he headed over to a door and knew that his decision would be the last one he would make.

It had been difficult to hear their breathing during the first couple of nights. Perhaps this experience was actually improving his hearing? Probably not.

Dragging himself away from the right door as he backed away, heading this time to the closet, he reminded himself that the fox was still a problem. Having to micromanage all of these different things was becoming increasingly difficult. More so with the lack of sleep he was experiencing. It was at the point where he had to take naps when he could just to stay alive.

But even with the light of day, there was that deep-rooted terror in his gut that if he closed his eyes again, he would be right back in this room upon opening them.

He heard the chittering screams again and spun around, seeing the three Freddles again before they vanished to their hiding spots. Shaking his head in dismay, he had a growing feeling that if he left them unhindered for too long, it would end badly for him.

So he ran to the side of his bed and searched for their hiding places, sick to his stomach that he hadn't a clue where they were coming from. Even when he quickly peaked under the bed, he saw nothing.

It was just impossible. How were they able to get to the bed in the first place? They were much like the fox; it was like they just materialised from nowhere. As he pulled himself from his stupor, he rushed back between the doors and cleared them before moving back to the closet again. The fox was in the middle of getting up from a crouch, but his beam of light drove it back within seconds.

But he heard the chittering again and turned to see them. All three, back again, laughing in their little scream-like voices before they ran off. Blinking, he felt a fearing confusion fill his body before he hurried again.

That had been different. Usually, they would dart off the moment he turned. His only sight of them would be a blur. That time, however, they hadn't a worry in the world. What did that mean?

Even as he continued going back and forth between the doors, that question still filled his mind. He knew that something was different this time, that something was wrong. He felt like he was running straight into a trap—

His insides went cold as he felt himself fall, face first into the carpeted ground. The air in his lunges rushed out and he tried to yell out in protest, but it only came out as a croak. His face felt numb after his chin had banged, but he pushed past the pain and tried to fight.

Something had hold of his leg. It had grabbed it as he'd been running.

It pulled him, towards the crevice underneath the bed. He tried to grab at something, but the thing's massive brown hand gripped his leg painfully and he could do nothing but scream as he was pulled into the darkness underneath his bed, taken by the vicious monster and the three chittering ghouls with him.

Thursday 23rd July 2015, 12:27 PM

His head was ablaze in pain as his vision turned white and it took everything Mike had not to scream.

As he looked up, begging his eyes to clear up from the blurriness they carried, he looked back at the spot where he had seen Freddy. Part of him had hoped to feel relieved when he didn't see anything there anymore, but instead terror filled his body.

Any chance of him reasoning with himself that he had been imagining it had fallen out of the window. He didn't care how impossible it sounded; there was something in these woods and it was after him.

Looking around in desperation to try and catch sight of the monster, Mike didn't see any sign of it. His pulse was pumping and his head was hurting. For a moment, his vision darkened and everything was becoming far away.

Then that deep-rooted part of him, that sense of self-preservation, kicked in and he found his legs moving. His body pulled away from the fear and he started running, back out of the clearing and into the forest again.

He sought the only cover he could think of: The house.

Adrenaline filled his body as he ran, no longer being careful not the trip over the foliage. He could feel it chasing him, knowing to stop would be his demise. He hopped over a fallen tree and pressed onwards, feeling his feet hitting the summer ground hard.

As he went up a hill, he lost his footing for a moment and clawed his way back up, reaching for a tree to pull himself back to his feet before he continued.

No matter how scared he was, how much he felt like his life was about to come to an end, Mike kept going. The house couldn't be anymore than a couple hundred yards away. He felt nauseous, knowing that his body was starting to throw anything in the way to force him to stop and rest, yet he pushed it a little more.

As he leapt over another fallen tree, his foot clipped on the surface and he felt himself lose his balance, falling straight into the rough ground. Even with the pain, he got back up and continued running. All he needed was to go a while more. He was nearing the house, where he hoped he'd be safe.

Passing the next hurdle, he saw the end of the treeline up ahead, perhaps fifty yards away. Feeling his second wind, he willed himself to go and ran as fast as he could. He was passing a small incline , nearing the edge of a steep fall, but he didn't acknowledge it and kept going.

Just a bit more, he begged himself. He was almost there. Even as the hounds chased him down. He was nearing salvation. He could see the beams of sunlight through the trees now and once he was past it, they wouldn't be able to follow—

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it too late. The bear was in front of him in an instance and he tried to halt his speed, but he was going to fast. With a gigantic paw, the bear swiped at him. Mike screamed as he felt himself leave his feet, crashing into the ground at an awkward angle.

He didn't stop falling. As he fell down the steep incline, he kept hitting the ground, slammed into a solid oak tree and tasted iron. Finally he stopped falling, a splash filling his vision and water in his eyes and ears as he blacked out.

For a few moments, Mike drifted in the creek, face down in the water, not moving.

Then he felt his lunges burning and he pushed, finding the ground in the creek bed and sought a reprieve. As his face left the surface of the water, he howled in some breaths. Coughing out the creek water, Mike looked for the edge of it and crawled out of the creek.

Once he was out of the creek, he coughed out the rest of the water that had filled his lunges before laying down on the ground, trying to breathe. The pain started to fill him and he looked at his arms and his legs, seeing the fresh cuts in his clothing and the scrapes and blood on his flesh beneath the fabric.

Then he looked at his chest and saw the gigantic gash that had torn a good portion of it, like five claw marks which had shredded his skin.

Mike cried out in pain as he tried to get to his feet, remembering the danger he was in. As he got up, however, he didn't see anything. Nothing up on the top of the hill he'd fallen from.

His mind was foggy as he stood there next to the creek, bowed over in pain, and once again feeling alone. He didn't even know where he was; it didn't seem that he could get back up the incline from here. Calming himself down, Mike searched for anything he remembered and finally recognised a part of the nearby area.

With a step, Mike felt the pain fill his body again; it suddenly occurred to him how badly he had messed himself up. He was lucky he hadn't broken any of his bones that he knew of. A deep knot of soreness surrounded his body, but it seemed that he at least still retained the use of all his faculties.

Seeing the path to his left and knowing that he was going to have to take the long way back, Mike grimaced. Limping in small steps along the way, Mike Schmidt began making the arduous hike back home, his body and pride badly wounded.

As he continued onward, he knew he had finally reached a decision. The moment he got back and patched himself up, he was packing up his belongings and getting out of this forsaken town.

With Act 3 now officially underway, I wanted to mention that planning for the rest of this story has been completed and I will likely be starting the planning for the next one very soon.

On another note, I am saddened by the recent news regarding Game Theory and MatPat's retirement. I've been a theorist since early 2015 and was inspired by his work throughout that time. It feels like we're slowly drifting towards a new era of FNAF, one without familiar faces.

TU4QU0I53T4IAN6L3: Now worries mate, glad to hear from you. We are now five chapters away from the end and it's only going to ramp up from here. The Nightingales are certainly not done with just yet and Midnight may be closer to them than they might think. There is certainly something wrong with that house, something which has been tormenting Mike since he got there. Mike of course has ties to the animatronics, so the question remains whether these nightmares are being caused by that connection, or something else. Quantum is an interesting element, one that is slowly leading them down a morally-questionable path. It comes to the question of how likely is it he would stab them in the back.