Prologue: Secrets Don't Keep

New Harmony, Utah

Monday 11th August 1986, 12:36 PM

Taking a deep breath, the man zipped up his lemon nylon jumpsuit and took the goggles from a workbench to his right. His tools, carefully arranged, had been cleaned every time he had finished with them. Singling out the ones he wished to use, he took each one from the wooden rack that hung on the wall, setting them down.

Once he was ready, the man turned to look at his projects, hidden behind curtains made of plastic sheeting. He peeled the curtains back and watched over his creations with pride.

Turning away again, he approached the workbench and opened the drawer. Then he took the various A3 pieces of blue paper held together by a folder. On the folder lay the words Project Rebirth, and he handled the contents with care. Though he had seen the neat scrawls many times before, it even so sent a shiver of desire through his veins.

It was, after all, his pet project coming to life. A comeback, one that he knew would fade the name of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza into obscurity as it belonged, and bring about a new name. Memories faded quickly, here in Hurricane.

With the blueprints in front of him and analyzed, he turned back to the figures that stood half hidden by the sheets. Along the walls were his creations, standing perched in their stations. Limbs and bodies held up by the iron hooks as they awaited their next tuning. Four of them stood taller than himself; taller than anybody he knew, in fact.

To the side were various smaller beings, that like their larger counterparts, still laid unfinished. At the very least, the larger ones stood as one, whilst the little ones remained in bits and pieces, longing for preservation.

Even then, his larger creations were little more than metal bindings and wires. As if that deterred him in the slightest; what he had managed to achieve here, even at such an early stage, was magnificent. Pride filled his body whenever he laid his eyes on them, marveling at what he'd done the day before and dreaming of what would come next.

From the start, he knew that what he would accomplish through his work would be far more than the work of his predecessors. Even more what he could go on to do once they were all ready.

Nearby the exposed robots, mounted on the shelves awaiting their next step, were mounds of plastic and fabrics. Once he was finished with what lay within, those would follow. Not even the plastic parts had been touched, laying unpainted and only just about shaped. The fabrics awaited their moment to be cut and stitched into what they were meant to be.

The only few pieces that seemed on the surface to be complete were their shining balls prepped to be the eyes. Shades of blue and hazel stared back at him from the container, sending him a colder shiver.

Frowning with irritation, the memory of the one that eluded him almost ruined his good mood. For some time, he had been attempting to bring green into the fold. Something about the shade didn't work well with the material. Turning away as he felt that irritation rise up his throat, he gazed back at the costume parts. The plastic was unpainted, yet shaped in their own unique ways. Two in the shape of an animal, the other two resembling that of a human being.

Where some would only see an unfinished scrap, he could envision what they would all become.

Closest to him were the two that were the closest to being finished. Both of the endoskeletons held appendages attached to their heads which would prop up the ears. One stood ever-so-slightly larger than the other. Nearby were their respective costume parts. Nearby the larger one was a head, made out of a serine, metallic plastic that shimmered in the light. Split into multiple pieces, only held together in that moment by the mannequin. That one resembled a bear, whilst nearby laid a similar head that resembled a fox.

It was the other two, less finished ones that were unique.

Though they didn't look anything like what their finished states would be, the uncanny shape of a humanoid could not be ignored. The thought sent a small smile onto his face. Human Animatronics. Something that hadn't been attempted, always accompanied with an excuse.

Taking the costume head of his star creation, he remained astounded by the weight. Even a child using one hand would be able to hold the head. Perhaps that would have quashed his worries, if the metal endoskeletons weren't such a problem. With how complex their designs were, their subsequent weight had been his biggest headache recently.

Even as they stood there in their stations, he was worried that a slight breeze would cause them to fall. That had been his reason for the hooks, of course; the last thing he needed was a setback or a calamity. He wasn't too worried about them becoming damaged, more so if they happened to break something on the way down.

Still, their weight remained his biggest problem. In their final form, they were meant to be flexible and adaptable. How could they be, if they still struggled to remain upright? Feeling that irritation again, his mind remained stressfully sundered.

Day by day, his deadline approached. The idea of being pressed and scrutinized by those who required quick over quality was another problem he had to deal with on a daily basis. Though time was slipping away, he knew he had to finish it.

Minutes turned to an hour and he felt something in his throat as he looked at the clock. Taking his time returning each tool back in their rightful place, cleaned, he peeled his jumpsuit off. With a long stretch, he left to get changed out of his short-sleeved shirt and jeans.

He couldn't shun his financial backers, of course.

After he sorted out his workshop, the man headed into the small bathroom and took a shower. Rinsing what dust and grime had evaded the jumpsuit, washing his hair with his favorite shampoo and conditioner. He stepped out of the shower into the steam-filled bathroom, opening a window as he passed, and checked his hair. Once he was satisfied with his appearance, he got himself dressed into his chosen three-piece suit: A stark white shirt, adjoined by a mauve waistcoat, jacket, and trousers.

Then he selected the silver-rimmed sunglasses on his dresser, smiled deeply into the mirror, and finally left.

The drive to the Fazbear Entertainment Executive Office wasn't far; a short distance to Hurricane. Even so, as he drove, the annoyance of being pulled away from his work remained. He was fortunate enough in the end not to be held up by traffic and arrived five minutes early.

Pulling into the parking lot, he scowled when he saw his preferred spot already taken. Choosing an isolated space further from the building, he parked and left, fixing his coat before walking to the office. Overhead, the sun warmly shined down and he was thankful to have chosen the cotton suit.

As he entered the building, he greeted the familiar yet unremarkable young woman waiting behind the help desk, who called him by name. "I'll let them know you've arrived." She offered, before picking up the phone.

He didn't have to wait long, in the end. Merely three minutes later, a stuffy man who he vaguely remembered to be called Bob, or Jeffrey, greeted him like an old friend and he, in return, pretended like he knew him. The man was led upstairs by Bob, up to the third floor where a door surrounded by two split hallways lay aside.

Bob opened the door, ushering him inside, before leaving. Gazing around, the man saw the stoney faces that were watching him. One got up from their seats and approached him, offering a handshake.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Bill." The man spoke like he meant it, "It's been a busy few weeks."

"I can bet." The man said evenly before being shown his seat. With his back straight and his eyes easy yet firm, he looked over at the faces that awaited the next step.

The board member who had offered him the seat cleared his throat, "So…Bill. How's the project coming up?"

"Very well. I expect the opening to be a huge success."

Nodding , the board member looked towards the far back of the table, where a man hidden by shadow was examining the various documents. Finally speaking, the leader of the board gazed at him. "My apologies for pulling you away from your project. You must understand that in the aftermath of last year, we have to take precautions."

"You of all people must know, of course, of the ramifications that the…unfortunate events of June last year, means that we are forced to act ."

"Of course." The man nodded, "Those circumstances led to my business failing, and my partner's unfortunate death. I assume that the plan is still to close old Freddy's by the end of the year?"

"I'm afraid so. Which is why we are hoping that you have made some headway with this project of yours?"

"You've seen my reports. See for yourself."

For a moment, the head of the board appraised him, critical, before looking back down at the documents . Taking a breath, the man spoke. "There's no doubting what you've achieved on a technical level. These are clearly state-of-the-art."

Not allowing the smug glee of praise show on his face, the man bowed his head modestly.

"There are just certain design choices that were made for these robots that we don't fully understand." The head of the board went on to say, leaning forward in his seat, "We were hoping that you could shed some light on those."

Now comes the difficult part, he thought to himself. How to say this next step without giving anything away. With a small smile, the man began to express his work. "She can dance, she can sing, she's equipped with a built-in helium tank for inflating balloons right at her fingertips. She can take song requests. She can even dispense ice-cream."

But the head of the board was not moved by this. "With all due respect, those aren't the design choices we were curious about, Mr. Afton."

William Afton sat there for a few moments, silent. In a sudden moment, he could see the judging, critical glances of the board members. His focus strangely went to the small, ballpoint pen near the head of the board that was still open, left aside on one of the documents he held.

For a short moment, William wondered what that pen would look like embedded in the head of the board's eye.

Without having to look back at the documents, the head of the board began to list what he had seen. "Deter and Misdirect Remote Activation. Parental Voice Sync & Replay. Parental Tracking. Voice Mimic-slash-luring. Storage Tank. These are…interesting features you developed for these animatronics. Ones that, even without recent events, would raise suspicion."

"Bill." The man who offered him the seat spoke lowly, "These are a joke. Aren't they? You must have a reason for them."

Though William might have looked calm on the surface, a deep guttural rage filled his stomach at being questioned in such a way. How he had to lower himself to explain his choices. Taking a deep breath, he smiled. "My fellow board members, these design choices are there to prevent something like the Missing Children's Incident from happening again. To list those points you made, sir, the first and fourth are to warn off suspicious people. The second is to calm a distressed child. The third is to keep track of a parent for the child's safety. As for the last feature…it's for gifts."

"These choices are to enhance the animatronics and protect the children. This is, after all, the pinnacle of Henry's dream and my hard work. This is what he would have wanted."

For a few moments, the board members glanced amongst themselves. Then, the head of the board nodded. "We apologize once again for pulling you from your work, William. We wish you well in this project of yours."

"Of course." Afton smiled, "This is where fantasy and fun comes to life, after all."

Geneva, Switzerland

Friday 25th November 2016, 18:57 PM

When they had chosen their headquarters, a seven-story building at the small roundabout of Saint John, Thomas had chosen one of the rooms in the attic of the property as his office. Said the view would inspire him, allow him the breathing room to think. Years spent underground within the confines of the Crucible had given them both some claustrophobia, she theorized.

Of course they could have chosen any city in the world when they formed AESIR. One of the ground rules that she, Tom, and Carl had insisted upon was it being outside the United States. They chose Europe.

Nothing had been stopping them from selecting one of the many cities in America, but they had been worried about territory. For all their posturing, the Crucible still remained the largest shadow organization on that soil. No stepping on their toes, Tom had stated. That had been before Donovan had brought his own foot down.

Taking a deep breath as she looked around the office darkened by the waning sun outside, Sam felt a pang in her chest that she had believed would be easier to deal with, after all this time. No amount of time had done so.

An untrained eye could miss or disregard the mundane and sporadic objects as nothing more than parts of a messy office. On the small display in front of her was an amulet, one with a ruby crest, made out of a rich bronze chain link. From what she remembered, Tom had kept it close for research purposes, because of its connection to a certain dagger, made of the same material, with a duplicate ruby. That research had remained unfinished, in spite of Sam's own efforts.

Nearby that amulet, mounted on a wall, was a homemade recurve bow. She smiled at the sight of it, recalling how he'd been wielding a similar one the day they met, thirty years ago in London.

At the back of the room was a cabinet, about waist high, that held a glass display. Inside of the display, perfectly preserved without a speck of dust, was a battered and weathered hat. A grey fedora with a black stripe, wider than the one she had gifted to Thomas after their honeymoon.

This hat once belonged to the late John Lamarck, Overseer of Shield Department, Thomas' partner and mentor, and one of the greatest agents they'd ever had. When he'd passed, the High Overseer, Jonathan Sanders had ordered for the hat to be preserved, before naming Thomas as his successor.

From how much she had known him, Sam believed that John would have preferred that very same successor to be the one wearing it. If Sanders had offered, she imagined that Tom had refused, out of respect and guilt. Spencer had been close to refusing himself, only choosing to wear his father's hat when she and Tyler had pressed him to.

It had been one year and nine months since that night in March. Where everything changed. A deep pain filled her chest as she thought about it, but how could she not? She had lost the man she loved.

After they had returned, this office was officially given to her out of respect. Nobody in AESIR even considered taking it for themselves. Naturally, while she had accepted its burden, there was no chance she would ever be able to call it anything other than her husband's office. Even the suggestion of taking the name down on the door had been refused.

That didn't mean she neglected it, of course; every day she would come in and look after it. Cleaning and polishing every little bit, looking after the grey fedora hat, and keeping the place spotless and cared for.

In spite of that, she had always tried to keep it the way she had found it. The way he had left it when he left that day to join Mike Schmidt in America to resume the Fazbear Conspiracy. When she had first entered that office after hours upon hours of putting it off, she had broken down in tears.

Even still, she kept forcing herself back into it and refused to allow it to fall into disrepair. It wasn't an office anymore; it was a monument. A memorial to a man who'd walked into Hell and didn't return.

Though there was another reason she hadn't considered altering it in any way. It was a childish, foolish thing. Yet no matter how much she tried to argue, it never went away. Unable to accept that a deep part of her wanted it that way. Wanted it to be prepared and ready, a part of her expecting to walk in one day and find him sitting right there, or by his big investigation board.

She stepped over to the chair behind the desk and anxiously checked the door. Sure that she was alone, Sam leant over and pressed her head against the headrest. It doesn't even smell like him anymore. Or perhaps she couldn't remember what he smelled like. She could still remember his voice, soft like velvet, yet sharp like steel.

Taking a breath, she stepped back and went to the window. A neon light played in the darkness. What would he have said, had he been here to see the last year? All she could hope for was that he'd be proud.

The ring of her phone startled her for a moment. After a few moments to breathe, Sam took it out and looked at the caller ID. Blinking, she answered it. "Hello?"

"Hey, Sam. Can you hear me alright?"

Absently nodding, Sam replied, "Yep, I can hear you, Ella. How are you?"

"Um…could be better. That's why I'm needing to talk with you. Are you busy?"

"Not at the moment. What's up?"

"It's…complicated. Do you think we can meet up? No pressure, it's just…"

"Sure." Sam responded reassuringly, though feeling some worry, "Where are you wanting to meet? The usual, or…"

"Yeah, probably best. That lakeside by the southern edge?"

Recalling the place, Samantha nodded again, "I'll be there within the next hour."

As the call was disconnected, Sam stared out of the window again, wondering. Though her companion through those months on the run hadn't lost her hardened edge, nor her stoic nature, Sam could detect the seriousness in her tone. What had happened to make someone like Ella Lang worried enough to come calling for help?

Shaking her head of these doubts, Sam reminded herself not to jump to any conclusions until they talked. She left her husband's office.

Ten minutes later, she was heading to her navy sedan, pulling her coat tighter against her body. The Swiss winter was only slightly worse than her home country's colder weather, yet it was enough to make her shiver. Climbing into her car, she twisted the key into the ignition and felt it rumble as the engine kicked into life.

From here, the town of Lausanne was an hour's drive away. It was chosen specifically by Carl to house their refugees, as it would take them less than that to get there in case of an emergency. Proximity was a double-edged sword.

Thankfully, the roads were not busy as she drove and her journey was without delays. By the time she arrived in Lausanne, the setting sun had all but vanished over the horizon. She spotted the sign as she drove, Parc des Pierrettes. Not long after, she reached a side road and found a parking space. She stepped back out into the cold night and began to head to the meeting point a short distance away.

Between where she stood and across the body of water known as Lac Léman, otherwise referred to as Lake Geneva, was the border between Switzerland and France. If it wasn't for the thick layer of fog across that lake, you could see the distant mountains. At the very least, the water was only frozen in some areas and it didn't seem to deter the few boats floating in the lake.

The gravel path ended and became a thin layer of grass covering a hard rocky mud. Her eyes caught sight of the woman sitting on one of the benches, who soon after spotted her and gave her a short wave. Despite herself, Samantha smiled as she made her way.

Standing up as she approached, Ella quickly made her way and the two of them hugged.

"It's been a while." Ella breathed as they disconnected and Sam gave a sheepish shrug.

"Sorry. Busy times. How are you?"

"Eh, you know." The two of them sat down and looked over at the lake for a moment. "How about you?"

Though she tried her best to speak in good spirits, Sam's weariness controlled her words, "You know how it is. Funds are low, manpower is low…Thomas' family's foundation is about the only thing keeping us afloat."

Ella hesitated before she responded, seeming conflicted, "That bad, huh?"

"It's not great. But at the very least, we're all together."

"What about the whole thing with Donovan's lot? With the Crucible?"

Sam sighed as she reflected, "We don't have any word on what's been happening on the inside. Whatever it is, I imagine they're struggling as much as we are. What Tyler and the others were able to accomplish last year with the Nightingales…as far as we can tell, the entire faction was close to elimination. Their leader is dead, over fifty total casualties. On our side, we lost one man in Peter Crews, and five injuries in total."

Looking at her, Ella shuffled in her red winter coat, "So, what do you think they've been doing?"

Sniffing, Sam hugged herself and shivered, "Winter's lasted all year. Without the Nightingales, nor Sword Department, all the Crucible have at their disposal is Lancaster's Order Department. I cannot see Donovan risking that…because then, all he would have left are the WMDs that Light and Shadow have developed."

She heard Ella take a sudden breath, "That would be fine, if those were in the possession of a rational man."

Sam nodded her agreement, "It could mean the death of all of us. If Donovan felt that his fate was sealed, he might use them just to spite us. At that point, all we could hope is that the others would turn against him. Until then, it seems that he is content in letting Shadow disrupt our operations."

Leaning back, Sam realized how tired she was. Perhaps it would be best to get a hotel, rather than driving all the way back home. "Anyway, what's going on with you? I'm guessing this was more than just a meet-up."

Frowning, Ella looked down, hesitating. Then she got up quickly and started walking. "Forget it."

Sam blinked in confusion as she walked to the edge of the water. Feeling dread in her gut, she got up and joined her. "Ella?"

"It's fine." She stated bluntly, "I'll deal with it."

"Ella." Sam repeated, this time more forcefully. "What happened?"

Holding a hand to her face, Ella shook her head a few times.

"Where's Mike and Jack?"

"Jack's probably still on his computer. You know how he is."

"Then Mike? Ella? Where's Mike?"

Ella gave a big sigh, "It started about six months ago. He started…started looking into it again. The Fazbear Conspiracy. He left in September."

"Left? What do you mean?"

"As in, he packed his things and got on a plane."

With a grumble, Sam crossed her arms. Of course he did. "And why am I only hearing this now?"

"He told me…not to tell anyone unless he didn't report back." Ella finally looked at her again, and Sam could see that fear, "Sam…he stopped updating me last month."

Perhaps it might have surprised her how quickly she reached the decision, yet there it was. "Okay. We'll deal with it."

Ella began to shake her head, "Sam, I can't ask you to-"

"We'll deal with it." Sam repeated, reassuring.

"Sam…thank you."

On her drive back, many thoughts danced around in her head. More than anything, Sam kept repeating one simple question.

What did Mike find that pulled him back into this, she pondered, and what on Earth could stop him from telling us about it?

Las Vegas, Nevada

Saturday 17th September 2016, 06:06 AM

Even as the morning sun had begun to rise, Mike had found himself wide awake in bed. Unable to remember if he'd even slept. Climbing up, he began to pack his things into the suitcase, brushed his teeth, and then left.

For what had been the eleventh time since he'd touched home soil, he checked his wallet to ensure that the cash was inside. Having spent all those years since Caine had handed him the money, Mike had not gone about storing it in a bank. A part of him had known it would make him easier to track down.

After getting some breakfast, Mike began to head out of town and north. By the time the sun had finally emerged from its hiding place, he had sighted Hurricane. A part of him still worried about even considering being in the area, but something always drew him right back there.

Whatever that was, it led him to drive by that corner street, where blackened remains of his third greatest mistake stuck out like a sore thumb. Signs of construction around the burnt ruins told the story of a backlogged plan to rid the town of the short lived Fazbear Frights attraction.

For a moment, Mike recalled the moment he had met back up with his late friend by that lakeside, with a plan and an untested determination. We follow the money, Thomas had told him, and maybe we can put an end to this sorry tale.

Instead, all it had led to was a pile of ashes and wounds old and new. Shaking his head, Mike recalled the words. "Whatever it takes." He mumbled to himself as he drove away from the burnt scar. One day, he hoped to repay his debts, but something told him it would be impossible.

Not long after, he was driving home. He could see that stretch of buildings that could be nothing else and he felt that wave of trepidation he felt over a year ago. For so long, Mike had wished nothing more than to never set foot there again. As Samantha Williams-Caine's investigation had drawn them closer, he had regretfully sabotaged her in an attempt to prevent exactly that.

Instead, thanks to Thomas' method, she had worked it out all over again. One question Mike always wondered about was if his late friend had discovered who Mike had been all that time? Had he not yet connected the dots before his death, or had Caine refrained from confronting him? If only the dead could speak…

If only the dead could speak, Mike recalled bitterly, then you would have a lot of apologies to give and a lot of harsh words given back.

The side roads led him home, though he avoided the drive in and instead returned to that dirt road from before. When he had last been here, they had made a point not to park their car too close. Mike wasn't about to go against that. Leaving his rental, Mike gave a deep breath before heading into the woods that would take him back to his childhood home. A place no better than a mausoleum.

As he reached the clearing, Mike could see how little it had changed since he last saw it. Before he knew it, he was walking up to the porch. The door, still unlocked, was ajar as he pushed it. Staring into the shadowed interior, a thought passed through his mind.

You can still walk away, something deep inside reminded him. Instead, he stepped inside.

On the floor to the right, the wooden floor had a spot that was tinted red. Glancing around, Mike could see no sign of the body of Mr. Midnight. Apart from that dried red tint on the exposed floor, nobody would've ever expected a man died there. Had it been the Police to find it, or had the Crucible done the job for them?

Sitting down on the wooden chair near the window, Mike began to think. It seemed that once again, he had been given a chance to walk away from all of this. Once again, he had shrugged that chance off and returned to his old ways. He knew it would be a struggle to explain why he would do such a thing, but how could he not?

My brother is dead, Mike reminded himself, Spencer is dead. Thomas is dead. How could you move on if they didn't get the chance?

It didn't matter how far he ran, how much he wanted to begin his life anew. It would always catch up with him.

It had started small, of course; those niggling thoughts that drove him to obsess again. Then he visited AESIR again, asking to borrow some files. That had made him feel guilty, using his friendship to gain something. Though he very much intended to return those files, he had a feeling they would never allow him to again.

It led him to one conclusion; that there was once again something they had missed. Something that could blow the whole case over, more than Fazbear Frights had. All Mike had to do was find the answers still laying around. If he was right about this, it could finally be the breaking point of this entire case.

First things first, he told himself. Standing up, Mike headed upstairs, passing the fractured railguard at the top. Stepping into his parents' old bedroom, he reached the closet and pulled the loose bit of wood out. Anxiety filled him at the thought that he would find it gone.

Instead, a different anxiety filled him at finding it still there. Heaving, Mike lifted the box out and put it to his side. Reminding himself of the lack of a key, he took the lockpick from his jacket and began to pry. Within a couple of minutes, the padlocks tumbled onto the floor.

Without a second thought, Mike opened the box.

As he witnessed the contents that had been left behind, his enlightenment was shadowed by his gnawing dread.

This is Civil. Kept you waiting, huh?

Yeah, took a bit longer than I was anticipating to plan this one out. Depending on how it goes, I might be able to write the entirety of this story without any delays. All I can say is, I am really excited about this one. It's looking to be the best one yet, as well as the longest by far.

Ferdinand Von Bernard: I appreciate it! Taking Thomas out of the picture was without a doubt the hardest decision I had to make. The good thing is, it meant that Carl and Samantha got to shine in the last one and I got a lot more appreciation for their characters as a result. The situation with the gameplay, as you say, is always going to be complicated with the situation of questions. I was able to avoid it for the second and fourth stories to a degree, but it's going to be an issue going forward.

TU4QU0I53T4IAN6L3: Without a doubt, Promise was the most difficult to write and I'm glad it turned out well. Having to handle the story of the Crying Child—possibly one of the most significant parts of the entire lore—as well as the Nightmares, one of the most abstract and frustrating parts of the lore in one fell swoop was itself ironically a nightmare. With Mike's true backstory to be revealed on top of that, something I'd been planning for since the second story, it was a lot of stuff to juggle. Having Mike finally open up about it to Sam was actually the first moment I had planned for coming into it. Both of them allowing themselves to confront their grief in a healthy way was very important. With Sister Location being the next up, parts of it are more straightforward, but then there's the messy parts.

So, I'm planning for weekly uploads at the very least. Might get the occasional double upload, unless something changes behind the scene. Until then, I'll see you all next week.