Michael stood outside William's office, leaning against the wall awkwardly, for his ankle pained him greatly. Truth be told, he should very well be resting back at his house, but he needed to find out if William had lied about this so-called job opportunity or not.

As the door opened, William emerged, nearly running straight into his son. He jumped back, startled. "Michael? What are you doing here?"

"So I'm the one who's scaring you this time, huh?" Michael sent him a smirk.

William's cool expression remained as he folded his hands behind his back and ignored the snide comment. "As I asked before, what are you doing here?"

"I came to talk," Michael said, trying to maintain a calm and confident demeanor. Just the sight of his father made it waver. "About the job."

"Ah, so have you been doing well?" William asked. "Because I heard last night you and Charlie's performance was rather unsatisfactory."

Michael gave a tight, restrained smile. "Yeah, that's what happens when you're literally fighting to survive."

William tilted his head. "Hmm. Interesting."

"Interesting?" Michael drew away from the wall, wobbling as he did. "Interesting? I just told you that me—your own son—almost died last night and that's your response? Interesting?!"

William blinked, his gaze drifting around the corridor they stood in. "How else was I supposed to react? I'm sure you're exaggerating."

"Exaggerating?" Michael cried, his voice rising with anger. The cool, confident act dropped completely as he burst out, "You should know if your own animatronics are dangerous, Father! And if you did, you would know that Charlie and I were almost killed last night, because we were!"

"So...you were killed last night?" A hint of amusement entered William's voice. "Choose your words more carefully, Michael."

"No! Stop joking about this!" Michael clenched his fists. "I said we almost were! Those animatronics are dangerous, they all tried to kill us. Those were probably the most terrifying moments of our lives, and you're laughing about it? What kind of unfeeling jerk are you?"

"You already know the answer to that, son," William said. "I was simply making sure you weren't lying. You have exaggerated things in the past."

"Well, this isn't the past, Dad!" Michael glared savagely. "I'm a different person now."

"And you tell yourself, because...why?" William said. "To justify you killing your own brother."

Michael lowered his head, his breaths picking up as he gritted his teeth against the rage broiling in his gut. "This is about last night and what those animatronics did. Why do you have to drag me down in literally every conversation we have? This has nothing to do with that or me as a person, this is about you not telling me what this job really is!"

"Oh?" William crossed his arms. "And what is it?"

"It's a death mission," said Michael, "or some sort of cruel trick. That's what you always do. You insult me, you humiliate me, and you trick me. It's what you've always done."

"Hmm," William said. "That's not what it is. Do you honestly think I would purposely send my son to his death? I know the animatronics are dangerous. For some reason or other, at night, their coding becomes somewhat askew, and they can occasionally get aggressive. But I can assure you, putting you and Charlie in harm's way was not my intention."

"Oh yeah?" Michael said. "Then what was it?"

"We needed a technician, you needed a job," said William. "It seemed to be the perfect fit. If you don't end up quitting because of a brief scare, then you might finally make something of yourself. Be less of a disappointment, hm?"

Michael shifted his gaze to the side, feeling his usual frustrated and reclusive nature getting the better of him. It was words like that which made him want to avoid people. If he was being honest, it was also probably the reason he got fired so many times. He believed he couldn't succeed, that perhaps he was a disappointment, and so, he failed at everything he worked towards. Those lingering words of William's so often hindered his social life and work. But not this job. This he had strived for, but it was not what he expected, and he'd endangered Charlie because of it. Now that, well, it truly enraged him.

"I don't know if I believe you," Michael said, his glare returning to William. "You sent me into a dangerous job without a warning. I wouldn't care as much if it were just me that was attacked last night, but Father, Charlie was nearly killed. I'm pretty mad right now, so if you don't give me a better explanation for your offer and the animatronics, then I'm marching right out of here, and I'm not coming back."

"That's fair," said William, irritating Michael with his response. Sometimes William flew off the handle at the littlest things, but other times, he merely brushed right over insulting or angering comments with a smug or calm attitude. Sometimes, that infuriated Michael even more. "Let's talk in my office." He motioned to the door smoothly. "Ladies first."

"Oh, shut up." Michael went for the door, his steps quick and angry. This was his downfall...literally. His ankle burned and gave out; he pitched forward, knocking straight into William who managed not to topple over. He had ahold of Michael for a moment, and probably would've been able to save him from the fall, but he did not. He let go and Michael crashed right to the floor, sprawled in front of his father.

William chuckled, shaking his head down at him. "Always knew you were beneath me. Are you having a little trouble with your ankle?"

Michael rolled his eyes and forced himself to his feet, grinding his teeth with effort. "You can thank Ballora for that. She got ahold of me, broke my ankle."

"Oh, yes, Ballora." William nodded thoughtfully. "One of the newer additions to the Fazbear brand. Well, more-or-less, considering it's my own company."

"Don't turn this into one of your bragging sessions," said Michael, entering the room.

"I wasn't about to." William followed him in. "So—" he settled behind his desk as Michael sat on a chair in front of it— "you want a full explanation? " He folded his hands on the desk. "Fine. I will give it. I told you the truth. I wanted you to be our new technician, because it seemed convenient. I am aware the job could be dangerous, but if you read the contract that you signed when you accepted the job, you would've known that."

"I did read it," Michael said, "but I didn't know it meant the animatronics would try to flipping kill me."

"That doesn't always happen, I believe," William said. "But that is the reason we are always so short on technicians."

Michael shuddered. "There has to be a way to fix it, right? You can't practically send people to their death just to maintain some random form of children's entertainment."

"We are currently fixing it, and incidents are usually infrequent." William ran his finger along his desk. "Technicians mostly quit from stress. Attacks don't occur much." His lips quirked into a smirk. "You and Charlie must be special."

"Fine, I guess I believe you." Michael folded his arms across his chest. "Guess it was a little unfair of me to accuse you of wanting me dead, but still. You can't blame me for being suspicious."

William said nothing, his smirk widening.

Michael frowned. "Another thing, though...the main reason I took the job was because you said this had something to do with Elizabeth. Was that true, or was it just some sort of cruel way to lure me in? Oh, and by the way, even if it is true, why can't you just tell me what happened to her?"

"It's possible you can figure out what happened to Elizabeth," William said. "I mainly said that to, as you said, lure you in. I believe this job is good for you...that being said, yes, you could potentially figure out what happened to your sister."

"How?" Michael asked.

"Ways." Was William's short, annoying reply.

Michael fought back the urge to insult him. "And why won't you just tell me?"

"Oh, many reasons." William waved off his words. "So are we done here, or do you still have the strange urge to patronize me with useless questions?"

"They're not useless." Michael shot him a look. "I have a right to ask all that. I almost died last night for crying out loud! I mean, you have to at least feel some worry for me, right? You don't want me dead."

"No, I don't. I hope you live." William shook his head. "That being said, I don't think I would be very sorrowful if you did die." Michael swallowed hard, William's words stinging. He hated his father, but there was still a small part of him that was deeply hurt by such things, a part of him that cared and wanted his father to be proud of him. Words like that felt like a stab in the heart. William smiled smugly, clearly noticing Michael's hurt expression. "Is that the response you were expecting?"

Michael took a quivering breath and scowled at the floor. "Freakin' sociopath."

William ignored those words and rose. "I think you should leave now, Michael. I have a lot to do."

"I'll gladly leave." Michael stood, nearly falling as his ankle throbbed. He bit down on his lip and silenced a cry of pain. "Bye." He headed for the exit, but paused, his hand resting on the doorknob. "Just a quick question..."

"Yes?" William said.

"The animatronics never act like that around kids, right?" Michael looked over his shoulder, meeting William's gaze with a glare.

One of William's eyes twitched; he gave a forced smile. "I'm sure Elizabeth can answer that question for you."

Immediately, Michael's dark look dropped, and he released the knob. "W-what?"

"Goodbye, Michael." William settled at his desk.

"No wait," Michael said, "I—"

"I said goodbye." William's voice rose as his savage gaze flicked back to Michael. He stared at his father bewilderedly, then with a shiver, left the room. He stood in the hall a moment, running their conversation through his head. He could feel his chest tightening, and a familiar weight pressing down on him, all feelings he hadn't experienced in a while, for they'd been briefly lifted by lighthearted talks and times with Charlie. Leave it to his father and horrid memories to bring all that back.

His head low, Michael treaded through the pizzeria. He stilled when he reached the main dining area, for he spotted the hall he'd once seen Fredbear in. Gazing at it, he turned towards a nearby employee and asked, "Hey, where's the backroom where they keep Fredbear and Spring Bonnie?"

"Huh?" The worker turned to him. "Who's asking?"

Michael grimaced. "Um...William Afton's son. I more-or-less work here. I'm training, anyway."

"Oh." The employee relaxed. "Just down that hall." She pointed at the exact one Fredbear had been in.

"Ah." He turned to it. "Thank you." He started in that direction, moving slowly and cautiously. The corridor wasn't as dark as it had been and he did not see the Fredbear suit, but he still felt on-edge as he crept his way down the hall. At the end stood the door to a room. He opened it easily, surprised to find it was not locked. Inside, shadows lurked and darkened the area. At first, he couldn't see a thing, but his eyes adjusted once he shut the door and walked farther in.

In a corner off to the side sat the Spring Bonnie suit, slumped over itself with its head nearly falling off. There, across from it, sat Fredbear himself, looking almost exactly like when Michael had spotted him a few days prior. Fredbear appeared considerably dingier and dustier than Spring Bonnie, which would've confused Michael a bit, had his thoughts not been so focused on the last time he'd seen this animatronic up close.

He went over and knelt before it, shuddering violently as he examined Fredbear's jaw, the very jaw that had crushed his brother's head. As he observed it, thoughts of that trauma, William's words, and last night drifted through his mind, making his breaths grow even harder and more frequent. He also wondered over the last time he'd seen this suit—in the hall when the voices came to him. It seemed the more time that passed, the more he began to think there was more going on than he first thought. Lowering his head, he rubbed at his eyes, silently begging himself not to break down. But, in the end, it was all too much—the near-death experiences, all the odd happenings, William's chilling and insulting attitude, the hints at Elizabeth's death, his own traumatic memories, the Fredbear suit; the brief voices in his mind. At a certain point, he couldn't handle it. He broke down into sobs, covering his face and leaning over himself in the nearly pitch-black room. Over his broken cries, he did not feel the hand of Fredbear move over and rest on his leg, almost as...comfort.

He only cried for a few minutes, and when he stopped, he felt thoroughly embarrassed and angry at himself. He was a grown man; he should be better than this. William had taught him to be tough or had at least tried. Letting out a long breath and recovering slightly, Michael rose and limped out of the room. His ankle was beginning to pain him badly, and if he wanted to get to his shift that night, he needed to rest it at least a little.

"Now I definitely have to get to work tonight," he whispered to himself as he went. "I don't care if my ankle's broken, I can take it. I have to." He stopped in the dining area, letting out a sigh. "I just hope Charlie doesn't find out."

"Doesn't find out what?" A voice came from behind. With a gasp, Michael spun around and came face-to-face with none other than Charlie. She had her hands on her hips and a clearly displeased look upon her face. "Is there something you wanna tell me, Mike?"

"Oh, um...nothing." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "I was just straining my ankle a bit too much. Sorry."

She paused, clearly thinking over his lie. She seemed to believe it, for her stance grew less stiff. "Then you should definitely get back to your place. I'll drive you, of course. But first—" she frowned— "how did your talk with William go?"

"Eh." He shrugged. "Could've gone worse, I guess. I did get a few answers. He didn't send me there to die, though I sort of thought he hadn't." He quickly explained the animatronics being dangerous, and the fact William merely wanted him to have the opportunity. He also told her how the Elizabeth situation wasn't just to lure him, but that he could, in fact, find the truth. "He's still being strange about everything," Michael said. "Sometimes I just don't understand my father's actions."

"Me neither," Charlie said. "I think the main reason my dad hasn't told me about Sammy is because he just doesn't have the heart to. That doesn't seem to be the case with William not telling you about Elizabeth."

"Yeah, I don't think so." He released a breath. "I haven't seen him express any real sympathy or sadness in forever."

"Right." She nodded. "So does all this mean you're going to keep the job?"

"Yes," he said. "My father said attacks aren't actually too frequent. Last night could have been a fluke or something. I think it's worth the risk to not only get paid and stay on my father's good side, but to have a chance at figuring out why my sister went missing."

And to make sure nothing else suspicious is going on, he said to himself, recalling how William hadn't said the Funtimes weren't violent around children. If anything, he had almost confirmed it by mentioning Elizabeth. But Michael didn't dare think of that.

"Then I'll stay too," said Charlie. "If we work together, I think we can get through this. Besides, at least we're making some money along the way."

"Yeah, I could really use the money." He rolled his eyes. "Truth be told, I don't own my house, I don't even pay full-priced rent. It's some older house my father has. He said he used it to get away from...us, sometimes." He sighed. "Strange and horrible, I know. But anyway, I'm partly renting it from him. He's been holding it over my head forever, the jerk. Says I'm so bad at my jobs I can't even get myself an affordable place, and I have to go 'crawling back to him'. The bad thing is he's not wrong."

"Don't let his words get to you." She nudged him. "You're awesome, Mike, but clearly right now you need some time to yourself or with someone actually nice and encouraging."

He sighed, shifting his gaze to the side. "Oh. How could you tell?"

"First of all, you literally just spoke to your father, who I know drains your energy," Charlie said. "Second of all, I know you well. And third of all...um...I recognize the expression on your face." She patted him on the shoulder. "You need a break. Let's go back to your place."

"Yeah...okay." He headed for the exit, his pace sluggish, due to his staggering limp. She caught up easily and tucked her arm in his, giving him support while he walked. He sent her a grateful smile as they exited the pizzeria.

"So," she said when she released him and unlocked her vehicle, "you should wait till your ankle at least mostly heals before getting back to work. Maybe it's a good thing, though. I have a dayshift today, rather than a night one, so you would've been all alone tonight."

"Right..." Michael said, trying to hide the nervous tremble in his voice. "Good thing." He got into the car, then Charlie drove out of the parking lot. They had light conversation all the way to the house, but Michael enjoyed it less this time, his thoughts preoccupied by the horrid day he was having and the night that slowly approached. He had no intentions of taking it easy or waiting to get back to work. He had to do this as soon as possible, only then could he find the truth and finally be successful. Tonight, he would return to his job, broken ankle and all. He just hoped it wasn't nearly as terrible as the last one...

Author's Note: And now Mikey is officially about to do something really stupid.