"Here then at long last is my darkness. No cry of light, no glimmer, not even the faintest shard of hope to break free across the hold."

Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves

Act 1: Innocent Frights

New Harmony, Utah

Tuesday 12th August 1986, 15:45 PM

Most of his time was spent there, inside of his workshop. With his walls lined with the better of his projects, whether finished or not. In spite of that, William rarely kept much to remember, such as photographs. Some people he knew would hang up such memories all in view, so that they could look at them. Perhaps to remind themselves why they are doing what they do.

If he was to do the same, there was a very good chance it could attract the wrong sort of attention. His motivation was too far wrapped in pain's embrace.

For hours, he would be in that workshop, carefully crafting each little piece together as he prepared them. Whether it was tuning a mechanical part, or painting the aesthetic design, it was where his effort would lay. At least, when he was where he was supposed to be. Few people in his line of work would orchestrate it like a common Nine-to-Five. His work, and what he wished to achieve, required that little bit extra.

Ever since he had picked up where his late partner left off, William Afton had been driven to learn the trade, flaws and all. Once he had found his own style, his own outlook to his work, that was when the rituals began. From the times he had seen Henry scouring away in his research or tending to his creations, he'd always noticed the man's own rituals.

They were very different, of course, which William took pride in. On his end, he required a clean work station, one with careful arrangement and tactful coordination . Henry had been anything but clean. How on Earth could a man believe his work to have any sort of quality if he couldn't even clean up after himself?

That thought made Afton turn back to his creations, beaming. Two of them stood almost finished, a slender fox side by side with a bulky-looking bear and puppet. Both were a brilliant white streaked with a taffy undercoat that shimmered in the light. At least, that was what they looked like in his visions. As of now, they remained skinless, wires and parts sticking out.

The time was coming, though; their final form was nearly at hand. Once they were complete, Afton knew that they would be every bit superior to their original counterparts. In every single way, they would.

Of course, they were the callbacks to a band of animatronics that deserved to be forgotten. His beaming eyes grew wider as he looked over to the other two animatronics, looking better every single day. With the bear and the fox, they were a necessary redesign that he had made every effort to make his own. A decision to gift the bear a hand puppet in the shape of a blue rabbit had been an ingenious thought that had come to him one night.

That hand puppet had nothing on the two original creations William Afton would soon present.

One was thin, shaped to appear as the perfect female visage. A ballerina, one with streaks of a royal purple, reaching up in the air. Alongside her, not quite finished, would be smaller spindly back-up dancers that would enhance her act. How Henry had never considered creating a secondary act for those iron giants he called pieces of art would be something William could never solve.

Her name was Ballora, which filled William with delight every time he read the name in his head. It had been the idea of Ballora that led him to this undertaking, his true path.

In spite of that, Ballora couldn't be his favorite. That would always be reserved for his pride and joy, the titular character of his grand plan. Though a red curtain currently covered her from view, he could still see her shape there. During his time, he had even formed a small stage area just for her.

Circus Baby. His star, that would bring with her his future. Though a barebones silhouette of what she was meant to be, hidden behind a curtain, he still felt pride looking at her. He knew in his heart that she would be far greater than Freddy Fazbear had ever been and would soon take to the stage that would cement his legacy as the greatest-

Hearing the door open, Afton frowned. Glancing towards the noise, he saw the shadow through the gap. As he stared, his eyes found the clock in his workshop and saw that it was four o'clock. Realizing this, he took a breath, put on the necessary persona, and smiled.

"Come on out, little one." He spoke, directing his attention to the open door as he awaited, "You've been caught. Are you really going to continue this act?"

Slowly, the small face appeared in the gap, green eyes gazing wide at him. Then her small hands reached for the door and opened it further as he came into view.

"I didn't want to be sent away again." The girl explained in a worried tone and although Afton would have liked nothing more than to do so again, he found himself in a good mood.

"You don't have to worry about that. Come on in. How was school?"

Unsure at first, she pushed the door open and stepped in, beginning to smile. "It was good! Everyone's excited about the pizza place!"

Afton felt some satisfaction in that. "So, what do you think?"

She nodded, "I like them! Can I…" He could see her longing eyes go towards the curtains, "Can I see her?"

For not the first time, Afton shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Not yet."

"Daddy! Why won't you let me play with her? I won't hurt her. I really want to see her!"

Perhaps he might've felt annoyed on another day. On this day, he smiled. "Patience, my child. She is not quite ready yet. I promise you, when the time comes, you will get to see her."

Geneva, Switzerland

Saturday 26th November 2016, 08:32 AM

As soon as he had gotten home to her own empty bed, Samantha had collapsed into it and drifted off into sleep. Though her dreams had been wild and vivid, jumping from a pleasant moment to a gut wrenching reminder, she found herself waking from slumber in the early hours of the morning.

When she hadn't been able to return to sleep, her only option was to begin. For minutes she spent attempting to reach Mike's phone in vain. Even his number of possible burner phones had led to nothing. Without any other contact means, she was at a loss.

Having accepted that this wouldn't be solved by something as simple as phoning him, Sam knew in her heart that there was only one option. Getting up from her bed and readying herself, Sam knew that there was going to be a very uncomfortable meeting ahead of her.

Once she was ready, Sam picked up her phone again and called a different number. After a few moments, he answered. "Sam. Are you alright?"

"Hi, Carl." She said tiredly, knowing for a fact that she hadn't had enough sleep. "Is there any urgent business needed?"

"We've got a briefing soon. Why?"

Good. Good, that at least meant that everyone was there. "I've got something I need to pitch. Is there a chance I could get a moment to explain to everyone?"

"I'd be a bit hard-pressed to say no. You're always invited, Sam. What is it about?"

"Nothing good." She promised.

"Too long to explain over the phone? Usual business, then. Meeting's after morning training. Come around just after eight-thirty."

As the call ended, she felt that twang of anxiety at the thought. Though efficient and without any delays, having to explain this to the entire Seven would never be easy.

Not long after, once she was mentally prepared for what was to come, Sam found herself walking through the hallways of AESIR into the middle of the building. There was a meeting hall, about the size of a large living room, with a round table. When they had been designing and planning the organization in the early days, Thomas and Carl had agreed to that table.

"Worst thing about Council meetings at the Crucible?" Thomas had grumbled, "Having to crane your neck to look at the person speaking."

As he entered, they were already there, watching her from their seats.

At the very least, she wasn't walking into an unfriendly room. Whether they smiled or gave a nod, it wasn't an unwelcoming atmosphere. From where she was standing, the nearest empty seat was right in front of her, like the others had chosen accordingly. Towards the back of the room, Carl sat in the seat her husband once used.

She didn't have a problem with that; if anyone deserved to be called leader in Thomas' place, it was Carl.

"Sam." He greeted her with a smile, "Good to see you. Meeting's about to start. Do you want to start?"

Finding her seat, she returned the friendly grin that Isabella gave her. The way the shape of the room was, the chairs around the round table formed a sort of heptagon; Two seats side-by-side near the door, two more on each side of the room, with the last one in the dead centre. There had never been a noticeable arrangement of who sat where. Not even that centre seat had ever been a choice that Thomas made himself. The others had left it to him out of respect, a respect now given to Carl.

One she had declined.

Directly to her right sat Isabella Murphy, their American pilot who was trusted to fly her customised aircraft, the Lawbringer. On her closest left and right were Morcant Black, a tall, muscle-bound man, and Tyler Caine, her brother-in-law. Next to Carl was Mavet Brimstone with those glimmering icy eyes, and the always regal-looking Alice Occam, who were technically the first two Operators of AESIR alongside Thomas when they first formed.

Up until last year, Carl had always been an off-and-on member of the Seven. Even then, as Sam would hardly call herself a proper member of the Seven, they had remained a man down ever since Thomas…

That day, when they had finally reunited with AESIR after months on the run, Sam had feared what their status would be. Five of the Seven Operators, joined by her son Spencer and his group, against the entire Nightingale Guild? It had only been thanks to the skill of the Operators, and a lot of luck, that none of them had perished in the fighting. The injury Carl had sustained in his fight against Midnight, one which had nearly cost him his life, had been their biggest casualty.

Even so, it wasn't like everything had returned to normal after their reunion.

Once Carl had recovered and their situation was less dicey, the two of them had talked about what they had done. About what she had almost done. It had been with heavy hearts when they had made their decision.

"We have to tell them the truth." Samantha had accepted, knowing what it meant.

"If we do," Carl had warned, "you know it will be up to them what they do with us."

"I know." She sighed, "I'm sorry for getting us into this."

He had raised his hand to hers, trying his best to be reassuring. "I'm with you. Always."

So they had told the truth in their report. Everything, including their decision to delay the meeting with AESIR to prolong their investigation, and their decisions. Even their work with Quantum. How she had nearly gone through with assassinating Reznov. They had been expecting an excommunication at best, being handed over to the law at worst.

Instead, the remaining Seven had voted unanimously to clear them of any charges. Not even Tyler's threat of walking if they were charged had been a factor. It seemed that none of the Seven could argue that their actions had been too far.

Though she could argue that their decision was influenced by their relationships over their morals, Sam wasn't about to detest democracy being in her favour. Especially when there was a good chance it wasn't going to be today.

"Sam?" Carl looked at her, worried, "You okay? You've zoned out a little bit, there."

Realising that she had been sitting there silent for a good minute, she composed herself, "Sorry. It's…an awkward matter that I'm having to bring to you. I won't digress here: Mike Schmidt left Lausanne two months ago, in pursuit of reopening the Fazbear Conspiracy by himself."

A moment of silence fell upon the Seven. Not betraying his emotions, Carl looked over to Brimstone, "I suppose we know now why those files were never returned to us."

"So it would seem." Brimstone agreed.

Sighing, Carl leaned back in his chair. "I wish he had come to us first...but I do suppose this is Mike for you. What has he found?"

Samantha took a deep breath, struggling to keep her voice from cracking, "I don't know. Ella was the one who told me he went. According to her, his last report was early last month. Since then…"

In that moment, she could see that Carl and the others understood what she was saying. It was Tyler who broke the silence, leaning forward in his chair. "So…he's gone missing?"

"In a sense, yes." When she saw Carl rub his face in anguish, and the others exchange glances of contempt, she knew how they were taking the news. "And I know for a fact that everyone in this room knows Mike's file. And of the events last year…he went missing for a couple days once, but not nearly this long. I know that our resources are thinning, and it-"

"You want us to look for him?" Tyler interrupted her and she could see the flash in his eyes that told her exactly how he felt about it.

"I'm afraid so." She spoke grimly, "Mike…he's an old family friend. He saved my life. More than that, he is under our protection. You know that if Thomas were here, he would be the first one suggesting this. I'm not…" She swallowed that fear which was forming, "I know that a miracle is unlikely. Whether it leads to a rescue mission, or a recovery mission, I owe it to him."

Carl closed his tired eyes for a few moments and the others turned their conflicted glances to him. Knowing exactly how this organisation worked, Sam already was prepared for the only option he had. This had been why Thomas had gone to America in secret the previous year. There was a certain way they had to do things. A vote.

So it didn't matter if Mike was Carl's friend, or if Carl's very nature demanded he ensure a man's safety. If the other members of AESIR didn't agree to the mission, then the mission wouldn't happen. Mike would be lost.

"Operators of AESIR." Carl spoke after mustering up the energy, "What are your thoughts on the matter?"

Perhaps she might have been surprised when the usually quiet and contemplating Morcant Black was the first to speak, but her racing thoughts dulled her senses.

"Our creed would mean nothing," The tallest man in the room spoke like thunder, "if we were to allow someone under our protection to perish. If there's a chance that Mike Schmidt is still alive…"

Alice nodded her agreement. "More than that, Mike was Thomas' friend. It would be disrespectful to his name not to act."

A feeling of hope filled Sam, but as she saw the looks on the others' faces, it started to die. Clearing her throat, Isabella was the first to oppose. "I mean no disrespect, but as Sam pointed out herself, our resources are thin enough. Is it a good idea to waste them on what might be a wild goose chase?"

"I'm afraid that I must concur." Brimstone said in that veiled voice, sharing a sympathetic glance towards Sam. "I must point out, as a response to Morcant, that Michael willingly left our protection. That was his choice."

"Exactly." Tyler said gruffly, folding his arms and leaning back again, "We risked a lot getting him and his friends out of there. How much of our resources did we use up getting them new identities? More than that, what did we lose in the first place because of that whole bloody investigation?"

Sam knew she could not trust herself to speak against that, but was fortunate that Carl did so for her. "That's not fair, Ty. We can't let past events influence the future to that degree."

"Can't we?" Tyler scowled, "Mike made his bed. It's honestly that simple."

As Sam and Carl made eye contact again, she knew already that it was a lost cause. As she was the one petitioning, she had no ability to vote. If the vote was three-to-two, there was only one choice that Carl had. Even if it was clear that he didn't want to say it.

"I'm sorry, Samantha." Carl finally found the strength to say, "AESIR must deny your request. I hope…I hope luck will be on our side."

"I understand." She nodded , "But I've never been one for luck. I'll be heading to America myself to find him, then."

It wasn't like anyone in the room was surprised, with the only one looking annoyed being Tyler. Carl nodded, "Naturally, we can't give you any official support."

After the meeting, when Sam and the others had left the room, Carl stopped Tyler and talked to him separately. As he approached, Tyler shrugged, "Yeah, I know. I'll pack my things. Who's taking over my duties?"

"I'll find someone." Carl assured him, "Even if I have to do it myself. Just keep her safe, alright?"

Tyler clapped him on the shoulder before he left, allowing Carl to give himself a moment to think.

New Harmony, Utah

Saturday 17th September 2016, 06:43 AM

For the longest time, Mike remained kneeling on the floor. With the box opened, he couldn't help but stare with a mixture of revelation and fear so ancient, he could never comprehend it. He knew deep down that what he was looking at could very well be all the pieces, so long scattered, finally put together.

What worried him, the thing that kept him rooted there, was whether he could accept it.

He tried to control his breathing and thought about the next step as rationally as he could. Take each little bit one step at a time.

With that notion, he started with what laid at the top. Most of it was random pieces of memorabilia, stuff that he could tell the story of from first sight. Sometimes he had to remind himself how his life from the beginning was wrapped up in Freddy's, how his past was linked with the past of that strange, dark little restaurant.

It seemed that willing or no, it always found a way to pull him back in.

But as he shifted the pieces, taking them out as delicately as he could muster, his thoughts grew sporadic and he finally understood. There were four plush dolls in the box, in the shape of Freddy, Bonnie, Chica, and Foxy. Foxy was in two pieces, his head detached from his body and was dirty. Swallowing his regret, Mike muttered an apology as he took the dolls out.

A security badge also lay in the box, fake gold. Mike knew by looking at it that it was more a prop than an actual declaration of authority. Shaking his head, his eyes then found the small, broken hospital wristband and examined it. Underneath it all was a framed photograph of five normal people.

Taking the photograph from the box, Mike stared at it for a while, recalling the day it was made. Closing his eyes in pain, he forced himself to put it aside. For a few moments, he couldn't help but wonder if those items had been put in there for more than sentimental value. Like they were a trial, an obstacle. A way to make him doubt himself and rethink this course of action.

Instead, he shook his head of these doubts. These were relics of a distant past, one he was still seeking redemption for, no matter the cost.

Those plush dolls had belonged to his brother, of course. There could be no doubt; they looked far too weathered, and Foxy's head was gone. That had been mean-spirited, to do that. Just another way to make someone suffer, someone who didn't deserve it. A part of him considered trying to have the dolls cleaned and the Foxy one repaired.

Maybe there was a reason it's still like this, a deep part of himself pointed out, because if it was repaired, there would be no reason to remember.

Another voice told him in spite of that, He would've wanted that.

Once he was able to put aside that repressed grief, swallowing the pain and tears threatening to break out, Mike was able to look back inside of the box. Underneath this memorabilia, relics of his past, were things that he did not recognise. Shielded under the weight of what he did know, were the things that he did not.

Which means they're what I'm looking for, Mike told himself. He knew deep down that the only way this box could hold the answers was if these unfamiliar objects held significance. If they did not, he would be stumped.

As soon as he got a better look at the first thing, he knew the former to be true. There was a folded sheet of blue graph paper, which Mike could immediately tell were meant for blueprints. Squared white boxes lined the sheet, on one side blank, but the other held something that caught his attention.

They're animatronic designs, Mike concluded as his eyes scanned the sheets. None that he recognised, by either the shape nor the manufacturing. Though two of them shared similarities of Freddy and Foxy, they were too clean. Too shaped. Like someone had attempted to make a perfect rendition of something, but it lacked the personality of the originals.

The two he did not recognise…they creeped him out just by the sight. They resembled old porcelain dolls, the type that you would find in an auction, or an ancient Victorian House. One shaped in the form of a Ballerina, the other a smiling clown. Mike saw the name written down on the blueprint: Circus Baby.

It was as his eyes ran down through the blueprint, at the mundane to the suspicious features, that his eyes fell onto the copyright marked down on the bottom: Afton Robotics.

Perhaps it might have surprised him once, but there had been something deep down inside Mike that had been expecting it. Of course it would be linked back to him. William Afton, the Purple Man. As coined by AESIR, the now-undead Springtrap. Murderer of the Marionette, the Fazgang, and the Fazcrew. The one who had killed Thomas Caine, Mike's close friend. The architect of all this destruction.

And he might have created these damned things, Mike told himself. As his eyes returned to the feature list running through the blueprint, Mike felt a surge of curiosity through his veins.

All four of the blueprints had different design choices; whether they shared them all, or had different purposes, Mike couldn't tell. Reading between the lines, it was clear that these animatronics were certainly not built with the intention of entertainment. They were not built for the purpose to sing, to dance, or to look after the children.

Quite the contrary. As his eyes fell to the strange shape inside the chest cavity of Funtime Freddy, marked as a Storage Tank, Mike knew it to be a cheap rendition of a human body. These things were made to capture the children.

Which opens up another can of worms, Mike told himself bitterly. What had Thomas always said? Questions upon questions. Every time Mike believed himself to be a step closer to uncovering the answers he so desperately desired, it would always come back to him sitting there, confused.

Shaking his head, he knew he had to recover something from this; a way forward. Having never seen these animatronics before, Mike wondered if they had ever been made in the first place. Digging through the boxes, he found more documents, though very little extra blueprints. His eyes stayed, finding something very interesting.

They were news articles, Old paper, sealed inside this box for what must have been close to two decades, at least. Scanning through them, Mike saw the name plastered on one of them. Circus Baby's Pizza World. As it had when he'd seen the name on the blueprint dedicated to the very same Circus Baby, Mike could feel that flicker of recognition.

Standing up, he stepped over to the window and looked out across the horizon. Where do I know that name? It sounded so familiar, like something etched into the back of his mind, something he'd heard long ago.

Looking over to his backpack which he had placed on the floor, Mike opened it. He found the files, bound together in leather, and went through them until he landed on the page he was looking for. Musings about an old location, opened and shut between the first Freddy Fazbear's and the one built with the Toy Animatronics.

When he saw the name on the paper, matching what he was looking for, Mike drew a sharp breath. Much like the second Freddy's, it seemed that Circus Baby's Pizza World did not last long. Closed the same week it opened.

That can't be a coincidence, Mike felt in his bones. Even without the name of Fazbear Entertainment attached, it seemed less likely that there was a financial failure that closed the building so soon after it opened. The question is, what happened behind closed doors? Something so bad, it killed this business a week it was supposed to open?

More so, when it happened to be William Afton himself who built the animatronics, perhaps even the restaurant itself?

Sighing, Mike set the files aside. Without the information required, he knew all he could do was speculate the real truth.

After returning to the box, Mike crouched back down and went through the contents remaining. Below all those files was more, starting with a yellow device, a small screen. Frowning, Mike picked it up and got a better look. The screen was the size of what an old television would've been, but it had a yellow handle meant for a hand. On the top were a pair of eyes, looking off towards some unseen visage.

That wasn't what made him frown, however. There was a white sticker on it, four letters that were written in black ink, spelling Mike.

A chill filled the air as he set the hand unit down, feeling himself sweating. Other than the hand unit, there were a couple random items, including a keychain with two keys attached which he set aside. A thick, leatherbound journal also sat inside. Holding it with both hands, as gently as he could, Mike recalled the last time he saw that book.

Opening it, he read through the passages. Once he was at the end, he felt satisfied that there were answers in there. Yet, as per usual, it gave more questions. He could tell that at least some of the pages were encrypted in something.

Looking back down, Mike spotted the two remaining items: Two envelopes, sealed. As he picked them up and looked at the front of them, that chill filled him when he saw his name on the first. The second remained without any markings. He chose to open the first one, taking the contents out.

It was a letter, one Mike knew was addressed to him. Biting his lip, he carefully opened the piece of paper that was folded and saw that he had been correct. He spent the time reading it over and over.

This letter, though not as enlightening as he wished it to be, contained what he knew the one who had written it intended. A narrow explanation that finished with a single request. Mike spent so much time rereading the letter that when he finally looked up, he could see the midday sun's eve.

He placed the letter back in the envelope and set it aside with the other items. For some time, he knelt there on the floor, his mind racing. When he finally allowed himself to move on, he could feel his weariness overcoming his aching body.

Only one more item remained: The unsigned envelope. Taking it out, Mike saw that it was already opened. There was a piece of parchment paper inside, with several stamps filling the page. He read through it for some time and knew for a fact that he was holding the genuine deed to his family's old property. The property he was standing on. Signed, of course, but as he checked the envelope further, he found legal documents.

Mike knew that he needed to check with a solicitor, but he had a strong gut feeling as he read through those documents of what the intention was. It seemed that the intention had been to leave this house for him.

Is that really a good idea? He pointed out to himself, that pragmatic part of his brain warning off, You're still technically a wanted criminal.

Standing up and heading to the window again, Mike racked his brain over what he'd discovered. The plan, of course, had been to stay here until he had the answers. If this led him to those answers, what other choice did he have other than to see it through?

I guess I'll be staying here longer than I thought.

I'm opening up Wednesdays as a new day for uploads. If there's going to be two chapters in a week, the first will be on those days instead.