Following the instructions set within the detailed business model left behind for him to utilize, the next four weeks for Michael saw more success than any of the pizzeria's predecessors. With Helpy being in charge of advertising and handling their social media accounts, and with Ruby volunteering herself and her friends to help with the shortage of staff, Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria able to rake-in about nine-thousand lien— after paying Helpy, Fredbear, for the utilities, supplies, and of course giving Ruby her cut of four-hundred and fifty lien.

In order to keep customers returning— and to expand the restaurant into the next eschalon of family diners—Michael chose to close down the restaurant for a week, so that he could use his earnings to renovate the business. Unable to afford a truck, Michael had to rent a moving box-truck from a private company within the Hub.

With Fredbear's immense strength capable of putting a forklift to shame, Michael chose to take him along for the ride as he and Helpy took the streets of the vast metropolitan region. And having really not explored the Hub beyond a few kilometer radius from where the pizzeria was located, it never really dawned on Michael just how gurgantian the reach of the otherworldly, yet familiar city truly was.

Driving through multi lane roads that went between and under the massive blocks of skyscrapers that went far beyond into the cosmos than what the naked eye could process, everything about the Hub's architecture felt reminiscent of an idea that only a child could imagine— reminding Michael of his own childhood, and all of the creative visions he had with his Lego sets.

And even though they had left the vicinity of Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria in the early hours of the day, they'd only reached the half-way destination mark of their journey when night fell over them— revealing to them a grandiose look up into the purple and blue hues of the starry, nebula sky up above the skyline of the city, despite such a gorgeous view being normally impossible to see in such an urban environment.

Chalking it up to light pollution simply no longer being a factor, Michael had by that point already grown accustomed to welcoming the strange and uncanny, and simply took advantage of the situation by partaking in some stargazing, as he used the gasoline pump to refuel the white box-truck.

With a large tank to fill, Michael decided to make himself comfortable by kicking a leg up behind him as he leaned back against the side of the large vehicle— his attention focused on the stars above, as he waited for the sound of the fuel handle popping to alert him when the box-truck was filled up. Being distracted as he was, Michael's head was elsewhere while Fredbear was still inside the air-conditioned convenience store that was part of the gas station.

Treading carefully through the short aisles of snacks with a plastic shopping basket held carefully in his left paw, the seven-foot tall animatronic made use of his four-thousand lien salary by shamelessly gathering as much food as he could into his basket— not taking more than a few seconds to read the label on the packaged snacks, before tossing them in.

Bouncing his hips and doing a little jig to express his excitement to chow down on gas station snacks, Fredbear— just like Michael— was in his own little world; his mind being too preoccupied with imagining himself laying down on a hotel bed and stuffing his maw, to take notice of the armed gunmen who were flooding through the sliding doors.

By the time Fredbear had blissfully filled his third cup of cola from the soda fountain, everyone who had been unfortunate enough to be at the wrong place and the wrong time were down on the floor— their wrists zip tied behind their lower backs. Turning around and noticing the hostage situation a little too late, Fredbear was greeted with the barrel of a shotgun that was being aimed directly at his face— something that, needless to say, caught him off guard.

Still holding onto the three extra-large cups of soda in one arm, while still using his other paw to grab the handle of his plastic basket, Fredbear blinked a few times at the tip of the pump-action shotgun's barrel before gulping nervously, as he slowly looked further down to be greeted with the impatient stare of the well-suited man standing a couple feet below his eye-level.

"Oh dear… I think we've got ourselves a misunderstanding here, fell-?!" Fredbear said, as he tried defusing the situation through friendly communication, but was immediately interrupted when the armed assailant used the butt of his stock to bash him in his felt-face— causing him to accidentally drop his snacks and drinks, as he stumbled backwards before backing up into the soda fountain.

Wincing in pain, Fredbear felt his heart racing as looked over past the fedora-wearing robber, and tensed up at the sight of seeing more well-dressed thugs beginning to crowd around him— each of them armed to the teeth with old-school firearms that were reminiscent of the fifties.

"Get on the fuckin' floor, FazFUCK, before I make a fuckin' rug outta ya!" The gunman ordered aggressively, as he and his three companions took a step closer toward Fredbear with their firearms at the ready.

Disoriented and feeling disrespected by the armed goons, Fredbear's nativity led him to take another shot at dissuading the men with his words— despite the mustached Indian man behind the counter subtly shaking his head to silently beg him not to, all while being held at gunpoint himself.

Feeling the pain in his muzzle beginning to subside, Fredbear relaxed his shoulders and did his best to mind his manners as he told the man who had struck him, "I don't know what led you down this treacherous path in the afterlife, friend. But what I do know is- AHHHHH, GWAHHH?!" Fredbear shrieked, as his speech was interrupted by the explosive sounds of gunfire.

Considering that the animatronic looked to be entirely made out of felt and cotton, the gunman shot Fredbear at extremely close-range— pumping his face full of twelve-gauge pellets, and tearing into his plump, juicy belly with their tommy guns.

When the last burning cartilage of their automatic weapons fell down into the dirty floor of the convenience floor, to join the amassed expenditure of shotgun shells that used .45 ammo that was pulled up at the feet of the gunmen, all eyes were on Fredbear, whose back was pressed up against the destroyed soda fountain behind him.

"No fuckin' way…! That shit ain't fuckin' possible, Jimmy— just ain't no fuckin' way…!" The shotgun-wielding man muttered to the colleague, as he and the two other men began slowly backing away from the seven-foot tall animatronic bear that had just survived their hail fire of bullets and buckshot.

"Gabagool…!" Jimmy muttered out nervously in a thick, Tuscan accent— making an invisible cross over his chest with one hand, before dropping his spent magazine onto the floor, and beginning to reload his firearm alongside his two other comrades.

And although he was still able-bodied enough to lift himself off of the ruined soda fountain behind him, Fredbear was still moderately injured, and could feel the hot/projectiles lodged in his body burning his stuffing and singe away at where they had struck his endoskeleton.

Letting out a mixture of a whimper and a groan, Fredbear experienced, for the very first in his entire existence, what it was like to not only be in excruciating pain, but it was like to feel genuine anger coursing through his very being.

Narrowing his eyelids at the man who had started it all, Fredbear ignored the cacophony of surprised gunmen who began swarming him, and picked up the shotgun wielding thug by his neck— lifting him up effortlessly, before pulling him dangerously close to his powerful jaws.

Seeing the fear of god in the man's eyes, Fredbear pretended not to take notice of the twelve different barrels being aimed directly at his head, and silently glared menacingly at his attacker— his felt-fingers closing around the man's throat.

"I don't know who you are, or why you keep being mean to me…" Fredbear growled in his cartoonishly warm voice, that carried with it an intimidating low-tone of righteous rage as he peeled back his lips to reveal his shining white teeth to the terrified gunman. "But you need to be nice to me, RIGHT NOW!"

Cementing his fate, what started off as a simple snack run had spiraled into a standoff for Fredbear. Terrified and wanting nothing more than for the thugs to leave him alone, the animatronic bear knew whether he attacked the man in his grasp or not, he would be doomed to getting the stuffing blown out of his head— as he wasn't confident that he'd survive another onslaught of gunfire, especially from that many firearms.

"You're outta ya fuckin' leauge, bear!"

"Drop ol' "Pussy-Gobbler" right now, ya fuck!"

"There ain't gonna be no picnic baskets where you're going, ya fat-ass FUCK!"

"Let 'em go, toots!"

"Final warning, asshole!"

"Gabagool!"

Staring death in the face, Fredbear paid little mind to the multitude of vulgar threats being spat out at him. No longer even able to see the terrified and pissed off expression of the man who he was still choking, all Fredbear could envision before him were the same moments of his past life that had been haunting him, ever since he had his first conscious thought.

In the animatronic's mind, he wasn't in a convenience store, let alone the afterlife. Instead, he was on stage with his best friend in the whole wide world, Spring Bonnie; the two of them mindlessly performing their same song and dance they did time and time again, while four rowdy teenagers stood at the foot of their stage with a terrified little boy being raised closer, and closer to his motorized jaws.

And as the crying child's head was stuffed into his mouth, Fredbear felt his metallic teeth pressing down on the boy's skull— the hydraulic mechanisms that were controlling his jaw movement building up more-and-more pressure, as the computer module within his endoskeleton applied excessive force to the boy head's head, just to reach its targeted position.

But before his teeth could cave in the cranium of the crying child, Fredbear himself was swallowed in an abyss of darkness— that gruesome cracking sound never coming into fruition, as the familiar sound of the power cutting off caused him to snap back into his bizarre reality.

"Ayo, what the FUCK?!"

"Badabing, this bitch didn't pay the goddamn electric bill, Paulie!"

"Son of a BITCH!"

And as the group of armed gunmen began shouting amongst themselves about the sudden loss of power in the convenience store, Fredbear took the opportunity to make use of the sudden rise of chaos to make his move.

Pulling the shrieking gunman's head away from his opened jaws, Fredbear used the man's large body as a clubbed weapon— knocking back the armed gunman with one, powerful swing, and causing them to instinctively pull the triggers of their guns as they fell backwards.

And like that, ol' Pussy Gobbler's body was pumped full of hot lead. And unlike Fredbear, his body didn't fare too well when his limbs were shot off by the hail storm of bullets that blew straight through him like he was made of wet paper.

Horrified at what fate had befallen his next potential bite-victim, Fredbear let out a disgusted cry of shock as he threw what remained of the mutilated gunman towards his fallen comrades— coating them with the innards of their colleague, who they did not hesitate to desecrate by throwing the pieces of his remains off of themselves.

Knowing where they would be blindly firing next, Fredbear defied the odds by dolphin-diving out of the way, just in time to narrowly avoid being pumped full of more lead. Landing hard on the floor, Fredbear utilized his nocturnal vision to crawl away on his stomach— scrambling up to his feet, and vaulting over the front counter as the inside of the darkened convenience store was suddenly illuminated by a pair of oncoming headlights.

Having been compliment with their captors up until that point, every hostage immediately threw caution to the wind as each and every one of them crawled like panicked worms away from the direction of the oncoming vehicle— their terrified screams being drowned out by the loud crunching of steel and shattering of debris, as Michael's rented box-truck came rolling through the entrance of the store.

Peeking over the top of the counter, Fredbear gasped as he looked down at the front of the totaled box-truck— down at the bloodied wheels, where seven of the armed gunmen lay crushed beneath the smoking wreckage. "Dear God," Fredbear gasped out, and felt his vision tunneling as shock began to creep along his back.

Able to catch a glimpse of none other than Helpy leaping out through the broken side window of the passenger seat, Fredbear was suddenly pulled back down by the cashier, who had barely managed to save the animatronic, just a volley of bullets whizzed just above the counter.

With his back pressed against the surprisingly durable store counter, Fredbear flinched as chunks of the drywall where in front of him flew onto his face, as some of the gunmen laid suppressive fire down as they took cover behind the wreckage.

Holding his paws up to his ears, Fredbear curled his knees into his damaged body— uttering out, "This is bonkers," under his breath, before suddenly being jolted out of his panic by the gentle, assuring hand of the cashier beside him.

"Yes, this is indeed very, very "bonkers", as you've put it," the gray-haired man said agreeingly in a thick accent— his dark-skin coated in a thick layer of sweat that glistened from the light bouncing off of the bullet-ridden wall, where the high beams of the truck were illuminating in a brilliant glow.

Watching the friendly cashier cranking the lever attached to the bottom of his scoped rifle, Fredbear gave the anxious man a desperate look before asking him loudly over the sound of gunfire, "What are we gonna do, friend?!"

Placing a comforting hand on the animatronic bear's broad shoulder, the Indian cashier offered Fredbear a smile, before telling him, "It's alright to be scared, but we mustn't allow ourselves to be lost to that fear— there are things still worth dying for!"

"A…!? A-And what's important enough for you to take up arms so nilly-willy, friend?!" Fredbear asked with genuine curiosity in his shaken voice, as the man retracted his hand from his shoulder— so as to grab a hold of the wooden grip beneath the barrel of his lever-action rifle. "What's really worth dying for, all over again?!"

"For me? It's bringing glory to the name of Nahasapeemapetilon!" The proud Indian man declared with a look of resolve washing over his sweaty face, and waited until the gunfire had momentarily ceased to stand up from behind the counter.

"Thank you for coming! I'll see you all in Hell!" The cashier shouted as his form of a battlecry, and popped several shots off before catching a bullet in his shoulder. But instead of dropping his firearm, the resilient cashier rolled with the force of the bullet and used his non-injured arm to raise his rifle up toward the smoking hood of the crashed truck— firing one more time, before catching another bullet in his gut.

Wide-eyed and mortified, Fredbear reached out and shouted, "NOOOOO," as he caught the cashier before he had time to fall to the floor. Feeling the warm blood oozing out of the man's fatal wound being soaked into the felt-fabric of his paws, Fredbear gazed down sorrowfully at the dying cashier— cradling him closely to his soft, bullet-ridden body, as more bullets shot the wall in front them, while the counters protected them both.

Time seemed to slow down for Fredbear, as his emerald-green eyes locked with the teary gaze of the fallen cashier in his arms. Struggling to take even the most minute of air into his lungs, the dark-skinned man's body convulsed as he fought through the pain long enough to utter out

his final words to the emotionally devastated bear.

"T… Thank you… T-Thank you f-for coming t-to the K-Kwik-E M-Mart," the man spoke quietly in a barely audible voice— his eyelids fluttering close, as his body grew stiller and stiller by the passing second; both he and Fredbear oblivious to the live-grenade that was rolling by their feet.

"C… C-Come agai-"

BOOM.

Having snuck behind the three remaining gunmen— two of which were lying dead on the floor, with large bullet holes through their chests— Michael used both his Afton genetics and years of training to kill his own father to begin his take down.

Using the cosmic knife he had the foresight to bring with him on his trip to the fabled "Circuit City", Michael cut clean through the first gunman's neck with one-swipe— nearly decapitating him, before stabbing his shoulder to prevent him from raising the barrel of his gun to him.

Before the other two could open fire on him, Helpy came rushing in with his air horn— creating a supersonic blast that ruptured the eardrums of the two remaining thugs.

Using the distraction to his advantage by taking a hold of the dying man, Michael used the corpse a human shield to absorb the retaliating gunfire brought on by the deafened thugs— pointing the barrel of his bullet-ridden meat shield's tommy gun at one gunner, and watching from behind as the dying man unintentionally blew apart the head of his comrade.

Once his meat shield's and the final gunman's firearms ran out of ammo— with two audible clicks simultaneously notifying one another of that revelation— Michael ran forward with the mutilated corpse in his hands, and used it to knock the panicked thug off to the ground by ramming his dead friend directly into him.

Fueled by adrenaline, and the desperation to survive his random encounter, Micheal dropped down to the ground as he swung the sharpened blade through the back of the fallen man's legs— slicing through his achilles' tendons, and eliciting a painful scream from him.

Straddling his legs on the man's side, Michael quickly stabbed the gunner's pistol-wielding hand— pinning his hand to the floor with his blade, before picking up the handgun and pressing the tip of its barrel up against the lone survivor's fedora-wearing head.

Shaking violently with sweat pouring down his brow, Michael winced as he felt the adrenaline beginning to wear off— allowing him to feel the pain radiating from the bullet wound he had in his left bicep. "B-Bastard…!" Michael muttered defiantly, as anger began suppressing the agony he was in.

Beginning to see red, Michael redirected the barrel of his looted firearm directly at the back of the man's uninjured hand— firing point blank, and blowing three of the gunman's clean off with one well-aimed bullet. Having satiated his vengeance and insuring that the man wouldn't be able to attack him, Michael stood up slowly from the writhing gunman's back— tucking the semi-automatic pistol in his waistband with the safety on, and taking a step back while nursing his bullet wound.

With Helpy freeing the hostages with his pair of trusty— genuinely rusty— shears, Michael left the fate of the helpless gunman at the hands of the people who he had rounded up, and made his way through the crowd to reach the shredded remains of the front counter.

Seeing all of the bullet-holes within the wall behind the shrapnel-ridden left Michael a nauseated feeling in his stomach, as he knew who exactly had taken cover behind it when the grenade from earlier went off.

Still pressing his right palm down against his left bicep— so as to control the bleeding the best he could at the moment— Michael reluctantly looked over what remained of the front counter, and felt his racing heart sink deeply into his chest at the gruesome sight that awaited him.

"F… Freadbear…?"

Author's notes: Rest in pizza, Fredbear.

On a different note, considering William's usually shown to use knives and fire axes as weapons, if I figured Michael's choice melee weapon would be knives as well, while occasionally being seen using two-handed weapons as well. As far firearms go, all the art I've seen online depicts Michael having an affinity for semiautomatic pistols and revolvers.

Oh well, they'd just mostly be used as backup weapons anyway, since later on I'm planning on Michael being able to upgrade his animatronics into being as powerful as they are in FNAF World, which beats conventional firearms and weapons any day.

The next animatronics are definitely going to be Freddy, Bonnie, Chica, and Foxy from FNAF 1.

Anyway, I can't understate just how much it means to me to see people showing continuous interest in this silly fanfic lol. Thank you, and know no matter how simple your feedback is, I really do appreciate it, and reread them multiple times!

Anyways, have a good one lol.