Five Weeks at Frenni's Nightclub

by noone-05

Frenni Fazclaire's Nightclub is well-known for its adult entertainment featuring the latest animatronic technologies. What isn't known, however, is the dark secrets hiding in its history and occupants, as its newest employee is about to discover. Along the way, he may find more... pleasant secrets to help heal his own wounds. Will he and his chastity survive five weeks?

7. Week 2

Alright, everyone—this marks the sixth chapter of the story, and this took a bit longer for me to finish than expected. This was largely because I've been going through some losses lately; I had to put down my 17-year-old pet cat last month, and my father's mother passed away a few days ago. It hasn't helped much that it's nearing one whole year since losing my mother, either. However, writing this has helped in venting my sadness and anxiety, and I hope you all can feel and understand the tones in this chapter as I'm feeling now. That said, it will be a roller coaster of emotions, and I hope you enjoy it (with a tissue or two).

This chapter consists of a week's worth in the story's timeline. To help with keeping track, I labelled the days in order for which the events take place. For short increments of time, I added a '000' in between the respective time frames. Be on the lookout for more Easter eggs and references, and leave any comments or suggestions if you have any. And just to be clear: I don't own anything of the FNaF franchise, and all rights go to its respective owner(s). Thank you for your patience and support!

---

Day 1

Michael drove into the parking lot of a diner in his neighborhood.

It was only two days after the blackout at Frenni's Nightclub. Normally, he would've been working during this time, but Mr. Afton allowed him to take the weekend off while he himself ensured the club was not in danger of any electrical issues due to the storm. While Michael was sure this wasn't necessary, as he had checked the premises himself, he decided the time off was needed for another reason. He was still feeling the tinge of aftershock when he woke up that morning, and it still remained in his mind now. It was like playing a horror-themed VR game on the first time, and winning out of sheer luck—the feeling was that persistent. In Michael's case, the analogy was similar to his situation.

After his experiences from his first four shifts, he believed he had the fifth one in the bag; but when the blackout happened, his mind did a one-eighty for his confidence. He thought that night would end badly for him, if not worse, at the last moment. Then, like a miracle from above, he found himself leaving the building, unharmed, and reconciled with the very beings that gave him unnerving grief. In a way, he did succeed in surviving that night—just not in the way he expected. Even so, this sense of victory was not the reason for his jitteriness.

Now that Michael managed to get through the first week, he was left uncertain. Namely, it was his new position in the club, as the animatronics' friend, that made him uncertain. How was he going to fulfill his promise; what would he do to satisfy their honest desire for company; and where would this path take them in the future? These questions, and much more, rushed through his brain like high-speed trains through an urban station… and he was left to find a safe solution to keep those trains-of-thought from disaster. It didn't help, either, that he was expected to return to his post tomorrow night. Luckily, something came up today to distract him, hence his present location.

This morning, his friend Greg called to check on him, and offered to meet somewhere for lunch. After hearing the spot he had in mind, Michael knew exactly where it was—his family used to go there many times in the past, for special occasions or even simple get-togethers. It was also one of his and Greg's prime choices for meeting. Knowing this change to a familiar place was what he needed, he accepted the invitation; and knowing how to get there by heart, he felt no need to rush to prepare.

Thus, he found himself relaxed while facing a place he once used to reunite with old friends.

The diner was stylized in a kind of 50's-memorabilia-theme that was friendly for families. Its wide windows, curving open-bar seating, and flashy appearance beheld a design meant for friendly social gatherings. Upon entering, his senses were met with their own waves of nostalgia. The neon signs and hanging decorations were as colorful as he remembered; the music playing in the speakers was the same as when he first heard them; and the smells of the serving food danced in the air like they did years ago. These sensations greeted him warmly, and he couldn't help the smile growing on his face. This was a place full of good memories, and it made him feel at peace.

Looking around, he spotted Greg sitting by one of the booths beside the wide windows. Greg gestured to him with a hand wave, and Michael headed over to greet him. As he reached the booth, he noticed his friend was sitting alone.

"Where are your buddies?" Michael asked. "Didn't you say a few would be joining?"

"They're on their way," Greg answered after taking a sip from his glass. "Traffic's a bitch where they're coming from in the morning."

Michael nodded in understanding, and sat across from him. "What's the occasion for meeting this time?"

"Just for us to catch up, as usual, and my buddies wanted to see how I'm fitting in my new job," Greg said. "They also wanted to see how you're doing when I told them about your situation, which is why I invited you."

"I take it they heard about my new occupation?"

"I only mentioned you found a position at a bar, that's all—I figured you'd want to tell them yourself. Just don't be surprised if the others press about your actual place of employment. As I hinted before, they're pretty aflame about its genre, and its hosts."

While Michael took in the warning, the waitress came by and asked about their preferred beverages. After a moment, both males received their choices, and simply waited for their other compatriots. Along with his drink, Michael enjoyed the nostalgic moment; after all the events since his personal loss a year ago, it felt good to go back to old habits like this. After a while, Greg cut the silence by referring back to their last topic of conversation.

"So… looks like you survived the fifth night," he commented.

Michael sighed confirmedly. "I did. Truth be told, I can't believe it turned out the way it did." He absentmindedly stirred his soda with his straw, recalling what happened that night. "I also can't believe they were as sensitive as they were—it kind of makes me wonder if there's more to them than their appearances."

Greg's eyes lit up with curiosity. "How do you mean?"

Michael then revealed a few details of his first real conversation with the girls, including his new perception of how they actually felt lonely and neglected. Along the same line, he mentioned how Afton kept calling them 'machines' despite their human actions and words. Greg looked taken aback by his friend's reflection, and gave a knowing look.

"You've sure been thinking about them a lot. Are you sure you're not getting interested in them?"

The sense of banter in Greg's voice stirred Michael's mind, as he remembered himself asking something similar. "Touché—very funny. But seriously, I hadn't thought much of it, but I'm beginning to notice a few things about my boss, too. Any time I ask him something, whether it concerns the girls or not, he keeps giving me brief answers without any details. Comparing them to what I've witnessed this week, there's a whole lot of unexplained holes on his part. Plus, his reaction to the blackout… I hadn't heard him so touchy. And something he said in the end, that 'maybe I've got what it takes after all'—he sounded like he expected me to fail and quit before the week's end. Everything considered, I can't help but think my boss is hiding more than he's letting on."

"Well, I can't say anything about his outburst," Greg defended, "because I haven't met the guy. But maybe everything else is because you're still a newbie working in an unfamiliar place. Give it time, and I'm sure everything will sort itself out."

"I guess so." Michael cast a fortunate look to his friend. "You have it lucky, though—being in a lumber and hardware company isn't that far off from where we used to work, unlike a stri—gentlemen's club."

"See? That's what I'm talking about! Getting that right means you're already getting familiar with the place," Greg's response then turned from approving to mischievous. "Aside from your familiarity with the hosts, that is."

"That's not funny," Michael retorted.

Greg let out a chuckle at his buddy's reaction, and he was about to say something else before his attention was directed elsewhere. Following his line of sight, Michael observed four other guys making their way to them. Smiling, Greg got up and greeted the quartet with pats on the back and handshakes. Not recognizing them, Michael figured they were his former colleague's new coworkers. Returning to his original company, Greg gestured to Michael.

"These are my coworkers from my new job," Greg said. "Guys, this is Michael—the one who got the short end of the stick at my old job."

The lead of the four, a lean but well-built man with a buzz-cut haircut, welcomed him with an open hand. "So, you're this 'Mikey' our newbie's told us about. A pleasure to meet you."

After shaking hands with him, another who was scrawnier and had a messy hairdo piped in. "Greggie mentioned you had a hard time before that, about your parents," he said sympathetically. "That's rough, mate."

Michael winced at the reminder. "I'd rather not talk about it yet, if that's okay," he said.

"Sorry about that." Acknowledging the awkwardness in Michael's voice, the messy-haired youth dropped the topic. Once introductions were finalized, the six of them sat together at the booth. As they waited for the waitress to return to take official meal orders, he buzz-cut man spoke first to Michael.

"How're you holding up?"

"I've been better," Michael replied, "but I'm managing so far. Greg here's been a big help."

"So I've heard. On behalf of us here, I'm pleased to hear you're bouncing back." A few seconds passed as the buzz-cut man realized what he said, and then asked with interest. "Speaking of 'bouncing', I also heard you're now working in one of the clubs downtown— 'Frenni's Nightclub', is it?"

" " "What?!" " "

The other three barked their shock at their lead's proclamation, and excitedly hounded Michael with interjections.

"The hottest club in town—how'd you land a job there?!"

"You lucky bastard!"

"How is it? Rather, how are the girls there?"

"Are they as gorgeous as everyone says?"

"You gotta introduce me to them!"

Taken aback by their exclamations, Michael shot a look at Greg. His shoulder-shrug was enough to be translated to say 'I did warn you'. Receiving the message, Michael couldn't help himself from sighing in slight amusement and privation.

---

Day 2

The night finally came for Michael to return to his duty at the club, and the street which he drove along was bustling with activity. Being in the entertainment district, there was a menagerie of different shops, restaurants, and shows that made up the neighborhood, and each one had its own theme or genre. The most common was anime, showcasing books, movies, and merchandise in numerous spots. Combined with how they were displayed—with neon signage and lit-up billboards—and all the crowds filling the sidewalks, it was difficult to keep up with all the advertisement at night. It was tough enough when there were children, whom usually lacked road courtesy even with parents holding their hands, but the adults-only sections were even worse. He likened the nightlife here to the Las Vegas Strip, but on crack—it was that hectic and blinding. Lucky for those bystanders, Michael was a safe driver, and was no stranger to these urban conditions. As such, he managed to make his way to his destination with vigilant eyes and mind.

As he drove along the road, he spotted the nightclub ahead, and he took a quick glimpse of its front. Like always, the line was long and full, and the few opaque windows flashed from the lights within. The neon sign above the line rhythmically blinked, with an outlined figure of one of the animatronics moving an arm and leg, as if beckoning males to join the awaiting line. Passing by, Michael turned into the side parking lot where the staff entrance door stood. Even though he was early to begin his shift, he preferred coming in through this way. This was partially out of habit, but also to avoid being stared down with envy by the impatient line out front. For now, there weren't any outbursts regarding why he had free access, yet he thought it better to ensure it didn't happen, and he wasn't caught up in it. Out of sight, out of mind.

After parking and entering the code, he stepped into the back hallway. Like last week, Michael could hear the show in full-swing, and the audience enjoying every moment of it. Once he made his detour to the staff locker room, in order to drop off his pack of belongings, he crossed the hallway to emerge in the club. The figures of Frenni, Chica, and Bonni were performing an instrumental-music routine, while the strobe lights synched with the music blaring from the speakers. As he pardoned himself through the crowd, he briefly glanced their way; and although they didn't show it, the sudden rise in the music tone was a clue in their delight to see him back. Returning to his pace, he checked out the bar on the far end and saw a single figure washing glasses. Like his very first visit, Mr. Afton recognized Michael's presence and set down the glass and rag in his hand. Unlike before, though, his current expression was more amused than curious.

"Well, look who came back," he observed.

Michael paused at the choice-of-welcome. "You sound surprised, sir," he said, confused.

"I am. Nearly every watchman I've had usually drops out after their first week, for different reasons. You, however, may be the first to return. Makes me wonder…" He let his mind drift into deep contemplation for a moment, but then returned to his senses. "Anyway, how was your first week on the job?"

"It's had its challenges," Michael summarized, "but I think I'm adapting."

"Good to hear," Mr. Afton replied approvingly. "Keep it up, and your future time here will be easy as pie. And speaking of…" He took out a piece of folded paper from his pocket, and handed it to the nightguard novice. "Consider it a treat," he finished simply.

Opening the paper, Michael's face broadened with astonishment as he saw his name on a check worth six-hundred dollars. It was his first paycheck for his first week on the job. Even though he expected it to appear for the time he served, it excited him to finally see it in his hands. Not only could he prolong his living conditions just a bit longer, he felt like the first piece of his life was reassembling itself. After everything that happened this past year, the paper in his hands was physical proof of his life getting back together, albeit in relative normalcy.

"Thank you, sir," he said gratefully.

"If your performance holds, you'll be seeing more of those in the future," Mr. Afton teased. "That being said, you'll find another list in the security room. I'll check on your progress at 3'oclock, as usual."

"Got it, sir." Michael pocketed the check and headed back to the security room. Just before he was out of earshot, he heard Mr. Afton's voice call to him again.

"Don't let the girls get to ya again!" he ribbed.

The jest made him stop in his tracks, his cheeriness gone. A few of the customers overheard the joke as well, and they began staring daggers at Michael. Feeling they got the wrong idea, Michael made sure to sidestep their glares so as to not cause a scene, until he reached one of the hallways to his room. So much for keeping out of sight.

000

Once he made sure he had the club floor to himself, he set to work.

For tonight, the only chores were to pick up and dispose of the trash, and gather the dishes for the kitchen. Starting off with the dishes, he quickly stacked the plates and glasses onto one table; and set them onto the conveyor belt for the auto-washing. After that, he went by all the basic furniture and brushed up any debris left behind. Sometimes he resorted to a foldable grabbing tool to pick up some hard-to-reach bits. Upon using this tool, Michael couldn't help but feel a bit amazed by some of Mr. Afton's choice of hygiene level. The guy should at least utilize less rudimentary means of tidiness, to match the technology he's advertising. Or some regular vacuum-cleaning instead, he thought. That would be much quicker and thorough.

Putting his opinion aside, Michael proceeded to complete the task, ensuring every surface was spotless. Afterward, he officially began his post in the security room. Checking on the club's other occupants, he saw two figures within the animatronic room's recharge pods, while a third pod was empty. Looming over the monitors, he saw Frenni venturing from the room towards his direction. This time, though, she wasn't making any effort to rush to him; her pace was more leisurely, like she wanted him to see her coming tonight. While he was thankful for the consideration, it made him wonder how long she had been in her pod. He checked the time on his phone; knowing she and the others went in the back at midnight, he deduced that she spent almost two-and-a-half hours recharging. I wonder if that'll be enough to chat with me as she liked.

Right on cue, there was a tap on the eastern hallway window, and he could see Frenni waving to him. Michael smiled, grateful that she warned him about her appearance. Then, upon seeing her point through the glass to the door button for her side, his smile turned to a cautious frown. He figured what she meant, but he just had to play it safe.

"No tricks, remember?" he asked, reminding her of her promise last week.

Frenni blinked before answering through the glass. "As you wish."

…

After considering her, he slowly pressed the button for the door to slide up. His invitee casually walked in with a slight strut, and both faced each other directly. Michael felt his grip on his armchair tighten a bit; this was the first time he let any of the girls in here while he was present, so he wasn't sure what to do next. His eyes unconsciously drifted over her chosen attire for tonight: she was wearing her usual tuxedo top, along with her thong; but there were a few accessories he began to have not noticed before. She still wore her high heels; but the toe areas were topped by three puffballs colored the same as her skin, like to mimic big toes. Her head and neck were adorned with a black top hat and neck-bowtie, respectively, and her wrists had lone white cuffs to compliment her top, despite her having bare arms and hands. On her chest—like a cherry on top of a two-scoop sundae—was a laminated blue ID card clipped just over her left breast. How is it that I didn't see these details before? Or did she not have them the whole time I've been here? Realizing where he was staring now, Michael darted his gaze back to her face, which showed no sign of discomfort or offense. Motioning to the chair he brought, Frenni thanked him by taking a seat to face him. It was then he saw that she was alone.

"Where are the others, or is it just you?"

"Both Bonni and Chica are currently recharging," she reported. "Bonni had done a double-shift of dancing and music-performing; and Chica had been busy catering to the people all day. And Foxxy… has been in her cove."

"No surprise there, I guess," Michael presumed to himself. His eyes turned up to meet Frenni's.

…

For several minutes, the air between them felt awkward as they simply stared at one another. While Frenni sat unmoved, Michael definitely felt the weird atmosphere. The reason was the oath he made the last time they spoke; after clearing up a big misunderstanding, he swore to be more social with the girls so they wouldn't feel so lonely. Now his chance to live up to his oath had come, and yet he still didn't know what to talk about. In addition, the identity of his acquaintance was no help—how does someone start a conversation with a shut-in animatronic? As he racked his mind with what topics to bring up, Frenni continued to sit where she was, still and patiently. Eventually, Michael sighed in defeat.

"Ah, even though I promised we would converse freely, I never thought about how or where to start," he admitted. "It's harder than I thought."

Frenni gave him a sympathetic smile. "Whatever makes you feel comfortable."

"What if whatever I bring up is something you can't talk about?" Michael quizzed, recollecting one of the topics from their earlier discussion. "You know, because of those limiters of yours…"

"I will answer what is within my ability," she said simply, and pointed to her eyes. "You will know my limits, too, when my eyes glow red."

Michael recalled that little detail from before as well. Like that makes this any easier.

FWMP!

He turned to the sudden sound to find Bonni pressed against the western window, her face, arms, and chest flushed to the glass. Jumping back with a yelp, Michael exclaimed his displeasure to his newest visitor.

"Geez! Didn't I say no more of that?"

Bonni giggled through the glass. "You did, but we agreed to keep it to a minimum, since we have no choice and all that jazz. So, we can still do it."

"Bonni, are you recharged already?" Frenni asked the violet bunny-woman, as Michael groaned at the latter's logic. "Surely your recharge cycle isn't completed so soon."

"Not exactly—my pod opened half an hour ago, so I waited for someone to come out and meet our 'friend'. Couldn't let you have all the fun to yourself." Bonni emphasized her position by entering the room and leaned on the edge of the table, situating herself beside Michael.

"Very well," Frenni acquiesced, "but be sure to finish your charge restoration before the end of tonight. We do not want a sudden power-down in the middle of a show, do we?"

Her soft warning to Bonni perked the nightguard's interest. "You sound more like a manager just now, than a performer."

"I am, in a way. While Mr. Afton is the real manager of the club, my role outside of being a hostess is maintaining order between my compatriots." The bear-eared woman fingered the tag clipped on her. "If something happens that is beyond my control or knowledge, then I inform Mr. Afton of the situation. You might say I am a sub-manager of the entire club."

"Makes sense." Michael shifted in his seat before changing the conversation back. "Alright then, how about we start by getting to know each other's abilities? Since we're already there, it's a good start. For instance, how long have you girls been working here?"

"At least three years," Frenni answered. "That goes for all of us."

"Besides singing and dancing, is there anything else you can do?"

"Our other talents include cooking special dishes, telling literotica recorded in our memory banks, and special shows in the VIP rooms upstairs… but they are rarely utilized."

Hearing these extra talents caught his interest, and he pressed the issue. "Why not?"

"Only a few VIPs have ever visited the club, and so there is no real reason to apply our extra talents," Frenni explained. "Plus, they all hadn't shown the respect that you do."

"That, or they just can't handle us," Bonni piped in. "Even the regulars still tend to bleed from their noses every time I'm performing on stage, as you witnessed." The long-eared woman smirked at seeing Michael squirm in his seat. "But enough about us—what about you?"

Michael took a few seconds to compose an answer. "Before coming here, I used to work as a maintenance and handyman for several years. Whether it was for construction/renovation projects, electronic applications or upgrades, or simple hard labor, I could do it." He scratched his cheek shyly, not meaning to brag. "It also helped that I'm a fast learner."

"Good with your hands, are you? And you can work your brain and muscle at the same time?" Bonni wiggled on the desk edge in delight. "Ooh, I like that. Keep going—leave no juicy bit behind."

Ignoring the innuendos, Michael proceeded to describe his past occupation in further detail, and even mentioned a few jobs he did. Both animatronic girls listened intently, as if they were hearing a wonderful story from another fantasy world. Unlike him, however, they were unable to answer all of his questions about themselves; this was not really because of their limiters, but the fact that they never went outside. It saddened Michael that despite wanting social company, they could not be on the social level they desired. Eventually their line of conversation was cut short by the phone ringing, which Michael answered with the two girls by his sides.

"How are things going over there, kid?"

"Just fine, Mr. Afton," Michael replied to the mouthpiece. "No issues so far."

"You got the list finished?"

"Sure did—it was the first thing I did upon closing up."

"And the animatronics? Are they giving you any problems this time?"

Michael paused and looked between Frenni and Bonni, whom remained where they sat. Even if they were behaving themselves now, he was unclear just how much contact with them his boss would allow. Since he thought of them as machines, he'd likely think it weird for his new employee to be conversing with them regularly. Thinking quick, Michael answered him.

"Two of them are, uh, by the security doors now," he said, "but no worries—I'm handling the situation, so they're not bothering me."

"Mmh, it's a bit early for them to be out after an all-day shift… well, in case they do anything, just order them back to their room, like before," Mr. Afton said. "But just in case they run out of power while walking about, take them to an open pod and manually start the recharge cycle. The pod's panel will be self-explanatory."

"Thanks for the tip, sir." After exchanging farewells, Michael set down his phone, but then made a face. Although he was now informed about what to do if one of the girls was out of power, he neglected to ask about another potential emergency. He didn't know what to do if one of them malfunctioned in some way; like how he would fix them, or if Mr. Afton would do it instead, or even where to place the girls for repairs. Sure, there was the repair room for such an occasion, but there could be priority instructions before that, for all he knew. Frowning for missing the opportunity, he swiveled his chair to face his dual company, whom were patiently waiting for him. Deciding on the next best thing, Michael introduced his conundrum to the violet and brown animatronics.

"Since the topic of maintenance was introduced, I'd like to ask: how do you girls undergo maintenance?" He elaborated by waving at their bodies. "I mean, I've seen the repair room already, so I saw all the different equipment, but I'm curious as to how any repair's done if something breaks or malfunctions on you. How are your inner workings even accessed? I don't see any seams on you." He stopped abruptly, realizing he was inadvertently checking them out again while elaborating.

"We cannot say much, largely because the only blueprints for our designs lie with Mr. Afton," the bear-eared woman explained, with red flickers among her bluing eyes. "What I can say is, we go into a sleep mode during any repair session, which is adjacent to our green-eye state. But we can assure that Mr. Afton has every means to fix us, no matter the problem."

"Except that glitch of yours," Michael pointed out.

Bonni nodded. "That is the exception."

"Like I said before, our software hasn't fully taken with our bodies," Frenni continued. "This is due to an unknown 'glitch' Mr. Afton found in our systems, and he could not find a reason for its presence. Worse yet—as he described—the 'glitch' is bonded to our limiters, so he is unable to remove it. Not without removing the limiters as well, that is."

"So let me get this straight," Michael summarized, "This glitch in you girls' systems is keeping your programming from being completely accepted with your bodies—which Mr. Afton wants—and removing that same glitch could also remove all your limitations and let you be truly free—something Mr. Afton does not want?"

"Moneyshot," Bonni smirked affirmably.

"And not even he, your own creator, found a way around that?"

"One employee did come close to figuring out a way," Frenni added. "Very close. But Mr. Afton fired him on the premise of 'tampering with the animatronics', and even sued him for such 'damages'."

Hearing this made Michael ponder. "I would ask why Afton would do that, but I can guess he wanted to keep his trade secrets regarding you all. But still, firing and then suing him? Isn't that overkill?"

Her eyes flashed until they landed briefly on red. "I'm sorry, but you will have to ask him about it."

Mmh, I doubt he'd tell me. But maybe… "Alright, then. One last question before moving on to something else: if you can tell me, who exactly was the guy that almost found a way to help you girls? What was his name?"

This time, both their eyes alternated from red to blue and back for a moment. The sight made his eyes spin; he could only guess they were having a difficult time trying to answer without violation. At last, it was Bonni who spoke up.

"His name is restricted, along with his position, but you do know him—you've listened to his advice in this room when you first arrived."

Surprise ran through Michael's mind as he recalled the recorded messages left for him from his first four days. Those messages which warned about the girls' behavior, about Afton's past layoffs, and then something that would help the girls "get better"—all of that was from the previous nightguard. Michael couldn't believe it was the same guy; he figured the messages were just on the whim. He didn't know the guy also went the distance by searching for a solution to end the quartet's erratic behavior. Again, Mr. Afton's own behavior came up in his mind, and his discussion with Greg earlier made the issue more dubious. If Mr. Afton was looking to fix the girls, then why get rid of the person who was looking to do the same? In his shoes, Michael would've listened and cooperated with the guy; but Afton did more than the opposite—he tried to ruin him. His scrutiny was interrupted by Frenni's voice.

"Is something the matter? You appear to be lost in thought," she asked.

Michael shook his head. "N-No, not at all—something just came up, that's all. Anyway, I'd like to hear a bit more about you all."

"How about the number of positions we can do on-scene and behind-the-scenes?" Bonni teased.

"Pass." Michael's immediate and blunt answer definitely amused the two, as they shared a warm smile.

And the rest of their first conversation proceeded as such, with the occasional moments of rib-poking and embarrassment. In the end, Michael noted both Frenni and Bonni were enjoying themselves. Even though they were still etched with sensual lure, there was a slight difference. This time, their eyes were glowing ever-so-slightly, almost glistening.

For Michael, that was a start in the right direction.

---

Day 3

Michael groaned in disgust when he checked the new list in the security room.

When he approached the club's back entryway for tonight, he expected it to run as before. Watching the cameras, doing buildings sweeps and assigned chores in-between, and perhaps share a few sociable words with the building's lovely animated sentient companions. Although the latter had only begun last night—and felt a little odd—it was a better means of passing the time than burning his eyes out while staring at screens for a longer time. Frankly, if he was being honest with himself, he preferred the company; it was much better than what he went through last week, without a doubt. Only, this was not the reason for his discontent. Instead, it was what he found upon entering the building.

After dropping off his pack in the locker room, he proceeded down the back hallway to circle around the main stage and reach the security room. However, he noticed some yellow tape draped over a certain doorway while walking through, and realized it was the restrooms. At first, he didn't give it much thought; faulty plumbing was bound to happen in any given place. As he separated himself from the crowd and entered his destination, he found another note sitting on his desk. This time, the list came with a few new chores:

1. Restock the bar's special liquors via the back storage room

2. Clean a drunkard's mess in the bathroom (beware the stench!)

3. Clean the tabletops and chair seats (use disinfectants in storage)

4. No sex in the nightclub

While rolling his eyes at the last one, Michael's sight landed on the second job—and understood. Hence his disgust; even though he was no stranger to finding unpleasant filth while in his old job. This would be his first time utilizing janitorial skills in the club's restroom, and despite knowing it would come eventually, he dreaded what he would find. After all, club bars and bathrooms tended to make a nasty combination, particularly when fast food items were thrown into the mix as well. This was not to mention another certain kind of mess could potentially await him; this was a place where erotica was the entertainment, and the note gave no specifics. Shivering in disgust, he quickly decided to leave that task for last instead; the staff locker room had shower stalls as well, so it made more sense to do so. He had no intention of smelling like boozed-out vomit for any extension of his shift.

Notably while spending casual talk with the club's nightly occupants once more.

Well, work is work, and it isn't gonna get done with me standing around brooding. Sighing, Michael signed himself in the security system and eye-swept the monitors, making sure the crowds in the screens were behaviorally stable. After a confirmation, he moved out to the storage room to gather supplies.

Soon the club was empty, dark, and silent—but not for long as Michael began his two-fold work.

By this time, he had already assembled the cleaning supplies he needed for the tasks ahead. Even better was that he already completed one of them: while searching for the sprays and rags in the storage room, he came across the special liquors meant to be restocked; so, once he ensured the consumers had left for the night, he brought out both the cleansing materials as well as the liquors. The former was placed on one table, while the latter was unloaded from their boxes and arranged on the bar shelves. There was not great light quality in the bar area at this time, but he could see the bottles' labels well enough. At times, he felt his eyes widen as he recognized the ages of a few drinks, and imagined their potential prices. He largely ignored them, figuring this place was popular enough that his boss could afford such commodities.

With the heavy-lifting and sorting out of the way, he then started with the next assignment. Taking one rag in hand, Michael made his way from one table to the next, wiping any clear crumbs, spills, or residue first. He also did this for every chair, in case anything from the tabletops fell onto the seats. When he finished this, the soiled rag was discarded into a nearby trash bin, and he went back to where he started. This time, it was with another rag wetted by soapy water, and his initial process was repeated. Another thrown-out rag later, and the final step including the cleaning spray began. It was when he had begun rubbing that he heard a melodic voice echo in the dim clubroom.

"Has Mr. Afton got you working hard again?"

His trailed on a familiar blue-eyed form wearing a white, short sleeve-puffed shirt and black top hat. Frenni appeared from the side of the main stage, walking towards him while trailing her fingers along the edges of the tables she passed. He wasn't that surprised for her to show up at this point; since he began working here, it seemed like she was always the first to check on his whereabouts. Even in the rare occasion that she did not come out of her recharge pod first, Frenni always called out or went straight for him. Although he found it weird that she kept honing in on him like that, it was no longer a bother upon knowing the reason for it. But it did bring up a question he wanted to ask. As she stopped by the tabletop he was working on, he introduced his query.

"Pretty much," he said in a welcoming manner. "Tell me though, are you usually the first to finish recharging?"

As if reading his thoughts, Frenni smirked. "Not always, but my position as the girls' leader compels me to keep an eye out for them. In truth, there is no way to tell which of us will complete a recharge cycle first, and who wakes up first by extension. Mr. Afton mentioned once that this was a hassle, as it meant he could not decide whom would be available on-shift."

Michael nodded, half-understanding. "That could be a problem. Could it somehow be involved with that glitch we mentioned before?"

Frenni stood motionlessly for a few seconds, her eyes neither blinking by reflex nor color. "…It is a possibility," she said at last. Without warning, she twirled one of his table's chairs to sit backwards and nestled herself into the seat. With her arms crossed on the back top of the chair, and her legs split apart by the same piece, he was given a tantalizing view of her ebony thong and toned thighs. Whether it was intentional or not, he couldn't tell by her expression, except that she looked comfortable in the position.

Focusing back on the task at hand, Michael noticed a particular spot he was finding tough to scrub off. While reaching for the solvent spray, he asked her, "If your recharge time is random, that that means there's a chance your power won't be replenished. Doesn't that leave you all vulnerable to collapsing mid-performance?" He got his answer as he sprayed the solvent on his handcloth to begin scrubbing again.

"Yes, but we are able to avoid that by moderating our actions while on shift," Frenni explained, "such as minimizing our movements during dance sessions, or balancing the volume of my vocals in a show. We can still read our charge percentage, and take precautions in using what energy we have in the most efficient and effective ways." She raised an arm to uphold the side of her head, gazing dreamily as he continued his work. "This also applies to tasks that take far less energy than a full stage operation."

"You mean, those other tasks you and Bonnie mentioned before?"

Frenni nodded. "Walking around with trays full of food and drink is much less labor-intensive than full shifts of dancing, singing, and music-playing. Of course, our consumers and clienteles do not know this; as long as they get to see and speak with us as long as the club allows, then their time—and money—is considered well-spent. And the 'special package' deal they receive, should they pay extra, is a bonus."

"And what exactly is this 'special package'?"

"An hour with any of us of their choosing. This is normally held in one of the VIP rooms upstairs, so there are no interruptions."

Michael looked up from his chore. "Normally?"

"The package also used to be offered within Pirates Cove, but…" Her eyes then flashed red briefly. "My apologies, but the rest is restricted."

I'm guessing it's because it got deteriorated as much as Foxxy, Michael mused, remembering the state of her cove during the blackout. An ugly thought then struck him, and he voiced his concern to his occupant. "Wait, if this 'package' involves one of you and someone else in a room, alone, isn't that bordering on violating the first rule in the club?"

"Bordering? Yes," Frenni elaborated. "Violating? No. Most of the time is spent striking conversation or providing company, with the occasional beverages. Flirting is permitted, but anything beyond intimate touching or groping is forbidden."

"For a bunch of animatronic women who are designed for eroticism," Michael observed, "Mr. Afton is pretty adverse about allowing any sort of physical contact in his club."

Frenni shifted slightly in her seat. "Mr. Afton once said there was a charm about 'forbidden fruit' that makes it unspeakably desirable," she reflected, "and it becomes more popular the more it is out of reach, no matter its proximity. Thus, by having us 'unsoiled and pure', our attraction stays at its peak in the minds of those who come."

Forbidden fruit, indeed. "But that came at the cost of not connecting with anyone." Realizing the innuendo he made, he quickly corrected himself. "Socially, I mean."

Her eyes went downcast. "Yes, that was a factor."

Michael stopped his table-wiping for the moment. When he learned about the girls' inability to socialize, he assumed it was solely out of Mr. Afton's personal choice. Now, however, there were other ulterior reasons; namely, a ploy towards popularity. By advertising something that men sought but couldn't touch—no matter how close they got—Afton ensured a steady, if not growing, flow of patrons to put his club on the map. While this benefited him to great effect, it cost the girls in the opposite way. It sounded more like Mr. Afton cared less for his creations than Michael thought—his boss was using the girls' 'purity' as a marketing ploy, when all said and done.

"Okay, going back to our conversation last night," Michael said, not wanting to continue their previous discussion, "you listed off what you all can do in the club when you're off-stage. What about bar duties, or even 'bouncing'? I've seen Mr. Afton occupy the bar frequently, but what about if he's unavailable? That would leave you or one of the girls to handle an unfamiliar job, or deal with any rowdy patrons."

Frenni looked at him curiously. "Are you concerned that we cannot keep the peace if we have to?"

"Well, Afton is the boss of the club," he said sheepishly, "but he can't be everywhere. Nor can I, as of recently. And if I can't be there, who will?" His response was a deep hum from the bear-eared gal.

"How chivalrous of you. If you must know, playing bartender is no strange thing to us. Who do you think provides the beverages for those requesting the special package? And if things do get rowdy, whether by drunkenness or violating the first rule, we can send them out to dry. Especially me and Bonni, whom are several times stronger than your average male." Frenni lazily leaned over the table, with both her arms propped up to support her head. This action caused her breasts to press against the table surface, and provide an ample sight of her cleavage through her unbuttoned shirt collar. "As you can see, while we girls are more than able to handle ourselves, I am quite capable of keeping the club and its employees safe from public nuisances." She lifted a finger to hold up Michael's chin. "Especially a certain employee. Isn't that right, Foxxy?"

Picking up on her last comment—and sudden change of direction of sight—he turned his head, and jumped on the spot with a yell. There behind him was Foxxy, trying her best to sneak up on him without being noticed. Her cover blown, she slumped her hand and claw—which had been raised as if to grab his shoulders—to her sides in an exasperated mood. It was clear she was not happy at being caught, let alone by one of her own peers.

"Are ya serious? I would've had him!" Foxxy said angrily at Frenni.

"Not as long as I'm keeping watch over the rest of you," Frenni said cooly. "As far as the rules say, you cannot inflict serious bodily harm on another human, whether he is a coworker or not. And Michael is a good man. You can trust him."

"I'll believe it when I see it fer myself," Foxxy muttered to herself. Without letting her sub-manager say any more, she slunk away to the far end of the clubroom, in the direction of her cove. It was only when she was truly out of sight that Michael managed to regain his breath.

"Thanks for that," he sighed.

"You are most welcome," Frenni smiled with a wink, "and don't worry: nothing will harm our newest and sweetest coworker. I will see to that."

Michael returned her smile for a moment, then looked down. "All the same, I wish I can smooth things over with her, or at least know why exactly she hates me. I prefer she and I aren't at odds for the duration of my time here."

"She doesn't hate you," another voice chirped. "She's having a hard time giving herself a chance to be familiar with you."

The owner of the voice trotted up to the two from the main stage. Her straining white apron and matching orange socks and cap standing out in the dimness with her yellow skin, Chica greeted Frenni with a nod and a smile. She laid her eyes on Michael, and approached him with open arms. Just as she was about to hug him, he stopped her with an upheld hand. Confusion swirled in her lavender eyes until he showed her the wet rag in his other hand, and explained.

"Sorry, but I'm on sanitation duty right now," he said, discomfited. "Wouldn't want you or the others to get soiled and impure, right?"

A light blush colored Chica's cheeks as her face contorted into playful disgust. "Ew." She drew her arms back in surrender, sticking her tongue out cutely. From the side, he heard Frenni chuckling brightly, and he turned to see her smiling brightly.

"That was not exactly what I meant before," the sub-managing animatronic said amusingly, "but well-played, regardless."

Glad that he managed to set up a lighter atmosphere, Michael proceeded with his work in a marginally more enthusiastic manner, all the while talking with the two women with him. As they spoke, he was able to glean a few details about his compatriots. Being the leader of her quartet, Frenni Fazclaire was also the more intelligent of them; while the others had their own personality oddities, she was more aware of her surroundings, and thus became curious whenever Michael was around. Their exchange of information was a fair trade, as it allowed both to better understand their worlds. In a similar way, Chica enjoyed talking with him, too. Her curiosity and fascination of him compelled her to see and hear more of him, making her as social as Frenni. What made her different was her mannerisms; unlike her leading counterpart, Chica was shy and more bashful, which made her sound and act bit younger. These quirks, in Michael's opinion, were rather charming.

At some point, Chica gasped in exclamation as she thought of something. "There's something you said during the blackout which I found intriguing," she asked Michael. "You said your occupation here was out of necessity. May I ask why?"

"I would like to know the circumstances as well," Frenni agreed, her curiosity piqued as well.

…

Michael had stopped abruptly, his arm in the middle of a clean wipe. Feeling the air turn awkward, he kept his answer short. "I lost my previous job this past year," he murmured, "and, uh, my parents too."

Both women's eyes went wide at this information, and their faces displayed traces of sadness. Frenni sat frozen on the spot, unmoving. Chica, on the other hand, was visibly shamed for asking a touchy subject, even if unintentionally. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

"I-It's okay," Michael sighed. "You didn't know."

"…Do you want to change that by talking about it?" Frenni asked in a tender tone.

As she asked, unneeded memories suddenly assaulted his mind. Wincing, he tried his best to quash them in his head. "Let's just say that's a topic which would make my eyes turn red," he said at last, quietly and dismally. "I hope you understand what I mean."

…

Frenni stared at him, her blue eyes wavering, and nodded. "O-Of course. I did not mean to unsettle you."

"Neither did I," Chica said sadly.

"Don't worry about it," he said half-heartedly. "It's in the past—all I can do now is soldier on and hope for the best in the future."

Both girls nodded at his words, and the topic was dropped. From then on, the three continued chatting while following Michael as he progressed from one tabletop to the next. All the while, Michael noticed something strange with the girls' behavior. Since the mention of his past loss, the two became quite affected, especially Frenni; while Chica's behavior changed to embarrassment, Frenni's behavior was more drastic. Her usual confident and bold demeanor had vanished in place of a reserved sadness. The expression on her face whenever she didn't speak made her appear to be in a weird trance, staring at nothing at all. Despite knowing each other for just over a week, it didn't sit well for Michael to see her like this. In the end, he hoped this change was not serious.

Soon, the last of the tables and chairs were washed, cleaned and dried. Michael informed the two women of his grueling next job, but did his best to lighten the mood before they left. He was partially successful, as Chica gave a bright half-smile after another playful "ew" from hearing what he was about to do. Frenni, on the other hand, bade him good luck on his endeavor, though it was without her flirtatious mannerism. As he parted ways with them, and walked over to the storage room, he began to feel a little down himself. Seeing this side of them made him sad, and he knew his sadness was caused by bringing up that part of his past. Because of it, the girls started to think they failed in making him comfortable in the club. As he entered his destination, he wished for a solution for both problems.

My happiness is what's making them happy, he thought as he pulled over a janitor's cart to load his necessities. And in a way, it's working the other way too. Which means, they can't be happy if the feeling isn't mutual. Guess it shows how much they value companionship…

After Michael ensured he had everything he needed from the storage room, he wheeled the cart to the taped door to the restroom. Removing a face mask and a pair of latex gloves from their boxes, he put them on his person, making sure they were on tight. Then, taking a roll of paper towels and the wetted mop in his hands, he faced the door. Taking a deep breath in his mask, he prayed that whatever awaited him inside wasn't as bad as he dreaded, and removed the tape from the doorframe. With his foot, he opened the bathroom door to enter.

To put it simply, he was soooooo glad to have left this task for last, and use the locker room's shower forthwith.

---

Day 4

A pair of police officers walked past Michael in a well-lit hallway.

Despite expecting today to go as usual, Michael received an unexpected phone call. The dispatcher—or rather, the receptionist—on the other line was from the city's police department, requesting Michael's presence. Michael was surprised by this turn of events; he hadn't gotten a call from law enforcement in a long while. It was not because of an incident or bad behavior on his part, though; rather, his family had a friend there who he had not heard a word for some time. And yet, he had a feeling he knew why they were reaching out to him now. He confirmed his arrival at the department building once he ensured his time was open, and set off.

It was still midday by the time he arrived at the police building. After he entered and verified himself at the receptionist desk, he was given instructions on where to go on a piece of paper, and then proceeded to the elevator. His destination was the eighth office along a corridor on the fourth floor, so there was a decent trek to get there. As he made his way after leaving the elevator, he kept passing police officers as well as a few maintenance and janitorial staff. Voices and phone calls filled the floor as everyone fulfilled their business and errands. It was definitely busy, as to be expected in a huge city like this.

Staring at the written tab of paper in his hand, he spotted its matching office door number. Knocking twice, he heard a feminine voice permitting him to enter. Upon opening the door, he was met with the sight of a somewhat organized room lined with cabinets and a decent-sized metal work desk. Behind this desk was a blonde woman who was completely delved in a report packet. Michael knew her all too well.

Back in the day, Vanessa Xueli had been raised in a rough section of the city, and therefore led a coarse life. Fortunately, this led to a desire to make her neighborhood a better place to live; and upon reaching legal age, she sought to make it so by joining the police force. Shortly after becoming an officer, she met Michael's mother, and ever since then, she became an expected acquaintance in the household. This occasional visiting wasn't because of a laid-back personality—quite the opposite. In fact, she was actually hard-working, and took no nonsense whether on or off-duty. It helped that her devotion was fueled by her loyalty to the family she had left, and to the family that also took her in. When Michael was born shortly after his parents' marriage, she doubled her efforts on the job, if only to protect her blood and bond relatives. It was thanks to this selfless dedication that—after Michael began his adult life—she was promoted as a detective for the police force. Despite her new position, she made every effort to visit, and greeted him and his family with a smile.

Sadly, much of that lifestyle changed when his parents died. The detective took the loss almost as hard as Michael did, as she lost a sister figure she deeply wanted in past years. At one point, it started to affect her work, but then she got back on track thanks to a new drive: to find the person who took her sister figure from her. Since then, Detective Xueli has led the case regarding his parents' deaths, working tirelessly to avenge them and bring their destroyer to justice. Even though this led to much fewer visits, Michael always knew that she was doing her best to look out for him, and bring any level of closure.

Michael knocked on the door frame a few times. After flipping over a page, she looked up at the source of the sound. Her upturned face, which betrayed her Chinese-Taiwanese heritage, lit up as she recognized him.

"Oh! Mr. MacGowan—glad you could make it," she said, putting her packet away for the moment. "I do apologize for the suddenness of the call."

"It's okay," Michael said, closing the door behind him and taking the seat in front of her desk. It became much quieter compared to the clamor outside. "I know you wouldn't call on the job unless it was important."

"Well, you're half-right about that. You see, there's been a break in your parents' case." Immediately his eyes and ears went on full alert, and she continued. "I've been following up on interviewing the residents around the site of the accident for several months, and I discovered one witness account which differed from the others. Namely, it concerns the offensive vehicle's direction of travel. After going backwards along its direction—and finding a few collaborating witnesses along the way—I found the car's point of origin." She took out a long piece of paper from her desk, and laid it in front of him. He saw the paper was a map of the city, and certain points were highlighted along with their adjacent streets. The detective drew a finger from one end of the line—the place where his parents were killed—all the way to the other end, and tapped on it. "This is the rental lot where the car came from—it's a wonder we found it at all."

"But, didn't you already figure the car was a rental before?" Michael asked with a hint of disappointment.

"Yes, and I already spoke with the manager there, and he confirmed the vehicle's ID as one of his. With this, I had hoped to learn to whom he rented the car." Her expression turned to match his disappointment. "Unfortunately, this same lot also takes cash along with checks, and didn't bother with checking IDs. Nonetheless, I had the manager brought in to provide a description, even if a year has already passed. No matches so far, as expected." She stopped upon seeing Michael's expression; it was clear this was not exactly the good news he had hoped it would be. "Don't look so down, now. This doesn't mean I'm giving up. It may not be the good news you were hoping for, but it's a start in the right direction."

Michael perked up a bit at her words. "Thanks for that. Um, you said I was half-right—what was the other thing?"

"I also wanted to see how you're doing," Vanessa replied kindly.

"It's been a struggle, honestly," Michael said after a moment. "I'm having to juggle visiting/checking in on my grandma on top of adjusting to my new job. Not to mention I'm barely breaking even on my housing situation."

Detective Xueli nodded, her green eyes full of sympathy. "I understand. Though, I'm glad you found a new occupation after losing your old one. What is your new position?"

"I'm working as a nightguard at a club," Michael answered, safeguarding the details out of discomfiture. "It's not the kind of job I enjoyed before, but it's something to keep me afloat."

"Mmh. What about your counseling sessions—how were they doing for you?"

Michael thought back on her meaning. After he finally settled his parents' affairs since the incident, he had been undergoing grief counseling by thanks of Vanessa Xueli. Because those affairs took so much money, he could no longer afford anything besides maintaining his life; and with the twisting pain of his parents' deaths still fresh in his heart and soul, he didn't want his depression to extend into the rest of his lifestyle. Fortunately, Ms. Xueli was there to catch him before such a fall happened; since his mother was a close friend, and due to her department investigating the case, she was able to offer some counseling sessions free of charge. Michael was thankful for her generosity, as those sessions kept him on his feet—until he lost his job, that is. By then, he had spent the last appointment with his therapist, and thus left a lot of spare time afterwards for job-searching which led him to his current occupation.

"They helped me keep going," he said, "but I still feel like I need them, honestly. Especially for what I'm facing now apartment-wise and job-wise. The latter is a far cry from my old job, which made the former not as much an issue."

"I understand it's a huge adjustment," the officer commiserated, "and after so many things happening at once in such a short time. Remember when I received my promotion? Even when I was expecting it, I still felt overwhelmed by the responsibilities and duties that came with the position. It was like stepping into a new life that didn't feel like my old one. Then I learned something that helped me adapt: even though a lot of things changed for me, there were still others that stayed the same. Once I made myself remember that which I was still familiar, it became easier to adjust to the unfamiliar." She took one of his hands into her own. "You position is no different, even if the changes are a lot more extreme. You still have your grandmother, your friends, and me to support you. So, instead of looking at your current life in a negative light, why not try being thankful for what you have in front of you?"

"The counselor said much the same thing," Michael mulled. "I appreciate the reminder… if only it did something to shake the loneliness. Sure, I have all of you, but I would still like to meet someone of a similar case as mine. My therapy sessions were just one-on-one, after all."

Detective Xueli considered his words while tapping her chin with a finger—a habit she had when in deep thought. "I may have something which can help," she said at last. Lifting herself out of her chair, she began to rummage through a tall column of file baskets set aside on one of her file cabinets. After several seconds of finger-scurrying, she picked out a decently-thick file folder. She then turned and presented it to him.

"This folder contains a pile of Missing Persons reports that have either been closed or gone cold," she explained. "As such, they are hardly of use to us at this point—but perhaps they can help you. Call this another of those consolation means: the people in here have certainly gone through situations like yours, and maybe worse. You can look through them and use them to reconsider your current position. Think of it as a surrogate group chat, in that you can still learn their stories." She slipped the folder in a manila envelope and placed it in his hands. "And if you find anything regarding these people and let me know, that's a bonus."

"Thanks, Vanny," he said, referring to the nickname he and his mother used to call her. This earned him a happy smile from his family friend.

"Anytime," Vanny welcomed.

---

Day 5

A dark metal tunnel continued to extend in front of him. Its squarish shape was covered in dust—or fog, he couldn't tell. Every harsh breath felt full of stale air; and his tongue tasted iron on his gums. The tight walls made it hard to move other than forward. But that was all he could do—one hand after the next, panting hard, and moving fast. He had to move fast, because he felt something was also there, just behind him. That something wanted to hurt him; every time his hands came into view, they were tainted red. Blood—his blood. No time to stop—gotta keep moving, gotta get away. Finally, there was an end to the tunnel—but it was blocked by bars. Breathing hard in the cramped space, he dared to look back. Lurking in the darkness was a pair of sickly purple eyes glowing at him, unmoving…

…and a clawed arm of the same color shot out to grab him—

His body jolted upright from his bed, breathing hard.

Rubbing his eyes, Michael's sight slowly adjusted to his surroundings. He was no longer cornered in the tunnel, but in his bedroom in his apartment. The ceiling light and corner lampstand were off, but the former's fan still twirled at a steady pace. On his right, the drapes for the window were closed, but the edges allowed an orange tint of light to escape from the other side. His sense of time returning to him, he remembered taking a nap around midday, so the outside light color meant it must be late afternoon now. Checking the alarm clock on the nightstand beside him, he confirmed his suspicion, and the fact that it was almost forty minutes before his assigned wake-up call.

Putting a hand to his chest, he found the palm come back sweaty. Taking a few deep breaths, he leaned back, flopping back on his bed. This was the first time he had a nightmare not involving that day. He had those nightmares over the past year, but they had been deteriorating over time. With the aid and support from his friends, remaining family, and therapy, the illusions had a much weaker grip on his mind. Still, though, the images his brain generated while in his sleep were vivid enough for him to not forget. There were even times when, after waking up, he needed time to realize that he was no longer dreaming.

Such was the effect of phantasmagorias when they are interwoven with reality and tragedy.

Regardless, this dream was different. It was so unrelated to what he'd been unconsciously imagining, that it took him off-guard and became even more frightening for it. Its fear-provoking strength was enough to overcome the effect of the melatonin pills he took earlier for his nap. What made it worse was that he had no idea what his dream meant, or why his mind imagined such things. Normally he ignored such hallucinations; dreams were simply a means for the brain to keep exercising itself, even when its owner was slumbering. Simply, any images generated had no real meaning. However, he learned from his past therapy sessions that should certain dreams come in such clear-cut clarity, it meant his brain was sending a subconscious message to him, with elements that only he could piece together. Yet, nothing from this particular nightmare connected to anything.

A while of tossing and turning later, and he remained wide awake. No longer feeling the need to continue his nap, he whisked the covers off and pulled himself out of bed. Trudging out of the room, he headed for the shower to shake his thought process back into order.

Following his washdown and a microwaved pot pie for dinner, Michael sat himself in the living room sofa. It was now well into the evening, and despite having the television before him, he didn't feel like watching anything to pass the time. Although the shower helped, as did a full belly, he could still sense the after-effects of his dream swirling within him. Over a year ago, this did not present such a problem. Back then, whenever he felt like this, his occasional solution was to talk to someone. However, the present need did not provide the best options: his grandmother was asleep by now; Greg is driving home from his job, and thus couldn't pick up; and Vanny was still on the job. And his parents… weren't around anymore. Thus, with no one to voice his disquiet, the feeling of loneliness grew in his mind and heart. This was another aspect that now set off discomfort; before, he enjoyed the silence of his apartment after spending all day working in the wood-cutting, metal-soldering, and forklift-driving spaces of his old job. In these recent times, though, he learned that when there was nothing to do, the silence becomes far more deafening.

He really needed something to distract himself right now.

Searching for anything in the apartment to do that, his eyes landed on a manila object on the dining table. It was the envelope that Vanny gave him yesterday; after his visit in her office, he made a detour back here to drop it off before continuing to his job shift. A few minutes passed as he continued to stare at it, and he sighed in defeat.

Maybe a little reading is what I need, he decided. Vanny did say this would help me, and I'd be remiss to ignore her advice.

Pushing himself off the sofa, he walked over to the table. Once he sat back down, his hands picked up the envelope and pulled out its contents. The file within was full of Missing Persons reports of complete strangers, ranging in all ages, backgrounds, and ethnicities. The various pictures of people finally caught his brain's interest, if just a tad, and commenced with reading the old cases and reports. Eventually, he lost track of time as he continued reading the articles. After going through a large chunk, he noticed that only a handful of these cases had been marked as resolved. Like Detective Xueli said, some of them had better endings than others; but most of them were not as fortunate. A few were even worse than what he was going through; one of which was of a young dark-skinned girl in a white-collared red sweater that was eventually found, but too late, within an elevator shaft of an abandoned mall. Such outcomes wrenched his heart in a bad way.

However, one kept gaining his attention in a more pleasant way.

The report's picture portrayed a really cute Indian woman about his age, with tanned skin, brown eyes, and very dark brown wavy hair. Judging from the little background it showed, she was in some kind of outdoor beach bar. However, it wasn't just the image which caught his interest, but the circumstances of her disappearance. From what the report said, her name was Ariel Mahi, and she had flown in to the country from India as a transfer college student. With her exotic appearance, voice, and confident attitude, she became an instant hit in her new community, and was using those traits for her dream job as a singer. Only, after a few years, she vanished without a trace. It was clear that someone was still looking, since the article was printed as an ongoing case; but given the time that passed, Michael could only imagine the odds of finding her now were slim to none.

She does have a positive attitude, he thought as he viewed the girl's face in the picture. Not unlike me before tragedy struck. In a way, she and I both had successful starts in making a new life for ourselves—we have that much in common. A slight smile appeared on his face.

It was a plus that she was a beauty to look at and admire.

A yellow post-it was stuck on one corner of the picture, with a scribbled line written in pen. Michael recognized the line as an online video link, and it took a moment for him to realize its connection. After staring between the note and the girl's information, his curiosity won over, and he pulled over his laptop. A few taps and clicks later, and the link's site displayed on the screen; and another click allowed the video to start playing. From what he could see, the video was recorded from someone's phone, and then uploaded to the website. As such, the quality of the video screen was not exactly high-quality; specks of static could be seen occasionally. Even with the grains of the video, he could tell the setting was at a tropical beach-themed karaoke bar, with the Indian girl on center stage. On the other hand, the volume was peak, and Michael could hear every joyful call and applause from the foregrounded audience, as well as the host's introduction of the present performer. As the instrumental music began playing, Ariel Mahi began to sing.

The voice that caroled from the speakers made his ears and eyes jolt.

For every note that sprang from the young woman, her tone was almost exactly that of Frenni at the nightclub. There were a few subtle differences: compared to the club's lower, sultry tenor, the tune playing here was lighter and happier; and the animatronic bear-woman's tone was more Americanized than what he was hearing now. The likeness between melodies was so surreal.

As he continued to listen, he stayed unmoving from his seat. The girl's voice was beautiful to his ears, like a siren's song pulling in a forlorn sailor. It was just as captivating as when he heard Frenni's vocal performance several nights ago. Michael didn't move until the song and video ended with the screen visibly shaking, as the recorder was likely applauding like everyone else. Once more, he realized the semblance between singers, as both received equal levels of approval and praise.

Could it be that both are connected somehow? Michael wondered. Maybe this girl served as Mr. Afton's inspiration for his lead singer? …No, my ears and brain must be playing tricks on me, and making connections that aren't there.

Tearing his eyes from the screen, he saw the clock reading 10:43pm and huffed to himself. He had been checking out Vanny's reports longer than he thought, so all of his overthinking could be justified. Shaking his head, he closed the laptop and put away the report. With them out of the way, he started to prepare to leave, and begin his night shift once again.

---

Day 6

A large yawn escaped Michael, stretching his oral muscles to the point of aching.

That was the result of stretching out and relieving the aches in his legs while sitting in tonight's shift. Today had been unusually busy for him, and he hardly found the time to rest. From dawn till dusk, he found himself going around his community running errands: an early medical check-up for his grandmother, followed with helping her own grocery run; then there was a stop at his local hardware store for pipe fittings to fix a kitchen sink leak; after that came an unexpected call from Greg for an emergency pair of hands in reloading some spilled lumber boards. Once that was cleaned up, Michael headed home to resolve the mess underneath his sink; but not without making a stop at a gas station to at least partially refill his vehicle. By the time everything had been settled, the day dimmed to early evening with just enough time to rearrange his financial state on the phone, and finally prepare for his job duty.

Needless to say, his shift brought an errand list of its own.

As of now, he already did his rounds in his shift tonight, including his side-job assigned by his boss. It concerned the organization and number of supplies in the storage room, so that Mr. Afton could do any restocks if necessary. After a while of taking inventory on a sheet of paper, he left the list on the bar counter close to the stairs, so that his manager would see it when he entered the club. It was then he saw Frenni emerge from her gang's room, and he spared a little more time with her. Finally, he had returned to the security room, beginning his post with a tired body, mind, and eyes.

Wiping his eyes, he let his mind wander a bit. The fatigue in his body—along with the brightness of the screens—left him barely able to focus on the screens before him. Despite all he did, his busy day was not entirely the source of his exhaustion.

In truth, the source of his weary condition was from yesterday's nightmare. Since it happened, he hadn't been sleeping well. It was not anything new; the past year had given him a share of bad subconscious visuals. At least he knew why those came up; but his recent one was so different, he couldn't stop thinking of an explanation. Even the store-shelf sleeping pills he possessed deterred his ailment, it became that strong. As a result, he worried a similar hallucination would emerge if he shut his eyes long enough—an action he was currently trying to prevent.

Another yawn was let loose, this time causing a small cramp in his jaw. Holding the joint in his hands, he worked his mouth a few times until the ache vanished. The sensation woke him up a little bit, and allowed him enough awareness to review the premises. Checking the monitors again, he saw the one for the animatronics' room was rather grainy and hard to see. There was no sign of Bonni or Chica anywhere else, so he guessed they were still in the recharge pods. Only Frenni was out and about, sitting on the edge of the main stage swinging her legs absentmindedly. That was another issue altogether.

A few days ago, Frenni came down from her usual self, and acted more sheltered. The reason for her odd behavior was obvious: Michael revealed his recent lack of parents upon asking. As per their programming, the animatronic girls here were meant to make visitors and staff comfortable; but upon learning his grief was something they couldn't really fix, they became sad as well. Frenni was hit harder by this, due to her role as their leader. Luckily, his earlier chat with the girl bared some of her old self again. While this meant a semblance of normalcy returned between the two of them, it would also bring back Frenni's flirtatious and bold personality toward him. In Michael's mind, it was a mixed blessing, but it was better than having her too depressed to maintain the friendship she wanted.

Stretching his arms above his head, he stomped out another yawn that tried to worm out of his trachea. Michael couldn't keep this up while on the job; he felt the need to distract himself once again, from the desire of slumber. That thought brought his attention to a specific area on one of the camera feeds, overlooking the locker room door. Before coming here tonight, he decided to bring Vanny's folder with him as an extra item to help pass the time. It did work yesterday in that regard, so it ought to yield the same result for tonight. With his resolve solidified, he shoved the protests in his body aside as he lifted it out of his chair, and walked out. He carried himself across the clubroom and into the locker room, and sorted through his pack's essentials. Only a few seconds passed as he pulled out the thick folder, its weight making it curve in his hand. Tucking it under his arm, he trudged back to the security room… unaware that Frenni was watching him curiously from her spot, namely at his parcel.

As he sat back down in his post, he double-checked the angles of the monitors for his visual comfort, and reopened the file folder. One of the first articles was of the Indian singer that caught his eye, as it was the last one that he read before putting the folder away. Smiling at its picture briefly, he slid it in the back of the stack, and continued reading the others in a slow, passive way while casting glances at the screens. After some time, Mr. Afton called to check on the club's current status as usual, and then Michael was back to his multitasking. It wasn't until he was reading one article about a messy-brown-haired kid with a Band-Aid on his cheek, when he heard someone come in behind him. Turning his chair, he saw Frenni approaching from the hallway. Relaxing himself, he watched as she stopped at the doorway and stared at him, silently asking for permission to enter. Michael welcomed her in from his chair, and as she entered, Frenni scrutinized the paper he held in his hand.

"What are you looking at?" she asked.

Michael sighed, and showed her the article and the thick folder. "Oh, I'm just looking over something I was given earlier—people my age who either go missing, or experience some kind of tragedy that derails their lives. Apparently, it's becoming a more frequent occurrence in this day and age."

Frenni observed the article title and stayed silent for a while. "It sounds like you," she said tenderly.

Michael let out another sigh as he looked back at the page. "That's why I'm reading it—it's part of a sympathy treatment so I can relate to these people and remind myself that I'm not alone. Plus, it's supposed to help me find a way to heal from what I went through. Kind of like a coping mechanism."

"Is it helping?"

"Not sure. It does help knowing I'm not the only unfortunate guy; but then, learning what happened to certain others has the opposite effect." Remembering the Indian girl, he pulled out the report from the folder, and pointed to its photograph while staring at it. "For instance, this one girl named Ariel Mahi transferred to this country from India, and attended college in order to become a singer. Her acquaintances say she instantly became popular due to her impromptu karaoke shows, despite suffering from muscle-motor functions, and she was even being asked for public radio auditions. You can see in the photo she was clearly happy. But then she just left—no one's seen or heard from her since. Hard to understand why she would just leave with that kind of potential fame just within reach, right? …Frenni?"

THUD!

Jumping in his seat, he whipped around to see Frenni had fallen backward onto the floor. She didn't move at all, but her eyes were glowing green.

Startled, Michael jumped out of his chair. He then found his feet and mind frozen with worry as he stared down at the animatronic's still form. He hadn't expected this to occur. Racking his brain, he remembered the girls saying something about their eyes going green when undergoing an update. Only, he had no idea as to why this happened. The nightguard wasn't aware of anything major planned for the girls, so this was more likely random. But again, why now? Did he trigger something by accident? Or perhaps it was planned, and his boss forgot to mention it? Finding himself edging toward another panic attack, he took a few deep breaths to clear his mind. Right now, he needed to focus on getting Frenni somewhere more appropriate.

He then remembered what Mr. Afton had said on the phone a few days ago. Should one of the girls collapse, Michael should take them to the animatronics' room for recharging. Settling on his advice, Michael carefully tucked his arms underneath Frenni's shoulders and knees, and lifted her off the floor. As expected, her body felt just like a female human body, and just as heavy. Even so, he managed to carry her rather easily all the way across the clubroom to the animatronics' room. Somehow wriggling the knob, Michael got the door open and entered the room. Seeing a large island set in the middle of the room, he gently set his inert associate onto its surface.

Just as he did so, he heard a few dull clicks followed by slight hisses. Looking in their direction, he saw Chica and Bonni step out of their pods, having just finished recharging. Blinking sleepily, their awareness of Michael's presence in the room took hold, and seeing the reason lying on the island counter turned their alertness into confusion.

"Hey there, what happened to her?" Bonni asked.

"Is she alright, Mikey?" Chica wondered.

"I'm not sure," Michael answered quickly. "She just collapsed while I was at my post. Mr. Afton said to bring her here in case something like this happened."

Bonni observed her comrade for a moment. "Maybe it has something to do with her eyes," she said, pointing at her dormant friend's verdant eyes. Michael shook his head.

"Again, I'm not sure. But whatever the case is, I'm going to stay here with her when she wakes up. If not, a charge in the pods might help her—that's what Mr. Afton told me to do, too. In the meantime, you two let Foxxy know about this, and stay with her. I'll come by and let you all know if anything changes, okay?"

Both girls agreed to his orders, albeit a little reluctantly, and left to inform their hidden kin. With their absence, Michael and an unconscious Frenni were alone in the room. Another moment of watching her greenlit eyes was spared, and he spotted a foldup chair leaning near him. Unfolding it, he sat down to wait for her condition to improve. While doing so, he cast his sight toward his surroundings. Unlike the repair room, this area was much more brightly lit, and set up to be more accommodating for people. Aside from the recharge chambers he usually saw before, the space also occupied separate vanity desks with tall mirrors. The lightbulbs which lined those mirrors lit up their end of the room, while ceiling lamps luminated the other; together, the bare, hot-pink-painted walls cast a stark brightness of their own. On the far end was a four-wheeled garment rack full of costumes, shoes and other cosplay accessories; while the side of the door held a wall-mounted strip rack for handheld instruments, full of various guitars and keytars. Combined with a separate long table along with the occupied long island in the center, and the remaining space created a sizeable runway circulating the room's perimeter.

Looking around, he realized this was his first time being in the animatronics' room. He had taken a glimpse or two in the past, but never walked in and explored it himself. Although Mr. Afton said this area was off-limits except for special circumstances, this situation did qualify as a must. At least I found something better to distract mysel—

His current thought stopped when Frenni's eyes blinked.

She jolted up, letting out a brief shrill scream. Michael jumped back in cold-sweating alarm; the tone of her cry was more agonizing than its volume. The metallic-toned shriek was full of agonizing pain, like a child bleeding from a terrible injury. Just as suddenly, the brown-skinned girl fell silent and hunched over, her back rising and falling as she breathed hard. A moment passed before she began to notice her environment.

"Wh-Where am I?" she asked confusedly. She then noticed Michael, who was also breathing hard from the scare. As their eyes met, Michael noticed her blue-pupiled eyes had returned, meaning whatever caused her green-eyed state had passed.

"Are you… alright, Frenni?" he asked, panting.

The animatronic girl looked back at him quizzically. "…Who're you?" she asked.

The question made the night guard pause. Not only that, her voice sounded a bit different too, with a traceable Indian accent. "Uhm… I'm Michael?"

The bear-eared girl kept her stare. "Ok, 'Michael', why did you call me 'Frenni'?"

The young nightguard simply stared back in shock. Does she not remember me anymore? Playing it safe for now, he pointed to the tag on her chest. "That's… what you're called," he said cautiously. "What name do you think you have?" Her answer caught him completely off-guard.

"My name is Ariel Mahi," she said matter-of-factly.

…

"Um… what?" he asked disbelievingly.

"Ariel Mahi," she said slowly, pronouncing each syllable.

"Uhhh, are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

Thoughts in his mind raced a mile a minute trying to process what was going on, but no answer came up to explain this. "Um, ahh—It's just… well, I've seen the photos of Ariel Mahi, a-and video clips too…" Seeing his stuttering was getting him nowhere, Michael put it bluntly. "You do sound like her, but… you don't look like her."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she replied, her voice becoming annoyed.

Racking his brain, he thought of a safe way to tell this animatronic girl what he meant. Sighing dejectedly, he decided that the only easy way was for her to see for herself. Hesitantly, Michael raised his hand up to show her, and pointed to his fingers. "Try doing this," he told her, wriggling them.

Suspicious, she obliged and wriggled her own fingers—upon which she noticed them. Her eyes widened as they slowly switched to her other hand, then up her arms, and to the rest of her body. Darting her head around, she saw the mirrors and dashed to them. Her breathing became labored as she viewed her bear-eared reflection.

"What—how… oh God," she quivered while reaching to the mirror, before crying out. "What did that bastard do to me?!"

Her legs began to tremble, ready to collapse again. Thinking quick, Michael jumped over and caught her before her limbs gave out. Easing her into a chair away from the mirrors, he knelt in front while holding one of her hands. Her other hand was seized by her sight as she continued to hyperventilate. After a while, she looked down at his hands holding hers, and then fixed her eyes back on him.

"…What happened to me?" she squeaked.

"Honestly, I have no idea what's happening now," Michael answered truthfully. "But if it'll help to better understand what's going on… what is the last thing you remember?" He then added a quick "you don't have to answer if you don't want to" in case he overstepped himself.

The brown-skinned girl thought to herself for a while, her face welled in confusion along with her tears. "There's so much in my head, it's hard to say," she explained. "A lot of these memories—the more recent ones—aren't even mine, and the ones that are mine… they're fuzzy and jumbled. I can hardly… make them out. The last thing I do remember, though, was being offered a chance to be ridden of my illness."

"Illness?"

"Yes. I have—I mean, had—a disease that affected my muscles and nerves. An incurable one. But he said he knew of a new way to stop it."

"Who made that offer?" Michael asked.

The girl held his hands tightly as her shoulders shook. "Afton."

For the umpteenth time, his eyes went wide. "As in William Afton?"

She looked at him, surprised. "You know him?"

"Well, yes. He runs this place, you see, and I work for him now… like you."

Frenni—no, Ariel—considered his words. "That seems to be the case… these other memories I have, some of them include you working here, as an employee." Closing her eyes, her breathing began to steady and slow. Eventually, her shaking ceased. Composing herself, she asked directly, "Please, tell me everything you know. About this place, what you do here… my new body. All of it—I need to know what's going on."

Michael considered her request. He wasn't sure if he ought to oblige her, because any bit of new information could set her off in a really bad way. After all, it's been a few years since Ariel Mahi vanished. At the same time, though, he couldn't refuse her either. When she looked up at him after seeing her reflection, her eyes were ones he recognized and understood completely. Eyes full of pain and trauma. If she couldn't have her old life back, then she deserved answers. In the end, his sympathy won out, and he rested his knees on the floor while kneeling.

"If you're able, make yourself comfortable," he counseled. "This may take a while."

The girl nodded in understanding. "Tell me."

Warily, Michael consented and told her about where she was and what he did here. He also described how he met Mr. Afton, along with his experiences while working here. The latter he kept brief—he wasn't sure whether the girl in front of him wanted to know the details of those encounters—but he did mention the blackout incident, and how they came to a friendly agreement. Throughout his explanations, the animatronic woman sat still and listened intently, despite her face being semi-contorted in fear. Whatever thoughts she had, she kept to herself for the moment. By the time he was finished, she still had that face of impending dread. Her first question to ask, unfortunately and yet unsurprisingly, was the one he worried would be asked.

"How long has it been-my being missing?"

Michael hesitated, not really wanting to respond to that. However, he knew it would be crueler to keep his silence now—he already got this far, anyway. "… From what I read, at least three years," he said at last.

Her eyes stared at nothing as her lips silently mouthed 'three years', letting his answer sink in. Blinking slowly, she raised her hands and regarded their texture as they grasped at each other. Her body stayed this way until she raised her attention to Michael, along with her hands to show him.

"So… if this isn't my old body," she whispered, "then… that means it's… gone?"

"That… might be the case," Michael considered sadly. As expected, his response left her broken; she sought to hold her face while she wept, but couldn't bear to touch herself with hands that weren't truly hers. So, she simply hung her head down, leaving her palms unattended. Not wanting to leave her hanging like that, he brought his hands to hers, sandwiching them softly. Thinking of something, he tried to remedy her grief. "If it's any consolation, someone I know is still looking for you, so it's not like everyone forgot you."

This seemed to perk her up, as she lifted her head up a tad. Her hair bangs, now messy from her crying, covered her eyes in a bar-like fashion. "…Really? Who?"

"A family friend—she gave me your case a few days ago. That's how I know about you."

A faint light of hope figuratively lit up her eyes. Before she could inquire any further, an alarm began buzzing in his pocket. Reaching in, Michael stared at his phone and flinched. It was the alarm for 5:45am, meaning he had only fifteen minutes before his shift ended. Almost immediately a spear of panic launched into his brain. Regardless of how this transpired, he could not let his boss know about this development. He needed time to find a way to clear up this mess, somehow; otherwise, it would look as if he tampered with one of Mr. Afton's creations. Speaking of, he definitely couldn't inform him; if what this girl said was true, that he was responsible for her state, then nothing good would come from such exposure, neither for her nor Michael. Either way, Michael needed to know what exactly was going on here by himself. Thinking fast, he stood up while maintaining his hold on her hands.

"Listen, um, Ariel," he said, gaining her full attention. "I need to leave soon because my work shift is almost up. But I will come back here by midnight tonight—I promise." Seeing her panic return, he immediately continued. "In the meantime, you'll have to look as if you're still asleep like before. Can you do that?"

"Y-Yes," she said shakily, "but what are you thinking?"

Michael pointed to the recharge pods. "Those are meant for you to sit in and recharge your body—think of it as a sleeping capsule. You can get in one, and stay in it until I return—I'll let you know when it's safe. Otherwise, do not come out or react to anything or anyone else."

"What if it's Afton?" she asked.

"Not even him—leave it to me. Once I give the all-clear tonight, we can spend the entire night sorting this out. Okay?" He hoped the determined voice he aired was enough to convince her. Thankfully, it was as she nodded. With that, he guided her to the open pod Chica was in earlier. Once the bear-eared girl was inside, he reaffirmed her safety and his comeback before closing the door, and locking it. It then took him a moment to examine the control panel on the side of the pod, but soon its cycle was running accordingly. Certain that all was set, Michael took one last look at the pod's viewport—the clear visor was already fogging up due to its occupant's steady breathing—and confirmed she started her forty winks. From there, he proceeded with the next step of his ramshackle plan.

After leaving the pink-painted room, he detoured to the locker room for his belongings, and then returned to the security room to sign out. While there, he picked up his file folder and made sure every content of its contents was accounted for, and secured in his pack. Once assured, he began walking out—but not to the back exit yet. Keeping his previous oath with the others, Michael stopped outside Pirates Cove and called for Bonni and Chica. When they appeared, he told them that although Frenni made some twitches of movement, she showed no signs of waking, and he already placed her into one of the pods for a cycle. Both girls took his word, even while declaring that she turned out alright by nightfall.

When he finally passed through the exit, he recalled their words and hoped the same thing himself.

By the time he got home, he possessed another reason for reprieve for sleep to be dashed.

---

Day 7

Michael got a real sense of déjà vu while walking through the police hallway.

His reason for coming back was largely due to the incident with Frenni during his last shift at the club. Since then, he couldn't stop thinking about it: her falling over in the security room, her hair-raising wake-up… her reaction in the mirror… and everything afterwards. It was way more out-of-character for Frenni than him mentioning his parents' deaths a couple days ago. Despite the level of bewilderment, a wild idea did pop up to explain her new behavior. It was crazy enough to be borderline impossible, but no matter how hard he tried, he found no other way to explain the situation. At some point, he realized that the only person who could possibly piece things together—apart from Mr. Afton—was Vanny. After all, she did say any information concerning the people in the reports she gave him would be helpful. Unfortunately, it was barely dawn by the time he thought this, and was forced to wait another hour until her department opened.

It was one of the longest hours he felt in a long time.

The moment their office block was half-an-hour past their opening time for visitors, Michael dialed for their receptionist. Once he voiced his request to see Detective Xueli for an urgent matter, the receiver set up an appointment time two hours from then. He accepted the opening, and almost dashed down the stairs. After having to sit around for an hour, with only his thoughts moving amuck in his head, he didn't feel the need to wait any longer than necessary.

It was a little more than an hour-and-a-half before his truck returned to the police department. The journey took longer than before due to morning traffic, but he was grateful for the pace to slow his racing mind. Upon his arrival, he registered his appearance at the front desk, but his early arrival meant he had to wait for a little while. This wait itself was almost as agonizing as the traffic, but the sounds of phones and people around him were enough to make the delay pass by. Finally, he was permitted to go to her office, and Michael spared no time. While walking along the fourth-floor hallway, he grasped his déjà vu was working in different ways. Before, he received the call to come here, only he made the call this time; and although he came here for answers like last time, the ones he sought now were different. Nonetheless, he hoped his family friend would be able to satisfy his inquiries.

At last, he reached Vanny's office door. Like his previous visit, he knocked and she allowed him inside. The scene in front of him was almost the same; the only difference was her expression, which was laced with surprise. "Hey there," she said attentively. "What brings you back so soon?"

Michael took his seat, forcing himself to be patient once more. "Sorry if this is rather sudden," he apologized, "but it's important."

"If it's important, then timing is irrelevant to me," she assured with confidence. "Now, what is it?"

Feeling more secure, Michael got to the point by lifting the folder of reports he brought with him. "Remember how you said that it'd be a bonus for you if I recognized anyone in the reports you gave me? …Well, I did." He pulled out the respective article from the folder—the Ariel Mahi report—and showed it to the detective. The moment her eyes flowed over the person's name, they went wide. Looking back and forth from her file cabinet to the article, she grabbed the latter in her hands.

"Where did you get this one?" she asked in astonishment. "It wasn't supposed to be in that folder with the others."

Taken aback, Michael put up both his hands in innocent surrender. "I'm sorry, but it was in there. …Wait, why wasn't it supposed to be with other Missing Persons articles?" His curious point made her attention shift from the paper to him.

"I, um, can't really say," she said, clearing her throat awkwardly, setting the paper down. "With respect, I'm normally not supposed to mention ongoing cases to civilians, even if they are family friends."

"…You just did."

His awkward reply made her realize, and she smacked her forehead. Sighing at her folly—while muttering something about hating morning shifts—Detective Vanessa conceded. "Well, I did hand over the report to you regardless, and since you came back with an ID, I may as well make an exception. But tell me, how do you know this girl?" She pointed to the report image he set on her desk.

"I don't—I've heard her voice from a video that was posted before her disappearance, and it called her by name. A-And I think I recognized her voice somewhere recently." Michael recognized a chance in the officer's expression; while she stared at the picture, her face bore a sense of haunting. "How do you know her?"

Her troubled visage remained as she considered him. "You heard of the stereotype of officers having cases that haunt them after years of being on ice?" Seeing him nod, she picked up the article and continued. "It's very real, and Ariel Mahi is mine. It was just after my promotion three years ago when I got word from one of her friends. Apparently, Ms. Mahi had been absent from her school for several days, and her classmates were asking around about her, claiming she would never miss a day. I didn't think much of it until my police commissioner received a similar call, from the parents. Turned out, the Mahis were a prestigious media family back in India, mostly known for their TV and radio connections, and their eldest child Ariel had come overseas to expand her education. Not just that, both she and her younger brother had been born with illnesses that hampered their movement, so she came over to provide a means to treat him."

"Why did she have to come all the way here?" Michael interrupted. "Didn't her family already have that means?"

"They did, and there was a treatment," the detective explained, "but it was not as advanced as the one here, in this country. Plus, as her family said, her singing talent would have gotten her a career salary which, in addition to their contribution, would sustain her brother." She took a deep breath. "But I digress. Once the family got involved, the commissioner assigned me the task of finding their daughter. Being my first official case, I took it seriously: interviewing her family and friends, following her contacts, trailing her routines, the whole nine yards and then some. …Maybe it was partly out of ambition, but I sought to succeed if only to bring that girl safe and sound. But… the moment I reached her last known whereabouts—along the entertainment district on 87th Street—the trail went cold. Dead cold." Her eyes fell on the report, and her shoulders slumped. "I searched everywhere, flipped through every note, spoke to every witness, and even watched the video her friends showed me for any details. But, there was nothing. The years passed, as did several cases in the meantime, but I felt like I failed in this one—my first. Worst of all is that her family still calls me for updates, yet the only answer I've been able to give… is silence."

Michael sat there with the officer, in quiet contemplation. Then, something she said jerked his memory. "Hold on, the entertainment district on 87th Street? It wouldn't happen to be by the anime section where Mr. Afton works his nightclub, would it?"

The detective's head jolted in surprise. "You know William Afton?"

Michael shrugged. "Yeah. My new job is nightguard duty at his club, so he's my new manager. I guess you know him, too?"

Vanny leaned back in her chair, dumbfounded. "That's no coincidence…," she murmured under her breath before realizing what she just said. Clearing her throat once again, she picked up the report. "Forgive me, Michael—I've already revealed too much. If that's all you have, then I would very much appreciate it if you kept this conversation confidential between us, and only us. Understand?"

"Yes, of course," Michael agreed. Getting up from his seat, he was about to open the door when something came to mind. Not wanting to waste the chance, he turned back to the detective. "Um, just one thing I'd like to ask," he said, "about the video post: if her family is so well-known, why was that video of her given to you?"

Detective Xueli considered his question for a long moment before answering. "I'm answering this not just as an officer of the law, but as a friend I trust. …The video was taken in Hawaii while on her way to this country, five years ago, by one of her friends who traveled with her. Only, they had no idea the song was of her making—it was written in Ms. Mahi's diary. I kept that information to myself as assurance in case her living status could be confirmed."

"Thanks," Michael said appreciatively, "and don't worry—your secret will remain safe. I promise." With that, he left the office with his mind full of much more organized thoughts to consider.

000

Nighttime came as Michael arrived at the club once more. As he approached the back exit door from his parked truck, he felt apprehensive by what awaited him. After his visit with Vanny this morning, he spent most of the day trying to rest and ease the headache he was getting. He was successful in that he got an hour of it, but the rest of the time was spent on his upcoming shift. In addition, he had the bits of knowledge from Vanny to help him clear the fog of the situation, and he secretly awaited to implement it. On the other hand, this was assuming he would have the chance to do so. Various scenarios involving Frenni, along with Mr. Afton's reactions, had fought for mental control throughout the day, but his past therapy sessions helped him sweep away those unnecessary thoughts. No point in worrying about what hasn't happened yet, he reminded himself.

Upon entering the dim hallway, he heard the clamor of the crowd from the main clubroom, as usual. At first glance, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary; but then Michael noticed some movement on the other side of the hallway, where its respective doorway was open. Foregoing the locker room for now, he walked along the hallway toward the silent commotion. To his surprise, the source was Mr. Afton moving back and forth between the storage room and the loading area outside. For each trip out, he came back in with a box full of goods and materials relating to a club business. When he returned from the loading area with a box full of spare tools, Mr. Afton recognized his presence.

"Ah good, you're here early, kiddo," he said, wincing from the box's weight. "Perfect timing."

"Do you need help with that, sir?" Michael asked, "Or did something else already happen?"

"I got this," his manager replied, "but something did happen. I just got word from a few stockholders who are interested in my business. They're planning to visit in the next week or two, so this place needs to be spic and span when they arrive. I've been doing what I can during the day shift, but it'll be up to you to keep the pace for the night shift. I hope you're up to the task."

"I am," Michael responded with confidence. "I'm no stranger to hard labor or deadlines."

"That's the spirit!" With a final heave, Mr. Afton placed the heavy box onto a shelf holding similar containers. After briefly palming his hands, he turned to his new employee with a slow, ominous look. "Before you start, though, I wanted to ask: did something happen with Frenni? She's been in her recharge pod all day, which has never happened before."

Michael froze, his brief confidence drained away in an instant. Moments from last night flashed in his head in quick succession again, and he wasn't sure how to respond, if at all. It certainly wasn't helping that Afton's presence in the dark storage room while facing him made the elder man more intimidating, like a bad premonition if Michael answered wrongly. Frenni did say that he was responsible for her "condition" after her outburst, so Michael dared not to risk truthfully either. Facing a rock and a hard place, he hoped the space in between was softer.

"S-She collapsed during my shift last night," Michael explained quickly, "so I brought her to the girls' main room, and helped her into one of the pods. F-From what I could tell from its meter, she was severely low on energy; but I didn't know she spent all day in there— I-I'm sorry if that put you on the spot."

His boss stared out at nothing, deep in thought. "…Nah, that may be on me. As my lead animatronic, she was meant to be present for every performance, so I put her on constant shifts. But I should've reminded myself that things like her have limits, no matter how advanced—I may have overworked the poor thing." He then waved a hand toward the main stage. "Besides, I managed to get Bonni to do her guitar performance in Frenni's absence, so it still worked out. So, no harm done, I guess."

Michael made a huge mental sigh of relief. The situation was sounding favorable so far; not only did Frenni managed to say in the pod all day despite her instability, but Mr. Afton was also none the wiser about her real condition. This was the best-case scenario in his ears, and this meant he could proceed with the animatronic girl personally. But first— "Speaking of no harm being done," he asked, "shall I start helping you out with any remaining boxes that are outside? It'll be easier with two people."

Mr. Afton let out a single chuckle at his offer, rolling one of his shoulders. "I guess it wouldn't hurt. I'm starting to get a little old for hard labor like this. Thanks, kid."

With that resolved, both men started tackling the last of the precious cargos. The task took a while full of lifting and heaving, but all the items from the loading dock were shelved in the storage area. By the time all was sorted, it was a few minutes past midnight. Michael had to scurry to empty out the club in order for his shift to start. As soon as he triple-checked that he was the only human in the building, he checked himself in the security room and monitored a particular room. From the grainy screen, he saw three of the four pods occupying a host. In the next minute, two of the occupied ones released their hosts, which he identified as Chica and Bonni. This left Frenni inside hers, as he desired. Following the former two leaving the room, he stepped out into that direction. As he passed the violet and yellow women, he informed them that he was about to check on their comrade, and thus advised doing so alone. Soon enough, he came in the animatronics' room, darting his sight to the four large tubes. Like in the monitor, the remaining girl stayed in her place within one of the pods. The moment having come at last, he advanced to the last occupied recharge pod.

Tentatively knocking on the visor, he spoke up. "Hey, it's me, Michael. If you can hear me, it's safe to come out now. I promise Mr. Afton's not here." The figure inside remained still for a moment before opening one eye. Once she saw through the window visor that the coast was clear, she pushed the curved door open, and stepped out. Like last night, she looked the same as Michael remembered, including the air of uneasiness that surrounded her. Half-knowing what his answer would be, Michael asked how she was feeling.

"Fine, I guess," she said as she looked down at herself, "but maybe 'fine' is a relative term right now."

"Mmh. …What about mentally—have your memories sorted themselves out at all?"

"… A little. My head's still aching, but my thoughts are clearer now, so I can remember more than before."

Michael sighed. He had hoped for more than that, preferably her whole mind to be restored by now. Thankfully, this was a two-fold positive step; it meant that her condition was getting better, and allowed him to confirm a suspicion he had for a while. Steeling himself for the big reveal, he inquired her. "Okay then, I have to ask you something: do you remember doing a song bit about five years ago, at a beach bar near here? I think one of your friends posted it online to help boost your ambition at the time."

The brown-skinned girl winced as she thought long and hard. "…Yeah, I-I remember that—it was one of the first songs I wrote. But… that was in Hawaii, not around here. Why?"

…

"I, uh, I had to make sure. Those details weren't exactly released in your report, you see." Michael leaned against the long island behind him, staring blankly at nothing. Given her answer, he knew it was as he suspected. The key wasn't so much the location of the filmed video, but the song itself; if Vanny didn't even share the details of the song to the family, then the only other person who could've known about it was its writer. This girl's reply proved, without a doubt, that she was indeed Ariel Mahi—on the inside, at least. Returning his gaze to her face, he recalled the semblance he made back when he heard her recorded voice for the first time. Now, he could see they looked almost the same, too; it was as if someone gave her human body a beauty-enhanced upgrade. She may look a bit different, but it was the same person. "So, it's really you," he breathed.

His confirmation made her look at him sharply. "You still thought I wasn't?"

Hearing offense in her voice, Michael chose his words with care. "Well, to be honest, this is all really unusual for me to comprehend. It's not exactly something you encounter in real life."

"What's there to comprehend?" she demanded. "I already told you—I'm here, now! Isn't that enough?"

"In truth, yes, for now," he said, despite her emerging distress. "That being said, this does bring up several questions I'm afraid may bring painful memories. I'm willing to hold off on them until you're ready."

The young woman stared at him. "I appreciate that."

…

An awkward silence fell between the two people, as neither wasn't sure what to say after their agreement. It was not out of negative emotions, but their inexperience in how to proceed from their own complex circumstances. As a result, they remained silent for a long interval of time. It was Michael who finally broke it, after seeing the singer fidget in her place. "Would you like some time alone?" he asked.

"Oh, um, yes please," she said, a bit surprised by his sudden voice. "I-I need some time to think."

Acquiescing to her request, Michael pointed up to the camera in the room, and reminded her to wave at it if she needed anything. With that, he left her alone in the room, despite the growing ache to do otherwise. Nevertheless, he knew from personal experience that her current position was something she needed to come to terms and accept, whether she liked it or not. For that, she needed time to think, and as he got further and further from the room, he hoped her recovery would be as painless as possible.

000

It happened close to the end of his shift.

While giving Ariel some alone time, Michael had ensued with his rounds and assigned odd jobs. The latter was mostly gathering the dishes and utensils, and taking inventory of the bar. Each ate up a good chunk of both time and mentality, and ended up lasting up to the usual check-up call from his boss. As he expected, Mr. Afton asked about the status of his lead singer. Of course, he was not the only one; the other animatronic girls also inquired about their companion as he was worked. All Michael could say to them all was the same thing, that "she was still unresponsive" and he was "maintaining vigilance over her condition." This seemed to mollify their curiosity at the time, and they questioned no further. Subsequent to his tasks, Michael sought to spend the rest of the night in the security room, watching over the club's premises—and a certain girl—through the cameras. He was in the middle of eyeing one screen overlooking an old bum loitering close to the dumpster outside, when he heard a plaintive cry from inside the club.

And it sounded like the club's lead singer.

Shifting his attention to the respective monitor, Michael saw her acting distraught by her room's door, looking away and yet waving her hand frantically to the camera. Taking the cue, he scurried over to the room while ignoring the curious looks of the other girls. Upon entering the animatronics' room, he saw the brown-skinned girl hunched over the island with her face covered by her folded arms. Closing the door behind him, he worriedly approached her.

"What happened?" he asked simply.

Her form ominously turned toward him, and he could see tears threatening to overflow her eyes. However, her face showed she was not so much in anguish, but in anger. "Why-Why didn't you tell me the others were here too?"

Her demand threw him in another loop. "What are you—"

"I'm talking about those things that look like me!" She cast a finger towards the door he came from. "I just wanted to take a peek to see if you were nearby, and I saw them instead! The fake memories of mine—the ones that belong to this body—have those girlish things that are walking around outside. And they sound like the other girls I met before I was turned into what I am now! That means that bastard Afton did to them like he did to me!"

Her words struck various chords in Michael's mind as he grasped her meaning. She must have been ready to see him again, but wasn't sure if he was watching through the camera in here at that moment. In search for a visual, she took a quick peek outside from the room in order to see him, only to see someone else instead. But that was not what triggered her—the real reason was something he overlooked. Even though it perfectly explained such human behavior and reactions, he had been so focused on the girl's new behavior to give the implication any thought. Now that he had, his face immediately blanched in horror. If this girl was once real, then that meant…

The other girls in the club were the same as her—real people trapped in artificial bodies.

"I-I-I didn't know. I-I never thought—" He couldn't even finish his speech, but the girl interrupted him.

"What, you never thought the others would be like me?" she reproached, "as prisoners in this derogatory hell-hole?"

Her accusation snapped him out his stupor. "But you're not a prisoner anymore," he affirmed. "Your mind is free now."

"Even if my mind is my own again," she declared indignantly, thrusting her hands up for him to see, "this body isn't. That still makes me a prisoner here. But you wouldn't get it."

That last comment erupted something within him, making his own fury rise. "What's that supposed to mean? Did it ever occur to you that I may be in a similar boat as you? In case you don't remember, I've been through what you're feeling right now."

"How the hell can you understand what I'm going through?!" she shouted angrily. Her brows furrowed sharply as she pointed accusingly at him. "Do you know what it's like to be left in the dark with no escape? To be abandoned without explanation or control, and forced to endure the pain in a new life that shouldn't be yours? Do you know what that's like?!"

"Yes, I do!"

Her eyes shot up to see Michael's welling in tears, and holding as much reproach. His fists clenched with his teeth as all his grief, fatigue, and anxiety was unleashed in one giant wave. "My parents died in a car crash a year ago—a hit-and-run—and the bastard who killed them was never caught. It wasn't fair that their deaths were left unpunished, or I was left without answers. I wasn't just angry… I felt afraid, for not knowing where my life would now take me. I still remember hearing the news on the phone, and me racing over… only to find I was minutes late. I still remember their car smoldering, and smashed… and yet surrounded by fresh blood, like someone was still alive in there…" His shoulders and hands shook uncontrollably. "Ever since then, I kept asking myself questions like 'why did it happen to them?' and 'why didn't I have the chance to say goodbye?' and 'why was I left to deal with everything?'. It wasn't fair to have everything dumped on me, especially when I wasn't ready. I did nothing to deserve becoming an orphan, or be denied seeing them one last time.

"Then I lost my job—the reason I'm here in the first place. I didn't choose this place because I wanted to, or asked for it, but because I had no choice. Being cut loose was the last thing I needed, because my job was a big part of my social connection with the world—not to mention, this place was the only option available. It was either the life of a nightclub guard, or the life of a homeless bum—and I'd never leave my grandma alone, too. She's all I have left now, and who knows how much longer she'll be around before I'm truly alone?" His vision, despite being clouded by his waterworks and angst, beheld the girl in a state of astonishment, her anger completely vanished. Through the throat-rasping sadness he suffered, he concluded with words he knew she would recognize.

"So, yes. I do know what it feels like to be abandoned or unaccompanied by a loved one, or someone who can truly understand and help you. The feeling of being forced from the only family you knew, and left without real consolation or solace… it hurts. …It never stops hurting." Sniffing loudly to rid the tickling in his nose, his face fell from its fury back to heartache. "That's why I wanted to talk to you before—it wasn't only to end your suffering alone… but mine too."

Her eyes shot wide open, clearly remembering those words, and completely broke down. Without hesitation, she reached out and hugged him tightly. "I'm sorry… You did say you lost—but I've been so… I'm so sorry…" She kept repeating herself while holding onto him.

Feeling his neck and shoulder becoming wet from where her face rested, Michael realized she was crying again. Unable to prevent himself, he joined in her sorrow and held her, their bodies gently rocking back and forth for comfort. After a long while, her weeping ceased and pulled away a bit. Seeing a stray tendril of hair obscuring her face, he tenderly moved it aside with his hand.

"Everything alright?" he questioned, even though it was redundant.

She looked up at him despondently. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lashed out at you like that—you were just trying to help me. It's just… I lied about my memories. I do remember everything while I was here, when I wasn't in control. It was like someone tranquilized me and tied all of my senses, and played me like a puppet. I couldn't even close my eyes because they were tied like the rest of me. I tried fighting back, screaming out to let me go, but nothing worked, and I was still forced to hear every word, see every face, and feel every touch. It was all disgusting how all those guys kept looking at me as a plaything… and yet…" Her outpour then turned hopeful. "There was something they did enjoy: listen to my voice. Even though I couldn't fight back, I cried out in my songs to reach out, hoping there was someone out there that really was listening." She looked at him with a small smile—perhaps the first genuine smile she wore in years. "And you did—you heard me. Not only that, you never thought of me like those ugly pigs did; you saw me as a lady, and treated me like one. Maybe a part of me feared that I'd be wrong, which is why I hated seeing my new self… but that was no reason for me to attack you when you when all you showed me was kindness and respect. …I'm sorry."

"No, I'm the one who should be sorry," he retorted softly. "Comparing what we've been through, I've had it easy—there was no reason for me to yell at you." With the same hand he used to brush her hair away, he cupped her cheek, brushing her tears with his thumb. "If it's any consolation… even if I'm meeting you in this body, it doesn't change who you are inside. So, to me… you're still you."

She sniffled, and wiped her face with a hand of her own. "…Thank you. I needed to hear that." As she continued to maintain her hold on him, Ariel slowly regained her breath and composure. "I think I'll be fine now, but promise me something."

"What is it?"

"Promise me you'll find a way to help the other girls. I knew them—they must be suffering just as much as I—and you—did."

Michael's deliberation was swift and sure. "I will—I promise you, every one of you." Frenni—that is, Ariel—let her small smile grace her exotic face again before returning it into his neck, this time in a calm, secure relief.

As he held her in his arms, a feathery touch of gratitude warmed his heart as he realized what he now had. Over the past year, he was disheartened at not having someone of a similar position as his to talk to, and comfort; or to meet someone whom could potentially fill the gaping hole in his heart. Now, he felt like he found that someone, even if by pure chance, and his world now felt just a little brighter for it. At the same time, that someone needed his company more than he needed hers, as she suffered and lost more than him; and this gave him new purpose to give her what she needed to recover.

"…instead of looking at your current life in a negative light, why not try being thankful for what you have in front of you?"

Detective Xueli's words rang in his mind, and he thanked his lucky stars for providing what he needed. His gratitude endured with that of the girl in his arms, until their track of time was lost. Eventually, the tranquil moment was suspended by her voice.

"Can I stay with you like this—until your shift ends, at least?"

"Take the time you need. I'm not going anywhere." He then noticed the clock reading 5:29am. "Ah, well, for the next twenty-one minutes, that is." His response was a soft, amused giggle.

"Then I'll take those twenty-one minutes," she murmured contentedly.

And she did—both of them needed it.

---

And there we have it: our main character has unexpectedly begun to unravel the mystery of the nightclub's inhabitants. If you want to know where this will take him, how exactly he'll keep his new promise, or even which girl I plan to focus on next, be patient for me as I'm working on the next chapter. Speaking of, if you think this chapter and its wait was too long, feel free to comment as such and I'll make sure to adjust the future chapters (along with this one) into day-long increments, like before. Thanks, and have a happy Valentine's Day!