Prodigy Returns

New Harmony, Utah

Thursday 1st December 2016, 07:32 AM

"Okay." Tyler rested his arms on the table, "Start from the beginning. What did you find?"

Readying herself to explain herself, Sam looked between the two of them with a sigh. By the dining room door, Spencer was leaning against the frame with his eyes on the ground, listening closely.

"I went back through the files last night. It was just a reread; I've gone through them enough times. But I was reaching the end when I stumbled across something. There were more files added, and I knew they had to be Mike's. My suspicion was proven right once I was done."

For a brief moment, Tyler and Spencer exchanged a strange look. This time, it was Spencer who spoke. "He must've done that for a reason. Hiding the files in the basement, storing his own work within them…I'm thinking he got suspicious, and he knew one of us would find it."

With some hesitation, Tyler nodded. "Yeah, that's plausible. Risky, though. It was by complete accident you found them, Sam. We could've walked right past this place none the wiser."

"Maybe he had faith in us."

"Or he got desperate, had to make a choice. Which means there's a good chance he never returned to put them back."

"You don't know that." Sam urgently suggested, yet she knew it to be growing more doubtful.

"I agree." Spencer spoke up, surprising both of them. "There's no point assuming the worst, here. If you're right about who wrote those files, mum, then that proves Mike was here."

"So we're on the right track." Tyler agreed, "Our best bet is to wait in case your guy gets anything for us, Sam. Wherever it leads us, we'll deal with it when it comes."

Sullenly, Samantha nodded, knowing nothing she could do at this point would change anything. If Mike was still alive, all she could do was hope that it would still be that case once they found him. If not…

Seeing the growing despair on her face, Spencer shot her a sympathetic look. "What did he find, anyway?"

"Good shout." Tyler grinned, "Let's see if all this was worth it. I'm guessing if Mike added things to Tom's old files, it means he found something good."

"You could say that." Sam admitted, opening the files and flicking quickly to the start of their lost friend's work as the two of them patiently watched on. Once she reached the start of Mike's files, she cleared her throat. "It looks like Mike found something in the house. A box, with a few items inside."

"Where'd he find the box?"

"Let's see…upstairs. In the master bedroom."

Before Tyler had to ask, Spencer straightened up and went for the staircase, "I'm on it."

As her son headed upstairs, she continued. "A few pieces of memorabilia, as he calls them. Some plush dolls, a security badge…a hospital wristband. A family photograph."

"The wristband belonged to Mike's dead brother, I'm guessing?"

"He doesn't specify, but it's likely."

"Okay. Nothing jumping out at me. What else?"

"Let's see…some blueprints. Of a band of animatronics he says were called the Funtimes….I can't recall that name."

"Me neither. A new bunch?"

"According to this, no. They were built in the eighties, before the Toy Animatronics were made. That's strange. But…"

Seeing the stunned look in her eyes, Tyler narrowed his own. "What? What does it say?"

"The animatronics were usually built by Fazbear Entertainment directly." She explained, "Not these ones, apparently. They were built by Afton Robotics."

After a sharp intake of breath, Tyler groaned. "Afton. Like William Afton?"

"Must be. That's a stark contrast to the others. Both the Springlocks and the original band were made by both Henry and Afton. Even the Toys were designed around Henry's work. These ones, though…they were purely Afton. After the Missing Children's Incident."

Seeing where she was coming from, Tyler scowled, "What's the chance that dear ol' Billy made these things purely without evil intentions?"

"Not likely." Spencer's voice called from the top of the staircase as he made his way down, holding a box in one hand and a few pieces of thick blue paper in the other. "I heard. Had a look myself."

Straightening, Sam turned to him, "What was on them?"

"Four blueprints. Each with an animatronic that, best I can recall, we've never documented before." Placing the papers on the table, Sam immediately set out to look at each one closely. "And judging by the design details, I can't imagine they passed any sort of health and safety regulation."

Leaning forward, Tyler read them with a bemused expression. "Parental Tracking. Voice Mimic. Storage Tank. Deter and Misdirect. Well, that's just lovely. I could be mistaken, but it looks like Billy was designing his own child kidnapping animatronics."

"They didn't last long, either." Sam continued, "They were built to house Afton's project, named Circus Baby's Pizza World. The place didn't even officially open; it was cancelled before the opening date, due to reported gas leaks."

"That's bull." Tyler immediately called.

"Mike seemed to have the same thought. He seemed to think that the reports of child abductions around the same week were connected. At least one dead."

"So," Spencer summarised, "the Missing Children's Incident happened. They can't place Afton without any doubt, so he walks. Fazbear Entertainment didn't boot him out and instead kept him. He then somehow manages to pitch a brand new restaurant and animatronics that are completely his design, and rather than shooting down the idea, they fund him?"

"There's two kinds of evil in this world, kid." Tyler shrugged, "Stupid, and uncaring. Doesn't matter which this one was. What else was in the box?"

"A hand unit. A journal. Two envelopes, one a house deed, and the other a letter. He doesn't say what was in either."

Blinking, Spencer opened the box. "I didn't find any of that in here."

"I had a feeling." Sam admitted, "He was vague about them, perhaps for a reason. That's what worries me; if he found something this important, he might've-"

Her words were sharply cut by the ringing of Tyler's phone. All three of them stared at each other, before he took it out and nodded.

"Quantum." He explained before flipping it open.

Frowning, Samantha felt concern in her chest. "You gave him your number?"

"No, God, no. Burner phone."

She relaxed at that, before nodding her answer. "Answer it."

Doing so, Tyler switched the call onto the speaker. "Q?"

"Speaking." The voice spoke on the other end, "I have something for you."

"Good. You're on speaker. All three of us are here. What did you find?"

"I have located your friend." Hearing those words, Samantha sat up, clinging on to his every word.

"Warm or cold?" Tyler pressed him, seeing the desperation on his companions' faces.

The seconds before Quantum answered that were long and painful, as Sam awaited the worst to come. Finally, the answer came like a steam-engine.

"He's alive."

A chill ran through Sam's spine as she sat back in her seat, holding her hands to her face. Patting her reassuringly on her back, Spencer beamed at her as Tyler spoke again.

"Any idea what happened?" Tyler said, his tone not changing, "Is he in any harm?"

"Best as I can tell, no. Perhaps in a difficult situation, but that's something you'll have to decide for yourself."

"Where is he, Quantum?" Sam composed herself, knowing the hard part was yet to come.

"I'm afraid I can't explain fully over the phone; knowing these people, they're probably listening in. All I can say is that there's a rally in Hurricane in a couple hours. I would recommend being there."

Blinking, Samantha pressed on, "What does that mean?" Yet her words were left unanswered, the call disconnecting halfway through her sentence.

For a few moments, they looked between themselves, their shared confusion clear.

"That was vague, right?" Spencer asked, "I was expecting more information from our informant."

"Aye." Tyler sighed in irritation, "I suppose this is what we get, going to a bloody crime lord…"

"This feels like a trap."

"I don't think it is." Samantha disagreed, yet she remained doubtful. "Quantum has had many opportunities to betray us. Far easier than expecting us to walk into town into an ambush."

"He said it was a rally, right?" Tyler pointed out, "I'd say we shouldn't be worried. Yeah, you're wanted for murder, Sam, but you're practically small fry compared to him. I doubt risking being a snitch would be worth whatever the reward would be."

"Then it could be an ambush." As he finished his sentence, Spencer seemed to understand his point. "Ah. Right."

"What?" Sam raised an eyebrow at their shared understanding.

"If Quantum was setting up an ambush," Tyler explained, "it'd be a pretty stupid idea to do one at a rally. A lot of things could go wrong. You only ambush people in public if you have no other choice."

For a moment, Spencer seemed unsettled. "You're talking from personal experience, aren't you?"

"Don't ask if you don't want to know."

"That doesn't change the risk, if any of that is true. Mom's still wanted. If she gets recognised…"

Tyler shrugged, "Fair dues. He's not setting up an ambush, but it could still go wrong."

As they argued, Sam's eyes had drifted back to the case notes. All sorts of thoughts spiralled in her head, her assumptions now twisted. Before, she'd been approaching her theories under the likelihood that Mike had found something and was no longer around to tell the tale. Whereas now, there was a sliver of a chance that he was alive and well.

As she turned the page, her eyes fell onto a packaged document. Scanning it, she recognised it to be a house deed. Old and preserved, with an accompanying document. As she read it, both a feeling of relief and worry filled her. "This is Mike's house."

Hearing her, both of them turned to face her. "You've got proof?" Tyler inquired, interested.

Holding out the documents, Tyler had a look and Spencer leaned over to get a better look. As they read through it, neither looked particularly happy.

"I guess that explains how he got the house." Spencer mumbled.

"It's not just the house. There were other properties attached. See? Two, in particular, and judging by the ripped-out notes afterwards, it looked like Mike might have looked into them."

Seeming troubled, Tyler had another look at the deed. "Spence, there's the map in my backpack. Grab it."

Without hesitation, Spencer did so, finding the map quickly and passing it to him. Leaning over, he examined the deed closely.

"There's no address." Sam pointed out, yet he seemed undeterred.

"Those numbers are coordinates. It's a simple matter of tracking them."

"Or using Google Maps." Spencer said matter-of-factly with his phone in hand.

"Oh yeah? Race you."

They both reached the conclusion at the same time, with Samantha watching on in amusement.

"The first's just there, to the south." Tyler pointed on the map. "I'd say less than a kilometre south of here."

"The other's about the same." Spencer agreed, "Less than a kilometre east."

With that answer, Sam felt something in her gut. "The proximity…that's not a coincidence."

"No. It's not."

"That can't be much larger than a three hundred metre radius between the three."

"You said that Mike believed these Funtimes to be underground," Tyler continued, "right?"

"He did."

Standing up straight, Spencer pulled them back. "I guess we'll get those answers when we ask the man himself."

"Kid's not wrong. Whether it's just me and him, or all three of us, I can't see any other path forward other than going to this rally and seeing if we can find him."

Though she could feel the map clinging onto her wayward thoughts, Sam nodded. "We don't have a choice. We find him, we make sure he's okay, and we get him to safety."

Within minutes, they were packed up and ready to head out. Clinging onto the files as she would a baby in her care, Sam got in the back. One final look in the direction of the house, almost entirely blocked by the terrain and trees, she thought of what the next few hours would bring.

Please Mike, she wished, please be okay. We'll be there soon.

Tyler loaded the last of their belongings into the car and shut the trunk, before moving towards the front seat. He and Spencer exchanged a nod and then got in.

"We got everything?" He asked with some snark, "Better not get halfway to Hurricane and one of you say, Um, Tyler, I forgot me rash cream, could you go back, please?"

Spencer gave a small snort and half smile, but when Samantha didn't react, both shared a look of concern. "We'll find him, Sam." Tyler spoke again, "We're closer now than ever."

"I know." She assured them, yet her thoughts spiralled through the various what ifs.

As Tyler drove them, she found herself looking through the files for what might have been the fiftieth time that week. Searching for any more clues Mike had left behind, perhaps.

It was all she could think about as they drove down the road onto the journey that would take them back to Hurricane. She could feel deep down that Mike had found something massive, something perhaps that would knock everything else into the wind.

On the other hand, the fact that there were missing files and noticeable gaps, it left her with either two possibilities: Either Mike had not finished compiling whatever notes he'd been working on, or he took things out at some point. If it was the latter, the big question on her mind was why.

"Hey kid," Tyler called to the back seat, knocking Sam out of her thought process, "you find anything?"

"Not yet." Spencer answered back, "No media articles, no real social media presence…it's weird."

"Shouldn't be. We're not in the big city; this is small town country."

"Hurricane's no small town." Sam pointed out, not knowing exactly what the conversation was about, yet felt confident in her input.

"True." Tyler acknowledged, "Spence, have you checked for any communities or such? You know, posts about local events?"

"Just found one, actually." Spencer cleared his throat as he read through what he'd found, "Yep, looks like some sort of business convention. I'm guessing it's like a careers fair, or something like that."

Knowing the question was on all of their minds, Sam decided to ask it. "Why on Earth would Mike be at a careers fair?"

"Maybe he's skint." Tyler offered.

"Or he's looking for information." Lowering his phone, Spencer seemed troubled, "From a bit of a risky source, I have to admit."

"Why?"

"I've got a list of a few of the businesses attending this convention. I suppose you both will consider it typical. Guess who will be there?"

Tyler and Samantha exchanged a look and she could tell by the scowl forming on his face that he'd come to the same conclusion. "No…"

"Yep." Spencer sighed, "Fazbear-bloody-Entertainment."

"God damn it."

Sharing his frustration, Sam sat back in her seat and sighed. "Why on Earth would he risk going there? They know his face!"

"They don't know ours, though." Spencer tried to offer the bright side, "But it makes our job difficult, If Mike is there snooping around, or otherwise preoccupied, we'd risk blowing his cover. None of this explains why he went radio silent for two months, though."

"No," Sam agreed, "but we might be about to learn."

Once they touched ground in Hurricane, Tyler took them towards the heart of the town. Grabbing the map from the dashboard, Sam did her part in directing him to their destination.

"It's happening at the City Offices," She explained, "just a block off State Street."

"Let me guess." Tyler replied, sounding disgruntled, "Just north of The Pizza Wagon?"

"Yes, actually. Why?" As she looked up from the map, her face slackened at the sight.

Slowing up, Tyler pulled up to the side of the road which was filled with people. It had been almost entirely cordoned off, the entire stretch of road sealed off.

"Just a hunch." Tyler mumbled. "I'll find a place to park."

After finding a nearby parking lot that wasn't without a single space, they parked up and made their way up a road named Airport Road, by the sign. Before long they were forced to join a large crowd, bustling around the block. Samantha nervously made sure to keep track of both her companions as they made their way towards the offices.

"This is a bit bigger than a job fair." Spencer called amidst the conversations happening around them.

"Nah, you don't say?" Tyler responded, leading the way.

They made their way through the estate and turned to a long road. On their right, so much development was happening. Though she didn't recall being near here last time, it unnerved her not to remember anything about this area.

Finally, they reached the city offices, where over fifty people were listening to a man at a podium. Behind him, an American flag stood tall and proud. The man, a slightly beefy individual with balding brown hair and moustache, was in the middle of a speech.

"That's the Mayor." Spencer told them both, "Mayor Hendricks."

"-And of course, we should remember to thank our benefactors for this cause that shall rejuvenate our great city." The mayor smiled, before stepping backwards. "Please welcome Fazbear Entertainment!"

Cheers around the crowd filled the area as the mayor sat in his seat, though not before shaking the lead of a group of three's hand.

The three all wore suits; the first, an older man with a slate grey suit. By his right side was a woman, wearing a navy suit.

Then there was the third; a blue suit with a purple shirt. It was not the suit that she stared at as the three people lined up by the podium. Not the confident smile he had as he stood by his fellow representatives' sides.

All she could do was stare at Mike Schmidt's face as he stood by these two representatives of Fazbear Entertainment like they were his close friends.

New Harmony, Utah

Friday 30th September 2016, 21:04 PM

That bastard, Mike seethed, before the wave of anger enveloped him completely and he grabbed his own dining room table and toppled it, dishes and all. They splattered across the ground, sending ceramic across the wooden floor.

For a few moments he remained standing there before going over to his wall, resting his hands and forehead against it. Every fibre of his being desired him to punch it, yet he was able to refrain his fury enough.

Once he was finally able to compose himself, Mike looked back at the pots and felt foolish. That was stupid. Sullenly, he began to clean up, tipping the broken shards into his bin before returning to where he'd left the documents, on the floor alongside the table.

He heaved the table back onto its feet and then picked up the documents, resting them where they'd been before. On one side of the table lay photographs he'd taken, of the two buildings he'd visited several times by then. They were numerous and sporadic, to the point where most of the uninformed would see no point in any of them.

Of course, Mike's actions were anything but pointless. They were made in reference, as to ensure that he had a good idea of the exact form these buildings were.

Next to these photographs on the right side of the table were drawings he'd made over the course of the last two days. Reaching back to such memories was always going to be a longshot, especially when up until that week he'd believed them to be the imaginations of a grieving tween.

The drawings, though rushed, did their job. Fortunately, Mike retained some of his talent for art, enough that he remembered such techniques like two point and three point perspective. That helped to make the drawings resemble rooms just enough.

Alongside the rooms were drawings of monsters, hideous beings made out of teeth and bone and metal. At a glance, their animal features blended in well enough that you might have expected them to be flesh rather than machine.

Which is how they were meant to be, Mike told himself. These creatures were designed for the purpose of hounding a helpless victim, for them to see it as a monster rather than a tool. At the point where a disorientated victim would chalk it up as nothing more than a nightmare. An impossibility.

How could he have known any differently? Whenever he'd woken from those nightmares, he'd been exhausted afterwards. Naturally, as his days remained the same, he was diagnosed with insomnia, and that was that. Yet the dreams always remained a heavy weight on his consciousness. Too vivid, like lucid dreams, but something else.

But what else could it have been? After all, he would always fall asleep in his own bed, and once the nightmare was over, he would wake up at some point in the exact same spot. Still exhausted, but what else could it be, other than just another horrible nightmare?

So as he stood there, staring at what little pieces of abstract evidence any sane person would wave off as delusional, he had to confront one question: What if the nightmares were very much real? Not as much as they had been last year, as he was hunted by those very same shades in their own can of worms he wasn't eager to explore, rather they were actually there?

That question hurt. More than that, it haunted him. It sent him down a spiral as he had to compare those terrifying dreams to the possible grim reality they'd been hiding.

That's not enough to go by, though. As with anything, Mike needed to approach this as if he were trying to convince somebody else. Although he felt deep down that it was true, it still wasn't enough to confirm without a shadow of a doubt. Many elusive pieces of this puzzle remained so, and he hadn't a clue where to start looking.

At that thought, he backtracked. No. I do know where to start, but it won't be easy.

Stepping away from the table, Mike ran through all the pieces in his head again. One of the animatronics disguised as his monsters had been buried underneath Henry's house. Two buildings stood near enough to his own house that resembled the sites of his nightmares: One had the exact layout of the main house built to look like an abstract of his own, the other a hallway with side rooms.

That second had been a longshot, yet something about it made sense. He recalled how sometimes before one of his nightmares, before it was a shorter one, with a small animatronic which he had to play a twisted game of Red Light, Green Light with. The point? A reward, being a shorter amount of time trapped in the main course.

Once again, that rage filled him to the brim. One question that prevailed over the others was the motive, the reason. If these nightmares had been real, why was he in them? All sorts of theories sprouted from his thoughts, going from punishment to experimentation. When the latter had come to mind, it angered him more.

The idea that someone, this mysterious individual who had started this, had been using him as a lab rat for some unknown cause, was a sobering thought. For some time he pondered on their motive, yet he knew it didn't matter.

Especially when the most likely candidate, the one who he knew most likely would do something like this, hit far closer to home than he wanted. Of course, what was the point of trying to deny it?

It always came right back to him.

Swallowing his fury, Mike went back upstairs to his desk and retrieved the few leads he had, turning to the one he felt most confident in. Whatever nefarious scheme he'd been forced into, whichever psychopath used him, a mere child at the time, for their sick kicks, it was up to him to ensure it was all ended.

No matter the cost.

Many years ago, on that fateful night he first met Thomas Caine, the detective had planted cameras all over the place back at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. Though it wasn't the first time Mike had been introduced to the diabolical act of espionage, it gave him an insight into how it worked. It required technology, tenacity, and a little bit of luck. He had access to the first, practically personified the second, and would've been dead an era ago without the third.

A short trip to Hurricane, where he found an electronics store selling security cameras linked to a wireless network, gave him the first step. Some trials later, he was confident they would work at a distance, able to record to his laptop was connected to. To his chagrin, his biggest obstacle was how to host and store those recordings; without a credit card, he wasn't exactly able to get a subscription.

I'll have to store them locally, then, Mike eventually decided. Another $1000 out of pocket later, he had the right equipment to do so. His only option was to collect the recordings every day.

Setting up the cameras was trivial; after all, he wasn't doing anything illegal. As far as the law was concerned, he owned the properties the cameras were set up in.

Only a day later, Mike was watching through the recordings of the second property, which he'd dubbed The Hellhouse, when he noticed a car pull into town and vanished around a corner south ten minutes before dawn. With an eyebrow raised, he checked the recordings taken from the other property, designated The Corridor, and saw the same car. It turned to a small property east of the Corridor and two men came out.

Mike watched, intent, for them to come out. Soon after noon, they finally did so, leaving the property without a fuss.

Unlike the other actions he'd taken which had been legally viable, his next wasn't so much. Setting up surveillance on a property you didn't own was never going to go down well, yet he knew in his gut that it was his only option.

Once he arrived at the property and pulled up outside it, he looked around cautiously, searching for any onlookers. Once he was sure he was alone, Mike scaled the fence and made his way to the outskirts of the building. Once he found a good location, he set up the camera and laptop as best he could, hidden from view just enough.

Then he made his way back and knew the only choice he had was to wait.

The next afternoon, he went straight to the newly-set-up camera and breathed a sigh of relief to find it unaltered. As he had with the others, he ripped the recordings onto his hard drive and quietly left the property.

As he reached his house, Mike had to sit back and think about what he was thinking this was all leading to. Something about the two men had intrigued him, even though the chance of a coincidence was high enough.

When he checked the recordings, however, his hunch was proven correct. As the dawn before had brought, two men parked up by the property, got out, and disappeared somewhere in the property. They didn't emerge until noon.

The property isn't big enough for them to disappear, Mike told himself. There was a building, yes, but it was about the size of The Corridor. Perhaps the two men had something inside that took up enough of their time, but how likely was that?

As he gave the two men a proper examination, his suspicion only grew. They both wore jumpsuits, similar to a janitor or someone working in maintenance, navy in colour. On their right arms were badges, not security, but of some kind of business.

Staring at the badges, as blurry as they were, a hint of recognition sprouted in his veins. He turned and went back to the box, opened it, and looked for the small collection of items that he'd dismissed as unimportant.

One of these items was a badge, bigger than the others and labelled security, but the emblem was of a clown girl.

At a distance, the clown girl looked awfully similar to the emblem on the badges of those two men.

A moment of triumph passed through him before he reminded himself that his job wasn't done yet. For some time, Mike pondered his next step; was an infiltration out of question? If only two men were going into that property, it implied security wasn't tight.

All I need to do is act entitled to be there, Mike decided, and be in uniform.

He already had the badge and the experience to be a security guard, in the end.

A quick shopping trip later, he possessed clothes similar to the type he wore twenty years ago; a off-indigo dress shirt and pants to match. At one point he passed by a chalk-black baseball cap and smiled briefly as he remembered having a similar one back then.

I've outgrown that, though, he reminded himself. He wasn't a youngster anymore.

That night, he headed to the property and confidently made his way to the property, a backpack slung over his shoulder containing all the pieces he felt were important. He made his way to the building and was shocked to find it nothing more than an alcove.

No, he knew deep down, look at the doors. Look at the floor. It's metal. There's something here.

Towards the back of the alcove was a slot, one with a strange etch on it. Recalling the etch, Mike opened his backpack and searched for the hand unit. A moment of surprise passed him when he saw it turned on.

I could have sworn it was broken…

Shaking his head, he turned to the etch and saw on the back of the hand unit was a corresponding etch. As he placed the unit against the slot, a mechanical whirring made him jump.

Then the wall slid open, revealing the rest of the building. A small circular room, with a door that led to nowhere.

It's an elevator, his stunned thoughts told him. He entered, found the keypad, and numbly pressed it.

Then with the door behind him closed, it began to descend.

Holding his hands behind his back, Mike felt the rumble and looked around the room. On the wall to his left was a poster of that clown girl. Circus Baby, and on the right the ballerina, Ballora.

His eyes remained on Circus Baby for a moment before he looked away, deep in thought.

Well, with that, Act 1 is complete. Act 2 shouldn't take long to begin, a month at most. Trust me; it's about to get a lot more interesting.

TU4QU0I53T4IAN6L3: Though they're doing a lot better than I imagine they were in those months afterwards, the Caine family still has a lot of unresolved grief. Mike's disovery, and his further hypothesis, has stirred the pot in ways he can't quite imagine. I've hinted at it in this chapter, but there's still a long way to go until the situation with the Nightmares is finally answered. As the act ends, and flashbacks show Mike descending into the unknown, along with his reapperance in such an unlikely way in the present, I imagine that where the plot is going is easy to see. That was a problem with this one to start with: Any story with Sister Location in the equation was always going to be a headache, but worry not: I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve.