A/N: And here it is. The first part of Mike's backstory revealed at last. Whatever way you look at it, it is NOT a pretty picture by any stretch of the imagination. And it's such an unfortunate coincidence that this chapter happens to be unlucky 13. Yeesh.

This chapter has got plenty of dark stuff in it, and it's a really long one. Even longer than FNAF – A Legacy Laid to Rest, and that one covered 10 pages on Word. Hopefully, really long chapters are your cup of tea :D Regardless, I hope you enjoy!

I tried to keep things as close to reality as possible, for a given definition of "close to reality" since we're talking about a universe with ghosts and haunted animatronics. If something I've written here isn't entirely in touch with reality, sorry for that.

Trigger Warning: child abuse, suicidal thoughts

Chapter 13 – Suffering and Survival

The next few minutes passed by in a heavy silence. Mike had asked the kids to wait in the living room as he went upstairs to "get a few things." None of the ghosts were entirely sure they wanted to see what he was going to bring after Liz had stumbled upon the picture of the scars. The sound of footsteps heralded Mike's return, and when he finally appeared he was carrying a box of some kind. The former night guard sat down on the couch, sighing heavily as he prepared to reveal one of his darkest secrets.

"So…" he finally began, "I think I should start by telling you that I didn't actually grow up here in the suburbs, or near Freddy's. I spent my childhood in the city that's about 30 minutes down the road. I didn't come here until I reached my teens. Just a little background info for you to keep in mind."

He took a deep breath. "The first six years of my life were…fairly normal, all things considered. I grew up with my mom and dad in an apartment in the city. It wasn't the best standard of living by any stretch of the imagination, but it wasn't bad either. My mom was definitely the kinder of my two parents, while my dad was…more distant, but he treated me well enough."

Jeremy shook his head. "The way you say that makes me think that something's about to go horribly wrong."

Mike sighed. "It happened a few weeks after my sixth birthday. My mom had to stay overtime at her job one day, and it didn't end until late into the night. She normally drove to work, but our car was in the garage for repairs that week so she was forced to walk instead. Walking alone at night in any city is dangerous, but our corner of the city wasn't particularly known for violence, so while my dad and I were a little concerned that she was coming back so late, we weren't overly worried about what would happen. But that night…"

1981

"Hey, Dad!" a six-year old Mike called out to his father. "I think I see Mom over there! But she's…she's walking so slowly."

Mike's father looked out of the window. His wife was coming home, but something seemed…off. She was stumbling, limping as though in great pain. "Mike, come with me, now!" he ordered sharply.

Mike didn't understand what was going on. Mom was finally home. What could possibly be worrying him? But he obeyed his dad and quickly put on a coat to follow him outside. The two of them ran over to Mike's mother. "Hey, mom!" he cheerfully called out to her. As he got closer, however, his smile disappeared as even he could tell something was horribly wrong. There were holes in her clothes that weren't there before. And red…why was his mother covered in so much red?

His father's eyes widened. "Mike, stay here!" he ordered. "I need to call the hospital."

"But, dad…"

"Stay here!"

Mike was too terrified to act and could only nod helplessly as his father rushed into the house. He ran over to his mother, who weakly wrapped around him. Despite the obvious pain she was in, she tried to smile at him the best he could. "Mom?" he asked, confused and now rapidly starting to panic. "What's wrong? Why…why are you hurt?"

Mike's mom coughed up blood, but despite the obvious pain she was in she smiled at her son. "I got into…some trouble…that I shouldn't have…" she managed to gasp out. "Got hurt…really badly…"

"Mom? You're going to be all right! Mom? Mom?" Mike frantically tried to get an assurance from her.

"I don't know, Mikey…" she confessed. She didn't want to tell her son she was dying, but she didn't want to outright lie to her either. "I may be going…someplace…that you can't follow…very soon."

"Why, mom?" Mike desperately asked. "Why can't I come with you?"

"It's…complicated…son…" she whispered. "But no matter what happens…I want you to know that…I'll always…love…you…"

She slumped forward, Mike only barely having the strength to keep her from falling to the ground. "Mom! MOM! WAKE UP!" he shouted as he heard a siren wailing in the distance, coming closer. "Please…" he begged, tears streaming down his face. "…please wake up…"

Present Day

"No…" Susie whispered. "Your mom…she…"

"She passed away in the hospital that night," Mike confirmed grimly. "I didn't understand what death really was back then, but I knew instinctively that I wouldn't see her again for a very long time. From what I've heard around the block, a gang was trying to set up some business in our area, but another gang caught wind of it and a gunfight broke out. My mom…she got caught in the crossfire."

"How could something like that happen?" Gabe asked furiously. "She didn't deserve this!"

"How could seven children with their full lives ahead of them get murdered and condemned to a cursed existence in animatronics?" Mike replied with a shake of his head. "You didn't deserve your fate any more than she deserved hers. The world, for all the good that it might hold, can be a cruel place especially for the unfortunate or the unprepared. That is a fundamental truth that I learned very, very quickly."

"Are you all right, dad?" Cassidy asked as she placed a gentle hand on her father's lap.

He smiled. "Yeah. I've had plenty of time to move on, Cass. And as you saw, that wasn't even the worst thing to happen to me." His smile vanished. "I didn't know it at the time, but my mom's death hit my dad really, really hard. I vaguely remember him calling her the light of his life, even though I didn't really know what that meant either. But her death…it completely broke him. He started drinking. A lot. And as the ears slowly passed, everything just went downhill from there…

1986

"Get out of my sight, you worthless piece of trash!" the drunken man snarled at his son. Something bad must have happened to him earlier in the day, a fight at work or a demotion, Mike didn't know. But whatever it was, his father had taken out his rage on him in an unusually brutal manner today. The scars on his back, which had only just managed to heal from the last time his father had whipped him with his belt, had been torn open once again with new ones to join them.

For a terrible second, the boy thought his father was going to throw his empty bottle at him. But instead, he aimed a kick in the boy's general direction, which he was quick enough to dodge this time around. Cowering in fear, Mike quickly fled from his father's presence, desperate to avoid any further punishment.

It had been like this ever since his mother had died all those years ago. Her death had broken his father and transformed into someone barely recognizable anymore, and Mike was the one who had to suffer the consequences of his eternally black mood. Pain and agony had been a part of his life ever since the day when his father had first started beating him with his belt, and they had been his constant and unwelcome companions ever since.

With a whimper, he shuffled into his room and shut the door behind him. Hopefully, his father's attention had been sufficiently distracted that he wouldn't continue where he'd left off. Mike started picking up some towels and draping them across his back, trying to clean the blood from his wounds and keep them from getting infected. Once he was finished, Mike collapsed onto his bed, and only then did he let the tears flow. He reached out to pick up a picture of his mother, smiling joyfully with a beautiful beach in the background. One of the few things left that still brought anything resembling happiness to the life he now lived.

"Why, mom…" he whispered brokenly at the picture. "Why did you have to go…why is dad always beating me? I don't understand…" He buried his face in his pillow. "I miss you…I miss everything about you…I miss when you would come home, when dad didn't hit me all the time." He let the tears flow in earnest, not caring that his pillow was getting drenched. "What can I do? I can't take this much longer." He put the picture back on the stand next to his bed. "Help me, mom…please…"

Present Day

Even before he finished this part of his tale, Mike could immediately detect a dark change in the room's atmosphere. His instincts, which hadn't dulled even after thirty years, were screaming at him that something was wrong. He looked down at his new children…and what he saw made his blood run cold.

From the moment that he'd met them, William Afton's victims had taken on a form similar to what they'd looked like in life, appearing as normal children when not taking into account their ghostly characteristics. But now, their appearance was something straight out of a parent's nightmare. The eyes of the ghosts had been replaced by black voids, with dark ichor streaming out of their sockets and their cheeks. Gaping, vicious wounds had appeared all over their bodies: Gabriel had a huge slash across his body, Fritz's throat had been sliced open, Susie had a gaping stab wound straight over where her heart would've been. All of them had been killed in different and brutal ways, but as horrific as their scars were, it was nothing compared to their facial expressions. Every single one of their lips were drawn back in a furious snarl, teeth gritted together in an unholy rage at the injustice that Mike had suffered at the hands of his own father. Cassidy, normally one of the sweetest and kindest among them, was especially terrifying – instead of black voids, fiery red pinpricks of light were blazing in the darkness that had once been her eyes. The Marionette was the only one that seemed relatively normal in comparison; even though she had heard this story before and the only seeable change was that her eye lights had flickered on in her mask, it was clear that her anger hadn't lessened in the slightest since the last time she'd heard this story.

But it was Liz that disturbed Mike most of all. Unlike the others, she bore no major wounds, though she had the same facial expression as the other ghosts. Instead of black voids, her eyes were glowing bright green with her rage, a sharp contrast to the other ghosts but no less effective in displaying her fury. But what really had Mike concerned was that her body seemed to…flicker…in and out. It was almost as though she was trying to maintain a human form, as though she was trying to stop herself from transforming into…something else.

These weren't the happy, smiling children who had played games with him and each other, despaired over bad grammar videos, and bonded with the children of his best friend. These were the vengeful spirits that had terrorized the Night Guards of Freddy Fazbear's pizzeria. And he knew very much who the target of their rage was now.

"How…" Gabe barely managed to choke out in his rage, "…how could someone do this to THEIR OWN SON?" he roared the last three words.

"I can't believe he did this to you for SIX YEARS!" Jeremy spat. "What kind of monster does this?"

"I think we should stuff HIM in a suit and see how HE likes being torn apart!" Fritz snarled, and all of the ghosts made various noises of furious consensus. Even the Marionette, the voice of reason, was visibly fighting the urge to voice her agreement.

Deep inside him, Mike could feel an ancient primal fear rising, an urge to run and hide. But he took that fear and crushed it under an iron will that he had forged from the ashes of his early years. As terrifying as the ghosts' rage were, he reminded himself, the only reason they were acting this way at all was because they cared about him, even after only knowing him for one week. And wasn't it natural to be angry when one's loved ones were harmed?

Despite how touched he was at their reactions, Mike knew that he had to choose his next words very carefully. If he didn't defuse the situation, someone might end up saying or doing something they'd end up regretted. And even if they didn't, he didn't want the ghosts reverting to their vengeful and murderous ways, even if it was for his sake. Especially if it was for his sake.

He took a deep breath. "You know the real funny thing about this is?" he asked with the dry tone that those who knew him well had become so familiar with. "I think I'm the only person in this house who doesn't hate my dad for what he did to me back then."

He had timed and chosen his words perfectly. The looks of fury and hatred on every ghost's face collapsed into complete and total shock. "WHAT?" they all exclaimed.

"Oh, I'm not going to pretend I reached that point right away," he clarified. "It took me quite a long time for me to forgive him. But I don't hate him anymore. In fact, the night I learned what Liz had been through because of the Purple Guy, I thanked God that what I went through wasn't any worse than what it actually was."

"But…but…" Susie spluttered. "How? How can you forgive…" she picked up the picture with Mike's many scars. "THAT?"

"A couple of reasons," Mike replied with a casualness that disturbed his children. "Some of them, I'll get to later. But the only one that's relevant right now was that, while he had many, MANY flaws, he was always honest. He never tried to pretend to be anything else than who he actually was. Compared to William Afton, my father was a fucking saint."

"But…my old dad never hit me like that…" Liz murmured confusedly.

"There's other forms of abuse besides physical," Mike coldly replied. "I can say right now, without any hesitation whatsoever, that if I had to choose to relive the entirety of my childhood with my dad or spend a month with William Afton, I'd choose my dad every single time. He never tried to manipulate me into becoming a monster, and the body's a lot easier to heal than a mind."

Liz looked away guiltily, knowing what Mike was talking about. Mike smiled and gave her a pat on the head. "It's also the reason I relate to you so much, Liz." His smile vanished and a dark look entered his eyes, "and if the rest of you had been less kind to her when she'd first come here, I would have reacted very poorly," he growled.

The other ghosts besides Liz and Fritz shuddered, realizing that they'd unknowingly dodged a bullet that none of them had even known existed. "So…what did you do?" Jeremy finally asked after a long silence. "How…how did you deal with all this?"

Mike took a deep breath. "After six years of this, I finally decided I had enough," he picked up on his story. "At that point, I figured out that mom couldn't help me from the grave, and I decided to take matters into my own hands. The thing about my dad being drunk was that when he went to bed, he was out like a light. And on my twelfth birthday, I decided to run away from home."

"After years of suffering, I can't say I'm surprised," Mary commented.

Mike nodded, then stopped. "Wait a minute…1987…why does that year sound familiar?" he asked.

The ghosts suddenly looked very sad. "That was the year the Bite of '87 happened," Jeremy solemnly explained. "None of us remember any details, since we usually go to sleep in the animatronics during the day. From what we heard, though…it wasn't pretty. And if I remember correctly, that wasn't even the first time that happened. There was also a second Bite even earlier in a different Freddy's restaurant…I think it was in 1983?"

Mike flinched. "Holy shit," he muttered, "this franchise was fucked up even before you started possessing the animatronics."

"It's a miracle the whole thing didn't close down in the 80s," Fritz grumbled.

"You're telling me," his dad replied dryly. "Anyway, where was I? Oh, right…I was running away from home. One night, my dad came back and he completely ignored me. He just went straight for the bottle and knocked himself out like a broken light. It was lucky for me, since if he'd whipped me that night I wouldn't have been able to escape safely. Once I was sure he was asleep, I took my jacket, some clothes that would let me blend in with the city, some money I stole from his wallet to help me out in the beginning, and a knife to defend myself just in case."

Liz shuddered. "Sorry, Dad…" she interrupted, "it's just that…the idea of you holding a knife…the same thing that killed all of my new family…it just scares me."

"You're not the only one," Gabe murmured, the memory of his and his friend's deaths still clear in his mind.

"I'd never start the violence," Mike reassured them. "Not then, and not now. But if someone attacks me or if I see someone I care about getting attacked, then I have every right to fight back, and if that means I end up killing the person that started it, well that's their fault for starting shit in the first place."

"That's…fair enough, I guess," Jeremy reluctantly conceded. "It's not like we have any right to talk."

"I didn't have any long-term plan apart from get away from my dad for as long as possible," Mike admitted. "The only thing on my mind was that anything was better than sticking around. For some reason, even though I'd taken his money, my dad never did anything to try and chase me down."

Fritz snorted. "He probably didn't give enough of a shit about you to care," he muttered.

"So…what did you do after?" Susie asked.

Mike sighed. "I did the only thing a kid out on the streets for four years could do," he answered. "I survived. I wandered around the streets for four years, keeping to the shadows, doing whatever I needed to in order to stay alive."

"All alone?" Cassidy whispered, saddened at the image of a young Mike wandering in the streets. "Out in the cold and the dark?"

"Not always," Mike answered. "Sometimes I had companions, but I never stuck around with them for too long. The only one I could trust was myself. Anyone I might have joined up with could stab me in the back the next day. I learned to inspect and study my surroundings at all times, keeping an eye out for anything that I could use and anyone that was a potential enemy. I was incredibly careful at all times, and that was how I kept myself safe."

Mary put a comforting hand on Mike's shoulder. "You're not alone anymore, Mike," she murmured, and all the other ghosts made varying noises of agreement.

Mike smiled warmly. "Thanks, guys. But as rough as life was on the streets, it still wasn't as bad as the six years with my dad. At least I had more control over my own fate than I ever did in the past."

Fritz looked confused. "I don't get it," he said. "If all that is true, how are you living in such a nice house now! You have so many things and you look really happy as an adult. How did you ever get that far if you spent your teens in the streets?"

Mike grinned, and everyone noticed that he looked the happiest he'd been since the start of telling his tale. "Because I came across the man who would end up changing my life in more ways that you could possibly imagine."

1991

The old man stared silently at his attacker. He wasn't entirely surprised by this – an old man out in the city could easily be marked as a target by muggers in the streets. But his attacker was about to be disappointed if he sought to frighten him…he was not one to back down from a challenge so easily, no matter how old he might be.

His attacker held out a knife straight at him. "Gimme your wallet, old man!" he snarled. "You sure as hell don't need it more than I do! So I think I'll take it off your hands!"

The old man gave him an unimpressed look. "Of all the people you choose to rob, you target an old man who can barely fend for himself?" he asked calmly. "I'm not afraid as much as I am disappointed at your lack of courage."

His attacker bared his teeth in fury. "Gonna talk to me like that, old man?" he spat. "Hope you enjoyed your long, sad life, cause I'm about to…"

He never finished his sentence. A knife suddenly plunged into his shoulder, and the mugger screamed in shock and agony. He didn't even have a chance to react as someone grabbed him by the head. The old man watched in surprise as his apparent savior smashed his attacker's head into the wall and knocked him out cold.

The figure that had saved him quickly checked to make sure the mugger was thoroughly knocked out, then slowly looked back at the old man. The old man was shocked to find that his savior was a teenager, one who had seen and experienced far more than any normal person would have at his age.

The teenager was watching him carefully, not hostile but definitely cautious. The old man decided to take the first step. "You saved my life," he began. "While I'm certainly grateful for that, may I ask why?"

The boy didn't say anything for several seconds. To be honest, he wasn't even entirely sure why he'd intervened. After all, one of the best ways to survive was to avoid conflict whenever possible. Finally, he spoke a few words. "It wasn't right," he muttered, "to attack someone who can't fight back."

The old man nodded at his answer, then took a closer look at the boy. It was clear that he had suffered far more than any child at his age should have, and that he had been harshly beaten down by whatever life had thrown at him. Beaten down…but not broken.

If this had been any regular homeless person, he would have maybe given him some money and moved on his way. But this child was far from ordinary. He could see that, even though the darkness in his life had understandably hardened the boy to the outside world and forced him to experience its cruelty, there was still a kindness and compassion, or at the very least a sense of justice, deep within his eyes that still flared underneath the cold exterior. Deep within his gut, he could sense that this child had the potential not only to be a good person despite everything, but a great one. And his gut was never wrong. But he would never be able to fulfill that potential out in the streets, alone with no one to help him.

Besides, the child had saved his life. It didn't matter that he didn't have much longer to live anyway. He had always paid his debts, and he wouldn't stop now.

"What's your name, child?" the old man gently asked.

The child hesitated for several seconds. "Mike," he finally answered.

Oskar Schmidt smiled kindly at him and held out his hand. "Come with me, Mike," he offered.

Mike hesitated again, then reached out and took it. After all, what did he have to lose?

Present Day

"Wait, Oskar SCHMIDT?" Cassidy exclaimed. "So your last name…"

"…is the name that I adopted from him to honor his memory," Mike confirmed. "A great man, and the closest thing that I truly had to a father." He reached into his things and took out a picture. "Here's the best picture I have of him."

The ghosts all crowded around to look. The picture was of an old man wearing an army uniform with several medals. The man's face was dignified and stern, a man who had weathered the storm of a long life and proudly endured whatever it had thrown at him. A man who commanded respect just by looking at him. But there was an innate kindness and warmth in his eyes, and all the ghosts ended up thinking that he would have been an excellent grandfather.

"Oskar drove me out of the city and to his home in the suburbs," Mike continued. "He was an old man, who didn't really have all that much. By most people's standards, our life would have been relatively simple. But he gave me food, drink, shelter, and most importantly, he treated me with dignity as a human being. He gave me everything that I had ever needed or wanted, and everything that I had any right to ask for. I spent most of my days taking care of him and helping him through every day of his life, instead of going to school. It was the least I could do for saving me."

He thought back to the two years he had spent with Oskar. "But the most important thing that he gave me was life advice. Advice and guidance that I follow to this day."

1992

"Mike!" Oskar's voice called out to him.

"Coming, Oskar!" Mike replied as he rushed to the living room where his friend and mentor was sitting in his couch. "Do you need anything?"

"Not for me," Oskar shook his head, "but rather, something I want to speak to you about." He took out a photo from inside his pocket. "Do you remember that time when I asked to take a picture of the scars on your back?"

Mike shuddered. The mention of those scars always brought a shiver down his spine, even though the time when he had fled from his father had long since passed. "Believe me, son, I would not bring this up if I didn't think what I had to tell you was incredibly important."

"I trust you, Oskar," Mike replied. "I'm ready to listen."

Oskar nodded, then sighed. "I can still sense that you are haunted by your past, Mike, at least to a degree. Nobody could possibly blame you for that. I have seen my fair share of horror and tragedy in my own life, though I had several years' worth of advantage over you to prepare me for that. And all I wanted was to say this."

He held the picture out for Mike to take. "You are far, far stronger than you think you are, Mike. I have seen many people older than you break after suffering far less than you have. Some of them give up completely, becoming broken beyond repair. Others become twisted and tainted by the darkness forced upon them, turning into the very monsters that oppressed them. But you, Mike. You have done neither. Against the cruelty of life, you endured. You grew stronger. You learned the lessons hidden underneath the harshness and found the hidden wisdom, even if it is wisdom that you shouldn't have been forced to encounter at such a young age. These scars on your back symbolize the torment of your past, that is true. But they also represent your inner strength and your ability to endure, to fight, and to overcome. Whenever you feel the pressure of life crushing down upon you, look upon these scars. Remind yourself: 'I survived this. I can endure what comes next. And I will grow stronger because of this.' Because you will, whatever comes. I have complete faith in you."

Mike bowed his head. "Thank you, Oskar," he murmured, then saluted the old man. "I won't forget what you have taught me."

Present Day

"Everything Oskar said is true," Susie said solemnly. "You ARE strong, dad. In more ways than one."

Mike gestured towards the photo. "Now you know why I keep that thing around," he said. "If it had been just me, I would have kept anything reminding me of those scars as far away from me as possible. But Oskar showed me that I can't run from the worst parts of my life, cause at the end of the day, they're still part of me. It was more important me that I use them to better myself, no matter how painful the reminders might be."

The ghosts were listening with rapt attention, wondering if they could use Oskar's lessons for themselves. Liz especially was in deep thought, though everyone else was too engrossed to notice.

Mike sighed. "I only spent two years with Oskar, sadly. Though we had an unspoken agreement never talked about it, we both knew that Oskar didn't have much longer to live. He was an old man, after all. When the time finally came, I was more resigned than anything. There was nothing we could do about it, and Oskar took the whole thing in stride."

Early 1993

Oskar coughed as he lay in his bed, Mike at his side. Both of them knew instinctively that this would be there last moment together, and both of them wanted to make it count. The time for grief would come later.

"Mike…" he coughed out. "We both know death's coming for me soon. Don't take too long grieving for me. I'll be with God soon, and my family and friends too. My last words are far more important focused on you than they are with me."

"I'm listening," Mike said quietly, waiting to hear his old friend's last words of wisdom.

Oskar coughed again. "Mike…I know I haven't been able to give you much. I know that ever since your mother's death, you've lived with almost nothing. I tried to help with that as much as I could, but there's only so much an old man can do."

"You did all that I could ever hope for or ask," Mike assured him.

"Mike…you're a good lad," Oskar rasped. "I knew that the moment I laid eyes on you in that alleyway two years ago. I think you know what I'm about to tell you already, but it's worth saying all the same. The quality of one's life isn't measured by how much one does or doesn't have. It's measured by how what you do and how you live your life with what's available to you." He grasped Mike's hand in his, and his eyes were clearer and sharper than Mike had ever seen before. "Promise me, Mike," he whispered, "promise me that no matter how much or how little you have, you'll do what you can to help others. If you can keep that promise, then I'll always be proud of you, and I know your mother will be too."

Mike closed his eyes silently. "I promise," he swore, "I'll do my best."

Oskar smiled gently. "Then I can pass on in peace. I've left some things in my last will, and taken care of a few things that'll help you deal with the next few months without me. It isn't a permanent solution by any stretch of the imagination, but it'll give you the start you need." He pat the elbow of his son in all but blood. "Good luck, Mike. My legacy is in your hands. You are destined for great things, even if you don't think so. I'm certain of it."

Present Day

"Oskar died that night," Mike said solemnly. "I reported it to the police as soon as possible, and I learned from a lawyer that Oskar had left a few thousand dollars to me to help me get adjusted to life alone. He also asked that my last name be changed to Schmidt, which was something I could definitely get behind."

"And you…didn't…have any problems?" Jeremy asked skeptically. "You were still a run-away kid from the city, weren't you?"

Mike shrugged. "Maybe if I was younger. But I was 18, so I was technically a legal adult. Plus, Oskar had a few friends in the police to help me with this, and even if he didn't, the police don't give a shit about some runaway kid in the streets. He also guided me to an apartment building that was owned by a close friend of his. The guy wasn't exactly keen on letting some random 18 year old into one of his apartments, but apparently Oskar wrote a glowing letter of recommendation about me so he let me stay. It probably helped that the few thousand bucks I had made sure that I could pay rent on time and not cause problems."

He sighed. "Unfortunately, all those preparations couldn't help me with a more dangerous problem. One that I'd been facing for a while…"

October, 1993

Mike sighed as he ate the small meal he had prepared for himself. He was still jobless, and the money Oskar had given him had soon run out. He could hear the dark temptation in his head. The one that whispered at him to just end it all, take the knife he had carried in the streets and end his life on his own terms.

He had been able to ignore that whisper while he had been in the streets, since survival mandated complete and total focus, and he had been able to ignore it while he was living with Oskar, for the old man had needed him to take care of him. But now, he was without a true purpose for the first time in a long time. His life was worthless anyway…Oskar had spoken of greatness, but what could a guy like him possibly achieve?

He looked over at his knife, wondering if maybe he should just give in. But then he remembered Oskar's final request: no matter how much or how little he had, he would always use what he had to help others.

The old man had used his last breath to make one final request and make his expectations clear. How could he dishonor the final words of the man who had saved his life, and possibly even more? Mike got up from the chair. He couldn't deny that he still wanted to die, especially at the prospect of seeing Oskar or his mother again, but he was not going to die a meaningless or cowardly death. He had almost nothing apart from his own life, so it would be his life that he would give to help others.

As he looked back at the knife, Mike felt the urge to take his own life with it disappear, and it would never come back again. He might be worth almost nothing in life. But he was going to make damn sure he was going to be worth something in death.

Present Day

The ghosts all looked stunned as Mike described what he had felt that day. This was an entirely different type of darkness than what they knew. "You…you would have…you would have…KILLED yourself?" Fritz barely managed to breath out. The idea of their father ending his own life with the same weapon that the Purple Guy had used to kill all of them terrified him in a way he had never felt before. It was a complete 180 from his normal personality, and the idea that jarred the other ghosts just as much.

"For a time, I felt that temptation in the apartment," Mike admitted. "But Oskar's words put a stop to that." He sighed. "To be honest, I guess you could say I was still suicidal in a way, considering what I planned to do instead. I still wanted to die, but I wanted to do it in a way that would help as many people as possible, just like Oskar asked me to."

Mary shook her head. "I don't think he wanted you to put your life on the line for that, even if it would technically follow what he wanted," she scolded.

Gabe was about to agree, but then a horrifying thought suddenly entered his head. "Wait…" he interrupted, "how, exactly, were you going to make good on your promise?"

Mike took out the back of an old newspaper from his box, and the sinking feeling in his stomach intensified. By now, the other ghosts were starting to form the same realization Gabe had, and all of them were desperately hoping that they were wrong. "Saying something like that and actually doing it are two different things," Mike continued. "But luckily or unluckily depending on your perspective, I found the perfect opportunity to make good on my word." He took a deep breath. "For everyone else, this was a job straight from Hell, with crappy pay and, as rumor had it, where people went in and never came out again. But for me, it was exactly what I was looking for."

He tossed the newspaper like a frisbee onto the floor in front of the ghosts, and all of them let out exclamations of horror, dread, and regret as their worst fears were confirmed.

The place where 18-year old Mike had chosen to die…was Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria, 1993.

/

A/N: And I think that's a good place to stop, wouldn't you agree? As you can imagine, the next chapter will be Mike's experiences as a Night Guard, and you'll learn exactly how and why he survived when others failed. Mike was ready for Freddy. Are you?

More than 12 pages on Word, I think this is the longest thing I've EVER written for a fanfic. What an early life Mike had…a beloved mother's death at the age of 6, 6 years of abuse at the hands of a drunken father, and 4 years out on the streets. He didn't get anything good happen to him until the age of 16, and even that was short-lived.

Definitely one of the darkest and saddest things I've ever written hands-down, although I'll still say with 100% certainty that Elizabeth Afton had it worse than Mike did. At any rate, I hope you guys enjoyed this monster of a chapter and you're just as eager for the next one.