"Would you like some water?"
The mugshot was impossible. They tried a million times, only for the photos to come out blurred- nevermind the fingerprints.
I fidgeted with the stiff collar of my grey jumpsuit. My mouth uttered something.
Maybe I could pretend to be a corpse. And then they take my body out in a bag, and then I can escape.
"What?"
"No," I answered quietly, almost adding a "thanks, though" but the urge died fast. My hands clamped together. I tried to ignore the clink of the cuffs scratching the table surface.
What if I figured out a way to take out the power to this whole building myself? I could do it.
As I had entered the holding facility, thousands of eyes snapped onto me. Some were terrified, while others stared in awe. Whispers were thrown around in the shadows. No one dared to speak within earshot. The attention brought feelings of both power and shame. I never wanted it like this.
It would hurt like something awful, though. I could explode into a billion pieces.
"Why did you break them?" His edgy, low voice demanded my trust.
You wouldn't believe me if I told you about the children.
"Why did you try to run away?"
It wasn't a very good idea- can't get far with bullets lodged in the muscular system. Now I can't even walk.
"How about... why did you try to rough up our best officers?"
I tried to think with less bitterness. It's not the end of the world if I don't get out of here soon. As long as they don't find out anything, I'm good. I can plan what to do when I'm out.
The detective frowned as his queries were met with silence. A part of me wished he could see my memories- he'd have all his answers. He left the room and soon returned with a folder in one hand and a cup of water in the other. Remaining still, I watched him slide a paper across the table to me. It was a drawing of a conventionally-attractive young man, clueless about his origins and the secrets of his family. Ready for a bright future- a nice job, a wonderful spouse, and children who would know the meaning of love.
"Is this you?"
My throat tightened. "No." Not anymore.
The detective pulled out a photo. I couldn't cast the expression off my face before he caught it.
"Oh, you know this girl?"
Above us, the lights flickered. I said nothing.
"Mabel Sanderson?" he decided to jab a knife through my chest with the name. "18 years old? Last seen with this Afton kid? Who disappeared right before the Purple Guy started showing up around here? That's funny, right?" I swallowed against a thickening throat. Shut up.
"Where is she? What did you do with her?" These questions felt commanding but desperate. My eyes widened as the detective leaned into them. In a different situation, this would be hot as hell. But this guy- he analysed every minute tremble in my face. Bronze irises flicked about at light speed. Did he see my guilt, anger, and fear? I tried to focus on the stray eyebrow hairs bespeckling his forehead.
"Nothing?"
A tense silence passed. The detective tossed away the photo. He sank back into his chair with a long sigh. I moved my stare to the scuffed-up table surface. I blinked. The photo's eyes branded themselves to the back of my skull.
Why did I ever get her involved? If only I… no, stop it. That's not going to do anything.
"We've received some scattered reports of some other incidents that you've supposedly caused…"
Reports? I lifted my head.
"…cannibalism, theft, sexual assault…"
Wait, huh? No, that's- they must have exaggerated everything. I put my head back down and tapped my fingers. They're ganging up against me. I bet they're all in cahoots, plotting the next thing to ruin my inescapable life-
"-but none of that can really be proven at the moment, so I can only ask you this: do you believe that you are an innocent man?"
My hands twitched. Oh.
"Are you innocent?"
I did not answer. Not a shake of the head nor subtle gesture.
"You can't even say?"
A period of silence passed. The detective's nostrils flared.
"At the very least, you'll be convicted for assault of an officer- you know that, right?"
I let him have a single nod. The detective didn't take his gaze off me as he rose to open the door.
"Ey, will you help me get him outta here?"
Someone responded from down the hall. He tried to unfasten my cuffs from the table and jerked his hand back with a yelp. "Actually, will you bring some non-metal cuffs first?" He swiped his fingers on his uniform. I returned the frown he gave me.
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Four blank walls, concrete and painted an uncharacteristic grey, surrounded me. A small barred window tried its best to fill the room with sunlight, failing to give warmth but illuminating the room better than the artificial fixture on the ceiling. I sat on my new bed- a thin plastic mat- with my legs curled underneath me. Some guys had to wheel me in here. It wasn't a very exciting room tour.
The sun's rays shrank as time passed.
Bellowy men toughed it out a few cells down. Their arguments seemed to last ages. I learned some nasty words that I'd never heard before- and no, I didn't write them down.
I was examined by physicians as per normal protocol. It went how you'd expect: I heard various kinds of "How is it all holding together?!" and "It's all wrong!" They didn't even want to touch me, which resulted in this checkup being more of an awkward show of me "fixing" my own self- featuring every physician in the midwest and their grandmother. A couple of arm, leg, and waist braces did wonders for stability to my surprise; I was able to upgrade from the wheelchair. At first, my knees shook and my core threatened to collapse inwards like a crappy sandcastle. Eighteen-year-old me would not have believed it if someone told him he'd be using not one, but two walking canes at twenty.
To get adjusted to this new method of mobility, I wandered down the hall. I tried to time my steps with the canes. One, two- step? One, two- The nosy gaze of the guards distracted me. I lost my footing and stumbled into the wall, frowning at the unconcerned dialogue happening ahead of me. Some chuckles were heard. They're having a jolly time, aren't they? With a grunt, I pushed myself off the wall and tottered around until steady. Okay, now… one, step! Two, step- no! My upper body lurched. I arched my spine in the opposite direction to reset my gait. Okay.
The hike back to my assigned cell exhausted me. I flopped onto the mat face-first and laid there unmoving. My eyes focused on a dark spot on the concrete wall. I frowned. Is that one of the motherheckers that stole my kidney? It probably wasn't. Regardless, I used my forearm to squish it. The crunched-up roach twitched pathetically and then fell beside me. I rolled onto my side, turning my back to the pest.
I unravelled old strips of tape off my hands; the purple skin had turned white and crumbly on the tips and joints of my fingers, and silver bones peeked through the cracks. I put the tape back. Now I'm really falling apart. I might as well have been a 10th grader's half-assed science project. Tightening my arms around myself, I envisioned the remainder of my body parts deteriorating.
These scrappy parts won't last forever. It's all going to keep decaying. I'll crumble. A pile of scrap metal. Dust on the floor. But I will still be alive like that, won't I?
My limbs shook, and my burning eyes couldn't shut any tighter. I rolled over again, disturbed by what my mind created. They'll scatter me across the jail. I'll be everywhere. Will it hurt? Dread rendered sleep impossible.
Will Father come to save me? What a silly thought. I entertained it. I wake up… I'm at home again, bundled in my blankets. He made me just the way I was before. And he tells me that he's proud of me. That I'm the most brilliant thing he's ever created. And I do whatever he asks.
Someone down the hall yelled, "What the fuck?!" And that snapped me out of my delusion for a second. You're right, random inmate. What the fuck am I thinking? For years, I blindly listened to Father. I never questioned anything- why I wasn't allowed to see the room on the other side of the house, or why we stopped going to church on Sunday mornings. Or why some neighbours were wary of my presence. Or why massive chunks of my memories were gone. Or how he was the owner of his own robotics company but couldn't afford to buy a washing machine. Knowing what I know, how could I possibly trust him ever again? He took her away from me. But I couldn't stop seeing his hands working to repair every intricate little detail of the thing he created. Is that love? I scowled at myself. I'm crazy. He's still inside that arcade. Behind that wall. I scratched my hands. I need to get these thoughts out of my head.
When I opened my eyes, I noticed a small pool of silver-blue next to me on the mattress surface- it had completely submerged the roach corpse. I sat up. This is the stuff that came from Electro's eyes. And me. My hand reached over to touch it.
"You've got a visitor. Come with me," an officer called from the cell door. I jerked my hand back to my side. A visitor?! Yet again, I trembled. My brain churned with conflicting thoughts, completely forgetting about that mystery substance. Father?! He made it out! Don't be excited- no, he's here to save me! What does he want?
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It wasn't my father. The middle-aged man in the visitation booth extended a smile across his large pink face. His thin eyebrows and unfortunate hairline insulted his forehead. He wore a nice dark suit and a red tie with an assortment of colourful balloons printed on it. I sat in shock, both relieved and disappointed. Why did I think that he… nobody cares about me anymore. Nobody loves me. Dink. The man poked the glass between us to catch my attention. He motioned to the telephone that hung beside me after picking up his own. What does he- oh. Slowly, I released my grasp on the chair handles and brought the telephone to my ear.
"Well, hello, hello! It's wonderful to finally meet you in person."
My eyebrows squished together. Who the hell is this? That voice was similar to one I'd heard before, but I couldn't quite pinpoint whose. The man's smile faded as an awkward silence commenced.
"Ahem," he cleared his throat, understanding that I didn't feel like being cordial today. "My name is Abram Watson. And I'm going to get you out of here." He saw my blank-faced head tilt ever so slightly. "I see you're confused. I have been assigned to pose as your lawyer. Don't flip out here… but we have been watching you through various, perfectly legal means for, uh, some time now. We want to see how things play out before making any moves. But it's hard to check on you while you're locked up. So, I have been sent to make sure that you get out of here A-S-A-P. And, uh, just between you and me, I could use a raise. So help us all out here- cooperate nicely, the Purple Guy goes free, and I get a promotion!" He waved a hand with suspicious enthusiasm. "We'll worry about the public opinion later. Sooo… questions? Comments? Concerns? The three C's? My boss likes to say that, sorry. He thinks it's clever."
I stared down at my new slip-on shoes. This stranger's bundle of words replayed in my head as I processed them. Watching me? Making moves? Get me out? My hands squeezed the telephone. I didn't want to talk or trust anyone. This man could be another detective, for all I knew. I looked up and parted my lips.
"Who is we?"
"Well… me, and the company to which I have devoted my life: Fazbear Entertainment."
My jaw dropped. The words flashed before me in black print. The butter. The birthday cake. That's- they've been watching me this whole time!
"Wh-hy are you d-doing this? What- what do you w-ant?" my words came out in raspy segments as my distress aggravated my voice. The lights flickered once more, shifting brightness like a dying flame. Abram Watson raised his hands in alarm.
"Hey now, pal- don't do anything crazy-"
"You ob-viously don't know me, th-then."
Mr Watson leaned in, his breath fogging the glass. He articulated gently, "No, no, we do. We know you." I drew back. No you don't.
"We know that you've always felt… different from everyone else in that little neighbourhood. And a certain someone offered you a job, entangling you in a mess that has caused you so much pain and misfortune. Does that sound right, Mr Eggs Benedict? Or would you rather we call you by your birth name-"
"Okay, I-I get it!" I whispered sharply while glancing around. My head spun. Aren't there cameras in here? The detective could be listening! How much does this company know- did Father tell them?! Mr Watson gave me a small smile and maintained his soft tone of voice, "Easy. This interaction won't be recorded. It's just us here."
How do I know you're not lying?
"I may not be a real lawyer, but I was hired to really help you," Mr Watson spoke as if he'd heard my internal worry. "We just want to get you out of here. And to do that, I need you to trust me. Just like we are trusting you."
They want to help me. I don't know why. I could make my own plan to escape… but who knows how long I have before I'm reduced to nothing? If he helps me get out of here officially, the cops won't get in my way anymore. I can find a way to get Michael Afton's body back.
Hesitating, I lifted my gaze. The blue glow of my eyes sparkled against the glass.
"Okay… I will… trust you. Sir."
Mr Watson beamed. "Great choice! Imagine we're shaking hands."