Hello again, and welcome back to another addition to Five Weeks at Frenni's Nightclub!
While I had this planned long beforehand, it still took me a while longer than expected to reach the final result. For that, I contribute the delay partially to the holidays (Thanksgiving/Christmas vacation in Las Vegas and traditional family holiday party, New Years, and a birthday), but also personal errands that could not be ignored (work, dental/optometry appointments, etc.). The result that was reached between all the dates is a doozy of a chapter—a nightshift that I had to split into several parts. You will see at the end why I did this, and hopefully be willing to wait for much more. ;)
As I've said before and will say again, all rights of this story's respective franchise go to its rightful owner(s), and that is not me. With that said, please enjoy this installment!
Day 2
Greg gripped his water bottle tightly while hearing some unsettling news.
Both he and Michael were sitting at the latter's dining room table, facing each other. Between them was an overlapping pile of papers containing pictures, records and reports, and even timestamped bills; but they were mostly ignored by the pair of people, only being scrutinized when Michael picked up a certain page to briefly show the other young man. Other than that, it was the apartment homeowner speaking in extensive length while the visiting occupant just listened.
But unlike five weeks ago, the homeowner was not complaining about work searches or certain conditions for work.
Michael was currently disclosing to his former work friend what he learned about William Afton and his nightclub business, including the corruption within both. It felt strange to fully profess to someone after hiding it for this long, but this action was as sudden as it was necessary. Although he already sent the evidence package to Vanny's department several hours ago, he felt like he still needed an emergency plan if something happened to all that hard-earned information. After some consideration, he comprehended the need of another person he could trust to help him in a tight pinch; in light of the scale of the club's corrupted history, he needed a partner outside to lend a helping hand. Thus, he called Gregory to meet at his place for an urgent situation. Once he arrived, he wasted no time to reveal everything he discovered while under the nightclub roof. With the exception of the girls being turned into the animatronic hostesses, there was more than enough to make his companion a substitute witness. Once Michael was done speaking, his friend took the time to let the information sink in.
"…"
Greg did not say much, but his tightening grip on the plastic bottle was enough. At one point, Michael thought the cap would pop off and cause a geyser of water to spew. Soon enough, he spoke his own thoughts.
"Goddamn," he whispered. "…I guess you were right before, about this guy hiding more than he says. But I didn't think it was this serious." He fingered a page beholding Afton's handgun and ammunition.
"That makes two of us," Michael confessed in agreement. "Sure, he posed as a bit paranoid and creepy at times, on top of being a moneygrubber. Yet I never pegged him as a longtime criminal—never minding the fact he killed at least five people to keep it all a secret."
Greg jerked his head up. "'At least'?" he asked.
The night guard hesitated, but forged ahead. "Four girls and one guy are the ones I know for sure. The girls chanced on him for auditions, and ended up being tortured like lab rats; and the guy was his previous watchman—my predecessor—in order to keep him quiet. There may be others, for all I know, as well as private hitmen to do his dirty work. Hell, with all the contact he's had with city officials and businessmen, I wouldn't be surprised if he had someone in the police department under his thumb."
"Goddamn." Greg shuddered sharply, before his discomforted face contorted with fear. "Please tell me he doesn't know about your little investigation."
Michael shook his head. "I've been pretty diligent about keeping it under wraps; and I even made sure to keep anything I found off-camera. He shouldn't have anything on me. …On the other hand, I was told he's a real genius, and keeping big secrets like this can lead to big bouts of paranoia. Either way, I have to assume my place in the nightclub is very limited."
"How limited, exactly?"
He shifted uncomfortably in response to his question. "A few days, if that. The best-case scenario in the end is all goes well and Afton goes to prison, and I live to talk about it—though I'll lose my job. The worst-case scenario…" Michael cast a sincerely macabre look. "I die tonight, and no one's the wiser."
Unsurprisingly, Greg leapt from his seat in horror. "What?! You don't mean to go back there, by yourself? Why not bring in the police with you?"
"And potentially tip him off? Sure, it'd keep me alive, but it would also allow him to escape, or even hit them and me with a bunch of legal mumbo-jumbo to stave them off. Lord knows it worked before." Michael gestured to the article describing the club's past life as a private pizzeria. "Besides, it's not just my life on the line here—this would mean saving future lives from suffering, too."
Greg considered his buddy with serious eyes, and exhaled a chuff of admiration. "I said it before, and I'll say it again—you've got guts to go back there, Mikey. But, if you're planning to go back alone, why are you telling me all this?"
Michael shuffled all the pages and related items on the table together to shove into a manila envelope. With the large letter full, he presented it to his friend. "I already sent the originals of everything you see here over to Vanny several hours ago, including a written summary of his crimes and my involvement in unveiling his culpability. My guess is, her superiors are going through it all as we speak. But experience has taught me that anything can happen in a split second, be it for better or worse; and given the guy's history of slipping through cracks, I don't think it's wise to put all my eggs in one basket. That's why I made these copies beforehand, in case of emergency, only I can't keep all this here. So, I need you to hold onto it for the time being. Do you think you can stay with one of your coworkers for a few nights?"
"Sure—I've already done that a couple of times." Greg's nodding as he took the envelope halted suddenly as a cold thought iced his spine. "Wait, you really think something will happen?"
"I doubt it—I haven't mentioned you in front of him at all. You shouldn't be exposed to any danger. But even if he does a complete scrub of my life, he won't be able to find you if you're hiding out with someone else." Michael paused his careful plan layout to look at his visitor, who appeared to have imaginary sweat drops. "I hope you're not getting cold feet on me now."
"No-no, that's not what I meant," Greg stammered, with fear written on his face. "I'm more worried for your safety than mine. You're the one going into the lion's den, and you just said anything could happen. I'd be a damned fool if I let you meander in that place alone, or without a plan if things go way south."
Funny how it used to be the lioness' den instead, Michael reflected in irony, but shook his head and placed his hands on his partner's shoulders. "You're right—I did say that; and I'd be a damned fool myself if I also said I'm not scared as hell about it. And frankly, I'd rather not involve anyone to suffer with me. But that's why I'm ending up asking for your help: because I'd be more terrified of the prospect of not asking, only for that suffering to last after me. It has to be you, anyway, since I dare not involve what family I have left; and you're the only person outside of that whom I can wholly trust. So, can you do this for me, and for the people Afton hurt? Please?"
"…"
Greg looked uncertainly between the paper packet and his best friend, until his faith in his pal won out. "Sure thing… but I'll still worry for you."
"…Thanks, buddy. I know I can count on you." Gratified, Michael patted his pal's shoulders with a wide appreciative grin. Still, the look of fear on Greg's face did not dissipate, so he decided to throw a lifeline of hope. "If it's any consolation, I won't exactly be alone in there. I also encountered some… people who share in my distaste of Afton's dark side, and they volunteered to be there with me. You know I wouldn't put myself in a defenseless position anyway, right?"
His reminder finally lifted Greg's spirit. "Yeah, I remember—if your little bout with that drunk guy was any indication, you can handle anyone who crosses you." Bumping a fist to Mihael's toned arm, both young men shared a chuckle. After that, they quickly reviewed what Greg was going to do for the next week, and he was just as quick to remember. Near the end, he asked the off-duty guard about a previous topic. "Just playing devil's advocate here: what if the worst-case scenario does happen? What do I do then?"
"Depending on whether you visit the cops or vice-versa, you'll at least have the copies, and our conversation here, to provide. And should you hear I'm gone—" Michael exhaled for a second. "—tell them 'William Afton did it.'"
000
A few hours had passed after Greg left with his precious parcel, and Michael stared at a different assortment laid on the table. He made use of his remaining time before returning to the nightclub, by gathering everything he would need for tonight and the following nights. Even if his big confrontation with his boss happened tonight, he wanted to make sure he had his essentials on-hand. Along with the empty backpack sitting in one of its chairs, the table beheld the following items:
1) Spare batteries for the security room flashlight;
2) his fully-charged phone;
3) a zippered first aid pouch;
4) his small handheld toolset;
5) a bottle of iced water;
6) a snack pack, with a Tupperware containing emergency provisions; and
7) a clean washcloth with spare pair of socks and boxers.
There was also an extra instrument lying next to the assemblage: his white USB stick flash drive, but with some minor alterations. Since he would need to provide the original hard drive to the authorities, Michael needed a kind of bargaining chip to use against Afton if the time came; so, he had emptied his own flash drive, and painstakingly copied the original device's wording and aged appearance. He speculated that if Dr. Emile had owned the original appliance, then the wording was likely written in his hand; and Afton would certainly recognize that at first glance, and thus assume the gadget was the real thing. It wasn't much by itself, but it would have to do for the time being.
Satisfied with his chosen supplies, Michael began placing it all into his pack. Once he got to the socks and boxers, he paused. The socks were innocuous enough, but he realized the boxers may unintentionally expose a different purpose if seen. Its place of destination, after all, was a nightclub where sentient humanlike sex dolls with flirtatious interest in him walked about, and yet any explicit contact with them was prohibited; and although he had no intention of breaking its top rule, anyone else may not believe him. Despite his misgivings, Michael decided it was better to have it with him than without, and stuffed its rolled state beside the socks.
Then again, the piece of clothing would be the least of his worries if tonight did end badly.
As that thought entered his mind, he let his mind wander to the sliding glass door to the patio, overlooking the cityscape. The sun had long since set into the horizon, and the last colors of its rays were fading away for the night. On any normal night, the stars would be shining already, but the proximity of the urban borough covered their presence in a thick veil of smog and light pollution. Along with a cool overcast, the region was plunged in relative natural darkness. Yet, tonight, he could see a few shining bright enough to pierce through the buoyant gloom—seven points of light. While observing the shimmering beacons, Michael remembered something Greg told him just before he left.
"There's something my ma sometimes told me: 'no matter what happens, stay optimistic. It may not power miracles, but when you hope for the best and hold onto it like a beacon of light, you can make things happen like they are miracles.' I think that worked well for me while looking for another job, and it especially worked for you during your first week in the club; and after hearing everything you went through since then, I believe you have what it takes to break through that five-week mark."
He's right about that part, Michael mused. Tonight marks the thirty-fifth working night in the nightclub—a full five weeks.
He stared at the sparse stars for a moment longer, eliciting all he faced in the timeframe. During that time, Greg was not the only person to provide support and loyalty when he needed it; both Vanny and his grandmother also offered their aid in their own ways. Even the animatronic girls held onto their hopes by helping him to this point. Thinking of the seven people—including the resolved face of a certain tuxedoed singer from last night—he sensed an appropriate symmetry with the stars, as well a ray of hope reaching his soul. I got this far thanks to all of them, he concluded with his own resolve, because they never gave up hope on me. The least I can do to honor and repay them is not giving up on them, and seeing this through.
With a decisive nod, Michael zipped up his pack and swung it onto his back. Swiping the car keys from the kitchen counter, he took one last glance around his apartment, ensuring all was in its place. Satisfied with his efforts thus far, the young man headed to the doorway, and closed the door behind him.
…
…
A quintet of rings suddenly broke the silence in the empty domicile, before a resounding beep incited the phone message recorder. Its audio began logging a familiar voice:
"Michael? It's me, Vanny! Listen, I don't know where you are right now, and I don't have much time to say a lot—but I have big news for you. It's partially about your package—the department's salivating over it, to say the least—but it's mainly about your parents' case. The warehouse manager finally surrendered his booking records, and I finally learned the rental car's prick of an owner's name! …But I must warn you, I didn't expect the name that was signed on the books… That's why, either way, I need you to stay in your apartment for tonight—got it?"
Unfortunately, the message was received and recorded two minutes too late, as its intended recipient was already out of the apartment building.
000
The security room was unusually quiet, despite its occupancy.
Michael was sitting in his usual seat while overlooking the monitor screens. His silence was partly due to the events that transpired in the past ninety minutes, and they had sapped at his mental and physical strength. After having arrived a bit early at the club, he found himself in time to witness a pudgy patron trying to take advantage of the bar's absence of management. He was quicker to stop the boozed-up buffoon, but the drunkard claimed he was granted permission. Even after Michael pointed out the standing note not three feet away on the bar counter, the man was persistent and even tried to pick a fight. Luckily for the security guard, he did not need to defend himself; the stranger was so smashed, his pathetic first swing was enough to fling him face-first to the ground, where he stayed. Unfortunately, the man was a party-of-one, so Michael had to drag the tanked-up tanker by himself all the way to the club lobby. When he finally got him situated, the closing hour had already begun.
The delay forced the security guard to work into overdrive, in order to fulfill his own preparations. By the time the club was emptied, closed and locked, he finally got the chance to see the girls—or so he thought. As it turned out, all four of them were fatigued and barely had the juice to have small-talk, as Afton had them working particularly harder today, almost nonstop with very little time to recharge. Michael could tell from their drained postures and voices, so he postponed his intended meeting for their sakes. While they received their well-earned rejuvenation, he used the time instead to complete the list left in the security room. It was the longest one yet, with eight objectives—including the 'no sex in the nightclub' rule at the end—and Michael figured it would look better for him if everything was done before Afton's upcoming visit tonight. Thus, he jumped right into the assignments.
He had finished four of the list's objectives when he received a pleasant surprise. Thirty minutes after the girls left for their recharge pods, Frenni appeared to volunteer her services. Although she got only a small boost of energy, she claimed it more important to help him in any way she could, in addition to keeping the others up-to-speed with whatever he wished to discuss. Gratefully touched by her offer, the two of them made mincemeat of the next task before taking a break, though Michael made sure whatever she did was not so strenuous that it reduced her energy again. Thus, he was spending his break in his intended post, observing the club's camera feeds and making sure nothing was out of place. Frenni, meanwhile, had opted to stay beside him for a while longer. She did not exactly feel like leaving yet, and Michael accepted her company. Once she brought over a chair from the club floor, the pair spend a few minutes reviewing the plan against Afton.
They and the other girls had agreed that Afton would make a move against Michael soon. Despite his layoffs-for-profit habit, the older man needed someone under him for the sake of maintaining some sense of employment, under the guise of appearing technologically advanced to be near full-automation and management. With this ruse and his plans to expand successful, there was now not much need of Michael's assistance at this point. Once he made his move—whenever that may be—Michael would call him out, and propose an action that would be better for both of them; and if the manager resisted by calling on the girls, the quartet would immediately respond, to Michael's aid instead. Their guess was that revealing their switched alliance, if not their true selves, would be enough for him to yield, if not surrender—the odds would be against him in more than numerical means. From then on, it would become a matter for the police to resolve. Ensuring each other remembered the plan, Frenni promised to pass it along to her colleagues at the first chance.
…
The room fell silent after that, as if neither had any means of prolonging their conversation. As the minutes ticked in tense silence, Frenni glanced over at Michael and noticed his attention was not entirely on the screens. He seemed rather jittery despite his tiredness, which was confirmed when he flinched at a camera feed scanning the loading dock, only to find it was a homeless person scouring the nearby dumpster.
"You look pretty nervous," she said simply.
"To be honest, I'm terrified right now," Michael admitted. "It's not every day you find yourself wondering your fate before having to face someone who's spent his life ruining and taking lives. …Aren't you nervous?"
She scoffed half-jokingly. "As hell. I never thought the person who'd promised to ease my ailments would end up becoming my murderer… and here I am, about to face him a second time. Who else has been in that position? …Only this time, I also feel more confident since I know what I'm up against, and I have you and everyone else if he tries to pull a fast one. In a way, I'm a little excited to see his face when it goes down, and have the chance to walk out of here a free girl." Frenni looked over, and her worry aligned with her curiosity when she saw his demeanor remained unchanged. "…What's going on in that handsome head of yours? Talk to me."
Michael broke his gaze from the screens at last, his expression a mix of anxiety and uncertainty. "I'm sorry I'm not being so responsive. It's just… I haven't felt like this in a while."
"May I ask when the last time was?" she asked softly.
Michael took a deep breath. "The last time was when I heard the news that my parents were in an accident," he began. "I was at work that day, and they were out on an errand for my mother's teaching job. But since I took my truck with me, they took the old family van: older than old, but always reliable. We never had a problem as long as we had it—unless you count cosmetics. Heh, I still remember the white-bleached stain on the front passenger side door, or that green sticker from the rearview mirror—real eyesores that happened while I was growing up." His slight amusement vanished as he continued.
"…Then I got the call from my boss. I also remember the anxiety stabbing into me as I raced over to the intersection, hoping on hope that they were gonna be okay… until I saw the van, or what was left of it. When I saw it engulfed in fire, with its eyesores having already burnt away while lying in a red pool of blood… I just… shut down. Two officers had to drag me out of there because I couldn't move." Michael paused to wipe his nose on his sleeve. "But the worst part came afterward, when my grandmother and I heard the cause of the accident. After the driver ran off, a full minute had passed before my parents' car was consumed in the flames. If that person had stayed instead, he could've helped them—even if there was only a chance for one of my parents, he could've done something… I never felt so unsure, insecure, until then."
Silence returned in the room as Michael finished, letting his experience sink in. The moment was brief, though, as he felt Frenni take his hands into hers, making him turn to face her. Although the room was not very illuminated, the monitor screens lit up her face well enough; and as enticing as they made her face look, even her casual dark blue eyeshadow was overshadowed by her bright expression full of compassion and affection.
"That's how I felt at first after you brought me back," she said with calm openness. "I also had so many questions without answers, including why this happened to me and what would become of me… or if I would see my family again. Those uncertainties stayed with me for a good while, until a wise man recently told me to not dwell on such things, or I would go crazy in search for any answer. Maybe his words will do you good, too." Her meaningful statement got to him, and he could not help but smile a bit. "And if it helps you any further," she pressed, "maybe you can focus more on what they think of your actions after their passing. I'm sure they would be proud of you right now—I know I am."
That last statement struck a chord within Michael, and he felt his uncertainty gradually disappear as he thought more on her words. "Thanks, Ariel," he sighed serenely. "I really needed to hear that. I think they'd be beyond happy for what I've been through over the past year, especially my time with you girls… though they'd probably question the location." He spread his arms out to emphasize the nightclub, which made her laugh.
"Well, hopefully, that issue won't be a problem for long," she said jokingly, "as long as everything goes to plan. And on the off-chance it doesn't, you can always hide in the vents—though they might be a tight fit." She pointed her finger past Michael, towards the back wall. Following her digit's direction, he spotted a big squarish cover protruding from the wall behind him. It was the security room's air vent cover, not unlike the ones he saw in the kitchen. Like she said, it was just barely the right size for him to crawl into without getting stuck; and the screws holding the cover to the wall were rather rusted, so it was possible to yank it off if necessary.
"I'd rather not try it if I can help it," he cringed. "In a former pizzeria-now-turned nightclub, who knows what kinds of hidden nasties are growing in there?"
"Point taken." Frenni had her tongue out in genuine disgust at the thought, before her face changed back to mischief. "I was actually expecting more of a 'that's what she said' punch line."
"For which comment: the 'tight fit', or 'hidden nasties'?"
Frenni failed to stifle her laughter at his wit, and she ended up leaning forward onto him in hysterics. Michael likewise laughed, more out of her reaction than his response, while she held onto him. After a few minutes, their mirth calmed to a few snorts and giggles. While still holding onto each other, Michael subdued his amusement long enough to get his thoughts together again, including one in particular. Clearing his throat, he asked his close friend what he had in mind.
"Speaking of 'everything going to plan', there's something I wanted to ask you." He waited until Frenni lifted her head to meet his gaze. "Ariel, have you considered your future after this? I know you mentioned going to the beach before… but what about after that? What will you do then?"
Her glee faded as she took his question seriously, her fingers trailing his shoulders and collarbone while she thought. "…I—um, I'm not sure. But then, I think being a self-aware animatronic would limit my options, and I haven't the time to consider what they may be. What about you?"
His reply to her redirect was more definitive. "Well, I'll definitely be out of a job after this fiasco. Once that happens, I'll be right back where I was five weeks ago: scouring through the newspaper and online employment sections." Michael paused, his memory replaying his employment debate with Greg. "Yet, like you, my options would also be limited, as would my time in the apartment building. After what I spent during my time here, I won't be surprised if I end up moving out of my apartment after next month."
…
"…Not alone, I hope."
Her sudden declaration brought him out of his reverie, and he felt his chair shift without him. In silent amazement, he watched as Frenni moved from her seat and onto his lap, her bare thighs sandwiching his hips. Feeling satisfied with the position, she held her partner's head in her hands, regarding him with determined loyalty. "I don't know what the future will bring for any of us, or the choices we'll have to make," she avowed, "but I'm certain about one choice of mine: wherever you go, I want you to at least take me with you."
Michael blinked hard at her oath. "A-Are you sure about that? I may not have very productive prospects in my horizon, considering what I have left in my name."
"If you can work for more than a month in a haunted building full of possessed, horny-as-hell occupants and underhandedly exorcise them from the same cruel prick that runs the place—and succeed with your limbs and V-card intact—then I'm sure you'll find a way to come around with fistfuls of dollars," Frenni affirmed faithfully. "I will have to work anyways, too, so it'll be better for us to team up and pool our resources and talents. Plus, I know the others will want to come along, which would be all the better for us. And besides…" Her face softened as she traced her hands back to his neck-and-shoulder region, and tenderly hugged him. She breathed deeply upon resting her head beside his, rubbing their cheeks together. "…I don't think I'd last long if you weren't by my side."
Though his vision was obscured by her hair, he could tell how content she was feeling toward their close proximity. Of course, he did not blame her one bit; before her resurrection, she was forced to spend several years in a false life in relative isolation, with any chance of proper companionship tantalizingly and literally out of her reach. Now that she finally had it, he knew she would not let go—an impression verified as she nuzzled his neck while trailing his collarbone, humming contentedly.
"You also really enjoy being this close to me, don't you?" he asked with laced fun. Frenni tilted her head to face him, her hands remaining on his shoulders.
"I can't help it. You feel so protective, devoted, and loving… like when my mother used to hold me when I was younger. I… I've missed that feeling for so long."
Michael was moved by her compliment, that he could not resist leaning into her hourglass form, his hands holding her upper back. "I feel much the same way every time I hold you like this," he approved kindly, "that I'm still with someone as protective and devoted as my mother… but in a different way, since you're a good-looking girl around my age."
"True, it would be weird otherwise." Both shared a chuckle, and the air around them became tense for a different reason. Their current intimate position had their bodies flushed together, and neither wished to move in fear of ending the moment; and yet, their heightened arousal made them want to move out of desire to see where the moment would lead. Even a small muscle spasm from one felt magnified to the other. Frenni looked especially nervous, as her pupils flickered between hearts to normal and back; and her countenance suggested she was debating something on her mind. On impulse, Michael asked what was wrong, and her response took him aback a bit.
"Since we're here, may I test something with you?" she asked. "Curiosity got me when a relative matter was brought up a while ago."
"Sure. What is it?" No sooner than his hushed approval left his lips, that she took his right hand from her back and—
MUNYUN.
In that moment, her left breast was occupied by his hand, the palm and fingers stuffed underneath her white shirt and pressed up against the orb in a grabbing posture. Michael exhaled sharply in both shock and inward delight; although he did not expect this turn, the pleasurable tremor that ran through his body made him feel such delight. Every texture of her chest transmitted to his mind, from the soft touch of her flawless skin to the firmness of the orb itself, hinting that her strained shirt was not entirely the source of its forced shape. He detected the presence of a heartbeat, and the flow of body warmth from within. Even her hardened nipple was poking into his palm, which aroused him more into wanting to touch more of her. Judging from the look of thrill on Frenni's closed-eyed face, she wanted nothing more as well. A slight flex of his digits around her breast was enough to send Frenni shivering in ecstasy.
"Oh, shit," she breathed sharply and heavily. "All that talk about those nano-things and ionic-erogenous zones making us more sensitive than people, was no joke—but I didn't think it'd feel this good." She bit her lip as another wave hit her, and turned her vibrant eyes to Michael, their foreheads touching. "…As much as I enjoyed teasing and flirting with boys while I was human, I've wanted to find one I trusted enough to touch me like this. …How does it feel for you?"
Tearing his eyes off her breast, he breathed out his exhilarated honesty. "Incredible," he whispered back, "… just like you."
Clearly satisfied and captivated with his answer, Frenni closed her pupil-hearted eyes as she moved in to kiss him. Michael willingly accepted her invitation, wrapping his free arm around her waist while allowing his occupied hand to knead her chest. The sensations of her back and breast being explored triggered her into closing any remaining space between them, wrapping her arms around his neck and applying force to the kiss. Her embrace eventually began pushing the chair back, and the two ended up against the back wall, yet neither seemed to care while entangled in each other's desire. As their lips opened to fully explore each other's orifices, their fingers grabbed and traced the contours of their respective areas. At one point, he started using his thumb to play with her hidden nipple underneath her shirt, to which she responded by grinding her hips on him. She even redirected one of her hands to underneath his shirt, roving her palms and fingers against his fit chest. Michael found himself drowning in the many sensations emanating from his lover: her heavy breathing as her hourglass body shifted against him; the increased heartbeat as their hands fondled each other's chest; the aroma of her pheromones now emanating among her luscious hair; her rough moans as her tongue wrestled with his; and even her sweet chocolate taste clouded his mind with wanton desire.
After being given a real taste of such forbidden fruit, he wanted much more than second helpings.
Just when he was feeling himself on the knife's edge of submitting to his rapidly-rising lust, Frenni parted her head from his, with their foreheads still connected by their messy hair. A single, thick strand of mixed saliva bridged their open mouths as they panted deeply from their embrace. Taking a moment of serenity, both figures simply stared at each other's new unkemptness. Her hands reluctantly left their respective places on his neck and chest, and trailed them to frame his face; all the while, Michael's free right arm tracked the curvature of her spine, between her clothed shoulder blades, and ending with cupping the back of her neck. While his eyes remained glued to her heart-filled gaze, she cemented the moment with her next proclamation.
"Another reason… to stay with you," she whispered huskily and truthfully. "…I like you—a lot."
"I… I like you too, Ariel," Michael confessed, spurred by her admission. Seeing her flushed state, he thought back on her previous shows of determination, wit, and heart—as well as her desire—and could no longer deny himself such attractions. "Even if it's been only a month of knowing you…You're such a wonderful woman to me in many ways, that I won't feel the same if you were elsewhere, either. That's why I want you to be with me, too—not just because of related tragedy or mutual future benefits, but because I want you with me… I need you with me, and I don't want to let you go." With a minor tug on her neck, their noses nearly touched as he sought to cement their moment to a higher level. "I want to see you happy when you get your life back; I want to hear you laugh while you walk in the sun; and I want to hold you as we enjoy more moments together… Because, the truth is… I… I lo—"
Ring-a-ling.
He was rudely interrupted by the call coming from his pant pocket. Snapped out of the moment, Michael growled as he picked out his phone to find who was calling, while Frenni leaned back and pouted miserably. Like her, he was upset about the disruption, and wanted to curse the person who dared ruin their romance. But that wish turned into a question about life's cruel humor the moment he answered the cellphone.
"Hey kid! I'm at the front entrance—care to unlock the doors now?"
Hearing that man's voice jerked both figures to full-alert, twisting their heads to the clock and monitor feeds. Sure enough, it was 3am on the dot; and the screen overlooking the main entrance doors also showed William Afton, waiting edgily and on time. As if burned, the singer leapt off the young man in panic, and they both tried to smooth out their appearances. With a final, hurried check—and wishes of good luck—Frenni disappeared out of the security room to the back hallway to properly recharge, leaving Michael jotting the opposite direction to the front entrance. Upon reaching the lobby, he unlocked the doors to reveal his boss, who raised an eyebrow at his hurried state. Only when the doors closed and reinitiated its lockdown procedure did its owner speak up.
"You look rather tousled," he said simply, his voice more interrogative than observational.
"S-Sorry about that, sir," Michael stuttered while catching his breath. "I-I was in the middle of a break from the errand list you left for me tonight—I got startled by your call, that's all."
"Does that mean everything's getting done, then?"
"Yes, sir. I've only one or two things left on the list."
"Mmh… I see. And the animatronics?"
"Tucked in their pods and charging, sir." Michael replied right away.
"Excellent," Afton said, sounding strangely pleased this time. "Make sure the remaining errands are done before your shift ends. I need to check on a few things before speaking with you, but I'll—" His discourse ended suddenly, and he turned his head left and right as if looking for something. As he did last night, he made audible inhalations through his nose, but stopped when he redirected his attention to Michael. He stayed silent for a moment before clearing his throat. "—ahem… I'll call for you when I'm ready."
As he watched him take his leave into the hallway leading to the club floor, Michael eyed his back with suspicion. Without breaking his stare, he subtly raised his arm a little and smelled himself. Especially since earning his previous job, he always used deodorant anytime he ventured outside; and for all the heavy lifting and reorganizing and deep-cleaning he had been doing in the club, his hygienic habit remained strong, so he was not worried. Still, his boss's blatant attempts lately were something for concern.
Through his suspicions, Michael was becoming certain his destined clash with the man would come sooner than expected.
000
"Mr. MacGowan! If you're hearing this, come up to my office, will you?"
His boss's voice called from the second floor through a speaker system. To Michael, who was in the middle of bar-stocking, the call boomed across the open air of the club floor, and made him jump. He hadn't heard of speakers being installed before, though it made sense to have them for big announcements or emergencies; but even so, its sudden use caught him off-guard. Postponing his final assignment for the time being, the nightguard secured the last crate of wine bottles on the counter and checked his phone. A little more than an hour passed since Afton arrived tonight—enough time for the girls to be adequately energized for the rest of tonight's shift.
Let's hope their energy isn't needed for this meeting, Michael thought. After pressing a few places on his phone, he pocketed the device and headed up the curved stairway. Within the minute, he ascended to the second floor and reached the office door. Knocking thrice, he heard the older man grant permission, and the younger man entered the room. As he approached the plain chair facing the desk, Michael found his boss facing him in his cushioned seat, hands clasping his tablet. Despite the room being well-lit, the large-paned window behind him made his presence more intimidating, as its darkness of outside seemed to imitate the aura that surrounded the man.
"You called for me, sir?"
"That I did. Please have a seat." Although there was a hint of cheer, Afton's reply was blunt, leaving his employee no choice but to do as he said. Once he saw his worker was situated, the older man pressed something on his device and laid it on the table. Ignoring its download bar, he got right to the point. "As you probably figured, I wish to take this opportunity to congratulate you on your performances throughout your time here. Despite being severely short-handed and meeting a significant trade show in such short time, you managed to keep this place secured, supplied, and sanitized in a timely and orderly manner. In fact, its recent reviews—along with bringing back one of my animatronics—has made my club better than ever before, and my business associates have sent their praises. With these successes, the chance of opening some ground for a sister location is all but guaranteed!"
The young nightguard shifted in his seat at the news. "So, your proposals went that well?"
"And then some," the manager answered enthusiastically. "To be perfectly honest, I had a few reservations about the meetings taking place in the state my club was in… but that was before you came along. For putting your back and brain into returning this place to its prime, you have my personal thanks… no, scratch that. You deserve more than that—something other than some 'employee of the month' title."
Michael did his best to appear flattered by the commendations. "Thank you, sir. Um, if I may say so, you make it sound like there's more than just the restoration compensation in my future—like a promotion, or something."
After thinking about his comment, Afton chuckled. "I guess I did, didn't I? Well, we'll get to that in a moment—for now, let's talk about the club's future. Tell me, kid: how familiar are you with a process called 'change management'?"
Perplexed by the abrupt question for a second, Michael took another second to answer. "Um, I know it's how an organization approaches and implements changes to its goals and processes. It's similar to policy change, except it focuses entirely on itself as a business, not in addition to its surrounding community."
"Very good," the manager complimented. "Glad to know you're acquainted with it."
"I experienced one of two such occasions during my previous job," Michael stated tentatively, "… the second time of which led to my losing the job. I take it you plan to implement one of your own?"
Afton nodded, then stood to gaze through the window. "Like I said, my plans for expanding the business are yet to be signed and notarized, but that doesn't mean I can pop the champagne. From this point on, I'll need to consider a number of things in order to make the big transition run smoothly. I'm talking matters like the club's current system, the moving or sparing of big equipment and provisions—" He turned to examine Michael with a scrutinizing glare. "—and a few other adjustments."
"Like what?" Michael asked warily, catching on to the man's abbreviation of the last word. To answer him, Afton returned to face him with a sympathetic face—but the leering stare in his eyes never left.
"Well, since you asked, one of those adjustments will be unexpected and unfortunate," he began in a despondent voice. "You see, I've recently received some complaints from a few of my patrons—about you."
That was quick, Michael thought, now on full alert. While he and the girls had guessed Afton would soon find a way to remove him from the club, he had not actually expected it to be confirmed—and on Afton's first on-sight visit, no less. "What sorts of complaints?" he asked, half-curious about the complaints themselves.
In response to the inquiry, Afton leaned over his computer and fiddled with the keyboard. "Largely, it concerns your little brawl from last week. Contrary to what you described, the man whom you kicked out claims that you attacked him, which his witnesses support. Even more disturbing, is that the surrounding customers reported your acting rather irately throughout the ordeal. Imagine my surprise, then, when I checked the security footage for myself… and confirmed their allegations." With a final press of a key, he shifted the computer screen just enough to show his employee.
Watching the footage playing, Michael recognized the incident with the rowdy group harassing Frenni from several days ago. Sure enough, he was seen coming to Frenni's aid and facing the main boozer, as well as putting him on the ground; but the part where the latter laid a hand on him was missing, making it look like Michael provoked the attack instead. In addition, the time stamp for the footage was erased, despite it showing up in a previous occasion on the same device. Unable to call him out for tampering with the tape, Michael calmly resorted to a different counter. "The camera where this came from must've been faulty at that time," he surmised, "so it must've glitched right where the guy laid his hands on me. It isn't the first time the cameras have malfunctioned."
Afton frowned a bit, weighing his argument for a moment. "That much is true," he started again, "but I'm surprised you didn't ensure their condition before the week started. After hearing your claim to being no stranger to hard labor, I didn't believe you would lax on your work."
"I can only fix the problems I know exist, sir—how could I have known that specific camera would act up at that moment?" Michael let his counter sink for a second before continuing. "But that's beside the point. I acted with composure and professionalism, no matter what you heard; and if you're still not convinced, you can ask Frenni or the other girls." He pointed at the screen, to the buxom figure standing with him.
"You mean my animatronics?" Afton quizzed in a corrective tone. "Why would I do that?"
Trying not to be irked by the man's disregard, Michael responded firmly. "Because they were also there to see and hear everything; and unlike people, they cannot lie or misinterpret. They'll support my side once you ask them."
"You're right about that—why wouldn't they support someone who's become very friendly with them?"
Afton clacked some more on the keyboard, and the screen revealed a different scene on the club floor. This time, Michael felt a swell of shock in his stomach as he instantly recognized the sight of the four ladies hugging him in celebration of their self-conscious reunion two nights ago. Luckily, the sound was not recorded as well, so their secret was not revealed; but it did not change the fact that they were caught on-camera, outside the safety and privacy of the security room. Silently kicking himself for making such a mistake, Michael quickly tried to excuse himself.
"I've just been talking to them," he emphasized. "You said yourself that wasn't a problem."
"Not unless I find it's interfering with your performance." Before Michael could say anymore, Afton continued speaking. "But whether or not that is the case—or whoever started the brawl—it's irrelevant. In fact, the biggest problem my customers had with you began some time earlier, which I hadn't noticed until recently. I chalked it up to the workloads I assigned to you, including some of the more unsanitary tasks, but I had to find out for myself—hence my presence here tonight." He leaned over the desk with both hands planted on its surface, and inhaled a small breath of air, only to gradually exhale while wrinkling his face. "And I can now confirm their grievances, about your personal hygiene."
Is this guy serious?! Hearing this ridiculous complaint, combined with the man's growing hypocrisy, Michael finally let his displeasure seep out. "Is that why you've been deliberately smelling the air since yesterday? Because I'll have you know that I manage my body odor before anytime I leave my apartment; or in this job, I use the locker room stalls to sanitize myself from your workloads. So, if there's anything overly smelly about me, it's the deodorant I'm wearing."
Afton looked intently at him, until his face turned smug. "Glad to hear you admit it."
"You can't be serious," Michael proclaimed, not believing what he just heard.
"I take loyalty and orderliness very seriously, Mr. MacGowan," Afton declared professionally, interrupting again, "and it is clear to me that you have been lagging in the latter. While you've managed to perform wonders in keeping my business on its feet while I'm gone, there are some things I do not tolerate. Neglecting self-cleanliness happens to be one of them; and on top of attacking my customers in random fits and spouts of dementia around my property, I can hardly see anyone with that mindset as fit for inclusion in my club's future—unless you can give me one good reason to reconsider."
Michael blinked in amazement. This guy really was something: not only did he flawlessly word every ridiculous claim into a legitimate reason, but he also intentionally made an opening for rebuttal and challenged Michael to take it. On top of that, that opening possessed a hint of finality which implied the man's confidence in whatever response Michael would make. It was a classic bait-and-trap method of conversation; and combined with age and experience, Afton held the power to assert superiority and intimidate rivals in only a few sentences. Now Michael began to grasp how well his boss was able to get his way—even against actual legal officials—without getting his hands dirty. No wonder Vanny hates this guy, he thought quickly. But this debate is not over—I have more than one good reason for him.
"Even if what you're saying is true," he began, "then wouldn't your mindset be the one in question instead? After all, I don't think anyone likes working with a businessman that has a habit of lying."
The man's challenging pose faltered a little. "…I beg your pardon?"
Catching onto his minor hesitation, Michael pressed on. "I'm talking about how you were painting yourself in front of your investors. You took all the credit for 'keeping the business on its feet' and 'bringing it back to its prime' even though that wasn't the case. The same goes for Foxxy's restoration job: not only did you conceal the fact that I did the real labor, but you also lied to me about needing to order the expensively necessary resources for the job. The fact alone that they were brought here within a day showed you already had them in stock—you didn't need my shared payment for the materials."
"Delivering such sensitive components and resources isn't cheap, kid," Afton retorted logically, "and I'm the one who ultimately authorized the rebuild. Either way, it was part of keeping up appearances. If my stockholders heard my creations—reportedly revolutionary in design and functions—could be repaired by a handyman, it wouldn't look well for me."
"Like revealing the real version of the Break of 87th Street?" Michael retorted back. "The one where the nightguard you hired was actually a repeat drunkard, whose abuse of authority led to Foxxy's damages? You lied to me about that, too—twice, actually."
Afton twitched an eye. "Who told you about that?"
"She told me everything," the nightguard declared, "and unlike you, I didn't sidestep any court matters to help her. Hell, she's probably the first being in the whole club to receive genuine compensation, what with your laying off all of your employees without benefit. Even the ones that worked here for years were run out, as well as sworn into silence; and from what I've also heard, the previous owners of this building suffered similarly by you. The only exception was my employment here, and that was just before the big meetings with the financiers. All that considered, anyone would think the only appearance you're keeping up is a clean reputation, literally and legally, for the promise of raking even bigger bucks."
"Where did you hear that nonsense?" Afton asked half-incredulously.
"Like I said, I heard rumors," the young man asserted, "which became speculations after doing a little research. And seeing how you're not denying any of it, they must not be far from the truth."
The club manager silently reexamined the younger man for a minute. "You really have been busy, haven't you?" he said at last. "Well, I'm glad to hear another of my speculations being confirmed—where you've been talking to the police about me!" He then took his tablet and minimized its rising downloading bar to reveal another window tab: an irregular loop overlapping a satellite image of the city. On the side was a list of locations where the lines stopped for extensive lengths of time, including the nightclub and—to Michael's alarm and anger—the police station and Michael's apartment building.
"You—You tagged my car?!" The nightguard yelled. "That's illegal!"
"Only if you find it before it's removed," Afton retorted smugly, and took out a magnetic mini-GPS tracker from his pocket. After letting Michael see the device for a second, he repocketed it and renewed his tirade. "Clearly, I misjudged you, Mr. MacGowan. I was convinced that your loyalty remained unsoiled, unlike your orderliness; but apparently, you've been disregarding that as well! And talking to the police—that is the highest level of betrayal in my book. You may have intended to dig up some dirt to use against me as leverage, but all you've done is dig yourself a bigger hole, and not even my automaton property—which you still consider as 'friends'—can help you out of it." He turned his back again to face the window, as if to wave off his remaining staff member. "And since I've yet to hear an actual reason for keeping you here—"
"Enough with the slurs!" Michael stood up from his seat, finally fed up with the man and his disgraceful misnomers. "If you are their creator, then you should know they're far more than 'property' or 'machines'. What is it about those girls that says otherwise?"
"I am their creator," the man claimed pridefully without looking back, "so I know all their capabilities, including how they never tire, nor hunger, nor complain. That is what divides them from actual people—something your demented brain cannot yet process."
Actual people. Michael glowered at the comparison the man just made nonchalantly, and without even looking to face him. That was the biggest insult not only to the girls, but also to himself, and had enough. Raising his voice so it could hopefully be heard downstairs, Michael officially threw down the gauntlet.
"You mean people like Ariel Mahi?"
"!"
Afton visibly stiffened, completely frozen. Though the dark window prevented his reflection from being seen, it was crystal-clear that he was affected by the introduction of that name. In fact, it was a good while before he finally responded, barely turning his head. "I… don't know who you're talking about," he said at last, feigning denial.
Narrowing his eyes, Michael pressed on, gradually raising his voice in the hope of someone downstairs being awake and overhearing him. "You sure about that? Then how about Jesse Glau, or Cassie O'Malley, or Sophia Olvera? Do those names ring a bell—or do you prefer to call them your 'automaton property' instead?"
His boss suddenly whirled around, revealing a face wrinkled into an affronted yet stunned frown. "That's a wild and far-fetched accusation you have," he declared.
"Maybe," the young man agreed, "but it's not unjustified, thanks to those girls' testimonies… and that from a certain French doctor." With finality, Michael took out something from his pocket, and tossed it in front of Afton. The object—which was the fake flash drive Michael made to fool his boss—flopped twice onto the desk, the impacts resounding in the room like a judge pounding the gavel. As the older man's eyes widened upon reading its exposed written side, Michael added one last comment. "I take loyalty and order seriously, too… but unlike you, I also value honesty and morality."
…
…
Silence ensued between the two figures. While the younger one waited impatiently where he stood, the older one remained hunched over the gadget, with both arms planted on the desktop. In this position, his head was hung over and obscuring his face, and Michael could not see him again. But when he did lift his head, his expression had changed completely, the professional façade now gone. His lips were white from being pursed together tightly; his nose exhaled shallow, yet even, breaths; and his eyes…
…they were the eyes of a dead man—cold and emotionless.
"… So, you know."
Michael involuntarily shivered at the tone that sentence was spoken. He had not expected his hidden, cruel nature to be so intense. But with the flood gates now wide open, he knew he had no choice but to ride the surge. "I do," he confirmed slowly, "except one thing: why? Why did you do that to those girls? Why would you exploit their desperation like that?"
Afton lifted an eyebrow in offense, though the look in his eyes stayed the same. "Exploit? They asked for a cure, and I gave them what they wanted."
"What they wanted was to live!" Michael corrected loudly. "They didn't ask to die, let alone be trapped in fake bodies without control, and subjugated as sex slaves. So why did you do it?"
"I don't need to justify myself, certainly not to you," the manager scoffed.
"Oh, I think you do," Michael rejected. "You claimed yourself to be a doctor when they met you; and just now, you claimed to have given them a 'cure'. Only, you have no degree nor license for medicine." He waved to the wall displaying the framed science certificates for emphasis.
"Granted," Afton yielded in a smug tone, "but my doctorate is legitimate in the field of science. They're at fault for never asking which kind I was."
"How does that make it any better?" Michael argued. "How does it make them any better? What kind of 'cure' could you possibly give them?"
"A new body without weaknesses." Afton saw the confusion in the young man's eyes, and took advantage. "Think about it: for every evolutionary step our species has made, the technology we've created has taken ten times that. We are now at the point where our creations have begun to emulate ourselves in every way imaginable—even memory and emotions. And why not? Both human brains and AI expert systems are mapped in the same way, with the same neural links and interconnected nodes, and powered by electricity. Hell, the only difference between the two is that ours are biologically-composed—carbon-based—and even that had diminished when we started using carbon components and organic-based materials. But, why stop there?
"Today's innovations also include the means to store boundless data, up to thousands of terabytes or even petabytes—just like the human brain—in as little as a few centimeters. Combined with the emulative potentials, it begs the ultimate question: if we can store such quantities of information on such a format, why not someone's mind and personality as well? If that evolutionary step was achieved, then we would be able to achieve much more: the power to bring our greatest fantasies to life, to live the life and appearance we always desired—" He paused to look at the sole framed photograph on his desk. "…even extend the lives of those we fear to lose. My dear friend Henri couldn't see it that way, having already lived a full life before I did, but surely someone of your age wishes for that?
"Imagine the implications, the revolutions this could start. Medicine would be a thing of the past; prosthetics would no longer be a hindrance; and any terminal illness would be swept away for a fresh start, with a fresh body. Those girls you named—their bodies were already failing, so why prolong their suffering when I possessed the means to grant them all-new life? It is the ultimate dream that the world deemed impossible, but I can finally prove it wrong. After all, what greater cure is there than a means to cheat death?"
"…"
Michael stared hard at the man in front of him, silently contemplating his monologue. His mind acknowledged that nearly everything he said was logically true, but his heart was a torrent of mixed feelings concerning his methods to make it true. Such wrongs did not make any of it right, yet the public would more than likely see it differently if exposed to the prospects. It would be near-impossible for anyone to deny the chance of immortality once offered, should Afton's accomplishment be expanded or broadcast. Then, as if sparked by his boss's tablet 'ping' of its completed download, a thought struck him like lightning.
"Then tell me: who would decide what's in someone's best interests? Who would decide whether to show mercy to those ailing?" Michael then raised an accusatory finger at his foe. "Who would decide the kind of life that will be lived? Who would decide who lives and dies? You?"
Afton stared attentively for a moment. "…It's for consideration—unless you have a better idea."
"Yes—how about a certain man upstairs?" Michael turned his pointing finger meaningfully upwards, to the ceiling. The elder man followed its direction, and understanding surfaced on his stubbled face.
"R-ight—I figured you were raised among one of 'those' types of people. Tell me then, have you considered why He left the world to our devices after creating it? Or perhaps, why He'd want us to reshape the world to our liking, instead of keeping everything set to His? Whether it was by design or coincidence that we possess the power to create, it is how we use it to improve ourselves that matters. As for me, I'm simply picking up where He left off—by testing my intellectual limits and preserving sickly lives in doing so. Is that such a sin?"
"It is if it results in us replacing Him." Michael extended his quick retort with unrelenting judgment. "But that's beside the point. Not only did you lie to girls with false hopes, but what you put them through for the sake of your 'project' was cruel and insufferable; and even when they couldn't scream for you to stop, you ignored the tears they shed. You are no saint in their eyes."
"Spare me the sermon, boy," Afton replied, waving his hand dismissively before tracing his tablet with a smirk. "You're in my house right now… and you clearly don't understand the position you've placed yourself."
"Don't bluff someone who's already seen your cards," Michael challenged confidently, pointing to the flash drive stick. "Not only did I learn about your true self from Dr. Emile, but I also spent my extracurricular time studying and implementing the records inside—including a potential way to reverse your so-called 'glitches' in the girls. As of now, their minds are back to their true selves, and they are very eager to voice their complaints." He thumb-gestured behind him toward the door for emphasis. "In other words, the only position here is a five-against-one affair."
Afton was taken aback by the young man's revelation, his face revealing genuine surprise. "Is that so?" he asked with wonder. "Well, kudos to you. I had initially thought you were taking advantage of your spare time by getting close to them and recalibrating their loyalties, but I never expected you to discover their real secret—that their troublesome 'glitch' was their souls acting up—let alone a way for them to awaken them all. And to unravel years of meticulous calculating in five weeks? I would like to see this for myself… in fact, why don't we?" He then pressed something on his tablet screen, propping an eyebrow on Michael's face.
Almost immediately, the office door opened, and both men turned to the visitor. To Michael's relief, the familiar brown-skinned feminine figure of Frenni had arrived, and was now approaching them. Once she stood within arm's reach of Michael, the young man smiled resolutely at her.
"I'm glad you heard my voice from earlier, Ariel," he said, boldly emphasizing her real name.
But Frenni did not answer back right away. She just stared back at him in confusion—
—with hollow eyes.
"Who is Ariel?" she replied.
"!"
Michael recoiled. The voice she spoke was not the Indian-descended accent he was enamored by, but her given animatronic tone—she was not supposed to be using it this time. Immediately knowing something was wrong, he took a second look at her; yet everything about her was exactly the same as he last saw her, even her tussled hair from their secret make-out. Only her eyes were the difference; instead of her normal electric blue irises, they were illuminating a purplish hue. It was a dark and sickly shade reminiscent to old, congealed jelly or mucus.
"You may be playing War," Afton declared to draw his attention, "but I'm playing poker—and my hand has a royal flush, in spades."
How's that for a cliffhanger?
I'll admit, there was a lot to absorb in this chapter, but it would've been too much if I continued in my previous fashion. That is why I left the story like it is, and the next chapter will pick right up from there. In fact, my initial plan was to include the entirety of this nightshift as a single installment, and then make way for a couple more that would serve as representations of good, bad, and neutral endings—not in that order. For the moment, I intend to complete the story as I now planned, and promise it'll all come together from this point onward.
As for this episode, how did you like its events and portrayals? Do you think our MC's plan(s) will succeed or fail? Were any of Afton's reasons justified now that we know them? And what the hell did he do to our favorite singer?
Tune in until the next episode… which I personally call "Living the Nightmare"!