Five Weeks at Frenni's Nightclub

by noone-05

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

11. Week 6 - Night 1

Hello everyone, and welcome to another entry for Five Weeks at Frenni's Nightclub!

This past week marks a full year since I started this story, and I cannot believe how far I've come. It's absolutely amazing how writing a fictional story while adding your feelings from a devastating loss can help you along; and combined with everything else that had happened since then, I am incredibly grateful for all the readers that have followed along and provided their thoughts and praises. For that, I planned to introduce this story addition when Halloween/Day of the Dead is held. Given its content, I believe it is appropriate for the holiday, as well as well-earned "treat" for all to enjoy! Thus, I'd like to introduce what is considered a kind of "bonus level" of my fanfiction.

Beware, though: I don't own the FNaF franchise, as all rights belong to its respective owner(s); and there will be scenes involving blood and torture. This is based on a horror game, after all.

Anyways, do enjoy!

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Day 1

Having reached the peak of the stairway, he pulled himself over the last step. With his uninjured arm, he held the handrail to lift himself onto his knees, and then to his feet. Wearily, he gulped in a breath of the stale air and followed the ongoing path before him. Like before, the pair of doors stood imposingly within reach, and he hauled his stinging body towards them. Taking a closer note of the doors, he noticed their still-present lack of keyholes and doorknobs, as well as the need to press the symbolized buttons in a certain pattern to open the exit. The unknown glow illuminated throughout the passage's outline in thin lines, hinting the notion of a brighter ending, in more ways than one. But, like the other times before, something had changed again; the symbols were no longer alien ciphers as last time. Now, they appeared to resemble faces in the shape of stylized hearts. And the shapes jutting from the upper curvatures of some of those hearts felt uncannily familiar…

The back of his head itched as their imagery triggered what felt like a distant memory. Going on a whim, he raised his good hand and started pressing one button at a time: the first with a pair of circles on top, the second with odd lines sprouting from the upper valley; the third with embedded diamonds in the curves; and finally, the fourth with worm-like shapes drooping on top. The moment his fingers parted from the button's surface, the whole gate dragged open inward, suddenly casting painful rays of light onto his body. Nearly falling over from being blinded, he hurried through the slender opening between the doors…

…just in time to hear a horrible wailing sound. Glimpsing behind him for a second, he saw the ever-persistent monster having leapt into the air to tackle him; but the escaping surge of light proved to be a poison, as it shielded its face while screeching in agony, and thus fell unceremoniously to the floor. Without another wasted second, he passed the doorway and heaved the doors closed. Just before the edges met, however, his good arm was raked by a severe bite of pain, followed by another unnatural cry. His eyes widened as he saw the purple monster had scored yet another hit, having managed to grab his arm with its claws, but had its own caught by the doors in doing so. Wobbling from the searing ache, he slammed the heavy door on the intruding limb a second time, forcing it to let go and allow him to seal the way.

The only sign of any intrusion taking place was his bloodied, tattered shirt now caught in the doors, having been ripped off by the purple menace as an intended trophy.

He slid down to the floor, coughing harshly. After a moment, he lifted his sweating head to see where all his efforts left him. His newest occupation was a vault-like room, with an enormous paned-glass window overseeing a cloudy night sky. Although there was no moon, he did not need its moonlight; as the anonymous light, now coming from within an old locked case resting just below the window, lit up the chamber. Feeling more drawn to the soft radiance, he began to crawl to the case, but stopped; even though the container was two body-lengths away, his tortuous trek had left him too injured and weakened to close even such a short distance. Right as he was thinking of what to do—

—the heart of the whole window exploded as a monstrous figure flew in, its wings as crooked and misshapen as its hands. It looked as if the purplish demon that kept chasing him had finally evolved to take its mission to its conclusion. Moving like lightning, it grabbed him by the throat with a hand, hoisting him into the air above the old, glowing casing in victory. Unable to resist from complete lack of energy, he felt his neck tightening as he was constricted by the demon's grip, as well as his bloodied body dripping down onto the case. As if reacting to his leaking life-force, the light within the case intensified, and the vault grew in detailed clarity. Likewise, his pursuer became irradiated, and he cast his watering, swelling eyes to its face for the first time… but was unable to gasp in horror.

Its face looked just like that of—

Michael found himself face-down on the bedroom floor, flailing in panic. Heaving in breath, he lifted his upper body and whipped his head around his surroundings. He was no longer in that accursed dreamscape, but in his apartment bedroom. The bed covers were in total disarray, with only the corner of the thinner sheet having been looped around one of his ankles. Interpreting the present scenery as reality, his breathing regulated at a snail's pace.

Once he regained a decent level of calmness, he lifted himself from the floor. In doing so, he almost tripped on the sheet still tied to his foot; and shaking it off helped raise his self-awareness a bit. Stepping out of the bedroom, a multitude of senses hit him like a ton of bricks: the sight of the living room clock pointing the time being a little after noon, its face intensified by the sunlit window glare; the sweet, edible scents coming from the adjacent kitchen practically begging him to partake in their sources; and the resulting roar of his stomach from inhaling those smells, informing him of the time to satisfy the organ. Obliging his body's needs, but not quite feeling up to fixing something, he pulled out some containers from the fridge.

As he munched on half a ham-lettuce-and-avocado sandwich with some sliced cheese on crackers, he diverted his eyes to an additional sight in the room. Sprawled out on his dining room table was all the contents he accumulated during his investigation:

1) Dr. Henri Emile's external hard drive, complete with printed reports of William Afton's chosen victims and associations, as well as the comparative blueprints from Foxxy he saved;

2) Printouts of William Afton's embezzlement and fraud scheme, complete with bills, financial reports, laundering process, and hidden assets within his warehouse;

3) Time-stamped pictures from Michael's phone of Afton's hidden office assets, including the warehouse site and financial reports straight from his computer; and

4) The picture of Afton's customized gun, complete with a snack-bagged bullet he found hidden with it.

There were also additional notes Michael kept to the side, including information of the separated office server and notes about Afton's side of the project he shared with the French doctor, labelled as "Project Enard". Since he was not sure how to incorporate them into the main pile, he kept them aside for now. The main reason for that revolved around an important factor: the girls' current condition. While he wished nothing more than to see them roam freely again, he realized they may not be properly avenged without revealing the cause of their states; and doing so would likely inspire someone else to copy Afton's work, and Michael would damn himself if more innocent people ended up like Ariel and her friends. Therefore, what he needed to do was find a scenario that tied all his evidence together with reality, but without exposing the success of Afton's procedure.

Sipping on some apple juice from its bottle, Michael contemplated various ideas while visually sifting the assorted pieces of evidence laid out on his dining room table. Almost three hours passed before, slowly but surely, he came up with a feasible set-up. With the prospect of nearly completing the impromptu jigsaw puzzle encouraging him, Michael set up organizing the elements while handwriting minor notes to act as connecting dots. The more he worked on his project, the higher his excitement grew; soon, he actually forgot about the nightmare he had. After what felt like an endless journey of guesswork, searches, and jumpscares, Michael began to feel the crashing wave of accomplishment and deliverance at the end was within reach.

His cell phone vibrating in his pocket snapped him out of his reviews. Allowing the call to connect with a single finger swipe upon seeing Vanny's name, Michael answered his family friend's verbal visit. But her introduction was not quite what he expected.

"I apologize for being sudden and blunt," she said hastily, "but I must ask how your, ehm, 'special package' is coming along."

"I'm in the middle of giftwrapping it," Michael replied, knowing exactly what she was referring to. "Why the sudden urgency?"

Her reason was directly to the point. "I just got word from my superiors—they're considering shelfing the Ariel Mahi case."

Michael stood straight up from his chair in shock, the action bumping his midsection against the table. "What?! Why would they do that? You've been working your butt off on that since it landed on your desk."

"They're not pulling me off the case file," Vanny clarified. "It's just that after several years without any definitive evidence, they are deciding it best to officially declare it a cold case and shelf it, in favor of more recent and active cases."

"But I thought you said it was an active case," he countered, remembering their first conversations about the case from last month.

"I did say that, but there are certain conditions to which investigations are resolved—time and evidentiary discovery being two of them. Its time limit is nigh upon me, and I've hardly any real developments. Regardless, this comes from my superiors, so there's little I can do." An exasperated sigh emanated from Michael's cellphone, suggesting she was also not happy about the news. "That's why I need to know how you're doing—if you are still set in helping out my girls, then whatever you have better be good, and handed in soon."

Michael was quick to assure her. "Don't worry—I just need one piece of information to tie it all together in a neat little bow, which I'm hoping to have after tonight. Then the whole package will be yours. Will that suffice?"

Vanny let off a contemplative 'hmm' as she thought about it. "I suppose so… but what if it's not good enough for my superiors?"

Michael pursed his lips, having considered that possibility and yet not wanting to reveal too much. But I've already dived into the rabbit hole, he decided, so what difference does it make at this point? "Then you can talk about a Dr. Henri Emile—that will get their interest."

"I'm sorry—who is that?" the detective asked in confusion.

"Henri Emile, with a respective 'I' and 'E'," he explicated. "He was a French doctor and associate of Afton years ago, and they were both working on a radical project involving artificial intelligence. That is, until Afton's approach deviated from their shared design, and he parted ways from Emile… if you know what I mean."

"… Are you sure about that?"

"Pretty sure—the good doctor left behind a videoed confession, along with notes which definitely led to the creation of Afton's animatronics. From my perspective, I can already see two upcoming charges."

"Property theft and conspiracy to commit murder—of course. And if he used the proceeds to finance his business…" There was a pause on the line. "I'll certainly do some research on my end, and if what you've just said is true… then it'll be impossible for my superiors to ignore this. In the meantime, you get what you need."

"And if I do? Or rather, what happens once I deliver the gift?"

"Just carry on your usual business," Vanny advised. "I'll take care of the rest, and let you know if any fruit is borne. Good luck, and stay safe."

Once the call ended, Michael delved right back into setting up his dining table of contents. To his dismay, only a couple of minutes passed before his phone alarm sounded, indicating he pick up his laundry. Submitting to Vanny's advice of focusing on his affairs, he postponed his project and put away his bits of evidence. Taking care with each item, he placed everything in a short cardboard box and slid the collection into an open-zipped seat cushion from his sofa, and placed the cushion back like it had never been removed.

It may not be the prefect hiding spot if someone was so meticulous, he had thought, but since it worked for Emile's research, it'll have to do for now. Feeling a degree of satisfaction and security, Michael headed out to collect his linen—a few of which were his uniform shirts for this week.

000

The depths of the nightclub felt different as Michael entered through the back entryway. It was not like the stereotypical sinister feeling of a haunted house, but a more ominous, unpredictable atmosphere; he felt similarly when he arrived for his first nightshift, when everything was unknown and watching his every move. While walking through the dim shadows of the back hallway, he could not help but peek through any door openings along the back hallway, as if looking for someone eavesdropping on him. Even though he could see and hear the club in full-swing in its open hours, it did not matter. In fact, the only thing that helped remove such omens from Michael's mind was a certain sight as he passed out of the far side of the back hallway, on his way to the security room.

While stepping along the outside perimeter of the tables, he drifted his eyes to the figures on the main stage. Once again, all four animatronic androids were singing and dancing together, with faces as lively as their moves. Frenni had her usual center-spot, strutting with one hand holding her microphone and the other hooked onto her puff-sleeved white shirt, exposing a bit of a black-lace bra; by her side, Bonni swayed with her lyrics while plucking her guitar strings in another new style which brought fresh life to the air; and Chica and Foxxy were on the sidelines, bringing their own vitality into the performance as they writhed and twirled on the poles. Seeing the four of them onstage, smiling so brightly, compelled a smile on Michael's face. With some of his thoughts of his first encounters lingering, he saw a stark contrast to the sight before him now. Before, they were alone and broken in different ways, as well as trapped in more ways than one; but now that their little secret was known to him, and they all were technically freed from control, they somehow looked happier and confident. His earlier satisfaction from his apartment rose up within him as he watched the girls, and he relished in the reward of seeing them in far better, more hopeful spirits.

Their provocative outfits and gestures were a nice bonus, too.

As they completed a unified twerk-and-twirl of their rotund-peach derrieres, they turned around to continue their pole-dance, their faces oozing with desire. Almost as if identifying Michael's presence, the ladies suddenly switched their gazes in his direction, and gave a subtle wave and wink. Michael nearly flinched, not because of the surrounding audience roaring at the invitation; even though he knew they were simply welcoming him, the shared jerk of their heads towards him was a little unnerving. It reminded him of his very first visit to the nightclub, when they watched him go up the stairs to the office. This time, though, the girls were actually themselves, and their greeting this time was not as unnatural and a lot more sincere. So as to not draw attention to himself, Michael returned their greeting with a smile and a small, confident wave of his own.

"Looks like you've gotten friendly with them."

Michael jumped at the spot, almost letting out an expletive, at the voice right behind him. Switching his attention to his back, his breath froze as he saw Mr. Afton staring at him. Despite his amused smile, his old eyes were hard and piercing, like he was daring the younger man to respond. Above them, the dark spot between the ceiling spotlights did not help the situation either, as the contrast on his figure made his expression more accusatory.

"W-Well, I, uh…" Caught with his composure loosened due to the man's jumpscare and question, Michael was unable to reply. Thankfully, Afton put a hand up to ease his stammering.

"No need to sugarcoat it, kid. It's inevitable that you'd find six-plus-hours of silent observation and supervision to be boring, with the animatronics as the only things to talk to." He gazed at the figures onstage, his acceptance peaked the night guard's surprise and suspicion.

"You… know I've been talking to them, s-sir?" Michael asked warily.

Afton cast a knowing look at him. "Not much escapes me. …Not that I'm bragging—just the benefit of experience, and that comes with age."

"… It-It's not a problem, is it, s-sir?" Michael dared to ask.

"Problematic? …No. I'd say it's more surprising than anything, by the fact that you may be the first in your position to actually get along with them without breaking the rules here." The club boss then returned his scrutiny to his employee, his dark piercing stare reverting back. "You haven't broken my rules, have you?"

Michael's answer was immediate and stern. "No. Not at all."

Afton huffed in amusement. "I didn't think so. You proved it to me last week, what with how you handled yourself and my animatronics during Foxxy's questionnaire; and with what I heard about the dispute involving Frenni, you've been doing quite well. You've got a strong will in you, unlike your predecessors." He paused his approbation, and looked around him with a raised brow. With tiny nods of his head, he deliberately smelled the air loudly. "Say, kid, speaking of 'strong', do you smell something rather pungent?"

Intrigued, Michael repeated his attempt to perceive the air. However, his nose did not detect anything apart from the aromas of hot food, beer, and male sweat that permeated the main club floor. "No, I don't, sir. Nothing that stands out from the usual."

"…" Unconvinced, Afton smelled the atmosphere again, until he turned towards Michael. For a brief moment, the nightguard thought he was looking at him, until he noticed his superior's eyes looking further behind him. Gazing back, he followed the man's sight to the restrooms. "Hmm—there's a chance someone got sick in there again," Afton guessed. "Alcohol and bile are a strong mix, even if they don't mix well—care to check it out, kiddo? I have some files that need reorganizing after last week's momentous juncture with my financiers."

Michael accepted the task, and headed off for the storage room for the cleaning supplies. Inwardly, he was glad to increase any distance between himself and his boss, so he did not let his past experiences with such messes impede him this time. In his perspective, the discomfort and dislike he felt whenever he was around that man increased with each passing encounter. Combined with his recent discovery of Afton's "activities", he decided it better to avoid him as much as possible from now on.

The club events carried on without incident for the rest of the open hour until closing time. Michael even had an easy time with his sudden restroom check-in, if only for one confusing, yet relieving reason.

There was no mess of any kind inside the lavatory.

000

Having double-ensured the building was devoid of any other human beings after the nightshift began, Michael set off looking for its non-human residents.

Strangely, he did not find them in the backroom reserved for them, nor were any of its recharging pods occupied. He had partially believed that now that they were all freed of control, the girls would have sought to keep it that way by keeping their distance from their former controller. Then again, the guy was not here at this moment—it was just Michael. Which meant, they were likely holed up in the one place he was meant to be posted; and sure enough, he found them gathered in the security room, talking amongst themselves. And as he stopped by the eastern doorway, he heard they were enlightening the newest colleague about their situation, but it quickly shifted to another topic of heartfelt interest.

"—was wondering why you all were behaving differently over the weeks whenever he was around," he heard Bonni speaking in relieved understanding, "and now I get it. I'm glad to hear he was just helping you all. For a while, I was thinking you were getting 'friendly' with him in a more explicit sense—my 'Bonni' persona had thought so, too."

"Of course not, Jesse," Frenni rebuffed. "Our meetings with Mikey were with good intentions, and he hasn't done anything to betray our trust. The fact that he's never put moves on us shows how much he cares." Despite the truth in her statement, Bonni seemed unmoved.

"And I suppose none of you ever put such moves on him to show how much you care?" she emphasized.

" " "…" " "

Silence filled the room as the trio of brown, red, and yellow said nothing, until Chica broke the taciturnity. "We all did kiss him sometime after he rescued us," she confessed, "but that is the extent—¡sin explícito!"

Bonni laughed at her friend's semi-panicked declaration. "I'm not judging, Sophia, nor am I bothered. In fact, I would be worried if one of you hasn't shown that kind of gratitude toward him. But, like everyone here, I'm also grateful for what Michael's done for me; and I also enjoy his company a lot, so I too can't help wishing to be near him. Plus, he's charming and attractive as hell, so it's understandable for heart-stringers like us to make an exception."

"Those aren't the only reasons we like him, you know," Frenni sighed critically. "Be serious."

"I am being serious," Bonni retorted honestly. "From what you all described, he's the kind of guy who believes that reaching out to others in need of help is not just the right thing, but also the natural thing to do. Having experienced this myself, and hearing him speak about not choosing favorites if it meant hurting everyone else, I think that empathy of his is the most endearing aspect about him—because his heart is big enough to share with all of us. So, all things considered, I don't see any reason for us to restrain our own hearts around him—he would want us to be ourselves again. That's why he went through all the trouble, didn't he?"

…

There was a slight swell in exhales from the other girls as they took in her loyal words. Frenni also remained silent, which meant she was equally flabbergasted by her friend's wisdom. After a moment of letting her words sink in, Bonni then asked something else.

"So… were the kisses with tongue, or without?" she asked teasingly.

Frenni huffed in exasperation. "And there it is," she said. "Way to spoil the moment, Jesse."

"I saw it coming myself," Foxxy retorted, in a differing drawl as Bonni laughed at the singer's response. "What do you expect from a pervert that dreams of being French-kissed by a man with the face and chest of a pornstar?"

"Ooo-oh, do tell," Bonni cooed with immediate interest.

Aware his face was burning with discomfiture at the direction of their conversation, Michael stepped into the doorway. "I'd rather she didn't," he interjected, clearing his throat. "It's not usually nice to 'kiss and tell'."

Even though their moods rapidly changed to blushed delight upon seeing Michael there, only Frenni and Chica held more introverted countenances, likely due to hearing about the details of his physique. Foxxy and Bonni, meanwhile, held salacious smirks under their flushed cheeks; but only one of them was bold enough to greet him.

"Look who's here, everybody—it's the hero himself!" Bonni declared. Not giving him the chance to say his greetings, she latched herself onto him, her arms wrapped around his neck in her signature hug. The all-too-familiar sensation of a voluptuously fit body embracing him engulfed his mind for a moment before he placed his arms around her firm back to return the gesture. Bonni hummed in immense approval, rubbing her cheek against his short-stubbled face. Then, just as quickly as her embrace, she moved her face over and kissed him hard. She even parted his lips with hers, allowing her tongue in to wrestle with his. Michael found himself in a daze as he drank in her desire, along with her blueberry-flavored facsimile of saliva.

Releasing her oral grip, a strand of fluid connected their lips for a second as they breathed hard. "Damn, you are good at that," she huffed heavily in pleasure, her eyes now glowing with hot-pink hearts over her usual pink irises. "Cassie mentioned how you're such a great kisser. Makes me wish you saved me sooner—then we would've been doing a lot more of tha—aah!"

Her exclamation was caused by a peeved Chica, who pouted while tugging the side of one of Bonni's bunny ears. "Comportate, mi amiga," she advised. "At least let us have a chance to welcome him."

"Okay, okay." Bonni muttered as she hesitantly let go of Michael. While watching him refamiliarize with her friends, she reached up to hold her pulled ear appendage. "I gotta say as a side note, these things kinda make me wish they didn't have the same sense of touch like the rest of us. I keep forgetting they're more than just props." She flinched every time she grazed a certain area of the appendage.

"Join the club, Jesse," Frenni agreed, overhearing her. "Even after all this time, I still forget how I can feel mine every time I fix my hair. I don't think I'll ever get used to it." She felt the edges of her bear ears with both hands at once, shuddering with every stroke.

"Um, does that mean you don't have regular human ears," Michael cut in with curiosity, "or are they hidden somewhere? I honestly haven't seen any indication all this time."

"Of course we have normal ears, you dork!" Foxxy snorted in exclamation. "Don't be ridiculous—you haven't seen them because they're underneath our hairstyles." Parting one side of her head of her thick bangs, she revealed a human ear with the same reddish tone as her skin. The other girls followed suit, showing theirs were hidden similarly within their given hairdos. Michael blushed at the idiocy of his question.

"I guess your discomfort's understandable," he muttered. "Having two pairs of ears, I mean."

Chica brushed her own mane, feeling up her yellowed ears within, and smiled casually. "No lo sabría—I have only one pair."

After the other three collectively gave a covetous "lucky you" to her, Michael could not help but laugh at the antics. After that, the five of them enjoyed chatting amongst themselves; though a good portion of their talks revolved around Bonni and her mental condition, as she was revived nearly twenty-four hours ago. Surprisingly, she revealed a lot of her memories had already returned, and was able to talk extensively about her past history with her friends without a problem. At one point, Michael wondered if a real-versus-fake persona contrast was involved in the difference of revival progresses; after all, Bonni's true self had matched so well with her given one. When he voiced his concern, the girls considered this to be a possibility; Chica also admitted having secretly taken the longest to recover—a tad longer than Frenni, in fact—due to the enormous contrast with not only her characters, but also her new body. The other girls agreed to her point, realizing both Bonni and Foxxy's recoveries were shorter thanks to having more similar mental and physical traits.

It was a few hours later that the group chat had receded to small talk, the main topic about some of their life experiences before finding each other. Frenni and Bonni were exchanging comments about how they got into music; while Foxxy and Chica largely observed with Michael. He did likewise as he deliciously chewed on a chocolate cupcake with pink icing and sprinkles—one of two compliments of the chicken-based chef who brought them a while ago, as thanks for bringing the gang back together. Though, it proved difficult to eat them while said chef had nestled to his side, with both arms wrapped around his left arm, and her pirate-punk colleague taking up a sideways-residence on his lap.

"So how are your reading materials?" Michael asked, trying to un-focus on the superb rumpus of Foxxy's rump as she shifted herself. "I haven't asked about that lately."

Foxxy beamed, and gave him an extra-rough budge of her behind. "I'm loving mine," she approved. "I've already reached the twelfth part of the series. That got really sad at first, but reading the hero about to make his dramatic entrance after his resurrection by the Dragon Gods makes up for it. You have great taste, my man."

"I'm already finished with mine," Chica said with pride. "It feels like everything I learned before has returned to me, like it never left me at all."

"And I'm glad to hear that, from both of you." Michael managed to finish his last bite of pastry, and what he had planned for tonight came to mind. "Say, Sophia, how confident are you in that legal knowledge of yours? Do you see yourself actually using it anytime soon?"

"Sí, sí—I believe so," Chica replied after thinking about it. "Why do you ask?"

He hesitated, and lightly tapped on Foxxy's bare shoulder. Aware of the resoluteness in his voice and face, she got up to lean against the desk instead. Once the girls' attention was focused on him, Michael sat straight up in his chair and started. "Before I go any further, I want to inform you all about something that came up earlier today. You see, there is someone I know who happens to work in the police department; you haven't heard about her from me yet, because of my priority in gathering information in order to revive you all while not tipping off Afton early. Anyways, she's been helping and supporting me since my parents died, especially since I started working here; but the main thing is she has an idea of what I've been doing these past few weeks. She doesn't know everything, for the sake of my protecting her and lacking anything solid to share; but she did call to ask how I've been doing with my 'research'." Before he could elaborate further, Frenni raised her hand.

"If you're trying to keep your undercover objective a secret," she asked, "why would she know about it at all?"

"Because in connection with what I've been doing," he explained, and pointed to her, "she's also the lead investigator in your disappearance, along with everyone else here. In fact, she was the one whom I received that file of missing people just before I inadvertently revived you, along with information to confirm your identity afterward. Since yours, hers, and my cases were inextricably linked, I had to give her a hint as to what I discovered; and ever since then, she has been providing some background news and reports to assist me in solving my mission."

Frenni fell silent at the news, revelation consuming her mind. Thankfully for her, Foxxy picked up her trail of thought. "And do you trust her?" she probed.

Michael bowed his head. "Like she's an extended family. This woman was a dear friend of my parents before they died, and that's not mentioning she's been investigating my parents' deaths too. In any case, her dedication in Ariel's case has led to you all standing here now, so I've no reason to doubt her loyalty." His affirmation was enough to convince the pirate-cosplaying fox-woman, though she amusedly muttered something about "parallel subplots" and their ridicule.

"So, what exactly came up earlier today?" Chica piped up. "Was it her asking about your researching, or something related to said research?"

The nightguard's smile at her intuition fell as he remembered what he really sought to discuss. "Actually, it's a matter connected to both the research and Afton's work… and it happens to be a topic I've yet to breach, for your sakes."

Frenni blanched a bit at his implication, as did the other ladies. "Do you mean…?"

"Is-Is that really necessary?" Bonni asked shakily, her usual happy demeanor gone.

Michael cast both of them an empathetically sad look. "I'm afraid so. With what I gathered, I need to know the extent of that guy's malice; and while I have enough for monetary frauds, it doesn't exactly provide a means of punishing him for your deaths. To that end, I did manage to find a way to incorporate you all into the frauds, namely that you were convenient victims to test a partially-improvised AI experiment after discovering his ongoing financial crime. That would at least hold up in any court… provided the methods of such torture were revealed to be more than just atypical medical procedures." He took a breather before adding some assuring words. "Understand that I didn't exactly plan on bringing this up until you were ready; but now that there's a bit of a time crunch…well, it's probably better to get it out into the open while we can. Talking has helped in overcoming tragedies, hasn't it?"

"He's right," Chica whispered. "The law always takes torture seriously, no matter its reason." Her hold on his arm tightened, but gradually loosened when Michael placed his free hand on her head to soothe her.

"Well, it was bound to come up sooner or later," Foxxy murmured admittedly. "It's not like some of us haven't been expecting this moment to come."

"… and I guess enough time has passed," Frenni confessed in agreement. Letting a few minutes pass in disquiet, she braced herself with a wavering breath. "Alright—I'm ready when you are."

Watching the other girls nod in unison, Michael pulled out his phone. Pressing its screen a few times, he activated the sonix app to record everything. Setting the device on the desk, Michael steeled his nerves for the upcoming angst. "Go ahead," he signaled.

000

Michael nearly wanted to puke the cupcakes in his stomach after hearing the girls' testimonies.

From the descriptions they collectively gave, Afton's procedures were nothing short of excruciating. Simply put, he subjected them to a cocktail shot that rendered them as vegetables—unable to move or respond, but still conscious—and then moved them to a different site, where the man's Frankenstein-ish experimentation began. His victims were forced to endure everything he put them through: cold temperature spikes while naked on a metal table; being poked and cut with needles and scalpels; tased by shocks of electricity equal to electric fence transformers; and other inhumane tortures, all while feeling scalding fire in their veins from that coma-inducing injection. And throughout this 'modus operandi', they lost all sense of time; they were powerless to lift a finger, let alone an eyelid to see any trace of daylight or moonlight. But their closed eyes did certainly shed never-ending tears throughout the suffocating ordeal.

Yet, this was all the 'preliminary examination'.

The worst part of all was the main practice itself, in which Afton transferred the girls' minds and souls to their new bodies. There was no single word to describe the experience, but the description was enough to glean an idea. In their words, the sensation was if a huge poisonous jellyfish was placed atop of their heads, with the neurotoxin-infused tentacles wrapped around various parts of their bodies, and then stabbed in the skull with an electrocuted dagger in a twisting motion. It was a wonder in Michael's viewpoint that they could even describe it at all, but he felt bile in his throat when he realized the feeling and the process therein was not instantaneous. Only when the agonizing torture finally ended, did the girls gain the very first moment of mercy, though it nearly costed them feeling any bodily sensations. Yet, even that reprieve was merely the interlude of the new level of hell they found themselves in, as Frenni recalled.

"… and then when I finally came to, I still couldn't feel my own body—like I was just floating or swirling in a tight, empty space. My senses of taste, touch, and smell were completely gone; but I could still see and hear, and when I saw my new self…" She made a small hiccup as she held back a sob. "It looked like someone put a full-body outfit and mask over my face, and passed me off as someone—something different, but there wasn't any costume or mask to remove. Not to mention I couldn't control my actions, no matter how much I resisted; whatever he ordered, that thing obeyed, and I was along for the ride, like a stringless puppet. Anytime I spoke, I heard someone else's voice; and I felt a stab in my chest if I tried saying something outside of what he wanted. I was helpless to do anything… except scream inside. Again, and again." Concluding with that thought, Frenni knelt down and hugged herself, her eyes wavering. Pitying her, Michael reached over and held one of her hands, thumbing her slender fingers, to silently bring her back to the present. Slowly blinking at his touch, her lips turned upwards into a small smile of appreciation.

"Yo senti lo mismo," Chica confirmed miserably. "When I heard my new voice, it felt wrong. And I also felt that chest pain whenever I tried thinking more—maybe he intended to dull my brain from a law student to a dumb party girl. It repulsed me."

"I felt angry a lot of the time," Foxxy agreed. "Obviously at Afton, but also at myself for falling for his shrewdness. A part of me actually went along with his chosen personality for me as a result, so I would be wary of any man that tried to get close to me. The storage room incident made it even worse, to the point when I couldn't trust any man at all... until now." She let a small smile emerge on her fetching face, her slitted pupils getting glossy while looking at Michael.

"Sometimes I couldn't distinguish myself from the other me," Bonni shivered, hugging her upper arms to herself. "It was hell trying to pry myself from an identity that thought of nothing else than to jump the pants of any strange guy I met—I may be a pervert, but I'm no crazed nymphomaniac. That guy Afton is a real sicko to try and twist us into something we'd never do… why would he do that to us? Why us?"

"I can't really answer that first question," Michael consoled as he shut off the phone's sonix recording app, "and take my word for it, it's better that you don't dwell on it—you'll go crazy from not coming up with an answer. As for the second question… I can only speculate his reasons for choosing you four specifically; your medical issues would be obvious, but also the need of your special talents that would benefit the club." A thought surfaced from his own words. "That being said, there is the chance he had to do some homework which led him to you all as the best candidates for his experiment."

"You mean he was stalking us?" Foxxy spouted her disgust. "That makes him worse than a sicko—he's a fuckin' sociopath and psychopath rolled into one. I'd like to see him try to differentiate those personas right now."

Ring-a-ling.

Right on cue, Michael's cell phone rang in his hand. Everyone blanched when its screen read Afton's name as the caller, especially the punk-pirate after her comment. Reading the time to be a few minutes before 3am, Michael circumspectly tapped the screen to receive the call on speaker. "H-H-Hello?" he asked, his voice wavering unintentionally.

"Hey kid—you alright over there? You sound cagey."

"Ah, sorry sir. I-I lost track of time, so your call caught me off-guard. That's all."

"Is that so? I do hope the animatronics aren't causing any trouble for you."

Michael paused to look at the girls, who were looking just as cagey as he was feeling. "N-No, they're not, sir. They're just hanging around the security room, talking with me through the windows. I was exchanging words with them, too, which is why I lost track of time. No worries, though—they've been behaving themselves." Praying his toe-lining was not crossing any line in Afton's mind, he was surprised to hear the older man's reply in a hurried, much more positive tone.

"Excellent. Now listen—this is more than just a courtesy call. I got word from my financiers giving their compliments for last week's visits, as well as a thumbs-up for my proposed expansion plans. This is huge—just one step away from makin' the big leagues!" A short laugh of excitement emanated from the call. "But before we get there, I'll need to plan our next course of action, so I'll be swinging by at this time tomorrow to discuss those matters with you. That won't be a problem, right?"

Caught flanked by the news, Michael's mind raced a full mile before the minute was up. "Uhm, that-that won't be a problem. P-Pardon my saying so, but this is really unexpected."

"But not unwelcome," Afton countered, "and don't think I've forgotten my promise for the restoration job on Foxxy—that, and your added efforts on the job, will be included in our talks. So, the only thing you'll need to worry about is the sunshades for the bright future ahead of us! Anyways, I'll call again when I arrive. Ciao!"

Without letting Michael reply, he cut off the call. The nightguard stared silently at the now-sleeping cellphone, until he faced his foursome company and said what everyone was thinking. "If we weren't on a real time crunch before," he announced, "we are now."

…

Frenni suddenly stood up resolutely. While she had been shaken by talking about her tortuous last moments, it appeared that hearing Afton's message had ignited a flame within her, burning away any of her distress. "Then we better make the most of the time we have, just as Mikey said before," she declared firmly. "If talking can help us overcome our past tragedies, then it can help us prevent similar future tragedies. So, we should focus on how we confront Afton when he visits tomorrow, and shut him down. And if he thinks he can keep using us like his personal toys, then he'd better have some goddamn protection—and I don't mean that in a dirty way." Her furrowed eyes briefly glowed red at the last comment, as if emphasizing her defiance of her tormentor's control on top of her own resentment. "I'm not afraid of him anymore."

"Damn, girl," Bonni exclaimed, speaking for everyone's amazement. "Call me inspired after hearing that. But before we go down that rabbit hole—" She blinked at her choice of words. "—maybe we should focus on what we can do right now. Like, what else does Mikey need to know for his research project."

Michael shook his head. "To be honest, documenting Afton's experimental procedures was the last thing I needed to put everything together." He rubbed his stubbly chin as he considered any other possibilities. Then, something did come up. "Unless he was involved in any other criminal activity—like what happened with my predecessor of a nightguard—that would be a bonus."

Having stayed silent for a while, Chica perked up. "You mean Ralphie?"

Michael turned to her with curiosity. "Was that his name? This is the first time I'm hearing it."

The young yellow woman nodded. "Sí. Afton brought him in to replace the drunk guard a few months after Cassie got hurt and shelved. There were two other guards that worked with him, but Ralphie was the only one with the nightshift. He kept himself locked in this room, like you had at first; but unlike you, he was demasiado asustado to let us get close—our style of greeting him scared him, too. It wasn't until several months later that he did start talking to us, and that was still through the window glass while he was locked in; and even those times were kept brief because of the doors' energy-drainage."

"I was the first of us he got the courage to speak to," Bonni supported, pointing to herself, "and according to him, I seemed to scare him the least since my role as a play-bunny was old-school to him." A sigh escaped her as she rubbed her upper arm. "A shame he didn't open up more—he was nice and enjoyed talking to me, even while confined in his room."

"Of course, he enjoyed your company," Foxxy laughed, and gestured to everyone. "And why not? Being friendly with a play-bunny is more pleasant than the alternatives. An excessive bear-hug could've broken his back; being overly-smothered by an absolute babe-of-a-chick would've suffocated him; and—" She paused as she realized something embarrassing, and rubbed her right hand. "—and getting hooked by a pirate fox in the wrong way is no party, either."

"That's a bit more information than I needed to know," Michael said, fighting back a smirk. He could imagine a few guys who would not mind such embraces from the girls, but he dared not voice the thought to them. "But we're getting a little sidetracked. Please carry on, Jesse."

"Anyways," Bonni responded, casting a look at Foxxy before continuing, "as time passed, Ralphie began to notice something about us, and started asking a lot of questions about us. His questions weren't just about our purposes and functions, but also our personal problems—our 'glitches', actually. At one point, he received a bunch of cryptic messages from someone outside; and then one night, when Sophia and I visited Ralphie, we found him fiddling with something plugged into a laptop he brought with him. He seemed to be having trouble with it, and we asked what he was doing. He claimed to have figured out the reason for our 'malfunctions', and had recently been given a means to help us with them. That, was the day before Afton fired him."

"I was also nearby when he was kicked out," Frenni added. "Afton arrived at the club very early, looking quite callous. He ordered us to find him; but it was he who found Ralphie hiding inside one of the staff lockers. From what I overheard, Ralphie was accused of tampering with us and sharing trade secrets, and literally dragged him out to the back. When I later asked what happened to him, Afton said that he tried to break the club's biggest rule; even though I believed Ralphie wasn't that kind of person. That was the last time I saw him."

Michael listened to their statements, and a lot of mystery pieces began fitting together. It sounded like his predecessor, Ralphie, was the paranoid type since he kept his distance from that which he felt was unnatural. Yet, that didn't stop him from getting suspicious about the girls' origins, and tried interrogating them; but the energy-poor security measures of his post prevented any long-term talks. And then somehow, he discovered the hard drive—except Afton discovered him, too. This explains his last recorded message for me, Michael realized. He must've been hiding from Afton, not the girls; and he managed to hide the hard drive prior to being found out, along with leaving the message for anyone who got his job. And as a last-ditch effort, he went to Vanny in the hopes that she would listen and help uncover Afton's wrongdoings.

"Well, as fascinating as that is," Michael scrutinized, "I'm afraid I don't see how it directly relates to Afton's criminal life. Anyone else who heard that would think Afton was acting like a model businessman."

The long-eared woman huffed matter-of-factly. "Then how about this—the week after he fired Ralphie, Afton mentioned some last-minute business he had to take care of, and rushed out from the office. About an hour-and-a-half later, he came back disheveled like he was in a fight. I—my other self, I mean—was waltzing around the floor at the time, and asked what had happened. The old man said pretty calmly that 'complications arose and ensued, but were overcome', and he went back upstairs as if nothing happened. The news about Ralphie's death didn't come until a day or two later." She blew out another huff as she thought back, crossing her arms. "And I doubt the bastard's last-minute errand was at a shooting range."

Michael gasped at the last part. "You mean he had a gun with him?!"

The guitarist caught onto his shocked face. "Not only that, but it smelled like it was freshly-used when he returned."

He gripped his chair as his mind raced at the eye-opening news. "Holy shit. …Wait—just to be sure, was it a grayish pistol with a wood-sided handle?" His guess was confirmed with a tongue-click and pointed finger in his direction, prompting another "holy shit" from him.

"That's oddly specific, Mikey," Foxxy observed. "How did you know?"

"Because that's the same weapon I found stashed in Afton's office desk," Michael exclaimed. "Geez—When my friend told me what happened to him, I mentioned how it was 'overkill' to fire and then sue the poor sap… That may have been a poor choice of words."

"If it's the murder weapon, then your friend would be able to trace it, right?" Chica asked excitedly.

"Maybe," he considered, "unless he had the smarts to scrub the barrel's inside so the bullets and cartridges can't be compared. I was warned he was smarter than to leave behind any trails of wrongdoing. But I did manage to snag one of the bullets to prove the gun's existence."

"That can still work," the yellow sweetheart pressed. "Forensic residue is like fingerprints: every bit is unique, whether it is used or not, and gunpowder is no exception. If they at least have la munición, the forensic labs could still compare its residue with what was found at the crime scene via chemical tests. Provided there is a match—and a reason to want Ralphie dead—then there would be enough probable cause to bring Afton in, at least for an interrogation."

"That alone would be a start," Frenni said, complimenting her fair-haired friend. "At a minimum, it would get him out of the club building for some time, and even that would provide us the opportunity to lead the police to all his dirty little secrets. Otherwise, if he retaliates, then there's five of us to bring him to his knees."

"Sounds like a plan," Michael concluded, and after taking a moment to reflect, he got up from his chair to stretch. "Not to cut a long story short, but I believe I've gotten all I need for tonight, and then some. And seeing how there's less than three hours until my shift ends, I should get back to my patrolling and other duties in order to satisfy Afton for the time being." As the girls shook their heads in understanding, he turned his own head back and forth on the desk surface, looking for something. "Say, um, did he happen to leave a to-do list at all?"

Foxxy reached into her cleavage and produced a small paper, and handed it over. Rolling his eyes at her suggestive grinning, Michael turned his attention to the paper's written contents. There were only two requirements: to 'restock the bar' yet again, and 'no sex in the nightclub'. Both could easily be done within the remaining time, along with at least one round patrol run. With his new tasks set, he and his band decided to conclude their meeting. As he walked out the hallway and toward the bar storage, Michael turned to watch the girls make their way to the animatronics room for their required recharge. Seeing them go, he could tell from their faces that although they were sad to leave him, their time and progress tonight left them in high spirits. This was specially true for the last member to part ways with him; before disappearing to the back room, Frenni stopped and turned her head to him. Giving him an optimistic smile, she mouthed two words.

Thank you.

For the rest of his shift, Michael could not help his own optimistic smile from staying on his face. After completing his assignments and signing out in the security room, he headed out the back entryway. But he was forced to stop there and wait, as he realized his sign-out was a few minutes early of 6am. Taking the time to calm himself, he took a sentimental peek into the animatronics' room; and enjoyed watching the girls' smiling, slumbering faces while in their pods. Their slow, contented breathing reminded him of when he first saw them in those cylinders on his first night, when he felt creeped out by their presence inside those metal coffins.

Now, as he watched them sleep, he wondered how they would look in proper beds.

Soon enough, the back door lock was disengaged right at 6am, and Michael promptly made his way to his vehicle. With his eagerness returning, he began to drive out of the parking lot, and navigate back to the apartment to finish what he started…

…

…unaware of a tiny, pulsing red light hidden in the front-right inner fender of his truck.

---

And there is the first day of the "bonus week" at the nightclub. The gang is now gearing up for the big showdown, but will they actually be ready? Or will their nemesis be ready for them instead? You'll have to wait for the next part to see who gets "tricked" and who gets "treated".

As for the story itself: there was a lot I wanted to include before the big climax happens. A big chunk of that was more online researching, for the processes of an official investigation, and what is needed to start one. I also always planned for there to be a discussion delving into the girls' last living moments and their progressive growth after recounting them, and details regarding the past night watchman, so making them flow together was tricky. As a result, the timing of everything in the final draft felt a bit rushed; but in the end, I realized this plays into the realism of life. Nothing goes exactly as we planned; and in extreme situations involving matters of life and death, a lot can change in a New York minute. After the year I've had, I would know.

Anyways, be sure to let me know what you think—and which parts surprised you—in the review section. In the meantime, Happy Halloween and Day of the Dead!