Hello, everyone. It's been a little longer than I would have liked, but I'm back with a new chapter. Some things have happened recently - I don't want to get into detail - but in short, I'm more committed than ever to writing my stories and being a positive factor in your guys' lives. I always was, but I feel even more dedicated to that now. So I'll just keep doing what I already am doing. Speaking of doing, I'm doing fine.
This update was fun to write, though I had a difficult time figuring out what everyone should do and say. I will admit, though, that I'm glossing over the bulk of the conversation, because that would just repeat a lot of information you already know, and that's boring. The other thing I want to specifically point out is that this chapter deals heavily with themes of nostalgia, which is plenty relevant for me after almost nine years (!) of writing this series, the characters within the story, and hopefully for you all - I know many of you have been with me since near the beginning.
Thanks to Kaijucifer, Mewtwo-TheLoneShadow, ThatOneGuy, Soviet Fox and CheesusChrist15 for reviewing since last time. That's the most I've gotten in a while! I hope to have the next chapter out soon, and I'll see you when that happens.
Wednesday, August 2, 2017, 11:15 AM
Mike found himself surprisingly calm as he drove the final stretch of road to Fazbear's Fright. The sun shone brightly, but not too hot. Despite the wooded surroundings, a steady trickle of vehicles zoomed past in the opposite direction. A few birds flitted, and he glimpsed a deer duck into the undergrowth. This picturesque day was a far cry from the spooky, ominous forest he half expected from this place.
His lack of fear seemed wrong. Surely there was something to worry about, no matter how irrational or improbable. Much as he tried to think of something, he drew a blank. This shaped up to be an OK day.
We have a plan, we have motivation, and we have each other. This last part, he thought as he looked at Foxy, who didn't need to hunch over this time. Not with the black garbage bags Mike taped over the rear windows. Though it looked trashy - pun intended - it was better than breaking their backs during an almost four-hour drive. He smiled at her, and she grinned back, showing off her perfect teeth.
In the end, everyone, human and animatronic, decided to meet Phil. Mike didn't blame them; of course they were curious to see how he'd changed. Foxy and Mary rode with him, sitting together in the Civic's backseat. Chica, Bonnie and Freddy were with June, who did her best not to tailgate him in the Honda minivan she drove behind him. June saw him look at her in his rearview mirror, so she mimed pulling a truck horn to tease him.
Being a mechanic, June salvaged an Odyssey which she specifically used for hauling the animatronics. It had tinted windows installed in the back, making for a far more elegant solution than his DIY shade. Chica poked her head out from behind June, and Mike returned his attention to the road before he became too distracted. He felt a tear well up in his eye, and he tried not to start sobbing at the wheel.
He was so lucky - no, not lucky, blessed - to have these people in his life. He couldn't imagine life without them. He'd never have met them if he hadn't taken the night guard job all those years ago, which he considered a nightmare when he learned the truth about it. The real nightmare would have been not doing that, instead inadvertently falling into normality. Even if he didn't realize it 17 years ago, he now knew he could never be satisfied with an ordinary life, the kind Sylvia led.
"So, how do you think this will go?" Foxy asked. Mike glanced at her in the mirror again, and from the concerned expression on her muzzle, he knew she wanted to distract him so he didn't cry. How kind of her. But it was still a good question. 15 minutes out, they really didn't know what would happen. The best Mike offered was a hopeful guess.
"Uh, considering Phil wanted to do this, I, um, think he'll be r-receptive." His stutter being a little more pronounced than usual betrayed the uncertainty rattling around his gut. Would this turn out to be a stern, awkward conversation, or was somebody going to end up injured or dead? Freddy promised to remain in the back, far away from Phil, so that should help (assuming he kept his word).
"You're probably right," she sighed. "It's weird. I almost want this to go poorly, just so I don't have to believe he's changed." Mike understood what she meant. It was hard for him to see Phil as anything but evil, even if he didn't experience the same visceral hatred he used to. Could someone like that ever get better? They were about to find out. She shook her head. "But that's probably stupid. We should take all the help we can get."
"Phillip is certainly the lesser of two evils in this situation," Mary stated. Indeed. Though it made him cringe for her to talk about doing wrong when all of them in that vehicle sinned by withholding information - Mary from Mike and Foxy, and Mike and Foxy from the rest.
Mary still didn't confess the truth about whatever bothered her so much. Mike drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and wondered if this would be a good time to pry it out of her. Mike and Foxy expected Mary to ride with them (it'd be either her or Freddy), so they talked last night about it, not coming to any conclusion. Mike hadn't possessed the composure to ask, yet he supposed it could wait for the return trip. Or Foxy could bite the bullet, if she wanted.
For her part, Mary didn't seem to suspect anything. She sat with one spindly leg crossed over the other, looking more than ever like some contemplative mime. That wasn't an insult - Mary, with her lithe black and white body, had more elegance and poise than any of the other animatronics, though he'd never admit that to his wife. Just very sophisticated.
Of course, if Mary didn't want to talk, there was nothing anyone could do about it. They weren't going to waterboard her. And, most importantly, there was precious little time left to do what they needed to. Couldn't spend it attacking one of their own. Maybe he'd get around to it if they were all still alive at the end of this.
"Well," Foxy said, likely feeling the same sense of awkwardness, "do you know what's special about right now?"
"It's always, uh, special when I'm with you." His wife blushed, and Mike's heart melted that he could make her feel so joyous.
"This is the farthest any of us have ever gone from home," she answered. Mike realized she was right. While he'd taken them around the state of Washington, none had ever been far beyond.
"So far." Mike was serious about taking her and the rest of the animatronics across the country one day. They couldn't get on a plane, yet America was a huge country on its own. He could drive them to the East Coast, or perhaps up to the Great Lakes. He didn't know. It didn't matter as long as he was with the people he cared about.
"It is truly incredible," Mary echoed. She could download entire histories about places so that she knew them better than local experts, yet that was hardly the same as seeing these trees with her own eyes. "Thank you for taking us on this journey."
"You're welcome," Mike answered. It was an adventure for him, too. Not like he was much of a world traveler, either. "It's been a crazy ride."
And he didn't mean this drive. Everything they went through led to this, which meant he needed to reflect. All the memories, all the love, all the heartbreak came back to him. He only hoped there would be more to come - even the sad parts.
"I can't believe I used to hate you," Foxy laughed, though there was an undercurrent of sadness. That antipathy only lasted a week or so, but it almost got Mike killed. Not that he blamed her, obviously. He felt the same way. A different day or interaction might have led to them never falling in love even if they had met. It all fell into place, though, no thanks to their constant efforts. Though Mike believed in God, he wasn't sure whether this was part of some divine plan or pure coincidence.
I prefer to think the latter. Auric was something he believed God had nothing to do with, since he originated outside the universe. More than that, it would have taken a Hell of an ego to consider himself some kind of divine instrument. Either way, he had a good life, even with all the crazy stuff thrown his way in the last couple weeks.
A break in the trees revealed a billboard, which portrayed the people he loved in unspeakable ways. He'd seen a couple of them since he entered the state, each one more extravagant and gory than the last. This one… well, it probably would have been illegal to depict more realistically, considering how much raw human flesh was in the image. Also, the animatronics on it looked eerily similar to the nightmarish versions of them he used to see in his dreams, along with James.
FAZBEAR'S FRIGHT: THE HORROR ATTRACTION
NEXT LEFT, 0.5 MILES
SEE WHAT CRITICS HAVE CALLED THE SCARIEST, BLOODIEST, MOST SHOCKING HAUNTED PARK ON THE PLANET - IF YOU DARE
Oh, Mike expected it to be terrifying, though not for the reasons the creators may have expected. If Foxy and the rest of the gang were seen as real and had rights, they easily could have sued for defamation. That'd be one way to make back all the money Mike spent.
If he thought it was offensive, though, he'd better get ready, because it was about to get much worse the instant he turned the corner. Which he did at that moment. The car lurched forward thanks to a slight dip in the asphalt before leveling out. A vast parking lot sprawled before them, though it was empty except for a few unhitched trailers. Nobody else was there, which Mike took as a good sign. At full capacity, though, this place must have been able to hold a thousand cars or more.
The "Haunted Park" line from the billboard turned out to be right, though he already knew that from watching a few YouTube videos of people walking around the place, just to get himself acquainted with the layout. This wasn't a single haunted house, but a Six Flags-esque collection of them, tied together with an overarching mythos. Mike felt a pang of jealousy that he and the animatronics, on which this place was very loosely based, would never be able to create something so complex.
Not in the context of being actors, anyway. He had high hopes for the interspecies pirate romance novel he and Foxy wrote together being so detailed, but that was months away from self-publication. Still, it was what he looked forward to most after this mad quest was over.
June pulled up next to him, and Mike steeled himself. It was time to enter the madhouse.
11:30 AM
Damp tar pressed into Foxy's paws as she and her friends stalked toward the front gate. The atmosphere, previously perfect, took a slight turn: a haze of clouds covered the sun, and she heard the cry of a raven from somewhere in the distance. Though not quite ominous, it was enough to make her fur stand on end when combined with the main entrance's sign looming over her.
When she first saw the sign online, it made her nauseous. She was sure the artist had no ill will - the person didn't even know they were real - but that didn't change how upsetting it was to witness her and her family twisted into the kinds of monsters she used to fear becoming. Tried to keep her eye off it as she walked forward. That became more difficult when her own double's massive shadow fell over her. She snapped and looked up at her simulacrum.
Which was a dude. The version up there had no breasts and a more grizzled, masculine snout. Foxy was depicted as male in most versions of the Fazbear legend. Something got lost in translation.
She didn't mind. That was the least offensive part of the caricature, and it was interesting to imagine a parallel world where she was the opposite sex. Me as a guy, she thought, shaking her head. It'd never work. No, she was a badass lady pirate and always would be. It also meant there was slightly less porn of her. Slightly. Chica got the worst of it, being the only girl in the mythos (because Foxy was usually male, and the original 4chan thread only mentioned Mary a few times). Fortunately, her sister had the willpower to not search for things which would upset her. That was more than Foxy could say, considering how long she spent looking at all this nonsense when she learned about it.
Foxy forced her gaze back down. The sign showed a weird, horrible dream. She preferred to live in the real world, strange as that sounded. Her own origin may well have been a fantasy - and reality was terrible in its own fashion. But it also had the people she loved. Sighing, they approached the main gate. A thick padlock dangled from the latch, already opened. Phil must have poached a spare key from the office and unlocked it before they arrived. June grabbed one end of the chain-link gates and pulled them apart.
Phil told them to meet him at the center of the park. Simple enough. Though the place seemed large for a thrill park, it still only consisted of six or seven haunted houses, plus concession stands, bathrooms and a few other locales. It was also located on a flat patch of land, meaning she could see to the other end. The grass had been cut within the last few days, so they wouldn't wade through a sea of ticks, either.
"I guess this is it," June said. She paused after opening the gate and contradicted herself. "No, it's not 'it', but it's… oh, forget it." Foxy scratched her head; that two letter word took a lot of abuse over the last couple seconds. "I take it back: 'it' will be when we go toe-to-toe with Auric." The woman sighed, looking defeated before they even began. "Let's just go inside," she muttered. "Way to make a fool of myself."
"I'm nervous, too, you know," Bonnie said, trying to be reassuring - though not many people would attempt to be confident by admitting their own fear. "It's been a long time, we don't know 'ow this is gonna go, so yeah, I'm scared as 'ell!"
"What he said," Chica confidently added. Foxy felt herself lightly smirked. She believed they were scared, yet they also drew strength from being with everyone. The two of them alone would have never possessed the courage to set foot inside the park by themselves.
Speaking of which, that was exactly what Foxy did now that the way had been unlatched. The feeling of rocks under her paws gave way to tough grass, which had surely been treated with copious quantities of pesticides. She smelled faint chemicals and the perfume of rain water, mixed with fried food that might have been cooked a day ago. It was a mixture she had never smelled before.
Though it was the odor of a fairground, the only thing she could think was "delicious". Italian cuisine didn't have much fried food compared to American fare. Which was probably good, even with how she kept herself fit; congestive heart failure from eating too much junk could kill her, even if most other diseases couldn't! Still had a heart and blood vessels, even if they pumped living oil through her cybernetic arteries.
The smell was the only thing she appreciated. Everything else was designed to either scare or offend her. That went from mannequins of her and her friends killing people to gratuitous signs, like Chica's Slaughterhouse: the name of her personal attraction. Again, she did her best to ignore the alternating tides of disgust at the wanton caricatures and fear of becoming something like that one day. She could still live long enough to see herself devolve into that - she didn't know what she'd be like 500 years in the future.
It was honestly incredible. Something intended to be a place of fun, even if edgy and frightening, ending up being the most personally offensive thing she could imagine - and she could imagine a lot! Other than insulting her honor or skill as a pirate, perhaps. She'd die of embarrassment if something like that happened at Fazbear's.
"I mean, uh, I understand that t-the people who made all this didn't mean anything offensive, since they, like, don't know you're real, but fuck," Mike exclaimed. "This is like if there were a theme park based on racist stereotypes." Foxy didn't like to compare her bizarre situation with that of human ethnic groups - so she was glad an actual human did it for her.
"Couldn't have said it better, myself," June echoed, and she had more authority to talk about racist bullshit than Mike did.
They were almost to the center. Only needed to go around the side of whatever stupid haunted house Bonnie supposedly endorsed, and they'd be there. Foxy braced herself. Something was going to happen. Armed BRIAR goons would lunge from the shadows, or Freddy would rush over and beat Phil to death, or everybody would get struck by lightning out of the blue. She waited for the moment when everything would be ruined.
Nothing of the sort occurred. Of course it didn't. They planned this as best they could. With that, she rounded the corner, trying to get ahead of everyone so she could see if he showed.
There he was.
Phil stood stiff as a statue in the middle of the main concourse, which had already been decorated with picnic tables and benches. He heard and smelled them coming, of course. And he waited with all the charisma of a divorced middle-aged man trying to woo his ex-wife back. His eyes were bloodshot; he must not have gotten a moment of sleep last night. Still wore that damn purple coat, too. Amazing that it held together after all these years, though it looked like it had been patched dozens of times with all the swatches of not-quite matching violet fabric sewn on.
His muzzle moved a few times, yet no words emerged until he actually slapped himself in the face. The thought of him getting hurt would have brought her joy long ago. Now, she pitied him. How long had he prepared for this moment, only to immediately fuck up and start hurting himself?
"Hello." OK, he got one word out of his mouth. Next came the several thousand more he'd need to speak if they wanted this to be a real conversation instead of standing around and glaring at each other for hours.
"Fuck you," Freddy heckled from behind her, which made Phil wince. She expected more of a thrashing than that. What he said on the phone last night must have gotten the worst of it out of his system. Still, the two better not get too close to each other, lest something terrible occur.
"Yeah, yeah," Phil muttered. "So… what now?"
3:00 PM
Phil shifted uncomfortably on the wooden bench, trying to remind himself that this was, in fact, real, instead of a dream or hallucination. Needed to do that even though he had talked with them for hours with the sun beating down.
It may as well have been years. Phil couldn't have been happier, even if it felt more like an interrogation than a conversation. He was seated across from all of them in a line - except Freddy, who stood in the back, occasionally wandering around and throwing rocks. Everyone took turns asking questions about what he'd spent his last few years doing. It reminded him of "good cop, bad cop" except there were way too many cops.
Mike wanted to make sure he hadn't killed anyone else; he hadn't, even if he feared he'd have to keep his existence secret. June checked to see how he did physically; they already knew he wasn't quite right in the head, but not anything about his body. Thankfully, he hadn't broken any bones, because there was no way they would have set correctly without a doctor. Considering he could eat grass, leaves, and other food normal rabbits ate, he was pretty sure he also didn't have rickets or other vitamin or mineral deficiencies.
Foxy asked about what he spent most of his time doing those days; nothing at all. Chica inquired about the best thing he'd done in the last 17 years; probably blindsiding a mugger back in 2011 in Boise and then running the Hell away before the victim got a good look at him. Bonnie wanted to know the most dangerous thing he'd done; definitely stow away in the back of a moving truck heading from Whitefish back to Washington so he didn't have to spend two weeks hiking. It was an unnecessary risk, but it felt right at the time… 2006, he thought it was.
And Mu - or Mary, as she went by now - just wondered what was the farthest he'd gone afield; to the best he remembered, he'd been as far east as Yellowstone and as far south as Mount Shasta. He'd never crossed into Canada, and obviously, he couldn't go far west, since he'd end up in the ocean. Preferred to stay in the Pacific Northwest. That was his home, and it always would be. Moreover, it was far less inhabited than places further south in California or across the Mississippi. He'd have been caught half a dozen times over if he went places with more people.
All these questions were asked and many more. He wore his heart on his sleeve and divulged everything they asked, even if they had no way to know if he told the truth. Had no queries of his own, not that they'd answer if he asked. His former family seemed to do well.
He expected no forgiveness, and that turned out to be a good expectation, because he got very little, if any. Chica and Bonnie looked sympathetically at him a few times. That was about it. Still more than he deserved.
The marathon Q suddenly halted. Collectively, they asked everything they could think of. The topic shifted to something more explanatory.
They had a plan to kill Auric, they said. That hit Phil with the force of a baseball bat smashing him on the head. It was given to Mike by William Afton's ex-wife, who recorded hours upon hours of audio on cassette tapes after spending middle age searching the world for ways to kill immortals. Phil believed it.
He'd never met the woman, but from Afton's occasional admiration of her (and plenty of bitching), he could at least tell she was no pushover. He didn't know Auric could die, but the fact they were about to put a bullet in his head sent an electrifying tingle down his back. Regardless, the ritual was mostly ready, they said. All they wanted was permission - and his help actually pulling it off. The more hands, minds and souls dedicated to the magic, the better. Or, barring that, at least not getting in their way. They needed warm bodies, and he was the only other person in the world they could conceivably recruit. Wait…
"What about your sister?" he asked, turning to Mike. "Cynthia, right?"
"Sylvia." Close enough. The only time she ever met him was when she performed back-alley surgery on him, and he was sedated for most of that. "Yeah, I asked her, and she's n-not interested. Which I understand: she has a life, and I can't expect her to, um, take a month off to help with our insane problem."
OK, other than her, there was nobody else they could get. Phil accepted the proposition, of course. There was nothing else he'd rather do than get revenge on the abomination who put him on the path to being almost as much of a monster. Even if he also brought Phil back to life, which was the only reason he had this chance at all. If only everyone were so lucky.
"I feel so bad for the family of that poor girl Auric killed," Phil sighed. Only a psychopath wouldn't… which was why he thought it needed to be said, other than it being true. "It can't have just been her, either. Who knows how many people he's murdered since we lost track of him?" The years-long string of disappearances in Forks became national news after this latest gory murder captivated the nation. There must have been more in other places which would never come to light.
"We're doing this to make sure that never happens again," Foxy said, slightly digging her hook into the wooden table in frustration. "It's not just about revenge. We care about people - kids, especially - and a world without Auric is a better world for all of them." To his shame, Phil hadn't considered that. He expected vengeance to be the first thought on their minds, even to the point of consuming them the way grief once possessed him. But their primary motivation being hope for a better world made much more sense. They were the kind of people who would risk everything to help those who didn't even acknowledge them as real.
Phil bore a heavy heart for longer than he could remember, even if he liked to think his endless isolation made him a marginally better person. He had plenty of time to ponder his sins. Now came a time when he could prove it, if only to himself. How could he refuse?
"I'll help you," he said, trying to keep from being overwhelmed with terror, excitement or both. The sensation pulsing through him could not be named. It wasn't something he wanted to feel again. To his surprise, Foxy extended her hand instead of her hook. He hesitated, though he quickly broke through his trepidation; waiting would have only made her regret being kind. The sensation of another hand against his own awed him. This was the first time he'd touched another person in longer than he could remember.
"You're really shaking his hand?" Freddy demanded, looking Phil in the eye for the first time. His weren't filled with the hatred Phil expected. They were more resigned to reality.
"We're partnering with him, so we have to show a little trust," Foxy shot back. That didn't mean she liked it, he knew from the pained expression on her muzzle. It was enough to make him pull his paw away. When they last met, Foxy almost split open his belly. She certainly wouldn't have given him any kindness except letting him live.
Phil wasn't the only one who changed, hopefully for the better, over 17 years.
"So… you live here," Mary said, doing her best to change the subject now that the important details had been established. Her head swiveled from point to point in the same pattern a dozen times. She looked at the buildings, which Phil almost stopped noticing, as they were with him all the time. She was curious about his living arrangements, as anybody would be.
"Have for the last two years." Phil put his wandering behind him. It had never been fun, but for a long time, he felt fulfilled to roam the region. However, he'd decided to settle down. He would never have a family or a normal life, but at least he could have a permanent shelter and perhaps some sense of belonging. "It's not great, but that's part of the point. It feels like some kind of masochistic penance to live here, a place where all my greatest fears spit in my face every day." Bonnie and Chica looked uncomfortably at each other, yet there was no strong reaction beyond that.
"I can show you guys around, if you want," he said, hoping they'd accept. He spent enough time talking about what they wanted, even if he understood why. Still, it would be nice to show them all that he wasn't some wild man or vagabond, just squatting in what other people made. Phil decorated his dwelling, if only sparsely.
"Uh, sure?" Mike said, not seeing any harm in humoring him, other than perhaps giving Phil the incorrect impression that they were friends.
"All right, then! Come on," he said, waving everyone forward before turning around, finally allowing his face to contort into the mask of dread it should have been for the last few hours. You're doing well so far, he told himself. Phil almost wanted to pour his heart out about how sorry he was… but they already knew it, made as much peace with it as they could, and moved on. It would have been a vain waste of everyone's time. He should have counted himself lucky that they didn't want him to grovel! Though none of them were thrilled, all had enough kindness not to rub it in his face. Even Freddy relented after cursing him once or twice - he hadn't come with the sole purpose of making Phil feel bad.
The rabbit got on with it.
He didn't go into the specifics of each haunted house; he could have, but it'd take hours, and he really didn't want to. He just showed them the exteriors of the main attractions: Chica's Slaughterhouse, Bonnie's New York Nightmare, Foxy's Dread Pirate Voyage and Freddy's Axe Murder Mansion came first. Each was festooned with a sign of the title character doing something horrible. These were all different continuities set within twisted versions of the worlds or hallucinations the animatronics came from, as detailed in the original 4chan posts.
Phil was quick to say that he hadn't written them. Pretty sure it was Fritz, dealing with his nightmares via creative writing, only for the stories to grow far beyond anything he intended. If he wanted to make money or expose the animatronics, he could have kept posting instead of disappearing into the void.
"I, um, agree," Mike said as he squinted at the bare chested, male version of Foxy staring down, hook raised. There was a certain subset of people - furries, they were called - who were very into this kind of thing. He suspected one of them may have been the artist of this particular image. "I don't b-blame him, though. It's not his fault, uh, the story got so popular." The Internet had a way of making things get massively popular overnight. Not everything, only a small percentage which couldn't be predicted. Still, it made his life even more complicated than it needed to be.
The penultimate building he presented was the Night Guard's Gauntlet. It was unique in that people accompanied Mike on a daring escape instead of being victims of the monstrous robots.
It was also the one where Phil made his humble dwelling, so he showed it off in detail. Some people may have been interested in that. While June and Foxy looked mostly bored by this point, Bonnie and Chica grew out of their nervousness. They even pointed things out to each other and occasionally laughed at the excessive amounts of fake gore coating the walls. It became so ludicrous that it looped back around to silliness. That's what Phil thought, too. Of course, he only felt that way after living there for quite a while, and he was still sometimes unsettled on particularly quiet nights.
Thought about doing a full walkthrough, yet he decided not to; time ran out, and most of the decorations hadn't been set up, so it'd be far less impressive than it should. He simply led them deep into the surprisingly large building, past deactivated endoskeletons - their bones - down a service corridor nobody was supposed to enter, past a curtain, past Jeff (whom he did not acknowledge, lest the others think he'd gone completely nuts) and to his room.
"This is where I live," he said, opening the door so they could enter. This was the first time anyone but him stepped into his abode. Had to make a good impression, so he spruced up a little, hopefully looking more like a real living space than a mistreated college dorm. "It's not much, but it's more than I've had for a long time."
"Not bad," Freddy remarked, taking a step into the room, which made Phil back way, way up. "Considering the circumstances." That was less of a compliment and more of an observation. The bear ran his hand over one of the painted canvases nailed to the wall, specifically a landscape of the nearby woods. Phil feared he'd rip it down, but Freddy was content to feel the waves of dry paint under his paw - and show that he could have been more violent if he wanted.
"You got into art?" Foxy said, quizzically looking at the row of different pieces. Only a handful, yet she clearly hadn't expected him to be interested in anything creative.
"I promise I'm not trying to mimic you," Phil said, in case she thought this was some weird tribute to her being an artist. "I never practiced as much as I should have, so they're nowhere near as good as your stuff." Which must have gotten better as the years went by, and it was great when he last saw a piece from her. "And I'm only decent at landscapes; my people look more like mutants."
Still, he was proud of the skills he'd developed. Could have done more, but the last few years had been the Internet era, and that distracted him. It was easier than ever to get lost in an endless sea of mental morass and instant gratification. Tried not to, yet it wasn't like he had much else going on. Phil also had more freedom to pursue different frivolities than Foxy ever did, since he wasn't trapped in this one room. So he could mix things up by going outside, partaking in other hobbies, or just watching TV and playing video games.
Speaking of which, the latter two were what attracted Bonnie and Chica's attention as they packed into the chamber. Standing room only. Phil's flatscreen TV took up a good chunk of one wall, and the new Xbox was icing on the cake. Still needed to collect enough games for it, but a couple online gift cards he'd "procured" meant he got some cheaper titles.
"Wow, this barely has any dust on it!" Chica said, bending down to get a better look. "How'd you get this stuff?"
"The Walmart a mile away has good stuff, and they left the back door unlocked not long ago. They also don't have security cameras, though they might want to invest in some soon." June looked at him sternly, as if the people who asked the question didn't want to know the answer.
"Hey, I never claimed to be a saint. But I've never hurt or killed anyone." Thankfully. "I think I deserve a few creature comforts when I haven't talked to a person as a person for God knows how long." What they saw was all he'd taken. Not like he stole thousands of dollars that he kept stuffed under his mattress. Honestly, he probably would have, except he couldn't go anywhere to use said cash. And was it even robbing when the place was insured?
"Not to defend Phil, but I'm totally onboard with stealing from corporations," Foxy chimed in. Phil couldn't believe Foxy agreed with him, of all people. Her pirate instincts would have been far harsher on him if he purloined these goods from someone's house, or even a small business.
"Regardless of what we think about his acquisition of these items, it's not as if we can do anything," Mary said, wanting to stop any argument before it began. They weren't going to call the cops. And they hadn't the energy to dwell on it, either, for more important issues were at hand.
Like saying goodbye, Phil thought, trying not to wince. Uneventful though they may have been, these past few hours may have been the best of his life. Seeing everyone again meant the world to him. But the visit had been too brief. They'd meet again, but it'd be a long wait. Until then, there was one more location Phil wanted to show everyone after they finished investigating his room. Not much else to see.
He brought them outside, where the sun still hung overhead. He wished it stayed there forever so the day would never end. At the back of the park, past all the other amusements, was the attraction that got all the attention, as it was supposedly the scariest haunted house in the world: FIVE NIGHTS AT FREDDY'S.
Same name as the video game from Silver Parasol, if Phil remembered correctly. The moniker hadn't been trademarked in time, and its connection with a public domain story ensured there were a few things with that name. It was also the only building he had never entered on his own accord. After all, it was all about him and the terrible things he'd done, as shown by the shadowy figure acting as a puppet master on the queue. And, unlike the rest, those accounts were largely true.
"That's, um, ominous," Mike said, probably expecting a vulture to alight on the roof to complete the ill omen.
"I know. That's part of the reason I never wanted to go inside." It was all part of a frightening aura which hung over the place, at least for him. Maybe it was anticlimactic, yet he wanted to show them this existed, if for no other reason than to prove they weren't the only ones feared around here. Some of the onus was placed on one of the people who deserved it.
4:15 PM
Foxy was tired. Her inhibitions had been worn down by a day of mental exertion and trying to keep her head. Keeping engaged while tired was a skill she mastered long ago, though; much as she loved her job, there were days when she didn't really want to deal with kids, only holding out to the end of the day for their sake. The difference was that she liked children. Phil, she did not.
Still, Foxy was mature enough to acknowledge how much he'd changed. She turned her head to look back. He stood at the gate, locking it while keeping his eyes on them the whole time, as if they might disappear if he blinked. Locked eyes with him for a moment before turning away, feeling her tail slowly swish behind her as she picked up the pace. The asphalt stones didn't feel so pointy against her paws anymore.
Phil's actions proved he wasn't the man he used to be. When they voted to exile him, she thought of it as an extended death sentence. There was no way he'd survive long, and even if he did, he wouldn't change. It was only to get him out of their fur. Well, she was wrong, and she had enough courage to admit it. Exile was probably good for him, though. If they immediately forgave him (which was never on the table, but she imagined a reality where it could have happened), Phil would never have reflected and made these changes in his life.
Sighing, she opened the back door of Mike's car and slid inside. It'd be a long ride back, so she'd probably fall asleep during the trip, especially with the blacked out windows letting little light into where she and Mary sat. Mike hopped in and started the engine.
"Uh, I should come b-back here in a couple weeks when this place is open." Foxy nodded. A better idea of the layout would be the reward for such a long trip. While they already took mental notes about the landscape this time, much could still change. Maybe he could take June and they could have fun together. The only downside was, again, it'd take forever.
Mary sat next to her, inhaling and exhaling in perfect, precise intervals as the car pulled onto the road, following June this time instead of the other way around. The sound she made was that of a quiet fan. Foxy rarely noticed; it'd be uncanny for any other being, yet it was normal for her sister. And, tired and upset with Mary as she was, it sounded like nails being scraped against slate. Foxy balled her hand into a fist, trying not to cut her hand with her own claws. This continued minute after minute, each feeling longer than the last. The only escape was conversations which retread old ground and her own thoughts. Her whole body sweltered, as if she suffered heatstroke.
Eventually, she could take it no more.
"OK, we've been coy this long, but it's time to stop playing games. Mike and I know you've been hiding something from us," she snapped, turning to glare at the woman a foot away. The breathing stopped, and Mary slowly met Foxy's gaze. Mike quietly gasped, and she saw his fingers grip the wheel tighter. He said nothing, though; needed to focus on the road.
Mary also remained silent, which dispelled Foxy's small, lingering fear that all this was a mistake. Well, someone had to do the talking. Foxy explained how she snuck into Mary's room and found the tape which they took to June. The small fragment, combined with Mary's weird behavior, were what let them figure it out. Mary probably put that together already, being a supercomputer, but it felt good for Foxy to boast about her detective skills.
"What the Hell is wrong with you?" she demanded. "Why didn't you come clean?"
Mary finally opened up, and her voice sounded hollow when she did. "I cannot tell you much more than what you have already surmised. We are in danger, and one or more of us will perish if we continue with this course of action." Foxy's body tightened as she hung on every word. "I… I did not want to tell you. You were all so selfless and devoted to the idea of a better world. I knew you would decide to do this no matter the cost, so I felt you should not sow fear into our last days. That is why I attempted to destroy the evidence and why I have been so distant."
The car was silent other than the constant thump of tires on the highway. "I am sorry."
It took Foxy a moment to find the words, and she mulled for a second about the right words to say. The content, however, wasn't in doubt. She quickly settled on, "I forgive you."
The expression of relief on her sister's face was instantaneous. She understood why Mary lied to them now. Didn't like it, but nothing about the situation was comparable to Phil.
"So do I," Mike said, immediately backing her up. "I get why you did it, but, like, I'm disappointed you didn't trust us." There was nothing for Mary to say, so she didn't make an attempt. "Can you tell us, um, more?" She nodded, eager to win back any trust she lost.
"Henrietta was unsure of what, exactly, would happen when the ritual concluded. But based on her research, it sounds like one or more of us - not you, Mike, or June, but we synthetic beings - may expire. While she could not explain the metaphysics behind it, she was nearly sure it would happen and wanted to warn us of the consequences." Foxy, though no philosopher, tried to think of why that might be. The conclusion she reached was that it was connected to Auric making them. Though a twisted, broken demiurge, he was still their creator. That likely had something to do with it. What, exactly, didn't matter.
"I understand if you do not believe me, but I promise that was the only piece of information I gleaned from the last tape: a dreary hypothesis, but not a certainty." Mary held out hope that their deaths weren't preordained. Foxy tried to do the same. "The rest was a protracted goodbye, as well as a tirade about her ex-husband, utilizing phrases like 'I can't believe that bastard thought it was a good idea to make the female animatronics have breasts, and I think he got off to it - no offense to any of you' and 'I never liked Bill, but at least he just makes computers and doesn't also kill people for fun'."
Mike snickered slightly, knowing those sentences were quoted verbatim from her perfect memory. Maybe they could pry the rest of it out of her one day if they got nostalgic enough. For the time being, Foxy was content to let this burden be taken off her shoulders. The only thing weighing her down was the fact they would have to tell everyone else about this discovery before the night was through.
5:00 PM
Mike was relieved that Mary hadn't conspired to betray them or run away from home. Though both those things may have sounded unlikely, the impossible was ordinary in his life. Mary's lies weren't supposed to hurt them, he believed wholeheartedly. Just had to reveal what she told them to everyone else so he wasn't a hypocrite, which would have been worse than a liar.
If these really were going to be their last days, then they needed to be spent well and without deception. Yeah, they had to keep prepared, but they also should do the things they'd always wanted to, within reason. The good news was that none of them had many regrets.
Life had been good to them all. Besides, this didn't really change much. Everyone knew they could die, so this wasn't much of a surprise.
What did alter was his perception of who was likely to die. Going into this, he figured there was a good chance that any of them might not pull through. Though Auric was physically weak, he'd pull out all the stops in the magic department; he might make someone have a heart attack with an eldritch mutter and a snap of his fingers. OK, that didn't seem to be how magic worked, but surely he could come up with something.
That wasn't true, though. It turned out his wife was in far more danger than him. He cringed as he looked in the rearview mirror, finding Foxy's eye concernedly looking back at him. He saw the fear she tried to keep down. Not fear of dying, for she faced death before - it was a possibility both were well acquainted with, and true pirates never backed down in the face of danger. No, he could tell the fear she felt was the inverse of what Mike experienced when both talked about their respective lifespans: she imagined a world where he would be without her and despaired. That fear hit close to home.
What kind of man would he be to let the woman he loved waltz into peril? He didn't have a choice, yet he still felt like a failure as a husband that he couldn't do anything. Supposed the best he could do was be just as willing to lay down his life if it came to that. He hoped it didn't.
In the meantime, he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. That was easy, for the two ladies in the back fell silent as they all retreated to their own internal worlds to think things through. He wasn't sure what all this meant, if anything.
The most he could say was that the day they all dreaded no longer came at them like a bullet.
Instead, it was an ICBM.