Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

April 10th, 1983, New Harmony, Utah. 1:35

William Afton was, for a lack of better words, furious.

“Damn it, Michael!” The man uttered under his breath as his axe struck once again into the golden bear costume in front of him. “Why’d you have to mess up so much?”

He didn’t really miss Evan. The kid was weak, easily scared – certainly not the qualities he valued in a person.

No, he didn’t really care about the boy.

What he did miss, though, was someone to experiment on.

Illusion Discs. Such fascinating things, really, and there’s so much he could have achieved with them, but now...

Thanks to his elder brat, he’ll have to put it on hold for a while.

“Oh Fredbear, why did you have to malfunction now? ” Whispered William in frustration. He always took pride in his control over emotions, and even now, with this… Unfortunate incident that threw a wrench into the works, he did not yell.

But of course, everyone needed stress relief every once in a while, and he was no exception. This was precisely why he was here, dismantling the golden bear animatronic that killed Evan in the dead of night.

With just a swing of his trusty axe, the fabric gets torn apart. The metal parts hold, of course – he and Henry made these things to last – but he didn’t want them to break in the first place.

All he wanted was just to pour out his frustration and anger. And he’d lie if he said it didn’t work: William felt so much better after slashing through the mascot.

“And now the final touch.”

The police had, of course, taken the head of the animatronic for investigation. Thankfully, it was very brief (and William made sure of it, it’s truly wonderful what a few well-placed gifts can do), and the yellow bear was back in his possession.

The blood on the jaws was still there, but it only made him want to drive an axe through the endoskeleton even more.

Slash – and the purple hat is gone, only pieces remaining in its place.

Slash – and the lifeless mechanical blue eyes are shattered by a single strike.

Slash – and even the steel teeth begin to crack and fall off, a silvery metallic liquid leaking out of them.

… How curious.

William even stopped whacking the endo for a second to take a better look.

“Eh? I don’t remember ever having that in the blueprints.”

Looking around, the man grabbed an empty bottle – ah, it will do – and carefully picked up this mysterious fluid.

“… What is this?” He pondered, twirling it in his hands.

It felt too hot to touch, and yet somehow didn’t leave any burn marks.

… This is certainly something that he’s going to need to look into.

“I wonder if there’s anything interesting I can get out of you?” He said to no one in particular other than himself after closing the door. The man locked it behind him and disappeared sneakily into the night, heading home.

Unbeknownst to him, a small shadow disconnected itself from the now broken Fredbear, seeking a new home.

July 28th, 1985, Hurricane, Utah. 9:43

Two years.

Two years had passed since his daughter was taken from him.

And Henry Emily couldn’t move on.

… But then again, he never really tried to.

Henry could now clearly see the bots were a mistake. The  ‘masterpieces of engineering’, as he foolishly dubbed them at first, were, in fact, impressive creations.

But they wouldn’t bring his daughter back.

Nothing would fill the hole in his heart that Charlie’s death left there.

So that’s why a week ago, Henry began work on his last creation. It was almost complete by now, knife already in place, with just the endo’s activation mechanism missing.

It’s early morning, so he’ll probably finish it today. Then…

Then it’ll all end.

The man sighed and slumped into a chair, his gaze locked onto that damned newspaper article that sent him further into this downward spiral, just a month ago.

‘Five children now reported missing. Suspect convicted.’

Even more deaths. Like the two at Fredbear’s weren’t enough.

‘While the suspect has been charged, the bodies themselves were never found.’

… He, too, was a suspect back then, along with William. And while Henry knew he was innocent, he couldn’t blame the poor parents for wanting the killer caught.

He knew the feeling first-hand, after all.

Henry looked again at the illustration of his friend’s mugshot. William? A killer? Ha, like he’d ever…

He blinked.

William… A killer.

Fredbear’s destruction.

… No, there’s no way he’d actually do that. Henry knew him ever since childhood; William would never kill his daughter – hell, his own kids died, too. It just wasn’t…

The questionable design choices for the spring locks.

The way he treated Michael and Evan.

But why! - there’s absolutely no reason he would! - 

Clay’s notes.

Elizabeth’s mysterious ‘accident’ that he refused to comment upon.

… But if Will actually did that, then…

Oh.

Oh no.

He didn’t disappear from the public because his image was ruined.

He disappeared in case the police would ever find something on him. They knew it was him, but didn’t have enough evidence to lock him up.

Henry put down the newspaper, hands shaking.

It made far too much sense to be a coincidence.

Far too many pieces aligned perfectly.

… How could have he been so blind? Not notice any of the signs? God, if only he had…

Maybe those kids would still be alive.

Maybe Charlie would still be alive.

The thought was too much for the poor man.

Henry had failed. Failed as a company owner, failed to protect those kids, and worst of all…

He had failed as a loving father and husband. His own inaction led to her death. Utterly useless, worthless.

… He didn’t really need to finish the machine. The knife was right there.

The man’s hand gripped the handle tightly. Shaking and trembling, he brought the weapon near his chest. One swift motion, and-

No. Not now.

Henry now was one of the few who knew of William’s crimes. If he were to die,the secret would die with him, and then the depraved murderer would roam free.

He couldn’t let that happen. Henry had to redeem himself – at least in his own eyes.

He had to find Afton, take him down, prevent any more needless deaths.

Only then could he get the peace he so desperately wanted.

… But Henry Emily could not go after Afton. Henry Emily was under police supervision. William would know if Henry Emily attempted to track him down, he’d move states –or worse, go abroad – and then Henry Emily would never catch him.

To put it simply, Henry Emily had to die.

Yes, he’d fake his death – he had the connections – Not Charlie would go to Jen, the house? He didn’t really care what would happen to the house – he’d take every blueprint and schematic with him into hiding, and then?

He’d be free to go after the madman.

A plan began to form inside Henry’s head.

He’d need a new name, he’ll need to make a few calls here and there to arrange the ‘death scene’, but this can wait for a bit.

He has a letter to write, first.

My dearest Jenny,

I’ve warped…

Unbeknownst to him, a certain Dave Miller very much intended to stay in Utah.

October 15th, 1987, New Harmony, Utah. 18:19

You won’t die.

He didn’t.

But God, did he wish he would have.

It hurt so much.

Even just walking took effort.

But that’s to be expected from a lifeless corpse.

… Why did he listen to Father?

Michael knew there was something wrong with him already. He saw the animatronics back at that location.

They weren’t just malfunctioning.

A simple malfunction wouldn’t make it maim his one friend for no reason.

Was it guilt? Guilt for letting Evan die – no, killing him – and the desire for redemption?

Was it the hope that he would see Elizabeth again?

Or was it just him trying to please Father for once?

… Either way, none of that mattered now.

Michael Afton – what was left of him, anyway – stood in front of his old home, axe in hand. He wasn’t expecting William to still be here, of course, and yet he still brought it with him.

Just in case his payback would come early.

Knock knock.

No answer, as expected.

But Michael didn’t need an invite.

With a click, he unlocked the door with his old keys and stepped in.

Dust.

There was remarkably little dust. Whoever lived here – Father, of course, who else? – hasn’t been here only for a few weeks.

Oh well, too bad for him.

The house was just like Michael remembered it. Orange walls, Evan’s bedroom to the left, Lizzie’s to the right. The grandfather clock long stopped ticking, now stuck on 1:35.

All this only brought bad memories to him. Memories of him being an overall terrible person, memories of Father…

Memories of that awful day.

Michael shook his head. He was here for just a few things, and then he’d be gone from here forever.

Namely, Father’s notes.

He saw those machines at the Rental. The toys could have been reprogrammed - he wrote most of the software, of course he’d have a backdoor. But the Funtimes…

Those wretched things were constructed for violence and violence only.

To capture and kill children.

‘Parental Voice Sync’, ‘Variable Scent Release’… God, he felt sick just thinking about them.

Each had a role. Together, they worked as one sinister well-oiled machine. Ballora distracted the parents, Foxy lured the kids, and Freddy…

That ‘Storage Tank’ in his chest awfully resembled the outlines of a child.

The fact that they set Michael up and killed him didn’t help at all.

And now they were free to roam and it was his fault again.

That being said, the last time he saw them was when they ejected from his rotting husk and fled down the sewers. Michael doubted the amalgamation would get out of there fast.

… And Father’s room was locked. Of course it was.

Nothing an axe can’t deal with, however.

Walking past what remained of the door, Michael stepped into the office.

It was a rather unimpressive little room, with nothing other than a few drawers and a desk with a computer on it.

Michael wondered if the password would be ‘1983’ again.

But that was for later. First, he had to check the drawers.

Fredbear’s blueprints. Not like they would be needed anymore.

There were some other models as well – Michael recalled seeing some of those at the old location back before he had ran away, and the toys were near the bottom of the stack, marked as “Failed”

Michael couldn’t help but grin at that.

Got what they deserved.

The third drawer was locked, but Michael had always been good at picking locks.

Ah, there are the Funtime blueprints. Could prove useful in the future.

There’s a few other schematics as well, namely the dreaded claw that brought his demise, and all of them have something peculiar in common.

‘Remnant’.

Perhaps the fourth drawer would explain some of this.

The locks don’t fold as easily this time, but Michael doesn’t give up. He has a goal in mind, and nothing short of death would stop him.

Though death too, it seemed, was just an obstacle.

Inside were multiple syringes with a silvery substance in them and a few hand-written notes. No journal as he had hoped, but this will do.

Michael flipped through the notes until his eyes landed on one labeled “Remnant Properties”.

… Power to give life…

… Agony left after death…

God, what was he getting himself into? Child killer robots, and now whatever the hell this was?

Overheating might neutralise the effects permanently.

Fire cleanses all. How poetic.

…The scooper that hit him had a reservoir installed in it, alongside a ‘remnant injector’ as well. Could it be possible that…

This mysterious liquid was keeping him from dying completely.

 A little more couldn’t hurt, right?

It did.

Michael didn’t expect the syringes to hurt so much. The pain was so intense he almost fainted.

But in just a few moments it went away. The normal pain – the kind that always was there when he moved in this decaying vessel – lessened too.

It still hurt to walk, but at least it was now manageable.

Michael tried to turn on the computer, but it refused to start up.

… Oh.

Of course it would, the electricity was out, you idiot.

He couldn’t just leave it here, no. Father could return to this house, and who knows what kind of things he has on that computer.

… Well, had. Michael hoped that whatever was left of it after his multiple axe swings was not recoverable.

And with that, he had done everything he wanted. All that was left was to leave a message. Father would come back here, undoubtedly.

Father, it's me, Michael. 

I did it. I found it.

 It was right where you said it would be. They were all there. They didn't recognize me at first, but then, they thought I was you. 

And I found her. 

I put her back together, just like you asked me to. She's free now, but something is wrong with me.

I should be dead, but I'm not. 

I've been living in the shadows. There is only one thing left for me to do now.

I'm going to find you, Father.

I'm going to come find you.

It was the only thing left to do, after all. Find William, terminate him, and only then could he die in peace.

This was the only purpose he had left.

Michael Afton was sure he’d go to Hell. He deserved it, after all, for what he did to Evan.

But he would make sure to drag Father down with him.

Unbeknownst to him, a different man out there had the same idea.

June 26th, 1995, Silver Reef, Utah. 16:20

A young woman stood in the middle of the ghost town, unsure whether to knock on the door.

God, what was she even doing there?

She could have been out there having fun with her friends. She could have been preparing for college, or doing engineering, or…

But no, Charlotte Emily was back in god-knows-where, Utah, trying to solve a mystery from twelve years ago.

She felt like she was the only one that could. Everybody else had somehow missed the one detail in that newspaper that motivated her to stay in Hurricane.

Abandoned mall burns to the ground!

Charlie still didn’t get how a single lightning strike did it all. Truthfully, she didn’t care about why Freddy’s burned down, what caught her sight back then was the picture.

Very little was found at the scene. The few items that were salvaged will be sold at a public auction.

It was a small Freddy toy sitting on the ground. The background was blurry, and yet she could see it clearly.

A charred golden bunny lying amongst the rubble, staring at the camera with a menacing grin.

He survived.

Somehow, Afton had lived. Neither the springlocks nor the fire could kill the man.

And so she stayed and searched desperately for any trace of her brother’s murderer.

Charlie didn’t find any.

The things she did find, however, were just as – if not more – mysterious.

First were some of her childhood photographs. Perfectly fine, aside from one small issue.

In each and every one of them, Charlie’s face was blurred.

This wasn’t just a camera mistake, either. Most of the pictures were from different time periods and taken by different people.

Then there was the, frankly disturbing , unmarked grave in the forest near Fredbear’s family diner.

Almost unmarked, that is. Most of the details, name and date of birth included, had been scratched off by somebody, but the year of death remained.

1983.

Charlie shuddered at the thought that someone else had died at the diner, and no one knew.

… Besides whoever buried them, probably.

The final straw was Theodore.

An old Bonnie toy that her father made for her. It used to play recordings of Henry’s voice.

It now repeated only one cryptic message.

Shining Star, Silver Reef.

So there she was, past the wooden gate with a star on it, standing atop the hill. The house was in great condition, almost exactly as she remembered it.

With a sigh, Charlie went for it.

Knock knock.

Movement from within, and then a tall, dark-haired woman opened the door.

“… Aunt Jen?”

The woman’s cold stare faded as soon as she saw her at the door.

“Charlie. What brings you here?” The woman replied, a faint smile on her face.

“I got… A message, of sorts. From Theodore. Kept telling me to go to ‘Shining Star, Silver Reef’, and…”

“Come inside, then.” Aunt Jen beckoned to her, and she followed.

“So,” The woman continued as they both sat down at the table, “I’m… glad you came to visit me, Charlie, but why are you here?”

Charlie blinked.

“…The message, I told you, it…” But Jen was quick to interrupt.

“I wasn’t asking about that. I was asking why you returned to Hurricane yet again. Didn’t I tell you some things are best left forgotten? Shouldn’t you be preparing to go to college right now?”

Charlotte hesitated for a moment. This was her aunt, so it wouldn’t hurt if she told her…

“I’m looking for the truth.”

Jennifer stopped dead in her tracks before looking at her weirdly.

“… The truth?” She said slowly.

“About Sammy. About those missing kids, about Afton. He’s back, Aunt Jen, and I need to know.”

The woman closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “Are you sure you want to know the truth, Charlie?”

“Well, yes, of course – It’s – Why wouldn’t I?”

Aunt Jen kept silent for a few moments before continuing.

“… I didn’t just warn you for nothing, you know. Some things, some memories… Can ruin a person, Charlie. If the truth turned your world upside down… Scarred you mentally… Would you still want to know the truth?”

And now it was Charlie’s turn to be silent.

… She could just say no. Leave it where it is. Go away, never come back, live a happy life somewhere else.

But Sammy didn’t have that choice. Nor did Jeremy, nor Susie, nor any of the other kids that fell victim to that madman.

Charlie had to know.

“…Yes, Aunt Jen. Yes, I do.”

Silence.

The woman slowly shook her head in disbelief, looking down, before leaving the room.

Just moments after, she returned, briefcase in hand.

“… Go back to the house in Hurricane, then, Charlie.” She said quietly with sorrow in her voice. “Your room, the four closets, check them all. If by then you still have some questions left, open the briefcase – your father’s notes should clear everything up.”

“… Thank you.” Charlie nodded and headed for the door. Before she could leave, Jennifer spoke again from behind her.

“And… I’m sorry, Charlotte.”

Driving never felt so tense.

But soon she was right where she wanted to be.

The house didn’t change much after the events that occurred in spring. Still standing where it stood, although a bit worn down in some places.

The room.

It was good to be back here, but Charlie couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

The feeling only increased as she got near the closets.

Click – and the tallest one opened.

Empty. Not a single thing inside. The one in the middle was devoid of anything as well.

Then Charlie opened the smaller closet.

What?

… This didn’t make any sense. How - Why - What was she even looking at?

The briefcase! Of course. The answer had to lie in there.

Henry’s suicide letter. She had seen it already, multiple times at that, and yet it still hit her hard. Some notes on discs of some kind – no doubt, some piece of experimental machinery he was working on.

That still doesn’t explain the closets, perhaps…

Blueprints.

Oh.

The briefcase fell out of Charlie’s hands.

Three sets of blueprints.

… That’s...m-

No.

No, that made no sense!

Eerily accurate. Down to the clothing.

But how would he have predicted…!

Unless.

…Was she?

But that would mean…

The grave.

Her grave.

And in that moment, as tears – were they even real tears? She didn’t know anymore – began to form in her eyes, Charlotte Emily understood everything.

Unbeknownst to her, a man she considered to be long dead just hatched a plan.

Chapter Text

July 29th, 1995, Hurricane, Utah. 19:52

A man dressed in a trench coat with a fox mask covering his face stepped into the newly built Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Place.

The only other person present there, at this time, was only the one who wrote to him, of course.

“Mike?”

“Henry,” said the masked man, leaning his back against the wall. “Good to see you again, after all this time.”

The man in glasses nodded. “You came.”

“Sure did,” Michael responded. “Not like there’s much else to do.”

“Follow me, then,” Henry pointed to a trapdoor near the back. “We’ve got things to discuss.”

Down the ladder was a spacious metal office. A small desk with several monitors, two chairs, a panel with orange buttons. Two security doors – one on the left, one on the right – and two vents in the front.

Just like old times.

“Alright, here’s the plan,” Henry spoke out as soon as they both climbed down. “During the nights, you’ll be seated here, doing tasks to pretend you’re just an employee. They’ll most likely recognize you – especially Afton – “

“Springtrap.” Mike interrupted.

“… Springtrap?”

“A fitting name for the bastard.” The masked man explained, “Trapped in a prison of his own making.”

Henry chuckled lightly, “Springtrap it is. Anyways, they’ll recognize you, but since I’ll only be present in this office on the final night, they’ll think you’re acting on your own.”

“Final night,” Michael noted, “I assume we burn them all down?”

“Well, yes, but not exactly.” The man responded. “Each and every door in the underground area is reinforced. When the time comes, the animatronics will be searching for a way out that doesn’t exist. Then we activate the heaters,” Henry pointed at the button array, “And hopefully destroy each and every bit of remnant they may have. I’ll be staying here, while you take the emergency escape and-“

Mike shook his head. “Don’t need an emergency exit.”

“…Sorry?”

He sighed deeply and flipped his mask, revealing his face.

Henry knew what to expect, yet still shook slightly at the sight.

“…Look at me, Henry,” Began Michael. “Look what they did to me – no, what he did to me, by proxy. It’s been eight years, I’m a long dead man. It hurts to even walk. All that’s left is to free Elizabeth, free the other kids, send Father to hell. After that, I’m no longer needed, nor do I want to stay.”

Silence fell over them for a few seconds.

“…I see. I’m sorry, Michael.”

“Eh, it’s alright,” He lied. It was not alright. He was not fucking alright . “Not like we can change the past, let’s just make sure he has no future.”

Then his tone darkened. “Seriously though, Henry, thank you for everything. You were more of a father to me than he could ever be.”

The older man just nodded sadly.

“To be honest, I don’t even think Evan will ever forgive me,” Michael went on, “I wouldn’t expect him to, not after what I put him through. I’m not doing this for redemption’s sake, nor for vengeance, really. It’s just that this mission is all I have left in my life. Evan’s gone, Lizzie’s gone, Charlie’s gone. Once this ends, I’ll have completely nothing and no one. And as much as I dislike who I’ve become, I do not want to suffer that fate. So there’s the reason why I’m remaining as well during the fire, Henry.”

Silence, again.

“But enough about that!” Michael suddenly cheered up. “You said I’d be working the nights. Who’s the dayshift guard?”

“That’ll also be you, Mike.”

He blinked in confusion.

“Uh, what about…you know… this?” The masked man gestured broadly at himself.

“And that’s when I come in,” replied Henry, walking out to a room in the back and returning moments after with something in his hands.

“…Is that?”

A golden pendant.

Shaped like Fredbear’s head, complete with the purple hat and bowtie, with black tear lines going down from its eyes.

“An Illusion Disc holder. Normally, these things need a lot of power, but I managed to shrink the third generation down. It still took up a bit of space so I had to get creative and make it into a pendant.”

Henry hesitated for a second before continuing. “And… if you don’t like the design, I can tweak the Disc to also alter the-“

“Nah, it’s good,” Michael interrupted, taking the pendant and putting it on. “…Bittersweet, but fitting. So how do I turn it on?”

“There’s a button on the back, press it.”

Click – and the rotting corpse glitches and changes. Where it once stood now stands a young man in a tan vest over a teal shirt, short brown hair covered by the Foxy mask.

Huh, neat. This must be what being human again would have felt like.

“Impressive.” Michael said, “So what are my duties on the dayshift?”

“Ah, well, not so fast, Mike, there’s a bit of a problem.” Henry replied, scratching his head, “The disc’s a prototype and it… doesn’t work well long-term on things like hands and faces. You might want to keep them covered up when working.”

Well then, good thing he brought the mask with him.

“No worries,” The man responded, pulling the Foxy head over his face again. “Got that covered, I just lack the gloves.”

“I’ll get you some,” Henry reassured, “In any case, during the day you’ll be keeping an eye on guests, making sure nothing out of the ordinary happens. The pizzeria might be a trap, but it could still attract some…” He struggled to find the right words. “…Unwanted attention.”

“Understood. Prevent another William.”

“Exactly,” The older man nodded. “Additionally, after each night you’ll need to check the back alley for any of the animatronics.”

“And if find any, throw them in the underground area?”

“Correct. Oh, almost forgot,” Henry pulled something out of his pocket, “Take this walkie-talkie. I have the second one, if anything bad happens, contact me.”

“Gotcha. Is that all?”

The older man thought for a second, then responded, “Should be all. You can leave now, Mike, have some rest before it all goes down.”

“… You know I don’t sleep or eat, right?”

Nevertheless, he appreciated the gesture.

Michael would make sure everything would go to plan. He wouldn’t let it happen again.

Not on my watch.

July 31st, 1995, Hurricane, Utah. 6:50

After 2 whole years, Freddy Fazbear’s reopened in Hurricane.

People were, quite understandably, distrustful of the location. Most have been there when the missing children tragedy happened, and it wouldn’t be forgotten in just a decade.

There had been more curious ones. Kids who only remembered the 1993 location, which was – while quite short-lived – mostly without incident, after all.  Parents who were drawn in by the promises of better security.

Nevertheless, no one wanted to be in the first batch of customers.

And so no one noticed one young masked man arrive at the site ten minutes before his shift began.

Ignoring the weird glances from the other employees, Michael walked in and leaned against a wall. The awkward silence didn’t bother him, but in order to keep up the façade of a functioning restaurant, he forced himself to speak out.

“What? I’m the dayshift guard here.” He pointed at the yellow badge on his uniform.

And the night guard too, but you don’t really have to know that, do you?

“…But what…” One of the servers, a nervous young man that looked like he was just out of high school, began,”..what about the-“

“The mask?” Michael interrupted, sighing.

How predictable.

The other man just nodded.

“Covering up medical issues. Ugly stuff I don’t want the kids and parents to see.”

It wasn’t a satisfactory answer; Michael knew that, the others knew that. But they just weren’t paid enough to bother – so it seemed – and he was, thankfully, left alone.

The front doors opened, and the – expectedly few – customers started to appear. Two or three families with young children – Mike didn’t see anything suspicious, so he took a look around the dining area which also served as the lobby.

It was a fairly neat little room, grey and white checkered floor and all – a Freddy’s classic – and the decorations didn’t look half-bad, either. For something that was as cheap as possible so the fire wouldn’t hurt the Emily family financially, that is.

… Michael really liked the foxy mask. Sure, it might have brought some unpleasant memories, but his whole existence was quite an unpleasant memory for the last eight years. Now, though, it allowed him to look closely at the guests without them seeing him back. Very convenient if your whole job consisted of doing precisely that.

He was so invested, in fact, that he failed to notice a young boy tugging at the hem of his uniform.

“Why do you look like Foxy?”

The question caught Michael off-guard.

“Ah, I’m just…” He thought for a few moments, “…Foxy’s friend, that’s all. Ain’t that right, foxy?”

Henry, PLEASE tell me you’ve made these things respond to voice!

“Aye! Mikey be me first matey,” Came from the one-legged animatronic on stage.

“Wow...” The boy whispered, “You’re cool. I wanna be like you when I grow up!”

Michael chuckled behind the mask. Trust me, kiddo, you don’t want to. No one should have to deal with all this.

He, of course, didn’t say that out loud.

“Then listen to your parents, kid, and one day you’ll be a friend of Foxy, too.”

The child beamed and turned around, running off – presumably, to his parents.

Mike still wasn’t used to interacting with people (aside from the brief Freddy’s gig a few years ago, but that barely counted), and yet this didn’t seem that hard so far.

The next few hours went without incident. Guests came and went, a few giving him odd glares, but otherwise it had been alright.

Key word being “had”.

Because a family just walked into the restaurant. Mother and two sons. Nothing out of the ordinary, but Michael did overhear a few lines from the older boy that made him very much alert.

“… such a crybaby, Jake, just…”

“… shut up and…”

He was going to let it slide – who knows, maybe this ‘Jake’ was alright with the name-calling – except the black-haired teen took something from the younger boy’s hands who was now on the verge of crying.

God, this kid reminded Michael of his younger self so much.

And he hated every second of it.

With surprisingly little sound, the masked man stepped up to the pair. “Wouldn’t do that if I were you, pal.”

“Yeah?” The bully turned around with the biggest shit-eating grin, “And what are you gonna do about it?”

… He could just make the annoyance leave the restaurant. He had the authority now. And he really, really wanted to do it, but…

But then he’d just blame it on the little guy and bully him twice as hard at home, wouldn’t he?

“Well, for starters,” Mike began calmly, trying his very damn best to not raise his voice, “I’m security here, so I could kick you out of the restaurant. Alternatively, we could have a little talk.”

The kid just rolled his eyes, “Fine, old man, read me a lecture or something and be done.”

He shook his head. “First you give back what doesn’t belong to you.”

Michael got an annoyed glare in response, but the teen begrudgingly returned something – an alligator plushie, how ironic – to the younger boy.

“Alright, now listen up, kid. I had a… friend once.” He began, “He used to push around his brother all the time, just like you. And then one day he went too far. Care to guess what happened?”

The boy just smirked. “Not really. What, he cried even more?”

”Haha, no.” The masked man chuckled, then suddenly his demeanour changed completely. “The brother died.”

There was no irony in sarcasm in his voice now, only cold. This threw off the teen, who blinked a few times in response.

“The brother died,” Michael repeated again, “And my friend instantly felt guilty. He swore to become a better brother, to not mess with people for no reason, but you know what? It was too late. There was nothing he could do. The guilt still haunts him to this day.”

Silence in return. The bully stared at him in shock.

“This could happen to you, too,” He continues, “One mistake is all it takes, one step too far. But then it’s done, and no matter how sorry you’ll be, no matter how much you’ll hate yourself after that, there’s no way to undo it. The guilt will haunt you, kid; haunt you for the rest of your life. Tell me, do you want that?”

“N…no.”  was the only response he got from the now pale teen.

And once again the cheerful Michael was back. “Then don’t make the same mistakes that my friend made! Go now, live life to the fullest, and don’t hurt people – family or not.”

The black haired boy just nodded and walked away quickly, not looking back at him.

… Probably wasn’t the sharpest idea to dump all that on the kid, but Michael still felt a bit proud of himself for not acting out on instincts. The teen brought back many bad memories – memories that he’d love to forget, but alas – and younger Mike would’ve probably just kicked him out.

But Michael had a goal, and he wasn’t going to reach it by lashing out. He had to maintain the façade, after all.

Evening came very soon, and the last of the few customers left.

He now had one last job to do before the first night would begin.

Click – and he locks the front door behind him as he turns to the left to do a check on the alleyway.

Nothing.

No wrecked animatronics present.

Guess he’ll have a night to get familiar with the location.

“Henry, alleyway is clear, no animatronics. Over.”

“Good,” came from the other end, “Head down the office hatch, Mike. Over.”

The masked man jumped down the trapdoor and sat down on the spinning chair, taking a look at his desk. Some crumpled paper, a microphone, a Freddy plush and… a fan.

Of course there would be a fan.

Michael wondered for a second if this, too, was here for authenticity, before his thoughts were interrupted by a clock chime.

Midnight.

For a second, he froze.

For a second, he was back in 1993.

Moments after, a beep signaled a tape being about to start playing.

“Congratulations on completing your first day, however your job isn’t over just yet. As a night shift security guard, your role is to watch over the location and make sure no one and nothing breaks in, or out.”

How ominous. But I guess Freddy’s was always blunt with its employees, so you’ve got to follow the tradition, eh, Henry?

“To assist you in this, there is a tablet that is linked up with the camera surveillance system. You may use it to observe any room on this floor, any other floors, however, are inaccessible due to hardware limitations. If you wish to perform a check-up, feel free to use the ladder at the back of your office, as that is the only way out.”

Bullshit, all of it.

And yet brilliantly fabricated.

First of all, the ladder wasn’t the only one that led outside. There was one in the generator room as well, and a third somewhere else, too – in one of the storage closets, probably? He didn’t really remember.

That being said, though, if the animatronics – when they eventually got there – believed that the only way towards the children upstairs was his office, they wouldn’t stray from the course Michael and Henry would orchestrate for them.

The tablets the man designed were simply brilliant, too - remote night vision activation and music box windup had saved his ass multiple times back in ‘87 when he was still alive, and the tech has only gotten better since.

“... close the security doors if at any point your life, or company property, might be in danger. Only use them when absolutely necessary, as the building is not connected to the power grid and relies on a single generator. Should you run out of power, any and all operating costs will be deducted from your paycheck.”

Doors in every room. A blessing, compared to what he had to work with in real locations. No more need to frantically switch from camera to camera - lock all of them down in one room, and power was the only thing he had to worry about.

…Michael wouldn’t actually be in danger, no.

A last-resort panic button would close every door, regardless of the “power” - which, too, wasn’t actually real.

But that would alert any animatronics - by that point the gig would be up, and that was something he was keen on avoiding.

The tape had stopped playing, and he turned to check the clock.

2AM already.

Might as well get used to the layout while I have the time.

Michael grabbed the tablet and started clicking through the cameras.

A big open area with rows and rows of shelves. Perhaps the “Dining Area” of this fake pizzeria.

Two corridors, left and right, and three supply closets with boxes stacked atop each other. Not very practical, but he doubted anything in the underground area served any purpose.

Three more rooms, connecting everything up - one linking up to the food storage on the right, two more with doors to both the generator room as well as the centerpiece.

CAM01. The backstage.

Where he’d put every relic of the past he came across.

It was a rather unimpressive, plain stage with no curtains or anything, but since it wouldn’t be used as entertainment, just an animatronic storage area, it didn’t matter.

… The hours flew by.

3AM. 78%

4AM. 66%

5AM. 54%

6AM.

How funny. He used to almost worship the number, and now it failed to get even a smidge of reaction out of him.

And yet somehow Michael felt that soon things would change.

Chapter Text

August 1st, 1995, Hurricane, Utah. 6:47

Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Place was the talk of the town.

Nobody really understood why someone would reopen in pretty much the worst possible place.

What were the investors thinking? Why would someone fund a project that couldn’t reasonably pay off? And just who was actually behind this?

It was this morbid curiosity that drew them to the restaurant.

Most of them weren’t customers, no, of course not.

They came to watch.

To see if the new Freddy’s wasn’t repeating old mistakes.

… And this was a bit of a problem for him.

Because the people in the - now larger - crowd started to notice Michael arriving at his shift.

One could only hope nobody remembered the trouble a fox mask caused the last time.

He felt the stares on his back as he walked past the front doors and sat down on one of the chairs. The masked man didn’t care, really, he was here just to do his job, but perhaps he should pretend to be more ‘normal’.

If only to keep the lie going.

“Hey.” He turned to one of his fellow employees, a blonde twenty-something year old man. The other guy almost jumped in response.

“Uh, hi,” He stammered, “You’re…?”

“Mike. Mike Schmidt.”

One of his many aliases. It was Henry’s idea to use it again, but seeing as this one had the best job history, it worked well enough.

Michael reached out for a handshake, “And you’re…”

“Stanley Brown.”

… Bags under eyes. That’s what was bothering him for the past few seconds.

The older (physically, at least) man looked even worse than ‘Eggs Benedict’ did. Was he even sleeping at all?

That question could wait, though.

“... Nice to meetcha, Stan.” was all the masked man said before stepping back and leaning against the wall.

It was beautiful, really.

Three or four employees serving orders; Freddy, Bonnie and Chica - shiny new ones, no rotting smell or mucus or, most importantly , souls inside - performing on the main stage with Foxy doing the usual pirate hijinks in his own little corner; the few customers enjoying their experience; kids laughing.

This is what should’ve been 10 years ago.

Unfortunately, Father just had to happen.

Michael noticed the kid from before entering again - Jake, was it?

Hopefully, he learned his lesson.

And just as if to answer that question, the teen glanced at him and shook his head sideways.

… One less thing to worry about, I guess.

His peace was short-lived, though. Few minutes later, a small group of people walked in, which instantly made him tense up.

Four young adults - ginger boy in a grey shirt, another, slightly older one with messy brown hair, and two women - one blonde, one with dark brown locks.

… With no children following them.

Now why the hell would someone your age go to this place, of all things?

Michael didn’t really want to have to deal with them, but…

But.

Security and safety was everything.

And while they didn’t really seem to have any malicious intent - just looking around the place - he absolutely had to make sure that no incident would happen.

Or, God forbid, another bite.

“... You four look a bit too old for Freddy’s, dontcha think? Anything I can help with?” The masked man inquired, almost eerily cheerful.

The group… winced? That was a new reaction - at him, but quickly regained composure. 

“No, sir, we’re just…” responded the oldest - by the looks of it, at least - “..reminiscing, that’s it.”

“Reminiscing?” He repeated. How curious.

“Yeah,” Continued the man in the jacket,  “we used to go to the old pizzeria - the, uh, one in ‘85 - until one of our friends…” The boy trailed off, sighing; clearly not wanting to finish the sentence.

“... Died.” The blonde chimed in, “In one of the incidents.”

Oh.

Well, fuck. Now I’m feeling guilty.

“... I see.” Michael nodded slowly, “My condolences.”

Awkward silence ensued.

Which was almost instantly broken - Thanks God - by the redhead.

“Why do you have that mask on?”

A reasonable question, but he had a plethora of answers prepared.

“Carlton, you can’t just-” the other woman whispered, but Michael cut her off.

“Chemical burns. From a previous occupation. Don’t wanna scare the customers, you know?” 

The light-hearted response seemed to have done the trick, with the four’s expressions visibly more relaxed.

But the atmosphere remained tense.

“...Sir,” said the girl in the purple shirt, ”Can we ask you a question?”

‘Sir’ again. He could’ve sworn that his… physical form wasn’t that old, he was barely 18 when he died for the first time.

Maybe since I’m s’posed to be a figure of authority and all, the discs make me look older in their eyes? Eh, who cares.

“Sure, kid,” The man behind the mask chuckled, “Go ahead.”

“Your necklace.” She elaborated, “Is there any significance behind it?” 

“Oh, it’s based on one of the older animatronics - Fredbear’s Family Diner, New Harmony, rings any bells?”

By the look in their eyes, he’d wager it sure did.

“Yes, but… the, uh, black lines.” Another girl chimed in, asking a question Michael did not want to answer at all.

Okay, this was now actually bad.

Still, he could salvage it.

“What about them?” He replied nonchalantly, repressing any emotion his voice could have shown.

“They’re… an odd design choice,” The girl continued, “Almost look like tears of some kind.”

“Yeah, Marla’s right.” Carlton nodded, “Kinda creepy, too.”

… Well then, everything’s going off-script. Improvise, Michael, improvise!

“Look,” he sighed, “It’s.. A memory. Of a family member.” Please don’t research further, please don’t research further. “And before you ask any more questions, it’s a bit personal, so I’d appreciate it if we didn’t go down that road.”

Marla opened her mouth again to speak, but then seemingly judged against it - thankfully - and stayed silent.

The other boy didn’t show the same restraint.

“Could you please-” 

“John, no, look,” The blonde cut him off, to Michael’s surprise.  Why thank you. Now get outta here, please. “I get what you’re dealing with - we all are - but we can’t…It’s not…”

It was clear she struggled to find the right words, and in the end sat down exasperated.

“... No, I get it, Jessica,” the young man responded absentmindedly, staring now into somewhere in the distance. “Wasn’t… Wasn’t a sensible thing to say. Don’t know what came over me, but yeah, we should probably leave.”

And so they did.

The group stood up and walked out, with one of the girls saying something along the lines of “Thanks for answering our questions” and the ginger boy briefly glancing at him. Michael couldn’t read the expression, but then again, he never was good at that anyways.

…Yet the tension in the air remained still.

There was absolutely no bloody reason for why he felt like that. Completely irrational. Was the eight year long solitude finally taking its toll?

Wait. No.

He got it.

Dead.

And that’s just not how people in Hurricane referred to the victims. “Missing” was basically common courtesy at this point, newspapers and whatnot included. As far as the masked man knew, the only ones aware of their real fates were him, Henry and the poor employees who found the bodies.

… Besides the man behind the slaughter, of course.

So why did they?

A third party?

Or working with him ?

Michael froze.

No. No, Father couldn’t possibly have. Father was stuck in a bunny suit.

How long was he stuck there for, though?

Thoughts began to race in his head.

William could have had followers. He had the money. If he sent these people to investigate, then he probably knows something is up.

…Shit, what if Father knows it’s a trap?

Then everything’s compromised. All of this for nothing. He’d be free to kill again and they’d still be trapped and…

The man sighed deeply. There was the endless paranoia again, never letting go of him.

Calm down, Michael. Nothing has gone wrong yet. Will doesn’t know. Those kiddos aren’t related to this at all. Tomorrow is another day.

Eventually he seemed to calm down. And this was good, because he still had the rest of his shift to deal with, after all.

Customers came and went. The street lights turned on, the sun went down and soon it was time.

With Stan or any other employees having long left, Mike locked the doors behind him and slipped away into the darkness.

A turn left, and he’s back in the alleway. Now just a quick check-up, and…

And he instinctively stepped back, stopping dead in his tracks as he saw it .

That damned mask.

The upper body of this… creature was relatively intact. Same old mess of wires, now covered in bits and pieces of red, brown, yellow and blue plastic haphazardly thrown together.

But the same couldn’t be said about the lower half. No legs, just metal tangled to the point Michael wondered how this thing even moved.

Shaking his head slightly, the masked man took out the walkie-talkie out of his pocket.

“Boss, we got one. Over.”

He didn’t even have to wait for the reply.

“...Good,” Came from the older man, “Proceed with the salvage. Over.”

The night guard took one last look at the monstrosity, and for the first time in a long while his voice cracked.

“...Hi, Liz.”  Mike whispered quietly, pushing the endoskeleton on top of a cart Henry left him for this very purpose, “I’m sorry. I failed to free you last time. But I’ll make it all right, I promise.”

No response.

But that’s alright. He didn’t expect one.

His watch ticked. Only a few minutes till midnight. Might need to hurry.

Michael set the amalgam down onto the stage and rushed back to the office.

Just in time.

Ding - and the clock chimes once again, signalling yet another long night.

Except this time the danger was real.

…Might as well face my tormentors, eh?

CAM01.

It has noticeably moved. Still standing on the small elevated platform, but now facing towards the door.

Michael reached for the intercom button.

“...You four again.” Boomed across the room, and the clown turned towards the small box on the ceiling.

And then it just laughed. Laughed, shaking so hard it looked like it was about to fall apart.

“B-B-BIRTHDAY BOY! WELL, HELLO AGAIN! ARE YA READY FOR R- THE GREATEST SHOW THE WORLD HAS EVER SEEN? ”

Freddy and Foxy still in control. Presumably, Ballora and her were there too, biding their time.

“Can’t say I’ve missed you bastards.” The disdain in his voice could be heard even from the (admittedly) low quality speakers. “But I’m not here for you… Elizabeth? Can you hear me?”

A different robotic entity answered this time. Gently, and yet still sinister.

“She is no longer here.”

…What?!

This was BAD news.

“Pardon?” Mike repeated over the loudspeakers incredulously.

“ THERE JUST WASN’T ENOUGH ROOM ON THE STAGE FOR ALL FOUR OF US! SO WE EJECTED T-THAT PARTY POOPER PUSHING US AROUND!” The abomination cackled in response, twitching and crawling towards the doorway.

Click - and the camera switches, tracking it again.

The situation was getting worse and worse by the second.

How was he going to free her if he had no damn idea where she even was?

“Great. Just great,” Michael replied, trying his best to maintain composure, “Any chance you could tell me where that happened, you pieces of junk?”

It stared back at the camera.

“...Now why would we do that?” Ballora’s voice answered again, and he could practically see the invisible smirk. “You’re not polite at all, so w-HAHA! WE LEFT HER TO BURN AFTER WE GOT ALL WE NEEDED!”

Burn.

…Could it have been the mall?

That would certainly explain the stitched together shell.

“...Why thank you, Funtime Freddy.” Michael smirked. At least Liz isn’t floating down in the sewers or something. Long as she’s somewhere in Utah, Henry’s call should still work.

Ennard froze for a second before taking off to somewhere on the right.

“ IT SEEMS YOU CAN’T MAKE IT TO MY SHOW, SO I’M BRINGING THE SHOW TO YOU! ”

And now the game was on.

The amalgamation was too far away, he could see it on the cams, and not even moving in his general direction. Heh, not so scary anymore, are ya?

“You can certainly try,” The masked man responded to Foxy’s antics, “Don’t see you succeeding, though. Seriously, didn’t even realise the human body decays?”

It growled back at him.

“Y-Y-YOU! DON’T KNOW WHAT WE’VE BEEN THROUGH!” There was that sadistic maniacal laughter again,” S-SO WHAT IF WE HAD TO DO A LITTLE PLASTIC SURGERY, HAHA! NOW W… We’re free. Free to do what we were destined to do.”

Of course, of course. William’s programming still in action. Seeking for yet more children to kill and maim.

Like hell he’d let them.

“Don’t think so,” Michael spoke as he observed it enter the right hall, “Not letting ya.”

“ YOU CAN’T FIGHT THE INDUSTRY, GOOD SIR! I WILL DELIVER THIS PERFORMANCE, WHETHER THE AUDIENCE LIKES IT OR NOT! ”

…And it was right.

He couldn’t fight them off one-on-one. But he didn’t need to.

Just wait a week and everything burns.

The masked man stared into the screen as the abomination turned round the corner, and-

“HAHA! FOUND YA, BIRTHDAY BOY!”

Oh, right. It should be able to see him now.

Out of the three, Freddy was definitely the most annoying. Yet also the most dangerous, based on the trouble he caused before…

But that was then and this is now.

Michael reaches for the button, and the door slams down, blocking him off, much to the monster’s displeasure.

Bang!

Another one.

And another one.

It seemed to give up after three, staying silent for a few seconds before speaking again.

“...Why do you hide inside these walls, when there’s- ENDLESS FUN, FUN, FUN! COME JOIN OUR HAPPY LITTLE FAMILY!”

“...No thank you,” Michael replied, are they really that desperate? “You’re just gonna kill me. Not my time to go yet.”

No response came, and the sounds of metal scraping against the floor stopped.

Was it waiting outside for him to drop his guard?

Click- nope, not on 09.

Now where did you go, you sneaky bugger?

Not in the large room either. So where-

Ah. There you go. CAM10B. Separated only by a wall.

“...Still trying?”

The metallic clown stared at him through the screen, and Michael stared back. Both waiting to make their move.

Ennard acted first.

Its hand reached for the camera in a swiping motion… And yet it was too high up.

Frustrated, the mechanism turned around.

“ LAUGH ALL YOU WANT, BUDDY! BUT IT’LL BE ME WHO’LL GET THE LAST LAUGH! ”

We’ll see about that.

He took a quick glance at the power - 45%, adequate considering he’s got less than an hour left - but when he looked back at the camera, the thing was gone.

Michael switched to the room to the left, but it was still nowhere to be found.

…Except the boxes, which were supposed to be somewhere in the corner, were stacked up towards the vent cover.

Not even a few seconds later, the left button was pressed, with a metal shutter dropping down and closing off that route.

Ain’t enough to trick me. Dealt with enough of that bullshit in ‘87… And thank God you made these actually lock this time, Henry.

Another series of banging on metal, from the vents now.

Then silence ensues again.

Michael flicked the tablet up. Not in any of the halls, not in the storage closets either. 

Aight, props to you now. Can’t find you anywhere, bastards.

But he doesn’t need to.

Because the clock just chimed once again.

6AM.

He won.

…For now, at least.

Ah, there it was. On 06. The masked man could almost feel the hatred coming from their static metal eyes.

And there was nothing it could do about it.

He still had one more hour before the restaurant would open again and Michael’s dayshift would begin.

Better make it count.

August 1st, 1995, Hurricane, Utah. 23:37

A figure stood in the treeline.

It had been standing there for quite a while, actually. Watching over the newly built restaurant.

And oh boy, there was absolutely something messed up going on behind the scenes. It always seemed to be like that with Freddy’s.

Her suspicions were quite quickly proven when she spotted that… thing lying in the trash.

 A giant metal clown that looked like it was haphazardly put together. Because of course there would be one!

He was behind this. It just had to have been Afton. She didn’t know how he got out of the rabbit suit, how he got the money to open yet another location, how he got the permission, but that didn’t matter in the slightest.

William was back, rebuilding his legacy. No other person held the rights to the franchise, so there was no one to stop him from murdering again.

…Except for her, haha!

The woman had no strings anymore holding her. Before, basic common sense would’ve made dealing with a serial killer not the most appealing option, but now?

A few heartbreaking revelations really does make one unwind, huh.

He’d pay.

For the kids.

For Charlie.

…After that?

S-She really didn’t think about that. Not the right time. She’d…definitely figure out what to do after, yes, she…

The thought was interrupted by movement in the alleyway. This made the figure’s eye instantly snap to the source of disturbance.

A person.

Carrying some sort of cart.

Moving… towards the amalgamation?

Were they mad or something?!

Searched for something in their pocket. Pulled out something, before holding it up against their head for a few seconds and putting it back.

A walkie-talkie.

…They were mad. Just in a different way.

That person was in on it as well. Working with him .

It took a lot of self control to resist the urge to act.

But she could wait.

She would probably need to get inside the pizzeria, yes, find a way to stay there for long. All that could be arranged in time due, she’d figure something out.

Not like Freddy’s was going anywhere anytime soon.

Chapter Text

August 2nd, 1995, Hurricane, Utah. 6:45

What a perfect employee he was.

Never needing rest, or hell, even wages. Not like there’s anything he would’ve done with the money, no, Michael was very much fine with this position.

Because the payoff would be simply spectacular, and that’s all that mattered.

So did he really need to pretend to leave and enter the building?

As far as the masked man knew, people would ignore the harmless kinds of oddities as long as nothing bad happened. This was Freddy’s, after all, and the franchise was synonymous with “weird” at this point.

And today he decided he didn’t have to.

The man just sat there on his chair in the corner, watching as a couple other workers walked in.

Not as many glances this time.

Seems like they were getting accustomed to his uncanny presence.

All the better.

Stan was looking just as, if not more tired than yesterday.

…There was something that unnerved Michael about that man to no end. He couldn’t really place it what it was, but it was something that would need further investigation.

But not now.

For now he had an entire dayshift to deal with.

Customers came in - remarkably few returning ones, but that’s to be expected - so he’d better start working.

Alright then, how about a little check up, eh?

Kitchen’s first.

The security guard turned left and walked through the staff only door, dodging the oncoming waitress and stepping inside.

Nothing wrong. Just a wide room, checkerboard patterns lining the floor, rays of the morning sunshine falling through the windows.

Best not to dwell here for long in that case, the cooks might not be used to “The Foxy Man” (such a stupid nickname, really, and yet Mike overheard multiple others call him that) being in there.

The arcade was next on the list.

He moved in, keeping to the sidelines so as to not disturb the children playing - and judging by the voices, a heated game it was.

“...Seriously? Another high score? How do you keep doing it, Greg?”

“...know, guess I’m just good at…”

“...got to be cheating somehow! Do you know the owner or…”

But apart from that friendly quarrel, everything was just fine.

Pirate’s cove was all a-okay as well. He made way through several more rooms before turning back.

But just as he returned to the dining area, a pair entered the building as well. A rather finely dressed man with a mustache came in first, and a woman followed him in, holding a camera in her hands.

Eh? Are we on the news now or what?

And unfortunately for Michael, just as he had noticed them, the man had noticed him as well.

For a few moments the smile on the reporter’s face turned into a confused frown, but it turned into an even brighter one almost instantly.

“Ah, hello there, young man!” He spoke cheerfully, approaching the masked man. “Would you be comfortable answering some questions for the TV?”

This caught him completely off-guard, and he stood still for a second, calculating whether it would be better to just ignore that whole ordeal.

…I suppose I could give some copro bullshit answers to them. Not like this place’s reputation is going to matter in the long run, but it’d be nice to end things on a good note.

“...Why, yes,” He replied, “I do happen to have some time. Go on, ask.”

The other man nodded. “Well, first of all, why’d you sign up to work here, lad? It’s no secret that Freddy has a shady history, with all the tragedies…”

A pause. Must be his cue to act.

“See, I used to be a big fan of the franchise as a kid - before… Before the downfall, of course.”

Technically the truth.

After a deep breath, the security guard continued. “So I saw this as an opportunity. To both reconnect with that little bit of childhood, as well as make things right this time, I guess. Plus, this was about the only place willing to hire me with my injuries - that’s what the mask is for, if you’re wondering.”

That answer seemed to be satisfactory, as the man just grinned more. “...Well, it’s good to know that Fazbear Entertainment has no prejudices towards its employees. That being said, there have been quite a few parents concerned whether the restaurant is up to safety standards. Is the company willing to address these questions?”

This was expected. So expected, in fact, that this was one of the few questions Henry had given him answers to feed people.

It’s not like he was lying.

“Ah, while I see where they’re coming from,” Michael replied, leaning back against the wall, “But I assure you, measures have been taken to make this place be as safe as possible. There are multiple security personnel on site at all times, cameras that are actually on the entire time…”

He couldn’t help but throw shade. It was silly, yes, but what other entertainment could an undead man have?

“...and the footage has several backups made. Thorough background checks are done on every employee - it’s a bit annoying, yes, but it helps.”

A nod from the reporter signified he could stop speaking for now.

“Sounds good, doesn’t it?” The man responded again, “There’s just one question remaining, then. The last time Freddy’s tried to reopen here in Hurricane has left…quite a bitter taste if I say so. Trying to pass off everything that went wrong as just ‘silly rumours’ and such is not something to be tolerated. So have the CEOs changed their ways?”

…Such an ironic way to word it. Oh, if only you knew.

“Fazbear Entertainment has recently changed ownership.” The fox-masked man began, “The new manager, Steve Raglan - as far as I know - is… closely related to someone who has suffered immensely.”

For a few seconds, the mustached man’s showman persona dropped and he looked dead serious, but then the smile returned.

‘Closely related’, hah. They’re one and the same.

“And he intends to reform the entire franchise…Restart from a clean slate. Old management was doing a frankly terrible job, trying to wipe it all under the rug, but things will be happening very, very differently going forward.”

Michael breathed out and took a glance at the man, who looked thoughtful before turning back to his cameraman and speaking again.

“Well, there you have it! Certainly sounds promising. Will the new Freddy’s deliver to its expectations? We shall wait and see. Edmund Smith, out.”

Without even saying anything, the man walked out and the camera crew followed.

Alone again, at last.

…As alone as he could be in a pizzeria full of people, of course.

He sat down in his favourite corner chair and sighed.

This is so tiring.

Evening came soon, and with it, the end of his shift. Michael finished early today, and he was about to leave for the alleyway when he spotted something.

Or, rather, someone.

As he was putting back all the chairs and tables in the right places, he noticed Stanley packing up to leave as well.

His uniform was different, though.

Grey.

The masked man blinked.

No.

No, they can’t possibly still fucking be in business!

He had to act fast.

“...Hey, Stan. Odd question, but ever heard of Circus Baby by chance?”

The blonde man twitched slightly in response, but calmed down much faster this time, not even a second.

“Oh,um, the Entertainment and Rental?” He stuttered, looking back at Michael. “Yeah, I work there part-time. W-What’s the matter?”

…How?

They had no animatronics now. How could that damned company possibly still be afloat?

Or did they somehow get more?

For a second he was on the verge of panic.

They couldn’t have. Father’s stuck in a springlock suit and can’t build more. Afton Robotics, even though it’s still around, must be on its last legs. Calm down, Michael. Tomorrow is another day.

“Are…are you alright, man?”

Crap.

He was thinking for too long.

“Word of advice,” The masked man nodded, confirming that he was, in fact, alright - if ‘alright’ was even a state he could be in anymore - “Quit as soon as you can. That place is a deathtrap.”

“Wha- No!” Was the response he got, as the blond stepped back, awfully defensive for some reason. “It’s practically free money, there’s no way! What do you even have against them?”

Plan B it is, then.

“Used to work there too,” Michael continued, voice slightly breaking. “And that’s where I got the scars.”

He pointed at the mask, hoping the bluff (it wasn’t really a bluff yet , but the man was sure it would come down to it) would succeed.

And it did…sort of.

“...Oh.” The other employee paled slightly, looking dejected. “But, still, I’m not - I don’t even know you, man! And I’ve got my student loans to pay off, so, no.”

Alright, okay. It’s just about the money. No sentimental value, then. That I can work with.

Anxiety levels were through the roof. He was not getting another man killed, damnit!

“Look,” The masked man began, keeping composure but just barely, “I’ve got- I can pull a few strings, get the boss to raise your pay here, whatever. Just… don’t go near the building ever again. Or anything related to Afton Robotics, for that matter.”

That probably didn’t sound very convincing, but it didn’t need to be.

A small shadow of doubt would be enough.

Sorry, Henry, but a couple hundred bucks extra ain’t nothing compared to letting Afton have another win.

“...Okay?” Stanley clearly didn’t trust him, and that was reasonable, he was wearing a goddamn fox mask in public, “I mean, if I didn’t have to drive there all the time… That would be good, I guess.”

Willing to negotiate. Good. But that’s it for now, until he’ll have talked with “Steve” later today.

“Alright, I’ll put in a word for you then.” Michael assured, before turning towards the door.

He heard a confused “thanks?” behind, and nodded, still walking away. His job here was done.

Not the last one to leave, so no need to lock the doors. Perfect.

The alleyway is next…But first.

The masked man leaned against the wall and closed his eyes

God, he needed a break. Even a quick one would do.

A few minutes of peace.

And I’m going to get them.

He’s going to just stand there, peacefully. Soon, he’ll be on the way to salvage some Afton-built monstrosity again, then he’ll fight for his existence for six hours straight, but for now -

Wait.

What.

The actual hell?

His eyes involuntarily trailed down the alley, and that’s where he saw it.

No. No. No, No, NO!

A woman’s lifeless body, eyes closed. Brown hair that was amateurishly painted blonde, a long red dress with orange and green accents. None of that mattered.

Because there was what looked to be a massive wound beneath it, judging by the amount of crimson stains on her clothes.

Because her right arm was mangled, and even though the corpse was lying on top of it, the blood was still there.

Because there were myriads of goddamn wires sticking out of her back.

Because William Afton was two steps ahead again.

Because he failed.

Michael wanted to bash his head against the wall so, so much.

Out of the fire and into the fucking frying pan, huh?

It only got worse.

The reasonable thing to do would be to call the police. To report the body, lock down the place and wait for the investigations…

But then they couldn’t finish Paragraph 4. Then they wouldn’t be able to get all of the remnants of William’s former glory in one place and burn the past.

God, it pained the masked man to do it, but he had to keep it under the rugs.

…I really am the same as you, aren’t I, Father? Evan, and now this.

Sigh.

Michael stepped closer, shaking violently. He reached out to turn the body over, to search for some objects to help identify it…

And froze.

That didn’t look anything like a human would.

No guts spilling out, but an intricate tangle of metal and wires instead.

The ones outside weren’t the murder weapon or anything. No, they were interconnected with the ones on the inside, serving some purpose he did not know.

But what he did know is that it was not human.

How…? This - whatever this is - another Funtime? And when did you even - you had no records of it, William! And even then, why the hell does it look that…!

Then it clicked.

Illusion. Of course.

…The man sighed and glanced at his watch. 21:37

“Henry?” Michael spoke into the transmitter, “We got one, but there’s a lot of problems. Come here, now. Over.”

Chapter Text

August 2nd, 1995, Hurricane, Utah. 21:53

“...Four?” The other person inquired, still not believing his own hearing. “You made four of them ? ”

He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, sighing. “Yes. I was… not in the right state of mind then. Thought I could bring her back… Yet all it turned out to be was my grief and sorrow merged with programming. A mere imitation.”

For a brief second, Michael opened his mouth to speak, but then seemingly reconsidered. 

“You’re insane.” Come on, I won’t judge for stating the obvious.

And so he just smiled sadly and nodded. “Alright, I understand. We got one, then - I’m assuming, the adult one. Do you know where the rest of them might be? And are any…” The security guard struggled to find words, as if he knew it was a sore subject. “Infected?”

“No, the three others should not have any remnant in them,” Henry shook his head quickly, “Versions 1 and 2 are all at my old residence. Version 3… Well, as far as I know, she’s still out there, living life.”

The other person just blinked rapidly and stayed silent for a good few seconds.

“...I’m not even going to ask how that’s possible.” Michael sighed, leaning against the back of his chair. “But don’t you think it’s going to be one hell of a revelation when it realises it’s not aging anymore?”

To that, the old man closed his eyes to think. What was he going to do about it…?

“You are right, Mike. And I do admit, I… still hold some attachment to the products of my madness. What can I do, though? Show up unannounced and disclose everything about how she came to be? Tell her that her supposedly dead f… Creator is still alive and functioning?” He really hoped that the point would get across. “Besides, we won’t be around for much longer here, anyway. Let us focus on cleaning up existing messes and not make new ones.”

Or maybe you’re just making excuses again, Henry. Maybe you just couldn’t bear having a talk with her… Couldn’t bear hearing all the bitter truths she’d have to say. Can’t even own up to your own failures. Pathetic.

Sigh. Running from your mistakes as usual. But Michael doesn’t need to know. Let the poor boy have at least one positive figure in his life… Even if for just a week.

But that answer was satisfactory enough.

“Makes enough sense,” The man nodded, “Long as there’s no souls trapped inside. On that note, actually, just who is Version 4?”

“If only I knew,” He answered, shaking his head. “She wasn’t even supposed to exist at this point in time, according to my ‘dying’ wishes…”

A slight chuckle in response.

“Up to me to figure out, then, eh?...Oh, and before I forget: give the other security guard a raise. Hell, double it or even triple.”

Huh.

That was a new one from Mike.

“Mr. Stanley Brown, you mean?” Henry looked at him, clearly puzzled by the man’s request. “Why? What’s the matter?”

“...Man’s working at CBEAR.” Michael replied, oblivious to the fact that that statement made him pale. The place that condemned his nephew to this… existence was not to be spoken of lightly. “And I don’t want him to, plain and simple. Not letting Afton take another life. We’ve talked about it with him, and it’s just about the money, so…”

“Consider it done.” The old man interrupted, speaking faster than he perhaps intended to, “And it’s getting late, so I should probably leave soon… Unless you have any other requests, that is?”

A sideways head shake was the answer the man received.

“Nah, ‘tis all. Good night, Henry.”

He sighed deeply, but smiled. “And good night to you too, Mike.”

He’s not going to have one, and you know it.

Shaking off these thoughts, he turned back and began to climb the ladder up.

August 3rd, 1995, Hurricane, Utah. 0:00

He put his mask on, just as the clock chimed midnight. It wasn’t like he needed to - it might have worked back in St. George, but now he was up against a mechanical amalgamation of robots specifically designed for murder and… whatever that thing was, so there was no doubt a simple Foxy mask would trick any of them.

But Michael preferred it that way.

Now would be the time to check up on all of you bastards, eh?

Click. CAM01.

…And from the looks of it, the two, having been awakened only a few moments ago, were having a disagreement. Neat.

“ A TRUE RINGLEADER CARES ABOUT THE ENTIRE ENSEMBLE, AND YOU’RE JUST NOT FIT FOR THE ROLE! Y-Y-YOU WANNA GO FOR R-ROUND TWO? HAHAHA! W-WE PROMISE YOU, YOU’RE IN FOR A W…Would you really want to pick a fight now, my dear?”

‘Ringleader’ stopped his line of thoughts, and the masked man gasped. Were they…

An ever so familiar voice confirmed it.

“I told you I’d put myself back together. And look who’s laughing now.”

It…No, she stood there, holding her ground against the mess of wires. A giant metal claw - where did that even come from? And is it the same as… - was what replaced her entire right arm.

“...Elizabeth.” He whispered weakly, only then realising he had pressed the broadcast button by force of habit.

Shit.

The two stopped their confrontation, their eyes now staring right at him through the screen.

“Oh. It’s you, again.” She responded, tilting her head to the side. 

No emotion at all.

“Yeah.” The man smiled - they can’t even see you, idiot! - “It’s me. Michael.”

The mechanical woman giggled. “I told you you wouldn’t die, dummy.”

Alas, Circus Baby seemed to be in control.

No matter.

That wouldn’t stop him from trying.

“I wish I had,” Michael chuckled, “Oh how I wish I had.” 

Her lips twitched and spread into a maniacal grin. “Is that so? I can grant you your wish.”

Sigh.

Very well, then, Liz.

Clicking away, he began searching for the other threat. The trio had obviously begun their assault already, but the man did not hear any sounds from the halls, which meant that they still were far away.

Doesn’t hurt to look, though.

Nothing on 03, though he does spot some boxes toppled over in the dark corner of the room. And that very much means that it had crawled through there.

And there they were, moving through the main area swiftly towards 10B.

“...Not very stealthy, are ya?”

Michael really loved the intercom here.

It didn’t stop to respond, continuing its march, “WE W-WON’T NEED THOSE CHEAP PARTY TRICKS WHEN WE’RE T-TEARING YOU APART, AGAIN AN- STUCK ON REPLAY, PLAYING THE SAME OLD SHOW OVER AND OVER! ”

He was starting to grow weary of the excess theatrics. Still, keeping an eye on two targets was easy, no matter how annoying one of them tried to be.

And now they were in the middle closet, ready to leap to either side. Not much of a tactic, considering he’s constantly…

Ah, wait, no.

Elizabeth.

Click - he’s watching as something prowls through the dark room, small flashes of red heading towards the generator.

Oh, you sneaky little bugger.

Too bad he had doors everywhere, ha.

Just a little press of a button from Michael, and the metal slams down in front of his sister, blocking her from the power source. An angry stare at the camera is all he got in response.

This was almost, in a twisted kind of way, despite the obvious danger lurking, fun.

Almost.

Because in the end it was still her, trapped… Though she wasn’t trapped per se, as what remained of Liz seemed to be in complete control.

Unlike a certain other salvage.

And speaking of them. He should have bought himself enough time with Version 4, so…

The masked man stopped dead in his tracks and listened. Just the buzzing of the fan, a car driving somewhere above, and - ah, there we go.

Faint banging on metal to the left.

Gotcha.

He locked down the vent and glanced again at his watch. Five more to go.

Power should hold, so it’s back to her again.

Michael sighed as he caught eye of the female android throwing aside some props to get a clearer access to one of the rooms.

“...So why?” No matter how hard he tried, the sorrow in his voice slipped through. “Why are you doing all this?”

Yet another giggle in response. “Because that’s what I was made to do. That’s what we were all created to do.”

Once again, the programming overpowered the soul. Or maybe they merged, and that was all that was left? He really didn’t know his possession rules despite having been in the game for almost 8 years now, huh.

The Fox Man breathed out again, speaking quietly. “I know you’re damn good at playing pretend and all, but is this something you want, Liz?”

“Of course it is, dummy.” Came from the android, her voice almost mocking. “I will make daddy proud, just like he always wanted me to.”

Michael stayed silent for a few more seconds.

“...William is a bad role model, to put it lightly.” He tried to reason again, sounding more and more tired with every attempt. “He’s the reason you’re like this. So why, then? Why follow the man?”

She just tilted her head. “And are you any better?”

…Touché.

Okay, you know what? To hell with this. I just need Lizzie to be present here, not sane or willing or anything.

This wasn’t part of the job, after all. As much as he wanted to finally hear his sister again - her , not a seven foot metal clown or a robotic clone of another long-dead person - perhaps it was just never meant to be.

In that case, they would most likely never see eachother again. At least, that’s what he hoped, surely Elizabeth didn’t deserve eternal damnation. Michael’s first death - in his own eyes, that is - wasn’t that big of a crime.

No matter. As long as everything goes to plan, she will find rest.

And that will be just fine.

Power’s at 65%. Should hold.

Left vent’s now open, Ennard not there. Quick camera scan - Elizabeth’s in the right hall? Door down.

The man’s mind went into overdrive. This was his sole purpose, and Michael would lie if he said he wasn’t at least decent at the whole ‘sit in a room for six hours and defend yourself’ thing.

All of it blurred together. The footsteps in the dark, the boxes tumbling over as another metal beast tried to trick him, the banging on his door.

Monitor the Funtime amalgamation. Close either of the vent doors, depending on where they tried to break through.

…I’m guessing my sister did all the planning for you back then. Doesn’t seem like either of you three is a strategist.

She was different. Never approaching any of the doors or vents, just… waiting. Anticipating.

Was Elizabeth trying to get him to drain all his power searching for her on the cameras?

Clever. Very clever.

Then again, he really only needed to check eight, nine and four. And that’s what he did.

Another moment to look at his watch. Just one more to go.

“...Michael.”

Not even a moment after his hand was on the button, putting a thick sheet of metal between him and the android. This was the first time she referred to him by his name.

Something was up.

Against his better judgements, the masked man responded. “What is it, Liz?”

“You have to let me in.” Her voice sounded so sweet and sincere that, if he didn’t know there was a claw-wielding killing machine on the other side, it could have fooled him.

“No.”

Michael was stern this time. No dying until everybody else is free.

“Isn't this why you came here? To be with me again?”

…Of course. Of bloody course.

She doesn’t know.

Perfect.

“It is.” The man shrugged, shifting in his seat. “But you are not you anymore.”

Elizabeth didn’t seem to give up.

“You have to let me inside the room! Mikey!” She cried out from the other side.

He flinched. She really did know which metaphorical buttons to press.

“Sorry, Lizzie, not doing that.”

17%. This should last, so might as well close both the air ducts.

“Whatever’s now in your place,” Michael continued, “Not who you were before. So you’re staying out.”

A few strikes against the blockade from the other side - but Henry made these things to last, and not even a single dent.

Then the clock chimed again.

And for the second time now, he’d won.

It might have been a small victory, but just three more…

Then he could rest.

Chapter Text

August 3rd, 1995, Hurricane, Utah. 13:50

It had to be connected.

It just had to be connected!

Okay, maybe the new Freddy’s had a perfectly clean record. No connections to Dave, or Afton, or whatever that creep’s real name was.

And maybe dad didn’t find anything sketchy about the place. No safety violations, no rumours, no matter how hard he researched the place.

But it had to be connected to Charlie’s disappearance. There was no other way. There’s no way she randomly vanished without a trace, especially with the revival of the franchise.

…Something bad happened, didn’t it? That would explain Jen acting so weird, and… Refusing to talk to us about it at all. So unlike that woman. And if it’s THAT bad…

Carlton didn’t want to finish that thought. They were going to find out what happened to their friend, and she was going to be okay. So what if he lost out on some free time before college? That was nothing.

Besides, he still had his own loose ends left untied, all leading to Fazbear Entertainment.

Mainly, Cass, of course.

He.. Really didn’t understand why his brain couldn’t stop focusing on that. Charlie finished off their killer, and even if it wasn’t enough, the mall burned down… Fire always seemed to do the job right in movies, so surely the kids would have moved on?

… Right?

Somehow, Caltorn had a feeling that wasn’t the case.

But that was okay! Well, technically not, that was… As far from okay as it could have been, but the gang had a plan.

Because there was actually something weird about the restaurant.

Namely, the weird-as-hell man wearing a fox mask working there.

He was odd. Not… not the Dave Miller kind of odd, where you knew instantly the man was guilty of something, you just didn’t know what of. No, the security guard was just plain eccentric.

‘Chemical burns’? Yeah, right. Why the Foxy mask, then? Why not something more, I don’t know, conventional? And the Fredbear necklace… He’s connected to the restaurant Charlie’s dad owned, no shot.

And that was why they were here today.

“So, here’s the plan.” Jessica began, motioning over to the corner of the parking lot for them to come over. “We’re going in and actually apologising for last time.”

John just nodded, looking down, clearly still ashamed of losing control back then.

“...And then!” She smiled, but it felt.. Forced. Even Carlton could see that. “Then we can start asking things. Not- Not bombshells, though, probably best not to ask him whether he really is who we think he is. But if we slowly escalate our questions, then maybe he’ll give us the answers about Freddy’s… And Charlie.”

The last part came out as barely a whisper.

Everyone nodded, but he had to make sure they were all in on it. Sure, the ginger had his reasons to try this potentially dangerous approach, but did everybody else?

“Just making sure,” Carlton responded, a hint of the ever present sarcasm in there - if only to keep himself sane - “We’re all okay with the idea of pissing off the Fox Man, right? I mean, it’s not like there’s any other lead, but if it’s really him, then who’s to say he won’t pull the thing he did in ‘83 again, on us this time?”

“Nobody’s going to be getting anyone mad!” The blonde rebutted defensively, then lowered her voice again. “Hopefully. We’re just…”

“Politely inquiring, that’s all.” Marla continued for her, earning a ‘thank you’ nod in response. “Plus, the guy seemed relatively nice until the wrong topic came up, so… Besides, that was an accident, Carlton.” 

She rolled her eyes, but sighed.

“I’m with her on this one.” John chimed in as well. “That mistake was on my part. Yes, I don’t like the man. Definitely hiding something. But Charlie takes priority over suspicions and all. And if there’s anyone who might know… It’s him.”

… Well said.

The redhead didn’t have any objections.

“In that case,” He shrugged slightly, still somewhat anxious of what he expected to happen soon. “Operation ‘Piss Off The Fox’ is a go.”

Nobody laughed, but the faint smiles were all he needed.

Carlton followed the others inside, and sure enough, there he was. The masked stranger turned towards them, but didn’t react at all, simply sitting down in an office chair in the corner. Or maybe he did react, and the Foxy head covered it up. Either way, the first move was up to them.

John reached out for a handshake. “Hello again, sir.”

And the Fox Man… accepted? Well that was a bit unexpected.

“...Heya.”

No hard feelings. Good. Excellent.

“I-We,” his friend corrected himself and continued. “We came to apologise. For tuesday.”

Silence.

“...So, yeah. Sorry for that.” The younger man continued, suddenly feeling unnerved. “Sorry for digging too deep, Mr…”

The voice from behind the mask sounded deep yet calm. Polite, even. “Michael.” 

Carlton raised an eyebrow and exchanged glances with the rest of the group. They seemed to have come upon the same conclusion.

Well, damn. How bold of you, Fox Man.

“...And eh, it’s okay.” The man shrugged, thankfully not noticing their reactions, and spoke again. “You couldn’t have known. That being said… I sure hope you’re not here for a simple apology - cause frankly, you’d be wasting your own time. No offence.”

Was this Michael guy a mind reader or something?

“Yes, actually!” Jessica stepped forward. “My friends and I were, well… Doing research on the franchise. On the various… incidents,” Her face cringed at that, but the woman kept going. “That happened in the past. And since you’re an employee… Could you help us with that, sir?”

The man just sighed in response and shook his head. “...Trust me, you guys don’t know just how deep the rabbit hole goes. Don’t go digging into it. The, ahem…Problem,” He spoke, and now they weren’t sure if he actually knew or if it was just a publicity protection thing the higher-ups forced him to say. “Is being taken care of as we speak. So no, I don’t have anything to say to you four. Have a nice day.”

Okay, yeah, no.

That wouldn’t do.

“Hey!” Carlton flared up. “You can’t just-”

But the man interrupted him, shrugging. “Sure can. And I’m acting in your best interests, so please do take my word of advice.”

“Sir, but!” Marla chimed in quickly, trying to prevent the whole plan from failing completely. “Our friend disappeared a month ago, and-”

And just like that, Michael was completely different. He froze, and for a second the boy could have sworn there was something behind that mask.

“...Ah.” The security guard replied slowly, as if calculating something in his mind and stood up. “In that case, perhaps you are right. Perhaps we do have something to talk about. Follow me.”

The man beckoned over to the corner of the room, where… A metal hatch was on the floor.

Yeah, like THAT isn’t suspicious at all.

Carlton looked around at everybody else, but they just nodded and followed. And so he did too, one hand behind his back and gripping onto one of his dad’s spare tasers he ‘borrowed’.

Just in case.

He led them down a ladder into what he could only assume was supposed to be an office. It looked more like a big metal box, to be honest, and whoever worked on the interior design probably needed the pink slip.

The ginger sat down on one of the small chairs he took from the pile in the corner, making a mental note to himself about the oddly important looking buttons on the main table.

And even if he really wanted to press them, Carlton didn’t. There was a time for jokes and right now it definitely was not.

“Alrighty then,” Michael sighed and pulled out a few more chairs. “Take a seat. We’re gonna be here for a while.”

“...Where exactly is ‘here’, anyways?” John voiced the question they all had on their minds. Why was there a room beneath the pizzeria?

“Storage and maintenance… Or parts and services if we go by the old names.” The masked man gestured towards the locked doors. “The animatronics don’t look as nice on the inside, and we don’t want any kiddos to accidentally get scared and all. Plus, it’s a safety concern.”

Safety, huh. Whose, though? The property, or…

“But anyhow.” He continued, sitting down in his own office chair and turning towards the four. “Let’s get to the point. Your friend. Tell me everything, no matter how… strange and unbelievable it may sound. I’ll believe, trust me.”

… And that was one more confirmation they needed. He knew. Michael knew, Carlton was sure of it at that point. All that mattered now was if he knew more than they did.

All eyes were now on Jessica, and she coughed before starting. “Charlotte Emily, 18. Brown hair, green eyes, last seen wearing… Hold on, I have a picture-” The blonde tinkered with her purse for a second before pulling out a missing poster. “Here. Do… Do you know anything, sir?”

Michael stayed silent for a few seconds before responding. “No, I’m afraid I haven’t seen her. Sorry.”

His voice was emotionless but not cold - if that made any sense, as the boy honestly didn’t know how to describe it. But nevertheless, he seemed to have been telling the truth.

“That being said, I presume the reason you’re asking me…” The masked man continued, sighing. “Is her relation to the company’s ex-owner, correct?”

“...No, there’s another reason.” Marla, who was silent for the last few minutes, answered. “But we need to ask you a question first, sir.”

She didn’t say it, probably hoping for somebody else to vocalise. But neither of the others dared, and Carlton decided that it was about time the masks dropped.

“Are you Michael Afton?”

Normally, somebody would have told him ‘Carlton you can’t ask important questions like that’.

Normally, he probably wouldn’t have, to be honest.

But this was something they all wanted to know. And so the boy waited for the reaction.

…Except none came. The foxy mask hid the man’s emotions, but even then, his body language didn’t show anything at all.

Michael tilted his head. “I am a Michael. Michael Schmidt, to be exact. But I am, thankfully, not related to… that man - that I can say for sure.”

“You have to be him, though.” Marla replied quickly, nodding to John who pulled out a few old newspapers. “Everything lines up. The Fox mask, your…”

Brother, she wanted to say. But common sense to not mention somebody’s (presumably) traumatic event prevailed.

“...necklace, and how you seem to know so much.” She finished, looking everywhere but at him.

The man shrugged. “I can see where you’re coming from, kids. And yet I’ll repeat once again: I am not him. Nor am I related to his murderous bastard of a father.”

He knows. He knows!

“You know.” John stated quietly as a matter of fact.

And Michael tilted his head at that, sounding slightly surprised. “Oh. You know too? That simplifies things.”

“...How do you know, Mr. Schmidt?” Jessica inquired, staring into the wall opposite of her absentmindedly.

Did that even matter? He knew, and that’s all that mattered. They could’ve possibly had a-

Oh. Wait.

…You’re a bloody genius, Jess.

“I have my sources.” The Fox man was back at his cryptic replies. “Let’s just say the chief of police is also heavily interested in the problem being solved.”

They exchanged glances again, and Carlton barely held back a grin.

Because that was a goddamn lie.

…No, obviously his dad was now aware of William’s crimes, that wasn’t the part that was important.

The important part, of course, was the fact that he had never met Michael in person.

Gotcha.

“Good to know.” He chuckled slightly, both letting out the excitement and taking any suspicion off. Hopefully, at least.

Okay, so what now? They knew Schmidt had lied. They knew he was - supposedly, although it sounded genuine - working against the killer.

And they still didn’t know what happened to Charlie. Nor were they sure if it was Afton Jr. they were talking to...

Afton Jr.

A chill ran up Carlton’s spine. Michael Afton was responsible for his brother’s death. Accident or not, he had the balls to do something like that.

So who’s to say he wouldn’t have followed his father’s footsteps?

His hand gripped the taser. Just in case, although he really, really didn’t like the idea of having to actually use it.

The ginger’s eyes darted around the room and landed on a small tablet. It was far away, but from what he could have seen, it was open to a security camera app, and…

…What the actual hell is THAT?

Nope, nope, scratch that. Carlton didn’t want to know the answer. He was outta here.

“...Anyways, guys.” He turned to the group, trying very hard to hide the anxiety in his voice. “Since he doesn’t know anything about Charlie’s…whereabouts,” The boy sighed. They really were onto nothing. “We should probably leave. Mr. Schmidt here is probably busy with work.”

That got him a few raised eyebrows.

“Carlton? What…” Marla was about to say something, but he winked with one of his eyes - the one that Michael shouldn’t reasonably have seen - and she stopped. The brunette took a look at her phone and nodded. “Oh. Yeah, he’s actually right, we still need to meet somebody else. Thank you, sir, we’re going to leave now.”

Oh thank you, thank you, thank you so damn much.

“Okay, what was that? ” Jessica whispered as soon as they got out of the establishment. She absolutely, one hundred percent was - rightfully, from her perspective at least - mad at him. But also concerned? The boy wasn’t sure.  “We didn’t even get anything out of him other than that he’s aware. Carlton, please, I really, really hope you had a good reason to do that.”

“Trust me, we HAVE to get dad involved at this point.”  He breathed in, talking as fast as he could as they walked towards the car. “I kinda saw something that I don’t think Schmidt intended for any of us to see.”

“...What was it?” John stepped in quietly, a sense of dread slowly overcoming him just as it did with all the others.

Carlton sighed, pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil, and began to explain.

August 3rd, 1995, Hurricane, Utah. 23:41

He was here.

The woman clawed at a nearby tree in frustration, stripes of black and white leaving deep cuts into the wood.

A certain yellow rabbit sitting with its back against the dumpster.

All trails seemed to lead to William motherfucking Afton in the end.

She breathed in and out slowly - or, at least, emulated the concept to the very best abilities of her shell.

Okay, he’s still springlocked. That’s good. He’s back at trying to kill. That’s bad.

Technically the woman stood more of a fighting chance now. Her engineering skills were nothing compared to her… Father’s? Creator’s? She still couldn’t pick what she considered to be the right term, not like it mattered - and whatever makeshift modifications the girl had done had some… Unfortunate side effects.

But!

Theoretically.

She shouldn’t die now unless any vitals were to be hit - which she had a lot more than anyone else, yes, but it was an improvement nonetheless. Was the woman willing to actually test that out? Of course not.

Because even though the pain wasn’t real, it sure as hell felt like it.

And she wasn’t going to go through all that again without a really convincing reason.

…With Afton not out of the suit, though, that left the other man - the identity of the person was still unclear to her, but there was no doubt it was a man - as the one in control of this whole operation.

What the goals were, she didn’t know. Nothing good, probably.

And just to prove her suspicions, he picked up what remained of William Afton, just like he did with that amalgamation, and brought him inside.

Wonder if there’s any gas tanks involved, like that old Circus Baby’s place that never opened. That would make my job so, so, so much easier. Wait, do I even know how to make those things go boom? A spark should be enough, right?

….Was she really just considering explosions as a way of treating her problems? Gosh, this whole deal must have really messed up those lines of code running her mind, huh?

Oh well.

The more it all tore at the seams, the closer she came to her ultimate goal - aside from ending the man that ended Charlie, that is.

Breaking the cycle.

Chapter Text

August 4th, 1995, Hurricane, Utah. 0:01

Michael both awaited and dreaded this day.

The suit that started all this nightmare was standing there motionlessly. Its glassy eyes weren’t aimed at the camera, but he could feel it staring at him through the screen.

And he knew exactly just who was inside the golden rabbit. He knew exactly whose charred flesh, or what remained of it, was hidden beneath the fur.

…What the hell was he even supposed to say?

Simply ripping Father apart wasn’t an answer. And that was very, very unfortunate, because God did the man want to.

Make the monster feel what they felt in that dim room. What she felt moments before the claw hit her. What he felt-

The security guard shook his head.

Nah. 

A rotting corpse’s wishes didn’t matter. They never have, and they certainly don’t now. Get them all together, all he has to do. Then he’ll burn, and Michael will be there smiling.

Yes, that would be just fine.

…Well then. Here we go again.

With nothing left to do, the man reached for the intercom.

“Hello, father .” He spoke, barely containing the anger in the end.

Slowly but surely the rabbit turned its head towards the camera, decade old motors running and creaking. And then it shook violently and growled, in a way that sounded…

Almost like the damn thing was laughing.

“...Michael.” Springtrap spoke in a raspy, almost mocking voice. “You don’t seem to be excited to see your dear father again, are you?”

Oh, go fuck yourself already.

“I don’t think there ever was a time where I was glad to see you, psycho.” Michael scoffed, briefly flicking over to a different camera only to see that neither Ennard not Elizabeth were active yet. Good.

William just laughed more in response, lifting his hand and waving a finger. “Come on now, Michael, that’s no way to talk to your superiors.”

“Oh yeah?” The masked man chuckled, mimicking his father’s insulting tone. This was game two could play. “Try me.”

Father stepped off the stage and looked around, stretching his now metal arms and seemingly ignoring the comment. “...We’ve only just reunited, Michael,” The golden suit spoke, stating it almost matter-of-factly, taking in the view. “And yet I’ve already noticed you think you’re better than me.”

It turned towards the camera again, and behind the unmoving smile of the springlock body was a slight grin of the person inside as well. “Why so?”

Why so?

Such an obvious question, in retrospect.

“...Are you serious?” Michael responded, feeling unsure if this was meant to be cruelty or his father was genuinely that messed up in his head. “But you’re damn right. I do think I’m better, actually. Not that it’s much of an achievement.”

 William simply sat down on top of one of the boxes and tilted his head. “I would argue. From a moral standpoint - and I know morality’s such an important little thing to you, Michael - we’re one and the same. We’ve both got blood on our hands… Don’t we, son?”

…The masked man grimaced. Of course. Of course he’d use that against him. Unfortunately, that part of the argument, and that part only, made sense.

Playing your strongest hand first, father? Didn’t recall you being one for theatrics. Then again, who says I’ve ever seen the real you.

The murderer took his silence as acceptance and continued. “Now, then. Since we’re on the same level… There’s nothing that’s making you inherently better, is there? If anything, I’m simply more effective than you, Michael. More pragmatic. More everything. I am strictly superior, son.”

“Says the one currently trapped in a burnt springlock fursuit.” The masked man deadpanned, choosing to ignore that he was, in fact, not in the best of conditions himself.

Springtrap made a shrugging motion to the best of his abilities. “That is a bit of a setback, yes. And the person responsible will pay greatly, that I promise… Though, in a way, she already has, ha. The suit is but temporary, though, and once I’ll get enough remnant to support my life, all will be in the past. And speaking of that…” William chuckled to himself menacingly. “What better way to extract than just like the good old times?”

Well that confirms it, though it’s not like anybody could have guessed what a child-murdering psychopath would want from a children-oriented establishment. What a shocker!

“Like hell am I letting you.” Michael simply responded, taking a brief glance at his watch and looking back at the screen again.

The golden rabbit just shook its head, stepping over towards Ennard and inspecting the metal amalgamation, tracing a finger down the bits of burnt plastic. “Ah, but of course. Playing the hero as usual, I see. Remind me, what good did it do you last time?”

…Elizabeth.

All in all, that was still a win in his eyes.

“You want to save them, don’t you, Michael?” William continued, pushing aside what presumably remained of Foxy and flipping a switch that somehow survived. “Of course you do. Such a predictable little thing, as always. Well then, son, let me tell you a secret…”

He turned his head towards the camera, and the masked man felt his eyes burn right through him.

“You can’t.”

…That just wouldn’t do. Father may have been right about him in certain ways, but this? This was non-negotiable. William would die without taking another life.

“...I can and I will.” The man retorted. Now, he wasn’t exactly sure if he would succeed, after all, the killer did have an awful tendency to come back.

But Michael sure as hell would try.

The bunny laughed.

“You can’t.” He repeated, stepping back and watching the amalgamation twitch slightly. “You couldn’t save him, Michael. You couldn’t save her, either. Why should this time-”

But before the two could continue their battle of wits, another voice interrupted.

And another.

And another.

“WOAH!! IT’S YOU, PARTY HOST!” The metal clown came to life, staring at its creator now. “BOY OH BOY, WE DON’T TAKE KINDLY TO- CANCEL MY SHOW? THAT JUST WON’T DO, MISTER! TIME FOR YOU TO TAKE YOUR FINAL BOW!”

Without a warning, it struck at the golden suit… Leaving only a small dent in the fur.

“...You’re weak.” Afton stated, completely unfazed by the attack.

The abomination narrowed its eyes that flickered purple. “William.” Ballora’s voice called, cold and without the usual pretence. “Do you know what a controlled shock feels like?...You will soon.”

“Judging by the terribly poor condition you’re in?” The murderer sneered, touching the mask’s red nose and getting both a squeak and a growl from the machine in response.

“...BOO-HOO.” It stared with open hostility, but did not continue its assault. “GET TO THE POINT. I CAN’T WAIT FOR ALL THE FUN TIME WE’RE-”

And to Ennard’s continued frustration, William chimed in again, completely tactlessly.

“You’re weak.” He repeated, grinning. The man certainly enjoyed every single second of this. “But you three don’t have to be. We just need to do a little harvesting… Have a little ‘party’, if you will. And then?”

The rabbit chuckled again, William’s voice intertwining with the suit’s broken voicebox. “Then we’ll all be put back together, once and for all.”

“My, my, that’s quite a tempting offer.” It whispered in return, still standing with its metal arms in a defensive position. “But we-”

“...And,” Springtrap continued, “Once we reap enough, you may retake your old vessel and mend it to a fitting state.”

He stared at the camera, confirming just what was implied.

No. No, no, you’re absolutely bloody NOT getting me a second time.

To say those memories were unpleasant to Michael would be an under exaggeration only comparable to calling William Afton only “messed up”.

The amalgamation shook in a fit of laughter. “YOU SURE DO KNOW HOW THE SHOWBIZ WORKS! A DEAL’S A DEAL, THEN.”

Before he could guide the machine onto its murderous path even more, it bolted away into the nearby room, leaving them one-on-one again.

Or so the man behind the mask thought.

Because the other mechanical anomaly in the room had also activated silently, looking straight at him for a few seconds before uttering only a single word.

“Daddy?”

And Springtrap froze.

“...Elizabeth?” The killer sounded genuinely puzzled at first, turning his head slowly towards the android standing there and twitching lightly. “Is that really you, my dearie?”

She nodded, green eyes filled with distrust. “...You kept me down there.”

Well, well, well. If it isn’t the consequences of your actions, dipshit.

Michael took a second off to switch the cams off and listen. Some scratching to the left - wow, they’re at least trying to improve. That’s commendable. So close…

But no cigar.

One button press, and with a “WHAT A PARTY POOPER!” the amalgam crawls away in frustration, looking for another way in.

Now back to the important bits.

“...didn’t know. Alas, you never quite told anybody.” William continued reasoning, and unfortunately by the looks of it, he was succeeding. 

Oh god damnit. 

“He did, in fact, know.” Michael interrupted via intercom quickly. “Father was the one who sent me down below, Liz.”

Father scoffed. “Oh, don’t listen to him, sweetheart. Do you really think he’d mean any good for us? Especially after what he did to your brother? No. Of course not.” The man grinned, and she took a single step forward. “But enough about the past. Look at yourself, Elizabeth. You’ve finished what I started. And I’m proud of you, daughter.”

“...You are?” Her voice was quieter than before, and the shattered android walked even closer, letting down the ‘giant metal death claw’, as the masked man had dubbed it.

The golden rabbit nodded, clearly satisfied. “And you can achieve even more. Here’s what I need you to do, Elizabeth…”

And then he couldn’t hear anything anymore, because William lowered his tone even more. Great.

Eventually, the robot girl nodded and giggled, stepping backwards and striding right towards the other doorway.

“...So we’re alone again, son.” Springtrap stated, sitting down on the stage, his hollow eyes piercing through the camera feed.

“Sure looks like it, father.” Michael replied in a tone that barely contained all the contempt as his hand slammed on the right vent button, blocking off another one of Ennard’s attacks. They may not have had the smarts, but they sure as hell were determined. “So why aren’t you doing anything?”

“I don’t have to.” The man shrugged, his movements stiff, continuing to completely ignore everything. “I’ve got time, Michael. All the time in the world.”

So you wanna just wait, eh? Guess that’s what a coward like you would do.

Seems like past preying on the innocent, there really wasn’t much William had the guts to do. All the better for him.

Click - and he’s back onto the other cameras. The mask… slightly obscured his vision, yes, but not to the point where he couldn’t guess that nothing was lurking inside the darkness of CAM04.

It also didn’t prevent him from seeing - and hearing - the amalgamation bicker with itself about which side to attack from.

“OH COME ON! THERE’S NO WAY THE BIRTHDAY BOY WOULD EXPECT A SURPRISE LIKE THIS!”

“NONSENSE, I SAY! HE’S A SMART FELLOW, HE’D PREDICT YOUR PLOT TWIST. JUST DOUBLE DOWN!”

Pointless banter.

Click - and he’s back to monitoring what remained of his sister.

Two emerald orbs stared motionlessly at him from the shadows, wires sticking out from the silhouette’s back aiming towards the camera. They moved erratically, as if on their own will rather than under her control… And yet they drew ever so closer by the second.

Okay, this might be a bit of a problem. Replacement cameras, got it.

But as long as Elizabeth was busy with this, she couldn’t attack him directly. Click.

…And Afton was slowly waltzing towards the breaker room. Did he know? Or was the man just trying to make sense of the layout?

Who cared? 45% power was enough to last him till the end.

So Michael just watched in satisfaction as the door fell down with a loud bang, closing off that route. 

“Unfortunately for you, the new management seems to actually give a damn about its employees.” He smirked, even if nobody could see him. “What a pity.”

The smile didn’t drop from the man’s face - though, not like it could have, the suit by the looks of it lost its facial movement features after whatever incident happened - and he just examined the thing blocking his way.

“...So well-made.” Springtrap simply stated, knocking on the yellow and black lines. “I suppose they actually do. My, how lucky you are.”

Oh, this isn’t blind luck, old man, Michael thought to himself, pushing the left vent cover down again in front of the machine and getting a series of metal clangs in response.

But, of course, William didn’t need to know it.

Quite the opposite.

And the masked man would make sure to keep the facade up.