Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

That elevator was going to kill him. Michael knew it. It was rusty and shaky, looking really old and neglected. It was the elevator people went down on, crashing all the way to their deaths. Michael didn't care, though. The idea of death no longer fazed him. It would happen eventually, but he hoped to put it off until after he completed his task.

He pulls the gun closer to his chest as he steps inside the small box. It was an older gun, and had no model number or anything to identify it by. Henry offered no explanations either beside that it was a Tommy Gun. Henry had the weirdest expression when he handed it off, acting like he expected it to melt in Michael's hands.

It didn't, though. It remained, even when everything else didn't. Michael still saw Henry's face in his mind. It was the last time he ever saw him. Last night was the last time he ever spoke to Henry, and he knew there would be no more chances to.

Henry had failed to let Michael know about his plan, locking him in a safe room while he burned the pizzeria with himself in it. In those last moments, Henry mentioned his old place of employment. His last wish was for Michael to go check it out. To make sure nothing bad was left.

Now, Michael was there, wandering down into the depths, unsure of what he was searching for. Henry had set the place ablaze before the pizzeria and himself. However, only the first floor got any damage from the fire. Below the surface, everything was still intact.

Years of neglect had left the place in a sorry state. It seemed that whatever Henry expected to find in there was long gone, moved on to somewhere new.

Despite that, Michael didn't feel alone. It seemed as though something or someone was following him. It had been on the second floor when he heard a whisper. Standing right at a tape recording left behind. One of a man that was passionate and insane. Just like his father had been.

Michael didn't bother to investigate. He continued on his silent journey, continuing to hear noises and creaks behind him. He never found anything when he turned around. Whatever was following him didn't care to make itself known, instead opting to remain in the shadows. Perhaps it was just curiosity that caused it to follow.

Maybe it wasn't even real. The place showed no signs of life. The only thing close were the tape recordings. Through the ones Michael found, the company was dysfunctional. It reminded him of his family, only more crazy. He hoped their story would have a happy ending, but he doubted it. It wasn't a new opportunity that caused the place to be empty and devoid of life.

Either way, if anything was around, Michael's smell would have warded it away. It was meant as a joke, but no smile reached Michael's lips. There was a sad truth in his statement. His body was decaying, rotting around him. It bore the past mistakes and torment for all to see.

Michael wished now more than ever that Henry had confided in him about his plans. Michael could have taken care of the animatronics himself, setting the place ablaze and burning with it. It would be fitting for him to burn with his family while Henry went to finish his business. Henry still had life inside his body. This was Michael's burden to bear, and he had no chance. Henry did. He could have had a life. Something that had been ripped away from Michael.

Henry was gone now, and all that was left was a broken man to find what Henry sent him for. Maybe it was all some cruel joke, a final guise to end their twisted story.

It was an insanity filled trip, but it seemed more than that. Henry wasn't one to be chasing geese, and neither was Michael. He had expected something to be here. Something that needed tending to. Something that needed to be destroyed, along with the rest of their bloody past.

Michael looked over the elevator buttons, tracing over the circles with his fingers. The others were gone, living in paradise while Michael was left behind in an empty shell. He felt no anger, but instead envy. It must have been nice to have everything done and over with. Left with eternity in a calm state. To sleep forever, or to go elsewhere.

His father was burning in Hell, but he knew Henry wouldn't be. Despite what the man thought, Michael knew he would be in Heaven with the children. With his sister and brother. Dancing in the clouds, feeling all the pain and sorrow melting away.

He shook away the thought, reading the numbers. The very last one caught his eye. Level fourteen. The bottom. That was where something would hide if it was still here. That would be where he would go. A place to retreat.

He would go there and work his way up. It was business that took him to level fourteen.

The elevator shuddered to life, slowly descending down. Michael looked around at the floors they passed, counting the floors. Floor nine seemed like the calm before the storm, like something was lying there in wait. A spider waiting for new prey to step into its web. Michael wasn't going to be prey. He wasn't playing any games.

He stepped out of the elevator onto the wooden floor. He instantly knew he made the right choice. Level fourteen was a mess. As he walked down the stairs, he could see over the railing into a pool of darkness.

The scent was overwhelming, smelling like a ton of opened pens pushed together. He wondered if it smelled as bad as he did. After a while, he would get used to it, just like he got used to his own stench. He didn't smell it any more.

The room was large, almost like a maze. There was a concrete statue and lots of clutter. He felt a heaviness in the air, almost like the walls were holding their breath. For what, he didn't know. He went down the stairs, stopping to run his hand along the liquid that flooded the place. He picked up his hand, studying the black stuff on it. Ink.

He wiped his hand on his shirt before stepping down onto the floor. The ink was cold, sending a shiver up his body. He didn't mind it, though. It was a reminder that despite the emptiness he felt, he was alive. That he could still feel.

The ink was loud. The rest of the level was silent, which caused the sound of Michael moving through the ink to be amplified. He felt like he needed to be cautious of his movements. Not so much for the noise, but for the ripples in the ink.

He scanned the room for something, but found nothing. Almost nothing. He saw this flash of light out of the corner of his eye. It was only there for a moment and then faded, like the source was on the move. Like he wasn't alone.

Then, he heard a peculiar noise.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

It sounded metallic and loose, like pieces were being lost each time it happened.

Thud. Thud.

Michael was still, listening as the sounds continued. They weren't getting louder or quieter, telling him that whatever was making the noises wasn't moving.

Could it…? No. His father hadn't been here. Had he? He did work on a job here once, but that was so long ago. Whatever he did didn't cause this. This was entirely different.

As he stepped further into the maze, the noises stopped. Silence settled, and then a different sound started. It was heavy, and on the move. It could have been footsteps, if whatever was walking weighed a ton.

Michael knew of things that did weigh a ton. All signs pointed to it being just that, a thought that didn't bring Michael any comfort. If it was one of them, what would he do? He survived against the animatronics many times before, but this time was different. They had the upper hand here.

Michael saw a bright light. It wavered, moving up and down. Then, he saw it. It was tall and slender, coated in the ink Michael was stepping in. There were bare parts, seeming mechanical. There was a big part on the thing's chest where a speaker was. The creature had a projector on its head. It shone bright, and seemed to weigh it down. The creature walked hunched over, unevenly proportioned. It had wires protruding from its body, and a reel forcefully jammed in its arm.

Those weren't the most alarming things. No, not even close. The thing that scared Michael the most was the realization that the thing was once a human.

It had been like him once, with feelings and emotions. Maybe it once had family and friends. Now, it had nothing like that. Instead, only a desolate floor to wander aimlessly in. A world of agony.

Another thought joined the first. Something had taken the creature's humanity away. Someone did this to it.

The thought ignited a burning hatred in Michael's chest. Someone like his father had taken this creature's life away. Locking it in that projector for all eternity.

Michael took a step forward. The creature spun to face him, the light blinding. It let out this animalistic screech, similar to the animatronics he dealt with.

Michael shielded his eyes, waiting for an attack. The creature stepped forward, but then stopped, standing still for a moment before focusing on something else. A crate.

It picked up a tape, holding it close. A strange sound came from the speaker as it held the tape. The sound was a lot different than the screech the creature had made. Through the static, the noise had almost sounded like a sad whine. The creature seemed to hug the tape before its arms went limp at its sides, tape still held tightly in one of its hands. Then, it turned and walked to a wall. It banged its head against it, and Michael finally understood. That was the noise he had heard earlier.

Michael acted quickly, walking to the creature and grabbing its shoulder. "Hey," Michael said, jumping back as the creature screeched again and swiveled around.

It made no move to attack, looking at Michael before dimming its light. Michael and the creature stood still for a few moments. Then, he slowly reached out. The creature let him take the tape from its hand, not fighting back or moving.

Michael pushed play, hearing a male's voice. He understood then who the creature had been. It was once Norman Polk, a projectionist that had worked at the studio. Now, being made to carry the weight of the heavy projector, along with a reel and speaker, it was the Projectionist. Turned into a monstrosity and left alone for all its days.

The creature reached up, pushing on the projector. It wanted it gone, to be rid of it. It strained hard, making whines and screeches of pain.

"Stop it!" Michael shouted, grabbing the creature's arms. He went against every instinct he had and pulled the creature to him, holding it against his chest. He expected to die, but instead, the Projectionist relaxed in his arms. It gently hugged back, body shaking.

Michael felt the emptiness in his body gone for a moment, replaced by tangible sadness. For once, there were tears that could be shed. He actually felt something.

He didn't allow himself to cry. Instead, he remained still and tried to mimic the way his sister used to hum to herself while she drew pictures. It was so long ago, a distant memory now, but it remained. Elizabeth was there, if only for a moment. He could see her face. Her honey colored hair and emerald green eyes. Her bright smile. He could almost hear her giggling if he listened hard enough.

He didn't know how long he stood there, holding the creature tightly as if he could mend back the pieces it had lost. He forgot who was comforting who as he felt a calmness, and for the first time, a bit of relief from the pain. From the ache Henry had left inside of him.

Michael didn't want to ever let go. He could have stayed like that forever, withering away in that same place. He waited for the creature's shivering to stop. It did, and soon after, he felt it rest its projector on his shoulder. It made a soft sound, seeming content and relaxed.

After a long while, Michael finally pulled away slowly. He didn't think the creature could hear, but he explained how he was going to get the creature out of there anyway. Maybe he was talking for himself, to hear what he was going to do. He had a purpose now. Something to live for.

His hand took the inky hand, seeming to fit perfectly against it. The creature held it tightly, but made sure not to hurt Michael. It trusted him. Michael felt a small bit of happiness at that. It was as if he had a friend again. Like he wasn't alone anymore. He wasn't going to let it- no, him down, not like he let down his family, the kids, and Henry. No.

He led the Projectionist back to the elevator, the two standing close as Michael pushed the button to the top level. The old elevator slowly rose, taking the two to the surface.

Until the elevator stopped.

Laughter filled the elevator shaft. Then, a voice spoke. A woman's voice. "Going somewhere? I'm afraid I can't let you leave, sweetie. No hard feelings, but I don't fancy creatures like you around here. Oopsie."

Michael squeezed the Projectionist's hand, stepping closer to him as if he could shield him from what was to come. The elevator shook and then began to fall rapidly.

Down,

down,

down.

Chapter Text

Michael hadn't thought he was going to die today. He didn't think he would die on an elevator in an old studio, either. If he did think about those things, he never thought he would have cared.

He did care. He cared a lot. For the first time in so long, he didn't want to die. He wanted to get out, to begin anew with Norman.

He promised himself that he would help the Projectionist. The Projectionist was a trapped soul, like his sister had been. Someone took away his life, like his father had done to so many. Now, both of their lives were being washed away. Stolen by a faceless voice.

She was laughing, clearly enjoying their descent. Michael tried to prepare himself for death. The hardest thing was knowing his new companion would die as well. That he wouldn't get a second chance.

Maybe Michael wasn't destined to succeed. He failed everyone. His mother, brother, sister, father, and the children. Then, he had failed Henry. He should have been the one who burned, not Henry. It was his mess. It was his fault that Henry got involved.

Tears fell down Michael's cheeks. He wouldn't see any of them again. He would burn in Hell with his father for all of his sins. There was no denying it. It was better to face it anyway, he thought.

That wasn't how it went, though. The elevator was falling fast, and then it stopped, sending Michael and the Projectionist lurching as it halted. Michael threw up, left with a metallic taste in his mouth. There was a pile of bile with a bit of metal mixed in. It had been leftover from Ennard.

"This isn't fair!!!! THIS ISN'T FAIR!!! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO DIE!!" The voice yelled. She was angry, almost seeming to throw a fit. Almost like a child throwing a tantrum after being denied a toy in a store.

She was cut off, a new voice taking over. "I have taken control of the elevator momentarily. I apologize for spoiling your fun, Alice." The doors opened up to a wooden floor, empty of ink and Pentagrams like Michael had seen earlier.

"Step out of your prison, little sheep. You are free. Do come visit if you get the chance. It gets quite lonely here, and I am aware you have an old friend of mine that I would love to see. The second floor, now. You know where to find me. Just go to the music department. Oh, and bring Boris along as well, will you? He is a wonderful card player. I'll be waiting."

Michael took Norman's hand, pulling him out from the elevator. They took the stairs up slowly. Michael limped, his body aching. Norman didn't move fast, tired and weighed down. They were an even match.

Finally, they made it to level two. Through a door, they met a wolf that Michael could only assume was Boris. The wolf followed after the pair, being very helpful, but also very quiet. They went back to the music department where a man was waiting.

He wore a mask and suspenders, coated in ink. He had been the man who was religious earlier, talking of a savior. Michael found his earlier assumption had been wrong. Sammy Lawrence was passionate, but he was far from Michael's father. He showed compassion. The three of them were broken shells of our former selves, and he knew they would get along nicely. Even if they didn't all have the same religious views.