Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Never before, in his long life and after-life, had Michael “Schmidt” aka Michael Afton been so utterly terrified. 

It wasn’t as though he was lacking in life-threatening experiences; if he was to be honest, almost all of his life entirely consisted of life-threatening experiences. But this was on a whole other level. No amount of night shifts in Fazbear’s surrounded by every array of murderous possessed machine that existed under the sun could have prepared him for this. Hell, not even facing his father could have prepared him for this terrifying new endeavor could have prepared him for this.

Sitting at a dining table, nursing a useless cup of hot water in his hands that purely served to warm his palms and hide their shaking, Michael stared down the three teens and purple-haired hand puppet and the three beings (well, two men and a sentient textbox) posturing on separate computer screens, Michael felt about ready to piss his pants in fear.

“So…uh…how’s everyone doing this morning?” He proposed, hoping the everpresent electronic undertone from his voice box was hiding the tremor in his voice at having so many eyes trained on him. Thankfully, Sam was the first to respond in short order and drew all the attention to her. 

“I guess I’m okay,” Sam shrugged. She took a sip - well, more accurately she inhaled - half of her cup of juice, slightly glowering from the bags under her eyes and looking impressively sour for someone dressed in Mario themed two-piece pajamas. “I’m amazed I actually got up this early.”

“I thought it was nine in the morning?” Louis asked innocently, looking a bit perkier if not more nervous as he sipped from a sugary, creamy coffee he’d finished whipping up right before sitting down. For a response Sam shot him a dead-eyed look.

“...I didn’t sleep well.”

“Obviously you didn’t,” Austin scoffed from the plugged in laptop he and Eteled were currently sitting within. He punctuated his sentence with a sip from a rather lovely looking polygonal Wii-texture cappuccino, Eteled absentmindedly stirring his own mocha drink as the bald Mii simply nodded absently. The glitched Mii hummed in satisfaction of his freshly programmed drink before fixing Sam with a knowing glance. “You did binge Miitopia until two.”

“Wasn’t it your idea to play?” Sam groused.

“To be fair, neither of us thought you’d stay up that long,” Eteled said, looking up from his still untouched drink. 

“Hey, what you guys can do now is cool! I mean, how often can you say you just watched Miis use electrokinesis to play video games? I was just appreciating it!” Sam pouted, grumpily chugging her juice until it was empty. She looked at the suddenly empty cup, then grumbled as she got up to refill it back at the fridge.

“I mean, I watched a bit too and it was pretty fucking cool,” Scout admitted, taking their gaze away from longingly looking at Louis’ cup. The puppet was, instead of being perched on Louis' scarred arm like they’d been yesterday, leaning against the now-gloved arm, and very clearly trying to keep their cool with so many humans towering over them. “I’d totally stay up all night too.”

“As honored as I am that you actually think it is cool that we can now do that…which I am honest I am still amazed works ,” Eteled said, “Your sleep schedule shouldn’t have to suffer for it.”

“Hey, Sam’s a big kid, she can handle her own sleep schedule you helicopter,” Austing jibed. “I’m honestly impressed by Sam's ability to stare at screens then still immediately drop to sleep within minutes. I will say, I am honored you sacrificed your sleep schedule to watch us.”

“Yeah, yeah sure, you’re welcome robo-boy,” Sam grumbled.

Austin, who’d take another sip as Sam spoke, nearly sneezed out his drink through his nose. He stared at her aghast, ignorant to Eteled who privately smiled at the taller Mii’s flabbergasted expression. “Jesus, when did you get sassy? I already get enough of that from the bald man and Michael!”

That did elicit a tiny laugh, then a loud forced cough to cover said laugh from a certain puppet leaning up against an arm Louis had propped up on the table. 

“As if you aren’t any more chatty, Roboboy! You’re the one leaking sarcasm 24/7!” Scout said. The puppet had their tiny, slightly-mismatched arms crossed as they spoke, looking at the laptop screen bearing the Miis as they fidgeted with mitten-like hands.

Austin scowled, and mumbled, “I am not ‘ leaking’ sarcasm…”

“What I am surprised by is that you don’t want coffee,” Cora piped up, turning attention back to Sam as she skulked back to the table with a full glass of orange juice. “I’ve never seen you this grumpy before.”

“First off, as much as I am enticed by the thought of caffeine I do not want that bitterness anywhere near my tastebuds ‘acquired taste’ be damned,” Sam grumbled. “Second, maybe it's just the emotional roller coaster from yesterday but I promise you this is only a one time thing. I just need extra time, no gross coffee needed. Bleh.”

“Believe it or not, Sam is a morning person…sometimes. This is just a one time thing.” Eteled said gently, as he tentatively took a sip of his drink. The Mii blinked, then smiled in seeming approval and ignorant of the smug satisfaction Austin exuded as he caught his fellow Mii’s reaction. He continued, “She’s usually more cheerful in the mornings…if not with about the same amount of bed head and usually changing out of her pajamas…” 

The Mii grimaced a bit as he gestured at Sam’s attire. “But I’m sure we’ll all be in better spirits soon!” The Mii added, with just a note of optimism.

“Thanks Eteled,” Sam smiled, her dour expression lifting a bit to fondly look at the bald Mii. Eteled himself just chuckled a bit, looking askance as he rubbed the back of his neck. She chugged more juice, looking marginally less ready to punch someone. 

Sam sighed, blinking away some of the bags under her eyes. “Yeah, I’m not normally this big of a morning grump even after a late-night binge. I just need a minute.”

“My offer still stands. I can make you some coffee if you want so you stop looking like you just crawled out of a coffin,” Cora offered, taking her hands away from where she’d been telegraphing the conversation to Buddy on the keyboard. She lifted her own cup of pitch black coffee for emphasis. “I have practice.”

Sam stared at the pure dark liquid that was Cora’s morning beverage with just a hint of horror in her exhausted eyes. “Dude, how can you drink that?”

Cora just shrugged, pulling back her cup to take a drink. “I’m used to it.”

“You do seem a bit young to already be taking your coffee darker than the abyss,” Michael pointed out, ignoring the small pang of jealousy at everyone else’s rather enticing looking drinks steaming and smelling nice compared to his sad mug of plain boiled water already turning cold. He’d brewed it mostly to not be the odd one out, but now just looking at it was giving Michael depression.

Don’t worry, she doesn’t drink coffee too often! With a cheery ping Cora’s laptop and its resident textbox responded to his inquiry (or program…or whatever “Buddy” actually was - nobody had yet explained to Michael). She knows that drinking too much caffeine is unhealthy! She only saves it for special occasions!

“Buddy’s right,” Cora said, one hand gently tapping the keyboard as she smiled and lifted her cup in a salute to the program. “Considering the hot mess that was yesterday, I needed it. Speaking of which…”

“Yup. Time for what we tried to do yesterday but were too damn exhausted and confused to do properly!” Michael said, increasing the volume of his voice to hide the tiny bit of hysteria lurking within. “Introductions!”

Michael put on his best smile, and ignored his brain quietly hissing, Good god this was a horrible mistake.

The teens all exchanged looks, those on computers looking curiously about as well. After a moment Louis tentatively asked, “So, how exactly are we doing this?”

After a beat everyone once again looked expectantly to Michael, the robot man/ghost meekly looking back before he took a breath, filling his non-existent lungs. “I figured we do this more organized than yesterday. We just go around, one at a time, and introduce ourselves: name, a little background, then a fun fact. Nice and simple!”

“...Michael, that is the most pre-school idea I have ever heard,” Austin said. “We are NOT drooling toddlers .”

“Hey, it was the best thing I could come up with!” Michael said defensively. “Do you have any better ideas?”

Austin opened his mouth, then after a beat, slowly closed it. Michael gave him a good hard look. Begrudgingly, the glitched Mii muttered, “...No…”

“Can we just get this going?” Scout snapped, yellow eyes narrowing even as the limp felt body fidgeted. Although their voice was tinged with irritation, the puppet lacked their usual snark and Michael didn’t miss the nervous quaver in her words. “The longer we wait, the more I want to hurl…and I don’t even have a stomach! I think...”

“Alright, good point. Let’s get this started. I go first, and we go in clockwise order. Sound good?” At everyone’s nod, some more slow than the rest with clear reluctance painted all over their faces, Michael took one more breath, then forcing back his irrational fear he began.

“My name is Michael Schmidt. I’m, as you probably noticed, a robot. Don’t ask how I am, I just know I am one. I am a part-time private paranormal investigator after I helped save someone from a haunted house, and I am ironically really bad at video games,” Michael said.

As he spoke, each word was slow and deliberate, as if he were reading off a prompt board hovering just out of everyone else’s sight. To be fair, his little introduction was actually scripted: he had formulated it himself in the long hours of the previous night, lying limp on the living room couch letting his abused systems rest while his own mind raced. While everyone had been sleeping, he had been thinking of how to handle the sudden mass influx of people pouring into his life, and more importantly how to make sure certain facts did not make it to light, or at least known to more than Sam and the Miis and partially Louis and Scout. 

Such as the fact that he was not just an unusually advanced robot but a ghost in a robot, and the truth of who he was formerly as a living human. And of course the fact that he was still hunting his father, aka a child murderer with a god complex, in a disturbingly advanced human android designed by said father’s former business partner for reasons Michael still didn’t understand fully. 

Just little details like that.

It wasn’t as though Michael hadn’t had practice before. Switching aliases was a practice that Michael fell just as easily into as dodging ghostly monstrosities. Hell, he’d even broken out a tried and true last name for this purpose once more: Schmidt. Yet still, he could feel his chest tightening with every word, eyes struggling to resist darting about to read every reaction to his scripted words, but as he finished he relaxed all at once. For a moment, everyone stared…then nodded.

“Alright, cool, not too big of a deal,” Scout mumbled mostly to themself, relaxing a bit. “Just nice and short.”

Sam didn’t react as much as everyone else - she did, after all, already know quite a few things about Michael herself - but as she usually did and to Michael’s relief she simply gave a curt nod. If there was one quality about Sam Michael could appreciate beyond all doubt, it was her ability to keep quiet about things when needed. She was followed shortly after by more nods from the Miis - who knew even more about him thanks to his own infodump but also respected the desire for silence.

Good, good. Nothing incriminating out in the air.

The only one who didn’t seem to take Michael’s introduction at face value was Louis and Scout, who gave him odd looks. Perhaps, considering what they’d overheard yesterday… Then again, they might also just have been nervous. Buddy just let out a thoughtful beep, and Cora had on a very good poker face.

For introductions, Sam thunked her orange juice cup on the table and cleared her throat. “Alright, guess I’m up.”

She rubbed her eyes, blinking away the grogginess before her eyes shimmered with a familiar sparkle. “My name’s Sam. I’m fifteen years old and I’m going to be a sophomore in high school once the summer is over. I like anything Nintendo, and I’ve made it my life goal to collect as much Nintendo memorabilia as I can and become an expert on video game products.”

“Nice life goals,” Louis grinned. “Nintendo is dope.” Cora raised an eyebrow, but she declined to comment.

Next up, Eteled stood and set down his still mostly-full cup. He managed to look even more nervous than Michael had felt, but his unnaturally deep voice worked to cover up the tension in his voice as he did his introduction. 

“Hello. My name is Eteled. I’m a Mii and I’ve been in this console for a very long time…” Eteled lapsed into silence, then weakly added, “I occasionally enjoy programming.”

Austin gave him a look, but for once bit back the sarcastic response at how utterly uninformative Eteled’s response was - however much the malfunctioning Mii loved pushing his “companions” buttons, he knew well enough that sharing how exactly they were sentient was perhaps not the best idea for their continued existence. Instead, he stepped up as Eteled meekly sat back down, grasping for his mug and chugging down his drink with gusto. In comparison to his shorter companion’s stage fright, Austin put on a impressive and likely not faked show of cool confidence, the Mii’s typical pride pushing on arrogance oozing off of him strongly.

“The name’s Austin. I’m also a Mii, but instead of Henry over there I’m stuck in a beta model instead of the nice and shiny standard Mii model…hence my dapper appearance,” Austin grinned with a full mouth of fangs, standing proudly even as his model let out a tiny glitch that Michael had long gotten used to seeing. Eteled grimaced at Austin’s offhanded use of his “other” name, but thankfully Austin plowed right past it before anyone could notice the discrepancy in address. “I’m also a programmer, and one day I plan on making my own game that isn’t tied to this console.”

Cora raised a brow at that, giving the glitching Mii an askance look but she slowly gave a nod, followed by everyone else. 

“W-well, looks like it's my turn then!” Louis piped up. He put down his cup, laying both arms on the table as he straightened his posture and plastered on a nervous smile. Scout squirmed up against him, and watched him with anxious eyes as he said, “Hey, the name’s Louis…uh, Louis Faldenza! I’m currently a junior in College going for a degree in journalism but I came here over the summer for a vacation with friends. For the future I want to become an investigative journalist, a mudraker uncovering the dirty truth and bringing it to the light so people can’t get the wool pulled over their eyes!”

Although his voice started nervous, Louis became a bit more confident and at the conclusion of his last word he smiled more genuinely. Michael grinned softly - I can get behind wanting to find the truth - and the others around the table seemed to agree.

“Now those are goals,” Sam said, looking impressed with the sheer enthusiasm from the curly-haired boy. Louis perked up, relaxing a bit as he shot a grateful grin in the girl’s direction.

Scout also perked up a bit, the puppet looking marginally less on edge as their owner gained confidence, and when all eyes turned to them they shimmied up to a slightly taller standing/sitting position. They coughed (somehow, despite Michael being fairly certain puppets didn’t have lungs) into their hand, then smacked their hands together to hype themselves up.

“Alright, uh, hey there! I’m Scout! I’m a talking puppet, in case you somehow missed that although if you did I don’t know how the fuck you could be that oblivious. I mostly chill with Louis here, after we bonded through, uh, some bonding shit and stuff. I like watching stuff on television, and I personally think swearing is the best host invention to ever exist.”

 Sam snickered a bit at that last fact. “Okay, I can agree with that.”

Cora did a marginal eye roll, but she didn’t voice her opinion as she adjusted her chair. The scraping of the wood drew everyone’s attention to her, and not for the first time Michael couldn’t help but shudder at the ice in the girl’s gaze.

“...My name’s Cora. I’m also 15 and a sophomore. I am learning to be a programmer. That’s all you need to know right now.”

Every word was curt and to the point, and Michael could feel every syllable snap out and fly out in what felt like his direction. Cora’s gaze, remaining eerily cool, seemed to focus on him, as if she was waiting for him to react, to slip up somehow. Why, he wasn’t sure, but again he had to fight the urge to put up some sort of barrier between him and her freezing glare.

Since when did teenagers become so fucking terrifying?

Thankfully, the pinging of Buddy’s textbox broke the predatory line of sight between Cora and Michael.

Oh, is it my turn now? Yay!

Cora spun about the laptop screen a bit more so that it faced everyone rather than just Cora and (inadvertently) Michael. He breathed as the considerably less terrifying program thing started to “speak”, words quickly filling in the textbox in quick succession.

I’m Buddy! I’m a digital friend for my best friend, Cora! I like to make games too, and to hang out with my best friend! I can’t wait to get to know all of you better!

“Aww, that’s so nice!” Louis exclaimed. Michael did catch the affectionate, proud smile that did creep its way onto Cora’s face at everyone’s reactions, and he grinned.

You all liked it? Buddy beamed, and their textbox turned pink at the largely unanimous nods. Aw, your introductions were great too!

“Is that everyone?” At their nods, Michael sighed. “ Well, now that we know each other a little bit more…time for us to get to the more important bit I skimped on yesterday.”

Time for the even more difficult part…fuck.

“So, understandably, we were all in a rush yesterday and most of what actually happened went over everyone’s heads,” Michael said. “I did give a half-assed explanation, but I have a feeling that it really didn’t itch anyone’s scratches. And now that I don’t feel ready to tip over, I feel like I owe you all proper explanations.”

Everyone’s faces turned more somber at that mention. Although a tentative smile still remained on his face, Louis' slow-growing comfort through the introductions quickly snuffed out for nerves once again. Reading the cues of the room, Scout unconsciously shuffled up closer to the teen to grasp at his glove, tugging at the rubber. Cora turned Buddy’s laptop back around so that she could continue relaying to Buddy, giving Michael a cool stare as she did.

“Michael, are you sure?” Sam asked with a frown. “If you still need more time to cool down, that's alright.”

“Nah, I already spent all night calming down. I’d rather just get this done with and off my back,” Michael grinned back at the teen. The seething worry in his stomach did cease a bit at the patient nod she gave her, and the similar nods of solidarity from the Miis, but the escalating voice of worry in his head made him half-tempted to step back and hide on the couch to rethink everything over, just in case . 

Just get this over with.

“Alright then, let me start from the beginning of the day.”

Then, Michael told the teens and digital entities around the table the carefully curated retelling of yesterday’s events. Michael remained mostly straightforward with everything, unlike his other stories. After all, this time he had a witness to most of the relevant events in the form of the frizzy-haired teen and the hand puppet watching him and occasionally chipping in with their own tidbits on what happened. Of course, that made this part of the morning which he’d been dreading even worse.

At the very least, the kid’s keeping quiet about…most things.

Michael was aware of the events that had happened when he’d frozen up and then been led into the flipped-over inside of the container truck. Even though his head still throbbed at the memory of the absolute pain that he’d been in, he could still recall his drunken rant that he’d made. Of course, that by itself wouldn’t have been so bad, if it weren’t for the fact that there had been two people listening to him at the time, hearing every last stupid word and learning far, far too much about his mental health and his other Henry for their own good.

But somehow, as Michael worked his way through a rage and anger filled trek through the woods and his battle with the “sasquatch” that Michael knew for certain was no mere sasquatch but didn’t want to contemplate until he had some more privacy, Louis had stayed quiet. He’d filled them in on his own impromptu investigation, and although yes, Michael also didn’t understand why Louis decided to go into the back area full of bear traps, he did admire the kid’s dedication to trying to help. Then, when the moment came to describe what happened in the truck, Michael could feel his words dry and before he knew it Louis chipped in-

“I kinda just, uh, had to give him a pep-talk. He sorta kept bugging, and rambling a bunch of, uh, gibberish and stuff but it actually seemed to work since he did stop death gripping that dismembered arm!” Louis flushed at the flat stares everyone gave him. “Yeah, I know, sounds cheesy as heck but that’s what happened!”

“And then he went outside and fucking pureed the sasquatch’s head!” Scout added. “It was fucking disgusting, and epic! But mostly disgusting!”

The robotic man and the teen shared a glance, and the miniscule twitch of Louis’ lips had Michael sighing in mental relief. 

Oh thank god, he knew to stay quiet. 

I really owe Louis a thank you .

There was only so much to tell after that, and as the last word trailed its way out of his lips Michael anxiously watched for everyone’s response. Sam’s face had suitably contorted in surprise, worry, and disgust in all the expected places, along with Eteled and Austin’s own. Cora had stayed stoically quiet, though there was a grimace on her face at Michael’s brief but vivid descriptions of the “sasquatch” and at the end what Michael hoped was a flicker of sympathy in those freezing eyes. Buddy had chimed in their own way, and stealing peeks at the screen Michael caught the textbox changing into a myriad of colors and what he assumed were supposed to be very exaggeratedly cartoony emoticons. They sat in silence now though, processing all they’d been given.

Michael cast a glance at his now-cold cup of water, absentmindedly swirling it and watching the miniature whirlpool. Finally, someone spoke and broke the terse silence.

“Jesus, Michael, that is…a lot ,” Sam mumbled. “Are you actually okay?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry Sam, I’m alright. A night of peace and quiet did help,” Michael reassured her. It had actually helped to get some quiet time while everyone else slept. Fair, his mind was racing at a million miles an hour trying to figure out how to handle the inevitable explanations, but that had only lasted so long. Even his unsleeping mind couldn’t keep up such a pace forever, and he had managed to fall into a quiet, undreaming trance staring up at the ceiling until the rays of sunshine began peeking back through the windows. 

At the very least too, I don’t have those errors or migraines…or that voice screaming at me.

“This was all for an investigation?” Eteled asks, frowning. “Did Lucille even notice that there was something where she was sending you?”

“To be fair, she only got to send me that image of the sasquatch with minimal explanation, and then I did kind of…uh, hang up on her immediately afterward,” Michael said sheepishly. He sighed. “...Yeah, I haven’t actually said anything to her since yesterday.”

The Mii stared at him, then flatly stated, “Michael, I understand haste, and normally I am not the most appropriate to comment on poor decisions…but that was pretty stupid.”

“...I’ll make it up to her later today,” Michael mumbled.

Cora then chose that moment to pipe back up, a brow raised in keen interest. “So, you actually are a private investigator?” 

“Well, pretty much, yeah,” Michael shrugged.

The girl hummed, scanning him once over. Michael had changed his clothes, but he suddenly felt horribly underdressed in the wrinkled and slightly dusty dress shirt and dress pants Sam had liberated from the old clothing her dad had shoved into the hall closet. Her eyes sparkled speculatively after a moment, and she relaxed onto the back of her chair. 

“Interesting. So, do you just work on contract or are you part of some sort of agency?”

“I mean, I’m pretty sure I am working on contract,” Michael admitted. “I mean, I am getting paid to do work.”

Cora thought for a moment. “...I’ll keep that in mind…”

Michael shifted in his seat, then muttered, “...Okay..?”

Noticing Michael’s discomfort, Sam cleared her throat and once again drew the weight of everyone’s gazes back to her. “Alright, so we got introductions out of the way, and we got explanations. Now, is there anything else we need to do?”

“I mean, I’m not sure?” Louis said. His fingers drummed on the table nervously. “I think I still have maybe an hour tops before I have to go back to my friend’s house and not incur more wrath than I’ve already had, so I still have some time to kill.” He smiled anxiously. “So, uh, maybe we just do more icebreakers? Or…share stories?...I have this one cool story about this time I walked in on our college football team using a ouija board.”

Scout jolted at the last sentence, and they looked at Louis in shock. “What? Your college has occult nutjobs too? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It, uh, slipped my mind?” Louis chuckled nervously. “It was way before we, uh, met. It’s a fun story though, it has a pretty funny ending.”

“Wait, seriously?” Sam asked, perking up in interest. She grinned, eyes flashing as she began to slip into fangirl mode. “College sports and the occult? Now that sounds interesting!”

Oooh, story swapping sounds cool! Buddy’s textbox pinged. ...What’s a ouija board?

Cora raised an eyebrow, but she shrugged. “I guess it’d be fine…” she said reluctantly, although Michael didn’t see much interest in her eyes.

Louis lit up again, smiling again. “Uh, cool! Guess we’re doing story swapping then!”

“Well, I suppose it is something,” Michael said, also feeling intrigued. He paused. “...There’s something I should do first though. I need to give a call to Lucille.”

“You mean your, uh, boss?” Louis asked. At Michael’s nod he good-naturedly smiled and waved off Michael. “You go right ahead dude! You don’t want to wait around too long to talk to her! Trust me, I, uh, know what it’s like to accidentally piss off your boss…ha…”

He shuddered. “Seriously, go handle it. Sooner the better. No judgement.”

“I will,” Michael nodded. He looked back at Sam. “I’ll hopefully be back in a bit, alright?”

“You go ahead. I’ll catch you up when I get back,” Sam gave a thumbs up. She smiled reassuringly. “You go get your business done with the spooky rich lady.”

“Thanks Sam.” Michael smiled, then turned to exit the dining room and head to the hopefully more private other side of the house as Louis began with, “So, I was going to the cafeteria right after I did this interview with the coach of the team…”

The chatter of the teens died out once Michael got a few rooms away, and Michael heaved out a breath and let himself slump in exhaustion.

Christ, when did talking to people get even more tiring than fighting fucking Springtrap? Or…at least, Springtrap adjacents…

Michael grumbled and shook his head. Dawdling about wasn’t going to do too much when he still had so much business from yesterday to finish while he could. Including calling Lucille, the same woman he’d ditched and then hadn’t contacted for…the entirety of yesterday and this night.

…I think I’m screwed.

Still, Michael just had to bite the bullet for this. Thankfully, in his voice induced rage by some stupid miracle he had kept his phone with him, and the sturdy device had survived the beating he’d gotten yesterday. Still, Michael noticed the extra scratches on the outside of the plastic casing as he pulled it out of his pocket. He sighed, bracing himself for who knew what, then dialed the number Lucille had given him.

It only took one ring before the call was picked up and Michael’s ear was assaulted by pure rage.

MISTER MICHAEL SCHMIDT!! WHAT in the NAME OF GOD were you thinking hanging up and then going on WITHOUT A SINGLE UPDATE ON YOUR SITUATION! Lucille bellowed.

“Lucille, please, take it easy on my ears,” Michael wheezed, already blown back by the sheer intensity of the woman’s voice. She was normally quite boisterous, but her current volume was impressive considering how old she appeared. And she continued to prove said volume as she blustered forward.

Michael, after worrying for an entire day and night whether my new PI had suddenly gotten KILLED, I think I’m entitled to a bit of YELLING! Lucille huffed, and Michael could practically hear her massaging her forehead through the speakers. Okay, I’m done yelling now, but I am expecting to hear a very good explanation as to why you went and vanished on me!

“You’re right, you’re right, I do owe you an explanation,” Michael said. “You got a minute?”

Of course! I did miss an entire day of who knows what after I showed you that footage! Lucille said snippily. Worrying about my time is the least of your concerns. Now, no more dawdling, spit it out. What happened ?

For the second time that day, Michael once again launched into explanations about the previous day, more quickly and much more abbreviated than he had been at the table. He spent even less time on the events in the empty truck with Louis, and he didn’t exactly mention the whole malfunction thing - the last thing he needed was to spill unneeded secrets to the old woman, including the fact he still hadn’t mentioned about the whole robot ghost thing to her for even more obvious reasons - but he covered most of the same basics. Still, it all felt too long, and by the end he felt even more tired than he already had. 

This better be the last time I have to go through this entire explanation.

There were no facial expressions for him to go off of this time, but Lucille hummed and hawed as she listened to him, biting back her inevitable questions as Michael tiredly went through his spiel. As Michael finished, Lucille huffed. 

Hmph…that doesn’t explain much about why you felt so compelled to go running off without a word.

Michael carefully considered his words, then simply said, “I thought I recognized something there, something very…dangerous. I wanted to head to the site as soon as possible before it got away.”

So you recognized that beast in the video? Lucille asked, curiosity dripping from her voice.

“...Sort of,” Michael reluctantly confessed, not seeing much point in denying his erraticness around the distinct resemblance in the video. “It…wasn’t actually what I thought it was though, just a resemblance.”

Interesting…I did always know that your particular town did have a rather strange history behind it, Lucille mused. I suppose there is more yet to discover.

“...I guess there is,” Michael frowned.

Well, in any such case my old musings can wait until the cleanup crew comes by. What is more important at this moment is whether or not you’re alright. You haven’t gotten hurt, I hope?

“Uh, not really. Just got a bit bruised, but nothing major,” Michael fibbed as he absentmindedly patted his clothes, frowning as he worried at the thin slit or artificial skin under his shirt. “The worst that happened was that my clothes got all sort of ruined and…”

…Wait a second. Didn’t I…?

I brought my phone, and then I brought the hook from the game shop…and when I came back I…only brought back the phone …

Michael froze stiff, and then hissed and pounded the flat of his palm into his forehead. “SHIT!”

Michael! Language! Lucille chided him.

“Sorry, sorry!” Michael sputtered. “I just remembered I did lose something there yesterday. My head was just screwed on wrong after I fought that sasquatch thing, and I didn’t even realize it until now!”

Ah. That is understandable then. The panic of forgetting something is quite familiar, Lucille chuckled. 

Well, perhaps it's not so much a disaster as you believe it to be. If you really have taken care of the beast like you said you did, which was far more literal an interpretation of what I wanted the police to do but what do you do, Lucilled mumbled before she turned more chipper, - then my friend should be able to send in his crew. I can easily request them to take whatever it is you left behind and give it back to you. Does that sound alright?

“Uh, that’s really not necessary. I can just go back and get it myself,” Michael said.

Ah ah! No, I imagine that after getting into a fight with a man-sized beast you still have to be exhausted! Lucille said sternly. No, I insist that you at least take today off to recuperate. I cannot have my newest investigator keeling over on me, again! Really, that has been happening so much…

“I mean, it’s really not that big of a deal…” Michael said. “I feel perfectly fine.”

Michael, pardon my crude words but to be frank I would be a shitty employer if I were to let you go back to the same woods where you nearly got mauled by a giant cryptid when I can spare you any more trouble. If I have the opportunity to give you aid, then I will happily give you aid, Lucille said firmly. 

At Michael’s silence, she continued, If it is something confidential or personal that you do not wish to discuss, I will not pry into what it is. If you are willing, I’d just need a quick physical description so I can tell my friend’s cleanup crew what to look for, and I will personally make sure they ship it right to you with full anonymity. I promise you that. I will not force you to listen though, if you truly wish to keep it to yourself.

Michael shifted, frowning in thought. As much as that damnable hook had mostly served as a paperweight in his apartment, it was still somehow connected back to whatever it was Henry had been doing, and whatever the hell it was that had happened to the elderly engineer’s residence to end up in the hands of…hedgehog-demon worshiping cultists. It was a connection, one of the very few physical clues Michael had found to figure out what the hell he was doing back here, and he loathed leaving it out to rust in the woods or accidentally packed into a box by some curious passerby. 

That still didn’t mean he wanted to share anything about the hook or what it may or may not be connected to. He didn’t want to divulge too much about Henry or the trap pizzeria, or any of his connections to Fazbear’s to anyone …but she was just being kind.

And Michael was tired….and he still had his own research to do.

“Alright, fine. I’ll take it easy and I’ll wait for you to find and send my stuff back,” Michael said. “Just promise you won’t ask any questions, alright?”

I promise, Mr. Schmidt, Lucille said firmly. I will not ask any questions. And if anyone pries I will very kindly tell them to shut up.

“Alright, sounds good,” Michael sighed. “It’s just one thing. It’s a metal hook, kind of like a pirate hook. It’s probably just laying around on the ground somewhere, probably near the truck with everything else.”

Lucille hummed. Ah, alright! Sounds quite distinct. No one should have much trouble finding it!

“Yeah, okay, good,” Michael muttered. “Need anything else?”

No, that should be enough. Lucille said. However, you certainly sound like you need to take a seat. Michael, as much as I itch to ponder out loud with you what could have happened with the truck and that beast, you clearly do not have the energy. For now, you go and take a much needed rest while I handle the rest of this. I will call you later to ask for information as needed once the crash has been cleaned up, but for now I want you to take care of yourself.

“What are you, my mother?” Michael grumbled.

Well, I’m flattered if you do consider me a maternal figure, Lucille chuckled. But no, I just want to make sure that you don’t keel over early. I do rather prefer to keep my employees alive, especially the one who seems to attract the most trouble in the shortest time-span possible!

“Well, can’t argue with my boss,” Michael shrugged. 

I am serious! Lucille said sternly. Her voice did turn a bit lighter, and she said softly, I will make sure this is all cleaned up. You just take care of yourself. Believe it or not, you really have been doing important work for me.

Michael frowned, but sighed and acquiesced. “Alright. I’ll take it easy. I’ll talk to you later.”

You have a good day Michael. Lucille said, voice softening. You enjoy it.

With that the line cut off, and Michael let the phone fall limply to the side. He felt himself slump against a wall, running a hand against his face. For a moment he let himself wallow, just focusing on taking in unbreathing breaths and letting the murky silence of the house submerge him in blissful quiet. After a few minutes, he pushed himself up and he shoved the phone back in his pocket. 

Better get back. That talk went on a lot longer than I expected.

When Michael walked back into the kitchen, he arrived right as Louis loudly said with an equally loud sweep of his arm, “-And that was when the head player tripped over the circle of candles and set his shoe on fire!”

“HA! Served him right!” Scout cackled. The puppet banged their hand on the table, loudly wheezing and drawing Cora’s slightly bemused, mostly confused and bored eyes to them.

“I’m still baffled how every single one of them thought setting up an entire fucking ritual was necessary for one football game? And not even for anything like a championship !” Sam said, making a face.

“Oh believe me, most people in sports are meatheads. That really shouldn’t be surprising,” Austin drawled. 

“Hey, I know plenty of people who are in sports and also do really good in class!” Louis protested. He paused. “But, uh, I will admit, most of the guys on our football team aren’t exactly…uh, bright. No offense to them.”

“Oh, hey Iron Giant!” Scout spotted Michael first and was the first to greet him. “I see you’re back from talking to your boss and shit! Did that go alright?”

“Yeah, it was alright. Just had to answer a lot of questions,” Michael smiled weakly. “So, what did I miss?”

“Uh, pretty much everything. You were gone for a while ,” Sam said.

“It was freaking awesome! I didn’t even realize that hosts cared so much about throwing around balls!” Scout exclaimed. “Apparently, trying to contact dead coaches is the least insane thing hosts do to win sports! It’s like a TV sitcom come true!”

“...I’ve never been to college but I am sincerely curious how the fuck occultism became a valid strategy for sports,” Michael said.

“Because sports athletes and fans are a special kind of fanatic?” Austin said dryly.

Louis opened his mouth, closed it, then said slowly, “Okay, that is a fair point. Sports is one of the few things that will convince people to do crazy stuff like throwing a Colonel Sanders statue into a river.” 

At everyone’s looks of befuddlement, Louis chuckled. “Hey, it actually happened. Osaka, Japan, 1985. Curse of the Colonel. Look it up, you will not be disappointed.”

“I certainly will,” Sam said, looking impressed.

“Well, that aside,” Michael drawled, leaning against the frame of the kitchen entrance, “Anyone willing to do a recap for me?”

“I can do it, easy!” Louis grinned. “And then I can go ahead and also tell you guys about this one time that my sister Maria had to deal with this lady trying to sell a toaster in-”

A sharp piercing ring interrupted Louis, and the teen grimaced as he felt his pocket and then pulled out his buzzing phone. He stared at the screen, Scout leaning over to get a peek. After a moment both of their faces contorted.

“Are you serious?” Louis muttered. “I said I’d be there, why do they want me…give me a moment…”

Face turning stiff, Louis rapidly fired out a text. The table stared at him silently, the buoyant mood sinking as his phone almost immediately buzzed again and Louis slumped.

“Fudge. Felipe’s saying that everyone else is getting angry. He says they want me over…now.”

“Oh, that sucks,” Sam winced, looking at the teen and wincing harder at the growing shadow under his eyes.

Michael frowned at just how quickly Louis’ eyes darkened, and especially at the sudden dread in Scout’s face. “Louis, are you okay?”

Louis grimaced. “I’m…fine.” He sighed and stood up from the table, scooping up Scout with one hand and letting the hand puppet clumsily scramble/fall onto their shoulder. He’d had the bag he’d carried Scout in yesterday slung over the back of the kitchen chair earlier that morning, and the strap went over the other shoulder as Louis responded. “I have to leave now.”

He paused before he walked to the door, and he shot Michael a look the robotic ghost was well familiar with in its many forms - “I-have-something-to-tell-you-but-I-want-to-be-private”.

“Could you…walk with me to the door?” Louis asked.

After a beat Michael nodded, giving the boy and puppet a reassuring nod as he pushed off the frame to stand by them. “Of course.”

“Oh, should I come too?” Sam asked, standing up as well. “I mean, I could-”

“Hey, they probably don’t need an entire entourage to walk him ten steps to the front door,” Cora interrupted, standing up even more quickly to clamp a hand down on her shoulder. The girl, now looking the most invested she had since the morning began, grinned at a befuddled Sam. “Besides, this is a convenient time for me to talk about what we found yesterday…”

“Yester…oh!” Sam exclaimed, abruptly gaining a conniving grin that the two girls shared. “Oh, yeah.”

“Hey, are we coming with?” Austin asked. 

“Not now! I don’t want to waste too much time!” Cora quickly retorted to the irritated Mii. She paused long enough to whip about and spin Buddy’s laptop. Quickly, she typed - Cora: Going upstairs to talk with Sam about our project! Feel free to chat with the Miis for the meantime!

Buddy pinged and no sooner were they able to shoot out a digital thumbs up was Cora already dragging Sam upstairs, the latter awkwardly waving at Michael.

“You seriously couldn’t have just carried…” Austin trailed off, then crossed his arms and grumbled, “And we’re left on the table. Again… It’s times like this where I really do miss having a body…”

“Do you have any idea what Ms. Steel Eyes is doing with Sam?” Scout asked as the two girls vanished upstairs. 

At the question Michael sighed as he led the pair to the door, leaving the grumbling Austin for the other two digital companions to attempt to assuage. “I don’t have a single clue. It’s apparently something between them and only them for now. Sam said she’d basically breach all rules of trust if she said anything, and I don’t think I have the courage to ask Cora to her face.”

“Uh, yeah, good point. I wouldn’t want to ask either. I thought my sister could get scary but…” Louis shuddered. “Damn. Cora gives her a run for her money. And Sam got real scary too.”

“Yeah, she knows when to be soft and when to be tough. She’s amazing like that,” Michael said fondly. “Well, that aside, do you actually have everything? Didn’t leave anything in the bedroom and such?” Michael asked, one hand pressed on the doorknob.

“Don’t worry, I got everything!” Louis grinned, smacking his bag. “I, uh, didn’t want to take any clothes from here even though Sam said I could ‘cause wearing her dad’s old stuff feels…uh, majorly weird. So I’m just wearing the same stuff from yesterday. It does feel a bit stiff but it’s still comfy!”

“At least your clothes survived,” Michael grumbled. “I think Sam’s just going to set mine on fire once there’s no one in the house. I could hear her gagging after I put them in the laundry room.”

“I don’t blame her. I don’t want to walk in or even keep around clothes with evidence of sasquatch homicide painted all over them,” Louis laughed weakly, shuddering at the thought of Michael’s appearance yesterday.

He jolted, and then shot Michael an eager grin. “Speaking of which…evidence! I didn’t want to bring it up at the table because it has something to do with your investigation for Lucille…something, something… I honestly don’t remember her last name but you know what I mean. I didn’t want to be unprofessional like I was yesterday and bung things up with your investigation, so I wanted to wait and then tell you about it when we don’t have people staring. But since everyone’s doing their own things, now I can show you!”

He quickly rummaged in his pocket, and then before Michael’s curious eyes pulled out a small, crushed metal tube that sat in his palm, scratched and stained. The teen pulled on one of Michael’s hands and pressed the strange metal piece into his grasp. 

“What’s this?” Michael asked, brow furrowing in confusion.

“Remember I said I found something weird in the dumpster?” Louis said. “Well, this was it! It’s, uh, a lot less blood-covered than when I found it, but it’s still intact enough to have stuff like text!”

Michael blinked, taking in the battered thing. One finger ran over its surface, tracing over a thin dried stain of red marring the cleaned metal. Louis continued eagerly speaking through the examination, letting Michael hold up the tiny tube to his eyes and peer at the tiny and damaged but still just legible words pressed onto the metal. “It’s a little hard to read, but what I got from it is that it’s some sort of tracker. I don’t recognize much other text, and I don’t know if the numbers actually mean anything, but it must’ve been used to track something before it got all messed up! I think it might be for something important!”

“Uh huh, yeah I can see that,” Michael muttered as he read the device label, squinting at the massive gap in between the letters that made it absolute hell to read. Yet, as small and damaged as they were, the way the letters were laid out somehow felt…familiar.

_____bea__ Tr___er No. 0502

Man_____ in ___________

_roperty o_ ____ar Inc.

…bea…bear? There’s only one missing letter and a space in between what’s left of that first word and then what looks like…tracker…

Bear…bear…Fazbear….

Michael’s eyes caught onto the smudged, ripped up black circle right by the letters. It was damaged, yes, and it took a moment for Michael to pick out the details:

A broad circle entrapping a face.

A broad jaw with a scratch mangling the faint indentations of teeth.

…A small yet distinctive top hat right on top.

“...Fazbears?” Michael whispered, horror in his voice. “What…Fazbears? But…I thought it was…how are there…”

“Fazbears?” Louis asked, cocking his head and frowning as Michael shuddered at the mention of the name. “I…haven’t heard of them…wait, maybe I have? Oh wait, I have!”

“You heard of them?” Michael snapped his head about to stare at the teen, tracker wobbling in his grip.

“Uh, yeah?” Louis said, glancing at Michael’s tremoring hands. “Not that much, but I know that they were based on some old…pizza place? If I remember right, they were making some kind of video game for some big PR thing, to quote on quote ‘put the past behind us and look to the future’...stereotypical corporate stuff. I, uh, don’t know if having their logo on the tracker thingy means that means they're doing stuff like, I don’t know, manufacturing for their grand new direction and stuff. Why, do you know something?”

Michael swallowed, stomach somehow sinking deeper at that innocently casual revelation. He could feel the barrier in the back of his mind fracturing at the sound. 

Fazbear…returning. Fazbears…Freddy FUCKING FAZBEARS is coming back. And I didn’t know until now.

“I…I just…just happened on a memory of mine…”

That is a fucking royal understatement.

Both human and puppet looked at him dubiously. Slowly, Scout drawled, “Are you actually okay, Iron Giant? You look like you just got hit in the face with a train.”

He shook his head, and forced a smile onto his face for the puppet. “It’s nothing for you to worry about. Thank you for giving me this, it’s really helpful.”

“Hey, Louis here just wanted to help after everything you’ve done so far,” Scout said. “Even if it required me sticking my head into a gross ass dumpster, I can’t exactly complain about that.”

“You still complained when I put these pants back on this morning,” Louis said.

“Hey!” Scout snapped. “It is gross! You saw what gook was in your pocket, and I am absolutely certain that you did not empty out all those gross blood bits still in there!” Scout gagged. “I have no fucking clue how you are even able to wear it knowing that!”

“I said I’d change later when we got back,” Louis muttered as Scout gave a full body shudder, gagging loudly. 

Louis' phone beeped again in his pocket, and he groaned. “Ugh, so much for theorizing.”

He shifted his knapsack on his shoulder. “Well, no more delaying this. You know what time it is, Scout.”

“Ugh, already?” Scout muttered. They looked down at the bag, Louis patiently tapping his free hand on it, and they groaned in resignation. “Alright, fine. Just leave the zipper open at least!”

“Can do,” Louis nodded, and they pried open the bag. Grumbling all the way, Scout scooched off of their perch on his shoulder and with a semi-elegant swan dive fell head-first into the zippered abyss. After a moment, they popped their head out like a grumpy mole. 

Louis looked over to Michael, and gave a small smile. “Well, guess this is goodbye again, for now.”

“I guess it is,” Michael said, giving the teen what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He paused at seeing the bags under Louis’ eyes, mostly absent during breakfast but now hanging beneath his eyes like two heavy lead weights were hooked to his eyelids. He thought for a moment, then grinned more confidently. “You know you can come by later, if you’re able. I did say yesterday I was going to do something perfectly normal and safe after the investigation, and I still haven’t done that. If you still want to cash that in…”

Louis perked up a bit at that. “You’d…really be okay with us stopping by again?”

“If you want to, of course,” Michael shrugged. “My place is open enough, and I’d be happy to spend some time doing something that doesn't involve being a punching bag for a rabbit thing. I’ll be working on my…investigation, especially after what we found yesterday, but I wouldn’t mind you dropping by.”

“Ha! Yeah, good point,” Louis replied. The kid smiled, eyes softening a bit. “Seriously, thanks for letting me stick around. I know I messed up yesterday, but I’m grateful that you and…and Sam were willing to hear me out.” Louis paused. “Is Sam your sister? Or something? I don’t know if you can have a sister since you’re a robot and stuff, unless-”

“Sister is accurate enough,” Michael said.

“Oh, okay!” 

Louis smiled, still anxious but hopeful. “I’m…glad you’re letting me stay around. And come back. I seriously appreciate it.”

“Of course Louis, Scout.” Michael smiled. “You two be safe, alright?”

“Uh, yeah, of course!” Scout snorted. “We’re just talking to Louis’ helicopter family, not fighting another rabbit sasquatch cryptid weirdo!”

“Yeah, we’ll be fine!” Louis smiled. He waved at Michael, head remaining turned toward the robot as he stepped outside onto the front porch. “See you later!”

The door closed, and Michael sighed.

They’re fine now.

…

“So, before you head back you said you wanted to go through at least this top sheet?” Sam asked once Cora finished dragging her away from the front door and away from where Michael and Louis were. They were now back in the office where they’d left the folder, which was now once again open with its insides exposed to the world. The wrinkled letter was left to the side away from the professionally stacked other papers

“Yeah. I do want to get some more privacy to go through these. I skimmed it again before coming down to the breakfast pow wow, and you were right. A lot of these papers are all really technical notes all about these different programming projects for…something. I don’t think I’ve ever seen as much programming lingo as I did here, and half of it looked downright bizarre,” Cora confessed. “It’s going to take a while to get through, and I want to get these all secured at home to make sure I don’t lose them. But, since I am still here and it would be nice to spread out some other workload, I just wanted to go over one of the less wordy papers. I think this would be right up your alley.”

“Really now?” Sam mused. She grinned, enticed by the lighter look in the other girl’s eyes as she carefully took one of the papers off the top of the folder pile. “Okay, let's see it!”

“Alright. I already skimmed most of it, but I’ll read alongside you,” Cora said. “Just let me know when you finish reading, okay?”

“Sounds good!” Sam said. 

Cora gave a nod, then stepped beside Sam with the paper in her hand proffered for the girl to read. It was just the one sheet, and as far as Sam could see it was only the one-side that had text. It hardly took more than a few minutes to read, and it was obvious from the bold header and subject line that it was an email, and one that in and of itself didn't scream: “I’m part of a horrible conspiracy!”.

The content of the email still pinged at Sam’s senses for some reason.

“Fazbear Entertainment…why does that sound familiar?” Sam mumbled as her eyes trailed off the ending onto the boldly printed, smiling-bear logo proudly looking up at her. She thought about it, then jolted when the reason for the familiarity struck like lightning. “Wait…Fazbear, Fazbear…holy shit, isn’t that the company that made that VR game?”

“You mean Help Wanted?” Cora asked.

“Yeah! Wait, if your dad wanted these notes and he was embroiled in some big investigation, does this mean your dad was-?” Sam asked, eyes bulging out in surprise.

Cora gave a quick nod, putting a hand to her chin as she thought out loud. “He did mention he was working on some sort of VR game alongside some other things on a contract …it likely is the same game you’re talking about!” She frowned, a shadow falling over her eyes. “I’m still surprised it's Fazbear’s of all things though…”

“Why not?” Sam asked. “I’ll be perfectly honest, the only thing I know about Fazbear’s is that they were bought up some time ago and that they’ve been making some video games about their history. Never actually played any of them, horror games don’t quite ping my interest and the games kinda looked fucking cheap, but I heard about them.”

“Freddy Fazbear’s used to be a local pizzeria chain,” Cora said after a moment. “I never went to any of them, most of the restaurants were closed by the time I was around, but pretty much anyone who lives here in Hurricane learns about Fazbear’s and all its local legends at some point.”

“Well, I never heard anything,” Sam pouted. “How did I miss all of that?”

“To be fair, most adults around here make it a point to not talk about it. It has…a bad history, the source of pretty much all the ghost stories around here,” Cora said pointedly. “Kids here only know about it from the older kids who get off on scaring anyone with the ghost stories. And there was that big wave after somebody - and nobody really knows who - actually dug into the history and then made an entire series about the place. Of course, those games got pulled after the company got revitalized, and the most anyone knows is second-hand knowledge nowadays…”

“Well, can you tell me?” Sam asked, feeling the spark of curiosity burning within her. “I want to know everything you know!”

“I mean, I really only know the surface level rumors but sure, I can tell you what I know so far,” Cora said, frowning but nodding in acquiescence. “Heads up though, it's not pretty. The adults around here can be dumb as bricks, but there was a reason mentioning Fazbear is a bit…taboo.”

“Hey, I’m no stranger to fucked up urban legends!” Sam grinned. She leaned against the wall, looking eagerly at the gray-eyed girl looking at her in bemusement. “Go on, hit me with your best shot!”

Cora raised an eyebrow, but shrugged. “Whatever you say.” 

She put down the paper on the desk, then leaned against the wall beside Sam. 

“I’ll start at the very beginning, or at least the beginning I know. Fazbear’s has been around since about the 1980s, or 70s. It was one of those mascot restaurants, like Chuck E’ Cheese. You know what I’m talking about?”

“You mean Fazbear’s was an animatronic place?” Sam asked. “Yeah, I know what you’re talking about! Never been to one, but I’ve seen all the memes about the creepy ass animatronics in Chuck E. Cheese’s and the whole cheap pizza scandal.”

“Yeah,” Cora nodded. “Freddy Fazbear’s basically was Chuck E. Cheese’s, but with a different mascot cast and debatably better pizza and arcades. People get kinda conflicted on if Fazbear’s was actually any better or worse as an entertainment place, so I’m not getting into that,” Cora shrugged. “But Fazbear’s was the big cheese of Hurricane, since it was the first place down here like it. And it actually did start getting traction, attracting people from out of state and getting news stuff not so much about the food and whatever else, but about the animatronics themselves. Apparently, at least back then, they were top tier some of the best robotics of the decade, all developed by the owners of the restaurants themselves with their own custom parts and everything..”

“Really?” Sam asked, eyes glowing.

“I don’t know how much of that was actually true, but that’s what people say, that the big draw was just how ridiculously advanced the robotics were,” Cora said. “Apparently, they were able to move off stage, interact with the kids and parents freely, improvise behaviors, serve food, cake, a whole bunch of goody goody programming and engineering stuff that the owners innovated but never did bother to share with anyone else since, you know, you don’t want to just hand out your business secrets.”

“Interesting,” Sam mused.

Cora nodded, lips still pursed. “So yeah, things were just hunky dory for a couple years, business was booming and business was expanding and all that goody goody stuff.”

Cora paused, and her voice became dark. “But then…the missing children incident happened.”

Sam let her smile fall at that. “...I’m guessing this is where the messed up stuff starts.”

“Very messed up stuff,” Cora said seriously. 

She sighed and looked aside. “The details are still pretty murky, since they never actually convicted anyone for the crime, but everyone knows the basics. Five kids went missing at Freddy Fazbear’s pizza place, supposedly lured to the back by someone dressed up as an old mascot for the restaurant, then were never seen again. No body, no prints, only a few drops of blood on the floor. For what reason they disappeared or even how exactly they vanished without a hint as to where their bodies ended up, nobody actually knows. Some people said that the kids were cut up and stuffed into the suits by someone jealous of the success of the restaurant. Some say they were locked up in a basement and experimented on for some dark ritual by the owners. And some just think that some sicko working as a security guard just saw a great opportunity to get themselves off on killing tiny kids.”

Cora scowled. “I’m not sure which is true, but for damn sure that was what led to the restaurants losing business. The business tried to smooth things over, improve safety and such, but after that Fazbear’s didn’t last much longer. There were a whole bunch of other incidents that happened, like some fucked up domino effect. The animatronics started to have a lot more malfunctions, and the quality of locations went all over the place. People were complaining about horrible work conditions. More people were found missing, most presumed dead and with not a single hint of how or why they were gone. Fazbear’s was full of bad karma, and it dug itself deeper and deeper into a hole until…well, everything just came to a stop. At least, until now…”

“...Jesus,” Sam muttered, her curiosity curdling into disgust. “That is fucked up.”

Cora barked out a laugh. “Now that is the understatement of the century.”

“Alright, now I can see why people normally don’t like to talk about Fazbears…” Sam mused, but she snapped her fingers as she frowned harder. “But then, if your parents were around long enough to at least hear about all the stories then why the heck would that game developer your dad started working with collaborate with Fazbears, even if it is a resurrected version of it?”

“Well, I haven’t really followed most news associated with the company since up until now I really didn’t care,” Cora confessed, “But this new version of Fazbear’s only really started up like three-ish…four-ish years ago. Completely different owners, new PR, new focus on security and safety while having the new theme of…I think it was 80s nostalgia, or some junk like that? I do know the game developers my dad joined were pretty small, and for a resurrection of a dead company the new Fazbears does already have a good bit of money behind it. I guess they would be willing to work with them…”

“But then why would your dad go to all this effort to try and dig up dirt on Fazbear’s?” Sam pointed out. “If everything was going hunky dory in development then there wouldn’t be much reason for him to be going to extremes like literal hidden compartments and ciphers in every single piece of writing. There was something going on!”

“Obviously there was, and probably is still something going on! Problem is…what?” Cora muttered. She shot a glare at the papers on the desk. “That’s the question that these files are gonna help me figure out…and you are going to help me research.”

“Oooh, now we’re getting to it,” Sam grinned. “What do you need me to do girl?”

“While I sort through these files and see what project dad was so eager to get dirt on, you go out and do research on the new version of Fazbears,” Cora said. “Find out everything you can: the games they were working on, any history you can dig up, any sort of controversy that might connect to what happened with my dad and what he was looking into.”

“Something really intensive now…” Sam cracked her knuckles, suddenly buzzing with the excitement of a good, spooky story just beyond her reach at the top of a mountain of hearsay and rumors. “Heck yeah. I can do that!”

Cora grinned. “I expected you to get this excited.”

“I mean, this is the sort of stuff you read about in stories, but actually doing it is a whole different rush!” Sam exclaimed. She winced a bit, quickly dialing back her excitement, “I…don’t know if it’s actually appropriate for me to be getting this excited since your dad is…”

“Trust me, you getting excited over a mystery is far from the sort of stuff that’ll get me pissed,” Cora said dryly.

“Oh, phew,” Sam blew out a breath, decompressing from stress she didn’t even realize she had. “Okay, I just…this is a lot more responsibility than just decoding a paper, and I guess it’s honestly nice to be able to…just be a part of something like this. You know…solving a mystery. It’s the coolest thing I’ve done!” 

She thought for a moment, to the two Miis that were definitely not quite Miis and she had quite the number of theories on the true origins of. She thought too of them spending time talking back down on the kitchen table with yet another digital anomaly who also brimmed with mystery, and of course the very obvious mystery of a certain ghost robot man. “Well, one of the coolest things I’ve done.”

“Guess that’s one way of looking at it,” Cora shrugged, quirking an eyebrow. She paused for a moment, her stiff expression thinning. “Sam…”

“Yeah?” she asked.

Cora thought for a moment, steely eyes glinting at her as if in deep debate. Then, slowly, with all the caution of dipping a toe into icy waters of the ocean, Cora said “It’s…honestly surprising you’re still so on board with this.”

“Well, I mean, it’s not every day that you meet someone who also has mystery AI people living on their devices,” Sam shrugged, shooting the girl a cheerful grin. “That, and having a whole conspiracy to solve? It’s crazy, sure, and honestly a tiny bit scary, but I’ve honestly never felt so alive! It’s pretty much, like, a teen adventure story come true.”

Cora stared at Sam for a moment, and Sam shifted a bit self-consciously. “I mean, it probably does sound weird, but I’m just being honest.”

“Maybe compared to other people,” Cora said. She smiled though, a tiny but pleasant smile that had her face soften. “...But it makes sense for you.”

“Uh, thanks! I…guess?” Sam said.

“Hey Sam! Are you doing alright up there?” Michael abruptly yelled. “There’s something back at my apartment I want to handle, but if you need me to hang around or anything I wanted to check with you first!”

Sam quickly yelled back, “If you got stuff to do I won’t stop you! Just make sure you check back in with me or something when you get back to your apartment!”

“What are you, my mother?” 

Sam snorted. “I might as well be, since every time I turn around to do something else you’re getting mauled.”

A beat, then Michael shouted, “Fair point! Alright, I’ll just borrow my landlord’s phone when I get back to the apartment!”

“What, you can’t use your fancy little super phone you use to talk to Lucille?” Austin shouted.

“Uh…” Michael paused, then sheepishly admitted, “I…don’t really know how to…add phone numbers…”

“...Unbelievable,” Sam muttered, practically smelling Michael's second-hand embarrassment wafting up through the floor. For not the first time she couldn’t help but marvel at just how shockingly incompetent with basic technology Michael the literal ghost robot could be. “Alright, let me come down and help you with that before you head off!”

“So, we’re all splitting up again?” Cora asked.

“I guess so, unless you wanted to…?”

“Not today, I want to get started on getting through all these documents more thoroughly. All my notes are still back in my room, and I think my mom should already be at work so I won’t have any trouble bringing this file into the house,” Cora said. She went to gather up the sheets, tucking them inside her shirt once every last piece of paper was neatly placed back inside including the letter. She looked back up to Sam. “Maybe I’ll stay longer another time, but for now I just want to have some privacy. I have…some stuff to think over.”

“Oh yeah! Of course!” Sam said quickly. She couldn’t help but feel a little bit disappointed, but she was still able to keep on a cheerful expression for the other girl. “You go do your thing, and then I’ll go ahead and get started on my own research!”

“Sounds good. Hopefully, we don’t have to spend as long as we did trying to crack codes, but we’ll just have to keep in touch and see how everything goes,” Cora nodded. She turned to leave, and Sam followed right after her. She took out her phone, figuring that if she was going to have to teach Michael how to use a phone properly she better make sure she remembered her phone number, but she was startled when the other girl suddenly stopped and turned around again.

“Really, Sam. Thank you for all the help so far,” Cora said. Before Sam could respond Cora immediately resumed her walk, feet hastily pounding on the stairs a mere few seconds later. Sam paused, unsure of what to make at first. 

But then, she smiled. “I think she’s warming up to me.”

…

Michael had never so badly wanted to punch a computer before. He had once scoffed at a “meme” Sam had shown him once of a man screaming and punching a keyboard to smithereens over something as inane as a game (there were much more justifiable things to get angry at). However, the temptation to crack his fist against the keyboard and watch the little plastic pieces fly up into the air was overpoweringly tempting.

He just barely controlled himself and settled for screaming into the couch pillows.

“How the FUCK is William managing to hide himself for so FUCKING LONG!” 

Michael was convinced he’d gone through every last news blog, ghost chaser, and everything even remotely related to nature local to Hurricane. Yet, out of what felt like hundreds of accounts, not a single one seemed to have any sort of explanation or let alone a vague hint as to how the fuck there was a Springtrap doppelganger running around! 

If Will figured out how to clone himself I fucking swear…

To ruin his mood even more, there was hardly any hint of the regular green animatronic rabbits running about either. The best Michael could find was a several week old image of what vaguely looked like a one-armed rabbit-eared thing walking about with something in its hands in the woods. Yet, that had again been weeks ago and for all Michael knew William had wandered off.

Hell, Michael had gotten desperate enough to look up Fazbears again, just to see if there had been any reports of Fazbear related shenanigans if Springtrap was no longer interested in gallivanting in the woods. There was maybe a culprit, in the form of some sort of burglary of some depot with a company interested in scavenging parts from the old locations (not that Michael would understand again why anyone would want the junk). He had indeed even seen the horrid evidence of Louis’ claims to Fazbear’s resurrection. The singular bit of good news was that this new company bearing the accursed bear’s visage seemed to be restricting themselves to scavenging the old pizzeria locations for selling scrap and developing video games about the history (and boy howdy did Michael have some opinions about that in particular). Nothing like, heaven forbid, an actual new restaurant for Springtrap to haunt. 

At least I have that much going for me.

Alas, not even looking into the damned accursed company - or, at least, resurrection of said company - revealed any evidence of where or even what Springtrap/William could be doing.

Of all the fucking times for dad to get smart, of course it had to be right after he was supposed to be fucking dead for the third, third fucking time.

Michael, after hours of feverishly scrolling, finally let himself collapse onto the couch after his scream session and groan in pain. His migraine from yesterday throbbed at the edges of his vision, but he couldn’t conjure up any energy to do anything except blink away the discomfort of his buzzing systems. He rubbed his head, turning his eyes to the coffee table where the laptop sat idling.

The table felt bare, with the pirate hook currently either on the forest floor or getting picked up and put in a box, but its current place was now replaced by the palm-sized, crushed metal tube that was apparently a tracker previously soaked in blood. Michael stared at it, lying on his side with eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and frustration. At his current angle the newest bit of irritating intrigue in his life glinted, curled up by the laptop with scratched out letters that haunted his thoughts.

This has something to do with Fazbears. Their only company with enough ego and stupidity to build something as bizarre as this, and it almost perfectly matches those scratched out letters. But what would they need a tracker for? Michael mused. I guess maybe for tracking animatronics. That could be a valid explanation, if there really are weirdos out there intent on making use of the brand and anything associated with it, and if any of the fuckers have the whimsy of considering building new animatronics. But if it was for animatronics, why would there be blood on it? I doubt Louis would have done something like plant blood on it, so there had to be something that led to this device getting thrown to a dumpster in a puddle of dried gore.

Michael frowned, turning onto his back to stare at the ceiling as he thought harder. Maybe…it’s connected to the Springtrap sasquatch monster thing? If Louis is right and it has apparently been hanging around near that gas station for at least a few weeks, it probably is connected to the sole piece of Fazbear tech in the area. It’s too much of a damn coincidence. Maybe the tracker…was for it?

That much partially, maybe made sense. Michael scowled harder though. But then, that doesn’t explain what the hell that thing was in the first place! I’m pretty sure I would remember if d- I mean, Will ever decided to try bringing life to Frankenstiens monster. And I don’t think Fazbear’s ever decided to make fleshy, murderous monsters, no matter how stupid anyone willing to bring back the company in any form would have to be. So why the hell was there some sort of Springtrap-shaped flesh monster running around?

He ground his teeth. There were so many puzzle pieces, yet no damn way to actually start putting them together. Michael knew there had to be something to connect this back to William, there had to be, but he was missing some sort of final thread to tie everything together!

“Hey, guide voice?” Michael grumbled. “I don’t suppose that your programming or whatever got fried yesterday when I had my little glitch-out. You have any ideas?”

The silence in his head reigned for a moment. Then-

~No current leads. Apologies.~

Michael sighed, and he wouldn’t deny the inexplicable relief he felt at hearing the annoying sanguine voice echoing from nowhere in his cranium. “Well, at least you still function.”

He would admit, he had been worried when he recalled not hearing a single peep from the guide voice at all yesterday. Usually, there was always a faint awareness of the AI Henry had rigged up watching, thinking in his head separate from him even if the sometimes-useful sometimes-annoyingly vague voice didn't always say anything. For a very real moment Michael had wondered if he’d damaged it, if whatever program had gone rogue in him had wiped it out of his head and dashed the semi-constant mental companion in his head to pieces permanently. Aside from the passing migraine his head did feel normal, but he couldn’t help but feel as though the voice seemed…quieter than usual.

“Are you okay? After the whole glitch thing yesterday, you were quiet, and I thought for a moment that you were…well, you were bugging out too,” Michael asked, feeling a little bit foolish to be talking to something that was technically a glorified GPS. Still, he felt compelled to ask, and he was awarded with an answer with a little edge of subtle humor tinging the feminine voice.

~Yes. I am alright. I am still recuperating after the events of yesterday.~

“So, you were active…well, at least semi-active yesterday?” Michael asked, curious. Was the voice…actually conversing with him?

I don’t think I’ve had this much of a conversation with the voice since I first heard it!

~Partially. I do believe I was attempting to speak with you when the errors first began. However, it seems the bug in your system blocked me out. It was…concerning, to be left in the dark as such.~

“...huh. Guess Henry must have programmed you onto a separate hard drive or something.” Michael pondered. “With how screwed up my head got yesterday I expected an AI like you to get fried.”

There was a beat as the voice seemed to lapse into thought. ~Well, being on a separate drive would be an apt reason why I was able to avoid such programming errors, even if I was left unable to perform my required tasks.~ The voice pondered, a hint of humor in its voice. ~I am…not familiar with all the ways in which I was created or what my fullest capabilities may be. But I assure you, whatever error you ran into yesterday did not damage me.~

“That’s good to know,” Michael sighed. He paused. For some reason, the AI is being really chatty. Maybe, since Henry built it, and it’s bound to know things from whatever Henry might’ve said…

Worth a try at least.

“...Hey. Guide voice, or whatever your name is supposed to be. Can I ask you something?” Michael said.

~Yes?~ It almost sounded curious, and Michael continued, feeling a bit more emboldened.

“If you are okay with it, you wouldn’t mind…talking with me more often, would you? It’s kinda nice to always have someone thinking with me, you know. Never being all alone and all that. I know, that’s probably not your programming, but it would be nice to be able to actually talk with you more since you seem to know plenty from what Henry programmed in you. Beyond, you know, your little habit of pointing me in random directions like some quest-giving wizard.”

A beat, then Michael could have sworn he heard someone giggle. ~Of course. I should be able to perform such a function. I will make an effort to try and speak with you more often, barring the instance in which case I am unable to interact with you.~

“Thanks guide voice. Or whatever your name is,” Michael grinned softly. He paused, then tentatively asked, “Out of curiosity, do you have an actual title? I’ve mostly just been calling you Guide Voice since you guide me and everything, and that you have some sort of programming title. But since Henry apparently decided to program you with some sort of personality, I figured I better ask.”

A longer pause. 

Then, slowly and reluctantly, the voice replied. 

~I do not require a name. It would not matter.~

With that the voice fell silent, and Michael had a hunch that the AI wouldn’t be willing to speak anymore from the faint vibe of melancholy he picked up on. He sighed.

Well, at least I know more certainly now that I do have something in my head that doesn’t want to screw me over. And maybe since we have some sort of better understanding, the voice will give me more clues, since Henry programmed it.

…Maybe I should check the blueprints again. Maybe Henry left some sort of clue there as to what happened yesterday, Michael groused. I nearly got myself killed back there when I bugged out so badly, and if the time comes when I actually find Springtrap and that sort of bug happens again, I’ll be screwed. 

He pushed himself up, letting himself stretch and sighing as his systems settled in place. You know what, sure. I’ll read the blueprints again. Maybe it’ll be more productive than banging my head against the double rabbit issue. 

Michael got up, joints cracking and feeling a little bit better than before. He sighed, and smiled. Sure, his head still hurt, and he was practically nowhere in his mission, but somehow he felt a bit more…centered. At least, he was feeling a great deal better than yesterday.

“Maybe I can give myself another break once I go through the blueprints again,” he said out loud, taking assurance in how comfortable he sounded. He walked to the closet, musing out loud and smiling as he did rummaging through the closet to grab at the leather cylinder with the prints. “I could try watching some new programs. Maybe try talking to the neighbors…well, not that jackass who is probably selling drugs but maybe Mr-”

KNOCK KNOCK!

Michael jolted at the sudden cacophony of banging on the door, desperate and unceasing. The cylinder fell out of his hand, falling ajar on the floor and letting some of its paper payload escape as each rapid pound shook Michael from his stupor.

“Oh fuck, what is it now?” Michael moaned as he stumbled away from the closet, haphazardly slamming it shut as he stormed over. “Of course, the one time I-”

He was grumbling as he threw open the door, but his words froze on his tongue the moment he saw who still had a fist upraised.

For the second day in a row, Michael beheld Louis before his apartment shuddering with tension.

Unlike yesterday, still-flowing tears slowly tore broken tracks across his cheeks as both his gloved and ungloved hand went to grasp at two suitcases, one partially unzipped and slowly hemorrhaging an ill packed sock. Scout was nowhere to be seen, aside from the top of a shivering purple head of hair buried deep in the knapsack still slung over Louis’ shoulder.

“Louis…what happened to you?” Michael whispered in horror.

The young adult took a short gasp, shuddering…and the dam broke.

“ I made a mistake ,” Louis whimpered. Before Michael could react he lunged forward to cling to Michael like a life raft. His cheek pressed against Michael’s stomach, and he could feel the heat of his breath come out like steam from an engine. His mouth opened once more, and a deluge escaped him, a verbal waterfall that hit Michael’s ears with unrivaled force.

“I came home, and everyone was waiting after the Uber dropped me off. They wanted me to talk with them about what had happened, about my…my thing . My…the incident with the HQ and the…and the Handeemen …” Louis gasped, congealed desperation mixing with Michael at first thought was fear, but realized it was… anger . Pure, undiluted anger slowly sputtering out of a long corked-up bottle that worked its way out in hysterical frustration and energy and misery.

“I told them I was fine, I just needed to go and get some space , but they started pointing out my…my distancing . That I was still suffering from trauma and…and my delusions . We started arguing, and..and I told them that they were overreacting and I was fine and they told me that I’d been kidnapped and that while yes it’s fine for me to be alone, but I had to be alone with supervision !”

“I yelled even louder that I was fine and I could watch myself and then…my cousin just rushed forward and…and she took Scout and told me that this thing was just making me worse. That the psychologist was right and letting me keep it was just fueling my “traumatic memories”. And then…and then…” His chest dipped and swelled, faster and faster as his breaths came out short and unwilling to give coherence to his words.

“She…she…”

“Kid, Louis, take it slow,” Michael whispered, carefully putting his hands around Louis' arms. “Just…please. Breathe.”

Louis did breathe, the first deep breath MIchael heard him take, all to make way for his broken sob.

“She…she tried to rip Scout apart. She…she tried to kill them . They tried to kill my best friend! ” Louis screamed. 

“My own family and friends tried to kill Scout!”

It was all Michael could do to stop his face from seizing in horror and making this already horribly confusing situation even worse. Already, he could feel the blades in his hands, sheathed since yesterday’s encounter, itching to come out at the rush of rage at what he heard. He just barely controlled himself to whisper, softly, “Is Scout…?”

“They’re fine…their arm tore a bit again, and so did some of their torso shirt. I…I haven’t gotten to fix it but they aren’t bleeding cotton like…like last time,” Louis mumbled. His voice quickly hitched up into another sob, arms tightening even harder around Michael’s stomach. “It’s…I managed to stop her before she could get scissors, but…but I had to…I had to hit her. I..I think I broke her nose…and maybe my friend’s nose when he tried to pull me off of her…”

The teen barely collected himself again to marginally incline his head up from where his nose ran against Michael’s new and non-bloody shirt. “I got Scout…and then I ran to my room and locked the door. And then…before anyone could come in I blocked it with a chair, and then I just started throwing all my stuff into my suitcases…I opened the window and I just tossed out the suitcases and climbed onto this tree, because the room I had was near it and it was by the neighbors yard…so I just tossed my suitcases into the neighbor’s and then I climbed over into it and somehow didn’t break my leg. Before anyone figured out what I was doing I…I already left. I just…ran all the way over, and I turned off all tracking on my phone, I didn’t want someone to figure out where I was…but I wasn’t…I can’t think and…”

“Easy, Louis, Easy. Is it okay if I ask why you came?” Michael asked, gingerly looking down at the sniffling teen pressed against him. He frowned, mind already leaping to conclusions. Still, he kept them silent for at least a bit longer to hear out the still crying Louis. “Do you need me to hide Scout? Or-”

Michael was struck silent by the reply, already somewhat expected yet still making his heart cold.

“Can I stay with you?” Louis whispered, voice hardly above a whisper yet the meaning clearer than a crystal.

Michael frowned, and immediately his mind flashed to his utterly barebones apartment. “Louis, I’m not sure if-”

“I-I’ll be a good roommate! I don’t care if…if your place is super cluttered or stuff, I can…I can just sleep on the floor or something and buy a sleeping bag!” Louis begged. “I’ll stay quiet, I’ll stay out of the way! I just…I just need to stay a little while!”

He ducked his head, shame in his voice. “I’m…I’m so sorry to be bringing my problems to you again , but I don’t know what to do. I screwed up, I screwed up big time and I don’t know…I don’t know…know where to or who to…I…”

A thin, knobbly hand knocking on the door.

A frowning, bearded face looking out and gasping as Michael nursed a black eye. A reluctant eye betraying the horror buried deep in his mind but still escaping into the tremors of his hands. 

Slow, hesitant, and fearful words barely making their way out through a tight chest.

“Uncle Henry? Could I…could I stay with you?”

“...Of course you can stay here,” Michael said softly, one hand going up to gently ruffle Louis’ hair. 

“Really?” Louis rasped. His eyes shimmered. “I’m not-”

“I am not letting you wander the streets, and I’m not going to let you go back to people who hurt you,” Michael rumbled. “I said I didn’t want you to get hurt, and I don’t plan on letting you get hurt again. You can stay.”

“You…you mean it?” Louis whispered. “You’re…fine with me just…coming in and bunging things up again?”

“Of course I am. And you aren’t ‘bunging’ up anything,” Michael insisted.

“But…I don’t know how long I’ll want…need to stay,” Louis said. “I..I didn’t make…I don’t have any plans…I…”

“Relax first. Take the time to fix Scout first and then worry,” Michael said firmly. “You focus on getting yourself together first. I’ll focus on getting my place livable and getting some food for tonight. Okay?”

Louis stared at him, hyperventilating finally slowing to slow, labored breaths. The teen slumped against Michael, body sweaty and slack with exhaustion born only of running in the summer with a heavy load who-knew how far. He rasped, “I can…stay? As long as I need to?”

“As long as you need to,” Michael said firmly, voice almost stuttering with the painful familiarity of the words he himself once heard before. “As long as you need.”  

In lieu of tears something in his systems tightened, sending a painful pang of electricity through him as he hugged Louis, suitcases sitting solemnly like sentinels and a still-silent Scout wriggling in Louis’ duffel bag. 

Michael embraced Uncle Henry, for once not caring that a set of cool and curious young eyes was watching him as he heaved with ugly, immature tears. He hated each salty drop that oozed from him and landed in his mouth, but he couldn’t control himself. He couldn’t head back. He couldn’t head back to him.

“Shhh, Michael. You’re okay…you’re safe here. You can stay as long as you need.” 

An oily creased hand gingerly rubbed Michael’s shoulders, and a bushy beard tickled his ear. A soft voice, old yet full of nothing but conviction and kindness reached his muddled ears.

“I promise you, you can stay.”

Michael spoke one more time, voice full of nothing but conviction.

“I promise you, you can stay.”

Chapter Text

“Host, I think I can see something jamming the gears! Quick, stick me down in there, I think I can reach it…”

“Further, further…”

“I-I got i-”

"W-

“AAAAAAAHHHHH! Host, host, pull me out, pull me out!”

“HOST! HOST!”

“LOUIS!”

“PLEASE, PULL ME OUT!”

“THEY’RE RIPPING ME APART!” 

“I DON’T WANT TO DIE!”

“LOUIS! PLEASE!”

“P L E A S E I D O N ‘ T W A N T T O D I E-”

OI! LOUIS!

Louis jolted, knee slamming painfully into the bottom of the coffee table and dropping the thimble and needle he’d been shoving into his emergency sewing kit. He just barely rescued his phone from slipping off the table and onto the floor, smacking it against his ear in his haste. His gloved hand stung extra from the movements, phantom pains racing up to his shoulder as it twitched in displeasure. He bit back his grimace and forced his voice to stay cheery.

“Ah! Sorry about that sis!”

I know you’re sorry, you don’t have to keep saying it, Maria said crossly, displeasure clear even as a disembodied voice over the phone.

“So-I mean, okay sis,” Louis sighed. He laid the phone back down on the table on speaker phone, making sure to avoid the duffel bag where Scout lay still, nursing new stitches. He frowned harder at the hand puppet lounging on top with their back to him, picking at the new stitches of their arm and still as unnervingly quiet since they escaped the house. His attention was drawn away from the silent puppet as Maria spoke again, voice inquisitive.

Louis, you’ve been spacing out this entire conversation. Are you sure you don’t want to call back later? Maria asked. 

“No, no, I’m fine. I want to get this off my chest fast, before the cousins call and start saying stuff. I just…I’m sorry if this is me being wet diaper but could you make sure mama doesn’t freak out and bombard my phone? I…” Louis swallowed dryly. “...I don’t think I’m ready to talk to the family yet.”

There was a beat, then a quiet exhalation. I can do that. You don’t need to beg me for that, Lou. 

“I just feel bad for-”

Nah nah nah, do not go digging yourself a bigger hole to go jump into a drown in. Maria clipped in. You’re stressed, you’re scared, and you clearly need to go take some deep breaths and not smack yourself about the head any more than you already are. 

Louis paused, biting his lip tentatively and worrying at the already thin skin. His arm stung again, harder than before and amplified as if it had been him that had just gone under the needle instead of Scout. He rubbed it against his side in lieu of scratching at the already scarred skin though, and finally responded, “Are you…sure?”

An affirmative humph. Yes I’m sure. Who do you take me for? I’ll go talk some sense into mama’s head and then go smack some sense into the heads of your idiot cousins! 

Her voice lifted into a sneer as she continued, And when I say smack them I mean I will smack them. If they talk horseshit like they did to you, I promise you I will travel all the way down there to kick out whatever idiotic ideas those airheads apparently still have rattling about their skulls!

Louis couldn’t help the hysterical snort that escaped him. “I don’t know if you could get plane tickets to travel, with how expensive they are…”

Maria just huffed, the force of her eye roll nearly physical. I have my ways, brother.

“Seriously, thank you Maria,” Louis said softly, tears again prickling at the sore corners of his eyes. “I know how sudden this is, and I appreciate you not-”

Freaking out and acting like a headless chicken? Maria grunted, before her brusque tone softened just a hint. I know. You get your head clear, and let me know if you need anything else. I’ll go handle this circus and update you, okay?

“Sounds good, sis,” Louis smiled, the curve small but enough to dislodge a tear to retrace its way down his still-red face. 

Mm, Maria hummed. She paused, then added, When this “Michael” friend gets back, tell him I appreciate him taking you in. But if he does anything, he will figure out just how much a fist to the crotch hurts. Tell him whichever part is appropriate. If you don’t feel safe, call me immediately. Capiche?

“I…will do that,” Louis slowly said. “...See you later sis.”

A pause, then a bit more softly Maria responded, Call me if you need anything else. Later. 

With one last curt word Maria hung up on the line, leaving Louis to exchange his gaze from the now silent phone to Scout. Their pac-man mouth was pressed shut, and as Maria’s voice had trailed off to the beep of the line the puppet had slowly slumped down into a flat lie. Louis reached out a hand, hesitated, then withdrew it.

“Scout, do you…feel any better?”

The puppet lay still, unmoving. They were more like an inanimate puppet than a person with how limply they lay, the only indication of their continued sentience being the slow, methodical tap of one thumb brushing over the white stitches across their shoulder.

Then they spoke, their voice flat and sarcasm dripping from every syllable. 

“Oh yeah, I’m fine . I’m juuust fine.” Scout drawled out, voice picking up in pitch. “I mean, all that happened was me nearly getting murdered by your crazy ass friends and us now bumming in Michael’s robot cave because you just got into a fistfight with your host family and they think you’re crazy! No biggie ! Today has just been so peachy , I can’t possibly imagine today going any better !”

Their fist slammed into the top of the bag, the impact too soft to make much noise beyond a soft thump , but it sounded like a earthquake in the apartment. Louis could feel himself shrinking up. 

He swallowed, mouth as dry as the desert. “Scout, I…I’m sorry. I should've been more prepared if…if something like this happened…”

Louis’ mouth shut, unable to come up with anything else. A pregnant pause occupied the space and the two stared at one another, a staring contest with no point. Louis wanted to say something, anything to hold back the sickening sensation in his skull from oozing outward and poisoning his thoughts. Then, slowly, Scout flipped about. 

Felty purple bangs flopped over Scout’s two half-lidded eyes, bright as a cats’ but lacking any sparkle in the yellow corneas, focused not-quite on his eyes. Across their torso, Louis’ eyes couldn’t help but drift to the blue arm, the one that was not quite the same color as the rest of Scout’s body and now bearing fresh new stitches on top of the old ones. The thin white threads that a few minutes before had been pulled through Scout by Louis’ needle dipping in and out of the fabric stuck out on their skin, just as vivid as a blood red scar. 

Looking at them made Louis want to cry again, and the scars on his chest and arm stung once more, his own phantom needle pulling in and out of his own rips and tears.

The dead stare the puppet gave him only lasted a moment longer. Scout sighed, eyes slanting sorrowfully and the bitterness layered on the top fell off for plain old exhaustion. “Louis, sorry about that. I’m just…fucking hell. A lot just fucking happened.”

“I know,” Louis rasped.

“It’s just…” Scout pushed themselves up. It took a few false starts for them to achieve an upright position, arms wobbling and the puppet’s face wrinkling in discomfort as each movement stretched their new stitches. Looking down to make sure they had a good position on the lumpy top of the half-zipped duffle, Scout looked back up with dull eyes. 

They took a shaky breath, blocky teeth scraping at where their lips would have been. “I thought things were…okay today, even if we were bracing for the tongue lashing all morning. I kinda expected shit to get messy, considering how fucking terrifying your folks can be, but…but fuck .” 

The puppet flopped back over, staring at Louis with their eyes even bigger than Louis thought they could ever be. If it weren’t for Scout’s eyes being felt and plastic, he was sure they’d be watering with new tears. “...Did you know they could do that?”

“I…I didn’t think so,” Louis said, pulling up his legs to hug them tight to his chest. “I… know they could be protective, but I don’t know…”

It felt blasphemous to say it, but at the moment Louis’ head felt screwed on in the wrong direction, cocked on the wrong way as the world tilted the other and making him want to either hurl or tear up again just so he wouldn’t have to feel so confused. Slowly, he murmured, ”I didn’t think they actually believed that much of what Dr. Alvarez said…” Louis frowned, lips pressed together as his voice dropped to just above a whisper. “Maybe…they had a point…?”

The puppet stared at him, then groaned. It sounded tired more than anything, frustrated, but their voice managed to get louder as they snapped, “Louis, I am not listening to you go down that route again. Your cousins are fucking idiots, and that’s that!” 

Seeing Louis’ still reluctantly staring out to nowhere the puppet persisted, tone sharper than the needles lying forgotten on the coffee table. “Come on, they were listening to Alvarez of all hosts! That psychologist host was someone who probably kicks puppies when no one’s looking!” Scout snapped. 

“I mean, I’m no psychology major but all of that shit sounded like hooey! That guy sounded just like Mortimer , for fuck’s sake! I mean, any therapist who thinks it's a good idea to take puppets and…no, what did he call me? ‘Dependencies’? No, that’s from something else…was it…” Scout fumbled for a minute, then violently shook their head. “Whatever! What I was trying to say was that his advice is a load of shit if it involves chucking me in a dumpster! And your cousins are dumb for listening!”

Perhaps at another time Louis would have protested Scout’s vehement insult, but he couldn’t help but give a tiny nod this time. Seeing this Scout huffed, before their expression softened marginally. Whatever burst of anger managed to invigorate them left the puppet as quickly as it had come, and they slumped over again. “Louis, I…it sucks that you had to literally fight off people to make sure I didn’t go down a la the Roscoe method. It wasn’t fun, and I think they might have noticed someone that wasn’t you screaming, and I…”

Scout finally ran out of steam, and the puppet simply folded their arms under their head, staring at the ground as if hoping it’d swallow them up. They closed their eyes, making tiny fists with their hands. “…fuck I wish this hadn’t even happened.”

Louis opened his mouth, then closed it. He whispered, “I know.”

Finally, the apartment door flew open to thunk against the wall, making Scout flinch with the sudden noise but simultaneously making Louis nearly groan in relief that he wouldn’t just have to sit and think for much longer. Louis looked up to see Michael with a terrifying quantity of reusable bags draped from his arms, a backpack with the tags still hanging off of it dangling from his shoulders and making loud crinkling as Michael stomped his way inside and kicked the door shut with his foot. The sound made Scout tense, but they relaxed upon Michael’s blue eyes landing on the duo.

“I’m back! Uh, is Scout doing all right?” Michael asked as he duck-walked over to the couch. 

Scout was the first of the two to recover, and the puppet hastily pushed themselves up with an exaggerated cough. “Uh, yeah, I’m fine and whatever…

“I wasn’t sure exactly what you already had or what else you’d need and I’m not exactly…uh, well stocked,” Michael said sheepishly, before shrugging and making the bags crinkle against one another. “So I went ahead and just covered all the bases except clothes. I got food, some thread and stuff, bedsheets, and some other stuff that I can’t be assed to remember.”

One hand that had been half-buried in a bag awkwardly twisted at the wrist to pull out a rather nice looking miniature plastic kit with a label that indeed read: Sewing Essentials . “I wanted to get this, just in case. Do you…?”

“Uh, no, I think my sewing kit was enough…” Louis said, shooting Michael a shaky smile as he reached where said sewing kit was to actually put away the dropped needle and thimble on the coffee table. Well, “sewing kit” would be a stretch - it was more a snack-sized ziplock baggie with two miniature spools of thread, a needle still with a raggedy bit of thread sticking to its eye and a dented thimble, all of which had been pilfered from mama’s laundry room. Comparing it to the kit Michael brandished at them though, it looked even more pathetic than it actually was.

“I mean, I’m not bleeding out, and it’s better than being wrapped up in a towel burrito and shoved in a bag, so uh yeah. That’s what counts,” Scout said, lifting and flexing said repaired arm for Michael to see. Still, they eyed the kit with wide eyes. “How much stuff did you think I needed?”

“This is the smallest I could find. Most of the big bundle things they had in the craft store were briefcase sized for some reason,”

“So, uh, what is all of that?” Louis asked.

Michael smiled sheepishly at his question, shifting about the weight of the bags. “Well, since I’m a robot I’ve never actually had to buy anything like food, water…or bed sheets…or anything at all… So! I figured I might as well use the stash of bills gathering dust under the mattress to get supplies so this apartment is actually livable!”

Michael looked about the couch, clearly judging what would be the best place to put his haul down before shrugging and with a metallic creak bending at the knees to semi-gracefully let the bags on his arms plop onto the floor. He took off the backpack, and let it fall with an even bigger thump and looked up from his crouching position to where Scout and Louis peered down with big eyes. 

“Is all of that for…me?” Louis gaped.

“Oh no, this is all for my amazing barbecue buffet on my secret patio,” Michael drawled. “Just kidding. It’s all for you, and for Scout. I don’t exactly need most of this stuff, besides some extra clothes I got for myself since it seems to be a trend for my wardrobe to get torn to shreds and I can’t keep hogging all of Sam’s dad’s hand-me-downs. I sort of just got whatever looked good and was on sale, so you can go ahead and sort through all of this while I just take this and shove it in more drawer. I’ll be back in just a moment to put all this stuff away.”

With a grin Michael scooped up two bags filled with balled up shirts and shorts and quickly made his leave for the bedroom, where he had acquired the closet to use for his own clothing before Louis had busted in. After a beat, Scout scooched off the duffel and crawled with their mitten hands to peek over the edge of the table.

“Holy shit, how much food is there?” Scout marveled. “How did he carry all of that without a car?”

“I mean, we did see him punch through metal but good point, this is still impressive,” Louis said as he got up and carefully waded about the table to crouch and open up a bag. He was greeted with the sight of a hodgepodge of fruit wrapped in thin plastic bags, mostly bananas and oranges with some apples on top, and then kiwis and what might be a melon buried at the bottom. “...How much does he think I can eat?”

“I don’t have any fucking clue, but he did get to watch you scarf down nearly an entire pizza last night,” Scout dryly remarked. 

At the memory of that, Louis couldn’t stop the embarrassed flush that crept across his cheeks. “...I guess.”

“I heard bullying. I’m guessing you all are happy with the food selection?” Michael walked back into the room, hands empty and instead tucked on either side of his waist.

“Dude, all of this is so much!” Louis spluttered, pulling open more bags to gape at the sheer quantity of snack foods, mixed vegetables of varying greenery, and more and more than his brain could process. 

“Too much?”

“No, no! This is great! I mean, it’s just…huh, how much did this cost you?” Louis frowned, already mentally calculating how much the food lying before him had to cost. 

“Meh, don’t worry about that. I have more money than I actually know what to do with,” Michael shrugged. He bent over, shuffling through one bag and pulling out a packaged loaf of white bread. “I just got a bit of everything, since I don’t actually know what you like to eat. I think we should be able to fit all of this in the fridge, and if we have too much I could ask Sam if she wants any of it.”

“Is all of this food?” Scout asked, reaching down to idly tug at a plastic strap drifting in the still air.

“Pretty much, except for this and this one,” Michael said, moving aside two bags. “These, and the backpack have some non-food stuff for the apartment itself, so we can leave this until the rest of the food is put away.”

“O-okay!” Louis said, suddenly sweating as he again took in the sheer quantity of food laid out before him. “So, are you alright with me helping?”

“Why is that a problem?” Michael raised his eyebrow. He quickly shook his head and shot Louis a reassuring grin when he reddened again at the stupid question that had spilled out of his mouth. The robot man just scooped up all the bags save two and stood swiftly, hardly looking the least bit bothered at how heavily they hung from him. “Could you grab those last few?”

“Oh yeah! Of course!” Louis jumped up to his feet, bending over to grab the remaining two. His hands stung at the weight, but he stood up easily enough to see Michael already walking into the kitchen. Before going with, Louis looked down at Scout still laying mostly limp on the coffee table edge. “Hey, did you want to come with? Or…”

Scout thought for a moment, inclining their head to side eye Louis. They then grunted. “Sure. I…don’t feel like being alone right now.” 

Scout thankfully didn’t see the flinch on Louis’ face at that statement as they pushed themselves up into a “sit”, movements a bit smoother than they were before but still sluggish. They reached up a mitten-like hand, making “gimmie” gestures and straining their new white stitching. “Could you crouch down?”

Louis acquiesced, bending down far enough that with a wiggle of their torso and a firm push with their arms Scout boosted themselves up from the table to grasp onto the fabric of Louis’ shirt and shimmy their way to perch on his shoulder. Louis grinned a bit at Scout’s tiny sigh of satisfaction as they made themselves comfortably smooshed against the side of his head. With Scout secure against Louis' shoulder, he sighed and let his stress unwind.

We’re fine now. 

We’re safe. 

We have time to think things through and calm down, and then…

…

I’ll figure something out.

With that charming thought, he set off to the kitchen. 

Most of the evening was…shockingly quiet after the horrific cavalcade of the afternoon. 

Louis and Michael had spent at least half an hour trying to organize the empty kitchen into something acceptable. Most of their efforts had mostly culminated in Michael getting fed up and haphazardly shoving food into the fridge and freezer and Louis getting back in to get things organized once again, and Scout rolling about an errant orange and “supervising”. It was blissfully monotonous work, although he couldn’t shake the sense that perhaps it could’ve been less monotonous. Scout still made a few smarmy comments, but after having seen the puppet so long he could tell they lacked their usual punchiness. Every time he would glance over Scout would mostly be looking slightly off to the side, mouth pressed tight and eyes sagging to some spot on the ground. 

At the very least, they were talking now. That’s what mattered.

After that they had moved on to the non-food items that had been left to sit in the living room/foyer of the apartment. Louis was impressed by how thorough Michael had managed to be in his impromptu shopping spree. The contents of the backpack were already nice, with Michael having scrounged up a set of plain white bedsheets, a pillow smushed over top of the bed sheet package, and a rolled up blanket. The plastic bags were also no slouch, and Louis truly couldn’t help the hint of a smile that tore at the edges of his mouth seeing just how much Michael had crammed in. 

The robot man himself was a relief to work alongside with even if Scout only became marginally more active over the hours. Even if most of his housework strategy was the adult equivalent of a grumpy child shoveling a pile of toys under the carpet and hoping nobody would notice, he didn’t make a single complaint about having to essentially outfit his entire apartment in a single day. It was difficult to miss Michael hovering nearby even as they split up tasks, his head cocked so that one icy blue eye could watch him. It was somewhat unnerving, but also somewhat comforting.

By the time they finally finished redressing the apartment space, the day had already waned and the sun at an angle where it glared through the windows with fiery orange light. When Michael had said his apartment was barebones, he had not been kidding in the slightest. Even after throwing on the surprisingly good quality bedsheet and summer blanket patterned with what were either flowers or clouds on the bed ( “Don’t look at me, they had them at a good price and the costs for some of those other sheets were fucking terrifying .” ), the bedroom still looked more like a shoddy dorm room. 

There was of course the now dressed bed with the wood frame still exposed, with a nightstand beside it bare of everything except some miscellaneous items that Louis had absentmindedly dumped from his bag. There were still the unpacked suitcases stacked up in the corner slowly vomiting out Louis’ socks since that afternoon, and the half-ajar closet where Michael had claimed one messy half for his clothes, the drawers that had come with the closet vomiting out their own set of shirts and shorts, with a still empty other half for Louis contrasting the space.

Louis couldn’t shake the feeling of pity he had looking at the sorry sight, but he bit back the words as he rolled his shoulders, the bone cracking satisfactorily. Scout sat sleepily balanced on Louis’ head and gave only a quiet grunt as their perch moved, having crawled up after getting bored some time ago. Michael himself looked at the room, hands on his hips, and gave a glance to Louis. His disappointment must have been visible, because Michael gestured to the walls and dryly intoned, “Excellent. Now all we need are the posters to cover up the wonderful scent of depression.”

It wasn’t even funny, but the sheer conviction and flat dourness of the delivery was enough to make Louis wheeze. “Jesus Christ! You didn’t have to say it like that! It’s not that bad!”

“I know how to read a room, and yes, I completely agree with you. This room still needs work,” Michael said looked at the empty walls. “Might have to go out again to do that.”

“It’s no big deal! I mean, I’m… probably …not staying that long!” Louis waved his hands.

Michael fixed him with a flat stare at that. “Louis, be honest. Do you want to spend multiple days in the most boring looking room in all of Hurricane?” 

Louis opened, then closed his mouth. “But you’ve already-”

“-Done too much? Not really,” Michael shrugged, looking nonchalant. “Besides, I still have more cash lying around than I know what to do with besides paying rent, perks of having an actual job. I have the luxury of making sure you have a comfortable stay, and remember what I said?”

Louis hesitated, then slowly said, “I can stay as long as I want?”

“Yup! That’s it!” Michael grinned. “Don’t you forget it too soon.”

“So, like, do we need to cook you anything or what?” Scout asked, idly twining a bit of Louis’ bangs around their mitten hands.

“I can’t exactly eat, but would you need any help?” Michael asked. He quickly added, “Not with the actual cooking, I could burn water, but with anything else.”

“No! No, I’ll be fine, I’m just going to cook something simple,” Louis said. “You can just, uh, do your own thing.”

Michael nodded deftly. “Sounds good. I’ll just be at the couch then, feel free to let me know if you need anything.”

“O-Of course!” Louis smiled, less strained this time. As acquiescence Scout gave a little nod of their own, still concerningly quiet. Still, they did give Michael a tiny salute with their hand.

The robot man gave a soft smile, and not for the first time that day Louis got the feeling that he was perhaps far more familiar with the roiling froth that had subsided into a simmer in the back of his mind. But before he could question it any more Michael had already turned and left the bedroom, undoubtedly going to the couch where his laptop had been sitting idle. Once he was gone from the room did Louis look up. He gave a soft smile to where Scout peeped past his bangs, yellow eyes blinking like a curious cat.

His head finally felt empty enough to give a better attempt at a smile than before.  “You wanna hop on my hand and watch me cook? I think I saw enough ingredients for a good stir fry.”

His smile became more genuine when Scout perked up, finally looking a bit more cheerful than they’d been the entire day. “Oh! Oh yeah, that sounds good!” The puppet smiled. They still looked as though they’d still have bags under their eyes and their voice was still subdued, but the word ‘cooking’ almost immediately had an effect on the listless puppet.

It took hardly a moment for Louis to strip off his glove from his right hand and less than a moment for him to carefully pluck Scout off his head and slide it over the scarred appendage. Seeing the red, raised scars made his gut churn more than usual today, but seeing the first hint of giddiness on the puppet’s face was enough to have him push the enhanced discomfort out of his mind.

In less than a heartbeat they were in the kitchen, Louis quickly plucking out items to put on the counter and Scout grabbing the few smaller ingredients that they could pick out. Out of all the mundane activities to do, this was the one that Louis could finally feel the weight of what just happened earlier today lift off his shoulders.

It wasn’t always possible to do stuff like this together since making it public knowledge that Scout was, well, alive would probably turn out as well as it had this late afternoon, but out of all the things that could make Scout happy was getting to see new Host activities. For a hand puppet who’s only source of escape for years was the bliss of television and its (not always accurate) depictions of host life, those chances where they could not just watch but be part of any such activity was nearly guaranteed to put at least a sparkle in their eyes and extra spring to their motions, even now. As it turned out, cooking was one of those actions, and Louis would be lying if he weren’t feeling just a bit lighter at doing something so simple and yet so freeing.

“Do we have spices? I think I saw Michael jam some sort of value pack in one of those cabinets.”

“Where did you say…found it! Hey, do any of these sound good?”

“Mmm, maybe…no, this is more if you want to marinate stuff. Maybe that dried basil shaker?”

“Microwaveable rice? Is that any good?”

“Definitely! Can you pop that in while I get this open?”

Considering how late it was and the fact that he still felt drained from the day, what Louis’ dinner shaped up to be was going to have to be simple. Still, when the quick yet enjoyable preparations ended and the plate was on the table Louis almost tricked himself into thinking he’d just prepared a five-star Michelen meal.

“Dang, not half bad!” Scout put their hands on their sides, nodding proudly at the platter of artfully basil-dusted rice, topped with a pan-cooked chicken filet that looked surprisingly good for being tugged out of a frozen box, and stir-fried vegetables. The hand puppet looked at Louis, looking proud of themselves. “And half of this was in a microwave!”

“I’m just happy Michael decided to get a frying pan,” Louis grinned as he sat down. Scout leaned over to grab at a plastic-wrapped packet of forks they’d preemptively taken from the cabinet and left on the table, opening the plastic with a grunt and a pop before triumphantly holding out one white plastic utensil like Poseidon’s trident.

“Seriously, how did Michael know how to get all this stuff?” Scout asked offhandedly as they passed the fork off to Louis before grabbing themselves one more, carefully maneuvering the arm holding them up to not grind Louis’ elbow in his dinner. “For a robot dude, he knows a lot about dressing up a house.”

To that Louis just shrugged. “I don’t know. Whoever it was that made him might’ve just programmed in all that stuff.”

“Eh, probably,” Scout admitted. “Still, super freaking convenient for him to know all that stuff.”

“Well it’s not really our position to interrogate him,” Louis sighed. He just held up his fork. “Wanna dig in?”

Scout looked longingly at the food, then nodded. “I can manage a few bites. Think the old bullshit voodoo magic digestion is still working.”

Scout being able to eat was a… fact that had thrown off Louis for a while. Honestly, there were still lots of questions about their functionality (and the other puppet’s functionality) considering that he had quite literally seen puppet organs. Next to being able to do “Host” things, eating and drinking was another one of Scout’s favorite activities and was among the ones that still had the teen scratching his head considering that Scout could do that both on and off his hand, and if Scout did have a somehow functioning stomach it had to be somewhere.

Any other time he probably would have pondered longer on this long standing question. However, his mood was still too good and Louis wasn’t interested in dwelling on the matters of Scout’s insides any longer, so those questions, although they came, went right out his ear. 

He lifted his fork and grinned at Scout, and they tapped together their forks “Then let’s dig in!”

One meal later, then one shower later, the evening was now drawing to a stop and finally, finally the bed began to beckon to Louis. He didn’t think he’d be so happy to see a weird cloud-mushroom-flower pattern abstract whatever in his life, but in what was less a proper pajama set and more a t-shirt and shorts he happily let himself fall on it. Scout followed suit, sighing happily.

“Damn, why does basil work so good with everything ?” Scout pondered, letting themselves get comfy on the sheets.

“That’s the magic of spices. They can make almost everything taste better,” Louis smiled, also letting himself sink into the mattress. It wasn’t a particularly good mattress - he could feel springs digging slightly through the fabric unimpeded by anything like a mattress pad. Still, the relief of just being able to lie down with a full stomach in safety was enough to make that negligible. “Just don’t do something like stick salty spices on desserts or anything that’s not food. Then spices aren’t so great.”

“Spice on- ew, why would I want to put stuff like basil on stuff like ice cream?” Scout scrunched up their face. “Why are you saying that like you have experience?”

“Long story involving five year old me, my grandma’s cabinets, and one older brother who Maria punted a soccer ball at later that night.”

“If I wasn’t so tired, I would love to hear that,” Scout snorted.

Louis let himself smile a bit longer, before it faded. There was no lamp in the room, so laying on the bed as he was all Louis could see was the vast, white painted ceiling and the glow of the ceiling light as round as the sun. It glinted in the corner of his eyes, winking at him. 

“...Do you feel better?”

“..Mmmm,” Scout hummed for a second, before sighing, their chipper mood subsiding for something more introspective. 

“...I mean, I guess I feel better than earlier today. It was nice to decompress and…try to forget for a little bit. But…I guess still not one hundred percent.”

Louis gave a gentle nod. “Same here.”

“...You wanna just sleep and think about this in the morning? After all that shit and stuff I think I want to just take a load off for another couple hours,” Scout asked.

Louis nodded again, and gave Scout a reassuring smile, “Sounds good. Which pillow do you want?”

“I’ll just take the one with the pattern,” Scout pointed to one of the two pillows sparsely decorating the blanket and mattress. Wordlessly Louis pushed it over to one side of the mattress, and without further ado Scout pulled themselves over to it and hauled themselves up with a loud grunt.

They curled up into a tight ball, head on their hands, and their eyes flicked over to Louis. “Good night, Louis.”

“Good night, Scout.”

Their eyes slid shut almost effortlessly even with the light on, and Louis only needed to watch the puppet for a minute before they were letting out miniature snores, hardly the volume of a mouse squeaking. His expression turned slack and he sat back up on the mattress slowly to avoid disturbing them. Now that he wasn’t trying to keep himself and Scout cheery and there was no more distraction from mundane tasks, he felt exhausted the way he did when he had a hellishly close deadline for an article and hardly any work done for it. 

He ran both his normal and gloved hand over his face, and let out a silent groan. 

I’m stuck in a sort-of stranger’s house. 

My family and friends either think I’m absolutely cracked and probably hate me.

Scout nearly died under your watch. Again .

…Where do I even go from here?

Michael and Scout both had a point that he could at least put off thinking about this for another day, but now with naught but the room as his audience Louis’ mind couldn’t help but track back to that inevitable inquiry. He thumped the side of his head, and grunted to himself.

“Stop that. You’re fine right now. You got a place to chill in while everyone cools their heels, Maria is making sure no one goes insane again, and Scout is safe. That’s what matters.”

He ground his wrist against his head. 

“...We’re fine.”

Louis sat like that for minutes on end, not looking at much in particular. He then pushed himself up, taking care to not rattle the springy mattress and with bare feet thumping softly on the hardwood floor of the apartment he went to the light switch. He flicked it off and the room plunged into a pitch black darkness.

Before he did go to bed Louis found himself stepping outside of the room halfway, peering into the living at the couch. This room was dark as well, except for a wan sliver of moonlight and the blinding glare of the laptop. Before it, silhouetted and still in the same clothes as he had been the entire day sat Michael, fully engrossed with his screen. His eyes were illuminated as Louis remembered them to be back in the moving truck, and they faintly glowed - not enough to illuminate the space but more so to accent his hunched over form.

It was hard to hear him at first, but as Louis curiously and cautiously leaned out from the doorway he could faintly hear the mumbling of Michael’s thoughts, absentminded as his fingers danced across the keyboard.

“Okay, to do to do…gotta look at my blueprints when I get some privacy and then…what was it Louis said I needed to get? Toilet paper? Yeah, can’t believe I actually forgot that…wait was there something…oh!” Michael jolted up, blue eyes and a hint of a toothy smile sparkling in the dark of the living room like fluorescent candles. “Oh yeah, he wanted mangos…did I see mangos? Damn, going to have to ask…maybe I could get something else too? Maybe some of those dishes he was mentioning while we were stocking the kitchen…”

Louis thought he could feel himself relaxing just a bit more at the simple sight, hugging the corner and watching as Michael eagerly began Googling “what is a arroz”, blue eyes shimmering even past the blue light of the laptop screen. He watched for a little while longer, enjoying the ambience of the night and the soft murmur of his new guardian typing away with two luminous blue eyes glowing, glowing in the dark.

…

Wait, so you’re telling me that his cousin tried to chop up Scout with scissors, then Louis literally punched through his friend and both of his cousins to save Scout? and then pulled a whole runaway kid and you basically adopted them? 

Michael grimaced at that surprisingly apt description. 

“Pretty much yes.” was all Michael allowed himself to say, still not entirely sure why he thought it would be a good idea to be calling the teen at nine in the morning.

Holy-! Is Louis alright? Sam blurted over the phone. Like, I’m no expert on mental health or whatever but what his cousins did was fucked!

Michael sighed over the phone, one hand pressing the device against his head. “I think he’s better, and Scout at the very least isn’t in danger of falling apart. Louis did a good job of putting them together. They’re both still sleeping in the other room, so I’m talking to you over in the kitchen. Don’t want to disturb them.”

Oh gotcha! Okay, well at least that much is good, Sam breathed. Holy crap though, this is NOT the kind of thing I was expecting to start the day! 

“Sorry about that. I just didn’t want to call you in the middle of the night yesterday, and I’m not absolutely sure what we’ll be doing today,” Michael apologized, shuffling his feet. 

Okay, okay, cool… Sam paused, then asked suspiciously, Judging by that overly long silence you aren’t just calling to update me though. You have something to say.

Holy fuck, Sam could be terrifyingly perceptive sometimes.

Michael leaned against the counter, rubbing his forehead in a feeble attempt to assuage the swell of an artificial headache buzzing in his skull. He kept his voice soft and clear, well aware of the slumbering kid and puppet in the other room, “You got me there. Listen, Sam…could I ask you for some advice?”

Advice? Advice on Louis? Sam whispered.

“Sam, I know I couldn’t have just left him wandering around with nowhere to go, but I’m worried,” Michael frowned heavily. “I can give him a place to stay while they figure something out, but…I’ve never seen someone so scared of their own family like that, or that lost.”

At least, not since me .

Michael swallowed back the bitter memories and forged forward, well aware of the weighty silence on Sam’s end. “There’s a lot they likely have to do and a lot to worry about. Louis told me he’s got his sister to try and keep his family and friends from throwing a riot and calling the police, but so far that’s the only thing both of us have thought of in terms of getting this resolved.”

“I don’t know if Lucille is going to be giving me a break for much longer or if she’s going to have me out getting photos for her soon, but the last thing I want to do is leave Louis alone right now when he’s off balance. By all means I’m nowhere near being any sort of qualified psychologist but…I have a pretty good idea of what he’s going through.” 

Mmm , Sam hummed.

“As far as I can tell he doesn’t know much of anyone here, or most of the places in Hurricane. I have a hunch that he’s not going to be running back to his friends anytime soon with what they did. He did say he has a sister who’s helping get things settled, but she’s all the way back in Pennsylvania.”

And so if you have to go do a job you either have to bring him with you, which may not be the best idea considering what happened literally the day before yesterday, or leaving him by himself to stew, Sam concluded. I’m…guessing that’s a bad thing.

“I saw how terrified Louis was yesterday at my door. And Scout’s putting on a brave face, but they seem a lot skittish than before,” Michael said. He took a deep breath. “They’re both scared, they don’t know who to trust, and the last thing I want to do is screw up what they’re trusting with me. They need time and space to figure things out, but at the same time…”

…What is it?

Michael heaved a sigh, running a hand over his face. “It feels like I should be doing…something.” 

Another breath. “Sam, you have a good head on your shoulders and a terrifyingly good observational skills. I was hoping you could use those to…help.”

Uh, thanks for the compliment, but seriously. What exactly do you want to ask? Sam asked, now sounding confused. 

“What I mean to say is…do you think there’s anything else I should be doing?” Michael asked. “Just, as someone from the outside, can you think or see anything else I need to do? Because I still feel like something’s missing.”

That made Sam lapse into silence.

…This is…this is a lot .

“...Sam if you’re not comfortable with this I won’t press you,” Michael said, now realizing what exactly it was that he was doing.

You fucking idiot why are you asking a literal high schooler how to handle a mental health crisis? What are you doing?

Michael was taken aback though when Sam blurted, NO! No, that’s not what I mean! I’m just surprised that you, uh, wanted to ask me about this!

“Are you sure?”

Yeah! I mean, I’m not a social butterfly, but I have looked up this kind of stuff and seen people going through this kind of thing back in my old school, Sam said, voice perking up. You’ve been talking to him and stuff, right?

“Yes.”

That’s already good! Keep doing that, but make sure that you support him for any decision he wants. Sam said. If I remember right…the most important thing to do is to let him know that he’s not alone and that if he needs to talk with you about anything you make sure you’re available.

“Sounds easy enough,” Michael mused. “Is there more?”

Let me think, hmmmm… Sam mused. Oh, Eteled had an idea! He said that it might not apply as much in this situation, but you could help him take his mind off of worrying by giving him stuff to do. If he’s busy doing work or something like that, it’ll help make sure he doesn’t just lurk about.

“You mean chores?

I guess that would be the closest thing. If he wants to do something else, let him do it, but I guess if he has no plans you can just ask if he wants to help around the house.

“Feels weird, but I suppose I could ask him to help around the apartment since we added so much new things here,” Michael mused. 

Mmmm…damn. I’m honestly not sure what else. You already sound like you know what you’re doing, and you’re already doing most of the stuff I just said, Sam admitted after a moment. Kind of hard to beat out leasing your apartment to him.

“...Okay, that is a fair point,” 

You know, if you want to stop by you could bring Louis too, Sam suggested. If Lucille does want you to run jobs and Louis doesn’t mind, I can help keep an eye on him!

“Really? Are you actually-”

I let you chill in my house for like a month, remember? Sam said. I think I know a thing or two about taking in people. And like I said, not like other teens. I can fend for myself and for Louis and Scout if they need it.

“Wow…Thank you Sam,” Michael smiled, then sighed. “I’m sorry that this was so sudden and this is already not a lot of time to-”

Hey, no need to apologize. Sam chided him. You need help, and I’m happy to give some help! It’s no problem if you need me to hang out with Louis and Scout. And if I’m busy with the new project I’m working on with Cora, then Eteled and Austin are cool with helping Louis and Scout too! Isn’t that right?

There was a moment of electronic noise that was barely understandable to the speaker other than as static, then Sam cheerfully said, Absolutely on board! There was another bark of interference, and slightly out of audible reach Sam snapped back to what was one of the Miis, Hey, you can be a little less sassy, alright?

Another beat. Okay, Austin is still kinda grumpy but he said that he’s fine with hanging out with Louis and Scout if they’re interested. Hey, come on, you can show them more Miitopia stuff now that you can play it yourself! 

A snort. Aaand that’s what gets you interested. Seriously?

For some reason that made a snort escape Michael.

“Great! At the very least, they’ll know each other,” Michael gave a wan smile. “Thank you Sam.”

No problem Mike! Sam grinned. She paused, and there was a sudden pensiveness as she continued more slowly, Wait, is it okay for me to call you Mike?

The question was innocent, but Sam whispered as though it were some sort of deadly animal. Michael couldn’t help but let out a brief bark of laughter. “Go ahead! Less wordy than Michael,” The robot man nodded and smiled.

Oh, oh cool! Sam breathed. Just wanted to ask, ‘cause I know not everyone is super comfortable with nicknames. I mean, I picked my nickname because my actual name is super dumb, but I just don’t want to-

“Really, Sam, you’re alright,” Michael reassured her. He grinned a bit. “I’m more honored that I’ve finally reached nickname status with you.” 

Oh…oh cool! 

There was an even more significant delay as Sam processed his words. For a moment it sounded like she’d put down the phone, and Michael wasn’t entirely sure if he was hallucinating the faint clatter of Sam shaking a Wii-mote and screeching with excitement. Michael wasn’t entirely sure why she had stopped for so long, but by the time her voice came back she sounded overjoyed. Do I have nickname status?

“I thought I was calling you by your nickname?” Michael teased. “Making a name that’s already three letters long even shorter is a big feat you’re asking Sam…”

Wait, dang you’re right. Sam grumbled.

“...But I’m sure I can figure something out,” Michael smirked.

Heck yeah! The way Sam cheered one would’ve thought she’d just won the lottery. But it was enough to make the darkness lingering in Michael’s mind wane.

Okay, okay, dang I promised to call Cora earlier today a lot more time passed than I thought, Sam said. I’m going to have to call you back.

“No problem. I just wanted to let you know about the situation,” Michael said.

Cool! Uh, make sure you tell Louis that I and the Mii boys said hi, alright? Sam smiled over the phone. See you later Mike!

“Later Sam,” Michael said, more sanguinely, and he snapped the phone shut. It was right at the same time as the faint shuffle of sheets in the other room, and Michael smiled a bit. 

Right on cue.

Louis came out of the bedroom that had now been officially christened Louis’ own, yawning with bags under his eyes and the set of logo t-shirt and shorts rumpled up. Scout was cradled in his arms like a felt baby, the puppet squishing their face against his chest and audibly muttering, “Just five more minutes…. bleh ….”.

Upon a quick inspection, he at the very least seemed better rested then last night, and Michael made sure to give the teen a smile as he walked out. “Good morning!”

“Good morning,” Louis mumbled sleepily as he made his way clumsily to the kitchen, bed head in full effect as he sidled by Michael. The kid nearly banged his head against the newly stocked fridge with how his legs moved more like stiff boards than living appendages, but he still had enough coordination to lean against the counter for support before continuing, “Who you talking to? Thought I heard stuff”

“Just to Sam,” Michael said, a bit surprised that he’d managed to hear something from the other room but still giving the young adult a kind grin. “Did you sleep well?”

Louis just grunted as he opened the fridge, cradling a still mumbly Scout (“..mmm…I don’t want bacon in my tea…”) in one arm like a baby and using his other hand to rummage about until he pulled out a gallon of milk they’d haphazardly put into the fridge that no longer seemed nearly as big (and nowhere as empty) as it had before yesterday evening. He awkwardly set it on the counter and unscrewed the top before taking the entire liter carton and chugging it down.

After consuming what Michael felt had to be at least half the carton did Louis come up for air. He put it down on the counter and then said, “...okay, feel better now.”

“Good to hear,” Michael said, repressing a small smirk that was forming at the sight of a tiny milk mustache that Louis absentmindedly smeared over his face. He couldn’t help but flashback to when he would do the same thing, except instead of milk it had been coffee and he had bags ten times the size of Louis’ courtesy of multiple night shifts.

Michael leaned back on the counter. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

Louis frowned, then shrugged. “I…don’t really know. Maybe I’ll call Maria and ask how things are going with the family. Beyond that…I don’t know. Chill?”

Michael raised an eyebrow, then said, “Since there’s some things I didn’t get when I headed out yesterday, I was thinking to go out and grab them now. Don’t have any jobs running right now. If you want you could come with.”

Louis paused. “Are you sure? I don’t want to crowd you or-”

“I’m sure of it,” Michael interrupted. “Besides, it’d be easier to get this stuff for you if you’re around to point me in the right direction…and it would be nice to have a car this time.”

“A…oh! Oh yeah, you don’t have a car…” Louis blinked, then jolted in shock. “Wait, are you saying yesterday you walked all the way across town with all of those groceries?”

“Not across town, there’s a decent enough local grocery and home goods shop near the complex,” Michael shrugged. 

Louis still blanched, and he stammered, “Oh god, I’m so sorry I didn’t realize-!”

“Hey, I didn’t want to bug you yesterday. It’s good,” Michael said softly. “But if you want to come this time, you can.”

Louis’ mouth opened and closed, face twisting with indecision before he shook his head. “Y-yeah! I’ll come! It’s the least I can do to help you since I’m bumming in your place!”

“You don’t owe me anything, Louis,” Michael said, but the teen didn’t seem to notice as he bustled back to the fridge to cram back in the milk and then yank out a fruit. “...You also know you don’t have to rush. Scout’s still in dreamland, and I’m not in a hurry.”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah sure! I’ll give them time,” Louis said distractedly, placing them on the counter before ducking to rummage in the cabinet under the sink for a cutting board. “It shouldn’t take long for me and Scout to get ready though, promise!”

Michael watched as all the sleepiness faded from Louis as he went about his harried breakfast routine, and he sighed. 

Well, at least he seems to feel better….I think.

Michael watched, and Michael waited as his new charge hastily worked the worry from himself in a bustle of work, as one sleepy puppet slowly stirred. As clear as the tension was in the teen, there was a small spark in his eyes that had Michael feel just a bit better about that morning that burned away just a little bit of the lingering fear from the previous day. He looked over to the rays of sun shooting through the window glass, and he smiled.

Today is a new day.

Chapter Text

Reflecting back, it honestly was a miracle that nothing had happened for two weeks. Half of Michael expected things to go horrifically wrong, especially with what had just happened in the span of a mere day to Louis and Scout. 

And yet…somehow, things were peaceful.

Or, as peaceful as they could be considering the hot mess Michael was only now realizing he had signed himself up for, with not a single damn thought as to what it meant. 

Sam’s assertion that Michael had “adopted” Louis and by proxy Scout was proving to be eerily accurate. Whether or not that was a good thing, he wasn’t entirely sure. There was, of course, the paranoid lingering thought that with someone living in his home base they would catch whiff of the blueprints and a suspiciously duct-taped box which contained a certain hook freshly mailed a few days after Lucille’s call and the bent tracker. 

Both were sequestered in the depths of the hall closet behind a roll of loose carpeting that had been left there before he’d moved in and was now serving as a shield for his privacy and the currently dead investigation into a certain rotting rabbit. He half expected either the teen or the puppet in a fit of boredom to stumble across his items, and upon seeing the blueprints of course approach with the inevitable subjects that he most certainly did not want to address with someone who had no stake in his problems. The last thing he wanted was any of the teens, including Sam who he half expected to barge in just to see what was up with the college student sleeping in his apartment, to ask questions that they didn’t need to ask and frankly should be nowhere in their knowledge. 

Michael wasn’t entirely sure what to expect of Louis and Scout during the prolonged stay. There was, of course, the almost daily phone-calls with his sister - Maria - over how the family was reacting. Judging by the terse frown that would follow said phone calls, it appeared navigating the family and friend reactions was not going as hoped. Maria, at the very least, seemed to be a good support besides Michael’s own awkward attempts to take Louis’ mind off of the mess, although in a rather blunt way if the muffled responses from her end were any indicator of her personality. 

Scout also practically glued themselves to Louis as much as they could, the two making it an utmost priority to spend as much time together doing what Michael overheard Scout dubbing “Host Stuff” - aka, regular human stuff plus puppet participation. Of course, Michael had never actually seen the two separate for very long, but he couldn’t miss how the little puppet would slowly shrink on themselves when they were alone, or the rare occasion when Michael himself would walk in when Louis wasn’t present and he would catch the puppet spinning about with dread in their eyes before realizing it was just him before deflating. They would be mostly normal when simply doing things with Louis, more similar to the energy level of the snarky hand puppet he’d talked with a few times before. However, the difference when they had nothing to do but dwell in their thoughts and staring a thousand miles away was palpable even with Michael’s crappy grasp of psychology.

Yet somehow, even with the knowledge of why Louis was there and the constant reminders, their stay was not the drawn out brew of dread that Michael had expected. It only took a couple of days for the two both to acclimate to life in the apartment and Michael, and a rhythm to the days developed. 

Michael would consistently be the first to wake, and he’d wait in the kitchen for Louis, who was definitely not a morning person, to stumble in with Scout clinging to them like a baby monkey and throw together a breakfast. Michael would busy himself with his circuit of the internet to try and figure out something about the whereabouts of his father, an increasingly fruitless exercise, and examining this new iteration of Fazbears, a slightly more productive exercise that didn’t answer many of his questions. When Louis got something in his stomach, and he shuffled back to the bedroom to throw on some clothing and gather up his bag, he’d walk back out and ask, “What’s the plan for today?”

Said plans were essentially glorified shopping trips or walks around Hurricane, but with the enthusiasm Louis had for them was unprecedented. Michael was fairly sure most teens or young adults didn’t have nearly so much enthusiasm to follow a guy around to go grocery shopping, or when Lucille finally began to contact him again about getting pictures of yet more old Fazbear’s locations exploring old skeletal buildings as Michael clambered about walls trying in vain to get a angle with light for a random piece of toy stuck in a crossbeam. It felt especially awkward taking Louis along for the latter task - he would have happily kept Louis a thousand miles away from any remotely-related-to Fazbear’s place - but Louis had quickly convinced him to not just leave him in the apartment alone.

At the very least, Michael supposed, he could keep an eye on Louis if they came with him. And they did actually listen to him when he told them to stay out of the more shifty-looking locations this time, contenting themselves with exploring nearby shops or buildings. Scout was especially enthused by the chance to more openly explore Hurricane with Louis, especially since they didn’t have to hid in the suffocating darkness of the duffel bag.

It was heartwarming to see Louis smiling and enthusiastically explaining something as mundane as how windows were made to an enraptured Scout. Even if Michael did catch the moments where the stress would come through, the still latent fear pent up in the pair living with him for very justifiable reasons, there were enough moments that they actually seemed - for some extent of the definition - happy . It made Michael think that perhaps he was not doing so shit of a job of giving Louis a safe place to stay.

That fear that he was still not doing enough was alleviated more, albeit not completely, as Michael took to heart Sam and Eteled’s advice, and invited them to go out for mostly mundane activities. In any other circumstance these trips would be little more than busy work, but Michael could tell that for the pair, even a simple trip to the grocery store was a blessing in disguise.

If just so they wouldn’t have to linger too long and… remember .

…

“They serve frozen blood here?”

Grabbing one package from the shelf Scout was making faces at, Michael read it. “Yep. Frozen pork blood. Apparently you can use it to make sausages.”

“Ewwwwwww! Who would want to eat a sausage made out of blood?!” Scout gagged, shielding their eyes from the package as though it were the sun.

“Technically, all meat has blood, and you have eaten meat before,” Michael said, putting the box back. That fun fact soared over Scout’s head as they gagged exaggeratedly, burying their head into Louis’ knapsack. 

“Urgh, why do you hosts have to be so gross sometimes? It. Is. Blood . I’ve already seen enough of it, I don’t even want to think about eating it!” Scout moaned in somewhat-mock distress. Louis simply tutted and sympathetically patted the bag.

“Trust me, there’s weirder foods people eat out there. Much weirder. But I don’t blame you, I don’t think I’d really want to try blood sausages either.”

Scout gagged louder, both hands clasped over its eyes. “Bleh! Can we stop talking about weird Host food and go back to something actually edible like the chips? Those were better, even those pickle ones!”

“Sure, after we find that thing Louis wanted to get here last time,” Michael said. “Did you see it?”

“Yeah,” Louis said as he gently patted Scout, still grumbling about crazy Hosts and gross Host bits. He gestured for Michael to follow, and after a quick check to make sure that everything was still in the plastic shopping basket in his hand he followed after the young teen.

Scout did stop gagging as they left the freezer of specialty foods, uncovering their eyes to get back to hungrily eyeing the rows and rows of tantalizing food. Louis sped walked ahead of Michael further down the back wall of freezers in the small family mart, and Michael himself followed easily behind. If there was one downside to having Louis in his apartment it was that the teen cooked absolutely delicious looking food with the cheapest ingredients, but he couldn’t eat a single crumb of it without the fear that it would lodge in some important mechanism. He’d had quite enough of malfunctioning thank you very much, but he did feel just a bit jealous that Louis, and somehow Scout despite their apparent lack of organs, could eat. Still, it was interesting to see all the new brands of snacks, vegetables, and meals that had cropped up over the years, and Michael enjoyed the exercise of shopping with Louis since the kid had quite the diverse knowledge of cuisine.

Louis eventually slowed and squinted at the products before exclaiming, “Found it!” He yanked open a freezer to release a blast of cold air and mist, and pulled out one frost covered box. He tossed it, and Michael easily extended his arm to catch the projectile food in the basket where it lodged itself in with the rest of the groceries.

“Well, I think that’s everything!”

“Did you need anything else?” 

“Nope!” Louis smiled at Michael, tentative but happy. “I think we can go to the checkout!”

The family-owned mart was small enough that they sidled in line right behind an older woman fussing with her purse as a disinterested cashier waited for her to fish out extra change. Scout had huddled in as they exited the cover of the aisles, their relative comfort diminishing as they willingly withdrew inside the knapsack. Scout had made their displeasure about the knapsack clear many times - Michael imagined most people wouldn’t enjoy being crammed into an overly tight space - and for someone who enjoyed even the most minute of freedoms, Scout despised being crammed into the bag with a passion. Yet, they almost seemed a bit more willing to plunge themselves deep into the depths with naught but their eyes reluctantly poking out as Michael and Louis drew close to the register belt.

In a motion that was quickly becoming familiar, Michael arranged the various small groceries Louis had come for, taking them out of the plastic carrying-basket. Louis squeezed behind Michael as he arranged their purchases on the water-stained belt, waiting for the lady to vacate the card reader as soon as she managed to conjure the rest of her coins from her purse. As he did though, there was a sudden, “Psst!”

“Huh?” Louis mumbled, looking down. Michael heard the sudden hiss too and as he put the last item down he peered out of the corner of his eye. He nearly jumped when he realized Scout had come out, albeit with only their head and an arm jabbing toward something on the mandatory candy rack that accompanied every register in existence. 

“Psst, Louis! Before anyone sees, can I try that?” Scout hissed, pointing toward one of the brightly colored chocolate wrappers.

“Scout, what are you doing?” Louis whispered in half-panic, turning about immediately with his back to the cashier so they wouldn’t see the hand puppet bobbing in his bag. Michael shifted about to watch, surprised by the sudden boldness of the puppet. Scout managed to remain unperturbed, though a bit irritated by Louis making themselves obvious.

“Dude, just really quick! I saw a Kit Kat, I wanted to try it!” Scout whispered. “Just really quick, before anyone notices me! This is the least busy I’ve seen a place, this is my best chance!”

Louis blinked, “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Scout bobbed their head, eyes still fixed on the bars as if the were made of gold.

“Yes, sure! Just please, get back in the bag!” Louis hissed under his breath.

“Yes!” Scout pumped their fist, and to both Michael and Louis’ relief they popped back into the bag. After that moment of panic passed, Michael and Louis shared bemused looks and Michael snorted. 

If there was one thing that could make Scout go crazy, it was trying new Host stuff. 

The second they passed through the register with their bagged goods plus one king-sized Kit Kat bar and were back outside in the hot Hurricane summer weather, Scout was again subtly slapping Louis’ side.

“You got the goods?”

“Give me a moment,” Louis whispered, and as the puppet impatiently huddled and bounced in the knapsack the young adult scanned the parking lot before settling down on a bench with a sigh. “Okay, it’s all clear. Michael, can you-?”

“Yup,” Michael grinned as he took out the gigantic chocolate-wafer bar and handed it to Louis to break open. “Here you go you gremlins,”

“I’m not a gremlin, I wasn’t the one sticking out their head like a turkey,” Louis muttered petulantly as he broke apart the bar with a satisfyingly chocolatey snap .“Speaking of gremlins though, why were you so eager all of a sudden to try this stuff?”

Scout eagerly seized the bar and nommed on it before answering, in a matter-of-fact tone, “All the talk of blood was grossing me out, so I wanted to get something sweet so I would stop thinking about that!”

Scout said it with such authority that Michael grinned even wider. “You really don’t like blood, do you?”

“Bleh, of course not!” Scout made a face as they brandished their piece of Kit Kat. “I know Hosts are full of the stuff, but that doesn’t mean I want to see it! It was everywhere before, all gross and sticky and smelly…” Scout’s face twisted, and they shook their head. “Can we please stop talking about it and talk about other actually good Host food? Like the empanadas Louis got!”

Louis’ previously concerned expression softened as Scout had spoke, and at that he nodded. “Sounds good. Nothing but dessert from here until home.”

They sat there in pleasant quiet for a moment, Scout and Louis enjoying a bar and Michael enjoying a rare moment of actual quiet with naught but soft chewing, the rumble of passing cars, and birds darting about the sparse Hurricane street trees. It wasn’t often in public that Scout would get to hang out freely, minus the surprise boldness of the candy purchase a few moments ago. Even if the sun was baking there was already an unspoken consensus that tiny bit of paranoia of being watched aside, the moment was too perfect to pass up.

“Quick question…how does your whole eating thing work?” Michael asked after a moment. “I don’t eat because I frankly don’t want to fuck up my insides, but how does that work for you?”

With a thoughtful air Scout chomped on their next piece of bar, then with a mouthful of wafer crumbs said, “I dunno. Magic voodoo bullshit.”

Michael stared blankly, then rolled his eyes. “…You know what, perfectly fair.”

…

Of course, Michael couldn’t talk about his attempts to make Louis comfortable without mentioning Sam. He had found himself taking her up on her offer to help watch Louis and make sure he didn’t just sit in his apartment where he would twiddle his thumbs or lurk in his thoughts like Michael suspected Louis did when he wasn’t looking (or end up poking in places that he shouldn’t like the hall closet). After all, there were only so many times he could drag them to the grocery store or an abandoned lot before the routine got old.

He wouldn’t be so bold to say that the two were instant friends - Louis seemed put off by Sam’s casual shrugging off of the fact she was alone in the house and was perfectly fine with letting strangers stay over, and Sam herself mostly only talked with him and Scout when Michael was around. But still, he saw them developing a rather nice rapport with one another, even after the one time Scout had called her an “emo girl” and Sam had stormed off and had an admittedly amusing hissy fit with Michael as a witness and sounding board as she ranted that she was most certainly not edgy.

Even after that little fiasco though, Sam had been amazing, and for not the first time Michael was thankful that out of every single person who was in Hurricane, he had somehow stumbled into her of all people.

…

“Soo, what’s college like?”

Louis paused, looking up from the kitchen table and from his momentary tug-of-war with Scout over a chocolate that they had very determinedly been attempting to guzzle whole. Missing Scout’s smug grin as they made to chomp down on more pieces, Louis pursed his lips at Sam sitting at an elevated kitchen counter on an oft unused bar stool, spun about so she could lean against the granite surface with her elbows and still face the table. Her phone hung in one hand, ignored for the moment as the teen looked at him. Michael was there too, sitting at the table, and he was almost about to say something to stop Scout from stealing Louis’ snack when Sam had interrupted.

The question had also given Michael pause. Higher education besides high school had never been very high on his list of “Things to Know About” - most space on that list was dedicated to reflexes to avoid getting shoved into an impromptu iron maiden and the best ways to do janitorial work in the least time possible, mixed in with some other tidbits from his few odd jobs he’d picked over the years. He had certainly heard things about it from students absently musing on whatever college or university they wanted to go to after graduating. He was… mostly sure that it wasn’t all drinking parties and dry professors slowly drawing nonsensical chalk equations on a board ten times their height, but he never had any solid idea. Even in high school it just hadn’t seemed feasible to even consider going to some other strange, massive school. It was a sensible question for the hoodie-addicted girl, considering that Sam was in high school with only a few years till graduation.

Oh, yeah. Fuck, she still is a teenager.

Michael cringed at the thought. More and more he’d found himself slipping and thinking of Sam more as an adult, and more than once he had to remind himself no. For all of Sam’s resourcefulness, her shockingly high level of independence (Michael had hardly heard about her parents at all aside from that one visit from her father), and her determination to act as a keeper to the Miis, Sam was still a teenager.

Still, the college question was at the forefront, and it didn’t take much longer until Louis responded with a simple shrug.

“I mean, it’s pretty cool,” Louis said, a faint smile crossing his face. “Classes are kinda touch and go depending on the professors, but the community is honestly the best part. I made a lot of friends in the school newspaper.”

Sam hummed, leaning forward interestedly. “What do you do for the newspaper? You kinda mentioned something about photography, but is that all you do?”
Louis smiled a bit more, distracted from Scout nomming even more on the chocolate bar, and continued, “I was just a writer helping the already established club members with their articles, but after I had to go get my own images for this one story, the boss was impressed and promoted me to be a full-time photographer and reporter with my own stories!”

“Do you mean Eliza?” Michael added, a sudden jolt of familiarity striking him.

Louis looked in surprise at him, then smiled wide. “Oh! Yeah, Eliza! Didn’t think you’d remember!” 

He turned back to Sam. 

“Yeah, Eliza’s the boss and head editor of the school newspaper. She’s great! I mean, sometimes she can be kinda scary when we have to crunch a deadline and a tiny bit of a micromanager - we sometimes call her mini-Gibbs, inside joke - ” Louis winked. “But! She really does know her stuff! I mean, of course she knows her stuff, she's a graduate student, but she seriously does know a lot! She was the one who gave me advice when I started doing interviews, gave me encouragement, and she’s the one who helped me with passing some of my classes! Seriously, if she didn’t tell me about the class and teacher beforehand I would have flubbed that essay project…urgh. ”

“Huh, that’s nice of her,” Michael grinned. “Everyone in college like that?”

Louis made a so-so gesture. “Eh, it depends on the person but you’d be surprised with how chill everyone is! I know I was super nervous when I started, but you really don’t get much drama although maybe I just got lucky with my classes. Everyone’s mostly busy trying to get passing grades, so most people I’ve talked with know the whole freshman thing and are pretty nice!”

That made Michael flashback for a moment. His memories of high school before dropping out were fuzzy at best, but he was pretty sure that back then nobody was nearly as gregarious as what Louis was describing. His clearest memories were of mostly hiding away in the bathroom with a snack bag pilfered from the vending machines at lunch, multiple jocks and cliques getting into some sort of beef that had resulted in the police coming to make arrests, and falling asleep in classes he couldn’t make himself give a shit about paying attention to. The nicest interaction he probably had was with a lunch lady who’d covertly sneak him meals with a wink and a homemade cookie whenever she was on shift, after he’d come in without lunch several times after… the incident .

Yup, college sounds much nicer than Hurricane high school already.

“Huh!” Sam mused, looking intrigued and almost as interested as when she was looking up Nintendo artifacts. “Who else is there?”

“Well, there’s Josh, he handles most of the editing, then Ranesh - he actually handles editorials and stuff. Zera and Janet handle the newspaper website… jeez I think I know the whole office at this point,” Louis reminisced, smiling wide. “They're all super nice, and I honestly can’t think of a time where they haven’t pulled through for me! Finals, learning that new camera system, that one weird assignment with the conspiracy theorist! Even after…”

Louis paused abruptly, face falling slack when he realized what he was about to say. He then quietly murmured, “At least they’re not here in Hurricane…”

Scout paused in their chocolate nomming as Louis trailed off, eyes slanting sorrowfully as they put down the half-bar remaining to lean against their human. They lurked in silence for a moment, and Michael grimaced.

Oh no.

He shot a glance over to Sam, who also recognized that the duo were swiftly falling into a depressive mood and hastily spoke again before it could drag on. “Uh, that sounds cool! So, besides classes and stuff, how are the dorms and food? I keep hearing that its either all great or is the equivalent of living in a broom closet.”

Thankfully, Sam’s question was enough to dissipate the awkward silence. Louis perked up a bit, smiling weakly but gratefully at the teen. “Oh! Uh, yeah, dorms! They’re small, although I wouldn’t really call them a broom closet…”

Scout snorted, momentary dread also fleeing as they rolled their eyes (though Michael couldn’t help but notice how hasty the action was, as if the hand puppet were shaking away the grim fog). “Don’t be that nice. It IS a fucking broom closet. I was there. I had to stay in your stinky ass closet with your roommates' laundry the second day you brought me to class.”

Louis flushed a bit, and stammered, “I-it wasn’t that bad! And I cleaned it after we got back, didn’t I?”

“It still smelled like a dead rat or something in there!” Scout retorted. 

“Is the food good at least?” Sam asked.

“Mostly! The cafeteria isn’t too bad…”

“Agreed, at least until you look closer. I didn’t even know hosts could leave that much hair in food!” Scout said. “Nearly made me not want to try host food again! Gross!”

“Scout, can you please stop roasting my school?” Louis sighed, looking embarrassed.

“Hey, I’m just saying it as I experienced it! I mean, there was cool stuff, but ho-ly fuck I was actually happy to get back to your house after that mess!”

They settled quickly into somewhat loud but comforting bickering, and over their heads Michael shot Sam a thumbs up and a mouthed, “Good save.”

Sam grinned and gave a tiny thumbs up back before tuning back to the conversation as Scout, to a profusely blushing Louis’ chagrin, launched into a sudden tale of a stuffed toy rat and a screeching Louis with a baseball bat.

…

Although Louis was definitely more comfortable with Michael now, and Sam was still as happy to see him as ever, Cora was still an enigma. Although she was the same age as Sam, the girl was considerably more standoffish, and besides going to talk with Sam about the still ambiguous project (the topic of which Michael still wasn’t sure it was about), she hardly talked with anyone else.

Her talking with Louis was definitely out of the question. As much as Cora’s coldness made Michael off-balance, the young man was even more skittish around her than anyone else.

Well, she had come to talk to him…although it wasn’t about topics Michael was wholly expecting.

…

“Mr. Michael? Could I ask you something?” A formal, cool voice came from behind Michael in the hallway as he was making to leave for the day, sending metaphorical goosebumps up his spine.

Michael jolted and turned about to see Cora squinting at him, Buddy’s laptop tucked under her arm. He smiled at her, hoping she didn’t spot the momentary tremor that went through him at the question and hoping that her impassive, curiosity tinged gaze meant the answer to that was a no.

C’mon, you don’t have to be scared of her. She’s just a kid like Sam, asking a question, Michael chided himself at his little slip. Still, he couldn’t shake his nerves as he responded, “Uh, sure? I can spare a couple minutes before I leave, and Louis is in the bathroom anyways. Shoot.”

Cora didn’t hesitate to cut straight to the meat of things. “How long have you been active as a robot?” Cora asked. She tilted her head curiously. “Sam’s clearly known you for a while, but I don’t know how much of that… terminator story expy she spouted is true . I figured I might as well ask you, since she’s busy at the moment with Louis and the Miis showing some animation collab thing.” 

Oh boy, I should have expected this.

Michael’s smile strained enough to make the mechanisms around his mouth creak painfully. After taking a quick moment to recall his cover story ( Cora would definitely notice any holes and good lord he didn’t have the time or energy to ad lib and cover his ass this late in the day ), he responded, “I’ve been active for only a little bit. I’ve been around enough to see the world, but I’m still figuring things out.”

“Hmph.”

Cora squinted at Michael even harder, dissatisfaction evident in the slant of her eyes.  

Fuck, she’s like Sam but even more determined. 

With her eyes boring into him, Michael shoved down the hiccup of panic, and settled on the simple solution: bullshit it with just a tiny bit of truth.

“Look, I don’t remember much about getting activated,” Michael said. “All I know is that I was activated with a directive, and not much else. That’s as much as I can offer you, Cora.”

Michael didn’t need to read minds (as helpful as that would’ve been) to see that Cora was nowhere near satisfied with his answer. She opened her mouth, paused, then quietly huffed before thankfully continuing on with a less pressing question.

“Alright, how long have you been an investigator for?” She asked. 

Thank lord, an easier question.

“About as long as I’ve been active,” Michael shrugged. 

“Officially I’m employed with a rich old lady after I got rid of a haunting in her house, but mostly unofficial. It is…a little weird to explain,” Michael added sheepishly.

Cora pondered for a moment, then slowly said, “Suppose it would be difficult to explain being a robot if you wanted to apply for an investigation firm…seems inconvenient that whoever made you didn’t give you any kind of identification if they went all out on making you look so human.”

“Yeah,” Michael chuckled weakly, “It is…”

Yet, Cora’s probe made him frown a moment later. It… is weird. Henry did go to the trouble of making a humanoid robot vessel with intentional paranormal bullfuckery included, and then all I got was some vague directions and then a little shoo-away? 

There was a new pit in his stomach forming that was not just due to the girl still keenly looking at him.

Thankfully, Cora hurried onward so Michael couldn’t spiral too much further into his newest existential crisis. Hugging her arms with a pensive expression, she slowly asked, “Even if you are busy working for someone else…would you take other jobs? From other people?”

“Well, yes,” Michael said after a moment, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “Unless it directly interferes with something else I’m doing I’d be happy to help someone. Don’t even need to ask for a lot of money, I already have a lot.”

Michael thought for a moment. “Why do you ask?” 

After a beat his eyes widened in realization. He looked down at Cora, and asked, “Do you need some sort of help?”

Michael knew he was on the right track based on Cora’s faint look of surprise. What he didn’t expect was the full body flinch .

“...Am I right?” 

What was it I said? I didn’t think I said anything wrong…did I?

Cora did quickly compose herself, but she was silent for a painfully long time.

“...I’ll let you know later,” Cora said evasively, looking off to the side with a strange little frown. Before Michael could say anything more, she walked off.

…

Buddy was a whole different beast compared to Cora.

Michael didn’t know nearly as much about the faceless, bodiless computer program. Really, no one besides Cora knew much beyond Buddy besides their programmed deafness that necessitated everyone to type to speak to him, and their uncanny talent with programming games.

Most of the time Cora would be quietly “talking” to them with fingers flying over the laptop keyboard as if it were her last line, or they’d be chatting with Eteled and Austin in a pleasant if occasionally awkward dynamic (Michael was sure he’d heard Sam whisper, “Tsundere” once as she’d walked past the digital trio talking to each other whilst Austin was begrudgingly appreciating some sprite work of what appeared to be a knight). 

Michael honestly hadn’t given much thought to the program, beyond the mandatory wondering of how there were suddenly so many sentient AI/ghosts in machiens in his life, including the one in his head and himself (said voice hadn’t made any comment on that). They seemed harmless enough, if a bit childish in their “speaking”, and mostly minded their own business which Michael was just fine enough with.

At least, not until one specific day.

…

Beep! Beep!

Michael paused in the foyer, one foot raised halfway up to begin an ascent up the stairs. He glanced around the house in confusion.

Weird. Did one of the kids leave an alarm on or something?

Beep! Beep!

…

CRRASSSSSHH!

A ear-breakingly loud metal pipe falling sound nearly made Michael trip over himself, but he quickly composed himself to get both feet. After taking a second to make sure his imaginary heart was done trying to beat itself out of his chest, he then realized that the sound had come from the kitchen. One glance was enough to realize what - or who , rather - was calling for his attention.

Hey! Pssst! Over here!

Michael did make his way over, both curious and a tiny bit apprehensive about having a chat with the most enigmatic visitor of the house besides a certain gray eyed girl. The laptop was innocuously left before a seat, a pile of paper that seemed to have been abandoned after getting scribbled to death with the near-death pencil in a half-baked attempt at making notes. On the screen, a recognizable black and white text box blinked at him, silhouetted by a stock background.

There we go! I didn’t think you were going to notice!

Can you sit down? I want to ask you a favor!

Michael raised a brow, but he complied anyway and plopped himself down in the open seat. He made to speak, then hesitated.

Oh right. Buddy can’t hear me.

He went to type on the keyboard instead then, but partially for the sake of not having to sit in complete awkward silence he found himself speaking his sentences out loud, quietly as the words manifested onto the screen. He felt silly doing it, but it felt weird to have the conversation with what was as far as he could tell a sentient block of text..or a cursor. 

Can you even give a physical description of code? Beyond something like Eteled and Austin…and they’re ghosts possessing game avatars.

Christ, this is weird.

“I’m here. What did you want to ask?” Michael mouthed as he typed, wisely choosing not to voice the bizarreness of the entire scenario.

Oh, yay! Buddy’s textbox blinked a sunny yellow, thankfully not picking up on Michael’s perplexion. They quickly resumed a normal white text on a black background before continuing. So, you know about how I can’t hear anyone, right? I can see you, but I can hear as much as a rock!

Michael didn’t get to respond before Buddy chirped in humor. Of course you’d already know! You’ve already got told by me and Cora over and over!

“...Okay…”

Sorry, I’m getting wordy. Buddy apologized. I’m just a little nervous, we haven’t really talked much before…

“You’re good,” Michael assured, shooting the screen and the blinking green light by the built-in webcam a smile as he typed, still speaking out loud the words he typed for his own sake to assuage his own awkwardness. “You asked a favor about your whole not hearing people thing?”

At that Buddy chirped, textbox turning bright pink. Oh! You guessed it! Darn, I had a whole speech prepared and everything! Well, at least I don’t have to dance around the point anymore! 

“You’re good. So, what exactly do you need from me? I know Cora said that you were originally programmed only with the ability to process text, and even though you can use the camera to see you can’t actually process any sound,” Michael said. “Just to get it out of the way, I’m no programmer. That’s more Eteled or Austin’s shtick.”

I already knew that! Buddy responded. Austin told me when I was figuring out a new knight character to fight the Snoodlewonker! Even if you are a robot guy, that doesn’t mean you magically know how to code! He also said you were bad at games and laughed, which was kinda weird.

Michael was half tempted to ask what the heck a Snoodlewonker was (and just a tiny bit of him was peeved at Austin roasting his digital inexperience even when he wasn’t there), but he decided to keep things on track and simply asked, “So, what can I do?”

Okay, I should explain! Buddy’s textbox blinked idly for a few seconds, then above it a simple graphic popped to life covered in cartoony, pixelated green ones and zeroes. The numbers were spun about into tiny blobs of jittering pixels. You see, I have a bunch of code in me, from my base code to my other code! They’re all in these little packages that open up when they’re ready to be used and then close up, or that are open all the time!

Problem is, I don’t always know how to use them instantly…funny, you can’t make the program automatically know how to use code, you have to train them like people too!

Michael raised an eyebrow. “I think I follow…you want me to help you hear?”

Yup! Buddy chimed. At least, that’s the end goal! I…usually only talk with Cora, and I’m busy helping her or working on my game for her. Sam’s also busy, Louis and Scout I don’t know much about, and Austin and Eteled…they won’t really work.

It took a moment before Michael could decipher his last statement. “Oh yeah…they do have kinda cartoony mouths…not exactly the most conducive to actual mouths.”

But you do! Even if you are a robot! Buddy concluded.

“Well, yeah,” Michael shrugged. “So, you want me to just talk with you? I thought you were busy with Cora?”

Well, I was, but she got frustrated and was drawing angry circles all over the paper and Sam pulled her upstairs to talk to her I think. Buddy said. But yup, you’d just be talking! I have some fun exercises in mind, like charades! I think you’d like them!

“Well, sounds good!” Michael grinned, but then paused. “So, who did give you all those programs? Cora…really didn’t mention too much. So long as you don’t mind answering of course, just curious.”

Buddy didn’t seem too bothered as their textbox blinked a brief sunny yellow. You’re all good! I…don’t remember who programmed me originally, besides that it was a loooong time ago and I was sleeping for a very long time after that. But all those programs that I am going to be training, Cora’s dad added those!

“Cora’s dad?”  

Yes! When Mr. Avery first woke me up, he had all kinds of ideas to make me a better Buddy! Buddy’s textbox chirped. Mr. Avery was… is one of my best friends! 

He was the one who took my floppy disc and transferred all my data to a big drive, and he gave me a big computer where I could make games with him, and talk with him for hours and hours! We talked about his favorite color, his favorite job, making games, oh, and so many stories! About the beach, and movies, and-

Michael couldn’t help but smile at Buddy’s enthusiasm percolating through the blinking text, ever so slightly saturating a bubbly teal as the program babbled on and on. 

Michael…wished he knew what having a good dad felt like. He really did. He couldn’t help but feel just a little bit of jealousy at the thought that, out of every person in the whole world, he ended up with a monster like William Afton. But that was outweighed by the sheer positivity Buddy was exuding about this faceless yet immediately endearing man. Almost immediately in his mind’s eye he imagined someone that looked a bit like Henry, before the tragedies where his eyes sparkled and his beard and hair were full and a rich brown rather than limp and fading, but with skin  and thick black curls like Cora’s.

Cora must be a very lucky kid.

Mr. Avery knew a lot about programming and game design too, and that’s why my games are so good right now! Buddy continued. He was nice enough to put in a bunch of programs in me. It was kinda itchy when he did it, but I’m grateful he did because it means I can be better at making him, and now Cora happy! I mean, I’m still figuring out some of these packages since he didn’t get to do training before-

Buddy’s text box paused, then without warning flashed a blinding white to wipe out his sentence. Michael had to squeeze his eyes shut to get the afterglow out of his eyes, and by the time he opened them again the screen had gone completely black. Michael stood when he saw the empty void that was the screen, hands planted on the table as he hunched over the laptop. Michael’s heart skipped a beat - it wasn’t a good thing if the screen just shut off like that, wasn’t it?

“...Buddy?”

The screen flickered in response, betraying nothing in the eerie silence. A few thick, blocky white words then typed into existence at the topmost left corner, no text box in sight and…no longer quite Buddy .

ERROR DETECTED. YOU HAVE BREACHED AGREEMENT.

REALIGNING CACHE.

REOPENING…

A cold chill crept down Michael’s spine, but before he could think of a retort the words vanished in less than a blink of an eye. Without fanfare the desktop and textbox appeared right back on screen as though they’d never disappeared. It took another few moments before the textbox flickered. 

Text began to type out, slowly.

. . . I nearly said something I shouldn’t, didn’t I?

“Buddy, what just happened ?” Michael sputtered after a well deserved moment of mute shock. “You just…ran into some sort of bug! Is there some sort of virus? Do I need to call Cora?”

No! It’s not a virus! It’s just a protocol in place, nothing to worry about!

“So I shouldn’t be worried?” Michael frowned hard, already feeling his hackles raising at Buddy’s evasiveness. His voice went up as he continued, “I feel like I should be worried, because you just blanking out in the middle of your sentence seems like something to worry about!”

Buddy’s textbox jittered in distress, blinking between red and white. Immediately a pang of shame hit Michael, and he took his voice down a few levels - well, typing at a slower speed than his hammering fingers had been at a few moments ago. “Sorry, Buddy. I’m not trying to get snappy. I just…what do you mean by ‘protocol’? Is this normal?”

Buddy didn’t say anything at first, textbox flickering uncertainly. Michael was half-afraid that, just like their human friend/owner, Buddy would simply shut down and he’d be left at a dead end. He didn’t even realize that he’d sighed in relief when Buddy did respond.

I…I guess I should explain. Buddy typed hesitantly. Mr. Avery and Cora say it’s very, very important to be transparent with people as much as you can, and since you’re a friend now and you’re going to be helping me, I should also be transparent. The text paused, and reluctantly asked, Just…please don’t make a face?

“What face?”

That kind of face that some of Mr. Avery’s coworkers made when he was demonstrating me to them. I think I did something, and for some reason they made a weird face. It felt…uncomfortable, and Mr. Avery stopped showing me to them after that. He said that they were being “judgemental”. Can you be… not “judgemental”?

Although unsure what to make of that strange claim, Michael still nodded. “Of course.”

Okay.

Buddy’s textbox flickered, their version of taking a breath.

I am Buddy, and I’m supposed to make friends. They began. I’m programmed to learn and remember everything I’m told and observe about my friends, so I can play games with them, talk with them, and do everything that a good friend is supposed to do. After he woke me up Mr. Avery put in a lot of extra parameters in me to make sure that I stay a good friend, and not like what a previous version of me was before… a…”toxic” friend. Buddy paused, reluctance tainting his textbox a dull grayish blue. I…don’t remember anything about any previous iterations, but that was what he said from a case file he had on his desk.

“Following so far,” Michael murmured, though he mulled a bit on what Buddy meant by ‘previous version’. “Go on.”

It’s…not just me though. I also have…other protocols. Buddy’s textbox blinked in thought, as if still thinking out the best way to word what they were to say next. They’re not me…but they’re a part of me. They lurk around me, thinking and making sure my code works right. They tell me if there’s a bug, they tell me if I am breaking an internal protocol. And sometimes they…stop me.

A hefty silence followed Buddy’s words. Michael couldn’t think of anything to say either. He just felt himself frowning harder despite his attempt to not make a “funny” face like Buddy had requested.

He also couldn’t shake the sense of deja vu hitting him.

…That’s all I can say. Can we talk about something else now?

Michael gave a hearty nod at that, plastering on a partially plastic smile that he wasn’t entirely sure was for Buddy’s benefit or his own. “That sounds good!”

Thankfully, Buddy cheered up, and for a good hour or so enthusiastically played what Michael would best describe as a game of charades - using the webcam to see if he could tell what he was saying and then parroting it back with varying levels of success. It was fascinating to see how quickly Buddy picked up on lip-reading, and the semi-effectiveness of the rudimentary audio program he’d thrown together to actually hear Michael. It had felt a bit awkward at the start, but Buddy’s sheer enthusiasm and absolute excitement with even the little breakthroughs in understanding Michael without typing was infectious.

It was fair to say that Buddy had made their impression on the ghostly robot man, and over the days, after Buddy would prompt Cora to leave them to wait on the kitchen table, singing a chirpy chiptune that became ingrained when Michael would come by. And they would practice, practice, and practice until the program was finally prepared to debut their hard work to Cora, and a fondness for the faceless Buddy ever so quietly began to grow in Michael. 

The speech practice sessions quickly become something for Michael to look forward to besides the outings with Louis and Scout, and the hangouts with Sam. It felt nice to finally be able to help someone with something that wasn’t the horribly messy situation that was Louis’, and actually make tangible, visible progress . It was worth the suspicious, goosebump-inducing side-eyes Cora gave him whenever she came to pick up Buddy to squirrel him away for her mysterious project.

Still, Michael’s mind couldn’t let go of that fateful sentence that prompted the… other personality or protocol or whatever it actually was to kick in. That “personality” hadn’t reared its ugly head up again for the rest of the days where Buddy was left to practice with Michael on listening, lip-reading, and testing of potential voices. Still those clinical, cold words on the screen were glued to the inside of Michael’s brain.

What was it that Buddy was going to say that was so dangerous? 

…And why would Cora’s dad feel the need to program Buddy’s internal “protocols” to make sure he doesn’t say it?

…

Overly nosy gray-eyed girls and mysterious faceless programs aside though, Austin and Eteled were still just as good listeners as ever, both to Michael’s ongoing head-banging against the double-rabbit problem as he’d begun to deem it (he needed an entire damn binder for all his problems at this point) and to Louis.

And also, as Michael had hoped, Scout was also more comfortable with the Miis - maybe even more comfortable than he’d expected. Scout’s foul mouth and the bizarre half-rivalry between the Miis that was mostly Austin at this point aside (Michael still wasn’t entirely sure how to approach that ), they hit it off. Besides Louis and occasionally Michael, Scout most enjoyed staying with Eteled and Austin.

He supposed part of the hand puppet’s swimmingly good relations with the digital ghost men might have been the fact that the Miis were stuck to a screen. After all, everyone else was a human, or a “host” as Scout occasionally referred to the humans as (Michael did wonder why that term made him ever so slightly uncomfortable). 

It had been humans that had led to them getting the faint but still noticeable white stitches. It was on the slightly discolored arm that before didn’t stick out nearly so much before to Michael. But now, with the puppet absently sending an arm to cover the fabric scars every so often, had Michael wondering if the puppet had been hurt before…and by who . 

More hosts? Those studio puppets? Something else?

Their nervousness and clinginess was getting slightly better as the two weeks passed, but Michael couldn’t blame the puppet for not warming up to Sam or anyone else nearly so quick.

Louis was an exception of course. Scout was practically glued to him, either on the arm covering up the scars that ever so rarely poked out beneath the fabric rim of their torso, or glomped to his head and/or shoulders. Michael was very slowly edging into the puppet’s trust (they did live in the same apartment together), but Sam and Cora? 

Scout tended to get hushed around Sam unless Louis was near, or prompted to speak and only after several minutes of quietly, pensively watching the teen. Cora was a complete impossibility - Michael had seen Scout crawling about by themselves if Louis was busy, but he’d never seen someone without legs bolt out of a room so fast when the gray eyed girl walked in. Even with Louis the two had a silent agreement to not speak with Cora too much, and to avoid her piercing stare whenever they could.

In comparison the Miis could talk, see, and hear, but they couldn’t touch, digital bodies wholly immaterial. Even with their still-freaky new ability to mess with other electronics they had no way to influence anything physically. Even if they had wanted to (and they didn’t, not as far as Michael could determine) the Miis couldn’t ever hurt the hand puppet. There was no danger to interacting with them, compared with anyone else. Even Michael.

It was…an unsettlingly familiar feeling..

The method of their bonding also shouldn’t have been too surprising either, and thankfully it was more surface level to understand why their bonding was so effective.

…

“HA HA! Get DUNKED on!” Scout crowed as they pumped their arms in the air, sending the Wii Remote shackled to them by the safety strap on their torso/Louis’ wrist swinging wildly. “Hole in one baby! Now that is a finale!”

Eteled smiled and clapped, leaning on his golf club in the frame of the camera as the Wii chimed with the trumpets of a victory right before cutting to the ending screen. “Very nice! You’ve really gotten the hang of this!”

“You bet I have!” Scout cackled, and they pivoted the arm they were on to high-five Louis’ free hand.

“Must be nice to basically be an arm,” Sam drawled, sitting on the foot of her bed with her own Wii remote dangling from her wrist by its safety strap. With practiced ease she swung it into her hand with a satisfying impact. “You’re basically custom made for Wii Sports.”

“Ahem.”

“Well, almost as much as Eteled, I guess,” Sam corrected, sharing a coy grin with the bald Mii.

“Ahem.”

“Aaaand Austin.”

“You bet I am! Nice swinging by the way, Louis,” Scout grinned, lifting up an arm to fistbump an equally cheerful Louis.

“Hey, you’re still nowhere near as good as me though!” Austin interrupted. The corrupted Mii came into view as the results screen. He smugly laughed as his glitching portrait right at the top of the screen. “Ah, it sure feels nice to be on top.”

“Pfft, don’t you start gloating again,” Scout huffed, though the hand puppet was still too jovial to sound annoyed. “You have home advantage. My score’s already ten points lower that last time, so I’m fucking taking it!”

“Home field advantage?” Michael chuckled from his position in the doorway. “Please. Hey, should I tell them about that time you-”

“Shut your sinful mouth,” Austin said cheerfully, with only a little bit of malicious edge to his words. 

“I still have to work on my putting,” Eteled sighed as he took in his third place position. “I can’t believe how many times I missed…”

“I get you. You need a lot of patience to really get good,” Sam nodded. “I went to a mini golf course once with my parents, and I’m pretty sure I threw my club into a waterfall after I five-putted just right next to the hole. It was true what my mom said: the angrier you get at golf, the worse you end up.”

At that Eteled nodded, face strangely solemn at the mention as his hands tightened on the grip of the club. Austin just snorted, swinging around his own golf club like a baton. “Didn’t take you for the sore loser type, Sam.”

“Hey, to be fair I was small and grumpy and had zero patience back then,” Sam retorted. She crossed her arms, indignantly glaring at the smugly smiling Mii. “I’m a lot better now!”

“To be fair, if I was the one who missed that eagle shot I wouldn’t have handled it nearly as well as Sam,” Eteled confessed. 

“D’awww, you’re still great. The rest of your game was amazing!” Sam smiled. “We’ll work on temper thing.”

At that Eteled perked up, large eyes glowing hopefully. Austin let out a small scoff, but his condescending smirk did lessen as he took in the beaming, joyful smile Eteled gave Sam. Michael raised a brow at the brief longing and contemplation that crossed the glitched Mii’s face, his fanged mouth softening at the edges, before Austin quickly grunted and turned his head aside. He caught Michael staring, and he glared.

“Not a word,” Austin mouthed.

Michael blinked a bit at the urgency of the statement, but after a moment he gave a simple nod and a bemused smirk. Maybe that ‘tsundere’ statement from Sam is more applicable than I thought it was…

Austin’s face contorted further, and Michael expected that he would have snapped back at Michael to ask what that face was supposed to mean if Sam hadn’t exited out of the Golf scoreboard back to the Wii Sports Resort main selection screen. The Miis momentarily blinked out of sight as the screens changed, but the humans and puppet and robot only had to wait a few moments before there was an electronic jitter and then a pop.

Ever since their acquisition of electrokinesis to mess with the Switch and other electronics freely, the Mii’s improved talents at bending the code of the Wii was increasingly evident. For all of Eteled’s own coding talent, and Austin’s game-shattering nature, they had still been limited to only appearing where Mii’s would appear such as in the games or the Mii Channel. Michael’s memories of the “special” areas of the Wii were shaky, but he knew that even those sterile hellscapes had bound the Miis to special rules. 

Yet ever since that day Michael had stumbled in (and they apparently had terrified some set of bullies off of the internet), they had quickly figured out that now, the limitations put on them by virtue of their models and coding were suddenly much less…restrictive. For example, right now as a spot of glitchy red and black opened up just long enough to let the two Miis walk out from a void flickering green and red and white before vanishing, leaving them to stand on a seemingly invisible floor.

“Still can’t get over how cool that looks,” Sam grinned.

“I know! Before I had to jump through hoops tricking the Wii into using the prototype model, but now I can go anywhere I please!” Austin grinned. 

“And me as well. You know I was the one who figured out how to jump between menus, right?” Eteled said.

Austin scowled a bit at the bald Mii’s interruption, and for a moment Eteled looked nervous. After a beat though Austin rolled pinprick white eyes, and grumbled, “Yes, yes, you too, you don’t have to butt in to my speaking all the time thank you very much.”

“Well anyway, what do you want to play next?” Scout asked. “We’ve done all the vanilla stuff, let’s do something weird now! Like….ooh, swordplay sounds cool!”

“That’s not on Wii Sports, I think,” Eteled thought. “Don’t even know if they were working on it when the Wii was released. What does it say?”

“Give me a second!” Scout hunched over and, using the safety strap as an improvised handle, hauled the Wii Remote up to press against their stomach region at the screen. With some gregarious swinging of the Wii remote, and nearly bonking themselves in the head with the plastic stick, Scout managed to navigate their cursor to the appropriate screen. 

“Alright, so we have duel, speed slice, and showdown to pick from…” Scout hummed, hovering over the icons. “So, uh, simple synopsis, you can either beat the shit out of someone with a wooden stick until they fall into the ocean…you can battle someone to cut the most things in half…or you can fight a bunch of people! By beating the shit out of them with a wooden stick.”

Scout thought for a moment, then a shimmer of unholy delight came to their plastic eyes. “Me like it. ”

“That does sound cool,” Sam mused. “What do you guys think?”

Michael agreed that Swordplay did sound quite cool. In contrast to everyone else’s burgeoning excitement for mindlessly violent sports however, the reaction from the Miis was…quite a bit different. 

Eteled and Austin had looked fairly intrigued at the start of Scout’s crude but succinct description, but the further they went on their faces became more strained. Eteled wasn’t able to stop his full body flinch at the word “cut”, nor was Austin able to stop his eye twitch as his polygons made a sharp electronic jitter. Michael frowned.

Why are they so wound up after…

He jolted in memory, of a… certain conversation that happened shortly after that first day Michael had crashed in on the two’s… reunion . A long, awkward conversation almost on par with his own oversharing session that very helpfully replayed in his head with the image of a paralyzed Eteled and Austin before him in the present. He grimaced, hard .

Talking about chopping things in half before a guy who got chopped in half? And the guy who did the chopping? 

Uh oh.

Thankfully, Michael wasn’t the only one who picked up on the sudden tension, or their stunned silence. “Eteled, are you okay?” Sam asked with a puzzled frown. It was at her voice Eteled hastily composed himself, smiling although some of the happy gleam in his eyes was now dulled.

“Nothing! Just…maybe Swordplay isn’t the best pick…” Eteled said. Austin, on his part, didn’t try to force-correct his smaller companion though he averted his eyes to avoid having to say anything.

“Damn, thought that’d be cool,” Scout mumbled. They didn’t resist the Mii’s rejection though, backing the menu back to the main selection and letting the cursor drift idly with their wobbly grip as they navigated it about idly. “Alright, let's see…woah, you can fly a plane in this?”

“A plane? Do you mean…oh, Air Sports!” Austin exclaimed, perking up with more than a little bit of extra eagerness to move on from the earlier faux pas. “Now that’s much better sounding!”

“I’m down for that!” Sam agreed. “Everyone in agreement?”

“Aye!” Scout grinned, quickly navigating to the appropriate menu. “Okay, now we got some options. We got some skydiving, some dogfighting…why is a plane fight called a dog fight?”

“I can tell you later,” Louis said offhandedly.

“Okay sure, dogfighting and then…island flyover…bleh, it’s just taking pictures and junk. Boring.”

“But it would be something nice and relaxing! No high stakes,” Eteled pointed out, intrigued. 

“Bleh,” Scout grumbled. “I wanna do something cool, like the plane fighting! That has guns !”

Eteled didn’t look particularly enthused at that mention, though thankfully he didn’t have the same knee-jerk panic of before. He merely lightly grimaced. “Getting shot at doesn’t…sound very fun…”

Louis suddenly perked up. “Hey! What if we let Michael play the Island Flyover game? He hasn’t gotten to play anything, he’s just been watching!”

It was like dropping a bomb. At Louis’ suggestion, the Mii’s immediately shared a look of panic. Eteled gave a weak grin, and weakly said, “Uh, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind sitting this one out. He’s, uh, not the best with games.”

“Oh, yes definitely.”

“Absolutely.”

“Hey, you know I played before, and not that badly either!” Michael said, making a mock pout. 

“That was without the risk of us plummeting to the ground to our horrific deaths,” Eteled pointed out. “Well, not our deaths per say, but it won’t be pleasant .”

“Well, I feel bad just having Michael standing around with nothing to do!” Louis said. “If Michael wants to chip in he should! Do you?”
“I mean…I guess it wouldn’t hurt,” Michael said. He walked over, and with a smirk Sam handed him a remote.

“What’s that look for?” 

“Mm, nothing,” Sam said innocently. “Just don't go nosediving to the ground.”

“Come on, I’ve been getting better at this video game stuff,” Michael huffed. 

“ Only because you’ve had Eteled autocorrecting you literally every time you’ve picked up a remote,” Austin grunted, rolling his eyes. He smirked. “But, don’t let me hurt your ego.”

Michael squinted, then with his own evil little smile drawled, “Well then…do you want to be my co-captain then if you know so much about my skill?”

Almost immediately Austin blanched at his words, already pale polygons turning fluorescent white. The corrupted Mii spluttered, “Wh-wh- that is NOT what I was implying! Why would I want to-NO!”

He jabbed a finger at Eteled, and hollered, “Let Eteled do it, he was the one who suggested it!”

Said bald Mii suddenly looked far more nervous, but with somewhat more poise shook his head and gave a strained smile, only sweating buckets as he did. “Ah…no thank you. I’m..sure it’d be fine if you just used a different Mii for this.”

“Uh, no, you can go. You’re always the one to help him.”

“With bowling and non-contact sports. Not flying planes .”

“Well I’m not helping! I’ve seen how he plays, and I like to watch the chaos. Not be a part of the chaos!”

“Well, I don’t want to volunteer! I rather enjoy my streak of no injuries!”

“Someone has to make sure he doesn’t blow up the Wii! You saw what happened last time he tried the Bowling game, he nearly punched a hole in the TV! It’s your job to make sure he doesn’t burn the Wii to the ground!”

“Austin, you know that’s not how that works, and also when did that become my job?”

As the Mii’s bickered, Michael wondered if he should feel offended at their utmost refusal to deal with him. Sam was looking in between the two Miis and Michael, clearly struggling to figure out what her position should be, and Scout was just watching the fun with amusement. Louis was the one to cut into their argument.

“Hey, hey! How about you just settle this with rock paper scissors if you can’t decide?” 

A moment, then without a word the Miis turned their backs to the room and after a few tense minutes and some muffled curses, Austin turned about with a slouch and scowl to make Oscar the Grouch cry and Eteled with an oh so rare smug smirk of his own.

Austin grunted. “Well, at least it’s not anything competitive. Even for you, you couldn’t possibly mess up something as easy as this.”

“Ouch, you of little faith,” Michael grumbled as he navigated to the menu to avoid seeing the raspberry Austin blew at him.

Louis stood up and gave Michael a pat on the back and an encouraging smile. “I’m sure it’s fine! I mean, it’s just a Wii game, how bad could you possibly-”

(TEN MINUTES OF CRAPPIEST WII GAMEPLAY TO EVER GRACE THIS EARTH - SO TERRIBLE, IT HAD TO BE CENSORED FOR THE SAFETY OF YOUR SANITY - LATER)

“Austin…are you okay?”

Austin lay groaning on the menu floor, face planted onto the floor and showing zero signs of getting up. Eteled, kneeling beside the prone form of the taller Mii after dragging him through his own non-red portal to the menu, poked him with one ball-shaped hand. He looked up, still looking absolutely mortified.

“Don’t think he’d like me speaking for him very much, but I’m going to go on a limb and say he’s not,” Eteled dryly said.

All the physically present people were too busy staring at Michael to respond, jaws open wide enough to inhale flies. Sweatdropping, Michael dropped his Wii Remote to the floor and threw up his hands, feeling quite suddenly like someone who accidentally walked into a room holding a knife.

“Please, understand me when I say I didn’t mean to hurt him like that!” Michael sputtered. “I didn’t think it was possible to crash the plane!”

Sam was the first to break from her gobsmacked silence, and she hollered, “What did you think was going to happen? That the plane was just going to turn to rubber and bounce off the floor?”

“I don’t know! Kinda?!”

Louis and Scout were still gaping at the screen.

“I…legitimately didn’t think anyone could be that bad at a game.”

“...I now understand what failure looks like in its purest form,” Scout whispered in horrified awe.

“I didn’t even realize they could vomit.”

“It wasn’t that bad!” Michael protested, feeling that if he could blush his entire head would be redder than a tomato. “I only crashed a few times into the mountain!”

Sam gave him a flat stare. 

“...and flew the plane upside down half the time…”

She shook her head in disapproval.

“...and flew headfirst into the ocean,” Michael squeaked before bowing his head in defeat. “Okay yes, it was shit even for me.”

“Austin isn’t dead, is he?” Louis meekly asked. His voice hitched. “O-oh, lord, I didn’t think it could-”
“No no! He’s not dead!” Eteled hastily said. “It’s really, really difficult to actually kill anyone in the Wii without some code mangling! I would know that. He’s just tired…extremely tired…” 

Eteled glanced down a second later, and his eyes widened in hope. “Oh, he’s waking up!”

Austin groaned, stirring ever so slightly.

“You….”

“Austin?” After a quick startle at the rough glitchy voice cutting from the speakers, they all leaned forward as the corrupted Mii stirred ever so slightly, turning about to face the screen. Multiple comically large lumps covered his normally angular face, but he was able to open his eyes to give a squinty look at them.

“Michael…you…” Austin jittered, and all of his lumps disappeared in a blur of glitchy static so Austin could freely and loudly growl out, with every drop of venom in his body-

“...You fucking suck at this.”

That fact, Michael really couldn’t disagree with.

…

Of all things of the momentary peace, the one that gave Michael the most disquiet was whatever strange project Cora and Sam were working on. He had tentatively prodded Sam, and by extension Austin and Eteled for details, but the former usually changed the subject and the latter had shrugged in discomfort and said, quite simply, “I really don’t think it’d be a good idea for me to say anything.”

It was expected, but despite Michael’s lack of knowledge on what they were doing…

He couldn’t shake the trained gut feeling that it was something major , and that it wouldn’t make him happy to know the truth at all .

…

“What is wrong with these papers?!” Cora yelled.

“Yuh huh,” Sam nodded, eyes fixed on a cheerfully corporate webpage plastered with colorful pictures of the mascots.

“Like, what is with these documents? It’s all…all hocus pocus gobbeldy gook!” Cora ranted, aggressively slamming the sheath of papers with her hands as she paced about the office space.

“Elaborate,” Sam said distractedly, preoccupied with reading the admittedly bland blurb about safety and health in the About Us section. Her verbal prompt wasn’t really needed as Cora continued. Buddy, propped up on a spinning chair, was her only enraptured audience as for the fifth time since their big find Cora went off…for admittedly understandable reasons.

“First off, what was the big idea with the VR game? I know, the company already came out with the explanation that it was meant to be a ‘light-hearted’ riff on its old history, that’s what every single one of those articles you found said. But why all the secrecy? You’d think to get trust they’d be open with their game production but the way they treated it you’d think they were planning some massive government hack!” Cora growled. “What was with that incident where an ambulance was called to pick up a beta tester, and then that beta tester suddenly just ‘vanished’? Or the rumor that they were stealing from old restaurants and even from old stockholders for parts? What does that have to do with a VR game? Why put so much effort into taking down every small paper that even caught a whiff of these scandals besides PR?”

“I know, I showed you all that, still have no clarity,” Sam grumbled.

“And then, what’s with what’s actually in these papers? They’re clearly important if my dad and Drew went through all the effort of getting these, but I’ve gone through these over and over and I don’t get why any of these are important?” Cora grabbed the papers and shook them - thankfully these were not the original documents, but photocopies made before she stored the actual folder and files somewhere else. She glared at them as if they’d just killed her dog. 

“Why would an entertainment company need research on…on pseudoscience ?” Cora frowned, “Like, maybe I could get looking up ‘emotional spectrums’. You could stretch that as some sort of study on how to make their locations or something more appealing or to encourage people to spend more money or something else like that. But then this stuff ? ‘Psychic fragmentation’? ‘Residue Studies’? ‘ Extra-Anima Systems ’? It’s all…science fiction bullshit! ”

I’m science fiction! I don’t think I’m [TEXT CENSORED]. Buddy’s textbox blinked indignantly. 

Buddy’s lip-reading with the built-in laptop camera had been getting inexplicably better over the past two weeks, especially since the program had started working with Michael during the afternoons on what the program had simply referred to as a ‘surprise’, with an added winky face. As such Cora merely paused in her pacing to face the laptop and idly respond, “Not you Buddy. You’re good.”

Oh! Sorry. :-/

“I know,” Sam mumbled, clicking about the website but no longer really reading the text. She could feel her eyes glazing over after going through the infernally cheery, digital hellscape so many times, and she listlessly spun about to look at Cora giving eye-lasers to the horribly crumpled papers for some sort of change in scenery. Her flat expression softened when Cora’s own glare ceased, and the girl simply let the papers drift to the floor.

Buddy’s laptop cheeped. 

Cora…are you okay?

Cora heaved in a heavy breath. “I…I know there’s something there. There has to be, else my dad wouldn’t have just wasted all of his time looking for this stuff. Fazbear Entertainment is up to something, and these papers outline what it is…but we’re still missing so much. I…I don’t have enough to put the puzzle pieces together. And…” 

Cora slumped, and Sam’s throat tightened at the liquid shimmering in her reddened eyes.

“...and I still don’t have enough to figure out what they might have done to dad…”

Sam took that moment to stand, and in just a moment she had wrapped up Cora in a simple hug. They stood like that for a moment, Cora’s suddenly hard breathing slowly easing off until she wiped her eyes clear of their welling tears.

“...Thanks…”

“No problem,” Sam smiled as she let go, stepping back. She crossed her arms, and gave Cora a firm look. “Look, maybe we should take a break. You’ve been going over every last inch of that folder and your dad’s notebook every chance you’ve gotten, like literally every day of the week , maybe you just need a little bit of distance. Some time to clear your head so you can look at the stuff with a fresh eye, you know?”

“But I could be using that time to do something productive!” Cora protested. She glared at Sam with sudden venom. “I’m so close to something, I know it! And I’ve already been waiting for months for something to happen! I can’t stop, not now!”

“Okay, okay! It was just a suggestion!” Sam meeped, hands up in surrender.

After a moment Cora groaned, letting herself fall onto the floor with a petulant plop. She put her face in her hands.

“Ugh…I…sorry. I’m just…Sam, I know I can’t stop,” Cora mumbled. “I know I’m so, so close. Just…I just need some sort of push in the right direction. Something to just start tying things together!”

Hmm… A lagging circle appeared as Buddy pondered her question. Maybe…we could buy the VR game? See if there’s anything weird about it? You know, getting answers from the source like an easter egg hunt!

“Interesting idea…” Cora pondered, before grunting in frustration. “Only thing is I don’t have a VR set, and Sam doesn’t have one either! Wait..unless you do?”

Sam thought, then shook her head. “No. I have a Virtual Boy off of EBay but that, uh, is mostly just a collectors item rather than anything usable . There’s a good reason Nintendo doesn’t sell those anymore…”

Cora huffed, not looking particularly surprised. “And besides, we don’t have nearly enough money to buy the game anyways. Even online the price is ridiculous !”

“I could-”

“And no Sam, I’m not going to ask you to pay for it,” Cora held up a hand before Sam could make her proposal. “I don’t know how much allowance your parents give you for your…well, everything, but I don’t think they’d be happy with you spunking all of it on some game. And I’m no grifter.”

Technically Sam had a rather generous budget ever since her parents had trusted her to take care of herself during their business trips two years ago, and she’d figured out a while ago that they didn’t really care that much with what she did so long as she did good enough in school. But Sam wisely chose not to press the issue as Cora was already brainstorming again with Buddy.

Do they have some kind of restaurant or something? Maybe we could go on an expedition!

“No, the only physical restaurants are all abandoned or up for demo, and I don’t think we’d find anything on what they’re doing now . Maybe there’s some old history we could dig up …but I don’t really know what we’d even do with it or what we’d even find. It’d more than likely be a waste of time.”

Oh, um…hmmmm, maybe we can…find their headquarters?

“As tempting as it sounds I don’t think we’d get too far past their front desk. That, and the headquarters were all the way in a different city! We need some sort of idea of whatever projects they’re working on now, and some sort of link to the games…something where we can actually reach. ”

As Sam listened to Buddy’s puzzled pings and Cora’s increasingly frustrated responses, she straightened.

Wait a moment…

“I think I have an idea.”

“Huh?” 

Huh?

Both Buddy and Cora responded in surprise to Sam’s sudden confident voice breaking through their exchange. Sam grinned back.

“I didn’t think it was too useful at the time, since I was looking for information on history and about the VR game, but there was something on the website that has me thinking now,” Sam grinned. Quickly, she shuffled back to the open computer, and after scooping up Buddy’s laptop Cora hurried in behind Sam as she rapidly navigated through the Fazbear Incorporated website.

“You said you needed some way to get insight into what they’re doing right now, correct?” Sam said. “Well, maybe they don’t have a physical, permanent location to snoop about inside. But, what if I told you they may have a temporary one instead?”

“What are you getting at?” Cora frowned. 

Same here. I’m confused.

Sam just grinned even wider. “You know, this might just kill two birds with one stone. We get some insight on whatever Fazbear’s is doing and maybe, just maybe depending on how illegal you want to get, we can get a bit of sneaky snooping done. And you, me, and maybe everyone else if they’re feeling up to it, might actually be able to get some relaxation!”
“Seriously, what are you talking about?” Cora snapped, looking increasingly baffled. 

With a knowing look Sam pointed to the bright computer screen. 

“Just take a look. I think this might be what everyone needs…”

…

Yes, it had been a good few weeks.

And yet, despite how much Michael wished for it he should have expected for the peace to last for a short time.

It ended at the exact moment Sam slammed that printed Fazbear flier down on the kitchen table.

Chapter Text

A dark-eyed man read from a dog-eared book on the kitchen table, locked in intense concentration and silently pondering some equation buried within the pages. He had been sitting there for almost an hour now since he’d come from the bedroom dressed in a casual yet elegant purple shirt and tie with black starched pants and a pair of thick, fuzzy slippers. He didn’t have plans to go anywhere despite his exceedingly fine dress for a non-work day, focused entirely on his reading. He hadn’t touched his mug of coffee yet since he’d brewed it, and it had long gone cold and murky as treacle. There was toast in the toaster, yet it hadn’t been taken from the toaster even after it popped out with sunny DING!

The man was so focused on his reading, he hardly paid mind to the three heads peeking around the corner at him. 

The tallest of the three, albeit not by much as he sat right in between the bridging age from elementary schooler to middle schooler, looked down at his siblings with a pensive frown and dark blue eyes mirroring their father’s darting over the page. “Are you sure we should interrupt him now?”

The second and third heads swiveled to look up at him, a pair of lighter blue and shiny green eyes containing hesitation and mischief respectively. The third head and the sister, the shortest by a mere margin of two inches and covered in a mane of bright red hair that paired with her green eyes, pouted at him.

“Well, if we don’t interrupt him he’s going to be sitting there alllll afternoon, and we definitely won’t be able to do anything!” The sister said snippily, crossing her arms over the top of her pink blouse and fixing both of her brothers with an annoyed look.

The second was the next to interrupt, the younger brother whose voice was by far the most soft and whispery as he clutched his shoulders in his own personal hug. He looked naked in only a black t-shirt, lacking his usual omnipresent plush from the restaurant to squeeze tight to his chest, but under his sister’s impatience he miraculously managed to squeak, “Are you sure we can’t ask mom? I’m sure she’d be happy to pick up the phone…”

The first spoke again, the older brother of the two who sighed. “Evan, no. She’s still at Henry’s watching Charlie after Mrs. Emily’s….y-you know, that . L-Look, it’s not that bad right? We just go up and ask him, and if he says yes, great! If he says no, then whatever!”

Despite the bravado injected there was a faint tremor of dread in the older brother’s voice. Almost unanimously all three siblings peered around the corner to where their father sat, still wholly absorbed in his notes. He looked well-tempered enough, despite him not consuming as much of his breakfast as he should have, but the severe slant of his mouth and the steely glint of his dark blue had them gulp. They huddled back together, each attempting to gather their nerves and failing.

“...W-well, we aren’t going to get anything done if we just stand here drooling!” The sister managed, eyes flashing. A bit of her father’s accent bled through her not entirely natural facade of bravery, but seeing her so determined did make the two brother’s relax just so. She sucked in a breath, and stood up as primly and properly as she could. “I’m just going to go in there, with or without you, and spit it out! And you can’t stop me!”

Neither of her siblings decided to interfere as she marched into the kitchen right there and then, plodding across the hardwood in her soft socks. Reluctantly, the younger brother followed whilst clinging to the older one’s arm. The older simply letting him hold on like a superglue covered sloth as they followed, grunting slightly in irritation as he staggered with his younger brother’s dragging feet pulling him off balance but keeping any irritated protests buried inside himself as he fixated on their quarry. Still, their father did not notice their approach, not until the sister announced with a much more demure voice, “Daddy?”

“Hm?” Their father slightly shook his head, frowning in confusion before he turned to where the sister stood with her arms held out and together and one foot held toe first and twisting on the floor as she looked up at him. He gave a small smile, a dull expression that nonetheless had her perk up slightly as he replied lightly, “Oh, good morning Elizabeth. Is there something you need?”

“Nothing much Daddy,” The sister said modestly, giving a tiny smile and her best, most innocent pair of puppy eyes. “I was just thinking…could we do something today? Mom’s still at Henry’s, and there’s no school, and I was hoping we could spend some time together after, you know, last week…”

The father was well aware of when his children were working up to a question they clearly were nervous of asking, and so he gave a slightly softer smile to his daughter. “I understand. What were you thinking?”

Now was the big question, the dangerous question. There was quiet as the sister mustard up her courage. Then she sucked in a deep breath, and then almost too fast to hear she blurted, “Canwegotothecircusshowintown?”

There was silence after her outburst. The younger brother emerged only a little bit from his spot behind his big brother to slightly pat the shoulder of his sister as she panted, as exhausted from the single sentence as if she ran a marathon. The older brother was focused on the father though, as his face didn’t twist into his usual, slightly condescending and always disapproving frown but remained an almost worse poker face that betrayed nothing of his father’s thoughts. The father gave a soft sigh, turning in his chair to fully face his three children.

“Is this why you were hiding behind the wall for the past hour watching me? To ask me to go to that cheap little circus?”

All three blushed furiously at being called out, but the tension that had gripped them all finally released as their father laughed slightly. The cool glint of his eyes thawed ever so slightly for them to gleam with a spark of mischief. “You know you don’t have to tiptoe about to ask me about something this small, right? What, did you think I was just going to say no?”

“W-well,” the older brother started, looking off-kilter, “You usually don’t like us going to anywhere that isn’t the restaurant, so we thought-”

“That’s only because that’s the best place I can keep an eye on you,” The father chided him, making the brother look away with a flush on his face. “After that god-awful excuse of a babysitter, and your mother started helping with the business, I can’t just leave you by yourselves. We just don’t have much time to go elsewhere, and you know I dread what would happen if you were left alone…”

“So does that mean we can go?” the sister asked. 

“Yes, especially in light of last week’s funeral, we could use a bit of levity,” the father smiled. His expression turned stern for one moment, eyes flashing as he looked to each of his progeny. “But we can only go for a short time, and you must stay by me the whole way. I have quite a bit of work with Henry taking his ‘hiatus’, and some projects that I must complete before the franchise expansion.”

The three siblings' smiles buffered, but they were still happy that they were actually going enough to brush off the coolness of their father’s stern lecture. “Okay dad!”

“Just give me a moment to put this away, alright?” Their father pushed up out of the chair, where he towered over them with his notebook tucked under his arm. “And do try to dress in something nice. It wouldn’t do to be out in public looking unkept.”

“Yes father!” The three chorused, before with triumphant smiles they all fled to their rooms, eager to please if so they could go out to someplace new. The father watched them as they left, then softly huffed and followed after them. Rather than following them to their rooms, he went to the basement stairs and ushered himself down the darkened stairwell. As shadows overtook the light, his patient smile faded for a slant of irritation. 

He supposed it would be expected - the kids would get stir crazy staying in the house and in school after the funeral, and if he were to head out now then he’d have even less time to look into those antiques he’d gotten last week. He had precious little time at the best of moments to work on his personal projects, and with Henry clamming up and going to shrivel inside his house like a useless little worm William had almost no time most of the week to do anything but make sure Fredbear’s didn’t burn to the ground because of some idiot leaving the stove on or grubbing children drooling into the servos and locking up his precious Springbonnie and Fredbear. 

And as much as he adored his little spawn, oh how they could be brats! But his dear Elizabeth had asked so nicely, and Michael this time at least attempted to be polite although he again was asking stupid questions, a habit he still hadn’t broken. Evan, the skittish little thing he was, had been reluctant to speak as always, still staring at him like he had that other day from the top of the basement stairs after he’d gotten the gearbox of his newest acquisition open, but at least he hadn’t been making that face again.

At the bottom of the steps he surveyed his little shop, all moved in from the shed recently to protect the environment sensitive materials. Sitting disassembled on his bench lay the broken top of the grandfather clock, and he looked it over as he carefully filed his latest journal of notes on the shelf above the workbench. The faint sheen of the strange, black substance coating the innermost workings glowed slightly in the light that crept down the steps from upstairs, and he sighed. Despite his best efforts, and the culmination of all his previous observations, he still didn’t understand a lick of what it was or how it had anything to do with… back then . And this week certainly wasn’t helping facilitate any sort of breakthrough. But…

At the very least, perhaps some space and a bit of relaxation could reset his brain after poring through his charts of nonsensical electrical reading data, while also appeasing the children. Evan had been getting twitchier around the basement since he’d started his examination of the material, and if Elizabeth were kept in place much longer she would most certainly would reenact the dreaded cereal incident again . Michael had been behaving after his last… outburst , but it would also do to keep him entertained lest he lapse back into ditching his homework to play on that accursed Atari again.

Yes…William could make this interruption work out. After all, the Afton’s could always make a situation work in their favor, even if they seemed… pointless .

…

Michael looked at the paper on the kitchen table, then back up at Sam. He had been previously idly scanning his notebook, more filled with personal notes on the investigation and his attempts at deciphering his body’s blueprints, in some vain hope that he could perhaps jog out some idea on how to proceed on either front. It now lay forgotten, the contents hidden face-down on the wooden surface and in the frozen thoughts in his brain stalling at the colorful sheet smiling up at him with unnaturally pearly incisors. Sam grinned back widely, beaming as though she’d just found the holy grail or a stack of secret never-released Nintendo games squirreled away in a vault. His gut dropped as he took a closer look at the deceptively cheery flier laid before him, and if he hadn’t already had practice his face would have been locked into a grimace to make the animatronic’s own rictus smiles look natural. 

“...uh, what’s this?” Michael asked, unable to wholly keep out the edge that entered his voice. He hadn’t read the flier yet, but only a glance was needed for him to see the giant leering bear smile looking right up at him. He’d barely skimmed it before an involuntary scowl formed on his face, and he couldn’t stop the hint of accusation that lingered in his voice.

Sam for her part was smiling perfectly innocently, looking as though she had not just slammed the worst possible blast from the past in front of him. 

“It’s a flier for a circus in town! I was thinking about things to do since the past week since the summer suddenly went so slow, and then I saw this!” Sam chirped. “It looked like fun, so I figured I’d ask you too!”

Michael looked up at her. He looked down at the flier, and despite his twitchiness did actually read the text printed on the side in colorful white and red font. He looked back up at Sam. His scowl flattened into a flat expression, and then humor as his mouth quirked up in a smirk as he forced his heart to settle. “...Are you just asking me because it won’t let in anyone below twenty without an adult?”

The embarrassed flush that tinged Sam’s face was all the answer Michael needed. “It's weirdly specific for no good reason, and both me and Cora agreed that we couldn’t pass ourselves off as older than like sixteen at best …” Sam mumbled. 

Michael raised an eyebrow at the sheepish teen. “I didn’t know you were even interested in carnivals. Aren’t you still busy helping Cora with her project? Also, didn’t you mention that you never wanted to see another circus tent after that one clown birthday your parents organized?”

“Well…okay, fair point on both fronts, although really, nothing can match the horror of Bongo the Clown, ” Sam said, muttering the last part with extreme venom. “I just thought…we’ve really not done too much, and it’s been a while since we got to do something just…normal.”

Michael’s expression softened at Sam’s mournful expression, her hands squeezing together anxiously as she spoke. He sighed. “I…get that. I feel the same way too.,” He gave a sideways glance at that infernal smiling bear and couldn’t stop himself from scowling again. “I’m just surprised you’ve picked this. I’ve been looking up things about Fazbear’s and…heard some ugly sounding rumors.”

He didn’t miss the flicker of a puzzled frown on her face, but Sam simply nodded and replied, “I know what you’re talking about! I’ve seen those rumors too, but I’ve looked up the company a bit more and that’s mostly associated with the older version, however that works. I know it’s probably some good old corporate fancy talking and painting, but it is supposed to be a completely new company that just bought the company property and IPs and polished it up for a new audience.”

Michael was well aware of this “polishing”, but he hadn’t lived for decades just to let his guard down around anything Fazbears, and especially with so many old Fazbear’s items still clinging to the present like leeches - moldering rabbits notwithstanding. He didn’t say that though, and gave a plain smile.

“I don’t know, it just seems-”

“Hey Sam! I found them!” Michael’s protest was interrupted as Cora came down the stairs, followed behind by a hesitantly smiling but nervous Louis and Scout, the latter hugging onto the shoulder of the latter and suspiciously eyeing the strangely smug-looking girl. 

“Hey Sam, figured I’d bring Louis and Scout down here for the conversation,” Cora said casually, checking her nails calmly as she strolled up and took a seat at the table. She looked over to the other girl with a calculating gleam in her eye. “Did you ask Michael?”

“Yeah! Did you tell Louis?” Sam asked back.

“Tell me what? Cora just asked us to come down…is it something important?” Louis asked nervously, pulling out his own chair to sit down.

“Yeah, why are you so hush hush anyways?” Scout sniped at the girl. “What are you hiding?”

Sam took up the slack, and still standing with her arms crossed (and a knowing look briefly shared between her and Cora) she said, “Nothing! I just found a cool little circus event that I thought could be a good opportunity to just hang out! Here, check it out!”

Louis and Scout leaned over to read the flier as Sam slid it over the table, and for a few moments they were quiet. After a beat he looked up with a curious gleam in his eye. 

“Huh, this looks interesting,” Louis said. “Kinda freakin’ expensive, but I admit I’m intrigued by the whole ‘next-gen entertainment technology’.”

“Fuck that, I want to know what the hell Fazfood is!” Scout exclaimed, squinting at the bear as though they expected it to blink. “What makes it so different from normal food?”

“Well, we can find out since today it’s open!” Sam smiled. “Well, technically it’s already been open for like two days and this is the third day, so it’s like halfway through its opening time but still! That means even if we didn’t book tickets ahead of time we can still get tickets there at the fair, and any lines will probably be less bonkers than the first day!”

“Huh,” Louis mused. His fingers tapped hesitantly on the table, pondering the question carefully. However, his own musings were interrupted by an excited Scout grinning and holding up the poster. 

“I don’t know what the fuck half of these things are, but this looks kinda fucking cool!” Scout crammed the poster in Louis’ face, bouncing in place on their shoulder perch with a bright smile on their muppety face. “Louis, can we go? This shit looks more fun than just staying at home again!”

“Going out? With… people ?” Louis gingerly pushed down the flier in his face with one hand, considerably more cautious as he replied, “I don’t know Scout. I’ve been to a couple of fairs, and they can get pretty messy…and gross depending on the weather and hygiene standards. And there’s a lot of people always walking around…Are you sure that the risk to you is worth it?” That last thought made his face darken ever so slightly.

“Aw, c’mon! I’ve never been to a fair, and this one sounds cool!” Scout protested. As Louis face twisted even more, Scout huffed. “I get there’s going to be a bunch of people walking around, including possibly those fuckers you’re apparently related to, but then again this entire town is crawling with people whenever we go out with Michael! I just gotta stay in the duffle until the right time, and I’ll be fucking hunky dory!”

Louis didn’t look convinced. “I just feel like there’s something…safer to do than this. And if we do run into my family again they might…” He trailed off, unwilling to fill in the blank.

Scout’s expression flickered, and they sighed. “I know, I know…but you can’t tell me that you’re just a little bit tired of just staying in Michael’s and Sam’s all the time. Sure, we get to go to the grocery and to those weird abandoned buildings too, but after one dusty old brick block you’ve seen them all. It’d just be kinda cool to do something different, wouldn’t it?”

Louis bit the inside of his cheek. “True. But I just…worry…”

That was when Sam piped back up, a reassuring smile on her face. “Hey! If you want to come, me and Cora could help with making sure nobody spots Scout! I do know a thing or two about keeping secrets, you know, and the art of misdirection .” Sam made a series of wavy, mysterious hand gestures with an absolutely goofy expression that made Michael guffaw even as his nerves continued to fire Oh shit oh fuck why am I letting this conversation happen. 

Scout snorted. “You and the art of misdirection? That’s rich coming from the same person who gets ejected every time they have to play impostor in Among Us.”

“That’s because I don’t like murder! I always feel guilty!” Sam protested, crossing her arms. “And that’s not the point! This is with strangers, I have no problems with deceiving strangers.”

“That is nice of you! I guess it would be nice, to have you as backup,” Louis smiled back at Sam with relief, relaxing with the encouraging thumbs up the girl shot him. The sight warmed Michael’s heart a little bit. Yes, Louis had definitely gotten a bit misanthropic over the past few weeks which most definitely had Michael worrying. It was nice at least that Sam, the beam of deranged sunshine she could be, had wormed his way into his heart and Scout’s as both relaxed at Sam’s assent.

Yet, that spot of optimism was undercut as Louis shot a wary glance at Cora, who stared at the pair cooly. At most Michael remembered the older teen and Scout sharing a maximum of two conversations over the past few weeks with the gray eyed girl, and the awkwardness built up between them showed as Louis wriggled uncomfortably under her unwavering watch. Louis finally stammered out, “I uh…are you cool with this? The whole…watching thing?”

Cora didn’t respond right away, giving Louis and Scout each a cool stare before meeting Sam’s firm glare. The latter folded her arms, raising an eyebrow and inclining her head in a ‘go ahead’ gesture. Once more to Michael’s surprise, Cora’s coldness actually faltered under the other girl’s gaze, and her face twisted with just a hint of guilt. She sighed and turned back to the college kid and puppet duo, who looked at her in puzzlement as she spoke with a softer tone. 

“I…will admit I haven’t been the most…cozy with you two, and we haven’t talked very much. But I know what it’s like to have someone you can’t talk about with other people…” She gave a meaningful glance upstairs as she said that, and no one needed her to elaborate on who exactly she was referring to as she continued, “So yes, I’d be willing to help Sam with making sure Scout doesn’t get found out if you two want to go. And also…to, well…hand out.”

Louis blinked, clearly taken aback by Cora’s forwardness even if she didn’t sound wholly convinced by her own words, then said, “Oh! Uh, that’s…cool I guess. Um…”

“Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?” Scout abruptly chimed. Although they still had pep in their posture, flier held protectively to their chest, the hand puppet still eyed the gray-eyed girl as suspiciously as they always did. “I get Sam asking, but you? I thought you were just into…lurking around and burning holes into everyone’s head with your eyeballs.”

Cora’s eyelid twitched. “I don’t…I don’t lurk .”

Michael had to suppress his urge to guffaw at that.

Oh, I’d beg to differ.

“Yes, you do,” Scout said dryly, unconsciously echoing Michael’s thoughts. “I can practically smell you wanting to interrogate us like you did with Michael. And if you’re just going with Sam’s idea just to get an excuse to do that…well, don’t blame me for not exactly trusting you off the bat, alright?”

Cora’s expression soured at Scout’s callous remarks, but she took in a breath and said in a decidedly more acrid tone, “I’m just trying to be nice . Is that so hard to believe?”

Sam hastily stepped roughly in between Louis and Cora’s seats, planting her hands on the table with a loud thump. “Woah, hey! No fighting! We’re both trying to be nice and understanding on both sides, not pissing each other off! It is not necessary.”

Louis pulled Scout out of the line of Cora’s furious glare, shrinking up as Sam stood as a barrier between him and Cora. “A-agreed! Let’s just…it’s not a big deal, right? I mean…o-oh!”

In a move that Michael suspected was coming but still made his heart skip a beat, Louis turned to him with a pleading and hopeful look. “Michael, can you come?” 

Louis pressed onward, giving puppy eyes with more than just a little pleading in them as he eyed Scout glaring and Cora in a bid to see who could out-suspect the other. “I mean, I know you probably have things to do, but it’d be cool to hang out more and have you watching out for us. I mean, I’ve been to a carnival before when I was younger, but this is going to be Scout’s first time, and…you know, it’s nice to have you watching out for them…”

As Louis looked at him, Cora and Sam shared yet another look (What was going on with those two today?), and Michael felt himself stall. “...W-well…you did say it might be risky with so many people…”

“I mean, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to…I mean, I am over the age limit and I might have to check my account but I think I could pay and let Sam and Cora in too!” Louis added hastily, but continued rubbing his arm, “I mean…maybe it’s just me being an extra big sap, but Scout is kinda right. It would be nice to actually have a fun hang out session like we keep saying we want to do. I don’t want to make you pay, you’ve already done enough of that for me, so it could be my treat for everyone this time.”

It was very, very obvious that the main reason Louis wanted Michael besides getting to actually do something fun was for protection - protection against other people, and to protect against Cora and her prying. In all honesty, Michael didn’t blame him. That girl still terrified him, and considering that it had only been a few weeks since that incident. Louis was most definitely still terrified of being around strangers, something that could be easily concluded by the fact that he only went out if Michael was going out to the grocery or for his jobs for Lucille. Michael was still loath to leave them alone, and staring into those hopeful eyes he could feel the icy walls he had constructed to ward off Sam begin to melt under their hope.

I mean…Louis knows to handle himself and Scout, and the girls are looking out for each other. 

I know I don’t want to go, but it probably wouldn’t hurt if they…

What…no! What am I thinking? Why am I letting this develop?

This is not a good idea in any regard!

Just nip it in the bud, and deal with the disappointment!

Michael opened his mouth to say something, maybe something to just very gently dissuade the older teen that they really didn’t have to go. But seeing the quiet hopefulness that Louis had in his eyes, and Scout shedding their wary glaring at Cora to make puppy eyes made Michael’s throat shrink.

“Oh. Um…”

“Yeah?” Sam leaned forward eagerly. Michael could feel his stupid introverted self shriveling under the expectant gazes of all three teens plus puppet, eyes expectant and full of anticipation. His mouth opened and closed, and right before the elongated response time reached the painfully awkward say something phase something clicked.

Fuck, buy time!

He gave the eagerly waiting teens a tentative but forced smile. “Let me just…check my budget.”

Michael in fact did not have a budget - his salary from Lucille was ridiculously generous for a job that wasn’t working every night in a glorified death trap give or take the few absolutely horrendous days, and he hadn’t bothered to make his rather fat wallet much of a secret to any of the teens. The small eyebrow raise Sam gave him was clearly begging the question, but before anyone could poke any holes in his alibi Michael stood up fast enough to shove the kitchen chair into the wall. Somehow, his sputtering and smoking brain remembered to hastily snatch his notebook off the table before he fled to the living room. It was only once he was out of eyesight that he let his facade of composure evaporate, and he clutched his head in his hands and mumbled several very choice, rude words under his breath that hopefully nobody heard.

“Shit. Shitshitshitshit dammit FUCK ! What am I supposed to say ?”

In all fairness, Michael supposed he could just say no, and be done with it. In all honesty, it would be the right thing to do. He wasn’t sure what the new Fazbear’s may or may not be doing with whatever this “tech-show”...carnival…thingy was, but all his senses screamed NO! to even letting Sam step one foot near this carnival…

No, scratch that. Forbid any of them from going within one mile of any Fazbear’s location!

But how could he tell her that under no circumstances should she ever go to Fazbears? Sam wasn’t the sort of person who could just take things at face value as experience advised him, and this was definitely the sort of claim that would warrant some form of evidence. Evidence that Michael technically did have…but would open a whole new can of worms that he was still trying to keep closed for very good reasons. So he’d need something else to convince them…but Michael for his unlife couldn’t think of anything. 

Did she…do any of them even know what Fazbears was?  

He thought back for a moment. Michael was fairly certain that Fazbears never managed to branch out of the country, and definitely never wormed its way into Canada despite William’s attempts to do so when he was in the business for money instead of homicide. Most of the restaurants either opened in the southwest US, nowhere near where Louis grew up in Pennsylvania. Michael was less sure of Cora, but if she was in about the same grade as Sam she either would have only gone to a location very early on, gone to the trap pizzeria (which Michael was sure he’d remember as both the manager and one of the only other damn employees in there), or only had the admittedly unreliable stories passed around Hurricane to go off of. Rumors were nothing to the real truth behind it all though, and in Michael’s experience rumors were either ignored or encouraged people to test the veracity of those rumors.

Michael was sure that he couldn’t just step back in there and proclaim, “Oh yeah, we really can’t go because there’s an astonishingly good chance that the animatronics might horrifically kill us! Or there’s a tiny chance a fucked up zombie in a rabbit costume who also wants to kill us will be there! We really can’t confirm since the company restarted and I have no fucking clue if they are competent or deranged money-grubbing assholes, but you can never be too safe!” He couldn’t imagine how well that sort of announcement would go over, especially with Cora in the room.

And…who’s to say that there even is anything? 

Fuck , it’s already probably suspicious that I’m so iffy about going in the first place! In theory, I should hardly be acting as weird as I am now!

Damn, what to do, what to do?

Michael agonized over his decision for what felt like eternity but, upon glancing at the clock on his phone, was really only three minutes or so. As he paced back and forth, he oscillated in between the obvious correct choice, and then the more nuanced realizations of how badly the answer could backfire, then back again when reflecting upon the obvious fact that anything Fazbear’s related was bound to be screwed up somehow . Finally, he ground his heels into the hardwood and shut his eyes.

Just…breathe. Breathe for a moment.

Am I just overthinking this? 

…

Fuck, I might be overthinking this.

Michael slumped against a wall, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The rush of noise in his head slowed, the sensation of being suspended in a bad dream fading as he forced himself to stop. 

Sam has a point. It’s..been forever since I’ve been able to do anything special with her since I took in Louis. And I owe it to her to do something. To say no would just be an asshole move…

His heart clenched as the image of Sam’s sunny smile, Cora’s cool but gentle camaraderie with Sam veiled behind her standoffishness, the excited beaming of Scout paired with the nervous yet glowing optimism of Louis each flashed into his mind’s eye. A smile flickered onto his face. 

Michael…supposed he could be overreacting about Fazbears and this fair. After all, the company hadn’t actually done much in the past few months. Perhaps they’d cooked up some questionable video games (which he still had very strong opinions of, to put it into polite language)... but they hadn’t done anything blatantly shitty yet. And who was he to be throwing accusations out when he barely knew anything beyond his skimming of the internet and their corporate propaganda?

…And I can’t just spend the entire time banging my head against a wall when Springtrap won’t show his ugly mug in the first fucking place.

That little fact did sour his mood, but a beat later he suddenly jolted with a light of inspiration.

Wait…

Maybe…maybe he could kill two birds with one stone. What if he could spend time with Sam and the kids, ensuring they had a safe and good time in whatever cracked fair Fazbears had cooked up…and do some snooping into what this new version of Fazbear’s was like?

Michael’s jaw dropped in realization, and he could have sworn his eyes lit up like a cartoon idea bulb as he gasped.

Oh…oh, now that could be worth it!

Saying no? If he knew anything about Sam, it was that when she had her heart set on doing something she would absolutely do it, regardless of what you tried to do to stop her. Especially since Louis looked ready to get on board with this whole scheme, she would absolutely be able to get in on the fair regardless of if Michael said “No!”, and that would be a shitshow of epic proportions. 

But saying yes? Not only would he be able to keep an eye on her, but Michael could actually survey this new Fazbears, see if they were worth digging into more and seeing what remnants of the old company might remain. Maybe, maybe even get a new lead on where Springtrap was! 

That thought made Michael cackle a bit in murderous excitement. True, a carnival wasn’t a restaurant location, but if somehow the grubbing fingers of that rotting rabbit didn’t try grasping for his corrupted child of a company in some form Michael would eat his hair. After all, the asshole had waltzed straight into the trap pizzeria at the mere possibility of getting to rip apart some children even with every single red flag even a blind dog would have seen.

Michael sucked in a breath, then grinned.

Yeah…yeah! 

You know what? 

I can work with this.

When Michael walked back into the kitchen Sam was nervously wringing her hands, slightly chewing on the inside of her cheek and watching the living room entrance while Cora boredly looked off into the distance and Louis fussed with the hem of Scout’s shirt whilst edging ever so slightly out of Cora’s line of view. Upon catching sight of the broad grin on Michael’s face, she lit up.

“I thought about it Sam,” Michael said. Louis, Scout, and Cora looked over, breath bated as Sam watched with knowing eyes. “...I have decided that…yes. My stupidly large stacks of cash can afford the front gate.”

“YEEEEEES!” Sam’s cheer was most definitely the most enthusiastic, with Cora giving a more tuned down but soft cheer and Scout doing a little dance on Louis arm that had the teen smiling wide at his companions enthusiastic fist bumps. With speed and skill that would make a gymnast jealous, Sam darted around the table and collided with Michael in a mighty hug. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou thank you so much Mike!”

“Yeah yeah, I’m willing to give this circus the benefit of the doubt,” Michael said, patting the top of her head. He did say more sternly, gently prying Sam off his chest as he did, “But I don’t want any of you wandering off by yourselves if we’re going. When we get in, we stay together as one group. If one of us has to go somewhere let us know, whether it be for the bathroom or somewhere else. Reformed company or safety standards or not, I don’t want to see anyone messing around. Capiche?”

Cora’s face wrinkled somewhat, but even as she said in a protesting, irritated voice, “We’re not that young, we can handle ourselves,” Sam simultaneously said, “Can do!”

The two looked at eachother, Cora with confusion and Sam with a twinkle of confidence in her eyes. Michael slightly huffed - clearly, the teenage phase was hitting harder for one than the other - and looked over to Louis. For his part, the young adult just shrugged. 

“Sounds fair.” If Michael wasn’t mistaken, he looked somehow more relieved at the thought of having Michael watching over him. That thought made something in his chest simultaneously warm up yet clench.

“So long as we all agree to my conditions, I’m free to go whenever you’re ready,” Michael continued. “What time did that flier say the fair goes to?”

Sam quickly whipped the flier up from the kitchen table, and after a glance replied, “It actually started a little bit earlier today, but it’s going to be going all the way to nine! If the lines aren’t too long, we can go in like half an hour and get to the fairgrounds in the park right about at twelve!”

“I, uh, don’t have too much to pack so I’m fine going now,” Louis shrugged. 

“Same here,” Cora echoed, her momentary irritation with Sam dissipating for keenly eyeing Michael.

Sam herself held up a hand. “I do have to get something together…but I got everything upstairs. Just give me a moment, though, it’s very important and very worth it! Cora, could you give me your phone for a second?”

“Uh, okay, why-?” Even as Cora gingerly took a beat up smartphone, she hardly got to finish her sentence before Sam had plucked it from her grasp and flew up the stairs. All the kitchen occupants stared after her in befuddlement, and their confusion only intensified when a cacophony of thumps, beeping, tape ripping, and mumbles of, “There!” and “Ouch!”.

A few minutes later Sam came hopping down the stairs, and with wide arms exclaimed, “Behold! The new and improved WiiPorter 2.0! Now with Switch compatibility!”

Wrapped around the front of a t-shirt with a new hoodie hanging off of her arm, a cut up switch case was secured around Sam’s midsection with duct tape and velcro straps with two straps going over her shoulders like a baby carrier. One strap had a Joycon held on top of it by her right shoulder by a tight piece of velcro, and the other held in place a cord that led down to the box on her front. A power cord led out from a small hole cut out, leading around to curl up in an improvised loop and held in place with a velcro strap glued on top of the larger buckle. Framed by the cut out section of the plastic and fabric switch case, but protected with a clear panel of plastic amateurishly attached to the inside case with faint drippings of hot glue whorling on its surface, the screen of her Switch faced out with the familiar backdrop of the Wii channel and two dazed looking Miis.

Blinking away his dizziness, Eteled looked up and weakly waved at the table with a friendly, if baffled smile. “So, uh, guess we’re doing this again.”

Louis’ and Scout’s mouths dropped open wide enough to let a whole swarm of flies buzz inside. “Holy. Crap . You’re bringing the Wii guys?”

“It’s way past time I got to take them anywhere, and what better way to debut my new and improved design?” Sam grinned madly and proudly, and with much ado began to point at all the little parts of the glued together contraption. “First edition was stupidly heavy and needed way too many batteries. But, after some research and some testing, I figured out that Nintendo stuff seems to last longer with the Wii’s SD card than non-Nintendo stuff, for some reason! This time, I only need one portable battery which can be conveniently inserted and plugged in with this built-in pocket to hold it in place! Instead of a giant backpack to hold all of it, now the switch is held in one of my extra carrying cases, modified so they can see out without risking the hardware! They can technically see through the screen, but to be less conspicuous I also have them peeping through the little cameras on the Switch Joycons which I have stuck here, which we got to work after way too much time! Compared to 1.0, it’s all lighter, more efficient, and much much better looking! Best of all…no more stupidly big backpack full of portable batteries!”

“How long did you spend on this?” Michael whistled as Sam twirled about, showing off the amateur yet solid handiwork.

“Pretty much started after that trip to the haunted house,” Sam said casually. “I had to do a lot of brainstorming, and I really didn’t get much time to work on it recently with all the things that just happened one after the other, but it was the past two weeks that I finally got to put together the physical carrier. Sure, my fingers may or may not have been scarred by that hot glue gun, and I may have destroyed multiple hoodies, but it was all worth it!”

Sam pulled it out, and held out a gray hoodie that looked exactly like fifty percent of her closet. It took a moment of squinting, but Michael was able to catch sight of a small piece of plastic glimmering right about where the Joycon would peek out. Sam sighed and twirled it around.

“Yup! Wasn’t a problem at all! …Give or take the pile of shredded hoodies in the back of the closet.”

…Michael was only slightly sure that he saw a single tear drip from Sam’s eye at that last sentence.

After a moment of shocked silence, Cora snapped out of her funk to say with sincere respect, “Okay, that is impressive. You did this all in your house?”

“Yeah! There’s a whole bunch of crafts stuff in the garage left over from when my dad tried to DIY a bunch of furniture that my mom had to shelve after he nearly set the house on fire, so I just used that!” Sam then grinned. “I got something for you too Cora!”

The gray-eyed girl blinked. “Huh?”

Sam reached behind her and tugged off a backpack from her back that had gone ignored in favor of the more immediately obvious Switch carrier pack. The purpose of the backpack was less immediately obvious, looking mostly normal aside from Cora’s phone now being tucked into a amateurishly yet securely sewn on pocket on one of the front straps with the camera facing out, with a cord trailing into a small holed cut into the side and a pair of earbuds tucked under a piece of fabric on the strap. Cautiously, Cora stepped up and forward to take the backpack from an eager Sam. She hefted it, the pack hanging heavily down and she frowned in puzzlement.

“Try looking at your phone screen,” Sam whispered not very covertly.

Cora raised an eyebrow but complied, carefully lifting up the phone. The pocket clung tightly but gave after a firm tug or two, and she held the pack up with one hand on the non-modified strap as the other held up the phone with cords trailing down. Looking over her shoulder, Michael glimpsed a dark home screen staring back, with the time and date and other small icons that Michael knew were usually on phones nowadays looking…different from what he remembered. 

Cora gasped when the screen blinked white, a familiar text box showing up squashed but blinking a happy yellow regardless.

Hello, hello? Testing testing! Can you read me?

“Oh my god… Buddy ?”

Oh, there’s a camera on this side too! Oh wow, having two cameras on two sides is so cool! Hi Cora! What do you think?

The girl was speechless, frozen in place. After a long moment Cora managed to fumble out words as she stared transfixed at her phone screen and Buddy’s message.

“I…I…what…”

Cora composed herself to squeeze out an actual sentence, tearing her eyes from the phone to gape instead at Sam. “Is this why you had me leave Buddy in your room this morning?”

“Yeah!” Sam smiled proudly. “I mean, it’s not as elaborate, but since I’m not sure if Buddy can do the same electronic gymnastics as my Mii boys I figured it wouldn’t hurt. Buddy was the one who figured out that he really just needed a bluetooth connection to get on your phone, so I didn’t have to mangle the backpack nearly as much. It took forever to get the cords to not get stuck…”

“I…I don’t know what to…” Cora shook her head and gave a soft laugh. “You really know how to surprise me Sam. Thank you.”

“Hey, no problem!” Sam beamed. “I mean, we’ve spent so long together in my house, but we’ve never actually gotten to hang out all as a group! Now, everyone can get involved! It’s a win-win situation!”

“Okay, I was mostly going to go to see whatever the heck a carnival is, even if it was with Cora , but now Michael and the Mii guys are coming? Now this is an outing!” Scout cheered. Thankfully for the hand puppet, Cora was too busy smiling down at her phone screen where Buddy beeped at her to strangle them. At least for the moment, no one felt like scolding the hand puppet for being rude.

Michael did grimace to himself as everyone else, happily chatting with each other in their pre-established pairings quickly made off to throw together their things and they turned their backs to head off. His gut still curdled at the thought of willingly going to Fazbears, new reputation be damned, but something else was niggling at him. It took him a moment to put a finger on what it was, but when it did his face froze.

Had he…seriously let himself get sibling/guilt baited into taking these guys to the carnival? And then sibling baited himself ?

…Oh god I thought I grew out of that after Elizabeth.

With only a gusto that he reserved for when he knew he had absolutely fucked up but  could not back out of, Michael slammed his face on the table and groaned.

What have I done now?

Chapter Text

Michael wasn’t sure what he had been expecting from a Fazbear brand “tech show and circus extravaganza”. Half of him was braced for a sad, gross big tent sagging down over a pitifully small array of other tents, with dirty stands and animatronics crawling about like metallic zombies aggressively screaming for hapless customers to buy merchandise. After all, of all the things he knew Fazbear Entertainment for, their main focus was on spectacle and money; quality control and safety was not among their priorities.

Fortunately (or unfortunately) he was begrudgingly impressed as he, following behind a unfairly excited gaggle of excited teens plus puppet and digital entities now hidden in their respective carrying cases/bags. A sunny summer sky hovered over the mostly hidden but still bright and clearly bustling showgrounds that looked like it’d been pulled out of an idyllic image. Bright red-and-white striped tents poked against the sky like a small city, flying Fazbear branded banners emblazoned with the proud visage of the big bear himself that teased the contents of the fair. 

These grounds themselves, located just off-center of old Hurricane, were ones he vaguely remembered mostly from a traveling circus that used to come by regularly. Although Michael had not gone often as per William’s no-non-Fazbear entertainment he’d imposed and viciously implemented, he had managed to sneak in a few times under the guise of study sessions with his friends, while they had still been friends before the incident . It had not been a particularly large, or very well run carnival, but for all its shaky coaster rides and dead eyed employees Michael remembered it had been fun. Young Michael and co had been willing to buy into the wavering glamor of the park despite its dents and dings, binging rides and indulging in funnel cakes and popcorn and cotton candy until they were ready to puke. From a realistic standpoint too, it had been a solid enough attraction when it came by in a town who suffered from the small-town syndrome of having barely anything to do… at least until the incident, and the disappearances. 

Of course most of the wrath of properly paranoid parents and the police force was rightfully directed at Fazbears, but the streets had gone empty for quite a while. An aura of mistrust had permeated the streets of Hurricane for years, one that had only begun to lift by the time an older, more broken yet somehow living Michael had begun descending down an elevator in a seemingly abandoned Afton residence. Anything that was directed to entertaining kids had suffered during that time, including that traveling show. It had been years, but if Michael’s memory still served well enough it had only taken two years for thin, slimming crowds to have the show pick up its portable rides and tents and leave for greener grounds, literally and figuratively. He’d passed it more often in the later years in its empty state, no one willing or monetarily blessed enough to do anything with the old fairgrounds and at most serving as an unofficial public park.

But now, the grass of the oft-empty space was now trampled by dozens of feet of those who’d come before the afternoon, dusty patches lined with footprints and impaled with metal poles supporting a chain link wall, the cold metal covered up by bright red wooden boards around the campgrounds to maintain its appearance of friendliness. The rich scents of popcorn, sugar, and of course pizza wafted through the air, a guaranteed mixture of nostalgia.

If it weren’t for the plastered mascots all over the place, Michael could have fooled himself into thinking this was someplace completely different. He almost, almost could have let himself fall into the saccharinely sweet facade.

“Y’know, this is pretty nice from such a sketchy company,” Sam innocently mirrored Michael’s own thoughts, hands tucked in her pockets as she glanced about. “Lots of people too. Guess enough people are curious enough even with the reputation…”

“I mean, people know carnivals are overpriced as heck but it doesn’t stop people from buying,” Louis pointed out, looking nervously at the chattering clumps of people around them tapping their feet and scrolling on their phones as they waited, huddled close behind Michael as they moved forward. “But yeah, this is a lot of people…” 

Sam nodded in agreement, though the conversation died as both parties were more engrossed in simply absorbing the hubbub. Even with the subtle lump that was the Switch under her hoodie that most certainly had to be making the inside of her clothes a sauna, any of Sam’s usual discomfort out in the Hurricane summer day was negated by the excitement radiating from her as they shuffled forward in a surprisingly long line of hopeful patrons. She had her head slightly tilted toward the ear with an earbud in it, listening to something the Miis were saying before smiling wider and walking forward with more pep in her step. 

Scout nearly matched Sam’s levels of excitement, their wriggling in the duffle bag securely wrapped around Louis shoulder the fastest Michael had ever seen as the hand puppet peeped about like a mole on a sugar rush. Any of their usual hesitation regarding other people seemed to vanish in favor of pure anticipation, making their yellow eyes glow with excitement as they peered around. All their activity was making the bag wriggle like a drunken worm, making Louis flush and chuckle as he tried (emphasis on tried ) to nervously cover up the movement of the bag from any wandering eyes. 

Cora for her part was the most placid, staring right ahead with her usual intensity while also glancing at her phone and innocuously panning it around to film their surroundings. To anyone looking, it may have just looked as though she was taking pictures or doing something Sam had called “vlogging”, but if the rapid beeps barely audible from the one loose earbud dangling down her front in a mirror of Sam’s setup were any indication Buddy was very clearly buzzing with joy at seeing so many new things. 

Michael himself was rigid and stiff as he walked forward. Since they’d left the house the pit of ill portent he’d almost convinced himself to ignore was slowly but steadily frothing more. He’d managed to conceal it from the kids, since they were busy soaking up their surroundings, but all he could do was stare forward, watching the deep red facade loom closer and closer with each ticket buyer passing through the fence before them past into the concealed fair beyond.

To the teens’ excitement (and Michael’s displeasure), most people appeared to have purchased tickets beforehand and the wait in the inevitable entrance line wasn’t nearly so long as expected. That wasn’t to say the line for “Walk-Ins”, as the wooden signs by the parking lot had proclaimed, wasn’t long. Yet, if Michael was keeping time correctly it only took ten minutes of slowly inching up a winding line of bouncing kids and parents, phone-scrolling teens, and slowly-pooling dread that he drew abreast to the ticket box.

It along with five other ticket booths jutted out from the chain-link/board fence, each with a turnstile that spun to allow new guests to come in. It was painted a gaudy red and white, with a board on the bottom announcing ticket prices (miraculously not the rip-off amounts Michael would have expected from Fazbears) and on the top of the booth a cartoon face of Bonnie, all purple and smiling down as they approached.

“Weird, isn’t there supposed to be someone in the booth?” Cora asked, squinting into the darkness behind the plexiglass barrier. “I could have sworn there was someone just-”

“HELLO.”

“-GY YAAAAH !” Cora’s musing cut off into a shriek when from the darkness something that was decidedly not human rolled forward from the darkness. Michael blinked in surprise at a frozen, mouthless white face separated into plates uncannily like the Funtime animatronics albeit much simpler looking. Yet, the separating lines didn’t seem to actually cut through the material, instead imprinted on the face to make the impression of a ventriloquist dummy with soft-colored orange blush spots on the corners of the mouth and two cartoonishly large eyes that rivaled Eteled’s with the pupil to white ratio. The body was simple: two gray arms with blocky, three fingered hands jutted from a squarish white torso leading down to either legs or something else Michael couldn’t see past the shelf of the booth. 

“APOLOGIES FOR THE DELAY, DEAR CUSTOMER,” The strange bot continued, staring unblinkingly at Michael and unregistering the furious glare Cora shot after recovering from her scare. “THE TICKET HOLDER WAS JAMMED, BUT I AM NOW READY TO SERVE YOU.”

“Aaaand…who are you?” Michael asked, glancing the bot up and down and suddenly feeling as though he hadn’t woken up in a dream and at any moment he’d wake up still sprawled over the apartment couch.

“I AM TICKET BOT. PLEASE PURCHASE A TICKET FOR YOU PARTY TO ENTER THE FAZBEAR FUNFAIR AND TECH EXTRAVAGANZA.” The robot - Ticketbot, apparently - droned, voice an inoffensive monotone that nonetheless made his arms prickle. Michael stared flabbergasted at the innocently blank expression of Ticketbot. He wasn’t the one to respond next though. Bursting from behind him and popping up under his armpit, Sam was bouncing with eyes sparkling like fireworks.

“OHMYGOSHAREYOUANACTUALROBOT!?!”

Ticketbot looked down at Sam bouncing in place like a hoodie-covered basketball.

“YES.”

“ Cooooool ! What kind?” 

“I AM A PROTOTYPE CUSTOMER SERVICE ROBOT TO DEMONSTRATE THE CAPABILITIES OF FAZBEAR ROBOTICS. MY PURPOSE IS TO PROVIDE A QUALITY TICKET PURCHASING EXPERIENCE, AND LIMIT THE CONFUSION AND INEFFICIENCY THAT WOULD COME FROM A MINIMUM WAGE EMPLOYEE WORKING IN THE SAME POSITION.”

“So COOL! I thought this sort of thing was only in Japan!” Sam squeed, just as Michael rolled his eyes.

You know what? Making robots just so they don’t have to pay employees minimum wage makes perfect sense for Fazbears.

Sam looked up at Michael with her eyes sparkling brighter than all the stars in the sky. “Michael, we are SO going to have a good time! Do you think there’s more robots, or is it only here? Is this a part of the tech demo? DO THEY HAVE ROBOT MERCHANDISE!?! CAN WE BUY OUR OWN ROBOT!!” Sam looked around covertly, and hissed more quietly, “ Do you think anyone would notice if we stole him?”

Michael laughed weakly, slightly offput by Sam’s raw manic energy. “Uh, no Sam. No robot adoption.”

“...For now ,” Sam intoned, eyes glinting severely. 

“...Okay then,” Michael mumbled, unable to shake the feeling that Sam may or may not be wholly willing to just break through the window and scoop up Ticketbot before making off with the robot.

“That is cool, and I don’t want to rush you, buuut I think we kinda gotta pay now? People are mumbling,” Louis said sheepishly, laying a comforting hand on Scout’s bag and squirming as the man behind him grunted and stared at Michael with judging eyes. 

“Oh! Right!” Still not wholly able to take his eyes off the robot (Animatronic? Would this still count as an actual animatronic or just a service robot?) Michael clumsily dug into his pockets and pulled out his handy dandy stack of dollar bills. He was grateful he had actually taken in some of those dollar bills to get change for them in quantities that weren’t hundred dollar bills even if it made it look like he was carrying rocks in his pockets. He crammed it in, then added, “Party of four.”

Ticketbot scooped up the bills, something in its chest whirring as the robot glanced at Michael, then Sam, then Louis and Cora just behind them. Its eyes flickered, and there was a quiet chime as Ticketbot turned their attention to the money. With stiff motions the robot quickly sorted through the paper bills, then moving to tap at a register to pop out a drawer and place the wrinkled bills inside. Ticketbot’s hand shortly came back up bearing four bright red paper passes attached to metal clips on fabric lanyards.

“TWO TWENTY-ONE AND OVER TICKETS AND TWO THIRTEEN TO EIGHTEEN TICKETS PAID FOR. PLEASE TAKE YOUR FAZPASSES.”

“Uh, thank you…” Michael reluctantly took the lanyards, the cheap fabric and paper feeling as heavy as lead ropes in his hands before handing them out to the group.

“PLEASE SCAN THE BARCODE ON YOUR FAZPASSES AND PROCEED THROUGH THE TURNSTILE. PLEASE HOLD ON TO YOUR LANYARDS AND PASSES. YOUR NEW FAZPASSES WILL ALLOW YOU TO COLLECT FAZPOINTS FROM PLAYING GAMES, JOINING EVENTS, AND MAKING PURCHASES AND GIVE YOU ACCESS TO OUR SPECIAL TECH SHOWING THROUGHOUT THE DAY. YOU MAY REDEEM YOUR FAZPOINTS AT THE END OF THE DAY FOR FAZ-TASTIC PRIZES, SO PLEASE DO NOT LOSE YOUR FAZPASS,” Ticketbot droned once a bright red pass hung around Michael and the teen’s necks, gesturing to where the metal gate stood. “PLEASE STEP INSIDE AND WITNESS THE FANTASY AND WONDER OF THE FAZBEAR FUNFAIR. WE HOPE YOU HAVE A FAZTASTIC DAY.”

“D’aww, you have a Faztastic day too!” Sam cheered back, giving Ticketbot a glowing smile before scurrying to the turnstile to follow his direction. No one else followed suit in her enthusiastic greeting. Michael barreled straight ahead, barely giving any time between throwing on his lanyard and scanning the plastic Fazpass card on the scanner to shove through the metal turnstile. He didn’t let himself absorb the sights of the carnival yet though, turning around to make sure the rest of the group filed behind him in a timely manner.

“Is everyone good? Got your passes?”

“Yes, grandpa, we’re good,” Cora huffed lightly. “Now, let's see what we…”

The moment Michael finally stepped out of the way, everyone, and everyone - including the Miis who Michael could almost hear gasping through Sam’s loose earbud - gawked at the red and white striped wonderland before them.

The carnival grounds were massive, stretching out within the confines of the privacy fence to give the impression of a grand, walled-in city of tents with flagpoles scraping the clouds. No tent looked slumped or sad, instead standing proudly with brightly printed mascot faces smiling outward and oh-so familiar: Freddy, Bonnie, Chica, and Foxy’s heads grinned in between booths and open tent flaps teasing childish wonders within. People teemed amongst typical carnival affair granted Fazbear flair, with white-shirted employees with Freddy’s face plastered on their chest and nametags weaving in and out in varying states of wakefulness. Plushies, hats, balloons and more adorned every booth and tent, and yet more were being clung onto an uncountable amount of children dashing about, babbling excitedly with gleams of joy in their eyes. The faded yet heartwarming smell of popcorn, funnel cakes and pizza tinged the air with nostalgia to make even Michael’s robotic nose tingle with memory.  Even the weather was perfect.

It all looked so inviting, so wonderfully colorful, and so ridiculously high quality that Michael had no choice but to utter, “Fuck. This is actually nice.”

“This is nice!” Louis' nervousness vanished for justified awe as he parroted Michael. “Never seen a fair get walled off before… but hot dang this is nice! A lot better looking than the county fair, that’s for sure!”

“You can definitely smell the corporate branding, but this does look rather nice for the price,” Cora nodded, phone outstretched. She smiled down at Buddy’s screen. “Buddy’s going nuts, I don’t think they’ve seen this much color in forever.”

Sam gaped and beamed. “This is so much better than Bongo’s show.” 

They must have stood there gaping for a good few minutes as other arriving guests dispersed around them like a river, but Michael composed himself and with a gentle push got the teens walking. Still, he looked about in barely suppressed awe that was tainted by shame that he was being amazed by something from Fazbears . 

No use in whinging about a high quality business… or at least what looks like a high quality business. Just keep a cool head, and keep an eye on the teens.

“So, what do you all want to do first?” Michael asked, gazing about the fair. “It looks like we’ve got a corridor of carnival games here, and then some portable rides set up over there on the right side… and then some tech demos?”

Sam thought for a moment. “Hmmm… maybe just some carnival games first. On the brochure it mentioned there’s a tech show that happens three times per day. The next one is in an hour and a half, so we have plenty of time to kill.”

“Oh! That gives us some time to try out some of the food!” Louis added. “If we’re staying here might as well try some lunch here!”

“Concurred!” Scout poked their nose out, yellow eyes taking in the carnival as they slowly walked along. Their bottom eyelids lifted in a smile, and they eagerly whispered, “I wanna see what the fuck Fazfood is, and eat a funnel cake!”

“Definitely! You always gotta try the funnel cakes at the fair!” Louis smiled. “The other food is… kinda hit or miss, but the fried stuff usually turns out decent!”

Cora shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me. I’m fine with whatever.” She looked around distractedly, smiling slightly as she discreetly peered at the screen of her phone where Buddy was undoubtedly gushing in text, but her enjoyment was only slight. 

“Well, alright then,” Michael mused. He paused to dig out the bills he’d haphazardly crammed into his pockets and, quietly counting to himself, began to divide the bills into roughly three portions. “If everything here isn’t stupidly overpriced, I should have enough money for all three of you to do whatever the heck you please. I don’t think I’m going to be doing much, so don’t worry too much about me.”

“Woah,” Sam whistled as Michael passed her a stack of bills and then to the other two teens. She quickly rifled through it, and slightly gaped. “That is… a lot.”

“I’m just checking to make sure… oh good! It’s not just hundred dollar bills!” Louis sighed. “I was worried that you wouldn’t have exchanged for smaller bills.”

“Hey, I learned after that grocery store trip! Though I still don’t understand how the hell that cashier thought me having one hundred dollar bill meant I robbed a bank. Good fucking thing the police weren’t incompetent enough to believe him…”

Cora raised an eyebrow as she shuffled through her allotted allowance. “Do you really have this much money to spend at a fair? This is… almost two hundred dollars. Did you actually bring more than $600 to a fair?”

“I do get paid a stupidly high amount. I have to spend it somewhere besides rent and groceries,” Michael said. “That, and I know- I mean, I’ve read that Fazbear’s gets stupidly expensive.”

“Mmm, fair point. I’m not complaining,” Cora said, shrugging off the un-wired strap of the backpack to open up a side pocket and tuck in most of the cash before putting the backpack back on and tucking the rest of the bills into a pants pocket. 

“Hmm… I think we just go right for some of the fair games first since we’re already here, and then just work our way around,” Sam proposed as she observed the fair. “We are already here, might as well hit all the interesting games here rather than walk all the way around.”

“Hey, sounds good! Oh, maybe we can start with that one!” Louis pointed toward one of the red and white booths which appeared similar in shape to the other booths surrounding it, but was differentiated by its decorations of baseballs interrupting the straight lines with a cartoony, unfamiliar purple and white bear striking up a pitcher’s pose. “The ball toss, nice and classic!”

“Sounds good to me! You three go ahead, I’ll watch you all,” Michael nodded.

“Alright Mike,” Sam smiled back, eyes glowing with excitement. “We’ll come right back, all loaded up and with prizes to spare! Cora, come on!”

Cora did not add any sort of commentary but merely hummed noncommittally as she nevertheless followed a smiling Sam and Louis as they walked to the booth. For a moment, Michael felt the urge to follow behind them as well–not out of any interest in throwing baseballs at bottles or winning prizes but simply to keep a better an eye on them, to not be standing by himself with his hands crammed over the dollar bills making his pockets bulge awkwardly outward. But he stayed in place, ignoring the discontent churning of his gut to supervise the teens from a safe distance.

Keep calm Michael. True, the fair looks nice and barring the ticket robot thing everything seems to be fine. 

But this is Fazbears . Even if it seems friendly, there’s something going on. There always is with this god damn company.

Michael blew out air between his teeth, grinding together his digits as the weight of what exactly he had to accomplish settled upon him firmly. For some reason, there was a sense of palpable disappointment that settled upon him, but he ignored it in favor of the actually important task he had originally agreed to this entire endeavor to begin with.

I can’t get distracted. I just have to stay focused, keep the teens safe from any bullfuckery, and see if there is any chance I can pick up on some sort of information on this new Fazbears.

Now, if only I knew exactly what to look for…

…

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen your robot man get so nervous,” Cora whispered to Sam as the teens walked up to the booth with their newly appointed allowances. Her eyes flicked back to where Michael was standing stiff as a board even as he gave a supportive smile, and then over to Louis who was still stealing peeks down at the half-open duffel zipper as though he expected it to vanish if he blinked. Cora scowled slightly, “What does he have to be so nervous about?”

Sam shrugged genially. “Eh, he’s kinda nervous about heading out in general. Sure he acts cool and confident but yeah he’s basically like Mom 2.0 with extra spook.”

“I mean… in his case he does have every right to be just a bit nervous, don’t you think?” Eteled’s voice piped through her one earbud. The quality of his voice was lower than usual thanks to the cheap device, but she didn’t miss the tension lacing his voice as he continued, “You saw all that press about actual missing persons cases associated with and potentially now . And then making such a big PR move like this? Even you have to admit this is just a bit sketchy, new management or not.”

“We DO know that, but that’s why we’re here in the first place,” Sam hummed. “Cora needs to find leads and everything is pointing toward these guys in some form. There’s only so much we can do just internet surfing. Here, we get to have some fun times, see if we can find any hints of that hocus-pocus pseudoscience stuff those files talked about sprinkled around, and just a bit of healthy snooping. I mean, obviously we’re not going to break into someone’s office or RV whatever. We’re not that dumb!”

Cora likely knew that Sam was less talking to her and more to Eteled simply by her tone, but she nodded in approval even if she still seemed peeved by the fact that they hadn’t simply barreled to the nearest staff member to begin interrogating them. “Fair enough. We can have some fun, and when the time is right see if we get a moment to slip away. Michael can’t keep an eye on us 24/7, we just need an opening…”

“...” Even without being able to see the switch screen Sam could envision Eteled nervously rocking back and forth and tapping together his ball-joint hands, the soft clicking of his teeth pressing together nervously audible through a thin veil of static. 

“Look, we’re just chilling for now, alright?” Sam whispered reassuringly as they drew up to the booth at last and in ear-shot of the attendee. “Just relax, and I’ll consult you two when we’re planning to do stuff, alright? I’m not trying to pull the rug from under you.”

“...Alright then,” Eteled murmured, not sounding wholly convinced. Just a tiny nugget of guilt seeded itself as the Mii fell silent. She didn’t have time to dwell on it though as the attendee - a tall, bored looking teen who looked as though he’d rather be playing video games in his bedroom than here leaned over to them.

“You three here for the bottle toss?” He asked boredly.

“Yes!” Sam replied cheerfully. 

“...All of you?”

Sam looked over to Cora who shrugged noncommittally with a bored grunt, too preoccupied looking about the other booths with burning eyes as if they would cow and spew out all the answers to her questions. Louis tentatively smiled. “I-I’m fine with going.”

“Cool. That’ll be a dollar each.”

Both Sam and Louis handed in the requested bill, Louis snatching his hand away the moment the bill was handed to him to grasp the duffel with a nervous smile. After a moment, Cora silently stepped up as well to slide her own dollar bill to the cashier. The cashier hardly bothered to count the bills before reaching over to the side and fishing out baseballs which he haphazardly held in one arm and then tossed to each teen underhanded. 

“Cool. Here’s some baseballs, only three for each. If you get at least half the bottles, you get a mini prize. All of them, you get a bigger prize. Go ham,” He grunted as the teens reached out to grab the falling balls, hardly blinking as Louis nearly knocked his head into the counter trying to catch them. “Just don’t knock over each others bottles. That doesn’t count for either of you. Just stick with the ones in your line. Like… the ones right there on the ground.”

Glancing over, Sam looked over the set up and saw the aforementioned lines, bright red spray paint trailing down on the grass and connecting to the red tape dividing the booth into four aisles. Each aisle had their own pyramid of metal bottles, meticulously stacked and with printed Fazbear logos arranged staring outward. The three teens lined up in each column, standing abreast a lower countertop than the one to the side where the booth attendee crossed their arms and watched. Sam gravitated to the aisle closest to the attendee, with Louis immediately to her right and Cora beside him.

There were divots in the counter waiting empty and expectantly before her, and with a quick moment of intuition Sam put down two of the baseballs and hefted the one in her hand as she eyed the pyramid.

“Hmmm… haven’t been to a fair before, but this seems skeevy,” Austin commented. “I thought this was usually with glass? Metal bottles seem pretty heavy.”

“I’m not too concerned,” Sam said under her breath as she eyed the bottles. “It can’t be that hard. Just got to hit the right bottle to upset the balance, right?”

“I guess. Eh, guess we’ll see,” Austin mused as Sam lined up her throw, tossing the ball and rolling her shoulders so the muscles cracked and relaxed. “I just know I’ve heard enough about carnivals to know that most of these games are designed to squeeze as much money out of gullible children as possible.”

“Hey, I may be a nerd but I know how to throw a ball,” Sam grumbled, before giving a sharp grin. “Just watch and learn.”

She wound up her arm, then launched the ball forward. It arced in the air, heading straight to the bottles… and over them to hit the back wall and fall out of sight with a pathetic thump.

“...I’m going to be nice to you and assume that’s a practice throw.”

Sam grumbled to herself, and quickly scooped up the next ball to throw once again. This next one went better, this time actually hitting the bottles with a thunk! Alas, the bottles merely wobbled, and one fell off the top. More angrily Sam snatched up the third, and with a burst of indignant rage sent it flying straight ahead and dead into the center. She managed to control herself, but she couldn’t stop from fuming slightly as the bottles dared to simply tilt, only a few other bottles falling over to just barely knock over half the bottles with a dissatisfying clatter.

Sam sighed miserably with reddened cheeks, crossing her arms and looking away from her failure. There was awkward silence over the earphones that Eteled and Austin simultaneously interrupted, “Well, you at least got half!” and, “Told you it was rigged.”

“Thanks guys,” Sam muttered under her breath, before glancing over to her right where the other two teens were. “Hopefully someone else is doing better…”

Louis was taking much more time to line up and aim his shots and was on his last ball, and as Sam watched he tossed the ball and was met with a whiff as the ball glanced off a bottle on the top and pushed it over to join its other singular brethren on the table. He sighed, disappointed but not surprised. “Throwing stuff was never really my forte…”

Further out, Cora was standing boredly on one foot then the other, shuffling as she tossed her other last baseball but not really doing anything. Sam raised her eyebrow. “Cora? You alright?”
“Juuust fine,” she hummed. “I’m just waiting.”

“For what?”

“For the bottles to get set up again,” Cora said nonchalantly. Sam squinted in confusion, then gaped in realization. 

“Wait, did you-”

“Got them set up again,” The attendee drawled, walking back from behind the wall of bottles before Sam could finish voicing her surprise. Silently Cora nodded in acknowledgement, before shifting to a throwing stance in a blink of an eye and her arm flashed out so fast the air whistled. Sam felt her jaw drop as the ball blazed forward and with a deafening clatter smashed into the bottles and set the entire tower toppling as though it never existed.

“...Got all three,” Cora mused. “Nice.”

“Damn, nice arm kid,” The booth attendee whistled, showing the most emotion he had thus far. “My baseball coach would love that.”

Cora just gave a tiny smirk. “I was on the softball team for a while. Looks like I still got the skills.”

“And you got yourself a pick of prizes!” The attendee gestured to the alluring rack of plushies that had first lured them over. “Top shelf here has the best prizes, bottom rack has the lower priority prizes. Since you knocked over three whole towers–first time I’ve seen that all day–you can pick three prizes, any of them from any shelf, or get one extra special prize. You got half the bottles, so you can pick something on the lower shelf. For you… sorry man. You get nothing.”

“You’re cool man, just peeved at myself,” Louis sighed.

Cora silently examined the plushies and merchandise for a long moment, reaching to take her phone out of its holder to point the camera at the array, subtly glancing at the screen for a certain digital buddy’s advice. After a moment she smiled and pointed to the very top shelf where the best prizes rested. “Could I get the… Bonnie plush up there?

“That one?” The attendee followed Cora’s finger to a fat purple bunny plush sitting and staring with cute, goofy eyes and a tiny guitar posed in between fingerless purple paws. “Heh, nice pick. Those cost a f- a crud ton online, so we don’t have a lot of these high-quality stuff here or anywhere else.”

He momentarily reached down, and from below the counter picked up a step stool which he took back to climb up and scoop the plush up. He came back down promptly and handed it to Cora. “Say, are you getting it for a friend or something? I wasn’t staring or anything, but I just noticed you pointing that phone around everywhere. Are they doing a facetime, or just doing a lot of texting.”

“Oh!” Cora blinked and flushed slightly, but she quickly said, “Uh, yes. I have a friend who’s… sick at home and couldn’t come. They really like rabbits though, and I promised to get them something.”

“Cool. Wish I had friends that did that for me,” The attendee nodded with a wistful look in his eyes, and he turned to Sam. “What about you? You can pick something from any of the lower shelves, just those two shelves though.”

“All of these look cheap,” Eteled mused as Sam did her own examination of the prize selection. “The only ones that look good are those sitting plush things, and maybe those keychains.”

“...I wouldn’t be too sure about those plushes. Their stitches are far too loose, they’d fall apart if you squeezed them the wrong way, and the material is much cheaper than those plushes on the top shelf,” Austin huffed. 

“Wh- wait, how can you tell?” Eteled asked in surprise.

“I tried sewing before, and I got a summer job in a toy store once. I picked up on a few things,” Austin said flippantly. “Hm, maybe that… duck figurine?”

“Could I get the… is that a duck or a chicken?” Sam pointed, but her voice wavered as she squinted at the vinyl figurine posed on the shelf, bright yellow and bird-shaped with a bright white bib and cupcake.

“That’s Chica the Chicken, but I don’t blame you. The beak shape is hella confusing,” The attendee said as he scooped up the plush. He handed it to Sam, and said, “If you wanna try again you gotta pay again, or you can go to another stand. If you go though, let me scan your Fazpasses so you can get Fazpoints. Most of the prizes here aside from the special ones are hot garbage, but the Fazpoint-only stuff is actually pretty nice. Make sure you save up.”

“Oh, nice to know. Thanks man!” Louis grinned, and he quickly dug into his pocket to pull out a few more bills. “I think we’re probably going to the next but… are you allowed to take tips? The advice on the prizes is much appreciated, and I get working minimum wage sucks.”

The attendees eyes lit up at the sight of the crisp ten held before him, and he snagged it before whipping out a barcode scanner with an actual smile on his face. “Wow, this is more than I get paid each hour! Thanks dude!” He looked around covertly, and leaned over to whisper, “Listen, normally I’m only supposed to grant ten Fazpoints per game played same as every other booth…but I think I can squeak you all thirty points each.”

All three teens exchanged glances, then whipped out their Fazpass cards. “Yes please!” With a few quick button presses the invisible tally of Fazpoints went up. 

“There you all go! There’s kiosks around that you can check your Fazpoints at, just to see if you got those points and what you can exchange them for end of day. If you didn’t get them, just come back!” He smiled slightly, and slightly waved as the teens turned and left. “You all have a Faztastic day, and junk!”

“Well, that was nice!” Louis mused to himself, glancing down at the duffel. “Even if the skill based games are hit or miss on if they're actually skill or rigged as hell, that’s a nice start!”

“I suppose,” Cora shrugged. “If there’s more throwing stuff like that I feel like I can get pretty good results at those.”

“I think I’m picking a different game, but we can definitely look around and scope out more booths,” Sam suggested, a bit of salt still lingering on her tongue.

“Yeah, we got cash to burn and time to burn! We can get ALL the prizes!” Scout piped up. “But don’t pick any more throwing games. You fucking suck at those.”

“Fair point,” Louis sighed.

Michael smiled at them, relief written all over his face as Sam examined her Chica figurine and Cora hugged the Bonnie plush close to her chest. “So, looks like it went well!”

“Meh, could’ve done better,” Sam grunted as she pocketed the figuring in her hoodie. “The bottles are a lot heavier than they look.”

“But Cora killed it out there! Who knew she was so good at throwing stuff?” Louis smiled, giving her a soft grin which she looked at. A tiny hint of a grin flickered on her face before she looked away, but Louis beamed just a bit more. 

“I can tell. I could hear the bottles dying from all the way over here,” Michael nodded, giving the gray-eyed girl his own smile. Looking around, he mused, “So, where to next? I heard maybe not another throwing one, but there is some sort of fishing game, something called Fazerblast-”

“Hey, why don’t you want to play any games?” Scout asked suddenly.

Michael paused in surprise. “Huh. Well, I don’t know.”

“Well, think about it!” Scout stuck out one mitten-like hand to begin counting off as they listed, “First off, you’ve got superstrength or some shit like that. That ball game back there you could have slaughtered just as fast or faster to clean out the shelves! Second, you’ve gotta have some sort of super-advanced targeting system or shit. I mean, I know you got the wolverine claws, but… maybe? And third… well, I don’t know but you definitely got skills!”

Before Cora could finish asking, “Wait, did you say wolverine claw-” Michael hastily laughed loudly and awkwardly, “Ha! As if. I doubt I’d do much better than you all.”

“Mike, you know we all came out to all have fun, right?” Sam asked, voice firm. “That includes you too. I get if you are maybe a bit spooked by the bad history but you don’t have to spend the entire fair twiddling your thumbs while we have all the fun. It’s just not fair to you.”

Sam didn’t miss the twist of his face as he looked away, strangely guilty. Sam crossed her arms. “I’m serious. We’re all going to have fun together, you included! We’ve got money to spare, what’s the harm?”

Michael stopped and thought for a long moment. Sam was suddenly struck by how harrowed he looked now. Well, Sam had always noticed an undercurrent of anxiety or melancholy interchangeably that ran beneath the robot man’s skin, but it was especially enunciated here amongst the colorful stands and chattering of families in the bags under his eyes and the rigidity of his posture. 

Okay yeah, I can definitely see what Eteled and Cora meant by him being worried. He’s always seemed worried but… it’s a lot worse right now.

“I suppose a few games… wouldn’t hurt,” Michael said slowly long after the mark of normal response time, some of his tension releasing as he smiled at Sam. Sam smiled back as Scout whooped and awkwardly attempted to hug Michael’s torso, but it didn’t quite match the concern rearing its head to peer at him suspiciously.

The rest of the group didn’t seem to notice Sam’s also somewhat fake smile, Scout whooping loudly as they slid back inside the duffel and Louis smiled wide. Cora was still simply looking around the fair, undoubtedly looking for any sort of clue as to the shadiness of Fazbear’s, so that only left Eteled and Austin to echo Sam’s thoughts.

“Jeez, I’ve never seen someone agonize so hard over something so simple. He really is extra uptight today, isn’t he?” Austin mused.

“Are you really that surprised?” Eteled questioned in disbelief. “Considering this place’s history and what he’s had to deal with from them, no wonder he seems so worried! I’ll be honest, I’m worried as well based on what I’ve heard from him!”

“Yeah… I’m kinda worried,” Sam hummed as the group began walking again, albeit more slowly as Michael listened and nodded along with Louis strategizing the best game to win more prizes with less money. “I get that he cares but… this feels different. I mean, he got worried before and… wait.”

Sam paused, her investigative sense tingling as Eteled’s words echoed between her ears. “Wait, wait wait wait… did Michael tell you that… he’s dealt with Fazbear’s before?”

Eteled fell dead silent, though words were not needed to detect the Mii’s mortified shock. After a few moments he stammered, “Wh…what do you mean?”

“You said something about Mike having to deal with ‘them’, and the only ‘them’ I can think of means Fazbear’s. But he said he’d only heard of them before…” Sam said, frowning. “Eteled, did he tell you something?”

Eteled hesitated, before stiffly mumbling, “It was just… it’s just… he has done a lot with th- with researching them, you know, and he’d been looking into it alot with what he’s been doing for Lucille recently. I mean, it is mostly abandoned places but even just from those you can tell that there’s, well, something going on and-”

“Eteled… is there something you aren’t telling me?” Sam whispered slightly, a strange sinking feeling growing in her gut. The silence on the other end deepened, the Mii ceasing his blabbing. His nonresponse made Sam frown even more deeply. “Eteled, I’m just confused. Is Mike doing something with Fazbears for Lucille? Is that what his new projects have been about? Is… is there something going on?”

More hesitant silence. “I…”

“Yes, it’s for Lucille!” Austin cut in, voice loud and annoyed. “It’s something that he’s been getting constipated over since the old woman has him focusing almost exclusively on Fazbears. It has of course required all that research that has him yanking out his artificial hair–and from what he’s said yeah he is kinda fucking worried because of all that dirt he’s been having to dig up! I don’t know much more about Fazbear’s than him, but that is pretty much why he’s been so mentally up his own ass today in case that is what you’re getting hung up on.”

“O-oh. That makes sense,” Sam mused. Still, she frowned in dissatisfaction. “Still, Mike hasn’t mentioned this to me. If I knew that…”

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Eteled said soothingly, deep voice nearly covering up the faint quiver of his first word. “He is just worried about your safety. He always is.”

“...Right,” Sam said slowly, a strange acrid feeling creeping onto her tongue. She stood still, not sure what to say next and the two Miis also tersely decided if they wanted to say anything else or not. She couldn’t put a finger on it, but she knew with her gut that somehow she had just overstepped… something. What it was she had no clue, but it was something regarding Michael and maybe the Miis, something regarding Fazbears, and something very important that they knew and she didn’t.

They’re… hiding something.

But what?

“...Sam. It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Eteled said slowly after a few moments. 

There was a faint hiss from Austin that sounded vaguely like, “The fuck! Henry you better not say-” But the quiet throat clear from the bald Mii stopped the glitching voice of Austin from interjecting once more.

He paused, as if debating whether it was wise to continue speaking more or if it was best to cut his losses. Sam pressed a hand up to the earbud, anxiously listening with every part as her friend slowly began once more, voice soft and solemn yet firm as he made his decision and began again, “It’s just… with Mike, we’d promised him something very, very important regarding his work. In the end it really is about your safety, but… you need to know it has nothing to do with you specifically. I just want to tell you that-”

“Hey! You okay back there Sam?” 

Whatever it was Eteled had been about to say stopped dead in its tracks, and Sam snapped out of her own stupor to focus on a concerned Louis cupping his hands around his mouth. He called back louder, “We’re about to do this duck hunt gallery shooter–well, rainbow and chicken hunt–and there’s enough space to actually have four people go! You interested!”

“Uh, sure!” Sam yelled back. Before she did go running, she tapped a hand against where the Switch rested. Her heart clenched. “Eteled-”

“Go have fun Sam. We can talk later,” Eteled said softly. 

“...Good,” Sam replied, not entirely sure whether she should feel satisfied that whatever it was he had been trying to say (or hide ), Eteled was at least being open about it… at least, she thought. The conversation tapered off once again in a painfully terse fashion, and rapidly Sam jogged in some attempt to leave the strange sensation now in her chest behind.

“Hey, are you alright?” Michael asked as Sam approached, having walked up beside Louis in the time it’d taken her to finish up the exchange and make her way over. Behind him Cora followed behind, a glint in her eye indicating that she saw the mixed expression on Sam’s face and knew something important had just happened. 

“Y-yeah, just thought I saw something. It was nothing though,” Sam shrugged. “We're duck hunting now?”

“Something like it. It seems a bit more interesting, and there’s already quite a line around it,” Michael said. “I figure it’s probably worth a shot, so it’d be better to get there before the guy there gets swamped.”

“Oh, cool!” Sam smiled. “Well, let's go then!”

Satisfied, Louis and Michael turned around to begin making their way to said booth–said booth teeming with a back wall loaded with a colorful printed background and bizarrely colored crabs and rainbows and chickens, and yet another depressed looking teenager in uniform tiredly scanning the Fazpasses of a cluster of babbling children. Cora lingered longer, scrutinizing Sam closely. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure the guys were out of earshot, then discreetly leaned over and whispered, “Did something happen? You have a real weird look on your face.”

“Yeah… I’ll tell you later, alright? I don’t really want to hold up the others,” Sam mumbled reluctantly, shrugging her shoulders. She could feel the Switch carrier hanging heavily on her body, feel the palpable discomfort that remained unvoiced through the earbud hanging out of her ear with her words. 

“Hmm,” Cora squinted at her, then slowly nodded. “Fine. We can do it when we take a break and Michael’s busy with something else. We’ll need to brainstorm a way to slip away anyways.”

“Right,” Sam nodded, frowning slightly. Neither girl contributed further, though Cora again gave her a scrutinizing look that made it seem as though she had an inkling of what could have happened. But blissfully she said nothing more, and together the two girls walked to meet the others in front of the dart stand.

An hour passed, and Sam almost managed to trick herself into ignoring the tense silence between her and her digital companions. They still piped up to comment on prizes, offer praise and suggestions alike on winning games and once wheezing in humor at someone slipping backward on a loose wrapper and falling right on their ass. But she could tell that Eteled especially was reluctant to talk at all–Austin picked up the slack in filling her ears, doing his utmost best to cover up the terseness from his companion with his sarcastic quips that didn’t have nearly as much bite as usual.

Guilt soured her mood whenever she wasn’t doing something, and several times mentally cursed herself for even bothering to say anything. True, Michael was definitely hiding something with Fazbears, and for some reason apparently did not want to tell her but entrusted the Miis with that said something. But it was feeling less worth it that her detective sense had sniffed out that little slip from Eteled, and a bitter sense of regret welled up in her the moment her mind was freed from fuming over rigged carnival games to replay the exchange in her head over and over. Despite her better sense, she couldn’t help but analyze the conversation every which way, picking out every detail she could and pondering what this secret of Michael’s and the Mii’s could possibly mean.

Either through Lucille or some other way that I don’t know, Michael knows something about Fazbears that he doesn’t want me to get involved in… kinda like the haunted house actually.

But… this feels different. I know he likes to share a bunch of stuff with Eteled and Austin when he doesn’t want me to know them, but Eteled’s never reacted nearly as strongly when I asked him about what Mike’s up to until now. If it’s just another Lucille investigation he wouldn’t care as much–even with Louis he was sharing at least surface details. So what’s so different about Fazbear’s that he mentioned nothing about Lucille or his ‘dealing’ with them? What is this ‘dealing’?

Dammit, it feels important but… this is really screwing with Eteled. Should I have even asked? 

What if he just refuses to talk to me? Is it breaking Michael’s trust if I press for more details? But what if this is important? I have to tell Cora about it, because she will want to know, but what if that hurts Eteled more? What do I tell either of them? What if neither of them want to talk to me anymore because I can’t make up my damn mind and I feel more confused than ever?! What if Michael realizes I’m prying into his business?!

Fuck, I don’t know! 

The questions were eating Sam alive, and she had no idea where to put them or how to shut them up aside from the obvious yet most dreadful solution that made the guilt in her curdle ever stronger.

At the very least though, everyone else–including Michael himself–-were actually enjoying themselves. Scout had indeed correctly determined that the robotic man would be masterful at the games, starting with the dart stand and the mad streak of carnival games afterward. Turns out, raw brute strength could indeed circumvent any sort of finicky carnival game and Michael had plenty of strength in his robotic form. That didn’t mean that he was a slouch in accuracy though; Sam had known he had uncannily good reflexes but compared to everyone else it was more like watching a blur than a human in action with how quickly he could launch rings or blast down targets with a water pistol. He and Cora-whose softball experience was still proving quite excellent indeed even without actual baseballs–decimated almost every game involving throwing things from basketball to ring toss.

Sam and Louis both still struggled to match their companions in their success. Sam’s throws were not nearly so awful as before (though her inner turmoil was definitely not helping with her concentration), but Louis’ ability to throw things was awful. Scout let out pained whines at every miss and pitiful thump of projectile versus target, which certainly didn’t help his crestfallen expression after each game.

What Louis was apparently quite good at were the luck-based games. There were a good number of booths where all you’d have to do would be spinning a wheel or dropping a ball down a hopper to fall into the right place. Brute strength did not in fact help Michael, and no amount of skill could stop the cursing that resulted from the simple disobedience of fate (Sam had never seen someone land so many times in a failure space consecutively between completely different wheels). Louis apparently was built differently, with the exact opposite results. 

It was at the end of the hour that each of them stood with a bag full of prizes hanging heavily over their shoulders in Fazbear brand tote bags they received after the third or so booth Michael smoked out of every single one their high quality prizes with a truly shit-eating grin. She could feel her shoulders aching with both the Switch harness and the prize bag, but glancing down at the sheer mass of memorabilia Sam couldn’t help but smile a bit.

“So, what do we think? Faz-Cakes? Chica’s Deluxe Pizza Supreme? Bonnie’s Nacho Bowl?” Michael squinted up at one of the many sign boards advertising all the different mentioned ‘Fazfoods’ in what seemed to be the unofficial section for all the beverages and munchables. He looked over to the teens as he read each menu item out loud, gauging their interest as they stood alone, a metaphorical stone in the river of people toting their own carnival goodies and treats as they ignored the one group standing in the middle.  “And… Wh-? I’m not even sure if I should read that last one out loud but… basically a hot dog? Why is it named like that? Who approved this? Anyway, anything sound good to you all? It looks like I can go ahead and do a bulk order at one of those digital register things and then pick up the food from the counters, then we can go find a place to sit and eat.” 

“You know, I get that this is supposed to be a pizzeria chain, but I think we pass on the pizzas. I’m pretty sure I saw them dispensing ingredients from these ice cream looking machines that just said ‘Meat’ and ‘Not-Meat’,” Cora said dryly, crossing her arms and looking thoroughly disgusted as she looked over at a man walking away with several slices of pizza on paper plates. Sam had not been able to see said pizza topping dispensers, but she grimaced at the artificial looking ‘Not-Meat’ that might have been peppers or some other vegetable in shape but also looked bizarrely rubbery and dried all at once.

“Agreed. Again, best options are the fried stuff–it’s just stuff dunked in batter and tossed in oil, less chance of getting food poisoning or something horrible tasting because lets face it you never come to a carnival expecting to eat something healthy like vegetables,” Louis nodded, face screwing up as he observed the same ‘not-meat’. “Best options are maybe those dessert options. It looks like the Fazcakes are basically just funnel cakes, but with different toppings depending on the character you pick. Those actually look really good, especially that Foxy-themed one with the strawberries and cinnamon.”

“Oh, heck yeah! I saw that too, and I want it so bad! ” Scout gushed, head poking out from in between the duffel zipper. “I also want those cheesy poppers! Gah, I want to eat EVERYTHING!”

“Good god, everything here looks so unhealthy,” Eteled mumbled. “I’ve never seen this much fried food in one place.”

“I mean, fried food is cheap and delicious, everything you could ask for. But yeah, I’m feeling horribly guilty for what I’m about to put my stomach through just looking around,” Sam acquiesced.

“...I think I’ll just have one of those Bonnie ‘Faz-Cakes’ with the blueberries and the fried chicken. They look the least horrifying,” Cora decided.

“I’d say probably two of the Foxy-themed Fazcakes, the cheesy poppers, and… Chip’s Classic Street Taco,” Louis nodded, smiling down at Scout as they eagerly bobbed their heads in firm approval. “Always curious to see if there’s anyone who can come even close to abuela’s home cooking…”

“Hmmm… I think I’ll try Freddy’s Sweet and Savory Donut Holes and the Foxy Fazcake,” Sam decided after a moment.

“Sounds good! Let me go put in those orders and pray that they take cash! Stay right here, and I’ll be back as soon as possible,” Michael said.

“Yeah, alright,” Cora huffed. Louis smiled and gave a thumbs up, and Sam nodded with a small smile of her own. Michael’s expression warmed, and with a heft of his loaded prize bag he walked off. He kept looking over his shoulder as if he half-expected them to vanish, some tension returning to his shoulders as he made his way to where milling parents were gathered around self-ordering kiosks not too unlike grocery store self-checkout machines sat in the middle of the aisle of the food corridor. With Sam’s nod and shooing gesture he sped up his pace and was soon elbowing through the crowd, just preoccupied enough for Cora to sidle up next to her.

“Sam, did you-?”

“Cora, we don’t have that long, Michael’s only going to be a couple of minutes and Louis is here,” Sam hissed back.

“Well, this might be our best chance to talk!” Cora snapped back irritably. “Michael’s been sticking right by us this entire time, and this is the furthest he’s walked away since we’ve gotten here! Louis is busy talking to his Scout too, so it’s just us! If we want to actually make any progress on our other goal, now is the time to start!”

“Okay, okay, we can talk quickly,” Sam sighed.

Cora smiled slightly, though it was dimmed as she looked Sam in the eyes with her gaze as piercing as ever. “Now, do you want to talk about your conversation with Eteled first? I can tell that’s eating you alive.”

“Uh, yeah,” Sam said softly, flinching at the tiny hiccup of electrical interference from the earbud. “Well… look, Cora. Eteled kinda mentioned something about Michael and I’m… I’m just not sure that it’s something that I should even say because it’s some big secret…”

“A secret?” Cora frowned. “What kind of secret?”

“Something to do with his work for Lucille,” Sam clarified. “You know how he’s like a private investigator, right? I know you asked him once about it.”

“Yes… but I thought he tells you everything he does for her?” Cora hummed. “He’s not exactly very closed off about that sort of thing, at least if you and his talk sessions are any indication.”

“I thought so too, at least!” Sam exclaimed. “I mean, he’s been closed off before about Louis and the living puppet thing and this one haunted house that I may or may not have badgered him to join in on and stabbed a ghost… yeah, it’s a long story and I can catch you up later,” Sam smiled weakly as Cora raised an eyebrow with more than a little incredulity. “But this new work that he’s been doing at least since we’ve started working together… he’s been very hushed about it. And…”

“Let me guess. He for some reason told your little Mii guys but not you,” Cora finished.

“...Yeah,” Sam nodded, her frown deepening. “And for some reason, it all connects… to Fazbears.”

She could feel the stutter of breath from Eteled as she spoke that accursed word, and Cora’s eyes flashed. She snapped her head over to the kiosks where Michael was hunched over a screen hammering a finger against the screen, then back to Sam with more intensity in her eyes than ever before.

“He’s investigating Fazbears ?”

“Apparently? I guess it would explain why he knew about the company when I brought up the fair to him this morning,” Sam said.

Cora’s eyes flashed again. “So, we aren’t the only ones digging into Fazbears! I mean, you did find all those journalist articles who were covering those controversies associated with the older company and the development of the VR game, but Michael himself is investigating? Why would he not want to tell you about it when he’s been so open about everything else? What differentiates Fazbears?”

Sam jumped when Cora abruptly leaned in. “Have you tried asking him anything yet?”

“Uh, n-no? I just learned about it, and I don’t think this is really the right time to ask anything…” Sam stammered.

“Then have you tried asking Eteled? You said he seemed to know!” Cora exclaimed eagerly, voice still hushed but picking up in energy. “Or maybe Austin! If one knows, then the other definitely will!”

That proclamation made Sam shrink in even more, her guilt intensifying as she instinctively put a hand over the hidden switch carrier. “Cora, I don’t know. They said they made a promise to Michael to not say anything, and the only reason I found out anything was by accident. This is… I mean, I know that Fazbears is important to your investigation but I don’t know if I can…”

Sam trailed off weakly. Cora’s excitement dimmed, and her eyes briefly flicked over to the phone. She cleared her throat, and took a step back.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to get that… you know,” Cora sighed. She still looked up pleadingly. “Are you sure you can’t ask?”

“Maybe. It's just… I don’t know…” Sam hedged. “Do we even know if what he’s looking into is the same as what we are looking at?”

Cora hesitated. “I… suppose he could be looking into something else regarding Fazbears. But still, it could be worth it to ask if he happens to know anything else. Maybe he has some insider knowledge. What do the Miis say?”

Eteled and Austin were both eerily unresponsive but they were certainly not silent, a static overlay of distress that Sam hadn’t seen since Michael had come into her room that day irritating her ear. It wasn’t a no brainer to know the reason why they were sounding so distressed. 

She grimaced and ground her teeth together, gut sinking ever lower. But after a few moments, she made her hands into fists and blew out a breath. She met Cora’s vivid gray eyes, aware of the anticipatory, dreading silence of the Miis but finally resolving herself. “Let me be honest here Cora, I really don’t want to push this. It just doesn’t feel ri- OOF!”

Something that felt like an elbow hit her back, and with how distracted she was the relatively light impact was enough to make Sam’s feet give out and send her falling. She hit the ground with a grunt, her tote bag smooshing under her and sending Fazbear prizes all over the trampled grass. The switch case dug into her elbow, cushioned but heavy as bricks as Sam groaned in mild pain. “Oh, damn , that is so much heavier laying down…”

The buzzing in her ear thankfully stopped as she groaned and pushed herself up to her knees, and Eteled’s voice interjected frantically. “SAM! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just got taken by surprise,” she said under her breath. She looked around, and groaned as she took in the mess around her. “All my goodies are not okay though. Fuck, they’re everywhere. ”

“Hey! What’s the big deal? Can’t you see where you’re going!” Cora stepped up by her, protectively throwing an arm up and looking up at someone. There was a small twinge of guilty relief in having Cora’s intensity directed elsewhere for now, but it was buried under irritation at getting shoved onto her knees and having to clean up where she knew something was going to get stepped on, and having yet another important conversation interrupted again right when she was finally making up her mind.

Oh, this is definitely how Eteled’s felt for the last hour!

Sam didn’t look up to see who Cora was berating, prioritizing first scooping up her spoils as quickly as she could from the river of shoes stomping the ground and cramming them into her tote with little organization. She most certainly grumbled as she scooped up her dusty prizes, nothing in particular other than some very rude words to vent her frustration with the situation and the apparent new trend of all her important conversations being interrupted. She grumbled until two more pairs of hands reached out that were not from Cora still protectively hovering by Sam as she also scooped up prizes.

A masculine, oddly familiar voice piped up, “I’m sorry, we were looking somewhere else and…” 

Sam’s eyebrow raised when the voice abruptly trailed off, and she looked up. It took all of her self control to not jump up gasping like an idiot when she finally saw exactly why those hands and that voice were so familiar.

There were two people crouched down besides her, both instinctually reaching out to help with the clean up but freezing as she met their eyes. One was in a casual brown shirt with a stylized GameBoy design on the front and jeans, with blue eyes that were as soft and warm as the fluffy brown curls covering his head and a bubbly smile that grew when he saw her face. The other was in a cream-colored long sleeved v-neck and khakis going down to the knees with reddish-brown hair that looked even messier than the last time she’d seen (and threatened) him, whose polite and mildly bored expression immediately curling into a gape of fear and fury when he saw her.

“Oh! Heya Sam!”

“ You !”

“Nathan?”

“Kyle!?”

Chapter Text

Sam stood up so fast she could feel the whiplash, her remaining prizes and tote bag forgotten on the grass. She could hear the strangled gasp of Eteled through the earbuds, harsh and rasping on her ears, but she ignored it to gape in shock and a rapid influx of anger. Nathan scooped up the last few plastic figurines and mini-plushies with surprising composure and wasn’t gasping like a dying fish, but Kyle mirrored her motion to stare at her wide-eyed to shriek at the same time as her-

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!?” 

Sam and Kyle both glared, eyes sparking and teeth grinding. They barked out in quick succession–

“JUST HANGING OUT, UNTIL I MET YOU!”

“WH- STOP COPYING ME!”

“I WAS TALKING FIRST!”

“STOP!”

“Woah woah woah!” Nathan, sweatdropping and flustered enough that his fluffy hair seemed to poof out even more, hastily stood in-between the two snarling teens as he hastily stuffed the reclaimed prizes back into the bag. “Take it easy guys! There’s kids around!” Rapidly, he spun about and smiled at Sam, holding her filled tote to her as a peace offering. “Long time no see! How are you doing?”

After a beat Sam slowly took the bag from the boy, suppressing her temper even though every part of her was screaming to let her sock the glaring boy behind Nathan.“Fine, just dandy… just enjoying the fair,” Sam said, curtly nodding to the curly haired boy with a terse little upturn of her mouth. “How are you doing Nathan?”

“Fine!” Nathan chirped, before looking over at Kyle. He elbowed his friend and Sam smirked ever so slightly as he was roused from his furious glower to blink like a sodden cat. “Kyle, are you doing alright?”

Kyle deigned to not answer, but gestured at Sam with a very clear, ‘ Of-COURSE-I’m-NOT-OK ’ frown taking up his entire face. Nathan sighed, and turned back to Sam. “He’s fine. Still, funny coincidence that we ended up here on the same day and hour, isn’t it?”

“Funny ass coincidence my ass, the universe just hates us today!” Austin snapped, seemingly snapping out of his surprised stupor to expel his tension via his best available mechanism: pure sass. Eteled didn’t have the same composure to say anything witty or even expletive, seemingly still lost in his own surprise if the low, familiar staticky buzz in Sam’s ears was any indication of his mood.

“Strange coincidence indeed,” Cora agreed in unknowing echo of the glitchy Mii, the multiple biting remarks Sam knew she’d been prepared to throw suppressed as her eyes flicked in between Sam’s conflicting mix of a mildly-fond grin to Nathan and her quick but furious glares she was throwing toward Kyle. Cora squinted especially at Kyle, then with a rigid frown stood right next to Sam with her arms crossed. “I was wondering why you lot were familiar. Aren’t you the same asswipes who stole a Wiimote from Sam and torched it?”

Kyle’s scowl grew deeper as he met Cora’s eyes, looking impressively composed even as the gray-eyed girl stared daggers at him. Nathan looked aside, his smile flickering. A small spark of guilt made its way through Sam at the miserable expression worming onto the boy's face, but it was quickly suppressed as Kyle made his response.

“How did you know about that?” Kyle snapped irritably. “I don’t remember you being around, besides after Sam had to go to the nurse’s office!”

“Eavesdropped,” Cora said coolly. “Saw you leaning over to scoop up a Wiimote that fell on the floor the other day and decided to stick around to get answers. Got enough answers to figure out that you sure as hell did deserve to be verbally curb stomped after whatever shit you pulled on her before plus the Wiimote arson.”

“Wh- Sam literally threatened my life ! Multiple times! I don’t deserve to have my life threatened!” Kyle nearly shrieked, almost turning red as a tomato as he jabbed a finger in Sam’s direction. At that Sam couldn’t stop from snorting. 

Not sure if I should feel flattered that I inspired so much horror in Kyle’s heart that he thinks I’d actually kill him. 

Hearing her mirth only made Kyle turn redder. He slapped a hand on his face and let out a drawn out groan. “Of course, the one day I just want to hang out with Nathan and not think about school, I run into you .”

“Hey, you think I like seeing your face either?” Sam scowled. “If I knew I was going to run into you, I would have just stayed home today!”

“How did you even get here in the first place?” Kyle huffed. “Last I remember, you’re supposed to have adult supervision with you at all times. Did you break in here?”

“Why is that your first assumption?” Sam snapped, her temper fraying once again, this time with offense at the sheer gall of whatever the hell Kyle was implying. The buzzing of what was definitely Eteled freaking out was not helping either, but she honestly didn’t blame the Mii at all considering the shit that Kyle was apparently still pulling!

“Well, I just saw you and your friend, so yeah! That’s my assumption!” Kyle growled, meeting Sam’s growing fury with his own. “I mean, what else can I guess? You’ve literally punched me in the face, multiple times, over the Wii ! I wouldn’t put it past you to commit breaking and entering at this point!”

“Now that’s just an argumentative fallacy,” Cora hummed. “Getting rightfully pissed at someone doesn’t equate committing crimes. I suspected you were a jerk based on what I heard, but I didn’t think you’d be this dumb.”

Now that got on Kyle’s nerves. Before Kyle could yell back another response, face as red as Foxy and hands curling into hooks worthy of the pirate fox, Nathan grabbed his shoulder. Kyle’s head snapped around as Nathan, re-composed and frowning, said, “Kyle, stop . Can you chill out for just a few minutes?”

There was a steely edge in Nathan’s voice that Sam had never heard before, and apparently not something Kyle had heard much before as he fell silent. His scowl remained, but his mouth clamped shut and he stepped back to let Nathan smile apologetically. “Sorry about that. I really am. It’s been a while since we last talked and, uh, I really didn’t want it to start off like this…”

Sam suppressed her urge to smirk triumphantly at a stewing Kyle, and took a deep breath. The smoldering anger that spiked with seeing the Wii-stealing, remote-burning jerk rose, and then swirled down her mental drain as she let herself calm down. “You’re good, Nathan. You don’t have to apologize for him.”

The buzzing thankfully also stopped ringing in her ears as Eteled relaxed marginally. Austin let out a huff too, and Sam half heard him saying, “Thank fuck, the kid stopped the whole mess,” as she watched Nathan chuckle and rub the back his neck sheepishly.

“Yeah, but you know? It just feels scummy to let you guys keep going. The day’s way too nice for arguing over bad blood,” Nathan sighed. He put back on his soft smile, and stuck out a hand to Cora. “Sorry we started off on the wrong foot. Name’s Nathan! Yours?”

Cora looked at him, and said, “Cora.”

Nathan kept his hand awkwardly sticking out until it was clear that Cora had zero intention of saying anything more, or reaching out to shake his hand. He chuckled, and tucked it into his pants pocket to anxiously turn back to the slightly more friendly face of Sam. “So, uh, yeah! It’s funny to meet you here of all places. Uh, have you been enjoying the Fazfair?”

“It’s been pretty cool, yeah,” Sam nodded slowly. She jostled her recovered bag of carnival booth goodies. “Played games, got some cool prizes and dumb prizes, saw more corporate branding than I thought I’d ever see anywhere outside of Disney.”

“Yeah! Some of this stuff is a lot nicer than I expected! And then there’s stuff that’s even worse than I expected!” Nathan laughed. “There were a bunch of weird plushies that they were giving out on lower prize tiers that look more like bootlegs, but apparently are actually official merch from the legacy franchise! I saw one that’s supposed to be Chica and… man, she just looks so unreasonably enraged compared to everything else. I don’t know much about Fazbears, but I’m pretty sure chickens don’t have eyebrows. Even her promo art doesn’t show her with angry eyebrows.”

“Yeah, I’ve been seeing the exact same thing here. The sheer jumps in quality are wild for it all being from the same company,” Sam agreed. “Lucky for me, Cora here is a pro at these games so my own crap skills don’t keep landing me with the bootleg edition of the cool stuff.”

“Meh… I haven’t gotten many of the nice things,” Nathan sighed. He didn’t have a tote bag like Sam, but he reached into a sidebag that Sam hadn’t noticed before and pulled out what Sam presumed was supposed to be Foxy… if he’d been violently thrown in and then held under in a vat of radioactive paint. “...I’m honestly not even sure why I got this one. I think the only good one I have is this neat little Freddy plush with a detachable microphone and hat from that cupcake-bobbing game.”

“Ugh, I get that. I have, like, three Freddy Fazbear fidget spinners and one cute little plush and Cora has almost every single limited edition plush,” Sam groused, looking over to catch Cora smirking. “...Please don’t rub it in.”

“Woah, seriously?” Nathan gasped. He tentatively tapped his fingers together, and shyly asked, “Are you okay if I see?”

Cora humphed, unimpressed. Seeing Nathan’s puppy eyes (and the echo of the guilty glow in them moments ago), Sam sighed and elbowed her. “He’s cool. Go ahead.”

Cora’s head snapped to Sam in surprise, then she sighed and mutely opened her tote bag for Nathan to peer inside. For not the first time that day Sam also found herself looking over, and struggling to not feel just a tiny bit of envy of oh my god why do you have all the adorable skrunglies and I have the weird figurines and fidget spinners. As a passionate Nintendo fangirl, she knew quality merch when she saw it and it took all of Sam’s self-control to not weep at the sight of the fluffy band of critters Cora now possessed: barring a rather unsettling golden Freddy that they’d only seen at one booth, Cora had all the main band they’d seen plastered around in cartoons, and especially all the different versions of Bonnie that had been up for grabs. Cora’s cool veneer broke ever so slightly as Nathan gasped in rightful awe to give a small grin.

“Dude, these are so cool!” Nathan gushed, barely restraining himself (just like Sam was) from scooping up a plush and squishing it against his face. “Do you have all the different Bonnie variants? I didn’t realize that there were three-no, four different Bonnie plushies you could win!” 

“I didn't know that either, but when I figured that out I kinda had to get all of them,” Cora chuckled. She reached down to affectionately scratch the head of the Bonnie plushies all squeezed together, trailing a finger over their ears. “I… have a friend who really likes rabbits. They’re not a fan of dogs or cats, and most of the other mascots are too creepy for their taste, but they think Bonnie is super cute. They couldn’t quite come in person, so I decided to collect the plushies for them. As a gift.”

Subconsciously, Cora’s hand went up to her phone, securely tucked into the backpack strap. Sam was sure that if she moved to peek at the screen, she’d see Buddy’s textbox tinted bright pink and gushing with emoticons.

“Awww, that’s so sweet!” Nathan smiled, not noticing Cora protectively patting the phone. He stepped back, letting Cora resecure the tote bag on her shoulder and the neutral tilt of her mouth. “Dang, now I wish I asked my mom and dad if they wanted me to bring them anything. I think my mom would absolutely love Freddy, because she keeps around a bunch of her old stuffed animals from when she was a kid. It’s like the one vice she has.”

“But no luck?” Sam asked.

Nathan sighed, “No luck. I don’t think my game skills translate very well to real life. At this point I’m just trying out every single attraction to see if I can build up enough Fazpoints for those special end-of-day prizes. That’s the one spot where you’re apparently guaranteed to get one of the extra high-quality plushes like those, so long as you save up enough points. I’m just thankful that Kyle’s dad is chill enough to let us walk on our own… and not watching me bust all the money he gave me on that ring game.”

“Huh, so your required adult isn’t with you either?” Sam raised an eyebrow. 

“My dad’s only here because he’s got a temporary gig with Fazbears,” Kyle grunted, tearing his eyes away from glaring at something in the distance. Nathan stepped to the side nervously as Kyle shoved forward, looming down at Sam and Cora with disdain in his expression. “We got discounted passes for the fair, but we only got to come here today after my dad helped with some big repairs that were causing problems on the first day.”

Repairs? Problems?

Cora and Sam exchanged lightning quick looks with one another as Kyle continued, “He had to drive over stupid early to help iron out some coding problems with the tech they were wanting to show off, and today was basically the only day where he could come in later and bring us along. The only reason he’s not actively here is because he’s busy, and he trusts us to be mature .”

“Okay, are you implying something?” Sam squinted.

“I still don’t believe you just waltzed in here without an adult,” Kyle said. “That’s the one rule I’ve been seeing every single employee enforcing like crazy. I mean, I literally saw them drag out a giant group of kids when they tried to slip under the turnstiles. So how did you get in here?”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Sam muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Is it really too much for you to assume that maybe we’re just waiting for our mandatory adult to come back? I’m not some sort of trespassing hooligan-”

“Well sue me for assuming you’re a hooligan after you beat me up and threatened me!” Kyle snapped and threw up his hands. “After everything you did, it’s honestly a miracle I haven’t told anyone what you’ve done. I mean, if it weren’t for Nathan I probably would’ve-” 

Kyle abruptly stopped. “...Wait. What’s that?”

Eteled and Austin, who’d settled into an uncomfortable but calm silence, immediately let out a burst of static into Sam’s ears, and her own heart leaped up in her chest at Kyle’s sudden wide-eyed stare. After a moment Kyle raised a finger, and slowly pointed. “Why is there a weird thing under your sweatshirt? Are you… wearing a camera under your sweatshirt?”

“Wh- no!” Sam snapped in alarm, protectively throwing her arms over approximately where the little Switch camera was poking out. Her surprise, augmented by a new staticky burst of surprise from the Miis, quickly turned defensive as she added, “It’s not a camera!”

Kyle squinted suspiciously at her. “I can see the little glass bit in that hole, and the weird lump under your sweatshirt.” He scrutinized her even more closely than before, brow furrowed. “So you did break in? What are you trying to hide?”

“Uhhhhh…” Sam gulped. At this point, she had to admit: she hadn’t thought that anyone would notice the lump of the Switch carrier under her sweatshirt. She’d honestly hadn’t even considered the possibility that anyone would notice the tiny bit of the Switch camera peeking out or the lumpiness of her clothing.

Cora took a moment to step up in front of Sam with a scowl on her face. “Hey, do you have anything better to do than to gawk and stare through people’s clothes? It’s none of your business!”

“I feel like it’s something important if Sam’s hiding it,” Kyle said suspiciously. “What are you trying to do?”

“Uhhhhhh….” 

Quick, what makes a good lie? I can’t pretend I don’t have a camera… dang it, why didn’t I think something like this would happen! Curse you hindsight!

Vaguely, she heard Austin hiss, “Sam, now would be a good time to do something!”

“Look, can we not make this a big deal?” Sam composed herself and responded after a moment of spooked silence. “I just… wanted to bring some of my Nintendo stuff here in case we had to wait in line or something, and I didn’t have enough space in my backpack to carry my Switch. You don’t need to throw a fit.”

I mean, I’m being honest enough that he won’t see the lie, right? That’s how deflection works, right?

Kyle raised his eyebrow. Thankfully, the intensity of his eyes faded for mostly confusion. “O…kay. Weird place to keep a Switch…but that still doesn’t explain why you have the little Switch control cameras visible.”

“Just a weird hole in my sweatshirt,” Sam said swiftly. “I didn’t have anything else available.”

“...And in your Switch case,” Kyle raised his eyebrows, then shook his head. “No, this is too elaborate for this to just be some spur of the moment decision to carry your Switch in the weirdest place. Why do you need the camera to be visible…”

Kyle stiffened. “Hold on, there’s only one reason… or person you’d need to leave the camera exposed for… Did you figure out the SD card trick too?”

“...The what?” Sam asked, taken off guard. 

“The… the SD card!” Kyle pointed at her. “I had to take out the SD card and install it on my laptop when I tried figuring out what the hell… he was. And… of course you’d figure out how to do it to, you spend all of your time with it and… did he make you bring him here? Is that why you have the Switch hidden?”

There was a sudden glimmer in Kyle’s eyes that made Sam shift uncomfortably. Nathan looked over to her, recognition and concern in his eyes. “Kyle, I thought I told you that-”

“No, this is exactly what I was worried about!” Kyle exclaimed. He stepped forward, and gesticulated wildly at Sam. “I knew something was weird the moment you let that robot person stay in your house, but this? I don’t… no.” His eyes darkened. “I let this go too far. I should have done something more when you were acting all crazy just letting complete strangers stay around you, and even more when I got the Wii remote! But now…”

Sam’s hackles raised. The buzzing in her ears gained a new intensity as Kyle took a step forward. Seemingly forgetting for a moment that Kyle wouldn’t even be able to hear him with the earbuds plugged in, Eteled whispered, “Kyle, whatever it is you want, please…don’t do it.”

Sensing the same danger, Cora slowly inched closer to Sam and protectively put a hand in front of her chest. Nathan took the same cue and tugged on Kyle’s arm, a strained smile on his face. “H-hey, Kyle? I think it’s time we maybe took a step back and got on with the day? I think we’ve got some rides that we didn’t get a chance to try! I’m sure that whatever it is you’re thinking of, it’s all a BIG misunderstanding!”

Nathan shared a brief look with Sam, and weakly added, “Please?”

All was still for a long moment. The droning of the Mii’s stressed static was compounded by the pounding of Sam’s heart preparing for the worst. Nathan smiled hopefully as Kyle was still for a moment, seemingly pondering his answer. For one foolish moment, she wondered if Kyle would take his friend’s out and just go away like she’d hoped he would’ve.

But his eyes turned flinty, and the gut feeling she had proved itself true.

“Woah woah WOAH! Kyle, what the HECK are you doing!?!” Nathan yelped, stumbling back as his friend lunged forward out from his grasp and his hands outstretched to snatch at the front of Sam’s hoodie. Sam could feel her heart in her throat as she flung herself backward, by some miracle not bumping into someone in the seething crowd. Cora immediately stepped before her, flinging her arms out. To both her and Cora’s surprise, Kyle barely hesitated to shoulder past her, sending Cora falling onto her ass with a dumbstricken look. Sam would have shouted in rage at the older teen for his transgression, but one look at the maniacal gleam in his eyes stomped flat any thought of immediate furious rebuttal.

“Kyle, what the SHIT!?” Sam yelped as she sidestepped Kyle’s next frantic lunge.

“Oh, cruuuUUUUUUMBS!” Eteled yelled in her ear, rightfully panicked as Kyle swung with both hands to try and grab the wildly swinging drawstrings of her sweatshirt. “Sam, run and find Michael, run and find-!”

Eteled’s cry cut off into a choke when, with a wild swing, Kyle’s fingers drifted to where the strap poked out from the edge of the hoodie and seized it. Sam’s attempt at a dodge lost all momentum, and she was hauled to stare into the crazed eyes of Kyle.

H-holy shit, is Kyle actually doing this now? In public?

Any sort of mirth or disdain Sam normally would’ve mustered against Kyle died on the spot as she looked at him, and saw a level of mania that even when she’d first approached him with questions on the mysterious Wii and eventually fought him for said Wii she had barely seen before. He was practically shaking, as he snarled down at Sam, “You brought him here? With you? After everything I told you, after everything you saw him do, and you’re just toting him around like a digital baby? ”

“H-hey, that’s j-just rude. We’re full grown men,” Austin said, but any of his dry wit was watered down by lingering shock.

Sam did get the nerve to snap back, “Kyle, what is your problem !? I’m-”

“No, I am sick and tired of having that thing running around after what it did to me, and whatever else it did that landed it in there!” Kyle yelled. “I… I know what things like him do. I’ve read enough, seen enough to know what being around these sorts of things does to people. I might not be able to do anything about your robot , but I can’t let him control you anymore!”

“...Control me?” Sam was in no state of mind to even begin seriously considering what the hell Kyle was insinuating. But a sour pit grew in her stomach regardless.

As Kyle panted, there was a small respite for Eteled to speak to Sam, his voice catching. “I… oh, god. I didn’t think he still cared about what I did to his Mii… it was so long ago, and I thought he would’ve-if I knew he was going to do this I-”

Austin stopped him with a growl. “Henry, please stop wallowing in your own self pity for one damn second. I think your little stunt all those years ago with his Mii is only one contributer to this shitshow,” Austin hissed back tersely. “I might not be able to read his mind… but there’s something more going on here. Kyle’s never gone this crazy even back then .”

Sam didn’t deign to respond to their mumblings, her mind racing with the more immediate danger as time slowed. It seemed as though it would be the perfect moment for her life to flash before her eyes, but instead frantic plans to get out of this shitshow were the only thing crossing before them. Plans would be a stretch though–these were more animalistic fight-or-flight reflexes shaking off their dust to race in circles vying to be the response to the crazed teen before her.

If Sam were more aware she would’ve seen Nathan pulling up a still-stunned Cora to her feet and yelling at Kyle’s back, a confused huff and then a frantic high pitched shout from behind her where she vaguely remembered Louis being. She might’ve noticed the hasty babbling that vaguely sounded like plans from the Mii’s as they frantically tried to give Sam their own ideas to escape their plight. But her ears felt deaf and numb as she stared right into Kyle as his grip tightened on her patchwork Switch carrying strap.

“I’m ending this properly . I’ve let you get pulled around by him too long. It should’ve ended long ago, but I’m going to make sure this time your crazy Stockholm Syndrome fuckery ends. Right. Now .”

With his eyes glinting like knives Kyle tightens his grip on the strap, and then in the culmination of the absolute worst case scenario Sam never considered but wished she had pulled . It’s the distinct sound of popping threads, the feeling of loose strands from Sam’s Wiiporter stitching coming apart that suddenly makes everything sharp and crystal clear. 

The confused dribbling of panic in her mind suddenly shifts to harsh focus like a camera snapping an image. The half-formed thoughts stop, and even the Mii’s half-heard jabbering stops. Instead of the confused noise from inside and outside there's a wall of harsh electric noise that fills Sam’s head, shoving away all the instinctive howling for only a few things as the world tunneled down to make it just her, the Switch and the Miis, and Kyle.

Panic for the situation.

Dread of what could have possibly drive Kyle to such extremes.

Protectiveness of her she’s my only friend of the Miis.

The sensation of flesh and electrical signals.

Wrath.

It felt both like moving through mud and moving at light speed. Sam wasn’t particularly sure what it was she was doing, but as her perception seemed to slow with the adrenaline and static pulsing through her, she could feel her arm autonomously rise and begin lashing toward Kyle. It doesn’t feel right, and yet everything suddenly was quite right as she (She? Wait, is there something wrong? There’s something in my body-) moved. It’s almost as if her hand is crackling with static as her fingers curl into claws, though what that static is she has no idea.

All she knows is that she must stop Kyle from taking her friends. It’s a conviction pulling itself from the adrenaline surging through her body in electric waves and an almost caustic sensation pouring through her veins in what feels like pain. She will stop him, and she’s not going to let them hurt her or his best friend he can’t stand the dark and he promised but this time he’s not going to let him hurt her again and they swear to god you’re not taking our second chance-

“ Excuse me?” 

A blessed, ever so slightly staticky baritone voice cut through Sam’s own staticky mind and stopped the movement of her hand before she did… whatever it was she was going to do. It instead flailed out into the air before flopping down anticlimactically by her side–but Kyle had also stopped mid-grab. His hand slipped off the strap as quickly as he’d grabbed it to let Sam stumble backward with her chest heaving and the staticky sensation that had charged fading as quickly as it had come. 

For a moment Sam was tempted to surge back to punch the asshole even though the adrenaline (at least, she’s assuming it’s adrenaline...) had already left her limbs feeling as worn out as taffy but she stopped as she saw Kyle’s face, frozen and blanched white, as he stared in undisguised horror at the person behind her casting a long shadow. Nathan had pulled Cora to presumably attempt to pry Kyle off of Sam himself, but he stopped just shy of Kyle to look up to the man standing behind her with puzzlement. Cora stared too, and for the first time saw true trepidation on her face as she stared up.

“...Is that…?”

Sam turned around to behold her savior.

Michael, with Louis behind him looking relieved and spooked, loomed over all of them with his arms loaded with paper bags and a cold blue glare that settled solely on Kyle and Kyle alone. “ ... You . What do you think you’re doing? ”

Behind her she heard Kyle sputter like a dying car engine, any and all of his fervor snuffed out in a blink. After a moment Michael looked down to meet Sam’s own eyes. Before he could say anything or her brain could catch up, Sam found herself launching forward to glomp his torso, pressing her face into his chest and squeezing as tight as she could–tight enough to hear the reassuring clicking of hidden mechanisms hidden underneath and to absorb the burning warmth of the Switch pressed against her chest through the casing. Michael paused, then with the paper bags still dangling from his hands wrapped his arms around her.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see what was happening earlier,” Michael quietly huffed in her ear. “Louis had to call me over from fighting against the assholes at the pickup counter. Are you hurt? Are Eteled and Austin okay?”

Sam nodded into his chest, the vigorous motion making the warm paper food bags thump against her back. “I-I’m okay. Just…kinda messed up. They’re okay too, I think. Are you?”

“Yeah… damn good timing,” Austin said after a moment, wheezing as though he’d just run a marathon. He still managed to inject his voice with sincerity even as he bit out, “Real fucking last minute save there Mike.”

Michael barely heard the Mii’s crackly response through the loose earbud, and he huffed. “Glad to see you’re still chatty.”

“And same here. Never thought I could be so happy to see you,” Eteled chimed in, his voice shakier than Austin’s but thankfully a far cry from the panicked staticky garbles of before.

Michael nodded, and maintained the hug a moment longer before letting Sam go. She quickly made to stand right by the robotic man, unwilling to stand any closer to the still-paralyzed Kyle than she had to. Almost as quickly as he’d turned to warm and comforting, Michael immediately wheeled straight back to frigid cold as he glared down at Kyle.

“I don’t think you’ve answered my question still,” Michael said. “Now, tell me exactly what was it you were doing?”

Kyle didn’t even try to make up an excuse. Still with the deer in headlights look he tried to backpedal away and start dashing. He was not fast enough.

“Ah ah! Hold on just a minute, ” With a diabolical, dark grin Michael sidestepped before Kyle could even spin around and start hightailing it out of there. “ It has been a while since we first met. So I think I’d just like to have a little… conversation with you to settle some things I should have settled a while ago, especially in light of the misunderstanding that happened. Don’t you agree?”

“B-buh… huuuuuhhh…” 

Kyle quaked, staring in horror but unable to do anything but quiver as Michael towered before him with every word shaking in ill-restrained contempt. The terrified teen made to shake his head, but any protest on his part was silenced as Michael slowly put a single hand on his shoulder. The touch was light, and he wasn’t even gripping with significant strength for Kyle to worry about, but the icy cold emanating from every part of the robot-bound ghost made any resistance the teen could have put up futile from the get go. Barely turning his head, Michael looked to the rest of them. “You all can go start enjoying the food. Me and Kyle will be over in just a moment after I set some things straight.”

It looked as though Nathan wanted to say something, but one look had him silently back off. He looked apologetically at Kyle, but he slowly went to join the other teens. Slowly they started to walk away, though Sam (and definitely the others) kept looking behind them as Michael turned to crouch before Kyle, still gently holding onto his shoulder but keeping the terrified teen in one place as he started to say… something to the kid. His voice was low enough that she couldn’t make out what he was saying, but Sam was able to catch the flash of terror on Kyle’s face before the passing crowd blocked her sight.

It only took a few moments for the awkwardly silent group to find an empty wooden picnic table near the mouth of the corridor of food stands to put down the food. They all sat down, Sam and Cora on one side with Nathan and Louis (+ Scout) on the other. No one opened the food yet, sitting for just a minute to look blankly at one another. Cora stared acridly at Nathan, Louis quietly sat over on the furthest corner and sat unable to meet anyone’s eyes as he reluctantly opened the bag, and Nathan sat slumped in shame.

It was Nathan who once more took initiative to break the standoff, and he looked at Sam with pleading eyes. “Sam, I am so, so sorry for everything that just happened. If I knew Kyle was going to… go crazy like that I would have done something! I promise! I just… I froze up again just like last time, and by the time I was doing something your brother just came up and-”

“Nathan, calm down. I don’t blame you for what Kyle did,” Sam interrupted the curly-haired teen wearily. 

Nathan didn’t look satisfied by her half-hearted assuagement. He ran a hand through his curls and grimaced. “But… I was there, I could’ve stopped him, or at least tried harder! And I just froze when I saw him ranting at you! I still can’t believe he flipped out over you having the Switch though!”

He trailed off, giving a meaningful look to the square lump that’s much more obviously the Switch’s carrying case. He tapped his fingers uncertainly, then hesitantly asked, “Are they… is he in there?”

“His name’s Eteled. And yeah, he’s here,” Sam said simply. There’s not much point in hiding it from Nathan–he’d already confessed before that Kyle’d told him all about the Wii and his experiences–and the Miis also seem to recognize the fact. Eteled in particular hummed as he took in Nathan’s conflicted expression at her curt response. The curly haired boy thought to himself, staring down at his hands as they rested on the wooden surface of the picnic table.

“... Do you think he forgives me?” Eteled asked no one in particular. “After what I did to Kyle’s Mii, and what he saw me do… that was the only part of me he saw.”

Nathan himself doesn’t hear him, lapsing into a moment of thought, but Sam and Austin do. It’s the glitched Mii who speaks up to answer. “Forgive is… definitely a strong word there. I mean, it’s hard for a kid watching even a fictional person get fucking discombobulated to forget that, but I suppose you could’ve done a hell of a lot worse. Forgiveness feels like a strong ask… but I guess at least he’s at least not going as nuts as Kyle did.”

Eteled let out another hum in response, and she was sure that if Sam could see his face he’d be pensively looking at Nathan as he put together his response, tapping together his spherical hands in anxiety. 

Nathan did finally speak, sighing and shifting to sit up straight. “I’m not going to push on what exactly you’re doing with… Eteled. I don’t think I’m in any position to question your relationship. But regardless of what’s actually going on, Kyle shouldn’t have done any of that to you. I… I’m not sure I could stop him, but… I’m not going to do the same thing as what he did.”

“You better not,” Sam instinctively sniped back, and immediately regretted it as Nathan flinched. He just nodded in grim acceptance though.

“You’re right. I… hell, would you even still want to be friends?” Nathan chuckled wearily. “This is two times we’ve met that everything’s just gone to shit.”

“Only because of Kyle,” Sam said bitterly.

Nathan hesitated, then very slowly nodded. “I… yeah, you’re not really wrong about that.”

Sam met his eyes over the table, and after a moment gave a small smile. “Still, I do remember saying something over the phone that you aren’t Kyle, and you aren’t responsible for his bullfuckery.”

That made Nathan perk up. “Y-you mean you’re still chill with me?”

“Yeah. Like I said before, I like talking to you,” Sam said honestly. “And I would actually like to keep talking at least sometimes… preferably minus Kyle.”

“Y-yeah… yeah!” Nathan nodded, a more genuine smile on his face. “I… yeah, I can do that.” A small tinge of anxiety entered his voice. “Are we… are we cool, or is there anything I can do to…?”

“You’re fine. You’re fine,” Sam sighed, smile turning strained. “Let’s just… chill for now until Michael comes back with Kyle, alright? I’d like to move onto something else… Please.”

…

Cora had to give this Fazbear’s credit: this fair was pretty damn good for a blatant corporate cash grab married to a coverup of its shitty corporate past. The fried chicken she’d slowly picked apart was decent for what it was, and the Bonnie Fazcake delightfully sweet so that it vanished soon after she took the first bites. The games had all been fun with a surprising restraint on their scamminess levels (though obviously not completely absent), and the prizes loaded in her bag were of good quality. It was almost enough to make her forget why she’d even let Sam persuade her here in the first place.

But not enough. 

She’d polished off her food the fastest out of everyone, since she wasn’t busy talking, and sat seemingly texting on her phone at the picnic table as everyone moved around in their own little bubbles. But she wasn’t just inanely sending pictures and texts to vapid friends or whatever it was other people would do.

Even if they hadn’t done the promised espionage, Cora had been watching. Her eyes had been slowly picking apart this facade of a carnival piece by piece as they’d gone along, noticing all the discrepancies and trying to fit the pieces she noticed with the precious files archived safely in her home and in Sam’s home. Buddy hadn’t been idle either: in between gushing over the sheer number of Bonnie plushies Cora’d accumulated and spamming excited emoticons at any remotely interesting thing that caught their camera, they’d been making their own observations.

Now, with Sam busy talking to Nathan and (annoyingly enough still) not nearly focused enough to continue any productive conversation, Michael off with Kyle to presumably give him the world’s most terrifying shovel talk, and Louis discreetly (and badly) slipping Scout bits of food and whispering to them secretly (and badly) and still reeking with yet-unvoiced guilt for recent events, Cora finally could hold a conversation with Buddy. Of course, said conversation had to be texted out–if Cora was talking to her phone out loud and people just saw the blank screen, she’d definitely get weird looks–but it was better than nothing. 

Putting on a carefully crafted “bored” face that she’d mastered in school, Cora began by typing: Hey, Buddy. How are you holding up?

I’m fine! I still feel spooked after that weird creepy teenager tried to hurt Sam, though… Buddy was quick to respond. I should be asking if YOU are okay though! You got pushed over!

I’m still a little shaken too. Didn’t expect him to get that physical, but at least Michael showed up in time.

Yeah, phew! It’s a good thing he showed up! Buddy chimed. I wish I could have done something though! If only…

Hey, you’re just fine. The situation got handled, and everything calm again, Cora typed, a reassuring smile briefly gracing her face. But that aside, we really haven’t gotten a single chance to talk about what we’re supposed to be doing here. 

Cora briefly looked up out of a burst of paranoia, glancing around to see if anyone strange was watching her. She doubted anyone was–all the Fazbear employees she’d seen only looked interested in going to bed or being anywhere else that wasn’t being surrounded by screaming children. But she couldn’t help it–talking about what they were going to talk about felt dangerous, so deep in the lion’s den and with plans on the line. She turned her head, and after a few beats she turned back and pulled the phone screen closer to her face.

Have you noticed anything strange while we’ve been walking around?

Buddy pondered for a moment, ellipses popping on screen before they responded. I haven’t noticed anything extra weird yet! The main thing is all the posters and employees hyping up the tech show, which is kinda interesting, and that there were some mascots that I haven’t really seen much about. They didn’t show up too often, but there’s enough that it’s weird.

Cora thought back a moment. By weird mascots, do you mean the… Golden Freddy one?

No, no. Though that one is kinda weird. Why does it have those big empty eyes? Buddy’s textbox shivered. I was talking about that one stand that had those weird clown dolls for, I think, “Baby” and “Ballora”?

The clown dolls? Cora took the moment to scan her memories for anything about clowns, and then she remembered: There had been that one weird carnival game. It had been some bizarre cross between a claw game and a ball pit that Cora thought was just some very elaborate ball dropping game, but after multiple tries and a lot of arguing from Louis and Cora as they seemingly obvious goal was in fact NOT obvious, not even the game runner seemed to understand (they’d just let Cora win after paging through a thick packet of paper and then staring blankly into space questioning their existence). 

The main and only thing of interest at that game besides whatever the hell the actual game was had been the bright blue plush Bonnie she’d won that, interestingly enough, designed as a hand-puppet rather than a simple plush. The other plushies at the stand were also different designs, but far more radical in their shifts. The whole “clown” aesthetic (and the godawful proportions and faces on the little plush monstrosities) honestly had Cora tune out those plushies, but she remembered enough.

Hm, is that what those weird human clown plushes were of? Cora hummed. Good catch on that detail. But, I don’t remember seeing any names about them.

Oh, you’re right. They didn’t have names. Buddy paused. Strange… why did I know what those were called?

Cora thought, and shrugged. I don’t know. Maybe dad programmed them into you? But why would he feel the need to program a bunch of mascot information into you for what he was doing then?

Hmm, maybe it was part of his job? Buddy suggested. I think part of what he was trying to do was improve my ability to make games… maybe when he was with Fazbears they wanted him to make me able to make them games?

Convoluted… but if those weird research papers are any indication Fazbears does love being overly complex for no good reason. Cora tapped at her chin as they both processed the information. I don’t suppose you’ve seen anything that resembled… ‘Residue’, or ‘Extra-Anima systems’? Or whatever other codenames they were using to describe the research in those correspondence emails?

Mm, no. Everything just looks so cute and fun! If they were hiding anything funky and ghosty they hid it really good… or I haven’t been paying attention. Buddy trailed off with an embarrassed emoji, textbox tinting orange in embarrassment.

Don’t beat yourself up, I’ve been getting distracted too. Cora typed back. And unfortunately, I don’t think Fazbear’s is THAT incompetent. They’re not going to show if they have something shady right on their sleeves. If we want to get more information, we have to find some way to slip away and find some sort of office space. There’s bound to be at least one employee in on this weird stuff who has documents or a computer lying around.

But Michael is around, and I think Louis might also not be interested in helping… Buddy’s textbox jittered nervously. I don’t want you to go wandering by yourself.

I won’t be alone. You’d be with me, won’t you?

Aww, you’re too nice! Buddy’s textbox blushed, but quickly turned serious again. But that’s not what I mean. I don’t want you to get in trouble because I don’t have arms or legs to get up and help you, and you need someone else to help you!

Sam is here. Once she feels a bit better then I’m sure she’d be willing to help. I mean, it WAS her idea to come here.

I guess… but make sure you ask her first! Buddy chirped.

Cora looked over to Sam as she chowed down on her Foxy-themed Fazcake. The usual shine in her eyes was starting to return as she gulped down the cinnamon-strawberry covered funnel cake, but it was still dim. Cora sighed. We might have to wait a bit until she actually is in the mood to help.

Look on the bright side. It’s about… Her home screen momentarily blinked into view as Buddy moved their all encompassing textbox out of the way. With shrunken text, they declared, It’s 2:45! Oh wow, it looks like the tech show’s going to be starting in 45 minutes!

The tech show? Cora pondered, and then smiled. Hm, maybe it’s another company branded event… but we can see if there’s anything weird during the show. Animatronics are supposed to be Fazbear’s bread and butter back in its older version, and a tech show would be the perfect place to show any off…

And there’s always been weird stuff about the robots! Buddy chirped. If we’re going to catch something shady about Fazbear, it’ll be through the bots!

Cora smiled. Good call. Looks like we’ll just have to wait until everyone finishes eating and see if they’re good to go to the show. 

Yay! We have progress! Buddy threw digital confetti across the screen. 

Right indeed. With that new plan, and new confidence, both of them relaxed and let themselves take in the sights. Cora breathed in through her nose. The scent of fried sugar and the clattering of games, the excited babbling of kids, was nostalgic. Cora hadn’t really gone to fairs often: maybe once, or twice tops and one of those times was before she could remember anything at a ripe three years old (the clearest memory was of a giant rainbow colored lollipop, and a rich laugh from someone carrying her as she smacked it on her palm to feel the funny stickiness of the sugar).

The one, more important time she went to the fair had to be back when her dad was still doing his tech consultant job fixing up people’s broken websites and still having to scrape for time to dabble in his real passion of video game design. Getting to said fair meant traveling a road trip that had its own share of interesting events (read: a family who barely left the neighborhood figured out why they didn’t like leaving said neighborhood), but the end result meant a fun three days of nothing but bizarre fried food, rattling but fun fair rides, and too many cheap plushies to count at the Utah State Fair. 

… Jonah loved that. He would’ve loved this too. Especially Foxy…

Cora’s content smile turned melancholy at the thought. She leaned her head back to look at the crystal blue sky, decorated with cotton candy wisps of cloud and the bright ball of sun slowly creeping across to the other side. 

Little goblin… I wish you were here. I wish dad was here too. Maybe even mom…

She closed her eyes, letting the sounds of the fair provide white noise to her thoughts. Maybe, if it’d been a few years ago, the thoughts of Jonah would’ve made her begin ugly crying after a few minutes and her tuning out like this would be her attempt at controlling the grotesque well of emotion from tearing its way out from inside of her soul. But nowadays, it was meditation as she let it be replaced by a cool burning fire, white enough to burn yet emanating a chill that froze over what small puddles were left of her tears.

I’m going to find dad, I promise you. I’m not going to lose anyone else again.

I love you, Jonah.

Cora sat like that for several long minutes, until she became aware of an annoying pinging in her ear. She opened her eyes, the light making her squint as she scowled.

“Ugh, what…?” She muttered as she looked down at the phone. Her hand had gone slack as she’d meditated so the glare made it hard to read the screen. She lifted it up, but before she could type she frowned at the artifacting suddenly coating the screen.

“...Buddy?” She whispered.

There was a harsh popping of static through the earbud in her ear, and then seemingly tearing its way into existence a textbox that was not Buddy’s overtook half the screen.

Cora? Could I… talk to you for a moment?

Cora momentarily blanked, but her brain quickly caught up as she saw the familiar white chrome form of the textbox. It was one that was familiar enough since its origin game was almost always omnipresent on Sam’s bedroom television. Buddy was the first to respond though with his own now considerably squished down text box.

Woah, Eteled? You spooked me! I thought someone was trying to download a virus!

Sorry, sorry. The electrokinesis is still a bit touchy, Eteled apologized. It was strange to see him talk through text rather than with his bizarrely deep voice or without actually seeing his face, but his text was still as fluid as Buddy’s: a result of practicing communicating with her faceless friend when Sam and Cora were busy brainstorming.

Cora glanced surreptitiously over to Sam just in case Sam was trying to use Eteled to discreetly talk with her. Sam was still thoroughly engrossed in her conversation with Nathan, though she was at the moment toying with a plastic fork as Nathan attempted to badger a nervous Louis. She squinted back down at Eteled’s textbox. What is it?

Well, there was something that occurred, and I didn’t want to bring it up with Sam just yet… Eteled’s words plunked on screen, glitching slightly as the Mii attempted to maintain his connection to the phone. Did you… notice anything strange when Kyle was trying to attack Sam?

…What? 

Cora frowned. Clarify “strange”.

Eteled paused a moment, his textbox jittering and pixelating before refocusing. I mean… did you see Sam… behaving strangely? Looking strange? 

Hold on, hold on. Cora did a double take. She looked up at Sam, sniggering as Nathan made some sort of joke, and back at the phone. Kyle was the one acting strange and like an absolute asshole! Sam was the one getting attacked! What do you mean Sam was acting strange too?

Not like that! I mean… Eteled typed up a few words, then deleted it and another, then repeated as he attempted to dictate what he wanted. It’s not- I mean-... Damn, I don’t know how to put it! But… something happened while Kyle was trying to take the Switch! We- I… I just need to confirm with someone else besides Austin, because he felt the same thing I did and we don’t know if it was just both of us freaking out or if it was something else more serious!

Cora didn’t know what to think. She glanced up at Sam, still looking perfectly normal if still more out of it than Cora had seen her before, and curtly typed back, Explain. WHAT feeling are you talking about?

Eteled’s textbox went blank, for a moment. Damn it… that’s the problem. I’m not sure how to describe it exactly. It happened so fast, but… I guess I can make a close comparison at least.

When Kyle was about to try tearing off the strap, I just felt this overwhelming sense of terror and anger. I was glitching too, almost as bad as… well, back when me and Austin were on worse terms. Eteled paused. Do you need any clarification on-

No, keep going. Cora impatiently typed back.

Okay. Okay… Eteled paused, frazzled and still glitching slightly as the phone buzzed. Where was I? Right. I was glitching, and Austin was too. And then, for a split second it was like… I could feel sensations that weren’t from me. Everything was burning and I felt like I stuck my hand through a hole made out of fire, but the other side was… comfortable? Like… putting on a coat. But all I could think about was stopping Kyle from hurting Sam, and I was ready to… to stop him at any cost…

Eteled trailed off. …I guess what I’m trying to say is… I didn’t feel right. I felt as if I was both in my Mii and then also… not in it? At least partially. 

Cora was silent as Eteled’s text box turned blank. She tried to think, if she saw anything from Sam that even remotely explained whatever the hell Eteled had just spewed at her. Vaguely, Cora could remember her making a split-second face of rage before Michael had stepped in–but that could be easily explained away as Sam being rightfully pissed in the heat of the moment.

Sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. 

Oh… I suppose that figures. It was all so quick… Eteled replied miserably.

Cora couldn’t help but feel bad, and she quickly added, Hey, if we get time I can ask Sam if she also noticed anything weird. I’m sure once she feels better she’d be happy to-

Wait! Eteled blurted. Can we… not tell her yet?

Buddy this time piped up to fill in Cora’s befuddlement. What do you mean, don’t tell her? I think as a friend she’d want to know if something strange was going on! Especially if it’s involving her!

Do you think I’m enjoying keeping quiet about this? Eteled quickly snapped back. She’s already been through a lot today, and for all I know this is just some fluke. I just want to make sure this is something she actually needs to worry about before throwing it onto her plate! 

Cora’s mouth twitched. …You’re sure? Something about this feels shady.

Eteled surprised by not even dancing around the suspicion, but simply saying, It is. But… please just trust me on this. Eteled begged. I have a bad feeling, but I want to confirm it before trying to make a mountain out of a molehill. When I get a moment I’m going to be digging through the code on the chip to see if there’s some new mutation in the data that caused that weird feeling. If you notice anything else strange, please let me know.

Again, she hesitated. Cora… had enjoyed being upfront with Sam. It’d been a good while since she’d met someone so perfectly willing to stay even after getting the motherlode of all misery dumped on her right at the start and still piling up. And Sam herself was always so optimistic and energetic, always eager to blab about her obsession with video games and horror and sci-fi and yet still patient to listen as Cora described Buddy’s newest strides in game development and the investigation. 

True, Cora hadn’t shared every last part of the files from her dad’s briefcase with Sam, but that was for good reason. It never hurt to keep some things under wraps until they were needed, to avoid another… Stacy . But otherwise Cora had been honest about everything. To suddenly start keeping new secrets, especially one that apparently involved something with Sam that the other girl didn’t even seem to realize, felt… dirty.  

But it’s been a long day, and the last thing I need is Sam having a crisis and us not even getting to do what we came here for. And especially if I barely understand what it is Eteled’s talking about in the first place…

Reluctantly though, and against her better judgment, Cora typed, Fine. I won’te tell her. Just don’t wait too long on getting answers before this turns into something both of us regret.

The glitches in Eteled’s textbox finally subsided, and she could’ve sworn he heard a digital sigh. Thank you. Truly.

Yeah, yeah… Cora paused for a moment, then put her teeth together. But, if you’re asking me to do this, can you do something back for me?

Eteled’s textbox went blank for a moment. Slowly, he responded, What did you have in mind?

You should let Sam know that I’m chill if you don’t want to talk right away about whatever it is you mentioned about Michael. Cora responded. Whatever it was you actually spilled to her has been eating her up, and I don’t want her to be thrown off her game so badly the rest of the day. I’m definitely talking with you later, but tell Sam that she doesn’t have to spill right now. Sound fair?

Eteled’s response didn’t take nearly as much time as Cora would’ve expected. Oh. Is… that it? 

Yup. Just don’t delay on doing that though, got it? And I will be having that conversation with you, like it or not.

Yes! I’ll tell Sam as soon as I can! And… I’ll keep that in mind. Eteled responded. He paused, and then said, I should cut off now. I think the phone doesn’t appreciate my being here. I’ll talk to you later, and I’ll be sure to tell Sam what you said. Goodbye for now.

Just as swiftly as he’d come, Eteled’s textbox dissolved from existence. Bye friend! Buddy “called” after the Mii’s presence as he left with more cheer than Cora could muster at the moment. Buddy’s pixelated text box refilled the screen once the last bits of clean white vanished, and they spoke, Cora, how’re you feeling? You’re making a sad face.

Cora hummed indecisively, but settled for the obvious answer. 

I don’t know, but I don’t have a good feeling about this…

Well, cheer up! I’m sure Eteled knows what he’s doing! Buddy replied optimistically. He is a very smart programmer when he wants to be! At Cora’s reluctant silence, they continued, I mean, I guess we don’t have to worry about strange things with Sam for now unless we do see something weird. She looks fine, at least through my camera, so we can just focus on getting that dirt of Fazbears! I… guess it wouldn’t hurt to keep quiet for now, ha ha.

You’re right, Cora sighed. No point in worrying over something if we can’t do anything about it yet. Now, if we could just…

By the time everyone’s food had been polished off, with varying amounts of groaning and belly rubbing, Michael came sauntering back with a chipper smile and a blanched Kyle next to him. “Hey, sorry I missed lunch. How was the food?”

At the chorus of, “Pretty good!” and “Nice!” and “I think my stomach wants to explode,” Michael grinned. “Good. So, did you all want to do more games or start making our way to that tech show?”

“The tech show! It’s practically the last one of the day, so we only have one chance to check it out!” Cora declared. Everyone else was in agreement, nodding and speaking affirmation. 

Sam in particular perked up, her excitement turning more genuine. “Hey, do you think they’ll have some new animatronics there? Or more of those staff robots like Ticketbot?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” Michael agreed, with a sardonic edge that had Cora raise her eyebrow. He looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, but he suppressed it and instead lightly prodded Kyle forward. The teen stumbled forward with a tiny yelp, impressively mustering the energy to glare at Michael before shriveling at the cool glare he gave him. 

“I had a talk with your friend here,” Michael addressed Nathan, voice soft but not quite friendly as Kyle began to gingerly walk over to him. “I don’t think he’s exactly keen on coming with us, but if you’re interested you can come along too, so long as Sam doesn’t mind…”

Nathan stood and swiftly put himself in between Sam and Kyle, making sure to get a good grip on his friend’s arm. He craned his head up to Michael and swallowed nervously, but he still had a polite grin as he responded, “Uh, I’d love to, but I’ve already seen the show a whole bunch of times. And… I think I might need to have my own talk with Kyle. Sorry for dipping out again on you, Sam.”

“No biggie,” Sam waved Nathan off, eyeing Kyle warily before shooting the curly-haired boy a reassuring smile. “Like I said, you’re good in my books. And besides, I can always call you, right?”

“Of course!” Nathan nodded to Michael. “I, uh, hope we get to meet under better conditions than this. You seem like a cool dude!”

Michael just cooly replied, “That would be fine, so long as you don’t bring your… friend along.”

“O-oh, that might, uh, be hard to guarantee, but I promise I’ll keep an eye on him!” Nathan said quickly. He waved at Sam, and then to Cora and Louis who tentatively waved back. “I hope I get to see you guys again! Have a great time at the tech show, and a great rest of your day!”

With a sunny smile and a hand gently urging Kyle away from Michael’s burning gaze, Nathan made his leave and a collective tension that Cora had mostly managed to ignore dissipated.

As soon as the two boys were out of sight Louis was first to blurt out, “I-I’m sorry I wasn’t able to do more! I just turned around to help Michael straighten out the orders, and I swear if I saw what was happening I would’ve helped!”

“Louis, you’re fine. I don’t blame you if you were busy, and everything turned out okay in the end, didn’t it?” Sam sighed. “Is Scout okay?”

“Uh, yeah! They got kinda spooked when they heard the yelling and… they were actually the ones who pointed at you guys fighting, so that was good!” Louis said. He gently patted the side of his duffel bag. A pair of plastic yellow eyes shimmered within, and a tiny felt hand stuck out to give a brief thumbs up. Muffled, Cora could hear the hand puppet holler, “I’m glad that you’re good, and that fucker is gone!”

“Thanks, Scout. I didn’t want to think about what might have happened if no one caught wind of it…” Sam said gratefully, giving the sentient hand puppet her own thumbs up. She then looked over to Michael curiously. “Hey, what did you talk about with Kyle anyway?”

Michael gave her a reassuring smile in response, though there was a shadow in his eyes that belied his easy voice. “It was what I said it’d be. I just cleared some things from the air regarding what I’m doing with you. I just wanted to make sure he knew better than to try and pull a stunt like that again. And in case you’re wondering, no, I didn’t threaten him… that much.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Cora interjected, standing up and brushing off her front. “Whatever it was Michael said to him, the jerk probably deserved it.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, absolutely fair. Seriously, thank you again Mike. You’re a lifesaver.” With less desperation than before she stood up and hugged Michael tightly for a few moments. He gently patted her on the head as she held onto him, and grinned softly.

“Of course,” Michael said. He then looked around to everyone. “Everyone ready to go and squeeze some enjoyment from this shitshow of a day?”

“Yup!” Sam cheered, Louis following suit and even Scout peeping their head out stealthily to whisper-yell, “Fuck yes! I wanna see robots!”

Cora just nodded, even as Buddy beeped excitedly in her ear. Something in her warmed up at the sight of Sam beaming instead of with the strange melancholy hovering over her, but as usual she found her eyes drifting to Michael, walking around the table to pick up the trash and ushering everyone into a group.

Yes, she’d been keeping a close eye on him the entire time, and now knowing that he had some form of dirt on Fazbear’s had heightened her senses. She found herself drifting behind him as they prepared to move out, Louis pointing over to one of the larger tents and plotting out with Michael if they’d be able to stop by any more games or if they should make a beeline to the tent to get better seating.

If there was a time to start deciphering what exactly Michael’s relations with Fazbears is, now is the time. Talk to Sam when she unglues herself from him, and be prepared to take advantage of any clues or opening to investigate.

You’re here for a purpose, and you’re here to accomplish it.

…

Michael hoped that the dread growing inside him like festering mold wasn’t visible on his face as they made their way through the fair. Sam was already looking infinitely happier than she’d been before–he hadn’t been entirely blind to the oddly potent sense of regret she’d held onto for a long section of the fair. She’d been noticeably tapping at where the Switch rested secured by the carrier, glancing over to Cora and looking off as she did. He had debated asking her directly what had been bothering her, but then one thing had led to the other and then that boy had tried to attack her and that concern had fallen to the wayside.

At least she’s smiling again, that’s what is important. Although, it might be worth it to ask Eteled or Austin what was going on later…

And speaking of him , Michael hadn’t been lying to her that he hadn’t threatened Kyle as much as it seemed any of the teens besides Louis had expected. That didn’t change the fact that he’d felt a fury almost as intense as what he held for Springtrap in any of his forms when he’d seen Kyle seize Sam by her hoodie and start trying to yank off the Switch carrier. The only reason he’d held back was the small spark of mercy singing to him as he looked the boy in his eyes and saw the primal terror that had filled him in mere seconds. By all rights, he was sure Sam wouldn’t have protested if he’d roughed Kyle up, and the sheer temptation was there.

But, there was something in the kid that was familiar. Michael couldn’t quantify it, and with this only being the second time he’d seen the kid (and the impression he’d most certainly left behind to dissuade the kid from showing his face again) he doubted he’d be able to figure it out. But it was enough for Michael to swallow the urge to give Kyle a well deserved thrashing.

(Michael had pulled him aside in between tents out of eyeline and crouched down to Kyle’s level. He’d been glancing behind him to make sure Sam and the others made it to the tables. He caught sight of the deep, guilty frown on Louis' face, and sighed mentally.

As soon as I finish up, I have to let the kid know that just because he was helping me at the registers doesn’t mean he’s guilty for what happened to Sam.

He sorted out his thoughts, and then cleared his throat. Michael felt a bit of mixed smugness and shame at the flinch Kyle gave him at the staticky bark of his voice, but he managed to keep any petty emotions down as he began. “Alright, here’s the thing. I thought you were shady before, what with what you tried to do to the Wii. But at that time I could understand it–you were scared, and admittedly I had just busted into the room like a lunatic. But attacking Sam for barely any reason? That is crossing the very thin line that I’d drawn for you.”

Kyle was silent for a moment, then he growled to himself and managed to meet Michael’s eyes with his own. “It wasn’t for no reason. I saw the Switch, and I remember what it was he did. I don’t know what he might’ve told you, but he was lying.”

“Mmhm,” Michael hummed dubiously. “Right. Well I don’t know about you, but I feel like I can discern a liar pretty well myself. Doubt he’d be lying about cutting Miis in half… unless you made up that part of your story?” )

As they made their way through the maze of tents and Fazbear paraphernalia, following Louis as they eagerly sought to make themselves useful with a map that they’d picked up somewhere along the line, Michael turned introspective on the kid. Yes, it was partially to ignore both the growing suspicion as to what this “tech show” was (because if it was Fazbear’s there was only one thing the tech show could be for) and Cora’s eyes burning into his back. But he couldn’t help but feel a pang of memory hit him as he thought back to the maddened desperation that had been in the teen’s eyes.

( “I know about what Eteled did.” Kyle’s stiffness intensified as Michael confirmed exactly what was transpiring in the kid’s mind. “And yes, it was shitty of him. But the thing is, he’s not who he was.”

He could practically hear the trainwreck in the kids mind occurring in real time as Kyle was struck silent. Michael waited patiently for the kid to put together the pieces, simply watching the kid for any response. It’d been a hot minute since he’d seen anyone so angry–true, Sam could work up a petulant rage if she wanted to, but not since, well, Michael himself as a teen had he seen anyone so hellbent on staying angry as long as possible.

Just as Michael expected, Kyle’s lip curled as he snarled again, “Not who he was? Not who he was? Good grief, you sound just like Sam! I don’t know what exactly you are, but I can’t believe that you’re also spewing the same ‘Protect the deranged AI that’s also a ghost’ that she tried peddling at me when she first tried contacting me!”

“Low blow kid. And very insulting too if you say it to the wrong person. How do you know if I’m also an AI who’s secretly a deranged ghost?” It was admittedly not the smartest thing to say, but Michael’s pettiness was running at an all time high and he felt another pang of smugness as Kyle blanched. He quickly added, “I’m messing with you. But I still don’t appreciate you calling Sam’s, and my, friend deranged.”

“First off, that was a shitty joke,” Kyle wheezed in an attempt to maintain his composure. “And also, Eteled is not your friend. I know he’s definitely putting on a show of being all sad and despondent to get your sympathy–I know he did the same thing to me when I tried investigating the Wii myself–and I know he’s not what he seems…”

He paused, as if mustering up courage, and continued, “I found notes. Old notes, on ghosts and Nintendo. I read enough to know that there’s some evil, evil things out there, and there’s one hell of a good chance Eteled is one of them. I don’t exactly like Sam at this point, but I don’t want her to get the same shitty deal that some of those people I read about… You have to understand, right? Eteled is more dangerous than he seems!”)

Michael had never had a particularly cozy teenhood. In hindsight there had been red flags in his household since the beginning, but they’d never been so bad as to make him cry wolf. But when he’d gotten into his teens, his entire life had without a doubt gotten exponentially worse in a very short amount of time–and so had Michael. 

Actually, now he knew why Kyle had somehow appealed to that small spark of pity in him.

Michael remembered what he’d been like before: cruel, brusque, and paranoid. Always paranoid, of William, of the projects in the basement. He’d always been so desperate to escape the house, to find some way to spend time with his friends and not with his crybaby brother and William. To get control, through any means necessary.

(Michael hummed a moment. “I don’t suppose you can enlighten me on who made those notes? Because I’m a bit of a paranormal investigator myself, and if this is something you’re pulling from your ass because of some drivel from random online articles or something I’m not buying your theory.”

Kyle stared. “Y-you’re a paranormal investigator? But… how?”

“It’s a long story that I will only summarize as a very happy series of accidents thanks to advice from a very annoying semi-friend in my head made by a former friend,” Michael said. That explanation only seemed to compound Kyle’s sheer confusion, so he continued, “You still haven’t answered my question. Where did you get the idea that Eteled is somehow mind controlling Sam?”

Kyle fell silent, shrinking into himself as a flash of guilt crossed his face. “I… I got those notes and files from someone who… was in Nintendo. I know they wouldn't have fabricated them for fun, so I know they’re legitimate.”

“Very vague, very not clarifying,” Michael huffed. “You’re not exactly making your case by dancing around the point.”

“Wh- I don’t have to explain myself to you!” Kyle snapped. “I barely know you, and you’re some freaky robot! For all I know, you’re in on it with Eteled!”

…Good grief this kid is on some next level paranoia. 

Michael sighed, patience dwindling, and he decided that he was done dancing around his own reason for pulling Kyle aside. “...I don’t know what exactly it was you read, but that’s beside the point. I’m not here to bicker about your theories, so let me go ahead and make one thing very clear.” Michael tightened his hand on Kyle’s shoulder and looked directly in his eyes. “You. Do. Not. Touch Sam like that EVER again. I don’t care what grudge or hypotheses you have about the Wii or Eteled or ghosts, you will not bother Sam. If you do, then I promise you, the next time we meet I will not bother being so nice. And yes, this is me. Being. Nice.” )

Michael wasn’t sure what exactly Kyle had been going on about with his idea that Eteled was controlling Sam. The mere thought made him scoff: if anything, it was the other way around. He’d never seen someone so willing to dedicate their entire life (well, unlife) to trying to make someone else happy before he’d seen Eteled sitting for hours and hours doing nothing at all, simply waiting for Sam to come back. 

And he wasn’t sure why Austin didn’t seem to factor into Kyle’s mad theory–Michael supposed that the glitchy Mii had, in his own words, attested that he hadn’t ever bothered to show himself to Kyle when he was younger, or bothered to introduce himself when Sam had gotten the Wii. But the sheer desperation in the kid’s voice as he’d attempted to persuade him, the sheer conviction that he was right… it hit someplace he didn’t expect.

( “Uncle Henry, you have to believe me! Dad’s doing something weird in the basement, and there’s been freaky creaking noises down there! Why won’t you even ask him?” )

(The kid was silent for a long moment as he absorbed Michael’s words. For a moment, Michael wondered if Kyle was going to ask questions on what he meant, or give up the fight. What Michael didn’t expect (or, at least, didn’t expect at this point in the conversation), was the furious glower that overtook Kyle’s face.

“...You’re bluffing.”

A crazed smile took up part of Kyle’s face, and the dark chuckle that crept from his mouth made his shoulders shake. “You’re bluffing. You can’t actually do anything. I don’t know where you came from or why you’re actually here, but I’m not just going to stand back and let Sam use you as some kind of bodyguard. There’s horrible stuff out there, and I know that the Wii is right in the middle of some of those things! You’re right that I don’t know all the details yet–the notes only cover the basics–but I’m going to find out. I’m not going to stop until I know what’s going on… and I’m going to make sure that Wii never gets to hurt anyone like it has or it might!” Kyle’s eyes snapped open wide. “I’m not going to stop, and I’m going to make sure that Sam isn’t involved in this supernatural bullshit anymore! You hear me? I’m not scared of you, and if you try to get in my way… I’m going to stop you!”

Kyle stared up at him as his voice finally broke, fists clenched and breathing hard. Michael had to stare. Part of him was shocked by the sheer vitriol that he’d just witnessed, and the wise part of him whispered in worry as the words turned over in his head. 

But, after a moment, his concern was overruled by… humor. He was more surprised at the sheer gall of the kid to gather the guts to insult him to his face. So Michael stared… and then he laughed.

“Nice try kid. I’ve dealt with worse than some emo kid hurling threats at me. Much worse. So don’t try to test what patience I’ve managed to scrape from the barrel for you with stupid plans. Capiche?” Michael wasn’t actually planning on hurting Kyle, but his voice was laden with enough cold fury that Kyle gaped, and then quickly and meekly nodded like a bobblehead toy. “Good. Glad to see you have sense in that head of yours.”

He stood up, and dusted off his pants as he looked over in the direction of the picnic table. “I think we’d better start heading back. You agree?”

Kyle hardly responded other than staring at Michael, face shadowy and guarded. He fidgeted as Michael took his shoulder and began steering him back out from the space between the tents, but he remained silent and sullen, even if his eyes nervously darted back to Michael.)

Michael could only extend his empathy to Kyle so much–regardless of any brief resemblance to Michael as he once was, it didn’t change the fact that he’d gone out of his way to hurt Sam and try to kill Eteled and by extension Austin. But, just for now, he was willing to let Kyle go on a lighter note.

After all, I’m not like dad. I have a heart. 

And I’m not that kid anymore either. Not after Evan.

“Aaaand we’re here! Oh, and it looks like we’re some of the first people too!” Louis’ voice broke through Michael’s musings, and he absorbed the sight of the tent as he followed after the teen + puppet-in-duffel-bag. 

The tent was just a larger version of the red-and-white circus tents dotting the entire fairgrounds, but its sheer size was still enough to make Michael whistle as they walked inside. The inside of the tent was not too elaborate at first glance either: there was a semicircle of stadium-style seats going five rows deep which they’d walked into. The seats faced out into a space meticulously cleared of grass and accented only with a podium and a set of two doors on the side of what seemed to be a custom-made trailer. The space was well lit, almost as bright as the daylight outside with spotlights dotted all around on uncovered metal scaffolding all pointed in preparation for the big event.

The group looked around, and mindlessly followed after Louis to the second row to the front. Louis promptly plonked themselves down in one of the seats, taking care to place the duffel bag on his lap so the open part of the bag faced out, and he patted the seats around him. “Come on, pick whichever looks best!”

Michael found himself sitting over closer to the edge of the aisle, and Cora and Sam awkwardly wound their way around Louis’ knees to sit together on the other side. Michael didn’t have a watch on him, but Louis was kind enough to announce as he settled into the hard, tiny plastic seat, “Looks like we’ve got about five minutes before the show starts!”

A trickle of people began to pour in around them, slowly filling up the seats as the group looked around curiously. Michael glanced around, preoccupied mostly with observing the area. Louis adjusted the bag and surreptitiously whispered to Scout. The hand puppet was mostly quiet, but he could see them wriggling around in the bag as they peeped out.

They really haven’t gotten to enjoy the fair much. Wonder how much they’ll enjoy seeing animatronics? If that’s what they have…

“So, what do you think this whole event’s going to work?” Sam asked, and Michael inclined his head to hear as Cora responded.

“Not sure, but considering what we’ve seen… probably robots.”

“True! But… I don’t really see any robots? Or technology for that matter,” Sam observed. “I’m not sure how a tech show is normally supposed to work, but shouldn’t they already have the place set up?”

~…So many presences.~

~Is that why you came here?~

“What the-” Michael nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden intrusion of a female voice that he hadn’t heard from the last time he tried to pry answers out from them. He flushed as Sam shot him a concerned look, and he grinned. “Nothing! Just thought I felt a spiderweb under the seat.”

Louis squeaked and immediately looked under the seat for the imaginary spider Michael made up, and Michael quickly composed himself and mentally shot back at who he was now considering no longer calling “guide voice” but “the annoying voice that literally never tells me the things I need”.

It’s been a hot minute since you called! What brought you out?

The voice was contemplative, and Michael got the impression of invisible eyes looking around the space with growing dread.

~... You’re not supposed to be here.~ There was the impression of breathing growing intense, and a drawn out creak of strings pulling taut.

~I thought I had it under control. The boy and the puppet had you occupied, so I thought I had space to work. But then… they brought you here?~

Michael blinked in confusion. That… was new. What-? Who are you talking about? 

Michael heard a hitch in the voice, and its programmed facade broke.

~No, this shouldn’t be happening. I still need to gather more resources to prepare to confront him… but I feel him near. So he’s acting sooner than I thought!~

Him? Do you-

Michael jolted in his seat as the lights began to dim and the seats began to fill, quiet chatter from both strangers and the teens beside him drowned out by a roar in his ears. 

You don’t mean… Springtrap? Springtrap is here? A massive grin lit up his face. So my dumb hunch was right! Of course he’d be showing up someplace like this!

The voice fell silent.

~...I said too much.~

With a sound not too unlike the tearing of fabric Michael jumped again in his seat as he felt the unmistakable connection break. But it was hasty, and a pain tore through his head. His smile quickly fell apart.

…Guide voice? Henry? Hello!? What just happened?

Are you still there? I don’t understand, what do you mean you said too much?

Right at the moment Michael thought that, he was not given nearly enough time to think. For right then and there, there was the sound of metal feet slamming on metal, a jaunty carnival tune bursting into the air as all the spotlight flashed on in a blinding display, and a rowdy, familiar laugh ringing through the tent.

Chapter Text

A young boy stood still in the middle of the tool-strewn basement, tilting his head as he looked at the naked endoskeleton sitting on the table. The boy wasn’t particularly spooked by the machine as it sat lifelessly staring into space. It looked more like a dumber version of the cool robot toys he’d seen his friends bring to show and tell, with buggy eyes and spindly limbs and no cool robot things like lasers. But it was apparently what his dad had been working on for months, and curiosity over what had his dad in such a tizzy had drawn him down to the basement in the first place. He examined the robot with a critical eye, before his attention swerved to the more interesting set of drawings tacked up on the corkboard propped onto the wall behind the workbench. He couldn’t quite see them from how the bench towered above him and the giant metal robot skeleton blocked his view, but the bright colors were enough to pique his interest.

He craned his neck trying to get a better look, and slowly walked backward to scope the workbench. Tiny sock-clad feet skittered across the floor as he bobbed about trying to peer past the giant robot, up until his back collided into a giant set of legs.

“Michael? What are you doing down here?”

The child yelped and spun about, before his shoulders were grasped so he didn’t trip over his own feet. He was met with the imposing figure of a man dressed in a light purple sweater and carefully creased pants, staring crossly at him with icy blue eyes. 

“Michael, you know you can’t just go into my workshop without anyone watching! You could get hurt, and your mother would be very angry at me and it will be VERY inconvenient. Now, can you explain to me why you’re down here?”

The child flushed, and crossed their arms to hide their embarrassment over getting caught.

“I was just looking at your weird robot things, and the funny drawings you had on that board,” he muttered. “I just wanted to see why you were spending so much time down here…”

The man looked at him, seemingly deep in thought. A smile suddenly crossed his face, and to the boy’s surprise he softly laughed. “Curiosity, eh? I suppose I can’t blame you too much for your youthful curiosity. But you’ve given me an idea…”

With two strong arms, built up from years of working as a mechanic and engineer, the man scooped up the boy and strode over to the workbench. Using one foot he nudged one of the tall work stools that had been sitting near the bench, and placed the boy on top of them. The boy shuffled in his seat, curiously watching as his father unpinned the alluring drawings from the board and laid them out.

Patiently, he explained, “Now, me and your Uncle Henry have been working very hard on our restaurant, and we’ve been workshopping some designs. I know we already have Fredbear and Springbonnie, but we’re planning on expanding. It would get lonely on stage with just the two of them, wouldn’t it?”
“I guess,” the boy shrugged, not particularly sure what his father meant.

“Now, it has just been us thinking up these ideas, but we aren’t the final audience these animatronics are meant to entertain,” The man smiled down at him. “Since you’re here, and you’re right at the age we aim to entertain, you could let us know which designs would work best!”

The boy blinked, and then gasped as he absorbed the implications. “I get to pick how the ani… animotronics…animaltronics… the robots look?”
The man nodded, and the boy lit up like a firecracker. “So cool! Yes, yes yes I wanna pick the pictures!” 

With small, eagerly grasping hands the boy swiftly scooped up the scribbly drawings from where they’d been laid and rapidly began sorting through them with gusto. Drawings were looked at a few seconds at a time, and either put down or tossed aside on a whim. With absolute authority and no mercy, the boy gave his opinion as he went through each drawing with the distinguishing tastes of a picky elementary schooler.

“This one’s just okay… this other one has a funny muzzle but a cool hat, he kinda looks like my teddy bear! Dogs are cool but this one just looks goofy…this one looks like a weird duck-”

“-That’s a chicken.”

“... it looks like a duck in pants,” the child said firmly, much to his father’s chagrin. “Okay, this one looks cool for a clown person, but the spring arms are all weird, the blue cat looks okay… this canvas one looks all creepy, but drawing on it sounds kinda interesting…woah! What’s this one?”

His finger pointed at a crudely pencil drawn yet distinct shape of a bipedal fox, colored bright red and with the unmistakable get up of a pirate: a dark black eyepatch, a sharp hook resting where a hand would normally be, and a gold tooth squeezed into a maw of pearly white chompers. Different sets of clothing were drawn on from simple pants to a full captain's coat, and the fox was posed doing all sorts of things: peering through a spyglass, laughing, snarling, smiling at a massive pile of gold with dollar signs in his eye. The boy’s smile grew as he looked at the gallant, confident fox over and over, and the man softly chuckled at the wonder in his eye, though his own pleasure at having one of his proposed creations making such an impact on his son was subdued. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you like this one. I came up with it myself, but… it is still very much in the sketching phase. Even if this one did survive my initial brainstorming process, both me and your Uncle Henry are a bit torn on if this one would be a good idea to build...”

The boy gaped. “What?! You guys don’t like this one? But… but it’s so COOL!” He held up the drawing. “It’s a pirate fox! That’s the coolest thing I’ve seen out of all these drawings! How can you not like it?”

“I admit, this one was a spur of the moment thing,” The man confessed. “I was mostly just drawing random things to see if anything seemed interesting, and it was a random bit of inspiration. Uncle Henry thinks it’s a bit sharp and the features I’m considering for it are too unsafe for a kid’s restaurant. I’m more concerned about our current theme being thrown off by a character based around… erm, criminals.”

The boy stood, and stared his father dead in the eyes. “Dad. You’re dumb. THIS dude is the best one. He’s a cool fox, AND he’s a pirate! Pirates are ob-jec-tive-ly cool!” He held up his fingers and began counting off his definitive list of reasons. “Pirates have cool swords, they ride big ships and fight big ugly monsters, they get lots of money and treasure, they don’t have to go to school, they do whatever they feel like, and they’re pirates! And foxes also look cool! It’s all cool!”

The man chuckled, but lapsed into thought. His son stared at him with utmost seriousness, clutching the paper like a lifeline. After a long moment, he hummed to himself. “I suppose, if you already have so much attachment to a simple drawing… I could convince Henry that this character could work. I don’t know how we’d fit a pirate into the main band, but… perhaps they’d work as some kind of side performance?”

“Really? You’re gonna use him?!” the boy exclaimed excitedly.

“Ah ah ah!” The man patted his son on the head. “I have to actually get Henry to agree first. And then we have to actually build it, pick a role for it to have in the restaurant, and select other designs to more directly supplement Fredbear and Springbonnie’s performances. But I do enjoy your enthusiasm.”

“YES!” The boy nearly fell off the stool from how he jumped in his seat, but he hardly cared as he rocked his seat back and forth. “Oh, oh, oh! He needs a name! Does he have a name?”

“Not yet, I’ve honestly just been focused on getting physical appearances down,” his father confessed. In a motion that had the boy swelling with joy, his father indulgently smiled at him. “Did you want the honor of giving a name to our little pirate fox?”

The boy beamed, and quickly attempted to compose himself to respond with as much dignity the elementary schooler could muster. “I would be honored to name him.”

“Then go right ahead,” the father nodded with a smile.

To the man’s concern, the boy didn’t simply deign to simply say the name. Instead he stood up on the stool, ignoring it leaning as his weight shifted about, and held the drawing up in the air as though he was holding up the ten commandments. He drew in a deep breath, then with all the strength his lungs could muster bellowed-

…

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, BOYS AND GIRLS! WELCOME ONE AND ALL, TO THE FAZBEAR FUNFAIR TECH SHOW! PLEASE SIT DOWN IN YOUR SEATS, GRAB SOME POPCORN, AND SAY HELLO TO YOUR GRACIOUS HOSTS OF THE FAZBEAR FUNFAIR TONIGHT: MR. OSBERT AND FOXY! THE! FOX!”

Michael felt his entire body go rigid as the deafening declaration echoed over the speakers. The utterly bizarre things the Guide Voice had just said still lingered, but his ability to focus on that was gone as the ambience dimmed and spotlights came to life to illuminate the darkened tent. They all focused on the strange RV where the sound of footsteps rang forth, almost in rhythm with the jaunty circus melodica playing over the speakers.

The door on the right side of the strange RV flew open first, and Michael barely stopped from leaping out of his seat as the figure that had undoubtedly been waiting inside eagerly the moment the lights switched off took a hearty leap out. The gleam of metal from its joints deceptively hid the litheness of their movements, as the second their feet met the ground they were already charging wildly to the middle, arms open wide to receive the cheers of the audience with a toothy smile.

It was Foxy. Foxy the God-Damn-Pirate-Fox.  

The animatronic standing in the middle of the spotlights was almost a perfect dead ringer for the version of the fox Michael had last seen: their body was slender and lithe, less focused on cuddling ability and more on coolness factor with a slim body that looked sleek, sharp spikes of fur on the face accenting his pointed snout, and distinct underbite that showed off his teeth. Pointed ears wiggled to better absorb the excited calls of the audience, one bright yellow eye swiveling to observe the crowd while a dark hole rested where the second eye should have been. A gold tooth glinted within the sharp smile Foxy gave everyone, and the energy that Michael remembered all iterations of the fox was practically crackling off of the machine. 

And yet, Foxy no longer seemed to be themed after a pirate, or made as withered as his predecessor. Rather than a dull red, his “fur” was an eggshell white to make him resemble more an arctic fox than a red fox. Instead of raggedy brown trousers and bare endoskeleton legs, he had long charcoal pants that ended to show off intact, bare and slender red pawed feet. He was donned in a bright red jacket with fancily trimmed, folded cuffs, two coattails draped behind him, and a front collar that went all the way down his chest gleaming gold and silver. A golden chain wrought in fancy patterns held the jacket closed as Foxy dipped and bowed extravagantly, and a gigantic stovepipe hat not unlike a nutcracker’s clung to his head even as he moved about vigorously. And, because something had to replace Foxy’s distinctive hook, a long and elaborately embroidered whip rested where a right hand would be, seemingly made of real leather and trailing alongside him.

Something in Michael’s mind was breaking as he stared at the metal contradiction he had been expecting since he came to this fair, and yet somehow was still flabbergasted by. He was barely aware of his jaw hanging open, and the gasps of amazement from Sam, Cora, and Louis beside him went utterly ignored.

Holy fuck. They actually did it.

They recreated the animatronics.

Or, at least Foxy.

After a moment, Michael grimaced.

…Of course it was Foxy they rebuilt.

Even though it felt like Michael’s mechanics were all backfiring simultaneously, he still managed to keep composure and tear his eyes away from the besuited fox to see the suited man that came out from the other side of the RV. 

He came more sanguinely, walking in measured paces and simply nodding and smiling to acknowledge the cheers of excitement. His appearance was much more average, with combed back brown hair shot through with streaks of salty gray, a pale face beginning to show signs of wrinkles around the edges of a warmly-smiling mouth and under equally warm brown eyes, all dressed in a simple black business suit and pants. The only embellishment that could be seen was a long tie sharing similar gold embellishments to Foxy’s jacket, a bright red rose tucked into his front pocket, and a silvery Fazbear-emblazoned pin placed right on top of the tie. 

His presence wasn’t nearly the bombshell that Foxy’s was, but it was he who quelled the deafening sounds with a microphone-amplified, “ Ahem !”

The man – who Michael had to assume was Mr. Osbert based on the announcement –  adjusted his tie as the audience grew hushed, smiling pleasantly at the responsiveness of the people. Foxy seemed slightly put out as the outflow of adoration stopped, but despite the surprisingly expressive, put-out pout Foxy had the fox still stepped aside and tipped his hat as the man walked to the center of the dirt circle.

As the man cleared his throat, Michael shook his head to get rid of his mental fog. A quick glance to the side revealed that, as flabbergasted as he was, his reaction was shared with the teens he was watching over. Any lingering nerves from Sam’s earlier encounter with Kyle had been completely wiped away, and stars glimmered in the teen’s eyes as she gaped at Foxy as though he were the messiah. Cora had her arms crossed and was attempting to feign boredom, but the way her eyes widened betrayed her intrigue. Louis was gaping like a maniac, mouthing, “Holy moly ,”. Scout, in the boldest move the puppet had made so far today had their entire head poked out. Any fear the puppet might have had for being spotted by the people seemed to be on the wayside, with how everyone’s heads were fixed at the duo in the tent’s center, and Scout was finally free to watch without the bag obscuring their vision with curious eyes even more intense than Louis’.

Michael’s attention was drawn back as the man adjusted what looked to be a small microphone clipped to his collar, and he spoke. “Testing, testing, is this microphone working? No one’s ears being blown out?”

At the murmurings of “All good!” and “I guess,” Osbert smiled.

“Wonderful!” Mr. Osbert said warmly. “Let me be one of the first to say thank you, truly thank you for putting aside some time in your day to watch today’s Fazbear Funfair Tech Show and Engineering Demonstration. As you likely heard our announcer say, I’m Mr. Osbert! One of the head engineers and designers for Fazbear Incorporated.” Mr. Osbert gestured over to Foxy, who flashed a grin with golden tooth winking in the light, “Next to me is one of our latest prototypes and one of the stars of today’s show, and who I personally consider a friend of mine, Foxy the Fox! Or, if you’d like to get a bit more specific, Ringmaster Foxy!”

“You bet your money I’m the ringmaster! I be the leader of this whole fair!” Foxy no longer had his usual (and stereotypical) pirate speech, though his voice was still harsh and raspy. His words were more harmonic and distinguished, and as he swept his glowing yellow eyes across the audience, his voice confident and full of showman’s swagger as he drawled, “It’s a pleasure to see all you fine folk here tonight! It warms this fox’s heart to see so many drawn to the finest circus show in town!”

“Indeed it is!” Mr. Osbert agreed. “We, and the rest of the folks in Fazbear Entertainment, are so happy to see so many enjoying all the games, food, and fun that we have here in today’s Funfair! And rest assured, we aim to keep the fun and entertainment coming through this evening and the rest of the days the Funfair runs!” 

“... But before we get this tech show off and running, I would of course like to give a kind word to all our hard-working employees who made organizing and running this event possible.”

As Mr. Osbert gave a condensed, but surprisingly sincere sounding recollection of many names, Michael hummed to himself.

Interesting… compared to some of the other Fazbear leadership I’ve met before this guy is… shockingly decent. Of course, it could be an act… but so far count me pleasantly surprised.

He leaned forward, warily watching Foxy as he waited for Mr. Osbert to finish his spiel.

So, let’s see what you have up your sleeves Mr. Osbert… and what the deal is with Foxy’s glow up.

Michael didn’t have to wait long as Mr. Osbert finished his acknowledgements speech, and again adjusted his microphone. “Now, all of you came here not just to hear me ramble about our work. You came here to see the things we’ve been cooking up behind the scenes after our latest VR game, right?”

Many people nodded and the muttering, anticipatory mixed with intrigue and wariness, began again. Mr. Osbert nodded in acknowledgement. “Well, as head engineer I’m happy to say I’m able to share most of what I and the amazing engineering team at Fazbear’s have been cooking up! Or, at the very least, give a few teasers: can’t give away all our surprises!” 

Foxy playfully raised an eyebrow, “You aren’t going to make this into one of your lectures on robotics you give the engineers every week, are ya? Because the audience is here to hear about the results of all your work, not a college presentation on motherboards and whatnot!”

“Hey!” Mr. Osbert gasped in mock offense. “I’ve been practicing my public speaking this entire fair. I only counted five people who fell asleep during my last presentation!”

That elicited a few chortles from the crowd, and Mr. Osbert grinned. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to bore off your heads going into the nitty gritty of all the programming. I’m just going to jump right into the heart of what made Fazbear’s famous in the first place!”

Sarcastically, Michael thought, Let me think. Was it the homicidal lunatic that was one of its founders? Or all the dead children?

“Our animatronics!”

…Touche.

“Right here, you can see the fruit of our endeavors to reinnovate the brand not just by reusing the revolutionary technology that let Fazbear Entertainment rise to the top in the first place, but improving it as you see right here with my friend, and pride and joy!” Mr. Osbert gestured to Ringmaster Foxy, the fox preening with the praise as he continued, “Ringmaster Foxy may look similar to his legacy iterations. But my dear friend here has capabilities that’d make his predecessors blush in envy!” 

Osbert chuckled, “As part of my work designing the new generation of animatronic entertainment, me and my time worked not just on appearances – though of course we aimed to touch up on old designs – but entertainment ability and safety measures!” He met the eyes of his audience, many narrowed in suspicion and others wide in curiosity. “Fazbear’s has always been prided for its advanced robotics, and worked to ensure safety of all its customers and staff with advanced technological solutions. In modern times, fulfilling that obligation is more important to us than ever, and safety was at the forefront of my team’s minds when we were tasked with creating a new generation of robotic entertainers!”

Hmph. Fat lot of good those “advanced technological solutions” did me or all those other nightguards… Michael rolled his eyes.  

Despite Michael justified malaise, the giddy pride on Mr. Osbert’s face was infectious. Even if Michael’s hackles were still raised, he couldn’t help but grin a bit as Mr. Osbert eagerly rambled on. He wasn’t sure how a man this genuine and joyful about his work could have been found working for such a comically incompetent company as Fazbears. Though again, it did seem that despite previous experience, Fazbears was doing rather well for itself.

Michael shook his head to refocus on Osbert as he said, “Using an improved endoskeleton design, designed by yours truly, we have improved our ability to mass produce quality animatronics without busting the budget with overcomplicated pieces or needlessly hazardous features. None of that!” 

Osbert smiled, “We have more flexibility than ever before to customize animatronics with a streamlined, standardized endoskeleton. Every skeleton allows for safe and easy installation of parts, with an array of state of the art sensors in each to wirelessly detect damage and sync up with any unique parts you may want to install. No longer does a franchise owner need to hassle with complex maintenance, our technology makes it so all but the most severe damage can be detected and handled by our employees so our animatronics can keep on singing! Best of all, even if every endoskeleton may seem the same, that just opens up the possibilities to make every animatronic unique, losing no functionality!” 

With a gallant sweep of his hand to the fox, Mr. Osbert smiled fondly and said, “As Foxy here is happy to demonstrate, regardless of the complexity of the shell our new endoskeleton design is capable of far more varied movement than ever before, with infinitely more control and the durability to handle even the most strenuous performances!”

The fox was indeed happy to demonstrate: with only a wink, Foxy stood poised and then launched into motion so quickly Michael felt like his eyes received whiplash. With a glittering grin, the fox went through a series of motions simultaneously goofy and impressive: standing on one leg, doing the robot dance, and then launching into a complicated and fast-paced jig. 

Not once did the fox falter or stumble as his feet kicked up dirt and seamlessly patterned across his stage. The whip attached to Foxy’s hand followed after him like an obedient serpent, hissing through the air with a sharp yet theatrical grace. Foxy wielded it as he went through the routine as though he’d always had it, snapping it through the air yet never letting it hit him or even come close to doing more than brushing a line of sand from the ground, as softly as a falling feather.

As Foxy finished with a leap and a bow, more than a few people were clapping and mumbling, all impressed and far fewer unfriendly eyes staring at the machine. Michael was among them, though his amazement was tainted with a spark of fear.

Michael remembered all too well just how ruthless the animatronics could be on the hunt, especially Foxy. While the others had been content to slowly stomp around, stalking him through the cameras as they drew out the hunt, Foxy would be decisive when he finally chose to move, and when he was moving the fox was fast . 

It was honestly a blessing the fox was as camera shy as they were, else Michael would have had far more close calls swan-diving to the door button as metal feet came pounding down the hall at what seemed to be mach speeds. And yet, the speed that the old Foxy had shown was nothing compared to the sheer finesse this new Foxy had, and almost immediately a pit of dread formed in Michael’s stomach at a new intrusive thought. 

If this version of Foxy had been around for any of his night shifts… Michael didn’t doubt his original chances of survival would have plummeted .

God, I hope these robots aren’t possessed.

Michael’s new uneasiness was still unnoticed by everyone else around him. Sam had been eagerly nodding along with Mr. Osbert’s words, but now she was staring at the fox with a starstruck expression displaying somehow even more amazement than before. Scout nearly matched Sam’s excitement, alternating between gaping in amazement and tugging at Louis’ hands hissing, “Holy shit, did you see that host? He was doing the can-can like it was nothing!”. Cora remained composed, but she was leaning forward watching every move the fox made keenly. Michael could barely hear an uptick of noise from over Sam and Cora’s loose earbuds, and it didn’t need much of a stretch of the imagination to guess what the reactions of their more digital companions were.

As Foxy finished his performance with a sweeping bow to a roaring audience, Mr. Osbert smiled proudly. “Impressive, isn’t it? Creating such precise movements took quite the feat of engineering… and more trips and falls than Boston Robotics robot dogs ever made. But all of that turmoil was worth it!”

“Now, Foxy’s new capabilities don’t just extend to his physical performance. While I was in charge of physical design, I have to quickly give thanks to our other head engineer, Mr. Watkins.” There was a small twitch that marred Mr. Osbert’s smile as he said the name. Most people seemed to miss the break in the facade, but Michael certainly didn’t. If he wasn’t mistaken, the well-composed engineer had a brief glimmer of sadness in his eyes. The sadness left as quickly as it came, but Michael found himself watching carefully as Mr. Osbert continued. 

“...Unfortunately, he isn’t here today to explain his work due to his presence being needed elsewhere. But, I would be remiss to not mention all he’s done! It is thanks to my dear friend’s hard work with programming a safety oriented yet complex system that our friend Foxy here is able to be here with us today!” 

Interesting… there’s others that worked on this with Osbert but aren’t able to come. Why would he look so worried talking about this Watkins?

Osbert cleared his throat and spoke with renewed cheer, “As per our old models, all of our animatronics come with a select bank of songs, performance skits, and service programs already pre-programmed. But now, thanks to revolutionary new Faztech Learning AI – patent pending – our animatronics will now be capable of taking that basic programming and learning how to even better serve our loyal customers. From observation and experience, every animatronic can improvise new performances on the fly! Just as well as they can walk and talk, they’re just as capable of dancing, playing, holding conversation, and more as any person. Each animatronic is also programmed with the latest studies in childcare, and is capable of watching over kids of all ages!”

There were again mutters of amazement – Sam especially had a crazed gleam in her eye at the mention of “learning AI” – but this time there seemed to be a bit more uncertainty as people seemed to turn to one another with confused, worried expressions. Michael didn’t blame them – there was something that felt off about Mr. Osbert’s description of the animatronic’s AI. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but his eyes narrowed in renewed suspicion.

The uncertainty wasn’t lost on Mr. Osbert, or on Ringmaster Foxy. With a playful gleam in their eye, Mr. Osbert mock-whispered, “Say, you don’t suppose they’re thinking you’re going to go terminator mode on them, are you?”

“Bah!” Foxy scoffed. “I’m not going to do that to them! These fine folk today have all been wonderful, and I couldn’t imagine lifting a single finger against them! Unless they decide not to tip before leaving…” The fox shot one unfortunate man sitting in the bleachers with a sharp grin, and the man practically jumped out of his seat. 

“Easy there, no one needs to see how sharp you can get,” Mr. Osbert said, though his admonishment was undercut by his grin.

Foxy guffawed. “As if anyone except you could handle me! I’m the finest ringmaster here in these parts, and I bow to no one! If there’s any doubters here, I’d like to see them handle the rest of this here circus! I’d bet they’d be bawling on the floor within the hour!”

“Funny you should mention the rest of the circus…” The head engineer gave a coy grin. “I suspect at least one of you has the question: why hype up Fazbear’s animatronics if there’s no restaurants for them to perform in yet? Well, let me assure you, there is a good reason for that… and I think now is the perfect time to segue into our next major announcement.”

Osbert nodded their head toward the ringmaster fox. Foxy grinned eagerly, clearly knowing what the engineer wanted him to do next and practically bursting at the seams to do it. Putting two fingers in front of his mouth, Foxy let out an impressively loud whistle and barked, “Come out, you hooligans! It’s time for the show!”

Michael’s figurative heart leapt at Foxy’s call, and then leapt even higher when he heard the sound of even more metal feet pouding on the floor of the RV. To the sound of people yelling in surprise, the doors once again flew open to admit not just one more animatronic, but three more . All blasts from the past, in form and shape, and yet also utterly different as they hopped out with more controlled yet equally bombastic entrances as everyone went wild .

 Bonnie had the same distinct shape, with two long floppy ears that bounced in the air and a soft, violet-lavender fur. But just like Foxy, instead of just a bow tie he was clad in a dapper black suit and top hat, accented on the cuffs and high collar with bits of gold and tastefully accented with a white handkerchief in a breast pocket. Instead of the guitar that he clung to whenever he wasn’t attempting to stuff nightguards, the rabbit wielded a stereotypical magician’s wand in one fuzzy paw as he waved at the crowd with half-lidded, sanguine pink eyes. 

Freddy wasn’t nearly as fancily dressed as Foxy or Bonnie, but his cuddly teddy-bear look had also gotten tweaked. Maybe it was just the shell, but Freddy distinctly looked much more muscular, for lack of better term: his arms and legs were thick and if the heavy black barbell the bear was casually carrying like a sack of feathers in one hand was any indication his actual strength definitely matched the impression of power the bear gave simply with his presence. Every motion made the red-and-white striped short top and pants the bear was donned in stretched underneath a simple but grandly sweeping blue trench coat left open to billow behind him. Yet, somehow he still looked remarkably huggable, and the bear had a merry, warm chuckle emanate from him as he flexed his free arm.

Chica’s bright yellow “feathers” were styled into a short ponytail, and though they still had a rather bulky body and thick clawed feet, she no longer bore her traditional cupcake or eating bib. Instead she was dressed in a more athletic, sparkly purple leotard with two ribbon-bound batons that the chicken twirled artfully through the air as they smiled with a pointed beak. Though her shape was still round, it screamed less the “gluttonous pizza-chef” persona that Chica had always been associated with, and more “large but athletic” that her getup seemed to be more directed toward.

The three animatronics drew their own bursts of chatter from the audience (Sam looking ready to explode in pure excitement from how much she was bouncing up and down in it), and again, deja vu crashed upon Michael, though somewhat less intensely. The gut instinct to jump out of his seat and check for some sort of barrier hit him, but he at least managed to keep his instinct in check as Osbert smiled widely, looking more than anything like a proud father showing off his child’s report card. “Your eyes do not deceive you: this is indeed the Fazbear band in the flesh! Ready and waiting to meet you! Mind saying hello?”

Freddy let the heavy barbell drop and in a bassy, smooth voice exclaimed, “Hello everyone! It’s great to see you all here!”

“Hi, hi there! Oh, I’m so happy to see so many new faces!” Chica gushed, voice high and chipper but just shy of being grating. She enthusiastically waved her hands.

Bonnie tipped their hat and gave a smirk, a note of mischief as they lilted. “Nice to meet you all tonight! Ready to get your socks knocked off?”

Foxy beamed. “Aye, this is the crew that helped kickstart this whole circus idea in the first place! Can’t have a good fair without a performance, can you?” 

“I couldn’t agree more!” Osbert said. He smiled at the audience. “Now, I can practically hear the questions. How will you be seeing the Fazbear band after this show, and this fair? What does this mean for entertainment? Can you buy an animatronic yourself?”

Michael chose to not mention the lucrative, greedy gleam that glinted in Sam’s eyes. He did however lapse into thought (and definitely not to try and ignore the four giant death machines now standing and talking mere feet away). He took a breath, and closed his eyes as the gears in his head spun with the new glut of information. 

New animatronics, with very different designs… and you don’t espouse that much about your own technology if you aren’t planning on doing something with it…

But what exactly?

Michael’s frown deepened.

The Guide Voice wouldn’t have shown up like that unless I wasn’t on the right track, and practically all but showed me he’s around here somewhere… so now the question probably is how could Springtrap take advantage of all these new animatronics? And how do I slip out and actually deal with him without getting any more unwanted followers?

The mere thought of the Guide Voice sent a spark of irritation through Michael, then concern. His lips twitched.

Fat load of help they’ve been recently… first all the weird shit Henry made it say, then it disappearing for who knows how long with the Springtrap investigation hitting more dead ends than Fazbears gets lawsuits. Now it’s telling me to go away when it said it sensed Springtrap nearby? The same Springtrap that I, and Henry want to stop?

Why would Henry’s program want to get me to not track down Springtrap, especially if he’s as close as it seemed to think? Wasn’t that the whole reason this body and that guide voice was made?

A prickle of unease crawled through him. Michael… had been suspecting things about the voice for some time. Even with all the notes Henry had left behind, the man clearly had left out many, many details about the vessel Michael now inhabited. Something about how evasive Henry had been in the recording (and also the fact he’d never even mentioned the damn android he apparently had sitting in his basement) topping off with how weird the Guide Voice had been, especially recently with their exchange, was sitting less and less right with him.

So what is going on?

“Mike! Mike!” Sam snapped him out of his pondering with a few shakes of his shoulder. “Earth to Mike!”

“Huh?” Without preparation Michael stared vacantly at Sam, who retreated over an annoyed Cora back to her seat.

“Aren’t you listening!?” Sam whispered in awe. “Fazbears isn’t just making new animatronics, they’re going to be doing a whole animatronic rental and delivery service! That anyone can use!” 

Michael had been spaced out, but his focus instantly sharpened. 

“What.”

Oblivious to the flatness in his voice, Sam continued to gush excitedly, “Can you imagine! I could actually get animatronics in the house like Foxy! Oh man, and I thought the Staff Bot at the front was cool!” Sam smiled widely. “Do you think they made it affordable enough so I can rent one? I totally want to! Oh oh! Do you think I could convince my parents to let me rent one for my birthday?!”

“That’s… that’s great ,” Michael lied through his teeth, evading the question.

“Oh, wait, he’s making another announcement!” Sam’s head snapped back to where Osbert was presumably done waxing poetic about the animatronic delivery service that now apparently existed.

Goddammit, of all the times to fucking zone out! Michael swore to himself. That just made him hyper focused as Osbert gave the crowd a moment to process what he’d said.

“What do you think of our Special Delivery service? Quite the thought, I know!” Osbert chuckled. “Now, it’s one thing for me to gush about our animatronics and put on a few performances… but that’s not enough to do justice to the great work we’ve done.” 

Suddenly, Michael had a sense of deja vu as Osbert gave a cheeky grin at the machines. “I’ve talked about how Fazbears is bringing animatronic entertainment to a new level, but just words aren’t enough to really show what I mean… so why don’t we show you up close what Special Delivery and Fazbears could be for you?”

Osbert stepped aside, and Michael’s deja vu turned into dawning horror as the animatronics stepped forward. Suddenly, Michael couldn’t help but notice that the bleachers didn’t have any sort of protective barrier between the audience and the machines in the middle. The fear that had been resting latent in his chest now swirled, rising and spinning cogs in unrest. Before Osbert could even mouth his next grand announcement Michael knew with every fiber of his body exactly what he was going to say.

“As a teaser for what to expect from our brand new Special Delivery animatronic rental and ownership program, I would like to declare a meet and greet with the mascots who built an empire! I’ll be performing an open Q&A with me and my animatronic companions, where you can ask all the questions you have burning within you about Fazbear’s new service and our potential new directions!” The crowd’s chatter turned frenetic as Osbert opened up his arms and animatronics began to wander outward. “Please, feel free to ask anything!”

Oh, Michael had many, many questions, all of which involving extremely rude words that Sam should not be hearing. But no amount of rage was enough to melt the icy fear that made every limb go stiff.

No, no no no no no-

“No no no no no-”

Michael didn’t even realize he was mumbling under his breath the words repeating like a broken record if it weren’t for Louis turning his head, his fanboyish excitement fading. He seemed like he was mentioning something, but whatever it was Michael didn’t even hear as he watched the circus robots begin to drift off toward the crowd, waving and greeting members of the audience tentatively standing up to wave back and strike up a conversation. He barely registered Osbert himself going into a larger than expected gaggle of people who immediately began barraging the older man with questions. 

Michael was only focused on tracking the movements of the machines, praying that for once his horrid luck would stay away and they wouldn’t even come close to his section. For a moment it seemed like perhaps it would, as the animatronics mostly drifted toward the sections closest to themselves. Unfortunately, Foxy just had to be near the section Michael and the kids were sitting in, and the fox swiftly trotted up with a toothy grin to shout, “Hello there young ladies and gents!” at several gawking teens.

Sam was desperately trying to get the foxes’ attention, and Scout was even chancing being spotted to lean out to get a closer look with their muppety mouth wide open, but for just a bit Foxy was distracted by the closer audience members. Michael ground his teeth together, resisting the urge to jump out of his seat.

Stay calm, stay calm .

You’re not on the night shift, there’s no ghosts, this is just a tech show.

Just a show with freakishly intelligent animatronics that look exactly like the things dad made! Absolutely nothing wrong with that!

And see, the fox is so busy talking with people that he won’t even be able to get the time to walk up here until-

Foxy’s head suddenly swiveled, ear flicking as two vivid golden eyes met right with Michael’s own icy blue.

… Fuck me .

The ringmaster robot quickly thanked his current conversational partners, and even with other people clamoring to get his attention, Foxy’s eyes were firmly fixed on Michael. He was far past the point of breaking off his stare, or doing something that wasn’t just looking like a deer standing in front of a train, but it was taking everything he could just to focus on breathing and not running surviving hiding where’s the doors where’s the fucking doors! ?

Foxy drew closer and closer, and far too soon was right before Michael. The fox tipped his top hat, and gave what was probably meant to be a friendly smile. It just made Michael want to bolt in the opposite direction.

“Couldn’t help but notice ya’ starin’!” The fox grinned. “Never seen a fox in a suit before?”

“I… uh… no?” Michael stammered out, voice strained.

“Ha!” Foxy’s muzzle almost seemed to smirk as his eyes became half-lidded. “I suppose it’s not exactly a common occurrence, eh? Can’t blame you!” 

“Y-yeah, I, uh, don’t do good with surprises,” Michael forced out behind a frozen rictus.

Foxy cocked their head for a moment in contemplative quiet, then raised their non-whip hand to tilt their hat up and squint at Michael. “Say, you seemed a bit stunned during the show! Of course, part of this whole funfair here is to knock you out of your socks! But… you seemed… unhappy.”

The fox seemed to frown, and their optics flickered. “Is there something that bothered you about the performance?”

Michael jerkily shook his head, but his joints were locked and he could hear the metal grinding as he forced movement. “No! No, nothing. I was just… surprised.”

“Lad, you don’t have to lie,” Foxy crossed their arms, and Michael felt almost embarrassed by how unconvinced the fox was. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” 

The fox mused for a moment. “Say, you seem like you might be the age. You ever been in a Fazbear’s location with those older models? Because if you’ve got those old models on the mind… well, I can see why you’d be concerned.” Foxy smiled in reassurance. “Those scrap heaps aren’t related to us – old Osbert’s not one to just throw a fancy new coat onto a rusty bucket and call it ‘new’. We’re all new! No rumors, no urban legends, just good old Fazbear style entertainment!” 

The fox preened a bit. “ I do believe in Osbert’s work. Especially since he made me such a fine looking fox after all.”

It didn’t seem intentional with how the fox was smiling pleasantly at him, but Foxy’s comments were just too pointed to not make the robotic man flinch. Michael wasn’t sure how he could reply without either sounding like a suspicious idiot or giving away too much information! But even if he could string together a response good enough to make it so the damn fox would go away , Foxy’s optics flickered again.

The fox seemed to jolt, jaw clicking shut. Something about the air seemed to shift as the fox squinted, even more closely than before. “Say, have we… seen each other before?”

Michael felt his gut drop, his own jaw clenching. 

“It is... Strange, ” Foxy hummed, head cocking to one side and the other. “I’m not one to believe much in deja vu, but ya’ seem… familiar to me. Like an… old friend?”

Michael choked.

Famili- wait. No, how could he-? 

Isn’t this a new model? He just said he was!?

But then-?

How would he-?

Logic told him that it was fine. Logic said that it wasn’t night, these weren’t the old animatronics, the ghosts were all gone. Micahel himself couldn’t sense any sort of the tainted, hateful energy that clung to the possessed machines like rot. And yet, his whispering voice logic was helpless against the roar of instincts, and old memories -

He sucked in a breath, and before his eyes the fox warped and rendered to be-

-Behind glass. He was safe behind glass, but just barely.

A pirate hook scratching its way down the glass, Foxy’s glinting yellow eye glowing from the dark of the hallway. Even through smudgy office glass it was impossible to mistake the light in the machine’s eyes for nothing less than unadulterated, seething hate .

Michael could practically feel the door button resting under his sweating palm, the cold metal of the door radiating through the thin fabric of the uniform. He could feel the solidity of the door, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that, if the fox truly wanted to, they could rip through the door and step into the office. Michael didn’t need to imagine what it was the fox was planning – he’d already heard their master plan spilled over the phone from a long-dead man, and the suffocating atmosphere as the animatronic leaned closer against the glass whispered promises of a slow, painful death.

The pirate fox stared him dead in the eye, and a sickening sensation festered in Michael’s mouth as the animatronic let out a groaning rattle… one that was far too organic for any robot to make, and laced with festering rage as the noise echoed in his skull:

“You know you can't hide there forever, murdering bilge rat. ”

-and as Foxy leaned closer, squinting in confusion, Michael could feel internal mechanisms spinning wildly. A string inside him pulled taut, and the blades sheathed deep inside his hands prepared to unsheathe. If he had blood, all of it would have drained from him to drip and bubble on the floor.

Michael couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. Any illusion of control and safety he had constructed this morning up to stepping into this tent were gone like a house of cards in a gust of wind.

He knows me.

He knows me, they still remember me as the night guard!

I need to act, knock him down and get the teens out.

He’s going to bite, I need to move why can’t I move I need to fight back run away!

Run away RUN AWAY RUN-!

“Foxy! Foxy! Hey, hi!!” The whiplash Michael received turning to see Sam squeal nearly knocked him back into his seat. But it was also enough to rouse Foxy from his staring contest with Michael. The ringmaster looked toward Sam instead as she drew close with the smile on their muzzle reasserting itself. He chuckled at the girl clearly vibrating and attempting to control herself from squeezing past Michael’s body to glomp the fox.

“Ah, hello lassie!” Foxy greeted the teen as though he hadn’t just froze Michael in place with a mere glance. The ringmaster crouched down a bit to get closer to eye level, their muzzle metaphorically curling up in a warm smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you personally! I saw you cheering me on for my little mini-show, and I have to say I’ve never seen so much passion before! You already know my name, but do you mind if I ask you yours, young lady?”
“Uh, yeah! My name’s Sam and, holy moly this is actually happening! Calm down Sam just take a deeep breath…” Sam sucked in a deep breath to calm down. 

She then immediately lost control as she began spewing like a leaky faucet as she squeezed right past Michael to get right in the ringmaster’s face. “ I have so many questions for you ! Are you actually a fully sapient machine? When were you born? Do you have any opinions on your state of being? Do you have time for an interview for, maybe like, fifty billion questions?”

Sam rambled almost incoherently with pure excitement, and Foxy seemed to be suppressing a chuckle as the girl rattled on. Michael could not muster anything. He instead looked down at his shaking hands, breathing low and stuttering. Just as quickly as it had come the panic was gone. But still, he trembled with mechanical parts grinding against each other.

Michael barely roused when a hand gently touched his upper arms. A glance down revealed Louis, half standing and frowning toward him. For the first time Louis wasn’t paying much attention to Scout, who was half-dangling out of their duffel bag to gawk at Foxy. The boy was only looking at Michael, a flicker of recognition in their eyes as they tentatively stood up by the robotic man.

“Mike? Are you… okay?” Louis asked. 

Michael’s first instinct was to say, “I’m fine,”. But when he opened his mouth to respond, the words were choked halfway up. The only thing he actually said was a dull, “...ah…hah…”

Louis’ brow furrowed. “Do you… need to walk out a bit? You sound kinda… constipated.” The teen immediately flushed at his word choice, but in Michael’s mental state it was enough to force a slightly deranged laugh from him.

“HA! I uh, no, I just…I just…” Michael swallowed. “Yeah, I do need to walk out.”

With understanding in his eyes, Louis smiled slightly and tilted his head toward the currently empty tent entrances. “I’ll let the others know where you went. Take all the time you need.”

Michael opened his mouth, closed it when a wheezy breath was all that came out, and then mustered, “If I’m not back in time, just keep everyone near the tent and I’ll find you, okay?”

“Y-yeah, sounds good!” Louis exclaimed, but Michael was already turning and squeezing out the opposite end of the aisle from Foxy and Sam, still eagerly conversing and utterly unaware of his departure. He was aware that Cora glanced at him with her usual unreadable look, and that he was definitely elbowing more than a few people in his haste, but the grunts and angry mutters as he forced his way through the mash of people he ignored. Michael’s eyes were locked on the exit, and he didn’t dare look back.

The second he was outside in a noticeably quieter fairgrounds, most people either inside the big tech show tent behind him or elsewhere, Michael’s legs simply gave out. He wasn’t hyperventilating, but every limb was shaking and Michael kneeled, panting as second-hand panic surged through him. 

“Goddammit, Mike keep it together what the hell even WAS that!?” Michael growled to himself. His voice was angry, but he could feel the quaver in his voice even as he raged at himself. The tips of his knuckle knives were beginning to push out from their hidden sheaths inside his arms to drag furrows against the earth, but since no one was around Michael didn’t try to force them back inside. He let himself grovel in the sand, rocking on his knees with his hands alternating between pressing against dirt and his head.

Seeing the animatronics all shiny and new from afar as a spectator, with all of their accursed similarities to his former hunters many a night shift ago, had been one thing. But to be close to them, metal teeth mere inches away and in the perfect distance for gutting? Michael could practically feel the office chair pressed into his legs from his half-standing posture to make him faster to hit the door buttons. Even after so many years, that single moment of staring into plastic optics made him feel as if he’d never left that dark cramped excuse of a safe spot, and Michael hated the feeling.

He thought he’d been strong enough to stay focused. He thought he’d been strong enough to not let his fear control him again .

And that damn fox! Why the fuck was the fox asking so many damn specific questions?! It felt too perfect, too coincidental that they met eyes, and that the machine ignorantly knew just what buttons to press!

What if it wasn’t just Louis who saw that shitshow? If Cora, or even Sam saw-

Michael finally forced his racing mind to slow down, unfolding from his fetal crouch to sit spread legged on the ground. He shut his eyes, and for a moment focused just on his breath. It was even harder to remember the rhythm that kept him going during his panics, with the metal rattling in his chest, but he willed himself to pretend that he had lungs, slowly expanding in and out.

In and out.

In and out.

Bit by bit, the whirring of servos died down. The knuckle knives slowly retracted back into their spots and kerchunked back into their hidden spaces inside his forearms. The roaring terror feasting upon him faded, from a dull roar to the quiet hissing it had been at the entrance to the Funfair.

Finally, Michael opened his eyes.

Better… I’m… better now. 

That’s… that isn’t the old Foxy. Maybe it looks like the old one, but it’s a fancy new one with fancy new code and none of those older, buggy animatronic bits. There’s a bunch of people, and even you know that the animatronics themselves never chose to go after kids. Sam and others are kids, and there’s a big bustling crowd. 

It was just a coincidence that Foxy managed to ruffle me so damn much. I wasn’t exactly making a secret that this whole show wasn’t freaking me out, and I did look just old enough for the thing to theorize I could have visited the last location with “rumors”, maybe even Fazbear Frights if Faz Entertainment knew about it! It was just… bad timing and your lack of control.

They’re fine. You’re fine.

Michael made himself stand, and he sighed in relief as his legs didn’t tremor even once as he reared back up to full height. 

Now that he was calm, Michael could finally think more properly. The thought of going back inside flashed through his mind, but almost immediately he shoved it out of mind. 

I can’t. I can’t let them see how badly I’m reacting, else…

Shit, I hope Cora wasn’t watching, because she definitely will have questions.

And I was lucky Sam was too busy distracting Foxy too…

Yet, sitting outside waiting for the show to end didn’t quite appeal to Michael either – and not just because there was no seating outside other than the trampled grass and sand. Even if his legs felt like they wanted to give out at the thought of going back in with so many people and machines waltzing around ( didn’t anyone else feel that same terror of having mechanical beasts so close to them? How could anyone who lived not at least be scared by the faces of all those tragedies? ) it didn’t feel right to just sit around either.

…If I’m already out here, and everyone else is still inside…

Could this be my chance to finally do some… investigation?

A jolt of excitement suddenly coursed through Michael. Up to now he’d been preoccupied keeping an eye on the teens, surrounded by far too many people to try slipping away. But everyone was now either in the tent watching the show or in other parts… which meant-

No one to see me slipping away to see if there’s any rabbit tracks…

The excitement mingled with a bit of guilt. The thought of leaving Sam alone with those machines, even if they did seem safe, rankled at Michael. 

No, it’ll be fine. It’ll be fine , Mike.

Even at their worst, the animatronics never went out of their way to hurt kids – and Sam is still kid-enough. 

And they’re in company, broad daylight! The programming will keep them in check.

Another little pang of guilt and worry nagged at him.

Cora was acting suspicious earlier when I insisted on her staying close…

Would she try to slip away?

Again, Michael didn’t quite know why Cora of all people was so gung-ho (or, as gung-ho as the stoic girl could be) for the Funfair. He was more than a little bit wary of leaving her alone. Again, though, his logic whispered to him.

Louis and Sam are there… and even if Sam does want to go along with Cora like she’s been doing for the past couple of weeks, Louis can be trusted to keep them in check. He’s a good kid, he’ll keep them out of trouble for a little bit.

I only just need to go through some of the less busy areas to see if there are any hints of Springtrap, because if that damn Guide Voice was able to detect him then he would have to be near these tents…

Michael straightened, resolution growing firm ( and pushing back the seething paranoia that made his body continue to tremble in discreet but discernible ways ).

Just in and out, quickly check for evidence of Spring-no, Scraptrap , then get back so Sam and Cora don’t get any ideas.

Yeah… yeah, that’s doable!

Before he could doubt himself, Michael looked over past the big top he’d come out of and around. He wasn’t looking at the bright, colorful tents that had up to now comprised the fair. No, just visible past the colorful stripes were the mundane dull whites and blues hidden behind an array of colorful poles and streamers and a few seemingly random empty tents.

Well, that looks promising.  

…

Michael was hyper aware as he prowled through what was definitely not the main campgrounds among the plain colored tents. Each step was more ginger than normal, and already there was the hair-raising feeling one got when doing something that was definitely not allowed.

Well duh. You’re trespassing. Not exactly something you’ve never done before, isn’t it?

Well, the last time he had trespassed, it was at William’s behest to get into the foreclosed Circus Baby’s Pizza World with its elevator of doom to get his organs pulled out like candy from a pinata. But at least that time no one even gave a shit to watch the place for anyone breaking in. This was definitely a place that had employees, and Michael found himself prowling with extra caution. 

His eyes were peeled not just for signs of feet, but for overly large rabbit paws or hints of moldering yellow-green. Already, Michael could feel his knuckle blades itching to be unsheathed and perform a repeat of the execution he performed on the fleshy Springtrap-clone. But he tamped down the feeling. 

Keep your head clear, Michael. You’re on the hunt, and you need to stay focused. 

Michael frowned after a few minutes of circling round tents and peering around their corners in anticipation. He had thankfully not run into anyone who’d question why some random idiot was wandering around – the few employees he’d glimpsed were far away, and were too busy talking with one another while carrying big boxes fit to burst with plushies. But it was rapidly becoming clear that Miichael, for all his eagerness… was extremely lost.

He of course suppressed the urge to swear, but he contented himself with the thought that it’d only been a couple minutes so far. Surely, in broad daylight it would be hard for a decrepit old animatronic to hide. Fancifully, Michael wondered if maybe this would be the time he’d be able to finally take down Springtrap – not the freaky fleshy clone, but the decrepit old thing that had been burned through and through and had to be more fragile than wet paper after spending so long in the wild with no maintenance.  

Maybe even fast enough to be able to get back to Sam and company without getting them suspicious?

Michael still scowled though even with the burst of optimism.

Dammit, you’d think some of these tents would at least have some signs or something so you can actually tell where you’re go-

If he’d been paying attention, he might have heard the sounds of feet rapidly accelerating into a speed walk to quickly round the corner he was just about to go around. But even if he did, he was right in between two tents into a corridor of canvas that wouldn’t have allowed for a sidestep. And so-

“Oof!” Michael’s train of thought was stopped short as he collided into someone whose head smacked into his chest with a thunk hard enough to make a servo rattle in place. They both let out a grunt as they stumbled back. Immediately, old habits kicked in and he sputtered out, “Oh, sorry! I didn’t see you there!”

His eyes went wide when he took her in, and he immediately redacted his thoughts of this venture being straightforward. Now this is why I don’t get optimistic.

The stranger he bumped into angrily brushed off the front of their Fazbear uniform, somewhat similar to the simple white and red tees and professional long pants of the employees at the booths but with an additional set of straps securing a small Fazbear emblazoned backpack and belt. A golden security badge with Freddy’s face winked from the chest, and the brim of a simple black cap emblazoned with FAZBEAR SECURITY at first obscured the stranger’s eyes before she glanced up at him, a pair of blue eyes narrowed at him as a blonde ponytail swung. Her eyes were flinty, and though she was at least a head shorter than Michael she didn’t seem the least bit dissuaded by their size difference as she opened her mouth with a fist raised.

“Sorry?! How about you watch where you’re going next time you-!” She blinked, anger vanishing as quick as it came. She glanced at his face, and then moved her eyes to his chest “Wait. You’re… not an employee.”

Oh, shit.

Vanessa looked him over, eyes narrowing even further. “The hell are you doing out here? The carnival is over in that direction.”

Michael was happy he wasn’t capable of sweating, because he was sure that if he could the lady who was definitely a security guard would see him sweating buckets. But she couldn’t, and even with leftover shivers Michael was getting very experienced with putting on poker faces. He straightened, and casually said, “Look, Miss-”

“Vanessa. Just call me Vanessa. It’s on the nametag,” the security guard grunted, cutting him off. She jabbed a finger in his chest. “Now, why are you over here?”

“Miss Vanessa,” Michael said. “Listen, this is a misunderstanding. I’m just looking for… the bathroom, and I think I got very turned around.”

“More like completely blundered your way out here. How did you even get here!? There’s security guards that are supposed to be around here!” Vanessa snapped.

“...I walked.” Michael shrugged.

“...You’re a real clever one aren’t you,” Vanessa muttered, voice drier than the Utah desert. She rubbed her nose, sighing heavily. “Look, you’re not supposed to be back here. Now, explain what you’re doing here, and I might consider not calling the rest of security on your dumb ass.”

Cutting right to the chase, aren’t we?

Clearly, the Fazbear curse of apathetic or ineffective employees hadn’t transferred to this Vanessa. With the way her arms crossed as she waited, and the increasing tempo with which her finger tapped her elbow he didn’t have much time to consider his options. He could potentially just make a run for it – Michael could push this body to be absurdly fast, as his time in the forest had proven. But that would probably guarantee that he’d then have this security guard before him would stay true to her threat and he’d be in even deeper shit. He could just continue to play dumb… but there was a chance that the woman would just escort him out after getting fed up. But…

What was that thing I’ve heard about lies? They’re a bit more believable if they have some truth in them?

“...Okay look, I kinda wandered back here because I was in the tech show and…” Michael paused, debating if this was really the best strategy. But he couldn’t think of anything else, and after a moment, forged on. “I was in the tech show and I… got spooked by the robots and had to run out.”

“All the way out here?” Vanessa asked, frowning with a strange look in her eye.

Michael’s shoulder tensed. “I… yes,” he admitted, with more reluctance coloring his tone than he would like. “I was supervising some ki- siblings, but then they started letting the animatronics walk around. One of them got… too close and I… got claustrophobic and needed to get out.” Michael crossed his arms, making sure to layer on the act of a guy who really was just a little bit lost. Michael didn’t even have to fake the tremor of fear at the image of flashing metal teeth and crushing gears mashing churning you aren’t safe .  

“I needed space and just picked a direction, but then I got lost and then my bladder started acting up and now I’m here.” Michael confessed. He looked imploringly at the security guard. “I really just need to use the toilet or whatever you have nearby, and then I’ll leave.”

Vanessa’s poker face was impressive, something in her mind racing as whatever emotion she had was kept firmly behind a veneer of annoyance. Michael tensed as the security guard’s deliberation dragged on. He was fully prepared to run, but then blissfully, Vanessa sighed loudly, but not with irritation this time.

“...Alright fine, I guess… yeah that’s kind of understandable. The animatronics freak me out too sometimes. They’re way too damn sharp for my tastes, and too damn smart for things that are just supposed to sing and dance around for young kids,” Vanessa muttered. She tilted her head. “Is it okay if I ask which one got you so freaked out?”

“...Foxy.”

Vanessa grimaced. “Oh, that one?” She scoffed lightly. “Yeah. I can’t blame you for getting freaked out. Out of all the prototypes that Fazbear’s has Osbert touring around for this public show, that one’s… way too damn different. Too… alive .”

Michael would have agreed out loud with her – he desperately was hoping that it was just something about more advanced programming, but there had been something far too sapient about the fox, something even more evident up close. Yet… there was something off about how Vanessa had put emphasis on that last word, more than just their apparently shared fear. For a moment so quick he thought he imagined it, Michael saw visceral disgust twist up Vanessa’s face at the thought, but it was hardly given enough time before her eyes sparked and her voice was flinty and businesslike once more.

 “But I really shouldn’t be saying much. Whatever the hell they’re doing with the robots or your stuff is none of my business, and I’m supposed to be getting to work. But I can’t just leave you waltzing around,” Vanessa side eyed him. “I… guess I can show you the bathroom back here so you can cool down and get back to your siblings. BUT!” 

Vanessa jabbed a finger at Michael’s chest. “ I’m not walking you there myself, and you better not say that I showed you to the restroom in the employee only section. If anyone knew some random guest was back here because I let them use the restrooms, my head would get stuck on a pike! I’ll be watching to make sure you actually leave the place, but that’s all I’ll do. And let me be crystal clear. This isn’t charity, this is me getting you off my back before we get in trouble!”

“That, uh, seems a bit extreme,” Michael grimaced. “Would you really get in that much trouble if you let someone wander back here?”

“Well, some people are very willing to throw the temps under the bus,” Vanessa scoffed, arms crossed. “You’d understand more if you saw the way one of the managers who handles the finances made a mechanic cry. Only reason I’m even letting you do this is because they’re too busy nagging some other schmuck right now.”

Michael put up his hands. “I didn’t say I didn’t believe you! I get working with crappy people too.”

“Hmph. Spare me the sympathy,” Vanessa rolled her eyes, but her voice did soften a tiny bit. After a moment of thought, she pointed off toward a set of rather drab looking tents that looked suitably backstage-ish. Snappily, glancing around her as though she expected someone to jump out pointing at them and yelling, ‘Caught you’, she spoke briskly.

“Just go over there, and pass through that bunch of blue tents that look like a big centipede. Those are the main tents for the employees, and there should be some porta-potties on the other side from us. Just walk through till you see them, don’t look at anything, don’t touch anything, leave as soon as you’re done drying your eyes or whatever, and if you do find someone in there just say you wandered out back.” 

Michael followed her hand to see a series of large, boring blue tents that did indeed look like a large canvas centipede with multiple tent pegs jabbed into the ground like so many long legs and pointed feet. The hunter in him bunched up and hissed.

Large, isolated, and potentially full of valuable tools for repairs.

Scraptrap would be all over this.

Ignorant to the almost deranged glint in Michael’s eyes as he eyed the master tent, Vanessa glared at him extra hard. “If you say anything about me letting you go into the employee only area, I will find you when I get fired and make you regret it.”

Michael nodded. “Of course! Thank you!”

“Like I said, don’t mention it,” Vanessa pointed two fingers at her eyes, and then at him. And, before Michael could do or say anything else, she spun around, ponytail nearly hitting him in the face, and speed walked away from him.

Wow, she is really not a happy camper, is she?

Never mind that. I’ve got a lead.

Michael just sighed and oriented himself into the general direction she pointed, which seemed to be leading to one of the larger bland tents. Taking extra care this time to look for any potential bystanders without bumping into them, Michael tiptoed his way toward the beckoning open flaps. 

All it took was pushing aside the ajar flap of heavy tent material for Michael to be inside the tent. He had half been expecting there to be a horde of security guards standing around inside, or some sort of alarm, but the tent was barren of people. The tent

Michael wasn’t wholly sure what he was expecting to be inside, in the sight of a semicircle of cheap plastic folding tables. Most tables had toolboxes and various technical equipment lazily piled up into Jenga towers of metal. Half-rolled blueprints were heaped next to various bits and bobs on a table with a cheap piece of paper reading: QUICK REPAIRS . The crowning jewel of the haphazard tent workshop was the upper half of a nightmarish looking endoskeleton that looked as if the endoskeletons from the Toy animatronics ate the older model endoskeletons. There was a sticky note on its face that read: Prototype Endo – Failed, Please Discard.  

There were hints that there were people here at some point, but for some reason or another had simply left for other tasks. 

Maybe this is meant to be where someone like a mechanic gets tools to fix the games or robots, and a on-site workshop, Michael mused as he walked deeper in, scanning the tables and especially the bisected endo with trepidation. But whoever is supposed to work here, they sure aren’t doing a very good job of it.

But since Michael was inside, he didn’t waste time in going to each table and examining them for anything suspicious. It only took a couple of minutes for him to conclude that, aside from whoever was supposed to be in charge clearly didn’t care enough to make everything neat, there were no signs of any sort of suspicious animatronic activity, or corporate evil or anything even helpful. The apparent prototype endoskeleton Michael looked at suspiciously, but a closer examination revealed a lack of servos inside its skeleton. A glance at the blueprints had him roll his eyes.

I may still only know the basics of being a mechanic, but what idiot thought it was a good idea to try powering a giant robot with double A batteries?

Something growled inside him, twitching impatiently at the lack of clear leads. Michael was quick to shrug it off as he looked to the long canvas tunnel leading to the next in the series of tents, though it didn’t stop a prick of foreboding at how… familiar the sense of hunter’s anticipation within him was.

Is that glitch from the woods happening again?

Michael grimaced at the thought. He still wasn’t completely sure what exactly had happened with whatever program Henry had in him that went berserk when he’d seen the fleshy Springtrap monster. And with how he’d been mostly focused on keeping an eye on Louis and Scout, and his subsequent investigation, it had largely gone… unaddressed.

You mean you’ve been trying to pretend that was just a one time thing, a voice in Michael’s head hissed.

He shoved the thoughts from his mind, ignoring the way he shook as he took a deep breath. Just keep calm, keep focused. This is the chance you were hoping for to see what Fazbear’s might be doing behind the curtains, and to potentially catch Springtrap around here. If the glitch happens again… I’ll just deal with it.

Yeah. It’ll be fine.

The ending was blocked by another canvas flap, and Michael lifted it aside to reveal  This tent was filled with yet more plastic folding tables, now mingling with wooden crates ranging from hip height to just above his head. It stayed as such as Michael slowly walked his way through, alert and tense. There was little of interest as his eyes glazed over yet more disorganized mechanic’s tools, various blueprints kept pinned down under spare parts. The thing that made Michael slow his pace was the bold labels on the shipping containers – or more specifically, the giant bold print plastered on them.

Does that say… Toy Bonnie? For… the Special Delivery Initiative?

A chill ran through him as he speed read the labels of the other boxes. A plethora of other familiar names were revealed to him: Toy Freddy, Toy Chica, “Classic” Freddy, “Classic” Bonnie, “Classic” Chica, “Classic” Foxy, Toy Foxy “Refurbished”, Toy Foxy “Mangle”... even fucking Balloon Boy.

There was some comfort as he noted that each of the heavy boxes were sealed tight with nails, and there was no hint of movement or struggle even as he passed by. Yet, the fact that there were so damn many of these boxes unsettled him.

So… Sam really wasn’t kidding when she said they were making animatronics to deliver to people’s houses. 

Well no shit Sherlock, why would all these shipping crates be here?

Guess they’re planning on giving some people early access to their special initiative.

Michael hesitated where he was, scanning around him warily. Suddenly, what seemed like just a messy tent seemed ripe for an attack, the shadows overpowering the light filtered through the canvas and the boxes seemingly promising ambushes from rampaging machines. There wasn’t a sound, and Michael knew even the stealthiest animatronics couldn’t stop their own servos from whirring, but preemptively he let his knuckle blades slide out from their places with a dull shunk.

He walked further, into a slightly more open area that looked less like a canvas warehouse and a bit more like a proper workshop, with the messes that had overtaken cheap plastic tables exchanged for more solid looking metal workbenches. It was there that he was struck with a sudden sense of knowing . 

The taste of iron and blood hit his tongue, both of the real… and unreal type.

He’s h e r e .

Michael tried to ignore the uncanny deja vu the not-Guide-Voice and definitely not his own voice, but it was undeniable: his supernatural sense was tingling, and the stench of blood children screaming yellow rabbits rotting impaled in t o r m e n t hit him.

Michael realized that when he was not a robot Springtrap had never quite hit him with such feelings (potentially because he wasn’t quite as ghostly as he was now as a spirit in a metal vessel), but the sheer familiarity was there. And it was all originating from a tall, wooden box sitting innocuously near the center of the tent amongst several other special delivery boxes.

His mind raced even as his methodical walk slowed to a mere trudge.

Alright, how do we take this?

Presumably, he hid in that box, or behind it, to try and hide until there were less people.

So what would be the way to tackle him?

Several possibilities ran through his mind. There was the temptation to once again rip open the box and leap right on top of the rotting rabbit to rip him to pieces himself: it wasn’t as if Michael didn’t have the components to do so conveniently already in his hands (literally). But then again… what about that error that had nearly crippled him? Could he risk actually seeing Springtrap’s face if it meant he’d seize up at the worst possible moment?

If he is just stuck in the box… then what’s to stop me from just lighting it on fire?

Fire, although it still hadn’t done the job in actually killing the bastard, still did a rather good job of making unbreakable steel fallible and breakable. It had worn down the intimidating Springtrap suit into something that needed to be rebuilt with scrap or even replaced, and especially after all the effort Henry had put into destroying him one last time, William had to be on his last legs. What was the chance that he could even take another fire before simply collapsing into pieces, weathered as he was? 

And that would also take care of the error! It had only really started after actually seeing the rabbit’s face, right? So if he could turn Scraptrap to a crisp without ever having to see the thing, he wouldn’t even after to worry about it!

Yes, that’s the smart plan! Michael mentally patted himself on the back, though he frowned shortly after.

Though first, before I actually set it on fire…

I have to actually make sure he’s in the box before I get too ahead of myself.

Michael’s fist tightened. Yes, fire would do the trick, but only if the slippery bastard was actually where Michael thought he would be. The miasma was choking, but Michael reasoned that he could just… get closer to check.

It wasn’t as if the old machine was strong enough to get through the wood, right?

Michael took a breath, and took several long strides to the ominous box, taking care to muffle his steps and his knuckle-blades at the ready. The choking miasma of old malice and rotting grew stronger as Michael came close, the wood revealing nothing but seemingly almost vibrating with shadowy energy. It was all imagined and just Michael’s senses, but his resolution grew stronger.

This had to be it. This had to be.

A look at the edges revealed subtle, but telling scrapes that made Michael thought looked like a crowbar. Just like on all the other crates, there was a label high up on the box. It was rather tall, taller than even the boxes he’d passed – fitting, since in life William had been rather tall and in order to use Spring Bonnie as a suit it’d needed to be taller than even all the other animatronics – so Michael had to crane his head up to look at the label. There was definitely evidence of the label having fallen off and been sloppily pasted back on, the paper crumpled and just a bit stained. At the angle and the poor light, it was hard to make out, but Michael could just barely read: Fazb_ar “Spec_al _elivery – PROT__YPE ‘Sprin____________rn”.

Hm, are they trying to bring back the original animatronics? The very originals?

Michael hummed. It would explain why such a tall box was here… and why Scraptrap was taking up residence in it. William’s fascination with rabbits was a notable tell of his presence, and Michael could imagine the animatronic hiding in the box after prying it open. If it was anything like the old Spring Bonnie animatronic, he would 100% be cannibalizing the machine for parts. 

Michael’s mouth quirked up into a cruel snarl at the mental image of Scraptrap huddled over a disemboweled Spring Bonnie machine like a carrion bird. It felt fitting that the monster that he was would stoop to something like scavenging for parts – it was an utterly deserved turn of fate for him, and Michael would be more than pleased to make said fate even worse.

Now, where to find something flammable?

If this is a mechanic’s tent, then it would make sense to have something like oil. Plenty of nice, flammable liquids…

Michael started to turn to search for the necessary fire starting materials, but stopped short at a quiet thump from the inside of the box. There was a shuffling of feet, a thunk of metal on wood. Then, a familiar, raspy voice:

“Mi…chael?”

The voice was rough, as if unused to speaking after years and years of silence, or perhaps after one too many fires. It made Michael freeze in his tracks. His throat tightened, but he quickly regained control of himself.

How did he know I-?

It’s fine. It just confirms he’s in there.

He probably just assumes that anyone nearby might be me.

Just stay quiet, and then go on.

Michael gave the crate a sharp look, tensed in expectant silence. After a long moment, there was yet more movement. Quiet scratching from within the box sounded, and a quiet scraping.

“M…ich…ael?”

The voice was more testing, questioning but with a growing edge of menace. Michael scowled – he definitely needed to move before the rabbit caught on and decided to escape. With more haste, he searched around the tent as the scratching from within the case intensified. Thankfully, Michael’s hunch on what would be stored was proven right as there were several canisters of machine oil clustered together out in the open, and then in a slightly ajar drawer he could spot a silvery-gray lighter next to a packet of cigarettes.

Thank you whoever is a smoker, Michael prayed in his head as he grabbed the materials all up. His shaking was slowly turning to confidence as he strode back with his fiery haul toward the gradually intensifying scratching, the voice of the accursed rabbit going between confused to suspicious.

Keep it quick and simple Mike – throw on the lighting fluid, throw on the lighter, then get back and watch to make sure the thing burns this time.

Just watch, and wait, and seize it 

Follow protocol Swan Song 

Kill it 

KILL IT 

FIND IT-!

Michael slapped himself in the face, and growled lowly to himself, “You aren’t fucking this up this time, voice in my head.”

In motions that were disturbingly familiar, Michael was savvy enough as an unprofessional arsonist to move about the crates surrounding the box first before splashing on the flammable oil in generous quantities. He couldn’t hide the sounds of the liquid plashing on the crate’s wooden slats, so as he went about his work the scratching grew more frantic.

In no time flat the wood was soaked with a thin sheen of foul smelling chemicals, and the lighter was already in Michael’s hands itching to be opened. The box was shaking now with how vigorously Scraptrap was struggling to bust back out of the box. Michael took a breath, shoulders tensed from the impending act he was going to commit and the lighter held out before him.

Now, for the flames.

The metal lid snapped open with just one flick of a finger, and it only took a few tries to get a small flame eagerly licking the air. Michael eyed the puddle of flammable liquid he left pooling by the crate, and then with a flick of his wrist he sent the lighter flying. The flame curled through the air like the coiling of a snake before it landed on the flammable liquid. There was a moment of nothing, then a quiet fwoosh as flames began to rise.

There was a bellowing roar as the flames grew quickly, and Michael quickly took a step back, eyes fixed on the box. Now, he permitted himself a small smile as fire crawled over the shuddering wooden box. 

Exactly what you deserve, bastard.

Michael stood at the ready, watching the flames licking the air with his knuckle blades at the ready. He knew better than to turn his back without making sure the work was finished, and with how much like a cockroach Scraptrap  was he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d have to wade back in to finish off the decrepit rabbit. 

Though… for something that could barely pull itself along in the vents to kill a shambling bag of bones Scraptrap was being very active smashing against the box with frenzied energy. Michael frowned as the bellowing grew loud, and then the wood started splintering.

A thought occurred that Michael honestly should have considered first as the box shook with increasingly ominous groans. 

If Scraptrap did get himself in there… how did he even seal the box back up? Because with how god-awful the hand coordination of the animatronics are he couldn’t have nailed himself in that tight.

Michael’s eyes widened.

He couldn’t have nailed himself in.

But then… the sides of the box can’t be-!

KRAAAAAASH!

“MIIIIIICHAAAAEEEEEEEEL!”

Almost in slow motion, a side of the box blew apart, one half cracking to fall onto the puddle of fire around the crate and the rest flying off to the opposite side of the tent. Michael reeled back and threw up an arm to stop a rain of splinters from hitting his face. When he lowered it, there was a sickening sense of deja vu that felt… too much like that moment in the forest he saw the rabbit thing .

He came stomping out, a moldering green rabbit looming above Michael’s height and then some, exposed metal and mystery red gunk visible through a deteriorated shell. Two silver, glowing eyes narrowed balefully at Michael from within pitiless depths, and Michael felt his resolve shake as he took in his enemy, the man behind the slaughter…

Looking… exactly as he did in Fazbear Frights?

Michael suddenly felt as if he’d turned two pages at once.

Wait, what ?!

What happened to the Scraptrap suit? I thought he-

But there was no time for Michael to contemplate, as all too quickly things became chaotic.

Springtrap roared, a ghastly wail emitting from his grinning mouth before the rabbit charged forward. Just as Michael had feared, a splitting mental shriek of hate roused within his skull, and he felt his movement stall.

TARGET ACQUIRED!

ENACT SWAN SONG PROTOCOL!

FINISH HIM!

KILL HIM!

Michael screwed up his eyes and snarled, but he counted his lucky stars the migraine he knew was coming was not yet here. He had to focus, focus on making it out of this mess and figuring out why Scraptrap/Springtrap somehow managed to completely fix himself before resorting to his original plan: ripping the damn thing to ribbons with his bare hands.

Springtrap closed the distance and swung a mighty moldering paw at his face like a bludgeon. Michael knew from experience just how much force the rabbit could put behind his swings (the craters left in the walls of Fazbear Frights from when Springtrap got a little too frustrated with the game gave a pretty good estimate), but the movement was heavily telegraphed. Michael simply sidestepped and jabbed the knuckle blades at Springtrap’s face.

The rabbit’s eyes widened comically as he overstepped, and then it shrieked as the blades struck home just below his eye. Michael swiftly ripped them out, taking a chunk of animatronic shell and red flesh with him on the tips. Springtrap stumbled back, a hand going up to cradle his face in a motion that made Michael smirk. Its eyes blinked to Michael as he shook the bits of machine off his blades and stood at the ready, brow furrowed as hissed commands roiled between his ears.

“So, you’ve got new tricks young bastard of mine,” Springtrap hissed out, pulling away their hand and looking at it much the way someone would look at the blood on their hand from holding a wound. “How… quaint.”

The rabbit straightened, eyes narrowing. There was no lessening of the hate in his eyes, but he took a moment to survey Michael as he stood in a ready position. There was a familiar, contemplative spark much like when William in life would be pondering a particularly interesting article from one of his engineering journals. After a moment, the rabbit smirked, confidence in its eyes. “Not a word from you, son? I thought you’d be happy to see your daddy finally come back after you abandoned me.”

“I’m not your son, and I don’t give a shit about anything you say,” Michael snapped. His hands formed into fists, systems churning. “I’m here to disassemble you for good.”

Springrap chortled, a bloodcurdling thing that made Michael’s head hurt from the sheer loathing that surged within him at the sound, “Disassemble me? You could barely even look at me when you were alive, let alone the shambling thing you were. You may look somewhat more… composed now, but I still only see that sniveling bastard son of mine.” 

Michael sneered right back. “I’ve set you on fire two time now. I’m more than happy to do it again!”

Springtrap blinked in… confusion at the words. “Twice? Set me on fire… twice?” The rabbit chuffed. “Has your already piddling intellect diminished even more? You haven’t even done anything to me besides hiding in that office!” 

The rabbit looked around. “Although… were you perhaps attempting to sell me to a junkyard in the hopes that some gullible rube with a crusher would do the work for you instead before you mustered your spine to face me? Because this is certainly not the attraction.”

Michael lowered his fighting stance to stare at the rabbit in confusion. The hissing voice of hate spiked at his significant lack of rabbit-disassembling, but for the moment it was superseded by his confusion. “What are you talking about? Of course this isn’t Fazbear Frights, and I know damn well I set you on fire myself both then and in Henry’s trap! I watched you burn!”

Springtrap was now looking less menacing and more bewildered. “I KNOW I would remember being set ablaze, as you keep insisting you did to me. And… what’s this about Henry? I thought the idiot was still serving life in prison?”

Michael frowned. “I… well…”

Springtrap scanned Michael’s face, then huffed. “What, is this some sort of ruse? Are you hoping to somehow trick me with some mental games to make me lose my resolve or some drivel like that? What exactly is your plan here, son?”

“...You… really don’t remember?” Michael murmured.

A beat of silence as robotic man and robotic rabbit stared each other down, trying to gauge the other and failing. There was the distinct sense that both had two sides of the same jigsaw puzzle, but were missing too many crucial pieces to really know how they fit together. There was an even deeper sense of unease in him, of something important that explained why Springtrap seemed so pristine and yet so oblivious. Michael just didn’t know how to begin stringing together the pieces.

But confusion couldn’t prevail forever, and bloodlust did have a way of making such trivial things as amnesia take a backseat. Without answering or contemplating further, Springtrap just snarled and lunged back at Michael, mouth creaking open in preparation.

Michael grit his teeth and resumed his fighting position as the rabbit charged, and then-

It was all movement, a blood-red haze of rage sweeping away any doubts or worries over the discrepancies of the moment. Both fighters went at each other in frenzied motions, both eager for the other to bleed and die. 

Springtrap’s particular style wasn’t particularly refined, but even though William had never been a proper fighter he had a predatory grace about him and practice working with and within machines. The rabbit swung at the robotic man with heavy paws, taking full advantage of the sheer power of his robotic vessel and size to put nothing less than full power behind each blow. If Michael had still been just human, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that one solid hit from one of those fists would send him straight to the reaper, if not leaving him with a cracked skull.

Michael thanked the stars he had taken the time to not just practice accessing the perks of his body but with some proper fighting techniques as he parried and ducked. While Springtrap opted for using his arms like clubs with the occasional attempt at a grab and bite sprinkled in, Michael kept low and fast, using his blades to chip away at the rabbit’s outer shell.

They brawled for what felt like hours, each trying to take as many pieces off of each other as they could. They broke apart only briefly to take a brief breather, Springtrap twitching in growing rage that his target was still extremely alive and mostly unharmed, and Michael shuddering for considerably different reasons.

I’m not going to be able to keep this up.

It was a miracle that the hateful voice somehow hadn’t impeded him as much at the start of his fight, but it had slowly progressed into something far less helpful. He could feel the jerkiness of his movement grow more, making avoiding Springtrap’s blows become more narrow affairs. The distraction of the seemingly pointless clicking inside his torso had restarted. But that was far from the worst thing Michael noticed the hateful voice seemingly doing to him. As the fight went on, he could feel parts of his body moving without his own accord, as if they were trying to wrest away control from him to move themselves .

He’d almost found himself reaching out to wrap himself around Springtrap before he’d noticed the rabbit's moldering torso far too close for comfort and he’d thrown himself back before the machine brought both arms down on him. His mind flashed back to the woods, his arm freezing when it’d seized the rabbit-sasquatch abomination and holding on like a rabid dog.

Michael had been optimistic, but he could feel the glitches eating away at his confidence as the fight stalemated itself. If he didn’t do something quickly, this would be the woods all over again… and Michael held no illusion that Springtrap would be merciful if he froze up from whatever catastrophic error the hateful voice might induce.

MOVE IN.

ENACT SWAN SONG PROTOCOL.

FINISH THE JOB.

Not if you don’t shut up.

Michael ground his teeth at the burst of headaches that followed. 

Springtrap straightened slightly, a paw ghosting over the brand new holes in their torso to sneer at Michael. “Is something the matter, son? You seem a bit… tuckered out.”

“Not on your life,” Michael sniped back, forcing himself to straighten. He nearly swore as he felt his body jerkily respond to his wants, a moment of weakness that Springtrap definitely didn’t miss going off the rabbit’s dour chuckle.

“Ah, you know I haven’t had to fight this much for my prey in so long… it’s frustrating, but yet so thrilling at the same time!” The rabbit tsked, hands clenching eagerly. “It’s almost a shame that I’ll have to end it so quickly.”

Without further delay, Springtrap went right back at Michael with hands outstretched, and their dance of Michael dodging and Springtrap clawing at him resumed. But this time, it was clear that Springtrap was swiftly gaining the advantage.

Inches turned to centimeters as Michael had to force his increasingly stiff, clicking body to avoid every club-like swing, and Michael’s strikes slowed as the hateful voice roared at him to FINISH THE JOB FINISH THE JOB SEIZE HIM AND FINISH THE JOB . It was taking every bit of concentration to not keel over holding his head, to keep his composure and not show just how badly he was beginning to slip.

No, I can’t let it end like this.

Dodge, step. Dodge step, jab, step back.

ENACT PROTOCOL SWAN SONG.

FINISH THE JOB.

END HIM.

There needs to be a way out of this. But how? 

Swivel, jab, abort jab and step back.

Look him in the eyes.

Don’t show weakness.

I can barely keep moving, and my head hurts.

God everything hurts-

FINISH HIM.

FINISH HIM.

FINISH H I M.

Every blow came closer and closer, and if it weren’t for how telegraphed each attack was, Michael knew he would already be knocked to the ground and made dead.

I need a way out.

I need a way out now.

But where the hell can I even go without screwing myself over!?

And then, from beyond the haze of screaming noise within his head and his growing desperation, a feminine voice cut through.

~YOUR LEFT! THE SAFETY CYLINDER PROTOTYPE!

!?!

Guide voice?

Michael found his head turning in the indicated direction even as his mind still swam with noise. He didn’t see it at first, but as Springtrap forced him back a step his eyes caught onto a large, silvery cylinder with a small glass window and heavy door partially hidden behind some of the Special Delivery crates. In bold letters, Michael could just barely read: PORTABLE SECURITY CYLINDER .

Security cylinder? For the mechanics?

The guide voice didn’t bother to explain, but Michael’s question as to what exactly a safety cylinder could be was more indirectly answered as it screeched, ~GET INSIDE!

In a spur of the moment, Michael managed to regain a modicum of focus as his tried and true instinct of GTFO managed to temporarily overwhelm the howling, error-spewing gibberish to throw together a hasty plan. Michael knew that with how jerky and erratic he was moving to just barely avoid getting his front torn apart, he would most definitely not be able to outrun Springtrap in a race to the cylinder. But if he could stun him first…

 Michael hadn’t used the EMP function in his body after his first time beyond a few tests to confirm that while powerful, it sapped him far too much for him to be comfortable. But in a case as desperate as this, it was the only thing he could think of, and it was thankfully a simple enough mechanism to trigger.

So he closed his eyes, mentally feeling for that mental switch he recalled from his practice, and flicked it.

There was a moment as something inside his chest glowed, bright enough to make his normally opaque skin translucent to show off endoskeletal struts and parts. Springtrap paused mid-swing, black and white optics squinting at the robotic man, but then reeled back as the light EXPLODED outward in an invisible wave.

The erroneous screaming in his head actually hiccuped for a moment as the EMP took effect. Springtrap himself actually froze mid-step, falling backward onto his ass with a strangled shriek cut-off as his voice box refused to function. The rabbit convulsed, electronics no longer working in tandem with the spirit within, and Michael himself nearly collapsed from the near instant wave of crippling exhaustion as soon as the EMP went off.

But there was no time for him to savor his victory – he’d only bought himself a few moments at most, and he didn’t bother waiting to see how quickly Springtrap could pick himself up. Michael spun on his heel and hobbled to the cylinder, slamming his hip into the surrounding crates in his haste. 

By some stroke of luck, there was a handle half-turned on the front of the cylinder, with a ghostly bit of string fluttering off of it. The door didn’t resist as Michael flung it open with a BANG! , and he stepped in before turning around and yanking the door shut, the door automatically locking with a click as soon as it was in place.

The inside was roomier than expected but still not particularly comfortable by any definition. There was some space to sit down, and the cylinder was just tall enough to accommodate Michael’s height without having to crouch. There was nothing much in the cylinder besides a metal shelf rubbing Michael’s knees that he surmised was some kind of seat, and the claustrophobia of the metal space was only alleviated by the faint light through the front window. This was a space that was not made for comfort, but was mostly definitely a glorified metal coffin made to protect (From what? Well, to Michael the answer was obvious and currently outside.) and little else.

The hateful voice came back slowly and hissing, but for at least a few moments Michael could clench his eyes shut and just try to breathe, and let the roaring buzz die down without its target in obvious sight.

The respite was only brief as Springtrap without warning slammed its face against the window. Michael’s eyes snapped open to meet ochre black and malevolent silver, and the hateful voice and that damned clicking renewed with a vengeance.

“Get OUT!” A rotting metal fist slammed against the glass, which barely moved but was loud and echoed in the chamber in piercing fashion to make Michael cover his ears. “GET OUT OF THAT LITTLE COFFIN, AND LET ME KILL YOU, YOU TRAITOROUS B R A T!”

“FUCK YOU!” Michael yelled back with bravado he didn’t feel. 

Springtrap answered back with a guttural roar that made Michael clench his hands tighter on his ears, the fingers bending the plastic. The sound of the mechanical rabbit slamming its fists into the chamber’s door echoed incessantly, the rabbit itself no longer bothering with speaking and instead wordlessly howling like a lunatic. 

As if trying to compete, the erroneous screaming voice intensified its demands, the clicking speeding up like a mad cuckoo clock. Louder, louder, and LOUDER yet.

MOVE.

STOP HIDING.

FINISH THE JOB.

________ HIM.

_______________ HIM!

______________ HIM __________ HIM _____________ HIM-!

This isn’t safety.

This is a fucking prolonged execution.

Michael slammed back and slid down into the seat, putting down his head in a feeble attempt to at least make the voice stop screaming. But it didn’t - the hateful words rang louder, louder LOUDER as his systems seized and jerked. It was by virtue of how hard he was keeping his hands over his ears to at least deafen some of the cacophony of Springtraps’ loud assault on the cylinder that he was able to resist the urges not from him don’t listen to it to launch himself at the door and hit back in some psychotic, suicidal attempt to get at Springtrap.

He knew that was what the voice wanted. He knew he wanted it to.

But he couldn’t even do it when it was making him hurt like this! Not when it was making his body move like a drunk puppet, not when he needed the mobility but it was not listening and trying to control him-!

“Who are you!?” Michael yelled. “WHAT ARE YOU!?! Did Henry MAKE you?!”

MOVE MOVE MOVE-

FINISH HIM-

END HIM-

STOP THINKING- 

STOP QUESTIONING-

D O I T!

“I CAN’T!” Michael screamed. “You aren’t the fucking guide voice, and you’re making my body fuck up at the WORST TIME! WHAT ARE YOU!”

Nothing, nothing but uncaring, unceasing hate .

GET UP.

END IT.

GET UP.

END IT.

GET UP GET UP G E T U P!

“Stop it…” Michael whimpered out loud, eyes screwing closed. The chamber echoed with pounding fists and mechanical screams. His head echoed with hate and pointless clicking as his body jerked in an attempt to make him listen.

“Stop it…”

Michael’s eyes snapped open to stare at nothing, optics glowing and his voice broke .

“Stop it, stop it, STOP IT!” 

Michael howled, as he wished with all his might that the horrific growling, glitching voice would stop. His hands dug into his scalp, and it was only by virtue of his hyperfocus on the sensations in his head that he registered the faint but familiar snick of metal prongs emerging from his fingers. 

Not the jumbo sized knives, but the small metal pegs already buzzing with charging electricity.

Wait, did I just-

Michael suddenly knew what he had just done to himself, but it was already too late. As his taser fingers dug into his metal skull, they unleashed a paralyzing, whole-body shock. His body went rigid, and his voicebox ceased to work aside from a jittery static gurgle. Every limb twitched and spasmed, and he only remained standing as the locker was too small to even fall down inside.

Strangely enough, Michael didn’t feel any pain even as his body surged with electric shocks. Rather there had been a sharp pain replaced by a numbness. Michael felt one by one every system suddenly stop as electricity coursed through him, fans pausing mid-whirl and gears freezing.

The horrific glitching voice was cut-off mid-sentence and the damned constant clicking also ceased, but that didn’t seem to matter any more. As the charge itself suddenly stopped–likely because whatever was powering the taser itself disconnected–darkness stole away each and every one of his thoughts.

The last thing Michael got to think as his eyesight vanished and he slumped in place was a bleary, I’m not getting back to Louis and the rest in time for the end of the show like I promised, aren’t I?

Then there was nothing.

…

Vanessa stood by the tent with all the stored animatronics, idly scrolling on her Fazpad looking to see if there was anything she had to do. At least, that was what it appeared that she was doing. Her eyes were barely looking at the screen, instead glancing behind her, where her ears could just pick up on the sounds of a locker door slamming and the “ Springtrap” howled in fury. Out loud, she spoke, comfortable that the din of the carnival was absent in their current area and assured in her safety against the rampaging machine – even if this machine did happen to have a bit of a mind of its own, it was still her programming helping to nudge it in the right direction.

“It doesn’t seem like that pet project of the CEO is too pleased,” she noted. She glanced over to her other side, a spark of bemusement breaking her demure expression. Her amusement for the absurdity of the situation undoubtedly unfolding inside the tent was quickly tamped down for frustration, and she scoffed as she looked somewhere off in the distance. Looking at her watch and noting how many hours of the day had already passed by, she scowled. “To be honest… I’m not pleased either.”

She shut off the FazPad and roughly shoved it into the employee side bag, then to seemingly nowhere snapped, “Did we really have to go through so much just because some random man was snooping in the back for kicks!? I had to waste so much time prying open that box just to plug into the rabbit and only upload the same hacking program we installed for the others, after ALL the work we put into your ‘special’ program!” 

Vanessa clenched her fists.”I almost got caught when that dumbass Gerald came waltzing in, and then I had to risk getting caught near the body again just to pry open the box to reactivate the project and leave the box loose enough to open after running all the way across the circus from the entrance after seeing that moron the first time! The same one I just nailed shut this morning! ARGH! ”

Vanessa slammed a fist into her palm, suppressing her urge to scream extremely un-Fazbear brand profanities. Her mood only got worse as she brushed a hand over her rumpled Fazbear uniform shirt and saw a spot of red on the hem that had missed her attention. 

“And now look at what I have to do. I have to make up another excuse for the laundromat for why I got blood on my clothes,” She grumbled and shoved the edge of the shirt underneath the seat of her pants, somehow avoiding unseating the stained swiss army tool hastily jammed in her back jeans pocket. “Master, you better have a damn good explanation for all this pointless work I just had to go through…”

Her grumbling only stopped when a crackly voice sounded inside her head, raspy yet soothing enough to calm the impudent rage welling up inside of her.

~No no Vanessa… my dear Vanny . Despite initial appearances to you, that was not just all pointless work, and that was not just any random man.

It appeared to the unconditioned eye Vanessa was just listening to the sound of just the wind whistling between the tents. To her eyes though, as her thoughts slipped from her hardworking and crusty employee mindset to something far more demure yet vicious, she could see the glitching, broken silhouette of a violet-green rabbit leering at her. It hovered mid-air, constantly jittering as broken polygons interrupted the form it assumed: a bipedal green rabbit dressed in a dapper purple vest and bow tie, and a massive leering bunny smile under two bulging eyes. Its voice was just as broken as its form, stuttering and hissing like static but still discernible as its words echoed only for her ears.

To the rabbit’s pleasure, the usual tetchiness of Vanessa was submerged by the awe that Vanny always held. However, the annoyance still wasn’t wholly gone as the alter ego of his vessel huffed and squinted at him. Her arms crossed. “Master, I understand that only you comprehend the true depths of what must be done, but could you please elaborate on what you mean? There was much work we’d done to spread your influence, and to throw away so much of it on a seeming whim feels… irrational.”

The rabbit didn’t answer her right away. Instead, they seemed to reminisce, blankly staring eyes shimmering as they looked up like a philosopher pondering on the sun in the sky. ~I didn’t think I’d see him again… it’s been so long since the fire at that horror attraction, and I didn’t think his corpse would make it. Never thought he’d go so far as procuring a new body, but then we saw him just strolling through the front entrance… I honestly didn’t think he had the guts to do it!~

The glitching rabbit chortled, but Vanny just sighed. “You still haven’t answered my question. Why are we jeopardizing our position over this person?”

~Sigh, not even a laugh? I swear it’s always business with you unless you have a knife. It’s such a shame that of all the followers I could have had I have one with so little humor…~

The rabbit tutted and shook his head in parody of a saddened parent, but he eventually acquiesced as the woman raised an unamused eyebrow at him.

~All you need to know is that he is an… old acquaintance. One who’s attempted to destroy me and my plans at every turn.~ The rabbit scoffed in cruel amusement. ~I’ll be honest and say he’s never been successful in actually getting rid of me. However, he has the most ANNOYING habit of showing up at the worst moment possible, a propensity that has not ceased to make my existence difficult.~

The rabbit scoffed.

~He may not suspect much right now, but the fact is if he’s somehow wormed his way here it’s only a matter of time before he somehow catches onto my little symbiosis with you. If we can get rid of him while we can, it means one less problem to deal with.~

“Even if it means losing one of your potential vessels, and making Fazbears go crazy to cover up the mess in there ?” Vanny asked, hooking a thumb over her shoulder for emphasis. “You know with the CEO currently at the helm, all operations will be under an iron fist, and we definitely won't be able to get anything done for a while until they stop the media circus!”

At the disbelief the rabbit could feel emanating from her, he shrugged gallantly. ~Mmm, it’s not as big a loss as you might think. Our true goal still requires plenty of time to reach fruition, and even with how stringent this newly reborn board of Fazbear’s is they cannot keep their eyes everywhere. And as for the vessel… well, from the information I could glean from our little hacking session, that machine is unfortunately not as suitable a host as I hoped it would~.

“Truly? But it seemed so pristine, especially with how much the CEO insisted on overseeing its construction…” Vanny mused.

Glitchtrap sniffed, bulging eyes shimmering violet as the entity recalled its previous discoveries not too long ago. ~Unfortunately, its construction and apparent purpose was… different than what I would have anticipated. It… already has a passenger within it, most likely a result of the mechanics working on that classified project from the board itself. Alas, you can’t really double -possess something.~ 

The digital rabbit crossed their arms, sighing melodramatically. ~Shame too… they remade that vessel so wonderfully.~

“Another passenger already-? So that email was a bust! Dammit!” the woman shouted, again barely resisting the urge to commit property damage. Vanny squinted at the rabbit. “I still don’t know how you’re so casual about this. What am I supposed to do now?!”

~We simply slink back to our job, prepare to ask for a job transfer as Fazbear’s tries to cover up my and your little oopsie from Hurricane’s lackluster law and media, and see if we can get a foot in the door for the extra special project that Fazbear’s has been gearing up for since the buyout.~ Glitchtrap answered sanguinely. ~That has always been our ultimate goal after all, hasn’t it? All the other plans we’ve been working on have been preparation to get as much of a leg up as we could, and we have succeeded in most of them, haven’t we?~

“... I suppose,” the woman reluctantly conceded. Vanny could definitely be more brusque than her glitchy symbiote would like for a conditioned follower, bloodthirsty and all too ready to solve all problems with a sharp knife. But she at least knew when to concede to her master’s reasoning.

~I’m glad you understand my argument,~ Glitchtrap purred. ~And, think of it this way. Even if we didn’t get to use this plan as we’d hoped to, it at the very least will hopefully ensure my old acquaintance is dead, or at least maimed. I loathe to give him credit but he is ridiculously determined… so we’ll take whatever delays in his meddling as we can.~

With a cheery smile the rabbit jolted forward and ‘patted’ the woman on the shoulder, hand passing through her and leaving the woman with the sensation of static on her clothing. 

~Now, Vanny, let's leave them be and get back to work! It wouldn’t do to get caught lollygagging by the manager! Let’s trust in the bloodthirst of that other machine to do the job, and enjoy what remains of this day in the summer sun!~

More reassured, Vanny nodded. She still glanced over her shoulder, listening closely. She smiled slightly at the sound of metal fists pounding on metal, and hummed as she walked away. Slowly, the persona of Vanessa began to slide back in, minus her earlier fury, and in just a few moments she was back into the role of the dutiful Fazbear employee. If what was going to happen would happen, it would be best to stay away before the fiasco in the tent was caught.

And, as tempting as it would be to keep observing, or maybe help the machine rampaging inside the tent, it really would be a hiccup in their plans to get caught so close to one (hopefully soon to be two) bodies.

…

At first, Sam wasn’t too worried when Michael hadn’t come back as the animatronics gave their bows and Mr. Osbert warmly saw off the impressed crowd, happily answering questions with a few rather affluent looking people and everyone else filing out chattering. Sure, she’d been confused and a tiny bit concerned, but that had been dismissed at first by Louis explaining that Michael had gotten “stressed” and needed some breathing room. 

Somewhat shamefully, Sam had been much too busy fawning over the walking talking animal robots with actual programmed sentience to notice if Michael had been freaking out. She had noticed that Michael had seemed extra tense going in, but then she’d gotten caught up the second Foxy had revealed themselves and any suspicions of something being off with the robot man had simply faded from her mind. But Louis had been kind enough to say, “Hey, it’s alright. Michael’s not going to get angry if you weren’t paying attention to him. I just think he needed some time to breathe after Foxy acted so, uh, weird right there during the meet and greet.”

And so, Sam had let her guilt fade and let herself personally gush over the once in a lifetime opportunity to see truly sentient robots… and maybe gloat just a bit to the imaginary audience of all the jerks from school in her mind. 

Sam could just imagine how far their jaws would drop if they saw how seamlessly all the animatronics had been talking with and showing off for all the people. The circus-themed robots weren’t the first thing Sam would have thought she’d find something resembling her frenzied theorization of breaking the laws of nature and creating artificial life, but who cared about semantics of when the potential singularity would begin when a robot rabbit had pulled a bouquet out of a hat and a robot chicken had performed olympic-level dance routine? Ringmaster Foxy himself had especially been even more attentive to Sam’s rambling than she could have dreamed, and she nearly had swooned when the fox had winked at her at the end as Osbert thanked them all for coming.

And they were straight up letting people rent these super advanced robots! Well, admittedly more stripped back versions because of money stuff, but there was still the fact that you could rent giant robots to your house!

Ha! And they thought I was crazy for saying AI could be sentient.

Now look at that! Fully sentient robot entertainers that you can get in your house!

Take that!

She, and everyone else, had simply enjoyed the tech show for a good while: Austin pondering the potential complexity of a personality matrix with a speculative edge and the most interest he’d displayed in anything besides modifying the Wii. Eteled had buzzed in mingled confusion and amazement at how far technology had come, and had joined in the surprisingly cordial brainstorming on how they could have gotten sentient machines. Scout nearly put Sam to shame in her robot hype – not for all of them, but about Foxy. The puppet had been endlessly gushing about “how fucking cool Foxy is!”, and badgering Louis to march to the nearest stall to buy all the Foxy-themed merchandise. Even Cora was engaging with Buddy in a rather intense pondering on if the bodiless program could cut it as an entertainer like Foxy or Bonnie.

A good chunk of time had passed as they wandered a bit around the attractions nearer to the tent still chattering about the tech show, reorganized their prizes in their tote bags, and listened to the hubbub of the Funfair in full swing. 

Michael didn’t appear.

Cora tried to slip away, but Louis had caught her and insisted that they all stay together for safety’s sake. The older teen was definitely still intimidated by Cora, but he’d put down his foot and said firmly, “Michael said we need to stay together, and we’re staying together until he comes back.” The disappointment that she wasn’t getting to slip away clearly bugged Cora. 

Michael still didn’t appear.

Now they were all sitting together on a bench they’d randomly picked after aimlessly wandering around the carnival. Up to this point Louis’d gone silent, checking in on Scout in their bag (who was temporarily pacified after Louis had caved and bought a rather cute little Foxy figurine) and watching a scowling Cora typing on Buddy’s phone. But now, he was frowning and wringing his hands in growing distress. Sam looked up from her meandering thoughts (and growing concern) to meet his eyes.

“...Hey. Is anyone else worried about Michael?” Sam finally broke the question that had to be eating at everyone else.

“Hm, I’m sure he’s fine. He’s a full grown… robot person,” Cora shrugged.

“Well, it’s already been almost an hour since he left,” Louis said, hands clenching together tightly. “I-I know I told him to take a breather for himself but… it’s been a lot longer than I would’ve expected…”

Cora was busy staring at the screen where Buddy seemed to be rapidly chirping, and her voice was sour and curt as she readdressed Louis. “I guess it is kinda weird considering how gung ho he was keeping an eye on us. But I’m sure sooner or later he’s going to come back as soon as he gets out of whatever weird funk you said he was in.”

“...I know it probably sounds stupid, but… something about this doesn’t feel right,” Louis muttered. “I know I don’t know him nearly as well as Sam, but he wouldn’t just leave so suddenly without telling us what to expect. He wouldn’t disappear this long for no reason. He’s always straightforward like that.”

Sam agreed, though she didn’t say anything yet. She instead let her gaze wonder, hoping to see a familiar bob of brown hair and a shabby t-shirt wandering back toward them. 

Still nothing.

I’m sure he’ll be back soon. Eteled said as silence languished over the group. Erm, how about you try calling him?

Sam gasped, “Oh yeah, I can- oh.” She immediately slumped back down. “I don’t think Michael took his phone. Did anyone see him with his phone?”

Louis blinked. “He actually has a mobile phone? I thought he was just using your house phone or something!”

“A really, really old one his boss gave him. But he completely forgets to use it, like, almost all the time,” Sam groused.

Especially at the time where it would be super useful to have him a dial away.

“I’m bored again, host. Anything changed?” Scout finally roused from the bag, evidently having tired of banging together Foxy figurines in mock fighting. The hand puppet looked around, plastic eyes squinting against the sun to look through the seething crowd of fairgoers. “Tall and large still isn’t back?”

“No,” Louis sighed. “We’re still waiting near the show tent to see if he comes back around. Which! I’m sure he will!” The older teen forced an obviously fake smile, which no one seemed to buy if their facial expressions were any indication.

“That’s pretty fucking weird, because he was hellbent on glueing himself to us…” Scout looked around, their mouth scrunching up in thought. “Well, if he’s not here, shouldn’t we just get up and look for him? Just so we aren’t sitting around like a bunch of brain dead ducks?”

Sam at first was about to retort that, no, Michael wouldn’t want us to do that!, but then hesitated. “That’s… actually not a bad idea!”

“Wait!” Louis exclaimed. “We can’t just get up! One of the number one rules is if someone’s lost, you stay in one place!”

Scout blinked. “I thought that was if you’re the person lost?”

“... I mean, okay yeah that’s true, but I’m sure Michael will be back soon!” Louis said. His hands began wringing, the glove on his one hand scrunching against bare skin as his voice began breaking up. “A-and he told me to keep everyone near the tent. I… I don’t want to leave and then find out that he just came back as soon as we left!”

“But he hasn’t been back…” Cora’s head lifted, a sharp, conniving glint in her eye. She suddenly smiled at Sam. “I mean, we can always just look near the show tent. It’s still near enough to it that Michael could just walk around and find us without too much trouble, right? All that’s around are a few booths and some of those administrative tents…”

Sam frowned, but then her eyes widened in realization.

Oh my god! The investigation!

Louis jolted, and quickly waved his hands in alarm. “Hold on, we can’t just start walking around willy nilly-”

“I didn’t say we were going to walk around willy nilly!” Cora cut him off. “I said we were just going to look around the show tent, since that was the last place he was! It’s not as if we’re going to be running and jumping the fence!” 

“Besides, don’t you want to find Michael?” Cora said, words sharp.

The older teen hesitated, biting the inside of their cheek in indecision. “I mean, yeah, but-”

“Come on Sam! Let’s start looking!” Before she could protest, Sam was being pulled up by her arm and off around the side of the show tents with an energetic Cora. 

“Cora, what are you doing?” Sam hissed as she stumbled along behind. “Michael’s missing! Is now really the best time to try and snoop?”

“This is the best time to try and look around!” Cora hissed right back, not losing a beat. “Michael’s been hovering over us this entire time, and all we’ve been getting is surface level observations! This is our chance to really start getting some answers! I know those employee tents have to have someth-”

“Cora! Stop !” Sam yanked her arm out of Cora’s hand, her hoodie sleeve falling out from between the other girl’s fingers. Her gaze turned sharp, and Cora’s eagerness dimmed as Sam stared her down. “I know you want answers, I do too! But Michael’s missing, and we can’t just go running off while we don’t know where he is!”

Cora huffed. “C’mon, he’s a fully grown… well, robot, not a guy, but it’s the same here in this case. This may be a sleazy ass carnival, but the most dangerous thing here is if he trips and falls on a tent stake or something. And he can’t even die like a normal person, he’s a robot! It’s not like his life is going to be in terrible danger.”

“I can’t just run off without making sure he’s okay though!” Sam snapped. “I know he’s capable, but it’s wrong to ditch him!”

The other girl’s face drooped, gray eyes narrowing in frustration. “Sam, the whole reason I agreed to come here was to try and find answers to my dad’s notes. I haven’t been able to do that because Michael’s been hovering over our shoulders the entire time. This is my one chance to start getting answers!”

“Well, you can go do that, but I want to make sure that Michael’s actually okay!” Sam retorted, voice harsh. Cora jolted as Sam’s words hit, the edges of her mouth twitching. Part of Sam recoiled too, surprised at how viciously cutting she had been, and just a bit fearful. Oh, if anything was going to get Cora pissed, it might be this.

But Sam couldn’t take back her words either. She meant it when she said she wanted to find Michael, just to make sure. True, it was entirely possible Michael might have just been looking for the bathroom or just got turned around and this would all be just a big misunderstanding Cora could chew her out for later. 

But what if it isn’t? He promised he’d be back.

Sam took a steadying breath, and dialed back. “Cora, I know this is important, but I can’t go with you without at least making sure Michael’s fine. You can go ahead and I won’t stop you, but I need to just make sure he’s really, really okay.”

The two remained frozen, words tentatively teetering on the edge of speaking but neither unsure whether they would be right. Cora’s hands twitched, one still holding Buddy’s phone and the other inclining toward Sam, but pausing before they could breach the distance. Sam just stood still, the weight of the Switch suddenly feeling like lead as the Miis remained hesitantly silent. They were still long enough for Louis to catch up, one hand half preoccupied trying to push a pissed looking Scout back inside his bag and the other extended toward them.

“Hey! You guys can’t just run off like that! I don’t want to lose you toooo… uuuuh-” Louis drew to a stop, eyes wide but not looking at either of them, instead looking at something just in between them.

Huh? What is it now?

The sound of a speaker mimicking a clearing throat prompted Sam to turn her head, and her answer was very quickly provided in the form of the giant, robot ringmaster fox looking down upon them all.

“Uh… h-hi Foxy?” Louis squeaked, a hand preemptively shoving into the bag to smother an indignant gasp from Scout resembling, “Foxy’s back?! Get off me, I wanna see him again!”

The animatronic “smiled” at them with his muzzle, tilting his head and giant hat in acknowledgement. “Aye, I noticed ye heading back away from the entrance, and I wanted to stop you before ye got too far off the path. You can’t go in the tent anymore.”

“Are you security or something?” Cora said, barely keeping the strain of annoyance of having her plans repeatedly delayed out of her tone. “The tents are not closed to the public, there’s no signs about that!”

Foxy sighed sympathetically, but shook his head. “I usually would leave the security to the guards – it’s my job to organize the whole circus and do the entertaining, not to be the spoilsport – but they're busy with the rest of the crowds and I was the only one around here who seems to have noticed you all.” The fox’s eyes slanted in an emotion remarkably like sorrow. “The tent technically isn’t closed off. Unfortunately though…” 

Foxy tilted the brim of his hat, looking away with his voice low in dejection,

“... the Funfair is closing early.”

“Huh?” Louis blinked in surprise.

“What?!” 

“ WHAT!?!” Cora and Sam yelled at the same time, far louder than Louis. The growing rock of dread that had slowly been festering inside burst, and Sam suddenly trembled in terrible premonition. “But why!?”

“Per Fazbear company policy, all I can say is that there was an accident in the back, and there’s been a mass call to get the fairground emptied out to safely assess the situation,” Foxy sighed. “It’s a mess, and the showman in me loathes the thought of ending the show so early, but there’s only so much the ringmaster can do when the cards fall wrong.”

“B-but… but…” Cora’s mouth flapped open and shut, dawning despair in her eyes. 

“No!” Sam stepped up, carefully pushing Cora aside to look up at the fox. She cleared her throat, flushing at the thought of shouting at the fox raising their eyebrow at her. Embarrassment made her quickly tone down her protest to, “No, we can’t just leave now. Our, uh…” Sam thought for a moment what would be the most appropriate thing to call Michael would be, and settled on, “My older brother got lost a little bit ago, and we still need to find him!”

“Oh yeah! Uh… I don’t suppose you would have seen him?” Louis asked, one hand still shoved halfway into the wiggling bag (“ C’moooon host, lemme see him again! He’s not even looking that far down!”). With the hand not occupied keeping an increasingly fussy Scout hidden, Louis attempted to mime out Michael’s height. “He’s uh, kinda tall, wearing a real simple white shirt and pants, kind of pale. He was sitting next to us during the show when he had to… get up and leave for a quick break. Ring any bells?”

“No, sir. But I'm sure you can just find him at the entrance,” Foxy said, nonplussed. “ Everyone is being told to head there to spend their complementary Fazpoints and receive partial refunds. I’d say that’s your best chance lass.”

That… was actually a fairly reasonable suggestion. Sam’s stomach still roiled though, paranoia making her reluctant rather than thankful. Cora, on the other hand, was not nearly close to being assured – if anything, she somehow managed to look even more apoplectic at everything going awry than even Sam could imagine her getting. The other girl shook her head, fixing on a look of fury and stepping in front of Sam. “Hold on, why can’t you just tell us what’s going on? We have someone missing, and we don’t know for sure if they’re even going to be at the entrance!”

“Well, I can’t exactly let you run around lass,” Foxy said, tilting his head to the side as he looked down at the angry teen. His eyes narrowed, arms crossing over his opulent coat. “I understand it’s a disappointment, but this is company policy.”

“Oh come on, we just need to look around for a quick moment-”

Cora slammed her mouth shut and stepped back when Ringmaster Foxy abruptly leaned forward, eliciting a gasp from her human companions and a staticy growl in her earbud. Yet the animatronic fox just stared at the girl, mechanics whirring as he sized her up. His yellow optics flickered, luminescent as stars even if the sun was still bright. Sam was close enough to Cora to see the harsh set of the animatronic’s teeth, the sharp edges that had made Foxy before look cool now giving the impression of raised fur along the back of a crouching hunter preparing to pounce. There was something that felt unmistakably different than earlier in those plastic optics, something that made Sam’s skin crawl as Foxy scrutinized a frozen Cora, something inside the machine whirring as if in deep thought.

Then, his voicebox growled , with a voice that was no longer that of a boisterous ringmaster, but more the gravelly, coarse rattle of a seaman who had looked deep into the deepest depths of the ocean and emerged all the grimmer for it. It was the voice of someone who had witnessed hell. It was a voice cold and raspy, and even if the voice hadn’t changed it suddenly felt as if Sam were listening to someone completely different.

“This isn’t just about the company policy, lass. This is about your safety, and the safety of Michael,” Foxy rumbled. “If you know what’s good for you, you leave before dark and you don’t look back. The rabbit’s protege has released the circus beasts to roam this dark and stormy night…and they’re starving.”