Chapter Text
Michael’s falling apart.
No matter how many times he bathes or showers, his body will never stop leaking. What exactly is being leaked, he doesn’t know – he’s a mechanic, not a physician. Hair falls out, skin sloughs off, and they all clog drains the same. Bothering to clean it would make him late to work, so he leaves it to be – he can’t smell it anyway.
Pine, sage, cedarwood, and lavender can only mask so much of the sickly-sweet stench that clings to him. Dozens of cologne bottles litter his sink counter, but the smell still lingers. Michael knows it does; he saw it on Henry’s wrinkled nose. During the first week at the simulator, he’d never need to announce when he’d enter a room; Henry could tell where he was by scent alone. The man was too polite to say anything, he knew what Mike was going through, and he was not going to bother Mike about it. But Mike knows it’s bothersome- it’s disgusting- his body is disgusting. It’s falling apart, and he hates it.
Every office in the simulator is decorated with sticky fly traps at the request of Mike. Near the traps, pine-shaped air fresheners hang from the ceiling at the request of Henry. Operation costs are high, but Henry makes exceptions for Mike’s needs. Mike tells him to be more responsible with his money, as though caring for another is a frivolous act.
Midsentence, while talking with Henry about ordering more supplies, Mike notices the nasal manner his boss is speaking. The man wasn’t breathing through his nose. It’s the last straw for Mike, and without regard to the topic at hand, Mike interjects an idea that’s on his mind.
“We need to do something about this.”
“About what?” Henry asks off guard.
Mike gestures to himself. “This.”
“Oh.” Henry looks away from Mike to the ground.
“I’m going to fall apart before we accomplish anything, Henry.” Mike says, exasperated, “Clearly, it’s impeding our work; you can barely stand it! Don’t say you’re fine because you aren’t, and neither am I!”
“That’s…” Henry couldn’t deny the truth. “…Well, what do you suppose should be done?”
Mike becomes at a loss for words. “I don’t know, but there needs to be something. I can’t stand this.” He clutches himself in his arms.
The conversation ends; there’s nowhere for it to go. Henry looks at Mike, who looks away and leaves the room. Some paternal instinct drives Henry to care about the man, even though it’s not very professional. He wants to help him, somehow or in some way.
There has got to be something that can help keep Mike together.
Henry stays up late almost every night, and this night was no exception.
However, tonight, there was a change in his activities. Instead of taxes, organizing files, or finances, this night, Henry was awake searching on the web for any way to help Mike out.
His many searches led him to article upon article about dermatological health advice for taking care of aging or dry skin. Hair retention creams for balding men, Henry may have bookmarked a few pages for himself for later use. Or the searches yielded the same perfumes and colognes and deodorants that they had already tried before. He was getting nowhere.
All his findings pertain to the living, and Mike is dead, so they are of no help. The internet was never meant for a corpse to use, so there’s little use to a corpse to be found.
Henry thinks back to when he first met Mike. He recalls how much of a rambunctious kid Mike was. While he and Bill worked, he’d run around the diner and get into trouble. Henry was always a little off put by how laissez-faire Bill’s attitude was towards Mike. Now, Henry knew the man probably didn’t care too much; he only seemed to worry about the optics of being a successful family man.
As a kid, Mike inherited the same ambitious nature as his father – rarely being concerned with consequences and naïve enough to think he could have his cake and eat it too. A lot changed after his family died; Henry saw Mike less and less. Over time, the spark of ambition in his eyes seemed to dull out. When he did happen to see Mike, he was turned in on himself and would follow his dad’s commands without hesitation. Bill was the only family he had left. Henry knew how he felt. It wasn’t fair to Mike to feel the grief of loss.
Henry didn’t see Mike for a long time after a certain point. The next time he did see him, he didn’t recognize him. Henry had seen Bill within the rotting Spring Bonnie suit in Fazbear’s Fright, and it was harrowing. When he saw Mike, he thought that somehow, Bill had escaped the robot even though he knew it was impossible; he nearly screamed. Nothing was worse than realizing what had finally become of the boy he once knew.
Henry needs to set things right; he wants to do it more than anything. How come he’s the only one still alive when everyone else is dead or a ghost or something in between. It’s not right; it’s not fair. The poor souls deserve rest, and they deserve comfort. Mike was one of them, even if he didn’t believe he was. In the meantime, if Henry could find a way to make Mike’s remaining time any easier, he would make it happen. He can’t sit on the sidelines anymore, what’s broken must be put back together.
But Henry’s at a dead-end, so he goes another route.
There must be something to help preserve tissue, so he searches for tissue preservation.
“Formaldehyde”
He searches for formaldehyde uses, how to use formaldehyde, and where to buy formaldehyde.
He stumbles across a website meant for morticians. Morticians, that’s exactly what he’s looking for. Someone who knows how to deal with corpses, how could he have forgotten about them? He searches up nearby mortuaries, he finds one. He goes to their website, it looks like a lovely place, he finds their phone number. He picks up the phone and readies his hand to input their number to call, but then he remembers –
Mike is still alive. Well, he’s dead but alive. A zombie more aptly describes his state, although it has the unpleasant connotations of brain consumption.
How would he explain it? Would they freak out? They certainly would. How would he keep the secret? How would he trust they would keep quiet? He does have money to spare, but how much is enough to ensure it’s all confidential? Maybe he could have Helpy write up a non-disclosure agreement and pay them well above the cost of embalming to entice them to agree to it. It’s his only shot, he swallows the lump in his throat and dials the number. It rings three times before it’s answered. The receptionist sounds nice and kind, he’s polite in turn. He inquiries about how to exactly schedule an embalming procedure, and how confidential is the business. She tells him the process of scheduling an appointment. It seems easy, he just needs to make sure. He asks to speak with the head of the mortuary, she’s put on the phone. He presents her with a deal, a wonderful sum of money, a contract, an appointment, and an oath of secrecy. She is reasonable and agrees to the terms, but reasonably she asks why this is all needed.
Henry tells her:
“The cadaver is unlike anything you’ve ever dealt with before.”
“Why would you come here for embalming if you think that?” she asks another question.
“It’s a normal body in every respect, well, I mean, it’s very decomposed –”
“This practice can manage advanced decomposition.”
“I know, that’s why I’m coming to you all for this. It’s just - well…” Henry pauses, the head of the mortuary doesn’t interrupt, waiting for an explanation.
“The body is still alive.”