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DECEMBER 1983
Blood splattered onto the glass. If it wasn't for the car window between him and the outside world, it would have hit Mike in the face.
His eyes were wide and his body frozen. He couldn't find it in himself to move or even breathe. He could only keep watching as the body of a little girl he had called family was destroyed. He didn't know how long he sat there, perfectly still, unable to look away as the knife stabbed and stabbed and stabbed into every part of her.
Then, the man stopped, hunched over for a few long moments that seemed to melt into years. The trance broke when his father slowly looked up at him and met his gaze with cold eyes, and Mike melted into sobs. He desperately tried to contain them, afraid of his father’s reaction.
William stalked around the car to climb into it next to Mike, who shrunk away. He was silent for a moment, only the noise of Mike's sniffing and crying to fill the quiet.
He finally spoke. "This is all because of you, Michael. When you killed your brother, you started this." In his voice, there was none of the rage from the days and weeks after the party. Only a strange sort of warmth.
His words only served to make Mike wail more. William scowled and grabbed his chin, squeezing hard. "Be quiet, boy!" He snapped before forcing Mike's face towards the window, looking back out at Charlie. "Watch.”
Mike reluctantly lifted his eyes to see the security puppet drifting out of the side door of Freddy’s.
The rain bounced off of its hard exoskeleton, leaking down its shoulders and into its joints. It creaked forward, movements steadily becoming more jerky as the water infiltrated its systems.
Eventually, it reached Charlie and clambered onto its side to lie down beside her like it was grieving an old friend.
Mike turned back to William, confusion written all over his tearstained face. He could barely process the fact that his father had just killed Charlie, he definitely couldn’t piece together whatever it was he was trying to tell him.
William only shook his head. “We’re not done yet. Keep watching,” he murmured, anticipation colouring his face.
Nothing happened for a long time. Mike kept looking, breaths still uneven and shaky. The rain got heavier, pelting the car from above.
Until the puppet sat up. It had none of the stilted momevents from before. The way it held itself a little hunched, meekly trying to shield itself from the rain and the cold, was uncanny. It looked almost… alive.
William grinned, a manic glint in his eye that Mike had never seen before. "Now she can live forever. I saved her, and it's all thanks to you."
LATER THAT NIGHT . . .
The rain still hadn’t stopped. If anything, it had only gotten heavier. Mike stared at the droplets hitting his window. He had tried to do some homework (a rare occurence) to distract himself, but his thoughts felt syrupy and slow. The image of Charlie’s blood streaming onto the wet pavement constantly flashed in his mind.
This is all because of you, Michael.
A glimpse of movement outside caught his eye. He squinted, trying to decipher what was out there, silhouetted in the darkness.
He let out a nervous breath as he realised it was human-shaped. Who the hell was standing outside his window at this time of night?
Two squat legs, a bulbous torso, a square head, and… two round ears.
Fredbear.
He scrambled back from the window with a gasp. When he looked back out, the street was empty. Mike stood frozen for a moment, heart pounding, before collapsing back into his chair with a huff. He was being stupid. There was nothing there.
Unless there was something there.
This is all because of you, Michael.
He couldn’t have meant…?
No. Michael had spent countless nights in Fredbear’s Family Diner since the day of the party, usually just to wallow in his own guilt and self pity, and nothing strange or odd or even slightly unusual had happened. Evan couldn’t be there.
He definitely couldn’t.
It wouldn’t hurt to have another look, though.
Mike blinked hard, trying to get the rain out of his eyes as he cycled along the road. His legs burned but he didn’t even consider slowing down.
After long enough for his clothes to be completely soaked through and his teeth chattering from the cold, Mike made it back to Freddy’s.
The better decision, he knew, was to go straight to the police. But, selfishly, Mike was afraid. If William was arrested, what would happen to him and Elizabeth? Their mother was already hanging on by a thread, and he couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t get worse.
And, of course - William had already killed the child of his best friend. Just how far would he go? There was every possibility that, if William found out Michael had ratted him out to the cops, he would be next.
So, the next best thing, he had to investigate.
He cringed at the thought of his shattered bedroom window. His future self could face the consequences of that. It was worth it.
He skidded to a stop in front of the building, ditching his bike against the wall without much thought, and ran around the corner into the neighbouring alleyway.
Charlie and the puppet were gone.
He trudged over to the spot where Charlie had been bleeding out just a few hours before. There wasn’t a trace of her remaining, and if there was, it had likely been washed away by the rain still bucketing from the sky. William had been kind enough to drop Michael home before leaving again to get drunk and do whatever else he did with his nights, so maybe he had come back to clean up after himself.
Hopefully the puppet would still be inside Freddy’s. He couldn’t deny that after laying next to Charlie, it had started moving like a person rather than an animatronic. He couldn’t describe why, but there was something real about its movements that screamed it wasn’t just a robot. Could it really be Charlie’s ghost, though? He didn’t even know if he believed in ghosts, nevermind their ability to possess animatronics.
But what else could his father have meant? Now she can live forever. And he had yet to come across a scenario where William was wrong about anything.
Mike quietly slipped into the pizzeria through the side door, into the Prize Corner. The puppet’s box sat in the corner, waiting.
He approached it slowly, the tip tap of his footsteps echoing in the quiet pizzeria. He hesitantly opened the lid with a bit of a struggle, his frozen fingers stiff from the cold, then peered inside.
A face shot at him from the darkness with a staticky scream. He stumbled back, hitting the ground with a thud. “Charlie! Charlie stop, it’s me, Mike!” He gasped.
The puppet paused, just inches from Mike’s nose, who was breathing heavily into the dim room. It tilted its head almost curiously and a spindly hand slowly reached up to brush his shoulder.
Just as Mike opened his mouth to say something, hurried footsteps echoed from the corridor. Fuck, the nightguard! With a glance at Charlie, Mike scrambled to his feet and out the door, not slowing down until he was back on his bike and several blocks from the pizzeria.
So his father was right after all. And if he was right about Charlie, then…
Mike sped down the road to his next stop: Fredbear’s.
Mike made his way around to his usual open window to make his way into the now closed and abandoned diner. He wondered what his father and Henry were going to do with the building. And, of course, the old animatronics…
The heating system had long since been permanently shut down in the building, so it was freezing as usual, and the sodden state of Mike’s clothes and hair certainly wasn’t helping. He ignored it and made his way to the one room of the diner he had refused to enter until now.
The parts and service door loomed above him like his executioner, the door handle the axe ploughing into his neck.
Mike swallowed down memories pushing into his mind and opened the door.
Crunch
Fredbear’s bloody maw gazed up at him.
The red dripped down and down and down and down and down and
It was all over the stage all over his hands all over everything
Mike squeezed his eyes shut. They hadn’t even bothered to clean the bear after it.
He tried to breathe, the hand still on the door handle gripping it tight. He could do this. He had to do this. He tentatively opened his eyes.
Fredbear slumped against the wall, head lolling to the side lifelessly. Mike started at it with shaky breaths, unsure what to do. It probably would've been good to think of a plan before he came here, but that hadn’t really been necessary with Charlie. He took a hesitant step closer. “Evan?” He whispered.
The bear jerked. Mike jumped back. Okay, he wasn’t actually expecting anything to happen from that.
Now would really be a good time to turn back. He didn’t know if he could face his brother now. He probably hated him. Even though he deserved it, Mike selfishly didn’t want to have to face its reality.
Mike took a deep breath. He would just have to put up with Evan’s hatred. He needed some kind of punishment for what he did to him, anyway. “Evan, are you there?” He asked, only marginally louder than before.
Suddenly, a poster on the wall above Fredbear started to shift. He assumed from the picture it stated something about employee safety, but the letters were scrambling before his eyes. He blinked hard, but the sight didn't change. Then, letters appeared one by one to spell out two words.
IT’S ME
Posters all over the room started to change. Every last one, bit by bit, transmitting the same message. Mike’s blood rushed in his ears, his eyes darted from poster to poster.
He flinched as Fredbear's face flashed just centimeters from his eyes. Its mouth gaped. Just as quick as it appeared, it was gone, and Mike looked down to see the Fredbear suit sitting limply exactly the way it was before.
Then it jerked again, more violently, and this time didn’t stop. Its mouth contorted. Its neck swivelled this way and that. Its face flashed in his eyes again.
Mike got the fuck out of there.
MARCH 1984
William’s fist slammed on the marble counter right where Mike’s eyes were boring into it. He flinched. “Look at me when I am talking to you!” His father barked.
Mike met his father’s eyes nervously, as though the sheer anger in them was enough to burn him. William’s hand gripped the papers hard enough to crease them.
“You are my son! Do you really think this is good enough?!” Charged silence hung between them. Truthfully, Mike hadn’t thought his report was that bad. He had even managed to scrape a B in math… but apparently his father didn’t share the sentiment.
William stalked around the counter in three long strides and took hold of Mike’s arm, fingers squeezing tight enough to bruise, and started marching him to the bathroom. “Well if you’re not going to take your life seriously, then you don’t fucking deserve it,” he growled. Mike’s heart rose into his throat as he scrambled after him, wincing from the pain in his arm.
William threw open the bathroom door and shoved Mike into it before him. He plugged the sink then slammed the cold tap on. William tangled his fingers painfully in Mike’s hair, then pulled his head close to his own to hiss into his ear. “I gave you everything, and this is how you repay me? How dare you?”
The next thing Mike knew was biting cold. His face was in the sink, his father’s hand holding him down. His head hurt. He had smacked it on the bottom of the basin going down. The sound of water from the still running tap thundered in his ears. He tried to push himself up until he shook with the effort, but to no avail - his father’s grip was too strong.
He kept struggling until his lungs hurt. He flailed and coughed, bubbles escaping his lips. Water was still gushing into the sink. It was filling so high he felt it dripping down his body and soaking his chest.
He was going to die.
He was going to die right now.
His struggling grew weaker as he ran out of energy, the lack of oxygen reaching his brain.
Charlie’s horrible, agonised screams rung in his ears. He saw Evan in his last moments, dangling from Fredbear’s jaw, legs kicking and swinging until the last second. Then they were covered in red and hanging limp.
Mike let himself collapse bonelessly into the sink. He had nothing left to give.
He was going to die.
Was this how they had felt?
He was going to die.
There were no animatronics around. Was his father going to save him too?
He was going to die.
Did he want him to?
He was going to die.
The world tilted and Mike rejoined the land of the living with a choked gasp. William let go of him and he wobbled, catching himself on the sides of the sink. He coughed into it, droplets sliding off his hair to join the flood of water within it.
William glanced around at the water all over the room with a disgusted look on his face, as though annoyed at the liquid for inconveniencing him. “Clean up this mess,” he ordered before moving out of the room and slamming the door behind him.
The tap still ran, water overflowing and flooding the bathroom. Mike shakily flipped the faucet off before allowing himself to fall into the puddle of water on the floor. He stared at the ceiling until the tiles swirled together.
A few hours later, after absentmindedly mopping up the water in the bathroom, Mike had migrated to staring at his bedroom ceiling instead. He lay in his bed, headphones blasting in an unsuccessful attempt to block out his thoughts.
He had almost died. He would have liked to think there was no world in which William would have actually let him drown, but unfortunately he knew from experience that was wrong.
He couldn’t stop thinking about what would have happened if he had died, and his father had made him into an animatronic him like he had Evan and Charlie. He knew he must have been helping them - he was letting them live forever, and he said it himself, he was saving them. His father wouldn’t have said that if he wasn’t really helping them.
And yet, they had both seemed so angry. Was being stuck in an animatronic for all of eternity really much of a life, anyway?
Mike sat up when the door opened to reveal his father, immediately tense. He looked up at him apprehensively.
William took a seat on Mike's bed, facing him, and gently rested his hand on Mike’s shin in an unusually fatherly gesture. Mike, despite himself, felt a curl of warmth in his chest.
“You were scared earlier, weren’t you, Michael?” William asked, something in his voice that a fool might mistake for sympathy.
Mike fell for it every time. He nodded.
“You need to understand, son… life is precious. It hurts me when I see you waste it like that.” William murmured.
Mike nodded again, feeling a pang of guilt. “I-I’m sorry, Father.”
Neither spoke for a few minutes. If his father was still angry at him, he didn’t look it.
William met Mike’s eyes. “You thought you were going to die, and you were scared.” He sighed and looked away. Mike swallowed. “I know the feeling well.”
“That’s why I do it, Michael. I put Evan back together, and Charlie. That was their purpose. And soon I will do it to you, and Elizabeth, and your mother, and then me. I will put us all back together. We will never fear death again.
“That is my purpose. To save us all. And it is your purpose to help me do it, Michael.”
Mike couldn’t tear his wide eyes away from his father’s face.
That was why he did it to Charlie and Evan? They were just practice before he could do it to the rest of them.
He had a purpose. His father would save him.
He didn’t want to die. Didn’t being saved involve dying? No, it involved living forever.
Charlie and Evan were angry. They were trapped there forever.
It had to be good because his father said it was.
He had a purpose.
He didn’t want to die.
His father gave him a tender smile. “I know you were scared earlier. But everything will be fine. I will make sure you never have to feel afraid of death again.”
He felt confused. But his father said everything would be fine, and his father was always right. Mike nodded.
He looked over William’s shoulder. The puppet stood in the corner of his room, dark eyes burning through him.
NOVEMBER 1984
Mike stood over the stove, stirring a tomato sauce into cooked pasta. He felt a little bad for giving this to Lizzie for the third night in a row, but unfortunately it was all he could think to make with the groceries they had. He had asked his father to get something yesterday, but as always there was only a fifty-fifty chance whether he actually would or not.
Footsteps started to thunder down the stairs, signaling trouble. She must have smelled the food. Elizabeth came to stand next to him, trying to peek into the pot, but her eyes could barely see over the edge of the countertop. “What is it?” She asked.
“Pasta.”
Lizzie wrinkled her nose and groaned loudly. “Again, Mikey?”
“If you want something else, you can make it, then,” Mike snapped. “Go sit down.”
“I’m in the school play this Friday, Mikey!!” She suddenly exclaimed, pasta already forgotten. Mike let her babble on about it while he transferred the pasta into bowls and pulled some cutlery out of the drawer.
He picked up the pack of cheese and turned it over to check the date on it. IT’S ME, it read. Mike swallowed. It was probably still in date. He shredded it over the two bowls and handed one to Lizzie, who happily sat at the table to dig in. Mike followed and sat across from her. The puppet sat at the head of the table. He tried not to look at it.
He couldn’t remember a single day passing where the two of them had left him alone in weeks. Why were they following him?
They couldn’t be upset, right? They should be grateful. It was really kind of Father to save them.
Maybe Evan was just mad at
. That would make sense. And he told Charlie about it and now they’re both mad at him.
Yeah, that was probably it. In that case, it was nice of them to just stand there all the time and not do anything else. He definitely deserved worse.
He still didn’t look at it.
In the time he had been zoning out, Lizzie had quietened down and was now picking at her food sullenly. Uh oh.
Eventually, she spoke. “Um, do you think… Do you think Mommy will come back in time to see my play?” She asked quietly. It sounded like she already knew the answer. Mike looked down.
“Please, Father, just tell me what happened to her!” Mike shouted desperately.
“Do not speak to me like that,” William ordered. “You won’t be seeing her again, and that’s all you need to know! If you ask me that again you can say goodbye to this house too!”
“Sorry Lizzie, probably not… Father said her trip would last a really long time, remember? She might not be back for a while,” he said. He didn’t know how long he could keep this lie up, but what the hell else was he meant to tell her?
He was pretty sure his father must have saved her. He always said that was part of his plan, and what other reason could there be for her to disappear like that?
It was weird that he didn’t tell Mike about it though. He told him about Evan and Charlie. What was different about this time?
Mike shook his head. It didn’t matter. His father had a plan. Whatever he did, it was necessary. It would help Mike fulfill his purpose.
He hadn’t realised it would come so soon, though. If his father had saved her already, would it be happening to him and Lizzie, too?
He tried to push down the fear that squeezed his chest whenever he thought about it. The whole point was that he would never be scared of dying again. So then… why was he so scared?
He glanced at the puppet. Its head had turned so that its eyes bore into him. He realised it was shaking ever so slightly. Jesus, it must have been really mad at him.
“Well, if Mommy can’t come, maybe if I ask Daddy really nicely, he could leave work to see it?” Lizzie said meekly. “It’s only an hour…” Mike didn’t know where she got the will to keep trying from. She asked every year, and the answer was always the same. At least before, their mother would sometimes pull herself together enough to turn up.
“It’s okay, I’ll come see you, Lizzie,” Mike said, doing his best to muster up a smile.
The hope that flashed in her eyes hurt Mike’s heart. “Really? Don’t you have school too?” She asked.
“Agh, nothing important. I can skip a couple lessons for you,” he said. He really couldn’t. His attendance was already so low they were threatening to make him repeat the year.
Lizzie’s face broke out in a huge grin. “Thank you Mikey!” She squealed.
He remembered being Lizzie’s age, standing at the front of a hall with his class. Eyes scanning the crowd, hope steadily turning to disappointment. The dip in attendance would be worth it.
After his father had saved them all and put them back together, would Lizzie still get to be in school plays? Would his parents get to go see her?
From the looks of Evan and Charlie, probably not. It would be different, but it must still be good. Otherwise his father wouldn’t be working so hard to do it, right?
FEBRUARY 1985
"...the five children were reportedly last seen in Utah's Freddy Fazbear's Pizza on Friday evening. Police are in contact with the company, however we are yet to receive an official statement from..."
The ringing in Mike's ears came and went in waves, drowning out the sounds of his family moving around in the kitchen. His fists ball up ever tighter and his eyes are glued to the TV screen as the news moves from story to story. The newscaster continues on as if Mike hadn't just found out that his own father had killed five more children.
He pointedly doesn't look over as his father approaches, terrified of what he might see on his face. But there is only gentleness as his hand comes down to ruffle Mike's hair.
"It's alright, Michael," he murmurs. "They fulfilled their purpose. Just like you will when the time is right."
Of course, Father is right, Mike tells himself despite the tears stinging his eyes, as he always is.
"This was for the best. I saved them. You know that, don't you, Michael?" Father asks.
Mike nods, still staring straight ahead. This was for the best.
MAY 1985
Michael sat at the edge of William’s desk, trying to contain his smile. It was rare for his father to let him say a word to him while he was working, so the opportunity to sit with him and ask all the questions he wanted was exciting. William sat at the desk, editing some blueprints. They depicted another version of Freddy, this one with a tiny Bonnie puppet on its hand. Mike thought it was a bit weird. His father knew what worked, he guessed.
After a short time, William slid the blueprint over to Mike. “What do you think?”
He looked over it. “The endoskeleton is really different from usual. It’s cool though,” he said.
“Well spotted,” William said. Mike preened. “This one is more flexible.”
Willaim flipped through some papers and pulled out another blueprint to start work on it. This one was of a clown girl with two red pigtails.
Mike picked up the Freddy blueprint to keep looking over it. His father’s handwriting was the neatest he’d ever seen it. In any notes or to-do lists around the house, it was always an illegible scrawl.
Towards the side of the paper, there was a list of features. Proximity sensor and grouping coordinator to keep track of children, and Parental tracking. Those would be perfect for reassuring the public of safety, considering the circumstances of the other restaurants’ closures. His father really thought of everything.
Down at the bottom of the list, though: Storage tank. Mike frowned. Why would you store something inside an animatronic?
“Father, what’s the storage tank for?” He asked.
William chuckled. “I was wondering if you’d ask.” He stopped drawing to look at Mike.
“The truth is, these animatronics are part of the plan. They can capture and store a person in it, who I will put back together.”
His father might as well have just dunked his head in cold water again. Why did he feel so upset? This was good. His father was helping people.
Charlie’s blood seeped into the concrete. Her screams ripped through his ears. She had been really, really scared.
“Do you really need to do that to more people?” Mike asked without thinking. He immediately regretted it at his father’s thunderous expression.
“What do you mean, do I need to? This is a gift. They are lucky that I’m doing this for them,” he barked.
With the speed of a match being struck, his expression broke into a soft smile. “It’s alright, I understand. You’re impatient. You’ll get your turn soon, Michael.”
Mike nodded gratefully. That must have been what had him so upset.
The two of them sat for a while longer, William’s pencil scratching the paper filling the silence. The notes at the side of his current blueprints started to scramble, before finally setting on IT’S ME IT’S ME IT’S ME IT’S ME IT’S ME. There was nobody standing in the corners yet, though, so Mike didn’t pay it any mind.
“How would you like to help me build these, Michael?” William asked. Mike’s eyes snapped up. He studied his father’s face in disbelief, but he could see no disingenuity.
Still, a flash of guilt in his gut made him hesitate. An image of Charlie flickered in his mind. He knew his father was helping them, but he stupidly didn’t want to have a part in it.
Catching his uneasiness, William frowned, but not unkindly. “You need to do this for me, Michael,” he told him. “You’re the only one I can trust.”
Excitement bloomed in Mike’s chest, banishing the guilt. His father trusted him. This was his chance to finally make him proud. He couldn’t disappoint him.
Mike nodded, beaming. “What do I need to do?”
JANUARY 1989
Mike’s consciousness returned sharply and brutally. His throat felt as though it had been clamped in a vice. No matter how much air he took in, it never seemed to be enough.
His brain was full of static. He knelt there, hyperventilating, until his body tired itself out and slowed down. Feeling returned in his fingers at first, then steadily spread to his arms, then legs. They were wet. He was on hands and knees in shallow water. He blinked, willing his eyes to start working. He watched his wobbling arms send ripples into the surface of the water and his vision lightened. The water was red.
Mike gasped and his arms almost buckled as pain shot through his body. His stomach burned, sending shockwaves of agony rocketing through his limbs. Mike shakily lowered his head to look at it.
There was a gaping hole in his belly. Shattered bones poked out at the edges, tearing it further when he shifted. It looked much emptier than it should have done, but there were some slick, red entrails still inside him. Blood steadily dripped out into the red lake below.
His body throbbed with pain as he remembered the scooper shooting towards him. Circus Baby’s - Elizabeth’s - green eyes glinted at him from a blank clown mask behind it.
Oh yeah. That happened. Was he dead?
The puppet stood before him, knee deep in the lake. Jesus, she wouldn’t leave him alone even after he died.
“Charlie?” He croaked. Things were different now. Maybe she would talk to him.
He hadn’t seen his father in years, since he went into hiding after Elizabeth’s death. He was still going to put him back together, right? Had he already? Was that what this was?
He hadn’t noticed until now, but the puppet’s mask was unusually empty. Liquid started dripping from its eyes, painting two familiar purple stripes down its cheeks.
They stared at eachother for a few moments, neither moving. It seemed she still didn’t want to talk to him.
Mike pushed down the ache in his joints and knelt back to look around. There was a shore not too far away, and beyond that a red, dry desert that stretched as far as he could see.
Mike squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed a sob. He was so tired.
Nowhere to go but forward, he supposed.
He struggled to his feet, shaking with effort. He hunched low, an arm nursing his middle, the agony in his stomach threatening to make him keel over.
One step at a time. He stumbled forwards, pushing through the water at his shins. The puppet watched him as he staggered past it.
He could swear the shore looked further away than it had at the start.
Well, he was going now. Walking gave him something to focus on other than the pain.
What could have been ten minutes or ten hours later, he collapsed to his knees at the shore. He coughed, and winced as the spasm sent more pain coursing through his body.
“Well, I wish I could say it was good to see you, Mike.” A voice said.
Mike jumped. There was an old man sitting by him, fishing. He was definitely not there before. What the fuck was happening?
“What the fuck is happening?” Mike asked eloquently.
The man chuckled. “Still think old Bill was doing them a favour, eh?”
“My dad…? What…”
Mike couldn’t think. His stomach really, really hurt.
His father had to have been doing good. He said he was saving them. But if that was what was happening to him right now, then that was really, really not good. He was tired and confused and sore all over and he had a feeling that wasn’t going to change any time soon.
So something must have happened to his father. He hadn’t put him back together like he had promised.
Panic squeezed his chest. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Ever. His father had promised this would never happen. Mike was really, really dead.
The old man chuckled again. Where it had been goodnatured before, the sound had now taken on a meaner edge. “No such luck, I’m afraid. You’ve still got work left to do.”
Mike couldn’t understand what the man was trying to say to him. His thoughts passed slowly like he was pushing them through mud. He never said anything out loud, did he? How did the man know what he was thinking? Maybe he did say it and he forgot.
Mike blinked, eyelids heavy. So was he dead or not? Everything hurt. Do you still hurt when you’re dead?
He blearily looked up at the old man, trying to ask that question. But he forgot what he wanted to ask, and then he forgot how to make his mouth say words. Was he always this forgetful? His eyes were getting really tired.
Eventually, he tilted to the side, and everything went dark.
When he came to, all Mike could feel was a dull ache in his whole body. He dimly felt his cheek pressed up against cold concrete, but it wasn’t as rough as it should have been. The world remained slightly blurry no matter how hard he blinked his eyes.
Recalling his dream, Mike’s hand floated to his stomach. When it touched his stomach, there was a quiet sting. He looked down. There was red everywhere, except his hand, which was purple. It shook as he brought it in front of his face, squinting through the blurry film over his vision to look at it.
The bruise-purple skin was pasty and peeling. It was too soft, almost melting.
He should be dead.
Somehow, his father had put him back together after all.
He didn’t know how long he lay there for, but it was long enough for the sky to turn dark. Eventually, he collected his energy and pushed his weight onto his hands and knees. The sidewalk still didn’t feel right. The sensation of his skin against the concrete felt dull, almost disconnected from his body.
That was the least of his worries right now. With some effort, he dragged himself to his feet and stumbled to the inside of the sidewalk to lean against a nearby wall. Between the darkness and his blurry vision, it was hard to tell where he was, but he recognised the street after a moment of contemplation. Not too far from home. Sticking to the wall both for stability and to avoid the glow of streetlamps, Mike made his way there, one faltering step after another.
After triple the time it should have taken to walk there, Mike hobbled into the bathroom of his apartment. The puppet stood in the centre of the small room. He scowled. He did not need this right now.
Ignoring it, Mike turned, then flinched at the sight of his own reflection. His eyes were dark and sunken in, and the purple flesh of his cheeks was horribly torn, wide holes offering a window into the inside of his mouth.
At least he didn’t look so much like his father anymore.
The man’s words, repeated so many times throughout his childhood, echoed in his ears.
I will put you back together.
Mike didn’t know this was what that entailed.
For him, doomed to forever live a half-life of hiding in a rotten body, constantly followed by pain.
Elizabeth, imprisoned underground for so long she had been willing to kill to escape it.
Evan, bound to the bear that bit him, unable to communicate beyond cryptic text.
The five missing children, confused and scared, endlessly murdering nightguards in a desperate, animalistic attempt at revenge. He wasn’t sure the souls were even themselves anymore.
A memory appeared in his head. One that had happened so many years ago, yet one he could never, ever forget.
Blood seeping out of Charlie’s mutilated body. The knife coming up and stabbing down, down, down, so many times. She had screamed and screamed until she couldn’t anymore.
This wasn’t good.
They weren’t being saved.
Mike keeled over, gripping the sides of the sink hard, eyes squeezed shut. Phantom sickness churned in his empty stomach.
How could he have let this happen?
Why didn’t he stop his father when he had the chance?
Long repressed guilt climbed up his throat. This had all started with him when he killed Evan. His father had said it himself. This is all because of you, Michael.
All of this, all of the suffering, was because of him.
He couldn’t undo everything that he had caused, but there was one thing he could do.
He could fix it.
He didn’t know how yet, but he knew he was going to do it. This was his new purpose. Screw the one his father had given him.
Free the souls. Kill his father. Save everyone.
Mike glanced to the side. The puppet was gone.
He pushed himself back up, willed the shakiness out of his body, and moved to leave.
He couldn’t stick around here feeling sorry for himself forever. He had a job to do.