Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

October 31st, 2007.

——

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!”

Michael repeatedly gasped out, panic tightening his chest as he clumsily raced down the hallway. Honestly, when he’d set fire to the building, he knew it would spread fast, but he hadn’t expected it to spread that fast.

He didn’t know where William was, but hopefully he was somewhere in the back of the establishment—far away from any possible exits.

Michael staggered, and had to stop for a moment to catch his breath, which was already proving difficult due to the black smoke that was rapidly replacing any air. Making navigating out of the building way more difficult than it needed to be, along with the fact that he could hardly see, bloody tears running down his cheeks from the smoke irritating his eyes.

He coughed harshly, a metallic and ashy taste in the back of his throat, sweat was dripping from his neck and forehead, and his hands were uncomfortably clammy. He wanted nothing more than to let his exhausted body give in and collapse, but he couldn’t. Not when he practically felt the flames licking at his heels when he stalled for too long. Michael hastily started to jog towards the exit again once he felt the scorching heat from the nearby flames radiating against his back.

He could hear William, he was screaming, somehow—screaming for him, and yet cursing him at the same time. Michael prayed that this would be the end of him.

Deep down, however, he knew better. He knew better than to hope that his father would be content to finally die. The man was even more stubborn than him, and he was stubborn.

Michael rounded the corner, finally catching sight of the exit, almost slipping against the slick tile floor as he wheezed. He didn’t give himself a moment to recuperate, though, instead he practically threw himself at the doors, shouldering them open and immediately sinking to his knees as soon as he felt the cold, biting air whipping his hair around. His body was practically convulsing as he tried to gulp down as much air as he could.

Jesus, he had no idea just breathing in smoke would hurt this much.

It felt like his lung was on fire, He made an effort to breathe deeply, but it never felt like there was enough air. Thankfully the angry, red burns on his arms and legs were much less painful, especially considering most of his blood vessels were already on their last limb. No pun intended. Michael huffed out a laugh at his own stupidity, before immediately regretting it as he seemingly choked on air.

Michael made a shaky attempt to get up, but quickly realised that it was futile as his knees kept buckling underneath him. He sighed—the deep exhale coming out more like a cough than an actual breath—turned over and laid on his back, spreading out and gazing blankly up at the sky that was growing lighter by the second. He could hear police sirens gradually coming closer, but they were still far enough away for Michael to pause and take a small break.

Burning down Fazbear Fright’s was an impulsive move, but after reading William’s notes about Remnant, he learned that in high temperatures it couldn’t sustain itself. So, fire it was. No matter how suspicious he looked when he purchased gasoline and a lighter the day prior.

He didn’t know a lot about Remnant, only the information from William’s crazed notes in his old journals, and that it was the anchor that kept him alive long past his best by date.

It wasn’t that effective, Michael supposed. Considering he was a literal walking corpse for a good decade or so until the healing properties of the substance kicked in. Even now, he still looked…uncanny. Like his body never forgot being a horrifying decayed carcass for a long chunk of his life. Not to mention that he could remember things, that he logically shouldn’t be able to.

“Have you seen my dog, Springbonnie?”

He slowly and shakily exhaled, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to force his body to relax. However, just as soon as he had finally started to feel a sense of relief, he heard something.

Glass shattering.

Michael’s eyes snapped open, he sharply inhaled and shot up. Forgetting his dangerously unstable legs, he focused on a more urgent matter. The burning building's windows had exploded, blanketing the ground outside with glass shards.

Oh, fuck.

How could he have forgotten about the windows?! Of course they would shatter from the heat inside! His breath started to quicken again, as sweat continued to drip from his forehead, his mind was racing with anything he could possibly do to seal the open spaces before he was forced to leave. He gritted his teeth almost painfully, his mind was a complete blank. Michael could now see the brightly flashing, headache inducing red and blue lights that were rapidly approaching. There wasn’t any time.

Instinctively his trembling hands clamped down on his long hair, yanking at the roots. A frustrated, guttural groan escaping from his raw throat, before he hesitantly whirled around and sprinted to the parking lot. The sharp October air numbing his ears, and cooling his overheated body down slightly.

Michael quickly got into his car, and turned it on hastily before he sped off. He had to get his car out of sight before the police came, not that he thought the cops would be smart or competent enough to actually chase him, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

The drive back to his house was short, a product of both broken traffic laws and his inability to concentrate. Zoning out randomly, he almost ran over a raccoon, barely swerving around it in time. 

When Michael finally got home, he parked, turned off the car, and groaned, slamming his head against the steering wheel. Well, now instead of William being alive and contained, he’s alive and free to roam the fucking streets! Wow, great job me! He thought as he shakily inhaled through his teeth.

At least he knew, with the condition his father was in, he couldn’t simply walk the streets in broad daylight. He would most likely be forced to stay hidden during the day, and it wasn’t like the old rotted bunny suit was fit for running around either.

He drew in a long breath, held it, then let it out, he repeated this for some time. His tense body and face gradually relaxing as he did so, before he opened his eyes. It would be fine, Michael concluded. He would just have to find William again and make sure that he doesn’t get to anybody before that. Easy.

Michael leaned back and sighed. He lifted a lock of his long hair and sniffed, his face twisting into a grimace. The unpleasant smell of ash and smoke clung to his clothes and hair. He quickly made a mental note to take a much needed shower before he exited his car, slamming the door closed behind him as he stared up at his house with enmity.

He hated living there. He really did, but it was better than paying rent for a shittier apartment, even if the memories of everything that happened there haunted him.

Even if every time he walked by his siblings old, now dusty rooms, he would think he saw a flash of fiery ginger curls bouncing excitedly around, or a glimpse of teary, powder blue eyes staring up at him out of the corner of his eye that left his heart aching and his eyes frantically searching for something he knew he would never find again.

That wasn’t even mentioning the auditory hallucinations he would have late at night. He shuddered.

Locking his car, Michael exhaled a long, heavy breath again. He trudged to the front door and swung it open before glancing around in disgust. He never bothered to take care of the place, the wallpaper was practically rotting, there were missing patches of the floor, and the lights seemed to have a mind of its own, choosing to work when it was inconvenient and vice versa. He started forwards, grimacing as his boots squelched with each step he took on the weirdly sticky hardwood floor. As far as he knew, William bought the house the year he was born, so the thing was bought in 1971. Obviously an at least 36 year old house that hadn’t had maintenance repairs for god knows how long was falling apart.

Luckily, the shower still worked. Thank god. He didn’t know what he would do if he couldn’t take one.

Michael’s face twisted, remembering the time his skin was too rotted to even get slightly wet. Unless he wanted to have mould living rent free on his skin, he had to stay shower-free for a long time. At times he would want to scrub all of his skin off, which, come to think of it he probably easily could’ve if he really wanted to.

Entering the bathroom, he turned on the shower and removed his clothes, before stepping in. He had to get rid of all the mirrors in the house after Circus Baby’s, since he would often accidentally catch a glimpse of himself and scare himself shitless.

Aside from the fact that he hated purple, the unnatural colour and concerning leathery texture of his skin had to be what unnerved him the most back then. and yeah, he was biased against a colour because it was always William’s favourite. Michael remembered he would always be wearing a deep velvety purple suit, an unsettling fake grin to match with it.

Michael took his time washing away the sweat, blood, and ash from his skin, taking extra care to be gentle with his injuries. The dread and exhaustion from earlier still weighing his body down.

He really did consider staying.

Thank god he didn’t.

The tempting calm of death almost lured him away. Yet his survival instinct kicked in at the last moment, pushing him to flee right before the fire reached him. A good thing, Michael thought. If he had perished in that building, William would still be roaming around with nobody to stop him.

Michael then moved onto his hair, which was way longer than the average, already reaching his lower back. He didn’t care enough to cut it, it was instead often tangled and carelessly put into a low ponytail. I should cut it soon, it’s starting to get annoying. He thought, before sighing.

He’d have to start his search when the commotion died down around the building, and it would have to be at night. As he also worked better at night, most likely from working the night shift at places where haunted animatronics hunted him. Michael snorted, and stepped out of the shower, dried off and got into clean clothes. Starting his search around the woody areas near Fazbear Fright would be his best bet, why the company put the attraction in the middle of nowhere, he had no idea.

Stifling a yawn, Michael dragged his feet down the hall to the living room. The couch was all he really slept in anymore, he preferred it most nights, along with the fact that he could fall asleep in front of the TV. He didn’t know why, but the television’s static and white noise helped him sleep easier.

Plopping down onto the couch, he practically melted into the cushions. Which were worn down, and the fabric had been peeling off for years, but it was functional enough. Ignoring the loud growl that came his stomach, he fumbled for the remote and flicked on the television. He still got hungry, and thirsty, but it wasn’t like he could die, and he wasn’t even sure if he could eat. So, he didn’t see any point in attempting to or keeping food in the house. Michael numbly flipped through the channels until he found one with just static.

He shifted into a lying down position where he could properly rest in, and closed his eyes, fully prepared to sleep the day away and wake up in the late hours to begin his search.

However, a loud ringing interrupted just as he began to doze off.

Michael peeked a narrowed eye open to stare at the now lit up phone, which was sitting on a desk across the room, which would mean he’d have to get up to answer the phone. He groaned and pressed his face further into the couch, it was early in the morning, who on earth would be calling him anyways? It wasn’t just that he barely got out of the house, but he actively avoided any possible social interaction.

The piercing shrill of the phone had finally ceased, and there was a silent pause. He exhaled, relieved and let his shoulders that he hadn’t even noticed had tensed drop, before the shrieking began again. Causing him to stiffen. He grumbled, exhausted.

It was probably just scammers, Michael thought. Even if it wasn’t, whoever wanted to talk with him so badly could wait. If he ignored it long enough, they were sure to give up, scammer or not.

The phone had finally gone silent. Michael's eyes drifted shut. Muffled by his unconsciousness, he missed the synthetic voice ringing out from his phone as it announced: “You have one unread voice message."

Chapter Text

April 21st, 201X

——

Gregory remembered the first time he ever saw a dead body.

Winter was unforgiving and relentless.

Gregory forgot the name of the city he was in, but it was relatively busy. That was good for winter, he’d learnt. Bigger areas meant more restaurants and establishments open 24/7 after all. Not only that, but in bigger cities he was less likely to be approached. In places like these, people weren’t afraid to turn a blind eye to the eight year old boy sleeping in a McDonald’s booth. Unlike smaller, less populated towns.

Of course there was the increased risk of being mugged, having weird encounters with junkies, things like that. It was a gamble, for sure. Then again, everything was a gamble when you were living on the streets. He lurked around the wrong area once and only bad things happened.

It wasn’t his first time being homeless, though. When you’re a foster kid it’s pretty much impossible to avoid living on the streets at least a few times, either by choice or not.

His last foster placement was a bad one.

If he even breathed in a way that pissed them off, or if they just made up an excuse to be mad at him he would be given no food, then locked outside and forced to sleep there. God forbid they find him sleeping or wandering out farther than the porch though, that would warrant a beating.

So, Gregory decided fending for himself would be easier than staying there any longer.

Huffing out a sigh, he clutched at his stomach when there was a sharp ache of pain. Glancing up, he could tell it was going to be a rough night. Too rough. He was walking down a street in the dark town centre, the ground was covered in thick layers of fluffy snow, and yet the snowflakes falling didn’t show any signs of slowing down soon. He needed to find warmth, and food. The first one was the most urgent, though. If he didn’t get something or somewhere so he could keep warmer he might as well accept his fate.

He winced, shaking his head to dispel that dark thought. He’d survived this long on his own, and besides, it was December, the beginning of spring was just around the corner. Gregory gnawed at his lip, should he go to the convenience store he usually does? No, he can’t do that, he stole from there recently and he’s positive the cashier noticed.

Then, what about the 24/7 McDonald’s? No. That wasn’t a good idea either, the last time he went there some nosy lady noticed, the police were called and he just barely got away.

His train of thought was interrupted by a gust of frigid air whirling around him, causing his thin body to shake and violently tremble involuntarily, his teeth chattering. Gregory wrapped his arms around himself, as if that would help much against the freezing weather. He was only wearing a zip up jacket and thin frayed sweatpants as protection against it. His socks were soaked underneath his old sneakers from the snow, making his feet and toes numb and make an uncomfortable squelching noise every time he took a step.

He was mindlessly walking at this point. He had no ideas, so he kept moving, it was the only way to keep warm as best he could while he thought of what to do.

He turned right, down to another street full of different stores lined up, which were of course closed due to not only the weather but the late hour as well. The once bustling streets were almost completely empty, including the wide roads from the ice. Gregory was grateful for the street lamps, it would be pitch black and practically unnavigable without them.

He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the cold as he thought, were there any other places he could go hide in for the night? He supposed there was that old abandoned house down Maple Roa—

Something suddenly caught onto his foot, making him fly forward.

Suddenly he was on the ground, a burning pain spreading through his nose, making his eyes water. Gregory blinked, disoriented. Why was he on the ground? He shifted and grimaced at how stiff his whole body felt. That wasn’t a good sign. He lifted his head from the snow, staring down at his blood mixing with the snow with disdain, before forcing his fatigued body to stand, only swaying for a moment after he saw stars.

Gregory snapped his head back to the thing his foot tripped over, fully prepared to kick it out of frustration before he froze.

It was a man. An obviously homeless man. Judging by his oily, matted hair that matched Gregory’s own, and by the fact that he was sprawled out like he was in the middle of winter. There was an empty bottle of alcohol near his hand, he seemed out of it, probably on some sort of drugs or something. His eyes were just staring into nothing, not moving. What Gregory was really interested in, though, was the semi decent coat around the man.

Gregory stood there for a moment, waiting to see if the man would acknowledge him, or do something. After all, it was cold, and the man was just stretched out in the middle of the side walk. Finally, after a minute, he realised the man would probably be too out of it to notice if he stole his coat. Gregory felt a little bad, but he had to in order to survive. That was another thing he’d learnt from his time on the streets, there was no time for feelings. If you let your feelings get the better of you, you were as good as dead.

He pursed his lips and wiped away some blood still running down his nose with his sleeve, the blood smearing across his face as he did so. It would be a little difficult to get it off of him, but it would be worth it. Sighing, he crouched down and gave the man an experimental push. Nothing. Gregory internally cheered before shifting the man so that he could manoeuvre the coat off of him. It was harder than expected, the man was stiff, and his skin was ice cold to the touch. Which was a little strange, but he quickly shook off the strange pit of dread in his stomach. Finally, Gregory tore his attention away from the man to inspect the heavy coat now in his hands, it was a tan color, had a denim like material on the outside and a soft white one on the inside. It would do well for warming him up.

Gregory shrugged it on, ignoring the foul smell emitting from it as he turned back to the man. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, well now he really felt bad. The man was a lot bigger than him though, so much that the jacket practically swallowed him up, and surely he’d would move to a warmer spot soon, right? He cleared his throat, before hesitantly nudging the man again with his foot.

“Hey, you’re going to freeze if you stay out here, you know that, right?” His voice was raspy as he called a warning out to the man.

The longer the silence stretched on the more irritated he grew.

He shifted the man into a more upright position like he was in before, before speaking louder, “Hey! I said—“

Oh.

Gregory’s eyes were locked onto the man’s chest. It was still. Too still.

His eyes were dull as they still stared into nothing. Gregory felt frozen, just like the man in front of him was. The coat around him suddenly felt ten times heavier as his heart dropped into his stomach.

He slowly stood up and ripped his hands off of the body, clasping them in front of his chest as his breath quickened. The man in front of him was dead. He most likely froze to death a few hours prior.

Froze to death. The exact thing Gregory was trying to escape.

He was shocked out of his daze by the sound of muffled laughter and talking growing closer, his head snapped up, there was people. People. He needed to run. Gregory’s legs felt numb as he bolted away, the falling snowflakes almost blinding him. The sounds of people slowly faded away as he got farther, his vision blurry, he lost track of how long he was running for before he ducked into a quiet alleyway.

His hands were shaking as he gasped and leaned against the wall, his heart thumping rapidly in his chest, there was no way that man was actually dead, right? Gregory slid down to the floor, he couldn’t tell if he was trembling from the cold, or from panic.

Oh, that’s right. He couldn’t be trembling from the cold.

His heart sank. He stole a coat from a man who had just died.

He wasn’t crying, at least not yet. All he could do was stare at the wall in front of him. He didn’t know what to think, so he simply didn’t.

He recalled being horrified, not able to focus on anything for the next few months. Gregory didn’t even sleep that much after it either, as every time he closed his eyes he saw the man’s eyes as they stared into nothing.

Though, the memory of it seemed now like a distant and unremarkable moment compared to the gruesome, somehow still writhing thing in front of him.

Chapter Text

November 1st, 2007.

——

The moment Michael woke up, he immediately noticed the wheezing noise deep in his chest accompanied by a strange rattle whenever he inhaled. His burns, unexpectedly, were throbbing something fierce; even when he simply shifted his left arm, a searing pain would radiate throughout the entire thing, even though he swore only about a quarter of it had been burned.

His labored breathing must’ve been from breathing in so much smoke, he guessed—especially considering the fact that he only had one lung left, it only made sense it would affect him so severely—it didn’t matter that much though, since even if he stopped breathing for good he’d still be alright.

Unless he started to decay, he would rather not go through that again.

The burns were trickier, he hadn’t taken a proper look at them just yet, his mind too hazy and fatigued to even think about it when he had showered the day before. Either way, he needed to do something about them, preferably soon.

Michael had started his day like he normally would. Which meant not moving from the couch for a while even after he woke up. He was sprawled out across it, his right arm dangling carelessly off the side and his neck stiff from the rather awkward position he’d been in while asleep. Getting up would require him to put in more effort than he was usually willing to give, especially since the ceiling could easily hold his attention.

He paused to think about the situation at hand. His eyes flicking to the clock hung on the wall, ten PM. An hour wasted lying down, doing nothing. Failure. His mind hissed, the thought reverberating in his head. He swallowed hard, before jolting his limbs harshly, wincing as his joints unlocked from their stiff state they got in whenever he was still for too long with a loud cracking noise. He pushed himself to move, but let out a pained gasp when his head throbbed in protest.

He wanted nothing more than to get out and resume his hunt for William, but he knew that police would be patrolling nearby, that meant, unfortunately, he’d have to postpone until the chaos subsided. And even though being productive was what he wanted to do, it wasn’t exactly what he was going to do. Besides, it would be best to be further prepared instead of impulsively launching himself into his search. He couldn’t exactly afford to go to jail at the moment, though his lips twitched upwards at the image of him behind bars.

He groaned as he tried to sit up properly; his body was shaking as it seemingly tried to weigh him down. He didn't know why his body was being so dramatic. It had survived far worse than some smoke and burns. Michael ignored his body’s complaints and forced himself upright, he wobbled for a moment before stumbling to the bathroom.

A shockwave of pain rippled through his trembling legs with every unsteady step, causing him to hiss through gritted teeth with each one. Finally reaching the bathroom, he pursed his lips before lifting his left arm. Michael grabbed his sleeve and slowly edged it up, grimacing at the friction against his scorched flesh. His burns ranged from patches of dry, leathery white to splotches of raw pink with a glistening clear secretion weeping from them and widespread blisters littered around. The deepest burns appeared like craters in his skin and were numb compared to the less severe burns.

”Shit.” He breathed out, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.

It was worse than he’d originally anticipated. Michael gnawed on his lip as he contemplated what he could do. He knew basic first aid, but some of his burns seemed to be third-degree and were far larger than he realized.

Third-degree burns were much more susceptible to infection, and they often required urgent medical attention. At least that’s what every medical book and site he had read stated, then again, they weren’t exactly including a sort-of-undead-kind-of-not person in their studies and observations. For that very reason, he couldn’t risk going to a hospital, they would probably experiment on him like he was some lab rat.

Sighing, Michael decided that he’d do the best he could to patch himself up, and opening the cabinet under the sink, he grabbed a basic antiseptic and bandages. Remembering the time he had to stay fully stocked on bandages simply to hide and manage his waxy, discolored skin—even having to buy out multiple stores’ entire supply—made him cringe as he recalled the sheer amount of money he had spent on bandages alone.

He took his time peeling his shirt and pants off, having to take a moment to breathe a few times when the pain became too much. When he finally got everything but his boxers completely off, he exhaled a surprised breath. The burns weren’t just located on his limbs but also on his torso, and they even nearly crept up his neck as well. How had he not noticed that? Michael squinted down at his stomach and chest, poking gently at the area to ensure that his delicate scar tissue wasn’t damaged.

Satisfied when it only stung lightly, he took a large glob of antiseptic and began to rub it carefully onto the wounds, the cool and thick cream soothing them.

When he finished with that, Michael started to wrap himself up, winding multiple layers of bandages around his left arm tightly. It hurt, but the extra pressure and security would help him be able to move it a bit easier.

The only semi-convenient thing that came with being a corpse was the complete lack of functioning nerves—meaning an absence of any pain he would’ve felt otherwise, at least until the healing process started. Michael’s face scrunched up in discomfort as the memories of his ‘recovery’ flashed through his mind. He was in blinding pain for months, most days he couldn’t even walk. He ended up having to use a cane or even a wheelchair more often than not.

Officially finished with dressing his wounds, he couldn’t hold back a snort as he surveyed his handiwork. He almost felt like he was a mummy with how the majority of his skin was covered with the white cloth. Thankfully, though, the bandages felt tight and secure. His burns now throbbing a dull, suppressed pain rather than a burning, sharp one. Michael really hoped that they wouldn’t get infected; the mere mental picture of his fresh injuries turning hot and rotted—a sickly purple reminiscent of his past condition—and oozing a thick, mushy discharge was enough to make his stomach churn.

The thought of his wounds festering was enough to dismiss the fog that sat heavy in his head and kick his mind back into focus. He needed to check on what was said about the fire. He’d been amused at the thought of jail earlier, but it was an actual possibility he couldn’t have happen. The more he thought about it, the more a wire of tension tightened in his gut. He hobbled out of the bathroom, leaving the leftover medical supplies forgotten on the sink as he made a beeline for his room.

His throat felt dry with apprehension as he tried to shake off the paranoia. Michael quickened his pace, though the feeling of his taut bandages grating and rubbing against his burns with each long stride made him grit his teeth as he inhaled sharply through them. He needed to relax. Nodding to himself he halted for a moment and attempted to take a deep breath to calm his mind before his breath stuttered and he immediately began to almost cough his damn lung out.

Right. Forgot about that. His face screwed up uncomfortably. He was forced to lean heavily against the doorway, shoulders slumped and body hunched over on itself as he recovered from his coughing fit, a whistling noise coming from his chest with each cough.

The stuttering in his chest began to subside as Michael forced a set of ragged, shallow gasps into his aching and overworked lung. His body’s trembling lessened, leaving a persistent shudder lingering throughout his frame.

Unfortunately there wasn’t exactly a way to bandage his lung, so he’d be forced to take it easy until his breathing felt more stable. His eyes glanced around his room before he pried himself off the doorway. He staggered to his desk, his computer waiting silently on top of it.

The computer he had was a new model—courtesy of his last non-Fazbear related job—it being one of the only new things he’d allowed himself other than his phone in a long time. Though apparently it wasn’t called a computer anymore, it was a ‘laptop’.

Michael admitted he’d most likely always be somewhat behind with these sorts of things, the new tech-obsessed world was spinning faster than he could keep up with. That fact made him feel old, and he supposed he was old, at least in the ways that mattered. Almost thirty-seven years of being ‘alive’ already felt like too much. Perhaps that was just him; after all, he doubted other people his age had the same experiences he’d had.

Practically collapsing onto the chair, Michael allowed himself a minute to press a hand to his chest and breathe. Before he sat up and refocused onto the blank computer screen. His fingers, still slightly stiff, clicked the mousepad repeatedly until the screen flashed to life, forcing him to peer at it as his nose wrinkled from the bright light that was shining harshly in the previously dim room.

Once his eyes adjusted he opened Google and quickly typed in ‘Fazbear fire.’ The results immediately showed him what he expected; the first page was filled with articles on the recent establishment’s fire. He clicked on the first one he saw, a headline from a popular news site.

’Fazbear’s Fright burns to the ground!’

‘A new local attraction based on an ancient pizzeria chain burned down overnight.’

Michael chuckled incredulously at the ‘ancient’ comment, his eyes continuing to skim over the words, before he found what he was looking for.

’Authorities have not ruled out foul play, but at the moment it seems to have been caused by faulty wiring.

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

Michael hadn’t expected Fazbear Entertainment to blame the fire on faulty wiring—that made them look terrible. But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Corrupt at they are, they must have assumed I died in the fire after setting it alight. He realised. Blaming it on the wiring is their way of sweeping it under the rug, making sure the police don’t investigate any further and therefore not having any public deaths weighing on their reputation, lord knows they don’t need any more. He hummed to himself as he thought.

Henry had left the company shortly after the missing children’s incident, selling it to a company that was unknown to Michael. He jolted as the name came to mind, he hadn’t thought about Henry for years now. Too busy with his undead state and after that, hunting down his father. He didn’t know where the man had gone off to, but Michael hoped he was alright.

Henry was never a good man, but he wasn’t a bad one either. In fact, he almost looked like a saint next to William, Michael supposed everyone did, though. The older man had taken him in for a short period of time after William disappeared when he was fifteen. It could have almost been a normal household—if he ignored the way Henry would flinch at the sight of his face, and the drunken sobs that would fill the house late at night. The man’s love may have been conditional, but even so, it was the closest he ever came to experiencing a real parental bond, since Henry was still as kind to him as he could bear to be, which was… often enough.

There were incredibly fuzzy memories he had of the man he used to be before his daughter’s death, and the only thing that he could really vividly recall was just how bright and warm he looked. His form was filled out with happy weight and his smile was joyful and welcoming, always easily coming to him, compared to the Henry he knew’s frail frame caused by years of not properly eating to his smile that always appeared more akin to a grimace, the old Henry from his early childhood seemed like a completely different man.

The last time Michael saw him was almost two decades ago, he distantly wondered if the man was still alive.

Michael closed his eyes tightly, them stinging from the amount of time he’d spent not blinking. Before he sighed, and clicked back to the search page, absently scrolling as he involuntarily slipped back into his reveire yet again.

The fact that there weren’t many items that were salvaged only further confirmed his fears. William had definitely survived, not that he necessarily had any doubts about that. And now, at least he knew that police wouldn’t be lurking around the area for too long. Ironically, the company’s unethical and corrupt practices just unintentionally made things a whole lot easier for him.

Michael snapped back into focus as the time displayed in the corner of his screen caught his eye, which read 3 AM. Five hours had somehow passed, even though he was sure it had been a lot shorter than that. Time was a strange thing for him, hours could pass by him like seconds, and seconds could sometimes slow down and feel like years.

He ran a hand through his long, knotted hair as his eyes abstractedly roamed around his cluttered desk before he caught a glimpse of his sketchbook, buried underneath piles of stray paper. Swiping the papers away, Michael gingerly picked up the sketchbook. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually sat down and drawn, it’d been too long. I do have some time to kill. He thought, the idea a gentle reprieve. He started to move more papers, digging until his fingers eventually closed around a pen.

Michael smiled triumphantly, and decided to sketch in his room instead of moving to the living room like he normally would. Turning his head to the left, his heart jumped and his smile faded as he stared at the papers that had fallen to the ground, splayed out messily.

He only really focused his gaze on them to ignore the little girl staring at him from the corner of his room, though.

Still, out of the corner of his eye he could see her ginger hair soaked with blood, the deep red liquid sticking parts of her hair together. He couldn’t see her face fully, with her hair covering part of it and the darkness of the room creating shadows that concealed her like stage curtains. Michael knew it was her nonetheless, how could he not recognise his own little sister?

There was a sharp spike of fear that shot down his body, which was always there and always would be when he saw her. Did he blame her for everything that’d happened? Not at all, she was just a kid and a victim of William just like the others, but he couldn’t help the slight panic he felt when she came to him.

Maybe sketching in the living room wasn’t such a bad idea.

Michael snatched the sketchbook and pen. And ignoring how tight his throat felt, turned to stumble out of the room, refusing to make eye contact as her eyes watched him hurriedly leave.

He slammed his room’s door shut behind him. Leaning against it, he slowly exhaled, a weak cough forcing its way out of his weary lung as he did so.

That was a somewhat normal occurrence. The hallucinations, he meant. Michael didn’t remember exactly when they showed up, but they became a regular part of his life fairly quickly. He wasn’t sure what triggered it in the moment, but it wasn’t anything to worry about anyway. He’d adopted a routine he would execute whenever he had one: the easiest method being to separate himself from it, ensuring that couldn’t see it, then finding something to occupy his mind and simultaneously calm him.

He was thankfully already one step ahead on that front, Michael gripped the sketchbook in his hands tighter as he started to walk swiftly towards the living room.

The overhead light’s incessant flickering followed him down the hall as he pointedly focused his gaze on what was ahead of him, instead of gazing at the dusty framed photos that were hung up on the walls. He didn’t need to look at them to know who and what they captured anyways. Michael already knew every detail of every family photo like the back of his hand from the hours he had spent obsessively studying them, wondering what he could’ve—should’ve—done differently back then.

Michael shook his head to drive away any negative thoughts that threatened to intrude into his mind. Walking into the living room, he sauntered over to the couch, settling down on the old cushions as he opened his sketchbook.

Drawing was a hobby he’d always been passionate about ever since he was a kid, and it followed him into adolescence and then adulthood. He drew people, animatronics, animals, basically anything that felt right in the moment. Even just the familiar weight of the pen in his hand felt comforting, and the sight of a completely blank page in front of him had a warm rush of energy running through him, a small smile forming on his face as he began to sketch.

He didn’t think too much about what he was going to draw, instead simply letting his hands run free while his mind was mostly preoccupied.

Michael remembered the time when his fingers were too stiff and practically uncontrollable to draw at all. They would move with a delayed, clumsy jerking, while all he could do was stare at them numbly. It was torture. Not being able to draw for years was an almost worse fate than being a corpse was. Or maybe just a slower, more methodical form of torture than just physical—like chinese water torture.

He remembered actually trying to test that when he was a teenager, chinese water torture he meant. Michael had forced Elizabeth to turn on the bath’s faucet just enough so that it would drip onto his forehead when he laid down. It didn’t really do anything, he just got more and more annoyed as Elizabeth cackled at him in the background. Thinking back on it, he realised he was such a weird ass kid. Who the hell wanted to test out torture methods on themselves?

Blinking back into focus, he stared at the sketch he’d made, bewildered. It was a fox. Well, two foxes actually. One was large, and calmly watching the other fox which was smaller and seemed to be a kit, while its head was thrown back in a laughing fit. Michael chuckled, it was a cute drawing. He’d always been obsessed with foxes since he dubbed foxy his signature animatronic when he was young.

Moving down the page, he decided to sketch out Toy Foxy, or better known as the Mangle. Elizabeth’s favourite prototype animatronic before William built Circus Baby. Michael felt a sense of melancholy as he remembered how they would bicker about which fox was better. And Evan would eventually interject with how Fredbear was the best, before they both simultaneously told him to shut up, immediately laughing together when Evan would shakily insist that he was right.

Michael felt his smile widen slightly. It was nice to think back on good memories he had with his siblings, if not to remind himself that not everything used to be terrible.

Finally done with his messy sketch of Mangle, he moved on to the next page. Biting his lip as he pondered on what to draw next.

Beep beep!

Michael jumped. His body immediately tensing as his head shot up, eyes wide as they scanned the room. A blue, artificial light suddenly caught his eye. It was just his phone, left on the table near the corner of the room. Rolling his eyes at how worked up he’d gotten over it, he moved his sketchbook off his lap and walked over.

Picking up the flip phone, he blinked as he stared at the screen. The text on it confirmed that he had been sent a voice message. At that moment, Michael remembered the previous phone calls he had gotten before he fell asleep. His face scrunched up, perturbed as he glanced off to the side in thought. He was almost completely certain that nobody would be contacting him, especially not so urgently.

The phone beeped twice again, vibrating in his hand with each tone, snapping Michael from his thoughts. Well, he supposed he’d figure out who it was soon enough.

Michael turned on his heel and plodded back to the couch, sitting back down onto the cushions. He decided he might as well hear the message now rather than later, and pressed ‘play’

——

What.

What did he just listen to?

Michael pressed play again, but the words didn’t change, no matter how much he wished for them to.

No. This is wrong. Has to be wrong. Wrong number. Must have been the wrong number.

He pressed play over and over again, then again, who was he kidding? His name was said in the message. That couldn’t be any more for him than it already was. But it still wasn’t possible.

A wave of nausea hit him, settling in the pit of his empty stomach. The phone fell from his now slack hand, clattering to the floor. He hunched over, his wide eyes staring at the ground absently.

This couldn’t be real. The situation he was in was so hysterical, so laughable, that a dream was the only logical explanation. Michael shook his head vigorously to himself and forced his mind blank, taking in as much of a deep breath that his sore lung would allow. He couldn’t bear to think about what he heard. It was all too confusing and overwhelming. His eyes burned, fixated on the cracked wooden floor, and his fingers dug mindlessly into his cuticles. His eyebrows furrowed suddenly out of what, Anger? Disbelief? Fear? He didn’t know how to feel or what to think.

Michael didn’t even need to think about the contents of that message anyways. As it was impossible, and therefore there was no point in thinking about it. Nope.

He bit harshly onto his lip, his breath trembling. Regardless of his attempt at avoiding the topic, his mind made its way back soon enough. The person who’d called him the day prior. The voice on the message. He knew her from a past job, he supposed they were… close, for a short time. Nothing serious, but that wasn’t the problem.

She was pregnant.

Normally he wouldn’t care if she’d told him that under any other circumstance. But this was different.

His eyes flicked down as he glared at the phone on the floor. The pathetic piece of plastic that had ruined his life. Fine. This is fine. He hummed shakily to himself.

His. Apparently. He couldn’t believe it, but what else could he do? Accuse her of lying for some reason? Obviously she had reason to believe it was his, even though it still didn’t make any sense. The whole affair was just a one off thing! And he’d literally had his organs scooped out. How could he possibly be fertile?

Only something like this would happen to him. Something so stupid and terribly timed. Michael choked out a humourless laugh and lifts his head to the ceiling.

He spent some time just staring at the floor, mind swirling with the same recycled thoughts and confusion. He lost track of not only the time but also the amount of times he thought to himself; How? Blinking, he suddenly felt disoriented and faint. A tear fell down his cheek as his eyes stung and watered from the prolonged exposure to the air.

This completely shattered his trajectory, his carefully and constructed plan of hunting William, burning him, and then finally succumbing himself. A child changed everything. This wasn’t something he could simply ignore and move on from. This was something he had to deal with, somehow.

What the fuck was he supposed to do now?

Chapter Text

January 11th, 2017.

——

This was it—the moment he had been planning all week.

Today was the day Gregory was going to finally sneak into Freddy Fazbear’s Mega Pizzaplex.

The place opened a few years ago, and for someone like Gregory, it wasn’t just another flashy mall. The tall, imposing walls promised a treasure trove of food and warmth, something he’d been short of since he’d been on his own. Even just making his way around the building from the front to the back, he could smell the fresh, aromatic scent of pizza and the sugar bombs that were their cupcakes and cakes. At this time of day, there were large groups of rowdy kids spilling out and into the main entrance. For them, it was just another day of fun. For him, it was survival. And with so many children running around, it’d be laughably easy to blend in.

He was hungry, like usual—especially considering he hadn’t eaten in two and a half days. But that wasn’t the only reason he was doing this. If he could prove himself by sneaking into a place like this, he could do just about anything. And maybe he could even catch a glimpse of his favorite animatronic! Though that wasn’t his top priority, of course.

Gregory suspiciously peeked around the corner of an empty delivery truck near the loading docks. From what he could tell, the docks were his best bet at sneaking in successfully—at least that’s what he learned from spying on every possible entrance for the past two weeks or so.

The main entrance would’ve been too risky, as everyone who was a guest had to line up at the front desks to get checked in. There were headcounts and a barcode that had to be scanned either on a phone or wristband, meaning if there was even one too observant guest or worker, he’d be done for. So that left the loading docks and fire exit. Which was an obvious choice.

Gregory flinched and retreated slightly to make sure he was out of sight as the shutters to the docks lifted and a truck drove out of it. Narrowing his eyes, he gazed at a man wearing a black hat with the Fazbear logo standing near the controls to the shutters. He was distracted by something on his phone, mindlessly tapping away at the screen as the truck slowly departed.

This was his opening. He either had to take it or miss his chance.

He bit his lip hard before dashing forwards; he made his way across the parking lot, making sure to roll his feet carefully from heel to toe, ensuring that he could stay as quiet as possible. Hiding behind the wall beside the now gradually closing shutter, he poked his head around again. Silently cheering when he saw the man had already turned around, still distracted as he trudged away.

Gregory slipped in, staying glued to the rough, cold walls with his palms flat to them and his figure hunched over. His eyes darted around for any other people; there was no one.

Keeping his eyes on the man, he looked ahead and quickly realized that the door he was about to go through had a scanner. Most likely for a keycard or a pass. Inhaling through his teeth, he rushed forwards and made it to another corner he could hide behind.

The door and the man were only a few feet away from him. Gregory’s heart pounded so loudly he wondered how the man hadn’t heard it too. For some reason, the man seemed to halt, suddenly typing furiously before he shut off his phone, put it into his back pocket, and swung open the door after swiping what seemed like a card across the scanner.

Crouching down low, Gregory slipped his fingers in between the door and the doorway just before it closed. Suppressing a cry of pain, he forced it open a smidge and watched as the man headed down another long hallway.

Okay. Good so far. Gregory honestly didn’t think he would get this far. He waved his hand in the air as he tried to shake the deep ache in his fingers away. Well, no going back now.

He crept across the hall, keeping his distance as the man walked down, keeping his entire body tense, ready to run away or fight if he were caught. Luckily, though, the man seemed to be alone and not expecting to meet anyone. And even more luckily for him, the next door they came to didn’t need a card. It was just a regular door, something Gregory was relieved to see. He’d rather not sacrifice his fingers every single time he wanted to go through a door he didn’t have the security clearance for.

Waiting until the man had finally left through the doors. He slowly walked up to it and edged it open slightly; peeking out, he jolted as he saw a kitchen.

“Oh, crap!” He whispered to himself, closing the door completely as the noises of the staff became muffled. How the heck would he get past the kitchen staff?

Gritting his teeth, Gregory started to have second thoughts. Could he really do this? He was just a kid, going up against the scariest thing of all—a frustrating and ridiculous amount of security clearance required doors. But it wasn’t like he could just turn back now. It was all or nothing at this point.

Silently sighing, Gregory wedged open the door yet again and peeked an eye out to gaze at the staff that was present. There were a few, but they mostly seemed stressed with the amount of orders coming in. Lunch rush, Gregory guessed. Well, it’ll help him sneak past easier, thankfully.

There was a particular young woman juggling seventeen orders at the same time, seeming almost on the verge of tears as her supposed boss began to yell at her. Gregory flinched. What an ass. He scowled, trying hard to ignore the fear that seized his heart momentarily from the screams.

Digging his nails into his palm, Gregory waited until the woman finally loudly burst into tears and her boss became increasingly angry at her to zip by. Staying low so that he could hide underneath the high kitchen counters, he got away undetected using the commotion as his distraction. Gregory opened the red double doors and glanced around.

There’s so many unnecessary doors. Jeez. Gregory rolled his eyes as he came across a random open ‘room’; boxes were carelessly lying around with two sets of double doors just a few feet apart from each other. At this point, just get rid of the wall and make it an open area or something.

Pushing through the second set of red doors, he came across a wide hallway that made him freeze. Clutching the heavy, brown coat tighter around him, he started forwards, unconsciously holding his breath as his palms began to sweat.

There were more boxes filled with who knows what scattered around, but that wasn’t what unnerved him. It was brightly lit and seemed to be closer to the main building, meaning more workers could be found around. Gregory hesitated but looked from side to side to see which hallway he would go down. He could either go left or right, and he didn’t see where the man from earlier had gone off to.

Humming nervously to himself, Gregory shifted in place, anxious. Before he heard footsteps approaching the doors from which he’d just come. Not thinking, Gregory bolted down the left corridor and rounded the corner to see a large, metal elevator. Already regretting his choice, he pushed the button to call it back down. His fists clenched painfully tight around the poorly fit coat as he impatiently waited for the elevator.

He flinched as the footsteps grew louder and practically threw himself into the elevator once it opened, frantically pressing the button to close it repeatedly. Come on, come on, come on!

The doors closed just as the person rounded the corner; Gregory didn’t catch a glimpse of what they looked like, and he was pretty sure that they didn’t see him either. Though his body curled as he crouched and pressed himself as hard as he could into the corner of the elevator in preparation of them discovering him.

Gregory exhaled shakily. It was a miracle he didn’t get caught. He gulped as he felt the elevator lift him up slowly, its metallic groaning as it did so and his own panicked breathing filling the tense silence. Looking up, he immediately gasped as he made eye contact with a blinking red light from a camera in the corner; Gregory hid his face as best he could in his coat. Hopefully nobody was actively watching those.

As the elevator came to a stop, he began to panic. What if when the doors opened there were multiple employees? Or worse, a security guard?

Closing his eyes so tight he saw explosions of color behind them, he took a deep breath. Gregory survived countless terrible foster parents and siblings; he could survive this. Pushing himself up, he inched closer to the doors that would open soon enough, preparing himself to run if he saw anyone.

Finally, the rusty doors creaked open, and Gregory tensed even further. No one. Stepping out, he put a trembling hand up to the left side of his chest. Feeling his rapid heartbeat as he hurried down the hall. This hallway was much more narrow and had multiple doors, with two of them having large signs on them labeled ‘Out Of Order.’

Not only that, but Gregory could now hear children’s screams and laughs from just outside a blue and red door at the very end of the hall. He let out a breathless, relieved laugh that sounded more like a sigh before he reached the door and attempted to open it. His eyes flicked to the side of the door when it didn’t budge, and that’s when he realized he needed a security badge to open it.

Stupid.

Stupid freaking doors.

Gregory felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to rip all of his hair out.

That wasn’t what he did, unfortunately. Instead, his eye twitched for a moment before he glanced at the door nearest to it. It was one of the doors that was somehow ‘out of order.’ If he hid in there until someone opened it and timed it perfectly, then he could get through without being caught—and even if someone got a glimpse of him while he did that, by the time they realized that he wasn’t supposed to be there, he’d already be gone.

So, Gregory retreated into the dark, cramped room. It wasn’t what he was expecting for a supposed out-of-order room, as there was a pungent smell of chemicals that tickled his nose, and it was nearly pitch black aside from the light spilling out of the crack in the door. Then again, he didn’t really know what to expect for a room like that, but it worked fine for a temporary hiding spot.

Gregory pressed his ear up to the door and waited.

When he heard someone talking, he carefully brought a hand up to the door. The louder the volume of their voice grew, the stiffer Gregory became. Until he heard the door fling open, acting swiftly, he waited until the person's—thankfully quick—footsteps passed the room he was in before he smoothly exited the room and caught the door just before it slammed shut. Yet again surrendering his already aching fingers to the pain of the heavy, closing door.

This time, he couldn’t pause to process the pain with someone so near, as he pried open the door and tiptoed through. Gregory made sure to distance himself away from the door so as to not draw any suspicion to him before he allowed himself to relax slightly.

A rush of pride swelled in his chest, so potent he almost forgot the strong throb in his fingers. Gregory huffed, a small, triumphant puff of air, and an elated smile stretched across his face. But the smile only lasted for a moment. As an employee suddenly walked by him, and even though they only made eye contact for a moment—the employee’s insouciant eyes just barely glazing over him—it was enough to remind him of what he was doing and what he was there for. He fidgeted anxiously with his coat, the rough fabric grounding him, and moved forward, his jaw dropping open as he surveyed the view of the Pizzaplex.

It was a disorienting, colorful neon ensemble. From what Gregory could see alone, there were three huge floors. With countless gift shops and unique restaurants, along with some main attractions he could point out. Gregory felt faint even just looking around. It was definitely a big contrast to the dark and dingy atmosphere of the back rooms he’d been lurking around for the last half hour. There were large crowds of people everywhere, huddled around the party tables in front of the currently empty main stage or simply walking around. Gregory was starting to ponder about where the animatronics were before he was almost knocked over by a group of other kids playing tag. The one that had bumped into him yelled out a vague apology as they continued hurrying after another kid.

Gregory blinked; the overstimulating bright lights and the loud, bustling crowd were enough to make the back of his head pound with a dull pain.

Yet, at the same time, Gregory’s face broke out into a wild grin. He’d never been to a place like this, somewhere so… awesome! Giggling quietly to himself, he chewed on his lip as his eyes continued to roam around the entire open space.

However, gradually his exhilaration died down, even as he observed his surroundings further. Food first. A small voice in the back of his mind reminded him. Nodding to himself, Gregory slowly approached one of the party tables, still keeping his distance at first. He had to get what he came here for, and then he could maybe explore a little. Only if it was safe enough.

The party table nearest to him seemed to belong to some sort of party, with lots of different kids and adults chatting and laughing together. Surely they wouldn’t notice if they didn’t recognize one kid. Gregory slotted himself in between two kids, smiling brightly when an older boy glanced at him inquisitively, which seemed to wash away any doubts the boy had.

Gregory didn’t look; he just grabbed the nearest slice of pizza and shoved it in his mouth. His face scrunched up in disgust as he tasted a mushroom, but he swallowed it anyways. All while he was nodding along and pretending to pay attention to what a girl his age was saying to a group of her friends.

Grabbing a second slice, he ate it just as fast. His hunger suddenly increased tenfold as soon as he finally ate something. He never realized how dizzy and fatigued he almost constantly felt until he actually got something in his system.

Gregory grimaced as he remembered the time he went five days without food—the longest he’d ever gone hungry. Surprisingly, it wasn’t while he was on the streets though, it was in a foster home. One of the worst ones he’d ever been in. The parents had locked him in his room and didn’t give him any food, and he only survived due to the water from the bathroom faucet. It was hard. But the hunger pains weren’t why, in fact, they faded almost completely after the second day. The things that distressed him the most, was the consistent tremble he had throughout his entire body, the way his heartbeat was scarily fast even when lying down, and an unbearable weakness that had his arm shaking just attempting to lift a water bottle.

Whenever he was having a hard time finding food, all Gregory had to do was remind himself of that home, and he usually got over it.

He got a few weird looks for his ravenous eating, which made him grab one more slice to go as he turned around and distanced himself from the populated area. Gregory absently nibbled on his pizza as he looked at each attraction, overwhelmed by the number of options before he simply decided to meander around and see what caught his eye.

Navigating around was a bit more difficult than he’d expected. After finishing his pizza, he got onto one of the escalators and went up to the second floor. The sheer number of people was staggering. Gregory regretted eating so much pizza so fast since the bright lights combined with the large amount of people and noise caused him to fall into a daze as he wandered—nausea bubbling in his stomach and bile climbing up his throat.

Gregory took a turn down a more secluded corridor, lined up with different rooms that had colorful doors and cardboard cutouts of the Glamrock animatronics. He crouched down low, not to be stealthy but to rest his head between his knees as he recovered from the uncomfortable onslaught of the horde of people. It was quieter, the previous commotion of the crowd muted.

He took a deep breath and ran his hands through his knotty, uncut hair. He knew the mall would stun him, but this was on a whole other level.

Gregory suddenly lifted his head up, he could’ve sworn he heard something strange just then. Slowly standing up, he turned his head from side to side, it sounded closer in his left ear, further down the hall. He contemplated whether to investigate or just to leave it, the hallway suddenly seeming darker and more ominous as different possibilities of what the noise was flashed through his mind. He turned around and was ready to leave before he halted, silently groaned to himself, and turned on his heel, curious as he strolled down the hall towards the noise.

Gregory eventually came to a purple door, with a Roxy cutout just beside it. He could hear the noise clearly now, and he recognized it as a girl crying, loud sobs and sniffles filling the otherwise silent hallway. Reaching a hand out, he tested if the door would open, and when it did, he quietly slipped inside.

The room was filled with Roxy-themed and purple birthday decorations; streamers were hanging from the wall, and there was confetti on the retro-designed carpet. The tablecloth had a white design with purple guitars and cupcakes, a completely untouched carrot cake sat atop it among a sea of plastic paper plates meticulously lined up. Though the room felt empty, it was a perfectly still party, aside from the cries filling it.

He stepped further into the room, the confetti sticking to the bottom of his shoes as he ventured into the party he wasn’t invited to. Finally catching sight of the culprit of the crying, his heart twisted, unsure. Maybe she wants to be left alone. Just as he started to back out, however, the girl turned her head and saw him, her teary eyes widening.

The girl seemed to be around his age. Her curly brown hair was tied up into two twin buns, purple scrunchies holding them neatly together. Matching her purple eyeshadow and lipstick, which were now running down her face and smearing all across the sleeves of her red sweater, creating a sludgy mix of purple and black eyeliner. Her face, right before it turned to shock, was full of dejection and misery.

He froze. Unsure if he was offending her by intruding. She tried to speak, but all that came out was a choked noise. Gregory distractedly grabbed a napkin from the table and slowly came closer. She cleared her throat, eyes welling up further, but she forced out a shaky apology.

“S—sorry. I’m probably a huge mess right now. But I think you might have the wrong room.” She stuttered out, voice raspy from what Gregory could guess was crying for a while. He knew how much crying for long periods of time could affect someone. He winced as he thought about the raging headache she either does have or will have.

“It’s fine. You don’t need to say sorry for crying. And I didn’t get the wrong room, I heard you crying, so… I figured I’d check it out.” He finished lamely before he crouched down and offered her the napkin, smiling as he got a better look at her.

“You know, I actually think your makeup looks cool with it all smudged like that, not a mess at all. It’s like a rockstar’s.” Gregory paused, a Roxy plush that was resting by her side stood out to him.

“And I think Roxy would think so, too.” His smile melted into a playful smirk as he looked back at her.

That got a laugh out of her, a snort that dissolved into soft giggles as she reached out for the napkin and took it. His smile widened, and he even laughed a bit too.

“How did you know she was my favorite?” She gasped, playfully astonished.

Gregory shrugged. “Lucky guess?” They laughed as he glanced around the room.

There was silence for a moment, where she patted at her face with the napkin and wiped her eyes dry. Gregory waited silently, still surprised at himself for even approaching her.

“So… Why were you crying? If you want to say, I mean.” He forced out. Gregory was never the best at comforting people, but he felt a strange urge to help in some way.

“Ugh, it’s so dumb.” She paused to sniffle a little and recompose herself when fresh tears threatened to fall.

“I just—today’s my birthday. And I guess I’ve never really had any actual friends, so I invited everyone in my class. Hoping that someone would come.” She broke off with a quiet sob.

“Nobody did.” She finished, her voice small.

Gregory frowned, his eyebrows slightly lowered. The words hit him harder than he’d expected. He’d never had a birthday party as far as he could remember; nobody ever really cared about his birthday. But for someone to invite their whole class and not even have one person show up? That had to sting. A lot. It’s the same, but different. Gregory thought, his mind flashing to distant memories of his own past birthdays. Which were all cold and bitter.

“I’m sorry.” And he was. He didn’t know what else to say aside from that. He couldn’t drag all of her classmates here, nor could he make her not care about them showing up anymore either. All he could offer was a misplaced apology and a napkin.

She turned to him and hesitantly smiled. “It’s okay, at least I’ll be able to meet Roxy soon!”

Gregory could tell she was for the most part just trying to keep it together, and he admired her for it. He knew he himself wouldn’t be able to have that kind of positivity that she seemed to naturally.

He was suddenly struck with an idea. But it was risky. Unfortunately, Gregory’s heart had already decided that he was going to do it no matter what his instincts told him. You're going to get yourself caught! A panicked voice screamed at him from the back of his mind, but Gregory silenced it with a loud clearing of his throat.

“I mean, maybe I can hang out with you…?” He started, half expecting for her to agree and half hoping she doesn’t so that he doesn’t put himself in danger.

Her head snapped up, and her deep brown eyes were wide yet again as her mouth fell open. “You… you would do that for me?” Her voice trembled.

Gregory winced and opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off with a frantic start. Her hands clasped together at her chest as her eyebrows furrowed and eyes started to dart nervously around. “But—you don’t even know me! I don’t want you to waste your day forcing yourself to hang out with me just because you feel bad! Besides, you—you don’t—“

“Woah! Um. It’s fine! I’m not—I’m not forcing myself to do anything. Really. I mean, I don’t have anyone to hang out with either, and I guess—I don’t know, you seem pretty cool.” He hurriedly cut her off, raising his hands in a hopefully calming gesture, already having a hunch that she would’ve ranted on for a while if he hadn’t.

There was a standstill where they both just stared at each other. The girl’s face was surprised as she snapped out of her anxious rant. Gregory hoped she wouldn’t think he was being rude by interrupting her.

Just as Gregory was about to apologize and bolt out of the room, the girl's face lit up in a bright smile. Then she nodded and shifted into a crisscross position to face him better, sniffling away any leftover evidence of her previous crying.

“Okay. Yeah. That sounds fun!” She let out a little hum and tilted her head as she seemingly remembered something. “What’s your name, by the way? I’m Cassie.” Cassie’s slightly timid hand extended out.

“I’m…Gregory.” He nodded before he shook her hand gently. Smiling hesitantly back at her before they let go.

Gregory took a moment to further observe the room, and the more he thought about it, the more confused he became.

“What about your parents? Where are they?” Gregory asked, feeling slightly hypocritical. But if Cassie had a fancy rented out party room, she probably had parents around.

Cassie blinked, then glanced around the room as well, fidgeting with her hands. “Um, my dad actually works here, but he’s on the job right now, so…” She grimaced.

Gregory’s eyebrows furrowed deeper before he slowly nodded. She hadn’t mentioned a mom, so he assumed it was a hard topic and left it alone. “Huh.” Was all he said, before standing up as the table caught his eye.

“Why don’t we have some cake, and then we can head to Roxy Raceway? Bet you can’t beat me in a race!” He exclaimed. Gregory lied, though. He was almost positive she could beat him, especially as she slowly stood up too and revealed that she was nearly a head taller than him.

She seemed to be surprised at the height difference too, as she raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. “I so bet I can! —Wait. How old are you?” She interrupted herself as she eyed him up and down.

Gregory’s face and ears burned as he defensively shot back. “Hey! I’m almost nine!”

Cassie sighed and chuckled, placing a hand to her chest. “Oh, good. You’re only a year younger than me. Sorry, you’re just kind of short.” She brought a hand up to the top of his head to measure the difference with a small, amused smile. It only came up to her chin.

He rolled his eyes and tried to ignore as his face burned even hotter. “Whatever. So you’re ten today?”

“Yep, finally double digits! Exciting, right? I’m practically an adult now!” She rambled as she grabbed his hand gently and guided him to the table, sitting down at a seat and patting the one next to her.

Gregory’s eyes widened as she took his hand, not used to such a bold yet gentle touch. It wasn’t uncomfortable at all; quite the opposite. Her hand was warm, and he found himself gripping it tightly, just for the nice feeling of it. It was a new, almost comforting sensation. “Huh, yeah…” he muttered distractedly before sitting down where she directed him to.

“You do like carrot cake, right? I mean, if not, then I could always get something different for us!” She asked.

Gregory grinned. “If it’s cake, then I already like it!” He laughed with her.

Cassie reached over to slide the large cake closer to them and grabbed a dull knife, having to let go of his hand to do so. Expertly cutting into it and pulling out a large piece before she dumped it onto a paper plate.

Gregory expected the extremely large piece to be for her—as she was the birthday girl. However, she slid the plate to him and handed him a plastic fork.

“Wait, I don’t need this big of a piece!” He hurriedly stammered out, but she merely smiled at him as she started to cut her piece out.

“Of course you do! No offense, but you’re way too skinny! You need to eat more.” She stated firmly. When Gregory opened his mouth to argue, her stern look made him quickly shut his mouth.

Cassie was a strange girl. Not in a bad way, but instead in the way of he’d never met another person like her. She seemed sensitive and appeared to wear her heart on her sleeve. Yet she was assertive at the same time, not afraid to speak her mind. Gregory already found himself warming up to her.

But he couldn’t get too attached. After all, it was likely he would never see her again after today. With how often he travelled to other cities for better chances of food and evading the police, he doubted they would be able to keep in touch. Though he frowned slightly at the thought.

They ate the cake together, even getting seconds as they joked around and chatted. Gregory felt lighter than he had for a long time. It felt comforting to not only not be alone but to finally have a friend. Because that’s what they were, right? Gregory suddenly felt insecure as he second-guessed himself. You’re not friends. She just wants someone to talk to and do things with on her birthday. The voice in his head came back and stated. Flinching, he swallowed the last piece of his cake before clutching his stomach.

“Ouch, I think I ate too much.” He whined as Cassie mirrored his gesture beside him. She started to groan, but it quickly turned into a small laugh.

“Yeah, me too. But I guess that’s what you’re supposed to do on your birthday!” She remarked. Gregory supposed she was right. He didn’t really know what was ‘supposed’ to happen on a birthday anyway—he’d never really been able to celebrate his. So, he’d take her word for it.

Cassie quickly recovered from her stomach pain as she stood up and stretched her arms high above her head, but it felt a lot worse for him. His stomach finally had food in it after going without for so long, and it kept getting sharp pains as it tried to digest the sugary, greasy food. Gregory grunted softly, trying to shake off the discomfort as he pushed himself up stiffly.

She snorted as she looked at him. “Are you sure you’re gonna be able to race like this? I don’t want you puking everywhere.” Cassie asked, reaching a hand out to rest on his shoulder and steady him.

Gregory nodded quickly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s get going.” She didn’t seem to fully believe him but let it slide as they both exited the room.

As they ambled away from the party rooms, he took note of something else: security bots. There weren’t many, but seeing even just a few sent a cold wave of panic down his spine. He’d have to stay out of sight if he didn’t want to ruin this.

They both started to make their way to Roxy Raceway, Gregory feeling more confident in the crowd with someone by his side, though they stopped to get a Fizzy Faz. Cassie grabbed a Roxy-themed grape soda, and Gregory went for a Monty-branded sour lime flavor.

With what had to be an illegal amount of caffeine for a kid’s soda now flowing through him combined with the walk to the attraction, Gregory was feeling a lot better. In fact, he felt excited and buzzing with energy.

Maybe today wouldn’t be as bad as he anticipated.

——

When they stepped up to enter the Raceway, though, Gregory remembered something vital. He didn’t have a pass to get in. Halting suddenly, Cassie didn’t notice for a moment as she continued walking to the entrance, but quickly backtracked once she did.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, confusion etched onto her face.

“Um… I don’t have a pass.” He mumbled, avoiding her gaze.

“Oh. That’s okay. I have a party pass! I can get us both in, don’t worry.” Cassie smiled, and started to slowly proceed forward again, glancing back multiple times to make sure he was following.

Gregory blinked. Before he tentatively smiled back, still tense as it dawned on him what he was getting himself into. He could be caught at any moment. Weirdly enough though, Cassie didn’t seem suspicious at all. Even at his confession of not having any sort of pass that he probably should have.

Cassie showed her pass to the bot guarding the entrance to the attraction, and they entered. Gregory found himself gawking yet again. It was huge. Even just the entrance had paintings of Roxy plastered everywhere, and a prerecorded message boomed out with her voice. The checkered floor was oily, and it was filled with mostly older kids and teens.

”Hey, I’m Roxanne Wolf. If you’re looking for high-speed motor mayhem, Roxy Raceway is the place to be. Sign up today and be a winner! Nobody likes a loser.”

Cassie was practically foaming at the mouth as the message played out. She bounced on the balls of her feet, spinning around before she suddenly stopped and grabbed his shoulders, looking him in the eye.

“This is literally the best day ever.” She said very seriously, then squealed and hugged him tightly.

Gregory laughed, relaxing in her embrace. “Oh yeah? Well, I’m about to ruin it by beating you in this race!” He teased.

“Nuh-uh! I’ve raced so many times! I’m basically a pro now.” Cassie pulled back but stayed close with her arm over his shoulder as they walked.

“Huh, really? Why are you so excited then?” He asked.

“Cuz I’m here with you. Duh. I’m not alone this time!” She grinned and darted ahead to a desk with a worker behind it.

Gregory froze. They had to register? Oh, no. His gut twisted, the urge to bolt rising, but he couldn’t just abandon his fr—Cassie.

He watched as Cassie walked confidently up to the worker and smiled, exchanging a few words that he didn’t catch. Reluctantly, he shuffled forward.

“Oh! By the way, this is my new friend! His name is Gregory!” Cassie said to the worker, a young woman with electric blue hair.

The woman grinned at him, chewing the gum that was in her mouth lazily. “What’s up, little man?” She drawled out.

Gregory managed a little wave before moving to hide behind Cassie by instinct. Who giggled softly, but her eyebrows knit together as she watched him.

The woman craned her neck to look at him from behind Cassie. “I just need to get your full name and age to get you registered, then you two can race all you want.”

Gregory stayed silent, panic itching under his skin. Cassie shot him a worried look.

“So, first name Gregory, last name?” The worker prompted.

Gregory bit the inside of his cheek and dug his nails into his palm.  “…Smith.” He muttered.

He planned to bolt the moment the system came up with nothing for his guest profile. He felt bad for dragging Cassie into this, but the risk of being caught and sent back was too high.

“Age?”

“Nine.” It didn’t matter if he lied, nothing about him would come up anyways.

The worker typed, then hit enter. Her eyebrows furrowed, lips tightening as the screen blinked. Gregory tensed his legs, ready to run.

“Huh, the system isn’t working.” She pressed a few more keys, her confused expression deepening.

Gregory’s heart pounded hard, and his legs trembled as they recovered. What now?

“What do you mean?” Cassie asked, wringing her hands together. “Does that mean we can’t go in?” She worried.

The worker was silent for another moment, suddenly looking disturbed as she stared at the flickering computer screen.

“Nah… Go ahead, kids.” She said, absently waving them through, still not looking back at them.

Cassie and Gregory shared a look before he shrugged and sauntered through the gate, hiding a grin as he did so. He didn’t know what that glitch was about, but it let him slip through the system undetected, so a win was a win.

Entering the racetrack, his grin widened as he surveyed the track. It had purple LED lights around each side of the track, and the track had a combination of sharp curves and wide loops. There were even a few dead ends, for people who didn’t plan out where they were going, Gregory guessed. Vague posters were taped to the wall, stating in extremely fine print; ‘Fazbear Entertainment isn’t liable for any injuries in the case of a crash.’ He snorted after having had to stop momentarily and squint to read it.

Cassie and Gregory quickly got fitted for their go-karts, Cassie easily picked her favorite themed one, while Gregory, being too short to ride alone, was assigned an assist bot to ride with him. Despite the intrusion on his kart, he didn’t complain, as that would attract more attention to himself. Soon enough, they were both ready at the starting line, engines revving as they prepared themselves.

As soon as the countdown ended, they simultaneously zoomed past the line, Cassie sticking out her tongue at him, while Gregory rolled his eyes with a smirk before passing her in speed. He could just barely catch her offended gasp over his loud cackles as he whizzed by, his hair whipping in the air.

They continued racing, both of them taking daring turns and trading playful jabs. The first round ended with Cassie beating him, as he accidentally ran himself into a dead end when he was too focused on taunting her.

When they met up again at the end, Cassie wiggled her eyebrows at him. “Say, what did you say earlier? Wasn’t it something about beating me? What happened to that, huh?” She teased.

Gregory crossed his arms. “Whatever! I’m gonna get you next time, just you wait.”

And he was committed to that; he could already feel that competitive spark that had been buried for years start to light up again. It felt exhilarating to fly across the track, taking calculated risks and swerves, and doing it all with someone to laugh with.

The second round started similarly, with both of them taking off quickly, the race to the end tense with an ambitious thrill in the air.

As he was driving, he passed by a strange-looking area outside of the track that was blocked off with a chain fence, with multiple ’DO NOT ENTER’ signs on it. Gregory raised an eyebrow at it before refocusing on the race.

Just as he was about to reach the finish line, Gregory’s kart suddenly slowed. “What the—“ he muttered, pressing harder on the gas, but it didn’t budge.

Figuring it was just a glitch, he leaned forward and pushed through, crossing the finish line just before Cassie.

Cassie ran to him after they climbed out of their karts. “Hey! What was that? You like, totally slowed down at the end there!” She questioned.

Gregory shrugged and looked away, annoyed. “I dunno, I think it’s busted or something. I’m just glad it didn’t take away my win. Which I got by the way!” He pointed at her exaggeratedly as he finished his sentence, bragging about his win.

“Pfft, I let you win!” Cassie rolled her eyes. “So, ready for round three?” She rubbed her hands together confidently.

“Um, sure. But first, what’s that chained-off place?” Gregory pointed to it, which was halfway across the attraction.

Cassie’s eyes followed his gesture. “Oh, that? That part's always closed. Dad says it’s under maintenance, but… It’s been like that for months. Weird, right?”

A beat of silence passed before she looked back at him. “I’ve always wondered what’s in there, you know.”

Her words were an invitation, vague enough so that she could brush it off if he wasn’t interested, but just pointed enough for him to know what she was thinking.

Gregory grinned at her. He was always up for a little snooping. “Hmm… The area looks pretty empty.”

“Maybe, a little too empty?” She inquired, head tilting.

“Exactly.”

Chapter Text

November 5th, 2007.

——

Michael just couldn’t get a break, could he?

Four days. Four whole days. Since that bloody voicemail. But it hadn’t left him alone for a second. Not in his waking hours, not even in his dreams. He hadn’t listened to it again, he didn’t need to. He remembered every word, no matter how badly he wanted to forget.

He turned again. Walked the length of the living room. Turned. Walked back.

How long had he been doing this?

His chest tightened. Not the usual burn of his lungs, but something worse. He couldn’t breathe quite right, and it wasn’t from the smoke this time. His fingers twitched uselessly by his side.

The old wooden floor creaked under each step he took, the only solace he had in the moment. His heels ached with each step, the dull sting building into something sharper. His burns felt irritated, and he could feel his now loose bandages slipping off. Like he’d been walking for hours—and maybe he had.

Ever since he listened to it, it was like life had paused for him. Everything was a blur. Almost dreamlike as he recalled the state he was in the past few days.

He hadn’t left the house lately. Not really. He’d tried drawing, cleaning, sleeping. All done mechanically with his mind forcibly numb. Hell, he’d even tried triggering a hallucination just to have something else to focus on.

But when he tried to sketch, his hands wouldn’t stop trembling as his mind wandered. That sketch—one of the last sketches he did—haunted him, every time he opened his sketch book it laid out flat, staring at him, accusing. It made him think too much. When he tried to clean, he scrubbed the wooden floor he was currently standing on so hard it tore the sponge. And it didn’t even get rid of the sticky texture. When he slept, nightmares and dreams of the voice message and what that could mean for him appeared.

His last ditch effort manifested in him sitting outside of Elizabeth’s room. For once hoping to hear her voice mockingly call out to him like it had many times before. Nothing.

It was like his psyche knew that there were more important things at hand, and he hadn’t had any major hallucinations since the message. Perfect timing. Seriously.

The only hallucination he had since was of the damn phone buzzing in his ear. It drove him insane to hear it vibrate when he was half asleep, shooting up just to realise it was all in his head.

Even after he moved the phone to a different room, he still heard a maddening echo of it in his mind.

Michael suddenly halted and hunched over, grasping the roots of his hair and pulling. The pain grounding him as he gritted his teeth and shut his eyes tightly.

What exactly was he expected to do?

He didn’t want this.
He didn’t ask for this.
He thought he’d been ready for anything.
But this?

He couldn’t handle this.

Michael stayed hunched a moment longer, the unnerving silence pressing in like thick fog. He just wanted to take this—this entire situation— and bury it somewhere deep. Stuff it in a box. Padlock it. Throw it in a ditch and forget all about it.

But he couldn’t.

Because it was real.

And he knew better than anyone that real things didn’t stay buried.

No. They found their way back to the surface. Eventually.

He lifted his shaking hands up. Staring at them. He took a deep breath, and watched as the trembles lessened.

Burned skin stretched tight over old scars, twisted lines crawling up his palms and knuckles just barely hidden underneath the raw, mottled flesh. Ruined. These weren’t hands made for holding something so fragile and small.

He flexed them slowly, like it was his first time seeing them. As if he were trying to prove something to himself, though he wasn’t sure what. That he was still here? That he still had some sort of control?

He clenched them into tight fists.

What was he supposed to do with these? Rock a baby to sleep? Hold a bottle? Gently hold it when it cried?

He didn’t know gentle.

Hell, he’d barely even experienced it.

His body felt hot with nerves and anticipation, and his breath quickened. The walls that were usually his refuge from the outside world suddenly felt like they were slowly approaching him. Closing in on him. Sealing his fate.

This house—this goddamn house—was suffocating him. The walls, the silence, the buzzing in his skull. It had to go.

He needed air.

In a sudden burst of movement, Michael whipped around and marched to his coat and boots, fumbling for his keys. He wrapped a thick black scarf around his neck and swung the door open, perhaps more harsh than needed.

The outside world greeted him, a sharp contrast to his dark, isolated house. The wind was frigid and biting, with dark orange leaves still scattered around the ground. The grass right outside his house’s tips were white and crisp with frost. It felt freeing to step out, shut the door behind him and take a breath.

Michael’s legs carried him farther out, and soon enough, he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He walked briskly. As if trying to escape from everything, and he guessed he was. In a way.

It was around noon, but since it was early winter, the sky was still the gloomy and grey blue it had been since morning. The sun was hidden behind the clouds, casting a dim, blue light over everything. Michael exhaled shakily, and stuffed his already freezing hands into his pockets. He almost wished he could go back to get his gloves, but he knew that if he turned back and entered the house, he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to leave again.

The farther he walked, the more the fog in his mind lifted. Instead of driving himself into a spiral of panic and fear about the baby—he couldn’t get used to even thinking that—he should focus on what he could do.

He’d been given two, rather curt options. One was to take the child and raise it. The other was to give it up. She hadn’t given any explanation as to how that would go. She didn’t even give any details about how far along she was, the gender, nothing!

He recalled how frustrated he was about that. Until he found himself wondering why he wanted to know so badly.

The town was quieter than usual. A few leaves scraped across the road, chasing each other in small, frantic circles. Michael watched them for a second before looking away, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. The air was heavy with the kind of chill that seeped into everything, the pavement, his coat, even his thoughts. A car rolled by somewhere behind him, its tires grinding against wet asphalt. He didn’t have a destination, not really. His feet just carried him where they wanted.

Michael frowned. The voice message—the more he thought about it—sounded almost… indifferent. Perhaps even uncaring. If he was being completely honest? It unnerved him. How nonchalant she seemed about everything.

Michael felt a spike of anger prick at him, towards her for putting him in such a position. But it was short lived, replaced by shallow guilt. He couldn’t solely blame her. He was at fault for this too. This pathetic situation. His breath left a puff of white in the air, fading fast. The cold bit at his face, grounding him.

Obviously he couldn’t take the child.

That was ridiculous.

It was out of the question for him.

He had to look for William. He couldn’t just abandon that duty. That monster was surely still roaming around, the bastard. Michael wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if something happened to someone because he thought he could be capable of raising a child.

He couldn’t. God. He was a fucking mess.

Besides, he never planned on having kids anyway. He wasn’t good with them, he was sarcastic and dry and standoffish which usually came across as mean. Not to mention his appearance, children would often stare at him in public before suddenly having a meltdown. Uncanny valley. Michael assumed.

Eventually, Michael found himself at a park. There was a wide open field, lined by trees where he could see dogs wandering around and playing with their owners. On the left side of the field, there was a children’s playground, the grass replaced with wood chips, and colourful wooden structures with monkey bars and slides all resting on top of it. It was peaceful. There weren’t many people around except for a few, with most likely the dry cold repelling people from being outside for too long.

The wind blew gentler now, no longer the harsh whipping it had been earlier. Michael’s eyes glanced around until he spotted a few benches near the playground. He bit down on his lip. There weren’t any kids there as far as he could tell, surely he wouldn’t look like some creep. Still, he sat as if the bench itself might recoil from him.

Michael lifted his head up to gaze at the overcast sky before he closed his eyes, his head still lifted up as he breathed in and out carefully.

The choice he was going to make was obvious.

He’d give the baby up.

He wasn’t fit to be a father anyways. With his bloodline’s history he should probably stay far, far away from any children. Let alone have one in his care.

Some research would be due once he went back to the house. Adoption. Foster care. If he wasn’t given any information on how to give a child up then he’d have to find out for himself. Michael was sure there was a loving employed couple with a picket fence who were desperate to have a baby. They’d have a nice house, unconditional love and support, and most important of all, stability.

Then, once he made absolutely sure the kid was in a safe, loving home. Could he continue his search. It would have to be postponed even further, depending on when the baby would be born, but hopefully he could manage and compensate for the time lost.

Easy. That was an absolutely easy decision to make. Piece of cake.

No big deal.

He would just give the kid up. It’s not like knowing he has a child out there will plague his mind constantly or anything, right?

Well, even if it does, what’s one more thing haunting him?

——

Michael sat there until the cold bit through his coat. His fingers were numb, his lips dry, but he didn’t move. For once the silence didn’t feel suffocating… but hollow. Which he found was almost worse.

He numbly observed the playground. The rusty swings were creaking as they swung in the wind, lightly swaying back and forth. His eyes followed it as they moved. The ground seemed slightly muddy in between the uneven patches of wood chips, and there were crayon marks on the play structures. Michael spotted a childish drawing of a cat(?) and a rainbow among the unintelligible scribbles.

A swing squealed again, groaning on its chains. Michael’s eyes stayed on it. The way it moved—back and forth, back and forth—made his stomach twist. It reminded him of pacing, of waiting for nothing. He wondered if this was what it felt like to be suspended in the middle of something, neither falling nor steady. Just swinging. Caught between two directions.

A dog barked from somewhere across the field, breaking the silence and his strange trance. A woman called out to it, her voice distant and cheerful. Michael just barely registered it. His thoughts had slipped into that strange, heavy silence. That felt like he was thinking everything at once yet nothing at all. Where everything was too still, yet too sharp at the same time.

He told himself again that he was making the right choice. The only choice. The baby would have a chance somewhere else, in a world where it could thrive. Away from all this shit. Away from him.

So why did such an easy decision feel so wrong? Michael’s heart ached.

He was violently pulled back into reality by the sound of skidding wheels and a panicked yell.

Michael’s head snapped towards the noise just in time to watch a blur of motion hit the concrete hard. He winced as a person face-planted, and grimaced at the sound of impact.

A small voice cried out in pain.

He froze for half a second before realising it was a child. By the time anyone else had turned their heads, Michael was already moving.

Blood spattered the concrete, bright and startling against the grey of the pavement. It was flowing openly from the kid’s nose, Michael sharply inhaled.

“Shi—shoot kid. Here, let me help you.” He thankfully caught the swear before it came out, the raspiness of his voice shocking even him. He grabbed the kids hands and eased them away from her face. “Hey, hey—stop pressing, you’ll make it worse.”

He steadied her by resting his hands on her shoulders, small shoulders, tense and shaking under his grip.

It then hit him how small she was, maybe eleven or twelve. With shoulder length light brown hair. Her bright green eyes were squinted in pain with one closed and the other shining with unshed tears. While blood and dirt was mostly covering her face, he could still spot faint freckles around her cheeks and nose.

She winced, clutching the front of his jacket and instinctively leaning onto him as she tried to breathe through the pain.

Her knees wobbled awkwardly—roller skates. Of course. Unable to hold back a small amused huff, he slowly guided her to the bench where he’d been sat just a moment ago.

After sitting her down, she immediately brought her hands up to her nose again, Michael caught them and pried them away. “Hold on. I need to make sure it’s not broken.” He said, lifting her chin slightly to get a better look.

The kid didn’t say anything, just nodded ever so slightly with her eyes and face screwed up in pain. It was hard to properly see it with all the blood, but it seemed okay. Injured, but not crooked by any means. She was lucky. He was almost completely sure that with a fall so rough she’d have a broken nose. He knew that from years of skateboarding and plenty of broken bones in the process.

“Alright,” he murmured, finally pulling away. “it looks okay.” Michael nodded.

“It’s bleeding a lot.” The girl groaned, hands cupping under her chin to catch the drops of blood.

“Yeah,” He gave a little reassuring smile. “Noses tend to do that. You’ll be okay. You should get some ice on it though, unless you want a gnarly bruise tomorrow.” Michael chuckled softly.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” She quietly asked, actually looking straight at him for the first time, her eyes still glazed with pain.

“Yeah, pretty sure.” He then looked her up and down. “But why aren’t you wearing any gear? No helmet, no knee pads…”

She looked down, suddenly flushing. Her elbows and knees were scraped raw, the fresh blood shining in patches.

“I don’t have any.” She pursed her lips, seeming hesitant yet again at her confession. As if expecting some kind of punishment.

Michael frowned. “No? How come?” Did she just not want to wear them to look cool? It didn’t seem like that, but it wasn’t like he was very caught up with what was ‘cool’ to kids nowadays.

She scrunched up her nose—immediately regretting it as she flinched in pain—before mumbling out. “My dad says I can’t get any until Christmas. Says they’re a ‘waste of money.’” She made air quotes as she deepened her voice to impersonate her father.

“Waste of money? Your safety is a waste of money?—You know what, never mind.” Michael quickly grew quiet as the girl jumped and her eyes grew wide at his words.

There was a moment of silence where she picked at stray threads on her skirt, and he awkwardly gazed at the playground.

“Why… Why don’t you wait until Christmas to skate, then?” He softened his voice, not directly looking at her.

He heard the girl stop and look up at him, before she responded, her voice slightly more confident. “Because… I’ve been so excited to try these, and I’ll always be scared no matter what. If I keep waiting until I’m not to try, then I’ll never do anything.”

Michael blinked. There was something disarming about how she simply said it. Like she’d just solved something he’d spent years running from.

He looked back at her, watching as she shrugged with a small smile on her face. She had a dimple on the left side of her cheek.

When she looked back up at him, she suddenly looked troubled before putting her hands up. “If that makes sense.” She added quickly.

He nodded slowly. “I think I get what you mean.” He said it simply, but the words lingered in the air longer than he’d expected.

“That’s… brave of you. But you should still have some kind of protection. You could get a concussion.” Michael added as an afterthought. Slowly, she nodded pensively, as if pondering about the meaning of life instead of some knee pads.

They both turned back to the view, and grew silent. Michael’s head was a tangled mess of thoughts, yet the girl’s words were the only ones repeating clearly.

“I’m Vanessa.” She blurted out, the wind picking up and waving her shoulder length hair around.

Michael raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Yeah? That’s supposed to mean something to me?”

Vanessa shrugged, and gave a small smile. “No, but who knows? Maybe one day.” She briefly glanced at him.

He huffed amusedly. “I’m Michael.” It was only polite to give his name as well.

Vanessa nodded and brushed the dirt off her knees, she slowly stood up before looking at him. “Well, I should go. Thanks for helping me. Michael.“

Michael cleared his throat and looked away, embarrassed. “It’s nothing.”

Vanessa hummed, a small squeak escaping as she accidentally rolled back on her skates before readjusting herself. “Well, I don’t think it’s nothing. Most people just stare and don’t do anything when I fall.” She turned clumsily after a moment, and set off.

He didn’t say anything, just watched her skate until she was just a blur of motion again, her bright yellow skirt stark against the grey background. Her legs trembling, her moves hesitant, but the wind and her skates carried her away anyway.

The wind stilled, and the wretched silence returned. It should’ve felt the same—cold, empty, familiar—but something in it had shifted. A glitch in the monotony. A foreign mix of tranquility and uncertainty washed over him like a freezing tide. He wasn’t sure if it was for better or for worse.

The silence pressed in further, as if urging him to do something, not as an oppressive weight this time, but as a quiet and gentle push. It followed him when he finally stood, when he turned away from the park, when his thoughts circled back to the one thing he couldn’t seem to outrun.

——

The walk back to his house felt shorter than usual. His legs were stiff, his movements almost robotic, ironically. The noise of the town faded to a dull hum in the background—cars, distant chatter, even just the wind whistling in his ear. It was already growing dark outside, the greyish sky turning into a darker, richer hue. He wondered if that little girl had made it home before dark. The world wasn’t kind to kids wandering alone, especially after sunset.

Michael sighed, running a hand through his knotted hair as he sunk into his desk chair. It’d been so long since he actually talked to someone like that. Even if it was just a little girl he’d never met before.

Yet she didn’t seem afraid or put off by him, at least not like most kids or people were. He caught her subtle flinch when she finally saw his face, and the slight uneasiness in her eyes when they locked with his. Still, she had talked with him, smiled at him. It made him feel… normal. When was the last time he’d actually felt like a normal human being? Michael couldn’t remember for the life of him.

He opened his eyes, which he hadn’t even noticed had closed, and stared yet again at his dark computer screen. It was around six in the afternoon, and he was up way later than his usual routine. Then again, he hadn’t been able to sleep much at all recently. Michael’s mood soured at the reminder of his dilemma.

His room was dim, the kind of dark where you could still make out the shapes of things, but not their details. The faint buzz of his old computer filled the silence, its dark monitor reflecting his tired face. Michael stared at it, a small frown appearing as he studied himself.

The previous whites of his eyes had long since gone black, dried out from exposure to the air after death. There were large scars stretching from the corners of his mouth to his ear, from the ripping. And his pupils were cloudy thanks to the process of rigor mortis, even apart from those things, he looked unsettling.

It wasn’t like he did anything to soften the blow when anyone looked at him, though. His hair was long and matted, with sagging dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. He’d given up on his appearance after Circus Baby’s. What was the point anymore, when any mirror only reminded him of what he lost?

He remembered being a kid, fussing endlessly over his hair, how it wouldn’t sit the exact way he wanted, his clothes too. It was such a small thing to worry about—but human. Painfully human. The same went for eating, for sleeping, for all the things that made life feel real. Sometimes, he found himself mourning himself. As if he were grieving someone else’s death. But it was his own. A strange feeling, really.

Michael blinked back into reality and tapped his computer’s space bar, the screen quickly lighting up and coming back to life. He leaned forwards, hands ready to type in the search bar before he froze.

How exactly was he supposed to go about this?

Michael hesitated, hands hovering over the keyboard. He’d been avoiding it, avoiding thinking about it, and doing anything actually productive regarding it. Now that he was actually facing everything, it felt so daunting. Michael let out a shaky sigh before typing foster care process.

The words felt clinical, detached, somewhat of a parallel to his current state of mind. The screen loaded and he scrolled through sites and articles of government official laws and procedures. It all felt so clean. Michael’s eyebrows furrowed more as his eyes skimmed over terms like ’temporary guardianship’, ‘placement evaluation’, ‘reunification probability assessment.’ All in bold text, all sterile. It almost comforted him at first. There were systems in place. People who handled this sort of thing. Professionals.

The word stuck in his head, though. Professionals. It should’ve meant relief, a kind of assurance that someone else could handle what he couldn’t. But the longer he stared at the word, the hollower it became.

He clicked on a link, and then another. The same cold phrasing followed him across every site: placement, transfer, assessment, evaluation. What he really didn’t like was the overused term temporary. It felt less and less reliable as he read on, and Michael found himself almost desperate to find a procedure that would secure a permanent home. Stability.

And he found it. Sort of.

There were different procedures and laws for different circumstances. Different types of adoptions, foster homes. Michael eyed a stock photo of a young couple and an infant smiling happily in between paragraphs with scepticism. There were lists and guides on each one, not that that made it any less confusing. First one on the list was temporary and emergency foster care, where the child would eventually be returned to their parents. Something he had to note was that the state often tries to keep the child in contact with their parents, or even tries to reunite them.

That was the opposite of what he wanted. Michael scowled as he clicked on the others, kinship care. Where relatives could take the child and raise it instead. Oh, yeah. Let me just hand over my baby to my dead siblings. Maybe even my rotted animatronic serial killer father! Michael growled as he clicked off.

The next one was finally something possible for him. A closed adoption. Where the child would have no contact with either birth parent. Michael’s stomach turned as he clicked on show more.

The process seemed much more difficult and required more long term planning. The only issue was that he couldn’t find any adoption agencies that supported this kind of adoption. Apparently it was rare. But it was what he needed. Michael clicked back to the foster care website. It seemed that foster care was a temporary thing, a system that children would be put in before adoption or until their parents were fit to take them again.

“Jesus Christ.” He muttered to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose before he continued staring at the screen.

It was all so complicated. It only gave him vague answers, no matter which site he clicked on it seemed like they never gave a straight explanation to anything. He hated that. If Michael was really going to do this he was going to do it right, he wasn’t just going to half-ass it. He didn’t half-ass anything, and he wasn’t about to start now.

Michael scrolled farther. The official websites and articles bled into message boards and personal blogs. Real people. Real stories. None of them sounded like the clean, polished systems he’d been presented with. Maybe he could finally get some reliable information.

There was a specific forum, filled with teenagers and young adults posts about their experiences in the system. Michael leaned forward, his eyes twitching as he read the most recent posts. They were paragraphs long, with trigger warnings at the beginning that made his chest twist.

’You learn early to not get attached, even if they’re nice. Because you’ll just have to leave again.’

‘I was in eleven different homes until I was returned to my bio parents.’

‘Some placements were hell. Some were okay, they all had one thing in common. They never really wanted me.’

‘I remember the first placement I was in. But the foster dad didn’t look at me like a daughter. Or even a kid. That was the first time among many that I was—‘

Michael looked away. He swallowed thickly as his shaky hands scrolled down further. Those stories—those horrible stories—are of foster care. Surely adoption is better. It has to be.

There were good stories, kids who had a permanent home and safe parents. But there were still bad ones, it was a clean divide. If he were to give his kid up, he’d meet the adoptive parents, he was sure. How would he know if they were safe? If he made the wrong decision—gave the child up to the wrong people—it could lead to terrible outcomes for the kid.

How was he supposed to take that kind of risk? A risk that could completely destroy an innocent child’s life? He’d already unknowingly taken a risk like that, decades ago. It didn’t end well.

This was too much.

Michael let out a sharp exhale and leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his face. He was kidding himself. There wasn’t a system in the world that could promise safety, he was entrusting the baby to complete strangers either way.

If not that, then what?

The screens glow painted the walls in a dull white light. His eyes felt heavy, but his mind wouldn’t stop racing. If he gave it up to the system, he’d spend the rest of his—hopefully short—life wondering.

If he kept it…

Michael stopped that thought before it could finish. He couldn’t raise a kid. He’d already established that. He couldn’t even look himself in the mirror without running himself into a breakdown. What kind of father would that make him? A pathetic, incompetent one, surely. His mind flashed back to what Vanessa had said about her father. Maybe not that bad. His face scrunched up.

Michael dragged himself over to the bed and sat down heavily. His hands trembled where they rested on his knees. He still felt sick from what he’d read.

The silence crept in again as he let his head fall onto his flat pillow. He thought about the little girl at the park. Her bright yet hesitant smile. The way she didn’t flinch when he looked at her.

The interaction reminded him of something. A memory buried deep under decades of pain and grief.

——

Michael’s hands rapidly pressed the buttons of the arcade machine. The bright blue screen shone on his concentrated face as sharp beeps echoed out.

Cheers came from either side of him, vibrant orange waves were jumping up and down on his right, and small hands with painted fingernails rested on the left side of the machine.

Evan was having trouble getting past a level on Astro Fighters, and asked for his help. Michael would usually tell him to piss off, but Astro Fighters was fun enough. And his friends weren’t there that day.

Fredbear’s didn’t have that many arcade games, only a handful, and they were held in a secluded corner of the diner. Astro Fighter’s was in the middle of two out of order games, giving the trio plenty of room.

The enemy crafts rained down with an increasing number, but Michael didn’t waver, his hands rapidly pressed the red button and manoeuvred the joystick as he avoided meteors and missiles. His siblings gasped and yelled for him.

“Woohoo! Go Mikey!”

“Shoot them all! Quickly!”

Their small voices rang out, Evan leaned in further, pushing up his glasses and giggling as he did so. Elizabeth was still hopping in place, sometimes losing her balance and bumping into Michael, causing him to yell and berate her.

Finally, the onslaught of enemy crafts depleted and the win screen popped up with just one life left, but the laughs and screams only grew louder. Michael grinned and cackled, he turned to his little brother.

“Now that’s how you play arcade games!” He pointed at the short boy, mocking him. But he just beamed back.

“That was so awesome! You’re so good at every arcade game here! You’ve gotta teach me!” Evan was almost always quiet, but the boy’s voice was loud and clear. Same with his bright smile.

“Hmph, maybe if you don’t tell Father that I snuck out last night.” Michael shrugged his shoulders and crossed his arms. Evan rapidly nodded and promised not to before facing the machine again, pressing ‘play’.

He huffed, before turning inquisitively to the bouncing girl staring up at him. Elizabeth was grinning wildly, her pink hair pin straining to keep her hair in place. She came close and gripped his shirt, giggling.

“Seriously, that was so cool! You can do everything, Mikey!” She squealed, her light green eyes shining with admiration.

Michael rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out. “Not everything, stupid. Nobody can do everything.”

Elizabeth stuck her tongue out back at him, before huffing. “I bet you can! Evan said that anybody can do anything as long as they believe!”

He glanced back at the small boy pressing the buttons of the machine. He barely reached the bottom of the screen. Astro Fighters was his favourite game, which originally surprised him at first, Evan was always a crybaby and that one was a difficult shooter game.

“He probably just got that from his geeky sci-fi books. In the real world, that’s impossible. Don’t listen to everything he says, he’s six!” Michael said matter-of-factly.

The ginger girl groaned in response. “Ugh! I’m six too, you know! You’re always so boring Mikey, you don’t know if it’s impossible or not until you try!” She poked his stomach roughly, before she turned and darted off, cackling deviously after she narrowly avoided his swat.

——

He never took her words seriously, always underestimated her due to her young age. He regretted it. Elizabeth was clever and ambitious. Her spark was snuffed out far too early.

”You don’t know if it’s impossible or not until you try!”

She dreamed big. They both did.
He told them not to, but they just couldn’t help it.
They dreamed too big.

And look where that got them.

The words still wouldn’t leave him. They skated circles in his head, over and over, until they started to sound less like hers and more like his own.

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe it was impossible.

But for the first time in years, he wasn’t sure.

His phone buzzed once on the desk, it didn’t light up. He didn’t move.
The sound lingered long after it stopped.

It was just in his head.
But it still made him feel like maybe, maybe he could have this. He could try. And maybe, just maybe, he could try believing in himself.

Chapter Text

January 11th, 2017.

——

When Cassie and Gregory first came up to the chain-link fence, they both stopped, unsure on how to get inside. A warped sheet of cardboard had been zip-tied over the fence, blocking the view beyond. Gregory frowned.

If it’s just a maintenance area, why hide it like this?

The company had already proved it couldn’t be trusted, and this just made his skin crawl. He wasn’t exactly excited, more so morbidly curious about what might be behind it.

They walked the length of the fence, looking for a way in and peeking through the small gaps in the cardboard until Cassie spotted something.

She tapped his shoulder and pointed. “We could get in there?” Though her face twisted uncertainly, unconvinced at her own words.

It was a tear at the bottom, just large enough for someone to maybe squeeze through. Cassie crawled down and shoved it a little to see if it would give, it didn’t.

“Okay, I definitely cannot fit in there.” She looked him up and down, standing up and brushing dirt off her knees.“You probably could, though.”

Gregory huffed, exasperated, but nodded. He dropped to his knees beside the gap, wincing as gravel dug into his knees, then turned to her. “Keep a look out for me, okay?”

“Only if you tell me everything you see in there.” She smirked, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. She stepped back and watched as he slowly squeezed through the small gap in the fence.

It was a small fit, even for him, but he made it work. Though a jagged piece of wire caught onto him on the way through, leaving a long, stinging red scratch along the length of his leg. It wasn’t bleeding much, just thin pools of red welling at the surface.

Gregory hissed through his teeth, but quickly brushed it off. He could hear Cassie’s voice from outside the fence. “If you’re not back in five, I’m breaking in after you.” She stated.

Her tone was playful, but he could hear a layer of worry concealed underneath.

“Five minutes. Got it.” He called back.

Finally turning around, Gregory blinked at the sight before him.

Dingy warning signs covered nearly every surface, all repeating the same thing: NO ENTRY. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

Was he going to listen? Obviously not.

He crept deeper in, keeping his steps light. The ground was uneven, scattered with piles of debris. There were multiple spots where mysterious liquid was dripping from the ceiling, and the air was heavy with a damp feeling and an ashy smell. The deeper he went, the darker it got, save for a few flickering hanging lights that buzzed faintly. Behind him, the sounds of people and engines gradually faded away as he got farther from the fence. Now, all he could hear was his own footsteps crunching against the ground along with his own breathing.

The space was much bigger than it looked from the outside.

Just ahead, something stood out to him. An obscure section that was blocked off by multiple layers of caution tape and red barriers. The signs around were even more aggressive and desperate. The blocked off section wasn’t very large, but it still piqued his interest.

Someone really doesn’t want people seeing this.

Gregory found himself almost wanting to turn back, a strange swirling in his gut as he hesitated, but he forced himself forward.

The closer he got, he could spot more barriers shortly behind the ones in front of him. Like it was containing something small. It only made him more and more curious. It almost looked like some kind of construction, but the barred off area was far too small to do any real work.

Reaching the barriers, he grunted and shifted one aside, just enough to get a look—

—and immediately recoiled. A gasp caught in his throat. His breath hitched as his eyes widened.

The ground inside the barred off area was collapsing. Not in chunks, but sagging inward, slowly, like it was being sucked down into something below. A small, yet deep hole had already formed at the center of it. From deep inside the hole, a slimy, slithering noise echoed, something so wrong sounding that made Gregory freeze in place.

He knew it was a bad idea, but he couldn’t help stepping forward slightly, leaning over to peer into the darkness. His feet tentatively avoiding the unstable ground.

It was pitch black inside. He couldn’t see anything but a few strange wires sticking out of it and muck sticking to the sides of the small tunnel. A faint vibration under his feet had him flinching, as goosebumps ran up his arms.

What the heck? Why are they keeping this place open?!

Gregory frowned, and swallowed thickly. I need to get out of here.

He turned to leave—

But a hand shot out and grasped his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

Gregory let out a shriek and flailed, struggling to break free from the firm hold. That was when he saw what held him.

It was a security bot, it seemed old and was halfway stuck in some of the rubble. Its eyes were different than any other security bot he’d seen roaming around. They were blinking an erratic, bright red that felt like it was staring into his soul. Almost…aware?

Gregory panted, and leaned his entire body weight downward to hopefully escape the bot’s grip. He grunted, and pushed with all his energy, it didn’t budge.

Just then, the security bot…spoke to him?

”G-g-re—” It’s robotic, glitchy voice stuttered out.

It tried again, but suddenly the light in its eyes flickered and died. The bot went limp, releasing its grip just before shaking violently with an electric shock. Gregory tumbled to the floor, yelping as he fell onto his back, moist dirt staining his brown coat.

Gregory was left in the darkness, gasping for air as his heart pounded so hard it was painful.

He swore the bot was trying to say his name. That wasn’t possible though, right? He wasn’t in the system or network. Gregory began to tremble as he kept his eyes locked onto the bot, frozen in fear of it reactivating and getting a hold of him again.

Just as he began to calm, he realised something.

He couldn’t hear the strange sounds underground anymore. No more vibrations.

Flooded with unease, Gregory scrambled to get up and sprinted back to the fence, practically throwing himself onto his knees to crawl out.

Ignoring Cassie’s worried calls, Gregory distanced himself as fast and far as he could away from the fence once he was out. Sweat clung to his forehead, his limbs buzzed with adrenaline and the overwhelming urge to keep running.

He could still hear Cassie faintly, but her voice sounded muffled, like he was behind a thick glass. Only when he took a minute to lean on the wall and slide to the floor to sit down was he able to slip back into reality.

“Gregory! You okay?” Cassie crouched down and reached a hand out, but didn’t touch him, so it simply hovered over his shoulder anxiously.

Gregory was silent, breath heavy as he gripped his coat tightly around him as if it were a shield. It certainly felt like the only one he had at the moment.

..Oh. And Cassie’s hand.

He stared at it, breath slowing as he studied it. The nails had chipped deep purple nail polish that he hadn’t noticed before, there was a small scar in between her thumb and pointer finger, and a small, barely noticeable mole on her ring finger just below the nail.

“Gregory… You were in there for a while. What…happened?” Cassie asked, voice gentle as she scooted closer, still just hovering.

“I—“ He choked.

What was he supposed to say? That a creepy bot grabbed him and said his name? He’d probably just sound insane to her, insane to anyone!

Gregory squeezed his eyes shut tightly, then opened them and finally met her gaze.

“Um—Just, uh…”He paused to swallow. Before he looked back to his lap, watching his hands clench into a fist and relax. He was fine. Everything was fine. He was being dramatic, it was just a dumb malfunctioning bot. Gregory took a deep breath, before wiping sweat from his forehead and giving a hesitant smile.

“I’ll tell you if you beat me in another race.” He just wanted to get away from the area, even just being near was making his skin crawl.

He didn’t know what that mess of rubble and the small hole was or what it meant, but it only gave him a bad feeling in his gut.

Cassie smiled back, though her eyes stayed concerned. “Pfft, that’s gonna be a piece of cake!” She said, before she glanced down and frowned worriedly. “Are you hurt?” She asked.

“No.” His response fell out of his mouth quickly and smoothly.

Cassie raised an eyebrow and pointed to his leg. “Then what’s that?”

Gregory blinked down at the now bleeding scratch, thin streaks of blood running down his leg. “Oh. I forgot about that.” He mumbled.

Cassie snorted, and shook her head. “Of course you did. Maybe we can find a first aid around here somewhere.” She looked around again, the suspicion from earlier now absent.

“No! No. I—I don’t need that. I’m fine, really.” He patted his leg lightly, stretching it out.

“Okay, okay. If you’re sure…” She eyed the cut worriedly.

Thankfully the area they were sat in was almost entirely empty, as it was cramped, and closer to the track than what would probably be safe. Only a few younger kids that were running around came near, until they were called back by their parents. The entrance was all the way on the other side of the attraction, so the only noise that interrupted them was the occasional engine as a kart raced by.

Gregory nodded, before exhaling deeply. The panic he had felt was starting to wear off, along with the adrenaline. His limbs no longer felt like they were on fire but instead felt sluggish and tired, his head wasn’t reeling anymore, instead feeling heavy.

It was like a switch had been pulled, and suddenly he felt fatigued and shaky. He wanted to just sit there until he fell asleep and not have to do anything. But obviously he couldn’t do that. After all, he had to race with Cassie!

The reminder lifted his spirits slightly. “So, round three? Just like we planned?” He smiled wobbly, hoping to cheer her up and disperse the tension that had accumulated.

“Yeah.. sure! Then, once I kick your butt at this race, you’ll tell me all about what was in there!” She jerked her head in the direction of the restricted area.

Gregory didn’t want to talk about it. Even just thinking about it made him swallow thickly.

But he made a promise, and he didn’t go back on his word. Gregory smirked, shook off any remaining fear, and nodded confidently.

——

Cassie ended up winning the third, and final round much to Gregory’s dismay. His weariness was his weakness in the race, as his foot delayed stepping onto the gas when he wanted it to. It was somewhat of a close call, though. He was only a couple feet behind her kart as she whizzed through the finish line.

She then insisted he reveal the contents behind the fence over some tacos, which he was more than pleased about.

He’d gotten the spiciest sriracha taco he could possibly get, and Cassie ordered a mild tajín flavour. They were currently sitting at a table in the corner of El Chip’s, Cassie glancing around suspiciously to make sure nobody was listening in. Gregory snorted at her antics.

She suddenly leaned in, a devilish grin forming on her face as she placed her hands flat on the table. “So, tell me! What’d you find? Why does some of the workers say it’s dangerous?”

Gregory took a bite of his taco, trying to figure out how to word what he witnessed exactly. He savoured the satisfying burn on his tongue and his throat after he swallowed. “It’s...kind of hard to explain? The place was a lot bigger than it looked. Bunch of signs everywhere.”

Cassie looked confused at that, her head tilting as she hummed. “Really? What kind of signs?”

Gregory shrugged. “Like, normal signs. ’You’re not allowed in here if you’re not authorised’ blah blah blah. Except, there was a lot of them.” He frowned.

“Huh. So, what did you see then?” Cassie hurriedly asked, leaning in closer.

Surely he didn’t need to tell her about the weird bot that grabbed him. It didn’t matter that much, and she probably wouldn’t believe him anyway.

Gregory pursed his lips. “It was… I don’t know how to describe it. It was like the ground was… crumbling, I guess? There was a deep hole in the floor.” He finished lamely, frustrated at how weak his explanation sounded.

Cassie’s eyes widened. “What?! A sinkhole? That is dangerous. Why is the track still open?” She looked down, chewing her lip as she thought.

“It was really weird. I didn’t know that’s what a sinkhole is, though.” He hummed, sipping idly at his Fizzy-Faz.

She nodded quickly, a small proud smile forming. “Yup! I learned about it at school not too long ago. It’s usually caused by erosion, but I’m guessing it’s ‘cause they built the mall wrong or something.”

The word erosion completely flew over Gregory’s head, but he got the idea. Cassie put a hand on her chin. “Huh, I wish I could see it. But I don’t really feel like risking my life today.” She chuckled faintly.

He cringed. “Yeah…Let’s stay away from there for now.” His head still swirled whenever he thought about that firm, unwavering grip on his arm. It didn’t hurt, weirdly enough. It was almost like…

“So, what do you want to do next? We could go to Fazer Blast and then play some arcade games! The DJ is kinda freakishly huge though..” Cassie’s voice cut through his thoughts. Gregory flinched and smiled hesitantly at her.

“Sure.. but after that I should probably go.” He guiltily avoided her eyes, instead staring at his half-eaten taco as bright red sauce leaked from it. He didn’t have much of an appetite anymore.

“Oh, so soon?—I mean, that’s fine!” She waved her hands in a dismissive way, though he caught her slight disappointment.

He couldn’t stay for much longer, it was a miracle he hadn’t been caught with how many close calls he’d had. That glitch with the system earlier was his saviour, but he’d taken far too many risks. Lingering around and testing his luck like this would only have consequences.

Gregory frowned. “Yeah… I’m supposed to meet up with my mom at eight.” He took a quick glance to the clock. Six thirty. That gave them enough time to play some more games and explore, surely.

Cassie’s eyes lit up. “Really? Maybe I can get her number, and give it to my dad so we can hang out again!”

“No! Um—She doesn’t have a phone right now. Sorry. Money’s…tight.” He blurted out. Already swallowing down a wave of guilt as Cassie’s face dimmed.

“Oh. Uh, that’s fine! I get it. We can figure something else out!” She nodded, smiling again.

As she turned back to her food, something caught Gregory’s eye. A camera in the corner of the room. It’s red light blinked, steady, watching. Reminiscent of the bots eyes.

His throat tightened. The blinking red dot almost felt like it was aimed straight at him.

——

The pair finished eating, Gregory forcing the rest of his taco down his throat even though his appetite had vanished half-way through. He knew he’d regret not finishing it, so he swallowed it down.

Fazer Blast had to be one of his favourite attractions out of all of them, Roxy Raceway was a close second, though. Monty was his favourite animatronic, but mini-golf sounded super boring to him. He won almost every round, his shooting skills going undefeated. After, they ended up wandering around the Pizzaplex for a bit before he followed Cassie up to the third floor where the Faz-Cade was.

Like everything else in the Pizzaplex, it was massive. A blur of flashing lights, electronic music, and laughter echoing off the walls. But what really caught his attention were the strange holes carved into each wall—even the ceiling—each one glowing with bands of purple LED light.

Gregory leaned toward one, peering into the darkness. “What are these for?”

“So the DJ can move around without crushing everybody.” Cassie stated simply.

Gregory swore he died a little on the inside when she said that.

There was a large selection of arcade games, which were both scattered loosely around and bunched together in certain places. Cassie led him to the most popular games, stretching her arm out dramatically in front of her.

“Here we are! Hangry Fredbear and Gear Racer are my favourite’s.” She pointed to each one, gesturing him to follow her to Hangry Fredbear.

While he was having fun, a lot of fun, he still felt that paranoid doubt lingering in his head. The kind that had him sweating whenever a worker walked by, or flinching when he made eye contact with another blinking camera.

it was a simple game, Hangry Fredbear was. Where you had Fredbear—whoever that was—eat as many cakes and pizzas as possible, before the kids got to them first. Gregory watched her play for a while, her high score slotting in third place before she stopped.

She cheered, pumping a fist in the air as she entered the letters; C-A-S, before turning to him. “Awesome, right?”

Gregory nodded, and smiled. “Yeah! And you even got into the top three!” He raised his hand for a high-five, wincing when she smacked it hard.

“Alright, which game do you wanna try out?” She asked. Gregory looked around, scanning for anything that caught his eye.

He wandered a little further into the room, Cassie’s footsteps behind him. Before a single, isolated game caught his attention. The high scores were all drastically low.

It must be pretty hard if nobody can get a good score.

“Oh, Glitch Maze? That one’s so bad! Nobody can beat it, it’s practically rigged with how impossible it is.” Cassie said, shaking her head.

Gregory’s face broke out in a wide, toothy grin. “Challenge accepted.”

He heard Cassie laugh, slightly disbelieving, but she still followed. “You must be a pro at arcade games to be so confident!”

Up close, the machine looked different than all the others—almost wrong. Its screen and outer walls were nearly completely black and white, save for the title coloured in a startling bright green. The harsh contrast made it seem older, colder, lonelier than all the other games.

Gregory turned to her with a smirk. “Actually, I’ve never played arcade games before.”

He faced the machine again, ignoring her astonished gasp.

The start screen flickered as Gregory grabbed the joystick, a soft static buzz crawling under the techno music playing. A little character blinked on the screen.

The small, square headed figure was surrounded by green walls that pulsed. Almost like it was the heartbeat of the game.

“Wow.” Cassie muttered, arms crossed. “Looks like it’s about to explode.”

“Then I better finish it before it does.” Gregory snickered, and pressed start.

The game originally seemed simple enough: reach the glowing exit before the timer ran out. But every time he got close, the walls rearranged themselves. Sometimes the exit even flickered out entirely.

“That’s so unfair!” Cassie shouted over the loud music. “How are you supposed to win?”

Gregory leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing. “You have to think like the maze.”

“What? What does that even mean?”

His hands moved fast, almost too fast. He weaved through the shifting maze, predicting its turns before they even appeared. The music slowly began to distort, the catchy tune warping into a deeper chorus.

Finally, after what felt like hours compressed into minutes, the maze opened into a long, empty corridor. The exit pulsed once, then went still. The words LEVEL CLEARED flashed in neon green, before glitching and for a split second it was a deep purple.

Cassie whooped. “You actually did it! Nobody’s ever beat the first level!”

Gregory giggled, throwing an arm around her shoulder. A overwhelming sense of happiness washed over him—a warm unfamiliar weight in his chest. He couldn’t help but feel grateful that Cassie was here. It was because of her that he was able to have so much fun. That he was able to feel normal for the first time in years.

A prompt suddenly appeared on the screen; ENTER INITIALS.

Gregory reached for the buttons, before pausing. There were only three spaces for letters.

He eventually typed G-G-Y.

Cassie hummed. “GGY, huh? Sounds cool, like a gamer tag!” She nudged him with her elbow.

He smiled faintly as his name slid to the top of the high score list, the letters flickering before settling, like the game was remembering him.

They kept playing different games after that, Cassie insisted he play Gear Racer with her. He gave a few others a shot, but none of them were as satisfying as Glitch Maze was. Cassie eventually declared it his ‘official favourite game’, and he couldn’t disagree.

Finally, at seven forty five, they left the Faz-Cade laughing wildly and pushing each other around. They ended up getting ice cream to finish the day off with, Cassie getting pistachio and Gregory cookies and cream.

As they headed down the escalator, eating their cold sweet treats, Gregory made a face. “How do you even like that flavour? It’s disgusting!”

Cassie gasped. “What?! It’s the best! I should be the one saying that, cookies and cream is a total sugar bomb!”

“Well at least I’m not eating nut ice cream.” He shot back, pausing dramatically, before they both burst into laughter.

Cassie cackled, and bent over clutching her stomach. “It’s good! Here, try it!” She held the cone toward him.

Gregory leaned back, feigning disgust. “Ew! No wa—“

She stuffed the ice cream into his mouth mid-sentence, sending them both into another laughing fit. He wheezed, almost falling over from how hard he was howling.

He knew that adults and even other kids were giving them dirty looks for how loud they were being, but he didn’t care. He was having fun, and finally had a friend. Nothing was going to ruin that.

“By the way, is it really true that you’ve never played arcade games before?” Cassie asked, her chest still heaving from their laughing.

Gregory nodded. “Yeah, the only game I’ve ever actually played is Mario Kart on the switch.”

The public library a few cities away had a Nintendo switch anyone could play for free, he remembered playing and mastering Mario Kart for hours. He checked out Legend of Zelda, but it wasn’t as good.

Cassie gasped. “Seriously? How are you so good at them then?”

His face burned. He wasn’t used to someone complimenting him so much.

Shrugging, Gregory finished his ice cream. “I dunno, I guess I just really like them.”

She nodded, before snorting loudly after glancing at him. “Um.. you have a little something right there..” She pointed at the corners of his mouth.

He swatted her hand away and huffed, wiping furiously at his mouth as Cassie tried to suppress her laughter.

When they made it to the first floor and neared the exit, Gregory slowed. Reality finally caught up to him. How was he going to get out? Could he just walk through the shutters? What if they needed to check his pass? Would he never see Cassie again after this?

Cassie stopped too, and turned to him. “Actually, I’ll be right back. Stay here, okay?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but she was already running off.

He closed his mouth, and stood awkwardly to the side. Wondering where she went, Gregory squinted through the dwindling crowd, but he couldn’t spot her.

A few minutes passed, and he started to get antsy. His eyes were darting around. There were too many workers, and too many adults. If he stayed much longer someone was bound to approach him.

Gregory eyed the exit, there was nobody guarding it. This could be his one chance to leave without any trouble.

His feet wouldn’t move. He looked to his left, where Cassie ran off to. He shook his head. He wasn’t going to leave his friend. His friend.

He waited patiently, glaring down any adults that looked in his direction. Thankfully he didn’t need to wait for much longer, as Cassie appeared after another few minutes, panting and smiling brightly.

Gregory raised an eyebrow. “Are you…okay?”

“Yeah!” She chirped, before handing him a Freddy walkie-talkie. He blinked down at it.

Cassie had a Roxy walkie talkie in her hand, and an empty box tucked under her arm. It clicked in his head.

Gregory gasped. “Did you get this for us?” He ran his fingers over the smooth, orange paint.

“Yeah! Walkie-talkie’s don’t need phones or Wifi or anything. We can keep in touch this way.” She tilted her head and smiled.

He felt his throat tighten, tears welling up, but he hurriedly blinked them away. “Thank you. I’m sorry you spent so much money on me today.” He couldn’t stop thinking about how she’d paid for everything they got without hesitation.

Cassie pulled him into a tight hug, swaying back and forth. “Don’t apologise! I just put everything on my dad’s tab, he said I was allowed to!” She squeezed him harder, eliciting a breathless cough from him.

“This was the best birthday ever! Thank you, Gregory. Let’s hang out again soon!” She declared happily.

“But you’ve gotta eat more until then, okay?” She continued. Gregory nodded along, his now wet cheek pressed up against her shoulder.

She pulled back slightly and grabbed him by his shoulders, her expression suddenly stern. “I’m being serious, I get worried I’m gonna break you every time we hug.”

He nodded faster. “I promise! I’ll eat more.” She could be scary at times.

She finally seemed satisfied, and reluctantly let him go. Cassie shook her walkie-talkie.

“I’m going to annoy you so much on this. I want you to know that.”

Gregory laughed. “I figured.”

——

It was raining heavily. A constant downpour pooled around his feet. Gregory shivered. He wasn’t expecting the weather to be so bad.

It’d been around an hour since he left the pizzaplex, an hour since he’d left Cassie. He already felt that familiar lonely and cold feeling creeping in. But it was different. Everything was. Now that he had a friend. Cassie.

He ducked into the alleyway he usually camped in, and crouched underneath his makeshift roof—little more than layers of cardboard taped to the wall. His shoes and clothes were soaked through, and the only source of warmth he had came from the thick brown coat wrapped tightly around his frame.

Gregory pulled something out from underneath his coat. The walkie-talkie. Freddy’s cheerful plastic face stared back at him.

He winced as part of his ‘roof’ collapsed, letting the heavy rain trickle in.

Hunching over the device, he shielded it with his trembling body desperately. He wasn’t going to let it break.

Not this. Never this.

His body was freezing cold, but the warm buzz he felt when he thought of his day with Cassie was enough to keep him going.