The alarm died under his hand. He dragged himself out of bed and pulled on something fresh from the laundry as always. He sprayed on cologne out of habit. He had no way of knowing if it made a difference anymore. He prepared himself and grabbed a few illusion discs in case something happened to the other.
On the way into town, he remembered the news article he'd read while walking, about a new and improved Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. He'd even reached out to the man running the pizzeria. It was a quick text; however, the guy said he had to wait for a position.
*A job at Freddy's. Yeah. Real smart, Mike.*
But it was necessary. Fazbear Entertainment always covered up things. And William Afton, his father, the founder of everything terrible in his life, had a way of circling back to places. If he was still out there, Mike needed to track him down before more kids disappeared.
He walked from the treeline down into town. Monday morning rush. People looked tired from getting up early to go to work. Car horns and a bus full of people. People walked past each other like any other day.
What would people think if they saw someone like him? Someone who looked like a zombie. Would they scream and panic, or deny that something like that could exist?
Freddy Fazbear's Pizza stood out like it wasn't associated with corpses. Bright sign. Clean windows. Mike glanced at his watch: 3:15 PM. Peak hours.
Toys. That was the idea.
If they looked like toys, then the kids would love it; after all, what kid doesn't like toys and the parents just like anything that looks friendly and safe enough for their kids.
The place was a lot like the last location. Kids laughing. Parents talking. Mike was observing while making his way in.
He wandered around the place but didn't go anywhere that would get him in trouble. He noticed the other animatronics moving through the building, interacting with kids; it wasn't anything too unnatural.
Closing time crept closer. Everything about the place felt natural, as if it was just another pizzeria. Mike left.
Outside, he walked through town with nowhere urgent to be. That was most days now. Waste time when there was nothing to do, not that he ever had anything to do. Sleep when he felt too bored. Watch other people live lives he no longer could.
Back home, he dropped his bag and collapsed onto the couch, flicking on the TV as the only source of entertainment. Soap operas. Families yelling at each other over pointless things.
Mike had always liked soap operas; it felt oddly relatable.
He fell asleep eventually and had those dreams he had been having for a while now.
He was in his house.
For a moment, he thought he was awake.
Then he heard footsteps.
Behind him stood a man-shaped silhouette, towering and unmistakable. A man in a purple suit stared at him through the darkness like a memory he couldn't escape from. In one hand, the shape of a knife, long, reflective, dripping. Around him, animatronics stood watching; their design seemed different from the ones he was familiar with.
" Come on, Michael, you should have been obedient and followed my instructions. Now you're just getting in my way."
Then the animatronics rushed at him, trying to grab him.
His feet moved before his mind caught up.
Mike ran.
Down the hallway, past doors that shouldn't have been there, past walls that stretched longer with every step. The house warped around him, narrowing, bending until the air itself felt oddly familiar, thick and buzzing like a live wire.
He went through a random door and stumbled forward; his eyes, after focusing, realized where he was.
Fredbear's Family Diner.
Yellow lights flickered overhead. Tables sat crooked, abandoned mid-meal. The stage loomed ahead.
*No. This isn't right. I shouldn't be here.*
On the floor near the stage stood a small figure.
Garrett.
He was still wearing the striped shirt. Still holding Fredbear's hand, only now the plush was strangely different; it was looking at him. Part of Garrett's head was gone, crushed inward, like someone had wanted to give him a big kiss and refused to let go. He swayed on his feet, trying to stand straight, trying to walk.
"Garrett—" Mike's composure broke immediately.
Garrett took a step toward him.
Then another.
"Mike," Garrett said, his voice echoing through the diner.
"It hurts."
Mike staggered backward.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't—"
The stage lights flared.
Metal scraped behind him.
Mike turned—and slammed straight into something solid.
Cold, smooth, and massive.
He looked up.
Circus Baby stood over him, porcelain face cracked just enough to show the machinery beneath. Her eyes were glowing green and focused directly onto him.
"You're a monster just like the rest of us, Michael, so why don't you stay with us?" she asked, calm, curious, almost gentle.
Mike froze.
*Elizabeth.*
The lights started flickering.
Mike ran.
The exits stretched farther away the faster he ran. The walls blurred. Fredbear's stage dissolved into shadow.
Then silence.
The lights cut out all at once.
Ahead of him, something stood in the darkness.
Someone he hadn't seen since the death of his sister.
He shot upright on the couch, trying to think clearly before going to the washroom. He closed the door behind him and, turning on the faucet, he washed his face, if that even does anything.
Mike stared at the mirror for a few moments before using the towel to dry off. He checked his watch: 2:47 PM. It was afternoon already.
Time to head back. He naturally still had things to do. The town was the same as yesterday. Inside the pizzeria, he moved through the crowded place. And there was Jeremy.
An old face in a familiar place. They'd met a few months ago; he used to work as mall security with his brother before getting fired.
"Jeremy?"
Jeremy looked up, startled, then his expression softened into something tired. "Oh hey, Fritz. Didn't expect to see you here."
Fritz is the name Mike has been using for a while now; after all, he was already quite infamous for a certain incident, and his so-called dad owns the place.
"Could say the same." Mike glanced around the busy pizzeria.
Jeremy huffed a weak laugh. "I thought I would grab something to eat. This place was close by." He rubbed his face.
Mike caught the dark circles around his eyes. "You don't look like you're doing too great. Have the past few days really been this rough for you?"
"Not exactly; it's been a rough night," Jeremy said. "Started working here as a security guard. Didn't realize the night would feel this long."
Mike's interest sharpened, though he kept his face neutral. "Night guard? Here?"
"Yeah. Exciting, right?" Jeremy's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Six hours of staring at cameras. I'm also going to have to fix my sleep schedule so I can get some proper sleep."
"They give you any trouble?"
Jeremy's expression flickered, something uncertain passing across his face. "They move around at night. Free-roam mode or whatever. Supposed to be normal." He paused. " Have you heard about their facial recognition apparently it's tied to some kind of criminal database. But they mostly just stare at adults for some apparent reason. With all the stories about the last place, I wouldn't be surprised if these guys were somehow possessed."
"You don't actually believe those stories, do you?"
Jeremy met his eyes for a second. "Who knows? For all we know, they could be, but rumors are just rumors."