Preface
This is my fic and baby it's real rough. I change my mind about the plot direction every 2 minutes and plan as I go. But because it's the only extant version of the story so far, it's also the best by default! Which is what I'm gonna say to myself to soothe my perfectionist anxiety. Thumbs up.
Content warnings for violence, sex, drugs AND rock n' roll! But to be serious, there will be occasional descriptions of gore, harm to children, and domestic abuse. Proceed at your own discretion.Prologue: The Living Dead & his Lover
March '04, Plymouth County, Massachussetts.
“It might make me feel better if you put on the sexy nurse outfit. Y’know, act out a scene where you fuckin’ know what the hell you’re doing?”
Eugene gave Mike a queasy smile from the edge of the bathtub, “If that’s what it takes.”
Mike was standing at the sink, boggling at his own partially decomposed body in the mirror– which, somehow, looked in better condition than it did the day before.
“... This should be more painful and terrifying. I should be dead.” Mike murmured, flatly, “I can’t feel anything. Like if I stop talking, I might slip off again—this time for good. N’ I don’t want to, but it all feels so… Surreal.”
Eugene tried to seem unphased by the sudden shift in tone this conversation had taken. He remembered Mike telling him it was an inherited quirk; the rapid, indecisive way he shuffled between humor and sincerity, to the extent that telling where one ended and the other started was getting too complicated for everyone involved. Eugene knew that in this context, ‘inherited’ meant Mike unintentionally picked up the mannerism from his father, which one could easily extrapolate to mean it was something about himself that pissed him off to no end.
These past few years—well, maybe since the day Eugene met him, really—living in proximity to the Aftons was one batshit thing after another. Mostly tragic things, but always bizarre. He flowed with it. Mike was, after all, the only freak in a hundred mile radius that could even relatively handle him.
“... Mikey?”
He hummed in response.
“I did some sleuthing while you were away.”
“You were stalking me?”
“Forever and always. Anywho, the Funtime Animatronics, Mikey. Freddy, Foxy… Those are clearly Fazbear Entertainment’s exclusive intellectual property. If Afton Robotics LLC. is a separate legal entity, he would’ve needed to request permission to use these assets. Alternatively—and far more likely, given the circumstances—it’s a related enterprise that’s operating off Freddy’s resources without Mr. Emily’s knowledge.”
Mike finally turned away from the mirror to look at Eugene, though he seemed to still be processing what he was trying to say.
“If that’s true, at the very least, your father is in several different precarious legal situations. Which- well, obviously, but disingenuous business practices would be a good ‘first domino’ in the crime trail. It’s simple, it’s believable. It opens the door.”
He grimaced, “It wasn’t just me. Two other technicians, at least- the last night… I don’t know the scale of it, but… Whatever or whoever he’s using to cover this shit up, it’s been working flawlessly for a long time.”
“Complicated lies tend to come apart fast. All you need is the right loose thread. Speaking of which,” Eugene stood up, stretched and touched his shoulder, “Just realized I didn’t tie those stitches off right at all. Hold still.”
Mike groaned.
Chapter One
September '04, Plymouth County, Massachussetts.
The office was a stuffy, boxed-in room with big, heavy doors. Loose wires trailed across the floors, stringing here and there from dusty CRT monitors and flickering light fixtures. Jeremy rolled the chair back from the paper-strewn desk and stood up. He was fairly certain this wasn't the right place.
In the left hall, he could see a young girl quietly reciting something to herself as she walked away. He stumbled out of the office to follow her.
Though she didn’t turn to face him, she did slow for a moment to allow him to trail closer behind her. Her hair was in a tight braid, though it seemed by the various flyaways that whoever did it had only halfway figured out how to style the girl’s coily hair. He recognized this instinctually as his mother’s handiwork.
Charlotte continued reciting the same handful of letters to herself, now louder, as she led him to the dining hall.
“E. T. H. E…”
There was a metallic clunk behind the purple velvet curtain that curved out from the wall. Jeremy fixed his eyes on his sister’s back and followed closer behind her. Her pace became more urgent.
“...M. S. A. V. E....”
The stage was empty. The tables were empty. There was no sound but Charlotte, her footsteps and her letters. There was a door by the side of the stage, slightly ajar. Warm light spilled out with the sound of children laughing.
“T. H. E… M.”
She began to run. The door snapped shut.
“You can’t.” a low voice plainly stated.
Jeremy flinched awake, blearily glancing around the room until his eyes settled on the figure in front of him.
“Oh, shit.” He murmured, wiping some drool from his face with his sleeve.
The man in front of him drew back for a second, then cocked his head and leaned back in, “You’re alive?”
It was difficult to decipher if he was angry, bewildered or both. After taking a negligible gander at the man’s face, Jeremy averted his eyes to the name tag: MIKE S.
“I- I uh, I’m… Sorry?”
“You’re sorry for being alive?”
“Well, yes, but that’s- I don’t know if we should go into that one, uh, yet. I mean I’m sorry for,” Jeremy pointed at the desk, “... Falling asleep.”
“You’re not dead. Are you injured?”
“I was- was uh, I was just tired, I think. We just moved, and-and uh, unpacking and stuff. It’s been… Tiring. It uh… Won’t happen again?”
Mike let out a sharp sigh, dropping his shoulders and letting his head fall back as if he was a deflating balloon animal, “Okay, okay. Alright, sure… Right.”
Jeremy stretched, wincing as his back cracked far too audibly for someone his age. Time. He looked at his bare wrist, then started patting his pockets down for his watch- crumpled fiver in case nobody came to pick him up, wallet, keys and last night’s Taco Bell receipt.
“It’s quarter after.” Mike deadpanned.
He always thought that was the worst way to state time; quarter after, half past and such. It seemed convoluted and, worst of all, uninformative.
“Quarter after what?”
“Six o’clock, smartass. That’s AM.” Mike groaned, “Listen, kid. You work tomorrow night? I’ll come in and show you the ropes.”
Jeremy nodded, “I’ll um, go clock out.”
He wordlessly gathered his things and followed Mike out of the office. The residual adrenaline of the nightmare was beginning to taper away into a mundane, ambient sense of dread. The layout of the building was completely different than he'd expected; it was as though someone ran out of money part way through building a maze and had to turn it into a pizzeria instead. One thing he noticed in particular was the sparing use of doors, something he vaguely recalled being referred to as a “modern” design choice by the hiring manager.
Mike stopped abruptly at the end of the hall, “Nothing happened?”
“Not… Really?”
“Sounds pretty fuckin’ miraculous to me. Especially since Chucky never remembers to lock up her shit.”
Mike slowly approached the parts and service door and nudged it open with his foot. After a moment, he reached inside and flicked on the light.
From over his shoulder, Jeremy could see a few animatronics slumped on the floor, though they were evidently worse for wear.
“Everyone’s accounted for… Alright. ” Mike flicked the light off, shut the door and quickly locked it.
The two continued towards the main room, then through another few hallways and corners until they reached the staff room. Jeremy tried to focus on trivial things on the way, like his coworkers odd, almost shambling gait, and the quiet sound of a music box playing somewhere in the corner.
“Do you need a ride home?” Mike leaned against the door frame as he watched Jeremy fumble with the punch clock, “I don’t technically have to start for another hour or so.”
“It’s fine. My um- my girlfriend should be here by now.”
“Mm, run off then. I’ve got shit to do.”
Chapter Two
From what Jeremy could see from the large glass doors of the entrance, the parking lot appeared to be empty, save for a beat-up muscle car one could assume belonged to Mike.
The sun was just clearing the treeline, illuminating the city’s endless blur of sagging chain link fences, cracked pavement and auto garages in warm, muted tones. There were a lot of trees, he thought, interspersed with residential lots in a way that made him feel as though trapped in a perpetual suburb. Moving here was a mistake. He'd been trying to stifle that particular train of thought, but by now, it had risen to the top of his mind and solidified into a thick, greasy layer.
He pulled out his phone.
WHERE R U
…
NADS
BBY
Jeremy pressed his lips together and waited for a reply. Knowing Nadia, she halfway woke up to turn off her alarm, and forgetting why she set it, went right back to sleep. Still, a sliver of doubt stirred in his chest— what if something happened? What if she got in a car accident?
The door rattled a little as he tried to open it, but didn't budge. It was locked.
A surge of panic shot through him.
Was there a side door? He swore there must’ve been a side door, though he couldn’t remember where. The front entrance would probably be locked until the pizzeria opened at nine.
He would know if Nadia wasn’t doing good- they’ve been best friends for years. She would’ve told him if she wasn’t okay. Right? She’d been staying up late, a lot. Just restless, she said. Although, sometimes girls said things like that when they wanted you to clue in on something. Was she fine? Or was she quote-unquote ‘fine’? And was she quote-unquote ‘fine’ as in ‘I’m mad at you’ or quote-unquote ‘fine’ as in ‘I will be committing suicide this weekend’? His lungs felt tight.
There was a small shuffle from the prize corner.
Jeremy turned to see the animatronic marionette out of its box, staring at him from a distance. It quirked its head to the side.
“I’m sorry.” He said, “I’ve got that uh, panic disorder swag. It’s part of my primal charisma.”
The Marionette continued staring for a moment, before turning and drifting towards the main hallway. It paused by the entrance of the hall and looked back at him.
“Do you… Do you want me to…?”
It motioned limply for him to follow.
“Okay.”
Unlike the other animatronics, the puppet seemed to be carried around by unseen wires, though he wasn't sure exactly how that worked. It all seemed a bit too advanced for a mid-sized business during an economic recession.
Jeremy could hear muffled voices at the end of the hall, from the security office.
“I swear-”
“Come on, doll, it's not that hard to get someone to cover for me.”
“On such short notice? It kind of is. Let's see; Chucky is allergic to social interaction with other human beings,”
“That's true.”
“And Sean is gonna throw an absolute fit if he has to do an actual job.”
“I know, but-”
“Look, I'll figure it out. But you owe me big time, Mikey…”
Jeremy glanced around before approaching the entrance of the office, noticing the Marionette had gone without a trace when he wasn't looking.
Mike was sitting on the desk as a heavyset man with dark skin fussed over a copy of the weekly schedule. He looked well-groomed in the way people with a better salary generally do.
The two looked at him.
“What's up?” Mike asked.
“The entrance was locked.”
“You can open it from the inside. You don't need a key, there's a knob below the handle.”
“Oh. Thanks.” Jeremy gave Mike a visibly trembling thumbs up.
The better-paid man—Eugene S.—glanced at Mike and remarked, “Is he good?”
“He told me nothing happened during his shift, so yeah. I think he's probably just on drugs.”
“Well, tell him not to do drugs on company property. We’ve got policies about that.”
They continued squabbling as if they had forgotten Jeremy was still in the room at all. His cell phone buzzed.
Nadia had replied:
FUCK
SRY TT IM OMW
Jeremy took a breath, “I’m gonna go, now. Also um, FYI, I'm not a druggie. Just neurotic, which is- which is something you can’t legally fire me for… I’m pretty sure.”
He gave them a half-hearted wave before quickly turning and making his way back down to the entrance. A feeling of intense embarrassment gripped him as he walked, eyes on the glossy checkered flooring. The collar of his button-up was kind of tight. His new work shoes weren’t broken in, yet. The whole building had a sort of grating electric hum. He knew instinctively that if anything stopped him on the way out, he would surely have to rip his own skin off then and there.
Nadia affectionately coined the phrase ‘bitch-mode in overdrive’ to describe this particular state.
At the very least, there was a knob underneath the handle of the entrance that unlocked the door. Crisp morning air filled his lungs. Sunlight and birdsong. The low rumble of Nadia’s black sedan.
A song from Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge was, as always, blasting from her stereo as he got in. She grabbed the back of his head and pressed a too-forceful kiss to his cheek, tumbling out apologies that he could only faintly hear over the music.
Jeremy cracked a small smile as the bassline thrummed in his bones.