Chapter Text
[21 June 1994]
It’s been a week since the fire incident and Michael’s mind has been addled with questions since then. Why didn’t he burn alongside the other animatronics? How come he’s still walking and moving after literally confining himself in a burning diner for hours? And how is this molten Freddy bastard appearing in his house? Micheal was sure that he’d witnessed this guy melting into a puddle of iron firsthand.
Micheal stares at the jumble of wires. Save it for the lack of the orange bear head, Molten had looked unscathed, as if it had never been involved in the fire incident in the first place. It seems to be dormant, so Michael approaches it. He kicks it, just to make sure. No response.
“How are you still intact and… why are you in my house?” He muttered loudly. He didn’t expect to get an actual response from the… wires.
It was evident that Micheal had a hard time translating its words as molten Freddy’s voice sounds like a guy talking underwater.
“I don’t know either, night guard. But all i’m asking from you is a shelter.” Molten Freddy started. His voice bubbles in a disgusting way that Michael’s face contorted into disgust. Its one of many colourful eyes blinks at Micheal.
“All the other animatronics that I presumed had been fused with me had left me,” Freddy continues. Well, boo hoo. Micheal crosses his arms, his expression uninterested.
Molten Freddy seems to take notice of this, because he frantically continues “and I’m- I just need a shelter. Please.”
“Why?” Micheal blurts out.
“Ending up in a dumpster like Circus Baby is one of the things I wouldn’t wish upon myself and perhaps I would like to be functional. The only person I know is you and maybe this is one of the ways I can apologise for ruining your life.” Molten freddy confesses. (It was partially true, since Circus Baby’s the one who orchestrated and executed the murder of her own brother.)
Micheal’s face seems to darken despite the bright lighting brought by the celing lamp. “Simply volunteering for physical labour isn’t going to bring back my digestive tract, ennard.” Michael crouches down to meet molten freddy’s responsive bright blue eye. “If that’s all you’d be offering to me, just fuck off.” He finishes with a smile, the corners of his lips twitching in masked rage.
___________________
Annoyingly, molten Freddy did not budge from the backyard of Michael’s house, through sweltering heat and cold rains. Something unique about molten Freddy is how unaffected he is towards water. Then again, maybe that’s how all the Funtimes were built.
Micheal was equally persistant. He would go to his backyard and shoo Molten Freddy with trembling hands. Alas, the animatronic did not budge. (Micheal avoided looking out his window afterwards)
Three days later, he takes the initiative to approach it. With a nicer intention, of course. He wasn’t as vile as his father. Plus, seeing the heap of wires pathetically drenching in the storm last night sparked a sense of empathy in him. And he has his own hypothesis to prove.
He approaches molten Freddy whose eye trails Michael’s steps eerily. “Hey, you’re a fusion of all the Funtime animatronics, right?” Michael asks.
It took a few seconds for the wires to respond. “Hypothetically, yes. But as Ennard, I do have my own entity. I just have the advantage to fuse with other animatronics.”
“Then, was the scooping your doing?”
A heavy silence follows them. Molten- no, ennard was choosing whether to betray his ex-leader or to face the consequences by putting the blame on him.
Well, she isn’t here right now, is she?
“Partially. The idea came from Circus Baby, we only followed her lead as she claimed you as the key of our freedom.” Ennard answers truthfully. He hopes he doesn’t sound like he’s victim-playing.
A pawn. A sickening similarity Micheal holds to his murderer is that both of them were pawns, nothing but an obliging puppet to their respective puppeteers. Micheal bites the innards of his cheeks before continuing.
“Then, you can stay here, I guess.” Michael hastily says before rushing to the door. “You were simply a pawn. Consider yourself half-forgiven.” Ennard didn’t miss the way Michael’s voice trembles and the way his hands trembles at the doorknob.
Circus Baby has once said that trauma is a poison that shapes humans into someone they shouldn’t be, and perhaps this is the first time Ennard has seen its effects on a person.
________
Michael’s foot barely stepped into the house when his legs gave up on him and left him slumping pathetically in front of the doorway. He wonders if Molten Freddy saw him. The makeup he applied had smeared, revealing his disgusting, rotting skin. The stitches on his abdomen burns with a searing pain and his chest tightens, cutting his breaths short to small, panicked gasps. The haunting beeps of the scooping room echoes in his ears and glimpses of red pulsates in his vision.
___________
Ennard’s eyes flickered towards the former nightguard as he mysteriously fell in front of the doorway. It wasn’t a trip, not intentional either. It seemed like the nightguard’s legs had failed to function in the moment or some sort.
With sluggish movements, Ennard makes his way towards the house.
_____________
“Circus baby… no, Elizabeth. I’ve heard you call yourself that in the solitary of your own exhibit.” The red-haired clown turns her huge porcelain-like face towards him. Her chamber was as per usual, desolate. Lonely. Dark. Just like her. The AC whirrs loudly but it becomes nothing more than white noise for residing animatronics.
“You said you’ve experienced trauma before. How… does it feel? Why did you say that it changed you to someone you shouldn’t become?”
The clown was silent for a moment, thinking of the weight of her word choices. “Sometimes, when I’m left all alone, I’d get flashes of my death out of my own volition. I’d hunch over from the sudden reenactment of pain in my stomach from where Circus Baby had clenched me with her claws-“ the clamps of Circus Baby’s body instinctively opens and closes back in a flash. “-or I’d grimace over the haunting warmth of blood that had dribbled down my chin on that day”
Ennard was silent, unsure of if his question had been answered. Circus Baby takes it as a sign to continue,
“After I had died of dehydration and shoved into the role of a leader for God knows how long has this been, I became paranoid of the things I shouldn’t be. I’m scared of confined spaces. Being lonely, cold, empty spaces, and yet here I am, forced to face it all on my own. There are times when my fear gets so overwhelming that my chest tightens and I feel my stationary and now-useless lungs desperately squeezing for air. I find myself gasping and lightheaded and on the verge of passing out. I believe that’s what adults call a ‘panic attack’. “ Now this is an interesting information that would keep ennard pondering about for hours on end.
____________
Looking at the gasping night guard, ennard feels… complicated. He doesn’t know what to name this unusual emotion, but it’s best not to ponder about it now and focus on the night guard.
‘Not even Elizabeth herself knows how to pull herself out of her panic attack, how am I supposed to do this?’
He must’ve recalled what happened in the scooping room, because of Ennard’s sudden appearance. It’s best to not be himself since he’s a huge contributor to that incident.
‘Intriguing. So what do you do when you’re having a… panic attack?’
‘I try to pull myself back to reality. Tell myself that i’m underground. Trapped in a metal casket. Fated to pay the consequences of my curiosity.’
You know what? Screw it.
“Night guard, aren’t you curious as to why the fire had left us both unscathed? I mean- you should go and see Lefty, he’s nothing but a puddle of metal now, but we’re still standing.”
He averts his eyes from the night guard, as if that’s going to help in any way.
The night guard’s phone abruptly emits a lively ringtone. Ennard slithers over to peer at it. It’s a flip phone. The same ones former night guards and technicians used to leave around before they skedaddled away from the underground bunker. But Ennard never actually learnt to use one, so he left the ringtone to repeat itself over and over until it stops on its own.
“You’re shit at this, you know, ennard?” The night guard weakly scoffs. The tremble in his voice was still evident.
“Well, I’m sorry. I’m programmed for kids. Not for psychiatric uses.” Ennard replies and that earns a chuckle from the guard. “Some AI you are. Kids also get panic attacks, just so you know.”
Ennard immediately silenced himself. They do?
The night guard holds out his hand towards Ennard and shifts all his body weight onto the mangled jumble of wires to stand up. “But aren’t toddlers incredibly ignorant and resilient to change? So why should they develop a panic attack?” Ennard silently whispers to himself.
Micheal slowly makes his way to his office, ennard following suit.
“Trauma-“ there’s that word again. What is trauma really to humans and why does it impact people in such drastic ways? “-could affect kids, too. No matter how ignorant or resilient they may be, trauma embeds deep into their minds. You never know what will trigger their bitter memories and a panic attack.”
“So, what’s your trauma?” Ennard asks, out of pure curiosity. Micheal simply spares a glance. “It’s better to not ask.”
————
They stopped in front of a room with a door labelled ‘office’.
“I need a few hours, ennard. To figure out what to do with you. Do whatever you want right now. Explore my house, install another scooper in my backyard, or you could just stay here. Just don’t enter my office.” Micheal instructs and slams the door shut.
Well, it’s not like Ennard has anything better to do. He sits and waits.
———-
Micheal comes out of the room after awhile. “Jeremy and his dumb imagination. That hag Henry just HAD to agree with Jeremy, doesn’t he?” He mutters under his breath.
Micheal accidentally steps on one of Ennard’s many wires.
“Ah, right. Ennard, you’ll become my test subject.” He abruptly announces. Ennard tilts his many eyeballs. “What? Please elaborate further.”
Micheal scratches his head in annoyance. “How am I supposed to simplify this situation to you… Do you know what happened to William Afton and how it’s connected to the burnt Pizzeria that you happened to be part of?”
“William Afton was a known serial killer around this area. The owner of the Fazbear’s franchise. But he’s dead now, isn’t he? So why would it link to the burnt Pizzeria?” Ennard asked. Micheal creased his forehead.
“Right, you haven’t had a talk with Cassidy. That kid would spill everything to every sentient animatronic she finds. That aside, William’s soul possesses Burntrap-“ oh, Ennard despises that yapper. Old man wouldn’t shut his mouth. “- and I thought it was a brilliant idea to burn the pizzeria to free his soul and perhaps mine too.” The night guard continues, his eyes focused on the grainy patterns of the floor tiles.
“But that old hag was persistant. He somehow had minions going around kidnapping kids for him. I’ve no idea how she’s still intact, despite the fire.”
Ennard stays silent, not knowing what to say at the moment. “What’s the correlation of that to me becoming a test subject, then?”
“Good question. William’s trusted enemy, Henry had an idea of opening a pizzeria with more attention to children’s attraction to attract more families and hopefully, a William Afton. And dumbass Jeremy, my dearest friend, had proposed that the classical animatronics be replaced with human-like humanoids. He said that kids nowadays like human-looking robots. Ugh.”
He points an index finger to Ennard. “So you will be my first ever humanoid. I hope you’re ready for a drastic change in look.”
As if ennard’s current look isn’t a drastic change compared to his previous appearance.
————
[10 November 1996]
Years pass by in a flash when Micheal turns Ennard back to life. “We scrapped the project because you were too costly and time-consuming.” Micheal’s voice was barely heard, but Ennard would recognise that voice from miles away.
He blinks. The cemented floor of the underground workshop had been replaced by wood patterned tiles. He lifts his head and the white walls were painted a vibrant colour. How long has it been?
He stares at Micheal blankly. Is it Micheal? He doesn’t look like a walking rotting piece of skin. He looked like Micheal back when the animatronics would chastise him for having Eggs Benedict as a name. Pasty white skin, rosy pink cheeks, and brown hair that shines under the white ceiling light. A small black button glows with green light on the former night guard’s shoulder.
“It might take a while for you to get accustomed to your new system. This is actually my first time activating you, what if you malfunction? Oh my gosh… all those money…” Micheal cups his face and started muttering about economics or whatever.
A short guy sitting on top of the computer table of the workshop chuckles. “Malfunction is impossible when the two of us worked our ass off on this. We’re literally JereMike, the high school prodigies of computer science.”
“That was way back but whatever.” Micheal playfully laughs it off.
Ennard’s eyes blinks with a barely audible whirr. Blinking… it doesn’t feel like a chore now. His eyes no longer open and shut with that annoying click and his vision was as clear as it was back in the stuffy underground. He lifts a hand. The skin felt supple, and soft. He clenches his fingers into a fist and uncleches them, relishing in the way parts of his skin tinted pink in areas where his fingers had dug into.
The short guy cranes his head. “Speaking of, he seems pretty awake.”
Micheal stares at the human-like robot. “So… uhh.. how are you feeling?” Micheal’s blue eyes bores into Ennard’s even bluer eyes. “Should…” Ennard pauses, shocked at his own voice. “Should I be feeling anything?”
Shortie walks over to Ennard. “I don’t know. Do you feel anything? Any differences?”
“Lots. Like the way it’s easier for me to move, and this pumping thing in my chest-“
“Heart. To make you seem more of a human.”
“Right. Heart. And… everything just seems so” Ennard pauses to discern his words. His tiny brain is struggling to compute what he’s feeling at the moment. Feelings? He’s- he’s a robot, he’s not supposed to feel, isn’t he?
Right?
He glances towards the two engineers. “different.” He completes his sentence. He could feel his face morphing into an unknown expression, his eyes hesitantly taking in the scenery, the between of his brows creasing, and his lips pulled downwards. The engineers look at him with a blank expression, though a morsel of confusion is evident.
“Alright, we will… leave you here for a while. To get used to your new looks.” The short guy drags Micheal outside
“Watch it, Jer.” Micheal hiss. “The disc isn’t fully developed yet. It’s gonna glitch and-“
“And it’ll break. I know. It’s your 20th prototype disc, i know.” Shortie mumbles as he continues to drag the poor brunette outside.
______
“Now that the idea of human-like animatronics are scrapped, what will be of me?”
Micheal stares at the grey haired robot quizzically. “What?”
Ennard interlocks his fingers, “Will I be sent to the junkyard? Will my body be melted to be used by the brand new animatronics? Will I be sold? What will be of me, night guard?”
Ennard doesn’t know if his face is showing any emotions but he does feel his face changing. Micheal looks conflicted, sorrowful even. “I… haven’t decided yet. Jeremy said it’s up to me to decide your fate. I don’t associate myself with the stupid Fazbear’s shit anymore, so rest assured, you won’t be back in that franchise.” Jeremy? Is that the shorter guy’s name?
And then there was silence. “I’ll think about it later.” And then Micheal walks away. Ennard stares at the cold marble floor, thinking about his future in the junkyard.
“Oh don’t worry about that, I don’t think Mike would discard you. I mean- I wouldn’t if I were him, you costed hundreds and thousands of dollars.” Jeremy pats Ennard’s back as he walks into the doorway.
Ennard watches as Jeremy’s limping figure disappear. “How are you so sure..” he mutters to himself.
____________
Later, Ennard decides to explore the house. He climbs up the stairs surprisingly with ease, and is met with a long hallway.
Ennard looks around the hallway. A recorded conversation is playing in the background, perhaps from a radio or a TV. The hallway is bleak, with peeled sage green wallpaper lined across the walls and a singular wooden drawer with a vintage looking radio leaned against the wall for decoration. Oh, so that’s where the sound came from.
“…is expected another storm this evening, so be careful when going out…” the radio goes on with its weather forecast. A storm… didn’t Circus Baby mentioned that she hated storms?
“I hated storms more than I hate summer. It’s dark, gloomy, and windy. You can’t even play outside and the rain is so loud. Sometimes, the thunder claps and lightning strikes. Those were the scariest times”
Ennard closes his eyes and imagines the dark place he used to serve at, his loud and annoying coworkers, and the times they would group around Circus Baby to hear her talk about the world above, where the sun is painfully bright and the grass can be sharp enough to cause a small cut if you’re careless enough.
He stares back at his newly designed hand. Everything feels so surreal, like a simulator. One moment he’s a pile of moving wires and the next he’s a human-like robot with a beating heart. He flexes his fingers in awe, how much thought was put into designing this?
His eyes, it no longer sees the world in black and white the way it did back when he was an unfinished CBPW animatronic. The world is a refreshing myriad of colours he could barely name. Greens and pinks and blues, they’re now a new concept to him and it intrigues him. He wonders if all the animatronics sees the world this way or if they have black and white vision like his old self.
He runs his hands through the wallpaper on the wall. Textures are also a new thing to him, since he has human-like hands now. Is this the difference between William Afton and Micheal’s designs? The attention to detail never cease to leave Ennard awestruck. He feels the paper-like texture of the wall, how in some areas he could feel the miniscule bumps and dents in the wall, where the wallpaper had poorly covered. He inspects the intricate illustrations of flowers printed on the wall, each steps he takes displays a different flower.
He still walks with a thumping sound, maybe he should fix that problem, but it’s not as loud and clanky as it used to sound. He’s barefooted, so his soft heels cushioned the impact and made the thumping sound softer.
“I don’t know, Jer.” Soft murmurs emerge from the other side of the hallway. Ennard stops dead in his tracks to listen to the conversation.
“Terr- Mike. You can ask for my help, you know.”
A scoff. “I’m not that helpless wimp anymore. I can handle this myself.”
And then a suffocating silence.
“Can you really? It’s the same thing you said after your family left you back when you were 17. Stop acting like you can shoulder everything yourself, Micheal.”
“Fuck off, Jeremy. Shit wouldn’t have happened if you had stopped me back at his party. You and I are both sinful, so don’t go acting like a fucking saint right now.”
Micheal walks into the hallway, face scrunched up in anger. He bumps shoulder with Ennard but is too fixated on his frustrations to notice the silver-haired humanoid.
Ennard watches as Micheal trudge to the other end of the hallway, curious. It doesn’t feel right to think about this, but Ennard wonders what emotions are Micheal experiencing for his face to contort into that. His face seems blank of emotions, but the fury in his eyes and the slight frown of his mouth speaks volumes. Ennard continues his walk.
At the end of the hallway is the living room from where Ennard has first seen Micheal in a ‘panic attack’. It’s still gloomy, but some of the furnitures are new. Jeremy stands in front of the door with his hand on the door handle and his head hung low.
As if detecting Ennard’s presence, Jeremy glances towards the silver-haired. “I misspoke. Too blinded by my desperation. Just- tell him I’m sorry, will you?” Jeremy looks into Ennard’s eyes, and his expression screams regret. Is Micheal a dear person to Jeremy? Jeremy then walks out of the house, and the house has never felt so heavy with tension.
_______________
Rattle
Rattle
Rattle
“Get out of here, Jeremy. I want to be alone.” Micheal shouts. He cups his face in his hand, thinking about what Jeremy had said.
“Stop acting like you can shoulder everything yourself, Micheal.”
He’s wrong, at least that’s what Micheal’s instinct is telling him. Micheal has lived alone with his father’s crimes clawing its way through his life. Nobody was there to lend a helping hand, not that he was courageous enough to reach out for help. Help means attachment, and Micheal knows damn well what happens to people he’s attached to.
He shouldered the deaths of his siblings alone, William acted like his job meant more than his own kin and Micheal will never know if William was just as affected as Micheal was. He faced the bullying and ostracism alone, because no one dared to befriend the son of William Afton. Even after his ‘death’, nobody sought out to Micheal, not even the neighbours which he had helped multiple times before, except for Henry. And of course it was work related. What is Micheal’s value if it weren’t for his father’s company?
But there was a hint of truth in what Jeremy said, though Micheal hates to admit it-
“It’s not Jeremy.”
Oh. It’s Ennard.
Micheal grimaces. Facing his killer is more dreadful than facing his friend whom he had cursed out 10 minutes ago. A change of looks doesn’t change the fact that Ennard took a huge part in his death, nothing will make him forgive that bastard, but will he really have to face this discomfort everyday? Who knows, that robot might’ve adapted to Elizabeth’s manipulative torture and is waiting to kill Micheal later.
Won’t that be funny, though? To be dying twice in the hands of the same mindless robot.
He shakes his head. No, anyone but Ennard.
He needs to find a place to dispose of Ennard ASAP. The doorknob twists with a satisfiying clack as Micheal pulls the door.
For now, he plays along with whatever this guy’s playing. He opens the door slightly and the humanoid’s eyes lights up slightly upon seeing Micheal. What the fuck? Why is he having a damn switch up? Years ago this same motherfucker was taunting him for being an incompetent night guard and now he’s acting like some newly born fool.
“What do you want? Make it quick.”
How did this guy find Micheal’s room anyways? As far as Micheal remembers, he never told Ennard the whereabouts of his room.
“Is your name Micheal?” The silver-haired humanoid asks. Micheal scowls. What’s this, an ice breaking session?
“Yeah. Is that all?”
“Your pal, Jeremy said that he’s sorry. He misspoke out of desperation.” Oh. It’s about Jeremy. Somehow, this half-baked apology pisses Micheal off more than Jeremy’s words during their fight just now.
“Fucking pussy. Can’t even apologise to me himself.” Micheal was about to shut the door, but he saw Ennard’s blue eyes looking at him with curiosity, like an owl eyeing its prey. He shudders.
“Hey, anything else you wanna tell me?”
“Isn’t Jeremy a male? Why are you calling him a female’s reproductive part?” That question definitely caught Micheal off guard. Micheal bites his inner cheeks in an attempt to stiffle his laugh.
He lets the door open a bit more, “How do you know it’s a women’s reproductive part? Do they teach you that in CBPW?” Micheal jokes. He tries to keep the annoyed face on for maximum taunting effect.
Ennard’s eyes stays rigid as he answers. “Yes. We were programmed to answer any children’s curiosities, which includes the sexual reprodu-“
“Okay, I get it. Calling people pussies is just a slang, a swear word of sorts.” Micheal answers. His hand is already on the doorknob, so ready to shut the door on the silver-haired’s face.
“A slang… So I can call you a pussy?”
“You fucking asshole.” Micheal curses before he slams the door hard.
_________________
“Huh?”
Ennard stares at the previously slammed door. Did he say something off? The door opened again, ever so slightly that Ennard could barely get a glimpse of Micheal’s face.
“Hey, uh.. I think we forgot to tell you but you need to recharge everytime you hear the fan in your chest whirring. It’s a sign that you’re overheating AND running out of battery. The recharge port is probably somewhere in the workshop, the place where you woke up in.” micheal babbles before closing the door once more.
O…kay.
Ennard walks back to the workshop, getting distracted by the details in Micheal’s house every 5 seconds. The guppies in a glass vase hiding under a hydrilla plant, newspaper clippings cut, framed, and hung along the walls of the living room, everything seems to pique Ennard’s interest.
Ennard has never been in houses unlike the other rental animatronics of CBPW, but it’s evident that Micheal values cleanliness and organisation. Maybe a little too much. But again, perhaps everyone’s houses looks like this and Ennard was just too used to the burnt pizzeria’s messy interior.
He traces his hands along the rough edges of the walls. The living room’s walls were bleak compared to the hallway. Instead of the colourful wallpaper, the walls in the living room are painted a nostalgic yellowish green, showing off the walls’ imperfections.
(Just imagine him walking all the way down the workshop bc idk what to write here)
Ennard’s hand fumbles around the wall as he finds a light switch to illuminate the pitch black room. Something about the concept of dark, underground workshops spells out ominous to him and he feels dread pooling in his stomach, a silent urge to find the light switch faster.
It’s such a stupid thing for both Jeremy and Micheal to have Ennard’s new body equipped with a mechanical beating heart but not a built in flashlight nor a night vision feature. Ennard huffs in relief as his fingers latches on something that feels like a switch.
The fluorescent lights buzzed with life as it turns on. Ennard cringes with the sudden bright light. A few blinks later, and he can see the workshop clearly now that his vision has adapted to the bright place. Contrary to the neat house upstairs, the workshop is a total mess. Blueprints are scattered haphazardly on one side of the room and metal parts are piled randomly across the room.
The only problem is…
“How does the recharge port look like?”
______________
Micheal couldn’t force himself to sleep. Something feels off, but Micheal couldn’t tell what it is. He’s deadbeat tired from doing those finishing touches on Ennard’s new look and spending all night long making sure there’s not a single fault in Ennard’s code. The conversation with Jeremy and Ennard drained the hell out of him but somehow something is keeping him restless.
What is it?
Micheal turns to his side. He never liked sleeping on his side, he used to have these paranoid thoughts that something will creep behind his back if he sleeps on his side. It’s quite the childish thought, he knows. His eyes linger, finding spots to reminisce.
A slim bookshelf that streches all the way to the ceiling sits quietly on the corner of his room. It was one of the things Micheal brought back from his old house. Mother never used the bookshelf the way it was supposed to be used and it irked Micheal back then. She would stack multiple cosmetics there and they would stay unused until they expire. It was honestly such a waste because those cosmetics costed around 10 to 15 dollars each, which would feed Micheal and his siblings for maybe 2 or 3 days.
Now Micheal feels like a hypocrite because he too, didn’t use the bookshelf the way it was intended to. It became a memoir, a corner where he would stand and stare and grimace.
Micheal stands up and trudges towards the bookshelf. A family picture framed in oak sits on the edge of the bookshelf, right at Micheal’s eye level. Calling it a family picture would be ironic because it was taken a year after Mother left the family. Elizabeth was so small, small enough to be cradled by Evan. His eyes trails to the missing part of the picture, torn and burnt, a spot where William used to fill in.
Micheal scoffs. Him and his animatronics can go fuck themselves.
Wait
Animatronic?
Right! Micheal rushes out of his room. He forgot to tell Ennard where exactly is the recharge port at-
A pause.
Why is he rushing to help his killer? No, let that bastard turn the workshop inside out finding that damn port.
He turns back to his room but his brain nags at him.
‘Help him. It’s the only thing you’re good at, isn’t it? Helping?’
‘Go on, help him.’
‘You’ve helped Henry before despite knowing how bad he is, so why not offer a help? Just once.’
Micheal bites his inner cheeks. Fuck.
____________
Where is it?
The boxes under every single table in the workshop are completely turned upside down, every single drawers are pulled open, yet the recharge port is still not found.
Ennard feels heat rising from his chest to his head and he couldn’t understand if this was a new emotion or just another reminder that his battery life is slowly being drained. Everything feels sickening to him, from the loud fluorescent light on the ceiling to the messy condition of the workshop, and Ennard has this insatiable urge to trash the workshop out of pure frustration.
He lets out a long sigh. Maybe if he puts his mind off the recharge port for a while-
“I left you alone for 10 minutes and my workshop’s a mess.”
Ennard’s head instantly swivels towards the voice. Micheal stands in front of the doorway with his hands crossed over and his gaze judgemental. Ennard stays silent.
After a long staring moment, Micheal huffs and walks towards Ennard. Ennard’s eyes trails after Micheal’s movement as Micheal crouches down and pulls out a large circular object from one of the drawers Ennard had ransacked a few moments ago.
Huh, it wasn’t as small as Ennard had initially thought. The port was probably twice the size of Micheal’s head, and judging from the sound of it dragging on the workshop’s cement floor, it’s heavier than it seems. Micheal sets the port down carefully, as if handling an artifact.
Even if he acts like an unwilling engineer all the time, maybe Micheal cares a lot about his works, more than anyone might think.
(Or he just cares about the worth of his works, ts aint cheap yk)
“You should’ve told me it was over there, would’ve saved so much time.” Ennard blurts
Micheal glares at the silver-haired humanoid. “Is this how the CBPW animatronics act? It’s no wonder why the business fell out after a few years.”
Ennard grits his teeth. (Micheal professional ragebaiter fr)
Micheal hands the circular object to Ennard. “There. Now get the hell out of my workshop, I’m gonna need to clean whatever mess you’ve caused here.” He grumbles.
They glared at each other once again before Ennard leaves the workshop with a slightly louder footstep.
Watching the silver-haired bastard leave the workshop, Micheal scoffs. “Did that motherfucker just stomp at me?”
He glances back at the workshop. Honestly, the mess Ennard has made wasn’t much, the workshop has been an absolute mess since day one. Micheal tucks in each drawers back into their abode, collects the fallen papers and stacks them neatly on a working table, and kicks away any clutters under the table. (Out of sight out of mind ahh Micheal)
He finds one of Jeremy’s many notes under his feet. Intriguing, but there’s no way Micheal would ba able to decipher Jeremy’s absurd handwriting, so he kicks the note under the table. “Must’ve been about the features he wanted to add into Ennard…”
“Okay, get this, a night vision iris with eyes that can serve as flashlights. I’ve already gotten the ideas on how to install it, we just have to b-“
“Jeremy, our budget is absolutely tight. Henry spent every last drop of the company’s remaining profits towards whatever that glam-bot”
“Glamrock.”
“Right, that. And we’re about to run out of money too.”
“Who’s we? I’m still employed and get paid 2000 dollars a month.”
A sigh. “First things first, 2000 dollars isn’t really much when you subtract your daily expenses, rent, taxes, et cetera. And second, what the hell am I supposed to do about the fact that i’m unemployed? A walking, charred corpse isn’t gonna get hired.”
Silence
“Always so ambitious, that guy.”
_____________
The night was silent, tranquil with the soft humming of the recharge port. Micheal eyes Ennard, who’s sitting crisscrossed on the floor adjacent to Micheal.
“This, is how the port looks like when it turns on. You’re gonna have to stand or sit on top of it and you’ll automatically charge. Fancy, I know.” Micheal brags. It was hard enough to come up with a method of charging without cables and stuff, but finding materials for it turns out to be more painstaking and costly. So naturally, Micheal is undoubtedly proud of his and Jeremy’s successful execution.
Ennard’s eyes are glued to the port, is he even listening? Micheal frowns as he continues explaining. Whatever, if he ends up not knowing how to use this shit it’s on him, Micheal won’t explain it again.
____________
Micheal went to bed early for the first time in years. He didn’t drift off to sleep until he was 2 hours into his ceiling-staring session.
He opens his eyes to a view of the stupid Fredbear show playing on the old TV in his old house. He’s sitting on the emerald coloured couch that was supposed to be rotting in the wastes. He doesn’t move, not like he could, and he feels two weights shuffling beside his shoulders.
The show plays on, with Fredbear talking about resolving friendship issues before it worsens, and Micheal hears a sob from his right shoulder. It’s a quiet sob, as if she didn’t want him to notice her crying.
This time, Micheal could move.
He reaches a hand out to ruffle Elizabeth’s hair. He was never good at consolations, none of his siblings are. The sobs became silent for a second before it became louder.
Panicking, Micheal asks.
“Beth? What’s wrong?”
Elizabeth stares at him with guilt-filled eyes, tears leaking down her chins.
It dawned on Micheal that he had never seen her face outside of the worn down family photo for decades. His eyes unconsciously traced her features, scared that this might be the last time he could see his sister’s face up close.
No time for melancholy, Micheal hurriedly wipes the tears in Elizabeth’s eyes. She doesn’t answer for a moment, too caught up in suppressing her sobs.
“hic- I’m sorry bubba…” a sniffle.
“I’m so so so sorry. If i knew it was you..hic-“
The waterworks start again and Micheal watches helplessly. What is she sorry for? He’s supposed to be the one apologising. He couldn’t be there to protect her during her death, he hadn’t acted fast enough when he found out she was missing, and he couldn’t even be mad at William when he found her rotting body in the stomach of William’s stupid robot.
“I wouldn’t have- hic- killed you, bubba” Elizabeth cups her face in her hands.
Dread pools in Micheal’s stomach. So father was right all along, all this time, he thought William’s will was a jest and that both Circus Baby and Scrap Baby’s behaviour was all programmed to rage bait him. He wanted to scream, and shout, and hurtle at Elizabeth but she too is a pawn and a victim.
Micheal gathers his composure. He wraps his arms around Elizabeth and pats her back slowly, and suddenly he feels like 1981, consoling his upset sister in the warm surroundings of the old fashioned living room. If he imagines hard enough, he can hear The Rolling Stones jamming from the nonexistent walkman in his pockets.
“It’s alright, it’s alright, Beth.” He doesn’t know if these words were to comfort him or his sister.
“There’s no use crying over spilt milk, ain't it?”
There’s nothing much to say because Micheal can’t bring himself to forgive Elizabeth, the damage she’s done to him is beyond irreparable, but he can’t hate her either since both of them were mere puppets (and because they’re siblings).
Elizabeth wails her heart out as she curls in onto herself, refusing to embrace her brother out of guilt. Micheal watches her breakdown while he continues patting her back. Elizabeth continues to spew apologies and with passing minutes, wails become sobs, and descends to sniffles.
Elizabeth rests on her brother's arms. Her breaths are slow and her eyelids shut.
His other arm felt heavy as if someone had been leaning on it. Right, Evan. The younger’s eyes were glued to the TV as if ignoring the drama that had happened earlier.
So much to say, yet nothing spews out.
Evan meets Micheal’s eyes.
“You’ve done your best, now rest.”