"Five Nights at Freddy's", its sequel, and all related canon characters are property of Scott Cawthon.

Also features some OCs and my own interpretations of the characters and plot events that may or may not be canon depending on the story of any potential FNAF games in the future... especially considering that this was written prior to FNAF3 and FNAF4. That's what fanfiction is for.

Since this is the chapter where the events of the first Five Nights at Freddy's game takes place, I want to make a disclaimer that I will be modifying some of Phone Guy (Phil)'s dialogue since (a) it will help fit the events of the plot a little better, (b) I don't want to be accused of plagiarism, and (c) nobody likes a copy-paster anyway.

Let the ending begin.

0-0-0- Je l'aime! Je l'aime, et devant la mort même, je répéterai que je l'aime! -0-0-0

Chapter 13: L'amour T'attend, Toréador

April 13, 1992

Flipping over a 'closed' sign to 'open' for the first time had never felt so invigorating. But it was finally Monday, finally 9 am, and at long last, The Mellow Morpho was having its grand opening on a beautiful sunny day.

It had been hard to decide on a property to build off of, but after factoring in price, location, and size... Phil had settled on moving out of the city where he had attended college, and moving back to the city where his property was located... even if the city held a few bad memories for him. But Phil promised himself that he would make good memories here from now on. Especially since this city was also a college town... and Rachel would be attending the university about twenty minutes away.

It had actually baffled Phil when Rachel had told him that she would be attending university here. As valedictorian, it was no surprise that she had been accepted into the best university in the state. However, she had turned it down to attend college here, for... some reason. Granted, the local university was also pretty good... but it didn't have as many credentials or awards or 'Top 20' rankings. Maybe it was for personal reasons? Like it was supposed to be the 'family university' and part of a 'tradition' of attending college there, sort of like in some high school TV dramas... not that he had ever watched those.

Already excited about potential customers, Phil couldn't help but step outside, taking a look around the building. It was constructed out of concrete and had been repainted in a pastel orange color. What really stood out, however, was the large wooden sign secured on the roof. It was cut out in the shape of two butterflies on both ends of the rectangle. The rectangular part was black with white lettering; the butterflies were painted blue with some black and white detailing, giving them the appearance of blue morpho butterflies, true to the name of the shop.

The garden was already serving a variety of customers for free; butterflies of various colors and shapes were drawn in by the milkweed, phlox, asters, Mexican sunflowers, and pentas growing around the facility. Phil remembered how tedious it was to weed out the garden patch with only a single hand. Further out into the garden was a small kiosk, where seeds and potted varieties of all the plants in the garden could be purchased, as well as a few souvenir items like t-shirts and coasters.

He had also managed to hire a small staff of workers, especially since they were mostly college students looking for help paying for their education or rent, as the weekly paycheck was slightly above minimum wage and also came with a voucher for a free drink. Phil trained them in providing good customer service, giving them tips on suggestive selling, helping them practice replying with "my pleasure" rather than "no problem" when they were thanked, and to always thank the customer and invite them back. As an added incentive, any employee complimented by a customer for their services was given a voucher for a free item of food.

The Mellow Morpho didn't draw in too many customers on its first day, aside from a few curious college students. They mostly came for the drinks and the quiet atmosphere to study, but one girl said she would be interested in coming back to buy a plant for when she went back home for the summer - even looping a green piece of yarn she had kept with her around her finger as a reminder.

The first day was expected to be slow, but with fliers around campus, word of mouth, and a billboard on the interstate that lead into town, their business was sure to grow. After closing The Mellow Morpho for the day after sunset, Phil got back into his old Mercury Sable and drove back to the apartment he shared with three other guys.

It was by no means a luxury apartment, but at least it came with a lower rent. The first few months would probably be rough, especially with most of the students returning home for the summer, and there was no telling how much of his money it would take to cover the little bits and pieces not covered by the shop's profits.

After dinner, he spoke with his parents about The Mellow Morpho's first day, watched the news, took a quick shower, and then dressed in a loose shirt and shorts for bed.

"One day down, years to go," Phil commented to the picture of Jeremy on his nightstand with a smile.

He switched off the lights and crawled into bed, murmuring a small 'good night' before closing his eyes.

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August 9, 1992

"... should be inside, right this way."

Phil had been wiping down a table when he overheard Tracie, one of the gardeners, speaking with a customer. Or rather, customers. He had been expecting company. (1)

He hurriedly cast his paper towel into a trashcan, dashing out the front door to meet his guests, but slowed down once he spotted them.

"Ronaldo! Sophia!" he greeted with a grin, before softening the tone of his voice. "... And how are you doing today, Maria?"

The little girl with dark hair in Sophia's arms gave him a tiny smile, before sticking most of her hand in her mouth.

"Come on, silly! You'll make your hands messy," Sophia scolded jokingly, gently lowering Maria's arm. "Almost seven months old... Can you believe it?"

"Time just goes by so fast," Phil marveled, still smiling at Maria.

He couldn't help but wonder if, to his father, it seemed like 'just yesterday' he was the size of Maria. And sometimes it felt like 'just yesterday' he was introducing himself to Ronaldo and Sophia, to Heather... to Jeremy.

"So, Ronaldo, are you looking forward to your first class?" Phil asked.

"Definitely!" he exclaimed. "It's certainly going to feel different, though, being the teacher rather than the student."

"I know you teach Spanish, but remind me again... uh, what level are your students at?"

"There's only two levels, Spanish I and Spanish II, because it's a middle school. I teach mostly Spanish II, but I do have one period for teaching Spanish I."

"Oh, okay! And is everything going okay at the new hospital?" Phil asked Sophia.

"It's pretty nice... I have to admit I preferred the old one, though..." she shrugged and smiled, kissing the top of Maria's head. "With a little hard work and luck, I was able to find another job and a local daycare... No matter how nice the hospital, Maria comes first."

Ronaldo beamed at his daughter, before looking back at Phil.

"So, how's The Mellow Morpho doing? Did you make it through the summer okay?"

Phil's grin changed to a weary smile as he wiped some sweat from his brow.

"Well... with my primary customers gone, uh, I definitely had to chip in a fair share of my personal savings to cover loose ends. But, hey, macaroni and cheese isn't THAT bad! And classes will be starting in about two weeks, so there's bound to be returning students and new ones curious to check this place out. There was even an entomology professor who said he'd put in a word with his students. Go figure, Mellow Morpho and all, am I right?"

"One thing you might consider is charging for parking when football season picks up," Sophia suggested.

"I could, but... I dunno, it seems kind of mean. Well, I won't let the fans take up the parking lot for free... uh, maybe I'll just use the 'parking for paying customers only' policy," Phil thought for a moment. "I wonder what the football culture is like around here."

"Probably bittersweet. That one running back from a year or two ago... what's his name... he was a recruiting success! He was a great person on and off the field... some people were starting to talk about him being a Heisman candidate..." Ronaldo shook his head sadly. "... hard to believe one tackle is all it takes to end a career and change a life."

Phil wiped away a little more sweat, earning a small chuckle from Sophia.

"I agree with what you guys are saying, but maybe we should continue this conversation indoors, where there's shade and ventilation. Not to mention, I would love a nice cold glass of lemonade!" Sophia remarked.

"Lemonade it is!" Phil agreed, as they all walked inside.

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September 6, 1992

When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade.

If only it was that simple.

Phil poured the last of his cereal into his bowl, only getting less than a handful of flakes to fall out. The rest was dust, cascading out as a mix between disintegrated cereal and pure sugar. It really made him wish he could afford milk.

By dipping into his personal money, he was keeping The Mellow Morpho afloat... but it was starting to sink him into debt. The fact that the years were starting to get to his car was also a matter of concern. If he didn't see a sudden boost, he might even have to ask for something that downright terrified him.

A loan.

And Phil just wouldn't have it. Not from his parents, not from a bank. He was going to power through this by taking on a second job.

Just like Jeremy, he thought, smiling bitterly.

And so here he was, tipping the bowl of cereal particles to his lips to eat his entire breakfast in a mouthful, with the classified section sitting in front of him. What he really wanted was a weekend job, maybe as a tutor, or working at the football stadium.

What he got instead was a knot in his stomach, as a familiar face in one ad stared back at him.

Freddy Fazbear's Pizza

Looking for security guard to work the nightshift, 12am - 6am.

Monitor cameras, ensure safety of equipment and animatronic characters.

Phil frowned. This was the reason this town brought back bad memories. Those first five - no, only five among who knows how many children. At least eleven. With John still on the run, he could very well have found a way to add to his body count.

Speaking of bodies, there was one more detail included in the ad that twisted the knot and pulled it tighter.

Not responsible for injury or dismemberment.

Now that Frank was in charge of the company, he had probably pulled out all the stops to seal every loophole, keeping lawsuits away from his money.

However... the hours certainly didn't interfere with when The Mellow Morpho was open. In fact, he could probably change the hours - they didn't see much business between 9 am and 11 am anyway. That would give him a nice chunk of sleep just short of five hours... and he could nap during his lunch break, and sleep a little longer in the evening.

And the numbers on the page seemed to call out to him, he could practically hear the different notes of the beeps the telephone keys made when pressed, playing out in a persuading aria.

"Damn it," Phil muttered, getting up to use the phone.

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September 19, 1992

"Hey, Dan?"

"Hmm?"

"Could you help me with my tie, please?"

Phil stepped closer to him, clad in his brown security uniform, black necktie in his hand. Even after all these years, the uniform hadn't changed.

Dan carefully looped the tie around the collar of Phil's shirt with a slight yawn, considering it was roughly 11 pm. He secured the knot with a gentle tug.

"There... ready to go," Dan declared.

"I'm - oh, wait, hang on - I just need your help for one last thing, I promise."

Phil scurried back into his bedroom and then back out, before showing off the pin in his hand.

"Could you pin this on for me?" Phil requested, smiling gently at the pin. "On the tie, I mean. I... uh... I'd like to think that it'll be my 'good look charm'."

Dan rolled his eyes with a smile, pinning it to the tie.

"Now I'm ready," Phil confirmed.

"Not yet," Dan argued, heading into the kitchen.

He came back out a moment later with a cold can of cola, handing it to Phil.

"... Just in case that coffee starts wearing off."

"Thanks, Dan," Phil replied with a grin, before heading out the door.

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Since it had been seven years since the incident, it was no surprise that the manager of the local Freddy Fazbear's Pizza had changed as well. Only recently, too - Gilbert had only been here for a year.

Unlike the previous manager, Gilbert was actually fairly social, surprisingly laid back and carefree. He had shown him around the restaurant earlier in the afternoon when Phil came in to pick up his uniform, and explained how to work the doors and cameras, but that was it.

That old restaurant was left to rot for quite a while.

He could still remember telling Jeremy that. And it certainly seemed to be the case as he walked through the door, already able to spot a few cobwebs here or there. Gilbert was aware that that could be a health code violation, wasn't he?

He followed this hallway a short distance, until he stepped out into the main dining area. To his right, he could see the stage where Bonnie, Freddy, and Chica entertained the children. Further down, against the wall, he could faintly see the familiar starry purple curtain of Pirates' Cove.

Phil cast one last look over his shoulder back at the animatronics as he went down one of the hallways to the security office, and he could've sworn he saw Bonnie twitch. He shivered and walked faster, the sound of the soles of his shoes click-clock-ing against the tile floor echoing off the dark walls. The certifications and licenses of the pizzeria were pinned to the wall by the security office, as well as a list of rules for the customers to follow.

Really, Gilbert? Don't you think this should be out by the DOOR, where the customers can see?

Phil stepped into the security office - much smaller than the one at the last Freddy's he had worked at. To his right was his desk, with another fan and some assorted paperwork, as well as the security monitors. Whereas the last pizzeria had relied on one monitor, this one had multiple smaller ones, each one with wires trailing up through the ceiling. To his left was his chair, as well as the clock for punching in, the telephone, and what appeared to be some kind of answering machine. On the wall was some kind of meter indicating how much of the building's power remained, since the pizzeria ran on a reserved power supply at night.

It was only a few minutes away from midnight, so he might as well get comfy, Phil figured, setting the can of soda down on the table near the answering machine. He hadn't noticed it before, but the tiny red light near the text reading "New Message" probably indicated that someone had left a phone call. Curious, Phil pressed the 'Play' button.

"Hey, Phil, it's Gilbert. Uh, it's about nine thirty, so we're all done closing up the pizzeria for the night. I realized I forgot to give you the proper greeting according to company policy... but hey, we all make mistakes, and at least I got the chance to correct mine."

He should really have memorized that if it's so important to company policy! Phil mentally chided him. Based on the flat tone of Gilbert's voice, it sounded like he was reading the policy off of a notecard.

"Welcome to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. A magical place for kids and grown-ups alike, where fantasy and fun come to life. Fazbear Entertainment is not responsible for damage to property or person. Upon discovering that damage or death has occurred, a missing person report will be filed within 90 days, or as soon property and premises have been thoroughly cleaned and bleached, and the carpets have been replaced..."

Phil's stomach sank at the word 'death', and the way that Gilbert continued to ramble off things about lawsuits and how loopholes were being filled for almost five minutes didn't help either.

"... At least doors are better than the flashlight and bear mask trick they used prior to all the renovating, and there's fewer animatronics and suits. I think you're probably safer here than you would've been at that place back in the day. So while there's still some risk, we probably won't have another incident like... what's it called... 'The Bite of Eighty-Seven'."

The Bite of 87. They had given a tragedy a nickname befitting a cheesy vampire movie. Phil took in a deep breath and slowly let it fume out of his nose, knowing that getting upset wouldn't help at all.

"It's funny... I don't want this call to last too long in case you're at work. But I also kind of want it to be long enough to get rid of the weird audio on the answering machine. I took it and the tape to a repair shop to test it, figure out what was wrong, and there was nothing on the tape! Yet when I got back to the pizzeria, it started acting up again. Maybe the place is haunted! OOOooooooOOOOHH! Anyways, yeah, I'll let you go. Don't let the audio freak you out. Bye!"

Weird audio?

The tape continued to roll, before the sound warped and distorted, producing... an eerie voice, garbled and deep. Phil couldn't figure out what... 'it' was saying, so he quickly shut off the machine. The clock said 11:59 anyway; it was bound to roll over and let him clock in any second now.

There were fewer animatronics, and he did have physical protection thanks to the doors... but as Phil gently pinched the pin on his tie with a small smile, he knew it was thanks to some extra good luck that he would make it through tonight - and however many other nights - just fine.

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October 18, 1992

Despite the brief drought in customers, The Mellow Morpho was once again spreading its wings as a popular restaurant and shop in the area. Phil's income had increased dramatically, to the point that he was able to eat properly without a side job, and so he had handed in his resignation form earlier in the week and was now spending his last night on the job - training the new security guard, no less!

Much to his surprise, the new guard had beaten him to the location, already seated in the chair.

"Hey, Ned!" Phil greeted, trying to keep his voice low. "It's nice to meet you. How are you feeling tonight?"

Ned did not answer him, nor did he turn around in the chair to face him.

"Ned," Phil repeated, a little louder.

He still did not answer. Phil walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder... Ned's posture felt so rigid.

"I... I know you're nervous... I-I was too, on my first night... but hey, it's Sunday, so the animatronic characters aren't as active as they are the other days of the week, so... lucky you, you got to start on the easiest - "

He had started to turn Ned around in the chair, but Phil's voice caught in his throat when he had turned Ned around to face him. Ned's skin had a ghostly pallor, his body still rigid in the seat, his eyes closed as though he had simply fallen asleep at the job.

"N-Ned! Sh-shit!" Phil hissed between his teeth, reaching out his fingers to check Ned's throat for any sign of life.

The second his fingers made contact, Ned's eyes shot open, staring right back into Phil's eyes, before his mouth opened wide, taking in a desperate gasp of air so deep that Phil could've sworn he was trying to swallow the Earth whole.

"Ned! O-Oh, God, what happened to you?! Say something!"

Ned took in a few more gasps of air before he started retching and gagging. Some... liquid... poured out of Ned's mouth. Or was it solid material? Either way, Phil wasn't willing to touch it. Tar... that was what it resembled. He wasn't even vomiting it up, it just kept rolling out of his mouth... and now out of his eye sockets.

"Ned!"

Ned's mouth moved, trying to speak to Phil... what would possibly be his last words... but all Phil could hear was that same deep, garbled voice. Phil picked up the phone, terrified, dialing a number for help and listening to the ringing on the other side.

Ringing, ringing...

Until Phil lifted his head from the kitchen table, now aware that the ringing wasn't coming from his nightmare. It was the phone in the kitchen. He hurried to pick it up.

"Hello, hello?"

"Hello, hello, Phillip!"

"Oh! Hi, Dad, what's up?"

"Well, the weekend is coming up... and I haven't seen you in a while. And I know you're busy with your new business, so... I was wondering if you wouldn't mind if your mother and I came by to visit The Mellow Morpho, and maybe we'd go out for dinner?"

"O-Oh! Yeah, yeah, that sounds great! Um... what day would be best for you?"

"Well, Yoko made an earlier arrangement with a friend for Sunday, so... I'd have to say Saturday would be the best option."

"Saturday!" Phil exclaimed, his voice cracking slightly. "Oh, uh, that sounds great! Do you remember how to get there?"

"I remember. I look forward to seeing you soon, Phillip. We love you."

"I love you guys too. I-I love you a lot. See you then."

"Bye."

"Bye."

He hung up the phone and let out a heavy sigh. There had been a few nights with close calls with the animatronics, which had given him an occasional cut or bruise, but... what if something went really wrong? Especially since Saturday was the day the animatronics were most active. And if his parents knew about what was going on, with his business still having trouble making ends, as well as being thrust into this dangerous job, he would be worried sick.

He'd just have to be extra careful, Phil reminded himself, as he opened the cabinet for another mac and cheese dinner that night.

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October 24th, 1992

The familar deep "bearitone" voice of Freddy echoed off the halls as he laughed, just outside Phil's door. Over the past month, he had picked up on the pattern of Freddy laughing when he moved.

He hated the waiting, wondering when Freddy would leave, as every few minutes the meter on the wall behind him indicated the remaining power had dropped by another one percent. He could check the camera, to see if Freddy was still out in the corner, but -

The cameras.

OH GOD, THE CAMERA.

Phil turned on the monitor for Pirate's Cove, a horrified gasp passing his lips as he saw the curtains spread wide open. He shut the monitor off, trying to conserve power, but already out of the corner of his eye, he could spot Foxy's red fur in a blur as he passed the west window.

His hand desperately shot out to hit the door button, only for Foxy to swing his hook at his arm. Phil cried out as the metal point tore a gash down his sleeve and arm as Foxy let out a shrill yell.

He raised his hook and swung at Phil again, as he dodged backwards, his back slamming against the east door. Foxy shrieked again, seeming to alert Freddy, as he could hear the door being pounded on on the opposite side.

Come on, clock, roll over to 6 am! Roll over!

Foxy lunged toward him, jaws first, and Phil dodged to the side, causing Foxy to slam into the door face-first. It looked like something out of a slapstick cartoon; he might've even thought it was funny if it weren't for the fact that Phil could potentially be killed at any second!

Foxy's right hand gripped Phil's shirt, and he struggled to pull away.

"N-no! Please! I don't wanna die!" he begged, trying to wrench the metallic hand off of him. Foxy opened his mouth, lunging forward to bite Phil's only arm, only to stop mid-assault.

Phil let out a small sigh of relief, knowing all too well what time it was. Sure enough, Foxy released his grip and walked out of the security office as though he had simply wandered into the wrong room. Peeking out the east window, he could see the back of Freddy's head as he walked back to the stage.

As his adrenaline started to wear off, Phil became more aware of the stinging pain of his arm. His knees buckled as he delicately rolled back his slightly blood-stained sleeve to examine the wound - it must have been about three or four inches long, slightly diagonal along the side of his arm and almost perfectly centered between his wrist and elbow. Though the length of the cut was concerning, based on the rate he was bleeding, Foxy probably hadn't cut too deeply into his arm. At least he had clipped the side of it, rather than the bottom, where his veins and arteries could have given him a major problem.

Stuff like this was the reason he had written out a will after only his first week at work.

Clocking out, Phil removed the set of keys from his pocket as he walked down the hall, heading to the small arcade area to the right of the animatronic stage. Phil thumbed through the keys until finding the one for the token boxes, before proceeding to unlock one of the skeeball machines and activate its test switch.

After his stressful first week, he had found that having some sort of mindless task helped get his mind off his anxiety - and skeeball was the perfect way to calm him down. Not only did he set goals of trying to beat whatever his high score was... it also brought back good memories.

"... if it makes you feel any better, I believe you. About your dad and everything."

Phil smiled as the balls rolled down the chute and the machine's score display lit up. He took one of the balls in his hand and rolled it up the ramp, though he flinched at the way his sleeve brushed gently against his wound. Despite his injury, the ball still managed to sail into the 40-point loop. He had gotten pretty good at this after a month of practice. Phil picked up the next ball, took a deep breath, and launched it as he planned on how he would deal with his injury.

For starters, even though it would have been his best option, visiting the hospital was out of the question. Despite having insurance, he probably couldn't afford the rest of the medical bill. Phil would just have to bandage this up when he got home. He was pretty sure one of his housemates had a first aid kit in one of their bathrooms anyway. And once he was bandaged up, he'd make sure to wear something with long sleeves so the bandages wouldn't be evident - it was late October, and it had started to get cooler, so his parents wouldn't suspect anything.

Getting through two to four hours with his parents would be a cakewalk compared to spending six hours with deadly animatronics.

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Sam was just a humble college freshman, starting her first weekend as a waitress at The Mellow Morpho. And yet it amazed her how her manager could go from a 26-year-old man to an ecstatic 6-year-old child at the sight of his parents' car pulling up in the lot.

Phil ran out to the car, hugging his mother, and then his father, clad in a white polo shirt and his alumni jacket.

"It's great to see you guys again," Phil commented, beaming at them. "How are you feeling?"

"Old," Yoko teased, her husband chuckling.

Phil's smile softened a little. It was an inescapable truth; his parents' faces had more wrinkles than they did six years ago, their hair was turning grayer, they needed glasses to read and drive, and their movements were slower.

"... Are you alright, Phillip?" Federico asked. "You've just been staring at us."

"Sorry... I-I was so excited I didn't sleep much last night," Phil lied.

"Just last night?" Yoko inquired.

He sighed. Phil was hoping for a chance that one of his parents wouldn't bring up the dark circles that had formed under his eyes since he had started the night shift.

"Well... sometimes I have trouble sleeping... I worry too much about the restaurant," Phil shrugged. "Uh... it's fine, though! Really! I'm just being nervous. I'll get over it soon, it's only been half a year."

"I did have some stress when I started up Fazbear," Federico pointed out. "... But Phil, don't let it get too far out of hand. I know it's important not to rely on sleeping medication, but they really helped me out during a rough patch at the beginning... and after Fazbear was no longer mine."

"Well, speaking of business, how about we have something to drink?" Yoko suggested.

"Absolutely," Phil agreed, leading them inside. "You'll have to give me a second to clock out, so I can join you... I postponed my break until you guys arrived."

He took them to his favorite table in the restaurant - the one with the best view of the garden, before excusing himself to clock out. He got back just in time for Sam to arrive to take their orders.

"I've never had a cherry limeade before... I'll try that, please," Yoko ordered.

"I'd like a raspberry lemonade, please," Federico requested.

"I'll, uh... just have water, please," Phil put in.

As Sam walked off, his parents admired the view outside.

"... What kind of flowers grow in your garden?" Yoko asked.

"Oh, um, I had to do a little research at the library, but I picked out a lot of stuff that attracts butterflies. Uh, we've got pentas, asters, phlox, milkweed... uh, I can show you around after we get our drinks."

"This is such a lovely concept... this is just an ordinary weekend, but it feels like I might as well be on vacation!" Federico complimented. "What gave you the idea?"

Phil smiled gently.

"Jeremy. Although, uh, Rachel - his sister - probably deserves some credit too. For one of our dates, I took Jeremy out to the museum, because they were allowing students to visit their butterfly garden for free. It usually cost a few dollars otherwise. So, uh, we went out and admired the flowers and butterflies. Although, that had university funding behind it, so the museum was able to create a more controlled environment, allowing them to grow a variety of plants, including some from around the world, and so they were able to keep like sixty-something different butterfly species. The Mellow Morpho mostly gets monarchs, zebra longwings, swallowtails... pretty common butterfly species native to the area. Jeremy and I often visited a cafe in town called the Wizard's Brew. And on one occasion, Rachel was in town, because her boyfriend at the time was touring the local university thinking about recruiting him - he's a football player. And the three of us talked about cafes, biology, and gardens... and at some point, the name 'Mellow Morpho' came up. And now, five years later, here we are."

Phil went quiet, looking out the window.

"... I'm sure Jeremy would've loved it," Yoko commented, her voice soft and comforting.

"Yeah," Phil agreed. "I'm not grieving anymore, but... sometimes it still hurts to think about it."

He looked over in time to see Sam struggling to carry their tray of drinks.

"Do you need help, Sam?" Phil asked.

"I-I think I got it..." her voiced wavered. "It's just a little... uncomfortable on my shoulder... if I just..."

She tried shifting the tray forward... only for it to lean too far. Yoko let out a small cry as the tray dipped down and the drinks started to slide off. Phil managed to grab the low end of the tray, trying to set the balance right, but the impact of his hand hitting the bottom of the tray caused the glasses to shake violently, tipping over -

Sending lemonade, limeade, and water down his arm, and soaking his sleeve. Phil recoiled with a cry, holding his arm close to his body, as he hissed between his teeth from the pain, trying to act professionally and not curse.

"Phillip! Are you alright? What's wrong with your arm?" Federico asked, starting to reach out a hand to pull down his sleeve.

Phil drew back sharply, staring back at his father like a deer in headlights.

"Nothing! N-nothing! S-Sam, it's okay, don't cry... I'll grab some towels and help - " he cut off as he winced. " - j-just let me run to the bathroom, I-I can't take this...!"

He darted into the bathroom, slipping the opening of his sleeve over one of the handles of the sink, and tugging his arm so that the handle would pull his sleeve down. Unfortunately, this meant his citrus-soaked sleeve dug into his bandaged wound as he pulled, and Phil groaned in pain until his sleeve had been pulled down to the elbow. He caught his breath for a second, trying to ignore the stinging pain that practically brought tears to his eyes, before unbandaging his wound by gripping the end of the bandage with his teeth and swiveling his arm. Unwilling to show his wound to his housemates, in case they had tried to call the hospital, he'd had to fasten the bandage to his arm before wrapping it with a piece of masking tape.

Hand shaking, he turned on the faucet, letting the water clean out his gash. Oh, he was already starting to feel much better! Of course... now that his bandages and sleeve were drenched in lemon and lime juices, it would be harder to sit and act naturally... he'd have to slip out of his jacket, submerge the sleeve in water until the acidity had been neutralized, hide the bandages, and just let his wound sit open underneath it. It could work, as long as nobody stepped into the bathroom for the next few minutes.

"Phillip, are you in - " Federico started to say as he opened the door, but froze, Phillip's arm dead-center in his gaze.

"D-Dad..."

"Phillip, your arm - " Federico stepped closer to him, still shocked by what he had seen.

"It's okay, I can explain - " Phil tried to reassure him.

"How did this happen? You didn't..."

"No! No. I-It's not like that..." Phil stammered, letting the water run over his arm some more.

"Then how?" Federico asked, his brows furrowed. "My god, why didn't you go to the hospital?"

And with that question, he was trapped. There was no use trying to lie now. He turned off the water so he could properly speak.

"... I couldn't afford a trip to the hospital," Phil admitted quietly, lowering his head.

"You couldn't?" Federico asked. "But why not? Your business..."

"The Mellow Morpho has been having trouble making ends meet, so I've had to use some of my personal money to help cover the losses. And when my personal money started running low... I had to take on another job," Phil explained, his mouth feeling dry. "... At night."

Federico went silent, shaking his head, staring back at his son.

"I knew this city was... but surely... surely you didn't..."

"... I'm sorry, Dad."

"Resign," his father demanded sternly. "Tomorrow. I want you out of there. I might not be CEO anymore, but I'm well aware of the changes that were made to the safety policy, and I know they have to have been put there for a reason. I'm NOT going to lose you."

"But, Dad, if I don't have a job - "

"I'm still a businessman... I might not be raking in millions of dollars, but I can still afford to send some money your way. I want The Mellow Morpho to be your future, not Freddy Fazbear. Even if you love the old characters like Foxy."

"I, uh..." Phil laughed nervously, looking down at his arm. "... I don't really know if I can call Foxy my favorite anymore."

"Just... please. Resign. I'm sure the company gives you sick days... make sure you use them before you leave, maybe if there are nights that are harder than others."

"Oh, there are," Phil huffed. "Saturdays are the worst, if you couldn't already tell."

"... But you'll resign?"

"I'll do it," Phil agreed. "I... did kind of miss getting seven or eight consecutive hours of sleep, heh."

His father leaned forward, embracing him.

"Not as much as your mother and I would miss you," Federico stated, gently tightening his embrace. "Now then... I know you were looking forward to spending time with us today... but we can have another rendezvous in the future. I think we should focus on getting that arm properly stitched up."

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October 25, 1992

"What? Resigning?" Gilbert whined. "But you were doing such a great job!"

"I'm sorry," Phil replied, doing his best to keep a firm tone. "But considering how this is affecting my sleep and my performance at my other job, I think it's for the best that I resign."

"Alright... lemme just take a look at the calendar," Gilbert grumbled, lifting the current page of the wall calendar in his office to examine the one for November. "... It takes a minimum of two weeks to process a resignation so... your last day will be November 8th, which is also a Sunday."

"That long?" Phil asked.

"Look, I don't write the terms and conditions of the job. Two weeks. Not only for paperwork and paychecks, but it also gives the company time to put out ads to hire a new worker," Gilbert shrugged. "Life isn't fair, you know?"

"Alright... I think I can make it," Phil relented, glancing at his arm - even though the sleeve of his uniform concealed it, his wound had been properly stitched yesterday.

"Sir... would you mind if I asked one last question before I left for the day?"

"No, go ahead."

"Just curious... uh... does someone named 'Ned' work here?" Phil asked.

Gilbert's usual nonchalant demeanor disappeared, as he glared defensively at Phil.

"No," he answered, swiftly and defiantly.

"... Oh," Phil replied timidly. "L-like I said, just curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat, and you don't want to be a cat," Gilbert argued.

"N-no, sir... I'll just go now. Take care."

Nightmares being bad omens were the sort of thing you would expect from a movie, but Gilbert's reaction to 'Ned' had certainly left Phil rattled. But that was nothing compared to the worry he had for the night guards who would come after him - and the ones before him - who would be signing a contract for their deaths. There was no telling how many people would come to this job, only to potentially "go missing". But as bad as he felt, he had to put his safety first - the guards after him would just be strangers, after all. The only person in town he had a personal connection to was Rachel, and she was too busy with college to ever apply for this job.

As long as he was safe... no random guard's fate could guilt him into staying.

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"Two weeks?" Federico asked with a groan. "... I don't suppose they give you two weeks' worth of sick days, do they?"

"I'm afraid not," Phil replied, gently plucking at the telephone cord. "The policy gives you four days without repercussions. The fifth day, you have to discuss the circumstances with the manager, the sixth day gives you a week's suspension, and a seventh day is grounds for termination."

"That's for a six month period and not a year, right? That would be an awful attendance policy."

"It sure would," Phil agreed. "But, um... I don't really plan on taking a whole week off. Or six days. Or even just five. I dunno, if I have to get another job to keep The Mellow Morpho on its feet, I don't think bad attendance would look good on my resume."

"That's a fair point. So, what will you do with your four days off? I think you said Fridays and Saturdays were the roughest days while we were at the hospital... maybe take both Fridays and both Saturdays off?"

Phil let out a small sigh.

"I know it would be safer, but... I just can't do it. Putting in new guards on the toughest nights? They'd never stand a chance. I know I should just 'put the guilt behind me', but they need a fair chance! I was lucky that I started on the easiest night."

"You have a point. So, what's your plan?"

"I think I'll call out sick for four days in a row. A mild case of the flu? Or maybe taking time off to grieve a loss. I would skip... Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday of my final week, so I would come in on Sunday for an easy final day. Wednesdays and Thursdays aren't easy, but they're not as bad as Friday and Saturday. The new guard would at least have a chance."

Phil smiled, even though his father couldn't see him.

"This week will be my last Friday and Saturday... I'm sure I can make it. Believe in me, okay, Dad?"

"I believe in you, Phillip. I always have. Now get some rest before your shift starts. We love you."

"I love you guys, too."

With that, he hung up the phone and went to get some rest before the Monday shift.

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November 3, 1992

Bonnie and Chica were probably both outside his doors, waiting for the final 2% of the power to drain. Keyword being probably. Phil didn't dare turn on the doorlights, lest it potentially drain the last of his electricity. Despite the circumstances, Phil wore a smile on his face.

After all, he loved it when the clock finally changed from 5:59 to 6:00.

He let out an exasperated sigh, listening to Bonnie and Chica's retreating footsteps, before throwing his arm into the air with an excited yell. FINALLY! Finally, he was done being a night guard. He might not have gotten any new wounds, but after a particularly stressful Saturday, he was SO READY for this job to finally come to an end.

He clocked out quickly, spinning the key ring around his finger, before treating himself to one final game of skeeball.

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Only two hours later, Phil was back in the pizzeria - having left his wallet there on accident. He was surprised, however, to find that there was a car already parked out front - and that the door was indeed unlocked. Freddy Fazbear's Pizza wasn't supposed to open until about noon... was this Gilbert's car? And if so, why had he come here so early?

Phil shrugged it off, walking inside, not even looking at the animatronics as he walked right over to the skeeball machines. He froze.

His wallet was no longer resting on the machine he had been using.

"Okay, don't panic... it's probably around here somewhere..." he assured himself quietly, checking the floor near the machines.

Still nothing. He cast a glance over to Pirate's Cove; after his injury from Foxy, Gilbert had deactivated the animatronic's functions during the day time, closing the curtains on Foxy's small stage and even putting up an 'Out of Order' sign. Surely he wasn't a true pirate and actually stealing other people's loot...?

Crack!

Phil squeaked, jumping slightly, at the sound of something colliding with the laminated glass door. Was it a bird?

Crack!

Apparently not. Someone, probably some punk in middle school, was intent on creating a ruckus. Phil frowned, heading over to the door, surprised when he realized who was outside.

The guy outside wasn't a middle schooler at all; if anything, he looked more like a college student. He was a muscular African American, a few feet away from the door, seated in a wheelchair with something in his hand - probably whatever he had been throwing. Phil opened the door.

"Hey, uh, would you mind not doing that?" he requested.

"If I could avoid doing it, I would," the young man retorted, flipping a quarter - he had been holding coins, apparently. "... but you don't got a ramp for me to get to the door."

"... Oh," Phil went quiet, instantly feeling embarrassed. "... Sorry about that. Uh... I'll see if I can find something to use as a makeshift ramp, okay? Be right back!"

This building didn't have a handicap ramp? The Americans with Disabilities Act was enacted two years ago, for goodness sake! Phil huffed, hurrying across the dining area to the backstage section. A piece of plywood was sitting against the wall - would that be strong enough? It was worth a shot.

He struggled a little, carrying it under one arm all the way, including walking backwards out the door. But he finally made it outside, lowering it so that it created an angular ramp for Mike.

"Uh... I'm sorry about the building not being... you know, accessible."

"You're not the one who built it, don't apologize," the other guy shrugged it off. "Just keep some weight on the top of the board so I can get up there."

Phil kept his feet on the board, while the other guy propelled himself up the ramp. His upper arm strength was impressive.

"Thanks," he commented, starting to hold out his right hand, before switching to his left to shake. "The name's Mike, by the way."

"Oh, uh, I'm Phil. Nice to meet you," he replied, shaking hands with Mike. "Uh, let me get the door for you."

He seemed to have brightened in mood a little, now that he had gotten past that obstacle. Mike seemed like the kind of guy who'd be easy to warm up to, despite his frosty blue eyes. His eyes were really quite striking... Phil could've sworn he had seen Mike somewhere before, he just couldn't recall where. Was he a regular at The Mellow Morpho, perhaps?

Regardless, he was glad Mike hadn't commented on how sweaty his palms were... he had just pieced together that Gilbert had probably come in early for a reason, and Mike was probably here for a job interview. HIS job, most likely.

"Which way to the manager's office?" Mike asked, as he wheeled himself into the dining area.

"Uh, just take one of those halls down there," Phil explained, pointing out the entrances to the west and east halls. "The security office doubles as the management office... even though I don't think it's a good idea. Also, let Gilbert - that's the manager - know about the issue with the ramp."

"Yeah, I do have a portable ramp. I keep it in the trunk of my car, or sometimes my girlfriend's car. But I chose to come by bus... she's got a big exam today, and I wanted her to sleep in."

Oh, God... he could feel his heart breaking. Phil needed to get away.

"I-I'm going to run to the restroom... you go ahead and speak with Gilbert."

They went their separate ways, with Phil splashing some water on his face from the faucet as soon as he ducked into the men's restroom. He looked up in the mirror at himself... twenty-six years old, but he honestly looked ten years older with the dark circles under his eyes. For a brief moment, he pictured Mike, looking up at his own reflection, dark circles under his eyes -

No. No, just look for his wallet and leave. He checked each of the stalls, even peering into the toilets - thank goodness they were clean - but there was still no trace of his wallet.

Wait, duh! Gilbert! He probably was holding onto it, like a lost-and-found for the employees. He ambled down through the dining area and down through the left hall, when he heard Gilbert's voice.

"... believe you're really THE Mike Schmidt! Why would you ever work at a place like this?!"

Mike Schmidt. NOW he remembered - the famous running back, having a great career... until a particularly nasty tackle permanently injured him, paralyzing him from the waist down. Phil must have seen him on television at some point, and that was why he looked so familiar.

"Well, like a lot of football players, I was expecting to make football my career. Of course, going to college means you have to get a degree, and they push for you to take the easy stuff so you can focus on football. So, naturally, I got a degree in something meaningless to the real world," Mike answered. "I couldn't get a job - or at least, a job I liked - and that just added to the misery I was already dealing with after I was injured. You can't imagine what it's like to be told you're never going to walk again."

"What about the donors?" Gilbert asked. "I mean, you were a REALLY popular player, people must have been donating money to help you out."

"Yeah, but eventually the donations stopped. Once there was some great new talent on the field, they turned to give their money to the school again. I've got money to pay for medical bills and even a good portion of college tuition, since I'm planning to get a degree in something I like."

"What are you going to study? I hear there's promise in the computer industry," Gilbert remarked.

"English literature," Mike stated. "I loved reading as a kid, and I've had a lot more free time for reading for the past few years. I know everyone thinks reading and lit are the 'girl subjects', but I don't care, I love it. It's kind of funny, though... my girlfriend's the science and math one. She's majoring in chemistry... pretty hardcore stuff. She was my high school sweetheart for a little while... I really regretted breaking up with her, but it was for the best at the time. We wound up meeting when she became my tutor for math way back then... can you believe it?"

Phil couldn't help but smile at the touching story. Yes, he knew that he should go in there and ask for his wallet, but his feet wouldn't move for some reason.

"Ah, a girl in your life!" Gilbert's tone turned mischievous. "... I don't suppose you took on this job to save up for an engagement ring, did you?"

"No," Mike answered bluntly. "... I... I used some of my donation money to buy one, though. I was going to propose last Christmas, but she had a really rough year... she lost a family member. She's doing better, though... I plan to propose this Christmas."

"... Oh! Sounds great! You must be excited!" Gilbert exclaimed, though his voice had turned slightly nervous.

Phil didn't blame him, knowing the implications of what could happen on the job.

He supposed he could wait to pick up his wallet, so Gilbert and Mike could have their interview in peace. Phil was about to leave, about to let them continue their conversation in private, about to move on with his life... had Mike not commented further.

"I want to be there for her, always. To make her happy. I've lost loved ones too, but like... they were my grandparents. They were old, but they had gotten to live their lives... that's way different from losing your older brother."

"Rachel?!" Phil exclaimed, his face paling.

He could hear movement in the office, and sure enough, Gilbert poked his head out the doorway.

"Phil! Oh, you must've come back to get your wallet. Let me grab that for you."

"Hey," Mike raised his voice, since leaving the room just to chat would be needless effort. "You know Rachel Fitzgerald?"

"Yeah..." Phil replied, even though he couldn't see Mike. "She's a friend. I was... friends with her older brother."

Gilbert stepped out into the hallway, Phil's wallet in his hand.

"Here you go, Phil!"

Phil didn't move, he couldn't move, he wanted to warn Mike but it felt like opening his mouth would just make him scream. Gilbert grabbed Phil's hand and placed the wallet in it.

"Here you go, Phil," he restated, a little more sternly. "With all due respect... I think some privacy is in order for our job interview."

Phil silently tucked the wallet into his pocket, his face void of emotion, as he turned and walked down the hallway. As he departed, he could still hear traces of Gilbert and Mike talking.

"Oh, yeah... I guess we were having an interview. Sorry I rambled. Should I tell you my experience?"

"Nah, you seem like a nice young man, capable of learning new stuff... you're the only person who's applied to the job, so... what the heck, consider yourself hired!"

How did someone so irresponsible ever end up as a manager? HOW?! Phil clenched his fist, shoving the door open to step outside.

HOW? He thought, as he drove back to the apartment to get some rest. Phil found he was too stressed out to properly rest, though. He prepared his usual brunch, macaroni and cheese, as his mind wandered back to the interview.

Mike was clearly physically fit. He could probably hold out for a little while against a single animatronic if he was attacked. But if it pulled him out of his wheelchair... or if there was more than one... he was a goner. Heck, most - if not all - of the guards before him were probably able-bodied, but they still wound up being victims.

If only he had Rachel or Mike's phone number! With Rachel going to college, and with Phil moving into this new apartment, they had unfortunately lost contact with each other... and even though she had stopped by The Mellow Morpho a few times, they hadn't exchanged numbers - it would've looked unprofessional, after all.

He drained the pasta and stirred the cheese powder in, his eyes wandering over to the phone. He was one phone call - and four sick days - away from freedom. It was practically within his grasp.

He was slow to eat his lunch, to the point that his mac and cheese cooled to room temperature and The Mellow Morpho had technically opened its doors for the day - he had hired an assistant manager back in early October in case of a really bad day that kept him from coming in.

So, great, he was late for work and he had a heavy decision lingering in his mind. His gaze kept wandering back to the phone.

Just say you're sick and it's all over.

Phil took in a deep breath and stood up, silently walking over to the phone. He picked it up and pressed the buttons, one-by-one, sealing his fate. As soon as he heard the line pick up on the other end, he immediately faked a cough, forcing himself to speak in a hoarse voice.

"Hello... hello... it's Phil. I'm - I'm afraid I'm not feeling well..." he paused to cough again. "... I've got a fever - and... well, I hate to - to say it, but I didn't get my flu shot..."

He coughed again for emphasis.

"... I'm going to go to the - the clinic today... get an evaluation. I'm really scared it's the flu... I-I might need... some time off."

"That's a shame. I'm going to make sure I get my flu shot. You go ahead and rest, Phil."

He smiled weakly.

"Thanks, Gwen. You're... a good assistant manager. I-I'm going... to take a nap now."

"Alright. Sleep well, sir. Bye."

"Bye."

... The Mellow Morpho didn't have a sick day policy yet, but he'd certainly have to think of one. Maybe seven free days off, and then penalties? Or was that too generous? He could think about it later, after he'd gotten some extra sleep.

He mentally apologized to his parents as he rinsed out his bowl of the cheesy residue that couldn't be scraped off by spoon.

... But he just couldn't leave Mike to die. He'd finish his shifts and then let Mike take over on Monday, like he was intended to, when the animatronics were still fairly inactive. After all those phone calls over those years... and those visits to see Jeremy in the final months of his life... just trying to keep her boyfriend alive and keep Rachel from suffering was just about the only thing he could offer to repay her for all those years.

Slowly losing Jeremy had taken its toll on Phil... and he was going to try to do everything he could to make sure Rachel never had to deal with the pain of losing her own boyfriend.

But just giving him an easier shift wasn't enough... surely he could do more. There had to be another way he could help... but how?

He remembered his first nights as a security guard... how he had wondered what it was like for Jeremy during his first nights... when, for so long, he thought he was just calling up 'some random guard', like all the ones who had "gone missing" before him. Phil looked back over at the phone.

That was how.

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November 4, 1992

It was roughly 4:45 am, and Phil had about 25% of his power left... even though he had both doors sealed to keep out Bonnie and Chica. This was as good a time as any.

Phil had tried to figure out the best way to speak to Mike about the whole scenario - yes, he could just outright say 'this job will kill you, go get a new one', but what if Gilbert was curious and listened to the messages? If he didn't give the company some ass-kissing, all his advice might end up getting deleted.

He picked up the phone and dialed the pizzeria's number, waiting for the answering machine to pick up. Phil backed away from the answering machine so that it wouldn't record his voice twice. The easier he was to understand, the better - he didn't want Mike making any mistakes. He heard the tone on the phone - as well as the hum of the answering machine across the room - and he began to speak.

"Hello? Hello, hello?" he could hear the answering machine on the other side of the room, but it didn't seem to be having an "echo" effect on the recording, so he continued speaking. "Uh, I wanted to record some messages for you. Help get you settled in during your first week and all. Uh, I actually worked in that office before you... I'm finishing up my last week now, actually. So, while things may seem overwhelming... I'm here to tell you there's nothing to worry about. You'll do fine. For now, let's just focus on getting you through your first week. Okay?"

Considering how Gilbert had forgotten until the last minute to read him the company policy, he figured he might as well try to recite it back to Mike. See how he liked those 'terms and conditions' in the fine print.

"Okay, so... I should probably start with the introductory greeting from the company that I'm supposed to read... kind of a legal thing and all. 'Welcome to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, a magical place for kids and adults alike. Fazbear Entertainment is not responsible for damage to property or person. Upon discovering that death or damage has occurred, a missing person report will be filed within... 90 days, or as soon as property has been thoroughly cleaned'... and blah, blah, blah."

Might as well throw in some reverse psychology.

"Now, that might sound bad, I know, but there's really nothing to worry about. Yeah, the animatronic characters get a little... quirky at night, but do I blame them? No. If I had to sing the same stupid songs for twenty years and I never got a bath? I'd probably be irritable too."

He moved the receiver to his shoulder and continued talking.

"So, just be aware, the characters do move around at night. They're left in a free-roaming mode at night because their servos lock up if they're turned off for too long, something like that. They used to walk around during the day, actually, but..."

Phil clenched his fist.

"But then there was... The Bite of '87... yeah," he frowned, trying to at least sound sarcastic despite the fact that talking about the incident still hurt. "I-It's amazing that the human body can live without the frontal lobe... you know?"

Jeremy deserved to be remembered as a person... not as an incident. Phil forced himself to smile, as though it would help him speak in a lighter tone again.

"Now, as for your safety... the only real risk to you as a night watchman are the characters. Uh, if they see you after hours, they probably won't recognize you as a person. I-It's kind of a glitch in their systems. They'll most likely see you as an endoskeleton without its costume, and since that's not allowed, they'll... probably forcefully stuff you into a costume. That wouldn't be so bad if the suits themselves weren't stuffed with crossbeams, wires, and other kinds of animatronic devices. Especially around the facial area. So you could imagine how having your head forcefully pressed inside one of those could cause some discomfort... and death... uh, probably the only parts of you that would remain intact would be your eyeballs and teeth... once they pop out the front of the mask."

Phil chuckled a little, trying to keep the mood light, like the sort of guy who underestimates the danger he faces.

"Y-yeah, they don't tell you these things when you sign up. But hey! First day should be a breeze. I'll have another message for you tomorrow. Check those cameras, and close the doors only if it's absolutely necessary. You'll want to conserve power. Alright, good night."

Phil hung up the phone and checked the lights, relieved to find that Chica and Bonnie had both left. He quickly checked the cameras - Freddy was still lingering in the bathrooms, and Foxy was starting to creep out of Pirate's Cove, practically glaring right into Phil's eyes, as he stared intently back at the camera. Phil turned off the monitor and let the doors open so he could conserve a little more power. But with a little over an hour - and 22% of his power left - he was pretty much guaranteed to survive the night.

Phil smiled and checked his lights quickly once again.

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Now that Phil was getting a full night - or rather, afternoon - of sleep, he had started to dream again. Of course, he had dreamt during his job on the nightshift, but they had often been nightmares - of an animatronic catching him, of dying, of... The Bite of '87.

But this was a good dream - possibly the first good dream he'd had in a while.

He was out at Lakeview Park with his friends - Fritz, Sophia, and Heather played a game of catch while Pat swam in the lake. George had opted to fish, even waving Phil over to join him, though he declined. Meanwhile, Ronaldo was putting together lunch for everyone.

With Jeremy.

He sat down at the picnic table and wound up chatting with Jeremy. What they had talked about, he couldn't remember, but he was with Jeremy again, out at that beautiful lake, like all those years ago.

And then he woke up around 8 that evening, and suddenly it was all gone. Dreams of Jeremy used to make him cry during that first year he was in his coma. And he still missed him. And his other friends, now that they all lived in different parts of the state... he hadn't seen Heather since Jeremy's funeral. Thanksgiving was a few weeks away... maybe they could meet during the holiday weekend?

But as he regained his senses, he smiled at the picture of Jeremy by his bedside, mumbling a 'good evening' as he pulled himself out of bed. There may have been sad memories, but the happy memories now made him happy again.

After eating a small meal, watching TV, and getting dressed with a little help from Dan, he was ready to start another night.

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November 5, 1992

Six am was only a few minutes away. And yet Phil was trapped with Chica on his right once again, and with a shut door on the left, waiting for Foxy to finish knocking and leave him alone. It terrified him to realize that somehow, Foxy was strong enough to rattle the door so much that it actually drained power. Was he strong enough to stuff a human into a suit...?

No. Better not think about stuff like that. He was down to the last of his power... if he was going to keep his doors shut, he might as well leave a message for Mike. He picked up the phone, pausing in case Foxy tried to knock again, before he called the pizzeria and left a memo on the answering machine.

"Uh, hello? Hello? Well, if you're hearing this, you've obviously made it to Day 2, so... congrats! I-I won't talk quite as long this time... Freddy and his friends get a lot more active as the week progresses. Speaking of which, maybe you should check those cameras and make sure everyone's in the right spot."

Phil did a quick check on Pirate Cove before he continued speaking.

"Freddy doesn't leave the stage that often... but he's a lot more active in the dark, that's for sure," Phil recalled, remembering how Freddy tended to hang out in the shadowy areas of the camera views... he was pretty cunning for an animatronic bear. "Guess that's just another reason why you don't want to run out of power. Speaking of darkness, uh, make sure you're using those lights by the door. The cameras in the hall corner have blind spots... and those blind spots are right outside your doors. So, you might only have a few seconds to react if they're there."

Phil decided he should turn on a little more of that reverse psychology.

"Of course, it's not like you'd be in danger if they were there. I-I'm not implying that."

He checked the monitor for Pirate Cove when one of the most obvious tips crossed his mind. If he had an extra hand, he would've probably slapped his forehead.

"Oh! Also, make sure you're checking on Pirate's Cove, on 1-C. The character in there is... uh, unique. He's always been kind of twitchy, but he becomes more active if the camera on him remains off for a long period of time. I guess he doesn't like being watched? I dunno. Anyway, I'm sure you have everything under control."

Unlike his power, Phil realized, as he was down to the last 2%.

"Uh, talk to you soon!" he blurted out, quickly hanging up, trying to conserve the tiniest bits of power.

He had always been super careful - and super lucky - with not having the power go out during his shift. He checked Pirate's Cove one last time, content to see Foxy cast a frustrated glare at the camera, before checking the lights. Chica was gone, and there was no one outside the door on the left. Phil decided to take a chance and leave them both open. He tried to breathe as softly as possible, as the animatronics would likely be drawn to noise.

One percent... he checked the clock. It was 5:54 am. Oh God, he probably was about to find out what happened when the power went out. He sat there, silently waiting, until the light flickered out overhead and a slow hum filled the air as everything went dark. He should've moved to hide under the desk while he had the chance...

As his eyes slowly adjusted to his dark surroundings, he could faintly make out a flickering light source coming down the west hallway. As well as the faint sound of music, like some kind of wind-up music box, growing slightly louder as... whatever it was moved down the hallway, until he recognized the melody at last.

The Toréador Song.

Oh, that song brought back memories. Of his father and Mr. Derbassier going to Carmen, the first time Bonnie sang a pre-recorded track of the song, going to see the opera with his friends...

But as the light drew nearer and the music grew louder, he began to realize that rather than dark eyes watching over him, they were actually very bright. Through the window, he could vaguely determine that the facial structure of the animatronic was actually that of Freddy's, not Bonnie's.

Well, Freddy was the original. Of course he would have a recording of that song in his programming.

Freddy stopped, and Phil shut his eyes, instinctively letting his body go limp as if he were dead. The music stopped playing, and Phil swallowed hard. Please, leave him alone. Please, let the clock roll over to 6 am, please -

He could hear a click and a whirring hum, as well as retreating footsteps. Phil opened his eyes, almost letting out a cry of delight, to see that the room was lit up once again. The power always switched from the reserve supply to the regular one at 6 am. Phil clocked out ecstatically, taking in some deep breaths as he sat in front of that little metal fan on the desk. Never had he been so content to feel a small breeze.

He felt even better after a few games of skeeball. So much better, in fact, that he had almost forgotten that he could walk down the recently installed metal ramp that allowed for wheelchair accessibility. He had walked right up it without a second thought yesterday night, after all.

And then - just to put some extra stress on him - a third thought crossed his mind. Even if Mike resigned his first night on the job, it would still take two weeks for him to leave. Sure, he could do something out of line and get fired... but if he was trying to support himself and Rachel, what would that mean for applying for other jobs? What if they needed a little extra money?

Well... with so many thoughts coming to him, Phil would think of something. But for now, it might be best just to drive home and get some sleep on it.

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November 6, 1992

There was a note left for Phil in his chair when he arrived at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza for another night's work.

Phil -

I take it you saw the new ramp I had installed for our handicapped patrons? We won't need to worry about using plywood anymore. I recognized it as an old set piece that we kept backstage. You know that area is off-limits to everyone except for management and mechanics, right? There are endoskeletons, suits, and other parts kept back there, and they should only be handled by professionals. The animatronics seem to be functioning properly, so I'm going to give you the benefit of a doubt. But like I warned Mike - any more rummaging backstage, and you will be fired and-or have charges pressed against you.

Have a great night!

Gilbert

"Great night" indeed. One plan he had considered was calling Heather to see if she knew how he could hypothetically "break an animatronic to the point that it needs two weeks for proper repairs without causing permanent damage". And of course, nothing said great like anxiously pressing light switches, turning cameras on and off, and occasionally slamming doors.

It was about 3:53 am when he found himself with both doors closed, Bonnie and Chica vigilantly keeping an eye on him, and another opportunity to make a phone call.

"Hello, hello? Hey, you're doing great!" Phil praised, before going right back into 'no implications' mode. "Most people don't last this long. I mean, you know, they stop coming in altogether. I-I'm not implying that they died. Th-that's not what I meant."

Phil checked the clock, just in time to watch the numbers change to 3:54, as another one percent of his power drained away.

"So, um, I probably shouldn't talk too long. Things start getting real near the middle of the week."

Things were already pretty "real" for Phil, considering that Fridays were second only to Saturday in terms of how active the animatronics were.

"Anyway, something came to me the other night. If the animatronics do get into your office, uh, try letting your body go limp! You know, play dead. It might make them think you're a suit, instead of a rigid endoskeleton," Phil suggested, then frowned. "Although... if they think you're an empty suit, they might try to stuff an endoskeleton inside of you. I wonder how that would work."

Phil shook his head.

"Yeah... uh, maybe it's better not to think about that sort of thing. It's best just not to get caught. Okay, I'll leave you to it! See you on the flip side."

See you on the flip side? He must've been watching more television than he realized, he thought to himself with a wry smile, as he checked on Pirate Cove. He checked the lights, realizing Bonnie and Chica had left, giving him a chance to open the doors to ease up on the power usage.

Despite a small scare from one of Foxy's sprints, Phil otherwise made it through the night just fine - with about 3% of his power left by the time the clock struck six. After clocking out, he gently patted his pocket with a smile, glad that he hadn't needed to put his desperation plan into effect. He even played a few extra rounds of skeeball after calming down, just to beat his high score. It was amazing how much his aim had improved over the course of six weeks.

Of course, once he got home, Phil would be sure to eat well and get some sleep. Tomorrow was going to be his last Saturday, and he was going to make sure he came out of it alive.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Phil woke up a second time, this time to the real sound of his radio alarm going off. He could've crawled out of bed to start eating breakfast at about 7:30 pm... but he opted instead to hit the snooze button, smiling at Jeremy's picture before closing his eyes again. Just in that little hope that he could fall back asleep and enjoy his dream a little longer.

He had dreamt of only Jeremy this time, ordering takeout and chatting before spending the night in each others' arms. It was kind of unusual to dream about sleeping and waking up, but that was how it had ended - just waking up with sunlight streaming through the blinds and with Jeremy's arm wrapped comfortably around his waist... before he had actually awakened.

Phil hugged his arm closer against himself, as if he were tucking someone's arm tighter around his body. He could practically feel the gentle rumble of Jeremy's chest when he chuckled or that light kiss to the back of his neck, Phil thought to himself, his smile perking up a little more.

Ten minutes later, the alarm went off again, and this time Phil got out of bed, immediately heading for the shower. As the hot water streamed down his body, a thought occurred to him. Leaving all these little pointers for Mike had been a good idea, but... if Sunday was his last day - the day when the animatronics would be minimally active - perhaps he should make the most of all that free time and make a proper training tape. Teach him about all the animatronics' patterns, tips on how he should prioritize his power usage, stuff like that. He could rewind the old tape in the answering machine and completely record over everything, giving a good five to ten minutes' worth of instructions.

He dried off and dressed himself, remembering to bring the key items for his "desperation plan". He never really liked to think about being in a desperate situatio, but... he had to be ready for the worst, just in case. With that thought, he gave Dan even more thanks than usual for fixing up his tie, complimenting him on how helpful he had always been.

After eating a microwave dinner (a pretty good Santa Fe rice and beans bowl), Phil turned on the TV to help him relax before the night shift. As he watched a Picnix commercial already promoting Thanksgiving, he recalled the other day how he hadn't spoken with Heather in a while. He muted the television and called her number.

Despite not having seen each other for over a year and a half, she was still as happy as ever to hear from him. They chatted about what was going on in their lives (though Phil didn't mention the stuff about Freddy Fazbear's Pizza for obvious reasons), and they were both pleased to find that they had openings in their schedule to meet the Saturday after Thanksgiving - a perfect chance to catch up at The Mellow Morpho.

The hours passed as he watched television until it finally came time for Phil to drive back to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza for one final Saturday. He listened to the radio as he made his way down the dark and quiet streets - a rather upbeat number by The Cure was playing, and he couldn't help but smile. This late at night, it was probably the perfect song to end a Friday night on.

The melody created by the electric guitars still ringing pleasantly in his mind, Phil parked and hurried into the pizzeria to clock in for one final challenge.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

November 7, 1992

As Phil checked on Pirate's Cove and then the lights, he was surprised by the silence around him. Usually early on Saturday nights, he could hear Freddy's programmed laughter as he began to traverse from room-to-room.

Phil checked the camera that monitored the stage, just out of curiosity. Bonnie, Freddy, and Chica all stood in their usual spots. Well, that was pretty pleasant. The longer they stayed motionless, the better.

As if to cancel out any positivity Phil was holding onto, the three of them rotated their heads sharply to face the camera in synchronization. Phil jumped back slightly in his seat as the trio locked eyes with him. Chica slowly turned to face the front again, whereas Bonnie turned to step off the stage. But Freddy... Freddy kept staring right back at him until the screen suddenly went staticky. Phil turned that monitor off, deciding to check Pirate's Cove again. Foxy had just drawn the curtains back.

Phil turned off that monitor and checked his lights. He went between Pirate's Cove and the lights several times, noticing the sound of footsteps in the western hallway. Sure enough, the next time he checked, he spotted Bonnie starting to peek around the corner of the doorway. Phil immediately shut the door.

Twenty minutes later, Bonnie finally left, but Chica had decided to show up to his right. Phil closed that door, hoping that the sound of the door wouldn't draw any animatronics to him. But no, sure enough, when he went to check Pirate's Cove, he only saw curtains swaying slightly. Phil immediately shut the door on the left, greeted by the sound of metal banging against the door a few seconds later.

He closed his eyes and let out a relieved sigh, the mental image of of Bonnie staring back at him with empty eye sockets filling his mind. Phil opened his eyes, taking in the surroundings of the office, a much more pleasant sight. He checked the light on the right, only to find Chica had returned. That wasn't so pleasant.

Lights, cameras, doors, he had done it all before. The hours finally started to whittle away, as did his power... Phil didn't really know how to feel, just gently pinching the little pin on his tie every so often for comfort, as if he was trying to squeeze every last drop of luck out of it for this one night.

Should he be elated that he was down to his final hour? That he was literally 60 minutes away from going home safely? ... Or should he be worried that he was down to the final 12% of his power?

Recalling Foxy's previous attack from hours earlier, he sank back into fearing for the worst. One more attack from Foxy... and he wouldn't stand a chance for the rest of the night. After checking to see if his surroundings were safe, he peeked back at Pirate Cove's camera. Foxy was already poking halfway out of the curtains, like a sprinter on his mark.

His once-beloved animatronic was probably itching to kill him, and it broke the heart of his inner child.

... Inner child, huh?

Thanks to Foxy, as a child, Phil had often loved playing pirates. And pirates certainly didn't play by the rules. Nobody did when it came down to life-or-death situations.

Phil was supposed to stay and monitor the animatronics... but there was never any rule that said he was strictly confined to the office. And quite frankly, this 'pirate' was starting to like the idea of jumping ship.

It was risky, but running and hiding could very well be his one chance to survive the final hour.

First, Phil checked his door lights - both were clear. Next, he checked the camera for the east hall - it would have to serve as his escape route, since he couldn't risk confronting Foxy in the western hallway. The dining area was also clear, that was very good. It would ultimately be the crossroads where he would have to decide on a hiding spot. Now the only question was, where would he find the main trio?

Phil checked the show stage first, immediately answering his question. Freddy was still there, like he had been all night. How bizarre that he would let Bonnie, Foxy, and Chica have all the fun in harassing him.

Bonnie couldn't be found backstage, so that meant he had to be hiding in that supply closet along the western hallway. It was certainly a bizarre place for an animatronic to visit... was it a bug in Bonnie's programming?

Phil went back to check on Pirate's Cove. Foxy was crouched down, like a sprinter set to run.

He couldn't hear any rustling pots or pans, so that meant Chica wasn't in the kitchen. Was she near the restrooms, then? Phil checked that camera, pleased to find that she was standing pretty darn close to the camera.

That meant the kitchen would have to serve as his hideout.

Phil checked the camera on Pirate Cove just in time to spot Foxy's tail in the corner of the camera view, whipping up as he began to run for the office. Phil immediately got out of his chair and sprinted out the east door, running like he had never run before. Exiting out into the dining area, he immediately sidled up against the wall, slinking along quickly towards the entrance to the kitchen.

Just as he reached the swinging doors, he could hear a faint mechanical buzzing... like the sound of animatronic parts moving. He looked up and spotted the faint gleam of Freddy's eye from across the dark room.

Phil heard him let out a low laugh. Now, Freddy wanted to move. Phil hurried into the kitchen, looking around at all the metallic tables and equipment. There appeared to be another room in the kitchen, probably functioning as a walk-in cooler.

And there was a phone on the wall nearby.

Phil ran up to it, picking up the receiver and quickly dialing the number for the restaurant, before ducking into the cold room and closing the door as much as he could behind him.

It was pitch black inside, and obviously cold, with only the sound of the ringing on the other line to comfort him.

It was shortly accompanied by the sound of footsteps in the room.

Phil swallowed down his fear, tightly gripping the phone in his sweaty hand, as he finally heard the tone indicating that his message was being recorded.

"Hello, hello! Hey, wow... day four. I-I knew you could do it," Phil praised with a weak smile.

He could hear the footsteps getting closer.

"Uh... h-hey, listen... I-I may not be around to send you a message tomorrow."

He squeezed his eyes shut as he heard one of the animatronics banging on the door, forcing himself to continue speaking.

"It's... it's been a bad night here for me. Um, I-I'm kind of glad that I recorded my messages for you... uh, w-when I did."

Phil had to clear his throat in the middle of his sentence, forcing down that lump in his throat. It was so tempting to cry... considering that he could be killed any minute now. But Phil would put up his best fight until then. He wasn't going to be a coward in his final moments. He had to stay positive. For Mike... for Rachel...

"Uh, hey... maybe you could do me a favor? M-Maybe sometime... you could check inside those suits backstage?"

... And for Jeremy. He'd do it for him, too.

"I-I'm going to try to hold out... until someone checks. M-Maybe it won't be so bad..."

It was time to set his desperation plan into action, Phil decided, holding the receiver between his ear and shoulder to remove the most crucial item to his plan from his pocket.

"I-I-I always wondered what was in all those... empty heads... back there... y-you know..."

The banging on the door had ceased as it was finally pulled open, leaving Phil face-to-face with Freddy and Chica. As if he was taunting him, Freddy even started playing the Toréador Song. Chica... oh God... what was wrong with her? Some kind of noise, like a strangled breath, came from her.

"Oh no..."

Despite the phone still clenched against his shoulder and ear, Phil turned to run further back into the cooling room, to keep as much distance from the animatronics as possible. But the moment he had pivoted, garbled speech filled his ears. Phil closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to ignore the noise. When he opened them, he saw some kind of apparition in front of him... that original Fredbear suit, like a golden version of Freddy - and it roared. (2)

This wasn't his mind playing tricks on him, no, he could even hear it through the receiver of the phone. Somehow, this thing had just warped into the room, and wasn't - it wasn't right - he flinched as it continued to roar, trying to back away from that... that ghost or something.

Phil backed away from Golden Freddy, only to let out a yelp when he backed right into Freddy, who wrapped his arms around him, effectively immobilizing him. Phil wriggled around madly, trying to find some weak point in the mechanical grip.

"T-tell my parents I love them...!" Phil added, only to realize - much to his despair - the receiver had already gone dead.

His final message would never go through.

Still, he continued wriggling, struggling, trying to throw his body weight one way or the other, trying to kick Freddy in the legs, anything to slow him down.

But Freddy's mechanical grip remained as firm as a vice, his melody continuing to play as he triumphantly carried Phil through the dining area to the backstage area.

Phil let out a cry of fury as he forcefully writhed with all his might, managing to pull his arm free. He sighed in relief, gently clenching the item in his hand for reassurance.

It was his class ring, given to him by his uncle all those years ago, and as many bills he could roll up to fit tightly inside the ring so that they wouldn't move around. He'd tried to use the highest increments he could when selecting what bills he put into the ring, ultimately managing to fit about $1940 worth of cash into it. The ring itself would probably sell for several hundred dollars in addition to that. It could help Mike and Rachel for a short period of time, probably long enough for Michael to apply for a better job.

Finally, he'd found a good use for his uncle's ring. Phil took in a deep breath as he was marched toward the backstage doorway, already wide open.

He'd only get one shot to do this.

Focusing on the first empty animatronic head he'd caught sight of - one of Bonnie's spare ones - Phil swung his arm in an underhanded arc, like he had in all those skeeball games over the past month or so.

The ring sailed through the air and right into the eyesocket of the head he was aiming for. Phil had never made a perfect score while playing the skeeball machines, but that was okay - he didn't need numbers to know that was the best shot he had ever taken.

He still remembered his uncle's shitty commentary about moving on and getting married. True, over the past several years, Phil had met plenty of nice people, and many of them were attractive as well. But he couldn't give them his heart.

You cannot give away that which belongs to someone else, after all. Phil knew it in his heart that Jeremy was his true love, and nothing - neither life nor death - was going to change that.

He was quickly reminded of the dire situation he was in, however, as Bonnie moved to Freddy's side to help him hold Phil... an empty Freddy costume awaiting him on the table. Phil tried to struggle out of their grasps in mid-transition, but he lost his balance, giving Freddy an ample chance to properly grab him on his own once again.

"Don't do this!" Phil commanded, only for Freddy to shove him into the suit.

Or at least, Freddy attempted to push him in. Phil managed to catch himself on his arm, despite the fact that his sleeve was now shredded and his arm was now covered with several small nicks and scratches thanks to all those animatronic parts. One piece of jagged metal had even managed to reopen a small part of the major gash Foxy had given him.

Freddy shoved him again, and Phil let out a grunt of discomfort, starting to feel the pieces of metal gently prodding against him through his uniform.

"DON'T KILL ME!" Phil pleaded, a few tears escaping him, as Freddy gripped the hair on the back of his head.

Phil took in one deep breath, expecting the worst... sure enough, Freddy slammed his head forward into the facial area of the suit, one of the connector beams lodging between his eye and his eye socket, painfully and awkwardly starting to pry it out. Phil let out a horrifying scream, but it was cut short when Freddy pushed him again, this time trying to cram his torso into the suit.

Phil felt some other metal part stab him straight in the stomach, and he felt his strength and blood drain away as the realization finally hit him.

He was going to die.

Phil could already feel himself starting to lose his sense of awareness, save for the sensation of blood practically pouring out of his body. Time seemed to slow down around him, as Freddy continued to play his song, and he thought back to the days of his parents taking him to Fredbear's Family Diner, of high school, of college, of The Mellow Morpho. He could see the faces of his parents and his friends in his mind. He would miss them so much... he hoped their grief would be short and as painless as possible.

Wanting his last thoughts to be happy, he pictured Jeremy's smiling face one last time.

Jeremy...

Phil squeezed his intact eye shut, bracing for another push from Freddy, only to collide with something soft.

No wires. No beams. No more pain or bleeding. In fact, he wasn't feeling all that weak all of a sudden. He started to pull himself up, but two arms wrapped around his waist, gently pulling him in close once again.

Phil opened his eyes - both of them, making him fully aware of what had happened - and let his gaze trail up. Up to those lips, slightly curled into a small worried frown... those elliptical glasses, those chocolate brown eyes, and a full head of brown hair - untouched, unharmed, and unbitten, like it was meant to be.

"Jeremy..." Phil whispered, gently letting his hand rest against the side of Jeremy's face, confirming he was real.

"Thank you so much, Phil. For talking to me and never giving up on me. For what you did for Rachel and Mike..." Jeremy smiled briefly, but let out a small sigh. "... I'm just sorry you're here."

Phil shook his head with a smile, tears falling down his cheeks.

"Don't be sorry. I-I mean... I'm sorry that I died... I-I'm going to miss my family and our friends, a-and I know they'll miss me too... but how could I ever be sorry about being with you?"

"Oh! No, I meant I'm happy to see you too, I just wish it hadn't been so soon... you know?" Jeremy shook his head with a laugh, tears starting to form in the corners of his eyes. "Even in the afterlife, I still have problems expressing my love for you."

"Oh, Jeremy!"

They both laughed, wiping away their tears, before Jeremy gently pulled Phil in for a kiss.

"Jeremy..." Phil whispered happily, resting his head against Jeremy's shoulder. "It's you. It's really you, after all."

Jeremy chuckled, tenderly embracing Phil a little tighter.

"Yes, Phil. It's me."

0-0-0- I love him! I love him, and in the face of death itself, I'd repeat that I love him! -0-0-0

(1) Thank you to pinkiemedicpie for giving me a name for a random employee.

(2) Because of all the inconsistencies of how Phone Guy died, there are multiple theories on how it happened. One interesting theory I saw was that Phone Guy was actually killed in the kitchen. Supporting this are the facts that the banging sound is different from the one Foxy makes, the fact that Freddy plays his melody in the kitchen, the fact that Chica can make those raspy breathing sounds and also appears in the kitchen, and the fact that some people used to theorize that Golden Freddy was kept in or near the kitchen area (before FNAF3 introduced us to the "Safe Rooms"). This was the theory that I chose to use.

The quote in the opening (and translated in the closing) is from the opera Carmen, specifically the finale, "C'est toi! C'est moi!".

I'd like to close with a quote from the 1985 movie "Clue" -

"That's how it could have happened. But how about this?"

In other words, I WILL be making a Phonemy 'three-shot' following this, exclusive to AO3, with three alternate endings (and all of them are happier ones). I'll probably take a brief break from writing before I work on it, considering that it's summer vacation and all, but I do plan on writing "Punnett Square" soon.

Special Thanks and Shout-Outs to...

Dave (aka Matt) and 5nightsinhell - other fellow Phonemy fans who even drew fanart for this fic!

Hasana - Our AUs may be different, but I'm so happy we share a love for this ship. Seeing a new pic from you in the Phonemy tag always brightens my day.

Pibmo (formerly guronenko) - I seriously love that Phone Guy design. Thank you again for letting me write about him. Everytime I see that design (or Hasana's design) show up in the Phone Guy tag, I'm always super excited!

(remember, as artists, they do not necessarily take requests (Hasana has stated she doesn't do requests and draws as she pleases, although she might be willing to discuss commissions), so please don't harass them for more art.

George deValier - a writer on fanfiction-dot-net, whose famous Hetalia fanfic, "Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart", greatly inspired this one.

Georges Bizet - Seriously, I really did enjoy "Carmen". I know you're dead and can't read this (I think). But because of it, I'm going to try branching out and watching other operas.

You, the readers! - Gotta save best for last! Whether you left kudos, fav'd, bookmarked, commented, reblogged the link on tumblr, etc. or simply just read it, I'd like to thank you all for joining me on this incredible journey. Like I said, I can't reply to every comment (especially since there are some that are simply "More", "Update soon", etc.), so if you left one that didn't get a reply, consider this your official thank you.

It's been a pleasure writing for you all.