Jeremy Fitzgerald is not what one would call a mentally stable man. His moral compass was notorious for being askew, having taken on too many struggles that came too soon, coming out of each altercation just a bit more battered than before. This didn't matter, and it also didn't matter if his heart had taken quite a few beatings as well. He knew it was in the right place. Or, what he thought was the right place.
Jeremy Fitzgerald has one goal in life, and it is to destroy the animatronics.
One could say that it is the goal of all the members of the Resistance. They would be correct. Since the beginning of the end, the first people who stood against Fazbear and his partners had always wanted make them pay. To give them a taste of their own medicine, to show them how it felt like when everything you thought was grounded down was suddenly ripped away as if it were nothing. And so this ideology was passed down from those people to the followers that they had managed to gather throughout the times. The origin of this movement has been long forgotten, whispered among members so much that it had turned into a sort of legend. But the idea remained. The purpose that ignited the spark was still there, and with it burned the fire of ambition. Such a fire is not easily put out. Especially with the large amounts of injustice the humans faced, along with their severity, has kept the fire there. And so this same flame was contained in every single member of the Resistance, no matter their differences. They were all the same in their goals.
This purpose had been ingrained into Jeremy before he even knew the Resistance existed. And even if said purpose hadn't, it eventually would have. That's what happened to every single human that had been victimized by the animatronics. It took hold quickly.
The total annihilation of his hometown may have had something to do with it. Or maybe it was the screams of the people who couldn't make it out of the burning buildings. Or the way he was forced to watch the one person who had been holding him to earth be killed, execution style, in front of him. Or the horribly cheerful blue eyes that had watched him from the dark confines of the hood over its head, taunting him as it watched his futile struggles, and with an inhuman indifference, raised the gun and shot the last living relative he had. Maybe. Who knows? The nightmares he had after that seemed to confirm it, but everyone made mistakes. He was only human, after all.
But that was the past. Even so, that was such an easy thing to think. Only the past. The past that had haunted him throughout the rest of his life, the past that he knew he was never going to get rid of. It didn't matter how much he tried to hide it behind a thorny façade that even he knew was a shitty parody of itself. It seemed as if everyone knew what he had been through and only put up with him out of pity. Hell, that might actually be better than what he had thought of in the first place. To never let anyone in ever again.
And to think he had almost succeeded.
What was going on right now was a prime example of why Jeremy Fitzgerald thought feelings were for losers. They had never really got him anywhere. The only thing they ever do was make him feel various shades of regret over and over, and each time the festering wound in his heart was sliced open once more, cutting deeper each time. And so he decided to just get rid of them, which–like many other things–is much easier said than done. It worked for a while. Nothing could get past the shield he had made, handcrafted from the many experiences he had lived through, some more striking than others, and not in a good way. Until he finally decided to let his guard down just a bit. And to be honest, he didn't regret it. Not yet.
Much like the armor he always cast aside when going into battle, his mental armor was also slowly being spent. The years and years of stone walls that he had mentally built up were crashing down around him, and it turned out it didn't even take too much to bring them down.
All it took was that goddamn bear coming back into the fray with a familiar shape slung over its shoulder.
At this time, three distinct things happened. The first one was the most noticeable. He was in the middle of reducing an endoskeleton to bits when it suddenly powered off on its own. The other ones around him–or, the ones that were still whole enough to move–suddenly ceased their attacks and began to lumber towards the five figures that made their appearance in the front of the hallway. The second thing that occurred was the heavy silence that fell over both groups, punctuated only by the occasional caterwauls of a faraway alarm. During this time, no one moved. Jeremy could feel Aureus's presence behind him, radiating an almost palpable wave of rage. At first, he had no idea what was going on. Why did everything stop? Why wasn't anyone moving? He was about to lunge at the bear when he finally noticed the person it was carrying.
Mike Schmidt looked like he had been through hell and back. A river of blood ran out of his nose and from numerous cuts on his face, slowly dripping across his captor's synthetic fur and onto the floor. The entire front of his chest was caked with the stuff, making him look as if he had tripped over a bucket of red paint. The parts of his face that were visible were stained various shades of purple and black. Even from the other side of the hallway his labored breathing was audible. If it wasn't for that, one could easily mistake him as dead. The bear had removed him from its shoulder and was holding him with only one of its huge paws, wrapped around Mike's torso. The man shifted in his state of unconsciousness, sliding just a little more out of the bear's paw, feet barely touching the ground. As the other animatronics fanned out around the bear, Jeremy took notice that the rabbit was also covered in large amounts of dark liquid. Judging from the way it was smiling, the substance didn't belong to it.
The third thing that happened took everyone by surprise, mainly because nobody had moved or made a sound. Fazbear lifts Mike's unresponsive body up, almost as if it were a particularly interesting piece of art. The bear's blue eyes flicker, and he speaks one word.
"Surrender."
It was at around this moment that all sense left Jeremy. He wanted to throw himself at the animatronics and tear them apart piece by piece, but his body was unresponsive. Wave after wave of clashing emotions cascaded over him, causing his arms to go weak. His chainsaw falls to his side, his hands still gripping it involuntarily. All tension goes out of his knees, and he leans heavily on his weapon to keep himself from falling. His chest hurt too much to seem real. Was he dead? Was this all a dream? Part of him hoped those thoughts were true, because there was no way in hell he should be feeling this much. A sudden influx of nausea swept over him, and he felt like vomiting. It took the rest of his willpower to keep himself from doubling over and emptying the contents of his stomach onto the floor.
What the hell was going on?
He couldn't even imagine what his face must've looked like. So he straightened up, fighting back the increasing nausea, and tried very hard to focus on the bear's eyes, on his own breathing. Not the person it carried. It wasn't carrying anyone. His mouth tasted sour.
Silence was broken when Aureus spoke, barely containing the contempt that oozed through each word. "What is the meaning of this?" he snarls.
Fazbear's smile only grows wider. The massive paw moves Mike ever so slightly, shaking him like a rag doll. "I have your second most valuable soldier, Aureus. While I would have preferred that shitstain over there–" he gestures towards Jeremy, "–I had to settle for this."
Jeremy barely registers the animatronic's taunt. He whips around to look at his leader, who had suddenly gotten a lot closer. He swallows, throat clicking. Surely Aureus wasn't going to leave Mike here? They had to get him back. He had the cloning machine.
Yeah. That's why he was feeling so nervous. Mike had the cloning machine, and he was in Fazbear's grasp right now. So they couldn't leave HQ without him, or Fazbear would keep the machine, and this whole mission would have been for nothing. That's all that mattered. Getting what they came for and making it back to the Resistance base. Nothing else did.
Aureus spoke again, sounding much calmer than before. "Now, I'm sure we can work something out, Fazbear. All we have to do is–"
The bear cut him off. "No. I'm not making any more bullshit deals with you, Aureus. I know how well that worked out for me last time. And speaking of deals, it seems like you shouldn't be the one talking. You're not in a very good position right now," he sneers, those unyielding blue eyes locking with Jeremy's. "Have you even taken a look at the state of your fighters? I'm surprised they even lasted this long."
Fazbear had a point. Every single person besides Aureus was worn down to their core. In fact, if the animatronics hadn't made a scene, Jeremy was pretty sure they wouldn't have lasted more that a few minutes.
But the animatronic's words had an effect on the Resistance fighters. They all straightened up a bit, their tired eyes flaring up with a new light. Determination coursed through the their veins, imbuing the corridor with what felt like raw energy. Electricity seemed to spark from their fingertips, fueling the desire to wreak havoc on the animatronics.
Thus was the power of the ideals of the Resistance. Even when all hope was lost, when everything was falling down around you, when the whole world was at its lowest, the flame of righteousness gave everyone possibilities to believe in. This was one belief that nobody was going to get rid of. After all, it's hard to destroy an idea.
Fazbear notices the change in atmosphere. He raises his eyebrows, throwing Mike back over his shoulder. "Interesting. I was wrong. It seems like the humans do have some fighting spirit left. I like that." The animatronics behind him shift, readying themselves to spring into battle. "Everyone loves a challenge, especially one that goes down kicking and screaming all the way." Turning on the balls of his feet, he snaps his fingers at his own army. "Give them hell."
Jeremy hoists his chainsaw back up, slowly revving it. The grating noise fills the hallway, along with the tension that had built up during the entire encounter. It felt like a glass that was about to overflow, and once it did, there was no going back. Jeremy sets his sights on the purple bunny, which was in the process of rolling its neck. It catches his gaze, and its magenta eyes narrow, lowering its head to charge.
"Wait."
The single word sends a jarring impact through both forces. Jeremy reels back in surprise, almost falling over. He turns sharply, about to snap a retort to whoever had spoken, until he actually notices who it was.
Aureus had moved from his position to the front of the battle to the back of his group. His weapon was gone, along with the anger he had harbored towards Fazbear. He stands still, head held high as he spoke to his enemies.
"Keep the kid. We're not going to fight you for him, especially in our condition. It's just not worth it."
Disbelief crashes down onto Jeremy. The sickening sense of revulsion comes back with a vengeance, causing his knees to buckle. A small whine of protest escapes from him, but it was drowned out by the incredulous murmurs from the other fighters. The corridor was suddenly filled once more with shifting noises again, only this was the noise of uncertainty, of people who did want a fight but weren't sure if it was worth disobeying their higher ups for it. The animatronics looked as confused as the humans felt, and they turned to Fazbear, who had stopped in his tracks. The bear tilts his head, not turning around.
Aureus continues to talk. "We'll leave you alone with him. But that doesn't mean we won't come back." He raises an arm to motion to his fighters, blue eyes expressionless. "It pains me to say this, Fazbear, but it looks like you won this time."
A low laugh escapes Fazbear, and he slowly shakes his head. He glances at Aureus, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes on his muzzle. He shakes his head again, and speaks to the rabbit this time.
"Make sure none of them leave this place alive."
The rabbit did not hesitate. Cracking its knuckles, it lets out an inhuman roar, causing the water to finally spill. The horde of endoskeletons rushes forward, screeching. A faraway cry of retreat reaches Jeremy's ears, but he doesn't quite register it. People push past him to escape the tide of rapidly approaching mechanical monsters, and he feels an arm grab him. Numbly, he lets himself get pulled away from the fray, a haze of despair cloaking everything around him, dimming all the sounds and touches that surrounded him. Everything goes cloudy at the edges, muffling his senses in the worst way possible. Only one object remained clear in the blur.
Mike Schmidt disappears around a corner.
He awoke with a start. The first thing his addled mind registered was the pounding headache that was almost enough to make him fall over. After spending a few moments with his head down, eyes closed, he slowly lifts his head up, wincing at the sharp pain that lanced through his skull. He gingerly touches his nose, hand coming away with something wet. He squints. Why couldn't he see anything?
At first he thought his eyes were taking a long time to adjust. Widening them as much as he could, he soon realizes that everything was pitch black. Unless he had gone completely blind since the last time he was awake, he was in an extremely dark room. He raises a hand to his face again, trying to feel the extent of his injuries. He runs a hand across the left side of his face, and he recognizes the familiar heat of a swollen eye. He groans.
He lowers his arms to the floor. His back was pressed against a wall, and it felt like his body was in a slouching position. He tries to straighten up.
Bad idea. A fiery pain slices through his chest, and he lets out a hiss of agony. That was another mistake on his part, as the sudden movements of his chest cause something to scrape inside him. He almost passes out again. He was shivering now, the freezing temperature of the concrete he was lying on seeping through his clothes. He gently twists his upper body to the side, placing his palms on the floor. After experiencing a short spasm throughout the length of his arms, causing them to lock up, it dawned on him that he couldn't move his legs. Scratch that. He couldn't even feel them.
"Fuck."
A slit of light suddenly appears near the corner of his vision, accompanied by the screech of rusty hinges. He stares stupidly at it for a moment before the light grows brighter, searing his eyeballs. He shuts them on instinct, rubbing at the non-damaged one with a free hand.
"Well, well, well. Looks like Sleeping Beauty's finally woken up."
Mike squints up at the person through watery eyes. They recoil slightly, a snicker escaping them. "Damn. 'Beauty' might be an understatement."
He mutters another expletive under his breath, then raises his voice to speak to the person. "Where the hell am I?"
As the figure slowly swims into focus, Mike notices it was the human that always followed the animatronics around. They had their arms crossed, and was looking down at Mike with a little bit of contempt. That was an improvement from the absolutely murderous gaze of Freddy Fazbear before knocking him out. Speaking of that, he couldn't remember much of what happened when he was unconscious. He recalled a feeling of being carried, and his vision had been dotted with so many blurs of color that he couldn't discern what was going on. All sounds were muffled, and it almost felt as if he was dreaming.
So many uncertainties. He wasn't even sure what day it was. He had nothing to ground him to reality, which only served to fuel his growing apprehension. And the fact that this random dude still hadn't answered his question.
Mike's headache was getting worse. Closing his eyes again, he repeats his question. The guy shrugs, shuffling from one foot to the other.
"Not my problem. Fazbear just sent me here to check on you."
Nothing else. Once the light had dimmed enough to not burn his retinas, Mike stares at the guy with as much energy he could muster. "Why are you being such a jackass?"
The man snorts and makes his way over to Mike's spot. "Ouch, my feelings." He leans against the same wall Mike's back was to, planting his right leg back on it to support himself. He grimaces and looks down at Mike again. "Although I think we should get our medic to do some work on you. How badly did you insult Bonnie to get beaten up like that? I've never seen anything like this."
The gears in Mike's head turn. Who the fuck was Bonnie? He was about to ask when a beeping noise interrupted his train of thought. The man pulls out a flat black disc very similar to Mike's own and answers it, sliding his thumb over the surface. A blue hologram pops up.
"Ya still with the prisoner, Cassidy?" the hologram barks, its back turned to Mike. Mike lifts his head up at the sound of the new voice, immediately regretting it when his nose starts to bleed. He quickly pulls his shirt up to staunch the flow, only to realize that it was also covered in dry blood. He gags and gets a mouthful of metallic liquid. Spitting it out, he breathes in a mixture of blood and spit that sends him into a coughing fit, which in turn causes an unbearable burning pain in his chest. It felt as if he were on fire. He tries to double over and then immediately straightens up when the pain gets worse. He couldn't even die in peace.
After the agony had subsided and he was sure that he wasn't going to choke on his own spit anymore, Mike lets out a deep breath and rests his head on the concrete wall, eyes turned upwards. He notices a roach skitter across the ceiling, shudders, and flicks his gaze over to his prison warden.
Both people had stopped talking. Cassidy was staring at him expressionlessly, mouth pressed into a thin line. His brow was furrowed, his visible eye half-lidded and impassive. Mike returns the look by sticking his tongue out, which he knew was extremely childish but was too burnt out to care. He then directs his attention to whoever was on the hologram, and what little bravado he had gained from the past interaction vanishes.
"Uh. Blimey. This lad looks like he's been keelhauled, don't he? And ya want me to fix em? Gonna take a while, I reckon."
Mike narrows his eyes and attempts to scoot himself away from Cassidy. Because there was no way in hell he was going to let some dirty looking animatronic attempt to heal him. Might as well just leave him to die in this dank, dark cell.
The other man snickers and faces the hologram again. "Hope you can do it fast enough before he finishes Bonnie's job himself."
The animatronic shrugs. "I'll just get down there right now, then. Catch ya later, Vincent." The hologram disappears in a flash of blue light, and its holder pockets the disk again.
Mike, feeling one part spiteful and three parts terrified, decides he has nothing left to lose. "Vincent Cassidy, huh? Nice name," he snaps out. "Sounds like a complete assclown."
The aforementioned man props himself off the wall and heads toward the cell's exit. "Thanks, I picked it myself." He grabs the door and turns to face Mike, half of his person in shadow and half in the light that was slowly seeping into the room. He bares his teeth, flipping an all-too-familiar gesture with his right hand towards Mike. "Have a nice life."
Mike's second insult was drowned out by the resounding clang of the cell door slamming shut. He swears again, raising his voice and ignoring the fresh wave of pain that washes over him. He sucks in a sharp breath, waiting for it to pass. He needed a plan. And fast. He didn't know how long it would take the animatronic to get to wherever he was (because he still didn't even know where he was located), so every second counted.
Mike blinks again, finding that he could finally see in what he used to think was complete darkness. He could faintly make out the other walls of the room, finding them to be the same bleak gray as the ceiling. After finding out he couldn't do anything efficient with his arms yet, he decides to take another shot at the lower half of his body. Mike takes a deep breath, bracing himself, and directs his attention to his legs. He squints, focusing all of his concentration on his right foot.
It twitches. Satisfaction rushes through him, a stark contrast to the despair that had been slowly creeping up his back. He gently bends his right knee, moving his leg from its flat position. He repeats these actions with his other leg, and plants his hands palms-down on the floor. Gingerly scooting away from the wall that was holding him up, Mike feels his way through the room and towards the cell door like an awkward crab. His legs were still too weak to hold him up properly, so this was the best he could do. He seriously hoped there were no cameras in here. He felt like a complete idiot.
His foot bumps against something that didn't feel like concrete. Mike reaches out a hand and grabs a metal bar. His heart soars, and still grabbing the bar, uses it to hoist himself up. His legs immediately buckle, and he hold on for dear life to the door to keep himself from crashing down. Still shaking, he manages to straighten up somewhat. Sweat dripped onto his eyes, stinging the various little cuts that littered his face. He uses a hand to push his hair back, grimacing from its stiffness. Definitely dried blood and God knows what else.
Mike slides his other had across the door until he finds a handle. He hoped in vain that Cassidy had left the door unlocked, but to his dissatisfaction, the handle did not turn. Now he had to find a lockpick.
He rummaged in his pockets for something that he could use, stomach plummeting when he noticed the absence of the machine. Some small part of him had hoped that they hadn't taken it, but looking back, that was a really stupid and naïve thing to think. He swears again and continues to shuffle through his clothes. Checking the back pockets of his pants, his fingers close around a thin object. Confused, he pulls it out.
It was his Disc.
Holy shit.
He stuffs it back into his pocket, looking vigorously around in an half-assed attempt to see if someone was watching him. He feels giddy, almost letting go of the door in his happiness.
They didn't check to see if he had a Disc. That was the stupidest thing they could have ever done, and also the most outlandish because he thought they were smarter than this. Apparently not.
His mood turns somber as he initial positivity starts to drain away. Maybe they had left it alone on purpose. Maybe they had put a tracker or some shit on it to see if he made any calls back to the Resistance. This only meant he had to be more careful.
His thoughts were interrupted by the faint jingling of keys and cheerful whistling that sounded from right outside the door. Mike's heart rate skyrockets, the shock causing him to painfully straighten up. He desperately tries to get his legs to function, sweat magically appearing in the palms of his hands, causing his grip of the door to slip. His throat closes up, his heart beating a painful staccato against his chest.
The door swings open, and Mike, who had still not removed himself from it, smashes into the opposite wall, the impact sending blood gushing out of his nose again. Stars flash across his vision, and he manages to let out a grunt of pain. He falls on his ass, agony shooting up his spine. His ribs were on fire again. A fleeting thought races across his mind: I hope I didn't crush the only mode of communication I have.
A noise of alarm emerges from the other side of the door, and a fucking hook appears and pulls the barrier away. Mike lets out a high-pitched shriek (which he will deny ever happened) and begins to rapidly scoot away from the horror that lay behind the door, hands scrabbling on the floor. A single yellow spotlight shines its malevolent light down on him, the snout of an animal poking out in front of it. It barks some sort of command that registers as only static in Mike's absolutely terrified brain. His back hits a wall, and he pulls his legs up in front of him, ignoring the repeated stabs of pain that were now occurring throughout his entire body. He was panting like a cornered animal, and he tries to make himself smaller as the animatronic sights him. Another random thought occurs to him: maybe if I don't move, it won't see me. Because that was the only coherent thing that he knew right now, he put it into action. Curling up into the smallest ball possible, his heart only gets faster as he hears heavy footstep clunking over to him. The animatronic says something that was unfortunately muffled by the roaring of Mike's blood in his ears. He braces himself for whatever was going to happen next. Probably his death.
Silence. Mike doesn't dare to look up, still tense. The moments stretch out agonizingly slow, not helping his mounting terror. The only sounds were the pounding of his heart and his rapid breathing. Just as when he was about to finally look up, something jabs him in his lower abdomen.
The tension was too much to take. Mike lets out the loudest scream of his life, slapping away at whatever had struck him. He bats away something pointed and hard, and it drags across the palm of his right hand, slicing it open. He inhales sharply, snatching his hand away and cradling it defensively. Black spots dance in the corners of his vision. No. He was not about to black out now. Not when there was was a goddamn animatronic that could disembowel him with a flick of its wrist and care in even less. He bites down, teeth clamping on his tongue, sending a wave of coppery blood cascading through his mouth. The spots disappear as a fresh bolt of pain spikes through his head. Something cold grabs his left wrist, and he screams again. He twists his hand around in the most violent way possible, attempting to break free of whatever had grabbed him. Mike shoots his injured hand out, wanting to use it to help, but something else reaches out with lightning speed and grabs it too. The human absolutely loses it this time, bucking and kicking with all his might. His foot connects with something hard, and while it felt like he had kicked a building, someone else swears and begins to violently shake his wrists.
"Calm the hell down! I'm not gonna fuckin' hurt ya!"
This only serves to frighten Mike even more, and he struggles harder, wrists beginning to chafe raw from the way they were rubbing against the bare metal of the animatronic's hands.
The robot suddenly twists and lodges its knees on Mike's feet, effectively securing them. It leans forward and lifts both of Mike's arms up, planting them against the wall. The yellow eye faces him as a gravelly voice reaches his ears.
"Listen. I don't wanna hurt ya. That's not my job. But if yer gonna keep thrashin' around like a stuck pig, I'm gonna have to knock ya out while I do my work. And that won't leave us on very good terms, don'tcha think?"
Mike was hyperventilating. It took a few seconds for the words to register, but he nods slowly, refusing to make eye contact with the animatronic. His heart was still racing. He shuts his eyes and nods again, trying desperately to ignore the faint whirring of gears as the animatronic backed away from him.
"Great!" The voice exclaims. Mike opens his eyes and flinches instinctively back when the robot turns to look at him. He makes out what looked like a snout, and pales at the sight of the rows of needle sharp teeth in its mouth.
"Hey," it says, "I'm not gonna bite. At least, not you. Too much respect."
Confusion breaks through the cloud of fear. Mike glances at the animatronic, still not making eye contact. "What?" he rasps out.
The animatronic throws its head back in a roaring laugh. Mike was so close he could hear the various mechanisms whirring inside of it, accompanied by faint creaking. It lets go of Mike's arms, shifting in place. "It takes some balls to break in here an' disrespect not only Mr. Director himself, but his right hand man too." It removes something from its back, setting it down on the floor. "Say, this has been been a great introduction an' all, but now I've gotta fix ya up. So stay still and try not to scream too much."
Distrust replaces Mike's other emotions. "How do I know you're just not going to murder me or something?"
The robot turns its gaze onto him, lifting its hooked hand to flip up something over its left eye. Two yellow beams of light shine over Mike, revealing the rest of its face. The russet colored fox grins, its gold tooth gleaming in the faint glow of its backlights. "Cause I'm the medic, ya scallywag."
…
The process took a lot less than Mike expected. He took the fox's advice and convinced himself that he wasn't going to scream, which turned out to be very hard. Fixing five broken ribs, a broken nose, and his headache that turned out to be a concussion in less than 30 minutes had its perks, but being a painless procedure was not one of them. He couldn't even see what was going on half the time, as the fox moved its head from him to the medical kit and back to him again too fast for him to keep up with. The animatronic was making a point of trying not to touch him too much, which he appreciated.
As the last bandage was wrapped around his torso, Mike sits up, glad that he could finally breathe properly again. He warily looks over at the fox, who was tidying up the various appliances strewn around the floor. It was humming an upbeat tune.
"So," he says cautiously, crossing his legs. "No one here wants me dead?"
The fox twitches an ear, turning to look at him. "Sadly, I wouldn't be so sure about that, laddie. You've got Bonnie on yer ass, and it looks like Vincent isn't takin' yer stay too lightly, from what I managed to gather when he left yer cell."
Mike winces. Yeah. Now that he thought about it, it was probably a bad idea that he had pissed off the only member of his species that could be found in HQ. On the other hand, he didn't want to get too close to anyone here. Even though this animatronic didn't seem like it wanted to do him any harm, he still couldn't trust that it wouldn't suddenly change its mind and eviscerate him. That hook looked like it could deal some serious damage.
He decides to think of something that didn't involve his immediate death. "About that: Who's Bonnie? I've heard him mentioned a few times now."
The fox scratches the side of its head. "Fazbear's first mate. Same guy who beat ya half to death. I'd advise tryin' not to piss 'im off even more, cause that bunny can hold a grudge like no one's business."
So much for trying to avoid his death. Mike suddenly remembers the day Fazbear took the machine. He had faced off against a purple bunny that was trying its damnedest to obliterate him. It was also the same bunny that he spray painted after breaking into HQ and graffiting a wall with some not-so-nice messages against both the scary teddy bear and equally scary bunny rabbit.
His luck just couldn't get any more worse, huh?
The fox gets up, joints creaking. It looks down on him, not unlike Vincent. Except that this guy looked a lot more cheerful than the human, which was something that Mike never thought he would happen. An animatronic that showed more emotions than a human? That way something that shouldn't be possible. From his point of view, at least. This was starting to make his head hurt again.
"I never really got yer name, laddie," The fox muses, flipping whatever was over its left eye down. Now only one beam of light was trained on him. "What d'ya go by, if ya don't mind me askin'?"
For a split second, Mike pondered not giving him his real name. It's not like Fazbear and his crew cared that much about him. They probably referred to him with much worse names than the people back at the Resistance called Fazbear. Plus, it might not be a good idea to give it out to his enemies. Then they'll have a name to attach to a face when he busted out of here.
Whatever. It's not like they'll remember him. Plus, he wanted them to call him by his actual name when they cursed him out.
"Michael," he says, mustering up the courage to stare the animatronic in the eye. "Michael Schmidt."
The fox nods slowly, raising its eyebrows. "Like the archangel. Fittin'."
Fitting? Mike's brow furrows slightly, but he doesn't take the bait. Instead, he decides to ask the same question to the fox. Might as well learn what these weirdos called themselves. He wasn't just going to keep calling them 'animatronics plus the psychopath human'. "And yours?"
The fox breaks out in a grin, teeth shining. "Thought you'd never ask. The name's Cap'n Foxy. But don't tell Freddy I said that. He's the only captain around these parts."
Freddy Fazbear and the killer stuffed animals. Sounded like the start of a bad joke. Mike held his tongue, mostly because he didn't want another pissed off robot on him, and because he didn't really mind this 'Foxy' that much. It didn't try to kill him, and it didn't insult him to hell and back when he was dying.
The bar was at earth's core.
Mike nods back, a slight smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "Alright. I'll keep that in mind."
Foxy's grin broadens. He raises his right hand in a mock salute, walking backwards to the door. "And I'll see ya later, Schmidt. Try not to get killed." Just as he was about to leave, the animatronic looks up at the ceiling. "I'll get Chica to turn on the lights for ya, aye?" And with that, he shuffles out, closing the door with a clang. The faint whistling started up again, gradually fading away as Foxy left Mike's cell.
Mike sits in the dark for a moment, mulling over his conversation with the fox. It didn't go as getting had expected, especially for his first coherent talk with an animatronic. Him screaming while said animatronic poked him in the ribs didn't count.
He shifts a bit, and feels something in his back pocket. He suddenly remembers the very important object that he hoped didn't break. Mike stands up, legs still a bit wobbly, and starts to feel his way around the room again. He didn't want to stay in the same place for too long.
A sudden pop rings out through the room, and the ceiling lights turn on. Mike stops and squints, gathering his bearings as a sickly fluorescent glow lights up the room. He surveys his surroundings, noticing a rickety cot shoved into the adjacent corner. A rusty toilet that looked like a disease-ridden porcelain block sat next to a tiny sink, a cracked mirror embedded into the dirty concrete wall above it. An upturned trash can rested next to the only opening in the room, a barred door. Walking over to it, Mike discovered that the only view was some more concrete. Great. Double doors and no windows. The entire 'solitary confinement' vibe didn't sit too well with him either. Also, the cot. They could have left him on there, but they decided to dump him on the floor? Not cool.
Mike shuffles over to the mirror, slouching slightly to get a view of his face. He frowns, letting out a noise of disgust at the mysterious stains in his hair and on his shirt. Dark circles frame both of his eyes, a healing yellowish bruise covering the left side of his face. Widening them, he runs a hand through his dirty blond hair, trying in vain to clean it. Failing, he looks down at the sink beneath him. He twists a knob, sighing in defeat when nothing comes out. What did he expect? A five-star hotel room?
Abandoning his efforts to make himself look less like roadkill, Mike throws himself down onto the cot, gagging as the smell of mold reaches his nostrils. He sits up, wiping away a rivulet of crusted-over blood that came out of his nose. He stops and flicks his gaze upwards. The only thing on the ceiling was a corroded vent that wasn't doing a very good job of warming the room up. Shrugging, he pulls out his Disk. If Fazbear was going to leave him in this stupid room with nothing to do, he was going to spend his time wisely.
Mike powers the device up, heart leaping when he found out that he had service. Weird, but whatever. He was most definitely going to use this to his advantage.
He takes a deep breath and taps on the first contact in his list. Pressing another button, he swallows.
"I've made it into HQ."
A/N:
remember when this had a slightly coherent update schedule? if you do, congrats! you get a veterans discount AND a chance to run me over with a vehicle of your choice
with chuck as my witness I will finish this story
damn I've been on this site for 3 years already
doesn't seem like it
this has been sitting in my drafts for SUCH A LONG TIME luh mayo
-Megiido, that was a lot more than a few months