Michael wanted to go to the pizzaplex first thing the next morning, but I refused. We had to get there as soon as possible and start our mission. Waiting would just give Vanny more time to plot some evil scheme. Besides, I couldn't rest easy with the image of my mom flashing every time I closed my eyes. He begrudgingly agreed, on the account that I took a nap before we left. He said it'd be bad for me to exert myself after such "emotional turmoil," as he described it. Though, because my mom's image had burned into my brain, I wasn't really able to sleep. I couldn't even sleep in my room. It was weird being in the same house that my mother's still corpse laid in. Michael had unlocked his car, lowered the front seat down, and brought me a couple blankets, letting me rest there. In the meantime, Michael was gathering things he deemed important enough to bring along.
I didn't sleep at first. I hugged Bowtie close to me as I tried to relax. Michael came out a few brief moments later, opening up the car door to the back seats and putting down something. He then quietly shut the door and walked away again. He didn't come back for quite some time.
When I realized I wasn't going to be able to fall asleep, I peeked over my seat to see the back. The row was lined with suitcases and luggage, which were all the things Michael had packed before he began his trek back down here. There was a backpack sitting on top of one of the suitcases, which I realized was what Michael had brought in; it was one of the old hiker backpacks that we had lying around the house.
I was so curious as to what Michael had in his bags. The suitcases were most likely filled with clothes, but in the space between the front and back seats of the car was a small tote bag. Why'd he bring so many things?
I leaned over the seat and grabbed the handle, picking up the bag and placing it in my lap. "What are you doing?" Bowtie asked me.
"I just wanna see what's inside," I said. I stuck my hand inside and felt what I assumed was a notebook. I pulled out what was more of a small sketchbook. The front topped with stickers with encouraging messages. I was reminded of Chica's gift to Roxy, and how she had made a scrapbook that was also decorated in a similar way. I opened the sketchbook to the first page.
"You're so nosy," Bowtie scoffed at me, but then it inched closer. "Move, I wanna see too," it said. I exhaled a bit when I tried to stifle my giggle. I fixated Bowtie on the ledge between the two front seats and shared the sketchbook with it.
The first page was not what I was expecting. There was a doodle of a skeleton sitting next to a flag, and beneath it was a pledge in red ink; "I solemnly swear to accept life's toughest challenges, to give myself time to process my grievances, and to stay true to my virtues of kindness and solidarity. Unless I see William. Then it's on sight." A blue side note was written in different handwriting, "Not funny, Michael!" I didn't know who William was, but I was going to guess Michael wasn't a big fan of them.
The following pages were full of small collections of doodles and drawings with a recount of what had happened that day. Each page had a date in the upper hand corner, and the red and blue ink showed up. The red ink was obviously Michael. It covered most of the pages, was used to write his entries, and most drawings were made up with it. The blue ink was someone else, and it was as if it was responding to his journal entries, giving him advice, criticisms, or congratulations depending on how his day went. The beginning was pretty boring, as it was clear Michael was getting used to this set up. He didn't express himself very much and he seemed to only be fulfilling a requirement. It was around a quarter through when the entries became much more intriguing.
There was a drawing of who I assumed was Michael barely able to stand connected to an IV, just like the one I had in my hospital room. Around him in bold lettering read, "I hate my blood. Why must it be yours? I wish I could empty myself."
"Interesting thought," the blue ink said, "but remember; you are not your father! Your DNA isn't identical. You're your own person."
That wasn't the point , I thought to myself. If Michael was really talking about his dad, he's upset that he must be related to him, not that they're similar. I didn't know much about his dad, but I did know that Michael resented him. Maybe he was William.
"Who do you think is the blue?" Bowtie asked me. I shrugged, "I have no idea."
I flipped through the pages some more, looking for the most compelling entries. Most of them were him ranting about his job or normal day activities. Apparently he now worked in IT, specifically customer service. Seems like he spends his time answering phone calls and helping with technological interruptions. It fit him well, considering his previous work as the designer behind the animatronics, but according to his accounts he didn't like interacting with people all that much. He felt like most of them were judging him all the time, but "it pays the bills," he said.
Then I found a drawing that took up most of the page. It was a hillside with gravestones and names etched into them. "I wish I could visit like I used to," Michael wrote. "Their bodies were never found, but their parents gave them this memorial anyways. They're so far away now. I still think of them every day."
"They're lucky to have you," the blue said. "I'm sure they're smiling down at you. If you ever get the chance to go back to Utah, I hope you visit. They'll appreciate it."
Well, he made it to Utah. I wondered if Michael had thought about going back to this gravesite during his trip, though that probably wasn't the first thing on his mind right now.
More useless life updates followed. One of his friend's dogs had a litter of puppies, and he thought about adopting one of them, but ultimately decided not to. He said it was too much work to take care of one. It's too bad, I would've loved it if he showed up with a dog. Though, I guess we wouldn't be able to bring it to the pizzaplex with us.
There was an almost entirely blank page that stood out. The only red ink on it was, "I couldn't get out of bed today. Sorry."
"Don't apologize," the blue ink said, "you deserve a break. But please don't forget to eat and drink."
The next page was long. It was a whole paragraph of Michael venting out his feelings. There was a doodle of Freddy at the bottom, but it didn't look like the Freddy I knew. It was terrifying to look at, with large teeth and sharp fingers. Its stomach had teeth that lined along it like a mouth. I didn't realize Michael was such an artist.
"I was sixteen when you died," Michael wrote. "It was your birthday, and Dad organized a party at Fredbear and Friends, despite your pleas not to. I thought it was pathetic how you'd hide in your room, crying to your Fredbear plushie as if it could understand you. I remember tearing off your toy Foxy's head as you yelled and screamed at me. You cried that he was bleeding, but it was just his white stuffing flowing. I emptied out his head and put it on in front of you. I'll admit it, I enjoyed terrorizing you."
Well, that's horrible , I thought to myself. Was this one of his siblings he was talking about? Michael had mentioned having a brother and a sister in his tapes, so I wasn't sure which he was talking to, but it must be one of them. Who does that to their sibling? It seemed unnecessarily cruel.
"For me, it was all fun and games," Michael continued. "It wasn't because I hated you or that I was insensitive. I was just your older brother, so of course I laughed at you, belittled you, and disbelieved you. Mom would try to get me to stop, but Dad would tell her that it was normal for brothers to fight like this."
So this story is about his brother specifically. I couldn't really relate to this story. Whatever life I had before my brother disappeared, I didn't remember. I hoped he wasn't as mean as this, though.
"When the party finally came, you cried under the tables begging to go home. My friends and I tried to cheer you up, but nothing worked. We got fed up, you were starting to annoy us. We thought we'd bring you closer to Fredbear. He was your favorite, after all," Michael wrote. Then there was a big space, separating this portion of the page from the other.
"When he bit you, I couldn't move. Your blood was as red as the ink I'm writing with. It sprayed everywhere; Fredbear's face, your clothes, my hands. I had to take off the Foxy mask I was wearing. It was suffocating. I apologized to you profusely, but I don't think you heard me. You died in a cold hospital room," Michael wrote.
I blinked as I processed what I read. That Foxy mask, the one his son had found in the warehouse, the one that Michael had tasked Foxy to destroy, the one that was now hidden underneath my bathroom sink, it was the one Michael had worn during this accident.
"Dad lost his mind, even more so than he already had. I stood still as he yelled at me, crying about what a terrible brother I was, but I could see through his obvious ruse. I don't believe he ever cared. All his talk of putting you back together, or his proclamations of the betterment of us as a family, I didn't believe a word of it. It sickens me how he used your tragedy for inspiration," Michael printed.
I was now fully invested in this story Michael had written. Maybe I was intruding on his privacy a bit too much, but at this point I couldn't put the book down. I was almost done with this page, anyways.
"I named my first child after you," Michael wrote, "but he was nothing like you. Not that it mattered, of course. He had a brilliant mind. I liked to think he was you if you were given the same opportunities as him. But that was wishful thinking. Your curse transferred to him."
Michael's son had disappeared inside of the pizzaplex. Was it during a party, too? I wondered if Vanny knew this story about Michael's brother and specifically attacked kids on their birthday, just to rub more salt into the wound. She probably knew all about Fazbear's history.
Michael had begun to write more, but he crossed it out and never finished. I couldn't make out any of the words. To my surprise, there was no blue ink on this page. I didn't really care that much, as the most important part was Michael's writing, but it was strange to see a page without the extra input this anonymous person gave.
"Maybe we shouldn't be reading these," Bowtie said nervously. I turned to him confused.
"I thought you wanted to be nosy with me," I teased, but it wasn't entertained by my joke.
"It's starting to scare me," Bowtie confessed. I wasn't quite ready to put the sketchbook down.
"I'll read it alone then," I said, turning to the side so Bowtie couldn't see the rest. It scoffed at me in annoyance, but it didn't protest. I flipped through the pages looking for another interesting entry. It took a while before I found a good one.
There were collections of stick figures fighting several animatronics. It was kinda funny to look at. Michael must've had some pent up anger he had to let out at that moment. The blue ink just wrote, "Creative!" as a compliment on his art. Michael wrote some lame, corny jokes to himself to go along with his new entries.
Then I came across a page with a gruesome depiction. A body laid still on a bench, bleeding out of its stomach with its organs falling onto the floor. Some of the spots were covered with small flower stickers to avoid showing too much. It was immensely detailed, probably the most realistic drawing in this sketchbook so far. If I had to guess, it was Michael after he was scooped. That could've been me .
"I don't blame you for what you did," Michael wrote. "I deserved it. But I wish I could have explained myself to you. I know you hated me just as much as you now hate our dad. When I realized you were still living within Baby, I trusted you blindly. Never would I have imagined you'd do this. I'm not angry about it anymore. Now I'm just insulted that you thought I was our dad."
The blue ink responded to this one. "Remember what we talked about, Michael. Your siblings' spirits are not living in your father's animatronics. You hallucinated their existence while under immense pressure," it said. Michael drew an angry face and scribbled "Bullshit!" with an arrow pointing to the blue note. I couldn't help but laugh, though I understood where the blue ink was coming from. Even I'm not entirely sure if I believe Michael's claims of remnant. The only reason I consider it true is because I witnessed the aftermath of the scooping and him shooting himself, and he survived both incidents.
Bowtie was starting to get antsy after being ignored for some time. "Where's Michael? He hasn't shown up in a while," it asked me.
"He's probably still inside," I replied. He thought I was sleeping, so he was giving me time to rest before we left.
"I don't like him being in your house all alone," Bowtie said, crossing its arms. "You still don't trust him?" I asked.
"No! He's crazy!" it said. I definitely couldn't show Bowtie this page, then. It'd probably use it as proof of Michael's insanity.
"Well, you better get used to it," I said. "I think I'm stuck with him." Now that my mother was gone, his temporary guardianship was most likely going to extend for a bit longer. I felt my face falter as I thought of her.
"Can we at least go see what he's doing?" Bowtie said. "I feel like he's doing some evil." I rolled my eyes, not feeling the same.
"I'd rather not go in there," I muttered. I never wanted to go back there again. I'd rather stay in here and shiver underneath the blankets than walk in there.
Bowtie gave me a saddened look. "It'll just be for a quick moment," it said. "We don't have to go to that one room."
I sighed, but I gave it some thought. Maybe I could tell Michael I was ready to head back to the pizzaplex.
"Okay," I said quietly, putting away Michael's sketchbook and placing the bag where I had found it. I didn't want him to know I was looking through his things. I grabbed onto Bowtie and opened the car door, leaving the blankets behind. I tip-toed through the yard and opened the front door, which was still unlocked.
I weaved through the clutter once more looking for Michael, but as I got closer to the living room, I could hear him. It was unmistakable; I didn't have to see him to know that he was crying. I stopped in my tracks before I even peeked into the room.
I hadn't even considered how Michael was feeling. I cried until I couldn't anymore, but he had to keep himself together for my sake. Now he was letting it all out, as he had let me done earlier. I couldn't interrupt this. I stepped away and made my way back to the car.
"What are you doing?" Bowtie whispered annoyedly at me.
"He needs to be alone right now," I answered quietly. I slowly closed the front door and walked through the yard once again. I crawled back into the car and shut the door behind me. I regretted looking through his journals. Not because they were scary or worrisome, but because I felt as if I had just broken Michael's trust. I didn't have any ill intent behind it, I was just curious, but I should have asked beforehand. He's clearly been through a lot during his lifetime. His childhood, adolescents, and even adulthood seemed to just be constant bombardment of bad luck.
I laid back down on the car seat and brought the blankets up to my shoulders. I figured I'd try to sleep again. I didn't want to look through more of Michael's things while he was in the middle of crying. Bowtie laid beside me as I got comfortable, though it was hard to sleep with even more thoughts running through my mind. It took a while before I actually drifted off.
A road bump startled me awake as Michael drove the car over it. My chair was now sitting up, and I was buckled in with the seat belt. The blankets were still on me, though they felt constricting as they were also underneath the seat belt.
"Sorry, kiddo," Michael apologized when he realized I was awake. Bowtie gleamed at me. "Good! You're alive," it said, relieved that I was finally awake.
I gazed around trying to regain my senses. When I fully recovered, I asked Michael, "Are we going to the pizzaplex?"
"Yep," he confirmed. I sighed in relief and shrunk further into my seat. I remembered the sketchbook I had found behind me and I turned over my shoulder. Michael's things were still there, including the backpack he brought from my house. My backpack was there, too. I couldn't hide my curiosity about his sketchbook, but I couldn't tell him I had read it either.
"What's all this stuff?" I asked. Michael shrugged, "Just travel bags. I told you I was on the other side of the country, didn't I?"
I nodded, though the suitcases weren't what I was asking about. I pointed at the tote bag, but it's not like he could see. "What about this bag?" I asked.
Bowtie glared at me when it realized what I was getting at. I chuckled nervously at it and hoped it wouldn't blow my operation. "What bag?" Michael questioned.
I picked up the strap and pulled it back on my lap. Michael peaked over and saw it, which he did not seem pleased with. He reached out with one hand and threw it into the back with no hesitation. "Let's not look through that," he said.
"Why? What's in it?" I pressed. Bowtie looked at me annoyed, but I was so close to getting an answer without having to reveal that I'd already read through them.
Michael sighed. "They're my thought journals," he said.
"Your what?" I asked.
"My thought journals," he repeated. "It's just something my therapist asked of me."
I groaned, " Ugh , therapy." My experience with Julie was terrible. I hated having someone judge me openly. I couldn't imagine doing that willingly. The blue ink must have been his therapist responding to his entries.
Michael laughed at my response. "I'm guessing you weren't a fan of Dr. Harrison, then?"
"No way!" I said, crossing my arms. "She's the worst! She's all high and mighty after telling me how senseless I am. Who gave her the right to judge me like that?"
"Her psychology degree," Michael joked. I turned away annoyed, but Bowtie giggled. It just angered me even more.
"Don't be mad at her," Michael said. "She's just doing her job."
Yeah, terribly . Her criticisms of me just felt like insults.
"Why would you even go to therapy?" I asked, though it was a bit more of an outward thought. Still, Michael responded.
"You saw those tapes," he said. "I was unstable. I could barely hold myself together. I had to work harder than most just to be functional."
"You were such a good father, though," I said. He really was from what I saw. The way he interacted with son was heart-warming. He may have yelled at him one time, but it's normal to get frustrated sometimes.
"It's not just about being a parent," Michael said. "I needed help, so I sought it. That's all."
I tapped my finger on my arm as I thought to myself. Michael was likely going to be someone I'd be around for a long time, possibly my guardian for a while. I gasped at a realization.
"You're not going to make me go to therapy, are you?" I asked. Michael chortled, tightening his grip on the wheel.
"Ha! No," he said, "not if you don't want to. But there's no shame behind it."
It's not that I was worried about my ego, it was just painful to be in a room and seen through like glass. I hoped Michael would stay to his word, but considering what I'd experienced this past week, I wasn't sure if he would.
Michael pulled the car over into a parking lot, but when I looked through the window, I didn't see the pizzaplex. Instead, it was a hotel.
"Uhm, I think you took a wrong turn," I said.
"No, I was thinking earlier," Michael said. "I realized how bad it would look if my car was parked near the pizzaplex, so I came up with a plan."
I turned back to him, confused. I guess he made a point. If we were going to be in the pizzaplex for a long time, missing the time that Joel had asked us to arrive at the police station, then spotting his car there would be very suspicious.
"Okay, what is it?" I asked.
"We'll check in, sneak out through the back, and call a cab service," he answered. Seemed simple enough. Plus, it'd make them think we were still inside the hotel, or at least something bad happened to us before we could leave.
Michael parked in the large parking garage and gave me my backpack. I put Bowtie back in the top flap and it stuck out its head like it had done before. Then he put on his and started walking out of the garage and to the hotel.
The hotel lobby was too bright for my liking. Everything was shining off of each other and the red coloring hurt to look at. I couldn't look down at the ground due to its strong reflections. There were too many people too. It seemed like some event was taking place on the first floor, and they all talked so loudly. I covered my eyes with my arm, trying to stop myself from getting too dizzy to walk, and held onto Michael's trench coat with the other. Michael noticed and plotted his hat on me, though it didn't really do much. I buried my face into the darkness of his coat.
I couldn't hear anything. Noise started to blur together into one barbaric sound. I covered my ear with one hand while keeping my face in Michael's clothes. I didn't think it was going to be this tough walking through one little lobby. It's somehow worse than the hospital. Maybe it was the echoing, or the amount of people inside, or the wide open space rather than smaller hallways, but whatever it was, it made it difficult to focus.
Michael guided me along until we made it back outside. I felt the cool air breeze past my skin and I slowly turned away from his trench coat. I opened my eyes to see a small rock pathway leading up to a gated pool behind the hotel. It was much darker outside.
Michael patted my shoulder trying to comfort me. "I knew you had a concussion, but I didn't realize it was that severe," he said to me. The detectives must have told him all the injuries that had been observed by the doctors.
"It's not that bad. I can handle the pizzaplex, anyways," I said, waiting for the world to stop spinning. There were probably some rooms I was going to have to take my time with, but it's quite unlit compared to the hospital and hotel lobby. I managed to run through the atrium and escape Vanny in this condition.
I looked up at him and I saw him without his cap on for the first time. I tried not to react, but there was obvious scarring on both sides of his temples, which were only somewhat hidden from his hair. I knew what they were from, but I didn't say anything. Did he wear this hat to hide it? I took off his cap and handed it to him.
"Here," I said quietly.
"Keep it," he said, pushing my hand back. "You'll need it more than me."
That was true. I hated to admit it, but wearing a hat while I was in the pizzaplex definitely made it easier for me to move around. When I wore Monty's cap, it blocked out the ceiling lights while still making it easy to see. I put the hat back on.
Hand in hand, we crept through the back of the hotel's yard until we reached the next road. Michael pulled out his phone and got us a ride to an open fast food restaurant that was open 24/7 close to the pizzaplex. He claimed it'd make him look less suspicious to the driver. I couldn't blame him. I'd think it was weird too if some guy was taking a child to a closed mega mall in the middle of the night.
When we were dropped off, the pizzaplex was just on the other side of the road. I heard Bowtie gasp in astonishment behind me.
"I know," I said to it, "it's huge. Hopefully it'll be easier this time now that I know how to navigate through it."
Bowtie nodded and said, "It's weird to think Vanny's in there right now, though. Do you think she altered the other animatronics?"
"What are you talking about? Of course she has," I replied. "As long as it makes me miserable, she's probably done it or is planning to do it." I'd already seen what upgrade she had ready for Roxy. I had no idea what she was going to do with Monty, or if she was going to do anything with him at all.
"How are we gonna get in?" Bowtie asked.
I froze in place and admitted, "I hadn't thought of that." I snuck in last time and overstayed my welcome. This time, I'm going to break in. Very different scenarios.
"I did," Michael chimed in. I turned around to look at him, waiting for him to tell us his plan.
"The door shutters should be down by this hour," he explained. That much was true. Vanessa had been able to open and close them when throwing me out, but she worked as a security guard there. She must've had some sort of key, and I doubted the shutters were able to be opened from the outside.
"There's the fire escape at the top," Michael continued. "It should be unlocked at all times, but opening the door will cause the fire alarm to go off. Plus, it'd be hard to even get up there."
"Where are you going with this?" I asked. He was just telling us ways we couldn't get in. It wasn't particularly helpful.
He sighed at my impatience and went straight to the point. "There's an escape route underneath the pizzaplex where the old pizzeria used to be. We can use it to get inside," he said.
"I don't follow," I admitted.
"Back when the pizzaplex was still a mall," he said, beginning to tell us a story, "my, uh, friend had ownership of the pizzeria beneath it."
I placed my hands on my hips, annoyed. "There's a pizzeria beneath the pizzaplex ?" I said, disgruntled and doubtful. Michael laughed at my words, but he nodded.
"Yes, believe it or not, there is. There was a fire that forced the pizzeria to close," he said. I was a bit shaken by his words. Is that where he got his burn scars from, then?
"I have a lot of questions," I said, raising my hand as if I was in a classroom. Michael shut me down.
"Save them for later," he said. "We can talk about that part of history some other time. My point is we should be able to get in from there."
"Okay, but how?" I asked.
"Just... follow me," Michael said. He started walking down the sidewalk. I ran up alongside him and stayed by his arm. We walked for quite some time until we came upon a ditch. There was a sewer gutter that spewed out beneath us, and Michael carefully jumped off the small cliff. It was about the same height the platform had been in the daycare theater, though he was probably able to take that height better than I could. He extended his arms out towards me, showing his intention of catching me when I took my turn. I inhaled some air for reassurance and jumped across, landing in Michael's arms. He put me down gently and moved over a bit so we could peak into the tunnel.
"Oh God," I complained, "don't tell me we're going in there." The rotting sewage smelled like sulfur. The contaminated water flowed out of the dark abyss. I covered my nose with the hem of my shirt trying to stop the smell.
"What? Never been in the sewers before?" Michael joked. He pulled out a flashlight from his backpack and turned it on, pointing into the sewer. It lit up the damp tunnel, and I could see the carvings and graffiti within.
"Actually, I have," I said. Bowtie shuffled around behind me before tapping on my shoulder. I turned to look at it. It had dragged up a flashlight from the bigger pocket in my backpack. I pulled my arm back and grabbed onto the head.
"When did this get in there?" I asked Bowtie. It shrugged.
"Michael and I packed your bag for you while you were sleeping," it said. I turned it on and saw Michael was already walking into the tunnel. I quickly caught up to him so I could walk behind him.
"Did you hear me?" Michael asked when I approached him.
"No, I didn't," I admitted. I was too focused on Bowtie to hear whatever he had said.
"When did you go in the sewers?" he repeated. He must be asking about my answer to his rhetorical question.
"A couple days ago. I got caught in the trash compactor," I said, probably a bit too pridefully.
"Care to elaborate?" Michael said.
"Not if you don't tell me about this pizzeria."
He sighed in irritation, but he didn't say anything. He wasn't willing to talk about it. Fine , I thought, you don't get to hear about my fall into the sewer, then .
There was a ledge on both sides of the water that let us walk through without having to rummage through the dirty water. I viewed the walls around us. The farther we walked in, the more ominous the graffiti became. It morphed from simple caricatures and bubble lettering to menacing warnings and foreboding messages. The phrase "It's me" was carved into the walls several times, and a bunch of names were strewn across the walls that repeated endlessly, along with unrecognizable code scribbled and carved. The drawings became more and more malevolent, becoming excessively violent and threatening.
"What's up with all this graffiti?" I asked Michael. It wasn't like I was scared, but it was a little bit concerning.
"Eh, just some teens with too much free time," he replied, flicking his hand without a care. This sure was a whole lot of effort. I focused on the names on the walls. They weren't signatures like I had initially thought they were. Instead, they spread through the whole tunnel as if they were in remembrance. The same five names repeated after one another.
"What's the point? Why go through the trouble of making this?" I said, circling as I examined our surroundings.
"Fazbear Entertainment's history isn't a total secret," Michael answered. "Teens hear about the story and decide to take it a bit too far with... this." He motioned outwards to the walls. He really didn't seem at all anxious about the hundreds of drawings.
"Ha! That one's a pig!" Bowtie snorted. I turned to the drawing it was pointing at and lit it up with my flashlight.
It was a drawing of a pig's head with a stick stabbed through its head. The staff stood vertically keeping the head up while its blood dripped over the wooden stake. Its eyes were crossed out with scratchy X's.
"Yeah, a dead pig," I said, unamused.
"It's Pig Patch," Michael joined in.
I turned to him confused. "Who?"
"One of the animatronics at the old pizzeria. I guess the artist wasn't a big fan," Michael said. He let out a sigh and brought his spirit back up. "Though, I applaud them for their talent. And the Lord of the Flies reference is kinda funny," he said with a chuckle.
"Are you really critiquing art drawn in a sewage gutter right now?" I asked, crossing my arms. I didn't want to be here any longer than I had to be.
"Right, sorry, let's keep moving," he said, continuing onward. Though, I guess now that I knew Michael enjoyed drawing so much, he probably had some kind of gratification out of analyzing works like this, especially if it's supposed to be an old animatronic that he's familiar with.
Michael suddenly stopped in his tracks and moved his arm to block me. "Oh my god!" he yelled while looking at the floor.
"What? What is it?" I asked, trying to peek over and below his arm.
"It's a rat king!" he exclaimed, moving over a bit to let me see. I looked down to where his flashlight was pointing. It was five dead rats with their tails tangled together into knots. Their heads looked as if their skin had sunken into their skulls.
"Ew!" I stepped back so that I wouldn't have to look at it.
"Yeah, gross!" Bowtie agreed with me. Michael turned back to look at us.
"Don't be like that," Michael said. "These are extremely rare. I don't think one has ever been found in America before, actually."
"Why the hell do you know so much about rat kings?" I asked, still grossed out. If it's so rare, how did we manage to find one so easily in the sewer?
"Oh... reasons," he laughed. Bowtie and I looked at each other in disbelief. Maybe Michael was crazy.
He kept his eyes on it for a while, but his face gradually changed from astonishment to perturbed. He was thinking to himself, but I had no idea what was running through his head at that moment. I wondered if he had the same thought as me, that it was strange to find something scarce like this.
He hopped over it and gave me room to do the same. I groaned, but I swallowed down my nausea and jumped over it as well. I tried not to think about other rodents that could be lurking in the sewers with us.
We kept moving forward and I could tell we were getting close to the end as the scribbling became less frequent. Soon the walls were carved with the silhouette of a rabbit, and I knew exactly who'd done it.
"Vanny knows about this entrance," I whispered nervously to Michael. He didn't seem surprised. The tunnel was quickly littered with the red lining of the rabbit icon. We spotted a small side shaft inside the wall with large arrows pointing towards it.
"It didn't look like this last time," Michael commented. Vanny probably drew the arrows to freak us out.
He crouched and scooted into the small opening. I hesitated before following him. Michael turned around to look at me when he realized I wasn't following him.
"Are you coming?" he asked. I slowly nodded and squatted down, crawling in behind him. We crept on all fours through the tunnel until there was no more space in front. Now, there was a hatch above us. Michael put his hands on it and stretched his legs as he tried to open it. After some force, it swung open into the room above us. He climbed out and put his hand back in for me to grab. I held on and he helped pull me up.
I dusted off my clothes and looked around. It was pitch black, but with my flashlight I could see the remains of what was an old kitchen. At least, I thought it was a kitchen. I couldn't tell; everything was burned to a crisp. The black and white tiling on the floor was decaying from not being taken care of, and the furniture had been blackened from ash.
"Oh, wow," I gasped, less so in awe and more from shock.
"C'mon, let's get out of here," Michael said, grabbing onto my hand as he led us through the burnt restaurant. I saw a giant sinkhole in the middle of the main room that was surrounded by barricades. It must have collapsed during the fire, and the barricades were most likely set up during the investigation to prevent people from accidentally falling in.
The walls were crumbling and support beams had fallen down. When we walked out of the restaurant, our surroundings were a bit brighter. There was still power being consumed by the old building. I turned around to see where we had exited. A large sign with lights read, "Freddy Fazbear's Pizza Place." I almost couldn't believe it.
We stumbled through all the debris before coming upon an old elevator. We used it up to another decaying hallway, but this led to a long metal staircase. We walked up it together, and once we made it at the uppermost platform, a red door stood. I swung it open and looked around.
The walls were cleaner, and it was much brighter here. I lowered my hat to block out some of the light. The floor was still cluttered, and the walls had decorations and florescent lighting. There were construction tools and equipment lying around. I realized where we were.
"This is Roxy's Raceway!" I exclaimed. We made it! I ran farther out into the open space just to double check, but sure enough I saw the familiar race track.
"Who's what?" Michael asked.
"Roxy's Raceway!" I repeated. I was too excited to elaborate. Michael walked slowly over to me examining the big room.
"No, this is supposed to be Pirate's Cove," he said.
My excitement evaporated and I felt dread rear its ugly head at me. Did Michael not know Foxy was gone? I wouldn't be surprised if this used to be Foxy's area, but now that Foxy was out of the pizzaplex and replaced by Roxy, this is now her area.
"Well," I stammered nervously, "Foxy isn't around anymore."
"What? Where is he?" he asked me, grabbing onto my shoulders tightly. I hadn't expected him to jump at me like that so suddenly.
"Hey!" Bowtie yelled at him. "Let him go!" Michael's grip one me loosened and he stuttered out an apology.
"S-Sorry, just... What happened to Foxy?" he said, rubbing his hands on his coat sleeves.
I didn't realize how much of a connection Michael had with Foxy, though I guess after reading his journal I could see where he may be coming from. "Freddy said he's at a rental facility," I answered after I had recollected myself.
Michael sighed in relief. "So, then, what is this?" he said, as if I hadn't said it several times beforehand.
"Roxy's Raceway," I said slowly, emphasizing the R's in the words. "It's a go-kart track."
"Who's Roxy?" he asked.
"Uhm, you know... Roxy? Roxanne Wolf? Foxy's replacement?" I said.
Michael blinked a couple times, trying to come up with something. I got impatient and said, "I thought you made the animatronics here! Don't you know who Roxy is?"
"I've never heard of Roxy before," Michael confessed. I stepped back, surprised. "Really?"
"When I left, Foxy was still the curator of this room," he said. It all finally clicked for me. It had been several years ago when Michael left, and Roxy had only been here for at least a single year. Of course Michael wouldn't have ever known about Roxy's Raceway, and that of course meant he wasn't Roxy's creator. That's why I never found her tape, but instead found Foxy's.
I pointed towards one of the cardboard cutouts of Roxy and said, "That's her. She's cool, I think you'll like her." She wasn't very cool right now, though. Last I had seen, she was being dragged into parts and service by Chica, crying and screaming as if her head had been cut off, which, coincidentally, it had been when Vanny first attacked us.
Michael examined the figure. "She's a bit... risqué, don't you think?" he said, putting his finger on his chin as he thought.
"I mean, I guess," I said, wincing a bit at Michael's comment. I knew she was supposed to be, but I certainly didn't see her that way. It hurt a bit to think Michael may be like the adults she despised so much.
"Man," Michael sighed, brushing out the hair that had fallen in front of his eyes, "I wonder what else has changed." He looked up at the concession stands that were on the platform above us.
"You can look at it all later. We have things to do," I said. Vanny should still be somewhere in the pizzaplex, and I have no idea what the animatronics were up to.
"Right, okay," Michael said, refocusing on our mission. "You said the animatronics were hacked?"
"Yes, they were all nice to me until Vanny got into their systems," I explained.
"And you want me to return them back?" Michael asked.
"Duh! We don't possibly have any chance against Vanny if she's got an indestructible army," I said.
"Okay, well," Michael thought out loud, "I can probably just perform a factory reset on them, but then they'll forget everything."
"What? No!" I yelled. "I don't want them to forget about me!"
"I had a feeling you'd say that," Michael sighed. "Luckily, there is another way. Each animatronic should have extra personality chips in their designated locations. If we override whatever code Vanny had put in them, it should return them back to normal."
"And what if their bodies are broken?" I asked. Chica and Roxy were both in terrible condition, and I assumed Monty was also in the same boat. Sun and Moon's body had also fallen from a high place, so they may have also suffered some injury. Freddy's the only one who hasn't had a terrible fate.
Michael glared at me and lifted an eyebrow. "What happened to them?" he asked.
I glanced around nervously before saying, "There's been a lot of fighting..."
Michael crossed his arms and appeared annoyed, but he said, "I'll see what I can do, but I can't make any promises. I haven't touched an animatronic in years."
"Okay, great, so we just have to find their code before they or Vanny finds us," I said. I laughed a bit to myself, saying, "Super easy! No problem!" as if trying to convince myself it'd be an effortless challenge. Michael chuckled at my lack of confidence. He looked around the interior of Roxy's Raceway one more time.
"I guess we'll start here."