Patience: Chapter 3. Confusion

Mike awoke, tucked away in the little alcove between his sink and the toilet. He hadn't remembered the walk home, but he remembered a blurred Sal who said something to him as he rushed out the door. It didn't feel like it mattered right now, between the burning pain in his stomach and the delirium his mind was swimming in from last nights events, an angry boss was the least of his worries. Even as the hours passed, after drifting in an out of sleep between panic attacks, he still couldn't wrap his mind around it all. It wasn't until the tears dried, and the trembling died that Mike began to crawl out from his squalid panic hole.

Opening the bathroom door to find his front door wide open, and the sun still in the sky, Mike sauntered over and began to close the door. Stopping when only a crack to peak out of remained. Looking out there, at the streets, he watched the seldom other ragged souls who lived around here go about their day. The shapes, sizes, colors and clothes changed, but one thing stayed the same between each of them. The downcast, hopeless glare as they went about their days. Some picked through the trash cans, some gathered the idle cans about the parking lot, but most of them just kept walking. Walking forward without the luxury of a cramped, rotting place to sleep. And that's when he finally realized why he couldn't shake this, this feeling of dread. He couldn't even consider quitting this job.

If he didn't stay on for at least the week, he wouldn't even get his starting check. He wouldn't have to worry about murderous robots, he could just join the mindless crowd outside. He could pick through trash, collect bottles. He'd be perfectly safe until he starved to death on the, soon-to-be-winter, streets. He closed the door and slumped himself onto it. His hands covered his face as he felt the fear renew itself.

This is what hopelessness felt like. To die today, or die tomorrow, it was the perfect definition of a 'catch 22'. He figured that was why it hurt so much. For a man like Mike, who could look at poverty, health problems, and no social contacts, and say; 'it ain't all that bad!' This WAS that bad. There was no silver lining here. He was spinning a great wheel with DEATH written in several different colors, with a single slot saying +20 Dollars!'. It was a game of Russian roulette that he couldn't afford not to play.

He took a breath in...

Five...four...three...two...one

He let the breath out...

One...two...three...four...five.

Sniffing pointlessly with a runny nose, Mike sat his head back against the door and let his hands fall between his legs. This was some grim shit he'd gotten himself into. And nothing was going to get better until HE made it better. The lofty days of dreams and 'what if?' had left. There were no stars left in the sky for him, only those glowing, soulless eyes. He could ask himself how it came to be like this, or why these things happened to him, but he didn't bother. He knew no one was listening, that no one would grace him with an answer. Sometimes people just fell through the cracks on the road of life. But Mike felt like he'd fallen of the ditch and into the sewer. He certainly felt trapped like a sewer rat.

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After an unremembered amount of time, Mike finally snapped out of his stupor without so much as a flinch. Gathering himself and brushing himself off, Mike grabbed his jacket and walked outside. He still had some time before his shift. Might as well live a little, before the end.

There really isn't much to the world when you find yourself without any money to stir the pot. Sure, Mike could've gone to the basketball courts, or the library perhaps. Those were free for entry, but with no ball and little in the way of nerves it would be a frivolous waste of time. And seeings as he didn't have much time to spare, he went with the simple solution.  A walk around the block.

During his walk, Mike discovered a weird pattern about the city; all of it was centered around escapism. Advertisements of colorful and disproportionate characters littered the skyline. Storefronts plastered with various devices and methods to forgot your worries. Several of the posters even called for 'a new you, a better you!', or some cure-all for superficial problems with various websites, codes, and extensions. Everyone was so tired of being themselves, that they'd give anything to be someone else. someTHING else even.

...Mike would trade places with anyone of them. Even if they had some chronic disability, or some heavy addiction, anything. Maybe he could make something out of it, anything that wasn't THIS. Everything was fucked, and the sun was setting. Even in these fleeting hours, Mike wished, so hard, that anything could come along. A sign, a helping hand, a shotgun for all he cared. Something, anything.

But he knew the answer before it came. Silence. No one had ever answered his cries for help. He made a mental note to stop asking for it.

Mike returned home, hard to say if the walk did anything to ease his spirits, but the jitters had stopped. That was something. Mike sat down on his couch, (which is what he called his bed when he wasn't sleeping in it), and folded his hands over his mouth. Looking around, his eyes caught the pizzabox on the counter. Sal's sign on bonus, what a joke. Still, there was a promotional flyer stuck to the front of the box, it looked like a kid's activity sheet.

Pulling it off the box, Mike gave the greasy sheet a look over. Just as he thought, it was a children's infographic that covered the Fazbear band. There was an activity corner with a crossword puzzle and a connect the dots, even a little area encuraging kids to submit art of 'their fun day' to add to the Pizzreia's walls. That explained all the art he saw before. Mike didn't realize it until he went to put the thing down, but he'd been writing on the thing with a chewed up pen. A pen he could've sworn he'd lost weeks ago. He figured he must've still been rattled, because he had been scrawling notes down like mad. Each character's face had been scratched out, probably a defense mechanism his subconscious had been working on. Each character had their characteristics, and names labeled below them.

Bonnie- Obsessive, will watch the life drain out of your face
Chica- Busy, little time to play. Just need you to die.
Foxy- HAAAATEE YOYOUYOUY
Freddy- I will kill you.
Me- DeadDeadDeadDeadDeadDead

Mike stared hard at the paper with an eerie feeling. What the fuck was all this? Who the fuck was foxy? He didn't remember seeing any foxes last night, just the rabbit, chicken, and...him. Freddy. So how was he writing about him? It didn't make sense right? It didn't make sense that he was...doing something. What was he doing again? Making a gameplan for tonight, right? Right. He was scribbling down notes of what he'd learned. He looked over the paper once more to ensure he wasn't forgetting something.

BonNie- quick2door, quick2leave door
ChiCA- slow2door, slow2leave door
Foxy- ???
Freddy- Only comes if you don't do job. Conserve power
Me- Scared shitless. Probably dead

Yeah, that was what he wrote, but why would he do that? It didn't make sense that he'd write himself off like that, he was scared shitless, granted, but he didn't feel as though he was going to die. He needed to have some confidence to see himself through the night. Still, he couldn't help but feel as though something weird just happened, but he could just chalk that up to his shot nerves. Time was winding down, and he had a job to do. Grabbing his hat, he set out for a second night.
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After a brisk walk, Mike found himself outside the restaurant with a familiar brown jacket waiting outside.

"Mike? S'at you boy?"

The fat figure asked, smoking something thicker than a cigarette this time. Mike didn't bother answering. Instead, he reached the door and began fumbling with his keys. The man had a bewildered look on his face as he scratched atop his wrinkled head.

"Well I'll be. Ya left in such a state las' night, that I thought we'd scared ya off fer good. Good ta see yer madea tougher stuff than I thought. I'll see ya in the mornin', bright n' early."

The man rasped between sour plumes of smoke, and patted Mike on the shoulder before disappearing into the night with relative ease. Bastard

Still, Mike had work to do, and he wasn't going to fuck around outside of his office. The place seemed a hell of alot darker than usual. Finding the security office was a stressful venture through the dark that eventually ended when he found the lighted room at the end of the hall.

"...What..the..fuck...?"

The place looked nothing of what he remembered. There was only one doorway now, but there was no door. There were still 'Light' buttons, but they covered the air vents on either side. You didn't see a power display, but there was the same old monitors and...a flashlight. A heavy one that looked decent enough for a weapon. Against people that is, doubt a robot would give a toss if he bonked them with it. Still, there was the phone call, err, recording to explain things. Right?

"Hello? Hello...uh...what on earth are you doing there, uh didn’t you get the memo, uh, the place is closed down, uh, at least for a while."

What. Why didn't Sal say something? He's the manager, he should've known about this right? mike didn't know what the fuck was going on, Sal said he'd 'See ya in the morning'. So why did that yokel make you go into work?

"Someone used one of the suits. We had a spare in the back, a yellow one, someone used it...now none of them are acting right."

What happened? What was the memo? What the hell happened?

"Listen j-just finish your shift it’s safer than trying to leave in the middle of the night. Uh we have one more event scheduled for tomorrow, a birthday. You’ll be on day shift, wear your uniform, stay close to the animatronics, make sure they don’t hurt anyone okay, uh for now just make it through the night, uh when the place eventually opens again I’ll probably take the night shift myself. Okay, good night and good luck."

Jesus, now they were doing this murderous shit during the day too? What the hell, how was he supposed to keep up with all this? What the hell happened to the office, did he stumble into the back office or something? Nothing made sense, all of this was insane!

The monitors.

No time for questions, he had to check the monitors for...what.

The place was nothing like what you remembered, it was nearly twice the size! Just passing through them was nerve-wracking, there was so much more ground to cover! He didn't even have a door! What the hell was he supposed to do if one of the things came waltzing in?! And there was. Oh god. There were so many of them. Almost twice as many of them, No. No this couldn't be happening, this was just a nightmare, this was just a horrible nightmare. A horrible nightmare with a backdrop of...static? Some kind of weird morse code? Mike looked up and down to find it, and found it's source coming from the darkened hallway from where he'd came. With a hesitant hand, Mike picked up the flashlight and aimed it down the hallway. Clicking it on, he was met with a run-down bear, and an amalgamation of metal and pink.

Mike jumped back and dropped the flashlight with a yelp. Flinging himself at the ground, Mike reclaimed the torch an shone it back down the Hallway. The coast was clear, in a sense. The hallway was empty, but now the vents echoed with activity. The clock hadn't even struck 1AM, and he was already being overwhelmed! Looking over to his right, Mike barely got a scream out before the animatronic hand clamped down on his jaw. It was his old friend, Bonnie. She was missing an arm, and the majority of it's face, but he knew those eyes, that form.

It's remaining arm was holding Mike aloft. Holding his tongue down with it's rusty metal thumb, the remaining three fingers rested below his chin. No matter how he thrashed and swatted at the thing, it wouldn't let Mike go. Shifting it's head to the side, the mechanical strength of the robot crushed his jaw as it clenched. Through the garbled screams and blood, Mike continued to bash the
'head' of the robot as it sat there, watching him struggle.

Raising the flashlight once more, Mike felt another surge of pain coming from his hand. Sparing a panicked glance, Mike found the pink fox-thing staring back at him. With his bloody arm snapped inside it's jaws like a bear trap. It began pulling Mike up, towards the dark recesses of the overhanging vents. His plight was short-lived thankfully(?), as another wave of pain coursed through him. A bloody hook had pierced through his femur on his right leg, and a gaggle of cartoonish looking animatronics had wrapped their own claws around his left leg. Despite the mangled beast's protests, the murderous crowd pulled Mike back down. Front and center, the surge of adrenaline being the only thing keeping Mike from passing out.

After a time, a final, black and white creature flowed towards him. With all but the withered shell of Bonnie moving to the side as it approached. Though, none released their grip on Mike's person. Putting a thin, lace-like hand on the withered's arm, the machine crumpled to the floor, leaving the crippled mess of what used to be Mike's jaw hanging idle. A bloody gurgle indicated that Mike had wanted to say something, anything. The lithe, masked creature showed no interest in it, however. Putting it's hand over Mike's chest, it began to pull at him. He couldn't see what it was taking, but it wasn't carving him open, it was taking the pain away.

His extremities went numb, and like poison, it slowly spread to his limbs. The Mangle released the arm and fled back to the ceiling's recesses. With nothing else holding him up, the remains of Mike might've crashed to the floor if the thin creature hadn't caught him. Cradling him now, the mask continued it's silent work. as the numbing spread, Mike could feel himself slipping away, like candle smoke in the wind. The world began to fade...

It's me.

"GAH!"

Mike awoke with a start, covered in a cold-sweat as he patted himself down. Everything was still attached, nothing was broken. Looking around, Mike found himself in the familiar office he'd come to know. He had never been so happy to see those mag-lock doors. Looking at the time, he found 1 AM looking back at him. He must've fallen asleep when he got in the office.

"Jus-Just a dream. A dream"
*cough*
"Just...Just a nightmare. Heh...Nothing more. Just-"

Mike rasped as his voice choked itself out into silence. He looked down at his trembling hands, repeatedly clenching and unclenching them. A coping mechanism he'd had since childhood. He thought he outgrew it, but he didn't know how else to act at this point. It was all so REAL, So vivid like he was watching a movie, or playing a game. Never before were any of his dreams that in depth. He could still taste the coppery liquid running down his throat, from...from the rabbit. Looking down, it became quite evident why could still taste it. He had a nose bleed. Wonderful. His body was breaking down under the stress, and it felt like his mind wasn't too far behind. When a man is chained down by his anger, befuddled by his fear, and slighted by society...this is what was left. And as it turns out? What's left doesn't perform well under pressure.

The silence was broken by a familiar sound of a phone ringing. And this time, Mike didn't jump in his seat, didn't move at all. He sat there, staring at his hands as the recording began.

"Uhh, Hello? Hello? Uh, well, if you're hearing this and you made it to day two, uh, congrats!"

His night had only just began...