Ringer - Chapter 5

Epilogues: Ringer - Chapter 5

While certainly not the warmest location for... whatever this is going to be, the apartment office is at least sheltered from the wind, which is a blessing. You take a seat in front of Marion's desk, and Beanie does likewise, looking just as clueless as you are, but petulant on top of that. She switches constantly between glaring at you and ignoring you every time you check, so you prudently direct your attention to a small chip in the painted wall in front of you. Mercifully, Faz is even a touch earlier than promised, by your estimation, and he settles into the slightly more comfortable chair usually occupied by your wiry employer.

Without speaking a word, he reaches under the desk, lifting a smallish space heater and putting it on one end of the desk, turning it on full blast and allowing all three of you to bask in its warmth. “Too much hardware in these old bones to tolerate cold like I used to.” He explains absently. Glancing aside, you see that the orange glow only serves to sharpen Beanie's glower.

He steeples his fingers, affecting an air of authority before he speaks. “Two ground rules. First: tell the truth. No matter how uncomfortable, how painful it may be, to yourself or another. Hiding the truth from each other only hurts more in the long run.” he pronounces earnestly.

“Second?” You ask, offering tacit agreement by not arguing the point.

“Nothing we discuss leaves this room. Ever. We clear the air and move forward.” He sums up succinctly.

“Fine. Whatever.” Beanie grumps. “Get on with it.”

“Very well, Beanie. What happened last night?” he begins innocuously enough, fiddling with his phone a moment before setting it on his edge of the desk.

“We got separated, I thought Mike knew how to get home on his own, I was wrong.” she mutters, chewing on her lower lip.

“That's all?” Faz asks placidly, a furry eyebrow ticking upwards nigh imperceptiably.

“Well, if you gimme a second I can get you turn by turn directions, if you'd…” she spits back angrily before being cut off by one of Faz's thick digits tapping the screen of his phone, the speaker blaring to life in the small office.

“Hey, Mike. It’s Beanie. The gang’s really worried about you, monkey boy. I hope you're okay, and…” can be heard before Beanie frantically leaps over the desk to stop the playback, earning her another disappointed glower from the battle-scarred bear. She withers briefly, settling back into her chair before turning on you.

“What the fuck, Mike?” She demands, like you were responsible for her lying right out of the box.

“My possession of that voicemail is not Michael’s doing. Not directly anyway.” He clarifies, and you suddenly remember what he's talking about a split second before he explains it to the irate rabbit. “Mike's phone is paired with mine. If either of us get a voicemail that is work-related while we're off the clock, all we have to do is not delete it, or file it in a personal folder, and it automatically gets forwarded to the other for proper disposition. Interesting that you assumed the worst out of Mike, though. So you ditched Mike because he said something, what, stupid? Offensive?” He demands pointedly of Beanie.

“Faz, we squashed all that. Seriously.” You interject, again stepping into the breach to protect a friend. At least for your part, anyway. “And I didn't delete your voicemail because my phone died while I was listening to it.” you clarify for Beanie's benefit.

“You didn't hear all of it?” She says, almost expectantly.

“No. If I had, I'd have been able to call or message someone.”

“Okay.” She says, mollified, perhaps even relieved? She's so hard to read when she's angry.

“Good. Out of curiosity, what did you say to her? Bonita is a very stalwart girl.” He adds, apparently missing a piece of the puzzle.

“Well, I'd just yanked her out of the street before she would have gotten run over, and I told her I was just looking out for her safety.” You say, your guilt returning with a vengeance as you see her draw her knees up into her chest, hugging them protectively.

“Did you know what that meant to her?”

“Not at the time, no.”

“So you didn't do it to hurt her.”

“Of course not!” You almost bark, voice indignant at the implication. “I wasn't around when...he...was.” sidestepping a certain humanimatronic’s name for her sake more than anything. You also wisely avoid pointing out just how well Faz knows this fact as well.

“I was the only one who believed her, Mike. Everyone else thought she was paranoid.” Faz says softly. Beanie is still rocking gently in place, avoiding looking at either of you.

“Darky said even Fritzine thought it was... inappropriate.” You add, immediately regretting it.

“When the fuck did he tell you that?” Beanie demands, and now you're the one who's squirming.

“Earlier tonight.” You say softly, hoping you haven't sounded the horn to round up the lynch mob. Beanie looks like she's been poleaxed, and you can't say as you blame her. “He's the one who found and took care of me after I cracked my skull.” You add, trying to keep the purple rabbit from devolving into a full on panic attack. “He’s not a threat, Beanie. Seriously, Faz and I probably wouldn't be alive if it weren't for Darky. Hell, Fred, Rackham, April and Freddy might not have made it out either.”

“Michael is correct in that regard. But for that one's actions, Fritzine never would have been stopped, and Jeremy would have escaped and done God knows how much damage.” Faz adds helpfully.

“I'm still not okay with that freak being in the same room with you, let alone babysitting you.” she mutters angrily. “I'm not losing anyone else to those...things.”

“Point is I didn't know any better, Faz. Dumb monkey, remember?” You say for her benefit, hoping Faz doesn't call you on that particular white lie.

“Got that right.” Beanie affirms with a hint of snark returning to her voice, and you breathe an inward sigh of relief.

“Very well. Beanie, have you ever known Mike to be anything but truthful?” He asks pointedly.

“No.” She answers skeptically, wondering, like you, where this is going.

“What about me?”

“Faz, you're the straightest guy I know. Always have been.” She says, getting barest tick of the battered bear’s smile in return.

“So then why do you get offended when he's trying to offer…” he begins before her anger barrels back to the fore.

“Because I'm not going to be told by people who weren't fucking there just how much they understand!” She practically screams, and you could swear you hear Faz gritting his sizeable teeth.

“So despite the fact that you know Michael and I to both be honest, you refuse to believe us.” He says evenly, but even you can detect the edge of anger hidden beneath. Beanie just pinches the bridge of her nose, eyes squinted in apparent frustration.

“Look. I know you both *mean* well, but that's not the same. My own parents, my own *brother* didn't believe me. I had to have random drug screenings to make sure I was taking my meds. I fucking hated those pills, but they were 'necessary for my mental health’.” She says sarcastically, complete with fuzzy purple air quotes. Your heart sinks at this revelation, even if you know they meant well, and your own anger threatens to overwhelm you as well.

“Beanie, I didn't know that. They must've been doing what they thought was best for you, but at the same time, I get why you're angry. Hell, *I’m* mad, and they're not even my family.” you add, feeling a little better for admitting it, and sticking up for Bonita even in this tiny, insignificant way.

She offers up a bemused chuckle before transitioning directly into speech. “Why are *you* mad?” She asks of you, face conveying amused bewilderment.

“Because I care about you. A lot.” You say earnestly.

She's taken aback by this, her mouth hanging slightly slack as she tries to process your confession of...what, precisely? *You* don't even know if there's anything more beyond the words themselves.

“Mike…” she begins hesitantly, “I've had so many people *say* they understand, *say* that they know when they really don't.” She adds, and you can hear a hint of anguish creeping into her voice.

“Michael and I might be better informed in that regard than you realize, Beanie.” Faz pronounces sagely, drawing a skeptically raised eyebrow from the purple rabbit before he pulls the world out from under you with a simple question. “Mike, do you recall a conversation that we had a little over a year ago on the subject of animatronics?”

“The conversation we swore we'd never mention again?” You ask slowly, voice full of dread. You can feel your heart thundering away in your chest as he continues.

“Yes. Yes we did. Which is why I asked you to be here. In light of what we both know, I think Bonita needs to know.”

“Know what?” Beanie asks dubiously.

“The truth about Michael.” Faz replies succinctly. Your lapine friend’s gaze darts between you and the ominous bear, your own thought process just as erratic as you ponder the implications of what he's saying. You can't possibly out yourself as a living, breathing human to Beanie, can you? You don't have any proof, for starters, and the potential damage from such a revelation can't possibly be outweighed by any benefit to be gained, can it?

“And what, pray tell, would *that* truth be?” Bonita demands, now in full skeptic mode.

“Foxy kicked his broom under the couch yesterday.” He begins, and you blink at the seeming non sequitur. “Was flailing about under there for a bit before I came over to help him. He handed me this and asked if I agreed on how cute a couple you made, Mike.” He states quietly, sliding an oblong slip of photo paper across the desk. The both of you lean in, and you barely register the shocked gasp beside you as the ambient temperature drops forty degrees in an instant.

You're both looking at a strip of four small photographs, the output of a photo booth somewhere. The first, at the top, is you, looking somewhat bored, or maybe tired, based on the slight droop in your eyes. You're wearing your peaked cap with SECURITY emblazoned across the front and a slightly disheveled green polo shirt. There's a hole poked through your left eye, likely thanks to Foxy’s hook, but unsettling nonetheless.

And that's *before* you get to the next three frames.

The second is much the same, save for a pair of small, very pointy purple bunny ears peeking out above your head. In the third, you can see an entire purple hand now, with the requisite number of frighteningly sharp fingers, resting on your left shoulder, the spindly arm it's attached to barely visible above your right. Your face has shifted from sleepy boredom to curious dread as you look down at the offending appendage.

The fourth frame has you looking for Marion's trash can to potentially rid yourself of some pie and coffee, and you thankfully spot it nearby and drag it over, its presence at your fingertips offering a small modicum of relief. Your eyelids are slammed shut, but you can still see the image clear as day. That...thing has her arm wrapped around your neck in a combination hug/chokehold, both hands raised in a double thumbs up matching the goofy synthetic grin on it's malevolent plastic face. Your own face is the near polar opposite, white as a sheet and a mask etched with terror and panic, your right hand straining to extricate yourself from her grasp while your left is plastered against the glass plate covering the camera and dominating the frame. You at last open your eyes and can see that you're still focused on the trash can, your knuckles white as they grip the edge, desperately anchoring you to whatever passes for reality these days.

The sound of your pulse, roaring in your ears, almost drowns out your shuddering, gasping breaths. Aside from that, the room is deathly quiet, your friends almost forgotten until Bonita’s voice breaks the silence in a low, raw fury.

“I don't know what, precisely, this is supposed to be, but what it isn't...is fucking funny.” She growls, and you can hear the photo paper buckle slightly in her grasp.

“I assure you this isn't..” you can barely hear Faz begin before you cut him off, your voice low, slow and deathly cold.

“That was taken the day I got fired. I remember it now, clear as yesterday. I was getting off work, and we had a staff meeting. Staff meeting.” You repeat contemptuously. “Like we were some big corporation instead of a stupid pizza joint. Big heaping helping of corporate-flavored bullshit anyways. Had to take photos for new IDs. I had to pay for the privilege.” You add, rolling your eyes so hard Beanie would be proud if she could see them.

“She showed up and pulled that stunt, and I lost it. In front of everyone, even some customers. Can't have the employees pointing out just how dangerous the mascots are to the general public, now can we? Sure I understand. Your hands are tied.” You add mockingly, straightening back into your chair, raising your hands nonconfrontationally. “Yessir, I'm sorry too. Well of course you'd take legal action if I ever slandered the company. I don't have any great-grandchildren yet, but I'll be sure to remind them of your mercy and compassion.” You spit venomously.

“But hey, at least I managed to avoid getting suited by that crazy bitch before they fired me. That's an accomplishment I guess.” You mutter, your gaze cutting up to meet the silent bear’s. His expression is pained, but not angry, not with you at least. You hope.

“Oh. My. Fucking. God.” Beanie begins, growing louder and angrier with each word. “I cannot BELIEVE you two! That you would even THINK to troll me like this! What the fuck is wrong with you?” She's screaming now, eyes wide in self-righteous anger. “Who the hell made 'RoBeanie’? Cheeky? I'll fucking murder that tramp!” She growls, and you can hear more than see Faz’s claws digging furrows in the desktop. “This your idea, Mike? Getting me back for last night? Well, congratufuckinlations, you got me, you fuckin’ asshole!”

At that last, Faz bolts to his feet, faster than you've ever actually seen him move, before thunderously slamming his right fist into the desktop. “Enough!” He bellows, anger clearly threatening to take the suddenly terrifying bear. Glancing over at Beanie, you can see her cowering into her chair, the slightly-built rabbit shrinking smaller than you thought possible.

“You really think this is payback? For last night, whatever happened? Look at the bottom picture.” He says, voice returning to close to normal.

“What, did you draw a dick on ‘my’ face or something?” She grouses, peering closely at the strip of photos. “Okay, what am I looking at?”

“Foreground.” Faz says succinctly.

“It's a hand. A hairless monkey hand.”

“Notice anything?”

“Need to stop biting your nails, that's for damn... wait.” she snarks before shifting gears, voice going soft as she leans back in her chair, slowly swinging her gaze in your direction. Wordlessly you raise your left hand in a slight wave towards your purple friend. Her brow furrows in irritation, and she picks up the picture again regarding it closely for several more seconds.

“So either someone’s got some ridiculous photo editing skills, or you two have been planning this for over a damn year.” She says, voice barely above a mumble.

“Or…?” Faz prompts her, his tone now merely irritated at having to go over your record of honesty once again.

“Holy shit, this is real.” She admits, her voice an awestruck whisper.

“Yeah.” You say softly, voice conflicted between regret, fear and pain. “Beanie, meet Bonnie.” You say hesitantly, biting your lips shut lest you repeat her name twice more and somehow summon the eagerly persistent robotic nightmare. After a moment of allowing her to process that, you resume speaking. “I suppose you're curious as to…”

“Why?” She asks, her abject horror at this revelation just barely peeking through. Funny, you thought she'd be far more concerned with the 'how’ of the matter.

“Why what?” You ask cautiously.

“Why would someone make a robot person when you can have the real thing for much cheaper? Plus you run smack into the uncanny valley with fake rabbits. Fake *anything*. I mean, humanimatronics? I get it. Not real, no other options. And what the hell does a purple bunny have to do with pizza?”

“She wasn't the only one. They had a whole cast, just like Jeremy's. But that one… God damned obsessed.” You spit bitterly.

“So you mean to tell me that you worked security at a knockoff Jeremy’s with fake people instead of fake humans, and the same supplier of fucked up robots?” she asks, picking up the photo for further examination, her focus on it rather than either of you. Your eyes cut over to Faz, who's looking right back at you, an eyebrow raised at Beanie's question. You can't believe your fortune as you reply to her.

“As close as makes no difference.” You utter softly, trying not to break the illusion Beanie is painting for herself.

“How long?” She asks, her emerald eyes flitting up to regard you with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“Not sure. Six months, maybe a year. Long enough.” You reply, voice at once weary and relieved to finally stop hiding the truth. Or most of the truth, at least.

“Fuck.” She says succinctly, quietly. “That's why you freaked out after you came and got me, isn't it?”

“Pretty much.”

“Why didn't you tell me? Tell *anyone*?”

“At first?” You shrug. “Didn't understand it myself. Didn't have all the pieces. Now? What's the point? Hey, Bean, did you know that I have regular nightmares about your robot doppelganger that was constantly trying to stuff me in a robot suit? Good times!” You ask about half as sarcastic as Beanie herself could manage, getting a soft gasp from her as her paw finds her muzzle. “Not exactly a great conversation starter there.”

You let those words hang in the air for a bit, Beanie clearly processing what you've told her.

“That's what got you so pissed at my brother's, too.”

“Maybe. Certainly not consciously.” You add. Hadn't even thought of that, Mike.

“I'm sorry, Mike. I didn't know.” She says after several moments, voice low and sincere as she closes her eyes, head shaking slowly side to side.

“You couldn't have known, Bean.” You reply, reaching over and giving her free paw a reassuring squeeze. Once again, you're left marveling at just how soft her fur is, in contrast to your bare skin especially. She glances down for a moment, before she meets your gaze, the barest hint of a smile breaking through.

“Foxy was right about one thing, though.” Faz begins, pausing as you both turn to face the normally taciturn bear, who's wearing a smile of his own. “You do make a cute couple.” He says warmly, almost admiringly if you're honest. Beanie flinches like she's been slapped, yanking her paw back into her lap and pointedly looking away at the wall. You're sitting there shocked at the apparent vehemence of her denying the statement, and relieved that Beanie seems to be returning to normal.

So why did that hurt so much too?

Faz, for his part, offers a short, thoughtful ‘hmmph’ at her actions. He briefly checks something on his phone, probably the time since you've never seen him wear a watch.

“You know, Mike. I don't think I've ever told you this, but I think you're the bravest person I know. Even after all you've been through, you went back. Knowing full well what it could cost you.” He adds, letting it sink in.

“It's no wonder she loves you so much.” he adds, a soft chuckle evident at your startled reaction. Out of the corner of your eye, Beanie looks uncomfortable at the mention of the lewd bird.

“Well, I love Cheeky too, Faz. She's a great friend, and saved both our asses to boot.” You reply earnestly, reminding him of the depths of your mutual friendships.

“Mike, for once I am forced to agree with Bonita here. You really can be a dumb monkey sometimes.” He says, shaking his head bemusedly.

“What are you…?” You begin, confused as hell now. In response he merely taps his phone with a fat, furry finger.

“And… As strange as it may be, I think I’m in love with you. Weird, huh?” Echoes in the confines of the office. Faz stops playback, and you can hear a pin drop. You glance over at Beanie and find the normally self-assured rabbit hugging her knees again, purple fingers in a deathgrip around the rim of her hood, cinching it down over her head.

Looking back to the bear, he's got his placid half-smile back in place, seemingly content with upending your entire world. “Well, I do have one more round to walk before I clock out. You two both remember the rules, right? I would imagine you have much to discuss.” He adds, rising from the chair and collecting his phone. “Do remember, Mike, 8:30 sharp, 93A. Don't forget your present.” he adds helpfully before ambling off like a whisper on the breeze.