Mike didn't waste time. He moved through the house, grabbing what he needed—keys, wallet, the illusion disc already in place. A spare in his pocket, just in case. Jeremy's warning about the yellow suit kept circling in his head. If his father was involved, Mike needed to see it for himself.
There was no point in lingering. Every extra second only gave his thoughts more room to spiral.
Soon, he reached the building and walked inside. The party was in full swing—kids running, music blaring, parents trying to keep up.
Jeremy was busy, weaving through the crowd and keeping the kids safe, his attention pulled in a dozen different directions. He looked focused—responsible, even.
Mike stayed back, watching from a distance.
For a while, everything looked completely fine.
Then he heard it.
Screaming. Not the playful kind—the kind that made people freeze mid-step, heads whipping toward the sound. The room collapsed into chaos in seconds.
Mike's head snapped toward Kid's Cove. Mangle crouched low, a mangled mess of white and pink parts barely holding together. One head hung at a wrong angle, jaw dripping red. Wires and endoskeleton pieces trailed from its broken frame. Its working eye stared at nothing while motors whined and joints clicked—the whole thing twitching like something dying.
And on the floor—
Jeremy.
His feet moved before his brain caught up. He shoved through the crowd—parents snatching up their kids, employees yelling into phones.
Jeremy wasn't moving. Blood pooled dark against the colorful carpet, soaking into the fabric. His head—
Mike had seen this scenario before—someone he knew lying there, skull caved in, face barely recognizable.
He knelt down, hands hovering uselessly. Nothing to do. Nothing anyone could do except wait for help that was probably already too late.
*Not again. Not like Garrett.*
Someone pulled him back. An employee, shouting words he didn't catch. Red and blue lights were already flashing through the windows.
Jeremy was carefully lifted onto a stretcher and wheeled away, unconscious and unmoving. Mike stayed frozen, watching until the doors closed.
Outside, the ambulance pulled away, sirens fading. The crowd stood around whispering. Parents held their kids too tight. Employees looked like they'd been punched.
He pulled out his phone and called Jeremiah. Kept his voice steady—he'd learned how to deliver this kind of news. Flat. Calm. Jeremiah said he was heading to the hospital, then hung up.
The hospital was a short drive. He found Jeremiah in the waiting area, sitting rigid in one of those plastic chairs, eyes fixed on nothing.
Mike sat beside him. Neither of them spoke.
Hours dragged by. Nurses passed. Machines beeped in distant rooms. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, too bright, too constant.
Finally, a doctor emerged from behind the double doors. His expression was carefully controlled—the kind doctors practiced when they had to deliver bad news without breaking down themselves.
"He's stable," the doctor said, picking his words. "But he's in a coma. Right now… we don't know if he's going to make it."
Jeremiah went rigid.
"His frontal lobe is severely damaged. Almost completely destroyed."
The doctor paused.
"Even if he wakes up, the person you knew… may not be the same."
Jeremiah took a shaky breath. "Can we see him?"
The doctor hesitated, glancing at Mike. Jeremiah didn't look up. "He's with me."
The doctor nodded. "Yes. But only for a few minutes."
Jeremy lay motionless in the hospital bed, his head wrapped in thick white bandages that covered most of his face. Tubes snaked from his arms. Machines beeped steadily, monitoring vitals that meant he was technically alive but not really there.
Jeremiah walked over and sat beside the bed, staring at his brother as if he looked hard enough, Jeremy might just wake up. His hands gripped the edge of the mattress, knuckles white.
From the doorway, Mike watched. He'd been in rooms like this before. Stood by hospital beds waiting to see if the person inside was ever coming back.
But Jeremy wasn't dead. Not yet.
Maybe there's a way.
Mike's phone buzzed, breaking the silence. He glanced at the screen—unknown number.
He stepped into the hallway, giving Jeremiah privacy.
"Hello?"
"Uh, hello? Hey, is this Mr. Smith?" The voice on the other end was nervous, slightly hesitant. "This is Fazbear Entertainment. I'm calling about the night guard position you applied for."
Mike leaned against the wall. The irony was hard to miss. Jeremy gets his head caved in by an animatronic, and a few hours later, they're offering Mike the job of babysitting the same machines.
*Perfect timing.*
"Yeah," Mike replied. "I am. When can I start?"
"Tonight. Twelve to six," the man said. "We're shutting the place down, so we need someone to watch the animatronics while we decide whether to scrap them or sell them. We can't have anyone breaking in to steal Fazbear Entertainment property."
He paused. "Since you'll be there alone, you'll be held responsible for anything that's stolen or broken. Further information will be given when you start."
Mike sighed and started walking home.
When he reached his house, he checked the time. A few hours before his shift.
He sat on the couch, staring at the wall, mind still stuck on Jeremy on that floor. Motionless. Broken.
He glanced at his watch. 10:47 PM. A little over an hour before his shift.
Then something clicked.
He needed remnant. If he could find some, maybe it could keep Jeremy's brain from shutting down.
But first, he needed to get through tonight.
Time blurred. Before long, he was driving toward the building. At night, it looked emptier—lights dim, walls lifeless.
As he approached the entrance, his phone buzzed.
"Uh, hey there! Welcome aboard!" The voice on the other end was artificially cheerful, trying way too hard to sound casual. "Just calling to go over a few things before your shift starts. You know, standard procedure. Nothing to worry about!"
He stopped and leaned against the wall.
"So, first things first—we left the front door unlocked for you. Make sure you lock it when you go in and when you leave. The key's in the office. Your uniform should be in a locker back there too."
"Now, uh, about the animatronics." The man's tone shifted, trying to stay upbeat but failing. "They're, uh, they're programmed with some kind of free-roam mode. Keeps the servos from locking up, you know? Totally normal. They'll wander around at night, but that's—that's completely normal. Nothing to worry about."
"If they happen to—if they get into your office, just put on the Freddy head. It's in there. Messes with their facial recognition software. They'll think you're one of them and leave you alone. Easy!"
"Oh, but, uh—" The man cleared his throat nervously. "It won't work on Foxy. Or the Puppet. For Foxy, just flash your light at him. Resets his behavior. For the Puppet, you need to keep that music box wound up. If the music stops—well, let's just say, don't let it stop unless you want a visit from the puppet."
"Got it," Mike said, his voice flat.
"Aaand I think that covers everything!" He paused. "So, yeah. Good luck! You'll do great!"
The call ended abruptly.
He stared at the phone, then shoved it in his pocket.
*You'll do great.*
He pushed the door open, locked it behind him, and stepped inside.
The night had officially begun.