Mike stopped counting after a while.
It didn't matter anymore. Die or survive—the clock always reset to 12:00 AM.
Over and over and over again.
But something changed.
It stepped out of the darkness like it had always been there. Tall. Massive. Its body was translucent—black, but not solid. The dark endoskeleton shifted beneath the surface, barely visible through the semi-transparent shell. Red eyes burned in the darkness, unblinking. Its jaw hung heavy, lined with rows of sharp, jagged teeth. A tattered top hat sat crooked on its head. A frayed bow tie, barely clinging to its chest.
Nightmare.
Mike knew it instantly. His father's work. A machine built to harvest fear.
The hallucination fractured.
The office walls shattered like glass. Fredbear and Spring Bonnie flickered, their forms glitching. Garrett's voice cut out mid-sentence.
Nightmare's red eyes stared directly at Mike. No words. Just that gaze.
Then everything went dark.
Cold concrete beneath him. Morning sun through the trees. Open air.
Mike pushed himself up, scanning. Yenndo stood a few feet away, yellow eyes alert. Bonnet peeked out from behind him.
"You're awake!" Bonnet's voice pitched high with relief. "We didn't know what happened—one second we were in that room with the smoke, and then—"
"What happened?" Mike asked.
"We don't know," Yenndo said quietly. "We woke up here. You were already on the ground."
Mike looked around. The building loomed behind them—Circus Baby's Entertainment and Rental. The lot was empty. No Nightmares. No sign of anyone.
But he'd seen it. Tall and transparent. Red eyes. The office shattering.
"Mike?" Bonnet asked. "How did we get out?"
He didn't answer right away. The Nightmares had pulled them out. That much was clear. What wasn't clear was why.
"It seems we have been teleported outside," he said finally.
He pulled himself to his feet, dusting off his shredded jacket. The effects of the fear gas had been removed. All that remained was the hollow ache of the illusion, Garrett's voice still echoing somewhere in the back of his mind.
"Let's go," he said.
Yenndo and Bonnet exchanged a glance, but neither argued.
---
Yenndo and Bonnet sat in the back, causing the car to shake slightly as they settled in.
"So, um…" Bonnet started, "we're really out? Like, out out?"
"Yeah," Mike said, starting the engine. "We're out."
"Where are we going?"
"My place. For now."
Bonnet fell quiet. The drive passed in silence. Mike's mind kept replaying the loops. Garrett's voice. You killed me. He pushed the thought away. Focus on what was next. He needed to get the remnant to Jeremy.
When Mike pulled into his driveway, the house was dark.
He unlocked the front door and stepped inside. Yenndo followed, ducking slightly to clear the doorframe. Bonnet, still perched on Yenndo's hand, swiveled around, taking in the living room.
"It's… cozy!" she said.
Mike walked over to his computer and turned it on, pulling the USB drive from his jacket pocket. He plugged it into the monitor. The screen flickered to life. Lolbit's face appeared, glitching slightly before stabilizing.
"Finally," she said through the speakers. "We're out of that place."
"So this is your house?" Lolbit asked, her digital eyes scanning the room through the webcam.
"Yeah," Mike said. He paused. "Just stay out of my search history."
Lolbit's laugh crackled through the speakers. "No promises."
Mike left them in the living room—Bonnet already asking Lolbit questions, Yenndo standing silently by the window—and went to his room. Stripped off the shredded jacket and shirt. Besides the massive hole in the middle of his stomach his skin was smooth. No scars. No marks. The remnant couldn't heal the more permanent damage that had happened before it could actually take effect.
He pulled on a clean shirt and jacket. Checked his watch. 9:47 AM. Too early. Jeremiah wouldn't be at the hospital yet—he worked mornings, and visiting hours didn't start until eleven.
Mike sat on the edge of his bed and waited.
At eleven-thirty, he pulled into the hospital parking lot. The morning rush had cleared. A few visitors trickled through the front doors.
Jeremiah was in his usual spot—the chair by the window, staring at nothing. He looked up when Mike entered.
"Hey," Mike said.
Jeremiah nodded. Didn't speak. Didn't ask why Mike was carrying a bag.
Mike took the chair beside him. The room settled into silence. Machines beeped. Jeremy didn't move. Bandages still wrapped around his head. Still technically alive. Still not really there.
"You look like hell," Jeremiah said eventually. His voice was hoarse, like he hadn't used it in a while.
"Long night."
"Job?"
"Something like that."
Jeremiah didn't push. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Doctors said there's no change. Same thing they said yesterday. Same thing they'll say tomorrow."
Mike looked at Jeremy. The steady rise and fall of his chest. The bandages. The tubes.
"He's still here," Mike said.
"Yeah." Jeremiah's voice flattened. "For now."
Silence again. A nurse passed in the hallway. The fluorescent lights buzzed.
"Some guy from Fazbear came by," Jeremiah said, not looking up. "Last night, after you left. Said he wanted to talk about insurance. Worker's comp. Real concerned."
Mike's attention sharpened. "What did he look like?"
"Young. Mid-thirties maybe. Nice suit—nothing flashy, but good quality. Sounded British. Polite. Real polite. Just stood there, hands folded, listening. Like everything I said was the most interesting thing he'd ever heard."
Jeremiah's mouth twisted. "Smiled the whole time. Asked how Jeremy was doing. Used his name. Like he knew him."
Mike didn't respond.
"I told him if he wanted to talk insurance, he could talk to my lawyer. If I had one."
"What did he say?"
"Nothing. Just nodded and left. Didn't even try to argue." Jeremiah shook his head. "Like it was all a formality. Like Jeremy was already a closed file."
Mike didn't respond.
"Did he give a name?" Mike asked after a moment.
"Said he was a company rep. Didn't catch it." Jeremiah shrugged. "Didn't care."
"I keep thinking," Jeremiah said, "if I'd just told him to quit that job. Told him it wasn't worth it." He shook his head. "But he was excited about it. Said it was easy money. Six hours of nothing."
"It wasn't your fault."
"Maybe not. Doesn't stop me from thinking it."
Mike didn't answer. He knew that kind of thinking. The loop of it. The way it circled back no matter how many times you told yourself it was useless.
"What about you?" Jeremiah asked. "You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The one where you're blaming yourself for something."
Mike almost smiled. Almost. "I've always got that look."
"Yeah." Jeremiah leaned back in his chair. "I noticed."
They sat for a while longer. The machines kept beeping. Jeremy kept breathing.
Eventually, Jeremiah stood. "I'm going to get coffee. You want anything?"
"No."
Jeremiah shuffled out. The door clicked shut behind him.
Mike moved.
He pulled the remnant injector from his bag and loaded one vial. The silver liquid swirled faintly, still active.
"I know I didn't do this to you," he said quietly, looking down at Jeremy. "But I know he's the reason. And that makes it my problem."
He rolled up Jeremy's sleeve and injected him.
The remnant pulsed beneath the skin for just a moment. The machines kept beeping. No change.
Mike put away the injector and the empty vial. He was back in his chair by the time Jeremiah returned, coffee in hand.
"Anything?" Jeremiah asked.
"No," Mike said. "Same as before."
Jeremiah sat down. They didn't talk much after that.
When Mike left an hour later, Jeremiah didn't get up. Just gave a small nod as the door closed.
Two days later, Jeremiah called.
"He's gone," Jeremiah said. His voice was flat. No emotion left in it. "The doctors said his brain just… gave out."
Mike closed his eyes.
"There's going to be a funeral," Jeremiah said. "Wednesday. If you want to come."
"I will."
Jeremiah hung up without saying goodbye.
Wednesday was cold. Overcast. A small crowd at the gravesite—a few mall security guys, an aunt Mike had never met. Jeremiah stood at the front, stone-faced. He didn't speak. Nobody did.
Mike stayed near the back. He didn't belong at the front. He'd tried to save Jeremy and failed. That wasn't the same as being family.
Afterward, he lost track of Jeremiah. Texts went unanswered. The number disconnected a few weeks later. Mike drove past the house once—empty driveway, curtains drawn. He didn't stop.
The remaining remnants sat in his room still inside the box, vials untouched except the one. Whatever it did inside Jeremy's body, it hadn't been enough. Maybe it had even made things worse. His father's work was poison. He'd known that all along. He'd just hoped, this once, it could do something good.
Back home, the house was quiet. Yenndo stood by the window, exactly where Mike had left him. Bonnet was powered down, tucked against Yenndo's hand. The computer that Lolbit was in powered down.
Mike stood in the doorway for a moment, watching them. They'd been stuck underground for years. Now they were here. He didn't know what to do with them. He didn't know what to do with himself.
He went to his room and sat on the edge of the bed.
Somewhere out there, the Nightmares were watching. He'd seen one of them. It had looked at him and ended the illusion without a word. He didn't know why. He didn't know if they'd be back.
But for now, the house was still. The remnant was stored. Jeremy was gone. And whatever came next, Mike would face it the same way he'd faced everything else.
One day at a time.