But the animatronics didn't stop.
Foxy lunged from the hallway, hook swinging wide, a garbled roar tearing from his damaged voice box.
Mike dodged left. Foxy crashed into the desk, metal screeching against tile.
Mike ran.
Withered Bonnie lurched from the left vent, his faceless head snapping toward Mike, his one remaining arm reaching out, red eyes gleaming in the dark.
Mike twisted, barely avoiding the grab, and sprinted down the hallway.
Toy Chica blocked the door, her beak removed, leaving her face open and unsettling in a way that was hard to look at. "Where are you going?" Her voice was high, childlike.
Mike yanked the Freddy mask on without breaking stride.
He then slipped past her, reaching for the door—
A hook caught the edge of the mask and ripped it off his face.
Foxy stood there, teeth bared. "Gotcha."
Mike froze.
They surrounded him.
Toy Bonnie near the arcade. Toy Freddy by the stage, positioned and ready. Withered Chica nearby, her jaw grinding, both arms ending in frayed wiring where her hands should have been. Withered Freddy loomed in the shadows, massive and silent.
Mangle hung from the ceiling, wires trailing, both heads staring down. Static crackled faintly from her damaged voice box.
Balloon Boy sat near the Prize Corner, grinning.
Mike stood in the center. Every animatronic stared at him.
He wasn't afraid. But the attention—all of it, focused entirely on him—was unnerving.
The music box opened.
The Puppet rose slowly, tall and thin. Black body with white stripes along her arms and legs. White mask. Purple tears painted down from empty eye sockets. Small white pupils locked on Mike.
She floated forward, silent, passing through the circle.
The others stepped back.
"Afton," the Puppet said. Its voice was calm, measured—but it filled the hallway with cold weight. "You finally decided to come back."
Mike let out a dry laugh. "I think you got the wrong Afton."
The Puppet tilted its head. "You can't hide from what you've done."
"The name's Michael Afton," Mike said flatly. "His son."
The Puppet froze completely. The white pupils widened.
"Michael...?" Her voice cracked, the cold resonance giving way to something softer, uncertain. "Mike? Is that really you?"
Withered Freddy's voice rumbled from the back, deep and deliberate. "Afton."
Withered Bonnie's head snapped toward Mike. His voice came out broken, distorted, filled with rage. "Afton... killed us."
Toy Freddy blinked, looking around. "Wait... what? Who's Afton?"
Toy Chica's voice cut through, sharp and direct. "The man who killed us, Freddy. Pay attention."
"Oh," Toy Freddy said, still looking confused. "But... I thought it was a rabbit?"
Toy Chica sighed. "It was a man in a rabbit suit."
"Ohhh," Toy Freddy said slowly.
"And you," Mike said, focusing on the Puppet, "are Charlie. Aren't you?"
Withered Foxy stepped forward, studying Mike with his visible eye. "Ye know this lad?"
"Yes," Charlie said. "This is Michael. William's son. But he's not William."
Withered Bonnie's head snapped toward Mike. His voice was a broken rasp, distorted through damaged machinery. "Still... an Afton. Why should we... trust an Afton?"
"Because he's not his father," Charlie said firmly. She paused, turning to Mike. "Why are you here, Michael?"
"I'm looking for William," Mike said. "Just like you. I want to stop him from killing more people for his own goals. However, it seems I'm a little late for that since it looks like these Toy animatronics are also possessed."
"When did these guys die?" he asked, his voice low but steady.
"A few days ago," she said quietly. "It's the reason the place shut down for investigation."
"Seems like it hasn't been disclosed to the public yet," Mike said.
"And William?" Mike asked, his voice more serious.
"I haven't seen him since then."
"I see," Mike said after a moment, nodding slightly. "I think we should wrap things up here. You guys should head back to your positions."
The others began to move back to their positions, metal footsteps echoing softly through the halls.
Charlie lingered.
"We will meet again… right?" she asked.
Mike looked at her for a moment. Really looked at her.
"Don't worry," he said, adjusting his jacket slightly. "I still have this job. So I'll see you another night."
Then she floated backward, the music box lid slowly lowering as she disappeared into the darkness.
He began to make his way to the parking lot after locking the door. His car was there, but so was someone else—waiting.
"Hey, you must be the night guard, right?" the man said.
"Yeah, that would be me," Mike replied.
"I see. Sorry to inform you, but we're going to have to let you go." He handed Mike a pink slip.
Mike glanced at it—termination for tampering with animatronics and odor. He wasn't sure if they'd actually noticed or if it was just an excuse to avoid paying him. All he could think was: Fuck.
Mike returned everything and took off in his car.
While driving, Mike wondered what would happen to them. Charlie. The Withereds. The Toys. All of them trapped, waiting for something that might never come.
But he knew it was pointless to think about it. If they did end up being reused for parts to make new animatronics, then the souls would follow—possessing whatever came next. Or maybe they'd finally give up on revenge and move on.
Mike didn't know which option was worse. Being stuck forever, or letting go and leaving William unpunished.
This time, he took a different turn than he usually did when going home. Instead, he headed to Circus Baby's Entertainment and Rental—a place he hadn't been to in years.
The building loomed ahead, half-hidden by overgrown weeds and a chain-link fence that had long since been cut open. The paint was peeling. Windows were boarded up or smashed. A faded banner still hung above the entrance: "Where Fantasy and Fun Come to Life!"
It had been abandoned after the staff found corpses. After they noticed the animatronic parts scattered across the scooping room floor. After someone finally asked the right questions and Fazbear Entertainment cut their losses and walked away.
He arrived at one of many Fazbear facilities, but this was something his dad had worked on alone—his own project, funded by the company.
He tried to push open the door, but it was locked. He looked around for another way in and found a broken window. He climbed through it, but the glass caught his clothes and tore through his skin. Thanks to the remnant, he healed up quickly.
The place was dark. It would have been more convenient to have a flashlight.
Walking through the building, he arrived at the elevator. He pressed the button.
Nothing happened.
Mike pressed it again. Still nothing. No hum, no lights, no movement.
The power was out.
He walked down the hall and past many rooms, eventually finding the breaker box with its panel fallen. He switched on the power for the elevator, then went back.
He walked back to the elevator and pressed the button again.
This time, it responded.
It was a little janky but worked well enough. The reflective metal walls hummed as the elevator descended. Mike stood on the grated floor, watching pipes run along the walls through the windows on either side. The ceiling fan above rotated slowly, casting moving shadows across the elevator.
Then it suddenly stopped.
Complete silence.
Then the cables snapped.
The elevator plummeted—fast—all the way down. The metal walls rattled violently. The grated floor shook beneath his feet. The ceiling fan above spun wildly. Mike braced himself against the wall as the elevator fell faster and faster into the darkness below.
The elevator slammed into the bottom with a deafening crash. The metal walls buckled inward. Pipes burst, spraying steam. The grated floor collapsed, and debris rained down—twisted metal, broken pipes, pieces of the control panel.
Mike was pierced by metal rods. Crushed under the collapsed framework. His skin tore. His body collapsed inward.
After some struggle—and a lot of pulling—he dragged himself out. The remnant did its work, slowly putting back together.