1985

1985, January (P. 1)

Mark's routine was the same for a long while as more and more messages came from Henry. It got to the point where he started to think that Henry had somehow set up a diverse set of messages to send themselves to him randomly every two weeks exactly. But then he got a message from Henry, telling him to be ready. Very soon.

And so, a couple of days later, Mark gathered up the courage and broke out the cardboard box containing his old security gear, that had been used exclusively for the diner: His jacket, scarf, badge, and security belt, which in it of itself contained a walkie talkie, riot baton, taser, handcuffs, and pistol; the weapon was a 9mm, S&W model 39. Inside this box contained memories that he himself, William Afton, and Henry Emily all hated.

Children died at that building; they're gone forever, now, and no amount of time will bring them back. Some of these items had been used; like the clothes and the badge. But his weapons had never been put into action. Mark thought about when he could have used them... those teenagers? No, he didn't even have his security belt on him; he had just gotten out of the springlock suit. Besides, would he have been able to tackle one of them to the ground before the child was killed? No, again. Nothing else stood out to him as an opportunity to use the weapons.

Mark took a shaky breath. He then pulled another, smaller item out of the box: a red card. Its surface was as smooth as polished metal, and it held a logo of Fredbear's Family Diner. He examined it, and suddenly his mind reeled to two and a half years ago, when William Afton had given it to him... but why?

He turned around, looking at the large kitchen around him. Such a big, open space to do barely anything with. He didn't need this large house. But he couldn't sell it, now, because no one would buy it for anything more. Besides, he had only lived here for a year.

That's longer than Fredbear's lasted, he thought.

And it was true; the diner had lasted only four months, not counting the midnight of November 1st when Charlotte's life was taken.

Mark was about to go upstairs when the phone mounted on the wall started ringing. He stared at the phone for a long time, almost hypnotized by it. Then, when he realized it was on the third ring, he ran to the phone, and took it off of its mount, holding the device up to his ear.

"Hello?" he spoke into the microphone.

"Mr. Chandar," Henry said; Mark couldn't tell what emotion he was hearing. "We're back in business, man."

Mark was silent for a moment- stunned. How could that be possible? The diner was closed, the land sold off to someone that, as far as Mark knew, didn't care about it, and left the land to overgrow and assert its dominance over Fredbear and Spring Bonnie.

Then he asked it. "How is that possible, Mr. Emily?"

Mark heard the smile in his voice as Emily continued to speak. "A deal went through!"

Mark's eyes widened. "What do you mean? With the police?"

Henry Emily laughed. "No! Chandar, another company! Fazbear Entertainment, a company that formed after the first incident at our location. They want to fish us out of this!"

Mark massaged his temple with his open hand. "Henry, sir, I don't think I'm understandi-"

"A new restaurant, Mark, a pizzeria!" he exclaimed, though, not with impatience. Mark heard a yip of excitement after Henry's statement.

"Is it ours to own?" Mark asked. "Or are we just jumping on this Fazberries' bandwagon?"

"It's ours!" Henry exclaimed. "They made the whole building just for us!" Another yip of glee.