1985

1985, February

February 1st, 1985: Friday. The last day of this cursed week. Mark sat up in bed, sighing... he knew what had to be done. He donned his police jacket, put on his security belt, and ceremoniously pushed his pistol into his front-break holster. He was never one for his superstore's handing out guns like free candy... but today, he had a job to do. The previous night, while he was resting his wounds and his bruises, Michael called him and filled him in on the plan.

The idea was to intercept Afton at the Salt Lake International Airport, from where he would most likely take a nonstop flight to England. Preferably, they were going to stop him from leaving New Harmony. But they planned all the way to the airport. If he got on the plane, and only if he got on that plane, they would begin contacting British authorities to convene on his landing.

But for now, the idea was to get to him before he left in two days; sunday. There was nothing for Mark to do, according to Michael, so he decided to go visit Jessica in the hospital.

"No warrant yet," Schmidt said to one of the station's officers. "We won't be able to get one even two weeks from now."

"Well, how else are we going to catch him before he reaches Salt Lake?"

"We're going to have to abandon the warrant. We still have all of today and tomorrow to reach him before he leaves for the airport."

Mark stepped into the hospital room. The sterile air felt strong, and the fluorescent lights were bright. Above all else, however, Jessica was there. His beloved, his fiance, dying of an unstoppable sickness. William had offered him a way to stop her from dying. The key lay in his hands in the form of that black-and-white mask. Springlocks lined its insides, especially around the eyes and mouth. The black tears wouldn't come until after.

William Afton sat calmly on his sofa, watching a show on his box television. Michael was still locked in his room because of what he had done, and William felt good every time this was the case. Whenever that disappointment of a human being was stuck inside that pointless room, William felt great; like he had more power over his son. He kept him in his room for most of the time- a punishment for taking the only thing that William had left after his daughter...

Glass hit the wall and fell into shards, sliding across the carpet floor and spreading along the edges of the room. He was furious. He didn't want to keep feeling this way, not anymore. He had to do something. He grabbed his purple coat off of the rack by the door, grabbed a black umbrella, and walked out of his front door and into the rain. Getting into his car, he drove down the road, away from his home, to his one place of comfort.

An excerpt from...

1991

Mark Chandar stood up from the rubble, rocks and concrete falling off of his living body. Turning to the flaming building, he watched as the lone structure was swept away with loud crackles of flame. With no other buildings around, no other people around, it felt ominous- like the station manifested a demon more furious at Mark than any of the children had any right to be. But in its rage there was peace- if there was something here, its fury was being chipped away by the fire. 

"Mark!" Someone desperately called from behind.

Mark turned around, as his eye rolled lazily to spot Mike Schmidt standing in the middle of the street, facing him and the burning building; Mark took a breath, then took one step toward him.

"Come on, man..." Mike reasoned, gasping for breath- he must have been running. "Don't do this."

"There is no man," Mark heard himself mumble through electric pulses and mechanical parts, the final product sounding distorted and corrupt beyond something he could control. 

He couldn't control it; he merely watched like a zombie as he confronted Mike Schmidt, his old friend. Somehow, for some reason, he had taken pleasure and calm from the fire. Now, he only felt more satisfied as each word, dripping with dread, came forth from his mouth like a breath of death. 

Mark didn't want this to stop.