"You're in My World Now, Not Your World"

Part One of Two

Terrance went to bed, tired and mentally exhausted. He laid there mournfully, looking at the plastic mask he still had stationed on his nightstand. He hadn't touched it since the Incident. He hadn't wanted to throw it away, though, so he left it to collect dust. The man turned on his sided and slept, memories of dread finally leaving him be.

Creek went the front door as Terrance awoke. He rolled onto his back in confusion. Terrance suddenly realized the sunlight pouring into his room via his window, and suspected his father was going to work. The time—12:00 pm—only confirmed it. The man decided it was time to get some food and maybe go to he and his friends' spot. That is exactly what he did.

The Tormenters ended up staying there all day. They didn't talk all that much, but they just sat. It was peaceful, and a nice day. It was as if it was mocking them. The thing that plagued all of their minds was death. A year ago, Evan Afton had flatlined, and the doctors could do nothing about it. The worst thing was that William almost had a glint of pride in his piercing blue eyes.

At 5:00 pm, they all eventually decided to get something to eat. Michael knew his father wouldn't care ("You're a man, do what you want."); Ryan's parents knew she was fine with the Tormenters ("Terrance has a car, money, and the other two... have some redeeming quality? Anyway, you're fine, Rachel"); and the two brothers' parents knew they were going to be reckless anyway ("You can do what you want, but stop ripping your jeans!"). They all elected to go to Mc. Donald's, a tradition of theirs during school. It would be nice to get their minds off of Evan.

Terrance drove into the last driveway; his own. He was tired, but didn't regret what he did that day. He walked into his living room, and decided watching soap operas would be a good way to fall asleep. He clicked on The Immortal and the Restless, and let his mind slip from reality.

An hour in, he decided he wanted popcorn; his favorite pairing to the shows he liked. He stumbled into the kitchen like a zombie, and tossed the bag into the microwave. Then, he noticed a piece of paper on the stovetop. He trudged over, and picked it up violently; he was still tired.

Terrance,

It's me, William Afton. By the time you've read this, the "party's" over and I'm long gone. I was actually lying when I said there was a party. I had to set the souls of those I murdered free, or they'd set themselves free, which wouldn't be good for me. I don't know how this will go, so I have to tell you these things:
Save Elizabeth. She's stuck in Circus Baby. Soul remnant was the reason I made the animatronics to kill, and it's he reason she's stuck. You have to take the remnant out of the suit, but I don't know how.

I know I've touched a little on this when you went to the original pizzeria, but you didn't know all about it. You didn't succeed with the method I thought of.

I don't think I'll make it out alive, but don't worry; I always come back. You may not recognize me at first, but I assure you, it's still me. You'll know it's me.

-WA

Terrance sat down in disbelief. Considering the time was 12:00am, he doubted William made it out alive. He didn't know what to do.

It had been four years.
Terrance—who started going by Michael after people started becoming suspicious of him working at the pizzerias—had finished college, at request of Henry Emily. Henry wanted him to be educated before they got into the mess of the pizzerias. Months and months of research let them to one answer; fire. Fire would destroy how the souls were trapped in the suits, and take the remnant with them.

Michael pulled the last part of the uniform on, and gazed at himself in the mirror. It was his old uniform from the original pizzeria, but fit much differently. He looked closely. The fit made him think of someone, but he couldn't think of who. Then it hit him; he looked like his father, even more so than before!

Michael breathed. He had everything ready. A fake name so the public and his coworkers wouldn't recognize him, a plan, and Henry to help him with his coworkers. They have to save the possible souls that were in the Toys, and he was the guinea pig.

Click, click, click, Michael's work shoes tapped against the tile flooring of the building. He scanned the area and saw some workers cleaning, one family leaving, and Henry supervising. He walked over to the man he knew. "Hey, Michael. You doing good?" The bespectacled man asked, turning his attention to the blue eyed one.

"Yeah, I'm good," he said, worried for his tasks incoming that week.

"Boss, I didn't know you knew people!" Jeremy stated loudly from across the room.

"Oh, shut up. Of course I know people. This is the night guard for the week," Henry said, annoyed but humored.

"Finally I don't have to do it. I always do it, and nobody believes me about the damn animatronics," Sam said, half joking, half terrified.

"Well, ignore him. Nobody gets off the job without being like that, honestly. I'm Jeremy Fitzgerald," Said the blonde man, who had striking green eyes and brown highlights.

"Fritz Smith," Michael replied.

"Oh, didn't expect you to be British. Huh," remarked Jeremy.

"What, am I supposed to look British?" Said the blue-eyed man

"Yes, actually." "Oh, okay, let me just go grab my monocle, cup of tea, God Save the Queen poster, and a Union Jack."

The room held with laughter, until Henry stopped and looked at his companion, confused. "Wait, Fritz, do you actually have those things?" He could not be serious.

He turned to the man, incredulously. "Yes, I keep them in my boot," he said, sarcasm dripping obviously in his voice.

"Really? How have I never seen them?" There was a long pause. The two workers that were left, Jeremy and Sam, were back to their job, but listening quietly.

"You have to be kidding, Henry. Just because I'm from Britain, doesn't mean I have those. Back when we still lived in Europe, did you ever see someone with those things? You're a git, old man." Henry fake gasped and walked away, pretending to be offended.