Michael to the Power of Six

The Room Where it Happened

/w
He was being a regular old person laughing with his friends. He was just busy at his nightshift. He was not being so normal, as he was about to burn. Another was also not being as normal, though not in the same way as the latter. As was another, though very different from the other abnormal ones. And another. They all were just being themself. Until they crossed paths.

The one who was with his friends had a red mask imitating a certain fox-mascot. He was just in the tree, the one he always sat in when they all went to their clearing in the woods. Their clearing. Nobody else went there, so it was nice for them to just hang around, alone together. Michael Afton rather enjoyed being there. Or, rather, they all did.

The one at the nightshift wasn't too happy about it. He had just had to fix the lights because the damned Handunit couldn't. It wasn't fun dealing with the damned bear, either. He had just been leaving the place, as his shift was over. He could go watch soap operas and eat popcorn until he had to force himself up for another nightshift. Well, that was what he planned.

     Henry had just finished his speech. Scraptrap had just started to call out for both of them. Scrapbaby had begun to draw nearer to the three of them. What a nice little family reunion before we all leave this hell-hole we call Earth.

     Unfortunately, that didn't work out too much. Freddy thought, as Gregory came back with nothing to show for his journey but a few close-call-scratches from Roxanne Wolf.

     He had been singing Off the Wall, the album that that gotten him there in the first place. He was proud of it. He was in the middle of the song he was on - Off the Wall, fittingly - when he was suddenly not where he should have been.

     He was in a similar situation as the former. He had the ball perfectly in his hands after years of practice. He was in a game, and there were only ten seconds left on the clock. If he could just make the basket and break the tie, they'd beat the Knicks. Michael Jordan had some faith in himself. Until he was not where he should have been.

     He appeared in a room with a few other people. One, he could identify as Michael Jackson. The rest he could not. There was a boy with a red, fox-resembling mask and skin with a warm yet olive undertone, and a tan coloring. There was another one, taller but with a similar face to the latter and slightly paler skin. It had the same warm-olive undertone, but he looked as though he'd been a watercolor painting, and the artist ran his water-soaked brush over him. He'd had bags under his eyes to pair some dark dark-circles with no mask to complement the outfit - countering his counterpart - and a purple suit with the top two buttons of the dress-shirt unbuttoned, and the jacket hanging like an everyday winter-jacket or something. It matched the delinquent nature of the boy with the mask.

      There was another man, taller that the first three. He'd had a yellow dress-vest and a diamond-esque dress shirt with a short, black tie (which only went just under his rib cage) to tie it all together. A white bear-mask hid his face entirely, and the rest of his body was covered up, too. His hands were clad with white gloves, which seemed to have some horror-movie-esque mix of oil, dirt, and what appeared to be a bit of blood. There was one last entity, a too high-tech robot with a lightning-bolt on its chest and some decals.

     "Who are you," the first boy with a mask shouted, dragging Michael Jordan out of his thoughts. The boy was aggressive-sounding, but he doubted very much that he could do much to him.

     "Great question-" the purple-clad man added. His eyebrows furrowed and he took a small step back, probably due to a microexpression.

     "Uhh..." most of them said, in unison. They weren't really sure how to continue anything.

     "So... am I meant to be yelling and screaming? Or... should we just continue like this is a completely normal thing and introduce ourselves?" The second man with a mask asked.

     "I... think it would be best if we stayed calm," Michael Jackson suggested.

     "Okay... who starts? Me, I guess? I'm Michael Jordan." Said the tallest man.

     "Michael Jackson," He said as he moved his hand down from where it had been holding his microphone up to his mouth. He still had the microphone, but there was no use to have it up. All but the teenager seemed to have some sort of a reaction, but the purple-clad man didn't have much of one.

     "Michael Afton," the teenager said, arms crossed. He appeared mad for some reason, or annoyed? It was hard to tell with the fox-mask on him.

     The next guy hesitated. "Uh... Michael Afton," he said after a few moments. The ones who were left in the dark then understood why.

     The next seemed to hesitate, too, but for seemingly different reasons. He finally signed out, "Michael Afton," and everybody paused, unsure of what to do. The animatronic began to open his mouth, but he was cut off. "Hold on, this isn't exactly going to work. How about we just introduce ourself by what he go by currently, I know it's all different. You two can just go by your last names." The Man in the Mask said.

     "I agree." Freddy offered.

     "You're a robot, how are you relevant to this part?" Michael Afton snapped, annoyed as always.

     "I can't help but he curious, too," the Man in the Mask added.

     "Let's just say... the fire doesn't work the way we thought it would." Freddy looked to the side a bit awkwardly.

     "Oh."

     "Anyway," the animatronic brushed off, deciding to leave the others in the dark, "Circus Baby's Pizza World, go." Freddy noticed his speech was relaxed a bit, but he didn't really care. He wasn't with Gregory or his friends anyway, it didn't really matter.

     "Uhh... how?" He sighed quickly after, giving an un-answering answer to his question. "Ah, who gives a shit anymore. Eggs Benedict."

     "Great. Freddy Fazbear's Pizza Place."

     "The Man in the Mask. Or just Mask for simplicity, I suppose."

     "Wonderful," the animatronic said with half sarcasm. "You," he pointed at the teen, "Can just go by Michael Afton. Call me Freddy. Do we have that sorted out?" They all nod as if the nods were questions. Unspoken, unasked, unwanted, unanswered. "Great. Now is it the time to scream?"