Five Nights at Freddy's one-shots

After Dark-Mr.Kitty

THIS IS NOT CANNON TO MY STORY IT'S OKAY, YA'LL!!

It was done. He was smiling, but barely. There were tears in his eyes, beautiful, glistening tears that reflect how he truly felt, but there was panic deep down. The moon light of the parking lot outside seemed to drag on, the air tasted strange on his tongue, a foreign sensation. He sighed, a single drop from his eye slipped down his cheek. He felt laughter bubbling up inside of him, but it wasn't from glee, it wasn't from insanity. No, it was adrenaline. It was fear. He was alone. He was completely alone, but yet, he had never felt more company in his life. It was like a comfort had settled over him.

A destiny he had been outrunning for as long as he could imagine. A future that Michael thought he could keep running from his whole life. A terror that had being striking him down every time he raised his voice, every time he felt anger. More tears pooled in his eyes, blurring the stars in the navy colored sky. How dare it be such a beautiful night. Moments like these deserved rain, thunder. A tragic scene of lightning and sopping clothes. But no... it was a gorgeous night. There wasn't even a single wisp of a cloud in the sky. If Michael stared hard enough, he could see the whole galaxy stretching beyond, but it was only when his eyes would twitch to the side, that he would see the billions of pinpricks in the sky.

But this isn't about the sky. This is about an inescapable sense of comfort in knowing that his destiny had caught up to him. He couldn't run anymore, because it was already in front of him. It had already surpassed him in a whirlwind. He couldn't deny the relief that settled over his tormented soul. A breath of air that he didn't know he needed he needed to take.

His clothes felt gross. Sticky, and cold. They weren't cold a few minutes ago, but they were now. The sensation that overcame him must have been what his father had felt. The glee, the satisfaction, even. But maybe not. Maybe his father had felt nothing in his hobby, maybe he was completely emotionless. Maybe Michael was just insane. He had finally lost his mind. He could see the newspaper headings now, and maybe that disturbed him more than the thought of what he just did in the restaurant.

The Infamous Hurricane Killer's Son Has Finally Taken His Rightful Place At His Father's Side

There was a pleasure to think about it. As if he were completing a chain of events that had been left hanging for years. As though there was an unavoidable gap in a set of railroad tracks that was bound to be fixed at some point, whether it took an accident to happen or not. This was no accident, though, Michael reminded himself. He meant to do this. He planned to do this.

He knew what people would find upon entering the restaurant the next morning. They would wonder why the doors weren't unlocked yet, why the lights weren't on yet. They would wonder why the animatronics hadn't been placed back on the stage, why they were still left where they stopped at six. Oh the questions they would have when they figured out how to get into the building. There would be blood. An unnecessary amount of it, sure, but there was nothing Michael could do about it now. It wasn't his blood, either.

And there, on the desk would be a single, red rotary phone.