"𝓘𝓣'𝓢 𝓜𝓔" || 𝓕𝓝𝓐𝓕 𝓕𝓪𝓷𝓯𝓲𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

The Art of Vengeance

Mike spent the entire day searching for a new job without thinking about Freddy even once, but no opportunities were presenting themselves. Only this pizzeria wanted him to renew his service. It was becoming almost comical. As if the universe was openly mocking him while keeping him alive. The young man finally sat down on the couch in his small apartment to reassess his situation. He had the choice between ending up on the streets or getting killed by animatronics. The paycheck from Freddy's was mediocre, but it could somehow stabilize his situation. And besides... asking his father for help was out of the table.

"I've been lucky for five nights, I won't risk dying on the sixth," he thought to himself as he took a sip of coffee.

It was decided. He was going to forever part ways with the franchise created by William Afton and Henry Emily. However, he had forced himself to forget one detail. That soft voice. In addition of taking away his brother, Golden Freddy acted like his victim, probably to drive him mad.

"It wasn't that goddamn machine that killed him... it was his stupid brother," Mike sighed.

Despite all these years, he had never moved on the bite of '83 and all the horrors he had subjected his brother to before that tragic party. The torrents of tears hadn't been enough to awaken him from his madness. It took his blood to flow for Michael to finally open his eyes. It took hearing the flatline in the hospital to realize how much he loved his little brother. However, Fredbear didn't seem particularly hostile and then... how could he possibly pass through a closed door? And why did he simply say, "It's me"? Mike didn't personally know him or... Someone wanted to convey a message to him. Maybe it really was his brother.

"It's not possible, Evan is dead," he said somberly.

Yet, just five days ago, he believed that the animatronics couldn't express emotions. He thought that the children's giggles in the corridors were just his imagination, much like the voice of his little brother. Something was wrong with William Afton's restaurant, that was certain. But was it truly haunted? The young man grabbed his phone and dialed the pizzeria's number.

Evan hadn't emerged from his hiding spot for what felt like an eternity. Unlike before when he was alive, no one saw him, and thankfully so. He didn't want other kids pointing their fingers at him and laughing. The young Afton simply buried his head into his knees and cried silently. Besides, the tears of souls weren't real. He saw fewer pairs of children's legs as the day went on. No one sat at his table; the little ghost had deliberately chosen a table in the shadows. Someone suddenly jumpscared him.

"Hey Ev! What are you doing all alone under this crappy table?" Cassidy asked cheerfully.

"Shut... shut the fuck up, Cass," the little boy murmured.

"Whoa, looks like we need a swear jar for you."

Evan just responded with a tearful glare.

"Come out, we're not going to eat you," she chuckled.