Broken and Together

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Horrid Reunion

     Michael stood in the center of the room, eying the withered animatronics. They were in their usual broken positions, as if they had never moved. He shuddered violently, his gaze fixed on Foxy's jaw where a small amount of blood smeared its teeth.

    How are we not dead? he thought. He crossed the area to Foxy, wrench in hand. Why did it not kill us, only because it reached midnight? Heck, why do they even want to kill us in the first place? He hesitated, running his eyes over Foxy's battered body. There was virtually no reason for these specific animatronics to be acting out, or for the toys to, for that matter. Sure, the toy animatronics were tampered with which could explain it, but the withered ones? They supposedly weren't, and not to mention, none of them had been made to kill, like the ones at Circus Baby's Entertainment and Rental. There was virtually no reason for them to act like this, especially in such a bizarre fashion.

    "There's more going on to this than we think, isn't there?" Mike whispered. "There always has been." He shook his head. No, I'm just thinking nonsense. There has to be some sort of glitch in the system, a mechanical reason for this. I just have to find it. With another shiver, he moved his tool towards Foxy's torso. He stilled, upon hearing a sound echo from the direction of the dining area. A call—his name. Charlie had called for him. He glanced over his shoulder at the door, half expecting to see her enter or hear her call again. He had caught her voice faintly, as if she'd spoken after shouting for him, but now he heard nothing.

    Silently, he told himself nothing was wrong, everything was just fine. The animatronics had stopped, and nothing could harm him nor Charlie. But concern and anxiety gradually clamped around his insides, and he found himself being plagued with the unignorable urge to go back to the dining area and see if something was wrong. Besides, she had called for him.

    Grasping his wrench tighter, he left parts and service and marched his way down the halls to the dining room. As soon as he entered, he froze. The room was still covered in shadow, for the sun had just barely risen and the lights were turned off, though he could have sworn he and Charlie flicked them back on after their shift. A figure stood beside one of the tables, lifting what appeared to be a bar of some sort. They loomed over a lump on the floor—the shape of a person, whose head lowered as this person swung their weapon towards them. But this wasn't just any person. It was William.

    Michael moved on instinct, for a sudden burst of rage and panic took over his body and movements completely. He rushed forward, nearly colliding with one of the tables as he made it to William's side and swiftly struck him in the back of the head with his wrench. The blow hit William hard, and sent him staggering to the side, his swing interrupted before it could reach the person on the floor. He swore under his breath and leaned heavily against a table as he put a hand against his head. Michael nearly yelled at him, felt the urge to attack him again, but all anger and aggression faded away when his eyes fell upon the person lying on the floor. Charlie.

    "Charlotte!" He released the wrench and dropped to his knees beside her. His breaths grew faster, just barely escaping his tightening throat as he grabbed her limp body and held it close. The back of her head bled heavily, dripping onto the floor beside his leg. He completely forgot William's harsh gaze or the pain in his shoulder as he cupped her cheek. "Ch-Charlie?" he said, giving her a gentle shake. "Hey, wake up. Don't—" He broke off, soft and deep chuckles cutting through his panicked, slurred words. Sucking in his breath, Michael held Charlie's limp form tighter. There it was—that rage, the burning, pulsing anger that burned at his very core, consumed every bit of rational thought. He gritted his teeth, lifting his gaze to William who moved away from the table and swung his make-shift weapon around almost teasingly.

    "Hello, Michael," he said, speaking smoothly and smugly, as he always did. "It's been a little while, hasn't it?"

    Michael clenched his jaw tighter, his teeth aching terribly at how hard he ground them. He could feel himself trembling, his breaths growing heavier, but he couldn't stop them. "How dare you."