The Bond [REMAKE]

Ch 1

"Bold."/"Bold italic" : animatronic is talking/animatronic is talking in mind

"Normal."/"Normal italic." : human is talking/human is talking in mind

***

It was quiet, the streets were always quiet at this time of year; early morning, the sun will rise in two hours, giving a sign that all activities will begin. People work, students go to school, or just go about their day as usual. The air was cold, but it would warm up later, once the light from the east begins to appear, all the color schemes change from dark to light, light to bright, then dim, and dark again. Every moment, every day, without stopping, until the end of the world. Until the end of the world, he would stay like this. A body that refused to die, a mind that continued to live, and a burden that was carried until the world reached it ends.

"That's life."

Said who?

Was it really life that told him to do all that? The tragedy of the past years was the plan of life? No, no no, that was just a small part of the suffering of what he had done. He himself asked for this, if he blamed life, it would be unfair. It would not be fair.

Maybe what he needed was some therapy; ah, there's no money for useless things.

He stopped in the middle of the park path, both legs standing straight but his head lowered, his finger gently rubbing his chin and now the heel of his right shoe was moving up and then down hitting the ground repeatedly. Thinking about the cost of therapy made him realize that he didn't have a job—there used to be one, but now there wasn't one. Technical problem! He cursed at the shop owner, saying his face was too gloomy to work and making customers run away. That was the worst reason to fire someone.

Hopefully the shop goes bankrupt.

Must immediately find a replacement job as soon as possible, he didn't want to continue being unemployed, be poor! Being death didn't mean there were no more expenses to be paid, he didn't want his house to lose electricity for another three months. Although, he was willing to stay in the dark rather than having to ask uncle Henry for help again, he had to be independent.

Alright, lucky he had kept some notes from a place that was short of employees, he would look for a replacement job later. Or tomorrow, just going to relax today.

His feet moved again taking him away from where he was currently standing, heading towards where he lived quickly. Quickly? No, he didn't intend to walk this fast, he didn't intend to suddenly run, his body moved without his will, making him confused—he still wanted to enjoy the air at this hour. Damn, it only made him even more annoyed to realize that he had reached the door now. His hand grabbed the doorknob, turned it and pushed in.

Just as the sound of the door closing was heard, something writhed inside his body, giving him an overwhelming feeling of nausea, feeling every movement like the intestines were trying to come out, crawling from every inch under the skin and filling the throat, gagging the neck to the chest. His knees buckled, he fell to his knees and vomited out all the incomplete parts, wires and iron, spilled oil. The objects moved, and he felt a sense of nausea fill him again, and he felt light again, nothing was filling inside, nothing was there that should be there.

"Michael, Afton."

That deep voice, the robotic voice that he hated, the voice that always made his ears burn with anger.

"Michael fucking Afton, everyone! Failed once again!"

He got up from his knees and exerted a lot of strength in taking one step towards the animatronic with his teeth grinding against each other, hands pulling the wires wrapped around the metal body and face looking up, the red round-nosed clown mask wearing a party hat tilted back, clearly mocking from his robotic blue eyes. "Keep your mouth shut, Ennard," he hissed, holding back his anger.