Chapter Eleven

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My dear Michael.

I know you can't hear me, but still, here I am. Thinking of you yet again.

Always on my mind...

She said to me last year, "Why do you still think like he's the protagonist in this story?"

I told her, "Because that, darling, is precisely my job"...
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        She spoke to him in that soft, echoing voice. To call it a whisper was almost a crime, because a whisper was everything it wasn't. It was a taunt. A warning. A song...

         Never a whisper.

         "You were to young to die." He was still waiting. Always waiting for the answers he desperately wanted, but knew he may never get. For three children who would never come home. A friend who he might never see again.

         "It wasn't my choice, believe me..." She looked less terrifying in the daylight. Just a design off of a jack-in-the box, a fun little pet project back in the days when Henry and he made creations for beauty. William could remember paining those blush marks and tear stains on her mask himself, all those years ago. Such a long time. It was a miracle nothing had cracked yet.

         "I know that," William told her quietly. "You'll be glad to know your death was one of my many regrets."

         "Great," the Puppet said sarcastically. She was perched on top of her box, beady white pinpricks studying William carefully. "Another thing to add to my list of why your family is an endangerment to this establishment."

         "You know this building only opened a week ago, correct?"

         "A person can never be too prepared."

         William chuckled. "At least we can agree on one thing."

        "Yes, yes. Do me a favor and shut up, First. Getting along with you is... Draining."

        "So sorry." She gave him what looked like a glare in response. Or what could pass as a glare, in her animatronic form.
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         "You waited." He was back, holding two sets of different-colored uniforms. The Puppet has gotten tired of quibbling and had disappeared back into her box, most likely to eavesdrop.

         "Why so surprised?" Michael shrugged, not even bothering to answer. He knew it was a rhetorical question. "And why the extra shirts?"

         "It's Wednesday."

         "...So?" William genuinely still looked confused.

         "You and your board heads issued a rule a few months ago that all employees had to wear, and I quote, "a standard-issue dress shirt the exact shade of rose-pink," unquote. So. If you want to blend in, you'll have to participate in..." Michael held up a shirt, grinning in such a way that made William almost proud. "Pink Uniform Wednesday."

         William groaned, snatching the shirt. "Remind me why I made this a thing?" Pink. Of all the colors, why in this giant mudball did he have to pass pink. It was so... happy. Too bright on the eyes.

         "Because you wanted your employees to have to wear the most threatening colors," Michael said in a matter of fact manner.

          "Oh my God."

         The Puppet giggled quietly.
 
         Michael and he found a private place to change- both to hide the scars William knew they each were hiding.

         Whatever has happened to Michael in the Sister Location had changed him greatly.
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Mari... I promised you all those years ago that I would help you avenge the others. But I never said I would drag myself down to your own level. I am not going to hurt those I love.

But I made a promise, Mari. My dear... And your true name, known to us and lost to the winds... The little Marionette, the stringless Puppet, angered and vengeful entity. You scare me, and I you. But we are bound to each other.

And it's so cold, just like that day so very, very long ago...
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         ​"I... Well. I still can't do this. Talking."

​ ​        "Then we are in a bit of a bind."

​          ​Michael took a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket. "​I- just read this. Don't follow me." He handed William the paper and slipped off, William peering after him.​ ​

         ​ ​After it became clear Michael wasn't coming back, William carefully unfolded it, carefully examining it. He didn't read it at first. It took him a moment to stop staring at Michael's handwriting. He had a clean, flowing script, bordering in between print and cursive- a sort of stream-of-consciousness penmanship. Just like William's wife had once had.

​ ​         The letter was far worse.

​'​You came here, I think, to win me back.

To whisper lies in my ear of putting our family back together, to make things right.

You can't.

They're gone, and I shouldn't have gone looking for you. I need to let our past die. Stay away from me, stay away from Scott​ and Jeremy​, stay away from everyone else. Go missing, like Henry did. Leave. You lied to me, broke us all apart. Made the monsters that haunted my​​ nightmares.​​​​​ ​Sent her away.

         "But that wasn't me... You pushed her away yourself." William whispered. "We tore each other apart..." He didn't realize he had sunk to the ground, back pressed tightly against the wall. One of his hands were clutching the collar of his shirt so tightly WIlliam was sure he was ripping it.

'I cannot express the rage that coursed through me when I found out what you had done to them. What their plan was to get out of that broken place- and how they accomplished their goal.

Do you even know what you've done to me? I don't even know if I can age anymore. I certainly can't die.

Now I know why you truly closed up Baby's building. Not because of a gas leak. Not even because of what happened to Elizabeth. It was to hide what you did after.

I saw the blueprints. I know what you turned them into, such twisted beings, mechanical monstrosities.

Henry was right. We lost our families to a monster.

Stay away from us.

Don't try to fix this.

You cannot put us back together.​'​

         And then a voice that had been quiet for so long began to murmur...

        And this time, William was unable and unwilling to fight it.
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Michael, I'm scared. She's making it cold, everyone is so hurting, so angry. Your poor father... It's so cold...

Someone is going to die...  

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