A Guard's life

Out of sight

A/N: It has been over a fucking year by now. Holy fuck. THIS HAS BEEN GOING ON FOR A FUCKING YEAR BY NOW. THIS HAS PROBABLY THE LENGTH OF A FUCKING B O O K-
God, time flies, doesn't it? Lots of things changed.

Me at the beginning of the story: Aw, this is just going to be a fun little thing I done to share my love for this series! It's gonna be a bit of a sitcom styled thing, meaning that every chapter is a bit of a self-contained fun adventure that theoretically could go on forever, just so I can have a bit more of my loveable goofballs in my life! The only serious elements will come with introducing things, they'll be far and in-between!
Me today: UHHHHHH THIS NEEDS- P L O T ™, IF THIS DOESN'T ADVANCE THE P L O T™ THEN THE CHAPTER IS B A D™!

I seriously need to chill.
I hope you guys enjoy though!

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There is never something actually there. Whenever you perceive reality, you perceive it a few milliseconds delayed, as first the light needs to reflect off a surface, then into your eyes and then be processed.
Have you ever wondered how old the light is that you reflect? Minutes? Days? Years? Centuries?
That didn't matter, of course it didn't. But it was interesting.
Thinking about light was interesting when you were inside of a place that had none.
Thinking about how your body and brain works was also interesting when you were on the verge of losing it.
Your brain is a fascinating thing. It creates things that are not there, provided that there SHOULD be something.
There were... noises. It had begun quite violently, though now he had gotten used to it. Those constant noises. Painfully ripping into his ears.
But he liked it. It meant he was still there.
And there were THINGS moving in front of him. Sometimes he could SEE things.
From here, people were like small light dots. They had... connection. Thin, colorful lines without meaning, only there because his brain was certain they had to be there.
Glowing spots in the dark, flickering and wandering alongside his vision, always moving away when he tried to follow them with his glance. From dot to dot he tried to jump, but it was simply impossible. When his pupils moved, the dots moved quicker.
Frustrating.
But frustration was good. It came with opinion and preference, it came with thoughts.
One of the lines he could swear was real. He could feel it. It kept him in place, it kept him thinking.
If anyone ever would have told him that it would be William he would be owing his one chance of escape to, he would have mocked them. Relentlessly. It was a foolish assessment. William lacked all competency and was aimless in his acting.
Truly, the situation was somewhat haunting.
This thin connection, this small shred of hope for an escape... it was all that he had left.
Downgraded to a mere observer of the reality he had changed so proudly... a reality he was close to call his own...
Torture, the true torture.
Not the phantom pain, not the constant tearing at the seams of his being, the questioning if he even WAS a being-
No, it was the helplessness, the forced paralysis-
If you do not change, if you influence nothing, then you are truly dead-
But he wasn't. Not yet.
Admittedly his grip was weak.
The Puppet was still around. Still fine.
A shame, a bother, it meant he would have to be somewhat careful.
Yes, after the fire he had been so certain the child would break down and loosen up, be more suggestible, or downright become a monster. Monsters were laughably easy to handle, as they lacked any and all ability to aim their incredibly powerful rage at the right target.
That boy pulled him back it seemed.
Fine.
That boy would become part of the experiment later down the line.
The Orange Guy kept drawing away.
Nothing he could not handle.
The Orange Guy would return to his way of doing things, his personality had been thoroughly hollowed, he would only need a second slip up...
Time was his best bet and the only thing he could rely on for his work.
And while time in here was akin to being torn apart by your seams, it was still very worthwhile to carefully set the stage for his return. Getting hasty would only result in another failure, so shortly after his last one.
A possibly devastating failure.
No, scratch that. A definitely devastating failure.
It felt downright useless to ponder these negative possibilities, but stuck inside his own head, with no power to take deliberate steps to ensure these possibilities would not occur...
Nonsense.
There was always a form of change that could be achieved, no matter how powerless you may appear.
Slowly he relaxed into the nothingness around him, reaching for the edges, where nothing became something and things exist merely because they should. It was his mind shaping the illusion around him and he would learn after which principle this reality beyond worlds was functioning under.
Yes, indeed, this place DID have some interesting aspect. For example, the utter timelessness. Since time was not passing it was highly likely that this place was capable of reconnecting different time and reality zones-
It was highly likely that the only thing allowing him the semblance of passing time was that thin connection he was lucky to have.
Luck.
Part of him despised it.
Luck was not calculable, luck could help one step and set two other steps back.
Luck was a wolf in sheep's clothing, gracing the victim in question with one quick blessing, merely to take the victory again and the whole project along as well.
Opportunity was a far better thing.
Those two got confused easily, yet they had a few key differences. Mainly that opportunity came from options, always depending on your own positions, while luck was loveless and neutral, striking without regard.
Good luck they say, without even pausing to understand that with that they offering themselves up to fate, abandoning their own responsibility for the outcome in question.
What happened to him wasn't bad luck.
It had been a mistake on his part, a failure and it should be treated as such, so he may would learn and take steps to never allow it to occur again.
Sharply he inhaled air that didn't exist, through lungs that were not there, angry at himself for realizing that he had falling back into his normal cycle of useless pondering.
There was WORK to do!
Again he concentrated on the light dots he could see, no matter if he attempted to close his eyes or turn away. Logically. He reached out slowly.
Thoughts, intentions, needs, inspirations. Inside of the void, of this seemingly layer between all that existed... they were dots and lines, scribbles and mumbles. All he had to do was add onto it.

-


At the entrance of Freddy's- pardon, Circus Baby's- stood a man pressed against the wall, a heavy baseball bat in hand. He was waiting on the inside, for his victim to come in, a victim that well-deserved what was coming to him.
But, while he was peering around the corner a pair of hand snatched away his bat. "Don't threaten people with broken bones before he can explain himself."
"Don't tell me what to fucking do!"
"What if it isn't Nemo, but Orange Guy-"
"Just as good!"
"Okay- what about Jeremy?"
"He has the Puppet to protect him, what the fuck can I even do to him-"
"Yeah, but that Puppet will be ANGRY with you, Mike! And an angry Puppet isn't a nice Puppet!" He held up the bat over his head, trying his best to not let the guy get to it as he leaned closer and jumped for it, ending up almost on top of Simon, tearing him down. "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, MIKE!"
"JUST GIVE ME BACK MY FUCKING BAT!" Pinning him down to the best of his abilities he tried to force him to let go of his favorite weapon.
They wrestled for a while like that, until an angsty voice behind them interrupted them. "So... you two are having fun? Can't you do that shit like... in the backroom, or... whatever? Because I'm kinda traumatized now, thanks for that."
"YOU!" Mike jumped up and tried to strangle him, but was grabbed beforehand and felt on top of the Phone Guy, who was making a choked noise as a grown man crashed down onto his chest and stomach.
Yet, somehow he managed to get his words out. "Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiike! ASK HIM FIRST! G-God dammit, how hard can that be?!"
Bored and apathetic Nemo stared down at them. "What."
Finally giving his boss what he wanted, Mike asked first and punched later. "YOU! YOU WERE FUCKING HERE YESTERDAY, WEREN'T YOU?!"
"What."
"YOU FUCKING TOLD ME TO GO HOME, BECAUSE YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO HAVE SHIFT!"
"What."
"AND THEN YOU FUCKING LEFT YOURSELF, LETTING THE ANIMATRONIC BREAK OUT!"
"What."
"ANSWER ME YOU FUCK!"
"I'm answer, I just have no idea what your dusty freak-brain is coming up with or why."
"YOU DID THESE THINGS, DIDN'T YOU?!"
A pause ensued as Nemo inspected him, seemingly slowly realizing the guy on the ground was serious. "Nope. Whatever you took yesterday, you haven't met me, really. Do I look like I'd come back to this shithole at night just to fuck with you? 'Kay, it'd be HILARIOUS, but I would have recorded it and put it on the internet. Haven't done that, so it wasn't me."
Angry Mike hissed, but at least he didn't appeared as if he wanted to attack anyone, so finally Simon let him go, having him scrambling to get up. "We'll see about that, you fuck. You have five minutes to run away if you actually were here, otherwise you might as well say goodbye to your fucking face."
Dashing off he hoped to be proven correctly, though deep down he already knew the answer. He had blacked out again. AGAIN.
Simon was right behind him, sighing quietly, but even that small noise only served to enrage Mike even more. Shut up, Simon, he knew this was all his fault and he was being unreasonable. Stop with your passive aggressive bullshit, we all know what you're thinking.
They arrived in the office and Mike jumped onto the PC, though he couldn't log onto it to get access to the cameras, so he had to step back and impatiently tap his foot while Simon put in his password and wordlessly stepped aside.
Even in his silence he managed to be accusing.
But when he was silent, he couldn't scream at him to shut up, not without looking insane.
Not that he didn't look like that already, right?! HA-HA.
He rewound the footage to back around the time that Mike left the building. No matter how much he rewound, there was just not a second the teen would appear on the screens.
Because he never had been there in the building in the first place.
The sarcastic voice came form the guy, who had followed them as well. "So? Am I a teleporter or whatever? Do I actually have nothing better to do than piss you off?"
"Fuck off, or I'll break your face anyways." Mike's voice was barely more than a whisper.
"Geez... whatever, freak."
Only when his steps had become inaudible that he looked at the door, ready to pounce whatever was there.
Nothing, thankfully.
"Uh... Mike...?" Simon hesitantly called out to him and got a growl in response.
"What do you want? Rub it in?! I'll fucking... I'll fucking take my drugs more regularly. It won't fucking happen again, alright?!"
"I... never actually said anything in that direction." The worry in his voice was even more apparent than before. "It's- uh, it's not your fault, you know that, right?"
"As if. I should have fucking checked my pills. Taken one, just in fucking case."
"You couldn't have known, this place is crazy..."
"Not as crazy as I AM, OBVIOUSLY!" There was now a tint of hysteria in his voice.
"Mike Schmidt!" Suddenly stern, Phoney grabbed his shoulder. "You aren't crazy! Dave is crazy! Old Sport is crazy! You aren't crazy. You... you have problems, sure, but we all do! H-heck, I probably even have a lot more of them than you!"
"Oh great, fucking- is this supposed to make me feel better?!" The employee hissed, but before they could continue, a knock interrupted.
"B O I. Where was my greeting, Phoney?!" Orange Guy looked in and smiled.
"I'm- can't you see that I'm busy?!" Distraught he turned to the newcomer, obviously not pleased with being interrupted.
"Aw, no time for your favorite employee? How am I supposed to know what I got to do today!"
"Today... uh- okay. You know what. For today you get my position."
"What?!" Deeply surprised Old Sport tilted his head.
"WHAT?!" Mike turned around, forgetting for a minute his anger.
"Y-yeah. You'll... just try to be everywhere, coordinate the other three- the puppet counts as guard now, doesn't he- uh... keep an eye on the place, take nagging customers in your own hand, don't do anything that will get us legally in trouble, piece of cake- we'll- uh... with you... just... remember, things that will kill a person aren't forgivable. Everything else, we can... we can at least hope, I think. Uh- if everything else fails, call me. Dave knows my damn number after all." After doing what was probably under the top ten of the worst decision of his career, he turned back to Mike. "Now come along, we need to talk."
In his utter confusion Mike went along, not even questioning why he would be singled out for this.
Equally as confused Old Sport looked after them, asking himself as to what could be so important that Phoney would leave his career and life in his hands to tend to it.
Dragging his co-worker off into a yet vacant place of the park Phoney made sure that they had a calm place and two comfortable chairs to sit in, so they could talk this out.
As soon as Mike caught on to this, he swore. "Oh- Oh fuck NO. We aren't having a heart-to-heart, I'm not having a fucking breakdown. I'm a fucking fine adult-"
"Adults sometimes need to talk too, you know?"
"Yeah, but I-"
"Okay. Maybe I want to talk."
Breaking off at that, Mike looked at him in irritation. Though at this point his anger has boiled down and tired him out, so he sat down and watched as Simon went away to get them two soft ice, resulting in a scoff. "I don't want fucking ice cream."
"Because you never want anything nice." Phoney took off his receiver, the attached cap and placed the cone inside of it. With mild disgust Mike watched it slowly vanish in there.
"... don't you get brain freeze from that?"
"That would require me to have a brain, Mike."
"No need to get fucking sassy at me for this." Frustrated Mike began eating his own treat. "Now what do you want to fucking talking about?"
"..." Finally pausing Simon moved around uncertain. "... I, uh... I didn't think this through."
"No shit, Sherlock. I know what this is for. You just want to fucking lie to my face to protect my precious fee-fees, before I fucking kill myself."
"I know you wouldn't do that."
"Yeah, that's more your style, isn't it?" Sarcastic Mike hissed.
"... Those hallucinations... since when do you have them?"
"Who are you, my therapist?"
"I'm trying to make a point here! Why do I have TWO angsty h-hecks to take care of?!"
"DON'T COMPARE MY TO THAT TEEN!"
"THEN ACT LIKE AN A-ADULT, FOR GOSH'S SAKE!"
"FUCKING- FINE!" Enraged Mike fell back into the chair. "It started with my fucking accident, big surprise."
Phone Guy nodded thoughtfully. "It's something wrong with your brain."
"I have no idea where you're going with this."
"You had an accident and your brain is now... unreliable. You can't control it, you don't know what causes it."
"I hate the way you talk to me. What the fuck do you-"
"Mike, you might be sick, but at least you don't have to constantly ask yourself if you were build that way and maybe someday someone will push a button to MAKE your go berserk, so they can get whatever they want."
Finally he managed to shut Mike up.
Since no answer came, he continued. "You know, Mike... maybe you ARE sick. You can't trust yourself? Yeah. That... that, uh... is harsh. I would know. But at least you don't have to be scared that... you're going to... that somebody gets to decide about it..."
Another long pause ensued. "You think somebody controls... your blackouts? You have those?"
"... Not technically." Phoney sounded worried. "Not yet. But- I don't know... I think- I... Mike, I think... sometimes..."
"Spit it out."
"Do you think I'm... I sometimes think that I'm... I'm a program."
This was a rollercoaster ride of confusion and irritation for the poor Guard. "What are you talking about- how can that be, you have memories and shit from before you were a phone-head, right?! Ian?"
"... I think a lot about him." His voice was quiet. "... and... sometimes I feel... I think... I don't feel ENOUGH. I don't... I don't think I REALLY feel what I SHOULD feel- it hurts, Mike. It hurts, but it's... it's so far away."
Fuck. How was he supposed to react to that?
"It- it feels as if I, uh- as if I just feel bad because I have to- sometimes it hurts, sometimes it's just... numb... and I- I think it's wrong, it feels like that."
"... fuck. Simon. How the fuck am I supposed... I can't fucking tell you how you're SUPPOSED to feel!"
"... but... you-"
"Put yourself together, fucking hell! Who cares?" As always he exploded at his problems.
"He was my brother. I loved him. I- I think I loved him, I- was taking care of him, I was there for him and- there was nothing I wanted more than for him to be better, you know? It was always... us two. People didn't really understand him- or they... they often didn't have the patience. But he was wonderful. He WAS. Yet, whenever I think back it's... I'm just..."
"It's been awhile, hasn't it? You got your memories wiped, your life threatened an uncountable amount of time, you've been kicked in and out of all sorts of events... emotions don't stick around forever, you know? And fuck why would you WANT that?"
Simon seemed to want to say something, but Mike interrupted him.
"It won't bring him back, sure as fuck and it doesn't make the world a better place for you. I get it. I- it's the end of the fucking world. It feels like the end of the world. And because it feels like the end of the world to you, you want the rest of the world to stop, to shut up and suffer. Everything SHOULD be fucking greyer. You- it's really harsh to realize that the world is still fucking the same, because it feels like nothing fucking matter in the grand scheme of things."
"Is this supposed to make me feel better?" His voice sounded weak and pathetic, he was obviously tired.
"No. Not really. I just- fucking fuck, I want you to realize that you don't OWE him to feel bad. You don't owe any-fucking-one but yourself to feel bad and mourn. I doubt Ian wants you to be sad, it doesn't help anyone. Mourning is a thing for yourself you do on your own. You take your own fucking time off and nobody gets to tell you that you mourn too long or too shortly, you deal with it however the fuck you want! But I always thought mourning is like... a... you know, like putting fucking cucumbers into vinegar, you know-"
"Conservation?"
"Yeah! That shit. You mourn so you can later go back and take out the happy shit you remember about them. So allow yourself to mourn to at one point go back and say "yeah, I'm glad that person was there even if too shortly". You allow yourself to get drenched in the vinegar that you wouldn't touch on your own, just so you can make sure the cucumbers don't go back and make you sick, because you put them away and forgot about them and now they're all rotten and shit and you don't have anything from it-" Interrupted by a small chuckle, Mike looked up at Phoney. "Oh, this is fucking HILARIOUS, isn't it? LOOK AT ME, I'M TRYING TO MAKE A CRYBABY FEEL BETTER!"
"No, no- I just didn't know you were such a poet with your words. What a nice picture you paint!" Phoney's voice was still weak, but you could hear a smile and it resulting in Mike growing a bit red.
"Shut the fuck up. I gave it my best shot to help you and THIS is what I get. There's a reason I don't help pieces of shit like you."
Again a quiet laugh came from Phoney who shifted around. "So you think... my emotions aren't... controlled? That I just... that I just... feel what I'm programmed to feel so-"
"What would it get the factory? You're distracted and sad. What could the factory fucking WANT from you if they would do this to you? Sad people aren't really fucking useful, are they? If they would decide to manipulate your emotions... wouldn't they want to keep you... in constant emotional numbness or some fucking shit? So you don't fight back on anything?"
"Yeah... I guess... but, uh... wouldn't this be it?"
"I don't fucking KNOW Simon, I'm not part of some team of psychologist who fucks around and has analyzed this type of shit! I think sad people are more likely to be angry if you fucking ask me, but I DON'T KNOW!"
Another pause ensued, while Simon was playing around with his fingers. "You know... uh... you..."
"I?" Annoyed the aggressive Guard raised an eyebrow.
"It's always nice to remember that you actually... uh... that you're actually not pure anger."
"Fake it 'till you make it."
"Why would you want to be nothing but rage?" Carefully Simon reached out to his friend and was surprised as the guy wouldn't move away. Softly he petted his shoulders, resulting in a soft sigh.
"Because that's easier?"
"... Sure you aren't just, uh... edgy?"
"I want to murder you right now with both of my hands."
"Oh, I get more than only one?! I'm really honored!" Joking Phoney jabbed back.
"You Phone-fuck will get in serious trouble in a minute!" Not really aggressive he growled.
"Oh no, I uh... going to get, uh..." He tried hard to come up with something.
"Punched?"
"You? Punching ME? Huh, I uh... I thought you would put more creative effort into this."
"Why do I tolerate you." At this point he sounded resigned and looked around, trying to change topic. "... Isn't it weird how nobody has come here yet?"
This part of the park was still weirdly empty, despite noises and laughter in the distance indicating that the park had already filled up with visitors.
"Yeah... huh." Phoney stood up and looked around the corner. "... maybe the Orange Guy actually managed to set something SO interesting up, that nobody even wants to come back here? It's pretty much, uh, a relax area for adults anyways, so... maybe that's it? Or, heh, we got sucked into some sort of purgatory."
"DON'T SAY THAT, IT MIGHT COME FUCKING TRUE!" His friend jumped up and screeched out. "I WOULDN'T PUT THIS PAST THIS HELLISH PLACE!"
If Simon could, he would roll his eyes, but so instead he just clicked his rotary around 360 degrees and shrugged. "Uh... yeah. Sure. I think ending up in purgatory would be one of the best possible outcomes... at least for, uh... me."
"I don't want to be fucking stuck in purgatory, fucking hell."
"Mike, let me be clear, I don't think we are-" He broke off as a kid ran past him, followed by a small crowd of masked and unmasked children. Turning to Mike he signed at them. "See?"
But the Guard had only taken out his pills, suspiciously eyed them, then took two at once for good measure. "That ain't a fucking proof to me, but whatever, let's go back to our job or something."
They headed back to the main area, Simon slowing down more and more as they came closer.
Oh god, what had he done?!
He had- the Orange Guy-
Christ, he had given the Orange Guy control over the WHOLE building, didn't he?!
"Mike... have you ever uh... considered..." Uncomfortable he moved around. "So, uh... you know, I, uh... appreciate you as my worker and... uuh... everything in general..."
There came no sound from Mike but Phoney could feel his glare melting through his metal. Coughing shortly he tried to get to the point faster.
"A-and, uh- you know, I- uhm... I wouldn't ever, uh... be angry with you for... so, uh... I mean... you know..."
"What the fuck do you want now."
"Just saying that- uh... I mean... you know, if you would ever HYPOTHETICALLY skip a day- you know that I'd, uh- PERSONALLY come to SEARCH you and uh-"
Stopping dead in his tracks Mike gave him one of the oddest stares he had in his arsenal. "Are you fucking asking me to give you an excuse to fuck off?"
"Uh..." Helpless Simon nodded.
"What the living fuck. What was about the dog you have to send after me if I do?"
"I mean, uh- I can make an excuse-"
"Is it because you know Old Sport fucked us all over already?"
"... yes."
"You little pussy. You're not only a prick, you're also a fucking coward who can't fucking face consequences!" Disbelieving the Dayguard threw his hands into the air. "Over my dead fucking body I help you with this. It would make you a fucking hypocrite."
"Sure about that?" A tad hopeless Simon sighed and accepted his fate.
The Phone had only be partially right to be this worried, because at first Old Sport had been doing really damn well.
He had gathered everyone in the office as they arrived and was walking in front of them back and forth. "EVERYONE, LISTEN UP!"
"Do you have to scream...?" Jerry rubbed his ears. The boy knew it wasn't in bad faith, but this early at morning...?
"THIS IS IMPORTANT! OF COURSE I HAVE TO SCREAM!" Old Sport flailed his arms around. "WE ARE AT WAR! THEY TOOK PHONEY AND MIKE ALREADY!"
The Puppet moved around, slightly disgruntled.
They what?
"THEY TOOK PHONEY! THE FACT THAT I'M ABLE TO CLAIM THAT HE'S GONE PROVES HE'S GONE, DOESN'T IT?!"
Not... I mean... partially, yes, but WHO took him and why?
"THE CHILDREN! WE ARE ON LOCKDOWN RIGHT NOW!" Jumping onto the chair he continued his screeching. "WE NEED A BARRICADE! WE NEED WEAPONS! EVERYBODY, GET OUT YOUR COMPANY ISSUES KAZOOS!"
"Our company issued..." Confused Jerry searched his pockets for them, while Dave pulled them out with no problem.
"LEAD US SPORTSY! TO VICTORY!" He raised the... music instrument...(?) and howled in excitement.
"WE WILL REVENGE OUR FALLEN BROTHERS! ONWARDS!" Turning to the table he tried to roll out the office by pushing himself away from it with one foot, but since he was a damn buffoon he only managed to make the chair fall over, sending him crashing down. Panicked Jeremy crouched down next to him, while the Puppet snickered a bit mean-spirited.
"O-Oh god, are you alright O-Old Sport?!"
The first answer he got was a weakly raised arm with a thumbs-up, followed by a pathetic cough. "They... they took yet another victim...you will have to... go on... without me..."
"Uh..." But before Jerry could say anything of worth, Dave took over.
"WE WILL! THIS IS THE TIME TO ACTIVATE MY AUTOMATIC BARRICADE BUILDER!" Out of seemingly nothing he took a remote and pressed some unsuspicious grey button.
"You... you have an automatic barricade- how?"
Slowly Dave turned towards the non-believer, his eyes glowing menacing in the sudden shadows casted over him for dramatic effect. "This is my restaurant. I have built demons and gods in its bowels, its metal veins is filled with the very essences of life, nothing inside here is out of my reach and it bows to my whims and wishes. There are things hidden here, trapdoors and secret areas, in the middle of the building, deep down below is a pumping heart, feeding this insatiable place with energy constantly, as it demands more and more. Who enters can only pray to me that I allow them to leave the place again and-"
The shadow covering his upper face vanished and he looked up. "AY! Alice! That ain't fuckin'groovy, I was in the middle of an dramatic speech!"
A little ballerina girl sat at the lamp and yawned, before giggling sassy.
Grumbling Dave shook his head. "There you go, you try bein' a cool guy once and your own machine betrays ya. Anyways, of course we have a barricade mode, it's supposed to be installed since the... uh... 55th location? Dunno, can't fucking remember. All I remember is the robots finding out how to heat up cheese to the point of plasma and the workers REALLY NEEDING ONE. Now that that's out of the way, are ya comin', we gotta fight some toddlers!"
Not really caring Dave dashed out and stood upon the barricade, screaming out. "COME AT ME, YEE WHO HAVE HARMED MY ONE AND ONLY!"
Nobody seemed to mind, really, quite the opposite in fact- giggling the kids began scaling the barricade, some with the help of their laughing parents, who just thought that this was a special event for today, while Dave gave his best to YEET THOSE MOTHERFUCKERS RIGHT BACK DOWN.
Not after long Old Sport joined him, a pot over the head and a long wooden stick in hand, poking the kiddens while they tried to come up.
Baby in the distance watched them in wonder and the kids that had been listening to her signing ran over after having watched the fun for a while, wanting to be in on it and also damn their fellow kids to a bone-shattering fall, because well, all kids are demons.
As they rushed past Dave he screeched out. "THEY INFILTRATED, SPORTSY! WE ARE DONE FOR! RETREAT, RETREAT!"
Sadly this attracted the attention of the kids, who instantly thought it was part of the game and that they were supposed to fight the Guard's instead of the other kids and began to grab onto them, while a flood of other kids managed to climb the barricades, joining the kids already attacking. Quickly both Dave and Old Sport were overwhelmed and dragged away, while Jeremy nervously watched from the distance.
"Should... should we help them...?" Quietly he leaned to the Marionette, who only shrugged.
They will be fine. This is part of the game.
"Are you sure about that? They are screaming for help..."
All part of the game...
At this point Phoney and Mike came around, the Phone-head starting to beep at the sight of the stacked tables and chairs in the middle of the restaurant. "EMPLOYEE, WHAT DID YOU DO!?"
"S-sorry, sir- good to see you are fine-"
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN I'M FINE?! WHY SHOULDN'T I BE!?" For his screaming he was getting a dirty look for Jeremy's protector, but he really couldn't care less.
"Old Sport implied that the kids... preoccupied you...?" Actually, what did Old Sport say again? What could have kids possibly done to two grown man...?
"I- AND YOU JUST- WENT ALONG?!"
Helplessly the young Guard shrugged. "What was I supposed to do...?"
"Ah- sorry Jeremy, I, uh- I'm a bit tense right now. Where are they?" Referring to both Dave and Old Sport, seeing as neither was far from the other, Simon looked around.
"The kids brought them... over there I think?" Vaguely the boy gestured to a direction and Simon dashed off, leaving Mike and the kid alone. Shyly said boy smiled at him. "So... where were you actually?"
The need to say something obscene was extreme, but his self-preservation was stronger. "We went talking and eat a bit of soft ice."
"Ow, that sounds nice! We have a machine around here?"
"Yeah, it's... somewhere in the back."
"Where exactly?" Hopeful he looked up at him. "I really would like some right now!"
"We shouldn't leave, maybe Simon needs-"
In the distance they heard him screaming "DON'T PUT EMPLOYEES INTO THE MECHANISM FOR THE JUMPING PLATFORM- wait. No, you know what, with these two it's fine. Uh- employees, I expect of you two to clean up after your misadventure later!"
Mike and Jerry had an awkward, then Mike groaned and signed to follow him. "Seems he'll be fine."

At the end of the day, after finally having free themselves from the death-grip of their machine, the two psychos headed home, pretty exhausted.
While walking home the Orange Guy was unusually quiet, pondering something that had quietly nagged him for a while now and once they finally entered their home, he gathered himself enough to just ask it.
"You know..." Old Sport picked out a few springs that got stuck in his clothes. "... Dave?"
"Hm, bby?" Apparently Dave had been satisfied with the day's work and his higher brain function were now on stand-by.
"I've always asked myself since you got a time machine down there... why didn't you go back and help Henry before his death?" The question was asked hesitantly, the answer would either be very good or very bad.
The Orange Guy wasn't delusional. But after the talk they had where Dave seemed quite accepting-
Well, it could be because he had taken over Henry's place in Dave's life and the psychopath didn't care WHO paid attention to him, as long as somebody did.
It could also be that he had been so calm about it because deep down he had been terrified to be left alone again.
He wasn't allowed to trust Dave, not really...
For a while there was silence, then Dave sighed. "Listen Sportsy, you don't know much about time travel, do ya? Of course I couldn't go back in time, that ain't gucci with those fuckin' paradoxes. If I went back to help Henry, I couldn't have went back to help Henry, could I? I wouldn't even exist. But the fact that I wouldn't even exist would lead to me not goin' back to help Henry. See where I'm coming from?"
"Uh-" The Orange Guy was thoroughly surprised.
"You can go into the future all you like and fuck around there, it ain't resulting in a paradox, because you always stay the same. But if you go back, you're going to fuck yourself up big time! I mean- same goes for meeting yourself in the future. That's also a big no-no for that reason. Get it?"
Deeply impressed Old Sport nodded and looked at one of the springs in his hands. "Oh... well, that's... makes sense. I'll go shower now, I need to get all that kidden-grease off me!"
"Take ya time! And if you need somethin' just call me in!" It wasn't certain as to how ironic it was meant, but as soon as Old Sport disappeared, Dave dashed down into the workshop, where they had left the machine after their last adventure.
Sadly, the machine wasn't there anymore, resulting in a childish fit from Dave. "OH YOU FUCKIN' TAXES, SUCK MY FAX-"
If he only had sooner thought of that idea.
Oh well.

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A/N: Nobody ask, but I still felt like explaining. Maybe I shouldn't even have mentioned it, but... eh. Too late now, right?
Hope you enjoyed!