mute-call

[mute-call]

It's nice to know he won't be shunned for the rest of his ghostly existence, at least. He met some of the children in person before their deaths, too, so, it'll be nice to get to see them again and apologize in person. Hopefully they'll believe him when he says he wants to help.

...wait. He met some of them in person. Cassidy... she was one of them, he thinks. Not a regular, like Fritz, at least not that he can remember, but definitely someone he interacted with a couple of times. The memories hit him hard. The way she looked when she was alive versus this--

"Cassidy, do you, um. Remember seeing me? Before everything. When I was a daytime employee? I think... we met. Back then."

"Sorry! I'm sorry. I was just trying to help!" She's not a fan of sudden animatronic touches. Noted.

"I heard, yeah. I-- heh. I thought I was going crazy, to tell you the truth. It didn't make much sense, but I guess that's because you thought I was someone else. Now that you have the name of the guy who you're really after, I think, uh, saying something like 'hey, by the way, there are a bunch of kids stuffed in the suits over here and William Afton killed us' might be more, y'know. Helpful for your cause."

Huh??

"What? No, that's not all I did!" Come on, now, Cass! Steven Bell didn't make employee of the month for years straight just to be labeled as the phone guy! Rude and mean!

"But, yeah, the security office is kind of like a second home to me. Or I guess my only home, now. I could-- I could definitely try talking to the guard through the phone or the monitors or something." As soon as he figures out how to detach himself from his corpse.

"Can you teach me ghost tricks? Help me float around so I can get into the office, or, uh, how to speak with living people. That sort of thing." It'd be a win-win. Steven would learn valuable death lessons, and Cassidy would get a boost to her confidence, seeing that she doesn't need to rely on Steven for everything.

"Sammy?" Sammy?

Holy shit.

"As in Sammy Afton? The Fredbear kid? That's 'Crybaby'?"

What the fuck? Had William murdered his own child and blamed his other son? There goes Steven's theory about him being a grieving father; it's starting to seem as though William had been deranged from the start. Is that why he helped start Freddy's? Just to murder any kid he chose?

Steven shivers, feeling sick again. Mr. Afton had always been an intimidating sort, but Steve liked the guy well enough. He liked the founders' vision and dream, and he liked the way William's praise was sparing enough that it really meant something when he set his hand on Steven's shoulder or offered a "well done."

The things Bell had done for his approval...

"...we need to make sure this goes public. I don't know how much you know about what happened, but everyone ended up blaming Sammy's brother for the 'accident.' I mean, it's not like Michael was a saint, but to lose a sibling and then be blamed for his death? That must have driven him crazy. We have a chance to give you revenge and clear his name."

[Cassidy pouted at Steven's thinly-veiled request; she was definitely the last person who ought to greet a deceased guard, so the others would probably give him a warmer reception. They'd probably want to talk to him...so maybe she should treat this conversation like a test from hereon out. Or maybe- maybe like an orientation. It was inevitable that he'd meet the others, but she would NOT let him continue his pattern of false hopes and reassurances. She wanted to protect the others from the devastation and hurt she'd experienced thus far.]

❝ I dunno about "want"...but they'll talk to you. Maybe tomorrow. ❞ [Definitely tomorrow. The others were surely roaming or chatting with each other by now, but he had yet to earn her trust...or some fraction of it.]

[Speaking of which...]

[Even through her wails, she heard the creaking of metal. She definitely hadn't touched the suit, had she? It was so hard to tell. Maybe it was Sammy coming back, or...]

[A hand fell on her shoulder. Startled, Cassidy jumped and shrunk back. Not Sammy -- he knew better. Was that Steven, then...?]

❝ D-Don't- don't do that! ❞ [Even though she was sort of warming up to him, any sudden touch scared her. When unprompted, it was...painful. It reminded her of the spring-things. It was probably a mix of her blindness and the...abruptness. She wasn't about to tell him that, though.]

[Steven prattled on and on about potential solutions to the problem. Unlike before, though, he kind of seemed like he was stumbling onto something; somehow, he hadn't just given up, the way she had. She really had a lot of work to do on herself. There was no way in Hell she'd be ready to face Afton like...this.]

[He was...right. Even though they'd struggled to communicate prior...well, maybe Steven would be able to use phones, or something? That's what he was known for, after all. Cassidy could sometimes send messages, a whisper of "it's me" in case the guard was her killer, but they couldn't really get more complex than that. Maybe she could just say "Afton" instead. Then he mentioned helping the guard, and...she wasn't totally off-put by the idea. Steven could help them to identify the guard, and if they weren't Afton, then maybe they'd be willing to help.]

[Shit. Was it bad that she was starting to feel grateful for a guy she'd just killed?]

❝ Yeah...yeah. ❞ [Cassidy nodded, trying not to show how excited ( and relieved ) she was.] ❝ I- I can send a message. Something short, like "Afton." You heard me all those times I said "it's me," right? And maybe- maybe you can try the phone. Like, trying to leave a message. If anybody can get it to work, it's probably you. I mean, that's the only thing you ever really did- just talk on the phone, right? ❞ [She just had to sneak in one snide remark. She could hear the hope in her voice, and it was starting to irk her.]

[As for the daytime...well, Cassidy, Sammy, and Charlie could typically do as they pleased outside of their suits. They couldn't interact with anything on the outside -- not as far as she could tell, anyway -- and being tethered to a nonexistent animatronic lessened that ability. The others, though- they were completely stuck to their animatronic suits. From what she could tell, it was a struggle to separate themselves, and most actions would cause the animatronic to move with them. They'd be the only ones who might be able to send a message, provided that somebody was listening.]

❝ Well...none of us- that's me, you, and Sammy- can do anything "real" in the daytime. We also don't move like everyone else, we just kinda...teleport, I think? And we aren't visible during the day...something like that. ❞ [Admittedly, she didn't really know the logistics of their suit. Sammy just guided her through whatever was happening on the outside.] ❝ But the others...they could say something, maybe? They've spoken through the animatronics a couple of times, but...nobody ever listens. ❞ [And yes, that was a pointed comment. Steven was very much included in the "doesn't listen" group.]

[mute-call]

Hah!! He did it! He’s slowly but surely proving her wrong about him. He does care. He does know the children. And he will help them.

“Well, if they’re ever around and want to meet me, I’m— here.” He has hope, based on Cassidy’s description of the others, that he might actually be able to befriend them on his journey to redemption. He wants to show them that there’s at least one adult who will listen to them, even if he didn’t before.

Finally, Steven forces himself to look at her. His corpse comes along with him, the bloodied Freddy head turning with a groan of bent metal.

She looks… small. Sobbing blackened tears from hollow eyes.

Oh, god.

Steven’s less startled by the wail this time, but no less affected. This poor kid… he wants so, so, so badly to help her. He shouldn’t have been honest; false hope is always better than none.

He reaches out towards her. Can… he touch her? Offer a comforting hand on her shoulder?

“It’ll be okay. I promise. We’ll figure out a plan! …listen, they’re probably going to replace me soon, right? But this time, we’ll figure out how to communicate with the guard! It’ll be, uh, you know, it’ll go different than before, because now you’ll know the new guy’s not the one, so we can really take our time and get them on our side!”

He’s starting to give himself hope, rather than just babbling to cheer her up. This could really work!

“And— and what’s the deal about the daytime? Can we move around, or not?” Maybe while the others are stuck on stage, Steven and Cassidy can go leave a message where it can’t be ignored. Write Afton’s name in paint on the wall, or something. …if …they can articulate their padded hands well enough to grip a paintbrush…

Okay, maybe not that, but they have all the time in the world to think of something doable.

“We’ll get someone living on our side and tell the whole world what happened!”

Not… Susie…?

“Okay, okay, not Susie!” But he does care. He’s studied those files over and over again, just to torture himself.

“Susie, ‘Fritz,’ Jeremy, and Gabriel. And… you’re… Cass— Cassidy.” Maybe she’s right. Somehow, she just doesn’t seem to come up as much as the others do. She’s been forgotten, overlooked.

“Am I missing anyone?” It’s not a genuine question. He’s pretty sure he’s named them all— he just wants her to see that.

Because surely, not every single mystery and disappearance and tragedy in the company’s dark past has ended up as a ghost here?

“I don’t think you’re stupid!“ Steven’s tone is pleading. He thinks she’s a child who’s been through something no one should ever go through, and that she deserves a win. He doesn’t want her to feel like she’s failed year after year, only for some guy she already hates to swoop in and do what she couldn’t. This is her success. She deserves it.

“I just meant, um. Well, you never figured it out until now, but neither did I, and I had a heck of a lot more opportunities to put the pieces together. I needed you to help me.”

Eager to preserve this moment of respite from her anger and sadness, Steven is quick to respond:

“Yes! Oh, definitely, no doubt about it!”

Except…

“He hasn’t… been here… for a long time, though. I don’t even know if the guy’s still alive. He’s one of the cofounders, but I don’t think he comes by anymore.”

She’s going to kill him. Again.

“But, hey, what do I know! Maybe he’ll come around soon, and when he does, bam! There you go!”

[mute-call]

Not… Susie…?

“Okay, okay, not Susie!” But he does care. He’s studied those files over and over again, just to torture himself.

“Susie, ‘Fritz,’ Jeremy, and Gabriel. And… you’re… Cass— Cassidy.” Maybe she’s right. Somehow, she just doesn’t seem to come up as much as the others do. She’s been forgotten, overlooked.

“Am I missing anyone?” It’s not a genuine question. He’s pretty sure he’s named them all— he just wants her to see that.

Because surely, not every single mystery and disappearance and tragedy in the company’s dark past has ended up as a ghost here?

“I don’t think you’re stupid!“ Steven’s tone is pleading. He thinks she’s a child who’s been through something no one should ever go through, and that she deserves a win. He doesn’t want her to feel like she’s failed year after year, only for some guy she already hates to swoop in and do what she couldn’t. This is her success. She deserves it.

“I just meant, um. Well, you never figured it out until now, but neither did I, and I had a heck of a lot more opportunities to put the pieces together. I needed you to help me.”

Eager to preserve this moment of respite from her anger and sadness, Steven is quick to respond:

“Yes! Oh, definitely, no doubt about it!”

Except…

“He hasn’t… been here… for a long time, though. I don’t even know if the guy’s still alive. He’s one of the cofounders, but I don’t think he comes by anymore.”

She’s going to kill him. Again.

“But, hey, what do I know! Maybe he’ll come around soon, and when he does, bam! There you go!”

That’s not fair, he almost blurts out. How was he supposed to help them when he didn’t even know they were here? Even with all those hallucinations and cryptic messages, it’s not his fault he didn’t realize he was being contacted by ghosts! Only a crazy person would jump to a conclusion like that.

…he’s glad he didn’t get a chance to voice his opinion on the matter, though, because it turns out that she’s referring to something else entirely.

Steven feels sick. What must it have been like for the children to watch as their murders were— what’s the phrase she used? Swept under the rug? To watch their families be turned away, to watch Steven himself assure their distraught parents that the company was doing everything in its power to find the kids, only to spend year after year trapped at the site of their death?

Steven doesn’t know what to say to that. There’s only so many times he can apologize before the words begin to sound truly hollow.

…so not all of the children are bloodthirsty. That’s good to know, he supposes, even if it didn’t stop the entire crew of animatronics from joining in when it came time to give Bell an early retirement.

That’s the biggest clue we’ve ever had. Well, hey, how about that! Looks like Steven isn’t useless after all!

…so why does she sound so— wounded?

“Susie? That’s— your name, right? It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. Just, uh, take a deep breath for me if you can. I know this must be a lot to take in.”

She’s going to scream at him, but he doesn’t know what else to say. It’s not like he can offer a hug or physical comfort. …which she wouldn’t accept even if she could, of course.

Steven has to take a few shuddering breaths of his own before he can continue; this is a terrifying and overwhelming realization for him, too.

“This is a good thing, isn’t it? It means we— we finally know who— actually did it?”

Steven has no idea what they’ll be able to do with this information now that they have it, but at least the kids won’t go around killing every security guard they meet from now on.

“We did it! You did it. One step closer to seeing the light!”

[mute-call]

"Do it scared" is out. "Do it in a fugue so dense as to barely be penetrable by uncertainty" is in.

[mute-call]

That’s not fair, he almost blurts out. How was he supposed to help them when he didn’t even know they were here? Even with all those hallucinations and cryptic messages, it’s not his fault he didn’t realize he was being contacted by ghosts! Only a crazy person would jump to a conclusion like that.

…he’s glad he didn’t get a chance to voice his opinion on the matter, though, because it turns out that she’s referring to something else entirely.

Steven feels sick. What must it have been like for the children to watch as their murders were— what’s the phrase she used? Swept under the rug? To watch their families be turned away, to watch Steven himself assure their distraught parents that the company was doing everything in its power to find the kids, only to spend year after year trapped at the site of their death?

Steven doesn’t know what to say to that. There’s only so many times he can apologize before the words begin to sound truly hollow.

…so not all of the children are bloodthirsty. That’s good to know, he supposes, even if it didn’t stop the entire crew of animatronics from joining in when it came time to give Bell an early retirement.

That’s the biggest clue we’ve ever had. Well, hey, how about that! Looks like Steven isn’t useless after all!

…so why does she sound so— wounded?

“Susie? That’s— your name, right? It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. Just, uh, take a deep breath for me if you can. I know this must be a lot to take in.”

She’s going to scream at him, but he doesn’t know what else to say. It’s not like he can offer a hug or physical comfort. …which she wouldn’t accept even if she could, of course.

Steven has to take a few shuddering breaths of his own before he can continue; this is a terrifying and overwhelming realization for him, too.

“This is a good thing, isn’t it? It means we— we finally know who— actually did it?”

Steven has no idea what they’ll be able to do with this information now that they have it, but at least the kids won’t go around killing every security guard they meet from now on.

“We did it! You did it. One step closer to seeing the light!”

[Was he really still trying to convince her that he wasn't here for his own selfish reasons? That he hadn't dismissed their deaths ENTIRELY, preventing them receiving a semblance of justice? They were stuck here because of people like Steven -- greedy people who preferred their jobs over guaranteeing the safety of kids. Freddy's was a sick, twisted joke, and she was fucking stuck here.]

[Though...she hated to admit it, but Steven had a bit of a point. He wouldn't be stuck here with them if he was doing it exclusively for selfish reasons. She was pretty sure that if he was as self-serving as she assumed, then he wouldn't have bothered.]

[...Didn't mean that he WASN'T doing this because he was a self-absorbed prick, of course. He just might actually have a modicum of interest in helping them move on, and if he proved to be as dedicated to that cause as he wanted her to believe, then maybe he could. That didn't make her any less frustrated about it, though. The last thing she wanted to do was trust an employee of this Hellhole.]

❝ Newsflash: that doesn't make you any less selfish. If you really, one hundred percent, wanted to help us, then you could have done it anytime you wanted. ❞ [Cassidy folded her arms over her chest, sending another scathing look in Steven's direction.] ❝ Y'know, we were THERE when you were talking to the police. We were THERE when the night guards listened to your annoying calls. You pretended that we didn't exist. You never even bothered to look for us. You even told our families that our deaths weren't connected to Freddy's. So, no- I don't think I've "got it all wrong." ❞

[Shit. She'd mentioned her suitmate without even realizing it, and Steven had caught on like a match. God, this suit was going to be crowded. Luckily for her, though, Sammy typically hid ( she'd never asked where ) whenever she got ready to kill. He didn't appreciate the carnage the way she did.]

❝ Uh- no. He'll probably come around when he realizes that we're done killing you. I call him "crybaby" for a reason, y'know. ❞

[Cassidy harrumphed at Steven's reaction; she'd gotten that same reaction from Sammy, too. Granted, he was the only one of them that HADN'T been violently murdered by their purple culprit, so he got a pass for that. Steven, however, did not.]

❝ Ugh, I told you! Purple. You can ask the others later, too. They'll all tell you the same thing. ❞

[Just as she braced herself for another "that's not a clue," she heard the newcomer mumble to himself. She quirked a brow at the sudden dip in conversation. Then --]

[Then he gave her a name. Mr. Afton.]

[She should have been happy, THRILLED, but she froze instead. A pit formed in her stomach. She had a name. This "useless" newbie had given her her first clue in years. He- he would know what the guy looked like, where he might be- this was her first glimmer of hope in years. So why did she feel sick to her nonexistent stomach?]

[Deep down, she knew. It was one thing to train yourself to be "strong" in the face of danger, and another thing entirely to use that strength in practice. This meant that she might wind up facing her killer again soon, and- and she was gut-wrenchingly nervous. Terrified. She felt the same horror, the same helplessness, from when she'd died. Trapped. Suffocated. Drowning.]

❝ Wh- ❞ [Her initial reaction came out as a whimper, which she quickly muffled by covering her mouth. She shuddered. Each unnecessary breath was shaky and shallow.]

[Steven had verified the identity of their killer -- the man in purple. The memory felt so vivid now. What had once been a series of blurs became almost crystal clear. She saw the name -- "Afton" -- branded on his name tag. It was darkened with something red. And his shirt...]

[It was blue, but covered -- drenched in blood. And when those colors mixed...]

[Purple.]

[Steven apologized frantically, but she couldn't even muster the anger to lash out at him for it. They were both sharing a moment of dread and confusion.]

❝ Y-You... ❞ [When her reply sounded like another wounded cry, she covered her mouth again; the end result was a muffled sob. Shut up. Shut up. You're supposed to be the tough one. Stop crying!] ❝ God, i-it -- it doesn't matter anymore! I- I don't care about your s-stupid regrets. You just gave us a NAME. ❞

❝ That's - that's the biggest clue we've ever had. Afton. It was him. We finally...we know who we're looking for. ❞ [She forcefully swallowed back her fear. Her eyes went wide, but her expression was almost blank. Dissociative.] ❝ It was him. ❞

[mute-call]

Unfortunately for the girl, Steven is staring up at the ceiling, clueless to her scathing glare. Movement seems like too much, at the moment; he doesn’t want to find out just yet if he’s bound for all eternity to the suit he died in.

Still, he manages to mentally curl in on himself at her pointed words. He knows what she means, and she’s right. Pathetic, useless, guilty by association.

“No, it’s not like that!” Still, he tries to convince both her and himself that he’s not the monster he knows he is.

Rumor and speculation? Oh. That is what he had said, isn’t it. Anything to maintain deniability. Anything to protect the company. …and, although Steven hadn’t known it at the time, he had more than likely been protecting the children’s murderer in the process, too.

He had always tried to maintain hope that the culprit was a stranger using Freddy’s as a gruesome staging ground for their crimes. The fact that an employee could get a job here for the express purpose of killing kids— the fact that Steven had most likely been involved in hiring them and training them and had never once noticed what they truly were— it had been too much to bear. So he hadn’t. He had denied any and all Fazbear Entertainment involvement in the disappearances, and he had done his best to believe his own scripts.

…she’s right, of course, that Steven would love to feel absolved of his role in all of this. But he does care about them too, really! He loves kids! Sometimes. And he can’t just sit back and watch while these ones suffer! Not again. Besides, doesn’t he have an obligation to the next poor sap who takes the night shift not to let a crowd of angry ghosts murder them, too?

“You’ve got it all wrong. Why would I be here if I didn’t want to help you? You said it yourself, I— I should have passed on, right? I’m here to make things right. I know I am.”

She interrupts him, shutting him up (for a moment, at least). She makes a fair point— whatever information she has must be pretty vague if she mistook Steven for her killer. But no one knows this place better than Bell! If the murderer was an employee, Steven might be able to help her narrow down her list of suspects.

Crybaby…?

“One of the other children? Can I talk to them, too?”

Steven has an unhealthily high tolerance when it comes to gore and death and blood and other things that one should endeavor to keep out of sight of guests. Child murder might shake him up a little more, though, so maybe she’s doing him a favor by sparing him the details. Except—

“Purple?” What does she mean, purple? What does that have to do with anything? None of the guard uniforms are purple, and even Bonnie’s more of a blue-ish hue. Where has Steven seen purple before? Balloons, decorations… themed birthday cakes…

Mister Afton, the blue of his uniform dyed deep and dark with paint for the new paneling.

“That’s— not—“

Not him. Not after his own son—

Unless that’s exactly why he did it. Driven mad with grief, perhaps? A sort of “if I lost a child then you all will too” mentality? Could that be possible?

“Um. I saw… Mister Afton… once. When we closed for the first round of investigations. We used that time to do some updates, clean the place up, you know. He was covered in— but that was before all the repainting actually started.”

How had Steven missed that? Unless some part of him knew all along. Mister Afton had always hated a mess— even at the time, Steve couldn’t help but be shocked that William of all people had spilled all over himself like that, but what could Bell do but take the story at face value? Was he supposed to accuse his boss of murder to his face?

Was he supposed to tell the police and risk getting them shut down for good, all without any evidence except the claim that “Mister Afton’s usually neater than this”?

The room is spinning. Steven’s corpse lurches in its mechanical confines.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t know. He said it was paint, wh— why— why did I believe that? It was him, wasn’t it? The whole time?”

[If only looks were enough to kill...again. She may or may not be looking Steven's way, but she hoped that her attempt to glare daggers at him was working. Her only justification, the twinge of morality that kept her killing guards, was that they were all employed by Fazbear Entertainment. Regardless of how much the staff themselves had done wrong, signing up with a company that covered up death and allowed a killer to run free was unforgivable in and of itself. If they worked here, they deserved to die.]

[So, no. Steven might be true to his word about not being their killer ( now that she'd calmed down a bit, she was able to recognize that she'd made a mistake again ), but that didn't mean he was innocent.]

❝ You're right. You DIDN'T do anything. ❞ [She accused, hoping that would get her point across. She'd heard his voice countless times in the afterlife, and it was the same one who called their deaths "just rumor and speculation." He didn't do anything. He tried to cover their deaths up, just like everyone else.]

[He did eventually accept her words, but even now, he was downplaying his actions. He was pretending that he had even a shred of remorse now, now that the consequences were real and staring him in the face. Now that he was dead, and he could no longer help.]

❝ I know! I know, you don't have to spell it out for me! ❞ [She groaned in frustration, so annoyed by his over-explanation that she couldn't even remember what she was going to say. She growled as she tried to piece the words together again.] ❝ And you didn't just "mess up" -- you made it so NOBODY found us. You swept us under the rug! You tried to pretend that none of us even existed! And don't you dare lie to me- I've heard your annoying voice over the phone a billion times! Who's a bunch of "rumor" and "speculation" now!? ❞

[When Steven announced his supposed unfinished business, Cassidy was almost taken aback by how selfish it was. She almost wanted to laugh. He didn't want to help them, not really. He just wanted to feel better about his inaction. This wasn't about them.]

❝ That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. ❞ [Seriously. He was talking to the entrapped spirit of a child, a child he'd killed with his own ignorance, and yet he had the gall to believe that he was here to help them. Nobody, and DEFINITELY not an employee from Freddy's, was going to help them.] ❝ I can see right through you. You just wanna make yourself feel better. This isn't about us. ❞

[She could NOT believe that this was a genuine attempt to comfort her -- it felt like he was just mocking them, giving them false hope. He didn't even know who their killer was!!]

❝ So you're useless!! ❞ [She blurted the words out before he'd finished his thought.] ❝ How are you gonna help us!? Are we gonna play a game of "Guess Who"!? 'Cause I've been doing that for as long as I can remember!!! ❞

[She huffed and puffed, allowing Steven to finish while she pulled herself together again. He was offering the same solution that she'd been trying with Sammy for years, now. "See anything purple?" "Nope." So on, and so forth. She didn't need ANOTHER person to help with that. That'd get real annoying, real fast.]

[Steven then had the audacity to ask her about her death, which was about the most useless piece of information she could provide. She remembered the suffocating, debilitating pain. She remembered losing her sight and being shrouded in horrifying darkness, alone, with her killer. And she remembered the "click" of those- those spring-things. Then pain, more pain, the feeling of drowning, and the taste of copper. She didn't want to think about what the last bit implied.]

[He was right. She didn't trust him, but that's not why she wouldn't share the details.]

❝ You're better off not knowing. It freaked Crybaby out, and as much as I would LOVE to scare you, it won't help. YOU try finding some guy based on nothing but the color purple. ❞

[mute-call]

Facial scans reveal… something. A flash of emotion or discomfort? Phone Guy’s attention narrows to Mr. Crown’s expressions, until—

Oh! Just a sneeze.

“Not at all!” PG has been successfully diverted from Callum’s moment of weakness. …until his expression darkens again, and Phone Guy goes right back to trying to discern what it’s done wrong.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Who was it? PG’s file on Mr. Crown includes some basic information on his son and ex-wife. A quick scan through the extended database doesn’t reveal any recent file updates for anyone with whom Mr. Crown has a close personal connection. Maybe the loss happened so recently that no reports have been made about it yet?

The animatronic almost says more, but… no. Mr. Crown has made it clear it’s not its place. This is a professional interaction, and Callum has more important things to do than sit around listening to PG’s comfort protocols.

“…yes, sir.” It shouldn’t spare another thought for Mr. Crown’s personal life. It has been given a task, and it must complete that task to the best of its ability. It couldn’t bear to disappoint him.

“New guest registration: [Crown, Callum] in [Test Data]. Basic information has been populated from [Crown, Callum] in [Employee Files]. We should be all set!”

[Callum had sworn that he'd try to be professional once Phone Guy was up and running again...but fighting to keep a neutral expression wasn't panning out so far. His face uncontrollably twitched at that oh-so-familiar "hello," resembling a sniffle or a stifled sob. He knew his own programming. He knew that Phone Guy would notice. Callum did what he did best, and concealed the truth.]

[His fleshy hand covered his mouth, and he fabricated a sneeze with a muffled "ah-choo!" It felt a bit silly, but it would trick PG's facial recognition. No emotions here. Just a human slip-up.]

❝ I apologize. That was undignified of me. ❞ [Callum replied formally. He pulled a handkerchief from his suit's pocket and wiped the nonexistent mucus from his hands. His demeanor now was no different from how he'd address lower Fazbear staff, and he couldn't stand it. PG had been his only confidant, the only one who got to peek through Callum's carefully constructed mask...perhaps that was what made this loss so devastating. He had no one. For as defunct as PG had become over the years, he was so sophisticated that he'd genuinely bonded with Callum over the years...he could only hope that 2.0 would fill the same role someday. Until then...]

[Callum held his hands behind his back, a darkened expression falling over his face when asked about his status. He didn't anticipate that PG would respond well to his answer, but it would be an appropriate starting point to gauge his emotional response.]

❝ I'm happy to hear that, Phone Guy. As for myself...well, I lost someone very important to me today. ❞ [Callum's tone was appropriately mournful, but he quickly cleared his throat and "got back to business."] ❝ That isn't a discussion for the workplace, though, is it? ❞

❝ ...You should be functioning perfectly well, but I'm going to run a brief verbal diagnostic. We'll run through all of your new menu options, just to make sure that everything is running smoothly. ❞ [This was a test that he performed regularly with PG, determining precisely which options would cause the animatronic to crash. It would serve the same purpose now, but...he doubted there would be a single glitch to tackle. If anything, he was foolishly trying to reestablish some sort of bond.] ❝ Register me as a new guest, and we'll get started. ❞

[mute-call]

He can take a guess at how long, yes. And since she's a girl, she must be Susie; he's studied the files enough to know the date that poor child went missing down to the day.

Unless she's not Susie, unless she's--

"I'm not a monster, I didn't do anything!"

...ah. Well, maybe one doesn't have to "do anything" to be guilty of a crime. Steven didn't save them, after all. Steven didn't find them. Steven didn't say "no" when he was told to prioritize the reputation of the company over anything else.

... .... .....

"You're right. I'm sorry. I-- I-- I messed up, and you all suffered for it. B-But I promise, I didn't kill you. That's probably why it didn't work. When you, uh, killed me? I bet since you're still looking for the real killer, it didn't count when you, um. Got the wrong guy."

This is surreal. Steven's dead, and he can't even be upset over it, because he died to a bunch of hurt, confused children who he failed to help when they needed it most. It's karma, he supposes, enacted in the most horrific way imaginable.

"My unfinished business is clearly to help you all with yours!"

This is his last opportunity to make things right. He's not a monster, he's just... made a few too many mistakes. But he's paying for those mistakes right now, and he won't turn his back on these children any more.

"The bad news is that, um, I never actually found out who kidnapped-- who killed you all. There were police investigations, and internal investigations, and none of it ever got anywhere. But! But-- surely, if we put our heads together, we can figure it out now! Um. If you want to. I don't-- I don't want to start asking you about how-- how it happened if you're not ready. I know you don't trust me, and, hey, I don't blame you! But... it doesn't look like I'm going anywhere any time soon. So. If you do want my help, I'm here."

[Cassidy groaned loudly as Steven apologized, refusing to acknowledge her wish for silence. She'd expended a bit too much energy wailing and screaming, but that didn't mean she wasn't still maddened by his presence.]

[Steven clarified his light bit, which of course aggravated her -- especially because there was no way she could have known. The only way for her to tell where their ethereal suit was would be taking control of it herself to feel around, or to have Sammy describe their surroundings. Of course she didn't know they were backstage, nor that there was even a light to be seen.]

[...Admittedly, part of her was relieved that it was some stupid joke, though. If her killer got to see a light before they did- no, ANY light at all...she'd find a way to infiltrate the "real" afterlife and kill him, again and again.]

❝ Of course we've been backstage before. Do you know how LONG we've been here!? ❞ [She growled, not wanting to offer up her weakness on a silver platter. If this was the man she thought it was, he would mock her. He'd probably think it was funny that her gouged-out eyes still tormented her in the afterlife.] ❝ Scary? Do you really think anything can scare us now that we're dead? ❞

[...Actually, yes, something had terrified her -- but it was the presence of her tormentor, not some boring room in the pizzeria. On the plus side, depleting her own energy with all of that anger and panic had left her calm enough to sound a bit menacing. She would capitalize on that, if nothing else. She didn't want to be afraid of him -- she wanted the reverse.]

[Cassidy squinted her eyes with skepticism as he desperately tried to talk her out of her blind rage, insisting that he wasn't a killer. If he wasn't, then why did she recognize his voice? Even before overhearing his phone calls again and again, replayed for each night guard to hear, something about it stood out. She didn't understand why or how -- unless it belonged to HIM.]

❝ I don't believe you. ❞ [It'd take a lot more to convince her.] ❝ Stop- stop babbling!! I don't care how sorry you are! You're a MONSTER, and now we're STUCK with you! ❞

[Steven desperately offered to help her find the proverbial light; she rolled her eyes and grimaced, especially at that "unfinished business" bit. What did he think inspired her to go after their killer? It wasn't JUST revenge, although that was definitely part of it -- she wanted her friends to be free. None of them deserved to be here. It wasn't just for her sake.]

❝ What do you think I was TRYING to do!? You- your death- was supposed to set all of us free!! Instead, you're just- you're here!! Why!?What unfinished business could YOU possibly have!? ❞

[Given how abrupt his death had been, she should have known the answer...but she didn't care.]

[mute-call]

You are more than a machine. You are the son of Callum Crown. And you are loved.

.................................INITIALIZING.................................

Safety Protocols: [100%] Core Directive Protocols: [100%] Speech Recognition Protocols: [100%] Speech Protocols: [100%] Personality Protocols: [100%] [Uplink Successful.] [Movement Tests Successful.] [Error Log: NO ERRORS FOUND] Startup: SUCCESSFUL

"Hello, hello, hello!" It's Mr. Crown! Phone Guy feels [RESPECT] and [EXCITEMENT] once it recognizes the highest-priority profile in its systems.

"I feel right as rain! How are you today, sir?"

There is no sign of [LOVE] or [COMFORT] in the animatronic's tone or body language. Why would it be comforted by Callum's presence? If anything, it's a little scary to be alone with the most important man in the world. It wants so badly to satisfy him, but it has no memory logs to tell it what he does and does not like. What if it makes a mistake?

[Phone Guy's cheery, casual reply prompted a smile from Callum. Thoughtful as always, PG assured that there were no worries to be had, that there was nothing for Callum to feel sorry about. Which...wasn't the case, but he hadn't reached that point just yet. He'd prevent that remorse for as long as he possibly could.]

[As Callum continued, of course, addressing each one of PG's concerns, the animatronic happily nodded, laughed, and kicked his legs. Watching him be so blissful and carefree almost hurt even more; sure, PG would retain many aspects of his personality and mannerisms, but...he'd never see this one's giddiness or naivete ever again. He'd never have that same confidant, the animatronic he could trust with anything and everything. It took him long enough to build bonds with people; rebuilding the effortless one he had with PG would be a massive undertaking.]

[PG did, of course, catch on. It wouldn't be one of Callum's creations if it was unable to put two and two together. Watching the animatronic's range of -- emotions, almost -- broke his heart. This Phone Guy was practically a human being, and Callum had come to look at him as a son. Seeing the five stages of grief manifest all at once on the poor guy nearly made Callum break, but he'd promised that he wouldn't.]

["I love you very much, Mr. Crown." Callum swallowed back his agony.]

❝ I love you too, Phone Guy. ❞ [He spoke in earnest, voice trembling. He smiled warmly, but his eyes were brimming with tears. He had no idea that goodbyes could be this difficult.]

[Callum's heart sank with PG's next sentiment, asking him to take some time for self-care after all of this. Even now, when Callum was about to shut him down, he wanted to make sure that Callum would be happy and taken care of.]

❝ I'm the luckiest man on Earth because of you, PG. You've always been like a son to me. I...want you to know that. ❞ [And he meant it, sincerely. Nobody could take Phone Guy's place in his heart. Not even his own flesh and blood son.] ❝ ...I'd tell you I would, but you'd call me on my bluff, wouldn't you? ❞ [He laughed wryly; there had been countless occasions now where that sort of exchange had transpired. He knew that Phone Guy really meant it this time around, but...after today, he'd probably bury himself in work. That was just how he coped.]

[PG opened his arms wide, prompting Callum for a hug. He squeezed his manmade son tightly, letting the tears spill now that he was out of view.]

❝ Good night, Phone Guy. See you on the flipside. ❞

[Although he'd promised himself to wait until PG went on the fritz, Callum went ahead and shut PG off...admittedly, for his own sake. They'd exchanged their goodbyes. If that conversation had continued, Callum wouldn't have the heart to do what he needed to. Though PG was off, Callum embraced him for a moment longer, preemptively mourning. He'd need a good minute to cry, anyhow...he didn't want tears to soil PG's replacement parts.]

...

...

...

[Callum had meticulously replaced just about the entirety of PG's innards, updated the storage space of PG's memory, and connected him to the cloud ( to prevent this sort of thing from happening again ). He'd even updated some of Phone Guy's original programming, given that it had been written by a much younger version of himself. Still the same PG...albeit with none of the memories. He hesitated to switch the animatronic back on, taking another moment to think of original PG and all of the joy he'd brought to Callum's life.]

[...Alright. No more tears, Callum. He booted up Phone Guy 2.0, then adjusted his posture to match a proper businessman's. It was important to make a good first impression, even if this version of Phone Guy wasn't all that the original had cracked up to be.]

[Phone Guy whirred to life, and Callum gave his usual greeting.] ❝ Hello, hello, Phone Guy. How are you feeling? ❞

[mute-call]

"Special friends are authorized to be here. You know that!" Ralph's the nightwatchman; of course he knows the children are allowed to stay. Otherwise he'd have tried to kick them out already! It would be against the rules for unauthorized patrons to be on the premises after hours.

It's nice of Mr. Goodman to say it's not PG's fault. That means... Phone Guy just has to be patient. He'll get a special friend someday too, and in the meantime, he can spend nights with Ralph, his specialest friend!

"While nightwatchmen are not permitted breaks during shifts for reasons of safety, it is important that all security personnel maintain concentration and focus at all times." It sounds like it's reading from a handbook. "Do you need help maintaining your focus, Mr. Goodman? Maybe you're hungry!"

Ah-- now that's a question PG can understand.

"Yep!" But again, doesn't Ralph know this already? ...maybe he's testing Phone Guy? The animatronic looks at Ralph expectantly, waiting for the next question in the "quiz."

[So they were kids. Ralph anxiously ran his hand over his mouth, trying to discern if he was actually putting some puzzle pieces together, or if he'd been looking too deeply into the animatronic's words.]

[PG sorrowfully lamented that no children wanted to stay with him after-hours, which was a regret that Ralph could understand ( to some degree ). He'd known his fair share of kids with crummy situations that he wished he could help. There was one, back in '83-]

[...No. He'd buried that guilt for a long time now, and this really wasn't the best time for it to resurface.]

❝ Well, uh...it's just not that easy sometimes. But it's not your fault. I don't think management would want kids running around here at night anyway, yeah? ❞

[Tragically, PG offered nothing in terms of validation, but that wasn't really his fault. Ralph had probably confused the poor guy with the way he'd phrased his frantic questions. He'd just have to word them more carefully next time. For now, though...]

❝ No! No, uh, there's no need for that. You're fine. I just, uh, I have a lot on my mind, I guess. ❞

[On that note, he again cycled through the cameras, ultimately landing back on Pirate Cove. Definitely some movement; he heard Chica in the kitchen, and Bonnie was in the storage room. He was fairly certain that Freddy hadn't made a peep, so there was no movement from him.]

❝ Let me, uh...try to ask a better question. So, those "special friends"...are they kids that stay after-hours? ❞

[mute-call]

“Of course!” Sure, Freddy’s is for kids and adults alike, but everyone knows that the children are the real stars!

That’s nice of Ralph to say. It hopes it’s true. But if it is, then—

“Why don’t any of them want to stay with me?” They all leave and go home, and not one of them asks management to let them spend nights with PG. It’s not like there haven’t been injuries during the day that need special love and care and attention! So why hasn’t Phone Guy ever been called upon to help?

Stuck? That part seems to confuse the animatronic; it gives an exaggerated tilt of its head. The misunderstanding is confirmed with another “I’m sorry, Mr. Goodman. I don’t understand.”

Ralph sure is being confusing tonight! Hm…

“My next update is scheduled in 64 days. Would you like to make a service request for me?” Maybe PG needs an update sooner in order to understand all this strangeness!

Whew! It knew Ralph couldn’t be that mean!

Yeah!! This is why it loves Mr. Goodman. He, more than any other current human employee, really understands the spirit of Freddy’s.

PG is caught in a strange double world; he feels a part of the lore and stories of Freddy and his friends, while also being involved in the business side of the restaurant in a way the performing animatronics are not. Ralph is the same. He treats them all like his pals, like their characters, while also working hard to make sure the logistics of this place are what they ought to be. It’s nice to have someone else around who gets it.

“Huh?” Phone Guy’s confusion is cheerful, full of blissful ignorance. “Okay, if you say so! I trust you!” Even if that makes no sense! It’s important to listen to human staff members. They know best!

“Huh?” It repeats again, in the exact same pre-recorded tone. “I’m sorry, Mr. Goodman. I don’t understand.” There is very little outside noise during the night, and sometimes the others produce it themselves. Take Chica, for example— she loves having fun in the kitchen when others aren’t around, an activity that’s so noisy that PG’s audio sensors can pick it up whenever he passes by. So what Ralph said doesn’t make sense! Haha!

“I think they’re upset because they miss the children.” That’s far more likely— PG knows he always gets “sad” when the last family leaves for the day, after all.

“But that’s silly of them, because they get to spend time with their special friends all night every night.”

Jealousy is a bit too complex of an emotion for Phone Guy’s rudimentary programming, but there’s a definite sullenness creeping into its tone.

“I do not understand why I don’t get to have a special friend, too.” It knows it’s different than the others. But it has playtime programming just like they do, and reward triggers for using it. Why can’t it play during the night shift? Why do the others get so irritable, even with their special treatment? It’s not fair.

“Mr. Goodman, do the children— not— like me?”

[mute-call]

Steven flinches, hard. He’s seen his fair share of tantrums, but this isn’t the shriek of a spoiled toddler not getting their way. This is the wail of the dead. Of one wrongfully torn from life before their time by the cruel hand of a remorseless monster.

It fills him with equal parts terror and sorrow.

“S-Sorry,” he says, not shutting up in the slightest.

“Gone like, um, to an afterlife?” She told him to be quiet, but she’s also answering his questions, so… it’s definitely worth risking her ire if he can get a real understanding of what’s going on.

“I just meant the— the light from the lightbulb.” Cough. “I think I’m backstage. It’s a room with a lot of parts for the animatronics, have you ever been there? I know it looks a little scary, but—“

It can’t be any scarier than being a shrieking ghost, right?

“Hey—! Hey, buddy, it’s okay! Don’t—“ Don’t be sad? Really, Steven?

“Don’t worry, I didn’t kill you! I didn’t kill— I’ve never killed anyone.” What a thing to have to say!

“I swear. You’ve got it wrong. I’m so, so, so sorry for what happened to you! But I didn’t do it. …but… now that I’m… here…”

Now that he’s dead. Now that they killed him. Now that he can’t ignore them any longer.

“Maybe I can help? You said you’re trying to get free, right? I saw, um, a show where these ghosts couldn’t pass on until they addressed their unfinished business! Maybe I can help you do that, and give you your light!”

Oh my god oh my god ohmygod oh my god. And a holy shit, for good measure.

This can’t be happening. But what is happening? He knows what happened, technically, there’s really no way to misinterpret the entire cast breaking through his doors and ripping him apart piece by piece, but… how is he supposed to make sense of what came after? Of the fact that he’s still here, still alive(?), and still capable of calling out in confusion and fear?

Maybe he’s gone insane. Maybe he’s finally snapped. Honestly, that’s probably the most likely explanation. Steve’s been seeing things and hearing things that no sane man would see or hear. What was it that finally did him in? Sleep deprivation catching up to him? Guilt? His refusal to go see a shrink? Heh. Well, there’s one good thing about working the night shift, at least. No one’s around to see him at his lowest—

“Hello? Hello, hello?” There’s a child’s voice responding to his inane mutterings. There shouldn’t be any children here, and Steven’s resolution to ignore the obvious (that he’s dead, that she’s dead, that they’re all dead, Steven, every single one you keep a file on in the back drawer of the lefthand cabinet) is beginning to crumble.

“I, um— I’m sorry, I don’t really know what’s going on. My name’s— my name’s Steven. What’s your name? Maybe you can come into the light so we can talk?” Steven can’t quite tell whether he’s capable of moving, yet. Everything feels far away, like he’s in a dream.

[mute-call]

“Hey, don’t sweat it, sir!” There’s a little more of PG’s normal, non-businesslike personality.

“Of course you’re busy— you’re the Callum Crown!” Phone Guy knows how much he means to his creator. He would never feel overlooked or ignored; he gets more personalized attention than he sometimes feels he ought to, what with how much Mr. Crown has on his plate.

“Okay.” He shouldn’t have had to. PG should have been more aware of the possibility of a crash and taken steps to prevent it occurring in front of so many patrons. Callum has better things to worry about than damage control.

A nod. That will be good. Less opportunity for Phone Guy to mess up.

PG lets out a ring of laughter, kicking his legs. Mr. Crown might sound big and tough, but the animatronic knows he’s actually a big softie! And—

Oh! Haha! Hah.

So that’s what it’s come to. PG should have expected as much. He’s a liability, and the company can’t afford many more of those.

He’s going to be shut down and retired, permanently.

It’s silly to be upset about it. He’s had a good run— a great run! He’s been around for so long, and he’s gotten to spend so much time with his favorite person in the whole wide world! Truly, what more could he ask for?

…so why— why—

His emotion-reading and emotion-projecting protocols are going haywire. Another glitch?

He’s not human. His self-preservation protocols do not activate for authorized and necessary shut-downs. He’s not supposed to think to himself that I don’t want to die.

“I love you very much, Mr. Crown,” he says instead. There is a static whine to his words as he does his best to force neutral-tone processing over emotion-tone.

“It’s been a pleasure to work with you— I feel like the luckiest ‘Guy’ in the world! Before, um, I say goodnight, I want to make sure you’ll take some time for yourself after— after— after this. Being busy is no excuse for ignoring self-care!”

Poor Mr. Crown. PG won’t feel pain once he’s “signed off,” but Callum’s sure to be sad about this. Will anyone be able to take care of him as he deserves?

It opens its arms wide for a hug.

“Goodbye, Callum. See you on the flip side!”

PG isn’t stupid. In fact, with the updates and special attention that has been paid to him by a man as brilliant as Mr. Crown, he doesn’t think it’s bragging to say that he’s one of the cleverest animatronics under Faz. Ent.’s ownership— perhaps even in the world.

So he knows that things aren’t good, right now. One only has to scan through his self-made error reports to see how bad things have gotten, and that doesn’t include any glitches or malfunctions that his internal systems couldn’t manage to log.

In short, he’s broken.

“Hello, Mr. Crown. Crash report ‘0x10add4832’ has been logged. System reboot successful. System functioning normal.”

I feel scared.

“…I’m sorry. That was inexcusable of me.” To embarrass Callum by malfunctioning in front of so many guests… PG is extremely disappointed in itself.

“Were there any customer complaints? I can follow up once we’re done here.”

It falls silent, observing Callum. Something’s… off. Mr. Crown’s bioscan is notable, which can’t be good, considering the situation. Anger? Frustration? Just how many complaints did they receive about PG’s little breakdown?

Shame-like programming flashes through the robot. He loves Mr. Crown; disappointing him is worse than any other punishment protocol.

“I do not understand why I am experiencing malfunctions so frequently. But I have gathered data about the errors. I think that if I avoid interaction protocols with crowds of seven or more, I will be less likely to— mess up. Um. I know that this will impact efficiency, though.”

Thoughts, Mr. Crown?

[mute-call]

Oh my god oh my god ohmygod oh my god. And a holy shit, for good measure.

This can’t be happening. But what is happening? He knows what happened, technically, there’s really no way to misinterpret the entire cast breaking through his doors and ripping him apart piece by piece, but… how is he supposed to make sense of what came after? Of the fact that he’s still here, still alive(?), and still capable of calling out in confusion and fear?

Maybe he’s gone insane. Maybe he’s finally snapped. Honestly, that’s probably the most likely explanation. Steve’s been seeing things and hearing things that no sane man would see or hear. What was it that finally did him in? Sleep deprivation catching up to him? Guilt? His refusal to go see a shrink? Heh. Well, there’s one good thing about working the night shift, at least. No one’s around to see him at his lowest—

“Hello? Hello, hello?” There’s a child’s voice responding to his inane mutterings. There shouldn’t be any children here, and Steven’s resolution to ignore the obvious (that he’s dead, that she’s dead, that they’re all dead, Steven, every single one you keep a file on in the back drawer of the lefthand cabinet) is beginning to crumble.

“I, um— I’m sorry, I don’t really know what’s going on. My name’s— my name’s Steven. What’s your name? Maybe you can come into the light so we can talk?” Steven can’t quite tell whether he’s capable of moving, yet. Everything feels far away, like he’s in a dream.

[Cassidy's latest kill had gone about as well as it could have. With some..."encouragement," the entire band had ganged up on the guard, allowing her to attack him herself. Paws clamped around his head, pinning him for the animatronics to drag him away -- but not before the guard's face practically melted, blackened tears falling from dead eyes, his face permanently frozen in terror. Sammy usually prevented her from controlling the suit for fear of this happening ( Sammy was how she'd come to understand her "power" in the first place ), but she'd been able to take over tonight. Perhaps that was what motivated her to push herself and the others as far as she had.]

[One of the others clamped onto his arm, prompting her to finally let go. The dragging of a limp body echoed through the empty halls. Slide, thump, slide, thump. She'd heard it a million times before. Once he was stuffed, it'd all be over...so she hoped. Her efforts to kill the guard were, quite literally, blind. But at least she recognized this one's voice -- she didn't know from where, since her memories were more faded than the others', but the recognition filled her with hope. This man had worked the day shift before. He just had to be the one.]

[...But that was when she heard the voice again. Wasn't he dead!? She'd just heard the others cart off his corpse!]

[Her face scrunched up in anger. This wasn't happening. Maybe she was just hearing things -- his stupid voice was always coming from the phone, anyway.]

[But it persisted. Pointless questions of where it had wound up, what was happening, the works. Typical questions. The ones they'd all asked themselves when they "woke up."]

[With a growl, Cassidy finally snapped, slamming her translucent hands on the sides of her head.] ❝ Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!! ❞ [She turned to the direction of the voice, her anger palpable.] ❝ You aren't supposed to be here! Aren't you supposed to see that stupid light or something!? Move towards it! Leave us alone! ❞

@mute-call 💛

[mute-call]

PG isn’t stupid. In fact, with the updates and special attention that has been paid to him by a man as brilliant as Mr. Crown, he doesn’t think it’s bragging to say that he’s one of the cleverest animatronics under Faz. Ent.’s ownership— perhaps even in the world.

So he knows that things aren’t good, right now. One only has to scan through his self-made error reports to see how bad things have gotten, and that doesn’t include any glitches or malfunctions that his internal systems couldn’t manage to log.

In short, he’s broken.

“Hello, Mr. Crown. Crash report ‘0x10add4832’ has been logged. System reboot successful. System functioning normal.”

I feel scared.

“…I’m sorry. That was inexcusable of me.” To embarrass Callum by malfunctioning in front of so many guests… PG is extremely disappointed in itself.

“Were there any customer complaints? I can follow up once we’re done here.”

It falls silent, observing Callum. Something’s… off. Mr. Crown’s bioscan is notable, which can’t be good, considering the situation. Anger? Frustration? Just how many complaints did they receive about PG’s little breakdown?

Shame-like programming flashes through the robot. He loves Mr. Crown; disappointing him is worse than any other punishment protocol.

“I do not understand why I am experiencing malfunctions so frequently. But I have gathered data about the errors. I think that if I avoid interaction protocols with crowds of seven or more, I will be less likely to— mess up. Um. I know that this will impact efficiency, though.”

Thoughts, Mr. Crown?

[Lately, Callum had noticed a concerning pattern of stutters and errors in Phone Guy's speech and mannerisms. Dialogue would skip, party booking and appointments would be rife with mistakes, and he couldn't count the amount of times he'd had to pull PG back into Parts & Service to patch him up.]

[All of those patches were temporary fixes, in the end. Callum knew, deep down, what the issue was. He'd just been delaying the inevitable.]

[Akin to Glamrock Freddy ( he'd really have to go back and personally fix that damned bear someday ), PG's latest crash had been in front of a crowd of children, presumably because the amount of guest input had been so overwhelming. PG's crashes and glitches had become an unfortunate regularity. No matter what he tried now, PG wouldn't be the same unless...unless Callum completely replaced his defunct parts and reset him.]

[The process would effectively erase any "extraneous" data from PG -- namely, his memories. Callum knew that PG was a machine, easily "replaceable" in the eyes of a simple-minded few, but he found himself...grieving, almost. He'd never felt such crushing sadness over a process that would ultimately be required. He hadn't shed a tear when his wife and child left; in fact, he'd only been irked that his wife had publicly divorced him. He'd been using them as a form of publicity, advertising that he, too, was a family man -- so having that relatability stripped was frustrating, to say the least.]

[Now, however -- now Callum was facing a true loss. PG was his ally, his closest friend, his right-hand man. He was devastated that he'd have to wipe that bond from PG's hard drive. It felt like he was killing the closest friend he'd ever had.]

[When he eventually forced himself to wheel PG back into Parts & Service, he did something unprecedented. He rebooted the animatronic just to say "goodbye." These days, simply booting PG up took a good few minutes, so Callum took the time to prepare himself. He took a few deep breaths, willing his tears away. PG's last memory shouldn't be of Callum crying. Not that it would matter in the end, but...he wanted PG's last image of him to be positive.]

[PG awoke with his usual "ring, ring," whirring back to life. Callum smiled at him.]

❝ Hello, hello, Phone Guy. How are you feeling? ❞ [He hadn't done any actual repairs, but rebooting PG should have the desired effect of momentarily bringing him "back to life." Once he started crashing, though, that was Callum's cue to shut him down once and for all. He just hoped that wouldn't be anytime soon.]

@mute-call 💜

[mute-call]

Whew! It knew Ralph couldn’t be that mean!

Yeah!! This is why it loves Mr. Goodman. He, more than any other current human employee, really understands the spirit of Freddy’s.

PG is caught in a strange double world; he feels a part of the lore and stories of Freddy and his friends, while also being involved in the business side of the restaurant in a way the performing animatronics are not. Ralph is the same. He treats them all like his pals, like their characters, while also working hard to make sure the logistics of this place are what they ought to be. It’s nice to have someone else around who gets it.

“Huh?” Phone Guy’s confusion is cheerful, full of blissful ignorance. “Okay, if you say so! I trust you!” Even if that makes no sense! It’s important to listen to human staff members. They know best!

“Huh?” It repeats again, in the exact same pre-recorded tone. “I’m sorry, Mr. Goodman. I don’t understand.” There is very little outside noise during the night, and sometimes the others produce it themselves. Take Chica, for example— she loves having fun in the kitchen when others aren’t around, an activity that’s so noisy that PG’s audio sensors can pick it up whenever he passes by. So what Ralph said doesn’t make sense! Haha!

“I think they’re upset because they miss the children.” That’s far more likely— PG knows he always gets “sad” when the last family leaves for the day, after all.

“But that’s silly of them, because they get to spend time with their special friends all night every night.”

Jealousy is a bit too complex of an emotion for Phone Guy’s rudimentary programming, but there’s a definite sullenness creeping into its tone.

“I do not understand why I don’t get to have a special friend, too.” It knows it’s different than the others. But it has playtime programming just like they do, and reward triggers for using it. Why can’t it play during the night shift? Why do the others get so irritable, even with their special treatment? It’s not fair.

“Mr. Goodman, do the children— not— like me?”

"No, I don't love it at all! I never like to see a patron sad or disappointed." Phone Guy's awful at detecting lies, and not all that much better at detecting sarcasm or jokes that don't map onto specific joke formats in his databanks. His earnestness is almost comical as he looks imploringly at Ralph. Surely, Mr. Goodman doesn't love Fights and Conflict, either?

"No, luckily. The parents got into a big argument, but the acting manager stepped in and sorted it all out. One birthday girl got free treats and tokens for taking a later slot and letting the other family use the party room first. So it all worked out just fine!"

After a few hurled insults about how Freddy's runs its business.

"In the end, both kids had a fun, fantastical Faz-ebration!" Isn't that just wonderful, Ralph?

"Say, are you going to come for your birthday? We can always throw a birth-night party if you don't want to change your shift. I bet that would cheer up all our friends right away!"

[mute-call]

"No, I don't love it at all! I never like to see a patron sad or disappointed." Phone Guy's awful at detecting lies, and not all that much better at detecting sarcasm or jokes that don't map onto specific joke formats in his databanks. His earnestness is almost comical as he looks imploringly at Ralph. Surely, Mr. Goodman doesn't love Fights and Conflict, either?

"No, luckily. The parents got into a big argument, but the acting manager stepped in and sorted it all out. One birthday girl got free treats and tokens for taking a later slot and letting the other family use the party room first. So it all worked out just fine!"

After a few hurled insults about how Freddy's runs its business.

"In the end, both kids had a fun, fantastical Faz-ebration!" Isn't that just wonderful, Ralph?

"Say, are you going to come for your birthday? We can always throw a birth-night party if you don't want to change your shift. I bet that would cheer up all our friends right away!"

[PG's status report was whittled down to a "nope," which reassured Ralph. He'd still keep an eye on the cameras, obviously, but it seemed that the animatronics were taking it slow tonight. Thankfully, since he had nothing to do task-wise, he'd get more of a chance to chat with PG tonight. It passed the time, and it made him feel an ounce of security in a job that was pretty dangerous ( if his orientation was to be believed ).]

[Ralph quietly laughed to himself as PG stepped backwards, making room for Bonnie. How considerate. Ralph briefly wondered if he should have said anything, though -- maybe PG could be a blockade in a worst-case scenario. They wouldn't hurt him!]

[...Right?]

[...No, it was better to be safe than sorry. PG would be better off giving the animatronics some room.]

[Ralph nodded along to PG's musings, nervously chuckling at the "grouchy" comment. Yeah, that was one way to put it -- in fact, he was pretty sure that one of his instructional calls downplayed their behavior in the exact same way. If only it was that simple. He wished that their actions at night could be boiled down to "they're just a bit irritable at night."] ❝ Good idea. We're both better off trying to avoid making them angry. ❞

[At PG's offer to debrief him on the day shift, Ralph smiled. This was exactly why he enjoyed Phone Guy's presence during the night. The stories kept him calm, and better yet, he got to hear about what he was missing. He desperately wished that his last week here could be spent doing small tasks in the daylight, cleaning spills, patching up boo-boos, and making sure the kids were safe. If he left and kept his distance, like he'd originally planned, then these horrors would be the last memory he had of this place. PG filled in the blanks, and it helped a lot to be reminded of the innocence of Freddy's in the daytime.]

❝ I'd love to hear it. ❞ [As PG began, Ralph did a quick sweep of the cameras; nothing had changed, and so he felt even more comfortable kicking back for a bit. He chuckled at the morning's chaos -- he'd been there to witness the disastrous consequences of double-booking, and sometimes, it did end in violence.] ❝ Oh, boy. Gotta love when that happens, right? So- did they wind up fighting? ❞ [He asked lightheartedly, having a good idea of what the answer would be. Most times, if there had been a fight, Ralph was the one asked to clean it up.]