At the squinting of his eyes, the darkened ceiling registered in the man's mind. A high-pitched yelp shot off on his right. The puppet soared with their cry, leaping into him. Talyn's long fingers scraped the air, landing on either side of his chest. They trembled, spilling incoherent words onto a wrinkled and damp shirt.

On reflex, the human yanked the child-sized figurine off and scrambled back on all fours.

Logan swiveled his head, the unblinking stare burned its phantom light like a laser beam. Terrified of his next move, the guard leapt to his feet. Adrenaline pumped the efficient energy to take off.

"It's okay!" Talyn's yelling followed him. "William isn't controlling us anymore! Thomas!"

Not falling for that one again. His feet slammed on polished tiles, carrying him faster than ever thanks to being free of scorching pain...wait.

Thomas glanced at his arms. Tapped his cheek.

Wait.

Thunk!

A flat, rock solid surface bashed the air out of him. Specks of color frenzied behind his eyelids, nose brewed with sharp pain. He stumbled away from the wall, disoriented.

Two pairs of footsteps hurried to his location, only located a few feet away.

"You're hurt again!" A lightweight creature jumped onto his shoulders, covering his eyes.

The man tensed, but before he could think of putting up a fight, a familiar sensation spread from the marionette's palms. Waves of relief washed over his face and upper body. Talyn nuzzled their head against his own. "Never again. Never, never, never, never..."

That....didn't sound like a death threat.

Logan caught up to the two, hands motioning the same gesture used on frightened animals. His voice piled up on a gentle tone.

"We are not going to hurt you. Stay calm, and I'll explain what I can."

"You died!" The puppet refused to let go.

"Say what now?"

The bigger animatronic came closer, lowering his arms. "When the heart stops beating, its registered as death to the public. What most people don't know is that the brain stays active for at most 15 minutes after. If both organs stop functioning, a person is truly dead.  You were fortunate enough to survive as long as you did."

The night guard narrowed his eyes, connecting dots in his head. "So...I was half-dead?"

"Technically, I suppose so."

Thomas dropped his jaw. Never in his life did he imagine a medical phenomena would strike him. He heard stories from family members about near death experiences, and this story could top them all. But not a whisper of this should ever come across anyone he knew.

     He shifted weight to one side of his hip, looking past Logan's frame. "So where's Virgil? And everyone else?"

"I'll active them. To inform you, all of us are no longer William's control."

He followed the mascot, focusing on red raindrops dripping from his metal fingers. They plopped onto the floor, coloring white tiles with scarlet dots. Thomas grimaced and swallowed, fighting the revolting acid in his stomach.

Beep!

Beep!

Beep!

Patton shot up first. He looked frantically around and jumped for joy at seeing the night guard walking in his direction.

"You're alright!" The robot cried out, advancing with open arms.

Thomas sprang behind Logan, shielding himself from an incoming bone-crushing hug. He didn't notice how much his legs quivered until Talyn calmly patted his head.

"Shh, you're safe."

The human forced a smile, remaining behind the blue animatronic as another one slowed down.

"Kiddo," Patton came to halt, "I'm not gonna turn you into the human equivalent of mashed potatoes like I wanted to earlier—I just wanna give you a 'welcome back from the dead' type of hug!"

     Thomas stiffened.

     The childish robot tapped his chin, "I shouldn't have said it that way..."

Virgil creaked up and limped forward, saluting the guard. "How's death like?"

"Uh...sorta like a void?" The human ventured, attempting to describe the blank abyss that swallowed him not long ago. "Like....a whole lotta nothing. I mean, technically I didn't—I didn't pass away."

"Not a difference from my soul, gotcha."

     Being the last to come to full consciousness, Roman made a bee-line to the night guard, almost dragging his feet towards the group. He waved shyly at Thomas, stopping at a far distance from them.

"Hey, kiddo..." Patton's voice weaved in tranquility. "It's alright. We're alright. It's morning and everyone's alive, which is wonderful news. Don'tcha think?"

If the prince dude was going to speak up, he didn't get the chance.

"Wait—what time is it?!" Talyn swiveled, looking for a clock.

Thomas reached into his pocket, and dangled out two halves of shattered glass held together by a seam of metal. He frowned. "There goes my new phone..."

Logan ducked into the nearest room. "5:51." He said from inside.

     The puppet jumped off Thomas' shoulders and ran back and forth, hands on head. Actually, it was more like they were running in circles drawn by toddlers. Faint cursing and muttering barely reached his ears.

     Thomas turned to Virgil, who raised an eyebrow at the sudden panic. "Freaking out is my job, so let me take over. What's wrong?"

"How's he gonna explain this to the day crew?!" The puppet gestured at everything. "Holy shit—I just remembered something!"

     Talyn dashed to the security office, reappearing in a matter of seconds with an edition of the local newspaper.

"This! This! William wrote this!" They shoved it to Thomas' nose.

Puzzled, the guard stared at it cross-eyed. He shook his head, took the paper from them, and held it at a clear reading distance.

"I didn't know he used to be a writer—"

"No. That." Again, the puppet scaled up his body and perched on his shoulders like a gargoyle. A black, clawed finger pointed at scribbled words in the margins. Apparently, William had written...

" 'Saturday, 5 winners, p2'...and this is supposed to mean...?"

"Something's happening tomorrow." Virgil was catching on. He slid the paper out of the other's grasp, scanning over the date line. "But it's from years ago, wouldn't this have already passed?"

     Logan got his turn to hold it. "Well, the ink looks new."

     The last two of the robots, who had been watching the conversation unfold, shared a worried look. The same dread filling up their eyes spread to their friends.

"Oh..." Virgil said, covering his mouth. "Oh no. They're gonna play the game again."

     The reactions from each animatronic differed immensely. Each became the embodiment of shock, fear, anger, numbness, or desperation. All the while, Thomas had no idea what any them were thinking. Or remembering?

A distance chime went off from his office; the usual signature of a job well done. Now that sound made everyone freeze.

6:00 am

"Uh—" Thomas whirled, pointing at the robots with the intent of rolling off instructions. Uncertainty replaced ideas. "Um...why don't you guys...arg!"

     He scratched his head in frustration. Any 'game' they were talking about had to be put aside, at least until later. Now, more urgent matters took up the first priorities.

"Okay—okay. Everyone goes to the basement. I'll keep the place closed until this mess is gone."

     The guard waved for the animatronics to hurriedly leave. No one, especially kids, needed to see the state of the restaurant. Four obeyed him, traveling down the hallway in a light jog. One didn't budge from his spot.

     Roman opened his chest cavity, reached inside, and took out a butcher knife. The prince character slowly turned his head, an emotionless gaze beamed right through the human.

     He held out the knife, approaching Thomas.

     The night guard back paddled. Adrenaline skyrocketed again, ready to burst into action at his command.

"I'm a terrible person."

     He didn't expect such a somber tone coming from the one who held himself high and mighty. A dull red arm dangled by the mascot's side, weapon in a loose grip, ready to be dropped.

"I was always the one who tormented you—nearly killed you twice." Roman's strained whisper attempted to grow in volume, wishing for every bit to be heard. "And I understand if you don't forgive me at all."

     Thomas longed for the right words to comfort his friend. To let Roman know whatever actions he took were erased of their consequences. But his mind remained blank.

     The animatronic extended his arm, almost closing the distance between them with the deadly kitchen utensil. Its sharp tip pointed at Roman, the handle inches away from Thomas' chest.

"Hold this."

His companion froze, unsure of what to say. He looked at plastic eyes, relieved to see patience in them. After driblets of hesitation, the man obeyed.

"Sometimes threatening the enemy is enough," Roman's voice dripped in  somber. "Sometimes you need to defend yourself."

     He closed off his torso, and walked off without another word.

6:08 am (Day 5)

"Hey, Dexter. I'm letting you know that there's been...a bit of a mess during my shift—I threw up—" The guard cleared his throat. Yeah, nope. Stick with minimal details. "And, uh, I've let the other employees know that the restaurant is off limits until 10 AM. I'm real sorry if this greatly affects business, but I'm one person. It'll take a while to clean up. Bye."

Thomas hung up the office phone, mentally banging his head against the wall. Vomiting and four hours of mopping it up? He'd be lucky if anyone found that slightly believable.

     He would also be lucky to not get fired once his manager received the voicemail as well.

7:00 am

     Turns out it's quite the effort to make blood disappear like magic. A mixture of this, a mixture of that, a bit of water, and the will to not throw up for real.

     Simple.

     Thomas propped a reddened mop inside the storage closet and went inside another room: Nightmare Cove.

     He inhaled fresh, cool air. His desperate need for a scent other than murky currents eased the stomach. Thomas hopped on the edge of Virgil's stage, laying down on the platform while dangling his legs off the edge. One break shouldn't hurt.

At the corner of his eye, a cardboard box with a dash of neon green sat beside the perimeter of the curtains.

"Oh right!" He facepalmed. "More trash."

Thomas yawned, approaching the box in a crawl. This time around, the sticky note read....

Salvage any items that may be unharmed or reusable. We were in a rush this morning.
-Dexter,
Manager

     Welp. Easy enough.

     Most of the things were stained, cracked, or in pieces. For example, another pizza slice ornament that couldn't go home with him due to being half shattered. His hands navigated carefully inside the container, digging to the bottom where a black, smooth object caught his eye.

     He pulled it out, surprised to see a simple notebook in decent conditions. Scratches overlaid the corners of its glossy cover. A cookbook? Diary?

     A familiar pull to explore, identical to the one he experienced on his first day of the job, moved his fingers to flip through the book.

     Blueprints for all the mascots beautifully illustrated the first few leafs of paper. Lists of tools and procedures to build them bulked up the next two pages. Next ten: nothing but study drawings of the skeletal, muscle, and nervous system. He considered putting it down to read the rest later, but the greed and hunger for knowledge kept his hands glued to the covers.

     Heavily detailed and realistic, a drawing of a young girl in pigtails smiling greeted his sight. The warmth radiating from her fictional cheeriness brought a grin to his own face.

     Whoever owned this was a wonderful artist.

     Thomas turned the page. Everything here was spaced out and written by an inexperienced or damaged hand. Each curve, line, or loop had some degree of shakiness loaded in it. He squinted, trying to decipher the paragraphs of information.

"Heart...people, activity ...the ...down..." He skimmed down a few lines, picking up what he could. "Metal, robotic ...alive... continue? P2..."

     Wait a second.

     'P2' was a title for one of the paragraphs. His focus sharpened.

"Work...five...technology, re-wire mechanical heart..."

     Wait one fucking second.

     He turned the page too fast. The corner bit his finger, slicing a line of red out of it.

"Ouch!"

     Tolerating the small sting, he read on. Something about making sure the brain doesn't deactivate, replicating durability to human cells, and...okay, this line he could mostly detangle.

"If...according to plan, each...tests should take 3-5 years to complete...will leave the hypothetical total of 6-10 years until...immortal."

     Thomas set down the notebook on his lap, staring into space.

     Holy crap.

     No name marked the ownership of anyone on the front or back cover, but no doubt: it belonged to William.

     He didn't know if fear or curiosity was the dominant emotion as he investigated even more. Five names scratched at the top of the next paper sealed the suspicions.

Patton Zillah
Virgil Amparo
Roman Eriksen
Talyn Cain
Logan Warren

Subjects for P1, never discard.

His fingers tightened around the shimmering cover, a furious glare shot daggers at the elegant handwriting. A bit after, a different name and self-note made his heart skip a beat.

Valerie Torres,
Curiosity killed the cat for a good reason.

     He slammed the notebook shut, clenching his jaw. "Karma's coming after you for a good reason."

8:00 am

Every drop of blood became extinct after being scrubbed away on the main floor. It was time for the animatronic's cleaning turn, and to learn everything about William's revolting notes.

     At the basement, Thomas hobbled down the stairs with two buckets of water. Used, wore down sponges floated atop the swishing water. William's notebook was tucked underneath his chin.

     Patton giggled. "You look silly!"

     The guard didn't even glance at him. He dropped the plastic containers, stopping only to observe some useless water splash onto the cement. Grumbling, he flipped through the book, trying to remember a specific page.

     Half of the kids glanced at each other, puzzled of his sudden odd behavior.

"I found it." An aggrieved Thomas held up the open pages for everyone to see. "How to free you and how to end this."

—————————-

Next update: April 8th