INBOXtext / audio / video / actionThank you for calling Freddy Fazbear's Family Fun Center! We are regrettably unable to answer your call at this very moment, due to unforseen circumstances such as satisfying customer expectations, animatronic maintenance, or taming unruly ghosts in the rafters. Please leave a detailed message about your compliment or complaint, as well as your name and contact information, and we will contact you at our earliest convenience, if we deem your message deserving of a response in the first place. Thank you for calling, and have a Faz-tastic day!art creditcode credit
[Gen almost, almost thanks Helpy as she takes the picture, but then she gets a hold of herself. It's a robot. She's not letting herself get sucked into the madness here.
The picture itself causes her eyebrows to shoot up, and she glances back and forth between it and Mike in his current form several times.] Huh. So I was right. [With that cryptic statement, she hands the picture back to Helpy and gives Mike an innocent smile.]
[ Mike tilts his head back against the wall, rolling his odd purple eyes while Helpy takes the mugshot back to put it back where he got it from. this is the worst. this is the absolute worst. she's doing this on purpose just to piss him off. he knows that, she knows he knows that. nothing good can come from this. whatever she'd say, whatever she's thinking, it's only going to further frustrate and annoy him. and yet.
[He's so wonderfully predictable sometimes. Gen can't help but laugh at the high drama of his response, but there's something... not quite kind, but at least a bit warmer in the sound of it. Or maybe just more genuine, not so much for effect as usual.]
I was just thinking awhile back, that based on... what's left of your face, you probably weren't bad looking before all that shit happened. 'Cause I mean, all fuckin' things considered, you're still not bad.
[If Mike showed any arrogance about his appearance, present or past, Gen would roll her eyes and leave. If Mike got really weird about the compliments, something like explosive rage or sadness or any huge emotional reaction, Gen would leave out of pure self-preservation instinct.
But instead he gets quiet and flustered and then flatly tries to usher her out, and that actually stirs up a somewhat warm feeling inside her. Lashing out at kindness is understandable (and more her style, if she's honest), but just bluescreening because it's so unfamiliar is a bit heart-wrenching.]
I could. [She brushes aside some food wrappers on his desk to make room for her to sit, one leg crossed demurely over the other. Did she actually expect to make this offer when she came into his office? Not really, but she has to admit that the possibility was on her mind - honestly, the possibility is what started this whole thing.
She doesn't wear seduction all that comfortably but at least she knows she has youth and attractiveness on her side. They're just things that she's had to protect for most of her life, not offer.]
I could leave, but I gotta say, you don't have much imagination when it comes to what I could do here.
[ Mike's not an idiot. he knows what she's aiming for, what she's trying to get at - just because his body's dead, doesn't mean his mind is. and it's not as though Gen's the only one who'd ever used their looks to their advantage. it's just been considerably longer since Mike has (and that was a habit he quickly fell out of once the whole "you look so much like your father!" thing started gaining traction.)
he makes a mental note to take apart Helpy later. those candy wrappers certainly aren't Mike's. little shit. ]
I have plenty of imagination. [ bitter? incredibly. this isn't fair. ]
And I have no use of your "services." [ he nods towards the office door, scowling, arms crossed. there isn't much bite to his words, though. true, he's still taken aback by the whole ... this. it's left him a fair bit unsettled and awkward. the only thing he really knows how to do in this situation is to be an ass about it. ] Get the fuck out of my office.
[Ooooh, that choice of word. "Services." It's so obviously deliberate and yet it crawls right under Gen's skin, prickling with the familiar heat that demands retaliation in the form of flames. She balls her hands up so tight that her nails carve the shape of half-moons into her skin and reminds herself that she's got a sweet deal here, that the only other options are homelessness or back to Xavier's, weighing Mike's life and livelihood against her wounded pride with all that unhinged rage as plain as day on her face.]
I've got some bad fucking news for you, Mike. [Her voice is thin and hoarse from the strain of keeping herself together. She climbs down off the desk and storms right up to him but stops just short of jabbing a finger against his chest - pointing will be good enough, she thinks. He doesn't deserve any contact at all.] All this... isn't what's keeping you from getting fucked. Enjoy knowing from this point forward that it's all your fault, and bitching about it really does make you no better than an incel.
[She needs to burn something. She needs to burn something.]
I'm leaving for awhile. Lock me out and I burn this place to the fuckin' ground, then pin it on you in case you really are part cockroach.
[Okay. With that said, she can walk out of the office and head for the service door of the restaurant. She's saved enough face.]
[ he opts out of saying anything. just keeps his grumpy posture and glares at her while she tantrums and storms out of the office (Helpy's the one opening the door for her, of course.) bullet dodged, he figures. it's not like she would've meant any of it. she'd just give up the facade the moment he'd start to fall for it, point and laugh at him for being a fucking idiot, for daring to think someone would actually--
ugh.
Mike shoos Helpy out of his office with a resounding "piss off," and slams the door shut. that's where he'll be when-- if Gen decides he's worth the time and energy to bother talking to again. she will find that the little white dumb bear-bot seems to be following her around instead, however. he's very annoying, feel free to kick him. ]
[Immediately upon stepping out the service door, she sets the contents of one of the restaurant's dumpsters alight and texts Mike a picture of the fire with a smiley face. It shouldn't be too hard to put out as the garbage was only taken away the day before - just closing the lid would probably ensure that it burns out safely.
The next morning, Gen actually does return. A strong smell of smoke lingers around her but it's a pure woodsmoke smell, nothing too chemical or sweet, so it's hard to say exactly what she's been up to. Her clothes are smudged with dirt, her ponytail loose and mussed, and she has one cheerful Helpybot sitting on her shoulder. They went on an adventure!!
Although she has become strangely fond of the little guy, she still stops at the door to Mike's office and kicks it several times with her steel-toed workboots.]
[ left on read. he's not about to give her the satisfaction of getting pissy over a dumpster fire (the ultimate parody of his after-life at the moment, which okay, he can appreciate that.) there's no communication from Mike at all the entire night.
Helpy, on the other hand, is thrilled. that's the furthest away from the restaurant he'd ever been, he had so much fun!! they explored, they saw things!! if he was programmed with a voice, he'd be nonstop chattering about how much fun he had. but even still, the bear-bot seems happy to be "home," and since it's before opening hours, he has to use his special security code to open the door. inside, it's just the usual maintenance-bots cleaning and prepping for the day. and the security door shut tight, as expected.
no immediate response after the door kicking, either. just a long pause, like the person on the other side is really debating whether or not it's worth it. then the sounds of someone having a difficult time getting up from a squeaky office chair, the clinking and clattering of precision metal tools dropping onto the desk, footsteps shuffling towards the door. another pause.
the door finally does clunk open. Mike's there, paper bear mask hiding his face. Helpy waves happily, leaps from Gen's shoulder to latch himself onto Mike like a monkey. almost knocks the zombie man off his feet. but he stays quiet, not uttering a word. it's maybe five seconds of silence before the office door slams shut again. ]
[So that's where they're at, huh? She offers him something he very clearly said he wanted and thought he'd never find, and offers it out of pure interest and curiosity in where things might go, and it gets her the accusation of being a whore and now the Business Face. So has this completely reset whatever... whatever they built up to this point?
Lesson learned. Maybe. Probably not. Lesson learned until the next time.
Dodging bots left and right, Gen goes to her backstage home to grab a few things and then heads to the bathroom for a quick sink bath before work. There's a YWCA nearby that she hits up for a free shower about once a week but mostly this is how she gets clean - a cloth, a bar of soap, some dry shampoo, and a bathroom sink. Since the sinks aren't hidden behind any kind of stall door, this could lead to an escalation of some kind or another between them if Mike happened to walk in on her almost entirely naked.
If he stays in the office, they probably won't cross paths until the day is over and Gen emerges from the kitchen with an entire birthday cake that had to be sent back because of a decoration error by one of the bots. She sits down with an extra-large soda, a fork, and that entire cake and prepares to make sure it doesn't go to waste. She may be a psychopathic flame demon, but she can still sulk with the best of them after being rejected.]
[ unsurprisingly, Mike doesn't emerge from the office. Helpy does, since he essentially runs the show while his creator tends to stick to more of the financial and operations side of things, so he excitedly waves at Gen as he exits the office shortly before opening time, before getting to work. and it's business as usual for the day, patrons in and out, loud snotty children running around everywhere, evening animatronic concerts. pizza here, cake there. it's not until long after the closing announcements are made, when the helperbots are cleaning up and all the lingering customers are long gone, that the heavy office door clunks open again.
Helpy scurries over quickly as Mike steps out, paper bear mask still covering his face. he bends down awkwardly and gives what looks like a few scraps of old paper to the little bear, and sends him over to where Gen sits with her cake. Helpy, always happy to be given a task, bounds over to Gen as excited as ever, while Michael remains by the office door.
there's definitely an obvious shift in his demeanor. he might actually be sulking. old cranky zombie man in his fifties sulking like a teenager getting scolded for crashing the car. or at least, that's how it appears. ]
...
Look. [ here we go. ] If you're leaving, which I won't be at all surprised by, I'll need some sort of mailing address for your final paycheck. Vacation pay, severance, all that shit. Should have enough to carry you for a while.
But, if you're sticking around, for some unfathomable reason ... figure you should probably know a few things first. So you don't do something else you'll regret.
[Gen has no idea what she was expecting but this... isn't it. She glances down at Helpy just to give her someplace neutral to direct her gaze and accepts whatever the bear has brought to her but doesn't look it over just yet.
(She may pet Helpy's smooth metal head, but she'll neither confirm nor deny the accusation if it's ever made.)
That's a generous offer to some kid who sleeps in his storage room and washes some dishes for room and board. It suggests that he understands the gravity of the bind she's in as a young mutant with no official schooling on the books after twelve years old, something she never really thought he cared about, never mind considered all that closely. And - he does sound somewhat guilty, which Gen really isn't used to after she's thrown a fit.]
Keep talking. [She even sets down her fork to show that she's really, truly and honestly paying attention.] I'll decide after.
[ good thing Helpy doesn't talk, otherwise he'd start running around the restaurant to all the helperbots shouting she pat my head!!
well. okay. so they're doing this. it's for the best, isn't it? she should know. yeah. ugh.
so what Helpy ended up bringing over to show Gen, it turns out Mike was lying. he actually does have some very old photographs. they're just hidden away. they're very old and worn, tears around the edges and crinkles throughout. two of them look like candidsnapshots, another what appears to be an attempt at a family photo. notably, they're torn half-photos, as it appears someone's torn himself out of each picture. and even more notably, the imposing authority figure in the family photo's had his head torn off. really the only thing kept in relatively good condition despite the obvious age is the two smaller children in each.
here we go. ]
Those are my siblings.
[ he feels panic rising in his dead and hollow chest. feels like his stomach would be twisting if he had one. good thing he can hide behind a dumb-looking mask. ]
You should know what happened to them. [ ... ] What I did to them. Before you reconsider me as a possible fuckbuddy.
[That's actually a spirit she can relate to and get behind: tearing heads off pictures, removing yourself or someone else or just altering the past however you can to pretend you didn't destroy everything. She looks at the pictures for a long time, a deep frown twisting her lips and furrowing her brow.]
If you're about to tell me you killed them... [Gen's voice is uncommonly soft.] ... I already know I won't judge you for that, so just. You don't have to drag all the skeletons out, alright? Have you somehow missed the fact that I'm a psycho too? It doesn't matter, I don't give a shit about family or morals or anything but surviving the rest of the assholes we're stuck with.
[She picks up her fork again, but only to stab it viciously into the center of the cake.]
You're still alive - or close enough - so you matter, but fuck your ghosts.
[That may have veered from reassuring to deeply insulting at some point. Here's hoping it doesn't lead to another sulk stand-off.]
Maybe it doesn't matter to you, but it does to me.
[ and okay, sure, not having to worry about judgement for being a baby sibling killer makes the rest of this conversation a little easier. but not worrying about Gen judging him doesn't mean that Mike doesn't carry the heavy guilt with him. ]
You don't want all the skeletons, that's fine. I'm less inclined to divulge them to a bratty punk teenager calling herself a "psycho" like it's an edgy Hot Topic badge of fucking honour.
[ weird to be told he matters, but since it's being said by said edgy teenager, he'll try not to think much of it. ]
Anyway. [ right, back to business. if she doesn't want to hear the details, doesn't want to hear Mike's fucked up excuses and explanations for what he's done, maybe that can be saved for another conversation. or for later in this one. see if everything else will make her bail out first. ] It's less so what I'm responsible for, and more ... everything else you should probably know if you're going to want to stick around.
... alright. But don't say I didn't give you an easy out.
[She's sitting on that "edgy Hot Topic teenager" shit for now. Once Mike has confessed all his sins, maybe she can give him a taste of her body count. For now she pulls her fork free and digs back into the cake, her chin propped on her other hand.]
Come and sit, at least? I'm not gonna mount your fucking lap or anything.
[ look, he stands by his word. give him a cane (he could use one) and he'll start shaking it at her, call her a whippersnapper and everything. ]
Helpy. [ whistling ] Get over here.
[ little bear-bot quickly hurries over, always eager to prove his namesake. Mike disappears into the office for a moment, then he hobbles back out with a heavy leather-bound file folder in tow. Helpy holds his arms out, Mike drops the folder-- it's clearly heavier than the robobear expected and he gets promptly flattened, papers and loose bolts scattering about. he's fine.
he leaves Helpy to gather everything up while he drags his zombie ass over to where Gen's waiting, but he doesn't sit down. sitting down is hard okay. soon enough Helpy is joining them, carrying the folder that's much bigger than himself, and trying his damndest to toss it up on the table. ]
... you don't actually have to go through everything, I'll give you the cliffnotes.
[Gen grabs the file from Helpy so quickly that it's rather obvious she's been watching him make his way over with some concern. Once she's retrieved the file, she also boots Helpy up to sit beside her since Mike insists on standing.
Okay, she's definitely becoming attached to a robotic teddy bear in the absence of any warm (or even tepid) human companionship.]
"Helpy." [Before things get serious, Gen can't help but toss in a little barb at Mike's expense.] That's the best name you could come up with?
[With that, she opens the folder and begins her journey into the most demented family business ever conceived. There's none of her usual eyerolling and cynicism this time, no wry "it do be like that sometimes" attitude that suggests they're fellow veterans of life's hardships - nothing but pure horror as the pieces she's completely unequipped to process come together in front of her.]
The pirate fox is named "Foxy," the fuck do you want from me?
[ don't actually answer that. he's just trying to keep the traditional Fazbear naming conventions alive here.
the file folder is more than deserving of such a horrified expression. the contents therein are the entirety of thirty plus years of Michael's personal investigations into the Afton family and the Fazbear Inc. franchise. it's stuffed full of newspaper cutouts from the 1980's (much like the family photos, every picture featuring a certain someone also has his head torn off, whether it's newspaper articles or other photos relevant to what notes they're pinned to,) all the excitement of the brand's initial outings. and all the controversy, the mystery, and the deaths. oh, so many deaths. coverage and cutouts of poor Elizabeth's accident, little Evan's tragic final birthday party, the infamous "Bite of '87" incident, the missing children. various old and tattered blueprints, some of animatronics, some of other devices (Gen can probably put two and two together with that one.) there are many scribbled notes in various deranged styles, some of which definitely isn't Mike's handwriting, detailing someone's personal descent into utter madness with bizarre theories and justifications for horrid acts, claims of discovering immortality and necessary sacrifice. disgusting stuff.
scattered about are also random sketches and doodles, which definitely are Mike's. you know, to lighten the mood.
bringing it right back down are Michael's own deranged ramblings in between all the zombie detective work, deluded rants about ghosts and lost souls, a fully detailed account of the state of his body and what he's managed to piece together about how he functions, his suspicions of being cursed mixed in with notes of "experiment??" here and there. pages are splattered and stained with what looks like dark ink or oils. it's not a fun read and Mike's half expecting her to push it away, despite Helpy very happily pointing at pictures and red pen markings of "IT'S ME" and the much newer blueprints/design notes of the Rockstar animatronics on Mike's stage like it's a picture book for toddlers. oddly enough, anything about Helpy's design or programming code seems to be entirely absent. ]
[A hollow whisper as she skims William's notes. "Discovered" immortality? Sure, mutations that create immortality as a result of how they work are rare, but they definitely existed in the 80s and there were definitely people William could've sought out. Never mind that they were pushed even further into the shadows of society back then, he still could've found a way to understand everything he'd seen without resorting to mass child murder.
While her words are typically harsh and dismissive, her expression and tone make it clear that she knows she's learning about a profound tragedy, not just one guy's stupid mistake.
Some of the blueprints actually make her wince and recoil in her seat. Luring? Storage tank?? And yes, the scooper causes her skin to itch in that familiar way. The horror touches her more deeply than the loss of family, which could probably be expected, but she's also starting to figure out how intimately the two are linked... and when Mike asks his question, Gen looks up with something very rare shuttering her expression: caution.]
I don't really believe in anything, but I can be convinced.
Mike still isn't sure if he can properly explain his father's madness. immortality when you're a mere human and not a mutant is, apparently, desirable to some. he'll never understand it. certainly not to this extent. but the heavy, packed folder is enough to get the point across, hence bringing it all out in the open in the first place. Gen is the only other person to see that folder. ]
So.
Why do you think I'm showing you all this?
[ it's a little hard to tell what Mike's thinking with the mask covering his face, but his tone is at least a little more somber, a little more serious. ]
The dead kids... you said old animatronics still show up here sometimes, attack the restaurant or whatever.
[Goosebumps rise on her skin as she checks all the visible windows with nervous little glances, her heart suddenly beating a bit too fast. This feels like the moment in a horror movie when the spookies suddenly make their first real appearance after sneaking around in shadows for the first act.]
Wrong. [ Helpy honks his nose, making a buzzer sound. ]
You and I both know that if a haunted animatronic drops from the ceiling with a thirst for blood and charges at you in a blinding rage, you'd set it ablaze before it had a chance to screech.
[ and while that might be a point in her favour, that's still not the reason, so Mike gestures towards the folder again. ] Guess again.
[Quietly, without much actual satisfaction. The night's taken too weird of a turn for satisfaction. She glances over the clippings and notes again but only one other option comes to mind, and she's not that fond of it.]
Best I can figure... you're trying to get rid of me without having to kick me out, and this is meant to convince me that you're as crazy as your dad and I'm not safe here with you. Warmer or colder?
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INBOX
text / audio / video / action
Thank you for calling Freddy Fazbear's Family Fun Center! We are regrettably unable to answer your call at this very moment, due to unforseen circumstances such as satisfying customer expectations, animatronic maintenance, or taming unruly ghosts in the rafters. Please leave a detailed message about your compliment or complaint, as well as your name and contact information, and we will contact you at our earliest convenience, if we deem your message deserving of a response in the first place. Thank you for calling, and have a Faz-tastic day!
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The picture itself causes her eyebrows to shoot up, and she glances back and forth between it and Mike in his current form several times.] Huh. So I was right. [With that cryptic statement, she hands the picture back to Helpy and gives Mike an innocent smile.]
That wasn't so hard, was it?
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...
[ this is the worst. ]
... ugh.
[ Mike tilts his head back against the wall, rolling his odd purple eyes while Helpy takes the mugshot back to put it back where he got it from. this is the worst. this is the absolute worst. she's doing this on purpose just to piss him off. he knows that, she knows he knows that. nothing good can come from this. whatever she'd say, whatever she's thinking, it's only going to further frustrate and annoy him. and yet.
and yet. ]
Right about what.
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I was just thinking awhile back, that based on... what's left of your face, you probably weren't bad looking before all that shit happened. 'Cause I mean, all fuckin' things considered, you're still not bad.
And I was right. You were hot as fuck.
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but leave it to Michael to be a jerk about it in the end. he does eventually respond, deadpan, somewhat dumbfounded. annoyed all the same. ]
Gee. Thanks.
[ compliments are weird, okay. ]
You can leave now.
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But instead he gets quiet and flustered and then flatly tries to usher her out, and that actually stirs up a somewhat warm feeling inside her. Lashing out at kindness is understandable (and more her style, if she's honest), but just bluescreening because it's so unfamiliar is a bit heart-wrenching.]
I could. [She brushes aside some food wrappers on his desk to make room for her to sit, one leg crossed demurely over the other. Did she actually expect to make this offer when she came into his office? Not really, but she has to admit that the possibility was on her mind - honestly, the possibility is what started this whole thing.
She doesn't wear seduction all that comfortably but at least she knows she has youth and attractiveness on her side. They're just things that she's had to protect for most of her life, not offer.]
I could leave, but I gotta say, you don't have much imagination when it comes to what I could do here.
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he makes a mental note to take apart Helpy later. those candy wrappers certainly aren't Mike's. little shit. ]
I have plenty of imagination. [ bitter? incredibly. this isn't fair. ]
And I have no use of your "services." [ he nods towards the office door, scowling, arms crossed. there isn't much bite to his words, though. true, he's still taken aback by the whole ... this. it's left him a fair bit unsettled and awkward. the only thing he really knows how to do in this situation is to be an ass about it. ] Get the fuck out of my office.
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I've got some bad fucking news for you, Mike. [Her voice is thin and hoarse from the strain of keeping herself together. She climbs down off the desk and storms right up to him but stops just short of jabbing a finger against his chest - pointing will be good enough, she thinks. He doesn't deserve any contact at all.] All this... isn't what's keeping you from getting fucked. Enjoy knowing from this point forward that it's all your fault, and bitching about it really does make you no better than an incel.
[She needs to burn something. She needs to burn something.]
I'm leaving for awhile. Lock me out and I burn this place to the fuckin' ground, then pin it on you in case you really are part cockroach.
[Okay. With that said, she can walk out of the office and head for the service door of the restaurant. She's saved enough face.]
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...
[ he opts out of saying anything. just keeps his grumpy posture and glares at her while she tantrums and storms out of the office (Helpy's the one opening the door for her, of course.) bullet dodged, he figures. it's not like she would've meant any of it. she'd just give up the facade the moment he'd start to fall for it, point and laugh at him for being a fucking idiot, for daring to think someone would actually--
ugh.
Mike shoos Helpy out of his office with a resounding "piss off," and slams the door shut. that's where he'll be when-- if Gen decides he's worth the time and energy to bother talking to again. she will find that the little white dumb bear-bot seems to be following her around instead, however. he's very annoying, feel free to kick him. ]
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The next morning, Gen actually does return. A strong smell of smoke lingers around her but it's a pure woodsmoke smell, nothing too chemical or sweet, so it's hard to say exactly what she's been up to. Her clothes are smudged with dirt, her ponytail loose and mussed, and she has one cheerful Helpybot sitting on her shoulder. They went on an adventure!!
Although she has become strangely fond of the little guy, she still stops at the door to Mike's office and kicks it several times with her steel-toed workboots.]
Hey. Come get your bear.
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Helpy, on the other hand, is thrilled. that's the furthest away from the restaurant he'd ever been, he had so much fun!! they explored, they saw things!! if he was programmed with a voice, he'd be nonstop chattering about how much fun he had. but even still, the bear-bot seems happy to be "home," and since it's before opening hours, he has to use his special security code to open the door. inside, it's just the usual maintenance-bots cleaning and prepping for the day. and the security door shut tight, as expected.
no immediate response after the door kicking, either. just a long pause, like the person on the other side is really debating whether or not it's worth it. then the sounds of someone having a difficult time getting up from a squeaky office chair, the clinking and clattering of precision metal tools dropping onto the desk, footsteps shuffling towards the door. another pause.
the door finally does clunk open. Mike's there, paper bear mask hiding his face. Helpy waves happily, leaps from Gen's shoulder to latch himself onto Mike like a monkey. almost knocks the zombie man off his feet. but he stays quiet, not uttering a word. it's maybe five seconds of silence before the office door slams shut again. ]
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Lesson learned. Maybe. Probably not. Lesson learned until the next time.
Dodging bots left and right, Gen goes to her backstage home to grab a few things and then heads to the bathroom for a quick sink bath before work. There's a YWCA nearby that she hits up for a free shower about once a week but mostly this is how she gets clean - a cloth, a bar of soap, some dry shampoo, and a bathroom sink. Since the sinks aren't hidden behind any kind of stall door, this could lead to an escalation of some kind or another between them if Mike happened to walk in on her almost entirely naked.
If he stays in the office, they probably won't cross paths until the day is over and Gen emerges from the kitchen with an entire birthday cake that had to be sent back because of a decoration error by one of the bots. She sits down with an extra-large soda, a fork, and that entire cake and prepares to make sure it doesn't go to waste. She may be a psychopathic flame demon, but she can still sulk with the best of them after being rejected.]
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Helpy scurries over quickly as Mike steps out, paper bear mask still covering his face. he bends down awkwardly and gives what looks like a few scraps of old paper to the little bear, and sends him over to where Gen sits with her cake. Helpy, always happy to be given a task, bounds over to Gen as excited as ever, while Michael remains by the office door.
there's definitely an obvious shift in his demeanor. he might actually be sulking. old cranky zombie man in his fifties sulking like a teenager getting scolded for crashing the car. or at least, that's how it appears. ]
...
Look. [ here we go. ] If you're leaving, which I won't be at all surprised by, I'll need some sort of mailing address for your final paycheck. Vacation pay, severance, all that shit. Should have enough to carry you for a while.
But, if you're sticking around, for some unfathomable reason ... figure you should probably know a few things first. So you don't do something else you'll regret.
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(She may pet Helpy's smooth metal head, but she'll neither confirm nor deny the accusation if it's ever made.)
That's a generous offer to some kid who sleeps in his storage room and washes some dishes for room and board. It suggests that he understands the gravity of the bind she's in as a young mutant with no official schooling on the books after twelve years old, something she never really thought he cared about, never mind considered all that closely. And - he does sound somewhat guilty, which Gen really isn't used to after she's thrown a fit.]
Keep talking. [She even sets down her fork to show that she's really, truly and honestly paying attention.] I'll decide after.
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well. okay. so they're doing this. it's for the best, isn't it? she should know. yeah. ugh.
so what Helpy ended up bringing over to show Gen, it turns out Mike was lying. he actually does have some very old photographs. they're just hidden away. they're very old and worn, tears around the edges and crinkles throughout. two of them look like candid snapshots, another what appears to be an attempt at a family photo. notably, they're torn half-photos, as it appears someone's torn himself out of each picture. and even more notably, the imposing authority figure in the family photo's had his head torn off. really the only thing kept in relatively good condition despite the obvious age is the two smaller children in each.
here we go. ]
Those are my siblings.
[ he feels panic rising in his dead and hollow chest. feels like his stomach would be twisting if he had one. good thing he can hide behind a dumb-looking mask. ]
You should know what happened to them. [ ... ] What I did to them. Before you reconsider me as a possible fuckbuddy.
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If you're about to tell me you killed them... [Gen's voice is uncommonly soft.] ... I already know I won't judge you for that, so just. You don't have to drag all the skeletons out, alright? Have you somehow missed the fact that I'm a psycho too? It doesn't matter, I don't give a shit about family or morals or anything but surviving the rest of the assholes we're stuck with.
[She picks up her fork again, but only to stab it viciously into the center of the cake.]
You're still alive - or close enough - so you matter, but fuck your ghosts.
[That may have veered from reassuring to deeply insulting at some point. Here's hoping it doesn't lead to another sulk stand-off.]
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Maybe it doesn't matter to you, but it does to me.
[ and okay, sure, not having to worry about judgement for being a baby sibling killer makes the rest of this conversation a little easier. but not worrying about Gen judging him doesn't mean that Mike doesn't carry the heavy guilt with him. ]
You don't want all the skeletons, that's fine. I'm less inclined to divulge them to a bratty punk teenager calling herself a "psycho" like it's an edgy Hot Topic badge of fucking honour.
[ weird to be told he matters, but since it's being said by said edgy teenager, he'll try not to think much of it. ]
Anyway. [ right, back to business. if she doesn't want to hear the details, doesn't want to hear Mike's fucked up excuses and explanations for what he's done, maybe that can be saved for another conversation. or for later in this one. see if everything else will make her bail out first. ] It's less so what I'm responsible for, and more ... everything else you should probably know if you're going to want to stick around.
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[She's sitting on that "edgy Hot Topic teenager" shit for now. Once Mike has confessed all his sins, maybe she can give him a taste of her body count. For now she pulls her fork free and digs back into the cake, her chin propped on her other hand.]
Come and sit, at least? I'm not gonna mount your fucking lap or anything.
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[ look, he stands by his word. give him a cane (he could use one) and he'll start shaking it at her, call her a whippersnapper and everything. ]
Helpy. [ whistling ] Get over here.
[ little bear-bot quickly hurries over, always eager to prove his namesake. Mike disappears into the office for a moment, then he hobbles back out with a heavy leather-bound file folder in tow. Helpy holds his arms out, Mike drops the folder-- it's clearly heavier than the robobear expected and he gets promptly flattened, papers and loose bolts scattering about. he's fine.
he leaves Helpy to gather everything up while he drags his zombie ass over to where Gen's waiting, but he doesn't sit down. sitting down is hard okay. soon enough Helpy is joining them, carrying the folder that's much bigger than himself, and trying his damndest to toss it up on the table. ]
... you don't actually have to go through everything, I'll give you the cliffnotes.
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Okay, she's definitely becoming attached to a robotic teddy bear in the absence of any warm (or even tepid) human companionship.]
"Helpy." [Before things get serious, Gen can't help but toss in a little barb at Mike's expense.] That's the best name you could come up with?
[With that, she opens the folder and begins her journey into the most demented family business ever conceived. There's none of her usual eyerolling and cynicism this time, no wry "it do be like that sometimes" attitude that suggests they're fellow veterans of life's hardships - nothing but pure horror as the pieces she's completely unequipped to process come together in front of her.]
infodump sorry
[ don't actually answer that. he's just trying to keep the traditional Fazbear naming conventions alive here.
the file folder is more than deserving of such a horrified expression. the contents therein are the entirety of thirty plus years of Michael's personal investigations into the Afton family and the Fazbear Inc. franchise. it's stuffed full of newspaper cutouts from the 1980's (much like the family photos, every picture featuring a certain someone also has his head torn off, whether it's newspaper articles or other photos relevant to what notes they're pinned to,) all the excitement of the brand's initial outings. and all the controversy, the mystery, and the deaths. oh, so many deaths. coverage and cutouts of poor Elizabeth's accident, little Evan's tragic final birthday party, the infamous "Bite of '87" incident, the missing children. various old and tattered blueprints, some of animatronics, some of other devices (Gen can probably put two and two together with that one.) there are many scribbled notes in various deranged styles, some of which definitely isn't Mike's handwriting, detailing someone's personal descent into utter madness with bizarre theories and justifications for horrid acts, claims of discovering immortality and necessary sacrifice. disgusting stuff.
scattered about are also random sketches and doodles, which definitely are Mike's. you know, to lighten the mood.
bringing it right back down are Michael's own deranged ramblings in between all the zombie detective work, deluded rants about ghosts and lost souls, a fully detailed account of the state of his body and what he's managed to piece together about how he functions, his suspicions of being cursed mixed in with notes of "experiment??" here and there. pages are splattered and stained with what looks like dark ink or oils. it's not a fun read and Mike's half expecting her to push it away, despite Helpy very happily pointing at pictures and red pen markings of "IT'S ME" and the much newer blueprints/design notes of the Rockstar animatronics on Mike's stage like it's a picture book for toddlers. oddly enough, anything about Helpy's design or programming code seems to be entirely absent. ]
Do you believe in ghosts?
Re: infodump sorry
[A hollow whisper as she skims William's notes. "Discovered" immortality? Sure, mutations that create immortality as a result of how they work are rare, but they definitely existed in the 80s and there were definitely people William could've sought out. Never mind that they were pushed even further into the shadows of society back then, he still could've found a way to understand everything he'd seen without resorting to mass child murder.
While her words are typically harsh and dismissive, her expression and tone make it clear that she knows she's learning about a profound tragedy, not just one guy's stupid mistake.
Some of the blueprints actually make her wince and recoil in her seat. Luring? Storage tank?? And yes, the scooper causes her skin to itch in that familiar way. The horror touches her more deeply than the loss of family, which could probably be expected, but she's also starting to figure out how intimately the two are linked... and when Mike asks his question, Gen looks up with something very rare shuttering her expression: caution.]
I don't really believe in anything, but I can be convinced.
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Mike still isn't sure if he can properly explain his father's madness. immortality when you're a mere human and not a mutant is, apparently, desirable to some. he'll never understand it. certainly not to this extent. but the heavy, packed folder is enough to get the point across, hence bringing it all out in the open in the first place. Gen is the only other person to see that folder. ]
So.
Why do you think I'm showing you all this?
[ it's a little hard to tell what Mike's thinking with the mask covering his face, but his tone is at least a little more somber, a little more serious. ]
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[Goosebumps rise on her skin as she checks all the visible windows with nervous little glances, her heart suddenly beating a bit too fast. This feels like the moment in a horror movie when the spookies suddenly make their first real appearance after sneaking around in shadows for the first act.]
You wanted to tell me before they did?
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You and I both know that if a haunted animatronic drops from the ceiling with a thirst for blood and charges at you in a blinding rage, you'd set it ablaze before it had a chance to screech.
[ and while that might be a point in her favour, that's still not the reason, so Mike gestures towards the folder again. ] Guess again.
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[Quietly, without much actual satisfaction. The night's taken too weird of a turn for satisfaction. She glances over the clippings and notes again but only one other option comes to mind, and she's not that fond of it.]
Best I can figure... you're trying to get rid of me without having to kick me out, and this is meant to convince me that you're as crazy as your dad and I'm not safe here with you. Warmer or colder?
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