Mary.
----------------------------------------
Mary didn’t understand jack shit about robotics.
Which, to be fair, wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t like Candy’s Burgers & Fries offered tech briefings to their night guards. Her job was to keep an eye on the animatronics, stop thives from breaking in, and make sure she didn’t die of boredom—or, you know, die in general.
So as she stood beside Michael Afton, watching some guy in a Fazbear Entertainment blazer give a presentation about the next generation of endoskeleton technology, all she could do was nod along and pretend she understood half of what was being said.
“These new models are built with improved servo mechanisms, allowing for smoother movement and enhanced flexibility,” the presenter was saying, gesturing to a metal frame standing on the platform beside him. Its skeletal limbs twitched occasionally, its featureless head jerking from side to side in a way that was definitely not creepy. “The upgraded AI will allow for more efficient pathfinding, reducing the likelihood of navigational errors!”
Mary glanced at Michael.
And, oh, he was into this.
She’d seen him tired, sarcastic, awkward, and occasionally amused—but this? This was different.
His posture was relaxed, his eyes lit up with genuine excitement, and he was grinning.
Like, actually grinning.
Mary tilted her head.
Huh.
“Alright, Mr. Dean,” she said, nudging him with her elbow. “Explain this to me in English.”
Michael snorted. “It means it won’t trip over chairs as much.”
“Oh, thank God,” Mary said, deadpan. “A true technological marvel.”
Michael chuckled. “It’s better than whatever junk Candy’s uses.”
Unfortunately for Mary, someone heard that.
A Fazbear employee—a guy in his early twenties, wearing a Fazbear Entertainment hat like it was a badge of honor—turned from his post and grinned.
“Hell yeah, man! Fazbears forever!”
He held up his hand.
Michael high-fived him.
Mary groaned.
This was her life now.
As they walked toward the other displays, Mary shoved her hands in her jacket pockets and gave Michael a look.
“So, you know a lot about this stuff,” she said.
Michael shrugged. “Yeah. I guess.”
“Where’d you learn all of it?”
He hesitated, then said, “Studying to be an engineer.”
Mary raised an eyebrow. “Wait. Seriously?”
Michael smirked. “You sound surprised.”
“Because I am,” Mary said. “I mean, you ride a motorcycle, dress like James Dean, and work a dead-end night shift. You do not scream future engineer.”
Michael chuckled. “Well, I am- Hopefully.”
Mary shook her head, still processing. “Alright, so who got you into engineering?”
Michael hesitated again, then said, “My uncle. Henry.”
Mary frowned. “Henry?”
“Yeah. He was—is—one of my dad’s old business partners. He taught me a lot before he moved away.”
“Huh.” Mary considered that. “So, were you ever going to mention that you’re the son of Freddy’s co-owner?”
Michael shot her a look. “He’s not.”
Mary blinked. “Uh. Yeah, he is.”
“No,” Michael said, shaking his head. “He was.”
“Explain.”
Michael sighed. “My dad stepped back from Fazbear Entertainment years ago to start his own company. He still owns stock, but that’s it.”
Mary processed that. “So, what—you’re not secretly loaded?”
Michael rolled his eyes. “My father is rich. I’m not.”
Mary crossed her arms. “Okay, so, what—you never get any of it?”
Michael’s face twitched. “Nope.”
“…Ever?”
“Nope.”
Mary frowned. “You never even asked?”
Michael scoffed. “No point.”
Mary stared at him.
He said it so casually, like it was normal.
Like it was fine.
But something about the way he said it—something about the way his jaw clenched, the way his hands stuffed deeper into his jacket pockets—didn’t sit right with her.
“…You never got anything?” she asked carefully.
Michael hesitated.
Then—
“…Paid for my grandpa’s operation once,” he admitted. “That’s about it.”
Mary’s stomach sank.
She didn’t know much about Michael’s life—didn’t ask much—but she was starting to get the picture.
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A very shitty picture.
Her eyes softened slightly. “That sucks, man.”
Michael huffed a laugh. “Yeah, well.”
Mary decided to drop it.
Instead, she turned toward the next display and gestured dramatically. “Alright, genius. Tell me about this one.”
Michael followed her gaze.
Then he grinned.
“That,” he said, “is a classic.”
The animatronic on display was an old Chuck E. Cheese mode according to the signl.
It was clearly outdated, its fur slightly faded, its eyes looking a little too glossy to be completely normal.
Still, the display boasted its importance as “one of the earliest restaurant animatronics to gain national recognition!”
Mary read the sign and smirked. “You’re geeking out again.”
Michael gave her a flat look. “I am not.”
“You so are.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “Whatever. This thing was huge back in the day.”
Mary raised an eyebrow. “Before Freddy’s?”
“Before Chica’s Party World,” Michael corrected. “That’s what really changed the industry.”
Mary glanced at the sign again. “Guess they couldn’t compete with a bunch of chicken nuggets.”
Michael choked on air. “Jesus Christ, Mary.”
Mary grinned.
Michael shook his head, still laughing. “Okay, I like you.”
Mary’s stomach flipped.
She ignored it.
----------------------------------------
They continued browsing, Michael explaining things in a way that almost made sense to Mary.
She actually liked listening to him talk about it—liked the way he got really into it when he wasn’t trying to play it cool.
And then, as they were passing another Fazbear display, Mary casually asked—
“So, uh… is a glitch that makes animatronics move at night, like… normal?”
Michael stopped walking.
Slowly turned to look at her.
“You too?”
Mary blinked. “Wait. What?”
Michael was staring at her—actual alarm in his expression.
“Your animatronics move?” he asked.
Mary stared back.
“So do yours?”
Neither of them spoke.
Neither of them moved.
For the first time, they really realized—
They weren’t alone in this.
----------------------------------------
Michael.
----------------------------------------
Half an hour after their oh-shit-our-animatronics-are-both-weird moment, Michael and Mary sat across from each other at a cheap plastic table in the convention center’s food court.
The smell of fries, cheap burgers, and over-salted pretzels filled the air, mixing with the low hum of chatter and the occasional screech of a chair being dragged across tile.
Mary had her arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed in thought.
Michael was leaning forward, hands folded on the table, thinking hard.
“So,” he said. “Let’s break this down.”
Mary huffed. “What’s to break down? My animatronics act weird.”
Michael gave her a flat look. “So do mine.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but mine actually have doors to stop them.”
Michael scowled. “You gonna keep rubbing that in?”
“Probably.”
Michael sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Okay. So, ignoring the fact that your job is objectively easier than mine—”
Mary snorted. “Debatable.”
“—we need to figure out why our animatronics are acting weird,” Michael continued, ignoring her.
Mary tapped her fingers on the table. “Alright, genius. Got any actual theories?”
Michael exhaled, thinking. “Alright. From an engineering perspective, one possible explanation is that they don’t have a night mode.”
Mary tilted her head. “Night mode?”
“Yeah,” Michael said. “Basically, when an animatronic doesn’t detect kids during the day, it automatically enters a sort of low-power state at night. But if it doesn’t have a proper night mode, it’ll keep running like it normally does—except, y’know, without an audience.”
Mary frowned. “So… you’re saying they’re just doing their jobs?”
Michael shrugged. “Maybe.”
Mary didn’t look convinced.
“Nope. That doesn’t make sense.”
Michael raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”
“Because if that were true,” Mary said, “then wouldn’t they just be running through their normal routines? Y’know—singing, dancing, walking around? Instead, mine just… stand there. They stare at the cameras. They lurk near my office. That’s not normal.”
Michael hesitated.
She had a point.
Mary crossed her arms. “And another thing—if they were just trying to perform, they wouldn’t keep making a beeline for me. It’s like they know I don’t belong there.”
Michael exhaled. “Okay. Fair.”
Mary smirked. “Told you.”
Michael groaned. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get cocky.”
Mary leaned back in her seat. “Alright. Your turn. What’s Freddy’s deal?”
Michael drummed his fingers against the table. “Well… I do have a mask I can use to trick them. Most of them, at least.”
Mary frowned. “Most?”
Michael sighed. “Foxy’s too smart for it.”
Mary blinked. “Too smart?”
“Yeah,” Michael said. “If he sees me, I die. Mask or no mask.”
Mary stared at him. “Jesus.”
Michael shrugged. “I just have to keep flashing my light at him.”
Mary’s eyes widened. “Wait. That works?”
“Yep. Resets his programing.”
Mary shook her head. “That’s so stupid.”
Michael let out a tired chuckle. “You’re telling me.”
Mary gave him a pitying look. “Man, your job sucks.”
Michael groaned, leaning back in his chair. “Thank you, Mary, I hadn’t noticed.”
Mary snorted.
They sat in silence for a moment, each lost in thought.
Then Mary muttered, “Okay, so… if it’s not just bad programming, then what?”
Michael drummed his fingers on the table.
“I dunno,” he admitted. “But I don’t like it.”
Just as they were about to throw out more theories, Mary's dad arrived, holding a tray stacked with food.
“Alright, kids,” he said, setting the tray down. “Eat.”
Michael blinked as Tom slid a burger and fries toward him. “Uh. Thanks?”
“Don’t mention it,” Tom said. “Figured you two would forget to eat, what with all that very intense conversation going on.”
Michael and Mary glanced at each other.
Then, at the exact same time, they both said, “Work.”
Tom raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “Relax, Dad. It’s fine.”
Tom sat down, taking a bite of his burger. “Alright. So what’s the work talk about?”
Mary hesitated. “Uh—”
“Animatronics,” Michael said simply, grabbing a fry.
Tom nodded slowly. “Mm-hm.”
Michael shrugged. “We were just comparing notes. Y’know, seeing if our jobs are equally terrible.”
Tom smirked. “And?”
Mary grinned. “His is worse.”
Michael groaned.
Tom chuckled. “Well, that’s a relief.”
Michael exhaled. “Look, we were just trying to figure out why our animatronics have been acting… off.”
Tom hummed thoughtfully. “Huh.”
Michael raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Tom shrugged. “Well, if I had to guess, I’d say sabotage.”
Michael and Mary both paused.
“…What?” Mary asked.
Tom leaned back in his chair. “It’s not unheard of. A few years ago, there was a case of some jackass reprogramming animatronics at a rival restaurant to mess with their system.”
Michael frowned. “Why?”
“To make their restaurant seem safer,” Tom said simply. “If your competition has tech problems, parents start taking their kids elsewhere.”
Mary stared.
Michael blinked.
“…Huh.”
Mary narrowed her eyes. “Wait. So you’re saying that someone could be screwing with our animatronics on purpose?”
Tom shrugged. “Could be.”
Michael tapped his fingers against the table. “But who would even do that? Freddy’s and Candy’s are already the biggest names in the industry.”
Mary crossed her arms. “Yeah. It’s not like we have any rivals.”
Michael thought for a moment.
Then his brain caught up.
Wait.
What if…
Michael exhaled. “Okay. Crazy thought, but—”
Mary frowned. “But what?”
Michael hesitated.
Then—
“…Did we do it to each other?”
Mary blinked. “Wait. What?”
Michael leaned forward. “Think about it. What if someone from Freddy’s messed with Candy’s? And what if someone from Candy’s messed with Freddy’s?”
Mary stared.
“…No way,” she said.
Michael shrugged. “It makes sense.”
Mary shook her head. “No. That’s insane.”
Michael raised an eyebrow. “Is it?”
Mary hesitated.
Tom took a sip of his drink. “Well. That’s a fun theory.”
Mary groaned. “Dad, please.”
Tom smirked. “What? It’s interesting.”
Mary shot Michael a look. “Great. Now you’ve got my dad on board with your conspiracy theory.”
Michael grinned. “What? It's just a theory.”
Mary groaned again.
Tom chuckled. “Look, I’m just saying—it wouldn’t be the first time companies tried to sabotage each other.”
Michael exhaled. “Yeah, but still.”
Tom leaned back. “Well. Whatever the case, something is wrong with both of your places.”
Michael and Mary exchanged a look.
That much, at least, they already knew.
----------------------------------------
After finishing their food, Tom wandered off to look at the self-driving car exhibit, leaving Michael and Mary alone again.
Mary leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples. “I really hope your theory is wrong.”
Michael shrugged. “Same.”
Mary sighed. “Ugh. I don’t like this.”
Michael smirked. “Welcome to my life.”
Mary snorted.
Michael exhaled, stretching. “Guess we’ll just have to see what happens.”
Mary groaned. “God, that’s the worst answer.”
Michael grinned. “I know.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “I hate you.”
Michael chuckled. “No, you don’t.”
Mary scowled.
Michael just smirked.
Mary groaned. “Ugh. I really hope this isn’t sabotage.”
Michael leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand. “Yeah. ‘Cause if it is…”
He glanced at Mary.
“…Then whoever did it really screwed up.”
Mary’s expression darkened slightly. “Yeah.”
That was an understatement.