Manic cackling swelled throughout the gallery, as keen blue-gray optics rested on the man who had entered the gallery. Since being deemed unsafe and locked away, the panda had not seen Michael. There was confusion wracking his processors. Unbeknown to the animatronic, this was his true creator and not William. But memories were fuzzy. His thoughts were askew. Like he had been programmed for another purpose other than to maim and kill but something had finally snapped last night. Many families had fled the pizzeria. Funtime Freddy was not the only animatronic who had acted…”beyond expectation” that night either. He was hiding behind the nearest wall, peering out to watch the man.
When he heard his voice he echoed back. Ƒ Ƒ｡ - ･:*:･ﾟ★, ❝ Haha, well, hello again!❞ The lights were not very practical for camouflage so he emerges from his hiding spot. Funfred wasted no time in closing the distance between them. ❝Birthday boy~❞ He chimed as he went along, grabbing for Michael instantly. ❝I’ve got a surprise for you! ❞
No Foxy on the stage, but that wasn’t abnormal. To the best of his memory, they hadn’t been there last night, either. Then again, relying on his brain to process– well, just about anything was a crapshoot. He contemplated restarting HandUnit, just to get some guidance, then decided against it. He’d shut it off for a reason, and while his father would almost certainly kill him if he found out Michael had been tampering with the equipment, he was confident in his own ability to undo what he’d done and have it looking right as rain when the morning rolled around and his shift ended. Until then, he could enjoy blissful silence–
Or not. Fuck, the bear. His stomach flipped right up into his throat, and he gagged at the sudden onslaught of nausea. Sweat gathered on his palms, and he struggled to keep a solid grip on his flashlight. Focus, Michael. You knew they were down here. Yes, but not moving! Okay, sure, but what the Hell are we going to do about it now? He inhaled deeply, trying to calm his nerves. He could handle this. After all, they were his designs. He could handle this. Moving with a dexterity fine-tuned by paranoia-fueled trips to the gym, he ducked Freddy’s grab and shot into the nearest vent. “Really?” he called over his shoulder, unable to wiggle around and thus having to awkwardly peek under his armpit at the opening. “Sorry, I’m not big on surprises.”
