Questionable... [FNaF 1 x Reader] - UNDERGOING HEAVY EDITING

Chapter 4 - Secular Progression

He never did anything with his paychecks, though. If he wanted to, he could easily put in a downpayment for a house, but felt it was unnecessary. Although the idea of actually having somewhere to go for those seven hours was appealing at times, the pizzeria is where he preferred to be. But having somewhere to charge his phone overnight also would've been nice.

Clearing his head, the blonde slumped against the seat and hung his head, knees parting further and stilling his body. To anyone who might have seen him, he appeared to simply fall asleep—but what he was doing was leaving to check up on you one last time.

His consciousness filed through the city before stopping at your apartment. You were sprawled out on your bed, a plush duvet haphazardly thrown atop of yourself and mouth slightly agape. You even slept annoyingly. Even so, you were asleep—peacefully, at that—and that was good. He decided to ignore the device around your ankle keeping you chained to the bedpost. There were no further signs of oncoming possession or other forms of corruption present, and you truly didn't look like you were waking up anytime soon. You were fine for now.

Comfortable enough with your state of being to leave you unsupervised, Golde called his mind back to where he sat on the train, checking his watch once he was reconnected. He stood up for the next stop to head back to the pizzeria. There was much to do in preparing the animatronics for your first night.

Waking up was never an enjoyable experience and today was no exception. Your throat was sore, you had a major headache, there was a crick in your neck, and felt like vomiting. It reminded you of life after graduating college. You shuddered at the memories.

Sitting up with a groan, you squinted and stared at the wall, waiting for your body to realize that it wasn't asleep anymore. It was just past ten in the morning, far later than your preferred wake-up time—but you couldn't be bothered to care about it. That cycle was beyond repair. Begrudgingly, you forced yourself out of bed, your large cotton shirt slipping off your shoulder and mascara smudged on your bottom eyelids. You took about twice as long to complete your morning routine than you usually did, each movement you made being weighed down by the thudding ache in your skull. Ella manifested her disapproval of this by practically dragging you during her walk.

Your mind kept drifting back to Freddy's throughout the day. Namely about how you had yet to see the animatronics, but also about the strange sense of comfort that the building provided. That part left you stumped. It would make sense that the franchise responsible for the deaths of several would make one extremely paranoid—as you had had expected it to—but making you feel safe? It was almost insulting. Especially when you knew every little dirty secret of the origins that the current company could only dream of discovering.

You needed to investigate. It didn't matter how much you disdained the idea of it, you had to go back there.

A near hour later, you settled on taking a bus to the restaurant, figuring that if you started falling into an episode while in the city, people of public transit wouldn't so much as look at you. New York crackheads were like an exotic breed.

Soon enough, you were walking up to the building from the bus station you were dropped off at. It was just past noon, so business was beginning to pick up. Upon entering, the expected clarity washed over you. As much as you loved the feeling, it began to roll over with a new sense of confusion and frustration—because why does this keep happening? In no scenario should being in the restaurant infamous for its incredibly morbid history make you feel all warm and fuzzy. This wasn't grandma's house, this was the gravesite for five children in the '80s.