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Michael sits in the dingy office he and Henry had overseen the construction of, ready to fend off the animatronics yet again. He can especially sense Lefty (the Charlie he loves so dearly) nearby. He can only hope she doesn’t choose to attack, he’d rather not have to experience that emotional turmoil again.
Helpy suddenly turns to him with a big grin and makes a little squeaking sound.
Michael chuckles quietly, his voice raspy and artificial. Ennard had destroyed his vocal chords, and what little remained of them had slowly rotted away with time. Now he uses a voice box, just like the animatronics around him. Slowly replacing his body with more and more mechanical parts as it broke down around him. It’s sheer agony.
Michael takes off his mask and gives Helpy his best approximation of a smile. He’ll forever be grateful that the small animatronic doesn’t have the capacity to fear his rotten visage. Thankfully, this charade won’t last too much longer. Tonight is the night it all goes down in flames, just as every other remnant of Fazbear Entertainment and William’s legacy had. Tonight it will finally come to an end.
Before he goes, he has something he wishes to discuss, “We’ve been working together for some time now, haven’t we Helpy?”
Helpy makes another squeak.
“I’m curious, why did you decide to stay?”
A firm squeak, likely to reaffirm his commitment to helping Michael, just as Henry had designed him.
Michael glances at the damned computer he has to fiddle with every night, one of his tasks ticking away as he continues, “For me I think it’s something I want to do for my love.”
A slightly wary and curious squeak.
Michael’s eyes lose their focus as he remembers the tragedies of the past, “I lost her to a murderer decades ago. I wasn’t even there to stop it.”
A more sympathetic squeak, likely trying to reassure Michael. He doesn’t hear it.
“Time moved on. The world still revolves. And I’m stuck at the same dinner table looking at an empty chair.”
Black tears gather at the corners of Michael’s eyes, threatening to spill over, “And I see her there. And she’s always smiling, my reflection in her eyes.”
A slightly more distressed squeak, not wanting Michael to cry.
Michael is completely swallowed in the depths of his memories now, not even noticing the approaching threats as he continues, “And she looks at me, burnt sage in my eyes.”
A stuttering, panicked squeak as Helpy sees Lefty and Scrap Baby enter from opposite vents.
Michael doesn’t heed the warning, “I look at the stars unchanged, where the vines won’t grow and the dust can’t collect, and I know everyone everywhere is looking at the same light whether they realize it or not, and if I were gone and she were here she’d be thinking the same thing.”
Michael turns to Helpy, tears rapidly falling as fires of guilt, regret, grief, and loss burn in his eyes, “So I want to know; when you look at stars or books on a bookshelf do you feel everyone else gazing back? Or have you just not noticed yet?”
Small streams of oil spill from Helpy’s eyes as he gives another squeak, completely caught up in Michael’s pain. He isn’t the only one, as Elizabeth and Charlie’s animatronic bodies cling to each other as they shed their own tears. They know Michael’s pain, at least somewhat. Had “lived” it as their lives were stolen far too soon.
As Michael turns to face them, Henry’s voice plays over the intercom, “I’m sorry to interrupt, Michael, but it is time we put that pain of yours, of ours, to rest.”
The fire spark and begins to spread as Henry delivers his speech, detailing exactly why this is happening. And William, sitting in one of the office vents and shedding a rare few tears of his own after his son’s speech, does not resist. It truly is time he let the dead rest.