Archive of Our Own

Stanley Pines stood at a gas station about 20 miles from the Utah-Arizona border. He leaned against his newly stolen car, smoking the final cigarette in his pack, and considered his options. 

The past few days had been quite chaotic, he had to admit. Within the span of 48 hours, mobs had surrounded his motel, angry hackers had broken into his bank account, and he’d had to make a rushed raid on some local's garage to get a vehicle to get himself out of there. 

Using the last of his money, he’d bought some fuel for his new car — a red convertible sedan — and had driven himself towards the nearest state border. It had only been after he’d reached safely across to the Utah side that he’d parked, shoplifted a copy of a national newspaper, and read what he had already very well suspected: Stansis Prune, banned from Arizona. 

Wonderful. That made it, what, 9 states he was banned from? He was working up quite the resume. 

Stan blew out a smoke-laced breath, and stuck a hand into his pockets, fishing for his wallet. He could almost feel how empty it was.

Thanks to those angry hackers, he’d gone completely bankrupt. It wasn’t a new experience — this was his third time — but it did make things a tad bit more complicated. 

He rifled through his wallet. There was his card (now completely useless), some old photos (as usual, he made an effort not to look at those), some stray coins (added together, not even 5 bucks), and zero cash. 

He was going to need money, and fast. His car had run through almost half of its fuel, and he certainly didn’t have enough money to refill. Groceries could be shoplifted, of course, but unless he had an easy escape route planned, he’d be toast. And he really wasn’t interested in getting arrested on his first days in a new state. 

Stan glanced around him, and was greeted with an unending expanse of desert landscape. The only thing that he saw that wasn’t vast emptiness was the sign. It stuck up, almost defiantly, from the barren ground, proclaiming: Hurricane, Utah, 10 miles.

Hurricane seemed to be the closest town around here. His car could drive another 10 miles. Probably. It seemed to be his best option right now. 

Stan took the cigarette out of his mouth, snuffed it out and shoved it in his pocket. Hurricane it was. 

***

About 30 minutes later, Stan had just parked his car at a new parking lot and was walking into some animatronic kiddie restaurant called Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria. Looking around, he could see the place was just as the name suggested — damn near packed with kids.  They were everywhere, swarming around tables, crowding at the arcade booths, running around, stepping over his feet. It wasn’t the kind of establishment Stan would frequent (outside of trying to scam them, Stan didn’t really understand kids) but after sitting in a car with a busted cooling system for the entire day, Stan would take any place with decent air conditioning.  

Stan wandered around a little, trying to pretend that he had something to do. He casually walked up to the main stage, where the namesake of the restaurant, Freddy Fazbear, and some other adorably hideous mascots were performing. One of the mascots, some sort of chicken girl holding a cupcake, looked straight at him and exclaimed: “Are you ready for pizza?”

Stan took a few steps back. Oh wow, that was creepy, even for his standards. But the kids around him didn’t seem to agree. They squealed in delight at the question, and continued to sing and dance as the performance continued.

He really didn't understand kids. Did they actually enjoy this stuff? What sort of hypnosis had this place put them under if they were dancing along to the stuff of nightmares?

Looking around, he realised it wasn’t just the robo-concert that was all the rage. Kids and families were crowded around tables, at the playpens. Kids were practically climbing over each other to get to the arcade. 

Wow. This was something he could respect. Whoever runs this place had to have made a deal with the Devil. Also, they must be jacked as hell.   

He snapped himself out of his marvelling. Admiring other people’s business strategies was all very well, but he’d be in serious trouble if he didn’t find one for himself. He better make his move, and fast; as soon as the staff realised that Stan wasn’t here to buy anything, he’d be booted. 

He looked around, and spotted a woman, sitting alone at a table on the far back, sipping something out of a cup. She seemed pretty comfortable, occasionally exchanging a word with a passing waiter — probably a local, then. 

Stan started walking towards her, puffing himself up with each step. In Stan’s experience, the only people who were more confusing than kids were women, but he was sure that he could get what he wanted if he went about this the right way. 

“Well, miss, that tea of yours seems quite cold, don’t ya’ think? How about we warm it up with some action?” Stan drew out a chair with flourish, seated himself, and threw out his hands with gusto. 

The woman gaped at him. She looked at him, then at her cup, and then back at him again. 

Stan waited. How would she react to it, what would she say? She opened her mouth, oh, Stan could just die from the suspense, and — 

“...I’m drinking coffee.”

Stan stared at her. “What do you mean?” he demanded. ”I go through all that effort of trying to bring a smile to your face, and that’s all you can say? Come on, don’t nitpick. Let’s look at the big picture here.”

The woman continued to stare at him. Stan had to admit, if he was in her place, and some random guy had come up to him cracking subpar jokes, he would have bolted in the opposite direction as fast as possible. But, then again, the minds of women worked in mysterious ways. Her mouth pricked upwards. “That landing was awful.”

“Okay, maybe.”

“The joke doesn’t even make that much sense.”

“Hey, at least I tried. The effort has to mean something, right?”

 The woman chuckled. There we go! “I’m Beatrice. And you are…?”

“Uhhhhh—” he hadn’t thought this far. “Uh, Stanleo Pinedo.”

“Do they call you Stan?” Beatrice asked. 

Oh, great. “Uhh, well, s-sure,” he said. Real smart response there, Stan. He’d need a save, quickly. “You can call me that, miss. If you let me call you Bea.”

Not his best work, but she still laughed. Always a good sign when they laugh. 

“Why not?” Bea responded. And then, “Are you new in town? Haven’t seen you around here before.”

Lovely! He didn't even have to go through the effort of thinking up some half-assed transition! “Oh, yeah. You know, been here and there, seen places, haven’t had the chance to stop by. You know, I’ve been meaning to ask. Who’s the most disgraced swindler this town has to offer? A guy who used to work in tech, maybe? Asking so that I could avoid ‘em, of course. If I ever met them. Theoretically speaking. You know.”

Bea grimaced. “Oh, you’re thinking of old Daniel. He runs the old car repair shop on the corner, but really, he sells junk. All the cars he repairs are worse off than when they came in. Best avoid him, he’s useless.”

Stan suppressed his smile. We’ll see about that. “Ahh, gotcha. Thanks, uh, for the memo. I’ll make sure to not run into him. Which is the reason I asked you about him in the first place.”

Bea smiled. “You’re a funny man, Stan.”

“Ah, so I’ve been told.” Stan made a move to get out of his chair. “Well, ma’am — uh, Bea — lovely seeing you around here, but I’d love if I could get going now—”

Bea caught his hand when he was half way up. “We should meet up for drinks some time.”

Stan looked around, a little frantic. Her hand felt tight against his arm. “Well, I, uh…see, I’m going to be really busy, but…”

Bea smiled, this time with her teeth showing. “I’m sure we will have a tea-riffic time together.”

He…couldn’t find a way to argue with that. Stan forced a smile. “Of…Of course. Whenever you’re free.”

Stan Pines walked out of Hurricane’s Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria with the next step to his plan…and, it seemed, a date. He’d done what he’d had to do to get the information of Bea, but…

Oh, well, he’d cross that bridge when the time came. For now, though, he had a lead — and a job to do.

***

Daniel’s old car repair wasn’t actually that hard to find, despite its small size. It was so much more run down than the rest of the town, it had to have belonged to some down-on-his-luck fraud. 

Stan knocked on the door. He wasn’t usually for good manners (waste of time, really), but he supposed it would help start them off on the right foot. There was a gruff “the door’s unlocked!”  from the other side. Stan walked in. 

Inside was a room which he presumed had been some sort of an office space in its previous life. The walls, which must have been concrete grey once, were now a dark sewage green. Wooden shelves still lined the walls, except that they were eaten by rot and covered with cobwebs. There were two open doorways on either side of the room, both leading into dark, dingy looking corridors. The desk at the far side of the room seemed to be the only part of the room which was fairly new, though nuts and bolts were sticking out here and there. 

The man that sat at the desk had a brown stubble, mean eyes and a dark scowl. He glared at Stan as he took in the room. “Who are you and the hell do you want?”

Stan walked up to him with a flourish, ignoring the angry eyes trained on him. “You must be Daniel. I’m Stanleo Pinedo. I wanted to see if we could do business.”

The man — Daniel — narrowed his eyes. “Business? You have a car for me to repair?”

Stan smiled. “Oh, no, no, no. I'm here to give you the opportunity of a lifetime.”

Daniel was watching Stan with narrowed eyes. But even so, Stan could sense a prick of curiosity wriggling underneath the surface. “...What d’you mean?” 

Stan waved his hands. “See, I used to be a successful businessman. I had it all, you know — money, fame, days off whenever I wanted. But then, uh…things went south for me. Jealous assholes, the usual. I was completely in the clear where the law was concerned, but I still had to run before things got rusty for me. Now, I’m looking for a place to start over, put down roots, set up another business — this time, without low-lifes who’d take advantage of me at the drop of a hat. I thought you could help me with that.”

Daniel considered this, but he clearly still wasn’t convinced. “And…why me? Most people in this town would gladly chase me out for a couple of pennies.”

That’s because no one else would be desperate enough to work with me. 

“That’s because the outcasts are usually the brightest ones,” Stan said. “I’ve been there. They can’t handle our genius, so they drive us out.”

That hit the right spot. Daniel started to nod. “Oh, you have no idea. These townspeople think they’re so smart, but really, they’re all worse than me! Oh, Mr. Daniel, please fix our car. Here, I’ll give you less than minimum wage to do it. Then, after I complete it, do the work that they could never do, they’re all Oh, Mr. Daniel, you did it all wrong. My car broke down half a mile after I took it out of your shop. You're such a fraud! Well, at least it lasted half a mile! Half a mile is better than dead and broken in the dumpster, now, isn't it? I swear to God, the day I get these people—”

Oh, he was really getting into it, now. Stan had seen people get winded up like this before. He’d have to nip this in the bud, soon, or else he’d have to listen to Daniel hiss and sputter till sundown. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay,” he said, patting Daniel on the back. “When we get big, I promise you can show these townspeople how wrong they were. Now, how about we get planning?”

Daniel took a few minutes to calm down, and then drew out a chair for Stan to sit on. The chair was in way worse condition than the desk (and Daniel’s chair, too, for that matter), but he decided to not mention that. 

Daniel pulled out a yellowing piece of paper, and a scrappy pencil which seemed to have bite marks on it. “So, what’s your plan? I understand starting small. If I can see it, I might be able to give you some pointers. 

Daniel looked expectantly at Stan, as if was waiting for him to magically pull something out. “Uhh…What now?”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Well, don’t you have a prototype? Or a blueprint, at least?” 

Stan stared at him. “...uh, no? Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be developing right now?”

“What, do you expect me to come up with a whole new design from scratch?”

Well…Yes?

Best not say that. 

Still, Daniel must have seen it on Stan’s face. He threw out his arms. “See, I work best when I already have a model to replicate. Working step-by-step off a model is easy enough. Coming up with my own stuff is hard.”

Stan suddenly remembered the kind of guy he was working with here.

“D’you need a step-by-step blueprint to fix a car?” Stan asked him. 

“Yeah? I have a few basic manuals on hand, and for more unique stuff, I always get the owners to find ‘em for me.”

Stan took in a deep breath. 

Daniel narrowed his eyes. “You got a problem with that?”

“Oh. no, no! Hah, of course not. See, it's just…well, you know what, okay. I don’t have anything on me right now. Will you give me some time to get something for you?”

“Don’t take too long, yeah?”

“Uh, sure.”

Stan walked out of the rundown building, his head spinning. Oh, this was great. What sort of mechanic had to have a step-by-step guide to do their job? No wonder nobody liked this guy. 

Stan even had a fleeting thought about ditching the guy and trying to find someone else but…nah. Stan knew guys like that. After all the appealing-to-ego Stan had done to get the guy on board, things could get ugly if he backed out now. 

Okay. He needed to get a plan for Daniel to replicate. Stan had absolutely zero engineering skills (or he wouldn’t have to turn to people like Daniel), so he needed to find something different. 

He needed something. Something that could make him big. Something that could make him money. What was a product that could get him instant sales?

Somehow, from the not-so-distant past, Stan heard an echo. “... they must be jacked as hell…”

Oh. 

The idea had been right in front of his nose all this time. 

Stan barged back into the building to a very startled Daniel. “Hey, so… you have any overalls I could borrow?”

***

That night, Stan stood at the front of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria, flashlight in hand, covered head-to-toe in black. Daniel, after getting over his momentary surprise, had managed to afford Stan an old black work overall, which is what he stood in right now. Looking down, the overalls were a little too big for him, but they’d do the job just fine. The flashlight was also courtesy of Daniel. Along with this, he was also wearing his black beanie, his black work shoes, and a good amount of black duct tape to cover his face (...Hey, when times were tough and materials were scarce, he had to make do with what he had on hand). 

After a little begging, Stan had even managed to get Daniel to give him his rugged, run-down black pickup truck, which now stood parked just behind him. Daniel had been muttering and grumbling, but he was going to keep his mouth shut forever after he saw the kind of haul that Stan would tow in.  

Really, it was the perfect idea. Those kids in the restaurant had been going crazy over those weird animatronics. His business plans practically wrote themselves. 

All he needed was to get his hands on one of them. 

Stan walked over to the back door, shining his light onto it. 

Huh. That’s strange. The only thing preventing him from walking straight in was a single lock on the door. In his experience, establishments like this were usually much more heavily protected — especially their back doors, known weak points for breaking-and-entering. 

…Wait, why the hell was he complaining? This was in his favour. 

A few seconds, and the door gave way. For Stan, locked doors were easy enough to bypass. The door opened into a long hallway. 

Stan turned off his light, now relying on the faint light that crept in through the small window on the door. 

In one corner of the hallway Stan saw a security camera. Stan waved at it. With how dark it was, and all the protection he was wearing, Stan almost invited law enforcement to try and find out his identity. 

The hallway widened out into the main hall, but Stan continued walking. His footsteps thudded in the silent darkness. What time was it now? Last time he’d checked, it had been about 10 minutes before 12. Right now, then, it must be a few minutes after midnight. 

He wandered around casually, but still cautious. There had to be some sort of nighttime security, right? 

He was coming up towards a room, and he peaked into it. Inside was a small space with children’s drawings plastered on the wall, a bunch of  flickering monitors propped up on the desk, and a man. He wore a purple uniform, which, despite the odd colour, looked like a security guard’s. His head was slumped against the desk between his arms. He was snoring peacefully. 

Oh. There was the nighttime security.

Stan turned away, feeling much more confident. 

This is going to be much easier than I expected. 

Stan walked back to the main hall, but this time halted. He glanced up at the main stage. The curtains were drawn, but Stan was sure that the mascots he’d seen earlier today would still be there. All he had to do was go up and get one of them. 

He took a step toward the stage. 

Just then, he heard the whirring and clicking of machinery directly behind him. 

Stan froze. He slowly turned…

…And came face-to-face with one of the mascots. 

It wasn’t a mascot he’d seen before. He couldn’t clearly make it out in the darkness, but in the dim light that crept in from one of the windows, its fur looked scarlet. Its silhouette was thin, thinner than the other robots had been. Its face looked sharp and angular. A…dog? Wolf?

Its glowing eyes stared into him. It took a step towards him. 

Oh, shit. Stan blindly patted down his pockets, his gaze still pinned by the animatronic’s. He had no weapons on him. The only thing he had that wasn’t his clothes was…

Stan brandished his flashlight. “Oh, you better not, you little fucker,” he said through gritted teeth. “Let there be light!”

He shone the light straight at the creature, and its whole body lit up with colour (Oh, it wasn’t a wolf — it was a fox…close enough). 

This was a stupid idea. How would light fight off a robot? If anything, it would just make him easier to spot. But he was desperate. 

The lights in the creature’s eyes started to flicker. Stan heard crackling from the fox’s body, which started to rattle and twitch. 

Stan didn’t hesitate. As the robot stood dazed in the spotlight, Stan hefted his flashlight (which was of a healthy size), and brought it smack down onto the mascot’s face. 

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Sizzling sparks flew off the creature’s frame. Stan planted one final kick to the animatronic’s legs and sent it down. 

Clang!

Stan stared at the robot, laying on the floor below him. 

Shit. There was no way the sleeping guard hadn’t woken up. Even the most unattentive person couldn’t have possibly been able to ignore this raucous. 

Stan glanced behind him. The exit wasn’t that far. 

But this robot…

Well. Wasn’t this the exact reason why he was here?

He walked over to the front of the mascot, hooked his arms underneath the creature’s armpits, and pulled. 

Lugging the robot across the restaurant floor was…agonizing, honestly. The robot weighed a ton, and Stan wasn’t the most in-shape man in town. For the first few moments, there was a dull apprehension in his chest as he waited for the guard to show up. But one minute passed, then two, then five. Stan was already near the back door, but there was still no hide or hair of the guard.  

That guy could probably sleep through Armageddon. 

After fifteen minutes of gruelling work, Stan hauled the creature into the back of the pickup truck. He felt hot and sweaty, despite the cool weather, but the feeling of triumph inside him tempered his discomfort. 

He did it. He had it. 

Now it was time for Daniel to keep up with his end of the bargain. 

***

Back at the repair store, Daniel inspected Stan’s loot. “This prototype is…quite detailed,” he said, examining the machinery inside the animatronic’s head. “Though, I have to admit, it looks beaten up. If it was in better condition, it could’ve just been the final product, you know.”

“Uh…Yeah…” Stan scratched the back of his head, uncomfortable. 

Stan hadn’t told Daniel about the little…expedition he’d taken. In fact, he’d spent almost an hour hacking off the robot’s costume, because he was sure that even a guy like Daniel would recognise a mascot of a famous local establishment. 

“...Well, y’know…it all worked out for the better, am I right?” Stan said. “After all, now I have you on my team. With your tech skills on the table, I’m sure whatever we come up with together will be ten times better than anything I ever could.”

“Hmph.” Daniel accepted it. “Well, you’ve just done me a favour, bringin’ me something like this.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wrench. “I’ll see what I can do for you.”

“Oh…right…good.” Stan watched as Daniel started unscrewing different parts of it. “Uhhh…you have a spare bed I could crash on…?”

But Daniel suddenly seemed to have forgotten Stan was here. He supposed that meant he didn’t have a bed to spare. And that Stan was dismissed. 

***

It took almost a month and a half for Daniel to figure out the animatronic and build his model. Stan was no expert with machinery, but it did look…too similar to the fox for his liking. 

“Hey, Daniel,” Stan called to him on one of the days they were finishing up the project. “Are we going to put a costume on that thing?” He gestured at the almost finished robot, which had its wires and whatnots still sticking out. “Doubt anyone’s going to pay big buck to have their kids see something like that.”

“Sure we can,” Daniel said. He didn’t look up from his work. 

One problem with working with this guy: whenever he got into work, it was like no one else existed. “So, uh, you want me to…go get a prototype for that too?”

“Hmm…” Daniel paused for a second. “Nah. I can do that myself.”

“Wait, really?” Surprise and something akin to relief filled Stan’s chest.  

Daniel looked up, his forehead crinkling into a frown. It looked quite menacing. “What, you think I can’t handle something that simple?”

“No! I mean, no, of course you can handle it, of course.”

Daniel let out a grumble. “I can manage. There’s a guy I know who makes costumes. Talk to him the right way and he’ll lend us one.”

“Oh,” Stan said. “Err, well, I suppose I can come with you—”

“It’d be easier if you stayed off my back.”

Promptly banished from the workroom, Stan plopped down on a worn couch which looked like it had survived a tornado. 

Oh, things were so boring these days. He was tired of sleeping in his stolen car, trying to wheedle a meal out of Daniel every day (he promised that once they’d made it big, Stan would repay any costs Daniel had incurred keeping him fed). 

Stan absentmindedly reached for the newspaper lying on the desk. Might as well read something to pass the time.

The headline on the frontpage read: “BELOVED MASCOT STOLEN FROM LOCAL DINER.”

Oh, joy. 

Stan read: 

Police are still investigating the theft that took place at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria, famous local family diner. Foxy (creative name, Stan thought), the pirate fox animatronic and one of the core four animatronic mascots of the diner, was stolen from the premises a month and a half ago. Security footage taken by cameras on the site shows an individual breaking and entering a few minutes after midnight. Tapes show this person incapacitating the animatronic by hitting it with a currently unidentified object, and then carrying it away from the restaurant. The identity of this intruder is currently still unknown, as the attire worn by the individual hides any recognisable features.  

Amidst investigations, there have been calls for reforms that have come up from the general public. Though the night guard on duty on the night of the theft has been reportedly fired (okay, considering how damn easy the whole thing was for Stan, the guy kind of had it coming), the incident has led to some people calling for stricter hiring requirements for night watchmen. 

Alongside this, the company’s decision to let animatronic wander at night has also been put under fire. Fazbear has long stated that it keeps its mascots on free roaming mode to prevent their servos from locking. Though this keeps the animatronics in working order, it reduces the amount of security the restaurant can give its mascots. Many people are urging Fazbear, who have already come under fire for poor hygiene and other business malpractices, to take this incident as a chance to improve their policies …

At that point, Stan started skim-reading. The rest of the article talked about some engineer talking about the mechanics of these servos, Fazbear representatives informing the public about changes leading up from these developments, and child patrons hoping that Foxy the Pirate would be coming back soon. 

Oh, good luck trying to find that fox. After Daniel had gotten enough of the schematics down to not need the original anymore, Stan had buried the thing in the middle of nowhere. Considering it had also been the middle of the night, and the fact that Stan wasn’t much familiar with these parts, even he didn’t know exactly where the animatronic was now. 

Stan looked down at the paper again, this time at all the people mourning the theft — how intimately people felt the loss of this fox, how children and parents both hoped to see him returned safe from harm. 

Well. If these townspeople loved canine animatronics so much, he’d give them one.

***

Stan stood at the parking lot of a local restaurant (not Freddy’s. Best not risk that). Beside him were three things: a large speaker, a black top hat on top of the speaker, and a tall, tarp covered object. Daniel was crouched next to it, his hands underneath the tarp, finishing off the final touches. 

“Are we ready?” Stan asked him.

“Hmmm….Yes.” Daniel stood up, and wiped a hand over his brows. “Show’s off to you.”

“Well, then, let's get this party started.”  From his pocket, Stan pulled out a microphone. He turned it on. 

“Fellow people of Hurricane!” he yelled with colour. The speaker beside him blared to life

Some people in the parking lot, who were just arriving or were just about to leave, turned to look at him. 

“I’m Stanleo Pinedo, and I’m here to present to you the newest contender to the entertainment roster.”

The people he’d attracted didn’t look away. Good. He had their attention. 

“It’s true that this town is well-stocked with talented people to bring joy and excitement into our lives,” Stan said. “But really, the more variety we have to choose, the merrier we’ll be, right?”

He paused for dramatic effect. “Well, I’ve decided to bring you all another meal for the potluck.”

Stan reached for the tarp, and pulled it off. 

Underneath the tarp was an animatronic dog. Its costume was made of brown-gray fur (it had been mostly brown when the costume came in — Stan had spent that weekend hauled over a soapy water bucket and sponge, scrubbing it clean). Over its neck was a necklace-like collar with a bone as a pendant.

“Everyone, say hello to Sparky!”

Right on cue, the animatronic dog raised its hand, and waved. 

Stan glanced to the side, where Daniel stood, holding a small remote. He was grinning from ear to ear.

At that point, many people, especially those with children, came to give it a closer look. One girl stared up at the animatronic in awe. “It’s just like Freddy’s,” she whispered. 

Stan laughed. “Hey, Fazbear isn’t the only one allowed to play with robots, kid. We’re here to put our own, different spin on things.”

Stan reached out and took the tophat, and set it upside down on the ground. “Unfortunately, for now, we don’t have enough money to open up a restaurant for you folks. But, with your help, we’ll be able to bring our boy Sparky to the big stage!”

Nobody moved. 

“Uhh…I mean to say…any donations would be helpful.”

***

They finished up their presentation near the evening. 

“Holy cow,” Stan said, counting up the money from the tophat. “This is much more than I expected. This’ll last me a good long time.”

“You mean…us?”

Daniel crept up behind him. 

Oh. right. “I mean — yeah! Us! It’ll last us a long time! That’s what I meant.”

Daniel looked at Stan with narrowed eyes. “You didn’t mention my name.”

“What?”

“When we were presenting Sparky. You didn’t tell them that I was the one who made him.”

“Now, now,’ Stan said. ”I didn’t mention myself that much too, now, did I? For the presentation, I had to let Sparky stand on his own two feet — not his creators’. I’ll let them know who you are after our restaurant opens.”

Daniel considered. Then, he nodded. “And when am I gettin’ paid?” 

“Excuse me?”

“My money. You commissioned Sparky. I made him. You gotta pay.”

Oh. Shit. “Uhh…I’ll do that too. After the restaurant opens.”

Daniel considered this again. Then, he shrugged “As long as I get my fair cut.”

“Uh-huh.” Stan looked away. “Hey, could you take Sparky back to your house? I, uh, need some time to think.”

Stan wondered whether Daniel would take it, after the close call they’d just had. 

Daniel did, thank God. “I’ll take my boy home.” 

Stan watched him haul Sparky and the speaker back to the pickup truck. “Can I take the hat?” Daniel asked him.

Stan still held the black tophat. It was still filled with cash and coins. “Nah,” Stan said. “You’ve already got enough on your hands.” 

Daniel still eyed the hat for a second. “Alright.”

Daniel loaded himself into the pickup truck and sped off. 

Stan walked away from the parking lot, money still in hand. 

Daniel was getting…quite frisky, lately. He spent more time grumbling about payment, or how Stan had promised to make him big. 

He was getting more and more agitated, and Stan really didn’t like his chances against the guy. In both height and strength, Daniel outpaced Stan by a long shot. 

Lost in his own thoughts, Stan didn’t notice when he walked straight into someone. 

“Who—” Stan started. Then he froze. 

Oh God. It was her. 

“Stan!” Bea said, her annoyed expression immediately turning into a smile. “Oh, it’s been so long!”

She took his hand. Part of him wanted to pull away, but that probably wasn’t the most chivalrous thing to do. 

“Uhhh, yeah,” Stan said, staring at their interlocked hands like they were going to explode. “Its, uh…been a while.”

“We never did meet up for drinks,” Bea said. She sounded genuinely mournful.  

“Yeah, sorry about that. I told ya, I’ve been…quite busy.”

“I can see that,” she said, her gaze turning admiring. “That robot looked wonderful! And the money you’ve made!” She eyed the black tophat, and though there wasn’t any envy on her face, Stan subtly pulled it closer to himself. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come closer to say hello — wouldn’t want to ruin your image.” She winked. 

Stan scratched his head. “Heh. Yeah.”

“Are you free?” Bea asked him. “We could make up for those drinks…?”

Stan…was free. He’d have to start making plans for Sparky’s future, but for that, he’d have to go talk to Daniel…who he was not interested in seeing just yet. Besides that, Stan had nowhere to be and nothing to do. 

He’d run out of any possible excuse. Stan cleared his throat. “I…yeah. I’m free.”

Bea smiled. 

Taking a deep breath, Stan forced one on his own face too. 

***

If only someone’d told Stan about the kind of hassle opening a restaurant would take. 

The weeks leading up to the opening had seen Stan running around on one errand or another — sticking up flyers, going to local news outlets and getting them to put up adverts, and of course, getting permits. So many damn permits (Stan wasn’t big on legalities, but it wouldn't do to have his restaurant shut down on its very first day). 

So what a relief it finally was when the damn thing was finally opened. 

People had gathered around Daniel’s car repair, which was where the restaurant would be located — for now! The restaurant would be held in the office space of the repair shop, while the garage and Daniel’s private quarters would be free.  

Stan checked a nearby clock. Five minutes until opening. 

“Hey Daniel, is Sparky at the ready?”

Sparky stood on a section of floor coloured red with cheap paint, which, since they didn’t have a real one, had been designated as the stage area. Daniel was, as usual, crouched next to the animatronic, fiddling with some of his mechanics. “Almost,” he said, through gritted teeth. 

“And the food?”

“Oh, you know I've got it.” Daniel smiled a little. 

Daniel’s cooking skills were truly something straight out of hell, and that simply wouldn’t do if the restaurant was to succeed. Since Stan’s cooking wasn’t exactly much better, they’d had to find…different solutions. 

The local supermarket was going to have to restock its pre-made pizza section. By a lot. 

“Don’t worry,” Daniel had said after that particular shopping trip. “You can live off this stuff. I have. Brand's great, can compete with any of the big names. And poppin’ this in the oven for a little heat-up’s easy enough.” 

So they were all set. 

Stan looked at the clock. Opening time.  

“Time to go get these suckers,” Stan said. 

Stan walked towards the door. Sucking in a deep breath, he fixed a grin on his face and threw the doors open. 

“Folks! Welcome to the grand opening of Sparky’s Diner!”

Soft chatter from the crowd vanished as everyone’s gaze flickered to Stan. Seeing how many more people there were here than during his first demonstration, and how everyone was looking at him with such rapt attention, Stan knew his advertisements had been a success. 

“With the help of all of you lovely people, Sparky’s finally gotten a place to call home!”

Some of the younger kids in the audience cheered. Stan let them for a few moments, chuckling. 

“Well, then,” Stan said, in an almost conspiratory tone, “Who’s ready to visit him?”

***

Stan spent the entire day shuffling between the kitchen, the stage, and the place that had been designated the dining room, on the look out for any potential issues, but things ran quite smoothly. The deep clean Stan and Daniel had given to the place had seemingly been more than enough to convince the customers of hygiene. Sparky did as he was supposed to do without any issues. Responding to customers' orders was slow going, but that could easily be excused by the fact they were a new business, and so only had one cook.   

Such small matters didn’t matter in the grand scale of things. By the time their customers left,  everyone seemed to be quite satisfied. Some told Stan that they would love to visit again. 

The day had been an uncontestable success.

The smile on Stan’s face when he closed the restaurant’s door was genuine. Turning around, he saw his own expression mirrored in Daniel’s face. 

“That was—”

“—The best day of my damn life!”  Daniel walked over to Stan and gave him a bone crushing hug. 

“Oh—Oh—uhh, this is really nice, Daniel, but—”

“Call me Dan,” Dan said. 

“Ow, ow! Mind the ribs, the ribs!”

Daniel released him, still grinning. “I think we’ll go big places, you and I.”

“Yeah,” Stan said, looking away. “So do I.”

***

“Ohh, it’s so wonderful,” Bea said admiringly to him at a bar one day. “I am so proud of you!”

“Really, Bea,” Stan said. “Like, I mean, thanks, but it’s really nothing—”

Well, finding a partner in crime, stealing property of a famous franchise and opening his own restaurant from scratch hadn’t been nothing, but this was getting out of hand. Stan usually didn’t mind complements, but this must have been the seventh time she’d said this to him today. 

“Of course it isn’t nothing, you’re a genius!”

“Uhh…”

“You should take me sometime,” she said. “Sad to say, I haven’t been able to visit it yet. I’d love if you could give me a tour. Privilege of knowing the founder.” She winked at him. 

“...Yeah.” Stan squirmed in his seat like a kid caught doing something wrong. “Oh, would you look at the time.” Stan hastily got out of his seat. “Have to run, now, you know, important restaurant management business.”

“I’ll see you later, then!” Bea called as he walked away. “And don’t forget the tour—!”

Stan didn’t look back. 

***

One day, about a month after the restaurant opened, a family came up to Stan to ask if they could arrange their daughter’s birthday at Sparky’s. 

“She loves animatronics,” her father explained, “Especially doglike ones. She was really excited to have her birthday at Freddy’s with Foxy, but after he got stolen, we had to rethink it. She cried for a day after. She’s shy, too, not a lot of friends. Foxy was special to her. This place opening really felt like a miracle.”

“Oh,” Stan said. “That’s, err, nice…?”

“Is it possible if you can have vanilla cake?” her mother asked. “Her favourite flavour, you know. Maybe a bit of strawberry, too?”

“Oh, well…I’ll, uh…see what I can do?” 

The two smiled at him. “Her birthday’s tomorrow!” 

Stan watched them leave, and (again, it seemed) considered his options. 

How in the world did you make a cake? He certainly didn't know how, since none of his family had been the baking type. 

Dan, please tell me you’ll come through with this one.

***

He did not. 

“A cake?” Dan demanded. 

“Yeah,” Stan said. “And let me guess…”

“No idea how to make ‘em,” Dan said. “There’s a bakery down the street, if you want, though they’re real fancy, so their prices are always high.”

“How much are we looking at?”

“Hmm. Hundred and fifty dollars, maybe? Bit more if there’s extra decor and whatnot.”

That was an amount Stan wasn’t sure he was willing to pay. “And…how long would they take?” Stan asked.

“This all sounds like far more trouble than its worth,” Dan interjected. “Just go back and tell the family that we don’t do cakes.”

“Well, they already left! I already told them I’d see what I could do.”

“You saw what you could do, and the answer is that you can’t do anything,” Dan replied bluntly. 

“Still! They’re going to be disappointed, and that is not good for our restaurant’s reputation.”

Dan said nothing. Instead, he went back and grabbed a plastic bag from a drawer. 

“Wha–?”

“Let’s go to the store,” Dan said simply. 

***

They were back at Dan’s place, sitting at a table and unboxing what they had bought. 

“Oh, great.” Stan placed a hand on his forehead.

The cake, a vanilla and strawberry one, as had been requested, was not in the best of shape. The store had only had one of these left in stock. As should be expected with items which were the last of their lot, this one was quite battered, with small rips in one corner, and a full-on dent covering almost half of the box. A quick look at the expiration date showed that it had expired about a week ago. 

The cake itself had some minor caved in parts. Very, very minor parts. 

….At least it wasn’t moldy. 

“Now what are we going to do?” Stan said. “I can’t go about serving this!”

“Doesn’t seem like we have a choice,” Dan replied. 

“But…”

“Let's see how much of this we can stick back on,” Dan said. 

“How?”

“I have some of that whipped cream left. Got it for the milkshakes, remember?”

“That’s not going to work.”

“Maybe not,” Dan said. “Might as well try.”

“And when we bring it out tomorrow? What’s the family going to think?”

“You’ll just have to work your charms,” Dan said. “You’re pretty good at selling things.”

***

It was the big day. 

The family came in at noon — the man and woman Stan had met the day prior, accompanied by a girl of about six. She wore a pink birthday hat and held a cup with some sort of milkshake. There was a wide, toothy grin on her face.

Stan walked up to them “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the birthday girl!”

He pulled out a party whistle from his pocket and blew. The girl squealed in delight. 

Stan hoped her joy would sustain her through what was to come next. “Well, then. Let's get you all settled down and bring out the…err…cake.” 

As the three seated themselves down at the table nearest to Spark, Stan went back to the kitchen. 

Inside, Dan handed him the cake on a tray. “Handle with care,” he warned. “Whipped cream isn’t  sticky.”

“This is going to be delightful.” Stan took hold of it and brought it back out. 

Stan had his eye trained on the little girl’s face the entire time he came close, and so got a perfect view of her face falling in real time. “...Oh.” The smile on her face dimmed. 

“Hey, come on, it's not that bad.” Stan looked down at the cake. “It still tastes the same.”

The cake was really a feat of construction. Stan remembered hearing about an old Japanese technique of repairing broken pottery with lacquer and gold. The cake kind of looked like that now, except instead of lacquer and gold, the cake was fixed with copious amounts of whipped cream. 

Unfortunately, given how much of the cake had been damaged, and how much whipped cream they’d used, the cake had lost any of its former elegance as well. The neat frosting on the surface was damaged, and bits of cake stuck out here in there from Stan and Dan’s efforts to piece it back together. Whipped cream oozed out of the cracks onto the tray, creating an unappetising mess. 

“What in the world happened to the cake?” The girl’s father demanded. 

“Well, see, the cake went under a bit of damage when we were making it, so, uh, we had to get creative.”

“At least make a new one!” Her mother exclaimed

“That would cost extra money, though! We didn’t want to—”

“You think I wouldn’t pay extra for my daughter’s birthday?” The man asked.

“It’s still a cake!”

“Barely!” the mother retorted. 

“Mommy, Daddy, can we not fight?” The little girl said, her voice a little shaky.

Her mother regained her composure first. Her father was still glowering at Stan. “Of course, dear,” the woman turned to her daughter, her voice soothing. She placed her hand on the girl’s hand. “Oh, I know what will cheer you up. Why don’t we go visit Sparky?”

The girl instantly regained her enthusiasm. She practically jumped out of her seat, her cup still in hand, and started tugging on her mother’s arm. “Come, Mommy, let's go!”

The woman gave a small smile and got up out of her seat, dragging her husband along with her. 

No one was watching Stan, so now would be a good time to run for it, and stay hidden until this family cleared out. Cake be damned, it was their problem now. 

Except it was at that moment that everything went to hell. 

The girl was begging her parents to get a closer look at the animatronic. Her father lifted her up, so that she was on level with the animatronic’s face. She balanced her cup in one hand and reached out to pet Sparky’s muzzle with the other.

“Hey!” Stan called. “Just what are you—?”

Sparky gave a sudden jolt, and his jaws clamped down just half an inch away from the girl’s hand. She shrieked, yanking her hand away. In the process, her other hand, the one with the cup, jerked upwards, and the liquid contents of the cup flew in a spectacular arc right onto Sparky's face.

There was a sizzling sound and sparks flew (a delirious part of Stan thought that was somewhat fitting for an animatronic called Sparky). His head started glitching, moving this way and that. 

That wasn't it, though. For the proverbial icing on top, Sparky’s head completely detached from his body, went flying, and landed straight on top of the vanilla and strawberry cake.

The usual chatter in the diner died down completely. A quick glance confirmed that everyone was looking at the scene which had just unfolded. 

The girl was sobbing. “S-Sparky almost bit me!”

The glare the girl’s father had given Stan before was nothing compared to the one he got now. 

The man looked like he wanted to come and beat Stan up, but before he could, his wife wrapped an arm around his. “Come,” she said, in a strangely clipped tone. 

With a sobbing daughter in one hand and a furious husband in the other, she marched out of the restaurant. She pointedly did not look at Stan whatsoever. 

Stan stood rooted in that spot for several minutes, the world around him starting to spin. Stan took in a very deep breath, trying to ground himself. It’s okay, this is all going to work out. 

Hey, at least it wasn’t going to get any more worse than this, right?

He was wrong. 

When Stan turned around to assess the damage, he saw just about what he expected: a glitching headless Sparky. A cake which looked like it had been demolished by a wrecking ball. 

Wait. Where was the wrecking ball?

Stan marched towards the cake. This wasn't possible. Sparky's head had been there five damn seconds ago. 

He looked around. Not under the table; didn't look like it had rolled off. 

Somewhere in the distance, Stan heard a clatter. He whirled around to the sound.

He saw a man wearing black clothes, a facemask and sunglasses, bending down to pick up something he’d seemingly dropped. When he stood upright again, Stan saw that in his black gloved hands was one frosted Sparky head. 

The man turned and through the glasses made eye contact with Stan. He froze, but only for a second. He turned and bolted for the exit, head still in hand. 

Stan ran after him. “Hey! That's private property! The hell you think you're doing, you good for nothing—”

The man ran out of the main entrance of the diner, with Stan hot on his heels. In front of the diner was a black van, with a driver waiting inside. The guy with Sparky’s head threw himself into the shotgun seat. 

By the time Stan reached the spot the van was already hurtling away. 

Stan dropped onto the curb, trying to catch his breath. 

God. He needed a drink. 

***

All the backlash they were getting from the incident (as well as the fact that their mascot didn’t have a head) meant the diner was on indefinite lockdown. 

Stan especially had to stay indoors, too. Every time he went outside, passerbys on the street threw him dirty looks. Someone at the grocery store had even tried to throw a tomato at him. 

The only entertainment he had was the news, where every front page had an image of the diner with such headlines as: 

“INCIDENT AT NEWLY ESTABLISHED DINER CAUSES PUBLIC OPINION TO TURN.”

“MASCOT HEAD STOLEN FROM SPARKY’S DINER.”

“SPECULATIONS ARISE OVER WHETHER RECENT THEFT AT SPARKY’S DINER IS RELATED TO THE THEFT OF FOXY FROM FREDDY FAZBEAR’S PIZZA.”

He’d gotten so sick of hearing about it every single day that he’d stopped checking the news entirely. 

Too bad the respite didn't fully extend. 

“How in the hell did it happen?” Dan demanded, like he hadn’t already asked the same question a hundred times already. 

“I told you! The girl spilled her drink on Sparky which made him go all haywire!”

“You said that Sparky almost bit her before that. How did that happen?”

“Well, I don't know! I didn't make him!”

“Are you blaming me for this?” 

“Well—”

“You can't be serious!” Dan exclaimed. “You think I don't know what I put into him?”

“You just copied off that prototype!”

“Well, then, any problems with him comes from that prototype! Where did you even get that thing from, anyways?”

Stan was silent. When he spoke, it was to say, “Well, if you're so smart why didn't you figure out there was a problem? Why didn't you iron it out before it got here?”

“Don’t you dare go there. This business would’ve just been an idea in your head without me. And besides, stop avoidin’ the damn question.  Where'd you get that prototype from?”

“That’s none of your business!”

“It for damn sure is! If this escalates, I'll be the one who's thrown under the bus, ‘cause I fucking made Sparky!”

“...”

“Come on, spill it!”

There was a crash from outside. Stan could hear people shouting outside. 

Dan immediately looked away from Stan. “What in the…?”

Stan got up. “Come on.”

“Hey! You think this is over? You still have to—”

“We’ll talk about it later!” Stan snapped. “Besides, it looks like we have a bigger problem right now.”

***

There was a mob outside of the diner (Despite everything, this sent a surge of déjà vu through Stan. Arizona felt like so long ago).

They were yelling and shouting. Someone chucked a crumpled up paper plate at the building. 

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s all this about?” Stan held up his hands, trying to appease the crowd. 

“Thief!” someone yelled. 

“Didn’t you hear the news?” called another person, their voice filled with hot scathing. 

“Uh…no?” Stan had been actively avoiding the news.

“Stan.” In front of the crowd was Bea. She looked at Stan with a dark expression on her face. 

“Oh, uhh, hey, Bea,” Stan said. “Uhh, sorry. Can’t do that tour for you any time soon. Real busy.”

“Don’t try to play with me, Stanleo!” She burst out. “I can’t believe you’d do this!”

Stan had done a multitude of things. Which one was this? “Okay, quick question, what exactly did I do?”

That was when Stan noticed a blue-and-white van parked in the middle of the crowd. On its side was written, with large, bolded white letters: FAZBEAR ENTERTAINMENT. 

Stan’s eye twitched. 

The van opened, and an official in a suit and tie walked out with papers in hand. 

“Stanleo Pinedo,” the Fazbear official said in a dramatic voice. “I am here to inform you on behalf of Fazbear Entertainment that we are suing you over charges of larceny and—”

“Did you guys stage this?” Stan interrupted. 

The official stopped his speech and raised an eyebrow. “No? You were the one who stole private property belonging to us. In a way, you staged this.”

“No, I mean this mob.” Stan waved his hand at the crowd. 

“Well, we just suggested that these good people help us bring justice to a criminal who was harming us all,” the official said. “We thought that you’d be much more willing to co-operate if we had numbers on our side.”

Stan didn’t say anything. The official took this as a sign to continue. “As I was saying, your establishment has been fueled by technology which has been stolen from us.”

“You can’t prove that!”

“We can, actually. You would have known this if you had kept up with the news, which I take you have not. We sent an employee of ours to retrieve samples of the technology you are using—”

“So it was you guys who stole Sparky's head!”

“—and after careful inspection from our engineers, we have confirmed that the technology is an exact, one-to-one replica of the technology we used for our mascot Foxy. The animatronic that was mysteriously stolen from our premises just a few short months before your establishment was opened, might I add.”

“Are you saying that I stole your little fox, and then after doing that, all I did was to just dress him up in a dog costume? Even I’m not that stupid!”

“Yeah!” Dan called. “I made Sparky with my bare hands, and the only thing I had as reference was…”

He paused, and Stan could almost see the gears turning in Dan’s head. 

Dan turned on him, eyes smoldering. “DID YOU GIVE ME STOLEN PROPERTY TO MAKE SPARKY?”

“Okay, okay, look, maybe I did, but—”

“So you admit it?” The official asked. 

“YOU COULD’VE GOTTEN ME IN TROUBLE WITH THE POLICE!” Dan yelled. 

“You are in trouble with the police,” the official said mildly. “For aiding and abetting a criminal.”

Dan froze. 

“Come on, Dan, it’s not that bad,” Stan said mildly. “I mean, considering your skillset’s basically made for forgery, you kind of had it coming.”

Dan started marching towards Stan, fists raised. “Why, you little—”

“Dan, I made you big,” Stan said quickly. “Sure, I may have tricked you a little, but in the end it made money for both of our pockets, right? The end’s gotta justify the means for this one.”

“Don’t call me Dan!” Dan said. “You have no rights to call me that anymore!”

“Besides, don’t act like you’re all clean. You were the one who suggested we buy pre-made pizzas from the store and resell them!”

There was a gasp from the crowd. The official looked at them with mild surprise. “Oh? That’s interesting. We weren’t aware of that. Another thing to add to our continuously growing mountain of accusations against you!" He pulled out a pen and started writing into his papers.

“I’m going to knock your brains into the curb,” Daniel growled. “I swear to God I’m going to—”

“That should get you into even more trouble with the police!” The official called helpfully. 

“Now, now, people, let's think about this from my perspective.” Stan pointedly turned away from Daniel, who was still glaring daggers at him, and addressed the crowd. “A man’s gotta make his money somehow, right? If I have to steal a thing or two from a company that’s probably raking in billions by the hour anyways—”

“Oh, that’s a generous assumption,” the official remarked, “but still, a nice one. Thank you. We do hope our company reaches such heights in the future,”

“—and swindle a fellow swindler, can you really blame me?”

“You little—” Daniel started. 

“So then what about me?” Bea demanded, cutting over Daniel. He turned and scowled at her. But Bea’s eyes were fixed completely on Stan.

“Oh, I just needed to get some information, and, err, you were the first person I talked to.”

“So you used me?”

“Okay, that makes it sound really bad, but technically yes? I needed info, and you had it. On the plus side, you’re the reason I found Dan here, and also the reason this business even exists, so, err, thank you?”

“I never meant anything to you?”

“Listen, lady, I did what I had to to get that information out of you. I take it you took those jokes in a, err, different way…?” 

“You’d use a woman like that?”

“Lady, I’d do the same thing even if it was a man—”

Bea walked up to him and slapped him across the cheek. 

“Ow! Hey! Come on, now!”

“Well, then,” the official said. “Now that everyone’s just about settled their personal scores, can we take you into custody?”

“Hey, wait a second! You’re not the police!”

“Yes. And?”

“Who gave you the right to take me anywhere?”

The official shrugged. 

“Okay, this is ridiculous.” Stan turned his attention back to the crowd. “You guys are out here calling me a criminal, but what about these guys? They don’t have any right to arrest me!”

Nobody said anything, but Stan knew that they were listening. 

“Listen to me,” he said. “Considering this guy is true—”

“We are.”

“—Okay, fine, maybe it is true, but listen! Sparky’s head flying off was because a little girl spilled a drink on him—”

“Blaming other people now, are we?”

“—and the reason she spilled a drink on him is because he almost bit her.”

“Yes, Stanleo, this is all very well known and documented.” The official replied drily. 

“Yes, but think about it this way. These guys were able to prove that Sparky was a full on replica of Foxy, which fine, it’s true. But if it was a full on replica, a complete copy, then we didn’t add anything new to it.”

“Yes, yes, which is a complete crime!” the official said, exasperated. “What are you trying to…?”

The official paused. A thought seemed to cross his mind. 

Stan finished it for him. “It’s not our fault Sparky almost bit a person — it’s theirs!”

He pointed at the Fazbear van. 

The official fidgeted nervously. “A preposterous claim. Our company employs state-of-the-art engineers. They would never make such mistakes. Clearly you must have tinkered with the jaw parts.”

“Sparky’s jaw parts, which are part of Sparky’s head,” Stan put in. “Which was the exact part of him you guys analysed? And determined was an exact carbon copy of your tech?”

The official said nothing. Stan pressed forward. “If we’d changed stuff about the design, why didn’t your "state-of-the-art" engineers pick up on it?”

That had struck a chord. Everyone in the mob turned to stare at the official, who Stan could swear was starting to sweat. “I…”

“No clever comeback to that, eh?” Stan asked. “Theft, getting a mob to harass me, and putting public safety hazards in your restaurant. Wow, you guys are worse than I am!”

There was silence for a second, then another. Then, uproar. 

Instead of marching at the repair shop, everyone rushed towards the Fazbear van, yelling at it and picking up random debris from the ground to chuck at it. 

The Fazbear official, taking one look at the furious mob, turned tail and bolted into the van. The van tried to start, but the crowd surrounded the vehicle, making it impossible for the van to leave. 

Stan saw his chance, and he took it. While everyone was distracted, he dashed down the curb to where his own red car was parked. Considering how successful Sparky’s had been, Stan had found ample money to fill up the fuel tank all the way up to the maximum. 

That was good. He was going to need all the fuel he could get. 

As Stan settled himself in his seat, he saw Daniel looking up from the front of his shop. “He’s getting away!” he yelled. “Don’t let him—”

But by the time everyone had pulled themselves together enough to realise what was going on, Stan was already hurtling out of Hurricane, Utah as fast as he legally could. Best not tempt fate, now that he had already outsmarted it. 

***

In another store in another state, Stanley Pines picked up another local newspaper. 

He knew what he was going to see. He couldn’t help but smile a little. 

“Stanleo Pinedo, banned from Utah.”