Papyrus asks how Sans' first day of work went.

Sans doesn't have the heart to tell him the truth. How can he? Yeah, by the way, the animatronics shove people into suits not suited to handle human bodies and did it to one of the previous guards. I found their corpse, and also I can't tell you because I was arrested for two hours and blackmailed into silence.

The story is fully swept under the rug, so none of his friends will know about it unless they actively search. Which Sans does the next day. He finds the article, and several others, in a deep dive that takes him hours of clicking and searching, and turning off his ad-block to risk laggy websites. When he finds more evidence of the dark past of Freddy Fazbear's entertainment, he downloads it into a file and then backs it up.

Sans finds a lot. It's tedious work, but Sans now knows where to look. So he does.

Flashes of a dead, mangled corpse sticking out of a Freddy suit continue to pop into his mind as he searches.

The first thing he finds is rather horrifying. The bite of '87. A man, Jeremy Fitzgerald, was attacked by a malfunctioning animatronic and was bitten. Which, normally, was never too bad. But this was an animatronic made of metal and power. He lost his frontal lobe and much more. He died two years later from health complications.

Do the animatronics just have it out for the night guards?

Shit. Sans is fucked. He doesn't only have to worry about the suits. They can attack upfront. They have attacked upfront.

It's a repeat occurrence, too, Sans realizes. There's another biting incident. Some poor child died in the hospital an hour after he was bitten. Some stupid teenagers lifted the poor kid into the animatronic mouth as a 'prank' and got his skull crushed. There wasn't much-hidden news for this. It was entirely the teen's fault. Not intentional malice, just pure stupidity. He feels sorry for everyone involved, expression sour as he saves the article. Those poor kids. The teenager takes the front page, his eyes sore and his expression grim. The teens probably had no idea how dangerous it was because usually, animatronics had safety locks for that type of shit. Mettaton surely did. Just usual teenage shenanigans that went south.

A lot of deleted posts on social media about the shitty conditions at the establishments. About flickering lights, faulty wires, terrible service, and, of course, rotting smells. Sans takes screenshots of those.

And then, he finds the missing cases.

Two mass children disappearances at Freddy Fazbear Pizza, each incident having groups of children disappearing without any word. No corpses were found, but bloodied weapons were located. A few witnesses claimed they saw the children walking away with people dressed as animatronics. Fazbear Entertainment claimed an outside source must have broken in and stolen one of their suits.

Sans had a sticky feeling that they lied.

And then there are countless more disappearances. Plenty of reports of children going missing in their establishments. Plenty of missing workers, as well. Most of them were security guards.

Phalanges sweep across his keyboard as Sans searches. His eye sockets strain with stress and terror as he keeps reading. And keeps reading.

There isn't one single article that concretes Fazbear as a shitty place. They covered their tracks well. But all of them together? Well, then a story starts to build.

Sans isn't going to die meaninglessly. He's scared. Terrified, even. The mere thought of returning to work that night leaves him stiff and his mouth goes dry. He considers just tossing the towel, of just allowing the police to whisk him away just for a chance of survival.

And then he thinks of that damn corpse again. Of that poor fucking security guard who wasn't warned, who went in for an easy paycheck, just like Sans. Who had no idea what was in store. Who didn't understand, or was even warned, of the risks. Maybe it was the security guard before the guy who instructed Sans.

But Sans had the feeling that it was the last security guard. The one on the phone, who warned Sans. Who wasn't warned himself. Who had to learn through experience.

And Sans thinks about how the next guy, or the next after that, may not have those sorts of warnings. Who'll walk into that job, just as confused and lost as Sans once was. As the phone guy once did.

Who wouldn't be a skeleton able to survive being stuffed into a suit.

And Sans can't stop thinking about it. About all of the innocent people who must've died, who must have been scarred, threatened into silence just like Sans was. And he can't bring himself to do it. Because if he does, there'll be another victim. And another.

Sans has a particular feeling that the night guard isn't employed to keep the animatronics safe from people. They're employed to keep any trespassers safe from the animatronics.

The danger is inside. And he's now stuck with that danger for the foreseeable future.

If he had to guess, though, it would be much longer than his original five nights.

Sans is shut in for the entire day, his messages to others rather lacking. Brief, simple replies to their questions that were unsatisfying at best. Work was just okay. He was busy. He didn't feel like talking about it.

Sans really couldn't bring himself to create elusive excuses that'd hold. He didn't have the energy. His mind was elsewhere, for very obvious reasons.

The next night comes too swiftly for Sans' liking. But he comes prepared.

The receptionist, Liz (he decided to look up her name and learn it since he realized she was going to be closing every night and he was bound to run into her), was locking up when he arrived. Keys bunched into her hands as she turned the open sign closed, turning off the blinking lights behind the letters. The pizza place felt oddly disjointed without them, something Sans hadn't noticed the night before. That detail goes right over his head, though, as his hands tighten on the bag in his grip.

"I got an email from management that you had a rough first night," Liz points out boredly, completely ignorant to the night Sans fucking had. A bit rough? Yeah, that could describe it. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah," Sans said, gesturing towards his bag. "Just, uh, forgot my uniform last night."

She eyes the thick bag wearily, looking up at Sans. Her eyes narrow for a split second, as if she's trying to pry him apart before the effort dissipates from her gaze. "Sure. Whatever. Just make sure to not leave the fans off when you leave."

Sans nodded wearily. "Yeah."

Sans tugs his bag forward as he drags his feet in through the front door. Dread fills him as he enters the lobby, staring at the overly dramatized posters of the animatronics before him. For a moment, he just sits, and breathes.

And that moment passes, no matter how much he wants it back. The red flags are glaring, bright and present. He misses the rose-tinted glasses he had on before.

When Sans gets to the office, he pushes aside useless junk onto the floor and settles his bag onto the now clearer office space. The phone rings, sharp and sudden, as Sans starts tugging out items from his bag of goodies. Ducktape. A burner phone.

Two rings, and the phone clicks.

"Uhh, Hello? Hello? Uh, well, if you're hearing this and you made it to day two, uh, congrats! I-I won't talk quite as long this time since Freddy and his friends tend to become more active as the week progresses. Uhh, it might be a good idea to peek at those cameras while I talk just to make sure everyone's in their proper place. You know..."

Sans pulls out an instant camera, followed by some clear plastic bags and gloves. USB sticks. Padlocks for doors. His laptop and USB cord.

"Uh... Interestingly enough, Freddy himself doesn't come off stage very often. I heard he becomes a lot more active in the dark though, so, hey, I guess that's one more reason not to run out of power, right? I-I also want to emphasize the importance of using your door lights. There are blind spots in your camera views, and those blind spots happen to be right outside of your doors. So if-if you can't find something, or someone, on your cameras, be sure to check the door lights. Uh, you might only have a few seconds to react..."

And, of course, last is his toolbox. He hadn't brought it out since working as Alphys' assistant, so it was covered in dust. For years he had considered throwing it out. Sure, they were good damn tools, but he never had a use for them. Until now.

"Uh, not that you would be in any danger, of course. I'm not implying that. Also, check on the curtain in Pirate Cove from time to time. The character in there seems unique in that he becomes more active if the cameras remain off for long periods of time. I guess he doesn't like being watched. I don't know. Anyway, I'm sure you have everything under control! Uh, talk to you soon."

The first thing Sans does is fiddle with the phone. He plugs in his computer to it when he finds a port, and searches through the phone files. These were all prerecorded, right? How many were there?

Four. Four audio files stared back at him. Sans isn't going to wait for any more nights to pass to get any more possible warnings. And he isn't going to let these files get automatically deleted, either.

So Sans downloads them. One at a time, since the phone is old and can't do much more than that. The first message plays over again, the typical "Hello, hello?" ringing out across the cramped office space as Sans watched the files copy over into his computer. While that downloads, he checks the padlocks. They might not fit the doors at this establishment. He was hoping to simply be able to barricade himself into a room, but probably not, now that he was checking them in relation to the other doors he had passed on his way to the office. Most rooms didn't even have doors. Fuck.

He can use his bone attacks, but the woman had made the note to not directly attack any of the animatronics. Because of course that was a clause in their agreement. So he'd have to unsummon them in case the animatronics tried to walk through his blue attacks.

It's okay. He came up with backup plans.

As the second phone call repeats, downloading onto his computer, Sans moves to fiddling with the cameras. From what he had noticed last night, the Fazbear company didn't actually record footage from cameras. As expected. Recordings meant evidence if people had a warrant. The cameras were live feed and only were directed to this one system. A quick check of the cameras shows that Bonnie is off stage, and is in the main party room. That's okay. It was only 1 AM. He had time.

And so, Sans unplugs the camera.

Frankly, the one generator at night thing was bullshit. He knew he was warned about it when he signed up for the job. To save a quick buck, the company shut off all but one power generator. Which meant that power was an issue. Even flickering through the cameras would drain power.

And Sans isn't going to risk that. Especially since the phone guy just explained that no power was going to be a problem. It meant no locked doors.

What Sans brought would solve one of the many issues. A small portable charger. Not anything sustainable enough for the doors (unfortunately), but enough to keep the cameras charged all night. And he plugs in one of the Bluetooth USB sticks into the shitty camera system, the other into his laptop's only free remaining port.

And the camera feed pops to life in another tab. Thank fucking god.

As the second audio recording fades away, Sans leans back into his seat with a sigh. Quiet and thankful. Alright. So he knows to avoid the animatronics jaws (the animatronics in general, frankly), the suits, and to watch out for power. He'd only be able to monitor the power from the office, but he needed to be able to move. The office was a dead giveaway. He was a sitting duck. If he teleported, he wanted to know where to teleport. Where was safe.

So now he was mobile. Now Sans could move without losing access to the cameras. And now the battery could last longer, which meant more closed doors for the office if he needed it.

The third file starts playing. While it does, Sans works on configuring hotkeys to traverse the cameras easily.

"Hello, hello? Hey you're doing great! Most people don't last this long. I mean, you know, they usually move on to other things by now. I'm not implying that they died. Th-th-that's not what I meant."

Bonnie is outside of the kitchen, facing towards the stage. Sans grumbles profanities at the phone call. That poor fucking phone guy. He knew what was happening deep down, didn't he?

Maybe they blackmailed him just like they did Sans. Maybe they only hired people they had a degree of authority over.

"Uh, anyway I better not take up too much of your time. Things start getting real tonight. Uh... Hey, listen, I had an idea: if you happen to get caught and want to avoid getting stuffed into a Freddy suit, uhh, try playing dead! You know, go limp. Then there's a chance that, uh, maybe they'll think that you're an empty costume instead. Then again if they think you're an empty costume, they might try to... stuff a metal skeleton into you. I wonder how that would work. Yeah, never mind, scratch that. It's best just not to get caught. Um... Ok, I'll leave you to it. See you on the flip side!"

Sans' hands tremble when he realizes that Chica is also off-stage. She's making a beeline for the kitchen, passing by Bonnie who limps towards the bathrooms down the hall. In the direction of Sans' office. Fantastic.

It's okay, Sans has time before he gets there. Sans can teleport out to another safe place, wait until he leaves, and then teleport back. He liked having the doors for an emergency, but running through power wasn't the best idea, frankly.

Sans misses his old job right now. He really misses lazy jokes and hot dogs and ketchup in a snowy, quiet town.

"Hello, hello? Hey! Hey, wow, day 4. I knew you could do it. Uh, hey, listen, I may not be around to send you a message tomorrow."

The next phone call is jarringly different.

The man is utterly desperate. His voice strains with each word, and each syllable trembles near the end. And then Sans can hear it. The banging. As if metal was hitting against metal.

"It's-It's been a bad night here for me. Um, I-I'm kinda glad that I recorded my messages for you -" The man clears his throat. It's raw and desperate. "Uh, when I did."

Fuck.

Sans covers a hand against his mouth, sinking down his chair as he listens to this man's voice. To his last...

The fear, sick and sweet in his voice. The last night guard had been leaving a call for Sans, even in the end. He called knowing he wasn't going to be leaving the office alive. Curled into the exact chair Sans had been, likely digging his nails into the tattered fabric as he clung to the phone just like Sans was. Probably staring through the window at whatever animatronic was banging against the door.

"Uh, hey, do me a favor. Maybe sometime, uh, you could check inside those suits in the back room?"

Sans' heart drops.

Fuck.

That's who he found, he... this guy was asking for Sans to find his corpse. He knew. The man knew he was going to die back there. Sans' bones felt cold, and he couldn't move as the file continued to download. As he continued to listen.

"I'm gonna to try to hold out until someone checks. Maybe it won't be so bad. Uh, I-I-I-I always wondered what was in all those empty heads back there."

Oh god, he had tried to live through the process. Was hoping he might be able to scrape on by, knowing deep down he wouldn't. So he was asking for someone to find his body, so he wouldn't... fuck, the phone guy knew he was going to be abandoned back there until some poor new hire stumbled upon his body. Fuck. Fuck.

A sickly sweet chime starts to play over the static of the phone, one no doubt caused by an animatronic. And Sans can hear the building, through the recording, dim without power. Can hear the metal doors churning open without power.

His hands tighten onto the chair as if he's experiencing it right along beside the man.

"Oh no," The man whispers.

There's a scream. A screech of metal. And the phone cuts out.

The dial tone hung in the air before the recording ended. And Sans is left, sitting alone in a dark office, breathless.

His computer pings with a completed download. Quietly, Sans sets the phone back down.

Night four. He would have learned that two more nights from now. And that's even if he survived. What if he hadn't found the body? What if he had played along with the instructions, had paid attention less, and didn't already know the sick truth? He...

There was no warning. Fazbear Entertainment had the recording of someone's death as a part of the night guards tutorial. He wants to cry.

Sans leans forward, running a hand down his face as he sets his computer on the desk in front of him. For a moment, all is quiet, minus the static ringing in his head.

The last night guard was murdered. He was murdered knowing he was only a day or two away from freedom of the job. He died knowing, deep down, that the signs had always been there. And that he hadn't warned the next hire enough. Begging to not be dismissed, like all of the other night guards likely had been. The man died, on a phone call, pleading to not be a missing case.

Sans covers his mouth as bile threatens to rise. He tries not to curl up into himself and dust, right then and there. This place was fucked. It was fucked up. What kind of sick, twisted humans continued to run this establishment? So what if it made money? How many innocent lives had been claimed just because they willingly let their animatronics run around like that?

There had to be some type of management that gave the green light for the phone calls. This meant that some person had the balls to sit down, listen to that man die a meaningless death, and decide to greenlight it for the next hire.

This place is fucked. He hates it here. He absolutely despises it.

Then there are several metal thuds, right after one another, rapidly approaching his office. Sans snaps out of his shock, but the fog of despair is there for one second too long, Sans doesn't have time to react as a blur of metal and red rounds the corner. In his head, the audio about Pirates Cove - about a fourth animatronic - repeats on a loop as it lunges for him, screeching the same animatronic growl that had sounded out over the phone just mere moments ago.

There's a snap, a burst of pain, and a scream.

The next thing Sans knows, he's crash landing into the lobby of the building with a burst of magic, cradling a now crippled and bloodied wrist against his chest. One bone was clearly snapped clean in half, another half broken with blood steadily dripping from his wounds. Sans sobs out from the pain, choking on spit as adrenaline floods through his body. Fuck fuck fuck fuck -

Fuck. 

Next upload: September 28th