Grillby's diner is a lovely little building on the corner of town, situated next to a glistening river that flowed lazily under a quaint brick bridge. The building has a neat little sign out front with the monster's name, the open sign tidy in the corner of the window. The establishment isn't really busy at this time of day, since most of his customers had normal work hours. Not Sans, not anymore. So, for once, he steps in at the early morning, with the sun peeking over the horizon in a vibrant hue of pink and orange across the bright sky. Grillby, of course, looks positively shocked to see Sans arriving at such a time.

And Sans knows it's suspicious and weird. And he knows, as he gives Grillby a tired wave, that he's going to make it more suspicious and weird.

"Hey'a Grillb's," Sans says, shuffling into the room.

"Sans?" Grillby asked, looking back at Sans like he grew a second head. "Are you okay? Is the world ending?"

"Nah. New work schedule is just throwing me for a loop, but I need'a ask ya a favor."

Grillby looks like Sans just shit out an egg.

Out of Sans' work bag, he drags out a thick folder, paired with several bags filled with USB sticks. He has copies at home and saved them online. But a backup in case Sans suddenly disappeared was a good idea. A backup that wouldn't search unless asked to.

"I need ya to hold onto these for me, without peeking," Sans says. He slips them across the pristine clean counter, almost missing just how clean every single other restaurant in town was. He's a bit of a slob, but Fazbear's pizzeria certainly is testing his limit to how messy he can handle a room.

"What's this?" Grillby asks, his fireproof glove reaching forward to grasp the objects presented before him. His flames flicker with curiosity, glowing white eyes intense.

"Just some stuff. This is going to sound, uh, super weird, Grillb, but I really need you to do this for me," Sans said, shooting the fire man a desperate look before he took a breath to continue. "I need you to leak everything in those if I'm arrested, go missing for over 48 hours, or die. Can you do that?"

It's a weird fucking request. Suspicious and worrying as hell, Sans knows. And he knows, by the look Grillby gives him, that this isn't Sans pulling some lousy prank. That this quiet question isn't something he's using to mess around.

"Sans," Grillby says quietly, slowly.

"Please," Sans pleads.

After a second, Grillby tucks the folder and bags under the counter with a nod. He watches Sans hesitantly, waiting for more information. Sans doesn't provide, only basking in the scent of good food and not just stale pizza and soda at Freddy's.

"Are you safe?" Grillby asks. His voice sounds more restrained as if he's choking back more questions.

Sans stares at him for a moment. "Thanks for the help, Grillb'."

He leaves with a silent plea to just understand. And he's sure the other monster did. Grillby didn't gossip much, more so an observer. A wallflower to pick apart every social situation, to act when necessary. And he wouldn't look, not without Sans' word. He'll worry, certainly, but Sans couldn't do much about that. He needs a backup in case he dies. He needs to make sure there isn't another poor night guard after him that'll listen to the "Hello, hello?", ignorant to the night laid out before them. Unknowing of their status as fucking prey. On purpose by the company, from what Sans had discovered the previous night. And he does, admittedly, need Grillby to worry a bit. Because if Sans does end up fucked over in some suit, bones shattered, and left to rot, he needs someone to be on top of his disappearance. Someone who freaks the fuck out and rips open the folder, who finds the evidence and sees how everything just clicks.

Thursday night sees Sans arriving to work early that night, giving a nod to both Liz, the receptionist, and the chef. An old leaning man, with graying hair and a permanent scowl upon his wrinkled face. His wave is curt, but acknowledging. They don't seem to be talking much amongst themselves either, so at least Sans isn't the odd man out on purpose, it seemed.

That night, the animatronics are much more active than before. Before it even hits 12:15, all three of the main animatronics are off of the main hall stage and roaming about. Realizing that they are making their way to the office on their paths, Sans doesn't even bother to stay in the office. The office, while the only secure location in the entire building, is also an animatronics target. They know that's where the night guard is, so they make it their main destination as they roam about.

More reason as to why their code is purposeful. It's no accident they make their way to the office. Why the office has thick iron doors that seemingly have no purpose. Is this some sick, twisted game from the mind of a psychopath?

Sans spends the night dodging around from room to room, taking his time to observe the animatronics and their behaviors. Bonnie seems to be roaming like they're lost in a haze. Like a lost child, looking for their parents. They'll loop down to the office before trekking back up, empty and hollow expressions clinging to their rabbit features. Chica, on the other hand, makes very frequent stops in the kitchen. She's eager, moving from room to room without much pattern, more so impulsively.

That feeling that something is wrong itches in Sans again as he watches them.

Foxy is a runner. If he sees Sans, he initiates a chase. One Sans teleports from, because that fucker, for some reason, is fast. One moment they locked eyes across the hallway, and the next he was sprinting, clearly half of it in a mere second with mechanical thuds. When he roams, he roams with purpose, hunting for his sport. Out of everyone, he's the one who wants to crush Sans like a meaningless bug. It's almost sadistically twisted, in a way.

Mangle isn't anywhere. Sans doesn't see her. He takes that as a win since it probably means she's disabled in a box somewhere. She's the only one actually out of commission between the two foxes, it seems.

Freddy likes to hide.

He clings to shadows like a stalker, looking over whatever room he happens to find himself in. Sneaking around like a tiger hiding from its prey. Once Freddy finds himself in the back hallway by the office, he doesn't leave, roaming up and down. He hides out of view from the light and the camera of the hallway, so if Sans was inside the office? He would have no idea there was an animatronic a few feet away, watching.

It's creepy. It's wrong, and distorted. He hates this place to his very soul itself. He wants to hunt down that beady-eyed woman from the jail cell and strangle her. Instead, though, Sans spends six hours constantly teleporting and looking over his shoulder. He comes up with some creative hiding spots, even though there aren't many places in the facility.

He debates, for a moment, to just hang out outside all night. Would they even know? He'd be watching the building, right? He'd be making sure the animatronics didn't escape, and he could just fuck around on his phone. All they wanted him to do was make sure the animatronics didn't kill people, and that no one stole them for parts. That meant he'd just have to keep an eye out for white vans in the parking lot, right?

He'd try that the next night.

It's exhausting, bouncing from room to room in an attempt to keep away from them. It uses too much magic from Sans' lower reserves due to his healing wrist. He's exhausted, not keeping down food, and just needs a fucking break.

There's a moment, though, between Bonnie and Sans. A single moment. In a party room, where Sans had ducked into the corner of his computer when he teleported. He teleported to the wrong party room, having teleported to the one that Bonnie was in instead of the empty one across the hallway. There was a moment of awkward eye contact.

And then, something happens.

Bonnie's eyes, briefly, light up with some sort of emotion. Something unreadable to Sans. And, quietly, the animatronic speaks. The voice was low, humming, and almost emotional.

"Not..."

Sans freezes. Bonnie stares, their body stiff, as if paused in time. Yet, the voice continues.

"Not a robot," They whisper out.

And then 6 AM hits. The clocks all ding with a sense of triumph, and Sans can do nothing but sit helplessly as Bonnie turns on their heel and walks back to their stage.

___

Fridays are the worst days at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. Liz, admittedly, detests Fridays as a result. Sure, high school is over for her, so she can snag a chance to vape for a second before she's hauled off to her shitty after-school job, full of snot-nosed children who couldn't help but stick their boogers all over her desk. She isn't sure how they keep managing to do it, but they do. Even if she watches them while she books reservations like a hawk.

As a result, Liz doesn't keep her personal things at the receptionist's desk in the lobby. Fuck no. She doesn't want to force her parents to keep buying her new stuff because some brat decided that yes, the school bag bought specifically to last her until senior year was the perfect ground for boogers and greasy hands to touch. She has tried to run it through the wash. Somehow their boogers stuck, like glitter on fabric.

So yes, she keeps her stuff in the security office. Specifically in a small compartment to the right of the desk, a little slot for her to tuck her phone and purse, and put her bookbag underneath the desk. Arguably, the office was the cleanest space in this place. She's a few minutes late that particular day since one family, in particular, refused to leave until the very last second. Which dragged behind closing. This meant that, at twelve o'clock sharp, she's trudging her way to the office with a wide yawn.

The skeleton is a bit weird. Nothing bad, per se. He seemed rather chill when he first arrived, but after the first night, he seemed... off. Off put, per se. Jumpy. A hollow, hopeless expression on him when he arrived on night two. If management was involved, he probably got in trouble for something and had to pay for damaged equipment.

So she knew, when she arrived in the empty office when his shift already had started, that he was probably going to get in trouble again. Sans was late to his shift. And, and, the cameras aren't working. The screen is black and dull when she steps in, making Liz pause and blink. Caught off guard by the lack of a video feed.

Sans is going to get into a lot of trouble for not being here, and for the cameras to be out. It's not a good combination. At all. So she moves to sit down on the edge of the desk, deciding to keep an eye out until he shows up. Sans may be a bit weird, but he's not bad. He's a decent guy who got stuck with this bottom-of-the-barrel job because of racism, she had to guess. Fuck, she was only here because this was the only place that hired underaged kids for plentiful hours. She needed the money.

Liz kept busy on her phone as the clock ticked on. Fucking hell, where is Sans? Did he get lost? Ditch? He didn't call off, that's for sure. Boredly, Liz clicks her pink-painted nails against the filthy desk. She could only cover for so long. She goes to call his phone number but then smacks herself silly for even considering that. Fucking hell. Of course, she wouldn't have his number. He's a thirty-year-old coworker in an entire different department than hers. It'd be weird and creepy if a high schooler did have his phone number unwarranted.

And, so, Liz sighs, dragging her head lazily around as she looks around the office. They needed to hire a janitor for this place. She knew it saved money to not, but still. Sans had to work in these conditions? They were filthy.

Liz turned and then jumped out of her skin. Fucking hell. She'd never seen one of them off of the stage before, yet there was Freddy Fazbear himself. Standing in the shadows outside of the office. Staring. An empty husk of wires and fur stared towards the receptionist.

"Uh..." Liz says, scooting a bit back further onto the desk when Freddy starts walking forward. "What the fuck, no no dude what the fuck -"

___

Sans didn't consider that there might be someone else inside when he heard the scream from the window beside him. Sans didn't think think about it. He thought he could just keep a lookout for any random people who tried to sneak in by watching the front doors. He thought it would be enough.

It wasn't. Because Sans, stupidly, didn't consider that someone may stay inside after hours. That some brat might manage to hide under a table and wait out the clock. That some adults may just duck into a toilet stall so they wouldn't have to bother with sneaking back in.

That, in this case, one of his coworkers stayed behind.

It's Liz, Sans discovers as he teleports into the animatronic-infested building. It's Liz, Sans discovers, who is being dragged by the leg - by a twisted, bent to fuck, shattered leg dripping blood, towards parts and services. She's crying, and heavens knew he was too when his arm was broken in much the same manner. Liz's nails dig into the gunk and filth of the floor as she tries to claw for freedom, her other hand trying to pound against Freddy's. It's not working, because she's a human and that's a tall animatronic built to capture and kill people. For the entertainment of children, of course.

There's a time in every monster's life when they come to hate the limits of their magic. And in that particular moment, as Sans teleports up to her to try and pry off Freddy's hand, he hates that he can't teleport other people. He can do small animals. Sans can do decently sized objects. Not people.

And he hates that restriction, he decides as he reaches into Freddy's arm to dismantle the hand. Sans is able to get a good grip on Liz, hands practically trembling from anxiety and paranoia, as he rips off Freddy's arm and drags Liz a few feet away. Who's screaming bloody murder at that point, clutching her battered and very much broken leg.

Freddy has the gall to look inconvenienced. Staring down at his dismantled hand, still latched around Liz's leg, like he dropped his ice cream cone.

"He - he -" Liz is absolutely hysteric, and Sans can't blame her as he drags her into a somewhat decent standing position. She's heavy, but then again everyone with flesh and organs is considerably heavier than a skeleton. "Fuck, fuck, my leg -"

"We need'a get to the security office, fucking now," Sans hisses.

The front doors are way too far of a walk to get past four animatronics, who are all roaming about at this point. All it takes is Foxy to see them one time, and it's over. Sans can teleport, but Liz? She's a sitting duck, she can't even walk right now. Foxy would tear her to shreds. Literally.

Sans tugs them down one of the hallways, eyeing his surroundings and Freddy as he makes his way. Freddy, thankfully, is busy picking up his hand and reconnecting it. Which gives them time to drag themselves, blood and all, into the office. Sans wastes no time shoving Liz into the office chair to strain her less, slamming the door to their left shut as he hears Foxy running down the hall.

"Okay, okay, you're going to be okay," Sans stresses the last word as he looks over Liz for any injuries other than the very obvious one. There was a bruise forming on her shoulder, which meant that she had been grabbed by that at first. She must've tried to run, then. And then he broke her leg to stop that. "Okay, it looks like your injuries aren't fatal, but - fuck. Do you think you'll be able to walk at all?"

"No," Liz hisses. "Fucking no way."

"Yeah, I figured. Don't try at all, then."

There's a moment of silence between the two as Liz finally manages to catch her breath. Sans himself is already tossing his laptop onto the counter, letting the security footage blink to life on his monitor as he moves to gather the first aid kit he's started bringing along after his wrist was broken.

"You're prepared," Liz wheezes out, her eyes widening.

Wordlessly, Sans tugs down his hoodie sleeve. Bright white bandages stare back at Liz.

"Oh," She breathes.

"Yeah."

Her expression twists into one of horror, pain, and regret. "They're fucking killers."

Sans nods along. "Yeah."

He has to make a splint for her, and he gets right to work with that. The door is opened to his left when he realizes Foxy is gone, and looks up at Liz with a hard expression.

"I'm going to fix up your leg a bit, okay?" Sans asks quietly, "I need to make a splint. I need you to keep an eye on the doors while I do so. Press the lights to see if the animatronics are there, because sometimes they're quiet. Lock the doors if they are."

"We need to - the police, Sans, we need the police and a fire squad and the fucking military here!" Liz says, scrambling for her phone tucked into her jeans pockets. "I have my phone, we can -"

Sans snatches her wrist. The taste of blood lingers in the air as the two make eye contact, Sans giving her a hard and sorrowful look as he does so. Gently, he leads her hand back down to her lap. Liz swallows thickly.

He's an adult male, and he didn't stand a chance against them. What would they do to a seventeen-year-old girl? Unless her parents were involved in very high politics, the company would squash her like a bug. Her entire future will be shot.

"Fazbear has their hands in the police and medical departments of this entire town. If we call them, we'll both be thrown into jail and our lives will be ruined. Fuck, they might not even show up, Liz. They... they don't care, at all. We're on our own."

Liz cuts back a sob. The teenager leans forward, pressing her free hand against her mouth as tears brim her eyelashes. There's nothing Sans can do but nervously return to trying to fix her broken leg. The medical kit isn't suited for something like this, but it should tide her over until 6 AM. His work is methodical and would be distracting, if he wasn't laser-focused on every sound cue in the damn building.

Liz herself is as still as a mouse while Sans works, her eyes darting back and forth between the doors, hyped on survival instincts. Good. That's good. It's not good that a kid has to suffer this, but he needs her help right now. Sans' whole strategy, up to this point, has been focused on his own survival. He hadn't even considered this possibility.

He feels a bit responsible, as he sucks in a breath at the purple coloring of her leg.

The office fan hums behind him as he tightens the bandages around the bone attack he summoned, keeping her leg decently straight. Long enough to tide them until their escape.

The door to their right closing caught Sans' attention, making him snap his gaze up. He hadn't even heard Liz turn on the light. He was about to snap at her for not checking before closing the door, since power was a very finite resource at the moment, until he noticed her phone. Bright with light from her camera's flashlight. Recording.

"Good plan, kid," Sans said.

She's providing herself light that wouldn't drain the generator. She's gathering evidence. She's using her limited resources incredibly well, with a broken leg, under adrenaline and shock. Liz is brilliant, and he's so glad at that moment.

"I want... I want answers," Liz hisses out, her voice straining. "I want to - fuck, they kill people, Sans. The animatronics are murders, and they're... up stage, in front of kids, all day. Have they killed kids?"

Sans has to slam closed the left door when Foxy makes a sprint for it again. Checking the cameras, with shaking, blood-stained hands, proves that Chica is still on the right and that Foxy won't leave the left.

Great.

Sans slides back down against the thumping iron door. He's quiet, for a moment. For a moment of hesitation, regret, and fear.

He's never felt so powerless before.

"I'm sorry," He chokes out, and fuck, he's crying.

This is bad. This is so, so bad. Sans can't do anything to help Liz right now. He can teleport himself around, but the most he can do is go get her some more medical supplies. And he can't trust her alone, since she's very high on adrenaline and pain right now. Sans can't do a damn thing to save her other than to sit and pray.

They sit in silence for a good amount of time. Until Foxy and Chica eventually wander off, and until the office is eerily silent once more. The fan is only a background noise, and other than Liz's unsteady breathing, it's dead quiet.

"What happened to Fritz?"

Sans, at that point in time, is on his computer. He's looking up ways to help broken legs, and looking at directions for the hospital when she speaks again. Until that moment, she hadn't said another word.

"The last night guard, Fritz Smith, he... he promised me he'd keep in touch. I was really confused when I started this job but he helped me through it," Liz said. Her eyes, glossy and unstable, were staring towards the night guard hat half haphazardly tossed onto one of the shelves in the office. Probably his. "He was moving out of state. But then he just stopped texting and he... he hasn't replied back to any of my letters, either."

Sans wants to scream.

"I..." Fuck, how does he explain it? How can he tell this poor kid her coworker was dead? "I found him. On my first night here."

"Oh." Liz takes a moment to react, but when she does, she sucks in a pained breath. It's like nails against a chalkboard to Sans. "Oh."

"He's gone," Sans replies quietly. "He's dead, and they got him. And the company doesn't care. They covered it up, and they're going to cover us up, too, if we say anything. Even with the video, it won't be enough."

"It won't?" Her voice is strained and dry.

"There's been two separate cases of the animatronics killing people in front of crowds, and those got covered as well."

Fingertips press against Sans' knees as he watches Liz carefully. She's taking the news well, considering everything that's happened.

The air is retched with blood and decay. Dust sprinkled upon some of the high shelves in the office, and the occasional flicker of a light down the halls. It's stale and close, almost suffocating to be in the room with two people. Liz, though, holds her own. She's gotten a grip over her breathing, and keeps a steady gaze on the doors, just like Sans does.

"Which one got you? On the arm?" She asks, quietly.

"Foxy. Happened too fast for me to even react."

Sans needs more time. He needs to figure out a way to destroy the entire company with evidence. And he doesn't have enough.

But, if he got a copy of the code and the video Liz just got? Fuck, that should be enough for Asgore to go off of. Hopefully. If he presents the history of repeat behavior, the pictures of the establishment, a video of the animatronics trying to kill them, combined with the phone calls of Fritz Smith dying, and code demonstrating they were specifically built to do so? That was it. Sans would have a perfect case. And with Asgore's passed law, he could argue Sans was acting out of self-defense against a clear threat to him. Sans might still get punted into jail (he probably would), but he'll be fine, Liz will be completely in the clear if Sans took the fall there, and the entire franchise will be shot down.

Hopefully. He'll have to talk it over with Toriel and Asgore first. Even if they weren't the closest at the moment, the situation should be enough for them to put aside their differences.

"Send me that video," Sans manages to whisper out, looking at Liz hopefully. "I'm gathering evidence about this place. The video alone won't be enough, but if I can get some copies of their code this weekend, it might be game over."

Liz nods. "What's your phone number?"

It's tedious, slow, and utterly suffocating trying to survive for a few more hours. Liz constantly wears an expression of agony, trying desperately to not move her leg at any given second. Sans, whenever she cries out from a sudden burst of pain, sometimes debates just wheeling her chair down the halls at full speed and trying to risk it for the front doors. He knows he can't. It's a big building, and there's no way they'll be able to pass Foxy. Foxy isn't slow, and he doesn't stay in one place, or roam in a coherent pattern. He's random and fast.

Sans could try to distract Foxy, but then Liz would be too slow to escape the other animatronics on her own. That was the problem. Liz was down a leg at the moment. The best she could do would be roll to safety. So no, he wasn't going to throw her at the other animatronics and risk that outcome. Next, they might grab her throat and shatter that bone.

(Frankly, Sans and Liz are lucky they didn't do that in the first place.)

Freddy has a few close calls almost getting into the room, and Foxy, of course, is persistent. Sans spends his time near the doors or on the desk, eyeing the windows and cameras wearily. His anxiety, all throughout the night, is high.

"If... if we can't tell them it's the animatronics, it... what can we tell them? I can't just show up at the emergency room unannounced," Liz mutters out, her expression warped into one of suffering. Her leg stopped bleeding too much blood now, though her face was pale and slick with sweat.

Right. Sans turns on his heel, eyeing her gently before he peeks back out into the hallway. Bonnie is walking away, guitar dragging slowly behind him. It hangs limp, yet firm against the tiled floor.

"There's rock stairs down by the creek, about seven minutes from here. You know those?" Sans asks. "Think a nasty fall from that can cause a broken leg when you decided to walk around the block before heading home?"

"I get headaches and sometimes take walks for clear air, maybe some kid... fucking was annoying enough to cause one," She coughs out. "So I took a walk after work."

"Yeah. That's good."

"Okay."

It sucks, having to look at the young girl and tell her to lie about a life-threatening situation. To ask her to clamp down and pretend, after she escaped six grueling hours of suffering, that it all never happened. But he has to. He knew what they did to him, what the hell would they do to a teenager who wanted to spill the beans? A teenager with fewer resources than Sans. Fuck, Sans was friends with the King of monsters and still felt backed into a corner. Liz was absolutely fucked.

"I'm sorry," Sans said.

"It's not your fault," Liz manages to cough out.

They sit in silence, and stew for awhile.

"Listen, I'll explain everything, but you need to keep your head down right now and play dumb once you're in the hospital," Sans says quietly, turning to Liz when he notices the time. 5:50. So close. "The company has no idea you know, and we can take advantage of that. But I'll explain to you everything later. Just... not here. Not while you're sitting there with that."

It'd be cruel to tell her right now. To tell her how her coworker, one she liked, was shoved into a suit. That she was about to be the next victim. That the man died on a phone call, trying to warn Sans.

Liz nods. Her expression is heavy with grief. He wants to cry. 

Next chapter: Octobor 31, 2023