Misanthropic - FNaF AU

Chapter 3

(A/N: 2-year time skip.)

It was the week of Chris's eighth birthday.

July 15th, 1983.

Five days until the party.

Michael couldn't help containing his loud maniacal laughter as he heard Chris's pathetic sobs from behind the door. He had tricked Chris into letting him into the room, placed his room key on his dresser where he couldn't reach and locked him in from the outside.

Chris looked over at Fredbear, his favorite plush. Michael had put him up on the dresser too. Frustrated and scared, Chris ripped the head of his Foxy plush off and sobbed more intensely as Michael's laughter was ringing in the back of his head.

"What did he do this time? He locked you in your room again. Don't be scared. I am here with you." The plushie spoke. Its voice sounded like it came from a radio, and the voice was familiar, in a strange way.

Chris stared at his plushies, tears blurring his vision. These were supposed to be his friends. He instantly felt guilty for ripping off Foxy's head. He hugged the decapitated plushie and sobbed harder. Fredbear sighed.

"Tomorrow is another day."

Chris heard footsteps outside his room.

He heard voices. Michael's laughter stopped.

Did Fatha notice what Michael did? Chris thought to himself for a moment until the door clicked open, allowing him to leave when he was ready.

He wiped the tears from his eyes and looked up at the plushie, who did not comment on the sudden solution.

Michael groaned in frustration, meanwhile. He hated being lectured, and more importantly, he hated being lectured on giving Chris the karma he deserved. It was getting harder and harder for Michael to irritate Chris in the house, as William started noticing it. It was almost like he had eyes on the back of his head at all times, even though William rarely ever left his office. It had been happening ever since he had fixed Chris's stupid little toy.

But now, one of the few times he left, it was to lecture him about respect and being an upstanding citizen of this country. He hated it so much. He missed when his Fatha let him do whatever he wanted. He missed the times when he was actually happy to be with his family. He honestly just wished they could all disappear and he could live with Jeremy instead.

The fourteen-year-old boy had been sent to his room, William would not hear out any of his pleas. He punched a pillow in frustration.

Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow I'm going to make that damn brat pay.