Five Nights at Freddy's-The Black Hood

Gaps in the Armor

THURSDAY, JULY 6, 2017, 12:27 AM

"You have no new messages."

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Jack laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He'd gotten home late, having almost forgotten the groceries that his wife had asked for. Now, he was trying to get whatever shut-eye he could before another day of work brought more countless hours of intense investigation. He glanced at the clock. It was only about 12:30; he'd already been in bed for about an hour, listening to the peaceful snoring of his wife beside him, each breath of hers reminding him of the sleep he was missing out on. But his body wouldn't let him. It just wasn't tired enough. With a heavy sigh, he got out of bed, careful not to wake his wife, and headed downstairs.

He plopped down on the couch and flicked on the TV, making sure to immediately mute the sound in order to adjust the volume without making too much noise. The anchor of the midnight news on BBC was in the middle of a report.

"...and in other news, Peter Jackson, co-owner of Jackson Air Services, has fallen ill. The 64-year-old multi-millionaire suffered what authorities believed to be a heatstroke after a three-hour tour over Crystal Lake in northern Illinois. His wife Martha provided no comment; however, their son Kyle has assured that his father is alright and recovering at Mount Sinai Hospital, and will hopefully be back on his feet in no time. Regular clients from around the Midwest have poured in their support and are delighted to hear of his optimistic recovery."

Jack's eyes flickered. He recognized the name; he'd heard Jason mention it once or twice before, but it didn't hold a candle to his current situation. He waited through a few more minutes of minor stories before they came to the topic of interest.

"Over to you, Francene."

"Thank you, Jerry. Well, police are still investigating the events of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza World in St. Louis, where only a few days ago a child disappeared and a manager was brutally killed on-site. The police say that despite any progress on finding the young boy, they have a suspect whom they are currently pursuing."

A mugshot appeared next to the beaming woman's face with the label CHRIS EVERETT.

"From most recent reports," the reporter continued, "there is no sign of Everett anywhere in St. Louis or the surrounding area. If you see him, you are highly encouraged to notify your local law enforcement immediately as he is incredibly dangerous. More updates later. Back to you, Jerry."

Jack flipped the TV off. Somehow, he was hoping for something more than that, something insightful that just might trigger a connection in his mind and give him a lead to work with, but as of right now, he was still stuck. He had absolutely nothing to go off except the unique reports he had received from the Phillips children concerning a cloaked figure supposedly running around somewhere, but he needed more than that.

Sitting in the dark silence, he shifted his mind back to Chris Everett, whom everyone suspected. Josh Phillips and Susan Gregory had both mentioned him by name, as did Rebecca Swift and numerous other people. In typical fashion, it seemed like a slam dunk: Chris Everett is guilty.

But something wasn't right.

Jack got up and walked over to his briefcase containing all of his notes, which he had only closed and put away until morning only hours ago. He pulled out his report from the Phillips' testimonies. Being a trained detective with an eye for fine details, he reviewed the dialogue of the incident. According to Josh, Chris had said "What is that?" when spotting the black figure. Obviously, he and this figure were not working together since he didn't recognize it, so what did it mean?