*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧—chapter forty-four: time to take your career into your own hands
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December 18, 2023
"WHO'S YOUR EMPLOYER?" The question had caught him off guard. It was only a few hours into the early evening, just a few minutes until five. Freddy Fazbear's Pizza Place had only just opened at ten o'clock this morning, and Eva wason his ass about how exactly he opened up this place.
Michael turns around, facing his sister as she walks over to him. She has her arms crossed as she looks at him, an eyebrow raised in skepticism. "Who's asking?" he asks, the hint of a smirk appearing on his face, behind the mask.
"Mike, come on... Answer my damn question," Eva taps her foot impatiently against the wooden floors.
"I am legally not allowed to answer that question," he replies. Maybe it was a lie. Maybe it was also the truth. Legally, he probably could answer the question. But if he told anyone, Henry would kill him.
"You've got to me kidding me..."
"Some things are better left unsaid, E," Michael quips as Eva rolls her eyes and walks off towards the stage.
"Unca Mikey!"
Michael smiles upon seeing his two-year-old great-niece, Maxine, happily skipping over to him. The green security band around her left wrist glows. He frowns. He forgot he had set up the Security Puppet just earlier this morning to make sure it worked.
"How's my little rockstar been?" he questions, gloved hands reaching down to pick up the toddler, whose arms are now raised, silently asking to be carried. Michael dismisses his thoughts from before, his smile returning beneath the mask as he picks up Maxine.
Maxine giggles, smiling at the older man. "I'm good. Daddy gave me his Chica plushie today!"
"Really?" he's surprised. Vincent loved Chica growing up and he never went anywhere without the Chica plushie. But now it seemed his eldest nephew was growing out of his Chica phase. Interesting...
"Yeah, look!" Maxine holds up the yellow chicken plushie.
"Wicked," Michael replies. Though Maxine couldn't see his face, he was still smiling. She was like a Charlie 2.0— A dark thought crosses his mind and suddenly, he envisions blood covering the limp form of Maxine. Max is only two. She has plenty of years left to live. She's not going to die like Charlie. What the hell is wrong with you, Mike? He dismisses the thought away with a shake of his head. "Hey, let's go find your parents, okay?"
