Dead Set. || PURPLEPHONE

Conditions.

Scott glanced over at the ambulance, where the police officers and the nurses were having a heated debate. "What are they on about?" he muttered sourly.

Vincent looked over at the officers, lounging next to Scott on the park-bench-like thing the police had set up, "They're debating whether they should hit you up now about the future of Fazbear's or let you go home and rest. The police are saying they need to get rid of all the health hazards or you're technically breaking the law. The nurses are saying you're on the verge of a breakdown and need at least a week off under close surveillance." 

Scott rolled his eyes, "Yeah. Like I'm going to get much rest this week. What with the funeral that I assume will be held, and all the media that's going to be buzzing around the mystery disappearance of Fazbear's boss - you know how the newspapers around here lap up Freddy Fazbear gossip. It's the only damn thing they can report about in this town." 

Vincent looked over him sympathetically and sighed. He reached out and slid his arm around Scott's waist, "It'll be okay, hon. We're all here for you." 

Scott stood up abruptly, "Yeah." He took off the blanket that the nurses had given him for shock and dumped it on the seat of the bench. "I'm going to go over and talk to them. Stay here." Before Vincent could protest, Scott had walked off towards the ambulance. 

As he approached, the nurses suddenly stopped talking, gesturing at the officers to do the same. Scott was greeted by polite smiles and inquiries into how he was feeling.

"Oh, come off it," he snapped, turning to the police, "Right. What do I need to do to get Fazbear's up and running again?" 

The officers looked extremely relieved. "Alright," the taller officer said, "First and foremost, we need the fox animatronic to be completely disabled and put away. It can not be allowed to continue to perform." 

"But," the female nurse interjected, "You are not to do any kind of heavy lifting, alright? If disabling the animatronic includes dismantling or lifting it, you're to get somebody else to do it."

"We were going to have a health inspection of this place on Wednesday," the second police officer started, and then gestured to the paramedics, "But we've been instructed to give you at least a month's notice, so you have time to get over the shock and 'adjust to the change'." He made air-quotes with his fingers, looking anything but impressed. 

"It's common protocol," the male nurse said. "You're not allowed to return to work for a week, you need some time to prepare." 

The police officers roller their eyes at the same time, crossing their arms across their chests. The taller one spoke again, "We want checks to be done on all of the animatronics. If they're to continue performing at this venue, they'll need to be examined by licensed technicians."

"Fritz is our technician," Scott said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to where Fritz was standing with Jeremy. "He's registered. Will that suffice?" 

The officers glanced at each other, "We'll need a second opinion, as well, from somebody who has nothing to do with the business. Until we can get a professional in, we're going to need the animatronics to be out of action."

"What?!" Scott spluttered, "Out of action? The animatronics are our main attraction! The business would die without them - that's what it functions on!"

"You could replace them until then," The shorter officer suggested, "If you source substitutes and your technician has a look over them to make sure they are functioning accurately, then you are welcome to use them until we get your current ones checked for faults. We don't want a repeat of this incident. Better safe than sorry."

"But-" Scott scoffed, "You don't just get new animatronics! It could be months before you find a technician, who just so happens to have nothing to do, who wants to work for nothing and is willing to drive all the way here!" He groaned. "We just had  to go and scrap the toy animatronics, didn't we?"  

"I'm sorry," The officer said, "But I'm afraid that's what has to happen. We're sick of accidents around this place, and this is the final straw. We've put up with Fazbear Entertainment for years, but now that there's a new owner we're expecting this place to be up to scratch within the next month, and not a day more. Otherwise, you're gone." 

"At least give us time to source new robots," Scott pleaded. "We've never had any faults with Bonnie, Chica or Freddy. You can easily hear in the recording that it was Foxy that killed Boss, and Foxy works on a different, more outdated system to the rest." He certainly wasn't going to mention the fact that Foxy's motor was completely destroyed; that the thing that had been moving it was inexplicable, almost supernatural. "Let us continue to use those three until we find replacements. We'll double security."

The paramedics nodded in agreement, "Things have been hard enough for Scott," the woman said. "We've got to at least try to help out."

The shorter police officer glanced over at the taller one, who glared. "You've got until the health inspection," he snapped. "By the day of the check, I don't want to see one trace of those things."

Scott narrowed his eyes, glaring at the officers for a few moments while his mind wrestled with his turbulent thoughts, "Fine!" he spat at last. "Fine. Give us a month, and Freddy Fazbear's will be a whole new place." 

Without any time for the officers to reply, Scott turned around and stormed off. As soon as he'd turned away, he cringed to himself. Fazbear's was the shoddiest, sleaziest, dodgiest restaurant on Earth. One month was only 31 days. In 31 days, he was supposed to turn this place into a five-star eating establishment?

One thing was sure, he definitely wasn't going to be bored for the next few weeks.