Michael hated Fazbear's. He couldn't walk by or look at the mascots without remembering what happened to his brother— what he did to his brother. He threw away that stupid fox mask, tore apart his sketches, and buried any memory of the restaurant.

None of his friends talked to him after the incident, the local news called it the Bite of 83. His dad was never a kind man, but he grew colder, meaner, rougher. He could barely handle being at home.

He only had one person left to turn to. Unfortunately for Michael, you liked Fazbear's. While he'd usually avoid it like the plague, it was your birthday. He could suck it up for a day.

The Pizzeria was as loud as he remembered: kids running around wildly, playing arcade games, and watching the animatronics with wonder in their eyes. Michael was on edge but kept it on the down-low for your sake.

As the day went on, Mike noticed you wandering away from the crowd. One of the workers in the Springbonnie costume was beckoning you to aproach. No no no. Mike grabbed your arm, his hand shaking and eyes wide.

"Don't." He whispered. Nothing good ever happened at these locations.