"...crap...is it supposed to do that?"

And then he got shocked again.

Henry had been up for nearly an entire day by now. Hell, maybe even longer than that; he had lost count a good while ago. Running a restaurant who's whole shtick was massively expensive technological marvels was harder than he was expecting it to be.

He'd never be able to tell you why he thought it'd be a piece of cake.

Fredbear just didn't seem to want to cooperate with him. No matter how long he spent tinkering or testing the spring locks just wouldn't obey him! Henry took pride in his ability to dissect his and William's creations like Legos, but this was honestly starting to embarrass him.

At some point he would probably just give up to be frank. His body was running off of three full cups of black coffee–he didn't have enough time to do them as he preferred–and pure will. Maybe a few miracles too, but that was speculative.

Thank God William hadn't given him too much hell for it all. Thank Him too it was a Sunday. They closed on Sundays like most places.

Henry's back was killing him. No telling if it'd give out in twenty years or two days at this point. His hands turned whatever he touched a dirt and smudgey black from all of the mechanical fluids he'd gotten everywhere.

Mostly his hands, but he'd definitely caused more than a few stains on some table cloths.

Huffing out a frustrated breath he leaned back on his stool while he wiped at his hands with an equally dirty wrag, taking care not to fall over and break his tail-bone or something.

"Maybe I should've just got a regular nine-to-five..."