Five Nights at Freddy's Fazbear Frights Collection, page 75
It was only when he was in the car that he realized he had left without paying his part of the bill. Good, he thought. Let them take care of it. It served them right for not appreciating him.
He drove home too fast, thinking of what a wretched day it had been. It felt like the problems with the game had infected his whole life. But that was going to change.
Matt woke up feeling strangely queasy. Usually morning tummy trouble was a symptom of his having drunk too much the night before. He had polished off that bottle of wine last night, but still, it hadn’t added up to more than three glasses’ worth. He shouldn’t be hung over.
Coffee, he decided, was the solution, as it was to many of life’s problems. He dragged himself into the kitchen and put on a pot to brew. Though the thought of eating was unpleasant, he dropped a slice of whole wheat bread into the toaster in case his stomach’s emptiness was the cause of its unrest.
Once the brewing and toasting were complete, he sat down at the kitchen table. One sip of coffee and one bite of toast later, his stomach roiled violently. Without even having made a conscious decision to move, he found himself leaning over the kitchen sink, retching up not only the toast and coffee but seemingly everything else he had consumed over the past few days.
He rinsed out the sink, wet a paper towel, and used it to dab his sweaty forehead. His body couldn’t have chosen a worse time to get sick. He couldn’t miss work. He had to fix the game.
He would fix it by lunchtime, he decided. Then he could take the rest of the day off to rest and recover.
It was almost noon, and Matt’s stomach was still roiling like a storm at sea. He had moved the wastebasket next to his desk so he could hurl into it as needed. Eating lunch was unimaginable.
He had been working nonstop to repair the game with no success. He had consulted every manual he owned. He had read extensively from a variety of specialized sites on the internet. He had even put in a phone call to one of his old professors from grad school, but it was all to no avail.
Matt wasn’t used to feeling stupid or like a failure, but now he was experiencing both of these unpleasant, unaccustomed feelings. It was like Springtrap, his own creation, had bested him.
There was a knock on his office door. “Come in,” Matt said. He hoped it was either someone to save him or someone to put him out of his misery.
“Hiya, Matt.” It was neither. It was Gary, the head of his department, who was guaranteed in any given situation to (a) be of no help whatsoever, and (b) deepen his misery. Matt gritted his teeth.
“Hey, Gary.” Matt hoped the signs of his distress weren’t visible, but he was pretty sure they were. He was breathing heavily and sweating like he’d just run a marathon. The intensity of his nausea made it difficult to speak. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth, something other than words would come out.
Gary sat down in the chair across from Matt’s desk. He was, as always, impeccably groomed—his hair in a perfect, Ken-doll part, his expensive suit wrinkle free. “Have you been on social media the past couple of days?” He grinned, flashing his perfectly straight, white teeth. “Kids are going nuts over this game—some adults, too. It’s gonna be huge, Matt. Huge.”
“Huge,” Matt echoed, trying to smile but failing. His mouth refused to go up at the corners.
“So how’s it going?” Gary asked, leaning forward in his chair. “Is everything moving forward like it needs to? Because I tell you, that deadline is looming.”
Matt didn’t need to be told that the deadline was looming. “It’s going great,” he said, hoping he sounded more convincing than he felt.
“Good to hear,” Gary said, like he was trying to decide whether he believed him. “Anything I can help you with?”
“No, it’s going great,” Matt repeated, his voice getting a little high-pitched and whiny the way it did when he was nervous.
“Excellent!” Gary said, getting up from the chair. “Can’t wait to see what you’ve put together. You’ll be ready to present it on Friday, right?”
“Friday. You bet,” Matt said, gulping.
Gary left, closing the door behind him. Matt put his head down on his desk in despair. He had started the morning feeling confident in his ability to solve the problem, but the skies had darkened.
Matt took his lunch break, not to eat, but just to get out of the office and try to clear his head. He walked the half block to Gus’s, a dimly lit dive bar that reminded him of the cheap places he used to frequent in college. Maybe he could just sip on a soda to settle his stomach. Also, Gus’s wouldn’t be crowded at lunchtime, and maybe the combination of a soda and the dark and the quiet would help him think.
Matt placed his order, and Gus filled it. Matt wished that all relationships could be that simple. He sipped his cola and thought. Okay, so there was no time for a major redesign, but was there anything else he could do that might save the game and save his job?
Matt looked around the room. In the corner were a couple of old video game cabinets that had probably been there since the games were new in the eighties. He stared at the demo screen of an old maze game, watching a weird yellow ball guy being pursued by candy-colored ghosts. Then the thought hit him.
I can just program in a new Springtrap, one that follows the path it’s supposed to. The old program is so messed up it won’t have any impact on the game anyway. No one will even know it’s there.
Why hadn’t he thought of this before? The problem was as good as solved. He ate a handful of bar peanuts and finished his soda. Something about the combination of saltiness and fizziness soothed his stomach. Then he went back to the office to build a new Springtrap, one that followed the path it was supposed to follow.
And this time, Matt wouldn’t antagonize the rabbit. He had learned his lesson.
It hadn’t been easy hacking into the company’s computer, but Gene had done it. Maybe it was a sign that things were looking up. Life hadn’t been going great for him lately. He had gotten fired from his job on the Nerd Team at Good Deal electronics store and had had to move back in with his parents until he could find something else, which hadn’t happened yet. It was depressing being a grown man living in your childhood bedroom, looking at all those old trophies from Scholar’s Bowl and math team and realizing how little they meant.
That was why he’d been packing on the weight. Depression and Mom’s home cooking were a dangerous combination.
But now he at least had one thing going for him. He had his own early copy of Springtrap’s Revenge. Because of his superior hacking skills, he was going to be one of the first people—if not the very first person—to play the game. And with his superior gaming skills, he might very well become the very first person to beat the game, too. And that would be an accomplishment.
He put on the VR headset. He was ready to play.
Gene created an avatar that looked like his ideal self, like he would look again once he got back on his feet. Getting into the computer system and getting this game was a good sign, Gene thought. A success that would be the first in a series of successes.
Once his avatar was created, Gene found himself standing at the end of a dark hallway. He walked to the opposite end. There was a door on the left and a door on the right. Randomly, he chose the one on the right. He found himself in a room with four doors. Clearly, he had to choose one, and from his past experiences with FNAF games, he knew that the wrong choice would result in a jump scare and a GAME OVER screen.
He chose the door on the left. He took a deep breath, turned the knob, and pulled. It was clear. He breathed a sigh of relief, took a few steps forward, and found himself in another dark hallway. He walked forward until he slammed into a wall. He had to say, the VR features were impressive. When his avatar hit the wall, he could feel the bump.
He felt his way to the right, where there was a passage forward, and continued feeling his way along the wall. Between the limited perspective offered by the VR and the lack of light, this maze was obviously no joke. But if there was one area in his life where Gene had full confidence in himself, it was gaming. He was going to find his way out.
It was strange. It seemed like part of the fun of negotiating the maze should be avoiding creepy characters who lurked around corners and jumped out when least expected. But so far, there were no creepy characters in sight, not even the title character. The game was called Springtrap’s Revenge. So where was Springtrap?
“Gene Junior! Dinner’s ready!” a voice called from the kitchen, breaking Gene’s immersion in the game. “Stuffed peppers and macaroni and cheese!”
“I’ll be there in a minute, Ma!” Gene yelled back. But he knew it would be longer than a minute. He wasn’t leaving the game until he found Springtrap.
Besides, if there was one thing he knew about Ma, it was that she wasn’t going to let him go hungry. If he took too long to come to the table, she’d make him a plate and bring it to his room, so he could shovel in his dinner while he played.
Gene saw something green sticking out from behind a corner of the maze. He went to investigate, steeling himself for a jump scare, but the version of Springtrap he found, while undoubtedly scary, was incapable of jumping out at anyone.
Springtrap’s body lay motionless and flat on its back, its abdomen flayed open. Springs and gears protruded from the wound. Its eyes were open and empty.
Gene thought it might be a trick, that any second the green rabbit would spring to life and grab Gene’s avatar’s ankle. But the rabbit just lay there. Gene made his avatar nudge it with his foot, but it was inert. It seemed to be GAME OVER for Springtrap.
But that didn’t make any sense. If this game was about Springtrap getting revenge, why would the supposed main character be dead in the beginning? Unless the plot turned into some kind of ghost story?
“Gene Junior! Your dinner’s getting cold!”
“I’ll be there in a minute, Ma! Just let me finish … filling out this job application,” Gene called. He knew if she thought he was applying for a job, she’d stay off his back for a few more minutes.
He had to figure out what was going on in Springtrap’s Revenge, and the only way to do it was to take a look at the code. It was time to put those superior hacking skills to use again.
After a few commands, he was in. But what he found made no sense. According to the code, Springtrap had been extracted from the very game that bore his name in the title. The program that initiated the extraction was inexplicably called “Its_a_boy.exe.”
Matt was hungry. Ravenous. He was sitting at a table for two at Ye Olde Steakhouse. His companion at the table was Madison, who, thankfully, was as pretty as her pictures, with shiny chestnut hair and big, doelike brown eyes.
This was their first date, but Matt was having a hard time focusing on the required chitchat because he was so hungry. He realized he had scooted the breadbasket in front of him and had been mindlessly gnawing his way through the rolls. “I’m sorry. Would you like some bread?” he asked, forcing himself to push the basket in her direction.
“No thanks,” she said with an awkward grin. “I’m watching my carbs.”
“Not me, obviously,” Matt said, trying for humor as he tore off another chunk of bread with his teeth. What was this? Roll number four? Number five?
The server appeared, and before she could even ask them for their order, Matt said, “Porterhouse steak, very rare, with a loaded baked potato and creamed spinach on the side. And let’s get a refill on this breadbasket, too.”
“And for you, ma’am?” The server turned to Madison. Matt figured this was a subtle jab at him, a reminder that he was supposed to have let the lady order first, but he was far too hungry to care about etiquette. He was so hungry that it felt like a medical emergency.
“The Cobb salad, please, with blue cheese dressing on the side,” Madison said.
Matt hoped the server would hurry back with that new breadbasket before he started trying to eat the tablecloth. “You know, I’ve always wondered,” he said, “you girls always order salads when you’re out on dates … like you don’t want a guy seeing you eat too much. When you go out with your girlfriends, do you order something else? Like a big plate of ribs or something?”
Ribs, Matt thought. Ribs sound delicious.
Madison smiled. “It depends on how hungry I am. Sometimes when I go out with my best friend, we split a burger and fries.”
“You split a burger and fries?” Matt said. “That’s just like an appetizer or something.”
Madison giggled. “It’s really not. Half a cheeseburger is plenty. And girls can’t eat like you guys can. If I look at a piece of cheesecake, I gain five pounds.”
Cheesecake. For dessert, Matt definitely wanted cheesecake. He rarely ordered dessert, but he was going for it tonight. Stop, he told himself. Stop obsessing over food, and notice your date. “Well,” he said finally, “whatever you’re doing, you should keep on doing it because you look fantastic.”
“Thanks,” she said, smiling.
Good, Matt thought. When in doubt, give a compliment. It always smooths things over.
When the food arrived, Matt felt like a starving lumberjack. The rare steak sat in an appetizing pool of blood, and when Matt cut into it, the meat was a purply red.
“I think I just heard it moo,” Madison said as Matt held a dripping chunk of meat to his lips.
“Well, you won’t hear it long because it’s going to be in my belly,” Matt said. The nearly raw meat was delicious, so intensely so that Matt closed his eyes as he chewed. He ignored the vegetables on his plate and sawed into the meat over and over again, cutting off big chunks that filled his cheeks as he chewed. He resented how the knife and fork slowed down his eating. Really, it would make much more sense just to pick up the steak and rend off chunks with his canines. That’s what they were for, weren’t they?
Table manners, all the rules of etiquette, really, were just ways to delay the body getting what it needed. And Matt’s body needed this meat.
He wasn’t quite sure when he had picked up the large T-bone from the center of the steak and started gnawing it, growling to himself with animal pleasure.
But then he felt Madison’s eyes on him. She was sitting across from him, holding a forkful of lettuce in midair, staring at him like he was an exhibit in a zoo.
Then he felt the eyes of the other customers at the other tables as well.
He set down the bone. “I went to the doctor the other day,” he lied. “He said I was terribly anemic. I must have needed this red meat something fierce.”
“You must have,” Madison said. She reached into her handbag, pulled out her phone, and looked at it for a second. “Oh no,” she said. “I just got a text from my roommate. My cat is sick. I have to go. Thanks for dinner.”
She didn’t stick around long enough to hear Matt say, “I’ll call you.”
Why couldn’t he satisfy this bottomless hunger? His steak was gone now, and so were the baked potato and creamed spinach. He reached across the table for the rest of Madison’s mostly uneaten salad. It would be a shame for it to go to waste.
As Matt got undressed for his bedtime shower, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the bathroom mirror and almost didn’t recognize himself. His belly was definitely bigger. He was bloated from the enormous dinner he had eaten at the steakhouse, but this seemed like more than standard post-meal bloat. Matt looked at his handsome face and shrugged. What were a few more pounds? He was still looking good. And historically, being a man with a little extra weight was a sign of prosperity.
Matt woke up with a goal that was crystal clear in its simplicity: to make it to the bathroom before it was too late. He threw off the covers and ran, then spewed the remains of last night’s huge and expensive dinner into the porcelain bowl. He retched and gagged long after there was nothing left to bring up.
Strangely, he still felt bloated afterward, and his belly was still distended. Was this some kind of weird virus, the symptoms of which were cycles of extreme nausea followed by extreme hunger? If it was a virus, it was certainly hanging on a long time. He would have to ask people at work if they had heard of anybody else having the same symptoms.
“Matt, are you feeling okay?” Jamie asked as they sat in the conference room waiting for a meeting to start. Her brow was knitted in a look of concern, but Matt doubted that it was genuine.
“Oh, it’s just this bug I’m having a hard time fighting off,” Matt said. The smell of the coffee in the room, usually one of his favorite aromas, was nauseating. “I’m either nauseated or starving, and I’m bloated and gassy. Do you know about any viruses with those symptoms going around?”
“I don’t,” Jamie said. “And I know about all the bugs because I have kids in school who bring them home!” She smiled. “Seriously, though, maybe you should have a doctor check you out. You’re definitely bloated, and your color doesn’t look good—you’re kind of yellowish, like you might have jaundice. Maybe you should get some blood work done and get your liver function checked just to be on the safe side.”
“Oh, doctors don’t know anything,” Matt said. And neither did Jamie. He didn’t even know why he had bothered to ask her anything.
Gary walked in, which had the negative effect of starting the meeting but the positive effect of ending any other conversation.
“Good morning,” Gary said, taking his place at the head of the conference table. “Well, the release date is in two weeks, and the reviews from early screening copies of the game are in. And the results are”—he looked down at his notes—“mixed.”
