Ralph
If someone told me last year that working at Fazbear Entertainment would involve haggling over bulk orders of cheese in a semi-abandoned industrial district under gray skies and birdless trees, I'd have said, "Neat! Sounds like an adventure."
I don't know if I should be proud of my optimism or deeply ashamed.
The warehouse door creaked open and the supplier stepped out, wiping his hands on a red-stained apron that might've once said "Kiss the Cook." Now it just said "K Cook," which sounded like some sort of weird band if you said it fast enough.
"Ralph, good to see ya," he grinned, revealing two gold teeth and what might've been a loose popcorn kernel wedged between them.
"Mr. Green," I nodded, trying not to stare at the very-not-a-cross hanging beside the door.
It was... artistic, in the wrong way. Bones and twine and something red (please God, let it be paint) looped in a strange figure that seemed to shimmer when I looked too hard at it. It hadn't been there two weeks ago when i first came to arrange the deal. I cleared my throat. "New decoration?"
"Oh, that?" Green laughed like a dying engine. "Just... finding a new path, y'know? Hope my change in faith ain't a problem for your boss."
I glanced again at the twisted thing on the wall. It looked like it was breathing. "Nope. Not a problem at all. Live and let... spiritually reconfigure."
He clapped me on the back so hard I nearly stumbled. "You're a good kid. Let's go inside and sort out those buns."
Pete
I had no idea why Corporate sent me, of all people, to look into a cult. I ran maintenance, but apparently if you knew how to fix a fryer, you could also infiltrate paranormal fan clubs. We were near a building which we followed few of the identified cult members into.
"You think they're really a cult?" whispered Gina, one of the two employees I was sent with. She worked in HR. Seemed nice. Normal. Still wore her work blazer like she expected this was going to turn into a performance review.
"They worship someone called Mister Faceless," I muttered as we sneaked closer to the building. "That scream 'normal' to you?"
"Could just be theater kids with bad hygiene," said Sam, their third. He was holding a flashlight like it'd shield him from evil. "Like a haunted Renaissance fair."
I peered through the grimy window with a pocket mirror, doing my best spy impression. Inside, about a dozen figures stood in a circle, cloaked in beige robes that looked suspiciously like hotel bathrobes. They were chanting. Something about "the forest beyond walls" and "we who cannot see, seen by you."
Then someone hit a cymbal.
"Okay, that was kinda spooky," Sam whispered. "Let's get closer."
We crept to the side of the building, where the chant was clearer through a cracked window.
"...He watches behind the static, and our minds are made clean through his gaze..."
Gina scribbled that down. I took pictures with a tiny disposable camera.
"Achoo!"
Me and Gina froze. We glanced at Sam who looked like a guilty golden retriever. The chanting stopped.
I checked through the window and saw twelve hoods staring back.
Fuck.
The door creaked open.
I braced myself for knives, daggers, maybe a human sacrifice pit, or worse, the cops getting called. Instead I was greeted by a smiling man who pulled off his hood.
"Welcome!" said the cult leader, cheerily. "We don't usually get walk-ins."
"We're not here to-" I began.
"Nonsense," said the woman who seemed to be running the show. "You're here, you're curious, you're seeking. Also its raining and you will catch a cold."
"Sorry but we uh got lost," said Gina. "We have friends to meet uh sorry for the interuption."
I looked around. The cultists were smiling. Too much.
"Don't worry we don't do sacrifices for our god," one said, chuckling. "He has a different taste of offerings."
The leader handed us pamphlets which we took just to be safe. "Have you felt his presence? Being seen by the trees? The silence that feels like screaming?"
"No..." Sam muttered, tucking the pamphlet under his shirt.
"Then you should leave now," one of them said, still smiling. "The air will thicken soon. It's not safe for the uninitiated, but feel free to visit again if you change your mind."
They walked us to the door like polite restaurant hosts. Sam bowed for some reason. Gina refused to make eye contact with anyone and I reluctantly shook one of their hands as goodbye.
"Ralph?" I blinked, surprised to see the tall, lanky Phone Guy carrying a signed purchase order and what looked like a box of hot dog buns.
"Hey, Pete," Ralph waved, puzzled. "What are you guys doing here?"
"We could ask you the same question." Gina muttered her eyes narrowed.
"This is one of the suppliers for the Grand Reopening." Ralph said cheerfully.
We looked back at the creepy building.
"This guy sells bread?" Sam asked.
"Yeah! Great rates. Organic. Locally sourced he even has a new... religion?" Ralph rubbed the back of his head. "I dunno, maybe it's a new midlife crisis thing."
Me and Gina glanced at each other. This is concerning.
Then we hard a gasp and alongside Ralph glanced at Sam. "Uh guys...My ID badge is gone."
We stared at him.
My stomach sank.
A robed figure sat in the candlelight, turning a plastic Fazbear ID card over in their fingers. The tiny, slightly awkward photo of Sam stared back at them.
The figure chuckled, low and smooth.
"Fazbear Entertainment, huh?" they whispered, placing the ID gently on an altar made of cables and broken TVs.
(Food and other supplies for Grand Reopening gained! New Actions Unlocked! The Cult is aware you are spying on them! The food you got from Mister Green is safe you checked! DC remains unchanged!)
