Chapter 6

The aroma of sizzling potatoes and onions wafted through the cozy kitchen as Owen took charge of making Tortilla de Patatas. First step was peeling and frying the potatoes, then mixing the fried potatoes with eggs and cooking it in the frying pan with just the right amount of olive oil.

"Mmmm…"

As the fragrance of cooking filled the air, Isabella shuffled in, her eyes half-closed, like a morning zombie. She slumped into a chair at the table, barely registering the enticing smells around her.

"Good morning, sunshine," Owen greeted.

"Mmm."

Isabella wasn't a morning person. Expecting anything other than a murmur would be foolish.

"Breakfast will be ready in a couple minutes," Owen said.

Isabella grunted in response, her head resting on her hand. Ophelia chuckled, taking another sip of her bubble tea.

Soon, Owen expertly slid the golden-brown tortilla onto a plate, the aroma filling the room. He cut generous slices and served them onto plates for Ophelia and Isabella. The trio sat around the table, the morning silence broken only by the clinking of forks against plates.

"Owen, did you know that the food industry is rigged," Ophelia said between bites. Before he was able to muster a response, she nodded excitedly. "It's true, it's true. It's all designed to make us fat!"

"Uh-huh. Why make us fat though?"

"To, erm…" Ophelia blinked. "I haven't gotten that far yet."

"And you, Isabella?" Owen asked. "Maybe some SNaF theories to share?"

"You won't get it."

"But it is nice to have someone listen anyway, right?"

Her short glance spoke volumes. He smiled and she looked down at her food. She pursed her lips. It was almost as if he had undone a great seal.

"Well," Isabella's voice cracked from excitement, "I feel as though my dream theory is correct. It's unpopular, for sure, and lacks narrative cohesion but I really do think it's what Moth wants to tell us."

Mothy Wheezing, the creator of SNaF. It was a name that acted as a fourth member at the dining table, only because of how frequently Isabella brought her up.

"Like, think about it. Why create a whole new archetype of animatronics? Remember, we've only had toy animatronics and modern animatronics, and now all of a sudden we get ghosts? It doesn't make sense. The common rebuttal is that the term ghost isn't meant to be literal even though the ghost animatronics literally go through walls. Oh, but they'll say, 'He's hallucinating, that's why!' But that seems so lame. We've had hallucinating main characters before so why is this one so much worse?"

"Uh…because it's a dream," Ophelia offered.

"I think so." Isabella tried to calm herself but the excitement flared back up. "But…yeah, ghost animatronics. That's the first piece of evidence. Then there's the timing of the game. It's the fourth in the installment in the series and oddly the most vague on when it takes place."

"The previous have been direct sequels, right? Why can't we assume the same for this game?" Owen pointed out.

Isabella practically jumped at the chance to explain herself. "I saw some coding on the walls in the dark and I ran it through cipher decoders today. There was a year, date, and time: specifically February 7, 1978. Cool, huh? It took hours but I got it. The location is important too–it was inside the ventilation system over a name. I think during the start of the game another character went into the vents and wrote it down and we know it's new because it seems to be identical in messaging to the main character's friend's signature on the phone."

A beat passed. All of a sudden, Isabella felt awkward and she went back to eating.

"So…yeah. It's crazy. Controversial," she corrected herself.

'A controversial theory, huh?'

The thought continued to linger in his head. Finishing the last bits of their breakfast, Owen took the plates to the sink. The clinking of dishes and the running water created a calming background noise as Isabella hesitated.

"Ooh, ooh, I'll help," Ophelia said, raising a hand like a student in elementary school. She tossed the bubble tea container into the recycling and joined him in washing the dishes.

"I wash, you dry."

"Yes, sir!"

As always, Team Double-Os had impeccable team work. In record time, they finished their tasks and high-fived each other enthusiastically.

Ophelia grinned, showing lovely dimples that gave her following proclamation an extra oomph. "Yeah! What's gonna work…"

"Teamwork!"

"Yeah!"

There was laughter between them and her hand didn't immediately let go of his. "I have to wash my hands," Owen stated, nudging at the sink.

"Oh! My bad!" She let go of him without a tinge of bashfulness. "Alright, me too. Wait, aren't we out of soap? Human soap, I mean?"

Owen winced. "We are." Last week, Owen had been a bit light on groceries and household items. Shit was getting expensive, what could he do?

They used up all the soap in the container, with Ophelia going so far as to open it up with scissors. Both were disappointed that there was nothing left. After today, the soap would be thrown in the trash.

"You have served us well, soap." She dropped the container into the garbage and waved. "Bye-bye!"

Owen checked the time. It was almost two. "Hey, I'm going to hop on my computer for a bit. Got some streaming to do."

"Okay! Have fun!" Ophelia turned and sent him a thumbs-up. Isabella, meanwhile, gave him a small smile. He appreciated their support no matter how small and casual it was. It gave his heart an upstart when he turned on the monitor and began the stream.

"I will," he muttered, forcing a smile. "I will."