Their search for Springtrap began, logically, with the first party room. Though they doubted William would have bothered with such insignificant areas, the possibility that the old man could have sniffed out a half-eaten pizza crust on the floor prompted Michael to check regardless. The corpse tucked his decaying head through the doorway, peered wordlessly into the darkness, and pulled back, shaking his head.
They wandered into the second party room, which, like the first, was vacant aside from the typical assortment of neatly arranged party supplies. Michael called out to his father for good measure, but nothing came of it aside from a pitiful echo.
The trio was in the process of crossing the hallway when Michael croaked, “There's something in my pocket!”
Chipper was tempted to point out that pockets typically did hold something, but he settled for guessing, “A complimentary corporate pen?”
“No– it's moving!”
This succeeded in garnering the other's attention. Freddy clapped a paw to his muzzle while Chipper peered at Michael through the flashlight's pale lighting. Sure enough, there was a lump shifting about in the front pocket of Michael's business shirt. The zombified man looked to his traveling companions pleadingly, though there was little to be done in such a scenario.
“Hor! Hooooor!” Freddy waved wildly and mimicked beating at something with an invisible object in his hands. Chipper observed this display and nodded, translating, “Use the flashlight in substitute of a hammer! I like it! Mikey, give it a go!”
Michael's eyes snapped from Chipper, to Freddy, and back again. “I'm… not sure about this,” he confessed, but at that moment, the inhabitant of Michael's shirt popped upwards, dismissing the need for Freddy's brutish plan.
“Helpy!”
The palm-sized bear squealed with delight, throwing his teeny arms open as Michael scooped the miniature creature into a lifeless palm.
“Have you been inside of my pocket all the while?” The corpse looked into Helpy's gleaming blue eyes, using a flashlight-clad hand to boop his bitty nose.
The tiny robot took a moment to ponder the question, then shook his head no.
“How bizarre,” Michael murmured to himself, setting the group's newest member upon his shoulder. “Well, I'm happy you're here, just the same. I was beginning to worry about you. Are the animatronics at our pizza place behaving?”
Helpy tucked a rounded paw beneath his chin, thinking hard.
Michael chuckled at the silly little fellow and tried again.
“Is Lefty behaving?”
Helpy beamed and bobbed his head without delay.
“Is Music Man behaving?”
Helpy thrust out a miniature thumbs-up.
“Is Scraptrap behaving?”
Helpy's smile dropped as soon as it'd come. The miniature bear crossed his stubby arms and raised an eyebrow at Michael.
“I know,” he insisted amid his laughter. “That was a trick question.”
“Funny you should mention that smelly, oversized disgrace to all rodentkind, Mikey, because he isn't far…”
“Hm?” Michael glanced Chipper's way, but at that moment, they all heard it:
“AAAAAHHH!”
“Father!” Recognizing Springtrap's pitiful wail, Michael leapt into action, loping down the hallway at an impressive speed for a dead man. Helpy clung to the corpse's coveralls, squeaking for dear life as the bumpy ride threatened to buck the little bear from his perch. Chipper and Freddy exchanged a look before tromping after their friends at an equally urgent pace.
“Sounds like William also found out this map is kitchen-less,” Chipper quipped, but Michael was in no mood for jokes as he stumbled through the Game Area doorway, gasping for breath.
“Father,” he rasped, “are you–”
Hunkered at the Prize Corner across the room, Springtrap whirled around, pressing an urgent finger against his buck teeth. He motioned to a large, decorative box set beside the counter, within which resided one of the franchise's most vengeful spirits.
Michael complied with the request of his father, but Chipper only snorted, crossing his arms at the rickety rabbit’s display of cowardice.
“What do we have to worry about? If she wakes up, the only person she'll be mad at is you.”
Chipper snickered and bumped Michael's arm playfully. Beside him, the corpse gazed warily at the container, neglecting to return his friend's laughter.
“Chipper, I do not believe that she would be fond of me, either…”
He shifted his eyes to stare into Chipper's own, and it was then that the rodent realized how terrified the man truly was. The fear clouding Michael's troubled eyes was a sight so disheartening that the beaver raised his hands and respectfully backed down from the confrontation.
“Thank you,” Michael breathed, patting his friend's shoulder. “Now, let's take advantage of the animatronic's absence and get to that exit–”
“Hello?”
Springtrap tensed, grabbing at his rabbit ears as if it were possible to ignore the childish laughter in time.
“No, no, no, no–”
Disregarding the pleas of its host, the springlock suit snapped into animatronic mode and began walking of its own accord, towing the unfortunate William along. The heavy stomping left in wake of his every step caused Michael to cast a fretful glance towards the box in the corner. Reluctantly, the corpse turned, keeping his light trained on the departing William as the remainder of the group followed along.
The source of the noise was soon brought to the light – figuratively and literally – as the team trailing behind Springtrap discovered none other than Balloon Boy lurking beside the carousel.
Even with its journey completed, the suit was not content to release William until it scanned the area, seeking out guests in need of entertainment.
There was the sound of settling machinery, and William exhaled, finally freed. Beneath the suit, Springtrap's breath was ragged, though the old man still made a swipe at the bothersome Balloon Boy. The little animatronic needn't so much as duck, for William was severely disoriented by pain and stumbled from the force of his clumsy swing.
This appeared to humor the grinning robot, for he rocked upon his feet mischievously before letting out a joyous “Hi?”
Again, Springtrap froze, and again, the suit could be heard snapping into control and scouring the room.
“You rotten child,” William seethed, each word laced with pain. Though not yet released from the suit's components, the way in which the rabbit glowered at the robot painted a vivid picture of his intentions.
As luck would have it, Springtrap was not required to take on Balloon Boy (which was fortunate, because it was likely that he would not have won). The diminutive animatronic cut a stiff jig before unleashing a high-pitched giggling fit, sending William's animatronic mode into a frenzy.
Whirrrr! Clunk! Whirrrr! Clunk!
The springlock suit snapped in and out of animatronic mode, causing William to cry out with the robot's every transformation. Forsaking the element of stealth, Springtrap shrieked, “Michael! Don't dawdle; do something!”
Having endured enough of his father's misery, Michael stepped towards the cackling Balloon Boy, folding his hands pleadingly.
“Now, now, little one. I know we have not previously been on the best of , but if you could only silence your insufferable voice, if just for a few moments, then the lot of us shall soon be gone from your pizzeria. What say you, mate?”
Balloon Boy went silent then, cocking his head at Michael's request. He waddled forth a few steps, beaming at the corpse. Michael released the breath he'd been holding, returning the animatronic's grin.
“Thank y–”
“Haha! Haha! Haha!”
Balloon Boy cackled and ran, dancing around the stunned corpse while firing out repetitive bursts of laughter. Michael's smile faltered and died, leaving behind a very livid man.
“Would anyone be opposed if I were to break his neck?”
Atop his shoulder, Helpy shook a tiny fist at the robot in question, squealing angrily. Freddy prepared to hor his of the idea, but was cut off as another noise ed in the din.
Thump!
At the corner of the room, the Prize Counter box rattled so aggressively that a plushie toppled from one of the shelves. Michael choked down a dry swallow and refocused himself on the irritating animatronic, speaking in a refined sense of urgency.
“Balloon Boy, please–”
“Haha! Haha! Haha!”
Realizing that nothing he could say or do would sway the little parasite, the corpse began to breathe heavily, clutching at his hairless head amidst the surge of anxiety. Helpy poked worriedly at the man's shoulder, to little avail.
“Please, you hellish little creature, please–”
“Woah, woah, Mikey.” Chipper placed his paws against the man's trembling arms. “Calm down. I–I'll think of something, kiddo–”
“I'm hyperventilating without lungs, Chipper. I don't believe I could calm myself if I tried.” Michael giggled hysterically as the box shook once more, threatening a fate far worse than Balloon Boy's unrelenting laughter.
Chipper's eyes flitted from animatronic to box, and back again. William's pain caused the beaver little concern, but Michael's panicked wheezing was enough to prompt him to address the smug robot on his friend's behalf.
“Hey, weirdo!”
Evidently used to being addressed in such an unkind manner, Balloon Boy shifted his propeller-clad head towards the beaver, regarding his fluffy adversary with little interest.
"If you wake her up,” the rodent warned, jerking a thumb the box's way, “I'll cram every battery you ever swiped so far down your throat, the only word you'll be thinking of is help.”
This succeeded in sobering the taunting automaton. The little robot's eyes snapped wide open, and though his elongated grin was permanently plastered across his face, it appeared to shrink in size.
Balloon Boy lowered his head to Michael apologetically, then turned and offered Springtrap's rigid form a kick to the shins before scuttling towards the hallway and disappearing around the bend.
Michael's breathing heaved forth a few feeble gasps before gradually returning to normal. When he finally felt well enough, the corpse turned to his friend, impressed.
“I'd have never suspected you to be so cold, Chipper.”
“Few people do.” The beaver shrugged, going on to add, “You know, Mikey, as much time as we spend together, I'm not all too sure you really understand how deep my game's lore goes–”
“Mmmhrmhmhmhmhm…”
Leaving the subject of Chipper & Son's behind, the beaver, corpse, and bears followed the strangled sound to gaze upon their fifth member, who stood chuckling after the retreating Balloon Boy.
“‘The only word you'll be thinking of is help.’” Having regained his former autonomy, Springtrap remarked, “I do quite enjoy that line. I'll have to think up something as clever for myself…”
“Father?” Michael drew near with great caution while Helpy used his fingers to direct a makeshift cross towards the rabbit. “Are you– laughing?”
“And at no one else's expense?” Chipper whistled. “I'm impressed. Peepaw's taking big steps towards normalcy. God knows you'll never hope to get there, William, but it means a lot that you try.”
“Hor, hor hor hor, hor hor?” Freddy inquired. Feeling left out, Helpy squeaked his own addition to the conversation before Springtrap cleared his throat, waving at the group dismissively.
“Nevermind it. Now, Michael, shine that blasted torch in a direction that leads us away from this establishment.”
Exhibiting ironic timing, the flashlight sputtered and died, plummeting the five in total darkness.
Total, save for a singular source.
Like moths to a flame, Chipper, Michael, Freddy, and Helpy peered at a faint glow, advancing upon it only to be greeted by Springtrap's jumpscare of a mug.
“JEEZ– Eugh.” Chipper blanched and distanced himself from the rabbit's decomposing face. “That's not necessarily something I'd put a spotlight on, William…”
It was then that Michael perked slightly, extending an arm towards William's unsuspecting figure.
“Father, give me your face.”
“What? Oh–!”
Michael grabbed hold of Springtrap's head and eased the older man downwards, allowing his dim eyes to illuminate the useless torch. The corpse's thin, purple fingers twisted the cap off with ease, and together, they each stared into the barren battery compartment, sharing the same reaction.
“Okay,” Chipper muttered. “Note to self, and to crew: Balloon Boy is psychic. I mean, it's really not that big of a surprise, when you think about it. How else would he nab your batteries from all the way across the room? Mikey, I know if he'd have tried to pry them from your cold, dead hands, you'd have just kicked him over.”
The others murmured among themselves as they worked to process this, with Michael taking it upon himself to step into action.
“So be it, then. Father, your miniscule light shall guide our way as we navigate these halls.”
Beside him, Chipper chuckled. “Mikey, that's not necessary. We're already in The Main Area–”
“Yes, Chipper…” Michael ventured a dramatic step onward, straining his eyes against the enveloping darkness. “The Main Area. The belly of the beast, where the main trio of animatronics lurk, alongside a vengeful spirit and a disassembled robot seeking revenge.”
“Well, yeah, Mikey, but–”
Caught in the grandeur of the moment, Michael clapped his hands upon the beaver's shoulders, offering the rodent a gentle shake as he drawled on.
“They are here, and they are waiting, Chipper. Already, we've squandered so much time. They could be closing in on us as we speak, and we'd never be aware until it was far too late…”
“Look, Mikey, your monologue was great in Sister Location, honest, but there's really no need for another–”
“I understand, Chipper. In that case, I shall keep my message brief.” The corpse sighed and relinquished his hold upon his friend. “If anything should happen to me, I only want you to know that–”
“Mikey, the exit's right there.”
“No matter what perils we face, I– What?”
Wordlessly, Chipper raised an arm in the direction of the Prize Corner. Sure enough, tucked just beside the foreboding counter were a pair of entry doors, through which the beginnings of dawn seeped in.
“Ah… right.” Sinking from his dramatic stance, Michael settled for an awkward scratch of the neck, inquiring, “Shall we, then?”
“You don't have to tell me twice, kiddo.”
Chipper was gone before he'd finished speaking, having bounded halfway towards the door by the time the rest of the crew followed along.
“I must confess that I won't miss this place one bit.” Michael held his flashlight at the ready, allowing his wary eyes to rove about the darkened space.
“Hor,” Freddy reasoned, shrugging his metallic shoulders as he stomped along. “Hor, hor hor, hor hor hor–”
Rrrrrrmmmmmmnnrrgggmmmnnnnnn!
They hadn't taken immediate notice of the static, for how subtly it grew in volume, but there came a time where each member halted short of their journey's end to stare upon one another in wonderment.
And lucky for them they had. It took scarcely any time at all for the travelers to raise their eyes towards the ceiling, upon which clung an aggravated animatronic.
Rrrrrrmmmmmmnnrrgggmmmnnnnnn!
Obscuring the path to the exit, The Mangle swayed rhythmically from its perch. Their mouth hung wide open, set to clamp down on an unfortunate erby. The eye of its that functioned remained unblinking as they stared down the tresers, and its metal bulk shifted undecidedly against the room's interior.
Springtrap nudged himself into the rear of the group before helpfully announcing, “Michael, you lead.”
“Only if I'm dragging you head-first,” the corpse muttered under his breath, fixing his father with a sour sideways glance.
“What was that?”
“Nothing, Father.” Michael sighed, then plucked Helpy from his shoulder, slipping the tiny bear ever so gently into Freddy's awaiting palm. The flashlight, he grudgingly ed to William, before elaborating, “I've faced them before, and I shall do it again. Should anything happen, well… let's not count on it, alright?”
Michael risked one step forth, and then another, stretching a hand of peace towards the stationary machine. Behind him, Helpy squealed in protest, but his bitty pleas were ignored. Fidgeting with the straps of his overalls, Chipper felt compelled to speak out for the corpse's sake.
“Mikey? Is serving yourself up to that ill-tempered fox really our best option?”
Michael snorted dryly. “Do you happen to have a better one, Chipper?”
“That depends on how well the memory spans of these animatronics are programmed to be.”
When Michael cocked his head at the beaver, he waddled forth to demonstrate.
“Hey there!”
Mangle's focus snapped from Michael to the new speaker. Its head descended threateningly, inching as close to Chipper's face as it could manage from their vantage point.
“R- me?”
When the animatronic remained motionless, the rodent grimaced and tried again.
“Jr's? Accidentally mistook you for a booster seat? I– I must it, you were a bit comfortable, once my body settled in a nice spot among the jagged bits–”
At once, Mangle's eyelids curled upwards, and its jaw began to snap joyfully as it waved a metal stump in greeting. The beaver returned the gesture, relinquishing his pent-up breath.
“Ohh, that's a relief! Now, not to insult your magnificent craftsmanship, but my friends and I would very much like to leave this little adventure with our brains right where they are. So, if you wouldn't mind, could you maybe divert those sizable jaws elsewhere–?”
Mangle nodded, the static emanating from within its mess of tangled wires descending into a more peaceful melody as they raised their hanging head. The exit door was now in plain view!
Though no one in the group was thrilled at the prospect of ing under the looming Mangle, they would not allow Chipper's efforts to be in vain. Michael walked side-by-side with the beaver, keeping his eyes respectfully lowered as he ed the overhanging bridge of metal.
Seated upon Freddy's hand, Helpy risked a peek upwards, but shrieked and cowered behind his face. Huddled behind Freddy's sturdy metal frame, Springtrap chuckled at the little bear's fear, though he too ducked his head, sinking lower behind Freddy as they walked along.
Mangle paid the others no heed, but made a deliberate snap at Springtrap as he ed. The old man yelped and instinctively dropped to all fours. Scrambling away like an injured animal, William hissed at the shoddily assembled animatronic before scampering past the remainder of the group and through the exit door.
“Father, wait–!”
Michael made as if to stop Springtrap, but his pleas fell upon deaf ears as the entryway swallowed the older man. Beyond the door lay nothing but a void; there was daylight, but no outside world to frame it.
Caught as he was in his anxieties, Michael had scarcely the time to process this when Chipper piped up.
"M-Mikey?”
“Chipper?”
"For once, Peepaw actually had the right idea. Look…”
Michael had not felt compelled to turn until he detected the panic in his friend's tone. When the corpse followed the beaver's pointing paw, he froze.
Across the Main Area, the Withereds obstructed the hallway, ed by the Toy trio and the returning Balloon Boy. Undoubtedly pleased with his roundup efforts, the little animatronic released an endless stream of laughter that, while having no effect on the escaped William, still ground miserably upon the ears of the remaining quartet.
There was little time allotted for their annoyance, for backing their assembly, the massive outline of Golden Freddy's head lurked, hovering patiently as it waited. It understood there was no rush; not for it, at least. With its speed, it would claim them in a matter of seconds.
Above them, Mangle clamped their jaws anxiously, nodding its head towards the group as if urging them to run.
It was Withered Freddy who made the decision on their behalf. The ragged bear stomped forth a step, twitched an ear towards Balloon Boy's unending cackles, and promptly kicked the robot down. His former glee vanquished, the miniature nuisance lay staring in wide-eyed fear at his superior animatronic.
Delighted, Chipper shook Michael's arm with great enthusiasm.
“Haha! See? I knew it, Mikey!”
The dumbfounded corpse opened his mouth to speak, but the only voice to be heard was Withered Freddy's thundering “Hooor!”
Then, Golden Freddy charged.
At once, Michael shoved the petrified Freddy and Helpy through the door and grabbed hold of Chipper's arm, tugging him onward. The battered bear released a horrible shriek as it advanced, and though neither dared turn back, they knew enough to sense that it was gaining rapidly. Behind them, the carousel toppled over, and the ground beneath Chipper's paws trembled.
Then, Withered Freddy screamed. It was a horrendous sound; drawn-out and laden with static. His bandmates followed suit, bellowing out their own horrific assortment of garbled cries. Not ones to be left out, the Toys began blasting their classic voice lines at ear-shattering volumes, and even Balloon Boy felt safe enough to resume laughing upon the floor. Even Mangle's jaw hung slack as its droning static contributed to the chaos.
Within this clamor, the aggravated tune of a music box chimed, but by then the duo had flung themselves through the door and into empty space.
There was nothing. Nothing at all.
The overwhelming shadow was so suffocating that Chipper could not perceive his own paws. The beaver fought to cry out for Michael, only to be overcome by the belief that he'd never had a voice at all. His thoughts were even more hopeless; a scrambled mess of broken thoughts that clouded his mind and made him feel sick.
There was nothing. Until, there was Michael.
“Chipper?”
The sound of his voice alleviated some unseen force restraining the beaver, and he felt his consciousness return.
“Kiddo!” The beaver strained his body to seek his friend, but as before, there was nothing.
“I'm frightened, Chipper. I'm frightened, and yet I am comforted.”
“I… I know what you mean, kiddo. I feel it, too…”
It seemed then that they'd said everything. Chipper went quiet, and Michael the same.
There was nothing. Nothing at all.
Then, they saw stars. Purple stars.
The curtain billowed slightly, offering the two a gentle slap to the face before retreating. Chipper sneezed against the dusty fabric and turned to Michael, beaming.
“Sure beats unspecified death via floating head, eh, kiddo?”
Obviously recovering from a state of shock, it was some time before the man returned to reality. Breathing heavily, the corpse swiveled his head to meet the beaver's eyes, managing a chuckle between his chattering teeth.
“Q-Quite, Chipper.”
It was clear then that they both required a moment of silence. They leaned backwards, feeling the brick wall of Pirate's Cove dig into their spines. The room was still dark, with the only light source coming from beyond the confined stage, but it was nowhere near as overwhelming as what they had just experienced.
They'd nearly died – or perhaps they'd encountered a taste of something merely akin to death – but at long last, they had reached Freddy's.
☆
Time: Approx. 3-4 hours
☆
Comments (1)
Proof: