Mr. Afton walked down the seemingly endless, dim-lit hallways and corridors of his facility until he reached a metal door, he pressed his hand down on a detector, the system beeping quietly before opening the door with a hiss. The room before him looked like an ICU unit in some futuristic hospital. Monitors beeped in a steady rhythm while dozens of white and gray wires all connected to a hospital bed in the center of the room; the entire room revolving around it. The resident of the bed was a motionless, pale young woman in some sort of coma. Her body was in a frightening condition; she was missing a few limbs, her ribcage was visible allowing for one to see her breathing lungs as well as several other graphic injuries.
Afton looked at her with his normal emotionless gaze, although there was a hint of sadness or perhaps guilt in his eyes. He ran a hand through her strawberry blonde hair, stroking it in a surprisingly loving fashion before he heard the door hissing open once again. His eyes snapped to the door, his hand instinctively jerking to his pocket, about to grab something; he relaxed his guard when he realized it was only Micheal.
“How is she?”
“Stable. The procedure will begin tomorrow, 12:00 A.M sharp.”
Micheal nodded, looking at the girl with the same melancholy gaze at Afton’s. “Is this really necessary?”
“I’ve tested it before on several subjects, Micheal, living or otherwise. Most were remarkably successful. I wouldn’t have waited this long if it wasn’t safe.”
“It’s not about safety, father... it’s morals. Do you really want to turn her into this... thing?”
“Morals... morals?” Afton turned his head to Micheal, his tone shifting from monotone to a cruel hiss, “Of course. You would know all about morals... wouldn’t you? Especially around 11 years ago, hmm?” Micheal froze. His father hadn’t brought that up in years, every mention was instantly silenced with an enraged outburst usually followed by him downing
more of his pills. It was clear he was in no mood for games.
“I-I’m sorry father...” Micheal shifted around nervously, now unable to stop remembering that damning day. It’s not that he didn’t feel bad about it, he did, just... not enough.
Mangle had no idea what she was doing here. What kind of person gets an anonymous text saying to meet someone in an alley and does just that!? Nevertheless, she had always been dangerously curious; besides, she fought thugs and such on a semi-regular basis, how bad could this encounter be? She checked her phone, she got the time right, what was taking them so long? If anyone was dumb enough to attempt to attack her she had her backpack with her. This may not have seemed like anything but anyone who knew her knew that this was a threat, for her backpack concealed three mentally-controlled robotic extensions to her body, winding tentacles topped with razor sharp claws or a modified bear trap jaw. She instantly whipped her head around once she heard footsteps behind her.
To her surprise, a skinny young man made his way to her.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” the Marionette said as he straightened his mask, “I’m glad you could make it.”
“Who are you?” Mangle didn’t let her guard down, she had been patrolling streets for around 4 years now, she knew the dangers.
“The Marionette.” He paused for a minute, “Nice night, huh?”
“Cut to the chase, kid. It’s 2 A.M. and I’m missing a game for this.”
“Heh, alright I’ll be frank: Your brother is going to die.”
Mangle’s blood ran cold for a split second , did this kid just threaten Foxy? The backpack quickly ripped open as Marionette was pinned to a brick wall by a mechanical jaw with the jaw strength of an adult crocodile. This made him completely freeze, she assumed in terror although it was impossible to tell with that damn mask.
“And just what do you mean by that!?” Even if Foxy had been at sea with her father for most of her life he was still the closest with her of her siblings, better than her sister anyway. The Marionette didn’t respond at first, staring at the jaws that caged his chest motionlessly.
“I SAID WHAT DO YOU DO MEAN BY THAT!?”
“That’s not a threat!! I swear!” He threw his hands up defensively, “I’m trying to help you!”
The jaws only loosened a tiny bit, still ready to crush him in one motion. “Explain.”
“Look, the killer he’s after is far more dangerous than he expects him to be... I’ve been trying to keep him at bay for the past few days, but it’s only a matter of time befo-“
“So you’ve been working with him? Yeah, you’re under arrest, buddy.”
“...-before he attacks AFTONRobotics.”
“I can’t say anything else!”
“Bullshit! You can’t jus-“ She wasn’t able to finish her sentence before her lungs filled with a light blue powder that filled the enclosed area. The jaws went limp as she focused all her energy on breathing, hands shooting up to grasp her neck in a fit of panicked coughing. By the time the dust cleared and Mangle had regained her composure, The Marionette was gone. In his place were pieces of a shattered plastic box made to look like a present.
Blood dripped down the blade of Springtrap’s staff, a limp body laying on the cold sidewalk. It was their own fault, no one sensible would ever insult him like that. That stupid puppet was nowhere to be seen today, thankfully. It wasn’t long before a nearby storm drain caught his eye as something shiny and metallic started slithering out of it. Instantly pointing his gun at it, Springtrap’s glowing eyes snapped to the thin coiled wire as it crawled like a snake out of the drain. He had no time to react before dozens of other wires climbed to the surface; they were all varying in lengths, some rusted, and some carrying real Tronican eyeballs and parts of a simple metal mask. They started to form into a thin figure, the cords contorting to form grotesque limbs and a torso. After a few minutes the wires settled in an uncanny skeletal form, some of the longer wires protruding from the back, probably to use as a weapon.
That was it. The shots rang out as Springtrap fired holes into the sentient cluster. They only reformed seconds later, the scraps of metal attempting to form a mouth twisting into a frown. “There’s no need for that, unless you have some magical way to terminate every single one of these cords your weapons will be ineffective.” he said, his voice a disturbing robotic mix of several tones and accents, with one male voice speaking slightly louder and clearer than the others, “I didn’t come here to fight you... quite the opposite actually.”
“Wh- The fuck are you!?”
“Just a friend. I know all about you. Vincent Guye, charged with five counts of murder in 1987. Went on the run, but later found dead before his body was sealed in the walls of Freddy Fazbear’s for unknown reasons. Ring a bell?”
Springtrap stayed silent, somehow this thing knew what he used to be. What he once was. Not that it mattered, Vincent was dead now.
“My name is Ennard. My life was destroyed by William as well. We have the same goal: to see Afton burn. I admire what you’re doing, finally bringing justice to the guilty. Everyone he hurt will be avenged.”
Springtrap scoffed a bit, “Heh. I’m not doing it for them.”
“Of course not. Nevertheless, we have common interests. I’m not sure if it’s occurred to you but William has encased himself in a near-impenetrable fortress. I’ve studied his routes, he’s gone weeks without leaving the office. The man takes workaholic to a whole new level. A lot has happened these past three decades. It’s statistically impossible for you to kill him on your own. But with your strength and my knowledge, we may just be able to pull it off. What do you say?” Ennard reached out a wiry, contorted hand to Springtrap.
“How can I trust you?”
“You can’t. But who would rather trust? Me or the pacifist puppet?”
Their hands met in a hardy shake, the mummified flesh meeting the rusty cords in a twisted unison of death and metal.
“Where do we start?”