Bang.
The sound of a gunshot rang through the bank as the manager, Anna Bleopul was rewarded for her helpful assistance with death. Freddy Fazbear stood with his boss and brother, Don Freddie Alejandro Fazbear, gun in hand, staring at the manager's corpse, blood and brain oozing out of the wound and onto the prestigiously expensive carpets, rugs and cabinets of the managers office. Freddy, only 28, had never killed anybody, not feeling bad about it afterwards, anyway.
"Freddy, come on. She deserved it." Freddie, better known as Fred, was trying to cheer up Freddy, his underboss, unsuccessfully. It was well known that Freddy would do anything for his brother, and for his family, but he hated having to harm or kill women. It was the one thing he despised more than anything in the world. Being rickrolled, even Crazy Frog was something he preferred over violence to a female human. In Freddy's case, that was saying something.
"Yeah, she. You know I don't like killing women."
"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry. Let's just go. We'll get the money, then we'll go back to our base and relax with a nice, genuine cuban cigar. And a drink."
"You know I don't smoke, either. A drink sounds good though." This, of course was complete bullshit. He did smoke, often, too. It was one of his hobbies, but he never, ever let Fred find out. That was a risk he didn't want to take. Right around that point, sirens were blaring outside of the building, getting louder and louder every second. DONG. DONG. DONG. 3AM. The money was still sealed inside of the vault.
"Freddy, get Foxy in here." Hijacking the phone line, Freddy was worried that he would be caught by the bank security system and fuck the entire plan. Not that the security wasn't completely and utterly crap in every way.
"Yeah? Look, I be really busy. I don't be wantin ta buy anytin."
"Foxy, get over here. Birch Hill Bank. Hurry. Bring some dynamite." Before Foxy could say anything, the call ended. And as Freddy slammed the receiver down, Fred unplugged the phone and threw it at an armed guard's face, forcing him into a severe comatose state, from which recovery was unlikley. Freddy, as much as he tried to retain self-control, couldn't help but burst out in laughter, distracting Fred. During this distraction, the largest SWAT squad in the whole of America was able to sneak in, the only indication of their presence was the faint sound of rustling armor, and the smell. The squad's armor set was bulky, absorbing most damage dealt to the arms, shoulders and stomach areas. It was black, with the word 'POLICE' vertically written in big white letters on the back, SWAT horizontally on the front. Helmets were the only non-mandatory piece of armor, but taking was recommended because the helmets were made of thick, almost unbreakable plastic, the visor from bulletproof glass.
"FREEZE!"
"Go fuck yourself." Freddy, without even bothering to think about what he was saying threw at the SWAT commander. Fred contemplated scolding Freddy for letting the SWAT in in the first place, but he had better things to do in the time that they had.
"Both of you, drop your guns, and put your hands behind your backs. Your under arrest." Freddy had an airsoft gun specifically for this. He grabbed the gun, and shattered it on the floor.
Oops! How clumsy of me." By this point, Freddy was just saying whatever came to mind in an accent that seems appropriate for the sentence.
"Freddy, Initiate EGY BHillB. You'll need these." Fred, throwing a car key, commanded, to which Freddy remained silent and nodded, catching the keys and bursting through a door directly behind him and running out of a window, falling through another window leading to a corridor just downstairs of the SWAT confrontation. The key was that of the planned getaway car, a Nissan 370Z Roadster. The car was a pearlescent blue-black color, with a soft top red roof, with seating capacity for 2, the back two seats taken out for extra storage.
Freddy, through excessive measures, managed to install high-tech security locks to the trunk of the car, hiding the built in cell phone, and Freddy's two custom-built Taurus 4510B6MAG Judge revolvers, as well as two Taurus Raging Bulls, also custom built for maximum efficiency, highest bullet capacity, and lowest recoil possible. Freddy eventually found a door to the back where the car was, bursting through it in a more than over used dramatic Hollywood fashion and running to the car trunk, opening it with the emergency code 5H1T. Freddy always hated the ringtones everyone got for the built-in cell phone. Especially Foxy's.
"DO WHAT YOU WANT 'COS A PIRATE IS FREE! YOU ARE A PIRATE!"
"God, I gotta get Fred to change that damn ringtone." Freddy stayed with his thought for a while, not being reeled back into reality until the phone had rung out, and had begun to ring again, after a swift 5 second delay. Knowing it was Foxy calling, Freddy answered the phone.
"Hey Freddy, I just got ta te bank. Ya want me ta just detonate te doors and slaughter anytin' in mah way, or take a stealty attack metod and pick te locks?" It was obvious that Foxy would rather blow everything up, but he needed to learn to be stealthy in certain situations. This one especially.
"You know this is one of the stealth requiring missions for you. Don't let anyone see or hear you until after you blow up the vault doors, yeah?"
"Yeah. Sure." Freddy heard the hidden disappointment in Foxy's voice, sighing before saying one last thing.
"Don't forget the Desert Eagle in the glove compartment. I spent ages looking for a way to fix the damn thing." The connection was halted and Foxy's face lit up at Freddy's words, knowing that his brother had finally come through for him and gotten round to reattaching the trigger of Foxy's favorite non-chamber operated handgun ever made. Foxy was some kind of super human, with senses 5 times more sensitive than a normal humans. Freddy grabbed the four revolvers and bolted back into the building, sneaking upstairs, right behind the SWAT team, crawling around, unseen, unheard. He burst through the door again, stopping just behind Freddie, secretly giving him two of the guns he gun from the car, keeping the other two for himself.
"SIRS! IF YOU DO NOT COMPLY, I WILL BE FORCED TO TERMINATE YOU!" The SWAT commander spoke with a strong southern accent, boldly threatening the duo as if they were playing Halo on XBOX LIVE. Unknown to the SWAT team wasting time by raiding the bank, the Fazbear brothers were planning a very special gift to the local council. An abandoned SWAT building full of ex-SWAT corpses.
"Avviare B collina Money-titolare rifugio polizia. Affrettatevi." The Fazbear trio were all fluent in Italian, and often communicated in it instead of English to have private discussions without having to excuse themselves from a room. But if anyone heard them talking Italian, and was fluent in it himself, then they, essentially, were fucked.
"STOP WITH THE JIBBER JABBER, AND COOPERATE WITH US, FOR THE BENEFIT OF YOUR OWN HEALTH!" Of course, nothing the commander did effected the Fazbears in the slightest. In fact, his attempts amused them so much, that they decided that his gift would come first.
A/N - Hope that you enjoyed the first chapter of this story! I have an ending planned, but ideas are welcome for anywhere between now and then! When I start to wrap this story up, I'll probably announce it about 5-10 chapters before the last one. ;)
Until next time, FF