Prologue: Coming Attraction

"C'mon Coop, just give up the goose already. There's nothing left here," Joe Kang said, picking around the ruins of the dilapidated pizzeria.

"'Nuh-uh, man, this has to have something good. Give me the crowbar, Jeff," Cooper Matthews replied, holding his hand out behind him. The metal tool was pushed into his grip, and he swung it around himself to bring it in front of the obstacle before him.

Said obstacle was, quite simply, a door, and almost completely covered with boards. Curtains had been draped across, sitting at the very back corner of what remained of Pirate's Cove. Cooper had been searching for something like this for months.

As manager and project leader of the Fazbear's Fright attraction, which was currently being constructed as a part of Adventure Park's Halloween Spooktacular, the young man had taken it upon himself to find as much authentic Fazbear memorabilia as possible. So far, it hadn't borne much fruit. Bits and pieces of costumes, some posters, a desk, a rusted out hook belonging to the Foxy character, a guitar, small things like that, but nothing that would really bring in the crowds. No, Cooper wanted Fazbear's Fright to be more than just a scary maze, he wanted it to be an experience. And this could be what made that happen.

With a grunt of exertion, Cooper rammed the crowbar into a gap between two planks, and with the help of this gap as leverage, wrenched the first board out of where it was nailed to the doorframe. He repeated this process two more times, before stopping and wiping sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand.

Joe and Jeff, brothers whose parents had been a fan of alliteration, stepped forward with tools of their own, and soon enough the three men tore off enough boards to give the door behind it enough room to open. It swung outward, revealing a pitch-black room, the gutted restaurant's lights no longer functional.

Cooper, Joe, and Jeff aimed their headlamps, the beams sweeping over the room, barren except for a lone figure sitting slumped against the far wall. Closer inspection revealed a dirty, ragged yellow suit, mechanical limbs, and scattered wires.

A huge grin broke over Cooper's face and he turned to his partners.

"We found one!" he said.

That Night

Truman Keyes sat awkwardly in his post inside the Fazbear's Fright attraction, drumming his fingers on his desk, trying to avoid staring out the window it sat against. He had just gotten a job as a night guard, and he had been assigned to the attraction. It actually sat outside the walls of the actual amusement park itself, being an attraction with separate admission, hence why he was now sitting in the chair. To his right sat a desk, upon which sat a metal fan (which was currently spinning happily), some trash, and three figures of a rabbit, bear, and duck. Next to that was a trash bin, which had several pieces of crumpled paper inside of it. And next to that was a cardboard box filled with… well, stuff. They looked like discarded props from some kind of kid's place. Cooper Matthews, Truman's new boss, and his team had apparently found every single artifact. The man was obsessed with a decades-old restaurant called Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, of which this attraction was based on. Truman sat up a bit straighter, nervously rubbing his arm. He had heard of it.

According to urban legends, Freddy Fazbear's was once a cheerful children's restaurant, the highlight of which was their animatronic characters, who were beloved by nearly every child that ever stepped through the doors. But then things went wrong. A serial killer lured several children to their deaths, stuffing them inside the costumes the animatronics wore. Then things went downhill. An animatronic went haywire, and murdered a patron, and many a night guard disappeared from the building without a trace. Some say the spirits of the children murdered haunted the place and possessed the animatronics to enact revenge on their killer. Still others claim the place to be cursed by the devil himself, using the robots to enact his evil agenda. At least, that's what the stories claimed.

It had been thirty years, a decade before Truman was born, since the restaurant was shut down, and later ravaged by fire not more than a week later. This information had been obtained from the newspaper clippings that were on display in the queue. Authorities deemed the cause arson, but a suspect was never found. But back to the point at hand…

Truman was stuck working in a haunted house. He hated horror and hated being scared. It didn't matter if it was a movie, a videogame, or even just stupid ghost stories told around a scout's campfire. But when he decided to move out on his own, he needed a job to help pay the bills, and this was the only place that said yes. The guard pulled up the camera monitor, looking at the empty halls lined with various frightening imagery and next to no lights. He shivered.

And now I'm a part of this whole thing, he thought, setting the camera screen to the side. Cooper had left him a message on the old answering machine ("It's authentic! It got yanked, like, straight out of the old place!" he had said), happily rattling off the latest batch of "artifacts" and explaining his latest idea.

"You're gonna be part of the show, bud! The guests'll start on the opposite side of the building, get introduced to the whole thing, blah, blah, blah, and wander on down past you before heading out," Cooper explained, "So be sure to practice your screaming, heh-hah!"

Tool, Truman thought with a sigh, and jumped when the phone rang. He answered it, confused.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Hey, man, what's up? I had to call you!" Cooper greeted, "Dude, dude, you're not going to believe this: we found one!"

"Found one what? A uniform?" he asked.

"Nah, bro, we've got, like, eight of those things. What do you think you're wearing?" Cooper replied, "Better: We found an animatronic, a real one! It was in some freaky back room at the old place. It's totally out of juice, but we plugged it in, so don't worry. We'll figure out if it still works tomorrow, 'cause it's beat to hell. That's a big find, man, so like, guard it with your life, heh-hah!"

"Why you gotta say stuff like that?" Truman whined.

"Part of the charm, man, part of the charm," Cooper chuckled, "Anyway, I gotta go. Oh, I found some training tapes, and this old journal. Left 'em in the drawer for you, thought it'd, like, relieve the boredom or something. Toodles!" And Cooper hung up.

Truman put the handset back in the cradle, then looked to the still-spinning fan that had also come from the restaurant.

"Might be worth it," he told the fan, and pulled the large desk drawer open, revealing a stack of black cassette tapes, each numbered one through four with marker on the front, and a battered journal. Truman studied the tapes, pulling them out of the drawer.

"Do we have a tape player in here?" he asked the fan. Naturally, it didn't reply, but Truman found one lying next to the phone. After fumbling with the device, he managed to open the tray up and slot in the first cassette, and hit play.

"Hello, and welcome to the Freddy Fazbear's Pizza Audio Training Program. My name is Phil, head of security and veteran employee! I'm here to help you out with getting used to your new career here at Fazbear Entertainment as a performer in our brand-new Spring-Locking Retractable Performance Endoskeleton!" the tape played, "Before I continue, I would like to take the time to remind you about your explicit non-disclosure agreement regarding any of our technology, and the resultant legal consequences should you break this agreement. Now, let's introduce you to your new suit!"

Truman winced as a loud burst of cheerful music exploded from the device.

"Jeez!" he exclaimed.

The music and Truman's shout carried out through the open door in the office, down the halls and into the depths of Fazbear's Fright, disturbing the silence of the room the salvaged animatronic sat slumped over in. The pupils of its robotic eyes flickered on, a small circle of bright white light as it lacked its "character eyes." A series of clicks and whirrs sounded from deep within as systems that had lain dormant for decades booted up. The animatronic started to study its surroundings, and turned its head to the right, meeting resistance.

The motors compensated, and with a crack and a snap, movement was restored. It looked around, searching for any cues or triggers in what it now realized was a room. It found none, and the roaming programming kicked in, and the robot decided to stand up, but every joint seemed stiff and impeded, but after a series of disturbingly loud cracks, snaps, and creaks, everything seemed to be fixed. The automaton slowly rose off the ground, balance sensors still functioning smoothly, scanning for any cues or triggers. Nothing.

Its programming made it decide to start wandering down the hallway it found itself in, head locked in the direction of the sound.

"…Of course, I'm not saying the suit isn't safe, not at all, but there are some things you should be aware of…" the tape droned on. Truman flicked through the journal on the table. It was apparently kept by some mechanic of the place, and much of it was damaged and partially illegible. Suddenly, an alarm sounded from the maintenance terminal on his left. He turned, and saw that the camera systems had failed, and sure enough his camera tablet's feed was entirely static.

"Oh shit…" he said, and clicked on the error, rebooting the system. "Hunk of junk," he said nervously, mind immediately spiraling through all the terrifying reasons (besides its age) that caused it to fail. He stared at the panel, willing it to start up again, and a splash of relief hit him when the error message vanished and the tablet showed a clear image. Truman flicked through it, and froze at one camera.

He was looking at what could only be the animatronic Cooper had been talking about, standing in the middle of the hallway leading to his office, staring up at the camera. Truman's heart started pounding as the robot tilted its head, showing it was completely functional.

The appearance of the thing could only be described as nightmare-ish. The fur-like suit covering it had decayed massively, with cracks and tears crisscrossing the animatronic's entire body. Wires stuck out in several places and much of its endoskeleton could be seen through the larger holes. From its mid-calf down, there was no suit at all, showing the odd claw-like feet and internal mechanisms of its legs and ankles. But the worst part of it all was the thing's face. The eyes glowed a pale off-white, and the lips of the suit it wore had long since rotted away, giving the robot a constant, skeletal grin. The teeth themselves were blocky, and were probably cartoonish when the suit was still in one piece. Wires stuck out, and much like everywhere else, holes and cracks in its costume were peppered throughout. It had clearly been modeled after a rabbit, but lost more than half of its right ear and the tip of its left.

It stood slightly off-kilter, slightly hunched over to its right, likely due to the damage it had sustained, but clearly balance wasn't impeded. Eventually it seemed to lose interest with the camera, and straightened its head before starting to walk. Truman watched, horror rising, as it started to creep closer towards his office, as the building had a linear layout. He quickly switched to the next camera down the robot's path.

Again, it froze and stared at the camera, likely noticing the red LED that lights up whenever a camera is being accessed. Again, it tilted its head, and again, it lost interest, and slowly walked down the hall. From the camera's wider angle, Truman found himself marveling at how smooth and fluid its movements were, only jerking slightly. The robot soon walked out of frame, and Truman was reminded the thing was heading his way. A quick look at the camera map revealed that there was only one room left before it reached the exit corridor that passed by the office. The office that lacked a functioning door.

Truman glanced at the open space in the wall. If the animatronic kept going the way it was, it would soon see him. It was here that the guard remembered the tapes and the journal. There had to be something in there that would help him. He quickly flung open the small journal, skipping pages, looking for an entry that appeared useful. He took a moment to glance at the tablet again. The animatronic had stopped in the third room, staring at one of the decorations, buying Truman more time. He found an entry that began with "First day working on the prototype." He quickly began reading.

Being a personal journal of who seemed to have been a mechanic, it didn't give much information regarding how to stop it, but how "The Prototype" was described, it was obviously the same machine. Mainly, it seemed to be a rant about how unsafe it was. Truman looked at the camera, and noticed the animatronic had left. He let out a small whimper, and kept reading. Until he heard footsteps.

Truman's breath caught in his throat, color draining from his face, and he looked up through the window despite himself. Sure enough, the animatronic began walking by it, slowly, methodically, as if searching for something.

Fuck, that thing is big, Truman thought, seeing that the robot's head neared the top of the nearly seven-foot high window, ears sticking past it. The robot looked left, and the two made eye contact. Truman's eyes went wide as the robot turned the rest of its body around to face the window, and stared. And stared. Truman didn't dare move a muscle, and the animatronic didn't either, aside from once again tilting its head. It wasn't until his lungs began to burn did the guard realize he had been holding his breath, and he reflexively exhaled raggedly before sucking in air again. The animatronic titled its head to its other side, and turned its head, staring into the room and looking at the open doorway.

Shit, Truman thought, as the robot began to move down the hall, crossing past the window while still staring at him. He tore through the journal, looking for something, anything that would save him.

Had problems getting the animatronic to focus, it seems its programming makes it get distracted by sounds, he read. Sounds! That's it!

Truman's hand darted for the tablet as he noticed the animatronic start to fill the open doorway. He tapped the screen like mad as the mechanical rabbit stooped under the doorway, putting one foot into the room, picking a random camera and stabbing the box labeled "Play Sound." The sound of a creepy child laughing echoed through the attraction, and again the animatronic froze, turning its head in the direction of the sound.

Slowly, it slunk out of the doorway and walked away, passing by the window again, gaze entirely fixed on where the laugh came from. Truman sighed in relief.

"Oh God, oh God," he wheezed, "Thank you, thank you, oh…" Cooper had decided to install speakers to play spooky sounds that could be controlled at will by Truman, so that it wasn't predictable and could be adjusted to where the guests were. He looked at the journal that saved him, and noticed something at the end of the entry.

"Because of those stupid locks, and what could happen if they fail, everyone's calling the robot 'Springtrap.' Thing's even answering to it. Kind of feel bad, not exactly a glamorous name, but it'll do for now until I figure out how to make it safe for people." Truman read to himself, in a whisper. He looked at the camera, seeing the animatronic searching around. He swallowed.

"I hate this job," he whimpered.

Minutes Earlier

Searching for noise source…

Springtrap walked down a long hallway that seemed to turn a corner at the end. Several distractions were abound, but nothing triggered his programming, so he continued to wander. He looked to his left, and saw a man in a security uniform stare at him through a window.

Facial recognition activated.

Scanning…

Scanning…

No match. New operator stored.

Awaiting orders…

None came, and Springtrap continued to store data about his new operator in front of him, but started to get worried (the first emotion he had gained over time) when no commands came. But still he waited. The person took a ragged breath, and looked to the side. Springtrap followed his gaze and saw an open doorway.

Destination noted.

Ah, so that's where he was supposed to go. Springtrap turned and began walking down the hallway, still looking and waiting, as programmed, for any sort of command. None came, so he kept walking. Just as he went to enter the room, the sound of a children's laugh echoed through the restaurant.

Children's presence detected. Activating Entertainment Protocol…

Active. Beginning search.

Springtrap immediately turned around to find the child that had laughed, one of the many triggers setup in his programming. His learning AI made a note of the appropriate response to the laughter, so that the response would be more immediate next time. The animatronic strode purposely, and a small part of him remembered his new operator. Children were more important, he decided, and he'd meet his new partner later.

A/N: Welcome to Just Another Night at Fazbear's Fright. Thanks for being patient with me. Night Seven is not over, it'll be a persistent thing as I go through all the submissions that I like. But I had this floating around for a while, and I just had to act on it.

Have a good one! –DeltaV "Better late than never! …Is what I tell myself"