CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR THE FIVE NIGHTS AT FREDDY'S: THE SILVER EYES.
A/N: I've been having a terrible month. I'm currently reading The Silver Eyes and I'm almost done and I enjoy it very much. I wrote this to vent my own problems and to write something for the novel. Takes place after the child was bit by Fredbear. (I know a voice is not the reason Fredbear bit the child, but it's not entirely canon with the book.)
"Robots can only do what they're programmed to do."
Oh, what simple lies we are told. What simple little lies our feeble minds are herded into believing. Look at how sheltered we are.
The animatronic bear sat, hunched; propped up stiffly against the decorative wall. Golden, he was, though the once-vibrant colors of his artificial fur now bore no significance, as they were now dusty and fraught with the filth of the aging room he was ensnared in. Webs strung by the work of spiders and matted dust clogged the room, giving it a decaying smell and a decaying aura.
The robot knew it all. His one-tracked mind, formerly programmed to obey the will of his creator, was now shattered like glass against a tile floor. He was now as aware as a scared, fidgeting; anxious teenager. His mind worked like one of a mental ill patient. Paranoia, delusion, unrelenting anxiety, decay; he had it all.
And his teeth?
The workers had done a poor work masking the gore that had once caked his metallic incisors. A job borne of hurried anxiety and panic from the day's horrific event, no doubt. His jaw had been forced to clamp and the internal endoskeleton jaw had been removed; a jaw that had once held the pieces of a child's cranium.
A child was what he has bit. A child's head had been wedged in his teeth, and he had been lowering his frontal jaw, crushing the youth in his dull yellow maw, feeling the blood soak into his artificial fur, feeling bits and pieces of flesh fall down his cheeks, feeling the ripped skin wet with crimson on the top of his metallic mouth.
And with that event, his mind had descended into one of delusion and awareness. He no longer felt programmed.
But guilt? But sorrow? But human emotions? They were not there. They were caged in his mind, emotions crying and begging to be released from their oh-so painful snare; begging to roam inside the animatronic.
But they could no escape.
Fredbear felt numb.
But one thing was on the dull-minded robots mind as he sat numbly leaned against the filthed wall.
How did this happen?
Why can't I feel anything?
And with that miniscule thought that was in his mind, a thought that was the ilk of a innocent youth in a sheltered home; a smooth voice in Fredbear's mind came to take it away.
"You killed him."
The animatronic bear stiffened more-so at the sudden audible noise from within. He did not know this factor, and his head swiveled around the room in a vain attempt to find the culprit of the voice. No avail. It happened again, and with the echo bouncing around from inside his hollow head, Fredbear knew of the danger.
"You did what I told you to and you killed that boy."
Fear. Anxiety. Terror. The first few emotions in the humane snare had been let free, and were now wreaking havoc upon the robot's head.
Fredbear felt terror. Without effort, his jaw flopped open against his chest; broken from the weight that had been put to crush the boy's head. Fredbear lifted his arm, his movements as stiff and robotic as ever albeit his mind lacking the same; and he reached it up to set it upon the top of his head. His purple top hat had been taken, replaced by his wet and dusty, poorly-cleaned artificial fur.
Fredbear tried to respond to whatever voice was inside his head. The words erupted through his voice box before his mind could even register them.
"Out."
"Get out."
"Get out." Fredbear repeated in his hauntingly cartoonish voice, his voice cracking, malfunctioning, fraught with unstable squeaks and jitters.
"That boy was alive, and when he was in your mouth he could've survived."
"But he didn't."
"Because you bit him, you bit him and I told you to."
"You bit him."
"And they screamed because of it."
"Stop." Fredbear suddenly gasped, his unstable voice narrowing into a low, whistle-like whine. He remembered the screams of terror, the screams of grief, the screams of hysteria that had erupted as the youth had been crushed. He remembered the man, his creator, the father of the boy, running up and plummeting Fredbear with his fists; making every hysterical vain attempt under the sun to free his child from Fredbear's grip. He remembered his creator's screams and cries of unspeakable agony as he knelt before his ruined son, picking him up in his arms; screaming over and over again before Fredbear. A man that would, unbeknownst to Fredbear, become lifeless at his own hand, Fredbear's actions one of the culprits.
And Fredbear had stood.
And Fredbear had watched.
And Fredbear didn't feel.
Until now.
"Stop." Fredbear repeated once again, his voice squealing into pain, the cartoonish twinge to his voice immediately losing itself to his panic.
"You killed that boy because of I told you to."
"You listened to me."
"And you will listen to me again."
"Everyone who loved you will be gone, and they will all hate you."
"They will all hate you because you are mine, because you listened to me."
"And you listen to me. And you will do what I say"
"And you always will, until you are dead."
"That boy is dead and you are alone and everyone hates you because you listened to me."
"You killed a child and you will kill more."
"And you will do it when I tell you to."
"And you will watch everyone who loved you hate you."
"And you will watch them die too."
"You are never going to be alone without me."
And Fredbear heard the voice.
And Fredbear comprehended his actions.
And Fredbear saw what he had done, and what he was now.
And Fredbear lowered his arm, and his head, and let his ears fall.
And Fredbear began to cry.
Your mind will never be your own.