Foxy
Dum, dee, dum-dum, dum-dum! Dum, diddly-doo, dee-dum, dum, dum-dum! Dum, dee, diddly-doo-dee-dum, dum, dum, dum, dum!
He didn't sing aloud, of course. Foxy's singing days were over. Now it was all a waiting game; a game to see how long it would be until he was reduced to nothing.
He had some hope, though. Ever since Toy Bonnie had discovered them in this dark and lonely storage room, he had hope that, at some point, they all find the willpower to walk out of there, just like old Bonnie had, and how Chica had found it in herself to get up and walk over to the door after she had fallen over.
For now, though, it seemed, he was stuck here. Without a will or a way, he could only let his one, infernal, stupid song replay over and over again in his head.
Dum, dee, dum-dum, dum-dum! Dum, diddly-doo, dee-dum, dum, dum-dum! Dum, dee, diddly-doo-dee-dum, dum, dum, dum, dum!
Even now, some part of him wished he had the will to move his jaw and dance is jigs to the song. In all honesty, it was better than standing in one place day after day. He was sure his neck was permanently caught and his head would be cocked at a downward angle until the staff finally reduced him to nothing but the unrecognizable appearance of an endoskeleton.
Dum, dee, dum-dum, dum-dum! Dum, diddly-doo, dee-dum, dum, dum-dum! Dum, dee, diddly-doo-dee-dum, dum, dum, dum, dum.
The sound of an object rolling around on the floor rose over the song in his head. Foxy couldn't even find it in himself to move his one eye to locate what it was; but whatever it was, it was rolling in his direction. Something lightly hit the side of his foot.
Being touched for the first time, and what felt like ages to the pirate fox awakened something in him that made his one good eye turn to see what it was that had collided with his foot. He was surprised to find the eye of another animatronic lying there. He would have stooped down to pick it up, but he didn't dare. There were some parts of him that felt as though they could snap and crumble if he were to do so. He could only stand there, motionless, as he stared at the eye.
Outside the door to the storage room, Foxy could hear the patter of someone or something making its way into the room. The sound of it was odd, though. The patter shifted all throughout the room. It was on the floor, the walls, the ceiling; moving here, there, and everywhere, as if it were searching blindly for something.
The noise stopped somewhere midway between the wall and the ceiling above Foxy's head. An ear on the rusty metal fox's head twitched as he struggled to listen for the patter to start up again.
A metal hand with sharp claws suddenly plunged down from the ceiling, caging the eye in with his fingers. A head with a white exoskeleton swung down from the ceiling, the neck arcing to gain an upright new of Foxy. A pair of pointed ears twitch and turned as this peculiar-looking, fox-like animatronic stared Foxy down with empty eye sockets.
The white fox opened it's mouth, as if it intended to speak, but rather than words, a jumble of static was emitted from its voice box. It could have been possible that, at some point, the voice box had been torn out by a child, dropped, and broken. The staff weren't 100% when it narrowed down the fixing the animatronics, anyways.
"A**-hoy, there, matie!*" the white, disgruntled animatronic eventually managed to glitch out, "What-What's** a scalliwag like y-y-yo-yo-you** doing back in 'ere? We should be at Kids Co-Co-Cove, where I can finally** get my revenge!"
It seemed even with a broken voice box, this fox was more functional than Foxy was. The brown fox couldn't even manage to unhinge his jaw and let it drop, just to let this animatronic know he could still hear what was being said.
"Your batteries** seem to be low on power," the white fox said, "That's no good to hear . . ."
The fox began scouring the room for a spare part. Little did anyone know, it wasn't needed. There was only one thing that powered every animatronic, regardless of how old or new their batteries were (as the staff didn't bother to charge them up during the night, anyways.) The Purple Man was responsible for quite a few deaths; murdering a handful of children that used to come to the diner regularly. It was the souls of these children that kept the animatronics moving now, or else they would have died a long time ago.
"You can help me plunder the loot from that scalliwag night guard," Mangle added, slithering around the room, "Get over yer scurvy now and join me on a journey!"
With a groan, the rusty fox's neck straightened and he managed to hold his head upright. There would definitely be kinks and glitches that would have to be worked out if he was going to be going anywhere.
It all started at his hook; something Foxy the Pirate Fox had took great pride in donning, along with his eyepatch. The joint that attached the piece to the rest of his arm twitched, creating a dull clicking sound. The movements traveled up each joint until he was able to turn his head and look at Mangle.
"Argh!** Hello there-ere, fellow scalliwag!"
Through the static that had gathered in his voice box, they were the first words foxy had said to anyone in a long time.
The Mangle's head turned and grinned.
"Wo-wo-won't** you join me on a journey?"
"And plunder-der the loot from that night guard . . . **Let's kill him!**"
"Couldn't have said it better meself. C'mon then!**"
The Mangle led the way towards the night guard's office, switching between traveling along the floors, walls, and ceiling. Foxy trudged along slowly behind; his stiff and withered limbs making walking difficult. Neither of them had much to say to the other. Speaking, for Mangle, was challenging, as its voice box was broken. Foxy was keeping himself focused on reaching their destination without falling over or freezing up.
Eventually, the Mangle disappeared into a vent that was by the prize counter. Foxy stood there as he tried to think of his own way into the office. If he were to crawl into the vent, it would be likely that he would get stuck there. When it was a struggle just for him to move one foot in front of the other, getting on his hands and knees and trying to fit his heavy, metal body somewhere where it might get stuck wouldn't be the wisest option.
"I can help you, you know?"
The soft voice that came from the prize counter gained the rusty fox's attention. In a large box sitting at the prise counter set the slender shape of the Marionette. Drawn out of his box from the lack of music coming from the music box at the counter, the Marionette couldn't help but notice the old fox's predicament.
"I can follow behind you, if you want," the white-faced animatronic continued, "The large door that leads straight into the office is always kept open, so it's simple to just walk right in."
"Argh!** That white-furred, crooked land lubber will likely beat me to 'im, at this rate."
The Marionette smiled, "Don't worry about the Mangle. That fox is arrogant; childish, to say the least. Once in the office, the Mangle will just linger in a corner and taunt the guard until randomly deciding to strike. However, I know you're better than that. You will pounce the first chance you get, won't you? And do that hook you have serves a much better purpose than the metal endoskeleton Mangle treats as a puppet."
"Let's move on then, Matie **And kill him!**"
Foxy led the way down the long, dark hallway that led to the door the Marionette had mentioned. He found – in the dark, at least – he could move a lot easier and quicker. He felt slightly less sluggish and more motivated. Maybe it was because he was out of that room, or maybe – just maybe – it was the satisfaction that was feeling him to the brim over killing the night guard. He couldn't say, exactly.
Light up ahead told Foxy that they were nearing the night guards office. He could just barely make out the sight of the night guard, a young fellow in-uniform with facial scruff and shaggy brown hair. He stared up at a shape that hung in the doorway, grinning at him; the Mangle. The guard was flashing the white fox with this flashlight in hopes that it would drive the animatronic away.
Raising his hook, Foxy picked up his pace.
"**He's mine!**"
His heavy footsteps must have attracted the guards attention. All of a sudden, Foxy's advance was stopped by the flashing of the flashlight. On, off, on, off, on, off, on, off . . . It was too much for poor, old Foxy to handle.
The rusty fox reset and slinked away back towards the back room.
The Marionette, who had followed Foxy all this time, inwardly cursed at the guard.
"I guess if you want something done right, you've got to do it yourself!"
Just as the Mangle was getting ready to strike, and just as the guard was checking the cameras, the Marionette rushed forward. He stretched out his slender arms and yelled in rage and hate as his hands gripped onto the guard's arms and ripped them mercilessly away from his torso. Blood ran across the office's floor and through every wall and hallway traveled his echoing screams.