Mistletoe
If anyone saw the silhouette of a humanoid rabbit against the soft glow of the moon, none of them acted like it. In any other part of the world, the sight would have been a spectacle of great mockery, but not in Hurricane. Here, people knew to fear Springtrap. And they did it for a good reason. As Charlie squatted on the roof of the building she was on, her eyes were trained on the corrugated iron door of the warehouse opposite her. The street was near silent, the only sounds being the occasional caw of a lingering crow. The pavement, while devoid of humans, was littered with trash. It was impossible to count the broken bottles and accompanying shards of glass which glinted in the dim light provided by the tall street lamps.
So, this is Hurricane during Christmas Eve, she thought to herself. It's been so long that I can't remember it. Her memories of Hurricane before moving away with Aunt Jen weren't plentiful, but she had a basic grasp on what life had been. She'd had friends. She'd often go to Freddy's. And there would be her father, smiling and laughing along with her as the band of animatronics played their melodies and sang their tunes. They'd been so happy. And then he went and killed himself.
"Are you going to just mope there all night? Or are you going to actually do something?" Charlie frowned on the inside of her mask, mechanics clinking and servos whirring as Jessica sat down next to her, the expressionless face of the Mangle staring back. She didn't fail to notice the stream crimson blood dripping steadily from the sharp jaws of the mechanical fox mask. Jessica had been busy tonight.
"You still bite their frontal lobes out?" Charlie snorted, shaking her head. "Talk about overkill."
"Coming from a person who installed guns in their swords, that's a pretty weak argument," Jessica pointed out. Charlie shrugged, not looking to further the debate. Banter was good during tense times.
"How many have you snagged tonight?" Charlie asked her, leaning forward a little to stare at the door. "One? Two? Ten?"
"Thirteen," Jessica replied, her voice steady and nonchalant. Sometimes Charlie forgot that she was incapable of truly feeling emotion.
"Serial killers?"
"Rapists."
"Fitting, considering the date." Charlie fiddled with the razor sharp blades which she held in her hands, lightly brushing the springlocked edges with the metal covered fingers of her gauntlet. "Christmas Eve, and the only signs of life I've seen have been two cars and a crow. Hurricane is asleep."
"You have to remember, it's almost midnight." Jessica turned to look at the door, tilting her head. "What are you even doing?"
"Waiting," Charlie answered, not moving. "Three hours, and no one's opened the door. The moment I see it swing wide…well, you get the idea."
"Right," Jessica muttered. "Then you can confirm that they're inside. And you've been tracking White Rabbit for months now."
"Exactly." Charlie sighed, relaxing her grip on the swords. "But for all I know, drug lords take holidays too."
"Nah." Jessica snickered, casually motioning towards two squared headlights approaching from the left. "Nothing's dodgier than a fresh strawberry delivery at 11:55 pm, literally the night before Christmas." Charlie squinted, the lenses of her mask quickly focusing on the bolded text on the side of the truck.
"Hell, you're right. I'll bet you every container of remnant I own that there aren't any strawberries in there. Since when was there a 'Hurricane Strawberry Farm', anyway? Actually, when did we ever grow anything?"
"Since the weed came in?" Jessica shrugged, swiftly standing up as the truck came to a halt. "No clue. There's no telling how much pot is just lying around here. Abaddon hit us pretty damn hard; everything bad just peaked after his attack. Get ready; it's here." Charlie nodded, rising to her full height as the doors loudly swung open for the first time that night. "Let's hit them hard." As Charlie was jumping down, she had already counted the men before her.
One, two, three…three.
She raised her blasters, firing three springlocks in rapid succession, which embedded themselves into the heads of the driver, the man in the passenger seat and the person opening the door. Jessica seemed to tense at the sound of the windscreen shattering, pulling her double bladed spear from her back and readying it.
"They heard that," she whispered. "They'll be coming out."
"Let them," Charlie said back, not bothering to lower her voice. "I'm in for having a jolly good time. Christmas spirit and all."
"This isn't the time to make a joke."
"Really? Because I think it's the perfect opportunity. Even if it was terrible." At the sound of voices coming from the inside of the building, Charlie began striding forwards, ignoring the truck, spinning her blades in her hands as she went. One of the things she'd learnt from her time as a vigilante was that intimidation was a key factor in a fight. Spinning blades might not have any benefits in an actual one on one battle, but showing off skill tended to get people nervous. And nervous people stuffed up. Big time. As she peered at the dark shadows, the only source being a few small lamps next to some rows of basic rectangular tables, she counted the dim silhouettes of ten more men. Ten men, most likely armed, who knew that she was coming. Ironically, a few metres in front of them, there was a hanging mistletoe wreath. If only you'd stepped forward just a little, and I might have spared you. She glanced back at Jessica who nodded to her silently, before rushing in front of her and kneeling down. Instantly, the reinforced plates of her armour began shooting forwards, connected to the intricate framework by sturdy steel cables. The plates began to come together, forming a wide interlocking barricade as on the other side of the warehouse, every man pulled the triggers of their firearms.
A fraction of a second later, the air was filled with the sound of gunfire, as barrels smoked and bullets ricocheted off the sturdy wall which Jessica's armour had formed. However, Charlie could see the barrier shaking and inching backwards every times it was struck. It wouldn't do to just let them keep firing at them. Stepping backwards, she felt the coils within the legs of her suit begin to retract, before they unwound, sending her flying over the barrier, blades drawn. By the time she hit the ground, five of the men were already dead, a springlock drilled into each of their skulls. She ignored the frantic cries of the few who had survived her first attack, quickly rising back to her full height. Swiftly, she impaled one in the chest, firing through his body to shoot another in the leg. As he fell backwards, screaming from the painful wound, she jumped over the heads of the other three, firing springlocks into their backs. The remaining bodies thumped against the ground, unmoving.
Charlie's attention was suddenly drawn to Jessica standing ominously over the man who she'd wounded in the leg, tilting her head as if in fascination. But Jessica was never really fascinated by anything. That was the price she'd payed for living after Ennard had fired that perfectly aimed bullet into her frontal lobe; to never feel, to never know. She raised her spear, then plunged it into the injured man's chest, not reacting as he sputtered his last words, blood splattering onto her mask. She pushed it further into his flesh, almost seeming to enjoy it as a loud squelching sound came from his body, the man's head falling to the floor and his rifle finally slipping from his hand. She turned to Charlie nodding as she withdrew her bloodied weapon from the man's mutilated corpse.
"Let's go find your drug lord," she said casually, wiping the blood off the snout of her mask. "There's still a little time before midnight strikes." Seeing Jessica like this sent shivers down Charlie's spine. She'd witnessed this so many times, yet it didn't make it any easier to watch Jessica act so heartlessly. But that was what she was. Heartless.
"Yeah," she muttered. "White Rabbit's the kind of guy to oversee his own operations. Cocky bastard." As soon as the insult left her mouth, both heard the sound of a door slamming shut. The two whirled around, Charlie narrowing her eyes at the sight of the slightly opened door. "Crap. He's gone." Without another word, Charlie broke into a sprint, Jessica using her extendable claws to grapple forwards. A few seconds later, both were standing outside on the empty street, eyes scanning the environment for movement. Out of the corner of her eye, Charlie spotted a figure moving into an alleyway, instantly sprinting towards it. Jessica followed closely behind, her spear clenched in hand. Charlie fired her blaster blindly into the dark, smirking as she heard a pained cry. She slowed down, reducing her pace to a brisk walk as she saw the form of a man lying in front of her, dressed in a white suit and trousers. His head was covered by a white rabbit head, not dissimilar from Charlie's own mottled green one. The springlock was embedded into his heel, a fast spreading puddle of blood already surrounding his body. He raised his head, staring at Charlie and Jessica as they approached, weapons in hand.
"Really?" White Rabbit croaked weakly, trying and failing to pull himself to his feet. He slumped against the wall, wheezing as Charlie's armoured foot stepped into the puddle of blood. "You had to do this on Christmas Eve, of all the three hundred and sixty-five days of the year?"
"Still cracking jokes?" Charlie asked, shaking her head and kneeling down next to him. "You really are a comedian, huh." White Rabbit chuckled, placing his hand on his chest. For some reason, Charlie felt like he wasn't nervous.
"I don't have long to live," he said, his eyeballs slowly rolling towards Jessica. "Though, I suppose I should have expected this to happen."
"You should have stayed inside, is what you should have done," Charlie whispered. "See, in there, you had a symbol of peace; one of your jokes, I presume. If your men had been directly under it, I would have considered letting them live. But they weren't. And out here…well, there's no mistletoe to protect you."
"Surely the lack of a festive decoration isn't the only reason why you're here," White Rabbit muttered, eyes going back to Charlie. "There must be more."
"Oh, there sure is," she told him, face inching closer. "I don't want your damned drugs in my freaking town. This is Hurricane. It was a good place before your kind arrived and poisoned its roots." White Rabbit shifted uncomfortably beneath her gaze, trying to back away from her. "And when my father designed the mask you're wearing, he didn't want it to be used that way." Charlie was certain that under the mask, he was paling. "He made it to bring joy to people, kids and adults alike. And I'm going to make sure it stays that way. And now, I want you to look into my eyes." Charlie sheathed the sword in her left hand, gripping the upper jaw of her mask and flipping it upwards, so that he could see her face clearly. She glared at him, eyes narrowing. "I want me to be the last thing you see. And I want to watch as death takes you." Before he could speak, her right hand had already pulled the trigger. A springlock forced itself into his gut, the masked man gasping as all his breath left him, his eyes turning dull and glassy. And as White Rabbit died, the clock struck midnight. "Merry Christmas."