"Carrots, if you won't say it, I will."

It had been a long night. Nick and Judy were catching their breath, crumpled against the wall in an empty corridor. There were no safe spots left. Every time they found a room to barricade – the supply closets, the kitchen, behind the ancient stage – the robots would batter their defences until they were back to running. Every time they disabled a robot, they would be chased away from its broken frame, and within the hour it would be functional again. They saw no sign of Springtrap, or escape.

They were exhausted.

"Say what?" said Judy, her eyes tired.

Nick grinned. "Getting almost killed by barely-working animatronics meant to entertain children is an embarrassing new low on the list of people, objects and abstract concepts that have almost killed us."

"Yeah," she chuckled. "It is."

They sat in silence for a second. This patch of floor was slightly below average on grime and garbage. Far from comfortable, but the best respite on offer. Their only method of survival was to flee and rest and flee again, and the intervals were getting shorter every time. Nick and Judy both had excellent endurance. But they were still mammals. And they couldn't outlast machinery.

Judy stretched. "Any idea what time it is?"

"Sorry. No."

She nodded, slowly, as though it took effort. "Well, 6am can't be far off. We just need to wait a little longer."

Nick's smile, his veneer of cheerfulness, cracked. "How are you so sure?"

"What?"

"Of rescue. Of Sly." He hoped he wasn't glaring at her. He was tired and it was getting hard to tell. "Isn't it more likely we'll just die here?"

"Maybe," said Judy, but it didn't sound like a concession. "I don't know what to tell you, Nick. If no-one's coming, it's moot. But if Sly is on his way, we're gonna still be here when he arrives. That's what I'm..."

She trailed off. They both heard it.

Rounding the corner, its metal feet stomping through the grime, came Bonnie. It fixed its faceless red eyes on them and let out a low shriek.

"Yeah, yeah," yawned Nick. "Skreeeeeeeee to you too."

They both dragged themselves upright. Nick looked to Judy.

"Gonna kick it?"

"No. Running low on kicks. Saving them."

"Right. Let's go."

They turned and walked away.

Sprinting was a waste of energy. Bonnie could be evaded with a brisk pace, so that was exactly what they set. No more.

"Where to?" said Nick, trying to give the vibe of a gossip-laden Sunday jog. All in the hips.

"Ugh," said Judy. "Back near the front, I guess."

By now, they had the building mapped out. Nick suspected the exact dimensions of this restaurant would serve as settings for future nightmares, assuming he had that luxury.

They knew the front door was barred by steel. They had found the back door similarly blocked. They knew every corner, every camera, every vent. It was still horrifying, but at least there were no more surprises.

Nick and Judy got halfway down a familiar corridor and stopped short.

A wall had opened.

The cruiser rolled through the dark sand. At Carmelita's instruction, Fangmeyer parked it some distance from the restaurant.

"Wolford." Carmelita took point as they stepped out into the early morning air. "You're scent-certified. Do you think Nick and Judy might've passed through here?"

Wolford inhaled and immediately choked.

"Wolford?"

"Sorry. Sorry. I'm fine." He rubbed his nose. "It's, uh... I mean, they might be here. But that place..."

"Smells like an abandoned restaurant?" offered Fangmeyer.

"Worse. Much worse."

"Hmm," said Carmelita.

Behind them, the trunk quietly opened. Sly slipped out like a shadow.

Carmelita was being her usual self. She was exuding enough authority to hold the attention of her liaisons. Sly stayed low to the ground and circled around, sneaking up to the restaurant's rear.

His search for a back entrance turned up a puzzling discovery – a thick steel door, barring any access. Sly did a quick scan for other openings, careful to stay out of the officers' sight. But there was nothing. This children's pizzeria was impenetrable.

Sly knew two things immediately. That anonymous tip had been accurate; Nick and Judy were here.

And they were in trouble.

He crept back towards the front, just close enough to make out Carmelita's voice. Apparently the front door was similarly blocked. She ordered Wolford to call in the fire department, hoping a team with axes could do what Fangmeyer's powerful arms could not. Sly shook his head. Typical cop solution. Sensible and collaborative and fast. But maybe not fast enough.

Sly slunk back to his own door. He frowned at it, alone with his thoughts. Sly hated being alone. It was a rare and unpleasant sensation. His brain adapted.

Hey, idiot, said his inner Nick. If you don't show some hustle, I'm gonna die mad at you. Is that what you want? Me to bite it before admitting how cool you are?

"I'm on the way!" murmured Sly. "I just don't see a way past this emergency door."

C'mon, Sly! said his inner Judy. Don't you remember the fun safety trivia I taught you? Emergency doors open if...

"The power goes out! Of course. All I need to do is cut the juice."

Exactly! Now get moving. I think you're pretty cool, but I'd also rather not die.

Sly glanced around for power lines, but none came close. This building used its own generator. He was assaulted with anxieties – what if it's underground? Inside? Buried in sand? – and dodged past them like the harmless potshots they were.

The roof. Always check the roof first.

Sly's faith was rewarded – once he pulled himself to the roof, he saw his target. As well as the generator, there was also the rooftop exhaust for the pizzeria's airvents. But Sly ignored it. If Nick or Judy were injured, a vertical escape would be too difficult. He had to open the doors. And he was definitely past his airvent-quota for the night.

He stood before his victim. "Here's the generator. Now what...?"

Electronic engineering is a delicate science, said his inner Bentley. Only very smart people can do it, like me. But since you're a quick study, you might be able to disable the generator safely by opening the hatch and systematically–

Your friends are in danger! screamed his inner Murray. Smash the thing and get moving!

"Tempting," nodded Sly. "And definitely faster. But I dunno, it could be unsafe."

I vote smash, said his inner Carmelita.

"Then we smash it!"

Great, she said. I definitely love you.

"I definitely love you too."

He started smashing.

The restaurant's interior was still hopelessly dark. There was no indication of Sly's slow progress with the generator, of Carmelita and Fangmeyer and Wolford establishing their perimeter. Nick and Judy had no idea how close help was.

It was just them, a robot, and a hole.

Bonnie was still lumbering after them, relentless. The partners stayed wary, but their attention was on this new opening. Grey light filtered through the gap.

"This was a wall," said Nick. "This was definitely a wall. We passed this spot a dozen times."

Judy kept her eyes on Bonnie, her back against Nick's. "Should we check it out?"

"You're kidding, right? It's a mysterious death hole. There's no way I'm–"

A shriek cut the air. They looked up. As Bonnie kept coming from the hallway's rear, Foxy had appeared from the other direction. It paused, sizing them up with its one eye. It lined itself up.

And it charged like a festering bullet.

The hook sliced cleanly, and would have caught both partners if they hadn't moved in time. Judy had the right idea, throwing herself down to slip between Foxy's legs. But Nick, to his own exasperation, threw himself in the one direction there was enough space. Towards the hole.

stupid reflexes always keeping me alive why can't i slip on a banana peel or something and be done with it

His paws hit the ground, one hand joining his feet. He wobbled, inertia still sliding him across the floor. He landed in the new room.

Judy's eyes widened. She ignored the robots, reaching out to her partner.

"Nick! No-!"

Judy's voice was abruptly cut off by a slam of steel. Another door.

"Clever. Clever clever clever."

That voice. Nick forced himself up, scanning his surroundings. A security office. Cluttered. Cramped. Dark. Lit sickly by CCTV monitors.

"I suppose I should expect nothing less. Outlasting my friends like that. But I saw everything on the cameras. And now..."

Springtrap stepped into the light. In each hand, he held a butcher knife. Gleaming.

"What would you say is your best feature, fox? Your tail, perhaps?" His tongue darted out, licking scarred lips. "No question for that partner of yours. Her eyes. Her pretty purple eyes. I must find some way to preserve them..."

Behind Springtrap was a vent – that's how he was getting around – but Nick had no thoughts of escape. He steeled himself, eyes hard. "You won't hurt her."

"Oh, I will." He grinned ear to notched ear. "But right now, you should worry about yourself!"

He darted forward, knives cutting luminous trails through the darkness. Nick backed up best he could, weaving through the tight corners.

"That's it! Try to run! Just like they did." Springtrap slashed and slashed and slashed. Every movement closer. "Everyone else is gone. Everyone else moved on. Forgot about this place. Left it to rot." He hissed each word, mania in his eyes. "But I'm still here. And I won't wait here alone!"

He feinted with one knife, letting it glint past Nick's face, as the other sped to the weak flesh under the ribs–

Nick caught his wrist.

It happened too fast for Springtrap to follow. A second after his strike was halted, Nick slammed a knee into his chest, knocking the air from his lungs. One knife clattered uselessly to the floor. Then Nick grabbed him by the neck and, one-handed, tossed him into the desk. Springtrap smashed against it, disoriented.

Nick knelt to the knife. "Y'know, Springfield–"

"Springtrap," wheezed Springtrap.

"That's what I said. Springbok." Nick took the knife, examining it. "I may not know you personally, Springsteen. And I don't know who you've hurt. But I know your type. You're a bully. You're used to picking on weaker targets, aren't you?"

With a stylish flourish, Nick slipped the knife into a solid grip. He stood. Smirking.

"When's the last time you fought somebody with combat training?"

Springtrap pulled himself upright with a snarl. "No... no, she–" He brandished his own knife. "She told me you'd be weak."

Nick's smile died. "Who did? Bellwether?!"

With a scream, Springtrap lunged.

Nick parried, the knives shrieking a protest as they met. His grip held, claws digging into the handle. Springtrap swung again and Nick blocked again, and on the third swing he followed the parry with a kick. Springtrap coughed and wobbled and backed up.

The tide had turned. Suddenly, Nick had the easier job. All he had to do was beat down this punk. Poor Judy was still out there, surviving those abominations.

She would. She was Judy.

"Nick! Can you hear me?! What's happening in there?!"

Judy banged her tiny fists against the door – painted to blend with the wall, a trick aided by the darkness – but there was no moving it. She growled to herself.

And then she had to dodge that hook. Again.

Metal shrieked against metal as Foxy missed, its hook sparking against the door. Judy cringed, but didn't have the luxury of stopping. She dodged under Foxy and past Bonnie's grasping hands.

Keep moving. Keep breathing.

Judy leapt for the wall, bouncing off to kick Bonnie. She bounced off Bonnie, too. The same result she had gotten all night.

Judy made a strangled noise of frustration, too angry for a sigh but too tired to be anything else. She was at her limit. This was a cruel exaggeration of her fights against larger perps. She couldn't disorient them, let alone cause actual damage. But they could still hit her very, very hard.

She sucked in a mouthful of stale air. No. They could hit as hard they could. She would always be faster.

Judy backed up to the wall, letting them stomp after her. Bonnie was closer. She watched its movements, the twitches of its limbs, before it shot a claw out to crush her–

She slipped to the side. Bonnie's hand kept going, slamming into the wall with a shower of old plaster. It jerked, caught on a tangle of wires.

Against living opponents, Judy couldn't pull the same trick twice. But although these machines had the physical edge, they weren't smart enough to understand hustles. She stood by Bonnie's leg, watching Foxy line up its strike.

As predicted, the hook came down. Judy dodged, and Foxy ripped Bonnie's leg apart at the shin.

But debris caught Judy in the back, knocking her down. She hit the floor, and for a moment, she was very tempted to just stay there.

Her body ached. She had been running and kicking and surviving for, what? Six hours? That was definitely less time than she had slept. She had watched over Nick and Sly as they both took twice as long in bed. She had thought she could handle that.

Because I can, she told herself. And I will.

Hissing in a breath, she stood. Her knees creaked and her hands wobbled, but when she turned to her opponent, her eyes burned.

Bonnie was still caught in the wall, but Foxy was realigning its hook, preparing to strike her again. Judy squared her stance. She was unarmed and alone and exhausted, but she wasn't beaten. Not yet. And when the doors opened again, she would be ready.

They moved in separate unison. Judy fought the robot. Sly fought the generator's outer casing. And Nick fought the monster.

He pressed his advantage, pushing Springtrap back. The rabbit tried slicing at his arm, his face, but Nick never sunk to his level. He would disarm him, interrogate him, and then hand him to Carmelita. Springtrap would face justice without any new scars.

Nick allowed himself the luxury of a smirk. Not only would he survive the night, he'd walk away with a lead. As the knives clashed and the rabbit grew more frantic, Nick was already planning the next move.

Then he saw it.

There. Hovering by the open airvent. The Phantasm.

The split second of broken focus was enough. Springtrap slashed and Nick reacted too slowly. Their knives met and his skittered across the floor. Towards it.

"So much for the hero cop," grinned Springtrap. "Now hold still..."

Nick could not hold still if he tried. "The – the ghost."

Springtrap laughed. Like sandpaper. "Oh my god! That again? I was lying! There's no ghost. You're just crazy." He grinned, teeth shining in the half-light. "And coming from me, that's saying something..."

The Phantasm did not bend down. It simply lowered itself to the floor. Its bladed arm remained still, but the other emerged from the cloak. A claw. Gripping Nick's knife.

Nick stared. "Please! It's behind you!"

The rabbit laughed, loud and hearty. "Yeah! Sure! Seriously, fox, that's the oldest trick in th–"

There was a terrible wet noise as the blade met flesh.

Grey eyes widened, transfixed on Nick's. After a second of shock, he tried to speak. But all that came out was a breathy hiss.

Then, blood.

The smell hit Nick, acrid against the dust and mould in the air. It spurred him, police instincts pushing him forward. But before Nick could even take a step, the Phantasm's head snapped up.

And everything went white.

Nick stumbled, completely blind. The musty darkness was replaced instantly with a searing light. He curled up, paws against his eyes. Trying to will his vision back.

His other senses heightened. His skin pricking. His nose and tongue disgusted. His ears reporting sounds he wished he didn't recognize.

Finally, the room swam back into focus. Nick looked around, eyes wild. But the Phantasm was gone. Of course it was.

Nick found himself kneeling. Despite everything, his training had kicked in. Despite everything, he was checking the rabbit's vitals.

Despite everything, he felt a twinge of sorrow when he found nothing.

Judy dodged and dodged back and rolled under a low swipe of the hook. Foxy was mechanically patient, always ready with another swing, but mechanically predictable too. Judy knew its patterns. All she had to do was survive.

And then the power surged.

The building couldn't handle a panicking raccoon brutalizing its generator. Electricity burst through every wire. Bonnie ripped itself loose from the wall, and flame followed, licking up its arm. It fell against Foxy, its lifeless eyes watching as fire crawled up its body.

Judy tensed. Dozens of similar fires were already breaking out all through the building. The exposed wiring found and feasted on papers and grease. Flame tore through the old corridors in moments.

On the bright side, she was now definitely awake.

Then the power died. And behind her, the security door opened.

Judy turned quickly. The robots weren't disabled, and the entire building was suddenly a fire hazard. But she knew her priority.

"Nick, I–"

She froze. Nick was crouched over Springtrap. His blood on his paws.

"What happened?!" she shrieked. "What did you do?!"

"It wasn't me!" Nick couldn't stop it from spilling out, couldn't hide it under something less ludicrous. "It was the ghost!"

Anyone else would've laughed. Stared. Screamed. Left him there in the darkness, as the obvious liability he was.

Judy didn't hesitate.

She darted forward and grabbed his hand. "Then we can't stay here! We'll be next!"

"No, Judy–"

"Move! I'm with you!"

She dragged him to his feet and they were running. Nick wanted to tear his hand away. He felt like poison. But she wouldn't let go.

The restaurant was already burning. Judy dragged him past Bonnie, crumpled in a slowly growing blaze.

She coughed, but cleared her throat almost violently. She had been breathing this foul air for hours, and soon it would be choked with smoke too. But she refused to die here. Nick needed her.

They rounded a corner and Judy saw light – not the angry orange that was growling around them, but the hopeful yellow of the sunrise. The back entrance, open.

She pulled Nick, still stumbling, toward freedom. A figure dropped from the roof, waiting for them outside.

"Guys! This way!"

"Sly!" called Judy. "I knew you'd come!"

"Of course! What kind of frie-" As they got closer, his eyes widened. He noticed the blood. "Wait, what happened in there?!"

"Talk later!" Judy ran past him and kept running, Nick close behind. "When we're far, far away from here!"

Sly didn't need to hear more. He followed.

Carmelita's first instinct when the front door snapped open was to charge in herself. But she wasn't an angry young officer any more. There was more room in her tactics for a defensive approach. She ordered her liaisons to hold the line.

And then smoke began to spill from within.

Wolford watched the blaze, nose wrinkled. "Agh, the stench..."

"Inspector?" Fangmeyer's voice, usually level, was tinged with fear. "What are your orders? Are Nick and Judy inside?!"

"Stay here." Her voice was firm against the smoke. "We already called the fire department. They have training we don't. I share your concern, but we can't save Nick and Judy by burning to death. And that's assuming they're in there at all." Her eyes matched the fire's heat. "Just stay sharp."

"Look!" said Wolford. "Someone's coming out!"

Framed against the billowing black smoke, a distinctly vulpine figure was staggering toward the front door.

Nick. Carmelita was running forward before she could stop herself. Fangmeyer and Wolford followed close behind.

The figure came closer, growing larger and larger until it was as tall as Nick, then taller. Carmelita slowed, eyes narrowing, hand at the ready.

The smoke gave way to a monstrosity. Writhed in sputtering flame, a huge robot dragged itself free, a mass of boiling metal shaped into an insult against foxes. It stared the officers down with one melting gold eye, and let loose a shriek which was either a battlecry or a plea for help.

"What in the goddamn?!" Fangmeyer backed up defensively. Wolford yelped, ears tall.

Carmelita didn't hesitate. She whipped out her shock pistol and fired shot after shot into the creature's face. It didn't slow, dragging its burning body toward them.

Fangmeyer followed her example, then Wolford, and suddenly the robot's neck gave way. Unable to withstand both the flame and three streams of electricity, the head came loose, toppling into the dirty sand. The body followed suit, and with a final moan of gears, it lay still.

Wolford caught his breath, still shaken by the sight. He noticed Inspector Fox looking at him.

"Are you scared?"

He just nodded.

"We're all scared," she said.

The three officers stood there, as the abandoned pizzeria guttered out into an empty husk. The encroaching sound of sirens was slim comfort against the vast plumes of black smoke choking out the sunrise.

"You'd have to be crazy not to be scared."