Fox Hunt
The pistol clicked as he loaded the magazine into it. He'd made the decision to keep this one on him; it was his favourite, after all.
Mike knew what was coming. Four nights he'd survived. Four nights the animatronics had become increasingly aggressive. Four nights every single one of their attempts had failed. Now it was time for the Night Guard to fight back.
Thoughtfully, he considered what they would think when it finally happened. Would they feel fear? Anger? Resentment? Did they feel anything at all?
Not that it mattered; the night would still end the same way.
He didn't have his duffle bag with him, so he loaded his equipment into a small rucksack. After a brief pause and a hesitant step, he left his apartment. He knew that the likelihood of him seeing it again was low; by the end of the night, he would either be dead or sitting in a holding cell.
The walk to Freddy's was shorter than normal; he felt the adrenaline wanting to fill his veins, the natural fight-or-flight response struggling to break out. But he knew that if he had any hope of surviving, he needed to stay focused.
He thought about the four nights since he came back. Though the animatronics had, for the most part, acted the same, Mike had been unable to ignore the small details that had started to pop up; the obvious irritation they were experiencing, the fact that the hallucinations had been few and far between, and the undeniable fact that Freddy Fazbear himself was angry.
During his second night, he'd been forced to shut his door three times to Foxy. It was strange; the other animatronics seemed reserved like they were trying to hold back. Although, Mike mused, Foxy always seemed like the wild card.
Surprisingly, Freddy had started moving as early as his third night. He'd not managed to get very far and Mike had made sure to lock him down at the stage after his first cycle, but nevertheless, the bear had been a vicious—if short-lived—threat.
Of course, the fourth night had been a struggle. They'd all come out swinging right from the get-go and Mike had very nearly flipped the switch early to compensate. However, he'd made the decision to wait until the fifth night and he was glad he'd waited. Everything was set up.
The end was coming.
As soon as he saw the faded sign of Freddy Fazbear's across the street, his stomach churned. He cursed himself for a fool for being so weak, even after everything he'd gone through. But for the first time since his first week nine months ago, he felt just how real it was.
By dawn, his life as he knew it would be over.
Even if he survived—which was doubtful—Garfield would never forgive this. But he'd made a promise to himself.
Mike sucked in one last breath before crossing the street.
No one was there to greet him when he stepped in. Looking at his watch, he was relieved to find himself a few minutes to spare.
He didn't bother looking at the animatronics, choosing instead to go straight down the corridor and checking the vent. It was how he left it: unscrewed and occupied. Stepping into the office, he glanced around and placed the rucksack open on the desk.
He sat down and waited.
Eventually, the sound of the night power kicking in and the grandfather clock noise played over the small intercom in the office.
Twelve AM. Time for the final dance.
As he'd expected, the animatronics came at him hard from the get-go. Bonnie was at the door for four minutes, Chica rattled around the kitchen, Freddy had darted from the stage to the restrooms, and Foxy was poking his head out of the cove.
It looked like he couldn't have picked a better night.
For two hours, they threw themselves at his defences. For the first hour, he threw the best witty comeback he could think of.
"You're getting slow, old man!" He laughed when Freddy came down the hall,
"Ad per usual, your petty tricks mean nothing." He chided at Chica as she tried rushing him,
"Why don't you go play with your guitar?!" He scolded Bonnie through the glass,
"I meant what I said about the leg!" He screamed at Foxy after a narrowly avoided run-in.
Still, they persisted. He ran out of comebacks, but he wasn't going to let them win that easily.
Almost as if they were a pair of synchronized dancers, Bonnie and Chica charged down the hallways, not even bothering to let him check the cameras. Both doors were slammed down in their faces.
As they walked away, Mike gave a half-hearted chuckle. He started to step back to the laptop when he heard the laugh.
His mind told him it was a bluff. His body told him to freeze. His instincts told him to close the door again. In the end, his instincts won out.
Freddy was reaching into the office as it closed. The bear had to retract his arm to avoid getting it crushed.
Not even hesitating, Mike closed the left door again, too; Foxy was sprinting down the hallway just as he did so.
He sucked in breath after breath as they left. He looked at his power and saw that it was nearing fifthy percent. He'd just barely reached three am and his prospects were running thin.
Nevertheless, he needed a breather. He sat down, both doors closed, and surprised to find himself crying.
He didn't even know why. Tears ran down his face, his decisions finally catching up with him. Benji was right; he'd basically thrown his life away. It was too late to turn back, but he couldn't help but feel angry at what had led him to this point.
He'd made bad decisions, sure. He had chosen to work at Freddy's. He had chosen not to try and pursue legal action. He had made the decision to come back, even after so many more choices were presented to him.
Then there were the decisions others had made for him. His father, walking out as he did. His teachers never giving him the attention he'd so desperately needed.
Even though he knew how unfair it was, he blamed his mother as well. At a point in life when he needed someone to be in his corner so much, she'd fallen sick. Had been since he started working at Freddy's.
The only one who'd been there for him was Benji.
It's just not fair.
Mike opened his eyes and looked around the pizzeria, not just the office, but the dark hallways and wrecked rooms.
I don't want to die in here.
He stood up. He felt that it was time.
Stepping over to the doors, he opened both and checked the cameras. Nothing out of place, though he did note that none of the animatronics were near the office. It seemed that they'd all decided to take a step back.
It was the perfect opportunity.
He couldn't find Bonnie, but after a brief check by the left door, he confirmed that the rabbit was nowhere near the office. Chica was loitering in the restrooms, Freddy had returned to the stage, and Foxy was standing in his cove.
At least, Mike was able to tell that he was. The fox was usually able to keep himself hidden quite well, but the presence of a large figure behind the cove was undeniable. Perhaps the fox was planning another charge.
That was when his blood turned cold.
He couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before. Everything about it should've rubbed him the wrong way. The lack of subtlety. The unusual behaviour. The larger frame of the figure.
It was the ear that made him realize. A slight mistake on their part; otherwise, a perfectly hidden plan lying in wait. But the purple ear had stuck over the curtain ever-so-slightly.
It wasn't Foxy in the cove.
The gasp left his lips as he looked at the left door, his eyes wide. Footsteps were coming from down the hall! He knew he wouldn't make it in time.
He leapt, not for the door across the room, but for the rucksack sitting on the desk. He fumbled through it, grasping the handle of the pistol and bringing it out.
The fox had just reached the doorframe. Raising his hook and opening his jaw, he breached the office and let out a terrible screech!
It was a screech Mike had heard before. A screech that signalled dread, doom, and suffering. A screech that the animatronics used t0 drive fear through the hearts of their victims.
A screech that was cut short when Mike raised that pistol and fired.
The first bullet was a panic shot, fired desperately and without aim. Luck favoured Mike, however, as that bullet struck the fox in the leg. Foxy stumbled, his eye wide and shocked, unable to dart towards Mike.
The second bullet was aimed; Mike targeted the fox's head and fired. Making the mistake of opening his eye patch, leaving his right eye exposed and vulnerable. The bullet struck the fox's eye, and the fox howled.
Mike stepped back as the fox howled, his rage and fury spitting out with every syllable of every word he spoke.
"Ye bleedin' bilge rat!" Foxy screamed with his distorted voice, every other vowel skipped ever-so-slightly, "ol' Capn' Foxy will make ya walk the plank fo' that!
Shaking his head, Foxy glared at Mike, his anger and furious intent burning. But that look turned to shock, confusion and perhaps even fear when he saw the object in Mike's hands.
Everything seemed to slow down for Mike. His mind went over what it could be. He'd heard the stories; when a loved one was in danger, when that fight-or-flight response really kicked in, or when you're moments away from death.
But he knew better. What he was witnessing, as if he was merely a passenger in his own body, was indeed death. But not his own.
His finger pulsed, shaking, and lightly pressed down on the trigger.
The sound of the last bullet deafened his ears, and everything became slow. He felt light, almost close to fainting. The bullet went through the fox, right into his chest, where the heart would be. Sparks came out, light blue flickers of light that were met with a buzzing.
Staring into space, his one remaining eye wide and blank, Foxy shivered for a moment and Mike wondered if the bullet hadn't affected him. Then, with a spasm and a convulsion, Foxy collapsed.
Straight to the ground, like an overfilled trash bag. His limbs flailed wildly and his body, like a rag-doll, splattered across the tiled floor. He almost resembled a child's toy, thrown carelessly.
As he lay there, the fox's one good eye, a brilliant hazel, glowed brighter, before going dim and eventually turned a crusty grey.
With a whimper rather than a howl, Foxy was dead.
Mike stood there, frozen. Against his wishes, he started to remember. Things he had tried too hard to forget.
The lights had gone off. Mike swallowed, glancing at his watch and struggling to read what it said: 5:56.
His breath became quicker when he heard the footsteps coming down the hallway. He wasn't going to make it. Minutes away and he wasn't going to make it.
Freddy's eyes came into view, highlighted by a chilling white light. A small jingle, what Mike recognised as the Toreador March, played.
Desperately trying to shorten his breath, he closed his eyes and began to beg in his mind.
The tune eventually ended and Freddy's eyes went dark. The last bits of power ran out with it and Mike was plunged into darkness, only his own breathing to accompany him.
The footsteps grew closer and Mike couldn't stop the tears running down his face.
Silence.
Then, like the devil himself had risen up from his fiery pit, Freddy's face shrieked into Mike's own, illuminated by the same white light.
Mike screamed as he fell back from his chair, scrambling to escape, but he was grabbed by an unseen figure, wrenched by his jumpsuit's collar.
"No, no!" Mike yelled out, trying desperately to escape, "Please! Let me go!"
But Freddy had no mercy in those dead blue eyes and without a moment of hesitation, Mike was dragged out of the office into the dirty floors of the hallway.
Mike continued to beg as he was roughly dragged through the pizzeria, out into the open space of the dining hall. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he saw the other animatronics: Chica looking at him before looking away, Bonnie with his back turned, and Foxy jumping through the curtain of Pirate's Cove.
None of them wanted to see what was coming. None of them wanted any part of the kill.
Mike began to scream as they approached the backstage door, desperately trying to pull away. Freddy opened the door, threw Mike into the abyss, stepped inside, and slammed the door close.
Scrambling up and trying to get away, Mike bumped right into the open suit that had already been prepped. A hand grabbed him, securing him in place.
Mike screamed, begged, and began to blubber. He knew what was coming.
Freddy started to back him towards the suit, where screws, wires, and devices made for the animatronics decorated the inside.
He looked at the bear, those blue eyes focused and unyielding. Mike struggled to breathe, his last thoughts wondering who would be there at his funeral.
He blinked back tears and asked just one word to the bear.
"Why?"
Freddy froze, a look of confusion flashing in his eyes before he returned to that unmoving look.
He started to back Mike into the suit, the sharp points digging into Mike's abdomen.
Then the Grandfather Clock rang.
Without a second difference, Freddy's eyes turned blank and he dropped Mike roughly on the floor, freezing in place.
Struggling to breathe, Mike wept.
He clambered up to his feet, looking at the bear the whole time. What was fear, desperation, and sorrow slowly turned to rage.
Across the room was a tool rack, layered with all sorts of devices. On the left-hand side of the tool rack, next to a drill and screwdriver, was a lone wrench, about the size of Mike's forearm.
Limping over to the tool rack, Mike picked up the wrench and turned back to Freddy.
A gasp passed through Mike's lips as he remembered where he was, he heard the footsteps signalling multiple approaching figures rushing down the hallways.
Without another moment of hesitation, Mike slammed both doors down and was shocked to see the other three animatronics, having all come to investigate.
Bonnie was the first to arrive, at the left hallway. He glared through the window, but that glare turned into an undeniable shock when he saw the corpse of Foxy sprawled across the ground.
Moments later, Freddy arrived at the right door, accompanied by Chica. Hands clasped the chicken's mouth as she saw Foxy, sorrow in her usually-devilish eyes. Freddy stared blankly, not even looking at Mike and instead choosing silence.
Eventually, Freddy turned his look to Mike, that blank expression turning into a quiet, deadly rage.
"What did you do?" Freddy asked, his voice low and rumbling. He never raised his voice. That was the worst part. "What…did you do?"
That ever-present fear bubbled up through Mike's chest, but he fought to keep it down as he smiled, not taking his eyes off the bear and his destructive glare, "The same thing I'm going to do to you. For too long, you have been the alpha predator, killing with impunity. That changes."
Recklessly, Mike stepped closer to the window, wanting to look right into the bear's blue eyes as he uttered that last sentence. "Tonight, the hunters are the hunted."
If looks could kill, Mike guessed that Freddy would've otherwise settled on smashing his massive hand through the glass and throttling the night guard. Before that could happen, a sound played through the small intercoms.
"Sir," a voice called through the intercom, "it is lamentable that mass agricultural development is not speeded by fuller use of your marvellous mechanisms."
Confusion replaced the rage in the animatronic's eyes, as they looked around, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from.
"Would it not be easily possible to employ some of them in quick laboratory experiments to indicate the influence of various types of fertilizers on plant growth?"
Racking his brain over what was happening, Mike could only guess that the sound was being played through Garfield's office, just down the hallway.
"Who else is here?" Freddy asked without even looking at the Night Guard.
Swallowing his fear and rage down, Mike responded, "I don't know. I came here alone. Why don't you go find out?"
Without a second look, Freddy gestured with his head and the other animatronics left; they knew that the power would run out soon.
"You are right." The voice continued, oblivious to the lack of knowledgeable listeners, "Countless uses of Bose instruments will be made by future generations."
Mike breathed in, calming his nerves as the voice finished.
"The scientist seldom knows contemporaneous reward; it is enough to possess the joy of creative service."
With that, Mike was plunged into a lonely silence.
With his options waning and his power very nearly out, Mike considered his next move. It seemed that the next best option was to make a break for the vent, but he didn't know if he would for sure be able to reach it and open it in time.
Knowing that it was his best bet, Mike gave a sigh as he got up, before stepping towards the door.
But as his hand hovered over the button, he heard the mechanical wheezing behind him.
Mike stopped, his legs unsteady and his chest tightened. It couldn't be.
Slowly, with his gun still in hand, Mike turned around.
The fox was already on one knee, looking away from Mike. Like a human waking up from a long sleep, Foxy was shaky and unsteady as he struggled to his feet. He shook his head from side to side before clambering up to his feet.
Mike didn't wait for the fox to turn around; he aimed his gun, put his finger over the trigger, and got ready to fire.
He didn't know why he chose not to press down right there and then, while the fox had his back turned. Something kept him from doing so, curiosity, perhaps. Otherwise, perhaps he wanted to look into the fox's eyes before he sent the animatronic straight back to hell.
Whether it was because Foxy didn't know of what was behind him or not, he looked around the room, a veil of confusion over him.
"Argh, me head be blown like a musket…" Foxy lowly grumbled, catching his bearings. He looked at his hook, his good hand, and felt for his damaged eyeball and the hole in his chest.
For some time, the Fox checked himself, gingerly assessing the damage done. Eventually, he once more spoke to himself.
"I be in the Crow's Nest?" Foxy mumbled, still not looking behind him, "I…I be shot."
Finally, the fox felt the presence of someone watching him. Slowly, but attentively, Foxy turned around to discover Mike, aiming down the sights and ready to fire.
Although part of him just wanted to shoot first and ask questions later, Mike couldn't help but be put off the way how Foxy reacted to the situation. He hadn't acted even remotely aggressively or defensively, instead seeming confused and curious.
Even the way how Foxy looked between him and the gun simply seemed off. It was like he recognised the weapon in his hands, confused about why Mike was there, and he even looked over the very clothes that Mike was wearing.
"Ye be the scallywag who shot Capn' Foxy?" The fox asked cautiously,
Mike hesitated, swallowing down his nerves. He knew he would be able to fire before Foxy attacked, but as it had been proven, one shot was not going to take the animatronic down. Even so, Mike felt something rise up through him. Bravado, perhaps.
"I sure did." Mike spoke through ragged breaths.
Something shined in Foxy's one remaining eye, "Ye got guts, lad. Now, have ya seen that endo? Me an' the crew 'ave some words for it."
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