Chapter 5: Critical Calisthenics

Nothing felt real to Foxy, not after what he just did. It was all a blur, time felt slow, but everything moved faster. A loud flat beep sounded out, as miserable as all the ones before. The fighting stopped. Hushed words were spoken, then loud ones. Foxy wasn't really listening to them, all he saw was that all the survivors were gathering in the middle of the area. He had no idea what was happening, but he just had to trust his gut for now. He walked out of his hiding spot, taking extra care to make sure he didn't glance back at Lana's body.

There was a lot of waiting happening, Foxy didn't mind as it gave him more time to get a good look at his surroundings for once. The sand beneath his feet was like dark dry dirt, stained from the oil of however many others died here before today. The roof was closed off as well, only lit by a large exposed incandescent bulb, among other smaller ones that lined the ceiling, all attached to a web of disorganized chains that reinforced the ceiling like a cage.

The way the ceiling was parted looked almost as if they were meant to open up, like a skylight. The rusty metal walls made this place feel old, older than Foxy even. The only standouts in the arena were the large metal walls on either side of the arena that led to no cell, and a perch well above the ground. It was perfectly positioned so that someone could look over the area and see everything.

Without warning, the metal wall Foxy had spotted just a moment ago moved, like a large doorway opening. It opened slowly and painfully as the rusted metal of the sliding cover screeched out, scraping the structure around it. It opened to reveal a tunnel, presumably the exit. Before he knew it, Foxy was being ushered out of the ring along with all the other survivors. Before he was out of the ring, he caught a glimpse of a figure walking out to the viewing spot overhead. He only saw the ends of two long ears, as filthy and yellow as Goldie's fur.

Now, he was on the same path as the other killers in that fight, all walking down a tunnel that he hoped would lead out of the arena entirely. It was dark, and difficult to see anything at all, the only help came from the faint light in the distance, presumably the exit. It was quiet, only the sound of metal footsteps against sheets of more metal dug into the dry dirt beneath them. They began to spill out into a small clearing, and Foxy had to shield his eyes.

The vulpine's retinas strained themselves as his iris tried to adjust to the lighting. As dim as it was, it was still a harsh and sudden introduction to his surroundings from that nearly pitch black tunnel. He squinted, crushing his eyelids shut before opening again, trying to adjust to his surroundings faster.

When he could finally see, Foxy's eyes were greeted with scrap metal.

Scrap everywhere, made into walls, buildings, floors and just about everything in between. Torn walls of a freighter welded together at indiscriminate points, fused with old worn-down roadside billboard parts, and all other assortments of thematically absurd combinations made up the walls of buildings surrounding him. They were sloppy, and by the looks of it there was no way they were safe. Even so, they seemed to hold well enough to support the many animatronics walking along the bridges and alleys in-between.

It was like a giant amalgamate of homes, shops, and other such buildings, all connected to each other like an urban web made from rust and steel. Most of them were surrounded by nothing more than other buildings, walkways, ladders, and stairs, all sloppily put together. Other structures were built into the earth around them. Either way, they all seemed to expand in every direction in a seemingly impossible manner. Suddenly, Foxy began questioning where this place itself even was. As soon as he looked up, he got his answer.

In the distance, far from his current location and he could only presume far past the city, there was a hole. A large, gaping hole in whatever was above him. And through it, he could see the faintest rays of the dim morning light pouring into the chasm.

He was underground. This whole city was underground.

This sudden realization was enough to snap Foxy back to reality. Around him, the fighters that were with him dispersed in all different directions, leaving him alone in the sandy outsides of the ring. Where was he supposed to go now? He was completely lost, turning in place as he took in the sight of this massive slum, it was just nondescript metal, dirt, and sand as far as he could see. Where was a stranger like him supposed to go?

As if answering his own question, Foxy remembered what Marionette had told him only a few days ago now:

'If you ever end up in that place, find Horton. He lives at the eastern edge… you'll know the place when you see it.'

Well, there was no doubt about it, this had to be the place he was talking about. Foxy scanned what he could see of the city, trying to make out anything that might be the place Marionette was talking about. He couldn't tell North from South here, directions were useless to him… But the edge. Marionette said he lived on the edge of the city, and if Foxy was remembering that correctly, then he could probably circle around the outside of the city and find him. However long that would take, he'd probably find out sooner or later.

Resigning to the task, the vulpine started walking. He didn't really know where to start, but seeing how confusing just this plaza was, he would probably have a hard enough time just navigating his way to the edges of the city. Best to just get started now.

As he made his way forward, his thoughts couldn't help but drift back to the blood on his hands. Or, more specifically, the blood on his hook. The black and white vixen was the first person to treat him with compassion and respect since he'd arrived from one wretched place to another, and he'd ended her life. The seed of doubt as to whether this place was actually better than the pizzeria had been firmly planted. The worst part was, all it did was remind him of the first time he had taken someone's life.

An innocent person, again.

Some saint he was.

Stuck in his own head, the vulpine was barely paying any attention to anything around him. He was as good as lost even if he was paying attention, so to him, he might as well walk around aimlessly until he ended up somewhere. And end up somewhere he did.

Foxy's shoulder collided with someone else's, knocking him back to attention.

"Watch it punk… Oh, look. Another one."

Finally looking up, Foxy found himself surrounded by shifting figures in a dark alley. From what he could see, there were four of them. As one of the taller figures stepped closer, Foxy instinctively backed away, bumping into another one of them.

"You look lost, fox, whaddya doing around here?"

"Looking for a haircut buddy?" Another one of the figures taunted, gesturing at one of Foxy's many patches of furless metal amongst the rest of his messy rust-red fur.

Foxy stared back up at the imposing figure, but didn't reply. Instead, he quickly glanced from side to side, looking for any possible opening. He should be a lot more afraid in this moment than he was, but somehow it didn't bother him. What he noticed was a large open space... and a need to run.

"How's abouts you jus' c'mere with us nice and slow-like, we won't take very long with you…"

The hunched figure moved closer, and Foxy saw the opening he was looking for. He immediately bolted, pushing past the two figures blocking his way out.

He didn't waste any time looking behind him to see if they were chasing after him, or whether they were closing in on him fast or not. He just ran. His worn legs were already screaming out in pain, but whatever sorry excuse he had for adrenaline kept him going. He ran past everyone he came across, hearing them shouting at him, then again at the animatronics trailing him. It was the best estimate he had of how close they were, but they were keeping pace with him.

Foxy barreled down a long stretch of a sidewalk, narrowly dodging every figure he ran past until he saw ahead of him a gap in the sidewalk. He had somehow managed to end up two levels high on whatever massive structure he was running along. He slid into a leap, reaching out to the ledge on the other side before crashing into his chest against the wall, grabbing onto the ledge and pulling himself up as he wheezed from the impact. Good to see his arms were still in decent shape, compared to his legs at least. On his feet he glanced at where he had jumped, only to be greeted with the gang that was chasing him already preparing to make the same jump.

Immediately, Foxy dashed onto his feet and ran down the street. If his legs were in any better condition, outrunning them would be nothing to him. But like this… he winced as he landed wrong on the dirt and metal under his foot, twisting his ankle under his weight. A perfectly timed reminder as to how poor the condition of his legs were. Anything less than perfect form would slow him down too much. The pain was a constant now.

He had to lose them somehow, and playing it safe wasn't going to do it. Foxy lunged between a couple of people, looking past them to see if he could notice any route he could lose them on. Ahead of him was another gap between buildings, and multiple bridges connecting various levels of height between them. As he approached the gap, the vulpine broke into a mad dash, and dropped to his knees. He slid across the last length of ground, grabbing onto the ledge and dropped down a level, going easy on the impact of the drop by hanging for a split-second before letting go. Foxy hit the ground running and kept pushing forward, repeating the same maneuver again as he reached the end of that side as well. He was finally on ground level, looking up to see the people chasing him still getting down to the first level. He had finally gotten some distance, but it wasn't a lot.

Foxy didn't waste another second, immediately resuming his dash down the pathway that was in front of him. He had to maintain the distance no matter what. He sprinted down the pathway, dodging fewer and fewer people until he seemed to be all alone. Alone, save for the not-so-distant sound of feet hitting the dirt and steel beneath them. Foxy felt insulted for them to be keeping such pace with him. Still, with his legs as they were, he had to be grateful they still even worked.

Maybe skidding on his knees across the ground earlier wasn't a good idea.

Probably worse that he did it twice.

Foxy's eyes flicked to something that blurred past him. He was running too quickly to get a real glance at it, but it seemed to be some sort of sign post.

Up ahead there was another one. "Keep out" it said, in bold black lettering on a harsh yellow sign. Another one on the other side of the path Foxy was following. It was some faded and washed out advertisement with the words "Stay away" spray painted onto it.

Well, it's not like Foxy could just turn around. He turned his head to the side to get a glance at his pursuers. Two had fallen behind, but the others were still at it. Foxy had only gained a little distance.

The same couldn't be said for his distance from the main city. He could see how sparse the buildings were out here. In the middle of the city it had been like a sprawling mess of structures all interconnected, shops on top of homes on top of archways. Out here there were only a few huts, and the occasional tower with a concerningly unsupported bridge to other structures.

Well, at least he made it to the outer edge.

Another sign passed him, Foxy turned back to face in front of him. Just in time as he made a sharp turn, almost running into a wall. Now, there were signs all over the place. All painted with various ways of saying the same message of "Go away," some more vulgar than others.

And beyond them, was a structure. Built into the wall of the very cavern this whole city was inside. It was a tall structure, at least 3 or 4 stories high. Each floor seemed like it came from a different building, but they were all welded together with such skill and uniformity that they looked like they belonged together anyway. The top floor had a large window, and below it a sign.

Horton's Tools and Repair

Just below it, between the name "Horton's" and the word "Tools," was a sizable metal panel attached below it. It had on it the same paint he had seen on some of the signs before.

and Argos'

"Horton's and Argos' Tools and Repair" Foxy read to himself.

Marionette sure wasn't kidding when he said Foxy would know it when he saw it. It was certainly some dumb luck that he'd manage to find it while running for his life. There wasn't time left for him to worry about if this was the best way for him to introduce himself, Foxy just dashed to the building. Here's to hoping they would let him in quickly. Foxy leaped up the ledge to the steel door of the building, immediately banging on it with his fist. He looked behind him as he waited for a response, his jaw clenched from the stress. Every second he stood here, they were getting closer. If they even turned that corner they'd see him.

"Is anyone in there!? Hello?!"

He slammed his fist into the door again, two hard, distinct knocks. Just before he hit it a third time, the sliding peephole on the door suddenly opened. A pair of goggles were the only thing visible through it.

"Are you illiterate, or did you not even bother to read the signs?"

Whoever was on the other side was already annoyed. Their voice was thin and hoarse, like a digital radio transmission full of static. Of course any robots' voice was digital, but they weren't supposed to sound like it. Not like that.

"Wha-"

"Go away!" they interrupted.

"Lemme in! I won't be any trouble to ya!" Foxy pleaded, banging the door again.

"We are not 'washed up' and we are not going to work for you, now buzz off!"

"This is an emergency!"

Foxy turned again, hearing the footsteps of the gang chasing him draw ever closer. Panicking, he racked his brain for any last thing he could say, something to get their attention.

"Marionette sent me!"

...Nothing. No response. Foxy could hear the footsteps closer now, they'd turn the corner any second now. His concentration on that pathway was broken as soon as he heard the sound of a door unlocking. Before he had any time to process it, he felt a large feathery hand grab him by the shoulder, and he was yanked inside.

The door was slammed shut and locked instantly. The figure that pulled him in put their hand over Foxy's mouth and held him to the wall. The figure was leaning against the door, peering through the peephole, which was ever so slightly opened.

Outside, the sound of shouting and footsteps were now closer than ever, right outside the house. The voices were faint through the thick walls and door, but Foxy could tell they were still looking for him. They stayed there for only a moment, and then dispersed, heading somewhere else.

"They're gone," the figure said, lifting their hand off Foxy.

Foxy now got a better look at the figure. They were an owl, well, they were an animatronic meant to look like one. They most resembled a Great Horned Owl. Tufts of synthetic feathers poured out of their neck, over their large collar on the large coat they wore. It's collar was high enough that it covered the lower portion of their face, their eyes, obscured by the reflective black lenses of their goggles, only just above the collar.

As Foxy finally stood up, the owl stood right in front of him, blocking him off from the rest of the house.

"How do you know Marty?" they asked.

"...Marty?" Foxy asked, confused.

The owl sighed in that same digitally raspy voice. "Marionette, Marty, whatever. How do you know him?"

"Uhm… I've just always known him. How do you know Marionette?"

The owl was quiet for a second, visibly thinking about how he wanted to answer that. "Marty and I go way back. I've known him for as long as I've lived here, and a bit before even that."

"So then you're…"

"Horton," he said, lifting his goggles off his eyes and putting them over his head, causing the two large "horn" feathers on his head to jet backwards. His eyes were distinctly bright compared to the rest of his presence. "And I presume you're Foxy then?"

"Yeah- wait, you know my name?"

"Come with me," Horton said, already beginning to walk off. "Better to talk somewhere comfortable."

Foxy followed behind him. His metal feet clanked against the metal of the floor, causing Horton's head to visibly twitch to the side every time. They hadn't even made it into the next room when Horton turned around in an instant.

"Could you please walk with a little more finesse-" he stopped, looking down at Foxy's legs.

"Sorry, I can't really-"

"What happened to you?" Horton asked, cutting Foxy off, "I've never seen anyone even able to walk with legs in as poor condition as that."

Horton began taking a closer look at Foxy's entire body, who awkwardly stood still right there in the hallway.

"You… you're in really poor condition, Foxy."

"I'm aware of that," he replied, waving off the topic like it wasn't that important.

"Your legs shouldn't even be working right now, the fact that you were just running for your life is a miracle as far as I'm concerned. Your internals are a mess, as I can clearly tell from the giant, gaping, hole in your chest."

"It's really not that bad-"

"If I'm right, it's likely to be even worse than it looks."

Foxy didn't have a response for that. The conversation hung in the air before Horton spoke again.

"We don't have much scrap to spare anymore, but I can use what I can to fix you up. I'm sure you have hundreds of questions, so I can answer them for you while repairing you. At least before I have to put you under." He looked at Foxy's legs again, grimacing, "Be careful going up the stairs."

"Wait, put me what?"

Horton was already going up the stairs, not responding. Did he not hear him, or just not care?

Foxy followed him, gingerly stepping onto each level. In his mind, he insisted to himself he was probably fine. Even so, Horton seemed to know his stuff, and that made what he just heard even more concerning. What did he mean 'put him under'?

When Foxy poked his head up to the next floor, what greeted his eyes was the last thing expected to see down here. The room was full of books. Real books, paper bound to cover and all. The walls were covered in them, shelf after shelf filled to the brim. Every single one of them was hardcover, not a single paperback in sight. Horton was clearing a table off, stacking the many loose papers with notes and diagrams drawn over all of them, and haphazardly tossing them to his desk, which was right in front of a large window. Though you could see the sign in front of the top half of the window, especially the "and Argos" one attached to the bottom.

"Lay down on the table, I'll get my tools." Horton instructed.

Foxy nodded and walked to the table, sitting himself on it. He at first questioned if it'd hold his weight, but it seemed to have no trouble, so he laid down on it. It wasn't a bed, but it felt nice to safely lay on something other than the floor for once.

Horton scooted his chair to the table, holding a bucket full of tools. Foxy recognized some of them, but not many.

"So then," Horton said, grabbing some of the tools and finally looking at Foxy. Not at his eyes, just at him. "What do you want to ask first?"

Foxy watched as Horton casually began tinkering with the innards of Foxy's body. "You said my name earlier, how do you know me?"

"Ah, yes. Marty had told me only a few days ago that someone by your name might end up by my doorstep. When you said you knew him, I figured you were the one he was talking about."

Foxy's eyes widened at that remark. Was this where Marionette was always disappearing off to?

"Wait, Marionette is here?"

Horton sighed. "He was here. He dropped by to let me know about you, and left. He's… not exactly welcome here."

Foxy raised the brow above his eyepatch at that, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Horton dropped one of his tools into the bucket, grabbing another as he was beginning to work his way into the very center of Foxy's legs. He grunted before answering his question.

"Everyone likes Marty well enough here, he made quite the name for himself in the ring, but ah… he got on the wrong side of the leader here. Ever since then, he's only visited for a few brief times. Never only a single day though, all the more reason why I took his notice of you very seriously."

"Then who's in charge of this place?" Foxy asked. He felt the owl's tools poking around in his joints, feeling them pop like he'd seen some teenagers at the pizzeria do to the dismay of their mothers.

Horton held his breath, struggling with his tools before responding. "He calls himself Spring Bonnie. Big golden hare, he sticks out from the crowd like a sore thumb, quite rude as well."

"Sounds kinda like a golden bear I know." Foxy took a mental note of the name 'Bonnie' as well, there was no doubt this guy came from the same franchise as him.

"That's funny, I've heard him mention a golden bear once or twice."

Foxy groaned in his mind, he just couldn't escape these bastards could he?

"Alright then… So, what is this place?"

Horton put down his tools for a moment, gesturing to the window in front of them that overlooked the main city from afar.

"This, my friend, is the Hellmouth."

"...Catchy name."

"And fitting, too. Right now you're under a sinkhole the size of an American Football field, leading into a larger cave sys-"

"A foot-what?"

"...Right, okay. How do I put this… The Hellmouth was the world's largest scrapyard, but it was built on… unsafe ground. The scrapyard fell into a massive sinkhole, which in itself leads to an even larger underground cave. Technically it's a vast cave network, but we just stay here where there's the most uninterrupted space."

"So… we're underground?"

"Yes, we're underground."

"...so what's a football?"

"How about I tell you another time, now do you want me to fix you or not?"

Foxy looked at him a bit nervously. He didn't want to annoy the person fiddling with his insides.

Horton began working on Foxy's torso, sticking his tools right through the open cavities in his chest with an unnerving nonchalance.

"I'm sure you have more questions, right?" Horton asked after a few moments, though still concentrating his eyes at Foxy's insides.

"How… How long has this place been here?" Foxy asked.

"Honestly I couldn't say. It's been here a long time, but you start to lose track after a while. I wasn't even here since the beginning. I was just lucky to find it as early as I did."

"How does this place even exist?" Foxy asked, glancing at the view outside the window, overlooking the majority of the vast underground city, "It doesn't seem real..."

Horton chuckled at that remark, "Well, from what I was told, Marty was the one who found this spot. He decided he wanted to build a safe haven here for runaways. He wasn't alone of course, Spring Bonnie was here from the start as well. I… I joined early on, helped plan out everything. For a while at least."

"For a while?"

Horton let go of his tools for a second, exhaling. He was getting frustrated just thinking about whatever Foxy had made him remember.

"Spring Bonnie, that… Ugh… That greedy dirtbag gypped us! He threw away my original plans, only keeping some crap for his own place, and then left everyone to fend for themselves. They had to make their own shelters. He convinced everyone to settle their issues by fighting. He made a whole system around it, and now he runs this place as the most inept leader I've ever seen. He keeps everything to himself, and hands off the scraps to everyone else."

Yep, he was related to Goldie.

"So why don't ya just get rid of the guy?"

Horton sighed. "The people here are so difficult to work with. Somehow, they like the system of leadership in place despite it being so clearly rigged to the very core. They will only accept a leader who gets to the top the way Spring Bonnie did, and of course he does everything he can to make sure no one does that."

"And that would be...?"

"Fight to the top, beat the best of the best. Do that, and you're their leader."

"Explains how they deal with criminals then…" Foxy muttered under his breath.

"Is that what happened to you? The state of your legs makes sense then."

"No, they were like that before. I just… I survived. That's all."

Horton looked at him incredulously before responding. "Well then, you'll do well around here if surviving is your forté."

Foxy wasn't even sure if surviving was his forté back at the pizzeria. Then again, he did just survive getting chased by four guys he was pretty sure were gonna reduce him to a pile of wires.

"Well, what if I don't want to stay here then?"

Horton gave Foxy a sideways glance, scoffing under his breath. "Good luck with that, even just attempting to leave is a crime. This place swallows you whole, like the darkest pit of Hell. You don't leave. If by some chance even manage to get out of this pit, Spring Bonnie's scavengers will find you and send you right back in. And of course then you have to go through the Rite of Passage."

"So that's what it's called then?"

"Yes. The Rite of Passage, where aspiring fighters, or criminals in need of redemption go through to earn their place, or take it from someone else."

"So it's a punishment."

"If you're a criminal. Otherwise, it's just one of many bloodbaths," Horton paused, raising his eyebrow at his own statement, "...Oilbath? Whatever."

"Blimey, Ye all love fightin' down here, don't ya?"

Horton stopped what he was doing and stared at the fox.

"...I've been meaning to ask, why do you talk like that?"

Foxy pointed at his eyepatch, "I'm supposed to be a pirate."

Horton raised an eyebrow. "...I thought you were Scottish, or something like that."

"A what-now?"

"Your accent- Ah, nevermind. Now lie on your back."

Foxy hesitated for a moment before he lowered his back to the table, awkwardly shuffling in place a bit as his feet hung off the end.

"I'm going to have to put you under for the rest of this, your internals are… bad. Worse than I was hoping… But it'll be fine. I'm good at what I do."

"I don't know how I feel about that..."

"I know we only just met, but trust that I have your best interests in mind. A friend of Marty is a friend of mine."

Foxy still wasn't entirely sure about it, to trust someone he had only known for barely longer than half an hour to tinker with his insides. Up until this point, the only person who had repaired Foxy in years was himself. It felt… uncomfortable to have someone else do it.

"...Fine."

"One last question."

Foxy looked at him, waiting for him to ask it.

"Would you like a hand?" Horton asked, smirking a bit as he held up a rudimentary robotic hand.

Foxy's uncovered eye stared at Horton for a moment, processing that awful joke before responding, "...yeah"

"Alright," Horton said, sounding pleased with himself, "from your perspective, you'll be awake in a moment."

With that, Horton reached to Foxy's head, putting his tool into Foxy's head with disturbing ease, and his vision went black. He seemed to be stuck in the state of darkness for a brief moment, before the vulpine fell asleep.