A/N: No, I'm not dead. There's a doozy of an author's note at the end of this chapter for those interested. It's long, but only because I want to get everything out there now rather than in small doses over time.

Chapter 6: Dead Man Walking

Groaning, Foxy lifted his head off the table and propped himself up on his elbows. He had just woken up since Horton put him to sleep to do a deeper repair on his body. He was still groggy, but as his eyesight returned to him he took a look around the room. Gathering his surroundings, Foxy sat up straight, slowly turning until he sat with his legs dangling off the edge of the table.

Something felt… different. Surely it was a good sign that he woke up at all, it seemed he really could trust Horton. But something was weird… He felt just a little heavier than before, not so much as off balance, but still unusual. He ran his hands over his body, checking to make sure something wasn't wrong. He felt… cleaner on the inside, if that made any sense at all, but nothing to indicate the shift in his balance. His feet and shins were fine, though still just the metal endoskeletons and nothing else. He took a moment to run his right hand over the knee joint that had been bent back at the pizzeria. It… it was fixed. Not just bent back into place, but actually fixed.

Before Foxy even processed the tinge of joy that brought him, he realized something else. He felt his knee with his right hand.

His right hand.

Foxy raised it to take a closer look at it, studying each individual finger and touching them with his other hand. It worked, it actually worked! He wiggled each digit of the hand individually, completely enamored by how natural they all felt. Like they had always been a part of his body since the beginning. Without realizing it, Foxy began to smile, ever so gently.

Looking around Horton's office, Foxy got off the table and gave his surroundings a more thorough examination. Before he had only really paid mind to the bookshelves which were completely filled, and the many papers peppering the floor, desks, and walls.

Horton's second desk was cluttered with a vast array of various debris. The metal pieces of scrap on top of the papers stuck out, given the color and condition of them, Foxy quickly realized that those were his own parts. They were all bent, broken, coated in rust, and barely even recognizable as mechanical parts. No wonder he felt so awful before.

The numerous papers underneath the scraps that coated the desk were all covered in notes and diagrams, designs that Foxy could barely make out as sorts of gadgets, unique machine parts, body prosthetics, and other such things. On top of a larger pile of these papers was a stand. It seemed like it was supposed to hold a model hand, but the only thing there was thin pipe wire where the hand would be. The fox glanced at his new hand again, a little more grateful this time. The owl certainly seemed trustworthy if he'd give up an entire mechanical hand for a stranger so easily, he must've been proud of it for it to rest on a stand like that.

Moving on, his attention drifted upwards from the desk to the wall in front of him. A hobbled together cork board was bolted right into the wall. It was more organized than the rest of the room, but still a bit of a mess. On it, there were more fleshed out diagrams than any of the rest. All on noticeably higher quality paper as well, though old nonetheless. That's probably about as good as paper gets when you live in a giant sinkhole.

The first paper was more of a collage of designs than one single grand design. The whole sheet was filled with a basic foundation for an armor, and every instance of it across the paper was some kind of variation on the design. Leather instead of metal, lighter armor, heavier armor, full body coverage and minimal protection, shoulder pads, leg guards, wrist protectors, and all kinds of other things. In the very bottom right corner of it was one last design of a green shoulder guard with some kind of…. elephant trunk? It was scribbled out, along with the note in barely legible writing.

"I cannot fathom how tired, drunk, or both I was when I came up with this abomination. I only pray Marty never sees this."

Another scribble was right next to it, in a different pen too. A doodle of a winky face with "-M" next to it.

The next paper wasn't any kind of weapon as far as Foxy could tell, but a simple robot. Supposedly a small one, built to communicate with others like it to perform simple repair tasks. It's name wasn't as simple; "Repairing On-board Colony of Microbots." He had no idea what that was supposed to mean.

Though lingering on that design for a while, the fox eventually moved his attention to the next section of the board, only to find it empty. The entire section was clearly meant for one last design just as important as the others, but it was empty. The only remains were torn paper corners of what should have been there secured in place by push pins. Whatever was here, someone tore it off.

Just to the right of the corkboard was a sheet of paper stuck to the side of the bookshelf with a bit of tape. The distinct face front and center caught his eye.

"Wanted, dead or alive," he read aloud.

"I see you found Marty's wanted poster."

Horton's voice made him jump.

"Last time he was here was… probably before you were born," the owl mused.

Foxy cocked an eyebrow. What was he going on about?

"Before I was what-now?"

"Before you were made, I mean. 'Born' is… well, If things that weren't humans did that, it'd be terrifying."

Foxy still had no clue what the owl was talking about, but decided he wouldn't press further. If anything it probably came from Horton's mountain of books.

"I came up to drop off some new acquisitions, but seeing as you're awake why don't you get out of my office? Move around a bit."

The fox watched as Horton dropped a small armful of books onto his desk, sifting them around recklessly until his hand quickly snapped one out of the pile. He held it far more carefully than he was treating the rest just a moment ago. Horton ran a finger (feather?) down the spine of the sole hardcover book from the pile before carefully slotting it into the bookshelf.

Foxy's eyes trailed the owl as he moved toward the stairs in the corner of the room. They were through an opened metal hatch, which itself was held open by a chain tied to the wall. The lights from the room below filled the office with an oddly pleasant warm glow.

"Well?"

Foxy snapped out of his mute trance as he finally registered the owl beckoning him to follow. He moved down the creaky wooden stairs behind Horton, descending into what looked like another attic, only bigger and with more shuttered windows. The room in question was only a little bit bigger than Horton's office, also square. A table with a couple of chairs sat in the corner. A 3-person couch sat like a slumped over hobo adjacent to the table, the springs on its far left cushion poking all the way through its worn leather.

The sole window of the room was placed at the same wall as Horton's office, outlooking the same view as before, only now obstructed by the bottom half of the sign outside. The added board hanging from said sign sat right in the middle of the view, gently dangling in the cavernous breeze. All of which was already hard enough to see through the rusted metal shutters covering the window almost completely.

In one of the old metal stools sat a figure Foxy hadn't seen before. An incredibly tall lizard with dull green scales stared at the two of them, idly drumming his fingers on the table. The only thing the figure wore was a few layers of thick cloth tied around his waist, all together forming a sort of makeshift blacksmith's apron. Only from the waist down though. The rest of his body was covered in scars and cuts. That together with the glare of his yellow eyes should have made him incredibly threatening. Yet for such a cold, dead stare, it didn't feel hostile at all. He seemed almost nervous if anything.

"So… Have you told him yet?" the lizard said bluntly. His voice was surprisingly average, though a bit raspy and devoid of any real emotional expression, just like his eyes.

"Told me what," Foxy asked.

The lizard cocked an eyebrow at Foxy's reply before turning to the owl.

"Oh, uh, Foxy! This is Argos. He's my assistant, and my metalworker-"

"Horton," Argos reprimanded.

Horton tensed up his shoulders, physically cringing at the topic Foxy had yet to be informed of.

"Ah, yes… you meant that."

Foxy stared at Horton. He'd just let someone poke around in his body with nothing more than the word of a friend; what exactly had he done?

The lizard forcibly coughed, prompting Horton out of his hesitation. The owl's hands fidgeted as he mustered up the will to speak.

"You're… not exactly in a stable condition."

The fox looked himself over, he seemed okay, especially after getting out of that hellhole of a pizzeria. What else could be wrong with him?

"All of the repairs have been superficial," Horton explained. "We were able to fix your knee, hand, spine, I reorganized all of your internal wiring, I even replaced the ports from your baseplate and your head, re-oiled all your joints and-"

"So did you fix me or not?"

Horton nervously gripped his own coat as his head lowered a bit.

"...as far as your internal circuitry goes, you could short out at any moment."

"We did what we could," Argos picked up for the owl. "Your circuit boards are practically falling apart from being exposed to the elements for so long."

"If one of those shorts, you could fry a chip, or worse. You're a dead man walking, Foxy."

The fox just stared at the owl, expressionless.

He had no doubt that he had taken a beating while at the pizzeria, but there was no possible way that he was in this bad shape.

Was there?

"What are you talking about? I'm walking around well enough aren't I?"

"Foxy, you're in bad shape. I did what I could but I… I really don't understand how it is you've managed to get this far in a state like that. Be it sheer luck or force of will, you can't keep this up."

Foxy's eyes seemed to almost glaze over for a moment as Horton devolved into rambling about how he could fix everything that was wrong with him, but they just didn't have the resources to do it. Before he even snapped back to attention at what Horton was explaining, Foxy's attention was drawn to the stairs. Argos had walked over there, and was gesturing for him to follow. Looking at Horton, the fox saw that he was barely even cognizant of his surroundings, let alone Foxy. Slowly walking over to the stairs, Foxy whispered to Argos.

"Is he gonna be okay with us just leaving?"

"Yeah, he does this a lot. He won't mind once he realizes."

"Oh."

"Come on, I figure we should talk."

Reluctantly, Foxy followed Argos down the stairs, and out of the building until they were both on path to the center of the city. Not a single word passed between them. Oddly enough, that felt more comforting than anything to Foxy right now. It sure beat having to keep on your toes 24/7.

As they walked Foxy was focused on himself. His body, to be precise. His joints were smoother, his internals felt clean, he had two good hands, and just a plethora of minor improvements everywhere. His body felt better, not worse. To be told he was in horrible condition and could die at any moment felt so unreal by comparison.

Foxy's attention was shifted when he saw the lizard in front of him turn to face him.

"Wanna go to Mama's?"

"You have a Ma?"

"...No. The bar, it's a bar. I'm an animatronic Foxy, I don't have a mother."

"Oh, right. Uh… sure then. I suppose I don't have much else to do around here."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that. Come on, just follow me."

Foxy raised an eyebrow at that. Just what did they have in store for him?

The lizard kept walking down the path toward the city center with Foxy close behind him. Seeing the city again was a far more intimate experience than last time, not running for his life now helped. Despite the city being one massive slum of metal and dirt… it was oddly charming. The biggest difference from before was that it was night now. At least that's what it seemed like, from the lack of light spilling in from the massive opening in the cavern above them off in the distance. The city's lighting came now only from the few lamps that were scattered along the streets and pathways, and from the lights pouring out from the windows above, below, and just about everywhere Foxy could see. Every inch of this metal landscape was filled by some hut, shop, or bridge. It was homey, in a way.

As they crossed one of those many bridges, Argos turned his head to Foxy.

"How are you handling it?"

"Eh?"

"The news about your body. You barely seem bothered by it."

"I… I don't really know how to react to something like that. I could die at any moment, yet I don't have any way to know when. So what am I supposed to do? Just… keep living until I stop like before I guess?"

Argos's mouth hung open for a moment, pausing to think of what exactly he wanted to say.

"I suppose that's the best way you could handle news like that."

"I'd prefer to just not think about it at all."

"Ignorance is a luxury few can afford, my friend." Argos said before he veered off into an alleyway with a small neon sign.

Foxy followed close behind again, taking note of the sign. The M's, A's, and the S were mismatched, all pulled from entirely different signs, with one of the letters occasionally flickering with a small buzzing sound. Below it was less of a door, and more of a cutout in the wall.

"Here we are," Argos said, nodding up at the sign.

Foxy followed him through a rather tight squeeze of a doorframe, leading into a long hallway. Which was more spacious, actually allowing them the room to walk next to each other. As the two of them made their way through the warmly lit corridor, the fox's attention was drawn to the inner wall. It was the same old beat-up metal as everything else he saw in this city, but it was absolutely covered in posters, portraits, and signed photos of all kinds of animatronics. Some of them were actual photos, others hand drawn. All of which seemed to be pictures of fighters. At the end of the hallway, a lone, final poster was hung up with a very familiar face.

It was Marionette.

On it was a line scribbled in sharpie.

"Triumph in loss."

Just as Foxy turned to ask what Marionette was doing up there, Argos opened a door to their side, and Foxy's ears were met with a wave of chatter and faint music.

The interior was built with more wood than Foxy had seen in any room or building in the Hellmouth so far, all warmly lit by incandescent bulbs dangling from wires wrapped around the ceiling joists. Booths lined the walls and round tables peppered the interior, with one long bar counter at the back wall. Just about every table was full of animatronics, all yelling or chatting with one another.

Stepping in front of Foxy, Argos simply gestured for him to follow before weaving through the tables until they found a booth in the far back corner, right by the bar and a closed door that seemed to lead to a balcony.

"This is my usual spot, take a seat."

The fox did just that, sitting across from Argos as they both got comfy. He was still completely awestruck by just how lived in every inch of this city was. Every back alley and corner seemed to have something hidden away in it, chock full of people.

The fox was just watching everyone in the bar living their lives before Argos cleared his throat, preparing to speak right as someone approached them both. A tall animatronic with the design of a cheetah. Her ears were completely lined with piercings, but only a couple of them actually had any earrings in them. Small rings with metal so finely polished it was a little reflective.

"Hey Diamond."

"Hello darlin', what can I do ya fer this evening?" She had a twang-y drawl to her voice that bounced around with her expressive demeanor.

"Just drinks for tonight, one for each."

Diamond turned to Foxy and raised a brow.

"Well howdy-do new guy, don't see new faces 'round here very often," she teased, turning back to Argos, "Especially not around Argos. You finally meetin' new people?"

Argos just looked at her with a dead, neutral expression.

"As awkward as ever I see. 'Righty then, that's two house drinks… now I know you's is havin' money troubles like everyone in this rust-pit, but ya know I have to have some kinda payment right?" she said, putting a palm out.

Argos shuffled in his seat for a moment, trying to pull something out of the front pocket of his smithing apron. He grabbed a hold of two small metal digits and put them right into Diamond's hand, which was noticeably missing its last two fingers.

"Horton finished them this morning."

The fox was still confused, but the cheetah's eyes lit right up, excitedly plugging the two digits right into her hand where the missing fingers were. After just a second, they started bending along with the rest of her fingers.

"Well I'll be, darlin', that's drinks on the house for a week! I'll set ya up in a jiffy."

Before Argos could even respond she was already off. Foxy wasn't even afforded the time to process anything before Argos turned back to him and spoke.

"So after the walk, how are they?"

Foxy gave Argos a slightly confused expression.

"…how are what?"

"The repairs, how're they feeling?"

"Oh. Well, I feel much better now, aside from that whole… y'know."

"Yeah… I'm really sorry we couldn't fix something as important as that."

"It's okay. I guess if it's that bad I wouldn't hold my breath for anyone to know how to fix it."

"Knowing how to fix you isn't the issue, the procedure wouldn't take any longer than 24 hours. It's just… parts are currency around here, and we're not very liquid right now."

"Oh.. Yeah, I think Horton did mention not having much scrap… are bits and pieces of metal really that hard to come by?"

Argos gave out the most expressive response Foxy had seen him make so far; an exhausted sigh.

"Yes, they are."

Foxy grimaced a bit. He probably should've been able to surmise that from the state of his surroundings, but that certainly made it clear.

"Horton and I get by mostly on favors, they give us the parts and a little scrap, we make the repairs with said scrap, and they owe us."

"So then… how can I get scrap? To y'know, not die."

"There's a lot of jobs to take here, Shopkeep, bartender, mechanic, repair shop, but everything revolves around fighting. That's where the money is. Fighting itself makes the most scrap by a huge margin."

"So… doing something around fighting would be the fastest way for me to get scrap then?"

Argos paused, carefully deciding how he wanted to explain the next part.

"I have some good news, and some bad news."

Foxy raised his patch eye's brow "Give me the good news first then."

"They're the same news."

"...How?"

"You went through the Rite, correct?"

"Aye, I think so. Horton explained it to me a little. Something about passage for fighters and redemption for criminals?"

"Yes, but… there's a little more to it than that. Fighting is honor and glory down here. The punishment for criminals here isn't so much going through the Rite of Passage, but that they're forced to become fighters regardless of if they want to."

"Wait, so if I-"

"You don't get a choice, you have to fight. Luckily, fighting is the fastest way to make scrap."

Foxy sighed as the lizard drummed his fingers on the tabletop. His fingers landed in a cascade, causing a small burst of repetitive knocking as they hit the wood.

"So what's the good news?"

Argos gave him a flat look, picking up on the fox's fondness for sarcasm.

"You'll be backed up by a couple of rust piles who know how to jump a wire without electrocuting themselves instead of somebody who'll kill ya in the process," Diamond interrupted.

The cheetah had returned with absolutely gargantuan mugs in each hand, both filled to the brim with… something vaguely resembling liquid. She placed them down in front of the two with a proud expression, watching in amusement as the vulpine eyed the cup in front of him like he would sooner dissect it than put it in his body.

"Better try it before mama tells ya not to play with your food," Argos joked.

Diamond chuckled for a moment before quickly turning to Argos.

"Did you just make a joke?"

Argos simply took a rushed swig from his mug in response.

"And Horton said it couldn't be done..." Diamond muttered before moving on to her next patron.

Hesitantly, Foxy decided against his better judgement and took a sip of the drink. It had a faint, fermented scent to it like it had been sitting around for a while. Its taste was mildly bitter, though not unpalatable. He was just pleased to find it wasn't burning a hole through his insides. He'd had enough of those already.

"So, the bad news," Argos continued as he set his mug down. "Fighting in the ring here gets messy fast. And you're far from the ideal condition."

"Yeah, I'm aware of the whole 'drop dead any second' thing."

"Beyond that, I mean. Your joints aren't exactly durable, and I can tell you're not the best fighter."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

"Well you got caught didn't you?"

Foxy couldn't argue with that. Most of his time at the pizzeria had been spent merely avoiding conflict, and even when he was being hunted down on his way to their shop he'd run instead of fighting back.

"All I'm saying is you're going to need some training before you get in the ring. Horton and I can help with that, it wouldn't be our first rodeo."

It would be nice to be able to defend himself.

The fox sighed before he found himself taking a slightly bigger sip of whatever was in that cup.

"Well I'm gonna die anyway. I'm in."

A/N: Here's a bit of an update for everyone interested on how things are going on the working end of this story.

There's been some changes in terms of workload. All of those earlier chapters were written during summer, or before summer and were backlogged. Hence why the time between chapters being uploaded was relatively short, especially compared to now. August as a whole was a dud in terms of progress as I was more busy with preparing for classes, figuring out payments, and moving into a new apartment. Now, classes have started back up, and I have a job.

This doesn't mean anything's stopping. It just means that waiting times are going to be longer than before. Writing is already a time-consuming task, I just have even less time to work with now. For anyone that might've been concerned this was "dead," I hope that at least puts those worries to rest.

Of course, it's also important to mention that I can't just write only this for however long it takes to finish it. This is my longfic, and I don't want to creatively stifle myself. I might write some other things on the side, so don't think that by writing a new fic that I've abandoned this one.

As for some more morbid talk here, on the rare chance that I ever have to drop this story, put it up for adoption, or anything else, you'll know. I'm not one to leave people in the dark about things. That said, it's extremely unlikely it would happen, so I won't be delving into details on how that would go down. All you need to know is that unless I've directly stated this story is dead, it's not.

So, all of that out of the way, all I have to say is that I hope you liked this chapter, and that you'll leave a review. I'm always curious to hear what you're enjoying and what you'd like to see done better. Both in this chapter, and the story as a whole. With that, I bid you adieu.