"That's what I used to be called."

With every single part within her whining and groaning with age, the clown finally entered the room. Her tall stature and broad-shouldered frame were rather intimidating, but her movements were almost awkward. It was as if she wasn't quite used to her own body. Actually, as she grew closer and Ballora could get a better look at her, it seemed that that might really be the case. Baby now appeared to be rather deteriorated. Like she had been torn apart and reassembled using junk parts.

Her hair, although still predominantly red, had become a mess of many different colors. Almost all of her faceplates were slightly misaligned and had quite a bit eaten away at the edges, leaving sizable gaps. Tangles of wires were visible through those gaps, alongside many others. Paint was faded and chipping in quite a few places. A large, concave pincer replaced one of her hands, just barely scraping against the floor.

Her footfalls were magnified in the bare space. She must have only taken about four or five steps, but the noise bounced around and made it seem like more.

It was almost overwhelming.

It was surrounding Ballora, continuing to get louder and louder in her head, even after Baby came to a halt.

Ballora shivered. She wasn't cold. She wasn't even capable of feeling cold, but she shivered. Despite there still being a somewhat respectable distance between them, she took a few steps back in response and crossed her arms. Her own footsteps, though light and practically inaudible in comparison, added to the noise that was beginning to crowd her head.

"I'm not going to try and hurt you if that's what you're thinking."

Ballora gripped her biceps as tightly as she could, as if fortifying a barrier.

There was an incredibly painful stretch of silence between them.

Ballora wanted to fill it. She wanted to make some remark about how the clown might as well have been a stranger, about how she didn't know if she trusted her not to hurt her. Not anymore.

She wanted to lash out, to make sure Baby knew how horrible she was, to yell and scream and let out all of her pain and frustration… but all of the words were muddled in her head. She couldn't find the right ones to use, let alone get them out. So instead, Ballora just directed her gaze at the checkered tile floor and remained silent.

"Lori—"

"Don't... don't call me that," she finally said. She was painfully aware that her voice wasn't as stable as she wanted it to be. "You... you left me behind... You and all of the others."

"...We did."

Despite the years that Ballora had gone without seeing her former friends, it wasn't until Baby had uttered those words that the cold, hard truth fully cemented itself in her head.

Something about hearing it out loud - especially from her - it ignited something within Ballora, a flame that very quickly grew and consumed everything around it.

It consumed her, forcing itself all the way up into the back of her throat. In an instant, her voice found its strength and all of her unuttered thoughts finally came pouring out after being kept in for so long.

She was practically shouting, shouting at Baby about how she hated her, and Freddy, and Bonnie, and Foxy; how she shouldn't have shown her face because she didn't ever want to see her again, how she left her all alone.

She pushed against the taller animatronic's shoulders in an attempt at a shove, but it didn't really do all that much.

She asked how Baby could just up and betray her the way she did, asked if she ever even cared about her at all.

Pure venom clung to her words, making the sting of them far greater.

Baby didn't say anything; she remained completely silent during the torrent of questions and insults, her eyes growing murkier and more reticent by the second.

Now, Ballora had never been very strong. Not in any sense of the word. Especially compared to the other animatronics. But at that moment, she didn't care anymore.

She allowed her closed fist to make contact with the clown. Then her other fist joined. Before long, Ballora was repeatedly hitting her, tears beginning to well up in her eyes.

The almost blank look on Baby's face finally faltered a bit and her lips dipped into a slight frown. "Lor— Ballora," she corrected herself, "stop."

She didn't stop.

"Ballora."

She wasn't listening.

"Ballora!"

Suddenly, Baby grabbed one of Ballora's thin wrists before she could strike her again. Ballora half expected the grip to turn painful, but it didn't. It was just firm enough to keep her from pulling out of it.

"Look, I know that I deserve to have my faceplates knocked clean off, but you're damaging yourself by doing that." She raised the dancer's arm up, forcing her to look at the back of her hand. There were a considerable number of scratches in her paint. The thin, uneven lines and star-shaped marks were harsh against the bright color.

She wasn't all that surprised to see them. She didn't even care that they were there. The jumble of pent-up emotions within her was still thrashing about wildly.

Still, Ballora slowly unclenched her fist and her wrist was released. "That doesn't matter to me. Why does it matter to you?"

Baby was quiet for a moment, eyeing the dark tears that were staining Ballora's face before responding. "I do care about you. I always have."

The clown was a good actor. Ballora could search her face and tone of voice for some sign of dishonesty all she wanted and she'd never find it. But that was fine. She didn't need to look. She already knew that she was lying to her.

"Liar. You're a liar."

"I'm not lying to you."

"Then why did you abandon me?"

"It's—" Baby's eyes drifted over to something just past the dancer's shoulder. "Who is that?"

Ballora followed her gaze and found an orange and white fox.

Lolbit.

She was surprised, but she shouldn't have been. Lolbit did say that he was going to come back.

"Who am I? Who are you!"