CHAPTER 1

The precipice. Glamrocks.

"[...] a robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm."

- Isaac Asimov's First Law of Robotics

The decaying gray walls surrounding his weeps seemed to get closer to each other, as to eventually wrap him up in the claustrophobia of his despair. The buzzing and brightness of the neon lights exhaled heat, exposing his naive eyes to what should be beautiful welcoming colors, which were now only mere decorations of his ruin.

Gregory, with a hand covering the severe soaked-in-blood cut on his stomach, and the other covering his mouth, pushing his screams of pain to the back of his bruised throat, ran through the continuously smaller hallway in a desperate attempt to escape his attacker.

However, after running as much as his slim and malnourished legs could take him, the pain won over his psyche and will for survival, there was no more vitality left in his body that could take him any further.

In a sigh that regarded his defeat to the pain, Gregory braced one hand on an adjacent wall, allowing his body to slide to the floor. Unconscious tears began to slide down his cheeks, the boy hugged himself the tightest his declining pulse would allow him, turning himself into a little weeping ball in the middle of that dark hallway.

In a spark of hope, Gregory checked his Fazwatch, however, it was broken, and the screen shattered, which made it useless.

'Damned... Machines... Vanny... Bastards, Bastards!' - Thoughts of fury and hatred dominated his mind, which was on the verge of insanity, a young immature psyche such as his could not endure so much torment in so little time without experiencing brief savors of madness.

'Freddy... Freddy, where are you?'

Any hope that had the privilege of remaining in the youngster's heart was instantly executed at the sound of approaching metallic footsteps. They were coming from his right, from the end of the hallway.

Gregory did not dare to look, as he knew he'd see the plastic predatory faces of the monstrous cold-blooded animatronics, the horsemen and protagonists of his awake nightmare.

"Go away. L-Leave me alone." - His voice came out as nothing but a small, faint whisper, which contained intense pain and fear.

After realizing that he no longer had the force to scream, run, or hide, Gregory found himself submerged in a sea of melancholy and acceptance. This was the endpoint. The grand finale of a miserable chase. His death.

The steps were getting closer, the animatronics were getting closer, and his death was getting closer. All his soul could muster up was a simple head turn to the right.

And there, at the end of the hallway, laid three tall silhouettes. One had deep blue eyes, the other seemed to be wearing some sort of glasses, but a faint red light could be seen through the lenses, and the one with voluminous hair had sulfuric yellow irises. Chica, Monty, and Roxy were no longer approaching, but instead, were standing still, staring, observing.

Gregory's vision was increasingly blurred, and he couldn't tell any of the animatronic's expressions, although his sick imagination could visually see the ferocious snarls and victorious countenances of a predator that had captured its prey.

Seeing the three silhouettes of his aggressors awakened something in Gregory, for a few moments, the boy couldn't tell what it was, but the sudden intense gritting of his teeth immediately gave it away. It was hate.

Hatred, being such the powerful emotion that it is, gave Gregory ferocious energy. The boy stood up, without ever taking his teary eyes from the Glamrocks, his teeth gnashed and his face contorted into a furious frown.

Gregory stared at them incessantly. He was going to die at their hands, he was sure of that, but he wasn't going to give them the taste of victory.

With such determination, Gregory screamed.

"Come on bastards! Come on! Kill me! I-I'm right here! Kill me and prove your cowardice! Make it quick or don't, I don't c-care! As I don't fear you or your taunts! Free me from this sickening and arrogant world, which pleasures itself from my tears and pain! Kill me! There is no pain I have not dealt with! Kill me! Kill me!"

And then nothing but wet sounds escaped his mouth as he drowned in his tears.

"Kill me... Just... Kill me already..."

None of the Glamrocks moved an inch, which confused Gregory greatly, perhaps, he assumed, they were psychologically torturing him. What a sick, depraved sadism.

But it didn't matter, from the cut on his stomach a great amount of blood had bled out.

His vision became dark, his legs went numb, and finally, Gregory lost most of his consciousness. A last weep and he fell to his eventual demise, on the cold floor of that neon nightmare.

Whilst on the floor, unable to see, Gregory heard the footsteps coming closer and closer, in a quick manner. His mind, the only active part of his doomed body, went cold, almost as if could experience the Glamrocks sharp claws piercing through his skin before it even happened.

But instead, in his last moments of consciousness, Gregory heard something, a conversation between the Glamrocks.

"Oh no! Oh my god... Oh my... Guys, is he...?"

"No, I sense his heart is still beating, but barely. We need to take him to a medical station quickly, he has lost too much blood. Monty, carry him, I'll open the way."

"Got ya."

A feeling of warm metal touching his skin. And nothing. Perhaps nevermore. Perhaps.

Although death, an eccentric delight, would not arrive to Gregory very soon it seemed. After an unknown amount of time, the boy's eyelids opened up to see the world once again.

A momentary, tremendous relief washed over his body the very moment the fluorescent lights of the room reached his eyes. He was alive! Alive! But how?

In the first seconds of consciousness, Gregory analyzed the environment. His body rested on a stretcher, and surrounding him were a few pieces of medical equipment, such as bandages, and bottles of various medications. Gregory recognized a red logo with a white cross in the middle that lay on a nearby wall, it was a medical aid station. But how in the world had he ended up there?

The boy tried to sit up, but the intense pain in his stomach stopped him. He looked down, only to find a pleasant but strange surprise. The cut on his stomach was completely bandaged with cotton bands that wrapped up his entire stomach area.

'What the... How...'

As his mind tried to make sense of the nature of his situation, a muffled chatter from a room adjacent to his immediately put him on alert. The voices were not recognizable, at least not yet, however, most of the voices were feminine, with one male voice amidst them.

After listening to the muffled conversation through the walls for about ten seconds, Gregory made a horrifying observation, an observation that made his blood run cold. The voices were not human, they had a subtle robotic tint.

Gregory gulped and shivered. It was them.

Fighting the pain, the boy stood up and slowly made his way to the next room, following the voices.

The prophecy was fulfilled. There, in the next room, lay the three monsters, Monty, Chica, and Roxy, which seemed to be in deep conversation, with a noticeable tint of worry in their voices. Fortunately for the prey, the predators didn't seem to have noticed his presence. But why didn't they kill him?

- "Chica, are you sure Freddy received the message? It's been 10 minutes and the dumbass is still not here." Said Roxanne, who was leaning against a wall. The wolf was patiently studying her claws, but in her eyes, Gregory could notice an uncharacteristic tone of regret.

- "Yes I'm sure! But he's on the other side of the building, it might be a while before he gets here." Answered Chica, who anxiously walked from one side to the other.

- "Oh come ON! Screw Freddy, let us focus on the important matter here. - What the hell are we going to do about the messed-up-bleeding-kid in the next room?" exclaimed Monty, who looked as anxious as Chica, though his anxiety was manifested in anger.

Roxanne sighed and stared at her claws once more. - "I'll check on him, see if he's woken up."

Roxy turned to enter the medical station but gasped at the sight of Gregory standing by the door, which caught the attention of the whole group. And all of the sudden, all eyes were on the boy.

"Gregory! You... You are awake..." - Pointed Chica, who was as shocked as the rest.

But Gregory didn't move an inch, his body was silent, although his mind screamed. The three were also silent, only observing, their muzzles trembling as if they wanted to say something, but didn't dare.

Gregory waited, for a bite, a jump, a snarl, a scratch, but nothing, nothing happened. The air was thick. It was hard to breathe. Why weren't they attacking?

"Hey, kid, look I know it's hard to understand and that you're scared, but please, sit down and let's talk about it, okay?" - Roxy, the closest to Gregory, attempted to explain while slowly raising her hands as to show lack of threat.

But such an attempt failed. Gregory, at the apex of his fear and adrenaline, grabbed the closest object, which was a scalpel, and ran to the corner of the room.

The boy squeezed himself into the corner, in an irrational thought that the walls could somehow protect him. With trembling and cold arms, Gregory pointed the scalpel toward the robots in a pathetic effort to protect himself. And with a shaky voice, filled with fear, he exclaimed;

- "Stay AWAY from me! You monsters! Monsters!"

But the supposed monsters did not move, but instead only stared at him with resentful, worried eyes.

What was happening?