Hey, everyone. Welcome to the penultimate chapter of A Winter at Freddy's! That's right, this is the second-to-last entry, followed by the epilogue. It's been a long road to get here (though not nearly as long as it would have taken me a few years ago), and I'm satisfied with how the story turned out. As usual, I'll set out a roadmap of my upcoming projects in the final chapter, so stay tuned for the loose plan of what the next phase of my writing will bring.
Speaking of my writing, I am surprised by how much AWaF turned out to be Phil's story. When I started writing this series, I only expected him to be the standard evil owner that's common in FNaF fics (or was at one time, I imagine the field has changed a ton in the past few years, especially since the release of Security Breach), but he's grown into the most important character except Mike and Foxy! As I've said before, characters I'm writing seem to take on lives and agency of their own, and there's no better example of that in my stories than Phil.
Special thanks to CelfwrDderwydd, HeartGemHolder, Soviet Fox and Guest for reviewing since last time. I appreciate your support more than I can say, and I hope to see your thoughtful comments in the future.
Tuesday, December 26, 2000, 3:45 PM
Mike and his friends spent the past hour picking the basement clean for the medical components his sister needed. That was challenging, because although BRIAR stocked almost everything under the sun, it was dark, they were tired and all they had to go on were Syl's hurried descriptions. This was further hampered by Jeremy and Fritz staying behind to make sure Auric didn't murder Phil while he was defenseless.
Still, many hands made for light work, so Mike was pretty sure they managed to assemble everything in time for him to go outside and greet his sister while his friends finished the final touches and otherwise attempted to keep Springtrap alive.
"Are you sure this is the correct block?" Sylvia asked over the phone. "It's completely deserted."
"Uh, that means you're in the right place," Mike replied. Unless Seattle was stuffed with abandoned industrial districts he didn't know about, this'd be the spot. He paced back and forth, his only company the echoes of his own footsteps in the parking garage. Through gaps in the wall, he saw some of the last rays of sunlight on one of the shortest days of the year. While lonely, at least he wasn't scared that something would jump out from behind a cement pillar. ENNARD was dead; such cliché scares only happened in horror movies (which he liked, but he knew it wouldn't happen now).
Despite what Auric would have them believe, dead meant dead. Elizabeth returned to wherever she came from, and Springtrap… well, Mike would learn the truth if the rabbit survived.
A few heartbeats later, two headlights split the cold winter air as Sylvia's car pulled into the concrete cave. He waved his arms to flag her down, though there was no point. As she succinctly put it, "I can see you, dumbass, you're the only one here," before hanging up.
"Dumbass." Ouch. He sighed and put the phone back in his pocket. Wouldn't have thought anything of the language if she were joking. Still, he didn't blame her for not believing his story. Reality would slap her in the face soon enough. For now, he played the most intricate prank of all time on her and got her to abandon their family for no reason. He couldn't believe he convinced her to come, but that meant she really cared; even if he lied, clearly something was wrong for him to ask this of her.
Precious seconds passed as she carefully pulled into a parking space instead of just driving up to him. He squirmed, willing her to come quickly. Instead, she seemed slow as a sloth.
She eventually sauntered over, though the glare she gave him arrived sooner. The feelings she had for him were colder than the winter air. She wore scrubs instead of a sweater, and she seemed warmer than him!
"OK. Show me your friend," she declared with a shrug. Clearly wanted to launch into the tongue lashing she'd prepared throughout the drive, yet she was restrained enough to wait a few more minutes to see what was up; wouldn't want to berate her brother if he'd legitimately lost his mind. He told her to follow, and they walked for the door. "What is this building, anyway? I hope it's abandoned and that you didn't break in." She glanced back at the other machines strewn about. "All the cars tell me that's not the case." Sure, sure, he broke into the building. More palatable than the truth. How was he to tell her the owners of those vehicles were all dead?
He just nodded and showed her inside, shivering from cold and the fear of Sylvia's potential reactions. The former abated as the door creaked shut behind them, and his sister's nose crinkled from the smell of bad coffee. It'd take a couple of minutes to reach the makeshift triage center the animatronics set up on Sylvia's orders, so he took that time to explain the living animatronics, etc. They'd been so focused on how to save Springtrap that he hadn't yet given her context for the impossible things she was about to witness.
Space demon. Sentient animatronics. Secret organization that studied them. "The Most Dangerous Game". And so on. Sylvia looked at him like he'd grown a second head.
"I'll get into the details more later," he said, fully aware that she thought he needed to go to a doctor himself after what he'd just said. "Long story short, like, that night guard job at Fazbear's I took last summer was a front for the owner and a guy named William Afton to – "
"William Afton? You mean that tech mogul?" He nodded, not knowing what she seized upon that point. Maybe because she wanted to focus on something real. "I'm surprised you even know who that is." If it weren't for meeting the guy, he probably wouldn't have, or at least only heard of him in passing as an eccentric billionaire industrialist like Howard Hughes. "Haven't read about him in a long time. He might not be alive anymore, for all I know." All he could do was grit his teeth.
Fortunately, they arrived where they needed to be, so Mike swung open the door to what might generously be called a clinic. Really, it was more akin to a school nurse's office, since nobody expected to get injured up here. If the basement hadn't lost power, they would have gone down there, but as it was, all the major medical equipment got brought up. It was all able to fit inside, even if some pieces needed to be shuffled around.
That hardly fazed Sylvia, of course. What did make his sister's eyes bulge out of her skull were a bunch of anthropomorphic animals staring at her and one of them bleeding out on an operating table behind a translucent sterile curtain.
If this happened under better circumstances, he could imagine everyone shaking her hand and introducing themselves as they truly were. As it was, they solemnly nodded. Their friend was dying, and they were not in the mood for introductions.
The one person who acquainted herself was Helen. She'd met Sylvia and their parents on the night of Fazbear's "grand re-opening" like everyone else (as the manager), but this was a new day without the same conceit.
"Hello, Syl… er, Dr. Schmidt," she said, extending one gloved hand while the other adjusted the medical bonnet over her blue hair. "My name is Helen. I'm a PsyD, not an MD, but I took care of a few medical matters when I was employed by BRIAR." She pointed a thumb over her shoulder. "I already have the patient on anesthesia, and his bleeding has stabilizing for the time being. Everything else is outside my expertise."
Mike was impressed that she seemed so comfortable leaping back into the field after not doing anything like this for several months. She'd even changed into a smock of her own after doing her best to clean the inside of the "surgery suite". From what he heard, all known viruses and bacteria were incompatible with their cells, being so different from anything else on the planet. Better safe than sorry, though.
Sylvia's mouth flapped up and down like a fish's. She tried to speak, yet no words came. Her eyes darted manically about, still not quite believing what she saw. But as crazy as the sight before her may have been, her mind was analytical enough to accept it as real. In one moment, she realized that everything Mike said, all the nonsense he spouted, was true. He worried it would break her as it almost broke him – that she'd keel over unconscious or catatonic. After all, she was always more rational than him.
Maybe he should have given his sister more credit. While he'd seen things she couldn't imagine, the opposite was also true. He'd never worked with professional doctors and nurses. Never held a scalpel or attempted to practice medicine (except that one time he tried and failed to fix Foxy's mouth). Though Sylvia wasn't certified yet, those experiences strengthened her. Regardless of whom or what Springtrap was, he was also her patient. His life rested in her hands.
That was enough to overcome the madness gnawing on her brain. A breakdown could happen later. For now, it was time to get serious. Her gaze hardened, and she shook Helen's hand. "Do they have similar biology to humans? Organs in the same places?" Mike released a silent breath that he didn't realize he held.
"Yes, with a few exceptions. However, the science of how their bodies operate, if you'll pardon my language, shits all over the laws of physics. For example, the second law of thermodynamics seems to not apply to them, since they'd otherwise combust from the amount of energy their vital organs exert." Helen paused, realizing this wasn't the best use of their time. "But we can talk more about that later."
"Of course." They ducked behind the surgical curtain, but not before Sylvia glanced at him over her shoulder. Mike couldn't tell what emotions her eyes held, only that those feelings were complicated.
Once they were behind the barrier, Mike only saw outlines and silhouettes. He kept staring, barely able to blink. Left with a splotchy green image of Springtrap, his mind filled in the blanks with the worst possibilities. No matter that he'd already seen the rabbit's injuries; they were now necrotic and filled with maggots.
Hey, it's all right, he thought while he sat in one of the makeshift waiting room's chairs. He and his friends were packed in like sardines, but nobody cared. As long as they weren't on their abused feet. Plus, they wanted to be near their brother/friend if these really were his final hours. They held vigil through the early hours of the night.
There was also another reason, at least for Mike. When – if – Springtrap awoke, he needed to know whether he told the truth. Was he Phil? The words needed to come directly from the bunny's mouth, or else he'd spend the rest of his life wondering.
"I – I think we should start with a round of x-rays to see what sort of internal damage he has," Sylvia said from behind the veil as her shadow shuffled about. "An MRI might be helpful but – wait, no, if his bones are metal, it'd rip him apart."
"Exactly. CT scans are the way to go… but we don't have one of those up here, either," Helen replied. A few more sentences were spoken, though mostly filled with technical jargon that wasn't relevant to him and his worries.
He was so wound up with concern that he flinched when Helen knocked on the curtain to get their attention. "You all don't have to stay in this room as long as you remain relatively close. I'll get you when we finish this basic assessment."
Nobody said anything, but nobody got up, either. They were all on the same page, that being: why bother? There was nothing else to do but worry or wander the empty halls.
The only reason he could think of to leave was to use the bathroom. Or to see what Auric's up to, since I have no clue what the fuck he's doing. On one hand, he was glad his sister didn't have to meet a space devil on top of everything else, but on the other, leaving him unsupervised asked for trouble. Still, if he really wanted to do something, there was ultimately no way to restrain or stop him, so he'd worry about that later.
What about Mu? That concern, he realized, was one for the moment. Should have thought about it earlier; Auric probably tried to destroy her, and he'd eventually find some way despite being so weak.
"I'll be back in a minute," Mike muttered. His legs wobbled as he stood, still aching from an hour earlier. He shuffled out of the improvised triage center and back to the lobby. The odor of sterilizing solvents was supplanted by that of bad coffee on the cold wind. Found what he expected: Auric standing over Mu's body and "brain". However, instead of trying to break her with a wrench (or whatever was light enough for him to lift), he struggled to yank the power cord out from under her.
"Why are you trying to plug her in?" Mike asked, taking a step forward. "Um, I thought I'd find you swinging a crowbar."
Auric turned, golden eyes looking almost exhausted. Even for an immortal, this had been a long day. "At any other time, you would be correct." Gave another fruitless tug on the line. "However, there is a chance that she knows I am being truthful about Springtrap and Phillip being one and the same. I cannot imagine you will continue medical intervention if this is confirmed." Mike's spirit fell. If Auric lied about this, then he was committed.
"Then at least one of your meddlesome lot will be dead," he sneered. "But maybe I should yield. After all, you will learn the truth soon enough if he survives. Whatever you do or say to him will be crueler than death. And pieces of your hearts will be torn out."
These were the ravings of an obsessed maniac. Lying or not, the lengths Auric went to hurt Mike and his friends were delusional. He didn't feel fear or anger or even indifference toward the monster that ruined the lives of so many. He just felt sad.
Auric accumulated billions of years of knowledge from countless worlds – maybe countless universes – and he used his abilities to single-mindedly hurt people? Anything else would have been a better use of his limitless time. Why did he do it, Mike wondered, before realizing this was his chance to receive an answer. After he departed here tonight, he didn't know whether he'd ever see Auric again. Hoped not.
Mike grabbed Auric by the scruff of his neck and pulled him away, which he feebly resisted. All he could do was grumble, "Let go of me, cretin." Stripped of allies and puppets, Auric was utterly impotent until the clock struck midnight. And they'd leave before then, he was certain. Mike gained the upper hand for the first time. Didn't have the inclination to rough him up more, though, much as part of him wanted to.
Not only did damage to his "shell" not seem to cause him pain (he made no complaints about Foxy splitting his stomach open), but assaulting Auric would only bring Mike down to his level. It was possible to communicate peacefully, and he would take advantage of that even if it was impossible for Auric to follow.
"As long as I'm, uh, here, I have something to ask you." He took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice from shaking. "Why? Why are you so hateful? Like, what made you want to spend eternity hurting people who haven't done anything to you?" Despite his efforts, his tone cracked, and he sounded like a teenager going through puberty again. Auric said nothing, yet he no longer wore mocking mirth on his muzzle, either. "I deserve an answer, damn it," Mike continued. "I've survived everything you've thrown at me for half a year. That may not be long to you, but it's a huge chunk of my life!"
Every day for the last six months, Mike thought about Auric, how he broke any perceptions of a normal reality and all the ways something older than the sun wanted to stuff his screaming body into a mess of fur and metal. These thoughts were no longer intrusive or traumatizing after getting group therapy with Helen and the other animatronics at the end of summer (and he'd need more counselling after this), but they were often on his mind. They would be for the rest of his life.
"You would not understand," Auric rasped after a moment to ponder.
No, he supposed not. Because I'm not insane. Mike was about to give up, but Auric continued.
"However, you are correct; you have earned an explanation after a fashion. I will endeavor to phrase one in a way that your finite mind can grasp." If Auric wanted to insult him, fine. That was the worst he could do… except exude cold. Mike's hand was so numb that he dropped the monster; his teeth chattered as his whole body was inundated.
Auric tapped his foot while he tried to scrutinize how to spell out the depths of his antipathy in simple language. "Cruelty comes easily after dwelling on your world for so long. You humans love to kill each other." Mike cringed. Couldn't argue with that. Still, blaming other people for one's bad behavior never convinced anybody.
"Don't insult me by saying people are the problem," Mike spat. Talk about blaming the victim.
"Even the Earth's natural cycles of magic seem particularly attuned to violence," Auric continued, not even acknowledging him. Uncharacteristically, his hands waved about as if drawing arcane sigils in the air. Maybe they did. "Not in a way that is possible for you to comprehend. Solstices, equinoxes, planetary syzygy, lunar and solar eclipses here are all about the waxing and waning of power. That appeals to me, of course; part of the reason I have spent millennia here. Not long for me, but longer than I usually confine myself to a single world, as I recall."
His words bounced around Mike's mind. It was as much of an answer as he would ever get. For what it was worth, it didn't seem like Auric lied. That may have been the best explanation an alien could offer. Mike nodded. Then he turned around, only to see Foxy standing in the hall. Auric either didn't notice or didn't care as he kept trying to pull the cord out from under Mu (he was smart enough to not ask Mike for help).
"You're going to let him do that?" she asked him as they walked away.
"Um, I don't think I can stop him," he answered, slipping his hand into hers. "You can push him around if you want, though." Only partially teasing; he imagined her grabbing Auric by the leg and smashing him against the floor like beating a dirty rug. He chuckled at his imagination.
"Tempting, but I'll pass. I'm too tired to fight anymore. And too worried about Springtrap." She said his name hesitantly, as if he eavesdropped while comatose from several rooms away. "What if Auric's telling the truth? About Springtrap being Phil?" This change of heart took Mike aback, since his girlfriend was the one who insisted Auric must have been lying.
"We can, like, plug Mu in ourselves to, uh, ask her," Mike said to try and assuage her. That was assuming she had such knowledge, which Auric said wasn't certain. Even if she did know that Springtrap was Phil, she might have lied about it until after his life had been saved, which he wouldn't blame her for. The other animatronics, even Bonnie and Chica, might very well insist that efforts to save him be halted after he deceived them for so long. Mu had already seen enough death, and she wouldn't want to cause more.
"No, it's all right. I'm just being paranoid." Still, she glanced over her shoulder. "We'll know soon enough."
They got back to the operating room a minute later, opening the door to find Sylvia and Helen emerging from behind the shroud, which made him and Foxy pull their hands apart as quickly as he used to lunge for the button to close his office door. She didn't need to have that lodged in her brain on top of everything else while performing surgery on a being she didn't believe existed until a few minutes ago.
"I completed my preliminary assessment of the, uh, patient," she said, putting her hands behind her back. "There's good news and bad news. Which do you want to hear first?" Mike and Foxy sat down in the packed room (he accidentally elbowed Jeremy) while Chica answered.
"The good news, I guess." Yeah, they needed some positivity right now, even if it was immediately tempered.
Sylvia closed her eyes and took a deep breath, which slightly sucked in her blue surgical mask. "The good news is that, while there's some tissue damage and broken bones, it seems like those will correct themselves with medical intervention. He'll need casts and a lot of rest, but if he were human, I'd expect those to resolve by themselves. If he's still alive after all this." The tension in Mike's body slackened slightly, though he knew it'd ratchet back up once she gave them the bad news. Still, they needed to find solace, and Sylvia informing them that Springtrap wouldn't be crippled for life was indeed comforting.
That consolation didn't last long.
"The bad news is that he's lost a lot of blood." That didn't come as a surprise, but it was still dire. "Given that it's more brown than red, I'm not sure if they transport oxygen via something other than hemoglobin – which all vertebrates besides a few deep-sea fish use – or what." She shook her head. "But that's a question for another time. The point is that he needs a transfusion, and human blood won't cut it."
If she thought she'd have a difficult time coaxing one of them to volunteer, she could not have been more wrong. All the other animatronics quite literally jumped at the request, shaking the room with the combined force of four metal beings simultaneously slamming into the floor. Sylvia waved her hands for them to sit down, quickly checking to make sure the tremor hadn't knocked Springtrap off the operating table. "Sorry," Freddy said sheepishly.
"It's all right. Anyway, I wasn't finished. Most of the patient's wounds are superficial, but one was particularly bad." She turned around and placed a hand on the small of her back. "Something stabbed him deep in this area. An inch to the right, and it would have severed his spine." While he was glad that disaster had been averted, whatever happened was serious in its own way. "As it is, the left kidney has been destroyed beyond repair, and the right one isn't much better. He needs a transplant."
Mike's morale plummeted, and it was already low after hearing that they needed to set up a makeshift blood transfusion. He'd donated blood a few times, and that seemed complicated enough to implement. Replacing a vital organ in these conditions sounded next to impossible. Then again, he wasn't the doctor-to-be; Sylvia sounded nervous, yet not defeated.
"Honestly, he's extremely lucky. Kidneys are one of the few organs able to be given by a living donor. If not for that, he'd be good as dead." Mike didn't know that. The solution got a little clearer, though he wondered who would give up such a vital piece of themself. "You're all willing to donate?" All the animatronics nodded, though there was less fanfare this time. They'd been vivisected before. Even if none of their crucial components had been removed, they weren't thrilled to be cut open again. This would have been a lot easier if they'd known to save a Techno-Organic Yield kidney from the basement before the logic bomb rendered all the TOY stuff useless.
"Then I'll take one of yours, uh, Bonnie. You two are both rabbits and about the same size, so I figure yours has the least chance of being rejected by your friend's body." Now that he'd been picked, the purple bunny turned pale, perhaps regretting his enthusiasm. Still, he wasn't about to turn back after being told that he was his friend's best chance. "I'd say the same thing about your blood, but it's not safe to have both of those procedures done at once. You know, inasmuch as it's possible to be safe with this."
She placed a gloved hand on her masked chin, and it struck Mike that he'd never seen Sylvia in her element. Her being in the business of saving lives was an abstraction until now. Like, it made sense; he didn't have time to visit her at medical school, since he was at college for the same parts of the year. Merely telling him and their parents what she did and learned paled in comparison to witnessing it, and they didn't spend much time together to begin with. A new determination sparked within him; now that he told her the truth, he also vowed to spend more time with her. If she needed help and support to digest this new reality, he'd be with her every step of the way. It was the least he could do for dumping earth-shattering revelations on her.
"For the blood transfusion… I guess I'll pick Foxy." His girlfriend stepped forward and gave a slight wave as Sylvia looked at Freddy. "Neither bears nor foxes are very closely related to rabbits, so this is arbitrary. That's assuming the biology of the animals you're 'based on' impacts anything besides your external appearances." She paused before asking Helen, "Does Chica have a gizzard?" Helen shook her head. "Still, better safe than sorry."
"Just so we know, how much time do you think this all will take?" Jeremy inquired. Mike had wondered the same thing, though it wasn't as important as the other questions that had been asked and hopefully would continue to be fielded.
"The transfusion should be fairly quick, and it's the more pressing issue. It'll maybe take an hour. The transplant will take longer; four or five hours at least." His eyes, and those of many others, flew to the clock mounted on the wall. It was 4:15 in the afternoon, and adding her estimates told him she'd finish at about 10:15, plus some recovery time, surely. He just didn't expect it to take nearly eight hours. The news made him stomach squeeze. They needed to get away from Auric by midnight.
Not much room for error.
His sister noticed their reactions, and she asked, "Are you on a time crunch?"
"You c-could say that," Mike stammered. "Remember Auric, uh, the eldritch abomination I told you about?"
"The one who lived in Fazbear's basement and can invade dreams?" Her tone was so incredulous that she may have doubted this detail, even if she had been forced to accept the rest.
"Yeah. He's able to possess Freddy, Bonnie, Chica and Foxy – and probably also Springtrap – between midnight and six in the morning when he's nearby. If we're not out of here by then, he'll kill us all." She slowly blinked.
"Um, I'll see what I can do. The procedures will probably be done by then." "Probably" was good enough for him, since nothing they'd done here had been guaranteed. What was one more uncertainty? "If I were an experienced professional, I'd give your friend a good chance at survival. As I am… I'm sorry, but I can't guarantee anything. I'll do my best, though."
Freddy sat up straighter and cleared his throat, which made Mike wince. The bear was articulate when he wanted to be, but he wasn't sure Sylvia was ready to be addressed by them with more than a few words. "I understand that you might not be able to save him. Thank you for trying at all; most people wouldn't give us the chance."
Plenty of people, even those who had sworn to protect life, wouldn't want to help these "freaks" that should not have existed (as if anyone had the right to decide who was normal and who wasn't). Sylvia looked as tense as a compressed spring, clearly disturbed by entities she didn't understand, but that was fine; it took Mike days to work up anywhere near this level of trust. As Freddy said, it was a testament to her character that she agreed to assist at all.
Before she answered, June blurted out, "I also appreciate it. My dad and I just aren't equipped to handle this." Paused for a split second before adding, "Also, I'm sorry that I wasn't honest with you."
"I'm not sure I would have believed you. I still barely believe it." She shrugged. "Maybe I'm dreaming… but if I am, this will be a good opportunity to practice." As long as she didn't freak out, she could think this was a dream all she wanted. It took Mike a while to accept this strangeness as reality. "Anyway, don't count me out just yet. Springtrap can't afford to wait much longer, either." She said his name for the first time, trying to keep sarcasm out of her voice. Probably wondered why the other animatronics had normal names (well, "Foxy" may have been a bit strange, but he could still imagine a human having it) while his was so odd.
She beckoned Foxy forward; Mike instinctively moved to follow, but Sylvia stopped him. "Apparently, the animatronics are immune to all known viral and bacterial pathogens, but I don't want to take any chances. Only necessary people allowed behind the curtain."
Fair enough. It was good that they took every precaution. Mike didn't need to see Springtrap in that condition, anyway.
4:30 PM
Foxy had been apprehensive about Sylvia coming to try and save Springtrap. She seemed nice enough from their cursory meeting, but she didn't expect this woman to help "monsters" that her brother lied to her about for months. Rarely was Foxy so glad to be wrong. Whatever happened to Springtrap, Foxy would always be grateful.
Her tail wagged as she ducked under the veil, only to halt mid-swing when she saw the reason for her being there. Springtrap looked a little better than before, since most of the blood on his torso had been wiped off, yet he now bore an aura of… the best term Foxy thought of was "ominous sterility".
The few patches of fur on his abdomen after being mauled by Elizabeth had been shaved, supplanted by hasty staples and stitches along the preexistent cuts. His fur was now more white than green, and the exposed skin somehow became even paler. His chest barely rose and fell in his supine position, and the black surgical bed looked like the interior of a coffin. The room may as well have been a morgue. Still, the basement they'd spent hours in had been worse. If Springtrap survived that, she had to believe he'd pull through this time.
Helen finished pushing another cot next to Springtrap's, though this one's back had been raised like a lounge chair. Foxy hopped up, wishing that it had a hole for her tail cut in it, though she wished that about all furniture she couldn't "customize".
"Hopefully you don't have blood types, because this could get very messy if you do and they're incompatible." Foxy didn't know how "sloppy" Sylvia meant, yet she could only think of the slasher movies Mike enjoyed.
Sylvia remained silent for a couple minutes while she scraped together the equipment to pump blood directly from one body to another. Not as fancy as Foxy expected: just a piece of surgical tubing with a needle at each end, and Sylvia repeatedly checked both to make sure they were attached tightly. There wasn't a motor to force blood between them, so she had no clue how this worked. Really, she didn't know much about medicine, since she remembered her world being in the "amputation and leeches" stage of healing (and some leeches got to be the size of her leg). Maybe those methods worked better there, she thought.
If her world had magic and monsters, why couldn't medieval therapies work? Still, she was happy to be attended to by somebody who knew how medicine worked here, even if she broke some of those rules just by being alive. Her ruminations were cut short by Sylvia walking over with the simple device that would help save Springtrap's life.
"Normally I'd have to screen you and ask questions like if you've been outside the country, injected drugs or had sex with certain demographics…" She coughed, and she heard Mike do the same from the other side of the curtain, "…but I'm going to skip all that." Instead, Sylvia pulled out a scalpel, which made Foxy recoil – did giving blood mean being cut open?!
Her nervousness must have been evident, for she clarified, "Don't worry, I'm just going to shave your hand so that the fur doesn't obstruct anything." She breathed a sigh of relief. Humans weren't hairy enough for this to be a problem, so razors must not have been standard medical equipment, she figured. A bistoury standing in as one would have to suffice. There was a time not too long ago when she would have been ashamed of herself for showing any fear about a meager knife, but those days were behind her. "Now, which hand would you like to…" Foxy raised her hand and hook – and an eyebrow. "That answers that."
A single stroke along the back of her hand was enough to leave a thin strip of flesh visible, which felt weird. The only part of her she'd ever seen bereft of fur was the stump underneath her hook. Hoped it'd regrow quickly.
The needle piercing Foxy's hand brought back memories of being strapped to an operating table (while still conscious, unlike Springtrap here), yet she tried to take it like a professional, barely wincing as it lanced her hide. Wiggling her toes was as much of a distraction as she could formulate, so she kept her eye on the three worming phalanges on each foot. The stinging pain subsided after a moment, and she glanced at the brown-red concoction being pumped out of her body and into the needle inserted into Springtrap's forearm. Indeed, blood went from her to him.
She decided not to ask. The world needed to have some mysteries – otherwise, it wouldn't be nearly as interesting. However, she had no problem probing about matters more important to her health. "How much blood are you going to take out of me?" She looked at Sylvia as she asked, only to find her holding the scalpel and another thorn, this one connected to an IV bag. "And what's with the second needle?"
"As much as it takes for Springtrap to stabilize." Sylvia answered the first question while shaving the elbow crook of her left arm, so at least she could move her right one if her nose started to itch or something… though doing that with her hook might cause more problems than it solved. "Hopefully no more than two pints. That's the safe limit for a human donor." This prick hurt more, coming in a spot not as tough as her hand. "As for the second needle, it's injecting you with saline solution: essentially sterile saltwater." Foxy felt her eye widen, and the cold influx of fluid suddenly calmed her. The ocean flowed into her veins, corny as that sentiment may have been. "The liquid component of your blood must be water and not oil, since you have to drink water. It'll keep you hydrated."
After attaching the IV to a rack above the bed, Sylvia's work seemed complete for the moment. Foxy didn't see what else could be done until enough of her blood was transfused into Springtrap, which might take 20 or 30 minutes based on what she said earlier. That same realization struck Sylvia, too. Now that the urgency that ate the last couple hours had been removed, her knees began to shake, and she staggered over to a nearby chair, collapsing into it as if all the bones in her body dissolved. Foxy knew the feeling.
She slumped over with her face towards the floor. Helen, who just finished attending to Springtrap, took note. "I'll leave you two alone for a few minutes. I need to use the bathroom, anyway." She pushed past the curtain and vanished, leaving Foxy, Sylvia and an unconscious Springtrap alone in their little pseudo-room. Even with better hearing than any human, Foxy perceived nothing beyond this limited space. Her friends didn't speak to each other. Hell, they barely seemed to breathe. They merely waited, just as the doctor now waited.
After a minute motionless, she started to believe Sylvia fell asleep, yet she straightened up the moment before Foxy tried to wake her. Most of her face couldn't be read, covered by a surgical mask and all, though the look in her eyes had gone from steely to concerned. Now that she had a moment to rest, the gravity of the situation crashed atop her. That would have been a lot to handle on a good day, and this was not a good day. Not right now, anyway.
"I – I hope this isn't rude, but may I ask a few questions?" Something in her voice sounded ready to pop.
Foxy wasn't keen on being interrogated, but Sylvia's curiosity was understandable. She was a scientist, and not the "mad" type. Besides, it was fair compensation for what the woman did, and Foxy believe in equal redress. Every member of her crew got his or her share. "Go ahead," she said, trying not to sigh.
"Is your name really 'Foxy'?" She felt the corners of her muzzle turn down. Not what she expected the woman's first query to be. Thought it'd be more along the lines of, "What are your bones made of?" or "Do you need to respirate?" Still, she couldn't complain.
"Yes, that's my name." She raised her hook and pointed at screen shrouding them from the other part of the room. "The woman sitting outside is named June. It's a long story." Thought she saw the shadow of a hand waving through the translucent shade. Her eyes narrowed. That question was the icebreaker. Now came something less pleasant.
"You killed Mike's friend. J-Jason? Was that his name?"
Foxy cringed. Should have seen that one coming. "James, actually," she said, her mouth suddenly dry. "It was an accident. That was the moment Auric brought me to life. I was confused and scared, and he paid the price." The more she said it (and after a lot of therapy with Helen), the less it sounded like a poor excuse. There was nothing she could have been expected to do differently.
She heard Mike clear his throat outside, but he said nothing. Appreciated that; he knew she was able to fight the battle that needed to be her own. There were already plenty of fights to be tackled together (like everything they'd done that morning). Sylvia crossed her arms, deep in thought.
"I see," she eventually said. "I'll digest that for now. Maybe I'll ask more later." Fair enough. That interaction could have gone worse. Sylvia slumped back over while Foxy looked at the man hovering between life and death a few feet to her side. His chest fell in shallow motions; any shallower, and Sylvia might have to put a breathing tube in. However, his fur also regained color as new life flowed into him.
Come on, Springtrap, she thought, willing her friend to awake.
…
Phil did it. He did what he dreaded for months. At the last possible moment, he had been honest. Perhaps it wasn't a moral victory to confess on what may have very well been his deathbed, but at least it was something. Also, he wasn't quite dead yet.
He once again found himself in a familiar white void. Didn't know if it was an extradimensional space or a representation of his mind's interior. Whatever and wherever it was, it made him cold. Looking down, he saw the… well, not the real him, since he was an anthropomorphic green rabbit now, but the original him: a man wearing khaki pants and a purple jacket. That was the person he lived most of his life (and died) as, and the person he identified as most.
"Phillip," said a raspy voice mixed with a piercing drone. He looked up, unsurprised to find a golden cloud with a humanoid silhouette at its center a foot in front of his face. Just as this realm portrayed Phil as he saw himself, he suspected this was Auric's true form. Well, almost. Whatever the figure inside the golden mist looked like, he didn't want to know. Wasn't sure he'd be able to handle it.
He was reminded of a part of the Bible, probably in Exodus, where Moses asked to see God's face and was refused; a human couldn't physically handle such an experience. Didn't remember if he'd heard about that in church or somewhere else (maybe Raiders of the Lost Ark), but the situation reminded him. Opposite end of the moral spectrum, same potential to immolate.
"Auric," he spat. His feelings about the being were more complicated than ever. They seemed to part on fairly amicable terms, with Auric giving Phil a new life after both of them ruined his first one. Then he tried to kill him and the rest of his friends for petty revenge. It made Phil want to scream. No point, though. Auric was smart enough to know all that. Instead, he merely asked, "Why are you here?"
"I merely wish to say goodbye." Phil's teeth chattered. Maybe he was about to see that face whether he wanted to or not! "You misunderstand," Auric chided to assuage his fears. "From your neural activity and the strength of your chakras and Odic Force, you are likely to survive if the rest of the medical procedures succeed."
A big "if" on that front. Who did they get to do surgery? Probably Helen, and she wasn't that kind of doctor. Honestly, he didn't know whether he wanted to wake up. It was good that he'd finally grown a backbone, but life would become infinitely harder because of it. Expected to at least be banished. They also might just kill him. Either way, they'd want nothing to do with his miserable –
Phil shook his head and gritted his teeth, ashamed of himself for playing the victim once again. After lying to them for months and only getting the family he'd always wanted through trickery, they were entitled to do whatever they felt necessary. These last four months had been the best of his existence ever since his parents died. Even in Hell, he'd be grateful for that.
"But I have no plans to speak to you again," Auric continued, snapping Phil out of his reverie. "That was true last time, and this experience has strengthened my resolve. Afton is dead. BRIAR is dead. My game here is over, so I must move onto the next one – find new lives to ruin." With a hint of rue, he added, "I regret not being able to kill Michael or any of his friends, but he will be dead in the blink of an eye. Perhaps I will attend his funeral."
For all his failure, Auric was correct about that. Mike would die. All of them would. But not him. Auric would continue to exist long after they were dust and Earth fell into the sun. Phil would not find that comforting at all, personally.
"Auric, whatever you're looking for, I hope you find it," Phil choked out. Even after knowing the creature for so long (by human standards), he didn't know what Auric hoped to accomplish in his wanderings, if anything. Maybe he was cursed to trawl the universe forever in search of illusory meaning or pleasure. "And that it doesn't involve hurting anyone else."
He chuckled with static, and the white realm trembled in response. "I doubt that."
The shape within the cloud extended a spectral hand, which Phil looked at blankly. Then a memory smacked him on the head with a mallet; Phil offered Auric a handshake in 1987 to seal the terms of their bargain. Now it was being flipped around to signal that their deal officially ended. He forgot much across eons, but this, of all things, he remembered.
Phil stuck his hand into the fog, where it was seized by a shapeless, untextured three-dog night. Like liquid nitrogen, it froze him to the bone. He yanked his hand out, and Auric gave a small nod before turning away for the final time.
Darkness fell as Auric faded, and Phil knew no more.
10:15 PM
The past several hours had been long and brutal, arguably more than those spent in a dark maze surrounded by undead monsters, a scene right out of that "Dungeons & Dragons" game Mike wanted to try. Hard for Foxy, for Mike, for her friends, and especially for Sylvia. After Foxy finished donating blood and a quick break, Sylvia slaved away behind the curtain, her only brief respite being to invite Bonnie back when it came time to remove one of his organs. Now, he was sliced open under anesthesia. Muffled calls for Helen, her assistant, to hand her forceps, clamps and other equipment did not quell Foxy's nerves, nor did shadows swaying behind the translucent film.
What really bothered her, though, was time. Throughout the abscission, Foxy's eye always wandered back to the clock mounted on the wall opposite her. It ticked away the seconds until midnight, which drew perilously close. If she didn't finish soon, Auric would seize control of them, and then everyone in that room would be dead. Still, Foxy recognized that this was not something to be rushed… and it sounded like Sylvia neared the finish line. The calls shifted towards staples and sutures.
"We're done," Sylvia said, sticking her head around the curtain. "The prognosis is better than I expected; he'll be able to walk in a couple weeks. Springtrap and Bonnie should wake up sooner rather than later now that they're off anesthesia." Foxy didn't know what to say. Though she tried to put on a brave face, she had not expected Springtrap to pull through. Not because of his injuries (though they looked dire) or a multi-hour major surgery performed by a novice, but because they always seemed to pay a price for victory.
When Afton washed his hands of them, they picked up the pieces and forged new lives for themselves. When Foxy began to perform again, she confronted what happened to James in front of the whole world. None of this was easy.
It sounded impossible that their greatest success came without cost. The most difficult consequence was Mike telling Sylvia about them, and they all knew he planned on doing that, regardless. Hard as it was to believe, they may have stood on the cusp of the happy ending they always yearned for. No more terror about what they had being yanked away from them. No more fear about what the future might bring. Well, maybe they would have to deal with those things, but only in the same way humans did. It wasn't like ordinary people had perfect existences, and neither would they. Still, they'd been through so much in their lives that it may as well have been nirvana – and not Mike's favorite band.
Not everyone was as tongue-tied as Foxy… though they weren't necessarily articulate, either. Chica profusely thanked Sylvia, speaking so quickly that Foxy was unable to understand the words. That may have also been tied to exhaustion. Her eyelid drooped, and she wanted to sleep more than she wanted to escape Auric. And to eat something. Hadn't had a proper meal since breakfast. Others also expressed their thanks, but she could barely hear that, either. Began to feel concerned that something was wrong with her before remembering she donated the maximum safe limit of blood a few hours prior. Yeah, I'm resting all day tomorrow.
However, Foxy did hear Sylvia say, "If you're interested in seeing what you look like on the inside…" She held out a chrome medical pan for all to see and plopped something in, dripping black bile.
It was an ebony mass crisscrossed with circuitry and wires, which didn't surprise her, given that the inside of her mouth shared those features. Blood trickled from several punctures, which allowed her to glimpse the inner structure: a fleshy matrix that must have been used for filtering blood before returning it to the rest of the body. Huh. Yeah, that looked like it came from inside one of them, all right. Couldn't compare it to a human kidney, since she'd never seen one of those… she may have been more impressed if not half-asleep. That probably went for them all.
Sensing that her audience lacked enthusiasm about the most exciting lump of flesh in the country, the woman cleared her throat and put the pan away. "We'll clean up and then open the curtain."
This they did; before Foxy knew it, the limpid wall was torn down, revealing the two rabbits under thin layers of blankets. Sylvia said they'd wake quickly, and that happened even faster than she expected. Bonnie, a little more lucid, groaned and pressed a hand to his backside, which must have been shaved and filled with staples after a piece of him had been chopped out to give their brother.
Brother, she thought, eye narrowing on Springtrap, who limply tried to sit up. The wave of relief crashed upon the shore and flowed back out to sea. Foxy said there was no way that Auric's claim was true. Now that he awoke, though, she wondered. If Auric told the truth by some terrible chance, they needed to know. She needed to know, tact be damned. Which explained the first sentence Springtrap heard after receiving another chance at life.
"Are you really Phil?"
His pained expression told her, yet the single word out of his mouth also sufficed. "Yes."
There turned out to be a penalty to success, after all. Springtrap – Phil – may have been alive, but he was now dead to her.
There was a saying she'd heard several times over the years from parents to children who were having temper tantrums: "I'm not angry, I'm just disappointed". Foxy hated that phrase as much as the kids surely did, since it sounded so condescending. In this case, though, it made sense. Too tired and saddened for rage. She didn't turn to see how Freddy, Chica or any human reacted. However, Bonnie tried to push his bed away, wanting to be as far away from the fucker as possible.
She did her best to listen as Phil feebly attempted to explain himself. Every word out of his mouth now made her ill, yet with the question of "who" answered, she now needed to know "why". "After I – I killed myself, while I was dying, Auric came to me and made me an offer. Said I'd given him enough 'entertainment' over the years to do me a favor. I accepted, and then I became Springtrap." He fought back tears.
"I appreciate you saving me even after I told you. I really do." They wouldn't have if he'd told them earlier. A deathbed confession was hardly a confession at all. If honesty was what he wanted, he would have told them before he expected to die and face no consequences. "I wanted to tell you for so long, but I didn't know how to do it." His voice was wound so tightly that she expected his vocal cords to snap. She hoped they would so he'd shut the fuck up! It took all her willpower to walk out. And why not? She'd heard as much of his explanation as she could stomach, and it'd still be infinitely more respectful than the selfishness he'd shown.
"If you want to kill me, knowing what you do now, I understand." He leaned over to present the back of his neck, as if he expected them to behead him on the spot. There was a time when she would have pulled her cutlass from its scabbard and fulfilled that request without hesitation. That wasn't her anymore, though. Wasn't Freddy, either, the one she almost expected to revert to old instincts. The most he did was tighten his fists.
The strain in the room only ebbed slightly when Sylvia asked a baffled question.
"I'm sorry, but who is Phil?" Right, she had no idea why this mattered. Foxy almost felt sorry for bombarding her with this immediately after she saved his life.
"Phillip Fazbear." Mike spat the answer, barely able to contain his own hatred. This was one of the few times when he may have been angrier than her. If his sister weren't here, Foxy wondered if he'd slap Phil in the face. "Uh, the owner I told you about. The one who did all those horrible things." His patience broke, and he shouted, "I didn't want to believe it was you!" Her boyfriend's heart was as broken as hers. This was no time to grieve, however. No, they needed to act. The witching hour waited for nobody.
Late in July, when Phil's fate was decided the first time, they held a group tribunal with Foxy as the arbiter, since Phil abused her more than anyone else. This time, they hadn't the energy for theater and especially secrecy.
Following Mike's precedent, they talked to each other as a group. All of them would get a say in what happened to Phil this time (except Phil himself, obviously), for the stench of his lie affected everyone. Even Sylvia tossed aside disbelief to join the conversation! The only limitation was how much time remained before midnight.
The first option was the most obvious: murder. Did they want to kill him and throw his body into the basement to be chopped up and incinerated along with everything else? Freddy was the big proponent of this idea, though he may have played it up to get a reaction out of Phil. Indeed, he shivered at the suggestion, yet he made no effort to dissuade them. Foxy almost felt a tiny hint of respect because of that.
When she decided Phil's fate the first time, she wrestled with whether she would kill him. She wanted to for all the pain he inflicted, but the kindness she learned from Mike (among other things) stayed her hand. Unlike him, she said, she wasn't a murderer. That remained true, even if the temptation smoldered in her bones. Everything he'd done and represented was anathema to her. It was almost like he wanted her to kill him.
Tough to reach a unanimous decision with so many people, but they at least needed a simple majority – excluding Sylvia because she was so new to this (they did listen to her input), and Phil himself. And Fritz. The man barely qualified as an afterthought because he hadn't said a single word since they returned from the basement, except for mumbling about going to fall asleep in a corner somewhere after barely being able to sleep for days on end.
Anyway, those were the terms they agreed to before the first round of voting, all out in the open. No secret ballots. Not enough time, and they figured it was important to know where everyone stood. Hands were raised.
Freddy, Jeremy, June and Helen voted for executing him on the spot. Those against were Foxy, Mike, Bonnie and Chica. Half for, half against. The factions stared at each other in confusion, not having expected a tie. Honestly, Foxy expected death to win outright. Nobody was more baffled than Phil, who blankly looked between the groups. He wore the face of someone who didn't care what happened. That almost made her reconsider her stance. Almost.
"Anyone want to flip a coin?" Jeremy asked, rifling through his wallet. "I'm sure I have a quarter." Sadly, that was the fairest solution she ascertained.
"Wait!" Mike exclaimed before anything more happened. "Let's plug Mu in and see what she thinks." Foxy couldn't believe they forgot about her! Mu may have been new to their group, but she knew all about them; she should have gotten a voice. Didn't hurt that having an odd number of voters meant not relegating Phil's life to the whims of George Washington.
Phil coughed and wheezed; Foxy wondered whether he should talk so much after a major surgery so close to his diaphragm. "For what it's worth, Auric showed up in my dream and said he was leaving," he rasped. "He's had enough of us, and with everyone else dead, he's finally moving on. Wherever he was before, he might already be gone."
Barely paid attention to the words. Best to assume anything Phil said was complete hogwash. No reason to give him any benefit of the doubt.
She, Chica and Freddy left to tip the supercomputer back up and plug Mu in. Even Chica said nothing along the way. All were sour and bitter by finding out the man they considered their brother was anything but.
"Why couldn't he have just died?!" Chica suddenly exploded, making Foxy recoil. If she wanted him dead, why not have voted that way? "It would've been better to think of him as a good person." Her arms fell to her sides, and she hunched over in misery. "But I somehow still care about him!"
Now Foxy understood. Yeah, it would have been easier. If Phil expired during the surgery, they'd have no reason to believe Auric's venomous claims. They could have idolized him, held him up an example to strive for. From the little she'd observed, it seemed like humans revered the dead, overlooking indiscretions (unless one was particularly vile) and just remembering them as good. Foxy liked that cultural practice; no point hating people who didn't exist anymore. Now they'd never be able to tell themselves those kinds of stories about "Springtrap".
"I'm so sorry, Chica," Foxy whispered, wrapping her sister in a hug while her emotions poured out like summer rain. The chicken tucked her beak into Foxy's shoulder. "But we'll survive. We always have." They'd gotten through tough times before, and they would again. Still, this betrayal from one of their own wounded them in a way they'd never been hurt before. It felt like a piece of her heart had been wrenched from her chest.
Foxy wondered whether Auric brought Phil back to life as a reward for the "entertainment" he provided or, as she now suspected, he knew this would happen and wanted to hurt them in a way he never could before.
"Foxy is right," Freddy assented. "It's terrible, but we've been through worse." That was the most positivity they'd extract from him. Chica sniffled, broke the hug and stood up straight, brushing off her bib as she did.
"All right. I can do this." A hint of a smile crossed her beak. "Thank you." Freddy offered her a pat on the back, and they continued into the foyer where Mu's body and brain rested.
Auric was gone, much to Foxy's surprise. She didn't think he had anywhere else to be, so maybe he really had left. Maybe. Even if Auric told the truth about Phil before, they still had no reason to believe him. Might have waited outside to lull them into a false sense of security and encourage them to hang around after midnight.
They dragged Mu's physical form off the computer and then tipped the mainframe upright to free the pinned power cord. Foxy grunted, putting her back into the work, and her vision sloshed around. Hoped the line was long enough to reach the nearby outlet.
Despite the computer's mass, all it took to sustain her was plugging a 120-volt cord into any old electrical outlet, as opposed to needing a special 240-volt outlet like most larger machines. Foxy didn't know whether Auric's supernatural powers made her require a lower amperage than she normally would (hard to believe that an intellect as powerful as a human's could be buoyed by the same amount of power as a vacuum cleaner) or if Afton just designed her effectively. That may have been a question for Jeremy and June – if she bothered to ask.
The computer tilted onto its base, and Chica held the front back so it didn't topple forward. Seemed sturdy enough. No reason to take chances by damaging it in a fall, though. If it isn't already from its trip up here. She shuddered as Freddy plugged in the machine; supposed they'd know shortly whether she'd incurred brain damage! Lights on the computer glowed, which Foxy took as a good sign, yet she didn't release her bated breath until Mu's body stirred.
"I have been unconscious somewhat longer than expected," she said while sitting up and rubbing her head. "Not that I am complaining," was quickly added.
Foxy looked around; no clocks in this room. Like normal computers, she must have had an internal clock that kept ticking even when turned off. Chalk that up to another ability she had that the rest of them didn't. Still, Foxy was hardly jealous of intuitively knowing time down to the second. That would kill any sense of spontaneity in her life.
"ENNARD died. Springtrap was hurt trying to save you. Mike called his sister to do emergency surgery. We found out he's Phil, and now we're voting on what happens to him. It's a tie right now." Freddy delivered the bullet points, taking the "don't waste time" mantra so seriously that he couldn't spare a second to say hello. "Do you think he should live or die?"
Even for a supercomputer, that was a lot to absorb. Mu fell silent, slowly blinking. "I will render my verdict when we return to everyone else." Probably a good idea. Wouldn't be fair for them to know before Phil himself. Mu stood up, her spindly legs wobbling while she readjusted to gravity. "Where is Auric?"
"Phil said he gave up and left with his 'business partner' gone," Foxy replied, almost starting to believe it. Even if he stuck around that night, he had no choice but to find a new victim soon. OK, he does have a choice in that he could choose to stop being fucking evil. Shouldn't have been hard for a being who'd done the same routine thousands of times before.
That was Mu's only question; the rest of their walk back to the ICU took place in silence, though Foxy kept her ears open for fleeting hints of static. They arrived shortly, with Sylvia introduced to her sixth living animatronic in the span of one day. She needed to sit down upon seeing this one, more human than the rest. Foxy admired the poor woman; it must have taken a tremendous amount of mental strength to see them inside and out, these things that violated her entire view of the world, and remain intact.
Mu gently waved to the doctor and coughed. "So you are informed, I was aware of Phillip's deception all along. Some of Auric's more relevant memories imprinted onto me during my creation, if that makes sense." Not really, but nothing about Auric was logical, so it sounded par for the course.
A couple people murmured, and she saw Phil cringe. Foxy felt a pang of disappointment that Mu also hadn't been honest. Still, it was the right call in her case. If she admitted that knowledge earlier, it could very well have gotten somebody killed. They needed unity in the dark basement, and that information would've given them anything but. It was Phil's fault for not coming clean in months, not Mu's for not ratting him in hours. Everyone seemed to appreciate that.
"As for my vote…" She extended a rangy arm and stuck up her thumb. That was a symbol of affirmation. Foxy's stomach sank slightly, but that was how democracy worked; you needed to accept the results even if you disagreed. Elections were hardly a thing in her world of monarchy and empires, but Mike showed her the importance of respecting the outcome when Al Gore lost.
"Yes. Yes, you think he should die?" Freddy asked, excited at the prospect. Mu put the damper on that, seeming surprised that people jumped to such a conclusion.
"It is a reference to the signal for mercy instead of execution used in Roman gladiatorial combat, which is where the modern gesture originates." Despite being weeks old, she was far more cultured than the rest of them. "I believe he should live." Foxy exhaled a silent sigh of relief. Why, though? She wanted the scumbag dead, she just didn't want to be the one pulling the trigger. Wouldn't shed a tear if the roof above Phil spontaneously collapsed onto him, for instance. Still, it was what it was, even if Freddy grumbled about it. The other people who voted for execution were more subdued, but Jeremy's shake of the head indicated that he thought this would come back to bite them. It very well might.
Regardless, it was time for the next round of polls. Would they forgive him and welcome the real him into their family? A couple of them had a laugh as that was broached. If he had been honest from the start… maybe. Probably not, but perhaps they would have entertained the idea. And two of them did. Chica rose her hand, and Bonnie grunted in assent because his muscles were still limp from the drugs.
"Guys, I think Spr… Phil 'as changed. 'e's not the same person 'e was," Bonnie coughed, though he still scooched as far away as he could. Foxy admired how Bonnie and Chica tried to see the best in everyone. The world needed more of that. Not enough to get a majority, however. Phil looked shocked that it received any support at all.
What about keeping him as their prisoner? Thankfully, that idea was shot down even more quickly. The idea made her fur bristle. She'd be damned if they became guilty of what Phil did to them by locking him the basement for all eternity. Being an inmate in one's own home was the worst fate imaginable, as she knew well. Nobody deserved that. Not even Phil. In the end, it received no votes.
Then came the idea that, consciously or unconsciously, they'd saved for last: banishment. Did they want to throw Phil to the winds of the world? It could be dangerous. If Phil became upset enough to call the police about them, they'd bring in the feds, and it'd leave them in a worse position than ever.
Then again, Auric could have done the same thing long ago – and still might in the future – without anyone being able to stop him. She may have trusted Phil less than Auric after this, but she knew Phil cared about them in his own twisted way. He wouldn't rat them out. The bigger danger was that he'd be captured or he'd die and his body would be recovered, and this would lead back to Fazbear's. People in the area knew about him, and if he turned out to be a cyborg, it wouldn't take a genius to put two and two together.
Again, though, that was possible even without Phil living in the woods. They might miss something in their purge of the basement laboratories that implicated them, or the investigators who eventually found it might be so baffled by its existence that they pressed ahead with an investigation. Maybe Afton even set up a dead man's switch or a logic bomb of his own that would leak everything he'd done to the media or onto the Internet if he didn't log into the systems every so often. They had no proof for any of this, yet it was all possible.
Hands were raised to see if this was Phil's fate. She couldn't think of any more options, so if this ended up getting fewer than four votes, perhaps execution would win by default. Proved not to be a problem, though. To her surprise, the vote was nearly unanimous. The only holdouts were Bonnie and Chica, still believing in the power of rehabilitation. That was especially understandable in Bonnie's case; he'd patched Phil's body with a piece of his own, so it must have been heartbreaking to throw that away.
Even Freddy, who wanted him dead more than anyone, was willing to accept this compromise. As long as they never saw Phil again, he may as well have died. That seemed like the logic, anyway. He'd spend the rest of his days wandering the wilderness, perhaps becoming a local legend: something for people to whisper about on Halloween like werewolves, vampires or chupacabras. That may have been crueler than death. Maybe that's why Freddy is OK with it.
Only trouble was that they couldn't dump him on the streets right now – not when he was unable to stand. That led to another round of talks with midnight drawing perilously close. 11:15 when she last checked. Adding the time it'd take to get Phil and Bonnie into a car, they'd bail immediately before Auric was able to possess them. There was no way for them to move Mu without Jeremy's pickup truck, so they agreed to unplug her and retrieve her later; Auric wouldn't be able to possess her like that, so she wouldn't be a threat.
"We'll take you back to the pizzeria," said Helen, putting her boot on the foot of his bed. She spoke with both the authority of Phil's former employee and the holder of his previous position. Sat in his chair now, and he respected that. "You can rest until you've recovered enough to walk. Then grab whatever you can carry and get out. We don't want to see you ever again."
Phil tried not to look sad. Despite everything, he must have possessed enough sense to know he deserved this. Still, he couldn't help his ears from drooping. "I – I understand," he warbled. Then he looked around at all his former friends and siblings. Their expressions were hard and unforgiving. "I know this means nothing, coming from me, but I'm sorry."
Foxy grunted. Damn right that it was worth less than rusty dagger. "I don't want your apologies. I've done just fine without them." Was tempted to say "we", yet she couldn't speak for anyone else. The others seemed to largely agree with her, though. Springtrap's words and advice meant something to them. Phil's did not.
So much more that could have been said. If they had the time, Foxy was sure that numerous tirades would have been delivered. Not without a good cause, but she didn't care. Some version of justice had been meted, and now they'd deliver.
Wednesday, December 27, 2000, 12:00 AM
Mike perched on the edge of the driver's seat as he swerved out of the parking garage, tugging on his seatbelt to make it tight. Last one out; Jeremy, Helen and Sylvia were ahead of him. The digital clock in the dashboard of his Honda Civic read 14 seconds to midnight. No doubt about its accuracy, since he adjusted it to the precise time last summer. Eager to avoid this situation, he went to the library and used a computer to look up the exact second according to the International Bureau of Weights and Measures' "International Atomic Time".
He set his watch to that, then went to his car and matched the clock in there to his watch. A lot of work, yet worth it now that he knew exactly how much time he had to blast away before his girlfriend, hunched over in the back seat, plowed her cutlass through his spine. His white knuckles tightened around the wheel. 11 seconds.
Of course, Auric may not have followed the rules of human time. Maybe for him, "midnight" started three seconds early or five seconds late. The witching hour might have worked in mysterious ways. That didn't keep him from slamming his foot onto the gas pedal the moment his car straightened out, making June yelp from the shotgun seat. In any other circumstance, she'd say that this ruined the pistons. Their lives were worth more than this car, though, regardless of its sentimental value. "Springtrap" not being there this time must have been good for the suspension, at least!
Nine.
These couple of blocks were already abandoned. Add in being a frigid midnight during the sleepy lull between Christmas and New Year's Eve, and there was not a soul in sight. Despite being a thriving metropolis, Seattle may as well have been abandoned by all but ghosts. That meant Mike had no excuse to not put his foot through the floor.
Seven.
The engine roared and the tires squealed as acceleration shoved him into the back of his seat. If anyone in nearby apartments heard this, snug in their beds, they'd probably think a drag race happened outside. Mike caught a glimpse of gold in his rearview mirror. Two gilded specks sulked in a shadow, watching. May have been a figment of his imagination, or perhaps a distant lamp. Still, he believed that Auric watched and attempted to claim his "pawns" one last time.
Three.
In just a few moments, the vehicle reached 90 mph. Mike never went this fast on the interstate, let alone an inner-city street riddled with potholes. Each one made him go airborne, and he feared his tires would pop. This became a roller coaster ride as he began to catch up with the other cars, which hadn't needed to go nearly as fast to escape the radius of Auric's magic because they left several seconds earlier. He screamed, and his friend and girlfriend joined him.
One.
The car screamed, too, as the speedometer told him it broke 120 mph. The needle pushed into the red "danger" zone, and for one terrifying moment, it rolled over back to zero. Again, he may have hallucinated some of this, yet the danger was real.
Zero.
His engine and nerves almost collapsed. Out of time. They'd either escaped or "Foxy" would rend him and June limb from limb in the next few seconds. Either way, his primary concern now was the line of cars he barreled toward, maybe a few dozen feet ahead. If Auric didn't kill them, the impact might.
"Hold on!" His right foot lifted from the gas before both feet slammed onto the brake. He yanked the parking brake back with his right hand for good measure and slammed the horn with his left, trying to tell his friends to get out of the fucking way!
Mike's head smashed into the steering wheel at the massive deceleration, but he pressed on the brakes even harder. Looked up through blurry eyes to see that the other cars had swerved to the sides of the empty road to make way. He didn't know what to call the noise the tires made – it sounded like pigs squealing as they were burned alive. Despite the damage to his vehicle, he thought the worst passed them by when they rocketed past the others.
Then the back of the car lifted into the air, and terror sprang anew. Somebody yelled, and Mike didn't know if it was him. His life flashed before his eyes, climaxing in a fiery crash where his car flipped end over end several times before coming to a rest in the middle of the road. How sad that reckless driving was about to accomplish what an immortal space demon could not.
The rear kept ascending until the car was at a 45-degree angle – the two front wheels painted the asphalt with burning rubber while the ass-end of the car was perched high in the air. Any higher, and spiraling into a barrel roll would be certain. His feet stayed on the brake. June grabbed his arm, and in his adrenaline-soaked haze, he didn't know whether she wanted him to do something or just needed someone to hold onto for their impending demise.
I'm sorry, Sylvia. That may have been his last thought. Sort of surprised him that it wasn't about Foxy. He showed her all these impossible things and promised to help her through processing them, only to die in a manner all too common for people his age. Maybe she'd be able to help with the autopsy…
And then the back of the car slammed down as they slowed to a halt.
Mike sat shivering, not daring to take his feet off the brake even after he put the vehicle in "park". His hair dripped with sweat, and he imagined Foxy's fur must have been drenched.
Then he rolled down his window as the contents of his stomach shot up, managing to get his head out of the car before vomiting on the blacktop. Wiped his mouth with a napkin he saw on the floor before tossing it out, too. It was only because of Foxy's mass in the back seat, he idly realized, that the Civic didn't tumble. Even when she wasn't trying to do anything, she still saved his life. Impossibly dense animatronic metal skeletons to the rescue. Then the acrid stench of melting tires reached his nose, making him retch again.
There's Pepto-Bismol at home, he thought, slumping in his chair. Despite it all, or perhaps because of it, he began to nervously chuckle, quickly joined by June and Foxy. The three narrowly avoided death or grievous injury in a stunt that looked like something out of the X Games.
"I – I hope the car has enough, um, i-in it to get back to Whitewater," he stammered, collecting enough of his faculties to articulate a half-coherent sentence.
In a shaking voice of her own, June replied, "Given the situation, I'll schedule you for free maintenance before you go back to school. Whatever you need." Mike thanked her, and Foxy stuck her head between the seats. Her eye remained orange instead of gold, so they knew who was in the metaphorical driver's seat (if it wasn't already obvious).
"I just wanted to say that I've never been in a storm that intense. Damn, that was rough." She fell back. While also scared, it gave her a high she rarely achieved in this world.
Jeremy rolled up alongside him, his own window rolled down. "Are you OK? Relatively speaking, anyway." Mike nodded, but June's affirmation was what he mostly looked for. The mechanic still cringed, his gaze tracing along the vehicle. Yeah, he felt bad for it, too.
Couldn't afford to linger; Auric might have been able to catch up on foot if he wanted to. Mike put the car in "drive" and limped forward. Idly wondered if that diner on I-90 that he went out to with Foxy was open this late and could do take-out. No, we should just go home.
They stayed in silence during the drive, the only exception being his car, which strained so much that he stayed under 60 mph the whole time, forcing the others to go more slowly because they wanted to travel as a pack. Still, it meant they wouldn't be pulled over by the police and snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.
His eyes drooped at the crest of the Cascades. Home was near. Home. Family. All he could think about was how grateful he felt to the found family that he went into Hell with and emerged victorious. Even Phil, sickening as that was; the two shared a bond that he'd only ever have with a few others.
Wait a minute… He shot wide awake, realizing one member of that "family" – the one he liked the least – had never been accounted for.
"Where's Fritz?"
…
"Uh, hello? Hello? Where i-is everyone? Hello? I, uh, k-know I slept l-longer, um, than I thought, but, like, did you guys f-forget me? Like, uh, um, thanks for nothing; I, um, brought you here. Fuckers. Guess I – I'll wait, uh, for m-morning and then call a taxi…"