Springtrap - Part III
"Leave me alone," he whispered in his rickety, strange fashion. Hands probed at what he considered to be his face, his hands. "Leave me alone," he repeated, but he found himself unwilling to shake them off. He was half-blind, only able to detect shining white light and dark, gloomy silhouettes towering over the manifestation that he was. "Leave me alone!" he cried, finally breaking the chains of his immobility, and pushing his hands toward the silhouettes. Then, he realized, they had vanished. Dead silence met him in the dark, the greenish light disturbed by the flickering of cheap lightbulbs. Once again, he was alone, and he couldn't recall if what he had seen had been reality or merely a product of the subconscious. His shoulders began to tremble, but pain had not arrived with the half-voluntary movements. Relief swept through him at the realization, and the suit blinked a few times as he tried to register the breaths of the night guard.
Nothing: The night guard couldn't be present then, could he? Springtrap didn't budge, letting the suit close its eyes. He stared at the lids blankly, feeling numb. He didn't want to process all the things that had met his senses. Everything felt fuzzy and surreal, but he surely couldn't be dying. His condemnation prevented that. No, this was something else. He had the small consideration of pondering this for hours on end, but the longing to search his emotions faded and he let the feeling caress him. It was mildly comforting to leave thoughts behind and almost enjoy the solitude.
Sadly, it didn't last long, and he felt a desperation to retrieve it when the distant, unseen entry door closed and locked shut. It was midnight—too soon—it seemed. He let himself dwell in his dark corner for a rather short time, then forced himself to emerge. Pain travelled up his spine, blinding him, and he shook more fervently. When the moment ended, he began to move. He forced himself to focus only on the possibility of a kill. The thought of squeezing the life out of the night guard so he could have company, here in this place, excited him, and adrenaline pushed him onward, allowing him to have a purpose. It was something to rely on, providing whatever stability he could muster in the terrible Horror Attraction.
Springtrap's limp was persisting, and, though he normally paid little to no attention to it, this night it bothered him. If he focused on it more carefully, he would sense the lack of muscle capacity. The leg would flex at the knee, stretching out to a certain extent before tightening at his calf, preventing a full range of motion. It had been crushed and punctured more terribly than the other, but it was, strangely, functional. Of course, this fact wasn't much different from the others; he was alive, which was abnormal enough. This kept him from being able to move as efficiently. This night, his laborious efforts slowly began to become more and more apparent to him. It is worth it, he thought to himself, it will help me if there is another at my side.
The echo of a hello came from a further room, and he turned, heading toward it. He knew where the night guard was situated. This place was crumbling; frequently, red lights would flash and the night guard would yelp in terror, which meant the ventilation would go out and he would envision something horrible. Springtrap did not feel the slightest bit of pity for him. If the night guard had to reboot ventilation, then it gave Springtrap more time to approach before a hello was called and the suit made him maneuver toward it. He knew he was getting closer, and the night guard knew, too, but it didn't seem fast enough. Time went by so swiftly for Springtrap… what if half of the night had already gone by? Tonight was the third night, and that meant there were only two more chances for him to kill the night guard after this one. Would it be enough time?
He suddenly remembered the silhouettes of before, and once again began to wonder if they had been real. Most certainly not, or they would have noticed the decaying body that had been existent inside the suit for a number of ears that even Springtrap had lost track of. Maybe they had decided it would be best to leave it there, to help remind of what had happened at those restaurants with the children stuffed inside the animatronics. That had happened, hadn't it? He gave a gentle shake of his head that would have brought tears to his eyes if his tear ducts were still intact. Instead, he tensed up irregularly, his head jerking spastically. It ended in a few moments, but the jarring sensation had a lasting effect. He paused, staring at the camera adjacent to him, to give himself enough time to rejuvenate.
Another hello, and he was off again. When the night guard comes by, he can't refuse movement, both physically and mentally. After years of stillness, the thirty hours the night guard spent at the attraction reminded him of what it had been like to be an average human. It was all he needed to start. The exit sign… there it was! Springtrap passed the night guard's room, arriving at the door that could have been walked through by him if he were human. He stayed by it, his chin lifted and silver eyes focused on the camer's lens. He said nothing; he made no sound. He knew the night guard was searching for him, and he could hear the movement of the shuddering, protesting chair. Red lights flared, provoking a throbbing pain to accumulate behind his eyes, as though boring into his skull. Realizing what it was, he lurched forward, peering around the bend. A mixture of fear and anger passed through him as he gripped the door frame. He had moved too late, however; the lights were gone and the night guard had glimpsed him. Shortly, more audio cued and he moved to it, the suit urging him. The night guard had, once again, averted his doom, though not for much longer, Springtrap hoped.
His eyes caught sight of something dark and metallic: a vent. Eager, he limped to it, clambered inside, but, once again, froze. He couldn't get himself to move. What did that mean? He couldn't figure it out, as the strange, surreal feeling pressed itself against his consciousness. His mind was slowed, though not much due to the numbness he had been feeling. White, watery light met him, and he saw a hand reaching eagerly for a door, to open it. It was his hand. "No," he bellowed, though it was nothing short of a gurgle. "I am Springtrap." He couldn't dare dwell on those nostalgic memories of the past. His control returned to him, but he backed out. The vent would be sealed by the night guard by now. His eyes travelled to the door out of his current room and headed out when a hello sounded.
Why could he not dwell on the memories? The reason was simple: He would only increase his suffering tenfold. If he considered whatever had occurred, he would force himself to a more realistic standpoint. It would lose him, and then what semblance of a mind he had kept for all these years would be shattered. His fingers slowly clenched, the pain of it a dull, feathery touch at the back of his awareness. The suit's eyelids lowered somewhat as he stepped out of the room, toward the night guard's location of "safety". A soft gasp escaped him as he moved to the window, pressing his hands against the transparent glass. He glared at the night guard, who quickly initiated a hello, and moved toward the exit, into the next hall. He was starting to feel like himself again, though his mind wasn't running a mile a minute, like usual. Instead, he focused on physical things rather than pressing his normal behavior upon himself. He figured it was a phase.
He lurked around the area of the office but never managed to enter to murder. He desperately struggled to get closer, anxious, as he could tell how close his time was to running out. His suit's ears twitched somewhat apprehensively, and he circled continuously around until the clock chimed. When it did, he strode after the night guard, who smirked at him, but Springtrap could see the sliver of fear in his eyes, which were wider than they should be for the look he was trying to achieve. The night guard turned his back on Springtrap as the corpse stopped, closing his eyes as the night guard left so that he would not have to experience the bright light of the outdoors. He turned his back on it, his smile maintaining itself in his face as always, and he limped toward the back room. With his mind on physicality, his limp was more apparent and heavy. Perhaps it was better to let his mind run quickly.
Maybe the consideration of what vengeance would taste like was the only thing that would ever keep him going. What if killing the night guard did not end up as sweet as he hoped? Springtrap's thoughts were returning to him when he came to a slow stop in the dark corner where he normally sat, staring at the far wall. He hoped that the strangers would not pry at his mangled body again. He knew now that daytime made him unresponsive. The darkness was his ultimate ally. It was what let him be himself more than anything else. How many times did he have to convince himself he was no longer the man of before? How many more times would he have to tell himself that he is Springtrap?
That was the real question, wasn't it?
Also posted on my DA drawing: [FNAF] I Lock Myself in My Room by XxWildLostSpiritsxX