Springtrap - Part IV
Pale light. Stone-gray walls. A wooden chair garnished with shackles and clamps. A helmet contraption extending from the top, a long cord keeping it filled with energy. The electric chair. It filled him with fear just at the sight of it. His body trembled uncontrollably, every extinct screaming at him to run; to survive. He couldn't. He felt rooted to the spot, as if his feet were already chained to the ground. Tears –yes, real tears!- sprang from his eyes and spilled onto his cheeks. He felt a rough sense of anger, snapping at himself in rebuke for the crying. He was not a child! Still, he turned his eyes away, his emotions overwhelming him. The reasons for the punishment were supposed to be obvious, but they eluded him like grains in the sand. He didn't understand why, but every single time he pushed to remember, it grew fuzzy, and his vision blurred.
Then he noticed the difference in himself. He didn't feel as though he was succumbing to a constant pressure; he felt free and alive. He closed his eyes, the fears leaving him as he began to feel comfort in his fluid motions and lack of pain. He turned and began to walk away from the electric chair, finally able to move. He would not let it take him, any longer. Then came the fear of going back. Back to the suit and the framework pressing against his bones and stabbing into his flesh, forcing a shock of pain to pass through him every time he made a twitch. He shook his head and looked down at his hands, gazing at the soft self he had been. He wore a purple shirt with a security badge pinned against his chest. Dark pants contrasted to the lighter color, and his black shoes matched them. Pleasure at seeing his former self passed through him, but his dream world reverted to nightmare as he felt panic close his throat in the dark room he had just entered.
He stared in horror at the pale silhouettes that stared at them, their white eyes gleaming. He recognized each and every one of them, and he took a step back, ready to bolt, but pain slashed its way up through his leg. He looked down at himself, a shiver passing through him when he saw his leg had been turned into that of the suit. He blinked, and soon found himself within it. "No…" he whispered, hearing his own smooth voice that he missed so much. He knew what was coming next. A nervous chuckle escaped him as he stared at the spirits that were glaring down upon him. "No…" he repeated desperately, but it was no use.
The pain jerked Springtrap awake, and when he opened his eyes he found himself jerking about uncontrollably. After a few moments, he managed to get a hold of the suit and fix the error, soon returning to his original position, seated on the ground. His gasping was heavier, trying to recover from the nightmares of his fears. He closed his eyes, staring at the lids again and going completely still. He listened. Would the night guard arrive, this night? He was surprised that the human had not left when he had the chance. Then again, he recalled doing the same thing, once, a long, long time ago. The memories were still feverish and vague, but he knew that was what he had done. A yearning filled him for his old self. The nightmares had sparked it, and he struggled to flush it down. It took all too long, perhaps the entire day, to fix his mindset. He couldn't dwell on them. He couldn't long for these luxuries. This hell was his home! He needed to think that was the case, or else he would forever feel trapped!
What a fool he was! Once more, he'd be unable to shake off the nostalgic feelings completely. The last night had been like this, and he had hated it when it ended. It had kept him from killing the night guard, which was the whole goal of his being. Still, he couldn't help but thinking of how lucky he had been, back then. He had ruined it all by murdering… what he had been thinking was no longer evident to him. The many years had a wear and tear on his mind. Sometimes, the lack of memories was not just him protecting himself. Springtrap felt a compression on his chest and quickly stood, despite the harm it imposed upon him. It felt better than a collapsing of what remained of his chest. The metal beams still managed to crush him further, from time to time. He was constantly decaying, so staying still wasn't always an option; if he didn't move for too long, the pressure could become too much and tear him up further. Still, there was a lingering wonder as to whether or not it would be better.
Springtrap couldn't afford to take the risk. This was his own self; he was concerned about possibly hurting himself even further than the initial damage. Thinking of that, his mind wandered as to whether or not he'd let it happen to a companion. If he managed to bring down the night guard and pull his spirit into a suit, as his had been, would he allow his companion to take the fall? Maybe. He couldn't be certain without a legitimate accompaniment. Just seeing the night guard wasn't enough. Would the night guard even want to communicate with him? He didn't seem eager at the moment, but maybe, when the terror was gone and he was on the same level, he would become too desperate than to avoid it. This risk Springtrap could take. It could be detrimental in its own way, but he was determined. It kept him going, and that was all that mattered. A feeling of purpose was rejuvenating him each night.
It was the fourth night, tonight. Only one more night before this night guard was released, after this one. Springtrap was quickly running out of chances to kill him, and it made him nervous. He heard the sound of a door opening and closing and knew instantly that the night guard was heading for his swivel seat, preparing for the six hours that he would be kept cooped up in that small room. Springtrap felt a release as midnight passed over him and he stood for a moment, letting himself stay where he was. After a little while, he made his way out of the room, distracted by a hello. Still, he was making progress, as usual. His physicality was no longer his main focus, he noticed. The limp didn't bother him so much, and the pain was merely a dull, understated ache.
Springtrap began to wonder about the spirits. They had been set free, hadn't they? But sometimes he felt as though they still roamed the halls, lurking among the frightening heads and arcades of the contraptions they had been concealed in. As he moved throughout the Horror Attraction, he considered whether or not they were still existent in this world. What about the Marionette? Was it still around? He shuddered when he thought of it. It was the first child to die, not even by his own hand, but it had wanted vengeance. Vengeance for things that made Springtrap want to break down and weep. Quickly, he turned his thoughts away from the Marionette, but he felt a lurking presence over his shoulder. Twisting around shot a short spasm through him, but it ended up being completely useless; there was nothing there. Torn between relief and irritation, Springtrap continued to limp onward laboriously, his eyes focusing on the path ahead.
Another hello caught him, and he turned around and walked to the previous room. He waited there, staring up at the camera, and heard another sound in the room before his. He entered it and stared in shock at the glimpse of a shadow as it appeared and dissipated again. He stood there, turning his head slowly from left to right, divine curiosity filling every fiber of his being. What had it been? He turned his back on it, but he was determined to keep his eye out for the shadows that were trying to reach out to him. Maybe he did have company, after all. He began a slow and painful trek toward the night guard's location, struggling to push past the hellos and lurk this way and that. The exit sign beamed at him, but he didn't let his hopes soar. He had been to this area many times with failures haunting his heart, or what remained of it. In fact, he always seemed to fail. The night guard was just too quick. He shook off the pessimism, a passionate flame rekindling in his spirit as he slowly approached, biding his time. Something touched his spine, and he whipped around, only to find: Nothing. Again.
He hesitated, not sure what he was supposed to do with himself. Should he go looking for the shadowy spirit, or continue on his quest to kill the night guard? The shadowy spirit could wait. The night guard was his true objective, and he wouldn't be around for much longer. Shifting his gears, Springtrap resumed his search for the night guard, once more pleasuring in the idea of stuffing him into a suit so that he would finally have the company he longed for. "Leave me alone," he whispered for what seemed like the trillionth time when another shadowy touch became apparent to his shoulder. "I will kill him and see you, later." He continued his travel, focusing, his eyes trained on the path ahead.
The sound of wind came into Springtrap's hearing when he stood in the arcade room. Wind? That couldn't be right; wind wasn't around in the stuffy complex! He looked around himself, whipping to and fro, a prickle of cold fear travelling up his spine. He felt as though he was being watched, and not in the same way as whenever the cameras recorded his moves. No, this feeling was terrifying and dark, and it plagued his mind and soul. Finally, his eyes landed on a dark shape. "Hello?" he rasped, though, once again, it lacked intelligibility. He made a slow step toward it on his good leg, though, just like in his dream, every part of him told him he should leave immediately, the eyelids of the suit wheeled back, making his eyes wide.
The figure turned around, taking its time, and, in horror, Springtrap recognized the painted, smiling face of the Marionette. "You…" he rasped, backing away again and stumbling into an arcade game. He almost fell, barely managing to catch himself on the edges, hardly taking notice of the Foxy head that was staring at him, painted on the sides and front of the machine. The Marionette made no comment, merely gazed at him with that placid, emotionless look on its face. It was meant to look cheerful, but, with dark lines running across its face from its time at the Horror Attraction, Springtrap found himself deeply disturbed. His past with this puppet was nothing but awful, and so he was momentarily silent, terrified by the appearance of another spirit. He righted himself, his jaws gaping in the shock of seeing him. Springtrap whispered, "Why are we here? Why are we both trapped?"
The Marionette's silence frustrated him. "Why don't you let me free?" Springtrap roared, though it came out as a strange, mechanical scree. Springtrap advanced on him, clenching his hand into a fist, his eyes narrowing with his anger. "Let me leave this place! I don't belong here!" The Marionette's long tendrils of fingers curled on one hand before lifting upward, his elbow bending. He turned his head slightly as though looking at it, but Springtrap couldn't identify whether or not he was actually scanning his strange hand. Springtrap stared at him, his eternal grin masking the emotional torment he was facing. His anger plummeted into grief, and his eyes travelled down to the ground. "You don't belong here, either," he gurgled, turning away. The words sounded so smooth and perfect in his mind, unrivaled by the voice he possessed now. He felt a shadowy presence at his back, a warm glow, before it disappeared. Whether or not the Marionette had left, Springtrap could not be certain.
All he knew was that it had devastated him to even catch a glimpse of the Marionette.
Time was passing by. He was running out of it the longer he spent in this room. Slowly, he managed to force himself to make his way through the building, back toward the laughing exit sign. The process was even more excruciatingly slow, now that the Marionette had gone from his presence. Springtrap could still feel the grief creating a hollow hole in his heart. Neither of them had deserved the torment that had drawn them to such measures. Springtrap remembered the face of the Marionette as he had once been, as a child. Suddenly, vigor filled him. He would avenge them both. Even though he had considered the Marionette as his enemy before, now he realized that the Marionette was not as he had thought. They were both trapped. They had both been imprisoned by darkness. Springtrap wasn't surprised when the night slipped away and the clock chimed six. When the night guard left, Springtrap only watched, determination to fill the hole beginning to rise with each passing moment. That night guard would die this next night!
Also posted on the deviation: [FNAF] Wounds by XxWildLostSpiritsxX