Springtrap – Part V
Night five started out like any other night. It was dark when Springtrap awoke, as usual. He heard the door shut from the night guard's movement inside and stood, shaking himself a little bit. He ignored the rush of pain that came to pass, focusing on the kill. His new resolve made it even easier to ignore the pain, now, though he thought his exhilaration may be causing more twitchiness in the suit. Despite this, he was rapidly approaching the room of the night guard. Predatory instinct had fallen upon him, combining with all other things that energized him each night. He lived and breathed the will to murder, this night. His mind still wandered throughout all of it, however.
He was starting to admit what had really happened. The Marionette's appearance had confirmed that at least half his memory was still intact. He still remembered what that Marionette used to look like. He knew he had killed those children. It was all starting to crash down over his ears. If he didn't kill this night guard soon… He refused to think about that conclusion, at least. The memories were present of what he had once been, and he longed for those days. The longing was overpowering, and it took the bloodlust to push through it, now. He had to keep his focus on what he would do when he got his hands on that night guard. All thoughts had to lead back to that.
Each room he moved into had a camera peering at him, and he would look right back. When the audio sounded, the suit would make him move, but he was confident and he was certain. He clenched his fists, a bitter, very low laugh escaping him. It was hardly identifiable, but pleasure came with it. Being able to laugh as he had just done felt wonderful, and he laughed more as he moved from place to place. He could almost sense the nervousness of the night guard, imagine the sweat starting to build up on his face. Springtrap anticipated the hour when he would force that fool to become his companion in Fazbear's Fright! How wonderful it would be, no longer to be alone in this dastardly place!
The excitement of that also fueled him. He would've cried in his mixture of emotions if he could've. For once, the thrill of it made him full of hope… more so than before. Eagerly, he moved this way and that, listening to the sounds of alarms when the malfunctioning ventilation went out of whack. "Help me… Help," he breathed, still finding himself full of motivation to laugh. He repeated these phrases. He wanted the night guard to understand that if he died, he would only be helping Springtrap, rather than being a useless ragdoll when he went limp. If the night guard died, Springtrap would be able to stuff him into a suit and, with the help of the Marionette, bring him back to life. The Marionette would certainly help him. That had to be the reason why he was kept here!
Springtrap thought about talking to the night guard when he was trapped in his eternal prison. Now, what would that be like? Springtrap hoped he'd be able to understand the fellow; he hardly understood himself just by listening. No, the night guard would be able to understand him by gestures, if anything. Shaking off the doubts, Springtrap continued his pursuit. This was supposed to be a night of joy! Fears had no place, this night, for him, specifically. Springtrap continued to utter the sounds that he could, moving this way and that, crawling through vents. As usual, the vents were very difficult to utilize, but he was getting somewhere, and the night guard was having more and more difficulty keeping everything in check. Oftentimes, the guard had to reboot all systems, and Springtrap would sense that time gap. He began to count the seconds it took for each rebooting. Such knowledge could come in handy at some point.
The hallways spanned before him, and, finally, he found himself reaching the window. He stood before it, his grin fastened upon his face as he peered in at the human being, who looked at him in horror. "Your time… comes…" Springtrap laughed, moving toward another room when the night guard sounded the audio. Pain flashed up his spine, reaching his head, and he shuddered with it. His momentary pause was not detrimental, however; he knew he would win this night. He knew that he would be able to reach the night guard. There was a certainty to his movements. Even his limp didn't detract the confidence in his step. He peered around the door, at the night guard, and caught a glimpse of the monitor: two a.m. Plenty of time, and he was already getting extraordinarily close. The night guard yelped, quickly making the audio sound in the adjacent room, causing Springtrap to make his way into it.
His breathing quickened. He could sense that it was drawing closer. Closer, and closer, and closer. The time was becoming optimal. The night guard was going to be dead. He was going to die. Springtrap was going to kill him. Springtrap was going to stuff him into a suit just like he had for those children. The night guard was going to wake up just like those children did. This time, though, he wasn't going to be like the children. No, he was going to be Springtrap's friend. He wasn't going to be a spirit to imprison him in a new kind of hell. No. No. No. Perhaps all of this was just the product of his will to convince himself the story would not repeat itself against him. He knew how the tale had been meant to end, before. He knew that it was liable to repeat itself in its own ways. Still, somehow, he had an extreme urge to murder this fellow. An incredible urge to acquire a companion.
To play the game again.
Maybe that was all Springtrap thought it to be: a game. Or maybe he really was just as lonely as he felt he was. Maybe his loneliness had carried on from a life before the one he now possessed. Or maybe he was just as mentally-ill as everyone had once told him. That he deserved the electric chair. Eyes. All of those eyes. Focused on him, and nothing else. Just him. Purple shirt; reminded him of his uniform. Bright, pale light of dawn. Still, those eyes. Cameras and humans, they were all the same. Always keeping an eye on him, no matter what he did. It would never stop. Never. But there was incentive for him to still try to kill this night guard. There was still a reason.
Misery loves company.
A desperation to no longer suffer alone protected the conclusion that he would never stop being watched. He would never stop being studied, but the presence of a new fellow to keep him company was the thing he longed for. Even those filthy animatronics, stuffed with children to allow the notice of others, had learned what it was like to be watched at all times. Singing those same stupid songs in your head. Always having a presence of denial; you can't possibly be insane. Everyone is always lying, always deceiving you, every step of the way. Everyone constantly works to fool you for their own benefit. Laughter bubbled up in Springtrap's chest. The win was going to be delicious for a hungry soul.
Springtrap was at the exit. He leaned around the bend, the red lights flashing. Four in the morning. Still two hours, and he was already here. He laughed again and the night guard stared at him, his eyes growing dark with the dawn of realization that he would not be able to make audio sound before Springtrap seized him. Springtrap allowed himself to maintain complete silence, just letting the knowledge sink in and force a crushing sensation upon the heart of the fool. Comfort met Springtrap at seeing another being brought down the same way he had been. He remembered whenever the suit began constricting him. The same feeling had cascaded on his shoulders; that there was no way to stop his imminent destruction. The night guard looked tempted to turn, but Springtrap didn't let him, this time.
The spring-coiled suit moved forward at his command and his hands twitched rapidly in his excitement. He could taste the victory already as he screamed, grabbing hold of the night guard, who writhed helplessly against his grip. "Help… me…" he whispered, dragging the night guard after him. The night guard would not stop trying to escape his fingers, which were clenched tightly on the man's arm. Springtrap could see the empty Freddy suit ahead, and the night guard began to scream in terror. Springtrap dragged both of them back into the office, setting the suit down. "Help me," he repeated, holding the man, who had tears streaming down his face. A moment of hesitation arrived for Springtrap, but he shook his head. There was no place for it.
Springtrap destroyed every bit of pity for the man as he began to force him into the suit. This was what he had wanted all of these five nights, and he would make himself savor every gory moment if he had to. He kept speaking to the man, even though he knew he likely didn't understand. He despised his locked jaw, wishing that he would be able to move it to allow him room to make legitimate words. Blood caked his hands, dark in the lighting. The man struggled once he was inside the suit, and Springtrap watched, remembering whenever he was constricted vividly as the same happened for the man. The man trembled, falling to the ground, his body jerking as he tried to escape. And then… nothing. The man fell still within the suit, and Springtrap waited, holding his breath… hoping.
"Marionette… awake him," he whispered. "Awaken him, Marionette…" He stared at the suited night guard, praying for his soul to be trapped within the suit and his body. Just like Springtrap. Cold dread trickled into Springtrap's soul, and icy fingers of emotional suffering clenched around his chest, tightening it.
There was no movement from the suit.
Six a.m. arrived.
Also posted on my DA (XxWildLostSpirits): [FNAF] Blood of the Fools