A/N: Hello guys, welcome back. Thanks a lot for your support since the last update; it's so good to see you're still enjoying this story.

Now, one thing that I wanted to remind you is that I'm always open to suggestions and corrections. If you spot an error please let me know, even if you're not sure of it. As always, happy reading! Let me know what you think, and take care.

Chapter 49: November 19th, 1994. 5:31 AM.

Brandon pulls his last precious tape out of his body's cassette recorder, lays it on the desk next to the other two, and listens to his surroundings. He can't hear any more steps, but he knows that his murderer has returned.

'What are you waiting for?!' Bonnie hisses at him, 'He's going to destroy us both!'

The sixteen year old can't help but smile at his alter ego's words. 'I didn't know you cared so much about me.' he replies mentally, before picking up the three tapes, the red book and the key. He needs a moment to fit everything under his rigid arm, then leaves the cramped office with the softest steps he can muster.

A sigh of relief rolls from his mouth when he doesn't see anyone else in the west hallway. With his ears up in alert, an exhausted Brandon steps quietly through the forlorn corridor, his only eye a beacon in the darkness. He stops abruptly when he hears a door opening on the opposite side of the building: the killer is in the supply closet.

Taking his chance, Brandon tiptoes as best as he can in between the long dining tables, clutching his precious items tightly. However, having only one eye has damaged his vision more than he thinks. He clips a nearby chair with his broad legs, and the heavy piece of furniture produces a grave metallic noise as it wobbles for a moment. The boy closes his remaining eye almost painfully as he strains his ears, just to hear what he feared: a slamming door followed by quick, heavy footsteps.

Brandon dashes to the hole in the wall as fast as he can, but his physical damage has drained most of his strength. By the time he enters the empty room and sees a short series of bloody footprints, birthed from the dark pool of blood where Spring used to be, he can barely walk. With one laborious step after the other, he eventually reaches the safe in the corner of the large room and falls to his knees in front of it.

He can hear the footsteps of his killer outside the door becoming louder and slower. The boy lays the five items on the floor, grabs the key between his thick, clumsy fingers and carefully inserts it in the lock. Momentary relief washes over him when he twists the key and hears the lock turning. Brandon then opens the safe's thick metal door to reveal its empty interior, and picks up the first tape.

A cold, steely chuckle behind him turns his body into ice. "What do you think you're doing, Bonnie?" The creature's amused voice has the texture of sandpaper and possesses a strange metallic echo. Brandon rapidly stuffs the other two tapes and the red book inside the safe, slams the door shut, secures the lock and turns around.

He meets a nightmare turned into flesh and bone, steel and fur. Spring's previously lifeless grey eyes are now lit with pinpoints of white light, just like Jack's. However, the light coming from them couldn't be more different. Brandon has always felt Jack's eyes as a warm, pure and welcoming light. The glowing grey orbs of the figure in front of him are the exact opposite: they irradiate the unbridled hatred and psychopathy of the soul behind them.

Walther's dried blood has turned Spring's cheery golden fur into a dirty brown. Particles of flesh and cartilage dot the suit's exterior, and Brandon can see tendons and muscle coiled around the suit's joints. A sickening squelching accompanies the mechanical clanking of springs and crossbeams as the creature approaches him; its bloodseal glows a dim red for a moment.

"How does it feel?" asks Brandon flatly. "How does it feel to live inside a machine? You always told us that it was wonderful, that this life was your gift to us. Is it that good, Walther?"

The murderer stays silent for a moment, before replying with exaggerated joy "Absolutely! I feel… fantastic."

Brandon shakes his head slowly. "You're a terrible liar."

"And you are an ungrateful, snotty brat who never grew up." the creature spits out in response. "But that can be fixed." He stabs a finger between the suit's belly and hip, and slowly pulls down the suit's midsection. Pieces of skin and gut drop to the ground, exposing the clothes around the cadaver's waist.

Although he knows the answer, Brandon asks calmly: "What are you doing, Walther?" He's completely at ease, having completed his last assignment and accepted his fate.

"Don't call me like that." growls the killer in irritation, rummaging through the mess of flesh, metal and dried blood between the suit and his body.

"What's your name, then?" Brandon's tired voice almost sounds amused, completely indifferent to the gory spectacle in front of him. After all, he was no stranger to blood. "Spring? Spring Bonnie? How about something more descriptive." He smiles at the subtle pun of his next idea: "Springtrap?" The creature's eyes seem to light up for a moment, and Brandon takes it as a sign of acceptance. "Springtrap it is."

The reanimated murderer huffs in slight amusement as he takes hold of something in his pocket. "I think you'll shut your mouth soon enough." Holding his midsection down with one hand, he pulls out the folded piece of paper with the other. He then releases his suit's middle, and the piece of furred metal snaps back into place. "Do you know what this is?" he asks triumphantly, shaking some blood and skin off the page as he holds it with one hand.

A silent Brandon nods slowly, but the killer still shows off the dirty bloodseal to him, smiling with crimson-tainted teeth. "Here's what we will do. You'll give me that key, and I won't erase you. Simple as that."

Silence reigns over the room for a few seconds. The boy considers standing up and ripping the page from the murderer's metal hand, only to find that his legs won't respond. As it is, Brandon can barely keep himself awake with the sustained damage and his body's limited energy. "And what do I win?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

"Your existence. You'll live on as a Shadow, or your old mind will rot away, but you'll still exist." The murderer's voice sounds surprisingly calm, almost friendly, like a parent trying to convince his stubborn child to take the right decision. As much as he despises Brandon, he doesn't want to erase him; he'd rather see what will become of him when his hate and anger finally consume what's left of his humanity.

"There's not much you can do for your friends." continues the creature in a condescending tone, "And there's no way to go to a better place without erasing your friend Bucky. Why would you end your existence, everything that you are, for a lost cause?"

"Brandon, give him the key." says a familiar male voice in the middle of the room. The phantoms of Ferny, Sarah and Sean look at the one-eyed figure with expectation. "Think about yourself." continues Fer.

"But what about you?" asks Brandon weakly, "He can erase you at any time."

"Don't worry about us." replies Sarah gently, "Maybe there's hope for us, even as Shadows! Or someone might find a way to get you back to normal if you lose your mind! Or…"

A sad smile appears on Brandon's broken face. "You know that's not true. There won't be any hope for any of us as long as he has the book."

"And you?!" shouts the girl. "There won't be any hope for you if you're erased!"

The teen sighs and removes the key from the lock. He holds the small object in his hand, inspecting it with a far-away gaze. "I know."

"Don, listen to me." Sean takes some silent steps to his brother as he takes the key between his fingers. "I need you! We all need you! Please, don't leave us alone." A soft sob interrupts Sean's words. "I can't see Mom and Dad again without you. I can't rest knowing that there's nothing left of you." He lowers his head and stares at his brother with broken eyes. "Please… don't do this."

Brandon takes the smaller end of the key in his other hand. "I'm sorry, brother. When you get there, tell Mom and Dad that I love them with all I am." And with a quick twist, he snaps the key in two.

"You idiot!" The murderer dashes to Brandon, grabs him by his neck with his free hand and slams his head against the floor. "You've doomed your friends! No one can open that safe without a key!"

"Get your hands off him, you freak!" growls a furious Sean, running at the springlock suit to push him away from his brother. However, his ghostly body simply goes through the creature like water through a net. The murderer can't keep himself from chuckling as a confused Sean tries to understand what happened, staring at his translucent hand in complete bewilderment. Sarah and Ferny can only stare at the spectacle with anger and helplessness in their eyes, realizing there's nothing to do.

The former man happily puts all his weight on Brandon's head, and the boy groans in pain as he feels his head being crushed. "N-No…" he wheezes out, "Someone… will come… and save them. S-Someone will open this safe and find the book."

"But no one will save you." The murderer finally releases Brandon and the boy rolls on his back, staring up at his killer just in time to see him rip the page in two. His flickering eye follows the halves of paper as they flutter through the air and land softly next to his body.

"NO!" All three friends cry out in unison, filling the room with their ghostly lament. Brandon's lonely eye dims down gradually, and his breaths become slower and shallower as his friends kneel to surround his body. An amused killer takes some steps back, enjoying the tragic spectacle with a horrendous, bloody smile. He's too engrossed to wonder why the boy is not instantly erased like the Toys.

Sarah's eyes dim down in sadness, giving the impression of tears on the phantom's orbs. Whimpering softly, she tries to gently caress Brandon's arm, despite knowing it's impossible. "You d-doofus…" she cries softly, Why? W-Why did you…"

The boy on the floor smiles, and whispers meekly "F-Friends… till the end, right?"

Heartbroken, Sarah tries to force out some gentle words, only for these to drown in her throat. The girl closes her eyes and lowers her head, crying inconsolably next to her friend.

Ferny is simply shocked. His agile mind can't process the input from his senses, nor grasp the idea that his best friend is fading away, disappearing in front of his eyes. Despite his best effort to articulate any kind of sensible farewell, he can only produce incoherent stutters and sobs as Brandon fights against his closing eye. Finally, he begs in a broken voice "D-Don't fall asleep… don't f-fall asleep… don't fall asleep… don't… f-fall…" But eventually, he too succumbs to his crying.

Sean has his hand on his little brother's forehead, trying to comfort him. "I'm sorry, private." he whispers gently as Brandon turns his half-lidded eye to him. "I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry…" The older brother covers his eyes, crying above his sibling's body. "I love you Don." he wails out, "I can't g-go on without you. I c-can't… I just can't…"

Brandon finally closes his eye, and with his last ounce of strength, says gently "You can… brother…" His head lolls down to the side, and he whispers with a final breath: "I'll… stay… here…"

"What?" moans Sean, uncovering his eyes. "What d-do you mean?" He looks down at his brother's face: one eye is closed, the other destroyed by Walther's axe. His mouth hangs open ever so slightly, as if deeply asleep, and the corners are curved up lightly in a peaceful smile. "Brandon?" Sean asks, hoping against hope for an answer. "D-Don?" A crushing silence answers his plea. "P-Please… please… don't leave me, little brother. Don't leave us… Don't go… Don't go!" His words drown as he weeps next to his brother's inert body, shaking his head in denial.

Monstrous phantoms that used to be happy, careless children stay together for long minutes, grieving next to the body that houses Brandon's soul. Gold-tinted images of their friend torment and comfort their hearts; painfully sweet memories that might as well have been dreams.

Eventually, an alarm-clock beeps in the distance, announcing that it's 6 am. The first rays of pale sunlight soon sneak into the abandoned room, and the aching phantoms look at each other in confusion as their already-translucent forms thin out gradually, like a picture being erased by the light.

"What's going on?" murmurs Sarah, her voice low and weak by her relentless crying.

"Ghosts can only exist at night." replies the creature nonchalantly, "It seems like you're in for a long nap."

The devastated trio begins to fade away in earnest, washed away by the light. Their features blur out until they're little more than hazy grey silhouettes with white eyes. An indistinguishable Sean then gets on his feet, and glares at the killer with a hate that's only made stronger by his grief. "You'll pay for this!" he shouts with a distant voice, as if he was at the other side of the building. "Sooner or later, you'll burn in hell!"

With a stoic expression, the monster answers coolly "We'll see about that."

In the next blink of an eye, the last trace of the phantom's presence disappears completely. The room that housed five souls minutes ago is now occupied only by Brandon's body and his killer.

Content, the murderous creature looks at the tranquil smile etched across the body's face. "What are you smiling about, brat?" he mocks triumphantly, "Your friends no longer have a body, and after I'm finished with Bucky they won't have a mind either. That last guard can't protect him against me. This placed is closed down, soon you'll be forgotten, your stupid tapes will never be heard by anyone, and if someone does hear them, what difference does it make? Everything that you were: body, mind and soul, has been erased. All that effort and you still didn't get a happy ending. I win, you lose, end of the story."

The monster walks up to the pool of dried blood in the middle of the room, and grins when he looks at it. It's in this moment when Walther surrenders his old identity. His smile only widens when he realizes that 'Springtrap' is growing on him. Curious, he lifts his hand in front of his new face, and clenches his fist. The crunching of bones and sinew blends with the hydraulic whirring, creating a morbid yet enticing new sound. He takes it as his baptism of blood.

"Mike and Jack Schmidt" Springtrap murmurs lazily, looking at the door through the hole in the wall, "Jack Schmidt… oh, I will love to kill you again."

Suddenly, as if a switch had been turned off, the killer feels his strength leaving his new body. Perplexed, he stumbles over to the nearest wall, struggling to put one feet in front of the other. Why is this happening? he ponders, slightly alarmed. I don't need a battery like them. I've been controlling this body with my seal since the start. His eyes widen in realization, then narrow in frustration as he leans a hand on the wall. I can only control the suit for a limited time; the same time when they were taken over.

Springtrap bends over as he hopelessly tries to keep himself on two feet. However, he soon falls into sitting position against the wall. The creature's body twitches painfully for a few seconds, before shutting off completely. However, behind the seemingly dead eyes of the suit, the killer remains painfully conscious. Now, it is him who's been paralyzed.

It's midmorning when Erik walks up to the building's front door, accompanied by another burly man. Making sure that no one was seeing them, the former manager quickly unlocks the front door and steps inside, only to almost faint in shock at the sight in front of him.

The broken bodies of Sean, Ferny and Sarah lie pretty close together in the middle of the dining area, flanked by fragments of metal, loose animatronic parts and a broken dinner chair. The wall opposite to the show stage wears a heavy dent from Brandon's axe strike. Tiny drops of blood scattered on some tiles evidence Walther's wounded back, and a blanket of fine white dust covers the floor in front of the torn wall of the hidden room.

"What the hell happened here?!" yells Erik in astonishment. He can't feel angry or guilty at the destruction of property that's no longer his responsibility.

"Beats me." replies Boris. "But you know that me and the boys will leave this place clean. No one will suspect anything. No bodies this time, right?"

The other man doesn't dare to give an answer as he approaches the hidden room. Soon enough, the poignant coppery smell of drying blood welcomes both men, who stare at the contents of the room in surprise, particularly the human body trapped inside the rabbit springlock suit.

"Who's that?" asks Boris flatly.

Even though Walther's covered body is barely recognizable, Erik doesn't hesitate of his identity. "Someone that I was hoping never to see again." he answers curtly. "Can you get rid of him?"

A confident smile appears on Boris' broad face. "You know me. For the right price, I can do anything."

Erik frowns. He's not sure if he can afford said removal and disposal without the franchise's money.

Seeing a potential client doubt, Boris adds immediately "But we can hide him right here."

"What do you mean?"

A furious Springtrap can only hear the two men talk about him as he fantasizes multiple ways to kill them and leave the building. However, despite his efforts, he can't move his fingers, let alone get rid of these unwanted visitors.

"We will rebuild that wall, make it a bit thicker, and no one will ever find him." Boris taps the remainder of the drywall to emphasize his answer. "As easy and cheap as it sounds."

NO! The killer shrieks, but no sound leaves his body. Don't you dare trap me in here with nothing to do! He once again tries to stand up with no result.

Drumming his fingers impatiently, Erik ponders for a few seconds but sees no further option. Any evidence, any trace that might lead to his involvement in hiding the franchise's crimes has to be erased. He longs for a cigarette as he mutters "Sounds good."

"What will we do with the rest?" continues the 'cleaner'.

"Those papers in that cardboard box…" The former manager turns to the object in question. "We're burning them."

"And the animatronics?"

"We could sell them to collectors."

Boris' eyebrows rise in surprise. "There are people who'd pay for these things?!"

A small smile crosses Erik's face. "You'd be surprised what people are willing to pay for nowadays. We're charging extra for Bonnie, he's in the best condition." The man walks up the body in question and inspects its features. "You can almost say that the missing eye adds personality. Funny, it's almost like he's smiling. I've never seen him do that…"

The safe, housing Brandon's tapes and the red book, steals the former manager's attention. He stares at the black metal box with curiosity, trying to remember how the thing got there in the first place.

"I guess you'll sell that as well." Boris asks, eyeing the safe with crossed arms.

Erik shakes his head. "I think it's empty. But if there's something in there it'll be evidence."

"Then we'll get rid of it?"

For a few seconds, the former manager only stares at the black box. That would certainly be the safest option. But something in his mind disagrees, ordering him to take a risk if he won't take responsibility.

"No." Erik says matter-of-factly,"There's someone who needs this. I'm sure that it's empty, but if it's not, she deserves to know."

Eighteen hours later, in the cold and quiet early morning, a restless figure parades around its tomb restlessly. The creature stops its aimless wandering momentarily and stares at its surroundings.

Admittedly, the room could be smaller. He had enough space to walk rather comfortably, if it weren't for the ground remnants of his old body in his joints. But without the box of papers, Brandon's body, the arcade machines and the safe, the dark rectangular space felt strangely lonely. They were all taken away by Boris and his companions in the early afternoon, before sealing him in here. He chuckled at the fact that any decoration, even those hideous objects, was better than the barren chamber he was in.

Springtrap then walks up to the place in the wall where there used to be an opening, feeling the rough plaster with his fingers of metal and fake yellow fur. From past experience, he already knows that it's pointless to try and smash his way through. He was trapped, in more ways than one.

Distant, muffled voices call his attention, and the murderer leans his head against the wall. The faint hope of salvation wells inside him momentarily, before crumbling when he recognizes those voices. They're just the phantoms of Sean, Ferny and Sarah, having an indistinguishable conversation that nevertheless reeked of despair and hopelessness.

I guess I'll just have to wait. Springtrap turns to the far wall where the arcades used to be, sits on the floor and leans his back against it. Without any form of clock, he realizes that it's worth having some kind of timekeeping system. The bored creature then lifts his hand to the wall lazily, and using a sharp metal wire sticking out of his finger, carves a straight vertical line.

"Night one." he whispers to himself, "Let's see how long it takes to get out of here."