It was quiet. Too quiet. Quiet enough that Jeremy could audibly hear the faint thumping of his heart and soft breathing. The type of quiet that could drive a man insane. The quietness engulfed everything in the space, making the room seem much larger than it probably was.
Jeremy was walking down a seemingly endless corridor of infinite darkness. Nothing to see on the walls, and nothing to do- he could only keep wandering rhythmically. He had no specific destination in mind, but he couldn't stop proceeding. Just keep walking, walking forever; a naked being in a vast abyss.
Suddenly the corridor was swallowed by a sea of fire. Jeremy immediately stopped in his tracks and shielded his eyes from being burned. However, the fire was not hot in the slightest; in fact, it was pleasantly warm, even as it swallowed him whole with the surrounding area. The fire ferociously devoured the black corridor, biting and ripping its fabricated flesh to reveal a new scenery.
Jeremy was now outside in a lower-class suburban neighborhood- the ghetto. The night air was pleasantly lukewarm and the atmosphere was relatively silent with the exception of the busy highway in the distance. A dog was senselessly barking at the night sky somewhere down the street in someone's backyard. Almost every barred window was dark, encasing people in their cocoons of deep and peaceful slumber. Jeremy clearly remembered this play, but couldn't think of why he was here.
Looking down, Jeremy noticed he was now wearing baggy suburban fashion of a loose T-shirt and jean shorts. He couldn't feel the familiar tickle of his long hair anymore- it was a few centimeters from a buzzcut now. Nothing about him looked or felt right. Yet he was certainly himself but simultaneously not; it was as if he was masquerading in someone else's skin.
"Stop and put your hands where I can see them!"
The command sliced through Jeremy's thoughts and brought him back to his surroundings. He recognized that assertive voice anywhere- it was his own. Instinctively, he turned around to look at who was yelling at him.
It was a mirror copy of him advancing on him. The other Jeremy was wearing a standard police uniform, hair tied back, and a gun firmly in his hands. This Jeremy had come out from the space between two houses, obviously having been running the whole way. Yes, it was almost an exact replica of himself, like looking into a mirror.
But something was not right. This Jeremy's face was distorted beyond natural human capabilities. Its face was a pale white with pitch black eyes and red cheeks. Its mouth was curved much too far up into a sickening grin. There was some kind of dark liquid pouring out of the eye sockets.
Jeremy's heart began to pound in his chest. He needed to get out of there, but his legs refused to budge and stayed cemented to the pavement. All he could do is stay frozen in his fear in front of the other Jeremy. The last thing he managed to do was squeeze his eyes shut as the thing fired its gun and pierced him several times in the chest.
Suddenly the whole world was shattered by the sound of the gun and Jeremy woke up in a cold sweat. He frantically clutched his chest as it raised and lowered in a panic, then looking around at his surroundings.
He was in his own bedroom that was littered with dirty clothes and other junk, sitting in his own bed which had its cover discarded on the floor. There was the sound of steady morning traffic outside his window. The clock on the dresser read 7:26.
Jeremy wiped his forehead and ran his fingers through his tangled hair. He hadn't had such a vivid nightmare in years. It felt way too real to be just a dream; he could still feel the bullets forcibly plunging into his chest.
But it was too early in the morning to dwell on it too much in depth. Jeremy yanked up his blanket from the floor and draped it back over himself, returning to sleep within minutes.
Chica stood to her feet and roughly bashed the stone wall his her stub, ignoring the stinging pain. Bonnie flinched at the sudden action, but made no effort to do anything about it. They just covered their ears to block out the loud noises. Foxy was too immersed in his own thoughts to even turn his head in the general direction. The short girl's blood was on fire as she looked up at the eldest man.
"If you had just hired some more bodyguards instead of keeping to your conceited foreign ass, maybe we wouldn't even be here!" Chica barked.
"Oh, so it's my fault?!" Freddy screamed back, "You can't blame me for this. They overpowered us, what could I do? You can't point fingers at people because you feel sorry for yourself." He continued harshly in Italian, something Chica absolutely hated when he did that.
"Why don't ya speak some damn English, ya bitch ass? And yeah I am pointing fingers because you had enough power to build up our men more, but noooo we didn't need more workers. This place was only a hideout for us."
"Look, screaming at me like a demon will not help get us out. We can still get out, we just need to think of a plan. This is not so bad as it seems."
Chica gritted her teeth and lashed out forward. "Not so bad? Not so bad?! Your prissy ass only got some cuts and bruises when they got a hold of you!"
She stepped right in front of Freddy and waved her arms up in his face. "You fuckin' see this, old man? I don't have any fuckin' fingers or hands to point right now! I don't think ya know what it's like to have 'em tie you down as chop off your hands. Don't even begin to tell me about 'not so bad' right now."
Freddy's top had finally blown. "I see your damn stubs!" he roared, "And you know why you have them, you idiot? You couldn't keep your mouth shut and just had to spit in the girl's face. That mouth of your's only leads to trouble for everybody else; they should have sewed it shut instead of making you lose your hands. At least it would make it easier for the rest of us to deal with this hell, you filthy street rat!"
Freddy's volume had raised to the top of his lungs by the end of his mini rant. He hadn't felt this angry in forever; like there was a jug of gasoline in his blood and someone just lit a match. Bonnie was firmly covering their ears and hiding their face in their knees, and Foxy had turned his head back to look at Freddy with dead eyes.
Chica froze in place and tears began welling up in her eyes, running down her freckled face. "I... didn't mean…" she muttered. She looked down at her arms that ended at her bandaged chubby wrists. More tears made her way out of her eyes.
Freddy's expression softened when he realized what he had done. Chica never cried. Even when she was thrown back in the basement with her freshly-amputated hands, she didn't shed a tear.
Freddy tried to comfort Chica by reaching out to her. "Mio caro," he said softly, "I did not mean it like that."
Chica retracted from Freddy's touched and leaned against the wall, sobbing into one of her arms. It took her thirty seconds before letting out a hysterical laugh between her tears. "W-We're never gettin' out of here… just please kill me already," she croaked, "What do the want with us? Is this a game to those sick bastards? I should've just stayed on the streets…"
Freddy obviously couldn't do anything to physically touch Chica, so he just stood there feeling awful and watching her cry. Not even Bonnie reached out to help their dearest friend- they were too preoccupied in their own anxiety-driven crying to pay attention to anything else.
Foxy turned his head back towards the corner. The blurry scenes of his twisted "play time" with Mangle last night still rotted his mind- his organs spilling out, being kissed all over with her cherry lipstick, only to be sewed back up by that thing in the end.
But Foxy had lost his will to be emotionally traumatized by now. He just looked at the filthy stone wall. "You're right about never escaping," He told himself quietly as he ignored the sounds of the two younger members crying.
Payton practically threw open the door to his apartment, wiping the sweat from his forehead and kicking his shoes off. The mid-summer heat certainly was not merciful this year, causing Payton's drive home from work to give him light layers of sweat on his forehead and pits. But that could easily be solved with a quick shower before hopping into bed. He just hoped he wouldn't wake his wife in the process.
The light was on in the living room down the hall. "Erika?" Payton called, walking over and poking his head in. His dear wife Erika was lying on the couch fast asleep with a book across her stomach and already in her pajamas. She always looked so peaceful in her sleep, like an angel taking a break from heaven.
Payton smiled and went to go turn off the lamp when the sleeping woman stirred. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, sleepily glancing at Payton.
"P-Payton?" She yawned, "You're home late. What time is it?"
"I got off of work like usual…," Payton replied. He took a quick glance at the tv clock, which conveniently read 12:43. His heart sank and he whipped his head back to Erika, who was now getting up from the couch. "E-Erika, I'm so sorry. I lost track of time-"
Erika silenced his words with a quick kiss on the lips and snaking her arms around his neck. "It's fine," she said quietly, "But what happened? It's only a twenty minute drive."
Working for Fransisco for three months now, Payton had become good at thinking of quick lies. "I, uh, realized I left my phone at work just as I was halfway home."
"Uh-huh…," Erika nodded as Payton went over to the kitchen and poured himself some water. He drank it down fast, setting the glass back in the sink and running his fingers through his short hair. He made his way into their bedroom and Erika followed behind shortly after. She sat on the edge of the bed and placed her book on her nightstand.
"So whatcha reading?" Payton asked as he loosened his tie.
"The Help," Erika replied, "I decided to go pick it up and go get some Chinese takeout after you left. I didn't feel like cooking tonight."
"Aw didn't save any for me?" Payton teased, giving exaggerated puppy eyes.
Erika snorted. "No, your fatass doesn't need any more takeout. Why do you think I got you all those protein shakes?"
"Well I'm squishy because of your cooking. I bet you're fattening me up to eat me," Payton huffed, letting out a laugh.
"Ah, yes, I'm an evil witch who eats fat little boys and girls," Erika replied, laughing with her husband. The two laughter faded and silence sat in between them as Payton stripped himself of his shirt and pants.
"You wanna do something Saturday?" Erika asked suddenly.
Payton froze and looked back at her. "L-Like what?" He replied, "Like a date?"
Erika nodded. "I was thinking we could go to the movies and get a bite to eat. You know, I don't see you as much because of your job. You work yourself too hard, and I'm lonely."
Payton loved Erika. He loved her with every cell in his body. But Fransisco has a gun to his head 24/7, and Payton just can't bail out of overtime he promised to do. It was better to keep Erika safe then try to be risky.
"I can't," Payton said with a sigh, "Fransisco has me working extra hours now. I need a pay raise, and this'll help me get it. I'm really sorry, babe."
Erika's pretty face drooped with disappointment and she looked at her lap. "I see…"
Payton sat next to Erika and embraced her with one arm. "Babe, it's not like that. I would love to spend more time with you, more than anything in the world. But I need to make money to keep a roof over our head." Erika still didn't seem convinced, so Payton held her even closer and gazed into her deep brown eyes.
"Tell you what," he offered, "In two weeks, I'll make sure to get Saturday and Sunday free. Then I'm all your's; movies, cuddling, sex, anything you want. How about that?"
There was a pause before Erika responded. "You promise?" She asked cautiously.
"Cross my heart, hope to die," Payton replied, planting a firm kiss on her head. Erika chuckled and went in to kiss him on the lips. They shared a deep kiss before Payton got up to head to the bathroom. He shed himself of his boxers and shut the door behind him, not wanting to disturb Erika with the light.
Erika sighed. Sometimes she thoroughly regretted falling in love with a workaholic (though him cheating was also a possibility at this point). She crawled under the covers and turned off the light, falling asleep alone in the queen bed made for two.