"It has been three years since the last opening of "Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria" under former Entrepeneur, Herald Griffith, and swift closure after only a week of business, due to the horrifying actions of its head of security, Gregory Scott."
"Is it really okay to be watch this, here?" Jenny questioned her coworker.
"Come'on, we're on break." Ruby countered playfully. She shifted her cellphone to clear the glare of the florescent lights, of the breakroom, from its screen. It was just the two of them in the breakroom of Hurricane's institutional psyche ward. Both were nurses at Ohio State Hospital, a place where those mentally unfit to stand trial, for their crimes, were sent to be rehabilitated to then properly be tried for their crimes.
"Besides, how could I not get interested, considering who I've been saddled with?" Ruby insisted, she pulled out an earbud from its case. The gadget immediately synced with her phone. What the broadcaster had been saying, cutting off simultaneously. "But if it'll help, I'll wear these."
"Better." Jenny conceded, not commenting on her work friend's prior remark. She prodded at the salad that she'd brought for her lunch. As she nibbled at it, she slowly felt her own sense of curiosity rear its head. Slowly, still minding her house salad, she timidly asked, "So... how, has he been doing. By the way."
"I knew you were curious!" Ruby teased.
"Only because his condition is so- off." Jenny defended herself, fidgeting in her chair. "It doesn't match up with any case of DID I've seen- or read about."
"Each case is unique."
"I know that." Jenny replied with a roll of her eyes. Her mind went to the one they were talking about; he was roomed off in a corner by himself. Like the entire hospital was trying to hide him. She shuddered, "It's just, I don't know how you stand working with him. That whole room, area, feels so wrong now."
Ruby lowered the volume of her cellphone, focusing her attention more on her friend now. Her excited intrigue dulled, "Yeah, no kidding. Gives me the creeps, but that's what intrigues me. Besides, I always got security nearby. Literally must have them with me." She grimaced, "After he attack his last therapist." She breathed out, "She's still in the hospital I hear..."
"Also, all those weird things have been happening around that room." Jenny added, jabbing at a crouton. She swallowed, "Have...you seen anything. I heard on of the security thought they saw a huge shadow in the hall, over the cameras."
"I don't know if I'd trust the word of Mia." Ruby remarked, her tone tilted. "She's way too invested in ghost stories and drinks way too much coffee. Even for me. Makes her too jumpy, swear she lives off caffeine."
"True." Jenny admitted, if only to ease herself. She looked at her campion, "But have you seen anything?"
"Nope." Ruby clicked. Seeing her friend's unease, she leaned in and whispered, "Have you heard about what happened to Griffith, the last owner? He permanently injured himself. Can't talk anymore. Seems to be catatonic."
"Ruby! Stop." Jenny cried. She shuddered again, "Ugh, why is the whole situation around this guy so messed up?"
"That's what's so interesting. There's still so much unexplained, seems like the officials in Hurricane are trying to keep details covered up. The original manager, Jones, turned himself in and is facing life in prison. Killer's remains are still missing. Jones says he's dead, but they can't find what's left of the sicko." She put a fruit piece to her mouth, "And by the looks of it, Gregor isn't going to be going on trial on anytime soon."
"That bad?"
Ruby nodded, biting the apple slice in half. After she swallowed, she explained, "I think he's long gone. It'd take a miracle at this point."
In a room, on the hospital's west-wing, sat Gregor Scott, he sat feverishly scribbling onto a piece of paper with crayons. His form had thinned, refusing to eat much of the time. Every so often he'd fretfully glance out into the darkened hall beyond the closed door to his room. The lights hadn't been turned off prior. He'd heard commotion of one the security personnel saying they were going to go check it out. Gregor knew why it'd gone dark, but they wouldn't believe him. They still didn't believe him. That's why he kept checking the small window. For the eyes. For his eyes. They mocked him, he mocked him.
When he saw them, peering back, he turned snapped back to his drawing. It's all he could do. And it'd done nothing to aid him. Yet, Gregor kept at it.
The clock on the wall also was a point of contention for him, it told him when his therapist would visit. The guards would come in with the man. He'd had a woman prior, but he'd gotten tired of her. It was much the same as the new one. Only they'd wised up, somewhat. They still didn't believe him. Believe that he was here. The rabbit. He hated it when the therapist came, they'd eventually ask to speak with him. Gregor would get shoved back down into the ball pit. What was worse? His body being controlled with no memory of what he did, or the constant torment while awake and asleep?
"Gregory, it's time for our session."
No. No, no, no. Gregor's heart threatened to burst from panic. The appearance of the therapist answered his question. His body being out of his conscious control was worse. Far worse. He drew more feverishly. Not to finish it piece, but in an attempt to refuse the reality he was caught in.
"I see you've done more drawings." Gregor didn't respond. He kept harshly grinding the purple over the black streak of a shadow on the page. He heard the doctor pull a chair over to him, none too bothered by his attempt to ignore him. "How have the drugs been treating him?"
The question was to the nurse. Gregor didn't listen to the conversation, focused solely on his aimless project. The drugs didn't help. He fell asleep easier, sure, but it only made him fall into his domain easier. Gregor felt he could harm him in the living world, but why do that when the torment could be prolonged? It was like he fed off his suffering. Metaphorically or literally, the difference didn't seem to exist.
He stilled. There'd been a creak, metal footsteps. Briefly, a large shadow passed by the peripheral of his vision. Gregor shoved the paper aside. The doctor took it, but he didn't care. He grabbed another paper, quickly, driven by fervor, he sketched up another one. Influenced by some empty hope, he drew what he'd seen.
Mangled and distorted laughter rang in the room, but only he was allowed to hear it.
"About this rabbit, Gregor." The doctor began, his words paused when Gregor slid the new page over to him. A hastily, malformed, vaguely rabbit-esque, shadow, with white eyes and teeth amongst the darkened green-yellow, form stood looming behind the doctor. This caused a hitch in the doctor's voice. He pushed the paper away from himself with a touch. "I see that he's- present. Would you like to speak about this other person? This time?"
Gregor began another picture. Why should he speak? There was no point. He'd interrupt anyhow. He could only draw.
"Would he like to speak then?"
Large hands coiled around his throat, his crayon stopped moving, instead shaking. He was a trembling frightened child in its grip.
"N-n-no." He stammered.
Don't lie. That wasn't aimed at you.
The doctor watched as he heard a whimper just beginning, then, like he'd seen before Gregor went slack for just a moment as if fallen asleep. Gregor straightened himself with a fluidness that portrayed a more confident personality. With the palm of his hand, he popped his neck and sighed. The crayon was flicked away, only stopping when it collided with others. This personality, dubbed "the Rabbit", looked at him with a slanted grin.
"What can'ah do for you this time, doctor?" The Rabbit hummed, doing some sort of chipper character voice. The doctor knew this personality did voices, it's "true" voice befitted of a more imposing individual. One that was charismatic but could also fly into violent episodes at random. The guards shifted around to the doctor's sides, ready to intervene at a moment's notice. The Rabbit passed glances to them, amusement dancing in its eyes. Suddenly the Rabbit jerked forward, causing them to stiffen, all three of them. "Actually, I have a question for you, if you don't mind."
"Oh?" The doctor replied, swallowing his pounding heart. The maimed image of the previous therapist flashed in his head. It'd been done by this personality's bear hands. He kept his composure, he was an expert, he could handle this. He knew this type. It could be placid, cordial, only when it aimed for something. He just had to be sure he didn't fall for the platitudes. "What can I answer for you?"
"Do you really think you can do this?" The Rabbit asked with a quirk of his head. Whatever it was, it clearly seemed to know the answer already. It just wanted to hear it.
He played along, "Do what?"
"Save him." There it was, the real voice, the deeper sandpapery voice. It leaned on the table, completely at ease with the situation. The air seemed to grow colder; the lights subtly turned dimmer. Or had that been his imagination? "There's no happy ending for him. Tragedies don't get one."
Author's Note: Been a while since I've left one of these here. Anyway, I said I'd explain why I dropped this for so long. In short, I grew jaded to the fandom. After SL I felt there was a pressure to "follow canon" what could loosely still be called that. I joined to tell my version and didn't want to change that. Was it bad as I thought back then? No, probably not, regardless I lost interest. I came back to finish what I started, for myself and I'm happy to have done so. I'll continue writing my take, but not on here- site seems to be not getting traction it used to. Least to me. I'll be over on AO3, same user name. I'll any questions if there are any.