Mable: Sorry this took so long! Enjoy!

The Butcher's Traps

Chapter 11: Listen

Marla patched up Charlie and Carlton's wounds in the parking lot of the only electronics store in Hurricane. She insisted on it, even when Charlie deemed her wounds much less severe than his. Though she didn't put up much of a fight and allowed Marla to disinfect the more significant scratches and cover some with bandages. Carlton's had to be wrapped but didn't look like it needed stitches.

Charlie was sitting in the passenger's seat of Carlton's car while he sat in the back and was treated by Marla. The doors were open and let in a soft breeze that cooled her heated skin. The passing of cars, the sounds of distant voices; the ambience of the town was almost soothing now that silence was so terrifying.

"I'm sorry," she said. She said it despite knowing that it was a given, and regardless to not wanting to make this situation any more uncomfortable. What she didn't expect was the response.

"Why are you always apologizing?" Carlton asked bluntly. Charlie looked to him in surprise and Marla gave him a light disapproving look at his lack of tack. He continued without missing a beat, "You didn't drag me down there. I was the genius who thought it was a good idea, and then thought it was a good idea to grab a harpoon by the sharpest part."

"I brought you over to the house and you got hurt because of it. I'd say that's worth a sorry for," Charlie said guiltily. "…I was afraid to go over there alone and I still couldn't take a hint."

"This? This is nothing." Carlton lifted his now wrapped hand and flashed it to her. "Stuff like this just happens in my line of work."

Charlie got a touch of a smile. "And what line of work is that?"

Carlton returned it in full. "Keeping you safe."

Charlie smiled a little more earnestly. Marla playfully nudged the redhead's arm before returning the medical supplies to the first aid kit. She stood up and dusted off her hands and skirt.

"Alright, let's head in," she announced. She dropped off the first aid kit into Charlie's car before they headed into the electronics store together.

The trip was successful but uneventful. They managed to find a cassette player able to play the tape and Charlie picked up a few things she thought would help in repairing the taser. Now that she had a better idea what the problem was, she had a better idea how to fix it. Though it was still more advanced than she had ever worked with. It wasn't going to be easy but it would be decent distraction.

Once they left the store, Carlton and Marla headed back to the house while Charlie went to get the food. Though instead of going straight through the drive-through, she parked outside and took out the tape player. Soon the batteries were in it and the tape was placed inside. She took a second to brace herself and then pressed the play button.

"-with an audio lure to coax in potential prey. I'm afraid to say that this is a reoccurring feature in some of his older designs, but I digress. The third would be Bonnie, who has been built in the style of a glue trap."

Henry continued on like this, saying things that Charlie already knew, but she still listened closely. It felt so weird hearing his voice again. She hadn't heard it since the recording that Sammy had played for her. That alone made her wonder how long ago these tapes were recorded. It couldn't have been before his faked death, so he must've returned to the house and somehow sealed everything up then.

She wondered where she was when it happened. Maybe she was still living with Jen, or maybe already in college while Henry was working diligently in that basement. She wasn't sure why it bothered her.

"-which leads me to believe that Foxy might be designed to break into short sprints, perhaps as an homage to the older Foxy designs where he would run into party rooms. This may make him the most lethal hunter of them all… The final Butcher is different from the others. While it holds many similarities to the others in the set, its method… And target is different. It is labelled on its blueprints as The Conibear."

This was it, exactly what she was listening for, a forewarning of what was to come. Charlie expected to hear the description of another violent beast scouring the streets of Hurricane, assuming this would be the unknown bear that accompanied Freddy on the first night.

Nothing could've braced her for what came next.

"The Conibear is not made to trap humans. It is made to trap an animatronic known as The Puppet, one of his former victims… He wouldn't even stop with those he already killed, he still wants to torture those who he has already taken everything from. This… Foul thing he created is a perfect representation of how far his madness has grown, how desperate he is to feed his sadistic desires.

…The Conibear has a built-in tracking device that is synced up to The Puppet's security receiver frequency- FZ554. With this frequency it will be able to pinpoint its location exactly… And it will find him. Upon which it will incapacitate it and proceed to… Crush it inside of its chest… I can't bear the thought of that soul having to suffer at the hands of that monster any more than it already has.

If everything goes according to plan, Sam- The Puppet will no longer be active by time the Conibear is at risk of finding him. I must make sure of this at all cost. As much as it disgusts me, there may be a way to reformat this technology for better use.

The frequency was once used in tandem with security bracelets. There was a program with an earlier puppet model where if a child wearing a bracelet wandered too far, it would follow and retrieve them, and I believe this model was built the same. If I could use this to lure The Puppet and then contain him in a calm and sedated state-… I'm getting off track.

To finish this up. These "Butchers" are highly dangerous. While they are primarily made to hunt for my family, they are capable of slaughters dozens to reach them. My earlier attempts to dismantle them while deactivated caused them to reactivate, so I am out of options for shutting them down myself. For now they will have to remain in this basement until another solution is found… That's all for now."

The tape clicked off and left Charlie sitting there reeling. There was so much to process, but she couldn't but focus on the elephant in the room- or bear in this case.

His ramble about reformatting the technology made it all click into place. She had heard of something that worked like Conibear before, Lefty. Conibear was just William's version of Lefty.

Conibear was the inspiration for Lefty. The similarities between couldn't be a coincidence- their father had been inspired by William's design to make a trap of a different kind.

She wasn't sure why this upset her so much, but it did. It made her angry to think he would've even considered using tactics William would've stooped to. Him expressing his disgust and fear did nothing to ease her mind either, and that wasn't the only thing angering her.

"He didn't do anything," she vented to her empty car. "He sealed those things down there, he left warnings about them, but he didn't do anything. He just left them there and set up this plan to end it all without warning me. Did he really think I wasn't ever going to come back? This could've happened at any time, they could've found me the night the floor fell in! Dad, why couldn't you-?!"

She gave a frustrated cry through her teeth and dropped her head into a hand propped up on the steering wheel. "And now I have to tell Sammy about this. Thanks, Dad."

She sat there for a long moment and just let it all wash over her. Letting the anger run its course and then pass on with a steady exhale. There was no point in being frustrated in something that couldn't be change, or in her father's decisions when he wasn't even around to explain himself. He was trying to protect Sammy in the end, even if she didn't agree with the methods. She had to let it go.

"…What was that number?" Remembering the security frequency, Charlie got a notebook out and rewound the tape until she found the moment he rushed it out. "F-Z-5-5-4…" She wasn't sure what she would use the number for, if anything, but thought it would be important to remember.

Not wanting to sit there any longer, Charlie drove through and got the food. After everything that happened that morning, she didn't have much of an interest in eating, but she got herself a burger anyway. This turned out to be a good idea as having to smell the bag of food on the way home reignited that previously non-existent appetite.

She almost lost it again when she pulled up to the house only to notice Clay's car now outside. It was time to face the music. She decided to get it over with and headed straight inside.

Carlton, Clay, and Marla were standing in the living room in a deep discussion. That alone told her that Clay knew exactly what was going on, which she couldn't say she didn't expect. Carlton cut off his explanation- "Literally this close to my ankle!" -as he heard her shutting the door. All three of them looked to her, putting her on the spot.

"I'm glad you're back, Clay. There's something I need you to listen to. I'll be right back," Charlie said. She was impressed with how she managed to keep her cool. Normally something like all of this would've shaken her up enough to make her a mess, but she managed to keep it together. If she kept it up then maybe Clay would take her more seriously.

Charlie headed into the bedroom long enough to fish her burger out of the bag and pass the rest to a thankful Mike. Sammy was in the same position as when she left, so she didn't want to risk disturbing him by checking in any further. She left her food on the coffee table and guided Clay out to the car and into the passenger's seat.

She sat there silently and let him listen through the entirety of the tape up until the small pause before her father would begin talking about the Conibear. Clay was none the wiser. He had his hand on his chin and was deep in thought even after the tape ended.

"…What do you think?" Charlie asked. Clay breathed out through his nose.

"…I wish he would've come to me. We could've figured something out before all of this got out of hand. If this was the reason he-…" He caught himself with a short exhale. "But that's not important. The important part is dealing with this now. We had a press conference earlier where we issued a voluntary evacuation, but it's not going to do any good. People won't leave their homes if they have a choice and I couldn't give any more details without risking too much getting out."

"It might keep more people indoors," Charlie offered. He nodded with partial agreement. "…There was more that you didn't get to hear. I don't know if Carlton told you, but my dad left a warning tape on the desk to anyone who went down into the basement. He also mentioned a security frequency. Do you know what that is?"

"I have a general idea. We went through plenty of security equipment while investigating Freddy's… And Afton Robotics," he clarified. "What did he say about it?"

"He said they're following a specific frequency code. Here, I wrote it down." Charlie handed over her notebook, which was still opened to the same page showing the five-digit code. "I was thinking that if this is what they were following… Then maybe we could use it to our advantage."

He looked up from the notebook. "What are you thinking?"

"If we had the right equipment, we could simulate the frequency and lure the Butchers somewhere, then we could seal them away ourselves. We could even set our own traps and destroy them. He didn't say they were indestructible, just that he couldn't do it."

"They're not," Clay said. She gave him a confused look and he explained. "Last night we transported Chica to the police station and since then have been trying to get into its reinforced shell. Nothing would be built with that much protection if it didn't have a weakness it was hiding underneath. There's a way to destroy then, but we need more manpower and heavier equipment to pull it off."

As derogative as that sounded, Clay continued with a more interested tone. "But I like the way you think. This could be our ticket to getting them in a position to overpower them. The only problem is, what's to say they'll follow this frequency instead of you? We're already not sure how they've been tracking you this closely."

There was something weird in Clay's look. Not like he was questioning her, but like he already knew something and was trying to nudge it out of her. Charlie supposed that she could've just been paranoid but she had a hunch that he knew something he wasn't saying.

He still had a point. They couldn't be sure the animatronics would follow the frequency when they didn't know what she did. They might not also get the same amount of manpower watching over a radio than they had to guard a person. Perhaps she could leverage that to her advantage. She had to, the Butchers were getting too close and this was the only idea they had to stopping them.

Nobody else was going to get hurt. No more women who had the unlucky privilege of looking like her, no more cops, and not Sammy.

"We could use me as bait. I could take whatever we have to project the frequency and lead them right into a trap," Charlie said. Clay's eyes popped open in alarm. "…That might've not been the best wording."

"There's absolutely no way-."

"I already know how crazy it sounds, but Clay, I can't just sit here and not do anything," Charlie said. Frustration and pleading filled her voice. "You heard what he said, these bots are made to kill. The longer we let them wander around night after night, the higher chance we have of another innocent woman ending up dead. And it's not like I'm safe either. With how they're tearing through everything- eventually they're going to get inside."

Clay almost seemed dumbfounded by her words. He looked down at the notebook and was lost in thought again. Charlie turned forward and looked out at the sunny day outside the car window. It was only a matter of hours before the sun would go down; she needed all the time she could to work on the taser and prepare for what was coming.

"If something went wrong, you could be killed," Clay solemnly warned her. "We already have three bodies in the morgue. Are you doing to risk your life like that?"

"How's that any different than the last few nights?" Charlie asked tiredly. The comment seemed to hit him a little harder than she intended on it to. She pressed, "I want to do this. We have to stop them."

There was a long pause that hung in the air before finally-.

"I'll get my men together, find a location to set it up, and see if we can find a something that will work with this," Clay agreed, holding up the notebook. Though then his eyes flashed to her with dead seriousness. "But you won't get close to those creatures. You will not step in and try to fight them. If they get anywhere near you, you will run. To me, to another cruiser, anywhere. You. Will. Run. Do you understand me?"

"I understand," Charlie repeated. Not that she had any plans to take on any of the Butchers head on. That would be a death wish waiting to happen.

"I'm going to head back to the station and get this sorted out. You should go inside and eat, and get as much rest as you can before tonight," Clay told her.

She didn't argue with him and put the tape player in the backseat before getting out of her car. She noticed Clay didn't take the notebook with him, but assumed he had memorized the number. They headed back into the house in silence.

It was late in the afternoon when Sammy finally woke up. Charlie was in the dining room working on the tasers while her friends kept her company, unable to help but offering what support they could. She hadn't told them yet about the plan she and Clay had discussed, and she hadn't told Mike either. Clay had already left to get things arranged at the station.

Mike had moved into the living room to watch television, but found it wasn't much more entertaining than the book. He dipped into a newspaper briefly before setting it aside quickly when the front page was talking about the murders. At some point he got up to use the bathroom and afterwards he checked in on the puppet only to find him sitting up on the bed.

The overtly disgruntled look on Sammy's face, like he was generally fed up with everything, was enough to crack him up.

"You look exactly how I feel. Hold on, I'll go get Charlie," he said. He stepped back out into the living room and called, "He's up!" Then headed back to the bedroom and dropped back into the armchair. He looked just as amused as when he left, even though the puppet had pulled his mask into a blankly tired expression, not even hiding how fluidly his mask shifted. "Feeling any less like the living dead?" Mike asked.

Sammy gave a wobbly little shrug with his smile returning. At least he seemed to get into a better mood, Mike preferred a happy puppet in the long run.

Then Charlie walked in. Both looked at her and it was clear as day that something was wrong. She looked like a deer in headlights standing in front of the closed door, but she gained an honest smile quickly.

"Hey, Sammy. How was your nap?" she asked.

He chimed in assurance though noticed something was wrong, so he held out his arms for a hug. He could only assume that it was something Clay had said. She gladly took him up on the offer, sitting on the bed beside him and returning the embrace.

"I'm so glad you got some sleep. I was really worried about you," she said. He chimed again, but as they drew back his eyes flickered downwards and noticed the bandages on her hands. He caught them with his and gently turned them over in his own. Charlie's smile grew strained. "It's nothing, I just… There's, uh…" She looked back towards Mike, who raised an eyebrow at her, and then back to Sammy.

His smile had returned to default. He was starting to notice something was up. She was going to have to tell him now and she hated it.

"…There's something I have to tell you, and I know it's going to upset you, but we're just going to figure this out together. So just keep that in mind," Charlie began. Sammy had a sinking feeling of dread and a frozen face. "I went back to the house today to look in the basement beneath the workshop. That scratching last night reminded me of scratching I heard the night of the storm, so Carlton, Marla and I went to check it out."

Sammy did not like where this story was going.

"Down there we found a room with a security door and some tapes left behind by Dad. Apparently these animatronics are called the Butchers, or Butcher Traps, and they were made by William to hunt us down, Mom too. Dad sealed them down there to keep them from getting out… but when the floor collapsed, it destroyed the backup generator and must've cut the power off to the room, letting the door open and letting them escape through the wall."

That smile was gone in a blink and replaced with a frown that might've been comical in any other situation. Charlie turned over her hands to hold his.

"Sammy… Do you know what a security frequency is?" An anxious ticking could be heard low in his chest as his internal music box began to tighten up. He nodded. "…One of the Butchers is called The Conibear and its been following your security frequency. That's how they've been tracking us."

Sammy flexed his fingers and stared down at the comforter beneath them. He was unsettled by the news, but Charlie noticed that he didn't look surprised. He must've known what this frequency was. His gaze refocused on her hands and he pointed at one of the bandages while looking up at her questioningly.

"We found Foxy," Charlie simply said.

"What?" Mike interrupted with rising dread. "Wait, you're saying he was out during the day?"

"No, he was hiding out in the basement. I think waiting for us to come back. He wouldn't follow us out into the sunlight, so there's that," she explained. Mike's expression of hesitated alarm almost matched the one Sammy was wrestling with on his mask. She tried to assure him, "It's nothing. Carlton got it much worse than me and he's doing okay. We just got caught off-guard."

For a split second, a strange emotion suddenly took Sammy's face. It almost looked like frustration but that seemed too out of place, especially without any static. It disappeared after only a moment and was replaced with a much more familiar worry. He was only going to get more worried though, because she knew she had to tell him the rest.

"…There's something I have to tell you and I know it's going to upset you, but I've already made up my mind and there's no going back from that," Charlie said. She hoped that would keep him from trying to stop her, but the look on his face alone wasn't promising. "Clay and I came up with a plan to trap the Butchers and stop this once and for all. We're going to fake your frequency and lure them to a location where he and his men will take them out."

"Like that worked so well last night," Mike muttered.

"No, see, the problem last night was that they weren't prepared for this. They were just running around the house trying to keep them from getting in. Now we'll be at location planned in advance and they'll already know what works and what doesn't against them. This is the best chance we have to stop them. As I see it, it's worth taking the shot."

Mike stared for a long moment before daring to ask, "…Who's the 'we' in 'we'll'?"

"…Me. I'm going to go with them and help them draw in the Butchers. They're programmed to recognize and hunt me, so if they see me it might keep them from fleeing before the police can stop them."

Sammy gave a noise akin to a scratched record and grabbed her by the shoulder to turn her to face him. His face was twisted in shock and disbelief, and he shook his head vigorously. Charlie's face fell sadly.

"I know it's dangerous, but we have to try. We have a good chance of taking out at least some of the Butchers, and Clay's already made it clear that his main goal is to protect me, so I'm in good hands," she tried to rationalize. He began to shake his head even more quickly, pleading with static and garbling, a normally agitated noise. She took his hand in hers to assure him. "Sammy, I'm sorry."

But Sammy suddenly pulled it back. He raised off the bed and began to hover back and forth at the foot of the bed like he was pacing. His arms raised and fell, he was making a slew of discordant noises, and his mask- which she was having trouble seeing- looked absolutely devastated. She had never seen him so distraught. It actually hurt to watch it.

He wasn't the only one either. Mike was currently stewing in the corner before deciding to air his own grievances, challenging the plan directly.

"How are you in good hands if Clay's letting you be bait? No wonder his wife chewed him out- what cop thinks it's a good idea to use a young woman to trap violent, psychotic robots?" Getting more worked up, Mike also shot up from his chair. "Where is he? I want to hear this garbage plan from him so I can testify at his trial when he gets a bunch of people killed."

"Mike, calm down. He's not even here," Charlie tried to reason with him. It stopped him from storming out, but it did little to cool his mood. "And it was my idea. These 'psycho robots' want me and they're going to kill people just to get to me. We can use that to our advantage! You know as good as I do that just sitting around doing nothing isn't helping, not when they're getting bolder every night."

"But then the police should be handling it on their own. They're the ones with the manpower and firepower, so why drag a civilian into it? Not to mention that after last night I'm not convinced they're capable of protecting anyone. They knew those things were coming and still got their asses handed to them by a chicken. Now they want to dangle you out there like a carrot on a stick? I don't think so." He ran his hand over his face and forced himself to calm down. "For God's sake, Charlie, why would you willingly agree to this? I know you know this is stupid."

"Because I'm not going to let anyone else get hurt when I'm the one they're looking for. It's worth risking my life to spare the lives of another three or four innocent women, and you, and Sammy," Charlie insisted. "I've made up my mind. I'm not going to let anyone else take the fall for me and I'm not going to let them take Sammy, even if it kills me."

Mike could tell that she was serious. He rubbed his face again with a groan and only drew it away to try and rationalize with her again. Charlie was more than prepared to plead her case like she did with Clay.

She wasn't prepared for what she heard next.

"H-How… How could you…?"

Because that was not Mike's voice.

The voice, as soft as a murmur of static, was coming from behind her. She slowly looked back.

"Sammy?"

The Puppet's mask held the same distraught, but now inky, purple tears were dripping down his face. His tightened hands were shaking as he stared at her. The voice spoke once again, coming clearly from him.

"…How could you SAY that?!"

Suddenly his voice hit an unexpected crescendo with his dialing and static backing it, the Puppet standing tall over her. "Even if it kills you?! How could you say such a thing?! How could you even think such a thing?!"

"I… Sammy…" Charlie was totally taken off-guard. "Sammy, I don't mean that I'm going to let myself get killed-."

"But you would! I know you would because you almost did!" He pointed a dark finger towards her wounded hands as tears poured down his cheeks. His mask was torn between anger and despair as his voice skipped in silent sobs. "And you have before! You're always taking risks with your life!"

Charlie was positively dumbstruck by the unexpected outcry and watched as the Puppet began to pace again.

"Always trying to go alone, to make sure everyone else is safe, and then acting like you don't matter! Like you're- you're disposable!" Sammy scolded. His voice was beginning to skip from either lack of use or the force of his volume. "I-I'm tr-trying all I can to keep you sa-afe, but I can't prot-protect you if you don't l-l-let me!"

"Sammy, you're the one who would've gotten yourself hurt protecting me!" Charlie protested. "The first night we were attacked, you threw yourself on Freddy without even thinking of what could happen to you."

"Th-That's not the same-!"

"No, listen to me! That animatronic I was telling you about, the Conibear… That's what Dad based Lefty off of. It's a more aggressive Lefty made to kill you!" This rendered Sammy speechless for a few moments. Charlie continued, "And as horrible as Lefty was, it was just made to trap you. This one is made to crush you. To destroy you completely."

There was a quiet pause to take this in before Sammy continued, his voice now much softer.

"I'm not afraid to die again. I'm not even sure if I can die again, but I know you can," Sammy said. His voice faded as his body trembled. "I… I can't lose you again…"

It was those last words that hit Charlie the hardest. How many times had she said or thought the same thing about him? Even taking his feelings into consideration she had never imagined that he felt the same way towards her. He was the one who had been taken away from her, she was the one who was supposed to be afraid of losing him again.

Charlie stood from the bed and reached for his shoulders. He flinched slightly when she made contact so she didn't do anything more than hold him like that.

"Sammy…" she began. Her breath hitched and as soon as it did he was on her, arms wrapped tight around her, and his head resting atop of hers. She could feel his paint tears soaking into her hair but wasn't bothered by them. She hugged him back tightly, feeling him tremble and tick against her. It took her a few seconds before she tried again.

"I just want this over with. I'm tired of running, I'm tired of going to sleep not sure if I'm going to wake up tomorrow, and I'm tired… I'm tired," Charlie confessed. She didn't cry, but she felt miserable saying all of this. "…And I don't want to spend the rest of my life feeling like I was responsible for this. I don't want to be like Dad, I don't want to just stand aside and let more people get hurt."

"You're nothing like him," Sammy said and squeezed her tighter. "And this isn't our fault."

"I know…" Charlie said. She inhaled deeply. "…But unless I do something, it'll always feel like it was."

The Puppet gave a somber pang and said nothing. She couldn't do much more than pet his back like it would somehow make them both feel better.

Yet as hopeless as the whole thing felt, something felt different now. She couldn't tell what it was, but her chest felt lighter. As though it was a physical relief to say those words and get them out of her head. It seemed like it had done something for Sammy too. He was still clinging to her, but he seemed to be crying less, and his trembling was starting to slow down. It felt almost a little better.

Then Mike cleared his throat and they remembered he was still standing there.

"So, I'm just going to go see if there's anything on TV. Give you two a minute," he excused. She had never heard him that flustered. In any other situation it might've been a little funny. He left the room quickly.

Almost as soon as the bedroom door shut, the static returned. Except it wasn't that angry, panicking static, but that pouting, generally annoyed kind. It was almost a relief to hear.

"Well, it took a week of this, but we finally scared him off," Charlie half-joked. Sammy's static cut off and he squeezed her a little tighter, calming down but still distressed. She started to wonder if he was just going to fall back into the muteness she was familiar with. She was a little surprised when he spoke again.

"I'm sorry… I shouldn't have raised my voice like that… I'm not angry at you, I swear," Sammy said remorsefully. "…I'm just afraid that you're going to get hurt and that there's nothing I can do to stop it."

"I know and it's okay. Sometimes you just have to let it out," Charlie said. She sighed. "But you were right. I know I take a lot of risks. It's not that I don't care about myself. I just would rather put myself in danger than anyone else, because then maybe I can do something to stop it." Sammy might've not liked it, but she knew he understood it.

She gently drew away and he let his arms drop to his sides and his head hang. The tears had stopped but the paint was smeared messily all over his lower mask. There really wasn't a way to clean it up on hand so she left it alone.

"But this is different. This could be the only way of stopping them once and for all, and if we're going to be honest, it's not like I'm not going to be in the same amount of danger if I don't go. Wherever we go, they're going to follow us. So why not use that to our advantage?"

"They're after my signal…" Sammy said quietly, his tone unreadable.

Guessing what he was thinking, Charlie defended, "You know it's more complicated than that. This is the best chance we have, so we have to take it." Sammy was silent. "Are you going to be okay?" Charlie asked.

"…Not yet." This confusion from this answer was clarified by a to-the-point, "Not until you tell me that I can come with you."

"We can't do that. Even if the bear doesn't see you, the cops might. I think Clay's already starting to suspect something. If he finds out that it's your frequency they're following, he's going to put two and two together."

"He won't see me. Have him bring in the radio decoy and he'll be none the wiser." Seeing Charlie's reluctance, Sammy now held her by the shoulders as she had to him and explained more clearly. "I know it's hard to believe, but I have seen much worse than this. Things of nightmares, wire monstrosities… The only reason I've been so afraid is because of that strange feeling whenever they got close. Now I know what it is and I can handle it. I'm not helpless, Charlie. Let me be there with you."

"…You won't throw yourself on the first thing that walks up? You promise me you'll hold yourself back?" Charlie asked.

"As much as I can, I promise," Sammy assured. "I'll be careful."

There was a small voice in the back of Charlie's head that told her to trust him and let him come, that they could figure this out together even if it was putting them both in a precarious situation. They had come this far together, it only seemed worth it to end it together. Charlie made her decision and nodded.

"Okay. We'll go together," she agreed. Sammy managed to regain his smile, regardless of what he had just signed himself up to do. "Now, let's go get cleaned up. We look like we've been shooting off paintballs in here." This got a chime out of him before she led him to the door and cautiously brought him into the hall.

Thankfully, unlike what she expected, nobody was standing outside the door listening in. Though she could hear some worried voices from out in the living room.

"-how they're going to do this. Foxy could just run up and just… We all know what he could do," that was Jessica. "What was wrong with just making a decoy?"

"Not enough tin foil and duct tape to wrap around the sock monkey," Carlton, of course.

After a short pause there came a determined, "We're going to think of a plan. There has to be a better way." There was John, always the optimist, blissfully unaware that the twins now had a plan of their own. Becoming restless, Sammy tugged Charlie's wrist gently and coaxed her the rest of the way into the bathroom.

Sammy's paint was easy to get off. So easy, in fact, that Charlie was half convinced that whatever the fluid was wasn't actually paint, but maybe some diluted ink made to be stainproof. Why anyone would build an animatronic with a crying function was beyond her, but seeing what else she had encountered she couldn't put anything past it.

Sammy was unafraid of getting his hands wet and quickly cleaned his mask before pat drying it with a folded towel, finishing up much faster than Charlie who was trying to comb out the fluid. She looked at him through the mirror and asked, "Better?"

He gave a positive chime in response. She couldn't say that she was surprised that he returned to silence, but she was almost a little disappointed that he had. After some deliberation, she decided to say something.

"It was nice hearing your voice," Charlie said. Sammy raised his head from the towel suddenly as though surprised. "Not trying to put you on the spot. I just wanted to let you know," she added with a smile.

He seemed to think on that before making a timid offer, "…I could talk more if you'd like. To you."

"Would you be okay with that?" Charlie asked. Sammy considered it again before nodding. She didn't ask him why he was so reluctant to speak, she just smiled encouragingly. "I'd love that."

She turned back to the mirror to finish sorting herself out when she got stuck looking at her reflection. She was still smiling. It felt like ages since she had last caught herself smiling.

… What if this was the last good moment they got to spend together? The last real moment that didn't involve fear and running for their lives?

Jessica had a point, in fact everyone had. The plan was shaky at best, and if Clay's men weren't ready, and she wasn't in a position to defend herself, she could be killed in a matter of seconds. Sammy being there would help, but she wondered if it would be enough. She had a bad feeling it might not be.

Funny, she had been a lot more optimistic before this all began.

It was starting to get dark by time Clay had returned to the house. By that point everyone in the house had worked out their own list of plans and strategies, but they all seemed to fall on the wayside once he came in. John stood alongside Charlie and held her hand for reassurance as they were briefed with the details.

"Taking into account the possibility of civilian casualties, we decided on a location outside of Hurricane. We've started setting up at the Campside Retreat," Clay explained. This was met with confused looks.

"The Campside Retreat? What's that?" Charlie asked. John leaned in a little and whispered.

"That dilapidated shack up towards Zion that used to be a motel," he said, sounding less than impressed. Though it seemed like he wasn't the only one questioning this.

"I know it doesn't sound very secure, but it would give us more room to work with. The land around the hotel is open enough to see anything approaching the building, and the second floor is accessible and intact, meaning that Charlie would be out of their immediate reach. The road from the highway to the retreat curves enough that we should be able to park there undetected. Not that the cars outside stopped them last night," Clay said bitterly. He shook his head and continued, "It's the best we have on such short notice."

"That sounds… Like it makes sense," Charlie agreed. She had much less confidence in this decision than she voiced. "And hey, if anything gets damaged, we don't have to pay for it. Win-win."

"If we could all be so lucky," Mike muttered under his breath from the couch.

"What about that radio we were talking about, did you find anything?"

"We might've found something worth taking a look at, but it's not in good shape," Clay said. His voice gave away his disappointment. "I knew we still had some of the security equipment from Freddy's put away in the evidence longer and found something that might've been a transceiver, but it looks like someone took a bat to it. If you can get it working then more power to you, but it looks like we'll need to forgo the frequency. Unless you have something else we can use."

"I guess we don't really need it if I'm there, but maybe I'll poke around at it. We have a little time before we have to go, right?" Charlie asked and Clay nodded. It was a shame too; a transceiver might've been perfect to make a decoy out of. Though now that Sammy was coming it wouldn't really be needed, but it could've still been useful.

John squeezed her hand and Charlie looked to him, catching his gaze before he looked to Clay. She knew what he was about to say, "Clay, we're coming too."

"That's out of the question," Clay shot down.

"Dad, look, we're not going to do anything stupid," Carlton said exasperated. "We're going to stay out of the way of what you're doing, we just want to be there."

"Carlton, you know why that isn't going to happen. Not only would I be putting all of your lives in danger- I took too much of a risk last night. I know you want to be involved, but I have to put my foot down," Clay insisted. His voice seemed to falter halfway through. Carlton averted his gaze, recognizing his mother's words repeated by his father. "But you don't need to worry. We'll keep her safe."

"How are you so sure?" John asked. There was an edge of challenge in his voice. "If you're this afraid for us, how are you going to protect Charlie when there's five animatronics going straight for her?"

"We need all of our attention and manpower on protecting Charlie and deactivating the bots. That is exactly why we're doing this outside of town. We can't afford to have anyone else getting involved."

Just because John didn't say anything more didn't mean that he was letting the matter drop. Charlie could see from his face along that his determination hadn't faltered. She admired that look, staring at him a little too intensely before catching herself and looking away. Nobody else seemed to notice.

"Except for me. I'm going," Mike said matter-of-factly. The older man gave him an exhausted look out of the corner of his eye. Mike shrugged and added, "I'm already this invested, I'm not missing out on the grand finale… Or the spectacular failure of the Hurricane police force. We'll see how it goes."

"Mike, what did I just say?" Clay asked. Not amused by the other's show of defiance.

"You just said I'm an adult who's not related to you, so I can do whatever I want and you can't do anything to stop me," Mike retorted.

"I could arrest you," Clay said with no threat to his tone, just that same weariness intensified.

"And I could sing like a canary." Mike gave him a wolfish grin. "Let's see you cover up this disaster as well as you did the last one at Freddy's."

"Fine, Mike. Fine. You want to come? Fine," Clay said, quickly losing his patience. "But know this, if you get in the way you will be putting both Charlie's and my men's lives in danger, along with your own. So, I hope you are taking this decision more seriously than you sound, because this has nothing to do with seeing this through and everything to do with protecting the lives of hundreds by putting down these machines. This isn't a game."

As confident as he had been earlier, that scolding caught Mike a little off guard and because of it he didn't give a clever retorted. Just a quick, "Got it," and nothing more. He suddenly found the coffee table much more interesting than looking anyone in the eyes.

The room was filled with uncomfortable tension and uneasy silence.

"…Since he's going, do we get to renegotiate this staying behind thing or-?" Carlton knew his mistake as soon as his father gave him that look. He hadn't seen that look since he snuck out of school in third grade. He decided to let the matter drop immediately.

Clay stepped out to get the box and the group was left to sit in that disgruntled silence. Charlie herself was entirely unsurprised in Clay's decision. If anything, she was shocked he was letting Mike come, but he hadn't gotten out of his blackmail unscathed. Jessica, who had been silent the entire time, seemed especially upset, standing alongside Marla who had her arms crossed tightly and lips pressed tight.

Then there was John. As per usual, Charlie's gaze eventually returned to him and tried to read what he was thinking. That stoic look on his face hadn't changed.

"Well, that didn't go like we planned," Charlie said.

"No, it didn't," John agreed.

"So much for talking to Clay like reasonable adults."

"Worked like a charm."

"…"

"…"

"…You're still coming, aren't you?"

"Damn straight."

Conibear: A body-gripping trap designed to kill the trapped animal quickly.