Hey all, here's a new chapter and on the 5th anniversary of when I started to write this story, back when it was just three games and FNAF 4 was being teased. . .back when the lore and story was simple and people mostly agreed on what was canon.
Now trying to understand the lore is like trying to complete a picture puzzle, but half of the pieces are from other sets.
This is a very large chapter, however its focus is quite simple, but I really wanted to get inside the head of one particular character.
Thank you to both August and Guest for your reviews, yes the Fazbears' plan is being put into action, but given what's going on, control is a very fragile thing in FNAF and the situation can easily spiral into chaos.
The song in this chapter is one that I've wanted to use for quite a while, it's 'Locked Up' by Divide Music about serial killer Michael Myers from the Halloween horror film series and it fits very well.
There's a new teaser on Scottgames, Monty/Montgomery, a crocodile/lizard animatronic, so we're getting new characters for FNAF 2020 it seems!
Enjoy. . .
Chapter 48.
Sinister Encounters.
"What is this new prison?"
"Is it me trapped, or is it you?"
"Perhaps it's us both."
Withered Bonnie from Ultimate Custom Night.
The humming sound of the airship's turbines drowned out most other sounds, as Vincent administered the screwdriver to the nail, gently applying a steady pressure to it as he forced the nail into a proper position.
He held the device carefully with his free hand to steady it as he worked, focusing on the task at hand.
Working in silence was a nice way to pass the time, as well as to keep himself occupied from less pleasant thoughts that he would rather not deal with. Plus, he was used to spending days on end down in his workshop basement on various projects, either being experimental in his work, or refining existing ones. He enjoyed it, the art of creation and making the finished results mimic the actions of the living. He couldn't deny that it was a chore, but he loved his work and until his dying breath he wouldn't stop creating.
He slowly applied further pressure on the nail, firmly cementing it into place on the makeshift helmet that he had built a few hours earlier. He figured that he needed to make some adjustments to ensure its effectiveness, but overall, the helmet should do its job just fine when the time came.
Although, it did require a bit of luck on his side, but he had been lucky so far, why not gamble a bit more?
It wasn't like he had anything left to lose, save for his life of course.
He was prepared to comprise should events not go the way he intended, but his impact on the scene should be enough to wrestle control of the initiative from whoever was holding it.
If it didn't. . .well, he would have to make sure he made it out alive so he could try again later down the line. Still, he had a thing for being adaptable, seeming to recognise when an opportunity presented itself.
He sighed as he held the helmet gently in his hands.
The device was ready for use, well the maths should have checked out, unless his research was severely flawed. God alone knows what would happen to his mind if things went south with this thing when he put it on.
Still, he had been in risker situations in the past and still got by just fine, minus a few innovations and bruises.
He should have been more careful back in the Toys' Pizzeria though, had anyone walked in on his fight with Freddy and the Puppet, then he would have surely been a dead man. Greeted by the cold comfort of a jail cell, or most likely the electric chair. However, he was fortunate enough that the incident caused by Mangle had created enough of a panic that it had most people fleeing for the exit without looking back, so great was their terror.
Yet, Vincent found himself both loathing and yet admiring Puppet's efforts to stop him, it worthy of his respect given how far she went.
"That dam clever girl," he chuckled, sounding amused.
"She nearly had me, bringing in Freddy was unexpected, I knew that he was physically strong, but when he was possessed. . ."
His eyes narrowed, remembering the shock he felt back then when Freddy charged at him, with Freddy's eyes being two glowing white dots full of rage and malice.
"He had a strength all onto its own, his attempts to beat me was. . .admirable," Vincent muttered softly, for the fear he had felt in that moment was very real, even though he didn't particularly show it.
He certainly remembered their voices though.
"It's me."
"It's me too."
The strained and hate filled tone that they both spoke in sent chills up his spine as they both glared back at him. At the time he suspected that it was the ghosts of the children he had previously murdered talking back to him, expressing their anger at their untimely demise at his hands.
He understood they would have killed him if they got the chance that day, Puppet especially given her hostility towards which had existed from the moment they first met.
Little did he know back then. . .what or rather 'who' was affecting her mood.
Even when he finally did know what was going on with Puppet and the others, there was far more that eluded him, remaining hidden beyond his sight. Yet, the whole experience at the Toys' Pizzeria had shaken him somewhat, his near defeat had been a punch to the face, a strong remainder that he wasn't invincible, let alone all knowing.
Looking back, he had pushed Puppet into a corner, constantly teasing her and in the end, she fought back, with a lot of force. Hadn't it been for his taser than he probably wouldn't have walked away that day and made his escape in the ensuring panic that he had deliberately created. Yet, the cold and vengeful expressions of both Freddy and Puppet haunted his mind for a while after and the full realisation of what he was potentially up against scared him.
The ghosts of his victims seeking his blood and desiring revenge. He had seen enough 'odd' behaviour from the Puppet during the times that he interacted with her to give an indication that something was wrong. Truthfully, he didn't know anything about her being possessed back then, he just assumed that the stress of the situation was manifesting itself in her moods. The way her eyes shone just a bit brighter with her voice sounding almost male like in some conversations, when her anger and immense dislike of him was most evident.
Vincent scowled internally, as the memory of his first serious encounter with his victims from beyond the grave played itself vividly in his mind's eye.
When he started to see the big picture for what it truly was. . .
Hurricane Utah July 1987. . .
Vincent kept a strong hold his tool box as he made his way over to the Puppet's music box to perform some quick repairs while the hordes of children were distracted by the Toys' musical show; following Jessica Woods, Amy Crawfield and Henry Williams who were preoccupied in their group conversation.
Up ahead, the group spotted Puppet and Balloon Boy by the music box sharing what seemed to be a one-sided conversation, with Balloon Boy trying to pry an answer out of Puppet but to little avail.
"Hey, Balloon Boy, Puppet, having a break, we can't blame you," Henry remarked warmly, quickly catching their attention.
Vincent maintained a blank face as he approached the music box, he knew that Puppet had raised concerns about it earlier today and he had been assigned to fix it before the Toys' show ended. Yet, as he stepped ever closer to the box, he couldn't help but feel delighted with the prospect of uncovering more of Puppet's strange mannerisms, a sense of excitement raced through him. There was a small part of him that did feel cautious though, but Puppet knew better than to act out in public and make herself look like the instigator.
As Henry, Jessica and Amy set about sorting out their various tasks, Vincent approached Puppet who was in the music box.
However, he greeted Balloon Boy, patting him warmly on the head.
"Hey Balloon Boy, how is your day going?" he asked, passing him by, but Balloon Boy didn't give him an answer. Yet Vincent didn't linger on it as his full attention was devoted to Puppet, who stood upright in her music box, gazing back at him with a hard look. Yet in her eyes, he could see that she despised him.
However, Vincent acted with grace and care.
"So, you mentioned that the music player is not working today?" he asked sounding inquisitively, although he was genuinely interested, as he tapped the edges of the music box.
He loomed over her, casing the teenage girl in his shadow, it made her look small, but her hard and weary expression made it clear that she wasn't intimated.
She replied to his question, sounding worn down, but the look in her eyes didn't diminish.
"Yes, no matter what button I press the music just doesn't come on," she said plainly, pointing down at the mechanism that was situated just inside the music box.
"Ok, I'll see what I can do," Vincent remarked, sounding rather determined, after all he loved a challenge, but behind his eyes he watched Puppet carefully, waiting for any sign that her 'other side' was expressing itself.
He set his toolbox down and proceeded to open it up, he was sure that the wires had become crossed somehow.
Jessica had set off to find some red balloons for BB, whilst Henry had finished stacking Puppet's various shelves with Fazbear plushies.
"Ok, I think I'm done over here, Puppet is this good enough for you?" Henry asked, stepping back so Puppet could see his handiwork.
"Yeah, that this fine Henry, thank you," Puppet replied gratefully, leaning back in her box.
Then Vincent made his move as he reached down into the music box, getting his hands into the bowls of the machinery, seeking its circuit board and sound maker.
"You seemed to be an easy person to please Puppet," he commented jokily, it was somewhat genuine, but there an undertone of coldness to it that he was sure she would pick up on.
Immediately Puppet responded back with.
"I do have my limits Vincent," she muttered coldly, turning to look down at him.
"And you won't like to see them."
Yes, there it was, that viper edge to her, he had struck gold.
So, he replied with.
"I must admit that I too have limits-"
Immediately his words set Henry laughing his head off in complete amusement.
"Ha, that's a first!" he shouted.
Vincent sighed and remarked, quite casually.
"Hey, Henry, you are no arch angel either, and before you get involved Amy, you're also cut from the same cloth."
"Guys, I'm not getting involved," Amy remarked humorously, holding her hands up, although she muttered several words under her breath which Vincent couldn't make out, but he was sure that it was a demeaning remark. Then to the surprise of everyone, Mangle unexpectedly stumbled in from Kids' Cove, looking rather dishevelled and complained about her poor treatment at the hands of the hyped-up toddlers.
Amy offered to help her and led Mangle back inside Kids' Cove, aiming to settle the unrest that was plaguing her.
Vincent returned his focus to fixing the music box, he had undone the screws holding the plastic cover in place and now had his hand in the bowls of the mechanism. Slowly examining each individual wire, certain that the cause for the music box's problem being that of a loose/broken or crossed wire.
Even though he was leaning into the music box and therefore was very close to Puppet, he didn't feel unnerved by her being so close to him as he further examined the mechanism for its lingering fault.
Although he suspected that his mere physical presence was probably stressing her out, with her body language immediately expressing a stern coldness to him like she always did. Yet, she wouldn't dare try to make a move against him in the open, she wasn't one to take a big risk, perhaps in fear of him retaliating in some way, which was highly likely given Vincent's own desire for self-preservation.
He had killed before and in the event of protecting himself, he wasn't afraid to slit another throat. . .
However, despite all of that, it didn't mean that she wouldn't attempt to surprise him by some means, after all everyone has their talents.
He had just grasped hold of the loose wire amidst the various cogs of the machine when he heard something in a dark tone that made him stop in mid action.
"It's me. . ."
Vincent's heart stopped, or at least it felt like it had stopped.
That voice, it sounded like a male with a coldness that threaten to freeze his blood as it cut through him like a sharp knife.
He slowly turned to look up at the voice's source, finding it to be Puppet, only now she was visibly different to a far great degree than he had ever seen her before.
Her eyes glowed bright, more so then was normal, but now they held a vengeful nature to them. She was literally glaring daggers at him as her anger seemed barely uncontainable. It as if she was fighting an inner battle to keep it subdued. Her whole face was twitching and jerking, as the hatred in her eyes grew in its intensity, on the whole she looked as though she was on the verge of slipping into the red mist and yet it was causing her immense pain.
She was slipping into madness. . .
Vincent was beyond surprised; he didn't expect Puppet to display so much of her 'other side' and in full view of everyone else. The mere sight of her cold eyes and enraged expression shocked him to his core and with it came the feeling of fear, fearing that she might dare to expose him or at the very least attack him right in the open and all Vincent could do was stare back. For the first time, he felt helpless in her shadow as she towered over him like a black thundercloud with his eyes expressing a deep profound sense of uneasiness.
What was this exactly, why was he so afraid of her right now?
He had underestimated her and there a fear that she was going to try and get her revenge on him, because there is only one thing a cornered animal does when bereft of options. . .fight back.
Then she spoke again and this time he couldn't misheard her.
"I recognise you and I remember what you did to me. . .and the others."
Although he didn't fully understand Puppet's words, he could grasp that she was probably referring to the Missing Children's' Incident and the incident outside Fredbear's Family Diner, but it sounded so personal.
Like Puppet herself had been present at both occasions when she never had been.
Just as much as he evaded her attempts at questioning him, she never made it clear as to how she came to believe that he was the one responsible.
He had hidden his tracks well. . .hadn't he?
The sense of hatred within Puppet's words didn't fit her, despite her constant hostility and wariness towards him, those words didn't suit her nature.
And yet, he still felt clueless over why she was saying those words in the first place.
Something didn't add up. . .
Unless, it was a theory and it was far from rational, but there was only one other person could possibly use those words in such a hate filled manner and make it sound so personal. However, Vincent steeled himself, losing his outward display of shock and fear, replacing it with a cold and equal hard look of his own, to show that he wasn't intimidated by her.
"Somehow, you're here, having survived death and now you're seeing the world through her," he whispered softly, his tone was blank, he didn't wish to give any indication that he knew who or what she was talking about it.
In his mind, Vincent half believed that Puppet was somehow pulling a mind trick on him, impersonating one of his victims to deliberately drag a confession out of him. Yet, she wasn't capable of mimicking voices and nor was she a risk taker as far as Vincent was aware. For all her actions against him, what little they were did not portray the image of someone who was capable of manipulation.
Still those facts didn't override Vincent's fear at what he was seeing, let alone what Puppet was saying.
This had to be a trick, however the other half of his mind believed that everything happening to him was indeed true, that somehow one of his past victims was literally speaking to him through the Puppet.
He had heard about the rumours of the supernatural, the myths and folklore, even the stories surrounding the use of Ouija broads, but he never thought for one moment in his life that there would be any truth to those ghost stories.
And yet his brain was struggling to think of a rational explanation for what was going on.
Then Puppet leaned down, quickly closing the space between them, as her cold and bright eyes bore into his own. The intensity of hatred in her expression seemed to be more than strong enough to penetrate his soul.
"The others are under my protection; I will stop you."
"Do even you realise the kind of game that you are playing?" Vincent asked curiously, with a stern undertone as he kept up his stony expression, daring not to give away any indication of fear. Puppet didn't answer, with her face continuing to twitch as she maintained her death glare at him, with her eyes seeming to be reaching deep into his own. Yet, with no answer being received, Vincent now found himself smiling with an amused and relived delight.
His smile was both cold and menacing, as he felt his confidence slowly return to him calming his inner fear. Whoever was possessing Puppet right now, even if it was somehow one of his former victims, they didn't know how to stop him.
Where was their proof that he was the one responsible and where could they find evidence to prove it?
Puppet's whole expression and body language was nothing more than a front designed to scare him. Her or rather 'its' words were meaningless and possessed no weight behind them.
If she or 'it' dared to fight him right now, then he could easily take her on.
"No," he said defiantly, his eyes now matching hers in becoming a dark and intense gaze.
"You can't. . ."
He simply left it at that, he wasn't willing to give her or 'it' anymore ideas of what he was up to, even if they knew that he was the one responsible for their fate.
Puppet in her demented state looked as if she was about to say something, when suddenly Jessica returned.
"BB, I got the balloons you wanted!" she cried, clutching a bundle of red balloons in her hand.
For Vincent, the air of tension that surrounded him burst like a bubble, it was gone in an instant and the real world returned like the tide rushing in over the sandy beach, covering everything in its path. The immense look of hatred on Puppet's face quickly receded, just as the bright glow of her eyes died down, going back to their normal hue of white.
The aggressive look on her face faded away, replaced by a more exhausted and moody expression, a look that was normally associated with her. Quickly, she stood up straight, retreating out of Vincent's personal space and never looked back, it was like a switch had gone off inside her, the transformation was instant. Equally, Vincent put on the blank, normal and passive face that everyone else was used to seeing. All traces of his cold smile and the hard look in his eyes vanished, the expressions of his inner mind retreated behind the veil that he shrouded himself in.
Yet his heart was still racing. . .just what the hell had he witnessed?
Did it really happened, or did he black out for a moment and vividly imagine the whole confrontation?
Puppet's full attention was immediately caught by Henry, who had just rearranged all the shelves with various plushies of the Originals. He and everyone else were completely unaware of what had just transpired.
However, Vincent still felt lost in the moment, as his body worked on autopilot, reaching into his toolbox for the correct tools as he instinctively repaired the loose wire. Meanwhile his mind was vividly recalling that strange confrontation, trying to make sense of everything but failing to accept the deep implications of what he had just experienced.
Yet, what if it was possible for someone to come back from beyond the dead, especially if they believed themselves to have 'unfinished business'?
It was the only working theory that he had and its mere existence terrified him to his core. Even if one of his victims was possessing Puppet and couldn't stop him in any serious capability, it still scared him greatly.
It was unpredictable and he hated that.
However, at the same time, how was such a thing even possible?
Once he had fixed the loose wire, he instinctively pressed the play button on the mechanism and playful music began to sound.
From that moment onwards the rest of his day became a blur, events merging into eachother to form an unrecognisable mass of memory that he couldn't unscramble. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate on the world around him, his mind wouldn't let the matter rest and whenever he looked at Puppet, a chill ran up his spine whenever her eyes found his, glaring at him intensely and seeming to be monitoring his every move if she could.
He knew and she knew that they were fully aware of eachother now and that she had frightened him significantly.
The more she looked at him, the stronger the chill felt for he feared and suspected that something else; something far more emotionally driven, animalistic and vengeful lurked behind her eyes, watching him too. . .
Something or someone who refused to move on from the pain and agony that he had inflicted on them. Yet, that incident at Puppet's music box never left him and he would do well to remember that dreadful sensation. For it served to remind him that for all his abilities and successes in this murderous destructive game that he had chosen to play, he wasn't all powerful and would need to watch over his shoulder for the unexpected.
The very idea, that something sinister with an unknown face was watching him, seeking the right moment to strike maintained that fear which he could still feel after all those years.
And yet, it had helped him to stay alive, enabling him to keep on coming back and to maintain control of the game. . .
Vincent exhaled, releasing all his inner tension into the surrounding air as he delicately held the makeshift helmet in his hands, as if it was a personal item that he couldn't be parted with.
"I had underestimated her, I'm honest enough to admit that to myself," he whispered softly, yet his voice carried an undertone of frustration.
"Her possession threw me off guard for a while and it took me even longer to fully comprehend what was really happening to her and the others."
Then a small smile appeared on his lips as he spoke calmly.
"Yet, equally, she had underestimated how crafty I was, what I was willing to do achieve my ends, even though it came with great risk; particularly given the unpredictability of the situation in general and most of all what she and her 'companion' might do in the resulting chaos."
He gently placed the makeshift helmet on the table.
"Even though I won that round, the feeling of cold dread, the haunting sensation that when I looked into her eyes I was stumbling into something much deeper and darker than I could ever imagine."
He chuckled to himself, smiling even more as he realised something.
"It felt like I was falling into a pit, that I was no longer in full control and events could potentially overwhelm and consume me utterly for this road had no end."
Then his green eyes narrowed, and he stopped laughing, becoming serious.
"Well. . .I see the end now, it's just a matter of craving a path towards it."
He turned away from the helmet with his eyes now searching for something.
And then he found it. . .
"You would understand, wouldn't you?" he asked thoughtfully, staring at the collection of three soft objects and the wooden music box.
"You would know what it is like to have little to no control over events, as you find yourself dangling from a puppet string?"
He then reached out and placed his hand on one of the soft objects, feeling its fluffy surface tickle his skin.
"I know how it feels to be helpless, even though our respective situations differed greatly."
Memories of such times flickered vividly in his mind's eye, each one had him closer to death than the last, but he had wilfully put himself there so he could win. Then Vincent's tone changed to one of firmness, even though he continued to lightly stroke the object in a gentle and almost affectionate manner.
"However, coming to know that my past victims had returned filled me with curiosity, a deep desire to know more and an awareness of what could possibly exist beyond death."
He wanted to know, to understand just how the murdered children had come to inhabit the physical plane. It sounded irrational beyond belief to anyone else as well as quite dangerous, but it was intriguing nonetheless.
"Even though I understood that my freedom of action was curtailed, given that the Fazbears would eventually become aware of me and the unpredictability of what could follow; it was fascinating to see what they have become, innocents turned into feral beasts."
His eyes narrowed even more as his inner thoughts tossed and turned.
"However, I don't think that I can be fully blamed for what they turned into, at the end of the day, one has to take responsibility for their actions, I certainly take full responsibility for mine."
"Although. . ."
He then removed his hand from the soft object, breaking off his physical connection to his past.
"I will decide when my own judgement is due and in doing so, everyone else's as well."
His determination to dictate the game was strong and he would it seen through to the bitter end.
"In the end, it is only fitting, that everything should end together."
He smiled as his eyes glanced over to the SpringBonnie helmet that sat on top of the box at the far side of the desk. It gazed back at him with its lifeless green eyes.
"In the end, only a few things can or will last forever, isn't that right Springy?" Vincent asked humorously. The head of the SpringBonnie animatronic said nothing, continuing to look vacantly back at him. . .utterly lifeless, despite seeming so real.
Vincent chuckled to himself, momentarily breaking his mind's focus on his memories, before the subject reasserted itself to become centre stage in his mind again.
"Anyway," he said nonchalantly, turning his gaze back towards the three objects and the wooden music box.
"Even though trying to understand the supernatural and this new unpredictability that I now faced brought certain risks, it was too fascinating to ignore."
"Plus. . ."
"Puppet and her new 'friend' had given me an awful good scare and I felt concerned that the children could begin to assert their dominance and try to find me."
He felt his hands slowly morph into fists as his anger slowly materialized inside him, along with a sense of fear.
"I got the sense that I was in danger of becoming trapped, that my luck would eventually run out and my skills for all that they were worth would fail me, should I ever return to that God forsaken pizzeria."
"If I went back inside that building after everyone had moved back from Hurricane, then I would be making a death wish."
He sighed, once again releasing his inner tension into the air.
"My lone wolf act couldn't continue anymore without being noticed by Puppet and the others and yet I had to keep on hurting them, but what could I do when all eleven were arrayed against me?"
He already knew the answer to his question and he was just talking aloud; yet what could he do but cast his mind back over old memories until the endoskeletons arrived to confirm to him that the 'required assets' had been collected.
"I felt cornered, even though I was beyond their reach. . .for the moment, so I tried to understand the laws of the supernatural, but I could only get so far and then. . ."
A spark of excitement filled his eyes, feeling a rush of enjoyment sweep through his body, as he spoke with delight.
"Help came from an unexpected quarter, out of the dark, I had my reservations, strong ones even, but I had no choice if I wanted to finish what I had already started."
His hands relaxed, ceasing to be fists, hanging by his side as he smiled. His mind began to replay those strange days that would ever stand out in his memories, despite everything else that he had witnessed when regarding Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria.
"I felt as though I was stepping into a much bigger world, feeling my way through the darkness despite being led and in the end what I came to encounter was far beyond my wildest dreams and nightmares. . ."
Greenfield Indiana late November 1987. . .
The air was still and quiet as the night rolled ever onwards; while amidst the inner confines of the house nothing moved, being covered in a smoothing blanket of darkness.
Everything was stationary, the lights were off, the rooms were empty, and the doors were either closed. It was like the entire house lacked any life as no sound echoed through the air as silence reigned supreme. The entire atmosphere was almost relaxing, in a way, minus the sensation that the surrounding darkness was suffocating everything around it.
Then, there came a faint sound. . .from below.
Slowly, much like approaching thunderclouds, the sound grew in strength, moving upwards and breaking the silence that had reigned over the seemingly desolate house.
It sounded like gears shifting, with a soft humming noise, sort of like the sound that a fan makes when its blades were spinning. At the far end of one of the house's hallways, a tall bookcase began to shudder as the sound got closer to the surface.
Soon it started to tremble as did surrounding objects and furniture, as the source of the sound neared its destination. The mixture of sounds, the humming of a fan and the shifting gears all combined to generate a rumble that echoed throughout the house, more than enough to annoy anyone living here. Yet, there was only one person living here and they didn't mind the noise at all.
Then the sounds stopped abruptly, ceasing to exist and faded into nothingness.
For a moment there was nothing. . .just silence.
Suddenly, the bookcase shifted over to one side as if it was on a roller. In doing so, it revealed behind it a sizeable double door. Slowly, the doors opened under their own power and from the emerging gap there came light, brightening up the immediate area as a male figure now appeared in the open doorway.
Vincent Afton sighed as he fully stepped out of the elevator's doors, hearing it close shut behind him. The bookcase began to slide back into its original position, completely covering up the entrance to his workshop basement.
There was a secret combination that he used through the bookcase to unlock the entrance; a security feature he had created in case anyone dared to break into his house.
Not that they would ever get out though if they ventured far enough inside. . .
He made dead sure of that possibility being nonexistence. He slowly walked forward, bringing his torch out and turning it on, enabling him to see. He wasn't bothered with turning the lights on, especially in the small hours of the morning. Besides, he liked the darkness, it made him feel at home somehow, like it was embracing him.
He knew where his bedroom was, bypassing the door to the bathroom as he walked onwards with the light from his torch craving a path through the dark.
He loved being back in a familiar place, so he could be with 'them' again.
He needed their comfort, if it was just through being physically close to them.
They're still here. . .in some way.
He moved through empty hallways, silently glancing at the various memorabilia of his old life, yet he didn't desire to remiss in what had once been. At least not to the point where he would feel his emotions threaten to overwhelm him in unending sorrow.
At times, he felt that he was just holding on.
However, he continued to move forward, heading down the hallway towards his bedroom, allowing himself to become lost in his thoughts. His creations have done well today, those new improvements he had added to them had worked like a charm and had helped to make them seem more realistic than before.
It was more than enough to take his whole breath away and he loved every second of watching their performance. He wished that he could stay in that moment forever, to suppress his pain and to null his fears about what awaited him at the end.
He tried not to think about it too much, for he was aware of where he would be going when this was all over. Yet, he was doing it all for a good cause, his intentions were well meant, understandable even from a certain perspective, although his executions of said intentions were monstrous to say the least.
However, he knew that he was past the point of caring about what anyone else thought of what he was doing or had done.
Secrets are best kept to one person and no one else, less that other person was very loyal to hold such secrets. Yet, Vincent had no one to share them with, nor did he particularly wish to find someone with whom he could share. Besides, he only let Puppet live because despite the scare that she had given him, he wanted her to feel the shame of her failure to save those children as a form of payback. In addition, he had done well enough already to hide any incriminating evidence that would lead back to him.
He wasn't perfect, but he did know what he was doing and was very much aware of the conquences of failure.
He walked forward, everything felt still as things should be in this house, especially in the early hours of the morning, but did the air feel a bit cold. . .had he turned the heater off somehow?
As he approached the kitchen, coming into the lounge first as he made his way over, that feeling of coldness grew steadily in the surrounding air. There were things in the lounge which he would have found the time to gaze over, but right now, his interest lay elsewhere, fuelling his curiosity.
Vincent felt confused, had a pipe burst releasing cold air into the near vicinity?
He certainly wouldn't have heard it down underground, given the distance and noise that he was able to generate, but he was relieved to find that it wasn't a gas pipe as he couldn't smell anything odd. Soon, he reached the doorway that lead into the kitchen, but he discovered that the cold air had grown in strength and was producing quite a chill as it hit his body in waves. While this new event was concerning, Vincent was pleased to know that it wasn't a water pipe that had unexpected burst as there was no sound of running water.
In fact, there was no sound at all, the kitchen was silent and yet the air remained undeniably cold. Seeking out the source of the problem, Vincent slowly shone his torchlight across the room, from one end to the next. He would find it, he was sure, as his eyes thoroughly searched for any potential giveaway to the problem's source. The heating was indeed on in the house, he could tell as he made way over here and yet the kitchen was ice cold. Things didn't add up, especially as none of the surrounding walls suggested a burst pipeline.
He shone the torch light over various cupboards, the oven, the cooker, microwave and many other kitchen appliances.
The light passed over the kitchen table, a few chairs and then onto the fridge and the free-
Wait, what was that?
Quickly, having registered that his eyes had indeed noticed something, Vincent turned the torchlight back across the kitchen table.
There. . .the thing on the table, sitting upright and staring vacantly back at him.
Immediately Vincent's eyes went wide, not with fear, but with recognition.
His mouth opened, but no words came out, it was like some unseen force had its hand clamped his voice box, forbidding him to speak.
His hands were trembling, he felt fear and confusion rush through his body, overwhelming him as his mind protested at what he was seeing, as well as the implications of what it meant.
Instantly and without thinking, caring not for anything else, not even the cold air. Vincent marched forward, grabbed the object firmly and turned about, leaving the kitchen and heading back the way he had come.
Yet, this time he had a different destination in mind.
He felt anger, amidst his confusion and panic, what he had seen was impossible.
That object should only exist in one room in this house, it shouldn't be anywhere else.
It had to be an illusion of sorts, after all his sleep pattern had become dysfunctional since he had returned from Hurricane in Utah; as there was little to do anymore, with his main interest having encountered 'problems' that prevented him from advancing it any further. His feet pounded the carpet as he walked towards his target, not wanting to waste any time. He was now following a series of doors along the left wall of the only other corridor in his house, not too far from his own bedroom in fact.
He soon found his intended room, grabbed hold of the doorknob and pushed it wide open.
He quickly stepped inside, casting his torchlight across the room, intending to find something.
The light from the torch drifted over various objects and items, none of which were suited to him, but he was looking for a specific area. He turned the torchlight in another direction towards the room's far wall and there he found the spot.
The others were still there, all lined up alongside eachother, all bar one.
There was a noticeable empty space between those objects, a space that was meant to be filled by the very object that Vincent now held in his hands.
And yet, it was always meant to be here, never to be moved.
How could have it got from here to the kitchen?
Because there no way in which it would have moved on its own and therefore that only left one explanation.
Someone had moved it. . .
The cold air that previously had felt faint given the distance from its source, now felt as strong as it did when Vincent was in the kitchen.
It was like it had followed him, or it was now starting to spread throughout the house?
Yet, he was certain that he didn't see any sign of a burst pipe, so what was happening exactly?
His mind could be playing a trick on him, sleep deprivation could be having an effect. Yet, he was physically holding an object that had always been placed in this room and never anywhere else.
Who had moved it and why?
Before he could ask himself another question, a thought burst into his mind.
The house alarm, why hadn't it gone off, someone must have broken in!
Quickly deciding to investigate the matter, Vincent immediately left the room and headed out into the corridor, moving towards the front door where the house alarm was based, using the torch to light his way. Soon he arrived, to find that the alarm was still active, evident by the bright green light that shone from its control panel.
He had it contacted to his workshop basement, so he knew when it went off and thereby warn him of the house being broken into whilst he was down there. However, looking directly at it, he could see that the house alarm hadn't suffered from any fault and was working as intended.
What was going on?
How could someone break in and not set off the alarm, unless they were highly skilled at bypassing such devices and slipping in unseen. However, so far nothing seemed to have been taken from the house. Although Vincent hadn't searched his own bedroom yet, where he kept some items that would be of interest for thieves. The rest were kept deep unground. . .safe from prying eyes.
Amidst it all, Vincent could still sense that cold air, its presence was heavy, and it was all around him.
It felt unnatural, like it was deliberately following him and that only further fuelled his fears. As he collected himself, his mind returned to the questions that he had pondered when he was back in the other room. The way that the object had been positioned when he found it in the kitchen, sitting upright and staring back at him, it felt strange.
Like it had been deliberately placed in that position, rather than simply left lying down on the table.
Almost as if in some way, it was waiting to be found. . .by him specifically.
He alone of all people, would know what that moment meant, finding such an object that he highly valued in a place where it wasn't supposed to be. Vincent felt confused above anything else right now, as he looked around about him, trying to find the source of his problem, but failing to see anything of note. Was someone toying with him, but whoever picked that specific object, must have known what it meant to him and therefore know him to a significant degree.
A fear loosen itself upon his mind like a massive downpour from a thunderstorm.
What if the Fazbears in their deranged state had somehow managed to track him down?
In addition, what if they had left the pizzeria and broke into his house, aiming to seek vengeance against him for the crimes that he had committed and the immense pain that he unleashed on them?
Was it possible, how would they know where he lived?
The fear of such a possibility being real grew, because Vincent couldn't deny it as he had nothing else to go on. In his current confused and panicked driven state of mind he couldn't think logically.
CRASH!
Suddenly, a loud noise of something falling over was heard from somewhere in the house, towards the kitchen. Instantly, Vincent spun round in its direction, but he saw nothing from where he was stood by the front door.
Yet, it was clear. . .someone was here.
At first, he wanted to rush on over and find the intruder, to then swiftly put an end to them before they could escape, yet logic was able to prevail over emotion in this instance. The intruder or intruders, if there was more than one would most likely be armed with guns, making Vincent' knife next to useless.
He needed his gun for this kind of situation, and he knew where it was, his bedroom was nearby and in the opposite direction of the sound. Quickly, he made his way over there, entered and proceeded to unlock the safe where he kept an array of personal treasures, among them his pistol. His mind was trying its best not to be overrun by panic.
"Compared to the shit that I've come to see and believe at Freddy's, this is child's play," he muttered bitterly to himself, in truth he had been through a lot worse than this. He smiled with dark delight as he brought his pistol out of the safe, feeling a sense of security rush through him as he gripped its handle, supressing his fear.
"Now, let's see who you really are," he whispered sternly, with only one thought in mind.
He then swiftly left his bedroom, having stuffed the object into his trouser pocket, so he could carry both the torch and the pistol. Now, he retraced his route to the kitchen, so far there haven't been any new sound, just a tense silence that drifted through the cold air, sending goose bumps up Vincent's skin.
Yet Vincent kept his focus, continuing to make his way into the lounge, seeing the doorway to the kitchen ahead of him.
He gritted his teeth, he was ready for a confrontation, even to risk death, which he had already done so before.
Yet now he felt that a lot was at stake, himself, his plans and most of all, his 'creations', he needed to defend 'them'. He promised that he would keep them safe from harm, wherever it came from and in whatever form it took.
The cold air was all around him; no longer did it seem to originate from the kitchen which previously had been the coldest room in the house. Vincent leaned against the nearby wall, having turned off the torch once he neared the doorway.
Then, he listened, waiting in the darkness, amidst the deadly silence for a sound.
"Make a sound, make a mistake, I dare you!" he mentally cursed, hoping for the intruder to slip up and reveal themselves.
Yet no sound came, only silence and for a while it begin to feel to Vincent as though all of this had been imagined by his sleep deprived mind; a lot of things that go bump in the house were often the house's internal pipes. It may have been a few minutes, but to Vincent felt that though he had been waiting for half an hour and he began to get bored, wondering if he should just burst into the room and shine the torchlight everywhere at once until he found something worth using for target practice. . .
Creak!
Vincent didn't waste any time as he dashed in, shining the torch everywhere, prepared to fire blindly until he hit someone or something. In the end, he could claim self-defence, after all someone had unlawfully entered his home, so he was covered from any murder charges. Yet, he found nothing, no one was here, no matter how many times he shone the light around.
Everything was in its place as before, nothing had been touched, Vincent stepped further into the seemingly desolate kitchen for a closer inspection.
Well. . .as it turns out, not everything was in its proper place, for the changes were subtle, so small that they could it easily be missed with a glance.
One of the kitchen table's chairs had been moved slightly, into a position that gave off the impression that someone may have been sitting in it and nearby on the floor were the remains of a smashed plate, with its broken pieces spread out apart from eachother.
So that was the source of the crash, and to think it could make such a loud sound.
Then again, nothing else was making any noise, so it had no competition in being heard.
In addition, the table itself wasn't empty, for there was a note on it, handwritten by the looks of it. Seeing no danger to be present, Vincent slowly moved over towards the table, eager to examine the note's contents. He gave a passing glance to the chair as he set the torch down on the table, before reaching out and taking hold of the note with his free hand.
Slowly, his eyes wandered down the page, as he began to take in its words.
Suddenly, he found himself in the exact same mood that he had been in when he discovered the object.
Confusion, then recognition and finally fear.
The note was in fact a letter personally addressed to him; his hand trembled as he held it.
His eyes went wide with shock as he continued to read.
Certain parts stuck out in his mind, whilst with other sections he was too stunned to remember, but the letter contained many references to things that only he would know. His planning leading up to both the first and second missing children's' incidents, information which he would never dared have shared with anyone.
Even the knives that he had used, being ones that he had brought from home and then discarded afterwards were described in good detail, but who else would know such things about him?
His heart skipped several beats when he read one part that contained a vivid description of him killing the children, perfectly recreating the scene in his mind. Yet, it wasn't like someone had been present alongside him when he was carrying out the murders. It had just been him and the children in those backrooms.
Nor, had anyone been present with him down in his workshop basement, when he was coming up with the means to carry out his killings.
There was no way that Puppet would know such things, despite knowing him to be the man responsible for everything. Unless, she had been able to figure everything out and it is possible that the vengeful spirit of the child that resided inside of her had told Puppet what they had experienced in their final moments. However, even if that was true, it still didn't explain how she discovered his home, let alone get inside without setting off the house alarm, if she was indeed the one behind this.
Plus, wouldn't the other Fazbears be here as well, stalking the house, trying to find him, groaning and moaning in their possessed state as they walked around?
No one else was here, but him. . .and his unwanted guest.
It was unrealistic that Puppet, despite her desire to get revenge for those whom he had harmed would come alone to confront him.
Yet, his feelings of confusion, profound shock and panic threatened to overwhelm him.
"What the hell is this?" he whispered aloud, his tone was shaky, and it betrayed his fear.
"How in God's name could anyone else know about this?"
He forcefully collected himself, preventing any emotional outburst and tried to figure things out rationally, as he began to read the letter again, slowly this time.
It started out with:
"We are aware, of what you did Vincent Afton, we know of your direct involvement in the sadistic murder of children at Freddy Fazbear establishments, as well as your strong desire to inflict even more harm onto the Fazbear family that resides within."
"In truth, we know everything that you've done since June 1983, we've watched and listened for so long."
"The use of the SpringBonnie suit, hiding as a wolf in sheep's clothing, luring the children away to their deaths on the promise of enteral fun and happiness."
"Repeating the act again only a few days ago, with even greater results and despite the risks involved, your dedication whilst of great concern for others, is deeply admired by us."
Who wrote this letter and why, had he somehow earned the attention of a death cult and this was their offer of membership?
Granted, such groups did exist, but Vincent had absolutely no intention of joining them.
The letter continued.
"We know that what you are reading must both confuse and terrify you, to know that someone else is aware of your crimes, your fear must be overwhelming."
That was an understatement given what Vincent was feeling right now, as his sense of being insecure and fully exposed filled his whole being, threatening to physically burst out and manifest itself, if it were possible.
"And to show that we are serious, that we truly know you mister Afton, does this explain your motive well enough?"
What Vincent read next left him feeling truly terrified and he could feel all the colour drain away from his face.
How could anyone know about. . .'that'. . .he had only ever spoken of his motive to himself a few times, when he was completely alone.
Well, when he 'thought' he was alone. . .
It was described it in immense detail, in clear black and white, staring back at him like the naked light of day. Vincent physically trembled, he was truly scarred and suddenly he felt as though the grim reaper himself was now upon him, ready to deliver him gift wrapped to hell. His life collapsed before him, now that someone knew about his crimes and importantly why he had committed them to the great lengths that he did.
Worse still, he had the strong impression that whoever had written this letter to him had the means to either expose him utterly, or to deliver serious harm, especially when considering that they had somehow got inside his house without making a scene. The fact that he was staring into the unknown as it toyed with him, only further confounded his horror.
Even more so, as he no idea as to who would know such details and know him on such a personal level and equally as well, why they would contact him in this manner. A seemingly endless horde of questions assaulted his mind, all begging to be answered, but he lacked the ability to even attempt a response. He felt empty and utterly alone in this moment, staring at the letter with a shell-shocked expression that embodied his feeling of complete helplessness.
All this time, Vincent had imagined himself to be the puppet master and now it was as if someone had just suddenly grabbed hold of the strings and usurped his role, leaving him powerless and at their mercy.
Perhaps that is how Puppet felt, well, now he knew what it was like to be playing second fiddle to someone else.
He continued to read.
"We know that you enjoyed every second of your 'work', watching the light fade away from their eyes as they emotionally drowned in never ending fear. . .you wanted to be the last thing that they saw."
"You loved being the one in charge of life and death, reclaiming what you perceived to have lost, it became addictive. . .didn't it?"
Vincent couldn't or nor would he deny it, he loved it, every moment and as far as he was concerned it was completely justified.
There was no coming back from it, so he might as well go all the way and enjoy himself in the chaos that he was purposefully creating.
"Yet, it seems that your enemies have become fully aware as to the identity of the one responsible for all of their pain. . .you, and now you face a dead end, for they will try to find you and you know what will happen if they catch you, for your luck has almost run out."
"However, our goals and yours, just so happen to align in this instance, for we too yearn to bring down the Fazbears to strip them of everything they hold onto, before finally delivering them into the depths of hell that await to swallow them whole. . ."
"If you accept our offer of help, then together, we can both be satisfied, for an enemy of my enemy is my friend. . ."
Despite the terror that he was feeling, Vincent couldn't help but smirk upon reading that last line, he could sense a great deal of arrogance from those who had written this letter, even if their offer of help was genuine. Yet the letter's contents only revealed more questions.
Who else existed that could hate the Fazbears as much as he did and more importantly why?
Yet, it was true that an enemy of his enemy was a potential friend, although Vincent knew absolutely nothing about this stranger that offered to help him. He wanted to know who this 'other' was, although he hadn't got the faintest idea on where to start looking. Suddenly, his body underwent a weird sensation, like a chill was running up his spine and he felt that he wasn't alone anymore.
Almost like someone was watching him over his shoulder. . .
Quickly dropping the letter onto the table and grabbing the torch, Vincent spun round to face this new threat.
His wide eyes met nothing. . .just an empty doorway leading into the lounge.
Yet, his instincts told him otherwise, urging to him investigate and find the source of this feeling. In an instant, all his questions and feelings of confusion and dread had faded away to be replaced by pure adrenaline. He was alert and ready for a fight, although he had only temporally suppressed his feeling of being caught in a deadly dilemma because of the evolving situation.
Slowly, he reached back behind him and took hold of the letter again, but this time he stuffed it into his other trouser pocket. He then stepped forward, walking through the doorway and out into lounge, sweeping his torchlight across the room to find his eavesdropper. Vincent could be patient if he wanted to, but he had been running around on his feet, trying to find some unseen intruder; that at times felt so near and yet was seemingly always out of reach.
He was done playing games.
"I know that you're here, somewhere," he said sternly, expressing his inner frustration, whilst simultaneously hiding his fear.
"If you want my attention, then congratulations you have earned it."
His eyes were peeled for any indication of movement as he shone the torchlight everywhere at once.
"Although, how you got inside without alerting me to your presence still baffles me," he muttered softly, now sounding almost casual, but his annoyance with the lack of a response soon returned to the fore.
"You seem to know a lot about me, you got my attention in a way that would be impossible for me to ignore and still you continue to hide," he remarked in confident tone, yet he felt irritated beyond belief.
"The letter on the kitchen table, you want to discuss events relating to Freddy Fazbear's don't you?"
Then he let his annoyance fully express itself in his voice.
"Why not come out and talk to me face to face, if you are so willing to come into my home and go to such lengths as to have me chase you about the place, just to get my attention."
"You got this far, why not try to go a little further, you offered to help me, although how you came to know such things in the way that you described them I would very much like to know."
He spun round on the spot, shining the torchlight everywhere in the fading hope of noticing something.
"Fine, I'll hear you out on your offer, let's talk. . ."
If he got no response, then he didn't know what he might do.
In his desperation for answers, he brought out the letter and picked up on where he left off, although it turned out that he had reached the letter's end.
"You undoubtedly have many questions, concerning how we know and why we are even offering to help you, such questions will be answered rest assured, but we'll contact you again, if you accept our offer now."
"If you don't, then you'll have chosen a short path to the grave at the hands of those children whose lives you've ruined."
"Choose wisely. . ."
Vincent sighed, he couldn't deny what the letter said, he was almost out of options and he couldn't attempt to return to the pizzeria without being exposed. The Fazbears knew about him and what he was capable of; his usual tricks probably wouldn't work anymore, whilst the risks would have increased immensely. He couldn't beat those odds, unless he did indeed wish for an early demise.
Yet, help it seems was at hand, from the last place he would expect. . .the unknown.
He put the letter back into his trouser pocket, he would look at it again later.
Then he saw it. . .
He physically froze in mid motion, finding himself staring forward into the darkness that lay just beyond the doorway that lead from the lounge into the main hall.
Someone or something had indeed been watching him. Unless, this was a complete fabrication created by his sleep deprived mind, yet his instincts told him otherwise, even though a part of him questioned what he was seeing. There was the faint outline of a figure in the darkness, staring back at him in utmost silence.
He couldn't fully make them out, catching vague flickers of an appearance of sorts, but he couldn't tell who or what they were. He struggled to speak, now that he had the opportunity to get some answers, he felt the familiar sensation of his voice box being crushed, silencing his ability to speak. He felt lost as he stared at the figure with them gazing back at him.
It was far too dark to make them out, but Vincent was beyond no doubt that they were the one responsible for moving things about the house and sending him on a wild goose chase. Their face was completely hidden, but their eyes. . .those cold eyes that glowed from the confines of the shadows seem to cut right through him.
Vincent felt terrified, finding himself to be frozen on the spot.
Those ominous eyes made him feel as though he had been put under an intense fiery gaze and yet equally it seemed to pierce his soul like an ice dagger through the heart if it were possible.
Then Vincent noticed something new, a flickering.
Out of the corner of his eyes he saw that the light from his torch was now flickering, dying, then reappearing in quick flashes.
"This thing has near full battery in it, why is it acting up now?" he mentally asked, although he probably knew the answer.
What was happening right now wasn't normal.
Everything that had happened since he returned from his workshop basement wasn't normal and he got the foreboding feeling that the figure which stood in the doorway glaring back at him wasn't normal either.
And yet his torch continued to flicker, only now it seemed to stay dead for longer each time it died before reviving itself.
Finally, Vincent's frustration, his burning desire for answers and his fear of what was going on at last overcame his patience and he found the inner strength to speak his mind, loosening that unseen chain around his throat.
"Who are you?" he demanded impatiently.
The figure gave him no reply.
"What you do you want?"
Again, only silence came.
"Why are you doing this to me?"
Still nothing.
"Your letter said that you offered to help me, well, I am genuinely curious and inclined to accept, despite my strong reservations."
He had his doubts, many in fact, but his desire for answers was so strong that it steamrolled any internal objections to accepting their offer.
Yet, Vincent only received more silence amidst the darkness.
"How will you contact me, I don't even know how you came to know me," he stated as his frustration morphed into anger. He had every right to demand answers for being toyed with in such a manner. The more calmer and observant side of his personality did note that this was probably how Puppet and the other Fazbears felt, reacting to events dictated to them by a shadowy puppet master, as they felt their way in the dark, desperate to find answers of their own.
Yet, in his anger, he ignored such observations and remained focused on the matter at hand.
"We've been living in the shadows," the figure finally said, their tone was cold, stern and demonic, yet they spoke softly, almost in whisper.
Although Vincent had deeply desired a response, the stranger's voice caught him off guard, nearly making him jump out of his skin.
"We know you, mister Afton, our end goals are the same, but we'll speak again very soon on matters further."
Yet Vincent insisted on getting an answer of sorts.
"What is your reason for wanting to go against the Fazbears, what have they done to you exactly?" he asked, sounding both annoyed and tired.
"It is not what they've done, but rather what they can give us through their deaths," the figure replied, again their tone was both soft and stern, yet it came across as casual in a way.
"What do you mean through their deaths, you know my motivation, what is yours, why do you want to help me, I am entitled to ask?" Vincent enquired, his patience was at breaking point, he just wanted a straight answer. For a while the figure said nothing, seeming to be thinking Vincent's words over and an uneasy silence developed, amidst the flickering light from Vincent's torch.
Then. . .finally it came.
"Enough has been said for now, the rest shall be revealed later. . ."
The figure seemed to be moving backwards, further into the darkness and in doing so, Vincent felt his anger be known.
"No, you don't just get to leave without giving me any answers, cut the bullshit and tell me what is going on!" he yelled, clearly enraged.
Yet the vanishing figure only replied with.
"Shhhhhhh. . ."
Vincent somehow regained control of his limbs and forced the torch to shine in the figure's direction, hoping to expose them. Yet, when he did so, the torchlight revealed nothing, but an empty hallway, the figure had vanished seemingly into thin air. Now it seemed that the torch was no longer having any issues with functioning properly, compared to its strange performance earlier.
At the same time, that feeling of coldness was steadily fading away as the surrounding air began to warm up. Somehow that mysterious figure was responsible for the cold air existing, seeming to appear wherever they were. Yet, Vincent marched forward, his feet stomping the carpet as he walked, shining the torchlight everywhere as he hunted for the haunting eyes of that figure, but to no avail.
In the end, he found himself standing in the darkness, feeling a wide array of powerful emotions that conflicted with each other in his mind. He was bereft of answers and left with more questions that he couldn't answer himself and trying to comprehend what had just happened within the last twenty minutes. He could feel a tidal wave of exhaustion start to creep up on him as his adrenaline subsided, urging him to sleep.
After what he had just witnessed, he needed to lay down and think things through clearly.
Yet one thing stood out to him amidst the chaos.
Tonight's events had proved to him as it had with his encounters with the Fazbears when they were in their 'demented' state that he was truly in the deep end; left swimming in an ocean filled with potentially bigger predators, despite his achievement in presenting himself as the all controlling puppet master.
Now, in this singular moment, it really felt as though events were starting to slip out of his grasp and into the hands of someone else.
Particularly someone who could be as ruthless and as skilful as him and someone who probably doesn't like having any loose ends. . .
Vincent sighed as he leaned back in his chair, allowing those past moments to gradually leave his mind as he recomposed himself.
"And yet that encounter, for all of its suspension and my own fear was just the tip of the iceberg," he mentally muttered to himself, remembering very well that feeling of dread when he first saw those haunting eyes.
It was in the same sensation as that of when Puppet reared her dark side at him, in her possessed state as the child's spirit within her revealed that they knew who he was and what he had done, as had the figure's letter. Vincent felt completely exposed and not in control, a feeling that he wished above all else to avoid. That was one of the main reasons for why he went underground after 1994, so he could keep control of events and remerge at a more opportunistic time, once the immediate horror of events had faded away in the eyes of the public.
He could afford to wait and bid his time, keeping a close eye on the Fazbears to ensure that he knew where they were, so that when the right moment came, he knew just where to strike.
From the shadows he watched them live out their wretched lives as they sank even deeper into despair, anguish, rage and hatred, both towards the world and themselves. It was interesting to watch them crumble, to fall apart and be unable to put themselves back together as their inner conflict ripped them in two.
Yet, it was to be him, who would deliver the death blow to every one of them in a glorious finale.
He wanted to kill them, and he could have done so quite easily on multiple occasions, but he didn't want to rush things. He wanted to make their demise perfect, it couldn't be easy, or carried out if there were still aspects of themselves that he could destroy first.
They had to have nothing, but their own lives left by the time this game was all but over.
Like him. . .
He hated them passionately and yet he couldn't leave them alone. He kept on coming back, back to a familiar place and hurting them with familiar tricks, leaving behind a wound that was left to bleed out and cause more harm as it couldn't be fixed.
Well. . .he knew of a way to heal it, but he wouldn't give his victims any relief until he deemed the time right.
This was all he had left of his life, this game that he relentless pursued.
He had even gone so far to build his own airship to pursue them across the earth, as he had learnt from his technical sources that they intended to leave the pizzeria in a similar manner. Those security cameras at the pizzeria were easy to hack into remotely, enabling him to spy and to listen in on the likes of Freddy, Puppet, Mangle, Goldie and the rest from a safe distance.
Once he found them again, he promised himself that he would never let them go, such was the strength of his devotion towards continuing this blood soaked game that he had started. He would keep them there, he would hold them there, no matter how many times he had to subject himself to emotional torture with the memories of why he was doing all of this in the first place.
At times it felt like the pain and enjoyment of his actions were the only things holding off his desire for eternal sleep.
However, somewhere in the far back reaches of his mind, there existed a tiny part of himself that knew he was largely responsible for making his pain worse and that he couldn't escape from what he had done.
He was aware of his own folly and the current state of his life.
It was like being encased in a spring lock suit, being nothing more than a shell of who he once was and deprived of no other purpose than to roam endless and try to find a way to end his tormented existence through wrecking the lives of those he deemed to hold responsibility for it, big or small.
Someday he would sleep, but not today. . .not until the wound had finally been healed for good. Yet, before that day, he would never let them rest, nor would he ever let them be free of him and he would keep on coming back until the nightmare he had created was finally put to rest.
Because he always comes back and there is a place for him in this hell that together they had all created for themselves and it couldn't end until all of them were gone. . .
(Begin song here if you wish).
We find ourselves drifting slowly through the dark hallways and empty rooms of Vincent's house, floating in silence as the darkness envelopes us.
The scene changes to a large room in his workshop basement, where we see electronic equipment, a few control panels and a metallic stage on which four stationary figures stand motionless.
There is no sound, other than the humming of electronics and blaring static.
Then we see Vincent himself sitting in a chair before an array of monitors, showing a variety of live feed images of the pizzeria inside at night.
He stares longingly at them.
"Forty years since we last faced, I. . .miss the times we spent together."
The desire to return and finish the job is very strong.
"Feeling I need to get back to you."
We see the figures on stage begin to move, their eyes glowing in the dark.
"Stuck in an institution. . ."
They begin to speak nonchalantly, almost distinct.
"All the voices give me company."
Then all the possessed Fazbears appear on the monitor screens.
"They remind me soon we all will meet. . .again."
We see the crowded and enclosed space of Vincent's workshop basement.
"Can't keep me locked up. . .forever."
We see the SpringBonnie suit slumped against the far wall.
"Forever. . ."
We see Vincent's shadow fall across it.
He grips the Springbonnie's helmet and slowly takes it off.
Carefully, he lowers the helmet onto his own head.
We see him in the Springbonnie suit standing outside the pizzeria at night.
"When the night comes, I'll step closer."
He grips his knife tightly.
"To the place where you reside. . ."
He will have the last laugh.
"Don't choke before I get to you. . ."
He unlocks the main entrance and steps inside.
"I can sense the fear and repulsion."
Stalking the dark hallways.
"In the shadows, I stalk so patiently."
Sweet resolution beckons.
"So close I can almost. . .taste it. . ."
He walks into the dining area, finding the Fazbears possessed and wandering about mindlessly.
"Can't keep me locked up. . .forever."
They turn towards him and Vincent smiles, it is almost like a reunion.
"Forever. . ."
He takes the fuel container that he has brought with him and throws it before them, spilling fuel everywhere.
"Can't keep me locked up. . .forever."
They walk towards Vincent, as he takes outs a lighter.
He tosses it onto the fuel stain, it instantly catches fire and spreads rapidly.
"Forever. . ."
We see Vincent watching from the shadows throughout the years.
"I live in the darkest places, spaces occupied by no other."
Slitting the throats of multiple children.
"Taking lives over and over, just one right after another."
The possessed Fazbears look terrified at the sight of the ravenous flames.
"The night has arrived. . .for your desolation."
The furry of the inferno is reflected sinisterly in Vincent's cold eyes.
"I am the destroyer of human creation."
Vincent holds out his hands as the flames completely envelop everyone, consuming the entire building.
The Fazbears scream as they burn to death, with Vincent being roasted alive inside the suit and yet he doesn't care.
He simply smiles in relief as everything goes up in flames, cleansing the horror and purging the memory.
Everything and everyone can now rest, and the nightmare can finally begin to fade away as every tragedy should.
End communications. . .
(Song ends).
Well, the nightmare wasn't over, because he was still here, thirty years after the nightmare had started.
He was still twisting the knife in and couldn't find a way to stop, although he wanted to keep himself in that moment of passionate bloodlust forever as it distracted him from his own pain.
Yet, even then it could only distract him temporarily, for the desolate state of his life and painful reminders of why he had done all of this.
Deep inside, he knew what he had done was unforgiveable, but he had crossed that line long ago and all he could was continue down this path. Shaping the path's endpoint was his way of giving himself meaning, as well as being why he wanted to maintain the initiative until the very end. Like the puppet master he would keep everyone on their toes until the show curtains finally came down and thoroughly healed this pulsating, infected and deep cut wound that was the state of everyone's reality.
Vincent knew that there was no happy ending for him, but every horrific act he had committed was done with good intentions, there was a just cause behind them.
He reached out and placed his hand on the wooden music box, lightly stroking its smooth surface.
"Evelyn, I know that you will hate me for what I have done, and I will not ask for your forgiveness," he muttered softly, although he felt sorrowful as he spoke.
"I do not deserve it but know that I carried out such acts with the very best of intentions, I hope that you are in a better place and that you are not alone either."
He suppressed his desire to give into his grief, feeling it rise in his throat, but he rejected it.
"If I see you again when this is all over, know that I would have never taken this emotional driven path if there was another way to make things right. . ."
"I'm sorry. . .but there will be more torment before this man-made hell comes to a definitive close."
Knock, knock!
There was a sudden sound at the door, instinctively Vincent withdrew his hand and slumped back into his chair.
"Yes, enter," he called, in his usual nonchalant tone, all traces of emotion had disappeared from his face.
The door was pushed open and two endoskeletons stood in the doorway.
"Master Vincent, we have arrived at the destination," one of them said in a dry tone.
"Everything has been collected and we are ready to transport the Nightmares," the other remarked plainly.
Vincent's eyes lit up with excitement, he sprang from his chair, finally it was time.
"How are the endoskeletons with the inbuilt discs acting?" he asked assertively as he marched towards the door.
"They are ready, the discs have been successfully incorporated into their bodies, no faults have occurred since their last test," one of the endoskeletons replied modestly, as Vincent walked pass them.
"Good," he muttered observantly, finding his eyes immediately fall upon the unconscious sleeping forms of the Nightmares who lay on their beds.
"They should be very useful for what happens next."
The Nightmares had been very impressed by what they saw when he activated the discs in the endoskeletons. How their eyes had gone wide and their mouths hung open when they saw his technical invention in action. Vincent smiled in amusement at the memory, and they had believed that they were among the creepiest monsters into existence.
Yet, his mind pulled him back to the present, he needed to focus.
He knew where the Nightmares had gone and in fairness it didn't matter how they went about their assigned task, only that they were able to carry it out. All that mattered was him being able to do his part and he would have to improvise significantly the moment chaos took hold, so he had only thought so far ahead. Over planning invited dangerous risks and Vincent was aware of the conquences involved from being too ridged.
Yet, he knew that if he successfully pulled this move off then the game would finally begin to move towards its final round. This round would be an exchange of sorts and both he and the Fazbears would get what they wanted from it. The only question worth asking was who would gain the most though?
However, as he turned around and headed back to his room to collect the makeshift helmet, he believed that Freddy and the others wouldn't be able to resist what he had up his sleeve. The endoskeletons immediately proceeded to go and take hold of the Nightmares' unconscious bodies with the help of their brethren.
As Vincent picked the makeshift helmet up off the desk, the words of the mysterious figure appeared in his mind.
"We've been living in the shadows. . ."
Vincent smiled thoughtfully for once.
Maybe it was now time for them to leave the shadows and finally step out into the bright light of day. . .
Finally, we can begin to dive into the past and undercover the hidden elements of this story, I waited so long to get to this particular point since 2017.
Although I have constantly portrayed Vincent as the puppet master, striking out at will and always leaving the Fazbears on the backfoot, he is not all powerful when the situation isn't under his control.
The scene with Puppet and the figure shows that when faced with formidable opposition he can only get so far on his own, it's just question of how he thinks things through and uses his skills. . .although you cannot control everything and reality often has a way of hitting back at you hard later on.
Please review, your thoughts are greatly appreciated.