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GOOD LUCK WAS NOT WHAT HE NEEDED TONIGHT.Springtrapped was the challenge for the night. He was faced with JJ, Springtrap, Phantom Mangle, Phantom Freddy, Phantom BB, Nightmarionne, Trash and the Gang, Rockstar Foxy, Scraptrap, and Lefty. Not like anything was wrong with them...
What day was it again? Day six? Something like that. He was starting not to remember. The days spent down here were becoming a blur and he was beginning to lose track of time.
He turns all systems on when the clock chimes six, but does not stay in the office for very long. He gets up from the chair and heads out of the left door, entering the hallway.
The office was getting boring. He needed a feel of the building. A change of scenery was always nice.
The green, grimy, decaying walls made him want to vomit. It had been all right before, but now having to be near them again just made it all worse. He ignores the urge as he continues walking, glancing into different rooms, whose doors were open, though each was filled with pitch black darkness.
He doesn't know where he was going, but automatically, he was going wherever his feet led him. He takes a right, then a left, then another left. There's a room back here, hidden away from all the rest. The door blends in with the walls, but he can see the handle.
He grabs it and tries to turn it. It doesn't budge. The door was locked. William mutters something under his breath. He looks around, but he can't really make out anything else. There had to be key somewhere, right?
He pats his pockets and outs his hands in them. Maybe the key was there? He doesn't remember ever having a key in his pocket, though. He fingers brush against metal. One end of it was jagged edges. The other end was smooth and round. The key.
He pulls it out of his pocket and inserts it into the door handle. He turns the lock and opens the door, placing the key back into his pocket as he enters the room. The door automatically shuts behind him and merges into the wall, making it blend in with the wall itself.
William almost didn't recognize where he was. It was more of a memory thing here. Only, he hadn't experienced this himself. This was something of the past, but not from his own memories. This was someone else's memory. Someone close to him. Someone who experienced pain and suffering their whole life.
Michael.
It occurred to him that he was currently trapped in Michael's memories from 1987. He was in Michael's bedroom. Both doors were open all the way. The closet was open just a little bit. It wasn't void of people, though. Michael was here, sitting on the edge of the bed, a concentrated look on his face, though he held a death-like grip on the flashlight in his hands, his knuckles turning white.
