Inside Job (FNAF: SB Rewrite)

Chapter 39 - I Will Never Recover

The lights were blinding. I felt hot and sweaty, my breathing quick and uneven. I sat up and gasped, bringing my hand up to my throat and feeling an aching pain in my chest. There was no slit, not even warm blood. That dream felt so real, I was sure something must've happened while I was asleep, but it only felt sore. There was, however, something on my face, and I instinctively tried to tear it off, but it wrapped around the back of my head. I reached for the strap behind me and slipped it off the top of my head and looked at it.

It was an oxygen mask, and it was pouring out gas. I didn't know how long I'd been breathing it in. I glanced around, my head feeling as if it was splitting in two. I just needed to find out where I was.

I was back in the hospital, my vitals displayed on another monitor next to me. My lower body was under the bed sheets, but I could see that my arms were covered in ash and soot that smeared on my skin as a weak attempt to wipe it away. The cuts on my fingers had healed, and the gash in my arm from Moon had become a scar, but a large burn remained on the back of my hand. How long was I out?

What happened? I tried to remember, but the last thing I could recall was being knocked out from Michael's bomb.

Michael. Where's Michael? I glanced around the room, trying not to let the bright reflections make me wince. Michael sat across from me at the guest table. He was resting his head on it, using his arms as a makeshift pillow as he slept. The shades to the window were open, as I could see it was quite dark out, but the lights inside the hospital room were still bright, and they made my head spin.

"Michael...?" I whispered over to him. He didn't move. I wanted to wake him up, but I didn't think shouting at him would be great. I needed him to tell me what happened, and I needed him to turn off the lights. I supposed I could get up and shake him awake, or even turn off the lights myself, but I felt so exhausted. I gave myself a minute to recollect my energy before I attempted to get out of bed.

I slowly tried to get up, but I dropped to the floor from failing to balance myself. My IV that was attached to the vein in my arm was pulled down and fell on top of me. I turned around so that I was laying on my back and pushed it away from me, but that's when I spotted the lower half of me.

The calf that Vanny had cut into and shot was gone, leaving a stub wrapped in bandages beneath my kneecap. I felt queasy, but there was nothing in my stomach, so instead I gagged as I tried to scramble across the floor. I reached the guest seat and leaned against it, letting my head rest on my shoulder as I started wheezing.

The crash must've woken up Michael. I heard him yell my name before he got up from the chair and put his hand on my shoulder. He was saying things to me, but they sounded too far warped for me to understand.

A few nurses scurried in, and they forced Michael back and surrounded me as they tried to take me back to the bed. I held on tightly to the chair and cried. One of them attempted to pick me up by putting their hand on my back and their other arm reaching around my stomach, but I pushed away and screamed at them.

"Stop! Get away from me!" I shrieked, but my cries didn't matter to them. The only thing I could hear clearly was my own sobs while everything else was muffled and drowned out by static. A nurse grabbed my arms from below and dragged me back to the hospital bed while I screamed. I knew they were just doing their job, but I just wanted to sit and cry and be left alone.

They threw me onto the bed and strapped the oxygen mask back on. I tried to take it off, but one nurse kept her hand on it. I hit at her arm to try to get her off, but another nurse took my hands and pinned them down. I wailed hysterically, thrashing around whatever I could move. The air was clean, almost too clean, and I coughed a bit.