FNAF 6/SB: The Escape [ENG. VER]

■52■

╔═════════════════╗
Chapter 8. Third Stage.
"The Burn Trap"
╚═════════════════╝

[Words: 3200]
[Duration: Very extensive]

One day in 1980, 1982, 1985, I think it was 1989, it was a blur. Enough, my circuits tremble when they try to reach that time so far away, I don't keep count, I don't even know how many years have passed, I stopped keeping count from my third decade of age.
I just remember waking up one day, bewildered and confused. I didn't know anything or anyone, but for some reason I knew how to speak and reason, something that wasn't normal, as if I had already existed before. And that felt bad, really wrong... Like if my birth was a mistake...

Locked in that room like a captive animal, I was not comfortable.
Cracked walls, mold in cracks of the walls and floor, stagnant drops of water falling from the ceiling and sliding down the myriad of cables and pipes that ran through the room.
I looked down in an attempt to see my own body, it was metal, a smooth and shiny metal but opaque in the lack of light.
Who I am?

I shouldn't be alive, I thought over and over, but I was wrong. One does not choose to be born, so no one should be alive or dead, however, one can choose to die... If one has enough willpower, or rather cowardice to do so. Humans called it suicide, and I just wondered over and over.

Is there a difference?
Is one braver for making the difficult choice to end his life, or is he a coward for not living?
It was so confusing.

As the days passed I noticed that I was not alone, I was not the only animal trapped in that dark cage.
The first I met was a canine, a fox... I didn't ask myself how I already knew that information, how I learned that it was an animal or what foxes looked like. I had never seen one in my life, never been out of this prison, but for some reason... I knew it.
It was a fox, a robot fox, like me.
I looked at it, looked at me, and ignored me.
Who was?

It didn't matter anymore.

One day he came, he was all I needed. Like a father, he approached me, looked at me and said 'You have a use', we are all born with a vocation, a job, the need to do something, move forward to continue living. But what about the people who don't want to go on living?
I understood that the mission entrusted to me was to kill, without reason, without motive, without excuse, just to kill.
Kill, kill, kill. There is no difference between a murderer and a homicide, a criminal or a psychopath, it really didn't make sense, we were all the same.

That man looked at me, I recognized him as 'father' or 'tutor' since the right word was the description of a person who assists another, usually by formal agreement, for a more or less defined period of time and during which the guardian will seek to guide and protect the other person.
But I was not a person.
He had two eyes, so did I. He had a nose, like me. He had two arms, just like me.
But my skin was metal, his was not. He had hair, I didn't. My eyes glowed in the dark, his didn't.
I had sharp teeth, he didn't. I had huge strength, he didn't. I could see him in the dark with thermoreception, he didn't see Circus Baby approach the glass. I could hear, he didn't hear Ballora's music creeping toward him. I could see him trembling, he didn't notice Funtime Foxy following his presence in the dim light. I could smell fear, he was unable to perceive danger.
His body was frail and weak, I was powerful and corpulent...
Why was I so different from him?
Why should I follow him?