Dead Set. || PURPLEPHONE

What Are We Gonna Do With This Place?

August 6th, 1997.

Silence blanketed Freddy Fazbear's, dust settling the tables and the chairs. The smell of stale blood hung in the air, worming up Scott's nose and making him feel like throwing up.  He kept his eyes forcefully trained on the door to the backstage, trying to be as quiet as possible. In, turn the generator on, and out.

A deep laugh echoed through the hall. Scott froze, every muscle in his body tensing. Flashes of animatronics' dead, glassy eyes and whirring gears flooded his mind. The curtains of Pirate's Cove swished, a golden eye like liquid fire staring out at him, dead jaws with blood dripping from the teeth-

Scott pinched his own skin, twisting hard and gasping at the pain. Now is NOT the time for daydreams, Scott! He glared defiantly ahead, concentrating on getting to the generator before...

Well, before he died. 

He glanced down at his watch. It was dark, but he could just make out 5:52. Eight minutes until 6am and the animatronics would hopefully stop moving. Despite his better judgement, he glanced upwards at the stage, and found himself rooted to the spot. 

Bonnie and Chica were missing, wandering, walking these halls somewhere alongside him. Freddy was staring right at him, his usually glassy blue eyes midnight black, a drop of what Scott could only hope was oil running down the side of his face. 

Scott swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his dry throat. He let out a shaky breath bordering on a whimper. The deep laugh echoed through out the Dining Hall again, bouncing off the walls and surrounding him. He watched as gears clanked, and Freddy's head slowly tilted, staring at him with an almost human-like curiosity. 

These things aren't robots, Scott thought, barely aware of the clicking sound from the hallway behind him. These things are... alive.

And suddenly, a high-pitched giggle sliced through the air. Scott's eyes shot open, and he wheeled around just in time to see what looked like a slumped, yellow bear before it disappeared. He let out a short scream, stumbling backwards, "What the Hell!?" he shrieked, "What the Hell was that!? No, no! That was not a hallucination, I saw that!"

 His foot hit something on the ground - a toy left behind by a child, perhaps - and he lost his balance. His arms windmilled as he fell backwards, and hit something hard. Synthetic fur only partly softened his fall against hard metal gears and pistons. Cogs turned against his shoulder blades, and his head was tilted backwards to look straight into Bonnie's midnight black eyes. Scott took a rugged breath, the smell of what could only be described as something long dead and rotting filling his lungs. A bead of oil splashed onto his face and he was pulled closer against Bonnie's torso, the hard machinery really starting to dig into his skin. He yelped, his eyes burning with tears of pain, fear and adrenaline battling for control over his body.

Adrenaline must have won, because he glared into Bonnie's eyes, "What?" he snarled, "You gonna kill me, too? Then what? Someone takes my place and you kill them? How many innocent people's lives is it going to take? Huh?"

And Bonnie's head turned, his jaws opening as the most grotesque, wheezing sound left his mouth. It was like the sound of something choking, of a person whose lungs were filled with their own blood. Oil dripped down over the side of Bonnie's jaw, over his teeth and flooding down into Scott's hair and down Bonnie's front. 

Scott closed his eyes, writhing against the animatronic in an attempt to get away, "Let me go!" he screamed, "Let me go! I've never done anything to you! I'm a victim, too!"

--

Scott panted, slumping against the motionless Bonnie animatronic. He wrenched his wrist out of the rabbit's grasp and felt up to his hair. It was dry. He took a step away from the animatronic and cautiously turned back to look at him. 

Bonnie was standing with his regular, pink eyes, with no oil down his front or dripping on the floor. No wheezing sounds of death were coming from his mouth.

He was a perfectly normal de-activated robot.

Scott swallowed, barely having time to pull out a chair from the dining hall table before he collapsed into it. He dragged his hands down his face. What am I going to do? What is wrong with me? Did I hallucinate that whole thing or... Did William know about this?! How could he not have known the animatronics are acting like... like... like they're possessed!

"Scott!" 

Scott looked up just as Vincent ran over, collapsing on his knees in front of the chair Scott was sitting on, "What the Hell do you think you're doing?! You think you can just disappear in the middle of the night, leaving a stupid note about coming to Fazbear's before six?!" 

Scott rolled his eyes, "'m fine, Vincent," he muttered. 

"Fine?!" Vincent scoffed, "Well, that's great! You're fine! Here I am, thinking you're either on a crazy grief-driven suicide mission or some kind of mental rampage to go and dismantle all the animatronics and destroy them!" 

"Which were you more scared about?" Scott looked him in the eyes, his voice flat and threatening, "Me? Or the animatronics being dismantled?" 

Vincent blinked, leaning back. He opened his mouth, and closed it again, honestly stunned into silence. What did Scott know? 

"Thought so." Scott stood up out of the chair, and pushed past Vincent roughly. "Come on. Help me get Bonnie back onto the stage." 

"Scott," Vincent stood up, following after him, "Is everything okay? What... what happened? You're so... cold." 

"I don't know, okay?" Scott growled. "I've got a lot to deal with. I'm just thinking about some things. Things that don't add up." 

Vincent's eyes widened just slightly, "What do you-"

"Vincent," Scott said. "I'm not going to dismantle the animatronics. Because something about them being taken apart scares you, and I..." Scott glared, "I'm not sure I want to know what it is." 

Vincent's eyes widened even more, his mouth dropping open. He looked absolutely dumbfounded, as if surprised Scott was actually clever enough to put two and two together.

"Huh," he shook his head, "I guess that's the thing with psychopaths. They're so focused on themselves, they don't notice when others can see right through them." 

 Vincent shut his mouth again, swallowing. He looked down, "Scott..." 

"Don't," Scott whispered. "Don't say anything. I'm going to forget this conversation ever happened, Vincent, but please... Don't make me think that I might be right."