Author's Note/Disclaimer: Well, I finally did it. I finally wrote a short Five Nights story. It's been more than a year I've been obsessed with these games and now I've finally written something. How about that? I'm asking for all kinds of feedback, as this is basically a rough draft. The only thing I ask is that we don't start fights over who "really caused the Bite of 87." You don't know. I don't know. I just like this scenario I wrote and want to share it. Got a problem with it? Read or write something else then.
I don't own the Five Nights at Freddy's franchise. Scott Cawthon is the owner, and if he wants to tell me I'm wrong about "who caused it," I think we'd all appreciate it. Thanks for reading!
Five Nights at Freddy's: A Broken Toy
It's all gone too far. She's snapped both in mind and jaw.
She knows it didn't have to be this way. She knows that the staff could have fixed her, but then, they always did make excuses.
"No budget for repairs," said the man who left guards their message tutorials that plagued her hearing sensors night after night. "No one really liked the new model anyway."
"The kids love the re-purposed 'Kid's Cove!'" the owner had raved to the media during the press in the months following the re-opening.
They lied about how she was broken in the first place. Sure, human children are more destructive than they appear. In fact, only one adult rivals their malice–the same man who committed all the evil acts at "Freddy Fazbear's Pizza." The purple one.
She remembers the night her facial scanners activated and identified the purple one. She can still remember the drive of her programming after he lowered that golden Bonnie head for just a moment. He hadn't seen her coming for him from behind, but he was quick to push back at her when she had her paw and hook around his neck, pushing back the faux fur and metal of the springlock suit, which were so close to shifting. But oh, how she had enjoyed the sensation of the purple man's pulsing arteries under her paw, warm blood against cool steel. She hadn't been programmed to enjoy attacking people, but it proved to be such a rush!
And then he stopped the rush with his axe.
She felt the plastic of one of her red cheeks shatter on contact. A few more swings and her jaw had come loose and her left eye hung by the wiring in the socket. Still, she held her grip on his neck. It was the hammer that finally made her let go, as he bent her endoskeleton from the outside with every smack of it.
The hammer and axe didn't compare to the dreaded device he used afterward. She learned that night how every animatronic contained a hollow compartment–a remnant of the "classic" models that allowed entertainers to climb inside the death traps. It was still a handy spot for repairmen to reach their tools inside to do their work without taking their outer suits off, but the puppet had also used it for a far more grisly purpose: to "save" the children the purple one had slain.
That night, the evil man used the compartment to tear her apart.
With a twist, her inner coils stretched. Her head went "pop" before her arms and legs. He ripped out wiring, trying to destroy her facial scanners and radio. Though he failed in that regard, he succeeded in paralyzing her. She could do nothing as he ran off. She could hear the scampering of little feet, a scream, and then silence through the main hall of the pizzeria.
The staff had fixed her completely from the outside but not entirely on the inside. Her movements were jittery as the frayed wiring sparked within her. That was when the children had started getting "too friendly." A "handshake" ended with her hook coming off. A "hug" became a tackle from the front and behind that removed her chest completely. One child gave her a "kiss" before holding her eyeball up in the air triumphantly.
She would growl from the pain of the memories if she were given the ability to do so. The old Foxy can growl to be a more fearsome pirate, but she is meant to be his kid-friendly replacement. She isn't respected or loved like the old Foxy, not even with her renditions of "Yo Ho Ho and a Bottle of Rum" and "Pirate Jenny." But the saddest part of all is that she isn't even "Funtime Foxy" anymore. She has a new name to go along with her hideous appearance.
Ugly as she is, she perseveres. She moves around on shaky legs like a spider, behind her dragging wires and a spare endoskeleton head that some brat attached. She can actually do something the other animatronics can't do: climb the walls. Still, most of the other animatronics ignore her. She knows they're not sure anymore if she's one of them or something else, but are happy to have help in their nightly attempts to kill the security guards in their uniforms. Purple uniforms. That's what drives the old models crazy at night, unlike her and the toys with broken facial scanners that scream "better safe than sorry." The old models are only driven by rage against the purple one.
She grows lonely in "Kid's Cove" most nights. She's tried communicating with the spare endoskeleton's head, but it's not even conscious. Every time she sees it shift its eye, she remembers it has no AI. Her only friend is, somewhat surprisingly, the old Foxy. He doesn't mind her hanging from the ceiling when he stands in the hallway, ready to strike. In fact, he sometimes comes to visit her in the cove when the cameras aren't on. He talks about his life before and she listens, no longer able to talk herself.
She wonders why he's the exception to the rule of being ignored. Perhaps it's because he's a Foxy model as well and can't help but find some affinity with her. Perhaps it's because he's also been mangled, his arms stripped nearly down to the endoskeleton and half of his head covering ripped off. She's not sure if his legs were ever fully completed, but they clang against the ground when he walks. That's okay. The guards are never able to out speed his leap and snapping jaws when he gets close enough. He's caused two guards to "go missing" through the summer investigations. She's gotten into the office too, but 6 AM always shuts down her rush before she can bite off a guard's exposed head. Once she actually fell from the ceiling and almost injured the guard, but that's the most action she's had.
Back to my friend, she thinks, snapping out of her bloodlust. Yes, there's the possibility that he's just another Foxy or that he's also been torn apart enough to be her friend, but then there are the stories that give her more clues. When he was human, in a real human body, Foxy was always his favorite animatronic. He'd even scared his little brother with a Foxy head ripped off from a plushie. His sister had a pink Foxy toy, torn apart, just like her. Maybe she is a gateway to his past–before he lost his brother to Fredbear. No matter what, he's her only friend.
Unfortunately, Foxy can't come visit her every night anymore. The newest guard is proving to be a real pawful. He's survived five nights so far, a new record. More surprising to her than how the new guard returns every night is the sound of a new message from the man on the phone. He seems worried about the new guard, as he should be, but he also reminds her of the lockdown the building's supposed to be under, and more importantly, the reason why it's on lockdown in the first place.
The guard will die and she's going to enjoy every minute of it!
6 AM rolls around once again. The guard's alive, she and the others are frozen in place, she hasn't even gotten into the office this week, and thanks to the new phone call, she knows that there's going to be a birthday today. She doesn't want to be torn apart again–to feel the scraping of little fingernails and the hard kicks of little rubber shoes. For the first time, she feels the rage she knows the old models do, burning through her, sparking a new drive to kill in broad daylight.
She can hear the squeals of kids in the main stage area, enjoying the others' band performance that's more grating than she remembered it to be before the lockdown. The rage overpowers her programming to stay in her room, and she crawls into the hall on all four limbs. She stops only when she sees the spare head's eye locked on her, its jaw open seemingly in shock. Maybe it's not as stupid as she thinks.
That's not important right now as she reaches the main stage area. It takes the staff only a minute or two to notice her. The guard is there and he gasps and jumps backward. The kids turn their heads. Some scream and others smile at their new plaything, but there won't be any play today. She remembers the desire to taste hot blood and how her only friend has no hesitation as he leaps from the hallway each night. And so she skitters forward, half of her body dragging her down while the other half works harder than ever to reach the guard. The screams of the children and the rushing of the other staff members are just noise and purple flashes as she scales the tables and chairs. She's a few feet away from him and she exposes her inner endoskeleton teeth with an open maw as she leaps.
Her jaw closes on something before she hears a thud beneath her. She clambers back onto the table with ease. The guard stares at her, horrified, before looking down where the thud came from. He doesn't look hurt at all.
She's made an error. She's programmed to protect children, and yet... Her mouth makes a squishing sound as she tries to open it, almost as though she could join in on the screaming of all the witnesses standing around the body of a little girl with a piece of her head torn out. She feels the juices of the torn brain trickling down her jaw into the gears of her head.
Blood isn't as warm as she'd imagined it would be.
She doesn't resist the dreadful tool that shuts her down so she can be restrained and cleaned. The staff take her to the "spare parts" room and surround her with yellow, plastic ribbon that she knows aren't party streamers before leaving her alone with the old animatronics. She knows they will either use her for parts or shut her down completely soon. She sees the old animatronics huddling together. Bonnie and Chica whimper in children's voices, cowering behind Freddy. Only Foxy leaves the huddle and comes toward her, though even he seems unsure.
Finally, the pirate fox opens his creaking jaw and speaks in his voice that's half adolescent-half machine, "Why?"
She can't look at her friend's pleading eyes as her hanging limbs go limp. Her static radio cracks and babbles. Finally, the word comes from her withered voicebox–the first word she's said in months.