Chapter Text
“Cassie? Cassie?” Vanessa called out, her voice echoing through the crumbling debris of the abandoned pizzaplex, the air thick with dust and despair.
“CASSIE, WHERE ARE YOU?!” Gregory shouted, his voice tinged with panic as his frustration climbed.
“Superstar, take a breath,” Freddy's voice chimed in from the duffel bag Vanessa clutched tightly. “She’s going to be okay.”
But Gregory had been a bundle of nerves since Cassie had gone dark while fleeing something lurking in the basement. One moment, he was guiding her towards the elevator, and the next, the connection severed, snuffed out by a glitch that had thrown them into chaos. For days, he had pleaded with Freddy and Vanessa to return to the pizzaplex, and after much hesitation, they finally caved and decided to bring him back.
“Where the hell is that girl?” Vanessa gripped her flashlight tighter, their shadows dancing ominously as they ventured deeper into the wreckage of the pizzaplex.
Driven by a fear that he couldn’t describe, Gregory pushed ahead, the urgency in his voice growing with every empty hallway they crossed. They had been searching for three exhausting hours, and still, no sign of Cassie.
“Gregory, slow down, you might trip—” As if she spoke it into existence, Gregory rushed forward and stumbled over a large piece of scaffolding, tumbling backwards toward a jagged crack near the stairwell that led to the basement.
“Gregory!” Vanessa scolded, lunging forward to grab his hand just in time, her grip tight as he dangled dangerously over shards of glass and rubble. As he twisted painfully to peek below, he saw something that made him stop swinging as his eyes went wide.
“Ness…?” he breathed, slowly pointing downwards.
Rolling her eyes, Vanessa pulled him up and joined him in peering through the opening. “What now, you li—” Her words halted as her face darkened at the sight of a dirty, tattered white bunny mask, lying face down in the gravel below.
Her eyes narrowed. “That wasn’t where I left it.”
“No, it definitely was not…” Freddy’s voice chimed, echoing through the fabric of the duffel.
Without warning, Vanessa zipped the bag shut and jumped down into the crack.
“Ness?!” Gregory exclaimed, his face contorting in alarm.
“Listen,” she called back, her voice laced with determination. “If the mask was moved, there’s a good chance your friend was the one who did it. Which means
—” she shone her flashlight into the murky darkness of the hallway ahead, “—Cassie likely went down this way…”
Gregory shuddered, remembering the last time he was in the pizzaplexs basement. “I swear, if this leads us back to that psycho rabbit…”
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It didn’t lead them back to the rabbit, but to a decrepit old ball pit, where a similar yellow rabbit hung gruesomely from the netting above.
“What the hell…?” Gregory whispered, eyes wide as he stared at the rotting figure. It bore a sickly resemblance to the one they’d discovered in the basement, but this one felt eerily alive. The synthetic fur was patchy and damp, revealing the grotesque red flesh underneath. Black, beady eyes stared blankly from beneath the drooping ears, and its gaping mouth hung open, exposing a jagged set of decayed teeth that unleashed a stench potent enough to bring even a robot to the brink of nausea.
Vanessa stepped forward, grabbing a nearby stick slick with grime and prodding at the yellow rabbit, which became ensnared in the netting, twisting violently.
“Well, at least it isn’t alive…” she muttered, gagging slightly as the scent of rot invaded her senses.
She coughed, tears gathering in her eyes. The rabbit’s presence was overwhelming, though it wasn’t entirely due to the smell. “Greg, I need a breather. Can you hold the duffel bag for me?”
Gregory nodded, though the odor was suffocating. Vanessa shrugged the bag off her shoulder, and he caught it just before it hit the soggy floor, moldy water splashing onto his shoes.
“Gross,” he grimaced. Another droplet plopped down from above, further adding to his disgust.
Vanessa retreated to the tunnel entrance while Gregory leaned over the ball pit, careful to avoid the swinging corpse as he scrutinized the colorful balls.
I could have sworn I heard kids giggling…
“Weird…” he squinted at the balls, their vibrant colors contrasting sharply with the decaying horror surrounding them.
“What’s got your attention, Gregory? Can I see?” Freddy's voice issued from the duffel bag.
Gregory nodded, setting the bag down against the grimy floor before unzipping it. Freddy's smiling head emerged, and Gregory turned to show him the rabbit.
“Oh…” Freddy chuckled nervously, his robotic eyes widening.
“Freddy, do you know why there’s blood on the balls in this ball pit?”
“Blood?” Freddy's tone shifted. “Let me take a closer look.”
Gregory pointed Freddy toward the ball pit, bending in carefully to avoid touching the exterior, which was teeming with mold.
“Blood…” Freddy hesitated, uncertainty creeping into his voice. Maybe he shouldn’t tell Gregory.
“Gregory?” Vanessa’s voice broke through a fake smile leaking into her voice. “Um, don’t look behind you.”
“Why not?” Curiosity piqued, Gregory whipped around—only to find the rotting corpse of the yellow rabbit had fallen from its noose, mouth agape as if ready to swallow him whole.
Gregory shrieked, stumbling back and slipping in a puddle, the back of his head colliding with the ball pit’s edge as Freddy lurched from his grasp.
“Ow,” he groaned, rubbing his now-moldy head as he lay in a puddle that felt more like a concoction of brain-eating amoeba.
“Freddy?!” Vanessa shouted, rushing past him to peer into the ball pit.
“Wow, I see how it is,” Gregory grumbled, pushing himself up and wiping his damp shorts. “You care more about the damn robot than me.”
“Not that, Gregory!” Vanessa said, her panic palpable as she leaned over the pit, tossing balls aside frantically. “He’s gone!”
Gregory froze. “What do you mean, he’s gone?”
Vanessa’s hands were clouded with grime as she plunged through the balls, her desperation growing. He rushed to her side, helping to sift through the mess.
Layer after layer displaced, yet Freddy remained missing.
“Freddy?!”
“FREDDY!”
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“Sir? Sir, how many times has Mr. Murray told us not to sleep on the job?”
“Mr. Who Now?” He groaned, massaging his throbbing head and tangling his meticulously styled brunette hair in the process.
Wait. Brunette hair?
“I… I have hair?” He gasped, suddenly aware of his surroundings.
His wide eyes dropped to his hands. “I have hands?”
The weary man in front of him, adorned with wrinkles that told stories of burnt-out days, sighed and pushed his glasses up, rubbing at his temples.
“And I thought we had stopped hiring the drugged-out teenagers…” he muttered, extending a hand toward him. He took it, standing up in a daze. (I have feet?)
“Listen, kid, the bathrooms that way,” he pointed toward a dark corridor stretching away from the main hallway. “If you need to sober up, do it quickly. Fazbear's expecting a big delivery today, and Murray wants everyone on task. Got it?”
He nodded, lightheaded, and made a beeline for the bathroom, his heart racing as the weight of clarity began to fall on him, the words of gratitude drying up in the air.
He slammed the bathroom door open and rushed to the mirror, freezing at the reflection staring back at him.
Same brown hair. Same slanted eyes. Same scowl.
It was undeniable.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” he mumbled, burying his face in his palms.
He wasn’t Glamrock Freddy anymore.
He was himself again.
He was Michael Afton again.