Sander sides FNAF AU

Closure

So uh 

As you can probably tell, this story won't be continuing.

I worked on it for about 2 years, and it was my biggest creative focus for that time. I enjoyed writing for a concept that was a mashup of my favourite things, but the passion isn't as strong as it used to be, and I know that trying to wrap up a story while feeling 'meh' about it won't have a good result.

It also saddens me to see fanfics abandoned, so I'm giving this the next best thing: closure. A breakdown of what I had planned.

The next chapter was like, 70% done and I spent a good while polishing it before I left everything behind, so might as well show it here. I'm also leaving in the breaks + notes as a look into my writing process. I really struggled around the end, but oh well. There's a TLDR right after.

And then I'm tying up the loose ends afterwards.

•

•

•

•

Once again, warning for dark themes [body horror, death, heavy anxiety]

================================
================================
Chapter Title: Turn of the Tide

Word count: 4, 928

"Save him."

     That frantic plea kicked his instincts into overdrive. Rushed whispers beforehand delivered the call for urgency as screams would've done.

Everything blurred together: arcade machines, corridor, dining area.

     Limbs pumped quicker on the designated hallway. Its last door was wide open, alluring him to charge right in. And he would've kept going if it weren't for a hesitant notion, tugging at him to delay. Something didn't feel right. Something—

     He slammed on the breaks.

Where's Afton?!

     The last thing he'd want to do was run into—

Halfway across the corridor, a presence emerged from the storage closet, moving briskly. The older man froze upon eye contact.

     Oh shi—

Without thinking it over, Thomas lunged into a nearby door.

     His footing slipped, bringing the rest of him to crash-land in pitch darkness. Metallic clatters on the floor triggered a realization: he never left behind the flashlight.

A spotlight activated and quivered over white walls, cracked mirrors, sinks, stalls. Employee bathroom. No back doors.

Muffled footsteps approached.

He scrambled to a toilet, pretending to gag and retch, acting upon the first idea that came to mind. The manager needed to believe that he ran in this direction for a valid reason and would leave him alone. Unfortunately, being overwhelmed made the diversion more genuine than he wished. His stomach lurched, throat constricted as bile crawled up. Vivid, real nausea immersed his system.

It expelled what remained of dinner.

     Thomas gritted his teeth, breath coming in gasps, and kept down whatever tried to come back up.