Not Alone - Foxy's Return

Chapter One

༻Business As Usual༺

The dim lights, far and few between, were the only things providing light down here. Silence hung like white noise in the air, only broken by the occasional drip from the ceiling, or the rustle of a bag settling.
It was just how he liked it. The hush allowed him to hear other sounds, such as the high-pitched squeaks of the rats which never ceased to infest his make-shift cove.

The little mammals gorged themselves on the surrounding buffet, unbeknownst to him watching them. One yellow eye glowed in the darkness, the only thing betraying his presence.
One bold rat began to stray from its wall, coming ever closer. He watched as the rat paused, having sensed another being close by. Something much larger than it, that was for sure.

And that's when he lunged.

Springing to life, jaws snapping inches from the terror-stricken mammal, before the lot of them scurried away in a blind panic, squealing the whole way.

"Be gone, ye pests!" He hissed as the last of them fled. Straightening up, he spun a 360, ensuring no other rats hid in the shadows. Satisfied his cove was free of them, he returned inside.

This was rather normal for him. The rats never stayed away for long, and if he didn't scare them away, it'd be no time before they would infest the entire place. Pest control was a necessity down here. The horrid scent of trash was like a magnet to them, and it was no better in his cove.
But of course, he'd gotten used to it. What would be sickening to anyone else, was normal for him.

Returning to the cove, he emerged into what was the only light in those particular halls.
Sporting a hook for a hand and an eye patch over one eye, Foxy was the captain of this dump. Literally.
The interconnecting halls and catwalks were all part of the biggest garbage dump ever seen in a mall, and it was all tucked under the kitchen of the most popular mall in Hurricane: Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizzaplex.

A name Foxy hadn't heard in a long time. He'd nearly forgotten that it used to be his home; before they tried to scrap him.
Things were fine then. Everything had been perfect, until one day... It wasn't. One day, when something went wrong.
Of course, he hadn't meant to. Hurting a child? He would never intend to do that, never! But he hadn't been himself at the time... Though he had seen it happen, heard it even.

He shook his head. Dwelling about the past never kept a ship sailing!
The pests had been sent away. Now it was time for the morning patrol.
So with a last glance at the cove, he disappeared once more into the darkness. It was easy to see in the dark, as he traversed the many halls, until emerging onto the main catwalk. With one smooth bound, he had jumped off the metal, landing on the cool concrete beneath.

The ground was littered with plastic, paper, and various other trash. The rats roamed free here, not compelled to abandon their endless piles of food, not even to flee the local fox. He passed them, going for the end of the stretch of concrete to the broken catwalk on the other side. It was rare, but the occasional raccoon would find its way inside, and would often hide underneath the twisted metal bars.
But the area was empty, so he turned around and began up the path towards the end of the hall. It lead through yet more darkness, through a fence gate, and to another set of winding halls, mostly flanked by walls of packed dirt, supported by wooden planks. It wasn't the most stable set up, but hardly anyone ever came down here, so it didn't need to be.

That was the problem. No one came down here, no one at all. The only company Foxy had were the rats. He hadn't seen anyone for months.
He tried to convince himself that he liked it better that way. It was peaceful. That was good. Right?

He finished patrolling the dirty halls, then back tracked to the cove, once again emerging into the dim light.
The light exposed what four months in the dumps had done. His casing was normally a dark shade of reddish pink, but now it was caked in a layer of dust and grime. There were even minor chips in the metal, and scratches ran along his muzzle and paws. He highly doubted anyone would stick around if they did come down here; one look at him would send them fleeing, just like the pesky rats.

There was nothing to do. No activities, no performances, nothing.
Most of the time he'd mess with the rats or draw patterns on the concrete wall with his hook.
The wall was the only sign he had been there at all. Etched into the concrete were hours of boredom and frustrations. The white scratch lines depicting how things used to be. Laughing kids, smiling parents... All that was lost to him now.

His mind was no more at ease as he curled up in a fetus position, letting sleep turn the memories to a hazy blurr.