◢ Random Scenarios from the darkest pits of hEck 〈 2023 〉 ◣

ᘛ Rewrite : Surprise kill ᘚ

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Withered Chica
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A rewritE from TES. If you recall, thAt was a book- <:b

Y'know, there's certain things we always have a love-hate relationship with. For me, it's that very fiRst book of mine. It's the oNe thing I experimented the moSt on, aaand ALsO considered using a poetrY-tyPe-alignment on it for a few chapters..? Like, whAt the fucK am I thinking when I come up with these brilliANt ideas?
Still haven't been able to fix all of those chapters, and I think this is one of them-

Still tho, it was one of my 15-year-old self's favorite chapters, sooo ... I hope I did it justice- :p

Just an improvement tEst, tbh-
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Watching as the slender animatronic hovered out of the room, the bird's eyes flashed thoughtfully, replaying what she'd said in her head repeatedly. It was as if she was attempting to find some deeper meaning within that encounter, despite knowing clearly it wasn't the case. The Marionette was genuine, hiding no second reasoning in her warning, and so, her intuition failed her.

Her stare persisted for about several moments, the open door revealing a faint, silver beam of light into the room. For those few seconds she didn't even realize she was the only one standing in there, all by herself, vulnerable to every last evil that resided within. Her mind had succumbed to a plethora of thoughts, dousing her deep into its tantalizing vortex, refusing to let loose.

A list of questions flooded the female's mind, keeping her rooted to the spot for much longer than one would anticipate. In order to clear them, she pondered on laying them all out in front of the puppet, agreeing with herself for a few minutes. Then, implementing her decision right away, she set off, walking towards the door in long steps, with a newfound determination fueling her servos.

But, there was a catch. Devious old fate was playing games with her — games that would set alight a fight-or-flight response. Games that would in no doubt spark a twinge of fright inside every last circuit she possessed. The blatant silence spoke of it, tried to toss its clues that she was too oblivious to catch until it was too late. She didn't know about any vicious act of mockery from fate, not until she was only a couple feet away from the egress, and a cold grip had clutched onto her shoulder.

Finding it impossible to process the source of the mysterious grasp amidst her intangible questions, Chica froze to a halt, so much so that if her optics weren't flickering like they were, one would consider the reality of time being able to pause. The previous thought-process now mingled with something new; a mix of shock and undescribable dread, mounting her struggle to grasp at the reality of the situation to new heights.

Ever so reluctantly, a little later, the avian's head pivoted towards the side to examine what it was that'd dared to touch her shoulder like that. She recalled nobody other than herself and Marionette being inside moments earlier, and the room wasn't crammed to the very brim that somebody could hide among the boxes, making it beyond comprehensible in her eyes for one to just randomly pop in there to hold her hostage.

But apparently, it was possible, or so she found out when her gaze laid upon what looked like a hand similar to the shade of her own "plummage". However, the color was the sole similarity. Other than that, the hand was big enough that the elongated fingers stretched down and shielded her entire upper right arm.

One more, distinct detail about the hand was that it was tattered, clad in rips and tears from every direction, exposing a rusted, copper-ish endo from underneath. The tips of the fingers had sharp, spike-like claws latching onto them, those also donning a thin layer of rust. The claws pressed tightly to her arm when she eyed them, compressing the suit to the point the female could tell it'd just crack.