The Springtrap Saga Book Four: Darkness in the Stars

Chapter Thirteen

Just as the aliens promised, the worst aspects of the experiments are smoothed away. Harm never carves itself into his life or the children's.

     One of the experiments he doesn't particularly enjoy. They flooded his hearing receptors with a warning before the technology ravaged him. In this experiment, he was temporarily reduced to his tattered, decaying old form. Their advanced scientific practices even managed to ingrain a fake corpse in the mildew-infested fabric of his suit. The screams, buzzing with terror, that ripped themselves from the children's throats still surge through his skull, forever staining his memory.

     Summer was the only one who didn't scream. While her cousins' feet scrambled against the grainy floor, trying to usher them farther away, Summer's legs bundled her into a run stitched through with urgency. And she ran toward him. Not away. Even though he was shredded into a monster, she still checked in with him to make sure he was okay. She even hugged him, politely trying to stifle her reaction to the stench of decay percolating within him.

     Relief swamped him into a quaking husk when the aliens' light engulfed him once more, transforming him back to his original, less-terrifying form.

     Another time, the aliens decided to see what would happen if they infused the kids with sugar and entombed him in a room with them. Being teenagers, Crystal and Summer didn't spiral into mania, but Leo, usually surrounded by a cloud of general disinterest in the world, ignited into a ball of frenzied energy. Then, all their stomachs clenched into cookie-laden aches. Fatigue crept into their behaviors and prickled them with crankiness.

     One can imagine just how much fun it was for Springtrap to try to be a parent while the kids muddled the air with chaos. As it turns out, being a dad is quite exhausting. But he still loves it!

     His senses sharpen into awareness when a symmetrical line seeps down the stone wall of his cell. The crack widens into an entryway, allowing one of his alien allies to glide toward him. Authoritative urgency brightens the gleam in its obsidian stare. "Our ship is to land in our home world. Unfortunately, there was a delay in our breach. We were planning to send you all to escape pods, but we must always retain caution. All of this is very fragile. Because of this, we will have to bring you to our hidden stronghold when we land."

     Suddenly, the muscle coiled beneath the being's striped exoskeleton draws itself rigid. Its head tips into a tilt, and a light of listening glazes over its eyes. Then, its attention snaps back to Springtrap. "I must go. We are landing now. Be ready to follow me."

     Thankfully, he can distinguish this alien from the sea of its species due to the scar that winds across her face. Someone appears to have once dragged something sharp across the black armor coating her head. The flesh wove itself back together as best it could, but the hard exoskeleton didn't gloss over the wound.

     It vaguely reminds him of the scar slashed over his right eye. Even though all the rest of him was mended, the musty green fabric replaced with brand new olive yellow, the workers seemed unable- or unwilling- to eliminate the scar.

     He never really liked the scar because its formidable appearance seemed to steep him in a sinister light- like one of those hardened street villains in a cartoon or superhero movie. He just wants to be a fluffy, friendly bunny.

     But he supposes the scar is also a reflection of who he is as a person. Most of his blemishes have been patched up, garnishing him in a brand-new look. In the same way, he's done his best to sew up the vicious flaws bruising his character. Still, no matter how much he wishes, his crimes will always bleed across his legacy, just like the scar that tarnishes the fabric on his face.