Five Nights At Freddy's Sister Location 2

16) The final challenge...

The cold fluorescent lights flickered suspensively overhead in the vast hallway of Fazbear Industries. Emily and her friend, Michael, a scruffy old security guard with sunken cheeks and a permanent glint of fatigue in his eyes, felt the chill more than just in the air. This building, designed like an extravagant mall, had an otherworldly vibe, as if the very walls were saturated with the echoes of countless unspeakable events.

"Ever feel like we're being watched?" Emily ventured, glancing over her shoulder as the isolated echo of their footsteps reverberated throughout the emptiness.

Michael chuckled, though the humor in his laughter felt forced. "You should be grateful for that, girl; at least we aren't alone. There's too much history in these walls." He rubbed the stubble on his chin, a nervous habit he developed while wandering the seemingly endless corridors.

Swaying on the brink of nervous laughter, Emily searched the dimly lit expanse for a hint of comfort. "Yeah, if you count the history of creepy animatronics that have a knack for trapping children."

The building was an obsolete marvel, a remnant of a more cheerful age when life-sized, singing robots entertained families in a place free of the shadows that now cloaked its reputation. They had come to investigate odd happenings around the site—strange noises and flickering lights that had made the remaining employees abandon ship one by one. With a mix of thrill and dread, they descended deeper into the maze of grim recesses.

"You ready to check out the boiler room?" Michael called, his voice a gravelly murmur as they approached the entrance. The door thudded open, revealing an ominous expanse; shadows danced along the walls, cast by the flickering machinery that churned with a maddening grumble.

"We better," Emily replied, squaring her shoulders. They exchanged a determined glance before stepping past the threshold into the heart of darkness.

The air thickened with the smell of oil and metal, wrapping around them like a suffocating blanket. The boiler room felt like a forgotten cradle of despair, where the machinery's metallic groans echoed like the sighs of lost souls. A flicker of movement snagged Emily's attention, but when she turned around, nothing was there.

A heavy clang sounded from the back of the room, making Emily jump. "What was that?" she whispered, her heart thumping with trepidation.

Michael laughed nervously hoping it was the old building, an edge of nerves creeping into his voice, but before he could respond, a figure emerged from the shadows— a man wearing black framed glasses and a brown suit jacket over a light blue button-down shirt with matching tuxedo pants and polished dress shoes. his hair and full beard and mustache combination were neat and seemingly a reddish brown in the boiler room light. The man's expression was serious, as if he was about to be giving a speech or presentation.

"Evening," he said, his voice raspy like the grinding of old gears. "I am Scott."

Emily's heart sank. Scott Cawthon, the infamous creator of the animatronics, known for his ambiguous connection to the tragedies surrounding Fazbear Entertainment. The darkness seemed to pulse around him, and she could feel a cold draft, more pronounced now, slithering across her skin.

"You're not supposed to be in here," Michael warned, a hint of authority struggling against his fear. "This area is restricted."

Scott chuckled, a sound filled with something both whimsical and wrathful. "Restricted? The walls you think keep you safe are but a paper shell against the truth of what lies here."

As he spoke, something strange began to happen. The atmosphere shifted like a breeze sweeping through the room, as if the very air had come alive. An unseen force surged forth, and suddenly, both Emily and Michael were thrown backward, crashing against the cold concrete with a sickening thud.

"What—what the hell?" Emily gasped, struggling to sit up. Michael's face was pale, his eyes wide, reflecting confusion and horror.

Scott stood, calm and composed among the chaos he had initiated. "You see, the true horror of Fazbear Industries isn't merely its history; it's my ultimate creation—an amalgamation of terror, innovation, and unbearable sorrow. It all... went wrong because I underestimated them."

His voice cried out with an echo that seemed to reverberate back at them, filling every crack and crevice around the room. Shadows pooled beneath Scott's feet, extending toward the two, pulling at their limbs like dark fingers beckoning them to listen.

"Charles Afton believed he was a master of puppetry—of life and death. He made his children into beautiful machines, but in doing that, he lost track of what he had created: living nightmares shaped by the laughter of the innocent. If I may say he was quite unique I almost liked him except he wasn't my creation. I'd have spared him hadn't he been so boring. I like my creations a lot better." Scott's eyes darkened as he recalled the images seared into his mind, specters of children forever lost.

"What... happened to him?" Emily croaked, the prompt drawing forth a story that wrapped around her heart like a vice.

"He thought death was a toy; he believed he could control it. He wanted to carry out his father's legacy of horror, but he wasn't brave enough. He wasn't even skilled enough. But the moment he took another life, he awakened darkness within his own creations. I couldn't stand by and let the shadows reign. Those shadows would ruin my creation." Scott's chest heaved with a dreadful weight. "I killed Charles Afton. A fate he deserved. He no longer exists. Poof gone from existence. How or why? Don't worry about it."

A muffled scream echoed in the distance, sending a shiver down Emily's spine. The shadows flickered and swirled, as though they bore witness to the sorrow of transgressions long past.

"What do you want from us?" Michael gasped, trying to regain his footing. The unseen force kept them pressed into the cold ground.

"I don't want anything really," Scott replied. "Actually...I do want something..." His eyes narrowed as he stared at Emily.

Emily glanced at Michael, their thoughts mirroring each other—was this really the man they had assumed was only a puppet master? Or was he, too, entangled in the web of suffering he had woven?

"What should we do?" Emily whispered, feeling the intensity of the atmosphere approach a breaking point.

"Confront it. Embrace the darkness or walk away. That is the choice we all must face. If you wish to leave this place alive you have to do one more thing. Live or die!" Scott snapped his fingers, and the world transformed.

When Emily blinked her eyes open next, she found herself sprawled on the ground, the small security office of the first floor was eerily silent. Michael shook her shoulder gently, panic lining his face.

"We... we're alive?" he stuttered, disbelief coloring his voice.

"Where's Scott?" Emily asked instinctively, her glances darting between shadows and flickering lights. But the space was empty now, bearing only the weight of their encounter.

"I do not know."

Michael helped Emily to her feet and as they approached the exit of the office the steel door dropped closed, along with the door on the other side of the office. The building intercom system beeped loudly echoing throughout the building.

"Hello again. You may be wondering why and where you are. You two are in a security office and for good reason. I'm a bit impressed by your performance so far tonight Emily but...at the same I'm not. There just hasn't been enough entertainment!"

Michaels's face turned to anger and fear. "Don't do this Scott she's too young! Make me do it instead!"