Five Nights At Freddy's Sister Location 2

18) Bend the rules

The air in Fazbear Industries was thick with stale remnants of laughter, mechanical whirs, and a faint echo of something sinister brewing below—a palpable tension that felt almost alive. Emily hugged her arms tight around herself as she sat crammed in the dimly lit security room, lit only by the buzzing monitors flickering erratically. Her own reflection merged with the images of the various rooms in the building, distorted and jittering, much like her thoughts.

The guard beside her, Old Man Michael, continually glanced at the bank of monitors with a look of weary dread etched across his weathered face, his hands shaking slightly as they gripped a faded coffee cup. The conversations with him had been sporadic. He was a man who dedicated his life to this cursed place, and though he seemed competent, Emily could see the toll the years had taken on him.

"Emily, I don't know how much longer we can hold out here," he warned, his voice trembling. "That damn Scott just loves to play games. He's toying with us."

Emily turned to face him, her anxiety bubbling just beneath the surface. "What do you mean?"

"True horror is about power," Michael muttered, narrowing his eyes at the flickering screens. "Scott Cawthon created this place, and he won't let anyone go until he's satisfied."

Suddenly, an ear-splitting screech blared from one of the monitors, causing Emily to jump. She quickly gazed at the glitching feed: a blurred image of an animatronic with lifeless eyes and a gaping smile tilted ominously toward the camera. Her breath quickened.

"We— we should find a way out," Emily stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. There was no understanding in Michael's eyes; he seemed lost in reverie as he stared into the screen.

"That won't work, girl. The doors aren't reliable. Scott's flipped the switches. They're closing and opening randomly. It's as if he's playing with marionette strings and we're the puppets."

As if on cue, with a mechanical whirr, the door to their security room slammed shut. Emily's heart raced, and she scrambled to the button, but it refused to budge. She shot a panicked glance at Michael.

"Michael!" she cried, "It won't open!"

Michael banged on the door. "Scott! Stop this madness!" he bellowed, his voice seemingly echoing into the void.

Five seconds later, as if mocking him, the door released with a metallic clang and raised open. Their sense of safety was mere paper-thin, with shadows stretching unnaturally across the linoleum floor.

"What's the plan, old man?" Emily said breathlessly. "We can't stay here."

"No." Michael clenched his fists, face twisted in anger and fear. "We'll try the east exit. It has less surveillance."

"But isn't that against the rules?" Emily's heart was beating hard.

"At this point...fuck the rules...and fuck you!" Michael flipped off a surveillance camera in their office as he darted out the right door with Emily.

They navigated through the poorly lit corridors of the building, where the remnants of old attractions stood like monuments to past joys now long gone. Plastic rainbows splintered underfoot, and the faint echoes of children's laughter haunted the air like specters. They inched closer to the exit, but Emily could feel the atmosphere shifting; darkness seeped into her bones, dragging down her spirits.

Then the lights flickered, and Emily felt a gust, a rancid breath that seemed to sweep through the hallway. Her heartbeat drummed erratically. "Michael..." she whispered. "Do you feel that?"

"I do...But we need to keep moving." His tone was firm, but there was an edge of uncertainty in his voice.

Michael cursed under his breath and began approaching the doors. "Stay close, Emily," he instructed, pushing against the doors as they entered room to room, "It's not you I'm worried about."

Then, the lights went out, plunging them into a suffocating darkness. Emily's heart sank; she could barely make out Michael's silhouette beside her, his face a mask of grim determination.

"What kind of monster is Scott?" she moaned, a whisper in the all-consuming black.

"An artist," Michael replied bitterly. "An architect of nightmares. This is all part of his design. You were too good at it. If I can break the fourth wall I'll do it right now. This is now 20-20-20-20-20 mode."

The emergency lights caught the edge of the room, their feeble glow barely piercing the dark. In that brief illumination, she caught a glimpse of a monstrous shape—a twisted figure of an animatronic, looming in the shadows, eyes gleaming like malevolent stars. Emily gasped, stepping backward, but the door slammed shut behind her.

"Get away from the door!" Michael barked as he quickly slammed the door in the golden bear animatronics face, fists clenched, the madness of fear driving him. "Scott! Stop this!"

With a shuddering groan, the creature edged toward him, mechanical limbs clicking with a sickening rhythm. "You think it would be that easy?" Scott echoed, his voice disdainful, reverberating through the intercom, a puppeteer tightening his strings.

"Stop him!" Emily screamed, panic clawing at her throat as the lights flickered again, the dance of laughter and screams blending with the whir of metal gears from behind the door.

"Keep moving!" Michael shouted, and finally, with sheer desperation.

"There!" Michael shouted, but she was propelled by a primal instinct to survive. The final door creaked open, revealing the world outside—a world of night and storm—but she could not look back.

Through the rain-soaked glare, she glimpsed the scene: the door began closing behind her. She had a choice; leave now or save Michael. She glanced at the road with a longing for home, and took a step towards it but instinctually she darted under the door barely making it inside as it slammed closed.