Five Nights At Freddy's Sister Location 2

23) Together

The atmosphere within Fazbear Industries was chillingly silent, save for the distant creaks and groans echoing through the desolate halls. The once vibrant colors of the pirate-themed second floor seemed muted by the absence of light and life; tattered banners hung limply from the walls, and faded murals of fantastic sea battles adorned the faded wallpaper. Emily, only twelve but brimming with curiosity, stood in the center of the dim room, her heart racing in sync with the atmosphere around her.

She had come to Fazbear Industries, not out of mere reckless adventure, but because her friends had dared her to explore the infamous building for a reward of twenty dollars. To them, it was a laugh; to her, it was a test of courage. Not just a dare but she was tricked by Charles Afton to be able to see what the animatronics looked like and he'd let her leave safely when he had found her. Clutching her flashlight, Emily reluctantly stepped forward, the beam of light dancing across discarded pirate props—a wooden ship's wheel, a parrot-shaped piñata, and, curiously, a half-broken treasure chest.

Her thoughts raced. This place, once booming with playful laughter, had been worn down by time and fear. Rumors swirled about the building, tales of animatronics gone rogue, an abandoned facility littered with dark secrets. As she wandered deeper, her caution faltering amidst the thrill of exploration, Emily resolved to discover what had truly transpired within these walls.

Suddenly, the air shifted, heavy and charged. A shiver crawled up her spine as she thought she glimpsed a shadow darting past the edge of her flashlight's beam. Turning abruptly, Emily directed the light towards the corner of the room. The beam flickered and flared, revealing a twisted figure peering out from the shadows. It was Springtrap, a bad smelling animatronic rabbit now an eerie amalgamation of rust and decay. Its yellowed, tattered fur was streaked with what Emily hoped was just age, though her instincts screamed otherwise. She could see what seemed like a rotting skull inside it's mouth. Springtrap was apparently a springlock suit. He shouldn't even be moving at all.

"What do you want?" Emily muttered to herself, clutching her flashlight as if it were a weapon. Fear seized her, but curiosity held her rooted in place. The grotesque rabbit stared back, its eyes dark and unseeing, yet she could feel it watching her, waiting for her next move.

Heart pounding, she backed away slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements. But the floorboards creaked beneath her weight, shattering the fragile silence. With a sudden lurch, Springtrap sprang forward—an uncanny springing motion that no organic creature should have possessed. Emily's instincts kicked in, and she turned to flee, barreling down the narrow corridor leading towards the space-themed third floor.

The darkness closed in around her as she sprinted, the only illumination from her faltering flashlight. She could hear the scraping of metal against metal—it was getting closer. The clang of Springtrap's limbs reverberated ominously, each sound melding into a nightmarish symphony that sent chills racing through her veins.

As she reached the staircase leading to the third floor, her foot slipped on a fragment of rusted machinery, and she tumbled, landing hard against the cold concrete. Panic swelled within her. She could already hear the animatronic's growling breath, heavy and laborious—a phantom hunger marking her imminent doom. Scrambling to her feet, she pushed onward, ignoring the pain surging through her limbs.

The third floor was an entirely different reality—a stark contrast to the pirate theme. It was adorned with stars and planets, constellations brushing the walls like ancient hieroglyphs. Emily's fear of Springtrap mingled with awe before the space-imbued décor. But the wonder faded quickly as she caught a glimpse of the animatronic slipping through the door behind her, his intentions clear and malevolent.

"Emily!" she heard a voice call from the shadowy background, distant yet unwavering. It was a voice she recognized, a voice she thought was merely a figment of her imagination.

"Scott?" Her breath seemed to catch in her throat. The creator of the very horror she faced was now stepping from the shadows, his presence lighting a spark of defiance against the encroaching dread.

"Keep moving!" Scott shouted, motioning her towards a door at the end of the hall. She understood without another word, her instincts igniting into action. She sprinted toward the door, adrenaline buzzing through her veins.

But Springtrap was quick, unfurling terrifyingly as it bore down on her. Emily flung open the door and slipped inside, slamming it shut mere moments before the animatronic reached her. She leaned against the door, panting, heart thundering like a drum. Isolation enveloped her, the calm after the storm—until she felt the tremors against the wood, a reminder that the predator was still lurking just outside.

"I'm sorry, Emily. I didn't think it was going to go so far, I just wanted to have some fun," Scott said, stepping into her view, his face etched with worry. "But we need to act fast. He's drawn to fear."

"What do we do?" she asked, her voice trembling, eyes darting around the small room. Shadows cast by her flashlight sparked her imagination with menacing shapes.

Scott glanced around, his gaze focused. "We can't let him corner us. There's a vent on the other side that leads to the supply room. Stay close! That bastard is not what you think he is."

With the urgency of their mortal plight at the forefront of their minds, Emily followed Scott, slipping silently across the room. As they neared the vent, she could feel Springtrap's determination reverberate through the building, its anger tangling with her pulse. She had to suppress the tremors in her hands as she rubbed against the cold, hard edge of the vent.

Just as they reached it, she felt a sudden jolt—the door they had barricaded shattered against Springtrap's relentless force, the animatronic's arms lunging toward them. Scott acted swiftly, grabbing Emily as he wrestled her into the vent just moments before Springtrap's clawed hand swiped through the air above them.

Emily gasped, scrambling on hands and knees through the cramped space, the cool metal surrounding her inhospitable yet exhilarating. Just before she heard Springtrap roar with frustration behind them, she realized the creature was struggling to fit in the narrow confines of the vent.

With Scott just behind her, they pushed through the maze of ducts until they reached the exit, tumbling out and crashing into a room filled with old toys and deactivated animatronics. Plummeting to the floor, they both took a moment to breathe deeply.

"It's safe for now," Scott grunted, leaning against a nearby desk. Emily nodded, still too shaken to speak.

But the horror lingered, etched in her memory. Fazbear Industries would always hold its shadows, even if they escaped for today; she could feel it in the air—a promise of more nightmares to come.

As the clock struck seven in the morning in the abandoned building, Springtrap lingered somewhere in the shadows, waiting for the next soul to haunt. The haunting whispers of Fazbear Industries reverberated through the night, echoing in the darkness, just waiting to ensnare the unwary once again. Emily was with the very man who tormented her, who made all of this, the man she was supposed to be stopping. But now confusion loomed in her heart and head. She needed him now.