Five Nights At Freddy's: Foxy's Voices

Through the Vent

Foxy was practically drooling. The thoughts racing through Funtime Foxy's head had his own spinning. She thought in such delicious detail - from what he could tell by her description of she and her friends, they sounded like remakes. New models. So it was no surprise that her image and sensory processing was faster and more detailed than usual.

He reveled in the way she thought as she crushed him. She thought so clearly that they were practically images. Because it was her first time consciously killing, she was so new - meaning she loved it so much more. All of her senses were so fresh to the art of the murder - and though it wasn't a particularly efficient or masterful murder, it gave her the taste she needed. She heard the crunch of the bones so much clearer, tasted the blood so much richer, and reveled in the death so much harder.

Foxy could hear the sister-bots (he had started calling them that) having a similar reaction to him as they received her thoughts. Even Funtime Freddy's mind was racing with her thoughts.

When he'd recovered from the tidal wave of intensity, Foxy grinned. Good. Good. Excellent, Foxy. Beautiful.

He could practically see Foxy licking her lips. That was... I cannot even begin to explain it. That was beyond any pleasure I've ever felt. Again. He could see her eyes flaring with brilliant yellow light. Again. Give me more!

 Patience, said Baby's voice. Tomorrow night there will be more. Perhaps someone will come into your Gallery, Ballora.

Yes, Ballora's omnipresent voice murmured. Tomorrow. Perhaps tomorrow.

Foxy! Chica's loud voice sliced through his thoughts.

What? He snapped. I'm listening!

I don't care, pirate boy. Something's up. Get over here.

That was unusual. The child had already been killed tonight - by Freddy's hand. Chica and Bonnie usually hung out in Chica's hallway and did whatever while Freddy did God knows what and cleaned up in the Bedroom.

What could possibly cause the alarm this close to dawn?

Alarm? Funtime Foxy asked. Something bad. What's going on?

What's going on? Foxy relayed to his friends.

Not sure, Chica answered cautiously. But you're going to want to see this.

Does it have something to do with the vent? Freddy asked. Foxy heard him opening the door and heading into Chica's hallway.

The vent, Foxy snarled as he got to his feet.

There was one connection to the outside world for Foxy, Chica, Bonnie and Freddy. A single vent down the end of Chica's hallway, at the very end. Foxy himself had discovered it after he slashed his claws across the myriad of posters back there and had drawn sparks. A single vent made of something that wouldn't bend, melt or break was sealed across the wall, with nothing but darkness inside. But it did carry scents.

Vents.

That was how the people in Funtime Foxy's institute got around.

Shit, Chica breathed as Foxy's powerful legs shot him down the hallways. He found the other three animatronics standing at the vent, dangerously close to the fog of daylight. He could already feel his senses dulling.

"Voices," Bonnie whispered. "I can hear them."

"Me too," Chica said. "What are they saying?"

Voices. Coming through the vents. Real voices. Not thoughts.

"Move," Foxy snarled, shoving Chica out of the way by her face. She didn't even complain as he stuck his ear to the vent next to Bonnie's big purple ear.

Bonnie, who had always contested with Foxy for the best hearing, sucked in a sharp breath. Foxy could hear them. Snatches of conversation. Voices. Human voices.

Don't break them...

...Shutting down...

...Need more for the Funtime Palace...

Foxy's sound hearing blinked out. His vision was going blurry. There wasn't enough time. He couldn't make out what they were saying anymore. He looked at Bonnie - she couldn't hear anymore either. Her movements were slow and sluggish as well.

Pulling himself together, Foxy gathered his haunches beneath him and bounded towards the exit of the hallway. He could see the others following behind him. People. Coming. For them.

He had almost made it to Bonnie's corridor before his legs gave out beneath him and he crashed to the ground.

No, not yet. Foxy couldn't stop yet. People. Coming. No more children every night. Maybe he would go further away. Somewhere he would never hear Foxy or Baby or Bellora ever again. He couldn't leave - not yet. There was so much he didn't know. So much he had to know.

His vision blinked out and he was left only with the sluggish thoughts of his friends.

And then that, too, was gone.

And so was Foxy.