Five Nights At Freddy's: Foxy's Voices

Laboratory

The tunnel was completely pitch black. The walls and floor were made of some sort of rock, and it crumbled wherever it came into contact with Foxy. It gathered in dustlike particles in all of her joints and rankled her endoskeleton - she had to shake her head to get them out of the crevices in her ears and were forever caught between her fingers. The tunnel was in total darkness, but Foxy's Auditorium had always been completely black, so it was easy for her to race through the tunnel with ease. Her paws pounded the rock despite the dust flicking up behind her as she powered through like an animal.

Paws. Foxy had started calling her feet and hands paws whenever she was running on all fours. She'd gotten it off Foxy - he'd always referred to his hand and feet as paws when he ran. Of course, once he'd gotten his hook, it had originally been much harder to run. But as time went on, he'd learnt to use it as an advantage instead of a handicap - tearing around sharp corners with ease, accurately grabbing small items while running and even ripping into thing as he went past. So Funtime Foxy had caught on.

Foxy.

She was going to see Foxy again!

The slope of the tunnel stepped until it was nearly vertical. Foxy was forced to slow down as her path was impeded by metal bars. Probably for climbing back up, but Foxy was headed down, so they were a handicap.

Foxy snarled as she tripped and her jaws snapped together as they hit the bars. She went flying and tumbled down the tunnel, falling a good ten meters or so, before slamming into thick plastic and stopping abruptly. It sent shock waves through her entire endoskeleton. Foxy tasted rust and the sharp tang of the rock of the tunnel as she dizzily blinked.

Foxy groaned, rubbing her head. Once she was sure there wasn't any permanent damage and remarkably, very few dents, she raised her head, blinking her luminescent eyes.

Verygood.YouarrivivedseventeenpointthreesecondsearlierthanIanticipatedFuntimeFoxy.

I wonder why, Foxy grumbled, straightening one of her ears. But her movements were slower, more sluggish. She bit back a 

Thisgainsyouanextratwelvesecondsinsidetheroom.Youhavethatlongandonlythatlong.Thenyoumustleavethelaboratory.YoucannotgetFoxytosafetythisclosetodaylighthours.Doyouunderstand?

Foxy bit her teeth together.

Doyouunderstand?

Yes, Foxy snapped. Now how do I get in? But she couldn't keep the excitement from her voice.

You break in.

Foxy grinned. She braced both feet against the hard plastic and pressurized her springlocks, before releasing them with all the force she could muster. With a loud crack and a splintering crunch, the plastic gave way and bright white light flooded into the tunnel.

Momentarily blinded, Foxy shielded her visual receptors before she managed to switch off her night vision. Waving away the dust from the exit's questionable opening, she swung out her legs and dropped to the floor.

Once her visual receptors had adjusted, all Foxy could do was stare.

The room was long and rectangular, with polished marble floors, plaster ceilings and what looked like smooth plastic for walls. Most of it was separated into sections by hospital curtains, and there were grubby-looking tools scattered about. Foxy could hear machines bleeping through her gradually decreasing sound reception.

Forty-threesecondsleft.

Time to check one of the bays. Just one.

Foxy went with her gut and walked over to the second bay on the left. She gingerly drew back the curtain and sucked in a sharp breath.

Foxy.

His red fur was tattered and torn, missing in many places and dirty in others. Pieces of endoskeleton were exposed all over him, steel sticking out in awkward positions. His hook on his left hand was slightly bent and the metal was a little corroded where it joined with his wrist. The patch over his right eye was secured firmly and his other eye was closed with a rusty, broken eyelid. His sharp teeth were angled backwards a little and his lower jaw was very slightly mismatched to his upper one. His ears had exposed wires and his muzzle fur was mostly ripped off.

Foxy was lying on some kind of rusty metal bed supported by steel beams. Next to it was some kind of table upon which was a myriad of torture devices - clamps, pliers, tweezers, hammers and nails, as well as tubs of screws, nuts and bolts. Some had rust coating their ends and some looked downright unhealthy. Eyeing some of the more recent tears in Other-Foxy's fabric, Foxy shuddered.

Thirty-twosecondleft.

Above Other-Foxy's head was two shelves. The lower one wasn't very interesting - extra steel beams, a roll of what looked like new Foxy-fur, and a few broken tools. 

But it was the one above that was what sent the air from Foxy's chest cavity.

Glass jars and petri dishes were lined neatly up along the wooden surface. They were polished and clearly important. Some were empty, of course, but their lids were still strongly secured. But others held small objects. Most of these were pieces of motherboard, springlocks, and even teeth.

But inside one, hidden behind a jar of screws, was a tiny piece of metal.

Flat. Rectangular. With veins of metal - veins of life - running through them.

Foxy's chip.

YouhavetensecondsFuntimeFoxy.Youmustleavenow.

No-- Foxy scrambled. She couldn't leave Foxy here. Not now. Not now that she'd seen him. Not now that she knew how to fix him. There were pieces of him missing, pieces of him gone. Pieces of him that were off to the side under the tray, that were unattached. She couldn't leave him like this. Not defenseless. Not... alone.

Iwillkillhimifyoudonotcomenow.Eightseconds.

Foxy didn't have a choice.

She could feel her vision clouding at the corners, her sound hearing dulling. Her movements slowing down.

Now,Foxy! Golden Fredbear barked.

With no other choice, Foxy turned around, leapt onto all fours and ran.

She scrambled up into the tunnel, slamming the clown mask on the wall shut behind her. She sprinted up the rock corridor, tripping and sprawling, but never stopping. She couldn't stop. A second too late and she wouldn't make it back.

Foxy slammed into walls as she careened around corners, the rock crumbling upon contact. Her paws beat the earth as she saw the mask up ahead, and crunched into it with all the force she could muster. It popped open with a loud crack and sent her flying down into the control module.

Scrambling to her feet, not even worrying about the dents and scratches, Foxy ran.

The vent door was open. So she ran.

Banging into the metal walls and leaving deep scratches, she skittered through the vents like an animal. She tripped, fell, and landed on her face. She could barely see now. Her limbs were uncoordinated, uncooperative. It was over.

She hadn't made it.

Foxy's vision blinked out. She could vaguely hear the last of Ballora's nighttime energy directing a nastily-worded question her way. She could hear Baby demanding answers.

She was vaguely aware of the vent sides disappearing, of open air. Of the feel of fur.

And then she was gone.