Any criticisms of the constructive kind are welcome, and I hope you enjoy the story...
You're Not Real (Five Nights at Freddy's) [Oneshot]
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5.3 violation way too much gore.
Any criticisms of the constructive kind are welcome, and I hope you enjoy the story!
Disclaimer: All characters and locations presented in this story, and the Five Nights at Freddy's franchise is owned by Scott Cawthon. No monetary gain is being made from the posting of this story.
"You're not real."
That's what the man said, over and over and over until he could convince himself it wasn't a lie. He gripped the back of his neck as he stumbled away from the translucent form of the young boy, tears forever streaming down his once-innocent face, yet standing with a defiant look, framed by the messy short hair that was once a welcoming brown.
He could remember the other four in perfect clarity; after all, they were his pièces de résistance – his "quartet of harmonious torment" as Mother had put it. But this one he had tried his hardest to forget, this one had been tainted, taken away from the chance of ever being held to the regard the Four were – and he hated it, he hated the young boy, how he dared stare into his eyes, how he dared to never be silent. He hated him, and he made that hate known, and yet the boy only fell to silence when he had wrapped around his head and squeezed.
That had been a fulfilling feeling.
When the man of self-delusional royalty returned here, to where he had discovered what made him achieve nirvana in the truest sense, he had thought that this would be the grand finalé to his decades-long and meticulously crafted legacy. He thought that it would be his last hurrah, his last goodbye to the Little Ones that had he had so beautifully cracked, one-by-one. Yet he had been wrong.
"You're not real."
He babbled it once again, as the child of yesteryear took one step closer – wiping away the physical and metaphorical gap between the two. He wildly glanced to the exit of the safe room, but he knew there was no chance: the young, silent and broken spirits of his masterpiece stood there, huddled together, seemingly finding some miniscule iota of comfort with one another as they blocked his one pathway to a constantly dwindling freedom.
A single tear welled in the corner of his bloodshot left eye, one that shimmered an inviting green all those years ago, as he lost his already crumbling footing and fell hard on the unforgiving checkered floor of day and night of the pizzeria. He groaned in barely controlled pain as he frantically pushed himself away from his greatest failure, his hands slipping across the moistened tiles in utter desperation, and dare he even think it – fear.
"You're not real!"
Shouting at the phantom as his composure began fully crumbling around him, one that he had so carefully pieced together through years of social isolation and discrimination, he hit a hard, large object with his back. Turning with a whimper, he laid his eyes upon image that he was sure was a mirage.
A golden animatronic, with a missing right bunny ear and enough holes one could call it Swiss sat there, hunched over itself, soggy from its long exposure to leaks in the ceiling and criminally static. The man that once prided himself over his calm and collected facade let a grin escape five miles wide.
Golden Bonnie had come back. He had come back to aid him in his most dire hour of need. He had come back to ensure he would never fall victim to his greatest nemesis that stood in the form of a dead, mutilated child. He stared down at the long forgotten crank in his hand, then back to the child that took another step forward – but this time, he didn't flinch, he didn't whimper, he didn't cry in unforgiving fear.
He laughed. Cackled at the foolish actions of the stupid boy and turned his back to him, pulling open the skin of his long lost friend and forcefully pushing the rusted endoskeleton to the sides, giving him just enough room to fit inside. He climbed in, closed the golden skin he had once remarked as home away from home and stood, pointing to the child that now held uncertainty in his face.
"You're not real."
This time, it was spoken with a triumphant conviction as he, the Man in Purple stepped closer with a threatening thud of the large animatronic suit, and when he saw the defiant weakling break, sobbing in an amazing and euphoric silence, the little composure he had left vanished as a tsunami of the heavenly and indescribable feeling he felt when he fluttered them away crashed into him.
He cackled at the top of his lungs, flailing his arms around as the insanity he had hidden away from the world so well spewed forth like a biblical flood. He cackled in the realisation that he was the victor. He had won at the Diner when he took his first, he had won at the very first pizzeria as he took even more, he had won again when he framed his childhood friend, and he had won now. He was their god, their flawless master, and he would never lo-
CRACK!
Blinding, terrifying, unimaginable and inescapable pain tore through the right side of his body as the faulty and degraded steel beams that made up his old friend's skeleton suddenly, and without warning rebounded from their spring-loaded position, jamming through and digging into his body, ripping up muscle, bone and flesh as he felt his liver become punctured by three rusted sharp points of steel that broke off and lay stationary inside the dying organ.
His eyes widened as the one half of the endoskeleton continued to mercilessly destroy him, and he screamed with an ear-piercing shriek for a split second before his throat was shredded, and cups-worth of blood spilled from his mouth, shooting feet away from him and through the ethereal form of the still crying child.
The once arrogant, psychopathic, terrible man fell against the wall back to the same hunched over position Bonnie was in before he brought it to life, litres of blood pooling across the ground as it oozed out of the numerous holes the suit had deigned to have over the years of disrepair it had fallen into.
CRACK!
The left side of the endoskeleton shot through his body, shattering his ribcage, slicing his stomach in two – the visceral destruction of his lungs coming to fruition as the thickest part of the metal cage touched on both sides. His heart had remained untouched.
The suit began to malfunction, twitching in an increasing severity as it manipulated the dissected and dying body of Purple turned deep Crimson, and then it happened.
CRACK!
The head of the endoskeleton finally escaped from its spring prison, and with a gruesome sound of metal destructing flesh, the terrible life of a demonic man ended – steel beams jutted through his jaw, and the animatronic eyes slammed into his eye sockets, crushing the front of his skull as a myriad of metallic daggers connected with one another inside his brain in an incredibly morbid ballet of neurological toruture.
The twitching stopped, and as the silence the self-proclaimed king had once reveled in descended upon Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria, the spirits of the children so wrongfully taken away from their friends and family faded away, small, nearly indiscernible globes of light and a faint chime of music was heard from the heads of the Four, the four that had been his finest creation, and the four that had found peace in death.
Disclaimer: All characters and locations presented in this story, and the Five Nights at Freddy's franchise is owned by Scott Cawthon. No monetary gain is being made from the posting of this story.
"You're not real."
That's what the man said, over and over and over until he could convince himself it wasn't a lie. He gripped the back of his neck as he stumbled away from the translucent form of the young boy, tears forever streaming down his once-innocent face, yet standing with a defiant look, framed by the messy short hair that was once a welcoming brown.
He could remember the other four in perfect clarity; after all, they were his pièces de résistance – his "quartet of harmonious torment" as Mother had put it. But this one he had tried his hardest to forget, this one had been tainted, taken away from the chance of ever being held to the regard the Four were – and he hated it, he hated the young boy, how he dared stare into his eyes, how he dared to never be silent. He hated him, and he made that hate known, and yet the boy only fell to silence when he had wrapped around his head and squeezed.
That had been a fulfilling feeling.
When the man of self-delusional royalty returned here, to where he had discovered what made him achieve nirvana in the truest sense, he had thought that this would be the grand finalé to his decades-long and meticulously crafted legacy. He thought that it would be his last hurrah, his last goodbye to the Little Ones that had he had so beautifully cracked, one-by-one. Yet he had been wrong.
"You're not real."
He babbled it once again, as the child of yesteryear took one step closer – wiping away the physical and metaphorical gap between the two. He wildly glanced to the exit of the safe room, but he knew there was no chance: the young, silent and broken spirits of his masterpiece stood there, huddled together, seemingly finding some miniscule iota of comfort with one another as they blocked his one pathway to a constantly dwindling freedom.
A single tear welled in the corner of his bloodshot left eye, one that shimmered an inviting green all those years ago, as he lost his already crumbling footing and fell hard on the unforgiving checkered floor of day and night of the pizzeria. He groaned in barely controlled pain as he frantically pushed himself away from his greatest failure, his hands slipping across the moistened tiles in utter desperation, and dare he even think it – fear.
"You're not real!"
Shouting at the phantom as his composure began fully crumbling around him, one that he had so carefully pieced together through years of social isolation and discrimination, he hit a hard, large object with his back. Turning with a whimper, he laid his eyes upon image that he was sure was a mirage.
A golden animatronic, with a missing right bunny ear and enough holes one could call it Swiss sat there, hunched over itself, soggy from its long exposure to leaks in the ceiling and criminally static. The man that once prided himself over his calm and collected facade let a grin escape five miles wide.
Golden Bonnie had come back. He had come back to aid him in his most dire hour of need. He had come back to ensure he would never fall victim to his greatest nemesis that stood in the form of a dead, mutilated child. He stared down at the long forgotten crank in his hand, then back to the child that took another step forward – but this time, he didn't flinch, he didn't whimper, he didn't cry in unforgiving fear.
He laughed. Cackled at the foolish actions of the stupid boy and turned his back to him, pulling open the skin of his long lost friend and forcefully pushing the rusted endoskeleton to the sides, giving him just enough room to fit inside. He climbed in, closed the golden skin he had once remarked as home away from home and stood, pointing to the child that now held uncertainty in his face.
"You're not real."
This time, it was spoken with a triumphant conviction as he, the Man in Purple stepped closer with a threatening thud of the large animatronic suit, and when he saw the defiant weakling break, sobbing in an amazing and euphoric silence, the little composure he had left vanished as a tsunami of the heavenly and indescribable feeling he felt when he fluttered them away crashed into him.
He cackled at the top of his lungs, flailing his arms around as the insanity he had hidden away from the world so well spewed forth like a biblical flood. He cackled in the realisation that he was the victor. He had won at the Diner when he took his first, he had won at the very first pizzeria as he took even more, he had won again when he framed his childhood friend, and he had won now. He was their god, their flawless master, and he would never lo-
CRACK!
Blinding, terrifying, unimaginable and inescapable pain tore through the right side of his body as the faulty and degraded steel beams that made up his old friend's skeleton suddenly, and without warning rebounded from their spring-loaded position, jamming through and digging into his body, ripping up muscle, bone and flesh as he felt his liver become punctured by three rusted sharp points of steel that broke off and lay stationary inside the dying organ.
His eyes widened as the one half of the endoskeleton continued to mercilessly destroy him, and he screamed with an ear-piercing shriek for a split second before his throat was shredded, and cups-worth of blood spilled from his mouth, shooting feet away from him and through the ethereal form of the still crying child.
The once arrogant, psychopathic, terrible man fell against the wall back to the same hunched over position Bonnie was in before he brought it to life, litres of blood pooling across the ground as it oozed out of the numerous holes the suit had deigned to have over the years of disrepair it had fallen into.
CRACK!
The left side of the endoskeleton shot through his body, shattering his ribcage, slicing his stomach in two – the visceral destruction of his lungs coming to fruition as the thickest part of the metal cage touched on both sides. His heart had remained untouched.
The suit began to malfunction, twitching in an increasing severity as it manipulated the dissected and dying body of Purple turned deep Crimson, and then it happened.
CRACK!
The head of the endoskeleton finally escaped from its spring prison, and with a gruesome sound of metal destructing flesh, the terrible life of a demonic man ended – steel beams jutted through his jaw, and the animatronic eyes slammed into his eye sockets, crushing the front of his skull as a myriad of metallic daggers connected with one another inside his brain in an incredibly morbid ballet of neurological toruture.
The twitching stopped, and as the silence the self-proclaimed king had once reveled in descended upon Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria, the spirits of the children so wrongfully taken away from their friends and family faded away, small, nearly indiscernible globes of light and a faint chime of music was heard from the heads of the Four, the four that had been his finest creation, and the four that had found peace in death.
Finagle007
[Verified Great Old One]
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
And heartwarming to hear that the children he killed, and continued to torment after death, finally found peace...
Gen.Raven
Leader of the Hawk-Men
- Location
- Bristol, Tennessee
You know what makes this awesome? Toreador was playing at the end.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
stop
Way too much gore there. This is extremely gratuitous and a violation of 3.5.3. Please tone the violence down and resubmit to the moderation staff if you want the thread re-opened.
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