Five Nights At Freddy’s: The Shattered Corridors

Bloodl.u.s.t. Running. Panting. Pain. More running. Panting. More pain. Failure. Rage. Strength. Growing. More strength. Even more, then more bloodl.u.s.t. Lunging. Preparing. Pouncing... More pain. Rage. Growing. Bigger. Stronger...

Weaker…

Smaller...

Fear.

More fear.

...

Eye...

Blood, pain, fear, panic, running, gushing. Pain, more fear, more running, more pain and gushing. Hatred, weakening fast, pure hatred, Lots of pain, so very, very afraid. More pain, more fear. Pain. Fear. He was afraid of the pain. He was running for his life, his eye gorged out and it's empty hole gushing with blood. Slowly though, the pain stopped, and the ringing in his head as well. He stopped, abruptly.

Normally, Foxy was never lost, but now he didn't know where he was. Not to say after all these years the hunter didn't know his way around the place, but in his panic, he hadn't realized how far he had run. Still, it was odd for him not to be used to such things. He turned his head to see a poster and a mirror, both of which infuriated him. The poster was of him, but not. It was something he had seen over the years everywhere, but he had never really looked at one. It wasn't of him though, it was of one of those smaller copies of himself. They weren't nearly as strong as the real deal, he could tear one apart with just as many hands. To have something like that hung upon the wall instead of him was insulting to say the least, and the mirror as well seemed to taunt him. In it's reflection it showed that the fox was no bigger than when he had gone after the boy the first time. Even his newfound scruff, which he originally hadn't bothered to notice, did not help the situation. He had felt it, he had so much power, and was about to stomp on his prey like ants. He would have been able to rend the walls that bind him and every night he would have fresh blood and a new meal. But then it all went wrong. In his wild, animalistic mind, the beast still had enough reason to curse the Wolf for daring to scar his eye. His blood unlike any other had poured from his head, draining him by quite a lot, and causing him to become weak once again... The Wolf!

Looking around on guard, Foxy smiled. He was cunning. Yes, very cunning. Smarter, faster, and he would've been stronger. He growled once again, but it wasn't all bad. For once, the Fox didn't feel his impending anger. He could think just a bit more clearly, and while he still despised the bear and had it in his mind he would get back at that Wolf, he no longer fantasized about their deaths on loop as his torn mind usually would. He could think about more than the death of those who angered him, and right now, he was thinking about his eye.

He turned around to face behind him, where he assumed he ran from. He began walking back to the scene where he was so close to real power, but was denied. He stopped. Why was he going back? He would be killed. Then, his mind answered his question, filling in the blanks. Slowly, his thought process was getting better. He began to understand more, and was gaining more reasoning. They were already in a rush when he lunged at them. They would be gone by the time he got back. Then he could get his eye back. Then, maybe, he could be stronger again, and all this would be over. Sure, it was handy being able to think like this, but he preferred the old way. The old way almost never failed, it was simpler, it was easier. He barely had to think at all, ever, and he had survived this long. Good looks in tact, he was better the way he was before. As he made his way back to the place his eye rested, he was halted by a huge division.

A deep crater that was extremely wide, keeping him from the other piece of himself. Foxy smirked. He could jump this easy, but as he prepared himself, at which point he expected his instincts to take over, nothing happened. He began running a leapt, but he barely made the jump, grabbing onto the edge with two arms. He began to panic again, squirming and trying to move his secondary arms frantically trying to pull himself up, but it was no use. The ground he had gripped to was pure dirt, unlike most of the building. It was unstable. 'Dirt ground?' He thought to himself, realizing where he was. Foxy screeched towards Bonnie wherever he was as the slab of the dirt path he held onto tightly gave way, breaking off and sending the poor fox plummeting.

As he spiraled downwards, Foxy constantly attempted to climb back up the crater, but attempt after attempt, he kept falling, the crater's rock walls breaking from his constant movement, and his claws weren't listening to anything he was telling them to do. 'Extend! Retract! Fly, do something!!!' He yelled in his own head, but it was no use. He was falling, plummeting, fast. And then, he wasn't. Savagery kicked in, and before he knew it, he was climbing.

Climbing up. Climbing faster. Annoyed. Angry. Happy. Relieved. Returning. Roaring. Growing… Shrinking.

His brain came back again, like someone was flipping an ON/OFF Switch in Foxy's head. One second he was back on track, growing stronger and being in an unchainable rage, the next, he was back like this. Denied once again to the strength that he felt, that he had, and no closer to getting his lost eye. His feral side had put him back to where the poster and the mirror was, though upon further inspection, it seemed to actually be a window. In truth though, the fox did not care. The fact he was getting farther away from his more natural senses, what made him stronger in the first place, infuriated him. He had to… He had to… *meow* Foxy looked down to find a plump cat right next to his left foot, a bit on edge. Perfect.

SLASH! In mere moments the cat was severed in half, then quarters, eighths, sixteenths, each violent swing of the fox's claw calmed him a bit, and satisfied him. The worst part was the fox was no longer hungry, just angry, angry and dangerous. Still, this did not bring out his other side, and while the fox knew he could still at least fight now, it wasn't nearly as efficient as usual. He looked down upon the cat's rotting corpse, its pink collar no longer popping up and down off of the cat's beating c.h.e.s.t. Though it's face was sliced down the middle, it seemingly was trying to keep itself together, as if the cat still lived. Its eyes stayed inside, staring out completely open with a shocked expression.

Foxy didn't even flinch. He had seen much worse, whether he was conscious during that time or not. This didn't even fully satisfy him, still brimming with a new self loathing and anger in the form of a growl. But no remorse, just like always. The fox looked back to the poster, and saw something interesting. With no foresight for anyone watching the fox, he in one quick punch broke the glass. This too was unlike him, he would usually overdo it as if to show off. He jumped through his new opening and began looking for what he now felt n.a.k.e.d without. He saw what he was looking for, smiled a bit, and quickly made himself a bit more like in the picture. Inside of his hiding place, he changed his appearance. He was now wearing brown shorts similar to the picture that had been torn, but they still came to his knees. He felt they were as necessary as his other new accessory. A black eyepatch for a.d.u.l.ts, and foxes.

Looking in the broken mirror of the changin- Foxy's hiding spot, Foxy looked at himself again. It seemed natural, and yet, Foxy still felt he was different. His primal mind had gone to sleep, and he was confused as to why. He began to want it back, it was still there, but sleeping, sleeping a deep sleep. Then, Foxy got an idea to wake it up. He breathed in, and began growling. Already he felt himself change a bit, his eyes having a new burning feeling as he began to breathe fast, and a bit of newfound strength as well went through his blood. His scar began to bleed again, but with its usual green again. It didn't hurt, all Foxy could focus on was the relief that nothing had changed. In a few moments though, he had begun to calm down. Desperate to keep the adrenaline going, he charged through his hiding spot's door. That was enough. His instincts, for the last time, took hold. He leapt onto the counter with extreme force, giving out a powerful roar that shattered the glass on the floor and in the surrounding stores. The fox grew a decent amount in the moment, grabbing his sides before spikes of bone began poking out of his shoulders, his fangs growing sharper, and his scruff of fur around his neck grew out immensely, his fur on edge and to the sky. Something else was coming though, just like before, and his mind was drifting away…

Then, it all went away. His composure returned, and the wild side of his mind vanished. Foxy was shocked. What had happened? He was about to go back to the way he was, but now, now he was like this! He began to regret his decision to try and force his more feral side out. In his haste, he had completely burned it out. "DARN IT!" He shouted with all his anger.

…

Foxy paused, gripping his snout, now fully covered in fur. This was the first time he had ever spoken, and he knew English like second nature. Cautious of his new found voice as a loaded gun, he spoke again. "Hello?" He said, unsure if him speaking was just a random occurrence. It wasn't. The fox looked around to make sure no one was messing with him, but no one was around. He properly stood on two feet and began a more thorough search. This eventually lead him to his hiding spot. He had not only broken down the door, but made a hole in the wall, leaving an imprint of his old self. If he had been in his right mind a day prior, and you showed him it, he would be eager and impressed. But now Foxy was different once more. Along with the jagged spikes of bone on his shoulders, his feet had increased in proportions, and his hands in size had become closer to being even with the rest of his body. His once fully metal hands now had daggers of skeleton poking out of the top, and to his surprise, his teeth were even bigger than he first realized.

Upon 'stealthily' forcing his way into the room, he looked once again into its mirror, which had been clawed on Foxy's way out. His front teeth were completely exposed with his front top fangs being exposed and immensely sharp. His torn body that originally had many holes was now perfectly covered in skin and demented fur aside from the fox's hands and feet. The fox stared at himself in the mirror, as if keeping his own reflection at bay. His tail and both sets of his arms were still hanging to his sides, as the fox looked mouth open at his extreme change, in both body, and mind. His inner contemplation was interrupted by a noise in the desolate store. It genuinely made the fox jump, and as soon as he landed, he pounced out of the hiding space and sniffed the air. There wasn't anything of interest aside from a smell in a room next to his hiding spot.

Sharpening his claws, the fox slowly came closer to the source of the sound, but found someone quite familiar. It was the girl. It was the girl from earlier. The one that had gotten away. He snarled at the memory, and raised his left claw with his hook, ready to carve through her, but he paused. For once, he gave forethought. He hated to admit it, but Freddy could probably still eat him for breakfast. Besides, her screams would tell the Wolf where he was. No, he had to lay low a bit, at least until he was stronger, or something else happened. He lowered his hand, and walked away. As he exited the room, he looked back at the girl one last time, noticing a little blue plane within her grasps which was stained with a bit of blood. He became frazzled. "Is she bleeding?" He said, once again falling back because of his own voice. Quite literally this time.

Foxy fell to the floor, backing up from the sounds of his own mouth. He took a moment to tell himself how ashamed he was that with four arms, he still couldn't catch himself. As he regained composure, he realized the girl was beginning to stir. He ducked away behind the room's broken doorway, where she couldn't see him.

After a few moments, Foxy peaked out and found she was once again asleep. This time he did something out of his own will that seemed to call to him. Not wild instincts, but something else. Something not nearly as bad as killing the poor sleeping child where she rest. Carefully, he took the blue plane, and sniffed the blood. It was not the girls, but it was familiar... It was of someone he recognized... It was of someone so distinguishable...

As Foxy thought to himself on the mystery, a name finally came to him, and as it did, he felt he could never part with the small blue toy. He gripped it tight, but his grip was loose enough to ensure the toy would not break. Carefully, he once again made his way out of the room. Once again though, he looked back to the girl, feeling he shouldn't leave her. He shook his head. No, he wouldn't become like them. That was pathetic, he was a monster, and so were they. They just had forgotten. Still, there was something that caught Foxy's eye about the girl. Her choice in clothing seeming quite odd to him. A jean dress and black clothes with white stripes, with her pants being covered in marks from crayons and colored pencils.

As Foxy quietly leapt out of the store, he pondered his true reasons for letting the girl go. In the back of his mind, he knew that wasn't the girl he was chasing earlier. But along with that question was another the girl had brought with her. Foxy had finally put a name to the blood stain. "Who is Tyler?" He wondered aloud, now used to his new way of communication. Even though his head was a lot clearer, it was not nearly ready to answer questions like this. "When did being 'me' become so complicated?" He asked himself. This time, he thought he had an answer. He gripped his eyepatch. "That's when." He began to turn to go back to where he had lost his eye, but stopped a few steps on the way. "...No..." He said, turning around again. "I think I'll see this through..." He had made up his mind. Consciousness had fully set in. And he no longer wanted to part with it just yet.