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He could still feel it.
You’d think, perhaps, that after so long, the pain would have numbed a bit. Maybe it would have, if he’d been so smart as to stop fucking moving. Maybe it would have, if the god damned suit didn’t keep trying to move for him , re-breaking his bones every time it saw fit to reactivate and give a preprogrammed spiel that was muffled by the flesh that was growing into its voice box. Maybe if he’d been conscious when Henry came and sealed up the room. Lots of maybes. Maybe if he hadn’t come back to this fucking place, he wouldn’t be in any pain at all. He should have just left those five to fucking rot.
He only learned that it had been 30 years (Thirty. Fucking. Years.) when some idiot broke the wall and dragged him out, blabbering some nonsense about a haunted house. Every jolt and jostle sent lightning through his rotting nerves, and he couldn’t muster so much as a sound over the pain that came from being thrown into the back of a pickup truck and driven over what must have been the shittiest highway in history. He would rather be back in the safe room, where the only thing that hurt was breathing.
Eventually the truck stopped, and some other idiot helped the first one drag him into a disgusting shithole of a building. The untouched rot and mold of the last place was more appealing. He was glad his nose had rotten off.
Part of him wondered why the fuck neither idiot realized there was a corpse inside the animatronic they were so excited about salvaging. Maybe it only took 30 years for humans to evolve enough to completely lose their sense of smell. He laughed at his own joke, a strained, wheezing noise, and both idiots froze.
“Uh- dude?”
“Yeah?”
“You uh. You heard that, right?”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t quite have moving the animatronic’s eyes down yet- it had taken a good while for his flesh to grow into the optical sensors after the springlocks popped his eyeballs like water balloons, and eyes were delicate, finicky things- but he could see in the corner of his vision the pair of them staring at him in horror, before turning to one another and high-fiving.
“IT WORKS!”
“IT’S FUCKING FUNCTIONAL, MAN!”
They fucked off shortly after that. With the way they spoke, he assumed they were off to get stoned in their basement in celebration. He was pretty sure an intestine was sticking out of a tear in his abdomen. Unobservant bastards. He was looking forward to tearing their heads off.
Well, no time like the present to learn how to walk again. Couldn’t hurt any more than the ride over.
--
There was a security guard.
Oh, he knew how this was going to go, knew exactly what the animatronics did to security guards 30 years ago, knew exactly how many people quit (or mysteriously disappeared) after only a few nights, knew exactly what they did. Knew exactly what to do.
It would only be appropriate, seeing as this shithole was meant to be some twisted mockery of the Fazbear's franchise. They knew what happened to the security guards, even if they thought it was just urban legend.
Flesh squelched under gears, wires pulled tendons taut, metal chewed against bone, and Springtrap struggled through his first steps towards the security office.
He was the possessed animatronic, now. He hasn't had innocent blood coat his hands in 30 years. He would change that tonight.