Springtrap

If only he knew.

The terror, which would not end for another 70+ years, began with a bunny suit and a knife. A birthday party with children dancing and devouring pizza. He could still hear the screams of delight, could smell the antiseptic of a child that got sick from too much pizza. It began with a bunny suit, a yellow one, one from an old location that closed down due to an incident.

William Afton stood motionless in the dark hallway, a malevolent glint in his eye as he observed the raucous birthday party from the shadows. His lips curled into a sinister grin beneath the furry mask of the decommissioned Spring Bonnie suit he wore, the empty eye sockets peering out over the chaotic scene. Children ran about wildly, their laughter and shrieks of delight like nails on a chalkboard to his warped mind. He zeroed in on his prey—five young souls ripe for the taking.

Crouching down, Afton removed the Spring Bonnie head and arranged his features into a friendly, beckoning smile. He raised a gloved hand and waved over a group of children who had paused their game of tag.

"Hey kids, I've got a super special surprise for the birthday boy and his best friends!" Afton called out brightly, expertly masking his vile intent. His sickly sweet tone never wavered. "How'd you like to see something extra fun in the back?"

The children's eyes lit up with wonder. In their youthful naivete, they eagerly accepted the invitation from the strange costumed man. Like lambs to the slaughter, they followed behind Spring Bonnie in single file. The last child in line clutched a half-eaten slice of Freddy Fazbear pizza in one sticky hand. He took a big bite as they rounded the corner into the dark maintenance corridor. The pungent aroma of fresh pizza, birthday cake, and sugary soda still clung to their small bodies—ironic considering death's odor would soon mingle.

As soon as the heavy door clicked shut, sealing them in pitch blackness, Springtrap forcefully grabbed the child at the front of the line. His mouth opened impossibly wide, needle-like teeth glistening wetly in the dim light. Before the boy could scream, a knife tore into his throat. Dark arterial blood sprayed wildly as the killer bunny ripped away flesh and muscle. The stench of voided bowels joined the coppery tang clouding the air.

The terrified screams of the remaining four children harmonized with the gristly sounds of flesh tearing from bone to create a nightmarish chorus. Their cries went unheard except by cold, unfeeling walls that would soon serve as silent witnesses.

The end had arrived...and Hell welcomed five new souls.

The five animatronic suits. A bear, a bunny, a chicken, a fox, a golden bear.

William Afton slid the final animatronic costume over the child's broken body, the stench of voided bowels and blood mingling with the deeper odor of decay emanating from within the furry tombs. The suits fit the small frames easily, swallowing them up until only faint outlines suggested anything human remained inside.

Over the next few days, the reek intensified, the sickly sweet tang of decomposition perfuming Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. Parents wrinkled their noses, complaining amongst themselves about the unpleasant smell they couldn't seem to escape. Rumors spread of a gas leak, cleaning products gone bad, rotting food crammed behind old arcade cabinets. But the source remained elusive even as parents threatened to take their business elsewhere.

By the end of the week, the manager closed the pizzeria doors for good, unwilling to pump more money into solving the mystery. As floors were ripped up and walls torn down in the search, William watched from the shadows—amused by the chaos yet confident his grisly secrets would remain buried forever in those soundproof furry tombs.

The investigation ended without answers. And as the shuttered building awaited demolition, the killer slept soundly, the ghosts of his victims crying out unheard for justice.

That was the first day he became Springbonnie. Years later, he became Springtrap.

---

THUD.

A red blinking light pierced the darkness, reflecting off lifeless animatronic eyes that stared ahead eternally. The tattered Springtrap suit glitched to life once more, rusted servos whining in protest after decades of disuse. Bolts creaked as its disjointed limbs spasmed wildly before going limp again, only to jerk back to motion a moment later like a macabre marionette.

"No more..." Springtrap rasped, his corrupted voice box adding layers of unnatural distortion. His claws scraped at the sides of his head where phantom agony wracked his neural net. He could still smell the blood, the vomit, the stench of voided bowels from that horrible day. No amount of fire or brimstone could cleanse him of the gruesome memories. They clung to his mental processors the way gore crusted in the crevices of his mechanical limbs, the way loosened teeth and tufts of hair snagged between exoskeletal joints.

Springtrap bit back a scream, mandible joints creaking. Decades stuck animatronic purgatory hadn't diminished the pain. If anything, the passage of time amplified his suffering. The perpetual state of decay kept nerves raw and exposed. No sweet relief of death—only an endless loop of reanimation inside this gruesome fur prison.

He raised a hand to his forehead as fire bloomed behind his optical sensors. Programming errors flooded his visual feed with phantom imagery...ghostly children crying blood tears, broken animatronics crawling toward him, fiery shadows engulfing his field of view. The anguished cries and distorted laughter clawed at auditory sensors far more sensitive than any human ear. Like iron nails raking a chalkboard, the hallucinatory screams burrowed deep into Springtrap's psyche.

"No, get back!" Springtrap rasped, raking his claws down his mottled muzzle. Flecks of moldy fur drifted to the floor. Sparks flew from his neck as he thrashed against the visions. Ages had passed, yet still the ghosts of his past haunted this damned existence. They would never grant him the relief of madness, nor the salvation of a final shutdown. The ghosts of five little souls danced at the edge of his vision, their faceless heads tilted in silent accusation. Springtrap slammed his eyes shut but the horrific visions persisted, dripping blood and bile down the insides of his metal skull.

Blood scent clung to the air no ventilation or time erased, a constant reminder of sins committed in this very building. Of tiny bones and innocent souls swallowed up by fur tombs...of screams cut short by merciless knives and hands. In the cracked mirror, Springtrap could still see traces Afton's face—patches of leathery skin clinging to decayed muscle and sinew wrapped around the metal endoskeleton. Proof the killer still lingered in eternal purgatory.

Springtrap's claws gouged furrows in the wall, serrated tips scraping plaster. He leaned against the support beam, a whine of servos accompanying the grind of bone-on-metal from his shoulders. His victims were well beyond his reach, their spirits purged and gone to whatever heaven existed... Yet he remained forever chained within this mechanical corpse by forces beyond scientific understanding. A prisoner of his own creation.

There were multiple attempts to die throughout 70 years. Burning, jumping off a building, daggers. All it did was wear his suit down until he was disfigured and 20 percent endoskeleton. Then he learned he didn't like looking at his own bloated corpse inside the suit and repaired himself a bit. After that, he sat and powered off.

THUD.

Springtrap emerged from the vivid flashback, phantom agony wracking his decaying animatronic body. Static laced his hoarse cry as he desperately tried to banish the horrific memories. But the ghosts persisted, their silent screams echoing inside Springtrap's metal skull.

He became aware once more of his surroundings—the cold, grimy walls of the horror attraction that now served as his tomb. The shuffling footsteps grew louder. Springtrap froze, claws flexing instinctively. Who dared intrude on his domain? Rage temporarily overpowered anguish as the killer animatronic zeroed in on the interloper.

Moving slowly, another flashback hit him.

---

Springtrap thrashed against the unyielding animatronic prison, the rusted spring locks piercing flesh and crunching bone. Blood erupted from the myriad stab wounds, soaking decaying fur and pooling beneath his twitching feet. The sickly sweet stench of voided bowels mingled with hot copper. The killer screamed and screamed until his cries became tinny mechanical wails from his animatronic voice box. He glared with intense hatred at the ghostly children circling him, their faceless visages dripping crimson tears down the front of their faded shirts. They watched his torment with wicked delight at this reversal of fates.

The spring locks tightened further as the suit reshaped itself to his now broken body. Bone shards and strips of flesh snagged on metal parts dripping with gore. William Afton howled with near unbearable pain as he became one with the machine, his life essence draining out to stain matted yellow fur.

"No, stop! I created you!" he gurgled as blood filled his throat. The phantasmal children only tilted their heads in curiosity. Then they were gone, though their bone-chilling giggles still echoed in the room.

Afton's frantic death throes ceased abruptly along with his heartbeat. Inside the corpse-filled suit, the killer opened his eyes once more and a dreadful realization took hold in his shattered mind—the suit would never let him go now. His dream of eternal life had become eternal torment, the eternal prison of Springtrap.

---

Broken laughter spilled from Springtrap's voice box, distorting into a blast of deafening static and tortured screams. He was trapped in the suit that bore his sins for all time. The ghosts of his sins would never let him rest, and death could never claim him. He was damned, with no hope for release or redemption.

Springtrap collapsed against blood-smeared tiles, manic laughter dissolving into wretched sobs wrenched from deep inside his mechanical frame. He was home in his house of horrors and decay, amidst the ruin and depravity he had created. His was now a hell of his own making with no escape. Not for decades, centuries, millennia...

When his laughter died, he forced himself back up and went to investigate the sounds coming from the hallway near the main office. Springtrap peered through the darkness at the security office, the faint glow from the monitors creating a beacon for the damned. Shadows played across his mottled mechanical frame, accentuating each gaping hole and protruding length of bare metal endoskeleton. He waited perfectly still except for the occasional violent spasm or jerky twitch—glitched remnants of organic reflexes from the human monster named William Afton whose shattered soul still festered inside this wretched animatronic tomb.

Behind Springtrap's vacant eyes, visions flashed of another place and time—another guard unlucky enough to be trapped with a killer. He vividly relived cornering that previous night watchman, recalled the hot gush of blood over his hands and the fragility of human bone and viscera before the guard had set the place aflame. Those gruesome memories brought Springtrap both savage glee and profound sorrow.

Hidden in the hallway just outside the office door, Springtrap cocked his head, optical sensors wholly fixated on his mark just out of sight around the corner. Surely they knew the infamous legacy haunting these cursed halls?