Pest Control (1)

The Interloper was bathed in a glow of light. It bubbled and burst as it pulsated violently, it's white moon-like face extended to meet the spring-suit's gaze as two white circle buttons on the chest shone with white intensity, shimmering in the light.  A cleansing fire cackled maniacally as more and more of the building fed the flames. As a stray beam between the two collapsed, the dream was ended and Springtrap jolted to life.

The dream had plagued him for a long time, ever since the fire occurred. Springtrap breathed to gauge his current status. His entrails felt warm and soft. Within him, he felt cold pangs as the metal within him touched the flesh once more. He stepped forward, warming up his suit's mechanisms.

Deep underground, he wonders if he really would have traded his solitude for roaming around. If it really was worth all this. Time had numbed him to the pain of his body's degradation. Being reawakened, baptized7 in flame  and reborn in a new suit only reset the buttons. He had grown accustomed to his existence. Dealing with the new problems was enough to make him consider the termination of his own life. Wallowing in self-pity, his train of thought was disrupted by the enraging sound of wailing infants.

Springtrap walked at a brisk pace down the sterile, metal corridors. With each passing second the cries grated on his nerves more and more. Eventually he had reached the nursery and pushed open the door fast enough for the knob to strike the dark, metallic walls. His finger flicked the light switch, bathing the room in white sterile light. All the babies were still accounted for, with some uninvited guests. A group of rats had emerged from their dark crevices, between the walls of the facility. The rodents scurried around the cribs, climbing in and out. They tread upon the faces with apparent ignorance, molesting the occupants' peace and quiet.

The babies were stronger than the rats were. Built with a metal shell and plastic exterior, they were just as durable as the rest of the building's robots. They could take the clawing, but Springtrap couldn't take the crying.

A rat had gotten it's tail snagged in the jaws of the baby in front of Springtrap. A mere stroke of luck, the baby had actually caught the rat. Unfortunately, syphilis and whatever diseases the beast may be carrying, as well as the bones and giblets and other distasteful parts would wreak havoc on the delicate inner organics.

Indeed, the babies were like watermelon. Hard on the outside. Soft on the inside. Getting the organic parts proved to be a hell of a legal hoop to jump through, and Springtrap didn't want to have to do it again. So he reached down and grabbed the squeaky, furry thing and ripped it from the jaws of the baby bot in a mist of red. The tail was suckled like a spaghetti noodle.

The baby's systems could handle it. It'd be broken down and regurgitated as a thin liquid after it's calories had been stripped. Springtrap gripped the rat in his hand, larger than the entire body. He gave it a powerful squeeze and dropped it into a nearby trash can. It felt good. He relished the aftertaste of this moment, and each time it gave him a thrill. Diminished returns was not a familiar concept to Springtrap. Each time felt just as good as the first. The bones, slipping past each other. A single voice crying out in terror before being suddenly silenced. The crumpled empty form of a once living thing, bruised and battered by a force superior beyond it's comprehension.

Gazing into the trash can, Springtrap could see red dripping down the sides, pulled towards the center like a hungering black hole. Devouring all that stands in it's path. The unstoppable force of a black hole was inspiring. After a moment of this reflection, Springtrap walked to the next crib on the left to protect his work. He seized the scampering rodent, and felt it struggle within his grasp. As it's limbs kicked and clawed futilely at his hands, he felt reminded once more of why he continues to do what he does. A red gruel dribbled out between his knuckles, before he released his iron grip and let what had once resembled a rat fall into the trash.

Springtrap continued his sweep. Occasionally stepping on them, or punching them if they proved particularly agile. Janitorial could and would clean up after him. Some of the babies were stained with blood, but that was fine. The insides were what mattered most; the exterior could take the damage. He stuffed a few bug bombs into the holes the rats had vacated due to the heat.

Before he left, Springtrap paused to savor his handiwork. The floors were stained with blood. It had been a while since he had found the time and resources to indulge so quickly.

Something stirred inside him. An organ had shifted just right, away from the cold metal that had caused the pangs.

For the first time in a while, Springtrap truly felt fulfilled.