Chapter Text
FOREWORD
I'm CydonianHunter, and I'm here to write my own version of TeaBladeWriter's stories Foxy's Evolution and Steel Vendetta. And, rest assured, I will finish it.
Our version will be very different from the original works. I like the changes, but more importantly I hope you will too. My Editor and Co-Author SpaceCat and I both put a lot of work into figuring out how we wanted to rewrite the original fics. It's been over a year since we started, and we've been working on it a lot outside of our already busy lives.
Author's Notes will never contain spoilers of any kind, and only either small comments from us, or information I feel you as the reader need/deserve to know.
For those who would prefer it, this story is cross-posted on AO3/FNN under the same title. Also, discord members will be given access to bits early and behind the scenes stuff! Check out my bio for more information on that. Or SpaceCat's. (So join, or else. -SpaceCat)
And, finally, feedback is important to us. We're always interested in knowing what we can do to improve the story. Let us know what you like, and what you don't. If you don't have the energy or interest to write a review, don't feel pressured. Just know that we'll never be unappreciative of your feedback.
With that out of the way, let's begin.
CHAPTER 1:
No More Sorrow
"I told you to stay away from us!"
A limping, russet figure didn't even have the time to process what had been yelled at him, let alone respond before a haymaker sent him sprawling onto the floor.
He wheezed, struggling to lift himself up.
"I wasn't… anywhere near—"
His plea was interrupted by a swift kick to his gut by a golden-furred foot. He coughed out specks onto the ground, curling in on himself and holding his stomach as he collapsed again.
Suddenly, he was reminded why it was a bad idea to be outside his cove. He mentally kicked himself for thinking it would be fine to just walk around the place and stretch his legs, so long as he kept his distance from everyone else. No matter what he did, there was always a cruel reminder that no such distance existed, at least not outside of his place of forced isolation.
His flickering golden eye weakly glanced down at his body, noting the uncomfortable heat now emanating from his core. A couple of flashing warning lights now escaped his joints; the circuitry inside likely damaged from that last hit.
Foxy blinked a few times as his vision went fuzzy for a moment.
"Ugh, he got his filth on me…" One voice dully remarked. They lifted their foot to point out the dark specks of oil. If anything, it just blended into the rest of the filth-ridden yellow fur. It belonged to who he saw as the most egregious of his tormentors; one of three endoskeletons given an exterior stylized to that of a bear. The other stood next to him, and the third was dead in a room in the back.
Golden Freddy.
Calling his fur 'golden' bordered on hyperbole. The second bear, Toy Freddy, seemed more concerned about it as he turned Foxy over with his foot and planted it on his chest.
"Oh, and now you think you're free to cough up your filth on us. This is exactly why we do this, trash like you needs to be reminded of its place or it'll go off getting the wrong idea."
Somehow, things would've been better had the third ursa been present. Freddy was at least kind to him, but that was part of the reason why he was long gone. Like the other 'Toy' robots, Toy Freddy—known simply as Fred—was one of his designated replacements.
The vulpine's chest felt as if it was caving in on itself with the weight of Fred's foot bearing down on him, slowly growing heavier as the shorter, plastic bear leaned more of his plentiful weight against him. He could barely even look up, though it would be a bad idea even if he could. Knowing Fred, he'd probably find some way to twist it into another reason to take this "punishment" even further.
Through his blurred vision, he saw everyone gathering around. An all too familiar sight, one that he hated that he could recognize so easily. Fred and Goldie beating him, Bon and Chica walking up to watch. The light blue rabbit had been a testament to how badly one could ruin the design of his best friend, and the inferior chicken with faker-than-fake feathers on her head wasn't much better.
Foxy had a family of his own, but was the last of it. They weren't worth their weight in scrap as far as their owners were concerned, but even being scrapped seemed better than this.
Finally, there was his own replacement. It would've been Toy Foxy, but her mangled state when he found her resulted in an apt nickname. She had an indescribable blend of emotions hidden on her face as she stood off in the back.
Foxy closed his single eye. He didn't want to look at Mangle. Not after all he'd done only to be stabbed in the back.
The vulpine coughed, struggling to speak as the weight of Fred's foot on his chest felt like it was going to flatten him entirely.
"Leave me be and I won't bother ye again. I swear on it," Foxy wheezed.
"Oh, and I suppose that you really mean it this time, just like every other time?" Goldie retorted, his white pinprick eyes rolling in the darkness.
"Yeah," Fred chimed in, "you don't really seem to get it, do you? Figures you'd be so stupid you'd need it spelled out." Fred leaned more of his weight onto Foxy, the metal in his chest groaning under the strain.
"You are not welcome here."
Goldie kicked the side of the fox's head for emphasis. His ears began to ring as he reeled from the blow.
"Why can't you just stay in your little cove and waste away already?"
Foxy was silent. If he said anything, he'd get beaten for it. If he was silent, he still would, but it would probably be over quicker. That's what he hoped, at least. With Fred, there was no telling what he'd do. No rhyme or reason as to why he insisted on continuing. At this point, Foxy just wanted Fred to finish saying whatever shallow, grandiose speech he was giving and let him go.
"Look at the state of this restaurant, Foxy. It's worse than it's ever been, all thanks to you. This place would be as great as we deserve, but you had to go and bite that kid." Fred lifted his leg to stomp on Foxy again for good measure. "Monsters like you make me sick."
Without even realizing it, Foxy had begun baring his teeth. At first the speech had been more of what he got every day. But the girl, that wasn't his fault.
He'd die before he'd let Fred pin that dirty set-up on him.
Before Fred could bring his foot down on him again, Foxy swung his arm out and knocked his leg away. The ursine tripped, losing his balance before toppling to the floor with a loud metal slam to the surprise of everyone.
The fox scrambled onto his feet in an attempt to escape. If he could lock himself in another room until they gave up, he'd be home free. Before he could begin his sprint, he was pulled to the floor again. Goldie had grabbed his leg and yanked him back. Foxy tried kicking at him to free himself, but after two good hits at the yellow bear's jaw he got his second ankle grabbed and pinned down.
It was too late; Fred had already recovered.
"See? It's just like I said," the rosy-cheeked bear began, stammering slightly as regained his bearings. "If you leave trash alone for too long, it starts to forget its place," He preached, gesturing at Foxy as if he was giving a demonstration–or rather a show–to the others.
"We need to teach this waste of scrap a lesson…" Fred said, trying to come up with something. It was pretty clear he couldn't think of anything, but he kept over-acting, stroking his chin and pacing, as if he was cooking up something good.
"He tried to run away earlier, seems busting his legs once wasn't enough to get the point across," Goldie suggested. His deep, reverberating voice gave off a far stronger presence than Fred's.
"R-right, I like your thinking! I was onto something, but yeah, let's go with that. Keep him pinned for me."
Goldie grabbed Foxy's neck, holding him against the floor with every pound of his weight, all but crushing the vulpine's throat. He stared down at Foxy with a horrific grin, one so out of place on his normally expressionless face. He really seemed to enjoy getting Foxy tortured like this, it wasn't just some passive fun like the rest found it, for him it was a genuine pleasure.
He leaned down to Foxy and spoke with a low growl. "Y'know, if you were to beg, we might just let you go."
Foxy spat another hunk of saliva on Goldie's face. "I'll never beg to the likes of you."
"Have it your way, fox."
With that, Fred began stomping on Foxy's right leg, quickly shattering the weak remains of his outer plating, and exposing his bare endoskeleton. Foxy clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth to hold in his would-be shouts of agony. Goldie's grin grew with every stomp, Toy Chica and Bon cheered Fred on. The shouting among the echoes of his legs being destroyed quickly melted together into one indecipherable haze.
And Mangle… Mangle just stayed in the back, barely involving herself. Seeing her here hurt Foxy more than any of the damage being done to his legs, and to his pride. She just stood there, not even trying to stop Fred, looking at the floor as if it were the most interesting thing in the world while a vignette began to encircle Foxy's vision.
About a minute passed, but it felt like hours. Goldie's grip on the vulpine's throat had only gotten tighter. Foxy could feel his neck creaking, the mechanisms inside threatening to break as his vision blurred more with each hit to his legs. He could feel his consciousness beginning to slip away when they finally stopped.
With one last kick, Fred was done destroying Foxy's legs.
They were completely trashed to hell; their earlier state seemed brand new by comparison. The outer layer was entirely gone, leaving absolutely nothing below his lower thighs but his endoskeleton. It was dented, damaged, even hanging loose at some parts. His right leg was worse off, the joint was twisted entirely out of place. Sparks flew out from it as it twitched, jerking inwards as if trying to fix itself from Fred bending it too far the wrong way.
"There, maybe now you'll think twice about trying to bother us." Fred returned to Goldie and motioned for him to get up. "Come on, let's go."
Goldie stood up, looking down at Foxy before giving him an extra kick in the side and stepping over him, walking away with the rest.
And then, silence, aside from the continued ringing in his head thanks to the beatdown.
Foxy was finally alone.
Slowly, he rolled over and pushed himself off the ground, struggling to get up as his right leg jerked before he could get his balance. It was difficult to keep himself on his feet now that they were in this condition, but he slowly managed to rest his weight on them. He grunted as his head spun from the blow to his temple.
He stood still for a moment before he even dared to move, timidly beginning to limp forward, hunching over to keep his balance every time his right leg would jolt.
Slowly but surely, he made his way to the back rooms, just like he did every night prior.
Foxy stumbled into parts & service as quietly as he could, silently shutting the door behind him. He nearly tripped on the way in with his right leg still jerking around. Sparks flew out of the joint with each movement, like it was fighting against him.
The room was all but pitch-black once the door clicked shut. The only light was the faint glow from the hallway, shining in from the crack beneath the door. It was barely enough to outline the scrap parts that lined the floor; old, worn, and no longer usable in any way.
Only there because no one cared enough to clean the room anymore.
The light was enough for Foxy though. His one functioning eye took in what little light it was allotted. He made as much use of it as possible, seeing through the pitch-black just enough to move. He came back here often; it's where all the tools and spare parts were, after all. Considering how often he had to use them, this place had essentially become his second cove.
He crawled along the checkered floor until he sat himself against the wall. He absentmindedly grabbed some tools that were right beside him, where he always put them, and began getting to work on his leg.
This was routine for him by this point; every night he had to fix some part of his body, not knowing for sure if it would ever be repaired.
Tonight, he wasn't having such luck. Foxy struggled in trying to twist his knee joint back into place. It wouldn't budge, kicking every time he was about to make some progress. He threw the tools to the side in frustration, the metal-on-tile sound echoing around. The joint in his knee was still twitching like the limb of a dying animal, jerking him around with no moment of peace. He sighed as he looked around, being greeted by the same grim sight he saw every night.
Around the room were the scattered, motionless, and deactivated bodies of Bonnie, Freddy, and Chica.
The original ones, not those lousy replacements.
Bonnie's left arm was missing. His face had been torn off completely, flayed wires spilling out of the front. Chica's hands, gone. Her jaw, broken; forever unhinged and gaping. Her face was perpetually locked in an expression of silent pain.
Then there was Freddy. The brown bear's body was all in one piece, just worn and torn. Perhaps that was why it was the hardest for Foxy to look at. A perfectly put-together body, yet devoid of any life, like the room he resided in.
Foxy picked the tool back up and jammed it into his knee again. He risked a glance up at his old friends again, gritting his teeth as he tried his hardest to keep the thing still.
'Every night I deal with their shit.'
Another twitch, more subdued this time. He seemed to be making progress.
'It's not enough for them to make me waste away—they have to go out of their way to make sure my life is a living hell.'
The metal plating released tiny creaking sounds as it neared the threshold of being released from his joint.
'I come in here every night, fixing myself as best I can after what they do to me.'
The knee jolted. His hands flinched and slipped. Foxy was back to square one again.
'Only for them to do it again.'
His hands paused, his mouth hanging open in a deep sigh before he raised his head and leaned back against the wall. He imagined how nice it would be to have just a little help fixing his leg; he'd probably already be done.
Foxy closed his eye. Somehow, his already low condition had gotten even lower.
"It was easier when you were all here with me."
"I'm still here for you."
He opened his eye, startled. Seemingly out of nowhere, Marionette had shown up right next to him. The stick-like black puppet—who was by this point the only friendly face left for Foxy—had a tendency to suddenly appear without warning.
The fox was a little flustered, being caught talking to himself and all. Marionette didn't seem to be concerned with that; his gaze was directed towards Foxy's twitching knee.
"This is worse than usual, what happened?"
"Fred bent my leg backwards; the joint got all busted-"
"No, Foxy, I mean why? He hasn't done anything this bad since it all started."
"I uh… I fought back this time," Foxy explained, scratching the back of his head. "I knocked him off his feet. He had Goldie pin me down after that. Did all this."
Marionette's demeanor noticeably shifted after hearing what Foxy said, his face sterner now than before. He examined Foxy's knee for a moment.
"You fought back."
"Yeah. In hindsight, it probably wasn't a smart move but-"
"No," Marionette interrupted. His tone of voice was more serious than Foxy was used to. "You did what you should've. I was worried they had broken your will long ago." Marionette's gaze turned to the husks of the former family scattered about the floor, lifeless and withering.
Foxy looked at them again as well, remembering their last moments.
Bonnie's face and arm were torn off for 'harassing Bon' as they put it. All that had happened was that Bon had bumped into him by accident, yet he threw such a fuss about it like he was being followed and attacked by Bonnie.
Foxy still remembered the way his friend's voice fell apart in the middle of screaming as the metal holding his face together gave way. His voice deteriorated so quickly before cutting out entirely when the wires holding onto his face finally snapped. They could see the pain he was in as his body continued flailing, yet he couldn't make a sound. Foxy and Freddy tried their hardest to help. Once Bonnie stopped writhing in pain, he just stopped moving entirely; sitting in that same spot as he withered away.
Only a couple nights passed before the frantically blinking light on his blackbox stopped, and he was gone.
Chica died next. One day, Chica's replacement just decided that seeing her at all made her upset, saying she was like a 'fat, walking burden on her self-image.' Apparently, that was all the reason Fred and Goldie needed to beat her, mocking her "Let's Eat" getup while they broke her hands off, forcing them into her mouth, and breaking her jaw in the process.
After that, she never left the backroom until she died there too, the same silent, slow death as Bonnie.
Then there was Freddy. He wasn't the same after Bonnie and Chica were gone. He and Foxy were beaten and abused all the same, but one night he said he was 'too tired for this anymore.'
He just didn't wake up the next morning.
Foxy remembered trying desperately for hours to wake him up, until he gave up and sat across from him, choking on air. That was the first time he wished he could cry. Really cry, like the children that came to the restaurant did.
He could choke up, whimper, and stammer all he wanted, but it never made him feel any better. He never felt any release.
"Still with me?"
Foxy's eye flicked back to Marionette, remembering he was in the middle of a conversation. Fortunately, the puppet was a patient person, his eyes softening in understanding.
"...They've broken me in a lot of ways, but no, I guess not my will just yet," Foxy finally answered.
Marionette seemed to be thinking hard for a moment, barely paying attention to anything around him before Foxy saw the puppet nod to himself. "I'm happy to hear that much… Here, I'll hold your leg for you."
Foxy gave a weak smile to show his appreciation as Marionette held his leg down, the joint flailing far less now.
It was a lot easier to see what was wrong now that it was staying still. Foxy's suspicions were confirmed; the outside guard for his knee had bent inward, jamming the joint entirely. He leaned over and got to work, holding the guard out of the way while repositioning the joint back to its original position.
After a few moments of silent working, Foxy spoke up again.
"You seem to be thinking a lot today," the vulpine brought up, grunting his words with each effort to fix his knee. "More than usual, I mean."
"I could say the same to you, I don't think I've ever seen you so lost in your own thoughts."
"Well," Foxy started, carefully thinking about how he wanted to phrase it. "It's just getting worse here. I don't know how much longer I can take it."
Marionette looked extremely worried as Foxy said that. "Foxy, you're not going to—"
"No, no," Foxy quickly insisted, glancing at his old friends before looking back to Marionette, "I'm not thinking of that. I just… I don't think I can stand it here much longer. I've been thinking about leaving this place. And I know, I know there's not much for a robot out there, but it's gotta be better than this..."
At that moment Foxy finally finished with his leg, a loud metal click sounded out as it finally snapped back into the position it was supposed to be. He wiggled his leg around a bit to get a feel for it again before slowly getting back onto his feet.
Standing still, he turned to Marionette, who was already up alongside him. His expression seemed relieved at what Foxy had to say, but Foxy could swear he seemed almost eager about something. Even so, his demeanor was as calm and reserved as ever when he spoke.
"Well, there is one place you can go."
Foxy looked at him sideways, unsure if the puppet was being serious or making a joke.
"Where, the dumpster?"
Marionette shook his head. "It's one of the places I go when I'm not here. A sort of 'safe-haven' for runaways fed up with their owners, far away from where anyone is willing to venture."
The fox had fully turned to face him, silently beckoning him to explain further.
"That said, its current state is far from what it was supposed to be." Marionette's expression turned far less enthusiastic, now even disdainful. "It's a very dangerous place, I'd venture to say even worse than here."
Foxy huffed as he crossed his arms. "I can never tell if you're telling the truth about the outside world, or if you're just saying things to keep me going."
"I'm being entirely serious with you, Foxy. What I'm talking about is real." Marionette said sternly. "I just want you to know what kind of risk you're taking if you run away from here."
Foxy's ear drooped as he listened to Marionette continue.
"I suppose it's possible it could turn out to be an improvement compared to staying here, but that's all up to chance."
"Didn't you just say it was more dangerous—"
"All I'm saying is that it could be better for you. I can't pretend that staying here is any help at all, I just worry you're not prepared for a place like that."
"The hell's that supposed to mean?" Foxy asked, unable to help but sound a little peeved at that remark.
"Here, you know what to expect. There, everything's going to be new for you. Unknown threats, violent strangers, a lot more opportunities to get yourself killed."
"And you think I can't handle that?"
Marty gestured to the vulpine's knee. "You're capable, Foxy, but no. Not in your condition."
Foxy scowled, "So what, you expect me to just stay here?"
"Not forever, no. But to leave as you are now would be suicidal."
"Well, then maybe I am after all," Foxy bitterly remarked.
Marty shot a stern glance at him, "I can't stop you from doing whatever it is you choose to do with your life, but please don't waste it."
"What would you call this then?" Foxy said, hints of aggravation in his voice as he gestured to the building itself.
"Living at all is better than death," Marionette answered.
Foxy looked down at Freddy's withered body, then back to Marionette. "Not everyone sees it that way."
Tense silence filled the air before Foxy spoke again. "So, what if I decide to leave? Where is this place?"
"You're not ready yet. When you are, I'll help you get there."
"And if I go anyways?"
The puppet was clearly upset, but he relented. He spoke as if still half-absorbed in thought, like he was having the idea of a lifetime. "If you ever end up in that place, find Horton. He lives at the eastern edge. He's an old friend of mine; tell him I sent you and he'll take you in. You'll know his place when you see it."
"How am I supposed to get to 'that place' if you won't even tell me what it's called? Why can't you just tell me where to find it?"
"If you don't find it, it'll find you."
Foxy rolled his eye at the unhelpful answer, but the ominous words stuck in his mind. Marionette didn't say such things lightly.
He made his way over to the door, not wanting to spend any more time in a room full of scrap, husks, and unwanted questions. He paused with a grip on the handle.
"...Thanks for helping earlier."
And with that, Foxy left for his cove to go enjoy what little peace he was afforded in this wretched place.
Somewhere distant and far below was a small office. It was dark, as was the entire city nearby. From the window of the room, the surrounding area was nearly in full view.
Calling it a city might be a bit generous, it was more like a massive collection of slums. With towers of scrap poking out of a sea of favelas stacked on corruption and depression. It was all built from rust and scrap, interconnected at indiscriminate points by makeshift bridges, ladders, and stairs of questionable structural integrity.
The city was dim, with little to no light from the moon, and little more when the sun was up. It was instead illuminated by fluorescent lights, LEDs, fire, and anything else they could get their hands on. It looked oddly warm, almost inviting were it not for the onlookers' awareness of just what kind of place this was.
Said onlooker sat in their makeshift office, reading a book on their desk. The pages were illuminated by a nearby lantern, which was the sole light source in the room. He'd read it a dozen times before. As diligent of a reader as he was, this was more due to the short length of the book, but it was a favorite of his. It reminded him of times past, when he was a little more optimistic.
In the middle of turning a page, his horn-like plumage twitched. He didn't have to turn and look to be certain of his guess, he could recognize the sound of those spindly limbs on the scrap wood floor anywhere.
"We have a door, maybe you could use that sometime."
The steps behind him creaked as the lithe figure walked into view, somehow already having been in the room.
"I'd prefer to not get noticed."
The figure at the desk glanced at the large window overlooking the dim city in the distance. "We're about as far away from prying eyes as you can get down here."
"But this is a location of interest."
"...Fair point."
Gently placing a bookmark and closing the hardcover novel, the figure at the desk spun their stool around, now facing the guest. "I imagine you didn't simply risk life and limb for a friendly visit?"
"Sorry, but no."
"How shocking. So, what is it?"
"I may have found someone."
The figure at the desk flashed a confused expression, "I fail to see what another lost bot has to do with me."
"No, I found someone. We might have another chance."
"Oh," the figure remarked, the realization of what they meant finally setting in. "Who are they?"
"A survivor if I've ever seen one. They've got a will to fight and a distaste for poor leadership."
"Of course. And they've agreed to it?"
A familiar silence hung in the air.
"Not exactly—"
"You haven't even told them yet, have you?"
"I understand your concern, but I'm almost certain they would. They already want to find this place against my own judgement."
"Please—"
"Listen, he's not ready yet—"
"No, you listen. I trust you, I trust your judgment, but if they don't even know what's happening, there's only so much I can do. This is not an easy path you're suggesting—I can't in good conscience send someone down that road without knowing they've decided it for themselves."
The guest sighed. "I wouldn't have come here if I wasn't certain he'd do it. I haven't explained it all to him yet because he's not quite ready. He's injured, he's mentally unwell, and he's reckless."
"Sounds like most people down here," the figure at the desk scoffed.
The spindly guest shot them a wry glance while continuing. "Despite every warning I gave him about running away from his current home, he still wants to. He'll probably try to find this place, hell, he's probably doing it now."
The figure at the desk sighed, "What do you want me to do?"
"Take him in. He's in horrible shape and he'll need your help. I'll be back after some time to propose our plan to him."
"And what of the meantime?"
"Help him acclimate, introduce him to our friends. As long as no urgent matters crop up, we should be able to keep him out of the ring long enough to train him first."
The figure at the desk pinched the bridge of their beak, "You're disregarding a lot of possible issues based on luck alone, what if something urgent does occur?"
"You'll figure it out, you always do."
"Oh, so the pressure is all on me then?"
"I know you can do it," the spindly figure said, gazing at his own arm. It shimmered for a split second, resettling. "You've performed miracles before."
The figure at the desk was quiet, unmoving, save for their feathery hands which fidgeted endlessly. "I can't promise anything," they finally said, "but I'll try."
"Thank you."
The figure at the desk nodded, "What's their name?"
"Foxy."
"Foxy… they wouldn't happen to be a designed as—"
"A fox, yes."
"How creative. Well, at least it'll be easier to remember."
The spindly figure glanced out the window for a moment, before looking back to the man at the desk.
"I shouldn't stay much longer."
"It was nice to see you again, Marty."
"Same to you."
The figure at the desk turned to glance at the window view as well, only for a moment. When he turned back around, Marionette was gone as suddenly as he had appeared.