Chapter Text
Darkness.
Light.
Darkness.
Light.
The flickering of the fixture out in the hallway continued to illuminate the dusty repair shop in its dim and intermittent glow, affording Ralph painfully endless glimpses of the old, wooden shelves surrounding him.
The cold, dead eyes of familiar mascot heads watched unblinkingly from atop them, staring right through to his soul.
No matter what direction he glanced, he could see them — mocking him, reminding him of his pitiful fate.
For once, he had wished that the electricity would just go out — give up on its constant struggle for life, and fall into an eternal slumber, but mercilessly, it refused.
Just how long had he been sat there now, looking upon those visages of the very creatures that had brought him here — listening to the ceaseless buzzing of that singular linear light which was slowly driving him mad?
Had it been hours?
Days?
…Weeks?
He couldn’t recall; all of time was a blur, in this state, but however long it really was, he was sure it had felt far, far longer.
He wondered how Coppelia was, in this moment — his beloved daughter.
Was she safe? Was she currently at her Mom’s house, watching television and carrying on her life as normal by now?
Or did she miss him as much as he missed her?
Somewhere out in the hall, the sound of footsteps echoed along the linoleum, but this time, it was not the heavy thudding of Freddy and his murderous crew patrolling the floor; these were human footsteps.
It must have been his new replacement — the one he’d left all those messages for.
…Hello?
He wanted to turn to look in their direction — to call out for help, but the constant dead weight that was his body still refused to move, and the words never left his lips.
…Assuming he had any, anyway.
No, instead, he just sat there, sat and stared into the lifeless likenesses of his murderers’ faces.
And when someone wearing a purple guard uniform finally did enter the room and begin poking around for what he assumed was any hint of his presence, he still just sat there and stared.
Because he couldn’t do anything else.
He couldn’t do anything else when those strangely kind blue eyes of a man who greatly resembled the company’s owner looked him directly in the face, a flash of horrified recognition shining in them as the individual tried to bust his way into the suit and free him.
He couldn’t do anything else when that man was found by the day crew and hauled off the premises before that attempt could prove successful, promptly fired from his position for tampering with the animatronics before he could try again.
He couldn’t do anything else when the establishment was shut down, and the eyes of countless Fazbear representatives and technicians passed him by again and again, moving to and fro to clear out nearly every piece of property on the premises.
And when a few unfortunate employees actually did take notice and pull his mangled, rotting corpse out from the suit bit by bit, and his spirit didn’t follow with it, still, he could do nothing but stare endlessly on — unnoticed, unseen, completely immobile and inaudible, and hopelessly trapped.
For someone whose vast majority of his long career revolved specifically around talking, it was only the cruelest twist of fate that now, no matter how many times he tried to reach out, his voice would never be heard again.