It's about time I finally made a story to show the springlock accident that caused Shadow Freddy - aka Philip Guy - to fully possess his son, Krasnyy Guy, and the Faztober prompt 'accident' was the perfect springboard.

The incident occured in late December 1984, but as it was a private incident and the information was only leaked to other employees in early January, it is considered as an '85 incident.

Warning: the story contains gore too.

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How hard could it possibly be to clean out a springlock suit?

It's not like it was the fredbear costume, which was twice Krasnyy's size. It was just Spring Freddy, with the bowtie changed to match Fredbear, because the guy who was supposed to be performing as Fredbear was ill today, so substitutions had to be made.

It's not like there were corpse bits still in it - no, those were cleaned out months ago. The suits were back in working order before Krasnyy had actually processed that his dad was dead. No. The only thing that was in that suit that needed to be cleaned out was dust and maybe a bit of sweat.

But somehow he had managed to stuff something as simple as this up. Had the sponge been too damp? Did he press too hard on something? Krasnyy wasn't sure, and thinking was too much of a chore anyway...

Having lost what looked to be almost a pint of blood and counting, the world felt like it was spinning whilst fading in and out. If he didn't get his arm out of this springlock torso now, he'd likely lose his arm. Or his life.

Despite being sixteen, the blood loss pulled the thought that maybe joining his old man might not be that bad across his mind.

One hour ago, Krasnyy had been informed that he was going to be one of today's two unfortunate performers.

Twenty five minutes ago, Krasnyy started to have a panic attack on stage, and upon noticing this, the other performer covered for the terrified teenager who was far too thin to safely use the suit to get off stage and change.

Twenty minutes ago, Krasnyy had tossed the costume off so quickly that if anyone had witnessed it, they may have mistaken the teenager for Philip - his deceased dad.

Seventeen minutes ago, Krasnyy's boss found the teenager a shaking wreck in the corner of the safe room, still wearing the black long sleeved shirt and leggings that were mandatory for anyone that was going to be in-costume.

Fifteen minutes ago, Krasnyy's boss realised that getting the teenager to wear the costume that killed Philip was not the greatest idea, so made an offer: Krasnyy would become head of training for security, swapping springlock duty for training duty. Krasnyy accepted without even caring about any fine print or strings attached.

Thirteen minutes ago, Krasnyy had been informed that he still needed to clean out the costume he wore so that it'd be safe and ready for the next guy. Krasnyy was alright with this arrangement: he just had to clean the suit out once, and then he could never touch it again.

Eleven minutes ago, Krasnyy changed back into his day guard uniform and started to clean out the costume.

Ten minutes ago, he cleaned the costume's head.

Nine minutes ago, he cleaned the Costume arms and hands.

Six minutes ago, he cleaned the costume's legs and pelvis.

Three minutes ago, he had started to clean out the costume's torso.

Two minutes ago, something inside the costume had clicked and metal had shot back into its resting place from where the springs had held it, impaling Krasnyy's arm as if it wasn't even there. The metal had sunk into his arm in an instant, and in shock, Krasnyy had tried to struggle out, only causing the wounds to open further and spill blood onto the floor.

Krasnyy had tried everything to free his arm from the costume torso, and nothing had worked. All he had managed to accomplish was making his injuries worse. At this rate, he'd be surprised if he was able to keep his arm. If he survived.

The puddle of blood was getting bigger. Krasnyy knew that he needed help, but the chances of help arriving any time soon was slim: the show had another ten minutes before it would be over, and Krasnyy knew that he'd be long dead before then.

He had to somehow make help arrive, but how.

Screaming for help was pointless: safe rooms were soundproof. Nobody would hear him.

He could try and get to the door, crack it open, and yell, but someone would have to be nearby, and he'd have to drag himself half way across the room

There was one thing that might work though: he could try the internal phone line. Sure, he'd have to drag himself across the room. But it was his best shot.

With one arm trapped within a springlock torso, and the other hand on the lip of the neck, Krasnyy awkwardly shifted from kneeling to crouching. Standing up was off the table, but crouching made moving slightly easier.

He took a small step, dragging the costume with his free hand. The costume pulled at his snared arm, but it ultimately moved. He took another small step, and then another. His back was hurting almost as much as his arm thanks to being awkwardly crouched over thr costume that had ensnared his arm. He knew that he left a trail of blood in his wake.

Upon reaching the phone that was mounted into the wall, Krasnyy let himself collapse back to his knees. He was shaking, disoriented, and barely remembered the number for the front desk, but he had to try. Raising a shaking and bloodied hand to the keypad, he punched in the number for the front desk on muscle memory alone, and grabbed the receiver. He heard it ring. And ring. And someone picked up. As soon as he heard the voice of today's receptionist, he opened his mouth to speak.

Agony ripped through Krasnyy's body like an electric shock. It was like every single nerve was on fire, and like thousands of blades were trying to force their way into his skin. The sides of his neck burned as if they had been ripped open, and a scream ripped from his throat, amplified and unburdened by the phantom pains that shot through Krasnyy's body.

Dark spots begun to consume Krasnyy's vision, but he didn't stop screaming his incoherent screeches of agony until his voice gave out.

Soon after his voice gave out, the dark spots had grown so numerous and large that Krasnyy could no longer see.

His hearing was barely hanging on, and the phone line still seemed to be live, though he didn't receive a response to his scream for help. He could only hear the muffled sounds of distant and hasty footsteps - was someone coming?

Soon after his vision failed, Krasnyy felt himself slip into unconsciousness.

Everything felt blurry. The pain in his arm was still present, but had gone numb. He couldn't see, but he felt as if he was being held. He wasn't sure if his eyes were shut or open, if he was asleep or awake. He tried to look around and open his eyes, and a part of him wished that he didn't.

Two pinpricks of light stared back at him.

The two pinpricks then became two pinpricks and two rows of squares below.

Two eyes, and a set of teeth. Wherever he looked, that was all he could see.

Soon, the darkness gained a more tangible form: the glowing eyes and teeth appeared to belong to a purple face. A face that looked like the costume that killed his father. A face that looked like the costume that he had been cleaning out. A shadowy form of Spring Freddy?

Krasnyy knew that he should have felt terrified - this was probably death after all - but he felt calm. Perhaps it was the blood loss talking, but the shadow Freddy that consumed his vision didn't seem hostile, and it didn't seem to mean him any harm. If anything, it seemed concerned - a kind concern, like a parent seeing their child injured.

He felt... Safe.

The concept of the passage of time was begining to grow foreign to him, and he felt himself slowly drift off, but that appeared to cause the shadow Freddy to panic. Some kind of shock, like being shaken, dragged him to his senses - at least partially. Was he still alive? Had he almost died and that near-death was why the shadow Freddy panicked? A wave of drowsiness tried to pull him under again, but seeing the panic on the shadow Freddy's face pushed Krasnyy to find the resolve to keep his eyes open. If he really was still alive now, he didn't want to give up so easily. Yet despite his efforts to keep his eyes open, his vision still dimmed. Scrambling for anything to grab, or something to ground himself with, he found nothing.

It almost felt like he was trapped in a dark void.

But he felt the wind on his face, and his hands grabbed something. Fabric. Some hair tickled the back of his hand.

Krasnyy tried to open his eyes, but the light hurt, and his mangled arm hurt more. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he wanted to scream, but nothing came out when he opened his mouth expect for ragged breaths. Painfully aware of his own breathing, Krasnyy slowly realised that his senses has returned.

Had he blacked out after making the call to the front desk? What was that dream with the shadow Freddy? Who was carrying him right now? Too many questions spun through Krasnyy's head, driving him to borderline nausea. Krasnyy tried to speak, but all that came out was a pained groan.

But someone replied to him.

"Hang on kid," the voice belonged to a man who appeared to be out of breath, "we're almost there."

Krasnyy slowly begun to try and open his eyes again. The light hurt, and his eyes were constantly threatening to close again, but eventually he was able to open his eyes to a squint — it wasn't much, but it was enough to see the identity of the person carrying him.

It was Vincent.

Which means that either Krasnyy had been bleeding out for the whole duration of the show, or the show had been cut short.

"We're almost at the hospital. Just hang on kid."

Krasnyy nodded, but he also felt himself slipped back into unconsciousness. He'd either die, or become yet another teenage employee bound to Fazbear Entertainment through medical debt. That and whatever suspicious stuff was going on with Vincent's employment were the only ways that Fazbear's seemed to be able to retain a good chunk of their employees.

Krasnyy only accepted this job so that he could avoid returning home to the woman who he refused to acknowledge as his mother because she spent Krasnyy's entire childhood trying to kill him.

Now he was begining to wonder if his dad had been trapped at Freddy's in the same way.

As his consciousness faded once more, he found himself face to face with the shadow Freddy again. It sat with Krasnyy, keeping him company until the beeping of medical equipment woke him up.

Unsurprisingly, Krasnyy opened his eyes to find himself in a hospital. He had survived, he'd never have to wear a springlock suit again, but the workers comp - if he even got it - would never be enough to get him out of debt.

But he had survived.

And as Krasnyy tried to adjust himself on his hospital bed, he realised that he had both of his arms still, and that his previously mangled arm had healed suspiciously well.

As curious as his suspiciously well healed arm was, he was too exhausted to think about it. He survived, he kept the arm that got trapped in the springlock torso. That's what mattered.