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Author's Note:

   This is a Doctor Who/Five Nights at Freddy's crossover. I don't own or claim to own the characters or other elements of either.

   The idea from this spawned from the fact that Bonnie (from Five Night's at Freddy's) has a bowtie. Things just kinda escalated from there.

 

   Doctor Who and all related elements © BBC

   FNaF and all related elements © Scott Cawthon

   Story by me, Bendydoodle Cantaloupe.

 

   WARNING: May contain some blood, violence, and horror elements.

 

***

NEWS CLIPPING, DATED SOMETIME AFTER 1987

Three days ago, four children vanished in [omitted] forest while their families were on holiday. Before the four – [names redacted] – disappeared on that overcast evening, they were allegedly going deeper into the woods to explore and play. Two hours passed and the children had not shown up for dinner. The parents quickly struck out into the woods in search of them, but to no avail.

 

A search party was sent out the day after and discovered one of the children, [redacted], wandering the moor. Even with the assistance of trained police dogs, they could not locate the other three, and when night fell they were forced to call off the search. However, two of the searchers returned to the forest to investigate the “strange mechanical noises” they’d heard. The party waited until morning, but the searchers never came back.

***

 

(1)

 

The four animatronics watched the blond man stagger about the forest as if in a daze. Curiosity – if you could call this pre-programmed urge “curiosity” – nudged them to walk out, to get a closer look, but that was against the rules. So they watched through the outside camera, studying his every move.

 

They saw him pull his vest closer to himself, though they could not name a reason why. Being machines, they did not understand warmth and cold. All they understood was that this man seemed... familiar. They scanned for his face in their databanks but no matches showed up. And yet the feeling – was this a “feeling”? – didn’t leave them, instead continuing to plague them as they studied the blond man.

 

Did they have empathy, these decaying animatronics? Could they feel? Did they have emotion? They could feel familiarity, yes, but what about anger? Love? Sadness? Were they capable of emulating these? Were they capable of emulating anything akin to sentiment?

 

The machines themselves, well, they couldn’t answer that. Perhaps, perhaps.

***

 

The man’s name was Rory. Rory Williams. He’d been kidnapped by scientists, and while in captivity he had found out about a horrible experiment gone wrong twenty-seven years back. He had escaped from the laboratory near the woods for fear that he would be subject to a worse experiment, but in his plight he’d run into the forest and gotten lost.

 

 

Now, Rory felt his entire body go rigid. Thirst racked at his throat and his stomach ached with hunger. He’d been in the lab, say – three days? Four? He couldn’t remember exactly. They’d barely provided any food, the scientists there.

 

He checked his watch. It was 7pm and nightfall was almost upon him. Or maybe his watch was broken – he saw the second hand tick a minute away but the minute hand didn’t move. Well, he thought, for all intents and purposes it’s 7pm.

 

What was it about this place? These trees, this underbrush and shrubbery seemed familiar, even though Rory was lost. Maybe he had strayed back toward the lab? No; the forest was far too dense. Near the lab, the forest thinned out and the plants vanished altogether just a few paces shy of the perimeter. So what was this place? And why did it bring a sudden, heavy sense of dread?

 

Despite his misgivings, Rory lurched onward, curiosity goading him forth.

***

 

“There, look,” said the bear, pointing with one distorted paw. His steel jaw gaped, revealing horrible, crooked endoskeleton teeth, as the Toreador March chimed in the air. “There he is.”

 

“Who is he, Foxy?” said the chicken. “He looks familiar.”

The bear growled, “The fourth one. The fourth.”

 

“Can’t be. He’s too old,” the chicken snapped. A trickle of blood and mucus streamed from one of her eyes, as if the force of the reprimand jarred her internal structures.

 

“It’s been twenty-seven years, Chica. Of course he looks old.” The bear emitted a raspy sound that could have been a huff had it not been for the auto-tuning in his voice.

 

The two animatronics gathered closer to the camera feedback screen. The blond man was limping, weaving unsteadily towards the camera, though his eyes betrayed no sign of detecting it. The sight of him kindled that unnameable sensation again.

 

“See?” said the bear. He tapped the screen with his mangled claw. “He’s the fourth. Has to be.”

“But I’m the fourth.”

 

The bear wheeled around and snarled, “You’re not one of us!”

 

The mechanical rabbit stood, nose-to-nose with the bear as the latter went on: “We were programmed to find the fourth one. You’re just here to fill in a fifth, to babysit us, ‘cause you didn’t come soon enough and then we were put into these – things! But once we have the fourth one, we’ll be all together again. No more worries, Bonnie.” The bear spat out the name as if it were a vile drug.

 

“And then what?” challenged Bonnie. “You do know that these – Bonnie, Freddy, Foxy, and Chica – aren’t our real names.”

 

“Shut up!” roared Freddy. “We don’t talk about the old life! It’s against the rules! All we have is right now, and right now we’re Bonnie, Freddy, Foxy, and Chica! Okay?”

 

Chica eyed them stiffly. This was the closest thing to emotion Freddy had gotten to in a long time. The mechanical bear was the one who felt emotion most keenly, but most of the things he felt was rage.

 

Bonnie bared his endoskeleton teeth. “Fine.”

 

“Good. Now, everyone” – Freddy waved his mangled paw over the two other machines present – “get in position.”

 

“How come?” asked Chica.

 

Freddy flexed his good paw, his sharp talons scraping his metal palm. “It’s finally playtime.”

***

 

Rory stared up at the phone box that loomed before him, his discovery after another hour of walking. Ivy crawled over the sides and the windows were cracked and caked in mud. The derelict booth was faded blue and the doors hung crookedly, but it was shelter. It was going to be small and cramped inside, Rory figured, but at least he would have some protection from the cold.

 

He picked up an oblong rock and used it to pry the ivy off of the door handle. A quick glance up at the little piece of sky that shone through the trees told him the sun was almost fully set. Rory gripped the right door handle and pulled it, but the door didn’t budge, even though the rusted sign said pull to open.” He pushed instead. The door gave. And then he walked inside.

 

“No way...”

 

Either he was hallucinating from hunger or he had fallen down a rabbit hole. Instead of a dusty closet-sized bare room, Rory found himself in a sort of control room. His back to the entrance, a translucent glass pillar  around a circular console, with all sorts of strange buttons and levers on top with exposed wiring down below. Above the console on a manoeuvrable, pivoting beam was what seemed to be a small TV screen. Over the railing and down below, there was a vast space and huge, thick wires that were like the trunk of a tree. There was one door to the left and another to the right.

 

“It’s bigger on the inside,” Rory said to himself in a breathless voice.

 

Suddenly, the room lit up, although dimly. Rory jumped as the doors slammed shut. An azure glow began to emanate from the pillar. The TV screen flickered to life. The console whirred softly.

 

He squeezed his eyes shut, convinced that he was going to die. A primal fear tore through him and the world pitched and tossed. He was down on the ground and digging his fingers through the holes in the grated floor, fighting to hold tight. There were machines in front of him (or were they hallucinations?), shaped like animals but they didn’t move like animals, and screams echoed down the darkened corridors, abruptly cut off once everything went black.

***

 

And then there was ringing. Not in his ears. A phone was ringing. It sounded like the old-fashioned kind with a spinning dial instead of buttons.

How could there be reception, let alone a phone, here?

 

Rory opened his eyes. To his right there was a phone. With a tentative hand, he picked it up.

 

“H-Hello?”

 

“Hello,” said the voice on the other end. The word was tinged with a British accent, but the vowels stretched out in a distinctive way.

 

Rory felt his blood run cold. “Wh-who is this?”

 

“There’s no use trying to directly talk to me.” The phone guy’s voice was slightly rough, as if he hadn’t spoken in a while. “This’s a message, alright? So you better pay attention, because I won’t be able to say it again. Put this on speakerphone. That’s the green rectangular button, in case you’re wondering.”

 

Rory did so. He sat down on a chair that was situated beneath the TV screen, leaving the phone dangling off of the console as it played the message. As the phone guy spoke, Rory did as he said.

 

“Bring down the TV screen. It should turn on automatically. Now, at this point you should start hearing a bit of noise” –

 

Clattering sounded from Rory’s left. His stomach churned as he kept listening.

 

– “Don’t ignore that. This place, the TARDIS... kills the unwary, I’m sorry. It didn’t used to be like that, but after the incident twenty-seven years ago, the most of the TARDIS became corrupted. Where you are now – which should be the main control room – is the only safe zone left. And even this’ll eventually decay. It’ll rot, just like the animatronics.

 

“There’re two buttons on each side when you sit in the chair. Red ones’re for the doors. Clear ones are for the lights. Left ones” – the phone guy took a wheezing breath – “trigger the left side and vice-versa. You’re going to have to check the lights a lot, but don’t leave them on. The TARDIS is losing power. You’ve only got so much you can use per night.”

 

Underneath his arms, Rory could feel his sweat start to soak into his vest. The TV screen showed a mess of connected polygons, with boxes marked with a combination of one letter and one number. What were those?

 

“On the screen, the small labelled boxes toggle the cameras. Check those often. You have to keep an eye on the animatronics. I don’t have the time to describe ‘em. You’ll know ‘em when you see ‘em. They hunt from... now – midnight – to 6am.” Another wheeze came from the phone guy.

 

So it was midnight. Rory figured he must’ve been out for hours.

 

“Check the lights. For God’s sake, check the bloody lights. They could be right in the doorway and you wouldn’t know it until it was too late.

 

“And what happens if they get you?” The phone guy paused.

 

Rory’s teeth started to chatter. His throat clutched. He couldn’t breathe. Is this some kind of sick joke? A twisted game?

 

“I can’t say for sure.”

 

It must be, thought Rory. I’m going to die.

 

“Good luck.”

 

The phone buzzed, indicating the end of the call, and then went dead.

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