Fredbear's Family Diner was quiet again, the soft hum of power lines and flickering bulbs filling the silence. It wasn't much of a home, but to Harry, it felt right — cold, still, and hidden.
He sat at the old control table, watching the dull glow of the monitors. Plushtrap was on the counter beside him, his small metal foot tapping against the wood.
"So," Plushtrap began, breaking the silence, "you're saying this fox-thing just appeared on the screens in your dream?"
Harry nodded, his tone calm but thoughtful. "Yes. Orange and white, purple accents, one visible eye. It… wasn't random static. It was aware."
Plushtrap tilted his head, servos whining softly. "Never seen anyone like that. Maybe a custom model? Sounds like someone who likes being noticed."
Harry's gaze remained on the screen. "You've never met it before?"
"Nope." Plushtrap shrugged, his mouth curling into a grin. "I'd remember someone that flashy. They sound like trouble."
Harry leaned back in his chair, still focused. "It introduced itself through interference. Not speech. But it was deliberate."
"Could just be trying to spook you," Plushtrap said, though his tone was more curious than mocking.
"Perhaps," Harry replied, voice flat. "But fear isn't their goal. They wanted contact."
A few hours later, the two stood in the workshop beneath the dining floor, surrounded by scraps of metal, wires, and their latest creation — a reinforced injector, gleaming faintly under the fluorescent lights.
Harry double-checked its calibration while Plushtrap hopped up beside it, looking proud.
"Five targets," Harry said, voice steady. "Two human predators — similar in type to the ones before, completely careless and unremarkable. The other three are drug dealers. Two of those have been tied to numerous overdoses this past month."
Plushtrap's servos clicked. "You ever feel bad about it? You know, taking people?"
Harry didn't look up from the injector. "No."
Plushtrap blinked. "No? Not even a little?"
Harry's fingers tightened on a clamp for a second, then released. "Why should I feel for others? The reason I noted those two dealers is practical: when someone causes that much damage and nobody else stops them, their absence draws less attention. They go unnoticed. That's useful."
Plushtrap made a small, sharp noise that might have been a laugh. "You make cold sound convenient."
Harry's voice remained flat and precise. "Convenience is survival."
Plushtrap snorted. "Right. Survival." He tapped a schematic with a claw. "Okay, so what's the plan?"
Harry pulled the map close and pointed, each movement quick and deliberate. "We go in at night. Two quick, clean collections for the predators — no witnesses. The dealers we take when they're isolated, after hours, where their routes are predictable. We keep it efficient, no drama."
Plushtrap's grin widened. "Efficient. My favorite word."
Harry didn't smile. "It's the only one that matters while we're still vulnerable."
That night, Harry slept and the dreamscape invited him back into the office. The monitors pulsed. Static became color, color became shape, and the fox formed.
It stepped from the glass with a glitching laugh and introduced itself as Lolbit — a prankster, a trickster, a bright, dangerous interruption that gleefully toyed with everything it touched.
"You're not screaming," Lolbit said, delighted. "Most people scream when I crawl out of a screen."
Harry's voice was small and steady. "Screaming is unnecessary."
Lolbit laughed, static bright as fireworks. "You're not boring. You're interesting. You tinker with things that bite back. People notice that."
"Who notices?" Harry asked.
Lolbit's grin flickered. "The Others. Fellow Watchers. The ones that don't exist in physical form. Other that are not bound by a soul." The animatronic stated, tail trailing pixels. "I'll be around."
When the dream dissolved, Harry woke in Fredbear's with Plushtrap waiting and the injector's light steady and ready.
"We start tonight," Harry said simply. "Five targets, precise extraction, no spectacle."
Plushtrap hopped down and readied the gear. "Let's make it quick, then. And try not to get poetic about it."
Harry placed his hand on the injector's casing, feeling the Remnant swirl like a living thing in his skin. His violet eyes glazed faintly as he saw the mathematics of the plan for a moment—the timing, escape vectors, backup exits.
"The process must be completed," he said. "No distractions."
Plushtrap clicked in agreement. "No distractions."
Outside, the diner's lights flickered on as night settled. Inside, two figures—one of wires and gears, one of bone and remnant—prepared to move through the town and take what they needed.