They sink.
Each toll feels like a stone dropped into water.
I stand beneath the southern archway, mask on, hands loose at my sides. The crowd presses around me, but no one touches. They never do.
We don't stand together.
We never stand together.
From the rooftop to my right, I know Kingfisher is there. I don't need to look. He always chooses elevation. Better angles. Cleaner exits.
Behind a fruit cart somewhere to my left—
"Okay, structurally speaking," Springtrap whispers far too loudly, "this gallows system is actually very inefficient. If they'd used a dual-pulley redistribution beam, the drop would be cleaner and—"
"Springtrap," I murmur.
She pops up beside me anyway, mask crooked, eyes bright.
"I'm just saying! Kingfisher's lever systems are smoother. This one's going to jolt. Watch."
She bounces once on her heels, then squints toward the platform.
"I hate this part," she adds, quieter. "Emberwake would've built it better."
Of course she brings up Emberwake.
Metal shifts behind us.
A soft ratcheting adjustment.
Winch.
She stands half-hidden near a barricade, towering over the crowd, iron spine humming faintly as pistons recalibrate her balance. Steam sighs softly from a vent near her shoulder.
Her voice comes filtered and gentle from within the chest cavity.
"Winch does not like the noise."
"You never like the noise," Springtrap mutters.
"Noise indicates instability," Winch replies. "Instability harms Kingfisher."
On the platform, the accused are dragged forward.
The actors.
The false Isobel.
The false Wilkinson.
The false Roald.
The crowd shifts uneasily.
They don't look like legends.
They look small.
Above them, Nux steps onto the balcony.
Still.
Perfect.
I focus on the one in the middle.
The one wearing my brother's face.
The resemblance is crude up close. The posture wrong. The defiance rehearsed.
But from a distance—
It's enough.
The first lever drops.
Springtrap was right.
It jolts.
The body snaps hard at the end of the rope.
She flinches.
"See? See? I told you—"
"Quiet," I say.
The second falls.
The crowd murmurs.
The third rope tightens around the false Roald's neck.
He struggles.
Just slightly.
Just enough.
My hand moves before I tell it to.
One step forward.
From the rooftop, a flash of reflected light.
Kingfisher has seen me.
He does not move.
Behind me, Winch shifts her weight.
Hydraulics tense.
"Leader's heart rate has changed," she says softly. "Leader is unstable."
"I'm fine," I lie.
The lever drops.
The body jerks.
And something tears.
Not in the square.
Inside me.
I don't remember deciding.
I'm moving.
The first guard falls before his shout finishes forming.
Steel feels clean in my hand.
Simple.
Correct.
Springtrap gasps — not afraid. Startled.
"Oh— oh we're doing this? We're doing this! This was not the plan. Kingfisher is going to be so—"
Another guard lunges. I cut low. He collapses.
A spear catches my shoulder.
Pain flares.
I ignore it.
Winch steps forward.
"Winch can create a corridor," she offers calmly. "Winch can break barricade. Winch can extract Leader."
"Negative."
Kingfisher's voice slices down from above.
One word.
Cold.
Precise.
Winch stills instantly.
"Winch obeys."
Springtrap hovers at the edge of movement, bouncing between fight and freeze.
"This is bad. This is very bad. The angles are wrong. There are crossbows on the western tower and—"
A blade slashes across my ribs.
I turn and drive mine through armor.
A net drops from above.
Weighted.
Prepared.
It tangles around my arms mid-strike, yanking me backward.
I hit one knee.
Still cutting.
Always cutting.
Three more fall before something slams into the back of my skull.
The world fractures.
Stone rushes up to meet my cheek.
Boots surround me.
Hands force my wrists back.
Chains bite.
My mask is ripped away.
Air hits my face.
The bells begin again.
Through blurred vision, I see them.
Springtrap frozen, fists clenched at her sides, teeth bared in frustration.
Winch motionless, massive frame trembling microscopically as her internal systems strain against a command she will not break.
On the rooftop—
Kingfisher.
Still.
Calculating.
Not rescuing.
Above us all, Nux leans slightly over the balcony.
His eyes meet mine.
No anger.
No surprise.
Interest.
"Alive," he says.
The word carries.
Chains tighten.
Blood runs into my mouth.
I do not look at the bodies behind me.
I look up.
At him.
And I do not bow.