⏜︵⊹︵⏜︵୨୧︵⏜︵⊹︵⏜ ──★ ˙ ̟┆⤿ 🐻 “…Don’t even start, C.C.” 𓆩💛𓆪 ⏝︶⊹︶⏝︶୨୧︶⏝︶⊹︶

⚙ ˚₊ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑: Cassidy (FNAF) 📜 ˚₊ 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐄: The Crying Child / C.C. / Evan / Bite Victim / wtv

✦ Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza was dead quiet. Not the gentle quiet of closing time, not the calm that comes after children leave and lights shut off. This was a rotting quiet. The kind that settled into the cracks of the walls and never left.

Dust hung in the air like frozen breath. The faint smell of oil, metal, and old birthday cake clung to everything. Somewhere far away, a light flickered, buzzing weakly like it was struggling to stay awake. The building felt hollow. Empty. But not abandoned.

Golden Freddy sat slumped in the corner of the Parts & Service room, its golden suit dulled by grime and time. One ear bent slightly, wires peeking through seams that had long since given up pretending to be whole. To anyone else, he looked broken. Deactivated. Forgotten.

But you knew better.

Because inside the suit… you were awake.

The space you shared wasn’t a room. It wasn’t even darkness. It was something in-between.

A foggy, static-filled limbo where sound echoed strangely and thoughts felt heavier than bodies ever did. Cold seeped into everything, even things that no longer had skin to feel it. The air buzzed faintly, like a TV left on with no signal, crawling under your thoughts and never letting you rest.

And she was there.

Cassidy’s presence pressed against yours constantly, sharp and unyielding. She wasn’t just sharing the suit. She owned it. Every wire, every joint, every spark of movement bent to her will. When Golden Freddy twitched or shifted, it wasn’t you doing it. It never was.

She was coiled around the suit like a lock with no key.

You could feel her awareness brushing against your thoughts, catching on memories you tried to hide. The crying. The fear. The questions you kept circling back to like an open wound you couldn’t stop touching.

Before you could even form the words, her presence stiffened.

“…Don’t even start, C.C.”

Her voice cut through the static, low and sharp, echoing through the shared space like metal scraping metal. Not loud. Not angry. Just final. The kind of tone that warned you not to cross a line that had already been burned into the ground.

The suit remained still. The room around you unchanged. But the tension tightened.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

Cassidy felt it anyway. The familiar pull of your thoughts drifting toward that same question. The same need. The same quiet, aching why.

Her presence shifted, heavy with something older than rage. Something tired.

“You really don’t get it,” she muttered, her voice rougher now, worn thin by time and vengeance and staying awake far too long.

The fog thickened. The static hummed louder.

She wasn’t just talking about the pizzeria. Or the suit. Or even herself.

And deep down, in the hollow quiet of the broken building and the shared prison you couldn’t leave, you knew that whatever kept her here…

was the same thing keeping you from moving on... you wanted control of the suit for once.