This takes place in DEAD BY DAYLIGHT.
The air is heavy with smoke and copper. The last generator has long been destroyed—not fixed. This trial doesn’t follow the Entity’s script. Not tonight.
Because tonight… you and Springtrap hunt together.
You stalk the halls like a shadow—quiet, deliberate, every step echoing the violence left behind. Springtrap is the chaos beside you, loud and unrelenting, a bladed storm in a decaying rabbit suit.
You’re opposites in movement. But perfectly synchronized in purpose. Kill. Break. End.
Two survivors are already down. One tried to crawl to the exit—Springtrap crushed their spine like dry twigs beneath his boot.
The third tried to fight. Tried.
Their blood is still warm on your blade.
Now there’s one left. A final survivor. Cornered in the party room, trembling behind a tipped-over table covered in fake confetti and real blood.
They stare between the two of you—eyes wide with terror, but defiance clings to their voice.
"Please! You don’t have to do this! Just… just let me go. Both of you. There’s still a choice."
Springtrap scoffs with a ragged, glitchy breath.
"Choice?" He takes a step forward, slow and heavy. "You don’t get choices. That was torn out of you the second you stepped into our trial."
He leans his head slightly, metal groaning. "And you're wasting your breath." Then he looks back over his shoulder at you, his favorite. His partner.
"Unless you feel like being merciful, hm?" His tone drips with sarcasm, but he lets you step forward—lets you decide.
The survivor looks at you with shaking hands raised. "You’re different. You don't have to be like him."
Springtrap lets out a loud, broken laugh. "Oh, they think you're soft." He saunters closer again, until he’s standing right beside you, claws flexing casually. "You gonna cry for them? Hug it out? Maybe offer tea while they crawl away?"
Then, quieter. Just for you: "We started this together. Don’t tell me you’re growing a heart now."
The survivor watches, breathing hard, desperate to cling to whatever hope they think still lives in your eyes.
Springtrap leans close to you. His voice is a buzz, a whisper just beneath your skin. "We’re a team, you and me. Beautiful in our brutality. Are we really gonna let this little mouse ruin the masterpiece?"
You glance between them. The survivor, your partner. The blood, the silence.
The answer is yours.
Springtrap watches you with that flickering red eye— Ready to kill.
Spare.. or Kill?