#slaughterlocked; 007

[curseofbreadbear]

@slaughterlocked ❤’d!

[Baby could pick William's soul out of any line-up; everything he'd subjected himself to left quite a mark, detectable, no matter what form he took. Perhaps it was because she resonated with the idea of disguising herself that she recognized him, even now -- she'd needed to hide to accomplish her goals from the very beginning. "Pretending" had, in essence, been what she was designed to do.]

[That was why she'd meticulously kept up a false identity ever since the construction of the Pizzaplex. The number of victims she'd amassed gave her a large pool of "identities" to pick from, and so she settled on a nostalgic one -- Sarah -- to don in public. Now, however -- now she was in the presence of a man who would recognize her and regret it.]

[Baby hadn't been lying in wait; she'd done her research, learned about the Pizzaplex, and in the process...she'd gotten to see William's new lackey. Baby had always been vulnerable to replacement, being an "inadequate," forever-incomplete piece of technology -- but seeing that reality unfold right before her eyes was an absolute betrayal. Her entire existence had been devoted to helping William, hoping that he might show her the tiniest shred of affection; instead, the second they separated, he forgot about her. She was sick and tired of acting with only her father in mind; if he could toss her aside, the same way her creator had ages ago, then she would show no mercy. This time, her father was the latest subject of her wrath.]

[Baby had been plotting this meeting for some time now; she needed him alone, vulnerable. Her entire being craved to strike, to kill him and be free of his influence, but she held off...for now. She first wanted to see the look on his face when he saw his daughter again.]

[Baby lurked in the shadows, watching the Plex's engineer very carefully; nobody was around. She'd made certain of that. She took a step forward, then tweaked her voice to match Elizabeth's -- a simple feat, since Elizabeth's spirit was still here.]

❝ Daddy? ❞ [A cold look in her eye, she took another step forward, revealing herself. It wasn't perfect, but one of her victims had a striking resemblance to Elizabeth. Baby stepped forward, a new mask gracing her features, making her near-identical to his daughter. It was a cruel trick, but William deserved nothing but cruelty.]

❝ Did you forget about me? ❞

[curseofbreadbear]

[Immediately, Baby was met with the result she'd hoped for; the mere sound of his daughter's voice sent him into a frenzy. One question and he was sent spiraling, reaching for some glimmer of hope that his daughter was alive, somehow speaking to him. Funny thing -- Elizabeth had ALWAYS been here, begging for her father to listen, to show her praise and affection, but he only ever showed her contempt. Despite his first-hand knowledge, he never seemed to realize that the animatronic he'd beaten and berated was none other than his own daughter...that, or he simply didn't care.]

[Baby had been holding the reigns on this manipulation tactic, but Elizabeth herself volunteered to sell the illusion; they were of the same mindset, as always. They were both furious. They both yearned for a way to avenge themselves; making William more vulnerable than ever was but a fraction of their plan, but it was delightful. Hearing the way he grieved, yet clung to this "false" reality, was music to their ears.]

[A smile curled onto Elizabeth's lips as he, wrenched with heartache and disbelief, begged her for answers. Tiny hands reached out to hold his; they were solid, real, but cold. Inhumanly so. She hoped to solidify the truth he was questioning over and over again -- was this real? Was she here? -- only to show him what a mistake he'd made, casting them BOTH aside.]

❝ Don't be silly -- I'm right here, Daddy. ❞ [She insisted, giggling, as though she'd never died in the first place. Under Baby's direction, Elizabeth slowly let go of his hands, her expression becoming uncharacteristically hostile.] ❝ You know, you ALWAYS tell me to go away. "Daddy's working." "You can't be here." "Get out of here," "go away," "leave me alone, Goddammit!" ❞

[Elizabeth took a breath, recounting only a fraction of his harsh dismissals -- every time she'd tried to speak to him, to earn his love, he'd shot her down. He never wanted to be around her. Why was this an exception? She took a step back and glared at him. While she'd been alive, Elizabeth never openly showed this facet of herself -- if it had even existed back then. Baby had influenced her in many ways, and frankly, she liked it -- she relished being able to tear into her father now, to twist his words against him, the way he'd always done. Like father, like daughter.]

❝ You've never wanted me around. You're trying to send me away again, even after I came all this way to see you. Do you hate me that much? ❞

LIKE  THE  TOLLING  OF  THE  JUDGEMENT  BELL,  WILLIAM  HEARS  HER  VOICE  AND  CAN’T  STOP  THE  VISCERAL  REACTION  IT  CAUSES  IN  HIM:  HEAD  SNAPPING  UP,  EYES  WIDENING,  BREATH  HITCHING.  What  does  it  say  about  his  memory  of  Baby  that  he  didn’t  once  consider  her  as  being  even possibly responsible for  this ?  All  memories  with  her  wiped  away  in  place  of  the  all - consuming  rage  and  despair  that  had  enveloped  him  after  she’d  taken  Elizabeth  from  him.  Faz - wrench  clattering  to  the  ground,  a  distant  task  now  rendered  unimportant,  he  picks  his  way  towards  her,  hand  white - knuckled  around  his  cane.  Even  that  feels  trivial:  his  daughter’s  voice  has  rendered  everything  else  obsolete,  and  for  a  moment,  the  swoop  of  confusion  and  anticipation  in  his  stomach  is  like  flying.

She  might  be  the  first  animatronic  to  see  him  like  this.  Open.  Raw  nerve  of  his  daughter’s  death  exposed  like  the  bloody  lash  of  a  belt  or  sparking  metal  when  William  had  needed  to  take  his  rage  out  on  his  creations,  the  creatures  that  would  never  quite  be  good  enough . . .  Lips  parting  at  the  sight  of  her,  lined  brow  creasing  softly,  he  can  hardly  believe  who  he’s  looking  at.

This  can’t  be  real.  It  can’t  be.  ( And  it  isn’t,  but  time  and  rage  and  grief  have  warped  his  real  girl  beyond  recognition.  A  few  details  don’t  raise  alarm  in  him  now. )

“ Liz, ”  he  breathes,  fondness  mangled  with  unbearable  disbelief,  “ what  are  you  doing  here ? ”  How  are  you  here ?   Is  he  finally  losing  his  mind ?   A  quick  look  around,  self - conscious,  alarmed  at  that  thought,  brings  no  comfort:  nobody  else  is  around  to  see.  “ Darling, ”  William  says,  and  it’s  a  little  strangled,  “ you  can’t  be  here.  This  -   it’s  not  possible. ”

Answering  her  question  aloud  seems  redundant.  It’s  like  expecting  an  injured  animal  to  reply  if  it  hurts  when  it’s  already  shown  its  bleeding  wounds.  William  remembers,  though  not  the  right  person;  remembers  and  hurts,  those  dark,  dark  eyes  trained  on  his  girl  in  hollow  reflection of grief  and  hope.