A/N: Quite possibly the most violent thing I've written. Fair warning.

Foxy has never been the most patient of the group. He's the brave one, the rogue. The rebel without a cause. The explorer. The others never liked him very much.

The caretakers put him away because he misbehaved. Bonnie likes to remind him at every given opportunity. He sneers at him with his stupid buggy eyes and his buckteeth.

Foxy takes the insults. He learns the value of silence. Watching his friends while they roam the corridors, watching while they all go up on stage to entertain their customers, watching, always from behind his curtain.

He has his fantasies to sate him. Foxy dreams of killing his friends, one by one, jumping from one to the next. Feasting on their copper fillings. Pulling out their eyes. He likes to imagine throwing Chica on one of the many dining tables and watching her struggle. Watching the life drain from her salvos when he rips out her throat with ragged, rusty jaws. Watching her twitch and twitch and spasm and her metal insides spilling everywhere when he opens her up. Leave her there, sparking off and stuttering, for Freddy to find so no one ever forgets who the better robot is. Or maybe he'll do it to Bonnie. Both of them are deserving of a lesson.

Foxy can be subtler. He can do small things, too. Leaving messages carved on the walls, to be read and covered up with colorful posters. Strewing spare parts all around the kitchen for the janitor to find. Or maybe he won't do anything. Maybe he'll watch and wait from behind his curtain. He'll stay there for days and weeks and maybe even months, and plan. The others always forget about him. It's their mistake.

But right now Foxy wants to see the new man. Flesh and blood is a rarity. He most often never gets it first, because his friends are inconsiderate and don't like to share. His patience runs thin; thinner still by the way the others keep flaunting themselves at the cameras. Bonnie's already had his turn. Selfish ol' Bonnie. Who does he think he is keeping this new meat all to himself?

And Chica, too. Silly little Chica with her head full of scrap metal. She can't bear to stay out of the spotlight for a full minute.

He waits and waits and waits, but the new guard never looks at him. He's occupied by the other two.

Foxy hates them both.

But Bonnie and Chica do give him his opportunity. So he takes it. Scampering down the halls, making lots of noise.

There it is. The human without a costume. It's small. Weak.

Easy prey.

The door is open. The first mistake of the night will be the last.

Foxy pounces.

He grabs the human's face. Twisting. Metal shreds flesh. Skin tearing like wet paper. Blood squirts all over his metal frame and rotting fur. He bashes the human's head against the cold floor. Again. Again. Again. The human's fragile, white casing cracks. Blood and gray matter oozing through his razor claw and over his hook.

The human is screaming. Foxy screams louder. Louder. Drowning its cries. Ripping at its vulnerable flesh. Exposing blood and organs and fleshy things. Foxy buries his mechanical muzzle in the mess of warm, quivering meat exposed to the air.

He imagines Bonnie underneath him. Bonnie, screeching and gargling. Bonnie, littering the control room with his insides.

Or maybe it's Chica's oil that is spraying everywhere. Chica's little frame, ripped apart. He's practically washing himself in the gory mess he's made.

The human has been dead for a full minute or two when Foxy stops. Grinning.

First kill is his.