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Description
Indigo has always resented being named after a colour that doesn't really exist. But then, he resents a lot of things. His hair. His face. His job, his coworkers, his family, the heaping mountain of expectations on his shoulders. It's awful. He could just die.

Springtrap, though...

He doesn't resent Springtrap. Not really. Even with all that the decaying giant represents, it's hard to hold anything against Springtrap. He's too cute. Too loyal. Too useful.

Speaking of which–

“You can stop hitting him now. I doubt he'll be getting up with his legs in that many pieces.”

Springtrap's eyes are weird and colourless, like quartz. Not rose quartz, not smoky quartz – just your regular garden variety transparent rock. Indigo likes how they stare right through him. No lingering on his hair – still showing that stubborn streak of purple – or his face – god, is he sick of people looking at him. Those eyes don't follow his movements even when he detaches himself from the wall and saunters toward the twitching carcass-to-be. No, his pet is looking into his soul.

Indigo laughs at the thought and drives a toe into his most recent victim's side. It nets him a weak little scream and some clawing at the floor. Boring. But then the dying man manages to crane his head up and spit out a few last words at Springtrap's feet.

“Y-you... monster...”

“Looks like he can still talk,” Indigo notes. “But really, how rude of our guest. You're not a monster, are you?”

Springtrap shakes his head, the motion accompanied by a wet squelch. There's blood running down the front of his jacket, staining his white undershirt. Oh well. He looks better this way, anyhow. And it's not like it'll affect his functionality if it gets into his gears.

When it gets into his gears.

Indigo thinks of pinning that towering construct down to the floor and painting him with fresh gore and begins to laugh again. He laughs and smiles so easily since he found his lovely toy. One more reason not to resent Springtrap.

“Of course not. You're my beloved pet. So if anyone's the monster here...”

Like the best pets, Springtrap can't talk. He tries, though. His voice comes out as a hideous screech, like a train derailing. Indigo rolls his eyes and smacks the android's shoulder, cutting him off mid-screech.

“Your opinion is appreciated,” he says sweetly, “but I'm the big bad here, and what I say goes. Got it?”

A long, helpless look, followed by an equally helpless nod.

“Good boy.” Indigo turns back to his victim and frowns. “Aw, hell. Is he dead?”

He certainly smells dead. A firm kick sends sends the body rolling over, limbs splayed out like rubber toys. Warm blood splatters against Indigo's shoes, but he can't properly enjoy it.

“Yeah, definitely dead. Great going, dumbass.”

Springtrap lowers his head, which takes him from colossal to merely gigantic. Indigo feels the urge to pat his pet between the ears. He might do it, if he could reach.

“Sorry, sorry. Don't know why I said that. Seems like I'm not myself today.” He sighs and looks down at the corpse. “Should probably dispose of this, huh? Wouldn't do for the day shift to stumble across it.”

Not that it would matter. The day shift is still a bunch of imbeciles. The Fazbear Frights guy even keeps congratulating Indigo on his work redesigning Springtrap 'to make the horror attraction's mascot less dusty and more horrifying.' No wonder they never caught him the first time around. He snorts derisively and crouches down to examine what he has to work with.

Male, mid-twenties, university hoodie. Something in Indigo's gut whispers that it's no good, he's too old, but he ignores that in favour of sticking his fingers into the closest wound. Bone shards shift under his fingertips, spongy muscle lapping at his skin. It feels fantastic. When he looks up, he's smiling again.

“Wanna help me dispose of this?”

Springtrap ducks lower, gears moaning as they grind against putrefied flesh. Indigo grabs a handful of fresh meat and tears it free with a satisfying rip.

“Come here,” he coos. “I'll give you a treat.”

In a storm of shrieking mechanisms and groaning meat, his beloved pet kneels.