Another day.

Another day of painstakingly dragging himself through dusty vents and trying to block out the sounds of children taunting him in his ear.

Quite frankly, Scraptrap was done.

He had figured out weeks ago that the children playing over and over in the vents were just an audio speaker, but it never hurt to double check.

And when he finally got to that stupid office, the guard was already gone.

Metal screamed on metal as his rotten fingers dug into the floor of the vents, pulling himself forward. It was so damn easy to get caught in the sharp turns the vents took, and backing up out of a dead end was even worse.

It's not like these vents were designed for a dead man in a rabbit suit.

Scraping to his left. Scraptrap's right ear twitched at the sound. He paused for a moment before going after it, abandoning his original goal temporarily.

Michael could wait.

Had he taken this turn before? It didn't seem familiar at all. Perhaps his memory, like everything else that was still human about him, was finally failing.

But he was sure this vent didn't exist before.

You're losing your touch, Afton, Lefty's smug grin hung in his mind's vision.

"I. Am. Not." he hissed, dragging himself further down the vent.

His sharp shiv of an arm came to rest at an odd angle, and before Scraptrap knew what was happening, the floor gave out underneath him and he was falling.

This is it. He was going straight to hell where he belonged.

Well, if hell was an empty room with a checkerboard floor and a single arcade game.

The screen flashed with a "Press Play" message, as if enticing the old rabbit closer.

Scraptrap groaned, holding his head as he pushed himself up. "Ow..." he muttered, despite not feeling pain anymore.

Press Play! The screen read over and over. Press Play!

Oh, well. He could afford to have a little fun.

He approached the arcade game, pressing the red play button on the console.

The title screen popped up seconds later, appearing with a pink flourish, Sailor Moon Crystal.

The name sounded... familiar.

Press A to start, the screen read underneath the title. And Scraptrap did, pressing down the red button with his shiv.

Choose your character, the screen read, displaying five images of girls wearing colorful skirts and bows.

Even those girls looked strangely familiar, as if he had seen them before.

He shifted the joystick just a little, selecting the girl with a red skirt and a purple bow.

Welcome, Sailor Mars! And the machine shut down entirely.

Scraptrap furrowed his nonexistent brow, tapping on the buttons in an effort to turn it back on.

That was it? He didn't even get to play it! All he got to do was select his character and that was-

A click interrupted his angry thoughts. Pausing, Scraptrap looked down at the prize drop installed in the machine.

A red and gold pen sat in the slot.

Scraptrap knelt down to pick it up, only to be stopped, again, by loud shrieking.

Both his ears stood straight up, and he quickly grabbed the pen out of the slot before retreating to the back of the room.

The door at the front of the room shook menacingly. His grip on the pen tightened.

"Where is she?!" A loud voice screeched, the door shaking in its hinges.

He was going to die here, with nothing but a glittery pen to protect himself.

The door slammed open, ripping out of the frame. Scraptrap ducked down, hiding behind the arcade game.

A huge, bloodstained hand, bigger than Scraptrap's head, clawed at the ground, and the monstrous body entered seconds later.

It was a mass of black metal and teeth. Horrid, bloody teeth, lining its many limbs. Human, shark, and animatronic, all jutting from the blackened metal.Huge, reddened eyes shone from a pink and white head, with a mouth full of rows of teeth. Bone fragments clung to its muzzle, just as bloody as the rest of its muzzle.

It growled, sweeping its fox head to look around the room. "Where is she?" Its voice warped and twisted as it spoke. "WHERE IS SHE?!"

She. Maybe Scraptrap was safe.

His breath caught in his throat, not daring to make a move. His new pen rested against his chest, secured in his tightly clenched fist.

His shiv scraped the ground lightly, barely leaving a mark.

And then a monstrous hand wrapped around his waist.

"Caught you..." the monster mockingly cooed, lifting him up.

The metallic scent of blood filled his nose, a smell all too familiar. For a few seconds the image of children bleeding out before him flashed through his mind as a sickening reminder.

Back then, killing was a thrill, a sick pleasure he guiltlessly indulged in. But now...

"Any last words?" It held him closer to its muzzle, to the point Scraptrap could reach out and touch its black nose.

"Mars Power, make up!" The arcade machine chirped, childlike and robotic. "Mars Power, make up! Awaken, Sailor Mars!"

The machine was no longer talking. It was the voice of a young woman, speaking directly to him.

And for a few seconds, all he could see was a girl with hair buns and long hair, and the pen in his human hand.

The very same one lying in his rusted hand right now.

If this didn't work, he would die. But if he did...

"Mars Power," he raised the pen over his head, carrying with it a red glow, "make up!"

It was as if fire had enveloped him, bringing with it not a burning sensation but one of comfort. Energy flooded his body, heating him up from within. For just a moment, he could swear he felt his heart beat again.

The grip around his waist loosened, and he fell to the floor.

His red high heels clicked against the tile as he landed neatly on his feet.

"Sailor Mars." The monster hissed. Then its lips twisted into a horrid grin. "Of course you would be here, right where the Nightmare Kingdom wants you."

The Nightmare Kingdom? "If you want me that bad, you'll have to come and get me."

He snapped his gloved fingers, creating a white strip of paper with writing on it. At first, he didn't understand the writing, but then he began to recognize it. An ofuda. Was that what these were? "Evil spirit, begone!"

He didn't expect the ofuda to go far, but it ignited into a ball of red flames as soon as it touched the creature's metal limb.

It screeched, diving at him. Its jaws opened up, ready to swallow him whole.

Scraptrap snapped his fingers again, creating another ofuda. This next one was aimed right for the back of its throat.

Fire burst from its mouth, engulfing its muzzle. Scraptrap quickly made another, aiming for its forehead.

Except he never got the chance to throw it.

One minute he was winning. The next his head cracked against the wall, pain searing through his stomach as if he was the one hit by an ofuda.

"You'll pay for this, Sailor Mars!" The creature roared, smoke billowing from its jaws.

So much for winning. His ears rang uncomfortably, accompanied by searing pain in his skull. There was no way he could fight in this condition.

"Mars Flame Sniper!" the game chirped, or at least, Scraptrap thought it did. "Don't give up, Mars!"

Scraptrap dragged himself back up, coughing out a mix of oil and blood. "Mars..." he choked out, his vision blurring. "Mars Flame Sniper."

And then it was as if he had only just started fighting again. For those few, glorious moments, the pain was gone. All that he knew was himself and the fiery bow in his only hand.

He hooked his shiv on the bowstring, drawing it back until it touched his cheek. The shiv began to burn, morphing and warping painfully until it resembled an artistically done arrow.

His target lay just within his field of vision. He could do this. He could still win this.

And he let go.

The horrendous animatronic screamed, the arrow piercing right through its skull. At once, it burst into an inferno of twisted metal and red flames. The scent of burning flesh, plastic, and metal percolated through the air, making Scraptrap's stomach turn.

When the nauseous smelling flames finally died down, all that was left was smoldering ashes.

All the energy that attack had given him left his body at once, and the pain returned with a vengeance.

His side burned so badly, Scraptrap just had to look.

The remnants of a failed ofuda clung to his white uniform, as did the blackened fabric encircling a mess of burnt fur and crispy flesh. Across his stomach was a slash mark, just barely grazing his metal "skin".

Scraptrap cried out in pain, tears bubbling at the corners of his already hazy eyes. He dropped to his knees, curling up into a ball.

The game happily chirped out a "I knew you could do it, Sailor Mars!" before going silent yet again. Or maybe that was just his imagination.

The last thing he saw before blacking out was a woman extending a green pen to him, and whispering for him to find someone. The ringing in his ears worsened, drowning out the name of the person he was supposed to find. I'm proud of you, Mars. Those words echoed in his head, even as he lost consciousness.

His vision went dark and he fainted.