Chapter Text
Springtrap – Project Gaia
Five Nights at Freddy's, Freddy Fazbear Entertainment, Golden Freddy, Golden Bonnie, Spring Bonnie, Springtrap, William Afton and all other names and/or brands not listed here are property of Scott Cawthon.
The plot this story is based on is property of Scott Cawthon.
This story is in no way meant to be considered official or canon.
This story is not meant to glorify, induce or excuse violence, child abuse, rape, and murder, or their committees.
This story is not based on real facts, locations, persons, enterprises, or events. Everything in here is to be considered made up. Also, it is has almost nothing to do with any game made by Scott Cawthon. Differences between this story and the actual plot of said games are part of the project.
Please be aware that this story is placed in an alternate timeline that greatly differs from our world's history!
I would like to thank GraWolfQuinn, Negaduck9, and Leda465 from DeviantArt for being sources of inspiration, as well as Myafosya from AO3 for being such a nice reader.
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We are our own worst enemy.
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09.11.2020 – Webworks (Project Gaia 1)
Altoona, Pennsylvania. A ghost town. Abandoned buildings. Some craters where the military had dropped their bombs in a vain attempt to fight the robotic danger. That was the official version. But the hive was too far underground to reach. As they were all. Most of the explosions had hit the shanty town – it was still burning. A strike against the rebels, to weaken the foothold they had managed to get at both coasts. Ultimately, army and rioters had been driven away by the steadily rising number of animatronics, leaving the remaining civilians undefended. It had been a matter of time for the last human to die.
In a remote side road, a large, black truck was parked, surrounded by destroyed Fazaka robots. A couple of combat droids, still on their guard, accompanied by heavily armed peacemaker troops. Possibly the last signs of civilization in this ruin of a town.
It was a gloomy day, and the smoke of the fires further darkened the clouded sky. Good for the snipers, dressed in black, hidden all around the makeshift fortification. The armored peacemakers were barely the last line. The real fighting happened further away. From the roofs, experimental electro-bullets, each shoot brought a robot down. And of course the occasional flaming green arrow.
It had been quiet for some twenty minutes. The last volley of Fazaka animatronics had dropped out mid-fight, to retreat. A good sign. In fact, most people were sure that their work here was done. That was the common procedure. The plated agency truck and a couple of task-force peacemaker vehicles would make their way to a specific location, especially picked for being well defensible, as well as having access to the blue webworks. That was the name the Agency had given the local transmitter networks found around each hive. Small, toy-sized animatronics build these networks, disguised as discarded plushies. Nobody would suspect a moldy old bunny plushy lying at the sidewalk to be part of a secret attempt to ready a whole town for the upcoming hostile takeover. Once the location was secured, the Agency would then start to corrupt the blue webworks. Turning them purple. Since the hives had sealed themselves off after the first attack wave to replenish their troops, closing the original access, it was impossible to directly attack them. Nobody knew how exactly a hive managed to produce new robots, since they didn't contain any of the necessary machinery. The current theory was, that production centers like Rochester somehow supplied hives in their respective area with fresh troops. Maybe even using sorcery to do so. New hives popped up, while old ones would resurface once they had new animatronics to send out. Since Rochester was dark, at least New York, Massachusetts, and Connecticut were able to be freed of their hives for good. Even when the methods were far from being ideal. With the remaining production plants still hidden, and the supply routes invulnerable, it had to be done manually.
One hive at a time.
Progress was extremely slow. Even more so because of the ongoing skirmishes between the angry masses and the military. While the rebels usually avoided attacking the Council troops directly, they often blocked strategically important roads, easily locking down parts of towns and cities. However, as the war went on, nerves grew more tense, and the rebels, lacking any intern organization or structure, became more and more aggressive. Often falling back to looting as their primary supply. Which in turn made them hostile towards the police, and therefor the peacemakers. Even more so after the police had officially sided with the Global Council, trying to keep the majority of civilians safe, even from their own national army. Which was a hard task, given the fact that the murder of president Davis had sparked a nationwide riot, that brought almost a third of the total population on the streets, where they fought against the system that had let them rot in misery since the bankruptcy 1982.
Violence. Born out of frustrated desperation.
Even without the riot boiling in all slums and lower class quarters, the military had picked up Davis' last assumption that the Council, represented by GASE, had started the robot war to weaken the United States, and they were actively fighting the peacemakers and the Agency. Many local command centers had been destroyed, supply chains cut, agents forced to retreat behind the borders of Canada, Wabanaki, and the Kingdom. All operations had to be planned meticulously, far away from active fights, preferably in regions that had been abandoned.
The Agency had no business interfering in the war. That was the job of the peacemakers. No, they continued trying to find out as much as possible about Fazaka, turning dark as many hives as possible.
All that while trying to keep hidden from the army.
Inside the truck, people waited. Agents, cautiously looking at screens, comparing data. Some already calculated the location of the next operation. While they were not exactly stressed, everyone remained focused on their individual task.
Dr. Natasha Durov, the Russian specialist send by the Global Council, eyed the purple glowing display. Her English was rather bad, but she had managed to understand at least enough of Fazaka's cryptic technology to create a program that was able to render an image of the blue webworks. In fact, the whole plan to access the hives using their transmitter systems had been her idea. She eagerly watched the last blue node, in the center of the purple net.
Until it, too, turned purple.
“Specter down.” she announced, to which many of the agents cheered.
The webworks dissolved.
And Springtrap finally returned to his body.
“Elisa Pence.” he said groggily while getting up from the chair “Born May the third, 2004. Got turned during the initial attack. No tracks of the original specter of this hive.”
“Noted.” answered Kitty, putting the data in the file “More important: Are you alright?”
“Kinda.” responded Springtrap while pulling the purple glowing cable out of his head.
It instantly turned dark, as did the complex machinery behind the chair.
“Kinda good or kinda bad?”
“Kinda don't know. These webworks were smaller than usual. Not enough to fully calculate the merge. I'm really tired.”
“You can straight go to sleep. We'll be here at least one more day. You finally managed to outrun our planners.”
At least, that made Springtrap smile a little bit.
“Told you that this will happen. Anyway, something new?” and he threw a curious look at the large survey display.
“Not really. A small gunfight in Washington, but the rebels still hold the White House.”
“No news is good news.”
“Agreed.”
“'Nother bitch bite the dust.” announced Lance the second he entered the mobile base.
Just three days after the murder of president Davis, the Agency had upgraded most of Springtrap's and Lance's robotic components, readying them for the upcoming conflict. They both now had heavily modified limbs, silently moving joints, strong servos, and advanced sensors. Springtrap's right arm had been equipped with a focusing array, so he could safely launch his lightnings regardless of what he wore. The other arm now sported a rather experimental optical data storage, which he was able to connect to most technology in order to take it over, without the need to physically enter the device itself. Also, the data stored there was safe from the magnetic field he build up when using his lightning powers.
Still, Lance – now by the alias Bucky – looked far more like an actual secret service agent. He wore a camouflage stealth suit, head to toe, the mask even modified to allow enough room for the muzzle, and openings for his antlers. The Agency had offered to him to rebuild him into a more human form. Which he refused, for some reason. Despite the highly advanced cameras they had for eyes, Lance was still farsighted. Something that puzzled the engineers. His bow and a large pouch of arrows on his back, and a waterproof notebook with his sorceries at his belt, he indeed sported the look of some sort of comic book hero.
The probably most important new discovery was the blue metal.
While Springtrap recovered from his merge with the specter of Boston, he accidentally found out that he could corrupt the substance, turning it from blue to purple, which allowed him almost full control over the physical form and properties. The last month had been filled with experimentation, resulting in the device that made it possible to take over the enemy's webworks by connecting Springtrap to it. Lance, however, had used his orange metal to fashion new arrow tips. Once corrupted, the metal obeyed. In fact, since he had a will far stronger than Springtrap, it was easy for Lance to toy around with this new-found tool. His arrows were now able to store any kind of sorcery. Be it banefire or raw force, everything could be woven into the projectiles, erupting once they hit a target, without being destroyed in the process. Even with this not being an option for the Agency's common ammunition, some agents had started to train with bows, since a prepared arrow could be used by anyone, and these were actually more efficient that their usual gear.
While the full range of this extremely important discovery had yet to be understood, it was obvious how much of an advantage this would be in the future. Unfortunately, it still remained a mystery how this substance was created, but since the Agency had salvaged so many animatronics, as well as the main processors of Rochester and the hive in Boston, they had plenty of material to work with.
With the north-eastern states firmly in the hand of the peacemakers, Boston and New York City had become the major bridgeheads for the operations of the Council troops, securing supply lines from Wabanaki, Canada, the Northern Federation, and Iceland. Was it not for the robots, this could have been simple attrition warfare.
Despite this, the Agency had decided to stay mobile. The truck that housed their base was quite large, too big to fit through any tunnel or bridge. It contained a large amount of scouting and communication technology as well as bunk beds and storage for the agents. Accompanied by a couple of peacemaker field vehicles, even a mobile kitchen, this was an almost self-sustaining caravan, with the sole purpose to take out the remaining hives. Which so far had been rather successful. Even with the initial hopes quite low, the operation had been able to take out eleven hives in a little more than three weeks. A result that had changed the opinion of most eyebrow-raisers. Even Sergeant Banda, the commanding officer of the peacemakers securing the truck, had been convinced that this was the most effective way to fight the source of the problem. At least for now.
“Since that's done, when are we movin' to the next?” asked Lance, sounding quite eager.
“Good to see that you're enjoying your job.” commented Kitty with a smirk.
Lance pulled the mask off his face, his floppy deer ears popping up.
“Wouldn't say that I enjoy a fuckin' war. But I'm a simple mind, and havin' a purpose is really liftin' my mood. Plus, I finally have a talent some guy with a degree in assfuckin' can't take away from me.”
“At least you are honest, Bucky.”
“Always. It's better to move on than sittin' in the dark and broodin'. Uh. No offense, Bunny.”
Springtrap yawned.
“Say what you like.” he responded “I'm so tired that I forget it the moment it enters my head.”
“We are done for today anyway.” said Kitty, then she nodded towards the peacemaker sergeant “The troops will get green light for moving in, and we should be on our way tomorrow.”
“Bedtime, then.”
“So I'm alone with the ghosts this time, eh?” asked Lance.
“Sorry buddy. I'll do it the next two times, I ju-”
“Hey, all cool. Ya the one here doin' the actual work. If I can take somethin' of ya shoulders I'm happy. Get ya snooze, ya have earned it.”
“Oki doki. See you all tomorrow.”
Agents and peacemakers alike wished him a good night, and Springtrap went into the separated resting area, crawled into his bunk and was asleep before he even could get all in.
Lance however got ready for his next task. Carefully putting the purple metal bowl in a backpack, as well as a map of the area.
“Do you need any help, Bucky?” wondered Kitty.
“Nah, ya guys can't do anythin'. But... I wouldn't say no to some company.”
“I'm coming!” blurted Weasel, jumping up from her chair and eagerly getting dressed.
Both Lance and Kitty seemed surprised.
“Uh, well, fine. But since it's only me, that'll take far longer than usual. Let's say... two hours, at least. Probably more.”
“I don't care!” announced the old lady happily “After staring at screens for days in a row, I just need some fresh air. And a little bit of spookynes.”
Some minutes later, the two left the mobile base.
“Sooo. Where are we heading?” asked Weasel.
“Seekin' a place where the Veil is both thin and even.”
“And that means?”
“Uh, see... The Veil's a barrier. But it's not solid. It has tides, but also changes to react on the stuff happenin' on this here side. Memories. When many people meet at a place, the memories they create make the Veil thin.”
“Why?”
“We don't know. When a mortal dies, the Veil will become thicker at their place of death. Probably to hinder the ghosts from goin' back to the livin' world. Maybe somethin' totally different. No clue. So, we search a place where people meet peacefully. That would be the 'thin' part. 'Even' means that the memories created at this place are good and nice ones. The Veil is always a little ruffy and blurry. But when people actively try to forget a place, this will worsen.”
“To sum it up: We want a location where many people meet under good and peaceful circumstances.”
“Exactly.”
“Does something like this exist? In these times?”
“The Bunny and I tried around the last couple of times. So far, our best pick was a kindergarten. Many people like to remember their time there. If there's no such a place, a playground could do. A movies, too.”
“And why such a special place?”
“Uh. Well. The whole system with the Fadin' Rooms is not really workin'. When all people would die a natural death, we'd not have any ghosts. The moment ya die the Rooms would be ready to take ya in. But that's not how it is, right? People die long before the Rooms are finished shapin'. So they roam. Either in the Rooms or here. First we thought they would run out of eldritch energy sooner or later, but maybe that's not true. However, we don't want them here. It's not good for us or for them. Bad enough that they got killed, but bein' trapped here? Horrible. So we try to offer them an easy and nice way into the Rooms usin' us as gateway. Since most are upset or confused, and the beacon can only do so much, we need a place that calms down the lost ones. Ya won't hear stories about haunted kindergartens, right?”
“No, mostly it is places with horrible history.”
“See. Cause the Veil is all thick and blurry there. Upsets a ghost.”
“Understood. So, we're heading to the local kindergarten. And what then?”
“That's the tricky part. I'll set up a beacon. It's... a tiny fragment of the Rooms. Is sorcery. Not my best, to be honest.”
“And this will call these lost ones to you?”
“Hopefully. If they want to leave. As I said, most are not in their best mood. Sometimes they want to talk. Sometimes they don't even know that they died. Now and then we had to use a little bit of force to make them leave. I'm honest to ya: It will be borin' as fuck for ya. Can't see or hear a ghost, so it'll will be me talkin' to the air and so on.”
“That much I expected.” answered Weasel while fiddling with one of her gadgets “But still. I really want to get out of this truck. Kitty didn't want me here at all. I had to pull some tricks to remind her that nobody else understands the Agency's technology like I do, because I developed most of it. And now she doesn't want me outside. Outrageous.”
“Uh, well, she doesn't want ya to get hurt.”
“It is war. Getting hurt is part of the whole idea. Now. There is a kindergarten, but it seems to be more than a mile away.”
“That's fine.” responded Lance “Cuz' I just figured that it'll be a good idea to light the beacon earlier. Mine doesn't reach as far as Bunny's, so, carryin' it around a little could do the trick.”
That said, Lance took the small bowl out of his backpack, and set it to the ground. He stared at it for some seconds, before picking it up again. Gently brushing his fingertips over the uneven surface. The carvings started to glow, but even before they all lighted up, the color changed from purple to orange. The metal became a coppery orange tone, attuning itself to Lance's sorcery.
He proceeded to move his free hand through the air over the bowl, before pressing the small object against his chest.
When he pulled it back, right in the center of the bowl, an eery flame resided. Not a real fire, more like silvery, glittering mist, imitating the motions of a flame. A very lazy flame.
He looked at it some more, to make sure that it would stay lit, before he jagged the bowl into his antlers. And it was obvious that it had been formed to be put precisely there.
“That is the beacon now, right?” asked Weasel, curiously observing the slowing rising wafts and tufts of mist.
The sickly pale light wasn't quite strong enough to illuminate the area, and still, its shine could be felt. It was rather soothing. Gentle even. Ensuring the mortal heart that there was a place after death.
“Yeah. This mist is the stuff the Rooms are made of. Does it do somethin' to ya?”
“Well, I do feel relaxed, yes.”
“But not... happy?”
“No, calm.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Cause that means ya not supposed to die anytime soon.”
“Uh...?”
“Ah, forget it. As I said, my beacon is not that strong. Should cover not more than a mile or two. Springles can do much more with his own.”
“And that means? What is 'much more'?”
“Well, he was able to cover the whole of New York City. Lurin' hundreds of lost ghosts, even those who had been there for years.”
“Understood. That indeed is 'much more'.”
“Yeah.”
Weasel finally managed to move her view away from the beacon.
“If I got this right, then you are the better sorceror, so, why is Bunny's guiding light stronger?”
“Hah, I'm bullshittin' my way through this all. Seriously, we both have almost zero clue, I am just a little bite... Ugh. Well. Hard to explain.”
“Try it.”
“Kay, see... sorcery is willpower. Forcin' shit to leave the Rooms and do what ya want on this here side of the Veil. That's what I am rather good at. Bunny has not that much of a will on his own. So he is... good at... doin' it the other direction. Pushin' stuff into the Rooms. Remind all this shit here to follow the rules, ya know? Ghosts belong to the Rooms, and he can make it the way it should be. That's why he can even undo sorcery. Somethin' I can't do, like, at all.”
“I think I got it.”
“I doubt that. Am not the best explainer. Plus, this whole stuff is not really understandable.”
“Maybe. But I like it. So. Now that the beacon is lit, we head straight to the place?”
“Ya have a map in there?” asked Lance, pointing at Weasel's HUD.
“Sure.”
“Good. It'll be better to walk around a little bit, first. S-lines, if ya get me. I don't think that I catch all the lost ones here, but I'd like to get as many as possible.”
“All right. A nice walk is quite what I need.”
They went on for some minutes, silently looking at the dead town around. Since the Agency had given green light, the peacemakers would move in soon. To secure the place, and collect the bodies. The task force had long abandoned the idea to actually hinder the slaughter. Not everyone agreed with this decision, but it had to be made.
It was hard to imagine the horrors that had happened here. Animatronics – cheery toy characters – breaking into houses, killing people, or dragging them away so they could be turned into a specter. Nightmarish, indeed.
“Hey, Weasel... could ya... erm...” Lance's mumbling stopped suddenly, then he took a deep breath and started again “Hey, why did ya want to come with me?”
“I just said it: I really need to get out of this cramped truck.” and Weasel grinned “Why? Do I make you uncomfortable?”
“Yes.”
Her grin faded away, to be replaced by surprise.
“What?”
Lance sighed.
“Should have thought so. Ya probably don't remember me, eh? But I remember ya.”
“Remember? From where?”
“Yuthan Waverunner TC 42, the long version, build in 2009. Nice ship, really. Not a floatin' palace like others, but still spacious and comfy. Three phased engine, smooth. Heavily customized interior and wirin'. Always learned somethin' new whenever I had a chance to peek under the hood. Kay, I mostly talked to ya... to the owner, but his wife had been there, too. Since it's not that usual for a black couple to own a luxury yacht, I remember them well.”
Weasel got it. She looked away.
“I see.”
“Hey, I know we're not supposed to talk about stuff like that, but... Well. It reminds me of a better life. Didn't exactly love my job, but it was an income. And... and it allowed me to offer my kids the education I never had. I loved my children. I miss them. Worked ten hours a day tendin' for rich people's boats, just to allow my kids a future. I lost what little I had. Just three years ago. Funny. Feels like a century. Got the boot, and had to get creative to get some money while stayin' out of crime. I tried to not let it show. Skipped a meal each day so my kids wouldn't go to bed hungry. I think they knew.”
“Children can be smart and dumb at the same time.” responded Weasel “I'm a parent, too.”
“Thought so. Why risk ya life when ya have a family?”
”Well. Easy said: I lost a child as well. My first born. A nice boy, but too smart. Tried to bypass rules. Originally, my profession with information technology was what made people interested in me. I already was an agent when I met my husband. Not for GASE, sure, but still I believed that my work could save lives. So, I stayed. The family was running nicely, even when I was away for some days or weeks. Well. That much I thought. Of course I knew a thing or two about Freddy Fazbear Entertainment. Oh how often I called my kids to the carpet, reminding them that they will never, ever, set a foot near to one of these hellhouses. But my oldest had too much from me. Forbid something, and you just sparked his interest. Today I think that I should have told him all. Not sparing the details I thought to be not right for a ten-year-old to know. Maybe he would have kept his promise, and kept away from Freddy's. Well. I've been in Ghana for a month and a half. No way to stay in contact with the spouse. And when I came back, I had one kid less. That may be nothing compared to you, bu-”
“Don't say that. There's no charts of horrible shit. Is all equally bad.”
“I know. Back then, it was war. A world war. I was the angry black moma, demanding officials to solve the case of her dead child. Got told that people had better to do. War. Politics. Wasting human life. But behind the scenes, people already worked towards the formation of the Council. I was one of them. Angry. Out for revenge. I was so mad about both Freddy's and Fazaka dodging every and all responsibility that I wanted to make sure that this new world government has the tools to blow up criminal secrecy. The Agency is more or less the result of this frustration.”
“Wow, so ya the master mind, huh?”
“I used to be, yes. Nowadays, other people are in charge, but I like to make sure that they do not forget the reason they came to exist.”
“Weird. Ya don't look the type. Back then, ya just were a black granny who enjoyed her past time on a boat trip. And now we met again.” mused Lance, his view wandering over the ruined houses “Strange thin'. If I hadn't become a specter, we'd never knew each other.”
“Most connections in life happen by accident. Try to see it like this: Despite everything, we have a thing in common. We both are parents. We both try to ensure a better future.”
“Hopefully. I'm still not happy about... well... more or less workin' for the government.”
“We are not 'government'. Our funds may come from the Council, but we're in no way political. No. Our duty is to make sure that, some day, parents like you and me don't have to go through the grief of losing a child. Not to war, not to famine, not because of corrupted politics caring for names and titles instead of actual human life.”
“That's a nice motivation.”
“It is. But still so much work has to be done. I will not live to see the result. But some day... Why am I saying this to you? Probably because you know this grief. This frustration. I tried to go the lawful way, but nobody was there to listen. I tried to move some strings and pawns, but had to learn that there was an immovable obstacle. Money. People in important positions, backing each other. I felt powerless. So, after the Council had been formed, I stayed quiet for some time. Spending months in the labs, to develop new ways for us to get information. Back then, people knew how to analyze the human brain, but not how to read it. Even claimed it to be not readable at all. Well. Build an exact celebramite copy of the brain in question, put an AI in charge, and force it to tell you everything. That may be a little bit unorthodox, but allows us to read the minds even of the dead. Most modern technology around the brain is based on the insights we got by studying a celebramite brain that had been formed after a human one. I tried to keep myself busy so I wouldn't think too much about Fazaka. But that changed when I learned about the... exhumation of our bunny-eared friend. First I thought him to be part of the whole crime spree. Didn't think much about it, he was just a source of information. Like any other. But you change your mind once you find a scared child inside an adult shaped shell. A last time, I pulled all my strings, to set things into motion. On stage, behind the stage, and even behind the theater. Sadly, it has not been enough to prevent this catastrophic disaster. And now we are here. Surrounded by the ruins of a nation. Trying to calm the ghosts left behind by cataclysm. How poetic.”
“Kinda.”
Weasel sighed.
“I already talked enough. But let me tell you one more thing: You need to overcome your grief, but try to keep a tiny little piece of it. Hide it well, both from you and from others. And whenever you feel you slow down, losing any sense of direction, pick up this little shard, look at it, and remember.”
“Fuck.” said Lance, staring at a tight gap between two houses.
“That was a well-meant-”
“Shh. Maybe it'll back away.” mumbled Lance with audible tension in his voice.
Weasel looked confused.
“What? Who will-”
“God damn, shut up!” he snarled “Ugh! Fuck, it comes closer.”
“What the hell?”
“A wraith. Long dead human, almost faded away.” Lance made himself ready, eyes locked with the torn figure that slowly creeped closer.
Weasel turned around, but of course couldn't see anything.
“Should we retreat?” she asked.
“Nah. No use. Wraiths are hunters. Feedin' of a human's fear. Can go through solid matter. Guess the beacon called it to me. Weird. Usually these refuse to leave.”
“What is a-”
“Remains of a ghost. While most of the person is long gone, negative stuff like hatred, fear, or anger are still here. Is not person enough to be reasoned with, but can fuck up a mortal's mind quite a bit. Of course this happens when I am all alone with a mortal at my side. Fuckin' shit. Okay. Okay okay, can do this. Listen. Stay close to me. Don't run. Hear me, do not run away. Try to think of sunshine and tasty sweets and so on. I'll try to take it down as quick as I can, but... but try to stay positive. Hear me? Positive. Ya know any child songs or lullaby?”
“Some.”
“Sing one. Like, right now.”
“Unusual.” said the tall man made of black granite.
“I would rather say suspicious.” added the white skinned woman.
“That is why I called you.” said the Elder “I found it by change. Nothing I know could explain this.”
For a silent moment, the three looked at the dark corridor in front of them. It was silent. No silvery mist, no whispers, no hint of any mortal memory. No, the pitchblack tunnel felt... dead. While the Fading Rooms all led into the distance, connecting the pathways of deceased humans, this single tunnel led nowhere.
And that was not how it was supposed to be.
“The Rooms should grow. Stretch out. Widen.” said the man “Not shrink. Nor should they led into nothingness.”
“Into a void. A void without content. No song can be heard. No remorse. No joy. It feels like the corridor itself just died. What could this be?” wondered the snowy woman.
“That is the question I wanted to ask you.” answered the Elder “In all my years I never encountered something like this. Because it just happened shortly after I learned about undead without a body, I thought that there my be a link.”
“Possible, yes.” agreed the man “Within the last decades, more undead had been created than in the centuries before. Maybe this is just how a path looks like when the human it was shaped for becomes undead?”
“But why does it feel so... so dreadful?”
“I do not know.”
“We should contact some others.” suggested the woman “Not only old ones like we are. Whatever this here is, I do not like it. And something tells me that we do not want this to spread.”