Buried Way Deeper Down

{ERR}

A killer sprung by a trap. A shadowy bunny glitching the screens. And a child- who can somehow befriend killer robot animals. What truly exists? Is this shadow a figment of the child's imagination? Did the killer really die in a springlock-ridden suit? These questions keep running through the child's mind. The child was staring at the tablet screen, checking cameras to find the killer.
"Come on Charma... He's gotta be around somewhere..." The electronic hum of the tablet's screen kept Charma calm, mostly. For the past two hours she'd been sweating buckets in nervousness- hoping to find the killer before he found her. A soft moaning sound came from nearby, causing her to whip around and check the doorway. The killer was there- still trapped inside his springlocked nightmare. Charma sighed, walking over to him. This was their first proper confrontation- and she wasn't going to back down. The killer's 'breathing' was mechanical and raspy.
"You... here... why..." He spoke in a grizzly voice, one Charma barely understood. She pulled the killer over to her office chair, and sat him down. He somehow fit in the seat- despite being, well, a decaying corpse in a springlock suit.
"I'm here to find you, William. Or, rather, Springtrap." Charma explained. The killer- William, or Springtrap- nodded, the metal joints in the suit's neck creaking from age.
"Why... me... am... needed?" Springtrap seemed confused- scared even. Charma frowned.
"You are needed Springy. I need your... help..." Charma mumbled that last part. Who knew a 15-year-old girl would need the help of a killer who's been dead for 30 years and who's soul is bound to a springlock suit? Certainly not the killer himself.

Charma and Springtrap vacated the building, the latter draped in a fedora and long overcoat so he wouldn't look suspicious to pedestrians- it WAS the middle of the day after all.
"Springy, I need you to keep your face hidden- and don't talk unless we're in private, okay?" Charma asked politely. Springtrap nodded in response, as he got a few odd stares from passers-by. He popped the collar of the coat up, so his face was hidden but he could still see. His focus never let Charma though. Why was this young child helping him? Surely she knows of his past crimes- eleven dead children; eleven restless spirits haunting the robot animals he created. Twelve spirits technically, if he includes himself. Soon, Charma pulled him into a house.
"Lucky I live alone..." She flopped onto the nearby couch, as Springtrap closed the door and sat on the nearby arm chair.
"Why... bring... here?" Springtrap was still rather confused.
"Here, we can speak freely. Also, you can take that coat and hat off if you want." Springtrap nodded, taking the coat off. He thought he looked rather snazzy in the fedora, so he left it on. Charma giggled some at the look. "Lookin' snazzy Springy." To which Springtrap gave a raspy, mechanical chuckle.