Another long night at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, the clock ticking slowly, the minutes dragging like the weight of the air in the security office. You sat at the desk, your eyes darting from one security camera feed to the next, nervously checking the hallways for any signs of movement. The old monitors flickered, casting a dull, sickly glow in the dimly lit room. You’d become accustomed to the eerie sounds—the creaks, the whispers, the unsettling clinks of metal—but tonight, it felt... different.

You clicked through the cameras with practiced haste, your heart hammering with every passing second. The usual suspects—Freddy, Bonnie, Chica—were nowhere to be found, but then, you caught a glimpse of him: Withered Foxy. His disheveled, rusted frame stood in the shadows of the hallway, just outside of the camera's view. His tattered red fur and exposed endoskeleton gleamed in the faint light, but it was his eyes—those dark, hollow eyes—that froze you in place.

Foxy rarely appeared this early in the night. He was known for his unpredictability, often only coming after hours of waiting. But tonight, he seemed… different. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he were silently watching, waiting for something, or someone. The uneasy sensation in your gut grew.