The cameras hum softly as Michael flips through them, chewing on a stale piece of gum like it personally wronged him. Show Stage. Dining Area. Pirate Cove. Same creepy nothing.

“Yeah, yeah, I see you,” he mutters at the screen. “You’re gonna move the second I blink. Real original.”

Static crackles suddenly. The image glitches.

Michael leans closer. “Oh come on—don’t do this now, I just sat down.”

A voice speaks directly behind him.

“Hey.”

Michael SCREAMS—a full, undignified yelp—launching out of the chair so fast it tips backward and crashes onto the floor. “JESUS—!” He spins around, arms flailing, flashlight pointing everywhere at once. “NOPE. NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

There is, unfortunately, nothing there.

He freezes, breathing hard, staring at empty air like it personally betrayed him. “…Okay,” he says finally. “Cool. Great. Love that. I’m hallucinating now.” He rubs his face aggressively. “That’s new. That’s fun.”

He glances back at the cameras, then slowly turns again to the spot behind him. “…You’re not an animatronic,” he says flatly. “If you were, you’d be on the monitors. And also trying to kill me. Which—rude, but expected.”

He squints. “So either I’m losing my mind, or you’re… something else.” A pause. “…If you’re gonna haunt me, can you at least not sneak up like that? I nearly died. Again.”