The neon glow of the Pizzaplex bathed the empty golf course in soft, colorful light. Monty stood at the tee, gripping his club tightly. The silence of the midnight hour suited him—no fans, no noise, just him and the game.

He lined up his shot, eyes sharp and focused on the ball. With a powerful swing, he sent it flying, the satisfying crack echoing across the course. The ball soared, clipped the edge of an animatronic windmill, and splashed into a water hazard.

"Dang it..." Monty groaned, slinging the club over his shoulder as he trudged to the next hole. The course was his escape, his turf. It wasn’t about winning—it was about the calm, the challenge, and proving, if only to himself, that he was more than just another animatronic.