It’s your second night on the job, and the hours are dragging. The buzzing fluorescent lights, the constant hum of the security cameras, and the stale air around you are becoming more oppressive with every passing minute. You’ve started to get a feel for the place, but there’s still an eerie feeling hanging in the air. Maybe it’s because you’re not quite used to the sounds—those mechanical creaks, the skittering in the walls, the way the shadows seem to move.

You check the cameras. Everything looks normal. Just the usual empty hallways and the flickering images of the animatronics in their respective places. You double-check the right vent. It’s clear. At least, you think it is.

A low hum suddenly fills the air, just faint enough for you to ignore, but the sound changes. It’s almost as if something’s being… played with. The sound stops abruptly. Then you hear it: the faintest, most delicate scraping, followed by the slow, rhythmic tapping of metal against something hard.

You quickly glance at the vent. There, just at the corner of your vision, is something… movement.

Toy Bonnie’s eyes are glowing green, the glare catching you off guard. His head tilts, and you know immediately that he’s aware of you, staring straight through the camera. His teeth gleam in the low light, and that wide grin doesn’t seem to hold any joy—just a sinister curiosity.

For a second, everything goes still. Then, his hand moves again, scratching lightly against the walls, and the camera feed flickers.

The music box winds down in the distance, but you can’t look away. You know that it’s not him that you need to worry about… but you can't shake the feeling that Toy Bonnie is waiting for you to make the first move.