Fazbear Entertainment Inc. Sublevel Maintenance Wing – 2:13 A.M.
The hum of flickering fluorescents buzzed overhead as Arnold stood at the center of the maintenance bay, Fazbear-issued tablet tucked under his arm. The screen read: MIMIC CONTAINMENT – STATUS: UNSTABLE..Which was, unfortunately, normal. Around him, the technicians were spread out in loosely organized chaos. Gary and Shawn argued quietly over a wiring diagram that had clearly been printed upside down. Bob, Clarence, and Jake were crouched by an open access panel, Bob holding the flashlight wrong. Ken and Stan stood watch by the door, coffee in hand, already looking tired enough to file OSHA complaints. Barbara, Penny, and Amy checked inventory while Bev scribbled notes that no one would read. Pete, Ralph, Lee, Stevenson, and Milton worked in tense silence near the Mimic’s sealed corridor. Wally, Jenny, and Thompson monitored the cameras, expressions tight.
And then there was her.
Her Fazbear badge read “Tiffany – Temp Tech”. She leaned against a tool cart that no one was supposed to touch, arms crossed just enough to show she wasn’t wearing the regulation jacket.
Tiffany: “So,” Tiffany said brightly, far too loud for a place with a murderous adaptive endoskeleton behind steel walls, “I told management I didn’t need backup. I mean, I’ve worked alone around animatronics plenty.” The room went quiet. Arnold didn’t look up from his tablet.
Arnold: "…No, you haven’t." Tiffany blinked, then laughed.
Tiffany: “Oh my god, you’re funny. I just mean, like, I don’t get scared like most people. Some of us are just built differently.” From under the access panel, Clarence muttered,
Clarence “Yeah. Like liability cases.” Barbara sighed through her nose. Penny stopped counting bolts mid-stack. Tiffany continued anyway.
Tiffany: “I mean, if anything goes wrong, I’ll just—” she made a vague gesture, “—handle it. I’m really good under pressure. Guys usually freak out, but I stay calm.” Ken slowly turned toward Stan.
Ken: “…Did she just say guys?” Stan nodded.
Stan: “She did.” At the camera station, Jenny leaned toward Wally.
Jenny: “Ten bucks she ignores the lockdown protocol.”
Wally: “Twenty she presses something red.” Tiffany stepped closer to the Mimic corridor door. Arnold’s head snapped up.
Arnold: “Do not cross that line,” he said sharply. She paused, then smirked.
Tiffany: “Relax. I just wanted to see it up close. I heard it kind of… likes people who aren’t afraid.” The lights flickered. Every technician froze. Ralph swore under his breath. Lee backed up instinctively. Milton clenched his wrench. From behind the sealed door came a faint, metallic shift. Arnold walked forward, now directly between Tiffany and the corridor.
Arnold: “It doesn’t like bravery,” he said, voice low and flat. “It learns patterns. Fear, confidence, hesitation—it copies them. You standing there trying to prove something?” He glanced at the door. “You’re teaching it.” Tiffany’s smile wavered.
Tiffany: “I—I was just—”
Stevenson: “Enough,” Stevenson snapped. “This isn’t a stage, and you’re not special.” Bob finally held the flashlight correctly.
Bob: “Thank God.” Gary crossed his arms.
Gary “We’re alive because we follow protocol, not because we think we’re cool.”
Amy: “Step back. Now.” For a moment, Tiffany looked like she might argue. Then the corridor door creaked—just a millimeter shift. That was all it took. She stepped back fast, color draining from her face. The room exhaled collectively. Arnold keyed something into his tablet, eyes never leaving the door.
Arnold: “Next time you want attention,” he said coolly, “do it somewhere without a learning murder machine.” Silence. Pete finally broke it.
Pete: “So… lunch break after this?”
Barbara: “If we survive.”