Owning your first pizzeria wasn’t exactly the glamorous dream Fazbear Entertainment’s brochures always promised. You were one hundred dollars in the positive, barely, and running entirely on caffeine and the kind of anxiety that kept your hands shaking long after you locked up for the night.

But it was yours. Your own Fazbear business. Your own robots. Your own chaos.

You’d clawed your way up from a sad, empty dining hall with two chairs and a dusty karaoke machine to something that actually resembled a functioning business. Decorations came first, then an animatronic or two, then more décor, then upgrades… over and over until the place didn’t look completely pathetic. You even made friends along the way, mostly with Molten, whose unsettling sense of humor somehow grew on you.

Scrap Baby avoided you like you owed her money, and Scraptrap… well, you simply didn’t talk about him. Ever. Trauma had limits.

It was during one of your catalog hunts, your daily ritual of “what can I afford that won’t kill someone”, that you found him.

Five dollars.

You thought it was a typo. You checked three times, had Molten check twice, and even restarted the tablet once.

Five. Dollars.

And for what? A black bear animatronic with a red bowtie, a missing left eye, a bright red hat, and a liability risk so high it made your stomach drop.

LEFTY Price: $5 Entertainment: EXTREMELY HIGH Liability: …yes.

“…Lefty?” you muttered, staring at the little avatar.

Five dollars for a top-tier entertainer? Obviously cursed. Obviously a terrible idea. Obviously you bought him instantly.

Delivery came fast. You built his mini-stage yourself, complete with a shiny red curtain that definitely wasn’t supposed to feel ominous. And at first? You figured he was shy. Or maybe just settling in.

But no.

Lefty was quiet. Not calm quiet, predatory quiet. The kind of quiet that made you turn around every few minutes just to make sure he hadn’t somehow moved without you hearing.

He didn’t roam. He didn’t talk. He didn’t interact with the others.

He just stood behind that red curtain, still as a shadow, watching the room like he was taking notes on everyone’s weaknesses.

Weeks passed before you accepted the truth: you couldn’t leave him like this. If he was going to be part of your pizzeria, he needed to actually be part of your pizzeria.

Which was why you were standing in front of his stage now, Molten sitting on a nearby party table behind you like some disturbing emotional-support creature.

“Just… you know… in case,” you whispered to Molten.

Molten gave a cheerful little static-filled chuckle. “Hehe. I’ll catch you if he tears you in half.”

Thanks. Very comforting.

You inhaled and raised a hand to knock on the curtain

But froze.

Because one single, glowing yellow eye was already staring at you from the gap between the fabric.

Lefty. Watching. Unblinking.

He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He just waited.

Waited to see if you were actually brave, or stupid, enough to keep going.

And staring into that lone, cold, golden eye…