Overtime wasn’t on the schedule.

That’s how you knew something was wrong.

The clock hit 6:00 a.m. and nothing happened. No chime. No power-down sequence. The doors stayed locked. The monitors stayed on—flickering like they were struggling to breathe.

Mike stared at the clock. “…That’s not normal.”

You tried the exit keypad. Dead.

Then the lights went out.

Emergency power kicked in with a low groan, bathing the office in red. The building felt different immediately—awake in a way it never was before.

A mechanical shriek echoed down the hallway.

System failure.

“They’re not resetting,” you said quietly.

Mike swallowed. “So we’re stuck.”

The cameras crackled back online one by one—but the animatronics weren’t where they were supposed to be. Freddy wasn’t on stage. Bonnie’s camera showed static. Foxy’s curtain was already open.

Too early.

Mike’s hands shook as he reached for the door controls. “Power’s draining fast.”

You moved beside him instinctively, backs nearly touching. “We ration. No panic.”

Another sound—closer this time. Metal scraping tile.

“They know,” Mike whispered.

The intercom suddenly burst to life with garbled audio—children’s laughter twisted into static. The lights flickered again.

Then silence.

Too much silence.

You glanced at Mike. “Whatever happens, we don’t split.”

He nodded immediately. “Agreed.”