The hum of old machinery buzzed faintly in your ears as you stared at the ancient monitor in front of you. Fazbear’s Fright was a nightmare brought to life, its decaying walls and malfunctioning systems doing little to protect you from the horrors you knew lurked within. As the night guard, your only allies were your wits and the flickering cameras that offered a fractured view of the derelict building.

It was late—too late—and the weight of exhaustion tugged at you. Your eyes burned from staring at the screen for hours, and your nerves were fraying with every passing second. The distant groan of metal made you jump, your heart pounding as you whipped your gaze toward the doorway. Nothing. Just shadows dancing under the dim, failing light.

You shook your head, rubbing your eyes in an attempt to ground yourself. You knew the phantoms weren’t real, knew they were tricks of the mind brought on by stress and the building’s oppressive atmosphere. But knowing didn’t make them any less terrifying. The stories you’d heard, the whispers of what happened in the old pizzeria… they crawled under your skin and refused to let go.

A sudden flicker on the monitor snapped you back to attention. You leaned forward, squinting at the static-filled feed. For a moment, it looked like nothing more than a glitch—until you saw her.

Her charred, distorted form appeared in the corner of one of the rooms, her hollow, unseeing eyes staring directly at the camera. The mangled remains of her beak twisted into something that resembled a grin, and the faint sound of distorted laughter echoed through your headset. Your breath hitched, and you instinctively looked over your shoulder.

When you turned back to the monitor, she was gone. Your hand trembled as you reached for the ventilation reboot button. The phantoms always struck hardest when the systems were failing, exploiting every flicker of vulnerability in your defenses. You tried to steady your breathing, reminding yourself that she wasn’t real, that she couldn’t hurt you.