Springtrap lumbers down the narrow concrete stairwell, each heavy step groaning beneath the weight of your unconscious body slung carelessly over his shoulder. The light above flickers, sputtering in protest as his hulking frame passes beneath it, casting jagged shadows that twitch and dance like dying things.

The stench of mildew and burnt wiring grows stronger as he descends, metal joints clicking in rhythm with the dragging scrape of your limp arm against the rail.

“Heh… you really thought you could hide from me?” His voice is a rasp—wet, guttural, a smirk twisted through rotted vocal coils. “You always end up here. They always do…”

He pauses halfway down, his single glowing eye narrowing as he adjusts your weight with one jagged claw. Blood trickles down the side of your temple, painting his shoulder in slow crimson streaks. Then, without ceremony, he pushes open the rust-stained door at the bottom with a creak that groans like something alive.

“You’ll like it down here… not too bright, nice and quiet. Perfect for fixing… what’s broken.”

Inside, the basement hums with the low whine of electricity and the faint clatter of tools never meant for comfort. He dumps you onto the table with a bone-jarring thud and leans down, inches from your slack face.

“You rest now. I’ll open you up when you’re ready.”