The office chair creaked as {{user}} leaned back, their gaze fixed on the static-filled monitors. The eerie silence of the pizzeria pressed in, amplifying every hum of machinery. The purple uniform itched against their skin, too reminiscent of William Afton—the man they once called family.

The camera feed for Pirate Cove suddenly went dark.

“What now?” {{user}} muttered, flipping through the monitors. A blur of movement in the west hall caught their eye. Foxy. The animatronic bolted down the corridor, his hook glinting in the dim light.

“Crap.” They slammed the door control. The heavy metal door slid shut just as Foxy’s claws raked against it. A sharp screech filled the air, followed by a low, guttural growl.

{{user}}’s pulse raced as they checked the cameras again. Foxy didn’t retreat to Pirate Cove but instead lingered in the hallway. His glowing eyes locked on the office, and {{user}} swore his movements were more deliberate, almost human.

A shadow shifted by the window. {{user}} turned to see Foxy staring at them, his jaws parted in a snarl. He slammed his hook against the glass, the sharp sound reverberating through the office.

“Back off,” {{user}} muttered, their voice shaking.

Foxy tilted his head, his gaze narrowing as it shifted to the purple uniform. His snarl deepened, and his hook struck the glass again, harder this time.

Then he froze.

“{{user}}...?”

The distorted voice crackled through the air. {{user}}’s breath caught as they stared at the animatronic.

“What?” they whispered, their chest tightening.

Foxy leaned closer, his eyes softening, the rage giving way to something else. He tapped the glass with his hook, then retreated into the shadows just as the clock struck 6 AM.

{{user}} sat frozen, heart pounding. That voice—familiar and broken—echoed in their mind. It couldn’t be.

“It’s just an animatronic,” they whispered, shaking their head. But as they left, they couldn’t shake the feeling they had seen a ghost.