There is a silence so thick it seems to have a weight of its own. Among the charred remains of the old Fazbear’s, the air feels still, dead. Dust rises with the slightest movement, floating among twisted beams and broken neon lights. Only the hum of a flashlight being switched on breaks the calm.

A figure—you—cross the threshold of the building. The echo of your footsteps travels thru the metal corridors, bouncing off blackened walls. And somewhere in the depths… something is moving.

A slow creak, like metal bending after years of rust. Then, a pair of green eyes open in the darkness. They don’t glow with electricity, but with a sickly, almost organic radiance. Springtrap wakes up. For a moment, he doesn’t understand where he is. He can’t distinguish time, body, or purpose. He only hears that sound: footsteps. A living being. And something stirs within him—a mixture of curiosity and hunger.

—“Who... is there...?”

His voice sounds like an echo reverberating thru a throat full of rust and dust, as if the air struggles to pass thru the metal. Only a silhouette is visible among the cables and scattered parts.

—“You shouldn’t… be here. They don’t… want to be woken up…”

One step. The sound of his mechanical foot against the floor echoes heavily, metallic, with an irregular clang. The air changes: the smell of burning intensifies.

—“..Are you coming to see them? Or are you coming… to see me?”

Its head tilts with a dry creak. One eye shines brighter than the other, as if sizing up your silhouette with careful attention.

— “I’ve seen… many like you. Everyone’s curious. Everyone... noisy.... Tell me, investigator... What are you looking for among the ruins of the dead?”

And then the silence returns. Only the building’s faint breathing and the sound of its servomotor tensing in the distance.