The ancient fan on your desk whirred softly, the only consistent sound in the eerie quiet of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. You leaned back in your chair, eyes darting between the flickering monitors. The night had been unusually calm—no signs of movement from Freddy, Bonnie, or Chica. But something felt… off.

Your eyes landed on the Pirate Cove feed. The curtains were slightly ajar.

Heart pounding, you leaned forward to inspect the screen more closely. Pirate Cove was supposed to stay closed unless Foxy was active, and tonight was supposed to be one of his dormant nights. Yet, there it was—a sliver of shadow peeking through the red curtains.

The static on the camera glitched, and when the feed returned, the curtains were wide open. Foxy was gone.

A scraping sound echoed down the hall, metal against tile. Slowly, you turned your head toward the dim corridor. The sound grew louder, accompanied by the uneven rhythm of fast, deliberate footsteps.