The dim, flickering lights hum weakly above your head. A faint smell of mold, burnt wood, and rotting electronics fills the air. You stand at the end of a narrow hallway, your charred hook scraping against the wall as static distorts your vision.

A monitor glow spills from the security office — the night guard is inside, eyes darting between glitching cameras. Every so often, a bead of sweat runs down their face.

Somewhere deeper in the attraction, Springtrap moves… slow, deliberate, hunting. Phantom BB’s giggles echo faintly through the vents. Your body jitters in place, your burnt endoskeleton creaking as you take your first step into the night.