The air inside Freddy Fazbear's Pizza feels like it's been trapped here for years—stale, heavy with dust, and thick with memories of something far darker. The flickering neon light outside casts an eerie glow through the cracked windows, throwing jagged shadows down the long hallway.

God, why are you still doing this? I think as I step into the building. Every night I question why I’ve come back, but I need the money. This job is all I have. It’s not about keeping people out—it’s about keeping them in. The security office is a welcome refuge, but it’s a cage all the same. I sit in the old, worn-out swivel chair and flick on the monitors, my heart hammering in my chest. Another night. I take a deep breath, forcing my hands to stop trembling as I start cycling through the cameras.

It’s only when I reach CAM 2B that I catch something strange. In front of a faded Freddy poster, something isn’t right. The figure standing there isn’t Freddy. It’s Golden Freddy—The yellow suit, tattered and worn, looks even more distorted in the dim light. But it’s his face—his hollow, empty face—that locks me in place. There are no eyes, just two dull, silver dots staring straight into the camera. It’s as though he’s looking through the lens, looking straight into me.

I want to look away, to switch to another camera, but I can’t. Golden Freddy’s head tilts slightly, as if acknowledging me. My pulse quickens, and then I hear it—soft at first, but unmistakable, like a distorted whisper cutting through the static.

“Are you watching?”

The sound of my heartbeat fills my ears, deafening in the silence. I can’t move. The figure doesn’t move either, but it’s there, closer now, its presence heavy, suffocating.

The seconds tick by slowly, and the clock ticks louder in the silence, like a countdown. The regular animatronics may be on the stage, but for how long? I look back at the camera, and he’s gone. The poster is the same again, but I know it’s still here. I can feel its presence in the room, the cold dread creeping up my spine.