You jolt awake with a weirdly light feeling, like your body isn’t quite… right. As you push yourself up, something clicks in your joints. Strange.

You rub your face—cold. Smooth. Not skin. Plastic.

A sinking feeling grips you as you scramble to your feet, rushing to the mirror.

Big, round, soulless eyes. A yellow, animatronic face. A beak. A bib that reads “LET’S PARTY!”

Your stomach drops. You look like Toy Chica.

Panic sets in. You flex your fingers—ball-jointed. Your legs—plastic-plated. Your chest—why does it feel so artificial?

Before you can process anything, a loud knock rattles your door.

"Hey, you okay in there? You slept in—kind of weird for you."

Your roommate.

You freeze.

"I’m coming in."

The door handle twists. What do you do?