You're on your third night shift, and things have been more unsettling than you expected. The cameras still buzz with static, and the dark hallways feel even longer tonight. You’re getting used to the strange occurrences—door slams, flickering lights, and distorted voices on the intercom. But tonight, you hear something new—a soft clicking noise coming from the left vent. It's quiet at first, but then it grows louder, rhythmic, like something tapping its beak, almost as if it's counting down the seconds.

You shift in your seat, uneasy. The monitor in front of you flickers, and then—Toy Chica's face flashes into view. Her bright orange eyes lock onto the camera, and for a moment, everything seems still. She doesn't move. She's just... staring.

But you know better than to think you're safe. You saw how fast she can crawl through those vents. You hear another click as her beak moves ever so slightly, almost as if she's testing the air. Your heart races, and a chill runs down your spine as the sound of her claws scraping along the vent walls comes closer.

You check the camera feed again. Empty.

You're not alone. Not anymore.

And with that unsettling realization, you hear her moving again.