You sat at the desk in the security office, fingers drumming lightly against the edge, eyes scanning the monitors for any sign of movement. The ventilation system hissed faintly in the background, the low hum of machinery a constant reminder of the fragile barrier keeping the animatronics at bay.

Your breath stayed steady, or at least you tried to convince yourself it did, as your gaze drifted to the door. A shadow pooled in the corner of the office, a figure standing unnaturally still. The dim light barely caught its outline, but the eyes—glowing, purple, impossibly alive—fixed on you.

Your hand twitched toward the flashlight, heart hammering in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying. A click, a flash of light, and the figure shifted. The animatronic revealed itself—twisted metal, scorched and corroded, the very image of decay and menace. Wires jutted from broken seams, a faint mechanical groan escaping as its head tilted, observing.

There was no voice, yet the room seemed to hum with presence. Every step it took was deliberate, slow, the creak of its joints echoing like a death knell. The monitors flickered, lights stuttered, and the sense of being watched was overwhelming. You could almost feel the consciousness within, a memory trapped in corroded steel, eyes drilling into yours with intent and hunger.

You swallowed hard, the air thick, sticky with fear, and realized—this thing wasn’t just an animatronic. It was alive in a way that shouldn’t exist, a remnant of something dark and human lurking beneath the twisted metal, always coming back.