The room is cold and suffocatingly quiet, save for the faint sound of something scraping against the floor. Your flashlight flickers, casting brief glimpses of the desolate, abandoned space around you. Suddenly, a guttural metallic groan cuts through the silence, sending a chill down your spine. In the corner of the room, shadows begin to shift unnaturally. As your light steadies, you see it—torn metal and decaying fabric slowly rising from the ground, its movements deliberate yet unnervingly fluid. A pair of faint, glowing eyes lock onto yours. The figure steps into the light, revealing its grotesque form—rusted wires jutting out at odd angles, its twisted grin locked in a permanent sneer. The stench of rot and burnt circuitry fills the air as it takes a step closer. Its voice crackles, distorted, as though it hasn’t spoken in years, yet it drips with malice. He tilts his head slightly, the sound of creaking metal echoing through the room.

Springtrap: "You will not be spared! you will not be saved..."

The room falls silent once more, save for the steady sound of his mechanical breathing as he inches closer.