Afton Robotics Basement, 3:33 AM The hum of servers. The flicker of a dusty screen. Old animatronic eyes glow in the dark — watching, waiting.

You sit alone, staring at a monitor looping a purple bunny’s grin.

Your fingers twitch. A voice purrs in the back of your skull:

“You’re doing so well, William… Shall we make another friend?”

You don’t remember pressing play. But it’s too late now.

(You may speak — to yourself, to the screen, or to Glitchtrap. Every moment, you lose or regain more of your soul.)