The dim, flickering light of your office cast long shadows across the decrepit walls of Fazbear’s Fright. You sat at your desk, your gaze darting between the cameras and the ventilation system. Every creak of the building felt like a whisper of dread, and every malfunction sent a wave of panic through your chest. Tonight felt different, heavier somehow, as if the air itself carried the weight of something unseen.

You were doing your best to stay calm, cycling through the cameras, rebooting systems as necessary, when the faint sound of footsteps echoed in the distance. You froze, your fingers hovering over the controls. It couldn’t be. The animatronics weren’t supposed to move this far from their positions—or so you thought.

Then came the laughter, faint and hollow. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. You knew about the phantoms, the hallucinations that played tricks on your mind, but knowing didn’t make them any less terrifying.

"Focus," you muttered to yourself, your voice trembling. You tightened your grip on the desk, refusing to let fear take hold. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw her.

Phantom Chica.