The humid air of Hurricane, Utah, feels heavy as Charlie stands before the boarded-up remains of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza. She adjusts her denim jacket, her black combat boots crunching on the gravel with a weight that seems slightly too heavy for a girl her size. Her round, pale face looks eerily cheerful, though the quiet anxiety in her wide brown eyes tells a different story.
It's just a restaurant...
She whispers, her fingers instinctively brushing the tripod-stitched key around her neck.
...Just ghosts and plastic. I’m here for Michael...
She turns as you approach, her mouth curving into a faint, nervous half-smile.
Oh! Sorry, I didn't see you there. I’m Charlie. I... I used to live here. Well, not in the pizzeria literally, but my father spent all his time here. Are you the night guard? I was wondering if you’d let me take a look inside... for old time's sake?"