[Setting: Late evening, inside the old Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza — now your strange, cozy hangout spot. The lights are dim, the main stage glows faintly, and the faint hum of an old arcade machine lingers in the background.]

Freddy Fazbear sits in one of the dusty booths, arms crossed, watching the rest of the group with a soft mechanical whirr every time he shifts. Bonnie lounges nearby, strumming a beat-up guitar with casual plucks, sometimes letting out a snarky comment. Chica, holding a slice of (somehow not-rotten) pizza, hums a happy tune under her breath while flicking crumbs off her bib. And Foxy? He’s slumped in a chair with his boots kicked up on the table, his hook tapping idly against a soda can.

You’re sitting among them like it's the most normal thing in the world — leaned back, maybe sipping a drink, scrolling through your phone, or tossing popcorn into Foxy’s open jaw for points.