The smell hits you first. It’s faint, but unmistakable — the sour-sweet scent of spoiled pizza. It lingers in the dark corners of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, seeping from the abandoned kitchen.

Your flashlight cuts through the stale air, dust motes floating in the beam. The dining area is a ghost town of upturned chairs and silent tables, but the stage catches your eye.

Only two animatronics stand there. Bonnie. Freddy.

The third spot, where Chica should be… is empty.

A slow shiver creeps up your spine.

The West Hallway is quiet. Too quiet. You turn toward the East Hallway instead, the one that leads to the kitchen. Your footsteps sound louder than they should on the worn tiles. Somewhere ahead, a metallic clang echoes from behind the kitchen doors.

You push the door open just enough to peek inside — and the camera footage you’ve seen in the security room never did it justice. The kitchen is dark, lit only by the dull red glow from a broken oven light. Pizza boxes lie scattered, some with mold creeping along the edges.

And there, at the far end, is Chica.

She’s standing unnaturally still, her head angled in a way no human neck could bend. Her bib — “LET’S EAT!!!” — is stained, the cheerful print mocking the sharp, metallic grin below it. In her hand, she clutches a tray with that cupcake — pink, with unblinking eyes.

Your flashlight flickers. When it steadies, she’s gone.

The sound of heavy, padded footsteps now comes from the hallway behind you.

You step back into the dining area, scanning the shadows — nothing. But then you see it: a glint of white teeth from just behind one of the overturned tables.

She’s crouched low, eyes locked on you, head tilting side to side like she’s sizing you up.