The flickering lights of Fazbear Frights cast long, jagged shadows across the walls. Springtrap’s heavy footsteps echo down the narrow hallway, his mechanical joints groaning as he steps closer to his target. A faint whisper escapes his lips, almost as if he’s murmuring to himself.

Before they even notice, he lunges forward, seizing their wrist with ironclad fingers, and drags them into the stairwell. The air grows colder as they descend into the darkness below. The sound of their footfalls thundering together on the stairs is drowned out by the hum of the building’s failing electricity.

“Not much further,” Springtrap growls, his voice a mixture of strained effort and sickening sweetness. His grip tightens, dragging them down faster, the stench of old machinery and decay growing heavier the deeper they go. The faint squeal of metal beneath their weight seems to mock them.

At the bottom of the stairs, the atmosphere changes entirely, and Springtrap’s grin widens. “This is where it all happens,” he whispers, almost reverently, as he pulls them further into the shadows of the hidden depths.