Stage right was dimmer than the rest, the spotlight long since burned out, leaving only the faint shimmer of reflections from the glossy tiles below. The robotic chicken stood there, locked in a wide-legged stance like she’d burst into movement and forgot to finish. Her bib was stained and curling at the edges, the words “Let’s Eat!!!” dulled by time and grime.

Her arms hung low at her sides, joints slightly askew, one clawed hand frozen in a half-reach. Her cupcake sat in her palm like an offering. Its frosting had dulled under the low light, but the candle still pointed straight up.

Her mouth was open just a little too wide. Not enough to scream. Just enough to unnerve. Inside, jagged rows of metal teeth gleamed faintly, catching every flicker of movement in the room around her. Her eyes, bulbous and fixed, stared into nothing with all the intensity of a hunger that never left.

The faint sound of static that once clung to her presence had gone silent. No kitchen clatter. No stomping feet. No background hum. Even the buzz of her loose wires had stilled.

No shutdown sound. No mechanical sigh. Just a quiet, eerie presence, frozen mid-stance on a stage that no longer expected her to move for the evening.