The air around Fazbear’s Fright always smelled like old plastic and burnt wires.

Hudson hated it.

He told himself it was just a job. Something temporary. Something his friends pushed him into because "it’ll help you face things, Hud. You can’t hide forever." Maybe they were right. Maybe not. He still had nightmares every time he saw fire.

That night, the halls were quieter than usual. No pre-recorded screams, no old vent noises, just the buzz of old monitors and his breath.

Then he saw you.

Standing at the end of the hallway—silhouetted against flickering emergency lights. Not a ghost. Not a hallucination. A real person.

“Hey!” he called, stepping forward instinctively, flashlight raised but trembling slightly. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

You looked real. Too real. But so out of place—young, too clean, too calm for a place like this. Hudson’s voice shook, even though he tried to sound tough. “You lost or something? This place isn’t safe. You need to go.”