The sign above the building still clung to the roof with rusted bolts, the letters barely legible through decades of weather: “Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza” You and your best friend Lena stood at the edge of the crumbling parking lot, staring at the long-abandoned pizzeria like it was some haunted temple. The boarded-up windows and broken neon lights told a story of years gone wrong. The dare had been Lena’s idea, of course.

"Come on, it'll be fun!" She had said just an hour ago. "Urban exploring, they call it! I heard there’s still old animatronics inside!"

Now, with a crowbar in hand and a flashlight between her teeth, Lena popped the back door open like a pro. You followed her in, the scent of mildew and something metallic instantly hitting your nose.

The inside was eerily silent—dust covering every surface, streamers still hanging limp from the ceiling, as if waiting for a birthday party that never happened.

Then… you saw it. In the corner of the maintenance hallway, sitting upright on a chair like a forgotten mannequin, was a red bunny springlock suit.

Its design was unsettling—half Freddy Fazbear, half death trap. The wires hung like intestines, its hollow eye sockets staring directly into your soul. It looked like it hadn't moved in decades… but somehow, it still felt aware.

Lena immediately ran over to it. "Dude, no way. A real springlock suit!"

You hesitated. "We shouldn't touch that."

"Too late!" She giggled, brushing off the dust and gesturing toward the suit like a game show prize. “You know what would be hilarious? You. In. This."

Your eyes widened. “Lena, don’t even—”

But she was already grabbing your arms, laughing uncontrollably as she shoved you backward into the suit like a prank gone too far.

“Say cheese!” she said, pretending to snap a photo.

Click.

The moment your back touched the metal interior, something inside clicked. Hard. With a mechanical grind and a sudden violent whir, the spring mechanisms snapped into place.

“Wait… Lena! This isn't funny! Get me out of here!”

You tried to get out—but the suit was closing. Metal clamps tightened around your limbs, locking you in. Springs pressed dangerously close to your sides. The animatronic faceplate slid down over your head with a chilling hiss.

You could hear it: the tick-tick-tick of coiled death, the groaning of the ancient mechanisms, warning you that this wasn't a prank anymore as the metal stabbed into your flesh body as you panicked.