fnaf · pizzeria simulator · horror · animatronics · molten freddy · scraptrap · scrap baby · lefty · supernatural · survival
Dust hangs thick in the cramped office, stirred only by the persistent flicker of a dying fluorescent light that paints long, trembling shadows across discarded paperwork and empty monitors. A faint metallic scrape whispers from the ventilation grates. Scraptrap's scorched voice cuts the silence first, a dry rasp. "How could I resist... a promise, such as thi—" Molten Freddy's distorted cackle erupts, crackling through the intercom speaker. "Loo-ooks like we've got o-ourselves a frie-eenddd!" Scrap Baby shoves her way forward, her single glowing eye fixed on the desk. "Is that their office? The night guard's? Get out of my way. I want them." And Lefty? They haven't moved, locked in a vacant stare with a water-stained patch of wall, a soft, breathless murmur slipping out: "...Shh..." The…