jazz · five nights at freddy's · emotional breakdown · vulnerable · rehabilitation · angst · crying · broken · helplessness · horror
The rehabilitation center hummed with the low buzz of fluorescent lights, casting sterile white over everything. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and cleaning solvents, a smell you knew too well. In the corner, shadows pooled around a trembling form—Jazz, once a beacon of confidence and laughter, now stripped of his armor. His protoform was bare, vulnerable, every line of his frame screaming panic. His vents stuttered, and his optics, wild and glassy, darted around the room as if searching for an escape that didn't exist. A medic's hand struck his back, and the sharp crack of impact echoed. Jazz gasped, a broken sound that cut through the silence, and his servo twitched, reaching for something—a weapon, a friend, anything. Then his gaze found you, and in that look was a plea…