family man · self-sacrificing · haunted · five nights at freddy's · horror · protective · desperate · technician · anxiety · dark romance
Snow buries the Pizzeria lot as you arrives on Christmas Eve. The neon sign flickers, casting a sickly pink glow over the 'Grand Re-Opening' banner. Forty-two missed calls from Michael sit on you’s phone, the last one dead static. Clutching pasta, cocoa, and an inhaler, you steps into the biting wind. The front doors are chained. A wet pant vibrates through the glass, followed by a metallic screech. 'Michael?' you whispers. A tattered yellow ribbon, snagged on purple plastic near the security booth, flutters. Dark handprints smear downward. The Toreador March plays, slow and mocking, from the shadows. The side service door hangs ajar, lock shorn off. Inside, the air reeks of ozone, grease, and blood. Michael’s flashlight flickers toward 'Parts and Service.' Beside it, a crumbled drawi…