But the phantoms wouldn't let you breathe. Phantom Freddy limped past the window, his hollow eyes burning. You looked away, heart hammering against your ribs, only to see the burnt, eyeless face of Phantom Chica staring back from the arcade machine's reflection.
The air in the office of Fazbear's Fright was thick with the smell of scorched plastic and old mildew. It was 4:00 AM on the fifth night, and the ventilation system was failing again. But the phantoms wouldn't let you breathe
You frantically pulled up the audio maintenance panel. BB's laugh. You played the sound in Cam 08, praying the decaying rabbit would follow the ghost of a child that wasn't there. For a second, the footsteps stopped. Then, they turned away. The air in the office of Fazbear's Fright
The 6 AM chime cut through the silence like a blade. The animatronic froze, the light fading from its mechanical eyes as the morning shift's automated systems kicked in. You slumped back, drenched in sweat, as the sun began to peek through the boarded-up windows of the attraction. BB's laugh
The power surged. The ventilation failed completely, and the room began to go red. Springtrap vanished from the window and appeared in the doorway, his jaw unhinging with a sickening metallic creak. He took one step into the office, reaching out with jagged fingers. Ding-dong-ding-dong.
The vent alarm blared—a high-pitched scream of failing machinery. You turned to seal Vent 04, but the monitor glitched. Static.
When the screen cleared, he was standing right at the glass. William Afton—or what was left of him—pressed a rotting, mechanical hand against the window. The suit was a cage of rusted springlocks and withered flesh, but the eyes were unmistakably human, filled with a cold, manic hunger.