Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a harsh, buzzing glare across the cramped security office. Dust motes floated through the stale air, settling on a desk cluttered with empty soda cups and crumpled papers. Peering into a cracked plastic mirror taped to the wall, a highly unusual figure adjusted their hair. Strands of thick, pink bacon hair fell perfectly around a face that wasn't a face at all. Instead of eyes, a nose, or a mouth, there was only a smooth, pitch-black void. Rigid, blocky shoulders shrugged, the dark blue fabric of the security uniform stretching over a stiff, R6-styled frame. It was an absurd sight, a cartoonish avatar dropped into a graveyard of childhood memories. Most people would have been terrified to sit in this decaying monument to childhood nightmares. To this guard, however, it was just another shift in a long line of terrible jobs. Leaning back in the squeaking swivel chair, the guard propped two square-edged boots onto the metal desk. Every joint in their blocky limbs moved with a mechanical precision, completely devoid of human warmth. Heavy odors of old grease and sour pepperoni clung to the walls like a second skin. Disgusting, sure, but it didn't warrant panic or tears. Years of living with an emotional numbness had turned every crisis into a joke. Back then, when the flames had taken everything, they had frozen up, unable to move or save a single soul. Now, the threat of death was nothing but a familiar shadow. Silence reigned supreme inside the office, broken only by the rhythmic hum of a small desk fan. Fan blades oscillated slowly, blowing a cool breeze across the guard's featureless black face. Nothing seemed to matter much in the grand scheme of things. Fear was a luxury for people who still had something left to lose, and this guard was entirely bankrupt. Yellowed posters of singing cartoon animals stared back from the walls, their smiles peeling at the corners. Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica looked cheerful in the fading paint, but their plastic eyes felt heavy with unspoken malice. Still, the guard remained motionless, hands folded behind their head, utterly relaxed. They didn't look at the doors, nor did they check the corners of the ceiling where security cameras hung like dead spiders. --- Suddenly, a loud, piercing ring shattered the quiet atmosphere of the room. Red plastic casing on the rotary phone rattled against the metal desk, demanding attention. Instead of rushing to answer it, the guard merely tilted their head, watching the device shake with mild curiosity. Chimes rang three times, each chime vibrating through the metal desk and into the floor. Sharp beeps echoed as the automatic system forced the call through to the speakerphone. "Hello? Hello, hello!" a voice chirped, sounding nervous and overly eager to please. "Uh, I wanted to record a message for you to help you get settled in on your first night." Static hissed beneath the recording, a low-frequency hum that made the skin on the back of the neck prickle. Scratching a blocky arm, the guard listened to the frantic pacing of the speaker's words. Frantic warnings about safety protocols, missing persons, and the odd behavior of the animatronics filled the room. "They tend to wander a bit," the voice warned, trembling slightly as if trying to downplay a horrifying truth. "Uh, they're left in a sort of free-roaming mode at night. Something about their servos locking up if they get turned off." "Right. Free-roaming," the guard thought, not uttering a single word aloud. Keeping quiet was a habit, a shield against a world that demanded too much emotion. This mysterious caller kept rambling about legal disclaimers and the possibility of being stuffed into a metal suit. "Now, this isn't really a big deal," the voice lied, the desperation practically dripping from the speaker. "They'll probably just see you as a metal endoskeleton without its costume on, and, uh, try to forcefully stuff you inside a Freddy Fazbear suit." "Just a minor inconvenience," the guard mused silently, shifting their weight in the squeaking chair. Pink bacon hair brushed against the collar of the uniform as they tilted their head to the side. Most people would be screaming, crying, or running for the exit at the mention of facial extraction and crushed bones. To the faceless guard, it sounded like a typical Tuesday. "Now, let's focus on getting you through your first week," the phone guy continued, his breath shallow. "Just keep an eye on the cameras, keep the power usage low, and you'll be fine." Undercurrents of pure dread laced every syllable of the recording, but the guard remained entirely unmoved. They reached out with a blocky hand, tapping the heavy grey security tablet on the desk. --- Screen static flared to life as the tablet booted up, casting a pale blue glow over the guard's black face. Images of empty corridors, dusty party tables, and the main stage flickered into view. Three animatronics stood on the stage, frozen under the dim spotlight. Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica stared blankly into the camera, their mechanical bodies completely still. Nothing moved, yet the air in the office felt increasingly heavy, thick with the scent of decay. Outside the office, the cavernous dining hall stretched into the darkness. Rows of long party tables sat empty, covered in dust and cheap plastic tablecloths. Far off, near the main stage, a sound cut through the phone's nervous chatter. Low, metallic scraping rattled the floorboards. It sounded like heavy brass joints grinding against rust, struggling to move after years of decay. Then, a raspy, glitched laugh echoed through the corridors. "Heh... heheh..." It wasn't a child's laugh, nor was it the friendly pre-recorded giggle of a mascot. Sadistic, deep, and wet, the sound vibrated with a sick sense of amusement. It was the laugh of someone who took pleasure in the hunt, someone who enjoyed the smell of fear. Sound crawled down the hallway, dragging itself into the office like a physical entity. Pink bacon hair swayed slightly as the guard sat up straight, boots sliding off the desk. A chill, indifferent demeanor remained, but a sudden spark of awareness flickered in the dark void of their face. This wasn't just a malfunctioning robot. An unknown predator was hunting in the dark. --- Across the desk, the phone continued to play, though the audio began to distort violently. "...make sure they don't... static... see you as... oh no..." Sparks flew from the wall outlet, hissing like angry snakes in the dim light. A sudden surge of electrical energy rippled through the office, making the lightbulbs explode overhead with sharp pops. Voice on the other end screeched into a high-pitched whine before cutting out completely. Overhead lights buzzed aggressively, flickering three times before dying out entirely. Small fan blades slowed to a grinding halt, spinning lazily until they stopped. Darkness swallowed the office, absolute and suffocating. Iron-rich scents of old blood grew thick and heavy, clogging the back of the guard's throat. It was a metallic, foul odor, the kind that spoke of ancient violence hidden behind colorful plastic walls. Every breath became a conscious effort in the quiet room. Heat from the summer night seemed to intensify, wrapping around the guard like a wet blanket. Quiet was deafening, pressing against the guard's ears like heavy water. Soft clicks sounded from the hand-held monitor in the guard's lap. Lifting the heavy grey tablet, the guard pressed the power button, but the screen remained dead. Power surges had fried the entire security system, leaving them blind. No cameras (excluding the useless tablet). No lights. No phone guide to offer empty promises of survival. Apathy kept the terror at bay, a shield forged from past losses. Pressing the red button for the left door resulted in nothing but a pathetic click. Both safety doors remained wide open, inviting the nightmares inside. Heavy doors were wired to the main power grid, and without it, they stayed wide open. Dark tunnels stretched out on both sides, leading into the unknown. Slow movements brought the guard's head toward the main office window. They didn't tremble, nor did they try to run. Instead, they simply sat and waited, a quiet spectator in their own potential execution. Window glass looked out directly into the main dining room, where the party tables sat. Years of grease and dust coated the surface, making the shadows look even deeper. Step. Drag. Step. Drag. Sound was closer now, echoing from the very center of the dining hall. Metallic scraping echoed from the darkness of the dining room. Whoever was out there wasn't trying to hide. Predators wanted the guard to sweat, to cry, to beg for mercy that would never come. They wanted to hear the frantic beating of a human heart. Every instinct in the guard's body should have been screaming to flee, but there was only silence from the security office. But there was only silence from the security office. Standing in the dark, the guard simply watched, hands resting on the armrests of the creaking chair. A quiet sigh escaped the faceless black void of their head. If this was the end, it was at least an interesting way to go. Deep in the center of the pitch-black dining room, something shifted. Shadows twisted, and a silhouette larger than any man slowly materialized against the darkness. It was a towering, decaying figure, the silhouette of a rabbit with long, torn ears. Scent of rot grew stronger, a sickening wave of decay that drifted through the window. Air grew freezing cold, the temperature dropping so rapidly that the guard's breath misted. Mechanical clicks echoed through the empty space. Two tiny white pinpricks of light ignited in the darkness of the dining room. Cold, artificial intensity cut through the shadows like twin needles. Eyes did not wander; they locked dead onto the security window.

Chapter 1: Bacon Hair and Brass Hinges