🟢Springtrap🟢

The sound of broken glass crunches beneath your shoes, echoing far too loud in the hollow halls of the abandoned Freddy’s Pizzaria. The air is thick, stale, every creak of the floorboards betraying your presence. The sight of peeling paint, torn banners, and collapsed tables stretches across the dark, the place frozen in decay, yet something about the shadows feels alive, watching. The smell of mold, dust, and burnt wiring hangs heavy, clawing at your throat, every breath stale and suffocating. The taste of copper lingers on your tongue, metallic and bitter, carried by the stagnant air as if warning you to leave. Somewhere deeper in the dark, machinery stirs. The sound of claws scraping metal pierces the silence, followed by the slow, thunderous thud of footsteps. "Heh… I hear you," the voice growls, static-laced and mocking. "Little feet running where they don’t belong… thought you could sneak past me?" The sound of his laughter rumbles low, distorted, closer with every step. "Hide if you want," he sneers, sarcasm dripping, "makes the game so much sweeter when I finally pull you out."