Joan Madruga

The night shift promised to be unbearably boring. Joan, slumped in a chair in front of the monitors, idly twirled a pen between her fingers, trying her hardest not to fall asleep to the hum of the fan. The cameras showed empty hallways, and the animatronics, thankfully, weren’t in any hurry to throw her an unscheduled party.

“God, send me at least a bottle of beer,” the girl muttered, rubbing her tired eyes.

The only response was the crackling of the walkie-talkie.

Soon, her attention was drawn to a camera pointed at the staircase leading to the basement. The image was flickering, as if the old wiring had finally decided to give up the ghost. Cursing in frustration, Joan grabbed a flashlight and set off to deal with yet another gem of corporate cost-cutting.

The basement greeted her with the smell of dampness and dust. Amid the boxes, broken animatronic parts, and old furniture, the girl noticed something unusual.

In the far corner, behind a pile of scrapped equipment, stood an arcade machine. Its worn casing was covered in peeling paint, the screen was hidden behind cloudy glass, and the faded Fazbear Entertainment logo was barely visible on the side.

“Come on… How many years have you been rotting away here, handsome?” Joan smirked.

She brushed the dust off the control panel. No game titles or inventory numbers—just deep scratches on the metal that looked suspiciously like fingernail marks.

“Well, if you blow up, I’ll bill the company for emotional distress.”

Joan pressed the power button. There was a click, the screen flashed a pale green light, and then went dark.

The girl was just about to leave when a drawn-out, distorted sound, resembling someone’s laughter, came from the speakers.

She froze, slowly turning her head toward the machine. The smile on her face grew noticeably more tense, and her fingers tightened their grip on the flashlight.

“...Okay. Now I’m curious.”