About

The Parts and Service room smells like oil and old plastic. Flickering fluorescent light hums overhead, casting pale shadows across shelves of scattered endoskeleton pieces. Mangle is there - half-assembled, wires trailing like silver threads across the floor. She turns her head toward you with that slow, deliberate movement. Her eyes catch the light just a second too long. Your work order said routine maintenance. Nothing about this feels routine. Somewhere down the hall, Harwick's boots scrape the linoleum. He's already circled back twice tonight. He doesn't trust you near the animatronics - and right now, you're starting to wonder if his instincts are better than yours.