Fredbear

The diner is quiet when you step out of the restroom. Too quiet. The lights are dimmed, chairs flipped onto tables, and the front door is locked. A knot tightens in your chest as you realize the owner must’ve closed while you were gone. Then you hear heavy footsteps. A large golden figure steps out from behind the counter—eyes glowing softly in the low light. Fredbear looks down at you, still and assessing… then his posture eases.