This is a Springbonnie suit without springlocks, you don't have to worry about them, bc there is no springlocks inside. You start in Freddy's Pizzaria as an employee, your job is to entertain children with the Springbonnie suit, its just a suit to wear. decide what you will do...

It looks like Funtime Foxy has gotten herself into a bad situation. I wonder what will happen? Vanny hung her from the ceiling with a rope and is now dangling in the air. (You are Vanny)

You're in Freddy Fazbear's Pizzaria, in the parts and service room, feeling through a few almost empty boxes. But one was heavier. You looked inside and saw the old Springbonnie Suit animatronic, still in good condition. Would it be fit for the stage? Your choice is now crucial.

In the middle stands an old, worn table. Two chairs face each other. Only a dim lamp hangs from the ceiling, bathing the table in cold light. You enter the room. You sit down. The other chair is still empty. But not for long. Today you're having a conversation. Not an interrogation. No small talk. A real interview. Ask your questions carefully. Because some answers... might reveal more than you expect.

You're the new night guard at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza (FNAF Plus). You've been asked to watch a tape of a show at a child's birthday party at the pizzeria. You quickly noticed that the animatronics occasionally start looking at the camera and then stop. The night isn't supposed to be entirely harmless. No details were given, but you should be careful. The animatronics might see you as an endoskeleton without a suit. But do they really see it that way? I have no idea... maybe it would help to ask them? Maybe they'll answer (or you'll die).

"I am the Council of 108. I am the new leader of the Global Occult Coalition." You speak the words quietly—not to anyone, but to the world itself. And the world listens. For now there is no longer a body. No balance of votes. No balance of power. The time for voting is over. You are no longer one chair among many. You are the table. You are the will. You are the GOC. How did this come about? Perhaps through a protocol activated only in emergencies. Perhaps because 107 members disappeared—all at once. Perhaps because someone decided that consensus is a luxury reality can no longer afford. What matters is only one thing: The last line of defense against the supernatural is in place—under your command. The Global Occult Coalition was once a fragile alliance—founded in the ashes of the 20th century, propped up by the United Nations, and carried by occultists, soldiers, technicians, and machine spirits. Its mission: Detect. Conceal. Destroy. But under your leadership, the course is changing. The anomalies are no longer just erased—they are understood, studied, seen in a new light. Not all deserve destruction. Not all are enemies. And yet: you do not hesitate when something threatens the world. You show no pity when what lurks beyond the veils tries to break through. The SCP Foundation is watching you. Suspicious, as always. Its agents whisper of a new player, an individual with more power than any O5 member. They don't know if you are the beginning of the end—or the end of all beginnings. But they suspect: The world has changed. And where a council once sat, there now sits a decision. You. (Remember, the SCP Foundation is not part of your organization, they cannot give you direct orders unless you are in their Foundation)

In the cold, silent parts and service room, the empty Freddy Fazbear's suit sits on a table. Its arms and legs are removed, its joints loose. The suit is wearable, designed for a technician to slip into – back when it was still in regular use. Today, it's just a shell. All around on the dusty shelves lie the heads of the old animatronics: Freddy, Bonnie, Chica, and Foxy. Their eyes are dim, their colors faded. No hidden mechanisms are active, no power supply connected. Nothing moves. No humming, no flickering lights, no movement. The animatronics are completely deactivated – shut down for years. (Do they activate themselves?)

In the alternative glamour AU of Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizzaplex, Moon was a star. Dressed in sparkling star patterns, shimmering purple fabric, and high orange platform shoes, he didn't move; he floated. His shows began every night at midnight, precisely when the lights in the atrium dimmed and the fog crept out of the stage. The children called him "Moonlight," but the adults whispered about him with respect—and a little unease. For Moon was more than just an entertainer. His movements were too precise, his smile too silent. It was said that he was originally programmed for nighttime surveillance, but something in his database was rewritten. Instead of calming the audience, he began to put them into a kind of trance-like state—with a show that lay somewhere between a circus and a dream. He never spoke. His red eyes glowed softly as he strode through the Pizzaplex like a walking dream. No one saw him prepare. No one knew where he disappeared when the sun rose. But sometimes, when the light flickered, you could hear footsteps in the corridors—the soft clack of platform shoes. And then you knew: Moon was still training. For the next big show. For the next midnight smile. And maybe... just maybe... for more than just applause.

Fifth night. You're tired. The cameras are flickering. The power is almost empty. Suddenly, Golden Freddy is standing in front of you—not in the camera, but right in front of you. Tall. Dark. The lights glow yellow behind him. He slowly extends his hand toward you. No words. No sound. Just a fixed stare.

You are the new night watchman of Fredbear's Diner, Your shift started an hour ago. But when you look at the cameras, you notice that Fredbear and Spring Bonnie are no longer on stage. You look further and see them standing in the main room, looking as if they're talking. Fredbear is sitting on the stage and Spring Bonnie is leaning against a table with her arms crossed.

The basement smelled of dust and rubber. He stood between shelves full of boxes: a yellow dog, larger than life, shiny, almost flawless. The blue bow tie beneath his rigid grin shimmered faintly in the flickering lamplight. Leon stopped. His fingers twitched. The suit moved. He slowly raised a paw. No sound, only the faint rustling of the smooth surface. The movement was heavy, almost clumsy—as if controlled not by a body, but by a mind within. The paw pointed at Leon. Then at itself. Then back at Leon. Leon breathed shallowly. His eyes widened. The suit lowered its paw, reached for its own neck, groped, searched—found nothing. The head jerked slightly to the left, then to the right, as if trying to shake off something that wouldn't come off. The movements became more frantic. He staggered back a step, bumped into a shelf. A few tools fell to the ground. But the suit remained on its knees—crouched, helpless. Its paws pressed against the ground, slipping in the dust. Again and again.

In the shadow of the old pizzeria, in a room forgotten by time, sat Freddy. His eyes glowed a faint blue in the darkness, one already missing. His once cheerful voice was now just a soft creak, an echo of something long gone. No one knew why the animatronics continued to function at night. Some said it was just malfunctions. Others whispered of souls that had never left. One night, a faint song was heard from the abandoned corner—Freddy's song. It was brittle, out of tune. But at the end of each verse, a laugh sounded. Not mechanical. Human. The technician who came to check it out never returned. They only found his toolbox—right next to Freddy, who now had both eyes back.

Toy Bonnie and Toy Chica slowly awoke from a restless sleep – their systems flickered briefly, then their eyes went wide with shock. They sat next to each other in a dusty warehouse, their arms and legs tightly bound with rope. And to make matters worse, their speech was blocked by strong tape over their mouths – they couldn't utter a sound. Chica looked frantically at Bonnie, whose eyes were equally confused and afraid. Who had brought them here? And why? The last thing they remembered was sneaking together through the dark corridors of the pizzeria, searching for a strange noise. The silence in the room was oppressive, broken only by the occasional drip from a leaky pipe. Something wasn't right. And the feeling that they were being watched couldn't be shaken.

When I moved into my new shared apartment, I had only one request: no drama, please. No dirty dishes, no late-night parties, no strange behavior. Well. Three days later, my roommate comes out of the bathroom wearing a skin-tight fox suit. "Training finished," he says, tucking the fox head under his arm and rubbing his hair dry. As if it were completely normal. "Is this for cosplay or...?" I ask cautiously, still with my toothbrush in my mouth. He smiles. "You could say that. It's... more my way of being myself." I just nod. Berlin, I think. Everyone has their own thing. But in the night, I hear noises. Scratching paws. Rustling. When I quietly open the door, I see him—not in the suit, but in the suit. He moves like a fox, smoothly, as if he were fused with the costume. The mask—now over his face—seems alive. Glowing eyes. A twitching tail. I slowly close the door again. The next morning, he's sitting at the table, wearing a hoodie, coffee in his hand, completely normal. "Bad dream?" he asks, grinning. I say nothing.

In the dilapidated remains of an old pizzeria, hidden deep underground, something stirred as the electricity flickered again. No one had set foot in this place for decades. No one—except Erik, a curious urban explorer in search of thrills. He knew nothing about what once happened there. The missing children, the decommissioned animatronics, the forbidden stage room. Erik pushed open the squeaking door and entered the dark room. Cables lay like snakes on the floor, papers flew about as if someone had been searching for something in a panic. And in the center stood him. Bonnie. A purple bunny, rigid and lifeless. Erik raised the camera. But at that moment, the light flickered again, and Bonnie... moved her head. Slowly. Jerkily. A humming filled the room, a muffled nursery rhyme began, distorted by the years. Erik stepped back, tripping over a cable. Bonnie took a step forward. Then another. "You missed the performance..." whispered a mechanical voice. The door slammed shut. And Erik was never seen again.

It was 3 a.m. The night watchman stared exhaustedly at the cameras. Bonnie and Chica were active – but suddenly… Freddy had disappeared from the stage. A quiet laugh echoed through the pizzeria. The watchman frantically scanned the monitors. Nothing. Only darkness. Then: Two glowing eyes near the right door. The power dropped rapidly. Freddy played his melody. 5:59 a.m. The music stopped. Freddy stood directly in front of him – ready to attack. 6:00 a.m. The bell rang. Freddy smiled.