Phantom Freddy emerging from a half-open metal service door in a derelict animatronics workshop — a tall, bear-like animatronic with matted bronze-brown fur faded to ghostly purple at the edges, seams torn to reveal a glinting, rusted endoskeleton and frayed wiring; one hollow eye socket leaking soft green phosphorescent smoke while the other houses a dim, malevolent red LED; a crooked black top hat and a tattered maroon bowtie hanging askew, jagged metal teeth exposed in a frozen, unnerving grin; translucent areas of his torso and limbs ripple like smoke, emitting drifting motes of cold light. The setting is a narrow, graffiti-streaked hallway of an abandoned family entertainment arcade: flaking maple-wood paneling, warped linoleum tiles, cracked neon posters half-peeled from the wall, scattered spare servos and torn plush toys on the floor, a faint trail of scorched scorch marks leading to the doorway. Mood: oppressive, tense, uncanny — the moment between a whisper and a scream, heavy with dread and nostalgic menace.