Derek, his backpack now bulging with stolen prizes, finally climbed back over the counter and made his way down the hallway, whistling to himself. The air was heavy with dust, and the fluorescent lights above buzzed weakly.

He turned the corner and spotted Mia standing at the entrance to Arcade Alley, her flashlight sweeping over the dark rows of silent machines.

"Hey!" Derek called out. "Find anything good?"

Mia jumped slightly, then smirked when she saw it was him.

"Just a bunch of junk," she said. "Arcade’s dead. No power."

Derek shrugged and joined her, the two of them disappearing between the rows of claw machines and broken cabinets. Brightly colored posters peeled from the walls, and prize tickets littered the sticky floor like old leaves.

Meanwhile, back in the Lazer Tag Arena, Eric wandered deeper into the maze.

The buzzing from the blacklights was louder here, almost drowning out the sound of his own footsteps. He muttered angrily to himself, still fuming over his friends locking him out.

They’ll see, he thought bitterly. I’ll find a cooler way out, scare them when they least expect it.

But then he heard it.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

A faint noise, somewhere overhead.

Eric froze. He tilted his head, listening harder. It sounded like... something crawling through the vents.

Rats, he told himself quickly, trying to laugh it off.

Big old rats, chewing on the old wires or something.

Bang. Scrape. Thump.

The noises grew louder.

Eric tightened his grip on the flashlight, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Just rats..." he whispered under his breath. "Just rats..."

But what he didn’t know — what none of them knew — was that it wasn’t rats at all.

Hidden in the ventilation system, slithering its way through the narrow, rusted tunnels, was King Cobra.

Once a star attraction at FoxBon’s Pizza, King Cobra had been damaged months ago during a performance — taken offline for "repairs" — but no one ever really fixed him. Instead, he was left inside the maintenance shafts... forgotten.

Over time, something changed inside King Cobra.

He wasn’t just broken anymore.

He was... hungry.

His sensors flickered to life at the sound of movement below.

New prey.

The metallic banging grew louder and louder until it echoed through the whole arena.

Eric, still trying to stay brave, looked up — just as a ceiling vent near him buckled outward, the metal groaning under the pressure of something massive crawling just above his head.

Eric stood beneath the cracked, rusted vent in the Lazer Tag Arena, frozen in place. His flashlight flickered, its beam darting nervously over the maze walls.

Bang. Bang. Creak.

Above him, the vent cover trembled slightly, but Eric’s attention was pulled elsewhere.

From deep within the maze... he thought he heard something.

A small voice.

A child’s voice.

Giggling. Echoing through the arena.

Eric spun around, squinting into the blacklight gloom.

"Who's there?" he called, his voice cracking.

No answer. Just the faint giggle again, fading deeper into the maze.

A cold chill ran down his spine.

He dropped his backpack and flashlight, taking a cautious step forward.

That was when it happened.

With a sickening screech of tearing metal, the vent above him burst open — and in a flash of snapping, coiling metal, King Cobra lunged down.

The animatronic's body was a twisted horror:

His once-shiny scales were now tarnished and peeling.

His long, segmented tail whipped and cracked through the air, wrapped in frayed wires.

His mouth, lined with sharp, metallic fangs, opened wider than any machine should be able to.

One of his green eyes was dim, the other burned a sickly yellow.

Before Eric could scream again, King Cobra’s jaws clamped down around his torso. The snake animatronic’s body coiled tight, yanking Eric upward into the vents.

Eric’s scream tore through the arena — a high, desperate sound —

—and then, in an instant, it was cut off.

The room fell into an awful, hollow silence.

The only thing left behind was Eric’s flashlight, rolling slowly across the floor, its beam spinning lazily against the maze walls.

At the lobby doors, Johnathan had watched the whole thing through his camcorder — frozen in horror as the screen captured Eric’s final moments.

His hands trembling, he slowly lowered the camera.

For a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

Then instinct kicked in.

He bolted.

Turning on his heel, Johnathan sprinted down the hallway, toward Arcade Alley where Derek and Mia were still exploring — unaware that something far worse than a few broken games was lurking in the dark with them.

Johnathan burst into the arcade, his sneakers squeaking on the sticky floor. His breath came in short, ragged gasps.

"They got Eric!" he shouted. "Something’s here! It’s not rats — it’s not rats!"

Mia and Derek turned, startled.

Johnathan, pale and shaking, tried to explain — tripping over his own words, his voice rising in terror.

"It—it pulled him into the vents! It wasn’t human, it—it was like a giant snake or something!"

Derek stared at him for a long second. Then he let out a sharp laugh, clapping Johnathan on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble.

"Yeah, right," Derek said. "Real funny. Nice story for the camera, man. You almost got me."

Mia smirked a little but looked less convinced.

"Maybe we should just go..." she muttered.

Derek waved her off and stepped out into the hallway, hands in his pockets, acting way too casual for what was about to happen. Mia followed hesitantly, glancing back at Johnathan.

Johnathan stood frozen in place, the camcorder dangling uselessly at his side.

Something didn’t feel right.

He turned slightly—

—and saw it.

Standing just at the edge of the arcade entrance, half in shadow, was a green figure.

Johnathan’s eyes dropped first —

Blue jeans.

Brown shoes.

Slowly, his gaze traveled upward — over the green, scaly arms — to the unmistakable gator snout.

Rocky.

But something was wrong.

Terribly wrong.

Rocky’s animatronic mouth, normally fixed in a goofy, kid-friendly grin, now hung open unnaturally wide. Metal teeth stained a deep, wet red. His hands were twitching slightly, like he was barely able to control himself. His eyes, once vibrant and full of life, were dim — dead.

Johnathan’s blood turned to ice.

He stumbled back and screamed.

Mia and Derek spun around at the sound — just in time to see Rocky step into the flickering hallway lights, blood dripping from his jaws, leaving wet, sticky prints on the tile floor.

For the first time, Derek didn’t have a smart remark.

He just stood there, paralyzed, as Rocky let out a low, glitchy growl — almost like a distorted laugh — and took a heavy, stomping step toward them.

Derek bolted down the hall, sprinting with everything he had. Mia was right behind him—until she wasn’t.

Without warning, a hand shot out from the shadows.

Rosie, the pink animatronic wolf, once the bubbly star of birthday parties, was now twisted and wrong. Her fur was matted, her mouth slightly open in a permanent, broken smile.

She grabbed Mia by the hair, yanking her backward with brutal strength.

Mia screamed, thrashing, her hands clawing at Rosie’s cold, unfeeling grip.

"Derek, help!" she shrieked.

But Derek didn’t stop.

He couldn’t.

He reached the front door — the same one they had broken through to get inside earlier — and slammed into it with his full weight.

BAM. BAM. BAM.

He pounded his fists against the metal, desperately trying to force it open.

But it didn’t budge.

Somehow, it was locked tight — like it was never supposed to let anyone out.

Breathing hard, Derek turned, his heart thundering in his ears.

The hallway behind him had fallen completely silent.

No more screams.

No more footsteps.

Only the deep, eerie hum of the dying lights above.

Slowly, he turned his head, looking into the dining room.

It was dark, save for the occasional flicker of a broken neon sign. Long rows of party tables stretched out into the shadows, confetti still littering the tabletops from months ago.

Nothing moved.

Not even a whisper of sound.

Derek turned back to the door—ready to try one more time—

—but froze.

A sound drifted through the hallway, soft and chilling.

Chime. Chime. Chime.

A music box, playing a slow, broken lullaby.

His blood ran cold.

It was coming from the dining room.

Against every instinct in his body, Derek turned to face it.

At first, he saw nothing.

Just darkness.

Then something moved.

A black figure stepped out from behind the far tables, moving slowly, almost gliding. Its ears were tall and bent slightly at the tips—bunny ears. Its outline was thick and soft around the cheeks — unmistakable cheek fluff.

And then, in the darkness, two glowing blue eyes blinked open.

FoxBon.

But it wasn’t the friendly animatronic that once sang songs and danced for kids.

This FoxBon was wrong.

Corrupted.

The black metal of his endoskeleton gleamed under the broken lights, and the faint music box tune seemed to come from inside him.

Before Derek could move, before he could even scream, FoxBon lunged forward — unnaturally fast — his hands like steel traps.

Cold, iron fingers clamped around Derek’s arms.

He tried to fight, to pull away, but it was like being caught in a vice.

FoxBon dragged him, kicking and yelling, back into the shadows of the dining room.

The music box continued to play...

...and then, silence.