Foxes. Killer robot foxes. Jumpscaring temperamental foxes. Foxes with pointy painful hook hands.
The guard poured pizza sauce down his back and shook his buttocks left to right. The naked purple crazy guard. He passed by pirate cove, jogging not running. Taking his sweet innocent time, down the pizzeria hall, toward the gray stuffy office. The foxes rose in a fuzzy red boil, filtered out their cove, cleaved the hall like an arrow aiming for pizza sauce-dripping bare-bummed Purple Guy. Purple Guy smiled broad and white, his feet advancing toward the office, tossing his hips from side to side, breathless voice issuing forth, "FOXXXEZ. Zzzzzzzhahahahahaaaaaaaa."
Purple Guy slipped a finger between his perspiring crack, taking away pizza sauce as if from the stale edges of a white bread sandwich. Purple Guy loved the foxes, almost as much as the sticky salty clinging of pizza sauce that formed and hung like stalactites from his perineum, dripped dripping drops.
The foxes closed in. Foxy and Mangle, their animatronic screeching chorus titillating Purple Guy, hooks angry and shining in the darkness, quivering mad. Purple Guy jogged toward the office, licking his finger of the salty sweaty pizza sauce. Pizza pies, Purple Guy thought, and laughed until he fell rolling over the start of safe zone. Pizza pies, thought Purple Guy, and he laughed, giggled, a smile playing over his bare purple puss. "Foxxxxxxes!" Purple Guy exclaimed, as a pair of angry animatronics converged on Purple Guy's sauce sticky ass.
6 AM had chimed, and hours later, when the sun had risen, Purple Guy lay stuffed and mauled, maimed and happy, dead stinking sweet.