Mangle POV
I wake up alone as usual, splayed out on the floor like some sort of Lovecraftian carpet. It's three hours after closing and musky air has settled like a warm blanket over the pizzeria. My joints ache from another day on the clock, which can't really be helped. In my line of work, you have to be wary lest you lose a part of yourself.
The others are still asleep, as far as I can tell. At this time of night, such bouts of dead silence are few and far between. It's the only time I feel safe with my thoughts, the only time I'm able to wallow in despair undisturbed.
I'm only kidding, of course; it's not that bad. I love kids and their gleeful admissions of joy. The staff is nice, the other animatronics are alright…don't have much to complain about, all things considered.
It's a strange sensation, though. During these quiet nights, I can't help but to experience an insurmountable feeling of…dread?
No, it's not dread. That's something a human would say. Even still, I feel a void within myself that I can't quite describe, niggling at me like an itch that refuses to be scratched. Longing, perhaps…? Eh, it doesn't matter. Animatronics shouldn't worry themselves with that sort of silly crap anyway.
As I stare into the moonlight, though, it becomes readily apparent that it's not just an itch. It's a predator stalking its prey, a monster on the loose that stalks til it eats its fill. Scott knows what can possibly satiate it, but I must try, for fear that if I don't, I will be swallowed whole.