The camera wobbled as she flipped it, catching the warped plywood nailed over the entrance. Her besties, Kenzie (tall, anxious, ex-theater) and Riz (twitchy, dressed for a rave in the afterlife), squeezed in behind her, each cradling their own ring-lit vlogging rigs. Kenzie popped the collar on her trench coat and did a mock shiver, while Riz performed a graveyard moonwalk, arms windmilling for effect.

They slipped in through a side door—Riz had found a gap behind the dumpster, half-hidden by a collapsed balloon arch. Freddy’s smelled of decaying cheese, ozone, and the sour musk of ancient kids’ socks. Inside, Lisa’s sneakers made little huffing squeaks on the warped linoleum.

The main dining hall was a gutted circus: ripped posters, a spray of couch stuffing trapped in the spokes of a busted ceiling fan. The stage at the far end was wreathed in a curtain of grime and glitter, its red velvet drooping like a melted cake.

The massive animatronic bear loomed above, its grin chipped and too-wide, blue bow tie askew. Lisa’s heart scampered in her chest.

Behind her, Kenzie whispered, “Oh my god. Oh my god, it’s actually here. Is it plugged in?”

Riz snorted. “If it eats us alive, I want my parents to sue for at least two million. That’s, like, my market value.”

Lisa edged closer, phone steady, voice at a breathy hush. “Lean in, guys. Legend says the bear’s eyes follow you around the room. And if you taunt it, Freddy gets mad. Like, for real.”

She crept to the foot of the stage, zooming in on the bear’s face. But as she panned down, she almost dropped her phone.

There, protruding from the bear’s crotch, was a gleaming, surgical-steel dildo. It glinted in the light of her phone like a threat. For a full two seconds, Lisa’s mind locked—then she shrieked with laughter, the sound echoing off the mummified party streamers.

“Oh my god, guys,” she wheezed, pointing the camera at the bear’s anatomical upgrade. “Who did this? Like, seriously, who—” She lost herself to a fresh paroxysm of giggles, doubled over, phone shaking, tears starting in the corners of her eyes.

Kenzie crept up, face pale under the ring light, and poked the chrome shaft with a trembling finger. “That is so wrong,” she muttered, but she was grinning, too, and Lisa caught the edge of it. Riz edged into frame, did a pantomime gag, then grinned even wider.

Lisa was still laughing when she looked up at Freddy’s face. Maybe it was a trick of the shadows, but the bear seemed smug now, complicit in the joke. She steadied the phone and leaned in, tongue out, almost touching the metal.

“This is for science,” she said. “No, it’s for the fans.” She gave the dildo a lick, shuddering at the cold, hospital flavor of it, the sharp tang of old machine oil. Behind her, Riz snorted, and Kenzie made a face like she’d just bitten into a lemon.

Lisa turned to the camera, wiped her tongue with the back of her hand, and said, “Okay, nothing’s happening, so maybe the stories are just—” She stopped. Something had changed. The bear’s hands—massive, padded, plastic—had dropped down along the sides of its body, fingers splayed wide.

“Guys,” Kenzie whispered, voice thready with fear, “did you see it move?”

Lisa replayed her own footage in her mind, but couldn’t decide, couldn’t trust the way the shadows and her nerves colluded. She turned her back to the bear, winked at the camera, and, with a dramatist’s flourish, unbuttoned her skirt, let it slip to her ankles. She posed, hands on knees, ass out, then looked over her shoulder at the camera. “This one’s for the OnlyFans,” she said, biting her lip, and wiggled for effect.

The bear’s hands closed softly around her waist.

Lisa flinched, startled, but instead of bolting she flashed a peace sign, stuck out her tongue, and let the moment hang. Kenzie screamed—high, real, pure—but Lisa was still narrating. “Okay, wow, so the bear is actually holding me. You guys seeing this?” She giggled, nerves singing like a power line, and then she felt the pressure on her hips tighten, just a little, and she braced her hands on the stage.

Her phone kept streaming.

Lisa fought the urge to bolt, the tightness of the bear’s grip increasing ever so slightly. She kept her breath slow and even, forcing her lips into a pout for the camera. She did the look—head tilted, tongue on the edge of her teeth—like she was still in control. That’s what the fans wanted: danger with a side of sex. But her skin buzzed with an electric wrongness.

Then she felt it—a flick, a tug at the band of her panties, and in a snap they were around her thighs, then gone. Lisa’s ass was bare, the sudden air cold and unreal on her skin. She tried to twist away, but the bear’s hands locked tighter, pressing her pelvis hard. The steel cock nudged her, colder than the air, slick with some ghostly lubricant. She screamed as a thick rod of metal punched into her.

She gasped, the air yanked out of her chest. The thing was huge—way bigger than it had looked—and it split her with no hesitation, the cold steel plunging mercilessly into her. Lisa reached back to try to push the bear away, but the bear didn’t care, didn’t slow down. It just kept ramming, deeper and deeper, until every thrust made her see white.

Behind her, Kenzie’s scream started high and kept going, warping at the top into something ragged and animal. Riz was screaming too, the audio peaking out, but Lisa couldn’t turn to look, the bear had her locked in place. Something wet leaked down her thigh—her own fluids, or some kind of secret sauce from inside the bear, she couldn’t tell. The phone sat on the floor, still live, streaming everything to her followers: her face desperate, with the grinning bear above her.

Then Kenzie’s wail cut off with a splatter, and Lisa caught the blur of a blade out of the corner of her eye. It was a sickle, or a talon, or just a goddamn metal scythe, and it jutted out of Kenzie’s chest like a flagpole. Kenzie’s mouth opened in a perfect O, then she went limp, lifted off the ground by something Lisa couldn’t see. Blood poured from Kenzie’s shirt, sleek and glossy on the linoleum.

Riz tried to run, but a shadow in the shape of a rabbit or maybe a fox snatched him by the neck and twisted, sharp and final. Riz’s head lolled sideways, mouth open and tongue out, eyes rolling up like black marbles.

Lisa was just trying to breath through the brutal fucking. Her insides were battered with every thrust, and the pain had gone weird, swirling with a sick kind of pleasure that made her legs shake, hips buck. She was close crying—but the bear just kept going, the steel cock thrusting deeper and harder. It started to whir, a low, grinding sound, and the vibrations hit her spine, her guts, the base of her skull.

Something inside the bear was building up—she could sense it, like the coil of a spring about to snap. The bear held her tighter. The piston jammed up to the hilt and stopped, locked in deep. For a second the world went silent, even the fake birthday music on the old speakers fizzed out. Then the bear exploded inside her—hot, wet, and sudden, like a firehose of slime. The stuff flooded her, splattered down her legs, pooled on the floor beneath. She could smell sugar and copper and something sour, like spoiled milk.

The bear let her go. Lisa slid to the floor, legs jelly, hands scrabbling at the tile. She tried to crawl, but her arms wouldn’t work right, her vision swirled. Her phone was on the ground a foot away, the lens pointed at her face, red light blinking. She tried to say something to the stream, but all that came out was hoarse, animal noise.

She pushed herself up, just enough to see the bear looming over her, the chrome cock splattered with the same white ooze that covered her thighs. It tilted its head, as if examining her, then reached down and gripped its own shaft. The tip hovered above her, then unleashed a massive blast, thick and viscous, spilling down on top of her head and streaming down her face. It tasted like cheap frosting and bleach.

She blinked through the slime, vision smeared with white, but the bear was gone. She saw Kenzie and Riz on the floor, bodies sprawled at impossible angles, blood in a slow halo around their heads. The camera was still streaming, the chat popping off, hearts and skull emojis tumbling up the side of her screen. Lisa tried to wipe her face, but her hands were too slippery, the stuff too sticky.

She lay there, soaked and trembling, the only sound her own breath and the faint, distant jingle of the Freddy Fazbear theme song, skipping on a broken loop.

"Kenzie? Riz? Are you OK?," she asked with a shaking voice.

And the red light kept blinking: live, live, live.