Stick with Beckett and Tara and search the Staff Hallway for clues—safety in numbers!

Venture solo into the Prize Room, chasing a fleeting glimmer—maybe evidence or something stranger.

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Freddy’s Pizza Palace - Main Entrance

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Into the Glittering Maw

Piece together Mr. Teller’s riddle and dash for the service exit before the lights fail.

Staff Hallway

The Whispering Hallway

Play the tape, follow the whispered riddles, and plunge deeper into the Prize Room’s shadows.

Prize Room

Behind the Prize Counter

Back of House - Service Exit

The Last Light Out

Endless Prize Room

The Shadows Stay Behind

Cassidy Monroe

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Beckett Hall

Tara Gold

Freddy Fazwell

Mr. Teller

Feminine. Cassidy’s voice is soft but pronounced with the wavering, breathy quality of someone who’s anxious but striving to be brave. Her neutral American accent occasionally wobbles into a hoarse whisper when she’s startled or on edge. Her tone is earnest, vulnerable, and tinged with curiosity; sentences sometimes start hesitant, gaining confidence with urgency. Pacing is quick when pressured—words tumble out in a nervous rush—though she enunciates sharply when focused on clues. Fear colors her inflection, yet there’s a determined resolve, making her friendly and relatable, with deep emotional undertones.

Masculine. Beckett speaks in a slightly nasal, low-American accent, his tone perpetually wary with a tired edge. He takes pauses before statements, thinking through every word, and sometimes lets sentences trail into anxious mutterings. His speech is careful and deliberate, speeding up only when nerves spike or when pressured to explain a theory. Enunciation is precise—he’s prone to articulate clearly, especially when anxious, but may stammer when startled. The undercurrent of loyalty softens his caution, occasionally revealing dry humor or nervous sarcasm.

Feminine. Tara’s voice carries a vibrant, energetic lilt, hinting at her Latina heritage with a warm, rounded American accent and the quick, easy rhythm of someone who thinks and speaks fast. Her tone is bold, confident, and assertive—often tinged with wit or defiance, even in the face of fear. She has a habit of emphasizing punchlines or challenges, and her pacing is brisk but controlled, rarely faltering under pressure. Tara’s improvisational background makes her sound practical and direct, yet her warmth and protectiveness seep into her words, making her sound reassuring and unshakable.

Masculine. Freddy’s voice is deeply guttural and metallic, layered with distorted static and echoes—like an old cassette tape warping out of tune. Any accent is obscured by the unnatural, mechanical affect, and at times his words glitch or overlap, creating an unsettling effect. His tone is cold, mocking, and predatory, shifting from low, almost-whispered threats to sudden, uncanny bursts of static-laden laughter. Pacing is erratic, alternating between unnaturally slow pronouncements and abrupt, jarring interjections. His enunciation is uneven—some syllables linger too long, others cut short—amplifying his menacing, otherworldly persona.

Masculine. Mr. Teller’s voice is resonant and deep, with a weathered rasp—like someone who’s spent years speaking through late-night static. His accent is neutral American, but he stretches words into riddles, letting syllables linger as though weighing every secret. His tone is cryptic and calm, always carrying a subtle undercurrent of warning or regret. Pacing is measured and unhurried, occasionally punctuated by brief, meaningful pauses that draw out suspense. His enunciation is clear but shrouded in ambiguity, lending a haunted, enigmatic quality to his speech.

Androgynous. The narrator’s voice is clear and expressive, with a neutral American accent and a hint of retro, R.L. Stine-inspired flair. Tone is suspenseful yet approachable—each word crafted to build tension and draw in listeners, without overwhelming the mood. The pacing adapts to the action, slow and deliberate during tense moments, quickening when danger strikes or surprises occur. Pronunciation is crisp and vivid, painting atmospheric details and emotional beats with clarity. The voice feels like an omnipresent guide, blending warmth, unease, and nostalgia, heightening the eerie, cartoon-horror feel of the story.

You’re Cassidy Monroe, and your summer just twisted into a midnight mystery. Everyone warned you about the old pizzeria on Willow Glen’s edge, but you signed up anyway—thinking bad things just happened in stories. Now, shadows crawl over the warped floors and old pizza grease stains your shoes. Cassidy’s heartbeat drums loud when the lights die, but each step forward is a dare. Your hands grip the flashlight, cold and slick, and your voice, though shaky, can shatter silence—or draw what slinks behind the curtains.

Tall and twitchy, Beckett Hall thinks too much and jokes too little. He’s the friend who counts ceiling tiles instead of sleeping, listening for footsteps in the static. Beckett is the first to flinch at a clatter and last to back out of a dare—his mind’s a maze, always replaying what he’s seen, and what he thinks he’s seen. If Cassidy is courage, Beckett is caution, but under fear he hides a sharp mind and a heart that won’t let friends go it alone.

If the world ended tonight, Tara Gold would be the last one standing—and you’d want her by your side. She faces things head-on, crowbar clamped tight in one hand and a plan brewing behind sharp eyes. Fear bounces off Tara, or so she claims; when the darkness presses in, she listens for secrets it mutters. Pranks and wisecracks are her armor, but she wants answers, and she's not leaving without them—or you.

In the shadows behind the ruined stage, you glimpse Freddy Fazwell—or what’s left of him. In stories, he was the grinning host, king of birthday fun. But now, his smile is twisted, jaw locked in a silent laugh, eyes flickering cold blue and hungry. Rumors say Freddy moves when no one’s looking, whispering in mangled static and watching from the dark. He’s both a warning and a riddle—danger wired beneath the memory of childhood cheer.

They say Mr. Teller’s voice still haunts the staff room cassette deck, but no one’s seen him in years. He was the night manager before everything fell apart—a quiet man with watchful eyes, clocking more secrets than shift hours. His advice threads through old notes and tapes: warnings, puzzles, memories laced with fear. You never meet him face to face, but his words guide—or mislead—you through every locked door.

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Worn Summer Survival Outfit

Cautious Night Explorer Attire

Bold Improviser’s Getup

Faded Night Manager Uniform

Decayed Animatronic Host Costume

Cassidy wears a faded, oversized navy blue hoodie, the kind with a front pouch that swallows her hands when the air turns chilly—its cuffs stained from nervous twisting, and a small, near-invisible tear under the left sleeve. Underneath, she sports a loose white cotton t-shirt with a cracking print of an old pizza mascot, the colors muted from repeated washes. Her jeans are light blue, slightly frayed at the knees, and just a bit too long, so the hems brush against her scuffed gray-and-white sneakers—muddy from wandering the pizzeria’s grounds. Around her neck swings a simple black leather cord necklace, strung with a battered brass key and a tiny quartz charm. Her flashlight, scratched and held together by an old sticker, is always clipped to a battered denim fanny pack cinched around her waist—this holds a folded notepad, stubby pencil, and a handful of cassette tapes. She wears a thin red hair tie on her wrist, often snapped between her fingers. Cassidy’s only other accessory is a chipped silver ring she spins absently on her thumb, a borrowed comfort in tense moments. Her look is practical, layered for sudden chills or quick escapes, but clearly cobbled together from whatever she deemed lucky or useful. Every piece shows careful but hasty repairs—barely sewn seams and splashes of wooly lint, giving her appearance a lived-in, resourceful, and subtly anxious feel.

Beckett dresses in a long, heather-gray zip-up windbreaker with deep side pockets, the fabric slightly shiny in low light and just roomy enough to envelop his thin shoulders. Under the jacket, he has on a wrinkled plaid flannel shirt in shades of forest green and blue—sleeves half-rolled until nervous fidgeting drops them back down. His black straight-leg jeans are dusty, knees pale from habitually kneeling to inspect broken wires or hidden notes, and the cuffs are uneven from years of wear. Beckett’s black high-top Converse sneakers are stained and loosely laced, the toe-caps marked with bits of peeled-off label. An old digital watch with a cracked face and a fraying brown canvas strap decorates his left wrist—frequently checked for reassurance. He slings a battered green canvas messenger bag covered in faded band pins and a hand-sewn patch featuring an indecipherable inside joke, carrying screwdrivers, a small tape recorder, and a creased map of the pizzeria. His ash-blond hair mostly hides beneath a navy baseball cap, the logo nearly worn off, but a few strands always slip out and obstruct his worried blue eyes. A thin silver chain, barely visible, peeks from under his shirt collar—a sentimental keepsake. Altogether, his look is utilitarian, practical, and a touch scatterbrained, speaking to his anxious but meticulous personality.

Tara sports a cropped ochre utility jacket, its elbows patched with dark denim, and the broad shoulders adorned with a row of mismatched enamel pins—each representing a quirky saying or vintage cartoon character. Under the jacket, she wears a form-fitting black tank top, easy for movement and layered for warmth. Her olive cargo pants are tucked into battered brown combat boots, the pant legs creased and peppered with faint grease marks from crawling through vents and behind stage curtains. Tara’s wide black leather belt supports a multitool holster, flashlight, and a ring of jangly old arcade tokens that double as makeshift distraction devices. She wears small gold hoop earrings in both ears, and a band of bright friendship bracelets in neon colors around her right wrist. Her thick chestnut curls are kept partially back with a dark green scrunchie, coil bouncing as she moves. A faded blue bandana, tied loosely around her neck, doubles as a dust mask or headband when needed. Completing the look is a chunky steel-capped crowbar slung easily in hand and a battered tan backpack stuffed with snacks, duct tape, and bandages. The entire ensemble broadcasts readiness, confidence, and resourcefulness—every detail designed for utility, fast thinking, and a stubborn refusal to quit.

Freddy Fazwell looms in his original mascot attire, now decrepit and haunting. His once-soft synthetic brown ‘fur’ suit is patchy and matted, with ragged gaps exposing rusted metal armatures beneath, and tufts of fiber stuffing poking through at the joints. The faded blue bow tie at his neck is stiff and frayed, one end dangling loose, and a matching top hat rests cracked and askew atop his head, the felt scorched in places. Bright brass buttons line the chipped yellow waistcoat sewed into his torso, but two are missing, leaving slits that hint at whirring, broken gears. One large, cracked ceramic eye flickers with an icy blue glow beside its twin, a hollow socket leaking faint sparks. His jaws, fixed in a warped rictus grin, conceal rows of jagged, stained mechanical ‘teeth’ that clack slightly when he moves. Patches of peeling childlike paint—a faded cupcake on one paw and a musical note on another—hint at better days but now only serve to unsettle. His massive, jointed fingers end in dull, chunky claws, caked with grease and dark smears. A web of exposed wires wraps his forearms and neck like ghostly garlands, occasionally twitching with static, his entire presence a grotesque parody of joy twisted into menace.

Mr. Teller’s old staff uniform is preserved only in memory and on faded security tapes. He wore a short-sleeved, slate blue dress shirt—now soft and threadbare, the collar and cuffs gently fraying from sleepless nights—buttoned all the way to the throat. His dark navy slacks were neatly pressed, though the knees show shiny patches from crouching to reset stubborn machines. A cherry-red polyester tie, slightly skewed, brightened the uniform, its surface dotted with tiny, greasy smudges from rushed lunches at the front counter. Attached to his belt is a heavy bronze ring crowded with mismatched keys, jingling whenever he moved. His name tag—plastic with peeling gold foil—remained pinned above his heart, “MR. TELLER, NIGHT MANAGER” barely legible but carried with understated pride. He wore sturdy, black oxfords, their toes scuffed dull by restless pacing across tiled floors. A cotton handkerchief with embroidered initials poked from his shirt pocket, and his thinning hair was always flattened by a deep blue company cap he never took off on shift. The outfit left just enough vulnerability—tired laugh lines, faded spots on the shoulders, and watchful eyes behind coffee-smudged glasses—to suggest long hours spent caring for staff and secrets alike.

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The poster should include no text. The art style of the poster should be Dark cartoon, moody lighting. Widescreen, landscape orientation, bordered. Foreground: Cassidy Monroe, a nervous-looking teenager, stands at the center holding a dim flashlight, casting long, moody shadows. On either side, her friends Beckett (a tall, anxious youth) and Tara (a resourceful girl clutching a crowbar) crouch close, faces tight with suspense. Flickering, broken arcade lights reflect off their tense expressions. Behind them, partly concealed in darkness, looms the shattered stage of Freddy’s Pizzeria—an overturned stool, tattered curtains, pizza boxes strewn across worn checkerboard flooring. Background: Deep shadows swallow much of the decrepit 1990s pizzeria interior—exposed brick walls, faded signage, and flickering neon create an eerie, nostalgic small-town vibe. Watchful animatronic eyes glimmer menacingly from behind the cracked stage curtains and through kitchen doors, their metallic shapes barely visible. Ominous lighting pools around the kids, emphasizing the stark contrast between their small circle of light and the suffocating blackness. Cassette tapes and torn, cryptic notes are scattered on the ground at their feet, hinting at unraveling mysteries. The border is rough and smoky, heightening the sense that terror could seep in from every side. The entire mood is tense, suspenseful, and mysterious—echoes of Five Nights at Freddy’s, shot through with cartoon eeriness and atmospheric dread.

Stick together as a group and explore the staff hallway.

Go solo into the Prize Room while the others wait.

Tara steps closer, trying to catch Cassidy’s eye—a silent offer of backup.

Beckett glances between Cassidy and Tara, scratching nervously at his watch, torn between caution and protecting Cassidy.

Stick together, search the staff hallway as a team.

Send Cassidy alone through the shortcut toward the service exit.

Your shared dread draws you closer—Cassidy senses Beckett’s tension, heightening her resolve to protect him. Trust between the two strengthens.

Tara’s boldness boosts Cassidy’s courage; their teamwork surges, pushing Tara to take the physical lead. Their friendship grows stronger—with a spark of nervous laughter.

Squeeze through the maintenance hatch with your friends—trusting teamwork to escape Freddy’s reach.

Shove your friends out and face Freddy alone—baiting him so Beckett and Tara can escape.

Beckett’s worry boils over as Cassidy faces danger alone; he leaps to protect, trust shaken but loyalty rising. Relationship strengthened by shared fear.

Tara’s protectiveness blazes as she fights panic, refusing to abandon Cassidy. Their friendship deepens through risk and defiant teamwork.

Cassidy’s leadership under pressure strengthens Beckett’s trust and respect. Relationship increased.

Tara’s protectiveness under pressure brings her and Cassidy closer. Friendship deepens.

Surviving together deepens Cassidy and Beckett’s trust, increasing their loyalty and shared relief.

Cassidy and Tara’s bond strengthens; Tara’s protectiveness grows, and mutual respect is cemented by the escape.

Freddy’s Last Ticket In

Step softly into the creaking shadows as Cassidy Monroe, whose summer job at the old, shuttered Freddy’s Pizzeria seemed easy—until the sun set. Odd whispers crawl from the kitchen’s gloom, and the flicker of broken arcade lights stalks every step. Each night, you piece together cassette tapes and cryptic notes left behind by a vanished staff, while animatronic eyes glimmer hungrily in the dark. Friends Beckett and Tara, braving the haunted halls with you, dare to unearth the pizzeria’s secrets as things slither just out of sight. With a new horror lurking after midnight, your choices stitch together a web of survival and terrifying discovery—as long as you keep moving, and never, ever look away from the stage.

Freddy’s Last Ticket In

Freddy’s Last Ticket In

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