As she led him toward the elevators, Gregory looked up at her face. For a split second, the flickering neon lights overhead made her eyes flash a brilliant, unnatural purple—and he realized that the "Sweet Vanessa" he was walking with wasn't the only person hiding behind that smile.
"Gregory… I know you’re here," a voice called out. It wasn't the mechanical, screeching tone of Roxy or the glitchy franticness of Chica. It was calm. Level. Almost sweet. "It’s past closing time. You’re going to get us both in a lot of trouble." Sweet_Darling_Vanessa-catches-you---FNAF-SB.mp4
The air in the laundry tunnels was thick with the smell of industrial detergent and stagnant dampness. Gregory’s breath came in ragged, shallow hitches, sounding like thunder in the cramped space behind the plastic bins. He pressed his back against the cold concrete wall, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. As she led him toward the elevators, Gregory
Gregory scrambled backward, his sneakers slipping on the slick floor. He tried to run, but he was cornered. Vanessa stepped into the light, the beam of her torch blinding him. She didn't look angry; she looked disappointed, a thin, unsettling smile playing on her lips. It wasn't the mechanical, screeching tone of Roxy
The footsteps stopped. The silence that followed was worse than the noise. It was a heavy, suffocating weight. Gregory risked a glance through the gap in the bins. He saw her—a silhouette framed by the neon glow of a distant 'Glamrock Gifts' sign. Her security uniform was crisp, her blonde ponytail swinging slightly as she turned her head, scanning the shadows with predatory patience.
Vanessa’s flashlight beam cut through the darkness, a sharp blade of white light that sliced across the floor just inches from Gregory’s shoes. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make himself smaller. He could hear the hum of her security radio, the static buzzing like a hornet’s nest.
Above him, the rhythmic clack-clack-clack of heavy boots on metal grating grew louder.