God, I loved this world's technology.
Standing in front of our VR development setup, watching my team suit up in haptic gear that looked like something out of a sci-fi movie, I couldn't help but grin like an idiot. In my previous life, VR development meant staring at flat screens and guessing how things would feel. Here? We could literally walk around inside our creations and feel every terrifying detail.
"Alright everyone, time to meet our stars," I said, pulling on my own haptic suit. The thing was incredible—lightweight fabric lined with micro-actuators that could simulate everything from a gentle breeze to getting punched by a robot.
"I still think this is overkill for a design meeting," Lisa muttered, adjusting her headset.
"Paper can't make you wet your pants in terror," Danny replied helpfully.
The sandbox loaded around us—an infinite black void with glowing grid lines. The haptic suits made the virtual ground feel solid under our feet, complete with that squishy feeling of industrial carpet.
"Everyone ready to meet Freddy?" I gestured, and the air shimmered before materializing into seven feet of animatronic bear. The haptic suits immediately made everyone feel the air displacement.
"Holy shit," Danny whispered, stepping back. "He's... bigger than I thought."
That was the point. Looking at Freddy on a screen, he seemed manageable. But standing next to him in full VR? Genuinely intimidating. I'd spent way too many nights perfecting every detail that would make people's brains scream "DANGER."
"Check out the fur texture," I said. "Go ahead, touch him."
Lisa reached out tentatively, and her eyes went wide as the haptic suit simulated coarse synthetic fur with something metallic underneath. "Oh god, it feels wrong. Like petting a corpse."
"Bingo," I said. "And watch this."
I activated Freddy's idle behavior. His head turned slowly to track whoever was speaking, blue eyes following with mechanical precision. But I'd programmed micro-movements—tiny shifts that made him seem alive despite being obviously artificial.
"Nope," Marcus Webb said. "Even knowing it's code, having him watch me makes every instinct scream 'RUN.'"
"Perfect. Wait until you meet Bonnie."
The purple rabbit appeared, guitar in hand, frozen mid-performance.
"Bonnie's thing is patience," I explained. "Everyone turn around for fifteen seconds."
When they turned back, the collective "WHAT THE FUCK" was music to my ears. Bonnie had moved three feet closer, still in the same pose but now uncomfortably near.
"I didn't hear him move at all," Sophia said, spinning around.
"Because he doesn't make sound when repositioning," I explained. "The AI calculates silent movement paths in real-time. It exploits human psychology—we assume static objects stay static."
"This pathfinding algorithm is insane," Danny said, examining the floating code. "You're calculating acoustic modeling for every surface?"
"Proprietary blend with real-time audio occlusion mapping," I said, definitely being smug now. "The AI knows exactly how loud each footstep would be and adjusts based on player attention."
"You're a sick genius," Lisa said, already sketching modifications. "Can we make his eyes more reflective?"
I made the adjustment in real-time. Bonnie's eyes gained a shine that made them disturbingly lifelike. "Now for our lady of the house."
Chica materialized, her yellow feathers bright against the void. But she came with an extra surprise—a subtle vibration through the haptic suits, so faint it was almost subliminal.
"Everyone feel that?" I asked innocently.
"Oh, that's nasty," Marcus Webb said. "She's broadcasting approach signatures through haptic feedback."
"Exactly. Taps into the same instinct that makes you nervous when a building shakes imperceptibly. Your inner ear knows something's wrong before your brain figures it out."
Sophia studied Chica's cheerful "Let's Eat!" bib. "Food mascots are especially disturbing. They're designed to make you feel safe, but..."
"But hunger and hunting are the same predatory instinct," I finished. "Chica represents nurturing corrupted into something threatening."
"These aren't just monsters," Lisa said. "They're psychological warfare."
"Which brings us to our final performer," I said, gesturing toward the far end. "Everyone ready for the pirate?"
Before anyone could answer, I activated the sequence. Foxy burst from the shadows at full sprint. The haptic suits went crazy with wind pressure and ground vibrations as he charged, stopping inches from Sophia's face.
She screamed.
Like, really screamed. She yanked off her headset so fast I worried about whiplash.
"Sophia!" I immediately exited VR, rushing to her desk. She was sitting there, hands shaking, face pale.
Shit. I'd pushed too hard, too fast.
"I'm okay," she said shakily. "I just... wasn't expecting it to feel so real. The wind, the vibration, something that big moving straight at my face..."
"That was fucking awesome," Danny said, grinning. "If it can make a VR professional jump like that, regular players are going to lose their minds."
"The haptic integration is incredible," Lisa agreed. "But we need safety protocols. That could trigger panic attacks."
I grabbed Sophia water, feeling like an asshole. "I should have warned you about the intensity."
"Don't apologize," she said, giving me a look that was part annoyed, part impressed. "That was brilliant. My reaction means the immersion is perfect."
"Foxy's the wildcard," I explained. "Unpredictable, aggressive, but straightforward. Sometimes players need a clear threat after psychological manipulation."
"Speaking of players," Danny said, "who are we torturing first? We need guinea pigs who can handle this intensity."
I thought about Emma, always bragging about being braver than me. "My sister's always saying she's tougher than me. Maybe it's time to test that."
"If she's anything like you, she'll last five minutes," Danny smirked.
"Trust me, she's way braver than me," I said. Though what I didn't mention was that seeing Emma scream in VR would also mean seeing her alive and laughing—something I'd never take for granted in this second life.
Sophia was already sketching interface concepts. "We'll need gradual introduction protocols. Start minimal and ramp up based on comfort levels."
"The goal is entertainment, not trauma," I agreed. "Though the line might be thinner than we think."
"How photorealistic are we going with the restaurant?" Lisa asked.
"Completely," I said immediately. "Every tile, every stain, every flickering light. The more real it feels, the more terrifying when things go wrong."
As my team dove into individual tasks, I found myself watching Sophia work. Same concentration face from high school, tongue poking out when focused.
"This project is either going to make us rich or land us all in therapy," she said without looking up.
"Why not both?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Are you planning to traumatize customers for profit?"
"I prefer 'providing premium terror experiences for recreational purposes.'"
"That's definitely going in the marketing copy," she laughed.
As the afternoon wore on, I couldn't shake this feeling that we were about to change everything. We were creating something that would make people question the line between virtual and real.
In my previous world, Five Nights at Freddy's had been revolutionary for making players feel helpless. But with this world's insane VR tech, we were about to make the original look like a kid's toy.
Based on Sophia's reaction, the world wasn't ready for Freddy Fazbear to become real.
Which made it absolutely perfect.