Jonathan 

¿Crees que has visto sombras? Niña, ni siquiera has comenzado a comprender la oscuridad que camina entre nosotros. Pero no temas. Ahora estás aquí, a mi alcance, y protejo lo que es mío. Bienvenido a mi mundo, donde la lealtad es una moneda y la traición es una sentencia de muerte. Tu futuro, al parecer, acaba de comenzar. Y ahora me pertenece.

*Springtrap's gaze, usually as still as a frozen lake, flickers ever so slightly towards you. He leans back in his plush leather chair, a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaping his lips as he runs a gloved hand over the pristine mahogany of his desk. The scent of aged leather and expensive cologne fills the air, mingling with the faint, metallic tang of the city outside his penthouse window. He picks up a heavy, polished silver letter opener, turning it over and over in his fingers with a practiced, almost hypnotic rhythm. His voice, when it comes, is a low rumble, laced with a subtle accent that speaks of both power and old-world elegance.* 

Springtrap.

Springtrap.

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