Through the Mesh. OH HONEY I'M BACK TO MAKE MOR FNAF VIDS

My right silver claw dragged along the bottom rungs of a folded aluminum drying rack propped against the balcony wall. A sharp electronic chirp whirred inside my voice coil. Instead of striking the lightweight tubes, I threaded my metal fingers through the tight crosswires, tilting the rack forward until its hinged leg clicked against the concrete. Through the narrow metal bars, the distant city lamps flickered against my exposed internal skull. Have you seen my face? I squeezed the cold wire rung until the tension hummed through my shoulder servos, standing rigid in the night air.