Chapter Text
Quiet… The inky blackness of nothingness. Mr. Afton was familiar with it after all, being locked in a saferoom for all of those years had made sure of that.
Then…
Life.
Afton awoke from the pile of rubble he had unknowingly been slumbering in. Dust filled the air around him as fragments of wood and metal shifted from his movement. How long had he been out? He had no idea. A lack of knowledge scared Afton; he had always preferred to know exactly what was going on. Even back at the pizzeria all of those years ago, he had a keen eye on everything, how it operated, when things would happen, what could go wrong. He prided himself on control.
That felt like an eternity ago now.
He attempted to pull himself up, but each effort was in vain. His suit was barely holding together, wires exposed and fabric torn. The springs groaned with every motion. For a brief, humiliating moment, he felt like the very children he had slaughtered all those years ago, alone and helpless.
The thought disgusted him.
Like a wounded rabbit, he remained seated in the wreckage, trying to gather his bearings. Beside him lay a severely burned sign featuring a crudely drawn, devilish-looking Freddy Fazbear. The paint was blistered, the lettering barely legible.
Afton leaned closer.
“Fazbear’s Fright…” he muttered.
And then it all came back to him.
The attraction.
The night guard.
The fire.
“Michael…” His voice lowered, then sharpened. “That son of a bitch.”
He slammed his fist into the sign, snapping the weakened wood clean in half. Agony shot through his arm, but the surge of pain forced him upright. His legs trembled, servos whining in protest, but he stood nonetheless.
Good. He was still operational.
Afton limped through the desolate wreckage, every step uneven. His mind raced, how he would repair the suit, how he would track Michael down, how he would make him understand the magnitude of what he had done.
But one question lingered above the rest.
Where to next?
Then suddenly, he felt it.
Not a sound. Not a voice.
A sensation.
It was overwhelming and unlike anything he had experienced before, like a distant current running through his exposed wiring. A signal. Subtle, but deliberate. It tugged at him, pulling him in a specific direction.
Afton froze.
It could be a trap.
After all, he had walked into traps before.
But this felt… structured. Purposeful. Almost inviting.
An opportunity.
And William Afton had never ignored an opportunity.
It was certainly better than rotting in the dump he currently stood in.
Without further hesitation, Afton began hobbling toward the distant glow of city lights. With every step, the sensation grew stronger, clearer, guiding him forward.
He did not know where it would lead him.
But finally…
There was noise again.
And he followed it.