"So that's what happened to William Afton?" Jeremy Fitzgerald asked as he tilted his head, the red-haired young man's grey shirt faintly visible underneath his purple guard uniform. His friend, the chief technician nodded.
"That's what the whole neighborhood says. He died in that place. They found his Driver's license, his blood, the whole shebang." Michael remarked with a sigh as he sat back in his chair, resting his rather bald head in his hands. His hair was barely there at all, he'd clearly seen better days, and he looked deeply mournful and depressed as Jeremy Fitzgerald sat back in another chair in the lounge room. "...I'll never know why it happened but...it did."
"You think the animatronics got him?" Jeremy asked quietly. His eyes were a soft color like his brother's had been, and his voice, though faintly deep, had a concerned softness to it as well. Freddy Fazbear's Pizza was bright and colorful even inside the lounge room, with gigantic posters showing off the "Toy Animatronics" on display on every wall, a big plushy Freddy Fazbear on the nearby couch, a bright blue refrigerator and a smiling Chica cookie jar on the countertop next to it.
Michael rubbed his head again. "...I think they did. I can't think of any other explanation for...for HOW it happened." He mumbled. "The technicians were dead, after all. Nobody else could have done it, and...and he was too careful to ACCIDENTALLY be killed by that Scooper. It was a bloody mess down there."
Jeremy quietly nodded. He believed it. Putting on his cap, he rose up and headed over to the refrigerator, pulling out a Coke and sipping it. "Listen, my friends and I are going out tomorrow night at 7 to the new Chinese place. If you'd like to come..."
"You really think they want me comin'? I stink something horrible. It comes from working in grease and oil and sweat all day...and from the damned condition my dearest father passed down to poor, unfortunate me." Michael remarked as he sat up in his chair and sighed, shifting back, his skin an ugly, saggy, sweaty and oily mess. His hands were almost black with grease and oil, his face covered in the stuff as well. His uniform looked more like a smock than a proper uniform. But they kept him on because he was cheap, and the only one who knew how to properly operate and fix the animatronics, all of the other technicians had done terribly.
"I want you there." Jeremy said with a nod. "I wanna introduce you to someone very special I've just met. Think you'll really like 'em. They're British, just like you." He added with a little grin.
"Do you promise not to make me do the Dick van Dyke voice?" Michael finally inquired with a sigh. "Do that, and I'll come over with you. Right after I help with the operational manager, Scott. He's a decent chap, but he's a bloody idiot. Talks too much."
"Sounds good to me!" Jeremy cheerily remarked, giving a tip of his purple cap and heading out the door, past the prize corner in Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. He stopped in place, seeing the Puppet thing, the Marionette, was looking up at him from the box. It just...stared...and stared.
Was it trying to place him? Did it have facial recognition like the Toy Animatronics did? Jeremy wasn't sure. He didn't like being around those things either, he'd gotten in trouble with the law for that awful incident a few years back and was afraid to be within five feet of them. But he worked the Day Shift, and they NEVER tried anything during those hours. So he shrugged, and headed out the door, Michael quietly sighing as he leaned back in his chair again...
Remembering the last day he'd been truly human.
...and all the awful, ugly things that had come soon after.
A nice, normal day...as a slave in your own body. He was faintly aware he was walking down the street, the neighbors all cheerily smiling and waving at him. He was the best employee the place had, after all. Freddy's couldn't do without him. Yet he yearned...YEARNED to scream out that he was not himself. That he was not his father, that he was not William Afton. That he'd only been PRETENDING to be to get in, to... But nobody could listen. Nobody WOULD listen. And the memories of those that were forcing him to walk like a puppet were drowning him. They were so attached to their own lie, they refused to believe the truth. They believed he WAS William. And sometimes he almost did himself. But bit by bit, the hold over him was being broken. For after a week of working at the new Freddy's Diner...others began to notice. Their smiles had faded as they saw his skin was...oddly greying. Sickly. Less of a spring in his step, and more of a...pale imitation. Literally. Bit by bit, the smiles were gone, and people's faces looked concerned. Worried. Disturbed. Terrified. They hid behind their houses. They ran away from him before he even stepped out of the building. He shambled his way down to his home, coughing often, panting and heaving, lungs feeling as though they were on fire, a baleful, furious darkness swelling up inside. He was so...damn...mad. And then...then it happened. Their control was weakened enough. The streets had been empty that day, and soon...so was he. He let out a disgusting, foul, unnatural yell and vomited up metal and blood and oil and grease and eyes, flopping onto the ground, hearing Baby's voice whispering, bouncing about in his mind. Her horrible, misguided attempt to comfort him after KILLING him. "You won't die..." A twitch of his arms and legs. "You won't die..." His eyes began to flicker. Turning... Silver... "You won't die..." "You won't die..." "You won't die..." And with that, Michael Afton rose up, his purplish skin barely attached to his frame as he grinned in foul delight. No. He wouldn't die. He'd come back. ...he would ALWAYS...come back...
"You won't die..."
"You won't die..."