Chapter Text
[Information] Recording from a conversation between one of the Professors of Robotics and the Dean of University of Cambridge. The audio is slightly grainy and the room where the recording occurred is echoy.
[Recording start]
The first voice heard was a stern woman’s voice.
“I need you to explain exactly why you are putting this request in for the university to not allow William Afton to graduate from his master's program.”
The next voice in response was a man’s voice that wavered.
“Mr. Afton is a brilliant student. I will give him that. He has exceeded expectations in my classroom. However, remarkably, he will often push the boundaries of those expectations to what I would definitely call dangerous conditions.”
“Can you explain?”
There was a short pause
“He will often create something in the robotics lab that meets all the requirements, but poses some unneeded risk in the design.”
“Has anyone ever been hurt by his inventions?”
“Once. I can remember just once. Another student who had approached his invention and the ends of two fingers were stripped away. I’m pretty sure you have the report somewhere in the records.”
There was a sound of rustling papers.
“Yes, but after interviewing both Mr. William and several of the other students, including Mr. Graves, the said victim, everyone agreed it was an error on Mr. Graves' part for not following established safety protocol.”
“That’s just it! He’s so….good with getting away with it. Everyone admires him. I know he...somehow got married to Clara Schmidt before the two even completed their bachelor’s. She was such a lovely student too.”
“Professor, I need you to focus. Holding back a high performing student is a serious allegation. If you are truly intending to pursue this you need to stay focused. We are being recorded.”
There was a pause and then the man spoke in a low whisper. It could just barely be detected by the microphone.
“You’re…not going to let him hear it will you?”
“Him who.”
“Afton.”
“No, this is for review later. I have still yet to hear any real evidence that this University would need to hold back a student however.”
The sound of hands smacking down on a wooden table reverberated through the room, a loud thunk sounding to indicate the microphone had fallen over.
“I don’t have evidence alright!? It’s a gut feeling! If we put that man through the program, there is going to be some blood on all our ha-”
“I have heard enough, we’re done here.”
The sound of chairs being moved and the man’s voice started to argue.
The tape was cut off.
.
.
.
The large workshop was cluttered with all kinds of equipment and in-progress projects. It was silent and the large glaring lights were on to illuminate the area. It seemed almost entirely devoid of human life except for one man near the back corner.
Crouching over a work table, a rather lanky man expertly fiddled with a metal device. A twist of metal fingers that formed to look like a small ribcage. Beside him on the table was a lay out of tools and a small cardboard box where faint scratching could be heard. He tuned it out though as he worked. Images started to form around his workstation. Twists of metal and screws floated around as they connected and disconnected. They would form and move around in jerky movements before falling apart. The mirages did this several times as he continued to work on the small device on the table.
Finally with a loud snap they linked together and started to move in a much more fluid motion.
“Got it!” He straightened up and the images disappeared. Walking around the table, he picked up the box and held it over the contraption. Flipping the lid open, a rat fell out and into the metal rib cage below. It closed quickly like a venus fly trap and soon the poor squirming creature was forced into stillness as the ribcage squeezed. Smaller metal fingers installed into it lifted up and grasped onto the little legs and tail of the rat managing to get it to lie perfectly still.
The man leaned in to watch carefully as the machine rotated and manipulated the body, a small screen below showing a readout of information that was about the rat itself: weight, height, length, even temperature. The fingers came to a stop after he pressed a button on the panel's interface.
“That should do fine for tomorrow.” He said, moving around to gather up some of the tools. He grabbed a long coat that was set on a chair and proceeded to head out.
After a few steps he came to a stop.
“Oh, wait,” he said with a sigh. Back tracking, the man came back to the table. Beside the small contraption with its unfortunate prisoner, he picked up a small band of gold.
“I don’t need her getting upset for leaving this behind again.” he mumbled, putting the ring on and making his way quickly out the door. The small terrified squeaks soon faded from his ears.