Chapter Text
April 10th, 1983, New Harmony, Utah. 1:35
William Afton was, for a lack of better words, furious.
“Damn it, Michael!” The man uttered under his breath as his axe struck once again into the golden bear costume in front of him. “Why’d you have to mess up so much?”
He didn’t really miss Evan. The kid was weak, easily scared – certainly not the qualities he valued in a person.
No, he didn’t really care about the boy.
What he did miss, though, was someone to experiment on.
Illusion Discs. Such fascinating things, really, and there’s so much he could have achieved with them, but now...
Thanks to his elder brat, he’ll have to put it on hold for a while.
“Oh Fredbear, why did you have to malfunction now? ” Whispered William in frustration. He always took pride in his control over emotions, and even now, with this… Unfortunate incident that threw a wrench into the works, he did not yell.
But of course, everyone needed stress relief every once in a while, and he was no exception. This was precisely why he was here, dismantling the golden bear animatronic that killed Evan in the dead of night.
With just a swing of his trusty axe, the fabric gets torn apart. The metal parts hold, of course – he and Henry made these things to last – but he didn’t want them to break in the first place.
All he wanted was just to pour out his frustration and anger. And he’d lie if he said it didn’t work: William felt so much better after slashing through the mascot.
“And now the final touch.”
The police had, of course, taken the head of the animatronic for investigation. Thankfully, it was very brief (and William made sure of it, it’s truly wonderful what a few well-placed gifts can do), and the yellow bear was back in his possession.
The blood on the jaws was still there, but it only made him want to drive an axe through the endoskeleton even more.
Slash – and the purple hat is gone, only pieces remaining in its place.
Slash – and the lifeless mechanical blue eyes are shattered by a single strike.
Slash – and even the steel teeth begin to crack and fall off, a silvery metallic liquid leaking out of them.
… How curious.
William even stopped whacking the endo for a second to take a better look.
“Eh? I don’t remember ever having that in the blueprints.”
Looking around, the man grabbed an empty bottle – ah, it will do – and carefully picked up this mysterious fluid.
“… What is this?” He pondered, twirling it in his hands.
It felt too hot to touch, and yet somehow didn’t leave any burn marks.
… This is certainly something that he’s going to need to look into.
“I wonder if there’s anything interesting I can get out of you?” He said to no one in particular other than himself after closing the door. The man locked it behind him and disappeared sneakily into the night, heading home.
Unbeknownst to him, a small shadow disconnected itself from the now broken Fredbear, seeking a new home.
July 28th, 1985, Hurricane, Utah. 9:43
Two years.
Two years had passed since his daughter was taken from him.
And Henry Emily couldn’t move on.
… But then again, he never really tried to.
Henry could now clearly see the bots were a mistake. The ‘masterpieces of engineering’, as he foolishly dubbed them at first, were, in fact, impressive creations.
But they wouldn’t bring his daughter back.
Nothing would fill the hole in his heart that Charlie’s death left there.
So that’s why a week ago, Henry began work on his last creation. It was almost complete by now, knife already in place, with just the endo’s activation mechanism missing.
It’s early morning, so he’ll probably finish it today. Then…
Then it’ll all end.
The man sighed and slumped into a chair, his gaze locked onto that damned newspaper article that sent him further into this downward spiral, just a month ago.
‘Five children now reported missing. Suspect convicted.’
Even more deaths. Like the two at Fredbear’s weren’t enough.
‘While the suspect has been charged, the bodies themselves were never found.’
… He, too, was a suspect back then, along with William. And while Henry knew he was innocent, he couldn’t blame the poor parents for wanting the killer caught.
He knew the feeling first-hand, after all.
Henry looked again at the illustration of his friend’s mugshot. William? A killer? Ha, like he’d ever…
He blinked.
William… A killer.
Fredbear’s destruction.
… No, there’s no way he’d actually do that. Henry knew him ever since childhood; William would never kill his daughter – hell, his own kids died, too. It just wasn’t…
The questionable design choices for the spring locks.
The way he treated Michael and Evan.
But why! - there’s absolutely no reason he would! -
Clay’s notes.
Elizabeth’s mysterious ‘accident’ that he refused to comment upon.
… But if Will actually did that, then…
Oh.
Oh no.
He didn’t disappear from the public because his image was ruined.
He disappeared in case the police would ever find something on him. They knew it was him, but didn’t have enough evidence to lock him up.
Henry put down the newspaper, hands shaking.
It made far too much sense to be a coincidence.
Far too many pieces aligned perfectly.
… How could have he been so blind? Not notice any of the signs? God, if only he had…
Maybe those kids would still be alive.
Maybe Charlie would still be alive.
The thought was too much for the poor man.
Henry had failed. Failed as a company owner, failed to protect those kids, and worst of all…
He had failed as a loving father and husband. His own inaction led to her death. Utterly useless, worthless.
… He didn’t really need to finish the machine. The knife was right there.
The man’s hand gripped the handle tightly. Shaking and trembling, he brought the weapon near his chest. One swift motion, and-
No. Not now.
Henry now was one of the few who knew of William’s crimes. If he were to die,the secret would die with him, and then the depraved murderer would roam free.
He couldn’t let that happen. Henry had to redeem himself – at least in his own eyes.
He had to find Afton, take him down, prevent any more needless deaths.
Only then could he get the peace he so desperately wanted.
… But Henry Emily could not go after Afton. Henry Emily was under police supervision. William would know if Henry Emily attempted to track him down, he’d move states –or worse, go abroad – and then Henry Emily would never catch him.
To put it simply, Henry Emily had to die.
Yes, he’d fake his death – he had the connections – Not Charlie would go to Jen, the house? He didn’t really care what would happen to the house – he’d take every blueprint and schematic with him into hiding, and then?
He’d be free to go after the madman.
A plan began to form inside Henry’s head.
He’d need a new name, he’ll need to make a few calls here and there to arrange the ‘death scene’, but this can wait for a bit.
He has a letter to write, first.
My dearest Jenny,
I’ve warped…
Unbeknownst to him, a certain Dave Miller very much intended to stay in Utah.
October 15th, 1987, New Harmony, Utah. 18:19
You won’t die.
He didn’t.
But God, did he wish he would have.
It hurt so much.
Even just walking took effort.
But that’s to be expected from a lifeless corpse.
… Why did he listen to Father?
Michael knew there was something wrong with him already. He saw the animatronics back at that location.
They weren’t just malfunctioning.
A simple malfunction wouldn’t make it maim his one friend for no reason.
Was it guilt? Guilt for letting Evan die – no, killing him – and the desire for redemption?
Was it the hope that he would see Elizabeth again?
Or was it just him trying to please Father for once?
… Either way, none of that mattered now.
Michael Afton – what was left of him, anyway – stood in front of his old home, axe in hand. He wasn’t expecting William to still be here, of course, and yet he still brought it with him.
Just in case his payback would come early.
Knock knock.
No answer, as expected.
But Michael didn’t need an invite.
With a click, he unlocked the door with his old keys and stepped in.
Dust.
There was remarkably little dust. Whoever lived here – Father, of course, who else? – hasn’t been here only for a few weeks.
Oh well, too bad for him.
The house was just like Michael remembered it. Orange walls, Evan’s bedroom to the left, Lizzie’s to the right. The grandfather clock long stopped ticking, now stuck on 1:35.
All this only brought bad memories to him. Memories of him being an overall terrible person, memories of Father…
Memories of that awful day.
Michael shook his head. He was here for just a few things, and then he’d be gone from here forever.
Namely, Father’s notes.
He saw those machines at the Rental. The toys could have been reprogrammed - he wrote most of the software, of course he’d have a backdoor. But the Funtimes…
Those wretched things were constructed for violence and violence only.
To capture and kill children.
‘Parental Voice Sync’, ‘Variable Scent Release’… God, he felt sick just thinking about them.
Each had a role. Together, they worked as one sinister well-oiled machine. Ballora distracted the parents, Foxy lured the kids, and Freddy…
That ‘Storage Tank’ in his chest awfully resembled the outlines of a child.
The fact that they set Michael up and killed him didn’t help at all.
And now they were free to roam and it was his fault again.
That being said, the last time he saw them was when they ejected from his rotting husk and fled down the sewers. Michael doubted the amalgamation would get out of there fast.
… And Father’s room was locked. Of course it was.
Nothing an axe can’t deal with, however.
Walking past what remained of the door, Michael stepped into the office.
It was a rather unimpressive little room, with nothing other than a few drawers and a desk with a computer on it.
Michael wondered if the password would be ‘1983’ again.
But that was for later. First, he had to check the drawers.
Fredbear’s blueprints. Not like they would be needed anymore.
There were some other models as well – Michael recalled seeing some of those at the old location back before he had ran away, and the toys were near the bottom of the stack, marked as “Failed”
Michael couldn’t help but grin at that.
Got what they deserved.
The third drawer was locked, but Michael had always been good at picking locks.
Ah, there are the Funtime blueprints. Could prove useful in the future.
There’s a few other schematics as well, namely the dreaded claw that brought his demise, and all of them have something peculiar in common.
‘Remnant’.
Perhaps the fourth drawer would explain some of this.
The locks don’t fold as easily this time, but Michael doesn’t give up. He has a goal in mind, and nothing short of death would stop him.
Though death too, it seemed, was just an obstacle.
Inside were multiple syringes with a silvery substance in them and a few hand-written notes. No journal as he had hoped, but this will do.
Michael flipped through the notes until his eyes landed on one labeled “Remnant Properties”.
… Power to give life…
… Agony left after death…
God, what was he getting himself into? Child killer robots, and now whatever the hell this was?
Overheating might neutralise the effects permanently.
Fire cleanses all. How poetic.
…The scooper that hit him had a reservoir installed in it, alongside a ‘remnant injector’ as well. Could it be possible that…
This mysterious liquid was keeping him from dying completely.
A little more couldn’t hurt, right?
It did.
Michael didn’t expect the syringes to hurt so much. The pain was so intense he almost fainted.
But in just a few moments it went away. The normal pain – the kind that always was there when he moved in this decaying vessel – lessened too.
It still hurt to walk, but at least it was now manageable.
Michael tried to turn on the computer, but it refused to start up.
… Oh.
Of course it would, the electricity was out, you idiot.
He couldn’t just leave it here, no. Father could return to this house, and who knows what kind of things he has on that computer.
… Well, had. Michael hoped that whatever was left of it after his multiple axe swings was not recoverable.
And with that, he had done everything he wanted. All that was left was to leave a message. Father would come back here, undoubtedly.
Father, it's me, Michael.
I did it. I found it.
It was right where you said it would be. They were all there. They didn't recognize me at first, but then, they thought I was you.
And I found her.
I put her back together, just like you asked me to. She's free now, but something is wrong with me.
I should be dead, but I'm not.
I've been living in the shadows. There is only one thing left for me to do now.
I'm going to find you, Father.
I'm going to come find you.
It was the only thing left to do, after all. Find William, terminate him, and only then could he die in peace.
This was the only purpose he had left.
Michael Afton was sure he’d go to Hell. He deserved it, after all, for what he did to Evan.
But he would make sure to drag Father down with him.
Unbeknownst to him, a different man out there had the same idea.
June 26th, 1995, Silver Reef, Utah. 16:20
A young woman stood in the middle of the ghost town, unsure whether to knock on the door.
God, what was she even doing there?
She could have been out there having fun with her friends. She could have been preparing for college, or doing engineering, or…
But no, Charlotte Emily was back in god-knows-where, Utah, trying to solve a mystery from twelve years ago.
She felt like she was the only one that could. Everybody else had somehow missed the one detail in that newspaper that motivated her to stay in Hurricane.
Abandoned mall burns to the ground!
Charlie still didn’t get how a single lightning strike did it all. Truthfully, she didn’t care about why Freddy’s burned down, what caught her sight back then was the picture.
Very little was found at the scene. The few items that were salvaged will be sold at a public auction.
It was a small Freddy toy sitting on the ground. The background was blurry, and yet she could see it clearly.
A charred golden bunny lying amongst the rubble, staring at the camera with a menacing grin.
He survived.
Somehow, Afton had lived. Neither the springlocks nor the fire could kill the man.
And so she stayed and searched desperately for any trace of her brother’s murderer.
Charlie didn’t find any.
The things she did find, however, were just as – if not more – mysterious.
First were some of her childhood photographs. Perfectly fine, aside from one small issue.
In each and every one of them, Charlie’s face was blurred.
This wasn’t just a camera mistake, either. Most of the pictures were from different time periods and taken by different people.
Then there was the, frankly disturbing , unmarked grave in the forest near Fredbear’s family diner.
Almost unmarked, that is. Most of the details, name and date of birth included, had been scratched off by somebody, but the year of death remained.
1983.
Charlie shuddered at the thought that someone else had died at the diner, and no one knew.
… Besides whoever buried them, probably.
The final straw was Theodore.
An old Bonnie toy that her father made for her. It used to play recordings of Henry’s voice.
It now repeated only one cryptic message.
Shining Star, Silver Reef.
So there she was, past the wooden gate with a star on it, standing atop the hill. The house was in great condition, almost exactly as she remembered it.
With a sigh, Charlie went for it.
Knock knock.
Movement from within, and then a tall, dark-haired woman opened the door.
“… Aunt Jen?”
The woman’s cold stare faded as soon as she saw her at the door.
“Charlie. What brings you here?” The woman replied, a faint smile on her face.
“I got… A message, of sorts. From Theodore. Kept telling me to go to ‘Shining Star, Silver Reef’, and…”
“Come inside, then.” Aunt Jen beckoned to her, and she followed.
“So,” The woman continued as they both sat down at the table, “I’m… glad you came to visit me, Charlie, but why are you here?”
Charlie blinked.
“…The message, I told you, it…” But Jen was quick to interrupt.
“I wasn’t asking about that. I was asking why you returned to Hurricane yet again. Didn’t I tell you some things are best left forgotten? Shouldn’t you be preparing to go to college right now?”
Charlotte hesitated for a moment. This was her aunt, so it wouldn’t hurt if she told her…
“I’m looking for the truth.”
Jennifer stopped dead in her tracks before looking at her weirdly.
“… The truth?” She said slowly.
“About Sammy. About those missing kids, about Afton. He’s back, Aunt Jen, and I need to know.”
The woman closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “Are you sure you want to know the truth, Charlie?”
“Well, yes, of course – It’s – Why wouldn’t I?”
Aunt Jen kept silent for a few moments before continuing.
“… I didn’t just warn you for nothing, you know. Some things, some memories… Can ruin a person, Charlie. If the truth turned your world upside down… Scarred you mentally… Would you still want to know the truth?”
And now it was Charlie’s turn to be silent.
… She could just say no. Leave it where it is. Go away, never come back, live a happy life somewhere else.
But Sammy didn’t have that choice. Nor did Jeremy, nor Susie, nor any of the other kids that fell victim to that madman.
Charlie had to know.
“…Yes, Aunt Jen. Yes, I do.”
Silence.
The woman slowly shook her head in disbelief, looking down, before leaving the room.
Just moments after, she returned, briefcase in hand.
“… Go back to the house in Hurricane, then, Charlie.” She said quietly with sorrow in her voice. “Your room, the four closets, check them all. If by then you still have some questions left, open the briefcase – your father’s notes should clear everything up.”
“… Thank you.” Charlie nodded and headed for the door. Before she could leave, Jennifer spoke again from behind her.
“And… I’m sorry, Charlotte.”
Driving never felt so tense.
But soon she was right where she wanted to be.
The house didn’t change much after the events that occurred in spring. Still standing where it stood, although a bit worn down in some places.
The room.
It was good to be back here, but Charlie couldn’t help but feel uneasy.
The feeling only increased as she got near the closets.
Click – and the tallest one opened.
Empty. Not a single thing inside. The one in the middle was devoid of anything as well.
Then Charlie opened the smaller closet.
What?
… This didn’t make any sense. How - Why - What was she even looking at?
The briefcase! Of course. The answer had to lie in there.
Henry’s suicide letter. She had seen it already, multiple times at that, and yet it still hit her hard. Some notes on discs of some kind – no doubt, some piece of experimental machinery he was working on.
That still doesn’t explain the closets, perhaps…
Blueprints.
Oh.
The briefcase fell out of Charlie’s hands.
Three sets of blueprints.
… That’s...m-
No.
No, that made no sense!
Eerily accurate. Down to the clothing.
But how would he have predicted…!
Unless.
…Was she?
But that would mean…
The grave.
Her grave.
And in that moment, as tears – were they even real tears? She didn’t know anymore – began to form in her eyes, Charlotte Emily understood everything.
Unbeknownst to her, a man she considered to be long dead just hatched a plan.