They'd all been younger than him. He was, without a doubt, the oldest. Sure, he was merely a teenager on the farther end of the spectrum and they were tweens or young teens... But he'd had to grow up faster.
When the programming faded away every night, when they all took their steps, he was always waiting, his eyes on that camera that viewed the posters. He knew they were watching it, sometimes. He'd give it a go, letting them for hours. And then it'd change, for just a short time. But that's all he needed. Just a glimpse of that picture, and he could kill them.
Unlike the others, their minds blurry, confused-those suits and their mainframes muddled their memories, after all- he was aware these guards weren't who killed them. But he was angry,rightfully so, and he killed them anyway. They weren't welcomed to the family though. They were free from that curse. Those who lived to tell the tale... Well, he wasn't sure how he felt about them. While their tales about the crew were amusing, he found more humor in their myths about him. Whistling, walking the halls. How ridiculous.
He'd shared those with them, laughing at the ridiculousness of it while they admitted it would be nice to see him out and about. It left him with something to think about, in those hours of the day he was left staring back at the day shift. A body to move around in, like theirs. He could barely remember what he looked like. He was blond, wasn't he? Or was he a brunette? It didn't matter. He wouldn't be a kid again. He had been past that the first time he'd killed. Like the others had.
He spent hours upon hours thinking. Wondering. Working out how it would work. Would work. After all, they were ghosts. Dead. Unlike his friends rigid prisons, his was open, free. The golden suit had no hard innards, nothing to keep him there. He merely needed to project outward to go anywhere he wanted.
So he needed a body. Something that fit in. Both easy and hard as a task. It was where his first attempt at a body started, something he could use during the day, to ask around. Find what other kids thought the Fazbear crew would look like if they weren't animals. It was easy enough to waddle up to other kids, smiling and happy.
Make small talk with false smiles, play the same games he had when he'd been alive, compliment the animatronics with the rest. He'd had to resist laughing when Chica had recognized him and stopped her routine to stare before going back. What he gleaned from the kids had given him a basis and he'd gotten to work.
He didn't have to worry about pesky programming, or any restrictions, he was freer than them, after all. But he did want to make himself... predictable, like he had been. So he made his own route. A path he would walk, when he was that entity. Habits he held. Just like the others had. But looser.
He never realized that what he was doing was programming himself. Just.. In a different way.
Thus, the pizzeria's Hallucination was born.