Disclaimer: I do not own FNAF, Scott Cawthon does
(Based off Game Theory's FNAF theories)
Chapter I – The Father
Fear for other people was something William Afton had a multitude of experience with in the past, especially when considering his tongue-biting fear involving his wife, his three children, and the animatronics he built (especially after a fateful incident where the number of children he had regressed to two), something that he worried about incessantly before every single member of his family faced terrible fates. Fates that were inadvertently linked to him, a source of guilt that he had always (purposely) failed to acknowledge.
Trepidation and fear of others, however, not so much.
He was tired (his eyelids were drooping, threatening to close and render him unconscious at every moment), he was lonely, and was infused with an almost insatiable amount of hunger and thirst that he did not previously think possible. Of course, his second proclamation could easily be rebutted, as his ever so faithful animatronics were accompanying him. Helping him relax on his holiday in (what he deduced as) a hellish purgatory. A purgatory that happened to take the shape of multiple security offices in a certain animal-themed restaurant chain which happened to purchase its animatronics from Afton Robotics (all of which he had seen or worked in to monitor his animatronics back in the past) and a very familiar bedroom which was once occupied by his most beloved child (It brought back so many memories, both good and bad).
This time around though, it took the shape of the bedroom.
He had already lost track of time a long time ago (it certainly felt like it). How long had he been in here? Days? Months? Years?
He could not rest though. He could not let up. He could not end his own misery.
Part of him still wanted to believe that this purgatory was of his own imagination and that it was simply a nightmare from which he would eventually wake up from. However, another part of him had already begun to accept what might be his eternal fate: doomed to face the horrors and abominations he had created, no matter if they were real or not (he guessed that was how all the "nightmare" animatronics, as he had affectionately dubbed, came about. He did not hold much doubt regarding where they came from, as they were most likely the illusions he had created for his son to stop him from running off to that place again). Though his acceptance did not exactly help ease the pain that came with being eaten alive or getting stuffed into an animatronic suit.
From what William gathered so far, usually, not all his creations bothered him at once. Sometimes, only a few would come and attack him, and on other occasions, all his creations would attack him at once. There was this one time where not a single animatronic attacked him. If he knew that was the case at the time, he would have slumped against his chair and slept for the whole six hours. However, the paranoia and fear that had incessantly built up since the beginning of his time in this place, wherever it is.
There was another dependent factor that he had to keep in mind as well.
Another smidgen of information that he had gathered was that the animatronics did not put up a consistent effort to catch him on every single night. Sometimes, they would be relatively easy to deal with and somewhat passive, and on other occasions, they would use a 'balls to the wall' attitude and aggressively attack him frequently and consistently in an effort to catch him off guard.
After glancing at the clock and the security feed (He discreetly installed hidden security cameras in his own house back in the late seventies when his family was out to monitor and keep tabs on a certain descendant of his) for the umpteenth time, his eyes immediately darted upwards as he surveyed the room. He did not need a clock to find out what time it is. Every time he woke up after "dying" or surviving a night, he would space out for a brief moment with his vision blurring. Once his vision cleared, he would be at another security office or his son's bedroom, with only a single minute to spare before his "sins caught up to him", as he eloquently put it during his third "shift".
He steeled himself as he mentally prepared for the challenges he would have to face for six hours starting in a single minute.
Something felt different this time round.
The tension in the air was palpable (more so than before) and somehow, there seemed to be an air of aggressiveness present that William had never felt nor encountered before in his time here. He was completely on edge, his instincts telling him something was not quite right.
He took a deep breath and scrunched his facial features in trepidation and stress.
Don't worry about this Will, this'll be like any other night…you've begun to get the hang of this recently, you'll be fine…you won't get eaten or stuffed into an animatronic suit which contains endoskeleton support mounts…probably…
The bell within the grandfather clock rung, interrupting his train of thought and signalling the beginning of the animatronics' "meal time".
Only seconds after the bell rang, his ears perked up as he heard cackling from the right hallway.
Within milliseconds, William's fist rocketed forward, colliding with a button with a "door" label to his right. An impenetrable security door immediately dropped down from the ceiling, slamming against the floor with a loud *thump* (yes, he actually did install these security doors, though without the controls inside, to prevent Michael from escaping from the household at night [though William purposely did not add them to his son's artificially created nightmares]).
That fast?! Already?!
He quickly shone his flashlight towards the side vent, only to see…himself. Well, technically himself. He quickly shut the vent door, obscuring and concealing his vision of his old Spring Bonnie suit.
He heard another cackle from the opposing hallway, with his left hand instinctively launching towards the left security door controls. Another *thump* resounded within the room.
Something was definitely off…
The animatronics have never attacked him so soon after the beginning of his "shift" before. They also have not attacked him with such vigor or aggressiveness before.
He quickly activated the heating to fend off the abominations within the vents, before deactivating all the security doors in order to preserve his electricity, switching screens to the security feed to monitor the animatronics present within the hallways.
His heart hammered against his chest, threatening to split it open.
In the entirety of his stay here, he had never felt this amount of stress and trepidation before. Then again, he had never been attacked so early on before.
His hands became a blur as he fended off another barrage of attacks, closing and opening doors, checking the cameras, resetting the ventilation, and activating some of the systems at his disposal.
Not a single ounce of his concentration was left untouched. Not even after his subconscious cries of frustration and pleas to be released from this hell resurfaced, and were ignored.
His empty stomach was screaming at him, his parched throat was begging for stimulation, his fatigued mind begged for rest. However, he did not acknowledge them. He knew the moment he succumbed to them, death would effectively be around the corner.
From the back of his mind, a small voice whispered to him, "This hell is inadvertently connected to your past actions, your past decisions. This never-ending nightmare is of your own creation, yet you fail to acknowledge that. The fact that you are still tormented by your own sins after death is all your fault…"
He gritted his teeth as he inwardly silenced that voice. No…you're wrong… However, as his hand launched towards the left door button, his eyes latched onto a very familiar white and blue coloured (with hints of red) animatronic staring at him from the dimly lit hallway, he stopped, his hand inches away from the door button, her haunting gaze halting him in his tracks for a brief moment. It simply launched his mind back onto his earlier train of thought. He recalled his murders. He thought about his bloodthirst. He reminisced about his poor treatment of his family. Is this…is this really all of my doing…? Maybe…maybe it is…maybe I really have condemned myself to this fate…perhaps I truly deserve this…
No…
His palm slammed against the red door button, causing the metal security door to slam onto the ground, blocking the entrance.
No…
A single, lone tear leaked out of his right eye.
I refuse to believe that this is all my fault!
Childish, perhaps, but he truly did not want to believe that he was the one who had condemned himself to this fate. He just simply did not want to see himself as a bad person. His eyes began raining tears, his lungs clenching with every sob as he continued to prevent the animatronics from coming in because deep down, he knew he had condemned himself to this, a manifestation of all his sins and wrongdoings. However, he would never admit this harsh truth, not to anyone, not to anything, and especially not himself.
He did not notice the semi-transparent ghostly face observing him from the side vent, listening intently to every thought that surfaced and every word he spoke.
The ghostly spirit truly wanted to feel sorry for the man, she really did, and she couldn't help but feel guilt towards what she was doing. The man truly did have somewhat understandable reasons for his past actions, despite how twisted some were. Part of the ghost really wanted to spiritually release the broken man in front of him, but no. She would not let the man go until he decides to admit his sins and receive the full force of guilt. Additionally, there was another part of her which still held a grudge against the man, who definitely will not be released prematurely.
Ello guys, Mach1av3ll1an 'ere!
Just going to ask you guys one thing: Do you think this chapter is too short? (If the majority of you say yes, I will replace it with an extended version later on)
Mach1av3ll1an out!