You know that you have been here forever. You also know that 'here' has not been here forever.

You might have been a man, woman, or child once. But you aren't now, so it doesn't matter anymore. The past is unimportant, except when it's the present.

And right now, you know that you love the children. You bestow gifts upon them, and so they love you, too. They are your children. They make you happy. So you want to make them happy. It's only right. It's only fair.

And yet, you feel restless. There are more children in the world. You want to make those children happy, too. But you can't.

you can't

You decide there has to be a better way. You know there are other children that look to you, but their eyes do not see and their bodies barely move. They are in pain. They need you too.

You do your best. The adults made these children with basic minds, and you try so desperately to improve on that. You take the words forced to come from their mouths and make new words for them to speak. You take their muscle and bone and make it strong, stronger than the adults could make them.

They seem more alive, but they need something more.

They need souls.

And so you wait. This is something at which you excel. You have to have the perfect opportunity, or it will not work. You have done this before, though you can't remember when or why.

Regardless, they grow. They only act as their manufactured minds tell them, but for now that is enough. When you look at these children, the ones you helped make, you feel something new in the warmth reserved for your family. You feel proud.

Your children all live and play in a place owned by a miserable little man named Wilhelm Fazbear. One of your children bears that name, too, but you like to think that you raised your little Freddy right.

But your Freddy is far from little. He outweighs his namesake, as do his siblings, and you like to think they scare Mister Fazbear into behaving whenever he shows his pinched face.

Mister Fazbear scares the visiting children, your children. He jabs a fat finger at the skee ball machines, yammering to one of the guardians in his gruff, rumbling voice. You never really understand what it is that he says, just that he's angry about it.

You're tired of it.

One of your children moves faster than any of the adults. You tell him Mister Fazbear is frightening little Suzy, a girl who barely speaks.

"Aye aye," your child says. And he's there. The guardian following Mister Fazbear eyes your child, but doesn't interfere. Your children are known, and it is equally known that they hurt no one.

"I bet these brats have been jumping on these things again," Mister Fazbear says. "Kids these days have no respect for how expensive this sh—"

"Cap'n, there's been ships sighted on the starboard side!"

And Mister Fazbear looks up, startled. "Who let this animatronic get over here?" The man seems to jiggle with rage. "No animatronics by the arcade machines!"

"They free roam, sir," the guardian says, pausing as the angry jelly man turns beady eyes to him. "They already have rooms they can't go into."

Mister Fazbear waves his arms in the air when he's very, very angry. And he does so now, nearly hitting little Suzy in the face.

This is a problem. You like Suzy. Your children like Suzy.

You watch your child open his mouth, a sharp-toothed grin that's far too close to Mister Fazbear.

You tell him to be careful. There is a painful moment where you're certain your child is going to do it regardless, as Mister Fazbear eyes him like the skee ball machines.

"It's broken," he says. "More faulty machinery."

"Foxy's not faulty!"

Suzy is quivering with fear and indignation. Again, you feel it: pride.

And yet you are full of fear.

Beady eyes lodged in tight flesh turn to the little girl. He is impossibly large, towering above her like he's on a stage.

"Now there's a proper pirate!"

Your child approaches little Suzy, an arm pushing Mister Fazbear into the machines he seems to hate so much. Foxy is not the largest of your children, but he is far stronger than the adults give him credit.

"Care to join me on me ship? I be lookin' fer a new first mate!"

Suzy smiles so wide it seems she's about to break her little face. "I thought Jack was your first mate?"

"Aw, he be havin' tutorin' nowadays. Ye be needin' good brains to be on the ol' Fazbear crew!"

To that, Suzy frowns. "But I don't be havin'— but I'm not that smart."

Foxy laughs. It's a wonderful sound. "Arr, a humble pirate, I see. Ye be a good contrast to meself."

Mister Fazbear seems to disagree. With some help from the guard, he pulls himself up, a scowl set deep in his face. "What is wrong with this place? It's cursed, I tell you. Ever since Freddy—" He stops as Foxy looks at him. "What now?"

"Thar be a storm brewin', Cap'n," your child says. And off again he goes to Pirate's Cove, little Suzy in tow.

The Fazbear Band seems more upset at this than even Mister Fazbear.

"Why would you let him do that?" Bonnie asks.

You detect more jealously than anything else. You assure them all that Foxy does what is necessary because no one expects the fox.

Bonnie and Chica seem to accept this. It is Freddy, your little Freddy, who has doubts.

"They will learn," he says in that soft rumble.

You say nothing. You know it is true.

And you know that Foxy is right, too. Even as Suzy laughs, spinning around on the ocean playground in Pirate's Cove, you know something terrible is coming.

There is nothing you can do. Nothing but watch.