Warning:

This story, like the original lore on which it is based, contains graphic depictions of death, including the killing of innocent children. Reader discretion is advised.

Author's Note:

It has been a long time since I tried writing FanFiction, and I honestly was not very good at it last I tried, but I found myself quite inspired by the FNAF lore, so here we are, in a perspective I have not seen done before, and with a little more experience under my belt, having served as a beta-reader for a while.

I heartily encourage constructive criticism, whether by review or private message. I always want to improve. If you liked it, then I certainly want to know that, too! What jumped out at you? What did you find meaningful? Review every chapter, if it pleases you!


Very well, then. I will start at the beginning.

I had a friend, once, you know? I did not really look for people with whom to associate, but this one reached out to me for whatever reason. Consorting with him was... interesting. We were in elementary school. He and I lived in the same neighborhood, and we would walk together back home from school. We enjoyed being away from the crowd, so instead of taking the main roads, we took a shortcut, following a ravine through a small wood.

I am not sure what grade it was. It was very long ago. I do remember this one day, though. At lunch, I saw that Albert had a cupcake in his lunch. This was special. Albert's family did not have much. He came to school with worn out shoes and crudely patched up jeans. Still, though his classmates always had better toys and nicer clothes, he kept a friendly, positive attitude about it, which was unusual for someone our age.

Most little bastards that age lose their minds over not having the best things, not having the newest toys and games, always wanting mommy and daddy to keep giving more and more. Rotten, parasitic little-

I got off track. I apologize. I was talking about a cupcake. This was a special cupcake. However, after Albert finished his sandwich, he simply put his cupcake back into its bag, into his backpack, and waited for the bell to signal us back to class. "What child our age would pass up a block of sugary chocolate and frosting?" I wondered.

Once school let out for the day, he and I started to walk home, as we usually did. I took that opportunity to ask him.

"Why didn't you want your cupcake? Is something wrong with it? Is it stale? Rotten?"

"No. Um... I'm sure it's really good, um..."

Albert stammered. I found this very grating on my nerves.

"I- I... m-my little sister's birthday is today, a-and. Well, um... it's hard b-because we d-d..."

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I knew I had to be patient. If I insulted Albert's disgusting speech impediment now, I might not learn what motivated him, and I was interested in learning. I was always interested in learning.

"We d-don't have anything... for gifts th-this year. Um... ah... so, I wanted to give it to her. We- um... it's worse for us... this year, and well... she deserves something."

I felt my blood start to boil as he stopped and looked out over the ravine that would lead us near our neighborhood. He was going to give it to his little sister. He was not even going to get anything for it. He had so little, and he was going to waste his one tiny bit of pleasure on something that offered no return whatsoever. I could not stand it.

I had observed much in my interactions with Albert and the other children in school. There was so much triviality, so much stupidity, so much to loathe and to hold in disdain. I knew that one could not and should not expect handouts. One had to fight for and take whatever one wanted. One had to be smart and plan well to avoid being a victim.

Albert had left his back to me. I realized how easy it would be to just give him a little push. He was practically begging me to do it, anyway; he left himself completely vulnerable. I decided that I had observed enough from him, and I did what came naturally. I tried something new. After all, new experiences are how we learn. I gave him a little push.

He gave a shout, but of course, no one was around to hear him. His arms started pinwheeling as he pitched forward, and it occurred to me that I still had a chance to change my mind if I wanted. I grabbed his backpack.

Albert started to shift and twist in panic. His young body had slipped out of one strap, and he was hanging onto the other for dear life, his small legs kicking wildly in the air below him, while I held him by the top of the backpack, savoring the moment in which I held his life in my hands.

"OH! OH, GOD! HELP ME! PLEASE, HELP ME UP!"

He called out. I made another observation. His stammering seemed to stop when he was afraid of imminent death. I paused and realized that I did not want to let go, well, at least not yet.

"Hold on a moment." I told him. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" He called back.

Holding onto the backpack's top handle with one hand, I used the other to unzip the top just enough to reach in and grab the bag that held the cupcake. I brought it back out, and I set it on the grass beside me.

"FOR GOD'S SAKE, VINCENT, HELP ME, PLEASE!" Albert shouted. Here I let go.

I had never heard a scream quite like that. It really was different from the screams children gave on the playground when getting overexcited about a game. There was also the cracking sound when he hit the rocks at the bottom. That was new, too. It was all quite exhilarating! The rush I got was quite a high.

I watched closely, as the subject of death had intrigued me. It was never really presented in much detail in the stories our parents told us. Certainly, some stories had plenty of death, but only in simple reference, "The wolf died, drowned, burned, or whatever". Nothing had ever explained exactly what happens as someone is dying. I wanted to see this.

Albert's body was not simply lifeless. At least not yet. He twitched. He convulsed, even as crimson blood poured from an open wound on his head, flowing with the rest of the stream at the bottom of the ravine, but the blood quickly became invisible among the muddy water. I estimate that it was nearly half a minute after his landing before his movement became too slight for me to see from the distance I was above him.


"That was the first time I killed someone."

"God, you're... disgusting. That wasn't even what I was asking about-"

"Do you like cupcakes?"

"... Sure"

"Have you ever eaten one for which you killed another person?"

"... No."

"I have. … I have eaten cupcakes for which I killed no one, and I have eaten a cupcake for which I killed someone, and let me tell you... the latter was the most delicious by far."

"... Jesus... I don't know what I was expecting... But that's not what I meant by my question. I meant to ask about how things got started at the pizzeria. How did you... why did you... start killing at the pizzeria? Tell me about Freddy Fazbear's Pizza."

"Hm-hmm, I was wondering when you were going to ask me directly."