The rumors of Fazbear's had been true.
In 1983, Fredbear's Family Diner opened.
What a wonderful place to be, a simple three-room restaurant north of LA in a small town called Hurricane. Hurricane was too small for a police force but big enough for a profitable arcade.
It was a small, homey Diner with a front showroom, an arcade and a prize counter, with a hidden storage room and matching kitchen, mostly used for reheating frozen Tombstones and DiGiornos', depending on what William could get in bulk and on-sale.
In this snapshot of time, we see the first in 1987 in the middle of a freezing cold day in February, outside the building.
The first one was small and grubby like any other small child, and had come here for the first time on their birthday.
Since ChuckECheese and RockaFire Explosion were too expensive and far away, the parents had decided that since the child was most likely too young (or too stupid) to even remember this birthday, that a knock-off would do.
The first had slipped out by accident, unseen by the adults around them.
"Hey! That's my brother!"
The first was startled by a group of teen boys carrying a howling, screaming little boy with brown skin and soft ringlets that went shoving and laughing past them. The little one reached to the boys, unable to speak even to family, in hopes of getting back inside, but was roughly shoved to the pavement.
Another teenage boy, still shouting to let go of his brother, ran past, barely catching a glimpse of the first. A gold ring hung from one ear, shining against his dark skin.
"Forget it Vinnie, ya wanna be a baby like your brother?" A boy taunted by the door, "Come get him if you're scared, b**ner!"
The child didn't know what that meant, but seeing the boy's face grow hotter and angrier told them all they needed.
This was ignored though, the first was cold, and hungry, and could see someone in a bear costume serve cake to other children.
The first one wanted cake.
They tottered to the brown boy's side, but unnoticed, had the door shut in their face.
The first one sat on their butt, confused.
Why couldn't anyone see them?
Well past the age for first words and first steps, they sat, unable to make noise.
They never could.
Doctors said they were either being a brat or something that started with an 'R'.
The first didn't understand what either meant, but tried to anyway.
They watched on tiptoes through the fishbowl style windows to see Fredbear pass goody bags and candy to the other children inside, the group of teenagers and little boy still fighting and struggling. A man in a blue suit with a badge was now yelling at them.
The first child didn't notice, but they licked their lips, anticipating their first bite of pizza once inside again.
They were so desperately hungry, tears were beginning to form behind their eyes as they pounded on the glass with small fists.
They could hear something coming behind them, slowly, a purple car. They could see from the side of their eyes someone behind the wheel. They suddenly felt their mouth go dry as Fredbear tried to hurry up with the loud partiers inside, as the man with a badge tried to break up the small riot, unnoticed.
The car stopped behind the first child, sitting idle as the driver stepped out, sweaty and panting.
Tears now began forcing their ways out from widening eyes as the first child began pounding their fists on the glass. Their palms began to slap, stinging from the freezing, hard glass.
The first child felt a heavy, sweaty hand on their thin shoulder and slowly, nervously turned as something animalistic flipped over in their stomach. They looked up at the man, screams of angry parents, hungry children, teenagers and a very scared little boy drowned out the muffled knocking on the glass as the child was forcefully picked up.
The child screamed and attempted to hit the glass and be heard, trying to grab onto anything they could hold on to.
The first words the kid ever uttered was then spoken, slurred and clumsy from lack of practice.
"Save me!"
"They can't hear you." Hot and sticky breath loudly whispered into their ear, as they were ripped from reality by strong, capable hands around their throat.
Inside the world was falling apart, but outside the universe ended, not with a bang or a scream or even a loud bark, but a gurgle.
The music box lulled the Marionette away from death and into an aware stupor, asleep since being shipped in May. They could see, hear, think, but not stand and carry on with themself like they had the days they made friends by melting the animatronics to their unwilling sacrifices.
The only friend they hadn't made was a tad older, a yellow bear with blank eyes that sat in a backroom like a discarded puppet without strings.
Click!
What's this?
The Marionette pushed on the lid of the box, finding it miraculously open and the room dead silent.
They lifted their gangly, scrawny body from the floor of the box and awkwardly lolled around, not used to their new form.
They face planted, then dragged themself across the floor, every shaking effort to move rupturing the swelling remains of soft tissue, flesh tearing.
The Marionette writhed from the unaccustomed growing pains, blood smearing in their rotting wake, the small body swelling with gas inside the black puppet's suit.
After several painfully long minutes of long silence, the Marionette rose from its sloshing afterbirth, no longer unsteady or unassured on its pointy black nubs where it's feet should've been. The rotund waistline burst, hunks of meat and bone spilling across the floor after months of stewing, releasing everything the Marionette had once been.
It had no memories, no concept of color or music, but that of painful hunger.
Afterall, what is an animal but its need to feed?