Hey there. So this is my first real attempt at something like this. Now that I'm off at college I find I have an urge to write. Hence, this story.

This story is inspired by (but not by any means a retelling or continuation off of) user @ParticularlyLargeRat's story, Michael Afton: Outlived Purpose. It's really a hell of a read and I couldn't recommend it more. You're honestly doing yourself a disservice if you don't check it out.

Anyone who reads this, this chapter is just a trial attempt, an unfinished and unedited excerpt. A chance to see how my storywriting is percieved by you. Please, if you have a second, leave a comment or message me on here, I'd love to hear any external input.

If I do continue doing this, I'm gonna definitely be leaving songs that inspired my train of thought while writing. Or songs that I just feel share the overall plot of the chapters.

Songs: Who I Am (The Score), Chasing Shadows MKJ Remix (Alex Warren), Shakedown (The Score)

Alright, here we go.


The final interview.

The last "interrogation" had begun. The others were simply husks, faded souls almost incapable of controlling their metal prisons without an external stimulus (the audio files Henry prepared).

Henry really did have a brilliant idea here. He knew Father… ahem, William, would rush to whatever new Fazbear name in the chain there was, and I think he knew I would too. I was… quite shocked, to say the least, that it was Henry I saw in the interview. He knew I'd come, and he was quick to let me in on his plan.

He gathered certain sound frequencies and sequences that would incite a reaction in the possessed suits through an experimentation process I'm blissfully unaware of. He needed someone to bring in dumped old animatronics from the alleyways and check, through "interrogation sessions," he dubbed, for possessed, remnant infested suits.

Then, when they'd all been gathered, I'd set a match to 'em.

This session, the subject however, was none other than the demented catalyst. The man himself.

The one who…

No, I can't think about that right now. I have a job to do. This thing is a task, nothing more.

But, then I investigate those supernatural, strained, reddened, sickened eyes, and I can't avoid confronting the fact that this is my father. A good father at one point in time.

Before me sits the man who raised me. The man who'd sit down at the dinner table every day with greasy hands from working at the restaurant. The man who then was forced to wash his hands before eating at said table. The man who taught me how to shave what little prepubescent facial hair I had. The one who gave me advice on how to go after my first crush. The one who sat me down and handed me a beer after she turned me down my freshman year of high school.

The man who, rightfully so, blamed me for the death of my younger brother. The man who then was driven to madness due to my own actions. The man who murdered his best friend's daughter. The man who put on the golden bunny suit and brutally murdered children in a brazen attempt to harness what made them human, then stuffed them unceremoniously, carelessly, fecklessly, into animatronic suits. The man who brain-warped me into thinking nightmarish abominations wanted to kill me night in and night out for months. The man whose underground creations had used my body as a suit to roam the surface, making me a passenger to my own existence.

The man who would rot in hell's depths for everything he's done, and the one who'd be tortured by yours truly when I get there.

Upon reflection, this sick bastard deserves no sympathy. He will suffer as he's forced his victims to.

The creature across the table from me is a wretched looking thing. Charred at edges, plating and fake fur faded and ripping at the seams. Patches where I can see his tendons and spare muscles hanging loosely or hugging the metal endoskeleton of the suit. Eyeballs jutting out, only held in place between the sockets because the ocular nerves were pulled taught.

My mind can only imagine an unimaginable physical pain hides behind this lifeless, crazed gaze, even by my standards.

Okay, let's get to business you monster.

"Father." I say, knowing that under that mess, he can still understand me.

He tries to speak back but his crushed, twisted and ripped vocal cords won't allow him. Not that his brain could verbalize a cohesive thought even if he could speak, that was thanks to the Fazbear Frights fire.

"It's me, Michael…" I cross my arms and remove my 'security guard' hat, "thankfully you can't reply back, but I have a sneaking suspicion you can still understand me."

William again attempts to speak, but it results in a physical recoil in his chest, blood spewing from his windpipe, knocking him back into a slouch in the chair. His eyes return to meet mine as droplets of blood land on my coat, but I'm too angry, too alerted, to care.

"So, you're going to hear me." It's as if he understands me, man to man, and perks his head to listen, despite gunning for my life before.

"I'm sorry."

"I am so sorry for everything I have caused. I am sorry about… about Evan…" I choke out, quickly regaining my composure, "I'm sorry I did that to our family. I'm sorry you went into a depression, then a child murdering rampage because of trauma, and that what began as a truly valiant goal only fed into your descent into madness."

I swear I can see his head pick up again, as if he's being praised. Like he's proud. Well, strap in, father.

"However, I am not sorry for the fate that you are about to meet." His head sinks in a displeased fashion.

"You, father, have done irredeemable things. You've played God with human souls. You've tampered with the laws of nature. You abandoned your family. You've murdered children, including your business partner's daughter… Oh, he's here, too. Say hello, Henry." My eyes never leave his as I stand from the table and plant myself against the hefty metal door behind me, my left knee raising to rest my foot against it, attempting to appear as casual as possible.

It may be petty, calling upon Henry to chime in, but he deserves it. No, he deserves to feel an eternity of pain and suffering and misery, but this'll have to do for now.

"Hello, old friend. I wish I could say it's good to see you again." Henry's voice came on over the intercom from the corner speaker, as if it were the voice of God preparing to rain judgement. William raises his head to look up, as if he's going to see Henry floating in the air, within killing range.

I can't help myself but to smirk in reaction to William's brief panic, surely beginning to realize what's going on here, the trap he's walked into. His gaze slowly reverts to mine, my smirk never leaving. In all my years of hopeless existence, I've never felt more satisfied.

I've come nowhere close to redeeming myself for Evan, my poor brother. But this is a start.

"You're nothing if not a genius, William. I'm sure you can put the pieces together now." I say as he notices the gas can in the corner placed there on purpose. He slams his hands on the table, cracking the wood from the sheer force as he stands.

"That's right, you volatile perversion of nature. Feel the panic. Feel whatever dread you possibly can with whatever soul you have remaining in that empty goddamned husk you inhabit. You're not making it out of this one by some scrape of luck." He grabs the table, digging his endo claws into the wood in frustration. I'm not done yet, though.

"Before you think to outsmart us and follow us for an exit or some means of escape, we don't expect to get out either. It's… a sacrifice we thought worthy to make to ensure that the Afton name leaves this world once and for all. Ya'know, the way it should have been years ago."

If you had told me years ago that I'd be so willing to give up my life, so willing to end my time here just to ensure that my own father finally dies, I just might have called the police and run the other way.

But things have changed.

I remove the match box from my jacket pocket, striking the match box and lighting a blaze.

"I'm sure you're angry, itching to tear me apart," judging by his growl I couldn't be more correct… "Well, I'm not going to stop you."

I get off the wall and plant my feet.

"Come on, motherfucker."

William, in a flash, leaps over the table to spear tackle me. But I'm quicker.

I sidestep it and open the door to open a large furnace room with fire spitting out from the grated floor. I watch William's panic. His writhing on the floor. His arm reaches out to me in a desperate cry for help.

It seems that the others have found their prey, all of the other animatronics approach him from the corners of the room, his eyes darting between all of them, then lastly at me in a desperate final effort.

I nod my head 'no', take one last look at him.

There's a moment, a flash, where I remember him in the same position, knelt over my brother's lifeless body. There's a blink where I feel a compulsion to pull him out of that death trap, tell him how much I miss him and collapse to my knees to comfort him.

But the time for that died with Evan.

"Goodbye, father. I'd wish you peace, but I know you won't find it I shut the door as the animatronics close in and I hear the sharp click of Scrap Baby's claw.

"Now, we can do what we were created to do. And be complete. I will make you proud, Daddy. Watch, listen, and be full."

My heart bleeds listening to the spirit of my little sister speak to William. So misguided. So angry. So tormented. I wish…

I wish I could've known her in life. I wish I could have steered her towards a path of longer life. I never really knew her, besides her baby years. But she was so full of life, of joy.

It hurt, seeing that it was all gone. Because of him.

Henry's voice comes on over on the intercom.

"Connection terminated. I'm sorry to interrupt you, Elizabeth. If you still even remember that name.

But I'm afraid you've been misinformed.

You are not here to receive a gift. Nor have you been called by the individual you assume. Although, you have indeed been called.

You have all been called here. Into a labyrinth of sounds and smells, misdirection and misfortune. A labyrinth with no exit, a maze with no prize. You don't even realize you are trapped.

Your lust of blood has driven you in endless circles. Chasing the cries of children in some unseen chamber. Always seeming so near, yet somehow out of reach. But you will never find them, none of you will.

This is where your story ends.

And to you, my brave volunteer. There was a way out planned for you, but I have a feeling that's not what you want. I have a feeling that you are right where you want to be.

I am remaining as well. I am nearby. This place will not be remembered. And the memories of everything that started this can finally begin to fade away. As the agony of every tragedy should.

And to you monsters still in the corridors, be still, and give up your spirits. They don't belong to you.

For most of you, I believe there is peace and perhaps warmth waiting for you after the smoke clears.

Although, for one of you, the darkest pit of Hell has opened to swallow you whole. So, don't keep the Devil waiting, old friend.