William Afton

Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza: June 1985

The air in the "Safe Room" was thick with the smell of stale grease and floor wax. Five children—Gabriel, Jeremy, Susie, Fritz, and Cassidy—stood huddled together, their eyes wide with a mix of confusion and mounting dread.

Standing before them was a golden rabbit, its fabric matted and smelling of damp earth. From within the mask, William Afton’s voice was a low, jagged crawl.

"Don’t look so frightened," William whispered, his hand drifting toward the hidden pocket where his knife rested. "The party is just getting started. I have something special for each of—"

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

The heavy steel door rattled. William froze. No one was supposed to know this room existed, let alone find it during business hours.

"William! Open this door before I kick it off the hinges!"

The voice was gravelly, posh, and dripping with an authority that made William’s blood run cold. He pulled off the rabbit head, revealing a face slick with sweat and eyes filled with sudden, frantic rage. He cracked the door open.

Standing there was a tall man in a charcoal suit, leaning on a silver-headed cane. Oliver Afton.

"Father?" William hissed. "What are you doing here? I’m... I’m in the middle of a private event."

Oliver pushed past him, his eyes immediately landing on the five trembling children. He looked at them with nothing but cold annoyance.

"Get out," Oliver snapped at the kids. "All of you. Now."

The children hesitated. Cassidy took a defiant step forward, her lower lip trembling. "But he said there was cake—"

"I said GET OUT!" Oliver roared, slamming his cane against the floor. "You lot shouldn't be following strangers into back rooms anyway. Have you no sense? Run along!"

Fritz pouted, crossing his arms, but the sheer volume of the old man’s voice sent them scrambling. They bolted past Oliver and out into the main dining hall, disappearing into the crowd of singing animatronics and screaming toddlers.

William slammed the door shut, the silence of the room feeling like a physical weight.

"You ruined it," William spat, his voice trembling with manic energy. "Years of planning... the perfect moment... you ruined everything!"

Oliver turned, looking at his son with a disgust so profound it was almost pitying. "No, William. You ruined everything. Look at you. Look at what you’ve become."

"I am building a legacy!" William shouted, gesturing to the animatronic parts scattered around. "I am mastering life and death! I am more than the 'disappointing son' now!"

"Mastering life?" Oliver laughed, a dry, hacking sound. "You’re a janitor in a plush suit, William. You’re playing with dolls in a grease-stained rat hole. I gave you the best education in England, and you used it to build singing bears in a strip mall in Utah."

"It’s a billion-dollar industry—"

"It’s a failure," Oliver interrupted, stepping closer, his cane punctuating every word. "Just like your marriage. Just like those poor excuses for grandchildren you raised. One is a coward, one is a bully, and the other is... well, we won't talk about the girl, will we? You couldn't even keep your own house in order, so you come here to play God over toddlers."

William’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the Spring Bonnie mask. "Shut up."

"You’re a pathetic, small man, William. Even in that ridiculous yellow suit, you look like a jester. A clown. You were born a disappointment, and you’ll die a footnote in a police report."

Something snapped. The calculated, cold precision William usually felt was replaced by a white-hot roar of adrenaline.

"I'm not a footnote," William whispered.

Before Oliver could raise his cane, William lunged. He didn't use the knife. He used his bare hands, fueled by decades of resentment and the sudden, frantic need to silence that voice forever. The struggle was brief, muffled by the sound of The Freddy Fazbear Show playing through the walls.

Minutes later, William stood over his father’s limp body. He was breathing hard, his hair matted to his forehead. He looked at the five empty chairs where the children had been sitting.

"The children..." William murmured, looking at the large, mechanical Golden Freddy suit standing on its endoskeleton frame. "No. They’re too small. They wouldn't understand the poetry of it."

He looked down at Oliver. A cruel, jagged smile spread across his face.

"You wanted to talk about my legacy, Father?"

William began to heave Oliver’s body upward, dragging him toward the open back of the animatronic suit. The springlocks groaned, held back by thin plastic pins.

"You always said I should aim higher," William grunted, shoving his father's arms into the mechanical sleeves. "You wanted to be part of the business? Well... now you’re the face of it."

With a final, violent shove, William forced the torso into the cavity. He reached for the hand-crank and, with a look of pure, ecstatic malice, released the locks.

CRUNCH.

The sound of metal meeting bone filled the room. William didn't flinch. He picked up the golden rabbit head and looked it in the eyes.

"The kids can wait until tomorrow," William whispered to the empty room. "Tonight... family comes first."