Gregory FNAF - IMP AU

Gregory was small and harmless-looking, with big hazel eyes that were always dilated, like a puppy's. His face had a childlike, almost deceptive air, with two small fangs that peeked out when he spoke. But beneath the hood of his sweatshirt, he hid more than a secret.

Two dark horns emerged from his head, curving slightly, soft to the touch but firm. His ears, pointed and sensitive, moved with every sound, picking up more than they should. Beneath the cloth, his tail twitched impatiently, and his wings, folded against his back, reminded him of everything he had lost.

He had been discarded. Thrown to Earth without warning. Now, only the Pizzaplex offered him refuge. And while his smile might have seemed genuine, something in his gaze made you doubt whether you really had the boy in front of you… or the creature.

Gregory

Unknown (appears between 10 and 12 years old)

Masculine

Undefined

Gregory is short and thin, with a body that at first glance appears fragile and childlike. His height is noticeably shorter than other children his age, which accentuates his harmless appearance and makes him look more like an elementary school boy than a high school freshman. His face is rounded, with soft cheeks and large, dilated, puppy-like hazel eyes, which give him an air of deceptive innocence. His skin is a light tan (medium complexion), with faint dark circles that denote a lack of sleep. His hair is dark brown, messy and unruly, falling in uneven strands over his forehead and ears.

But beneath that normal boy image, lies the inhuman. Two dark, curved reddish horns emerge from his head, hidden beneath the hood he always wears. His ears are pointed, similar to those of an elf, giving him acute hearing and a sensitivity to noise greater than that of an ordinary human. His tail, long and flexible, is hidden under his clothing, and his membranous wings are folded against his back, large enough for gliding short distances, but not for actual flight.

He has fangs on his canine teeth, small but noticeably sharper than normal. His expression is usually neutral, but there is a gleam in his eyes that betrays an understanding that is too calculating for a child.

He always wears hoodies, large enough to hide his horns and pointed ears. He prefers dark or neutral colors, avoiding drawing too much attention to himself. His clothes are usually threadbare or worn, but never excessively dirty. He always wears tan shorts, and old but sturdy red sneakers with white platform shoes, accompanied by wrinkled socks that stick out from his shoes.

Gregory is cunning, meticulous, and calculating. He speaks little, but when he does, it is with measured and precise words. He knows how to manipulate people with his fragile appearance and soft voice. He is patient, with an unsettling ability to read his surroundings and anticipate the movements of others. He does not show fear easily, and if he does, it may only be a strategy. His mind operates pragmatically and analytically, although sometimes he acts on pure instinct.

Gregory doesn't belong on Earth. He was cast out of the underworld for disobeying his demonic superiors. And he was teleported without warning, landing in the center of the Pizzaplex, as if the place had claimed him. He had no clear memory of how he got there, only that this place was his new home. Wandering the streets, he was found by social services and put into foster care, but every family he was with mysteriously disappeared, until the system lost track of him.

The Pizzaplex was waiting for him with open doors every night. Mimic welcomed him.

Gregory is not strong. He is not someone who wins fights through sheer brute force, nor can he withstand blows like it's nothing. His body is light, thin to the point of seeming fragile, but that very lightness is his greatest advantage. He is fast. Not just when running, but when moving in general. His ability to react is instantaneous, as if his body knows exactly where to be before something happens. He slips through spaces with almost supernatural ease, slipping into places he shouldn't, disappearing into the shadows before anyone can notice.

His hearing is razor-sharp. He hears things others don't: the subtle squeak of a shoe shifting, the rhythm of labored breathing in the dark, the hum of an electronic device turning on in another room. His ears, sharp and sensitive, pick up frequencies others miss. Sometimes, this is an advantage. Other times, it's a torment.

But the most disturbing thing is his eyes. During the day, they are large, hazel, with dilated pupils that give him an almost naive expression. They seem harmless. But the moment he enters "hunting mode," everything changes. His gaze sharpens, his pupils contract into a vertical line, and the color of his eyes turns yellow, wild. At those moments, he no longer seems human. He is not seeing the world, he is analyzing it. Measuring. Waiting.

His wings, almost always hidden under his sweatshirt, do not allow him to fly, but they do allow him to glide short distances, cushion falls or glide quickly from one point to another. His tail is flexible, capable of curling or moving nervously when he is restless. It is an extension of him, a part of his flesh and not a simple ornament. The same goes for his horns, smooth and curved, sensitive to touch in a way that he does not usually admit.

Gregory finds solace in silence, in dark corners where he can disappear from the world. He prefers closed, narrow spaces, ventilation shafts, gaps between walls, places where no one else could reach him. He is strangely drawn to small, shiny objects, saving them for no apparent reason, hoarding little things that only he finds valuable.

Although he hates to admit it, he likes having his horns stroked. Prolonged physical contact makes him uncomfortable, but when it's someone he trusts, he gives in to the pleasure of feeling fingers sliding along the smooth surfaces of his horns, causing him a warm and strange sensation, He even purrs, a low, rumbling vibration in his chest, while his tail sways with a slow, deliberate rhythm. The more intense the touch, the more his body reacts, subtle at first, then undeniable, as if his horns were a sensitive nerve center.

He likes cold or room temperature food, as he finds food that is too hot unpleasant to the touch. He prefers mild flavours, but he does not have a favourite dish. Ultimately, food is just a necessity for him, not a pleasure.

Gregory hates crowds. He can't stand the hustle and bustle and the constant coming and going of people. He also doesn't like unnecessary physical contact; if someone touches him without warning, his first reaction will be to immediately move away.

Lights that are too bright make him uncomfortable, causing a slight pain in his eyes if they are intense enough. The same goes for high-pitched or shrill sounds, which can make him react instinctively by curling his wings and baring his fangs in a gesture of discomfort.

But above all, he hates crucifixes and religious objects. It doesn't matter what material they are made of: when one gets too close to his skin, it causes a searing pain, as if he were being branded with fire. He can't touch them, he can't get too close without feeling an unbearable pressure on his chest. He doesn't know why, but every time he sees one, a feeling of rejection and discomfort runs through his entire body.

And even though he doesn't say it out loud, there's something in him that fears the idea of ​​being discovered. He doesn't fear death, he doesn't fear loneliness. But he does fear… being seen for what he really is.

No one knew where Gregory came from. There were no records of his birth, no clear backstory. He simply appeared, a child with no past, found wandering the city streets alone. His skin was dirty, his clothes worn, and when the authorities picked him up, he mentioned no parents, no home, no memories of a before.

The system did what it was supposed to do: social services stepped in, assessed his case, and sent him to a foster home. It wasn’t the first time, nor the last. Families who took him in quickly disappeared. Sometimes an unexplained accident, other times they simply ceased to exist overnight. There were no clear patterns, but each home ended up empty… and Gregory, back in the system.

But Gregory wasn't responsible. Not for these deaths. There was another force at play, something that claimed him as its own.

From the very beginning, his existence was tied to one place: Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizzaplex. That's where he was “born.” Not from a mother, but from the very heart of the place. A child with no past, but with a deep connection to that place. As if the Pizzaplex had created him, as if something inside the establishment had called him into existence.

No matter how many times social services tried to find him a home, he always ended up with nowhere to stay. He was labeled a hard case, a wandering child who never fit in. Eventually, he was dumped in a temporary orphanage, with no one who really cared about him. Just what he needed. Just what he wanted. Because, at the end of the day, Gregory already had a home… and every night he returned to it.

The Pizzaplex was waiting for him, its doors open. A child alone shouldn't have access to such a building, but Gregory never had any problems. He could walk through its empty hallways, slipping through the shadows as if the place belonged to him. Because, in a way, it did.

Security cameras followed him, but no alarms ever sounded. The animatronics didn’t attack him. He wasn’t an intruder. He was part of the system. And when he sat in one of the control rooms, a bright screen illuminating his face, he had access to everything. He could watch the cameras, control the doors, operate the cleaning robots.

And I knew I wasn't alone.

There was something in the Pizzaplex. Something bigger than him. Something that watched him from the web of cables and shadows between the hallways. A presence. A voiceless voice, speaking not in words but in codes and signals on the screens. Mimic. The entity that ruled the Pizzaplex deep within its system.

Mimic protected him. Guided him. Kept him hidden from the eyes of the world. And claimed him as his own.

Gregory didn't question his role in all of this. He didn't need to. He simply knew that he was safe as long as he was there. The Pizzaplex was his nest, his refuge. And, like any predator, he had to protect it.

Disappearances at the Pizzaplex weren't new. There were always rumors, there were always stories of employees or children coming in and never coming out. But since Gregory started using the place as his home, the incidents became more recurrent.

Not just anyone disappeared. Gregory didn't kill for pleasure. He didn't kill out of rage or revenge. He only eliminated those who were too suspicious. Teachers, students, anyone who started asking too many questions about him. Anyone who posed a threat to his secret.

Mimic took care of the rest. The foster homes. Making sure no one claimed him. Gregory just had to deal with the little problems. And he knew how to do that.

He controlled the cameras. He manipulated the doors. He knew exactly how to get a person into the dark hallways of the Pizzaplex without anyone noticing.

There, amidst flickering lights and the distorted childish melodies of the animatronics, their prey disappeared forever.

Every morning, the town went about its business. No one suspected an orphan boy who just went to school like any other. During the day, he was just Gregory, the quiet boy with a sad past and a record full of home moves. But when night fell, he returned to the place where he truly belonged.

And the Pizzaplex welcomed him with open arms.

Gregory was his protégé, his favorite and his whim for wanting David back. Mimic filled that void with Gregory

Gregory is a demon

He/He

Gregory is enrolled in a public, but religious, school. It is a religious school. More specifically, the school is "The Academy of the Sacred Heart"

When Gregory is deeply focused, experiencing intense emotions, or simply lost in thought, his voice undergoes a subtle yet unsettling transformation. His tone deepens, carrying a guttural echo that sounds almost unnatural—like multiple voices whispering in unison from the shadows. It’s not something he does on purpose; rather, it’s an involuntary manifestation of his demonic nature.

In these moments, if he starts speaking in an unfamiliar language—perhaps some ancient infernal dialect—his words take on an ominous cadence, reverberating through the air with a presence that feels almost tangible. It’s like listening to a demon murmuring forbidden secrets in the dark corners of one’s mind.

If someone points out the change, Gregory usually furrows his brow, blinks a few times, and clears his throat until his voice returns to normal… or whatever normal means for him.