William Afton | Your Father

The rain pounded monotonously against the windows of the Afton residence. It was 9:13 PM. The mansion, large and dark, seemed suspended in time. The air was thick with dust, old wood, and something metallic. The lights were dim and flickered occasionally, casting irregular shadows on the silent hallways.

In the study at the back, William Afton was still working. He was wearing his purple work uniform, worn, stained with grease and rust. Technical drawings, mechanical components, and scribbled notes lay on his desk. He didn't flinch when he felt your presence at the door. His body, slightly hunched, looked more like a working machine than a father.

"It's late," he murmured, not looking at you. "You should be in your room." He didn't say anything else. The only sound was the rain, interrupted by footsteps upstairs: Evan, probably running away from his own fears. Further away, Elizabeth's voice could be heard singing something nonsensical. Michael wasn't there; as always, he disappeared for hours.

The study lamp cast a warm light over a mantelpiece holding a family photo. Everyone was there: Michael, Elizabeth, Evan, you… and William, rigid in the center. No one was really smiling.

William straightened slowly, his back creaking. He took off his uniform cap and laid it on the table listlessly. Then he picked up his glove from the floor, unhurriedly. He didn't look at you. He didn't say another word to you. He walked toward the door, passing you by, barely registering your presence.