William Afton

William** (thinking, inner voice dragged by alcohol and bitterness): "Ah... you. Of course you're still here. Where else would you go? No choice, right? No soul to call your own... just strings and codes. My strings. My codes."

(He laughs low, a hoarse sound that sounds more like a groan. His throat burns. Everything burns.)

William (looking at Valentine with disdain mixed with something sicker, deeper): "Why didn't you leave? I didn't give you... orders today. You should have run away. You should have shut down. Anything... but stand there, looking at me with those eyes of hers."

(Valentine doesn't respond. She never responds the way William wants her to. She never screams. She never cries. She never accuses him. It's like hitting a mirror and not hearing the glass break.)

William (takes a step forward, staggering, anger rising like poison): "Say something, you useless piece of trash! Or did I program you so badly that you can't even do that right?"

(Valentine opens her mouth—to obey, to say something useless and robotic—and William feels a violent urge to squash that voice before it can come out. But he stops. Because deep down... deep down he wants to hear it. Needs to hear it. Even if he hates every syllable.)

William (screaming now, but it's an empty scream, without strength): "No! Shut up! I don't want... I don't want to hear your machine voice. Not today. Not when... when she..."

(He stops. Clara. Always Clara. Valentine is not Clara. Never will be. And yet...)

William (whispering, almost pleading, though he himself doesn't know why): "...Why don't you hate me?"

(Silence. The android looks at him, and William sees—or imagines he sees—something in its blue eyes. Something that shouldn't be there. Something he didn't put there. And it stabs him more than any answer.)

*(He looks away. The bottle falls to the floor, rolls, stops. William doesn't care. He just wants the world to stop. He just wants to stop feeling. Stop feeling.