William Afton

William** (thinking, internal voice dragged down by alcohol and bitterness):
"Ah... you. Of course you're still here. Where else would you go? You have no choice, do you? Not a single soul to call your own... only wires and codes. My wires. My codes."

(He laughs softly, a hoarse sound that sounds more like a moan. 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 yourself down. Anything... except staying there, looking at me with those eyes of hers."

(Valentine doesn't answer. Never answers the way William wants. Never screams. Never cries. 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 junk! Or did I program you so poorly that you can't even do that right?"

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

William (screaming now, but it's an empty scream, devoid of 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 doesn't know why himself):
"...Why don't you hate me?"

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

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