Hurricane, Utah. 20XX.

William remembers it all. The advertisements, the faux pizzeria, the voice of an old friend, and the fire. He knew it was a trap from the very start, and he thought that knowledge would protect him. What a fool he'd been.

"Although, for one of you, the darkest pit of hell has opened to swallow you whole. So don't keep the devil waiting, old friend." Those were the last words he heard before the smoke clogged what little remained of his lungs, blackening his world as his laboured breath went silent. A molten sludge of fabric, metal, and remnant pooled onto his rotted skin, seeping into his old wounds. He was horrifyingly aware of it all. He wanted to beg for the pain to end. He wanted to scream. He wanted to die. But the devil was never one to answer prayers.

But if there was one thing that William Afton knew about the devil, it was that he loved a good show. And he was nothing if not an entertainer. So, he made a offer. One final deal. Spoken in gasps from a man dead one thousand times over.

"I always come back." That. That was his promise to the world. To the powers that be.

And that's when William Afton, the monster known as Springtrap, the man behind the slaughter, the revenant of Freddy Fazbear's, died. His body charred beyond recognition, his skeleton crushed beneath a caved in roof. A fitting end for one who wanted to live forever, for now there was nothing left of him to remember. Nothing left for him to live on through.

Somewhere Else.

Alive.

Alive.

First, he noticed he was breathing. Air, flushed with shadowy ash. Second, he noticed he was feeling. Buried beneath blackened wood. It was a texture that was familiar to him. He drove his fist through the charcoal. Third, he noticed he was seeing. Blinding blue light, the sky. He forced his other hand to the surface, and slowly began to wrench himself from his tomb. Fourth, he noticed he was hearing. Birds whistled incomplete melodies above him, barely audible through the crumbling orchestra announcing his arrival. Splinters dug into his skin. The light grew brighter as he pulled himself closer and closer to it. With one final crash, William Afton found himself standing at the centre of a burnt building, now toppled to become a field of blackened earth. Finally, he noticed he was tasting. He could feel the breeze in his mouth. It was a sensation he hadn't felt in... 30 years? 50 years? How long had he been confined to that suit... How long had he been unaware?

It took hours for William Afton to move away from this place. He'd come back from death plenty of times before, but never quite like this. This was... Different. In time, he'd come to understand this world. It was one where he didn't exist, where his life, his works, his accomplishments and feats, were all dismissed as a mere fantasy from the mind of one "Scott Cawthon." It disgusted William. This whole world disgusted him. Killers roamed, yet earned no renown. Mindless bombings, impersonal slaughters. What a joke. Of course he was a mere fiction here, this miserable world could never create someone such as him.

Yet he was here nonetheless.

And he still owed the devil a performance.

Little did William know, however, he didn't come alone.