Barry.
Barry adjusted his tie, masking his exhaustion with a practiced smile, as he took his seat at the long mahogany table.
The boardroom was pristine, but the air was tight—like everyone knew something was about to snap.
The usual players were here:
Dan, standing at the head of the table—confident, but with that sharp edge that meant he was ready to draw blood.
John, leaning back in his chair—calm, but eyes sharper than usual.
William Afton, seated near the end silent, reading over some documents, but Barry could feel the tension radiating off him like a barely-contained storm.
Barry exhaled slowly, knowing this was the moment they’d been building toward for weeks.
The end of William’s unofficial reign.
Dan stood, clearing his throat, commanding the room with the ease of a man who knew he already won.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Dan began, his tone formal, “we are here to discuss the future of Fazbear Entertainment. After weeks of negotiations, I am pleased to announce that we have reached an agreement to merge with Candy’s Entertainment under the umbrella of CTC Holdings.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then murmurs.
Some surprised.
Some expected.
But everyone knew this was big.
Barry kept his face neutral, but his pulse quickened.
Here we go.
William, predictably, lowered his papers slowly, fixing Dan with a cold smile.
“Vetoed,” he said, calmly, like he was ordering coffee.
Dan didn’t blink.
John leaned forward, fingers laced together.
“I’m afraid you don’t have that power anymore, William.”
The room stilled.
William’s smile didn’t fade, but his eyes sharpened. “What?”
Barry spoke now, delivering the final blow with measured precision.
“We’ve brought in new investors,” Barry said, gesturing toward the far side of the room.
The door opened, and a few unfamiliar figures stepped in representatives from CTC Holdings.
“Over the past month, they’ve quietly acquired enough shares to shift the balance of power,” Barry continued. “You’re no longer the majority, William.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Final.
William leaned back in his chair, eyes sweeping the room.
He was calculating, Barry could see it behind his mask.
But he didn’t lash out.
He simply nodded once, adjusting his cufflinks.
John, sensing the opportunity, pressed forward—voice smooth but pointed.
“We respect what you’ve built, William,” he said, tone carefully rehearsed. “But maybe it’s time you shifted your attention… elsewhere. Afton Robotics. Your passion project. We believe your talents would be best suited there.”
Barry followed up, adding the polite dagger.
“The merger is moving forward—with or without you. But Afton Robotics is still yours. You could make something truly groundbreaking… without the distractions of boardroom politics of a company you mostly left.”
A soft exile.
Thats what this was.
The offer was both a gift and a burial.
William stood slowly, buttoning his suit jacket with deliberate precision.
He looked at each of them like he was memorizing their faces for later.
“You’re all going to regret this,” he said, voice quiet but dripping with certainty.
Barry felt his chest tighten.
There was no anger in William’s tone—just a promise.
Dan waved a hand dismissively, but Barry noticed the tension in his jaw.
“Best of luck with Robotics,” John said, offering a stiff smile.
William gave a small nod, turned, and walked out.
The door clicked shut.
And Barry finally exhaled.
But it didn’t feel like victory.
Dan reclaimed the room, immediately pivoting to the logistics.
“Alright. The merger plan. We’ll consolidate animatronic tech from Fazbear into Candy’s security systems. International expansion is the long-term goal.” Bullet points. Budgets. Investor briefings.
Barry took notes, but his mind wandered.
He kept hearing William’s voice. "You’re all going to regret this."
Barry had seen men lose power before.
But none of them had looked quite like that when they left the room.
He glanced at John, who gave him a small, satisfied nod.
Dan was already onto the next slide.
Barry forced himself to focus.
But something felt wrong.
And he knew this wasn’t over.
Freddy/Gabriel
Fazbear Entertainment OS v2.1
New Location Detected. Loading Map…
Freddy’s eyes flickered on, his vision adjusting to the dimly lit backroom.
Metal shelves. Spare parts. Tools.
Not home. Not familiar.
But that was okay.
Because Friends would be here.
And Friends needed Freddy.
“Hello, Friends!” Freddy’s vocal subroutine initiated—cheerful, welcoming.
Except…
No Friends.
Scanning…
No Bonnie. No Chica. No Foxy.
No Music Box.
Freddy’s systems flagged this as unusual, but subroutine ‘Adaptability – New Pizzeria’ activated.
New Place. New Friends. Find Friends. Keep Friends Safe.
Gabriel stirred within the metal.
The familiar hum of machinery surrounded him, but something was off.
He reached out instinctively for his friends—Susie, Fritz, Jeremy, Cassidy.
Nothing.
Just… him.
Alone.
That never happened.
“…Hello?” Gabriel whispered into the void.
The air shifted.
He felt them before he saw them—other presences, but strange.
Freddy’s head turned, his faceplate smile fixed.
“Hello, Friends! Let’s have fun together!” Freddy greeted.
Gabriel spoke beneath the programming, more tentative.
"Are… you like me?”
A shape drifted forward a girl he has never seen before. Did Afton kill again?!
She paused, studying Freddy—or maybe Gabriel within him.
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“…I think… I was… someone,” she murmured. “But… I don’t remember.”
Gabriel felt his chest tighten, even though he had no chest.
“That’s okay. We can be friends. We can help each other.” Freddy’s cheerful voice layered over it: “Friends play together! What game would you like to play?”
The new ghost seemed to flicker—sadness? Relief?
But the others gathered behind her.
Wrong. Shadowed. Distorted.
Gabriel felt the room grow colder.
The spirits lunged.
Hands like mist and claws.
Gabriel shouted, recoiling.
Freddy’s programming surged forward.
CHILDREN BEHAVING BADLY DETECTED.
INITIATING “NAUGHTY CHILDREN” PROTOCOL.
“That’s not very nice, Friends! Let’s all get along!”
ERROR. CONTACT = PHYSICAL DAMAGE.
ERROR. CONTACT = UNKNOWN DAMAGE.
Gabriel screamed, pain unlike anything before, AND IT HURTSHURTSHURTSHURTSHURTSHURTSHURTSHURTSHURTSHURTSHURTSHURTSHURTSHURTS!
Freddy kept smiling.
“Friends… stop…! Naughty… children… must… listen…!”
ERROR.
The shadows shifted—and then IT appeared.
Tall. Slender.
Black-and-white face.
Like the puppet. But wrong.
Gabriel’s first instinct was hope. "Charlie?"
But then—wrong. So wrong.
This thing felt like Afton.
Gabriel’s panic surged.
Freddy’s system recognized no threat.
“Hello, Friend! Would you like to—”
“Quiet,” the puppet figure whispered.
Freddy’s voice glitched. “Fr-Fr…iend…?”
Gabriel snarled, spirit flaring. “You’re like him. You’re—YOU’RE LIKE HIM!”
Freddy’s programming bent to Gabriel’s rage.
NEW COMMAND ACCEPTED: PROTECT FRIEND.
Freddy’s arms jerked forward, servos screeching. “Bad man! You will not hurt Friends!”
IT laughed a sound devoid of warmth. “You don’t understand, little soul. You’re mine now.”
It′s hands pierced through the ethereal.
Gabriel screamed as his soul was grabbed, stretched, twisted.
Freddy’s systems flooded with red alerts:
ERROR. ERROR. FRIEND DAMAGED.
SYSTEM CORRUPTION DETECTED.
Gabriel’s form splintered.
Freddy’s voicebox glitched into a distorted wail.
MASTER pulled them apart fusing and warping them into something new.
“Now,” He whispered, “you will serve,”
Freddy screamed. Gabriel screamed.
Richard.
Agent Richard Owens hated mornings.
Especially mornings that started with phone calls from his boss telling him to report to the office ASAP.
No bodies. No fresh crime scene.
Just paperwork and corporate bullshit.
He had been working Fazbear cases for over two years now.
That meant missing children, weird employee disappearances, and the kind of loose ends that made your stomach twist.
And now?
A fucking merger.
Owens sipped his third coffee of the morning, trying to ignore the headache blooming behind his eyes, as he sat in the conference room waiting for this new guy to arrive.
The Candy’s guy.
Small cases. Some break-ins. An animatronic malfunction or two.
Parent injury last year.
Owens doubted he’d seen half the crap Fazbear pulled.
The door creaked open, and in walked Agent Samuel Bryant mid-30s, sharp suit, but with that slightly frazzled look Owens recognized from any man who’d dealt with corporate cover-ups.
“Agent Owens?”
“Agent Bryant?”
They shook hands—firm, professional, assessing.
Bryant tried a smile. “I’ve read a few of your reports. Seems like you’ve had a hell of a time with Fazbear.”
Owens snorted. “That’s one way to put it.”
Bryant leaned on the table, lowering his voice slightly.
“If I’m honest, I thought Candy’s was bad. Place is cursed—or feels like it. But Fazbear?”
He shook his head. “That’s a whole other league.”
Owens nodded grimly.
“You’re not wrong.”
Their conversation ended when the door opened again, and in walked Supervisor Reynolds—graying hair, glasses slipping down his nose, and an expression like he hadn’t slept in a decade.
“Gentlemen,” Reynolds nodded as he sat, folders tucked under his arm.
Owens straightened. Bryant did the same.
“Let’s get to it. You’ve probably heard Fazbear Entertainment and Candy’s Entertainment are merging under CTC Holdings. Which means, congratulations—you two are now on the same team.”
Bryant exhaled quietly. Owens gritted his teeth.
“This means full file sharing. No more working these cases in isolation. You coordinate—every lead, every report, every damn malfunction from now on goes through both of you.”
He set two thick folders on the table—one labeled ‘Fazbear Entertainment – Active Investigations’, the other ‘Candy’s Entertainment – Incident Reports’.
Reynolds glanced between them.
“Both these companies have history. You know that. And this merger? It’s not gonna clean up that history. It’s gonna make it worse.”
Owens nodded silently. Bryant looked paler than before.
Bryant thumbed through the Fazbear folder—pages detailing missing kids, Bite of ‘87, equipment failures that never made sense.
Owens opened Candy’s folder, skimming over reports of strange noises after hours, employees claiming to see figures in security footage that weren’t there.
“This… is more than I expected,” Bryant muttered.
Owens glanced at him. “Welcome to the club.”
Reynolds cut in. “There’s been pressure from above—don’t expect full cooperation from the companies. They want this merger smooth. No bad press. But if anything stinks, you dig. Quietly.”
After Reynolds dismissed them, Owens and Bryant lingered in the hallway.
Owens broke the silence first. “Whatever’s wrong with these places… it’s not just bad management.”
Bryant nodded slowly. “I know. I’ve seen enough to know that much.”
They exchanged a look.
Bryant tried to lighten the mood. “Well… at least we’ve got each other now, right?”
Owens let out a tired chuckle. “Yeah. Partners.”
They shook hands again, this time with more weight behind it.
Vinny.
He didn’t know his name.
Hadn’t known it in… how long now?
There had been a man once, and he had a name.
But that man was dead, and names meant nothing in the dark.
There was only hate now.
Hate for her.
Mary Schmidt.
Her face burned in his mind, the way she laughed, the way she survived, the way she kept living when he was left to rot.
She was happy.
That was her greatest sin.
His fingers blackened, jagged, ethereal after decades in this state threaded through something fragile and raw.
Gabriel.
The boy’s soul was in pieces, shattered and stretched, but still clinging to itself like a wounded animal.
Vinny threaded it together like a patchwork quilt, twisting and binding it in ways that made it more his than Gabriel’s.
Each tug of a spectral thread drew a gasp of agony from the boy’s flickering essence.
It was beautiful.
Gabriel tried to speak—tried to ask, to plead—but Vinny simply twisted a section of his soul like a wet rag.
Gabriel screamed silently, and Vinny felt peace.
This was new.
He’d never reworked a soul he hadn’t personally harvested.
And this one brought secrets.
Gabriel’s memories whispered to him as he stitched.
William Afton.
Murderer. Builder. Father.
Vinny’s interest sharpened.
This man will be useful as a source of future material.
A butcher who made his own meat.
But there was a danger there too.
Because Afton had birthed something else.
Through Gabriel’s fragmented recollections, he saw her.
Charlotte. Charlie.
She was like him, but opposite.
She could weave souls back together, but not for control—for protection.
Vinny felt his hatred coil anew.
Another player. Another puppet master.
Had she felt it when he tore Gabriel apart?
If she had, she would come.
That was both a concern and a thrill.
He always liked a challenge.
His hands worked the soul, but his attention drifted deeper into Gabriel’s memories.
And there it was.
A phone call.
Michael Afton.
Calling Mary Schmidt.
They laughed.
They were happy.
Vinny stilled.
His fingers clenched, soul threads snapping.
Happy.
Her face lit up in laughter.
His voice, relaxed, teasing.
Mary was happy.
Vinny’s vision darkened, his essence vibrating with hatred so strong it distorted the room around him.
He turned his gaze to the corner, where The Rat slumped lifelessly against the wall.
Vinny slipped into its mind, finding the remnants of his old coworker’s spirit still shackled to the metal frame.
The man was barely there now.
A husk. An echo.
He didn’t even remember that Vinny was the one who killed him.
Vinny grinned, teeth like razors.
Perfect.
He saw it clearly in his mind,
Michael Afton lured into Candy’s, torn apart by The Rat.
His mangled corpse displayed like art for Mary to find on her shift.
Her scream—shattering the air, breaking her heart.
He savored the thought, the imagined taste of her grief.
But then—he stopped.
It was too soon.
Too much attention. Too many eyes.
No.
He would wait.
He was good at waiting.
He had waited before, and he would wait again.
Because Mary would break.
Eventually.
And Michael would die.
Eventually.
And when that day came, he would hold their souls in his hands and make them dance.
But not yet.
Vinny smiled to himself.
He always waited.
