Burned Memories || William Afton x Reader

I - The Interview (fuck if i know)

You drove in the direction of the pizzeria, this is the first time you've seen it under "HELP WANTED" in the newspaper in a while.

Before leaving, you had sat behind the steering wheel, second guessing this position, truly thinking if it was worth the money. There were many stipulations and conspiracies about the pizzeria, but that was a given for any location with a tragedy involved.

You'd also driven past it on your way to stores and such, learning what was on the route very roughly but never really having a reason to go see it until now. Soon you would (hopefully) see it every day, because $19 an hour was significantly better than getting yelled at in any nearby drive through.

You took some backroads that you would absolutely not suggest again as they took longer and were also much more eerie than taking the normal street, but you get what you get when you miss an important turn. You lived about 45 minutes away from it, so this was going to be a hell of a ride.

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The sky got darker as the hour passed, now a deep almost crimson orange, allowing the light-filled sign to stick out on the side of the road. Seeing "FAZBEAR PIZZERIA" in bright yellow was a strange wake-up call.

Very.. vintage.

The second "I" was blinking, the sign hadn't been updated for a few years, and it showed. It was best not to focus on the decaying exterior, judging a book by it's cover never works out in the long run.

As you entered the parking lot and found a spot (there was a surprising amount of cars), before stepping out of your car, you saw a man pulling a trash bag to the dumpster on the side of the building, leaking a darker fluid as it was dragged. You thought nothing of it, considering it was a childs play-place it was most likely just an excess of dumped soda... that's all it could be, don't be stupid. Taking a deep breath, you continued with the task at hand. Hyping up an interview for a shady restaurant.

You locked you car and continued. You were met by a vaguely familiar voice on your way to the door. It was the "phone guy". That was the best you, or anyone apparently, could come up with, he was also the only one without a name tag. He had on a loose coffee brown hat that had "FAZBEAR ENTERTAINMENT™" written across the middle covering dyed red hair, a flannel-print jacket, white crewneck sweatshirt, and light blue jeans topped off with some basic dirty black shoes. You couldn't quite tell if he was an employee or a teenager, but you went with it. You continued towards the door.

"Welcome to Fazbear Entertainment, are you Y/N?"

"Yes; did I come too soon?"

"Not at all. In fact, you came close enough to 7:00 for me to have time to show you around the lot. Lots of time, in fact! I love giving tours. Beats sitting at a desk selling tickets and answering phones! Follow me."

He opened the door and gestured for you to follow him, but it felt almost as if you had someone (or something), staring at you, causing you to discreetly turn, just to see nothing there. Weird. This place had always had the ability to give anyone chills. Following the phone guy in, you were quickly met with the smell of many food-related things from cake frosting to pizza grease. The walls were decorated with paper puppets and cardboard dolls, along with star-decorated streamers and posters of the animatronics:

Freddy, Bonnie, Chica and Foxy.
Somehow they were fitting names, but you could have sworn there were more.

You continued with him for the tour, eventually ending before an office door with "CAWTHON" written in big, brass letters.
"This is the guy who's going to interview you, or at least guide you in the right track of the job offerings. That's the whole layout, not many got this far so you're already higher on the list. The janitor's usually enough to make their cars squeal out the driveway. But good luck, Y/N."

As you turned to look at the door again, you looked back and, well.. he was gone almost instantly, like he'd just disappeared into thin air.

Nothing more to do now than find out whoever's behind this door, the place had gone under management changes since the incident, but you haven't been here for years so it's more expected than not. You didn't remember much from that age. You hesitated to knock on the door, but it swung open before you could.

It was the same man as before from outside, just in much better lighting. He was a bit taller than you were, with short, dark brown hair combed neatly, and classic business attire.

You assumed this was the wrong man, considering his name tag said "AFTON, W.", but before you could say anything, you were met with a soft, but stern voice.

"Scotty isn't here right now, can i take a message?"

You were a bit taken aback. You didn't expect a British accent, especially not in Hurricane, Utah, but you had to catch your composure before it was visible, nobody wants a rude first impression.

"Mr. Cawthon was actually supposed to interview me, but i can leave if it'll be a proble-"

"Ah, no need to worry. Come right in darlin'. I could do a better job than he could any day. Come, sit." He welcomed you into the office, pulling out a chair for you to sit at. It was surprisingly very comfortable for its age.

"So, what brings you here? To this, fine establishment? Is playing nanny for some machines your forté?"

"I guess so, if you count maintenance as babysitting?"

"Maintenance, hm? Is that what they list it as now? Fun." He leaned in, slightly closer. "It's more than your average job, love. But i'll leave that for you to find out." He looked you up and down briefly, returning his eyes to yours." You seem... capable. More than the other joe's who have stepped into this building. You'd think we were a Burger King. So, let's keep this short. You're hired, tell Scotty if he gives you any trouble next time you come in to work, in these exact words: 'Because William said so.'" He got up, walking out and shutting the door, leaving you alone in a dimly lit office. More than average maintenance? You can handle that. Can't be too much different than anywhere else. It's a children's restaurant. You left your number on the desk to ask for hours and such, since Afto- William, had up and left moments before. Strange name, for a strange man. It just felt, off-putting. You couldn't put your finger on it.

But hey, you have a job! Time to go home.

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