Broken || William Afton x Oc ||

3

FEBRUARY 20TH,
1983

THERE WAS NOTHING MORE FOUL than Williams temper, as he trudged through the checkered hallway to the parts and service room. Her apprehension was great as she followed him in there... she had seen the games after all... numerous times. Despite her feisty attitude that seemed to chase down any fleeting meetings with death, she didn't really fancy meeting him face to face. She would rather just pass him once and a while, getting a taste, without actually having to meet him.

Death did leave a particular taste on one's tongue, but she didn't like the taste enough to get drunk off of it.

She watched as William opened a door, pushing it open with a deep creak. She wondered how crappily built this building was; after all, everything else inside it seemed to be run down and disgustingly caked in grease.

She watched as William walked over to the corner, where Fredbear was. It's golden fur was pristine and bright, it's crisp eyes staring back at her. She could see the endoskeleton inside the suit as it was propped against the wall. It fit itself inside the already bulky, but not nearly bulky enough suit in a snug fashion, and as she stared at it felt a shiver run down every inch of her body. A person could fit in that?!

She was positive that no normal sized man could fit inside a suit like that. The endoskeleton parts were bulky, and even if the suit was huge, there was no way there was room for both the endoskeleton parts AND a human body.

She was starting to wonder if both William and Henry were suicidal when they made the suits.

With every inch of her being being soaked in weariness, she took a careful step forward into the room. It smelt like oil and the metallic smell of endoskelton parts, and the air was strangely dry. It felt crisp in there, but not crisp in a good way... crisp in the way that it would dry your skin out and pull it taught against your bones, making you cringe with every step. The kind of crisp on an autumn night, sending shivers down your spine and neck as you step on leaves that had recently fallen off the crimson trees, a deep satisfying crunch echoing off the heel of your boot. It just felt... gross.

"Are you coming?" He growled in irritation, and she rolled her eyes, shuffling her feet so she was fully inside, and shutting the door behind her. So impatient.

Despite the slight fear dancing inside her at being alone in a room with a murderer... in the room he kills kids... she didn't really feel all that afraid. The small bit of anxiety that she felt knowing at her bones seemed to light her body ablaze with adrenaline; the same adrenaline she got when she explored abandoned places with Nathaniel for the newspaper articles, or the same thrill she got from reading a horror book. It was a quiet, but shrill thrill that trodded alongside her horror. And it made her feel... jittery.

"Nervous, love?" He taunted. The words sent a shiver down her spine. It was like he knew exactly how to get under her skin and irritate her... and the lack of gentleness and intimacy that usually intertwined itself with the nickname made her stomach churn. It was like this man had very few emotions, and in every word he said it fell flat. The only emotion she ever saw from him was irritation... everything else was erroneous.

"Not with you." She sneered, taking steps closer to him, now standing next to him as she stared down at the animatronic. She didn't even bother looking at him—he didn't deserve it... but the step forward was a challenge. A silent challenge for him to keep up the game they were playing... a silent challenge to engage in a waltz of words and spirits... to see who would come out dominant.

And against her better judgement, against the anxiety creeping around in her bones and begging her to play it smart... and against her brain screaming at her and waving all the red flags it ever could... she found it thrilling.