Survive the Night. A FNAF 1 fanfiction. Book 1

CHAPTER 5: Shadows and Schemes

William Afton sat in his hidden office, his eyes glued to the surveillance monitors. The room was dark, illuminated only by the cold, flickering light from the screens. Shadows danced across the walls, creating an eerie atmosphere that mirrored the darkness in William's heart. On the monitors, he watched every move Michael made, every desperate attempt to fend off the animatronics, every flicker of fear in his eyes. William's face twisted into a sneer of frustration. How had Michael survived this long? He muttered to himself, his voice a low growl. "You're more resilient than I gave you credit for, boy. But that won't save you." His fingers drummed on the desk, a rhythm of irritation. As he watched Michael sprint down the hallway, barely evading Bonnie's grasp, William's anger flared. He had carefully orchestrated this night, ensuring that Michael would have to leave the safety of the office. The animatronics had been more aggressive than they had been in years; he had tampered with the generator, and he had even made sure certain doors would malfunction. Yet, Michael was still alive. "Dammit," William cursed, slamming his fist on the desk. "Why won't you just die?" In another part of the building, he watched through the cameras as Michael managed to evade Freddy, slipping out of the bathroom and heading for the basement. William gritted his teeth. His son was resourceful; he had to admit that much. But his resourcefulness could only get him so far.

"I'll have to take matters into my own hands," he whispered to himself, a twisted grin spreading across his face. "Soon, Michael. Very soon, I'll end this myself." Switching his focus to another monitor, William adjusted his voice. He had been masquerading as Dave Miller, the seemingly helpful yet sinister phone guide for Michael. He picked up the phone and dialed the security office number, leaning back in his chair as it rang. Michael answered the phone, his voice tense. "Hello?" "Mike, it's Dave. I see you're having a rough night," William said, his tone falsely cheerful. "Dave, this is serious. The animatronics are trying to kill me," Michael replied, his voice trembling with fatigue and fear. William suppressed a chuckle. "Just hang in there, Mike. You're doing great. Keep an eye on those cameras, and remember—you're alone." "Not helpful, Dave," Michael muttered, clearly exasperated. "Do you have any actual advice?" "Advice? Sure. Don't let them catch you," William said with a hint of amusement. "Seriously though, Mike, you're a pro at this. Just keep those doors shut and the lights on. Easy, right?" Michael's frustration was palpable over the phone. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one being hunted." "Oh, come on. Don't be so dramatic. It's just a bunch of old robots. How bad can it be?" William taunted, enjoying the game.

"You know exactly how bad it is, Dave," Michael snapped. "Alright, alright," William said, feigning hurt. "Just trying to lighten the mood. How's Bonnie? Still causing trouble?" "Bonnie's the least of my worries," Michael replied, scanning the cameras. "Chica's getting close." "She was always the eager one," William mused. "Keep your eyes peeled, Mike. And remember, you've got this. Or at least, I think you do." "Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence," Michael said dryly. "Now if you don't mind, I've got to focus." "Alright, I'll leave you to it. But hey, Mike?" "What?" Michael snapped. "Don't forget to smile. You're on camera," William said before hanging up. He leaned back in his chair, a cruel smile playing on his lips. The rest of the night passed in a blur of frantic movements and narrow escapes for Michael. William watched with a mix of irritation and grim satisfaction. Despite everything, Michael had managed to survive until the early hours of the morning. The animatronics returned to their places, and Michael, exhausted but alive, gathered his belongings and headed for the exit. As he watched his son leave, William's mind was already plotting. He would have to be more direct, and more hands-on. He would make sure Michael didn't survive. There was no room for error.

"Enjoy your rest, Michael," William whispered to the empty room. "Because it will be your last." The surveillance monitors flickered, casting eerie shadows as William began to outline his plan. His son's resilience had become a personal challenge, and William was determined to win.