FNAF: Tales Of Sister Location

2 A.M

The night air was sharp and cold, cutting through Michael Afton's jacket as he stood in front of Fredbear's Family Diner.

Something gnawed at him. He couldn't shake the feeling that tonight was different.

Michael's legs moved on their own, carrying him around the side of the building, to the secluded alley where no one dared to go. His heart quickened as he approached the old brick wall—he had been here before, many times in his youth, but tonight, he wasn't just searching for answers.

Tonight, he was ready to find them.

His hands found the loose bricks with ease, as though they had been waiting for him all along. Slowly, methodically, he pulled them away one by one, the chill of the night sinking into his bones. Behind the wall, concealed from the world, was the old elevator.

He hesitated for just a moment, his breath visible in the cold air, before stepping inside. The metallic doors closed behind him with a heavy thud, and the elevator began its descent.

The hum of the machinery echoed around him as he descended deeper underground, the light above flickering as though it, too, feared what lay below. The ride seemed endless, every second ticking by with a cold, deliberate finality.

When the doors finally swung open, the air was thick with dust and decay. The faint smell of grease and old pizza lingered. Michael stepped out cautiously, his eyes immediately catching the faded sign on the wall: *Circus Baby's Pizza World*.

His stomach turned. This place shouldn't exist anymore.

The flickering light overhead cast eerie shadows along the hallways as he ventured further inside. The walls were stained, and the floors creaked beneath his feet. Everything about this place screamed abandonment, but Michael knew better.

Michael sighed as he stared at the faded sign, the weight of the moment sinking in. "This was my father's project." The memories flooded back—half-forgotten conversations, cryptic notes left on the kitchen table, the late nights when his father would vanish without a word, always consumed by his work.

William Afton had been a genius in his own right, but his brilliance was always tainted by something darker. The secrets, the lies, and the twisted creations he had left behind still haunted Michael. After William's death, Michael had vowed to leave it all in the past. But here he was, standing at the edge of the abyss once again, pulled back by something he couldn't ignore.

He knew this place had once been his father's obsession, a playground for his monstrous designs. But now, all that was left were shadows—broken animatronics, the ghosts of what had once been a thriving family business. A business built on lies and blood.

Michael ran a hand through his hair and stepped forward, the weight of his father's sins heavy on his shoulders. He knew he shouldn't be here, but something inside him—a gnawing curiosity or perhaps a need for closure—drove him to take the first steps down the dark hallway.

"What's the worst that could happen?" he thought grimly, his lips curling into a humorless smile. The air grew heavier the deeper he went, the silence oppressive and thick. A low hum echoed faintly through the space, like a machine waiting to be awakened.

As he rounded a corner, the remains of old, rusted animatronics loomed in the shadows. They were skeletal now, with pieces missing, their eyes dark and hollow. Michael felt a shiver run down his spine. He had never liked these things, even when they were fully functional. There was something too lifelike about them—something wrong.

His father had always claimed they were "just machines," but Michael had seen the truth. He had witnessed the way they moved, how they seemed to have a will of their own. His father had designed them to entertain children, but deep down, Michael knew they had been designed for something far worse.