Carnage : 1983 | William afton x reader |

Distortion. 9

The restaurant felt different after closing.

Without the artificial laughter of children and the chaos of movement, the space seemed to exhale. Lights dimmed to half their usual brightness. The stage curtains hung motionless. Even the animatronics appeared less theatrical — more mechanical, their frozen smiles unsettling in the quiet.

I sat at a small table near the back of the dining area, files spread neatly before me. Staff records. Maintenance logs. Access sheets.

He had delivered them personally. Of course he had.

"Still here."

His voice carried easily through the empty room.

I didn't look up immediately. "So are you."

A chair scraped softly against tile as he pulled it out across from me. Not beside but across from me, an intentional action.

"I prefer to review things myself," he said. "It prevents... misunderstandings."

I glanced up then. 

William had removed his tie. The top button of his shirt was undone, sleeves still rolled from earlier. There was something almost disarming about the lack of corporate polish — as though he were allowing the illusion of informality.

"Misunderstandings imply error," I replied. "I prefer facts."

His gaze flicked to the open file in front of me.

"And have you found any?"

"Patterns," I said. He was interested in what I had to say, his head tilting, dripping in curiousity.

He leaned back slightly in his chair. Relaxed. Or performing relaxation.

"Tell me."

It wasn't a challenge. It wasn't permission either. It was interest.

I studied him for a moment before answering. The overhead lighting cast faint shadows along his features, sharpening the angles of his face. He had sharp features.. most would deem as attractive. He held eye contact comfortably — not confrontational, not evasive.

Just steady.

"There's a discrepancy in last month's maintenance entries," I said. "Two unscheduled inspections behind the stage. Signed off under your authorization."

His expression didn't change.

"Yes," he said. "There were electrical inconsistencies. The animatronics require constant recalibration."

"And you handled it personally?"

"I don't delegate what I consider important."

There was something deliberate in that wording, And I let a small silence form between us.

"Important," I repeated.

His mouth curved faintly.

"You're wondering why I would concern myself with wiring."

"I'm wondering," I corrected, "why you would concern yourself with that specific area."

His gaze sharpened — just slightly.

"Behind the stage is the structural core of the building," he replied. "Access tunnels. Power systems. Storage. It's the most vulnerable section."

Vulnerable.

Interesting choice.

"To whom?" I asked.

His fingers rested loosely against the edge of the table.