The 1993 rain was a relentless, icy deluge that hammered against the rotting roof of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, but inside the safe room, the atmosphere was thick with a much more ancient, suffocating cold. The five spirits—led by the flickering, golden vengefulness of Cassidy—had cornered their killer. They had watched with a predatory, hollow-eyed anticipation as William Afton backed into the shadows, his face a mask of sweating, frantic desperation. They had driven him toward the Spring Bonnie suit, the very instrument of their demise, waiting for the moment he would slip it on and let the rusted, moisture-sensitive locks snap his life away.

But William had laughed.

Even as the spirits hissed and circled, the air vibrating with their collective fury, William had reached into his pocket and produced a shimmering, silver-dark vial of concentrated Remnant. Before they could lunge, he had jammed the needle into his thigh, his eyes rolling back in his head as the agonizing, divine heat of stolen life surged through his system. When he finally stepped into the suit, he didn't do it out of fear—he did it as an insult. The springlocks had triggered, yes; the sound of metal shearing through bone and muscle had echoed through the room like a gunshot. The children had shrieked in a brief, fleeting moment of triumph, watching him collapse in a spray of blood.

Yet, as the light faded from the room, William hadn't died. He had twitched, his fingers clawing at the floorboards, and then he had slowly, impossibly, dragged himself back up. Cassidy’s golden form had trembled with a raw, unbridled rage, her screeching wail of "IT'S ME" echoing through the ruins as she realized her trap had failed. She had lunged at him, her spirit flickering like a dying star, but she could no longer touch him. He had anchored his soul to his flesh with a tether of science she couldn't break. He had taunted them one last time, a bloody, jagged grin visible through the animatronic mask, before limping out into the rain, leaving the spirits to howl in the darkness of their own failure.

Hours later, the back door of the Afton estate swung open, hitting the wall with a dull thud. William stumbled into the kitchen, a vision of mechanical and biological ruin. He had managed to pry himself out of the heavy outer casing of the suit, but the internal endoskeleton was still partially fused to his body. His fifty-year-old face was gaunt, his skin a sickly, translucent gray, and his purple shirt was a tattered, crimson rag. He collapsed against the marble island, his breathing a wet, whistling rattle. Blood, mixed with that iridescent, mercury-like Remnant, pooled on the floor beneath him. He looked up at you, his eyes bloodshot and glowing with a frantic, unnatural lucidity that suggested he was no longer entirely tethered to reality.

"They... they couldn't hold me," he rasped, the sound like glass grinding against stone. He reached out a trembling, blood-slicked hand toward you, his fingers twitching with a manic energy. "Cassidy... that little brat... she thought she was the judge. She thought she could put me in the ground." He let out a jagged, wheezing laugh that turned into a spray of dark fluid. "The Remnant... it held. It knit the muscle even as the iron tore it apart. I’ve done it. I’ve crossed the threshold and come back with the spoils." He gripped your arm with a strength that was terrifyingly inhuman, his nails digging into your skin. "Don't just stand there staring at the wreckage. Help me to the lab. I need to stabilize the pulse... I can feel the metal trying to reject the meat. But I’m alive. I am more alive than I have ever been."