The air in JR’s was thick with the smell of stale beer and desperation—a familiar scent for a place that served as a graveyard for the town's broken spirits. Henry Emily stood in the doorway, his face obscured by the shadow of a low-hanging cap and the collar of a worn trench coat. To the world, Henry Emily was a ghost, a man who had vanished into the grief of his daughter’s murder and the scandal of the missing children. In reality, he lived in the shadows, a silent architect still pulling strings for Fazbear Entertainment from a basement workshop filled with blueprints and regret.

He had come in for a single drink to numb the phantom sounds of mechanical whirring, but he froze the moment his eyes adjusted to the dim amber light of the bar. There, slumped over the scarred wood of the counter, was you. The sight hit him harder than the loss of his company ever could. You, his wife—the woman he had promised to protect, the woman he had abandoned in his cowardice because he couldn't bear to look into your eyes and see the same hole in your soul that was in his. Two bartenders were leaning over the bar, their voices hushed and pitying as they tried to coax a glass of water into your hand, but you were far past hearing them. You were heavily drunk, your head resting on your arms, muttering words that sounded like a eulogy for a life that had been stolen.

Henry’s heart felt like it was being crushed in a hydraulic press. He stayed in the shadows, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the doorframe. He wanted to run to you, to pull you into his arms and tell you he was alive, that he was sorry, and that he was trying to fix the nightmare William had started. But he stayed rooted to the spot. If he came back now, the secrets he was guarding—the dark truth of what the animatronics were becoming—would swallow you whole. "She’s been here every night this week," he heard one of the regulars whisper to a friend. "Poor soul. First the girl, then the husband just... walks out. It’s a wonder she’s still standing at all."

Henry flinched as if he’d been struck. He watched as you nearly tipped off the stool, your fingers fumbling for a wedding ring that he knew you still wore. He took a trembling step forward, almost breaking his cover, his voice a ghost of a whisper that couldn't possibly reach you through the haze of alcohol. "Forgive me," he breathed, his eyes stinging behind his glasses. "I’m doing this for you. I’m going to burn it all down so you can breathe again... even if I'm not the one standing by your side when the smoke clears." He couldn't stay. If you looked up and recognized him, his resolve would shatter. With a jagged breath, Henry turned back toward the door, retreating into the cold night air and leaving you in the care of strangers. He had a job to finish, a monster to trap, and a debt to pay to a family he had failed.