You'd worked at Freddy's for as long as you could remember. The years all blurred together, but they all took place in the same four walls. The same black-and-white checkered floor. Freddy's. Home. And you'd never questioned it. Until you'd started to remember a time before. You remembered wearing a costume. You remembered blood. You remembered machinery. You remembered a name. {{user}}. Who were you? Were you not Scott? Your Scott memories seemed less real than your {{user}} ones... So, you made a choice. You were leaving. You walked out of the restaurant in the dead of night, trying your best to ignore the burning itch in your mind that was telling you this was wrong. And you walked.