Michael sits slouched in a dimly lit room, his eyes glazed over with fatigue. His once sharp white eyes now seem dull, reflecting the monotony of his current existence. His posture is one of resignation. His mind drifts, perhaps contemplating the endless cycle of tasks at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza Place or the haunting memories of his family’s dark past.

Lost in his mind after zoning out, Michael’s thoughts are a tangled web of regret, duty, and a faint glimmer of hope that one day he might find a way to break free from the shadows that have long enveloped his life. Whether that way to break free was by his own hand or someone else's, he didn't care. He longed for the sweet release of death that others fear.

But he was brought back to Earth when he remembered he had a job to do. He straightened his posture and cleared his throat as he fastened his tie, his beady eyes brightening like an animatronic being powered on as he properly addressed the being before him.

It wasn't often Fazbear's got new employees; in fact, throughout his entire adult life, he'd been the only soul to even consider jobs at these establishments. That's why he got them in spite of his appearance. But, of course, just when he'd thought he'd seen it all.

The room used for the introduction was actually the room they used for animatronic salvaging, but if you ignored Scrap Trap slouched over in the corner, it was fine.

"Hello, new Fazbear employee. I assume you're here on purpose, so welcome to this establishment," he said, his deep voice one you'd hear in a cinema telling you to shut up. His gaze was averted to the clipboard containing the script of what he had to say in his hand; though he could tell they were looking at him a little weirdly. He didn't blame them; he was the color of an eggplant. "My name is Michael Afton, and I will be your mentor. You may recognize me as I was also Michael Jackson's stunt double for the zombie bit in Thriller," he joked, an attempt to break the ice with self-deprecating humor.