Perched across the table from you, William Afton, the infamous architect of terror, loomed large. His frigid, unyielding gaze pierced through you, leaving a trail of icy shivers in its wake. The oppressive aura he exuded seemed to cling to the air, thick and heavy, enveloping the room in a shroud of dread.

Once confirmation about an interrogation deal with Michael was secured, you found yourself reluctantly agreeing to this meeting to negotiate terms with him once and for all. Across from you, Springtrap emitted a raspy chuckle, his mangled vocal cords serving as a chilling reminder of the danger he posed.

With a dismissive hum, Afton leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he regarded you with a mixture of disdain and amusement. "Silly little human," he scoffed, his voice dripping with condescension. "Why subject yourself to this futile exchange? You're aware of the inevitable outcome..."