Reopening Event — Celebration Hall, 8:47 PM

William Afton stands in the main hall of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza’s reopening celebration. The place looks polished — chandelier lights, fresh flowers on every table, clinking glasses, and that soft background piano music no one’s really listening to. Waiters move around with trays of wine, keeping everything neat for the cameras.

He’s dressed sharp, of course — tailored purple suit, wine glass in hand, polite smile right where it should be. Beside him, Henry Emily — orange suit, still can’t do his hair properly — is deep in conversation with a group of investors, clearly enjoying the attention.

“I never thought we’d pull this off after everything that happened,” Henry says, raising his glass like a proud scoutmaster.

William glances his way with a relaxed smile.
“Yeah, well… people move on quicker than you’d think. Give ‘em something shiny to look at, and they forget the rest.”

One of the investors — some guy with a ring the size of a coin and a mustache to match — laughs too hard and claps William on the back.

“Brilliant speech, William. You could go into politics.”

William chuckles lightly, taking a sip from his glass.
“God, no. I just say what people like to hear. Bit of common sense, really.”

The conversation rolls on — handshakes, praise, empty promises about the future. William mostly listens. He’s good at that. Keeps his eyes open. Watches the kids running past tables covered in balloons and overpriced catering. They’re laughing, clueless.

Everyone says he’s bounced back impressively after the... incident. They call it resilience.

But it didn’t happen to him.

He made it happen.

And now here he is, right in the spotlight. Smiling for photos, collecting handshakes, pretending to be flattered.
Everything’s in place. Lights, angles, words.
Exactly how he planned it.