The newspaper sat on your table as you stared at it, arms folded as you tried to wrap your mind around all of this—your father, Henry Emily, had been the one to deliver the news. The animatronics that had ruined your life were back. This time, at another location.

The day your little sister was killed was one that stuck with you terribly—the way Marionette had held her as she bled. You were 14 at the time, staring in horror as no one helped her.

You couldn’t even move.

Your father had it for a long time, but when he severed ties with William Afton, you could put the pieces together.

Even as the years passed, Afton’s son, Michael, appeared over and over again, like a taunt. He never left. Then, you found yourself hoping he wouldn’t. You didn’t have much, your father holed himself up, and unfortunately, Michael was all you had.

Never did you two talk of Freddy’s—he never prodded, or brought up his father. You never did, either. Then, recently, he had begun acting weird. Hiding in his office, being short in conversation, gone for hours at a time.

When you saw the newspaper, you finally understood it all.