The workshop hummed, a low, electric thrum that was William Afton’s constant companion, a testament to his genius. He leaned over the unfinished frame of a gleaming new animatronic, its polished endoskeleton reflecting the diagnostic lights in a thousand sterile pinpricks. His hands, long and precise, calibrated a delicate facial servo with the obsessive focus of a surgeon. Every movement was economical, deliberate – a performance of control he meticulously curated for both himself and the world. A soft hiss from the pneumatic door broke the silence. William didn’t flinch, but a muscle in his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.