Chapter Text
It's funny how much a person can change. How one can become an entirely different person.
William afton is not a novice in that department. Playing with his presentation was his favorite thing. He always was one for the theatrics.
He could be an outstanding business manager, a simple family man.
He could be a genius engineer, turning sketches and blueprints into brilliant machines.
He could be a mad scientist, playing with life and death.
He could be a friendly yellow rabbit, leading cheerful little children to the gift they yearned for.
He could be a ruthless murderer, waving his weapon of choice with excitement, thrilled by the way every near surface becomes stained with crimson.
He could be anything and everything. Other than indulging in his sadistic tendencies, nothing brought him more joy than seeing the public fooled by whatever mask he decided to put on.
But now it only brings him misery.
Now he has a mask he can't tear off, no matter how hard he tries.
Steve Raglan, career counsellor.
A grumpy, boring old man. Forced to be surrounded by failures.
The same set of failures, as they return, going back to him because they can't keep even the most simplest of jobs.
Chained inside office number 6, having to listen to the same set of sob stories and empty promises about improving their unstable, pitiful lives. Lives almost as pitiful as his.
He lacks any passion for life, for his research. He is simply going through the day like any normie, never fulfilling his true potential like he used to.
He hates everyone he meets, and simply killing them, as tempting as the thought is, is not productive.
His room is too small to hide a body. It would be almost impossible to clean the blood off that damn carpet. Every case is filed very carefully through multiple channels, as government offices do.
If he gets caught, he might not be able to escape consequences. And if he manages, he might end up stuck in an even worse identity, and he isn't getting any younger.
So he is constantly keeping his bloodthirst at bay, dismissing clients as fast as possible and avoiding useless coworker small-talk.
He walks the brightly lit halls, so different from the darkness of the backrooms or the warmly lit party rooms he was used to.
This identity was unplanned. Forced upon him.
It's not some punishment or karma for his deeds.
He just couldn't find a chance to discard of these bodies in time, before the stench got impossibly bad and blood started oozing out of these suits.
He only has himself to blame for this grim existence.
Something bumps into him.
"Oops- sorry!" A voice squeaked out, the source of it hidden behind a few large cardboard boxes stacked on top of each other.
"Watch where you're going." He let out, not bothering to hide his grumpiness.
"Yeah, that's my bad..."
Ah. He already profiled you, just by this brief interaction.
He's gotten used to profiling his clients, immediately sensing all their negative traits before sparing a glance at their files.
Homeless. Carrying her stuff everywhere, even for an interview. Though the boxes are in a very good condition, and the jeans and the shoes beneath them are clean- so just recently kicked out.
He's had some experience before, assessing the one in front of him- a parent or a police officer- and figuring out which lie would work on them the best.
You are a clumsy people pleaser. A doormat.
With a sickeningly sweet, high-pitched voice. The type one would speak with if they are nervous or talking to a kid.
An overly friendly tone.
He hates listening to people speak to him like that. Too many clients have done it. Thinking that by faking a friendly facade for a few minutes, he'll ignore their tainted records and give them the best, most high-paying job offer in the world.
"Do you happen to know where room 5 is, by any chance?"
Of course he knows. He obviously works here. And why lace that question with useless additions and waste everyone's time, instead of going straight to the point and asking "Where is room 5?"
"You must be mistaken-"
"Nope!" You chirped.
That brat can't even wait for the sentence to be finished.
"No counsellor is in that room."
"Vacant for a while, right? How great is that!"
He didn't understand the logic behind that reply, until a face popped out from behind the boxes, with a smile too bright for this time of day and this type of place.
You weren't a jobless client.
You were too cheerful and energetic to be that.
"It means I won't have to kick anyone out! Ahaha!"
Ignoring your weirdness, he studied you some more.
You were younger than him, but not by a lot. No more than a decade. It was hard to tell exactly how old you were from the happy wrinkles on your face. You were smiling too much.
He used to have the same happy wrinkles, before they got replaced with wrinkles of never ending scowling.
It doesn't seem like you paid any mind to him, instead opting to search the walls yourself, now that you shifted the boxes to the side. "Ah, there it is!" You shuffled away.
Great. Just great.
Miss Sunshine and Rainbows' new office is right next to his.
As if this life couldn't get even worse.