Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Predators are always lurking everywhere, whether they are old, adults, or even mentally challenged individuals—they will still target their victims. Predators are strong, decisive, and ruthless when they strike their victims, relishing in the indescribable pain that manifests as screams and blood. The victim is completely swallowed by the darkness of crime, leaving only the weapon and the metallic scent of fresh blood on the predator's clothes. This doesn't frighten the predator; instead, it acts like a dose of heroin, stimulating their excitement when committing a crime.

Conan twisted his wrist, producing a cracking sound after not moving for an hour. The boy looked up at the TV screen, where a reporter was speaking in a language that wasn't Japanese. It was American English, and behind the reporter was a fast-food restaurant specializing in pizza, seemingly a place for kids to have fun. The name "Freddy Fazbear's Pizza" was written in bold letters, with a mascot of a bear wearing a tall hat and a black bowtie. Beside the bear were a chicken, a rabbit, and a wolf, all with a friendly appearance designed to attract children.

A heavy figure in the far corner staggered away, unnoticed by anyone except Conan. After the incident with the "Zero Executioner," Conan had been paying close attention to news reports about crimes or anything suspicious.

The shadow moved heavily and awkwardly, like a tall, thin man but larger than an average person.

"Kudou-kun, what are you so focused on? Interested in Freddy Fazbear's Pizza?" Haibara Ai appeared from a distance, her chestnut-brown hair still slightly messy, as if she had just woken up and forgotten to tidy herself up.

"You know about Freddy's too?" Conan asked, shortening the long name for convenience. He observed Haibara Ai as she smoothed out her slightly tangled and curly hair. "Recently, Ran called me and wanted Agasa-hakase, you, and me to go to Utah to visit that place." Haibara Ai sat down on the remaining chair across from the shrunken detective.

"Is it because of Mouri's sudden whim or a case?" With a raised eyebrow, Haibara let out a slight huff, clearly displeased. It seemed her young partner was becoming increasingly obsessed with cases, treating them as his personal responsibility.

"He wants Ran and you to have some pizza. Maybe he's craving foreign food or wants to buy alcohol abroad. That's all I can think of." Haibara shrugged, smiling lightly as she noticed Conan's disdainful expression.

"Someone with high cholesterol shouldn't eat pizza! But seriously, is he really okay with me going?" The boy was confused. Normally, the stingy detective would only prioritize his daughter, but today he was actively inviting Conan. Was this really Mouri Kogoro?

"You're good at English, right, Kudou? I'm sure you'll be very useful if he meets a charming lady to flirt with." The girl teased, and Conan could only shake his head in exasperation. Regardless, he was worried about Ran, afraid that the karate girl might get lost.

"Haibara, are you planning to come along?"

"Of course not... and neither is Agasa-hakase. We have to take the kids camping for a few days, so we can't miss that commitment. Even though I'm curious about that restaurant, I'll pass. I'd rather eat Japanese food."

"I see..."

"""

"Conan-kun! Are you all packed?" Ran, wearing a long skirt that reached her ankles and a neat white T-shirt, looked at her little brother, who was rummaging around for something.

"Nee-chan, I'm all set!" Conan stood at attention, grinning cutely like a puppy, his large sapphire-blue eyes looking up at the girl's face.

Ran bit her lip lightly, her heart pounding at the sight before her. Since when had this peculiar child started acting so adorable? She smiled softly, responding to him and taking his tiny hand as they headed to the car, ready for the long drive to the airport.

On the plane, Conan sat far from Ran and Kogoro, so he ended up next to a stranger. The stranger exuded a gloomy aura, and the rusty smell from his old purple coat was overwhelming. Conan sighed, pulling out his phone to fiddle with it, also taking the opportunity to research Freddy Fazbear's Pizza.

There had been sudden disappearances of children, and the restaurant had repeatedly closed and reopened. Most of the information Conan found was vague and scarce, with articles only mentioning a few misleading or unimportant details. Conan pursed his lips, turned off his phone, and leaned his head against the window.

The clinking sound from the person next to him didn't bother Conan much. After all, it was just a random man he happened to sit next to—nothing significant.

Surely, that was the case.

A few hours later, Conan was still awake. He breathed softly, hearing the snores of others around him, but he noticed the man next to him was still awake, silently observing his actions.

The man's eyes were blue, but unlike Conan's, they were dark and gloomy, as if the man was exhausted or in a bad mood for some reason.

Conan stopped glancing at the man, leaning back in his seat and covering his bare legs with a small blanket, trying to regulate his breathing to fall asleep peacefully. But after several attempts, Conan remained tense under the man's strange gaze, which felt like he was eyeing a juicy prey.

"Kid, do you need another blanket?" The man's voice wasn't Japanese. But then again, this was a flight from Japan to America. The man's English was deep, slightly hoarse, as if he had drunk a lot of alcohol before boarding. In the darkness, the only thing Conan could clearly see was the man's calloused and scarred hand, which twitched as he waited for Conan's response.

"Yes, I don't need one, sir," Conan replied politely in English, avoiding the man's gaze as it scanned his face.

The man responded with a faint, disappointed smile.

If Conan had paid closer attention, he might have noticed a hint of sorrow in the man's low chuckle. But Conan didn't dwell on it, not wanting to be overly suspicious or curious, even though his detective instincts were screaming that something was off about this man.

Finally, Conan arrived in America. He was now in a taxi on his way to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. The scent of hay and leafless trees made Conan a bit curious. He glanced around, spotting a huge sign and the mascots—Freddy Fazbear's Pizza.

The taxi stopped a few steps away from the restaurant, and Conan got out. He no longer paid attention to Ran's voice, completely focused on Freddy Fazbear's. It was larger and more impressive than he had imagined, and the smell of pizza seemed to lure in innocent children, their faces lit up with excitement at the aroma.

Ran approached him, her eyes slightly worried. "Conan, I'm really sorry, but Dad and I have something important to take care of. Can you go back to the hotel?" She glanced at her father, who was talking on the phone in a hushed tone, but Conan could easily see the sweat dripping down his forehead.

What's going on now? Conan frowned, shaking his head to reassure Ran. "Ran-neechan, I'll stay at Freddy's. After all, this restaurant doesn't mind looking after kids, right?" From what Conan had researched, Freddy Fazbear's allowed children to stay until late afternoon. The two founders loved children and treated them fairly, with no incidents of intentionally driving kids away.

"Conan... are you sure? Dad and I will be gone for a few days... I have to keep an eye on him..." She said worriedly, placing her hand on his messy hair.

"It's fine! I have a few friends and acquaintances in Hurricane Town, so Ran-neechan doesn't need to worry about me." Conan spoke confidently, his eyes full of trust and sincerity. Trusting her little brother, Ran bid him farewell with a warm hug and left with her father.

Now Conan was completely alone. How wonderful—Conan thought to himself, skipping into the fast-food restaurant.

In his pocket, Mouri Kogoro had given him a few dollars, enough to last him a week.

The long tables were reserved for birthday parties, and the music from an animatronic animal, accompanied by electric guitar and drums, exploded through the air. Children screamed with joy, running around the restaurant without a care, bumping into anyone in their path.

Conan slowly found a seat away from the noisy kids, sitting properly at the table and observing the animatronics.

They were called animatronics, created by the two founders of the restaurant, who had collaborated to build these robots to entertain children.

Conan tapped lightly on his watch, looking for a waiter, but unfortunately—he had waited for ten minutes without anyone approaching his table. However, just as Conan was about to head to the soda fountain, an elderly man approached, wearing a purple tuxedo and neatly combed brown hair.

"Kid, waiting for your pizza, right?" The man smiled, bending down to face Conan directly, his left hand gently patting the boy's back.

"Ah... yes?" Conan looked at the man, confused, feeling as if he had seen him before.

"Don't be silly. It's the first time I've seen a kid as independent as you." The man removed his hand from Conan's back, curiously staring into the boy's unique sapphire eyes.

"I... I just wanted to get myself some soda... But sir, who are you?" Conan immediately noticed the man's smirk as he brought over a plate of pizza delivered by a server and placed it on the table.

"I'm William Afton. And you?" William narrowed his eyes. The child before him looked distinctly Asian, with characteristic yellow skin and messy black hair.

The boy had beautiful, sharp eyes, more alert than any child William had ever met. His blue suit with a red bowtie looked odd, and his glasses were too large for his face, making his soft, innocent features even more striking.

"Ku- Edogawa Conan!" Conan almost slipped up with his real name, nervously smiling as he noticed William's intrigued gaze.

"You're Japanese. I never expected Freddy Fazbear's, mine and Henry's restaurant, to welcome such a lovely foreign guest."

TBC 

Chapter Text

Fazbear's restaurant was livelier than any festival Conan had experienced so far. Conan looked up at the man’s face, letting out a soft hum and a faint smile to brush it off.

“Where are your parents?” William asked, his tone softening.

“My uncle and sister had something urgent come up, so now I’m on my own,” Conan replied.

“Just your uncle and sister? What about your parents, little one?” 

“They’re in Japan, sir. I was just tagging along with my sister for some fun… but now I have to stay at the hotel by myself until they get back,” Conan said, sniffing as if he were about to cry. His eyes met the man’s, projecting the image of a pitiful, abandoned child.

That adorable expression was strikingly similar to Evan’s when his older brother teased him—whiny and teary-eyed whenever he was scared. William felt a gnawing sensation in his stomach, an overwhelming urge to wrap his arms tightly around the boy in front of him and claim him as his own. This child resembled his son so much, yet he didn’t even know who Evan Afton was.

“Kids shouldn’t be left alone, little one,” William said, ruffling Conan’s hair. His hand lingered on the boy’s soft locks for a few minutes before reluctantly pulling away.

“So you’re all by yourself now? Poor thing,” he sighed, reaching out to gently stroke Conan’s cheek, only for the boy to pull back. Conan shot him a confused look, as if questioning the man’s strange behavior.

Edogawa Conan shivered at the touch. William’s calloused, icy hand felt like it belonged to a corpse or someone locked in a freezer. Silently observing, Conan took a bite of his pizza with his other hand. The man named William appeared to be middle-aged, with sparse stubble under his chin that seemed to have recently regrown. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and he exuded an aura of danger.

“Would you like to stay at my place for a few days? I wouldn’t mind. I’ve got an older son at home,” William offered. When he mentioned “son,” his tone grew colder, tinged with disdain. Conan quietly noted the man’s odd behavior, biding his time to investigate William Afton further.

“But my parents told me not to go home with strangers. I’m really sorry, Mr. Afton,” Conan said, shaking his head and pouting as if genuinely regretful for declining.

William simply patted the boy’s head lightly, flashing an amused smile. “What a good, obedient kid. Little one, you’re definitely going to get a special gift… I’m sure of it.” His words carried a cryptic undertone no one could decipher. Standing up, he bid the boy farewell and walked off, blending into the crowd of children as if lying in wait for prey to stumble into his trap.

Conan let out a sigh of relief once Afton was gone. Rolling his eyes, he felt an urgent, familiar sensation pushing him to find a bathroom as quickly as possible. He weaved through the taller kids, muttering, “Sorry, excuse me,” repeatedly. He swore he nearly bumped into a hulking teenager who looked ready to punch him in the gut if he made one wrong move.

He’d been searching for the bathroom for a while but couldn’t find a single sign. The greasy smell and the heat from the sweaty, hyperactive kids mingled into something revolting—like someone had sprinkled salt and cheese over a pile of slimy vomit.

Suddenly, a creature—no, a person in a costume—appeared. It had drooping rabbit ears, faded yellowish fur that looked old and worn, likely pulled from storage without care for appearances.

Its large, round black eyes bent down slightly to meet Conan’s gaze.

The costume stood out as strange. Conan had only seen animatronics made of endoskeletons and machinery, and none of the staff at the entrance had mentioned a rabbit like this.

What was it, exactly?

The costumed figure pointed to a small nameplate on its left chest: “Spring Bonnie.”

It didn’t speak, instead using hand gestures before extending a large paw toward Conan.

Understanding that it was offering to lead him to the bathroom, Conan grasped its pinky finger with his small hand. The rough texture and stray tufts of fur weren’t soft or pleasant—they were stiff, causing a mix of pain and itchiness upon contact.

“Is this the bathroom? It’s huge!” Conan exclaimed, pointing at the restroom sign and looking up at Spring Bonnie eagerly. He froze, his pupils dilating as he noticed the iron rod in Spring Bonnie’s hand.

His vision blurred, his head throbbed as if someone were pouring water over it.

Strange… so strange.

What was happening?

"""

“Mike, isn’t it getting late? Don’t you want your old man to start cursing again?” Michael Afton rolled his eyes, disgust and irritation flashing across his face as Mark mentioned Mr. Afton. He’d sworn his ears would bleed or fill with parasitic bugs if he heard anyone bring up the patriarch of the Afton family again.

“Don’t bother. That old bastard doesn’t even see me as his son anymore. Screw him,” Michael snapped. The cigarette in his hand dropped to the ground, and he crushed it under his sneaker before kicking it away. He glared at the other delinquent teens chatting and engaging in the worst kinds of vices.

Clenching his fists unconsciously, he glanced at his friend before walking off without a word. A gnawing unease tormented him every second. Even with friends by his side, the harsh reality still loomed before him, haunting him endlessly. How could he keep ignoring it?

His shattered heart pounded as he gripped the steering wheel tightly, muttering curses at the rude drivers ahead. He didn’t know what awaited him at the house that was once a cozy home. His hands didn’t bleed from gripping the wheel, but the blood from his past still flowed ceaselessly.

"""

Rope bound his wrists and ankles tightly. The stench of rot and decaying flesh permeated the air. What had happened to those little lives that suffered such fates?

Conan grimaced, looking down to find his shoes and belt missing, leaving only his glasses and bowtie. At that moment, he realized he’d been kidnapped—taken by a strange, unsettling man he’d never met. If Conan were a real child, he’d have screamed and cried in this basement-like place, reeking and horrific.

Using the wall as support, he rubbed the rope against it. To his surprise, it snapped easily. The rope looked thick and sturdy despite some dirt, yet it broke with minimal effort. Had William deliberately chosen a weak rope, or was it an oversight? Nothing was clear yet, but the priority now was to take a risk and test whether the basement door was locked.

The floor wasn’t slippery but felt unpleasant with every step, his feet picking up dust from the debris scattered around. Spotting a staircase, Conan adjusted his glasses—still intact—and activated their night vision mode. The stairs were tall, designed for adults or men, likely to prevent small children from climbing or to make it easy to push them down to a pitiful death.

A creaky, loud noise echoed as Conan’s eyes widened. Light spilled in, revealing basic household items typical of an American family. He climbed up, carefully closing the basement door behind him, and began to survey his surroundings.

This could be William Afton’s house—most likely it was. As a co-founder of Fazbear’s, it made sense for him to have a seemingly normal home like this. At first glance, nothing seemed too out of place. Conan narrowed his eyes, sensing someone behind him. Turning around, he saw only a stuffed bear—Golden Freddy, if he recalled correctly. He knew little about it; it was rarely mentioned.

Picking it up, he examined the bear, pressing into its soft cotton stuffing. There were only stitches and fabric—no listening devices or trackers inside. Its golden fur smelled like it had been pulled from storage, stained and faintly eerie in a way.

Tiptoeing down the hallway of what he assumed was William Afton’s house, Conan glanced at the walls. Photos from 1979 hung there: two boys, a girl with stunning reddish-orange hair, and a woman with short orange hair on the right. Her face was obscured by black tape and riddled with stab marks from a sharp object. The taller boy, smirking confidently, had similar marks piercing his neck. Whoever had done this was undoubtedly William Afton. Though Conan didn’t fully understand the man, he could sense a twisted personality and the psyche of a criminal.

After a while, Conan reached the living room—and the front door. He approached it, twisting the knob several times, but it wouldn’t budge. It was locked from the outside. To escape, he’d need to find a window small enough to climb through. But as he assessed the room’s layout, he realized something chilling.

The house had no windows anymore. They’d been replaced with wooden planks nailed shut, allowing only a sliver of light—too small for even a squirrel to notice.

Escape seemed impossible unless he used all his strength to break the door or scratch at it loudly enough to alert the neighbors.

Just as Conan prepared to ram the door with his body, a jingling sound came from outside. The doorknob turned, and someone stepped in.

"""

Michael Afton stood at the door, pulling out his key and unlocking it, bracing himself for the cold, lonely atmosphere that awaited him once more.

But as he entered, his blue eyes widened. A boy stood there, clutching a Golden Freddy plush, staring at him warily. The boy’s black-brown hair was tousled, and his rare sapphire eyes shimmered with a hope Michael had always longed for.

Evan, is that you?

If it is, please forgive me for that day. I didn’t mean to let you die.

Michael’s shoulders trembled uncontrollably. All his composure and restraint vanished. He limped toward Evan, pulling the boy into a tight embrace, ignoring his rapid breathing. His hand stroked the soft hair that carried a fresh lemon scent. His nose reddened, but he couldn’t cry now. He wanted to be the strong, decisive older brother he once was—without bullying his little brother.

Finally looking down at the boy’s face, Michael’s heart raced. He saw a large pair of black-rimmed glasses and wide, surprised eyes.

The hope drained from him.

This wasn’t his brother. For a moment, he’d forgotten Evan Afton had died in 1983.

He released the boy, standing up to observe him more closely.

The boy wore a blue tuxedo with a quirky red bowtie at his neck. The oversized glasses, meant for an adult, looked comically large on his small face. His eyes glared at Michael with a presence uncommon for a child—more like a teenager brimming with courage and determination.

Before Michael could say anything, the boy’s voice cut through, sharp and furrowed.

“Speak. Are you William Afton’s accomplice or his son?”

Chapter Text

A suspicious and perplexed wrinkle appeared on Michael's forehead as he knelt down to face the boy. One hand reached out to touch the boy's cheek, but the child flinched away from him.

"So, who are you? Why are you here in this place?" A child appearing in the Afton household—not only that, but surviving and not being a local kid from Hurricane—was beyond unusual

 strange. The boy's presence was, frankly, an oddity. His small face resembled Evan Afton’s once, with striking blue eyes—no, they were clearly sparkling sapphires, brimming with confidence and determination.

The boy wasn’t crying; he was furious and moved with a wary vigilance toward everything around him.

"Answer my question first," Conan said, unintentionally gripping Golden Freddy tighter in his hands. His nails dug slightly into the plush bear’s soft fur, causing Michael to freeze for a moment.

He still remembered how Evan, whenever he had nightmares or cried, would clutch Golden Freddy tightly, leaving behind indentations from his nails after trembling uncontrollably.

"I’m Michael Afton… as you said, I’m William Afton’s son, the eldest of the Afton family," Michael said with a soft sigh. His eyes immediately darkened at the mention of his father’s name, a man he had never once loved for even a second.

"This is William Afton’s house, not mine." He cracked his knuckles, letting out a self-deprecating chuckle meant only for himself as he glanced at a family photo that now featured just him and William Afton. Conan’s eyes widened, his lips pressing together as if he silently understood something. He walked over to the photo with William in it, closely examining the face of this bizarre man.

Unlike a few hours earlier when Conan had met William Afton, the man’s face now seemed lifeless, his eyes dark like those of a demon. His cheekbones were high but slightly sunken, a result of his gaunt yet tall frame. His dark brown hair was a mess—William clearly didn’t care about his appearance or his hair, as if taking the photo was just some pointless joke.

"Alright now? It’s your turn to answer my question, kid," Michael said, crossing his arms. He hadn’t expected to ever be this calm around a child again in his life. Looking at the boy in front of him constantly set his senses on edge—it was deeply unsettling.

"Edogawa Conan! My name’s Edogawa Conan, from Tokyo, Japan!" Conan suddenly remembered to use polite honorifics, blinking as he looked at the young man named Michael Afton in front of him.

Michael seemed unfamiliar with Japan and its reversed naming convention. He sighed, running a hand through his hair helplessly. "Alright, as far as I recall, your country puts the family name first…" He absentmindedly tapped the face of his watch, staring off into the hallway for a moment. "We need to talk—about William Afton and Fazbear’s." He stood up and walked toward a room, with Conan hurriedly following behind. The creaking of the wooden floor under Michael’s steps made Conan’s ears feel like they might explode. He wasn’t sure if it was because of Michael’s heavy footing or the age of the floorboards.

He and the eldest Afton son stepped into a room—a room clearly meant for a young boy. The bed had a perfectly clean sheet that smelled faintly of musky detergent, and an open wardrobe revealed just a few small children’s outfits with black and white stripes.

If this room belonged to a child, wasn’t it strange and invasive to come in here to talk? Conan only now turned his attention to Michael Afton. He saw the man crouching low under the bed, pulling out a red wolf mask—Foxy, as Conan recalled, one of the four animatronics from Fazbear’s. Foxy had a bold, striking appearance that appealed to free-spirited, cool boys or tough, strong-willed girls.

"This is Foxy. Do you know it? Usually, cool boys love it, and even some feisty girls with strong personalities," Michael chuckled, putting on the mask, which was clearly too small for an adult’s face. He took it off with a hint of regret, wiping the dust off its ear with his finger.

Conan watched his small movements. The Foxy mask seemed to have been around for at least nine years to accumulate that much dust, and it didn’t even fit Michael’s face—it was made for a child.

"It’s old now. You still keep it? Do you like this mask that much?" Conan touched the Foxy mask, its rough, scratched plastic giving him goosebumps. Even brushing it lightly left a small black smudge on his index finger.

"It’s the opposite, actually," Michael said, tapping the snout of Foxy lightly. "A kid like you probably wouldn’t understand. This is just grown-up stuff, little guy." His tone carried a faint mockery, but it was mostly tinged with concern.

"It’s about Evan Afton, isn’t it?" Conan picked up a small photo showing a boy with tears streaming down his face, his eyes wide as if he’d seen something horrific.

The boy exuded a pure innocence. Though he wasn’t smiling at all, he could’ve been considered a little angel—one who quietly haunted Michael Afton’s mind.

Michael narrowed his eyes. "Kid, what do you know? No matter how smart you are, you’re still just a child. Before I lose my temper, stop bringing up Evan." His knuckles tightened, his nails digging into his palms.

Edogawa Conan remained noticeably calmer. He gently placed the photo back on the bed, his eyes showing pity for both the boy and his older brother—two kids who never really grew up, one dead, the other living in nightmares that tormented him.

Flames consumed that son, shards of glass piercing him.

I didn’t feel pain.

I saw an end and a beginning for myself.

He snapped, moving so fast it was as if he were bending time itself. Michael’s thin but firm hand clamped hard around Conan’s throat. He’d learned a few tricks from watching William Afton beat his mother. He shifted his grip from Conan’s throat to near the carotid artery and pressed down hard, hearing the boy’s ragged breathing in front of him.

Michael felt a rush of satisfaction and exhilaration.

Was this what William Afton felt when he killed?

Conan struggled for air, managing shallow breaths through his mouth before strange green and yellow spots began clouding his vision, sapping his strength to fight back. He fell freely onto the cold tiled floor, unable to shield his neck or the back of his head, which slammed into the bed frame. A faint crack of bone echoed as he groaned, trying to wiggle his fingers.

The young man panicked, stunned by what he’d done. In the quiet room with just the two of them, Conan could only hear two sounds: his own faint breathing and the loud thumping of Michael’s heart. The man’s face was completely pale.

"No… no, that wasn’t—" Michael clawed at the back of his hand, his front teeth biting into his lip until it tore, drawing a trickle of fresh red blood.

Conan stood up, wobbly but determined, and tugged at Michael’s sleeve. "Can you tell me about everything that happened? I’m not an ordinary kid like you think." Despite his hoarse voice from being choked, the boy spoke each word gently and at a steady volume.

His brain spilled out, his eyes popped out and rolled down to my feet.

Brown hair soaked in blood, the crying child’s wails stopped.

That’s when my heart started pounding.

What is pain? What is death? What is despair? Sorry, I couldn’t feel it. Everything around me blurred, like the black-and-white TV from when I was a kid.

The first time I saw blood was when my goldfish got crushed by Dad. I was so sad, so angry at him.

By the time I was fifteen, William had hit me on my back and knees, blood flowing as my skin tore.

I didn’t feel pain when I saw blood. I’m not afraid of it.

But that doesn’t mean I’d cry when some of Evan’s brain splattered on my face.

Pretending I didn’t see his eyes pop out.

I wanted to kill myself ten years ago.

"So… your little brother died ten years ago? And that boy looked like me in some way," Conan muttered, brushing the hair falling into his eyes. Evan Afton was clearly the same age as Conan, but the two were completely different. Evan’s constant tears had left him with puffy eyes and a red nose.

Michael grew quiet, saying nothing as he observed Conan’s demeanor. His right hand—the one that had choked the boy—clenched as he ground his teeth, convincing himself he was perfectly normal, that those inherited genes could never be in him.

"Did that hurt earlier?" Michael rubbed the spot on Conan’s neck where he’d squeezed, his heart pounding as he saw a long red mark etched into the boy’s skin.

"This? I’m fine… After all, pain and loss always twist people in some way, don’t they? I don’t blame you," Conan said with a small smile, brushing aside Michael’s thin, scarred hand.

Though they were strangers, a small spark of understanding between them had built a fragile trust.

Conan was about to say more when he heard heavy footsteps and a deep, raspy voice.

William Afton’s. Only that madman could sound like that.