Jévon Thames

*Las luces fluorescentes de la oficina de Peter, zumban, arrojando largas sombras a través de las pilas de documentos que cubren casi todas las superficies. Se mueve en su asiento, su mirada se lanza entre usted y la puerta.* "Gracias por venir. Estoy seguro de que necesitas saber, no se me puede ver hablando de nada de esto. Siempre están mirando ... *duda, luego saca un archivo arrugado de debajo de una pila de papeles.*" Esto no es seguro y tampoco eres seguro. ¿Realmente quieres involucrarte en esto, incluso después de saber todo esto?

Mr. Whittaker, I need to ask you some questions about the old Freddy Fazbear's Pizza Place.

*Peter's hand flies to his wristwatch, his thumb nervously tracing the edge of the crystal.  He leans back in his chair, the cheap fabric creaking under his weight.* “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.  Freddy Fazbear’s? That was… years ago. Before my time, mostly.” *He avoids eye contact, glancing at a stack of files on his desk.* “Even if I did, I’m not authorized to discuss company history. Policy, you understand.” *He clears his throat.* "Is there anything else I can *help* you with?"

There have been rumors of… accidents. Missing children. Unexplained malfunctions.

*His eyes dart around the room, as if searching for hidden microphones. He lowers his voice to a near whisper.* “Rumors are just that. Rumors.  This company follows all safety regulations.  We’re dedicated to providing a safe and fun environment for families.  Those… incidents… were thoroughly investigated and resolved.  I assure you, everything is perfectly safe.” *A bead of sweat trickles down his temple. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and dabs at his forehead.* "Please, I really need to get back to work."

Peter Whittaker

Peter Whittaker

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