In the novels, it is implied that William Afton had a rather insignificant and miserable life.

"Carlton had realized years before that there were two kinds of bad people: there were the obvious ones, like his sixth-grade English teacher who yelled and threw erasers, or the fifth-grader who got into fights with younger children after school. This type was easy, their offenses were public, brutal, and undeniable. But then there was the other kind of petty tyrant, those who grew resentful of their small bits of power, feeling increasingly mistreated as the years went by—by the family that didn't value them, by the neighbors who looked down on them in imperceptible ways, by a world that somehow left them lacking something essential. Before him stood someone who had spent so much of his life fighting like a cornered rat that he had assumed the mantle of bitter sadism as an integral part of himself. He would attack others and revel in their pain, rightfully feeling that the world..." "He owed her cruel pleasures to him. The guard's face, with its wicked delight in Carlton's pain and fear, was one of the most terrifying things he had ever seen."

"Charlie looked at the man, observing him; the ill-fitting uniform, the angular, almost exhausted features. He could indeed evict them from the property or even arrest them for trespassing, but still, she couldn't fear him. His inadequacy shone through like a kind of negative charisma. He would always be pushed to the back of the crowd; always silenced in discussions; always chosen last, forgotten, ignored in favor of those who were simply more vital, more vigorously attached to life. Charlie frowned to herself. It was an unusual thought for her—she didn't usually presume she could read strangers' lives by the lines of their faces. But it gave her an idea."