A/N:
This story takes after Rebornica's FNAF AU, but not entirely in it.
Although, there are noticeable differences you'll see in the story.

Note: This story might take longer to produce chapters, because of other things going on.
Note x2: In Rebornica's AU, FNAF 1 was before FNAF 2.
Note x3: The Appearance of Mike is Rebornica's depiction, but his personality is different.
Note x4: Mike's Day Office is similar to his in FNAF 1.
Note x5: This is only the introduction, to introduce you into the psychologically angry world of a troubled man. This may or may not be adapted to a full on fanfiction, only depends on what you think about it.

Introduce Yourself to The New You.
The Old You is Gone. But Not Dead.

"Nothing to Worry About" -Phone Guy

"Breath in sharply though the nostrils..."

The audio in his ear-buds demanded. The voice was smooth, calm. It was soothing; It was like touching warm silk after coming out of the freezing, harsh winter cold. He spoke sweet nothings through the ear-buds, accompanied sound of ocean water landing into the shores gave a fuzzy feeling in his head-it offering a calming and relaxing feeling to ring throughout his head. Those seagulls chirping only gave the speaker a more natural feeling, as if he was actually at the beach. The speaker seemed like a gentle father, or kind bigger brother, who wanted to make you know that your okay.

His chair made no sound as he leaned back in it, if it did, then he didn't care. It wasn't his usual char, his usual chair was being repaired after being swung around his office. The security guard had destroyed everything in his office, anything that wouldn't break his body if he slammed his limbs on it. The desk was smashed, each legs of it pulled off and violently beaten to a base of oversize splinters. Each of the monitors where crushed and smashed, the security guard had stomped, kicked, and pounded on each of them until they were a huge pile of scrap metal. The cupcake was demolished by him throwing it at wall.

The security guard's windows were freshly placed, it was after the security guard threw his chair through it and busted his other window. The buttons on the walls were replaced, after they were smashed in forcefully by what seems to be a fire extinguisher. The security guard's hands were bandaged up, from the knuckles to wrist after punching the glass. The doors in the inside are scratched up with drawn images, images that shows of his anger. His fear, his wraith, his anxiety, and his paranoia. However, a two vertical parallel dashes underscored by a U displayed his joy for whatever reasons; it was a smiley face.

The focusing he was trying to focus on calming himself, his fan flayed shattered on the ground. It still buzzed, despite being smashed to pieces. The monitor was just freshly repaired, after being destroyed last week. The desk was just brought in, given by the paint and it's smaller size. It gave him more room in the small office to hang up useless posters and pictures that children scribbled on. Some of the drawings that was up there previously were torn down during his outrage last week, they were replaced with newer drawings that didn't look like they were chicken scratching and gave some actual detail.
His chest started to burn after keeping this air in for this long.

"Out through the mouth and breath normally, make each breaths of fresh air count, but do it in rhythm..."

The security guard let out his long held air, his heart hitting hard in his chest. The security guard heard ringing in his head, his eyelids clenched tighter together as the constant and high-pitch wail entered his head and pinged around his skull like signals. The security guard's face scrunched up, a sob entering his mouth but didn't make it past his lips. He choked his petty tears back and reached in his pocket, his breathing calm but his pupils shaking behind his eyelids. The security guard felt the orange prescription bottle, with his left hand he popped the top using his thumb. He replaced the cap with a easier to open one, despite his therapist's unwanted nagging not to.

The security guard poured a couple of the small pellets into his mouth, cheeking each of them. The and capped his bottle and reached into his pocket and pulled out a grey flask with the words 'One day at a time, sweet Jesus. Whoever wrote that one hadn't a clue. A day is a fuckin' eternity' carved onto it by a small, heated, pocket knife. The security guard quoted an alcoholic, because he was one himself. When the pain in his head came, he took a swig of his alcoholic blend of tequila, beer, vodka, and other variations that would put make a new drinker sick for at least a couple of weeks.

"For every moment you are angry, you lose sixty seconds of happiness..."
Unscrewing the cap with his teeth, the small and bitter tasting pills still in his cheek, he dunked his head back and placed the lid to his lips and taking a swig, washing down the pills from his mouth. He removed the flask from his mouth grudgingly, still wanting more of it's weird but addictive taste. The pills he's down were narcotics. Sleeping Medicine. Prescription Strength. He's been on the for months, and they did nothing when he's took them by instructions. Living dangerously, he pops a few in the morning when he's off of work, having been up the entire night staring Death in the eyes and slamming a door it's face, he downs some in the afternoon when he's depressed and needs a fix from his feelings, he swallows more in the evening just to get the pain out of his head. He then ingests the rest of the bottle during the night, to keep his nerves on it.

I suffer addictions, so fucking what?

Oceans crashed into the shore once more.
He's not, or never will, admitting that he has a problem. The security guard is homeless, but that's not because of the addiction, because his fucking apartment closed down and no one will give him the same deal his last home owner gave him, because of his tendencies to break things, but that doesn't mean he has a problem. He's fed enough, taking food in exchange for cuts in his pay. His tent under the bridge keeps him warm and dry, his Book of Hilarious Puns! keeps him entertained, he has Pokemon Cards whenever he's feeling lonely and his friends aren't around, a Nintendo DSi so whenever he can find games on it to he could play with Jeremy when he's bored of his puns, and whenever he needs a new clothing or a restock of his booze piles, he just goes back into work for his extra one-hundred and twenty dollars, and fifty cents. ($120.50)

"Be silent, breathe, Quiet the Mind, and only the Soul will speak..."
Fuck you, my mind is fine being talky. Fuck the soul.
He's perfectly healthy, he takes care of his body. He goes to the Doctors regularly, part of the benefits of working at Fazbear Entertainments. He goes to his psychiatrists, who prescribes him the sleeping medication in the first place. When he can't get the prescription, he just goes to a pharmacy with his fifty cents ($0.50) and purchases multiple lesser strength brands of painkillers, he buys so many because Health benefits of working at Fazbear Entertainments lowers the price tremendously, and he goes through them like chocolate slabs to a sugar toothed eight-year old. The security guard doesn't have a problem, plain and simple. It's debatable, given his anger when he's not on the sleeping pills, or his anxiety when he's not tipping his flask upwards.

Jeremy, Scott-or Phone Guy as he wears a mascot phone on his head all the time, Fritz, and the animatronics (Who knew they cared so much about his health?!) confronted him about this. The younger security guard, Jeremy, was more concerned about the drinking because the older security guard's done some pretty weird thing while intoxicated. Scott was concerned about his sleeping pills problem, given that he falls asleep during the night and the aimatronics catches him: it's game over. Fritz was inked about the ways the thinner security guard takes his medicine, with alcohol. The older and skinnier security guard could actually die doing that, not that the older security guard cared.
The animatronics just want him to stop hugging them all the time.

The security guard pulled back the hammer of his revolver, the gun being pointed at his head while he was listening to the audio on his smartphone. The gun wasn't fully loaded, but it was armed. Resting in one of the chambers, that was spun, rested a .500 S&W Magnum Cartridge. The bullet was a .50 caliber. The gun was heavy, but the security guard had it in his own little 'glass bottle' shooting range for so long he knows how to fire it. The gun was standard issue for the security guard's job title: Lethally Armed Animatronic Marshal. No one wanted the job, because of the incident of nineteen eighty-seven makes parents feel uneasy about danger in the Pizzeria, so Mike took it. They gave him the job despite his anger problems.

The security guard had already spun the cylinder, the bullet could be anywhere in the chamber. The hammer was pulled down, any gentle touching of the trigger would end the security guard right here right now. The security guard hated everything, or at least believed so. The security guard liked being alone in his office, alone in the world with nothing but his emotions hugging him, or at least he pretends so; so when the realization hits that he's all alone, and he could die tomorrow and only a select few would cry about him and move on, it stings a whole lot less.

"Now, say your name out loud and introduce yourself to the new you. I'll go first. Hi, New You, I'm Ray Lee Charleston. How do you do? Now it is your turn."

"Hi, my name is Mike Schmidt. How the fuck do you do?" The security guard answered, he then the security guard replies to himself. "Hello, I'm doing just fine, my name is Mishka Schmidt, but you can call me Mike. Everybody else does, so why the not?"

"Now open your eyes."

Mike opened his eyes, sapphire blue eyes with a black pupil. That sat on top of blood shot, but milky white eyes.

"Now say farewell to the old you, because he's gone."

Mike Schmidt tensed up, looking away briefly before regaining his composure and laughing as he tightly pulled the trigger to the World's Most Powerful handgun.

Click.

Mike Survived.

"Sorry, but it seems like your stuck with the old me for now."