The lump in Mikes throat made itself present at the familiarity of the voice on the other end of the phone, as the security guard took his thumb into his collar and wiggled the tie around to loosen it so he could forcefully swallow the nervous lump down. It wouldn't do him any good to stutter on the phone, especially with someone like this.
"Speaking."
"Ah, hello Mike. As you may recall, I am the owner of Fazbears Pizzeria, and upon inspection regarding your service as the security guard for the past six nights this week, I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions of sorts. Rather, an interview, I suppose. Though we've already covered that for your parttime work, haven't we?"
"Yes, sir. Is there a problem? Did I leave something on?" That question was utterly ridiculous and Mike knew it as he grappled the phone clumsily in his sweaty palm. There, literally, was nothing to leave on at 'work'. The power was usually drained by the time he'd finished his shift, so to have any amount of power after his shift ended was a miracle. A miracle he'd never seen, to be told. But now the owner was talking again and Mike butted the ridiculous questions out of his mind.
"Oh, no no no, nothing like that. Quite the opposite, actually, in regards to the idea of their being a problem. Naturally, we at Fazbears tend to have a rather... difficult time in getting employees to take the night shift-"
Mike knew instantly why that was such a problem. Not only had he had to endure nearly a whole week of the night shift himself, but the person that had given him advice - whom he'd sadly never got the chance to actually meet - had had a... rather unfortunate end on the other end of the phone. Freddy, undoubtedly, was the cause, but Mike had never plucked up the courage to do as asked and see the suits behind the stage. He was, frankly, terrified he'd find the others eyeballs and teeth or something.
Then he remembered the owner was still talking.
"-And so with funding, as well as the problem of getting customers to eat here due to the variety of staff vanishing or quitting and spreading rumors about our animatronic performers, we would like to hire you as our fulltime security guard working the night shift. Of course, you'd recieve a pay rise, and you'd be welcome to work extra time for overtime money. Does that sound like something you'd like to consider?"
Mike took this moment to glance around the room. Stuck in an apartment, with nothing more than his few possessions, and his wallet biting at any money it could latch onto. It was the reason why he'd turned to the pizzeria. He'd figured that, at $120 a week, he should be able to pay the rent and get a little shopping. He wasn't too fussed about televisions or computers. Just keeping his phone and his books, and occasionally treating himself to a new novel.
To work at Freddys for longer would mean he wouldn't be short on cash every week. It would mean he wouldn't have to worry about not having enough, or worrying about getting evicted from his apartment. To work at Freddys for full time would solve all of his problems.
But, then again, there were the animatronics.
He had handled them for six days, sure, but every week for months, years, would be hard. They were constantly trying to get at him, and he knew that one of those days could be his last. But what was there to lose? He'd figured out their routine, he'd danced around their traps to get him, and he'd even figured out that Freddy was constantly watching him.
Again, nothing to lose.
"It is certainly something I'd like to consider," Mike said slowly, trying not to well up fear at the thought.
"Excellent, though I will have to warn you that if the pizzeria stops rolling in customers, like it has been as of recent, it's likely that the pizzeria will be shut down by the end of the year."
"What about the animatronics?" Mike asked quickly after.
"The animatronics?"
"If the place shuts down, sir," Mike saved himself, turning to sit down and glance across the room. The idea of the animatronics wandering the streets ran shivers down his spine. He thought of the little kids, marvelling at them... running up to them... and the animatronics, mistaking them-
"Oh, I suppose that the metal will be melted down and reused for something else. Or they'll simply be shut down," the owner replied, as though unfazed by the idea his animatronics were borderline psychopathic, "Anyway, I'll see you on Monday, Mike. Be there early so I can fill in the forms before your shift, alright? See you soon."
Click.
Oh Mike, what have you gotten yourself into, came that last, trailing thought.