A short one-shot. If you wish for me to continue, I might.

I don't own FNAF.

YEAR: 1988

MIKE'S POV

I watch the animatronics closely. There seems to be something odd about them.

Lately they've been acting strange. They smell putrid. They stutter.

I used to love this place. Now I come to escape from my life. My parents just divorced, and stale pizza makes things better. Somehow.

Anyway, it's a weekend. Which means I try to get out as early as possible. I come 8:00 sharp, opening time.

"H-He-llo -fresh meat- k-kids." Freddy stutters.

"W-well-co-come to -Hell- Fre-eddy F-fazbe-bear's pizza!"

"I-I'd l-love to -kill- p-play w-with y-you!"

Something is clearly wrong. He's acting like some sort of psycho.

Then Chica speaks up.

"H-hi! -Saveme- I-I'm C-Chica! W-Would you l-like s-s-some -people- p-p-pizza?"

"D-don't f-forget t-to eat y-your -bloody- g-green v-veg-g-t-tab-b-les k-kids"

I start to back out the door. This is worse than home. I'd rather be with my drunken mother.

A purple-gloved hand stops me.

"Leaving so soon?" he whispers in my ear.

He drags me backstage and looks at a chart on the wall. It was filled with crossed-off pictures of the animatronics.

All except one.

A golden version of Freddy.

"Ah, tsk tsk. Playtime's over, isn't it? Too bad. I hope you'll have fun in your new body." he says while pulling out a knife with a jagged edge.

I try turning the doorknob but it's locked. He backs me into a corner.

"Y-you don't have to do this." I say with bated breath.

He seems to hesitate.

Then he lunges and I sidestep. I make up my mind to go down fighting and grab one of Foxy's old replacement hooks.

I duel him knifepoint to blunt hook. I have no experience whatsoever, but he seems to not have any either.

"Coward!" I shout.

"You kill defenseless kids! You monster!" I yell at him.

I throw dirty words at him that would be sure to get my mouth washed out with soap. He mocks hurt.

I'm tiring. He appears to not be. I haven't scored one hit.

All I have is one last trick.

I let out a piercing New York taxicab whistle that is only possible to resist if you can make it. Down here in Dallas, there's no point in having a whistle. But I grew up in the Big Apple.

He doubles over from shock and pain and I punch him across the nose. Hard.

While he's weakened I grab his knife from him and make a long slash across his chest. I kick him in the direction of the suit he was intent to stuff me into and prop up the suit.

My music that keeps me entertained is screaming as I do to him what he would have done to me.

When I'm finished, I smear the blood from my hands onto my shirt and find a paperclip. I find one in a ton of dusty boxes filled with newspaper clippings. I jiggle the clip in the lock and the door pops open. It's closing time, 11:00, and no one is in the building.

I try the door.

Locked.

My only choice is to wander around. I feel safest in the security office, with its small space and powerful doors.

I wait around for awhile until I hear the bells for 12:00. A man walks into the office and his jaw drops.

"Who are you?" he asks.

I shake his hand. "Mike Schmidt. Looks like we're serving the shift together, buddy."

He sits down in the rolling chair. "Call me phone guy." he says.

Okay guys!

First attempt at writing a one-shot. Hope you liked it!