Chapter One: A light in the dark
His .38 special gripped in his hand as if it were a vice itself. He remembers when his brother gifted him with the weapon, a custom grip, and a built in laser as a friendly insult for beating him in last year's shooting competition. Not that any of this mattered to him now. Michael S. Schmidt was on the verge of death, at the end of the cliff waiting for that final push. Michael or "Mike" was in his mid-20's, black hair, brown eyes, with a fair tan and was never one to work out much, but never really let himself go, blessed with a fast metabolism and was pretty healthy. He appreciated the fine arts of alcohol with some stress on the side, not a great combination according to his psychologist.
On his 17th day of the joyous life of unemployment Mike was on a downhill slide with no means of stopping. He had lost his client a large sum of money, a few numbers here and there are rather important, important enough for his firm to discharge him immediately. He knew it would eventually happen, he was well aware of his "excessive" drinking, and never denied it. He felt disgust in the presence of anyone giving him pity. After a long night of drinking and showing up to his employers home the next night shooting curses and bruising in the front door down with the neighbors sons bicycle, what was a night of resentment and disappointment turned into detainment and a lawsuit.
He sat at his dining table as he pondered the thought of death, one particular thought came to mind, which was the reason why he took up that accounting job in the first place. Hired by the rich to keep their pockets lined as his sunk into the abyss of crippling debt. A master's in accounting and nothing to show for it besides a drinking problem, an incredibly low credit score and a ridiculously high student loan, subsidized or not, it was still costly.
Soon, his mind would be at ease, and his body nothing but an empty shell as he imagined the moment he cocked the hammer back, and slowly pulling back on the trigger. He pulls the trigger. Nothing but the chirp of an empty chamber. He's practicing, and he's not sure why. To delay his own wish? To spur up second thoughts? A reason not to end his life with a piece of lead worth about 7 cents? "God am I really that cheap?" Mike thought.
The more he thought about it the less he felt like wasting a bullet. He set his revolver down, made some coffee and picked up the newspaper. His so called friends always gave him a hard time about his lack of ownership of technology. Some driven out to think he had a phobia of it. The truth was he didn't need it, nor did he want or care for it. He had other things to worry about, like finding a new source of income.
He scanned the newspaper menacingly, internships, volunteer service programs, car detailing, "The usual shit" Mike thought as he took his final sip of his coffee one last ponder to the paper and there it was, big and bold... The ad read: FREDDY FAZBEARS PIZZA, NIGHT WATCH GUARD NEEDED, STARTING PAY 19.50 PER HOUR. 12AM to 6AM SHIFT..."19.50 an hour at starting pay? Jesus, what's so important about a pizza joint?" Mike said to himself as he put his .38 back in his safe. Mike quickly called the number listed directly below the ad. It was 2am in the morning but he figured someone might be there if they needed security at night.
As the phone kept ringing Mike kept thinking about what he was doing. He had never heard about this place, knew nothing about security detail, and with no research conducted, he had no idea what he was getting into. Managing small business owners accounts didn't seem to fit well in his resume for being a security guard. Nothing, no answer. He gave up and with little effort drifted off to sleep, when he woke the next morning, there was a voicemail on his phone.
