Five Nights At Freddy's is (c) to Scott Cawthon.
Chapter One: An Unassuming Ad
Looking through wanted ads isn't the most exhilarating of life's events. To be honest, it was a pain in the ass. Hurricane's local paper wasn't very big, and its job section only consisted of four pages. Mostly ads for working in dingy offices, cleaning pools for the few rich folks around, that sort of thing. Shop assistants, store clerks, painters, farmhands, mechanics, waiters. There was nothing that exactly screamed "opportunity".
And no one was willing to give a 19-year old high school graduate, with nothing to his name, a chance to work for them. Mike's guidance counsellor, or the school's "business consultant" as he liked to be called, suggested that he needed to form a close bond with the town in order to fit it.
Easier said than done. How could he connect with somewhere he didn't remember?
Mike Schmidt had once lived in Hurricane, Utah. When he was around six years old. And being six years old back then, his memories of the town weren't exactly all about community spirit and fitting in. Sure, when they had a community get-together, it was cute at best. Very patriotic, hands on hearts, flags out. But, that once in a blue moon. There wasn't much of a tourism industry around town, unless they were passing through to view the Grand Canyon. And, yeah, it was worth the visit.
But, how could Mike have that much of an attachment to Hurricane? His six-year old memories had mostly faded, and even when he remembered them, it was mostly made up, or based on how he interpreted it. Running around in the playground. The milkshake parlour a few blocks from the old apartment. Now it was some coffee shop where everyone spoke Italian. There was a scary ass dog that always leapt at him from behind a chained gate when he walked past the owner's house.
And then, there was that other place. One which he had fond memories of. The happy music. The smell of birthday cake. The sheer fun of watching the critters sing and dance on the brightly-coloured stage.
He remembered him. The goofy-looking brown bear in the top hat, singing a catchy song that any sane person would have got mad listening to for so long. But, to Mike's six-year old self, it was always a good time.
That bear and his friends brought back some good memories.
And, there was his face was in the ad section. Squeezed into a corner like the editor wanted to avoid it being noticed. A small rectangular ad in the corner, highlighted with a grainy photo of the bear's permanent grin, giving a welcoming tip of the hat to whoever noticed him. It was an advertisement for the recruitment of a night guard.
"Help Wanted! A popular family pizzeria is looking for a security guard to work the night shift. 12am to 6am. Monitor cameras, ensure safety of equipment and animatronic characters. Not responsible for injury or dismemberment. $120 a week."
It was certainly the strangest advertisement that Mike had ever read. Who deliberately put something like "injury or dismemberment" in an ad related to a family diner? Was it a joke on part on whoever ran the marketing department? And $120 really wasn't all that spectacular of a salary. Forty dollars a day didn't sound all that worth much.
Still, it was a place that Mike was familiar with. Somewhere he didn't mind returning to. People say as an adult, you look at the world differently. But, Mike was only nineteen. He still look at the world like a kid sometimes. Still young at heart, and proud of it.
He'd always been a bit of a night owl, and slept through most weekends. If it wasn't for his mum, Mike probably would've slept through a lot of school. She, like a lot of people, gave him a disturbed look when he told her about the job. Like he had sprouted two heads or something. He owed her a lot. It was why he was looking in the ads to begin with.
My mother, Julie, has made a lot of sacrifices to raise him. When Mike was seven, they moved away to Salt Lake City. His mum is one hell of a secretary. She worked in a private clinic for years, making sure her son got to go to school, even if that seemed like a waste of time for him to go.
A year ago, the clinic went bust. It turned out the owner had been committing fraud for years, and tried to run when the cops came calling. Needless to say, Julie was out of a job. And they moved back to Hurricane.
She was working the night shift herself at the hospital. Still a secretary, but also took first aid lessons to do double duty if necessary. Mike knew it would be a bit weird to work at the same time as she does, but it could work out well. She put up with him, unlike most people. His dad certainly didn't. Not that Mike had actually met him. He knew he lived in New Jersey with his own family. Some hotshot lawyer his mum spend a few nights with. When she fell pregnant, the bum headed for the hills.
Mike was puzzled when she asked him why he wanted to work at Freddy's. Like it was the worst job imaginable. It made sense at the time. He had fond memories of the place, worked better at night, and even the pay was fine with him. He doubted teenagers got paid much elsewhere anyway. But, it wasn't about that. It was more like a sense of dread. Like he had just announced he would be working in Chernobyl, or in a prison.
The same thing happened when he told other people. A brief moment of dread or bewilderment. Like mentioning the name "Freddy Fazbear" was a curse in town.
He had heard rumours and stuff. One of the neighbours, definitely a crackhead, or possibly a recovering one, said that bad things had happened in the restaurant. He said someone had died. There was a big bruha a few years ago. "A really big scandal," as he put it. He wished Mike good luck with the job and said no more about it.
Mike laughed to himself at such an idea that someone died in a pizzeria of all places.
Needless to say, in the days to come, he would come to regret laughing like that.
…
Nothing looked out of the ordinary or controversial as he drove into the restaurant's parking lot. Together, Mike and his mother had bought a second hand pickup truck as a present for his graduation. For a while, Mike had thought about going to explore America in it, but getting a job seemed more important. He didn't really have any aspirations about jumping into the deep end, like his friends were when they ventured off to college.
The diner was quite large, obviously built with some love once upon a time. The roof was a faded purple in colour, and the walls were a creamy white. A welcoming sign hung above the glass doors, reading "Welcome to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza!". There weren't many cars in the lot, but it was a Monday after all.
Stepping inside sent a wave of nostalgia through Mike's body. The place hadn't changed at all. The black and white chequered floor led to the dining hall. Fairy lights decorated the ceilings. Every space of wall was dedicated to posters, crude drawings by children, and paper-plate men with beaming smiles. It almost felt like walking into a museum or a bygone era. Then, a musty smell hit his nostrils. It wasn't very pleasant. Almost like finding something at the back of the fridge which had been there for days without notice.
He had to cringe at the mild stench. He went to venture down the hall and settle my eyes on whoever was singing that jazzy tune he knew so well, only intercepted by a member of staff, who quickly escorted Mike to an office down the hall, when he told him he was there for an interview.
The next thing Mike knew, he was sitting in front of a desk, in a small cramped room. He had been given a badge with my name on it, like they had already hired him.
Sitting across from Mike was the restaurant's manager. She didn't have a badge. She looked more like she worked in a real estate agency with her grey suit, and white skirt. Her legs were visible under the desk, sporting ugly-looking high heels. Mike had to force myself to look away though. Her legs were a little distracting.
He instead examined the woman's face. She had dark hair that ran down just past her shoulders, and she was examining a contract in front of her with her piercing green eyes. She glanced up at Mike for a moment, and he couldn't help but grin sheepishly at her. Almost to remind her that he was still there.
"Uh, excuse me, Miss Maxwell," he spoke, sounding more nervous than intended.
"Veronica, please," replied the manager, looking up at Mike, sporting a slight trace of a West Virginian accent.
"Veronica," Mike repeated. "I couldn't help but notice that you'd given me a name badge already."
"Yeah, well, we are looking for someone to hire," replied Veronica bluntly. "You are the only person to apply for the job. So, you'll do."
Mike blinked in astonishment. That was easy. Almost a little too easy. The ad hadn't mentioned anything about past experience, and he knew next to nothing about what a security job did. The ones in the mall just wandered about, or were in Dunkin' Donuts having a drink. Would he have to do the same thing? It also felt a little odd why a pizza restaurant of all places needed a security guard, particularly one for the night shift.
"Right, we'll go through the paperwork in a minute," said Veronica, scooting her chair over to a filing cabinet. She slid a drawer open, rummaged around, and produced a videotape. "But, first, I'll need you to watch this. It's a requirement of sorts."
She inserted the tape into a VCR machine, and a TV screen flickered to life. Swirling lights and colours flashed on the screen, accompanied by a jaunty funfair melody. Mike watched, trying not to cringe, as he realised he was watching some sort of promotional video.
There was a brief shot of the exterior of the restaurant, looking brand new. A star-shaped cutaway erased the image, revealing the beaming face of a middle-aged, chubby man wearing glasses and a bright salmon-coloured suit. Mike couldn't help but smile. He recognised that face.
"Hi there, I'm Fred Fazberg," said the jolly-looking man, waving at the camera. He looked like the present of a kids' TV show, throwing his arms out dramatically. "And welcome to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza!"
The camera dramatically zoomed out, showing the dining hall. A large stage stood behind Fred Fazberg. He was the restaurant's creator, or the original manager. Mike didn't really know, but he was the face of restaurant. Appearing in all the commercials like he was the Walt Disney of pizzerias.
Various clips showed different spots around the restaurant. A row of arcade machines. A sort play area. Another stage with purple curtains patterned with stars, the floor vaguely shaped like the bow of a ship. A small gift shop area, the Prize Corner, had shelves lined with plushies of Freddy and friends. A rather cheerful family enjoyed a pizza together.
"Enjoy games, music, great pizza, and fun for the whole family!" cried Fred Fazberg over the imagery. "And come and meet our friendly, furry characters, loved by all ages."
The footage jumped, flickering with age, obscuring the dancing forms of the restaurant's animatronic characters. Kids jumped up and down on the screen, almost making it look like they were making the video shudder with each leap.
Fred Fazberg appeared again, surrounded by beaming children.
"Come on down to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza," he said invitingly. "A magical place for kids and grown ups alike. Where fantasy and fun come to life."
The man's warm face vanished, replaced with the rather disinterested, gaunt face of another employee. His droning words, about to give an employee's introduction to the company and restaurant, vanished as the video packed in.
Veronica let out a bothered groan and stood, switching off the television.
"Damn," she grunted. "Useless piece of crap. We need a new, updated version anyway."
"That looked dated," Mike commented, trying to avoid sounding amused by what just happened.
"We don't really have much of a training program for newcomers," said Veronica, pausing deliberately. "Or much else for that matter."
Veronica sat back down. She seemed slightly hesitant, as if wanting to say something else. Instead, she placed her hands together on the desk. An interviewer's pose.
"How much do you know about our restaurant, Mike?" she asked inquisitively. Frankly, it felt more like a question in an interrogation than that of an interview.
"Uh, well, I came here a lot as a kid," Mike replied with a warm smile, recalling a couple of memories.
He remembered a butter-yellow birthday cake with pink icing and five lit candles. His mum, a few friends, and aunt Caroline were there on that day. His aunt was a lot thinner back then. It was amazing what just over a decade can do to a person's figure. She was now overweight, and spent all of her money on lottery tickets. Had only ever won about thirty dollars.
"So, you have good memories?" Veronica asked, interrupting Mike's thoughts. Almost like she had seen them herself. She leaned in slightly. What was she so tense about? It was a little off-putting. Mike decided to ease her worries.
"Sure. Had a couple of birthdays here," Mike explained with a deliberate smile. "When I was around five and six. Give or take."
Veronica let out a quiet sigh, low key enough that a non-observant person wouldn't notice. But, it was a little hard not to when Mike was sitting right across from her. He decided to rattle her cage a little, curious why she was so uptight about the restaurant.
"Though, it looks like this place has seen better days," he said as innocently as possible.
Veronica didn't react with tension, giving him an agreeing nod of her head.
"Yeah, it sure has," she said. "Anyway, your job is pretty simple. You keep an eye on things here from midnight til morning. Watch the security feeds, and make sure nothing bad happens."
This was a pizzeria, not a government facility. What could possibly go wrong?
"Like a break in?" Mike asked jokingly. Veronica didn't find it funny.
"Yeah, something like that," she murmured. "Any questions?"
Oh, Mike had a few hundred, like why she was so on edge about the reputation about the restaurant. Mike had never been to an interview before. Was it always this tense? He wanted to leave a good impression, but this was a very weird moment. She played an outdated introductory video, and then asked me if I know about the restaurant's dirty little secrets. Maybe that rumour about a person dying wasn't a rumour after all.
Either that, or she just wasn't comfortable in the position. She didn't exactly look like she belonged in such a dull suit. She looked like the kind of person who'd jump into a shiny convertible and race down Route 66, or go surfing in Florida. But, if she had ever been such a person, such lofty ambitions had long since gone. She looked tired, fed up, with huge bags under her eyes, which were elsewhere.
"Have you been here long?" Mike decided to ask her, curious about how she ended up as manager.
"A few years now. My dad worked as a security guard here," she said, looking away across the desk, to a framed photo of a beaming man, with greying hair and a brilliant moustache. "Not the best job in the world, but it's better than waiting tables."
She finally gestured for him to have a look at his new contract. Mike pulled his chair closer to the desk to get a look at it. His mum had warned him to read all the small print, just in case there was some tricky wording here or there.
"Just the usual paperwork you get with this kind of job," said Veronica. "Sign your name at the bottom, and you'll comply with all of Fazbear Entertainment's policies, agreements, and contingencies. Not that they really care."
Mike glanced up from reading the contract. Veronica didn't seem to have much respect towards the restaurant or the company that ran and sponsored it.
"Does that include possible dismemberment?" he asked, intending it to be a joke. This time, Veronica stared at him in horror.
"Why would you say something like that?" she asked, sounding a little angry. Not wanting to be fired on the spot, Mike produced the cut-out from the newspaper, handing it to her. Veronica read it, and her frown grew deeper.
"I might have to have a phone call with the marketing department," she grumbled, stuffing the cut-out into her pocket.
She stood, brushing down her jacket and shirt, and offered a friendly hand to Mike. She gave him a vague smile, tipped with worry, perhaps guilt.
"Welcome to the Fazbear family, Mike," she said, though she didn't put much warmth into such a statement.
Mike didn't care really. He leapt up and firmly took her hand. It felt quite rough in his palm. Despite the awkwardness of the meeting, Mike felt relieved. He had a job. It wasn't the most spectacular, but it was better than nothing.
Before he knew it, Veronica was marching him through the restaurant, giving him a guided tour. He passed by several members of staff, who Veronica introduced him to in quick succession. All waiters and waitresses had identical uniforms, chocolate-coloured shirts and black trousers, with orange highlights around the collars and sleeve tips. The women wore skirts, and a couple were even racing around on roller skates like they were in a 1950s-themed roadside diner.
Like Veronica, the other staff members, though friendly on the surface, looked a bit tired and longing to be elsewhere. The older ones in particular. Veronica made a passing comment that the roster was constantly in flux, with the younger recruits coming and go with the seasons.
It was starting to become obvious that something was wrong with the restaurant. Like it had been dealt a great blow. It was like walking into an amusement park where everyone had miserable faces. Veronica didn't look at home as a manager. Still, Mike the decision to not pry, as he didn't want to get fired on his first day.
His thoughts were interrupted as a light in the hallway flickered.
"Have trouble paying the bills?" he asked curiously. Veronica glanced his way, looking up at the light as they passed under it.
"One of many issues here," she replied admittedly. "Management really only cares about the marketing department. To hell with everything else. Wages are poor, this place is falling apart, and then there is everything else too. We also lack a backup generator, so you'll need to do your job delicately."
"How so?" asked Mike.
"Steve will explain when we get to the security office," said Veronica, once again skirting the issue. "He's your supervisor, and the guard during the day."
Mike acknowledged this with a quiet "Oh." That was some good news. At least he wouldn't be alone in his job. If Veronica had just dumped him into the role with no idea of what to do, he would be in trouble.
The sounds of a catchy party tune filled his senses. Mike realised they were stepping into the dining hall. Like a wave of nostalgia, all of Mike's concerns and suspicions were washed away in an instant. He felt like a kid again, back in a place he once loved to visit. Every opportunity. Every birthday party, every trip to the movies, and every time he did well in school. His mum would always ask where he wanted to go, to which Mike would squeal with delight and say, "I wanna go to see Freddy!" His mum obliged without a complaint or signs of exhaustion.
The dining hall looked almost the same as when Mike had last stepped into it as a child. Long separated tables stood in the middle of the room, covered in white, disposable cloth. Several were meant for parties, lined with paper plates and coned hats covered in stars and congratulations of happy birthdays to come. The room wasn't very busy. Several families were there, having parties for tiny children, who were zooming around the diner, fuelled by cake and ice cream.
There were a couple of odd ducks, like a teenage couple out of a date, trying to have a conversation over the loud music coming from the stage, and a rather lonely looking overweight man who sat in a corner with something but a simple carton of fries. Nothing suspicious.
And, there they were, standing on the stage, performing to a small crowd of giddy children, were the restaurant's animatronic mascots. The stars of the show. The music they played was a jaunty jamboree-tune, and someone was playing a banjo, even though none of the characters on stage held such an instrument. A large red curtain hung at the back of the stage.
Mike took in the features of the three animatronics. They were around six-foot tall each, about the size of a grown man. In the middle of the stage was Freddy Fazbear himself, a large, brown-furred bear, sporting a black top hat, with a matching bowtie and buttons on his chest. He sang into a microphone, making defined robotic movements. Freddy was flanked on both sides by his friends.
A rabbit with a purple-bluish tint stood to Freddy's left, rocking out with a bright red electric guitar. Mike recognised the rabbit as Bonnie. On Freddy's right was Chica, a butter yellow-coloured bird. She wore a bib that read "Let's Eat!", and carried a silver plate in one hand. On it perched an animated cupcake with a single candle stuck in it, singing along with Chica. Mike had never been sure if she was meant to be a duck or a baby chick.
But, still, they were still there. Mike noticed they had been bolted to the stage floor, making sure they were secure. That was a bit of a peculiarity. It was a vague memory, but Mike recalled a time where the animatronics could actually walk about the restaurant, interacting with the children. Giving out free hugs, and even food coupons. Or possibly raffle tickets for prizes. He didn't really remember.
The song ended, and the children applauded excitedly. A couple of the parents got the cue and pretended to clap enthusiastically to the end of the eternal performance. A goofy-sounding voice came from the room's speakers. Mike realised it was meant to be Freddy talking, since the bear's mouth movements were synched badly to the grainy recording.
"Thank you, boys and girls!" said Freddy in a salty, yet, spirited voice. "Let's give a cheer for our friends, Bonnie and Chica!"
The children cheered, screamed, and stamped their feet. Bonnie and Chica reacted on stage, looking like they were embarrassed by the praise.
"Hey, now, wait a minute," replied Bonnie, who spoke with a slightly southern twang. "Aren't we forgetting someone?"
Freddy blinked for a minute, as if confused, and responded with, "Who, Bonnie?"
There was a moment of silence as Bonnie looks to Chica. The movements of her beak were a little stiff, barely opening as her dialogue was spoken. Her voice was high-pitched and about as girly as you could get.
"Oh, yeah! It's someone we know very well!" she cried back, nodding in agreement with Bonnie. Freddy slowly turned his head back and forth, looking between the other two.
"Who? Who?" asked Freddy excitedly.
"You, of course!" proclaimed Bonnie. Freddy responded with deliberate surprise. "Hey, everyone? Let's cheer for Freddy!"
The children once again cheered, even more enthusiastically than before. Freddy did a gesture that Mike assumed was meant to be a forgetful shrug.
"Silly me," said Freddy. "Hey, kids. Are you ready for Freddy?"
On cue, the children roared with excitement. It was like being at a live concert. Who knew, maybe one day animatronic shows would be sell outs. He dismissed such an absurd idea. The animatronics broke into another song, this one a rock number, though the scratchy sounds from the speakers muffled the ballad. Regardless, the children loved in. Even a couple of the adults were tapping their feet rhythmically
And yet, like an itch that wouldn't go away, there was something a little bit off about the room. Like there was a dead body stashed under one of the tables, and no one was willing to address it. The parents had specifically sat at the end of the table, closest to the stage, with all of the children's chairs at the other end. A member of staff, a large, hefty man, hovered in a doorway, watching the animatronics intently. As if sensing Mike, the man turned his head in his direction, and gave him the briefest of nods. Unsure of how to respond, Mike nodded right back, and the man went on watching the mascots.
"Their routine rotates about six times per day," said Veronica, arms folded, and regarding the animatronics with little love. "I hope you don't plan on watching the whole show."
"No, ma'am," replied Mike, realising he had been watching a little too enthusiastically. "Though, do they still since the Pizza Party Song?"
Veronica visibly rolled her eyes.
"Great, a fanboy," she groaned playfully. "Would you like to see the kid's menu too?"
She gestured for him to follow her into an adjoining, smaller dining room to the left of the hall's entrance. As they left, Mike glanced back. He noticed a little girl returning to a woman with bleach-blonde hair sat at the table. The girl was holding her nose.
"Mummy, I don't like the smell," the girl complained.
"Me neither, sweetie," replied her mother, playing with her daughter's short, messy hair.
What smell? Mike sniffed the air. Under the smell of cake, pizza, and ice cream, there was a distinct, unpleasant smell. The kind that forced its way into your nostrils when travelling by a field of cows. The smell of a dumpster, or an open sewer manhole. The smell of something left to die in the back of the fridge. It was intrusive and unwelcome.
Veronica's tour was quick to say the least. She passed straight through the secondary dining room, which was painted to resemble a pirate's lair. The empty stage, covered by a set of purple curtains patterned with silver stars, was shaped vaguely like the bow of a ship. Perched at the foot of the stage was a stand with a sign reading, "Pirate Cove. Out of Order". Still, the curtains were billowing slightly, as if something was lurking behind them.
The two did a circuit, passing through the restaurant's arcade, lined with various video game booths. A busy play area, made up of blue, yellow, and red tube slides and a three-story indoor tower, sat in a corner, walled off by protective setting. The next room was the Prize Corner. One wall was completely dedicated to a large gift wrapped present, with a mechanical crank built into one side. Mike examined it as they walked by. He had never seen that before, or just didn't remember it.
"One more place to visit before we see Steve," said Veronica, walking to a closed door on the left hand side of Pirate Cove.
She opened it, covering her mouth with her hand as she stepped into the dark room. Mike followed her in. Why was she covering her mouth? He quickly got his answer when that horrendous stench, now twice as powerful, seeped into his nose. He nearly wretched, covering his own mouth.
Veronica flicked on the light switch. Mike nearly retreated out the door in a moment of fright.
A dozen or so pairs of empty eyes were staring at him around the room. The shelves lined with spare heads of Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica. Pieces of animatronics dotted a few of the spots, and an endoskeleton sat on a work table with its back to the intruders.
Veronica turned to Mike, motioning for him to go back outside. She slammed the door shut, coughing a couple of times.
"That's the supply room. If anything happens to the animatronics during your shift, just drag them in here," she explained. She looked like she wanted to say something else, but remained quiet.
"Got it," replied Mike, taking a deep breath. "What's with the stench?"
"In truth, we're not doing very well here," said Veronica, guiding him back out into the dining hall. He was drawn back to the animatronics again as they went through. "We failed our last health inspection because of the conditions of the animatronics and their various pieces. And, because of management, we aren't allowed to tamper with them. We can replaced fur coverings, and the head pieces, but that's about it."
"Don't you have a repairman?" asked Mike.
"Not on site," replied Veronica gloomily.
She pointed out the rooms along the right wall of the dining hall, including the boiler room, the toilets, and the kitchen. They had to get out of the way as one of the doors swung open, and a waitress zoomed out on roller skates. She was carrying a delicious smelling pizza.
"Things are that bad here?" asked Mike sadly. Veronica didn't look his way, but her tight mouth and distant look said a lot.
"Complete with budget cuts, the health inspection, and, well, everything else that has happened here, we're possibly facing closure soon," she said gravely, but also with a hint of relief.
Mike paused for a moment, but continued to follow her.
"Major drag," he replied quietly.
At the end of eastern hall, aside from the fire exit, was a large sheet of metal, lined with yellow and black-striped warning labels. A sign on it read "Security". Veronica tapped twice on the door.
"Steve?" she called.
"Just a secoooond," sang a man from within the room. There was the sound of a chair rolling across the floor, and a button being pushed.
The door slid upwards in a second, revealing the security office inside. It was dingy, cramped, and poorly lit. Perhaps the most brightest light source was from the glow of the pile of surveillance monitors sitting on the room's desk.
Sitting in the middle of the room on a swivel chair, was a beaming man in his early forties. He looked more like how Mike had imagined the employees of a family friendly restaurant. He had rosy cheeks, a finely combed ginger moustache, and somewhat messy hair. Like if Ned Flanders worked in a pizzeria instead of the Leftorium.
He wore a standard security uniform, with a blue shirt, black tie, matching trousers, and a cap. He chugged from a Fazbear-branded soda cup, setting it on the desk to address his visitors.
"Howdy, Veronica. Is this the new meat?" he asked jokingly, giving a small wave to his manager. She did not return it. They were like sun and rain to each other.
"Yep," she said, turning to Mike. "Mike, this is Steve. Your supervisor."
Steve rose, practically leaping from the chair and grabbed Mike's hand, shaking it enthusiastically.
"Nice to meet you, Mikey," he said welcomingly. "Glad to have you join the Fazbear family."
"Thanks," replied Mike. "And it is just 'Mike'."
Mike was never particularly fond of when people called him as "Mikey". Just one of his many pet peeves. His name was Mike, or Michael. Not Mikey. No one called him that. The only exceptions were his mother and other family members.
Steve grinned again, and gave Mike a hard slap on the arm. He gestured for him to venture further into the office.
"This is where all the magic happens," he said wistfully, waving his hand over the electronic systems across the desk. The monitors each had grainy footage.
"Are you ready for tonight?" Steve asked eagerly.
"I guess," Mike replied, trying to sound equally as excited. But, it was a little difficult when he would be spending six hours watching security cameras, and nothing else.
Steve took Mike by the arm, dragging him over to have a closer look at the monitors. There were six of them, each showing footage of different parts of the diner. One was directly focused on the animatronics.
"These show every major spot in the restaurant. You'll have to keep an eye on things, since there are a lot of rooms," explained Mike. He pointed to a joystick, protruding out of the middle of the desk. It had several buttons on it. Steve grabbed it. "You can use this stick to move a camera around. Like so."
Mike looked to one of the monitors. The shot of the camera moved as Steve turned the joystick to the right.
One monitor was flickering and jumping continuously, making it impossible to see the image. Steve noticed and banged the monitor hard. The screen jumped, briefly revealing the interior of a busy kitchen. One chef was rolling a pizza by hand. A porter, dressed in black, walked under the camera. He glanced up at it, sticking up his middle finger as he went. The footage died after. Mike looked to Steve, who grinned at him sheepishly.
"The kitchen staff are just a riot," he said, his smile never showing any signs of exaggeration. "So, Mike, why did you want to work the graveyard shift?"
"Looking for work and this looked like a good place to start," Mike replied.
Veronica leaned in close to Steve, giving Mike the briefest of smiles.
"He's a fanboy," she muttered to Steve. He glanced at her, and then to Mike. His smile got even wider.
"No, I'm not a fanboy!" cried Mike objectively. "I just came here a lot as a kid, and have some fond memories, that's all."
"Anyway, you may only be here for a few weeks," said Veronica. "If your lucky."
"What do you mean?" asked Mike curiously. "Do you have another health inspection soon?"
Steve immediately nodded, though Mike caught Veronica glaring at him.
"Come on, Veronica, don't be such a sourpuss," said Steve. "I'm sure Mike here can handle things. He looks like a tough guy. I'm sure he'll be fine on the night shift."
Veronica's face twisted in a deep frown, eyes dark and incriminating towards Steve.
"You mean like you were?" she hissed. Steve's smile vanished, his own expression saddened.
"I'm still here, aren't I?" he replied.
Veronica let out a disgusted grunt, and exited the room. She hovered for a moment in the doorway, her face hidden behind the frame.
"Not everyone is," she said, and vanished from sight.
Mike stared in bewilderment. He turned to Steve for answers. Steve's smile returned in an instant.
"She's touchy," he replied.
"Why?" asked Mike. "Not to be rude, but she looks about two steps away from lighting a match and burning this place to the ground."
"Veronica has a bit of a rocky history with old Freddy's," said Steve. "Don't worry about it."
He clapped his hands together, and looked to a clothes rack on the other side of the room. A lone security uniform hung from it.
"Well, then, Mikey. Let's get you suited up," he announced. Mike could only smile in agreement.
Steve politely shut the security doors and turned away to look at the monitors whilst Mike got into his new clothes. They were a little tight, but they would do. Steve also provided a nice pair of black shoes. He slipped his cap on, checking himself in a small mirror hanging from the wall.
Mike took the opportunity to glance around the room. The drawings of children were plastered all over the walls, along with official posters showing off the characters. An old framed noticeboard sat in a corner, showing photos of employees of the month. The date was marked "November 1987". The desk itself had two drawers, a working fan, a telephone without a receiver, and an electronic box of sorts that had a row of digital numbers on it.
Perched on a seat, beside a coffee machine, was Freddy Fazbear head, minus the eyes and lower jaw. It looked almost like a Halloween mask.
Afterward, Steve spent the next couple of hours showing Mike the ropes on how to use the room's equipment. It took some time to get used to the sensitivity of the joystick, as simply turning it could send a camera's vision zooming in a near circle. He learnt that the extra buttons on the joystick would change the camera on the monitor, with those on the east and west designated to the three monitors on either side of the desk.
The doors were another matter. They had two separate buttons, one to open and close them, and another to illuminate the area just outside the door. Steve explained the cameras had a blind spot just outside the doors, but the security room had two windows to see anyone passing by.
…
By the time Mike had learnt the ropes, it was closing time. It was around 10pm, and it was dark and cloudy outside. The constant music had stopped, and the last of the staff filtered out. Some were giving Mike looks of concern and sympathy on the way out. The guy who had been watching Mike gave him a supportive pat on the shoulder on his way out into the parking lot. Then, it was just down to Mike, Steve, and a rather on edge Veronica.
Mike adjusted his cap and tie. Steve handed him a tool belt, which sported the diner's many keys on a circular hoop, and a single flashlight.
"That flashlight is just about the only thing in here that doesn't rely on the power," said Steve with a goofy chuckle. Mike forced a smile, and checked the flashlight actually worked. With a little difficulty, he put the belt on. He saw Veronica's unimpressed look.
"Finished?" she asked impatiently.
"Yeah, sorry," said Mike, feeling a little annoyed by her constant sourness.
"Just relax, Mike," coached Steve. "Take your time tonight and you'll be fine. The hours will just fly by."
"If you need any help, Steve's number is in the office," said Veronica. "If you can't get him, call me, or if you are really desperate, try the company helpline. There's usually someone in the office. Usually. Most importantly, make sure the power lasts until morning. It can be a pain in the ass getting the generators back up and running."
"I'll do my best," said Mike. "Only use the doors sparingly, right?"
Steve gave him an encouraging thumbs up.
"Anything else I should know?" asked Mike, looking to Veronica.
"Be out by 6am on the dot," replied Veronica, almost urgently. She took a step forward. "And don't let anything in or out."
Mike blinked, feeling a strange sense of dread stab his heart. Without another word, Veronica left, glancing back as she went.
"Wow, she is really intense," said Mike out loud. Steve laughed and nodded in agreement.
"Imagine her in a more stressful job," he replied jokingly. However, his smile disappeared for a moment. "I probably shouldn't have said that. She has got a lot on her plate."
"How did she get the job of manager?" asked Mike. "She's pretty young."
"Twenty-eight," Steve confirmed. "She started off as a waitress here. Her dad used to be a security guard. Did she tell you that?"
"Yeah," said Mike.
"He went through some hard times, and well, he's not around anymore," replied Steve, trying to sound as sensitive as he could. He gave Mike a look, hoping he would understand his words.
Mike did. His father was off living the life on the other side of the country. But, Veronica didn't have one anymore. Steve didn't go into anymore details, but it was obvious that Veronica had been deeply hurt by her loss.
"Veronica is the diner's third manager," explained Steve. "The first was Mr. Fazberg. Great guy to be around. A real jolly soul. He loved this place, and was here every day with a smile on his face. Greeted the families, signed autographs, even did recorded acts with the animatronics at times. But, a heart disease can really be a party pooper."
"Sorry to hear that," said Mike, feeling a minor blow to his childhood. He had suspected Fred Fazberg was dead, since he hadn't glimpsed him walking around the place. He had thought perhaps he had retired and now living a cosy life in some retirement home. Not such luck.
"The second one had been assistant manager for a while. Greg Scioterio. Bit up his own ass," continued Steve. "He didn't last very long, and ended up getting a cushier job in the company's financial department. Good thing too. He was a bit of a pencil pusher, and disliked the spotlight. That's where Veronica stepped in, not that she really likes the job. I think she'd be glad to see this place go."
"And what about you?" asked Mike. In spite of all of the apparent misery in the diner, Steve came off as the only person who enjoyed working there.
"Me? I love it here," Steve replied. "I've always loved these characters, even during all the hard times. And if this place is going to close, hopefully Freddy and friends will be able to find a new home. Somewhere they can be happy."
"I suppose you have a secret shrine at home for them," laughed Mike. Steve's eyes widened, looking shifty.
"Who told you?" he cried playfully. He took on a more serious gaze. "Anyway, take care, Mike. Be careful. Keep an eye on things, and make sure you only use those doors if absolutely necessary. You don't want to power going off."
Mike gave Steve an encouraging grin, straightening his cap.
"Don't worry. I won't cause any trouble," said Mike confidently. "I can handle myself."
"That's the spirit, Mike," said Steve, practically giddy. "I'll give you a call in a few hours to check on you."
"Yeah, I noticed there was no receiver," said Mike, pointing into the office.
"Oh, don't worry about that. We'll be able to talk through the speaker," said Steve with the wave of his hand. "Everything will be hunky dory."
With a two-fingered salute, Steve left, closing the door behind him. Fumbling with the keys, Mike managed to find the right one, and locked the door. He watched as Steve got to his car and got in. He gave Mike a friendly, distant wave, before driving away. A moment later, Veronica followed. She must have been waiting for Steve to leave himself.
Mike slowly turned around, and found himself staring down a dark corridor. The lights were on, but extremely dim, casting sinister shadows across the walls. He was alone.
Turning his flashlight on, Mike ventured down the corridor. He paused and flinched at every tiny noise. But, he didn't hear any scurrying. Any mice or rats in corners. Not even any insects being attracted to the lights. He was truly alone in the restaurant.
He reached the dining hall, and saw the three animatronics standing motionless on the stage. The three stared off into space, a dim light illuminating their faces. It made them look quite frightening.
"As you were, gents," Mike said with the tip of his hat. He paused, then turned back, addressing Chica. "Sorry, ma'am."
Not really willing to explore the rest of the restaurant at night, Mike briefly nipped to the toilets, and returned to the security office.
He pressed the button by the western door, and on cue, it slid down with a heavy bang. He pressed it again, and it slid back up. Noting that the doors drained the power, Mike glanced to the peculiar electronic box. The digital numbers on it went from ninety-nine percent, down to ninety-eight percent. Mike nodded in understanding.
Satisfied, Mike slid into the wheelie chair and flexed his arms and elbows, cracking his knuckles. He pulled the chair over to the desk, and operated the joystick. He flicked through each camera in turn. There was one for each room, though the kitchen monitor was on the fritz again. Steve said not to worry about that one.
He flicked onto the feed showing the stage with the animatronics. He did notice one thing. He zoomed out on the camera, so the whole stage was in shot. The bolts that locked the animatronics onto the stage had been removed. Mike shrugged lightly.
He moved from the chair and got himself a cup of coffee. He wasn't particularly fond of the drink, preferring tea or just normal juice. For a moment, he considered hunting the dark hallways for a vending machine, or going to the kitchen to get a sugary drink. But, he had a job to do.
Mike returned to the chair and settled down.
"Right, watch the cameras, make sure the power doesn't run out," said Mike, going over the rules. He folded his arms, smiling to himself. "How hard can this job be?"
Had he known what was going to go down within the next few hours, Mike would had never uttered such a cocky question.
…
As you might have guessed, this is an adaptation of the first game, but will also incorporate story elements from the other games, particularly FNAF3 and FNAF4. I am taking huge liberties with the franchise's story, which is somehow both vague and complex at the same time, so be warned if you dislike any changes. Please enjoy this read, and don't forget to leave reviews, favourite, follow, beam it into space, or whatever you like.