Act 1: A Hostile Work Environment
7th May 1993
7:58 AM
"How long did this one last?" The first man asked his companion, who was walking slightly ahead of him. Their vision was supported only by the light provided from his flashlight; though dawn had since passed by, the lack of windows in the building cut out any and all natural light.
"'Bout four days." The second man answered; he'd been the one to discover the body. They were both well-used to it, but it hadn't gotten easier. The stench was the worst part.
Shrugging, the first hoisted the bucket up slightly. "Better than most. Remember that one kid, back in February?"
"Curtis was his name, I think."
"Yeah. That's it. First shift, and he was out. Only got through a few hours before he got grabbed."
They remained silent as they approached the back room. Though at least thirty feet away, they could already smell the 'leftovers'. That's what the clean-up crew had taken to calling it. Quite the pun. Grant remembered his own week on the night shift; whenever a new employee was signed on, they'd go through what they had started calling the 'hazing'. If they made it out, they'd join the day shift.
The rest either ended up in an unmarked grave, or otherwise disappeared.
Grant himself had been working there for little under two years. Once or twice he had seen the restaurant open to the public, before it was unceremoniously closed back in '87, way before he'd even had a job. Five years on and it had been nothing more than a glorified storehouse. A few employees from back then had stayed when it had closed.
His companion, Barry, had been working for the washed-up hole that once was a restaurant a bit longer; eight months more, to be exact. Grant had not quite forgiven him for not even so much as warning him. Sure, Grant had done the same to the employees who'd joined after, but it still wasn't something he fondly remembered.
Just as they were about to open the door, they heard the voice from behind them.
"What are you guys doing here?"
Recognising the voice, Grant gritted his teeth as he turned around; there was Allen, standing by the front door with a suspicious look on his face. Allen, being the over-achiever that he was, had been a different case from the others. He'd been employed as a day guard almost immediately since his qualifications led him to be management material and his whistle-blower level of insolence made him unlikely to rise above the ranks, so he'd been assigned to the day shift and had remained there.
That was one of very few decisions that Garfield had made which Grant agreed with. Aye, what happened behind the closed doors of Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria was distasteful, to say the least. That didn't mean you had to threaten the livelihood of the people working in it.
"It's your morning shift, right?" Barry asked more politely than Grant would have.
Allen nodded, looking at the backstage room with uneasiness. He likely had suspicions, of course, but Grant doubted they were concrete.
"Power's still out. Won't be back on 'til nine." A look flashed on Barry's face. "Eh, my shift ain't starting for another hour and I doubt yours is either, Al. I'll buy you a coffee."
Barry had always been an expert judge of character; he could tell that the kid was tired. It worked, it seemed, as Grant blinked before nodding again.
"Alright. Thanks."
The two walked away as Grant seethed with unseen rage. So, he was left to clean up. He was sure that Barry would lie and say that he was doing it purely for stopping the kid from discovering what was behind that door, but Grant knew he was really doing it so that he wouldn't have to get down and dirty with a corpse.
Scowling as he entered, the stench immediately hit him. The bodies always tended to smell bad, especially after the first hour, but this one was especially grotesque. The blood that had leaked through the suit onto the ground was already drying, though fresh specks continued to splash onto the tiles. A single eyeball was hanging out through the suit's eye hole.
With a sigh, he approached the suit. It was somewhat ironic that the clean-up's to-do list on cleaning a suit was the opposite way around for the animatronics. They'd always end their little hunt with the head. Typically, the person would still be alive, albeit barely. To open the suit was ease, the head needed to come off first.
Gripping the suit head with both of his hands, Allen tugged at it. To his dismay, it didn't budge.
He tugged at it again.
A little harder.
Once more...
...and to his disgust and surprise, the head came off with a loud squelch, taking the victim's own head with it. Grant recoiled when the disfigured thing popped out of the suit's head and plopped onto the floor. It spurted with blood for a second, rolling across the floor before it came to a halt, what was remaining of the face staring at the janitor.
Cursing Barry with everything he had, Grant turned back towards the suit and rubbed his face; this was going to be a long morning…
17:15 PM
He noticed that a new missing poster had been plastered on the lamppost near his house. The person, a twenty-year-old man with platinum-blonde hair, looked so hopeful on the picture. Though he couldn't be sure, he knew that it wasn't likely his family would ever see him again. None one who went missing in Hurricane tended to be seen again.
Rubbing his face in dismay, he climbed the steps up to his apartment, his back aching from all the heavy lifting he'd gone through that day. Working in a warehouse wasn't what you'd call an easy job. Though true that most of the work was done with machinery, there was still a good amount of it that had to be done manually.
Then, of course, there was the paperwork. Most of the day was spent doing said manual labor, which left little time to complete the daily paperwork that needed to be handed in the following morning. That usually left the thin hours he had free writing up what stocks were abundant, and which needed to be replaced, any safety violations that had occurred, and a list of what could be improved by his fellow employees.
Still; despite his reservations, it was child's play compared to his last job.
Six months had passed since that week. Six damned months and he still usually woke up covered in his own sweat. It wasn't like he told anyone; admitting to someone that he had nightmares of a singing bear, eight-foot rabbit, a chicken cook, and a stupid pirate fox would turn him into a laughing stock at best, thrown into a mental institution at worst.
Mike Schmidt had changed that day he'd stepped into the dark halls of Freddy Fazbear's. He wasn't exactly in the best shape to begin with, but after quitting-slash-getting-himself-fired, he'd walked out a mess. A mess, being the nice term for it. It had taken him a while to get back onto the horse, but he wasn't giving up. Not yet.
Stepping into his apartment, he set down the bag of equipment he usually had to bring in every day and got to work making himself a cup of coffee. He'd probably gotten himself into a bit of a habit, though he usually preferred staying awake.
When the phone started ringing, he grumbled and stepped away from his brew. He hadn't had much of an incident when it came to demonic phone calls since leaving Freddy's, though he wasn't ruling the possibility out. He picked it up, pressed the answer button, and placed it against the side of his head.
"Hello?" He said, attempting to sound like he was interested. It failed.
"Ah, good to hear from you again, sport!" The voice replied and despite the cheeriness of it, Mike felt his stomach tighten.
"Mr. Garfield?" Mike tried to keep his voice steady.
The voice chuckled. "Glad to see you remember me! It's felt like years since we last spoke!"
"Six months," Mike replied dryly. "It's been six months."
"And I remember it like yesterday! Me looking for you after that Saturday shift, you huddled in the corner of the backstage room; me offering you another week of work, you taking the hammer and hitting the animatronics all over—"
"And we all lived happily ever after." Mike cut in, not wanting to spend his free hours talking about one of the worst days of his life with one of his least liked people in the world. "I don't know if you've forgotten, but that was my resignation."
"I fired you, if I remember correctly."
"Which was exactly what I wanted."
Garfield huffed. "Ah, c'mon, sport! I know work is hard, but that's just life! And I might not be remembering this correctly, but you didn't even have a single hair damaged on your head working for me. Much safer than that dastardly warehouse job you've currently got."
Scowling, Mike rubbed the single line that ran across the top of his hairline on the right side of his head to his right brow. He'd never told Garfield about that scar, which was likely why he'd presumed that would be a good argument.
Then, however, Mike frowned. How on earth did his ex-manager know where he worked? "So, why are you calling me?"
"Ah, well, been a bit of an incident here, my boy. Last man we had on the night shift only got through four days. Guess he didn't have your dedication!"
Snorting, Mike looked out the window back towards the lamppost; he could see the poster from here. "I'm guessing you're saying he's 'missing'?"
"Afraid so. We have someone taking the weekend shift, but they're more qualified for elsewhere, so we need another man on the team…"
"Nope," Mike replied simply and instantly, before hanging up.
After placing the phone down, he waited for five seconds. Sure enough, the phone started ringing again. Sighing, he picked it up and answered it.
"Must have lost connection, there," Garfield stated, though the tone in his voice told the truth of his feeling. "Now, back to business."
"I don't know if you're aware—though I sure you are since you mentioned it literally only two minutes ago— I have another job." Mike maintained a mock-friendly voice as he spoke. "This means that I am unable to take up another contract and this means I am unable to take up your offer. So, with that in mind…"
"Ah, why would you want to work in a boring warehouse all day?" Garfield once again attempted the 'persuasion' route; it seemed to be his favourite angle, even if he was bad at it. "Freddy's is ten times more interesting than that place!"
"If by interesting, you mean 'throat-crushingly painful', then yeah; Freddy's is much more interesting."
"Exactly!" Garfield said cheerfully, either not understanding or ignoring the sarcasm. "And I don't do this for everyone, but for you…I am offering a one dollar permanent raise." He ended the sentence like it was a shocking reveal.
"Wow, five dollars an hour?" Mike continued his sarcasm. "Are you sure you won't go out of business?"
"That possibility is always present, but for you, I'm willing to risk it! So, deal?"
"Hmm…" Mike pondered the thought. "Ahh…no."
"$5.50?"
"Nah."
"$5.75?"
"Eh."
"$5.78?"
"Wow, three more cents than the last? Now that's risky."
"Fine, fine, fine; you've pushed me to do this, but if it means so much to you rather than being a team player…$6.00."
That caused Mike to hesitate for a second. Sure, it was true that six dollars an hour meant hardly anything; at the same time, however, it was more than he was earning in his other job. What's more, with the financial difficulties he was going through and the fact that the warehouse was getting close to going bankrupt, he needed the extra money.
Had it really gone full circle? Moreover, was he seriously thinking about this?
Sighing, he stared out of the window. If he did, he was throwing himself back into hell just for a little more cash. If he didn't, he was likely going to end up on the street within a few short weeks. If Garfield was offering him that much money, it wasn't like he would just stop asking him if he refused now and Mike didn't want to end up being forced back.
He rubbed his face again. "Let me think about it."
"Of course, my boy. It's a very difficult decision, but I promise that it's a worthwhile one."
With that, the call was ended, and Mike looked around the room, not knowing whether he'd just made the right decision.
Yeah, fine, it was true he was in a bit of a bad position financially. But was it worth risking his very existence just for a slight cash raise?
Maybe it was. It wasn't like he was going anywhere; working a minimum wage job, out of a failed relationship, and no family to speak of. He knew that he was likely going to die in Hurricane, whether it was within the halls of Freddy's or out on the streets at night, yet the one thing he wanted the most was to die on his own terms.
That was when it hit him.
For the first time in a long while, a smile came across the face of Mike Schmidt; a plan—a stupid one, to be sure, but a plan nonetheless—formed in his mind. His entire life, he'd been beaten back and not once had he ever stood up and given his own. The first time had been that Saturday shift when he'd picked up that hammer and had brought his rage down onto the robots that had plagued him.
But the one thing that sickened him was that he hadn't finished the job.
Taking the phone again, he dialled the number and waited for it to answer. When it did, he immediately spoke.
"Hey, Ben. You there?"
His friend answered a few seconds later. "Mike? Surprised you got the chance to speak to me, bud."
"Sorry; been a bit preoccupied. Listen; could I have a favour? I'll be around tomorrow to talk to you about it."
"Sure. I'm free this weekend. What do you need?"
Hesitating, Mike thought about whether he should tell him the truth. Ben was one of the only people he'd spoken openly about Freddy's to and the only one to listen to him. He'd heard the stories and knew the history of the place, so it wasn't surprising to him when Mike had told him just what happens behind those walls.
Still; could he rely on Ben on this? Was he really wanting to not only trust someone with his plan but also risk them being thrown into the chaos with him?
Mike already knew the answer. "I need a gun."
So, for those that don't yet know, this is a reattempt at my FNAF series. By this point, my old ones would have been deleted and I'll be working on the next chapter. Honestly, I'm feeling much more confident on the new version and I hope it will last.
Just note, however, that I'm not sure how long it will last. Considering Article 13 is coming up and the EU is an absolute sh*thole at the moment, for all I know, Fanfiction might be made unavailable to us Brits, along with everyone else in Europe. If that does happen, I'm sorry.
Now, for the reviews from my previous story (Which will have been deleted by this point):
Remnant7: I promise that this time, it'll be for keeps. Also, please note to disregard any promises that I make.
Order of Alignment: Thanks. Though me luck seems to be running out at this point…
Mia: Aye, it will. Might be slightly different, but essentially the same.
Smilesforeverhappy: Up to you. Though the stories would have been deleted by now, so…unfortunate.
See you in the next chapter, me buckos.
