There are all kinds of addictions.

Drugs are the most obvious ones. Recreational, prescription, anything that can alter perceptions. How you interpret the flow of information around you. How you sense that flow. Some are easy to hide. Others will knock you flat on your back as the world melts and you can do nothing but watch it happen.

Of course, not all addictions are something you take.

Feelings can be just as addicting as drugs

Love. Happiness. Sadness.

Fear.

I guess the last is my addiction of choice.

Why else would I come back night after night? Low pay and high risk. There's nothing keeping me here. I tell myself occasionally that I just want to solve the mystery of what happened with The Bite (which has been elevated through urban legends to deserve those capitals) and the murders. Five kids. Here, then gone. Never to be seen again.

I haven't been able to bring myself to actually check the animatronics to see if there's something besides machinery inside.

Well, something visible, anyways.

I already know what's invisible in them.

But I digress. Fear, mystery, adrenalin; one of these, maybe all of them, is the reason I keep returning to Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. Night after night of almost dying.

Early in the week it's not so bad. I guess the animatronics are programed to lower settings while the kids are mostly away at school. Fridays and Saturdays often show up in my nightmares. The fraction of my paycheck that's not devoted to food and rent goes to my therapist. Or did, until she refused to see me anymore. Says I'm wasting both our time. She thinks I'm hallucinating. Wants me to stop taking drugs and start up some unpronounceable medication. Won't take me back on until I do. Joke's on her, I can't afford either. Even if I could, I can't allow my reflexes to slow like that. Lives are at stake. Mine in particular.

Mike Schmidt awoke with a start. He glanced over the room confirming where he was. Dread pooled in his stomach as he recognized the messy desk, walls covered in drawings, and constantly whirling fan of his work station. "Shit." Strong language for a place that was, supposedly, dedicated to bringing joy to children, but it was after hours and 'child friendly' words would not fully describe what had just happened.

Mike frantically shoved his sleeve up so he could see his watch. He nearly melted in relief when he saw that it was just turning twelve. It was only Wednesday, so he should have a few minutes to compose himself so long as he checked on Foxy during that time.

I can't believe I just fell asleep at work. Mike thought to himself. Even if Freddy's had been a completely normal pizzeria/robotics show extraordinaire, he didn't think he would have ever been able to get over how straight up creepy the animatronics were in order to fall asleep in the first place.

Then again, Mike thought cynically, maybe they're just creepy because I've been working here for the past few months.

God only knows why.

Even if he did get some sort of weird thrill from surviving the animatronics night after night.

Pitting himself against the worst they could throw at him and coming through unscathed. The close calls he had when he wasn't able to manage his power to last, quite, the whole night. The lights would go out, Freddy would play that creepy music box tune, and he would be dragged off towards the back room with all the spare costumes. He'd always managed to last long enough that the clock would reach six before their strange procession managed to actually reach its destination. He'd learned that the animatronics would immediately stop whatever they were in the middle of, and resume their positions on the stage when the clock changed over. Even if the interrupted task was murdering him. But there was always that unanswered question. Was today going to be the day when he reached the back room? Was today the day when he would make some rookie mistake and get knocked off by vengeful children's icons? Was today the day when his best wasn't good enough?

And maybe he knew exactly why he kept coming back, even if he didn't want to admit it to himself. The thrill of the nightly trials. The rush of adrenaline when he realized he would survive another day. Or when he checked a door light and realized someone was right there and maybe today was the day he wouldn't reach the button in time.

Maybe he had a problem. What else would you call it when someone regularly, purposefully, flirted with Death.

At least she didn't seem to mind the attention. Maybe Death got lonely. Wanted someone to see her without being reduced into a gibbering puddle of fear and tears. Maybe that was the only reason she hadn't decided that today was the day she would come for him.

Mike softly snorted his amusement at his own thoughts as he flipped through the cameras and checked the light outside both doors. It said something about his life now that musing over his theoretical relationship with the personification of death wasn't even the oddest thing in his day. At least, today it wasn't. No, today that spot was taken by that weird dream of his.

He had been at work, can't even escape this place in my sleep, and it had finally happened. He'd been too slow. They grabbed him. Dragged him back towards the empty costumes. It had just turned four so he knew there was no way he would make it to six. He hadn't tried to get away, though. The first and only time he had struggled with the robots physically, Bonnie had almost pulled his arm out of its socket dragging him down the hall. The pain had brought tears to his eyes and he hadn't immediately realized when the robots stopped dragging him half a minute later. In fact, it wasn't until he noticed that he had been dropped and the robots that had once surrounded him were retreating to take their places on stage, that Mike had understood that he would not die that day. It had taken hours for the trembling to stop as he thought over exactly how close of a call he had.

This time, the ending had not turned out nearly so well. This time, he had been dragged all the way to the back room by Freddy himself. Chica and Bonnie had been waiting with a suit ready and Foxy had been standing just off to the side. He'd even seen that bizarre Golden Freddy costume half propped up in a corner as if it were overseeing the proceedings. He had always heard that it was impossible to feel pain in dreams. That was why you pinched yourself to see if you were dreaming, right? If you were awake, it would hurt. If you weren't, it would wake you up. Utter lies.

Mike flinched away from even the memory of… what had happened next. It was something of a blessing that the exact details surrounding broken bones, pierced skin, ripped muscle, contorted limbs were washed away under a blanket of pain. It lay over and covered the… event… as his own screams had lain over any other noises that may or may not have been accompanying those exact details he couldn't, wouldn't, remember. Ever.

Even more surprising than the fact that he had fallen asleep in a building filled with killer animatronics was his own capacity to envision such a fate. Well, Mike though bitterly, it's not like you've had much else on your mind for a while now. His own death had been the premier topic in many a conversation he had held with, variously, himself, several random objects throughout his house, and the stray cat that stopped by for scraps. For a time, he had been alarmed that he might be suicidal before coming to the conclusion that anyone who was genuinely suicidal would not be distressed over that thought. The thought that he might be the kind of really, truly crazy that got you stuck in a straitjacket had also crossed his mind, but considering his choice of employment that was probably a boon rather than a fault.

Not actively seeking his own death didn't stop Mike from contemplating it. His speculations had been becoming increasingly gorier over the past couple of weeks; fueled, if anything, by his conclusion that he was not looking to die. Surely that utterly terrifying - or rather, um, strange, yes, utterly strange – dream was merely a result of his increased fascination with the macabre topic.

Time to lay off the foreign horror films. Mike sighed in resignation. As much as he enjoyed watching them, it wasn't worth it if that was the result. Even just a few weeks sabbatical from the movies would have him feeling… probably not better, he still had the worst job in the history of jobs at barely minimum wage, but perhaps less likely to contemplate his own death at the drop of a hat.

Mike slammed the left door in Bonnie's face before checking to see if Chica was still outside his right door. When the light revealed nothing, he popped the door open and leaned back. Mike stretched a bit trying to loosen up muscles that were more tense than usual. At least he thought that was the problem. There wasn't really any other reason for the bone deep ache that seemed to have taken up residence across his entire body. Well, a good hot shower would fix that after he got home. In the meantime, he could deal.

It was right about then that Mike heard a sound that still gave him chills after his months of working here. A deep, mocking laughter. Mike checked his cameras and was unsurprised to find the stage completely empty of animatronics. The expression that crossed his face could, technically, be called a grin in the same way that a hyena can, technically, be called a cat (yay for educational cereal boxes). It was part feral joy, part stark terror and wholly unsettling. "Bring it on." Mike whispered, before settling down to fend off the killer robots in earnest and dismissing all thoughts of his unsettling dream until after he lived through the night.

Mike rode his bike home in the early hours of the morning. He had long since sold his car off, one of the best decisions he had ever made. Between gas and maintenance, it was far too expensive to drive, and his work place was close enough to the dump he called his apartment to ride back and forth.

Now that he was no longer distracted by homicidal animatronics haunted, probably, by the souls of murdered children, Mike was able to really wonder over his odd narcoleptic episode and the dream that had accompanied it. I bet it's just because I haven't been getting a lot of sleep lately.

He thought this right up until he started undressing for that hot shower he had been looking forward to. As he pulled his shirt off, Mike caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and froze. Scars. From the base of his neck, disappearing into his pants and, Mike frantically pulled one pant leg up, all the way down to his feet. Scars that had not been there last night. There really was only one possible response to this discovery.

"What the hell?!"