Mike Schmidt sat frantically switching between various security cameras, occasionally glancing up at the doorways on either side of him. It was hell - nothing compared; this was Hell. Every night, he had to come to the damned place and fend off those godforsaken things! Nothing compared - pizza delivery, construction, fast food - Mike would kill for one of his old jobs back. He would have quit the first night, but his savings were empty, rent needed to be paid soon, his little sister needed a refill on her medication soon...it was better than nothing, he had reasoned. He desperately needed the money. Rachel needed the money.
He watched as the yellow bird - Chica - glared up at him through the camera with what could only be described as pure hatred, its head spastically twitching in every which direction, movements so quick and slight that he could never be sure if it was real or just his imagination. Mike sat transfixed, staring at the demonic animatronic for a moment.
Footsteps. He heard footsteps. Running.
Running?!
He leaped from his chair, slamming the red button that would bring a heavy metal door slamming down, a seemingly impenetrable barrier between him and the monster that wanted to rip him to shreds. The man flinched as several harsh blows struck the door. As the steps began to retreat from the door, he sensed a presence behind him, as if by sixth sense. He spun around, eyes bugging out at the hulking violet robot standing menacingly in the doorway, then lunged for the other door's button, pressing it just as the rabbit made a step forward. It pounded on the door incessantly, not running off like the other one. Another joined in on the other side. Mike looked down at the device in his hands, watching as the building's reserve power ticked down with the strain of keeping the doors closed. He still didn't understand that concept - that heavy metal doors required electricity to not spring upwards after being shut, and that the building had to run off of reserve power, and such a small amount at that, when people knew - he knew they knew - how incredibly dangerous it was here at night.
3:00AM.
Twenty percent.
Ten percent.
Five percent.
His hand went to his mouth, stifling a shout, his heart beating frantically in his chest as the meter ran out, every light in his office instantly going out, revealing the horrifically illuminated faces of an animatronic in both doorways as the barriers retreated into the cieling. A deep, haunting laugh resonated throughout the building. Mike began to play dead, a tactic that had worked surprisingly well before...but that had only been for a few minutes at most. Once the clock struck 6, the monsters merely slunk back to their places on stage, as if nothing had ever happened, simply forgetting Mike...but there was no way he could fool them for three hours.
This was it. He was dead.
He screwed his eyes shut, not wanting to see it coming. The guy on the phone had told him how it would happen; they would forcibly shove him into a Freddy Fazbear suit chock full of mechanical devices until he was nothing more than bits and goop, the only recognizable parts of him being his eyes and teeth grotesquely popping out of openings in the suit.
He thought of Rachel, wondering what would happen to her now that he had failed her. He wondered if anybody would ever find out what happened to him.
Mike heard an incredibly loud BANG. Footsteps, shouting. His eyes flew open and he looked around frantically as bright lights appeared in the corridors. There was a brief 'kerchink', and suddenly lightning was a coursing through his body. Over the new cacophony of noises, he heard the heavy thuds of the animatronics falling to the ground with him.
He lay there, fading in and out of consciousness. Beside him, he saw the big, lifeless eyes of Freddy Fazbear himself. The monster was completely motionless; Mike found himself completely sapped of energy, unable to move away from the heap of metal.
"T-3 is down." somebody declared. "T-2 too." He saw boots walk into the office, lights sweeping around, flailing about.
A boot slightly nudged Freddy. "T-1 down. Get a squad on T-4."
Sprinting footsteps again. "Jesus Christ!"
Horrific robotic screeching, silenced with the fire of a silenced sub-machine gun. Frantic scratching continued behind Mike. Something cold and hard gripped onto him, using him to drag itself up and forward.
"Holy-shock it, shock it!"
He was electrocuted once more, spasming uncontrollably like the robots that had been trying to kill him. The heavy weight of Foxy collapsed on top of him.
"T-4 is down!"
Mike's saviors re-entered the room.
A woman spoke. "Call Blanchett. Tell him we have the Fazbear Case subdued and to get ready to process it."
"Yes mam."
Somebody stepped out of the office.
A pair of boots walked towards Mike.
"We've got a civilian over here!" the woman announced.
She crouched down. Mike felt two cold, gloved fingers on his neck. He struggled to move his eyes upwards, looking at the grey-uniformed woman, her face completely obscured by a hood and gas mask, which had wide bug eyes that glowed ever so slightly red in the darkness.
"Civvy is alive! Conscious. Looks like a security guard." She lowered her head closer to his. "Can you speak?"
Mike tried to croak out a reply, but failed, expelling only a strained gasp of air. The woman called over an apparent subordinate to help her remove Foxy from on top of him.
"Restrain that thing." she ordered. "All of them. No telling if they'll reboot, especially with the Infraworld involved."
"Yes mam!" A group of men went about fiddling without the animatronics all around the room. Mike saw Freddy behind the woman being tied up with some sort of thick cable.
The woman looked back to Mike and shook her head slowly. "Mike Schmidt. We've got your file. Didn't expect you to come back in for a second night. Or a third. Or a fifth. We wanted to do this with no witnesses, no casualties, but you forced our hand. Luckily for you, this is only a Zunino-class event - civilians non-expendable. You're just going to get exposed to a memetic and wake up at home, like none of this ever happened." She produced a handgun from a holster at her hip. "Sleep tight." She struck him on the head with the side of the handgun, and he saw nothing but sweet, sweet blackness.
The blackness of the two eyes of a golden bear.