Chapter 7

The Morning After

Mike had waited until 6:30 before dragging himself out of the office; not out of fear, but of sheer exhaustion. The moment he no longer feared for his life, when he no longer had to vigilantly stare into that tablet; fatigue hit him like a truck. Even in the moments of peace where bonnie left him alone, his heart had pounded away at a rate that would give an old man a heart attack. If it wasn't for the throbbing pain emanating from his wound, he would have passed out for sure.

He was tired, wounded, hungry, severely dehydrated, in desperate need of the toilet, and his shirt stank of sweat. That had undeniably been the absolute worst night of his life and he doubted it would be any better if he stayed here for another. What was supposed to be a simple, relaxed part-time job turned out to be a horrific struggle for survival against supernatural entities, and all this for a hundred and twenty dollars? Fuck.

He held his injured hand close to his chest and constricted the blood flow with his shirt, not caring about the sticky warmth spreading through it. It didn't hurt too much; the hook had dug into the flesh in-between his thumb and index finger about half an inch deep, the real damage had been done when it had come out, taking some of his skin with it. He could still move it fine despite the pain, and so long as he cleaned and bandaged it he wouldn't need stitches. Hopefully.

He paused at the end of the hallway and peered hesitantly into the dining area, scanning it for any unusual activity. The sun had risen not long ago and the first tendrils of light shone in through the windows, bathing the room in a healthy glow and dispelling the unnerving aura the building emanated just minutes ago. At exactly 6Am the animatronics had fled back to their original places and haven't moved an inch since, but after the trauma of last night he didn't trust them in the slightest. Even in the daylight he was here alone and he didn't even know if Tom or any of the other employees would show up this early. After he had mocked and threatened them all night like that, it was plausible that they would risk exposing themselves on camera just to enact revenge against him.

He surreptitiously snuck across the room towards the kitchen, pausing every few steps to glance at both sets of curtains behind which his enemies lurked. It was only a few steps away, but his sense of self preservation had switched into overdrive mode as of last night. The main stage remained undisturbed as it always had been, and over by the entrance the curtains of Pirate Cove had been drawn closed once more, sparing the small gap in the middle which light feebly trickled through, and the eerie message he had seen scrawled on the sign last night was replaced with the original message.

That only begged the question of where it went, and how it had gotten there in the first place. He had definitely seen it with his own eyes; after all it had been his only warning that the fourth animatronic had left to kill him. But why would it warn him that it had left? Was it part of some joke, taunting him before his demise?

He made his way to the kitchen, clambering over the counter with laboured effort, before flopping down on the other side in an anguished heap. Since the camera here didn't function this was the first glance he got at this mysterious room. His imagination had run wild envisioning this place, but in reality it was just an ordinary, if not spacious kitchen. Alongside the right wall dozens of modern pizza ovens lined the wall waiting patiently to be used during the day. At the back two large, white metal doors were embedded into the wall, leading to what Mike presumed to be the cold storage. And on the left wall were standard ovens, benches and cupboards, where the ingredients would be cooked and the pizzas composed before completing their life cycle in the pizza ovens. The pristine cleanliness of this room made it feel abstract and alien to the rest of the slightly dishevelled establishment.

The red cross of a first aid kit caught his attention, causing him to stumble weakly towards it across the room. In his exhausted state it took a minute of fumbling with the latch and cursing under his breath before he could finally retrieve the contents which he desired. There was an element of panic in the air, the urgent desire to escape from this hellhole, but he knew he wouldn't even make it out the door in his current condition.

Walking over to a sink, he sucked in a deep breath, bit his lip, and plunged the wound under the cold water rinsing it clean of blood. Tiny streams of intermixing blood and water raced their way across the immaculate basin and down the drain. The immense pain pulsing from his wound forced continuous screeches of pain from his tired lungs during the entirety of his self-treatment, not relenting even as he applied the antibiotic cream and bandaged the wound tightly, testing it with a firm tug. First Aid Class was probably the only useful thing he remembered from high school, and he was just fine with that.

Taking a glass cup from the cupboards above, he poured himself a glass of water and administered a dose of ibuprofen, gratefully gulping each droplet of the life-giving liquid. Funny how most of the time water seems like a crappy alternative to every other drink on the planet, but when you're dehydrated it becomes the most valuable liquid on earth, the delirious human thought to himself.

With his immediate needs met he slumped down against the cupboards in complacency, barely noticing that the pain wracking through his arm decreased with every heartbeat, but so too did his state of mind. His meek attempts at standing failed miserably as the room began to spiral, features growing blurrier and blurrier each second. Below him was a pitch black void steadily closing in, yawning out to greet him as he fell down.

"Noo..."

"Have… to…"

"Es…"

"…cape…"

He was in a dark hallway not unlike the ones at Fazbear's, the monochrome tiles stretching onwards forever in both directions with no end in sight, both ends engulfed by solid darkness. The posters or rules and regulations and the childish drawings had been replaced by macabre images of mourning faces, bloody streams pouring from their hollow, empty eye sockets.

He began walking forward, but no matter how far he progressed the surroundings didn't change. Seconds passed, minutes, hours, time stretched on until he was certain that he had aimlessly travelled down this demonic corridor for days on end. What the hell was this place? The Hell branch of the Fazbear Enterprise? Had he died? His wounded hadn't seemed that bad and he treated it in time… But the one who attacked him was a rusty, run-down robot possibly carrying god-knows-what diseases. Dammit! After all that effort he went through to survive just one damn night and here he was trapped in purgatory.

Clack-clack-clack-clack

A familiar sound rung down the hallway from behind him, causing him to break into a frantic sprint ahead of him. He didn't have to look to know what was causing that sound. The sound of his own footsteps rebounded off the walls in unison with the ones behind him, creating a horrific beat that pounded in tune with his flight for safety. Even with pouring every last ounce of energy left in his body the metallic footsteps behind him sounded closer, and closer. The posters on the wall steadily transformed as he ran, turning into pictures of his own, agonized, mutilated face. He tried screaming out for help to anyone listening, to let someone know where he was, but no sound came from his mouth no matter how hard he gasped. The footsteps were right behind him now, almost synchronized with his as they both raced down the infinite length of passage.

THWUCH

A disgusting, sloppy sound erupted from below him followed by a continuous splattering noise as he run. He looked down in horror to see that his belly had been split open and his intestines had spilled out onto the tiles below, dragging and flailing madly behind him. Blood gushed from the wound, soaking his lower half. He held one hand over the wound in a desperate attempt to prevent any more damage, but unidentifiable organs continued to splatter out.

TWUUGGHH

Another sound came from his body, this one solid like the sound of breaking bone. He couldn't see what it was, but it felt as though the back of his head had been torn out, little chucks of brain tearing themselves loose form his cranium. Even with the damage that his body took he felt no pain and continued to run effortlessly, the footsteps behind him refusing to let up. This was hell. It had to be hell. No other place in reality or fiction could possibly allow someone to endlessly suffer like this.

"makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstop" That same thought repeated itself in his head incessantly, the sole desire for this torture to end. Behind him a low staticy growl erupted growing louder as more and more body parts were torn off of his body. Somewhere in the darkness his arm vanished as it was torn off, severed tendons, bones and veins twitching madly where his elbow should be. Finally the tendons in his ankle were sliced clean off and he helplessly fell down onto the floor like a broken doll. From above a red face looked down upon him, pin-prick eyes glowing.

AaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAaaaAAAaAAaaaAAAAAA YoooOuuU AaaREe MINE!"

…

…

…

"Hola? Hello? Damn, he's unconscious…"

The coldness of an open palm brought the exhausted guard back to reality. As the room swirled back into view and dull uncomfortableness returned to his body, he looked up to see an olive-skinned face amongst the blur. Warm, chocolate eyes darker than his own looked down upon him, with thick but trimmed eyebrows furrowed in concern.

A lady in the standard Fazbear uniform crouched over him, one hand resting on his forehead. Her thick black hair had been tied back into a pony-tail by some cutesy pink hairtie straight from Japan and the faint scent of perfume wafted in the air around her. Even in his groggy state of trauma he felt his cheeks begin to burn red in self-consciousness in the presence of this pretty woman.

"Oh, you're awake!"

Upon realising he had awoken she leapt back in alarm, raising her hands in self-defence. Ignoring her Mike struggled to get to his feet before collapsing back down, rubbing his eyes woozily. The pain from before had ceased but his head was clouded and his muscles unwilling to respond as though he had just woken up after a night of binge drinking.

"W-What happened to me?" He called out to the woman pleadingly.

"I have no idea. I just came into work and here you were, slumped against the counter like this. I don't know how you got in here without breaking through a window, but you better leave before someone else shows up. My employer doesn't take nicely to robbers." She looked around nervously, evidently uncomfortable being alone with this strange man.

"I'm… I'm not a thief. I'm the security guard."

The restored memories of the previous night and morning hit him like a truck. He remembered fighting against the machines, swearing at them, defending himself when it came to it. And he remembered struggling down the hallway in the morning, tending to his wounds in the kitchen. After that… he had passed out, hadn't he? And that awful nightmare he had was something he would need counselling over. In the moment he had genuinely believed he had died.

Her eyes lit up in surprise and curiosity in response. Without another word she helped him back up to his feet putting her arm around his shoulder to support him, before leading him away to the dining hall.

"The new security guard? You're still here? Damn, you're the first one I've seen in a long time." She helped him over to a nearby table and allowed him to slip into the seat, letting out a sigh of relief. "You know, I'm grateful you are. Phelps would have my ass if I let a homeless man just walk out."

"Homeless?" Judging by her immediate, flustered reaction, the look he gave her must've been less than friendly. She stood on the spot hands behind her back, shifting nervously from foot to foot like a chided schoolgirl.

"Oh, sorry, well… uh… You were just so hot and sweaty looking, and, uh, the way you had just bandaged yourself and passed out I thought straight away that you were some drunken homeless guy. Sorry…"

"Don't worry about it, it's cool. I had a… stressful night which is why I look like shit." He waved her away dismissively, not wanting to make her any more uncomfortable. He wouldn't call himself a ladies man, in fact he was as much of a typical lad as you can get, but he hated the sight of a nervous or otherwise unhappy lady.

"Must've been one hell of a night. What happened to your hand?" She pointed at the crudely bandaged wound of his hand, a small spot of blood seeping through where the wound was.

"Oh, this? I cut it on the desk in the office. It's hard to see in there and I guess I'm sorta clumsy. It should heal just fine though."

"I hope so. Anyway, what's your name? I'm Maria Farias, one of the senior cooks." Her accent was interesting yet vague, with Hispanic undertones, much like what he was used to seeing in the movies. Subconsciously he remarked to himself how nice it was to listen to. Foreign, but familiar.

"Mike, Mike Schmidt. As I just told you I'm the new security guard. Been here two nights now." He rubbed his eyes wearily. He was mostly lucid now but the effects of the medication made the back of his head feel numb.

"Two nights, huh?" She nodded enthusiastically with his words. "Stay another three nights and you'll be setting a record."

"Huh? Record?"

"Yeah. We're not really allowed to talk about work outside of our own shifts, company policy and all that but…" She folded her arms and looked back at the doors nervously, as if anticipating someone's arrival. "The guards don't really stay around for long. Don't know why, but they just keep leaving. It's so bad that we haven't had one stick around for any longer than week in several years." Her eyes darkened and she shifted into a serious state, folding her arms. "I don't know what goes on here at night, but from what I do know, any sane man would give up and quit."

"Good thing I'm not sane then." He let out a dry chuckle at his own little joke. It was supposed to be a joke, but with his mind reeling to accept everything that had happened in the last 24 hours he didn't feel like his mind was still 100% intact. She paused for a moment as if she took him seriously, before laughing alongside him.

"Well, at leas-" BANG

She was interrupted by the sound of a door closing loudly behind them. Mike quickly swivelled around in panic ready to tell Maria to run if necessary, only to see the hulking frame of Tom lurch out of the backstage. As his thick head turned around to look back at them, a scowl quickly settled on his features.

"What are you doing here? You know you aren't allowed in here until 7." He pointed accusingly at Maria with one finger, leaning forward aggressively. Mike would like to say he would defend a woman if necessary, but if he was up against a brute like Tom he'd scamper away like a wuss in a heartbeat. There was something intimidating about excessively muscular men that even demonic animatronics lacked.

Maria rolled her eyes with an audible groan of disgust. "Calm down Tom. There's a birthday party first thing in the morning and I needed to come in early to prepare. Just do your job and I'll do mine, ok?" Hands on hip like some sass queen, she redirected the mean look back at Tom. Mike expected him to roar and lunge like a gorilla at the retaliation, but he merely grunted in response.

"Whatever. What's wrong with him?" He nudged in Mike's direction.

"I had an accident and cut myself. I managed to bandage myself but I think I passed out from the shock." An ordinary man, Mike thought bitterly to himself, would be honest and yell and scream and warn both of them about the killer robots residing in this place and how they needed to do something about it. But he had seen enough horror movies in his time to know that no one would believe him. He would be the typical wacko nutjob and only distance himself from the only people who would listen to him, and unlike movie characters he didn't have an audience to sympathise with him. Besides, those robots were here in the room with them, probably listening intently, and there was the rare chance they may intervene if he tried to warn somebody.

"Heh, just do us all a favour and don't die in there. I don't want to clean your guts off the walls." With that ominous message he turned their back on them and clambered up onto the stage, vanishing behind the heavy curtains.

"Asshole." Maria and Mike simultaneously muttered the same word under their breath as they watched him go, glad to be rid of his company.

"FUCK'S SAKE!" Not one second had passed before Tom bellowed in rage, crawling from out under the curtain and lunging towards to pair. Maria leapt up and scrambled back in time, but for Mike it was too late. He felt those solid fingers grasp onto his shoulder painfully tight as he found himself effortlessly hoisted out of the chair and held in front of a very red-faced Tom.

"You think that's funny, shithead?" He roared directly in his face, causing Mike to grit his teeth at the unbearably loud noise. In the background he could hear Maria pleading, but her words were indecipherable due to the ringing in his ears.

"Whatwhatwhat what did I do?" He cried out, searing pain shooting through his neck in rapid shots. Tom's grip was so solid it felt like he had concrete cylinders for fingers, each one wrapped around his shoulder blades, veins bulging with rage.

"You bloody well know what you did!" Without another word Tom dragged him across the room knocking chairs out of the way as they went, before throwing him up on stage. Mike desperately tried to stand up, only to be grasped by the larger man again. "LOOK!" Mike struggled to focus on the yellow animatronic before him. At first nothing seemed out of the ordinary, the chicken stared unfocusedly back at him with a blank stare, no longer an animate creature. But then he saw that Chica's beak was filled with cheese and other pizza toppings oozing out, as though some jackass had stuffed it full with food as some sort of prank.

"I don't know why she's like that! Just put me down!" He pleaded, wriggling and writhing to break free, but Tom's grip prevailed.

"You were watching the cameras all night, weren't you!?" He snarled in response, shaking him back and forth.

"I didn't see anything! If something strange happened I would've reported it immediately! "Look, I've had a really, really shitty night, far worse than you have probably ever experienced in your life. But I can't explain why that robot is like that. Just let go, please!"

"Let him go Tom! We didn't solve this mystery seven years ago and we aren't going to solve it now!" Maria frantically screamed from the other side of the curtain, beseeching her fellow employee to leave him be. Tom paused for a moment to ponder, before throwing him down with an agonized sigh.

"I don't know why, but every FUCKING night this stupid thing has its mouth filled up with pizza. It's been going on for years and years and it's a pain in the ass to clean out! And to make it worse, none of the guards ever stick around long enough to give me an explanation. I just don't understand what the fuck is going on in this place!" With a swipe of his great hand he smacked Chica across the face, causing her to careen into the back wall and crumple in a heap, her platter and cupcake rolling away. "You're a worthless piece of shit. All of you are!" Once again Tom took out his anger out on the animatronics, stopping to yell vehemently at Freddy and Bonnie as well.

With Tom no longer paying attention to him, Mike scrambled to get away from both him and the robots. Not one of them had moved an inch, but he seriously doubted they appreciated being treated in such manner. Hopefully they wouldn't take it out on him during the night.

As he limped away Maria came sprinting up to him, her face contorted with concern once more. "Are you okay? That bastard didn't hurt you, did he?"

"Nah, I'm fine. Although I'm dog-tired so if you don't mind, I'm going home for some rest. Nice to meetcha." It was true, even after his little nap in the kitchen he was exhausted and if he didn't get some proper sleep it was likely he would collapse within the hour. His legs felt as though they were lined with lead, each step taking a surge of effort to accomplish.

"Oh, right. Well, I better let you go on your way then." She stepped aside, giving him clear sight of the entrance. The morning sun now shone radiantly through the glass, illuminating it as though it were a portal to heaven. With a wave of goodbye he headed past her, the prospect of slumber now more enticing than heaven itself. Even the danger of the animatronics was dulled in his sleepy haze.

"Wait!" Before he could exit the building, words from his newfound friend made him turn around. "Mike, wasn't it? Hey, let's hang out some time! The night guards are somewhat a legend around here, so I'll tell the other staff about you!"

He gave an empty nod before leaving her behind, gulping in the first breath of fresh, winter air in what felt like eternity.

The walk home was peaceful and uneventful, something he was grateful for. The morning winter air was crisp, nipping relentlessly at his ears. The previously hot sweat-stains on his shirt now made him shiver uncontrollably, the same way one would after skinny-dipping in a lake. It hadn't begun to snow yet, but the freezing weather and general atmosphere gave a foreboding warning of the heavy snowstorms yet to come.

It was almost incomprehensible to him that all this drama, all this action, all this fear during his employment at Freddy's had happened over a mere two days. And yet he still had another four weeks and three days before that wretched restaurant closed down, hopefully for eternity. After that, he couldn't care less what happened to those robots or anyone else employed there.

Maria was correct when she said any sane man would quit that job, but it wasn't because of his lack of sanity that Mike was determined to return, but because of a sworn oath to someone he could no longer break without consequence.

A/N: This chapter was supposed to carry over all the way into the third night, but it was starting to get kinda long, and if I didn't end it here I wouldn't have been able to upload it until a few days later. I feel bad since nothing really happened this chapter, but maybe it's okay to have character development without action. Let me know if you disagree.

When starting this story I made the decision that it would ignore the sequel entirely since it will definitely go in a different direction than what I intend for this story, and after seeing how the creator absofuckingloutly ruined Bonnie in the most gut-wrenchingly disgusting way possible, I'm glad I did. Seriously, what the hell. The rest of the fandom didn't take kindly to it either, it seems.