2

"So, Mike… what do you think? You can start right away if you want."

Tim Anderson stood before Mike holding a blank job application. He had come to Mike's house unexpectedly that Saturday afternoon and the two men were standing on his front porch, and after a brief catch up between the two old friends, Tim had come out with an unexpected offer to work at his new restaurant. Mike took the application and looked over it, a frown forming on his brow.

"Wait… what sort of place is this? When did all of this happen?"

"A few weeks ago. A new pizza place is opening up and they were looking for managers. I told them about my experience at the old place and they seemed happy enough with that. I'm now the manager!"

Mike looked at him, surprised. He hadn't heard from Tim in quite some time. They had been best friends in high school and Tim had offered him a room in his apartment back when Mike dropped out of Salt Lake City University over twenty years ago. It was enough to get Mike back onto his feet as he looked for work and ended up working at an old, run-down restaurant called Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. He had worked there for only three weeks before being fired and Tim happened to get the job after him and worked there until the place closed just over a month later. As far as Mike knew, Tim's experience working at any restaurant had only ever been there. Mike and Tim hadn't exactly left on bad terms, but they had drifted apart over the years and it had been a long time since they had properly met up with each other.

"The old place has been closed for years," Mike said. "I'm surprised they found working there relevant."

"Oh, well it's the same company —just under a different name. 'Rockstar Pizza'! It's still Fazbear Entertainment, though."

The papers trembled slightly in Mike's hand and he lowered them to hide his sudden nerves. Tim didn't seem to notice. The last time Mike worked at a Fazbear location, he ended up stuck in his office during a stormy night with no power hiding from the malfunctioning animatronics and came out of it with a deep gash, a dislocated arm and a hefty medical bill with no severance pay. He was also barred from entering the franchise for the foreseeable future.

"Uh, Tim," Mike mumbled. "I uh… may be blacklisted from that place seeing as I sort of… tampered with the characters."

"Don't worry about that," Tim said to him with a wink. "The people who made that rule are long gone now. You fill out that form and send it to me and you'll be in, no problem. I won't even look at the other applicants."

Mike began to actually consider the job. He had been working a dead-end position in a warehouse for years, constantly driving forklifts and slowly destroying his back loading and unloading endless streams of trucks as they came and went. He remembered the relative ease of the old job and thought that he wouldn't mind a position like that again.

"Are there any animatronics?" Mike asked tentatively.

"Oh, yeah. But don't worry. These guys are bolted to the stage. I was there when they were installing them. They look just like the old guys, but they're nowhere near as ambitious in design. No over the top programming, just all puppetry and lights. Don't worry, I remember just how freaky it used to be when they'd walk around at night, so I made sure those bolts were screwed in real tight! So, what do you say? For nostalgia's sake."

Tim's persistence had a vague hint of desperation to it, as though he had more to lose than he was letting on if Mike refused. Perhaps he was scrambling to get staff quickly and was worried that his inexperience managing this sort of place would be apparent to his boss if he didn't get the vacant positions filled. Mike felt that he had a bargaining chip.

"I'll do it, but no night shifts. Days only. I want to be there for the parties this time."

"Oh, for sure!" Tim's smile had been slowly fading but reappeared immensely at Mike's words. "There is no night shift! These animatronics aren't as valuable as the old ones, and they're not likely to try to walk out of the building."

They shook hands and Tim turned to leave, walking the few steps to his car in the driveway and climbed in. It was an old thing, rusting in spots, faded paint and squeaky parts, and Mike wondered if the restaurant were to do well just how quickly Tim would get himself an upgrade. Tim's car disappeared down the road and Mike turned and walked back into his house.

Sitting down on his couch, Mike stared at the blank sections of the paperwork that were waiting to be filled in. The sight of the words 'Fazbear Entertainment' at the top of the page stirred up long-forgotten memories that he had done well to put away. He was twenty-two when he first got the job at the old place. It was meant to be an easy job. With the promise of rotating shifts, he was first placed on nights working from 10:00pm through to 6:00am while being trained by a middle-aged guard who acted as his stand-in supervisor and who worked the shift before his. The man had always seemed to be in a hurry to get back home and never actually spent much time with Mike when he came in to start his shift. The most Mike had ever spoken to him was when he happened to run into him when Mike had come in during the day to collect his pay.

Mike never told anyone the reason for his actions on his last night. The staff there knew the gist of it —that he had tampered with and vandalised the expensive animatronics seemingly out of malice. But there was more to it than that. Working nights alone with the animatronic characters that walked the building at night, and seemed to actually acknowledge his presence, had not been good for his mental health and he had developed a perceived connection with them. He had convinced himself that they were communicating with him and he had later attempted to free them by unscrewing their covers and opening the parts within. He wasn't sure what he was doing, but it had felt like the most urgent thing in the world at the time and he was running out of time to get it done. Now that he was forty-five, chubby, and his hair was greying all over, he couldn't explain what was going on with him back then, and such a mental break had never occurred again.

Leaving that place had been a blessing in disguise. It was hard at first to find steady work since a quick check revealed the reason for his short time at Freddy's. No security firm would take him on despite his qualifications. Mike considered leaving town and trying his luck elsewhere but moving would incur a cost that he just couldn't pay with his meagre savings. Disgusted with himself, he found that he was no longer able to afford the rent on his small apartment and was once again at the mercy of his old friend, Tim. It was strange to be there, seeing Tim leave for his own night shift and come back worn down and on edge, jumping at sounds. Mike expected him to mention how peculiar the animatronics were, but Tim never said anything about them trying to connect with him in any way. To him, they were just simple machines.

Eventually, Mike found a position as a low-level labourer in a production line at a local warehouse. The interview had gone the same way as the others, but this time, the manager was indifferent to his tarnished employment history.

"Oh yeah, I remember those things," the manager had said with a faraway look in his eye, the sound of loud machinery humming from the main factory on the other side of the wall. "I always hated them. Creeped me the heck out… my kids loved them, though. I don't blame you for taking a hammer to them! You've got the job, but we'll be watching you.

It was easy work and the company needed staff, and he would never be left alone during his shift. Mike showed up every day, did his job, and went home. He was a steady worker but due to the black mark on his employment history, the company was reluctant to offer him more responsibilities. The most his career had moved over the years was when the company paid for him and a few other co-workers to get their forklift licences, his tasks instead being in the warehouse. Mike didn't mind. Now he got some sunlight, at least.

Mike looked over the paperwork and saw that he had already half-filled it out, as though his hand had made up his mind for him. Perhaps it was time for a change. His back and shoulders were beginning to develop the dull aches and pains accrued from years spent on an old forklift. It was a job where he was sitting for hours at a time playing out the repetitive task of loading every truck that came in, to the point where he knew where every bump and crack was on the ground and how to avoid them. He had spent years at that place and faced no prospects of any meaningful promotion. It was nothing less than a dead-end job.

With the application form filled out, Mike had made his decision. He was getting older and it was time for a change. It was a risk and a very unexpected shake-up, but maybe it was just the shake-up his life needed right now. After all, Tim had been there for him, twice, when he was in need. Now, Tim had come to him with an offer for a guaranteed job that wasn't even advertised yet, one that he had done once before in his youth. He would do it for Tim, and for nostalgia's sake.

xxx

Early the next morning, Mike arranged to meet with Tim at the new restaurant to hand in his application. The place wouldn't open for a few more weeks, which was enough time for Mike to finish up his job at the warehouse without leaving abruptly. It was a quick drive with minimal traffic, being a quiet Sunday morning and before he knew it, Mike was pulling up to the newly-built Rockstar Pizza to see Tim waiting out the front, leaning on his car wearing an old tattered, oversized suit. Mike had never seen him look so formal before. He turned off the engine and climbed out of his car, greeting Tim with an outstretched hand. He then looked at the building, taking in its details.

"Well, this place looks nice," Mike said, appreciating the light-grey render on the walls and the large, tinted windows on the front. Tim unlocked the front door, his keys jangling in his hand, and held onto the handle.

"Wait until you see the inside!"

Tim pushed the door open and stepped through into the darkened building, Mike trying to see over his shoulder as he reached for the light switch. There was a click and the room lit up, revealing a large dining room filled with rows of long tables running left and right. Tim's shiny black shoes squeaked on the classic black and white tiled floor, which reached all the way to the large wooden stage at the opposite end of the restaurant, demanding the attention of the viewer as they entered. A faint smell of paint hung in the air, creating a sense of absolute newness to the establishment. Up on the stage, Mike could see four figures, each one covered with large a white sheet.

"Is that them?" Mike asked, a nervous quiver trying to hitch in his voice.

"Sure is," replied Tim excitedly. "Let's have a look!"

The pair walked through the dining room between the rows of long tables, the dark, wooden stage growing larger with every step. Leftover evidence of construction were strewn here and there in the corners and along the walls, but their attention was firmly planted on the four sheeted figures that stood above them. Tim climbed onto the stage and stood amongst them, each of them dwarfing him by nearly a foot. He raised his hands and ripped the white cloths off one by one. Mike stood in awed silence as he looked up at the large characters and for a moment thought that he was back twenty-three years ago.

The animatronics on the stage, at first glance, looked exactly like their predecessors except they were all holding instruments. They were all there: Freddy, the big brown bear with the black top hat and microphone; Chica, the yellow chicken with her white bib but now holding maracas instead of a serving tray; Bonnie the blue rabbit with his red bass guitar; Foxy, the red fox now with a pegleg and a purple accordion. The main difference between these new, rehashed versions and the original generation was that each of these ones bore a large gold star on their chests and each had brightly coloured cheeks. They were impressive and were clearly made to invoke a sense of nostalgia in the older patrons but were bright and colourful enough to minimise the potential off-putting eeriness of them.

"Come on, Mike. Come up and have a closer look. They're not turned on, yet."

Mike stepped up onto the stage and looked at them closely, one after another. His heart had been pounding with unfounded fear and for the first time in years, he felt his anxiety climbing at the sight of the four characters. For a moment, all he could think of was the night that the power went out and the security doors failed, allowing the glitchy animatronics to enter his office. Now, a closer look revealed that these four on the stage actually looked cheap in comparison.

They looked as though they were made from flimsy, hollow plastic with only minimal framework within them. They had none of the weight or presence of the old ones, nor the feeling that they were staring back at him from eyes that were never quite turned off. After circling around them a few times, Mike felt that, while looking the part, these animatronics were literally hollow puppets held down to the floor with bolts which could be seen from the backs of their feet. Mike almost laughed at himself for his initial reaction, then spotted something in the corner.

"Hey, Tim," Mike began, looking curiously at the small empty stage almost hidden away to the left of the main one. "What's that for?"

"Oh, yeah… That," replied Tim, his face uncertain. "We're still waiting on one more character. I think It's called Lefty, or something like that. It's one of the Rockstars, but it has its own stage and does its own thing. I'm not sure yet."

Tim covered the animatronics with their sheets again and the two men climbed down off the stage. Mike was relieved at the lifelessness of the animatronics and was already feeling better about his decision to work here. It was now that he had begun taking in more of his surroundings.

The walls were lined with electric guitars and posters depicting the characters and known rock bands. Spread out along the edges of the dining room were various arcade machines and in the far corners, near the entrance, were interactions for much smaller kids —such as a large ball pit and a winding, twisted tube slide. There was also a prize corner for those who beat the high scores filled with plush characters. It looked as though the restaurant was going for a retro look to appeal to an older audience that would at first come here reluctantly with their much younger family members, only to be drawn to the old arcade games of their youth while the smaller kids played. Rockstar Pizza was aiming to remind people of the franchise's glittery past but without the tarnished history. Mike felt that having everything in one big room so that nowhere was hidden was a step in the right direction.

Along the side wall on the right from the entrance was a long, metal counter separating the kitchen, where the pizzas would be placed for the wait staff to collect. A door in the corner near the stage led to the bathrooms. Across to the left side of the dining room, in the corner near the entrance, was a single door which Tim led Mike through, opening into a small hallway that led off to the right, running along the other side of the main dining room. There were three doors along the left of the hallway and a single door right at the end.

"Right here is the meeting room for when the executives and shareholders come to hash things out," Tim said with a distant look in his eye. "They'll be here in a few days… Uh, the next room is my office, and after that is the security station where you'll be." Tim gestured to a door at the far end of the hallway. "Down there is the back storage area. But that's not really for you to worry about. It's just merchandise and stuff. We'll need you to focus more on the main room and make sure there aren't any kids trying to climb up onto the stage."

The pair walked into Tim's office, which already looked messy and lived in, and Mike handed Tim his application. They went over the finer details of the job such as hours and payrate and Mike's expected duties with the company. This took some time and there was a lot to discuss as it was a brand-new position for this company. It was then all agreed on with a handshake and a smile, and the two men went back to their cars outside and went on to enjoy the rest of their Sunday.

Mike was beginning to feel excitement for his future. It had been some time since he had broken his routine and strayed from the safe path and into the more unknown. He would no longer be surrounded by loud, constantly droning machinery, nor would he be slowly breaking his back on an old forklift for ten hours a day.

He welcomed his uncertain future.