Scott's eyes danced over the screen, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He didn't even look up as he heard Foxy's tell-tale screech. Instead, he jumped for the door button, slamming it closed as the furry freak ran straight into it.

Scott grinned, opening the doors and sitting back down. "Sorry, not today buddy." The man wasn't afraid of Foxy. Not anymore. Although he was still what some would call paranoid out of his mind, he hadn't had a panic attack in nearly a year. When you work at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria that's a major accomplishment.

He picked up he phone. "How you doin' Fritz?" He asked, glancing over at the shared power supply bar. 52 percent. It was four in the morning. The night was going well.

"Fine." Came Fritz Alfred's clipped answer. Scott could almost hear Fritz's hands shaking. The poor kid really needed a break. 12 days straight of the night shift at Freddy's can really take it out of you, even for a relatively seasoned night guard like Fritz.

Scott, on the other hand, was doing just fine. 13 years at Freddy's and you get used to the constant jump scares. The animatronics had never given up on capturing him. A couple of times it was a close call. Once they had succeeded.

Back when he had been making the training recordings for the new nightguards. In case one day he wasn't around to help.

Anyway, it was two hours till 6. Two hours until he could lea-

Scott cursed as he jumped out of his chair, slamming himself against the door just as a crooked wing reached inside. A burst of pain shot through his shoulder as he fell to the ground next to the groaning, half open door. He quickly stood, already acting on instinct and ingrained memory.

He pulled the wing in, waiting for Chica's robotic joint to relax, before delivering a swift side kick to the door. The metal wing disappeared from view as heavy footsteps clattered down the hall away from the now closed door.

Scott rubbed his throbbing arm, feeling for any damage. No sprains or broken bones, but he was gonna have one hell of a bruise there. Add it to the collection.

He opened the door and sat back in the wobbly chair, his face relaxing as he once again glued himself to the tablet. Just another night at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria.

###

Fritz's eyes widened as he heard a muffled swear come from down the hall in the other security office. It was immediately followed by a sharp screech of metal against metal. Fritz's heart jumped into his throat. He forced himself to take a deep breath, settling back into routine. He glanced at the cameras, flicking the left light on and off to check for Bonnie.

Scott would be fine. That guy had been doing this for over 10 years. Scott was fine. Fritz just needed to give him a minute to take care of Chica. He could tell it was Chica. Bonnie was roaming the halls, Foxy was in his cove, and Freddy was on stage waiting for someone to slip up. That just left Chica.

Fritz pushed a curly lock of ginger hair out of his face, checking the shared power. 43 percent.

The scraping had stopped. Fritz picked up the nearly useless phone.

"Scott?" He asked.

"…Hm?" The older man's voice crackled through the speaker. Scott was obviously distracted, but he sounded otherwise fine.

"Chica try to get in?"

"Yeah, feathered hooligan got her wing stuck in the door. It's fine now. Like I've said, don't worry about me Fritz. You just focus on yourself."

"Okay."

Fritz put the phone down, checking the tablet again.

At 6 AM the bell jingled and their shifts ended.

###

Mike sat anxiously in the plastic chair, a nervous smile plastered onto his face as the sound of playing children reached his ears.

"So, Mr Schmidt, I hear you want to apply to be the knew night guard." The rough, gravelly voice of a life long smoker grated on Mike's ears.

"Yes, sir." Mike answered. "I saw your ad in the paper an though it would be a good job for me to take."

"Okay! You're hired! Sign here!"

Mike hesitated, looking up in shock.

"That's… that's it? No interview, no-" He was quickly cut off by the rough, just a bit too cheery voice on the other side of the desk.

"You want an interview? Okay then! Mr Schmidt, do you have any experience with being a security guard?"

Mike paused, caught off guard by the rapid question, before answering truthfully. "No."

"Any experience dealing with machinery?"

"No."

"How old are you, Schmidt?"

"23, sir."

"Okay… You're hired!"

Mike looked up from his lap, surprised. He ddidn't think that… Well, never mind. Never mind if that was fast and unnaturally simple (not to mention completely unprofessional), never look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Thank you sir! When do I start?"

"Tonight. Be here by 11:30. The other guard, Scott will deliver your uniform and show you the ropes."

Normally Mike would have been apprehensive of a job like that, but he needed the money and honestly, sitting in front of a screen all night, watching an empty pizza place wasn't a bad deal.

"Sign here!" The cheery voice repeated. The man gave a wink, motioning to the paper, the font so tiny that Mike had to squint to try and make it out. Even then it was barely large enough to read.

"Don't worry to much about the details. It just states that you agree to follow the employee handbook and will do everything in your power to make this a happy and safe workspace. All you have to do is sign here!"

With that, the man's hand shifted down over the paper to point out the blank pace awaiting Mike's signature. His large, calloused hands lay against the paper, effectively blocking the page form Mike's view.

Not understanding the gravity of what he was doing, Mike signed his name, pen tracing swooping blue ink across the paper in a metaphorical (or perhaps literal, that would make sense as well) deal with the devil.