Disclaimer: I don't own FNaF
Of course, the rabbit didn't respond. Mike wondered for a moment what he had been expecting. It wasn't as if the thing could talk. Mike shook his head and let his gaze drift from it, taking in the rest of the small room. The walls to the back and left of the room were filled with standing metal shelving, each stacked full of boxes. Each one was labeled and neatly put away, filled with all the spare parts he could ever need. The suit was too the right, surrounded by cleaning equipment.
Where had they found all this? Mike wondered. To fill nearly an entire room with such an enormous amount of junk took a special type of dedication Mike simply couldn't understand. Though, he supposed, parts would eventually come in handy.
Stepping into the room, he made his way over to the first set of shelves. Many of the boxes were full, with extra springs, teeth, and joints making up the majority. Mike sighed, running a hand through his hair. Thank God he hadn't been the one to sort all this shit. That's when another box caught his eye.
It was sat on the top shelf, Misc written neatly on the front in handwriting Mike didn't recognise from the other boxes. Reaching up on his tiptoes he pulled it down, placing it on the floor. He knelt and opened it. Inside, a layer of crinkled papers covered the top, each one covered in crayon drawings of brightly coloured animals. Mike scooped a few up, looking through them. Many were innocent enough, 'My day at Freddy's' written happily at the very top of the papers with the child's apparent favourite animatronic taking up the rest of the space. They were cute, colourful, and in the right setting incredibly spooky. The last one, however, was the real gem. The drawing showed a large yellow rabbit with a big, purple bowtie wrapped around its neck. Whys it looking at me? Was scrawled at its feet in red crayon.
Now, that was creepy. More like this, please. Mike set it aside, smoothing out the crinkles before he turned back to the box.
The rest of the box was filled with toys, plastic versions of Bonnie, Chica, Freddy and Foxy, the odd stuffed animal, a wooden puppet or two. Mike dug deep and his fingers scraped against something that was decidedly more metal. Wrapping a hand around the object, he pulled it from the box. It was a Freddy doll, but not one Mike had ever seen before, with a white and pink body with red cheeks. It was adorable, and Mike was immediately in love.
"Well, hello there little guy," Mike mumbled. The toy lay floppy in his hand, arms and legs swaying over its edges. It was small, cute, and certainly didn't belong in a box in a haunted house. Mike thought back to his bare desk in the security room and made up his mind. "Looks like you're coming with me, pal."
He really had to stop talking to inanimate objects.
Mike repacked the box, straining to put it back on the shelf. Picking up his papers and Little Freddy he turned, about to leave. The springlock suit was still hunched on the floor, but something about the pile of scrap made Mike pause. The thing was looking at him. Its large head, held up by the mess of wires and metal it called a neck, had twisted slightly to the side, looking up at him through blank grey eyes. Mike took a step back, the cool metal of the shelving behind him digging into his back. Why had it moved? Had it fallen while Mike hadn't been looking?
Or, maybe-
No, it must have. Things like this didn't just move on their own, that would be ridiculous.
Why was he always so jumpy? Shouldn't he have gotten past this by now? It had been over a year, after all. Little Freddy grinned up at Mike from his palm, blue eyes blank. It was strangely calming, and Mike huffed out a laugh. He was so stupid sometimes.
Centring himself, Mike took a breath. He was going to look up, and the rabbit won't have moved. It was all in his head. Mike looked up.
The animatronic was still slumped, and Mike thanked his lucky stars for small mercies. However, its head was no longer bent towards its chest. Instead it was raised, high enough for Mike to see down into the suit if he wanted to. Mike didn't want to.
Ok, so. It moved. Not in his head then. Or, maybe. Terror hit Mike hard; hard enough to send him back into the metal shelves again. Gathering himself as best he could, Mike edged around the suit, not once turning his back to the rabbit. The body stayed in its corner, its eyes following him even though the rest of it didn't as much as twitch.
Mike slammed the doors behind him, in his haste dropping Freddy and the drawings. He pressed himself up against the doors, breathing hard. Yeah, no need to panic. It was a springlock suit, right? Probably just the springs loosening or something. Mike was worrying over nothing. Yep.
Mike fiddled with his ring of keys, fingers numb. All he had to do was lock the door and pretend it never happened. Right.
After a few moments of unsuccessful scrabbling, the clicking of the lock was music to Mike's ears. He sighed in relief and, pulling himself from the door, he bent down to gather his scattered items.
What. The. Actual. Fuck?
Had that actually happened? Mike's heart was still pounding in his chest as he made his way back down to the security room.
Suddenly, working in a haunted house didn't seem as fun anymore.
Once back in the security room Mike collapsed into his chair. Letting out a rough sigh, he set down the drawings and Little Freddy, sitting him on top of the papers so they wouldn't fly away. He leaned back into the back of the chair, the old leather squeaking under his weight.
Morbid curiosity made Mike flick on the monitor, moving between cameras until he found the right one. The storage room was lit and bright inside, Mike having left the light on in his worry. The animatronic was still sat in its corner, head bent low as if it had never moved. Well then, that was reassuring.
Not for the first time, Mike wondered if he really should have quit therapy so soon.
Therapy though... was kind of shit. For Mike, anyway. He had amnesia, not depression. It wasn't really the same.
How it had happened he still hadn't really pieced together. He'd woken up in a hospital one morning, drugged so high on morphine he didn't know his foot from his head, with no memory of how he'd gotten there. The doctor had turned up around half an hour after he had woken up, explaining that he'd been found in a back alley with half his intestines missing, along with damage to most of his internal organs. A mugging gone wrong they'd said. It was a wonder he had even survived.
And Mike couldn't remember any of it. Or, in fact, anything around a year before it either. Not that he particularly wanted to remember being stabbed in the gut, but still. Remembering where he lived would have been cool.
Apparently, comas did that to people.
Mike's eyes drifted back down to Little Freddy and the papers below him, the bright yellow of the crayon drawing his gaze.
Hold on a moment. Mike squinted at the picture, then back up to the suit, taking in its battered, grainy appearance. It looked an awful lot like the yellow rabbit in the drawing...
Mike reeled back, shaking his head almost violently. No, he wasn't going down that rabbit hole. Heh, rabbit...
Well, wasn't this turning out to be one of those nights? And Mike thought his nightmares were bad.
With one last distrustful look at the possibly-probably-not-alive bunny suit, Mike changed the camera. He flicked through them quickly, laziness and residual fear making it so he didn't want to leave the room before it was time to leave. He needed to learn the building's layout anyway if he was going to spend most of his time in this place, and by camera seemed quicker than walking.
In total there were fifteen cameras spanning the length of the entire building, with one in every room except the security room and bathroom. They were even in the vents, something that Mike found incredibly strange. He'd have to ask Scott about that later.
After the fourth dark, creepy hallway with a decapitated head at the end, Mike found he was losing the will to live. Slumped low in his seat with his head pillowed on his arms on the desk, he glanced at the time in the bottom corner of the screen. 4:30. Half an hour left until he could leave. Brilliant.
Mike groaned, burying his face in his arms. He'd gotten there for twelve, but it felt like he'd been there for an eternity already. Still, it got him out of that dingy flat, with Mrs. Jones poking her nose where it wasn't wanted and the couple in the flat next-door having extremely loud sex at the most inappropriate of times. Nobody needed to hear that at four in the morning.
Nobody.
Finally, at 4:57, Mike turned the screen off. He stretched, his back popping as it straightened. Finally, home time.
Mike's paper mountain was still in reception, weighted down by a little Bonnie head paperweight Scott must have found from somewhere. At the top sat his new contract, the words 'Fazbear Fright' printed large and bold at the top. At least it was thinner than the last one. Plucking it from under Bonnie, Mike took the time to thoroughly skim the document. A pen lay next to the stack, perched innocently on the teak wood. Mike pocketed it. He wasn't signing something he'd only skimmed, that was always a bad idea. He'd get it to Scott later.
And right now? Mike defiantly needed a nap.
AN: So, a wild Spingyboi appears. And already playing with Mikey huh? At least wait for the night shift, ugh! Also, Helpy, because why not.
Edited: 13th Jan, 2018.
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