Mr. Davidson, Manager of Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria, considered himself a reasonable man. Not perfect if the amount of dead guards said anything, but reasonable. He came to work earlier then he really needed to be just for the purpose of getting paperwork done earlier so he could take watch in the security room for a while. There was only so long he could keep Phil here without it being classified as abuse for some reason.
Knock, knock…
Mr. Davidson looked up from his doodle of Toy Chica (don't ask what it was exactly, you don't want to know) and to his door.
"Come in."
He briefly wondered who it was. The knock was fairly loud, so he doubted it was any of the on-shift workers. He doubted it was Lizzy, even if she did tend to knock loudly. She wasn't that bad.
Needless to say, he was rather shocked to see the door opened by the restaurant's namesake himself, Freddy Fazbear.
Holding a bottle of Jack Daniels, with very little inside it left. Freddy ended up banging against the sides of the door in a drunkenly manner, muttering something to himself that Mr. Davidson couldn't quite understand.
"Fr-Freddy? What are you doing here? Your show starts in five minutes!"
"Forget the show," Freddy slurred. "Sing-on, sing-off… No one listens to us anymore, you cock sucker."
"Freddy!" Mr. Davidson was appalled at Freddy's language. Definitely not the appropriate language for a children's pizzeria. Children actually came here damn it! It was bad enough having Lizzy here. Her mouth was worse than a sailors…
"Did Lizzy teach you that language?"
"You think you know everything, don't you," Freddy muttered, placing his free metallic hand on the desk. "But you don't. You don't know the pain I'm in!" Freddy then began to sniff, his eyes (despite being fake) looked watery. "It's always the same. We're closed. We're re-opening. We're closed again, oh no we're re-opening. Why are you breaking my heart? All of our hearts?!"
"Freddy, please, you're drunk. Somehow." Mr. Davidson looked at the bottle of Jack Daniels. "Where did you even get there? Did Bert bring in alcohol again? Damn Janitors."
"Whoa!" Freddy's eyes widened. "Don't… Don't be racist, man. Janitors are people just like you, me and those whiney brats outside."
"What?! I'm not being racist, I'm just saying that… Wait, you're not even a person."
"Does that really matter in a conversation like this?"
"… Yes?"
"Whatever," Freddy brushed it off. "Anyway, the reason I came in here is that…" Freddy hiccupped and barfed up oil all over the desk. Because even though they are electrical, they must have oil like the Tin Man. To act as blood, tears and other bodily fluids including the sex kind.
By the way, even though this is a kid's place, they have dicks hidden in hatches. At least that's the rumour Bert started up. But you know Bert. Never a hundred percent sober in the day since he lost his gambling money betting 2012 would occur. So chances are that he is wrong. At least, you should hope so.
"Aw, Freddy! Ewww!" Mr. Davidson stood up from his desk in disgust. "What the hell, man?"
"Hey, I'm Freddy Fucking Fazbear, I can do whatever I like," Freddy told him. "I can do what I like, and not face the consequences. I'm getting away with multiple murders!"
"Freddy, quiet!" Mr. Davidson hissed as he looked behind Freddy to the STILL OPEN door. "We don't want anyone knowing!"
"Where do you store the bodies anyway?" Freddy questioned before tipping the rest of his bottle into his mouth. "Ahh… So, what? Do you burn them or something?"
"Freddy, quiet and get back on stage you only have-!"
"OH, now I remember why I came here to begin with. I need your pants." Freddy demanded nonchalant. Mr. Davidson looked incredulous.
"Excuse me, what?!"
"I need your pants, so give them you horse cock sucker."
"What the hell does Lizzy say at night?!" Mr. Davidson really needed to talk to that girl.
"I'm too busy crying in despair in the girl's bathroom to pay much attention," Freddy answered bluntly. He then broke into oily tears. "I don't like any of this! It's so soul crushing and makes me want to die! Why do we keep closing down?"
"Well maybe if you stopped murdering-."
"Shut up. Hand over the pants."
"No!"
"You asked for it!"
Had anyone been outside the room, they would have heard a large sound of something hitting the floor, followed by yelling.
"Wh-where's Freddy?" Bonnie asked nervously, ears down lows. "He's supposed to be here by now!"
"I don't know," Chica replied anxiously. "But if he isn't here soon, I'm taking over!"
"But Freddy said only he could hold the microphone."
"Since when have I cared for what he said?"
"Who's ready for Freddy~?"
Chica and Bonnie froze. They heard Freddy's voice outside of the curtains, in the dining room. Followed by club music. More specifically, strip club type of music.
Freddy had developed a drinking problem a year ago, due to the stresses of so many openings and closings, guards not getting stuffed into suits and just being the band leader in general. He had been able to control it for the most part so he was at least sober during the day. He must have snapped or something if he was drunk now.
"Oh, dear Sweeney no," Chica mumbled the name of their original boss and creator from the diner before she and Bonnie peaked through the curtains. Freddy was standing on a table, hands behind his head, and gyrating his robot hips around. The tatters of Mr. Davidson's pants were around his hips. Obviously while the Manager wasn't as slim as say Lizzy or Phil, his clothes weren't big enough for Freddy. They were so ripped, that they looked more like a skirt that was too short to be considered a skirt and may as well be a belt.
Freddy was grinning, trying to look sexy. He was going to be the Justin Timberlake of pizzerias and he would be the one bringing sexy back.
"Freddy!" Mr. Davidson stormed in, his pant-less state revealing he wore blue boxers with a pattern of cute panda faces. "Get off of that!"
"I'm pleasing the ladies and anyone into guys, so screw off!" Freddy then grinned in the direction of a grandmother who was here for her grandson's seventh birthday. Freddy's grin had her mortified. More so when he got off the table he was on, only to get on top of the granny's table, standing right in front of her.
"How about a little twerking, lovely~." Freddy purred drunkenly as he turned around, and twerked his robo-ass right in front of the granny's face. Little children started to cry, not understanding what was going on. Some parents took their children away from this restaurant to get away from the inappropriateness and also using it as an excuse to avoid paying for their food.
Granny looked like she was close to a heart attack.
"PHIL!" Mr. Davidson roared for the day-shift security guard., sounding like a high-pitched woman. "GET IN HERE AND HELP GET FREDDY OFF THE TABLE!"
"Twerk it good, twerk it right. With Freddy, you'll be up all night," Freddy sang off key, turning his head back to wink suggestively.
Later that night…
Freddy sat in the corner of the stage, sobbing as he held his fifth bottle of whisky that night. The old lady did end up having a heart attack, and had to be taken to hospital while a nonplussed looking Phil and an annoyed Mr. Davidson took Freddy away to the Parts and Services room. Even a scared looking Bonnie had to help.
The good news? The old lady would be fine, and some of the kids who weren't traumatised by Freddy's drunken actions who had parents that didn't give a damn (which was surprisingly the majority that came here by at least 91%) thought it was cool the animatronics could walk around, so they may be able to walk around again next week.
Bad news? Freddy wouldn't be allowed off stage for the entire month. In fact, tomorrow morning he was supposed to get his feet nailed to the floor with multiple nails.
"I just wanted to bring joy to everyone…" Freddy wailed. "Is that so wrong?"
"No, lad! It isn't!" Foxy peaked his head out from his curtains and sniffed. "Nothing wrong at all. Unlike me. When ALL those years ago, I bit-."
"You bit a guy in the head, we get it!" Chica yelled from the kitchen. "You did it on purpose, we all know you did! Stop trying to make yourself the victim!"
"Ca-can we stop yelling please," Bonnie sniffed from the other side of the stage, robotic lips quivering as his robo-legs shuck.
"Shut up, Bonnie!" Freddy snapped, before getting off the stage and getting on the nearest table. Looking up at the camera, he yelled out, "Sec-security! Lizbeth… Lizbethal? No, Lizbeth! You think I'm sexy, don't you? Watch this!"
In the security office, Lizzy was caught between horror and shock as Freddy shuck his ass in front of the camera. It was almost as much of a scary mofo as the Marionette! Maybe even scarier!
…
She felt like she needed a strong drink.
"Hey, what's going on?" BB asked as he wandered into the dining room, Marionette close behind him. BB looked at Freddy for a moment before tugging at the Marionette's leg. "Mari, what's Freddy doing?"
"You don't want to know," Marionette said dryly as he covered the child animatronics' eyes. He was too young to witness this type of depravity of humanity. "Chica, get Balloon Boy out of here before he decides to follow in Freddy's footsteps and become a stripper who will mentally scar people for life."
"Coming…" Chica came in from the kitchen and picked BB up. "Let's go make some pizza flavoured cookies!"
"Yay!"
"That takes care of that," Marionette muttered before he looked in the direction of where Freddy was supposed to be. But he wasn't there. "What the… Where did he go?"
"Love my butt!"
Freddy was twerking his ass in front of Lizzy's east window. She kept the lights off though. No need to give herself more mental scars.
"For god's sake, go away!"
"Love my twerking ability!"
"I'll shove this fan right up that ass," Lizzy snarled as she grabbed the fan from her desk.
"I'd like to see you try!" Freddy gave out his infamous laugh. No way would that happen.
Later…
"It really is up there," an engineer told Mr. Davidson as he looked up from Freddy's behind. Freddy himself (who was laying stomach down on one of the tables) was whimpering out of the pain in his rear, and the pain of his hangover. "How did she even do it?"
"Rage," Mr. Davidson replied dryly. "Horrible, horrible rage."