A/N: Yay, I got my very first review today!
Gumball Fazbear 1987: Thank you! Glad to have you as the very first reviewer of my cringe fanfiction! :)

Night 2

Mike sauntered back into what can only be described as the world's most terrifying cubicle. Time for another exciting round of "Survivor: Animatronic Edition."
Ring, ring, RING!
"HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" screeched the phone, violating every noise ordinance ever written.
"Ah, WHAT THE—?" Mike yelped, almost sending his bag of off-brand jerky flying like confetti. "Could you not, you weirdo?"
"Hey, jerky's your choice of munchies, not mine," the phone recording retorted.
"Keep talking, and I'll force-feed you my jerky," Mike warned.
Silence.
"Can we... not phrase it that way?"
"Ugh, fine," Mike huffed, sinking into the chair that had seen better decades. "Tell me what I need to know, then kindly buzz off."
"Alright, listen up: BewareFoxyblindspotsbythedoorsonceagainthankyouforchoosingFazbear'skthanksbye!"
With a loud thud, the phone returned to its cradle as if it had given up on life itself.
"Okay, easy, peasy, I got th—JESUS, it's the bunny from Donnie Darko!" Mike spotted Bonnie through the camera, who offered a grin and casual wave.
"Hey Bonnie!" Mike hollered, "Why don't you go chomp on a—"
"Pizza?" Chica's voice asked.
"Yeah, exactly! Now scram and—wait, why are you here?" Mike's eyes widened as Chica appeared at his right door.
"Hey," Mike squeaked, "You're not planning on stuffing me into a suit, are you?"
"Absolutely."
"Yeah? Cool, nice, sweet, amazing, spectacular-just kidding notodaySatan!" Mike leapt at the button, punching it with all his might. The door slammed shut milliseconds before Chica could dive in.
"Yo, not cool!" Chica huffed from the other side of the fortified door.
"You're the one trying to stuff me into a suit of death, you Happy Meal reject!" Mike fired back.
"Wow, way to go for the chicken's self-esteem, man."
"I'm not here for poultry therapy!"
"Fine," Chica pouted, "You're going to regret dissing me when Foxy shows up."
"Foxy? Who's Fo—?" Mike's question hung in the air as Chica's footsteps faded. "Get back here, you bucket of bolts, and spill the beans on Foxy!"
No response.
"Man, I shouldn't have told her to take a hike," Mike muttered, checking the camera feed yet again. All good, except Bonnie was hanging out in the closet like it was a VIP lounge. "Bonnie, exit the closet!" He paused, grinning. "Heh, exit the closet... get it?"
"I got it and left it, mate," said a voice behind him.
Mike practically levitated out of his chair and whirled around. There was Bonnie, just a socially awkward distance away from the left door, still closing in. He punched the door button like it owed him money. SLAM! "You're barred, buddy!"
"How about I make it worth your while? Some paperclips, and a free pizza coupon?"
Mike hesitated, his finger hovering over the button. "I mean, pizza is life but-"
Then, a rapid series of footsteps from the west hallway interrupted him. "Yarrrr-ho-ho and a bottle of—OUCH!" Foxy rammed into the door, ricocheting like he'd hit a trampoline. "Arrr, Foxy be faceplantin'! Foxy be HUMILIATED!"
Mike switched back to the camera feed, then jumped in his seat. "Holy guacamole, Foxy is the opposite of his name!"
"Seriously, Foxy? Now? I was this close to turning him into horribly bloody pulp!" Bonnie threw up his hands in disbelief.
"Me noggin's all wobbly..." Foxy moaned, holding his head.
"Man, that's the fourth guard I could've stuffed this month!" Bonnie grumbled, stomping away. "Foxy had to hog the spotlight—again!"
"Uh, Foxy, buddy?" Mike stammered. "Can you mosey on back to Pirate Cove? My power meter's kinda going empty."
"Yar, okay—wait, what? No!" Foxy snapped to attention, banging his hook on the door. "Open up!"
"No can do!"
"I'll make yee walk the plank!"
"How 'bout this? Go away and I'll let you in."
Foxy pondered, then dashed down the hall, his pirate pride carrying him back to his cove. Once there, it hit him. "That slippery little—"
Mike burst into laughter, flipping open both doors while juggling the camera feed. "Gotcha!"
He peeked at the main stage. Only Freddy remained, probably snoozing. Lazy...
Mike toggled to the backstage camera feed where Bonnie was stewing in a pool of self-pity. "-asinine, dunderheaded, doltish, good-for-nothin'-" Bonnie's voice spilled over the intercom, still sour over his stolen spotlight.
Nighttime ticked by, each moment a drop in the bucket.

At 6 AM, after Mike clocked out, Bonnie was still at it. "-obnoxious, grating, vexing, corroding, lame, idle-"
"Bonnie, would you zip it?" Chica snapped, standing on her designated spot on the stage.
"I will NOT zip it! Foxy yanked the rug right out from under me!" Bonnie retorted.

Meanwhile, in Pirate's Cove:
"Yarrr, that scurvy dog of a night guard!" Foxy snarled. "I'll make him walk the plank, mark me words!"

Switching back to the others:
"Fantastic." Chica shot back. "You always hog the glory."
"Because you guys turn it into a disaster zone! My methods are surgical!"
"I beg to differ!"
"No, I beg YOU to differ!"
"Differ THIS!"
"Differ THA—"
"Enough." Freddy, roused from his state of extreme focus (actually just a nap), cut in. "We'll get another chance tomorrow."
"Why should we believe you?" Bonnie huffed.
"Because," Freddy leaned in, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper, "Tomorrow, I join the game. And when I play, it's for keeps."