Night 3

Mike cartwheeled into the office—nah, scratch that, he just kind of shuffled in while mumbling, "So tired...so very tired."
RING, RING, RING.
"WHAAAAT'S UP!" yelled both Mike and the phone guy's recording at the same time.
"I beat you to it!" claimed the recorded voice.
"In your dreams, pal!" Mike shot back, toggling the camera view to the east hallway.
"You're dreaming!"
"You're pre-recorded!"
"SHUT UP!"
Awkward pause. A cricket from somewhere in the pizzeria offered some ambience.
"Alright, so as I was saying, Freddy's going to be more lively now," said phone guy, lowering his decibels.
"Hold on, more li—"
"Later, tater!" Phone guy disconnected.
"Rude," Mike muttered, flipping his view back to the main stage. He spotted Chica and Bonnie in a whispered confab. They were so close their beaks and snouts were almost touching. In fact, they were so close they could kiss-NO! Bad Thunderfang, no falling into the fandom ship trap!
And then Bonnie popped up right at the left door. Mike jabbed the button and slammed the door shut. "Dang it!" Bonnie groaned.
"Ha, not on my watch!" Mike cackled.
"Or maybe on your watch..." Chica cooed mysteriously from the east hall.
"YIKES!" Mike screamed. He smashed the right door button. "Beat it, or you're going straight to the deep fryer at Raising Cane's!"
"Raising who-zits?" Chica stammered.
"Raising Cane's. You'll be fried, dunked in sauce, and served alongside crinkle-cut fries," Mike said, switching over to the main stage cams. Good, Freddy was still pretending to be a statue.
"Oh," Chica muttered.
Then she bolted. "Runningrunningrunningrunning-"
As her clucks disappeared into the ether, Mike reopened the right door. "So," Bonnie said, still lurking by the left door. "How's life?"
"Thriving, obviously," Mike replied. "Now get lost or I'm dialing Bunny Busters."
"Bunny Busters? That's not real!" Bonnie chuckled.
"...yet," Mike shot back with an evil grin.
"Yet? What's that supposed to mean?"
"Lions. They're fond of rabbit stew."
"I must exit stage left!" Bonnie yelled, scrambling away.
"Ah, peace at last," Mike sighed. He cracked open the left door and swiveled to the pirate cove camera and—oh, nuts. The curtain was wide open.
"I've finally cornered ye, ye slippery landlu-" WHAM! Mike shut the left door just in time, causing Foxy to face-plant into it. Again.
"Strike two, Foxy! Or should I call you... Crash Bandi-coot?" Mike chortled.
"Me noggin's rattlin' like a jar of doubloons," Foxy mumbled.
"You sure it's not empty up there?"
"Enough!" Foxy banged his hook against the door, leaving a small dent. "Open this blasted door, or I'll have yee swabbing the deck with yer face!"
"Tempting offer, but I think I'll pass," Mike replied, flicking over to the backstage cameras where Bonnie was doing... whatever it is that animatronic rabbits do backstage.
"I swear on Davy Jones' locker, I'll get yee!"
"Doubt that."
"Ye won't escape me wrath!"
"Bet," Mike said, grinning mischievously. He then broke into song, "No, you're never gonna get it... Never ever gonna get it, no not this time!"
Foxy stopped his antics and looked confused. "What be this sorcery?"
"Never ever gonna get it, my liiiiife..."
"Cease and desist!" Foxy bellowed.
"No, you're never gonna get it! Had a chanc-"
"AAAARGH!" Foxy couldn't take it anymore. He bolted down the hallway, screaming, "Me ears be bleedin'!"
Mike cracked up, flinging the left door open. "Come on! I haven't even reached the chorus yet!"
"Nooooooo!"
Mike burst into laughter, then quickly scanned the security camera. His laughter died instantly. Freddy was MIA.
"Heck, where did—"
A creepy, villainous chuckle ricocheted down the corridor. Panicked, Mike toggled to the restroom cams. Yep, there was Freddy, inexplicably hanging out in the ladies' room.
"Dude, Freddy, you weirdo! Vacate the premises!" Mike yelled.
To his amazement, Freddy complied. Only now, he was marching toward the office via the east hallway.
"Uh-uh, you ain't settin' a foot in here!" Mike's voice took on a hurried Southern drawl as he slammed the east door shut.
"Oh, dear night guard, may I come in? We can play tag!" Freddy cackled.
"Hard pass!"
"Aw, c'mon, I promise it won't hurt a bit!" Freddy said.
"I enjoy breathing and not being stuffed in a deathtrap suit, thank you very much, Freddy Krueger." Mike retorted.
"Freddy who?" Freddy looked genuinely puzzled.
"Ugh, just scram!"
"Nah, I kinda like it here," Freddy smirked.
"Alright, you can stand there all night for all I care. I'm riding this out till 6 AM," Mike snarked.
"Keep dreaming. You'll run out of juice," Freddy taunted.
"Not likely," Mike shot back.
"Wanna bet?" Bonnie suddenly appeared in the left doorway, flashing a creepy grin.
"Jeez, not you too! Shoo, you furry menace!" Mike shrieked, slamming the left door shut.
"You're toast, buddy!" Freddy declared. "Just open the doors and say your prayers—"
SMACK!
Chica barreled into Freddy like a wrecking ball outta nowhere, sending them both tumbling dramatically away from the east hallway. "CHICAAAA, WHYYYY?!" Freddy hollered, sliding away as if on ice.
Mike raised an eyebrow and reopened the right door. "Is this like a regular thing?"
"Nah," Bonnie shrugged. "More like a quarterly event. We mark it on our calendars."
"Cool, got it," Mike said, flipping to the main stage camera. There was Freddy, nursing his noggin, while Chica lay sprawled like a tipped-over mannequin.
The room was quiet, except for the buzz of the ever-present, world's least effective fan.
"LET ME IN, DUDE!" Bonnie suddenly screamed.
"NEVER!"
"Ugh, fine!" Bonnie huffed, dramatically sulking off into the shadows.

At the crack of 6 AM:
Mike burst into triumphant laughter. "I did it! I'm the man! I'm the-OUCH!" His celebration was cut short by a painfully intimate encounter with the floor after tripping over his chair.
Picking himself up, he dusted off his pants and resumed his cackling sprint out of the office and burst into the dining area. "Later, Freddy! Tell your band they're never getting a record deal!" Mike zoomed past, making car noises as he swerved out the front door.
Bonnie rolled his eyes. "Ugh, missed him again."
Freddy was busy giving himself a pep talk. "I am the epitome of cool. I am a cucumber in a freezer. I'm-"
Chica cut him off, "You sure you're chill, Freddy?"
"ME? CHILL? I AM THE VERY DEFINITION OF CHILL, DO I NOT SOUND LIKE A YOGA INSTRUCTOR ON SEDATIVES TO YOU?" Freddy yelled, barely keeping his composure.
Chica tilted her head, "Is this because I bumped into you earlier?"
Freddy slapped a palm to his face. "We were THIS close, Chica. THIS. CLOSE."
"Hey, it's not my fault you didn't move, Freddy! Get out the way, get out the way, Freddy, get out the—"
Freddy facepalmed again, harder this time. "Just...stop talking."