A/N: WARNING! CRINGE AHEAD! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!
Also if I make any mistakes, i'm sorry, I'm blind and use a screen reader.
-

Night One (1)?
Mike Schmidt waltzed into the office and collapsed into a chair covered in ambiguous stains. "Ah, finally a place to sit and—wait, is that...? Oh no, it's just chocolate. And apple juice. Yep, definitely not—"
Just as he settled in, the phone rang and a tablet-monitor thing popped up right in front of his face. The phone, defying all laws of physics and common sense, picked itself up.
"HELLOOOO!" screeched the voice on the phone.
"Jeez, Grandpa, inside voice!" Mike hollered back.
"This ain't your grandpa, and it's a prerecorded message. You're so predictable, I already know what you're gonna say. Now listen."
Mike slapped his forehead. "Of course, it's one of those days."
"Shut up!" The voice shouted.
"But—"
"No, stop talking!"
"But I—"
"NO!"
A pause. Then, "Ahem," the recorded voice did the vocal equivalent of adjusting a tie. "I'm supposed to read this corporate mumbo jumbo but forget it, ain't nobody got time for that." The sound of paper ripping echoed through the phone. "Look, our animatronics? They're weird at night."
"Oh? Weird how?" Mike said, smirking.
"Not that kind of weird, you creep! They roam around. And if they catch you, they'll jam you into a suit."
"That doesn't sound too—"
"With wiring and gears jammed up your nostrils!"
Mike gulped. "Okay, then."
"So, survive. Watch the cameras, use The suspiciously convenient doors, don't use up all your power, yada yada. Now, any questions?"
Mike pondered for a moment. "Can I get fries with that?"
"Ugh, you're hopeless." The phone slammed itself down like an angry teenager.
Sighing, Mike started his new gig. Five minutes later, he noticed Bonnie the bunny was MIA. Then, there was Bonnie—right at his door.
"Heyyyy, buddyyyy," Bonnie drawled.
Mike slammed the door shut. "Nope, nope, nope!"
"Come on, man! Dying's the new living!" "I'd rather not, thanks! Go away, or I'll turn your foot into a keychain!"
Bonnie huffed and sulked off.
Mike checked the remaining power. "90 percent. Awesome. Time for some Minecraft!"
Two minutes later, the power was at 30%. "Whose idea was this? A power grid linked to a video game? Really? Who made this, a sadist"
-

Before the pizzeria opened, in the lair of Mr. Grim-Ace:
"Hehehe, try slacking off on the job now, chumps!" Mr. Grim-Ace chortled, clicking the tablet shut with a flourish.
"What in the name of pepperoni did you just do?" a co-worker, inquired, peeking into his makeshift mad scientist lab.
"Beefed up our security. You're welcome!" Mr. Grim-Ace grinned.
-

Back with our main characters:
"AAAAAAH—" Chica screamed, suddenly appearing at the right door.
"WHAT THE—BLARGHABLARGH!" Mike yelped, slamming the door shut so fast he practically gave himself whiplash.
"Aw, don't be a party pooper," Chica sulked through the metal door.
"Go away!"
"Want some pizza?" Chica wheedled.
"If you don't scram, you're going to BE my pizza topping!" Mike retorted, checking the dining room camera. Bonnie was back at his spot, and Freddy hadn't budged an inch—slacker.
"Ugh, fine," Chica grumbled, clomping away in a huff. "Some people have no taste..."
Mike sighed, relieved. "All right, the coast is clear—" He flung open the doors. Suddenly, the sound of clattering pots and pans erupted from the kitchen. "Aw, man!"
He toggled to the kitchen camera. "Cam disabled?! You've got to be kidding!"
"Well ain't that a kick in the balls." Bonnie's voice came from the left door.
"Yikes!" Mike yelled, slamming that door shut too. "Quit it!"
"It's just too hilarious!"
"Bonnie, I swear I'll turn you into a bad version of my car!" Mike threatened.
"That sounds kinda awesome, actually—" Bonnie started.
"My totaled, rusting junkyard-bound car," Mike clarified.
"Peace out!" Bonnie squealed, performing what could only be described as the world's least graceful sprint back to his original spot.
Mike caught a whiff of that unmistakable cheesy aroma. "Ah, Chef Chica's makin' the pizza pies now, eh?" he said, a fake Italian accent finding its way out of his mouth.
From the kitchen, he heard Chica belting out her own jingle, "Chica's cooking, gonna make you a staaaar!"
"Oi, Chica! American Idol auditions are next week, save it!" Mike yelled, while switching his monitor view to the janitor's closet where Bonnie was hanging out. Bonnie gave him a thumbs-up. Mike flipped him the bird.
Chica hollered back, "I don't take singing advice from security guards!"
"You putting pineapple on that pizza?" Mike shouted.
"Absolutely!"
Dead silence.
Finally, Mike broke the silence, "I was going to let you live, but now I'm going to have to ship you off to KFC-" But before he could finish, the 6 AM chime rang out. Bonnie and Chica scrambled back to the stage.
Mike glanced at the power level: a measly 2%. "Heh, looks like the morning crew's gonna have a little surprise," he smirked.
Striding out of the office, he tossed a cheeky "Better luck next time, losers!" over his shoulder as he passed the stage. He paused, turned back, and said, "Oh, and Bonnie? Listen closely." he leaned in and whispered, "You suck. And you all stink." Then he swaggered out the door, crossing paths with the morning crew.
Chica shook her head. "He's rude."
"I know, right?!" Bonnie chimed in.
Freddy just stared ahead. Soon... very soon...