"What in the world…?" It was just roughly after twelve-thirty am when Mitch Hallamore had been driving past Freddy's. He'd just dropped off the twins Andrea and Arnold and had been driving back home himself. They'd all just managed to peel themselves away from yet another round of rematches on a fighting game, and decided to rest up before they went to question the guard in the morning. The way past Freddy's was quickest- and maybe he couldn't help the thought of seeing something going on. Boy, did he see something going on alright. The pizzeria was supposed to be closed, but it was lit up like a Christmas tree! The only thing, from what he could see, that wasn't on was the neon-lights of the sign.

The longer Mitch stared, the more he felt compelled to take a closer look. It was very obvious something was up. This was a beacon, almost. All but in name. That's why he was pulled into the last row of the parking lot. Car positioned to either sit and stay, or leave. He sat tensely. Fingers wrung around the steering wheel as he debated with himself on what to do. Get out and look? Or leave? What could possibly come of taking a peek? Either the guard is having a private party, he thought, or…I'm going to see history repeated itself…

Much as he was curious about the case, the thought of actually seeing something graphic. It was unnerving. He'd read something pretty depraved things in his dives into cases. It was an unfortunate hazard of the interest, but seeing it personally…left some reservations. Hell, he was seventeen. A fact that seemed glaringly obvious to him now. Damn, he wished he had his friends with him right now, back-up always helped.

His index finger tapped on the steering wheel's faux-leather exterior as he began weighing his options. If he left, well, that'd be the end of it. He'd have something odd to mention to his friends. They'd probably go on and rag on him for not looking, of course. If he did look, well, then the two previous outcomes of that came to mind. Okay. He examined those options further. Guard having a party, neat things to tell the others, have a laugh about how they'd so do that too. That'd probably weigh against any theories of the restaurant being haunted, at least this one. Disappointing as that'd be it'd be a good thing in the overall scope. No lost souls. If he did see something bad, Mitch felt his thoughts come to a halt. A brake had been thrown into effect.

"Shit." He hissed to himself. Now he had to check. Otherwise, he'd have the "what-if" cloud hanging over him for, who knows how long. All night at least. If he found out tomorrow that someone had been harmed, or worse yet killed, and he could've done something to prevent it…to say he'd feel shitty, would've been an understatement. He liked digging around for information, even if it agitated or got him in a bit of trouble, but to leave someone to harm? No. No fucking way.

"Okay…" Mitch breathed to himself, readying himself for, whatever, was about to transpire. He swallowed the rock lodged in his throat. He inhaled, backstraight. Before some form of rational, or self-preservation instinct, could kick in he put the car in park and turned it off. Next thing he knew, he was standing outside his car, sights on the pizzeria. In one hand, he felt his keys quickly going cold. Silently, he deposited them into his pocket. Well, now that he was out in the cold, heavy clouds overhead, he might as well take a look.

As he headed over to the large front windows of the building, he couldn't help but glance about. He half expected a cop, or someone, tell he shouldn't be here. Like the place was off limits. Technically he shouldn't be, but the pizzeria parking lot was public. There was no else around though, just empty streets. Freddy's was off towards the newer part of Hurricane, but more-so on its own at a corner. No doubt so it'd be situated in the to-be future hub of the town. Away for the older-sites. The place of it infamous crimes. Now, it just felt like purposeful isolation. In the distance he could see lights from a gas-station, up further was the housing area where he lived, but that wasn't even in sight. It left Mitch feeling vulnerable.

He put his sight forward on the pizzeria. Just give a quick look, then go, he told himself. The sound of…fair music? Gave him pause, it was an unusual selection if the guard was throwing himself a party. In the cold of the night, it felt off, eerie. Mitch told himself that was because the windows left the noise muffled, sounding less upbeat than it should. He recognized the music from the older locations, it'd played in the background whenever the band wasn't playing. Just ambiance that looped to fill in noise. The new location had used it in advertisement but played a more updated version that this during the day. So, why was this playing played now?

As peered through the window, he couldn't much. Just the front desk, the party lights flashing in the halls going from red, blue, yellow, and the flecks of the disco light dancing along the walls. Mitch walked from one end the pizzeria's front to the other, head bobbing left and right trying to get a look to see if there was anything else he could see. He honestly didn't know what he was looking for but he had a need to be thorough. Whatever was going on, it had to be in the main party room and he couldn't see that from here. Predictably the front doors were locked. So far, didn't seem like a break in.

Mitch rounded the back of the building, might as well check the back door. With the lack of anything horrific thus far, he was beginning to feel his tension ease up. Aside from the dumpsters, there wasn't anything foul at the back of the building either. He checked his surroundings before he checked to see if the door was unlocked. Didn't need anyone else thinking he was breaking in. As before, there was no other life to be seen. Couldn't even see the lights from the gas station from here.

He grabbed the door handled and pulled back. It didn't budge.

Alright. That was checked off. Mitch headed back towards the front. He felt both disappointed and relieved at the same time. He'd just give the windows another look over then head home-

He nearly jumped out of his skin when there was a sudden cascade of sound from the front of the pizzeria. First it sounded like the front doors flung open, followed by a heft thud of something falling to the pavement. Brief scramble on the ground, like a frightened animal trying to get away as quickly a physically possible. Then the thunder of both front doors came to a crashing close. The sound left Mitch paralyzed in place. He stared ahead, just what had that all been? He wouldn't be surprised if there was a huge crack in the glass of the front doors with all that force.

Then he heard frantic panting and struggled, pained wheezes.

That had to be the nightguard.

Mitch found his feet quickly thereafter. The nightguard was clearly in pain and that pushed him into action. He turned the corner in a less than a minute. There on the ground in front of the building, barely holding himself up with his arms was the nightguard. His breathes were wheezing, labored, and interspersed with ragged coughs. Then Mitch felt unsure. What, what was he supposed to do now? He couldn't just go help him up. The guy was clearly pretty shaken up. So, first thing he should do was let him know he was there. Yeah, that made sense.

"Hey, hey are you okay?" The words sounded stupid in his head, but he couldn't really see the guy too well from where he stood, "Do you need help?"

Weakly, like his head was too heavy, the guard looked to him, wheezing, "Please…help-him…"

Help him? The wording confused Mitch, but before he could question it fully, the guard collapsed on the ground. Alarmed, the teenager yelled in surprise before going to the guy's side. Once he did, he saw blood, soaked around his shoulder and his side. He stared, those…look like stab wounds! Mitch didn't know if they were fatal, but the sight of blood was enough to urge him to hurry. For a moment he looked around at the man, trying to figure out what would be the best method of hoisting him up without causing too much pain. Then, what? What if he died on the way to the hospital? That was a good thirty minutes away! Wait, he had a first aid-kit in the back! It wasn't much, but he could at least bandage him up, stifle the flow of the blood, buy more time. Yeah, yeah that could work.

Carefully he hoisted the man, who looked to be in his forties or fifties, up, slinging one of his arms over his shoulder. Boy, he was happy he exercised often enough, the guy wasn't exactly light while he was unconscious. As he began to carry him towards his car the guy groaned. He was clearly still unconscious, but in the off chance he was coming to, Mitch said, "Hang on dude, I'm going to get you help."

With effort, Mitch got the guard to his car. He stopped. There was no way he could get his keys out of his pocket and keep the guy on his shoulders. Last thing he wanted was to fumble his keys or drop the dude. Fuck…He had to put him down. No biggie, he could sit up against his car. Yeah, if he was sitting up, maybe that would slow the bleeding…or would lying him down do that? Shit, he didn't know. For sure though, trying to pick up back up from the ground would be harder though, sitting him up it was.

Once the guard was leaned back against the side of his car, Mitch hurried to the back and popped his trunk. He had to rummage through it, as the first-aid kit was stuffed away, behind a gym bag, empty cans of soda, miscellaneous bags, and other junk. After tonight, he was definitely not only tidying up but ensuring from here on out that the kit was way easier to get ahold of.

The kit in his hands, Mitch hurried back to the man. Warily he paused, had he passed in the minutes he'd left. He felt himself chill at the thought. It was a relief when a groan of pain came from the man. More surprising, he lifted his head up! Clearly lost, he vaguely looked around yet couldn't comprehend fully what he saw.

"Where…?" The question was so faint it sounded more like a rasp than a word.

"You're outside Freddy's." Mitch answered, kneeling down next to the guard. He finally got a good look at his nametag. It was scuffed dark out, but he could still make out a name, "Mike Schmidt." Undoing the clasps, Mitch began to go through the contents for what he needed as he continued, "I was driving by when I saw the pizzeria was going crazy. Don't worry I'm going to try and patch you up and take you to the hospital."

"No hospital."

"What?" Mitch stopped, bandages and disinfectant in hand.

"No hospital." Mike firmly asserted. His eyes seemed clearer now though still dazed, either from being unconscious for a time or blood loss.

Mitch couldn't believe he was hearing this- the dude was bleeding from stab wounds. Why the hell would he not want to go to the hospital? No way he was thinking properly. Mitch put some disinfectant on a rag. "You crazy? You've been stabbed! You got to go to the hospital. I know your older than me and all but-"

"I can't." Mike reasserted, unmoving in his decision, as he gripped on of his wounds on his shoulder.

As Mitch looked at the man, he notice a shadow under and in his eyes. He was worried, scared about something. His eyes were fixed on the windows of the pizzeria. Mitch followed his gaze and stilled, in his hurry to get Mike to his car he'd failed to notice something. It was quite and dark now. The only light was the pale glow of the street lamps. Freddy's had gone dead again. Mitch then realized why Mike didn't want to go to the hospital.

"It's because of Freddy's, right?" Mitch asked quietly, the rag going cold in his hand.

Mike shifted his eyes to the teen next to him, "You know about the story's?"

"Just…what's on the internet and some documentaries." Mitch answered, feeling uncertain of what was true now. This guard, undoubtedly knew more than what wild speculation ever could, or, at least what happened at the place at night, but why was this place haunted. It had to be, right? The way the guard looked scared of the building, it wasn't because of something normal. There was a terror in those eyes. Or, was he just over thinking things because of where he was? Mike shook his head, his mind was going crazy, "Look, be straight with me here, was this because of those animatronics? Cause, you were stabbed and that wasn't their thing last I read."

"All you need to know is, I'm not going to the hospital. I can patch myself up just fine." The teen didn't look convinced. Mike felt agitation build up in him, "I know how to take care of myself- and," He looked at himself, he could see the stains of blood even in the dim lights, "I can't have hospital staff asking questions or keeping me bedridden." Inwardly he cringed at the thought of him having one of his nightly terrors and possibly moving or saying something while under supervision. Then getting tossed into a mental clinic.

Mitch stared down at the things in his hands, the bottle of disinfectant and the rag. What the hell did he do in this situation. The guy had just insinuated that he couldn't explain what happened to medical professionals and was worried about- something. His own beliefs kept nagging at him that it was due to Freddy's dark past, but a more side told him that was a load of bs. That was all just stories. Stories based on a seriously messed up past yeah, but as time went on the stories had to have been mythologized.

In the end, he gave up and groaned in frustration, "Alright, fine. Just let me patch you up- and this better not have been because of a robbery or whatever. Got it? And I'm going to make sure you don't die during the night! I won't be able to sleep otherwise!"

Mike was left rather speechless by the declaration. He hadn't expected the teen to have such a strong sense of care, or was it paranoia? Worried that he'd be to blame if he were to expire during the night. The thought got Mike to laugh to himself, he could relate to that, "Sure, whatever will get you to take me home and not the hospital. What's your name, by the way?"

"Mitch."

At that the teenager got to work, best he could under Mike's guidance to patch him up. All the while, Mike couldn't believe he could another helper. Why did people just throw their lives at him, were so willing to help him out when they'd only just met him? He didn't deserve it, but, at the moment, he really could turn it down. He had little sense of self-preservation but he still had a job to do. Above that confusion though, he was lost as to figure out one thing: How had he gotten out of the pizzeria? The front door were magnetically locked.