Desperate Times

Cold sweat trickling down his neck and his hands shaking, Mike Schmidt waited in the upstairs office of Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. The noise of cheering children echoed faintly from downstairs and the only other sound was the typing of the secretary at her desk, along with her occasionally blowing and popping her gum.

He glanced at the clock. He was five minutes early for his meeting with the manager of this place. Was he the type of person who would value him being early? Or would he be able to sense the desperation that Mike felt for how badly he needed this job? The pit of worry in Mark's stomach continued to churn and twist until he was certain it'd burst out of him.

He'd seen the advert in the paper, after a week of desperate searching and rejections. While he'd hated his office clerk job, it was the only thing paying the bills, apart from his art commissions. But the latter wasn't large enough to sustain him without an actual job. He was on his last $20, he'd missed paying his rent twice, he'd barely been scraping by for food and he needed a miracle. Not many people were willing to hire someone with a major in Art.

He'd found it in the jobs column just this morning.

HELP WANTED: FREDDY FAZBEAR'S PIZZA

Family pizzeria looking for security guard to work the nightshift. 12 am to 6 am.

Monitor cameras, ensure safety of equipment and animatronic characters.

$120 a week.

He didn't really care about the money. He'd done the math and learned that, in tandem with what money he made from his art, this would help pick up the slack. He'd called the number and they'd arranged a meeting with him that very day, much to his astonishment. The secretary, Mel, had told him to wait until the manager was ready for him.

Mike had just worn his old suit from work. It hadn't been washed for a couple of days and it smelled. He'd given his hair a quick comb and he'd shaved with a cheap razor. At least the cuts were drying up now. He'd be amazed if anyone in their right mind would hire him looking like this. Mel seemed to think so, from how she'd given him the once over before telling him to sit.

Mike had all of his fingers crossed. This had to work. It had to…

The door to manager's office opened and Mike shot to his feet. A portly man in a grey suit emerged from the office. He greeted Mike with a firm handshake and a welcoming smile.

"Ah, Mr Schmidt. We meet at last," he said jovially. "I am Aaron Johnson, manager of Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria."

"I-it's a pleasure, sir," Mike stammered politely.

"Come on in. Please, take a seat." Mike slumped into the seat, trying to wipe off a few beads of sweat without him noticing. Things seemed to be going well so far. "So, Mike, applying for the position of night watchman, are you?"

"Y-y-yes sir," he answered, trying to speak as confidently as he could. "I um, I could uh, really use the j-job, sir."

"That's the kind of attitude we want!" Mr Johnson said heartily. "Congratulations Mike! You're hired!"

Mike's mouth fell open. Had he just heard Mr Johnson say what he think he did? Barely a minute into the interview?

"R-really…?" he asked, hardly daring to believe it.

"Indubitably!" he chortled. "I think you're just what we're looking for, Mike my lad. Let me just draw you up a contract here…"

Mike had a hard time fighting the grin off his face while Mr Johnson rifled through a few papers. A small part of him argued that this was too easy, that he'd barely asked him any questions. But he silenced that part of him with mental whooping. All it would take now was to sign this! Please, he begged, don't let this be some cruel joke.

Mr Johnson handed him the contract. A quick scan told Mike that he was to be held in contract for five days mandatory employment. After that, he had a choice to sign on permanently or seek other work. It was only $4 an hour, but Mike would take it. Desperate times called for desperate measures and it was only one little stumble.

With a flourish, he signed his name and handed the contract back. Clapping his hands together heartily, Mr Johnson stood up and shook his hand across the desk.

"Welcome aboard, my lad!" he boomed.

"Th-thank you, sir!" Mike could no longer contain the smile that broke out on his face. "Thank you, so much!"

"No. Thank you, my boy," he replied sincerely. "You go on and wait outside. I'll get your uniform and give you a little lay of the land."

Mike nodded quickly and left the office. It was all he could do to avoid fist pumping the air in triumph.

"You got the job, huh?" remarked the secretary snidely.

Mike didn't say anything. He just nodded, partly because he so elated at his success and luck, but also because he'd never really been one for talking to women well. That and Mel didn't really come across as friendly.

"Heh," she sniggered. "Good luck."

"I uh… thanks. Uh but um, how hard can it be?" he tried to say positively.

Mel merely smirked at him from her desk and went back to typing, chewing her gum loudly. Mike tried his best to ignore her. She was probably just trying to make him nervous because he was new. Wouldn't be the first time.

Mr Johnson emerged from his office moments later. He carried a plastic washing bag with some freshly washed clothes. They consisted of a blue shirt with the restaurant's logo on the back, black pants, a belt with a torch, keys, handcuffs and a Taser attached and a black cap. Kind of like what a mall cop might wear.

"This'll be your uniform," he told him, pressing it to his chest. "You might be on the night's watch, my lad, but that doesn't mean we can't have you looking unpresentable."

"O-of course, sir," Mike stuttered. He clutched the uniform, still with a bit of a grin.

"Eager to get started, eh?" He clapped Mike on the back. "That's the way, lad! Come on, I'll show you where you'll be working."

Still revelling in utter relief, Mike closely followed him back downstairs. He led him to a small room near the two front doors. Two doors led into the room, with a pair of buttons next to them. One labelled 'light', the other 'door'.

The office itself was nothing remarkable. A few blank monitors were stationed on the desk, a set of speakers were under it and a phone on the wall. There was some crumpled paper, an empty soda can, an office fan, a black laptop-like device connected with a cord to the socket and some things posted on the walls. One was a big poster depicting the restaurant's mascots and there were a few kids' drawings of them too.

"This'll be your office," Mr Johnson explained. "It's an easy enough job. This here's your security monitor." He patted the black laptop. "Just flip it open and you can see the whole restaurant without having to leave the comfort of your chair. You see anything during the night that's suspicious, you give 'em what for!"

"Um, right." A little nervousness took Mike again. He'd never been one for fights.

Mr Johnson saw his apprehension and chuckled. "Don't worry, lad. This restaurant's not had a break-in for over ten years. You should be fine, probably be bored all night. But it doesn't help to be prepared, eh?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"Exactly. Now, a bit of fair warning: we have been having a little problem concerning cash recently. So, to save on power, we allocate a small amount of the restaurant's power for use at night, since you're the only one here," he elaborated. "That does mean that the lights won't be very bright and you have to mindful how you use your power. Your monitor, the lights and these security doors, they all use power."

"S-security doors?" asked Mike.

"Security doors." To demonstrate, Mr Johnson hit the door button and Mike yelped as a metal hydraulic door slammed into place. Another press and it slid back up. "In case there are any break-ins and things get a little hairy for you, just get these shut and ring up the police on the phone."

"B-b-but sir…" He paused until Mr Johnson nodded for him to continue. "If the power's limited a-a-and I run out…"

"Ah, a smart one too," complimented Mr Johnson. "Don't you worry about that lad, you won't be sealed in here. If the power runs down, there's an emergency failsafe so the doors open and you can get back out. As for the police, the station is just down the road, so they'd be here in no time. Don't you worry, lad. You'll be fine."

Mike let out a little sigh. "Thank you, sir."

"Not at all, Mike, not at all," he chuckled. "Right, let me show you who exactly you'll be guarding."

He led Mike towards the main body of the restaurant. The curtains had been shut to provide darkness for the show in here and the scent of freshly cooked pizza was making Mike's stomach rumble. Collections of excited, cheering children all directing their attention at the brightly lit stage illuminated in the dark.

Moving jerkily on it were three animatronic animals. They all had roughly the same bodies, just with different colouration and different heads. A dark purple rabbit with a bass guitar wearing a big red bowtie, a weird duck wearing a bib and a cupcake in her hand and a brown bear on centre stage with a microphone and a small black top hat.

While the kids were cheering with glee, Mike couldn't but feel slightly unsettled. Maybe it was to do with their jerky movements, their large teeth or their large, yet dead looking eyes. Or all of the above. Whatever it was, they gave Mike the creeps.

"Well, hey there kiddies!" called the bear in a deep, jolly voice. "You all having fun?"

The kids all cheered in response. Their parents seemed rather like Mike and looked a little unsettled by the performers.

"Right on!" the rabbit to his right in a tinny, high voice. "We'd hate to imagine you kids not having any fun! We wouldn't be doing our jobs right if you didn't!"

"And are you all enjoying the pizza?" asked the duck in a gentle, motherly voice.

Another cheer was raised.

"Well, I sure am glad to hear that. I made it myself," she said happily. "We wouldn't want you kids going hungry."

"Sure wouldn't," agreed the rabbit. "Now, I think it's time for another song! You kids ready?" Again they cheered. "Alright! On three! One, two-!"

"Hold up there, Bonnie! I got another one!" the bear cut off. "Hey kids! Why did the turkey cross the road?"

"Gee, I don't know, Freddy," the duck replied. "Why?"

"Because it was Chica's day-off!"

Most of the kids laughed. Some of them giggled. The parents largely rolled their eyes and Mike was almost one of them. But he wanted to continue making a good impression on Mr Johnson, so he refrained. Also, that duck was supposed to be a chicken then? Mike honestly couldn't tell.

The rabbit, Bonnie, groaned in theatrical exasperation and the chicken, Chica, giggled.

"Oh, Freddy! The only turkey I know around here is you," she returned.

Freddy chuckled. "Good one, ol' buddy! Now, Bonnie, how about that song?"

"You sure there's no more jokes now, Freddy?" asked Bonnie.

"Not right now!"

"That's a relief," she sniggered. "Right, here we go! One, two, a one, two, three!"

As they launched into a catchy little number with Bonnie on guitar, Freddy singing and Chica on backing vocals, Mr Johnson turned back to Mike.

"Quite something, aren't they?"

"Y-yes, sir," Mike agreed. Though wasn't sure what that 'something' was.

"Yes, indded. The kids might be the life and soul of this place, but those three are the heart," he remarked wistfully. "That's what I'm trusting you with here, Mike. The heart of this place."

"Y-y-you mean… them?" Mike asked.

"I do," he nodded. "It'll be your responsibility to make sure nothing happens to these three while the doors are closed. Keep an eye on 'em, make sure they don't go anywhere and that nothing happens to 'em. Just take good care of them and they'll take good care of you."

Mike wanted to say something. He wanted to say that they were just machines and that taking care of them would be nothing challenging. And they were machines. How exactly were they going to take care of him if he did? What did he mean by that?

But the tone in Mr Johnson's voice told him that he set a lot by them. Whether it was nostalgia or something to do with humans forming attachments to things, he didn't know. Either way, he nodded solemnly.

"I'll do my best, sir," he promised.

"Means a great deal to hear that from you, Mike." Mr Johnson patted his shoulder. "Thank you. Right, I'll let you get on your way. Your shift starts at twelve, so make sure you're here sharp to lock up. Get me, lad?"

"Understood, sir," Mike replied.

"Good man and good luck," he wished, strolling on back to his office.

Mike watched him go and looked at his uniform again. He grinned once more that he had a job again, that he might finally earn some money and that it was a nice little place like this. Even if the robots were kind of freaky. Things were starting to look up.

A shiver went up his spine. Looking around, he saw nothing. Just the kids, the parents, and the characters on stage… his eyes stopped travelling around the room and lingered on the stage. He held them, blinked a couple of times, but brushed it off. It was probably nothing, he thought to himself. Just seeing things.

Even so, he could have sworn that, for a brief moment there, Bonnie wasn't looking out at the crowd. She was looking at the back of the room.

Right at Mike.