HOME | DD

Description

Chapter Two: I Don't Like Mondays

Summary: Mike prepares for his first night on the job at Freddy's, mistakenly thinking this will be easy.

Notes on the Illustration: I'm trying to recreate the feel of the paperbacks I loved as a preteen, where every hundred pages or so you got a black-and-white illustration of one of the main characters. That's a nice way of saying I can't draw my way out of a paper bag -- I didn't do poor Mike justice here but that's my overall head canon for what he looks like.

Author's Note: Five Nights at Freddy's and all canon characters, settings, etc. are the property of Scott Cawthon. This is a non-commercial fan tribute and was not written for profit.

You are free to use any original concepts, headcanons and characters from this fanfiction in your own work (fanfiction, art, etc.) if you'd like.

*****

It was easy to tell which areas of the establishment were considered "backstage" and off-limits to guests, Mike realized as Faz led him down a series of hallways. Though decorated like the dining area in a wild explosion of star-spangled tackiness with a unifying checkerboard tile panel running along the walls, the neglected back areas were littered with debris and thick, gray dust and probably hadn't seen a broom in months. His sneakers stuck in dried soft drink spills that nobody had bothered to clean up - at least that's what Mike hoped he was stepping in. Even the tiny security office itself was draped in cobwebs instead of the dangling sprays of metallic sparkles and stars that hung from the ceilings everywhere else.
Oblivious to the condition of the place, Faz instead noted with disgust the stains forming under the sleeves of Mike's work shirt as he took in the sight of his new headquarters. Just my luck to hire a "nervous sweater," he thought, grateful that the office was at least equipped with a fan to move the stale air around.
"All right, so there's no need for much on-the-job training; what you see is what you get," Faz gestured to the heavy steel desk with its array of monitors, all dark and silent at the moment. "Clyde worked here for years and when he gave his two weeks' notice, at least he agreed to make a series of audiotapes for the new hire." The man shrugged, then jabbed a finger at the telephone on the desk. Like the monitoring equipment, it looked like the latest in cutting-edge technology - for 1985. "Animatronics are my specialty, though; I don't do much with phones. I think he saved the messages in the phone system or something. He told me he'd break the training lessons down into five calls to get you through the week. No sense in throwing it all at you at once."
Faz watched Mike's steely blue eyes squinting as he no doubt tried to make sense of the cryptic instructions. No, don't think about the eyes, he reminded himself grimly.
"Anyway, Clyde was our tech guy and just a few years back when these came out he insisted we add one to our arsenal of surveillance equipment," he added, pressing a far more modern, tablet-style monitor into Mike's hands. "The thing is a real power drain, though, and the electricity's wonky around here to begin with." As if on cue, the lights around them flickered. "I can't pay the power bill with money I don't have!" Faz growled into the dark hallway, frowning at a cheerful striped cup that had been left on the desk. "Oh yeah. That reminds me, if you get here early enough you are entitled to free beverages from the soda fountain, but I'd recommend against overdoing it on the refills, for obvious reasons." He guffawed as if he'd said something really clever.
"By the stroke of twelve, you'll be in this office. 'Making the rounds' is not a job requirement thanks to your monitor. And speaking of monitoring, don't think I can't check in on you." Before Mike knew it, Faz had excused himself for the night, saying something about having stuck around long enough, like it was a sacrifice of his free time.
The monitor seemed to be programmed for a sole function, to allow a security guard to transfer between the camera views of all the rooms. From it Mike watched as Faz made his way out through the dining hall, noting the man paused one last time and even gave his animatronic creations a little wave on his way out. Freak.
Alone at last, Mike dropped to his hands and knees on the dusty floor. This wasn't the first time he had searched a workplace for a hidden surveillance camera just to see how much leeway he had. Finding nothing tucked away in his thorough exam of a tall speaker set against the desk, he turned his attention to the walls, expecting to find a pinhole camera mounted somewhere between the posters and notes taped up. Finally, he pawed through the cables running to the desk and the antiquated screens themselves.
"That leaves only this," he said aloud, seeing that like many modern tablet computers, his new monitor had a small camera lens. Opening a desk drawer and finding it full of yellowed folders, dry-rotted rubber bands and other forgotten office supplies, he took a roll of masking tape and tore off a square to effectively block the camera's eye. Feeling smug that he had gotten one over on Nathan Faz, he reached for a ballcap that had been left on the desk, perched on top of a large toy cupcake. The little plush prize with its plastic eyeballs was decidedly strange, but once Mike put on the hat over his shock of black hair, he felt that he didn't look half bad when he caught his reflection in the nearby window pane. He felt certain he had just donned the very hat the mysterious Clyde must have worn.
With forty-five minutes to go before he was on company time, Mike strode across the asphalt of the parking lot, stopping to let a tow truck pass. A vintage Datsun hatchback, its frame dusty like it had been parked for a long time, was being taken away at this late hour. For some reason Mike found himself watching until the truck's flashing lights disappeared in the distance, then he stepped away from the curb.
The clerk at the little convenience store across the road briefly surveyed the items Mike had set on the counter in front of her before fixing him with a smirk. Cynthia read the nametag pinned to her smock.
"Hmm...pep pills and cheese curls. Judging by your shopping list, I'm going to assume you're the pizza joint's new security guard." Her gaze drifting to the plate-glass window behind her customer, she could make out the bold colors of the restaurant's neon sign casting light into the empty parking lot. As for her customer himself, he didn't really look the part and she would never have guessed his occupation had it not been for the unique combination of items he'd chosen and the familiar uniform. Why did security guys all seem to share a craving for cheese curls, anyway?
Removing his ball cap and sweeping aside strands of hair that had grown too long to present what most formal workplaces would consider a "professional" image, Mike nodded.
"That would be me," he confirmed, hoping she wouldn't be suspicious that he left the pizzeria unoccupied. It wasn't as if he couldn't see it from here...
"Clyde had pretty much the same shopping list," she said with a sad smile on her careworn face, sliding his purchases over the counter to him along with his change.
"The guy who had the job before me?"
"That would be him," she echoed Mike's earlier statement. "I'm still surprised he left; he really loved the work. Something must have happened in his last week on the job, because a guy doesn't just walk out in the middle of his shift with one day to go. Then again, your new boss has sure had a hard time replacing him with someone who can actually stick around. Apparently quitting for no reason is the new workplace trend." She scowled at the pizzeria.
"Clyde never said much about what went on over there, but it's weird that that cheapskate Faz even hires an overnight guard. In all my time here, I've pulled a handgun on would-be robbers no less than three times, but Freddy's has never had an attempted burglary. Nobody breaks in to steal pizza." She was still shaking her head as Mike thanked her and hurried back to the restaurant.
Clutching a tall cup of lemonade from the soda fountain, Mike pushed through the swinging doors of the kitchen, finding that just as in the restroom, the lights wouldn't turn on, forcing him to prop open one of the doors to allow the slightest amount of light inside. Meandering around the stainless steel counters to the walk-in cooler, he was at least relieved to find that was running and had a functioning bulb overhead. Neatly sealed in plastic containers on the shelves were the entire contents of the restaurant's salad bar, awaiting the next day's business. If he going to accept a mere $120 a week, he at least intended to take full advantage of the employee meal discount. Not that Faz had explicitly mentioned one, but it only seemed fair.
Now juggling his drink and a paper plate loaded with potato salad and even some pizza slices that Faz had no trouble ordering his kitchen workers to reheat and serve again, Mike left the kitchen and stopped in his tracks at the concessions counter.
"Well, hello there, who said this job didn't have perks?" A beer tap was mounted beneath the counter, available for parents who weren't content sipping soft drinks while watching their youngsters run wild through the indoor playland. The menu board behind him advertised the cost at a hefty six dollars a glass, so at that price customers weren't likely to overdo it.
With the lemonade guiltlessly forgotten the moment it finished gurgling down the drain, Mike couldn't wipe the grin off his face even after he'd made his way back to the security office.
"Okay, cuppycake, looks like it's just you and me now," he said, toasting the silly little plush toy at the stroke of midnight.

Description

Chapter Two: I Don't Like Mondays

Summary: Mike prepares for his first night on the job at Freddy's, mistakenly thinking this will be easy.

Notes on the Illustration: I'm trying to recreate the feel of the paperbacks I loved as a preteen, where every hundred pages or so you got a black-and-white illustration of one of the main characters. That's a nice way of saying I can't draw my way out of a paper bag -- I didn't do poor Mike justice here but that's my overall head canon for what he looks like.

Author's Note: Five Nights at Freddy's and all canon characters, settings, etc. are the property of Scott Cawthon. This is a non-commercial fan tribute and was not written for profit.

You are free to use any original concepts, headcanons and characters from this fanfiction in your own work (fanfiction, art, etc.) if you'd like.

*****

It was easy to tell which areas of the establishment were considered "backstage" and off-limits to guests, Mike realized as Faz led him down a series of hallways. Though decorated like the dining area in a wild explosion of star-spangled tackiness with a unifying checkerboard tile panel running along the walls, the neglected back areas were littered with debris and thick, gray dust and probably hadn't seen a broom in months. His sneakers stuck in dried soft drink spills that nobody had bothered to clean up - at least that's what Mike hoped he was stepping in. Even the tiny security office itself was draped in cobwebs instead of the dangling sprays of metallic sparkles and stars that hung from the ceilings everywhere else.
Oblivious to the condition of the place, Faz instead noted with disgust the stains forming under the sleeves of Mike's work shirt as he took in the sight of his new headquarters. Just my luck to hire a "nervous sweater," he thought, grateful that the office was at least equipped with a fan to move the stale air around.
"All right, so there's no need for much on-the-job training; what you see is what you get," Faz gestured to the heavy steel desk with its array of monitors, all dark and silent at the moment. "Clyde worked here for years and when he gave his two weeks' notice, at least he agreed to make a series of audiotapes for the new hire." The man shrugged, then jabbed a finger at the telephone on the desk. Like the monitoring equipment, it looked like the latest in cutting-edge technology - for 1985. "Animatronics are my specialty, though; I don't do much with phones. I think he saved the messages in the phone system or something. He told me he'd break the training lessons down into five calls to get you through the week. No sense in throwing it all at you at once."
Faz watched Mike's steely blue eyes squinting as he no doubt tried to make sense of the cryptic instructions. No, don't think about the eyes, he reminded himself grimly.
"Anyway, Clyde was our tech guy and just a few years back when these came out he insisted we add one to our arsenal of surveillance equipment," he added, pressing a far more modern, tablet-style monitor into Mike's hands. "The thing is a real power drain, though, and the electricity's wonky around here to begin with." As if on cue, the lights around them flickered. "I can't pay the power bill with money I don't have!" Faz growled into the dark hallway, frowning at a cheerful striped cup that had been left on the desk. "Oh yeah. That reminds me, if you get here early enough you are entitled to free beverages from the soda fountain, but I'd recommend against overdoing it on the refills, for obvious reasons." He guffawed as if he'd said something really clever.
"By the stroke of twelve, you'll be in this office. 'Making the rounds' is not a job requirement thanks to your monitor. And speaking of monitoring, don't think I can't check in on you." Before Mike knew it, Faz had excused himself for the night, saying something about having stuck around long enough, like it was a sacrifice of his free time.
The monitor seemed to be programmed for a sole function, to allow a security guard to transfer between the camera views of all the rooms. From it Mike watched as Faz made his way out through the dining hall, noting the man paused one last time and even gave his animatronic creations a little wave on his way out. Freak.
Alone at last, Mike dropped to his hands and knees on the dusty floor. This wasn't the first time he had searched a workplace for a hidden surveillance camera just to see how much leeway he had. Finding nothing tucked away in his thorough exam of a tall speaker set against the desk, he turned his attention to the walls, expecting to find a pinhole camera mounted somewhere between the posters and notes taped up. Finally, he pawed through the cables running to the desk and the antiquated screens themselves.
"That leaves only this," he said aloud, seeing that like many modern tablet computers, his new monitor had a small camera lens. Opening a desk drawer and finding it full of yellowed folders, dry-rotted rubber bands and other forgotten office supplies, he took a roll of masking tape and tore off a square to effectively block the camera's eye. Feeling smug that he had gotten one over on Nathan Faz, he reached for a ballcap that had been left on the desk, perched on top of a large toy cupcake. The little plush prize with its plastic eyeballs was decidedly strange, but once Mike put on the hat over his shock of black hair, he felt that he didn't look half bad when he caught his reflection in the nearby window pane. He felt certain he had just donned the very hat the mysterious Clyde must have worn.
With forty-five minutes to go before he was on company time, Mike strode across the asphalt of the parking lot, stopping to let a tow truck pass. A vintage Datsun hatchback, its frame dusty like it had been parked for a long time, was being taken away at this late hour. For some reason Mike found himself watching until the truck's flashing lights disappeared in the distance, then he stepped away from the curb.
The clerk at the little convenience store across the road briefly surveyed the items Mike had set on the counter in front of her before fixing him with a smirk. Cynthia read the nametag pinned to her smock.
"Hmm...pep pills and cheese curls. Judging by your shopping list, I'm going to assume you're the pizza joint's new security guard." Her gaze drifting to the plate-glass window behind her customer, she could make out the bold colors of the restaurant's neon sign casting light into the empty parking lot. As for her customer himself, he didn't really look the part and she would never have guessed his occupation had it not been for the unique combination of items he'd chosen and the familiar uniform. Why did security guys all seem to share a craving for cheese curls, anyway?
Removing his ball cap and sweeping aside strands of hair that had grown too long to present what most formal workplaces would consider a "professional" image, Mike nodded.
"That would be me," he confirmed, hoping she wouldn't be suspicious that he left the pizzeria unoccupied. It wasn't as if he couldn't see it from here...
"Clyde had pretty much the same shopping list," she said with a sad smile on her careworn face, sliding his purchases over the counter to him along with his change.
"The guy who had the job before me?"
"That would be him," she echoed Mike's earlier statement. "I'm still surprised he left; he really loved the work. Something must have happened in his last week on the job, because a guy doesn't just walk out in the middle of his shift with one day to go. Then again, your new boss has sure had a hard time replacing him with someone who can actually stick around. Apparently quitting for no reason is the new workplace trend." She scowled at the pizzeria.
"Clyde never said much about what went on over there, but it's weird that that cheapskate Faz even hires an overnight guard. In all my time here, I've pulled a handgun on would-be robbers no less than three times, but Freddy's has never had an attempted burglary. Nobody breaks in to steal pizza." She was still shaking her head as Mike thanked her and hurried back to the restaurant.
Clutching a tall cup of lemonade from the soda fountain, Mike pushed through the swinging doors of the kitchen, finding that just as in the restroom, the lights wouldn't turn on, forcing him to prop open one of the doors to allow the slightest amount of light inside. Meandering around the stainless steel counters to the walk-in cooler, he was at least relieved to find that was running and had a functioning bulb overhead. Neatly sealed in plastic containers on the shelves were the entire contents of the restaurant's salad bar, awaiting the next day's business. If he going to accept a mere $120 a week, he at least intended to take full advantage of the employee meal discount. Not that Faz had explicitly mentioned one, but it only seemed fair.
Now juggling his drink and a paper plate loaded with potato salad and even some pizza slices that Faz had no trouble ordering his kitchen workers to reheat and serve again, Mike left the kitchen and stopped in his tracks at the concessions counter.
"Well, hello there, who said this job didn't have perks?" A beer tap was mounted beneath the counter, available for parents who weren't content sipping soft drinks while watching their youngsters run wild through the indoor playland. The menu board behind him advertised the cost at a hefty six dollars a glass, so at that price customers weren't likely to overdo it.
With the lemonade guiltlessly forgotten the moment it finished gurgling down the drain, Mike couldn't wipe the grin off his face even after he'd made his way back to the security office.
"Okay, cuppycake, looks like it's just you and me now," he said, toasting the silly little plush toy at the stroke of midnight.