Wake Up

Mike jerked awake. He blearily looked around the room he was in, blinking the sleep from his eyes and trying to get his bearings. The haze of colors in front of him slowly pulled together into a blurry picture, and from there the shapes became clearer and clearer until he realized where he was. Then, Mike began to panic.

Waking up in an unfamiliar setting was never fun; waking up in a familiar setting that you desperately don’t want to be in was worse.

The security office of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria swam into view, and the moment it did every ounce of fatigue fled from Mike. He instantly sprang into action, slamming the doors shut and scrambling for his tablet. Foxy was still in his Cove. Bonnie was still on the stage; so was Freddy. Chica was nowhere to be found. Frantic flicking through camera after camera eventually led him to the kitchen, where the lack of video feed was unable to mask the sound of clanging pots and pans.

Mike relaxed. If Chica was in the kitchen then he didn’t have to worry about her. It usually kept her busy for a while. A quick glance at the clock made Mike frown. Only a few minutes past midnight. That frown deepened when Mike tried to figure out when he had fallen asleep. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t remember at all. In fact, too much thinking was beginning to make his head hurt, so Mike reluctantly abandoned the train of thought. He woke up in time, and that was all that mattered.

 The quiet droning of the fan began to lull Mike into a sort of haze. He idly scratched at something stuck to the tablet screen with a brown finger, then stopped when all he accomplished was scratching it. Really, even though he had decided to stop thinking about it, him waking up in the office was really bothering him. It was uncharacteristic to say the least. How had he fallen asleep?

A few more hours passed and the answer didn’t make itself apparent. In fact, if anything Mike had even more questions. All of the performers were active now, as they normally were this late into his shift, but none of them even made an attempt at getting close to him. It was honestly worrying in way. Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t, after all, and this new pattern of behavior was a complete mystery to him.

As such, when Foxy finally made his customary mad sprint to the office, Mike was so surprised that he flinched hard, accidentally slammed himself in the face with the tablet and let out a high-pitched squeak. The door closing in Foxy’s face brought with it a slight measure of relief, even with Foxy’s strange actions afterwards. The fox had never been one to stare into the office, and it was frankly unsettling, but after a few shooing motions the animatronic returned to the Cove.

Mike settled back in his chair in triumph, ignoring the dangerous creaks of protest it made at the action. That triumph slowly simmered down as time went by and no more efforts were made to approach him by the animatronics. A quick check of the camera showed that they were even climbing back onto the stage, even though there was still time before his shift ended. Mike frowned. No matter what, they always stayed active right up until the last possible second. This new behavior on top of all the rest was concerning.

Six o’clock arrived soon after, and with it freedom. Mike got up and stretched his stiff limbs, releasing a short but booming laugh in relief at yet another shift survived.

The fan was turned off, the tablet was put away, and Mike’s black hat was perched atop his head just so. Mike ambled out of his office and down the hall towards the exit. His footsteps were slow, heavy, and oddly muffled. The signs of a nice sunrise were beginning to peek over the horizon, and the guard could see a gentle glow play across the dew on the pavement outside the glass doors.

Mike pressed his hand against the door and froze. Alarms blared in his head. His feet were rooted to the floor.

The guard stepped back and tried again. The same thing happened once more. Concern was quickly turning to panic. Mike smashed his hands against the door with as much force as he could muster, but all he accomplished was making it rattle. He pushed and pushed, but he could physically go no further.

Mike looked down at his hands, desperate for an answer. Large brown hands looked back at him. Something clicked in his head.

Faint memories of running out of power. An out-of-place chime, too cheery for the circumstances. A deep laugh that rattled his chest. A mask descending onto his face. Mike turned around and walked to the backroom.