The New Face at Work

The only thing louder than the sounds of Mike’s bones breaking was the sound of his screams. Until his throat became too filled with blood, at least.

It had been a night shift no different from any of the others, at least at first. Keep the camera trained on Foxy. Flip around for a while to keep track of the others. Watch out for Freddy. Close doors and flash lights when appropriate. Same old routine that had gotten more boring than tense long ago.

Then, everything changed. It wasn’t a gradual change, either, but an immediate one. All at once, Mike had felt it. The air grew still, a shiver ran up his spine, and suddenly cameras started going out at an unprecedented rate. There had been a tangible feeling of a noose growing tight around his neck when Mike started panicking, a feeling he hadn’t felt since his first week on the job, and by the time he figured out that the routine had changed the animatronics had already stormed past his doors.

Now he was getting shoved into a suit, and it was worse than he could have ever imagined.

The guy on the phone had mentioned crushed skulls and popped out eyes, but he had never mentioned the systematic shattering of limbs, or the burning lacerations, or the prolonged suffering as every breath grew harder to take.

Mike gurgled past the blood filling his lungs when one of the animatronics gave the costume halfway on his torso an extra hard shove. His chest was getting squeezed, so hard that he could feel his ribs creak with every movement, and he strained and fought for every breath. A copper taste filled Mike’s mouth, and it felt very uncomfortably like his organs were about to exit his mouth like toothpaste exists a tube.

With an almighty push, one with the weight of at least two animatronics behind it, the costume was secured onto Mike’s torso. The crushing embrace made his head feel like it was about to burst as blood rushed to it, and to Mike’s surprise one of his ruined and mangled legs began to flail. They hadn’t moved since Bonnie had strapped them to the table and brought a massive hand down on his knees and ankles repeatedly until they were pulverized – Bonnie had purred something down to him in an almost seductive tone but Mike’s hearing had temporarily been distracted by blinding pain – and the rabbit animatronic made sure the leg remained still with a breath-stealing wrench.

It was almost a mercy when the arms and legs went on. Even as the crossbeams in the artificial limbs peeled back his fingernails and toenails and pulled away his skin in strips and the shattered fragments of bone jostled around in the meat that used to be working limbs, it distracted him from the pain of broken ribs and leaking stomach acid. Surely nothing could be worse than that.

Then the pelvis got put on, and Mike hastily retracted his opinion.

There was a lull in activity after that. The wheezing coming from Mike’s lungs as they fought for oxygen started growing irregular, and something warm started rising up in the back of his throat. Mike thought it was blood, but his sense of taste suddenly wasn’t working anymore. Well, that wasn’t good. None of this was good, Mike amended to himself – in fact, it was all quite bad – but senses no longer working was a very bad sign. The soft flicker of hope that he may be found and saved burned out in his chest. Mike felt like crying.

The animatronics were joking with one another, Mike realized. The guard had composed himself enough that the white static and ringing in his ears had subsided, and he could hear Freddy’s booming chuckle as Chica said something to him while Bonnie and Foxy tossed a costume helmet back and forth while bickering. It was just another day in the office for them.

When the performers noticed Mike noticing them, they got back to work. Chica chastised the rabbit and the fox, though only one of them looked suitably apologetic. Mike almost had his suit on; there was only one part left. The helmet was lowered onto Mike’s head with near-reverence, as though it were a crown being lowered onto a king’s head. It rested atop his skull for a moment, and then Freddy started pushing.

Mike’s predecessor was wrong, he realized. The eyes didn’t pop out of the front of the mask; they just popped. Ungodly pressure assaulted his head, and Mike felt a splash of something across his nose as his eyeball burst like a grape. The other one left the socket after the eyelid was peeled away and then got tangled around a crossbeam before getting dragged further down Mike’s face. The guard caught a brief whiff of mothballs before his nose was crushed. Then the helmet was fully put on.

It was over.

The animatronics all high-fived, Foxy struck a pose, and Chica sidled up to Freddy to talk his ear off before they all left.

Everything was quiet. Nothing moved.

Then, something did.



“… so what I was thinking was that we could add something else to the menu. Something sweet, like cookies shaped like our heads or something.”

Freddy rubbed his chin and looked down at Chica approvingly. “You’re right, the kids would probably enjoy that.” The two were standing by the stage, Freddy leaning against it and Chica right across from him.

Chica beamed under the praise from Freddy, before taking a half-step closer to him and playfully prodding his nose. “What’d I tell ya, boss? I’ve got all sorts of good ideas.”

“Yes, well…” Freddy fidgeted embarrassedly from the loud squeak his nose gave. “That you do, Chica. Although, could you not make me squeak?”

Chica crossed her arms across her chest and pouted exaggeratedly. “Aww, why not boss?” There was a gleam in her eyes, one which Freddy didn’t like. Chica uncrossed her arms and then cupped her chest beneath her bib with large, feathery arms. “You could always give me a poke and make me squeak,” she purred.

Freddy just stared at her obliviously. “I’m pretty sure I’m the only one with a squeaker, Chica. I even asked about getting one for Foxy and got denied.”

Chica huffed in frustration. “Never mind.”

Across the room Bonnie and Foxy were staring at the two while munching on some leftover breadsticks. “I swear,” Bonnie muttered, “Freddy’s getting more oblivious by the day.”

Foxy nodded and nabbed another breadstick from Bonnie’s pile. “Aye, I agree,” he said, ignoring the dirty look the rabbit shot him. “It’s just like one of my shows.”

“You mean those shows you get late at night on that crappy television in the back? I don’t see why you like them so much, they’re even worse than that cartoon we used to have, and that thing got cancelled.”

Foxy stared at Bonnie, snout raised in the air. “It’s art, Bonnie. Though, I don’t expect you to understand.”

 Bonnie’s response about where exactly it was that Foxy could shove his “art” was interrupted by the door to backstage slamming open, causing all four animatronics to jump and turn to face it. From the shadows emerged another performer, this one in very poor condition. Blood leaked from every joint and formed puddles on the floor, and every footstep was accompanied by a wet squelch.

Once the mysterious figure made it into the dim lighting of the party room, the others were able to fully take in it’s appearance. The first word that could describe it was “feminine”. It was pink, outrageously so. Pointed ears swiveled around on top of the head, and the whiskers on its – or rather, her – face. Her body was curvy, more than Chica’s and definitely more than most parents would consider appropriate for a children’s entertainer. The only clothing on her was a surprisingly tasteful blue bandana wrapped around her neck and covering the top half of her torso.

All five animatronics stood completely still and stared, the cat at the four and the four at the cat. There was a pregnant pause before the room descended into chaos once the cat shouted.

“What the fuck?!” Mike screamed.



“I’m not doing this,” Mike stated forcefully.

Chica sighed, hand covering her face. “Listen, Katie-“

“That’s not my name.”

Chica ignored him. “You’ve got to do this just like the rest of us do. Otherwise you get scrapped.”

Mike crossed his arms. “And what’s so bad about that? I wouldn’t be stuck walking around like some kind of zombie if that happened.”

Chica snorted. “What, you think that just because your endo gets taken apart you won’t stick around anymore? Believe me, this doesn’t work that way.”

“And how would you know?”

Chica hesitated, and Bonnie took the opportunity to jump in. “We tried it before. Took an old yellow model apart and he was still talking. Eventually we melted him down and figured that did it, but who knows? I’d hate to imagine what it felt like for him if it didn’t, or what it’d be like to still hang around like that.”

The rabbit seemed to take pleasure in how uncomfortable the concept made Mike – and Chica, for that matter – and seemed ready to launch into far too much detail when Chica took the reins once more.

“Alright, you don’t have to be Katie when you’re off-shift,” Chica conceded. “And we’ll let you do whatever you want when the place is closed for a while until you’re settled. No chores or anything. But you still have to work during the day. Those are the rules,” Chica said firmly, “and we have to follow them.”

Mike sighed and nodded, worn down from the past hour of arguing with the others about his new duties. His unlife had been a surprise for everyone involved; none of the guards had ever managed to possess a suit before, and although their methods weren’t exactly scientific the animatronics had more than enough data to assume that it wasn’t possible. The only explanation any of them could come up with was that only one “character” could be haunted at a time. All the other guards had been put in Freddy costumes, since those were the most abundant at any given time. The only reason Katie the Cat, an old “new model” for a scrapped grand re-opening, got used was because the animatronics got bored and wanted to have a bit of fun with the suiting.

Now Mike was reborn as a performer at the pizzeria, and nobody knew what to do. So, they all simultaneously shrugged their shoulders and rolled with it. Mike, now Katie, would be a performer, and that was that.

Seemingly the only one not in agreement with all of this was Mike, and since he was out-voted he was forced to hang his head and bitterly accept what was going on. It might not even be so bad, he thought to himself. Free food whenever he wanted it and a roof over his head was already better than what he’d had before. It was almost as relief to leave his old leaky shack behind. There weren’t any good memories there, and anyone who would’ve cared left a long time ago.

Oh, who was he kidding. This sucked. He was a pink cat and his coworkers killed him.

Mike tuned back into Chica’s monotone rambling just in time to hear her finish. “… Foxy to show you the ropes. He generally works backstage during the shows so until we figure out a routine for you, you’ll be spending time back there.”

Then Chica shooed Mike towards Foxy and headed back over to Freddy, who was busy setting up a banner for a party.

“Girl’s got it bad,” Bonnie whistled. Mike stared at the rabbit. The rabbit stared back. “What?”

“I can’t tell if you’re a boy or a girl.”

Bonnie smacked Mike on the back of his head. “Get the fuck over to Foxy.”



Foxy hummed a shanty while he rummaged around in a box backstage. Mike stood off in one corner, highly uncomfortable with just how much sway the fox was putting in his hips as he moved them in time to the rhythm. Foxy let out a muffled “Aha!” and pulled his head out of the box with a television in his arms. Foxy saw Mike staring, tapped the television with his hook, mouthed a quick “treasure” and winked.

As Foxy cleared a space on a table for the television and pulled up some crates to act as boxes, Mike found himself unable to keep his mouth shut. It was an issue which had gotten him in trouble more than once, including indirectly leading to him landing his job at Freddy’s, and he knew that if he didn’t choose his words carefully it may happen again.

“What the hell are you even doing?” Okay, maybe not so carefully.

Luckily Foxy didn’t mind, humming happily as he plopped his hook atop the television and adjusting it this way and that before the static began to clear. The fox turned to face Mike proudly as bright colors flashed across the screen. “This,” Foxy said with a dramatic sweep of his arm sans hook, “is culture.”

Mike squinted at the screen. “Actually, I think it says it’s ‘The Adventures of Cherry-Chan’.”

“It’s art,” barked Foxy. “One of me favorite shows, and a shining example of what true entertainment looks like. Luckily we’re just in time to catch tonight’s episode, but I’ve got the rest of the series on tape. First we’re gonna watch all of them, and then we’re going to watch some of my other favorite shows, and then I’ll finally have someone to talk to that shares my love of an obviously superior medium.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be showing me how to help you do your job?”

Foxy held up a finger to his snout. “Quiet, baka, the intro’s almost over.”

Mike was forced to sit through a half-dozen episodes before Chica came in to check on them, at which point he was thoroughly exhausted and very much wishing that he could die again. The chicken squawked at them for entirely too long, and then made sure to watch as Foxy hastily showed Mike how to work the curtains for the stage.

With less than an hour left until the restaurant opened up, Mike was left free to roam the place. After making an attempt to go through the front door only for an invisible wall to block him as something in his head screeched at him, Mike checked on his old office. He’d only been there a few weeks, and it was old and dingy and smelled like rat droppings, but there was somehow some sentimental value attached.

The office looked like a hurricane had passed through it. Papers were strewn around the floor, posters were torn off of the wall, his fan was tipped over and unplugged, and some blood was splattered on the desk. Overall it wasn’t a pretty sight, although the Jackson Pollock he’d accidentally made when Foxy tore a hook through his arm was interesting to look at.

Bonnie was leaning on the wall when Mike came out. “So?” the rabbit prodded. “How’d it feel to look at your old office again? Is it going to make you cry?”

Mike stared blankly at Bonnie. “You’re kind of a prick, aren’t you?”

The rabbit pushed off the wall and stepped closer to Mike. “You know, those screams you were making earlier were nice,” it said. There was something in their voice, something that Mike couldn’t identify. “Like, really nice. I can almost see why Chica’s always hanging on Freddy’s every word.” A hand came out to tug at the bandana on Mike’s chest. “We can’t feel pain, not anymore, but how’d you like to go back backstage so we could pretend?”

A shudder ran up Mike’s spine. “How about no?”

Bonnie’s hand dropped and the animatronic shrugged their shoulders. “Suit yourself.”

“Not funny.”

“You’ll say yes eventually. We’ve all got our vices, things we use to take the edge off after years and years. Foxy’s got his shows, Chica’s got Freddy, and now I’ve got you.” Bonnie smiled at Mike. “None of the others give me good reactions any more, so I’ve got high hopes for you.”

Mike shoved past Bonnie and ground out a “We’ll see about that.”



“Like, welcome to Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria!” Mike said with a thoroughly unconvincing falsetto.

The child he spoke to, a young girl, looked up at him with wide eyes and then a wider smile before rushing in for a hug, although her mother looked a little less than pleased.

Mike, now Katie, had been working the door all day, greeting customers and trying his hardest to stick to his character. Katie the Cat was as sweet as cotton candy and loved playing with kids. She’d spend all day with them if she had the option to, and in between playing games with them she would try to fit in some education and make it fun.

Some kid with a gap in his front teeth ran up behind Katie and slapped her ass before cackling and sprinting away. Mike forced himself to not lash out at him; it wouldn’t do for Katie to harm a child, after all, even if said child had been doing such things all day. He wasn’t the only one, either. Every boy – and some of the girls, for that matter – above a certain age seemed absolutely fascinated with Katie for obvious reasons. Why a female animatronic had the body Katie did Mike wasn’t sure, but it wasn’t a surprise she wasn’t unveiled at some point to replace Foxy.

A chime played over the loudspeakers, and Mike hurried away from the door after shoving a handful of menus into the arms of a harried mother who was chaperoning a birthday party. He ducked backstage, past Foxy who was climbing a rope up to a catwalk to work the lights, and stood ready at his station to control the curtains blocking the stage. Anything to get a break from those kids out there.

Although, Mike reflected as the show began and he looked out over the audience of star-struck children, maybe they weren’t all bad.

When one was busy throwing up half-digested birthday cake and pizza on Katie’s foot later, Mike wondered why he would even think that. When another, crying after a tumble and cradling a skinned knee, began blowing their nose into Katie’s bandana, the thought crossed Mike’s mind that maybe he was already going crazy.

When the end of the day came, and a little girl covered in freckles shyly walked up to him and gave him a crayon drawing before darting away, Mike couldn’t stop smiling.



That night, Mike was lounging around in Pirate’s Cove with Foxy. The fox kept trying to get the bandana covering Katie’s chest so that he could wrap it around his head and pretend to be a ninja, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Sure, it would be Katie’s chest on display and not Mike’s, and there was no reason for Mike to even be self-conscious to begin with since he was a guy, but it was the principle of the matter.

A chime played over the speakers. It was midnight. Foxy immediately went still, and Mike could visibly see the shift in Foxy’s personality. The fox peeked his head out of the Cove’s curtains, ducking back when he saw the red light blinking. He held a finger to his lips and gestured for Mike to get ready, and Mike crossed his arms.

“I’m not going to take part in this,” Mike said. “I still don’t accept being a freaky zombie, but I can at least tolerate it now. This?” Mike gestured around vaguely. “This is too far.”

“These are the rules,” Foxy said darkly, “and we have to follow them.”

To Mike’s horror, Foxy was right. The fox tore down the hallway, and Mike was unable to stop himself from doing the same. His limbs felt heavy and stiff and they fought against him when he tried to come to a stop. An alarm was blaring in his head, loud and shrill. He reached the office right behind Foxy, just in time to see him shriek and raise his hook.

The new night guard, someone who looked entirely too young to be working here, yelped and tumbled out of his chair. It was luck more than anything that let him avoid getting hurt, and Foxy stumbled into the office’s far wall.

The guard made a break for it, out the door and right into Mike’s arms. He stared up at Mike, and Mike stared back down at him frozen. There was a moment of silence, and then a scream.