no

Mr. Hawkins sighed and got out of his seat.

This was not his night. Thunder outside. His uniform was absolutely soaked.

The pizzeria just remodeled. Again. This time, they installed a way to keep power from "running out". They said that in the letter on the desk, with the quotes. That's cute.

In further detail, it read

"Stephen,

We addressed your complaints about the power "running out", and have installed a treadmill from the staff lounge which will help maintain the power supply, and even adding to it's available power in the daytime through usage. We are hopeful that this will also help in fostering the growth of our internal employee health-beneficial program. Any usage of the treadmill above 100% will be notified in your paycheck.

Remember to smile,
Freddy Fazbear's Pizza"

Foxy was battering against the door repeatedly. Across the hall, Chica stood in the window staring; like she always does. Stephen's power jumped down to 80, then 76, and finally to 64 with a loud thundering noise on the west door.

Stephen powered on the treadmill, and mounted his camera tablet on the ledge provided for items.. Maybe they'll go away if I jog on this, he thought.

He got onto the treadmill, and pressed some more buttons. He started running at-

"3.5 miles per hour"

Well, the voice was unexpected.


A decimal point was added to the power counter, which was at 58 percent, followed by 65.

Chica looked towards Stephen, who was next to the window jogging in front of her.  The treadmill's handbars were  leaning against the window, making Stephen a tad uncomfortable. She turned and headed back down the hallway.

On his left, Stephen could see Foxy walk down the hallway. Checking his cameras, Stephen found Foxy behind his curtain again. Bonnie and Freddy were still on stage.

Stephen ran for a few more minutes before checking his cameras again.

58.90 percent.

Christ.

Foxy was bounding down the hall again. This time he-

Was on the east side.

Foxy ran, and rather than slamming into the door, he stopped and stared at Stephen. Uncomfortably.

He raised a fist, and slammed it into the window.

"What the fu-"

Stephen's shoulder was grabbed by Foxy's hand, which had sent glass flying into his face. Stephen was lifted above the treadmill, his legs kicking in the air. The treadmill began talking again, without anyone pressing any buttons.

"5.5 miles per hour."

"8 miles per hour."

"16 miles per hour."

"55 miles per hour."

Stephen was dropped onto the treadmill, and turned into a mist of purple, red, and some gray bits here and there.