Patience: Chapter 4. Knock Knock

Pulling his hands away from the desk and through his hair, Mike sat back and took a moment for himself. Taking another extended breath and counting to ten, he did what he could to bury what was haunting him. The nightmare was over, and a new one was starting. He tuned back into the recording to let it say it's piece and leave him to his work.

"-blind spots happen to be right outside of your doors. So if-if you can’t find something, or someone, on your cameras, be sure to check the door lights. Uh, you might only have a few seconds to react... Uh, not that you would be in any danger, of course. I'm not implying that."

Yes of course, he wouldn't want to imply that after last night's bleaching and carpeting spiel. Speaking of clean-ups, Mike just noticed the nose bleed he'd developed had been running down his shirt. He had a new, respectable shirt for a day, and he'd already stained it. Mike sighed in resignation, but began flipping through the monitors. He was on the clock after all.

"Also, check on the curtain in Pirate Cove from time to time. The character in there seems unique in that he becomes more active if the cameras remain off for long periods of time. I guess he doesn't like being watched. I don't know. Anyway, I'm sure you have everything under control! Uh, talk to you soon."

Oh right, the fourth member. If he ever got the time, he could scratch down 'camera shy' on his character memo. He had already checked the stage, Bonnie was  the only one gone, and she was dicking around in the supply cabinet again. So he figured he could afford to give the cove a peek. To the recording's credit, there was a thrashed looking fox head poking out of the curtain. The moment he had taken to regain his sanity had apparently cost him a strategic edge. Fuck it. It's not like he was going to lose control anymore. He knew the game, and he wasn't going to get caught off guard again.

Give or take twenty minutes later, a quick check of the left door's lights found the displaced rabbit again. The door closed. The rabbit left. The door opened. Back to the monitors. Bear? Stage. Chicken? Kitchen. Cove? No movement. Rabbit? ...Raaabbit? Where was the rabbit? Flicking the left light on again, it looked like it had never left. Standing there watching. Mike stood up and moved to the window.

"You're not allowed in here, piss of back to your stage."

"*%#wl$<fin!#a$%#wy&%@#$ins*%$..."

"...what."

Less of a question, and more shock at the incredulous developments, Mike leaned in closer to the window and listened as the purple robot beeped some garbled code he couldn't understand.

"I don't understand what you're saying! You...you need to leave. Now. Go awa-"

In the brief moment Mike had taken to blink while he had began to address the robot, it had moved away to the door and onto the window. Both hands struggling with effort to reach through the reinforced glass. It had bent down to look at the human's face on it's level.

"MiiiiiiiiiikeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-"

Well, Mike understood that. And, reasonably, he jumped back from the window, tripping over himself and landing flat on his ass as the hall's light cut out. The monstrosity's glowing eyes still watched him as he scrambled and kicked away from the door, it's voice elevated into a crescendo of robotic screeching. Mike was screaming along with it until he realized it was only him screaming anymore. The window was dark again. A tentative button press confirmed that the hallway was clear. Had to conserve power, had to open the door. But goddamn if he didn't feel exposed after doing so. He knew the things could speak, they sang songs after all. But what the hell was all THAT? How the hell did it know his name? Were these things intelligent?! Could they adapt?! How long would doors work against learning murderbots? What could he do? Good god, what could he do?!

Wait. Name tag. He was wearing a name tag. His badge, right? The nametape on the badge said 'Mike'. That's why it was leaning down at him, it was reading his chest. That explained it right? Nothing more. He would just have to ignore the scratch marks on the window, just pretend they were already there. Probably from a pissed off employee trying to clean the things. Yeah. Man made, nothing more.

Nothing more.

Work to do. Focus on the present, not the past. He could reflect later, for now: Monitors. The bear was still on stage. The chicken was in the right hallway, he'd have to watch that. Rabbit...rabbit...Ah. Dining area. Fox had to be in the cove. Where though? The curtain was pulled back...was it hiding behind it like a child? Whatever, he could come back to this. Knowing Bonnie, she'd probably shifted by now. She couldn't be back yet, so he could just-

Mike threw his entire person towards the button on the wall, crashing into it with a meaty whack of his fist.

The door vibrated with a loud BANG as something heavy and metallic crashed into it.

In that split second of switching the screens for Bonnie, a familiar fox had been hauling ass down the halls. He'd never seen the things move before, and god did he wish he never had. They had always waited for him to look away, or mess with the cameras or something. This one WAS different. It didn't give a shit about stealth and mind games: he was beating the fucking door down! After knocking the wind out of himself, Mike stood gasping while he turned the light on to check for the quick bastard. Neither hook or tail of it. Making sure, he opened the door and poked his head out to confirm everything had left. With the coast clear, Mike moved back to the monitors. Work to do. Focus on the present, not the past.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Despite a handful more 'visits' from Bonnie, and a singular sighting of Chica, Mike had made efficient work of his energy. The one hour head start he'd slept up to had really paid off. There was less than an hour left, and more than 15% energy. Aside from dried blood on his chin and shirt that he'd neglected to clean up, due to obviously hazardous circumstances, he was looking good. The relief poured over him when the clock rang out with the cheesy chip-tune of children shouting 'Hooray!'. His shoulder's fell, and his head hit the desk as he let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. This stress was going to make his hair fall out, or kill him. One of the two.

Standing up on his wobbling legs, Mike leaned on the door-frame and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He took a breath and looked up to find the white iris staring back at him. He said nothing, it said nothing. They stood there, watching each other for a time. Mike couldn't see the clock from here, but he knew for a fact that he'd served his shift. He also knew that time was crawling along to the melody of his heartbeat. Neither party would break eye contact, and Mike didn't dare blink.

%$#@&*

Mike didn't respond. Frozen like a deer in headlights, he was staring death in the eye. He couldn't make out the form, but it's form was familiar.

It's me.

A plethora of images flooded his mind, whirling past faster than he could comprehend them, one reoccurring vision stuck. A golden head from an empty Fazbear suit. Shaking his head from the sudden pain, Mike tried to quickly regain his focus on the glowing lights down the hall. They were gone, leaving only a migraine in their stead. Mike let out a panicked whimper and pushed both hands into the side of his head. This was not happening, this was not happening. He was biting his lip hard enough to make it bleed, but this WAS NOT happening. He tried to just focus on the pain, focus on what was real. Besides, a fresh line of crimson adding to the nosebleed's mess was drops in the ocean when compared to his current troubles.

No more dawdling, he needed out. He needed out right goddamn now. He was sprinting to the door now, leaving a meager trail of blood and tears in his wake. The morning's light was still dim, but he could see it's dreary radiance peaking through the door. Sadly, there was another, less appealing sight by the door too. The fat man himself who, juding by his stagger and red nose, was already heavily drunk. Before Mike could crash through the doors screaming, Sal had already put his arms out like a goalie and blocked the way.

"Woah! Woah there! Waersh da fire shport?"

Trying his best to simply sidestep the man, Mike was taken off-guard at Sal's apparently hidden strength. The dwarf pulled him off his feet by tugging him down by his arm, and was now cradling the nightguard's head in a fatherly manner. it might've been endearing if he didn't reek of bourbon and sweat.

"Calm it down now, heh heh hey! I said calm goddamit. Yer shakin' like a dog boy! Jus' tell me wassamatter n' I'll fixer right up fer ya, okay? Yeah s'all right, jus' calm it down lad, quit cryin'. Dere ya go. Wassamatter?"

Between his now full-blown sobs, and ringing headache, Mike was in no condition to talk. Sal pulled him from his shirt, leaving a rather sizable bloodstain on it. Though, if he was bothered by it, it didn't show. He didn't even give it a second look, as he was busy trying his best to level with Mike and keep his sympathy flowing.

"I get id. Idsa tough time, bein' yer first jab n'all. Yer jus' tryin not to mess nothin' up, I get id. Yer doin' good though kid! Iss really, uhh is nothin' tuh worry 'bout is wot I'm sayin'."

Apparently unmoved by the sentiment, Sal continued to Rock Mike's head in his grip while he tried to reach common ground. Frankly he was lucky to be standing after last night, but he figured he could spare a few words of encouragement before passing out.

"Yer okay. Hey, you hearin' me? I says yer okay. You god dis in da bag kid! Issa real tough thing that, makin' me mad with ya. Yer okay, doin' uuh doin' great lad. OKAYE? I god a lodda experience wiv dese sortsa things an' you're real good, awwright? See, jus' godda breathe. Yea, das better, jus' like that lad, jus' keep breathin an calm it down. Jus' like that."

To his credit, Mike HAD stopped crying. He was also on his knees since Sal hadn't let him go until he'd finished his 'soothing' words. It hurt Mike to say it, but this was the most fatherly thing he could remember. The most caring human interaction he'd had for a very long time was his drunken boss cradling his head at 6 am. God he felt pathetic, but he did appreciate Sal trying to help. Having calmed down a reasonable touch, Mike finally found the words that'd buried themselves away.

"I-I just wanted. All of-everything was trying...trying to..."

Quivering as he spoke, Mike did his best to recollect himself after what his second day on the job had thrown at him. Sal had moved to his side, patting him on the back before his arm slung over Mike's shoulder.

"S'all right, you can tell me kid. It ain't nothin' I ain't 'eard before...eh, prolly anyway."

Mike looked down and began opening and closing his hands again.

"I ju-I don't think I can DO this boss. None of this is what I thought it'd be. I don't know if I'm losing my mind, or if this place is just fucking batshit crzy, or both! It's like every single thing that could go wrong, does! Every. Single. Thing. And I-I can't...! I just can't DO this anymore! The killer robots, the dreams, all of it! I want it all to stop! I WANT TO STOP! I need money Sal, I need money so fucking bad, but this place is killing me. And I can't-I just can't anymore!"

Scratching the back of his head, Sal sighed and helped Mike get back to his feet. His voice didn't sound anymore sober, but the carefree yips and hiccups were gone. There was still a sluggish slur to his words, but it felt like every sloshy word was being very carefully picked out. He didn't have any malice to his voice, and spoke akin to a dad talking to a son who'd came home with a poor report card.

"Awrrgiht, lissen 'ere you. Go home, awwrigt? Go home an git'cherself cleaned up a bit. 'ave a drink, play yer games or whatever the fug you kids do dese days an relax a bit, awright? If'n you still feel like shit when yer shift comes along, jus don't come in. Take a day fer yourself, right? An when...err, if'n you wanna come back acourse, but if'n you DO come back, I'll have another uniform waitin' on ya okay? Spic an span, nona dat messy shit. Yer staff now, an staff gits treaded likea....Likea family or somethin'."

Mike felt the sincerity in his drunken words, and against better hygiene, hugged the man truly as though he were family. Sal gave mike another pat on the back and began pushing him out the door.

"Right, right, s'ok. Jus' had a bad da-night. Right. Bad night. We all geddum, sho don' worry 'bout it none, okay kid? Keep yer chin up. An if'n you need shomethin' else, jus' ask awright? No morea this runnin out on me shit. Now ged outta here."

Sal followed Mike onto the streets, and began peeling away back to the store once he was satisfied that he'd be able to walk. Standing at the door, the stout man pulled another hand-made cigar out of his coat and struggled to strike a light. Mike had taken a few steps before turning back around nervously.

"Hey Sal?"

"Wassat?"

"Could you do one more thing for me?"

Walking home with 20$ in his pocket, Mike had managed to talk Sal into a cut of his week's earnings in advance. Tomorrow night, he was going to come prepared.