Five Nights at Freddy's

Grand Re-Opening

"Oh, hey! Hello!" The man in the suit cried, eagerly walking over. "You must be him!"

Michael Schmidt was taken aback as his hand was taken and shook vigorously. This was not something he had been expecting. Then again, he never expected, nor really wanted, to ever be back here again: Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. He'd worked here three years ago. His employment had been, mercifully, brief, lasting only seven days. Not long at all, but they were the only days of his life that he had a "do-not discuss" rule about, and ever since he'd done his best to forget them. Now, here he was again, standing in front of the Pizzeria, shaking some happy sappy fruitcake's hand.

"Uh, yeah..." Mike replied, the surprise showing. "I'm Michael Schmidt..."

"Do I detect disbelief?" The man asked.

"A little bit, yeah," Schmidt nodded. "Considering the company fired me, the last thing I expected was a handshake and the welcome back wagon."

"Well, the previous management is gone now," The man smiled broadly. "There's been a lot of changes since you were here last, Mr. Schmidt. And one of them is me."

"And you are...?"

"Scott Cawthon!" The man said, proudly. "I'm the new General Manager of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza! Where food and fun are our specialty!"

"So long as you're not here after midnight," Mike replied, simply. He didn't want to hear any cheesy slogans or company BS.

Mr. Cawthon winced visibly, his smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "Yes, well...uh, we can talk more when we get to my office, son. But, first! Allow me to show you around!"

"If it's all the same to you, Mr. Cawthon," Michael said. "I'd rather we just go ahead and talk. I remember the place pretty well." How on Earth could he forget?

"What you remember is the old Freddy Fazbear's Pizza." Cawthon smiled. "What I want to show you is the new and improved Freddy Fazbear's Pizza! Come inside with me!"

The two of them went in, Mike's stomach turning as they did.

But right away, he saw what Mr. Cawthon was talking about, and could even understand why the man seemed way too proud. They walked past the Host Podium, Mr. Cawthon opening the ropes for Michael, and then past the Concession Stand, with its shining, cleaned counters, the new registers lined up for families to order Freddy's famous pizza. The floors had been vigorously polished, the walls repainted, and the ceiling repaired. Not a cobweb, section of faded paint, or hanging wires in sight. Cawthon had been right. Mike almost didn't recognize the place. The run-down pizzeria that he knew had received quite the make over.

"Speechless, Mr. Schmidt?" The GM said, proudly. "It's a pretty big change, considering the state of it when I took over. Nothing a little elbow grease couldn't fix though. Now it's a proper place for families to eat and have fun again! Just like when it first opened!"

"Yeah," Mike said. He actually did agree. "It almost makes you forget the five kids that were killed here..."

Cawthon laughed nervously. "Quite the joker you are, Mr. Schmidt."

"...not to mention that bite in '87..."

"That's all in the past now," Cawthon said quickly, his smile quivering. "No need to dwell in the past when there's the future to look forward to. That's what all this work has been about. Cleaning up the past and working towards the future. When we reopen tomorrow, I want everyone who comes here to leave full of pizza and fun and great family memories!"

"Then why are you bringing me, of all people, back, Mr. Cawthon?"

"When we get to my office," The GM replied quickly. He motioned ahead with a grand sweep of his arm. "For now, it's time you see the new heart of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza!"

They had reached the main Dining Area, where workers were still cleaning floors and adjusting lights. Surprisingly, it didn't look that different. If anything, it was brighter, more clean than it had been three years ago, having been the only room that had been properly maintained back then. The tables and chairs were lined up neatly, with new party hats sitting in rows on the tables. Vibrant colors and wacky patterns had been painted on the walls, with silly pictures of Freddy Fazbear and friends, Bonnie and Chica. One picture depicted the three characters seated at a table, whimsically eating pizza. Another showed them jamming on their instruments. Even Foxy got a painting, one depicting him captaining his comically small pirate ship. Strobe lights and other such fixtures had been displayed on the ceiling, ready to add effect to Freddy's undoubtedly newer and more trendy songs. Gotta keep up with kids today, after all.

At the end of the room was the Show Stage. Upon it, in their proper places for now, were the characters themselves. Freddy Fazbear, naturally, was up front, with Bonnie the Bunny flanking his right, and Chica the Chicken his right. Like the Dining Area itself, they didn't look too different, except for somethings. Freddy himself had a new hat and bowtie. Bonnie's guitar was brand new and gleamed brilliantly in the new stages lights above. Chica looked largely the same, donning the same bib (LET'S EAT!) that she always wore, but her cupcake was now multicolored and had a light inside, sending off an array of colors every which way. And each of them had a brighter, more vibrant appearance, their suits having been repainted and refurbished. They looked merry and ready to rock out for the kids.

"There they are!" Cawthon said proudly. "The great Fazbear Trio; Fredddy Fazbear, and, of course, Bonnie the Bunny on guitar, and Chica on back-up vocals. We got them a new stage for them and added lights to their show. New generations will cheer with joy while older, returning kids will be dazzled by what the new performance that their favorite characters have in store for them! A treat for all ages!"

"Yeah..." That was all Mike could say at the moment. He was looking at Freddy Fazbear, the slow laugh he used to hear ringing in his ear. His eyes drifted to Bonnie next, and then to Chica. They were staring blankly at the wall behind him, frozen in place at the moment. The Three Musketeers of Death, you could say. Well...not just the three of them, of course...

He turned his gaze towards the left side of the room, expecting to see a curtain, but instead saw a rocky cave stage set instead. It looked like a cave you'd see on a small island, a few seashells lining the ground, and even a hand made, life size seagull dummy to add to the effect.

"Hey..." Mike asked, curious. "Is that...?"

"Yep!" Mr. Cawthon replied. "We even managed to get Pirate Cove back online! That thing was out of order for so long, I bet almost everyone forgot about it! It'll almost seem like a whole new feature to the show!"

"And I guess Foxy's..." Schmidt began and then drifted off.

"He's up and running too, that's right!" Cawthon was practically glowing. "Here, let me..."

He stopped speaking, walking over towards one of the workers. When he returned, he was carrying a flashlight. He turned it on and shined it inside the Cove. Whether on purpose or by sheer coincidence, the light hit right on Foxy's eyes as he stared back at them from within the darkness. Cawthon jumped slightly.

"Oho! There he is!" He said, a hand at his chest. "Always the sneaky pirate, that Foxy."

You have no idea, Mike thought.

To his credit, Foxy looked much better than he had three years ago. His suit was no longer cracked and old, and his jaw had been fixed and was actually closed. Even more, he was actually dressed like a pirate, sporting a red pirate coat, some frilly pirate tunic under that, and even some slacks. His hook had been polished and gleamed in the flashlight's beam and his eye patch currently covered his right eye. It was weird seeing him look so pristine. In fact, it was weird seeing Pirate Cove at all. The place had always been covered in a curtain and in darkness when he had worked here last, never giving him a clear look at it.

"Was Pirate Cove always that big?" Schmidt asked, as Cawthon shut off the flashlight.

"Oh no!" The GM replied. "It was puny when we got started. We added a fair amount to it to make it look more like a Pirate's cove, you know. It's still small compared to the Show Stage. It's simple, but still magical, don't you think?"

"Not really, no," Mike shook his head.

"Oh come now," Cawthon replied teasingly. "You surely have to feel some magic in the air, right?"

"No," Schmidt said. "The only thing I feel is a dire need to make watch my back so Freddy doesn't sneak up on me and stuff me in a..."

"Okay, okay, none of that," Cawthon said quickly, immediately looking nervous again as he walked over to return the flashlight. As he did, Mike glanced over at the Show Stage. They were looking at him now. All three of them.

When Cawthon came back he was beginning to sweat. "Let's not worry about that now. There's still much to show you, and..."

"I really don't want to see anymore, Mr. Cawthon," Michael Schmidt replied. "In fact, I don't want to talk at all here. They're listening."

Cawthon paused, looking at Schmidt nervously. He then slowly turned to look at the Show Stage. Fazbear and the rest were now staring blankly at the wall again. The GM then turned back and when he spoke again, he spoke softly. "Alright...this way..."

They went down the West Hallway and made a right. Past the Supply Closet there was a new door. Etched on it was "Scott Cawthon: General Manager". Inside was a humble office, with a desk and two chairs in front of it. The GM offered Mike a seat and then, instead of sitting in the comfy chair behind the desk, sat down in the opposite chair in front of Mike. He reached into his pocket and brought out a small handkerchief, and mopped his brow.

"I'll get right to it then, Mr. Schmidt," He said, still seeming nervous. "I want you back on the night shift."

It was finally out.

"Why?" Mike asked. "I thought everything was new and improved. That all that bad things were in the past."

"They are," Mr. Cawthon replied. "At least as far as the public is concerned. And so long as it stays that way, this place will flourish like it did so long ago. The problem is that old problems are trying to resurface. And that's where you come in, son."

"They're still 'wandering' at night?"

"I've tried everything to stop it," Scott Cawthon sighed, trembling. "The technicians say there's nothing wrong with them. They say the same things they said to the old owner; keep them on at night so their servos don't lock up. I tried to have them reprogrammed, but one of them caught one of the technicians off guard and..."

"Wait, they've ALREADY killed someone?" Schmidt asked, stunned.

"Nonono!" The GM immediately waved this away. "He was a little late going home, and he said one of them was missing from the Stage as he was leaving. He heard a bang from the kitchen and he took off."

"Chica must have been hungry..." Mike said lowly.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing."

"I love kids, Mr. Schmidt," Cawthon said. "And the kids love Freddy Fazbear. I couldn't stand to see this place go under those three years ago. And I would hate for it to happen again. So, I can't allow anything bad to happen. I can't get the characters to stay where they are, so I'm forced to apply the same method of dealing with the problem as the old management..."

"Get some poor saps to watch over them..."

"I read the reports about you that were left over." The GM said, ignoring the comment. "I don't blame you for what you did...even if it didn't work."

Mike scoffed. That was laying it on very mildly. The last night had been absolute hell. He'd tried to stop Freddy and his stupid friends. Tried to turn them off. Instead, he'd only made them even more active.

"Had I been in your shoes, I would have done the same," Cawthon went on. "But because you, as of now, are one of the very few guards to have worked a full week at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza and come out unscathed. The fact that you managed to make it through that last night alone makes you the most qualified for this job."

"Yeah, I'll bet..."

"Do you have another job currently, Mr. Schmidt?" Scott asked.

"If I did, you can bet I wouldn't be here..." Mike replied. "But I have to pay off my student loans, and I can't seem to land a job anywhere. Anywhere but this hellhole..." He scoffed again. "A hundred and twenty fucking dollars. I spent it fixing my car."

"You'll get more this time around, I guarantee it." Cawthon must have been waiting for a comment like that, because he leaped on it immediately. "You'll be getting at least three hundred a week."

"That's still not enough," Mike grumbled. "How about you watch over Freddy and them for one night and then we'll discuss my pay, huh?"

"I'll try to get you more as time progresses," The GM replied, quickly. He sounded slightly desperate. "But I just can't afford it now. A lot of effort and resources went into the remodeling..."

"I'll hold you to that."

"Does that mean you'll take the job?"

Michael Schmidt paused. He had walked into that one. Did he want the job? Did anybody in their right mind want this job? No. Absolutely not. But damn it! Did he need the money. Even the measly two hundred and twenty sounded fine right now. He hadn't found work since being fired. He'd tried all throughout college to find other work, knowing that his loan payments were right around the corner. Now, he was approaching his senior year and the payments had come. Other bills would follow, and if he didn't start seeing some money, things were going to take a drastic turn for the worst. He couldn't bring himself to move back in with his parents (that somehow seemed almost as bad as being stuffed in a Freddy suit), and nobody else had the space for him. At this point, it was either life on the streets...or Freddy.

"You haven't asked anyone else?" Mike asked.

"I can't ask anyone else." Cawthon replied, softly. "Those characters are soul of this place. If the wrong people find out about their dark secrets, we'll go out of business...again. You know what they do, and you have dealt with them already."

"I'm not going to come here and watch those insane robots every day," Schmidt said. "You couldn't pay me enough for that. I'm not doing all seven nights again."

"You won't have to." The GM said. "We have another night watchman who will work weekends. His name's Kevin. He's good. No accidents so far. But he's wanting only weekends. I need someone else for Monday through Friday. You worked a full seven days. Only one other person besides you two have made it that long, and, well..."

Mike was still as he remembered the previous guard before him. He'd never actually figured out how long he'd been working in the Security Office, but the last message he'd gotten from him suggested that things hadn't gone so well for him in the end. He'd put it best: It'd been a bad night...

"Why does this Kevin guy only want weekends as opposed to just quitting?" Mike asked.

"Well, he has other work..."

"And he still works here!?" Schmidt was stunned. "Why?"

"I'm not sure," Cawthon replied. "Perhaps you can ask him yourself. He's here, over at the Security Office."

"What for?" Schmidt checked his watch. "He was due off three hours ago."

"I asked him to stay so that you two could meet and exchange contact information." The GM said.

"I haven't said yes to anything."

"No you haven't," Scott agreed. "So I'll ask you again...will you take the job?"

"You're damn lucky that I need the money..." Mike grumbled.

"Is that a yes?"

"Yeah..." Mike sighed. "But, the instant I find work else where, I'm quitting. On the spot. Do you hear me? On. The. Spot."

"I hear you, Mr. Schmidt." Mr. Cawthon nodded. "We'll keep the applications we've received on file then." He stood up. "Now, let's go to the Office, shall we?"

It was a short walk. Out the door, right, ten steps, a left, and they were there.

In stark contrast to the rest of the building, this room remained completely unchanged. The posters still hung, the monitor was still there, there were still power cords hanging around all over, and the big metal doors were still ready to block bloodthirsty characters. Even the damn fan was still right where it had been three years ago, seemingly untouched by both man and time. It was currently running, a small breeze touched Mike's face as he entered. Suddenly, he had flashbacks to the many moments that he'd spent trying to shut it off while trying to check the monitors. Power was big issue back then...

Seated at the desk was a young adult male, maybe the same age as Mike himself, perhaps a little older, with red, messy and curly hair, with sunglasses tucked into the V of his shirt. When Cawthon and Schmidt walked in, he simply turned in the swivel chair towards them.

"Hello, Kevin," Cawthon said. "Thanks for staying."

"You the new guy?" Kevin asked, looking at Mike. "Mike Schmidt?"

"That's me..."

The red head held up a folded piece of paper. "This is my phone number. Don't lose it, and don't abuse it. And I hope you're not gonna be dumb enough to call me while I'm on duty here, right?"

"I think you'd be a little too busy for that," Mike replied.

"How were things last night, Kevin?" Cawthon asked, lowly. "Any problems?"

"Of course there were problems," Kevin scoffed. "This whole fucking place is a problem. I don't understand why you don't just let the place die, and let Freddy Fazbear and his demon friends rot in Hell where they belong."

"But the children love Freddy Fazbear and his buddies, Kevin!" Cawthon said, smiling, for a brief moment he returned to his cheery self.

"Easy fix." Kevin shrugged. "Let them stay here overnight. Trust me, they'll get over him fast. Real fast."

Cawthon was quiet.

"What time do you start, Mike?" Kevin asked.

"I don't know yet..."

"You didn't tell him that yet?" The red head asked his boss.

"No, I hadn't...I wanted him to meet you first," Cawthon sighed. "Mr. Schmidt, could I ask you to start tonight?"

"Tonight!?" Mike cried. He was walking into Hell way too fast. "You're kidding."

"If you don't start tonight, then there won't be anyone here to keep an eye on the characters," The GM explained.

"So you're just gonna dump this on me like that?"

"I know it's short notice..." Scott said. "So, I'll tell you what...I'll give you holiday pay for tonight. More money in your pocket. Only tonight, I'm afraid, I just can't afford any more than that."

"God damn it..." Mike grumbled.

"Will you d..." Cawthon began.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be here." Schmidt cut him off quickly. A great feeling of dread came over him. Earlier, there had at least been the thought that he'd at least have one more night before having to step back into this place. But now that'd been taken away from him. Damn it, did being so poor suck!

"Excellent!" The GM was relieved. "Well, I guess all that's left is to say welcome back! As an employee here, you get certain benefits. Since you're here on the nigh shift, you already get additional pay, but you'll also get a discount on food items at the Concession Stand, and also a staff card for games at the arcade! Some good things there for you to..."

"Arcade?" Mike asked. "There's an arcade now?"

"Oh, right!" Cawthon said. "We didn't get there on our tour! Yes, we added to the building. On the wall opposite from Pirate Cove, there's a hall that leads to Fazbear Fun Center!" Mike rolled his eyes, but Scott didn't notice. "No sense in walking all the way there now. Kevin, why don't you be a sport and bring it up on the monitor, so Mike here can see it."

"Sure thing," Kevin said. He pushed the button that was marked "CAM8B" and an overview shot of a medium sized arcade came on the screen. There was Whack-A-Mole, shooter games, pinball machines, and airhockey tables. Not too bad, actually, which was surprising since this was the same building that had originally had a power limit due to budget cuts. Some way or another, Mr. Cawthon must have found a way to bring some money into the...

"Wait a minute!" Mike cried, reaching over Kevin and jabbing a finger at the monitor hard enough that it shuddered. "Who is that? Who is that right there!?"

CAM8B was stationed above the arcade, already inside. It panned to the left towards the entrance, and just as it reached the full length of its panning, something had appeared. Some sort of mini-stage, not unlike Pirate Cove, and something had been standing on it. Mike looked at the buttons and saw on that was marked CAM8A and pressed it. This time, the view was right at the entrance of the Funcenter. Right next to the entrance was indeed a mini-stage. The base was designed to resembled a meteor and the backdrop was fitted light up planets and stars. Standing in the center of the stage was a teenaged, female, human animatronic, with long purple hair, dressed in a dark blue space suit and holding what appeared to be some sort of space rifle in her hands.

Another character.

"Who is that!?" Mike cried again. "Who is that!? Why is she there!?

"Her?" Cawthon replied, having stepped back from Mike. "Why that's Arella, the Captian of the Kid's Space Expedition."

"Okay, what the hell?" Mike asked, turning towards Scott. "It was already sort of strange that Freddy had a buddy who's a fucking pirate, but now he's got some weirdo from Outer Space!? And why is she human!? Why did you need another fucking character!?"

"She's doesn't belong Fazbear Entertainment," Scott explained. "She's a promotional character. She sponsors another company. We're being paid to host her here. She puts on a little show for the kids, and then talks advertises another building. The company she's from specializes in arcades, they have buildings dedicated to them. They invested in our arcade, and, in return, we sponsor them."

"Great...just great..." Schmidt muttered. "Another one. It was bad enough with four of them! What am I..."

A loud, nasal ringing sounded.

"Oh! That's me!" Cawthon spoke up, immediately digging into his pockets. He pulled out his cellphone and looked at the screen. "Ah! I need to take this! Uh, thanks so much for taking the job, Mr. Schmidt, you're a life saver! If I don't see you later, have a great shift! Can you find your way out."

"But I...!" Mike tried. Then he gave up. What was the use? "Yeah, I can."

"Great! Good luck!" And with that, Scott Cawthon was gone, his footsteps hurrying down the hall as he spoke on the phone.

Mike turned back to Kevin, who had gotten up and was picking up his jacket.

"Wait where are you going?"

"Where do you think?" Kevin replied. "I'm going home."

"But...! Wait! I need you to tell me what's up with Freddy and the others!"

"What do you mean?" Kevin asked, continuing to gather his belongings. "I thought you've done this before..."

"Three years ago!" Schmidt replied. "That was then and this is now!"

"Well, if you did it then, you should be able to do it now, right?" Kevin slipped on his sunglasses. "Look, dude, I've got shit to do. If you absolutely need me to, I'll call you when you start. Don't bother trying to pick up, cause they take the receiver off the hook at night. Gotta conserve power, ya know."

"Still!?" Mike cried.

"Yep." Kevin said. "Funny thing about this place: a lot has changed, but nothing's really changed." He glanced at his watch. "Gotta go. See ya."

He turned and left the Office, leaving Michael Schmidt alone. The reinstated security guard looked at the monitor and then looked at the "Celebrate" poster on the wall, which showed Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica as they had been three years ago. Then, he left the Office, and slowly walked down the hall. He pushed walked into the Dining Area, wondering just how in the hell he had ended up back here. He'd gotten the call from Scott just last night. Before that he would have never suspected that he'd ever walk back into this place. Is this what he was willing to do to avoid living in shame with his parents? God damn, being poor really fucking SUCKED!

It escaped his attention that the workers had, for the moment, vacated the Dining Area. At least until he turned to head down the entrance hall...and a familiar music box tune began playing. Michael Schmidt turned and faced the Show Stage. All three of them were staring at him. All three of them were missing their eyes. Freddy's whole body light up as his gay song filled the room.

It's me, Mike thought.

"Da da dum dum dum dum, dum dum dum diddly doom doom doom, diddly doom." A voice sung. Mike turned towards the sound. Foxy had come out of his Cove and was waving his hook up and down, his jaw opening in closing in a biting motion. "Dum dum diddly dum dum dum dum diddly dum dum dum dum dum."

Poking out of the darkness of the Cove was a small rectangular sign. On it was the text: Sorry! Out of Order!

A small creaking sound drew Mike's attention. The Employee Only door had been pulled open. One of the spare Endoskeletals was peeking its head out the door, its bright red eyes glaring from across the room.

Michael Schmidt stared back, his eyes going form each of them. They stopped finally at Freddy Fazbear. For a moment, nothing at all happened. Then, Fazbear himself moved right before Schmidt's eyes. He reached up and took hold of his new hat and took it off and held it up in a cinematic tip.

Mike stood where he was for a moment.

Then, he turned and left the Dining Area.