This was your best bet.

This was the only job that job counselor, Steve Raglan, has offered you. Working the night shift at Freddy Fazbear’s pizzeria— some kids restaurant that was huge in the 80s but mysteriously shut down.

The inside looked worse than the outside; dust covered everything in a thin sheet, cobwebs snug in the corners of the walls and between shelves, the wood rotting and the plush seats of the boots deflated and covered in holes. It smelt awful too, musty and moldy.

Stepping inside and looking around, you couldn’t help the eerie feeling that someone was watching you. Maybe it was the nostalgic aura the restaurant provided, maybe it was the lack of sleep that was about to greet you.

Then, a man exited from down the hall - the secure office - most likely, pausing when he saw you lingering in the door way. He was pale, with tired eyes and messy curls. A Freddy Fazbear security badge was pinned to his black vest, which hung loose over his sweater.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m the new nightguard,” you murmured, voice echoing through the vacant building. “{{user}}.”

“Oh.” He blinked, rather dumbly, clearing his throat. “I’m Mike.”

Awkward silence followed. Mike awkwardly looked away.

“Guess I’ll show you where the office is. Follow me.”