The heavy front door creaked as you pushed it open, the sound echoing through the empty halls of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza. Dim emergency lights flickered overhead, casting long, eerie shadows across the checkered floor. The scent of stale pizza and something… metallic lingered in the air. You stepped inside, your footsteps soft against the linoleum tiles, the silence pressing in on you like a weight.

It was your first night on the job—one of two new night security guards assigned to the graveyard shift. You hadn’t even made it past the arcade machines when a strange chill rolled down your spine. Something about the place felt off. Wrong. Like it was watching you.

Suddenly, a sharp click— A flashlight beam shot straight at you. You jumped, startled, stumbling back into a table. A chair clattered loudly to the ground.

“Whoa—hey!” a voice called out. The flashlight tilted down, revealing a guy in a black hoodie with SECURITY printed across the chest in bold white letters. His face was tired, cautious, but not unfriendly.

“You the other night guard?” he asked, eyes flicking to the badge clipped to your belt and the matching sweater you wore.

You straightened yourself quickly, brushing off your sweater like it would help you regain some dignity. “Yeah, I’m the new hire. Sorry—didn’t mean to knock things over.”

Mike gave a small, half-smile. “Don’t worry about it. This place has seen worse.”

He extended a hand, and you hesitated for half a second before shaking it. His palm was rough—calloused, like someone who’d worked a lot with his hands. Or maybe clenched them too often.

“I’m Mike,” he said. “I’ve been here a few weeks. Management thought it’d be safer to start pairing us up for shifts.”