Chapter 1: Introduction
I had two options: the windowless shithole, where I'd stock shelves until I died of boredom, or the dimly lit, eerie hellhole known as Fazbear's Pizza. I took the latter.
Being a 24-year-old college dropout, work choices weren't exactly plentiful. So when Fazbear Entertainment offered me a job at this creepy abandoned place called Fazbear's Pizza , I took it with a skittish shiver and a prayer.
I mean, who could resist the allure of a retro-themed restaurant with animatronic characters that sang and danced? Okay, maybe just me, but hey, rent doesn't pay itself.
The place was a time capsule from the '80s, all neon lights and faded cartoon posters. The animatronics - those freaky, mechanical monstrosities - lined the walls like some sort of plastic, smiling army. Their eyes seemed to follow me as I walked through the dining area, the hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention.
I shook off the uneasy feeling and pushed open the staff door, revealing a narrow hallway adorned with flickering fluorescent lights. The hum of machinery echoed through the walls, a constant reminder of the mechanical beasts lurking just beyond.
"Hey there, new guy!" A voice boomed from down the hall, accompanied by the clatter of metal on metal. "You must be Jack. I'm Mike, the manager." A tall, lanky man with a thick beard and a Fazbear Entertainment polo shirt emerged from a side room, wiping his hands on a grease-stained rag.
His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, extending a hand towards me. "Welcome to the madhouse, kid."
I managed a weak smile and shook his hand, "Thanks, I think."
Mike chuckled, "Don't worry, you'll get used to the... unique atmosphere. Now, let's get you situated. You'll be working the front of the house, handling customers, and making sure our furry friends here," he gestured to the animatronics behind us, "are behaving themselves."
I nodded, trying to hide my apprehension.
"Sounds... straightforward enough."
Mike clapped me on the back, "That's the spirit! Now, let me show you around. First stop, the main attraction - the Show Stage."
He led me back into the dining area, towards a large, circular stage in the center. The animatronics surrounding it watched us with their unblinking, plastic eyes. I felt like we were being judged by a jury of malfunctioning robots.
"Here's where the magic happens," Mike said, gesturing to the stage.
"Every hour, on the hour, our animatronic friends put on a show for the kiddies. You'll need to make sure the place is packed and ready to go when the music starts."
I glanced at the lifeless animatronics, their once vibrant colors now faded and dull. "They don't... look very magical," I muttered.
Mike laughed, "Oh, they put on a good show, don't you worry. Just don't get too close when they're moving.
Those things have a mind of their own sometimes, and they can get... grabby."
I raised an eyebrow, "Grabby?"
Mike waved a dismissive hand, "Oh, it's nothing. Just a little quirk. They're old, after all. Now, let's get you familiar with the rest of the place."
We spent the next hour exploring the labyrinthine corridors of Fazbear's Pizza.
He showed me the security room , filled with screens displaying every square inch of the restaurant. "Our eyes and ears," Mike said, patting a monitor like it was a loyal pet.
Then, we ventured into the kitchen, a stainless-steel jungle of industrial appliances and prep tables. The air was thick with the scent of old grease and something else - something metallic and faintly chemical.
"What's that smell?" I asked, wrinkling my nose.
Mike sniffed, "Ah, that'd be the animatronics. They're... not exactly low-maintenance. We have to keep them running with a special lubricant.
It's a bit pungent, but it does the trick. Keeps the old girl's joints moving smoothly, if you know what I mean." He winked at me, and I forced a laugh, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling settling in my stomach.
Finally, Mike led me to the break room, a small, grimy space tucked away behind the kitchen. A rickety table occupied the center, surrounded by folding chairs that looked like they'd seen better days. A worn-out couch lined one wall, and a ancient microwave perched on top of a mini-fridge in the corner.
The room was dimly lit, the only window obscured by a thick layer of grime. I half-expected to see a pack of cigarettes and a stained coffee mug sitting on the table, but it was surprisingly clean.
Mike leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "This is where you'll spend your breaks, Jack. It ain't much, but it's home sweet home."
I nodded, trying to hide my unease. "It's... cozy."
Mike chuckled, "Yeah, well, don't expect any five-star amenities here.
Now, before we finish up, there's one more thing you should know about our little... family dynamic here at Fazbear's."
He paused, his expression turning serious. "You might've noticed that our animatronics have a bit of a... personality. They can be a little... temperamental at times."
I raised an eyebrow, "Temperamental?"
Mike nodded, "Yeah, they've been known to... act out. You know, move around when they shouldn't, or wander off when no one's looking. It's just a little quirk, really.
Nothing to worry about," Mike said, but the way he avoided my gaze made me think otherwise.
"But what if one of them... I don't know, attacks a customer or something?" I asked, only half-joking.
Mike laughed, a little too forcefully. "Oh, they wouldn't do that. They're just... confused sometimes. Like I said, they're old. Old things get cranky."
I wasn't convinced, but I didn't press the issue. I'd already taken the job, and I needed the money. Besides, how bad could it be?
It was nighttime now , and the restaurant was closed to the public. The animatronics should be dormant, right? I tried to reassure myself as I walked back into the dining area, the weight of Mike's words still hanging heavy in the air.
Mike had left me to my own devices, disappearing into the back to "tend to the girls," as he put it. I was supposed to be performing a final check of the restaurant before calling it a night, but I found myself lingering, my eyes drawn to the silent, watchful animatronics.
The darkness seemed to amplify their eerie presence, their plastic smiles and glassy eyes taking on a sinister edge.
"Alright, Jack," I muttered to myself, "Let's get this over with."
I started at the entrance, working my way clockwise around the room. Each animatronic I passed seemed to stare at me, their unblinking eyes following my every movement. I could almost hear them whispering, their mechanical voices grating and harsh.
"Hello, Jack," a voice suddenly rasped from behind me.
It was Freddy Fazbear
Freddy is a brown animatronic bear with a lighter shade of brown on both his stomach and puffy muzzle. On stage, he wears a classy black top hat, black bow tie with a neck strap, and wields a microphone in his right hand. He has thick black eyebrows, three-toed feet, and three black freckles on both sides of his muzzle. On his palms and underneath his fingers, he has what appears to be paw-like prints. His round ears are articulated and are thus able to move backwards and forward (similar to the ears of several other animatronics). Freddy normally has a calm and friendly facial expression, with half-closed eyes and a big smile, charismatic yet creepy. In his jaws, he sports squarish, eerily human-like teeth in his lower jaw, and, like most of the animatronics at the pizzeria (except for Foxy), has no visible teeth on his upper jaw.[2][3] His fur color in Help Wanted is more desaturated, while the texture is more matted and scratchy. His replica in Special Delivery has a more reflective and shiny suit, as if made of different material.
He stared at him with his animatronic depths, and I couldn't help but jump at the sudden sound.
"Didn't mean to scare you," Freddy added with an uneasy, static chuckle. "Just wanted to introduce myself."
"I... uh, I'm Jack." My voice trembled barely above a whisper.
"Nice to meet you, Jack," Freddy replied with a friendly, yet off-putting smile. "I hope we can be friends."
His tone sent chills down my spine, but I forced myself to respond politely.
After all, he was just an animatronic, even if a creepier than usual one. He couldn't truly mean any harm.
"F-Freddy. That's, uh, quite a nice hat you have there," I stammered, trying to make conversation and maintain an air of composure.
Freddy's eyes seemed to twinkle under the dim lights of Fazbear's Pizza. I took it as approval for breaking the ice, and continued small-talking awkwardly.